#hoathemeweek
Text
To Submit; To Breath
For the 2nd week of the HOA Theme Month, and dedicated to @the-girl-who-flies
This was a prompt, that really went no further than “Eric and Dar”, or I ignored any further advice, and interpreted it my own way. Fairly easily, actually.
I apologise for the dialogue. I tried to look up Eric quotes but gave up after looking for far too long and finding nothing. So it’s all made up.
I hope you enjoy it, A <3
Eric regarded the man in front of him. He didn’t know the Iraqi’s name, only that he remembered thinking the soldier had caused Rachel’s death. He could have sworn he’d seen the man impaled in the fight they’d narrowly escaped from, but amidst the noise and chaos, what actually happened was anyone’s guess. As far as Eric could tell now, the man was standing, albeit bleeding profusely from a wound on his left shoulder.
The last thing Eric remembered about the fight was Clarice. Clarice over him, pressing him down, snarling and screaming, grey skin slick with sweat as she leant over his neck, impossibly strong, and him unable to fight back. And then he opened his eyes, and he was alive, alone with the enemy.
“Did you save me?” Seemed like a good opener. He had no trust for this person, seemed barely able to see him as another human being, but there was no other possibility. The other man, for his part, shrugged, winced, and said something harsh in Arabic. OK, so, they could not understand each other with words. That wasn’t going to help.
Eric looked around. They were in a small room with a single entrance. Intricate carvings lined the walls, and what seemed to be furniture looked as if it was growing organically from the floor. There was very little noise to be heard, far away and unrecognisable. Eric patted himself down. A few scrapes and bruises, some cuts administered by Clarice, and his right knee was beginning to ache, but he seemed mostly intact. He pointed to his own shoulder, then to his unlikely companion.
“We need to take care of that.”
More Arabic Eric didn’t understand, as the man fingered his wound and hissed in pain. He was wearing hideous eyeglasses from the 1980s, a green beret, and although he was unarmed Eric could tell he was the leader of the group that had interrupted their mission. Most of his mind told him he did not want to help this man, that he still had his gun, that he should shoot him and be done with it, but a small voice held his hand. Instead, he crossed the distance and began to inspect the wound. Despite spitting more harsh Arabic, the man seemed mostly content to let Eric do whatever he wanted. Understandable since they had both recently discovered demons existed.
Eric unclipped and shouldered off his backpack, rifling through it for a small, mostly empty med-kit and his bottle of water.
“Sit on that,” he said, pointing to a stone rise. The man sat - his eyes and voice were the only things about him that carried any menace; his body betrayed his exhaustion and fear. American soldiers he could, probably gladly, handle. Demons were outside his wheelhouse. Eric wondered how religious the man was. While he worked, unbuttoning and slipping the shirt shoulder down, Eric pointed to himself like he was talking to Tarzan, and said “Eric”. After a very pregnant pause, the other man said “Dar”.
The wound wasn’t as life-threatening as it first appeared; bloody, yes, but superficial. Eric could wash and bind it easily with what he had. It would definitely need stitches, and probably several tetanus shots… Would tetanus shots even help against demonic wounds? Eric tried not to think about it, his hand unconsciously going to the scratches on his neck. Dar tilted his head as Eric did up his shirt buttons and dusted off his collar. He pointed to his own neck and said something. Eric didn’t need to understand Arabic to know it was along the lines of ‘you should have shot her’.
“Yeah, well, you win some and you lose some. You shouldn’t have shot at me and my wife.”
An uneasy image of Rachel kissing Nick surfaced in Eric’s mind. He tried to shut it out but that only made it more vivid. He shook his head. Whatever was going on, they’d deal with it later. He had to get out of here alive first.
It took long moments for the unlikely duo to get moving. They both had a drink of water from Eric’s canteen but the difficulty of having to leave this little safe room was a weight that seemed too hard to carry. But the corridor was empty too, and as they made their way back to the chamber they met nothing and no one. Eric picked up the UV light that had been discarded on the floor. It needed some work but wouldn’t be too hard to fix. He felt his insides run cold as Dar located and reloaded his rifle, but the Iraqi merely shouldered it and looked around. When he gestured and started off, speaking to Eric even as he moved away, Eric knew his words were orders along the lines of “follow me, we need to move, we need to escape” and finding himself blindly following the Iraqi who had naturally taken the lead seemed equally natural to Eric. He never wanted to be in command anyway. He had just wanted to see Caelus work.
They were greeted by emptiness. Empty rooms, empty halls, empty cries from far away. Occasionally Eric would find a piece of paper written in the same manner as the recording he and Rachel had found. He would read them out to Dar who would watch him speak without actually understanding. The man was tired, Eric could see that, he’d experienced a paradigm shift in the worst way - charging into a battle he probably thought would win him glory only to discover a world within a world within the world he’d spent probably more than 40 years occupying with the same set of beliefs and morals and opinions. Eric felt the ground sway beneath him sometimes, but he tried not to dwell on it. Too fucking much had happened; he’d spiral out of fucking control if he didn’t hold on. So they kept going. Kept going until they reached what could only have been a jail, one single solitary skeleton, warped beyond the confines of humanity, pressed desperately against the bars of a cage. They both stood staring at it for longer than was safe - this is what happened to Clarice. She’d been with him, there for him, helping him, for months - and this is how she would end. A forgotten skeleton buried in Iraq’s Atlantis.
“What a waste.” Said Eric.
“Hmm.” Said Dar.
There was an arrow drawn in the dirt at the far end of the prison. JK, NK, RK written out next to it in various levels of neat. Bent and broken bars allowed access further into hell, and Eric’s team was down there. Which meant there was only one way to go. Dar scrunched up his nose, understanding fully that there were only more dirty Americans this way, but dirty Americans were better than being eaten alive. Eric climbed through first, and then assisted Dar, who was still hurting, and physically larger than the svelte Colonel.
“When we get topside, you need to see a doctor,” Eric tapped his own shoulder.
“Something something medic something something.” Was all Eric got out of Dar’s reply. But he didn’t need a translator to know it probably meant ‘you shot our medic’.
Eric was surprised to come across not only a waterfall, but two thick blue ropes from the climbing gear they had brought. How far down had his team gone? How was this going to get them out? How was he going to get Dar down the rope? Probably out of spite. Eric tried not to enjoy the idea too much. He was still pretty sure that he wasn’t really sure about the guy.
“Looks like we need to go down,” he made a show of looking over the edge, “that might be hard for you, with your shoulder,” Eric gently touched the wound like a concerned parent, “but I’ll help you. If this is the way we have to go, well, we’ll just go slowly.”
The flat, over the glasses look Dar was giving him suggested to Eric that Dar was used to dealing with soldiers far younger than himself who took their roles less than seriously and that he was no stranger to being pandered to. But he did get down and shimmy to the bottom by himself, and smirk smugly at Eric who descended slower. Eric retaliated by showing Dar his prosthesis before realising they were acting like children and clearing his throat with no small amount of embarrassment. The language barrier and the fact that he almost caused Rachel to fall to her death aside, Dar was just a normal human being who took pride in his country. Eric could relate to that.
“God, that’s a weird fucking concept.” Eric accidentally whispered to himself. Fortunately, Dar did not understand.
It was only after they’d departed that the fact that they’d walked past an underground waterfall mostly without acknowledging it surfaced in Eric’s mind. He put that thought away immediately.
They were both looking down into the spiralling green haze as an elevator lazily, and loudly, made its way back up to their level. Dar, in what Eric had decided was an uncharacteristic emotional pitch, let out approximately two minutes of verbal vomit as his fists clenched around the wooden barricade that prevented them from falling to their potential deaths. Eric didn’t have any words - all he could see was what his brain was telling him was a toxic cloud and all he could hear was Dar, the screech of chains, and the rapidly approaching scream of winged death. They had no choice but to descend. If they stayed here, surely they would die. But what would they find at the bottom of this shaft? The dead bodies of Eric’s team - a labyrinth they could not possibly hope to escape from - freedom? Someone had decided that going down was worth all this effort, maybe the same people who had been leaving behind diaries and dynamite.
The elevator ride was wildly unpleasant. 60 years had passed since its construction and while it worked, it made Eric and Dar uncomfortable enough to grip the sides of the compartment. Eric even considered praying. He wondered if that’s what Dar was doing. But it passed. The elevator hid the bottom gently, in a cave that opened up into a tunnel, with deep blue stone walls and illuminated patches of green lights. Bio-luminescent fungus, perhaps. As they walked along, Eric touched Dar’s arm, pointed to the fungus, and shook his head ‘do not touch that’ - Dar nodded, and then pointed to Eric’s right leg ‘don’t step on it either’. Eric felt the side of his lips crook up and he forced them back into a straight line. The mouth of the cave allowed some pale light in, coming closer and closer. Eric hoped to see a familiar face waiting for him. What he saw instead, he knew, would stay with him for the rest of his life.
“Oh Jesus… oh fuck…” Eric slipped to his knees as the great cavern screamed out in front of him. ‘I am a man of science’ he thought, but the thought slipped away. Not demons… not demons… not demons.
A ship. It could not be anything else, vast and gargantuan and unholy. A floating city meant for another place. Dar stood unmoving beside him and Eric’s hands grasped at nothing. This… this is what Caelus had found. Proof of life beyond earth - proof of life from the stars. How long had this city rested here, undisturbed? Why had those explorers decided to hide this place from the rest of the world. They could have bought an army here, brought this city to the surface, given this gift to all of humanity but they hid it away, allowed the monsters to fester and breed, made what should be heaven into hell. And Eric found it. Something from Eric’s heart and hands and mind found it - the world must know. He would tell everyone. It was a gift.
And then he felt Dar kneel beside him. Watched the older man lay down his rifle and pray. A man of science and man of faith, standing at the precipice of a new world. Something in Eric melted away then, the last vestiges of wry pride that failure had begun to strip away from him. He put his hand on Dar’s uninjured shoulder and began to speak.
“I am sorry. We thought there were weapons here. I thought there were weapons here. I brought soldiers when I should have brought scientists. This place, this is a part of your country’s history - that temple should be returned to your people. This city should be everyone’s to see and admire and learn from. I don’t regret coming here. But I do regret why I came.”
Eric took a deep breath.
“I didn’t need to, but… but a part of me didn’t just want to hand Caelus over. I guess I wanted Rachel, my wife, to see what kind of man I was. To see me smart and strong and just… fall back into my arms. It’s been hard without her. I blamed her for the accident because she was driving but she was never really to blame. When we separated she said it was over, and when I came back she said nothing had changed. And I wouldn’t listen. I wouldn’t fucking listen. But it’s so small now, it seems so goddamn small. Look at this.”
Eric looked at Dar and smiled, “look at this.”
Dar was quiet for a long moment. He seemed to be considering Eric, deciding whether or not he was a person worthy of life. A person worthy to sit here, in a country he didn’t belong in, and smile at the infinite meaningless of their tiny existence. And then he gave a short laugh, and took off his glasses. He felt around in his pockets but didn’t find what he was looking for, and then he laughed again. Eric couldn’t help it, he laughed too - it looked like the man had simply lost his wallet. But then Dar began to talk, and although Eric couldn’t understand him, he listened.
<I don’t regret what I am. What I have done, I have done for the good of my country. I believe in my country, and in the Glory of Allah, and in my people. But I feel… I know that I have been holding on for the wrong reasons. I go to battle for Iraq, but it is not Iraq in my heart when I hold my rifle. When I command my troops, or when I kill another man. My wife, Farah, she died. It has been years and her death has not left me. I have not moved on. Her ghost breathes inside my heart. I wish nothing more than for her spirit to find it’s place in divine paradise, but I hold her here, with me. There are so many other things to live for. I think… I think it is time I let her go…>
Eric watched as Dar prayed again, and then pulled the Iraqi to his feet. Everything was different now, everything felt lighter. But they had to push on, they had to find the others and escape. This miracle would never again be buried beyond the veil. Eric handed Dar his rifle, and they started off again, slowly, one leg and one arm not quite up to the task of climbing over rocks. But then they heard it, gunfire in the distance, and it spurned them on. Normally one tends to run away from gunfire but down here it could only mean one thing: humans.
Eric saw Nick first, firing into the attacking aliens. Rachel was behind him, then Jason. They were running towards a rock face, disappearing into a crack at the base of the wall. Nick mock saluted Eric as he ran past, sparing a “sergeant” as he went. The noise was terrible, screeching and screaming and gunfire. But it dulled under the stone wall, as Eric pushed himself along with an ever stiffening right leg, checking over his shoulder to ensure Dar and Nick were behind him. Rachel pulled him up at the other end.
“Well, that was pleasant,” said Eric sarcastically, turning around to help Dar to his feet.
The exclamation of “Salim!” caught Eric off guard, and he turned, surprised to see Kolchek (of all people) hovering around the other Iraqi survivor. Dar and Salim seemed guarded around each other, speaking stiffly in Arabic as Eric tried not to eavesdrop (or as much as you can eavesdrop when you don’t understand the language). Instead he focussed on Nick and Rachel, both of whom looked worse for wear.
“What happened?” Eric took in Rachel’s dishevelled appearance with more acute interest than he did Nick. It was easy to see the guy was wounded, no need for a thorough examination. And while he felt lighter in his heart, recovering from the perceived act of betrayal would take time. He wasn’t ready to welcome them both with open arms, but he was glad to see they were alive, and mostly unharmed. Rachel’s eyes shifted to the floor and back.
“Nick was thrown across the chamber, and one of those things came at me. I didn’t see where Nick went but I felt like I’d reached the end, that I was alone, and that the thing… the alien… was going to be the end of me. But I fought long enough for Clarice to save me…”
“Clarice?” Dar pulling Eric away must have disoriented his former assistant.
“Yeah - they went for each other. I’m not sure why. Maybe she wanted to save me, maybe she didn’t want to share. Whatever it was, it let me get away. You were gone, Nick was unconscious. It was a fucking mess.”
“By the time I came to, Clarice and the thing had fucked off, god knows where. She ain’t dead, I’d put money on it. We’ll see her again.” Nick didn’t sound angry.
“You think she can be cured?”
“Sir I just found out aliens are real. Ain’t much I don’t believe in.”
They were interrupted by Kolchek asking for a provisions check, and it was pretty piss poor, apart from the dynamite and C4. Eric sat somewhere apart from the group and set to repairing the UV light, at least he could contribute something else to their meagre arsenal. Dar came and sat by him, rifle across his lap, watching Kolchek and Salim dance awkwardly around each other as Salim tried to read from a book. It was quiet again, almost peaceful, the chamber they were in could have been called beautiful, but there was no long peace down here. Very little hope strung the companions together, so when Salim began to fiddle with a large organic-looking machine in the centre of the chamber, despite the meditative music it produced, it only served to darken the minds of the soldiers. They had decided to take the initiative - to stop waiting for something to happen and make it happen. To take the dynamite and the C4 into the heart of hell and plant it, hoping not only to decimate the alien population, but hoping also that the confusion of the explosion would be distraction enough for them to escape. That was a lot of hoping, when there wasn’t much of it to go around. But Salim and Jason seemed tied to this plan, as though they were a single unit, and Eric found he could barely remember the bravado of the Americanised Marine as he was when they first met. So much had changed, in all of them. Eric felt in his heart, his heart of science and learning and curiosity, that this time - this time they’d get it right.
But when push came to shove, no one wanted to plant the dynamite. It was a suicide mission, death waited at the end. They had no straws to draw, and short of dealing up a game of rock-paper-scissors, there was no real fair way to decide who got to go, unless they volunteered.
“I’ll do it,” he was the one who wanted the world to see this place after all, he should be the one to mark it with his life.
“Sir, with all due respect, what do you know about dynamite?”
“With zero respect, Nicholas, I know enough.”
“Uhuh, I’m coming with you.”
Both Eric and Rachel began to protest, Jason just telling Nick not to be such a fucking martyr, but Nick held up his hand.
“Shut up, all of you. I’m doing this. Just… watch my back.”
“I’m still coming,” Eric held up the UV light, “I can literally watch your back.”
With Jason on the radio, and Salim with a pair of binoculars, Rachel and Dar helped Eric and Nick drop down into the maze below. They moved as quickly and quietly as possible, and they had to be guided, but with the barest of luck, they met nothing. Nick found a spot to plant the first brick, and Eric kept watch. The lack of attention was nerve-wracking. What was going on?
“First lot down,” Nick whispered to him, and they moved on.
The air seemed to be moving around them. Not in the way a breeze might move it, but it pressed against them with is stale stench as though there wasn’t enough space for everything that was occupying it. Eric could feel his gut churning, watched a bead of sweat slip down Nick’s face as he planted the next brick. They both looked up to the sky, to the mountain of cocoons that had seemed so far away from the embankment where their friends were waiting. Eric could hear Jason in his ear, imploring them to turn back, but he and Nick needed only the swiftest of glances at each other to know that wasn’t an option. These fucking things - these monsters - that had waited down here in the darkness had to pay for what they had taken. An eye for an eye: for Clarice, for Joey, for Merwin, for all the soldiers that had died. For that poor skeleton who had wasted in the cell. For the explorers who killed themselves so that nothing buried here could reach the surface. They dropped low and made their way between two walls of rock, creeping ever closer to the nest of unhatched aliens. These things were flammable - dynamite at the base of this mound would create a pyre of screaming burning death. It had to be done. Eric had heard Jason say they were in the clear, but the air pressed tighter against his body and he knew. He put the UV light back in its holster and took out the flare, watching Nick with one eye, and dozens of descending aliens with the other. At least Rachel would get out. He knew Nick was thinking that too.
They walked as far from the dynamite as the hissing, snapping aliens would allow, and then Eric popped the flare.
“Sorry about fucking your wife, man. She fucking healed me though. She made it worth something to be alive.”
Eric nodded, unsure of what to say, but there wasn’t really anything to say anyway. He realised, belatedly, that he didn’t even know Dar’s last na-
*
Nick was talking. He shouldn’t be, but he was. They should be dead. He couldn’t hear what Nick was saying, his ears were ringing, but he could hear his voice, hear the stress, and see the fire above him. He had been right, a pyre was burning brightly, the cocoons turned to coffins. And then suddenly he was hoisted off his back and tossed aside like a rag-doll, hitting a wall with enough force to knock him momentarily unconscious again. When he opened his eyes, his vision was swimming, and something that should have been dead, but which was very much alive, was holding Nick high by the throat, squeezing the life out of him. Eric tried to stand but his limbs wouldn’t support him; tried to shout but he didn’t have enough air. Could only watch and wait, until the undead guardian was done with Nick, and his turn came…
Gunfire and voices, Kolchek pulling him to his feet as Salim drove a metal rod through the dead-man, Kolchek pulling him along, urging speed when Eric could barely get his feet beneath him, more gunfire, more voices, yelling and pushing and pulling, utter confusion as Eric tried and failed to understand what was happening. Surely the devil had taken him? But no - Jason and Salim had come to their rescue. Eric fell in behind Rachel as they ran, the ground shaking as parts of the vast ceiling came crashing down, as aliens flew screaming for safety, as they tripped and stumbled away from the violent explosions of the nest. Up and over, up and over and Eric promised himself if they got out alive he wouldn’t move for a week. They climbed onto a circular plateau and looked back, Jason making a quick headcount, and snapping “where the fuck is Salim?”
Eric whipped his head around, alarm crawling up his spine, but there was Dar, bent double to catch his breath, fresh blood seeping from his wound.
Jason tried his radio, the static whispering back. Nick and Rachel were ready to move - to run back to the elevator but Jason was livid. Salim was begging Jason to tell his son that he did everything possible to get back to him, and Jason spat venom at his team “Marine’s don’t leave a man behind. Semper Fucking Fi - you hear that Salim, you can tell your kid yourself, I’m coming to get you.”
He didn’t wait for any of them to so much as breath, jumping off the plateau and charging back the way they came. Eric’s head snapped to the right.
“Get to the elevator, make sure it’s ready to go.”
Nick looked like he wanted to argue, wanted to leave. But Rachel was the stronger. A smile danced about her lips and as she quipped out a ‘yes, sir’. Nick was left with no option but to follow her. Dar and Eric proceeded slower, Eric taking his time to try and inspect Dar’s wound while Dar tried to swat him away. He said something in Arabic, something about Salim, but Eric could only hope that reassuring him that Jason was a capable soldier was the answer he was looking for. He’d have to get Rachel to teach him at least some basic Arabic after this.
They reached the elevator where Rachel and Nick were waiting, Rachel standing in front of it like a ticket inspector at the fair. Nick had taken up a point position. Eric hustled Dar onto the elevator, pulled out his gun and mirrored Nick. The wait for Kolchek and Salim was painfully tense, the air was choked with dust and particles of god-only-knew-what, the ground was rumbling as though threatening the oncoming of a stampede, a hot breeze blew fetid wind in their faces and the ever present squeals of death plugged up their ears. Fear began to take a hold of Eric’s heart, pumping adrenaline, telling him to run, flee, hide. The sight of Kolchek and Salim running up to them almost pulled his legs out from underneath him. But nothing was chasing them, and nothing followed them up the elevator shaft. It had worked!
Eric grinned along with him team - with his friends - as Jason praised them - “the best of the best!” He threw his fist up, yelling OORAH! He felt the adrenaline rush through his system, turning to exhilaration. When Jason prompted Salim to join their battlecry, he turned to Dar. But he didn’t need Rachel translating “in your dreams” because it was written all over the Iraqi’s face. But he was smiling, and so Eric clapped him on the shoulder. A friendly gesture to make him feel included. Even if he was the teacher surrounded by a group of school kids.
When they came to the climbing ropes, Eric and Dar went first. Salim and Rachel followed, but when Nick and Kolchek’s turn came, Eric looked over the side to see Jason starting into the waterfall. Now was not the time to be overcome by awe. He couldn’t hear their conversation, but he hoped Kay was encouraging his friend to move on. When Clarice leapt screaming from the water, Eric felt an involuntary cry rip from his throat. It came from a place of guilt and fear, and he heard Rachel yell out CLARICE next to him, but she neither heard not heeded them, going instead for Kolchek. But even as she was, she was no match for two Marine’s hyped up on adrenaline and a desperate need to survive.
The run through the temple was treacherous. Stone fell from the ceiling as the ground moved constantly beneath them. Though nothing was following them, the threat of being crushed to death was ever present. But the massive shifting of the temple had yielded one excellent result that made Eric’s heart soar - a giant stone hand was raised to the sky, the hole above it close enough to reach with a rope - there was a way out - they were free! Eric pushed Dar up the giant arm - the other man was slowing down, the adrenaline wearing off and fatigue and blood loss replacing it. Nick had the rope, and watching him swing it up, Eric finally allowed himself to let go of some of the fear. To leave it behind in this place. He didn’t need it anymore, it wouldn’t help him in the sun - the sun the aliens could not survive in. As he climbed, he let it wash over his face, as he emerged into the fresh air and sunlight, a laugh bubbled up and burst from within him. An infectious laugh that passed between them, as they whooped and hollered and pretended to kiss the dirt. Kolchek had Salim in a crushing embrace. He could have sworn Kay was crying. Eric himself lay down flat next to Dar and just looked up. Breathed in. Watched as the sun…
…went dark.
Eclipse.
“RUN! Everybody to the huts!” Jason’s voice ripped through the fading light like a missile. Eric dragged Dar to his feet as they fled, sudden screaming pouring out of their escape, beating wings on their tails, the stench of death on their necks. Into the hut they ran, slamming the door, grabbing old furniture and barricading the windows. How many of them were armed? Kolchek, Kay and Dar had rifles, but Eric knew there were barely any bullets between them. A Glock in his own hands, and the UV light, Rachel had a pistol and Salim was left holding a stake - could they do this?
“How long’s a fucking eclipse go for?”
“Six minutes.” Why did he have to know that?
“We don’t have six fuckin’ minutes!”
“I CAN’T RUSH THE DAMN MOON!”
How they survived that fight, Eric could never remember. Whenever he tried to, red light would fill his mind, burning flesh would fill his nose, and his senses would be assaulted with the pain of trying to rip something out that the body begged to be forgetting. He remembered the first close screech, the echo of bullets, the sting of otherworldly blood. He remembered holding fire, and he remembered the sliver of yellow sunlight - and then opening his eyes, laying awkwardly on the floor, with Dar slumped next to him clenching and unclenching bloody fists. But try as he might he could pull nothing more from the recesses of his brain, and maybe that was for the best.
“They have to go.” Rachel’s voice. Eric looked up. She was talking to Jason but she was referring to both Salim and Dar. Ever the pragmatist - their new friends could not be here, had to be miles and miles away, before Evac showed up. Eric looked sideways at Dar, who looked back at him, nodded, and said something in Arabic. He looked to Rachel for translation.
“He said he better go and see a doctor.”
Eric felt a sick, sad chuckle tumble out of his mouth. He hoisted himself painfully to his feet and then, instead of dragging Dar as he’d become accustomed to doing, held out his hand. He got a raised eyebrow behind the plastic Prada knockoffs in return, but Dar took the pro-offered hand. Exiting the hut, Eric was just in time to see Salim knock away Jason’s awkward handshake and pull him into a hug. He looked at Dar, but a hug would have just caused the other man pain. Instead, they walked further away, to the edge of the circle of huts, and Eric offered his hand.
“You’re not so bad, as it turns out. Wish you’d minded your own damn business but then you’d have missed out on all of this.”
Dar dropped Eric’s hand, and squeezed his shoulder. He said something in Arabic which, when Eric tried to repeat it to Rachel later, was approximately translated to mean “if you are ever in Badra-Mandali, look me up. Quietly.”
They looked at each other for a moment, before Eric pointed to himself again.
“King. Eric King.”
Dar’s eyes glinted behind the darkened shades in a way that suggested he knew the word king, and thought it an amusing last name. He reached up and took off his beret, placing it with little obvious care on Eric’s head.
“Dar Basri.”
Eric heard two sets of footsteps behind him as Jason and Salim approached. Salim and Dar exchanged words, before Salim turned to Jason one more time.
“Thank you, my friend.”
“You wish Zain a happy birthday from me.”
There was something unspoken between them, but Dar was already walking away. Salim didn’t hurry to catch up with him, simply walking at his own pace. Jason and Eric stood for a long while, watching them leave before Jason turned to walk away.
“You think maybe we’re on the wrong side of the war, Colonel.”
“I think…” said Eric, adjusting the beret to sit at a jaunty angle, “I think I’m done with the military. After this, I’m going to be a scientist.”
#hoathemeweek#hoathememonth#hoathememonth22#submitmay22#Eric King#Dar Basri#House of Ashes#HOA#fanfiction#daric
37 notes
·
View notes
Text
Will of the hill
Gosh, I never thought I would finish this text. I’m sorry it took so long, and truth be told, I don’t know when I will be able to propose something else to you all.
I’m still working on the chapter three of my fiction, but it is taking me an eternity to figure what to put in it.
Sooo... For the hoathememonth proposed by @supermassivebigbang (thank you again for the opportunity), I will have at least wrote one thing down. It’s a sequel to another prompt from the hoathemeweek: Venomous; features a human!Jason and creature!Salim. Hope you like it!
PS: You can find the first text here.
TW: Still mention of suicidal’s thought.
**
When his eyes opened, an indescribable feeling ran through his spine. The sun bright and shinning outside his room made his vision blurry for a couple of seconds. Despite being in his bed, covered by light sheets, his head span as a disoriented growl escaped his lips. Jason’s eyes fluttered while he slowly recovered control over his own body. He felt heavy for one second, then everything disappeared. In a blink of an eye, the young man sat on his bed, eyes wide opened and mind confused.
“What the…” Incomprehension swallowed the rest of his words before he gazed at the room; it felt like slow-motion.
He was home.
He was alive.
Jason blinked then put a hand on his short hair, unsure of what to do. He abruptly tousled his brown stands as he replayed yesterday in his mind. Pictures and words mixed like wild animals inside his head; impossible to tame. Another groaned fled his mouth, then he closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
I wondered all day if I would die. I called Mels. I went out ‘cause I needed to breath and. And I reached the hill. I reached the hill, thought I would jump into the sea and…
His fingers tensed upon his head as his expression darken.
“Somethin’ stopped me.” His mouth finally whispered as an indistinctive shape appeared in his thoughts.
A human. No. A creature. A creature with antlers and burning eyes.
Seconds after seconds, the contours of it cleared and invaded his mind. He couldn’t have dreamed this thing, this kind of God who saved his life with a kiss. Jason’s hands warmed against his hair as he remembered the taste of those lips, the comfort and calming which followed, but also this masculine and gentle voice against his ears; I couldn’t have dreamed it.
He silently repeated those words, this statement, like a litany until the image filled his whole body with a warm and irrepressible desire. I couldn’t have dreamed it.
This face, so human and uncanny at the same time, danced in his thought. Like a deer who bounced in an endless forest before a hunter, this thing tried to flee but Jason felt himself running after it; but not to kill it, only to admire his beauty for eternity. I couldn’t have dreamed it.
Suddenly, the young man jumped on his feet and rushed out of his bedroom. Outside, the magnificent weather smiled and hummed at the men awoke and still asleep. Jason reached his bathroom, splashed some water on his face but he couldn’t ban the figure he met last night. When he looked at his reflection, at his appease features caressed by plenty drops of water, he knew it couldn’t have been a simple and stupid dream. When he noticed the clothes he wore, the same he had put on yesterday, his heart started beating faster. It was real.
Seconds after seconds this thought became clearer in him, like evidence his brain tried to hide for an obscure reason. Or maybe the creature did something to erase himself from Jason’s life. How should I know?!
He sighed loudly, then his eyes fell on a shining object left here in the dark and the loneliness last night. His gun.
When he decided to end everything yesterday, he wanted to put a bullet in his head. His fingers closed around the metal, ceased it, and placed the barrel on his temple. Time slowed, just like his heart beats, but nothing happened. He hadn’t the guts to shoot himself; he couldn’t.
Infuriated by his own cowardice, Jason almost threw the thing against the mirror when his sister called. And then, he left his house, walked for a moment, and reached the hill.
He went there and met the beautiful thing who kissed him. Good thin’ I didn’t shoot myself.
And now, this gun nor the end awakened something in him.
He wanted to live.
He wanted to meet the creature once more.
“Fuck.”
He rushed in the living room, didn’t notice how it smelt musty nor the piles of empty bottles of beers covering the floor. His hands grabbed the keys, and he ran outside, with only one figure in his mind.
With those wonderful burning eyes watching over him.
۩๑ ๑۩
He has run for an eternity, at least it felt like it when he finally reached the hill. The sun was high in the sky, his beams licking the horizon and the sea as the waves moved slowly, almost peacefully in front of Jason. The distinct smell of trees rode the air, and found the man’s skin until it invaded his whole body. He felt like the forest lived inside his heart and soul, and the birds’ singing wasn’t strangers anymore; it became his.
Yet this time, the hill didn’t call him, nor tempt him. Jason looked at it with his dark and deep gaze however his legs didn’t try to take him there. Not anymore. Like the creature promised last night, his demons have run away. Only him remained, straight and strong before the nature.
But the man who saved his soul wasn’t there.
Jason remained, yes; he remained alone.
He turned to face the forest, and nothing went out of the shadows formed by the trees and the bushes. His ears never caught the approaching of someone else, someone out of Jason’s world.
Seconds, minutes then hours passed without a single change. The sun fell from his seat and slowly yielded it to the white moon. With it came hundreds of starts, small and shinning, unnamed and well-know by the man’s eyes.
He watched it invaded the blue then black painting above him. Beautiful, the only word which crossed his mind as he sat on the comfortable grass.
“Isn’t it?” Jason almost jumped on his feet when the voice caressed his ears.
In a blink of an eye, the creature he saw last night was at his side. The young man looked upon him, pupils full of admiration. It hadn’t changed a bit; those same burning eyes lightened his brown skin, massive and wonderful antlers overhung short and black hair; but this time, Jason took a minute to examine his whole body. The shape seemed more human than he imagined, even if the skin looked like wood. Some runes ran on his arms and legs, but the American didn’t recognize any of it. As his eyes observed the drawing, they noticed the lack of clothes. Jason almost blushed, but orange and yellow leaves magnificently hugged the creature’s curves. Beautiful too, he thought with a soft smile spreading on his lips.
The spirit, or whatever he was, titled his head and glanced at him. “Am I?”
“Yes.” Jason instantly answered before the other sat at his left.
They looked at each other for a while, or at least Jason’s thought because the suns burning on the creature’s face didn’t have any pupils.
Slowly, the birds’ song vanished and only the lullaby of the wind whistled on the hill. Then, the creature asked softly: “Did you came here to watch the sunrise once more?”
Jason shrugged his shoulders then his cheeks fluttered as he shyly responded: “I only came to see ya.”
“Me?” The other wondered while keeping a stern face. “Why?”
“’Cause yer… Nevermind, it’s stupid.” The creature never replied, and the human never tried to explain the feelings burning inside him. The idea of ruining the mood with silly thoughts was strong enough to keep him quiet.
After a moment, they both stared at the sky, listening to the wind caressing leaves and grass with its soft breathing. The stars and the moon lightened the hill, as Jason’s head fell on the other’s shoulder; he felt whole and appease. As if my place was supposed to be there since the beginnin’.
The spirit placed his cheek against his head, and Jason’s eyes closed as a million of dreams kissed his mind.
۩๑ ๑۩
Next morning, he awoke in his bed like he did before.
Despite his best efforts to understand what happened, only confusion and non-rational explanations ran inside him. But when he finally managed to jump on his feet, he banished incomprehension and interrogations with a subtle hand’s wave. His mother always thought he was stupid, and Jason was far beyond trying to prove her wrong.
Truth be told, only the creature’s opinion mattered to him now.
And he knew, deep inside his soul, he could meet him once more tonight.
His eyes glared at the window, then a soft smile stretched his lips; when the moon rises, I’ll see ya.
۩๑ ๑۩
Two weeks passed since the spirit and his first encounter. Every night, Jason met him on the hill. Every morning, he awoke in his home; impatient for the night to come so he could enjoy the creature’s presence once again.
They never spoke too much, however the younger man didn’t mind the silence. After a while, he become accustomed to the gentle breath of the wind and the lullaby of the sea, licking the bottom of the hill. He enjoyed the environment, everything night brought in its wake. He liked being here to watch the world turning dark and rest under the vigilance of the white moon.
Tonight was no exception. Despite the rain falling on his cold body and the thunder rumbling upon his head, Jason liked this hill more than anything else. As the waves of the sea grew stronger, the human closed his eyes and became the water. He felt the movement of every drop, because he was it. Then he transformed into clouds, shivered as it was circling the hill. He became the eye of the storm.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed his. His eyelid opened and his pupils lovingly gazed at the creature standing in front of him. Jason placed his fingers on the spirit’s cheeks and watched him rubbing against his palm.
“I want more.” He abruptly admitted while the thunder echoed upon them.
The other glanced at him, face still inexpressive. “Why?”
“I don’t want to wait the night to see and touch ya.”
The creature asked once again. “Why?”
And Jason drew himself closer until their forehead caressed each other. “I love you.”
He was about to kiss the spirit when his lips meet his wooden hand. “What would you give to be with me for the rest of your life?” The question surprised him, but something inside his soul was waiting for it.
“My heart.” Jason pressed kisses against the creature’s hand and for the first time, he heard giggle. “If I take your heart, you will die.”
“If I have to die to be with ya, I would.”
His eyes closed, as the storm grew stronger around them. Although Jason didn’t mind its rain, nor its fury; as long as the creature sticked by his side, he wouldn’t care about his soaked clothes or about sickness taking over him.
When he opened his mouth, the spirit preempted his words. “You can’t become like me, Jason.”
“Please. I can’t live any longer without…”
The wooden hand shut him, and when his watched at the other’s face once more, he saw deep and black pupils watching over him. “But I can become like you, if this is what you really want.”
“I do.” Jason grabbed his fingers between his hands and kissed each one as he repeated softly: “I do. I really do.”
The spirit leaned closer, put his other hand on the human hips then murmured gently. “So do I, Jason.”
Their lips met, warm invaded Jason’s body and everything went black.
۩๑ ๑۩
Jason awoke in his bed, like he did every morning since he met the creature, but he felt someone at his side.
When he turned his head, his eyes met a man’s round face, and he knew it was the spirit sleeping beside him. The antlers were gone, like the wood and the leaves, but his heart knew it couldn’t be anyone else. The younger man smiled before he drew himself closer and placed his fingers on the other body’s curves. The skin was warm and soft against his hand.
The man’s groaned softly then his eyes opened slowly, almost in slow motion, and Jason fell in love with the black orbs which looked at him.
“Hi.” He said while his fingers interlaced with the other’s.
“Hi.” The man answered with a soft smile.
They laughed like innocent children, then kissed under the welcoming sun.
THE END
#hoathememonth#hoathememonth22#sacrificemay22#jason kolchek#salim othman#jalim#Cute ending for cute boys#I would have like to do an entire fiction of this concept but I didn't think I could match this challenge#hope it's good anyway
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
This’ll probably be the only day I participate in for @supermassivebigbang’s theme week, just bc of a lack of motivation BUT everyone else’s entries are so fun!!
#Keep up the good work fellas!!#also this was super fun to draw :))))#really loving these vibes :))))#hoathemeweek#handsfriday1st#house of ashes#the dark pictures house of ashes#hoa#hoa fanart#jason kolchek#nick kay#kaychek#digital art#artists on tumblr
120 notes
·
View notes
Text
Play Me Something, Mr Othman
Friday Prompt: Hands
Inspired by this post (and @erzsebetrosztoczy encouraged it) I wanted to write Jalim in a period-drama setting so badly (because, of course, touching hands is basically sex in this kind of environment).
But because I’m not talented enough to draw Jason and Salim in period dress, here you go:
Me: I want Jalim in period costume
Mom: We have Jalim in period costume at home.
Jalim in period costume at home:
(Part 2 of this fic here)
***
The first time Mr Othman saw Mr Kolchek, he was brooding in a corner.
Mr Othman had been forced to ask Lady King, the host of the soiree, who the gentleman in black was that felt the need to stare everyone down.
‘Him? Ah, that’s Mr Kolchek,’ she’d replied.
‘Mr Kolchek?’
Lady King nodded. ‘I’m surprised he’s lasted the evening, truth be told. He usually drinks the entirety of the bar and has his coach collect him early.’
The next time Mr Othman saw Mr Kolchek at one of Lady King’s parties, he had migrated from the corner to a section of the chaise by the piano. Mr Othman had noticed how his eyes had trailed over the silent keys, before he had stood and knocked back his drink. As Mr Kolchek moved swiftly by the piano, one of his hands moved to allow his long fingers to drift across the top of the keys like a soft breeze.
And then he was gone.
The third time Mr Othman saw Mr Kolchek, he was back in the same spot on the chaise by the piano. This time, Mr Othman moved to seat himself at the piano, pushing back the tails of his green dinner jacket and clearing his throat as he made himself comfortable. He didn’t raise his eyes to Mr Kolchek’s as he began to play a pleasant tune, but he could feel the man’s eyes upon him as the gentle music began to fill the room.
After a moment, Mr Othman said pleasantly, ‘Do you enjoy music, Mr Kolchek?’
The man straightened in surprise. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘The hostess was kind enough to provide it.’
‘Of course she was,’ said Mr Kolchek gruffly, as he raised his glass of brandy to his lips. His eyes moved to trail over Mr Othman’s hands on the piano keys as the tempo increased.
‘But I fear you didn’t answer my question,’ Mr Othman continued brightly over the music.
‘Do I enjoy music?’ Mr Kolchek demanded. ‘What kind of question is that? Is there anyone who doesn’t enjoy music?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Mr Othman mused. ‘Some may prefer the musical notes of poetry on a page.’
‘I’m not one for reading.’
‘But can you, at least, read music?’
‘I –’ Mr Kolchek hesitated, and tapped his glass with his finger. ‘I’ve been trying.’
‘Would you like me to further your education?’ Mr Othman asked, raising his eyes now as his fingers continued to play the finale of the tune. The final note sang out through the candlelit room, as the conversation continued lively around them. Mr Othman smiled and patted the space beside him on the velvet piano stool.
Mr Kolchek hesitated. Mr Othman maintained his gaze expectantly until the man stood with an audible huff and then slid onto the seat beside Mr Othman. Their elbows grazed while Mr Kolchek adjusted his black evening jacket.
Mr Othman smiled to himself as the man settled beside him, and then picked up another tune.
‘This piece is called Fidelis by the composer Semper. Have you heard it?’
‘No, I haven’t heard of Fidelis.’
‘The music, or the word?’
Mr Kolchek’s eyes rested on him. ‘The music,’ he said pointedly. ‘Just because I don’t enjoy reading doesn’t mean I don’t know what words means.’
‘I agree. You appear quite eloquent.’
‘Eloquent?’ Mr Kolchek asked, tilting his head quizzically.
‘Yes, it means –’ Mr Othman faltered as he saw the shadow of a smirk on the man’s face.
‘Ah. You are jesting with me.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Mr Kolchek quietly, as his fingers drifted over the keys.
‘Would you like to play?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t.’
‘I could teach you.’
‘I don’t think the other guests would take kindly to the noise we’d be making.’
‘Or perhaps, together, we’d be an unstoppable force,’ Mr Othman remarked, the keys tinkling under his fingers.
Mr Kolchek drew his eyes slowly to him. Their arms were ever so slightly pressed together as they sat on the piano bench.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Kolchek softly. ‘Perhaps we would be.’
They sat in companionable silence for a moment.
‘Where did you learn how to play?’ Mr Kolchek enquired.
‘My grandfather taught me.’
‘Hmph,’ said Mr Kolchek. ‘My granddaddy taught me how to drink.’ As though to demonstrate, he knocked back his drink smoothly. Mr Othman watched his slim fingers drift along the stem of the glass as he placed it down on top of the piano.
‘It’s a worthwhile skill to have,’ Mr Othman mused, his eyes still on Mr Kolchek’s hand. ‘Especially at functions such as these.’
Mr Kolchek laughed at that.
It was the first time he’d seen Mr Kolchek smile, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. This close, Mr Othman could see the faint freckles on his skin. He found himself smiling, too. But as soon as the smile had appeared, it faded, as the man now looked solemnly down at the keys.
Mr Othman turned back to the piano.
‘Perhaps something a little simpler,’ he mused.
‘Simple, like me?’ Mr Kolchek pressed.
‘Now, I did not mean –’
He turned to see Mr Kolchek smiling again. Mr Othman rolled his eyes.
‘For someone who spends all his time with a smile on his face, you certainly aren’t too quick to pick up on jokes,’ Mr Kolchek observed.
‘How do you know I spend all my time with a smile on my face?’ Mr Othman asked pointedly.
Mr Kolchek’s smile slid from his face and he cleared his throat. ’I – from what I’ve observed, you seem to enjoy these parties.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘No.’
‘Then why do you attend?’
Mr Kolchek didn’t answer. He looked down at the keys and pressed one experimentally instead. A bright, tinkling note rang out.
‘Don’t stop,’ said Mr Othman softly.
Mr Kolchek turned to frown at him, but Mr Othman gave him an encouraging nod. Mr Kolchek pressed the key again, and then continued to play the note at a steady pace. Mr Othman then joined him with a deep chord from the opposite side of the piano. ‘Now press the key two above,’ he instructed. ‘At the same time.’
Mr Kolchek slid another finger onto the next key, as instructed, and continued to maintain the rhythm. Mr Othman’s other hand slid onto the piano to pay a chord close to Mr Kolchek’s arm.
‘Now your other hand,’ Mr Othman said.
Mr Kolchek raised his left hand and hovered it uncertainly over the keys.
‘Continue,’ said Mr Othman, stopping his own chords now to reach his hand up. His fingers wrapped gently around Mr Kolchek’s hand as he slowly directed his fingers where to press. Mr Kolchek fumbled on the note he had been maintaining but then swiftly brought it back. ‘There,’ said Mr Othman triumphantly in his ear. ‘Now play those two together. Keep going –’
Mr Kolchek continued with the very basic notes he was pressing on repeat, but his face had lightened, looking suddenly enraptured, as Mr Othman began a more complicated rhythm on his side of the piano. A few of the other guests had turned to look now, as Mr Othman and Mr Kolchek continued their piece. When Mr Othman declared the final note, Mr Kolchek continued to press his keys, so the former gently took his hand as indication to stop. Their eyes met as sparse applause rang out around them.
Mr Othman beamed at Mr Kolchek.
‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Not bad at all.’
Mr Kolchek held his gaze. His warm golden hue blazed into the man’s own and then a small flush began to appear on Mr Kolchek’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and said quickly, ‘Please excuse me. I think I will retire early.’
Mr Othman watched in surprise as he pushed himself from the piano stool and swept from the room.
*
No doubt in some ploy to stop Mr Kolchek from leaving early this time, Lady King had been kind enough to provide rooms for all her guests so that they could stay the night. Mr Kolchek stood on the small balcony of his room, now, which was adjoined with the neighbouring room’s balcony doors. The two rooms shared the balcony, but Mr Kolchek was relieved to see that nobody else was outside when he moved to the stone balustrade and took a deep breath. He inhaled the cold night air, closing his eyes as he felt the gentle breeze tickle his dark hair. The evening was uncomfortably humid, the air thick.
Mr Kolchek sensed a storm coming.
A door opened behind him. Mr Kolchek turned quickly and saw Mr Othman move through the adjoining bedroom door. Their eyes met in surprise.
‘I did not know you were assigned the room beside mine,’ Mr Othman said, hovering with his hand on the door handle.
‘Nor did I,’ said Mr Kolchek.
‘What would you have done if you’d known?’
‘Requested a different room.’
Mr Othman stared at him, but then his expression grew soft.
‘Ah. You’re jesting again.’
Mr Kolchek grinned.
It was that, perhaps, that made Mr Othman close the door behind him and approach the balcony, rather than retreat back inside. He came to stand beside the man as they looked out into the night, at the beautiful colours of the gardens below, so vibrant even when lit only by a soft blanket of moonlight.
‘You left in quite a hurry,’ Mr Othman mused. Mr Kolchek was stood facing the night, both of his hands laying upon the stone balcony. Mr Othman observed them as he spoke from beside him. ‘I was concerned.’
‘Concerned? About me? Why?’
‘I was fearful our music lesson made you uncomfortable.’
It was a moment before Mr Kolchek replied, still maintaining his gaze on the clouded sky across from them. ‘Uncomfortable, yes, but not for the reasons you might think.’
Mr Othman turned then, frowning at him. ‘What do you mean?’
Mr Kolchek clutched the stone more tightly. Mr Othman could see his knuckles turning whiter with the force of it. He didn’t answer.
‘Is it because you do not wish to be here?’ Mr Othman tried. ‘Lady King remarked that you always leave early. As though you wish for nothing other than to escape.’ Mr Othman moved closer to the balcony – closer to the man beside him – and rested his own hands on the cold stone now. ‘Why do you always attend if you hate them so much?’
‘Because you always attend them,’ Mr Kolchek said smoothly.
Mr Othman stared at him. The man’s eyes were still fixed on the night sky, but he could now see his jaw tightening, a gentle flush on his cheeks. His long dark lashes lowered slowly.
Mr Othman said nothing. But he moved his finger, ever so slightly, to the left, to touch Mr Kolchek’s, to connect. He felt the man’s stance tighten beside him at the contact, but then his own finger moved to graze his in return. Slowly, his whole hand moved – the skin soft, warm – to slip over the top of Mr Othman’s and then he held it tight.
A flash of lightning illuminated the night sky and Mr Othman jumped as a crack of thunder unleashed around them. His hand shot on instinct from beneath Mr Kolchek’s and he took a hurried step back. Mr Kolchek turned to him, now, looking at him in concern.
‘Forgive me,’ he said quickly. ‘I should not have –’
‘No,’ Mr Othman breathed. ‘No, it was not that, it was –’
As though in response, the sky unleashed another crack of thunder and a small pattering of rain began to fall on their heads.
‘You’re afraid of thunder?’
Mr Othman nodded. The rain began to fall more heavily on them. Mr Kolchek stepped forward and removed his jacket; he brought it around the top of Mr Othman’s head and moved his body close against him beneath it. ‘Now there is nothing to be afraid of,’ he said quietly. Mr Othman looked at him in surprise. But then he huddled closer under the shelter of his jacket, as the heat from Mr Kolchek’s body met his own. Mr Othman raised his own hand to help Mr Kolchek steady the jacket above both their heads. He rested his other against the man’s chest.
As thunder shook the air once more, Mr Othman dared to rest his forehead against Mr Kolchek’s. He closed his eyes and breathed, ‘Stay close.’
Mr Kolchek pulled the coat tighter around them. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
#hoathemeweek#HandsFriday1st#hoa fic#jalim#jason kolchek#salim othman#dark pictures anthology house of ashes#house of ashes#dark pictures house of ashes#jason x salim#hoa#jason and salim#supermassive games
131 notes
·
View notes
Text
I SWEAR i was gonna make something presentable but my third shot hit me like a fucking freight train. So. Yea just this. Maybe I’ll color it later.
131 notes
·
View notes
Photo
hello sinners, i finally got off my ass and pulled something together for @supermassivebigbang and hoa theme week. today’s theme is domesticity~ more thoughts, full image of bruised bottom maid jason, and a link to the full image of the OTHER maid jason + special hairy guest below the cut
you find the rest of their good time at my twitter here
i’m gonna say this takes place in my home with you universe, because that’s where all the kinky sex is happening. also, i’m in love with the idea of jason having to clean up after salim, cuz this divorced dilf doesn’t know how to fucking do his laundry on a regular basis
except sometimes jason doesn’t do house chores to make a point (or just to be a brat) and he’s gotta be shown what happens when you misbehave 8)
#hoathemeweek#DomesticityMonday28th#jalim#manny art#this is all consensual btw#also i am gonna keep drawing salim as a big ol' bear every chance i get#i forgot jason's freckles but i don't care anymore
103 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wednesday, March 30th: INSECURITIES
Salim the lovebirb: *insecure*
Jason the lovebirb: BUT YOU MY SNACKSNACK 😍
Salim the lovebirb: 😊😊😊
(this was, in its entirety, done for and inspired by my muse @kolchekyourweapons who makes my days brighter simply by screaming at me)
#hoathemeweek#insecuritiesWednesday30th#jalim#jason kolchek#salim othman#house of ashes#jason kolchek x salim othman#THEY ARE LOVBERBS PLEASE#kolchekyourweapons
88 notes
·
View notes
Text
Domesticity
Jalim fic
"Jason, are you coming already?" Salim shouted, turning back to the living room from the kitchen counter.
"A minute Sugar!" He heard Jason's voice from upstairs, right before something rattled above. Salim shot an unsure look to the stairs, wondering what idea might have gotten his husband, but after a moment he turned back, cutting potatoes.
"Dinner won't make itself…" He mumbled to himself. "I was the one doing breakfast too…"
In the oven, a golden brown chicken was getting its well earned tanning-time, slowly but surely the Basra soup was heating up with the spices.
Salim originally planned a simple meal for dinner, maybe just some soup or meat, but Jason insisted on making multiple dishes, because he wanted to learn more recipes from Salim.
“He was the one who wanted to cook, now who’s actually making everything?” Salim continued his little rambing to the potatoes on the counter.
Shortly after he was done with the vegetables Salim heard the quick footsteps of the younger man, almost jumping down from the stairs.
He looked back above his shoulders and saw the American, smiling like an idiot, holding a bottle of champagne up.
Lowering his gaze Salim shot an annoyed look at the younger man.
“What’s that for?” He asked, knife pointing at the glass. “You know that–”
“I got some kiddo champaign.” Jason explained, his voice low and sweet, which made Salim’s heart ache. “It’s not like the real stuff, but if I’m determined enough I can still get drunk even from this.” He added with a chuckle, stepping closer to the Iraqi.
Salim turned back to the cutting board, while Jason placed the glass beside them, hooking one arm around his lover's waist.
“Ready for duty, Lieutenant.” Jason sneaked up beside Salim, hips touching, he tightened his hold on the older man for a moment, kissing him on the cheek.
“Glad to hear it, because the soup needs more seasoning and you can start chopping some onions.”
“Wasn’t here for half an hour and ya already wanna make me cry?”
“You did this to yourself Jarhead.” Salim grinned, watching Jason huffing as he searched for another knife.
“Ya know I’ll put on some music, this silence will kill me, with the onion chopping.” He said, jogging back to the living room. A few moments later a melody filled the room with jingling and a slow guitar play.
Salim tilted his head up, listening closely to the song; to Jason’s humming.
“I think I know this song.” He pondered.
Jason came back to his side, standing at the counter, but the slight swaying of his torso let Salim know, his husband was already distracted from cooking.
“...from the day on I made a vow…” Jason sang quietly; shoulder inching closer and closer to Salim’s warm skin. “I’ll be there when you want me some way, somehow.”
When the next line came, Salim caught himself mumbling the words along with Jason.
“‘Cause baby, there ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no valley low enough, ain’t no river wide enough…”
As Jason said the words he turned to Salim, gently taking his knife holding hand, leaving the vegetables. He brought the older man’s hand to his face, soft lips grazing the skin on his knuckles as he mumbled into the warm flesh.
“To keep me from getting to you, baby.”
Salim only saw Jason’s brown eyes, the tenderness and adoration in them, as he pulled him from the counter to the wider ally, one hand holding Salim’s, the other on his middle, he pressed the older man to his chest, leading him on the beat. One leg, then another, then another, swaying, and spinning to the music.
“.. My love is alive, way down in my heart, although we are miles apart.” Jason leaned down to Salim’s shoulder, pressing his forehead under the Iraqis jaw. Salim almost melted to the gesture right there, his arms locking around Jason’s neck. “If you ever need a helping hand I'll be there on the double, just as fast as I can…Don’t you know…”
Salim leaned back, hands rising to cup Jason’s face as he murmured into his lips.
“ That there ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no valley low enough, ain’t no river wide enough to keep me from getting to you, baby. I love you Jason.” He whispered, tilting his head for a final kiss, gently holding Jason’s head, as he kissed back.
“And I love you, Salim.” Declared the younger man, smiling into the kiss. “Now let’s get back to work, before the dinner is officially burnt to coals.”
“Good idea Jarhead.” Salim nodded, giving another peck at last, before they turned back to the kitchen. Maybe Salim won’t be so angry at Jason, for being late from helping, after all.
#the dark pictures anthology: house of ashes#dark pictures house of ashes#house of ashes#the house of ashes#hoa#jalim#jason#jason kolchek#salim othman#salim#hoathemeweek#DomesticityMonday28th#I GIGGLED ALL THE WAY WHILE WRITING THIS BECAUSE JUST IMAGINE THEM WITH THIS SONG IM SOFT IM MELTING IM IN LOVE#I was listening to the song and then it hit me like OHHH JALIM JALIM JALIM IT ISSSS#my writing
67 notes
·
View notes
Text
Feast
A little Eric x Dar erotic ficlet for my fellow canoe-mates @the-girl-who-flies @cupofangst & @ill-heart
HOA Theme Week 3: Pin-Up
Eric wasn’t sure how he’d gotten here. They’d been talking about old erotic art, judgementally as usual, laughing despite the fact that neither of them possessed a single drop of artistic talent. And now he was kneeling over Dar’s face, on shaking knees, with his hands planted on Dar’s soft stomach. Dar had one hand under his right knee, supporting him, and the other on his ass, spreading him and holding him in place.
“Dar…” Eric breathed out, involuntarily, as his lover circled the tight rim of his hole with a practiced tongue, sending sensations of electricity up Eric’s spine. He tried not to rock backwards, conscious of his own weight and imbalance, but his resolve was melting away by the second. They’d done this dance before, many times, but it never ceased to thrill Eric how Dar could be so gentle with him. He’d experienced the man’s intolerance first hand, his rigid subservience to his own growth, and his bizarre brand of road rage. But with Eric, when they were making love, he could be so sweet.
<My King> was the whispered returned, breath ghosting across Eric’s sensitive skin, making him shiver. Dar’s little pet name for him. Eric, for his part, couldn’t help but call his partner “Sir”.
He could feel the kiss of Dar’s laughter as Eric leant forward, moving his hands to either side of Dar’s thighs on the bed. His lips parted as his breathing deepened, watching Dar’s thick cock twitch in arousal. He wanted to touch it - to stroke it or put his mouth around it, but his body felt otherwise occupied. His head was too heavy and his legs were too weak. Dar licked a stripe over his hole, then nibbled on the delicate flesh and Eric moaned, pushing back unconsciously, begging for more.
“You feel good, hmm?”
“So good.”
Eric clenched his fists in the bedsheets when Dar pushed his tongue into his ass, scarcely aware of the whimper that escaped him. Dar laughed again, encouraged, tightening his grip on Eric’s knee, limiting his movements. An obnoxiously loud gasp that dissolved into a filthy groan ripped itself from Eric as Dar began to fuck him with his tongue. His left hand automatically went to his aching prick, jerking erratically into his hand as he fucked back on Dar’s face, all care and caution gone, turned on behind comprehension.
Eric was panting now, keening, his back arched, eyes unfocused and unseeing. He felt far too sensitive, pins and needles at the base of his spine, Dar’s fingers leaving bruises on his pale skin. His head dropped again, so close to Dar’s cock, reaching with a desperate tongue to taste it. Dar grunted as Eric lapped and suckled at the tip of his prick haphazardly; slowing his movements but increasing his pressure - draining Eric’s composure and control until Eric was a whimpering, drooling mess. Eric could feel his hips stuttering too late, squeezing his eyes shut as he came across Dar’s stomach, tears dropping onto the honeyed skin.
When Eric opened his eyes again, Dar was sitting next to him, lazily jerking himself off. Something about his posture and the golden sunlight flooding in from the window made Eric’s heart shiver in his chest.
“You look beautiful,” he said, voice low and husky from overuse, reaching over to gently rub Dar’s tip. “My own personal pin-up.”
<Take a picture, then.>
“Yeah?”
Dar ran his fingers over Eric’s, thrusting lightly into his touch. Eric bit his lip, and pulled his hand back, rolling over to retrieve Dar’s old fashioned Polaroid camera from the bedside table. Dar watched, still rubbing himself, as Eric took the photo. The picture whirred out, and Eric put it face-down on the bed.
“Like Titanic.” Dar teased.
“Yeah,” Eric sat up, and held out the camera, pointing it at their faces as his kissed his lover, before laying back and setting the second photo next to the first. He gently pushed Dar’s hand away from his cock as he handed him the camera, stroking the thick shift and circling the head with his thumb.
“Paint me like one of your French girls.”
#PinupMay2022#HOAthememonth#HOAthememonth22#Dar Basri#Eric King#Daric#hoathemeweek#HOA#House of Ashes#fanfiction#Note: Eric isn't wearing his prosthetic leg#HC: Dar hates new technology
35 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hands
For day 5 of the theme week.
Pairing: Jason/Salim
Characters: Jason Kolchek, Salim Othman
Rating: Explicit.
Words: 1445
Summary: It’s just smut of Jason giving Salim a handjob and, later on, fingering him. With a teaspoon of Jason’s dirty talk. Also, brief mention of Salim wanting a smoke.
The bed covers have warmed to his body heat, soft against the skin of his lower back. His shirt, the one article of clothing he still wears, is crumpled up around his chest. His hands clutch at Jason's shoulders, at the fabric of his top, at any part of Jason he can reach.
The bulge straining Jason's boxers tempts him, as does the curve of his mouth, but those are sadly out of reach. For now. Salim locks that knowledge away and, despite what Jason may have planned, intends to pay both a lot of attention later.
The rest of him lies bare as Jason kneels between his legs, stroking him. Jason's eyes are sharp and alert, roaming over his body to take in every reaction with a hungry look.
To think this all started because he'd wanted a smoke.
Earlier, he'd plucked a cigarette from a pack of his favorite brand. Before he had a chance to even light it, Jason had stared at him, promising him an alternate outlet.
The thought leaves him as Jason strokes up with a lubed hand, thumb circling over the spot just beneath his head. Every part of his body draws taut, responding to the way Jason indulges him. His mind loses focus on everything else, until even the walls of their room turn hazy in his peripheral vision.
"Told you I had something better," Jason says, smirking down at him.
The tight ring Jason forms with one hand slides back down his cock, while the other caresses his thigh. One touch is fast and firm, the other slow and gentle. Both are wonderfully warm, touching him just how he wants to be, because Jason knows how to make his body shiver.
During all their times together, Jason had mapped out every part of him. With spread fingers, he'd trail his hands down his chest and waist, or he'd brush the back of a finger over the sensitive side of his neck, or he'd even keep three fingers stuffed inside of him, utterly still except for the very tips that kept rubbing over his prostate and milking him dry.
"Oh, habibi," he breathes out, his eyes slipping shut as he sighs from how he feels both inside and out. "Keep going," he says in Arabic, before his mind rewires, translating the words so he can repeat them in English.
Jason lets out a laugh at that. It sounds snarky, but when Salim opens his eyes to narrow slits — it's all he can manage — he sees enough. Jason's cheeks are red with a bright flush, and he looks smitten, utterly wrapped up in Salim's responses. It's like all the pleasure coursing through his body, all this heat and friction and coiling pressure, he shares with Jason.
"I ain't stopping, darling. Don't you worry," Jason promises.
The hand on his thigh moves higher, running up his stomach and sneaking under his shirt to knead his chest. Jason's fingers fondle his pec, massaging the flesh and inching him closer to the edge with every slow move of his hands.
Salim's eyebrows draw up in pleasure, head falling back into the pillow as he's lost to the sensation of Jason's other hand continuing to slide over his cock.
"You're so fucking gorgeous, Salim," Jason says while his hand moves up to cup his cheek, thumb drawing over his lips. His voice is low and reverent as his hand trails down his body. The other keeps pumping his cock, pausing to tease the head every couple of strokes. "I always want to put my hands all over you."
"Yes," he rumbles, moving his head in a slow nod and inviting Jason to do just that. To keep doing just that.
Even if they're calloused, he loves how Jason's hands look, with their broad base and strong, lean fingers. Years of hard work and responsibility are built into those hands. More than that, he loves how talented they are. Wielding whatever object Jason grasps with deft movements. Ready to pull him up when he needs it. And happy to touch him where he wants it most.
Jason breathes in sharply, adding a twist as his hand slides back up his erection with a slick sound. "Always want to jerk you off, over and over, 'til you're a shaking goddamn mess."
He feels himself twitch against Jason's palm at that, the vulgar words burning through him. With four decades under his belt, he doubts he can still keep up with such a pace, but Jason drawls an explicit scenario that his mind latches onto. He can't help but imagine himself, wrung out, body heavy with exhaustion and gratification, fully at Jason's mercy.
It drags a shaky moan from him, his legs parting wider at the idea.
Jason hums in response, soothing his hand down his waist one final time before withdrawing. "I'm gonna open you up with my fingers, fuck you 'til you can't come anymore. How's that sound?"
His tongue feels thick in his mouth, forcing him to swallow before answering. "Sounds like you should hurry."
Jason's lips curve up in a fond smile. "You got it."
The stroking pauses, but it's so Jason can lean in for a deep kiss, so Salim doesn't complain. Instead he clings to Jason's shirt, keeping him close for a moment as he enjoys the taste of Jason's lips against his own.
When Jason pulls back and Salim blinks his eyes open again, he looks up to find Jason staring at him. In a blatant move, Jason drags the blade of his tongue over two of his fingers before he swallows them down to the base, sliding them out of his mouth and back in to get them wet with spit.
His eyes widen at the sight, his cock painfully hard in Jason's grip, leaking at the tip. He knows full well what Jason's mouth feels like, and his mind replays some of those memories as Jason works.
It's not long before Jason pulls his fingers free, but that's fine. They have lube nearby, so there's no need to do it like this beyond putting on a show. To give Jason more room to work, he lets go of his shirt, grabbing onto the covers instead.
Jason locks eyes with him, silently checking how comfortable he is, then presses his fingers up against his hole. The pads of Jason's fingers are slick with saliva, circling over his rim with small sweeps while his other hand begins to move again too.
In no time, Salim feels his body opening up, accepting the intrusion of Jason's fingers like it's muscle memory.
"That's it, Salim. Just relax," Jason encourages. The muscles in his forearms flex as he slides two fingers in, searching for that one spot inside of him. At the same time, the hand working his cock tightens a little, adding further friction. "I'm gonna take good care of you."
Salim digs his head back into the pillow, a band of pressure settling around his chest, eyes clenching shut from everything that Jason does to him. "I know, Jason."
It's not eloquent, even for his second language, but he will forgive himself for that. Given the circumstances.
True to his word, Jason works his fingers deep inside of him, stretching him open in a languid pace. For someone as impatient as Jason, it comes across like it's all he wants to do that day, and that mere thought pulls on the muscles in his groin, pushing him closer to his orgasm.
As Jason curls the fingers inside of him over his prostate, he grips the covers and draws in a sharp breath at the building tension inside of him, at all his nerves lighting up.
"Yes, there, please, I—" he says, hissing when Jason immediately drags his fingers over the spot again. "Oh, perfect, Jason. So perfect." The words stumble out of him in a rush, his chest heaving.
With another stroke and another thrust, Jason unwinds all the tension inside of him, sending him over the edge as he comes.
His muscles shake, leaving him trembling beneath Jason, shivering all over. He can hear himself panting, can feel his chest rising and falling as he takes deep breaths to fill his lungs.
Once he comes down from the overwhelming orgasm, he realizes how empty he suddenly feels, as Jason's hands are busy brushing up and down his thighs.
The sound of his harsh breathing abates until it falls back into his regular rhythm, and Jason uses the opportunity to capture his lips again.
"Take your time," Jason says, grinning when he pulls back, "I'm not done with you yet."
#hoathemeweek#HandsFriday1st#Jason Kolchek#Salim Othman#Jalim#for adult eyes only please and ty#Also I need to write more of Jason getting spoiled lol#but for now I hope y'all enjoy this#my writing
57 notes
·
View notes
Text
House of Ashes Theme Week Coming Soon!
(graphics by the talented @thewolfmanny )
Howdy, beautiful people of HoA fandom! We (that is, me, @the-girl-who-flies and several of my horny jail cellmates accomplices) thought it would be a fun idea to run a community-wide event (a là Big Bang and Reverse Big Bang) that all creators can participate in; to start off with something that doesn’t require too heavy a commitment, we decided to propose a House of Ashes Theme Week! This is going to be a one week event where each day will have a one-word prompt; on this day, you will be able to submit your creations based on said prompt, be they fics or art.
To make this a bit more participative (and maybe see how many people would actually like to be part of this kind of thing) we thought we’d ask everyone to pitch in with prompt ideas. You can send them either as an Ask on this Tumblr or email them to [email protected]. If you send them as an Ask, we'll publish them, giving everyone a chance to get an idea of what kind of thing might be in store for them.
On March the 15th - that is, one week from now - we’ll pick 7 prompts at random and announce them. HoA Theme Week itself will begin on Monday, March 28th, which hopefully will give everyone who wants to participate a chance to create something.
I’ll add a small FAQ below while we get all the other parts of this blog up and running, and ask you to check back and spread the word/reblog - both this tumblr and the event are just a tiny baby bird right now and there’s a slight chance the admin might not have a clue about what they’re doing but we’re hoping it’ll grow into something that everyone likes.
MiniFAQ:
What exactly is a theme week?
It’s an event where artists and writers make creations based on prompts, and post/submit them on the days that correspond to said prompts.
Do I have to register to participate?
No registration will be necessary, anyone who wants to participate can do so.
Do I have to commit to the entire week?
Absolutely not! You can post as many submissions as you like, for as many of the days of Theme Week as you like.
How will I be able to submit my creation?
Use the submit function to: either submit a post or send us a link to your own tumblr post so we can reblog. Don’t forget to tag your post #hoathemeweek so it’s easier to find!
What kind of fanwork will I be able to submit?
Any genre (fics, digital art, traditional, vids, collages, etc) is good, as long as it’s something that can be posted.
Are NSFW submissions accepted?
Honestly, being the happy bunch of horny feral rats that we are, we're looking forward to any kind of smut/erotica/porn. We only ask that 1) you tag responsibly 2) if your art is nsfw, post it with a preview, and hide the full view under the cut/read more. Alternatively, you can put it up on a different platform and simply link it in your Tumblr post.
What are you going to do with all the fan works submitted for this event?
Reblog them, tag them, and link to them in a single post so they can be displayed for everyone's viewing/reading/listening pleasure.
Can I make a suggestion?
Yes, you can. I'm personally new at this, so all constructive input regarding the organization of this event is welcome. Feel free to use the Ask for any suggestions or questions (which we'll probably add to the FAQ).
Anything else I should know?
A few more things to come, stay tuned.
And please, send your one word prompts! We look forward to reading them.
#hoathemeweek#house of ashes#the dark pictures house of ashes#the dark pictures anthology#hoa fandom#smgbb announcement
87 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fears of the vicious whispers
Here we go for the theme of the day. I hope your gonna enjoying even though... I must warn you, it’s not so long but full of hurt/comfort.
Well, with insecurities as a theme... It’s difficult to do otherwise.
۩๑ ๑۩
There were those mornings where Jason felt something bad coming. A intuition he inherited from his father, from what he heard in this family before.
He would wake with a pain in his chest, as if sugar was stuck in his heart and tried to suffocate him. It was odd, difficult to explain but nineteen percent of the time, his foreboding was proving to be right.
And this morning seemed to follow that awful path; as he awoke alone in his bed, eyes searching for his lover. Salim wasn’t in their bedroom, and the sheet were cold. He must have awoken hours ago. The younger man almost jumped at of bed as the sugar in his torso became bigger. He rushed into the house, checked every room in hope the Iraqi would be there, but he was nowhere to be seen. Jason started to fear the sun, started to be afraid of the ring bell and the news some folks would bring to him; then, he finally found his lover. Half of his body devoured by the obscurity, Salim rested on the couch as his eyes looked at the celling. He didn’t notice his lover crawling back to him, until a hand placed itself on his cheeks.
“Hey, darlin’.” Jason said as he caught the older man’s attention. “Ya had a bad dream?”
Salim’s mouth opened but not a single word escaped it. He tried to speak; however, his voice wouldn’t get out of his lips. He remained silent before he pushed his lover’s hand away, and looked at the celling once more.
Somethin’ ‘s bad. Jason felt it; in his heart and in his soul. He knew something terrible was about to be said, and he couldn’t stop it.
“Jason, do you…” Tears grew under the Iraqi’s eyelash. “… Don’t you ever think our relationship was a mistake?”
The sugar stuck in the American’s heart made him want to vomit.
**
“What’s gotten into ya, Salim?!”
“There is nothing wrong with me, I was just asking if you…”
“Nothin’ wrong?! What kind of bullshit is that?!” Jason’s teeth ground as anger flowed in him like a hurricane. “I woke up this mornin’ without ya in bed, and when I finally found ya, ya just ask me if we weren’t wron’ since the beginnin’! So, stop fuckin’ lyin’ to me!”
Maybe it wasn’t wise of him to freak out like this, but Salim’s interrogation hurt him more than he could express it. When the words dove into his mind and chest, he felt sick and wanted to scream. He wanted to smash everything, all the furniture and stupid items in the living room. He wanted to brutally shake his lover, in hope that his fears would be kicked out of his body. He wanted to destroy everything as the Iraqi only looked at the floor, with a mix of pain and shame dancing in his glance.
“It’s just…” Salim sighed and his whole body trembled. “I am sure it was a stupid joke but I can’t…”
Jason’s eyebrows raised as the rage substituted with incomprehension. A joke? What kind of joke could bring such a thought to the older man’s mind?
“Tell me.” An order he whispered with a commanding voice. He saw his lover shivering but he didn’t back down, nor excuse his sudden harshness. Salim couldn’t get away after such a behavior, the younger man wouldn’t let him. Not before you answered me.
“It’s just Eric…”
“Eric?’ What did this fuckin’ bastard said to ya? It wasn’t a secret that him and Jason didn’t get along; thanks to the man’s arrogance in the ruins and Jason’s comments on his tactics and coldness about the men who died because of his precious Caelus. Both of them tolerated each other presence because they had Nick and Rachel, but it was no pleasure cruise to be around someone you wanted to punch every time. “What did he told ya?”
“He just…” Salim looked like a child caught after he made something stupid. In other circumstances, Jason would have found him cute and might have teased him about his sudden silence or his littles shivers, but not now. Now, he only needed answers. “Tell me what he said to you, Salim.” Another order, growled with a low and menacing ton.
“He didn’t tell me anything!” The Iraqi looked upon him, eyes full of fatigue and tears. “I just happened to hear what he said about us to Rachel and…”
“And?”
Salim’s breath speeded up and his hands grabbed his pants roughly. He seemed to contain the anger and the despair rising in him. “He just… He just said that we would betray each other one day. He said we never loved each other, that we only did what was best for our survival and now… Now that we don’t need each other… He said you would find someone younger, someone more desirable to love and so you would just…” The older man’s voice broke as he confessed, tears rolling on his face. “You would just leave me alone.”
Jason’s body froze. For a moment, he only glared at his lover crying below him then fury took over him. Without a single word, he went to the corridor, grabbed his shoes and cap, and he left the house, rage boiling inside him.
**
“What the fuck are you doing, Kolchek?!”
Eric fell on the ground, nose and mouth bleeding as Jason stood over him. Nick rushed to hold him between his arms as the young lieutenant heard Rachel screaming something to him. I don’t care. I don’t fuckin’ care.
“Who are ya to judge my relationship with Salim?! No one, Colonel! Ya ain’t anyone so shup the fuck up!” He yelled, tried to get closer but his best-friend kept him still. “Jason, stop! I think he got it!”
“Ya don’t know shit about me! Ya didn’t back then, and ya still don’t! I would never betray Salim, I ain’t like ya! So shup the fuck up about us! ‘Cause if you make my man cry again… I will fuckin’ kill ya.”
And without saying more, he turned his back on Eric, made Nick let go of his grip and vanished in the fog reigning on the city.
**
When he came into his house again, Salim run into him, hundreds of apologies going out his mouth. He stayed close, but never touched him. He only excused his stupidity, how cold he had been to ask such a question and how sorry he was for making Jason angry.
Jason looked at him. He stared at his weeping face, his shivering shoulders and lips, then he grabbed his wrist and hugged him; like he never hugged him before. He held him for a minute or two, one hand on his back and the other on his neck; so Salim could cry on his collarbone.
After a while, he whispered against his ear: “I need ya, Salim. I need ya to survive here.” He felt his lover trembling in his arms, crying louder as he held him back. Salim’s arms closed on his back as he found the strength to murmur: “Me too, Jason… I need you. I really need you and if you leave me, I will…”
“I will never leave you, Salim. Never.”
Jason gently grabbed his lover’s chin, looked at his pleading eyes and promised once more: “Mark my words, Salim, ‘cause I will never go.”
And Salim kissed him. They kissed each other like they never did before. It was full of passion and despair, only broken with honest promises and caresses on their cheeks.
They fell on the couch, and the sugar stuck in Jason’s chest vanished.
#hoathemeweek#insecuritieswednesay30th#house of ashes#hoa#jalim#salim othman#jason kolchek#nick kay#rachel king#eric king#I said sugar 'cause I've sometimes got this impression when I'm under a lot of stress#It's not pleasant at all#also Eric being the bad guy in this text but it's not just 'cause he's a bastard#In my headcanon Rachel ends with Nick#So Eric becomes bitter about relationships#Also Jason being this protective boyfriend 'cause he coudn't bare to watch Salim cries because of someone#So many tags#I'm sorry#Also one of my ex ask me if we weren't a mistake since the beginning#It was one of the worst breakups I had really
94 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Me sliding into HoA theme week only to post some suffering? Sure, why not. So have my go at the prompt ‘insecurities’
#the ship might sail but not smoothly#they had a big fight#Jason's scared about screwing things up#i am in spain but the s is silent :)#house of ashes#hoa#jason kolchek#salim othman#jalim#hoathemeweek#InsecuritiesWednesday30th#my art
61 notes
·
View notes
Text
Family Traditions
Saturday Prompt: Tradition
Jalim Period Drama: Part 2
Secondary Prompt: @erzsebetrosztoczy @aislinnsulien and @xshybutdeadlyx screaming at me with love and support for another part (and by secondary prompt I mean THE ONLY prompt because I wasn’t going to do anything for Tradition but you guys beat me up and stole my lunch money, so - )
Thank you to everyone who read Part 1 (link here), and I’m sorry there isn’t a radiator in this @littleaxebad but Mr Othman set that one aside especially for you 😉
Warning tag: Swearing
Mr Othman had not seen Mr Kolchek since that night on the balcony. Since the man had held him through the storm, convincing him with only a touch, only a look, that they could weather any storm together. Mr Kolchek had respectfully bowed, brushing his lips over the back of Mr Othman’s hand, before retiring to his room for the evening, leaving Mr Othman unable to sleep in the bed that was so cold, so empty and so close to the one that Mr Kolchek lay upon in the room beside his.
It was at the next social soiree that Mr Othman saw Mr Kolchek slipping into the room through the far door. As Mr Othman’s soul soared in relief, their eyes met, and Mr Kolchek jerked his head to the doorway behind him before disappearing through it. Mr Othman, his heart now pounding under his silken jacket, moved swiftly across the room to follow.
He saw Mr Kolchek’s black coat disappearing through the door of another room along the dimly-lit corridor. He slipped inside to see Mr Kolchek’s back to him by the window of the small, deserted office. His hands were clasped behind his back, and Mr Othman could see his fingers fidgeting frantically.
After a long moment, during which Mr Othman softly closed the door and leaned against it, observing the other man’s broad shoulders, Mr Kolchek spoke.
‘My family has a tradition,’ he said, in a rather terse voice. ‘A tradition that every generation has continued, without fail.’
Mr Othman waited.
‘A tradition that I am expected to continue, as the only son.’
He turned then. Mr Othman felt a cold dread rise in his chest as he saw the expression on Mr Kolchek’s face.
‘And what tradition is that?’ he asked in a hollow voice.
‘That I must agree to an arranged marriage to our family’s wealthiest associates. A suitor has already been picked out for me, and I…’ His voice wavered. ‘I must return home to see it through.’
Mr Othman took a quick step away from the door. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I thought I was being clear enough. You said I was eloquent once, did you not, Mr Othman? Does that not still ring true?’
Mr Othman let out a cold laugh. ‘You know exactly what I am saying,’ he said sharply. ‘You are eloquent indeed, Mr Kolchek, which is why I am desperately asking you to use your words even further to explain to me why you believe this is the right thing to do.’
Mr Kolchek surveyed him, his brown eyes sorrowful, and shook his head.
‘No further words are needed,’ he said gruffly. ‘If anything, we need to give our mouths some rest.’
He strode forward then, but Mr Othman blocked the door.
‘You are treating me as though I am now some sort of enemy,’ he said.
Mr Kolchek surveyed him with a frown.
‘You have nothing to say?’ Mr Othman pushed. ‘Nothing at all?’
‘What do you want me to say?’ Mr Kolchek demanded. ‘What could I say that could possibly make this any easier? Fuck,’ he added, rubbing his forehead with trembling fingers.
‘Eloquent indeed,’ Mr Othman said disapprovingly.
Mr Kolchek’s eyes flashed at that. ‘Please, move out of my way.’
Mr Othman moved to the side and gave an ironic bow. Mr Kolchek glared at him and then swept from the room. When he had gone, all Mr Othman’s bravado dropped as a wave of great despair fell over him, as though he was surrounded; surrounded by an approaching sense of doom that was about to suffocate him – bury him – forever.
Well, he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to fight. Fight to breathe again.
***
It didn’t take Mr Othman long to coax Mr Kolchek’s address out of Lady King. She had only fought a little against surrendering it before succumbing, a knowing and rather sorrowful glint in her eye. Clutching the scrap of paper with the address on it, Mr Othman now dismounted the coach outside the modest estate that had been only a short journey away from his own lodgings. All this time… all this time, the man had been so close, and he had never known. Never known what it had been like to see that smirk dance around his lips, to feel his hand in his.
The sky around him was still deepest blue, not yet dawn. He had been concerned that Mr Kolchek was not an early-riser like he was, but he would drag the man out of his bed if he had to.
***
Mr Kolchek adjusted the eagle-feather quill, frowning at the page before him; he cursed, raising the quill to his mouth again to chew on the end thoughtfully. He reached across to stab the ink pot once more but almost upended it when Mr Othman burst into the room, slamming the door behind him.
‘You listen to me, Mr Kolchek,’ he said feverishly, pointing his finger at the man. ‘You may have your family traditions, but I have my own. And the traditions of my family say that you marry the one you love. The one who makes your heart sing, who makes your nights less cold and your days that much brighter. We may not have known each other for very long, Mr Kolchek, but I know my heart – and I think I know yours.’
Mr Kolchek stared up at him, his quill still poised in one hand, his other leaning across the dark wood and clutching it tightly.
‘If you can tell me, right here – right now – that you feel nothing for me, that you could be content to watch me walk away into the day’s dawn, then I will leave now and you will never hear from me again. I only need to hear it from your lips. Those lips that you, not so long ago, easily pressed against my skin to calm me against a storm – a storm not unlike the one you are now summoning inside of me, damn you!’ he added, pacing feverishly now. ‘Tell me to go. Tell me to –’
‘I will do no such thing.’
Mr Othman stopped his pacing to stare at the man as he pushed himself up slowly from his chair. Mr Kolchek moved around the desk and collected the letter, looking down at it for a moment thoughtfully, before crossing the room and holding it out for Mr Othman.
‘What is this?’ he said impatiently, grabbing the letter and unfolding it.
‘A letter. To my family. I was writing to tell them that they can shove their tradition up their rosy behind, and that I will be choosing my own path.’ Mr Othman raised eyes now glistening with tears. ‘With you. If you will have me. Though, based on you almost breaking my office door free of its hinges and your rather aggressive monologue, I’d say that I’m not so wrong in thinking you might be willing to accept?’
Mr Othman stared at him, scrunching the letter in his fist. Mr Kolchek’s expression was warm now – amused – and Mr Othman felt the fire rise in him again at the audacity that the man could find anything about this amusing –
As though sensing Mr Othman’s thoughts, Mr Kolchek’s expression sobered and his eyes grew wary as he said, ‘Oh. Apparently I am the only one that finds this funny –’
But Mr Othman had already swooped forwards, his lips meeting Mr Kolchek’s, his hands slipping around the man’s waist. They stumbled back into the desk before Mr Kolchek pulled the other man flush against him, his lips responding desperately, his tongue exploring feverishly, as they moaned at the release, at the admission. Reaching for air, the two parted, and Mr Kolchek grinned as he leaned his forehead against the other man’s.
‘Don’t crease my letter,’ he breathed, ‘or I shall have to rewrite it, and I can think of a million other things I would like to be doing on this desk instead.’
Mr Othman laughed. A musical laugh, an elated release, and Mr Kolchek couldn’t help but laugh with him as he watched. He raised his hand and cupped the other man’s cheek, as Mr Othman’s eyes roved his face. After a moment, his finger brushed across Mr Kolchek’s nose, and he began laughing again.
‘What is it?’
‘You have ink on your face.’
Mr Kolchek reached up and scratched at his nose. ‘I hope that demonstrates how frantically I was writing to my family to tell them how desperately I want to bed you –’
Mr Othman stared at him, aghast, turning back to the letter and checking the other side. ‘You didn’t –’
Mr Kolchek laughed.
‘You didn’t,’ Mr Othman said mildly. ‘Of course you didn’t.’
‘I can add it as a post-script if you like –’
‘Or you can spend your time acting upon your words instead,’ said Mr Othman against his lips.
‘Hmm,’ Mr Kolchek agreed with a smirk, brushing his lips along the corner of Mr Othman’s mouth.
His eyes then drifted to the top pocket of Mr Othman’s morning coat.
‘And what is this?’ he said, pulling out the slip of paper.
‘An invitation to Lady King’s next party,’ Mr Othman explained. ‘If you would like… I would be honoured if you’d accompany me. I know you don’t enjoy them, and perhaps you would be less inclined to endure them seeing as you have now bagged your prize –’
Mr Kolchek smirked. ‘My prize?’
‘I do believe you are the prize, Mr Kolchek.’
Mr Kolchek kissed the end of Mr Othman’s nose. He pulled the letter from his fingers and surveyed it.
‘If there is anyone I would step back into that social hell for, Mr Othman, it is you.’
#hoathemeweek#TraditionSaturday2nd#mr othman and mr kolchek: the sequel#so many fancy coats#so little time#house of ashes#hoa fic#jalim#jason kolchek#salim othman#jason x salim
73 notes
·
View notes
Photo
coming in hot for today’s theme tradition for @supermassivebigbang
immediately, i thought of a wedding and the spicy jalim honeymoon photos @pinkgelatin put together from her sims game. i wanna say this is all mew’s genius, and i’m just reinterpreting all her hard work. also, jason wore that under his dress blues
please go take a peek at @pinkgelatin and her sims ‘cuz there’s a lot more pics and a lot more heat
go here for an extra tasty, peachy treat
#house of ashes#traditionsaturday2nd#hoathemeweek#jalim#spicy#very spicy#manny art#once again continuing to draw salim big cuz why not#who's gonna stop me
74 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
cherry-scribbles
Cherry-Scribbles
blushingphoenix
where i get my fangirl on
ohyeahmichaelwincott
all things Michael Wincott
growing-bolder
Growing Bolder
ellvsun
Book Reviews