#it was almost four but I made the mistake of trying to draw a side profile and that was enough to make me realise my mistakes lol

[thelearnedsoldiertoo]

Someone confiscate my art supplies dear god

I've drawn more art today than I've drawn in the past four years. @gizmoshorseemporium's OC Lethe! Long story but basically she was a Tevinter slave with Lyrium Tattoos, similar to Fenris, though she also had a brand suppressing most of her emotions and more-or-less making her Tranquil. She was rescued by my Hero of Ferelden, Ciara Tabris, during Unrest in the Alienage, and accidentally cured of the brand when Wynne used her abilities as a Spirit Healer. She joined the Grey Wardens just before the end of the Fifth Blight, fighting at the Battle of Denerim in support of the other Wardens.

[you-have-a-metal-arm]

‘Til The End of The Line

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of blood, shooting and getting hurt

Summary: You get injured in a mission, and Bucky cannot bear to see you in such state.

Author's Note: Please do not copy or translate my work. English is not my first language, so please understand grammar or spelling mistakes.

I am so sorry for being gone (school’s been killing me)

I appreciate every feedback! Thank you for reading, enjoy!

“Ready to kick some ass, kiddo?” Steve’s voice was calm, almost soothing, but you could hear the adrenaline beneath his words as the two of you adjusted your parachutes. The jet engines hummed around you, a subtle reminder of the mission ahead.

You grinned, giving your suit one last check and tightening your grip on the gun in your hand. “Yeah, I’m gonna beat the shit out of them.”

Steve smiled, not bothering to correct your language. With him, you were always an exception.

Moments later, the wind was whipping against your face as you both jumped from the jet, splitting off into the night sky. Steve took the left wing—the more dangerous side—leaving you the right. Tony had assured you it was safer, but as you slid through the narrow gap in the door, the freezing cold hit you like a wall. The air inside was frigid, bitterly reminding you of Bucky’s stories about the winters he hated so much.

“As far as I can see, it’s clear here. How’s the situation there?” Steve’s voice crackled through the comms, full of concern. You knew he cared for you deeply, saw you as the daughter he never had, and would have taken a bullet to ensure your safety.

“It’s clear here too, Cap,” you replied, trying to ease his worry.

“Let’s stick to the plan: I’ll draw out the agents while you head straight to the operations room and grab their file IV data.”

“Copy that. Be safe, Cap—and I mean it. If you need help, just call me.”

“I will, kiddo. Be safe yourself. And promise to call me if you need anything.”

“I promise. Let’s fucking go.”

You raced through the deserted corridors of the right wing, a dagger in one hand and a fully loaded gun tucked into your suit for emergencies. The cold air bit at your skin, the silence amplifying every footstep. Suddenly, a loud, thunderous noise echoed behind you. Instinctively, you thought it was Steve, but it wasn’t. The sound was coming from your side of the building.

Before you could react, you were ambushed by over twenty armed agents.

On the other side of the wing, Steve was facing his own battle. He tossed a grenade down a hallway, expecting a swarm of enemies, but only three agents rushed at him. Something was wrong. There should have been more.

“Shit,” you hissed into the comms, struggling against the overwhelming odds. Steve heard the panic in your voice, but he couldn’t respond—one of the agents had him in a chokehold. His grip tightened on the comms as he heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire, followed by a loud thud that made his blood run cold.

“Kiddo, you okay?” Steve managed to gasp out, but all he got in return was a pained groan.

“I’ll get to you in less than a minute, I promise,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. He could hear your labored breathing through the comms, and it was tearing him apart.

“Steve…” Your voice was faint, each word a struggle.

“Hmm?” he replied, trying to sound reassuring despite the dread clawing at his chest.

“Are the comms… still being recorded?”

Steve’s heart sank. He knew what you were doing, and he hated it. “Yes, kiddo, if there weren’t any changes to the plans, it’s on record.”

You exhaled shakily, the breath catching in your throat. There was only one person you needed to reach out to. “Buck…”

As soon as Steve heard the name, he knew the weight of what you were about to say. Even after four years of being together, Bucky’s name still brought shivers to your spine, thick with emotion.

“If by any chance you get to listen to this, Buck—”

“Y/N, kiddo, no, you’re not dying. I won’t let that happen.”

“You don’t know that…” Your voice was helpless, a reflection of your dwindling strength.

“Just stay there. I’m on my way. Please, don’t give up on us.”

But a part of Steve knew this might be your last moment. It was an instinct, a gut-wrenching feeling that he couldn’t shake. So he didn’t stop you from saying what you needed to.

“If you get a chance to listen to this…” You fought to keep your eyes open, tears mingling with the blood on the cold metal floor. Your mind flashed with the future you had imagined—a life with Bucky, growing old together, watching your children grow up. “In another life, we might—maybe we could have grown old together.”

Steve’s heart clenched as your voice wavered. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, but he knew there was nothing he could do except listen.

“I wish I could have given you babies,” you continued, your voice cracking with emotion. “Watched them grow in our backyard… I’m sorry that I can’t be the one to give you that life.”

Your vision blurred as sleepiness started to consume you. You fought against it with everything you had, but the darkness was closing in. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry that this is how it ends for us… I’m really sorry.”

“And if this is how it really ends… Promise me you’ll find someone else to love, to open up to. Find someone else… Call someone else ‘doll.’ And don’t grieve too much.”

The darkness was overwhelming now. You felt it pulling you under, felt the life draining from your body as blood poured from your wounds. “You deserve to be happy… And the past doesn’t—doesn’t define you.”

Your last words were barely a whisper. “I… Love you, Buck. And I’m sorry I couldn’t say that more often.”

And then… silence. The darkness consumed you, and Steve heard nothing but the empty static of the comms. He refused to believe it, refused to accept that you were gone. He sprinted through the hallways, throwing open every door until he found you, lying motionless on the floor, your suit stained crimson with blood.

He scooped you up as if you weighed nothing, his legs pumping with every ounce of energy he had left. The jet’s engines hummed steadily, but inside the cabin, chaos reigned. Steve knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he assessed your injuries. The bullets had done their damage—one near your heart, another through your stomach, and the last through your left arm. Blood pooled beneath you, soaking through your suit.

“Kiddo, hang in there, please,” Steve murmured, his voice tight with fear. He grabbed the medical kit from the overhead compartment, spilling its contents across the floor. His hands worked quickly, tearing open a pack of gauze and pressing it firmly against the wounds. The bleeding was relentless, and he knew he needed to act fast to save your life.

You were pale, your breathing shallow and irregular. It was a miracle you were still breathing at all. Steve knew he had to stabilize you before they landed, or you wouldn’t make it. His mind raced through the limited medical training he had received—enough to get through emergencies, but nothing like this.

He fumbled with an IV kit, his hands shaking as he tried to insert the needle into your arm. Your veins were fragile, but after what felt like an eternity, he got it in. He attached a bag of saline solution, knowing it was only a temporary measure.

“Stay with me, kiddo. Buck won’t be so happy about this,” Steve whispered, his voice trembling. Your pulse was faint, but still there. He applied more pressure to the wound, checking if you were breathing again. It was labored, but there were no signs of a collapsed lung, thank God.

He grabbed the portable oxygen mask and gently placed it over your mouth and nose, adjusting the flow to give you the support you desperately needed. Your chest rose and fell slightly more steadily—a small victory amid the chaos.

With one hand still applying pressure to the wound, Steve fumbled with the jet’s communications system. “Friday, please check if the team is ready for immediate surgery.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Stark has everything prepared, and Dr. Cho is on standby.”

“Can you connect me directly to Tony?”

“Connecting now, sir.”

“Cap, how is she?” Tony’s voice crackled through, tense with concern.

“I think I stabilized her. We’re landing in three minutes, max. Thank God this jet has autopilot, or else… she wouldn’t have made it.”

Tony was silent for a moment. It wasn’t the time for pride or self-congratulation. He was kicking himself for not being more cautious, for not having medics onboard, for underestimating the mission. You were the youngest, the brightest member of the Avengers, and he couldn’t bear to lose you.

Steve checked the wound again. The bleeding had slowed, but it hadn’t stopped. He packed the wound with more gauze, securing it tightly. You needed a blood transfusion, surgery—everything he couldn’t provide here. All he could do was keep you stable until they landed.

“Tony, do me one favor,” Steve said, his voice thick as he wiped the blood from your cheeks. “Please… Don’t let Bucky see her like this. He won’t be able to handle it.”

But Tony’s response was firm. “Sorry, Cap. James already knows. He’s waiting at the airbase. And he has the right to see her.”

Steve nodded, though his heart ached at the thought. “Okay, Tony, thanks… We’re almost there.”

The jet descended, the lights of the airbase coming into view. Steve cradled you close, whispering words of comfort that he wasn’t sure you could hear. “We’re going to make it, kiddo. Just hold on a little longer.”

As the jet landed, the hatch opened to reveal Tony, Dr. Cho, and Bucky. Bucky’s face was ashen, his eyes wide with fear as he took in the sight of you. Steve gently handed you over to Dr. Cho and her team, who rushed you to the medical bay. Bucky stood frozen, staring at the blood that covered Steve’s hands and suit.

“She’s alive, Buck,” Steve said softly, his voice raw with exhaustion. “But she needs you now more than ever. Don’t lose hope.”

Bucky nodded, swallowing hard. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think beyond the sight of you lying there so still. He followed the team as they wheeled you into surgery, praying with everything he had left that you would survive this.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

THERE’S GOING TO BE A PART 2 by Sunday

Part 2 is up y’all

[levisjinchuriki]

forever yours

summary: you and gojo have been separated for six months due to his troubles. you try to juggle co-parenting your young son and moving on, but gojo makes it obvious he’s not ready to give you up on your relationship yet

warning: just angst

word count: 2.3k

the separation of you and gojo was hard. you had devoted so much of your life, time and energy to him only to feel like you weren’t a priority. it was a terrible feeling you could push past during the first few years together, but after your wedding and the birth of your son, you started to realize how unfair it was. 

gojo’s job kept him away from home a lot, leaving you to take care of your son, haru. when he did manage to get some time off- things just didn’t feel the same as they once were. he always seemed distracted. 

he still loved you, of course. you were the only woman in his life he had ever truly been in love with. that will never change. and he didn’t realize how much he was slacking until you served him divorce papers one night- looking so defeated. it caught him off guard, and he was surprised that you had taken such a step. 

you were steadfast as gojo tried to convince you out of your decision. and when you didn’t budge he realized how many mistakes he’d made leading up to this moment. he couldn’t blame you, but he also couldn’t force you to take him back. 

he didn’t sign the papers. there’s no way in hell he’d do that. delusional or not, he’d convinced himself you’d be together again and going through the motions of a divorce would just complicate everything. he did reach a compromise with you, though. he was forced to accept the reality that he had lost you as his wife. gojo had enough money to take care of both you and haru so you could focus on raising him without having to work. per your request to live separately, gojo moved into an apartment on the other side of town. 

and when gojo put the last of his belongings in the moving truck haru ran up to him, sobbing as his small body clutched at gojo’s legs. 

“don’t go daddy” haru cried against him. it broke gojo’s heart. not only was he losing you as his wife, but his actions had torn his family apart. haru, the light of his life, was forced to be in the middle of his parent’s separation. it wasn’t fair to him and the guilt ate at gojo everyday.

your son loved his father, and if there was one thing gojo prioritized- it was haru. 

you had to turn away as tears slipped down your cheeks. it was almost too much for you to handle. you tried to stick through your marriage for haru’s sake, but you couldn’t keep up the act anymore. and although you were the one pushing him away, it hurt so much to see satoru leave. but it was the best decision for you, both mentally and emotionally. 

he had moved out six months ago now and still, the house felt all too empty.

—

the sound of Haru’s footsteps echo as he moves from room to room, looking for something to occupy his mind. he's become used to his dad not always being around, but he’s just a boy and he still needs his father in his life. gojo is still present, though only on the weekends when he has most of his free time. you would never completely take either of them away from each other. 

you sit on the couch, staring blankly at the screen in front of you- not sure what you had been watching as you aren’t paying attention. haru had been quiet tonight, spending most of his time drawing or playing alone. he’s almost four, now. he’s bright and everything you need. 

you smile as haru walks into the living room, clutching his favorite stuffed animal and rubbing his eyes. 

“mommy,” he yawns softly, “can i call daddy?”.

even after all these months the question is like a knife to your heart. you’ve tried to protect him from the worst of the separation, but the longing in his eyes is something you can’t ignore. you nod, forcing a smile. “of course, baby”. 

the phone rings a few times before gojo answers. his voice always has a warmth to it that makes you melt every time. 

“hey,” he greets. “is it bedtime?”. haru would talk to his dad every night before bed, a ritual that he tries his hardest not to break, even if he is busy with work. 

“yeah, he wants to speak to you”, you say.

haru’s small hands eagerly hold the phone to his ear, his face lights up at the sound of his father’s voice. “daddy! it’s me!”, he says excitedly. your heart melts at how much he loves his father.

gojo’s tone immediately softens. “hi, sweet boy. how’s my little guy doing?” he coos. gojo cherishes every moment he has with haru. it means so much to him to talk to him every night and make sure he’s okay, even if he isn’t around anymore. 

haru babbles about his day and gojo eagerly listens. he loves it when his son gets excited. 

haru clutches the phone tightly after he finishes, suddenly becoming upset. his small voice trembles slightly at his next sentence. “i miss you, daddy. when are you coming home?”. 

the silence on the other end of the line is heavy. gojo’s breathing is a mixture of sadness and regret. he wishes he could be there with the both of you. 

“i miss you too”. he’s not sure how to answer the little boy’s question. it all depends on you and if you are willing to sort through your issues together or not. he hopes you will decide to, but your relationship hasn’t improved much since he moved out. he’s not even sure if you still wear your ring. 

you can see haru’s eyes welling up with tears as he tries to hold back his emotions. 

“why can’t you come home? i want you here with us.”. he didn’t understand why his father had left in the first place. he’s too young to understand the concept of separation, even though you and gojo have explained it to him before. in his mind, if you both love each other then you should all be living together as one. he can’t grasp that even if you love someone so much, sometimes you have to let them go. 

gojo clears his throat. “i know, precious. things are complicated right now, but i promise i’m working on it”. whether he’s successful or not, gojo intends to try to mend things with you in any way he can.

“i’m coming to pick you up tomorrow and we can spend the whole weekend together. how does that sound?”. he tries to cheer haru up. 

the boy sniffles and wipes his eyes. “okay, daddy. i love you”. 

“i love you too, haru,” gojo says softly. “more than anything”. 

after a few more exchanged words and assurances, haru hands the phone back to you before climbing in your lap. you rub his back comfortingly as you bring the phone to your ear. 

“you still there?”, gojo asks. without needing to mask his tone for his son, you can hear just how defeated he sounds. 

you confirm you’re still on the line. the conversation is short- you and gojo discussing when to meet at the park tomorrow for him to pick up haru. in the last few months you’ve stopped having personal conversations with him- just trying to focus on co-parenting. it was easier for you that way.

you look down at your son and brush his hair from his face. he’s a spitting image of his father- same ghostly white locks and stunning eyes that held all the potential of the world within them. every time you looked at him, it was like seeing a smaller, more innocent version of satoru. and that made it harder to move on.

“daddy loves you very much. we’ll see him soon, okay?”, you assure him with a kiss on the head. 

haru nods against your shoulder, his small frame cuddled up to you. “okay, mommy”.

you hold him tightly, wishing you can offer more than just words of comfort. the house is still big and empty, but you try to fill it with all the love and reassurance you could muster. for haru’s sake, you hope that someday soon, this will all be behind you.

—

haru’s laughter rings out as he chases a butterfly through the empty park, the pure sound filling the air with a sweetness that tugs at your heart. you watch him, torn between the joy of his innocence and the ache of the life you once dreamed of with satoru. the butterfly flutters just out of haru's reach, and he giggles, his happiness a stark contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside you.

the crunch of footsteps on gravel snaps you out of your thoughts, and though you don’t look up, you know who it is. satoru’s presence is unmistakable, a force that commands attention even without a word. he slides onto the bench beside you, close enough that his warmth seeps into your skin without touching you. he watches haru play for a moment before turning his attention to you. 

“i missed you”. his voice is sweet like honey, the words slipping out effortlessly. it’s that natural charm, the way he makes even the simplest phrases sound enchanting, that drew you to him in the first place. 

you turn to face him, finally meeting his gaze. those damn blue eyes–deep and endless like the ocean—have always been your weakness, pulling you in no matter how hard you try to resist. they hold a mix of emotions, swirling with the memories of a past you can’t quite let go of. his eyes search yours, and for a moment, it feels like time stops, as if the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you and the unspoken feelings hanging in the air.

“what we had was a life full of complications,” you respond, not allowing yourself to get pulled into his trap. “you’re still in that world, satoru. and i can’t be a part of it anymore. haru can’t be a part of it”. 

his jaw tightens as a flicker of determination flashes in his eyes. “just because you’re pushing me away doesn’t mean i’m gonna give up”, his voice is low, laced with a quiet resolve.  “i haven’t given up on us”. the weight of his words hangs between you, thick with emotion, as if he’s daring you to believe him, to see the fight still left in him.

your heart aches at his words. you want to believe him, to let yourself fall back into the warmth of his promises. there is still so much love in your heart for satoru, but love alone isn’t enough to mend the things that had broken you apart. the dangers he faced daily, the secrets he kept hidden away, the growing distance that had slowly stretched between you until it became an uncrossable chasm—it had all become too much. the memories of what you once had clash with the reality of what you've lost, leaving you torn between the past and the painful truth of the present.

“don’t make this harder than it already is.” you plead, feeling your resolve weaken. he reaches out, gently taking your hand in his. 

i’m not ready to let you go,” he admits, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “i don’t know if i’ll ever be.”

the confession hangs between you, heavy and unresolved. it would be so easy to slip back into old habits, to let him back in and pretend that everything could be okay again. but you deserve more than that. and deep down, you know the truth. satoru isn’t ready to change, and you aren’t ready to keep living in a world where he could be taken away at any moment. the weight of his unfulfilled promises and the uncertainty of your future press down on you, a reminder of the painful reality you can’t escape.

“haru needs stability,” you say softly, pulling your hand away. “he needs a life that doesn’t revolve around waiting for his father to come home in one piece”. gojo doesn’t miss a beat

“and what about you?” satoru asks, his voice laced with a vulnerability that he rarely showed. “what do you need?”

for a moment, silence envelops you both, the weight of the question hanging heavily in the air, unspoken yet profoundly understood. you look at him, at the man who once meant everything to you, and feel the tears well up in your eyes.

you need to move on. it’s been half a year, and you’re still in the same place, still foolishly hoping that satoru will change overnight. still waiting for him to burst through the door, fall to his knees, and apologize for everything that’s gone wrong in your relationship. the reality of your stagnant situation presses down on you, a painful reminder that hope alone isn’t enough to mend the fractures that have grown too deep.

haru’s laughter rings out again, drawing both of your eyes to him as he runs toward you, blissfully unaware of the tension between his parents. satoru stands up as haru reaches him, lifting him into his arms with a grin that makes your heart clench. he showers haru’s chubby cheeks with kisses, telling him how much he’s missed him this week, making haru giggle with delight. Satoru is such a good father, and that only makes everything harder.

“ready to go?” he asks, holding haru close. the boy nods, and satoru tells him to say goodbye to you.

“bye, mommy!” haru waves enthusiastically. you kiss his cheek and tell him you’ll pick him up soon.

“i’ll see you sunday?” satoru confirms, his gaze searching yours.

you nod, unable to trust your voice. with one last wave at haru you watch as they make their way toward his car. as they disappear from view, the weight of what you’re leaving behind settles heavily over you. moving on was never easy, but with satoru, it feels almost impossible.

----

>> ch 2

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ thank you for reading!! everyone is welcome to leave feedback and requests in my inbox!! please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

[sarahscribbles]

I feel like Conrad could be the type who gets horny when he’s jealous. Like if he broke up with you and saw you at a bar flirting with someone else, he’s like oops, I made a horrible mistake and the only way to deal with it is to interrupt this nonsense and fuck it out in the most convenient and reasonably private place. But maybe that’s just me.

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐒𝐢𝐱 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐝 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐.𝟒𝐤

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“...and that’s when I told him, “buddy, I’m the one who told your wife!””

Eric’s grating high pitched cackle regrettably brings your attention back to the present. He’s looking at you expectantly across the small bar table and so you do your best to force a polite laugh. He looks placated and so you relax, although it’s anyone’s guess what he’s been talking about for the past ten minutes. 

A small part of you feels guilty - it had been you who suggested this date, after all - but the plan you’ve been using him for has been falling into place since you both walked through the frosted doors to the bar. You had selected this table on purpose and took the side that offered you a clear view across the bar to the tiny booth by the window.

The tiny booth in which James has been watching you from all night. 

He’s been nursing the same bottle of 333 for over half an hour, and you’d be willing to bet that it’s still mostly full. Once those icy blue eyes had caught sight of you, everything else seemed to have faded away. 

Eric is in the middle of another mind numbing story, but you choose that exact second to let out a squeal of laughter and reach out a hand to place it on his forearm. At once, four pairs of eyes are on you. Eric’s are bright and disbelieving and maybe a tiny bit confused as to what exactly you’re laughing at.

Across the bar James’ are boring into you, almost as if daring you to laugh again. 

A burst of pride fills your chest. The man who insisted that he didn’t get jealous is jealous. Blindingly jealous. And it’s all because of you. 

“Eugene, you’re a balm for the soul, but would you excuse me for a minute? I’ve got to go powder my nose,” you interrupt your date so suddenly that he genuinely looks taken aback. 

Or at least that’s what you think. 

“It’s Emmet,” he says as you stand from the table. “My name is Emmet.”

You’re briefly mortified - he has served his purpose after all,- but it’s short lived when you glance quickly across the bar and lock eyes with James. Any mortification is soon replaced with exhilaration. 

“Emmet, right. My mistake,” you offer halfheartedly, already turning in the direction of the bathrooms before he can draw breath to reply. 

Your heels clack on the tile floor in time with the music that’s blaring obnoxiously from the small stage to your right, and it sends a rush of confidence straight to your head. You bask in it, letting the warm glow rush all the way to the bottom of your black stiletto heels.

Let James Conrad try and resist you tonight. 

Slowly, you descend the steps to the dimly lit bathrooms below. The music from above becomes muffled when you push through the heavy wooden door, giving you the perfect opportunity to hear the heavy tread of footsteps that follow down the stairs not two minutes later. 

You’re already standing at the mirrors reapplying your lipstick when the wooden door swings open, this time with force, and then it’s just you and James in a very small space.

Just like old times. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” you say after only a beat of silence, surprised at how confident you sound when your heart is beating a mile a minute inside your chest.

James doesn’t move an inch from where he’s standing in the doorway, but you can feel his eyes running over you like you’re a prize he’s finally caught. It’s nothing short of exhilarating to see how you still affect him, and it makes a small glimmer of hope burn in your chest that maybe he’s had the same misgivings as you about the sudden end of your relationship. 

“I could say the same about you,” he finally replies. “You told me you hated this place.”

You drop your lipstick back into your bag and turn to face him, allowing yourself only a second to drink in the familiar shape of the man you once loved. 

No. The man you still love. The man you never stopped loving. 

“No, I didn’t. I told you I hated the wine they served here. Two completely different grievances,” you reply, not missing the tiny twitch of his lips. “Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you were off on the Galapagos somewhere.” 

“No, you didn’t.” James’ reply is instant, and the quiet confidence with which he says it makes something molten stir to life between your thighs. 

“Hmm, weird. Eddie and I were talking all about his latest posting and he told me he was in the Galapagos with James Conrad. Or maybe it was the guy from last week? I think his name was…Isaac?” you reply, doing your best to maintain a look of total innocence and delighting in the way he rolls his jaw in irritation. 

It’s how you know you’ve got him. 

James inhales deeply and wordlessly reaches an arm back behind him to flip the lock on the bathroom door. The click is barely audible, but it makes the air thicken with anticipation. Your eyes eagerly meet his, and you hold his gaze as he closes the distance between you in two large, slow strides, backing you firmly against the wall. The coldness of the tiles seeps through the thin material of your dress, but it contrasts oh so wonderfully with the heat of James’ body as he presses flush against you. 

“Enough,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, and he reaches out to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I know exactly what you’re doing.”

His touch has excitement thrumming through your veins and awakens delicious memories of what those skilled hands are capable of doing elsewhere. Perhaps if you’re lucky…

A fresh pulse of heat pools between your thighs at the thought.

“Is it working?” you ask with a coy smile. 

His blue eyes dart momentarily to your lips, but they’re just as quickly back on yours and burning bright with desire. “Yes.”

Before you can even draw breath James’ lips are crashing roughly against yours while two large hands bracket your face. His kiss is hungry and demanding, like you’re an oasis in his never ending desert, and you meet his eagerness with your own. You want to devour him and, even with your arms possessively wrapped around his broad shoulders, it’s impossible to pull him close enough. 

How on Earth have you managed to survive six months without him? How did you ever let him convince you that breaking up was in your best interest? If tonight leads to anything more than this, you vow that you’ll never let this man go again. 

James is pressing you firmly against the bathroom wall, like he too can’t get close enough. You can feel the taut, toned muscles of his abdomen beneath the dark blue button down, and it almost sends you frantic with need. It’s impossible to stop your wandering hands from sliding down his back to dip beneath the hem, greedily exploring the dips and contours of his stomach and tracing the outline of his abs. 

James moans appreciatively against your lips and rewards you with a roll of his hips against yours. His cock is hard and straining against his jeans, making you almost dizzy with desire. You need James Conrad like you need the air in your lungs, even if it takes all damn night to be fully satisfied. 

Panting, you pull back from his kiss, but not without a parting nip to his bottom lip. “Is this what happens when I try to make you jealous?”

James is equally breathless as the tip of his nose lightly traces your cheek. “This is what happens when I realise that letting you go was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

Your heart skips joyously in your chest and you’re struck with the sudden need to hold him. “James…,” you breathe out softly, but his lips are back on yours before you can say anything more. 

His kiss is just as eager as before. You welcome it gladly, drinking in the taste of him while he hoists one of your legs around his waist, then the other until both are locked around him and he’s pinning you to the bathroom wall. 

Your dress is now somewhere around your waist, so when James rolls his hips against you once more, you can feel the teasing press of his cock through the thin lace of your underwear. It lights a fire deep in your core, a fire that will only be quenced by having him fuck you right here, right now. 

Just like the first time.

“James,” you say again against his lips, and there’s no missing the note of utter desperation in your voice. 

“Yes?” he replies, resting his forehead against yours. 

Your hands drop to his belt buckle, making short work of it and eagerly moving to his zipper. “Please. Right here. I’ve missed you too much.” 

He hums low in his throat but offers you a devastating smirk. “My depraved girl. I see you haven’t changed at all.” 

You succeed in freeing him from his boxers and impatiently wrap your hand around his cock, relishing the deep moan that floats sinfully from between his lips. “I’ve actually learned a few things,” you tease him. 

James wraps his hand around your own, coaxing it faster while the other pushes aside the skimpy lace underwear beneath your dress. “I expect a thorough lesson later.”

Later. That one simple word sends a wave of euphoria rushing through your blood. 

With your free hand you pull his lips closer to yours. “That depends on how well you perform right now.”

James grins at your teasing and you feel the head of his cock drag through your soaked cunt. “Wicked, wicked girl,” he whispers, claiming your lips right as he eases himself inside you. 

You whimper against his lips as he fills you slowly until you can take no more of him. Your cunt flutters wildly around him and you hear his quiet grunt of pleasure. It’s intoxicating - he’s intoxicating - and you don’t think you can last another second without being his. 

“Please, James,” you beg softly, clenching around him for good measure. 

His eyes are dancing as he gazes at you. “I never was able to deny you anything, was I?” he says, adjusting your legs around his waist. “I have no intention of starting now, darling girl.” 

He moulds his body instantly to yours, rolling his hips just right to hit that sweet spot inside you over and over. He knows you intimately, knows your body better than anyone else, and it isn’t long until you’re clinging desperately to his shoulders, repeating his name like a prayer to the Heavens and caring little if anyone can hear your cries of pleasure. 

In this moment James Conrad is all you know, he’s all you want to know, and when his hand slips between you both to expertly toy with your clit you know you’re done for. 

The heady combination of his fingers on your clit and his cock in your cunt have little stars dancing at the edges of your vision. Your release builds like a tidal wave in your core until it’s white hot and you’re dangling right off the glorious edge of the freefall. 

You aren’t going to last much longer.

“James…please…gonna cum….please,” you beg, closing your eyes against the sheer force of the pleasure building in your core. 

It’s been too long, too long since you’ve been properly fucked, and, from previous experience, you know this man is about to ruin you for anyone else. 

James is panting heavily in your ear, forehead resting against your temple while he’s half gone to his own impending climax. “‘Wait,” he pleads. “Wait for me.” 

With how sinfully he’s grunting and moaning in your ear and how precariously you’re balancing on the knife edge, you aren’t sure you can wait, but you hear his deep intake of breath barely a minute later. 

“Cum for me, my sweet girl. Now.” It’s a direct order, and one that you have no intention of disobeying. 

Your orgasm erupts with so much force that you can’t even scream. It steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you incapable of doing anything but clutch wildly at the man between your legs. You force yourself to breathe, and James’ name leaves you in a scream that rings off the bathroom walls, as though it’s the only word you’ll ever need to know. He pulls you tight against his firm chest as he rides out his own release, cursing and moaning your name until his hips finally go still. 

The silence of the bathroom is only broken by the joint sounds of your heavy breathing and the wet press of James’ lips to your neck. 

You’re boneless in his strong arms when you eventually come down off your high, unable to do anything but cling to him and nuzzle your face into the familiar comfort of his neck. He still uses the same cologne - the expensive one you bought him one Christmas - and it makes you grip him that little bit tighter. 

Had he ever really let go?

James’ chest is heaving as he holds you, and you feel the warmth of his palm as he runs it along your back. So much has changed in the past six months, yet nothing has changed at all. 

“I knew going on that date with Elliot was a good idea. Best sex I’ve had in six months,” you say finally - and a little groggily - against the warm skin of his neck. 

You hear James laugh quietly and press a kiss to your hair. “I’ve missed you, sweet girl. More than you know.” 

You return his kiss with one of your own to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, then raise your head to meet his eyes. “Then don’t let me go again,” you reply. It’s half an order, half a plea. 

James cradles your face in his hands, like you’re the one thing he’s waited his entire life to hold. “I lived six months without you. I don’t intend on ever doing it again.” 

It’s a promise that he seals with a kiss.

[truly-neutral-art]

Din/Luke Pacific Rim AU pt.2

Pt.1 | Pt.3 | Pt.4

Another addition to this AU because It's been living in my head rent free for ages. I can't do a Pacific Rim AU without recreating the iconic Kwoon scene. Also, I was too lazy to draw backgrounds so I just stole them from the movie  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Under the cut is a teaser of the fic I'm trying to write. It's a first draft, so there's probably some mistakes. Also, I'm still kind of in Screen Writing mode from school, so please don't mind if there's not a lot of internal character narration.

“Four points to two,” Luke calls after the final candidate falls. His emotions are carefully masked on his face but Din can see how tense he is. 

“We’re wasting time, Marshal. He’s barely compatible with any of them, this isn’t going to work,” Luke says.

“What do you suggest?” The Marshal raises a brow. 

“Put me in charge, I’m drift compatible with several cadets. We don’t need him.” Luke gestures towards Din. The look on his face makes Din’s blood boil. Contempt. What did he ever do to Luke to earn this?

“What’s your problem, Skywalker?” Din stomps towards the edge of the mat. 

“I’ve already told you, I don’t think you're the right man for the job,” Luke replies. He’s now turned squarely towards Din, his face back to that eerie calm. It sends a shiver down Din’s spine. 

“No, there’s more. You’ve got a problem with me.” Din steps closer, trying to ignore the piercing blue of Luke’s eyes. 

“Enough! both of you.” Marshal Skywalker turns to them both. 

“If you think you’re so much better, then let’s go.” Din points his bō at Luke. “If you win, you can pilot the Crest. If I win, you back off.” Din holds Luke's gaze, projecting his challenge. 

“Neither of you are in the position to make that decision,” Anakin states, breaking the spell. 

“What? Think your own blood isn’t good enough to beat me?” Din didn’t know Marshal Skywalker that well, but from what he did know, the man was prideful. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest move, but it got him what he wanted. 

The Martial turned towards Luke, earning his attention. No words were exchanged between them, the Martial simply gave a nod. A brief look of satisfaction washed over Luke’s face. Din turned towards the mat to prepare for the fight before Luke’s eyes turned back to him. 

Luke stepped to the edge of the mat, shoes and outer shirt removed. He bowed at the waist before stepping forward. He was in a simple black tank top and the standard cargo pants. It was the first time Din had seen any of his skin exposed beyond his face. His arms and neck were covered in pale, lightning-like scars that looked like they extended beyond what Din could see. He wasn’t sure what to make of them. He knew almost nothing about Luke when he really thought about it. Only what he heard from the news from the past four years.

He had to admit, it made him earn a little more respect for the kid. At first he’d seemed like a petulant child who was getting his favorite toy taken away, but now, Din wasn’t as sure that was the case. He had no more time to think on it as he and Luke passed each other on the mat, walking to opposite sides, then turning to face each other. 

In the blink of an eye Luke swung his bō with the finesse of a warrior. He moved forward before stopping in the middle of the mat as he pulled his bō up in defense. Din followed suit, taking on a more aggressive starting position. He could tell Luke was analyzing him, eyes flitting around to every point of his body. Din took the opportunity to attack. In one swift moment he had his bō mimicking a strike at Luke’s skull. 

“One, Zero.” The words had barely left his mouth before Luke made a counter attack. In a flash Luke had reversed their positions with a satisfied smirk. 

Without wasting any more time the two began to fight again in an explosion of movement. The people in the kwoon reacted to them, but Din’s focus narrowed in until it was only them in the room. He watched Luke’s movements carefully, anticipating and blocking every attack that came and returning his own. He picked up on a franticness in Lukes’s movements and took advantage, landing an attack on his ribs. 

“You’re too eager, you’re projecting your moves,” Din commented as they reset. 

“I don’t need your advice.” Despite his words, Luke waited, ready for Din’s next move. 

Luke swiftly blocked everything Din threw at him and pushed back even harder. In the next moment Luke attacked with a flurry of blows, catching Din off guard. He was stronger than he looked. 

“Two, two.” Luke had once again evened the score. 

There was barely a pause before they were at it again. This bout lasted longer than the others, both having picked up on each other’s gambit. They danced around each other, the only sound in Din’s ears were the clacking of their bō staffs and their heavy breathing. Neither was holding back. 

In a blur of motion Luke darted towards Din’s legs, throwing him off balance. Din rolled out of the throw but as he lifted his head he was met with Luke’s bō to his throat. Luke's eyes were no less intense this close. 

“Two, Three.” Luke stepped back into a ready position. “Better watch out, Djarin.” There was a satisfied smirk on his face. He was winning. Din wouldn’t give up that easily. 

He pulled out every trick he had, but Luke seemed to always be a step ahead. He was too fast, almost as if he could read Din’s mind. From the outside it would almost look like this was rehearsed. In the end, it was Din’s weight advantage that won him the point. He moved in close and pinned Luke's arm before throwing him down to the mat. The blond hit the ground on his back, breath escaping his lungs from the impact. 

Din almost went to help him up but Luke threw his legs backwards into a handstand before standing back up. He barely looked affected, the only sign of fatigue on him was the sweat on his forehead that matted down his blond hair. 

“Three, Three,” Din called. “And there’s no need to show off.” 

The next point would declare a winner. There was a smile on Luke’s face, different from the ones before. This one was more open, leaving Din feeling dizzy instead of insulted. 

Din tried to understand it but there was no more time to ponder as Luke set on his next attacks. He was more aggressive than he’d been the rest of the fight but Din pushed back, not without some difficulty. Luke danced around Din with a frightening agility. The only thing that kept Din in the fight for so long were his reflexes. He knew he had to end this fight soon or Luke would eventually wear him down. 

In a decisive move Din attacked at Luke’s head, trading off his defense for offense. He had Luke on the move, nearly pushing him off the mat. However, before he could land a finishing blow Luke darted to the side, slipping his leg between Din’s and toppling him to the floor. When Din processed what happened, he was pinned under Luke’s hips on his chest and his bō at his neck. 

Cheers erupted from the gathered crowd, but Din’s view had narrowed into Luke as he stood up. Din stayed on the ground, still a bit stunned from the end of the fight. He wasn’t really sure how to feel about its outcome. But one thing was for certain, he and Luke were drift compatible. Very drift compatible. 

Din was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t even realize Luke was reaching down to him until his hand was in his face. He took it and allowed Luke to help him to his feet. 

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” Luke asked.

“Yeah.”

[alessiathepirate]

Game of Thrones

FOUR: Bronn x fem!reader

Summary: She remembers how many times his nose had been broken. The trip to Dorne ended up being the fourth. She's there to help him with it though.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I may have made while I wrote this short story.

Warnings: swearing, mentioned brothels but nothing specific

•••

"Four." she said as she did her best to push back a smile, but her lips were trembling from trying.

"What?" Bronn turned to look at her, his voice full of annoyment.

"The number of times your nose has been broken." she explained. "Now it's four."

"It's real' nice to know you were paying attention." the sides of his fingers were bloody as he held onto the area and she grabbed a rag - a rather fancy looking one - to help him with his injury. "But you could've told me to punch the cunt harder."

She laughed as she pushed him down to sit on the chair, so she'll get a better access to his face. She pushed his hand aside and had to hit him on the shoulder playfully when he tried to pull her onto his lap with his bloodied hand.

"Trystane? Oh please, he was out cold from the hit you gave him anyway. And it wasn't the best you can do."

Her fingers gently raked through his hair, giving Bronn the attention he was rather fond of even if he teased her for it at night restlessly, before she began to clean up his face.

" 'Cause you know what I can do." he smiled up at her through bloodied lips and she pressed down on the right side of his nose a bit harder to shut him up.

He hissed a bit, but that was all.

"And you know what I can do if you choose to run your mouth."

"Attacking a man when he's down. I wonder who taught you that."

She smiled, even if she did her best not to do that, and so did he - once again.

"Well he fights without honor so I fight without it too." she explained, remembering how Bronn chose to attack her the moment her fingertips touched the sword for the first time - she didn't even have the chance to get a good grip.

" 'Always knew you were my kind of woman." he stated with a grin, his hands grabbing her upper thighs quickly - she didn't have the chance to scold him for it either.

"I'm happy to hear that-- since my presence alone made you avoid brothels, for a year."

"The things I do for you." his thumbs started to draw circles into her thighs through the material of the dress Doran Martell was so keen on gifting her - the dress, that became dirty with blood the moment Bronn touched it, not like either of them cared.

"And you better keep on doing them unless you want me to kill you." she threatened, her voice shaking slightly from the fear deep down, that he might go back to his old self, exploring brothels for his liking.

"Oh come on darlin', not a single whore can compare to you." Bronn's hold on her thighs tightened and the movement of his fingertips stopped - that was his way of comforting her, making it a teasing-like joke when in reality what she thought mattered to him more than anything else.

Despite feeling jealous and self-conscious about herself, she smiled at the things he said. Bronn meant every word that left his mouth.

"Besides, none of them could look as good with a sword as you do."

It was a quick movement. His arms moved faster than she could react and suddenly she was sitting on his lap. A small tearing sound could be heard and she was sure the dress Doran had given her was torn. Not like it mattered, the blood ruined it anyway.

She placed her hands on his shoulders as a late reaction, the rag almost falling from her hand.

From up close she could see the damage the guard had done much better. The skin around his nose was angry red and bruised, someplace even swollen. The blood was already gone, she washed it off his face well.

And Bronn was smiling with one of those teasing smiles of his - the one she was silly enough to fall for.

"You ripped my dress." she stated instead of asking if he was feeling all right - he might've laughed if she asked that.

"It wasn't even yours."

"It was. Prince Doran gifted it to me." she argued as she looked at the light coloured dress, then back up at Bronn.

He just laughed shortly, dismissively. "I'm sure he gave it to you out of kindness."

"Don't be sarcastic- or jealous. I'm not sitting on his lap in it." she leaned close to him, grinning while doing so, her lips almost touching his. "Besides, I prefer sellswords over golden princes."

"Thank the Gods."

She giggled and leaned back, taking one last look at his nose. " 'You'll be fine, right? I like it more when you're the one punching others."

" 'Never been better." his grip tightened on her waist.

And she leaned in and kissed him, hugging him so close they were almost chest to chest. Despite how quick and lustful he wanted to be, she didn't keep up at all and tried to turn the kiss into a slow, but passionate one. She didn't want to touch his nose too hard or too suddenly. After many tries, she succeeded.

Sitting on Bronn's lap was the best thing in the Seven Kindoms - it didn't only provide pleasure, but comfort and safety too. She felt safe and warm there, and sometimes - most of the times - impossibly teasing and impatient.

"Don't get punched again." she pleaded after a while. "You look good with a scar here and there, but don't make it an everyday thing-- please."

"I'll punch the Hells out of the next cunt who tries, don't you worry." his fingers were dancing around on her back, making her shiver. "Now that we're alone, I know a real' good tavern 'round here. They have the best Dornish wine."

"We shouldn't leave the Old Palace." she said even though she already knew she'll say yes.

"Well, do the rules ever stop us?"

She smiled.

Us.

That's how she knew Bronn loved her. He never said it with confessions, but during times like these he made sure she understood that he really does.

[skitskatdacat63]

Hey, do you remember that really homoerotic scene from Skyfall? No? That's okay, here's a Vettonso version of it :)

- explanation & w/o text:

Hi hello, finally my weird psychosexual relationship with Casino Royale has come to fruition. Yeah this is directly based off a scene from Skyfall, but I def envision the vibe as being more like Casino Royale hehe. I can't believe I made that inspo board for this AU almost 4 weeks ago, and then ended up drawing a four panel "comic" about it. Ahhhh proud of myself, a bit, a tad. I think this took 20+ hours across the span of a week? God. Anyways I digress! The AU!!

First of all, their Bond song would be "My Way of Life" by Frank Sinatra. It's so toxic, codependent and obsessive, I'm in love with it. And it really suits Fernando and his motivations and outlook in this AU. Basically, MI6(in the context of James Bond) in this AU is an analog for Ferrari. It picks theses guys up, tells them that they're Ferrari MI6's most special boy, chews them up, and then spits them out when they're finished extracting all their talent and skill and life force.

Much like with Ferrari, Seb in this AU replaces Fernando after Fernando loses favor and becomes undesirable. Now Seb is the new golden boy, and Fernando has turned to a life of crime! Fernando resents Seb for this of course, but also becomes obsessed with him and the idea of him , and how they are connected. It's weird to watch someone else basically go down your exact same path and unknowingly make all the same mistakes(buying into the mysticism of it all too much, being overly cocky, having naive beliefs and goals, etc.) He is caught between wanting to doom Seb even more but also wanting to "save" him, by corrupting him and convincing him to work together.

Basically: He's both a Bond girl and Bond villain.

Fernando is in such a weird place in this AU. I think he's just very dramatic. Seb is just casually living his best 007(005?) life, and Nando is watching him with binoculars, whispering to himself: "DOESN'T HE UNDERSTAND THAT WE ARE NARRATIVE FOILS!?" Yeah he hates Seb, but like the song lyrics say, their lives and dreams are inherently tied up together. He would feel lost without Seb, because Seb basically, unknowingly, destroyed and then took over his life. Maybe he'll feel satisifed if he manipulates Seb into going down the exact same path a bit better.

About the drawings themselves. Still can't believe this scene is a real thing that actually happened, insane to me. But in this AU, after the events of these drawings, Fernando definitely kicked all his henchman out of the room, and fucked Seb in the chair. And then against the wall. And then on the floor. Hey man, Seb is already looking mighty delicious with his unbuttoned attire and being tied up.

I think the general plot would be that Fernando keeps trying to seduce him to the dark side, and Seb keeps making him think it worked, only to escape at the end of the encounter. Leading Fernando to just come up with increasingly more violent and kinky traps. Seb goes along with it(read: enjoys it), leaving Fernando satisifed, only to somehow escape and wink and make kissy faces at Fernando in the process. (Fernando smoking cigarette in bed: "How do I make him stay. Sigh.")

I like to think though that Fernando does win in the end, by realizing, ah wait shit I do need to actually explain my motivations to Seb. And Seb is so worn down by his job, not Fernando, and how he's being treated, that he listens, really actually listens, and realizes Fernando does really have valid reasons. And then they become evil crime husbands yayyyy. Wow you thought this was a espionage AU? Well it is, but just not the outcome you'd expect.

[catsafari25]

A/N: Hello again, and with this I think (?) I may have succeeded in writing enough bionicle fic to get it out of my system (unless another plot bunny hits me like a cannonball, but... eh, we'll see) and thus, here is the companion piece to the Vakama & Roodaka oneshot.

This time, exploring the scene where Vakama entered the Great Temple, from his side of things! This was also partially inspired by the scene in Challenge of the Hordika where Nokama is almost physically repulsed in trying to enter the Great Temple :)

x

In the tunnels beneath the temple, Vakama must stoop.

At first he shuffles, mutated arm tucked against him and his sole hand brushing only briefly along the floor to steady himself, but the passages are dark and deep and lined with creatures which seek out the weak. The eyes that watch him are not hungry. They keep their bellies too full for that.

In the end, it is easier quicker to drop to all fours, to share the weight between claw and tool that feet alone cannot. His altered form folds into the new stance with frightening familiarity. It's comfortable.

Natural.

The crown of his mask grazes the tunnel's ceiling, but only in passing. His gait is sure. Well. Surer than the ungainly slouch it had been before.

It was said – back when Matoran were awake to say such things – that even the strongest swimmers of Ga-Metru would hesitate before plunging into the depths of the protodermis sea. Not because the creatures there had any fondness for the taste of Matoran. In truth, it was thought that the rahi actively disliked the flavour. No, it was because the way Matoran swam was indistinguishable from the rahi's usual prey. Only when they had sunk tooth and jaw into their meal would they realise their mistake.

It was an annoying, if harmless mistake for the rahi.

Matoran couldn't say the same.

Vakama's early crawl through the passage had been like that of a Matoran swimmer: functional, but slow and indiscernible from wounded prey. Creatures drag themselves down into these depths to die, in hopes that they will be devoured only when they are too far gone to feel it. The eyes are patient. They will wait to see if this newcomer is similarly inclined.

And so when Vakama drops to his haunches, the eyes blink. Reassess. He moves less like the hunted and more like the hunter now, more predator than prey, and the eyes – and teeth – keep their distance after that.

The path Vakama stalks through was once a protodermis pipe, made obsolete even before the cataclysm. Newer conduits had been built, more efficient, more resilient, and this one had been disconnected but never dismantled. When he reaches its origin, it takes some effort – and his blazer claw – to break the seal across the hatchway, but when he does, one of the temple's protodermis purification chambers looms above him.

The room beyond is quiet.

Unmarked.

He doesn't realise he's stopped until the chittering of his audience draws closer. The snarl he throws back echoes off the pipe's walls, and the eyes retreat, but do not leave.

Vakama curls his hand around the lip of the hatch, and then falters.

Something is wrong.

It's not a pain, because the feeling does not hurt as it ought, but something is undeniably, fundamentally wrong. It causes his breath to catch, his hand to flinch, and it would be so easy, so easy, to turn and walk away, only...

Only he came here for a reason.

The wrongness flares, amplified for a moment, and then he pulls himself up. The eyes watch, but do not follow. Do they feel it too? Can even such base creatures sense the innate malice the temple exudes?

He clambers out of the purification chamber – empty and abandoned now – and stumbles upon his landing. He catches himself, but does not rise back to his feet.

Wrong.

This is wrong.

And at the edge of the wrongness there is a strange sort of terror. It dreads the same way the fire fears the sea, the same way the prey fears the predator; it is the meeting of two primally antithetical forces where only one can survive. It whispers turn back through his mind.

He moves into the next room.

It's one he knows well. Light filters down from the rot-stained windows, centering – as it had the day he'd first seen it – on the suva, and casting long sentinel shadows of the columns standing to attention around it. A crack mars the suva, its stone dome now split cleanly in two from the quakes, and – drawn by some desire he cannot identify (instinct, curiosity... nostalgia?) – he approaches.

It seems so small now. Even bowed and altered in his Hordika form, he looms over the Ta-Metru symbol he'd once had to stretch to reach.

Unbidden, his hand moves to the niche where once he'd placed a Toa Stone – where once he had though himself chosen, duty-bound, destiny-gifted – and falters a breath from the stone.

The wrongness spikes.

Screams.

And with a twist of something he will not call horror, he understands it is not originating from himself.

But from the temple.

It is repulsion. It's alienation. It's recognising him, but as other, as rahi.

It's disgust that a monster would dare enter its sanctuary.

In the Ta-Metru carving, stone once polished to the point of fragmented reflection, he sees a glimmer of his own face. Neither Toa nor Matoran. Nothing blessed by Mata Nui.

Vakama recoils.

And then a wave of his own disgust, propelled by that fury that runs so close to the surface now, rolls through him. If you didn't want us as the Toa, you should've stopped Makuta from choosing us, he thinks, and digs his claws into the stonework.

The wrongness sings.

But he knows it for what it is now, and his morphed, clawed hand gorges scars through the carving. The stone is soft. Its makers had never imagined someone would take a blade to it.

There comes a tapping from across the room, echoing brazenly off the ancient stone walls, and Vakama retreats instinctively into the shadows. A Rahaga enters.

Norik?

No, this Rahaga's armour is more akin to a Po-Matoran than a Ta-Matoran's, the colour of dust and stone. Vakama tries to recall the Rahaga's name – and then dismisses the attempt.

It won't matter, in the end.

The Rahaga walks as he always has, stooped and slow, but clearly unhindered by the temple. He passes by the suva and runs one gnarled hand across the stonework, his movements marred by curiosity rather than reverence.

The rage arrives a fully-formed creation. It drowns out the wrongness, floods the apprehension, and he is moving before he's decided that this is the path he wants.

It is not pain, for it does not hurt as it ought.

But it does still hurt.

x

Whatever the Rahaga might once have been, they are old and weak now. Four are captured before Vakama's rage has a chance to cool, but the ire is no less dangerous when it does.

(That's the thing about Ta-Metru; it's not a place of fire so much as it is of magma. And magma doesn't extinguish with the cold; it sets. It moors itself into place, an unmovable, burning force.)

The rage settles, solidifies around his heart and lungs and carves a home between his breaths.

(Magma is not fire. It does not leap blindly from one source to the next. Instead it advances. Slowly. Steadily. It finds a channel, a destination, and it engulfs all in its path until it reaches it.)

He finds the last two remaining Rahaga, pathetically ignorant to their brothers' fates and still scavenging the temple for answers. He hears the way Norik appraises his sister's translation, relief clear in his voice that they are one step further on this wild rahi chase. Relief, surely, that the Rahaga are one step closer to regaining their Toa form.

(And Vakama's anger has found its destination.)

He does not descend on the Rahaga's leader the way he has the others. No. Norik will know what's coming for him first. He gets to fear. Vakama waits until Gaaki has gone, until Norik is alone, and then he circles. The wrongness thrums in his veins, weighing him down and labouring his breaths. It doesn't matter. Let Norik hear his approach.

Norik doesn't try to run. Vakama will give him that much. (A wise choice. Vakama intends for this encounter to last, but if Norik runs, Vakama cannot be sure he won't chase.) Instead, the malformed once-Toa calls out and actually tries to approach him. Stupid. Doesn't he know that he won't win any fight, transformed as he is? As both of them are? No, instead, he tries to talk. As if they are equals, as if Norik has done anything to deserve his respect rather than his scorn. As if he has earned the temple's forgiveness for his trespassing.

Even when Vakama raises the fate of Norik's fellow Rahaga, Norik attempts to sway him with the illusion of reason, talking of duty and unity, as if he's not using the other Toa Hordika to chase after a rahi myth for his own desires. As if their roles are in any way comparable, both Toa of Fire once, both leaders, it's true, but Vakama hasn't forgone his duty to chase after selfish needs.

And it stops now.

Vakama circles closer, and Norik is still talking, unease in his voice, but not fear. Still searching for the right words to turn Vakama to his bidding as he has the other Toa Hordika. Ever the voice of two-faced logic.

Why won't he just shut up?

Does Norik think him to be as gullible as the others? As quick to desert his duty as them?

And Vakama knows he wants – needs – to shake that assurance, that arrogance out of Norik. Needs to see that facade of self-righteous wisdom crumble into the terror of his situation.

The growl begins deep in his chest and, unleashed, it becomes a roar. He rears out of the darkness, into the weak sphere of light surrounding Norik – and there, there he finally sees true fear fill the old fool's eyes.

Something slams into Vakama and he reels, his roar cut short. His hand reaches automatically, defensively, to his mask. He finds only water there. It clings to him, imbued with some sort of power – he can feel something other in it – but otherwise impotent.

"Leave my brother alone," Gaaki snarls. She stands in the doorway, small and hopelessly overpowered, but her shoulders are tensed with a stubborness Vakama recognises. Already, her spinner is powering up for another shot.

Well. Two can play at that game.

Vakama's rhotuka fires into motion, but the water has seeped into the mechanism, and dowses the fire before it has a chance to catch. He gives it a withering look, before turning the expression onto Gaaki. "Very clever."

Another water spinner hits him, but this time he is braced for it and all it does is wash harmlessly off him.

"Is that all you have?" he asks. His blazer claw splutters, but the claws on his hand flex. After all, there's more than one way to defang a muaka...

Gaaki steps back. Good. She knows she's outmatched. "It's a devastating attack underwater," she offers, and her words are strong but there is a cracked edge to them.

"Then you'd better start finding a puddle," Vakama growls, "before my claws find you," and he drops into a run, feet pounding and fangs bared and that ever-present wrongness humming about him.

She doesn't flee. Just like Norik, she stands her ground, gnarled fingers wrapped tight around her staff. Her eyes are hard, but he sees the way her hands shake.

How long will her resolve last, Vakama wonders. Before or after the claws find their mark?

He never finds out.

He's knocked off his feet before he reaches her, and when he hits the ground, ropes of energy pin him to the earth, like a water-bound rahi caught in a net.

What–

Norik.

He'd forgotten Norik.

He thrashes against the restraints, but they hold strong – for now. His blazer claw splutters again, but it does nothing to the energy that binds him.

He stills as he hears footsteps approach.

The two Rahaga hobble into his line of sight. Gaaki is breathing hard, as if only now is she allowing herself to feel the fear. "You left that late, Norik," she says, and even the breath that follows sounds more like a shaken wheeze than a nervous laugh. "Almost too late."

"I only had the one shot. I couldn't afford to miss," Norik replies. "He's got our brothers. Gaaki, go find–"

"I'm not leaving you alone with him," she retorts. "I only went for a moment before, and look what would have happened if I hadn't returned."

Vakama tilts his head as well as the energy net will allow. He grins at the Rahaga, anger curdling it into a sneer. "Yes, Gaaki, you're very good bait, congratulations." He shifts his gaze to Norik. "But you've always been so good at getting others to do your dirty work, haven't you, Norik?"

Norik doesn't even have the decency of guilt. Instead, he simply looks tired. "Whatever you think you know–"

"I know the truth! You don't care about the Matoran, you only care about yourselves!" He strains against the ropes, and although they do not break, there's a little more give in them than before. He slumps back to the ground, breathing hard. "You might have the other Toa fooled. You might even have the temple fooled, but not me," he growls, and the temple's hatred presses down on him, straining his last words.

Gaaki places a frail hand on her brother's arm. "Norik," she says, and there is such unbearable sorrow in her voice. "He looks in pain."

"It's not my doing," Norik assures her softly. "My snare spinner only binds."

Vakama snarls. "I don't need pity from the likes of you. I know what you are."

"We're allies, Vakama," Norik says, in that insufferably reasonable way of his. "Friends."

"You're frauds," Vakama snaps. He twists against his restraints. They slacken, just a touch. "Liars. You don't deserve to walk these floors."

And the Rahaga stand there, unburdened by the temple's hate, strangers to this land, to Metru Nui, and yet it is Vakama the temple repulses? After everything he has forgone, the life he's abandoned, the friendships he's lost, Mata Nui punishes him?

His rhotuka fires off a fire spinner, and it goes wide, cracks a wall. Norik and Gaaki stumble back, Norik preparing another snare shot, but the energy net holding Vakama snaps. Vakama lurches forward, suddenly free, and slams into Norik.

The snare spinner wraps itself around a column. It lights up the room with crackling energy.

A blast of water grazes past his shoulder, too shy of hitting Norik to commit to taking the easy shot, and Vakama reels towards Gaaki. He fires with a snarl, but hears the snare spinner coming again and ducks at the last moment.

Again his own attack misses and the shot cleaves clean through a wall. Something on the other side begins to smoulder.

Then it begins to rumble.

It's a low sound at first, as deep as the earth and just as vast. Almost like a distant growl. But then the cracks begin to spiral out across the roof, along the columns, and the room buckles.

The light flickers. The frames of the high windows above collapse.

The world becomes fragmented, filled with flickering images. Falling masonry and toppling pillars and dust – but the sounds never relent. Even in the depths of the passing darkness, the thunder continues.

And when the dust settles, so does an awful silence.

Vakama straightens, or does his best approximation of it. Fragments of cracked protodermis fall from his shoulders, his head, his back. He withdraws the hand which has somehow found itself raised above Gaaki, knocking aside the stone slab caught against his arm.

Where's Norik?

Both Hordika and Rahaga stand side by side, that quietness disturbed only by the skittering of stone shards settling. There is wrongness in his breath, his head, and it's impossible to separate where the temple's ends and his begins. But any moment now, Norik will reappear from the wreckage, bearing that ever-same holier-than-thou look, and the anger will rise anew in Vakama.

Any.

Moment.

Now.

"You've killed him," Gaaki says, and her voice breaks that terrible stillness. She draws in a half-breath that cracks into a sob. "You've... oh, Norik..."

No.

No, it was an accident. He hadn't meant to– Norik had simply been in the wrong place. It wasn't as if he'd taken a blazer claw to Norik, or hit him directly with a fire spinner. He'd only meant to... what? What had he only meant to do?

Something swings towards him and he grabs the staff before he even registers what it is.

"He's not dead," Vakama says, and maybe if he says it, he might even believe it. He snaps his gaze to Gaaki, as if her grief is bringing it to pass. "He's not. He's not as easy to kill as that. When the others– when the Toa find him, he'll be fine. Fools like him always find a way to survive."

Gaaki attempts to pull her staff free, but her strength is no match for Vakama's. He wretches it out of her grasp and tosses it aside.

"Stop that."

She doesn't listen to him, only steps back and charges up her rhotuka. The grief in her eyes fogs into hatred.

The water spinner hits him but does little more than rock him.

"Stop."

Gaaki screams, a sound of rage and anguish, and releases a volley of spinners as ineffectual as the first.

Vakama's patience – or whatever had held him in place until now – snaps. He lunges forward. His claws close around the joints of Gaaki's rhotuka and pins the mechanisms harmlessly into place, in the same manner one might pick up a baby ussal crab by the widest edge of its shell. She thrashes, but Vakama's grip holds.

"I said, stop," he snarls.

She's breathing hard, her gasps sharp-edged with agony. "You killed him," she says, voice hoarse and hateful.

His insides twist, and – Gaaki hauled by his side – he starts the ascent to where the rest of the Rahaga are trapped. He doesn't look back to the rubble. Doesn't glance for one last glimpse of Norik's resting place.

He's not dead. He's not dead he's not dead he's not

The wrongness, the hatred, has woven so deep into him, it's almost a part of him now.

Toa don't kill. Vakama can't remember who taught him that (he recalls, briefly, the flash of a gold mask, but it comes with pain – grief – and he pushes it aside before it can take root) but it gnaws at him like a trapped stone rat. Toa don't kill.

But he was never meant to be one.

And if the Great Temple – if Mata Nui – thinks a mistake was made in Vakama's destiny....

Well. That's somebody else's problem.

x

The Hordika that returns to Roodaka is different from the one she sent out. There's something new in his eyes... or perhaps something lost.

"How was the temple, Vakama?" she asks when it's just the two of them.

He looks to her. Beneath the anger, beneath the rahi, there's almost a haunted look to those eyes. It vanishes a moment later, but Roodaka never doubts her own eyes.

"Unwelcoming," he replies, and Roodaka smiles. She could have suggested Vakama pick the Rahaga off one by one in the chaos of Metru Nui, outside where her Visorak could have been an aid... but the temple had been too good an opportunity to miss.

"Good." She sets a hand on his shoulder. "You owe no loyalty to Mata Nui, Vakama. Not anymore."

He rolls his shoulder, but not sharp enough to dislodge Roodaka's hand.

"One thing I do not understand," she says. "What happened to the sixth Rahaga?"

The Toa growls. It is a gutteral sound, rooted deep in the chest and at home in a way it wasn't before. "You wanted a message left for the other Toa. I needed a messenger."

"Alive?"

Vakama shrugs his shoulder again, and this time she lets him roll her hand loose. "Does it matter, so long as they understand?" he growls.

No, Roodaka concedes as she surveys the remains of the Toa before her. She supposes not.

[toomanywordsnllines]

Finally got a decent enough drawing to talk a little more about Many!

First I would like to introduce Many's world. Their jewel and their reason to live.

Their little potato - Mimi! (One day I'll make a comic with how the task came to know Mimi but all you have to know is that: The task did not know of her existence, only the captain) she's technically a little older then just a baby but I wanted to show... This side of Many.

So let's talk about Many!

As you can see, they're a parent of a very entusiastic 4 year old (Mimi is hard of hearing and has terrible eye sight since very young (Many calls her, their 'little bat'). Besides other health problems. Many goes far and beyond to make sure she has everything she needs and desires.)

Many had her before joining the task force and that period of time is erased from their file... for privacy reasons.

Child things aside-

There are four (more or less set to stone) rules about Many

1. Don't ask about what's under the mask (unless you want to get on their bad side, then congratulations, you already made half your way there, if not try to redeem your error (good luck)) and per consequence. Don't touch the mask;

2. Don't ask them to emote more (You think they should laugh more? Keep that to yourself unless you want a very hurtful/snappy/rude response);

3. Don't talk about their appearance or what you think they might look like (same thing as point 1, but this one is just Speedrun for them to hate you/avoid you like the plague (if it was a mistake… good luck trying to remedy it));

4. Never make a big deal about them forgetting something (unless it's very urgent or life threatening) (this is the hardest rule to come around and understand because instead of lashing out they just… stop and turn off. Shut down.)

This may make them sound a little like an asshole. But they live by the rule of "I wouldn't ask anyone something like that because it's weird and uncomfortable, so why would anyone ask me that??" (Don't do to others what you wouldn't like to be done to you)

As, I think I said in some other post, Many doesn't have a very tragic backstory.

They grew up with their mother and two siblings (one older, another younger) in a modest appartment. Their father was out working but was always extremly suportive and caring. Loving parents loving family.

Some problems making friends but... pretty alright-

Teenagehood was rough, complicated and ugly and that's where most of their problems started. Because of an incident that happen when they were small (which resulted in 'brain damage' but not like 'worrying' (that's what the doctors said- they were... so wrong)) Their control of their emotions was... almost non existent. Very emotional and empathetic. Very explosive and angry. Messy.

Teenage years didn't make that better... only worse.

Developed severe Athazagoraphobia (fear of forgetting someone or something, as well as a fear of being forgotten) which got worse after they got a concussion and got mild amnesia of the event.

They almost tore and entire room apart, from their panic.

And that's where the panic attacks and anxiety also started full swing.

The fear was born because of their Prosopagnosia (also known as face blindness, in which he is unable to recognize faces) caused by the incident and that... only got worse with age.

Their Prosopagnosia is so... bad to the point where they cannot remember their own face at all (only eye color and hair color) and the Athazagoraphobia was so severe that the two mixed and they developed a form of face dysmorphia (which as you can imagine... only made everything worse)

That's... almost all the story behind the mask

They could not control what other people say and do so... they took the control out of people for there to be any stray comments.

Also It makes it easier for them to describe their face (just a blank white mask) that's why you can only see their eyes and that's why they leave their hair mostly uncovered (things they can remember).

Now if you read the four rules... you can understand why they exist. It's self persevation mixed with self sabotage.

And it's because of that emotional sensitivity that they joined the military (no one wanted them to do it. Their mother begged them not to. But the feeling of being constatly lost and at the brink of exploding all at the same time? was too much and they just felt they needed to be put in line... By people who didn't care about their feelings).

As you can imagine- and seeing how I've drawn them so far- you can see that it suceded somehow. Though is a very negative side. Bottling everything up to the point of apathy and desinterest.

Thankfully it didn't kill them completly... And you can see that.

One mission was enough to make them see that... they didn't need to hide everything and so they didn't. They observe and they look out for others. They care so so much. It's painful. It's so painful but it's the last thing that makes them feel human so they lean into it.

Even though they don't share their name, it's not an actual secret. It's written on their dog tags- First and Last- people just take Many's, quite honestly, scary exterior and don't really get close. Many isn't really a secret, they just live by the rule of, ask if you want information, and if they trust you, they'll share.

They keep it a 'secret' mostly because they cherish the name imensly. It's really important for them.

Also they like the whole being a little anonymus (relief when no one knows who you are, also it helps them train their memory).

They keep a journal to note down things (a human mind can remember so much) and keep a photo of everyone they know there so they can also remember their faces.And although they have... everything more under control then they ever had since young

(And you could feel their relief when they meet the team and see a lot of them use things like masks or glasses or have painted hair or have prominent scars. Things easy to remember.)

And although they have... everything more under control then they ever had since young. There's still moments:

They still have nasty panic attacks. But especially when they forget things (small or big). Or when someone asks them to describe someone they saw/know, and don't take a 'I don't remember as an answer'. (Because it's out of their control-)

They do not look at mirrors or whatever. Avoid them like the plague.

And they still have... self destructive tendencies... (I'll talk more about it on another post but- yeah) BOY THAT GOT LONG MY BAD-

[norisbeinghuman]

Creativity in the age of AI

“I Dig a Pygmy” by Charles Hawtrey and the Deaf Aids. Phase one, in which Doris gets her oats. - John Lennon on “Two of Us”

My husband and I have been watching The Beatles: Get Back documentary and it made me think a lot about creativity, art and authenticity.

I love The Beatles. Every time I hear the opening chord of the Hard Day’s Night, I am transported back in time, 6 years old, sitting in the back of the car on our way to visit grandma on a Saturday. Beatles have shaped my taste in music more than probably any other band. Despite all the difficulties and the drama that accompanied the making of what turned out to be their last album – Let It Be – it is such a treat to watch them at work. Or maybe I should rather say to watch them at play.

Once they get into a flow, the four of them seem to be having so much fun. They break out into random songs, add silly lyrics, banter and laugh. While they are undoubtedly working and creating gems such as Let It Be, the process is so very clearly play. And not only in the sense that they are playing music, which they obviously are, but they are also playing with the music, with each other and with their ideas.

I was surprised to realise how many of these spontaneous little moments made it onto the finished album, just like the quote that introduced this blog post. It’s something John Lennon says out of nowhere, making everyone laugh. It has nothing to do with any of the songs. But it is there, the first thing on the album. Ir’s far from the only example. There are many bits and pieces that were clearly improvised, created from a moment of sudden inspiration, a moment of play. Most of them are just funny, silly, little things. But as a listener, I find them to be oh, so delightful.

The times of “perfect”

Watching The Beatles at play made me confront expectations I have about my own process of creation. Art and creative expression have been becoming more and more important for me over the last several years. I am getting more and more convinced that creative flow is one of the biggest joys in life and something we humans need to be happy. It doesn’t have to be big art, there are infinitely many ways to be creative. In my case it’s mostly writing, fibre crafts (like knitting and crochet) and an occasional drawing. My talent and ambitions are modest, and my goal is almost entirely just my own fun and satisfaction.

If the stakes of my creation are so low, why then do I seem to be more afraid of being silly and making mistakes than The Beatles were, while they were producing an album they knew millions were waiting for?

I think a part of it is the times we are living in. All of us have constant access to tools that allow us to make anything look just that little bit more polished. Just that little bit more “perfect”. Filters, photo editors, auto-tune, and now most of it powered by AI in addition. Heck, just the ability to take 50 selfies so we can pick the best one is a way of polishing reality that is very new in the history of humankind.

I know there are people who are trying to fight against this on social media, posting content and images that are more authentic, but I would say these are in the minority. There are many more who will say they are posting a candid photo, but still make sure to get themselves from the good side, or make sure the lighting is just right, or whatever else.. And most will just go with it and do their best to make their creation as polished and professional-looking as possible.

The result is that we are exposed to a stream of what pretends to be the normal life of others, but in reality is highly-polished highlights of their lives. In return, we feel like that is the level we should aim for when we are sharing something of our own. Anything less feels just plain not-good-enough. And sadly, these aren’t completely empty fears, because in the day and age of social media, the criticism we might receive online can be absolutely cruel and ruthless. I just think about the women who show their normal faces and their age in an attempt to normalise the way an average 30 or 40 year old looks like without any procedures and makeup, and they get shredded to pieces in the comment sections. We are all so used to unattainable standards that we don’t even know that that is what they are anymore.

If this is happening with “normal” people, it’s no wonder that the vast majority of big-name actors and pop stars (if not all) have a number of plastic surgeries, veneers on their teeth, flawless makeup, contouring, and an aura of effortless perfection about them. I find it so refreshing to look at music videos and concerts from a few decades ago. People look so much less polished, less perfect, and (I am probably projecting here) more at peace with that lack of perfection. Skin texture, less-than-perfect teeth, body hair, nipples showing through the tops, normal faces, normal bodies, and clothes and makeup that were meant more as a form of expression, rather than a way to hide the flaws of their wearer.

Looking at The Beatles jamming in their studio in 1969, I couldn’t help but wonder what we might be losing in our hunt for perfection. Because while it might feel like it makes sense to pursue perfection, it seemed to me that we are, indeed, losing something. I think creativity might be one of the first victims of perfectionism.

Creativity requires play.

Creativity is impossible to control. It is not something we can force. We can facilitate creativity by crafting the right conditions and hoping for it to appear, but we can’t make it happen.

Creativity is something that emerges spontaneously from play. Play is one of those things that are difficult to define, although we all experience it and intuitively know it when we see it. Play means engaging with our internal and external world in the moment, exploring, having fun. It’s a state of focus and flow, that we access so easily when we are young, but it gets more difficult as we get older. While play might look a little different in adults, it is still play, and it is the state in which we can reach into the well of our creativity.

What do we need to be able to play? One of the main requirements is a sense of safety. Not feeling safe makes it difficult to focus deeply, and to try new things that might lead to mistakes. Without feeling safe to fail, we can’t play. The other thing is the right kind of challenge: something interesting and stimulating, something that stretches us, but is still within our abilities. Ultimately, play is built on trust. Trust that our environment is safe and that we are allowed to explore, try and fail; and trust in our own ability to overcome the challenge.

Perfectionism killed the cat… I mean, play

Perfectionism is at the opposite end of the spectrum from play. There is nothing easy or playful about it, and I think one of the main reasons is that it is born out of fear.

I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. - Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird

Perfectionism is the fear that keeps us from trusting the safety of our playground. We don’t think we can afford mistakes. And perfectionism is the the fear that erodes our trust in ourselves. When perfection is the goal, we can never ever be good enough, and it’s only a matter of time before the fear paralyses us into procrastination and avoidance.

Imperfection is so very, very necessary, and being OK with it opens the doors to creativity, connection and authenticity.

It is our mistakes and the acceptance of mistakes that allow us to play, to practice, to be truly creative, to develop ourselves. It is how we learn and how we become better.

It is in our mistakes and in our lows that we best connect with others; they are what makes us human, what makes us relatable, what makes us real. I feel like we live in times where we would prefer “perfect” over “real”. Maybe it’s not so strange that the use of AI tools is becoming so common for tasks that are at their core creative ones. It feels safer not to show ourselves, not to risk failure. And definitely easier to avoid having to be creative when we are paralysed by perfectionism.

Most of us know all that, but that doesn’t remove the fear, nor the pressure we feel from the society.

Perfection seems like such a noble goal from the outside, for who wouldn’t want to be “perfect”. But its pursuit is a prison. It keeps us from freely exploring the world and ourselves. Perfectionism steals our play away, and with it our creativity, authenticity and connection to others. Truth is, we will make mistakes anyway, no matter how hard we try. We might as well stop trying so hard, and we will have more fun leaning into our mistakes, rather than fearing them.

To be honest, I am not sure where I am heading with this. I am winging it as I go, because I am trying to do as I preach. I am trying to play. To be real. To stop being afraid of imperfection. And I know that I will make mistakes and be cringey and that not everyone will like me, and I am doing my best to be OK with it.

I think the tide of our times will turn. Just like the 50s were followed by the 60s, which seemed much less concerned with perfection, I think people will eventually get tired of stepping so carefully through their lives. And until then, we can swim against the tide and have fun with it.

https://noriparelius.com/post/creativity/

[stormartsies07]

Thanks for 100 likes! (And 10 Reblogs!)

Here's a fanfiction I made to celebrate this occasion. (With some little drawings as well.)

The Tumblr notification sounded throughout the land, awakening everyone who has ever been in the posts of stormartsies07.

Four Integer rose first, announcing the achievement with a loud, "WE DID IT! WE GOT TO 100 LIKES!"

Bugbo, the purple humanoid bug, rose second as he was trying to process what Four just said, "Oh, ok, and why is that important?"

"Don't you know Bugbo? The creator got an

[OFFICIAL TUMBLR MILESTONE OFFICIAL!]"

"I still don't see how that's relevant."

Four suddenly shifted into a much lighter blue, seemingly pulling a Micheal Jackson speed run any% with how fast his 'fur' tone changed. A face of hatred spreading across his face.

"QUELQU'UN A PARLÉ PANCRÉAS? (DID SOMEBODY SAY PANCREAS?)"

"Excuse me what?"

"Oh my god I'm so sorry for acting out I'm so so so so sorry my mistake it was my fault!" Banban responded, snapping out of his pancreas filled mental blur. His Canadian heritage becoming very apparent through his words.

"No worries Banban, it was my fault for letting my dark side take over me," Four responded, trying to clam down Banban.

"It's Uthman, actually," Banban replied, still not knowing that he wasn't actually Uthman but more of his son/pseudo clone. (At least mentally.)

"Thank you for telling me Uthman!" Four exclaimed a little to excitedly, his friendly and bubbly nerd persona coming back once again.

"Can we get back to the Tumblr like thing you can explain why it's relevant?" Bugbo asked, diverting the conversation back into the focus of this post.

"OH YES! THE [OFFICIAL TUMBLR MILESTONE]! What I called you two here for is because I wanted to discuss with you both who contributed the most to stormartsies07's Tumblr likes."

"Oh um, what do you mean by that?" Bugbo asked.

"Well, who's posts got the most notes-"

Four almost felt his 😡 inner dark side 😡 come out again, but he managed to repress it.

"Notes? That's sounds weird why don't you say interactions like a normal person?" Bugbo interrupted.

"I don't want to be rude but Bugbo's right, it does sound weird calling interactions notes."

"IT DOESN'T MATTER WE JUST HAVE TO DO THE COUNTING!" Four yelled, his skin lighter now.

"We should probably get going on that-"

So...

"So it seems Ba- I mean Uthman has the highest amount of notes on his posts according to the TOP POSTS section..." Four muttered to himself looking over the logistics as Bugbo and Banban went as side to have a chat.

"We have our results!"

Four teleported everyone to the results area magically using the 🌟pencil.🌟 The results were um, something.

"Bugbo had the single highest note count on a single post, but Banban had the highest notes overall," Four said, looking at all of the notes of the pages.

"So I guess I'm the most useful?" Banban asked.

"I suppose so, with around 40 of them," Bugbo responded.

"But may I ask, why are we doing this Four?" Bugbo asked, turning towards Four.

"So we can thank them for all they've done! Actually, I have a way to celebrate!" Four exclaimed before they did an 🌟epic magic🌟 and gave everyone dresses.

"Get it off."

"Wha-"

"It's tacky, get it off of me, now."

"Ok I'll get everyone back to normal accept for me."

Bugbo then had his outfit removed, finally bringing him peace from the mild distress he felt before. Banban then decided to leave as Four started to do epic anime dances to Fortnite music.

The End

(Thanks to Alsafysh for being there 4 me.)

[joekeeryswife]

“get out!” - J.Q

REQUESTED ON TUMBLR! hello loves, how’s everyone’s day been? i got my hair cut and i actually love it 😳 anyway, there’s probably a lot of mistakes so sorry but enjoy <3

you and Joseph had been married for four years and you had a three year old daughter, Belle. you'd been with Joseph for six years altogether and they had been the best six years of your life. the fact that you were able to bring a beautiful baby into the world with the most amazing man filled your heart with so much love. watching the two of them together melted your heart every time. seeing Belle's eyes light up every time she saw Joseph.

Joseph had gotten very very famous after the new series of Stranger Things aired and you'd never been prouder of him. he'd been doing many interviews with Jamie and the rest of the cast, many of them involving travel so he was away quite a lot, meaning it was just you and Belle. you didn't mind it, you got to bond with your beautiful daughter. he'd finally come home after a few weeks of travelling and was faced with more online interviews which stressed him out.

even with him being home, he definitely did not spend time with Belle even though he promised her he would. this had made you a lot more annoyed then you already were. he was practically neglecting Belle. the day would consist of him getting up and ready, then going to a few interviews before heading out somewhere. Belle missed her dad and would try talk to him but he always shrugged her off, leaving her with a pouted expression on her face, a face she would pull when she was sad.

it was a Saturday morning, Joseph had just finished a few interviews and was sat on the sofa, chatting to his agent about a few upcoming projects. "yeah mate that sounds amazing" you heard Joseph say from the kitchen. Belle had come in earlier to show you a drawing she had done of which she described was you, Joseph and her at the park when in all honesty it looked like a bunch of scribbles, but nevertheless she had put the time and effort into making the beautiful drawing.

you'd told her to wait until Joseph finished his interview before showing him. Belle noticed he wasn't in his office anymore so she thought it would be the perfect time to finally show her daddy the beautiful drawing she did of her mum and dad, her two favourite people. she waddled into the living room, not seeing Joseph on the phone. she ran to him, the drawing in hand as she stopped in front of him, explaining the drawing as best she could.

"not now Belle" he said, pushing her off of his leg which she was holding onto. she almost lost her balance before she started explaining the drawing again. "this is mama and then next to mama is you" she said, putting the painting in his face by accident. "one second Jason" Joseph said to his agent before muting his side of the phone call. "Belle, can you not see i'm in the middle of something? i'm trying to talk to someone very important and you are distracting me.  i don't care about your stupid drawing, go to your mum or go to your room now, i mean it" he shouted at her. like really shouted at her. he pushed the drawing out of his face, accidentally ripping it in the process. this was when she lost her footing, she fell on the floor as he shouted.

his voice echoed through the house at how loud he was. he watched her, angry expression on his face, as her bottom lip quivered and then her eyes filling with tears. you'd never ever heard him shout like that to anyone, let alone his own daughter. you heard the loud sobs coming from your daughter and that was it. you wiped your hands on the tea towel next to you and walked into the living room, seeing Belle on the floor, drawing ripped and the salty tears falling down her cheeks. you looked at him go back to his phone call, not even acknowledging Belle who was still sobbing on the floor.

as soon as she saw you, she got up off the floor and ran toward you. arms raised as she sobbed, you picked her up and held her close, you walked towards Joseph, picking up the two pieces of paper that were scattered around the floor. no one would ever speak to your daughter like that. no one. you didn't care who it was and you weren't going to let Joseph get away with it. "how dare you. i don't know who you think you are speaking to my daughter like that but i won't allow it. she's done nothing but be nice to you after you've neglected her for months and the one time she finally wants to talk to you, you shout in her face? she's three years old Joseph and i'm sorry but you're acting like an arsehole." you said, voice slightly raised as you heard Belle's sobs increase.

Joseph stared at you stunned. you'd never not been in his corner, you always defended him but not this time. he'd never seen you look so furious. "i don't know what's wrong with you at the minute but you are not the Joseph i married" you said, hand now on Belle's head as sobs raked through her small body. "get out!" you said, looking him right in the eyes so he knew you meant it. "i'll call you back Jason" he said, ending the phone call quickly, obviously embarrassed that he'd been shouted at by you in front of his boss.

"what? all i did was tell her to leave-" he started, looking at a sobbing Belle in your arms. "you didn't tell her you screamed at her and ripped the drawing that she spent all day making for you! now don't make me force you to leave, get out!" you said, he sucked in a breath, guilty eyes meeting yours. he nodded and let his head fall, his eyes looking at the floor as he walked away from the two of you, leaving your house which was still filled with the ugly sobs coming from Belle.

you sat down on the sofa with her in your arms, holding her close as she cried. she sniffled and looked up at you. you shot her a sympathetic smile before wiping the salty tears that rested on her cheeks. "daddy not love me" she said, sounding heartbroken. your heart ached when you heard those words. "he does love you sweetheart. i don't know what's wrong with him but he'll come around i promise" you said, stroking her cheek comfortingly. "he said my drawing was stupid and it ripped" she said, looking at the drawing beside you, seeing the two pieces of paper all crumpled and ripped.

"i know baby but it wasn't stupid, your drawing was absolutely beautiful. i can see you being a artist or something" you said, tickling her side hoping to make her laugh, it did. she giggled slightly when you tickled her which made you smile. "come on bug, let's give you a bath" you said seeing the time in the wall being late, just before she would usually have dinner. you put Belle on the floor and walked with her hand in hand to the bathroom. you ran her a bath and put some bubbles in there with her rubber duck toys.

you bathed Belle and then got her dressed into her pyjamas before cooking dinner for you and her, leaving a plate in the microwave for Joseph. you hated seeing your daughter upset after the incident but he had no right to talk to her like that. she only wanted to show him her family drawing and he shouted. at around 8pm, you put Belle to bed. she was tired from the crying and hearing her sobs earlier broke your heart. you had no idea where Joseph was and in all honesty you didn't care.

he had no right to speak to anyone like that and the fact that the first time you'd heard him shout was to your daughter. you went to bed, angry. you were glad Joseph had gone out, leaving you to calm down your daughter. you fell asleep, no Joseph next to you. yeah you were glad Joseph had went out but you hated going to bed on an argument. you woke up at around 2:30am to someone getting into bed with you. you turned your head to the side to see a crying Joseph and a sleeping Belle laying on his chest.

you laid there and listened to him whisper to her as she slept. "i'm so sorry Bels. i didn't mean to shout at you i promise. i’ve been so stressed and i shouldn’t of taken it out on you.” he whispered, sniffling after he finished. “i swear i’m gonna change. and your drawing was so beautiful and i’m sorry for ripping it, i didn’t mean to. i wish i took the time to look at your drawing and tell you how talented you are” he carried on, kissing her on the temple before resting his head on hers. he had hot tears rolling down his face as he held her close, feeling stupid for shouting at her.

after a few minutes of hearing his sniffles, he got back out of bed and walked to Belle’s room, undoubtedly to put her back in bed. once he came back, you pulled him into your chest, sobs racking through his body. he put his arms around you and you let your hand run through his hair, trying to calm him down. “i’m so sorry y/n. i didn’t mean to shout at her-” he sobbed, making you pull him closer.

“don’t be silly. we know you’re stressed love. just don’t do it again, she was really upset” you said in a soft tone, a lot different from the one earlier. he shook his head and looked up from your chest and spoke up. “no never. never again. i felt bad as soon as i saw her in your arms. i didn’t even realise how bad i shouted” he said, sounding genuine. you nodded and pulled him back into your hold. you knew he didn’t mean to do it and you were happy he understood he was wrong and you knew in future he would never treat anyone like that again.

[gagmewitha-spork]

The Dark Side (Jessie Fleming x reader)

Warnings: none

Description: reader plays for arsenal and has mixed feelings about Jessie signing for the blue side of London (though we all know the whole of London is red)

Transferred from wattpad. Not rechecked/proofread so any mistakes belong to past me.

Word count: 1466

"Chelsea? Really? Of all the teams!", I exclaim, holding my phone in front of my face, on FaceTime to my girlfriend. Jessie just rolled her eyes.

"When are you going to get over it?", she asked me, "I thought you'd be happy I was joining you over in the UK?", she questioned me, as she had every other time we'd had this discussion since she'd informed me she'd be joining the dark side.

"I am happy about that, but", I paused, "Chelsea? Really? I totally could have got you in at Arsenal!", I told her, for the umpteenth time.

"They have a good team!", she replied, yet again rolling her eyes at my complaining, "and I don't want to get onto a team because my girlfriend pulled some strings", she explained to me, "I want to play for a club that wants me".

"Yeah yeah, you're telling me you didn't get offers from any other clubs in England?", I questioned her.

"None that were in London", Jessie informed me with a raised eyebrow, "so I actually picked the team that was closest to where you are", she gave me a look, telling me I should be thankful, though I knew that I definitely wasn't the main reason she chose to sign with Chelsea, it's nice to think that me being nearby had a little to do with it.

"At least you didn't pick Tottenham", I told her, making her laugh as I made a fake gagging sound afterwards.

Jessie and I had been together for almost two years now, since we'd both been twenty. We'd met at UCLA, which she attended for the full four years, and I'd attended for about the first year and a half, before dropping out and heading back to the UK.

I'd grown up playing in both the Sunderland youth teams and England youth teams, following in the steps of players like Jordan Nobbs, Lucy Bronze and Beth Mead, but had made a rash decision when I turned eighteen that I wanted to play in the US, and the best way to do that at the time was to play at collage there. So I'd attended UCLA and the first year went pretty well, the football was great and the school stuff was alright. I'm not particularly academic but I studied sports science which was pretty easy to get through, considering I was surrounded by people who had studied it, all the time. But after a while I guess I just got board of the school stuff and just wanted to do the football stuff, so I made the decision to try to go pro.

I had planned on re-signing with Sunderland, this time for the full team, but when people heard I'd decided to quit collage and go pro for real, I'd got a few offers from a couple of different clubs, and not just clubs back in the UK. NWSL teams gave me offers, and even a couple of lesser known European ones. But I knew England was the place for me, at least for the moment, so I signed for Man City and played there for a year before transferring to Arsenal where I'd been ever since.

Jessie has supported me through it all, she always said that whatever I wanted to do, so long as I was happy, she'd be right behind me. And I was the same for her, it was just a slight kick in the shins that she'd signed with Chelsea, of all the teams. And let me tell you, when I say the rest of the Arsenal girls will never let me live down the fact my girlfriend joined the dark side, I mean, they will literally never stop mentioning it.

But I was glad she was going to be so close by, and I was reminded of that fact as I sat with her in FaceTime right now, while she sat in her basically empty bedroom at her parents house back in London, Canada and I sat in my seemingly empty bedroom in my shared flat in London, England. I'd cleared some space in the cupboards and draws in my room, which was soon to be the room I shared with Jessie, in preparation for her flying out the next day.

"I can't wait until you get here", I told her smiling, "have you packed everything?".

"I can't wait to be there", she told me, "and of course I've packed everything, unlike some people I don't leave all my packing to the last minute", she teased, because of course by some people, she meant me, "is Jill excited to see me?", she asked jokingly, referring to my teammate and roommate, Jill Roord, who was one of the prime suspects when it came to teasing me about Jessie's choice in signing.

"Oh yeah, she can't wait for you to get here", I told her sarcastically, "she can't wait to hide all of you left socks", I laughed. Jill had made it particularly clear that while she was absolutely fine having Jessie move in with us, she definitely wouldn't stop the teasing and she definitely wouldn't go any lighter on Jessie. I'd also be lying if I said I wasn't going to tease my girlfriend about it constantly. It's just friendly competition, and I knew Jessie would definitely end up giving as good as she got, just as she did whenever we played each other internationally.

"Why the left ones?", Jessie laughed.

"Would you prefer she hid all of them?", I questioned her, raising her eyebrow, "or just the right ones? Do you have a special personal relationship with your left socks?"

Jessie just laughed, she would have shoved my shoulder if she'd been sat next to me.

"I miss you so much it's actually killing me slowly", I told her then, over dramatically of course, and flopped over the back on the sofa, right next to where Jill was sat watching the Manchester derby that was currently being played.

"I miss you too", Jessie said sweetly, before my phone was ripped from my hand, "hi Jill", my girlfriend greeted my roommate.

"Hello traitor", Jill said, "when are you getting here?", she asked, "she won't stop going in about how much she misses you", she tilted her head towards me, as I still lay flopped over the back of the seat.

"My flight is literally tomorrow", Jessie told her, rolling her eyes, "I've only been gone a few days".

"And she's been super annoying for all of them", Jill confirmed, I decided that was enough and snatched my phone back off of her.

"I will not take any more of this slander", I joked, "I'm allowed to miss my girlfriend", I defended myself.

"Y/n, we've literally spent the last two years of our relationship away from each other for months at a time", Jessie explained to me, Jill just went back to watching the game.

"Yeah but", I started, pausing to think of any excuse as to why I'd been complaining about missing her so much, "I'm allowed to miss my girlfriend", I repeated, "and now I know I'm going to have you around all the time I can't wait".

Jessie smiled, "I've missed you too", she repeated her statement from earlier, "so much that it's killing me slowly", she smirked, mocking me.

"Good", I told her, "there's a lot to miss", I said gesturing to my whole body, she just rolled her eyes at me again.

"I do miss your body", Jessie admits, "I can't wait to kiss you again".

"If you guys are going to have phone sex, could you at least do to the other room", Jill states, "I'm trying to watch the game", she turns her head to look at me, staring at me with a deadpan look.

"I'm flying tomorrow I'm sure y/n can wait one more day", Jessie giggled.

"Ugh fine", I sighed over dramatically.

"I'm gonna have to go now", Jessie mumbled, "I can't wait to see you", she informed me again.

"Ok, I can't wait to see you either, love you", I blew a kiss at the screen.

"Love you too", Jessie blew a kiss back before saying bye and hanging up the call.

"I can't wait until I have to live with all the lovey dovey shit 24/7", Jill commented sarcastically. I popped myself down on the seat next to her and she wrapped her arm around my shoulder, squeezing me in a quick hug, "Now we need to plan all of the pranks we are going to pull on Jessie when she gets here".

I just laughed and we spent the rest of the night watching the football and planning all the different ways we were going to tease my girlfriend once she arrived.

[justabigassnerd]

Protecting you

Pairing - Daryl Dixon x teen!reader

Word count - 1,296

Warnings - TWD style violence, guns, blood, wounds, needles, swearing

Summary - on a run with Daryl you pull a stunt that ends up with you getting hurt and Daryl shifting into overprotective mode

A/N - hey y'all it's been a hot minute since I wrote for Daryl ain't it? I still love the bastard and I can't wait for the next part of season 11 because that cliffhanger was something else! This was a lovely request sent in by an anon and I hope I did it justice. As per y'all, please please send in requests and enjoy!!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“C’mon kid, we gotta get as much as this back to Alexandria before it gets dark.” Daryl’s voice shakes you out of your daydream as you return to the task at hand. The two of you had gone on a supply run and by some miracle found a place that wasn’t completely looted or overrun by walkers. You managed to find a lot of food and supplies and filled your bags as much as possible, wanting to make sure Alexandria is well supplied because who knows how long it will take until another treasure trove like this appears.

“I don’t think I can fit anything else in my bag.” You call across the building, eyes searching for any sign of Daryl.

“Me either. Let’s go.” Daryl’s voice making you jump and turn around suddenly, your hand instinctively moving to your gun holster but relaxing upon seeing Daryl as he zips up his bag and puts it on his back with you following suit. You then both exit the bleak building and step out into sunlight which makes you squint due to its brightness. You head back to the road that led almost directly back to Alexandria and started the walk back home.

“I hope everyone will be happy with what we got.” You say, knowing that Alexandria is such a large community, and you want to make sure everyone will be satisfied with the haul you and Daryl are bringing back.

“They’ll love it. We can send some people out early tomorrow to collect some more stuff from here.” Daryl replies, walking alongside you along the road that’s littered with abandoned, rusting cars.

“There’s the fuckers, get them!” A shout from the nearby woods sends both you and Daryl diving behind one of the abandoned cars as bullets start ricocheting off the metal.

“Give us our shit you thieves! We’ve been scouting that place for weeks waiting for the walkers to clear out!” Another voice yells as you fumble for your gun, pulling it out of your holster and checking your ammo while Daryl loads his crossbow. You fire some bullets in the direction of the shouting, hoping you’ll hit someone, not enough to kill them but to at least deter them from attacking you any further. Daryl, however, was shooting to kill. After a few minutes of firing back and forth between you and your mysterious attackers, it soon became clear that they had a lot more ammo than you but not many more people. You figured three or four people at most so without thinking, to make sure Daryl was safe you darted out of the cover of the car until you were behind another, drawing their fire so Daryl was no longer their primary target. You heard Daryl call out your name in a panic as you moved from the second car to the third and you made the mistake of turning to look at him because the second you did, a bullet entered your thigh making you fall to the ground with a pained grunt, dragging yourself into cover as bullets rain down upon the car.

Seeing you clutching your leg, desperately trying to stop the blood from flowing, Daryl felt something snap. He already wanted to kill these people for attacking him in the first place, but they fucking shot you. That was crossing the line. While they were distracted with you, Daryl was able to take the three men out with ease, their distraction meaning they weren’t paying attention to the wellbeing of their fellow survivors. Once the threat was eliminated Daryl ran to your side, digging in his bag for bandages to bind the wound until you made it back to Alexandria.

“We gotta get out of here in case those guys have friends. Can you stand up?” Daryl says once you’re bandaged up, sticking his head up to survey his surroundings before standing up. Nodding, you force yourself to your feet with a wince. Daryl wraps an arm around you as you mirror his actions, limping alongside him as you hurry back to Alexandria. Once Rosita opens the gate, you hand her your bag, telling her to take it and put the stuff in the appropriate place.

“Are you okay?” She asks worriedly, noticing the blood staining your hand as you give her the bag.

“She got shot, I’m gonna take her to get it checked out. Could you take my bag too?” Daryl says, tugging his bag off his back and handing it to Rosita without giving her a chance to answer. Daryl took you to the infirmary where Carol immediately ushered you to a spare seat so she could treat your wound.

“You’re not usually one to be working in the infirmary Carol.” You attempt to joke, wincing as she unwraps the bandage.

“We need people working wherever they can.” Carol replies, busying herself with checking your wound out.

“Good news is that the bullet went straight through.” She mutters as she cleans the wound, apologising lowly when you wince and move away slightly.

“The bad news?” You press, knowing it’s better to just get it over with.

“You won’t be able to go on any runs for at least a couple of weeks. You’ll be stuck here to make sure you rest this leg of yours.” Carol continues, threading the needle so she can give you the stitches you need. You sit through the discomfort of having your leg sown up and bandaged before Carol dismisses you to head home and get some rest. Daryl returns to your side and helps you limp your way back to your shared house in Alexandria. Once you made it up the stairs, you sit on your bed, easing your shoes off gently, restraining yourself from moving your leg too much in fear of ripping your stitches. When that task is done successfully, you lie back against the headboard of your bed and notice Daryl watching you with a soft gaze.

“Are you okay Daryl?” You question, wondering why he looked so upset.

“You coulda died.” He mutters lowly, his eyes darting to look at anything but you.

“But I didn’t.” You argue gently.

“But you could’ve.” Daryl shoots back, eyes flicking up to meet yours. The worry and fear clear in his expression and his voice.

“I don’t regret what I did Daryl. We were stuck and something had to be done. But I am sorry that I let myself get shot.” You say gently, hoping Daryl understands where you are coming from.

“It was still stupid, you runnin’ off like that.” Daryl says, making you roll your eyes jokingly.

“Look at the life we’re living Daryl. In this world you have to take risks to protect the people you love and care about. I wasn’t about to let some fuckers hiding in the woods take you out. Besides, I knew you’d be able to kill them if I drew their fire.” You explain, watching Daryl’s expression soften further at your words. Daryl slowly approaches your bed, perching on the edge of it.

“You’re right kid. Just promise me somethin’.” Daryl says, glancing at you as you nod.

“Anything.” You reply, wanting to make sure Daryl is able to trust you to go on runs again once you’re better.

“No more runnin’ into dangerous situations without at least discussing a plan with whoever you’re out there with.” Daryl says, a small smile on his face. He knew he couldn’t stop you from being reckless. You were too much like him, even back when he first found you when the apocalypse had not long started. While he couldn’t stop your recklessness, he could at least make sure you plan something before diving headfirst into a dangerous situation.

“Alright. Deal.”

[angelsunflowers-fanfics]

request: May I request a Zuko x earthbender! reader with this prompt: “That was about 8 on the asshole scale...”

Genre: Angst-fluff

Fandom: Avatar: the last airbender

Linktree

It was just before sunset in the fire nation, and Zuko managed to convince his guards that he could handle himself for one walk with (y/n). 

The two weren’t exactly together quite yet. Mainly because Zuko hadn’t been able to even speak with (y/n) as they had been busy with rebuilding the earth kingdom and helping the rest of their found family unite the four nations.

And well, Zuko was the Firelord.

There wasn’t exactly much time for him to be with (y/n), as much as he dreamt too. 

But with the old laws prohibiting the Firelord from being with anyone not from the fire nation, it was forcing him to hesitate in entering a relationship with (y/n. 

But Zuko was starting to think that maybe it was time to change another old law, especially if it was prohibiting people from falling in love with the people they were meant to be with after all. 

Zuko didn’t get many days like today, where he got to stroll through the fire nation with (y/n) at his side. It just started with (y/n) wanting to explore the kingdom but of course, Zuko insisted that he accompany them. 

“You didn't have to come, I can protect myself,” (y/n) spoke up. 

Zuko was shaken out of his thoughts at the sound of (y/n)’s voice. Zuko glanced to his side to see (Y/n) only a few feet away, his eyes darted down to their hand. He could easily grab it if he had the guts to.

“I know you can,” Zuko laughed to himself, remembering that on more than one occasion he’d been hurled by the earth they had bent at him when he was on the opposing side. 

Zuko soon found himself staring at other couples on the street, holding hands and kissing, or just enjoying each other's presence. He sadly smiled, wanting nothing than to do the same with (y/n). 

It was at that moment when an older woman came up to the two of them and said, “Oh my, what a cute couple.” 

This promptly made Zuko yell, drawing attention to himself and his obvious feelings to the earthbender next to him.

Zuko snapped, “No! We’re not together!” 

The outburst caused a small crowd to form around Zuko, (y/n), and the nice old lady who dared to say the comment.

Zuko froze as he quickly realized his mistake as (y/n) stared at him with a hurt expression and tears welling in their eyes. (y/n) heaved a shaky sigh before they quickly walked down an alley way away from all the prying eyes. Zuko creased his eyes in annoyance toward himself before he darted right away them, ignoring the crowd entirely. 

He reached a hand out to grab (y/n) and he could almost reach them but with a wave of their hand and a steady stance, a wall rose from in between the two benders. Zuko felt his heart clench as he heard (y/n) try to hide their sniffling from his words. What could Zuko even say to make the situation better? He didn’t mean to say it like that…

Zuko rubbed the back of his neck, ashamed of his previous words before he finally spoke, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that… Like an asshole.” 

(y/n) laughed pitifully, “That was about an 8 on the asshole scale.” (y/n) took a deep breath, drying their eyes before they asked, “If we were together romantically, would you be embarrassed to be with me? Is that why you said what you said?”

Zuko physically face-palmed at his actions from only a few minutes ago. “No, never. I would be absolutely honored if you would decide to date me. You’re everything I could ever ask in a partner, and you’re far too good for me, I know that much.” 

(y/n) hesitated, mulling over Zuko’s confession, before they moved the earth around to show only their face to Zuko. “You swear everything you just said is true?” (y/n)’s stared into Zuko’s eyes with hope, looking for any sign of falsehood.

Zuko nodded his head, pressing a hand near (y/n)’s head on the earth wall. “I swear.” 

(y/n) spoke once more, “You swear on my life?” 

Zuko’s eyes widened a touch at the question, but gave an affirmative nod before he moved his hands to cup their face gently. “I promise.” 

[hacked-by-jake]

Stairs, Keys and Baywatch

Summary: A night in which Jake had two things too much. Alcohol, and interest in MC. He’s having trouble keeping his hands off her, she just wants to put him to bed. Interesting what happens to the hacker when he drinks alcohol.

Pairing: Jake x Fem!MC Genre: Humor/Fluff/Spice Words: 3817 Warnings: Drunk and horny Jake. Sorry xD I can’t say otherwise. Some slightly spicy things. I’ve been thinking about issuing a warning 16+, but I’m not sure. Now that you know that, you have to judge for yourself if you want to read it. Just be careful and don’t read anything you’re not comfortable with. A/n: Hey Ho! Okay, after seeing this Fanart by @justubi (of course you don't have to interact with it if you don't feel good about it), I felt somehow inspired and had the urgent need to write something in that direction. Here we are. I found the thought interesting what if Jake turned himself when he was drinking alcohol suddenly into the exact opposite than he is otherwise. So not so serious and strict, but open and playful. These are my thoughts, I hope you will like it, please excuse all mistakes. Have fun. 💚🌹🎭

"Okay, okay, okay, we almost just made it!" the young woman was completely out of breath after she finally managed to drag the drunken hacker upstairs to the 4th floor to their apartment.

He himself was definitely no help at all. Walking was hard for him and even if it wasn’t, he would have been too distracted to help her.

Because the more he drank in the Aurora the more the young woman and the prospect of what he could do with her later at home moved into his field of vision and definitely distracted him from everything else. And the emphasis was clearly on 'could'.

Again, he prevented her from getting the key out of her bag to unlock the apartment door where she could finally put Jake on the couch and and allow herself a short break.

The first buttons of the blouse she wore were unbuttoned, but only so far that you could not see her cleavage. And that was exactly what seemed to bother the black-haired.

Repeatedly, his finger hooked into the fabric of her neckline and pulled a little on it to catch a quick look underneath and thus also on her breasts.

"Jake" she hissed, slapping his hand, glancing up at him with a warning, but his gaze was completely innocent. His eyes were large and he squinted to the side, his lips were pursed and a small "oops" followed by a giggling left his lips.

She bit her lower lip and quickly turned her gaze away to stop the smile that was about to creep on her lips. She wanted to keep her evil and admonishing gaze, even though her boyfriend made it all but easy.

The taxi ride from Bar Aurora to their home went the same.

Granted, she thought it was absolutely funny, and he was really cute. However, she was more than happy that fate had advised her to sit behind the taxi driver. Jake had sat next to her in the middle so that the taxi driver could not see that Jake had repeatedly tried to pull the fabric of her skirt higher and draw small things on her thighs with his finger.

Again and again she had to admonish him to pull himself together and had to constantly repeat that they were still in public and not in private premises. But his drunken mind had really struggled to understand this, or he had understood, but he just didn’t care.

His way out of the taxi was also not exactly heroic and elegant. He climbed more on all fours, got stuck with his foot on the door and fell head first then out of the car. At the last second, despite the alcohol in his blood, he had barely managed to use his arms to support himself on the stones of the walkway and not to fall to the ground.

But only a few seconds later he had voluntarily laid himself on the ground and stared into the sky while he was loudly trying to count the stars, most of which he had probably seen twice, given the number he called.

MC paid the equally amused, and fortunately friendly taxi driver quickly and had to call for the young hacker again and again so that he did not fall asleep on the ground. Jake took note of this every time with a dirty laugh.

MC was more than happy that the sidewalk was always clean and it hadn’t even rained the whole day.

After this was done, her next challenge was up. Somehow she had to get the hacker off the ground, back on his feet. And before she could even try, it was already clear that he would not want to get up. After all, the floor was much too comfortable.

It took him 10 minutes to get up again with her help. However, this only worked with a lie, in whose promise he firmly believed.

She put her bag down on the floor and then stood in front of Jake’s feet. His legs were bent and carefully she stood on his tiptoes to allow him more support.

She stretched her arms down and told him to grab her hands, but his plans were different from hers. He grabbed her arms at the height of her elbows and pulled her down so that she found herself lying on him without injury.

He immediately wrapped his arms and legs around her body, holding her tightly to himself. "Mine!" he muttered, burying his head between her neck and her shoulder. "Jake!" she giggled and rolled her eyes. If they were on a beautiful meadow, the moment would probably be one of the most romantic they had experienced, but in reality they were still just outside their front door on the street.

The hacker didn’t seem to think about that she was wearing a skirt, and her cheeks automatically turned into a delicate blush. "Jake, my skirt," she reminded him: "What if someone can see something that they should not see?"

Immediately Jake pulled his head back from her and then sparkled with furious eyes into the dark street which was only lit by some lanterns. He looked around to see if he could recognize anyone until his gaze got stuck on a mailbox and he pinched his eyes even more. Whether this should represent an evil eye, or whether he tried to check whether this was a human being, the young woman did not know.

In any case, the argument was enough for him to finally let her go sighing and reluctantly.

She quickly got up, pulled her skirt down as far as possible, and started a new attempt from the same position as before.

But when he discovered her bare skin on her legs, he started giggling again.

She just ignored him and stretched out her arms again: "Come on, Jake."

Fortunately, he finally let her put him in a sitting position, but at that very moment, his plan seemed to change again. He let go of her arms, but wrapped them around her legs and pulled her a little further forward until she stood beside his thighs.

A squeak because of his quick action came out of her mouth and then a quiet shocked scream. "Oh my God, Jake, what are you doing?" she asked startled and looked down.

The young hacker had hidden his head under the skirt of her and in the same breath she could feel his cold lips on her inner thighs. Without having power over it, a goose bump pulled over her legs and a whimper from the quick and unexpected touch escaped her lips.

But she couldn’t let him continue. First, he was drunk, second, they were still in public. If he hadn’t been drunk, the situation might have been different, but so it wasn’t, which is why she quickly freed her legs from his grip and kicked away from him.

"You’re unbelievable, you know that?" she asked him outraged, yet she amused his behavior far too much. It was interesting to experience him in a completely different way, even if it reminded her once again what kind of stuff alcohol was.

His lower lip was pushed forward and he looked up at her from below sulking: "Why are you doing this?" he asked her.

"What am I doing?" she pulled her eyebrows up and waited for his answer.

"Be so pretty," he moaned, tossing his head back and forth.

She could not react otherwise and therefore beat her hands in front of her face to cover herself. A little desperately she rubbed her face and squeezed her cheeks with her hands, then she said, "There’s never alcohol for you again, you know?"

His gaze turned to the ground and he seemed to think twice. Then he lifted a finger in the air, looked back into her eyes and mumbled, "I think that’s a really noble idea. You’re always so smart."

"You don’t believe how well I find this idea!" she growled and then slightly knocked away his hand, which wanted to move again in the direction of her skirt.

She once took a deep breath, then slowly let the air escape from her lungs and then nodded to herself to give herself the impetus she needed. "Okay, enough now, we’re going in now!" she demanded strictly and this time took more distance from him than she gave him her hands for the third time.

"But-" he wanted to start but she cut him off: "No, not 'but'! Inside you still have enough time to stare at me, touch me or pout, whatever, but we’re going in! Now!"

Her words were definitely faster than her brain, but who could blame her? She herself had also had one or two cocktails, but then had gladly held back for Jake, to be the one who would bring them home safely.

With the words "touch me," however, she should have thought a few more seconds. When the words had passed through the hacker’s mind, he joyfully pulled up his eyebrows: "Promised?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes, "If I promise, will you come in?"

He did not answer her, instead he turned back so quickly on all fours that he began to waver and MC had to hurry to help him quickly to grab his arm and save him from falling. With all his strength and the help of his girlfriend, he finally managed to get up.

He wavered menacingly, clutching at MC’s shoulder and giggling again: "So?" he asked indistinctly, "Promised?" He held out his hand to her.

"Yes, I promise" she grabbed his hand and shook it. On her lips, however, there was a satisfied grin, knowing that once he was lying on the top of the sofa, it would probably only take two minutes before he finally fell into a deep sleep. If he could remember it at all.

And by now, the two of them were finally standing in front of their apartment door and all MC had to do if Jake would finally let his hands off of her was to get the key out of her bag and open the door.

Jake had put all his weight on her shoulder. In addition, she had to put one arm around his back so that he would not roll down the stairs backwards and the two would spend the rest of the night and the next two weeks in a hospital.

For him too, climbing the stairs had been exhausting and his wavering had increased even further. His breath was almost as heavy as her own, even though he didn’t have to carry half of her weight.

To get her keys, however, she would have to take Jake’s arm away, but the worry he would immediately tip over was too great. So she decided to lean him against the wall next to her door so that he could hold himself there.

"Hold on!" she told him loudly and raised a finger. He nodded, then saluted. At least he tried, but his hand missed his forehead by a few centimeters then fell down again.

Carefully she took her arm away from him and rummaged around in her purse.

In the hallway the light was very sparse and made her search more difficult. She turned a little away from her boyfriend to let the contents of the bag be better illuminated by the ceiling lamp, when she heard a grinding noise and shortly thereafter a loud squeak that definitely came from his sneakers, which was created as his soles slowly slipped over the tiles.

Without MC being able to see him, she knew immediately what had happened; he had slipped down the wall and sat beside the door.

But up here it didn’t matter. If necessary, she would drag him by his arms into the apartment as long as he was only finally inside, and she would let him sleep on the floor if he was unlucky.

She kept looking for the key, but couldn’t find it, searched her jacket pockets and then the bag again.

"Take my keys," Jake mumbled which is why she turned back to him. Like a sack, he hung on the floor. Only his shoulders and head still touch the wall, his head tilted to one side and his limbs stretched from himself.

Amused, MC shook her head over this picture that presented itself to her, then she looked at him expectantly: "And where are your key?"

Despite the half-closed eyes and the fact that he seemed to be half asleep again, a mischievous grin appeared on his face.

"Trouser pocket" he muttered amused and shrugged his shoulders as best he could. However, this only led him to slide further down.

"You enjoy that, right?" she asked, kneeling down to him.

"Yes" was his simple answer and a satisfied grin exchanged with the cheeky one.

But only until MC reached into the right jeans pocket of his pants, where he kept the house door key.

"Further left" he giggled teasingly and wiggled with his eyebrows.

"Yes, you would have liked that," she mocked.

"Yes," he sincerely returned and opened his eyes to stare straight into hers.

"Oh, shut up," she laughed and finally got the key.

"Okay," he agreed, then kept quiet. But his intense gaze followed her as she stood up to finally open the door after all this time.

"Do you know that you have a really pretty butt?" he asked: "I mean, a really, really, reeeeally pretty butt. Your butt is perfect! Absolutely perfect!"

She could hear him move, then she suddenly felt a prick on the right side of her butt.

"Really beautiful," he whispered.

While a crack of the door sounded, revealing that she only had to press against the door to finally open it, she looked down at him.

Once again the mischievous grin had swapped with a dreamy look that was directed at her butt still covered in skirt.

"Thank you" was her answer as she opened the door completely and then just stepped away from him into the apartment.

She placed her bag on the small dresser in the hallway and then ejected a joyful "hallelujah". She was relieved that at least she herself was already inside.

"Okay, good my angel," she turned to Jake, who was already halfway behind her: "Can you do it alone or should I help you?"

"No, no, no, I can do it alone" confirmed the black-haired one and then pulled himself up on the door frame: "You know, I’m actually not that drunk." He pulled the 'that' longer than necessary.

An ironic laugh broke out of her and she mocked: "No, not at all. I was wondering when you were going to say this sentence for the first time. Took you a long time."

Despite alcohol, his head still seemed to be fast enough to use the template she had given him unknowingly: "I always need a long time, you know that." once again he grinned mischievously.

Relatively straight, he was standing in the door and had his chest pointed out. His look seemed proud, but MC didn’t care.

She walked towards him, put her arm around him again, and then replied, "Very well, you can show me tomorrow. Now, for once, you have to go a little faster and come in so we can sleep."

"Sleeping together? So, with each other?" he looked at her attentively.

"Yes, maybe tomorrow again," she gently knocked on his chest and then finally pulled him into the apartment and closed the door behind her with her foot.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and wanted to pull her into a hug, but all she wanted was to unload him on the sofa and take off her shoes.

Even though she was not so tired, she felt the exhaustion clearly in her bones.

That he was clinging to her so tightly made it even more difficult for her to get to the sofa than he had done before, but she just didn’t care. She pulled him over the carpet as best she could, past the table, and then pushed him back so tightly that he lost his balance and fell on the cushion. She quickly pulled her head out between his arms to avoid being dragged along.

Like a wet rag, he landed in the pillows, but automatically leaned into a reclining position.

"So, and you stay there now and don’t get up again, understand?" she looked down at him.

Without waiting for an answer, she began to take off his shoes and then put them next to the door.

"It’s all spinning," he said, MC took off her own shoes and put them on the shelf next to the hacker’s.

"It’ll go away soon." She calmed him down and then went to the kitchen to get the young hacker a large glass of cold water and wet a towel, which he could lay on his forehead.

"You spin my head right round, right round" heard in singing from the living room. The song ran twice today in the Aurora and he had already liked it there.

Giggling, she went back to him to bring him the glass and the towel. When she appeared in his field of vision, he pointed his finger at her and repeated his words: "You spin my head right round, right round. When you go down, when you go down"

"I think what makes your head spin is more the alcohol," the young woman noted, sitting down next to him.

Automatically he moved a little to give her more space and immediately his left hand found its place on her knee again, but this time he does not make any attempt to hike up again.

"What do we do now?" he asked with his eyes already closed.

"We’re going to sleep now," she whispered. She placed the glass on the living room table and then, without his consent, put the damp towel on his warm and slightly sweaty forehead. He didn’t even flinch when the cold touched his skin, instead he groaned happily.

"It’s cold and wet," he said, turning his head in her direction, but luckily let his eyes closed.

"Despite alcohol, still a detective, what?" she asked teasingly and slid her hand through his completely disheveled hair.

Suddenly he opened his eyes again, but his eyelids fluttered, and she could only imagine how heavy they had to feel. "We could take a bath!" he mumbled: "I like bathing, I like bathing with you."

Carefully she stroked the towel over his cheeks and chin: "Exactly, good idea. I’m Arnold Schwarzenegger and we’re playing Baywatch, and I have to save the drunken guest from drowning."

"Exactly!" His lips gently pulled away to a smile: "And I’m Pamela Anderson!"

"Do you also wear such a bright red bathing suit then?" she asked with raised eyebrows and watched him yawning deeply.

"Sure!"

"I’d really like to see that," MC admitted, smiling at the thought of Jake in a Baywatch swimsuit.

"And- And do you know what Phil is? Phil is the evil white shark!" suddenly he changed the subject.

MC wanted to answer, but paused in amazement: "Uh, yeah, wrong movie but I can follow you, why is Phil the big evil shark?"

"Because he wants to steal you from me! He always looks at you so weird. His gaze look stupid." Suddenly his voice sounded much stronger again and he straightened up his upper body so quickly that he began to waver again.

The young woman quickly wrapped her arm around him to hold him up and then removed the towel from his forehead.

"Sit there," she asked quickly and grabbed the glass of water: "Here, drink this," she ordered, and he gratefully accepted the water to quickly drink a few sips.

To be on the safe side, MC continued to hold the glass herself: "Phil doesn’t want to steal me from you. And even if he wants to, he can’t, I’m with you and I want nothing more than that." she assured him.

"I love you too, baby," he muttered, returning the water.

"That’s good." she smiled at him, "So, Pamela, can we both make it to the bedroom or do you want to stay here?"

A renewed deep yawning rolls over the black-haired and infected MC too. Jake’s eyelids began to close again but he still muttered: "Bed" and already stretched his arms towards her.

This time he helped her more than at the beginning and was probably already a little more master of his senses, which is why it went quickly until she could put him back on the bed.

She helped him take off his jacket, and after his head got stuck in the black sweater, which made him panic, she also helped him there.

He opened the button of his jeans himself, but she helped him pull it off his legs.

Although he had almost fallen asleep by now, he still managed to make a indecent remark, and also another crooked grin.

When he finally only wore his boxer shorts, he let himself fall into the cushions and MC gave him the wet towel again, which he put on his chest by himself.

After she had changed and covered herself with one of his T-shirts, she lay down with him.

He immediately pulled up to her and snuggled as close as possible to her. He placed his head on her chest, and MC her arm around his shoulders to protect him.

"I’m sorry," he growled, and MC had to hold back, not shout in frustration. The young woman hoped that he would finally fall asleep without another word. But knowing that it was not his fault, but that of the alcohol, to which he was absolutely not accustomed, she asked for the reason.

"I’m annoying, aren’t I?" he sighed, "I must have destroyed your whole evening."

"We have reached the whiny and sad phase," she thought, admonishing herself not to grin.

"No, Jake, you didn’t, it’s okay, and to be honest, it was really interesting to see you like this. And not the serious and disciplined hacker you always are."

"Tell me the story" he asked suddenly and changed the subject again in a confusing speed.

"Which ones? How we met?" she checked.

"Yes. Please."

"All right" she sighed.

From then on it really only took two minutes until the hacker luckily finally fell asleep.

MC would have liked to cheer, but that would probably have only woken him up again.

As a final act, she took the towel from his body and turned off the lamp.

The last thing she thought was, "If he remembers everything tomorrow, I won’t see him until evening because he’ll be hiding in his study. He’ll be so ashamed."

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