#Echo already loved people and her community

[vaugarde]

wc animators who make amvs involving dovewing that dont vilify her or make her look like a vain airhead who bullies her sister and is proud of taking hollyleafs place or heavily sideline her in favor of ivypool and act like shes just the beginning of ivypools arc i am kissing you directly on the mouth

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

So this is a weird ask but I figured an Actual Welsh Person would be the person to go to, and you've been pretty gung-ho about the language thing. So I hope I'm not bothering you with this.

Is there a cultural consensus on foreigners learning Welsh? I'm American and I don't have a single shred of Welsh ancestry. My family is historically German, and we've been here since the English Colony days, so it honestly seems really weird even to try to claim some tie to German heritage.

Anyway, my point is, I have absolutely zero legitimate claim to the Welsh language. I don't plan to travel to Wales in the foreseeable future. I have no reason to learn Welsh except that it sounds pretty and I enjoy a challenge.

Putting aside the issue of "lmao it's gonna be stupid difficult to learn an endangered language if you don't have anyone to speak it with" (I have a loose plan for dealing with that, and the experience of learning two languages to "can read most novels without needing the dictionary" level without anyone to speak them with in person already) entirely, do you reckon it's okay for me to study Welsh? I know Americans are really, really bad about just kinda assuming the whole world belongs to us, and I'm trying not to do that here. Especially because Welsh IS endangered.

I imagine your average Welsh person probably doesn't care what some random American does. But like, for people who care about the language...Would it be considered disrespectful or overstepping for me to study it? I don't expect you to speak for the entire country, of course, but I respect your opinion and I feel like you'd have a grasp on what the general feeling towards a foreigner like me might be.

Thanks for your time.

I honestly, truly, do not understand how the discussion around cultural appropriation has been twisted in the cultural zeitgeist to such an extent that people now feel anxiety about learning other languages.

This is not a personal attack on you, Anon - the gods only know that you clearly care and want to do the right thing, and that's beautiful and wonderful and also I will come back to extolling your personal virtues at the end of this post, so stay tuned. But I do want to take a moment here to talk about the broader issue at play, which I have seen echoed multiple times elsewhere, because fuck me what are we doing to ourselves.

Learn. Languages.

That is what languages are for! To be used for communication. If you don't learn languages, you are forcing everyone else to use yours. How have we somehow, as a culture, twisted that into being the less selfish option? How have we done that? I posted my favourite Welsh idiom recently, and someone reblogged it and wrote in the tags that they loved the idiom and would start using it, but they would do so in English because their "Welsh pronunciation would make their Welsh grandmother spin in her grave."

What kind of mental gymnastics is that?

How the fuck do you twist it so badly that you think taking a Welsh idiom for your own and exclusively using it in English is less offensive than saying it in Welsh but maybe a bit wrong? I've literally had people proclaim to me that they're learning Welsh on Duolingo but they never speak it because they're too self-conscious, and they tell me this not to highlight a massive flaw in themselves that they need to work on, but as though I'm supposed to pat them on the head and thank them for... still making me speak English to them.

There was that post where a Deaf blogger received an anonymous ask saying learning sign language is cultural appropriation, as though Deaf people haven't been calling for Sign to be taught in schools. As though a Deaf person being entirely isolated in everyday hearing society unless they have an interpreter with them is less offensive than a hearing person being able to use BSL.

Like, these are not sacred or religious languages. The purpose of Welsh or BSL or what have you is not to perform the Eleusinian mysteries. It's a living everyday language, same as English -

Except it's not the same as English. As Anon here so rightly points out, Welsh is endangered. That means we are desperate for people to learn it. That's how it will survive. That's how we reversed it from 'dying language' to 'living language', in fact - we managed to get lots of people to learn it. You know what is a threat, though? People not learning it because, like poor Anon here, they've been somehow convinced by Western society that you're only allowed to learn languages if you personally have a historic or cultural connection to them that you can prove via six forms of ID and a letter of recommendation from a druid. Or people never using it because they're too embarrassed to try and risk losing face by getting it wrong, or maybe sounding a bit silly, and thus forcing us to use English anyway. Those are threats.

Anon. Listen to me, feel the sincerity of my words: we adore you. We adore you. You cannot imagine how appreciated it is when someone learns Welsh. You cannot imagine how touched we are that you wanted to, that you tried, that you respected us enough and considered us valid enough that you made the effort. Our closest neighbours are the very people who are still trying to stamp out Welsh to this very day. Do you know the number 1 reaction I get, by a country mile, when I tell English people that I speak Welsh? It's some variant on a scoff, and the sentiment "Why? What's the point? Bit useless, isn't it?"

By a country mile. That's the reaction I expect, and brace for, and is overwhelmingly what I get.

So when someone who isn't Welsh actually chooses to learn Welsh?

Imagine what that feels like! To go from not-even-hidden disgust, from outright mockery and often active suppression campaigns, to a foreigner earnestly telling me that they love and respect my language so much they're trying to learn it. Imagine how that feels.

Please learn Welsh. Please learn it. We will love you for it. We will build you a statue. We will bake little Welshcakes with your face on in icing sugar. We will write you poems in complex rhyme. We'll name an Eisteddfod prize after you. We'll name at least, like, three sheep after you. Thank you, thank you so much for even wanting to learn. You're a delight and a marvel and a wonder. Your hair looks great today, as it does all days. You're a strong, independent human being of immense wisdom and compassion. If this were a Welsh myth you'd be a wise salmon the heroes came to for advice. What a fantastic human.

The welcome awaits if you choose to learn

[hvlplvss]

| still around

summary: in which colby manages to communicate to his childhood best friend through cody and satori.

warnings: angsty tbh, this is a best!friend!colby x reader btw, mentions of death

authors note: kinda short and i lowkey don’t like this

hell week had just begun for sam and colby. not even fifteen minutes ago, cody and satori had explained and begun to showcase their methods of communicating to spirits. which immediately baffled the duo.

a spirit named abigail arnold, had come through. she was called a friendly spirit, the matriarch of the conjuring house. she’d also managed to bring sam’s grandma through, libby golbach. this of course, freaked sam and the boys took a break, to which the spirits agreed.

as sam had recovered from the contact with his late grandma. the two walked back into the living room of the house. cody and satori checked in on sam, before continuing once again.

the workers connected their hands, by holding one another’s wrists. “hi,” satori began, footsteps echoed a moment after, “is this abigail i’m talking to?” the spirit responded with one step. “great! thank you abigail. is there anything else you need to tell me, or tell sam and colby?”

the ghost responded with two footsteps, satori nodded, beginning to spell out the alphabet. it began to spell out your name.

colby’s eyes widened and his hands dropped to his sides. sam recognised the name from when colby first spoke about the loss of his childhood friend at only 14 years old. sam immediately panned the camera towards colby.

eventually, satori had spelt out your entire name. y/n y/l/n. satori and cody turned to look at the boys and noticed colby’s watery eyes. “does that name mean something..?” satori asked carefully.

colby nodded slowly, trying to take a calming breath, “she’s was my bestfriend. uh- she passed when i was fourteen,” colby explained a slight pause between words, reminiscing the thought of the girl.

satori nodded, turning back to cody and grabbing onto him, “abigail, is there anything y/n wants colby to know?” there was silence for a few moments, colby looking up with hopeful eyes, while sam and the camera watched him.

there were five footsteps around the living room. cody and satori nodded, sharing one glance as satori began saying the alphabet.

always watching

the sentence began with. colby’s hand reached up to wipe away the stray tears that seeped from his eyes.

and loving you.

colby stood up and let a few more tears leak from his eyes. satori noticed this and asked abigail for a break, checking that it was okay with y/n as well, who agreed.

colby walked outside with colby following after him, just like they had already done not long ago after they got through to libby.

“dude, how you feeling?” sam asked, turning the camera light on.

colby stood there, wiping both his eyes with one hand. “it’s… it’s just pretty crazy. like we spoke to your grandma, and now y/n?” colby whispered, his voice hoarse. “and i’ve never spoke about her. anywhere. she’s always been apart of my like private life and i’ve only really told you about her, so it’s just crazy to think that she’s there and she’s safe,” colby explained.

sam agreed, turning the camera so he was now also in frame with colby, “and just to think that my grandma and y/n, who are some of the most important people in our lives, are together. it’s sad but so nice to think and know,”

throughout the week, when satori and cody communicated with abigail, y/n was always there. when satori would ask if any other spirits were there, y/n’s name always popped up.

usually, she didn’t have another message for sam or colby. by every so often, she’d warn the boys about what lurks in the house, wanting to keep the boys safe. but sam and colby being sam and colby of course ignored the warning signs from both abigail and y/n.

ever since the first interaction with y/n, colby had begun opening up to the viewers about y/n and her passing. he’d mentioned her on his social media, sharing that she was the one who gave him the idea to create a channel in the future. she never specified what, but she’d put the idea in his head and he’d forever be grateful for the girl he once knew.

when entering places as the basement and they’d ask for abigail’s protection, he’d quietly mutter to y/n, praying for her to stay by his side.

[leahsgf]

why can’t i say that i’m in love

katie mccabe x fem!reader

vaguely inspired by secret love song by little mix! i can’t find the request to link it but anon you are a true soldier for waiting for this for how long you have so thank you for your patience!

underneath the fluorescent glow of the lights beaming across the emirates stadium, you stood on the sidelines, your usual spot - as you watched your girlfriend shine and showcase her talent on the pitch. the chants of her name echoed around you when she won the ball through one of her famous tackles, and you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride in your chest, knowing that you were surrounded by thousands of people equally as captivated by the irish woman as you were.

well, maybe not in the exact same way that you were, but they didn’t know that. nobody did. here, you were merely an addition to the blur of red and white shirts and scarves in the stands.

just another voice, merging with all of the others belting the chorus of ‘the angel’.

nothing special.

and with that thought, the cheers and applause surrounding you quickly became almost taunting, leaving a sense of unease lingering in the depths of your soul. behind the facade of her fame and success, and you being simply a fan, another face in the crowd making up a sold out stadium, lay a hidden truth. a truth that threatened to tear apart the already incredibly fragile fabric of your relationship.

you and katie had fallen in love against all odds and expectations, drawn together by what you would call fate - and a passion that transcended all possible boundaries. however, in a world, her world, where public image and professionalism was everything, especially with the way social media was changing - the revealing of your love would jeopardise not only katie’s career and standing within the football community, but your life too.

especially as you weren’t used to the madness of being a public figure.

katie had been in very public relationships in the past, and was determined this time to not give strangers, or to even her own ex a reason to merely look in your direction or attempt to ruin what the two of you had. you deserved more than being reduced to a gossip topic or stupid joke on a so called ‘podcast’ and your girlfriend insisted on not allowing this to happen to you. every move she made was plastered online and analysed to no end, and with that came walls and boundaries that she put up - and an even fiercer protectiveness over her loved ones. you particularly.

you had known this from the get go, and you knew more than anything that she loved you. but there were moments where your resolve cracked, and insecurities slipped through your one innocent, almost naive bubble of love.

as the final whistle blew, signifying a well earned arsenal win, you hung back - allowing the crowds around you to eventually disperse, with their signs begging for katie’s attention trailing by their feet, before finding your way to her, a well practiced routine that now didn’t even need to be said.

you hated that you felt envious of the fans around you, able to literally plaster their love for the girl, your girl, for everyone to see, without even an ounce of hesitation.

your usual car ride was oddly quiet on the way home, with you lost in your own thoughts and your girlfriend still winding down from the adrenaline rush of the game, and quickly sensing that something was up with you.

she knew that you had been struggling more and more with being almost like her little secret as time went on, and it killed her to watch you fade away before her eyes. but her desire to protect you was stronger than her ability to see just how much the tiniest action would affect you.

you knew it was playing on her mind too as she slipped her hand into yours when you were walking from the car up to her house. a short lived moment of happiness and almost relief, that you cut short when you noticed her head constantly turning - making sure nobody was watching, even in the darkness of the night enveloping you.

tears formed in your eyes at a speed in any other moment you would find embarrassing, as you dropped her hand and rushed ahead, ignoring her calls of your name trailing behind you.

and in an instant, her house, your usual refuge from the prying eyes of the outside world, turned from an escape to the place you were trying to hide from as you entered it, with katie not even a step behind you.

“baby please. talk to me.” her voice made you shiver, her being much closer to you than you had realised, and the scratch of her accent almost made you crumble entirely. it didn’t - but it did force your sudden guard down slightly, and allowed her to guide you towards the sofa with a hand on your back.

you sank into the plush of the cushions pathetically, a perfect match to the way you threw your head in your hands a second later. your thoughts were racing around your mind, and not showing signs of letting up for even a second. you’d gone from having one moment of vulnerability at a game to being convinced that your world was ending.

that you weren’t worth it, you never had been - and that she was going to leave you.

“sweetheart, look at me.” katie almost begged, now on her knees crouched on the floor in front of you, looking the most concerned you’d ever seen her, which made you feel beyond stupid.

you knew she loved you. any idiot could look at her now, notice the look in her eyes as she took in you and know that she loved you more than anything. so why was it so hard for you to see that?

why could you not just appreciate what you had and be happy?

any one of those fans sat around you tonight would kill to be you if they knew. and yet you’re near crying and refusing to look at her.

“it’s silly, i’m sorry, you had such a good game i shouldn’t be ruining it.” your words were no more than a mumble, spoken into the palms of your hands.

“no it’s not. nothing you feel is ever silly, i promise. talk to me.” she clasped your hands in hers, causing the now slowing tears to kick start again.

“i just- i’m just so tired of not being able to show the world how much i love you. i don’t want to be a secret anymore, all of the hiding is suffocating me and i don’t want that. i don’t want us to deny ourselves the chance to be truly happy. so many couples are out freely, why can’t we be like that? am i not enough? or do you not want to be with me? i- i just can’t do it anymore. i’m so sorry, katie.”

you closed your eyes when your ramblings trailed off into sniffles, not wanting to witness her reaction. she wanted this to be a secret - she was dead set on it. you weren’t prepared for this life. you didn’t know what it was like. all you thought would come from this conversation was her leaving you.

that surely was the only outcome here.

she didn’t reply for a few seconds. seconds that felt like hours as an unnerving, almost cold silence fell between the short distance between you.

“look at me.”

and for the first time since your emotions had taken over you - you made eye contact with her, staring into her eyes that you were convinced contained some kind of magic, holding the ability to completely bring down your walls just from a glance, every time.

“okay.” she spoke, so softly that you were almost convinced you’d misheard.

“okay what?” you looked at her, confusion visibly plastered all her your face - that in any other circumstance would’ve had her laughing and teasing you.

“we can do this.” her voice was so soft, so vulnerable that it made guilt seep into your veins.

“really, i don’t want you to feel forced i understand you don’t want-”

“baby. no. i want more than anything to show the world how much i love you. i just want to protect you from all of the negativity out there, but the last thing i wanted to do was push you away. if you’re ready, then so am i, kay?” she cut you off before you’d even had a chance to let your insecurities consume any more of you.

“and you are my absolute world. i’m sorry i let you doubt that for even a second. i love you so much it physically hurts - everything i do is for you, and i’m so beyond lucky to have you.”

and with her words, your tears returned once more - but instead for a completely different cause.

her lips were on yours in an instant, joining in a kiss that whilst mixed with salty tears - said everything that months worth of words could never.

you settled instantly in her arms, letting her hold you and literally kiss all of your troubles away.

-

“i’m gonna have to start training more then i guess!” she broke the first peaceful, happy silence of the evening abruptly, and confusing you even more than she had before at the randomness of her words.

“wait what? why?”

“because you are all mine. and look at ye! i’m going to have to fight off my competition now they’re going to know who you are!”

“there’s no competition, never has been.”

-

this is not proof read and is most likely the worst thing i’ve ever written but i was determined to actually get it out of my drafts

[1d1195]

Love and Dryer Sheets I

I haven't figured out how long this will be just yet but I anticipate at least three parts. This is where I'll keep the rest of it: Love and Dryer Sheets

~3.6k words (I know it's shorter. I just want to post and get some more ideas flowing)

Warnings: Harry is VERY grumpy/angry, right person, wrong place.

“I never miss the opportunity to say I told you so,” she giggled.

Harry snorted as he chuckled. “Your boyfriend mus’ love that,” he mumbled.

“Very smooth, Harry.”

The door slapped open and hit against the wall loudly so that she had no choice but to look up. The sound was followed by a tall man entering the room with a scowl on his face. He looked like he was having an internal argument with someone that wasn’t even privy to the conversation. She glanced away from the page she was reading briefly at the noise but turned right back to the book to give the grumpy person their own space. But it didn’t stop her from discreetly peeking up from the novel to catch sight of how pretty the man was. The first thing she noticed was his height and his scowl. But his hair was the color of chocolate twisting around his head in the softest, gentlest curls she had ever seen on a man. His skin was tanned, and he looked like he should be a model for sweatpants. Below the scowl, she could just make out that his eyes were green, but she was too far away to make out much more.

Except that he was very beautiful.

So beautiful that not even his crankiness could take her mind away from the idea of him. It seemed wrong that he was so angry. Someone as attractive as he was shouldn’t have been that upset. Especially about laundry. The anger had to be misplaced.

Stop analyzing a stranger just because he’s hot. Her brain yelled at her.

“Can’t even...” he grumbled. “Fucking laundry,” he slammed the washer lid shut and continued his angry mumbles.

She pretended not to hear and stopped stealing glances. It seemed he only just realized he was doing laundry because he muttered something unintelligible about detergent as he made his way over to the little dispensary machine containing fabric softener and the like. He dropped five quarters in it, grumbling the entire time, and twisted the knob. But unfortunately, there was nothing. No detergent fell from the space the way it was supposed to. She had only watched this man for all of a minute, but she already knew the inconvenience was going to be bad for his already crummy mood.

He slammed the side of his fist into the machine causing a loud metallic clang to echo through the room. Loud enough to be heard over the sound of the washers and dryers running throughout the room. “Jesus fucking Christ!” He ran a hand over his face. She wondered what his next move was going to be but without her really realizing, she started to speak.

“Hey, I have detergent if you need some,” she offered kindly. Smooth. Her internal voice rolled its eyes. Interact with the maybe psychopath yelling at laundry. Honestly, she did it more as a favor to herself than to the stranger. Conflict was one of her least favorite things. Even if he was having conflict with an inanimate object. Growing up in a household where her parents displayed argument after argument as if it were normal for two people who “loved” each other to constantly talk in terms of passive aggressive remarks and angry tones for hours of her childhood did a number on her. As it was with the laundry debacle here, it felt like it was her responsibility to mediate the argument. Reduce the tension. Find a solution.

He only just seemed to realize he wasn’t alone in the communal laundry room. It was a bit naïve on his part to forget it, even. The laundry room was often one of the busiest spaces in the apartment building. Moreover, there were about five or six washers and dryers going at any one time—like right now. Usually, people just left their stuff but here was this girl sitting on top of the washer, one leg propped up so she could lean her book against it while the other dangled over the front of the machine and rested on the top of her overturned tall basket.

The angry air left him in a heavy sigh. He turned more directly toward her. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he sounded a bit shy. Embarrassed by his outburst it seemed. She slid off the washer and lifted her basket right side up to reveal the jug of detergent and a bag with folders and papers in it. Briefly he wondered what they were, but it was none of his business and it was weird he wanted to know. He hadn’t even learned her name yet.

“S’okay. Laundry can be intense, I get it,” she joked.

He smirked, feeling the annoyance leave him the longer he looked at her. She was so pretty. He shouldn’t have thought that way. Not at all. But it was impossible not to notice. Her hair was in a ponytail and pieces were falling around her face like she meant for it to frame her features. It was like the little strands were pointing directly at her with the intention of drawing his eyes across her kind face. The slope of her lips, the way her cheeks bloomed as she smiled gently at him, how the corners of her eyes crinkled and her lashes brushed against her cheeks when she blinked.

Stop. It. His brain hissed at him.

“Thanks,” he said taking the jug from her and moved over to his washer. He felt all the anger that was rattling his body disappear as he undid the cap, poured the liquid into it, and started the washer. He returned the detergent back to her. “Sorry, ‘bout m’slamming around,” he said sheepishly. “S’jus’...been a day,” he rubbed a hand on the back of his head awkwardly, feeling bad that he looked like an idiot. She shrugged.

“S’okay, doesn’t bother me,” she reached out and grabbed his hand effortlessly. She turned it over as if she randomly grabbed strangers’ hands all the time. “Thought you might have hurt yourself,” she murmured and then dropped his hand. He wished she didn’t, though. Her gentle touch felt like heaven.

He cleared his throat because he absolutely could not find himself losing his mind over a girl he had met for thirty seconds. “M’Harry,” he said.

“Nice to meet you,” she smiled introducing herself. “I just moved in... third floor, just a little under a week ago.”

Harry nodded. “Welcome,” it sounded a little sarcastic, but not in a mean way. “M’on the fifth floor,” he said. Tell her. Tell her right now. His conscience shouted at him. She hopped back into her position on top of the washer and resumed her reading position. “You don’t have t’stay with your clothes,” he told her as he checked the dials on the machine he was using.

“Hold over from college. My last apartment building was also not very good about it,” she shrugged. “I don’t trust it, but I don’t mind. I have a good book.”

Harry glanced at the title, committing it to memory so he could go purchase his own. No. Don’t. Stop it. You can’t do that. His conscience was screaming but he simply ignored it. It was the first time he didn’t feel angry in hours. She was just this bright little spot in the basement of the apartment building. It was a rainy Saturday and the only light coming in was from the egress windows. It wasn’t very light at all; merely the sun trying to force it’s way through the clouds above but getting trapped among the rain drops. Harry was feeling angry and the weather wasn’t helping.

But there was this...kind and lovely angel just sitting on a washing machine. Inspecting his hand for injury. Pure, gentle, perfect sunlight.

“Gotcha,” he murmured. “Well...m’doing other chores and things...I’ll be back down later.”

“Okay, nice meeting you, Harry,” she smiled. “I hope your day gets better,” her words were warm with kindness. It made him feel off kilter. He had been so angry all day that he nearly forgot what it was like to feel...happy.

He managed to smile at her, give a little wave, and left without another word.

Shortly after he left, she found herself a little flustered by the interaction. She was surprised she inspected his hand like that. It was totally out of character to be so forward—offering detergent and help, checking for injury. But really, taking his hand allowed her to admire the tattoos that lined his wrist and forearm and how the veins in his hand looked like the prettiest spiderweb she’d ever seen. Part of her hoped she would run into Harry again while doing laundry. Smiling, she returned her attention to her book and thought she really wouldn’t mind being around Harry for a longer time period.

*

Harry’s anger was renewed as he headed back to the laundry room. His chest was achy with the feeling of anxiety and a pressure forming from the annoyance he felt in his life. Part of him thought he should have just stayed in the laundry room with the girl that reminded him of sunshine.

That’s a stupid idea, and you know it.

He was really beginning to hate his conscience.

But his anger skyrocketed further as he entered the laundry room to see piles of laundry on top of washers. First, he was irritated because he was going to be livid if someone touched his clothing. This hadn’t happened in the year and a half he had lived there. But of course, it was going to happen on a day that he was simmering in anger over everything. Maybe more importantly, he thought he had given poor advice to Sunshine, and he was not happy that he did that.

Did you seriously just call her SUNSHINE? His brain was having independent thoughts, but Harry ignored it.

He was practically shaking with anger as he marched over to the washer that he had used earlier in the day. Other washers had piles of wet, crumpled clothing items on top of them waiting for the person to find them and be just as bitter and annoyed as Harry was. But instead, Harry found the washer he was using and none of his clothes had been moved. He felt his face pinch in confusion. That didn’t seem right.

But in place of a lump of wet clothes, was a piece of paper. He felt the confusion deepen. At the very least it made him forget how angry he was. At least for a few minutes. Scrawled across the paper read:

Out of Order. Do NOT use. -Management

Harry felt a new wave of anger wash over him almost instantly. If his clothes were damaged or stuck or something he might lose his mind. But he opened the washer and found his clothes were perfectly spun out. Smelled like the air after it had just rained. The confusion he felt continued as he pulled the items out of the washer and dropped them into the basket so he could throw them in a dryer next. He reread the note on the lid trying to figure out why the apartment management would say the washer was broken when it very obviously wasn’t.

He pulled the paper off the washer allowing someone else to use it now. As he did, he caught sight of writing on the back.

Told you so :) -304

Harry felt the urge to run out of the laundry room, wet basket of clothes and all, and knock on the door labeled 304 until she answered. He wanted to read beside her. Ask to use one of her dryer sheets or whatever it was that made her laundry smell so good. Her little knowing “told you so” didn’t even bother his already fragile, grumpy state. In fact, it only made him like her more.

STOP IT. His brain shouted. Shaking his head, Harry rid himself of his thoughts of Sunshine. What else am I supposed to call her? He asked rhetorically to his conscience. Instead, he tried not to think about her. He had only chatted with her for all of four minutes and that couldn’t have been nearly enough time to think he was already falling for her...right?

*

Today she was laying across two washers, a book above her head. She didn’t notice when people filtered in or out and no one paid any mind to her either.

Until Harry showed up.

“More laundry?” He asked.

She smiled, folding the corner of her page down and sitting up so she looked less crazy. Harry had a basket at his hip, and she noted there was a jug of detergent on top of the pile of laundry inside. “I love laundry,” she shrugged.

He wrinkled his nose at her in distaste. “M’least favorite,” he murmured.

“Aw, that’s too bad,” she frowned.

“Thanks for saving m’washer the other day,” he said dumping the items into the washer along the back wall—opposite of where she was seated.

She smiled down at the book in her lap and then looked up at the back of his head. “I never miss the opportunity to say I told you so,” she giggled.

Harry snorted as he chuckled. “Your boyfriend mus’ love that,” he mumbled.

“Very smooth, Harry. Unlike my ex-boyfriend, my imaginary one thinks that my perfectionism and tendency to be right is admirable. He clings to my every thought and word,” she fluttered her eyelashes cutely. If she were magic, she would have made a halo appear above her head.

He rolled his eyes at her and nodded. Tell her! His conscience yelled. RIGHT now. He ignored it as he had been since the last time he saw her. “A new book?” He asked instead.

She nodded, flipping the book over in her hands inspecting the front and back cover carefully. “Yeah...I try to read three books a month. The last one was a little dense but this one is a quick read. Entertaining, ya know?” She smirked. “It’s a little cheesy but it’s cute. It makes me happy,” she shrugged.

Harry thought that was sweet. He wanted her to be happy.

Stop. It.

She watched Harry throw everything in the washer in one load. “You should separate the light and dark stuff.”

“I’ve never had a problem with it before,” he shrugged. “S’this you trying t’be right again?”

She laughed and looked at her lap. The heat rose to her cheeks. “No, actually. Told you, just really like laundry. I notice a difference in my own stuff. But if you don’t obviously it’ll be fine,” she shrugged back. “I just really like laundry,” she repeated.

Part of him wanted to do exactly as she said. But even Harry, not just his conscience, thought it would be too much. She watched as he poured in the detergent, closed the lid, and then he hopped on top of his washer just like her. They were facing one another. She could see how green his eyes were now, a little bloodshot around the iris, she wondered if he had a late night and what from. His smile was sweet, a deep dimple dented the middle of his cheek depending on which side of his lips lifted when he smirked. But right now, he was smiling completely, making him look so innocent and boyish. It made her stomach flutter.

“So...are you in school still? Or do you have a job?” She asked.

“M’gainfully employed. Work in the financial district.”

“A corporate sellout,” she remarked neutrally.

Harry smiled again shaking his head at her banter. “Oh? And you, Sunshine? Y’work for the Lollipop League?”

“It’s the Lollipop Guild, and Lullaby League, actually. But no,” she snorted. “I work in the hospital as a counselor,” she said. “I can see how you would think it’s like being on the set of The Wizard of Oz.”

Harry tapped his fingers against the washing machine and pursed his lips at her. “Mus’ be a tough job,” he murmured.

She nodded. “It’s rewarding though. Gives me a cathartic cry about once a week,” she opened her book back up to where she stopped. She felt Harry watching her though and she realized she probably shouldn’t have admitted to an almost stranger that she cried so often.

Harry hated the idea of her sadness. She was the embodiment of sunshine. Tears shouldn’t have been allowed in her eyes nor on her face. His conscience was angry and loud. Harry Styles stop it.

She let the silence wash over them and Harry didn’t seem to mind. They both went to their books and read silently for a while. She giggled cutely every so often and Harry thought it was an adorable sound. He wished he could ask what she had read. He wanted to recite things to her that made him think of her.

Harry was properly and crazily losing his mind.

The words on the pages of her book blended together. She thought Harry was meant to just be looked at for hours upon hours. He was so insanely beautiful it made her mind turn to mush.

He had to be her soulmate, surely. He mentioned her favorite movie and book completely unprompted. She wanted to ask if he had ever read the book or if he liked the movie. If he would ever want to watch it with her in her apartment cozied up on the couch with apple cider. Growing up, her dad read the twenty-four chapters in a loop over the course of months and years. She found Oz completely magical. It was unbelievable that a total stranger would bring it up.

It had to be fate, right?

She could probably recite the book from memory. When she found out about the movie, she watched it on VHS and then DVD and now streamed it at least once a month or played it in the background when she did chores. It was something she had little ones watch at the hospital and she dressed up as a different character every Halloween to pass out candy to the little ones when trapped in their hospital rooms.

Fortunately, her washer buzzed, alerting her she was done, and Harry glanced up briefly and gave another cute little smirk that she was beginning to think was simply meant to keep her up at night—and maybe looking for things to wash.

“So...s’jus’ you in apartment 304?” He asked.

She smiled to herself. If this was his way of flirting it was lame. “Yeah, just me.”

“Awful lot of laundry you’re doing,” he muttered.

She threw her stuff into a dryer, tossing in the scented beads that made her clothes smell good along with a dryer sheet. “I told you I do laundry the right way.”

He chuckled and she thought that his laugh might have been her new favorite sound. “S’fair, I suppose,” he remarked. Slipping off his washer, he inspected her new book and the back cover. He mentally wrote the title down once more. “Do y’have a favorite book?” He asked.

She nodded. “S’kind of silly. It’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. My dad used to read it to me before bed. And I like history and there’s theories on the symbolism for the populist movement—I don’t know. It just makes me think of my childhood and of course the movie was just—” She stopped suddenly, and Harry was completely riveted by the beginning of her explanation.

“What, Sunshine?” He asked so gently. It felt like he was wrapping her in his arms and whispering in her ear. It was like he was trying to reach into her chest and hold her heart in his hands himself. It was sweet and she hated how nice it felt after they had spoken in total for maybe seven minutes since meeting.

She didn’t turn around to look at him. But she could feel his gaze warming her as he watched her fiddle with the dryer. “Just...don’t want to bore you about The Wizard of Oz.”

He ignored what his conscience was shouting at him once more. “I don’t think y’could bore me,” he murmured.

She turned then, looked at him with these beautiful round eyes that he swore were little suns and brightened the whole room as she met his gaze. “Guess the only way we’ll find out is if we keep chatting. Tell me about your book,” she suggested gently. It was an invitation and Harry didn’t really know what to say because the book hardly made any sense over the last few minutes. He was intently focused on her when he was supposed to be reading. He managed to make up something about how it wasn’t much of a page-turner yet but liked it well enough and thought it would get better.

Eventually, Harry’s washer signaled it was time to switch to the dryer and he worried their time was truly limited because before he knew it, her dryer was done. She stayed to fold her stuff, and they continued reading and chatting casually.

She was falling hard for Harry. It seemed it was inevitable. Between the gentleness he showed her in such a short time, the mention of her favorite story, and simply being there during her favorite chore, it was like Harry was meant to meet her. Meant to find her in the laundry room and befriend her so quickly.

There was no use denying she hoped it would escalate to something more.

Harry’s conscience continued to tell him what a terrible idea it was to keep up this...pretense with her. But his heart was saying that he needed warmth, needed the kindness she showed in just the little bit of time he had been around her.

Sunshine was his cure.

--

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[myfictionaldreams]

The Haunting Silence // Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha was your soulmate and she had done everything physically possible to keep you hidden and safe. Every day the two of you spoke through your mind using your soulmate connection but, what happens when suddenly Natasha's mind is silent?

Requested by: @southern-goth​ thank you for the request!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst (lots!), fluff, hurt/comfort, head injury, Sense 8 soulmates AU, Crying/Anxiety, threats of violence, protective Natasha, scissoring, oral sex, fingering, multiple orgasms

Words: 7.5k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link 

Soulmates: two souls that are deeply connected and once successfully found, can communicate through their minds, no matter how far the location or language that was spoken. They were rare and many people were driven insane with the search to find their one true love but not you, you'd accepted years ago that there may never be the chance of ever finding her until fate was on your side.

It had been a beautifully mundane day. The movies like to show a romantic first meeting between two souls tied together from the depths of time, whether it be colliding in a coffee shop, running through the rain or even the hero saving someone from a villain. This was not anything like the start to your story, in fact, there were many details you couldn't remember.

Was it sunny? A Monday? Were you wearing jeans or leggings? You were completely unsure of any of these details but these were all menial with regard to the bigger picture no matter what day it was; it was the best day of your life as you met your soulmate. One minute your thoughts were your own, always described as 'hauntingly silent' by individuals who had already found their soulmates and thought back to the time before meeting their loved one.

Then the next, as you turned towards the exit of your work, your eyes hadn't even connected with her green eyes, still mesmerised by her lips as another silky voice echoed, "Oh", through your mind. It wasn't just this, as a warmth settled through your chest, not realising how empty you had been surviving through life until you finally found her, Natasha, your soulmate.

Natasha Romanoff had recently joined SHIELD when the two of you met but, she was honest about her alter ego Black Widow, as well as her past as an assassin which quickly helped to decide the dynamic of your relationship: a secret.

You were a nurse in a small hospital in the middle of nowhere, it was a surprise to you that Natasha had even found your workplace with it only being used by the locals. This fact actually aided with you being able to keep the relationship secret, you were a nobody in comparison to Natasha, no one would even look in your direction with suspicions or notice a hooded figure sneaking into your home in the middle of the night with your lack of neighbours.

At first, it had been difficult, you'd just found someone you wanted to spend every waking second with but she had to travel around the world and face dangerous missions constantly. However, thankfully with your soulmate connection, you could talk through your minds as long as you were both awake. Then as aliens attacked Earth and the Avengers were formed, you were happy to still be hidden, knowing that if anyone found out about you, they could use you against Natasha so a long-distance relationship it was.

Every single day, the two of you spoke, her words always feeling like being wrapped in a tight warm hug or when the tone changes, a seductive finger sliding down your spine.

Today, you were 5 hours into your shift at the hospital, finding a spare moment to wander down an empty corridor, hugging a report to your chest as a smile widened across your face.

You aren't lying to me, are you? your words were teasing towards Natasha but had every undertone of seriousness behind them.

Natasha had to hide her smile behind the microphone of the headpiece she wore as she was currently flying the Quinjet on the way back from a mission with the Avengers. Why would I lie to you, Milaya?

Your heartbeat quickened at the use of her nickname for you, Milaya, translating to darling, a name that often had you feeling safe and warm. It was also an easy way for Natasha to distract you from your questioning so you shook your head and tried to remain on track with your mind communication.

Please tell me, you encouraged, trying to find out if your soulmate had earned any injuries on this mission.

I'm fine, it's only a scratch on my wrist. - and bruised ribs to match the deep purple shade forming along her jaw where some asshole managed to punch her in the face, but you didn't need to know about that Natasha decided. You were at work and didn't need the distraction.

Hmm fine, I'll believe you for now but I'm going to see if you're lying when you get here in 2 days' time, you responded trying to sound slightly doubtful, having had this conversation with the red-haired assassin far too many times before.

Natasha's mouth quipped into a soft smile that she didn't bother to hide, eyes softening as she looked across the extensive view of clouds. 2 days seemed like such a long time to you both, her stomach twisting uncomfortably thinking about the wait as she decided, I'll try and visit sooner.

Don't rush baby, I would love to see you but please rest. It had been nearly two weeks since you had been able to hold or kiss Natasha and it was almost like you craved to be with her, needing to smell her hair, stroke her bare skin - you were going insane without her around. However, you couldn't help but feel bad that she felt the need to rush to be with you, she was so busy on these missions, hardly eating, sleeping and having to be at peak physical performance at all times. She was doing the very most and travelling across the country to see you whereas you had to sit pretty and wait for her, yes you worked full-time at the hospital but it was hard to compare your fatigue to Natasha's.

I just want to be with you, Natasha finally admitted, her voice losing the confident tone she had been trying to uphold for your benefit.

Your steps slowed to a stop as you stared at a crack in the concrete floor, I want to be with you too. You sighed out loud, wiping a hand down your face before trying to continue the conversation. Where are you at the moment?

Natasha swallowed the lump forming in her throat, the sudden overwhelming sensation to cry needing to pass as she was still surrounded by her friends in the Quinjet who had no idea she had found her soulmate all of those years ago. Looking at her coordinates, she replied, we are flying over Colorado at the moment.

You smiled slightly as you approached the door you had originally been planning on visiting in the hospital, the happiness felt through the bond that Nat could feel her chest warming. Oh, I've always wanted to visit Colorado, I've heard the--.

Silence.

Not the silence that came with being distracted and losing your train of thought but the sort of quiet that left an empty hole in Natasha's chest as she waited for you to finish your sentence but it never came. The assassin sat up further in her seat, heart beginning to pound violently behind her ribcage as the realisation dawned on her that the emotions she was experiencing were the haunting silence she felt before meeting you before there was ever a soulmate connection.

Milaya? Natasha asked into the void of her mind, but there wasn't any sort of response or emotions felt back. Even when you were asleep, Natasha could feel your calmness and sense of contentment through the bond but it was just...lifeless.

MILAYA?! The red-haired woman was screaming through her mind, frantically pulling off her headset as they felt suddenly claustrophobic, forest green eyes darting wildly around the multitude of buttons laid out before her on the jet's console.

Nat hadn't noticed that in her surge of anxiety to try and get you to respond, she had actually begun verbalising her nickname for you, which caught the attention of Tony who was sitting closest to her.

"Who? I'm not naming the jet that Nat, if- Woah". Tony's words were swiftly cut off as Natasha pushed past him, her mouth was painfully dry, eyes wide and unblinking with fear, the match the tremor that had settled in her hands as she grabbed the touchscreen computer typing in your hospital's location.

Her eyes moved faster across the screen than ever before. There was nothing, no reports of an attack, nothing that would be a reason for your bond to completely disappear. Next, she opened the local police scanners and reports but once more, there was nothing that reverted back to the hospital.

Every second that agonisingly ticked past, she continued to scream a mixture between your name and Milaya, hoping there would be some sort of a response but nothing seemed to come of it.

"Natasha? What is it?", it was Steve who was asking now. Natasha's erratic behaviour was quickly questioned by her colleagues and friends who all approached and watched with confusion as she continued to lose all control.

Clint pushed past the others, grabbing onto his best friend's shoulders, his eyebrows furrowing as a tear slipped from the woman's eye, sliding down her cheek. Looking over her shoulder towards the screen, he recognised the hospital name, him being the only person that Natasha trusted with your whereabouts.

"What is it?" Clint demanded.

"I... I can't hear her", Natasha's voice was quiet and displayed her distraught brokenness.

"Her? Who is her?" Tony asked.

"Tony, not now", it was Bruce this time who spoke up, having never seen Natasha lose her composure like this, something had to be seriously wrong.

Clint's hands moved to cup her cheeks, forcing her to look up at him, "Nat, I'm gonna need you to take a deep breath in for me and tell me what's going on."

Natasha removed herself from Clint's grip after taking one steady breath before turning back towards the computer screen, not bothering to wipe away the tears that she couldn't stop from falling as she attempted to log into the hospital's CCTV. From there, she rewound the feed to a couple of minutes ago and began to search through the corridors.

"Can someone explain what's going on, please?" Steve asked, more sternly than before, trying to find some answers that he wasn't getting.

However, the Black Widow wasn't listening, becoming even more panic-stricken with each passing second as she searched for you on the screen until finally, some air returned to her lungs as she found you walking down a deserted corridor, the footage a minute before the bond suddenly stopped. Natasha nearly smiled at seeing you there, even though she couldn't see the details of your face due to the low-quality cameras.

Tentatively, she, along with the rest of the Avengers, watched you walk down the corridor. Nat's eyes continued to glance at the time, watching it tick down as you approached the door at the end of the corridor, opened it and stepped in and then nothing as it was the time everything became silent. There were no further camera feeds in that room, you were simply there one minute and then something happened in the room and the bond was gone.

Natasha rested her head against the computer, closing her eyes to put all of her effort into shouting your name into the void in her mind but the only thing that responded was the silence and the disrupting shouting from the people around her was distracting.

"Everyone shut up!", she demanded with authority, thinking hard enough that it was beginning to form a migraine.

Glancing towards Clint, who looked just as worried as she felt, he asked, "Nothing? What about here?" he tapped against his chest, directly over his heart.

Natasha shook her head before a red suitcase caught her eye line. Taking a step towards Tony she demanded, "Give me the iron man suit".

Tony scoffed, "What? Not until you explain what's happening- wait what the fuck?!"

"GIVE ME THE SUIT!", Natasha had lost all composure, not thinking clearly, only thinking about you as a priority as she reached into her holster and within half a second, had her gun pointed towards Tony's head.

"Natasha, put the gun down, NOW.", Steve demanded, taking a step towards the billionaire like he was going to stand in front of the gun for his friend.

Nat began to cry, still mumbling, "Give me the suit Tony", the hand holding the gun still visibly shaking. Clin stepped directly in the path between the gun and Tony before Steve could, he held up his hands for good measure to show he didn't mean any harm.

"Nat listen to me", his voice was calm and low as he spoke, like he was talking to a frightened animal. "Even if you wear his iron man suit, I don't think you're in the right mindset to be by yourself so this is what's going to happen. You're going to lose the gun and I'm going to sit in the pilot seat and fly us to her, we'll be there in a couple of hours but you need to calm down right now, this jet is too small to be firing guns and you know it".

She knew he was right, thankful that she had a friend to talk some sense into her as she lowered the gun, nodding her head towards Clint who rushed to the seat she was just sitting in, placing the headset over his head. Returning the gun back into her holster and watching as Clint increased the speed of the jet, she suddenly jumped as Bruce began talking to her.

"How long has it been since you found her?" he offered her a warm drink that she hadn't noticed him pour for her. Of course, Bruce was the first to suss out what was going on. Nat held the warm drink in her hands and forced herself to drink it, even though the nausea she felt was overwhelming, she needed to try and keep calm.

"Before I knew any of you...except for Clint", Natasha admitted quietly, sitting in one of the seats surrounding the edge of the Quinjet.

Steve sighed heavily, sitting next to her, now understanding just what was going on.

"Wait, so you've had a soulmate this entire time and you didn't tell any of us?" Tony asked, sounding slightly disheartened by the news.

"I had...I NEEDED to keep her safe Tony. Do you really think our jobs don't come without any repercussions?" Tony shivered at Nat's words, thinking about the number of times his soulmate Pepper had been caught in the crossfire due to him being Iron Man. "Exactly. I can't lose her, she's... the only person I have and the only one I let get close to me, she's my only one and now, she's not answering my calls, something is wrong, I know it is".

The Avengers all nodded their head solemnly, understanding why she had reacted the way that she did. Tony sat opposite Nat, eyes full of remorse, "So is her name Milaya? That's what I heard you say earlier".

Natasha released a half-assed chuckle beneath her breath, "No that's just a nickname, her name is y/n", she allowed herself to smile for a split second, thinking about the first time she'd called you Milaya and how fond you were of it.

Then realisation dawned on her that this was really happening. Not only were you potentially in danger but now the Avengers also knew about you, could this potentially mean you didn't need to hide anymore? Shaking her head she left that thought for another time, needing to make sure you were ok first.

"Everyone strap in", Clint shouted over his shoulder, the jet beginning to reach it's maximum speed. Natasha attached the buckles around herself tightly, dropping her head back and continued to try and shout down the bond.

Clint landed in the near-empty car park in record timing much to Natasha's relief, who hardly waited for the doors to fully open before jumping down onto the tarmac. Even though the car park was bare for vehicles, there was still a scattering of people gathered around, visiting people in the hospital or using the facilities which meant, as the Avengers were suddenly in this forgotten-about town, it caught their attention quickly, shouts and whispers from every direction.

This didn't stop the group however as they followed Natasha into the building, her footsteps fierce and confident, face full of determination, all tears gone as anger replaced those feelings. There wasn't any immediate sigh of distress as they entered the building, and no sign of an attack still or police presence.

The reception lay straight ahead, and immediately, Natasha knew that it was the receptionist Bonnie behind the counter, someone you had talked about with affection on many occasions and it dawned on the assassin that she probably knew every professional in this small building.

Trying to not sound too aggressive but still holding the urgent tone, Natasha stopped before the counter, staring at Bonnie who looked up with comically wide eyes, glancing at each of the Avengers before looking back at Black Widow as she began speaking, "Y/N, where is she?"

Bonnie frowned in bewilderment, "Nurse Y/N? But how did you know-"

Natasha's heart dropped painfully as the receptionist seemed to confirm that something had happened. Beginning to lose her composure once more, her voice raised in noise level as she demanded, "Where is she? Is she even here? Did someone take her? Is she dead-?"

Bonnie quickly cut off Natasha's rant, standing from her seat with raised hands, "No! No she's not dead but something did happen earlier, let me take you to her".

She directed the group down a corridor, half running with how fast Natasha was trying to walk in front of her, ignoring the stares from the other patients and professionals. As they approached a series of windowed rooms, Bonnie began to explain what had happened.

"A ... a guy came in earlier, we think he snuck through the basement but he was caught stealing meds which were where Nurse Y/N was stationed and...she found him in the cupboard and he hit her hard across the head, by the time we found her, the guy was gone and she was unconscious on the floor. The doctors are still waiting for her to wake up was the last update that I had".

Natasha was reeling from the information, knees momentarily buckling but Clint was right behind her, hand under her arm to keep her upright and moving. You were alive, that was the information that alarmed through her mind, you were unconscious that was why she couldn't feel the concentration, it wasn't like you were asleep and could wake at any time, you'd been forcibly put to sleep, your body healing and cold.

Then there was the fact that someone had actually hurt and injured HER soulmate, right now, you were her priority but the second you were feeling better, nothing and no law would stop Natasha from hunting this guy down.

Suddenly Bonnie stopped in front of a large window that looked into a private room that had light filtering through the blinds causing an orange hue to shift across where you lay in the hospital bed in the centre of the room. There were a few machines scattered around that were monitoring your observations and a nurse recording the results standing next to the bed.

Natasha had to use every part of her training to try and hold back the audible sob that threatened to explode from her mouth as she didn't wait for permission to walk into the room. However, no one seemed to have the courage to even question the Avenger, all looking confused between her and the other heroes, nurses and healthcare assistants gathering to see what all the commotion was about.

The nurse turned, hearing someone else entering to room, her eyes widening just as exaggeratedly as Bonnie's and Natasha was quick to read his name tag, Chris. Internally she smiled knowing you were in good hands, Chris had a reputation at the hospital for his quality of care and that you and he were close friends, it must have been hard for him to then stay professional and give care for his friends.

"Is...Is she ok?" Natasha finally found her tongue to ask the Nurse, her green eyes wandering over every inch of your body. You looked almost peaceful, except for the fact that you were still in your Nurse tunic and there was a bandage plastered to your forehead.

A wave of nauseous anger rushed through Nat's body but she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Chris's full attention was now on the Avenger as he answered her question with a surprisingly sturdy tone considering he was talking to one of Earth's Mightiest Heroes. "She's had several stitches to close the injury, we found a metal pole next to her covered in blood so she took a strong hit. Thankfully there's no internal damage shown in the scans and she's yet to wake up but her observations have remained stable. Even if she wakes, she'll need to stay for a day or so to fully assess the damage."

The red-haired woman nodded, feeling somewhat relieved hearing this.

"Natasha?" Clint asked from the doorway having heard what Chris had said, waiting until the assassin turned towards him before continuing. "You good? We'll get out of here to give you some space just... keep in touch, will you? Let us know when she wakes up and-", his voice lowered dangerously low, "we'll find the guy".

Natasha nodded thankfully, even though she wanted to find whoever did this, the promising look in Clint's eyes she knew to trust that he had it covered. The rest of the Avengers shuffled back down the corridor, waving at the onlookers, thankfully taking the spotlight off of Natasha for a second as she attempted to step closer to you.

With no one there to hold her up, her knees buckled once more with overwhelming relief pulsing through her heart as she reached for your hand, her eyes filling with tears at the warm skin of your hand against yours, finally feeling grounded and connected to you.

Chris was quick to provide a chair for the Assassin, leaving the two of you and ushering away the spectators through the window, Natasha decided she would find him later to thank him for this.

"Oh Milaya," Natasha sighed as her face searched yours, hand gripping yours before stroking the back with his thumb.

The movement seemed to stir something with you as your fingers twitched in her grasp, a moan releasing from your mouth, eyes flicking beneath your still-closed eyelids. It almost felt like instinct for you to turn your head towards Natasha, feeling her presence there as the further you stirred, the mouth the empty hole in Natasha's chest filled with your bond.

"Natasha?" you whispered, voice thick and slurring slightly.

Nat brushed her other hand across your cheek, leaning down to lightly kiss the part of your temple that wasn't covered in bandages, mumbling "I'm here, baby". For this once, she absolutely didn't care who could see the two of you, Natasha allowed herself to be vulnerable for a moment, she thought she'd lost you, there was no way she was wasting another moment again.

A further hour passed before you moved again, sucking in a deep breath to properly fill your lungs and frowning, feeling something was off but not sure what. Blinking open your eyes, you flinched at the bright light that sent pain sparking across your head.

"Milaya?", Natasha whispered, careful to keep the noise down to not affect your sensitive senses. Her thumb brushed across your soft cheek, trying to help you arouse so she could see your pretty eyes.

"Nat?" you asked again, voice still sounding just as slurred and thick as before, "Am I dreaming?".

Eventually, your eyes opened, squinting against the orange light still pouring through the outside window. Even though the doctors had been giving you pain relief through your IV that was attached to the back of your hand that Natasha wasn't holding, you were still sensitive to the lingering concussion.

"There are those pretty eyes", Natasha praised as you looked at her hovering over you. "You aren't dreaming, you're ok, you're safe".

"What- What's going on?" you asked, feeling like something was wrong but not quite understanding just yet. You were confused and dazed still. Attempting to sit up, you frowned as your soulmate pushed against your shoulders, keeping you lying but you were only attempting to be closer to her.

"Hey it's ok, you don't need to get up, you need to rest", Nat encouraged, watching as you looked down at your body, observing the leads attached to various areas to monitor your observations, the cannula in your hand to the heavy feeling in your head, lifting said hand to brush over the soft material of the bandage on your head. Natasha cupped your hand and pulled it away from your injury, "Be careful my love, you've been hurt, don't touch it".

"I've been hurt?" you asked with confusion but the slur was very much still evident, you still need to rest and recover.

"Yeah, do you ... remember anything that's happened? Do you know what day it is?" Natasha asked, staring down worriedly at you.

You tried to think hard about today but your mind continued to be blank with delirium. "Uh... I don't remember anything. I feel like I'm floating through space", you admitted but then something dawned on you, even though you couldn't name what day it was, you knew you were at work, having been in this particular room hundreds of times and Natasha was definitely next to you right now, still dressed in her Black Widow uniform. Eyes flicking over her shoulder to the indoor window, you could see some of your colleagues walking around. "You're here! In front of everyone, they'll see you, Natasha!"

Natasha's eyes softened, hands coming up to cradle your face, "Shhh Milaya, I don't care that they've seen me. Baby, I thought you were dead." Her eyes dropped from yours to stare at your name tag that was clipped to your tunic, willing the heavy emotions to remain at bay, you needed to rest and she didn't want to make you more upset. "We were talking and then you were silent but usually, I can feel you even when you're asleep but there was nothing and I couldn't... I had to come here, I thought you were in danger, I mean, you were in danger! Apparently, some asshole was stealing med and you found him so he hit you with a metal bar".

"I'm sorry I scared you", you responded, feeling overwhelming guilt over the situation but still feeling completely dazed and out of it. "Will you stay?" you asked hopefully, reaching up to touch her cheek gently.

"I'm not leaving your side", Natasha confirmed.

"Good". The two of you stayed silent for a few minutes as the assassin returned to sitting in her seat, lifting your hand to place it back against her cheek so she could nuzzle into it. You smiled at her softness, something she didn't often like to display before something else caught your eye, your fingers nimbly grasping her chin to turn her head away from you so you could look at her chin, seeing the painful bruise there, "I thought it was just a scratch you got on this mission?" you asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Ah, so you do remember somethings", Natasha smirked, referring to the conversation the two of you were having before you were attacked.

"Oh little bits," you admitted, "I bet we look like a right pair", you joked, eyes closing with heaviness suddenly exhausted.

"Get some sleep Milaya", Natasha muttered against the palm of your hand.

I love you, you spoke into the mind connection, feeling heat spreading across your chest with love.

Natasha had never heard such beautiful words before, sighing and leaning over before she could stop herself to kiss your lips softly, audibly whispering, "I love you too".

Thankfully, 24 hours later you were discharged and finally bombarded by your friends and colleagues that were swiftly brushed away by Natasha as she led you towards the exit, but she quickly admitted that her phone had been going off constantly from the Avengers, wanting to invite you over soon to be introduced.

It took Clint three hours to find the man responsible for the attack and had been keeping him in a secret holding for Natasha, not that the woman was rushing to leave your side any time soon.

The days passed by and you were forced to rest by both the Doctor and Natasha, who was quick to do anything and everything for you and you were more than thankful, the symptoms of the concussion taking longer than you'd anticipated to wear off.

Finally, you felt strong enough to climb out of bed, the smell of food being cooked coming from the kitchen had your stomach growling in hunger as you quickly had a shower, still careful of the plaster over your stitches but the massive bandage had been removed thankfully.

After dressing in only an oversized top and shorts, you smiled lovingly at the sight of Natasha in the kitchen, standing in dark joggers and a thin grey vest, her hands moving skillfully over the food that was cooking, toast popping up in the toaster.

You began to move forward with the plan to help her by buttering the toast, greeting her with a "Hello beautiful", and reaching for the knife and butter. However, your attempts were futile as Natasha snatched away the utensil.

"Nope, I'm doing that, go and sit down please", she began moving away from you, to continue with her cooking.

Rolling your eyes, you simply found another butter knife from the drawer and moved back to the toast, "I'm fine! I can butter my own toast, Natasha".

Once again, she simply removed the knife from your hand, shaking her head with a throaty laugh, "I'm looking after you so go and sit down".

"You have looked after me and I'm feeling almost normal except for the stitches", you admitted, pulling the toast over from the toaster and placing it onto the plate, moving closer to Nat to try and snatch the knives out of her hand but she held it at arm's length, still smirking. "You're relentless you know that?" you finally admit defeat, hand dropping to your side.

You watched her move for a moment, not planning on sitting down at all before stepping behind her as she stirred something in one of the pans. Your hands rested against her waist, fingers teasing along the hem of her vest to finally slip beneath and feel her warm, soft skin as your lips kissed along her exposed shoulder. You smiled against her, hearing the relaxed sigh escape her mouth.

"Hmm... and you are good at distractions", Natasha quipped over her shoulder, leaning into your touch.

"I've missed you," you admitted thoroughly, even though the two of you had been together for the last few days, due to you resting, you hadn't been able to be intimate and you missed her, especially being away for so long before the attack.

I've missed you too, Milaya. Natasha spoke through your mind, hands moving to rest over yours before turning slightly towards you. "But- I need you to eat first, your stomach growling woke me up this morning and I'd feel much more content knowing your belly as full before I take your clothes off".

You swallowed harshly at the end of her sentence, thankful that she wasn't fighting you on being intimate and you could deal with the request, kissing her mouth quickly before stepping back towards the table that was already set for the two of you to eat.

Sitting down, you watched mesmerised as she cooked, it looking almost like she was dancing around the kitchen, you knew you could never be as graceful as her but she also had extensive training which aided with her movements. Your core clenched though as her vest continued to ride up on her hips, exposing more of her stomach and you wanted nothing more than to lick the area.

"Having fun over there?" Natasha asked with a wicked smirk plastered on her beautiful face as she observed your wandering eyes and the shifting you were doing on the chair with your obvious arousal.

You bite your lip to hide your grin at being caught, not quite finding the words to respond that wasn't a request to take her clothes off so you distracted yourself by drinking the glass of water that was already placed on the table.

The two of you ate and chatted about Natasha's teammates, especially Tony who had sent about 50 invitations to you to join the numerous events that were coming up that the Avengers had to attend, hoping you would accept one so he could bombard you with questions.

You both had decided that you'd attend one eventually, increasing the security would be easier now as you didn't need to hide away. This new found freedom was exhilarating and you couldn't wait to walk down the street, holding her hand and showing everyone that she was yours.

Scrapping the plate clean and moaning at how good the food tasted, you stood to wash up the plates but once again, Natasha was grabbing the plates from your hands, moving over to the sink and placing them into the warm water.

"We can do that later", she informed, extending her slender hand for you to take and leading the way towards the bedroom. The two of you lay in the centre of the bed, your eyes were already heavy, you hadn't realised just how tired you were, with a full stomach and it had been the most you'd moved in days and had exhausted you quickly.

You felt bad having teased her and attempted to reach for her but she easily held down your arms, pulling your body against hers, fingers moving delicately across your scalp in a calming manner. "Get some sleep baby, I'll be here when you wake up".

When you finally woke, you were greeted with the peaceful sight of Natasha also sleeping, her features completely relaxed. Watching her for a moment, you carefully lifted your hand, attempting to tuck a strand of hair that had fallen across her face behind her ear but in a blink, your hand was stopped in midair as Natasha gripped your wrist.

You grinned as she opened her eyes, "It's really creepy when you do that".

Natasha's plump lips tilted into a smirk, her eyes flicking across your face as she bought your wrist up to her mouth, kissing the sensitive skin on the inside that sent a shiver through your spine. "You love how quick I am, really", she teased, her voice completely sultry to match the darkening look in her eyes.

"I love everything about you", you countered, leaning closer, finally closing the gap between your lips. Both of you released a heavy sigh, breaths fanning across each other's faces at finally touching. Your skin burned instantly, feeling like there were tiny electric pulses coming from wherever your skin met and it always felt like that when it was with your soulmate, intense and powerful.

Natasha broke the kiss first but only to move down your cheek, on her own journey to reach your lobe, nibbling the sensitive flesh between her teeth that caused a deep moan to vibrate in your chest as your fingers reached for the thin straps on her shoulders, efficiently pushing them down.

"My Milaya", Natasha whispered against your ear, her fingers, pushing underneath your shirt to do their own exploration. Just before the tips of your fingers began to graze over her now exposed breasts, she pushed you fully onto your back, easily rolling on top, straddling over your abdomen her shoulder-length hair falling and framing her face as she leaned over you. "Let me make you feel good".

You mewled in response, admiring the beauty that she was, the way her lips parted and shined in the light, the straps dropped off of her shoulder that allowed for her vest to drop and reveal her perked breasts that were desperate to be touched. A finger slid under your chin as she looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

"You're so beautiful Natalia", you praised, hoping your eyes showed as much affection as your words did. Natasha's shoulders visibly dropped with love at the use of her birth name before she was leaning over you and kissing you fiercely, desperately moving, tongue pushing and flicking against your own, both moaning as you could taste each other.

Your hips lifted trying to find some friction but ended up grinding against Nat who groaned at the contact, her fingers suddenly reaching to grasp the edges of her vest, pausing the kiss for a second so she could remove the offensive material before moving back down to your mouth.

It felt so good to have her chest naked, rubbing against your t-shirt, that she was willing to be so bare before you. Your fingers caressed down her spine first before pulling around to the front, grazing over her scars and careful of her still healing bruised ribs that didn't seem to phase Nat anymore as you finally cupped her tits.

You felt the weight of them against your palm, squishing the beautiful flesh before tweaking her pretty nipples, earning a grind down from Nat's hips on your abdomen. Smiling against her mouth, you knew she had ultra-sensitive nipples which only made it more fun to play with them, hearing the desperate little moans she would release.

Suddenly, you were left cold and reaching for more as Nat sat up, pushing her hair out of her face as she looked down at you, "take off your clothes", she demanded whilst climbing off of your lap to remove her joggers speedily. You did as instructed, first removing your shirt and then your underwear before lying back down and Nat was straight away straddling your body again.

With no layers of material between the two of you, her bare, noticeably wet cunt now lay against your abdomen. Your hands went to her hips to grind her hips further against you, making her rock her body against yours as she leaned down once more to kiss you, your breasts rubbing together as her pussy rolled against your stomach.

"I'm supposed to be making you feel good", Nat whispered breathlessly against your neck of which she had moved to leave open-mouthed kisses against the sensitive skin.

You chuckled, releasing her hip with one hand to reach between your bodies to play with her nipple again, feeling the vibration of her moan melt into where your chests touched. "You are making me feel good", you responded just as breathlessly, rubbing your thighs together and feeling how wet you were.

The assassin suddenly moved, half climbing down your body and moving one of your legs over her hip, lowering her hips and then her cunt was stroking against yours. The two of you moaned, and your eyes flicked between her now swollen parted lips and where her hips began rolling against yours, your clit brushing against yours, both of your juices mixing together.

You matched her movements, gripping onto the leg that she had positioned over yours still, your hips rolling with hers, both gasping and mewling as your clits were rubbed and swiped against each other.

"Feel so good baby", Natasha praised, her hand coming up to cup against your breast, massaging the flesh slowly to match the thrusting of her hips. Your head flung back as she tweaked your pebbled nipples as she pressed especially hard against your clit. "Do you like when I rub on you Milaya?" she asked you, feeling her cunt pulse with arousal at seeing you experience such pleasure.

"Yes, feel so so good", you groaned, also reaching up to play with her tits, before sitting up slightly and pulling her face down, kissing her desperately as you both chased your highs, clits still sliding against one another with how wet you both were.

You were so close, your core beginning to tighten as you began to chant her name like a prayer, needing and wanting her, begging not to stop as Natasha was responding with just as much desperation.

Your cunt then started fluttering as you came, hands gripping onto Natasha hard enough that you were sure to leave bruises but it just felt so good that you couldn't stop. Natasha continued her movements for a few further minutes, finding her own release with a beautiful gasp.

You had planned for her to catch her breath but she was moving before you could comprehend that she was, your legs being pushed back against your chest to expose your soaked cunt to her as she lay down on her stomach, eyes connecting with yours as her mouth dropped to your pussy.

She began by licking up everything you had spilt, moaning at the taste of yours and her juices, tongue pushing through your folds before teasing your hole that was still twitching to be filled. Your hands replaced hers with holding up your leg, of which she gave a long lick up your entire middle as a reward, now freeing up her hands. With one, she spread you open, giving her the perfect view of your clit and hole and then she was diving right in, her lips sealing around your clit and sucking whilst two of her powerful fingers pushed inside of you, curling instantly about your special spot.

"Oh my god- Natasha!" you moaned, and you could feel her smiling against your bundle of nerves at your reaction, seeing your eyes closed to concentrate solely on the pleasure that was being given you. This was all you had wanted for weeks, to be with her, spend time touching and pleasuring each other's bodies, feel the bond glowing and strengthening with the time spent together.

Natasha's skilled tongue and fingers drew a toe-curling orgasm out of you, your back arching to try and grind your hips on her face. She had been a master at work, her eyes never leaving your face as she watched you go through all the stages of pleasure.

You were then rolling the two of you over, and you wanted nothing more than repay her with your tongue but you still had to be careful of the stitches on your forehead. So instead, you used your fingers in her soaking cunt and your mouth sucked leisurely on her nipples which had her clenching around your fingers, your thumb stroking against her throbbing clit.

"Milaya, don't stop", Natasha cried out, hands clenching into the sheet below, her thighs shaking around your hand, a pink glow to her cheeks as she watched you move from one breast to the next. You didn't stop, wouldn't stop until she was cuming around you and the way her walls were becoming tighter, her breaths coming out in short bursts you knew it would be soon.

"Cum for me 'Tasha, wanna hear your moans", you encouraged after releasing her nipple for a second and then going straight back to sucking it harshly into the back of your mouth.

"Ah! Yes-!", Nat's eyes rolled back as she began quivering around your fingers and you didn't stop your movements, making sure to draw out every ounce of pleasure that you could, until her hips jolted through overstimulation.

Easing your fingers out of you, you quickly drew them to your mouth, moaning at the sweet taste of her before she was sitting up and kissed your lips. Her tongue stroked against yours and you could taste yourself on her, and you hoped she could do the same taste herself on your mouth.

Then you were both collapsing into the middle of the bed, limbs tangled together facing one another and trying to catch your breaths, sweat glistening off of your bodies. Smiling softly at her beautiful expression, feeling her thumb stroke near to your stitches, you asked, "what's going on in that head of yours?"

"I'm just thankful you're here with me, I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you", she admitted in nothing more than a whispering volume.

Reaching to take her hand in your own, you kissed her knuckles, feeling the scars beneath your lips, "You don't ever have to worry about that baby".

[fallenrocket]

Shoutout to Maya's family in Echo, because every single one of them could sign. Now, it's true that none of them were especially great at it. I thought it was realistic that some of Skully's lines got really simplistic/stilted, because he didn't know how to say something in a more fluent manner. And when Henry was trying to interpret for Maya with the mortician, I liked the moment where she rattled off some medical jargon and he just shrugged.

But all of them signed, from Maya's grandparents, to her dad in flashbacks, to her uncle, to her cousins. I got the impression that Chula probably started the whole thing when Taloa was young, so Maya was born into an already-signing family. And that is huge. When I worked as an interpreter in a public school, I can't tell you how many kids I worked with who only had the chance to fully communicate with their parents on the few times a year they came to school for conferences/meetings and had access to an interpreter. 90% of Deaf people are born into hearing families, and so many of those families don't learn their Deaf child's language.

And keep in mind, Maya has been living in New York for 20 years. There's no mention of video chats with the family members she was still in touch with, so that means everyone kept up their signing for literal decades even though Maya wasn't around anymore.

I love that, besides the main benefit of being able to build a meaningful relationship with their granddaughter/daughter/niece/cousin, this knowledge helps them out in other ways. Skully covertly rags on Biscuits in front of customers in ASL when he's interfering at the pawn shop. Henry warns Bonnie off by discreetly signing at his side so Fisk's goons won't notice. Bonnie pretends to interpret for Maya with Fisk's goons but really communicates with her in secret so they can figure out how they're going to escape.

[alavestineneas]

Glass and mirrors

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader summary: There is one thing the world needs to know about her: she didn't become a star overnight. She was born to be one. warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of mental illness, narcissism, blonde men who need therapy, unhinged women, people in shitty relationships and toxic industries word count: 4.6k PART TWO IS HERE

author's note: Hello and welcome to our small community of people who have fallen victim to the charming (and evil) blonde man! This fic is heavily inspired by the edits of models that pop up on my ticktock feed every day. Shout out to them and the talented editors who bless my eyes with their creations. As for YN this time, prepare to be on quite a ride because she, surprise-surprise, is evil! In my head, there has to be at least one victor who feels no remorse at all; they can't all be morally good (and relatively sane) people. Also, the obsession with beauty in this fic is, in fact, intentional, so bear with me. Feel free to comment or insult the author in the comments, but only if you are creative with it. Enjoy and see you in part 2!

In all of her short childhood, she always loved mirrors. Her grandma used to joke about it with her old friends while they shared lunch at the factory: ''That empty-headed child wants to do nothing but stare at herself all day.'' The women would laugh, their raspy voices making the glid, already filled with toxic fumes to the brim, hotter. YN didn't mind; she would pretend not to hear them, clinging to the machinery in front of her instead. She would get out of here sooner or later, and she'd see whose laughter would be left echoing all through the narrow streets.

She wasn't born to rot in this place like these people were; YN was sure of that. Not with a face like hers, with manners she taught herself from the bright magic box in their cramped commune apartment, where a few times a year the government played the show. It was supposed to be a punishment, YN reminded herself each time, but it didn't look like one. She watched the children eat more food than she had seen in a month and then cry on the stage in front of millions. She wouldn't cry if she was there, that was for certain. People die every day here, but none of them get to dress up in the jewels provided by the wealthiest people she has ever seen.

It was funny how they had all the money in the world and still chose to dress so horribly. Mismatched fabrics and smudged colours on their faces, like the colours of the lake near her house—the factories polluted it with dyes, turning the water green, purple, and sometimes even pink. That's how she got her old grey dress to be such a pretty lavender colour. It didn't matter that everyone at school laughed at her, even Miss Kyla; she was horrendously ugly anyway, her hair resembling the colour of unwashed underwear. YN wore her dress with pride, mimicking the voice of the funny multicolour-haired man on the screen, chatting with long o's and a's.

That's how she ended up here, on the first floor of the newly renovated training centre, with a drink in her freshly manicured hand. She had two hours before her stylists would need her again—a time designated for sleep, which she apparently so greatly lacks. YN doesn't care; she went without sleep for much longer than two days. Instead, she does what she loves the most—turns on a shiny screen and watches the golden letters appear: the 15th Annual Hunger Games.

It starts with reaping, as always, but YN skips that part—she doesn't like seeing herself in those dirty rags, although, as papers would later state, ''nothing could make this girl ugly, even if a potato sack was put on her body.'' She likes interviews better. Luckily, the wait is not very long; soon enough, her favourite host pops up, his hair shimmering with sea green.

''And now, our dear viewers, I am more than pleased to announce our next tribute from District 1—please let her hear how excited we are to meet her!'' His voice booms through the theatre as the crowd erupts into applause.

YN moves gracefully, a beaming smile on her face matching that of a host. Her gloved hands wave at the supposed people in front of her as if they were guests at her birthday party. But most importantly, dress. The one she chose herself, arguing over it with her stylist for the last few hours, the one that fitted her perfectly. Capitol enough to appeal to the audience, district enough to highlight that she isn't one of them—she is something new, undiscovered, and worth keeping an eye on. It's almost not a dress at all—the sparkling, sheer fabric of beautiful white, with stars gathering at her chest and bottom to finish the ''almost naked'' look. And the crowd goes crazy for it. People shout, and the splashes of the cameras blinding her create a new melody that is so unfamiliar to YN's ears. Admiration. The thing she craved for so long.

''Alright, alright,'' Lucky Flickerman smiles, gesturing for the crowd to settle down. ''We don't want to scare her off now, do we?'' He turns to her, a microphone in hand. ''What's your name, sweetheart?''

''YN Y/L/N. And I am afraid you can't scare me off, no matter how hard you try. The thing is, I am here to stay,'' she jokes, cocking an eyebrow at the man beside her.

''Oh, how I love your confidence! Now tell me—we heard you are a volunteer—the first in the history of District 1! Are there any special ties to the girl who was supposed to stand here tonight, or what's going on?''

''Well, I was dying to see you in person, of course—no pun intended.''

Oh, there weren't any ties to the girl, or the boy, for that matter. No, YN simply wanted to go at her peak chance of winning—countless years of secret preparation in the factory; working a night shift after school and full days of weekends; hours of studying every plant and animal known to mankind—all to ensure that she wouldn't waste her chance like most kids here did.

''That's an honour coming from your lips; we are happy to see you in the Capitol, Miss Y/L/N. Since you came here by choice, what strategy are you planning on using in the arena? Maybe something tied to your district's craft?''

''If you promise to keep this between us, I'll confess—I will use my charms to make everyone fall in love with me and watch them fight by promising the winner a kiss—and then I will take it from there.'' YN turns to face the lights, staring directly into the camera for a few seconds. The crowd laughs once more, some going so far as to cheer and whistle in excitement. ''But in all honesty, I think I have a fair shot—I would win in a day if it meant the unlimited supply of those amazing cupcakes with sprinkles on top.''

''Well, in that case, you should definitely get a good rest this night—you are not the only one who got your eye on them! Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for the Cupcake Games tomorrow, and don't forget to sponsor this lovely girl right here if you want to see her win! And now, a short word from our sponsors.''

Cupcake jokes are still funny to her, even after two years, although she got sick of them a week after her victory and was just as sick of all the titles papers came up with to fit her into the candy girl box. It served her well, for which she is grateful; the sponsors did send her a shitton of things, although mostly useless.

Next is the introduction of everyone else; YN doesn't care to look at it for more than just a few seconds, speeding it up to maximum. It's boring to no end—how do Capitolees watch it every year with such excitement? She stops to look only when her face appears on the screen, covered in crimson blood.

She counted six canons when she finally stopped to take a breath in and look at her surroundings. That was about right, although YN didn't count how many times she pulled a knife out of somebody's still-warm body and lurched into another nearby. The sand soaked up the blood fast, she noticed, stepping over the pile of what used to be her competitors and walking towards the cone-shaped something. Nobody in sight—each one of the ''better'' kids is now dead without a chance to kill each other, to kill her, and ''others'' will die like flies under the hot sun of what looked like a desert. YN noticed that some even left behind the given jackets; she collected them before stepping into the Cornucopia, claiming them as her own. Not everyone grew up in hot factories, she thought to herself, so they have no chance of knowing how cold it gets at night.

YN doesn't like how the uniform looks on her; the T-shirt hangs around her frame too loosely. It's evident that she didn't eat enough back then, but it was tolerable. The dried blood looked worse; with her stoic face and eye colour, the streams looked too grotesque, almost unserious; it didn't fit the look she was going for. Her hands itch to wipe it before YN remembers that it's non-existent now—the girl on the screen is just a recording. She forwards a little more, looking for the commentary of the first night from the hosts—their excitement and praise never get old—but hears knocking at her door just as she is about to press play. YN glances at the clock—it's too early for the prep team, so it must be someone else—and turns off the TV just to be sure she heard it right.

When the knocking continues, she shouts a quick ''Come in,'' after checking her reflection on the now dark screen. ''Ah, Maggie!''

''How many times do I have to repeat that my name is Mags, not Maggie? Not Mags with fangs either, to be clear. Just Mags.''

''But everyone calls you that! And I want to be special,'' YN whines, laying back on the sofa.

It's Mags. YN likes Mags. Mags is the only girl besides her on the victors' list. Mags is the one who is always down to eat lunch together or to watch the new collection in the magazines. She is funny and down to earth, and, most importantly, Mags doesn't take bullshit from anyone.

''Even more special?'' Mags smiles, opening the fridge to look for something edible. There isn't much; they both know that YN would never eat something to ruin her figure. ''I saw your photoshoot on the street today. It's beautiful.''

''Thank you,'' YN smiles. She doesn't remember which one of her campaigns was supposed to air today, but it doesn't matter. ''Are you here for the promo again?''

The curly-haired woman nods, not looking up from the shelves. ''I hate it. I wish they would just leave me alone, so I can go home and forget about all of this.''

YN is always weirded out by such comments from Victor from 4 but never says anything. Not everyone was born to be in front of the camera; if that were the case, her talent wouldn't be so special anymore. ''It's our job, Maggie. They'll never leave us alone.''

''I know.'' Mags sighed, planting her body on the sofa beside her.

They are different, but YN thinks it's better that way. They are the same age, both 20, and that's about the only thing that ties them together. YN watches as her friend's chest rises and falls as she stares at the ceiling, her long, curly hair in some type of twist. YN would never style it like that, but Mags doesn't ask, so she stares at her in silence, trying her hardest not to compare them. She knows what type of conclusion will sparkle in her brain, but she doesn't want to admit it. Mags is her friend, her only good friend, so something inside YN fights hard to leave her alone. It's an unusual feeling, almost foreign, but YN wants to make an exception. She thinks Maggie deserves it.

''Are you okay?'' the woman asks her, finally snapping out of her trance. ''You are less talkative than usual.''

''Oh, yeah—just a little tired from work, that's it.''

Work. It's not the type of work people can really get tired from, and if anybody thinks otherwise, they never worked a day in District 1. Sometimes, YN can still feel the burning cloud of steam hitting her face when she closes her eyes. The work she does in Capitol is child's play—photoshoots, interviews, promotional campaigns, and runways. She is the only one with this kind of hectic schedule, the only one who is interesting enough for the general public to want to see her everywhere they go. Multiple shows a day wasn't uncommon; photoshoots until five a.m. were basically her usual routine; she did so many of them that she never remembered the brand name for more than an hour.

''Well, I hope I don't interrupt your me-time,'' Mags notes. ''Panem knows you need it. ''

''You worry too much about me. Better tell me about how life is in 4—anything new?''

There is probably nothing exciting, but it feels nice to listen to somebody talk with such love for their home as Mags does. It's also a great opportunity. YN catches every subtle expression and every movement of her friend with attentive eyes, making sure to parrot them later. She noticed from the recording today that her speech misses a certain effortlessness.

-

Curl and twist, curl and twist—YN has learned the pattern by now, sitting in front of the gigantic mirror, surrounded by a team of stylists. Hair, make-up, nails, and toes—five people work hand in hand for her to appear for two minutes on the long podium. The backstage is loud, and a lot is going on—last-minute changes, alterations, and quick touch-ups. YN doesn't bother to look around; she closes today like a face of the collection, and after she is done with this podium, the day is finally coming to an end.

''Oh, YN, darling, here you are!'' The bald man in his forties appears on the horizon of her peripheral vision, clasping his unnaturally white hands together. ''How are you doing, my little star? Anything you need?''

She is irritated to no end; her team booked seven shows for her today; she hadn't had anything to eat in the past six hours; and the loud music makes her head throb. But she doesn't voice any of that—nobody really wants to know how she is feeling.

Just like she guessed, the man doesn't wait for her response. ''There have been some changes in the order today, sweetheart. Jenovia will be closing today, and you will walk in her dress instead,'' the man says, turning to face her styling team. ''Change the hair to fit, and take off the blue in her make-up—it won't match. Good luck!''

''Do what he says,'' YN announces, her mouth twitching just a little. She is furious. To have that blonde bitch Jenovia walk in the best dress of the collection YN inspired? Over her dead body. Or, should she say, over Jenovia's? She will figure it out but do so later. Now there are only four girls before her, so she needs to be ready.

''Three, two, one! Go, go!'' the stage coordinator shouts, opening the curtain for her.

Right and left, hip and hand, followed by the strong clicking of her five-inch heels. The music is even louder here, with the beets vibrating through the runway and pouring into her bloodstream. She doesn't pay any attention to the glass floor underneath her. Surprisingly, her training before games helped her model more than one could guess. YN doesn't see anyone but the blinding lights lining the podium—not that she needs to see the hungry faces of the spectators. It doesn't matter what piece of fabric covers her body; they are looking at who wears it. Final pose at the centre—no smile is her go-to. Hold and turn is the golden rule.

''Here you are!'' One of the seamstresses grabs her hand, pulling her into a small, curtained space with countless clothes on racks. ''Calio wants you to hold a purse for the backstage photo and lose the belt. Where the fuck is the golden belt?'' she shouts, searching for one. ''Wait here; I'll go find it,'' she finally announces, running away before YN has the chance to suggest anything.

YN looks around, carefully moving the laying rags with her foot. She mentally goes over the outfits labelled with names, rating them one by one, until her eyes stop on the white dress. The closing dress, the one she was supposed to model. Underneath it are velvety black high boots.

The idea comes to her mind quickly: she steals a needle from the nearby table and carefully places it inside the shoes, making sure it looks like an accident.

''Finally,'' the woman returns with a belt in her hands, oblivious to YN's half-smile. ''Put it on and go; they are already waiting.''

''Of course, thanks.''

YN isn't sure how much time has passed before she hears a scream, standing up from her place in the corner with a blanket around her exposed shoulders. Surely enough, Jenovia is on the floor, crying crocodile tears—a needle inside her heel deep enough to make a few of the girls around her gag.

''What the fuck happened?'' It's Calio, the boss here; he was ordering her around before.

''I don't know,'' all the blonde girl can manage before bursting into tears one more time.

''Well, can you walk?'' he asks, kneeling to take a look.

''No,'' Jenovia whispers, her hand holding her bloodied foot.

The bald man sighed, more annoyed than concerned. ''We need a replacement. You,'' he points at YN. ''Take it off and change into the dress. Quick!''

YN does what she is told in no time; she doesn't want to wait until Jenovia suddenly gets better or the man finds a better-suited girl to close. After a few minutes, she is almost ready; she only needs the lipstick to finish it off.

''We don't have time!'' the man roars, dragging her to the exit. ''Here!'' He puffs out her hair and adjusts the layers of fake pearls covering her neck. ''Three, two, one! Go, fucking go!''

And go she does. A few steps on the runway, and she discovers that lipstick is still in her hands. YN puts it in the pocket of the enormously large black coat that hides the gorgeous white dress underneath. Step after step, her long black boots draw patterns on the glass. She will have no choice but to buy them; YN doesn't care if it's stupid. They helped her, so she will have them.

It's time for the final pose: YN takes out the lipstick from her pocket and applies it with two swift motions, blowing a kiss to the camera. It will definitely be a hit with the photographers. YN throws one last look before turning around and returning to the curtained exit. On her way back, when the lights lower to follow her back, she can see a little clearer. In the sea of vibrant hair colours and clothes, the platinum-blonde hair and a simple black suit stood out too much not to notice. There is only one person who could afford to look so simple—YN knows it. An opportunity of a lifetime.

She makes another stop in the middle of the podium, right in front of his seat. The coat slides off her shoulders effortlessly, and YN catches it just when the fabric is about to hit the floor. The crowd goes crazy, clapping and whistling at her tricks, but YN has no wish to entertain them any further. YN pauses for a moment, her eyes meeting icy-blue ones, before turning away and finishing the show. There is one thing the world needs to know about her: she didn't become a star overnight. She was born to be one.

-

Since the last show, she has done fifteen more—day after day, opening and closing. Her little trick got her where she wanted to be, with more money than one person could need in a lifetime and nowhere to spend it. Even now, standing in the long hallway of the training centre, she wears nothing she bought herself; all are gifted, sent, or handed by the adoring fans. Like a rag doll, with no say in how she looks or what she does, YN hears everyone say that it was ''a price of fame''. She doesn't think so; she was told what to do long before she tasted real butter on her toast.

The sliding door to her apartment moves almost without noise. While most victors complain that the lock system reminds them of prison, YN is grateful to have it. The thought of some crazy fanatic waiting for her in the dark isn't the most pleasant one. The designer bag finds its place on the floor, soon joined by the coat—room service will clean it up later. The heels slide off her feet quickly, leaving bloodied marks on her skin, but YN doesn't care enough to do something about them.

''Forgive me for joining you without an invitation.''

YN turns around, her hands grabbing the keys in her hands tighter. She mentally goes over her means of escape or fight—a mirror could easily be broken and used as a weapon; if necessary, she could also grab a nearby ottoman. The man in the chair doesn't look too impressed with her thought process. His lips curve into a smile, blue eyes staring at her with undivided attention. A suit, not very different from the one he wore at her show, was a deep brown colour.

''Mister President,'' YN breathes out, lowering her hand.

Coriolanus Snow. Light, almost white hair frames his face like a halo, with his suit hugging his waist just enough to highlight the broad shoulders. YN saw him on TV a couple of times, but seeing him in person was something entirely different. It's like the air shifts around him and changes with his presence.

''I believe we met before,'' he humours her, his eyes shining with mischief.

The light knocking on the door doesn't leave YN any time to answer. She presses a button near it, fixing her hair before opening it. YN tries to look as composed as possible without betraying her nerves—why was he here? ''Yes?''

''The dinner, Ma'am.'' the room service declares, pushing a cart in front of her.

YN nods, even though she didn't order one. ''Leave it here,'' she says, gesturing to the place nearby. When the door closes and she is alone with the man in her room again, her heart skips a beat.

''I took the liberty of ordering; I hope you don't mind.''

Even if she did, she knew better than to say anything. Instead, YN watched as the man stood up and took the dishes from the cart, placing them on the coffee table, before turning to her once more.

''Please, have a seat.''

She does what she is told, sitting down on her king-sized bed—the chair is already taken by him—and waits for the blonde man to start speaking. He doesn't right away, choosing to pour a glass of wine for her and himself.

YN watches the dark liquor pour into the glass, swirling with each drop. She isn't hungry—she rarely was—and the soup he ordered looks more like vomit than a dish, but she still takes the spoon and carefully places it into her mouth. Her lipstick stains the silverware with colour, leaving a small circle right at the end—that's when the man finally decides to speak.

''Dare I say I am a huge fan of your work ethic? Everyone who I've spoken to is very satisfied with your,'' he pauses, searching for the fitting word, ''dedication .''

''Thank you, Mister President,'' YN replies with a polite smile before returning to her soup. She watches him only from the corner of her eye. The way he cuts his steak with his ringed fingers and the way he places a small bite in his mouth before his lips close. There is a subtle roughness in his movements, a power play of some sort.

He catches her gaze and, for a moment, is silent. ''You probably wonder why I am here in the first place, outside of the amazing steak they cook here, of course. The thing is, Miss Y/L/N, that you are popular not only with the general public but with people higher in power as well. One may even say they fell in love with the way you present yourself.''

''I am pleased to know that, Mr. President, but I am only doing my job as a victor.''

''Then you will understand the weight of my dilemma. Those people who have served Panem all their lives faithfully usually don't ask for much recognition; they work because they want to build a better future for all of us. So, when they do ask for a small favour or two, I am more than happy to satisfy them. But recently, all they ask for is you .''

''I believe I don't quite understand. They want to meet me?''

''You can phrase it like that, yes. For a night or two, of course, with all expenses covered.''

It's heavy, the understanding of what Mister President really implies. The thought of someone's hand roaming her body brings her dinner up YN's throat. ''Why?'' Her voice is shakier than she would like, but she is more focused on composing the rising anger than noticing it.

''I am sorry, Miss Y/L/N, but I am afraid there is nothing I can do; I am greatly outnumbered. Unless,'' he starts but doesn't finish his sentence.

''Unless what?''

''Unless you are seen with me.''

His piercing blue eyes look at her, but there is nothing in them. Her chances are limited, and he knows it. There is something rogue in him beneath the veil of chivalry he offers. YN smiles at him. That's what this whole charade was about—he wants her. Coriolanus Snow, the most powerful man in the whole world, wants her.

''Of course, Mr. President. That's very generous of you.''

''Mister President is too official, don't you think, Miss Y/L/N? Perhaps we could find a more informal way of addressing each other?''

''Informal?'' YN asks, tilting her head to the side. If he wants her, he'll get her. ''What about Mister Snow?'' The buttons on her shirt are easy to manage—a few quick motions, and it slides off her shoulders onto the cream cover. ''Or, Sir Coriolanus?'' The pants are a little trickier, but YN learned that backstage, every second counts, so they soon also pool around her heels, the fabric hitting the floor with a slight thud.

The blonde man watches her intently, his eyes following every move of her hands. His legs are still spread wide on the lime-green chair as he slightly leans back. YN can't tell if he is enjoying her antics or not, but frankly, she doesn't care; she is enjoying it.  The way her shadow dances on the wall, the way the air shifts in the huge room, transforming it into a tiny stage. YN looks at him with mischief, with superiority, even. After all, she is the show here. Why not let Mr. Savior think it is for him?

''Come, Mister Snow,'' she says, throwing it in his face like a bone to the dog.

He doesn't have the haste to join her; on the contrary, he stands up painfully slowly. His tall figure almost seems to stretch as he raises, covering the floor lamp behind him fully. When he finally circles the table to stand above her, his presence is overwhelming. YN lets him stand between her legs, his unusually cold hand on her thigh.

''I prefer Coriolanus,'' he whispers in her ear, lowering himself enough to touch her ear with his velvety lips. He pulls away slightly, planting a kiss on her cheek instead. ''Have a most pleasant night, Miss Y/L/N.''

And then he walks away. YN watches as his figure disappears behind the sliding door before she lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Her gaze instinctively finds her reflection in the nearby mirror; there is no reason to shine if no one watches her.

[highwayorgantrade]

Art History

Pairing: (cis)fem!reader x Carlisle Cullen

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Cursing, the most mild nsfw (basically intense kissing and references to sex), minor choking, general tomfoolery.

Summary: A certain doctor helps you find resources for your college art history class.

Spotify Playlist: Art History

A/N: Aaah okay my first fic on this blog!! I'm so excited to get back into writing, especially with my favorite characters and people. Also, I'm sorry, I love Esmé as much as everyone else does, she does not exist here and Carlisle is the Ultimate Single Father™. And God, I did not expect it to be this long!!

The way that you met the Cullens was, at best, not ideal. A broken down car here, the offer of a ride there. It wasn't a bad thing - the friendship you had with the family had lasted all through high school up to a local community college.

When they told you the truth about who they were, what they were, you thought it was a joke.

"Yeah, very funny. Halloween isn't for another two months, and you can't all go as vampires, that would be so stupid." You snorted, returning to the homework that was scattered on the dining room table.

"(Y/N)... Think about it." Alice placed her hand on your shoulder, forcing you to listen.How are you just now noticing her hands are so cold? "Have you ever seen any of us eat? Go into the sun?"

You didn't want to think about it, you knew they would never lie to you like this. It's too insane to be a lie. But didn't they lie and pretend like they were human? It was just all too confusing, so naturally, it took you a few days before you starting going around their house again. They answered all your questions, even when you decided to punish them all a bit for not telling you sooner.

"So, have you ever thought about the ecological damage you might be doing with all the hunting?" You had been interrogating them for hours, but honestly? They were grateful. Grateful that you didn't run off and tell the entire town, or worse, flee from Forks and lose you forever.

"Honestly, we all have different preferences." Emmett replied cooly, as if you were chatting about movies. "I prefer some of the bigger stuff: Bears, wildcats. It's mostly deer, though."

"Never people." Carlisle confirms with a smile, and you almost immediately regret giving him a chance to speak. Before their confession, the pounding of your heart was a fun secret, a dream you knew would never come true. The scenarios have run through your head all the time, anytime you looked at him. And those rare moments where you felt brave enough to make eye contact? But now, you knew that it was basically a public confession. You never talked about it. The Cullens never did, either.

"I know one of you has to know something about the Reliquary of Sainte Foy." You sighed, dropping your bag at your feet.

"Please, (y/n), come in." Edward quipped from the living room.

"I mean, this whole thing makes no sense!" You continued, thinking back to every single time you've used Edward to complain. "First, she starts off the semester with the Renaissance, then goes to modern minimalism, then back to freakin' Jesus times?"

"You know," Alice strode in, reading over the same paper, "When I have questions about art history, I usually ask Carlisle." She leaned against the counter. "He's the oldest of us." The look her and Edward shared were lost to you, as you already began to think of excuses as to why you shouldn't be alone in a room with him. The fear of looking and sounding stupid overcame the desire to just do anything with him. The desire to mess up that stupidly perfect hair of his, or his cold hands roughly wrapping around your-.

No. Absolutely not.

"Ah, no! I wouldn't want to bother him. He's probably super busy, with all of his... doctoring stuff-"

"Nonsense." Edward smiled. "He would be overjoyed to help."

"Edward, seriously, don't-" You pleaded, but it was too late. Carlisle's name echoed throughout the house, but it felt like a death bell.

"I hope you find your answers!" Alice quickly took her exit out the front door, with Edward following right behind her, with a polite "Excuse me."

"(Y/N)!" He greeted you fondly, noticing Edward and Alice's backs as they walked deeper into the forest that surrounded the house. "Didn't Edward call for me?" He was watching them, but you were watching how he saw you and immediately smiled, and the way his arms flexed on the table.

Stop.

"Yeah, he did. They insisted that you could help me with art history, but this is old, old crap, and like, yeah, you're old, but you're not that old, so it's not really..." He began to smile again. "Super important." You finished, suddenly very aware of how you were standing. And how your hand rested so close to his. And how hot your face suddenly got.

"Well, what is it you need my help with?" He took your assignment paper. "The Reliquary of Sainte Foy. Around what time was that?" He looked back at you.

"Uh, the- Jesus times. Like upper double digits for the year. Which, I mean, I don't know when you were born, but I don't think you're that old, I mean you're still fun and pretty cool." God, why couldn't you just stop talking!

"Come on." He turned his back, taking your picking up your bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "I think I have something in my office."

His office? He's taking you to his office? You've been inside of it before, but it wasn't just him and you, it was him and his kids. Just keep reminding yourself: You are his children's friend. You're friends with every single one of this man's children. You're probably not even on his radar! A (publicly) mid-30 year old local surgeon, and men that looked like him in this part of Washington was rare. And to be going after a college student? Pull it together.

The steely resolve quickly crumbled as he held the door open for you to walk past him, and if you had any doubts he could hear your heart before, they were absolutely gone. You could hear your pounding heart in your head. The office was gorgeous, a few lamps and some candles gave the dark office a warm glow, and you could see he had been actively working on... something?

"I'm so sorry, did I interrupt something?" You glanced at the papers on his desk.

"Oh, no, I was just going over some old files. You could never interrupt me."

Oh.

"Now." He began scanning a section of his large bookshelves. "I unfortunately was not born in 'Jesus times,' but I was born in 1640, and my father was an Anglican priest, so I might have something about early Christian relics." He finally pulled a large dark blue book from the shelf and handed it to you. "What about The Book of Sainte Foy? Written in 1010 A.D. and translated in 1995."

"Yes, please, that would be amazing." You replied quickly, eager to spend as little time in this room as possible.

"(Y/N), you seem stressed. If college is getting to be too much, you could always take a break." His eyebrows knit together and set the book on his desk. Your eyes followed his hand and you swallowed. This cannot be happening.

"Uh, no, it's not college! College is fine. It's just... other stuff." Your hands clasped together to try and ease some of your nerves.

"Well, (Y/N), if it's something more personal, you know you can always talk to me. I've enjoyed having you around and I hate to see you upset." You knew he was trying to ease information out of you, but his words just made it harder.

"Carlisle, I-" Oh god. No. Stop talking. His hand came to rest on your upper arm, his icy hand almost burning your hot skin. You've imagined this so many times "It's you!"

Wait. No! Keep talking! The look of slight shock and confusion on his face combined with the gentle grip he had on your arm had wiped your brain of whatever you were going to say. His hand relaxed and fell back to his side.

"Me? (Y/N), did I make you uncomfortable?" His voice was soft, but serious. Fix this, now!

"No! Well, sort of. But no! Just... listen." You rubbed the back of your neck, shifting your weight between your legs. He leaned back against his desk and looked at you.

This was going to be hard.

"It's just... You make me nervous because you know, you're like a genetically modified beauty of a human being. I mean, have you seen yourself? Actually seen yourself?"

Carlisle opened his mouth to respond but he couldn't get the words out before you continued.

"You are... gorgeous. And I know, Edward's complained to me about that whole 'Oh, our beauty just lures in innocent prey so we can destroy them,' thing, but you're just a... a genuinely beautiful person. You help people in need, you go to some extreme lengths to help people because why? Because you're a doctor and it's what you do, damn it! It's amazing. You're amazing." You took a breath, filling your lungs with all the words you've kept to yourself. "And I like your hands."

And you like his hands? That's what your confession is ending on? Okay, own it.

"You like my hands?" He questioned, biting back a smile. Of course that's what he focused on. "Tell me about my hands." He stood up off his desk and moved closer to you. You felt like the breath was being sucked out of your lungs as you tried to organize your thoughts.

"Well, they're..." His hand came up to your face, thumb grazing your cheekbone.

"Go on."

"I like the way they're..." In an effort to look anywhere else but his eyes, you glanced down to his chest. His face seemed to inch closer to yours as you searched for words you knew you wouldn't find. The hand on your face traveled to the back of your neck, and his other hand found the small of your back. Your hands rested on his biceps, your last attempt to try to cover up your attraction towards him.

"Tell me you want this." Carlisle whispered, pressing you closer to him, encouraged by your racing heart.

"I want this so bad." You admitted, and those were the words that broke the both of you. He pressed you against a bookshelf as his lips met yours, and the amount of passion coming from Carlisle was shocking. His thumb came around your neck to wrap around the front, and the simple weight of his hand caused you to moan in his mouth. He smiled into the kiss and your hands went to his hair, tugging as gently as you could.

"Jump." He whispered in between kisses. The faint taste of spearmint lingered, and you whined at the loss.

"What?" You pulled back and stared at him.

"Jump."

God, please let his vampire strength come in clutch. You wrapped your legs around his waist and his hands found the bottom of your thighs. He placed you on top of his desk, careful as to not disturb any documents or books, and pulled you in again. this time, there was something different. The kiss was more insistent, more demanding.

"More." He groaned, and slotted his head into the curve of your neck, biting gently, and kissing the same spots.

You had never seen Carlisle like this, never this... out of control.

"So, when is this paper due?" He asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. He walked back to the door of his office, laying his hand on the doorknob. You simply stared at him, still catching your breath. Did he seriously just ask that? Now? "Is it tonight?"

"No?"

"Good." He grinned at you, and turned the lock. "Because it's not getting done."

[ghostlyeris]

Extra Credit

read on ao3

Adaine is exhausted. 

Even after a week, the Last Stand echoes in her bones. Every step she takes down the hall reverberates up her legs. She could be trancing instead of this. She could be, but she isn’t. This is more important than a few extra hours of trance. 

Adaine is six years old and she’s surrounded by strangers in a strange land. They had to move in the middle of the year, her parents prattling on about some promotion her father had gotten. “Foreign diplomat” or whatever her mother had said. Not to her of course, but to Aelwyn when she had whined about leaving all her fancy friends behind. Adaine didn’t have anyone to leave. Everyone she knew was moving to the nation of Solace with her.

The hallways are empty. Everyone had either already run off to class or were smart enough to find somewhere to skip class that wasn’t standing in the hall. It’s not as if she would get in trouble though. She technically didn’t even need to step back in here until senior year. Not after acing the Last Stand. 

Adaine is nine years old and she doesn’t understand what her classmates talk about. It’s not that she can’t comprehend their sentences. All the words have meanings and those meanings make sense. But she doesn’t understand. They talk about birthday parties and play dates and seem confused when Adaine says the only toys she has back home are the wooden automatons for magic practice. She knows what she says to them is wrong, but she doesn’t know what to say to make it right. It’s no surprise that she doesn’t make any friends that year. 

Lockers line the wall. If she focuses hard enough, she could probably pick out the one that used to be Penelope's. It has fresher paint than the rest. After prom, people had vandalized it too much to scrub off. She’s honestly a little sad she wasn’t one of them. 

Adaine is thirteen years old and she’s staring down a boy. He has a letter clenched in his hand with her name on it. It's nothing like the elf courtship she's read about in Aelwyn's romance novels, but she supposes humans have their own gestures of affection. Hudol is full of all sorts of people. Including those who like her. Apparently. She gingerly takes the letter from his grip and turns around to leave without a word. 

Rounding the hall, the door to the wizard classroom comes into view. It’s a familiar room, one she’s spent countless hours in listening to droning lectures about the prescriptive nature of abjuration grammar. Tiberia isn’t a terrible teacher but she can certainly be a dull one. 

Adaine is fourteen years old and she’s staring down a love letter. It’s been two months since she received it, long enough for her birthday to pass. She wants to feel something. Desire or disgust, either would be acceptable at this point. It’s what she’s supposed to do after all. Feel something. But no matter how hard she tries, she simply can’t muster anything up. It’s just a letter. Just a boy. Just…something she doesn’t get. 

She’s almost there. It’s not too late for her to back out of this though. She could just turn around and head home. Or head down the hall to Jawbone and talk her feelings out. She could, but she won’t. She’s always had trouble communicating her feelings. It’s about time she made herself clear. 

Adaine is sixteen years old and she finally gets it. Between Hudol and now, she had been confessed to time and time again. They weren’t even all jokes either. At least those she could understand. Everyone likes a good punchline, and she made a great one. But the earnest ones always threw her for a loop. What feelings could she possibly induce in a boy she had only talked to once? 

She gets it now.

The handle is cold beneath her hand. She can hear the bustle of class behind the door, incantations and conjurations flaring to life beneath the deft touch of a wizard. She won’t miss going to class but it does make her smile. Just a bit. One deep breath and she turns the handle, plunging the room into silence.

Adaine is sixteen years old and she’s hiding in a fridge full of milk. If she had been sober, she would have been smart enough to find somewhere more isolated. But she isn’t sober. She’s drunk and panicking after running away from the hottest guy she’s ever seen. It almost feels like a panic attack, the way her chest tightens and her words stutter out. But it’s not. It’s warmer than that, flushing her face a fervent pink even after she’s stopped talking to him. No wonder people act so foolish while in love. 

She feels so dumb. 

“Miss Abernant. After that glorious Last Stand, I hadn’t anticipated seeing you again until your senior year.”

Everyone’s eyes are on her. She can feel them, crawling across her skin as they gaze on in eager interest. Even after saving the world thrice over, she’s never gotten used to the attention. But it’s alright. She’s not looking at any of them. 

“Yes, well, I thought I’d deliver one last prophecy before I go. A little bit of extra credit to finish out the year.”

Adaine is sixteen years old and she thinks her heart has broken right in two. It shouldn’t have. This should have been a joyous moment. Not only had they completed the Last Stand, they had survived it. Done what no other party had done in the history of Aguefort. But she can’t bring herself to be happy. Not with Buddy Dawn dead and the only person that had ever made her heart flutter trying to fuck her over so badly.

She feels so dumb. 

“Incredible. And what would that prophecy be, Miss Abernant?”

Tiberia looks eager, the way she does before every prophecy. It’s a subtle thing, only seen in the sheen of her eyes as she stares on. It normally unnerves her but she doesn’t mind all that much this time. She wants to be heard. 

“I’m going to kill a dragon.” 

Adaine is sixteen years old and she’s furious. After an hour and a half on the train, her emotions had finally settled down into something she could understand. And what she understood is that she wants him dead. It isn’t even truly about the betrayal. It’s hard to feel betrayed by someone you don’t even know. It’s about the fact that for once she felt normal. For once, she was just like everyone else, with a group of friends and a stupid boy she could pine after. And he ruined that for her. 

So she’s going to ruin him. 

Like a gunshot, the classroom bursts into a flurry of activity once more. None of it matters to her. She completed what she came here to do. Turning around, she heads back out into the hall without bothering to look at him. She’s the Elven Oracle after all. She’s seen through all of time, every possible iteration of this experience before she had even decided to go through with it. 

She knows he blanched with fear. 

 And she knows that when Oisín Hakinvar sees her leave the room, he’ll pull out his phone to check his nemesis alert, set up at the same fancy bank Fabian goes to. And she knows that he’ll stare down at that screen and see Adaine Abernant, the Elven Oracle on that list clear as day.

Adaine is exhausted. But more importantly, Adaine is enraged. And she knows, just as she knows everything else, that she’s going to make Oisín Hakinvar’s life absolute hell. 

[deadliestfishinthesea]

Love always comes back (like a boomerang)

How you meet Captain Boomerang while working undercover for A.R.G.U.S. (and eventually fall for him)

Part 1.

Boomerang X Y/n

CW: swearing

2.600 words

You can also read this on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54019207/chapters/136749250

___________________________________________

“I am aware that you are already well informed of the system I have put into place. But I will warn you again, Dr. Y/n. These people are not your allies. If they see a chance to take the upper hand, they will take it, even at the cost of your life. I hope you keep that in mind if you are to get the chance of working with Colonel Flag on the field.“ Amanda Waller's everlastingly stern voice rang out trough the speakers. Y/n looked at the screen, directly into the woman's cold eyes.

“Yes, ma'am. Of course.“ Unwavering calm ran though her own voice, a skill she obtained with years of communicating with people in power.

“Good. You have been granted access to inmate 117-12-60. Direct contact isn't allowed.“ As if she'd want to be in any kind of direct contact with a dangerous convict.

“Copy that, ma'am.“ The woman disappreared from the screen and Y/n leaned back from the table where the laptop sat. She turned her head to her side, looking at Aaron Cash, one of the main guards around here. He offered her a derisive smile, nodding his head once.

“Ready to swim with the sharks?“

“From what I heard there's only one shark in here.“

Cash let out a short chuckle, crossing his arms in a way that seemed to convey his superior knowledge on the matter, but Y/n wasn't sold on that just yet.

“Oh he ain't the deadliest fish in this sea.“

_____

For the rather unimpressive amount of time she worked in the facility, Y/n had seen with her own eyes a good portion of prisoners be admitted into the so called shithole named Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. And if she was honest, she had to partially agree with the nickname ��� it definitely was a shithole, just more so for the inmates than it was for her.

One of the prisoners she witnessed being brought in was George 'Digger' Harkness himself, alias 'Captain Boomerang'. Whatever the case was, in this place he went by 'inmate 117-12-60' as stated in the official reports.

She distinctly remembers the man, restrained with metal clasps around his ankles and hands on something resembling a box cart that the guards used to manouver him around. He was unsuccessfully trying to set himself free, cursing at the guards the whole time.

“Piss off ya' fucken' mongrel!“ Colorful, she thought as she watched from a distance. 

“Now that's some fresh meat. Had a bit of trouble finding this guy.“ Cash stood next to her with a smug expression on his face as he spoke.

“Get a dog up ya', ya' wristy-“ One of the guards grabbed him and the clasps opened, nearly sending him to the ground, „Ah, 'coff ya cunt!“

Y/n had a hard time understanding what he was saying from this distance. She frowned as she watched the scene unfold. Once inside the cell, a beep of the comms on the guard's chest could be heard, followed by a few words exchanged, and the laser beams on each side of the cell's entrance lit up, finally imprisoning Captain Boomerang.

She watched the convict with curious eyes the whole time she was leaving, and the last thing she remembers is him turning his head and looking directly at her before she fully turned around.

The memory ended then, and she was back in the present, listening to her and Cash's boots echo on the ground as they walked the halls. Once in front of the big metal doors, they opened with a loud clang and she squeezed her clipboard as they entered the penitentiary, spotting her targeted cell in the corner.

She took a deep breath and reminded herself of her task, glancing at her clipboard. Go in, talk to the inmate, see if he has potential for Waller's plan, get out.

“I think I'll be okay from now on.“ She told Cash with a turn on her head.

“You sure?“

“Yeah.“ She looked ahead at the cell. She needed to do this alone. With a shrug and a mutter of 'okays' and 'fines' Dixen left for the door, leaving her to walk alone towards the guard standing in front of the cell.

While walking she remembered that at this hour, most of the prisoners were sent out for yard time, so nearly every cell in the block was empty. But not Boomerang's. Y/n wasn't sure why he wasn't also outside, and she questioned if the rumors the guards were passing around were actually true. Apparently, a fight breaking out in the yard a couple of days ago resulted in three guards being dropped unconcious and Boomerang being sentanced to lockdown for the rest of the week. Given the place they were in, Y/n considered that an almost merciful punishment. She wondered if that really happened, or if her request for privacy had been granted so they held him back for her arrival.

The entrance to the cell was seethrough thanks to only the lasers acting as doors, but from her angle it didn't show Harkness yet. She approached the guard standing next to the entrance.

“You can go.“ An all access security card was already in her hand, hovering in front of his face.

“But-„

“I said go.“

He turned with hesitation, but didn't say anything as he walked away. When the guard was out of range, she looked at the cell, but still couldn't see Harkness. She had seen him before, though, even if only once. She stepped to the side, now facing the cell entrance, and Captain Boomerang himself.

Boomerang's back was turned to her, but when he heard the boots outside his cell finally walk up to him he turned around. She instinctively took note of his issued white t-shirt and orange sweats. His hands were in his pockets. He didn't say anything, just stared at her, which created an uncomfortable pit in her stomach that she hoped she hid well enough with her neutral gaze. He started walking right up to her and Y/n realised with every step she wasn't prepared as well as she'd thought. He was huge up close. Not only taller but much bulkier than she remembered. He was so close his body was nearly touching the lasers, and she started to wonder what would happen if he did touch them.

Even with his surprising proximity she didn't move, and she wasn't sure why. Maybe she was caught off guard and frozen, or she didn't want to seem intimidated by stepping back. He stared down at her with his eyebrows drawn in an almost captivating frown and his head cocked to the side in intrigue. Y/n quickly realized he was checking her out, comparing and assesing how much of a threat she was. Should she be offended if he didn't see her as one?

“George Harkness?“ She finally broke what felt like a minute long silence.

“Who's askin'?“ He spoke in a low tone, never breaking eye contact.

“My name is Y/n, I'm a licenced psychologist.“

“Yeah, I remember you. You were the sheila staring at me when I came in here.“

Her eyebrows raised, but she hid the slight embarassment she felt, “Yes. I was sent here to… evaluate some inmates by the request of the warden.“

“Ah, what? I send a couple assholes to medical and all of a sudden I'm qualified for a drongo?“ He scoffed.

“So you did cause a fight in the yard?“ It was true after all, and Y/n realised she could use it to her advantage.

 “Oh, I'm not confessin' anythin' to ya, missy, but you're in the wrong spot. See, I ain't got a 'roo loose in the top paddock like some of these nutcases.“

“I don't think you're crazy. But I was sent here to prove it. If you want to be let out of lockdown you'll have to answer some of my questions.“

He leaned back and glanced around for a moment, “Then shouldn't these therapeutic sessions be done in uh… I don't know, not in the middle of a cell block?“

“Well, I'm afraid it's hard to provide a seaside view lounge on such short notice. We'll have to make due with what we have.“

“Aw, killer. I'm best relaxed when out of handcuffs. Well, most times, that is.“ He sneered. She tried her best to ignore his comment.

“My first question-“

“So they let you in this shithole with no security jus' for a questionaire?“, he squinted at her.

“I asked for a private conversation.“

„That's why you ordered ol' guard here to fuck off like you're his boss?“ Her eyes widened slightly at his words. Did he just figure out she wasn't here for that kind of evaluation? Maybe doing this without Cash by her side wasn't such a good idea.

Harkness saw the way she was caught off guard and chuckled low and taunting, “You aren't just some psychiatrist, are ya, love?“

“Psychologist.“

“Yeah, yeah, but what else?“

She sighed, “It doesn't matter what I am. What matters is if you want to-„

“I'll tell you what I want.“, he lowered his head to match her height, “I want out of here. And not just out this cell, out the whole place. An' if you can't do squat about that, then your questions won't be much help to ya', doc'.“

“You're right. I can't do that.“

Y/n was quiet for a moment.

“Well then, I guess we're done here.“ She spoke quietly.

“Yeah, we are.“ He nearly whispered.

Both of them were quiet for a few seconds, still looking at each other, but when she caught herself observing the loose strands of hair on his forehead she abruptly broke the silence.

“Thank you for your cooperation, George Harkness.“, her proffessional tone cleary got on his nerves, but he stayed quiet. He backed away from the lasers then, and she turned around to leave.

When the big doors opened again, Cash was waiting on the other side. He shot her a questioning look. She started walking down the hall.

“I need to make a report.“

____

“All in all, you have the upper hand. He is motivated to get out of here, by any cost, and if you grant him that hope I don't see how he wouldn't be willing to do your bitting.“

The woman on her laptop screen nodded approvingly, “Good work, Dr. Y/n. Your next evaluation will be with inmate 00-10-94, so called King Shark. He is the newest added member to our little circus.“ Waller went over some details about the shark, and as she was explaining Y/n looked over to the folder next to her. Captain Boomerang's records.

She knew they were all convicts, guilty of all kinds of crimes. She aimed her attention back to the screen, trying not to think about the conversation she had with Boomerang. It was all just standard procedure she had to follow to work with Rick Flag and the task force Waller wanted so damn much. Still, gathering information to find out whether they would risk suicide for freedom made her stomach turn a little. She knew about Waller's contingency plan, but she didn't know how exactly she planned to make the criminals do anything she wanted. It wouldn't be good enough if she just promised them shortened sentances, they would all escape the moment they stepped foot outside. Y/n could imagine just how far Waller would go to ensure that doesn't happen.

­­____

Less than a week later Harkness was let out of lockdown. Y/n spotted him outside during yard time when she was making her way from the north wing to the penitentiary. It was pretty cold out and there was a slight fog in the distance, thouh he was playing basketball. In shorts. He palyed with three other inmates, laughing at them whenever they missed their shot.

She looked to the fence, where an inmate was arguing with a security officer. Y/n approached the fence and a guard opened the entrance for her, letting her into the yard.

“Doctor.“

“Hey, Gary. What's with the First Amendment over there?“ she watched the argument between the officer and the inmate get more heated.

“Oh, that guy? We call him Rango. Just got him in a couple weeks ago.“

“Hard time adjusting to prison, it seems.“

Before she could reach the door to the building Rango punched the guard he was yelling at across the face, sending him stumbling backwards and nearly bumping into Y/n. It was as Rango went to take another punch which would've hit Y/n that Digger Harkness socked him across the jaw. Where did he come from? Digger landed another uppercut before Rango hit a right hook to his temple.

“Get him, Boomerang!“ she heard an inmate yell before a majority of them started cheering.

Y/n watched in disbelief as they went crashing into a table. Guards quickly ran up to pull Harknss off of the guy, yeling at both of the convicts in the process.

“Really, Harkness!? After you just got out?“

“Give him a break, man, he just really misses his cell!“

Y/n's eyes were on him the whole time as they dragged him away. Did he really just save her? He didn't have to. They both knew he was on thin ice since he fought those guards, now he was definitely up for lockdown again just because he saved her. Holy shit, she thought, he's up for lockdown because he saved her. She had to stop the guards.

After a short time she made her way over to the medical facility. There were a couple of officers standing in front of it and before she could go in one of them spoke up.

“Y/n!“

She turned to him, “Gary!“

“You okay?“

“Yes, I'm- Where's officer Ryan? I need to talk to him.“

“Uh, broken nose, he's in there. But be careful-“

“Thanks, I know.“ She was already opening the door to the building. When she found the room officer Ryan is supposed to be in she stepped in and walked past Boomerang. He was sat up in the adjustale hospital bed, tied to it with leather restraints around his ankles and wrists, and when he looked up at her surprise spread trough his features, but she didn't have time for that as she walked right by him.

Boomerang couldn't hear any voices coming from the other rooms, so he imagined she already left, but after some time she walked back into the room.

 “Well, fuck me dead, if it it isn't miss pretend doctor?“

She rolled her eyes, stopping at the foot of the bed. She could look at him up close now and notice his black eye, along with a slight bruise on his jaw. He had a couple of stitches on his shoulder, and she could only guess there was more on his back.

“You look like shit.“

“Hah, then you clearly didn't see the other poor bastard. Oh, and you're welcome, love.“

“No, you're welcome. I talked to the guards, they should… shorten your lockdown.“

“Hey, fair suck of the sav, doc'.“

“What?“

“I saved you from a nasty bruise, but I did the paw patrol a favor too, ya know. That wanker Rango's been up their asses two weeks now. And all I get is a fifty percent isolation discount?“

“You broke a table. And I never said it was fifty percent.“

 He groaned, his head falling back on the pillow. He looked at her, not moving his head, and to Y/n he looked like he was resting on a deckchair on a nice remote beach rather than recovering from a fight in a prison yard.

“Betcha wouldn't even untie me if I asked.“ He wriggled his hands around in his cuffs to emphasize his point.

“You're right.“  

He looked at the ceiling in defeat, but his eyes found her again when she spoke up.

“But.. I did want to thank you.“

“Well, let's hear it, then.“

“You just did.“ she said as she walked out of the room.

[thenewgothictwice]

'He didn't understand, he was terrified': Disabled Palestinian man shot dead by IDF in Gaza hospital | ITV News

Please share this widely.

"A disabled Palestinian man was killed with a "direct shot to the neck" while being held in a hospital by Israeli soldiers on the Gaza Strip, ITV News understands.

The shooting of Najeeb Salem Sadeq occurred just hours before ITV News captured footage of an unarmed civilian being shot dead while walking in a group waving a white flag, in the same area of Khan Younis.

The 39-year-old, who had severe learning difficulties, had fled to the nearby Al Khair hospital with his parents and siblings after the apartment block where they lived was hit by an artillery strike.

There, Najeeb was separated from his father - who was led away by Israeli Defence Forces (IDF) soldiers already stationed at the hospital - and was held with a group of women, children, and older people due to his disability.

His sister, Zainab, spoke about the moment Najeeb was killed after he became increasingly distressed by the sound of nearby gunfire - despite bystanders' attempts to communicate his vulnerability in both Hebrew and Arabic.

"We thought the hospital would be a shelter, but I realised we were trapped in there," she told ITV News.

"The soldier wanted us to duck - he was telling us to stay down, but (Najeeb) wasn't able to understand.

"My brother was saying: 'I am scared, I am scared. I don't want to die', and I was crying - but they shot him anyway. I tried to wake him up, but when I let him go, he fell to the floor. I knew he was dead."

ITV News tracked down Najeeb's neighbour who had known him since he was a child and pleaded with the IDF in Hebrew in an attempt to save his life.

"I told him that he was my neighbour and that his home was only 100 metres away from mine, I've known him for years," Aslan Al Farrah told ITV News.

"When it was 2am or 1.30am, Najeeb was screaming more and more because he hadn't taken his medication. He was freaking out from the gunfire noise and the bombing.

"A soldier called for me because I could communicate in Arabic and Hebrew.

"He said to me: 'silence this man who screams, he has got five chances, if he screams again, I will shoot him and silence him forever.'

"When Najeeb screamed, I made him sit down and he was saying: 'I don't want to be here, I don't want to be here'.

"Another soldier who was on the other entrance came and shot him, and he died," he added.

Najeeb's mother, who is almost blind, heard the gunshots but couldn't see what had happened to her son.

"When I told her Najeeb is dead, she groped his arms and legs and cried 'oh my son, oh my love'," his sister said.

"The soldiers left her to mourn for him. They saw her, but they didn't have any pity for her."

Zainab said multiple people had tried to explain to the Israeli soldiers that her brother had a disability and that he could not understand the instructions being given to him, a claim echoed by eye-witnesses who spoke to ITV News."

[tachimichishrine]

I swear no one does Higuchi justice like c’mon I’m BEGGING to be her cute wife that cooks for her whenever she comes from the Mafia. The chokehold she has on me is just *mwah* she’d be so sweet

also love your tachihara fanfiction it’s my dinner everyday <3

<never been crazy abt higuchi but writing for her just,,, it did smth ok- GAH HOW IS THERE NOT A SINGLE FIC OUT THERE FOR HER?? also you're so sweet ill be sure to feed u properly huheeheheh... thank you for your service to the tachi community btw, all the best w your writing n future fics ^w^ >

"housewife"

⫭◦⨝◦⫬

higuchi ichiyo x wife! reader

warnings: i attempt fluff again ; this is so short idk why, apologies my liege ; this is fiction bc there's no way i could cook smth and not poison my wife/ burn the house down in the process ,,, ; tw bath!! (/j it's all just fluff) ; l e s b i a n s ; love language is phys touch deal with it ; itty bitty cursing ; lowercase intended ; NOT proofread

you knew not to panic in such situations. waking up to disheveled sheets that had turned frigid, indicating that ichiyo had been gone too long. you allowed yourself to sleep in, given that you had the day off and decided you'd just lounge around, take a break and plan something nice for your lover in the meantime.

a stress-free period, but all you felt was anxiety when you dialed her number and got sent straight to voicemail repeatedly. this time, you decided you might as well actually leave a message when the line rang for too long.

"'chiyo, honey, call me back when you get this. just wanna make sure everything's okay, alright? I miss you already, love y-"

"who the hell is this?"

you'd been anticipating the automated voice so much that it barely registered that you didn't actually hear it this time, and a quick glance at the screen confirmed that you really were on call with someone on the other end of the line. the voice was raspy, definitely not hers, so you echoed back the question.

"um, who are you?" you challenged with a hand on your hip that they couldn't see.

except, instead of a response, you heard some distant voices on the other line, one rather hyper as it babbled something you interpreted as 'akutagawa-senpai!'. a few noises ensued along a brief chaos you couldn't see, and suddenly the phone was put back to someone's ear as they panted. you could recognize that heavy breathing anywhere.

"hey, hey, 'chiyo, what's going on?" you spoke softly, hoping she was alright and not trying to scare her.

she stuttered nervously. "sorry, I'm so sorry, I must've dropped my phone somewhere and akutagawa-senpai picked it up and-"

"woah, was that the akutagawa you're always talking about?" you couldn't believe it; after being with her for so long, you'd only ever heard stories about the people with whom she worked. you agreed that the kind of place where she operated was dangerous and it was better not to get yourself involved, so she kept you separated from everything she did. you appreciated the thought, but sometimes you felt a little frustrated that you couldn't meet the people in her life— you didn't even think they were aware ichiyo was married.

a tired sigh confirmed your theory. "look, [_____], I'll call you back when-"

"higuchi, who is that?"

akutagawa seemed to be speaking again, and quite frankly you didn't like his tone. if you were on speaker, you'd set him straight but for now you just listened to ichiyo ramble a response while not actually answering the question. he sounded tired of the bullshit and eventually the line was cut off harshly. something told you that you won't be able to call this number anymore.

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music played on the speaker as you hummed, tray of baked goods getting pulled out of the oven by your gloved mitten. the smell filled out the rather small place you shared with both your wife and sister-in-law, but the latter was out for the week on some kind of trip and left you all alone. you'd gotten used to ichiyo's erratic lifestyle, sometimes disappearing during the day and barely making it home at night. she sounded exhausted when she did arrive, so you didn't mind taking care of the little things.

proud of yourself, you put the assorted goods in various plates and left them on the table, waiting for her to come home. you couldn't call her, obviously, since it appears her boss had pulverized the device out of rage. you'd be worried if not for the fact that, based on her stories, it seemed this was a regular occurrence and she didn't mind it. you'd feel jealous of the man if it weren't for the fact that she fawned over you much harder in all the days you'd known her. she knows what she wants and does everything to get it, you'll give her that. by nature, ichiyo was incredibly caring and it was difficult to hold that against her

something was in your hands as you lounged on the couch, passing the time: a book, your phone, anything to keep your mind occupied. the sun had set and you were getting impatient, as nighttime meant she was going to be out until the early hours and might even come home with a particular scent on her clothing that resembled blood and death. how a person so sweet, so feeling could get into this kind of business was beyond you, much less how she could last thing long. she once told you that the only reason she could keep her mind this long was coming home to your soft kisses and pampering.

a clicking of the front lock and the creaking that ensued signaled that you were about to do that once more, and you strolled over to the entrance with an excited smile.

"welcome home, 'chiyo, how wa-" you caught yourself off when you saw a splatter of crimson along her cheek. your lips tugged downwards into a frown as a reflex, and you sighed gently once you saw her expression. she seemed so conflicted, not about whatever crime she'd done but about making you worry so quickly. "hey, hey, it's okay, c'mere."

with that, you pulled her into your embrace and set a kiss on her hair. it still smelled like that shampoo you'd bought her, a subtle vanilla and chamomile that reminded you of her. her entire body slumped into your strong arms, and she let you drag her across the house, shedding her shoes, meticulously pulling the elastic out of her hair to let her messy bun fall into a bob, then helping her out of her unbuttoned jacket. you pulled her body into yours as you laid down on the couch again, but this time with her head shoved into your chest, which was one of her favourite things to do.

"wanna talk about it?" you asked, dumbly, one of your regular antics. of course she wanted to talk about it; she did an awful job keeping things to herself anyways.

so, you listened carefully while she recounted stories with fake names to keep you protected and vague details in certain places, specific in others. she didn't seem hungry, so you just skipped the food for now and dragged her to your bedroom. you were about to throw her pajamas and get her to change so you could just lay down in bed for the evening, but the burgundy was darkening on patches on her arm and you couldn't help but stare at it.

"—so akutawaga-senpai showed up and I felt a little stupid but he-" you interrupted her by grabbing her shoulders and giving her a little shake.

"honey, can we clean off... that..." you danced around the topic, but she knew exactly what you meant when your eyes kept darting to certain areas of her skin. she nodded and you gave her a quick kiss on her forehead. "I'll run the bath and we can scrub it off. keep going, I'm listening."

she continued speaking as you did exactly that and eventually both of you were stripped and laying down in the tub. she was sitting in between your legs, with her back resting on your chest and head leaning back to rest on your shoulder. you traced her body, rubbing into certain patches until her skin was back to its beautiful glow. the warmth of both her and the water was too comforting, and you stayed longer than needed, your fingertips turning raisin-like in protest. despite this, you leaned down to kiss her up and down her neck while you gently massaged her flesh from her thighs to her hips, her stomach to her breasts. if she wasn't so tired that she eventually ran out of steam and stopped talking just to revel in your embrace, you might've handled her a little differently. yet, at this moment the only desire you had was to pamper her.

"ichiyo..." you breathed out slowly, lips grazing her ear while you kissed her again and spread out your fingers over her stomach. "mmmmn... 'missed you... i love you s'much..."

god, you would break her if you kept this up. so long together that you finally managed to put a ring on it yet she still fangirled over you like you were her high school crush. even as you pulled yourselves out of the sanctuary of steam and warmth in order to actually eat, she blushed every time you left a quick peck on her cheek or rubbed noses while chuckling softly.

she fell asleep in your arms, with her leg on top of you pulling you close like her very own plushie. it was hard not to smile at her once she began snoring and murmuring something about akutagawa during her slumber.

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hand in hand, you snuggled up in big jackets in the middle of the night to fend off the frigid breeze. holding onto your fingers wasn't enough, and ichiyo was fully clinging onto your bicep as you walked with her in the empty streets of yokohoma.

"this s-sounded so m-much more fun when w-we were inside... warm... by the f-fireplace.." her teeth chattered and she pulled herself closer into you.

"you were the one who suggested getting something from the café," you retorted with a chuckle, opposite hand brought up to tuck her hair behind her ear that was starting to turn pink from the cold. you rubbed your thumb along her cheek which was going through something similar, then sighed with a cloud of hot breath. "alright, honey we'll head in. i think there's another one on this street, we can just stay there and warm up before we go back, mkay?"

she would feel a bit ashamed about being so demanding if you hadn't pulled her in tighter and looked at her so lovingly. she had such an impossible time never believing she was capable enough at the mafia, and that discomfort disappeared as soon as you whispered sweet nothings into her ear and made her feel like everything was alright.

you turned your bodies together, door jingling as you stepped inside and the air blowing down from the heater hitting you. you realized that she was right, it was too damn cold outside, as soon as you felt the contrast of the inside. you turned towards your lover with a quick look to see if her body was as relieved as yours, but she was staring at something intensely on the horizon, like she'd seen a ghost.

you followed her gaze, and it fell on a man with tuffs of white in his hair standing next to a woman, slightly shorter but with noticeably long stands of black veiling the sides of her face.

"do you know them?" you whispered, and she jumped a little. part of her wanted to drag you outside, but she couldn't lie to you or keep things no matter how much her common sense told her to.

"that's... they're..." she was struggling to say something, anything, but you noticed she was letting herself get flustered. in these kinds of situations, you liked to interrupt her with a kiss to bring her back to earth from her constantly overreacting mind.

she pulled away before your lips could touch.

she'd never done that before.

you knew better, that this was probably a question of her not wanting the pda right now or maybe it had something to do with the duo standing over there waiting for their drinks, but it hurt nonetheless when you saw her squint her eyes shut and shake her head.

"that's akutagawa," she whispered as an explanation, and you felt simultaneously irritated and relieved, the former due to the fact that it confirmed that she hadn't told her boss that she was in a relationship, much less married. you understood why but it didn't sting any less.

"who's the girl?" you followed up, trying not to think about it too deeply. "is that.. uh... gin?"

she nodded meekly, and it was impossible to stay mad for long when she was so cute. you slid your hand around her waist, turning her around so that her back was to the pair and they wouldn't recognize her while she spoke to you. your voice dropped so low she could barely hear it. "should we get out of here so they don't see us? I'm not that cold, I can wait outside if it makes you more comfortable, honey."

how could she ask you to do something like that when your words were so caring, so honest? she took a deep breath and shook her head once more. in one impossibly fast motion you found yourself on the other end of the shop, standing in front of the man.

"akutagawa-senpai!" ichiyo exclaimed just a bit too loudly for this time of the day and the serenity of the empty café. she bowed her head down, speaking incredibly quickly. "I don't mean to interrupt your evening but it's come to my attention that you don't know that I'm married and this is my wife her name is [_____] and she's wonderful and-"

"'chiyo, he won't be able to understand what you're saying," you laughed softly, cutting her off as you placed your hand on her back reassuringly before addressing her boss with a respectful nod. "it's nice to finally meet you, akutagawa-san. I've heard a lot about you."

he barely bothered to acknowledge you, but the slight twitch in the spot that should've housed his eyebrows signaled that he was shocked. your smile grew wider when you looked to his sister who was sporting the same look. you pulled ichiyo against you from her hip as if to prove that she was indeed yours, and spoke slowly to explain snippets of the current situation. gin listened carefully without a word while the man tried his very best to seem completely uninterested.

as much as you wanted to learn everything there was to know about ichiyo's other side, eventually his drink was ready and he barely excused himself as he walked out. you watched him do so, and gin nodded to you and said something about how nice it was to make your acquaintance in a meek voice before quickly following him out. you waved, and noticed akutagawa watching you do so warmly before burying his face in his coat and scampering off.

"well," you giggled, turning back towards ichiyo, "that wasn't so bad. she's cute and he's an ass, but I trust your judgement in people."

you could practically see stars in her eyes; she rambled to you the entire walk home - during which she didn't complain about the cold a single time and was nearly bouncing off the sidewalk - about how much he clearly loved you based on his expression (apparently the fact that he didn't try to kill you on the spot was a sure sign of his support). she was so excited she even suggested bringing you with her to the port mafia tomorrow, but you stopped her and told her to slow down for just one second. you loved that she was so passionate about her emotions, but you wanted to talk and think this through before you did anything.

for tonight, though, you let her radiate with happiness as she jumped on top of you, making the mattress creak while she climbed up to sit on your lap and curl her fingers around the fabric of your shirt. your hands on her hips, she sat down with her knees bent on either side of you like a frog and leaned so you were chest-to-chest. she tickled your skin to draw out soft giggles while she peppered you with kisses, littering you with her best efforts to repay just a fraction of what you did for her. you rubbed her thighs in long, loving motions and brought her up so she was sitting on your hips instead. you wanted her closer, and she was happy to oblige as she kissed your lips.

"[_____]," she said, smiling into you, "I'm so lucky..."

you cut her off with a press upwards and a firm grip. "shhh, don't say anything. I love you, you love me and that's all we need."

she murmured your name that night in her sleep instead of akutagawa's.

[madwomansapologist]

hello i want to ask for a fluff, basically klaus mikaelson pampering the reader headcanons

klaus mikaelson pampering you would include

Masterlist | Rules | Taglist | Library | More Klaus Mikaelson | AO3

synopsis: Niklaus Mikaelson: the beast, the monster, the cruelest man to ever step on Earth. Thats how others see him. And they aren't wrong. But that does not mean that he needs to be that way all the time. Not when he's surround by people he love.

warnings: vampire stuff. kidnapped. death. the usual when it comes about him.

ps: thanks for your request! i've missed so much writing for him.

• You were kidnapped. Again. Klaus rescued you. Again. No one other than you both survived to tell the storie. Again. Honestly, it's getting boring. The first three times you were affraid and all, now it's more a break of your responsabilities than anything else.

• If was for someone to be worried, it would be you. You were sitting the whole time, the only thing you had to deal with was the discussions of your kidnappers. Klaus was the one that fought. He didn't need to, you both know that he's powerful enough to get you without even touching anyone there, but he bathed in blood. If someone need to be worried, it would be you.

• But Klaus seem to not be so normal about those things. What for you is already something commonplace, for Klaus is still as scary as it was on the beginning. Surrounded by corpses, all of Klaus' wrath turned into care.

• Klaus released you from the ropes, caressing your scarred skin, not even noticing that he was staining you with blood. You kissed him, it's been centuries since you didn't care about blood anymore, in an attempt to calm him down. It's almost like he was the one in danger.

• Your calm didn't matter to Klaus. You were fine, safe, but that didn't mean anything. Klaus took you back to the Mikaelson mansion, ignoring when you said he didn't need to carry you, and it wasn't until you both were alone in your shared bedroom that he allowed himself to relax.

• Klaus prepared a bathtub with hot water, and helped you undress the same way you did with him. Nudity meant nothing, it was just natural. Intimate. You helped him clean up the blood. Klaus massaged your body still marked by the ropes. In silence, you communicated everything you needed.

• You dried off, dressed, and got into bed together. You couldn't eat anything, and Klaus has had more blood in one night than most vampires have in an entire month. You felt the heat of Klaus's body, his breath echoed on yours, his fingers caressed your skin.

• When you awoke, the ghost of his touch remained at her side. When looking for him around the mansion, you found Klaus cooking for the two of you. You just watched him, letting peace envelop you.

• Everything was just fine. With Klaus, everything will forever be just fine.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[morganas-pendragons]

how long | the master chief

people have been digging up my master chief fanfiction with the release of halo season 2. so. here's a new one shot ft my favorite shot of the show! Spoilers for episode 1!

this will be multiple parts as we span throughout season 2. this is loosely associated with you're losing me by Taylor Swift!

A couple of tags for people who've come my way recently wanting Chief fic... @silverpelt3600 @embarrassedauthornerd (who is still getting a Game!John fic at some point) and I know there were more but I literally can't remember :(

***

Being a part of Silver is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. It’s a team. A unit. You aren’t forced to rely on old instincts of survival on your own when you have Master Chief Petty Officer Sierra 117 covering your back.

John. Your John.

My beloved.

He hadn’t been the same since Cortana was removed from his head. You knew why. It was like losing a crucial part of himself, and no one still knew where she was. You both felt her loss so acutely.

You still sometimes turned to call out, “Little love?” In the darkness of your quarters, and waited for “Soles..” to echo back at you. The nickname she’d given you herself.

She’s not dead, but she might as well be.

You had initially suspected that Parangonsky had something to do with it. The woman was as conniving as Halsey, choosing to own the facade of the imperfect military leader with a world of decisions on her shoulders to bear. Her own cross. Just like Halsey.

No one bothered asking though, so neither did you. You and Kai continued to work as The Master Chief's shadows as the months passed. Mission after mission became civilian evacuation after evacuation. ONI was not letting you into combat.

May have something to do with the fact that the entirety of Silver has taken out their inhibitor pellets.

You repositioned yourself between Kai and Vannak as the three of you peered out over the cliff face you were occupying on Sanctuary. "Babysitting duty," Vannak muttered. "Aren't we better than this?"

You snorted and flexed your finger against the trigger of your assault rifle. "We're here to keep an eye on Chief. And this complaint is coming from the guy who indulges in documentaries for fun," You mutter, to which Kai also breaks out into laughter. "And feeds his pigeons."

"I'll have you know-"

Kai nudged your shoulder as John and Riz approached the group of civilians where Captain Shepherd was currently trying to coax their leader, a native priestess, into evacuating. "Shut up and pay attention you two," She teased. "Looks like Captain Shepherd is trying to work on his negotiation skills."

The UNSC had sent the five of you to Sanctuary to evacuate before the Covenant arrived to glass it. That had been happening to a lot of colonies recently.

More often than not, you found yourself huddled next to John in his cot on the nights that the dead just would not stop screaming. It was easier to deal with when you were The Lone Headhunter. When you had your pellet.

When you were more machine.

"This would be so much easier if Cortana was around." You whisper to yourself, thankful that neither of them pay attention to your statement. The AI had become a welcome friend and presence in your life since you'd found yourself becoming closer to The Master Chief. Since you'd found yourself loving him. Loving John.

John hadn't been John in... six months. And you missed him.

They never did say loving from afar was easy.

By the time you were properly paying attention again, John was communicating his position through TEAMCOM as he took off toward the upward cliff face that would lead to where Bravo Team was at. A nagging feeling gnawed at your stomach as you stood to your feet.

"Where is he going?"

"To retrieve Bravo," Vannak replied as he pressed his hand against the side of his helmet. "Comm signal is static. Can't get a clear answer. Seems like there's some type of interference from the relay."

You were already on your way towards John’s location being displayed in your HUD. There was no way you were going to let him do something like that on his own. Especially with his emotions being at such a heightened state since Cortana’s removal, you didn’t quite trust him to make a logical decision right now.

You stopped at the base of the cliff. The fog above loomed above menacingly, like a bad omen waiting to make itself known. You still couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in your stomach.

“Silver One, this is Silver Five. Come in.”

Static.

Cursing under your breath, you steadied your feet and activated the grapple shot recently installed to your Mjolnir. The tech’s had done it per The Chief’s request. Something about needing his most lethal and stealthy team member to be able to utilize that skill to the best of their ability.

Quick, quiet.

The grapple shot up into the fog and took you along with it.

***

How long has it been?

You ask yourself this question every night you sneak into his bunk while Silver sleeps on either side of you. John sleeps at the far end, prone with his arms at his sides, hazel eyes cast toward the ceiling. This is your curse. You cannot sleep without hearing the screams of those you know who have died.

Those you failed to save.

How long has it been since I've seen John? The real John?

You wordlessly settle at his side when his arm comes up to allow you to tuck yourself into him. Despite being only a few inches apart in height, you automatically feel safer with your cheek pressed against his chest and the bulk of his muscle sheltering you from any outside threat.

It's the whisper of your name that catches you off guard. "Soles.." John's voice cracks in the darkness as you lift your head high enough to meet the gaze that stares back at you. Despite how much he's changed since losing Cortana, you can still see remnants of the very broken man he has been trying so hard to hide. "When does it end?"

"When does what end, John?"

"The war."

You know very well he isn't talking about the Human-Covenant War. He's talking about the internal war that Spartans face when they're able to feel too much. The conflict of being made to be more machine then man. More soldier. Being forced to execute orders despite knowing they're morally wrong.

"I don't know.. but I don't think it ever will."

How long has it been, since the two of you had been able to just enjoy each other? To be at peace?

***

Too long.

You were barely able to get your footing before a hand was wrenching you into the dark. Your visor tipped upward to meet the glowing gold of The Master Chief's before you, just barely concealing the lone marine who stood petrified behind him.

"You shouldn't have come, Silver Five."

You shrug noncommittally. "I don't care, Chief. Sitrep." You remarked sharply as the two of you moved to pull the girl between you. It was the only way she'd be protected without any kind of armor to shield her from the threat in the fog.

"Something's in the fog. The Covenant were here before we were-"

It's only then that you see the Elites lingering in the shadows. Decades of instincts and training immediately kick into gear as you remove your weapon from your belt - a newly obtained energy sword, courtesy of the last high ranking Elite who'd tried to rush you - and activated the blade before charging at your nearest opponent.

Blood spattered against your armor while John continued to cover you from behind. They yell at you. Mock you. Call you Demon. You know enough to understand that singular word in their mother tongue.

You cut them down anyway. You are Sierra-343. You are built for this.

But ONI is determined to keep you from it.

***

The glassing beam is terrifying. You haven't quite been afraid for your life in a long, long time... but the stinging heat that comes from it sears the back of your armor as you sprint across the field to the Condors.

The Priestess was not about to let The Master Chief leave the planet without prophesying over him.

"Find your faith, Spartan. I have seen your death." Her eyes slowly shift to your fingers wrapped around The Master Chief's wrist, desperately urging him forward to the Condors where Kai and Vannak were waiting for you. "You are not long for this world. It comes soon. "

How long?

You're running against the clock as the three of you sprint into the Condor just in time for it to take off. Breathless, you cast aside your helmet to stare at the amber hue of fire as Sanctuary is overcome by the glassing beam from the Covenant Carrier.

***

Ackerson spent the first several days of his time in ONI working on you. As his Lone Headhunter, he saw you as an asset to utilize with a skill that far outweighed Silver Team combined.

"Do you think that at his core.. The Master Chief is broken?"

Unarmored and dressed in your civilian clothing, you stared out at the open expanse of Reach City right beyond the window.

“I think that The Chief is a human being who had undergone a significant amount of trauma in a very short amount of time. I think ONI overlooks that because the only use he has to them is to be the hero you need on the front lines of a war we’re not going to win,” You replied coldly, turning around to face Colonel Ackerson with your hands neatly folded behind you. “Do you have any other questions that pertain to my role in Silver Team or my history as a Headhunter, sir?”

“I am not your enemy here. You know that. You’ve undergone some of the most extensive types of torture under covenant hands from your time on The Exalted.” You froze at the remark, disdain and anger flashing across your gaze as you met his eyes. “You are remarkable. Resilient. I want that for the future of what we have here. I do not wish for such contempt to come between us.”

“Then I would prefer you keep my past and my trauma out of conversation.” You motion towards the door to ONI’s main office. “Am I free to go?”

Ackerson flashed a tight-lipped smile. He knew you would be the most difficult to crack on Silver Team. Kai had said as much. Given your involvement with the Spartan Two program and how quickly you'd taken to working with a team, he'd anticipated you would be loyal to them.

He hadn't anticipated the extent of how loyal you'd be to The Master Chief though. There must've been something there. Something else the others didn't know about.

"Yes, you are. Thank you for speaking with me."

You bit the inside of your cheek so hard that you tasted blood as you and John locked eyes passing one another in the main doorway of the ONI office.

He'll have questions for you later.

***

Kai caught John's gaze wandering to you as you and Riz continued working on your hand-to-hand on the gym floor. There was just something so graceful about the way you moved, and the way you looked...

"Hey, Chief," Kai's voice broke through his reverie as John turned away from you to gaze at the monitors near the lockers. "Come take a look at this."

You narrowly avoided an uppercut to the jaw as you attempted to tune into Keyes speech where he was awarding Talia Perez a Colonial Cross. You knew the truth though. A truth that Ackerson was not hearing, and a truth that John had attempted to get Ackerson to reveal during their meeting.

He didn't breathe a word. And unfortunately, when he'd intercepted you an hour later, neither did you.

How long since you stopped trusting me, Soles?

"Turn it off." Vannak demanded. "I've heard enough from this guyat debrief."

"What questions did he ask you?"

The main point of conversation between you both again rang in your ears as Riz moved to sweep your legs out from beneath you. Do you think that The Master Chief is, at his core, broken?

Dread bubbled in your stomach. Did he know?

Did Ackerson know about you two?

You didn't have enough time to react as Riz swept your legs out from underneath you just as Cobalt Team walked into the room. You didn't bother learning any of their names. You just knew you hated the blonde one the most.

Riz extended a hand to you just as she approached you both. "You see, this is why you don't go taking your pellet out. Makes you emotional." Cold blue eyes regarded you as you both stepped into her space. "Makes you weak."

Your eyes narrowed. "You know, for someone who's barely encountered The Covenant.. Tell me. Who endured torture at the hands of high-ranking Elites aboard a Covenant Cruiser for months before I got myself out?"

"And who's to say you're not a whining Covenant sympathizer now?"

Rage flashed behind your eyes as you lunged and very nearly caught Val, had it not been for John winding his arms through yours to keep you from making a rash decision.

You weren't paying attention to anything else that was said until Cobalt was gone. John bent to whisper in your ear, "Stop trying to get yourself killed, Soles."

You wrenched yourself from his grasp and jabbed your finger into his chest angrily. You weren't mad at him, persay. You were mad at the place that loving him had put you in. That loving him was now a way to be exploited. And you swore you wouldn't be in that position again when Halsey was gone. When you became part of Silver.

"Then stop trying to protect me, Master Chief."

But they had spent years telling you a very simple truth: You were a machine created to serve a singular purpose. Machines were not conditioned to feel.

And they certainly did not love.

***

You didn't come to John's bed that night. You didn't come for quite a while after that, and he then determined that you were the one thing he feared you to be.

A liar.

And he didn't understand why you were hiding it. Why were you hiding what happened on Sanctuary, and why were you avoiding Ackerson? What had he asked you?

Why were you running?

***

He wasn't expecting this. The whole point of coming to this place was to find some semblance of her, something that offered comfort in the way Cortana would have if she were here.

She wasn't dead, but she may as well be.

He swiped his credit chit and sat down with his hands in his lap. "I don't really know what people say to each other. And the one person I want to talk to right now is..." John swallowed the knot in his throat. "Isn't themselves. And I'm-"

"Lost?"

"Yeah. I think there might be something wrong with me. That's why they ran. They figured out there's a part of me that's missing. Sometimes there's a sound like something in my head is there that doesn't belong. And maybe it's part of you that got embedded in me."

"Oh, sweetie... You miss them, don't you?"

John grimaced. He did. He did miss you and Cortana. He'd give anything to go back to that medical table where he'd kissed you the first time.

He was so deeply engrossed in his memory of Sanctuary, of seeing Makee, of hearing her voice, that he didn't even notice you come in. You stood in the doorway with your hood concealing your face and slowly lowered it as John stared up at you in shock.

There wasn't just shock there though. There was... desperation.

How long since you willingly let someone in?

"Soles?"

"John. We need to talk."

part two?

[xecutivecucumber]

Executive Cucumber's Thoughts on the Bad Batch 03x09!

Spoilers under the cut

Apologies for this being late, I worked overtime and then immediately went to rescue my sister and her kids from a car breakdown. I got overwhelmed pretty quick.

I really liked this episode, but as I was in a not great mood when I watched it, I didn't absorb as much as I normally do. (My mood really affects how much I enjoy something, regardless of quality. I was in a foul mood when I first watched Faster and was fairly critical of it. I was wrong.)

This is really the first time we've seen not beautiful weather on Pabu and that's terrifying.

CROSSHAIR IS PART OF A COMMUNITY!!! Have yall considered that he's never been a part of a community before? Like yes, he's has his family, but a community?

'Does it matter? We're not giving her up.' This man. I love this man. If Tech did not already reign Supreme in my heart, I think Crosshair would be my favorite character in Star Wars.

ASAJJ VENTRESS MY QUEEEEEEEEEN

Oh Omega, that story fell apart faster than Hunter's resistance to adopting you.

They leave a space for Tech 💔

Apparently those blood tester things that Qui Gon had were Jedi issue only.

YOU CAN DO IT OMEGA!!! Wrecker, honey, if Omega CAN do it, that means her life gets WAY harder.

They one hundred percent sent Crosshair to look at Tech's data because Hunter and Wrecker can barely do it.

'Go get a flower kid, I gotta beat up your dads'

Okay, I honestly think Hunter doesn't have the time for romance and could honestly see him as asexual, but-

HIS WAIST IS SO SLUTTY. HOW IS IT SO SLUTTY.

I don't think we've seen such well choreographed hand to hand fighting in animated Star Wars. Except maybe that time that Rex absolutely destroyed those Zygerrians. But I might be biased about that.

'SHE'S A WAR CRIMINAL OMEGA' Okay now I need to know what defines war crimes in this universe. Did they have space Geneva?

You know, good thing Echo's not here. He'd probably be WAY more pissed than these three.

'You're naive' says the man who was changed by the child saying people can change.

I love Crosshair's 'oh shoot she's right' face.

Wrecker's little gasp when Ventress looks at them is AMAZING.

I love it when Star Wars is using the Force to connect with animals.

I'm sorry, Hunter girlies, I guess we getting wet hair everyone except Hunter. (Though Ventress looks SO GOOD)

VENTRESS YOU QUEEN I LOVE YOU YOU'VE COME SO FAR (I haven't read dark disciple but my sister has, and she informed me that Vos' Dark Side training by Ventress culminated in him summoning a water monster and killing it. This is such a beautiful parallel that she calms it.)

Crosshair helping Omega on is my everything.

I really love that Crosshair has decided to give Ventress a chance, because he was given a chance. (And also I lowkey ship them in a one night stand kinda way. Crossajj is such a good ship name too)

DAD DUO.

I don't think Ventress is lying when she says Omega isn't Force sensitive. Omega doesn't show ANYTHING in this episode that implies that she's sensitive. Yes, she uses Batcher, but she'd trained Batcher with normal friend methods. I think that Ventress stops the testing prematurely before she can be more sure, because she sees the possibly unhealthy attachment the Batch have. It might also be to protect Omega to not know for sure. My personal theory is that Omega is slightly more sensitive than the average clone, but not to any natural talent degree.

Oh gosh, I'm so scared for the next few episodes. Ventress gives them such a clear warning. This episode did such a good job of getting the tension tight again.

I know some people call this episode redundant, but the characters NEED this in order to catch up. We as an audience knew that M Counts meant midichlorians. But the Batch had no idea. Sometimes, we need to let the main characters catch up with us.

(This is also why Tech as CX-2 works on a reveal level because the mystery isn't for us, it's for the characters)

But yeah, a great episode! I'm terrified for everything and everyone!

A quick note- I've seen people say that it's too late in the season for Tech to return. I'd like to remind you that it took exactly two episodes in season 2 to get us behind Crosshair's redemption. They can do a lot in a few episodes.