#but then sometimes i recognise the poster and its like. this is a follower of mine

[nyxi-pixie]

can tumblr stop showing me random 0 note posts from people i dont follow. who is this. why am i seeing it. idc abt a random accounts life updates

[harryslittlefreakk]

the pact

summary: you and harry made a childhood pact to marry if you were both still single when he reached 30. now that his big birthday is approaching, you find out whether your friendship (and your pact) have stood the test of time

warnings: mostly fluff, some smut :)

wordcount: 6k

a/n: i actually really like this one. it’s not proofread yet as i was so eager to get it up lol. hope you enjoy!

my masterlist can be found here! happy reading 🫶🏼

From the second you’d received the invitation, you were buzzing with a giddy nervousness. It had been years since you’d seen Harry, though Anne and Gemma were always so quick to share what he was up to. You’d followed his career silently for 13 years, still bumping into him every few years when Anne hosted Boxing Day, or he happened to be in town for your family’s annual summer barbecues. In your mind, he was still the cheeky, dimpled little lad you’d hide under the dining room table with, imagining you were explorers of far away lands.

But Harry wasn’t the young boy you’d chased after in your childhood anymore, the teenager you looked out for when you stuck your head over the garden fence to call your sister home. He wasn’t the handsome young man you’d spent countless hours swooning over with your friends in the bakery after school. Harry was a global sensation, the world’s sweetheart. You weren’t sure he’d even recognise you, a forgotten reminder of much simpler days.

Growing up next door to Harry hadn’t come without its challenges. You’d lost your childhood best friend seemingly overnight once One Direction formed, his life suddenly busy with meetings, tours and interviews. Anne still welcomed you with open arms, but her house felt a little too cold for you with his presence haunting the walls, memories etched into every surface of the house. You’d still hang out in his bedroom sometimes, his band posters and drawings left collecting dust in a lifeless room. When girls from school learned of your connection to him, they’d befriend you and treat you like the hottest new thing until you refused to give over any information. He was your Harry, your long-gone games and silly memories something you held close to your heart. It soon seemed easier to let him go altogether, move on to a new chapter, stop waiting for your best friend to appear again.

Still, you were glad to be able to support Gemma on one of her biggest days. She’d become such a regular feature in your household, she felt like family herself. Your parents had been more overjoyed at the news of her impending nuptials than any of yours or your sister’s recent achievements. They loved Gemma like their own, their ‘extra daughter’, as your dad called her. You knew this was as big a moment for them as it was for Anne, having watched Gemma grow from the tiny dark-haired girl your sister had raved about on her first day of school, to a woman about to become a wife.

Standing outside of the venue now, a beautiful old church overlooking the peaceful tides below, yours and Harry’s childhood pact suddenly hit you. You were laying on a blanket in your garden, tops of your heads pressed together as you made out shapes in the clouds above. “I will never get married,” you told Harry. Your parents had had their wedding album out that day, sharing stories with Anne and Robin. You squirmed and grimaced every time they spoke about it, never understanding how any girl would willingly share their life with a boy. “Yuck,” he squeaked from next to you. “Me either. I don’t ever want to live with a stinky girl!” You giggled together, the cool evening breeze washing over you. “Maybe, maybe I might one day though. When I’m really old and lonely.”

“Old like my parents?” you asked him. “Even olderer than that. Like 30.” You gasped, quickly trying to count on your fingers. “That’s really really old. Maybe we can be married when we’re 30.” Harry ran inside when you said this, leaving you chasing after him once again. He grabbed a napkin from the kitchen counter and scribbled on it in felt tip,

‘I ____ will marry Harry when we’re really super old’

“You have to put your name on that line or it’s not real,” Harry told you, handing the blue felt tip to you. You both signed your initials underneath, and proudly went to show your parents. They’d fallen about in laughter when you told them, promising to hold you to your pact. You hadn’t seen the napkin since that day, and you were sure it was long forgotten by everybody, especially Harry. You felt a small twinge in your chest at this, suddenly wishing you were anywhere but here.

“Hey Boo, you okay? Anne wants to get some pictures of us all together before the ceremony,” your dad told you, leading you through the crowd of guests. Boo was the only nickname that had ever stuck for you, starting when you and Harry decided to go as Boo and Sully from Monsters Inc. one Halloween. You’d originally wanted to be Mike, but with your big brown eyes shielded by little bangs and your signature pigtails, everyone persuaded you to be Boo. You��d outgrown almost everything else from childhood, but Boo was stuck with you for life.

“Oh Y/N, you look lovely darling,” Anne cooed as you came into her sight. She pulled you in for a hug, kissing your cheek as she pulled away. You had to admit, you did scrub up well. It was a long time since you’d really made the effort to look properly nice, still caught in the comfort of your pandemic wardrobe of leggings and sweatshirts. The olive-green maxi dress you’d settled on hugged your body in all the right places, a thick band of material draping over your chest and the tops of your arms, showcasing your toned shoulders. You’d always weirdly liked your shoulders and neck, an odd area to be proud of but it was by far your favourite part of your body. Your hair was scraped back in a sleek bun, tiny wisps framing your fresh face. “Gem and Sophia are still inside, they’ll be out in a minute. Gem’s so excited to see you, it’s been so long since we’ve all been together,” Anne gushed, running a hand up the outside of your arm.

She had such a delicate, warm presence, it was no wonder she’d raised two children as incredible as Harry and Gemma. Anne had been an extension of your own mum as you grew up, small traces of her as much as part of you as they were her own kids. She’d talked you through boys and heartbreaks, been there to wave you off to your school prom, one of the proudest faces in the crowd when you graduated university. She’d been stationed on the garden patio alongside your mum at every birthday party, the two women nattering away as they guarded the wine.

Gemma stepped out of the door, pulling you out of your daydream down memory lane. Your jaw went slack when you saw her, she was positively radiant. Her dress was a dainty satin, huge bishop sleeves adorning her arms and a beautiful full skirt, flowing around her petite frame in the gentle seaside breeze. Your mum rushed over to her first, smoothing a loving hand down the front of her skirt. “You look beautiful Gem,” she told her, tears glistening on her bottom eyelashes. Hugs and pleasantries were exchanged throughout the group, shoulders bumping gaily as you moved around. One thing was still missing though - Harry. You knew he’d never miss his sisters wedding, though he was absolutely nowhere to be seen. Just as you were about to ask, you saw him. With a deep brown suit jacket draped across his body, matching slacks hanging loose on his muscular thighs. A white vest hung low on his chest, his inked swallows sitting pretty on tanned skin.

You knew how good he looked these days, of course. Your tiktok had been full of videos of him performing, Anne’s house littered with framed photos. But seeing him in real life lit a fire in your belly. He’d always been pretty, green eyes and curls enough to charm any woman, but now he was hot. A great, big hunk of sexy man. He approached your parents first, laughing as your dad chose to forgo Harry’s outstretched hand, pulling him into a hug instead. “Here’s our not-so-little superstar,” he smiled, ruffling Harry’s messy curls. Harry pressed a kiss into your mums cheek, exchanging a quick but heartfelt hello. His eyes caught on yours as he glanced across the courtyard, your brown eyes still crinkled as you smiled, in exactly the same way they had when you were younger. “Little Boo!” he chuckled, striding towards you. His strong arms wrapped you into a firm cuddle, his musky scent spilling into your pores. “You look incredible,” he whispered into your ear, voice raspy and low. It wasn’t long before Anne was ushering you all into place to take some pictures, cutting yours and Harry’s catch up short. “Come and find me later,” he told you as you beamed for the camera.

—

With the ceremony long-finished, the party had spilled out of the church hall and onto the grounds outside. You’d danced, mingled and laughed for as long as you could before needing a minute of quiet. Brushing your hand across your mum’s back, you told her you were going for a little walk and would be back soon. You slipped out of the open doors, yanking your heels off in search of some quick relief. You spotted a little wooden bench overlooking the sea, a little way away from the other guests. A great oak tree shielded it from the warm evening sun, providing you just the right amount of peace.

“Thought you were gonna find me,” a voice suddenly came from behind you. You turned around to see Harry approaching your private spot, a sparkling glass in each hand. “Hey,” you smiled. “Just needed a little bit of quiet. Come sit,” you patted the bench beside you. Harry handed you one of the glasses as he sat down, murmuring, “saw you heading over here. Thought I’d bring you a little tipple.” You cheersed, the clinking of glasses cutting through a heavy silence. “How have you been?” he asked you, shifting his body slightly to face you.

“Been good, H. Thank you for asking. Work’s going well, was a bit slow with the pandemic and all but life’s been kind to me recently. I don’t really need to ask you, do I?” you laughed, suddenly shy in his presence. “No, I guess not,” he answered, smiling kindly at you. You settled back into an uncomfortable silence, not really sure how to talk to one another anymore.

“Mum told me you moved to London,” Harry said, seemingly desperate to pierce the awkwardness hanging over you both. “Yeah, I did,” you told him, explaining how Holmes Chapel had started to feel just a little too small, a little too cut off from the rest of the world. “I can understand that,” he told you, chuckling. You ran through the usual questions, telling him about your work as an illustrator, your little flat off of Finchley high road, the couple of girls from school you’d kept in touch with. “I can’t believe you live so close to me,” he gasped. “Mum could never remember what area you lived in, if I’d known you were only down the road we could have reconnected long before now,” Harry told you. You let out an involuntary scoff at this, telling him, “you know where to find me, H. You know your mum has my number, you know where I’ll be every Christmas and birthday. If you really wanted to reconnect it would have happened long before now.” Your words tumbled out, years of one-sided hurt and rejection suddenly pushing to the surface. Harry took a big sip of his drink, placing his hand over yours. “I’ve been shit, I know. Got caught up in everything and barely looked back. Wanted to reach out a long time before now but I couldn’t bring myself,” he told you. “Felt so bad for how I just disappeared and didn’t want to face it.”

You looked at him with sad eyes, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. “I get it, H. I’m really happy for you, I am. You had all your dreams come true, it’s amazing,” you set your glass down beside you and held your other hand over his. “Just feel sad that I lost my best friend overnight.” Your eyes welled up as you spoke, a combination of the free-flowing prosecco, the beautiful ceremony, and facing your hurt with the man who caused it. “Never had a friend who got me like you did,” you chuckled bitterly. Harry pulled his hands from yours and snaked an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side. “I’m sorry, little Boo, I swear.”

The pair of you stayed that way for a while, soaking in each other’s words and the idyllic setting. Just being close to each other for the first time in almost a decade, having said what you both needed to, was bliss. “I thought about you a lot, y’know,” Harry told you suddenly, the words bursting out as if he’d been biting them back for a while. “Yeah?” you asked him, sitting up straighter to look at him again. He nodded, cheeks twinged slightly pink. You weren’t sure if it was the booze or his confession. “All my big moments, always wished you were there.”

“You know I would’ve been if I knew you wanted me to, Harry.”

“I know,” he mumbled, watching his own trainer-clad feet kicking little rocks around. “My mum and dad went to a few of your shows with Anne, watched the Brits and the Grammys every year you were nominated.” You swallowed thickly, before continuing, “I’m really proud of you, we all are.”

Harry turned his head slightly to the sound of music blaring from inside, before asking you, “dance with me?” He extended a hand to help you up, placing his glass down before wrapping an arm around your waist. You stepped together slowly, bodies moving in unison with your head rested softly against his chest. The skies had gotten gradually darker as you’d spoken, closing in around you until only a faint glow seeped out from the open church doors. Harry pushed you out, spinning you around before tugging you back into him. You smacked against his chest with a little ‘umph’, the wind knocked out of you. Your eyes met his, a little dazed, and all you could do was stare.

It felt like a betrayal of your childhood self to find him so attractive now. He was your best friend, your first friend, the only one to ever understand you fully. He’d guided you through your awkward pre-teen stage, the extra years he had on you put to good use when he showed you cool bands and songs to make boys like you. But now, you wanted him to be the boy that liked you. You were so flustered under his gaze, heat tearing through your body. “Let’s head back in,” you told Harry, words shaky. He kept an arm tight around your shoulder, shaking you about as you approached the church. ‘I’ve got my little Boo back’ he laughed in a sing-song tune. You could feel the happiness radiating off his body, knowing without even looking that his toothy grin would be firmly nestled between two deep dimples.

Your parents were sat around a table with Anne, Michal and Gemma still doing the rounds. You could tell they were drunk from a mile away - your dads cheeks stained red with merriment and Anne’s hands gesturing wildly as your mum roared with laughter. You’d missed this. You still went home as often as you could, never missing an opportunity to enjoy time with your loved ones, but before seeing Harry today it always felt different. Gemma, your sister, and Harry had all moved on, never fully present. But being the youngest, you were the one left behind. Harry pulled around two chairs for you both, plopping down between you and his mum. She draped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. “My special boy, where have you been?” she slurred.

“Been catching up,” Harry told her, a blush creeping up his cheeks as she looked between the two of you before winking at him. She was far from subtle before getting wine drunk, so now her entire head moved with her wink. She highlighted it with a loud “wink, wink” in Harry’s direction. “Anne!” you spluttered, choking out a laugh. Your dad reached over to snatch the two empty glasses from in front of you and Harry, promising to fill them to the brim so you could ‘get on their bloody level’.

The evening continued like that, the 5 of you drinking and laughing, reminiscing on your younger days. Your parents and Anne managing to bring up enough embarrassing stories about you both to put you off ever speaking to them again. “I think it’s time we all go to bed,” Harry started, holding his hands up. “Because we’re all fucking PISSED!”, he continued, yelling at the table. You banged on the table in hysterics, eyes screwed up tight as you and Anne fell into each other in laughter. Most of the venue had cleared out by now, guests dropping by your table to congratulate Anne on their way out. You’d barely seen Gemma all night, so content in her little love bubble that she’d spent the majority of the evening alone with Michal, feeding each other cake and slow-dancing.

“Come on, you big lump,” you tugged at your dad’s wrists who in turn pulled at your mum to stand up. Your dad swung his arms around you both, Harry and Anne joining onto the end, and you stumbled towards the exit in a fit of laughter. Harry tried to start a can-can line, kicking one big foot up into the air, but the 5 of you put together had far less coordination than even one sober person, so the idea was quickly abandoned.

The church had a converted barn outside, with rooms purpose-built for immediate family and friends to stay in. You hugged and kissed your goodnights to your parents and Anne, making sure they all got into bed without mischief. Now it was only you and Harry left, buzzed but significantly less drunk than your elders. “Care for one last round?” Harry asked you, slipping a little hip flask out from his blazer pocket. You knew this was a bad idea, a drunken evening alone with the man you’d been lusting after all day. But you certainly wouldn’t make the first move, and you were almost sure he didn’t think of you as anything other than the little girl who used to run around with him.

You followed him into his room, laughing to drown out the alarm bells ringing in your head. Once you saw the empty bed in front of you, you couldn’t help but just flop down on it, suddenly needing to be as comfortable as you could. The room was aged and rustic, but the bed was far more comfortable than it looked. Harry sat against the pillows beside you, long legs stretched out before him as he took a swig from the flask.

For the first time that day, the silence around you was peaceful. Just two old friends enjoying each others presence. Harry watched you as you took the flask from him, grimacing as the liquor went down with a burn. His green eyes were studying every little line on your face, every freckle dotted across your bare shoulders. There was so much new about you, so many little details and marks you’d gained as you grew older, all the little telltale signs of the years he’d missed. What he’d said to you earlier was true, he’d missed you with his whole heart from the second he’d left you behind, spent so many lonely nights wishing he had you by his side. He thought he’d outgrown you, his new-found fame taking precedence over the little girl he’d shared his dreams and aspirations with. But sitting here now with you, he knew you’d grown with him, no matter how far removed your life had become from his. “‘M nearly 30, you know,” he drawled, voice hoarse from the singing and the sting of alcohol in his throat.

“Huh?” you turned to him confused. “I’m 30 next year,” he told you. “Yeah I know, H. What does that have to do with anything?” you laughed, poking at the side of his head. “Means we have to get married next year,” he grinned. You gasped, remembering the pact you’d thought about earlier in the day, “you didn’t forget!” you laughed, sitting up against the soft pillows.

“Can’t do it next year though, two weddings in a year would send our parents insane,” you told him. “‘M finished with my tour now. Got nothing on next year,” Harry shrugged, a familiar cheeky smirk sitting pretty between his dimpled cheeks. You felt something shift in the air as he spoke, and he seemed to feel it too, edging closer to you until his face was only centimetres away from yours. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?” he cooed, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. His touch shot electricity through your core, a tingling sensation starting where his fingers touched you before washing over your whole body. You shook your head lightly, eyes fixed on him. He leaned in at this, his parted lips meeting yours. The beginnings of a moustache tickled your upper lip, his hot breath flowing into your mouth with every lick of his tongue. You shifted your body towards him as the kiss deepened, four legs and the now-crumpled duvet tangling together as you rushed to close the distance between your bodies. Harry licked into your mouth with the passion of a million years of unspoken longing, his movements saying more than he ever could with words. It was the kind of kiss you’d expect from someone who’d loved you for a lifetime, who wanted to love you for a lifetime, your tongues working alongside each other like this was routine, like you’d done it a thousand times before.

“Harry,” you whispered, hands pushing his blazer from his shoulders. He let you pull it off him, then stroked a hand up your thigh as you admired his upper body. One arm was littered in patchwork tattoos, though all you could focus on was his muscles, illuminated beautifully in the evening light. “Let me get you out of this,” he rasped, twisting your shoulders around to access the zip running down the back of your dress. He smoothed his fingers down your waist and to your hips before unzipping you, your body dwarfed by his strong hands. Harry pressed a kiss into the top of your back, then kissed up and down your spine, hungry for a taste of you as he unveiled more of your skin. You stood up to help him pull your dress down, resting one hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as you stepped out of it, leaving it discarded on the floor. “Matches my eyes,” he smiled. His gaze trailed from your toes, up to your knees, to where your panties wrapped around your hips, and higher still. Up your tanned abdomen to your bare breasts where your rosebud nipples sat perky, to your neck, and finally his gaze rested on your eyes. “Y’so beautiful,” he groaned, running a soft touch along the curve of your neck.

Harry pulled his tank top over his head, stepping out of his slacks as they collapsed at his feet. His body was unbelievable. So tanned and toned, firm in all the right places yet soft in the best ones. You could see the outline of his hard shaft through the thin fabric of his boxers, an almost silent moan slipping out as you took in the sight before you.

He stepped closer to you, backing you up until the side of the bed hit the back of your knees, then held a hand to your back to guide you down onto it. His hot, drunken breath washed over you as he climbed on top of you, one hand balancing his body as the other explored you. His fingers groped your breast firmly, mouth finding the opposite nipple, sucking it into his lips in one quick movement. Your back arched off the bed, pleasure so built up that it only took one touch to send you into a frenzy. Harry licked a circle around your areola, chuckling against your skin as you writhed under his touch. “Barely even started yet, little Boo,” he drawled, moving upwards to kiss along your clenched jaw.

His fingers danced down your body, smoothing over your mound as you gasped and groaned. They slipped under the soft material of your panties, blissfully cold against the heat of your entrance. You were already soaked through, much to his surprise, so he swiped a finger through your folds to collect your juices before landing straight on your clit. Harry rubbed you in circles, the friction leaving you a panting mess under him, head jutting out to press open-mouthed kisses on his throat.

He pulled your panties down your thighs tenderly, kissing every inch of skin they passed over. In the dim light of the room, mouth moving up and down your body, he’d never looked so handsome. His cock brushed against you as he moved back up your body to focus again on your folds, your juices spread across your mound in a mess. Two long fingers dived straight in, his rings leaving a harsh chill against your sensitive skin. The stretch of his fingers alone had you panting, a familiar burning starting in your core. Harry found your sweet spot insanely fast, fingers moving in a perfect beckoning motion just as you liked. He navigated your body like you’d done this before, like the muscle memory just guided him to what he knew made you feel good. “I want more, want you inside of me,” you whined, hips bucking towards Harry’s groin as he silenced you with a deep kiss. “Got to get you ready for me first, Boo”, he told you. You winced as he used your nickname, knowing you’d never be able to hear your dad call you that without thinking of this night.

Harry’s mouth found your breast again, sucking deep purple bruises onto the gentle skin as you whimpered beneath him. He smacked at your pussy as your moans got louder, causing your eyes to shoot up to meet his. “Gotta keep the noise down, sweet girl.” You nodded in response, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip to keep yourself as quiet as you could be. The second his tongue found your nipple, you felt your orgasm bubbling up in your core. Harry noticed the way your head lulled back, slipping a third finger inside of you and using his thumb to brush against your clit. It was like the holy trinity of foreplay, his skilled tongue and fingers hitting your three most pleasurable zones at once. Your climax hit quickly, walls tightening around his digits as you clamped your forearm across your mouth, desperately trying not to scream his name. He peppered kisses down your throat as his fingers rode you through your high, only pulling them away when you went limp under him. Harry held his fingers to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick off every trace of your creamy come.

He backed off you to kick his boxers down his legs, stroking his erection as it oozed precum. He found his wallet, pulling out a condom and rolling it down the length of his cock. “How do you want me, sweet girl?” he asked you, cock twitching in his hand. “Wanna go on top,” you told him, suddenly eager to impress. If his cock was anywhere near as good to you as his hands and mouth had been, you couldn’t only have him once. You needed to show him how good your pretty pussy could take him, make him want to come back for more.

Harry rolled onto the centre of the bed, hands guiding your hips down over his groin. His hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you towards him for a sloppy kiss. His mouth tasted of you, the familiar tingle of juices on his tongue. You stroked his member up and down quickly, before lining it up with your entrance and pushing yourself down onto his tip. “Fuck, H. You’re so big,” you whined, thighs burning as you hovered above him. He used his hands to move you up, then down, down, down, helping you to take him fully. The burn was like nothing you’d experienced before, his girthy cock crammed into every corner of your pussy. You stilled for a moment, hands resting against his butterfly tattoo, chest rising and falling quickly as you tried to push past the ache. He held a thumb under your chin, tilting your head to look at him. “You ok, pet?” he asked, needing to be sure before you continued. You nodded, moving one arm to pull his finger into your mouth. You licked circles around his fingertip, sucking it in down to his knuckle before releasing with it a pop.

Harry’s hands guided your hips to grind against him, helping you until you found your rhythm. He pulled them away, one landing with a loud smack on your ass cheek as the other crept up the front of your body, resting at your throat. He squeezed lightly, the sensation only spurring you on to bounce up and down on him, the combination of your juices squelching as your cheeks slapped against his groin. It was the kind of hot, dirty sex you’d only ever dreamed of, and it had you falling apart on top of him. You cried out a strangled moan, expletives falling out of both of your mouths. “Feel so good around me,” Harry groaned, “so fucking wet. S’that all for me?”

“All for you, H. M’all yours,” you whimpered. His hips bucked against you as you told him you were his, fingers pulling away from your supple ass. He spat on them before dancing them back across your asscheek and smoothing the spit around your second hole, eyes fixed on your pussy bouncing on his cock. “Can I?” he asked you. “Please, H.”

He pushed a finger into your tightness, filling you up so well. You felt so full you could burst. His eyes were clouded over with lust, tiny hairs slick to his forehead with sweat. He looked feral, and you loved it. He repositioned his feet to where they were flat against the bed, hips knocking into you as you moved up and down his cock, his thrusts sending him deeper and deeper inside of you. You were both panting now, barely able to contain your highs for a second longer. “Come with me, come with me please,” you begged him, your second orgasm of the night starting to rise through your core. His thrusts got faster and sloppier, obscene sounds echoing around the room, a clear sign of what you were doing to anyone who could hear you right now. Your orgasm crept up on you quickly, thanks to Harry tightening his grip around your neck and pushing his finger further into your tight hole. Your head was thrown back as you came, back arched making his cock feel as though it could burst through your belly button. Harry moaned loudly, hips jutting one last time as he flooded the condom with his come. You collapsed in a sweaty heap, totally unable to hold yourself up any longer.

“Took me so well, angel girl,” Harry drawled as he pulled out of you, padding across the room to toss the condom and rinse his hands. You lay there in total bliss, comfortable in the knowledge that your friendship was long gone.

—

“Let me go first and you can come after,” you told Harry, holding a finger up to shush him when he started to laugh. “We’re grown adults, Y/N, it doesn’t matter if anyone sees us come out together.”

“I don’t write songs about sex and drugs. My body is still untouched in my parents eyes,” you told him, hand slipping from the doorknob as he pulled you in for another kiss. “Just don’t come until you hear me leaving.”

You crept out of the room as silently as you could, heels and dress bundled under one arm. You’d heard Anne, your parents and Gemma head out to the courtyard already, so there was no danger of being caught by prying eyes - or so you thought. As you were padding across the hallway to your room, Anne appeared round the corner. “I was just coming to see if you were awake,” she told you, eyes sparkling with glee. “No wonder your mum said your bed was untouched.” She knocked on Harry’s door with a tight-lipped smile lighting up her face. He opened the door wide-eyed as Anne pulled him into a firm hug, pressing a sticky lipgloss kiss to his cheek. “I always hoped you two would get together.” She disappeared back down the hall as quickly as she appeared, leaving you and Harry blushing.

You decided to make your way outside together, knowing it wouldn’t be long before your parents put two and two together anyway. Plus, you knew Anne wouldn’t be able to resist telling your mum and Gemma what she saw.

—

You decided to spend the day on the beach, you and Harry with your parents and Anne, since Gemma and Michal had already left for their honeymoon. It was a perfect summers day, the sun warm enough to enjoy but not hot enough to irritate you, the gentle sea breeze cooling you down as it washed over you. Your mum and Anne were sprawled across a linen blanket, two bottles of wine stood in the sand next to their feet. They called you over, instant dread washing over you as Anne excitedly shouted your name. “Do you have anything to tell us?” she asked you, and you were sure there would be mischief glinting in her eyes under her big sunglasses. They sat up and scooted over on their blanket, leaving space for you to slot in between. “Nothing that I’m sure you don’t already know,” you smirked, a deep blush creeping up your cheeks. Your mum looked between Anne and you, gasping as she swatted at your leg. “So it’s true! You dirty little minx.”

You held your head in your hands, mortified that your parents knew you’d slept with Harry. “Oh relax,” your mum told you. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” she smirked, throwing herself towards Anne as they howled in laughter. Anne stopped suddenly, her hand tapping at your mum’s thigh incessantly. “If they get married, we’ll be real family!” she gasped, face pink with joy. “Well, the pact is what got us there in the first place,” Harry told them, sitting down next to you and snaking a hand around your waist.

“I forgot all about that,” your mum’s jaw went slack. “Do you still have it?” she asked Anne. “Of course I do. Kept it safe to show them when they found their way back to each other, always knew this day would come.”

part two

taglist: @sleutherclaw @harrysolaf @slutforcoffein

[egrets-highish-hunt-loth]

Name: Charlie R. Hopper

Nicknames/Aliases: various randomly generated Internet aliases, often having numbers or codes within them.

Creed/Virtue: Hermit / Vision

Drive: Curiosity

You don’t like to think about the past; you were in law enforcement, briefly, before a car accident smeared as a drunk driving incident rendered you functionally brain dead for six months and your higher-ranked sisters face on every MISSING poster across the UK. You fell into a hole of drinking and passing out on streets when the fallout hit too hard — and you thought you found solace with a drinking buddy until one night you wake up with his teeth around your neck and promises of an eternity of peace babbling from his throat.

It’s not that that does it, though. You wriggled hard enough to escape, and you hid in your house with blood pouring down your neck — and nothing happens. You never see your drinking buddy again, even if you’re sure sometimes you feel his eyes on the back of your neck. You don’t report it to the people that had already shunned you. You don’t have friends to tell; they were all your sisters’, and she’s not turned up either. You’re just the leftovers, the chewed up gristle that would do better to be ground against the pavement and discarded.

So, instead of taking action, you move — far, far away — in the hopes that nothing but the scar tissue would follow you. Like you could swallow down that rage and escape with just a few physical reminders that, in time, would fade.

You didn’t know just how loud the whispers would get.

Merits:

Tolerance (1pt) ; Most hermits can’t be in populated spaces without completely losing it. Charlie has a *slight* tolerance that has allowed him to squat in an abandoned apartment complex, though it still means the endless barrage of garbled messages makes it difficult for him to focus; he finds himself unable to leave despite the urge to get away from it all, his Curiosity driving him to put up with the Babble. || This merit only extends to the presence of 1 Imbued or Supernatural being, if more than that are within a 30 metre radius (patron bg 3) Charlie is rendered unable to focus on anything other than the Messages.||

Patron Background (3pt); Charlie is fed a constant barrage of messages and warnings that come; when in the presence of another Imbued or supernatural being (within a 30 metre radius with current points), Charlie is overwhelmed by the noise and suffers a -2 penalty to any rolls involving focus or concentration; unless it’s to release the messages unto others. I’ll be writing the messages as quite incoherent, as I don’t want to step on or reveal anyones’ meta character information without permission; feel free to dm if you want some details revealed!

Flaws:

— Demophobe (derangement); Charlie is deathly afraid of crowds, and doesn’t even like the idea of fellow squatters in the apartment complex he squats in lest they become too numerous; he regularly installs self made security and ‘’traps’’ to deter any from being too close for fear of a crowd gathering.

— Weak-Willed ; Even when Charlie is aware some-one is trying to sway him, he cannot roll resistance against manipulation attempts.

— Stalker ; Charlie briefly was the target of a planned embrace, but narrowly escaped. His wanna-be sire still lurks, somewhere, keeping an eye on its’ lost quarry; it contributes to his demophobia, as he’s afraid he might not be able to recognise the lurking face in a large crowd.

[[ Hunter PC in the Blood On The Bay campaign set in San Francisco. <3]]

[alicentsgf]

hey! i started following you only recently so i don’t know if anyone has already asked you, if that’s the case i apologise in advance, but i like the way you express your opinions and the way you put things when you talk about things you like/don’t like, so i wanted to ask you if you liked emily carey’s and olivia cooke interpretation of alicent in hotd ,,

hope you have a nice day/night ✨

Hi babe! Thank you so much - I'm gonna try and sum up my feelings on this because I do have some thoughts. I think by and large we've got it really good with the HotD cast in general theres only very few comments they've made where I personally disgree, and none of those are from Emily or Olivia.

Beyond all the repressed lesbian jokes I do think making the subtext of Alicent's character repression and queerness and shame was... Inspired actually. And that apparently came primarily from the actresses. Emily and Olivia saw the potential on the page and really elevated it. Alicent in the book was sometimes implied to be a bit of a (heterosexual) sex pest, as women are oft remembered to be when history wants to blame them for every terrible thing that happened to them... (should I reference Anne Boleyn again?) So the writers critiquing that element by flipping it on its head for the show, and the actresses taking that and going 'actually she was incredibly sexually repressed and its at least in part because this world would never have even let her recognise what she desired' was a great direction to go with it. Because this is a world that does not encourage women to have any sexual agency, or even an awareness of their own sexuality (in Alicent's case). Just look at Rhaenyra - look at the consequences she faces for the semblance of sexual agency she enjoys. So yeah, call me biased lmao but making Alicent the poster girl for catholic shame and queer sexual repression and then putting her next to Rhaenyra, who isnt ashamed or sexually repressed at all, really drives home how neither of them could win; gilded cage, gilded handcuffs, a gilded knife at your throat... choose your pretty affliction if you like, it all ends the same anyway. And they were always going to make Alicent her father's puppet, someone who cant comprehend her own desires, so the actresses building on that and making her a closeted lesbian, who cannot even fathom what desire means because she is so repressed that she doesn't even know how to want anymore. In a lot of ways her longing for intimacy with Rhaenyra isnt even sexual, because she'd have to cut through the calcified surface of her sexual appetite for what she feels to become lustful. And Olivia herself basically said this I think.

I do think I prefer Olivia's portrayal, even though Emily's young Alicent is still incredibly important to me. I just think Emily's youth worked against her even as it was so necessary to role because Olivia's just a more seasoned actress and she seems relaxed enough to make choices that really added to her performance where Emily has a slight stiffness sometimes. Also its not really a fair comparison because I truly believe Olivia is out-acting every single person on that set, not just Emily. Don't get me wrong they're all incredible actors but the only other person coming at all close for me is Paddy, or maybe TGC (but I haven't seen enough of him yet to say that definitively).

I just keep coming back to the knife scene and how well acted that was by Olivia. The pain and righteous anger was all too palpable and you could really plot Alicent's emotional journey playing out so beautifully in Olivia. She and Paddy really were the dream team the way they played off each other - that shot where Viserys gets in Alicent's face, the uncertainty and guilt in Viserys eyes even as he all but growls at Alicent because even he doesn't really believe what hes saying but hes not going to back down, and Alicent with her tear-streaked face - the realisation he will never ever choose her or her children first even when they are bleeding and pleading for him so obvious in her eyes. I really feel the framing did Olivia so dirty because they made it so difficult for people to truly understand Alicent's perspective but absolutely none of that was Olivia's fault, she played Alicent to a T.

[insomniasymphony]

Can't get away [Obsessive Pariston Hill x Female Reader]

Constellation: Obsessive Pariston Hill x Female Reader Words I got: → alcohol → Idol → corruption Rating: Teen and up Adience

    ►► He gets everything he wants.     Don't ask to be spared.◄◄

.

The stuffy air inside is no comparison to the good mood that fills the room. Lights twinkle in the background, reflected in glasses and panes. You can hear the music vibrating in the background, the heavy bass joining your voice and those of the other girls.

The three of you are unbeatable. The most popular idol squad in town.

After all these months, you still haven't been able to get used to the fact that your face adorns most of the house fronts because the posters have to hang on every corner. Yet you are proud of it. Life in this community is hard, your muscles sometimes feel sluggish and lame, and the training is painfully hard. But all these things bring a certain pride. Because idols are what you look up to. They are the detached pillars of society who aren't addicted to alcohol or drugs - not even love.

They are perfect.

The gleam in the eyes of some spectators who come from all over make your heart beat faster. Businessmen loosen their ties and clap, rich women look at you with slight envy and the people of the taverns and everyday professions cheer you on with glow sticks.

Even hunters are present. You believe you recognise them by their physique, by the aura that sets them a little apart from the rest. There is something about them that attracts other people. Even you are fascinated by their adventures.

The final movements of your choreography sit perfectly on the beat of the music and the cheering that follows leaves no room for silence, making the room shake. A brief glance at your manager earns you a quick thumbs up. It's less than usual, but the fact that he's in conversation with another man makes you sympathise.

In return, this stranger captures your curiosity a moment longer, making you look at the expensive, visibly tailored suit that doesn't quite fit in with the others in its white and silver stripes. The pink shirt clashes with the red tie and his blond hair doesn't quite match.

Everything about him seems perfectly coordinated, neat, and yet a tiny bit off-putting.

As the applause ends, a few steps take you off the stage - away from the stares that would notice any mistake. Hidden behind the burgundy curtains is a door that takes you and your comrades into an adjoining hallway where you have each been given a room to change and prepare.

Your goodbyes to your team members are brief, no more than a casual wave as exhaustion hangs in each of you. Immediately afterwards you disappear behind one of the doors.

Colourful dresses and large mirrors greet you, beckoning like an invitation to look at yourself. But you avert your eyes. After all the work, you only want to be human and not a perfect being that doesn't seem to be from this earth.

Tired, you sit down on a chair, stretch out your legs and let your arms hang. The heavy dress on your body makes relaxing a little more difficult, makes you groan because the tight corsage prevents you from breathing properly.

So you bend forward, grab the hooks that hold the dress together at the back, but don't get to undo them before there is a knock at your door. All that remains is for you to leave it and take up an upright position before inviting your visitor in.

It doesn't take a breath before the door opens and your manager enters, followed by that strange man he had spoken to earlier.

“Good work,” is the first thing your manager says to you before gesturing a hand in the stranger's direction. “I wanted to introduce you to someone. This man here is Pariston Hill. Mister Hill has decided to financially support your group so that you can become even more famous.”

Instantly, you jump up to bow. “Good evening, Mister Hill.”

“Ah, Pariston will do.” He waves you off, followed by a smile that makes his brown eyes startlingly opaque. You can't read this man.

“Of course, Mister Hill had a few requests before he agreed to contribute. But I'm sure he can explain that to you himself.” Without further ado, your manager takes a step back. “Please be on time for dinner.” Then he disappears, just leaving you alone with this man who doesn't fit in this room.

The door slams shut with a click and Pariston takes the opportunity to take a few steps towards you. “Looks like a lot of work to me.”

“What were your requests regarding support?” You don't even answer him. Instead you observe his every move, watching as he leans against the low dressing table and fixes you with those dull brown eyes.

“A direct woman. Makes it easier.” Averting his eyes, he continues to look around until he spots one of the unused microphones and picks it up for fun. Like a toast, he holds it in front of his mouth before pointing at you. “I bought you.”

For a moment your mouth drops open, only to close again. The words in your head seem scattered and it takes far too long for you to bring a puzzled “what?” to your lips.

He gallantly pushes himself off the table and comes closer, making you take a few steps back, undecided. But there isn't much room. Your hip bumps against a table on the wall and Pariston has reached you before you can take another path.

A hand settles at your side, making you shudder and look at him in disgust. A reaction that only spurs his smile.

“You're mine,” he declares.

“No way,” you return, bracing both hands against his chest, but you are much weaker than he is. You are only left with words. “I'm an idol, not a prostitute. I can't be bought!”

“And yet I just bought you off your manager.”

“You're lying.” Furious, you push aside the kindness. “We're singers from an excellent agency that certainly doesn't depend on the money of a random man.”

“First and foremost, you are a vocalist for an agency that has bought its money and reputation by selling idols like you to men like me.” His face comes a little closer to yours.

“That's against the rules. An idol isn't to be tainted,” you whisper in disbelief. “Selling an idol to gain the favour of others ... I don't know which side to call corrupt.”

“You could call anyone that. We all like to turn a blind eye for the right amount of money.” His nose touches yours and you can't help but hold your breath.

Then you close your eyes.

You can feel his breath on your lips. Feel the hunger behind it. His body is so close to yours that you can feel the warmth of his skin move under your dress. He is far too close to you and although you should probably scream to save face, you can't help but wait.

But nothing happens.

So you open one of your eyes again and at the same moment you notice how Pariston breathes a kiss into your neck. The goosebumps rise even further and although the knot in your stomach inevitably sends in a protest, you can't move.

Pariston, meanwhile, takes some distance. This time you can read him. The mischievousness in his eyes is unmistakable and you realise that you are nothing more than a fun pastime for him. Something that entertains him better than most of the things he takes to heart. You are sure: he wants you and at the same time he doesn't.

But there seems to be something more as he hands you the microphone and lets the scene sink in for a moment.

“Sing for me,” he demands shortly afterwards. “From today, just for me. I won't let anyone else hear your voice anymore.”

A simple request that couldn't be more reprehensible and yet you can't refuse as you take the microphone and brush his hand. The unease under your skin is treacherous.

Forbidden.

Interesting.

Captivating enough to just look at him and swallow the anger. You're left with only one song for him.

One that he will hopefully remember.

.

[Check out my Hunter x Hunter one shot collection here!] Picture is from a card collection game.

[mischiefmanaged71]

Turning Tables (3/8) - Joaquin Torres x Reader

Summary: Y/N and Joaquin work together to track down the Flag Smashers, but yet again, she is the middle woman between Bucky and Sam as they butt heads. 

Author’s Note: Continuation of the story into Episode Two of TFATWS. Love the banter between Sam and Bucky, especially when Walker turns up and they team up to direct all of their anger at him. Joaquin is my man, my soft boi. I need more of him in the next two episodes, otherwise, I’m going to be a wreck for a while. Let me know in the comments if you’d like to be tagged! There will definitely be two more parts…who knows, maybe I’ll add more or individual one-shots!

Warnings: anxiety, the smallest drop of fluff

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x fem! Reader

You leaned back in your chair, feet crossed in front as Joaquin read through documents at his desk. Following up on leads was the top priority right now with the rise in communications of the revolutionaries’ known as the Flag Smashers. 

Word Count: 2.4K

Joaquin stood by his word and incorporated Sam and Y/N in the investigation. They had been at the Airbase for a total of 3 hours and 49 minutes, reading through documents and following up leads using the database resources. 

You rest your hands on your stomach as you shut your eyes for a moment. The bags under your eyes had become more noticeable in the past couple days, what with sleepless nights and long hours. All of which led you to grow closer to the coffee machine in your small apartment.

The nightmares had grown worse in the past week, haunting more than the occasional dream. Sometimes it was just the darkness that irked you, which you’d usually resolve with a bit of light. More recently, they formed into horrific events where you couldn’t save Sam or Bucky. The worst instance was last night’s terror.

This time, Joaquin showed up instead. 

Instead of the usual guilt that strung you up, an aching sorrow and horror overwhelmed you as you lost control. 

The fire was everywhere.

It burned until nothing was left.

Until the last edge of life was gone.

Even as you grasped for the tip of control to stop it, the flames extended further and further.

You couldn’t stop them,

And that terrified you.

It had its grip on your throat, ever-so-slowly compressing your windpipe as you clawed for the surface.

“Y/N?”

You inhaled sharply, opening your eyes to Joaquin’s concerned gaze as he leaned across the desk.

“You alright? You dozed off there.”

You nodded your head, slacking your jaw to recognise your feet touching the ground, the cabinets along the walls and lastly, the man sitting behind the desk.

His concerned gaze is glued to your widened eyes which scan the room, almost as if you weren’t completely aware.

“Yeah...I haven’t been getting much sleep is all.”

Joaquin nodded, returning to the words on the document,

“I’ve noticed. You’ve been a bit jittery the past couple days.”

“And...that’ll be the caffeine.”, you trailed, as you stood and stretched your limbs out.

“Don’t say what I think you’re going to say.”

Joaquin glanced up from the desk, shaking his head as a smirk grew on his face. The bruise under his left eye had slowly been healing from the past mission, along with a large cut along his forehead.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

“Oh really? Then what’s the face for?”

“What face?”, he laughed and stared at you incredulously.

You leaned your hands against the back of the chair as pointed at him,

“That face that says I’m judging you.”

“This is not a judgemental face. This is the face of someone who is concerned about you.”

You’re quiet, allowing Joaquin to continue as you grip the back of the chair. Averting your eyes to the floor, your stomach plummets. Thumps palpate in your chest as your blood seems to pump harder.

“Are you okay?”, he asked.

You gulped down your anxiety, making eye contact with Joaquin so as to convince him and yourself as you spoke.

“...Yeah. I’m fine.”, you nodded your head and smile with the lack of enthusiasm that brings his attention to it. Joaquin cocks his head to the side, trying to see deeper into your mind.

“Y/N-”

The door bursts open as another uniformed soldier leans in the doorway.

“Lieutenant, I’ve got an update waiting for you, Sir.”

Joaquin stood from his seat, nodding his head at the officer.

“Alright, thanks, you can hand it over.”

The soldier nods his head, leaving the folder on the desk before shutting the door. You huff out a sigh at the tension and silence filling the office. Joaquin gathered up the remaining papers on the desk into neat piles, tidying the space.

“Look, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m electing not to sleep and I’m getting more work done.”

“You can’t live like this, Y/N, you’re gonna run yourself into the ground.”

“Yeah well right now, I’d rather not face those fears. Got bigger fish to fry right now.”, you purse your lips and nodded towards the folder.

You exit the office, wandering the first level of the base offices. Your arms press against the railing as you drop your head and listen to the bustling of people and machinery echo across the base. Slumped over the railing, you concentrate on counting your breaths as you hear Joaquin’s feet stomp closer to you.

Joaquin leans next to you on the border as you refuse to move, knowing that your façade of calm will chip as soon as you look at him.

“Y/N, if somethings bothering you, you should tell me. I know you feel that keeping it to yourself is better than admitting it but trust me, it’s a lot worse.”, he leaned down to meet your gaze as a stoic blank expression overcame you.

Your throat tightens and clench your jaw to suppress the sob building in your chest. 

You’ve always been alone with your thoughts, threatening to crack under the constant pressure behind your skull. The Avengers had been an unconventional setting but you created close relationships with a few of them. Some you lost along the way because of uncontrollable things but you wonder. 

You wonder if maybe something was wrong with you.

If it was your fault why they always left.

Why no one stuck around for long.

Tears glimmer, threatening to fall but you exhale a long breath out, turning to him. You twiddle your fingers, jaw clenched as you choke out the words in a whisper.

“...okay.”

Joaquin’s posture straightened as you stepped away from the railing and nodded your head in agreement.

“I’ll try. For you, Flyboy.”

He hummed and a small smile grew on his face at the nickname. 

“That’s all I ask.”

Looking over his shoulder, you recognise a familiar face. 

“Hey, Wilson.” you called over Joaquin’s shoulder, causing Sam’s eyes to flicker between the two of you.

“Hey, Y/L/N. I see you guys are spending extra time together…”, Sam implied with a smirk.

Y/N rolled her eyes at Sam’s implications, nudging his arm.

“It’s about time he kept me in the loop.”

He recognises the dark circles under your eyes and how tired you look but elects to ignore it. 

“You alright?”, Sam asks.

You look up at Joaquin as his lips twitch upwards in a small encouraging smile. His hand slides across the railing, hovering next to yours as you reply.

“I’m right where I need to be.”

You trail off as you notice Sam’s stiff posture and tension as he glides his hands into his pockets.

“How are you?”

After the huge declaration of America’s new ‘Captain America’, you were infuriated with the SHAM. Walker had done nothing to deserve that shield. 

It was Sam that Steve chose. 

It was Sam that deserved the shield.

You can only imagine how upset he is feeling. 

Sam almost shrugs, tilting his head as he doesn’t know how to express all of his feelings about the situation.

You all glance towards a screen as a poster of John Walker holding up Steve’s shield is shown.

“Seems like a good guy. You met him?”, Joaquin asks.

“No.”, Sam replied.

“Thanks for doing this on such short notice.”

“Yeah. No sweat. I’m just finishing up the checklist. You’ll be all good to go once you land in Munich.”

“I’ll be in the air with Joaquin so you can keep us updated…”

You trail off because your attention phases to Bucky Barnes’ entrance. With the fury in his step, you can practically visualise the daggers Bucky is sending towards Sam as you descend the stairs.

“Shouldn’t have given up the shield.”

“Good to see you too, Buck.”

“This is wrong.”, Bucky interjects.

Bucky follows Sam, cutting him off to interrogate. 

“Hey, hey, look, I’m working, all right? So all this outrage is gonna have to wait.”

Bucky narrows his eyes,

“You didn’t know that was gonna happen?”

Sam is aghast, “No, of course I didn’t know that was gonna happen. You think it didn’t break my heart to see them march him out there and call him the new Captain America?”

“Steve didn’t want this.”

“Oh, my God. What do you want me to do? Call America and tell ’em I changed my mind? Huh?”

Joaquin rests a hand on your shoulder, bringing your attention back to him,

“I’m gonna go ahead and set up before we leave.”

You nod, acknowledging him, gripping his hand,

“I’ll be right there.”, sending him a reassuring smile.

You watch as Sam and Bucky tussle in an argument over the shield and then the mission.

You find yourself striding up to them as Sam stomps off alone towards the plane.

“Hey stranger.”

Bucky turns around and his eyes light up in recognition. He flicks over your tired eyes and sombre expression.

“Sam didn’t know this would happen.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have given it up in the first place. It doesn’t belong there.”

“Bucky… I know how much that shield means to you... But you have to understand that Sam did what he thought was the right thing. We have to accept that. It’s what Steve wanted.”

“This is not what Steve would have wanted, Y/N.”

Bucky is fuming at the thought of the man parading as Captain America.

“I know, I know, Bucky. But we gotta work together to solve this one.”

“Just like always.”

He hummed, looking at the plane.

“Fine, but it doesn’t change the fact I’m mad at him.”

You sigh but agree because you know your boys are stubborn.

*****

You sit up on a crate as the plane flies below the drop-off zone for Sam and Bucky. You were sitting this one out to surveil with Joaquin from above.

“One minute to drop off, Sam.”

You watch Joaquin as he assesses the distance below and the time on his watch. The cuts and scrapes on his face have mostly healed but the blue and purple bruising under his eye remains. 

“So what’s our plan?”, Bucky asks Sam who ignores him as he positions his com in his ear.

“Great. So no plan.”

Bucky shakes his head in annoyance, sitting back down in his seat.

“Thirty seconds!”, Joaquin yells, looking out into the open air.

“I’m reconsidering sending those two out there alone.”

You glance anxiously between Sam and Bucky as the tension in the plane stirs.

“But they’re not alone, because they’re going together.”, Joaquin points out.

“That’s the part I’m worried about.”

You smile unconvincingly at Joaquin as you listen to the men bicker.

“Enjoy your ride, Buck.”

Bucky rejects Sam’s use of the nickname,

“No, you can’t call me that.”

“Why not? That’s what Steve called you.”

You roll your eyes at the childish banter between the two. You were considering the amount of logic and coordination between the two of them but then again, you were too tired to get on board for this mission.

“Steve knew me longer, and Steve had a plan.”

“Why couldn’t Steve be here?”, you whisper sarcastically.

“Fifteen seconds to drop.”

“I have a plan.”, Sam defends.

“Really? What is it?”

Sam ignores Bucky, jumping from the plane. Joaquin peeks his head out in amusement as Sam ignites his suit and flies off. He still wears that look of amaze on his face since the first time he saw the suit.

“Great. Where’s the chute?”, Bucky asked, looking around.

“We’re at 200 feet. It’s too low for a chute.”

“I don’t need it anyway.”

Joaquin perked an eyebrow, glancing at Bucky from the side, 

“You sure about that?”

“No! I know that look Bucky and I swear-”

“Yeah.”, Bucky sighs, yelling as he drops from the plane.

You and Joaquin both stare out into the open air as Bucky plummets into a tree, slowing his descent.

“What. An. Idiot.”, you exclaim from beside Joaquin.

“That looks like it hurts too.”

Pulling your sleeves down, you shiver and pull back from the open door to return to your seat. 

“He’ll be fine. I think.”

Joaquin slides the door shut as its seals with a hiss. 

You retract back into yourself as your thoughts return in the quiet.

Luckily, Joaquin is there to push them back.

“Hey, join me upstairs? I’ve gotta track activities for Sam from up here.”, he waits for your answer.

“Sure.”

He steps aside to let you walk up the steps first, sliding behind you as you reach the second floor. His hand ghosts over you back, guiding you across to the computers.

You flirt around the screens, leaning your hands against the metal frame. Joaquin’s hand roams around different radars and dials as he reads them. You watch from your spot as he concentrates, although, his eyes float up to check on you, every so often. You’ll pretend not to notice the suppressed smirk that threatens to rise on his face at your stare. 

You push that brewing anxiety aside but not without strain. Not without a little help from that pure and inviting calm that Joaquin brings.

***

TAGS:

@asoftie4bucky @remmysbounty @cjsinkythoughts @bubblegum28universe  @farfromjustordinary  @hocusbowie @alainabooks143 @marvelnerd18 @samscaptain @alexlynn16 @dontstahpmemeow @plllover86 @petewentzfrommcr80  @literallyjustfanfiction @captainbarness @parkjammys @the-and-sign-anon @nialeesato 

[reactionimagesdaily]

I dont understand bionicles at all, so maybe a crash course into like. 1) what a bionicle is 2) general plot of the bionicle story? happy 5k btw <3 love ur page!

OH BOY OH BOY, this is a question I've been waiting for. Thank you so much for asking, and I’m glad you like my page!! <333

A couple of disclaimers, before I start: I'm going to focus mostly on the mainline plot, but let it be known that there WERE a bunch of serial stories and comics and games that added to the story overall. Bionicle was, I think, one of the first big instances of a plot that was consumed through a bunch of different mediums.

I'm also going to try and do a lot of streamlining - it's not that I DON'T want to talk about bionicle, but there's 10+ years of story to cover, so... yeah. :P

Also! Sorry in advance to anyone whose 'read more' function doesn't work, because this is gonna be a doozy

So, what is a bionicle? From a meta perspective, Bionicle is a Lego theme that ran from 2001-2010, and was briefly rebooted from 2015-2016. It's name is a mashup of biological chronicle, and it was hugely successful in its time, essentially helping to save the Lego company from bankruptcy. The idea is that you use finnicky technical pieces to build humanoid figures (and sometimes their vehicles!) and then. play with them

From a textual/lore perspective, I'm not sure Bionicle is an in-universe term lol. But the characters that we recognise as 'bionicles' are grouped into a bunch of different classifications - 'Toa', 'Matoran', 'Makuta', 'Glatorian', and so on. The characters are kinda like inverse cyborgs, where there's metal on the outside and flesh and muscle on the inside. They often function like robots (e.g. have removable and replaceable masks that they constantly wear over their faces) but are still essentially living creatures.

So, what's the general plot of the story?

...[inhales deeply] Okay

In the time before time, there's an island called Mata Nui that sits in the middle of the ocean. It's populated by these dinky lil' guys called 'Matoran' that live in six villages organised by elements - fire, water, ice, air, earth, and stone. They eke out a life as best they can, facing dangerous wild animals (collectively called 'Rahi') and worshipping the Great Spirit, who is confusingly also called Mata Nui. (They named the island after him.) The great spirit, they say, once watched over them all, but was long ago forced into an enchanted sleep by his evil brother.

(These are the matoran. Look at these cute little guys :3)

One day, six canisters wash ashore, on the island's golden beaches. And out of these canisters step six strange figures called Toa. Tall, strong, and heavily armed, there is one of these 'Toa' for each of the villages, and each of these guys have control over an element. They are the main 'heroes' of this story.

(These are the six Toa. Here's a fun game - spot the girl!)

Each of the six Toa are named characters - from left to right we have Onua (wise and grounded), Lewa (fun-loving and mischievous), Pohatu (friendly and confident), Tahu (hot-headed and impulsive), Kopaka (cold and quiet), and Gali (intelligent and compromising). Some of the Matoran are also named characters - there's Jaller, the captain of the guard at the fire village, Hahli, a sports player from the water village, Matoro, a translator from the ice village, and Takua, who's technically from the fire village but is also an 'outsider' who tends to wander the island. Takua is especially important because he becomes the Toa's 'chronicler', following them around on their adventures and writing everything down for posterity.

Without getting into too much detail, the Toa spend two real-life years getting into wacky highjinks. They hunt for masks (as aforementioned, the masks they wear can be removed and replaced) that grant them special powers, fight the Rahi, and also face up against a terrifying race of creatures with mind-control powers called the Bohrok that are determined to strip the island of all life. They also fight against a being called Makuta, a mysterious shadowy figure who claims to be the brother that forced Mata Nui into his slumber. When they first meet him, Makuta takes the form of a Matoran to throw them off, before turning into a nebulous black void and doing his best to murder them all to death.

(Makuta as he appears in 2001's 'Mata Nui Online Game'. As far as villain introductions go, marching out to meet all the heroes and then telling them "I bore you, for I am nothing. It is from nothing that you came, and it is into nothing you will go. The people of this world are builders, but look into their hearts, and you will find they also have the power to destroy. I am that power. I am destruction. And I will destroy you." is pretty fucking solid though I say so myself.)

There’s a lot of cool worldbuilding and mysterious details about the island. At one point, the earth Matoran note that they can only dig so far into the dirt before they come across some hard material - some type of metal - that they just can’t break through. Also, amidst the stars in the sky, there’s an ominous blood-red star that’s appropriately known as the Red Star. What’s it doing there? Nobody knows

Also at one point, the Toa also get mutated into new forms after falling into a liquid that's called 'energized protodermis' but should really be called 'McGuffin Sauce'. There's a lot of changing forms and characters being mutated in this series in general, which I'm sure has nothing to do with the fact that Lego always needed new figures to make into toys.

(This is how the Toa look after being mutated. In these forms, they're referred to as the Toa Nuva -and let me assure you that that distinction will soon become necessary. :P)

So, in 2003 in our world (I’m not sure about the timeline within the lore), Takua the chronicler finds a mysterious mask and brings it back to the Turaga, who are the wise old rulers of the Matoran (The most promiment of the Turaga is the Turaga of fire, who’s called Vakama. He’s an even-tempered and wise old man who’s not above hitting villains with his walking stick if they threaten his village.). It turns out that the mask is special - it’s the mask of Light, and it’s part of a prophecy that involves the arrival of a seventh Toa who’s destined to defeat Makuta. So Takua and Jaller go on an adventure to try and find the seventh Toa.

Meanwhile, Makuta isn’t just going to sit around and wait for the Toa who’s destined to defeat him to rock up: he unleashes his secret weapons, the Rahkshi, who are, in lore, suits of armour driven by slugs. Sounds corny - in practice, they’re hella intimidating.

(Look at these bad boys)

Some more adventures happen and, to make a long story short, the Rahkshi kill Jaller and Takua the chronicler puts the mask of light onto his own face, transforming into Takanuva, the Toa of Light. The audience surrogate and ‘weird’ character was the secret hero all along!! I love that honestly.

(Takua and Takanuva - before and after)

As someone with light powers, Takanuva is essentially the perfect counter to the big bad Makuta, who has shadow powers, so he finds Makuta’s lair intent on beating him. Makuta challenges him to a game that’s called ‘Kohlii’ but is basically this universe’s version of lacrosse - Takanuva accepts and proceeds to wipe the floor with him. During their fight, they fall into another conveniently-placed pool of energized protodermis and become merged, forming a new being called ‘Takutanuva’. Takutanuva doesn’t stick around very long, because he’s this weird contradictory being of both light and shadow, but before he fractures he opens a gate underneath Mata Nui and lets the Toa, the Turaga, and some named Matoran get through. Inside, they find a hidden city - a whole other world.

Takutanuva then manages to use his powers to hack the universe and bring Jaller back to life. Hooray! After that, he dies, and Takanuva is back. Makuta is nowhere to be found. [eyes emoji]

So now the Toa, the old Turaga, and a couple of Matoran are inside this whole new location, and they’re all wondering what the heck is going on. Well, not all of them are wondering. Vakama, the head Turaga, steps forward and admits that actually, the six (seven) Toa heros that we’ve come to know and love... aren’t actually the first Toa. Gasp!

The next two years of sets and story are essentially one giant flashback, as Vakama tells the current heroes about adventures past. It turns out that the hidden city they’ve found is called Metru Nui, and once upon a time, Vakama and the other Turaga were Toa themselves, fighting to keep the city and the matoran safe.

(New (old) Toa! The flying green one is Matau, who was a stunt-driving excitable madman, and then on the ground from left to right we have Whenua (nerdy chronicler), Nokama (schoolteacher-turned-superhero), Vakama (anxiety-ridden leader), Nuju (absent-minded stargazer), and Onewa (racist prick who needs (and gets) a character arc). To differentiate themselves from the Toa that we’ve come to know and love, these Toa are the Toa Metru)

They had a bunch of adventures of their own. They fought the Vahki (capture robots upholding an authoritarian police state) and the Morbuzakh (evil sentient vines), and they also had ‘arch enemies’ in the form of the Dark Hunters, who were mercenaries that hunted Toa.

Also, that story about Makuta putting Mata Nui to sleep? Not a story so much as a history lesson! Ultimately, the reason that the city of Metru Nui was abandoned was because Mata Nui WAS awake, watching over them all, but then Makuta forced him into slumber and essentially caused a cataclysm. The Matoran were rounded up and forced to sleep as well, and the Toa Metru had to flee the city. When they came back, it had been overrun with Visorak (basically giant spiders), and they had to fight hard to defeat the horde and its leaders and escape with all of the sleeping Matoran.

Once they left Metru Nui (and arrived on the island that would become Mata Nui), the Toa Metru sacrificed their powers to wake up all the Matoran - which is how they transformed into the wise old Turaga. Also, the Matoran woke up with no memories, which is how they’d never known about Metru Nui up until this point.

Anyways, after exploring Metru Nui and making plans to move back in, everyone does some digging around and discover something about Mata Nui: his spirit is fading. Whatever Makuta did to him, it not only put him to sleep, but it’s also slowly killing him. After presumably having an existential crisis, the gang come up with a solution: there’s another legendary mask, the Mask of Life, that should be able to resuscitate Mata Nui, or at the very least, keep him from kicking the bucket while he’s sleeping.

(The Mask of Life! If you look closely, you can see that the faceplate is shaped like a humanoid figure (because, yaknow, life) and if you think that’s not the tightest shit ever you can get out of my face)

So, the modern-day Toa (the Toa Nuva, if you guys remember the name) are like ‘okay, give us the location of the mask, we’ll go and find it’. So they get sent to another island, this one called Voya Nui, and they arrive and... get their asses handed to them? What?

A quick backtrack: a gang of thugs called the Piraka had already arrived on Voya Nui in search of the Mask of Life, wanting it so they can use its power to blackmail powerful organisations and generally get ahead in the criminal world. (From a Meta perspective, they’re,,, really interesting. Up until this point, the villains in Bionicle had either been wild animals, or villains with grand overarching plans. These guys are basically overpowered street thugs, complete with their own theme song - the ‘Piraka Rap’. Look it up on YouTube; it’s fucking hilarious, because the rest of Bionicle is generally timeless, but the Piraka Rap was basically dated as soon as it came out. I love it.)

(The Piraka themselves! Fun fact; in Bionicle lore, ‘Piraka’ is a slang term for ‘thief’ and ‘murderer’, and was also considered so vulgar that if a Matoran called another Matoran ‘Piraka’, war would be declared over it. These guys are really just going around calling themselves slurs. I have to respect that.)

So, yeah. The Piraka defeat and imprison the Toa Nuva when they get to the island. Now what?

Well, now it’s time for the Matoran to get involved! A group of named and previously-established Matoran set out to see if they can rescue the Toa. There’s Jaller, Hahli, and Matoro, who I’ve already mentioned, and then there’s Kongu, Nuparu, and Hewkii. And I need to take a break to say that all these characters have been with the story since 2001 (it’s now 2006), and they’ve all contributed to the plot before!! Kongu is a prominent Matoran from the air village who led a flight of giant bird-riders to save the day one time, and Nuparu is an engineer from the earth village who basically invented mechs to help the Matoran defend themselves against the Bohrok. These guys are BADASSES and I want to bring up how a really strong initial 3 years of storytelling laid a great foundation for so many small characters. It’s just neat! :D

Anyways, these Matoran travel to the island of Voya Nui in canisters (like how the original Toa landed on Mata Nui) and while they’re sailing the ocean blue, their canisters are struck by lighting from the mysterious Red Star. And that lighting, say it with me now, TRANSFORMS them! Specifically it transforms them into Toa. They end up calling themselves the Toa Inika, because they’re searching for the mask of life, which is also called the ‘Ignika’.

(The Toa Inika. Being transformed by a bolt of lighting means that in addition to their regular elemental powers, they also have electric/lighting abilities.)

Souped-up and ready for action, the Toa Inika manage to defeat the Piraka and rescue the Toa Nuva. However, through plot shenanagins, the Mask of Life ends up being sent to the bottom of the ocean around Voya Nui, and the Toa Inika learn that under the waves is a hidden city - Mahri Nui. As they descend, the Mask of Life does something odd; it sends out a wave of energy, transforming the Toa Inika so that they can breath underwater. So now, they’re the Toa Mahri. (Because they’re headed to Mahri Nui. You get me?)

Mahri Nui is ruled by the Barraki - ancient warlords who were imprisoned under the sea many thousands of years ago after they became powerful enough to threaten Mata Nui himself. They were put in a prison called The Pit, but during the cataclysm caused by Makuta putting Mata Nui to sleep, the city of Mahri Nui sunk into the water and slammed into the Pit. Many prisoners and Matoran died, but the Barraki were freed. Uh-oh, spaghetti-ohs.

Speaking of Makuta - guess who’s back! Thought dead after no-one could find him after Takutanuva died, it turns out that his spirit is possessing a robot body that had previously been a prison guard. He spends some time hanging out with one of the Toa Mahri, Matoro, basically playing mind games with him and trying to get him to turn to the dark side. Eventually, three different characters and factions smack the shit out of him, and he slips out of the robot body to go do... something else (watch this space). 

This year of story was REALLY plot-heavy and I kinda can’t do it justice here. The important developments are that the Toa Mahri eventually manage to reclaim the Mask of Life, and Matoro yoinks it. While his teammates act as a big distraction, he swims away and puts on the mask. It basically grants him ultimate power, but it also fuckin’ kills him. His final acts are to teleport his friends to safety, and then release a massive burst of energy that burns him up and saves Mata Nui’s life. The Mask of Life, with no-one left to wear it, sinks into the ocean.

(“In his last moments, Matoro feels no fear. He know he has succeeded--the Toa Mahri are safe, able to resume their lives in Metru Nui. The Turaga and Matoran will know that they became true heroes. Matoro does not see himself as a hero. As a Matoran, a Toa Inika, and a Toa Mahri, all he ever tried to do was his duty. Now that duty has led him to his destiny.”- Bionicle Ignition 11: Death of a Hero)

[dries tears] Anyways, now that Mata Nui’s life has been saved, the only thing left to do is wake him back up. To do that, the Toa Nuva (the Toa that showed up at the very beginning of this story, if you recall) need to journey to the core of the universe, and a civilisation called Karda Nui. Three of the Toa Nuva - Lewa, Pohatu, and Kopaka - are sent to a village in the clouds, where they protect the local matoran and battle the forces of Makuta. Because, as it turns out, the big bad Makuta that we know? Makuta is actually the name of his species. The guy just wanted to feel special, apparently. The Makuta that the Toa have been fighting for over half a decade is technically called Makuta Teridax (or just Teridax), while the other Makuta have other names that I can’t remember off the top of my head.

Anyways, while those three Toa are figuring that out, the other three - Tahu, Gali, and Onua - journey to a place called the Swamp of Secrets in order to find a set of keystones that supposedly contain instructions on how to awaken Mata Nui. And it’s there that they find an unlikely ally: the Mask of Life itself.

See, the Mask of Life has always been a weird one - if you recall, it released an energy pulse for no reason that transformed the Toa Mahri and let them breath underwater. (It’s also done some other fucky stuff that I haven’t been able to mention - there’s a short story about how one time, a guy touched it, and it gave him the ability to involuntarily bring everything around him to life, which ultimately drove him mad. So. You know. That’s fun.) Well, it turns out that when the mask sank into the ocean after Matoro’s death, it ultimately ended up in the swamps of Karda Nui, and it senses the battles raging about it. More than that, but it remembers Matoro’s bravery as he donned the mask knowing it would kill him, and remembers how his final wish was to save his friends. Wanting to know what it means to be a hero, the Mask of Life creates a body for itself, and ventures out into the swamp to discover its destiny.

(The Mask of Life has a body now!! Good for him! Good for him.)

There’s some more shenanigans that I’m skipping over - at one point, Takanuva (Toa of light, remember him?) rocks up to help. Long story short, our eight heroes - Tahu, Gali, Onua, Lewa, Kopaka, Pohatu, Takanuva, and the Mask of Life - fight their way through the Makuta and into the very core of the universe - the Codrex. Inside, after yet more shenanigans, the Mask of Life figures that in order to wake Mata Nui up, it will have to sacrifice the body it’s built for itself. The moment is sad, but the mask remembers Matoro’s sacrifice, and is inspired to act. He sacrifices his dreams of becoming a hero, and in doing so, becomes a hero... ;_;

The mask flies deep into the Codrex, its body dissolving; when it reaches the bottom, it creates a massive energy storm that the other characters have to escape. (Our heroes make it out - most of the villains end up getting vaporized, big RIP.)

And just like that, the journey is over. After years of battle, the Toa Nuva have completed their purpose, and awakened the great spirit, thus bringing peace back to the land. Everyone meets back up in Metru Nui - the Toa Nuva, the Toa Mahri, the Turaga, the remaining Matoran. It’s a glorious day. And as they gather, something happens.

Deep, deep beneath the ocean, energy pulses through rock, and machines that have been dormant for millennia begin to whirr and move. The island of Mata Nui - long abandoned as the Matoran moved back down into Metru Nui - cracks open like a wallnut, each half sliding into the sea. From underneath where the island had been, a tremendous head rises out of the ocean, countless galleons of water pouring off of it. Titanic shoulders follow. Then the chest, and the limbs, and slowly, surely, Mata Nui rises.

Meta context: for years, the nature of Mata Nui has been a mystery. Is he a metaphysical being? Is he a real person? No-one was sure... but they know now. That solid material that the earth Matoran couldn’t mine through, all the way back in 2001? That was his skin. The mysterious red star that created the Toa Inika? That was a failsafe machine orbiting Mata Nui, poised to create new Toa as necessary. The island of Mata Nui was atop his head, Metru Nui was his brain, Karda Nui was deep in his guts. The Matoran were workers to keep him functioning, the Toa were basically his immune system (the canisters they arrive in are literally shaped like pills)... All this time, all these stories, all these characters, this entire world - they have all been inside a robot the size of continents.

(Fucking hell. Look at this. The clouds come up to his ankles.)

Celebrations ripple through Metru Nui as everyone realises what has happened. The great spirit is awake again! The Toa have won! But as the Turaga raise their voices to try and congratulate the Toa, a chill spreads over the spectators as the air grows cold. Everyone stops and looks around. What’s happening now? And then, from everywhere and nowhere, a voice rumbles. It’s a familiar voice. An unwelcome voice. A voice that most of the gathered heroes thought they’d never hear again.

It’s the voice of Makuta - the original Makuta. Makuta Teridax.

And what does he say?

“I AM EVERYWHERE. I AM EVERYTHING YOU SEE.”

Matoro’s sacrifice had ensured that Mata Nui’s body did not die, but before the great spirit’s consciousness could return, Makuta supplanted it with his own. After that, all he had to do was wait for the Toa Nuva to achieve their objective. And as they finished the fight and won the day, they handed victory to him on a silver platter. No longer does he need to strive to rule the universe - he is the universe.

(Meta perspective again but like: FUCK, man. I can’t emphasise enough how mind-breaking this was for the kids who were invested in the series. Think Thanos snapping his fingers in Infinity War, except probably more devastating, because there wasn’t a direct sequel lined up to give the heroes another chance, and there wasn’t a way to ‘undo’ it. This was a plot development that we all had to live with T_T)

(You can tell things are bad because his eyes changed from green to red.)

And what of Mata Nui? What about the spirit that the Toa were actually trying to wake up?

Oh, Makuta stuffed Mata Nui’s consciousness into the Mask of Life - and then blasted the Mask into space.

[inhales deeply]

man...

Okay, in all honesty, part of me wanted to end it there. But you know what? We’ve come this far. And there is more to the story. So I’m going to ignore my concern I won’t be able to do it justice and blunder on.

 Bionicle’s last chapter (2009-2010) follows Mata Nui himself - no longer an abstract spiritual concept, but rather a concrete character. A god felled from his pedestal, struggling to find a way to save his people. And it’s AWESOME. Armed with only the Mask of Life and a sentient shield named Click, he wanders the shithole deserts of the planet he crash-lands on, bringing the disparate tribes together, uncovering secrets about who made him and what his ultimate purpose is, and learning what it means to be a regular person. Also, at one point, in a move very reminiscent of the god that he once was, he turns a guy into a snake. You know. As a ‘fuck you’.

(There’s something really cool to me about a main character being someone who essentially lost all the power of the cosmos. Mata Nui might just be my fave character in this whole story honestly.)

Eventually, Mata Nui discovers some crucial pieces of information. Firstly: the planet that he’s landed on, Bara Magna, is his ‘homeworld’ in that it’s where his giant god body was built. Secondly: the two moons orbiting Bara Magna (the jungle moon of Bota Magna and the ocean moon of Aqua Magna) were once part of the planet itself, and split off during a planet-destroying cataclysm, leaving behind a desert wasteland in their wake. Third: the function he was ultimately built for (his ‘destiny’) was to reunite the three celestial bodies into one planet, bringing life back to Bara Magna’s harsh desert environments. He was on his way to complete this task when Makuta crashed his systems with a computer virus - which was what forced him into the ‘slumber’ that he was in for most of the mainline story.

His fourth, and probably most important discovery, is that he’s essentially his makers’ second attempt at a world-fixing giant robot. Before creating him, his makers (the ‘Great Builders’) constructed a giant robot that malfunctioned and exploded. Long-deactivated, the pieces of it are still scattered through the deserts of Bara Magna - in fact, many of the villages on the planet are set up in or around these giant robot pieces. Mata Nui figures that if he can reconstruct this old robot, he can use it to complete his destiny, and maybe even save his people.

It isn’t easy. He has to convince the villagers he’s come to befriend (the Agori) to give up their homes and their safety, and he has to find an experimental power source that’ll actually get the giant metal body moving again. But eventually, he figures it all out. Powered by the experimental source, the Mask of Life, and probably also friendship, he inhabits this enormous form and rises once again. Without missing a beat, he reaches out and begins to pull the moons towards the main planet. As far as he’s concerned, he’s going to fix everything, or die trying.

(The power of skybeams)

However, it won’t be that simple. Makuta senses that Mata Nui’s spirit has inhabited a new form (and I don’t mean that in a metaphysical way, I mean that in a computer/technology way), and he quickly jets over to Bara Magna. Obviously, flinging the fucker into space wasn’t good enough. It’s time for him to destroy Mata Nui, mano y mano. Giant robot y giant robot.

(Makuta and Mata Nui, facing off. God I love this picture.)

It’s the final battle - for real this time. The two giant robots begin to punch each other, and Mata Nui is up against some obvious disadvantages. For one thing, he can’t risk attacking Makuta with all his might, because he doesn’t want to hurt his people, who are still inside the giant robot. (Inside, they’re fairing... poorly. It’s like facism, but if facism was being actively enforced by God.)

In the fight, a hole gets blasted in Makuta’s body, and out pour a whole LOAD of Rahkshi. (Remember those guys?) However, Tahu and Takanuva also manage to escape, and join a ground battle that’s breaking out between the Agori (and their protectors, the Glatorians), the Skrall (a tribe of warriors native to Bara Magna who are absolute dicks - I’ve had to gloss over them, unfortunately, but believe me when I say that they’ve been major antagonists for as long as the narrative has focused on Bara Magna), and a bunch of guys who are called ‘Piraka’ but aren’t the gang of thugs from Voya Nui. (I think they’re the same... species?) Long story short: large-scale shitfight is happening at the feet of the two robots that are slugging it out. Makuta, being a dick, decides to try and literally stamp on all of Mata Nui’s friends down below, and Mata Nui has to desperately hold him off.

Around this point, the Mask of Life (which is really the MVP of this whole story) uses its convenient energy bursts to imbue Tahu with a set of golden armour that allows him to release energy blasts of its own. (Why it singles out Tahu, I’m not sure, but I’m presuming it’s because Tahu was the first face of the series and it just makes thematic sense for him to be a major player in the final battle.) Tahu uses his new golden armour to disintegrate ALL of the Rahkshi - and there were a lot of them on the field of battle, let me assure you. Makuta feels the loss of so many creations at once, and falters, and Mata Nui seizes his chance. He’d done his work well before Makuta had arrived, and the jungle moon is now in low orbit above the planet. Pouring every last ounce of his strength into one more push, he surges forward and up, pushing Makuta up and making sure that his head is right in the path of the falling planet.

Crunch.

(Kudos to Makuta Teridax for being such a persistent antagonist that the only way to get rid of him for good was to drop an entire damn planet on his head.)

Mata Nui guides the falling body carefully to the ground, letting it open and freeing his people. The remaining Skrall and Piraka surrender. The Matoran and Toa meet and mingle with the Agori and Glatorian. Mata Nui raises his hands, and completes his purpose; aided one last time by the Mask of Life, as well as his body’s innate systems, he enacts a synthesis on the now-united celestial bodies. Lush forests and large bodies of water appear in the desert. Life flourishes. Birds probably start to sing. Mata Nui has completed his purpose, and vindicated all of the heroes who fought for him for so long.

He feels himself fading. He lets his spirit withdraw into the Mask of Life. A new slumber - this one, earned, and of his own volition.

Perhaps one day, he will return.

(“We will honour Mata Nui, and all those who fought for him, in our memories. But the time has come to move on. His destiny is fulfilled, and for many of us, it has yet to be written. My friends, it is time to go.”- Tahu, The Mata Nui Saga, chapter 34.)

And there we go! Very, VERY long, but that’s the general plot of bionicle. There are an absolute tone of details I’ve missed out or skipped over, and I encourage you to search them out for yourself if you’re interested. But them’s the basics! :D

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

Enamoured | Part Two

Requested by anon: “could you write one where james mcavoy meets swedish y/n around micheal and his swedish wife and he’s enamoured. (also that he confuses her with an english girl because she’s got an english accent like me) xxxx”

“THIS IS SO CUTE I- I love it??? So much??? 11/10 would read a part two ooof I wanna read about these dorks on an accidental date in London SO BAD”

Summary: after being tricked into a ‘date’, James takes the reader on a tour of London

Pairing: James McAvoy x reader

Word Count: 1612

Warnings: very fluffy fluff

A/N: you guys requested part two so here we go, I hope you like it! As always, spelling and grammar are not my strongest skills so please be kind :)

Masterlist | Part One

- - - - -

‘have fun with James, don't do anything I wouldn’t do ;) xxx’

As you read the text from Alicia it sinks in that you’ve been set up. Your mouth falls open slightly in shock and you laugh to yourself, shaking your head. James turns to look at you, wondering why you aren’t following him. 

“Are you coming or…?” 

This may have been a set up but that doesn’t mean you cant enjoy yourself. 

“Sorry, yeah. No more distractions” you smile and drop your phone back in your pocket before catching up with him “where are we going first?”

“It’s a surprise” he winks playfully and you raise an eyebrow back at him.

He takes you to the nearest Underground station and attempts to explain all the different lines and zones, you both end up laughing as it all goes straight over your head. The underground system is complicated. When you get off he leads you up to Leicester Square and tells you stories of various movie premiers he’s attended there. You end up stood watching a street performer for a while until someone in the crowd recognises James and attention is turned on him and subsequently on you. When people start asking you personal questions and sticking cameras in your face he ushers you away from everyone and into a taxi. 

“Are you okay?” He asks quietly and you just smile and nod your head gently. He smiles back but you can see on his face something is bothering him. He doesn’t speak much for the rest of the short taxi ride until he asks the driver to stop. He pays him and you both get out, then James leads you into a small Italian restaurant. He waiter and James greet each other like familiar friends. 

“You want your usual table?” The waiter asks with a thick Italian accent.

“Please, thank you Mario” James responds and your lead to a candlelit table in a quiet corner of the room. 

Once sat the waited gives you menus and leaves you to decide what you’d like. Then you notice the prices on the menu.

“James, this place is expensive! I can’t-”

“Don't worry, its my treat” he cuts in

“No really-”

“My treat” he reaffirms and you sigh in submission

“Thank you” you smile

“No problem” he looks back at the menu for a moment then puts it down on the table and takes a breath. “I’m really sorry about what happened back there”

“Honestly don't worry about it, its fine”

“No it’s not fine for them to harass you like that. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do and I wouldn’t want to do anything else I just wish sometimes I could switch it all off. You know? Be a ghost, or invisible or something. Have a day off from being James McAvoy and just be regular James. Ugh you must think I’m such an ass”

“No, no I get it. And I don't think you're an ass. I like regular James.” You pause “James McAvoy on the other hand… now he’s a bit of an ass” you wink and James bursts out laughing. 

— — — — 

When you finish lunch James pays and you leave the restaurant together. James continues his London tour by talking you to the theatre district, where he points out the many theatres he has performed in. A small gasp escapes your mouth when you spot the posters on the wall of the Lyceum Theatre. James looks at you and follows your gaze to see the you're staring at the Lion King. 

“I’ve always wanted to see that show” you say dreamily and James watches you. The look on your face gives him an idea. He hooks his arm around yours and leads you toward the theatre. 

“wh-what are you doing?” 

“trust me” he responds and he leads you around to the stage door. He knocks and a guy opens the door. When he sees James his eyes light up.

“James!” He booms as he fist bumps him

“Hey Andy, is Julie in?” James asks

“yeah, come in” he holds the door open and gestures you inside. He leads you through some doors till you meet a dark haired woman who hugs James.

“Hey Jules, this is Y/N.” James introduces and Julie smiles at you “She’s here from Sweden and she really really wants to see your show… don’t suppose you’ve got a couple of spare tickets for today’s matinee?”

“hmm.. I’ll see what I can do. But only because it’s you” she smiles at James before hurrying off. A few minutes later she appears again holding two tickets which she hands to James “sorted. Enjoy the show guys” and she hurries off again. You turn to James, a look of shock on your face.

“Oh, my, God! You're amazing!! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!” You throw your arms around him and he laughs, hugging you back. You pull away and look into his eyes “really, thank you!” 

— — — — 

The show was incredible, although James found himself watching your reactions more than the show itself. The way your face lit up when you laughed, the way you smiled through almost the whole show and the way your eyes glistened when the show made you cry. He couldn’t help but reach out and squeeze your hand. 

“that was just, ugh, I have no words. No words” you say grinning from ear to ear as you leave the theatre together “thank you so much” 

“you know I think thats the 100th time you’ve said thank you” 

“101st actually” you grin “seriously I mean it, today has been the best day ever”

“its not over yet” 

As the day turns to evening you spend the rest of the day doing typical tourist things. You stand outside Buckingham palace where James tries, and fails, to make the guards smile. You visit Oxford street and look through the window of magnificent shops. You end up running around Hamley’s toy store together, playing with various toys until you almost get kicked out by one of the workers for plastic sword fighting but James bribes her with an autograph and a selfie. You finish the day with a moonlit walk by the side of the Thames before ending up back where you started at the bottom of the London eye. 

You turn to face each other. You're about to speak when James stops you. 

“don't say it”

“don't say what” 

“don't say thank you”

“why not?” You laugh

“because im not finished yet”

“but its late, surely we’ve done everything by now”

“there’s still one more thing we need to do” he smiles and points up at the giant wheel next to you. 

He leads you up to the entrance of the London Eye and you step inside one of the glass dome. Once inside you notice there’s a small selection of food and some glasses of wine waiting for you. 

“you cant say you’ve been to London if you haven’t been on the eye” James holds up his glass and you clink yours against it. You sit together on the bench in the middle of the dome, looking out across the contrast of the bright London lights against the dark sky. When the dome reaches the very top of the eye you stand up and walk to the edge, admiring the glittering city in front of you. James walks up to join you, putting his arm around you. 

“So, how did I do as a tour guide?” He asks.

“I think, you chose the wrong career. You’re a much better tour guide than you are an actor” 

James fakes hurt and you laugh, turning to face him.

“I’m kidding. You're amazing at both” you smile sincerely and lock eyes with James. He brings his hand up to your face. 

“I think you’re pretty amazing too” he smiles, before gently kissing you on the forehead. When he leans back his eyes flicker down to your lips. He leans in slowly, giving you chance to pull away but you don’t. His lips meet yours and you close your eyes as you kiss him back.

When the kiss comes to an end you giggle nervously, suddenly feeling like a blushing school girl, which makes James laugh.

“I think we should take a picture, I want to remember this moment” he says taking his phone out. He pulls you in with his arm around you and you both smile widely as he snaps a selfie, the lights of London in the background. 

Your ride on the eye comes to an end and James hails a taxi for you. 

“Thank you for an amazing day, you’re the perfect tour guide” you smile, and James takes your hands in his. 

“Well you're the perfect tourer… tour-ee? I don't know the word, but you get what im trying to say” he replies and you both laugh as he opens the taxi door for you to climb in. “text me when you're back safe yeah?” 

“will do” you nod and smile as he shuts the door. The taxi pulls away, leaving him standing alone by the road. A few minuets later a notification pops up on your phone. 

‘instagram: @jamesmcavoyrealdeal tagged you in a photo’

You click on the notification to see he’s posted your London eye selfie, with a simple smiley face emoji as the caption. You like the photo and put your phone back in your pocket only for it to buzz again straight away. You take it out to see a text from Alicia with a screenshot of James’ insta post.

‘oh my God tell me everything xxx’

[angstyachesplus]

Febuwhump Day 12: “Who are you?”

Some of the Outside World for you all. My universe is slightly post-modern/dystopian, but I’m still developing it, so please be patient if it seems like I start changing details.

CW: dystopia, trapped/lured whumpee, abduction, implied drugging.

The rain pounded on the thick silicone of Toby’s umbrella, licking at the toes of his boots as he made his way home. Hopefully the acid wouldn’t melt through the thin plastic bag that held next week’s supply of cup ramen and energy drinks. Ironic, that his diet should be so bland and low maintenance, considering his profession, but the last thing he ever wanted to do in his free time was cook.

The love for doing that had been well and truly beaten out of him.

He stopped by the door of the used video store, noticing there were no light on inside. The window display hadn’t changed in months now, and the vintage movie posters were so faded that you could barely recognise the actors anymore, unless you knew who you were looking for. Toby bet D wouldn’t only know, but had seen every movie on display at least twice.

Toby glanced up at the building and saw no lights in any of the windows that stretched upwards for thirty stories. Toby groaned inwardly, realising he would have no kettle and no hotplate to heat up any water for his noodles. The hunger was already gnawing at his stomach, whetted by the small taste test he’d done on the vegan carbonara at the end of filming.

Movement by the video store door caught his attention, and he realised Debbie, the shop owner, was beckoning for him to come in. Toby sighed, not really in the mood to talk to anyone, but maybe she thought she needed help getting the lights back on.

“Evening, darlin’,” she called out as he came through the door, shaking his umbrella out before putting it in the metal bin by the door. Some rain splashed onto his convenience store bag, causing a hole to open up in the side of it. Like a little screaming mouth. “Damn lights are out. Can you check on the fuse box for me? My back’s been screaming at me, so I don’t want to risk it myself.”

“I don’t think it’s you, Deb. Whole building seems to be out.”

“It could have been me.”

Toby knew it wasn’t possible for Debbie’s little shop - where, despite its main wares being electronics, nothing much was actually plugged in these days - to have used enough power at once to cause the entire building’s electricity to crap out, so he hesitated near the front of the shop. The smell of decades of damp and neglect clung to the carpet, along with the musk from the mould that grew on old posters and inside old cassette boxes. It smelled like a place shrunken down to the brink of non-existence, which Debbie often described it as. Toby felt like that sometimes, too.

“I really would feel better if you’d come back here and take a look, darlin’,” Debbie insisted, vanishing into what was presumably the stock room, through a door behind the ancient, rusted cash register.

Toby thought about just walking out, going home, and avoiding the video store shopfront for a few days in the hopes that Debbie would just forget that he’d ever been there and refused to follow her through. 

You would humour her though, wouldn’t you? he thought, conjuring up an image of a certain someone who always made him re-adjust his moral compass.

“Alright,” he called out as he rounded the cash register, stepping over a stack of phone books - phone books, of all things - and into the darkened back room. He squinted and felt for a light switch, but before his fingers lit upon anything resembling one, a shaded figure in the centre of the room caught his attention.

Too tall, too broad to be Debbie.

“Who - who are you?” Toby yelled, losing his grip on his plastic shopping bag. Before he could retreat, as his brain and his gut were shrieking at him to do, a hand reached out from the dark, clutching one side of his neck while jabbing something long, cold, sharp, and numbing into the veins on the opposite side.

The darkness swirled sickeningly as the convenience store bag dropped to the floor. Cups of dried noodles rolled across the floor, and Toby was no longer conscious by the time he crumpled to it.

[coolgirlontheweb]

sasuke uchiha (Naruto) - INTJ

when typing, a lot of people forget that the individual functions work in tandem with each other in a single type - they don’t exist in a vacuum, but instead have relationships that sometimes compliment each other, and sometimes oppose each other, like sasuke and his Ni-Fi. sasuke is the single most distinguished and potent example of an unhealthy INTJ - the things this poor guy went through all for the sake of the “shinobi world” is enough for the healthiest INTJ to only ever use Fi-Se; which is the exact problem we have with Sasuke. he isn’t an ISFP, but because of his use of Fi, overwhelming Fi loop and Se grip, a lot of people think he is.

sasuke’s dominant Ni and auxiliary Te in early naruto:

sasuke is practically the poster kid for dominant Ni and auxiliary Te in early naruto. his immature dominant Ni at 12 years old was over-serious, perfectionistic, and was quite unrealistic in his beliefs and expectations. his auxiliary Te, however, walked the line between healthy and immature. sasuke strived for a well rounded goal, he was tenacious and disciplined in his training and in realising his goals. with a great work ethic, he learnt systematically from mistakes in every fight he found himself in, which made him highly efficient. his great work ethic teetered over into immature territory by having an excessive and perfectionistic pursuit of results. just think of his attitude towards the notion of naruto surpassing him and the amount of training he resorted to in an effort to make sure that this never happens, and to achieve his goal. his overindulgence in auxiliary Te also made him stiff and humourless, and seemingly addicted to training which thwarted any healthy Se expression he might have had, which carries on throughout his entire character arc. sasuke was always devoted entirely to whatever goal he had for the future, and present sensory experiences were completely overlooked by him; there is no way that Se could be his auxiliary function when he has practically zero healthy expression of it. if sasuke was indeed using Fi-Se as his dominant/auxiliary, he wouldn’t be as stand-offish or combative as he is toward naruto in the beginning. his dominant Fi would make him noticeably more attached to the uchiha massacre which would make him more outwardly emotional, and his auxiliary Se would let him live in the present moment and thus, not be as objective or calculating as his Te allows him to be - sasuke would be less meticulous in his training, and less high-strung about things and people in general.

development of Se grip and Fi loop in late naruto:

his goal (his entire reason for living, in his words) however, doesn’t come easy to him. towards the end of the original naruto, sasuke steadily becomes more and more distressed, with his sensory experiences plummeting from pleasant and stable with Team 7, to insecure and agonising (which ends up fostering his Se grip and Fi loop), his past is exposed which is sure to make him uncharacteristically vulnerable - the reappearance of itachi, orochimaru and his damning curse mark, and naruto’s steady and quick growth all amalgamate into one glaring symbol of his own mental and physical decline. something important to note that this is all to himself, no one actually believes everything he thinks about himself, that he was weak on the night of the uchiha’s massacre or that he will never have enough strength to defeat itachi, what’s significant to his state of mind at that point in the narrative is that he believes this, which is because of his Ni’s natural tendency to speculate on potential implications, and his Fi at work contemplating in times of stress for him. the top comment made by AsuraPsych said something I think should've put the ISFP/INTJ debate to rest already: “Fi is a stress point for sasuke, not a point of natural strength”.

because dominant Ni operates closest to the unconscious mind, Ni doms have an unhealthy tendency to overindulge in introspectivity, which leads sasuke to overthink and over-criticise himself. this is very indicative of the unhealthy relationship with his Ni-Fi - both of these functions participate in making him critical of his own actions as well as his own emotions. functions operate in opposition with each other; they push and pull against each-other which creates internal conflict. i don’t think anyone can disregard sasuke’s internal conflict with Ni-Fi: his Ni is geared toward his future plans to defeat itachi, and notes its potential implications (like naruto getting so strong that he can’t get defeat him to unlock the mangekyo sharingan, which is where all of his hostility toward naruto comes from - watch the hospital fight and you literally can see the insecurity on his face), and his Fi is geared toward thinking about his traumatic past and is stuck making sense of the night of his clan’s demise, which literally comes to fruition at the end of naruto shippuden when he explains he could never move forward in spite of the past holding him back; that's practically word for word the description of his Ni-Fi conflict.

sasuke responds terribly to the sensory experiences of the outside world (Se) and his own internal rumination (Fi), which makes him develop into an extremely unhealthy INTJ, this time with an Se grip and Fi loop in full swing. it’s almost too apt that itachi’s infinite tsukuyomi is what sends him hurtling into an Se grip, and later Fi loop. the tsukuyomi that itachi puts him in is a repeat of the night of the massacre, where he is forced to live through the worst experience he has ever had. the sasuke that returns to consciousness is no longer the sasuke we once knew, but a deeply cut, volatile shell of his former self. this is the first time the expression of his Fi changes this dramatically, the second is after finding out the truth about itachi. by the 107th episode, sasuke’s Se grip is violently evident: he feels easily thwarted, provoked and distrubed. we see this in his refusal to listen to kakashi’s advice, where instead lashes out at him with harsh words - this is also a very clear expression of Fi loop, where someone’s own conception of morals and beliefs will blind them to any opposing opinion, nuance or context. sasuke’s previous use of Fi solely for personal rumination goes out the window, and is replaced by an unhealthy expression which shoots down any good advice as being too hard or too complicated. additionally, when naruto and sakura visit him in the hospital, he physically lashes out at sakura, who was only cutting him apples, and did nothing to provoke him. sasuke’s Fi loop also causes him to have irrational fears about compromising himself or his integrity, and is easily frustrated about challenges (the primary one here being naruto’s growth) which makes him take things way too personally. naruto was trying to receive acknowledgement from sasuke, but he took this as a show of hostile competition. coupled with his Se grip, it makes him uncharacteristically impatient and explosive, and the combination of the two causes him to challenge naruto to the fight on top of the hospital in an effort to try and salvage some sense of self and security.

sasuke finally succumbs to his overbearingly dominant Ni, unhealthy use of Fi, and Se grip, which makes him finally leave the leaf village. one of the defining features of dominant Ni is its ability to use idealistic impressions and symbolic imagery to set a direction. Ni as a function takes the abstract in and forms ideas on it. in children, this tends to manifest as being overly imaginative and insightful. paired with his piercing auxiliary Te, sasuke’s decision to leave the village is based on the relationship of his Ni-Fi, and his Se grip gives him the push to leave with the sound ninja 4. sasuke’s Ni uses idealistic impressions and symbolic imagery, such as naruto making a larger hole in the water tank using rasengan than him, to come up with judgements about the future. he rightfully determines that if he keeps on going as he is, naruto will surpass him in the near future, and he uses this to determine that he won’t be able to beat itachi this way. from all of this, he ascertains that if he wants to get power, he must also venture into evil and hatred. the use of symbolic imagery in his thought processes is clear as well - sasuke sees itachi as the symbol of all hatred in the world, and sees orochimaru as the symbol of evil. his tertiary Fi kicks in strong as well, to support his decision to leave as well by evoking the memories of his clan’s demise.

i think people are mistaking him for an Fi dom in his childhood because of how introspective he is, but Ni is easily misunderstood as being very impersonal, which it is not. applied to oneself, a dominant Ni becomes a powerful tool of self-assessment, which is exactly how sasuke uses it at age 12. a lot of his thought process isn’t recognised, and i think that this much more pronounced in the anime - because sasuke doesn’t have an internal monologue outside of battle strategy like naruto does, the viewer is left to gage what he is thinking a lot of the time, which is why people may find it hard to recognise his dominant Ni.

stable expression of Ni-Te under orochimaru’s guidance and as leader of hebi/taka:

under orochimaru’s guidance sasuke devotes himself to training, which allows his Ni-Te to shut down his Se (orochimaru’s hideout isn’t really a place that stimulates his Se), therefore it’s easy for him to completely disregard any sensory inclinations he has: he spends his time training and meditating - which no doubt strengthens his use of Ni-Fi. his Ni and Fi work in tandem making him committed to his goal. he begins to develop his Fi here - he follows a strict code of “no killing innocents” to be actively against what itachi did, and declares his hatred for orochimaru for the same reason he hates itachi before he kills him. whilst his expression of Fi helps him uphold his morals, this doesn’t mean it is his dominant function. i’m beginning to think that people are deliberately ignoring how much Ni-Te that sasuke actually uses. from the beginning of his introduction to us we learn he has an “ambition”, that he doesn’t care to call a “dream”, because he knows he is going to bring it to fruition one day, which he does, through his Ni making him resort to meticulous internal planning and excessive, austere training. sasuke’s dominant Ni gives him an unequivocal understanding of what his goal is and the easiest route he can take to make it happen.

INTJs use Ni-Te to see the consequences of the application of new ideas, and live to see systems translated into real substance. we see this in the formation of hebi - sasuke uses Te to be an assertive leader who is very terse and dominating in organising the group to reach his goal in the most efficient way possible. he says that over the 2 years he was with orochimaru, he paid attention to different shinobi and selected suigetsu, karin and jugo based on how he could use their individual abilities to get to his goal. there is no instant whatsoever where sasuke isn’t taking charge of the situation as the leader of hebi, or isn’t using his Ni-Te to gage the next move he should make, and how he should combat problems that he is presented with. dominant Ni is fundamentally focused inwards, on the internal world of thoughts, ideas, and concepts, as opposed to dominant Fi, which is fundamentally focused on personal ideals, morals, and emotional understanding of oneself. the only time that sasuke prioritises Fi over Ni is when he is trying to come to terms with the uchiha massacre and the truth about itachi. a weak argument to support sasuke having a dominant Fi is that all of his actions are driven by his feelings, however this isn’t true. his trauma and emotion, as well as the seed of hatred that itachi planted and sowed in him is what drives him. his feelings act as a mere catalyst to reach his end goal, but every action he takes, and his natural thought processes are certainly driven by Ni. sasuke is far too stunted and close-minded in his outward expression of feelings or authenticity for him to be an Fi dom - they don’t come naturally to him at all, but act as a hindrance to his mental stability - which only gets worse after he finds out about itachi.

instances of Ni-Te in sasuke’s battle strategy:

this isn’t part of the analysis, but i wanted to add that sasuke’s Ni-Te is also observable in his fight style, which i thought was interesting to pick up on. his Ni foresees his opponents moves: he consistently used lightning style throughout his fight against itachi to heat up the atmosphere so that by the time he is out of chakra, he knows he still has kirin left as a final move. sasuke’s Ni-Te is also merciless in clearing ramifications so that he can reach his goal; he literally asks karin to stand still whilst he sacrifices her by piercing through her heart to kill danzo using chidori spear. his Te systematically learns from mistakes, which makes him highly efficient in battle. in his final battle against naruto (part 1) he recalls that two chidori is his limit so resorts to another method of defeating naruto; in his final fight against naruto (part 2) he knows that using shadow clones are naruto’s preferred way to fight so he stops him making the hand sign around 4 different times before he can complete the jutsu.

[rotten-zucchinis]

Part 5: Choosing between a rock and a hard place

This is the last part of a series exploring the language of “I choose to…” and “I am prioritising…” (and avoidance of “I should…”) as it is regularly used in a particular Relationship Anarchy/Anarchism community… and some the ableism in how I’ve seen that play out (particularly insofar as it impacts folks with limitations related to chronic illness and neurodivergence).

Introduction (contextualising this conversation) [text]

Part 1: The meaning of “can” (or “I often do things I can’t do”) [text]

Part 2: “I choose to prioritise…” [text]

Part 3: Alternative meaning of “should” [text]

Part 4: Navigating the costs… [text]

Part 5: Choosing between a rock and a hard place

(Continuing from Part 4 [text]): Sometimes things just come up that are personal limitations that we can't avoid— we can choose how to deal with them but not whether to deal with them. For example, I get nosebleeds sometimes—sometimes at inconvenient times, like in the midst of a discussion. If blood starts pouring out of my face, I don't have a choice about whether there will be natural consequences from it— I only get to choose which consequences. I can choose to respond in any number of ways (including by ignoring it), but regardless of what choice I make, there will be blood coming out of my face and it will go somewhere. 

When I say that I should go deal with it (even if I'm in the middle of a discussion), I don't mean that I'm choosing to prioritise my nosebleed over whatever I'm doing at that point. I mean that I'm facing a limitation that other people aren't facing and that I'm choosing to respond to it in the way that I feel might best mitigate its power to hinder my other actions and priorities. (And if I opted to stick around and just let it bleed everywhere instead, I'd face natural consequences for that too— there is no choice I can make that will avoid “dealing” with it in some way of another.)

And when the blood stops, and for example I say I should duck out of a postering run because of it, it doesn't mean that I'm choosing to prioritise “self-care” over postering (e.g., Part 2 [text] unpacks “prioritising”). It means that I'm recognising my limitations and choosing to avoid the likely consequences of going on a postering run under the circumstances (i.e., for me to risk falling over in my weakened post-nose-bleed state or even passing out). “I shouldn't go postering” in that context means “I can't (safely) go postering”. It means I'm facing a limitation that will have consequences for me no matter what I choose, and I only get to choose which set of consequences. (My choice may very well also involve self-care, but “self-care” doesn't communicate all of that.)

In the context of material or embodied barriers and limitations, “should” is often about recognising natural consequences instead of about following unspoken obligations (discussed in more detail in Part 3 [text]). If the project of avoiding “should” is to name and affirm voluntary commitments, then it needs some finagling so that it can also simultaneously recognise the barriers people face while doing that while affirming their efforts to mitigate them.

But these nuances around “can” and “choose” and “should” are not (yet) part of the regular conversations surrounding RA folks emphasizing their choices as a way of taking ownership of their agency. Using the word “choice” in this decontextualised, highly individualistic way will never set us free from ableism. Without a deeper level understanding of how those specific words often mean different things dependent upon dis/ability, the language people use to deliberately emphasise their agency often only conceals the limitations constraining everyone's choices— constraining some people's choices only minimally and some people's very significantly.

If we lived in a world without ableism, the language of “choice” might communicate what we want, because we wouldn't be faced with choosing to what degree and how we do things we can't do (explained in Part 1)— we'd actually be in a position to choose whether we want to do that at all. And when anyone faced limitations that allowed us to choose only how we were hindered (but not if), the work we'd be doing to mitigate our hindrances wouldn't be invisible. 

But that is not the world we live in, and this approach won't get us there, no matter what choices people make. We can make individual choices to minimise some of the impact of barriers and limitations in our own lives within certain limited ableist parameters. But disabled people cannot overcome ableism by individually making individual choices. We can only overcome ableism collectively.

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

7th February >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Mark 1:29-39 for the Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B: ‘Everybody is looking for you’.

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

Gospel (Except USA)

Mark 1:29-39

He cast out devils and cured many who were suffering from disease

On leaving the synagogue, Jesus went with James and John straight to the house of Simon and Andrew. Now Simon’s mother-in-law had gone to bed with fever, and they told him about her straightaway. He went to her, took her by the hand and helped her up. And the fever left her and she began to wait on them.    That evening, after sunset, they brought to him all who were sick and those who were possessed by devils. The whole town came crowding round the door, and he cured many who were suffering from diseases of one kind or another; he also cast out many devils, but he would not allow them to speak, because they knew who he was.    In the morning, long before dawn, he got up and left the house, and went off to a lonely place and prayed there. Simon and his companions set out in search of him, and when they found him they said, ‘Everybody is looking for you.’ He answered, ‘Let us go elsewhere, to the neighbouring country towns, so that I can preach there too, because that is why I came.’ And he went all through Galilee, preaching in their synagogues and casting out devils.

Gospel (USA)

Mark 1:29–39

Jesus cured many who were sick with various diseases.

On leaving the synagogue Jesus entered the house of Simon and Andrew with James and John. Simon’s mother-in-law lay sick with a fever. They immediately told him about her. He approached, grasped her hand, and helped her up. Then the fever left her and she waited on them.    When it was evening, after sunset, they brought to him all who were ill or possessed by demons. The whole town was gathered at the door. He cured many who were sick with various diseases, and he drove out many demons, not permitting them to speak because they knew him.    Rising very early before dawn, he left and went off to a deserted place, where he prayed. Simon and those who were with him pursued him and on finding him said, “Everyone is looking for you.” He told them, “Let us go on to the nearby villages that I may preach there also. For this purpose have I come.” So he went into their synagogues, preaching and driving out demons throughout the whole of Galilee.

Reflections (6)

(i) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

I had a friend who died some years ago. She had been confined to her bed for many years because of a debilitating illness. She had a poster on her wall which read, ‘Life is fragile, handle with prayer’. She needed everything done for her. Yet, there was one thing she could do for herself, and that was to pray. She was a woman of deep prayer. I am sure there were times when her prayer echoed the prayer of Job in the first reading. Job’s prayer is one long complaint to God, a prayer of lamentation from the depths of distress. The prayer of lamentation is a very valid form of prayer; it expresses our struggle to find God in the darkest experiences of life. Complaining to God can be a deep form of faith. Prayer can sometimes take the form of just giving vent to the darkness within, opening up our most painful struggles to God. In some ways it is a prayer of trust, because we are only that honest about ourselves with someone we can trust.

If the prayer of this friend of mine resembled at times Job’s prayer of lamentation, it took other forms as well. It certainly took the form of interceding for others. Although she could easily have become completely absorbed by her own suffering, she was always thinking of others and praying for them. She also regularly gave thanks to God. She appreciated every kindness that was shown and gave thanks to God for it. The readings today prompted us to ask, ‘How do I pray?’ and ‘Why do I pray?’ That second question is the more fundamental of the two. Some very good and loving people see little or no value in prayer. Why bother with prayer at all? Surely, there are better ways of spending your time.

Yet, if we have faith, even if it is only the size of a mustard seed, we will invariably find ourselves drawn to prayer of some kind. After all, what is faith only a relationship with the Lord, in response to his relationship with us? Like any relationship we have with someone, we need to give expression to this relationship in some way. We will feel the need to connect, to communicate, with the one we have a relationship with. It is true that when our relationship with someone breaks down, perhaps in a very acrimonious way, we no longer feel the need to communicate with them. On the contrary, we may want to have nothing to do with them. We have nothing more to say to them. Our hurt and anger can become a stone wall between us and them. Our relationship with God, with the Lord, can break down too. Life’s trials and troubles can leave us feeling angry with God and, unlike Job who openly expressed his anger to God, we can express our anger towards God by withdrawing. We stop praying, or we just go through the motions of prayer. Yet, whereas human relationships can break down irretrievably, our relationship with the Lord never breaks down irretrievably, and that is because the Lord keeps knocking on our door. He keeps pursuing us, not to burden us but to heal us. In the words of today’s psalm, the Lord ‘heals the broken-hearted; he binds up all their wounds’. The Lord keeps seeking us out in his love because he wants to do for us what he did for Simon Peter’s mother-in-law in the gospel reading, taking us by the hand and helping us up, empowering us to serve others in love.

The Lord who seeks us out is prepared to wait on our response, just as the father in the parable of the prodigal son was prepared to wait for his rebellious younger son. The Lord’s waiting is not a passive waiting because he is all the time drawing us to himself. He said on one occasion, ‘When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself’. ‘Why, then, do I pray?’ I pray in response to the drawing power of the Lord’s love. In the gospel reading, we find Jesus at prayer. He had just healed Peter’s mother-in-law; he then healed many who were sick from various diseases and who had gathered at the door of the house. When Jesus went off to pray, early the following morning, Peter and his companions went looking for him and when they found him they said, ‘Everybody is looking for you’. They were asking, ‘Why are you out here praying when you could be healing more people?’ Jesus was praying in response to the drawing power of God his Father’s love. He came away from that prayer, knowing what he had to do, not go back to Capernaum as his disciples wanted him to do, but go further afield. His time with God in prayer freed him to take the path God wanted him to take. When we turn to prayer, in response to the Lord’s drawing of us, even if it is after a long time of resisting, we will not only experience his healing presence, but we will be helped to take the path the Lord wants us to take. That will always be the path of loving service of others, the path of making ourselves weak for the weak, in the words of Paul in today’s second reading.

And/Or

(ii) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 All of us from time to time can experience life as something of a struggle or a burden. This might be because of some difficulty in our family, or our work may be unsatisfying or troublesome, or in these times of recession we may have lost our job, or our own health or the health of someone we love may be deteriorating. Any one of these or similar experiences can take its toll on us. We might find ourselves struggling to get through the day; we feel stressed and, as a result, we overreact to things, getting annoyed at what we would normally take in our stride. We may even find we have little energy for life.

 At such times we can identify easily with the sentiments of Job in the first reading, and with his description of life as ‘pressed service’ and ‘hired drudgery’. The temptation when life becomes a burden can be to try harder, to summon up more of our energies, to do more to tackle the problem. In reality, the better path might be to do less, to step back and be still, to open ourselves to the presence of the Lord. During the past week I heard someone say that we are human beings not human doings. We often find it easier to do than to be.

 The portrayal of Jesus in today’s gospel reading may have something to teach us in this regard. Because people recognised that God’s healing power was at work through Jesus, they came to him in great numbers in their brokenness, and reached out to him for healing. He certainly had no shortage of work. He was told initially about Simon Peter’s mother-in-law who was sick with a fever. Later on that day the whole town came crowding round the door of Simon Peter’s house looking for healing. That was only in Capernaum. Jesus could have worked day and night in all the towns of Galilee, healing the broken, releasing people from whatever was enslaving them.

 Yet, Jesus knew the importance of standing back from what he was doing and being alone with God, even if it meant doing less. In the gospel reading we find him going off to a lonely place early in the morning to pray. When the disciples realized where he had gone, they were clearly puzzled by this behaviour of Jesus - going off on his own like that when there was so much work to be done. ‘Everyone in Capernaum is looking for you’, they said, as much as to say, ‘what are you doing out here on your own, when you could be healing more sick people back in Capernaum?’ But Jesus was not at the mercy of the demands of others, even the demands of those he was closest to. There was an even more important relationship in his life than his relationship with the needy and the sick, and that was his relationship with God, his Father. To do the work of the Father well, he knew that he needed to be with the Father, even though that meant doing less.

 Paul in our second reading declares that he has made himself the slave, the servant of everyone. He was very committed to the work of bringing the gospel to others. He knew he was called to this service and he gave himself generously to it. Our own lives as Christians are very much about service too, serving one another in love, just as people served Simon’s mother-in-law by bringing Jesus to her, and people served the sick of Capernaum by bringing them to Jesus. Within our parish, parishioners serve other parishioners in all kinds of ways. People serve family members who are unwell or immobile at home; people look out for neighbours who need support. In a whole variety of ways, people are involved in the work of service of others. We are very dependant on the little services we render each other.

 Yet, even more fundamental than the ways we serve each other is the way that God can serve us. God sent his Son not to be served but to serve and to give his life for us. Jesus revealed God to be our Servant. Jesus went away from the demands of others to open himself to the service of God, to be renewed and strengthened by God’s presence. If Jesus needed to be alone before God and to be served by God’s presence, how much more is that true of ourselves. We need to be before God, to come before him in our poverty and to be renewed by God’s presence.

 If we can learn to be with God in stillness, then our service of others is more likely to be the kind of service that God wants for them. After spending time alone with God, Jesus did not go straight back to Capernaum, as Simon and the others wanted him to. He went on to other towns, because he knew this was what God wanted. It is not easy to acquire this habit of being alone with God in quietness and stillness, because so much of our culture today tells us that this is a waste of time, that we should be doing this, that or the other. We pray that the example of Jesus in the gospel this morning would inspire us to be with God, regardless of the demands made on us by life.

And/Or

(iii) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 One of the very sad and tragic features of the time in which we live is the number of people who take their own lives. Men in early adulthood seem to be a particularly vulnerable group. It is difficult to understand the bleakness of spirit that must in some way be at the root of such a drastic step. Bleakness of spirit can afflict us all even if it never leads us to contemplate taking our own life. There can be many reasons for such bleakness of spirit. Our life can take a turn for the worst for one reason or another. Something deeply distressing can happen to us or to someone with whom we are very close. It is at such times that the words of Job in today’s first reading find a ready echo in our hearts: ‘Is not our life on earth nothing more than pressed service, our time no better than hired drudgery… months of delusion I have assigned to me, nothing for my own but nights of grief’. These are the words of one who has a sense of hopelessness in the face of the darkness of his experience of life.

 What saved Job from total despair is that he was able to express how he felt to God. He addressed God very directly, sometimes in very angry and uncompromising terms. A few verses after our reading, he bellows at God: ‘Will you not look away from me for a while, let me alone until I swallow my spittle.’ Job had enough freedom in his relationship with God to speak to God directly out of the darkness of his experience. Job teaches us to speak to God out of the depths. The old Catechism definition of prayer that I learned at primary school was: ‘Prayer is the raising up of the mind and heart to God’. At one level it may sound a rather rarefied definition of prayer. Yet, when you think about it, this is actually a very earthy understanding of prayer. If prayer is the raising up of the mind and heart to God, then prayer is the raising up of everything that is in our mind and heart to God. If what is in our minds and hearts are the darkest of human sentiments and thoughts, then that is what we must raise up to God. We speak to God out of the reality of our lives, whatever that reality might be. Job shows us that our prayer does not have to be censured in any way. If prayer is not real, it is not really prayer. If our heart is broken, it is the broken heart that we bring to God in prayer.

 There is a line in today’s responsorial psalm which states: ‘The Lord heals the broken-hearted’. As Job continued at length to speak to God out of his broken heart, he eventually went on to find healing. There is another line in one of the psalms which simply states: ‘The Lord is close to the broken-hearted’. If this was the conviction of the people of Israel who did not know Jesus, how much more should it be our conviction? Jesus revealed God to be close to the broken, to those who were broken in body, mind or spirit. The gospel reading this morning shows the closeness of Jesus, and, therefore, of God, to the broken. Indeed, in Jesus, God became one of the broken. On the cross Jesus reveals a God who is broken in body and spirit. A well-known German theologian once wrote a book with the title, ‘The Crucified God’. God entered our brokenness in Jesus, and experienced it from the inside. God could not get closer to the broken than that.

 In today’s second reading, St. Paul says of himself: ‘For the weak, I made myself weak’. God could say the very same: ‘For the weak I made myself weak; for the broken, I made myself broken’. If that is the God in whom we believe, then we need have no hesitation in bringing our brokenness to God in prayer. If Job who did not know Jesus had this freedom, we should have that same freedom to an even greater degree. Many of us will be familiar with the saying: ‘A burden shared is a burden halved’. Sometimes it can be difficult to share our burden with another, even with the person we are closest to, with whom we may have shared most of our lives. If we cannot share a burden with our closest companion, it is not the case that the only alternative is to keep it to ourselves. We can share that burden with the Lord. The prayer of sharing, the prayer of the open heart, is a very authentic form of prayer. Sharing ourselves with God in this way is not quite the same as asking God for something, petitioning God. We are simply sharing; we are telling our story to God. We are opening up that story to God’s presence, to God’s influence. That is a very valid and worthwhile form of prayer.

 In today’s gospel reading, we find Jesus at prayer. He had been ministering to the broken most of the day. Early next morning, he got up and went off to a lonely place and prayed there. Working with the burdened no doubt left him burdened, as is the case for all of us. His prayer was a time when he could share his burden with the Father. In doing so, he found strength to continue. ‘Let us go elsewhere, to the neighbouring country towns’, he said to his disciples after his prayer. The best teaching is often by example. Jesus is teaching us here by his own example to lift up whatever may be in our hearts and minds to God and in doing that to find new strength.

And/Or

(iv) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 We are all familiar with suffering in one shape or form, whether it is physical, emotional, mental or spiritual suffering. There is no getting away from suffering; it comes to us all and it comes in different guises at different times of our lives. To live is to suffer. Regardless of our differences, suffering is something we all have in common. Some people seem to suffer more than others. Yet, it is difficult to measure suffering, especially in others. Some who do not seem to be suffering can be in great pain and others who seem to be suffering greatly can have a deep peace. The cry of Job in this morning’s first reading is one that comes out of deep suffering. He is in a very dark place indeed. Not only has he lost his health, his property and members of his family but he seems to have lost God. He had been living an exemplary life and he cannot understand why God has allowed so much misfortune to befall him. The God whom he worshipped when times were good now seems a complete stranger to him. The God to whom he related as a friend now seems to have become his enemy. The experience of loss, whether it is the loss of health or property or loved ones, can bring on something of a spiritual crisis. Some can be tempted to abandon God, when their prayers out of the depths are not heard. They feel angry at God; they sense that their trust in God has not been vindicated. That is very much the place where Job finds himself in today’s first reading. Job in that sense is every man or woman. The literary figure of Job is a very authentic depiction of the dark side of human experience, indeed, the dark side of faith in God.

 The English writer C.S. Lewis was both a great intellectual and a man of great faith. He set out to give a rational explanation for the Christian vision of life. In 1940 he wrote a book called The Problem of Pain in which he brought his intellect and his faith to bear on the problem of suffering. However, twenty one years, in 1961, he wrote a very different book, called, A Grief Observed. In that book he recognizes that his rational, cerebral, faith has taken something of a battering. The book consists of the painful and brutally honest reflections of a man whose wife has died, slowly and in pain, from cancer. The book gives a vivid description of his own reaction, as a man of faith, to his wife’s death. His rational faith fell to pieces when confronted with suffering of a devastatingly personal kind. He writes at one point, ‘Where is God? Go to him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that silence’. The name of Lewis’s wife was Joy. He had earlier written a book called Surprised by Joy in which he wrote about the impact meeting her had on his life. His book A Grief Observed has received a wide readership because of his authentic and moving account of the impact of bereavement. Even though his rational, cerebral faith took something of a battering because of Joy’s death, Lewis did not lose his faith. Through the darkness of this experience he claims to have come to love his wife more truly. He writes that God had helped him to see that because the love he and his wife had for each other had reached its earthly limit, it was ready for its heavenly fulfilment.

 Faith has to come to terms with the cross and it is at the foot of the cross that faith can be purified and deepened. Jesus himself entered fully into the darkness of human suffering. In today’s second reading, Paul says of himself, ‘For the weak, I made myself weak’. That is certainly true of Jesus. He entered fully into the weakness of the human condition. Elsewhere, in one of his letters, Paul says of Christ that ‘though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich’. On the cross Jesus was at his weakest and poorest; it was on Calvary that, in the words of Lewis, Jesus went to God and found a door slammed in his face, as he cried out, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ Yet, that cry of desolation is itself an act of faith; it is the language faith uses when confronted with the harrowing darkness of loss. God did not forsake Jesus, but brought through death into the fullness of life. The Jesus who was crucified in weakness is the same risen Lord who is with us in our own experiences of suffering and desolation, just as he was with the suffering and the broken in this morning’s gospel reading. He is with us as one who knows our experience from the inside. Having gone down into the depths and having moved beyond the depths into a fuller life, he can enable us to do the same. He is the good shepherd who, even when we walk through the valley of darkness, is there with his crook and his staff, leading us to springs of living water.

And/Or

(v) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 A few weeks ago Pope Frances paid a visit to Sri Lanka and the Philippines. While in the Philippines, he visited Tacloban. It was there that, on November 8, 2013, the six-metre high waves generated by Super Typhoon Yolanda, the strongest storm ever recorded on earth, smashed into the homes and lives of thousands of people, leaving behind death and destruction. One of the reasons Pope Francis went to the Philippines was to be with the people of this city who had lost so much. He celebrated Mass on the grounds of the airport in Tacloban. Half a million people braved wind and rain to take part in the liturgy. In his homily the Pope departed from his prepared script, and his words touched the hearts of all present. He said, ‘So many of you have lost everything. I don’t know what to say to you, but the Lord does know what to say to you. Some of you have lost part of your families. All I can do is keep silence and walk with you with my silent heart. Many of you have asked the Lord – Why Lord? And to each of you, to your heart, Christ responds with his heart from the cross. I have no more words for you. Let us look to Christ’. The Pope was acknowledging that, in the face of tragedy on such a catastrophic scale, the only adequate response he can make is silence and an invitation to those affected by this tragedy to turn in prayer towards the Lord on the cross and allow him to speak to them.

 Today’s first reading is from the book of Job. That book tells the story of a good man who lost everything, his property, the members of his family and, finally, his health. Today’s short reading captures something of Job’s dark mood. His friends gathered round him in his great loss but the words they speak to him only deepen his dark mood and add to his burden. They suggest that all these misfortunes happened to Job because he has displeased God. If he were to repent of his wrongdoing all would be well. Job finds no comfort in these words; they ring hollow. He has been living as good and upright a life as is humanly possible. He is angry with God because of all that has been taken from him, and his friends’ words make him even angrier. A little further on from where our reading ends he turns to God in desperation, ‘Will you not look away from me for a while, let me alone until I swallow my spittle?’ Complaining to God like this can be a deep form of faith. Lamenting to God is part of our struggle to find God in our pain and loss.

 Some of you may have found yourselves in a dark place because of some deep loss and, perhaps, some of the well-intentioned words that were spoken to you at that time only added to your distress. If we are to be truly present to others in their pain and loss we have to try and enter the darkness with them. We have to somehow suffer with them, which is the meaning of compassion. Saint Paul touches on this when in today’s second reading he says, ‘for the weak, I made myself weak’. This involves a great act of self-emptying on our part, a stepping out of ourselves to be one with the other. Only then will whatever words we speak ring true. When we do try to become one with the other in their pain and loss, we will often get a strong sense, like Pope Francis in Tacloban, that our silence is more appropriate than our words. When we are present to others in this compassionate way, then our presence will be a source of healing for them.

 The gospels suggest that this was the way Jesus was present to others. If Paul could say, ‘for the weak I made myself weak’, Jesus could certainly have said the same. On many occasions in the gospels, the emotion of ‘compassion’ is ascribed to Jesus. He suffered with those who suffered and it was out of that identification with their suffering that he could be a source of healing for them. That is why, as we hear in today’s gospel reading, the sick and the broken were drawn to him in such huge numbers. It was above all on the cross that Jesus made himself weak with the weak, identifying with us totally in our brokenness and pain. As the crucified and risen Lord, he is compassionately present to us today as much as he was to those of his own time. That is why, although Pope Francis recognized that words were inadequate, he said to the people of Tacloban, ‘the Lord from the cross is there for you, in everything the same as us. That is why we have a Lord who cries with us and walks with us in the most difficult moments of life’. We too are invited to prayerfully come before the Lord on the cross in our own times of pain and loss. As we do so, we will be empowered to be present to others in their dark valleys, in the compassionate way the Lord is present to us.

And/Or

(vi) Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Most of us will have known difficult and dark times at some point in our lives. We often find ourselves in a dark place. It might be brought on by a sudden experience of ill health or some experience of loss. Someone close to us may be in a dark place for a similar reason and it impacts powerfully on us. Job is certainly in a very dark place in today’s first reading. A great sense of despondency comes through his words. He experiences life as ‘hired drudgery’ and ‘pressed service’. A few verses after our reading ends, he exclaims, ‘I loathe my life’. The striking thing about Job is that he articulates his darkness of spirit before God. All the time he is not talking to myself, but to God; he is praying. Having declared ‘I loathe my life’, he immediately cries out to God, ‘Let me alone’. His way of addressing God is very honest and, at times, very angry. This is prayer at its most authentic. He yells at God, shouts at God, wonders where God is, asks God to leave him alone. Yet, by the end of the book, in and through this raw and honest prayer, he comes to some sense of peace and acceptance, some awareness that, in spite of his loss and suffering, he is being held by God who cares for all his creatures.

 The experience of suffering in ourselves or in others can often shake our faith to the core. We struggle to reconcile the goodness of God with our own suffering and the suffering of others, especially the suffering of the innocent and most defenceless. The problem of evil and the suffering it produces is not easily resolved intellectually for people of faith. The gospel reading today suggests that Jesus often found himself surrounded by suffering. Having healed a very disturbed man in the synagogue of Capernaum, he is immediately brought to the house of Simon Peter’s mother in law who is in bed with a fever. All the sick of the town, ‘the whole town’, then come crowding around the door of Simon’s house, looking for Jesus to heal them of their various diseases. Jesus might have had his own questions about the endless suffering that surrounded him, day after day. When Jesus himself entered the dark valley of suffering and loss, he had his own questions. As he hung from the cross, he cried aloud, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ This is not an intellectual question about the place of suffering in a world created by a good Creator. It is a much more heartfelt and personal question. Jesus was asking, ‘Where are you, God, in my suffering?’ It is the kind of question Job addresses to God throughout his long dialogue with God. Just like Job’s question, Jesus’ question from the cross was prayer. He was addressing God directly in prayer.

 Although Jesus surrounded by the endless suffering of others, according to the gospel reading, there comes a time when he needed to go off alone to pray. Before dawn, while everyone else slept, he left the house where so much human suffering had gathered and he went off to a lonely place by himself to pray. It is as if Jesus needed to bring all this suffering and its impact on him to prayer. He somehow opened up this tide of human suffering to God his Father, whom he knew to be the Father also of all those who suffered. While he is at prayer, Simon Peter discovers where he is and says to him, ‘Everyone one is looking for you’. The suffering people of Capernaum are knocking on your door, Peter is saying. Yet, even though everyone is searching for him, Jesus knows that he needs time and space to search for God in prayer. Jesus was very aware of the depth of his need for God. He had to pray, just as he had to eat and drink. We can be much less aware of the depth of our need for God. Yet, our need for God is even greater than Jesus’ need, and our need for God is all the greater when suffering presses in on us. Suffering drove Jesus to pray; it drove Job to prayer; it needs to drive us to prayer too. The temptation can be to allow the experience of suffering to turn us away from God, and, yet, it is above all in such difficult and dark moments that we most need to keep the lines of communication open to God, even if it is only to complain to God and to question God.

 I am often struck at how some people who have such great suffering in their lives also have a deep prayer life. Invariably such people are never bitter about their situation. They often have an extraordinary serenity and peace about them. Suffering, whatever form it takes, has the capacity to turn is in on ourselves. Yet, in bringing the experience of suffering to prayer, as Job did, as Jesus did, we open ourselves up to the Lord who is always close to the broken hearted, and we can find the spiritual strength to live through our suffering and loss, even though we may not understand it.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[misskikuwrites]

Pretty in Pink (1/3)

Bede/Gloria (dressedinpinkshipping)

-

A shift of pink out of the corner of Bede's eyes made him glance towards the entrance of the Glimwood Tangle. A vivid pink that he was sure hadn't been there a moment ago. The second he looked, however, there was no one there.

Certainly not the Champion who wears that very same pink.

Bede shook his head and continued on his way to the Gym. Somehow, even here in Ballonlea, the Champion managed to worm her way into his life. Into his thoughts.

It was worse now that Bede had recognised his feelings towards Gloria. After those feelings and the realisation of what they were had hit him like a Double Edge from a Dubwool he'd been seeing her everywhere.

Posters of the new Champion that he would've usually ignored on the walls of Pokemon Centres now stood out to him like white against black. Champion merchandise popped up everywhere. The cry of a Corviknight that turned out to be a simple sky taxi always made him look twice.

And that pink. He could no longer see that colour without thinking of her, without his head turning instinctively to see who - or sometimes what - it was.

It was driving him insane.

What made it worse was the annoying habit the Champion had of just dropping in. Randomly. Without prior warning, without giving Bede any chance to prepare his heart for the way she would smile at him, the way his name sounded on her lips.

If he hadn't considered her a friend as well as a rival, he might've found her random visits utterly reprehensible. That is, if he wasn't also maddeningly in love with her.

She was the Champion, for Arceus' sake!

She always had a legitimate reason for coming. That was why Bede made a habit of not letting it get to his head. He put up with her exhibition matches, her offers to join in the Champions cup.

Well, he made it seem as though he was merely putting up with it. With her. He wasn't about to act like a lovesick fool in front of her. Wouldn't let her know how eagerly he awaited their next match. The only one who could really challenge him.

As if that was all she was to him.

No, he would do everything in his power to hide the way his heart leapt at the sight of her. The way her smile made his stomach flutter as if he'd swallowed a hoard of Butterfree. The way she said his name, so sweet and light and full of joy to see him that it made his face burn as if he'd been struck by her Cinderace's Pyro Ball.

He couldn't let her know how he felt. Not when there was a chance she had feelings for someone else. For a childhood friend that she hugged so easily, whether it was for a greeting or a goodbye. Bede's stomach churned at the thought.

He was still wearing a scowl on his face when he entered the Gym.

-

The next day, Bede saw that pink again and couldn't stop the way his head turned to follow it.

And there she was. Heading into the Glimwood Tangle with her Cinderace by her side. Bede blinked as she disappeared into the woods, his stomach flopping uncomfortably. It really was her.

Bede almost made to follow her, one foot lifting off the ground in her direction, when he caught himself. He had Gym battles to attend to.

And she hadn't come here for him.

A strange weight settled in Bede's gut with that thought. It stayed with him the rest of the day, Bede not noticing how he battled without remorse and wiped the floor of every challenger who came by.

-

He didn't see her the next morning and so Bede decided to push the sights of Gloria out of his mind and focus.

That plan went south when he saw her that evening, heading to the Pokemon Centre as he left the Gym. Even from a distance he could see the speckling of dirt on her cheeks, the stray leaves in her long brown hair. It would be so simple to go over to her, to thumb that streak of dirt off her cheek. To card his fingers through her soft hair to pick out the leaves.

Her soft hair?

A rush of heat burst through him, shooting like a thunderbolt to the tips of his fingers. Without another thought, Bede stalked away before anyone saw him staring longing at the Champion with a scorching blush on his face.

-

The next day, Bede headed to the Gym without looking towards the Glimwood Tangle. He didn't search for that striking pink. He kept his eyes forward, kept his mind clear. He didn't have the luxury of distractions. Not when he still had to prove himself as the new Fairy type Gym Leader.

Bede had changed into his uniform, prepared to meet new or repeat challengers in the lobby, when he heard the commotion outside. People were shouting. Confused. Bede turned to the entrance, ready to stalk out there and fix whatever was causing the fuss, when a Cinderace dashed through the doors. It glanced around, ears pulled back, before it set its sights on Bede.

The Cinderace cried and bolted over to Bede, hopping anxiously on its toes. It made a series of noises that made no sense to Bede or any of the onlookers.

What did make sense, what Bede knew instantly, was that this was Gloria's Cinderace.

"Is it Gloria?" Bede asked and the Cinderace nodded frantically. His heart dropped into the pits of his stomach. "Show me!"

The Cinderace bounded through the entrance and Bede followed, calling over his shoulder, "the Gym's closed today!"

He followed the Cinderace into the Glimwood Tangle, running to keep up with the speedy Pokemon. The Cinderace cleverly kicked stones into the glowing mushrooms as they ran, illuminating their path deeper into the woods. There wasn't time for Bede to think, to process what was happening. What it meant that he was following Gloria's Cinderace. Why the Pokemon looked so distraught.

What state Gloria was in.

Bede followed the Cinderace deeper and deeper into the Tangle, climbing over fallen logs, leaping over thick roots and dodging wild Pokemon. His heart raced. Pulse rocketed. Mind whirled as he powdered ahead until the Cinderace jumped down an embankment and rounded a tree.

Gloria sat slumped on the ground, leaning against the trunk of a tree, head tipped forward.

"Gloria!"

Her head shot up at his voice. Tears glistened on her cheeks, trailing muddy lines down her face. Bede's breath left his lungs. She was worse than when he saw her yesterday. Leaves, twigs and dirt caked her hair. Grime smudged across her cheeks. Her knees scabbed and bleeding, her pink dress stained in patches.

"What happened?" Bede gaped.

"B-Bede…!" Gloria sobbed and more tears spilled from her eyes. Her chest shuddered with broken gasps as she tried to speak.

"Hey, I'm here," Bede said, steadying his voice and kneeling next to her. "It's okay."

Now wasn't the time for him to freak out, not with her trembling like this. He took one of her shaking hands in his. Her fingers were like ice. She sniffled and nodded, chest heaving with every breath. Her bottom lip wobbled.

Bede had never seen her like this before. Terrified and broken. Falling to pieces in front of him. It shattered his heart. He held her hand tight, reached out with his other and touched her arm lightly. Gloria collapsed into him. Bede's breath was sucked from his lungs as her head dropped to his chest, her hand winding tight into his shirt. She howled. Cry breaking the silence, breaking Bede's heart and his willpower and he held her close, slipping his arm around her back.

He felt every shudder of her body. Every sob. Her Cinderace trilled sadly nearby and Bede rubbed her back slowly, gently, in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He clamped his eyes shut at his own incompetence and held her close. It was all he could do.

Bede held Gloria until her wails turned to sobs and then into shaky breaths. Until her shuddering stopped and she sank limp against him. He waited until she peeled herself off his chest and sat up, her face flushed from crying, before he dropped his arm from her back.

"What happened?" Bede asked, softer this time.

Gloria sniffled and rubbed her cheeks with the back of her hand. "I… fell down there…" she pointed to a ledge not far from where she sat, the top of the mossy cliff almost two metres high. "I didn't see the drop until it was too late. Rolled down it."

Bede winced. "Do you have a first-aid kit in your bag?" He wished he'd taken more than a split second before following her Cinderace. Wished he'd thought ahead and taken something of use with him instead of just his Pokemon.

Gloria nodded and moved to shuffle the straps of her bag off her shoulders. He was still holding her hand. He released it as if she had suddenly burnt him.

"Let me," Bede said, easing Gloria's bag off her shoulders to distract himself from the heat rising on his cheeks. He placed it in front of her so she could dig out the first-aid kit, saving him from having to look through her belongings. She pulled out the small, simple red kit and handed it to Bede.

Bede opened the kit and glanced over Gloria's injuries. Her knees were raw, legs streaked in coagulated blood and dirt. She had numerous small cuts and scrapes down the bare skin of her legs, only a few of which would need a proper clean and a bandage.

"Where are you hurt? Other than the obvious." Bede pulled out a handful of tissues and her water bottle. Dampening a few tissues, he handed them to her. "Here. For your face."

"Thanks," she said quietly and began to wipe the muck from her cheeks. "I think… I might've rolled my ankle."

Bede looked to her black boots. "Which one?"

"The right."

Bede shifted her bag towards her feet. "I'm going to elevate it, alright? Then I'll need to take your boot off in order to wrap it."

He saw Gloria swallow tightly, jaw clenching. It was going to hurt. She nodded, bracing herself with a steely look in her eyes. Despite falling apart earlier, Gloria had guts. She knew what needed to be done and did it. Bede turned back to her foot, taking it gently in both hands and lifting it just enough to slide her bag underneath.

Gloria breathed a hiss of pain through her teeth.

"Sorry," Bede apologised automatically.

"N-No, it's okay." She gave him a stiff smile. "I'm the one who should be apologising, making you leave your Gym and come all the way here because of a stupid fall. I just… I didn't know who else to get, who else would recognise my Cinderace and know to follow him?"

Bede felt his cheeks warm. "It was fairly obvious your Cinderace was in distress. Anyone could see that. And it's just one day - anyone serious about the Champion's Cup will come back tomorrow."

He was comforting her. She nodded, her smile relaxing. "Thanks, Bede."

His cheeks felt unbearably warm now. He nodded, focusing intently on her now-elevated foot. "I'll need to take your boot off."

"Okay."

Slowly, carefully, Bede undid the laces of her black boot. He eased it open, glanced at Gloria. She caught his eyes and nodded. Trying as gently as he could, Bede eased the boot off her foot as Gloria bit back a grunt of pain. He then did the same with her sock, revealing an obviously swollen ankle. It was already puffing out.

Bede quickly grabbed the compress bandages from the first-aid kit and wrapped her ankle neatly.

"Where'd you learn to do that so well?" Gloria asked, blinking through tears of pain. She relaxed slightly when Bede finished with her ankle.

"All Gym leader's need to have up-to-date first-aid training."

"That's handy. Wish it was the same for the Champion. Pretty useless having a first-aid kit and not knowing what to do with it," Gloria laughed in self-deprication. "So useless I didn't even remember that I had it until you asked."

"You were in shock."

"Still. Pathetic Champion I am, breaking down over a fall like that."

Bede huffed. "You're not pathetic - you're covered in wounds! I'd be more worried if you didn't show that kind of emotion in a situation like this."

Gloria nodded slowly, dabbing absently at her cheek with the damp tissues.

"Let's get you back to Ballonlea. We'll deal with the rest of this there." Bede packed the first-aid kit into her bag and closed it, slipping it over his shoulders.

"Good idea."

"Do you think you can walk?"

"I… I'm not sure. I haven't tried."

Bede stood, brushed the dirt off his knees and offered Gloria a hand. "Let's get you on your feet first."

Gloria took his hand and with a swift tug, Bede pulled her to her feet. And almost flush against him. He tried not to stiffen, letting Gloria hold onto his hand for balance.

"Here, put your arm over my shoulder," Bede directed her, trying to ignore how tight his voice sounded. He could only hope Gloria was too preoccupied with finding her balance to notice the blush blooming across his cheekbones. She grit her teeth, rested her arm over his shoulder, and stared straight ahead. Concentrating on what was to come.

Bede curled his arm around her lower back as casually as he could.

They'd only taken a single step forward and Gloria hissed in pain, sucking in a sharp breath. Her Cinderace cried sadly.

"I'm… I'm okay. We can do this," she said through clenched teeth, jaw set tight.

"No." Bede dropped his arm from her back. He handed her bag to her Cinderace who looked on with a confused tilt of his head.

"What?"

He held onto her arm to help her balance as he knelt in front of her, his back to her. "Get on."

"What? No, Bede, you don't have to carry me! I can walk!"

"Not an option. I'm not letting you hobble all that way in pain. Now get on or I'm leaving you here."

"You wouldn't!"

Bede raised an eyebrow. "You're right, but would you rather I scoop you up in my arms or carry you on my back?"

Gloria flushed in frustration. "Fine but… are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have said so if I wasn't."

"Right…" She sounded reluctant but climbed onto Bede's back anyway, allowing him to hook his hands under her knees and stand. Gloria swayed forward with the motion, resting her hands on his shoulders.

"Is that alright?" Bede asked. Gloria nodded before realising he couldn't see it.

"Yes, it's fine. Thanks." Her cheeks coloured as she glanced down at her legs. "But… um…" How could she say it?

"What?" Bede glanced over his shoulder. Her thighs were distractingly warm against his hands. He tried to frown the rising heat off his face but it was a losing battle.

The nervous lilt in her voice set Bede's blood on fire in his veins. "It's… well, it's my dress. It's kind of… riding up…"

Bede choked on a gasp. "Th-Then tug it down!" Now his face was fully aflame. All he could feel was the weight of her body against his back, his skin burning, burning, burning where they touched.

"I-I can't like this!"

"Then what do you want me to do?!" Arceus, he was burning up.

"I don't know!"

"Then why'd you tell me?!"

Gloria squawked indignantly. "B-Because I don't want anyone to see!"

"There's no one here," Bede huffed. No one here except him, though he couldn't see anything like this. Thankfully.

Bede squeezed his eyes shut. Don't think about that.

"B-But in Ballonlea…"

"We'll deal with that when we get there."

"Mm… okay…"

With a rough sigh, Bede started off towards Ballonlea, following Gloria's Cinderace as it lit the glowing mushrooms in their path.

"Tell me if it begins to hurt again and I'll put you down," Bede said.

"Okay."

Arceus, her voice was right in his ear. He focused on the path ahead of him, the trip hazard of roots and branches and loose stones. They trudged along slowly, carefully, until they reached the outskirts of the Tangle, the lights of Ballonlea in sight. Instead of taking the main path, Bede skirted the edge of the town, circling around until they could see his place. When Bede was sure there was no one else around, they emerged from the woods and walked straight to the front door.

"I'm letting you down now," Bede cautioned, slowly lowering Gloria until her feet touched the ground.

"Is this…?"

"Ms Opal's house." Bede fished out a key from his pockets and unlocked the door. "She's letting me stay until I can get my own place." He swung the door open, letting her Cinderace inside before turning back to Gloria. She balanced unsteadily on one foot.

"I can hop inside- hey!" she yelped when Bede scooped her into his arms, carrying her bridal-style with one hand around her back, the other under her thighs. "B-Bede!"

He ignored her protests and stalked inside, kicking the door closed behind him. He took a few quick steps to the couch before gently depositing her onto it. He grabbed one of the cushions and slipped it under her ankle.

"There. I wasn't going to have you hobble and whine the whole time. I'm not a sadist." He brushed the dirt from his hands that her thighs had left on him. Then he reached back and found more dirt across his back. Of course. He huffed in disgust.

"Sorry," Gloria apologised shamefully. "Your Gym uniform is all dirty because of me."

Bede tore the grimace off his face. "It's fine - it'll come off when I wash it." He felt like an idiot, fussing over some dirt on his clothes when she was caked in it head to toe, covered in bruises and scratches.

"You should take a bath," Bede offered. "It'll be the quickest way to get you clean and we can deal with the rest of your cuts after that."

"Oh, a bath sounds heavenly right now," Gloria sighed. "I think I've got a change of clothes in my bag…" Her Cinderace brought her bag over, trilling happily. She thanked it and returned it to its Pokeball before digging around in her bag. Bede left her to that as he gathered a fresh towel for her to use.

He forced down any thoughts that threatened to arise with a scowl. He brought her a towel and a washcloth, handing them over when he noticed that she didn't have her spare clothes in hand. Her face looked unusually pale.

"What is it?"

"Well… it, uh, seems that I don't actually have any spare clothes. I… must've forgotten to pack them last night."

Bede blinked at her.

"Could I borrow some of yours…?"

Bede's heart ground to a halt in his chest. "F-Fine," he said quickly, stalking to his room before his cheeks coloured a bright crimson in front of her. It just kept going from bad to worse. His composure was crumbling. Chipping away, little by little, threatening to expose his longing for her. His damn crush was getting harder to ignore when things like this kept happening.

How was he supposed to suppress and hide his feelings for her when his face was a beacon of embarrassment, burning so brightly, so easily. Right to the very tips of his ears.

He took a few deep gulps of air to calm himself and gathered a plain T-shirt and a pair of shorts that had a drawstring and would hopefully fit her. Bede ignored how his fingers tingled when they brushed hers as he handed the clothes over. He ignored the way she squawked that she could hobble to the bathroom on her own, ignored the fluttering in his chest when she disappeared into the bathroom and left him alone with his thoughts.

Bede soon wished he could shut out the sound of water running in the bath and the images it was conjuring in his mind.

Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it.

Bede shut himself in his room and took his time to change out of his dirtied Gym gear. He chose a pair of dark pants and a light grey long sleeved t-shirt. He rolled up the sleeves absently as he dug around in his medicine cabinet, grabbing more compression bandages, bandaids and some antiseptic with a few cotton buds. Maybe it was overkill but Bede didn't care. He needed the distraction.

He'd finished gathering the first-aid stuff and sorting it on the counter when the bathroom door opened again and Gloria hobbled out. Bede took a long moment composing himself before he looked at her.

And then quickly wished he hadn't.

The shirt was too big for her yet it looked adorable hanging off her smaller frame. The shorts hug loosely to her waist. Her cheeks were rosy from the warm bath, her damp hair tied in a loose bun atop her head.

She was too cute.

"Sit down," Bede ordered with an unnecessary bark in his tone.

"Roger that," Gloria replied. She was in a better mood now after her bath, her dirty clothes bundled in her arms. She hobbled over to the couch and fell onto it dramatically, hefting her swollen ankle onto a cushion.

"Give me your clothes, I'll wash them with mine." Bede held out his hand, motioning to her.

"Is that alright?" She looked up at him, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "I could do it at home…"

"I'm putting mine through anyway. It's fine."

With that sorted, she handed over her clothes and he put on the washing machine before coming back with the compression bandages in hand. Somehow she'd managed to soak the bandage he'd wrapped her ankle in earlier so he applied a new one before grabbing her an ice pack.

"Thanks Bede," she said, shifting the ice pack slightly on her ankle. "I don't know what I would've done without you."

Bede didn't respond to that. No words would form and even if they did he doubted he'd be able to say them without fumbling. How did she always know exactly what to say to send his heart soaring?

"Where else are you hurt?" Bede grabbed the antiseptic cream, the bandages and a couple of bandaids.

"Mostly my legs," Gloria noted, touching the scrapes on her knees. "I think I've just got bruises on my arms."

"That makes it easy." Bede pulled a chair over to the couch and unscrewed the lid of the antiseptic cream. She didn't protest at all as he applied the cream to the numerous scrapes and cuts on her legs. She didn't even mention the fact that she could've done it herself and let him work, watching silently.

She thanked him again when he was done and he managed to mumble a thanks and something about how it was no big deal before escaping to put everything away.

"Why were you in the Glimwood Tangle anyway?" Bede asked when he returned.

"Oh, you know… Champion stuff."

Bede raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Surely you don't think I'm that gullible. If you do, then I'm sorry to say that you've got a horribly incorrect impression about me."

Gloria grumbled. "It's… a bit embarrassing, actually." She looked away for a moment before her eyes widened. "That's it! You can help me!"

Bede frowned. "Help you with what?"

What was she trying to rope him into now?

"Well…" she looked at him with an imploring smile, sounding out her words carefully. "I was wondering… can I borrow your Rapidash?"

"Why? And what does that have to do with you heading into the Tangle almost every day so far this week?"

Gloria sighed. "You saw that?"

"You're a bit hard to miss with all that pink."

"Oh."

"So, are you going to explain yourself or not?"

"Fine, fine!" she huffed. "I was looking for a Ponyta."

"... that's it?"

"Yes!" Gloria sighed again. "I was looking for a Ponyta all this week and I didnt find a single one. I'm the Champion of Galar and can't even manage that."

"Why do you want one so badly?"

"I've loved Galarian Ponyta and Rapidash ever since I was little. I didn't find one when I was doing the Champions Cup so I thought I could find myself one now. Guess it's not that easy."

"...And you thought I'd just give you mine?" Bede gave her an incredulous look.

"No, I didn't want you to give it to me. I just need to borrow it. For a while." Her smile became nervous, she glanced away from him.

"What for? Having my Rapidash with you isn't going to make finding one any easier."

"I…" Her cheeks coloured pink. "I wanted to breed it."

Bede blinked at her. Stunned. "And how were you going to do that with a single Rapidash?"

"I have a Ditto! It's just a matter of seeing if they get along and then leaving them alone for a while and…" she trailed off, her gaze leaving his again.

"You want to pimp out my Rapidash."

"D-Don't say it like that!" Gloria blushed darkly. Almost the colour of her usual dress.

The colour suited her, Bede realised. He studied her for a moment.

"You want one that badly?"

Gloria sighed. "Yes…"

Bede's heart fluttered. "If they do get along then I guess I don't mind, but that will leave me one Pokemon short for my Gym battles," he found himself saying. "I'll have to find a replacement."

"Does that mean…? You'll let me borrow your Rapidash?" Her eyes widened excitedly, making Bede's heart skip a beat.

The way she was smiling at him made it difficult to speak. "Only if they get along and only if I can get a replacement Fairy type Pokemon in the meantime."

"Then you can borrow my Mimikyu!" She clasped her hands together at the idea. "Can we try it now? See if they get along?"

Bede hadn't expected things to fall in place this quickly. "Now? Here?"

"Yeah! Unless you want to make me hobble somewhere else…?" she teased, waiting for his reply with an eager sparkle in her eyes.

Bede huffed. It was too difficult to say no to her. "Fine, fine. But this is Ms Opal's place. If they break anything…"

The warning in his voice was clear.

"Don't worry, I'll keep my Pokeball on hand and return them if it seems like it's going downhill."

She was so confident Bede found himself going along with it and pulled out his Rapidash's Pokeball as she readied her Box Link and retrieved her Ditto.

Bede sent out his Rapidash first. It stood alert and ready until it realised that it wasn't in the middle of a battle and relaxed. Gloria beamed at the Rapidash and sent out her Ditto. Without needing the command, her Ditto transformed into the nearest Pokemon, taking the form of a Rapidash. The two Fairy Pokemon looked at each other for a long, trepid moment. Gloria kept her hand tight around her Pokeball.

Bede's Rapidash approached Gloria's Ditto with slow, cautious steps. They circled each other for a moment. Studying one another. Nostrils flaring as they identified each other's scent.

The suspension was palpable. Gloria held her breath whenever the Pokemon moved, whenever they drew closer. She caught Bede's wrist when his Rapidash nuzzled its nose against her Ditto's.

Bede jolted. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist right above his hand. All he had to do was shift his hand slightly and he could curl his fingers around hers. A quick movement and he could hold her hand. His fingers twitched.

"Bede, look!" She tugged at his wrist, gaze thankfully locked on the two Pokemon so she didn't see the crimson on his cheeks. He swallowed and followed her line of sight to where the Rapidash were nuzzling against one another.

Well. That was fast.

Soon enough they returned their Rapidash into their respective Pokeballs, Gloria beaming an elated smile. It wasn't even levelled at him yet it made his heart thrum in his chest.

Arceus, she was adorable.

With her Ditto and Bede's Rapidash in hand, Gloria lent him her Mimikyu. "Oh, this is so exciting! I've never bred Pokemon before!"

"You sure you know what you're doing?"

"Yeah, I know the people who run the Pokemon daycare in the Wild Area. They'll be the ones actually looking after the whole process. But they'll give me a call when they find an egg!"

Sounded simple enough. At least his Rapidash was going to be looked after properly.

With that softed, Gloria rang up a sky taxi, deciding it would be easier for her to rest at home and let Bede return to his Gym Leader duties.

"Make sure you come back and get your dress," Bede reminded her. "I don't want to think what will happen if Ms Opal finds it…"

Gloria chuckled. "Now, that would be interesting."

The sky taxi landed just outside Ms Opal's house, and Bede loaded her bag into it for her as she hobbled the few steps over from the door.

"Thank you, Bede. For everything," she said, lingering by the door of the sky taxi. "I owe you one. Well, more than one."

Bede found it difficult to hold her gaze. "Yeah, you do."

Gloria laughed and Bede's heart sang. She leaned forward so quickly he didn't have time to react or even process what she was doing when she planted a soft kiss to his cheek.

"Thanks," she said again, quieter this time, and climbed into the taxi. It had taken off, disappearing as a speck in the distance, when Bede realised what on earth had just happened. His face flushed a dark crimson. Blood surging to his head.

She'd kissed his cheek.

Gloria had kissed him.

A strangled noise escaped Bede's throat as he stormed inside, covering his burning cheeks with his hands despite there being no one around to see.

Arceus.

Oh, Arceus.

She was going to be the death of him.

[teacup-crow]

Tom/Jody, whump? Or fluff! (still obsessed with that Zombies, Make! prompt fill you did, btw.)

*slaps the side of my Google doc* this thing can fit so much whump in it!

Tom protecting Jody emotionally for once (well, more he gets a bit of a break for once), here we go!

CWs (warning, spoilers!): torture including eye gouging (not described in detail) minor death and major blood

Mid Season 6. Jody’s on a mission in Ministry territory and gets distracted.

“Please don’t.”

It’s the little catch in the girl’s voice that stops Jody cold.

She’s on a reconnaissance mission, not a rescue one. Her orders are to grab the documents detailing the invasion of Abel and get out, leaving Sigrid’s generals none the wiser. And doubtless, there will be moments like this in Ministry territory - her supporters are a bunch of overpromoted authoritarian nutjobs on a power trip, after all.

But she didn’t think it would shake her like this.

On the other end of her headset, Tom is silent, and she knows he heard it too. The break in the screaming. The girl’s voice sounds so pitiful and so small. Jody needs to ignore it: she needs to grab the papers while they’re distracted with whatever sick shit they’re doing and-

They’re laughing. Those men think this is funny.

“Tom,” her voice is low. She’s still in a crouch in the Admiral’s study, her heart hammering, but in her head she’s back in the punishment cells in Abel. She’s listening to Cameo in the cell next door, half an hour after picking a fight with some sneering jackbooted Ministry thugs, whimpering now that they can’t hear her. In her head, she’s lying curled up on her side with three broken ribs, knowing that she’s failed in Janine’s absence to protect any of them, knowing everybody she loves is dead, and-

“Jodes.”

He’s going to tell her to stick to the plan. That she’s too valuable to play hero. In, out, that’s the job. Laughing, screaming, put it all to the back of your mind, it’s not important. Everyone’s lives could be at stake for this data.

“Tom, I can’t - I have to help her.”

“Jody,” his voice is strained. “We don’t leave anybody behind.” He clears his throat. “There are three of them in there; you’ve got two bullets left after that horde on the way in. Your best bet is to distract them somehow. Got a grenade?”

“Wouldn’t leave home without one, babe.”

“You’ve been listening to Steve’s radio broadcasts too?” she can hear him smirk. “Okay. Grab the documents. I’d use it in the street outside - inside there’s no way to do it without risking hurting her or yourself.”

Jody slips a few of the papers into her pack, too distracted to even check if they’re the right ones, and sidles out of the window. The girl is crying, now, almost silently, and she doesn’t want to see herself in that sound but she can’t help it. Her stomach is a ball of white hot rage as she slides down and runs into the road. A few residents see her, but scatter.

“Sit rep?”

It’s been a while since she felt this powerless, burnt so much with righteous indignation. She rummages through her bag, and swears through gritted teeth.

“The pin. It’s jammed! The grenade’s fucked. I’m going in there.”

“Jody, don’t!”

“You have a plan B? You said we don’t leave anybody behind.”

“This is war, Miss Marsh,” says Janine’s voice unexpectedly. She’d almost forgotten they weren’t alone together on comms. “You know that sometimes we have no choice.”

“I’m going in there,” she replies. “Sigrid doesn’t get to win this.”

She throws the door open and charges upstairs. Her face is recognisable to everyone in the region, paraded on wanted posters on Ministry trucks for months, so lying probably won’t help her. At least it’s a photo from before the apocalypse, when she used conditioner and showered every morning and she wasn’t marred with scars, or thin and rangy and desperate. There’s a chance, however small, that they won’t shoot her on sight.

At least if they do she’ll get that whimpering out of her head.

She reaches the top of the stairs, and slams into the door with her shoulder, blurting the first lie she can think of in Janine’s accent of all impressions. “It’s the Minister! Someone’s stabbed the Minister!”

The bolt on the door is drawn back, and the piggish eyes of Admiral Denton look her up and down. “And who sent you, sweetheart?”

“I dunno, nobody, I don’t know anything, I’m just a messenger, but somebody’s shot her, I mean, stabbed her, she might die, they need you, sir!”

He nods, and shoves her to one side. “Quick, Hugh, you’re with me. Andersen, keep an eye on these two. If this is bollocks, I’ll want to know exactly where to find you. I don’t entertain people who waste my time, do I, Alyssa?”

Alyssa’s pale little face is covered in blood, her left eye hanging out of its socket halfway down her cheek, and Jody’s stomach flips inside out. Tom’s breathing gets heavier. She wishes his hand were in hers. 

The footsteps thunder down the path, and she takes the pistol from her leg holster and points it at their guard.

“Who the fuck are you!” he shrieks, hands above his head in an instant.

“Did you help with this? Were you complicit?”

“I was just… you’ve seen what they can do, I was just following -” 

She shoots him through the chest.

***

Alyssa is sixteen years old and her entire settlement is dead. Zombies overran their walls, and because they refused to ally with the Ministry, nobody came to help. She’s been working in the kitchens here for six months before she accidentally burnt the admiral’s joint of lamb. She doesn’t say much, but grips Jody’s hand like a vice as they run over the border to the sound of sniper fire. She knows a bit about Abel, she says - she used to listen to Jack and Eugene as a kid. Jody gives her the headset, and Sam soothes her down the line, throwing the occasional direction and zombie warning in a way that makes running half blinded through the wasteland funny rather than terrifying. He’s good with kids. He holds Sara up to the mic, and her babbling nearly coaxes the girl into a smile.

Maxine whisks her away at the gates, and it’s Tom who’s there to grab Jody and stop her from falling, to lead her back to the farmhouse.

“I’m fine,” she hears herself say from far away, smiling at citizens commending her bravery or patting her on the back. “I’m fine,” at the kitchen table, a nurse gingerly removing a bullet she caught in the shoulder. “I’m fine,” she tells Tom, who is patting down her bloodstained arm with a flannel.

“No, you aren’t.”

She’s looked away from everyone but can’t avoid him. His voice is deliberately steady as he dabs gently around the stitches. “You saved someone today. You killed someone today. You are not okay.”

“I shot him in the heart.” She feels her jaw. It’s still speckled in the man’s blood. Her whole body screams in pain, but she refused the morphine Maxine offered. Alyssa’s going to need their whole supply.

Besides, she’s frightened of falling asleep.

“You did what you had to. You’d do it again, and you’d be right to.”

“I know he was just, just playing his part, but all I could see is one of those soldiers hitting Cam, and knowing they were going to hurt me next, and I felt this, this pain in my head, and she wouldn’t stop crying, and I can still hear it even now.” Her voice feels flat, like it isn’t her own. “And I know you’ve had it so much worse - the poor kid’s had it worse - but I-“

“Hey,” his voice is gentle but stern. “This isn’t trauma Top Trumps, Jody. You’re allowed to hurt. And you don’t have to protect me from it.”

“Trauma Top Trumps sounds really terrible,” she manages a small laugh, trying to make her tone light. “Shooting a guard dead at point blank range - trauma, seven; nightmares, four; fear factor, three. Seeing a little girl get her eye torn out-”

She stops, feeling the colour sap from her face.

He looks at her reproachfully, and daubs the blood from her chin.

“You held it together out there. It’s more than I could have done. But you’re home now. You can let it all go.”

“No, I can’t. Don’t you get it?” She’s angry now, pushing the chair back from the table with an unpleasant screech across Janine’s kitchen floor. “I can’t let it go because if I’m not ready to do something at any moment, someone like Denton could make me powerless. I could lose someone again. I could lose you.”

“I’m not going anywhere-“

“But someone could take you. Something could go wrong in the field.” You could lose your grip on your sanity.

He doesn’t promise that it won’t happen, but he takes her face in both hands, and presses his forehead to hers. She breathes sweat and smoke and cocoa butter. “Let go, Jodes.”

“No!”

She pulls away, and there in the doorway is someone with two laden dinner plates. The smell of roast lamb hits the back of her throat before Tom can get them to leave, and she gags, and retches, and then at last the tears are flowing down her cheeks. He cradles her in his arms, and keeps the world blocked out for a while.

[coldflasher]

Part of Femslash Week, organised by @flarrowverse-shipyard​ :D Femslash Week Day 4 - Bed Sharing/Snuggling

Pairing: Charlie/Zari Tarazi

Rating: Teen (mentions of sex)

TW: mentions of sex and character death

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23028457 

All That Glitters by coldflasher (capriciouslouis on ao3)

“Most of the rooms down this corridor are spoken for," says Sara. "You’re gonna have to bunk up.”

Thanks to a mysterious shortage of rooms on the Waverider, Zari and Charlie have to share a bed. Neither of them are particularly upset about the situation.

“So can you really shapeshift into anything?”

They’re lying in bed together in Charlie’s bedroom, which looks like a teenager’s emo phase met a museum exhibit in the middle of a tornado. Glossy vinyl records spill out of their sleeves all across the floor like the world’s most dangerous stepping stones. There are clothes abandoned everywhere where Charlie’s stepped out of them and left them there, including a pair of lacy black underwear draped over the lampshade, and battered punk posters of howling singers plastered all over the walls. It wouldn’t have been Zari’s first choice of bedroom, but she didn’t exactly get to choose. When she’d announced she was staying, she’d had a look through a bunch of different rooms and thought she’d finally found a nice one - a little vintage, smelling faintly of perfume - when Sara had grabbed her by the arm.

“Nope. This one’s off limits.”

“Why? There’s no one in here.” And there hadn’t been for some time, judging by the layers of dust. 

Sara hesitated. “It belonged to a friend.”

“Well your friend isn’t here now, and I am, so…”

“You’re temporary,” Sara snapped. “You don’t get to rearrange everything just to suit you.”

“Who made you the boss?” asked Zari. Certainly no one who believed in the importance of manners.

Sara smiled thinly. “Popular vote.” She released Zari’s wrist. “Most of the rooms down this corridor are spoken for. You’re gonna have to bunk up.”

At the time Zari had been deeply unimpressed by this rudeness - the ship was huge, and there were so many empty rooms, so why shouldn’t she take one that was free? But when she’d tried to let herself into another empty bedroom, this time it was the AI that locked her out.

“What is with you people?” she demanded. “Why do you hate me?”

“This room belonged to Leonard Snart,” Gideon told her. “It has remained almost untouched since his death at the Vanishing Point in 2016.”

Zari had been trying to prise a panel off the wall to see if she could have another flash of inspiration that would let her hack her way in, but at this, she paused.

“Wait,” she said. “This room belonged to a dead guy?”

Gideon explained, and she discovered the sad truth of all those rooms lying empty. Each one was a time capsule for a departed team member. Some had left voluntarily, others had passed away - but regardless of the circumstances, each bedroom still remained as its occupant had left it, like a time capsule. As if the team was waiting for their lost and fallen members to come walking back through the door. They could travel back and forth in time, but the people they loved were still lost… and apparently it was easier to leave everything as it was than to move on.

This deeply traumatising discovery had a horrible effect on Zari, who was an empath and highly sensitive. She’d ended up in the kitchen having a staring competition with a doughnut, afraid that Behrad’s peace offering the other day had started a dessert-related backslide that she’d never be free of - and that was where Charlie found her.

“You all right?” Charlie asked, concerned. “You look a bit bummed out.”

“All the free bedrooms are for dead people,” Zari mumbled.

Charlie had given her a big grin that had a strangely uplifting effect, like she transferred happiness across the room with one glowing smile.

“Well. If you need somewhere to rest that pretty head, you can always come and have a kip with me.”

That was how they ended up in Charlie’s disaster of a bedroom, and if Zari’s being honest with herself, she doesn’t hate it. Thanks to her social media following, she doesn’t really have the opportunity to be messy. She has to be ready to turn on the camera at all times, to look pretty and perfect and put-together. Dirty laundry isn’t conducive with her brand. 

“So you can really shapeshift into anything?” she asks.

Charlie turns towards her with a  grin. “Ah, there it is. Knew it’d come up eventually. Come on then, spill the beans. Who’s your fantasy shag?”

“Excuse me?” says Zari.

“You know, your fantasy shag! George Clooney, Gillian Anderson… who makes your fanny flutter?”

“George Clooney’s like, super old,” says Zari, wrinkling her nose. “And for the record, your word choice leaves a lot to be desired. I don’t know how you do things in England, but where I’m from ‘fanny’ is not a sexy word.”

“Sorry. Picked up an English accent back in the seventies and for some reason I can’t seem to shake it.” Charlie stretches lazily, pointing her toes, one painted nail poking out through a hole in her fishnet tights. “But you’re changing the subject. Being in bed with me means you can sleep with anyone you like. Who do you want me to be?”

Zari thinks about it for a while. She looks at Charlie sprawled out on the bed with her fuck-me eyes half closed, her wicked grin and the wild cloud of hair wrestled into its braid, tinged purple at the end; her stripey shirt and mesh jacket. Effortlessly sexy and cocky enough to know it. 

“I don’t think I want you to be anybody. I like you how you are.”

Charlie looks surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Zari says. “I mean I know this isn’t your original form, but it looks good on you. I’m sure you still look sexy with your tentacles or whatever -”

“My original form would melt your brain,” says Charlie. “But I can probably rustle up a couple of tentacles if you’re into that.”

“Maybe later,” says Zari. “That’s not my point. I feel like if I was going to sleep with someone with shapeshifting powers, I’d want them to look whichever way made them comfortable. A body’s just a body. The sexy part is what you do with it.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course. I’m very sincere. It’s one of my most awesome qualities.”

Charlie grinned a little bit at that. Zari found herself smiling back.

“I don’t think anyone’s said that to me before,” says Charlie. Her expression dims slightly and she starts toying with a loose thread on the pillowcase. “This isn’t my real face, obviously. Belongs to some bird named Amaya who lived here a few years back. When I first met the team, I put her face on just to mess with them. Then I kind of got stuck with it for a bit. Now I can change again, but I’ve had it so long that it feels like my face. But they still don’t see it that way. Sometimes I feel like they still look at me and see…”

“Her,” Zari says softly.

“Yeah.” Charlie rolls onto her back. “It’s partly my fault, I know. That’s the whole reason I looked like this, because I knew it would throw them off. But now I want to just be me, Charlie, without some random woman hanging over me making them do a double-take when I do something that’s super anti-Amaya. You’re the only one on the ship who hasn’t met her, the only person who looks at me and sees… me.”

It’s the first time she’s ever heard Charlie be serious. No flirting or wisecracks. For the first time, staring into her eyes, Zari can believe that Charlie is a fate. That she’s seen civilisations fall and the centuries pass like seasons. No one as young as Charlie looks could have eyes so old.

“I get that,” she says quietly, propping herself up on her elbow. “It’s not the same, but… when you grow up famous, people think they know you. It’s like there’s a part of you that doesn’t belong to you. I can never just be me; I have to be the brand. And I love it, I’m proud of it, I spent years building it - I just wish people could see past it. Even my parents don’t know me.”

“I have a confession,” says Charlie. 

“Go on.”

“I don’t have a bloody clue who you are.”

Zari cackles. It’s a horribly unattractive sound she would never have permitted in one of her vlogs, but it feels so good to let it out.

“I’m serious! You could tell me you’re the Queen of Sheba and I’d believe ya.”

“You gotta join the Z-nation,” Zari teases, snapping her fingers in a Z-formation. “I’ll add you to the mailing list.”

“You’d better bloody not.”

It feels good to laugh, and even better to have someone laughing with her. When she first joined the team and realised none of Behrad’s friends recognised her, it had pissed her off. She’s an icon! She has a make-up range and a million followers and even if the perfume launch didn’t go exactly to plan, she’s still in the running for influencer of the year if she can knock Stormi Jenner off the top spot. But although Charlie doesn’t know her, she doesn’t make it sound like a bad thing. It’s not because she thinks Zari is vapid or irrelevant or beneath her notice. She just… doesn’t know. There’s no prior expectations, no way she can disappoint. For the first time in years, she can be judged not on who she has been for a decade, but on who she is today.

“I may not know you,” Charlie says softly. “But I’d like to.”

“Well then,” says Zari, offering her a manicured hand. “I’m Zari. Nice to meet you.”

She’s expecting Charlie to shake her hand, but instead, she lifts it up to her mouth and kisses it. And like a fourteen-year-old with a first crush, Zari blushes.

“Yeah,” Charlie says with a smirk, knowing exactly what kind of effect she’s having. “I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

[fanficsrusz]

Family Reunion - Keanu Reeves Fluff

A/n: Anon requested this a while ago and i just got done with it so sorry for making you wait whoever you are 😘 its just a fluffy story so enjoy 👍

Summary: y/n takes her boyfriend, keanu, along to her family reunion.

________________

y/n climbed onto her suitcase as she struggled to close it. "come on close for god's sake" she mumbled to herself as she stretched across it, pulling at the zip.

"babe what are you doing?" y/n jumped, the voice scaring her and she fell to the floor with a thud. 

Keanu walked over to the bed casually, a cup of coffee in hand as y/n struggled to stand.

 "thanks for the help" she moaned and keanu just shrugged laughing. She began to slide the now closed suitcase onto the floor. 

"what are you packing for" keanu asked as he placed a hand into his pockets as he looked at the various items of clothing that were thrown all over the floor. 

Y/n turned to him slowly. "please tell me you're joking. For the love of God you better be joking" y/n stepped closer to him and keanu backed away, seeing the anger in y/n eyes. 

He thought for a moment and came up with nothing and just gave her a sheepish smile hoping that she would take mercy on him. 

"let me give you a clue my sweet boyfriend who I love dearly but is also extremely stupid sometimes" y/n spoke slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "it rhymes with ramily feunion" keanu dropped his mouth open as he suddenly remembered what y/n was packing for. 

"shit thats this week" keanu asked and y/n laughed sarcastically as she shook her head "its tomorrow. We leave tonight.

As much as she wanted to throw something at her forgetful boyfriend, she couldn't help but watch as he began to run around the bedroom as he gathered all the things he would need for the trip. 

Keanu suddenly stopped and rushed to y/ns side. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her closer to him. "i'm sorry i forgot. Do you mind helping me pack?". 

Y/n couldn't help but smile as she nodded her head "how could I resist someone as cute as you" she kissed his lips quickly before she moved over to his wardrobe, grabbing various items from inside. 

____

Keanu twiddled his thumbs as he looked out the cab window. Y/n placed her hand onto his, stopping his actions. 

"why are you nervous? They're going to love you. I promise" y/n offered him a small smile and keanu could barely even look at her. 

"this would be the first time meeting them y/n. What if they don't like me? What if they hate me? What if they dont think im good enough for you? What if-" y/n stopped his rambling with a kiss. 

Pulling away she held his face, forcing him to look at her.

"look i know my family. They're going to love you i promise and besides…" she sat back before continuing ".... I'm the one dating you not them so they don't really have a say in it do they". 

Keanu smiled as y/n settled his nerves, making them disappear with her truthful words.

They were only at bay for a little while longer though because they sooned pulled up outside y/n childhood home. 

Thanking the cab driver, the pair stood at the gate. 

Y/n grabbed keanus hand and gave it a squeeze as she reassured him. 

"you ready?" she asked and keanu shook his head. "is it too late to go home?" y/n laughed and began to drag him towards the door "come on" 

Before she could even ring the bell, the door swung open, revealing an older woman. She looked similar to y/n but somehow different. 

The woman threw her arms around y/n neck and began to kiss her face. 

"hi mum" y/n laughed as she just accepted the attack. 

"Oh, darling. It's been so long, ive misses you. You look so grown up" she held y/n at arms length as she took in her daughters appearance. 

That's when she noticed the tall, handsome man behind her daughter. Practically pushing y/n aside, she stepped forward and hugged keanu. 

"and you must be keanu, the man who has captured my daughters heart. You're so handsome" keanu gave an awkward smile. "you must be mrs y/l/n. Its nice to finally meet you. Youre just as beautiful as your daughter." she swooned as she turnt to y/n. 

"darling you've got a true gentlemen here and please call me mum sweetie." she gestured towards keanu. 

"come inside, everyone has been waiting for your arrival". 

The pair followed her inside and towards the living room and keanu felt scared at the amount of people in the room. 

Y/n screamed as she ran over to her sister, hugging her tightly. Keanu recognised her from when she stayed with them but everyone else was a mystery. 

He stood awkwardly at the doorway, not knowing what to do with himself and settled on just waiting for y/n yo return to his side. 

Two burly looking men soon walked over to him and keanu gulped. 

"oh so you're the boyfriend huh? im her father" one of them said sternly and keanu felt intimidated as he nodded before introducing himself. "yes. Hello, My name is keanu sir. It's nice to meet you" he stretched out his hand before quickly pulling it back when her dad didn't accept it. 

"aren't you a little old for y/n?" the other man piped up. This was an issue that keanu feared most. He rubbed his neck nervously. 

"would you two leave him alone. Dad he is only 15 years older than me. You're 17 years older than mum so what's the issue? And you uncle Steve, play nice" she leaned up to kiss each man on the cheek. 

"well we only want the best for you y/n" her dad said and y/n laughed as she moved over to keanu, grabbing onto his arm. "keanu is the best for me now if you don't mind, I want to introduce him to everyone else". 

She pulled him away before her dad and uncle could intimidate him anymore and keanu let out a sigh of relief. 

"don't worry about them two, they'll soon warm up to you. Now I want you to introduce you to my grandmother."

Y/n pulled keanu other to a frail old lady sat in an armchair. Y/n crouched next to her as she placed a hand onto her leg, grabbing the women's attention. 

"Nana, I want to introduce you to my boyfriend keanu" she moved to the side, giving keanu some space to crouch next to her. 

"hello, im keanu, it's nice to meet you". The old woman suddenly grabbed his face and squished his cheeks, causing y/n to giggle. 

"look at you. Aren't you a handsome boy. Y/n keep him by your side or I might just steal him from you" keanu gave an amused smile as he laughed at the old woman's joke. “Yes grandma. Come on keanu we have a lot of other people to meet"

y/n continued to introduce him to other various family members throughout the night and eventually everyone started to enjoy his company, laughing at the jokes and stories he told about his life.

At one point, even y/n's father found himself growing comfortable around him. 

At around 9pm, everyone sat around the dinner table, eating and talking about random subjects. y/n was too preoccupied talking to her sister that she didn't notice how her mum was questioning keanu. 

“So, have you two thought about marriage? Children?” keanu’s eyes went wide as he looked at y/n for an escape route. 

“Uhhh y/n?” she looked up at her boyfriend to see him looking like a lost puppy. “What?”

“I wanted to know if you two have thought about children yet?” y/n spat out her wine, causing everyone to turn to her as she abruptly stood from her seat. “Okay i think it's time that we went to bed. Keanu lets go.” she grabbed keanus hand as she began to walk up the stairs.

 “I love you all but you're all terrible” she called before disappearing out of sight, keanu giving a sheepish smile as he went. 

y/n walked down the halls of the house until she reached the last room. Keanu stared at the door covered with posters and smiled. Pushing open the door, he couldn't help but laugh at the room which was bright pink, fairy lights hung along the ceiling and the small objects that allowed him to glimpse into the life that y/n had before she met him. 

He picked up a picture frame and smiled as he looked at the picture of y/n with some friends. He could see that she was a lot younger in the picture but she still looked like his y/n. Placing it down he turned to y/n who just stared at him.

 “What?” she asked as she jumped onto the bed. Keanu followed and sat next to her as he continued to take in the room around him. “Nothing. Its just so weird to see this side of you.”

“Yeah well my mum just kept it the same after I left home. I kinda miss it you know, the ease of not having to work and just being able to do what I want when I want. No commitments” y/n sighed as she thought about her childhood and felt sad at the thought that she was now an adult. 

"well there are a few perks of being an adult" keanu rolled over as he hovered above y/n leaning down into her. Y/n smirked as she played coy "oh yeah? What's that then". Keanu moved his hand down to her pants as he moved to kiss her.

Their faces were millimetres away when the door was thrown open and y/n dad walked in, causing the pair to jump apart, keanu standing to attention without even thinking and her father blushed in embarrassment. 

"DAD! Learn to knock for christ sake" 

"sorry sweetie. It's just that your mum told me to ask you if you two could watch the kids for a few hours? A few of us wanted to go to the cinema for a late night show and we know that you don't really like that sort of thing?" he shifted awkwardly not really knowing where to look and y/n smiled. 

" sure dad. We can watch them" she stood as she placed a kiss on his cheek "we'll be down in a few minutes dad" 

"thank you sweetie. keanu" he gave an awkward smile towards him before leaving the room as quickly as he had entered. 

Turning back to keanu, y/n bursted into laughter "i feel like a teenage girl sneaking a guy into my room" y/n moved over to a small trunk at the end of her bed and pulled out a few books from inside. 

Keanu fell onto the bed in embarrassment. 

"I never want to look at your dad ever again" keanu threw his head back and y/n laughed dragging him out of the room. "don't be silly keanu" 

Pulling his hand, she lead him downstairs where all the adults stood in their jackets. 

Y/n's mum looked over at them and laughed as her father's face turned red and he looked away. 

"thank you for doing this sweetie. We shouldn't be more than a few hours" her mum walked over and kissed her on the cheek and gave keanu a small hug before the group left. 

Closing the door behind them, y/n turned to keanu "and just like that we're in charge. Lets go" she marched towards the living room where her niece and nephew sat. 

They had arrived only in the last hour and she was yet to see them. 

"Y/N!!!" both kids yelled when she came into view causing y/n to laugh. She crouched to their level and they rushed to her, giving her a tight hug. 

"oh wow you two are getting big. I can't believe you're 5 and 8? You're practically adults" she kissed them on their cheeks as they giggled at their aunt. 

"y/n i've missed you so much" her niece, Grace, said "oh well now i'm here. Has your big brother been looking after you?" the little girl nodded frantically and y/n laughed. 

Grace stepped back shyly as she looked at the man behind her aunt. Y/n noticed and smiled. 

"oh guys i would like you to meet keanu" y/n stepped aside so keanu came into view. He gave a small wave and smiled sweetly at the kids. 

"hi. Its nice to meet you" 

"you're so tall" the boy, Rick, said in awe causing y/n to giggle.

Keanu thought for a second before speaking "yeah well you can be tall as well if you eat all your vegetables" Rick gave keanu a strange look before laughing "yeah mum has already tried that on me, it's not going to work" keanu held his hands up defensively "right ok sorry" 

"ok stop bullying my boyfriend. You two need to go to bed. I'll read you a story if you want" y/n began to usher them up the stairs and towards their room where they got ready for bed. 

~

Peering around the corner of the kids room, keanu watched as y/n read a story to the children. Each child tucked under her arms fast asleep as she finished the book. He couldn't help but smile as he felt a flutter in his heart. 

Y/n looked up as keanu leaned on the door frame and motioned for him to help her up. 

Keanu walked over and gave her a hand, slowly helping her stand from the bed without disturbing the kids. 

"why were you staring" she whispered as she turned the light off and the pair made their way to their own room. Keanu smiled and pulled y/n to face him, placing his lips onto hers. The kiss was sweet and full of love. 

Y/n pulled back and laughed. 

"not that im complaining but what was that for?" she giggled wrapping her arms around his neck. 

"seeing you with grace and Rick made me realise how much of an awesome mum you would make. Maybe your mum is right. Maybe we should think about moving on in our life, settling down and having some kids" y/n stared at him for a second before a smile graced her lips "seriously?" she asked and keanu nodded happily. 

"well, let's talk about it properly when we get home ok" she leaned up to kiss his cheek before walking towards their bedroom. 

~

Y/n climbed into bed and keanu followed, pulling her flush against his body and y/n smirked facing him. "you know we could start to practice the process of making children" she drew circles on his chest and keanu smirked before kissing her on the forehead. 

"as much as I would love to do that, I'm not going to try anything else….. Your dad scares me. '' he whispered the last part as he remembered how her dad walked in on them before and Y/n laughed as she slapped his chest playfully "ok fine. goodnight you big baby" 

"night babe"

The end

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