#if it's not up she's always found it unmanageable and that's just Not Done

[yaburnaee]

obsessed with the idea that all 3 a.rcheron sisters had ringlet style curly blonde hair as infants and children, eventually growing out of the curls but not quite out of the unruliness

[planchettewrites]

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)/AFAB!Reader

DESCRIPTION: You find out about Bella Donna Boudreaux, and you are not happy about it.

CONTENT: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Threats of Breakup, Mentions Remy's Past (*Using the Original X-Men Animation Series as Ref.)

A/N: This is not my favorite Remy work I've done, but I think it's still pretty good. This is pretty heavy hurt/comfort, and the ending is a little rushed. TBH I wanted to just write this and get it over with. WIPs can only have such a long shelf life! I may eventually update this later.

848 words | Safe!

"Remy…" You walked cautiously into your and Remy's shared bedroom in his apartment near the school, anger bubbling inside you. In your hand, you held a letter from some woman named Bella Donna Boudreaux. The letter was old, at least five years old. You found it while cleaning out one of Remy's closets, finding it in a box on the top shelf when it came tumbling out of the closet. "What is this?"

Remy, who was reading, immediately shot up. His black and red eyes looked at you with so much shock. He looked like a man who got caught. “Ma chérie,” he started.

"What is this, Remy?" you shot, effectively cutting him off. "Who the fuck is Bella Donna Boudreaux?"

"Chérie, it's not what you think." Remy stood up from the bed and began slowly approaching you. 

You weren't stupid; you could read what the letter said, and that letter painted a rather different story than your current reality. "I think it's exactly what I think, Remy. What the hell does 'I'll forever be your wife' mean, then? Remy, we've been dating for three years, and this letter is five years old. Are you married?" you roared, your anger almost unmanageable. 

Your mind was racing with every possible answer that Remy could've given you, and none of them were positive explanations. Your relationship with Remy was the best you ever had; he was kind, generous, and giving, and overall, he was a spectacular partner who always put your needs first. You loved Remy more than you could fathom; this letter was heartbreaking.

Before he could answer, you began to read some of the letter to him. "Remy, mon amour, I miss you every day. Every day you are gone is like a stab in the heart. I still remember the day I last saw you; you looked handsome as ever, mon cœur." you stopped reading the letter and threw it on the bed. "What the fuck is this?"

"Darlin', that's all old history, Bella Donna is…"

"Your wife, apparently, Remy." you began to tear up. Nothing shattered your heart like reading that letter did. You had read through the entire thing before you confronted your boyfriend, and you knew a love letter when you read one. You started shaking your head, putting your palm up to your forehead. "I can't fucking believe this."

Without even noticing, he got closer, Remy turned you around and gently pulled your hand from your head. His face portrayed an emotion of hurt. As much as you wanted to scream at him, tear him apart, something in you knew that he had some proper explaining to do. "Darlin', listen to me. Please."

You sighed roughly, continuing to shake your head. "Fine. You better have a great explanation for this, Remy. Or I'm done."

He sighs. Remy knew this day would come eventually—whether it be when filing for marriage paperwork or when his past eventually bubbled up to the surface. If he was honest with himself, he completely forgot about that letter; it was shoved in that box with the rest of his past in the Thieves's Guild. Looking at you, his heart was breaking. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt you. 

"Well, darlin', it starts back in New Orleans. The long and the short of it is that Bella Donna Boudreaux was a member of the Assassin's Guild, and I was a member of the Thieves's Guild. We were arranged to be married in an attempt to unite the guilds. Gambit didn't love her, so he walked away from the altar. Bella Donna wrote me that letter as a last-ditch effort to get me back. I don't know how she even found my address, but she sent it. I forgot that I even kept it. I promise I didn't marry her, mon amour. I don't love her. My heart does not belong to another; it only belongs to you." He held you steady in front of him, and he watched how the tears forming in your eyes began to roll down your cheeks. 

Remy pulled you into a tight hug as you cried. "Shh, don't cry, chérie, Gambit's right here."

"Don't ever fucking scare me like that." you cried. Right now, you hated yourself. There was no way you could deny what you read, but you trusted your boyfriend with every word he said. Remy wasn't one to tell you a lie. Ever since you began dating, he has been nothing but honest and upfront with all that he said. "M’sorry, Remy. I'm really sorry."

Gently letting go of you, Remy cupped your cheeks and placed a kiss on your forehead. "No reason to apologize, mon amour. You were scared, and that situation seemed nasty. I understand."

"I was just so worried that you were keeping something from me, especially something that would change our relationship."

"I know, chérie, I know." He cooed, pulling you back into the hug. 

You sighed, letting the anxiety go. “Please forgive me.”

He smiled. “Gambit forgives ya’, chérie. Of course I do.”

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

I need some clarification here, because I'm getting conflicting information with what I've been taught is "fandom protocol" (I'm an elder, so maybe I'm out of the loop a bit.) I was under the impression that if you disagree with someone, block and move on with life. Don't engage, don't mob, just block and move on with life. I see you reblogging posts from folks who have admitted that that's what they did - followed basic fandom protocol.

Are you now saying that those that reblogged that screenshot post are responsible for sending the message that "it's okay to mob the OP with death threats" by doing so? Aren't most of these blogs 18+ that are admittedly only responsible for their own actions? Are we now to wait 24 hours to ensure there's not a dialogue that needs to happen? Obviously fact-checking should be done, but things slip through, especially when it's from a source we perceive as a vetted source.

You're starting to hold folks accountable for crimes which they confess they did not commit. One offered a sincere, public apology taking responsibility for their actions, an acknowledgement of the harm they caused, and a commitment to doing better in the future along with removing the offending post after your call out. Isn't that what a good apology is?

I think you've moved the goalposts on this, and it's no longer about spreading awareness of Gaz-erasure (whether intentional or not) and the inappropriate screen-grab rage-bait of a post. I am very concerned for Myka - they never should have been put in this place. But I think your emotions are swelling out past those that deserve it.

(BTW, I did send the same ask to CrashTestBunny, but I'd like your thoughts too - especially on block-and-move-on and being responsible for follower's actions as an 18+ blog.)

I did see this in bunny's blog and did ponder on what you asked and here's my two cents on it:

(this is so long)

When you're on the internet and posting things publicly, you're not isolated, you're not alone.

Your blog, even if you make sure to never reblog/interact with it or use tags and therefore think you're keeping it anonymous, you're really not.

You're never immune from being found, from being criticised for the things you say, and you are certainly not anonymous.

I start by saying that to say that there will ALWAYS be people ready to criticise others for the things they say/post or the way they act.

So even if the "fandom etiquette" dictates that you should block and move on with your life, that's not to say everyone will.

And in this case, what happened with @/codslut had nothing to do with being unable to block and move on. That only works for posts you see in your dash and don't like, because we all are responsible for curating our algorithm and choosing what we interact with.

With @/codslut, she became a victim of public scorn over a misunderstanding and misinterpretation like a game of broken telephone.

And the person that screenshotted her post and shared it with their followers knew exactly what they were doing by doing so which was publicly posting about it and creating discourse among their followers.

I want to believe they thought they were an island/isolated, but I know (and we all know) they knew they weren't. Turns out they have a history of influencing their followers (by accident or on purpose, doesn't matter) into ganging up on other creators.

And with blogs as big as the screenshotter's, with as big of a following and that much of an activity, and, of course, the reblogging that came from other big blogs with massive followings as well...

It's no wonder it all spun out of control and became unmanageable.

And, as usual, the internet will do what the internet will do, and bad apples will find their way into controversial posts (like the Gaz erasure) and then go bully people because they think they can.

And in this situation... blocking and moving on doesn't work. It simply doesn't.

@/codslut didn't have the choice to block and move on with her day. Not after what was basically a scorn campaign that sent dozens of people her way.

These blogs, big ones, have a responsibility, not to police their follower's actions (as if a parent) but to hold themselves accountable because they did throw wood into the fire by reblogging it and putting it in more people's dashboards.

They can't just wash their hands of all responsibility, because they did have a hand in it. Even if they didn't mean to.

TL;DR: 1- "Block and Move On" only works on the dash, not when people are harrassing you in your blog/inbox; 2- You're not responsible for your followers' actions, but you are responsible for the fact you instigated their actions by poking the beast.

[16sydd16]

✍🏾👓🥳

✍️ What's your ideal writing setup?

Okay, picture this: it's well after the sun has gone down, and I don't need to wake up early the next morning. I'm feeling good, just found my second wind. It's raining—like, thunderstorm type rain—and the world seems quieter because of the consistent noise of the storm. I'm in bed with something to sip on, my laptop propped up on my feet, and I've found my flow. Time passes, and I do not notice for a long while. When I finally catch the time and realize it's almost 2am, I don't worry, because there's no alarm to wake up to in the morning. Life is good🤓 More realistically, it's me, in my bed, with my laptop connected to the charger, my water bottle, and desktop spotify streaming straight to my ears through decent headphones. Maybe some twin snakes if I need a little boost😉 👓 What helps you focus when you write?

Music! I actually write best in silence, but I'm really easily distracted by outside sounds. So, when silence isn't possible (which is basically all the time lol), the predictable sound of music is my go to in order to focus. I'd say writing in a room alone helps, too. I'm a yapper, so if someone else is around, I usually want to chat.

🥳 Why did you start writing fanfic?

Oh gosh, this is a big one! I think initially, I started writing it because I didn't know how else to cope. I'm chronically ill, and my chronic illness came on really suddenly in my teens. I was a very serious athlete and student before I got sick, and then when I fell ill, I had to quit school and sports. I spent (and still do spend) a lot of time in bed because my body doesn't like to do what I tell it. In that, I found fic! I started with reading it, then eventually moved onto writing it. We don't need to talk about the first fic from when I was 15🌝 But it helped me get through. I put fic down for a year, then picked it up again in college, when I was coming to terms with being queer. Fic helped me figure out that I was bi! In my last couple years of college, I put fic down to work on some original stuff, and got a degree in the literary field. My chronic illness became unmanageable during what was supposed to be my last semester of college, and I had to move 1000 miles back home. It's been a rollercoaster, but when I was searching for myself, I came back to fic. Writing Cadina fic led me to some of my best friends, and it's been an amazing thing to be a part of! That all sounds so dramatic and sad. Sorry. The REAL reason why I started writing Cadina specifically is because I saw MG2024 in theaters with my sister, took one look at Reneé and all of the gay staring between Cady and Regina, and said "someone has to have written fic about this." And they had! Woohoo! And then I wrote some more:) Fun fact, my sister actually looked over at me during meet the plastics because of the ungodly squawk I let out and said "are you okay?". She's only done that twice. Once then, and once when we saw Taylor do "Vigilante Shit" at the Eras tour. What can I say? Singing blonde women have always been a weakness for me😉

Thanks so much for the ask!!

[jungkoode]

i still remember the day i found fmu— from a recs page when my account wasn’t verified yet— i think it was when ‘rogue elements’ was published? and it just immediately clicked with me. i was so mad that i hadn’t verified my account because i wanted to leave a like and comment SO FUCKING BAD cuz i had never encountered writing like THAT before. im myself a small writer and i write stuff for my uni publishments sometimes nothing big lol but yeah, and let me tell you kiki, your wording and structuring really got me thinking. sure i’ve done plenty of writing before but after that was when i started thinking “okay, but what if i thought of something this way? how much of a difference would it make to the entire experience?”

and to those anons who are fucking jobless and want to spread NOTHING but hate— here’s why I as a READER myself heavily fw the ‘DIY Bracelet’ chapter — aka me rambling about the subtle details i caught.

1. Jeon Jungkook’s new image. See, we all knew he had some sort of a layered character. But what we saw till now was his shallow flirty side. But here I see what Rogue’s interests really are (besides annoying phee). The detailing about film and photography? Hell fucking yes.

And just when you’re about to think “Oh wait they’re like real real friends now” — He retracts. Doesn’t show too much of his instagram account. Doesnt let her in like she didnt let him too.

2. We know Phee always lived in a controlled environment. Her family background even tho not too much is kind of edging towards the clearer side now. She doesn’t know many things yet. So shes guarded. Careful. And for the first time she sees not only Rogue but also other boys (like the one who gave her meds) are sometimes observant. Intrusive. So that humanizes rogue a bit in her mind leading to the soft shift in their dynamic.

3. Phoenix and Rogue ™️. We have seen the moment during that one day when these random nicknames popped up. Lmfao as hilarious as it was, you can see how it grew on them. And in FMU 20, it is finally solidarized. Branded. They have let themselves accept it.

Such psychological nooks and crannies are so rare in a fic these days and me getting to thinking and analysing every word of each chapter shows that HOW MUCH the existence of each moment and chapter are VALID.

And can those anons NOT see the clear red ‘slow burn’ in your masterpost? Im so fucking done with people who think its okay to fucking hate on someone. Im glad you always remain firm. Im learning that too from you. Youre so admirable, kiki. I appreciate your works so much and cant wait for unmanageable.

Kiki nation citizen signing off ✨.

Anon… you have no idea how much this means to me.

Like—I’m actually kind of sitting here blinking at the screen like a total loser. This kind of thoughtful, analytical, emotionally intelligent engagement?? It’s everything I hope for when I write. It’s everything I dream of reaching.

You got it. You really got it.

The bracelet chapter wasn’t just about two idiots playing arts and crafts. It was Jungkook letting down a layer of armor—and then pulling it back up the second it felt too intimate. It was Phoenix noticing, maybe for the first time, that his messiness is constructed. That his chaos is a coping mechanism. And she respects it, because she does the same thing. The moment she picks the rain charm after he chooses the sun? That’s not a random choice—it’s the emotional grammar of the entire story. Two people defining themselves in contrast to each other, even as they orbit closer.

And you’re so right about their names. Phoenix and Rogue started off as a joke—something loud and playful to keep things casual. But now they’re holding onto them. They’re creating mythology around each other. Language as intimacy. Naming as a form of connection that’s safer than honesty. And the bracelet solidifies that—it’s not about the object, it’s about what they’re willing to wear.

When you said: “She sees that people—boys—can be observant, even when she’s used to being the only one paying attention.” YES. THAT. You understood the shift. The internal processing. The slow opening of someone who has built a life on walls and withdrawal. That’s what the bracelet chapter is. Not filler. Not delay. Progress, but at the pace that feels earned.

And for you to say it made you reflect on your own writing?? I’m not kidding, that’s one of the highest compliments I could ever receive. Writing that inspires other writers to think about craft? To ask themselves how structure and POV and language shape emotion?? That is my dream. Always has been. That’s what I care about most—not just writing stories, but telling them in a way that moves the floorboards underneath people.

Also—thank you for defending the slow burn. Truly. Because it’s not just about patience. It’s about psychological realism. About creating characters with agency, trauma, emotional resistance. It’s not a delay tactic—it’s the entire point. Watching someone learn to love. Watching someone let themselves be loved. That takes time. And it deserves that time.

You are exactly who I write for. You are the reason I can stand firm through the nonsense. So thank you, deeply, for being here. For paying attention. For seeing the craft and the care and the intent. I will hold onto this message the next time I’m spiraling and wondering if anyone sees what I’m trying to do.

Kiki Nation salutes you. And the first chapter of Unmanageable is near, so stay close.

Big love. Real soft.

[mxllitiam]

Effie had been... settling. This was what the officials from Thirteen would say, with that funny restraint in their voice, like they were too busy gritting their teeth to get any other words out. They didn't like her -- that was an understatement. At least that's how Effie felt, stripped of all of her belongings and thrown into a disgusting grey attire that could be upstaged by an old sack of potatoes. What an awful, sad little life the people in this district have lived, without color, without wigs, without a single pair of high heels. Heaven forbid anyone expressed anything in this rat hole of a state!

So maybe she was harboring some unmanaged anger issues, sure. Could she be blamed? At least the worst of it had trickled down, washed off of her after a handful of days underground. She'd grown used to the feeling of being stuffed beneath the earth, with the thick air and the (horrid) fluorescent lights. The worst of it had been the first few days, when her team was all fuck knows where, left behind or unconscious, and she didn't know which was worse. She'd done a lot of screaming around the halls, then.

They'd let her bite her own tail and run circles around herself until the energy ran out. Now she could focus her thoughts elsewhere, and she tried to be useful as she could. This grey chasm of a district needed some form of beauty, of art brought into it, and if she had to be the one to do it, she would. The knock on her door was unusual -- Haymitch wouldn't knock before he entered, and she wasn't expecting anyone. Luckily, she'd become an expert in quickly stuffing all of her hair back up into her head wrap, an extra piece of uniform she'd cut up to hide all of her real hair underneath. It was a pain to keep wearing it. It'd be more of a pain to walk around wigless and let everyone see her real hair, though. 

She swung the door open, and it only took her a second or two to place the familiarity she was feeling. "Juniper. From District Seven!" There was surprise in her tone. Effie Trinket was good with names, if nothing else; she always remembered the names of the tributes from that year, and she vividly remembered watching Juniper on her screen earlier -- just a week ago, even. That seemed like a lie. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" A hand rested on her hip inquisitively, and her smile was sweet. This was something well-known to her, being polite, putting on smiles, talking to the public, whoever it meant. It was a mask she always found easy to slip on. "You'll have to pardon my appearance, of course. I'm still convincing Plutarch to give me any sort of makeup or at least some wigs. So embarrassing."

STARTER for @mxllitiam ( effie trinket ) where: district 13

Juniper definitely didn't like the color grey. It sat dull on her pale skin, it sucked the vibrance out of everyone, and it made their existence as people seem robotic and controlled, instead of natural and in abundance. She was bothered, even more than the uniforms, that she couldn't see the sun. She yearned for the rays that would peak between tree leaves, or flood the meadows. There was a sense of humanity back in 7, even with its starvation and double shifts, even with its sunburns and sweat-soaked clothes. At least June could breathe there. Here, in 13, she felt guilty for breathing in deep, for trying to expand the lower reaches of her lungs. It would be — wasteful. Yes, that was the term. Wasteful.

Fighting off suffocation was hard and Juniper was desperate to find something that would make her feel a little more like HER again. She had fussed with the length of her uniform sleeves, with the buttons around her neck, and with the laces of her shoes for so long that her hair had started to grow out. Well, not the parts she kept long purposely but the undercut, the part that felt rebellious when she'd done it years before the reaping and years before she would ever join the resistance. Perhaps, as she reminded herself, she was always built for this life.

Rumors of Effie Trinket's ' beautification ' had trickled into her ears like gnats to June, because why, in the world of everything going on, would June need to be beautified ?

Turns out that she really did, and it's why she found herself in front of Effie's room, hoping it weren't intrusive. She lifted back her shoulders to stand tall, keeping hands from fussing with the elastic around her blonde hair. It was fine, she'd be fine. She could — interact.

Forcing herself was the only way through. KNOCK KNOCK.

[tim-lucy]

What do you despise about it?

Well, when it comes to The Rookie and how much I love both Tim and Lucy as characters, I really like to approach the situation from both of their points of view. It's fun for me to see if I can figure out the intent behind their actions as opposed to just feeling things and jumping to conclusions based on those feelings. I do that with many of my other shows hehehe because it's fun to just watch and scream and, at the end of the day, so much is just interpretation.

Buuuut as someone who likes to see both sides of things, I just, personally, find it hard when it comes to Lucy’s point of view here. To me, the angst only works when I can see good intentions on both sides. I don't think Lucy has bad intentions ever, but it’s hard to find the silver lining. She’s just so confident she can make this work because she’s such a bright and positive human being, and it seems as if it’s giving her a bit of tunnel vision.

I think she gets a buzz from undercover work, which I would imagine that many uc officers do. She's great at it, people tell her she's great at it, and she's felt the rush of a job well done. The excitement in her voice (kudos to Melissa's acting!!) when Tim asked if she needed to pull out and she was saying she was going to take the whole thing down from within...it just clearly gives her a thrill. When she said she would stop before it ever got to an unmanageable point I found that to be a bit questionable.

I was once doing something that was bound to get out of hand quickly, but I kept telling myself I'd stop before I ever let it get bad. I never recognized when I reached that point and then a very scary thing happened while I still thought I had everything under control. PLOT TWIST I did not LOL. Obviously, this is me self-inserting, but that's part of the reason why I'm personally so wary. If she's not willing to listen to Tim when he points out red flags, she's already in the thick of it.

On the other hand, I feel like it's unfair to Tim. If Lucy wants to do undercover then that's up to her. But I think she shouldn't be with Tim if that's the case. It's an extremely hard thing to put your partner through, not just in terms of worrying about you, but in terms of their own life. They always talk about their future kids, and by becoming a uc officer, she's essentially leaving him to be a single dad for six months to a year on and off. On top of that, what would that mean for his career? And the safety of their family, as they would all be obvious targets? It's literally the reason Harper had to leave her husband and daughter.

I also wasn't a huge fan of the way she seemed put off about his concerns at the end of the episode and acted like he simply couldn't separate her from Isabel. The lifestyle of a uc officer is the problem here, and she's a little bit too confident about her ability to avoid literally every negative thing that comes with being a uc.

I really don’t want to be unfair to Lucy because it’s clearly due to her limited experience. She needs to witness it for herself. That’s human nature.

But she waaaas worried about Tim's feelings up until he actually admitted, "Yes, I am scared of losing you." Then there seemed to be a bit of a shift of attitude. I expected her to react with compassion, but that's not at all the feelings I was getting. Perhaps that's just my interpretation 🤷‍♀️

Again, I really don't think she has bad intentions! However, I do think, on some level, Lucy is (unintentionally) taking advantage of the fact that Tim would never ask her to sacrifice something she loves. But healthy relationships are about sacrifice and finding a middle ground. Tim gave up positions he loved for Lucy twice without blinking. He even took a desk job just to be with her. Given the level of valid distress he's in (I really don't believe his past with Isabel is the problem, as more as it's made him aware that there will be a problem) it is painful that she’s not willing to do the same. At least, not yet. I’m sure she will once she has the experience everyone keeps warning her about.

If she does love this career so much that would choose it over being with Tim, then she needs to make that clear. My issue is with her trying to have both. Lucy is just such a compassionate person especially when it comes to Tim and his feelings, so it's difficult to watch 😞

ANYWAY!! There's my essay on why I personally don't love this plot line and the way the writers have chosen to go about it. Just my thoughts!! I will step off my soap box now and continue to make moving pictures in this era of canon chenford!! 🏃‍♀️

[dustedmagazine]

Ladytron — Time’s Arrow (Cooking Vinyl)

Photo by Wendy Redfern

Ladytron already had their big comeback. The formed-in-Liverpool, now-international quartet took a few years to assemble their starkly dystopian 2019 self-titled record, shortly before the rest of the world became dystopic in new and interesting ways. Ladytron was practically the model of (one version of) a triumphant return: bigger and bolder and weightier than ever, a real Statement (but with tunes). Everyone’s senses of time seem increasingly fuzzy, but the gap between its release and that first period of chaos and uncertainty seems vanishingly small in retrospect. In 2023, though, no matter how cautious or reckless any of us are being, the simple fact is that living in a still unmanaged pandemic (not to mention… everything else) has become in some way routine. None of the systems of power, control and repression that Ladytron evoked have gone away, but the horrible truth is that humans will adjust to just about anything, even constantly shrieking alarms. Fittingly enough, the first record Ladytron have made in this new normal is less about noticing those structures and more about limning the small moments of beauty, joy and freedom that can still be found within them.

This thematic and tonal shift doesn’t require much of a change in sonics. Mira Arroyo and Helen Marnie’s vocals still feel like each syllable is carefully placed, calibrated to summon up emotions without necessarily directly expressing catharsis. The music sticks to the same general lane Ladytron have trafficked in since they (plus Daniel Hunt and Reuben Wu) moved away from the straightforward throwback synthpop of the first two LPs with 2005’s dreampop-adjacent Witching Hour. That record really unlocked Ladytron’s sound and they haven’t exhausted its possibilities yet; the pulse and stomp of opener “City of Angels” or the sparkling twilight balladry of “Misery Remember Me” are classic examples of what Ladytron has always done well and why it’s good to have them back. 

Especially on the back half of Time’s Arrow, though, there are some new wrinkles. Has Ladytron ever had a song as plainly joyous as “The Night,” with the synths surging warmly around Marnie almost cooing “so let’s go crazy”? It’s followed directly by “The Dreamers,” a little more downcast but still sounding like the soundtrack to running away with someone. Elsewhere “California” almost pleads for the titular state to “make us happy” (albeit on a track that sounds like slowly sliding down the side of a glacier). As you dig into the lyrics none of the songs here are facilely happy, or in denial about the same emotional and structure issues Ladytron brought to the surface. But if that last record was about coming to terms with living in an ongoing disaster (ecological and otherwise), Time’s Arrow is more about navigating life after that kind of realization. The day in/day out still happens, time’s arrow (as Arroyo sings on the closing title track) still glides through your heart. 

As is common on Ladytron records, Marnie sings most of the songs but Arroyo’s couple of leads are crucial. In addition to time another big throughline here is the always-shifting power memory, and on the first side’s “Flight From Angkor” she faces it directly: “memory's a hall of mirrors / echoing for years.” Things keep happening, and the longer they do the more hazy our grasp on that moment of realization we had gets. What is there to do but draw together, find safety and community where we can, try to change things, and dance? 

Ian Mathers

[jolieflows]

—Ostern'; Hasentag—

“Large conflicts make the world feel unmanageable and intangible to us. Nonetheless, there is a brilliant or dim light at the end of the tunnel. The mental tenacity that defines luminosity. If burned too brightly, it will burn out.”

Stepping onto her balcony was Angelina. Unaware that it had been some time since she last visited this specific plain. Also unfamiliar to her but ingrained in her consciousness. She let her delicate hands smooth away any potential rust by rubbing them against the shiny metal of the balcony railing. Standing, existing, and breathing in the air that around her felt almost strange. How brief life is, how it might be, yet how hospitable all the changes have been and will be.

Her blue eyes soaked up the sun's radiance, allowing the light to wash her. The brunette took off her silk top and leaned over the railing to get closer to the sun. Today was Easter, or rather, what Angelina jokingly mistook for "Bunny Day." As the gentle wind chilled her bones, the sun's heat seemed like dancing love coals on her face. What is there to do on a "Easter Sunday" that hasn't previously been done? It's safe to say that the stunning actress had penned a large number of poems, saved her work for her travels, and...had grown more aware of what she had missed. Missed in the absence sense. Her lips twisted into a half-smile as she thought back on the previous days.

“Ich bin verliebt in diese Saison … in das, was ich bin.” The German words, flowed freely from her mouth as she spoke to no one; just herself.

It was true. Angelina had developed a sense of who she was. Including all the complexities of existing, breathing, and loving. She was no longer just an actress. Much more, and it frequently made her afraid. She was now a writer for publications like TIMES, the Wall Street Journal, Global Traveler Inc., etc. But, she was now even closer to the love of her life, which made her giddy with happiness. Yet, Angelina had a strong urge to change with the season today.

Angelina found herself in the flower-filled garden before she knew what had happened. She had taken off her floral skirt and was now barefoot, only wearing her matching silk bra and underwear. Her skin blended with that earthy sensation and the alluring aroma of flowers, soil, and honeysuckle. The actress danced on the uncut, untrimmed grass and weeds, letting her hair blow in the wind. The exquisite flowers, with their open petals appearing to welcome her, gave her skin a slight tingle. The woman tipped her head back and giggled lowly, possibly in delirium, but with genuine ecstasy. It meant so much to her to stop, drop, and roll in this magnificent garden.

Throughout the house, Angelina had left her countless cameras, both used and unused. She looked up at the tempting sun with her legs crossed and her back close to the grass. Its rays are making her more endearing, complimenting her, and in Angelina's thinking, warming and praising her. Because there was no longer the mental pain of a conflict. Naturally, the pouty lip actress was aware that there would still be times when she would barely hang on and the need to lie in the garden would seem like an insurmountable obstacle. Not right now, though. Just her—no camera, no writing instruments. She, the flowers, the Planet, her thoughts, and this Easter Sunday's springtime.

Angelina would remain there, safe in the company of dandelion, rose, tulip, and other wild flowers—a garden of euphoric delight. Her hair was strewn across the grass, her eyes were innocently staring into the sun, and she was thinking only beautiful things. She would lie there on Easter Sunday and perhaps the following "Bunny Day" as well.

“...And if it burns out, it can always be re-lit. Be reignited, reconstructed by all and anything. No stipulation on time, no chain on creativity—and no stain on progress. Life is, in all ways, conflict and strife...but just enough love to make it a life.”

[boop-le-snoot]

main masterlist ☀️ taglist & faq

hot wheels | natasha romanoff x reader

explicit, 5,2k words, f/f. meet-ugly but still very much wholesome. we love a girlboss. natasha catches some random woman keying her brand new car but decides to be the better person for once and hear the woman out. turns out, being the better person can even get one laid! warnings: singular use of the d-slur, references to an abusive ex, lesbian sex.

[no y/n, no "you", nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns]

Natasha gave the tall, lanky boy an unimpressed look as she side-stepped the arguing couple to avoid colliding with the annoyed, teary-eyed woman the boy was groveling to. It was nearing rush hour and there was shopping to be done before the heavy NYC traffic could steer her already busy schedule down into an unmanageable chaos.

"But, Foxy, you know I didn't mean it! I love you, more than anything!"

The items on the spy's list were checked off methodically, item after item landing in the cart with a quiet thud as the redhead maneuvered through the isles with tactical precision. The usual afternoon crowd began to fill the store, taking up the so-needed breathing space; Natasha's shopping trip wasn't a moment of leisure and with her neverending to-do list full, she hurried to the self-check-out register, flying through the motions mindlessly.

Scan, place, beep, boop, pay, load up the bags, make way to the car, load up and pedal to the metal.

Scratch that. No, scratch - Natasha's eyes bulged as she neared her shiny, brand new Charger, seeing the obvious defects even from a mile away: the paint, previously cherry red and gleaming in the sun, ruined by a series of thin, gray lines, standing out unpleasantly on the otherwise pristine vehicle.

And the culprit, who's tuft of hair peeked over the hood of the car on the other side of the Charger, almost fully hidden between her car and the large Chevrolet in the next parking spot over.

Natasha's fingers clenched around the handle of the cart as she fought the urge to reach for her knife safely holstered under her leather jacket. "Excuse me?" Tone quiet and deadly, the spy prepared herself to fight or at least slightly shake up the hooligan.

The figure froze, vaguely familiar clothing and a puffy, tear-stained face slowly rising from behind Natasha's car. "In my defense, he deserves it," the girl - Foxy - the one that was arguing in front of the store earlier, declared through a stream of angry tears. "Call the cops if you want, I don't care." It was unclear if the girl recognised her, the Black Widow, as she made no move to run for the hills, just pathetically sniffled, pocketing the keys she used to scratch Natasha's car.

"That's my car," The spy responded flatly, a great deal of amusement crawling into her face as Foxy's eyes bulged, jaw fell slack, horror plain and evident overshadowing the waterworks. Natasha quickly pieced two and two together but patiently waited for the initial shock to subside before popping a question. "A word of advice, if I may?"

Foxy nodded, dumbfounded, frantically scrambling for the contents of her pockets, searching for something with the agility of a panicking cat, more than half of the contents spilling out onto the ground.

Natasha unlocked the car, popping the trunk and loading in her bags as she raised her voice to be heard over the noise of a busy parking lot. "Don't mess with the paint, the insurance will cover it. Slash three tires - not four - or take a swing at the front bumper and the headlights," the trunk slid shut with a quiet click as the spy inspected the damages close-up. Her Charger looked like it was attacked by a pack of aggressive, feral cats with nails of steel. "And always check the number plates before committing acts of vandalism to make sure you're enacting revenge on the right person." The last part was said with a smirk.

As the spy stepped closer to Foxy, she noted the excessive puffiness of her cheeks and the shaking fingers that held a checkbook and a pen. The woman looked torn between terrified and apologetic, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I'm so, so sorry. Todd just got his new car, it's identical to yours and I didn't get the chance to memorize the number plate yet," the offending man's name was said with a pitiful growl. "How much?" She weakly motioned to the ruined bodywork.

"What'd he do?" Natasha didn't resist her curiousity, leaning against the driver's side door and sizing up the other woman. She was pretty, well-dressed and reasonably wealthy on the first sight. "Yeah, he looked like a Todd," The quip slipped from the redhead's lips as she remembered the man from earlier. Foxy looked way too good to be wasting her time on someone who looked like an adolescent that hadn't outgrown his skater boy phase.

Foxy chuckled shyly at Natasha's remark, smoothing a hand over her face. "Lord, where do I even begin..." The sigh was loud and long. "He lived in my apartment rent-free, made me give up my cat by lying about his allergies, went through nine low-wage jobs in two years, did nothing but play video games in his free time and developed a pot addiction, thus spending all his money on it," she began steadily but her tone grew in pitch with every added offence as Natasha's eyebrows climbed higher and higher. "My last straw was when he took out a loan he couldn't pay off to buy his brand new cool car," the words were spat out with venom. "I threw him out last Saturday. He's been following me around all the time," Foxy continued, growing dark in the face. "And then I found out he had been cheating on me for I don't know how long. I just... I just lost it," she finished pathetically, all but crumbling into a pile of human misery.

Natasha's face had frozen into mute disbelief somewhere around the first half of the story, repulsion and astonishment mixing into a flurry of quiet rage on the random woman's behalf. Menfolk were bizarre animals, and as much as the spy felt herself annoyed by her roommates at the tower, she couldn't help but feel relieved that the men surrounding her were far from douchebags of the casual variety. This Todd, however, was no amateur, and had done Foxy really, really dirty.

The redhead made up her mind rather quickly. "That's a lot to unpack," she carefully studied the micro-expressions on the other woman's face. "I have a couple of nice bottles of wine at my place and nobody to share them with. Care for a glass?"

Foxy's eyes widened once more. "I don't- I don't want to take up your time, I mean, I'm sure you've got more important shit to do, like save the world and y'know..." The stammering was followed by a shy look to the side.

So, Foxy had recognised her. And she didn't go running the other way like most people that encountered her in disadvantageous situations did. "I actually don't, I was just getting my shopping done for a lack of better things to do," Natasha lied seamlessly, motioning to the other side of the car. "Hop in." Mission reports and Barton's pizza date could wait.

The woman made quick way around, buckling into the seat in seconds, right before Natasha peeled off from the parking lot towards the Avengers tower at breathtaking speeds. The car was a gift from Tony - one of the rare things he managed to get right - and an absolute pleasure to drive.

"What's your name?" The redhead asked, juggling the steering and her smartphone effortlessly.

The woman rattled of her first and last name on between attempts to fix her runny make-up and wipe the dried snot and tears off her face. "Foxy is a nickname my gramps gave me, said I used to excessively play with fox pelts in the attic when I was a kid," the woman added with a snort, totally oblivious to Natasha's eyebrow raise as the spy read the information on her in-between overtaking slower cars.

Good student, good family life, stable income and good career growth in a prospective sector. What did Foxy even find in a guy like Todd? The most important information, however, was also most pleasing. No ties to any kind of intelligence gathering organizations.

As Natasha parked and popped the trunk once more, the other woman offered a hand with her shopping bags. Friday acknowledged the newcomer, startling her, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and mention, loudly, that if Tony decided to pay them a surprise visit, he may end up castrated or shot on sight, much to Foxy's bashful snickering.

Once the shopping was put away and the wine opened, the spy let herself curl up on the couch opposite the woman who studied her Spartan style apartment with curios eyes. The lack of knick knacks must've been a surprise for her: Natasha's apartment looked bare compared to what she'd seen in other's people's homes but the desire to make the environment more cozy had never been strong enough to actually act upon it. She wasn't used to staying in a place for very long.

"Do you still want to get back at the bastard?" The redhead asked once the first bottle was coming to an end. The alcohol was sitting low, pleasantly warm in their bellies and the food that they'd ordered in the middle of a casual chit-chat lulled them into a state of comfortable stupor.

"I want to gouge his eyes out and wear them as a battle trophy," Foxy was slightly slurring her words, much more affected by the wine than the stoic, experienced agent. "But I guess I can settle for petty crime or arson."

"I'm sensing you didn't tell me the whole list of grievances," true to her words, the spy felt as it there was a possibility quite a few things were being left unsaid.

Foxy sighed once again, placing the empty glass on the table and using her palm to prop her flushed face against it, blankly staring off into the far end of the room. "I came out as bisexual last year and he was giving me so much shit for it. Todd kept pushing for a threesome and when I refused, started accusing me of cheating during our fights, called me a whore a couple of times," the more she spoke, the higher Natasha's anger levels rose.

Not only was a Todd a dick, he was an abusive one. Truly, the grand prize of Asshat Lottery. "I have an idea or three," the spy twirled the remaining red liquid in her glass before downing it. "But it'll have to stay between us two."

"I'm listening," Foxy turned to meet Natasha's face, eyes considerably more alert than seconds before.

A few days past their amicable wine-and-revenge get-together, Natasha's doorbell rang as if she wasn't already had been made aware by Friday that a visitor was coming up to see her. Boxes of hair bleach and dye laid stacked on the living room table, surrounded by jewelry and assorted accessories. A pitcher of fresh sangria topped the ensemble, two clean glasses placed neatly on the tray next to it.

"Hi, Nat," Foxy's smile was a mile wide - a far cry from the sniffling sad sack of a woman the spy had first met. The nickname flowed freely from the woman's lips, as calm as Natasha's own answering grin and greeting. "I gots the stuff," waving her purse about, the woman kicked off her shoes by the door, approaching Natasha with the same smile that seemed to be more effective at lightening up the room than Tony's expensive designer lamps.

As Natasha's plan achieved a solid state, the two women had quickly come to a realization that Natasha was far too recognizable with her signature red hair and over a flurry of text messages, the decision to switch to a warm caramel blonde was made unanimously. Foxy had rebuked any and all Natasha's attempts to affirm she'd be able to do it herself and the spy gave into the other's chiding, relenting to have her hair dyed by a person who at least had a possibility of seeing the back of her head without having to perform acrobatic tricks.

Foxy was an easygoing, non-problematic person. She was fun to have around, quiet but witty, with intelligent eyes and a realistic view on the world. It was something Natasha valued, alongside the lack of probing questions regarding her past or her job - her insides clenched uncomfortably at the thought of having to lie about those things, or even worse, having to admit to the wrongdoings in her past, however Foxy carefully steered away from topics that were sensitive and never gave Natasha as much as a side-eye if the spy appeared to lack some minor detail that normal women her age all seemed to be aware of.

The curiosity had her ready to burst. Nat's natural defense mechanisms were quite confused, not sure what to make of the woman who almost too friendly to be true, but the kindness in her eyes and the sometimes shy, awestruck looks she gave Natasha when she thought the redhead wasn't looking made up for it in spades.

"What do you think?" The noise of the hair dryer finally ceased, Foxy's voice echoing in Natasha's luxuriously large bathroom.

The newly-blonde spy studied her reflection with a tilt to her head. The ombre was a nice touch - her own hair was naturally darker than the caramel and honey blonde she had chosen, so the almost-brown shading at her roots took much away from the contrast between her lighter hair and darker brows. It was just another disguise for the spy, but somehow, this one felt more like home than any of the previous faces she had worn.

"I like it, you were right about the ombre," Natasha voiced her thoughts, eyes sliding over to the smiling woman behind her, feeling the corners of her mouth begin to creep upwards in involuntary response.

"You looked good with red hair, don't misunderstand me," Foxy briefly raised her hands. "But you have a light complexion and lighter colors do wonders for bringing out the youthfulness. Even if we don't have much joy these days, a good hair color is an opportunity to showcase the bit," she briefly touched her own hair in an exaggerated attempt at driving her point home.

The fun part was done, the time came to execute the revenge. It wasn't exactly anything special; rather, the plan was quite simple - let Todd make a fool out of himself in front of his friends and perhaps (a slightly, teensy possibility) get himself arrested. The two women took their time to get dolled up, not too much - but rather, adding just that little bit to themselves to easily attract moderate amounts of attention from men.

The bar was busy, noisy and full of people when the two women stepped through the door. Natasha's eyes scanned the room out of habit, easily spotting the tall, lanky Todd in the far end of the bar, laughing and boozing with equally pathetic-looking man-children. The urge to gag was almost irresistible.

The spy let herself to be led to the bar by Foxy who looked mildly uncomfortable. Natasha was sure that if she was to touch the other woman's face, it would be flaming under the circumstances. "Try to relax a little, I won't bite," with a quip to her companion, Nat ordered them a vodka cranberry each, sitting down with her back to the men. "Tell me when he notices us and starts moving this way."

Foxy nodded minutely, clutching her drink for dear life and taking generous sips to calm herself down and relax like the spy had requested. They talked about everything and nothing in between, Natasha's hand on Foxy's knee crawling closer to her hip as minutes passed by without interruption. Loud noises of men playing darts and drunkenly cheering reached the womens earshot every now and then, causing Foxy to throw increasingly infuriated glances towards her ex-boyfriend and the Black Widow's current victim of choice.

Sitting opposite the perfectly composed, smiling woman, it was clear as day she was, indeed, best of the best. Despite knowing Foxy for only a few days, Natasha managed to pull off a very convincing girlfriend: her body language was nothing short of absolutely besotted and the googly eyes the spy was making had Foxy constantly remind herself that it was only for show. There was no way this gorgeous, incredible human would be interested in someone as plain and ordinary as herself.

"Heads up," Foxy's smile suddenly grew a mile wide as she stared directly at Natasha, eyes alight with fury at the scene about to unfold. Natasha's reply was to briefly tighten the grasp on the other's leg in silent support.

"Hey, baby," Todd was drunk enough for the stench of his breath to reach both women. "Oh, I see you're with a friend," his attempt at flirting only made Natasha scrunch up her face like a cat that accidentally smelled a lemon.

"Leave me alone," Foxy stated firmly, knowing the phrase wouldn't do anything to deter her overzealous ex, but this time - she counted on it.

"It's okay, I can share," the slurred words had a couple of people nearby raise their eyebrows at the audacity.

"I'm not interested," Foxy snapped. "In fact, there is absolutely nothing your freeloading, cheating ass can bring to my table."

The woman radiated satisfaction as gasps sounded out around them; Todd was a regular at this bar and most people there knew him in one way or another. The moment of joy, however, was brief.

"Listen, bitch, you have no business talking to me like that," full of drunken bravado, the man spat angrily, taking unsteady steps closer to Foxy. "What you need is a decent man that can handle your outbursts, not some dyke..." before he could even utter another offensive syllable, Natasha had his wildly gesturing arm twisted painfully behind his back, easily forcing the inebriated man to his knees.

"Wanna try that again, champ?" Sarcasm flowed freely from the spy's lips as the patrons in the bar gasped. The civilian clothing and the new hair color might have been an effective short-term disguise but once the crowd had seen her neat little party trick and had taken a good look at her face, nobody was doubting her identity. "Call the cops, will you?" She addressed the shocked bartender who immediately scrambled to obey.

"I didn't do anything!" Todd cried out, eyes drunkenly darting between the Black Widow's quiet rage and Foxy's grim stone face.

"Huh, that's weird. Because I clearly heard and saw an attempted hate crime," Natasha's voice attained a sardonic tint. "And I have a bar full of witnesses," the spy shrugged, letting go of his arm but keeping a boot firmly planted on his back to prevent him from escaping. "I hope you have a lawyer."

Foxy snorted, reaching for her unfinished second drink. "Tough luck."

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Todd's friends inching closer to the exit door second by second, as if they could stand a chance against a professionally trained secret agent. Luckily for them, Natasha wasn't interested in the remainder of Todd's gang of losers and merely raised an eyebrow when the other men reached the door, a tiny smirk appearing when his pleading eyes didn't cause any reaction in his friends, the spineless worms, hopping out of the door without as much as a goodbye to the man laying face-down on the dirty floor.

As soon as the police arrived, awestruck by one of the NYC's most famous superheroes just casually standing in a bar, they eagerly collected the inebriated offender, briskly escorting Todd to the squad car. The bartender and several other patrons confirmed Natasha's words that an attempted hate crime had taken place. Cops were in and out in less than fifteen minutes and the otherwise-pleasant hole-in-the-wall bar returned to its usual evening bustle.

"Celebratory shots?" Natasha laughed as Foxy exhaled, deep and slow, once her racing heart calmed down.

"My treat," the other woman motioned for the bartender and soon, a line of colorful glasses appeared in front of the women. Each downed a glass easily, slamming it back on the table. "Man, this is everything I never knew I needed," Foxy confessed with a shy smile. "Thanks, Nat. You're the best."

The spy responded with a satisfied smile, picking up another glass and holding it out for a toast. "To revenge well-deserved," the glass clicked, alcohol slid easily down their throats. "So, what now?"

Foxy's eyes shone in the bright lights of the bar, relieved and tipsy. The small empty glass twirled easily between her fingers. "Dunno," the shrug came and went. "Maybe go on vacation. To Florida."

Natasha let out a belly laugh, downing her last shot without as much as a stutter in her movements, Foxy's eyes lingering on the stray drops of alcohol running from the spy's plump lips. "A vacation with the crackheads? Romantic," the quip was received with an eyeroll from the other woman.

"Spoilsport," Foxy, too, finished her booze and placed the money and a hefty tip on the bar, tapping twice to get the bartender's attention. "I meant more like - lay on the beach, sip mimosas, look at sexy people in swimsuits..."

"Florida is for old people," Natasha objected, pulling her leather jacket back on and leading them both outside. The evening air was crisp, bringing a clearer head and re-arranging the thoughts back into a more sensible state.

Foxy easily picked up her pace to match Natasha's precise strides leading them in the direction of the former's building. The warm buzz of vodka coupled with the fresh air and her desire for retribution well-fed, Foxy settled into a comfortable silence next to the spy. They reached the building quickly, their pace brisk and distractions lacking.

"Care for a nightcap?" She didn't know what prompted her to blurt out the words; as soon as the words registered in her brain, they were already out and Foxy's face heated, fingers fumbling for the keys in her pocket, Natasha's touch still warm and lingering on the side of her leg.

The spy seemed amused, studying Foxy's nervous habits with a crooked smirk. "Sure," she agreed amicably, following the woman into the apartment building, not missing both the rigidity of her back and the added spring to her step.

A moderately sized, well-decorated apartment revealed itself behind the open door, scarcely illuminated by the NYC lights coming in from a glass wall in the living room, reflecting the vast living space furnished with a large couch.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Natasha turned around, stepping into the other woman's personal space with the grace of a predator. Two shining eyes stared back at her in the darkness, framed by fluttering lashes. Foxy's bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth, skin gleaming with perspiration.

The recently-turned blonde spy wasted no time caging the other woman between her body and the door, chests almost touching. The air around them was charged, Foxy's heart thudding loudly in her chest as she gulped. Natasha studied her expression, "You want this?" she whispered against her lips, sharing the oxygen between them.

"Ye-yeah," a short nod and a gasp later, the women were devouring each other, grasping at their hands and shoulders like they were drowning. Hot and wet and sharp from the booze, the kisses were as graceless as their fingers haste in removing each other's top layers of clothing.

The sharp corner of the living room archway dug painfully into Foxy's back, bringing an additional sense of awareness: this was real. This was happening. Natasha's blonde locks flowed through Foxy's fingers, soft and silky, a contrast to the teeth pulling on her lip in impatient hunger. Foxy grunted in response, parting from the other woman to send her t-shirt flying somewhere in the direction of the kitchen.

"Bedroom," mere minutes in and she already sounded utterly and throughly ruined.

"Couch," Natasha was equally feverish to get to the good parts. Her belt was unbuckled and the nice button-up she'd worn hung open, a plain white bra iriscendent on her alabaster skin.

Letting herself be led to the couch, Foxy could barely take her eyes off the woman in front of her, making sure she wasn't ogling Natasha outright yet secretly hoping to be caught anyway. The blonde was like a porcelain doll, unreal, firm and soft at the same time.

The moment Foxy gracelessly landed on the couch, Natasha was all up in her space, straddling the other woman with the grace of a savage cat; lips once more attached to her flesh, Natasha left a trail of hot, wet marks starting at the jawline and ending at the cups of Foxy's bra.

Not knowing what to do with her hands, Foxy grasped Natasha's hips, unable to hold back a moan heavy with lust as the spy ground down with her hips. It was exhilarating to see the other woman affected by their heavy make-out session; nothing short of absolutely smitten to see Natasha pull back, panting and disheveled, to shed her shirt and her bra.

Unable to resist the urge, Foxy's hands reached out to cup the spy's round breasts, tugging her closer to pop a rosy nipple into her mouth. Natasha shivered, arching into the caress, holding onto the other woman's hair and tugging it in the direction only she knew.

Natasha wasn't loud, she wasn't wild; her moans were more like muted gasps but her body spoke for her louder than any words: the grinding was getting more impatient, Natasha's hold grew stronger. As Foxy fumbled for the button of Nat's pants, she felt the soft, delicate lace underneath. Natasha had come prepared.

"Hold on," the spy mumbled, hopping off Foxy's lap to quickly push her pants and panties down her legs with practiced ease. The other woman followed suit, leaving herself to be bare besides her underwear, the attempt to remove them intercepted by Natasha. "Let me," quiet words tickled the skin of her throat where Nat had immediately attached her mouth.

Foxy scrambled to intake the oxygen she needed, letting herself feel the hot glide fully, having lost herself in pleasure, missing the exact moment Nat's fingertips breached the waistband of her panties. Soft and nimble, so different to a man's roughened skin, the sensation was as strange as it was sweet. The urge to arch and rock her hips against the nearest surface intensified and Foxy could only keen, quiet and high, causing Natasha to chuckle to herself.

"Enjoying yourself, sweet girl?" The miniscule trace of coyness seeped into the blonde's voice. The engorged, puffy, moist flesh of Foxy's lower lips parted eagerly to Natasha's experimental dip.

"Yeah, yes," the woman slid down, spreading her legs in invitation. "Please, touch me," begging to be filled in all the empty spaces, Foxy threw her head to rest against the back of the couch, watching Nat through unfocused eyes.

"Oh, I will," the spy purred, sliding lower to put her face next to Foxy's dripping cunt. The spy's fingers glistened with arousal and she popped them into her mouth, licking them clean before doing the same to her lover's swollen folds. The response was instantaneous and loud, Foxy shook under Natasha's expert teasing. "Stay still," she ordered quietly, patting Foxy's belly.

Molten, honeyed waves of bliss overtook common sense and awareness, tiny sparks shooting up Foxy's cunt every time Natasha suckled at her clit. The spy read her body like an open book, following the movements of her hips with her mouth, always a step ahead and slightly south. Foxy's peak was imminent, approaching rapidly, as Natasha's sweet merciless assault wrung every single drop of the thick, precious liquid out of her cunt.

It only seemed to gush more, the woman pushing her cunt into Natasha's face as the latter doubled down on her efforts to bring her to ecstasy.

The waves began deep in the pit of Foxy's stomach, making her legs tremble, her toes curl and the flutters of her cunt increase in speed and intensity. Silky soft and typhoon wet, her orgasm crashed her mind into million pieces and Nat dutifully extracted everything until the last drop with the skillful touch of her tongue and fingers.

"Tash," Foxy moaned. Her legs quivered at the slightest touch to her oversensitive cunt.

"Mhm," was the blonde's reply, contented humming getting closer and closer until the womens lips met once more in a fierce, passionate kiss.

Foxy's hands immediately sought purchase on Natasha's hips, searching for the spots that would make the spy's body song in the same way she'd done to Foxy; seemingly much more reserved, quiet but happy sighs broke past Nat's lips in response to gentle hands stroking where she was most sensitive.

"I've got a vibe in my bedroom," clarity finally broke through the orgasm haze, Foxy's brain slowly coming back to reality.

"No, I want your fingers," Natasha's reply was assertive as she moved her hips in tandem with Foxy's hand, dripping the sweetness of her around all over.

The urge to pop the fingers into her mouth was strong, so Foxy did just that, moaning at the tangy taste, Natasha's breath quietly stuttering at the sight in front of her.

"I want to eat you out," the words barely had left Foxy's mouth as Natasha flipped them so she was the one laying on the couch, spread-eagled and open for the other woman's eager mouth to explore. Wet, sloppy and so, so tender, Foxy let herself taste the arousal of her lover.

"Yeah," so soft, one could easily miss it, the approval didn't get lost in the headrush nonetheless. With grace, Foxy sought the spots that would force Natasha to break her silence with slow, broad motions until the blonde had no choice but to arch her hips into the sensations, chasing her pleasure, losing the aura of restraint she'd so carefully cultivated.

No time for self-control. The temperatures were climbing steadily with every single movement, both lost in their imperfect shared rhythm, the soft of Foxy's tongue and fingers like finest silks on Natasha's eager cunt. Two fingers slipped in without resistance, immediately seeking out the soft, spongy spot that made the blonde's toes curl and mouth open in a silent scream.

Foxy's free hand groped around for Natasha's ass hastily, bringing her hips closer to her mouth, tongue never ceasing its assault on the blonde's clit as her body grew more rigid, fingertips going white with the force she was gripping the comforter.

"Gospodi bozhe," came the mumble, the only warning before Natasha's powerful thighs locked Foxy in place as the blonde rode out her orgasm, violently shivering, dousing the other woman's face in her sweet release. Dutifully, Foxy stroked the silk of Natasha's skin everywhere she could reach, her hot breath on the blonde's pussy easing her back to Earth through the aftershocks.

Natasha's eyes opened, feeling her lover's look of adoration, and she cracked a reluctant but genuine smile. There was something about Foxy that was just so-

Natasha taglist (open, see fic hat for info; crossed out nicknames are the ones I couldn't tag, please update your info):

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @sapphicnoodle69

[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

Me and You

(Luke Patterson x Reader) (Julie and the Phantoms)

Word Count: 1.6K

~Master~

A/N: Alrighty! So this is my first time writing for JATP! I tried y’all, I did, let me know what you think and if I should write more at some point cause I’m curious now lmao. 

This was mainly written for me, I’ll be honest. 

@hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis YOUR MOVE...

***

The constant strumming of Luke’s guitar as he practiced kept pulling your attention away from the book in front of you, one you snagged from Julie’s bookshelf. You were almost done with it, but you preferred to read in silence, something you couldn’t do with Mr. Rockstar over there.

“Must you practice when I’m trying to read?” You groaned, tossing your head back on the couch you were laying across as you stared up at the ceiling.

Luke just laughed, strumming a chord on his guitar that he’d been trying out for ages now. “Must you read when I’m trying to practice?” You shot him a look but Luke only smirked at you, making you only slightly annoyed.

“You always do this.” You said, rolling off the couch and coming to lean over the piano. “Ever since we were young, it was always you playing when I read.” Luke could tell you weren’t mad at him or upset from the small smile on your face as you picked up the paper in front of him. “New song?”

Luke nodded, leaning on his elbow on the piano as he looked at you. Your eyes were reading the paper, slowly mouthing the words as your lips slowly curled up in a smile. Luke licked his lips, never looking away from you as he cleared his throat. “Wanna give it a go?”

You had to keep from laughing at Luke’s offer. “Thanks, but I’m good. I think I’ll leave the singing to Julie and you.” you started to walk away but Luke grabbed your hand before you could, giving you a dimply smile that you knew you couldn’t say no to.

“Come on, Y/N. I haven’t heard you play and sing in a while.” He pushed the sheet music towards you. “Just give it a go.” You took a deep breath, staring at him as he squeezed your hand. You hated playing in front of people, and Luke knew that, but he also knew you were comfortable with him. If you were going to sing in front of anyone, it would be him.

You sighed, nodding your head and smiling. Luke playfully cheered as you laughed. You grabbed the paper, sitting down in front of the piano as Luke sat next to you, holding his guitar so it wouldn’t hit you.  “You sure about this?” you asked, seeing Luke roll his eyes. He took your hands and put them on the piano.

“Play.” He said, nudging you gently. Before you could doubt yourself, you started playing the first few notes of Stand Tall. Luke watched you play, a smile budding at his face as he listened. It had been so long since he heard you play, even longer since he heard you sing. He missed it.

Luke waited, hearing you play the intro again and again, but you never sang. Instead, you stopped playing, letting out a small sigh as your hands fell to your side. “I can’t.”

“It’s just us.” He whispered, grabbing your hand again. He brought your hands to the piano, placing his on top. Goosebumps tickled your skin as you turned your head, finding Luke closer than he was before. His eyes met yours as he pressed your fingers down, hearing the notes play as you both stayed looking at each other. When you didn’t start singing, Luke played the intro again, and again as he smiled at you. “It’s just me and you, you can do it.”

You nodded, finally looking away as you felt Luke’s hand remove themselves, but he didn’t scoot back. You took a deep breath. “Don’t blink, No I don’t want to miss it” you sang out beautifully as Luke’s heart soared, hearing your slight wobble before you found your confidence and your smile slowly grew on your face. “One thing and it’s back to the beginning, ‘cause everything is rushing in fast, keep going on, never look back,” Luke joined you in the next verse, helping you with the song as he played his guitar. Neither one of your smiles faded until the last notes rang out in the air, ending the song and leaving you both in a perfect silence.

Luke pushed himself off the piano bench you were sharing, spinning around before reaching forwards and grabbing your hands, pulling you up as well. “That was amazing. Y/N!” He cried out, wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you in the air. You laughed at his actions and threw your arms around his neck, one of your hands finding his hair when you buried your head into his shoulder. When Luke finally put you down, your bodies were pressed together and Luke’s hold on you didn’t loosen.

You were well aware of Luke’s hands holding you close and your own that threaded so neatly in his hair. His eyes met yours and your breath hitched. “Thank you.” you whispered, seeing Luke’s eyes flicker down briefly before locking on yours again.

“I knew you could do it.” He brought a hand up to cup your cheek. You knew that look in his eye. He leaned in, pulling your face closer as you let your eyes close and your lips hit. It took years and even dying for you to manage to kiss Luke, but it was worth it. He kissed you deeply, pouring every feeling he had into it as you did the same. When you pulled away, Luke’s hand stayed on your cheek, both of you never leaving each other’s embrace.

You furrowed your brows, biting your lip as Luke asked what was wrong. “You like me?” you asked.

Luke was confused. “Why is that a question?” He laughed and his smile never left his face.

You, however, had no clue what to say. “I just- I can’t believe-“ You stuttered, pulling your gaze away from him. “I never wanted to admit my feelings for you and you not return them.” You admitted. Luke moved your head so you were looking at him again. “I couldn’t handle that.”

“You didn’t think I like you?”

“Do you?” you laughed out, trying to hold in your insecurities.

Luke quickly caught on to how you were thinking, believing there was no way that he truly liked you. “Y/N, I’ve been in love you since we were 14 and you spilled your lunch all over me at my house.”

Your eyes went wide, heat moving up your cheeks as you closed your eyes tight, taking a moment before opening them again. “That’s when you realized you were in love with me?!” you cried out as Luke and you burst into laughs, yours out of embarrassment and his out of amusement.

You tried to hide your face, but Luke wouldn’t let you, moving your hands away from your face so he could see you again. “No, I wasn’t smart enough for that.” He said and you snorted, fully believing him. “I figured that out later, but it was when I started thinking of you as maybe more than a friend.”

You nodded your head, tangling your hands with his. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been in love with you about that time too.” You admitted as Luke let out a sigh of relief, leaning forward to meet your lips again, but before he could, you were interrupted.

“Woah.” Reggie said Alex and him popped into the room, standing on the other side of the piano as Luke and you subconsciously took a step apart.

“Oh, don’t stop on our account.” Alex said jokingly as he leaned forwards on the piano, making you both share embarrassed looks.

“We weren’t-“

“Yeah, we were just-“

Luke and you said at the same time, but neither of you had a real excuse. Instead, you just looked at him and shrugged.

“We’re dating.”

Alex and Reggie laughed at Luke and your perfectly timed proclamation. “Yeah, it’s about time.” Alex joked again as you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, it only took what, 4, 5 years?” Reggie asked rhetorically as Luke forced a smile, tossing the pillows that were on the couch at them both as you laughed. They both caught the pillows, but only after it smacked them in the faces.

“Alright, alright!” Alex said loudly over everyone’s laughter. You quieted down, cheeks hurting from smiling so much. “Seriously guys, we’re happy for you both.”

“Yeah,” Reggie continued, nodding. “You guys are good for each other.” He admitted and you felt Luke’s arm swing over your shoulder and bring you into his side and kissing your temple. You giggled, wrapping your arms around Luke just in time for Julie to walk in and see.

“No way!” She shouted, glancing between you and Luke. You smiled at her, knowing she knew all about your crush on Luke for a while now. “You’re dating!” Her reaction made you laugh and you wish you were able to hug her, but since you were a ghost, it wasn’t possible. Instead, you settled for watching her being excited and feeling Luke’s chest rumble as you hugged him.

“I think Julie wins best reaction.” You whispered to Luke as he nodded, leaning down to peck your lips as Julie squealed louder.

“Okay!” You called over her, a small chuckle in your words as she quieted down but still remained giddy. “You guys have to practice!” you reminded them, seeing nods around the room as you moved away from Luke, holding his hand until you couldn’t reach him anymore and fell onto the couch.

Everyone moved to their instruments, but Luke, who still had his guitar on him from playing earlier, just watched you, seeing you and Julie exchange silent cheers before the singer was finally ready to practice. You picked up your book, beginning to read again as the band practiced. You kept sneaking glances up at Luke, who was definitely still looking at you. The music did make it difficult to focus on reading, but with your boyfriend preforming right in front of you, who would want to concentrate on reading anyway?

ALL TAGLISTS CLOSED!

Permanent: @literal-fand0m-trash @nathaliabakes @colored-confetti @btsiguess-kpop @galacticstxrdust @independentgirl @hollymac79 @emcchi @rauwz @chewymoustachio @smilexcaptainx @faith-quake @johnmurphyisqueer @kettnerjanea @teenagereadersciencenerd @ladykxxx08 @annasofiaearlobe @mytreec @ananad1 @agentnataliahofferson @the-unmanaged-mischief @wonderful-writer @theonly1outof-a-billion

[oneshotnewbie]

Survive or die (Navy CIS - Reader x Gibbs Team)

A/N: This idea came from a dream I had. I tried to write it down because I liked it. In this fanfic there will be the new team (Ellie, Jack and Kasie) except for Nick. Tony is a part of this story because I miss him. Also a small info... From now on I will write for NCIS! I will write for any woman x Reader and man x reader (platonic fluff, no romance or relationship). Angst, fluff, whatever you want.. Send it in, there are not a lot of NCIS oneshots on here!! :)  ---- The next day was over for you at the NCIS office and you smiled slightly as you leaned back in your chair, put your arms behind your neck and watched Tony scribble lost and annoyed in the reports. The last days have been more than exhausting and you all felt the tiredness. But none of you even thought of sleep, the case you had at the moment was just too important and serious.

A serial killer was up to mischief in D.C, usually not a NCIS case. However, the victims were only women who were either a member of the NCIS itself or served in the Navy. He already kidnapped six woman, took them to different parts in different forests. He tortured them and beat them to death with stones or drowned them in the freezing rivers and ponds.

You did not have a reasonable lead yet, except for a fingerprint on a smooth stone, which was useless because no DNA was stored in the system and some fibers that turned out to be a jacket that had been sold over a hundred thousand times.

And so you tried to use the evidence and information, a phantom picture from a man that was not quiet sure what he saw and a few other things to find and arrest the murderer so that he could no longer hurt anyone. "So, I am done for today." Tony looked up perplexed from his files in front of him, his left eyebrow raised and mouth slightly open. "How? You had more reports on the table than I did!" "Yeah, but the difference between Y/N and you is, that she actually works, Tony." McGee intervened and caught a laugh from Ellie.

You got up and started packing up your things and tidying up your desk. Fully written papers that had not managed to get into the files and your empty tea cups found their way to the garbage while you laid the finished documents on Gibbs table. "Wait, why are you packing up? We have three more hours until the end of the day!" Tony whined as he looked on his watch, the fourth time in this hour already. "I asked Gibbs if I can go earlier today." you simply stated and put the jacket over your shoulders.

Now he was the one leaning in his chair. His eyes were formed into small slits and he looked deeply into your eyes. He smirked as he stood up, ready to pick up a little game with you. "Someone has a date, huh?" You rolled your eyes and walked over to your blonde partner to give her a goodbye hug as always. She was super nice to you from the start and you had a connection from the beginning, you became an inseparable team. She was your best friend at work and after. She did not even hesitate to decline that you were hers too. You both shared some kind of bond, that everyone could see and no one could destroy. "Who is the lucky guy?" Ellie smiled at you since she knew where you were going before looking to Tony, giving him a glare he was afraid of. She was protective when it came to you, like a big sister you never had. She waited, she knew that Tony and you loved acting up all the time. You quickly turned around and walked with slow steps to him. You faced each other, there was no longer any personal space between you. "You know, because you are so curious, it is actually a woman."

His eyes opened suddenly, they were now the size of two tennis balls when he looked at you in surprise and disbelief. His mouth was wide open and he could not utter a single sound.

You leaned slowly against his ear as you whispered something to him. "She is tall, brown-haired, beautiful green eyes." you started to grin against his ear when you felt Tony's lips move, almost trembling as he got inpatient for more informations. "She is smart and she is.."

You licked your lips as you turned away from his ear and looked at him intently. From the corner of your eyes you saw how McGee and Ellie started smiling almost unmanageable while they waited for Tonys smile to fade fast. Both knew where you had to go because they, on the contrary of Tony, really listened to you when you talked.

You could no longer torture them.

"Also my doctor!" you said loudly and he jumped up from his thoughts while you walked away saying Tim goodbye, laughing while you left him there in shock.

It was a routine check-up that you had at your neuro-doctors office every six months. Since your adolescence you have complained almost every day about headaches and blurred vision. Your parents never took this seriously, saw it as an excuse to skip school or paid courses in taekwon-do and piano. So you had to live with this stabbing pain until you were old enough to take care of your health on your own. After the CT scan, at that time without any findings, your doctor put you on medication that helped you cope with the pain and go on about your work. However, he needed a new CT every six months so that nothing would be overlooked if something had happened in your brain and side effects would arise. And now it was that time again, the computed tomography had to be done. But you never got to the doctors office.

[hellimagines]

It’s Not Your Fault -- JJ Maybank

Masterlist

Summary: For the past three weeks you’ve noticed your boyfriend beginning to pull away from you without any explanation or clear reason. After voicing your concerns to him, JJ breaks down and confesses to you about his delivery trips to the Cameron House. 

Warnings: angst, hurt with lots of comfort, male sexual assault, victim denial of sexual assault, grooming

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.5K

A/N: It took me a while to post this, but after all the thought, emotion, and personal experience I poured into this, I’m finally satisfied enough to publish it. Please heed the warnings since I know this sort of content can be triggering for some. *Edit* The formatting and tagging got messed up, so I’m sorry if this doesn’t show in certain tags or if it shows up multipule times.

When JJ and Pope bounded down the bank to meet up with you, John B., and Kie at the HMS Pogue, you noticed JJ’s hair was messier than usual and his blue bandana was tied snuggly around his neck. His grin was dirty, cocky, and full of more tongue than teeth as he made his way onto the boat alongside Pope. The blond fell into the seat beside you, carelessly throwing his arm over your shoulders, yet keeping it rested on the edge of the boat so only his fingertips were brushing your exposed collarbone. Instantly, an unfamiliar smell hit you, causing you to crinkle your nose in confusion and disgust; instead of the familiar smell of weed, dirt, ocean spray, and JJ’s cheap cologne, you were met with an overwhelming citrus and floral scent. As you tilted your head up to get a better look at JJ, you realized that the corner of his lip was turned up just the slightest, an indicator that JJ’s grin was really just a mask. You nudged your shoulder against him, breaking him out of whatever manic-trance he was starting to slip into. The dirty grin dropped as he looked down at you and was replaced with a soft smile once he saw your scrunched up face. The hand dangling over your shoulder moved up to run calloused knuckles over your cheekbone, while something sad crept into JJ’s blue eyes.

“Kooks give you boys any trouble?” you questioned, speaking to both JJ and Pope yet keeping your eyes locked with the boy beside you. 

Pope shook his head, “Nah, not this time. It’s too early for their rich-asses to be awake, let alone stirring for trouble.” You looked over at Pope as he spoke, cataloging how he looked just as he did when the two boys left this morning. He also wasn’t paying any special attention to JJ as he typically did whenever he was trying to keep one of JJ’s secrets from the others.

“Yeah, they don’t know what it’s like to try and get all your work done before noon during the summers,” JJ scoffed before giving a piece of your hair a playful tug. You scowled and swatted at his hand, which only made JJ laugh.

“Well,” John B. began as he steered the boat away from the bank, “now that we’re all free for the rest of the day, let’s get this boat on the road.”

--

As soon as John B. had found a deep, calm patch of water to settle the HMS, he was kicking off his shoes and diving in head-first. Typically, JJ would’ve already been on the back of the boat ready to flip into the water, but today he had remained in his spot beside you as Kie and Pope followed JB. The Pogues didn’t pay you two any mind as they splashed around with one another, swimming a few feet away from the boat to give you and JJ some space. JJ’s finger twirled around a stray strand of your hair absentmindedly, while his gaze rested unfocused on a spot in front of him.

“Hey,” you hummed, giving him another nudge. His blue eyes blinked hastily at the movement, jerking to look down at you. “What happened this morning?”

“What makes you think something happened?” he asked defensively as his body stiffened and his finger ceased its movement. Your eyebrows furrowed but you didn’t comment on the sudden hostility, realizing that you had accidentally backed him into a corner. 

“You just don’t seem like you’re completely here, that’s all. You were okay when you left this morning, even though it was the crackass of dawn, and I just want to make sure that Topper didn’t fuck around with you or anything,” you said gently, shifting in your spot so you could place your head on top of the arm that JJ still had resting on the edge of the boat. Your (e/c) eyes looked into JJ’s blue ones, watching as a multitude of different emotions flashed in his eyes and a small frown slipped onto his face. 

He ran his thumb across the bottom of your jaw, offering you a pensive look as he did so. “Yeah, I’m okay, I just…” he sighed deeply, “just had a difficult delivery today, that’s all. I promise I wasn’t jumped by a Kook or anything like that. You don’t have to worry ‘bout me, baby.” He gave you a pained smile and cupped your jaw. “You know I love you, right? And that I would never do anything to hurt you?”

You were taken back by his question, pulling away slightly so you could stare at him in confusion. “Of course, and I love you, too. What brought that up?”

“Nothing,” JJ shrugged, trying to act nonchalant despite the flash of guilt he was unable to hide. “I just wanted to make sure you knew how much I love you.” He paused for a while, staring down at you while cupping your face in both of his hands. His thumbs rested over your cheekbones and his pinkies laid just below your ears while he looked down at you. His eyes were searching for something, you could tell by the way they flicked across your features, but you couldn’t tell what he was hoping to find. “I’m sore from this morning, think I’m gonna stay on the boat for a while. Stay with me?” he asked with a pout before pushing your cheeks together to force your lips into an amusing pucker. 

You couldn’t help but giggle at his antics while nodding your head, unable to say anything as he squished your cheeks some more. JJ’s smile brightened at your muffled giggles as you looked up at him adoringly. He continued to pull your cheeks in different directions, and you eventually had to reach out and tickle beneath his arms to get him to let you go. Both of you were laughing loudly at this point as JJ retaliated by pinching your sides and pulling you closer to him, but an unexpected ripple against the boat caused you to lose your balance. JJ used his body to soften your fall as the two of you toppled to the deck floor, proceeding to laugh even as JJ let out an exaggerated oomph at the impact. The melancholy from earlier was all but forgotten as you were cradled against his chest, continuing to tickle and wrestle one another on top of the boat.

--

Over the next three weeks JJ had grown jumpier, but he seemed more skittish around you than anyone else. He had taken on more deliveries with Pope than expected, now doing 4-5 deliveries a week rather than the typical 2 or 3. His cash flow had increased by nearly $300 a week and you couldn’t deny that the flowers and pastries JJ had started to bring you were nice. However, the materialistic increase couldn’t hide the emotional and intimate decrease you had felt from your boyfriend recently. In the year that you and JJ had been dating, and even in the years of friendship beforehand, he had always valued actions over gifts. He would even sometimes prefer talking about what he was feeling rather than handing you something that had cost money. So, as JJ’s touches against your skin and words whispered into your ear became non-existent and his gift-giving became unmanageable, you knew something was going on: something he clearly didn’t want to talk to you about.

After not hearing from JJ in two days and knowing he wouldn’t be opening up to you anytime soon, you made your way over to Pope’s place in order to hopefully get some answers. Mr. Hayward was the one to open the door when you knocked, offering you a smile as you gave him one of your own. “Hey there, Mr. Hayward, I really like your shirt.”

He looked down at his shirt in confusion before huffing a laugh. “Thank you, (Y/N), it’s date night,” he grinned, tugging at the cotton fabric of his blue button-up. You heard the distinct sound of heels clicking against the floor before Mrs. Hayward rounded the corner. She jumped slightly when she saw you, not expecting to see anyone at the door, and then she smiled with a soft laugh. 

“Hi, (Y/N)! How are you, sweetheart?” she asked, coming to stand beside the door as Mr. Hayward went to grab the car keys.

“I’m doing okay, just came by to see if Pope needed any help with his summer homework. I know his AP classes were stressing him out a bit, so I offered to go over one of his essays with him. How about you? Your dress is really pretty, by the way.” 

Mrs. Hayward smiled at your compliment, giving her dark-red dress a bashful glance. “It’s date night, and I’ve been waiting to pop this baby out of the closet for months,” she chuckled, her bashful smile now becoming one of pride. “Pope is right upstairs in his room and I’m sure he’ll be really happy with the help.” You nodded with a smile and headed up to Pope’s room after waving goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Hayward. 

“Pope! Your mom let me in!” you shouted up the stairs as a warning before walking into your best friend’s room. Pope lifted his head from his desk at your entrance and gave you a gleeful grin. “I promise I’ll help you with your essay, but first I need your help with something,” you stated when you saw him beginning to reach for his essay. 

“Yeah, ‘course. What’s going on?” 

You took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of his bed. “It’s about JJ, but you can’t tell him I said anything.” Pope nodded and gave you his apt attention. “Ever since his delivery with you a few weeks ago, he’s been acting a little weird. I don’t know if anyone else has noticed it, but I have and I’m worried. He’s been wearing his bandana more, he almost never takes his shirt off for swimming or anything else, he doesn’t talk to me anymore, doesn’t touch me, but he’s been spending money on me. I know it sounds like unimportant tiny things, but to JJ they’re not. I’m really worried, Pope, and I was wondering if you knew if something was going on?”

“Nu-uh, he hasn’t said anything to me,” Pope frowned. “But I know he’s been taking longer with his deliveries than he used to, yet he’s making more cash. Do you think he’s worn out?” You couldn’t help but scoff at Pope’s words and shake your head. “What do you think it is?”

“I have no idea and that’s the problem. It’s not his dad and I can’t imagine him being overworked with the amount of energy he has. I don’t know what to do or how to help him and it scares me.”

Pope fell silent for a while, staring down at the ground with a pensive expression. “Listen,” he began with a sigh, “I know this isn’t something you want to hear or think of, and I don’t even believe it myself. But… but maybe he’s been seeing-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Pope Hayward. Don’t you dare,” you seethed, eyeing him with a dangerous look. “He wouldn’t do that, he’s not-”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Pope chanted and held up his hands. “Why don’t you go talk to him? You’ve always been the best out of anyone when it comes to getting JJ to open up.” 

You mulled over Pope’s words for a few moments, before giving a reluctant nod. “Sounds like my only option at this point; I just need to get him alone with me for more than five minutes,” you grumbled bitterly. “Anyway, now that we’ve covered the I-miss-my-boyfriend unit, let’s go over your essay, yeah?”

--

The next day was JJ’s day off and more than likely one of the only times you’d be able to sit down and talk with him. It was almost 6:30 in the morning when you arrived at John B’s place and you smiled softly when you saw him and JJ in the ocean. You left your shoes by The Chateau before heading down to the shoreline, waving to the two of them once they spotted you. JB waved his hand wildly in an attempt to get you in the water, but you simply shook your head and plopped down on the sand, waiting patiently for the two boys to finish their morning surf. While you waited, you laid down in the sand as the rising sun moved over you, enjoying the calm atmosphere and playful shouts of your boyfriend and best friend in the ocean. Water lapped at your feet and brought the occasional seashell to knock against your ankle, and your toes dug into the wet sand each time the water pulled away. When you felt the wind gently hit your bare legs and the waves began to slow down, you knew the boys would be making their way back to shore in the next few minutes. 

Eventually, the sound of feet splashing in the water drew closer and the anxiety in your gut began to grow as JJ and John B made their way back onto dry land. A shadow loomed over you, blocking the sun from hitting your face and causing you to squint open an eye to see who it was. JJ looked down at you with a smile, water dripping from his hair onto your exposed stomach. He carefully set his board to the side, giving John B a mindless wave as the other boy made his way back to The Chateau, before lowering himself down to you. His head rested on your chest, his arms wrapped around your waist, and his legs shifted in the sand to wrap around your own. He was wet and smelt like saltwater and you could feel a piece of slimy seaweed tangled around his calf, but you buried your fingers in his messy hair and ran your hand over his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer to you. This was the closest you’d been to him in weeks and you had been terrified about forgetting the way his skin felt against yours; but as his hands gripped your waist and his lips rested against your collarbone and your nails scratched at his scalp and your fingers massaged his sore shoulders, everything felt okay. But, regardless of how right things felt again or how comfortable you were, you couldn’t just forget about the past three weeks knowing that it would all start again tomorrow. 

“Hey,” you whispered, tapping JJ’s shoulder blade. He hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t move a muscle. “I want to talk to you-” JJ stiffened against you, his grip tightening subconsciously, “-about the past few weeks. I know something’s been bothering you and I thought giving you space would help you work through it, but it hasn’t. You’ve only pulled away even more.” 

JJ remained stiff but his grip relaxed and he released a shaky breath. “I know.”

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Please? I love all the little treats, flowers, and gifts, but I miss you, JJ-- I miss this.” You tenderly ran your nails down his side and over his hip for emphasis. “I miss holding you and being held by you. I miss playing with your hair and rubbing your shoulders. I miss talking with you in the morning while floating on our boards or laying on the HMS Pogue. I miss finding seashells and comparing them to one another. I miss my boyfriend.” 

JJ inhaled sharply before curling against you and holding you tight, his face now buried in your chest in a desperate attempt to conceal his tears. His body shook and his muscles tensed as he fought to hold back a sob, and his hold on you was nearing painful. Your heart rate sped up as worry and anxiety took over, and you had to fight against JJ’s grip in order to sit up and pull him with you. Instantly he was digging the palm of his hands into his eyes and biting down on his bottom lip, with harsh and jagged breaths escaping from his nose too quickly. 

“Baby, stop it, you gotta let go,” you urged, tugging his lip from between his teeth to avoid it splitting (as it often had before whenever JJ tried not to cry). You forced yourself to regulate your racing heart before grabbing one of JJ’s hands and placing it over your chest. “I’m right here, you’re okay, you can cry, babe. I know it’s hard but it’s just me, I’m not going anywhere.”

JJ’s fingers curled against your skin, feeling your heart beat steadily against his palm. He dropped his other hand from his eye and blinked away the stars and black spots, but he kept his gaze on the spot where your knees touched. Tears fell freely from his eyes now, curving over his nose and getting caught between his lips. He let out a few choked sobs and harsh sniffles for a few minutes before slowly pulling his hand away from your chest once he calmed down. Instead of pulling completely away as you expected him to do, JJ placed his hand on your thigh and rubbed his thumb in mindless circles.

“I miss you too, princess, I miss you so fucking much. I’m sorry for pulling away and for not talking to you, but I didn’t… I don’t know how to talk about what’s going on. I want to tell you, I’ve wanted to since it started but…” JJ trailed off with an uneven sigh and shook his head. “I just need to get over it. It’s not that big of a deal, it happens to all sorts of people, I need to stop being a little bitch about it,” he seethed before slamming his fist into the sand beside him. 

You placed your hand on top of the one he had on your thigh and squeezed his wrist. “No, you don’t. You’re not a little bitch for caring about something and for being hurt. You can tell me, you know that I’m not going to judge you. Whatever is going on is hurting you and you don’t deserve to be hurt more than you already have been.”

“I don’t want you to break up with me. I don’t want to lose you,” JJ confessed in a broken voice. He looked up at you and you could finally see the anguish and guilt clouding his eyes as he continued to cry. “But I need to tell you, I can’t keep it inside anymore. So… so if you do want to break up, I understand,” he choked before furiously wiping at his eyes.

Your heart stuttered at the implication causing you to take a deep breath. “Just be honest, that’s all I ask. You don’t have to hide anything or alter the truth, okay?” JJ gave a small nod and squeezed your thigh.

“It first happened three weeks ago, when I was helping Pope with an early morning delivery. I was doing my last run to the Cameron’s, and usually I drop them off with Wheezie since she’s the only one ever awake. But that morning she was at a friend’s house or something, I guess, and instead, it was Rose who was there to grab the groceries. She uh, she had me follow her inside to the kitchen and started showing me where to put stuff away. And in my head, ya know, I’m thinkin’, ‘lady, this isn’t part of my job description’, but I don’t say anything because I need the cash. So I’m putting away her groceries and she’s lingering and saying these things about how strong I am and how she’s so glad I chose to help her, but I don’t think anything of it. But when I reach up to put away the cereal, my tank top rides up and she comes up behind me and puts her hands on my waist. I jump and almost knock down the entire cupboard, and I try to push her away but she just spins me around like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing. I’m telling her to stop, that I’ve got a girl, that I’m not interested, all this shit, but she doesn’t listen. She just keeps touching me, mainly my stomach and arms, and saying how she’s just appreciating ‘a hard-working young man’. I wanted to push her away and get the hell out of there, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t fucking move. If I did push her away then that shit would’ve been turned on me so fast and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t breathe and all I kept thinking about was you and how I wanted her to stop. After she had her fill of feeling me up, she kissed my neck and handed me a hundred-dollar tip. Like… like I was her own personal whore or somethin’. I ran out of there so damn fast, and I tried rubbing off the lipstick but it was bright fucking red, so I had to wear my bandana around my neck all day. That morning wasn’t the only time, either, she’s been requesting me for every delivery. I wanted to say something, I wanted to tell you but I… I was scared. I’m a guy, this shit doesn’t happen to guys. I should’ve pushed her away, I should’ve fought back, I should’ve done more but instead, I just fucking stood there. I’ve been cheating on you because I was too much of a pussy to push her away.”

“You haven’t been cheating on me,” you said instantly, letting the impact of JJ’s story wash over you. His head snapped up and his brows furrowed as he looked at you. He opened his mouth to argue, but you shook your head. “You told her to stop. She’s in her thirties and you’re sixteen. She holds power and authority over you, and if you physically pushed her away things would have gotten much worse. You didn’t ask for her to touch you or kiss you or give you more money than you were owed. Rose sexually assaulted you, and that isn’t your fault, JJ. None of what happened is your fault.” Your voice was gentle but your words were firm and you held onto JJ’s hand as you spoke. 

“I did cheat on you, I let another woman-”

You interrupted him, “You didn’t let her do anything. She forced herself onto you and put you in a position where she knew you wouldn’t be able to fight back or deny her. You were forced into being complacent, and that’s not your fault. You’re right, this does happen all the time, but just because you’re a guy that doesn’t make it unimportant or invalid. You didn’t cheat on me, and I’m not breaking up with you. I’m going to help you work through this.”

JJ shook his head violently and tore his hand from your grasp. He stood up on weak legs and paced beside you, tugging harshly at his hair. “No, no, I wasn’t sexually assaulted. I’m strong, I’m a guy, I could’ve pushed her away easily, but I didn’t. I didn’t fight back and I didn’t tell you for three weeks! You shouldn’t be holding my hand, you should be screaming at me and hitting me and breaking up with me!” he ranted in hysterics, continuing to pace and tug at his hair.

Your heart ached at your boyfriend’s words and you had to blink away your own tears. You moved yourself to your knees before reaching out and grabbing ahold of JJ’s ankle, forcing him to stop moving and look down at you. “What if it was me?”

“What? What if what was you?” 

“What if I had helped Pope with the deliveries and Ward Cameron touched me while I was putting away his groceries? What if he had me backed against a counter and was touching my waist and kissing my neck? What if I begged him to stop, told him I wasn’t interested, told him I had a boyfriend, and told him no multiple times? What if he didn’t listen to me and kept touching me, even though I told him no? Everyone on this island knows I can fight just as hard, if not harder, than any man. But what if I couldn’t fight back? What if I punched him and lost everything? Mr. Hayward could lose his business, Pope could lose his scholarship, and I could get thrown in jail; because the Cameron’s have money and they have power and I don’t. So, what if I was touched by an older man repeatedly, against my will, even after I begged him to stop? Would it have been my fault? Would I be weak because it happened? Would you break up with me?” 

You looked up at JJ and his breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening in understanding. His knees buckled and you were quick to grab ahold of his waist and carefully help him back to the ground. Once he was safely seated, he reached out and grabbed your hands, pulling you closer to him until you were straddling his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist and he tucked his head into your neck, holding you close to him. You could feel his body shaking despite the warm weather and his silent tears falling against your throat, but you remained silent as he worked through what you had said. You dutifully ran your hands through his hair, combing out the tangles with your fingers and giving soothing scratches against his scalp. JJ clung to you in silence for the next hour, and you had almost fallen asleep when you felt his arms loosen and his hands move to your waist. You pulled back to look down at him and saw him already looking up at you with red eyes and puffy cheeks. The anguish and guilt that had been swimming in his blue eyes the past few weeks no longer seemed to overtake the love and adoration they usually held when JJ looked at you. You cupped his cheeks between your hands and kissed him softly, smiling when you felt his thumbs rub your sides in appreciation.

“I love you,” JJ murmured against your lips before pulling back.

You kissed his forehead lovingly, “I love you too, babe. We’ll work through this, you’re not on your own anymore. I’ve got you, and I’ll make sure Rose Cameron doesn’t lay a hand on you again.”

[theblurrxdface]

Spoilers for Life Is Strange True Colours/3. Specifically about how the powers work, but I've tried to keep the rest non-specific

A review, that I'm perhaps posting to the wrong audience, however I believe this game is really interesting even if you'd never consider playing a game in your life. No gaming skill is required. Watching it like a film for free online is entirely possible but you won't get to make your own choices. However the modern motion capture and voice acting and graphics make that still a very viable option. I recommend Eurogamer on YouTube for a pleasant, thoughtful playthrough.

The latest stand-alone Life Is Strange game has a protagonist with the superpower of empathy. Yeah, a bad name that doesn't sound like a superpower at all and had many perspective players unenthusiastic in the build up to the launch, but Alex's abilities are very much supernatural. Capable of seeing people's strong emotions as an aura, Alex lives with the blessing (or curse) of being able to feel what they feel to the point where she can read their thoughts in relation to these strong emotions. She has had an incredibly tough upbringing involving the care system and unwillingly feeling many unwanted and unmanageable emotions in these environments, causing her to get into repeated trouble. At 21 she's in a position to start over when a sibling finally tracks her down.

Throughout this small town mystery she goes on to develop her power, as other Life Is Strange characters with abilities have done, gaining the ability to see the world through the eyes of people in these strong emotional states to truly understand what is going on with them. She realises she can help with her power rather than just be helplessly overcome by others' emotions. Whether that be a child's imagination running wild or an elderly woman losing her memory, Alex is able to see and feel it and then help resolve it. And it looks amazing with beautiful graphics and in the format of an interactive game you can walk around in and truly explore through Alex's eyes and their eyes.

Each chapter features objects with emotional memories linked to them that Alex can also 'read' to gain insight into the characters around her and contribute to the ongoing story. Unlike previous LIS games, a small touch has been made where looking at items again at a different point will appropriately change her mental observations on them rather that just playing the same recording of ther thoughts on the item forever. It makes exploring far more interesting. I looked at everything.

A darker twist on Alex's powers occur when we are presented with a character consumed primarily by anger, a loved one has died, she can't help but blame people who were around at the time who she knows aren't really at fault (including her son who is probably about 10), she hates them all and hates herself for it, she feels she has failed as a mother. She's in a very dark place. A potentially dangerous one. Alex figures out she might be able to take these feelings away and absorb them for herself, but the consequences of this are unknown. At the time I expected the anger to take a toll on Alex, and I thought how dark it would be if we left the other person devoid of emotion. But I didn't think the game would go that far. So I opted to take on her anger, fearing she could be in danger otherwise. Unfortunately my worst fears came true and the character remained numb and dispassionate throughout my game while Alex struggled with the anger she took on. And yet, I still found myself backed into a corner later on where I hesitantly chose to use my powers similarly. Such is the power of LIS games upon their players.

Overall, I wouldn't be sure how to grade this installment of LIS out of 10. It's probably not my favourite of them, but it was very good. Initially I found the game too colourful and the animation a little too 'Pixar', it lacked the classic LIS art style and the whole vibe seemed too lighhearted. But it grew on me quickly, the colours and expressive faces make sense for a game about emotions, and the story quickly developed into something deeper. This is the most expensive game they've released so far, especially if you're like me and can't resist the Ultimate Edition of it (complete with remasters of the old games and an extra chapter so there is at least actual content for your money and not just cosmetic stuff), but LIS games go on sale all the time and usually start giving away the first chapter free after a few months/a year-ish. So if you're interested should you buy? Yeah, I think so, you can always start with a base edition and upgrade, or watch the first half an hour on YouTube and see if it captures your interest first.

Before I go, I want to clarify that I do know that non-supernatural empathy is a minefield for many people in different respects, and I'm not trying to be dismissive of that. Simply the name of this superpower seemed to generate less buzz than its predecessors of telekinesis and time travel which I think is also fair until you understand what it consists of.

I originally wrote this review for my Facebook where 3 people read it and that was more than I expected, I don't know if it'll gather any attention here either. On the off chance it does and you'd like my take on any other games I've played, let me know. I've enjoyed writing this. I even have vague thoughts about a side-blog. And if you enjoyed this, please like it, reblog if you can, and don't steal my writing. Thanks guys.

[tobealostwanderer]

Padawan

Grogu and Din introduce Luke to a friend

-

Again, I wrote this late at night and I haven't proofread. I am not a great writer but I thought that this was adorable so I wanted to write it down. Slight DinLuke mentions. This story can also be found on Wattpad. Enjoy!

It was a peaceful day at the temple. The padawans had the day of so in turn, Luke had some time to relax. Grogu's adoptive father, a Mandalorian called Din Djarin, would come and pick Grogu up in a few hours to have a father-son day.

Luke knew that the Jedi of old didn't agree to attachments with other people, including parents. But something stirred in him when he first picked up Grogu all those months ago. The Mandalorian and Child had a deep connection that wasn't easily broken. Grogu was practically unmanagable when he joined the newly established Jedi temple, and it wasn't until he got his metal ball, a replacement from what he used to play with on his father's ship, and the promise that his dad would visit him soon that he cooperated in the lessons.

Din visited once every two months and Luke got to know the man behind the helmet a bit. After all, the Mandalorian gave his name to him, which he knew was not commonly done. A tiny smile krept on the Master's face as he remembered that day..

Shaking out of the memory, Luke got up from his desk chair and made his way to the sleeping chambers of his pupils. It was about time he got Grogu ready. There weren't many pupils in Luke's temple. His own nephew wouldn't join until he was old enough to show the signs of the Force, but he was certain that he would grow up to be a powerful Jedi.

Knocking on a wooden door at the end of the hallway, a happy coo was heard. Luke opened the door to see Grogu play with his metal ball. The metal was starting to look less polished because of the creature's clawed, green hands. This obviously didn't bother the little alien as he couldn't be parted with it. Through the Force, Luke could feel Grogu's happiness. He knew what today meant.

As if on cue, the loud rumbling of a spaceship could be heard. Grogu squealed and hobbled to his tiny window as fast as he could. The familiar form of the Razor Crest landed closeby. Luke picked up the green baby and smiled down at him.

"Let's go greet your father, little one" he said with a tiny smile. His robes whooshed as he turned around, his leather boots clicking on the tiles as he powerwalked to the entrance. He too was happy to see the Mandalorian again. He was like a friend to him, although not in the way Han is a friend to him. It felt like... more. Luke had to surpress it though. Some people still remembered the Jedi of old, and remembered their customs. Even though most had forgotten, he still needed to be an example to the galaxy.

As the black-clad man and baby stepped outside, the hull door of the spaceship lowered to the ground. A cloud of dust sprang up as the metal hit the ground. The beskar clad man was quick to make his way to the two people in the yard. Happy to see Grogu for a bit. Grogu, in turn, cooed loudly upon seeing Mando.

"He has been behaving very well. He is slowly picking up his lessons. Every day his connection with the Force grows stronger" the sandy haired man said as he stopped in front of the metal clad bounty hunter. "I'm happy to hear that" the bounty hunter said, stroking the baby's green ears affectionately.

Luke handed Grogu over to Din. "I hope to have him back by dinner-" "Actually," Mando interrupted the Jedi Master. "I was wondering if you would like to join us.. Just for today. I think Grogu would like it" to which the Child indeed cooed loudly, raising a clawed hand towards Luke. "I understand if you are busy but he- we would very much like it"

It wasn't often that he saw the beskar clad man in a nervous state. In fact, he can't remember if he ever got nervous before. But Din was moving his weight from one leg to the other and looking around anywhere but at Luke. It was kind of cute...

Luke stowed away his thoughts for now and just grinned at the tall man in front of him. "I would very much like to. I don't go on many adventures anymore. Let me inform my second in command and I shall join you" he said, staying professional even though there wasn't really any reason to be this professional to the man.

Din nodded and turned to his ship, carrying Grogu to it as Luke made his way to his second in command. He quickly relied the message that he would be gone for the afternoon but would hopefully return before midnight. As he finished instructing the Twi'lek female, he made haste to join the father and son on the ship.

It didn't take long for Luke to be settled in and Mando to start the ship. The planet on which he build the new Jedi temple becoming smaller until he felt the familiar lurch of lightspeed. It took a few seconds before Luke was comfortable enough to talk to the Mandalorian.

"Where are we going?" He first asked. He knew he could look into the Mando's head for answers, but he had too much respect to infiltrate the man's mind. "A planet called Corvus. It isn't the most comfortable planet, but we want you to meet someone." Din responded. Grogu gurgled happily and Luke could vagually make out what he was saying: "Very nice, she is. Helped us, she did".

"Who is 'she'?" Luke asked, more to himself than to the two other beings in the cockpit. But nonetheless Mando responded: "You will see, no need to ruin the surprise".

It took exactly two hours when they started to lower into the atmosphere of Corvus. Luke looked at the fires that spread through it. Like it was never meant to be a forest planet, but trees grew anyway just to burn down because of the drought. As they landed close by a walled village, the white mist was almost omenous as ashes hung in the air.

Luke sensed her. She was somewhere inside the village. She almost seemed familliar even though Luke was certain that he never felt such a Force signature before. Whoever she was, was powerful, and most likely has trained like a Jedi. He wondered if she was interested in joining the Jedi again.

Before he realised it, the trio was decending from the Crest and started to walk into the village. Luke followed Din like an uncertain puppy. Because even though he was strong, he felt very out of place on this planet.

It seemed like the crackling of far away forest fires were always heard. Other than that, and the trio's footsteps, the village was quiet. Not many people were out and about and those that were slunk into the background. Luke had no idea why but he had a feeling that Din has scared these people a little.

It wasn't a big village and soon they were met with double doors. They were already opened, seemingly jammed and melted into place by a familiar weapon. Luke's fingers subconsciously stroked his own Lightsaber as they passed through the beautiful garden and to the last and biggest home in the village.

Before Din could knock, the doors flew open and a Togruta woman stood in front of them. Luke could make out a few wrinkles in her face. Her eyes shone wisdom and loss and on her belt she had two 'saber hilts. Even though he had felt her presence before, he was surprised to see the two powerful weapons hanging from her belt.

"Mando, Grogu. It is very nice to see you again. I see you have found a Jedi to train him? Please, do come in" the woman's smooth voice said. The trio stepped into the home and followed their host to the living room. As they all sat down, Grogu playing with a piece of fabric on the floor, Din introduced the two.

"Luke, this is Ahsoka Tano. Ahsoka, Luke Skywalker." As the words left the Mandalorian's lips, the two people looked at eachother with wide eyes. "That's why you are familiar.. It is a pleasure, Luke, to finally meet you. I knew your parents..." She drifted off, thinking back to her Padawan time, thinking of 'her' Skyguy.

Mando had quietly taken Grogu with him outside to let the two Jedi talk. The moment Ahsoka had spoken, he felt like the two needed to speak in private, and havinf a babbling kid around wouldn't help them get to talking. This was a private moment, he knew.

Back with the two Jedi, Luke carefully placed his hand on Ahsoka's. "I have never met them.. truly met them. But I know they cared for you, miss Tano. Ben told me about you" he said, trying to comfort the Togruta woman. "Please," Ahsoka said "call me Ahsoka. And.. who is Ben, if you don't mind me asking? I don't think I've met one" her mind fluttered through memories, trying to remember a 'Ben'.

"My aunt, uncle and I knew him as Ben Kenobi, but his true name was Obi-Wan Kenobi." Luke said calmly. He could see one hundered emotions go through Ahsoka's eyes. Her Force signature seemed to pulse with the same emotions. Happiness, sadness, admiration, respect, hope, love and grief. "Master Kenobi... I... I felt him join the Force a while ago.." Ahsoka swallowed thickly. "He was a nice man. A very good General. Caring, but he never truly understood Anakin" Ahsoka smiled at a few memories that fluttered through her mind. So strong, that they were projected in Luke's mind. Visions of the start of the Clone Wars projected in his mind. A young Ahsoka standing next to a tall, dark haired man he assumed to be his father, Anakin, and a slightly shorter man with an auburn beard that looked very much like a young Ben Kenobi.

"Sorry" Ahsoka said, as the memories stopped playing. "I don't think back a lot to.. that time. I wish you could've met your father... I still cannot believe he changed to the Dark Side" Ahsoka sighed. She was about to stand up as Luke responded to her: "That is the thing, I have met him. In the end, I got to see him. The real him. Anakin. And though our moment was brief, his love was real, and I am glad to have met him" his words shocked Ahsoka. Tears pricked in her eyes as she looked around the room. "I want to believe you-" she whispered, the tears now streaming down her face.

"He is telling the truth" a voice behind them said. Turning around, the two were met with the blue Force Ghost of Anakin Skywalker. "My son is telling the truth, Snips" a smile formed on Anakin's face as he looked at his old Padawan with fondness.

"Skyguy..."

[olivinesea]

A Mixed Blessing

chapter one: never watered down

a/n: Big warning on this: child abuse, vomit, alcohol. Believe me, I don’t feel great about it. But needs must be. ~2.2k

He’d never been asked to pinpoint when it started but if pressed he’d probably identify one particular night in the house he grew up in. That house, never a home, was full of memories that could have tipped the scales, started him stumbling down the path he later found himself on. But, no, upon examination there was, without question, one night that started it all.

That night, like most nights, his dad had fallen asleep with an open bottle beside him. With a child’s lack of foresight, Aaron crept close and brought it to his lips recklessly. The liquid made him cough, lungs burning with the harsh fumes that curled up into his sinuses. Undeterred, he took a smaller sip. It tasted foul but he was driven by an unrelenting curiosity to know what it felt like. He had observed the difference in his father’s behavior from when he came home tense and bitter to the point where he was passed out in front of the TV, his face smoothed of any expression. A few more sips and it began to go down a little easier. Mr. Hotchner shifted in his sleep, muttering something under his breath. Aaron slipped away and, without thinking about it, took the bottle with him.

Back in his room, he sat on the floor at the foot of his bed. Tucked in the small space between bed and wall he was just out of sight of the door. The world swam around him as he reached the bottom of the bottle. His eyes felt heavy. The bottle tipped over and he laid on his side so he was parallel to it. He giggled as he rolled it back and forth, the last sip sliding along the inner curve. He tried to roll it fast enough for the liquid to meet itself in the chase. For once he felt warm and slow, so slow. His senses normally on high alert, he was like a rabbit twitching at every sound but right now everything felt loose and distant.

He rolled the bottle too hard and it slipped out of reach. He stretched out an arm but it was too heavy to move. Instead he just let his arm drop to the floor. His stomach rolled unpleasantly as he watched the bottle come to a stop under the bed. He curled around himself, closing his eyes and breathing through his nose. To distract himself from the sudden nausea, he tried to go through his times tables. He had learned them a couple years ago in school but he always struggled to keep them straight. It had been the cause of more than one argument around the dining table. His father, who never had difficulty with numbers, insisted it was stupidity or, worse, laziness, on Aaron’s part that prevented him from being competent at math. He knew he should be able to do this, most kids in his class could recite these facts without a second thought. But for some reason, the numbers felt unmanageable, even at eleven years old. He knew there was something wrong with him, but there was so much wrong with him he wasn’t sure where his inability with math fell on the scale of his insufficiencies. It was impossible to understand how these things came so easily to others. It was the same sort of impossible as imagining himself as an adult, only a few years from now, less time than he’s been alive already. If time was to be believed, in seven years he would be eighteen and free.

He fell asleep somewhere in the six times table. He threw up on himself in the middle of the night, barely conscious as it happened. Unable to move as it made a mess down his shirt and pooled on the floor beneath his chin. He hadn’t eaten much so it was mostly a thin sort of bile at least. A small blessing.

Sometime before dawn rough fingers grabbed him around the back of the neck, dragging him from his hiding place. He had a hard time focusing his eyes but the anger was too familiar to miss. His head hurt, his stomach hurt, as his blood pulsed hotly through his dehydrated body. He couldn’t help the frightened tears that began to run down his cheeks. He was too disoriented to comprehend the insults, the curses being directed at him. His father shook him hard before throwing him down on the rough carpet. From here Aaron could see the worn cuffs of his father’s pants. He must have slept in his chair because he was still wearing his clothes from the night before.

“You think you can steal from me?”

Those words came through clearly enough. Aaron started to panic as his dad pulled his shirt up, enough that his small back was exposed as he tried to crawl away. He couldn’t see anything, the fabric bunched around his head, arms trapped uselessly by his ears. His breathing quickened, causing the spot where he’d gotten sick on himself to draw close against his mouth and nose, setting off a wave of nausea. Aaron cried helplessly for his mother as his father let his anger out in lashes against his pale skin. He made himself as small as he could, the wet shirt getting caught in his mouth as he screamed. The taste made him retch but there was nothing in his stomach so he was left choking on coughs that seared through his chest.

He could never gauge how long the beatings lasted. Always longer than he had the energy to cry for. He grew still and quiet while his father continued to strike him. But the hits came slower, the pauses between each one lengthening as his breathing became labored. That kind of fury wan’t meant to be sustained. Once tired of the action, he aimed a final kick at his son and cursed as he walked away, belt hanging loose from his fist. In the doorway he yelled for his wife, who hadn’t been drawn to Aaron’s room despite his begging for her.

Aaron lay motionless, gasping, his body painfully stiff as he waited for his father to leave. As soon as the man was gone, he clawed at the shirt to pull it the rest of the way off and pushed himself backwards under the bed as far as he could get. Tears still ran down his face, though his emotions had settled into numbness, his body reacted automatically to the hurt. His foot bumped against the empty bottle, making it roll a little. He kicked it, a burst of anger tensing his muscles, and it spun away, crashing against the corner of the dresser. He froze at the sound of shattering glass, a whimper he couldn’t suppress escaping his mouth. He prayed the noise wouldn’t bring his father back. Shivering now, he buried his head in his arms, muffling any more sounds he couldn’t control and tried to hear the warning of returning footsteps.

He stayed there, tucked into the dusty darkness, listening to the sounds of the house: his father showering, his mother making breakfast. He didn’t attempt to move until he was sure his dad had gone for the day. He started to slide out but then an overwhelming fear that he would return suddenly immobilized him. He shrank back again. He was hungry, thirsty, he had to go to the bathroom but he was just too afraid to move. He remained there for a long time, forever it felt like, before he heard soft footsteps moving through the hallway. Logically he knew that it wasn’t his father but his hands shook with fear anyway.

His mother’s feet came into view, approaching the bed. She knelt down, dress tucked under her knees. “Aaron?”

He held his breath.

“Aaron, baby, come out.” She leaned down to look under the bed. As her eyes adjusted to the dark she saw him, half dressed, eyes wide and and circled by dark shadows. Her concerned expression shifted, a flicker of anger appeared but was gone in a flash, a match too easily blown out.

“Come on,” she held out a slender hand, palm up in supplication. He looked at it, unmoving. Where had she been when he was screaming for her? Hadn’t she heard? Why hadn’t she come looking sooner? Everything hurt, outside and in. His own anger burned through him, resentment driving him to action. He ignored her hand, instead pulling himself out on his elbows, putting as much space between them as possible. She remained on her knees as she looked at him. They were almost the same height positioned like this, his head slightly above hers in a preview of their future height difference. He wrapped his arms around his bruised and sticky chest, glaring at her. Upright, the blood drained away from his face, his balance became uneven and he swayed a little. She watched him adjust his feet, her hands useless in her lap after he’d ignored her offer. She was afraid to touch him.

She pursed her lips. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“You know I can’t help you. You have to be smarter than that.” Her voice was apologetic, though her words were not. All he could think about though was the way his throat felt raw from the sickness and the screaming and how she’d left him there alone for so long. She was the adult, she was supposed to take care of him. He was too wrapped up in his anger to see the grey bruises on her neck, to be aware of the contradiction between her long sleeves and the warm sunlight beginning to stream through the window. She sighed and rolled back onto her heels to stand up, picking up his dirty shirt.

“I’ll run you a bath, come on.”

He chewed his lip, watching her leave the room, wanting to disobey if only to make things difficult.

“You’re going to be late for school,” she called from the hallway.

He followed reluctantly, every movement sending fire racing across his back, every step unsteady. He hissed as he sank into the hot water but once he was submerged, it reminded him of the warmth the liquor had infused through him. The haze had softened the world with unconcern. He closed his eyes to remember the feeling better, only a few hours ago he had felt weightless. He wanted that back. With his eyes closed, he missed how his mother’s tears dripped into the bathwater, mixing seamlessly with the soap bubbles and steam.

He rested his cheek on his arms, folded on top of his pulled in knees. His mouth hung open slightly because he couldn’t breathe through his nose, still too congested from crying. He could almost fall asleep if it weren’t for the stinging pain that he couldn’t quite push away from his consciousness.

As the water swirled pink, his mother’s expression tightened while she brushed the washcloth against him as softly as she could. The cuts from the leather were shallow, not a serious injury, weaving across old scabs, older scars. There were fine pale lines alongside thicker ones, the pink shine of new skin. It made her want to scream, to run away but she knew that wasn’t fair to him. She couldn’t protect him from the man, she couldn’t protect either of them. But she could at least help him now. So she stifled her tears as best she could. Once his back was cleaned of dried blood, his chest freed of dirt and vomit, she pet his head softly. Her fingers brushed back the thick dark hair, the dampness causing it to curl slightly at the ends. It was too long again.

He looked at her with sleepy eyes, all his anger gone. He was just a little boy who wanted to be held by his mom, the only person he could remember ever touching him lovingly. Maybe not as much now, less and less as he got older, as his father’s disapproval of him grew. But he remembered, distantly, moments of safety in her arms. He wanted that so desperately right now.

“Can I stay home, Mama?”

She wanted to say yes so badly but that was how rumors started. She would do anything to avoid that suspicion, even if it meant rejecting her son. Someday he would understand, she reasoned.  

“You’re not sick Aaron, you have to go to school,” she did her best to sound firm, businesslike.

Disappointed but unsurprised, he knew better than to argue or pout, just looked down at the dirty bathwater. She got his towel and dried him off as gently as possible. He whimpered a few times when the towel met particularly raw patches. Each pained little sound tore at her heart.

“Go get dressed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He felt sluggish as he pulled on his clothes—the loosest darkest shirt he could find. It wasn’t hard, none of his clothes fit. They were all bought several sizes too large in the expectation that he would grow but that had yet to happen. His mother promised him it would happen soon but he had a hard time believing her. He had a hard time believing he would survive long enough to see himself grown.

chapter two