#this is the face that no one trusts apparently

[redroomreflections]

Who Lives, Who Dies Chapter Two

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Reader are married. They get into an accident where Natasha suffers serious injuries including amnesia. Natasha no longer remembers her life with reader and their children. All she remembers are her days loving Bruce.

w/c: 4.9k

Another hour has passed when you notice Natasha shift in the bed. Lily is still curled into her while Olivia is sound asleep by her side. You’re sure Natasha has gone past the state of uncomfortable to full-on pain. You also know she won’t say anything if it means keeping the girls close to her. Even in her current state, her first priority is her children. Whom she just met. There’s clear adoration on her face every time she looks down at them. Every sniffle or subtle movement and she’s watching them like a hawk. Daring any hospital personnel to tell her she couldn’t have them here. 

For a moment you wish you were Wanda. You wish you could tap into her mind and figure out what she’s thinking. Unfortunately, that's beyond the scope of your abilities. You can feel the magic at the tip of your fingers, it's a low hum, only apparent as you’re stressed. You will yourself to calm down for the time being. You have to do this with a level head. Even when all you want to do is break down and never get up. 

“I can take them,” You offer. Alexei and Melina are most likely still in the waiting room. Since hearing about the accident they’ve been helpful. They kept the girls while you took the time to recover. They even kept them during your stay at Natasha’s bedside. “I’m sure you need to rest and stretch. Alexie and Melina are-”

“No,” Natasha frowns. Oh. You hadn’t expected this. “I don’t want them taking them.” 

“Natasha, the girls have been staying with them for the past week.”

“No,” Natasha shakes her head again. “I’m their mom right?” You nod. You can see her gain new confidence at your confirmation. “I don’t want them there. I don’t trust them.” She looks at you pleading with you to understand. You do. Natasha doesn’t remember her time in Budapest with Yelena or Melina’s farm or taking down the Red Room again. She doesn’t remember their reunion. You don’t think now is an appropriate time to say that Alexei and Melina have a home just outside of NYC that you visit frequently. 

“Okay, Nat, I understand.” You can see her visibly relax at your words. “I’ll call someone else.” You think. There’s no shortage of people who would come and get them at the drop of a hat. The girls are very popular amongst your friend group. Monica would come no questions asked. Though she might not be prepared to keep them for a couple of days. Wanda is the next on your list. She’s good with them. She loves them as if they are her own. You’d have to figure something out. 

You look at the time on your phone. Visiting hours would be over soon. 

“I have to talk to your parents,” You stand. She bristles at the title you’ve given them. “I can, um, find you something to eat if you’re up to it?”

“That would be great,” Natasha gives you that much. You leave the room with a mission in mind. First is the nurse's station where you ask for food for Natasha. It’s not the best but it would hold her over until you’re home. If she decides to eat. Next is Alexei and Melina who are sitting so patiently in a corner of the waiting room. 

“Hey,” You greet them with a sigh. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened in there. She-Natasha is. It’s so complicated.”

“She doesn’t have her memories?” Melina concludes. 

“No,” You break it to them gently. “She doesn’t know us. She doesn’t know who we are.”

“So back to square one?” Alexei asks. “We have to win her over again?”You can see the wheels turning in his head. He’s already planning something of how he will get her to speak with him. 

“The time that Natasha remembers,” You raise a hand to stop him. “Five years ago. Ultron. It’s when we first met. I don’t think she has any recollection as to how but she remembers battling him. Which means everything after that is iffy for her.” For just a moment you are grateful that she doesn’t remember you. Your meeting was less than fantastic or romantic. In fact, both of you were left with more than enough bruises and scrapes. Your time at HYDRA wasn’t your proudest moment. Somehow you think Natasha won’t be too welcoming of that. 

“She doesn’t know the girls,” Melina says lowly. 

“She’s Natasha through and through,” You sit beside them. “She doesn’t care if she doesn’t remember. She is their mom and she has her boundaries. She doesn’t want you guys to take them.”

“Then who will?” Melina doesn’t seem so surprised by this though Alexei has kept quiet. 

“Yelena is still in and out so it can’t be her.” You shake your head. “Wanda. She’s close. If Nat doesn’t remember much of me then…..” Her words come back to you. She knows. “God! This is so fucked.” You rest your head on the back of the chair to allow the rest of your body to slouch. There’s no way she’s letting the girls go with Wanda. So, Steve is the next option. She knows Steve. Trust him. He wouldn’t lie to her. “I’m, um, I’m going to go make some calls. I’ll be right over there. You guys can go home if you want. I’ll keep you updated.”

They nod, gathering their bearings, before standing to leave. 

“Take care of yourself, y/n.” Melina rests a hand on your shoulder. You nod. You’d try your best. Alexei bids you goodbye with a kiss on your forehead. You don’t move until they’re out of your sight. Suddenly it’s weighing on you how different life is about to be. 

You pull out your phone to facetime Steve. After a few rings, he answers. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” He asks immediately. There’s shuffling in his background and you can tell he’s moving over to his couch. He sets the phone down, making sure it’s at a decent angle, and it’s then the rest of the Avengers step into view. 

“Hi guys,” You greet. “There’s no easy way to say this. Natasha woke up. She’s stable. Talking and moving around. You know how Natasha does.” You shrug. 

“There’s a but in there,” Sam bends over the couch. 

“She has amnesia,” You tear the bandaid off. There’s no sense of sugar coating. “She hit her head pretty hard and things aren’t looking so good in that aspect.”

“How much does she remember?” Steve frowns. 

“Ultron,” The word sounds funny on your tongue. It’s still hard to even utter his name knowing what the aftermath was. You lost your brother. Wanda lost her twin. “She remembers being with Bruce and hiding at Clint’s farm.”

“Jeez,” Steve curses. It’s the closest he’ll get to a swear. 

“She wants one of you here. To speak to you,” You tell them. “Maybe you Steve? I need someone to keep the girls and you’re the only one she trusts.”

“I understand,” Steve nods. “Of course. Give me an hour and I’ll be there.” Steve promises. He’s always so trustworthy. 

“Thank you guys, again.” You sigh for what feels like the millitonth time. “Wanda I will call you later.”

“I’ll be here,” Wanda bids you goodbye. You hang up the phone feeling like a weight was lifted from your shoulders. You return to the hospital room to find Natasha sharing her lunch with Olivia. 

“Mommy, no peanuts in it.” Olivia informs you. You look over to the small meal. Green beans, mashed potatoes, a dinner roll, and pudding for desert. Peanut free. 

“She’s allergic she told me,” Natasha murmurs. She doesn’t take a single bite of food. “It’s a bad allergy right?”

“Life threatening,” You nod. 

“I should know more about them,” Natasha begins. “It’s important that I do.” She’s admitting to a new weakness.

“I will tell you everything you need to know when you are better,” You promise her. “For now you rest. Uncle Steve is on his way to take you home with him.” You bend down to look Olivia in her eyes. She’s too busy making a mess of the mashed potatoes on her face. “Are you okay leaving with Uncle Steve?”

“Yes,” Olivia nods. She always has a blast with him. There’s no reason for her not to be okay with him. You move to sit in your chair, content watching Natasha interact with the kids, as you think of everything that you have to do. 

She’s so good with them if a bit unsure of her position. Lily is still sleeping soundly, her face pressed against Natasha’s breast, as she breathes softly. Olivia is more active and has questions about everything. You don’t really pay any mind. Until she brings up her dance recital. 

“You didn’t go cuz you were in the car ‘ccident.” Olivia says so casually. “I danced at school.” Natasha looks over to you for answers. “Her dance recital. We were on our way when we got hit by a car,” You simplify it. There’s no need for a full blow explanation. 

“You didn’t have any injuries?” She scans you from where you’re sitting. Her tone is almost accusatory. You’re not willing to go there with her. 

“Just a few dings,” You shake your head. Suddenly there’s another knock at the door. You stand to open it, thankful for the reprieve, to reveal Steve Rogers in all his glory. 

“Unlce Steve!” Olivia grins. “You’re here to see Mama?” She questions.

“I am,” Steve steps into the room. He’s cautious. He comes to the side of her bed. Natahsa’s eyes never leave his. 

“You’re bulkier,” She comments. She takes note of his full head of hair and fully grown beard. Steve looks good. 

“I lift more,” Steve shrugs. 

“I’m going to take Liv to get cleaned up,” You offer to give them some time alone. You reach across the bed to take Olivia. You can see Natasha take a deep pained breath. You ignore it for the sake of not starting anything. 

You’re in one of the visitor bathrooms, cleaning up Olivia, when you realize you have to explain it to her. She’s three. She understands and picks up on more than what you think. Keeping things a secret from her won't bode over well in the end. 

“Have to dry my hands,” Olivia walks over to the automatic driers to hold her hands under them. She’s so smart and attentive. There’s no way she won’t notice. Once she’s done, you walk over to the visitor's room. It’s not the best place to tell her but she needs to know. Olivia sits in the chair, bouncing in place, as she waits for you to talk. She’s only half paying attention as the hustle and bustle of the room catches her eye. 

“Hey, Mouse, I need to talk to you about something important,” You start. 

“Important? Oh? What’s important?” She looks to you. 

“Remember how Mama and I got into the car accident and she bumped her head really hard?” You try to explain on her level. Olivia nods, picking at her sweater, as she tries to keep focus. For the most part, she’s doing quite well. “Well, when she bumped her head it did something. Her memories are gone. Which means she doesn’t know a lot of things that she used to.”

“Memories are gone,” Olivia repeats though you don’t think she understands exactly how any of this works. 

“Yes, her memories are gone,” You try to think of a better way to keep this process smooth. “Mama is sick. So for a little while we have to be patient with her.”

“Oh,” Olivia nods. “Give her kisses and hugs to make it better?”

“I think she would like that,” You are in agreement on one thing. If you know Natasha, and you do, she is going to want the girls there every step of the way. Not that you know what the next step is. Of course, things are a bit harder to gauge when you’re doing it alone and she doesn’t trust half of the people you interact with daily. You could only hope this would work. 

Meanwhile, in Natasha’s hospital room, she’s eyeing Steve with a guarded expression and curious eyes. She doesn’t hide her complete distrust for you and the entire situation. She needs to hear all of this from someone she knows. Someone from before. Steve wouldn’t lie to her. At least she hoped he wouldn’t.

“You’re still Avenging?” Natasha asks. She’s asking the easy questions for now.  

“I am,” Steve confirms. 

“The rest of the team?” 

“Scattered but still around,” Steve sits in the chair you abandoned. “Thor is with Jane. They have a baby boy. He’s the same age as your little one.” He gestures to Lily. “Clint and Laura are with the kids still on the farm. Tony is Tony. He has a little girl.”

“With Pepper right?” 

“Of course,” Steve nods. 

“And Bruce?” She tries to appear uninterested but Steve knows better. 

“Bruce is around,” Steve shrugs. “He’s here and there. Isn’t really an Avenger anymore.”

“There’s a story behind that,” Natasha prompts him to speak further but he doesn't.

“That is for another time,” Steve says. He bends until his elbows rest on his thighs. “You’re not supposed to be talking this much. Fractured rib. It has to hurt.”

“You know that’s not going to stop me,” Natasha attempts to take another breath though this time it’s too painful. She can’t even hide it. This leads her into a terrible coughing fit that has her clutching her side. Once she’s settled down, she lies her head against the pillows. “Turns out I have a wife now. I’m married.” She mumbles. 

“Happily,” Steve reminds her. She lets her head loll in his general direction before opening her eyes again. “You and Y/n are an example of a loving marriage. Don’t push her away, Nat.” 

“Who says I was,” Natasha presses her lips together into a thin line. She would like to drink a gallon of water right now. “She’s pretty.” 

“That she is,” Steve laughs. “Seriously, Natasha, that woman would go to hell and back for you. I know your spy training tells you not to trust her. Especially when you only remember you and Bruce. Let her in. You’re going to need the help.”

“I’ve never needed help,” Natasha is a bit snippy with that statement. 

“We both know that’s not true, Romanoff but I’ll let you have it,” Steve stands. “She’s raising and having your babies. Don’t write her off so soon. You may find that you’re in love with her all over again.”

Natasha remains mute at his words. Natasha Romanoff could never be in love. She’s never been in love. Love is for children. What she had with Bruce was…different. She can’t put a label on it. Not that she remembers anything that happened after her proposal at Clint’s farm. 

“I’m going to take the girls now,” Steve reaches over to take Lily in his arms. She cuddles up to his chest. “If I don’t wake her now she’ll be up all night.”

“You’re taking this Uncle Steve title seriously,” Natasha jokes. 

“I have to,” Steve bends to press a kiss to her forehead and finds himself explaining at her surprised face. Back then they weren’t so close. “I’ll be seeing you soon.” He leaves Natasha by herself for a few moments to come and find you. 

Natasha finally takes a much-needed deep breath, clutching her side again, as she tries to wrap her head around this entire situation. She’s married. She has kids. What did Steve mean by “she’s raising and having your babies.” Were you pregnant? No. You don’t look it. Maybe it’s just a throwaway line. A thing people say. He also said your marriage is a loving one. Natasha finds this entire thing hard to believe. This one doesn’t sit right with her. She can’t run. Not when those two little girls look up to her as if she means the world. To them she does. 

For them she’d stay. 

**************************

Steve approaches you in the waiting room with an unreadable expression. He’s carrying a now awake Lily in his arms. When she spots you she holds out her arms for you to take her. You sit her down in your lap, kissing the top of her head, knowing how clingy she is when she’s sleepy. 

“How was it?”

“She was fine surprisingly,” Steve admits. “No weapons to the throat or any of that.” He stands with his arms folded. “Are you sure you want her to come back home with you? Maybe it would be better for her to go back to the tower?”

“I’m sure,” You nod and speak past the lump in your throat. “If things change. If she expresses that it's what she wants then it’s fine. She can go back. We can arrange something with the girls and visit. Can we just play it by ear?” You pull your gaze from some random object in the room to Steve’s concerned eyes. 

“How are you feeling?” Steve uses that voice. You know the one. He’s so caring and compassionate and somehow always able to pull the truth from you. 

“I’m fine,” You have to be. There’s no other choice. “As long as she’s okay I’m fine. I think ask me in a few days. Maybe I’ll have a different answer.”

“Good,” Steve kisses your forehead much in the same way he did Natasha’s. “Now are you girls ready to go with Uncle Steve?” 

“Yeah,” Olivia nods. She signs to Lily whose eyes light up at the idea of spending the night with her uncle. 

“Don’t worry they’re safe,” Steve nods. 

“Is Mama coming too?” Olivia looks over to you. She thinks Steve is taking you home. 

“No, Mouse, Mama’s not coming,” You cringe at the trembling bottom lip and the sad expression. “Right now Mama has to get better in the hospital and then we can all go home.”

“To my house?” Olivia questions. She’s not liking this at all. 

“Yes, to our house,” You kiss both of her cheeks. “Uncle Steve will take you to Aunt Wanda if you ask and I’ll call you before bedtime. I have to stay here with Mama to make sure she’s doing all better. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” She answers reluctantly but for now a tantrum has been averted. She climbs down from the chair to take Lily’s hand. She’s so protective of her baby sister. You give them both a final kiss before you watch as they walk to the elevator. 

It’s then you stand to return to Natasha’s room. It’s time to face the music. You take several deep breaths, willing the magic to calm inside of you, as you walk back to her room. When you step inside, a nurse is checking Natasha’s vitals again. She’s just finishing up when you sit. 

The nurse works around the two of you before bidding you a good night. 

“Can I have a cot in here please?” You ask before she can leave. She nods before retreating. You turn back to Natasha who’s been watching you thus far. 

“You’re sleeping here?” She breathes slower this time. She shifts to get comfortable. 

“Yes, I’ve slept here every night since the accident.” You lick your lips.

“Have you eaten?” Natasha questions and for a second you’re hopeful. “Wouldn’t want you to pass out if you’re the one that’s supposed to be taking care of me.” Your face falls though you quickly hide it with something else. 

“I can take care of myself,” Your hand twitches. She’s been awakened for five hours and you have yet to kiss or touch her. It’s a bit unsettling. The nerves in your stomach have since turned into dread. There's a pregnant pause before she asks again. 

“Who is the woman in your phone? Brunette.” She doesn’t bother to look at you. “A mistress?”

You pat your pockets, wondering when she took the item before she lifts it with her good hand. 

“My sister, Wanda.” You answer with a bit of annoyance. Natasha doesn’t recognize her. Which you don’t know whether to classify as good or bad. 

“You have a sister?” She looks over to you. 

“I do,” You speak softer this time. “I’m not a cheater, Natasha. Whatever thing in your head you’ve thought of is untrue. If you have questions ask me.”

“How long?” Natasha looks up at the ceiling. “Have we been together?”

“Four years,” Her eyes flash to yours. “ Five years ago we met. During Ultron.” You lick your lips again. You don’t mean to leave out key details. It’s better if you do until later. “We moved pretty quickly. With everything that was going on. Marriage was. Is what we wanted in the end.”

“You’re an Avenger you said? How?” 

“I have powers,” You raise a hand to show the purple leaving your fingers. Her eyes widen and as quickly as you let it go you put it back. This may all be too much. “I joined around the same time as my sister. She’s an Avenger too. We dated for a while. Me and You. Wne on the run. Got married after. Found the girls.”

“Sounds like a bad movie,” Natasha quops and you snort. 

“It does but what can you do?” You shake your head. “For what it’s worth I love you, Natasha.” You try to gauge her facial expression. She’s always been so good at hiding it. “You love me too. Even if you don’t remember. I hope that with time you’ll allow me to show you.”

The conversation ends there. Natasha doesn’t bother looking at you. She sits with her thoughts. She’d rather be anywhere but here. You know her well enough to understand she’ll probably try to break out of here in the middle of the night. Under different circumstances, you’d let her. For the first time in a long time, you feel as if you’re looking at a stranger. 

A few days go by, and Natasha doesn’t attempt to escape, but you also don’t make any progress with her. She’s very distrusting of everyone around her/ Especially you. The only time she seems remotely happy is when the girls are around. They bring sunshine to her day and you wouldn't deprive her of that. For the sake of the girls, she pretends to like you. A part of you believes she’s not pretending. She’s trying and that's all you can ask. You rarely leave her side. She takes note of that. 

You finally reach a stump when she needs to shower. Natasha isn’t modest. She’s not shy about her body or anything like that. However, you do have to admit being naked and vulnerable isn’t something either of you is going to be able to work with. The nurse offers to help give her a sponge bath and you both practically gag at that. 

“Can we use a shower chair?” You offer and it’s accepted. 

“You’ll help?” Natasha trusts you more than the nurse apparently. You give her an enthusiastic yes. You help her stand, taking slow and steady steps toward the bathroom, where you turn the shower on. Your arms stay wrapped around her waist as you bend to turn the knob. You try to ignore how good it feels for her to lean on you.  You turn back to her, noting the apprehension on her face, as you realize something. 

“I have to undress you.” You shuffle from foot to foot. Natasha gives an imperceptible nod. You start with her shirt, keeping your gaze on her face, as you gently lift her arms high enough to slip them out of the sleeves. She’s not wearing a bra and though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before you are aware of how she feels about this entire thing. Next are her pants and panties. You toss them to the other side of the room. You have better ones for her. You look over to the shower, when you look down at your own clothes. You could leave your tank top and bra on and your underwear. You have to climb in with her. “I have to, um, take my-”

“Just do it,” Natasha looks away. She’s more embarrassed that you have to bathe her. You make quick work of stripping before you both step into the shower. She leans against you, her back to your chest, as she breathes hashyl. You sit her down in the chair, kneeling and not quite caring about the steaming water against your back, as you begin to wash her. You start with her shoulders, her chest, her stomach. She keeps her eyes on your face the entire time. You don’t bat an eye when you spread her legs just slightly to clean her there. She gasps though she doesn’t move. 

You realize quickly how you messed up. 

“Sorry, I should have asked first,” You move your hands to her thighs. You shake your head at yourself. 

“It’s fine,” She mutters. Though you can tell it’s anything but. You continue washing her with much more gentleness than before. When you’re done, you step out of the way to rinse her off. Natasha closes her eyes at the warm water hitting her chest. She enjoys the feeling of being clean. When you turn off the water you feel a bit better about everything. You don’t notice her eyes on your backside or the way she watches you as you reach for the towels. You’re half-naked and cold so you try to move quickly. You help her back into the room, dressing her with patience and love, as she lies into the bed again. She doesn’t take her eyes off of you even when you’re getting dressed yourself. 

“Why are you doing this for me?” Natasha breaks the silence. You look over from the spot where you’re drying your hair. 

It’s simple really. “Because I love you,” You answer before turning back to finish dressing. 

You love her with everything in you. 

A few days later, Natasha is discharged from the hospital. You'v ordered a few things to be delivered to your house to make her transition better. You pull around to the front of the hospital to the rental your insurance provided for you. You don’t feel particularly anxious until you’re driving away. It’s almost the exact same setup. Except you’re sporting a forehead scar that will fade and Natasha is suffering broken ribs. You hold your breath the entire time, your hands grip the steering wheel harder than necessary, and you’re more cautious the entire way home. 

Natasha doesn’t recognize the brownstone or the neighborhood. It’s all unfamiliar to her as she waits for you to park the car. Which you do with ease. Unit #137. That’s your home. Your neighbor, Martha, is outside of her home watering her plants. She greets you as you help Natasha out of her car. 

“Oh, you’re home.” Martha smiles. Natasha offers her a wave and a smile but nothing more. “Let me know when the girls are home so I can take them to the nursing home with me next time.” She makes you promise. Martha takes the girls to the nursing home every Wednesday to visit her husband. They love the girls and so does everyone else in the home. 

“Will do,” You say before helping Natasha up the stairs. You drop your bags by the front door. She eyes everything. It’s all decorated in varying shades of black and white. There are a few pops of color. Children’s shoes and toys lining the foyer. There’s a nice bench and hook where everything is hung up. Pictures are lining the walls. A grand staircase leads to the second floor. “I know you must be tired. The stairs might be a bit much but I can carry you.”

“You’re going to carry me?” Natasha questions. 

You raise your shoulder before dropping it. “The next best thing is the couch and I figured you would want privacy. Our bedroom is the first one.”

“Do we have other rooms?” Natasha looks up the stairs and you feel dumb for thinking she’d want to sleep in the same room as you. 

“We do,” You nod. “I can take you to one of them.” 

“Okay,” She prepares herself for you to pick her up and you do so with ease. You don’t have superhuman abilities but she doesn’t see you using your powers to take her up the stairs. You don’t strain or even grunt one time. You walk steadily up the stairs, turning to your left, to carry Natasha into the guest room. 

“I have to grab your nursing pillow,” You tell her as you help her onto the bed. You rush to your bedroom to grab it. “It’s for if you need to cough or anything like that.” You pass it to her. You stand there for a few seconds longer. “I am ordering takeout tonight. I would cook but it’s been a long few days.”

“When will the girls be here?” Natasha asks. 

“Tomorrow,” You clasp your hands together. “Steve is bringing them tomorrow.”

She nods at that. She looks as if she wants to be alone. 

“I will be up here for a bit if you need me.” You say awkwardly before stepping outside of the bedroom. You close the door behind you. On the other side, Natasha finally lets a tear fall. 

How could she forget all of this?

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha x you #natasha romanov #natsxaddiction

[mintywolf]

A Long Road Home - Page 62 Author Notes

Page 62

Whew! So there’s the first chapter. Two (?) more to go!

I thought I’d share my early character notes from back when I was getting ready to write the script, mid-late 2022, compiled from observation, what extra facts we had at the time from 4SD, and my own headcanons. Not everything made it into the comic but it helped me codify my interpretation of them.

***

Imogen

Physical Traits: Recently 26 at the beginning of the story. Long, light purple hair in soft, wavy curls. Often wears it braided when she’s working on the farm or riding. Violet eyes. Fair skin with a dusting of freckles across her cheeks, shoulders, and arms. Tendency to sunburn. Sweet round face and a soft figure. Around 5’4”. Slight gap between her front teeth. Dimples. Always looks a little sleep-deprived. Glowing purple lightning-shaped scars starting on the inside of her wrists and extending over her hands and wrapping over the back of her wrists. Prefers light-colored, soft, flowy clothing. Light Taloned Highlands accent that becomes more pronounced when she’s angry or being deliberately charming.

Personality Traits: Shy, thoughtful, reserved. Uncomfortable in crowds because of the strain on her psychic energy and social situations are physically and emotionally exhausting for her. Can nevertheless exude Southern charm when the situation calls for it. Genuinely kind and caring towards people she trusts but it takes a while for them to earn that trust. Her passive access to everyone’s thoughts makes it hard for her to see the good in people, which can lead her to be cynical or even cruel. Hidden tendency for destructive, remorseless anger that belies her “innocent” appearance. Can hold a grudge. Enjoys the company of animals more than humans (with the single exception of Laudna). Secretly struggling with very deep doubts about her own worth, especially since she has become progressively more emotionally distanced from people since the beginning of her psychic powers 8 years ago. Before Laudna’s arrival the pain and loneliness caused by her powers (as well as her bleak outlook on the rest of the world from everyone else’s terrible thoughts) have pushed her to the brink of despair. Staunchly insists that she is Fine even when that is clearly untrue.

Quirks: The lightning markings grow a little bit up her arms whenever she exerts her powers in a significant way. Needs glasses but she’s never had her eyesight checked so she doesn’t have them. Tugs on her earlobes when she’s stressed. Prone to headaches and panic attacks when the presence of a lot of other people overwhelms her psychic abilities. Uses Mage Hand creatively and for convenience in a variety of situations. Summer birthday. Likes strawberries and lemonade. Afraid of heights, or more specifically, afraid of falling from a great height. Smells faintly of sun-warmed grass and ozone. Has a good singing voice but almost no one has heard it. Likes to be clean, hates the feeling of being sweaty/sticky/grimy. Enjoys having her scalp massaged or her back scratched, especially by Laudna’s long fingernails.

Terms of endearment used: honey, darlin’, sugar, sweetheart

Laudna

Physical Traits: Actually 51 but became ageless a few weeks shy of 20. Has been dead-ish for 31 of those years, so while she hasn’t aged much she has deteriorated over time. Corpse-pale and skeleton-thin, covered in old scars, significantly a faint rope scar on her neck under her chin. Long, bony fingers. Wears gold ear jewelry for elves to hide the fact that her ears were cropped into points. Around 5’9” but her thinness and general mien makes her appear taller than she is. Long, scraggly black hair with a white forelock. Kind of wavy with tighter curls towards the ends. Her features are doll-like and delicate but slightly too big for her face in a way that is charming but a little off-putting. (Protuberant eyes, long nose, wide smile.) Big, dark eyes with dilated pupils. (Apparently permanently, so she is sensitive to light but can see very well in the dark.) Very wide smile with uneven teeth. Cold and clammy to the touch. Thin, fragile skin. Her blood moves slowly and is very dark (although still red). Cries inky black tears. Knows Mending as a cantrip but evidently does not apply it often to her own clothes. Speaks with an elevated posh Whitestone accent, except when she’s being serious. Her “natural” voice is more subdued, with a huskiness to it from an old throat injury that comes out more when she’s upset. A little too loose-limbed. Moves in a peculiarly graceful/graceless, jerky fashion, like something being puppeted by unseen strings. Dislikes wearing shoes.

Personality Traits: She is simultaneously a world-weary middle-aged woman and a child who was frozen on the cusp of adulthood and will never age. Over the years her persistent optimism has become less the product of naiveté and more of determination; she has made the best of every awful situation she’s been put in because what else is she going to do. Like Imogen she has seen a lot of the worst of people, and before she meets her she is timid and twitchy from many years of loneliness and being a general object of distrust and mistreatment wherever she goes, but once she finds her, her vivacious, excitable, and affectionate personality starts to emerge. Very earnest -- not much disconnect between what she thinks and what she says, and not much filter, either. Eager to be useful. Has some trouble picking up on social cues or knowing how to behave appropriately in certain social situations. Tends to stand too close to people when trying to talk to them. Desperately wants to love and be loved. Very protective of Imogen but secretly afraid she’s undeserving of her affection. Worries about being a burden or a danger to her. When overwhelmed or uncomfortable she will sometimes speak through Pâté about herself rather than for herself. When very deeply upset she withdraws into herself and seems to become inanimate.

Quirks: Very rarely still -- she’s always in motion, fidgeting, picking things up to look at or fiddle with, reaching out to touch things in the environment, fluttering her hands when talking, lacing her fingers together, swaying or rocking when sitting or standing. (She is only completely still when she’s asleep, unconscious, or very deeply withdrawn, and then the difference between that and her usual animated self is unsettling.) Tends to stutter when agitated or excited. When thoughtful or anxious she fidgets with her hair, and can pull it out without meaning to when particularly upset. Puts her fingers in her mouth regardless of how clean they are. Has a habit of collecting things that look like trash to other people but she thinks might be useful, with a particular fondness for broken, discarded objects. Sometimes she mends them, sometimes she just loves them as they are. (Also has a hard time letting go of things past their usefulness, e.g. expired vegetables that Imogen is begging her to be allowed to compost but Laudna is insisting parts of them are still good.) Winter birthday. Likes apples and sweet baked goods, gingerbread in particular.  Her joints dislocate easily, in particular her right shoulder, but pop back into place just as easily. (She was dragged by the arm either from the dining room or to the tree.) Smells like wet earth and decaying leaves. Experiences occasional dizziness from low blood pressure and is vulnerable to motion sickness. Vehement dislike for the feeling of rough fabric against her skin. Can’t wear necklaces or any clothing with a tight collar.

Terms of endearment used: darling, dearest, my love

Matilda

Physical traits: When alive, she still had pale skin and black hair, although of a more human complexion and her hair was fuller with better-defined curls. (Still a little stringy though.) Still thin from hard times in Whitestone but of a more willowy sort than gaunt. Naturally kind of cold but still of a human body temperature. Dark brown eyes. Big smile. Still fidgety. Larger than average ears.

Personality: Still a weirdo! Eager to have friends but had trouble making and keeping them and so was often lonely, with a very imaginative inner life. Kind of vague and dreamy, in part from being frequently dosed with laudanum to suppress her weirdness and make her sit still. Never outgrew playing with dolls, and secretly always kind of believed they have feelings.

Quirks: Liked to collect things: rocks, bones, feathers, discarded trinkets. Made some of her own toys out of odds and ends. Had a pet frog that she carried around in her apron pocket. The kind of child who would disappear all day and return covered in dirt with holes in her clothes. Because of her inherent shadow powers she had a tendency to startle her parents by accidentally sneaking up on them, and was always a little hurt when they reacted in alarm to see her there.

When Laudna is scared or distressed, particularly after an upsetting experience, she will sometimes regress into who she used to be. She drops her posh accent, and her mannerisms become smaller and timid. She will seek reassurance in childlike things, playing with her dolls and wanting the comfort of someone else’s closeness. If she can’t get that comfort from Imogen, she will seek it from Delilah.

Relvin Temult

Physical traits: Broad-shouldered and sturdy, with a tendency to stoop. Dark blond, longish hair & a scruffy beard. Tanned from outdoor work. In his mid 40’s. (So Imogen was born when he and Liliana were in their early 20’s or even late teens. It is possible that Liliana’s powers manifested around the same age as Imogen’s did.)

Personality: Taciturn, somewhat dour. Dearly loves Imogen but can’t help feeling some resentment for the exile her powers forced on them and he’s a little afraid of her psychic ability. Rightfully suspicious that she could be eavesdropping on his thoughts, he has distanced himself from her. Still calls her “Genny” and “butterbean” as nicknames. Misses the closeness they used to have, and despite the distance between them he is desperate to hold on to her since she is all the family he has left.

He is literally Just A Guy. He wanted to live a normal small town life raising horses with his family but unfortunately his wife and then his daughter turned out to be cursed by the moon with devastating psychic powers.

Dolores Garrod

Physical traits: Early middle-aged, dark blonde hair, narrow green eyes, stocky build. Narrow scar on the left side of her face. She’s probably of an age that she could have served in the Apex War.

Personality: Former sheriff, resents losing her position of power and feels she could do a better job for the town than the current one. Not afraid to resort to violence to protect the town. Very protective of her young son. She does not place much faith in the gods, particularly since they don’t seem to be doing anything about either the witch walking around town or the plague she is believed to have brought down upon it, and puts her faith in the law instead.

***

Thank you for reading!! Whether you’ve come across my comic recently or whether you’ve been with it since the beginning, I’m so happy you’re here. <3

#a long road home #author notes #imogen temult #laudna

[major-mads]

Chapter 10: The Soliloquy

John Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: here's a little haussmann jump-scare!! enjoy!

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 4.4k

October 22nd: Dulag Luft: Frankfurt, Germany

Ruth sat curled up in the far corner of the dark, cold, and musty cell she’d been thrown in, her injured arm cradled against her chest. Hope’s makeshift sling was helpful at first, but as time wore on and the pain in the blonde’s arm intensified, it did little to stifle the aching in the limb. 

The simple thought of Hope caused tears to sting at her eyes. 

Were they alive?

Were they still in their cells?

Sitting completely and utterly alone, and in her own blood and grime, Ruth never felt so dejected…so lonely, so scared. It was no secret that the Germans could do anything they wanted to them without consequence, including one of the most vile things that could happen to a woman. 

Ruth prayed and prayed. 

She prayed for her friends, for their safety, and for her own.

But most of all, she prayed for John. That she’d see him again, that he wouldn’t lose himself now that she was gone, and that he somehow knew she loved him. All the emotions she held in from the crash, her injury, and her now utter despair rose to the surface, leaving behind no trace of willpower within her. Before she could stop them, tears spilled down her cheeks and a choked sob left her lips. She threw her good hand over her mouth to muffle her cries and leaned her head against the hard cinder-block wall.

In that corner, Ruth let her exhaustion finally pull her under the influence of sleep, and she dozed off as hot tears slowly trickled down her cheeks. A few hours later, her much-needed rest was abruptly shattered by the creak of her cell door swinging open and the harsh light of the hallway flooding into the room. She blinked away the remnants of sleep, her heart pounding as two guards loomed in the doorway.

“Up,” one of them barked, his gruff and highly accentuated voice cutting through the silence like a knife. Ruth hesitated as her injured arm throbbed with her every movement, but she slowly pushed herself to her feet, her sore muscles protesting against the strain. The guards wasted no time grasping her right arm and escorting her down the hallway to a door. One knocked and waited for a response from inside before pushing it open with a grunt, revealing a surprisingly nice office.

Her eyes anxiously darted around the room, taking in the framed portrait of Hitler that hung ominously on the wall, piles of newspapers, and other documents scattered haphazardly across the desk. The guards ushered her forward, their grip firm as they pushed her towards a chair in front of the imposing desk in the middle of the room. Ruth swallowed hard, her mind going haywire as she sank carefully into the seat, her eyes fixed on the desk and not the man on the other side.

The Nazi laced his fingers together and leaned onto the desktop, a concerned expression painting his face as he looked down at her sling. “Lieutenant Morgan, how were you injured? Certainly my men did not do that.”

Unease surged through Ruth as the interrogator’s voice filled the air. She hesitated for a moment while her mind raced and weighed her options. She knew she couldn’t trust him or afford to let her guard down for even a moment.

“When I, uh, bailed,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper as she avoided his gaze by fixing her eyes on the desk. “Got caught in some trees and landed wrong.”

The man’s brow furrowed in apparent concern. “That sounds painful,” he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “But surely you received medical attention for such an injury?”

Ruth shook her head, struggling to maintain her composure. She imagined John’s handsome face, telling her to breathe, to stay calm. “No,” she replied, her voice quiet but strong as she fought to keep the fear from creeping into her voice. “I haven’t.”

The interrogator’s gaze remained fixed on her, his eyes probing for any sign of weakness as he leaned back in his chair. “I see. I will see to it that you receive the medical attention you need…once you’ve answered a few questions.”

A cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach as she realized the true nature of his offer. It was a cruel game just as she expected, a twisted manipulation designed to soften her up for information. She glanced up at the interrogator at last and her eyes narrowed with suspicion as she braced for whatever was to come.

“I am your interrogator, Lieutenant Haussman. The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner you can get medical attention, Ll;ieutenant. So, shall we begin?”

Don’t give them anything. Don’t give them anything. Don’t give them anything…

He reached across the desk and grabbed a file from a nearby stack. “Ruth Morgan, born in Charlotte, North Carolina. Former teacher at…” he flipped the page. “Ah yes, Charlotte Country Day School.”

She stared at him blankly, fighting to keep surprise from her expression. 

‘How does he know that? Are my students in danger?’ she thought.

“You were stationed at the Grove in Berkshire with the 806th MAETS, but frequently made visits to Thorpe Abbotts, yes?”

Ruth’s eyes fell back to the desk and she willed her mouth to remain shut. She wouldn’t give him anything, but it didn’t stop him from pressing forward.

“To see a pilot. A Major. John Egan.”

Tears threatened to well in her eyes at the mention of her beloved Major.

Would she ever see him again? Would she die without telling him she loved him? Would he move on?

Taking a deep breath, Ruth tried to maintain her composure. She knew she couldn’t afford to let her emotions betray her and risk revealing anything that might put them in danger. But even as she fought to keep her fear in check, a wave of panic threatened to overwhelm her.

They knew everything.

“I will say,” Haussman began, his unnerving grin returning as he lifted a thin sheet of paper from the file. “I find you Americans and your nicknames fascinating. What exactly is a slugger?”

Ruth clenched her jaw and peered up at him through her lashes, her frustration rising as she realized he was reading John’s letter. This Nazi had no right to go through her things…to touch something so pure and beautiful.

She forced herself to calm down and readjusted in the chair.. “A hard hitter,” she answered quietly.

“Ah. And are you a hard hitter, Lieutenant?”

“No,” Ruth shook her head. “I am not.”

“Is Major Egan a hard hitter? As a Squadron Commander, he must be, yes?”

When she didn’t respond, he leaned his elbows back onto the desk, holding up the letter. “I see you know him very well. Major Egan must have told you of his exploits at Regensburg. Or Trondheim?”

‘He told me how your evil regime killed one of his best friends,’ she thought. ‘Along with 90 other men in their group.’

“I read the same papers as everyone,” Ruth replied.

Haussman momentarily nodded to himself before pulling out the picture from Dye’s part and holding it up for her to see. “A nice photograph, yes?”

The silence that filled the room was deafening.

Memories from that night flashed into Ruth’s mind…dancing to the band’s slow jazz cheek to cheek, laughing with their friends, John inviting her to London…

Now she’d never get to go.

Seemingly done with the topic, he picked up two new files and tossed them onto the desk before him. “How about we talk about Hope Armstrong and Frank Martin, Ruth? Where did you meet?”

The blonde’s eyes widened just slightly as her mind ran rampant with questions about her friends. She wanted to ask where they were, if they were alright, but she knew she couldn’t. That’s what Haussman wanted.

Don’t give them anything. Don’t give them anything. Don’t give them anything…

“How did an inexperienced nurse like yourself get placed with such a skilled nurse and pilot?”

Ruth raised her good shoulder in a small shrug.

“You must be curious about your colleagues, Lieutenant. I would like to talk to you about them, but I need you to talk to me as well.”

It was a trick. 

She pressed her lips tightly together and forced herself to maintain his gaze. “Ruth Morgan. 2nd Lieutenant-”

“Lieutenant Morgan,” he interrupted with a chuckle. “I already know about you. I want to know about Major Egan. Tell me about him. You love him, yes?”

‘More than he ever knew,’ she thought.

How could Ruth sum up John Egan? A rambunctious midwesterner who loved baseball, his men, and flying? The 418th Squadron CO with one of the biggest hearts she’d ever known? The loyal friend and strong leader? The man she loved?

She wouldn’t.

Swallowing the emotion that crept up her throat, she found her voice again. “Ruth Morgan, Second Lieutenant. N-743301.”

“When was your trip scheduled?” he asked with a taunting smirk, ignoring her statement. “London is a beautiful city. Very romantic.”

You could hear a pin drop in the interrogation room as the words left the man’s mouth. The already tense atmosphere became stifling and became too much for the blonde.

Rage was an emotion that was foreign to Ruth Morgan. Yes, she’d been angry at students, her family, and what was happening in Europe, but the all-consuming feeling of rage had never coursed through her veins. Sitting in the small office, that changed. 

As his words hung in the air, Ruth felt a surge of rage bubble up from deep inside her with an intensity she’d never experienced before. It ignited like wildfire and consumed her thoughts, drowning out the fear that gripped her moments before. Ruth’s jaw clenched and her right hand tightened into a fist as she fought to keep the new emotion in check.

He was just toying with her now.

“I have nothing more to say,” she replied, her voice steady despite her heart pounding in her chest.

Silence fell over the small room and was only broken by the faint sounds of distant footsteps echoing down the hallway outside. The Lieutenant regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable as he seemed to weigh his next move.

Finally, he nodded slowly. “Very well.”

A few moments later, the door swung open with a creak, and the two guards who’d brought her into the room earlier stepped inside. Haussman gestured toward Ruth with a nod of his head. “See to it that Lieutenant Morgan gets medical attention,” he instructed the men.

Ruth’s eyes widened in surprise that he was following through with his promise even after she didn’t give him anything.

“I am a man of my word, Ruth,” he replied simply, offering her a nod.

With that, he turned away, his attention already shifting to the documents and newspapers scattered across his desk as the guards moved forward to escort her from the room. Ruth rose to her feet slowly, withholding a wince, and turned toward the door when he called out to her one last time.

He held out John’s envelope. “I have no need for these.”

Ruth took it and allowed the guards to lead her back down the dark hallway and to the infirmary. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and disinfectant, and the sound of coughing and muted groans echoed off the bare walls. The compound’s infirmary was little more than a cramped room filled with rows of narrow cots, each one occupied by a sick or injured POW. 

A dark-haired, older nurse approached Ruth and ushered her toward an empty cot while the guards lingered by the door. “Sit down,” she instructed in heavily accented English.

Ruth complied, wincing as she gingerly sat on the cot with her left arm cradled against her chest. The nurse’s trained eyes swept over the American’s form, taking in the disheveled state of her uniform and the pained expression etched upon her features. 

“I have not seen a woman here before,” the nurse stated, her eyes flicking over to the guards momentarily.

Ruth nodded. “I’m a flight nurse…or was.”

With an understanding nod, the nurse set to work, gently removing the makeshift sling that Hope had made and helping her pull the arm from her flight jacket. She rolled her sleeve up to her upper arm and carefully examined her forearm. Ruth winced loudly as the nurse prodded at the tender area, her jaw clenched against the pain that shot through her arm. For the first time since the crash, she got a glimpse of the extent of her injury. Her forearm was mottled with dark bruises, the skin swollen and discolored.

After a thorough examination, the nurse confirmed Hope’s suspicion. “Your arm is probably fractured,” she said, her tone matter of fact. “You will wear a splint.”

‘Well, I knew that,’ she thought.

Twenty minutes and multiple layers of bandages later, the nurse secured the splint on Ruth’s forearm. The splint thankfully fit inside her oversized flight jacket’s sleeve, and she watched as the nurse received a fresh sling from a nearby drawer, securing it around her arm and shoulder. 

“There,” the nurse said, her voice softening slightly. “This should help. The splint will stay on for 6 to 8 weeks.”

Ruth quietly thanked the woman and started to speak again when the guards appeared beside her cot, one gesturing toward the door. “Time to go.”

Gulping, she stood from the cot and sent the nurse one last glance as she followed them out of the infirmary. They followed the same route as before, and Ruth’s eyes wandered down every hall they passed, trying to memorize the layout if, by any miracle, she was able to escape.

The lies people tell themselves.

Before she knew it, her cell door opened with a familiar creak. The nurse took a deep breath from where she stood right outside the threshold, the darkness in the small room sending shivers down her spine.

‘You can do this,’ she told herself. ‘They can’t keep you here forever.’

But they could if they wanted to…

Ruth forced away the thought and stepped into the room, a shuddering sigh escaping her when the door locked shut. Alone once more in the dim confines of her cell, she sank into the corner. The cold and hard floor was more uncomfortable than the disgusting train car they’d been transported in from Schiltach, but it was better than the even harder wooden cot against the wall.

Reaching into her pocket, Ruth pulled out John’s envelope and removed the letter. She traced the familiar lines of his sloppy handwriting as she read it to herself.

“Hey slugger,” the letter began, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She could almost hear his voice as she read his words, the mere thought of him bringing warmth to her heart that she desperately needed in the freezing cell.

As she continued to read, a lump formed in her throat, tears welling in her eyes as John’s words washed over her. “You’re just so beautiful…the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on…have I told you that? When I start to spiral, I just look at you and your smiling face, and I remember what all this is for.”

With a trembling hand, Ruth reached for the small photograph tucked inside the envelope. Memories from Dye’s party flooded her mind as she studied the treasured image, their last night together forever frozen in time. She thought that night seemed months, even years in the past, but it had somehow been less than a week. 

“Yours completely, John Egan.”

And she was his completely, but he didn’t know it.

“I love you,” Ruth whispered weakly, running her thumb over his grinning face. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

The days stretched on for Ruth in the confines of her cell, and she got used to her routine. 

She woke up, was given a thin slice of sour black bread with disgusting ersatz jam, was taken to use the latrine, and then spent a few hours just staring at the various writings and drawings on the cell walls left by its previous inhabitants. Her favorite was the multiple drawings of what looked like Canadian Mounties, their hats and collars resembling the iconic uniforms she’d seen pictures of.

Before long, a guard would deliver her daily bowl of soup, sometimes with potatoes or sometimes cabbage, but never meat. The rest of the day was much of the same with her getting one more latrine visit and a slice of bread in the evening.

As a child, Ruth thought the epitome of boredom was spending an hour in timeout in her room after getting in a fight with James. She’d stare at the ceiling, itching to go outside or read a book…to do anything. But sitting in her cell…in Dulag Luft…in Nazi Germany, boredom morphed with helplessness and uncertainty to create a potent mix that threatened to crumble the woman. 

She sighed and sat up on her straw mattress to lean against the wall, her mind replaying memories to keep her occupied. Some were of her family, her grandmother, or James, and others were of Hope and Frank. Her favorites, however, were of John. Ruth recalled every second they’d spent together since July, and every time, the precious moments filled her with both warmth and intense loneliness at the same time. His letter sat in her breast pocket with worn corners from the numerous times she’d read it, and Ruth could recite each word from heart. The woman’s tears had stopped falling soon after her interrogation…there were no tears left to cry. 

Her tank was empty in more ways than one. 

More often than not, her thoughts also drifted to Hope and Frank. She prayed they were alive, that they hadn’t given up hope in their 10-by-5 prison. The Brits in the mess hall told them they wouldn’t be there for long, but doubt picked at Ruth daily. 

Would they be one of the exceptions and be forced to live like this for years? 

And that question still swirled in her mind after being in the cramped cell for 9 days.

9 days alone. 9 days eating nothing but sour bread and soup. 9 days of pain with her every movement. 

9 days of hell.

The 10th day started like every other with her meager breakfast and latrine trip, but when there was no knock and no soup delivery, she knew something was up. Her routine was the only thing stable in her life, and its disruption caused fear and anxiety to bubble up within her. Minutes later, the door swung open, and she quickly slid off the cot to the floor with a pounding heart. There was a commotion from the hallway, the sounds of creaking doors and yelling filling her cell.

“Out!”

Ruth blinked against the sudden influx of light as the guard barked the order and she followed him out into the hallway. She scanned a few other prisoners’ faces pulled from their cells but had no luck finding a familiar face. As she was led with the other prisoners out of the building, her mind raced with questions, but she knew better than to voice them aloud. 

Where were they going?

Were Frank and Hope going, too?

She exited the hallway and stepped into the chilly noon air, the mud squelching beneath her boots as she walked across the unkept courtyard toward a small dilapidated building. A line of prisoners snaked out the door, flanked by guards who kept watch. A few others emerged from the hut’s side door clean-shaven and hair dripping.

“Showers,” the guard grunted, gesturing toward the building.

The thought of washing herself of the layers of blood, sweat, dirt, and grime that clung to her skin was both enticing and terrifying. She longed for the feeling of hot water washing away the filth, of soap scrubbing away the stains of her captivity. But the idea of stepping into a communal shower surrounded by men she didn’t know sent a jolt of panic through her. She couldn’t risk getting her splint wet even if she wanted to shower.

‘I can’t,’ she thought, panic gripping her heart. ‘I can’t do this.’

Ruth’s steps faltered as she neared the shower building, and the guard tugged roughly on her arm to pull her forward. Defying every instinct within her, she dug her heels into the ground.

“I can’t go,” she finally managed to choke out.

Frustration etched the guard’s face as he glared at her. “You must,” he snapped, his voice sharp with irritation.

The Germans wouldn’t care if she was uncomfortable, so she chose the only possible option.

She swallowed hard. “I can’t,” she stammered, her hand trembling as she gestured to her sling.. “My arm. I-I can’t get my splint wet.”

“You will regret it,” he grumbled, pulling her toward the camp’s entrance.

They soon joined a larger group of prisoners just as a train came into view. The engine stood imposingly on the tracks, and Ruth’s memories of her trip to Dulag Luft came to the forefront of her mind. 

The fear, the pain, the filthy conditions…but at least she had Frank and Hope. What would she do without them beside her?

Ruth was drawn from her thoughts by dogs barking and the shrill yells of the guards who began shoving the prisoners toward the awaiting train cars.

“Move! Go!”

Bodies pressed against her on all sides as the group was herded to the nearest car, a few prisoners losing their balance at the Germans’ relentless shoving. Frank was not there to keep her close this time, and Ruth moved with the throng of men as they began boarding. When she reached the front, she took a shaky breath and attempted to pull herself up into the car. Desperation clawed at her as she fought to hoist herself into the compartment with her good arm, her fingers slipping on the rough wooden edges, struggling to find a grip. 

“In! Now! Schnell!”

Just as she feared she would fall back onto the cold, hard ground below, a strong hand suddenly reached down and grasped her wrist, pulling her upward into the car. A relieved gasp left Ruth’s lips as her feet landed, and she turned towards her savior. He wore an A-2 jacket much like her friends from Thorpe Abbotts…American.

“Thank you,” she sighed, nausea rising in her throat as the rancid smell of manure and urine filled her nose. Ruth pushed it back down and nodded at the man.

He offered her a half-smile, the best one any of them could produce. “No problem, ma’am. Are you alright? Did they…”

“I’m okay,” she replied, her words barely audible over the commotion of the platform. “And no. They didn’t,”

The airman nodded to himself, seemingly thinking over her words before he pointed to a nearby vacant corner of the car. “I’d set up shop over there. I’ve got a feeling we’re not going to have much room once this thing is full.”

With another thank you, Ruth sank into the corner and hugged her knees to her chest as more and more men boarded the car. The airman who helped her moved to help other weak and wounded prisoners while she contemplated her new reality for the umpteenth time over the last ten days. 

A POW. Being stuck in enemy territory for the foreseeable future seemed only bearable if she had Hope and Frank with her. Deep down, Ruth didn’t know how long she’d last on her own in such a hostile place. 

“Ruth!”

The familiar voice cut through the chaos of the crowded train car, and Ruth’s eyes shot up from the grimy floor to the open doors. Tears that had long dried burned in her eyes as she spotted Frank and Hope making their way through the densely packed prisoners.

“Hope! Frank!” Ruth called out, her voice trembling as tears of relief welled in her eyes. She pushed herself up from the corner and hurried over to meet them halfway. When they reached her, Hope enveloped Ruth in a tight embrace, holding her close as if she was afraid to let go.

“Oh, Rue, I’ve been so worried. I’m sorry,” Hope cried. “I’m so sorry. I was supposed to watch out for you, and-”

Pulling back from the hug, Ruth’s brows furrowed as tears glistened in her eyes. “Stop. You’ve got nothing to apologize for. You didn’t know they’d separate us.”

Frank then pulled her into a tight embrace, careful of both her arm and his still-healing ribs. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just hungry and grimy. But I’m just glad to see you both.”

Hope wiped a tear that leaked from her eye and nodded. “Same here.”

When even more men climbed aboard, they were pushed back into Ruth’s corner and sat down, watching the entrance warily as the rail car became increasingly crowded. 

How many prisoners were they going to shove in there?

Before long, there was barely any room to move, and the trio were thankful they sat before the door was slammed shut, plunging them into darkness except for the light shining through the cracks in the wooden slats. Most of the men were forced to stand. The train moved forward with a shrill screech and rumbled on toward its destination. Ruth sat between Hope and Frank, her good hand held tightly by her best friend. 

“Were you interrogated?” Frank asked, turning to the girls with a creased brow.

Ruth swallowed thickly, thinking back on her visit with Lieutenant Haussman. “He…uh, tried to get me to talk about John,” she said quietly, staring out at the dozens of legs before her. “But I didn’t. He did send me to the infirmary, though.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “A nurse splinted my arm. It still hurts, but I’m managing. What about y’all?”

Hope didn’t meet Ruth’s eyes. She didn’t want to talk about her time in the cell, the things she’d thought, the things she’d done. 

Frank noticed the uncomfortable look on Hope’s face and spoke up. “Well, my ribs are still pretty banged up but Hope’s expert bandaging skills are holding me together.” 

The three chuckled quietly and Hope shot Frank a grateful smile. Even though they sat in pure filth, had no idea where they were being taken, and were struggling with the mental strain of their ordeal, they were together… And that gave them more hope than anything.  

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#a pair of silver wings #masters of the air #hbowar #hbo war #john egan #john egan x oc #john egan fanfiction #major john egan #major bucky egan #bucky egan #major john bucky egan x oc #major john bucky egan #major john egan x oc #bucky x oc #callum turner #mota #mota x oc #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air fanfiction #mota fanfiction #oc: ruth morgan #oc: hope armstrong #oc: frank martin #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #mastersoftheair

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hiii. It's been while, but here I am to annoy you with the occasional prompt once more :P

How would the SDV + SVE spouses react to the farmer (who is their partner, spouses or just dating) introducing them to the racoon family? (Because I love torturing Magnus, maybe the parents end up trusting him with their children and make him their babysitter)

❗🦝Spoilers for SDV 1.6.🦝❗

_________________________________________

Heya, good to see you again! :3

When I wrote the headcanon about this, I'm surprised that no one in the game reacted to the new raccoon house. Like, nobody? Not even least Marnie or Leah? Oh, well... 😅Anyway, thanks for the ask and enjoy! 💕

SDV/SVE spouses react to the Farmer introducing them to the raccoon family:

_________________________________________

SDV bachelors/ettes:

The little gray lumps decided to playfully attack Sam right away, poking their wet noses at him and pawing through his bag looking for anything interesting. The young guitarist laughed resoundingly, and decided to use his hand as a "claw" to show the raccoons that he was accepting the game. The babies are having fun squeaking and jumping, Sam is outright glowing with happiness, the parent raccoons are taking a break from the noisy kids, and Farmer is taking pictures on their phone to capture this touching moment.

Sebastian was probably most at ease with the raccoons, sitting on the grass while the little cubs sniffed curiously at the stranger. Farmer crouched nearby, showing their forest friends that Sebby could be trusted. So in five minutes the little raccoons were already playing and jumping around the two of them without restraint. Funny little animals. He won't mind continuing to frolic with his friendly neighbors. Hm, maybe bring them a tasty treat?

Well... Those are definitely real raccoons. It's just that after Farmer's words "neighbors-raccoons", Elliott thought at first that his dear husband did not characterize people so kindly, and then the writer remembered that he had never heard of any new residents of the Valley. The raccoons were surprisingly calm, they seemed to know Farmer for a long time, and the cubs were not afraid of Elliott at all. "Meeting with the forest neighbors..." Hmm, not a bad title for his little novella...

When the Farmer told Harvey that they had purchased so many broccoli seeds from raccoons, the local doctor thought it was a bit of an odd joke that he had no way of understanding. But now he saw with his own eyes as the raccoon came out of their little house and gave Harvey's spouse a baggie of seeds, taking pine cones in exchange. A mixture of confusion and shock, and then complete acceptance of the fact, because, as far back as Harvey could remember, the Farmer had done stranger things.

Shane stood motionless, with a "I don't get paid enough for this shit" look on his face while little baby raccoons sat on his head, shoulders, and scratched his new shoes. He definitely thinks he looks silly. But they seem like cool animals, not aggressive, plus Farmer is smiling so wide and sincere at this picture. So Shane is willing to put up with the squeaky sounds of the fidgety cubs once a week. The only no is introducing his with Farmer children or Jas. Better save that sorry.

Raccoons? Not the same ones Alex's grandfather has been complaining about for the past week? The athlete is used to seeing them as pests, since Alex used to be the one who was always picking up trash from the overturned trash bin. So he shows a bit of distrust when he finds out that their "new cool neighbors" are raccoons. Although Alex has no beef with these raccoons specifically, they seem to be peaceful, plus their cubs are super adorable.

Oh, Leah had known for a long time for that tree stump mini-cabin near the farm. Excellent carpentry, by the way. It was very skillful. And the raccoons who had settled there were apparently enjoying their cozy new place of residence, which would shelter them from any weather. Nevertheless, Leah does not dare to disturb the local fauna and advises Farmer not to get close to the raccoons, believing that animals should be respected.

When Penny saw Farmer with raccoons in their arms, the girl wanted to scream in horror, but ended up just squeaking. These are certainly not dangerous animals like a bear or wolves, but even just a couple of aggressive raccoons can pose a serious threat to humans. And the fact that the Farmer was near their cubes... But these raccoons don't seem to mind human company... probably domesticated. Penny is certainly glad that everything went well, but maybe they both shouldn't bother the wild fauna any further?

So the Farmer has been buying carrot seeds from real raccoons all this time? That's awesome! Abigail isn't exactly thrilled about the carrots, though. She didn't seem too surprised by the situation itself. Even wanted to see what else the forest fauna were selling. Seeds, seeds, more seeds... Oh, magic rock candy? Now that's interesting! Especially while she's looking at all the possible items, the baby raccoons are playing with her. So Abby is very happy to have such neighbors.

Haley squeaked twice, the first out of delight at the raccoon family in their cute little house, and the second out of surprise and fear because the raccoons had come too close to her. They don't carry rabies, do they? She looks at her spouse, waiting for their answer. At Farmer's approval, she decided to gently pet the raccoon, who seems didn't mind at all. It was fun, but Haley had had enough contact with nature for the day. Btw, where is her camera? Because she'll definitely take a dozen cute photos before leaving.

On the one hand, Maru's inner voice urges her to counsel herself and her dear spouse against contact with wild animals. On the other hand, Farmer playing with baby raccoons is probably the cutest thing Maru has ever seen, and her heart instantly melts with an overabundance of cuteness. The young inventor would spend days asking the Farmer about the raccoons themselves and how come they made a house for them.

Forest friends! Emily is unbridled delighted that her spouse has introduced her to a family of raccoons. Small and bright animals that playfully run around the blue-haired girl while she herself smiles at the most adorable picture. The interaction alone filled Emily with a huge amount of positive emotions. Oh, and the raccoons look happy in their cozy little house! She should definitely sew a couple of warm plaids for them, so that the baby raccoons will definitely not freeze in winter.

SVE bachelors/ettes:

Considering that Magnus's partner had previously shown him their ability to talk to the forest fauna ("Deal with bear and maple syrup???"), the introduction to raccoons didn't surprise him too much. What did surprise him, however, was that the parents wanted to give him, a wizard they didn't know well, their raccoon children to look after. With all due respect, he was not a babysitter for forest animals! Magnus already had his own children and a pupil to look after.

*Chuckle* What a adorable forest family. Lance is rather pleased to hear that the Farmer and he have good neighbours. Although the gallant adventurer himself doesn't have a chance to talk to the raccoon parents (and to any wild animals), their behaviour towards Lance says that they are not aggressive and don't consider him a threat. He is more interested in the fact that Farmer is actively trading with the raccoons, exchanging coal for mahogany seeds...

Farmer, wait! Stay away from the raccoons, they can be dangerous! Why don't they listen to Victor? He knows what he's talking about. Moreover, the spaghetti lover has told them many times how he was attacked by a vicious raccoon in town a long time ago. He was terrified. So don't- Farmer? Where are you going? Please don't go near- Oh... Are these raccoons tame? Did they make them a house? To keep them warm in the winter? Oh, how nice of them- ???? Did- did they just buy carrot seeds from raccoons?...

Oh, a raccoon family? This is unusual. Well, Claire kind of realises that the forest is very close by, so it's no wonder there are wildlife running around. but she never noticed this little house with cute raccoon faces sticking out of it. The red-haired girl worries when Farmer gets too close to the animals, what if her parents think they're a threat to the little ones? But they seem to regard them as their own and allow them to be petted. Claire would rather watch from the sidelines if her spouse doesn't mind.

...Olivia was beginning to worry that these raccoons wouldn't hesitate to come to their farm and make a mess in the beds. Living in the city, she knew these animals as pests and disease-carriers that crawl through bins. So she honestly said she wasn't too comfortable around raccoons. Although these ones seem to behave differently, without aggression. And the house is pretty nice. But she will need time to get used to such "neighbours".

Oh, Yoba, the Farmer made this little house themselves?! And the raccoons have babies! Five, or even six! That's so cute! Sophia is even willing to forgive the raccoons for knocking over her trash can last week, because it's the cutest thing she's ever seen in her life. The pink-haired girl is still afraid to touch them since they are wild animals after all. But she'll definitely take 100+ photos of the forest family and be sure to show Scarlett, because it's super adorable!

#sdv #stardew valley #stardew valley expanded #sve #sdv shane #sdv alex #sdv harvey #sdv elliott #sdv sam #sdv sebastian #sdv emily #sdv haley #sdv penny #sdv leah #sdv maru #sdv abigail #sve lance #sve magnus #sdv wizard #sve victor #sve sophia #sve claire #sve olivia #sdv headcanons #sve headcanon #thanks for the ask!

[that-bwitch]

hey i hope i’m not disturbing you but is a wondering if you could do a fred weasley x ravenclaw!reader (fem) where it’s an already established but fred and the reader have been friends since the beginning and the reader is a prefect and helps to get fred out of trouble and after one such occasion fred is like i love you and it’s just like fluff

if not that’s ok

not disturbing at all, tysm for your request <3 as a ravenclaw, I appreciate the thought! was giggling and kicking my feet while writing this, so I hope you enjoy! I took that you meant an established relationship, if not, feel free to correct me.

warning: ravenclaw!reader, lots of fluff

wc: 700+

“I assure you, Professor, that Mr. Weasley had just overstayed his welcome in the library. Nothing more.”

You stood in front of Professor McGonagall, your composure well-kept, but your heart secretly beating at light’s speed. Your face didn’t show any emotions, but on the inside you were fuming; you could swear your current body temperature wasn’t healthy for a human. The ginger behind you let out a chuckle and you offered Merlin another prayer, begging that Fred wouldn’t blurt out something outrageous and ruin your lie, created in haste and therefore, fragile.

“I wasn’t aware you had such a zeal for knowledge, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall addressed Fred, raising her eyebrow. He shrugged with a smirk on his face.

“What can I say, Professor, I am quite unpredictable!”

You rolled your eyes. McGonagall didn’t seem to take his words at face value, but she was likely tired of his antics and, after all, he was with you, a prefect, an exemplary Ravenclaw student. She trusted you, which made you feel bad every time you openly abused that trust to get your madman of a boyfriend and his brother out of trouble.

You heard McGonagall call your last name and straightened your back.

“Your responsibility. Please, escort Mr. Weasley to the dormitories and remind him not to overwork himself.”

The professor shot Fred a warning look and strode away, her steps loudly bouncing off the walls of the empty corridor. You breathed out a sigh of relief and motioned him to follow you.

“That – that was brilliant, hun!”

Fred caught up to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, placing a kiss on your temple. You scoffed, but a smile graced your lips nonetheless.

“Mr. Weasley, you annoy me to no end,” you said, giving him a frown, which apparently appeared comical, as the boy just chuckled and continued sprinkling your face with small kisses, from your cheek to your forehead and back again. “Now stop that, we have to go!”

In a matter of seconds you were sat on the nearest windowsill, Fred’s arms locking you in place without a way to escape. He always did that, his athleticism be damned, picking you up and carrying you wherever his heart desired.

“Love, what are you doing?” you whispered as he continued to pester your flushed face with his lips. “McGonagall is right round the corner!”

“Helping my little prefect loosen up a bit.”

You sighed and cupped Fred’s face with your hands, moving it away ever so slightly, so that you could see his eyes. A usual hint of mischief glimmered in his gaze, and you were on the brink of surrendering at his mercy and giving him a proper snog. But your luck had been tested enough that evening.

“Babe, can you promise me something?” you asked, your eyes fixed on him with hope.

“What is it, hun?”

“Can you stop doing this? I mean, sneaking out at night. At least when I’m on patrol duty.” You sighed, tweaking your expression to display your best puppy eyes that Fred could never resist. “I’m surprised Georgie isn’t with you!”

“Brother mine didn’t have any fun in his bones tonight,” Fred scoffed. “Hun, you know how I am. You can ignore me, I’ll serve detention, nothing new.”

“But I can’t! I don’t want you to get in trouble,” you admitted, scanning his face for any traces of sympathy for you.

“Baby, I am trouble.”

You grinned as Fred pulled you closer to him and pecked your nose. He emitted homely warmth and you felt safe, even though it was far from the truth – any professor could sneak up on you at any point, hell, even a fellow prefect, who wouldn’t be so kind to two students virtually snogging in the corridors way past curfew.

“I love you, my little prefect,” Fred muttered against your lips, your noses so squished together that you could barely breathe.

“I love you too,” you replied, brushing his cheek with your thumb.

Your lips blended in one as you kissed under the moonlight softly enveloping your silhouettes through the colourful stained glass window. Fred wrapped his arms fully around you, one on the back of your head and the other safely belted around your waist. A sleeve of Fred’s oversized cardigan served as a cushion, keeping your nape from freezing against the chilly glass, adorned with the first November frost.

“So… you promise?”

“Give me your schedule, hun. Can’t get my prefect in more trouble, can I?”

my masterlist | how to request

#requested #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley x ravenclaw!reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #the weasley twins #the weasley twins fanfiction #the weasley twins imagine #harry potter fanfiction

[tulipsforyourlips]

✧˖°. i found you ✧˖°. (4)

|| the sandman x dead boy detectives ||

SUMMARY: You run the dead boys detective agency along with your two best friends. And somehow two ghosts and a living girl make it work. Until you dream one night, of dream himself.

PAIRING: dream of the endless x fem!reader

WC: 3K

WARNINGS: none I can think of

PART 4✧˖°.

"So let me get this straight, ghosts cannot lie to you yet you work with two ghosts who apparently can," Matthew cawed from his place on your shoulder where you were huddled in one corner of the Dreaming library. 

Earlier that day, Dream had intercepted your walk to the bakery nearby your apartment, almost giving you a jump scare, and then brought you back here with him once you'd pleaded to let your ghost friends know you were going out. Since it was a weekend and the agency remained closed, they didn't question you. Although Charles did tease you about a date. If only.  

"Yep that pretty much sums it up. But it's not out of compulsion, it's that ghosts trust me, it's like they have no other option than to trust me. I don't know how it works seriously, just that it has helped a hell lot of ghosts successfully cross over and boom our business. And as far as Edwin and Charles are concerned, well my powers, if you could call it that, did happen after meeting the guys. So," you shrugged.

"Interesting," Matthew mulled over your words, "and this has been going for the past.."

"4 years.”

"And you remember nothing before that? No family, no one from your past?" 

An all so ever familiar brush of sadness tingled every bone in your body. "No," you exhaled. 

"I am sorry.”

"Eh I am used to it now. Besides I love my life with the boys. I did search for any signs of my family, if I had one and then just gave up after a year. The boys are my family now." 

"Include me in too.”

You laughed at Matthew’s response. "Of course you are my precious little raven." 

"My lady," Lucienne's voice greeted you, "he’s ready.”

While you were away, Morpheus had tried to repair the damage only for a fresh bout of earthquakes to replace the previous destruction. Now you made your way to where he stood crafting dreams or nightmares. 

"Mortal," he said in greeting, his back turned to you. 

"Dream.”

He moved aside and your breath got caught in your throat. Staring at you, was a half human, half monster who had a tongue of a reptile and teeth like razors. The stuff of literal nightmares.  

"Make him trust you," Dream spoke.

"Are you crazy?" You looked at him as if someone had cracked his skull open and was gorging on his brains and someone might have with what he was suggesting. 

"You dare-?" 

Yes you fucking dared. What was he expecting you to do, commit suicide? 

But he was after all an Endless, and you did not wish to invoke his wrath so you only mumbled, "I can't do this, you can't expect me to get a nightmare to trust me! It's unreal!" 

"But ghosts trust you.”

"Yes because they are ghosts and he is, well a bloody nightmare.”

"Try.”

"And who's guaranteeing that I won't die trying?”

"I am.” His words were solid pebbles dropping in your guts. 

You don't know what made you take the next step, maybe it was the conviction in his voice, but you stretched your arms forward and warily tried to approach the monster human. You took baby steps towards him, just a few more, you assured yourself but then the nightmare lunged straight for you. You tripped backward and the sandy ground contacted your back. But before the nightmare could contact you, Dream raised his hand and the nightmare vanished into darkness, flecks of what he once used to be gracing the ground in front of you. You got up on your feet, the image of razor teeth inches away from your face still imprinted in your mind. 

"I am sorry Dream I can't do this." 

"What?” A frown displayed on his face. “But I ensured no harm came to you.”

"Dream I was saved from becoming nightmare food by a mere second!" 

"I would not have let any harm befall you." His eyes sook yours trying to convey the determination behind his words. 

Your face softened. You wanted to believe him. You really did. But how could you trust his creations when you did not trust the creator himself.  

"And I am just supposed to believe you?" 

"Morta-"

"You know I have a name. If you want me to help you, the least you can do is stop perceiving me as a fly in your path and call me by my name!" you snapped. 

Dream was silent. 

"Get me out of here.”

You half expected him to deny your request but sand began swirling around you, and the next moment you were teleported back to the waking world. Had he so easily given up on you? Good riddance. 

When you pushed the door to the apartment open, the guys were huddled together on the couch, watching television. 

"Hey! how was your date?" Charles asked, his gaze fixed on the television. 

"Terrible," you murmured and slammed the door to your bedroom behind you. 

The king of Dreams sat on his throne, gazing at the universe contained in his ceiling, when he felt you enter the Dreaming. He always did. He entered the mountain clearing, your lone figure was sprawled on the grass in the distance beneath the starry sky. Before his brain could object, he started towards you.

You must have felt his presence because you bolted upright when he neared you, “Dream,”

His name felt so weightless on your tongue, he wanted to hear it again and again. You on the other hand didn’t know why you were so surprised to see him here, it was his realm after all.

“I told you I am not-"

“Relax Hazel, I am not here to impart any lessons to you.”

Hazel

“So why are you here?”

He opened his mouth and closed it, no answer left him. Had you just seen the Dream Lord hesitate? You patched the grass beside you, an invitation for truce. Tentatively, he sat down, his cloak spooling around him. It was an odd sight, seeing the Dream Lord on the ground beside you, instead of his ceremonious throne.

“Did you create this?” You asked.

“Partially, I had help.”

“I thought only you had the power to create dreams and nightmares.” Your time in the library had been well spent.

“It is true, but the vision can always belong to someone else. His voice was soft, words floating into the winds.

You imagined someone having the vision for this, for this phenomenal beauty you were sitting in and you thanked them.

“It’s beautiful.” Your voice came like a whisper.

Morpheus looked at you. “It is.”

You both sat in silence, gazing at the stars twinkling above you.

Dream’s voice penetrated the quiet. “Mort-Hazel, I never mean to belittle you. And believe it or not, I am grateful to you for your help. But you have to understand that-”

“Then make me understand.” You repeated your words from your first visit to the Dreaming.

Morpheus sighed before the low baritone of his voice reached you. “You know there are seven of us. There is Death, Destiny, Desire, Delirium, Despair, Destruction and I. And it is our purpose to ensure the smooth running of humankind. We have been here since the beginning of time itself and will be here when the last soul departs the Earth-” You had already read all this in the library but let him go on “-but along us siblings, there was,” he paused.

You thought it was for dramatic effect but when he didn’t continue, you called to him, “Dream?”

He inhaled sharply, “Hope.” The word left his mouth in a breathy exhale.  “There was Hope, and she held together what you could call the fabric of humanity.”

“Where is she now?” You asked.

Dream looked at you for some time and answered, his voice a whisper, “dead.”

The hurt in his voice took you off guard. 

“I am sorry.”

Silence engulfed the both of you again.

“Is that the reason behind the earthquakes?”

“Hope and Dream are co-dependent. Neither can exist without the other. We thought, we hoped that the future could withstand the loss of hope, but the inhabitants of the Dreaming grow weak without her pulse and the realm itself is failing.”

“And if it does, so will humanity.” Your words sunk in you.

“Because what are humans, rather any of us, without dreams and hope?” He looked at you.

“And that is why you need me, to instill trust in the dreams and nightmares so that they don’t stray from their purpose to serve humanity,” everything clicked, "Dream I had no idea-“

“It wasn’t your fault,” he stated. “But now since you know how imperative it is for the dreams and nightmares to learn to trust, the shadow of hope, will you help me,” his eyes held yours and there was a delicate plea seeping into his gravelly voice, “save the world?”

“Yes.”

You rested your head against Edwin's torso as you flipped through the mail you were holding. He was propped against the back of the wall as he went through a thick volume of ghost fungi or something. You couldn't care less. The past week had been tiring, an understatement of course. Your every organ was tired, despite sleeping for 10 hours a day. But it wasn't like you were sleeping, Morpheus and you trained every night in the Dreaming, and your grueling efforts had reaped no fruit yet. And during the days, the agency's work took a toll on you. The only respite from your exhausting and rigorous routine was the hour just before dawn, when you'd sit with Dream in your little bubble and gaze at the stars together. You'd begun looking forward to it every day, you had realised with reluctance. 

"Aha! This seems interesting.” You held out a paper in your hand, grabbing the attention of both the boys. 

Charles tilted his head from his position on the table to read the print on the paper. "A demon possession, brills!" 

"So your believe you are possessed by a demon?" Edwin scribbled notes in his notepad. 

"Yes.” The girl's voice was hoarse with crying. 

"And what makes you believe that?" 

"I-I wake up in strange places which I have no memory of traveling to, and there are voices inside my head-”

"Yeah, welcome to being alive duh," you snorted. 

Shit you had said that aloud. 

Charles gave you a rebuking look. 

"Sorry," you muttered. 

"The voices inside my head, they are too loud. He makes me do things I would never do," the girl continued.

"Can you..feel him right now?" 

"No,” she shook her head, “he surfaces only occasionally," she sniffed. 

"Hey." Charles held the girl by her shoulders. "Don't worry, you will be okay. We will get him out, we promise.”

Oh no, there was only one rule. You never ever promised a client. You look up expecting to see Edwin's dismal expression but only find a thin veil of envy coating his features. Oh boy. 

You were just beginning to tease him when you caught the unmistakable unruly hair of the King of Dreams to your right in the distance. 

"Uh guys, I will be right back," you told the group, "really need to pee."

God you needed to work on your excuses. 

"What are you doing here?" You hissed when you neared him. 

Matthew cawed on his shoulder. 

"Pleased to meet you too Hazel.”

"I thought we had a deal, no training during daytime.”

"It's not I but Lucienne who seeks you. She needs your help with the library.”

"Oh?” Spending an entire day in the library of dreams? Sign me up. “Well then I could make an exception for her,” you hummed. 

“Of course, it doesn’t assist any fascination of yours,” he mocked. 

“Did you just attempt sarcasm? They grow up so fast.” You wiped false tears.

“Come now-”

“I need to tell the boys first, and don’t-don’t do that whirlpool thing here,” you looked around, “there are witnesses. Meet me at the-”

Before you could finish, he dissolved into nothingness. Great. 

“Were you um talking to yourself?” Edwin’s voice spooked you. 

You whirled around. “Yeah, just normal sane things.” You added hurriedly, “what’s with the girl?” 

Edwin’s expression changed into annoyance at her mention. “Charles insists on taking her back to the apartment to-“ he drew quotation marks in the air, “-monitor her in hopes of expelling the demon out of her body.”

“Well all the best with that.”

“What do you mean? You aren’t coming back with us?” 

“I just think that since she’s not a ghost and I don’t have any leverage over her, I might pursue other activities today.”

“Like the date?” Edwin frowned.

“No-Yes,” you sighed, giving up. 

“Uh alright have fun. See you tonight.” 

“You too.” 

You were propped up in Lucienne’s chair, combing through yet another volume of the history of the universe. The sheer rarity of this knowledge baffled you. You hadn’t seen Morpheus since he had apparated the both of you in the library. Turns out, Lucienne had been rearranging vast sections of the library today and even though she didn’t exactly need your help with that, she welcomed an eager friend and her joyful company. After hours of studying her intricate filing system and aiding her in that, your tired self now sat a few feet away from where she stacked the remnant books in their allotted places. You simply were in awe of that woman. Matthew chirped from your shoulder, he had seemed to make a home there. Eyes drooping with exhaustion, you slammed the book shut. Should you ask them? It’s now or never right?

“Who was Hope?” 

Lucienne froze in her movements, and Matthew stopped chirping. A feather could be heard dropped in the quiet that you had unknowingly compelled the room into. 

The librarian answered after what felt like hours, “it isn’t our place to say, my lady.” 

You nodded, a part of you had already known her answer. 

“Hazel please Lucienne.”

”Sorry my la- Hazel.”

Jesse, you had learned was the name of the possessed girl, giggled at an extremely, extremely horrid joke of Charles. 

“I don’t understand. That wasn’t funny,” Edwin said. 

Man he really needed to learn to conceal his jealousy better. 

“You and me both buddy,” you said more to yourself. 

“It’s alright mate, it isn’t exactly Victorian humour,” Charles said in between laughs. 

Charles and Jesse were clustered together on the couch, being unnecessarily touchy. Edwin was viewing them with a bitter scowl. 

You nudged him in the ribs lightly, “Someone is jealous.”

“Please, like she is someone a human or ghost could get jealous over.” 

Was he seriously that utterly daft?

“Eds I meant Charles,” you said it in a ‘duh that’s so obvious’ tone. 

“What?” He got immediately defensive. “Charles is my best friend, and nothing more. Nor do I wish him to be,” he jutted his chin out.

“Ok liar, pants on fire,” you squinted at him. 

“Hazel I don’t know how to prove that to you.”

You tittered, “prove it to yourself, love.” 

Edwin sat in deliberate consideration for a while. You glanced at the time, 9:00 pm, you were so tired but the day was young even though the moon was out. A part of you just wanted to escape your destiny and blah blah, but the part that was slowly growing attached to Dream didn't let you do so.

“Hazel?” Charles’ voice pulled you back. 

“Uh yeah,” 

“So tell her about it.”

“About what?” 

“About the case of the sea monster we solved a while back," he said with annoyance, "were you not listening to me?”

“Uh uh. No can do.” You got up, brushing imaginary flecks of dust from your pants. “Anyways lads, I am going to disintegrate myself into my beloved bed now where my beloved sleep awaits me.”

“Who are you and what have you done to my Hazel?” Charles pointed his fingers at you. 

“What?” You laughed. 

“Mate you have been going to bed at 9 pm for more than a week now, you, the one who put the sleep schedule of owls to shame.”

“Yeah I don’t know man I just feel super tired recently.”

“Everything's aces right?” Charles’ voice was concerned. 

“You just seem a lot distant lately,” Edwin added. 

“I do?” Genuine shock seeped into your tone. You needed to cover your tracks better. You fucking hated keeping things from them. Jesse looked curiously at you. 

“Yep boys everything's aces, it’s just called being in your 20's right?” You tried to lighten the atmosphere with a joke. 

They didn’t even seem half convinced but didn’t interfere further as you entered your room and subsequently the land of Dreams. 

The river babbled as it shimmered under the stars. Morpheus and you sat together after another training session. You were getting closer, both you and him were sensing it. You turned your head towards him, his dark eyes held the entire cosmos in them, and his cloak blended into the surroundings. Here in the dark, under the cover of the night, he almost felt like an extension of darkness itself. His hair was wild like always, falling on his forehead, and you had the sudden urge to glide your fingers through them and tuck them back. Embarrassing. 

“Do you wish to say something, mortal?” 

This time the mortal wasn’t used as a deriding remark, rather it had now become a term of endearment between you two. 

“Did you love her?” The question escaped you. 

Morpheus was silent. “Love who?” 

“Hope,” you said, her name on your tongue a weird sensation. 

He didn’t answer. But that was answer enough for you. Dream in love? The literal king of Dreams was capable of experiencing an emotion as tender as love? A pang of something hit your insides. Jealousy? No, can’t be. No way in hell you were falling for an Endless, least of all him. 

Time laughed somewhere in the universe. 

SERIES MASTERLIST✧˖°.

#dbd #dbd fanfiction #dead boy detectives fanfiction #dead boy detectives #dead boy detectives fanfics #dead boy detectives x reader #dead boy detectives x you #charles rowland #edwin payne #charles rowland/edwin payne #charles rowland x edwin payne #charles rowland/ reader #charles rowland x reader #edwin payne/ reader #edwin payne x reader #the sandman #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman x reader #the sandman x you #dream of the endless fanfiction #dream of the endless fanfics #dream of the endless #dream of the endless/reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless x you #dream x reader #dream x you #morpheus x reader #fanfiction

[theflyindutchwoman]

I trust your judgement and your interpretations of scenes always make so much sense, so here’s my question for you: what was your take on the Tim x Blair elevator scene at the beginning of 6x08? It definitely rubbed me the wrong way and I’m having trouble making sense of it.

Honesty? I'm a bit at a loss… All I know is this scene rubbed me the wrong way too. It painted a picture in my head and I would like very much to have it removed. Fair warning : I'm going to be a tad negative below the cut.

I think it would help if we knew how long had passed between 6.07 and 6.08 or how many sessions Tim had attended… But my guess is, not that long and not that many. So it already felt out of place for him to be suddenly this comfortable with his therapist - especially in light of his behaviour with her in the previous episode. Still, that could have worked and showed his progress. But for him to be flirting like that… I was not prepared. It's not like this is his default mode. Now, I realise that may very well be me reading into things but apparently I'm far from being the only one… so if that wasn't the intent, then something went wrong in the execution.

And that's the thing : I'm still unsure what the intention behind this undertone was. If that was to highlight Tim's progress with his therapy, then there were other ways to depict that. If it was to show how he's still spiralling but pretending that everything is alright, then this wasn't it either. If it was his attempt to find out more about Mad Dog, then that was wrong of him for so many different reasons. If it was to imply he was somehow suspicious of Dr London, then it needed to be more obvious because his face after he left the elevator didn't clear things up. And here's the other issue with this : as far as we know, he didn't have any reason to suspect anything. The fact that Blair was talking with Mad Dog and apparently got into the wrong elevator wasn't a good enough reason for me (not without any prior knowledge of her shadiness). If something had happened during therapy that would make him question her, then we needed to see that. Ironically, this scene could have worked if it had happened at the hospital, when Tim was actually started to get suspicious of a potential leak inside the department… Or towards the end of the episode. By then, you could argue that he was trying to play her. But here, at the beginning of the episode? Not so much. And it it was to show how she was using her position to get information, then she should have been the one to make the move. She should have acted like she did with Aaron so we could catch that pattern.

As it is, without further context, it's hard not to take it at face value and see it for what it is : Tim flirting with his therapist. And coupled with that lingering shot of the door closing in after he entered her office in 6.07 (an image I didn't mind back then), it is sending a very mixed message. One that was absolutely unnecessary in my opinion because it doesn't add anything to the storyline. Maybe next episode will clarify some things on the matter. Maybe it really was unintentional. But at the moment, I'm still baffled by this scene. I just don't like how Tim was portrayed here.

#I really don't know what to think of this scene... except that I didn't like its vibe at all #thank you for the ask 🫶🏼 I just wish I could have been more helpful #ask & ye shall receive #the rookie #chenford #tim bradford #6.08

[ro-botany]

An Anatomical Reference of Grima, ca. 608 (Archanean Calendar)

(In essence: I got my claws on Grima's model from Echoes, and took screenshots of it in blender for your art referencing convenience. At some point later I'll reblog with some gifs of his animations if I can get them working. Enjoy!)

An excerpt from a worn journal attributed to an unnamed Summoner of Askr. Carefully affixed between paragraphs of chicken-scratch are several large, high quality photographs.

With the assistance of the dragon Askr, I've finally opened the correct gateway; one leading deep within the Thabes Labyrinth just around the time of the hero Alm's adventures. And it was just as the old manuscripts claimed! At the heart of the lowest levels, we found The Creation - he who would one day go on to be known as the Fell Dragon, Grima - laying in a deep torpor to conserve energy. It's taken near a month of work, and I've no doubt the rest of the Order thinks I'm nuts by now, but with a lot of one-on-one talking and the offering of several cart-fulls of quality carrion for him to eat, we've at long last built up a mutual trust! He's not quite at the point of letting any of us touch him, not even me; and he outright panics if he sees someone carrying a stave. As such, any real investigation of his physical health and detailed characteristics will have to wait. But he tolerates my flitting about with Anna's picture tome well enough, and has allowed me to take enough photographs and rough 3D scans for us to get a sense of his external anatomy. Once he's regained enough strength to move and levitate without undue difficulty, I hope to capture some short video of him in motion...

Full-Body Shots

His wings and horns are proportionally quite small compared to the much older instances of Grima I've dealt with thus far. Is this just because he's so much younger? With how much time he's spent trapped down here, it might be malnutrition stunting his growth, too...

Facial Shots

At first I'd assumed he had a pair of pharyngeal jaws like an eel, but upon further visual inspection I believe his cranial anatomy is far stranger than even that. There's no apparent gums or tongue inside the exterior jaw, and no musculature or soft tissue connecting the outer cranium to the outer jaw at the corners of the mouth; those features are confined solely to the inner pair of structures. And his lower external jaw isn't even connected to the flesh of his neck! I won't know for sure until he allows me to do a tactile exam, but from what I can see, I suspect his entire exterior "face" is actually a specialized defensive structure like the bony plates on his back. Like a big pair of horns, almost. What appears to be teeth may actually be akin to the points on a deer's antlers.

Torso Detail

His body construction really reflects his origins. He almost looks composed of two human rib cages, compressed and stacked atop one another. Complete with two lateral shoulder girdles and at least the appearance of very humanoid chest and back musculature. The range of motion on the joints of his hind limbs is decidedly NOT humanoid, though. I'll have to try to get some focused video shots of them once he's up and about.

I know we're not SUPPOSED to alter the timelines of the worlds we visit if we can help it, but... I mean, helping him has always been the goal, and the studies were always the excuse. Leaving him here would eat me alive. Maybe if I appeal to Sharena's emotions, and we get Chrom involved...

#art #reference #fe awakening #grima #grimleal studies #i don't know why i decided to write this in-character #it was fun though lol #my kiran is adopting this baby dragon now i guess

[brazen-art]

Chiropractors near you:

(continue your art journey today by looking at this cool murkrow!)

#okay i did a nice blendy rendered piece now back to lineart and block colours- #even though that forces me to Think Harder kshkhh #I Will learn how to Colour using Solid Textured Blocks #its one of my fav art styles #one of my friends does colouring like that and its just the best #[their blog is ambathy-arts - go look at their fashionable bird people] #actually im just going to link one of their pieces in my description #its My Art and I can yell about my Cool Friends here #anyway here you go bracken lovers #come get your juice #lethal company #lethal company fanart #lethal company bracken #what are other tags artists use? this is a nice standalone #art #artists on tumblr #(ironically im not even that much of a fan for brackens lmao) #they're still neat #but listen. man. they have killed me -so- much #im dying out here. #my neck is apparently sooo snappable and I don't like that at all #people can't know I have a weenie neck :( #in video games that is #my irl neck is so strong and brawny and cool you can trust me #(do people read these tags?) #you should cause you need to know about the beautiful friend art #but you can ignore the neck stuff #if you want that is #im not the boss of you #(edited the face shhh)

[fistfuloflightning]

It only takes two lonely people To fuck love up and make it evil It only takes a drop of evil To fuck up two beautiful people

E.V.O.L — Marina and the Diamonds

Luo Binghe/Shi Mei because I can

#and because I couldn’t get these two out of my brain apparently ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #trust me to find/create a ship no one’s heard or cared about lol #svsss #2ha #dumb husky and his white cat shizun #luo binghe #shi mei #shi mingjing #this is in the same au where shi mei screws up the dimension hopping and gets stuck in LBH’s harem #the emperor’s newest (and last) wife #shi mei’s the one to instigate the coup #these two obsessive little freaks deserve each other #my art #not super happy with shi mei’s face #but oh well #svsss art #luo binghe/shi mei

[bellaaldamas]

@stupidrant this is the official, SMS approved (hopefully) gif everyone should use whenever they encounter a fandom troll.

#because any other reasoning just wouldn't work on those people #yesterday stumbled across another troll comment (though not a new one) from an Odin apologist #saying that Odin 'never abused Freya' and women like her 'always lie about those things' #alas there's no option to post gif responses in the YT comment section #otherwise I'd be doing that on a hourly basis whenever seeing nonsense like this; or posts about how #'Thr*d and Atreus should get together; because apparently a girl punching a boy in the face before trying to #chop his head off as he lies helpless on the ground (which she would've done if her mother hadn't interfered) after calling him #'a killer just like his father'; or a boy 15 years of age playing a parent to girl's actual parents - one of whom is #a semi-functioning literally gigantic alcoholic who slaughtered this boy's people and bragged about it in front of him - #is a basis for healthy romance #rather than an actual healthy and equal and caring relationship between Atreus and Angrboda #who trusted him when he admitted he had no idea what he was doing and agreed to share responsibility with him #which was supposed to be his all along but that he wasn't ready to take just yet #in addition to opening up about her own pain of losing both parents just to help him feel better #and aiding him in embracing their shared heritage which was what Atreus wanted from the moment he #learned of his giant background and 'Loki' #that is on top of taking care of Fen while Atreus embarked on a quest of his own (both times) and being the only one who could #sooth him back into human form during his animal transformations using only words of support and physical gentleness

[marcmorrigan]

the B in Beyond Birthday stands for baby boy. and also beautiful. and also blood. and also... Beyond Birthday

#beyond birthday #death note #another note #death note another note #my art #sketch #blood cw #i mean it could be jam. you dont know. #also. He Is Looking At L. #this is FRESH hot new art btw. i drew this Today #im still figuring out my Face for him and i could not for the life of ne decide if i wanted him to have eyebrows or not... my L does #so it doesnt really make sense for beyond to NOT have them prior to the. end. of DNAN. he does have no eyebrows after... well you know #the first concept i drew for him was of him in recovery and it was so scary that i had to stop working on it #and i turned that sketch layer on again when i finished this one and jumpscared myself SO bad... evil fucking drawing apparently #anyway. pretty happy with him! he looks like Himself... i dont like the idea that he and L are indistinguishable when hes Doing His Bit #hes supposed to look different even in his makeup but still very similar and i THINK i achieved that... i want them to have very #different faces but similar Vibes. yknow? #like i want the faces to be different but the energies to match #i see a lot of people make beyond Not Japanese which is kind of confusing to me like... is he not canonically japanese? the way he talks #to naomi seems to at least imply he is #regardless of canon! my beyond is lol. my L has japanese heritage as well but hes mixed and wasnt born in japan #my beyond was born in japan and was brought to wammys after L... he latched onto him right away lol. or at least tried to #he was in LOOOVE in love with L as soon as he saw him #they r very 'sandbox love never dies' to me... omg actually beyond/L jennifers body au would be so cute and funny #beyond birthday voice I Was The Snowflake Queen #BEYOND BIRTHDAY VOICE MY TIT... #anyway. anyway. i love him so so so much. hes really scary to me but also really sad and compelling #his dynamic with L is like. so. much. just. much to think about #MUCH to think about. when it comes to beyond birthday. and trust... i Will Think About Him.

[keeps-ache]

i have a headache and a sweet tea so i'm ready to fight the universe again

#just me hi #i also have a homemade burrito but that doesn't give me half the strength this sugar water is giving me #though i Am nourished now so that's pretty nice #//really tho i am so tired of head hurting. why must it be this way :/ #i assume i've been getting headaches from the bright light (i.e. the Sun or Parking Lot Lights) so this sucks lol #//SO much lettuce in this britto rn !! i am going full rabbit on this shizz #top 5 words my dad would kill me over: britto hvbdjfhj #lettuceeeeeeeeeeeshjbshbdhsbjvebjsvishdsbhvbskvsjn #//oof i Apparently have some sort of ~mineral deficiency~ according to ma and i had to take Pills :// #which is normally fine‚ i take horse pills like a champ and i like to rub it in my brother's face #but these ones were NASTY. GROSS. just absolutely EW. #and also ig they were the ones that make you nauseous so Whatever i guess #was also subjected to the torture known as 'two spoonfuls of black molasses' that i haven't experienced since the michigan summer of '15 #it's NASTYYY #that stuff Lingers !!! what the hewk man !!! #god invented that stuff to punish 10 yr.ols that's the ONly reason it exists trust me #my brother (same brother) Likes it too like. yeah of course Mr. BaconCookie likes the black molasses #and i just found out my OTHER brother likes purple-flavored stuff so now i have to disown him smh #(purple-flavored ??? grape. it's grape. tho yea it doesn't taste like grape so i guess it Is just purple hfhdjhf) #i'm never trusting them again (food-wise) this is just Terrible #//aw shnizzle i dunno if i went over the tag cap fvhsvs #let's see i guess oᵕo

[moonsandstar-s]

one of the aspects that i love most about the confession scene is that blake & yang both already know the big truth they haven’t dropped on each other. blake knows yang is thinking ‘i love you’ and yang realizes that blake is thinking it too as the clouds go gold behind her, even though she immediately questions it with the dropping of her gaze and the uncertainty on her face - for them, it’s a matter of being brave enough to speak it into existence rather than revealing previously-unknown feelings to each other. my question is, when do you guys think blake and yang first became aware of how they, themselves, were feeling? 

#though i love the thought of them having crushes on each other at beacon i think it's more of a curiosity than anything #like the precursor to a crush or even feelings #i wouldn't put my money on burning the candle either - i think yang was interested and blake still had a lot she was processing at the time #but that neither of them really thought concretely in that way about one another #at least not for the duration of v1-first three quarters of v3 #once beacon started falling i think their worry for each other spiked - you see blake and yang's faces during their call to each other #as beacon is under attack and then obviously everything that happens w adam after that #but of course #i think yang first started to realize her feelings were more than just 'like' sometime immediately after blake left after the fall of beacon #she realizes her frustration/hurt/bitterness/grief is more than just 'someone i trust and care about left me behind' because underneath that #there is a very raw and real ache of missing blake more than anything and wishing she were there #and that's when it starts to become apparent to us too #AS FOR BLAKE #again love the thought of her choosing yang in the emerald forest and being interested from day 1 #tho i do think she was drawn to yang in v1 and felt an affinity towards her i wouldn't say it developed into 'realized' love til later #she had love for yang which adam obviously took note of - especially the similarities between the two of them - #but do i think blake realized she loved yang until adam was threatening to take her away? nope #honestly i think she squashed it down after v3c11 when she ran away - compartmentalized and told herself that 'yang deserves better' etc and #didn't let herself think about it at all bc what was the point? she just focused on everything else going on and didn't acknowledge #then when they saw each other at the end of v5 - imo that was the turning point #that was it #their feelings rushed to the surface - broke through all the anger and suppression and grief #and they've been falling for each other even through all the issues they worked out from v6 onward #the end that's my theory and i want to hear all of yours too #RWBY #Bumbleby #RWBY 9 #RWBY Volume 9 #Blake x Yang #Blake Belladonna

[arttheclown]

sorry for ranting on main but i cannot understand people who consume media when they deeply, viscerally hate a Very Key Part of That Media. to the point where it affects their enjoyment of the rest of it. i’m not saying that people are wrong for disliking main characters (god knows i do sometimes) but when that character’s influence is heavily tied to the rest of that media to the point where it’s almost impossible to consume it without being exposed to them then i have to ask myself why that person is even here since they clearly aren’t having a good time

#negative / #sid speaks #today i was just exposed to people who apparently want to watch my terrifier content but hate art?? and trust me! i get hating art! #he does awful things to people! i understand preferring sienna over him! #but as much i adore sienna and as important as she is... art is kind of the face of the franchise?? #if he upsets you that much then idk why you're here man #i think it bothers me because it isn't even just about this one issue #it's happened to me over and over again #when i was really into g/orillaz i couldn't even go into murdoc's tag because of the awful shit people were saying #not just about him but about people who dared to like him or sympathize with him or find him interesting At All #and i'm just really fucking tired of it. i'm 27 and i'm starting a career #i never liked being shamed for the things i enjoy but i'm getting real jaded about it now LOL #it's one thing to call people out for supporting genuinely disgusting shit but attacking people for liking things #just because YOU don't like them #is beyond petty and childish. it isn't the activism you think it is. you're just being a fucking dick

[moonsacebitch]

God I have so many revelations about myself

Like the time I didn't like yolks in eggs at all? And than started eating only the solid ones? And that I still just hate the runny ones?

It wasn't the taste. It was the fucking texture change.

Like boiled egg whites are like hard jelly in texture than yolks are crumbly, and definitely not jelly like. And runny ones are. Just bad.

#How hadn't my parents noticed that? #You have two autistic children #Well I am probably autistic considering the stuff I had to put up with my entire life #Just to discover those are not normal #Or well. As normal as I thought #I thought everyone was tired and had a 'head ache' after going to the shops #Apparently that was overstimulation #Now I wanna know how many times I was like 'oh I have a head ache :/' when in actuality I was over stimulated #Also not me looking at people around me and going 'I don't trust you because of your vibe' #I know it's probably pattern recognition and countless times I've been faced with fake people #But it still amazes me how right I can be about people #Like I've been sitting next to that one girl in our towns orchestra #She had a rancid vibe but I was nice and she seemed nice so who cares #Flash foward our trip to Macedonia #Turns out she's really mean and rude! To everyone! #Pattern recognition is probably gonna safe my ass in many situations like those #Well if I listen to it #autism #neurodivergent #Oh god I just remebered counting days I've been down in middle school #Bc more than 2 weeks is concerning and might be a sigh of depression #So I was like 'brain please make some dopamine without me giving you shit' #And idk if I forced it to do that or did it actually stopped for a while near two week or it was my bad maths #But me feeling down never exceed the 2 weeks mark #So I was like #I might experience a lot of symptoms of depression #But it's not depression bc I haven't been feeling down for long enough #i mean im not complaining #I don't think I did have depression bc I would most likely still have it #Although my psychologist did ask me if I wanna get that tested