#doubt ill be able to 0-0

[lil-beanz000]

"Trying His Hardest."

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

today's vetted fundraisers. please support these families in whatever way you're able; they really need our help

july 10th:

Mohammed Al Manasra (needs treatment for chronic respiratory illness), his wife, and their three young children (€19,394/€40,000) - @save-mohamed-family, #192 on @/nabulsi and @/el-shab-hussein's spreadsheet

Muhammad Al-Habil, his wife, their three young children, and Muhammad's chronically ill parents (€9,093/€50,000) - @aya2mohammed, @alhabil, verified by @/el-shab-hussein

Hanaa Jad Al-Haq, her husband Muhammad Hammad, and their little son Youssef (£1,644/£20,000) - @yousef0hammad, verified by @/90-ghost

Shahd Muhammad and her family, including several children, one urgently needing hepatitis treatment, and Shahd's sick mother ($9,414/$50,000) - @shahednhall, #224 on @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi's spreadsheet

Ahmed Al-Nabih, his two brothers, and their chronically ill mother who is suffering without treatment (€8,012/€30,000) - @ahmedalnabeeh11, #218 on @/nabulsi and @/el-shab-hussein's spreadsheet

Helping autistic toddler Omar Jad Al-Haq recover after evacuation and bringing the rest of the Jad Al-Haq family to safety, including a member currently paralyzed from a stroke (kr7,259 SEK/kr200,000 SEK) - @doaa-jad, verified by @/90-ghost

Rajaa, her husband Khaled, and their one-year-old son ($541 CAD/$20,000 CAD) - @rajaagaza, verified by @/90-ghost

Ahmed Alanqar, his wife Dina, and their four young children, one a newborn (€25,472/€35,000) - @ahmedabuyamin, verified by @/nabulsi

Amal Ashour, her husband, and their little daughter Maryam (€9,384/€30,000) - @amalashuor, #175 on @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi's spreadsheet

Bilal Salah's family of 18, including seven children, three of whom are newborns (€53,464/€70,000) - @bilal-salah0, verified by @/nabulsi

Mahmoud Al-Sharif, his wife (pregnant and urgently needs perinatal care), and their three children ($557/$60,000) - @mahmoud-sharif, verified by @/90-ghost

Mahmoud Baalousha, his wife Islam, their four children (one a newborn), and three other family members (€15,064/€50,000) - @5735765, #234 on @/nabulsi and @/el-shab-hussein's spreadsheet

2-year-old Yousef, who needs lifesaving treatment for a blood disease, and his parents (€2,554/��25,000) - @dima96yousef, verified by @/90-ghost

Mohammed Okal's evacuation and education (kr4,298 NOK/kr90,000 NOK) - @mohammedokal-2, verified by @/90-ghost

Helping Siraj Abudayeh, his wife, and their three young children to rebuild their destroyed home ($4,905 CAD/$82,000 CAD) - @siraj2024, #219 on @/nabulsi and @/el-shab-hussein's spreadsheet

not yet vetted:

Marwan Al-Habil and his family (€0/€30,000) - @ahmed505

Abdallah Mousa and family ($99/$30,000) - @abdallah-gaza

if you're doubting the worth of your action, please push through and do it anyways! you are helping to save lives, whatever it is you can contribute

[passionartx]

Ahh the struggle of wanting to write, make art, work on projects and talk to people but having 0 energy and hardly being able to stay awake is beyond frustrating. Chronic illness go away I wanna make Tails cry.

So with that ✨self projection time✨🤭 (sorry tails, no escape)

I can so see Tails getting extremelyyy frustrated during times of intense fatigue or illness. I imagine he likely has these energy dips quite often given the knock on effect the strength of using his tails might have. His likely poor eating and sleeping schedule from working on projects on top of this definitelyyy wouldn’t help.

I think that’s what he’d find most frustrating of all. Him having all these unfinished inventions, gadgets and blueprints he was so excited to keep working on, maybe even things so, so close to completion… and not having the energy to work on any of it. So much of his worth stems from wanting to use those things to help his friends, and the inability to do so would make him feel worthless. Sonic of would remind him that’s not the case of course. But that wouldn’t take that frustration and doubt away <\3 And knowing Tails, that probably still wouldn’t stop him from trying and he’d only make himself more ill in the process.

Ahh this consumes me. I’ve actually got a fic wip that’s been sitting around for like 2 years that kinda surrounds this concept. Maybe one day I can try and get it out there! ✨ ( …When my own health improves and I’ve got the energy to finish it that is lol, one day hopefully :,) )

[nightsdreamgates]

YOOOOO NiGHTS HEADCANONS ASK OPEN?!

LEZZZZ GOOOOO!!!

Can I ask for general romance/love headcanons, for NiGHTS pre and pos rebellion? Maybe also swap AU? Also for Nightopians, Nightmarens and visitors has some difference between the way they treat them or the way the relate with them? Could you share your idyeas with us? :0

Already thank you for this my friend, I hope you don't mind me asking >:3

APOLOGIES FOR THE LATE RESPONSE THO, even tho I'm sick and is 5am, I'm going to respond this, simplify yet giving enough details as well... A perfect balance! Hope you would enjoy!

[] • . ☆ * .[]

Warning: NiGHTS pronouns will be mostly used as he/him or they/them; But that does not take the fact that they are a genderfluid/non confirming Nightmaren!

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NiGHTS - Romance/Love HCs:

-> Visitor!reader:

" You've met eachother during a dream, where you found enchanted by the soothings notes from the flute - Whispering your ears and gettinf attracted by his mysterious nature; eyes peering, penetrating your soul that gives your back a cold chill, but no ill intend can be sensed. The violet being smiled as if they are entertained by your curiosity. "

The first time you saw NiGHTS, it was kind of a delight, yet with bunch other mixed feelings towards them. Who is this person? Why they look like a bufoon?

Their mysterious yet playful demeanor is what thrills you more into knowing him - seeing how they seem so interactive yet managing to balance the moments where they feel hanging out alone, a true ambientalist.

When you started to talk with NiGHTS more, they seemed to enjoy your presence more and more as well.

To him, you are a interesting visitor, who's humour built in being salty, sarcastic, creative yet sincere, even harsh on yourself.

Each layer that he discovers, the more he curious to get to know more about you.

Often times when he sees you, he would toy yourself to provoke, but never meaning any evil! Just to play and even encourage you!

Of course you both would discuss and even argue, but none of it made him to stop liking you; Your flaws is what makes you feel more alive.

When he hang out with you, things feel much more lighter, to your concern, he even gets way too silent, just to listen to your voice.

He finds your "yappings" to be entertaining, funny and charming. To complement it, they would even make questions about how your world works.

You always find yourself laughing at his many levels of shock when you tell him that in your world, people dont float/fly like them and other dream beings.

NiGHTS seems to build a strong bond with you, and when you give it the first move to kiss him... His head was all over the moon.

Such attitude, audacity and passion, is what gives him reassurance, deleting every doubt, that you love him.

He loves you as how you are, never as how you look; To him you are the most precious visitor that he would wish to share his freedom with.

As much your insecurities would speak loud about you interrupting his freedom due his rebellion, he rather stick with a person that he loves and gets along pretty well, than anyone who tries to make him feel egocentric for just leaving a toxic life style.

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-> Nightmaren!Reader:

" I could hear the day when he shouted against his own master, a grandious day of his own chapter of justice. This is how me and my people sees our old king, now a rebel, after the confrontation. He inspires me to be free, able to enjoy things differently, as much is far different and out of my zone, is how it all started. When I started to find my true self under this nightmare nature. "

You were a small third level Nightmaren, who ran away from Nightmera, the land of nightmares.

Your whole life was all about scaring people, feasting on ideyas and good dreams, following orders from your superiors and the rest is what left from being "alive".

It was never great, you would end up pushing yourself hard, over to get just a crumb of a ideya sparkle.

But when Illusio, turned against Wizeman's monarchy, and started his own whole new reign... Is where your eyes sparked, to hear the words from the rebellious king's discursion, about the true balance and image, Nightmarens should take.

For NiGHTS, it was simply words of rant for all the pain and disrespect Wizeman brought to his own creations - But to you, it was words of clarity.

Along with the minimum that wanted that piece of justice, you escaped Nightmera and tried to find your place on Nightopia. Which it wasn't easy for someone like you adaptating to a total in contrary of your homeland.

NiGHTS had found you and caught into your attention, when he saved you from the nightmarens who were still on Wizeman's side. Thanks to NiGHTS rebellion that motivated the tired and himuliated lower levels, a new rule has settle to imprisionate traitors and force them to work twice as worse for their sins against their people and creator

Seeing you hurt and tired, NiGHTS couldn't leave you like this, so he carried you and left you to rest after he cleaned your injuries and covered your wounds.

You woke up all healed, with NiGHTS approaching to check you and feed you with some Nightopia fruits - They were very tasty!

You started to shower NiGHTS with compliments, but not having any ideas that you were making them uncomfortable...

As soon you noticed, you apologized, but he shook his head and said that it was fine, that the only issue was not the compliments itself - But the deadname... Illusio

So you moved your head quick, understanding and yet apologizing once again to not repeat this mistake!

You still stayed beside NiGHTS for a few times, until you had to find yourself into looking more for your necessities and what you want for your life.

Growing to get used with NiGHTS new identity - You would communicate with him and wanting to know more and more about this new person... Is not the king that it used to rule Nightmera beside Wizeman. No. It is now a happier person, that had learned their own mistakes and wants to make a change. But his pride and trickster nature would not make it seen any better, he is trying his best.

You would also learn more about your now new purpose, to live for yourself... Inspired by him and somehow, NiGHTS hearing you saying how much you feel relatable to his troubles and how much he inspired you, warms him deeply inside.

You both end up being friends, but slowly creating much more deeper feelings.

Now who ends up protecting and healing wounds, was you, whenever NiGHTS stubborness dares to get in middle of the problems.

Making sure he is all fine, while scolding him. Seeing you worried of him, even if he is superior to your level. Makes them giddy, but tries to hold it before you could scold him even harder!

One night, when you went to see how NiGHTS was doing, after helping him to deal with visitors and grown much more as person. You two had a calming chat, talking how much you both did after leaving Wizeman's shadows.

It was a deep moment, that slowly turned into a sweet conversation, filled with puns, sarcasm, flashbacks and hand touchings.

His hand on top of yours while he smiles at you, both nightmarens yet creating such a beautiful dream. How ironic!

He was the one to do the first move, slowly shutting your mouth when you've got nervous by his touch, kissing you tenderly, filled with passion.

Your purpose was no longer to serve, but to live. And is by the side of the one who inspired you, that you want to live on.

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-> Nightopian!reader:

" His arms held you closer once those nightmarens got dissipated by his first level abilities - The paraloops scared you a bit, but his voice spoke to you with a strong affirming tone, that there's nothing more for you to be scared. His bravery and determination, is what attracted you. Wanting to be able to be brave and strong too! "

You were hanging out peacefully with your friends, when suddenly after you guys went after the strange beautiful song playing on the woods, nightmarens jumpscared yourself and the group, attacking each one of you cowardly since you was in a vulnerable position.

But then when you blinked, all of those nightmarens were being dragged by a giant looping hole, that sucked them in one!

Soft arms holding you, looking up, you see a angry, firm face looking at the hole, which softly changes to a concerned face, they look at you, speaking: " You nightopiana need to get better in keeping your own wings safe! Y'know? "

The look of admiration and enchantment switched to a "bruh" face. Is this the person who saves my life says???

As once you chirped to him, talking in your language, scolding with words of " that wasn't very respectful! " or " Don't say that about my wings! ", it made NiGHTS chuckle.

He found you so darn adorable, once he placed you on the ground.

" Alright, alright! No need to insult me! I was just sayin'... These marens' almost got your buns, so I found righteous to say that you guys need to be more cautious that's all.. "

That made you crumble deep down, frowning... Am I too weak to even defend myself? Why!

But you dont want that so after he seem his job is done, you tried to follow him, but... they are so fast!

But the words he said, motivated you to be stronger and able to defend your own self... So you started to work out your rosy wings!

It wasn't an easy task, but the more you were determined, more you felt you're leveling up...

You want to proof that big goofus that Nightopians are not so weak as he seems to be "warning"!

Until then... you found him again... When he saw you, he couldnt even recognize, you've gotten so strong! And you seem proud of it...

You wanted to proof him, you wanted to challenge him! But he simply doesn't accept, unless you provoked his ego...

Due your audacity demeanor, he smirked, seeing that a pian' is challenging him, is not so new but also not so usual! He likes your determination!

So you both did a race, which obviously... He won for being a first level sucker.

But when he seemed to be having fun, he saw you at distance, your wings fluttering smoothly and face red, you're tired...

He decides to help you, as much you rejected, you couldn't reject to lay into his embrace, to be awaken in a peaceful place on Nightopia.

You and NiGHTS started out as frienemies, that developed slowly into a cute romance...

He taking care of you and surprised he created a soft spot for you! Which dont get me wrong, he tried to hide it, if you weren't difficult...

You also felt the same for him... And you were also surprised! Ironic isn't it?

You both ended up confessing and it was very sweet, kissing into a nightmaren lips felt different, is like... is sweeter than the nectar that runs out of the colony.

NiGHTS as much he plays around, he never discouraged your will to be more stronger and cautious, but you've learned so much more with him.

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All I could is to write only his after rebellion... But do not fret, I will make a 2nd part for his pre-rebellion form to you after I finish few things here!

I hope you are satisfied and gave you more ideas and satisfaction! Im open to criticism to work better on my writting & working scenarios!

[krunktrunk]

when byler happens (not if, because I experience 0 byler doubt) I don't think ill ever be able to enjoy romance in a peice of media the same ever again. the slow burn, the angst, the fluff, the tension, everything!

byler is going to ruin media for me and I'm happily allowing it to

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 13

Chapters: 13/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader  Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know! I noticed that Tumblr sometimes won't let me tag everyone for some unknown reason, so if it comes to that I can at least send you a message to notify you.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Warning: This chapter includes detailed smut right at the start.

Morpheus would go to great lengths for you, even crafting terrifying nightmares to fuel your enemy's fears. And sometimes, as you had come to learn, the ultimate outcome truly justifies the methods employed along the way.

The moment you excused yourself with Ella and Oliver, finally able to go home after a thorough interrogation from the local authorities, a whirlwind of thoughts flooded your mind. Maya's presence at the crime scene, the perplexing dilemma of providing a plausible explanation for the pendant emitting light, and the astounding fact that the fire had left you unharmed due to its influence.

Ella's doubts were evident in the unspoken questions reflected in her eyes. She allowed you to leave, refraining from asking in front of her husband, and all you could do was silently depart, by Morpheus' side, as the two of you made your way back to your place.

Although the King of Dreams could have effortlessly transported you directly to your apartment, the fresh air served as a necessary means to clear your head. He walked alongside you, finding solace in the shared silence, allowing you to tightly grip his arm for support. In his company, you chose to forgo the subway and opting instead for a longer walk, but the extended journey didn't bother you in the least. The mere presence of him next to you, without any complaints or need to hurry away, transformed that moment into something enjoyable, despite the prevailing circumstances.

The truth was, you didn't know how to feel. The incident at work had left you with an odd sense of confusion, incapable of distinguishing between shock and relief. Morpheus didn't press the matter, and for the time being, you had no inclination to talk about it. Still, the gears in your brain had already been set in motion, and you couldn't help but dwell on the possibility of Maya intentionally targeting you in the worst of ways.

Accusing her without any concrete evidence would have been a significant leap in the dark, but there were too many inexplicable factors that simply didn't add up. Was her aversion towards you so powerful that she didn't even consider the consequences of destroying her workplace, obliterating everything you had created for the company?

In order to avoid a headache, you made the decision to cast the matter aside, at least temporarily.

As you arrived at your building, you asked Morpheus to stay a little longer, and you were pleasantly surprised when he agreed with a simple yet resolute nod. Although he had been there twice before, the fact you were inviting him inside as a regular guest made him feel particularly hesitant. He focused his attention on your decorative pieces, observing everything as if it were his first visit. At times, he was simply too adorable for you to contain your infatuation.

Since you had already prepared a quick dinner at the office before the fire broke out, all you could offer Morpheus was a drink and a snack, which he politely refused, as he always did.

With your clothes and hair permeated with the strong scent of burnt plastic, you had no alternative but to hastily take a shower to eliminate the odor. Despite your reluctance to leave him alone again after making him wait while you dealt with the police, you refused to be with him in that state.

You rushed through it, washing yourself at lightning speed and barely drying your hair. When you emerged from the bathroom, feeling refreshed and clad in a soft robe, you discovered Morpheus meticulously examining the sketchbook left open on your desk. You observed him with a gentle smile forming on your lips, appreciating his beauty illuminated by the soft orange glow in your room. His long fingers delicately traced over the scattered drawings on the table, and although a part of you felt self-conscious about having your entire work on display, the sense of intimacy you felt warmed your heart.

You embraced him from behind, wrapping your arms around his form and resting your cheek against the back of his shoulder. Instead of immediately turning around, he chose to unwind under your touch, gently stroking your wrists with his thumbs. After a few moments, he rotated slowly and glanced down at you, running his fingers through your partially damp hair. The contrast between his cold hands and warm body always enticed you.

"Forgive me, I forgot to ask," you said, your hands grasping the sides of his coat. "How is Calliope? Did everything go well?”

Even though you had truly forgotten about it after the events of that night, you were starting to feel a bit restless to find out.

"It is done,” he replied calmly.

“Is she free?”

“Yes.”

"I'm glad to hear that," you responded sincerely. "I can't bear to see what my people are doing to all of you.”

"It is not your burden."

"Maybe. But it feels deeply personal to me.”

There was something else that you wanted to ask him, but you were uncertain, wondering if it would be wise to do so. As he glanced at you with patience, waiting, you could tell that he was expecting your question.

And so, it naturally came out of your lips. "Is everything okay between the two of you?”

He averted his eyes, taking a moment to process everything in his mind. "The distance between us cannot be bridged," he began. "But… we have dicussed it."

You nodded, acknowledging his response and accepting it. After all, how could it ever be easy to confront an ex-lover after such a significant amount of time, especially with a history of tragedy that had driven them apart? Even for someone like you, who had relatively straightforward and ordinary experiences, it would still be immensely difficult to encounter any of your former partners.

You let out a sigh, taking a small step back. "Thank you for accompanying me home. I kept you waiting for quite some time tonight, I’m sorry. If you need to leave, I won't hold you here.”

Once again, his lips parted but abruptly stopped, leaving his words unspoken. He expressed his inner conflict through a pout and a frown, clearly wrestling with his own thoughts and emotions.

“Do you wish for me to leave?”

Your heart sank upon hearing his vulnerability and uncertainty.

"Absolutely not," you reassured him. "To be frank, I would love nothing more than to keep you here all night. But, I understand that you have important responsibilities to attend to.”

His eyes glistened, and for a fleeting moment, you were reminded of the first night you spent together. The gentle radiance of the bedside table lamp traced the lines of his face, imprinting that memory upon you.

"I cannot stay all night, but for now, you shall have me.”

He leaned in, closing the distance between you, and tenderly brushed his forehead against yours in a familiar gesture of affection.

You shivered at the contact and asked, "Is there something on your mind?”

Your eyes met, and his desires were unmistakable. You could feel the intensity coursing through your spine like an electric current, causing every fiber of your being to quiver against him.

"Let me be with you," he pleaded, his voice low and filled with longing.

“Morpheus-”

"Please.”

You could feel his desperation and heartbreak as he had to confront his past once again. It was intertwined with your own need to be embraced in his arms, seeking solace and comfort. How could you even consider saying no, when all you wanted was to be loved by this extraordinary and awe-inspiring being who you had the honor of calling your boyfriend?

You pressed your lips against his, relishing the taste and savoring the softness of his mouth. He reciprocated immediately, his hands eagerly pulling at the sides of your bathrobe. The sleeves slipped off your shoulders, revealing a generous expanse of your skin. His lips trailed down to your neck, leaving wet kisses with each gentle peck, while his tongue sensually traced circles on your shoulder, igniting a tantalizing blend of pleasure and relaxation.

Slowly, your breasts were exposed, your nipples becoming taut with anticipation. His lips ventured downward, lavishing attention on the sensitive flesh, leaving moist circles in his wake. As you arched your back, your fingers tightened their grip on his shoulders. He sensually licked and caressed you, handling your breasts with the utmost care and tenderness. It was as if he was afraid of causing you any discomfort, his touch filled with sweetness and devotion.

He switched to the unattended side, prompting a moan of ecstasy from you. The pleasure intensified as he skillfully stimulated your nipples with his fondling, sending waves of delightful sensations straight to your core.

"May I?" he asked, his fingers securing themselves over the knot of your belt, keeping the robe together. He sought permission, waiting for your consent before proceeding.

"Yes," you granted. “I’m yours.”

The depth of your words seemed to darken his gaze, adding yet another layer of intensity to it. You couldn't help but feel a sense of quiet satisfaction as you noticed the contentment that adorned his face.

In a moment, the knot was undone, and the bathrobe opened fully, revealing your entire naked form to him. As he hungrily took in the sight of your full breasts, your stomach, the rosy flush of your clit, and the curves of your upper legs, you let the bathrobe slip from your arms, allowing it to fall gracefully onto the floor. Taking his hands in yours, you shared another sweet kiss before turning on your feet to lead him towards the edge of the bed.

"Could you undress for me?" you asked, your voice laced with a mix of arousal and shyness.

Closing your eyes, a heated blush spread across your cheeks. You heard a delicate "swoosh" sound in the air, and when you reopened them, you found him standing before you, completely bare, his pale figure unveiled in all its splendor.

Just like your first night together, his clothes had seemingly vanished in a cloud of sand, leaving no trace behind. You released a light chuckle, feeling a spark of warmth as you pressed yourself against him again. Your hands traced along his upper arms, exploring him with gentle caresses. Morpheus barely reacted, but a small grin tugged at the corners of his lips, reflecting the amusement and complicity between you.

In spite of his prideful nature, he willingly obeyed, allowing you to guide him to the mattress as you gently pushed him down onto it. You followed suit, positioning your legs on either side of his body, sitting on his lap without fully settling down.

You put your hands around the back of his neck, using it as leverage, while he kissed your collarbones and the top of your mounds. He firmly grasped your waist, holding you in place and adjusting his own posture. You could feel the undeniable hardness pressing against your inner thigh, creating a wonderful friction that intensified the passion in him. Your breath grew hot and heavy, the pulsing and clenching of your walls indicating that you were almost ready for more.

But before succumbing to the temptation, you placed a gentle and delicate kiss on his right eyebrow, bestowing a feather-like touch upon his skin. Moving lower, you brought your lips to his eyelid and the corner of his eye, lingering on his cheekbone before repeating the same pattern on the other side. Morpheus relaxed beneath you, his own breathing slowing down and becoming steady. As he savored every moment, his hands glided up and down your hips, contributing to the sensuous exchange with equal amounts of care.

As you returned to his mouth, you properly settled onto his lap, feeling his erection pressing against your bottom, bending and pulsating. You began to move in a grinding motion, back and forth, generating a spectacular friction between your sensitive nerves and his growing arousal. You were taken by waves of bliss that shook you from head to toe, intensifying as his index and middle fingers met the hood of your clitoris. He had a perfect understanding of how to please you, delivering a massage that catered to your precise preferences. It was difficult for you to restrain the impending release, as it always took him so very little to unravel you.

You let him continue for a moment longer, moaning and trembling atop him. You sneaked your hand downward to grasp his hardness in return, encasing the tip between your fingers and gently stroking it up and down with a flicking motion. He let out a contented hum for the pleasurable attention you were giving him.

Unable to hold back any longer, you brought his erection to your entrance, allowing it to partially slip inside. Morpheus unleashed a low growl, a sound that signaled his surrender as all resistance faded away. And then, he lifted himself up, effortlessly sliding himself fully inside of you.

It felt absolutely heavenly. Words couldn’t adequately express the spiritual connection you experienced, transcending the physical realm as you merged together into one. You lifted yourself up, moving slowly, only to descend again. You repeated this motion once, twice, and then even more, establishing a satisfying and sensual rhythm.

For a few minutes, his hands aided you, following your movements and meeting your pelvis halfway. Nevertheless, as soon as you quickened your pace and exerted more pressure with your thighs, he asserted his dominance by abruptly ceasing your actions and pulling away from you.

He gestured for you to recline on the mattress, where you sank into the comforting softness of the pillows. With your legs spread apart, he situated himself between them and planted kisses on your stomach, slowly descending lower and lower with the most sensual look in his eyes, ablaze with desire for you. Finally, his mouth planted a sweet peck on your pubic bone, teasingly gliding around your clit without making direct contact.

"Morpheus, what are you-"

Your heart raced in your chest as his lips closed around your pleasure center, sending a new rush of exhilarating shockwaves radiating through your body. He was relentless, his tongue licking and suckling on your clit as if savoring the most delectable feast. Despite your warnings and the gentle tug on his hair, he showed no signs of interrupting what he was doing. The unfinished business from earlier had left you on the brink of release, but he was determined to prolong his ministrations, ensuring that you received exactly what you craved.

Everything he did to you was impeccable, and your body trembled in response to his loving efforts. He enveloped your clit with his mouth, occasionally withdrawing only to have it immediately covered by his tongue once more. Again and again, with increasing speed, straight to the point of no return.

Your orgasm erupted like a fierce volcano, causing your body to convulse and tremble uncontrollably. Instinctively, you entwined your legs around his head as the final surge of euphoria subsided. You gasped heavily, desperately trying to catch your breath.

Morpheus's tongue remained firmly pressed against your clit, continuously bestowing pleasure after pleasure until the very end. Only when he was certain that you had reached the peak of ecstasy did he retreat from your core.

He climbed up, kissing on your chin, your lips, and finally your forehead.

"You're terrible," you said playfully, letting out a giggle as you embraced him and repositioned your legs around his waist.

“I am not quite finished with you, my dear,” he replied, equally amused.

Noticing his hardened member pressing against you with even greater force than before, a smile of satisfaction formed on your face. "Clearly."

Morpheus smiled slightly, his hand gliding along your side, while the other delicately encircled his arousal. The view was highly provocative and erotic, immediately awakening your senses. "Turn around for me," he murmured.

Thrilled by his request, you maneuvered and repositioned yourself on the bed, resting your stomach on the silky sheets. Taking care not to put his full weight on your back, the Endless cautiously guided the tip forward, meeting your entrance again. Feeling his hesitation, you aided by spreading your legs wider, raising your hips to create the perfect angle.

The fact that he, with his power and presence, still displayed uncertainty out of concern for your well-being was undeniably endearing. While he may struggle most of the time with controlling his negative emotions, when it came to loving you, his level of consideration surpassed the boundaries of your worlds and extended beyond the universe itself.

As he penetrated you, the immediate contact with your most sensitive spot had you on the verge of mewling, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. Morpheus established a steady pace, thrusting in and out of you with an escalating tempo. His grunts were barely audible, but their vibrations resonated in your ear, causing your heart to flutter with excitement. It didn't take much for you to feel another orgasm building inside.

His fingers intertwined with yours from behind, enveloping you in the most exquisite embrace. You kissed his knuckles, the sounds of sex filling the air, further encouraging him as you whined in response.

"So good," you whispered. "Please, don't stop.”

"I have no intention of denying you this," he said hoarsely. "You are exceptional, thoroughly prepared for me.” With a particularly forceful and powerful thrust, he made you jolt slightly upwards. "And you are mine."

His possessive declaration was the ultimate catalyst you required, and a second orgasm erupted within you, causing your clit to quiver and throb against the mattress. The wave of bliss cascaded down to your legs and rippled up your torso, your nipples reacting as if he were physically touching them.

It felt magical, powerful, and utterly intense. It was a level of intimacy that you had never encountered with anyone prior to him, and somehow, it felt so right, effortless and instinctive that you failed to perceive any of it as indecent. Just like any other private moment you spent with him.

If anything, your confidence continued to expand.

Turning your head to meet his gaze, you panted in exhaustion and moved closer to capture his lips, which he eagerly accepted to offer. He continued to thrust frantically into you, nearing his own climax, as you engaged in a passionate exchange of open-mouthed kisses, tongues entwined in a neverending tangle of love.

"Give it to me, please," you murmured. "Let it go.”

And that's exactly what he did, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His hips jerked forcefully, accompanied by the most alluring grunt that had ever resonated in your ears. His untamed hair brushed against your skin, tickling it gently, as he breathed in the refreshing scent of shampoo from your drying locks.

Taking a moment to bask in each other's presence, you soaked in the warmth that surrounded you. Somehow, Morpheus had the ability to fill even your world with enchantment and wonder, treating you as the Queen of Queens.

"I love you," you expressed. "So much that it takes my breath away.”

Your feelings were unique, unmatched, and transcending ordinary boundaries.

“And I too love you,” he replied. “I deeply cherish you.”

You let go of his hands and completed your turn, facing him fully. Your expression became serious, your smile and contentment disappearing in an instant. "You'll never leave me, right?" you asked earnestly.

Your question caught him off guard, and he needed a moment to process the fact that, for once, it was someone else begging him to stay.

"No. I will not.”

"Promise me," you pressed him, resonating with the wounds of past betrayals. "Promise me that no matter what, you won't break my heart.”

Your relationship with Morpheus had progressed in an unprecedented manner, surpassing all expectations you had when you first met him. Asking him such a question felt somewhat inappropriate, considering that you, as a mortal with a limited lifespan, were destined to grow old and eventually abandon him forever. And yet, you still craved that confirmation, the assurance that you could rely on his unwavering, devoted presence for as long as you existed.

It may have been selfish, but you couldn't imagine it any other way.

Morpheus appeared genuinely sincere, his eyes filled with unswerving convinction. "You have my word.”

With the office partially unusable, Ella invited you to come to her place to discuss matters with Oliver and assess the situation, in order to determine the next course of action. The repair costs were expected to be quite substantial, as they would involve the complete replacement of the electrical panel, two computers that were destroyed, as well as the need for various new components to repair the ones that could be salvaged. Additionally, there would be the expense of furnishing the studio anew and completely repainting its walls.

Although a portion of the apparel needed to be remade, thankfully, none of the approved works and sketches were lost in the fire. Taking everything into account, you were still on track to participate in the Fashion Show, albeit with a slight delay in progress.

Your full work activity was set to resume in the following week, despite the ongoing renovations in the studio. For a brief moment, you found yourself on the brink of expressing your suspicions about Maya, as she happened to still be present when, in theory, she had left the office over an hour before the incident. You wisely chose to keep them to yourself, opting to take a sip of the warm tea that Oliver had kindly prepared.

Now was not the right moment to address it. Or so you thought.

"I just can't understand what went wrong with the electrical system," Oliver remarked, removing his glasses and rubbing his weary eyes. "We perform checks every week, and the last one was just three days ago.”

You stared at the ripples forming in your tea, biting your tongue. ‘Not the right time,’ you repeated to yourself.

"And Y/N was in the studio working just a few minutes before. There were no issues going on there," Ella chimed in, unable to contain her own concerns.

You nodded in agreement. “Indeed. And let’s not forget, the panel was still intact when we went there to check.

“Right,” Ella confirmed.

"But if the electrical panel was fine prior to the fire, what could have caused it?" Oliver pondered aloud. “The authorities are still investigating. Apparently, they can’t rule out the possibility that someone intentionally started it. That’s ridiculous!”

Ella scoffed in disbelief. "That can't be! Nobody else was there apart from the two of us and Amy. Do we have a ghost wandering around the office or something?”

"Yeah, and I'm the Pope.”

A sudden ringing filled your ears, and your stomach clenched tightly, preventing you from taking another sip. You placed the mug on the table, took a deep breath, and interlocked your hands together, attempting to regain your composure and steady yourself.

"Guys, there's something I need to tell you," you declared, finally deciding that it was, after all, the right time for it to be revealed. "I saw Maya in front of the building the other night. I think she's the one who did it.”

The bomb had been dropped, and while you felt a surge of confidence, you were unsure about how your friends would react.

In the end, it turned out that you had set your expectations too high.

"Wait, what?" Ella frowned in confusion, her brows furrowing. "You're not falling back into that 'Maya hates me' obsession, are you?”

Your blood ran cold through your veins, and your expression turned blank. The weight of Ella's words and the implication behind them hit you like a sudden shock.

"Because right now, we have other pressing matters to attend to.”

The realization struck you hard - Ella didn't believe you. Taking a deep breath, you slumped your shoulders against the chair, preparing yourself to face the challenge ahead.

"Ella, this has nothing to do with a paranoid obsession," you asserted, your voice steady and determined. "I have valid reasons to suspect Maya, and I believe it's important for us to consider all possibilities in order to find the truth.”

"Yes, but what reason would Maya have to sabotage her own workplace?"

"I'm not inside her head. I'm just sharing with you what I witnessed."

"So you're suspecting her just because she came back? Maybe she was still nearby when it happened. There was a large crowd gathered due to the incident, after all. That would attract anyone's attention on the street.”

You rolled your eyes in frustration, fighting the urge to slam your hand against the table. "How can you be so blind? I may not have concrete proof at the moment, but can't you see that what she portrays at work is just a façade?”

“Enough!”

Oliver's voice reverberated in the room with a higher note, and when you turned your head, you noticed a look of rage on his face. It was a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor, and it left you feeling mortified, as if you had disappointed him for the first time.

"Maya has been a part of my team for years. You, on the other hand, have only recently joined," he stated.

The potential accusation in his sentence fueled a mix of anger and hurt. "Ah, I see. So now I'm the one being suspected?”

"Of course not," he clarified, his tone softening. "I trust you, even though Ella may know you better than I do. But still, I cannot allow you to make false accusations against any of my employees.”

You clenched your fists tightly, the pressure turning your knuckles white. "I understand," you said through gritted teeth. "As a new recruit, I suppose my opinions hold little weight in this, or any other matter.”

Oliver sighed heavily. "I'm not saying that your opinion doesn't matter. But I find it difficult to believe that Maya, someone who has been a dedicated member of our team, would go to such lengths to harm you or anyone else. This incident has affected the entire company, including Ella. We must consider all possibilities with care and not jump to conclusions."

You completely understood his point of view, but you hoped that they would at least give you the benefit of the doubt.

"Y/N, I haven't forgotten that Ella is safe because of you," he added. "I appreciate your willingness to protect us. I'm just asking for a bit more patience and understanding as we navigate through this.”

As you glanced back at your friend, you noticed her staring down at her hands in clear embarrassment, caught in the middle of the tense exchange. It felt as though both she and Oliver were cornering you, disregarding your warnings based on their perceived trustworthiness of Maya and the company as a whole.

You didn't expect your confession to be taken lightly, but you had hoped that the years of friendship you shared with Ella would have brought a deeper understanding and insight into your concerns.

"Do you remember the times I mentioned having this strange 'gut feeling' back in high school?" you asked her with hope and apprehension.

Ella immediately looked up, curiosity and recognition flickering in her eyes. “I do, yes.”

"Great. And how many times was I wrong about it?”

She opened her mouth, realization crossing her face as the memories came flooding back. “Uhm… zero.”

"Let's suppose you're right, let's say that hypothetically she was nearby and came to investigate. Did it occur to you that she didn't even come close to find out what was truly happening?” You insisted. “I saw her walking away. If that isn't suspicious enough, I don't know what is.”

They were left speechless, taken aback by your final response without knowing how to react.

You stared at the couple with a stern gaze, pushing the mug forward on the table. The last thing you wanted was to exacerbate the drama in their house, as their personal interpretation of the incident clearly contradicted yours, no matter what you had to say.

"Thanks for the tea," you said curtly, standing up from the chair without saying another word. The tension in the room had reached its breaking point, and you felt the need to remove yourself from it.

"Y/N, wait a second!"

Ella called out urgently, but you didn't pause or turn around to hear her excuses. Determined to create distance between yourself and your childhood friend, you walked briskly to the door, firmly closing it behind you and disregarding her pleas. The sound of your heels clicking on the polished tiles resonated as you descended the stairs, each step reflecting your irritation.

With the possibility that Maya could effectively be the culprit, you knew you had a wild card at your disposal - Morpheus. Intent on uncovering the truth and bringing justice to light, you embarked on this fresh endeavor with a renewed purpose.

The argument with Ella and Oliver had left you emotionally depleted, and a part of you had started to question whether you had acted impulsively or not. From their perspective, it was undoubtedly difficult to believe that someone who had only been working with them for a short time could have a better understanding of a team member than they ever did. Given the situation, it was natural for the couple to support Maya and vigorously defend her against everything you had disclosed.

You trudged to your apartment building, your feet heavy, sighing deeply to yourself and contemplating your next move. Considering Oliver's unwillingness to accept your worries, conducting your own investigation seemed like the most reasonable option at hand.

Yet, a part of you couldn't help but wonder: could they be right? Had you unfairly judged Maya solely based on her jealousy, without considering the possibility that she could have coincidentally been present in the vicinity when the fire broke out, and left out of shock?

Once again, your intuition affirmed that you were not imagining things or creating illusions. You always perceived an unsettling feeling about the way she constantly stared at you, reminiscent of a villain scheming for revenge.

Just as you were about to reach into your bag to retrieve the keys, a gentle meow echoed through the street, immediately grabbing your attention and causing you to slow down. A few feet away, you noticed a mesmerizing black cat staring at you, its eyes sparkling in the darkness. Its fur was incredibly sleek and shiny, resembling silk.

With a cautious smile, you approached the animal slowly and crouched down. The cat maintained complete stillness, calmly seated before you. Despite its non-stray appearance, there was no visible collar around its neck or any form of identification.

"Hey there. Where did you come from?”

The cat purred softly, rising onto all fours and slinking closer to you.

"I'm sorry, I don't have any food with me.”

The feline creature remained composed, appearing at ease in your presence. Its eyes, a captivating shade of light blue, immediately evoked thoughts of someone else.

It was peculiar, but the longer you gazed into those orbs, the stronger your conviction grew that they were far from ordinary. There was an undeniable aura of enchanting power coming from them, something that could only be attributed to a particular being.

For a moment, you dismissed it as an unlikely theory, but the energy radiating from the cat felt oddly familiar, causing you to instinctively utter the name of The Endless.

“Morpheus…?”

The gentle glow emanating from the Moonstone was all the confirmation you needed. The cat brushed its fur against your leg and walked past you, its shadow casting a shape on the ground before gradually transforming into something different. It became larger and taller, eventually taking the form of a man whom you knew very well.

Nothing could possibly surprise you anymore. A wide grin spread across your lips as you stood, the imposing black figure standing right behind you.

"Nice trick," you uttered, pivoting on your heels.

"You are a keen observer," he remarked with a touch of astonishment.

"I would recognize those eyes anywhere."

He offered a faint smile, but it faded as he sensed something unsettling in you.

"My love, what is troubling you?”

The fact that he could perceive your emotions even when they were not outwardly displayed was truly extraordinary.

And so, you recounted it all. “Well, I attempted to discuss my suspects with my friend and her husband, but they chose to label me as nothing more than an obsessive paranoid.”

"Y/N, I extended my offer of assistance. What is it that you wish for me to do?"

Even though you had regarded him as your secret weapon, now that he stood before you, you were hesitant about it. "Are you certain you want to proceed with this? I don't want you to feel like I’m using you for my own benefit.”

Morpheus appeared puzzled, unable to grasp the reason behind your sudden fear. “I assure you, that is not what I think of you.”

"But... it would be unfair for me to take advantage of your power even more than I already have."

“You did no such thing.”

As you pressed your lips together, you found yourself at a loss for words, unsure of what else to say.

“Y/N, someone has attempted to cause you harm. I do not need any other reason to do what you ask.”

You were deeply touched by the protectiveness he exhibited towards you, and you couldn't bring yourself to turn down his plea for support. With a bright smile returning to your lips, you embraced him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting them rest on his shoulders.

"I have this colleague, Maya Davies, who has been harboring a grudge against me ever since the day of my interview. I believe that she was the one starting the fire, but without solid evidence, I am unable to make a formal accusation.”

Morpheus nodded, his hands gently encircling your waist.

"I wouldn't even know how to prove it, so I was thinking... is there any way you could, I don’t know, persuade her to voluntarily confess her crime, maybe?”

"My love, as the King of Dreams... and Nightmares," he said, emphasizing the last word. "There is nothing I cannot do to 'inspire' mortals.”

You had never been one to seek vengeance, so the fact that you were deriving pleasure from the idea of him unleashing his darkest powers to frighten Maya made you question your own character and become skeptical. However, not only were you endangered by the fire (largely due to your reckless actions), but Ella was also put at risk.

And so, you agreed, expressing your gratitude with a light kiss on his lips.

The music blasted at its loudest, drowning out any other sounds. Despite the overwhelming noise, Maya and the others on the dancefloor remained unfazed. The club overflowed with lively people, bouncing, twirling, and thoroughly enjoying the moment. Maya, too, let go of all her tension and anxiety, releasing them with each graceful wave of her body.

She threw herself into the performance with a boundless energy, exerting all the force she could muster in her impromptu choreography. Yet, despite the intensity she was infusing into her dance, she appeared completely unaffected and didn't break a sweat.

And then, her gaze landed on him. That enigmatic figure dressed in black stood just a few feet away, his long coat skimming the floor. His piercing stare held an intensity she had never seen before, his eyes enthralling and luminous. His dark hair appeared as if someone had just run their fingers through it.

She vividly recalled that moment when she was at the club with her colleagues, and her eyes locked onto him for the first time as he strolled leisurely through the crowd. He was stunningly handsome, fitting the image of the man she had always envisioned for herself. Overwhelmed by a surge of admiration, she couldn't resist taking a bold step forward, mustering the courage to ask him to dance and ensnare him in her charm.

But before she could even approach the man who appeared to be the personification of her deepest desires and fantasies, she was hit with a cruel twist of fate. The universe played a maddening trick on her, revealing that he was already in a relationship with none other than you.

You. The very person who had not only snatched away the job she had coveted for five years, but also seemed to have effortlessly secured it without undergoing a proper trial period. She was Isaac's right-hand person, possessing far more experience than you could ever accumulate. She had undeniable talent and excelled at her work, and yet, Oliver had opted to assign the position to her wife's old friend rather than choosing her.

It was infuriating, disheartening, and incredibly demotivating. Not only had you marginalized her, restricting her to tasks that were beneath her abilities, but you had also managed to find the perfect boyfriend, a partner she could never aspire to have.

She constantly grappled with finding someone who was sincerely captivated by more than just her physical appearance and beautiful face. She yearned for a partner who shared her outlook, didn't see black as a negative, melancholic color, and could embrace her distinct, goth-like style.

This man standing before her embodied everything she wanted, and the fact that she was hindered from getting close to him, once again due to your interference, pushed her to the edge of rage.

She harbored a deep resentment towards you. She needed to possess what you had. She hoped you would step aside and surrender what was rightfully hers.

And so she smiled enticingly at the man, using her long nails to beckon him towards her. He appeared to respond, making his way to her and coming to a stop just inches away from her face. She ceased her dancing, delicately running her fingers along the fabric of his coat. He remained motionless, his gaze fixed intently on hers, not even blinking.

"I was hoping to see you again," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the strangely distant and faint music. "I had no idea you were Y/N's boyfriend. I wanted to invite you for a dance."

He didn't respond, but she was intrigued by his enigmatic aura.

"I wonder what you even see in her. She can be so irritating, always putting on a fake smile and pretending to be innocent," she told him aloud, her inquisitiveness tinged with a touch of disdain.

As she noticed his expression getting cold, she realized that perhaps she should have kept that thought to herself. She felt a complete lack of inhibition, as if all restraint had been cast aside.

"If only it could be me," she confessed, her hands gliding along his chest before enveloping his neck in a tight embrace. "I wish I could have it all."

She parted her crimson lips, attempting to initiate a kiss that held the promise of something more. The man made no move to reciprocate, keeping his hands firmly at his sides, as if her very presence repulsed him.

And then, he spoke. His voice reverberated like an echo, booming and commanding, resonating in her and filling the space surrounding them.

"How far are you willing to go to attain your desires?”

It wasn't a question posed out of mere curiosity. If anything, it had an ominous warning, instilling a sense of terror.

“I… what do you mean…?”

Maya quickly pulled away from him, allowing her arms to drop before she instinctively crossed them, hugging her own upper body in a protective gesture.

“Do you understand the damage your actions could have caused?”

Everything around her plunged into darkness, as if the world had vanished in a puff of smoke. The people in the club and the music disappeared, leaving only the two of them illuminated by a solitary spotlight.

“My actions…? I…..”

"You do know.”

She understood exactly what he was referring to. Deep down, she had been evading the truth, trying to bury it and push it away for the past few days. It was a reality she had contributed to creating, and one she wasn't prepared to meet face to face.

“Please, no…”

"Those women could have endured severe injuries at your hands. Or worse,” he stated with anger and accusation.

She trembled like a leaf, her body quivering uncontrollably. She sank to her knees on the cold floor, her curly hair cascading in front of her eyes, partially obscuring her view.

“I didn’t mean to!”

He began to pace in a slow, menacing circle around her, exuding threat and intimidation. “Perhaps you did not, but the truth of what you’ve done is engraved into your mind.”

She shook her head vigorously. "I didn't know... I didn't think it would... that they…." Her voice trailed off, filled with regret and disbelief. "This was supposed to be Y/N's breakthrough collection. With everything destroyed, she couldn't have participated in the Fashion Show under her own name. We have other pieces that can be showcased, and I have countless projects that I've tried to present to Oliver repeatedly.”

Her nails pierced through the skin of her palms, but she couldn't feel a thing.

“Why couldn't it have been me? Why did he choose to overlook all my efforts?!" She screamed in frustration. “I couldn't let her ruin everything I've worked tirelessly to achieve. I never intended to harm her, I swear! I had no idea they would throw themselves into the fire just to save a pen drive and a few garments!”

Tears streamed down her cheeks, cascading to the floor and pooling into a strangely large puddle. The reflection in the water mirrored her profound distress and heartache.

"You must confess your mistake," he commanded. "Unless you wish to be haunted by your nethermost nightmares.”

“But… I can’t! If I do, I will lose it all!”

Somehow, he appeared to have grown significantly taller, his presence commanding and imposing. "You offer nothing but excuses in an attempt to justify your wrongdoing. You have chosen to walk a dark path in search of a light that will not come to you, not in this way.”

She sobbed uncontrollably, her voice trembling and broken as tears continued to stream down her face. The puddle on the floor grew larger with each passing moment, reflecting a horrifying distortion of herself. In the reflection, she saw a monstrous depiction, with decaying, melting skin that peeled away in patches. Frantically, she touched her face, moving her hands up and down, screaming in terror and gasping for breath.

"So be it," he declared with a somber tone. "If it is darkness that you want, then you shall have it in abundance," the warning was made unmistakably clear as the puddle transformed from salty water to thick, crimson blood, emphasizing the gravity of the consequences.

When she looked up, the man appeared to be gone, leaving her alone in an unfamiliar place. All sources of light had been extinguished, plunging her into the shadows.

Maya awoke with the most severe tachycardia she had ever suffered from, her heart racing uncontrollably. The feeling of emptiness tightened inside her, saturating her insides with a frigid void that she had no idea how to alleviate.

Your peaceful immersion in a captivating new book was abruptly shattered by the jarring sound of the doorbell. Annoyed and displeased, you emitted a grunt of frustration before reluctantly abandoning the comfort of the couch, dragging your feet heavily. As you opened the door, your eyebrow instinctively arched in surprise at the sight of Ella standing before you. Her appearance was disheveled and worn-out, leaving you concerned for her well-being. Pressing her lips together, she mustered a feeble "hi" that barely escaped her lips, conveying her exhaustion and distress.

You instinctively crossed your arms, your gaze darting between Ella and the pink box she held delicately in her hands. It was a sight to behold, with a beautiful red ribbon adorning its top and hand-painted hearts scattered across the container. It exuded an air of intricacy and affection.

"May I present you with an olive branch?" Ella spoke nervously, holding out the box that emitted a delightful aroma of something incredibly sweet. "I made your favorite cookies as a gesture of peace.”

“Are you trying to bribe me? Because it's definitely working,” you replied with a smile.

Your comment effortlessly broke the tension that was holding Ella captive, prompting a delightful chuckle out of her. She shook her head, a glimmer of relief and gratitude shining in her eyes. "It's more of a way for me to apologize. I have been such a terrible friend."

"Don't say that.”

"But it's true! You tried to warn me about something important, and I completely disregarded you. After knowing you for so long, how could I even entertain the thought that you were paranoid? I should have known better than that!”

As you noticed her teary eyes, your heart softened, and any lingering anger dissipated. With a gesture of forgiveness, you stepped aside, granting her permission to enter. "Would you like to come in, or would you rather stay out here playing the self-loathing game?"

She nodded enthusiastically, placing the box into your hands and gently closing the door behind her. Taking a moment to survey your space, she meticulously examined the furniture design and the personal touch you had incorporated into the room. "What a nice place. It looks so...”

“Cozy?”

"I was about to say it is so 'you', but yes, cozy works too."

You watched her attentively as she navigated through the apartment, hesitantly settling down on the couch. Placing the box of cookies on the kitchen table, you couldn't help but notice her nervousness reflected in her movements and audible sighs. There was more to her visit than a simple apology; something weighed heavily on her mind.

That "something" was likely the very thing you had been consciously avoiding in her presence. Nevertheless, you took a seat next to her on the couch, leaning against the back cushions.

"Y/N, I'm serious. I really need to apologize to you. You were right... about the whole thing," Ella said earnestly.

"Are you talking about Maya?" you asked with apprehension and curiosity.

"Yes, she actually came to us this morning. It was quite unexpected, and she looked so pale that I thought she had fallen ill.”

Immediately, you straightened up, tilting your head slightly to the side. “What did she want?”

Ella's words hung in the air, heavy with revelation. "She admitted it. All of it. She told us about the fire, about how she pretended to leave by taking advantage of Amy's distraction. In reality, she was waiting for the right moment to strike.”

Your eyes flickered with realization as you contemplated the situation. "So, that noise I heard when I left the studio...”

"You probably heard her bumping against one of the chairs. It seems that she wasn't thinking straight and acted on impulse. She was certain that we would find out before she could set her plan into motion. Go figure.”

You instinctively massaged your temple, attempting to alleviate the growing stress. “Did she tell you that?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “She told us everything we wanted to know, and more.”

"Even the reason?”

As you listened intently to Ella's account, the full extent of Maya's motives began to unfold. She had been driven by an all-consuming urge to sabotage your work, hoping to dismantle it and compel the team to start over with her own projects that Oliver had previously discarded. Her confession painted a picture of jealousy and resentment, adding another layer of complexity to the situation.

"This is absurd," you blurted out, your voice filled with a mix of disbelief and frustration. "I can understand her resentment towards me, but what was she even thinking? Starting a fire in the studio could have not only destroyed the entire place, but also endangered the lives of those still inside.”

Ella nodded in agreement, her expression reflecting a mix of understanding and disappointment. "I know," she replied solemnly. "She was so blinded by her fury that she didn't consider the potential damages. She believed that we would discover the fire quickly enough and that the Rescue Service would handle the situation in time. She wasn’t expecting it to spread the way it did.”

“It was a reckless and dangerous gamble,” you concluded. "She could have become trapped inside and injured herself in the process.”

“In a way, she did. She was limping.”

“What are you going to do?”

Ella clenched the fabric of her trousers tightly, a visible display of her inner turmoil. With Oliver taking the lead and contemplating involving the police, her thoughts were muddling her judgment and clarity, leaving her feeling inefficient. The trust and stability she once had seemed to crumble, leaving her in a state of emotional upheaval. The trauma she experienced was exacerbated by the realization of betrayal and deceit.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, you provided a source of support as she rested her head against yours. While you were determined to express your gratitude to Morpheus later, a pang of guilt washed over you for subjecting your friend to a similar ordeal.

It was a necessary action that had to be taken for the sake of the company, but was it truly the right approach?

"We are also to blame. If we had listened to her, if we had given her a chance...”

"Ella, don't go there. What you did doesn't justify any of that. It’s insane.”

Ella sniffled and wiped away a tear before it could roll down her cheek. As she looked at you, she swallowed her pain and allowed the right words to form in her head. There was so much going on inside her, so many things she couldn't easily put together on her own.

It was only a matter of time before she would reach the part you had hoped she would forget.

"Y/N, there's something I want to ask, and I need you to be completely honest with me.”

The moment had arrived, catching you completely unprepared. At that juncture, however, there was no way to avoid it.

“Okay.”

Ella glanced down, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap. "When the electrical panel exploded, you were right there. The fire engulfed you, and I watched, fearing that you would emerge as a charred corpse.”

You couldn't even come up with a plausible lie. There was no way to divert her attention from what she had witnessed.

"I was so terrified... I thought I had lost you in that moment. But when the flames around you died down, you were completely unharmed. No scratches, no scars, even your clothes were untouched.”

Her gaze dropped to the Moonstone resting on your collarbones, its blue flashes swirling across the surface as you breathed. A faint rainbow-like streak seemed to blend with it.

"I saw your necklace glowing. I mean, it was actually emitting a blue light that seemed to illuminate the dilapidated room. At first, I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me from the shock, but then it happened again when you pulled me out.”

You allowed her to continue, remaining silent without saying a single word.

"The flames surrounded us, but somehow... they didn't even reach us.”

“Ella, I-”

"Please, tell me what's happening. Anything will do, just assure me that I'm not going crazy.”

What were you supposed to say? How could you navigate the situation without compromising Morpheus and his identity?

“You’re not going crazy,” you confirmed.

"Okay, that's something," she muttered. "So what, are you some kind of witch? That would at least explain your supposed sixth sense.”

“I’m not a witch. I’m human, Ella. Just like you.”

She appeared to struggle with believing it. "What is that necklace, then? You told me it was a gift from your boyfriend. Is that true?”

You had to approach things with careful consideration, uncertain of what Morpheus wanted you to disclose or keep hidden.

"Ella, please listen to me. I understand that you're confused, but there are certain matters that I can't easily discuss.”

She clicked her tongue. "Come on Y/N, it's me! I promise I won't judge, and I won't breathe a word to anyone. Not even to Oliver if you want to keep this between us.”

Could you really ask her to keep such a significant truth from her husband? While it might not be an outright harmful lie, you couldn't allow her to hide anything from the man she loved. It didn’t feel fair.

"Maybe one day I'll tell you. But for now, I need to ask you to trust me. Please, give me some time.”

She wasn't happy about it, but eventually, she accepted your terms and let the subject go. "If you believe it's for the best, I won’t insist. Regardless of whether you're a witch or not, I owe you my life.”

You playfully bumped your forearm against hers, just like you used to do when you were younger. She took your hands and gave them a gentle squeeze, and together, you both reveled in the joy of rediscovering your sisterly bond.

I wish you all a Happy New Year! May 2024 make all your dreams come true. I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for the support I'm receiving since the end of 2022. See you in January with Chapter 14!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 14 ->

[hillnerd]

Waking Up - Ch 13

AO3   FFN      Beginning of story | Previous Chapter

chapter word count 16014

Chapter warnings at end of chapter

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Much thanks to my amazing and lovely beta reader @abradystrix for helping with this chapter!  Sorry for the delay- my dudes my life has been absolutely bonkers- hurt back, lead in the house, have to clean said lead (massive undertaking of many months!), got ill, developed persistent bronchitis, all the meds I was on gave me kidney stones... and I was still fulltime teaching :0 i am le tired.

Hope you like this new chapter!

PREVIOUSLY IN ‘WAKING UP’: Ron finished his second C.R.E. (combat readiness exam)- 'Resilience and Flying Assessment'- He was thoroughly tested with dangerous Bots casting spells, and having to split up from Harry. He ended up leading a team with Neville, Ramona and Kevin- they nearly got blown to bits, hit aging mist that made him grow a beard (Thanks to neville's plant know-how they were able to de-age), and then at the end Ron positioned himself as a distraction to the bots so the other members could have a shot at the capture the flag win. They won the flag and he passed his test. Percy was waiting for him outside the Auror office- he has news- and gives the paper for Ron to silently read to himself: 'Doctors Hugo and Jean Granger- FOUND.' Even further back, Hermione went to her parents’ house. Fleur met her and did some booby trap spells before disarming them. Fleur gave her a brown paper package, and it was revealed that Ron had been tortured by Snatchers- the back of his clothes tattered and stained.The next day she helped Ron study- this chapter takes place before Ron's C.R.E. and is the same scene we saw in chapter 11, just from Hermione's POV.

Chapter 13- THE SNATCHER BOOK

A sense of normalcy had come to Hermione as she helped Ron and Harry with their studies. Suddenly her faculties were sharp, her body felt light, and she knew, without a doubt, she was of use.

Being of use was a tether in the storm she felt each day. The compunction to lay in bed and not face the inevitable slew of people she’d have to make niceties to was something so foreign it would have frightened her if she wasn’t so tired. How was it that no amount of sleep lifted the drained sensation? How was it that little made her smile or think or eat or comb her hair, but the knowledge that people would see her? Anymore, even that wasn’t stopping her. Yesterday she’d been a mess in pyjamas well into the afternoon…

But today was a new day! She’d been her old self. She was imaginative in her use of spells, fleet in her research, and had Ron saying how smart she was… It wasn’t as if he hadn’t said it to her a hundred thousand times, but recently he’d been pointing to her past when he said it. There was nothing in her present to point to… No, wait there was! She was being useful!

She stopped her woolgathering and went back to the book, feverishly scanning it for another useful spell.

“So the Captionem Deprehensio spell can be used to find a variety of traps and reveal their origins… That could be handy,” said Hermione, writing the spell down into her notes.

Ron leaned towards the book, his warm arm pressing against her side a bit. She felt herself begin to squirm and heat rose in her. He was so close, with his very kissable jaw nearby, and looked so determined as he concentrated on the book in her lap.

She loved to watch him when he was in true study-mode. The intelligent glint in his eye, the focus, the expressive way his hands would move as if his body involuntarily felt the spells before he tried them. He’d always done that, even in first year— lips would purse, as if to keep from sounding out loud, and she’d see his fingers minutely pinch and shift in a miniature prelude to the sure movements he’d do later. Even if he wasn’t accurate, he fully committed to whatever spell he did, waving with a sureness of wand she somewhat envied. There was never a hesitation, just a smooth arc of movement. Hermione was delicate and precise with her movements, but it always felt cramped and rigid, even though she was very accurate.

Ron’s hands twitched as he read, then he fully cast the Captionem Deprehensio spell. There was a pulse of familiar white-blue light that scanned the room, then disappeared. It must have been the same spell Fleur did at Hermione’s house; the spell she did before she’d given Hermione the brown paper package and revealed the torture Ron had experienced.

“Did I do it right?” asked Ron, startling her from her thoughts.

“I guess we can’t know unless there are traps set up,” she said, trying to comport herself. “If it’s the spell I’m thinking of, I believe it should have a sort of web-like pattern that will light up when there are threats. In this case the pattern surveyed the space and shut down before it could detect anything. Colours can stand for different types of traps.”

Ron smiled that open, boyish smile of his. How could he still smile at her like that? So open and careless and loving? He’d been through torture, and losing his brother, and he could just grin this devastatingly charming smile and look at her like she’d hung the moon, when she’d done nothing but make his life worse after he’d been through so much.

“I swear you know about every spell there is!”

She shook her head. “I don’t.”

His hand went around her and gave a squeeze, putting endless camaraderie and care into the simplest of gestures.

“Who else would know that about some obscure booby trap spell?” he argued. “The details of what it looked like were not in the book!”

She’d seen the spell, then smelled the blood.

“Fleur and Bill would, as curse breakers.”

The blood had been everywhere. And there were cuts through so many layers of clothes… She felt hot and like the room was going to fall in on her.

“Fine, but I still am dating the most brilliant woman in England,” she vaguely heard him say. He leaned close and kissed her cheek, smiling at her, completely unaware she knew. She knew he’d been tortured. She knew he hadn’t told anyone. Was he ashamed? Was it just too much to speak of? Was he trying to protect them? Was he afraid he’d be dismissed?

She looked over to Harry.

He’d welcomed Ron back to their tent and their lives. He’d defended him as she brought her wrath and mocked him.

The clothes had so much blood on them. She didn't know exactly why. What could cause injuries like that? What exactly had they done? She knew some of it, but needed to pretend she didn’t know any of it. The room felt stifling, her skin almost too tight. She had to escape. Was it early enough to have an excuse to leave?

“We should go to bed. You both have a big day tomorrow,” she said, turning Ron’s wrist to see the time in his watch. Nearly nine was late enough. She had to get out of there before she did something reckless.

“So… Where are we planning on sleeping?” Ginny asked.

Hermione couldn’t be near Ron. She was lucky she’d not had a nightmare near him the night before. She practically felt nightmares closing in now, even as she was awake.

“We should sleep in the places your mother expects so everyone actually sleeps,” Hermione said, fleeing from the bed, but stopping herself. She couldn’t just run off… They’d know something was off with her, and if they asked she wasn’t sure she could keep from spilling the truth. It took every ounce of her self control to still herself.

She let out a deep breath, then looked to Ron.

She could tell he wanted her to stay. Everyone wanted to be paired off as happy couples, but she couldn’t. As usual, she was ruining it for everyone… She had no choice, though. She couldn’t cover up her turmoil from him for long; he knew her too well.

If she couldn’t stay with him, the least she could do was kiss him so he knew she cared. She pulled Ron in for a quick kiss on the lips, before turning for the door.

“Sleep well you two,” she said, before walking from the room as fast as she could. She carefully controlled her pace, knowing one could hear the footfalls from his room fairly easily.

Once in her room, she changed into her pyjamas at a blistering pace and curled into the bed, squeezing her arms around herself and taking deep purposeful breaths.

Her mother had her do this when she was little and wanting to cry. When she was quite young she’d cried at school often: children were cruel and she was rather sensitive to their criticisms and barbs about everything about her, from her looks to her personality. Nothing much changed from when she was five; students were still cruel, only she cried marginally less.

At age six her teacher called home about Hermione pushing someone. She had not pushed him. He’d just somehow fallen after he’d touched her hair and told her it looked like a rat’s nest. No one believed her, of course. She’d burst into tears at school when they said she was a liar. She had never been a liar!

Her Mum came and took her home, a dubious look on her face as Hermione claimed she never touched him, then was in fresh tears again.

“He really just fell over! Why won’t anyone believe me?” Hermione cried. “I hate school!”

“Oh darling, that can’t be true. You love to learn,” her mother hummed as she hugged her.

“Learning’s not the same as school!” Hermione wailed. “Everyone’s so mean and they hate me! They make fun of me all the time, even for answering questions. And we’re supposed to, Mum!”

“Oh I know. You’re very good at answering questions. Don’t stop because of a few little bullies,” she said.

“They made fun of me for crying so much…” Hermione confessed. She’d gotten in the habit of crying in frustration.

“Do you want to cry so much?”

“N-no!” she sniffled.

“Well Hermione, why don’t we try this: if you ever feel upset, hug yourself if Mummy isn’t there to hug you, and breathe a big deep gulp of air, in and out, and think of how much we love you, just the way you are.”

Hermione tried the method, but it didn’t work to comfort her as her parents didn’t love her— they didn’t even know she existed all thanks to her.

The door soon clicked as Ginny entered.

“Hermione? Are you asleep already?”

“No,” she managed.

“I hate that they’re going off to the Aurors without us, and we can’t even watch. It feels like last summer all over again.” Ginny quietly changed clothes in the corner. “I think the boys will do well, though, don’t you?”

“I’m sure they will,” Hermione agreed.

“How did the studying go with Ron?”

“Fine.”

Ginny was quiet for a moment. “He’s been doing too much lately… I think he might need some extra attention right now.”

Hermione gave a hum as Ginny turned out the light.

“I know you heard me say it to Ron earlier,” she continued, “but it will be important that you and Ron don’t fall into old habits of putting Harry first. Ron really does need to concentrate on himself.”

Hermione said nothing.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes. Sorry, I’m just a bit tired.”

“These Auror trials are no joke. Tonks told me about them back when we were all in Grimmauld Place. And her series of exams were after years of training. I’m sure they’ll do well, but… Hermione?”

“Yes?” she vaguely asked.

“Never mind,” Ginny said quickly. With a rustle of sheets she got into her bed.

Hermione waited a long time until small, even snores told Ginny was asleep.

Hermione crept out of the bed and quietly conjured bluebell flames to see under the bed. She knelt down and opened her beaded bag, seeking out the one object she least wanted to see.

Carefully, she took the brown paper package out and painstakingly unwrapped it piece by piece, making sure not to let it rustle too loudly and wake Ginny.

The smell wafted over her, making her feel sick, but she couldn’t stop staring. The lacerations were each the length of her hand or longer, splitting the fabric in a long even slash. Each blood stain wasn’t particularly bloody, but there were a dozen or so of them. Some of them had more blood than others, looking like they’d been pressed directly into his wound. What had caused these? How did he not have one scar left after?

She stared and stared, not sure why she had to see it, or what she was hoping to learn.

She’d been staring at it for what must have been hours when her head nodded, sleep insistently pulling at her. Too tired to perfectly repack it, she haphazardly folded the paper around the clothes and stuffed it far under her camp-bed.

She quietly did the silencing spell on herself and drifted off to an unpleasant sleep.

Hermione felt her lungs collapsing, as well as everything else. Harry and Ron were following her through her Apparition. Harry’s hand held fast, while Ron’s hand twitched and pulled in hers.

She landed them in the Forest of Dean, autumn leaves all around. Harry was a few feet away, pushing himself from the forest floor, while she and Ron had landed in a tumble, falling in a puddle of something or another— her side felt soaked and warm.

She almost laughed in relief and looked up into Ron’s face expecting to see him smiling at her. His eyes were wide and he let out a gasp.

“Ron?” she asked.

His eyes fluttered as he groaned pain and looked down.

“Her-my—” he breathed out before his words stopped and his head fell back.

She looked down and her own breathing stopped.

They hadn’t landed in anything from the forest; Ron’s side was all blood, drenching them. She gasped. How had —? Oh God, she’d done it to him; she’d splinched him! And the blood was pooling all over them. Ron’s blood.

Her hands shook and she propelled herself to action, moving to cut away his shirt.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Harry, voice shaking as badly as her hands.

“Splinched,” she sharply answered. She’d splinched Ron. She’d hurt him. He was bleeding everywhere. With his shirt ripped open she could see his arm was missing a giant piece, and blood was gushing at an alarming rate. She tried to stop it with cloth, but it bled through in seconds, deep red and warm.

“Harry quickly, in my bag, there’s a bottle labelled ‘Essence of Dittany,’” she said, voice sounding distant to her ears. Harry ran over to her bag as she held the remnants of Ron’s jacket to the wound, but he bled through that too. Ron’s eyes finally rolled back in his head. He was dying in her arms!

“Quickly!” she yelled at Harry.

He brought forth a broken bottle. “Hermione, it’s broken.”

“What? No!” she took the fragments, not caring that they cut her hands. The bit of potion that touched her hissed and turned green, healing her hands. “No no no.”

She tried to get it into Ron’s wound, but there wasn’t enough.

“Harry— Harry we need, we need more cloth!” he didn’t respond. “Harry?”

She turned her head, but no one was there. She had no help. Ron’s breath was stuttering.

She pulled Ron’s ragdoll-limp body to her and realised his clothing was tattered in places she hadn’t inspected. She gently rolled him, revealing his back. It was covered in long wounds that gaped and bled as profusely as his arm. The blood was crawling along the forest floor and Ron’s breathing was becoming more and more shallow.

“You’re not going to die! You’re not!” she yelled, but not one wound would staunch. Everything was crimson, and Ron’s face was taking on a waxy greyish tint.

“Help!” she called out. No one responded. Her legs were warm with blood.

His breaths slowed, and the blood finally stopped pumping across her hands. Vacant blue eyes stared at the sky.

She wailed an anguished sound like a wounded animal, and a door slammed making her startle.

Her eyelids fluttered, realising she was no longer in the forest covered in Ron’s blood. She was in her bed at the Burrow. Ginny had slammed the door closed.

Hermione felt under her pillow until her hand blissfully curled around the cool wood of her wand. Blanket and hair covering most of the signs there was an actual human in the bed, she surreptitiously undid her silencing spell.

“Ginny, that was a bit abrupt,” she scolded, voice hoarse from her silenced screams.

“Oh sorry, I assumed you’d be awake since it’s past ten and it’s the boys’ second exam,” Ginny said in a breezy way, but she had a set to her jaw that made her look very much like her mother before a scolding.

“I… I was tired,” Hermione replied, knowing how ill of an excuse it was. She hadn’t even thought to wake up for them. The day before had been rather pleasurable, in its own way— she loved finally being of use again and seeing the joy and relief on Ron’s face each time he mastered a new spell or impressively hit a target. The moment they stopped studying the momentum came to an abrupt halt and she felt like a duck struck mid flight, plummeting and spiralling into a marsh, waiting for a labrador to drag her body in for supper. She’d thought of no one and nothing, just felt the murky waters rolling over her as sleep took too long to claim her.

Ginny crossed the room to her drawers and began looking through them.

“You’re ‘tired’ a lot,” she said, jerking the top drawer completely out and dumping its contents on her bed. “Have you seen my black sports bra?”

“Erm, no. I haven’t,” Hermione replied, sitting up, a palpable unease settling somewhere in her sternum.

Ginny growled as she began pulling drawers and swiping through their contents.

Hermione was sure her next question would set Ginny erupting like Vesuvius, but her curiosity outweighed any threat of a pyroclastic flow.

“Have I… Done something to offend you?”

“You’ve not done anything, have you?” Ginny snipped, looking about her. “Oh where is that blasted thing? It’s the only one that doesn’t make my shoulders feel like my head will fucking snap off!”

“Ginny,” Hermione insisted, knowing she sounded a bit naggy.

Her dark brown eyes snapped to Hermione’s. “Why weren’t you awake and downstairs to wish them luck?”

“Like I said, I was tired,” she practically squeaked.

“You went to bed at nine,” Ginny noted, obviously not in a mood to take excuses. “I’d understand if we’d each been with the boys, but you insisted we leave them so they’d get rest. Then you slept in like you’re the Queen and did absolutely nothing.”

“Alright, I slept in and I shouldn’t have,” Hermione stated. It took considerable force to keep the sharpness from her voice. “There’s no need to—”

“You should’ve seen his face when he asked about you,” Ginny interrupted, voice quiet but dagger sharp. “He was nervous as hell and wanted you there.”

“Why didn’t you wake me, then?”

“It’s not my job to make you act like you care about my brother!”

A slap would have stunned and baffled Hermione less.

She’d been accused of many things in her life- and annoyingly most of the accusations had a kernel of truth to them.

Being a know-it-all had been the most frequent insult since she first entered nursery school and spelled a students’ name for them, when they didn’t even know the alphabet. She’d been called ugly, and she had to admit she’d never been particularly pretty, what with her dowdy body, overbite and large hair that looked on the verge of devouring Europe. Then there was condescension, being a fussbudget, having no sense of humour, being petty, being prideful… She’d had all of those pushed her way at one point or another…

She’d never been accused of laziness before. She’d never been accused of not caring. She’d most certainly never had someone say she didn’t care for Ron.

The thought was revolting. Ron was the one person she cared most for in all the world. She wasn’t sure when he’d somehow usurped everyone else, but he definitely had. He was the first person she wanted to see the reaction of when something ridiculous happened. He was the first person she wanted to share any news with. He was the first person she wanted safe. A world with no Ron was grey and hopeless.

“Of course I care about Ron!” Hermione finally gasped out.

“Then act like it,” Ginny cooly retorted,

Hermione’s hackles began to rise. “Sleeping in one time doesn’t mean I’m—”

“It’s more than that.”

“How?” she questioned, not caring how sharp or loud her tone was now.

“It’s the way you prioritise everything before him!”

“I don’t do that!” she protested.

“Please,” Ginny said with an eyeroll.

“If you’re going to accuse me, at least give some pertinent evidence!”

“The fact that you can’t think of one example yourself is part of the problem!”

The redhead paced the room, arms wound tight, as if to keep her fists from flying out.

“Like yesterday: The second Harry needed help or a boost you were all over it and completely forgot Ron. Yesterday morning you were ready to help Harry study for his exam over Ron until I piped up.”

Hermione’s brows began to crease. “Yes, but Ron did the same thing.”

“How’s that supposed to make it better?” she asked. “He needs to study and stop waking early and cooking for everyone when he’s getting no sleep- but there you are offering to help Harry on exams, letting Ron coax you into eating as if you’re a toddler, not even bothering to congratulate him on his first exam, while he does everything! It’s not like Harry has a better track record— this has been a habit of both of yours for years— but at least I know Harry is trying to look after him now and has tried to get him to take care of himself and boosted him up lately.”

“Considering your own track record for mercilessly teasing Ron, you’re one to talk!” Hermione shot back. “When do you ever ‘boost up’ your brother?”

Ginny’s face began to turn a deep shade of red. “You wouldn’t get it; you’re an only child.”

“I might not fully understand, but the way you and your brothers, especially the twins, belittle him all the time is why he has always been so unsure of himself.”

“We’re not responsible for his self-esteem issues!”

“Aren’t you?” Hermione sniped. “You all have undercut him every year, more than anyone else in the family, except maybe Percy. Everyone has always thought the twins were so very funny- but they were torturing Ron at every turn!”

“Don’t you talk about Fred and George!” Ginny growled, eyes glittering with unshed tears.

“Alright,” she conceded, trying to keep her voice controlled. “But don’t act like you’ve been so wonderful for Ron when you’re tearing him down every time you’re in the same room. I know you want to show how very independent you are, but it’s gotten just short of despicable the last few years.”

Ginny stared at the floor, and Hermione could practically hear her teeth grinding.

“Fine,” Ginny sighed, words barely making it to Hermione’s ears. “I could lighten up with the teasing. But Hermione, you need to see how Ron needs help— your help!”

“I helped him prepare for his exam all of yesterday!”

“He cares about you more than anything—“ Ginny continued as if Hermione had said nothing. “He’ll listen if you ask him to slow down! He’ll let you if you offer to do things for him! You can’t just sit back and be this… This empty vessel, accepting his love and attention and giving nothing back!”

“I give back!” Hermione said, more to soothe herself than because she believed it.

“Oh right— you do give him snogs.” Ginny rolled her eyes and went back to tearing through the room to find her sports bra.

Hermione had felt useless and terrible for weeks, but now it was confirmed… She was doing nothing, giving nothing… Useless, useless, useless…

“I’m going fucking mad!” Ginny cursed, started to look under her bed. “Is there a chance it’s with your clothes?”

“You’re free to look,” Hermione said, numbly staring at the wall. Ginny was right. She was an empty vessel. She couldn’t act. Couldn’t think.

Ginny grumbled as she looked under their beds, clearly unable to find… What was it she was looking for again? Hermione was going to ask when Ginny gave a small cry and backed out from under Hermione’s bed so quickly she nearly upset the nightstand.

“What is it?” Hermione asked.

“I think it’s blood,” Ginny said, face pale.

Realisation slowly dawned. Hermione's heart began to race as she watched Ginny's face contort with shock and disgust. She had been so consumed with her own guilt and self-hatred that she had forgotten about the brown paper package filled with Ron’s clothes.

Ginny crept back towards the bed and Hermione let out a faint, “Don’t—”

It was too late. Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands as Ginny stood in front of her.

"What is this?" Ginny asked, holding the blood-stained clothing.

Hermione couldn't find the words to speak. She slowly raised her eyes out of her hands. All she could do was stare at the clothes and feel the smell of sweat and blood engulfing her. There was so much blood.

“Hermione, what is this?” Ginny asked again, voice shaking in concern.

Hermione took a deep breath and looked up at her friend. "It's from when Ron was captured last year," she said barely above a whisper.

“At Malfoy Manor?” Ginny’s voice sounded small, young and so afraid.

She shook her head. “Snatchers.”

“What happened to him?”

“I-I don’t know,” Hermione stuttered, the words barely audible. “Did Harry tell you about Ron’s time away from us?”

Ginny gave a small nod. “The other night when he was drunk. He was waxing poetic ‘bout Ron, then said the Horcrux had driven Ron off and he couldn’t get back for a while.”

Hermione felt some modicum of relief. She had not discussed any of that with her, in part because she feared Ginny would judge Ron for leaving them. Hermione had judged him terribly at the time and she’d dealt with the Horcrux. Of course, if anyone could understand a Horcrux driving them to do something against their will, it was Ginny.

“He couldn’t get back to us because he was caught by Snatchers. When he came back he made a joke of it, said they were stupid and smelled and that he’d splinched a few fingernails off… and that was all.”

She looked down at the clothes.

“Day before yesterday Fleur gave me that brown package, as evidence, if he needed it…”

She explained what Fleur had described to her: an unrecognisable Ron, beaten and bloody, with broken bones and no explanation; All he had was a drive to get back to her and Harry.

“Harry doesn’t know about this,” Ginny said rather than asked, haphazardly folding the brown paper around his clothes and placing them on the ground between them.

Hermione shook her head. “Ron didn’t tell me or Harry any of this. He didn’t want us to know.”

“But now we do. We need to do someth—”

“And what exactly are we supposed to do?” Hermione interrupted. “He lied about it. Whatever horrible things they did, he doesn’t want any of us to know about it! Are we supposed to corner him and make him tell us what they did?”

“Maybe we should!” Ginny threw her hands in the air.

“And make him relive whatever he went through right when he’s in the middle of exams? Or if he comes back having done amazing today, we’re supposed to spoil his moment of triumph?”

“Well no, but… Someone needs to know. We should tell Mum and Dad! This is—” Ginny swallowed then stopped. “Bill would have told them if he wanted them to know… This is probably too much for them right now… And Harry would go mental…”

The two girls stared at the bloody clothes.

“We should talk to him about it,” Hermione said quietly, “but not right now…”

“When?”

Hermione gave a hopeless shrug. When did you confront someone with intimate evidence of a secret so foul?

Ginny bit her lip. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“Don’t be…” She hadn’t said one thing that wasn’t true. “You’re right… I haven’t been good for Ron, good for anyone… I’ve been so… so utterly useless.”

Tears threatened to flood her eyes and she rapidly blinked, knowing she didn’t deserve to cry about anything.

“I’m sorry. I’m being a ninny,” Hermione said, squeezing the fat of her palms against her eye sockets.

She felt arms surround her. “You are good for Ron and me and everyone else. You’re family! You just have some blind spots—most people do around Harry.”

Hermione gave a vociferous sniff. How many times had she let Ron be in her blind spot? She wasn’t sure. She felt like she was hyper aware of him at all times, but everything was making it rapidly clear; she was utterly clueless when it came to Ron.

“Let’s get up and do something,” said Ginny. “You need to get out of bed and do things. I’ve felt depressed and useless before, and finding purpose and actually moving helps. I’d say let’s do some chores here, but my brother’s done most of them.”

Ginny carefully refolded the brown paper package and hid it deep under Hermione’s bed.

Hermione wanted to do something for Ron, something he would know meant he was appreciated. She had to admit she wasn’t very good at knowing what creature comforts he preferred. He liked being helped with papers and homework when he was overwhelmed, and seemed to like being held and having his head stroked a few of the times he’d been upset… Beyond that she wasn’t sure. For years she’d avoided any intimate gestures so she wouldn’t give away her infatuation. She gave Ron and Harry the same gifts, the same sorts of compliments— well she had to admit she tended to bite her tongue with Ron on compliments, for fear he’d know of her interest she’d convinced herself was one-sided.

The thought of how rubbish she was for him was flaring so loudly she could barely think, when she realised one creature comfort she’d seen him turn to.

“Perhaps we can do a bit of cooking?” asked Hermione. He loved a home cooked meal. If she could cook enough food he wouldn’t have time to take it on himself that week.

“Mum’s out visiting Andromeda and Teddy until late this evening and Dad’s got late meetings, so that’s perfect,” said Ginny.

A pang of guilt struck Hermione. She hadn’t thought about Teddy Lupin or any of them in weeks. Andromeda had lost almost her entire family and had a baby to care for. Hermione couldn’t even take care of herself anymore.

“I’ll find some easy recipes,” said Ginny as she left. Hermione could hear her footsteps fading down the stairs.

Hermione opened her bag and grabbed the first clothing her hands landed on so she wouldn’t become stalled with decisions, then looked in the mirror. She hated how pale and thin she was with giant dark bags under her eyes. And then there was her hair.

She’d been slightly neglecting it. Parts were getting knotted and she really needed to condition and comb it out before it turned into a woollen throw. Not wanting to bother with making it behave, she flung her hair up in a large topknot. She only had so much energy, and her hair wasn’t half as important as finally doing something nice for Ron.

She had just made it downstairs when the Floo activated with a ‘fwoosh,’ making both the girls startle.

“Hello, is this the Weasley residence?” said a woman’s officious voice through the green flames.

“This Floo is restricted access,” Ginny announced, arms crossed.

“Yes. The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, is requesting permission to access your home,” the woman replied, a touch impatiently.

“Oh! Uh… Permission granted?”

“We will need to do a security sweep,” came a man’s voice.

“What?” asked Ginny, but suddenly the fireplace burst into person-sized green flames and two men emerged in deep purple robes.

“Pardon us. This won’t take a moment,” one of them smiled, as the other gruffly went through the Weasley kitchen doing a bevy of spells.

“It’s clear,” the friendlier of them said into the Floo. With another large movement of green flames, Kingsley walked into their home.

“I’m sorry for the production, but the Ministry is starting to insist on it.” He looked to the two officers, dutifully standing at attention. ”Gentlemen, you can leave.”

“Yes, sir,” the all-business one said, and with that they disappeared back to the Floo, letting the green flames turn back to normal on their exit.

“Do you have a security question for me?” Kingsley asked, spelling away the soot from his flowing dark blue robes.

“Oh, erm, yes,” Hermione said, looking to Ginny.

“Who was the Order of the Phoenix member who routinely ate the last of the plum puddings?” Ginny asked, a small smile on her face.

“That would be me,” he said with a slightly bashful look that seemed very out of place on such a powerful wizard. “And what object was a tripping hazard in the front hall of the Order Headquarters?”

“The umbrella stand,” Hermione and Ginny replied. It was bittersweet remembering how Tonks would trip over the stand with regularity.

“Should I get Mum from Andromeda’s?“ asked Ginny.

“No need to bother Molly. Or Andromeda. I’m here to speak with Hermione, the boys, and you as well, Ginny. I would have come when the boys weren’t in their Exam, but my schedule wouldn’t permit me to come for another few days,” he said, shaking his head.

“Sounds like you've been rather busy,” Ginny said, heading to the stove. “Tea?”

“Thank you, yes,” he said. He definitely looked strained compared to the other times Hermione had seen him.

“Hermione, I’ve been made aware that you and others were caught by Snatchers during the war.”

Ginny fumbled the kettle with a loud clang. “Sorry,” she said. Hermione could see her shoulders rising in tension.

“That’s right,” Hermione answered Kingsley, doing her level best to not look as fragile as she felt.

“I have a book of photos for you and the boys to look through. We need witnesses to confirm crimes and war crimes Snatchers committed so we can charge the perpetrators,” he said, opening the book to an array of wizards, and a few witches. Page after page were official ID photos from the Ministry. “I’m hoping the three of you are willing to identify the Snatchers who kidnapped you, and report any other individuals of note we should know about.”

“Wouldn’t their position as a Snatcher be enough for you to charge them?” Hermione asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Kingsley said, taking a seat at the dining room table. “Snatcher was just an official title given to people. Whether or not they actually committed crimes is another matter. If they fulfilled any of the duties of Snatcher beyond paperwork then that usually is enough to be charged with something like intent to kidnap, but there are some Snatchers who allegedly used their position to help people.”

“Well, they certainly haven’t helped anyone in this house,” Ginny said, putting out tea and the biscuit tin for them all.

“No. I don’t think anyone from the Order has seen the good side of a Snatcher,” he said with a rueful shake of his head, taking up his cup of tea. “So this book will have their photo bordered in orange if you recognise someone.”

Hermione turned a few pages, and there was Fenrir Greyback, staring back at her, his gruesomely sharp grin on full display. The black border around him turned orange and glowed.

“However, if they have committed crimes you witnessed, you can touch your wand to their photo to confirm you saw, heard or experienced evidence of their crimes. It will turn green. To do this, picture the crime in your mind and the possible charges will be listed underneath. No one but you, me, others who witnessed the crime and necessary staff can see this list.”

“Who are the necessary staff?”

“People actively working on the case or in the courtroom. The prosecutors, Aurors and clerks actively working on the case can see it, as well as whoever is defending them in court.”

“What happens if I just touch the photo without thinking of the specific crimes?”

“It will still grow green, but no list will be displayed. This might prompt an interview with an Auror or Ministry Prosecutor so we at least know what crimes you bore witness to or heard the confession of. If they need you to testify, they will contact you. The wand method can be a good way to cut down on you having to describe things to a stranger as often.”

Not wanting to describe Greyback’s crimes more than she had to, she touched her wand to his photo and thought back to the nights she’d seen him commit heinous crimes.

At Hogwarts and her sixth year out of the corner of her eye she’d seen Fenrir’s back and matted hair. He was hunkered over some prone figure. That figure had turned out to be Bill Weasley, who he had mauled and left scarred for life.

Then there was the night he and the other Snatcher captured her, the boys and others, taking them to Malfoy Manor. She could still remember the feel of him pressing against her in lewd ways, commenting on her flesh he wanted to bite. He and the others had beaten Ron. They had commented on killing others, and had kidnapped all of them, and turned them over to be tortured by Bellatrix.

Finally, she’d seen him mauling Lavender Brown, who was still horribly scarred and in recovery from it.

In tiny green writing it listed what she’d thought of.

Inflicting Grievous Bodily Harm (GBH)

Causing GBH or wounding with intent to cause GBH

Common Assault

Actual Bodily Harm

Confession of Murder

Kidnapping

As the list continued down, the other photos moved to accommodate the lines of crimes, though many photos rolled their eyes and huffed at having to move.

The list continued on another few inches down, all the way to petty thievery.

It was odd seeing it laid out in words. In some ways it felt wrong for such heinous acts to be summed up so neatly in a few lines. At the same time, having a succinct list of crimes with Kingsley overseeing it, it felt like there might be some form of justice down the road.

“Keep the book and have the boys look over it, if they feel so inclined,” said Kingsley.

“Don’t forget Dean Thomas. He was captured by Snatchers too,” said Ginny.

“We haven’t. That’s how we learned about Harry, Ron and Hermione’s capture. They were investigating Ted Tonks’ death. I might be Minister now, but I wanted to help. He and Andromeda are old friends, and Order members, even if just peripherally.”

Hermione nodded as a thought struck her. “Is this a thorough list of all the Snatchers?”

“All that we have official photos of. There might be some people who aided Snatchers or acted as ones in some capacity who were not included. They didn’t get paid unless they were official Snatchers, so that was a good incentive for them to file paperwork and get ID photos.” He took a moment to glance at his watch. “I wish I could stay, but I have a meeting with the Prime Minister in a bit.”

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, this more fully put into perspective Kingsley was a world leader now, not just a highly trusted Auror and Order member. “You didn’t have to bring this yourself, Kingsley.”

“If I had law enforcement you already knew and trusted I would have sent them.” It went unsaid that the Aurors they knew were now dead. “Plus I didn’t want to spring this on Arthur or Percy at work.”

“Thank you for being so thoughtful with this.”

“We Order members need to look out for one another,” he said with a small smile that managed to put her at ease. She was never an Order member, technically, but she appreciated the sentiment. “And Ginny, there are a few pages at the back with photos of people you might recognise from your time at Hogwarts; mostly surviving Death Eaters. If you chose to identify them for us that would be helpful to our cases.”

Ginny gave a nod.

“Minister, it’s time to meet with the Prime Minister,” came the woman’s voice through the Floo.

He sighed before dipping down the last of his tea.

“Thank you, ladies,” he said with a small bow of his head before leaving through the Floo again to his office.

“Meeting with the Prime Minister,” Ginny said with a whistle. “Poor man.”

“I hear this one is not too bad.”

“I don’t know anything about politics except that I want nothing to do with politicians,” Ginny said with a shake of her head as she sat at the table. Hermione declined to comment on how Kingsley was a politician now, or that Ginny and her family very much took a political stance almost daily with their actions and sentiments.

Hermione let her fingers trail over the book. “Should we show this to the boys?”

“Of course,” Ginny said, a crease of confusion between her eyebrows.

“But now? Would this be any better than bringing up Ron’s clothes?”

Ginny stared at the book. “We might learn who did all that to Ron…”

“But not what they did.”

“We can tell most of what they did from looking at his clothes,” said Ginny, eyes still not meeting Hermione’s. “I say we show them the book, but save any confrontations about the Snatchers until this Auror Exam business is over.”

“I don’t know…” Hermione dithered, not wanting to make things worse.

“I don’t want to delay the people in that book from getting put away. Neither will Harry or Ron.”

She was right, of course. Neither one of them would want to delay justice. At the same time, she didn’t want to make his life harder than she already had.

“Hand us the book, then,” said Ginny.

Hermione slid the book of Snatchers across the table.

“Let’s get this over with,” said Ginny, flipping her way through it and touching a few images here and there with her wand.

In all the time they’d spent at the Burrow since the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione hadn’t spoken with Ginny about her time at Hogwarts. Ginny had a few scars on her arms, but hadn’t brought up the topic once.

“Was Hogwarts very bad last year?”

“It wasn’t pleasant.” Ginny paused mid page flip. “It was a bit like when Umbridge was in charge, only with Unforgivables, pro-Voldemort propaganda, and dark magic.”

“Did they—?”

“Done,” said Ginny, touching the last picture and slapping the book closed.

“Was it the—?”

“I’ll start putting together food, you finish looking through the book,” said Ginny, a firm set to her jaw as she got out a few of Mrs Weasley's cookbooks.

It was times like this where Hermione wondered if Ginny would have ever chosen Hermione as a friend, if not for proximity.

They’d been very much thrown together over the years, the ‘only girls’ being forced to room together. Hermione could see the hesitancy Ginny had with her—girls had never particularly liked Hermione. Well, no children had really liked her until Ron and Harry. And Neville, though much of the time she felt it was because she was a life raft he needed more than he genuinely liked her.

The first few nights she spent in Ginny’s room the summer before fourth year had been awkward, but somehow they’d found a rhythm. Ginny was a lot like Ron: warm, welcoming, passionate, clever, brave, impossible not to like. Weasleys were all like that. The biggest difference was that Ron was never forced to spend time with her, be polite or welcome her in as a guest— initially he’d hated her and was an independent agent who owed her nothing— so when he changed and brought her into his life she knew he wanted her there. With Ginny, Hermione couldn’t quite tell how much was politeness and finally having a young woman nearby in a house of boys, versus her genuinely wanting Hermione’s presence around. Once back at school they would talk, but they had their own paths and Ginny rarely spent time with just Hermione.

In some ways they had the intimacy of friendship, but it always felt tenuous for her when Ginny was clearly upset, but tight-lipped. Hermione was ill-equipped to handle emotions on the best of days.

Not having it in her to pursue a stubborn Weasley, Hermione flicked through the book Kingsley had given them, finding Scabior and the other Snatchers who had captured them. These men provoked less fearsome memories than Fenrir and his groping claws and wake of blood he left wherever he went. She flipped to the back and recognised a few Death Eaters here or there. Bellatrix wasn’t there, being thoroughly dead.

Dark task done, Hermione turned her attention back to Ron and trying to help him in some way.

Food and something else… Ah! She set up his chess board and got out the paper, which Mrs Weasley had stopped hiding. Finding what she needed, she went to help Ginny.

They spent the rest of the afternoon making casseroles and quiches enough to last the household days without a person needing to lift a spoon to have meals ready.

The work had made the hollow feeling in her chest ease just a bit, but her attention was continuously brought to the book of Snatchers, resting like a scimitar ready to come down on the relative peace of the house.

The food wasn’t delicious. Despite following the recipes and tasting along the way, it was just average fare— but it was plentiful.

It was nearly time for dinner by the time the Floo burst into green flames again. Harry came through first, looking a bit pale, but smiling as Ginny bounded up. It warmed her to see that particular smile he only held for the youngest Weasley.

“How’d it go?” Ginny asked, throwing her arms around him. His hands quickly encompassed her waist.

“We both passed,” he told them.

Ginny quickly kissed him. “I knew you would! Bet you were flying circles around whatever they set up.”

“Definitely not,” he said, a rueful look on his face. “It was mad. They had these battle dummies that obliterated everything around us if they saw anything move. Nearly got blasted dozens of times. Would’ve, if it wasn’t for Ron.”

The green flames turned back to normal before dying down to nothing.

“Where is Ron?” Hermione asked, eyes fixed on the empty fireplace. What if something—

“He’s okay,” Harry assured her, reading her mind. “Percy showed up to congratulate him and Ron waved me off. Said he’d be here soon, though.”

“Oh.” Hermione felt herself deflate as she watched the empty grate. She only half listened to Harry describe his time in the exam and the vests that acted as portkeys.

She knew Ron was fine. Harry had said so. It didn’t make her feel less nervous not having him right there beside them.

“The forest was rife with traps, of course. Good thing we had fast brooms. At one point the trees all started falling in on us like Devil’s Snare or snakes. It was like that time with Nagini at Bagshot’s,” Harry said that last part to Hermione.

Both paused to remember one of the worst times of their lives— no Ron, one wand, Harry nearly dead in a torpor for days.

“I’m glad you had fast brooms,” Ginny said, biting her lip. “Here, let’s have you look this book over so we can get the bad stuff over with.”

Ginny grabbed the Snatcher book and pushed it towards Harry, explaining the purpose of the book and how the spells worked.

“It should already have all the ones we know, Harry,” said Hermione, watching as he flipped through the book, frown on his face. He read through the descriptions one by one, nodding. He’d witnessed most of the same crimes, so all but a few showed up for him.

“Looks pretty thorough,” he said, putting it back on the table and leaning back in his chair. “Ugh. I’m exhausted.”

“Would you like some dinner?” asked Ginny.

“That would be perfect,” he said with a sigh.

Hermione pursed her lips. How could they eat when Ron wasn’t back yet?

As if summoned by her thoughts of him, the fireplace burned green and out stepped Ron, a few papers in hand.

“You’re back!” Hermione cried, latching onto him, much as Ginny had Harry. He gave a hiss as she hugged his arm to her. She stood back. “Are you hurt?”

She cast a small frown at Harry. He’d said Ron was okay!

“Only a bit hurt. They fixed me up, but I landed on my arm and it’s still sore,” he said, giving his left wrist a bit of a rotation. She looked up to his face and belatedly realised he was sporting a beard. She’d never imagined him with one before. It made him look so much older and manly in a sort of valorous way that she suddenly wanted him all to herself.

“What’d you do to your face?” Ginny asked, bringing over the casserole dish and setting it out on the table.

“What?” he asked.

“You’ve got a beard,” Hermione said, feeling her face start to burn.

“Damn it. I forgot to shave that off,” he said, fingers rasping against it. “We got into some sort of ageing mist. Me and my team were over a hundred years old for a bit. This is the leftovers of it, I guess.”

“You look like an orangutan,” Ginny teased.

“You look dashing,” Hermione corrected, fixing Ginny with a weighted glare who managed to look a touch sheepish.

“I mean, it just looks out of place because you’re young. If you grew one when you were older, I’m sure it’d look fine,” Ginny amended, getting a suspicious look from Ron.

“Do you think it’ll grow back once you shave it?” Harry asked.

Ron gave a shrug before bodily throwing himself into a chair and setting his papers on the table precariously close to the Snatchers book. “Dunno. Guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

“We cooked. Are you hungry?” Hermione asked.

“Famished, thanks,” he said, sitting up taller in his seat.

She and Ginny put together plates that the boys eagerly tore into. Ron mostly stayed quiet as Harry told them about the last of their exam.

“Then Ron went up on his broom so the battle dummies would follow him and gave us an opening. What were you, half a mile up?”

“Felt like it when I was falling from it.” He gave a shudder.

“Then that annoying girl Ramona ended up capturing the flag, but it was all thanks to Ron,” Harry grinned as he took a bite of casserole.

“So Ron sacrificed himself?” Ginny asked, not smiling at all as she reached to add more casserole to Harry’s bowl.

“Ginny…” Hermione said warningly.

The boys seemed unaware of the minefield they’d stepped into.

“We had on those vests; I knew I’d be okay,” said Ron through a large bite. “Took forever for the portkey to kick in so I fell a long ways. Made me worry the vest wouldn’t work, for a bit— and of course, I thought I’d bollocksed up the exam, but I ended up passing anyway, somehow.”

“You sacrificed yourself and you didn’t know you’d pass,” said Ginny, pausing mid serve, a potent glare settling on Harry. “You let him do this?”

Harry roughly swallowed his bite, seeming to understand the situation given the way the smile fled his face.

“Let me?” began Ron, eyes glinting in challenge. “Harry’s not my minder. I made a plan and executed it.”

The ladle in Ginny’s hand quivered, and she looked very much like she wanted to fling it across the room then dump the remains of the casserole on Harry.

“And he did quite well, it sounds like,” Hermione prodded, hoping to avoid another Weasley fight. She understood the anger and fear swirling in Ginny, but she equally understood how Ron needed to have a moment to breathe and be celebrated. “And you’re not hurt badly, are you?”

“Er, no,” Ron said, giving his arm a wave to show how functional it was.

Ginny stared down at the table and took a deep breath. “Right…” She held her breath then finally released it, though it looked as if it were painful for her to do so. “Fine… let’s celebrate you then. I’ll put on the wireless.”

She turned on the wireless and fiddled with the dial, past news and Celestina Warbeck, until a Weird Sisters track came on, music buoyant and lighthearted. Hermione moved the Snatchers book to a nearby seat so they wouldn’t have to look at it.

As Ginny sat, Hermione just caught the intense glance she gave Harry that very much said, ‘we’re going to talk about this later, and I doubt you’ll enjoy it.’

The tension was palpable, but both the girls seemed determined to celebrate and keep it merry despite how tired the boys were and how Ginny was pointedly not touching or looking at Harry.

Hermione beamed when she was able to turn the dial of the wireless to a Chudley Cannons game.

“No!” Ron let out, a broad smile on his face. “Oh it’s been ages!”

They finished their meal with a few short games of chess by the fire that Ron won with more speed than usual- whether from Harry's distraction or Ron being in fine strategic form, she couldn’t say.

The Cannons game was quickly over when the opposing team caught the Snitch. Ron let out a moan of dismay.

“We’ll get them next time!” he said before giving a vociferous yawn.

“You both look exhausted,” Ginny said to the boys. “Let’s turn in for the night.”

The question of ‘where’ hung about until Ginny waved it away with a, “Hermione do you need to grab anything from my room?”

Oh, it was going to be like that.

Harry, who normally was quite eager to spend time with his girlfriend, looked much like he did before going into battle; pale, jaw clenched, determined with a touch of fear as he worked out a plan.

Toothbrush in the bathroom, Hermione shook her head, giving Harry a look that was both apologetic and commiserating. She’d been on the receiving end of Ginny’s anger only earlier that day, and it had felt blistering and hollowing all at once. By the look of ire on Ginny’s face, he had a long night ahead of him.

Ron put on his ‘disapproving brother’ face as they went up the stairs, but it soon turned into a great yawn and a small smile at Hermione.

“Thought they’d never leave,” he said, putting out a hand and coaxing her from her seat towards him. She quickly moved where his hand guided her, until she was standing between his knees with him grinning at her. “You cooked food for me.”

“Well it was for everyone, and it wasn’t as good as your mum’s by any stretch, even though we tasted it all to make sure it was right and followed the recipe as written to the t,” she babbled until his hand squeezed hers and he squinted at her in that teasing way only he could. “But yes. I cooked for you.”

“Thank you,” he said simply, but it felt like there was more to it. “You kept busy today and ate your dinner tonight. Well done.”

She hadn’t noticed, actually. She bristled at being praised for something so very minor and pathetic in terms of accomplishments. One glance into his warm expression made her ease, feeling like a hedgehog relaxing its quills until they laid flat. Somehow he was staring at her with genuine pride, happy she’d taken care of herself even minorly. She wished she could so easily convey how she felt to him.

“We should be celebrating you right now,” she said, trying not to let the wash of emotions make her wobble.

“How were you thinking?” he asked carefully, letting another hand drift up and hold her other hand.

“I was thinking we could go to bed and you could tell me yourself about everything you did,” she said before pulling him towards her out of the chair. He was so tall his head nearly hit the nearby hanging lamp. “Maybe I could massage your hurt arm, and then—”

He leaned forward and she thought he was going to kiss her before he bent past her and grabbed some papers.

“We have something we need to talk about first,” he said, face suddenly a mask of seriousness, brows arching into an apprehensive wrinkle.

Hermione worried her lower lip. It could be anything he wanted to discuss; Snatchers, school, trials, Death Eaters… “Whatever it is, can it wait until tomorrow?”

“What?” He blinked at her.

“If it isn’t an emergency, then I’d rather wait on knowing anything about it.”

“It’s not an emergency, exactly… But you want to wait?” he asked, clearly unsure and sceptical. A measure of disbelief at her wanting to put off knowing something was natural. She rarely put off knowing anything and was fairly ravenous in her appetite for every bit of knowledge at her disposal, be it the contents of a nearby pamphlet, the next chapter of a book, or the surprise behind someone’s back. She preferred the instant gratification of answers to any joy built through anticipation.

“Do you want to wait on even knowing what it’s about?” asked Ron. “Because you normally prefer to know everything sooner than later. And this is rather a big bit of news.”

He knew her too well.

“You don’t seem to think whatever it is will be good news,” said Hermione, mentally noting how he still looked wan and worried. She didn’t have the wherewithal to process bad news, and didn’t want barely-held-together Ron to have to pick up the emotional pieces she could shatter into.

“It’s not bad news,” he assured her, “but you might not be happy with me about it.”

“Then it can wait,” she said with confidence. “Let’s just be happy tonight.”

“You sure?” he asked, eyes wide and in that particular lamplight, startlingly blue.

“Quite.”

“And you promise not to be mad that we put it off?”

“Yes,” she promised, doing her level best not to be irritated at him questioning her again. “I have something for us to go over tomorrow, too, but as opposed to your announcement, it’s decidedly unpleasant.”

Ron cast a wary look her way, body bracing as if he was about to take a hit. “Did I— Or is it— Did George do something—?”

“Oh no, no!” she denied with emphasis, feeling wholly inconsiderate she’d not made it more clear. “It’s nothing you’ve done and it’s nothing to do with your family at all! It’s just identifying some criminals from the war for Kingsley. Harry and I already did it, but you can add yourself to the witness list.”

She picked up the Snatchers book.

His face immediately changed and his body relaxed back into his usual loose, easy posture.

“We can check out the uglies tomorrow,” he happily agreed.

Part of her selfishly wished he’d gone ahead and protested. She wanted to watch him look through the book, and see him recognize his assailants so she could put them on a private hit list. She felt such loathing for the unknown Snatchers it was hard to school her features into a neutral expression. She must have failed at this, for he gave a chuckle and took the book from her.

“How about we hide that and these papers in my roll top, and get to that celebration you were talking about,” he said, bringing up a fist to cover his yawn and gave a frown. “After I shave.”

“You could keep it,” Hermione promptly said, before heat took over her face. She wished for a curtain of hair to hide behind instead of a giant poof of a bun swaying uselessly on top of her head.

Ron’s face lit up with his lopsided grin. “Oh yeah? You like it?”

“I don’t mind it,” she corrected.

“What did you call my beard when Ginny said I looked like a monkey?”

“Dashing,” she mumbled. “And she said orangutan.”

“I much prefer your description.” His voice had pitched down just a hint.

Overwhelmed by the girlish giggle trying to make its way out of her, she giddily backed up a pace until she bumped against one of the room’s wooden posts. He leaned in. “Course you might not feel the same if I were to kiss you. Might be a touch scratchy.”

Her pulse quickened. “Were you planning on kissing me?”

Ron's grin widened as he stepped closer to her, causing her heart to race. "Were you hoping I would?"

Hermione felt a blush creep up her cheeks as she met his gaze. "Maybe," she whispered.

Without another word, Ron leaned in and pressed his lips gently against hers. She could feel the roughness of his beard against her skin, grounding her in a kiss that would otherwise make her float.

After a few blissful seconds, they pulled away from each other, their foreheads touching as they caught their breath.

“I think we should take this celebration up to your bedroom," said Hermione.

“Yeah we’d better go before Mum arrives,” Ron said, taking her hand and leading her up the multiple flights of stairs to his room.

After twenty four hours of heartache and self loathing, her mind was in a state of contentment again. Once they were in his room, she quickly spelled together their bed.

And then the moment seemed to pause and they stared at one another, not sure how to go back to kissing, or try their hand at something else. Hermione was hoping kissing could lead to something else that would keep her mind thoroughly distracted.

“Do you want to change for bed?” he asked, quickly finding the same Cannons t-shirt she’d worn the other day.

“Alright, but after that I want to celebrate you a bit more. It sounds like you were really amazing.”

His cheeks turned red and he rubbed his neck. “I did alright.”

“Hmmm… Why don’t you tell me about it?” she asked, walking towards him and trailing her hands along the bottom hem of his shirt.

He gave an appreciative hiss. “I can’t talk worth a lick when your hands are on me like that.”

“Then we’d better change and get in bed.”

Not waiting for him to gallantly turn around, she pulled off her shirt, feeling a thrill as he stared at her, mouth just slightly open but turning up at the edges and hiding in his beard. Her face flushed under his scrutiny, but she liked being stared at like she was a desirable woman instead of a prudish, emotionally damaged, skinny mess.

He shook his head and started taking his shirt off. She grinned at the sight, his long lean frame, the steady muscles of his pecs and arms bunching as he finished taking off his shirt.

She began to unbutton the top of her jeans and peeled them off. Like a returning volley in tennis, he did the same.

Down to only their underthings they stood still, flushed and raw as they stared at one another and took in every detail.

He broke the tension by picking up the Cannons shirt and silently offering it to her. She took it, rubbing the soft worn fabric between her fingers. She looked up to see him watching her, breath bated, cheeks flushing all the way to his ears. She loved how he was a combination of lust and innocence, one moment ravenously kissing her, the next chivalrously trying to cover her modesty.

She let the shirt fall from her hand.

He tilted his head in a silent question.

She answered his question by bounding into his arms.

She giggled in surprise as he hefted her up by her bottom just a moment, letting her legs cross behind his hips. His long fingers nearly spanned each globe as he kneaded them. She continued to kiss him, revelling in the powerful way he held her, and how the rugged beard felt against her.

He moved her quickly to the bed, but had less surety in his movement as he went to put her down, there being a wobbly-legged moment where he crouched, but was still unable to quite reach the low bed with her wrapped around him.

“Heh, thought I’d stick the landing better,” he huffed, unsteadily placing her on the bed. She smiled and pulled him towards her, fingers curling around his broad shoulders.

“Next time I’ll build a taller bed,” she murmured, wanting to feel him against her. He smelled of pine needles and fresh air. He felt warm and firm against her.

She wanted to take in every detail of him: his countless freckles over every contour of his face, the riot of reds and oranges through his hair that wavered like a flame each time he moved.

And then she looked up into his deep-set blue eyes. Her heart beat faster seeing the tender gaze he had in his face. He had so many shades of blue in his eyes, like an early evening sky just beginning to dim. He was like a painting, and they had chosen all the best complementary colours that made him vibrate with life.

“You’re beautiful,” she let out, wanting to smother herself as he incredulously looked at her then burst out into a chuckle. He laughed the same way he did everything, with his full feeling and full body going into it. “Don’t laugh!”

“Sorry!” he wheezed, rolling off her and to the side to continue laughing, “just think your bun might be twisted too tight.”

“It’s not funny!” It made her furious he’d find that so laughable.

“There are a lot of words to describe me— you probably know more words than anyone— so it’s pretty funny you’d choose… that,” he said with a snort, clearly uncomfortable.

Hermione found herself irascibly tongue-tied, which especially seemed to happen when he was down on himself.

The dark thoughts began creeping up on her… Useless. Empty vessel.

“I do know a lot of words,” she finally said, poking him in the side. “Exasperating, childish, mercurial!”

He gave a chuckle, looking fondly at her, happy to be teased by her again. She wouldn’t let him off so easily.

“Heroic, witty, good…” Her fingers traced the swirling silvery scars up his arms. “And yes, beautiful.”

He shifted under her gaze. “I’d rather save that one for you.”

“If you like,” she said, more to get along than because she’d ever thought the term could seriously apply to herself. “But altogether you have to know I think… I think you’re just about perfect.”

His eyes rapidly blinked. “Oh.”

“I’ve always felt that way… You were always this fiery boy who felt things so deeply and I was drawn in.”

“Long noses and tattered hand-me-down robes had you done for, hmm?”

“You can try to deflect all you like, but like I said earlier, I’m celebrating you!” She gave him a small shove and he winced as he put more weight on his left arm.

“Is it still hurting?” she asked, sitting up.

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly.

“Well, they should have healed you properly, instead of sending you home hurting!” she said, pushing him back on the bed so she could look at his arm. It was the same one she’d Splinched all those months ago.

Blood spattered leaves flickered in her memory and she had to shake her head to rid herself of the dark red pools.

“Let me take a look.” She went to grab his arm, but he flinched away.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” she told him firmly, having him twist his wrist for her. His hand shook a bit as he did so, the range of motion stiff and unsteady. “You need to see the Auror’s Healer tomorrow. I don’t think they healed it right.”

“Okay,” he said, a petulant set to his jaw.

“We need you in good fighting shape for the final exam.” She took his knuckle and kissed it, surprised at the ease of such a new gesture for them. “So? Tell me about today’s exam.”

“Oh, Harry told most of it,” he said, lying back on his pillow.

Harry had told the gist of it. He was good at getting across the essential information, but it wasn’t like Ron, the story-teller of their group.

Their letters were the same as when they told stories in real life: Harry was a good communicator in his letters, mostly because he was trapped with his horrid relatives and it was his only escape. Harry’s letters would tell about various happenings, but only get very detailed if there was some big mystery to unravel. Ron’s were different in every way- he’d go on into details about little interactions between gnomes, or go off about his mother’s reactions to the twin’s newest pranks— he painted a picture; personal and thoroughly engaging.

“He might have, but he wasn’t there for all the moments your teams were split up. And even if he had told us, I’d still want to hear it from you,” she said, grabbing a blanket to cover up their nearly nude states.

“Fine then,” he hummed as she settled into the spot just above his heart to listen. In this position she could feel his baritone voice rumble through her in a comforting vibration, and in the lulls of his story she could just manage to hear his heart beat, strong and steady.

His voice was quiet and low as he told her all about the Bots and the ride across the lake, then made her gasp as he told her about saving an ungrateful Ramona.

“You dove your broom into the water?”

“Well I had to if I wanted to have an intact team,” he said with a shrug that temporarily tilted her head away from him.

The horrors continued as he described the Aging Mist, but she had to admit the leftovers of it were more than intriguing.

She had never pictured Ron with a beard before and she’d have to convince him to grow it back someday. Hermione buried her head into his chest after he described the fall from the broom.

“I can’t believe they let you fall all that way! It’s completely barbaric!”

“I told them it was fucked up,” he agreed, long calloused fingers trailing along her side. “But I’m okay, minus the arm, and I passed.”

The entire picture of it left her in awe. Ron Weasley had a talent for that, though. Every time she thought he’d proven what all he could do, he’d burst through her high expectations and do something even more amazing. He never appreciated the surprise she’d show when she marvelled at him. No, she’d need to be more firm in her praise.

“I’m really proud of you.”

His eyes widened and he let out a small, “really?”

Despite his current beard, he looked so young and innocent. She thought of first year when he won points for his chess game and the look of wonder that anyone had noticed him, let alone given him attention and praise on such an epic scale.

“Yes. Your plans were brilliant, and you lead your team so well.” She’d almost wished it had been a poor fit so he wouldn’t be an Auror, but it was obvious he was a natural.

“I dunno…” he said, blushing and tucking his head down.

“I do,” she replied, curling a leg around his and bringing him in for a kiss. It began as tentative and assuring, but Ron could always be depended on to react swiftly— just like with their first kiss when she went in first— he quickly met her with passion and caught her to him. His kisses somehow improved every time and he had now mastered the art of leaving her breathless, brainless, heated and needy. He was so amazing, and kind to others and — she broke the kiss. “You weren’t supposed to be so self sacrificing!”

“Huh?” he asked her, still kiss-drunk.

“I told you I don’t want you to be a hero saving people! I wanted you to be selfish and so you’d always come back to me. That’s the plan with the Aurors!”

“I’ll try,” he said, eyes very much set on her mouth.

“Well, try harder,” she said, holding his wrist for inspection again. She absolutely despised the thought of him laying down his life for anyone, but that Ramona character was so unworthy of it she wanted to spit.

He gave a short chuckle and she scowled up at him.

“I’ll try harder, since you care so much,” he said, nudging his forehead against hers.

“You should try harder whether I care or not!” she demanded, poking his chest. To her annoyance he gave another laugh. “It’s not something you should be so cavalier about.”

“I’m not cavalier,” he said, mouth trying and failing to contain a smile.

“Take what I’m saying seriously!”

“Oh I take you more seriously than anything,” he vowed, all mock sternness as he leaned in and kissed her again.

She couldn’t stay mad as his lips moved against her own. The kisses quickly blossomed into a fevered frenzy as their bodies moved against each other in a natural rhythm. His hand sprawled the width of her back, and fingers slid up and under her bra band for a tantalising moment, before his whole arm encompassed her waist and held her closer. There was nothing like the sweet intensity of being surrounded by him, feeling his warmth and care moving against her skin.

She moved her hips forward and felt his hardness beginning to press against her.

His hands skimmed up and down her sides, just holding back from intimately grazing her breasts.

“Rooon, please just touch me,” Hermione breathed into his mouth before kissing him deeply again. She didn’t care if she sounded desperate or silly, she wanted Ron’s hands upon her. And then they were, thumbs pressing across her breasts and teasing her nipples until they stood taut and tight under her bra.

Her soft moans encouraged him, and he leaned forward, kissing his way down down her chest until he nestled up to her breast. He looked up at her for silent permission she happily gave, nodding as he gently moved the cup of her bra and took her nipple into his mouth.

Her hands trailed through his soft fiery hair. As a couple they slowly fell back into his bed. It surprised her how he could be on top but she didn’t feel smothered or crushed; he just managed to keep enough of his weight above her to make it comfortable.

His fingers trailed down to her cotton pants, just teasing the elastic.

“I want to touch you,” he whispered as two of his long calloused fingers dipped just a touch around the edge of her pants. “That okay?”

“Please,” she whimpered, not wanting him to ask anymore. She just wanted him everywhere without pause. “Do whatever you want.”

His eyebrows went up at that, and a wicked smile lit his lightly flushed face.

“Alright then,” he said, voice nearly as deep as she’d ever heard it.

He gently began to slide the pants down her legs and she quickly assisted by raising her hips. She was naked before him, but all thoughts of modesty left her as his fingers returned. With tenderness they explored her nethers, crooking and coaxing, making her let out sounds she never thought she’d be capable of that quickly. He’d definitely been paying attention the last time, because he knew every spot and angle.

“You’re so wet for me,” he moaned and she let out a gasped, “yes!”

His touch scorched and filled her with bliss until her mind was clear of anything but Ron, Ron, Ron.

“Ron!”

Then his mouth was on her clit and sucking, fingers still exploring. She gave a heady sound of approval, feeling the momentum and tightening coil in her centre. He fingered her faster, the sounds of her slickness and gasps filled the room, and with a final buck of her hips she felt the coil release. Her orgasm crashed over her, leaving her twitching around his fingers, muttering nonsense of thanks and curses as he kept pumping his fingers, slower and slower through the waves of contractions.

In an enticingly filthy moment he licked those fingers and smiled up at her.

Not giving him more than a moment to bask in his triumph, she grabbed him by the sides of his face to properly kiss. He scrambled up her body and quickly complied. His beard was wet with her, and somehow that made her even more turned on.

They kissed and she rubbed her wet fanny up and down his tented boxers, feeling the hardness pressing against her, just barely teasing her, ready to enter her if not for the boxers. They both stopped, looking down at what they were doing.

“Erm… I don’t think… Are-you-ready-for—?” he began.

“Maybe not quite yet…” she agreed.

“How about I keep my boxers on?”

Part of her wanted to see his hardness. Part of her wanted to have him take her virginity right there. She wasn’t sure if she was ready, though. Maybe she was? But it was probably better to know instead of guess. It’d be difficult to resist letting him plunge into her if he removed that last barrier.

“Okay, boxers on,” she said, moving herself back into the position they’d just been in.

She ground her hips upward, canting until he was again teasing her slickness.

“Fuck! You feel so fucking good,” Ron panted, starting to hump into her with equal fervor. “Have a perfect little pussy.”

The dirty words made her speed up her movements, and seemed to push him towards the edge as well. She kissed him again, urgent and without finesse, only passion and hunger guiding her. After only a minute or so he gave a low grunt and spent himself.

The two lay there, panting and entwined, basking and senseless, unable to think of anything to say. They were smelling of sex and had very nearly gone all the way, and she felt a sense of satisfaction that made her fall into a boneless puddle.

“Fuck me, that felt amazing,” Ron weazed, before wobbily lowering himself to give a her quick kiss. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Hermione replied, too tired to even think of cleaning up or looking for her wand. Ron was much in the same boat. He curled around her, nuzzling his face up on her naked breast.

After a few minutes he mumbled into her side, ”this is by far the best pillow I’ve ever had.”

Hermione let out a puff of a laugh. She played with his hair and stared at the ceiling, watching his posters moving. She’d nearly dozed off when he began moving. With his absence, she suddenly felt how naked and filthy she was.

She could hear the sound of him standing and watched as he removed the boxers, his cock still partially hard. She held herself back from smacking his cute bum as he leaned down to find his wand that had rolled onto the floor.

He said a few cleaning charms and the sticky wetness was gone.

“Er, maybe we should do a charm?” he said, face going a bit red.

“Charm?” Hermione dazedly asked.

“You know… the, er… contraceptive-charm,” he muttered.

“Oh yes!” she said, sitting up. They probably were safe, but it rapidly occurred to her that they were walking a precarious line, especially considering how young they were. She found her wand and did the incantation. She had Ron do it too, just in case she’d not managed it correctly.

Ron handed her the Cannons shirt a second time. This time she took it. “Don’t feel like you have to cover up, because seeing you with yours tits out is just about my favourite sight.”

“Seeing your arse is welcome too,” Hermione shyly laughed, holding the shirt to her chest.

“You like my arse?” he asked, a bit cockily as he put on some new boxers.

“I thought you already knew that,” she said, putting on the orange t-shirt. As much as she wanted to bask in Ron’s attention, she was cold and didn’t want a naked run-in the next morning with Harry or, Merlin-forbid, Mrs Weasley.

“How in the world would I?” He got into the bed and stretched out to his full length, foot going over the end of the bed. He propped his head up with one hand and stared at her expectantly.

“Back when we left Bill and Fleur’s wedding and you changed clothes and I packed your tight jeans,” she muttered, eyes fixed on the bed spread. She thought it had been obvious.

“Y’mean you did that on purpose?” She nodded, glancing up at Ron who gave a chuckle. “And here I was, miffed I couldn’t so much as shift one nut.”

“Or fit your wand,” added Hermione.

“I swear you go straight filthy after we’ve had a roll around,” he said, poking her nose.

“What did I say?” she asked, before giving a huff. “You know I meant your magic wand and not... You’re absolutely perverted!”

“Mmmhmm,” he agreed, turning the light off. “But now I know you’ve been eyeing my arse for at least ten months and even plotted to see it better. Who’s the pervert now?”

She blushed anew and curled up into her side of the bed.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he softly added. “I like knowing you thought of me like that.”

“I still do.”

“Right,” he added, giving her a small nudge. “Thanks for that.”

“I have no choice in the matter. It’s always been you,” she said with a shrug. It was an easy thing to say, for it was as true a fact as the moon circled the earth and the North Star was constant.

She heard his breath catch before resuming again. For the longest time, he didn’t reply. She was about to ask if he was asleep when she heard a quiet, “and you for me. You’ve always been my girl.”

She smiled at the thought. Niggling thoughts of his interest in Lavender, Fleur and Madame Rosmerta tried to buck their way in, but she kept them at bay knowing none of that mattered— she had Ron Weasley beside her in bed and he’d said he loved her just the other day.

As the giddiness wore off and sleep started to beckon, she realised she hadn’t put a silencing charm on herself yet. She couldn’t very well do the charm and not have an explanation in place.

“Erm, Ron?”

“Hunf?” he grogged.

“I was snoring the other night,” she lied. “You need your sleep, so I’m going to put a silencing charm on myself.”

He breathed in slow breaths of someone mostly asleep before he gave a nonsensical, “s’okay. Go backta work.”

Soon he was snoring away, somewhat muffled by the pillow he had his face buried in.

She put the spell on herself and fell asleep to the sawing snores of Ron.

Hermione woke up to a hint of sunlight warming her nose, gave a lazy stretch and looked to her side. A hint of ginger hair poked above the blanket.

She smiled and rolled over to find Crookshanks giving a large stretch before waddling her way with a small ‘mrrrrowl.’

As happy as she was to have her cat boop her with his head and purr, she had hoped to wake up to Ron. As if he knew her thoughts, Crookshanks went to the door, gave a demanding meow, and gave her a stare that clearly meant ‘now.’

She undid her silencing spell and was about to get up for the demanding feline when there was a small knock at the door.

“It’s me,” came Ron’s voice.

“Come in.”

He opened the door, bringing a plate covered in a gingham towel, and a sweet smile that made her feel a flutter in her middle. Crookshanks wound around his ankles.

“Go on, you mangy beast,” he muttered, but he had a fond smile on his face as he watched Crookshanks prance out the door.

His jaw was pink from being recently clean-shaved. She’d been fond of the beard, though she thought him every bit as handsome without it.

“It’s your room, you don’t have to knock,” she said, as he approached the bed.

“Didn’t want to interrupt you changing or something.” He blushed and gave a shrug. She ducked her head and smiled at how they were back to shy teenagers in the light of day. “Brought you breakfast.”

With a flick he removed the towel from the plate. The toast and eggs and fruit all looked and smelled perfect. Her mouth watered, but her hands clenched.

“Thanks,” she said, grabbing a piece of toast and taking a bite, hand held under to catch crumbs. “Have you eaten yet?”

He nodded and put the plate on the bedside table beside her, obviously displeased that she hadn’t taken the fork and started shovelling food.

Ron went to his roll top desk and took out the book of Snatchers and his mysterious papers from the night before. Eating felt even more impossible.

He was holding the book and hadn’t seemed to realise his torturers could be in there. And she was going to let him find them without warning him. If she let him know about the Snatchers he might avoid the book altogether, and then she’d never know their identity.

“Kingsley wants us to mail this to him after?” he asked, holding up the book.

She nodded.

Ron whistled and Pig fluttered through the window.

“Dunno if he can carry the book, actually,” Ron said with a small laugh. Pig puffed up his chest and made a mad scramble for the book, enthusiastically carrying it a few feet towards the window. “Not yet, you little numpty!”

With a grunt, Ron caught the little owl from the air and the book tumbled to the ground, falling open to a page of Snatchers. Even from the bed she could see the borders of two Snatchers turn a glowing orange.

Ron stood frozen, staring at the book. His ruddy cheeks paled and his eyes widened just a hint.

Having no idea how long she would get to look at the Snatchers before their identities were lost to her, Hermione quickly bent down and picked up the book.

The two Snatchers shared the last name Crowthers. They were clearly related, even without knowing their names. They were thick-set men, with prominent jumps in their nose bridges, the same sloping heavy brows and wavy near-blonde hair that went into overgrown mutton chops. Marcellus Crowthers had a somewhat thinner neck and somewhat softer and duller look compared to his brother. Otho Crowthers looked ahead with a malevolent stare, and a cruel smirk that hinted at a cold indifference. He also had ears with overlarge cartilage around the edges. She had seen that before in a rugby match her father was watching. He called it ‘cauliflower ear’ — a deformity caused from blunt force trauma to the ear. One normally saw that in wrestlers and boxers. In this case, she imagined he’d been in many a brawl.

Ron had been silent a long time.

“The pictures glow orange if you recognise someone,” she murmured, closely watching Ron as she lifted the book up. He stared at the pictures with rapidly thinning lips. “You touch your wand to them if they committed a crime you witnessed and the border turns green. If you also think of the crimes they committed when touching the photo with your wand, it lists the crimes.”

He blinked at the page.

“I don’t need to do that.”

“No one can see it except you and the staff who are doing the trial. It’s so they know what crimes to charge them with and can ask you to be a witness if they need to. It also saves them interviewing you to know which crimes you witnessed.”

His normally expressive face dulled until he looked worn and thin as an old flag about to rip in the wind.

Without saying a word he took his wand out and held it to the book.

As the pictures budged over for the text she saw Marcellus’s photo did not need much space for whatever he’d done. Otho Crowthers, on the other hand, needed photos to move and make way for the invisible list of his crimes.

She was going to find him and hurt that man. It wasn’t a question in her mind. She’d have to, for whatever he’d done to Ron. She’d kept that Skeeter woman in a jar for weeks, and cursed Marietta Edgecomb’s face for crimes that now seemed so small by comparison. Yes, Otho Crowthers was going to pay; in blood if she could make it happen.

Ron stared at the text she couldn’t see, face horribly devoid of emotion.

When he’d stared at it for over a minute she finally spoke.

“Harry and I found Fenrir and a few of the Snatchers that got us before Malfoy Manor,” she quietly told him. “Are these some of the Snatchers you came across last winter?”

He nodded and gave a rough swallow. “Yeah.”

She had to remind herself that she didn’t ‘officially know’ what had happened to him. He hadn’t told her yet. She couldn’t force him to talk about it now; not when he was staring at those faces; not when he had a career dependent test that evening and needed his wits about him.

She needed to lighten the mood somehow, but had no gift in that. Distraction was all she could think to do.

“These eggs look perfect. I suppose Ginny didn’t cook.”

“No,” he said with a wane perfunctory smile, obviously made for her sake.

“Your mum?”

“Mhmm,” he replied, turning the page so harshly he almost tore it. With purpose, he turned to the S names, scanning with his finger until he found a man named Stennis Smythe.

“You know their names?” she asked in astonishment.

“Only the three.” He quickly touched the photo of Smythe with his wand and photos moved a bit for the invisible list of crimes to form. It wasn’t quite as long as Otho Crowthers’, but it was close.

He silently searched through the book until he’d found three more figures he went through so fast she barely had time to see their photos; a gaunt bald man, a man with a dark beard, and a small round-faced man.

“I thought there were five of them, not six,” she said, as he went back to Greyback and others she was familiar with.

“One of them was unconscious by the time I was escaping, so it was five of them versus me,” he said shortly, finishing up the book, putting a feather-light spell on it, and holding it out for Pig. “Take this to Kingsley.”

Pig seemed to sense Ron’s unease, and landed on his shoulder, leaning in to him until his little owl head was resting on his owner’s jaw.

“Thanks, little guy,” said Ron, giving the small bird a small tickle on his chest.

With a tiny hoot, Pig leapt down and took the book, over compensating for what he thought would be a heavy book, and nearly hitting himself on the ceiling. He regained his flight path, and made his way out the window.

They both watched the owl until he was gone.

“Are you alright?” she quietly asked Ron.

“What?” he asked in return, looking back at her. “Oh— Oh yeah I’m fine.”

He had just lied through his teeth, putting on a grimace of a smile. “Now that’s all over and done with, I’d like to show you something.”

She felt nervous as he guided her to sit, but was still standing himself. His hands nervously fiddled with the edge of the papers. After having to hold her tongue with the Snatchers book, she had little patience for whatever surprise he was going to spring on her.

“So…” he said, rocking back on his heels a moment and biting his lip, eyes fixed on the papers. “I was looking for a quill and ink the other day and needed to borrow some from you. You and I definitely need to do some quill shopping later— I know, it’s not book shopping, but it’s still one of your favourites…”

He glanced up at her, clearly trying to soften her up. She raised her eyebrows in a sign for him to continue.

“Yeah, right… Erm…” he coughed. “I didn’t mean to pry, but in your bag I found your notes about finding your parents.”

She suddenly felt cold.

“So I went and talked to Percy because he’s in charge of family reunification. There’s a discretionary fund for helping with the costs of it, like portkeys and travel expenses, and I told him everything I knew about your parents and their new names and their jobs and— and then he came to me today at the Auror office after the exam and… Hermione, they’ve found your parents.”

She stared at him, mouth agape, brain staggered as well as if she’d been hit over the head with a frying pan. She could feel her brain trying to restart, emotions trying to flicker to life, actions trying to animate her. She could flee the room she was so overwhelmed, or she could angrily hex him for his interference, or rain down hugs and kisses upon him until he was absolutely smothered in love.

She settled on bursting into tears.

“I’m sorry!” he said, quickly hovering his hands over her, seemingly not sure where to place them. “Did I— Should I not have done that? I’m so sorry. I just wanted to help, and—”

“Ron—” she began, but her sobs choked and overwhelmed any words.

“If you don’t want the Ministry’s money, it’s okay! I got that job at the Pub so I could save up some money to help you,” he reached under his bed and took out a bag filled with Muggle cash, putting it on her lap. “So I can help pay for that! And then there’s the Auror signing bonus— y’know, if I pass—” he said in a low voice.

He shook his head, undeterred. “So we can make this happen. However you want. I just want you to be happy, and thought this might help, but now you’re crying and—”

“Ron Weasley!” she wetly cried through a sob.

He wilted in front of her.

“You… You high handed…” He flinched. “Perfectly wonderful man.”

He looked up, mouth a perfectly open ‘o.’

“You’re… you’re not mad?” he asked, peering hopefully at her.

Unable to articulate the roiling emotions, she shook her head and continued to sob, hands curling around the wads of money he’d laid in her lap.

“We’ll get you your parents back and we’ll make everything okay again,” he said, putting his much larger hands on hers. “Right after my C.R.E.s are done, we can go, if you want.”

She nodded, though a gravid feeling of dread began to grow in her gut at the thought of seeing her parents so soon. She wasn’t ready, but she was too much of a shamed coward to say so out loud.

Instead she let Ron hold her hands as she cried. She cried for how much she loved Ron and how kind and wonderful he was. She cried in relief that she didn’t have to get money or resources to find her parents. And she cried knowing that when she brought back their memories they’d finally be lost to her for good.

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author’s notes:

A special thank you to everyone who took the time to write a comment! Y'all are so thoughtful and I thoroughly appreciate you all so much. You keep me inspired! :D Let me know what you thought.

ETA- forgot to add link to the duelling stuff about Ron- one of my fave metas and I had to insert it somewhere in here

Chapter warnings: depressed/anxious/scattered thinking, character ‘death’, description of blood and wounds, explicit sex scene, swearing

If you want to skip the explicit sex scene, but not accidentally miss anything, here are the words to stop and start at: STOP AT: 'The kisses quickly blossomed into a fevered frenzy as their bodies moved against each other in a natural rhythm.' START AGAIN AT: 'The two lay there, panting and entwined, basking and senseless, unable to think of anything to say.'

[tekdecksmtg]

Draft Day: Arena Valiant + LGS Frogs

After some Sealed to get familiarity with the set, it’s time for my first Bloomburrow Draft. The Arena draft is a bit different than in-person because you aren’t going to play against folks you draft with, so while you need to see lines to make a deck, you don’t need to be concerned with passing them something nice.

I’ve done a few drafts on Arena and struggled mightily for the first few. I think I was focusing too much on ‘creature types’ rather than general synergies, but then drafted a sweet Boros deck that went 7-1 with my only loss coming due to land/land/land draws down the stretch.

Hopefully that bit of practice prepared me well as I rolled into my first live draft of the set.

I opened with a Dreamdew Entrancer for my Pack 1, Pick 1 and started heading towards frogs, and to my surprise absolutely no one was looking at frogs. I got passed every frog and every piece of synergy the deck could have. I put together my pile and curve as follows, hoping to get a better showing than my prerelease where I mixed frogs and rabbits.

Match 1: L 1-2

Opponent was on Boros valiant. Game 1 was probably my best game of the day; the pieces came together so well and I drew so many cards that my opponent could only hope that I would deck myself. Game 2 on the draw and her deck came out blazing; way too fast with pump valiant triggers forcing me into chump blocking and eventually taking the loss. Game 3 I got completely flooded, drawing out 11 of my 16 lands and sitting there as she slowly chipped away for the win.

With the card draw in my deck, between matches I decided to drop down to 15 lands and bring in an Eluge, the Shoreless Seas from the sideboard.

Match 2: W 2-1

Game 1 and somehow I got land flooded again; the few pieces I was able to get out just weren’t able to play off each other and I lost to his Golgari deck. Game 2 felt much more like Match 1, Game 1. I got draws early and often from Pond Prophet and Bellowing Crier, keeping his board empty with Run Away Together, and then attacked through for the win. Game 3 was super close where he had the early and mid-game advantage, taking me down to 4 life with fliers and drains. I was able to stabilize and build up a board with stuns and Reach. The turning point was when he made an ill-advised full out attack, sensing the tide turning, when he should’ve stayed patient. He killed my Dreamdew Entrancer but at a massive cost to his board. I was able to bring in a Splash Lasher with its Offspring the next turn to stun his other creatures and get through for the match win.

Match 3: W 2-0

Needed a win to get a Play Booster. In Game 1 I went off early bouncing frogs and his creatures but he was able to even up a bit until we were both out of cards and top-decking. Luckily I drew out a few more creatures ahead of him and got the win. Game 2 he had a wide board of rabbits as well as Ygra, Eater of All. I had to chump for a turn but then was able to stun it for three turns with my Dreamdew Entrancer which gave me time to catch up. Then I drew into full blink and tap synergies with Lilysplash Mentor and Skyskipper Duo to keep Ygra, now a 20/20, locked down along with the rest of his board to win the game.

Overall: 2-1-0 (5-3-0; 5th Place out of 8)

The place made no difference in prize structure but I was a little disappointed to see I ended up in 5th considering 2nd place had the same record. That just comes down to tiebreakers, and having lost my first match set me on a course for a low Opponents’ Win %.

Reflection: Nice to bounce back (see what I did there?) after losing Match 1. Frogs can absolutely blast off, but if you get interrupted you have to find card draw to bring it back together. Otherwise you’ll just be pulled into chump blocking and won’t be able to break through. The deck seems like it can be amazing (and is for sure fun) in the Limited environment but I’m doubtful it has full legs (pun intended) for Standard. If you get passed some early frogs in your draft and Simic looks open, give the deck a try!

[quinloki]

AHHHH thank u for ur advice and encouragement 🥹🫶🏻 I immediately followed her so I can devour her entire blog and study up (wiki can only do so much lmao) I will do that crew justice 😤

Ok, my next OC is Celeste Greyscale(she/her)!! The only other OC on my list who was initially inspired by a fic (tho she has diverged far more at this point compared to Zella)

Warning for heavy topics for this one, but here is the link if anyone is interesting!~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/50155342/chapters/134294377?view_adult=true ~

Celeste is a 20-22 year old leopard seal selkie with long dark brown hair and spotting to matching her seal species on her human skin, and currently a proud crew member of the Straw Hat Pirates. She’s also my shortest, standing at 5’4”, but don’t let her height and soft, curvy appearance fool u, she’s got hella muscles under her blubber and can lay the best of them out flat! She tends to favor wearing swimsuits or wet suits under her pelt as she likes to regularly jump off ship and swim in her seal form for fish and fun/exploration!

Now, my bullet points

• thankfully had a fairly normal childhood in a small shipwrights village in the North Blue, living with her parents and 2 siblings. During one particular repair visit, she was inspired to paint and travel by a famous pirate artist who stopped on their island with her crew, amazed by her works and stories and wanting her own adventure, to tell it through her paintings and inspire others.

• All was well until it went up in smokes when she was 13. A group of poachers disguised as merchant sailors found them and raided her village, capturing most of the younger selkies to be sold where they saw fit. Celeste was sold off with a few of the older, stronger kids to be ring fighters on island on the Grand Line, surrounded by a mix of human, mink, fishmen, and other selkie slaves. She only escaped once when her parents (who had miraculously survived the initial attack) had found her, but even that was short lived and she was returned to her prison parentless. She spent several more years there, believing there was no hope or future for her anymore, only a life of cruelty (in so many ways) as the Ring Leader’s shining favorite.

• Her true freedom came in the form of our favorite rubber lad led crew, when one of the doctors working for the ring fell ill and they needed a replacement, snatching up Chopper after overhearing a conversation. He met Celeste post fight, who slowly managed to get her talking, saying how his captain was going to help! That everything would be ok! While he managed to wiggle his way into her heart, she and the others still doubted him and his hope. Boy were they shocked when he was right! The crew swinging in looking for their lost crewmate, invoking and aiding a riot, returning the pelts to the selkies and freeing them, with Celeste at the lead of the other fighters. At the end after they ran down and dispatched their enslavers, a daunted Celeste was approached by a bounding Luffy and bright little Chopper, with an invite to join their crew. After a week of recovery and consideration, and a heartfelt convo, she said yes and hasn’t looked back since

• She fights with a javelin and is well experienced in hand-to-hand, packing more punch (and claws!) when in her halfway form where she stands at 6’6” (a full 11’ in her seal form!) She is also gifted by the Sea Mother with the ability to manipulate water and its various forms, even being able to heal minor-mid injuries with it (though it is more exhausting than transforming*, healing especially so)

• *her Leviathan form is the only exception, as she transforms into a spiked, long clawed 60’+ monster of a seal. But it puts so much strain on her body that she’s susceptible to fainting and heart attacks afterwards

• She’s got a more quiet personality, vibes really well with Robin in that way, but more gentle and easily flustered. Her trust in others is kinda funny, going from 0%, to 50%, to 110%. Has even fallen for a few of Ussop’s lies from time to time, which Nami is quick to fix

• Has her own painting desk that she uses for mainly storing extra supplies (and rainy days), instead using a travel easel and sketchbooks to work on her projects, often joined by Ussop when on the ship, and finding her own spot when they visit a more quiet island

• She has go-to nicknames for her crew; Bug for Luffy and Ussop, Minnow for Chopper, Honey for Sanji, Zoro, and Nami, and Dear for Robin, Franky, Brook, and later Jinbei. Used usually when having silly/fun convos or when she’s trying to smooth them when they get huffy

• Kisses to the forehead are part of her selkie culture, to bestow them good fortune and well wishes when departing. After witnessing Celest me interact with other selkies and an inquiry, Luffy and Zoro were the first to lower their heads to her when she drew the short straw to be on ship duty. From then it became a more regular thing for her give and receive for the whole crew.

• She is, not a happy camper when she gets sick, becoming more weepy and refusing to eat or take any medicine in pill form. After a particularly hard flu she caught, Chopper made sure to underline his notes to only give her liquid medicine whenever possible. Is this a trauma response? Maybe hehe

• Speaking of she has, so much, for so many reasons. Between loss of home and freedom, she had gained and lost a mate during her enslavement, even later losing her child after only getting to hold her for two weeks before they ripped her from Celeste (did she die? Sent away? Who knows [me 👁️])

I’m gonna stop there for now, I have so much for Celeste she is my beauty, my blorbo, lives rent free in my head in pretty dresses and happiness (and maybe some sadness but shhhh) (id also like to say if this ever gets too much or anything, im happy to tone it down im just, really excited to share but so nervous haha. Thanks for letting me basically spill my guts about them)

Sincerely,

The 🌷

\o/ Thank you for sharing again =D

Sorry it took me a bit to get to this - I am not, unfortunately feeling much better today compared to yesterday, and I had to read it a few times to really grasp what I was reading 😵‍💫 The brain just wasn't keeping up.

But I got there, and I love her! From the name to the culture, to the story to the names 😍🥰❤️

I love the different sizes of her, and the abilities too! xD Luffy and Zoro tilting their foreheads down like "okay now us" is just such a cute visual and I really love that too.

Man, going through hell and having a very assured, very bright and cheerful Chopper be there to help. T-T my heart. I love Chopper, he's just so sweet and genuine. Lil' guy. gibe him all the head pats.

[faofinn]

30. Patient 0

They’d booked an Airbnb, the whole family. Fao, Finn, Hars, Ely, Jess and Tai, as well as all the kids. They’d found this place in the Cotswolds, away from the hustle and bustle of London, and it was perfect. Loads of room, a cosy fireplace, all the essentials. They’d not been a able to get their Christmas work patterns sorted to spend it together, so they’d agreed on a week off together now the kids had broken up to enjoy being with the family. 

But Christmas time meant coughs and colds were rife, especially with young kids, and they’d quickly spread through the group, decimating their plans and soon reducing them to the Sick and the Well. Luckily the house they’d booked was big enough, and they were able to claim a part of it as a spot for those who had gotten sick to stay and be miserable whilst the others stayed busy trying to enjoy themselves. 

Of course Harrison was the first to succumb to it, far from surprising as a grizzly Levi had refused to be anywhere but his hip. With his immunosuppressants, any illness was so much worse, but it was also Harrison - a cold would be the end of the world, but pneumonia was just another day to work. 

Keeping a close eye on everything (and in contact with his consultant), he was happy enough to curl on the sofa with snacks and Disney films. 

Fao was next to join him, bringing Kieran along, just proof that Levi definitely was not sneaking into his brothers' room. Harrison felt beyond miserable, and couldn't help but grin as Fao joined him. The two curled up on the sofa together, the kids squished up with them. Harrison had his head in Fao's lap, pestering the other man to play with his hair - Fao couldn't lie down with his chest, so Harrison was simply making the best of a bad situation, was his excuse. He also drew the short straw with Harrison being the first one to fall and now in charge of the remote. 

Aristocats was the first film, of course it was, every song earning a rendition from Harrison, much to the kids' delight. It wasn't that unusual to hear Hars sing now, happy and content and stable for the first in a long while. It had been his favourite film as a child, the VHS one of his only possessions, and one he still had. Things were easily lost and stolen during all the moves and upheaval, but by sheer determination, he managed to keep it safe. 

Once he'd moved in with Steve, its place on the top of the list had only become more solidified, Steve coincidentally buying him a small stuffed cat. Of course with Harrison's history, Steve quickly joked he was O'Malley the Alley Cat, scrappy and street smart, willing to do whatever he needed to get what he wanted. And Fao ran with it, taking Hars to get his O'Malley tattoo on his 18th birthday. Somehow it had survived all the injuries and operations and scars, and he absently rubbed his hand across the ink. 

It was easy to forget where he'd come from, especially when he was feeling so rough and miserable, but he wouldn't change it for the world. Kieran had dozed off on top of him, and Harrison carefully stretched out for his phone and swiped his arm. 8.7. He knew he didn't need to check, not really, but since he'd been so unwell, he just couldn't help himself; he needed to make sure they were okay. 

Levi was curled into Fao, his hand curled around the loose fabric of his hoodie and snoring through a snotty nose. He sighed, settling back into Fao, happy both his kids were fine. 

"I'm sorry you got sick." He murmured to Fao. 

Fao hummed, his hand returning to Harrison’s hair. “Mm, it’s okay. Was bound to happen.” He said softly. “Doubt we’ll be the last, either.”

"We definitely won't be." He said softly, making a content noise at Fao's fingers in his hair. "God, that's nice."

Fao laughed, though it threatened to turn into a cough. “Careful, you’re married now.” He teased. “Kieran’s sugars okay?”

"Tai can have Ely." He brushed it off. "Yeah, he's doing well with them."

“Mm, good.”

"I feel fucking rotten." He admitted, voice a whisper. 

“I bet.” He murmured. “Can I get you anything?”

"You're meant to be sick too, not looking after me."

“I’m sick but I’m not dead, and I’m not immunocompromised either.”

He hummed. "I'm happy enough here, you’re helping."

“Mm, okay.” Fao murmured. “Who do you think is gonna be next? Finn?”

"Alfie. The three keep swapping beds. Finns been kicked out of yours so he should be safe." He joked. "Or maybe Jess, just for five minutes peace from him."

Fao laughed, setting off a cough. When he recovered, he sniffed. “So the germs came from your house, eh? I think it’ll be Finn or one of my kids, and if it’s Arthur then Ely won’t be long behind.”

"Levi was fine when we left." He protested weakly, though there was a flicker of mischief. "And I'm immunocompromised. I'm always gonna get ill. How can you be so mean to me?"

“I was gonna say it’s not my fault you’re immunocompromised, but it actually is.” Fao said lightly. 

Harrison stretched out. "Oh, yeah. All your fault."

“So rude of me.”

"How dare you save my life."

“Shocking behaviour. You’re just as much to blame for my chest sounding as shit as it does, though.”

"Sure, sure -" Harrison broke off coughing, finally stopping with a groan. He took a few moments to breath, his chest heaving. "Fuck's sake. I can't do this."

Fao frowned, reaching out for Hars. “Hey. You alright?”

Harrison nodded slowly, pushing himself more upright. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just need to not be ill."

Fao rested a hand on his shoulder. “Careful.”

"I love the kids, I do, but they can keep their germs." He tried to joke.

“I know, as if it wasn’t bad enough working in a hospital.”

"Yeah, that's true." His frown faded as Levi stirred, his heart melting at his sleepy yawn. "Hey, Leaf. You okay?"

He rubbed his eyes with a closed fist and then his face on Fao's hoodie. "'m tired."

"I bet. Did daddy wake you up?"

He nodded, shuffling about again. "All the coughing."

"Oh, I'm sorry, kid. I didn't mean to."

Fao stroked a hand over his godson’s hair. “Go on, back to sleep, kid. We’ll try not to wake you up again, hmm?”

"Is daddy okay?" He stretched out, worry on his face.

“Your Daddy’s fine. He just had a bit of a cough.”

"We've all got coughs. And snotty noses." He nodded. "And sleepy."

“Cos we’re all poorly.” Fao said. “You have a snooze again.”

He settled back down. "Okay. Love you." 

Harrison grinned. "Love you too, Leaf."

“Sweet dreams, little one.”

"Oh, bless him." Harrison murmured. "I hate when they're ill, but he's so cute when he's snuggly."

“I know, until they won’t leave me alone. Beth would live in my pocket when she’s ill.”

"She might end up joining us by the end of the week."

“She probably will.”

"It does make me laugh."

“What does?”

"We come away on holiday, finally all have the time off together, and now we've been split up with patient zero over here." He shook his head. "So much for a big family gathering."

“God, I know. It’s sod’s law.”

"Not to sound like a stroppy kid, but it's not fair."

“You always sound like a stroppy kid, and then complain when yours are.” Fao teased. 

"Don't be rude to me, I'm sick."

“So am I.”

Harrison moved to settle against Fao again. "So be nice to me."

“Mm, no.”

"Ouch!"

“You love it really.”

He grinned up at him. "Yeah."

“Can’t complain.”

"Watch me."

Fao snorted. “Makes a change, not.”

"Don't laugh at me!" He protested with a laugh.

“Nope.”

There was a knock on the door, drawing both men's attention. Finn stood in the doorway, wrapped in an oversized hoodie and a blanket, and looking particularly miserable. 

"Shove over, let me join yous."

Fao grinned. “Welcome to quarantine.” He joked. “It’s got you too. Must be man flu, the girls are immune. Come join, Hars put Disney on, just don’t wake Levi or he’ll get mad.”

"It's not man flu, I'm dying." Finn said dramatically. "There's no room for me on the sofa." 

"Snooze you lose." Harrison laughed. "It's definitely man flu. Even the kids are boys."

[ziracona]

hhhh okay, now im wondering: on the topic of adiris and max being left to face the displeasure of the entity after ilm, and yeah we can all figure it would be downright unpleasant, but now i wonder... in From the Earth, you established that adiris is kind of the representative of an entire village of people. is that canon to ILM?

if it is, was that village thrown into the trial system in ILM? cuz i got this incredibly unpleasant mental image of poor adiris trying to placate her really pissed off god and it Not Working, and she finds herself on both sides of the stick, being forced to hunt the people from her village and also sometimes thrown into matches /with/ them against other reapers. the agony of poor adiris, who tries so hard to protect her people, being forced to hunt and sacrifice them to a god that had been harsh but... still hers, ya know? would she be able to maintain her faith in the Entity through that?

or even, in another bad timeline, when the entity starts gathering other survivors after recovering, what if it takes the dedicated village area away from adiris, tells her she needs to 'earn' her people back, and scatters the survivors into the forest to mix in with the other people it's gathered. dangling the carrot of reunification in front if adiris to force her to perform better, be even more cruel to people she's trying to save.

i have a lot of feelings about her, okay.

It could definitely do that to ring up some quick emotional pain, but I doubt it would. It’s got /such/ a good thing going with Adiris and her people—Adiris is utterly devoted to it. Nothing else there actually worships it: she does. And her entire town willingly sacrifices themselves routinely and live in a constant state of agony from their illness. They’re an unending, willing food source of both pain and joy, and it has like, 0 upkeep work. It just has to put in an occasional appearance, and get worshiped. Adiris speaks a language literally no one it ever takes is going to know, so no one can even try to talk her out of things. She’s got a whole village to keep her on its side, and she’s convinced the Entity is a big G god who sees her as special and saved her and her followers’ lives and made her a high priestess as an honor, which is like, what she dreamed of her whole life. I don’t think it would jeopardize that level of a sweet deal, without a damn good reason. It’s like with an emotionally manipulative and abusive partner or parent: they don’t threaten to kill you or your dog, unless you already are starting to get out from under their thumb. If you’re right where they want you, they won’t mess up a ‘good’ thing.

It would be terrible for Adiris if it did change, though. And it would have to do some major work to convince her it had a valid reason, which is a big reason it wouldn’t do that. She is like…/the/ perfect find for it. Most killers are afraid or opportunistic or broken or literally being forced every step: Adiris sincerely loves and would die for it. She’s one of a kind.

She really is. FtEoNR would have so much happen if I kept going. In my head, it’s probably got the coolest finale.

But yeah, mostly it was Max who lost out and went through hell post ILM

[rianafying]

hello diary i’m back idk what is happening or why i ever feel what i feel, but here goes nothing

i’ve been feeling very creative today, had a terrible morning woke up insanely dehydrated, could barely move, my arthritis and psoriasis had flared up as well, i had to cancel my gig but they’re fine, they had other people on board. i don’t really feel like i missed out because i literally couldn’t have gone and needed to stay home and rehydrate, plus it’s like 37 degrees outside, i’ll stay home thanks. anyway, so i got some much needed rest and i ate and drank loads of water and i feel replenished now and i feel hopeful and creative and i wish i could’ve just started something, a project or whatever. but i have no many chores standing firmly between me and what i actually want to do. will is a terribly difficult thing to conjure. i had a telehealth appointment to get diagnosed w adhd in melbourne so i can access the necessary treatment, but they’re telling me it’ll be at least $800 and at least 4 sessions to just get diagnosed. and that to me is a huge undertaking. i told them ill think about it but what is there to think of, i know fully well i cant afford it. i wish i had an ipad to draw on. ive been wanting to draw something for ages and i could draw on my physical sketch book but i just haven’t? i just cant? its the guilt from all the chores i haven’t done. there’s a proper inspection due in 4 days and i just know it’s going to cripple me with anxiety as the date comes closer. there’s so much stuff that i want to do. and yet i do nothing. i’m not doing even 1% of everything i want to do, because im stuck doing 100% of the things i hate but have to do. when im older, i hope i get permanent residency in australia or any other first world country, i wish i have a safe and permanent place to live, regardless of size or quality. i wish i have someone who can help me with the tasks i struggle with and i can help them with tasks they struggle with and if we both struggle at the same things, we’ll understand each other, we can struggle and learn together. hopefully this will not be a romantic partner because i don’t think my brain is hardwired to deal with matters of the heart in a stable way. i hope that by the time i feel safe, the children of gaza feel safe too. i hope we win. i thought of them when i got dehydrated and worried that ill get a uti, i thought about how much worse they have it. i think of them all the time but especially when im suffering and im reminded that they have it many folds worse. i try to derive hope, strength, and gratitude from that instead of helplessness, and powerlessness.

i haven’t been able to take out the trash and get rid of my dead plants and they’re starting to attract bugs and i really need to do that today, i’ve been saying that everyday, it’ll just take seconds. i also am very close to having $0 in my account because i had to buy some meds and i found some vitamins for half price and decided to buy a whole buttload of them #forhealthiguess also its SO HOT. and im trying to avoid turning on my air conditioner because my electricity bill last month was $140??? like why? it’s a crazy world out here. crazy expensive. for the millionth time, i really should get a real job soon. or try to. i doubt i’ll ever have enough to be independent. i fear i’ll always be at the mercy of my parents. i fear i’ll heal too slow to keep up with the damage.

all day i did nothing. that’s not true, i went grocery shopping and i made meatballs, and spaghetti and it turned out great. the one thing i always cook successfully is any kind of pasta, never fails. i feel 50% guilty for not doing anything important today. such as taking out the trash, cleaning my room, etc. it’s the one thing i hate doing: house chores. makes me wanna scream, cry and throw up. i made a mistake, last night i accidentally left my earphones on the couch at reception downstairs and hadn’t even realised until earlier today when i was leaving the building and saw it on the couch. i feel so relieved that i live in a place where nobody stole it all day. part of me feels like i don’t deserve to live so well. because for nearly a year, i have been living wonderfully, everything’s going so well, and all my demons are inside of my own head. this is new for me. there’s no actual threat, i think. still feels like there is. i’m less overwhelmed than usual, but still pretty overwhelmed. there’s always too many ideas and not enough ability to implement them. how do i feel chaos and clarity simultaneously. i just need a break from this mental torment. i think getting my apartment clean will definitely help with that. but it’s such a big task, even thinking about it makes me fall to my bed and start to rot. suddenly i find that my body won’t move. adhd sounds like it’s so quirky and funny until you’re surrounded with piles of garbage and flying insects and there is a mysterious sticky brown patch underneath the fridge that just will not move. until there’s no space to walk from one end of the room to the other without stepping on and crushing things underneath my feet. it feels as if my brain has acquired an endless supply of shame and guilt. i will probably not feel focused until my room is actually clean. clean enough to be inspected. clean enough to maybe even have visitors. i get anxious just thinking about the prospect.

[transsurlee]

For the character ask game, you can do Doctor Surlee and you may tell any headcanon or anything you’d like!

ah yes, the character i feel the most normal about in the entire game /j

thank you for asking me abt him! i have so many thoughts LOL

so in terms of headcanons ik i've posted about him having ocd before, but i just wanna reiterate that bc it was a good post, and also it was written in a haze on my own ocd meds and that's how you know it's good content

hmmm other surlee stuff

despite being shown in canon to have extremely strong gags, i headcanon him as having a laff atrophy illness (called laffsickness in my personal lore) that causes him to lose laff the further he gets from the playground and have a very low laff maximum. laffsickness makes everyday travel a risk for him, as it's possible to have your laff cap drop down to 0 and become permanently sad, a condition which is almost always fatal. this is a big part of why he created his teleport system (which allows him to move from place to place safely) and prefers to either use a portable hole to go places or stay in safe areas. in my personal lore, he has combined-type laffsickness (combining low-laff cap/laff atrophy and laff degeneration) but those symptoms can exist separately

you can also cause him to drop laff if you startle him hard

doctor surlee gay trans icon imo and i personally think he and slappy have a gay thing going on. i just think surlee's whole story hits different through that lens and something about rewriting all of time and space just to try to save someone you love even if it means they might not know you or be close to you in that timeline or that the whole world exists so you can save them and make sure they live out the rest of their life makes me feel like my brain is being microwaved

i also think that when it comes to the fissiontons he very much sees them as like. one of the worst failures of his life. he really feels like it should have been him to get torn into nonexistence sometimes. honestly, more often than not he feels like that

i think that, were it safe for him to battle, he would have it out for the chief justice in particular because he raided his lab in the early canon. i doubt surlee has ever forgiven him for that

i also think that he would like. never be able to kill the chairman. i think that given the opportunity, he would falter. i think he sees the chairman as like. everything he hates about himself and thinks that maybe there's a way to take what he can't stand in himself out of the chairman. the chairman is like part of him and he just couldn't destroy him

i have normal thoughts and opinions about this monkey

[bereft-of-frogs]

hello friends, it is October 1, I am at my PEAK spooky bitch, in honor of this have a list of bad summaries of everything I'm working on for whumptober (and a reminder that I have been flaunting the 'rules' of whumptober for 5 years, not planning on changing now, won't start posting until Halloween 🎃)

Day 1 (safety net, swooning, 'how many fingers am I holding up'): unlikely hero deeply resents being forced to save everyone (status: outline only, eehh sort of lower on the priority list, probably won't get finished tbh)

Day 2 (delirium, 'they don't care about you'): dude just really fucking hates a teenager for no reason; bad vibes are infectious (status: I have 332 words, should be able to finish)

Day 3 (journal, solitary confinement): I once again attempt to make found footage happen ('stop trying to make found footage happen, it's not going to happen--') (it's going to happen) (status: I'm obsessed with this, it's at 1.2k, I think I can get this done)

Day 8 (overcrowded ER): ack crowds (status: 299 words, but it's an old draft so finishing will mean getting over the cringe factor)

Day 11 (animal trap, captivity): yet another character who was definitely supposed to be dead is in fact not and is going to make that everyone's problem (status: barely an outline, I've been kicking this one around for ages but I'm sort of torn on how deep to go into the disturbing content, so...we'll see. if anything it will probably be just the first chapter of a wip)

Day 12 (red, insomnia): second chapter to a currently posting WIP in which our characters play detective, make an ill-advised, true-crime-obsessed friend, and debate the nature of ghosts (status: first draft done! needs second, currently at 7.4k, posting this one on Halloween)

Day 13 (cold compress, infection, 'I don't feel so good'): first chapter of a future WIP (I'm embracing the serialized nature of fandom) in which there are concussions, dreams, and deeply held headcanons (status: 272 words...I think I can finish it? the outline is extensive)

Day 14 (flare, water inhalation): :) big water = bad (status: 434 words, but also there are more because I'm kidnapping a cut dream from the dark ocean duology. the dreams in that got a little out of hand, but some of the cut ones were really fun so I'm glad I found this one a home)

Day 15 (suppressed suffering): deeply unfair consequences (status: first draft done, 3.2k)

Day 19 (psychological): you can't convince me that consultants aren't evil geniuses (status: 2.5k, there is 0% chance of this being finished, because it's going to be long - this is the outline that I wrote at work last week that made my hand go numb - but using the prompt as a springboard to work on it. this took over my life for a couple days last week)

Day 21 (vows, restraints, 'don't move'): folk horror #1 (yes there are two) (status: vague outline only, unlikely to be finished)

Day 23 (shadows, stalking): literally my worst nightmare (status: so this is actually excerpts from my nanowrimo project, because I need a little push to get it started and not just re-outline it again. I have one scene written in a notebook, so we're starting to chip away at that barrier)

Day 25 (storm, buried alive): HAUNTED HOUSE!!! 👻💀👻💀 HARVEST FESTIVAL!!!!!!! 🍂🎃🍂🎃STORM!!!!!!!!! ⛈️🪦⛈️🪦YEAAAAAAAAHHHHH-- (status: 269 words, this one is a late addition idea but I'm moving it up in the priority because it is the spookiest, I'm obsessed)

Day 28 (bloody knife, sacrifice): folk horror #2. this one came to me in a dream. (status: there's an older draft that has like 2.7k in it but like Day 19, I want to be able to do it justice, so I doubt it will be finished, but it's a good springboard)

Day 29 (troubled past resurfacing): a little interaction I have absolutely no business writing (status: done, 1.1k, debating moving to Day 6 (recording))

Day 30 (bridal carry): literal. babies. (status: I have about a thousand words here but I don't...love them. I really want to finish it though. I did math for this. Sort of stretching the prompt on this one.)

Alt Prompt 10 (shaking): SADNESS. 🥲 (status: first draft done, currently at 2.4k, manifestation of my denial)

'hey, you said there were 15 ideas, why are there 17 here--' shutup

laying them all out like this is slightly stressful, especially because I've become a two-draft minimum person, but I have a plan. I think I'm going to focus on first drafts until the weekend of October 14-15, when I'm going up to dogsit for my parents, then after that shift priority to the second drafts of what I have finished. I think that's...doable...? we shall see!

[missfingers]

the way i literally have an entire yakuza 0 rewrite plot skeleton in my notes for my fic . like okay i doubt ill ever be able to write it fully out but my fic is pre-0 and then i went ahead and rewrote the entirety of 0 to fit the au. things that happen:

majima and kiryu being together the entire time since theyre dating . duh

majima falling for makoto and being like "but im with kiryu ?!?" and kiryu literally not giving a shit and being like majima . follow your dreams. polycule formed

nishitani is way more prominant cause i love that geriatric bitch. i use him as a deux ex machina whenever i get stuck

nishitani also brutally murders sagawa. Smile ^_^

tachibana doesnt die

makoto kills oda

lee. um . still dies. sorry. its plot necessary

Makoto Stays Fucking Blind

[horizon-verizon]

They say bastards are irrelevant and can't carry family names, yet think Aemond's bastard carried his.... Make it make sense... I don’t think he would’ve wanted to carry the name of a kinslayer, brother of a usurper. Imagine living in the Riverlands admitting that the man who massacred thousands with dragon fire is your father. Oof. I’d rather say I’m some random knights bastard if I don’t look Valyrian.

And remember Aegon the Conqueror's words to Harren The Black, “When the sun sets, your line shall end.” A subtler element is that living in Harrenhal gradually makes women infertile via stillbirths and miscarriages. All of the houses that held it that weren't simply directly wiped out in political backfires collapsed in a few generations from a lack of heirs, and the life-long female servants Arya meets there have the same issue. Alys Rivers is Lyonel Strong's daughter, the Lord of Harrenhal, and what happened to him, his sons and grandsons ? To Simon Strong and his grandsons ? Every single one of them died. Alys' child very like met a similar fate.

Actually, I doubt that Alys and her son would have lived with his identity as Aemond’s bastard in the open. Even though she already told Regis how he was Aemond's son before she defended herself and Harrenhal against some of the crown's men, later she and her son disappeared from history altogether. And her telling him that seems more to give her time and put the attackers off balance than any expectation of him getting the throne.

I assume:

she didn't abandon him, decided to raise him, and she just left to keep her son safe--she disguise him and his paternity

or she could have abandoned him after using him and leave wherever (Aemond raped her and this son is a rape baby)

or she and/or her son died in the bout of illness that overtook parts of the riverlands and KL/the Crownlands.

As for the curse of Harrenhal disallowing the women in it to give birth successfully, there are wives of Strong men who were able to birth kids despite Alys’ past inability. Plus, if we think this child is hers and Aemond’s, she birthed Aemond’s child successfully. I have doubts over this curse over female or male fertility. 

We see Alys’ son survive and live long enough for her to use against attackers. If she and Aemond actually got married and this child was theirs, this child would be trueborn and have “Targaryen” as his surname, not a bastard to have “Rivers” or "Waters" as his surname.

And if they weren’t married, then the son would customarily be considered a Targaryen bastard, not a Strong one because his father is the trueborn nobleperson with a house surname while his mother is not a trueborn noble. Aemond was a crownlander and a royal person, so if this was his bastard son, the son's last name would be "Waters".

Also, since the Strong male line and the Strong house went 0 before this son was even born, again, he’d be a Targ bastard, not a Strong one because the Strongs are extinct.

This is the last we hear of Alys and her son by Aemond:

When Ser Regis demanded to speak to their lord, a woman emerged to treat with him, with a child beside her. The “witch queen” of Harrenhal proved to be none other than Alys Rivers, the baseborn wet nurse who had been the prisoner and then the paramour of Prince Aemond Targaryen, and now claimed to be his widow. The boy was Aemond’s, she told the knight. “His bastard?” said Ser Regis. “His trueborn son and heir,” Alys Rivers spat back, “and the rightful king of Westeros.” She commanded the knight to “kneel before your king” and swear him his sword. Ser Regis laughed at this, saying, “I do not kneel to bastards, much less the baseborn whelp of a kinslayer and a milk cow.”

What happened next remains a matter of some dispute. Some say that Alys Rivers merely raised a hand, and Ser Regis began to scream and clutch his head, until his skull burst apart, spraying blood and brains. Others insist the widow’s gesture was a signal, at which a crossbowman on the battlements let fly a bolt that took Ser Regis through an eye. Mushroom (who was hundreds of leagues away) has suggested that perhaps one of the men on the walls was skilled in the use of a sling. Soft lead balls, when slung with sufficient force, have been known to cause the sort of explosive effect that Groves’s men saw and attributed to sorcery.

Whatever the case, Ser Regis Groves was dead in an instant. Half a heartbeat later, the gates of Harrenhal burst open, and a swarm of howling riders charged forth. A bloody fight ensued. The king’s men were put to rout. Ser Damon Darry, being well-horsed, well-armored, and well-trained, was one of the few to escape. The witch queen’s minions hunted him all through the night before abandoning the chase. Some thirty-two men lived to return to Castle Darry, of the hundred that had set out.

The next day, a thirty-third made his appearance. Having been captured with a dozen others, he had been forced to watch them die by torture one by one before being turned loose to deliver a warning. “I’m to tell you what she said,” he gasped, “but you can’t laugh. The widow put a curse on me. Any man o’ you laughs, I die.” When Ser Damon assured him that no one was going to laugh at him, the messenger said, “Don’t come again unless you mean to bend your knees, she says. Any man who comes near her walls will die. There’s power in them stones, and the widow’s woken it. Seven save us all, she has a dragon. I seen it.”

The name of the messenger is lost to us, along with the name of the man who laughed. But someone did, one of Lord Darry’s men. The messenger looked at him, stricken, then clutched at his throat and began to wheeze. Unable to draw breath, he was dead in moments. Supposedly the imprints of a woman’s fingers could be seen upon his skin, as if she had been in the room, choking him.

(Fire and Blood; “The Hooded Hand”)