This story is a repost from Furaffinity: 

So this is something I've been wanting to do for a while now. As well as giving more information about my fursona, this story was a great way to work out some recent creative frustrations. It's not a long story as I wrote it quickly tonight as a sort of gift to myself for Valentine's Day. It's inspired by a bunch of different and extremely personal stories I've read recently including ones by skiesofsilver and fakeman. It's sort of a dialogue of frustration I sometimes have working on non-creative things all day and then coming home and trying to find the motivation to be creative. Whether that's writing, drawing, or programming something for a game. But since it's a day of love, I thought I would write something to remind me not to be so hard on myself. 

Self-love's important too. 

Full story is here if you can't open .docx files: 

A Seldom Heard Knock

The wind was always the worst part. Of rainstorms that is. Rain in itself isn't too bad, but add some gusts of wind and it becomes unbearable. At least that's what was going through the man's mind as he clutched his coat and pushed through the storm's gales. His whole body was soaked from head to toe in the cold rain. He had been traveling for a few days and was exhausted. His legs felt heavy each time he took a step. His destination was close, he just had to bear the brunt of the storm for a little while longer. Looking up he caught sight of his sanctuary. A large medieval styled castle that sat perched atop a lonely hill. The castle had the traditional gothic spires jutting out from its sides but other than that it was a curious mix of other architectural styles. There were windows placed haphazardly along the surface of the structure. Some were clear glass and others held wondrous painted images. The bricks of the castle were a dark grey at night, but there were times in the morning hours that the man swore the castle in the morning looked closer to a dark blue. The base of the castle spiraled upwards and each section seemed to hang in a way that was not physically possible for brick to lay. The door was an immense wooden one, painted a deep shade of red with a comically undersized knocker to the left. Through chattering teeth and ragged breaths, the man walked up the steep incline to the entrance. He raised the knocker and rapped on the door three times. The left side of the door slowly opened and the man was greeted by a six foot tall dragon. 

The dragon was a shimmering white with beautifully polished scales. The white scales made up the majority of the dragon's coloring, except on its stomach and chest. The scales there were a dark crimson. The dragon had two horns atop his head that were light brown in color. However, unlike most dragons that had pointed horns, this dragon had horns that curled around themselves at the ends. They resembled the horns of a mountain goat or ram closer than that of a dragon. He had wings, of course, and currently they were hanging loosely from his back. Safely tucked away from the raging storm outside. His tail was sinuous and long and stretched a good deal behind him. At the tip of the tail sat a golden yellow flame, flickering softly in the pale light of the inner castle walls. His neck also extended a fair bit out from his frame and allowed him to poke his head out of the door without moving his whole body. His mouth was oddly shaped in that his snout hung in such a way that he looked to be smirking, even when he wasn't. His eyes were full of life and fixed solely on the man standing in his doorway. The man couldn't quite place it, but something about the color of the dragon's eyes unsettled him. He had black eyes and while they contained no malice for the man in them, the man couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. 

The dragon reached out a clawed hand towards the man and said, “You need a place to stay again? I guess I can't fault you for coming back here. C'mon inside, the weather is supposed to be even worse later. Can't leave you outside, now can I?"

The man grabs the dragon's hand as he pulls him inside and softly shuts the door behind him.

The interior of the castle is dimly lit by the light of small fires along the edge of the walls. Most of the living space is filled with rows upon rows of bookshelves. There are tables scattered about the room, each with a different array of open books and loose papers on top of them. A single ink well and feather pen is sitting at the farthest table with evidence that it had been used recently by the dragon. 

“Thank you, it was getting pretty bad out there.", he said.

“Well I figured you'd be stopping by. You always seem to come when the weather gets rough." The dragon retorted.

The man looked hurt at the dragon's words. He knew that the dragon was right, but that didn't make them sting any less. Noticing the change in the man's expressions, the dragon's gaze softens. 

“Aww don't give me that face. You know I was just kidding with ya. I'm always glad to have ya. But…" The dragon's words trailed off as he seemed lost in thought. 

“I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to see you more often. You haven't been here in quite some time. Your last visit was weeks ago."

The man took off his soggy coat and laid it over a chair to dry. He brushed his curly hair out of his face and let the dragon see his piercing green eyes. 

“I've been busy with work. I can't just leave whenever I feel like it. I have responsibilities after all."

“I know that, but I feel like you only come to me when you have something you need to work out. It kinda cheapens the experience."

At this the man's hand balls into a fist. “Look, I visit when I have the time. I can't be like you in your fancy castle, alright! I have to make a living somehow. I can't survive on just hopes and dreams alone!"

The man was screaming now. 

“And how many of your stories are finished, hmm? Let alone published! Half-written plots and characters left in eternal cliffhangers! Where is your sense of urgency? Don't you want to succeed? Don't you want to write fantastic stories? Well then, you're gonna have to finish something sometime!"

The dragon spoke in a low whisper “I always work better when you're here. You should know that by now."

The dragon went to speak again but stopped himself to wipe the tears that were forming in his eyes. 

“I feel more creative when you're around. You brighten up my mind and make it easier to write."

The dragon started sobbing. 

“I… don't want to lose you again."

The man relaxed his hand and walked over to the dragon. He put his hand on his shoulder and brought him into a hug. 

“…I'm sorry. I get so worked up when I'm away. I don't mean to take it out on you. I love you, silly dragon. 

The dragon sputtered a bit as he laughed through his tears and pulled the man in closer. “I'm just glad I can see you at all. I love you too."

The dragon broke the hug, sniffed his nose, and looked the man up and down. 

“Now let's get you into some drier clothes, eh?"

The man laughed and walked with the dragon upstairs to the bedroom. After putting the rest of the fires out in the castle the room seemed considerably colder. At least the man was in drier clothes this time. The dragon had been kind enough to lend him a pair of his pajamas. Granted they hung a little loose on the man wearing them, but he didn't mind. The dragon came back in and shut the door behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up his tail. With one swift lick he coated his hand in spit and promptly put out the fire on his tail. The man could feel the heat start to emanate from inside the dragon as tiny wisps of smoke began to rise from his nostrils. Turning around the dragon got under the covers and pulled the man closer to his body. The man kissed the dragon's forehead and snuggled up under his arm. 

“See you in the morning, scalybutt."

The man felt a sense of calm and peace that he hadn't felt in weeks as he lay in the dragon's embrace. He listened to the raging storm outside as he drifted slowly off to sleep. 

The morning sun peeked through the windowpane and woke the dragon from his slumber. When he opened his eyes the man was nowhere to be seen. The dragon swung his legs around the side of the bed and stretched out his spine. He got up and walked slowly to the bathroom, his tail igniting unconsciously behind him. He went to look at himself in the mirror and noticed that something was different about his eyes. 

They were a piercing green. 

Suddenly, the dragon was feeling inspired. He ran downstairs and shuffled through the recent pile of half-written stories and picked one out that called to him. Carefully dipping his feather pen into the inkwell, he began to write furiously.