#i don’t have this symptom anymore but what if it’s connected to this other thing that could be wrong!! my tummy hurts! l

[ghosttotheparty]

realising i have health anxiety and it’s the fucking worst i feel like i’m doing to die

[pepprs]

covid is such an evil evil disease and an evil evil thing to live through lol

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

ONLY HUMAN

Summary: Changes are happening. Rafe can feel it.

Paring: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Dub-Con/Non-Con, "Blood-Drinking", Character Death, Smut, Horror.

Word Count: 2k words

Author's Note: Wanted to contribute to Kintober but also wanted to experiment with how and what I write. Hope you enjoy and Happy Halloween 😈

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

It was the headaches that first hinted something was wrong.

Not just mild, fleeting headaches, but relentless migraines. They were excruciating, bouts of pain that seemed to originate from deep within his skull, right behind his eyes and radiating outwards in waves.

They were accompanied by disturbing visual auras—shimmering zigzags of light that swirled around his field of vision, making the world seem fractured and broken.  He couldn't help but wonder if something sinister was taking root—something malignant, something deadly.

Over-the-counter pain pills and the heavy prescribed meds from his dad’s bathroom cabinet didn’t help. Being exposed to sunlight only made things worse; once a source of warmth, now felt like molten fire, forcing him to wear his sunglasses indoors. But after a while even that didn't work.

The only respite came when he submerged himself in utter darkness. And so his days became isolated, cocooned within the confines of his bedroom. The thick, heavy curtains drawn creating a sanctuary from the glaring sunlight that now felt like an enemy.

Cloaked in this artificial night, he clung to the few comforts that remained: scrolling through his Instagram feed to stay connected with friends. But even their mundane accomplishments made him feel worse, knowing the world carried on—while his was standing still.

Topper boasted about his championship win and how his dad was lending him the family boat to celebrate. Kelce posted pictures of himself at the golf club, scoring a suspiciously low 90. And then there was you. Sweet you. Pretty you.

“When did you get a puppy?”

He clicked on the video, showing you cradling the little fur ball. Despite the pain, a chuckle escaped Rafe's lips.

Ah, so it wasn’t your pup after all but a friend’s, he mused. He watched as you gently petted and cooed at it, your voice a calming balm soothed even his anxiety while his gaze drank in your contented features slowly, lingering just a tad too long on your eyes and lips.

Clearing his throat Rafe clicked off the vid.

RAFE- Yo can you guys quit posting this shit? You know I'm dying over here. Don't need to feel like killing myself too.

The boys' "lols" and your kiss and hug emojis, along with well-wishes, made him smile, giving him a glimmer of hope. "It'll pass in a few days," Topper responded. "Migraines can't last forever. You'll be up and about soon," you assured. And for a brief moment, Rafe believed it.

But then, the loss of appetite hit him.

Food suddenly didn't have the same appeal anymore, not after the headaches started. Bland, tasteless, gagging on his favorite meal—the texture of food itself seemed off somehow, like it wasn't going down quite right, like it wouldn't clear his throat when he swallowed it. And if the terrible texture wasn't bad enough, it tasted like it wasn't made for human consumption. Every bite seemed artificial, a blend of plastics and chemicals.

Drinking water only seemed to make things worse—every sip led to a lurching of his stomach, a violent uprising of nausea that ended with him hunched over the toilet, retching, even when it seemed there was nothing left.

Enough was enough.

He decided to video call Dr. Morris.

"Were you able to take your temperature recently?" She asked as she scribbled down his list of symptoms.

Rafe touched a hand to his forehead. "Yeah, it’s pretty normal. Checked it this morning; it was 98.6, or maybe just a touch below."

"Alright..." Dr. Morris murmured as she scribbled notes. "And the headaches, did they appear with the eye changes?"

"Eye changes? What changes?"

Dr. Morris gave a short laugh as if he was pulling her leg but stopped immediately when he didn't laugh with her. "There's discolouration around the edge," she said, her finger making a circle near her own pupil. "It's crimson. Haven't you noticed the color change?"

Rafe leaned closer to the screen, trying to see the reflection of his own eyes. They did seem different—possibly a bit darker around the edges? It was hard to tell in the dim light.

"I haven't noticed—no offense, doc, but I've had other things on my mind," he replied tersely. "So, what's wrong with me?"

"These symptoms can indicate many things: the flu, food intolerance, a bacterial infection. We'll need to run tests. But given your age and lifestyle, I suspect it's just a bug. I'll refer you to Claire for a blood test appointment this week, and in the meantime, I'll prescribe something for nausea to help you keep food and fluids down."

"Alright... doc." he nodded with a sigh of relief "That sounds like a plan."

Time bore down upon Rafe, its weight an oppressive force that enveloped each passing moment, shrouded in the inescapable cocoon of artificial darkness. The world outside seemed distant, lost behind the heavy curtains drawn across the windows.

Confined within his dimly lit room, the persistent throb in his head wove a malevolent lullaby, blurring the boundary between reality and hallucination. The antinausea pills only dulled the edges of his suffering, allowing sips of water to stay down, while he managed to eat small morsels of food. But a hunger unlike anything he had ever experienced before clawed at him from deep within, a gnawing emptiness that defied satiation.

Amidst his despair, his Instagram feed served as his bridge to the outside world, a bittersweet reprieve. Travels, festivities, sporting events—brief snapshots of lives that captivated him as long as it took to scroll. Yet, within those fleeting glimpses, you shone distinctly. A light in the darkness. With a magnetic radiance, your digital presence seemed more real than the dim walls surrounding him. He found himself irresistibly drawn to you, toggling between your Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook, silently observing every aspect of your life.

You were his friend and yet, with each photo and video, you unveiled new layers he had never noticed before. Were you always this serene? This happy? Your laugh that infectious? Peace seemed to radiate from you. And he found himself wanting to understand its source. Your digital presence had become a double-edged sword—offering him solace at one moment and then amplifying his torment in the next.

And then one night, the comforting yet painful ritual of immersing himself in your virtual world was interrupted.

Rubbing his eyes, aching from the screen's glare, he decided to splash some water on his face. Entering the dimly lit bathroom, he was startled by his own reflection. Leaning closer to the mirror, his eyes just inches away from the glass, he scrutinized the change.

The crimson around his pupils had grown darker, more pronounced, and now covered most of his pupil.

But what scared him more was the pulsing pattern. Every heartbeat seemed to send ripples through the shade, expanding and contracting with his pulse as if it had a life of its own. As if it were connected to some deeper, more sinister force within him.

"What the fuck?"

Panic set in, and Rafe fumbled to switch on the brighter overhead lights, hoping that maybe the subtle light from the bathroom bulb was playing tricks on him.

But under the stark, unforgiving light, the reality became even clearer. His heart raced, matching the rhythm of the ominous pulsing in his eyes. It was as though something was alive in there. A parasite. A silent watcher buried deep within, looking back at him from the mirror.

And just as that thought gripped his mind, another thought intruded, one that wasn't his own.

SLEEP

A dark siren echoed through his consciousness, promising peace and tranquility if only he gave in.

SLEEP

Its voice dripped with honeyed sweetness, promising it would make it all better.

SLEEP

Rafe felt its presence, an intangible force that clouded his thoughts, pulling him down into an abyss of darkness. He wanted to resist, to fight back against the compulsion that demanded his obedience. But fatigue suddenly weighed heavily on his eyelids, and the false comfort of the voice was impossible to resist.

SLEEP

With trembling hands, Rafe switched off the bathroom light, the shadows immediately lengthening and merging into one great expanse of blackness.

SLEEP

Suddenly, his steps were heavy, as if sinking into quicksand, his mind numb and zombified as he trudged along. Exhaustion made it a struggle to even reach his bed, and when he finally collapsed onto it, heart pounding against his ribcage, he began to sob because he knew he was surrendering to the unknown.

You awaken with a jolt, your heart racing and your eyes darting wildly in the pitch black. The air in your bedroom feels thick, an ominous heaviness that chills you to the bone. Your bed, once a sanctuary of familiarity and safety, now seems alien and cold beneath you.

Something catches your attention—a subtle but undeniable weight at the foot of your bed.

With trepidation, you force yourself to look down, and sheer horror grips you.

There, bathed in the eerie glow of the moonlight, is Rafe—or at least what remains of him. His posture is slumped, defeated, his silhouette a mix of lost and predatory.

Your throat tightens, and a scream gets stuck within it, but before it can escape, Rafe's voice—eerie and unlike him—cuts through the silence. "I had to see you... it commanded me too."

In a supernatural blur, he's suddenly upon you, his weight oppressive and suffocating. His skin is sickly pale, drawn tight over gaunt cheekbones. But it's his eyes, blood-red radiating pure evil, that hold you captive.

His icy fingers glide over your face, every touch searing your skin like a brand, a mixture of tenderness and threat that has you trembling.

"You're scared," he rasps, his voice a deathly whisper. “I’ll make it so you’re not."

The moment your lips meet, everything fades—your perception of past, present, reality; memories; even the chilling dread that had consumed you. Suddenly you're floating in a void, a liminal space between desire and oblivion.

His lips are a potent elixir, and with every passing second they pull you deeper into a spellbound haze. Your body is electrified with the intensity of his embrace. Every inch of skin comes alive beneath his ice cold touch.

Every whisper of breath; moan; gasp emanating from your lips mingles with the steady beat of your pounding heart. Your thoughts evaporate like wisps of smoke as the kiss intensifies to lust that surpasses all understanding.

His fingers leave a trail of fire down your exposed torso, as his hands slip away your clothes and his own. You do not notice. You're too consumed by pleasure and need alone. The need to be taken. The need to be fucked.

Suddenly he's pushing inside you and moving against you with an impatient hunger, claiming you for himself until you become one entity with one pulse, one breath, one desire—to reach ecstasy together.

With an animalistic vigor, he thrusts into you again and again, faster and harder, each stroke more powerful than the last. Pleasure builds inside you until there are no boundaries between pain and pleasure, only bliss. Bliss consumes every fragment of your being, building into an orgasm so profound, so primal, mounting higher and higher until—

Cold fingers seize your chin, jerking your head to reveal the delicate skin of your neck. Your eyes widen as grotesque, razor-sharp fangs extend from Rafe's perfect white teeth.

With agonizing force, they snap onto your throat, synchronizing with the grinding of his hips, and the sudden, overwhelming orgasm that tears you into a million pieces. Your muscles convulse and quiver around his cock, while Rafe's grip on your shoulder tightens, anchoring you in place as he drinks deep.

"What's happening?" you choke, sensing your heartbeat slowing. Tears now cascade down your cheeks, mingling with the blood trickling from your collarbone, staining the once-pristine white bedsheets.

"Rafe... I'm scared," you whisper, your grip on his arm weakening as desperation fills your fading gaze.

A monstrous hunger gleams in Rafe's eyes as he briefly withdraws, crimson trailing from his lips. An unsettling vitality now surrounds him, no longer pale or sickly; he appears healthy and handsome, reminiscent of his former self – a picture of perfect health.

In a cruel mockery of tenderness, he raises your wrist to his mouth, his eyes gleaming with ravenous hunger. With savage grace, he sinks his bloodstained fangs into your vein.

The world seems to bleed into his mouth as your life force drains. Each beat of his heart grows louder, stronger, overpowering the diminishing rhythm of your own, which slows... slows... and finally fades into silence.

GIF by outerbankspov

HAPPY HALLOWEEN MY LOVES 🖤😈😘

--------------

Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please like/reblog/drop a comment would love to know what you think. Until next time ❤️

[waywardxwords]

Witches

Summary: While hunting a witch, you accidentally stumble upon her collection of sex pollen. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: ~4.2k

Warnings: DO NOT ENGAGE IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18; THIS CONTENT IS RATED M FOR MATURE Swearing, Supernatural-y things (witches), sex pollen trope, smut (p in v, f masturbation), fluff

A/N: This is my first time writing Dean smut and also my first time using the whole sex pollen trope. But this was fun, and I enjoyed writing it. If you’re feeling up to it, please let me know what you think! Thank you for reading!

There wasn’t anything you hated more in this supernatural world than witches. They were ruthless, conniving and downright batshit crazy. But alas, if you and your hunting buddies didn’t hunt them, then no one would. They would continue wreaking havoc on anyone they wanted, and you couldn’t have that.

So now you found yourself in the living room of a woman you had suspected spent her free time doing witchy things. You had no idea what you were looking for–bones, spell books, weird herbs or plants; the options were literally endless. 

All you knew: people in this town all connected to this woman were ending up in rather interesting predicaments and you were determined to find out why. 

“Don’t touch anything that looks suspicious,” Dean’s voice came through the other line as you used one hand to press your phone to your ear. “I really wish you would’ve waited for me. We should’ve gone in together.”

“Yeah, well, there’s no time for that,” you muttered as you searched. There were a bunch of old books, but none of them screamed hocus pocus to you. You fumbled with a tiny wooden trinket box that had intricate lines and details on the outside. As you lifted the lid, you saw it contained some kind of yellowish-green powder. “This is interesting…” your voice trailed off as you brought the box closer to investigate. With your phone pressed between your shoulder and ear, you lifted the box. 

“I’m serious, do not touch anything. You listenin’ to me?” You rolled your eyes at his voice. 

“I’m not touching anything, Dean. Cool it,” you mumbled as you examined the substance. Within a moment, your nose suddenly felt tingly and itchy. It started before you could stop it—sneeze. A cloud of the yellowish-green powder encircled your face and created a haze. Your eyes immediately felt watery. The phone fell from your ear as you hurried to place the box back down on the table and brushed your face with your hands. As you pulled your hands away, you saw dusty yellowish-green hues. You missed Dean calling your name through the phone, but he didn’t miss the words that fell from your lips in the background. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” You breathed as you plucked the phone from the hardwood floor and brought it back to your ear.

“What’s happening?” Dean’s voice was elevated and you heard the rev of the Impala’s engine in the background.

“Uh, Dean?” You watched the powder on the floor around you. “I accidentally touched it.”

“God dammit,” he groaned. “I’ll be right there.”

Dean had gotten to the witch’s house in minutes, which made you realize you probably should have waited for him and gone in together. But that didn’t matter anymore. You were waiting for symptoms to start–every little thing you felt made you wonder if it was caused by the mysterious substance. 

“Talk to me, Sammy,” Dean answered the phone roughly as he sped to get back to the motel. He said it was the safest place to be in case something happened. Sam was on his own hunt, about four hours away. “It’s like a yellow color,” he described, as Sam probably asked what it looked like. 

“Like pollen,” you murmured from the passenger seat. Suddenly, you felt warmth in the pit of your stomach. It was an odd feeling, almost like you had just consumed a warm cup of tea or hot soup. 

“Yeah, like pollen,” Dean repeated into the phone. The warmth wasn’t going away, it was only getting hotter. So hot, you felt the need to pull off your leather jacket even though the cool autumn air nipped at your skin. Dean did a double take from the road to you, and back again. “What are you doing?” He pulled the phone slightly away from his mouth. 

“I’m getting really hot, Dean,” you mumbled, worry crept through your words. You didn’t get worried often—or show it, at least—but these damn witches…all bets were off. 

“She says she’s getting hot,” Dean relayed over the phone before pulling it away and hitting the ‘Speaker’ button. 

“Uh, okay…so she sneezed into a box of pollen and now she feels hot?” Sam was typing as he spoke. 

“Somethin’ like that,” Dean confirmed as he turned into the parking lot of the motel. By now, your skin was on fire. The heat had spread from just the pit of your stomach to your chest, your arms, your face, and…other places you preferred not to mention. 

“I’m on fire,” you mumbled as tears stung your eyes. As soon as the car was in park, you had the front passenger door open and moved to be outside of the Impala. The cold air felt glorious on your skin, but the fear kept your feet moving. 

“She’s burning up, Sammy. You got anything? Anything at all?” The worry was present in Dean’s voice, as well, though you barely noticed over the waves of heat coursing through you. 

Once the two of you got into your shared motel room, you beelined for the bathroom. Your fingers wrapped around the edges of the porcelain sink and you closed your eyes. The coolness from the surface of the sink calmed your shakes, even if just for a moment. 

“A what pollen?” Dean asked into the phone, as if he couldn’t have heard Sam correctly. After a pause, he continued. “You gotta be kidding me.” He breathed, but didn’t hesitate to get his mind back in the game. “Okay, walk me through it.” 

Dean’s tone should have made you nervous, but all you could focus on was the way your heart nearly vibrated in your chest. There was a heat blazing so hot in your center, that you realized at that moment it had created a slickness in your underwear. Your nipples were so hard, they ached against the soft cotton fabric of your bra. 

You glanced up to look in the mirror for the first time. That’s when you noticed the heat had risen and created patches of redness up your chest and into your cheeks. Your breathing was labored, almost, and you realized it was as if you had just had…

“Okay, hear me out,” Dean grumbled as he tossed his cell phone onto his bed and ran his hand over his mouth as he tried to find the right words. “You’re not gonna like this…but it’s called sex pollen.” He cleared his voice before he said it. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Your chest rose and fell with each breath, you eyed him carefully but that made you feel even hotter. The warmth was overwhelming, so you fanned yourself with one of your hands. 

“I know, I know,” he held his hands up as if he were just the messenger. “It’s a spell. It makes you wanna get it on, Marvin Gaye style.” He couldn’t help the grin that tugged at the corners of his lips. You rolled your eyes and threw the hand towel at his face, missing slightly. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” 

“Get it together,” you huffed. “So how do I break it?”

Dean gnawed at the inside of his lip, which was something you hadn’t seen him do before—or noticed, anyway. God, you couldn’t look away from his mouth. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you thought you might crumble. Your fingers reached out quickly to grip the doorway of the bathroom. 

“From what Sam has read,” he paused as he nervously rubbed at the back of his neck. “You gotta…do it.”

Your eyes narrowed at him. “Do it?” You repeated. “Can you be a grown-up for five seconds, please?” 

“Sex, darlin’,” he closed his eyes and said it hurriedly. “You gotta have sex.” 

All of the color drained from your face. Even though you knew that was what he meant, it was still a lot to take in (no pun intended). You closed your eyes for a moment as you tried to force your brain to work, but all of the blood seemed to be rerouted to other parts of your body. 

The feelings that ran over you made you realize you were feeling extreme sensations of being turned on. This went far above any other time you had felt this way—thinking about it almost made it worse. 

“You still with me, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. When you peeled back your eyelids, you were met with his green gaze. You had never seen his eyes so green before—and in the hue of the motel bedside lamps, you spotted speckles of gold and brown. You had never noticed how beautiful his eyes were before. 

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered over the word. “So what now? Just try to let it pass?”

Dean cleared his throat and broke away from your stare, his tongue darted out over his bottom lip again. God dammit, if he doesn’t put that tongue away… You tried not to squirm standing there in your jeans and a tank top. “Uh, actually, Sammy said if you don’t…take care of it,” he waved his hand in front of himself in a circular motion. “It uh, it can be fatal.” 

“I’m sorry, come again?” You blinked once, then twice. 

“Yeah, uh, you gotta take care of it,” he brought his hand up to rub at the back of his neck again. You noticed the way his bicep flexed and tugged at the flannel that covered his arm. The heat in your parties made you think they may actually catch on fire. 

“Fuck, Dean,” you groaned and turned to move. The only thing that seemed to bring you any kind of relief was pacing. The friction your jeans caused between your legs was incredible. “What if…” you hesitated as you processed. “What if I try to ‘take care of it’ myself?” You used air quotes and looked back at him. 

He seemed to process for a second. “I mean, maybe? I don’t have any idea…” the tension in the room was so awkward. But the more time that passed, the harder it was for you to look at Dean and try to not jump his bones. 

“Okay, go to the bathroom…do not come out, you hear me?” You instructed firmly. Dean grabbed his phone and nodded. 

“I’ll text Sammy and see if he’s found anything else,” he mumbled and hurried to the bathroom before he closed the door. You weren’t sure, but you could’ve sworn you saw him blush—and Dean Winchester never blushed. 

By the time you heard the door click closed, your fingers worked the button on your jeans. As soon as the clasp was freed, you shimmied them down your thighs and kicked them off to the side. You decided to leave your underwear and tank top on, fully aware of the man just on the other side of the bathroom door. 

As you dropped down on the bed and sat up against the headboard, your knees parted automatically. The heat that escaped between your legs was so intense that the cool air made you gasp. You closed your eyes as your hand snuck under the band of your black panties. The only thing you could see was Dean…his chiseled jaw, the way it tightened when he was mad, or frustrated or deep in thought; the rough stubble scattered across his lower face and chin; the way his eyes bore into you every time he looked your way. These weren’t new feelings, just feelings you had been able to avoid for so long. Now that the sex pollen had taken over, all bets were off. 

Your index finger circled your clit. You tried to be quiet, truly. This situation was awkward enough and you knew the doors in this motel were practically cardboard and didn’t contain the sound. But the moans still fell from your lips hastily. You couldn’t stop them once you started. You dipped your fingers down and couldn’t believe the wetness there; the feeling was overwhelming. You squeezed your eyes tightly shut once more, envisioning the god of a man on the other side of the door. And then it happened. “Ugh, Dean,” his name rolled off of your lips dripped in absolute bliss. 

“Uh, you okay in there, sweetheart?” Fuck. He had heard it. The blush rising even stronger in your cheeks literally burned your face. Tears you hadn’t realized had pooled in your eyes blurred your vision. 

“God dammit,” you groaned. No matter how hard you tried, you knew this wasn’t working. “I’m uh, I’m fine, Dean.” You hoped it would be enough to appease him. 

“Listen, uh, Sammy just wrote me back. He said it’s not gonna work…you, uh, taking care of it yourself,” he cleared his throat twice. Oh awesome, you thought to yourself. Both of the Winchesters know I’m trying to masturbate this spell away… You knew what that meant. Before your brain could process, you heard him again. “You decent? I’m comin’ in.” 

You practically squealed and clawed at the comforter to cover yourself. The door to the bathroom creaked open and Dean hesitantly peered around it. By the time he made it into the room, you were mostly covered but your right leg had slipped out under the comforter and Dean caught a glimpse of skin from your foot all the way up to where your underwear sat above your hip. 

Your eyes connected and you noticed his jaw tightened. But this time, it wasn’t because he was mad or frustrated…maybe in deep thought, but something felt different; something felt darker than that. 

“It’s not working,” you murmured, your chest still heaved with each heavy breath you took. Your fingers gripped the comforter so tightly at your chest, your knuckles were white. 

“I know, sweetheart,” his voice somehow sounded deeper than it had moments before. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it, or maybe it was the sex pollen. But either way, it made your body tremble. 

You followed Dean’s gaze to your leg—he absolutely saw the tremble. 

“Listen, I don’t want to make this weird,” he rubbed a hand down his face again. The way his mouth dropped open made the heat rise even more. “But you can’t fix this by yourself.” You knew he was hesitating; hesitating to take it further. You wondered if it was because he didn’t want it, maybe he didn’t want you. 

“Help me fix this,” the tears blurred at your eyes again. “Dean, I’m begging you. Everything is on fire. My body literally feels like I’m going to combust.” You hated that your voice cracked, but you were truly starting to freak out. “I don’t want you to do something you don’t wanna do…”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean nervously chuckled as he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I don’t want you to do something just because you have to…” his voice trailed off as his eyes studied you. Realization set in that Dean wasn’t able to hide his attraction or interest in that moment. His jeans had tightened quite a bit in his groin, revealing a bulge that made you practically pant.

“I need you, Dean. But I also want you,” you practically drooled at this point. “I want you so, so bad.”

Dean’s hands moved to unbutton the buttons to his flannel quickly—you scrambled out from underneath the comforter to where he stood at the end of the bed on your knees to help him with the rest. You gave up after the second button and pulled the two sides harshly apart, sending buttons flying to bounce onto the multicolored carpet below. 

“Christ,” he breathed as he moved to undo the metal button on his jeans. Instantly, his hands cupped your cheeks. He paused for only a moment. After one more look into your eyes to make sure this was okay, you met in the middle as your lips crashed against one another. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” the words rolled off of your lips like it was nothing—but it was so much more than nothing. It was something you hadn’t meant to say, but the sex pollen haze made your filter dissipate. Your lips pulled apart with a pop and your eyes found his. 

“God, me too,” he almost growled as he toppled you back onto the bed once more. Dean was on top of you, your legs parted automatically. He held himself up with one arm and kissed you in a way you had never been kissed before. 

“Dean, I need you to touch me. Please,” the need in your voice was mixed with begging at this point. “Everything is on fire.”

“I’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” his words drawled together, intoxicated with lust. The hand that wasn’t supporting his body weight trailed down your side. He pulled back and sat on his knees, pulling you with him so you were sitting up. His fingers grasped the hem of your tank top and pulled it up and over your head in one swift motion. He reached behind you and masterfully unclasped your black bra. As soon as it fell away, the cool air from the room bit at your already hardened nipples, causing you to hiss out loud. 

Just as quickly as he pulled you up, he pushed you gently back to the bed on your back as he settled between your legs once more. 

“You’re so god damn beautiful,” he murmured as his lips connected with your neck. He planted hasty wet kisses from just below your ear lobe, down your collarbone to the top of your breasts. 

“Dean,” your hips writhed against him. You needed more. 

“I know, baby,” he breathed as his hand finally began to trace down your side, his fingertips left goosebumps on their way until they reached your hip bone. He pulled the material of your underwear until they slid off of your hips. He pulled until they were down near your feet where you could kick them off. 

His fingertips trailed to your center and circled your clit just as you had done moments before. His index finger slipped easily inside of you before he decided to add his middle finger to the mix. 

“Oh,” you breathed out, your head tilted backward so your neck was exposed. Dean took the opportunity happily, his lips sucked and kissed every inch of skin there as he pumped his fingers into you. “Dean, please.” You were doing a lot of begging, but you literally couldn’t help it. You felt like you would implode if he didn’t take you right then and there. 

“Patience is a virtue, sweetheart,” he murmured against the flesh of your neck.

“I don’t really have time for patience,” you groaned. Dean pulled back for a moment, almost as if he had forgotten this was initiated from the sex pollen to begin with. He swallowed hard as his eyes trailed your naked body, his jaw tightened. He quickly pulled off his flannel, within seconds his fingers pulled at the hem of his t-shirt. Next up was his jeans, and then his boxers. 

Your body squirmed at the sight–he was stunning. Your eyes trailed down his biceps to his forearms–down his chest, to the delicious V and then…

Your breath got caught in the back of your throat, but before you could gasp for air, his lips were back on you again and you felt his hardness against your thigh. “I don’t have a condom…” he grumbled as his head dropped into the crook of your neck.

“Birth control, Dean,” you mumbled against his hair. His lips found yours again, moving against them as if his life depended on it–and, well, yours sort of did. He pulled back for a moment and found your eyes, as if he was asking if you were sure about this. You knew there was no going back at this point, so you raised your head to capture his lips in yours again. You pulled his bottom lip between your teeth gently, which elicited a moan from him.

And then in a second, you felt him enter you. It could have been the sex pollen, but you didn’t think so. The feeling was the most incredible sensation you had ever felt. The way your body fit against his was something you could have never imagined—even in the nights you had drifted off to sleep thinking about what this might feel like. 

He moved slowly at first; too slowly to appease the effects of the damn sex pollen. Your hips rose to meet his and you wrapped your legs around his waist, linking your feet behind him at your ankles. He obliged, and angled his body in a way that you could feel absolutely every inch of him inside of you. 

“God damn, you feel so good,” he groaned as he pressed his forehead to yours. You had never felt so close to someone in your entire life, and you prayed it wasn’t just another symptom of the pollen. 

“You’re tellin’ me,” you moaned as he reached down with the arm that wasn’t supporting his weight and pulled your leg behind your knee so it rested in the crook of his elbow. “Jesus, Dean.” You bit down on your lower lip so hard you thought you tasted blood for a second. It didn’t matter; nothing mattered in that moment. 

He rocked against you so hard, the headboard bounced off of the thin wall of the motel room—the picture that hung above you rattled. Nothing mattered. 

Dean brought his lips hastily to your ear and kissed just below it before he whispered, “I want you to touch yourself, sweetheart. Let yourself go.” You shuddered at the feeling of his warm breath on your earlobe and the words he whispered huskily. You could hardly take it. 

Your release had already started to build—which wasn’t too surprising, considering how turned on you were to begin with. You snaked your fingers down between your bodies, the feeling of his pelvis crashing against yours sent another wave of goosebumps over your skin. 

You began to circle your clit with your fingertip as he secured your leg in the crook of his arm, his bicep flexed tightly. The sensation was overwhelming and you found yourself practically babbling moans and words strung together. “Fuck, Dean. Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” that elicited another chuckle from his lips but didn’t disrupt his movements as he plummeted into you. It felt like he was breaking through your cervix at this point. 

“Let yourself go,” he could feel your muscles beginning to twitch around him. His words tossed you over the edge. “Take what you need, sweetheart.” 

That was it. You felt like your release was practically boiling as it shook you to your core. You saw flashes of color, and your ears were ringing. Dean moved through it for you as you rode the wave. You vaguely heard yourself yell out his name as everything crashed around you. 

“You okay? You want me to stop?” He almost winced as his hips urged him to move but he wanted to respect the fact that the spell you were under had most likely dissipated now. 

“Don’t stop,” you hurriedly told him as you rocked your hips against him once more. “Your turn.” You leaned up to connect your lips to a sweet spot on his neck, your tongue ran over his stubble and nipped gently which elicited a groan from the back of his throat. 

“God damn,” he growled as his pace quickened again. Your muscles still twitched from your orgasm, you thought it might roll into a second wave—which would have been a first for you. 

After a few more thrusts from Dean, he practically collapsed on your chest. Your fingertips found his back, coated in a thin layer of sweat. You dug your nails gently as you drew small smoothing circles upon his skin. After a moment, he rolled so he was on his back just beside you. 

“That was magical,” your words practically slurred together as the room was filled with heavy breathing from both you and Dean—your chests rose and fell with each breath. 

Dean’s eyes were sealed shut, but you saw the grin that pulled at his lips and he chuckled. 

“You sure that’s not the sex pollen talkin’?” He drawled, his words etched together as well—a combination of exhaustion and post-sex effects. 

You gently bit at your bottom lip and glanced at him from your side of the bed. His eyes were still shut lazily, a slick layer of sweat glistened in the dim light of the motel. Maybe it was still sex pollen remnants, maybe not—but something gave you a sense of courage you had never had before. You leaned over his body and inched towards his face. “Guess we’ll just have to let round two decide…”

His eyes shot open but his grin stretched wider so you could see his bright white smile. His gaze trailed from your eyes to your lips. Just before he leaned up to press his lips to yours, he said, “Guess we will, won’t we?” 

And for the first time in your entire life—you were thankful for witches.

---------

A/N: Eek! I always get nervous posting ~smut~, but here we are! I love hearing what you think, so please don't be afraid to comment! Even if it's something I could work on for next time. Hope you enjoyed it!

Tag List: @jackles010378 @ladysparkles78 @lyarr24 @roseblue373 @nelachu2423 @deans-spinster-witch @stillhere197

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if i tell a friend that i don’t want to do movie nights with her anymore?

So I (18nb) have a semi-online friend (17f) (semi-online because i know her due to connections with other irl friends but she lives very far away, so i’ve never met her irl) who likes watching movies together with me. The way we would always do it is that she’d video call me over whatsapp and then play whatever movie she decided to watch on her tv and she’d like just point her phone’s camera to the screen.

as you can probably imagine, that guaranteed a terrible audio and picture quality every single time. i have sensory issues due to my autism (she isn’t autistic, but might have adhd (she isn’t diagnosed but has most of the symptoms), so that combination always ends with me really overstimulated after an hour (aka before most movies are finished). irl movie nights aren’t an option bc again she lives super far away.

now, she has been my friend for a few years and we can’t really do much stuff together because of the distance, so i understand why she wants something that we can “do” together yk? and obviously there’s not many options bc neither of us play video games.

however, it’s always me who has to deal with the worse quality and it’s always her who decides what we watch. like when i propose something she’ll always be like “yeah maybe eventually” and then brush it off & forget about it & tell me what she wants to watch instead. and like those other options she gives are supposed to just be like proposals, but she’s a very persistent person and it takes me saying “no” like 5 times until she accepts it. i’m not very good at saying no, but that’s my own problem and i don’t blame her for that. it just means that this is a bad combination bc it takes a lot out of me to not budge yk?

another thing is that she doesn’t have many irl friends and so i feel bad for not wanting to continue these movie nights tbh, but until we either a) find a way to do them with better quality for me or b) switch who chooses the movie and who has to deal with the bad quality, i do not want to do this anymore.

she’s a great friend and this isn’t a huge huge issue, but it’s weighing on me and i don’t like the situation as it is right now.

What are these acronyms?

[thebastardgerard]

Recently, after reading my friend @metalheadsforblacklivesmatter ‘s posts, I thought it was finally time to share my own story experiencing medical racism, transphobia and sexism.

TW: MEDICAL TOPICS, RACISM, TRANSPHOBIA, SEXISM AND EDS.

Somethings about me and disclaimers:

For those who don’t know me, hi hello, what’s the dealio? My name is Kuco, I’m a two-spirit black-indigenous mixed person. I am light-skinned, but most people can tell I’m mixed or assume I’m Latino, to the point where my medical documents mark me as Hispanic despite myself telling them to change it. I’m also AFAB.

While my experience is bad, it’s not unique to just me. Other people who are apart of the BIPOC community have faced the same or much worse. Regardless, please listen those in the community with darker skin. They often face much worse. If you’re only comfortable listening to those with lighter skin and feel more comfortable while claiming you’re an ally, you’re wrong and need to do better.

My story:

In 2021, I was experiencing nausea and vomiting after I ate. After a week of this continuously happening while working, I went to see a doctor who sent me to a surgeon, who sent me to a gastroenterologist to see what could be done without surgery.

This doctor was a cis white man in his late 60s who was apparently “retired.” After pointing out my symptoms and how they were getting worse, he looked through my medical history and noticed I had anxiety. He immediately went to the conclusion of a “brain-to-gut” connection, saying it was often found in woman. (Shock to no one, that wasn’t the case. Also, the issue was not my anxiety. My anxiety has progressive gone down and was at the lowest it had been in YEARS. My therapist at the time even confirmed this himself.) During this time, he also repeatedly referred to me using she/her pronouns, despite that my medical record points out that I am transgender and went by he/him pronouns at the time. (Despite me pointing this out, he continued to ignore this.) He gave me medications that were supposed to help, a doctor’s note (as I worked at the time) and sent me on my way.

Things only got worse. After 6 months of my symptoms getting worse and worse (to the point I could not eat solid food and started vomiting liquid) and several tests, he still believed it was a brain to gut issue. I had lost a lot of weight, to the point my own family noticed.

One of the last appointments I had with this doctor involved what’s called a gastric emptying test. For this test, a radioactive isotope (which isn’t harmful to humans) is put into some eggs and ingested. Pictures are taken of your stomach to track how long the isotope stays in your stomach after 2 hours, 3 hours, and 4 hours. Normally, your stomach is meant to empty at the 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 hour mark. (By what I was told, mind you.)

My stomach emptied finally at the ladder end of 4 hours. This was considered on the way lower end of normal.

Once my doctor got this result, this was his response: The test says that your empty is at the lower end of what was normal, so that’s normal. Just keep taking your meds. It’s more common for Caucasian (white) people to have more serious gastric problems. Just so you know, I’m not writing you another note for your work, it’s not what I do.

This is what broke the camel’s back.

I called my primary care doctor and let her know that I wanted a different doctor who was a woman to see. I told her that he wasn’t listening to me nor taking me seriously and I refused to see him again. I also let her know that he was refusing to write me anymore work notes, despite the issue not being resolved. (A small time after this, my job let me go due to not having a return date. They said I was allowed to reapply afterwards, but I didn’t for different reasons. That’s another story for a different day.)

My primary care doctor sent me to a different doctor who was a woman and also happened to be a POC.

I had an appointment a week later, in which I told her all my symptoms and how I was barely able to eat it drink anything without being nauseous and vomiting. She listened to me while looking at my previous results from previous tests, in which she saw my gastric emptying test.

Her response was: Your test says your emptying is on the lower end of what’s normal, but by what you’re saying, it’s only gotten worse. Why didn’t he give you anything? I’m surprised you’re even talking to me right now.

I told her that he had said that due to my anxiety, it was a brain to gut issue, which was common for “woman” and continually insisted on that, as well as his other comments. She concluded I have a condition called Gastroparesis, or delayed gastric emptying. This is a condition that affects the stomach muscles and prevents proper stomach emptying. While there isn’t a certain idea of why it happens, it’s thought that those who previously suffered from EDs and have diabetes contract it more. (I had suffered from EDs when I was younger and have a history of diabetes that runs in my family, which is where I believe my causes came from.)

I suffered 9 months with this condition without proper treatment, in which my symptoms were prolonged, got worse, and almost passed, all because if ONE doctor.

While I got better for a time, I’m still battling with this condition, as well as other conditions that came along.

~~~~~~~~~

When those in the BIPOC community tell you we don’t trust white people, especially doctors, it’s because we’ve been shown time and time again the complete disregard for our care and safety.

Use your allyship for good and protect us.

I would like to thank my friends for your help, but especially with my partners and my friend @metalheadsforblacklivesmatter . They helped me so much through those 9 months, and even now continue to help and support me. I love you guys so so much. 🩵🩵🩵

[alexanderlightweight]

for Wednesday’s writing prompts, can I have something based on the song Little Boy in the Grass by AURORA?

i'd never heard this song and it was so lovely and melancholy and bittersweet and so i hope you enjoyed this, i quite enjoyed listening and writing.

-

Magnus lets them get away with six hours of putting him off — six hours too long — before he ignores them all and portals in.

He’s not supposed to be there, Cat is there with a team specializing in healing and his magic could have affected whatever drug had been unleashed, but Magnus doesn’t care anymore.

If there is one thing his magic won’t do, its bring more harm to Alexander and so Magnus refuses to just sit around any long.

“Where’s your Commander?” He asks the first stable nephilim he sees and they look at him and shrug, all of them do when he asks.

He gets to Cat in a fury and he’s seething. “Did you know he was missing?”

“What? Who is missing?”

Alexander!” Magnus snarls and Cat stops what she’s doing, using a spell to stabilize and ignoring that her patient only has one working lung. 

This is more important. 

“Magnus, his siblings told me he was fine. I haven’t seen him once.”

Magnus murmurs an apology that Cat nods at, understanding how frustrating it can be to be told to wait only to find out you’ve lost something while waiting. 

Izzy and Jace seem confused, almost amused by his worry and assure him that Alec is probably just working. That they’d seen him and he’s seemed fine. The poison elevated fear, anxiety, and paranoia. Alec hadn’t been showing any symptoms. 

“Since when does your brother let the weight he bears fall on the shoulders of others, especially you too?” Magnus asks harshly and he feels his heart beat triplicate with anger. 

Izzy and Jace wince and start to speak but he holds up a finger and they stop. 

“I’ll find him myself,” Magnus says and turns in a storm of his coat whirling around him.

He finds the signature of Alexander’s soul, the connection echoing his own and portals to him. Magnus has to take a quick breath and use his reflexes to steady himself. He’s up high, in the beams of the Institute’s greenhouse ceilings. Where it’s dark and cool despite that it should be warm. 

He spots a form, huddled and curled on a small wooden loft, the structure overflowing with grass, moves and vines and Alexander tucked tightly away. Hidden from view from the covering of plants.

“My love,” Magnus murmurs, “what do you need?”

“I didn’t think I’d have to feel this way again.” Alexander whispers hoarsely, “I thought it was done. That I’d never have to remember so vividly.t Sometimes I just wanted to run Magnus, but I couldn’t. Because I had to protect Izzy, my parents were counting on me and then Jace needed someone so very badly. But I wanted to flee, to run and never look from the hands that reached out. It wasn’t the training, it was the inbetween. When I was supposed to be safe, because I was never safe.

“Not here, not where there was only disappointment and pain and bearing the weight of a sin I didn’t commit. Why Magnus? Why do I have to remember this? I thought it was over. I thought I was over it.”

“Oh, Alexander.” Magnus breathes out and he moves over and slowly brings Alexander into his arms. “My sweet, precious darling. You need to heal to be able to move on from something like that. And you’ve never truly had the chance to.”

“Then when will that happen for me? Because I thought it had, Magnus. I thought I was doing better, feeling better. But now it’s not, like I’m right back there in the middle trying to protect everyone else when I’m breaking and I don’t know how to stop. When am I supposed to heal?”

“Right now, darling.” Magnus promises and he extends his magic, purging the poison from Alec’s system in a way that his magic would never work with another. He lets his magic dim the greenhouse and lights it with little fireflies of magic that float and buzz around them instead as the door locks.

Alexander is calmer now, breathing easier but his voice is wet and he gives a hoarse chuckle at the sight. 

“Just us beloved, now tell me. Of all your wishes that you locked away, when it became too much, when it was bearable. I will listen to you and keep you safe.  This is where you ran, wasn’t it?” 

“No one thinks to look up, but it was the first lesson I learned as an archer.” Alexander smiles, lopsided and raw. “So I used my training for myself, it was the first time I ever had.”

Magnus mourns in his heart and hides the pain he feels, because it is his choice to bear this burden, in order to help Alexander carry his because his hurt is born from Alexander’s pain.

[gabelish]

crawls into your ask box like the girl from the ring. so i noticed you made a post about death stranding and what it says (or does not say/is not able to say) about labor and i haven't been able to stop thinking about that subject all during my playthrough but i don't have the vocabulary for it and was wondering if you had any other thoughts

Hi I have way too many thoughts about this but I tried to keep it short. I am assuming you’re referring to my joke about Drone Syndrome and Marx’s alienation theory.

We have no information as to what happened to the delivery workers pre-Stranding when drones took their jobs. Was there mass unemployment? Did people lose their homes? Did the government give them universal basic income and pay them to stay home or pursue passions (probably not)? Did they get retrained for a new field? All we know is that they developed Drone Syndrome which seems analogous to the theory of alienation.

But Death Stranding takes the alienation of labor further. It isn’t about people seeing little value in their exploited labor but people having no value because the have no labor and becoming depressed and developing hormonal imbalances. Without any labor to do at all, the delivery workers became miserable in the same way workers are when being alienated from their labor when they’re being exploited in industrialized work owned by someone else. There’s no choice, no sense of fulfillment, no sense of value, no connection. The game lore calls putting the delivery workers back in the process a step back from progress but for whatever reason doesn’t offer an alternative for what those workers could have been doing. Robots freeing people from drudgery could be good but only if those workers are able to transition into different work, or are supported without working, and not be financially ruined. We don’t know what mechanisms existed for this suddenly extinct labor field in universe. Not to mention how restless and bored many people irl get when they aren’t at work or doing basic household tasks. People want to contribute to things, people want to feel important, needed, like what they’re doing has value or impact.

There is another omission in the lore that’s interesting as well. Is there money post-Stranding? Many games have a pseudo-economy in them as a way to upgrade your abilities or gear. But in Death Stranding you get better gear by increasing your connection level with different facilities. Sam never gets paid, and no one talks about money. Igor never says “y’know corpse disposal is a dangerous job but it pays well”. Everyone seems to be motivated either out of a desire to help other humans or for personal reasons, nothing financial at all.

Post-Stranding, it was impossible to use autonomous delivery drones or planes anymore and the delivery workers who became porters were literally the most essential of essential workers so preppers and people living in cities did not die from lack of medicine or food. This sudden increase in the value of their labor caused some some of them swing the complete opposite way—developing Delivery Dependence Syndrome, becoming MULEs, contaminated by Chiralium. Literally a different class of human beings altogether, homo gestalts. The fact that they want the cargo itself simply to hoard and no longer care about delivering it to who needs it is important. That’s the breakdown. It’s no longer about helping people but simply getting things. They don’t even sell the cargo, they just keep it.

Lore-wise, the best way for porters to mitigate DDS caused by chiralium contamination was to join an organization like Fragile Express or Bridges, where the organization’s leadership, structure, support, and resources could alleviate the symptoms by increasing oxytocin production through human interaction or with smartdrugs.

Considering how anti-isolationist and anti-rugged individualism the game in, it’s clear Death Stranding is telling us being a part of a community is far better than doing it alone, and it isn’t trying to shit on self-employed labor or uplift corporatized mass organized labor, especially since there seems to be no profit motivation behind Fragile Express or Bridges. Porters are simply middle-men, filling a vital role in the post-Stranding society.

People go by nicknames based on their labor. Craftsman, Engineer, Roboticist, Novelist, etc. Sam’s name changes from Sam Strand (family) to just Sam (no family no connections) to Porter Bridges (labor and connection). Identity has become inextricably linked to labor that has once again become fulfilling. Everyone seems aware how vital their role is in the survival of humanity. Medicine and weapons aren’t all we deliver, but books and art, too. Although Sam himself is disillusioned with his labor and the world, but that’s a different topic.

Porters (and preppers) are the opposite of alienated from their labor. They know their labor is crucial to the survival of other human beings. Porters can choose the routes to deliver packages, can rest whenever they want, and aren’t doing it to make someone who owns the means of production richer. Preppers provide Sam with mutually-rewarding upgrades to his equipment, increasing his chance of survival, and humanity’s. They may not even get a wage from it, but do it because it is fulfilling, because they know other human beings depend on them. Their labor has objective value and is highly prized in the post-Stranding society. There’s no enriching shareholder value and, presumably, no money. Porters leave ladders, ropes, structures, and post-boxes filled with items for other porters simply to help each other out.

[hillnerd]

WAKING UP - CH 15

AO3   FFN      Beginning of story | Previous Chapter

chapter word count 13 114

Gigantic thank you to my beta @abradystrix. Check out her work as it's truly lovely writing!

previously in 'Waking Up'(honestly, I recommend re-reading the chapter before as lots of it ties to this chapter)

Ron briefly connects with Ginny and she tells him how worried she is for him before she leaves the Burrow- she had a confrontation with Harry the night before about Ron's safety that the couple are still reeling from.

Ron learns some spells to use in his Combat Readiness Exam. Harry and Ron go to the Ministry for their C.R.E. but are confronted by loads of reporters, including Rita Skeeter. Robbie rescues them with a side room to weigh their wands.

They get ready for their C.R.E. and Ramona is late and looking bedraggled.

It's time for the C.R.E.- it's a hostage situation, they're all wearing the same safety vests as before, and they split up to find the hostage.

Harry Ron Ramona Claudia and Neville take out a team of 3 Aurors- one of which was a rooftop 'sniper' type Auror Ron was able to overpower.

They meet with the other recruits and get the 'hostage dummy' in a flurry of action- Ron's definitely experiencing PTSD symptoms and his arm is doing poorly-

There are 3 'enemy' Aurors left- Robards (head of Aurors), Sealy-Pearce and Musaad. They are in a 'squid room' that deflects spells and dove into the earth.

Neville and Vyse help with his arm that's numb and acting up.

The recruits split up to find the squid, Ramona Claudia Ron and Harry go underground, while the rest are above.

Harry and Ron split off and hear a voice:

"Harry?" came a voice. They both turned to the sound of the feminine voice.

"Was that—?" asked Harry.

"Harry?"

That was Ginny's voice! What was Ginny doing here? Her voice was there, clear as day, but there was no sign of Ron's sister. It had come from a different smaller tunnel.

"Gin?" Harry called out, going down the tunnel a few paces.

"Harry… I don't think—" Ron began.

"Harry?" came Ginny's voice again.

They slowly crept down the tunnel, wand's light being eaten up by the darkness.

"Harry!" They swung their wands and there was Ginny, covered in blood, reaching towards them.

Chapter warnings: cannon level violence, descriptions of cannon dead characters, ptsd symptoms, cursing, hallucinations, nightmarish creepy imagery, spiders, mention of blood and having trouble breathing, implied sexual assault memories, choking and water going up sinuses, reference to dead parent, reference to severely disabled parent, broken bone, characters with limited control of emotions/selves, strong emotions

---------------------------------------

CHAPTER 15 - C.R.E. #4

Ron wrenched back from his blood-covered sister, feet submerging in sludgy water.

“You didn’t do enough!” Ginny accused, pointing a bloody finger.

At first Ron thought she was directing her words at himself, but he soon realised she only had her piercing gaze set on Harry.

“Everyone’s dead because of you. You killed Fred. You killed Lupin and Tonks. Dobby and Sirius and Cedric and—”

“Don’t listen, Harry,” said Ron. He tried to step in front of him, but his boot caught fast in the slurry at his feet.

“Bill and George and Dad and Ron and I all nearly died because of you! Everywhere you go, people die for you! You use us as human shields and everyone ends up dead! Ron’s the next one to die becau—”

“Riddikulus!” Ron shouted at his sister. With a crack, she was in clown makeup, complete with clown nose and hat. It wasn’t particularly funny, but at least she wasn’t terrifying anymore.

Harry was pale beside him, eyes wide.

“Nothing that thing said is true,” Ron immediately said. “Not one word of it. Ginny doesn’t think that!”

Harry mutely moved his head in a pale imitation of a nod.

“Fucking Boggarts…” muttered Ron,

pulling at his leg until it squelched with a loud ‘thhhwip’ and came free.

“Here, let’s move before it changes into a giant spider.”

There was a crack behind him. He began to point his wand when he heard the voice rasping, “Got you to scream good and loud for me, didn’t I?”

A claw of terror raked over him, rendering him unable to move, to utter a single word.

That voice brought back every strike, every sensation… It felt like an iron suit of armour had dropped onto his chest from a fourth story window.

He turned and there stood the hulking figure of Otho Crowthers lurching towards him. His brow was as sloped as the last time he’d seen him, his steps as heavy and menacing. It even had that rancid smell of his body and breath. Ron thought he might throw up as that same smell rolled over him. How could the Boggart know the smell of him?

“Riddikulus,” he gasped, waving his wand.

“Bet I can make you scream without a wand… Can’t I?”

“Riddikulus!”

He couldn’t make it funny. He couldn’t think of anything. This wasn’t funny. His mind raced, searching for a way to lighten the darkness that surrounded him, but all he found were the suffocating grip of shame and the gnawing bite of fear.

“Who’s—?” Harry began to ask.

“I like raw meat like you, ginger.”

“Ri-Riddikulus,” Ron croaked.

“You know what I want to do to you? I’m gonna tear—” Crowthers crooned.

“Riddikulus!” cried Harry, stepping in front of the Boggart. Crowthers changed into an oversized Gorilla with a kazoo.

A tsunami of shame overwhelmed him, battering him to and fro until he was a pulp of useless flesh. He couldn’t bear to look over and see Harry grimly studying him.

The things it had said…

Every particle of him wished the cave would collapse on him. He didn’t want to see or be seen. How many times did he have to have his soul ripped out and put on display for his friend?

“Ron, who was that?”

“No one,” his mouth said before his brain could even begin to create an explanation. “Let’s… Let’s…”

“Ron…” He could hear the pleading in Harry’s voice to tell him what was going on; to let him help in some way. He couldn’t give that to him, as much as he wanted to spare his friend an iota of hurt, he just couldn’t.

“Please can we move away from the Boggart? Please?”

He was already pathetic, why not add begging to the mix?

“We can go back to the other tunnel,” agreed Harry, tone horribly gentle. They both ignored the Boggart as it latched onto Harry and turned into a bloody Ron on the ground. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Ron felt a hand on his back and jerked away.

Harry took a deep gulp of air, as if he was about to dive underwater. He tended to do that before an unpleasant conversation topic.

“So,” Harry began, but before he could say more the earth beneath their feet shook, and a great rumble echoed through the tunnels.

“The Squid,” Ron exclaimed, running towards the noise.

Harry hesitated, but quickly caught up with him.

Their wrists heated as their watches showed the message: ‘Found Squid! We’re at a manhole near Bethune! -Claudia’

They didn’t need a map; the crashing of the Squid was practically upon them.

As they rounded the corner, chaos unfolded and the air cracked with magic.

Ramona and Claudia were in the corner throwing spells, taking cover behind fallen stones and fragments of ancient columns.

Through the small red window, the Squid room churned out a destructive onslaught of hexes and blasts, each more destructive than the next.

Harry and Ron joined the fray, launching a flurry of spells, but nothing seems to hurt the Squid.

The Squid's tentacle-like limbs effortlessly blocked each spell, nullifying the magic as if it were nothing more than a puff of air.

“Can’t get anything through!” Ron panted.

Harry’s only response was to yell his spells louder.

One of Harry’s spells deflected off a metallic arm and struck the red window, causing a blink-and-you-miss-it crack to form.

“The window!” Ron yelled at him.

"Aim at the window!" Harry shouted to the team. Claudia and Ramona promptly responded, and the tunnel was alight with destructive spells.

"Reducto!" bellowed Harry. With his final hit, the crack spread across the window.

"We're doing it! It could break!" exclaimed Claudia.

The Squid's massive arms thrashed, striking the tunnel's side with a bone-shaking force and a pillar fell, pinning an arm of the Squid.

The Squid struggled to move, pulling at its trapped arm like a dog tugging at a rope. With a final lurch, it shook itself loose.

A horrifying crunch followed as the pillar was thrown across the alcove, taking out masonry as easily as one would brush away cobwebs.

“GET BACK!” yelled Harry.

Time slowed as pillars of brick crumbled, one brick at a time popping into dust, shaking the stone floor beneath their feet.

The tunnel walls groaned like an old whale, then gave way to the impending collapse.

The ground was gone from beneath Ron.

For a moment he was weightless and his stomach swooped. There was nothing to grab or do, but hang in the air and feel everything falling.

The impact knocked the wind out of him as he landed on unforgiving rocky terrain. Stones and masonry fell around him. He couldn’t breathe, but managed to pull his legs and arms in to protect himself.

The sound of everything collapsing was a deafening roar. Every pitch of sound both high and low was hit at once, surrounding him as he was shaken and hit.

The ground lurched again and he was thrown like a limp doll into darkness.

He struggled through his nose to take in air. He’d had the breath knocked out of him before, and knew what to do, but surrounded by dust and detritus it was hard to feel like his inhales were doing anything.

The cacophony of collapse finally eased.

Amid the darkness, he heard the moans of his companions.

He squinted up and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. He found himself trapped between sections of the collapsed floor and a slanted piece of ceiling. He was not able to stand fully upright in the tight space and his arms began to ache.

He was filthy, and from head to waist he was sprinkled in a thin film of rust-coloured dust he tried to wipe off. Each brush against the orange dust only moved it around.

"Everyone okay?" called Claudia from somewhere above him.

"We're down here! We're alright!" came Harry's voice. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the tunnel we were in, but I don’t see anyone!” cried Claudia.

"Harry?" Ron coughed, swatting away the dust.

"Here!" A wand illuminated, and an orange hand waved from a corner of his alcove. There was a small opening; enough for an arm to fit through, but not enough for a whole body, even one as wiry as Harry's.

Ron peered into the hole.

Harry and Ramona were deep within the crevice, the wall and collapsed floor of the tunnel blocking their escape. Covered head to toe in a much thicker coating of orange dust, they looked like a duo of mutant Crookshankses.

Ron could feel a pressure building around him and the hairs on his neck began to rise. Something was wrong.

"Can you Apparate out?" Claudia called from up above. "I'm afraid to move any of this rubble without help. I don’t want to cause another collapse!"

Ron attempted to Apparate, but the anti-Apparition Ward was still in place. "I can’t Apparate. We'll have to wait until everyone regroups."

"Got you to scream good and loud for me."

Ron whipped his head around, certain the sound had originated from behind, but there was no Boggart in sight, just stone and dust motes still settling.

"Harry, do you see the Boggart?" he asked.

"No," Harry quietly replied, before adding, “but I can hear Ginny again.”

"You hear Ginny?" Ron questioned. “Can you hear anyone else?”

“No… Why? What do you hear?”

“Mum?” called Ramona.

“Ramona, what do you hear?” asked Harry.

“It’s… It’s my Mum… She’s begging for help… You said it was a Boggart? Where is it?”

Ron couldn’t hear Ginny or Ramona’s Mum.

A bloodcurdling scream rent the air. Hermione’s.

“Ron! Please! Help!”

He stood and yelled into the dark, “Riddikulus!”

But there was nothing to see, nothing to transform into something humorous.

The pressure from before was pounding on Ron now. He could feel the magic of the place swarming them. They were surrounded by it.

“I reinforced the walls so you won’t get crushed,” called Claudia. “But I’m nervous to move anything on my own up here. Hold tight- we’ll have the others help soon!”

“WHERE IS IT?” screamed Ramona.

“I— I don’t…” Ron began— but Hermione was screaming as she did in the Manor as Crowthers crooned in Ron’s ears what he’d do to them. “Harry? Do you see it?”

He knelt down and peered into the darkness expecting to see Harry next to the opening, but his friend was bent over, hands on his ears.

“Harry!” Ron yelled at him.

Harry shook his head, green eyes wide and unseeing.

Ramona was pacing the back of the room, arms clutched around her middle. “We have to get out of here! They’re going to get us!”

“Who?” asked Ron.

“The Snatchers are coming!”

“Ramona, It’s not real! Whatever you’re hearing, it’s not—”

Hermione’s screams ripped through him.

Ramona was in the corner screaming. “Mum! Mummy! No! Please, Please!”

Harry on the ground with hands over his ears muttering to himself. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry!”

“Mate, it’s okay, we’re going to get you out of there!”

“I’m so sorry!” cried Harry.

“Riddikulus!” Ron shouted again, but nothing stopped the cacophony of terror; it rang through him as screams and nightmares flooded his ears.

“Someone tell me what’s happening!” Claudia pled.

“We’re… We’re hearing things!” he managed to say between hitched sobs. When had he started crying? Why couldn’t he Apparate to Hermione? He had to get out of the cellar! No… No he wasn’t in Malfoy Manor.

“Ron! Please help me,” sobbed Hermione before letting out another blood-curdling scream.

“Hermione!” he called back, punching the wall, but nothing helped.

A quicksand of fear was pulling him ever down down down. He wiped at his face, which was wet with something. Tears? Blood?

Where was he? Everything was dark… He couldn’t Apparate to Hermione! She needed him, or Crowthers would… Wait, she wasn’t there with him. He was alone… How… How did they get them all in Malfoy’s cellar again?

“I’m going to make you scream,” growled Crowthers.

He punched at the walls. He had to get to her! He couldn’t let Crowthers touch her!

He could see her on the other side, small and pale as she was dragged along the floor by her hair. She didn’t even flinch as she was thrown onto a stump and tied in place.

“Hermione!” He screamed and sobbed, but couldn’t get to her. His hands were bleeding as he madly scrabbled for her. “Hermione!”

Spiders of every size were crawling over him and he nearly vomited as their sharp little legs caught on his skin.

He tried to shake them off and get to Hermione, but blood was on the ground,slowly oozing towards him, and Crowther’s toxic breath was in his nostrils.

“Ron!” came an insistent voice from above him.

He shook his head. His mind felt flayed open, a rupture of raw hurt and confusion.

“Please answer me, Ron! What’s going on down there?!”

Suddenly Malfoy’s cellar was brightly lit, blinding him as he sobbed into the ground.

“Christ— he’s covered in Boggart dust! Put your shirt over your face or bubblehead charm yourself,” came a male voice.

There were murmurs, but the main thing he heard was Crowthers in his ear whispering, “tell me your name, pretty…”

A hand latched into him and he could see Fred, corpse pale, blood pooling down his neck and bits of brain falling onto the ground.

“It should’ve been you… George even said so,” said Fred without malice. He was right.

“Ron, don't let him kill me!” pleaded Hermione, tears in her eyes.

His head was wrenched back, and he threw an elbow trying to stop Crowthers. A stinging rush of something went up his nose. It had to be spiders crawling up inside his face scrabbling and tearing out his brain to lay eggs.

He was drowning and gagging as water flushed through his sinuses.

“Sorry, we need to get it all out of you,” a voice apologised.

“Get… What? Weneedta get Hermione…” he slurred. Another course of water flushed up his nose and down his throat, making him retch on the ground. He was sprayed down, and the cold made every muscle twitch.

“I needta stop ‘im… Crowthers!”

Hermione screamed in his ears and he struggled to get to her, not minding the sting of the cuts in his hands.

“He needs at least one more flush out once I pass him up to you,” said a male voice.

His teeth chattered as a spell lifted him into light.

“I’m sorry, but it looks like we need to do it once more, Ron,” someone said before water flushed through his sinuses a third time, stinging his eyes and even the inside of his cheek bones.

He coughed and felt snot dripping from his nose and hocked even more of it on the ground.

A warm hand was on his shoulder.

“You with me?”

He squinted up into the face of Neville.

“Nev?”

“Yes! Where are you?”

“I’m…” Ron blinked around the dark cavernous room. It wasn’t Malfoy Manor. It was well-lit compared to the hole he’d been in. Hermione wasn’t there. Crowthers wasn’t there… Fred and the spiders were gone… “The… The C.R.E. In a tunnel.”

“That’s right,” he nodded, giving a tight grin. Neville had the film of a bubblehead charm around his face, and Ron belatedly discovered he had one as well. The charm slightly distorted his view and made his breath feel hot on his face.

With a sudden realisation he scrambled for the hole they’d just lifted him from. “Oh fuck, we need to get Harry!”

“We’re getting him. It’s going to be okay, Ron,” said Neville, gently pushing him back until he was lying against the wall.

For some reason Ron started crying again. His voice was broken as deep sobs shook him. He wrapped his arms around himself. “M’sorry!”

“Don’t apologise. You all fell into an old Boggart breeding den, it looks like. That’s what Vyse said, anyway. There’s ‘Boggart dust’ everywhere. It basically makes you mad with fear and hallucinations until it works its way out of your system fully. Emotions of every kind will be intense for a bit, so we’ll stay here until you’re feeling up to moving.”

Ron looked over the side as he continued to cry.

The stones keeping Harry and Ramona imprisoned were floated aside.

“Spray down the area first, then we’ll get them individually,” ordered Vyse.

He could hear Ramona sobbing and screaming for her mother, but nothing from Harry. For minutes he waited, but he still hadn’t heard Harry’s voice.

Ron shook his head. “I need to help.”

“We’ve got it,” said Neville.

“No you don’t. Not with Harry.” Ron stood on wobbly knees and unshrunk his broom. They didn’t understand! Ron had seen Harry afraid before and he knew what he was capable of. He had been on the receiving end of punches as Harry was rent out of nightmares, and had seen his friend destroy an oak door because it slammed too hard.

He flew down to ground they’d cleared of Boggart dust. Ramona was sobbing on the ground, struggling against Theold as Vyse attempted to Aguamenti her face.

Harry was shaking, but otherwise limp on the ground, arm protectively grasping his shoulder with white knuckles. He was wet all over, a bubble charm in place.

“Ron? Shouldn’t you be up with Neville?” asked Kevin.

“M’fine,” he said, kneeling beside Harry. “Harry? You okay?”

“He hasn’t responded to any of us, and we’ve flushed him out like five times,” said Claudia, worry pinching her features.

For a moment Ron considered putting a restraint on Harry, but the thought of doing that to him after whatever he’d been forced to listen to was repugnant.

“Harry, I need to get some water into you again. It’s going to sting. Can you hear me?”

Harry stared ahead with open eyes, tear tracks or water running down his cheeks— Ron couldn’t tell which.

He removed the bubble charm.

“Aguamenti,” whispered Ron with a shaking voice. His own face was wet with tears again as he flushed Harry’s face with water and his friend barely flinched.

“Harry, wake up!” Ron said, giving his friend a shake.

“Flush him again,” he dimly heard Vyse say.

Ron performed another ‘aguamenti’ and with a start Harry flinched and vomited up orange tinged water on the ground.

“That’s it, get it all out,” Ron croaked.

Harry choked and spasmed before his bleary eyes caught Ron’s.

“R-Ron?” he whimpered.

“Yeah! Yeah it’s me,” Ron blubbered, unable to stop himself. Fucking Boggarts…

Claudia washed off Harry’s glasses and handed them to Ron. He put them in place and cast another bubble head charm on Harry.

Harry was pale and patted his hand along the ground for his wand.

“Here,” said Ron, handing it to him.

His friend took the wand, but didn’t try to move again. As Ron explained the Boggart dust, he could feel the wet tracks down his face and a gross itch at his nose. He wished he could wipe his face, but that might get more dust on him.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ron urged.

Harry weakly nodded, and limply let Ron guide him to a standing position.

“Here Ron, let me help,” said Kevin.

He put a hand on Ron’s back.

It felt like Crowthers was about to rut against him and he gave a small cry of alarm at the contact.

In an instant Harry wrenched away, his features twisting into an angry snarl. “DON’T TOUCH HIM!”

Before anyone could react, a spell hurtled through the chamber, a destructive projectile hitting Kevin squarely in the chest. The large recruit flew into the wall with a gut-wrenching crunch before he vanished into thin air.

"Oh, shit!" Ron's exclamation mirrored the collective shock, his mind racing as panic and disbelief battled for dominance.

“What the fuck, Harry?” asked Theold, pointing his wand at Harry. All the wands were on Harry.

“Wait!” Ron said, standing in front of him. “It was an accident! It’s the Boggart dust. Don’t—”

Ropes were around Harry in an instant, and his friend let out an aborted cry before toppling.

“I’m sorry!” squeaked Claudia.

Ron knelt beside Harry as he shook on the ground, writhing like a mad man.

“Harry… Harry please snap out of it…”

“More water,” said Vyse, pushing Harry to a seated position. “You hold him, I’ll flush him out.”

Ron got behind him, putting Harry’s back against his own chest.

“Ready?” asked Vyse.

“Do it, already!” he said through gritted teeth, as Harry struggled and nearly hit Ron in the nose with the back of his thrashing head.

After what seemed like an endless stream of water Ron stopped them.

“Harry? You okay?”

“Wh-what?” came Harry’s voice, sounding so small it didn’t sound like him at all. “Ron? What… What happened?”

“You fucking spelled Kevin into the wall and now we’re down a man!” spat Theold.

“I… I what?” asked Harry.

He looked feeble and lost. Ron had seen Harry like this only a few times. When he spoke Parseltongue in second year. When he’d seen Cedric die. When he’d seen Dad nearly die. When Sirius was dead. When he’d held Dobby.

He might have been reliving those nights.

“It’s okay. He’ll be fine,” Ron assured him.

Harry’s eyes shifted his way, haunted, glossy and unsure. Then Ron’s arms were holding nothing. His friend was gone in an instant.

Ron stared at the spot where Harry had just been.

The vest had taken Harry out of the Exam.

“What the fuck?!”

“Looks like they realised he was a harm to himself and others,” snorted Theold.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, THEOLD!” Ron snarled.

A sear of vitriol scorched his insides until nothing was left but a burning hot coal.

Who were the Aurors to decide to take Harry away? Who was going to be there for Harry when he’d had to listen to Merlin knows what? They’d ripped him away and Ron had barely begun to comfort him. Had they put this snarl of Boggart dust on purpose?

Every bit of hate he’d felt now pointed in one direction: The Auror Department.

He was going to destroy them. He didn’t know how long it’d take, but he was going to dismantle them, and every one of their sick tests. He wouldn’t rest until every single person responsible for the fucked up nightmares he and Harry, and even fucking Ramona, had gone through, paid.

“Should… What should we do?” Claudia asked.

Ron glared at the group the moment eyes turned to him. “Stop fucking looking at me! I don’t know, okay?”

He stalked away from them.

He was sick and fucking tired of this stupid fucking exam, and all of them gormlessly staring at him every time they don’t know what to do.

They were still watching him in anticipation.

“Why don’t you come up with some ideas, eh? The one person who always knows what to do got fucking tortured and ripped out of here to wherever the fuck, and I’m—” He gripped his arms around himself and squeezed until his ribs ached. “I’m no one, and you’re looking at me like I have answers! I don’t have any fucking answers! I’m fucking tired and this is fucked. We’re fucked and —”

He stopped himself, seeing their faces for the first time since Harry’s disappearance. They were watching him with large eyes, not one of them moving.

They were scared.

He couldn’t stay angry.

Harry was supposed to be invincible. Hell, to them, they probably thought Ron was a bit invincible too— which still felt like putting on a jacket two sizes too small. Ramona was one of their toughest and she was still crying and rocking on the ground.

They were all shook by it.

And now that he’d yelled at them, they probably were a touch worried they’d need to have Ron in ropes like Harry.

He let out a sigh. “Okay…”

He rolled his neck, trying to buy a moment to think.

“I’m sorry… It’s okay, we’re not fucked.”

He fleetingly wished he could touch his face. He hadn’t realised how often he wiped his hands over his face and through his hair as he thought. He wanted to push on his head and hopefully wring out a wild hare idea like one would a wet towel.

“We need to get out of this hole in the ground.”

“And we’ll need to take a moment to recover,” said Vyse with a tiny nod at Ramona.

“Right,” said Ron, taking a steadying breath. No one knew what she’d been through, but he had the closest idea of it.

He didn’t like her. Not one bit. She hated him and Harry for no reason and was surly, rude, prideful, irrational; just about everything he disdained… but she’d clearly been through something terrible.

“You lot go on up. I’ll sort things out here.”

All the recruits quickly did as he said, leaving him with Ramona; All, save Neville.

“Nev…” Ron began.

“I’m only here as back up,” he said, putting his hands up and wedging himself in the far corner.

He wasn’t sure how much Neville could do if Ramona were to go full feral on him at close proximity, but he appreciated the gesture.

He decided approaching Ramona like a wounded animal was best. He’d been around a skittish animal or two over the years. He wasn’t great with beasts, but he could try.

Despite knowing she’d probably hate him more for it, he knelt down beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. She twitched but let it remain as sobs continued to shake through her.

“They got the powder off of you, right?”

She nodded and gave a vociferous sniff.

“I know it may be hard, but you need to stop thinking about things from the past. Think of right now, this moment.”

Her face seems to crumple further and her eyebrows scrunched together.

“Don’t try to be nice to me! You hate me!” she cried.

“I don’t hate you,” Ron said, but couldn’t stop himself from adding. “I don’t particularly like you- but—”

“No- you should hate me,” she said with a shake of her head, scowl turning ugly and slightly unhinged, “because I hate you! You and Potter.”

“Shock and horror, what a surprise!” Ron feigned, rolling his eyes.

“I’m only sorry they didn’t kick you out with crazy Potter.”

Ron immediately dropped all pretence of politeness.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” He looked to the ceiling. “Was your Dad a Death Eater or something? Fucking hell…”

A sharp, almost manic laugh escaped from Ramona's lips. "My dad isn't anything anymore."

Ron's confusion deepened, his anger momentarily clouded by her cryptic statement.

"Okay?" he responded, concern and exasperation uncomfortably mixing together.

She brooded on the ground, no answer forthcoming. Fuck it.

“At the end of this exam, either I never have to see you again or we’re going to be co workers. Either way, I’m over this. What is it, Ramona? You said you hate me and Harry— so why? What the fuck have we ever done to you?”

Ramona's gaze bore into his, her eyes holding a world of pain and resentment.

“You’ve never done anything!” she yelled, acid and venom in every syllable.

“What does that mean?!” he roared back.

“It means you are the biggest disappointments I’ve ever had to meet!” she bit. “September first last year. Do you remember what you did that day?”

Of course he remembered. Every instant he could perfectly recall, until he was splinched; then it all got rather blurry.

He nodded his head, but began to dread what might come out of her mouth.

“You lot saved the Cattermoles. The Joneses. Cynthia Dooley. Robbie Reins. And more! I know the name of every person you saved that day,” she said with a sniff. “My parents are both Muggleborn… And my Dad reported to the Muggleborn Commission Registry September the first, but he didn’t escape.”

Ron’s stomach dropped.

“When we realised Dad wasn’t coming back, the rest of us ran for it. My Muggle-born mum, myself and my little sister…” Her voice trembled with emotion.

“I was so stupid… I really thought you might help my family like you did the rest. I kept telling my little sister you three were going to end the war. That we’d be safe. You’d save dad eventually!”

She turned her head down to her lap.

“They captured my sister and took her back to Hogwarts. That’s when they killed Mum,” she said, almost conversationally.

“I listened to Potterwatch every day hoping you might do something to help. Maybe free prisoners from Azkaban, strike the Ministry again, or free everyone from Hogwarts. Anything to help!”

Big tears formed in her eyes.

“But you never did.”

Shame wasn't a new feeling to Ron; he felt it daily for over a decade. It was a heavy cloak he'd worn since his earliest memories, a cloak woven from threads of poverty, indifference, and perceived inadequacy.

Growing up poor in the cramped Burrow, he had often felt the sting of shame as his hand-me-down clothes bore the marks of his older brothers' wear. There was an ever-present whisper in the back of his mind, telling him he was the unwanted sixth boy when his mother had secretly yearned for a daughter. The weight of shame had pressed even harder when he compared himself to his accomplished siblings and friends. And there were the insecurities he carried with him into adulthood. The gnawing fear he was never enough, not as a wizard, not as a friend, not even as a person. The lurking doubt he was merely a sidekick to Harry, forever in his shadow. The dread he'd never live up to the expectations of his friends, his family, or himself.

A litany of inadequacies played in his mind every day, echoing the voices of those who had ever doubted him.

Ramona's tears fell, and her words found a familiar dwelling place among the many shadows of shame that already haunted him. He wanted to explain, to tell her how much he'd wanted to do all those things she'd hoped for, but the words caught in his throat.

He had a wider group of people he’d let down than ever before. How many more people were out there cursing him for not doing enough?

Neville, who had been listening quietly, interjected, “Ramona… They did help. They were the most responsible for ending the war.”

“Not in time!” Ramona pressed on, her words heavy with pain. “My sister was tortured in that school— Dad got a Dementor’s kiss a couple of weeks before the Battle at Hogwarts. If they’d done something my dad might still be… be my dad.”

“Ramona…” Neville insisted. “It’s terrible what happened to your family. But this is not on Ron or Harry or Hermione. They’re just teenagers and it was a — ”

“Just teenagers?” Ramona spat, eyes falling to Ron. “I thought maybe… maybe you were ‘just teenagers’ when I finally met you at the first exam. I thought maybe I had been delusional, thinking anyone as entitled and lazy as you could be a hero… But then I saw you duel, how you flew, and how you lead…”

She shook her head.

“You’re not ‘just some teens!’ I’ve seen you! You’re amazing in the field. It’s like watching real-life superheroes… You broke into the Ministry, and Gringott’s and Hogwarts and saved so many families. You’re good and smart, and I had to watch as you helped family after family, but never mine!”

“That’s enough!” Neville said standing up. “You know that’s not fair, right? To expect them to save everyone?”

“They could've saved my family!” Her hard look crumbled and Ron wondered how young she was. She looked small and he found all the lingering anger at Ramona became brittle as tears welled in her eyes. “S-someone could’ve…”

Ron slowly slid down next to her.

"I’m sorry…” said Ron, not exactly sure what he meant by it. It was everything and nothing. It was a condolence for someone who had lost so much. It was an apology for not doing enough to end the war sooner. It was empty words to soothe someone whose anger and mourning he could endlessly empathise with. It was a place holder so he didn’t shout at the injustice of it all, or the injustice of being blamed. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.”

“Don’t apologise, Ron,” said Neville, voice surprisingly stern. “You did what you could, and it was so much… You don’t have a thing to apologise for.”

Part of Ron wanted to agree and tell Ramona off for her delusions. What did she think he was? How could she think him capable of saving her family? It was completely demented!

But… But he still wished he could’ve done it. Even if it was barmy and unrealistic and impossible…

And he had to wonder, how many other families had they let down? How many other people died or had their lives destroyed because they took too long gathering Horcruxes?

“So…” Ron managed to say through a tight voice. “Is it just you and your sister, now?”

“My dad’s not dead… I take care of him when his nurse can’t. That's why I was late for this exam—we’d run out of catheters and it was a huge mess, and then he puked, and I couldn't leave my sister alone with that. His nurse didn't show up because of a flat tire, and— and…”

“That sounds like a lot," Neville's voice cut through, a mix of understanding and sympathy. If anyone could understand ‘losing’ a parent, but they’re still alive, it was Neville.

Ramona nodded, her tears continuing to fall, and for a moment, amidst the pain and regret, a fragile connection formed between them all.

“Shall we join the others?” asked Neville.

Ron nodded while Ramona bit her lip.

“I don’t know how useful I can be, right now,” she said, voice smaller than he’d ever heard it.

“Ramona,” said Ron, standing up with a small groan. “You’re strong; tough as shit and mean as a fucking bag of rabid badgers. Let’s use that and end this exam, okay? Then you can throw darts at my photo or whatever you do in your spare time.”

Somehow that made her snort and a small smile flickered across her face.

“So… are you ready to kick arse?” he asked, finally noticing how sore his shoulders were from stooping.

She nodded and accepted a ride on his broom to the surface level.

“All good?” asked Vyse as they squinted into the sunny street.

“Yeah,” said Ron, giving his body one more Aguamenti before removing the bubble charm.

They were expectantly watching him, but this time he had a plan, a clear mind, and a fiery coal of hate against the Ministry keeping him going.

“Claudia, did you put a tracking mark on the Squid?”

She nodded the affirmative and did a Point Me spell.

“Brilliant. Okay we can hunt it down properly, now,” he said looking at his map. “When we were underground we weren’t able to hurt the Squid, except the red window. Harry managed to crack it. We need to break it to pieces and get the Aurors to leave the Squid.”

“Why would they leave it?” asked Ramona. “It can defend everything we throw at it.”

“Only if the arms are moving,” he said. “For a second, as the tunnel collapsed, an arm got stuck. If we get its arms stuck and bust through the window, we can get them.”

“It burrowed into the ground last time. Is there a way to prevent that from happening again?” asked Vyse.

“At the corner of the map,” said Ron, expanding the shrunk map from his arm for all to see and pointed to a spot. “Harry and I got to the edge and hit an invisible barrier. I’d wager the Squid can’t get past it either.”

“And once we get the Aurors out?” asked Theold.

“We need to split the Aurors up. If we get them in the open, we might stand a chance.”

“If they’re an easier target out in the open, we are too,” noted Neville. The corners didn’t offer much cover either.

“Then we’ll have given them a bloody good show for their money.”

The group grinned at one another.

“That’s all they want anyways,” Ron added in an undertone.

In minutes, the plan was in motion, and the recruits were positioned. Vyse and Ramona soared through the air on their brooms to strategically herd the Squid toward the designated corner of the map.

Ron, Neville, Theold, and Claudia waited with bated breath for the moment the Squid would come their way.

The waiting was absolutely interminable, and soon bated breaths turned to sighs and huffs.

The high sun had shifted and the shadows were growing long across the alley.

Standing at the ready in their buildings made his shoulders ache and hands twitch for something to do. The stillness of waiting let his exhaustion slowly take over. He was counting bricks to stay awake, when a tiny lone beetle landed on the sill.

The black beetle marched along, swaying to and fro as a small breeze tried to buffet it about. Its little legs made it positively waddle.

He let out a snort, and Claudia began to watch it too, an amused look on her face.

The two let out a small laugh as the beetle tripped over a nail and fell over, its small legs wildly flailing for purchase.

“Oh no,” Claudia let out, trying to poke it off its back without touching its little insect legs. Her compassion for the little bug reminded him of Hermione; she was always cooing at gross little things.

He told as much to Claudia as he pushed the beetle over for her, not minding touching it. Somehow beetles weren’t the same as spiders.

“She had a soft spot for Kreacher even, and he’d been calling her slurs for years!” laughed Ron.

“How did you and Hermione get together?” Claudia asked, a sappy look on her face he’d seen girls get about anything remotely romantic.

“Dazzled her with my good looks and charm,” he joked, watching the beetle nestle down and take a rest, no doubt exhausted from its time flailing.

Neville let out a snort.

Claudia watched Ron expectantly, a broad smile on her face.

“Well, maybe it wasn’t entirely those,” he conceded with a small laugh.

“Those two were dancing around each other for years,” said Neville with a rueful shake of his head. “We thought sixth year it’d happen. Dean, Seamus and I had a betting pool and everything.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” said Ron. “Eventually I got my head out of my arse… ”

“How long have you been together?” asked Claudia.

“Only a month or so, but I’ve been mad about her for years. I mean, she’s brilliant and beautiful and has this wicked passion about every single thing she does. And she’s fucking brave, it’s unbelievable. She sacrificed so much during the war, but even before, she’s the most kickarse witch I’ve ever met.”

Theold rolled his eyes while Neville and Claudia grinned at him.

His cheeks reddened as he realised how much a gushing sap he was being.

“Anyway, that’s part of why I’m joining the Aurors; so I can help her out when we get our signing bonus.”

“That’s so sweet!” Claudia sighed, her curiosity sated.

“Didn’t you win the Order of Merlin?” asked Theold. “You get thousands of galleons with that— no need for a piddly signing bonus.”

Ron’s head swung round to look at Theold. He didn’t seem to be joking.

“Yeah, my gran said something like that,” Neville confirmed with a nod.

“Oh…” said Ron, not sure how to respond. Did he not need the Auror money after all? The thought of having his own money was nice… but he wasn’t sure he liked it coming from his time in the war…

“How ‘bout you? Why are you joining up?” he asked Claudia, happy to have the attention away from his money matters and his soppiness for his girlfriend.

Claudia gave an embarrassed look.

“I don’t know… I just… The war was terrible, and I didn’t feel like I got to help the way I wanted.” Her posture slowly fell.

“How so?” asked Neville.

“When I read history books, I’d sometimes sit and think ‘ohhh if I had lived in that time period, I would have helped lead a rebel cause, or saved people!’ I thought very grandly of myself… But I didn’t do much of anything and didn’t know how to. I only worked at a farm with rescue animals. I wasn’t part of anything…”

“What kind of animals?”

“All kinds of magical pets— cats, owls, goats, rats— you name them. During the war there were so many animals homeless or hurt. That’s how I got good at tracking spells, and it didn’t hurt with my flying either. We’d get a floo or owl telling us about an abandoned animal, and I’d go in to retrieve it then rehab the animal, if needed,” she said with a shrug. “But I wasn’t like you or your friends. I didn’t save anyone.”

“Sounds like you saved a lot of someone’s pets, though,” said Neville. “I’m sure all those pets’ owners would be happy to know they were in good hands.”

She glumly leaned against the window.

“Not everyone is going to be on the front lines, but you were where you were needed,” said Ron. “If something happened to me, I’d want to know my little Pig was okay.”

“You own a pig?” Theold asked.

“Ooo really?” squealed Claudia.

“Oh! No, that’s my owl,” Ron snorted. The rest of the recruits shared grins. “Don’t look at me like that, my little sister named him.”

“I didn’t say anything!” she laughed.

“Pushover,” said Theold, a vaguely amused look on his face.

“You know… You’re a lot less scary than you seem in the papers,” said Claudia.

“I seem scary?” Ron asked, flabbergasted that anyone could find him intimidating, let alone that he had a reputation for it.

“Mhmm!” she brightly hummed. “The pictures all make you look brooding, and the papers all write about ‘eight foot tall Weasley and his terrible temper’— how you were like a fearsome bodyguard for Harry.”

Bemused, Ron continued to look at the beetle. Him? Brooding and fearsome? He’d only skimmed a few articles before chucking them in a fury, but hadn’t imagined something like that…

“I mean, you are unreasonably tall,” added Theold with a snort from the corner.

“And you definitely can be scary when you’re mad, but… You’re nice. And smart. They didn’t say anything about that.”

He gave a small grunt. Of course they didn’t. “Maybe they called me a smart arse.”

“Your plans have been smashing,” she said with certainty. “If I don’t get to be an Auror… It’s been nice getting to know you.”

“I’m sure you’ll pass. You’ve done really well.”

“Nothing like you.”

Unsure of how to answer, Ron looked to the ceiling. It was cracked and peeling.

He wished he knew how to comfort her, but as usual he wasn’t sure what to do. Ron wasn’t good with words. Funny asides he was okay at… With Harry and Hermione at least.

“If I learned one thing,” he began, trying to comb out a good way to say it, “comparing your achievements with others only leads to heartache. Believe me, I had six siblings and Harry fucking Potter as measuring sticks for years.”

She let out a small laugh.

“Okay, that helps,” she acknowledged. “What about you, Theold? Why are you joining?”

“Because I’d be awesome at it.”

“Come on! Why really?”

He gave a shrug. “Sometimes it’s not that deep. I would be awesome at it.”

“Theooold,” Claudia complained.

“Ask Longbottom.”

“Fine! Neville? Why are you joining?”

Neville thought about it in silence before answering, “this seems like where I’m needed.”

Neville and Ron shared a smile.

“See? Not everyone is a mushy sap like Weasley,” said Theold with a sly smile.

Ron was about to protest when their wrists heated.

‘Nearly there! -Vyse’

Ron shooed the beetle away. “Get out of here, little guy. Don’t want you getting crushed in the upcoming duels.”

With a few pushes of his finger, the beetle buzzed off.

Wands at the ready, they crouched. His thighs twitched like coiled springs, and the agonised suspense took over him. A strange cocktail of fatalistic relief and a blaze of resentment surged within him as the Squid approached. He hated every person in that thing…

He heard the Squid before he saw it. Each step it took viciously crunched into the ground.

Through a small crack in the wall he spied the tiny figures of Vyse and Ramona weaving a path behind the Squid on their brooms like a pair of herding dogs in a field. The moment the Squid turned down an alley, they’d zip to the other side and head it off.

The earth trembled into a chaotic dance as the Squid stampeded down the alley, its metallic appendages thrashing.

“NOW!” Ron's command cut through the chaos, and the recruits launched themselves into action.

Cobblestones exploded, and rubble flew as Ron and Claudia threw forward their ropes. The thick cables wrapped along the length of one of the Squid arms. Its arm was secured to the concrete barriers in the street.

Meanwhile, Theold and Neville did the same to the other side, leaving two arms of the Squid stretched tight.

The ropes strained and the bestial Squidroom thrashed and groaned at the effort.

The ground-recruits fled as Vyse and Ramona flew around the remaining tentacle-like legs and tied them off.

“GET CLEAR!” Neville yelled as he and Theold set off the explosive spells.

The percussive blast sent rubble flying, and if not for shield charms, Ron might have had his skull split by a flying chunk of cement the size of a quaffle.

The buildings on either side of the Squid remained standing for only a moment before collapsing in a sea of dust and particulates, locking the Squid in place.

He could barely see the Aurors inside, but none were standing after the impact to the Squid.

This was their chance.

“THE WINDOW!” Ron bellowed.

As one, the recruits aimed their spells at the blood-red glass. Unable to dodge or deflect spells, the already cracked window shattered.

The recruits continued the assault on the jagged window, but soon spells met theirs, and the Aurors emerged.

A white-hot spell snapped through the air and nearly hit Ron in the temple. He pulled his head back and nearly lost his balance behind a pillar.

He activated his watch:

‘Split up! -Ron’

Ramona and Theold converged like a whirlwind on Sealy-Pearce. Across the fray, Robards squared off against Vyse and Neville, a furious tempest of spells erupting around them.

Claudia ran towards Ron when a red spell hit her from behind. She gave the smallest of ‘eeps’ before her vest disappeared along with her.

Behind her disappearing form, wand raised, stood Musaad.

Spells blazed through the air, creating a kaleidoscope of magic as recruits fought tooth and nail against the fierce Aurors. And then there was Ron. He had no partner. It was him against the best dueller he’d ever met. He was on his own, and in the open.

‘Get to cover! Get to cover!’ raced through his mind.

He ran.

Ron scrambled across the rubble-covered cobblestones, his movements far from agile as he evaded the barrage.

He blindly cast a stinging hex. It must have hit its mark, for Musaad gave a grunt. Despite any injury, Musaad didn’t slow an iota.

Ron had to climb over a downed wall on all fours to avoid a crack of spells. The jagged stones clawed at his palms, but he ignored the discomfort, his sole focus on reaching the nearby building.

Spells crashed all around, and shards of debris tore and whirled around him.

He finally reached the building and hurled himself through the shattered doorway. The room was a dim, wooden chamber with peeling wallpaper, and offered minimal cover. He realised, with a sinking feeling, that he'd be a sitting—

‘DUCK!’ the command echoed in his ears as his instincts took over.

He dropped to the floor as a lethal bolt of magic snapped viciously beside him. The spell collided with the cracked wall, sending splinters raining down like deadly raindrops. A fair few punctured his arm and he let out a hiss.

Ron's heart raced as he scrambled to his feet, wand in hand.

“Fuck!” he let out as a purple spell was hurled his way.

He flicked his wand, barely conjuring a shield in time.

Musaad's assault rebounded off the barrier, unleashing a shockwave through the room's walls. Wooden beams groaned, and dust and debris filled the air like a choking fog.

The scent of scorched wood and ozone hung heavy in the air as Ron crouched behind his meagre flickering shield. He couldn't last long staying pinned down like this.

Seconds seemed stretched into agonising minutes as Ron tried to formulate a plan.

He didn’t have the element of surprise on his side. They weren’t trapped in the confines of a duelling ring — Musaad was free-range and relentless!

Ron’s breaths came in ragged gasps as the shield's surface flickered, its strength waning with every spell Musaad hurled his way.

‘Move it, Weasley!’

With a surge of determination, he threw the shield towards Musaad and cast a Conjunctivitus curse, temporarily blinding the man. Ron tried to bolt deeper into the building, but the floorboards creaked with each heavy step and Musaad quickly spelled him through an already crumbling wall, inches away from hitting a brick fireplace. Damn, he needed to avoid hard surfaces… Or did he?

His body ached and protested, but he pushed himself from the ground and ran further into the building. Ron managed to send a few spells back at Musaad. One spell grazed Musaad's shoulder, leaving a searing mark on his robe, while another sunk Musaad’s feet into a swamp-like mire, buying Ron precious seconds to widen the space between them.

If he could get Musaad in close quarters with hard surfaces, Ron might be able to beat him. If he missed with a precision spell, at least Musaad might get thrown into something that could incapacitate him.

"Where's... A... Fucking... Bathroom?!" he muttered to himself. his frantic search taking him from room to room.

Musaad's spells pursued him relentlessly, each one an intimidating reminder of his adversary's expertise. The gap between them was closing fast. Musaad prowled after his prey with precision and didn’t even seem winded, while Ron flailed and felt his lungs burning to shreds.

For an instant he dared to look back as he ran up the stairs.

“Weasley, you can’t keep running,” said Musaad, a glint of mirth in his eyes.

Ron burst through another door, finding himself in yet another narrow wooden hallway.

And then, at last, he found it.

An old, tiled bathroom stood before him, complete with a porcelain tub and sink; it was the perfect battleground.

Musaad sent a quick series of hexes Ron’s way, and he narrowly blocked them, but was forcibly thrown into the room across from the bathroom.

The room was cluttered with overturned furniture and shattered remnants of what once might have been a bedroom.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he regained his footing. With unsure movements he began to cast the unfamiliar spell. He’d just finished swiping his want through the air, when it was wrenched from his hand.

Musaad had taken up the doorway and disarmed him, easily catching Ron’s wand.

“Looks like you’re disarmed, Weasley.”

“Looks like it,” said Ron, slowly rising as Musaad’s wand was pointed at his chest.

“Hands up,” said Musaad, doing a small indication with his wand. Ron complied, slowly raising his hands, his fingers trembling with fatigue. Blood trickled from a small cut on his forehead, mingling with the sweat clinging to his brow.

“You’ve been a worthy opponent,” said Musaad, raising his wand and taking a deliberate step forward into the room.

Musaad’s foot landed on a floorboard that twisted and whipped him across the hall like a slingshot. Musaad crashed back-first into the porcelain tub, a loud groan escaping his lips as the wands slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground.

With a ferocity born of desperation, Ron ran at him. He didn’t bother going for the wands— he let his fist fly. Pain seared through his hand, and he was fairly certain he'd broken a knuckle, but the satisfaction of seeing Musaad's condescending smirk wiped away was worth the agony.

Musaad finally lay still, face punchdrunk and unfocused.

Ron tapped the shield badge on Musaad's chest with his trembling fingers, activating the portkey spell that would send his adversary to the same unknown destination Harry had been sent earlier.

As Musaad disappeared in a snarl of magical light, Ron spat a glob of blood onto the floor, his chest heaving with exertion and triumph.

He tiredly bent and picked up his wand.

There was a calming chime, like a muted gong. A disembodied female voice, much like the lifts in the Ministry Lobby announced, “The third Combat Readiness Exam is now over. Prepare for evacuation.”

He only had time to blink before he felt the twist and pull of the vest taking him back to the Auror Department.

He expected to see a room full of recruits and Aurors. He expected to see Harry and Kevin and Claudia waiting. He expected the mirrors watching him and quills recording his every move. He expected someone there to help with his plentiful, but thankfully minor, injuries.

Instead, Ron was met with a dingy dark grey room with a lone bed against the wall, a side table and a toilet in the corner. He tried the door, but it was locked.

He performed a series of spells but Anti-Apparition spells were in place and nothing he knew would work.

“Hello?” he hoarsely called through the door, hitting the door with the fat of his fist. “Anyone there?”

No one answered him, but a pitcher of water and a cup appeared on the small table.

Suddenly, the disembodied voice was back: “Greetings Recruit, Interviews for the Fourth and Final Combat Readiness Exam have begun. When your interview time is near you will be released into the antechamber.

“Fucking ‘course they think locking us in solitary is a good idea,” Ron muttered.

He glanced at his watch but it was dented and the time was stuck at one sixteen in the morning.

“Do you have any injuries, Recruit?” asked the voice.

“I don’t know.” he rasped. Only the sound of ‘no’ must have registered because no one responded to his answer. It took at least a minute before he felt in his body enough to know if he had any injuries. He had a series of splinters up and down his left arm

Ron went to the pitcher and poured a glass. It was then he realised his wand hand’s finger didn’t want to bend around the glass. He must’ve either jammed it or broken it; he’d never quite been sure how to tell one from the other. He could do spells with his left hand, but didn’t quite trust the non-dominant hand to do something like heal bones.

Too tired and angry to worry about the interview, he drank his fill, took a piss, then sat back on the bed, picking splinters out of his arm. He was filthy and in dire need of a shower. His clothes began to cool and stiffen with sweat, and soon he was shivering.

The grime of battle still clung to him, and he felt a desperate need for a cleansing shower.

Restlessly, he attempted to find solace in a thin blanket. It offered little comfort or warmth. Micronaps, brief and fragmented, beckoned like distant islands of respite in a sea of exhaustion. Each time he slipped into the realm of sleep, he awoke with a start, the remnants of his nightmares with the Boggart dust haunting him.

He couldn't discern how much time had passed when the door to his cell finally swung open, its hinges creaking. With wary caution, Ron edged closer to the doorway.

The room he entered was a stark contrast to the cold, featureless cell. Warm wooden panels adorned the walls, radiating a sense of comfort that felt foreign after the ordeal he'd endured. His gaze fell upon Neville and Ramona

"Hey!" Neville greeted him, offering a weary but genuine smile.

Ron nodded in acknowledgment. "Were you stuck in a grey cell too?

"They let me out a moment ago," Neville confirmed, his voice tinged with relief.

“What time is it?”

“Search me,” Neville said, holding up his own damaged watch. “Got smashed and I’m rotten at repairing anything with mechanics.”

Ramona held up Vyse’s lucky coin and a bit of string. “It’s not a watch anymore.”

“Who made it to the end?” asked Ron.

“We’re all that’s left,” replied Neville.

“They okay?”

Neville gave a helpless shrug. “I have to assume so. Vyse got hit with a spell, then zipped away. I don’t know what happened to Theold.”

“The Squid got loose and pinned him, then he disappeared,” said Ramona.

Ron walked around the room checking each door. He was concerned for everyone, but most of all Harry. There was no sign of life beyond long-abandoned beds and drinking glasses with sips of water left.

“I’m sure Harry’s okay,” said Neville.

Ron shook his head. “I wouldn’t trust the Aurors with the care and feeding of a rock…”

Ramona gave a small snort.

“Are either of you any good with episkey? I think I broke my knuckle on Musaad’s chin,” he said, holding up a purpling knuckle. His finger could only marginally wiggle, but couldn’t hold anything or go into a fist.

“That’s not the same hand as earlier, right?” asked Neville, holding up his wand.

Ron made a hardy attempt to temper his glare. “No.”

Neville said the spell, and Ron’s knuckle gave a gross ‘pop.’

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Ron hissed in pain, but soon it was only a dull ache. “How about you? Any broken bits you need healed?”

Neville shook his head. “Surprisingly unscathed! Bruised as all out, but I have some okay bruise paste at home.”

Ron gave a grunt of approval, then looked to Ramona. She was wane and pale, but had a foreboding glare clearly telling him ‘fuck off and die terribly, if you please.’

“How about you?” Ron asked, despite himself.

Her glare softened the smallest amount. “The same ankle I hurt in the second exam is sore.”

“Need me to wrap it?”

She bit her lip, then nodded in assent.

He worked quickly and quietly. The ankle was swollen, but not nearly the purple mess it had been a few days prior.

“Thank you,” she quietly said as he was midway wrapping her ankle.

He nearly dropped her foot in surprise.

“Er… You’re welcome.”

Thankfully he had set her foot on the ground when she continued surprising him.

“You…” she began. “You helped me today. And the last exam.”

Unsure of what to say he opted to say nothing.

“That’s pretty par for the course for Ron and his friends,” said Neville, words more weighty than he let on.

A door opened and out came Sealy-Pearce, posture as straight as ever.

“Weasley. It’s time for your interview,” she said, face devoid of any emotion.

Neville gave his shoulder a squeeze and Ron promptly stood.

“Good luck,” said Ramona. She was unsmiling, but he could tell she meant it.

The corridor they went down was narrow, and his shoulder nearly caught on a torch as they passed by.

“Is Harry okay?” he asked her.

“He’s uninjured.”

That wasn’t the same as being okay, he wanted to argue, but he held his tongue.

Sealy-Pearce said nothing as she led the way, which was fine by Ron. He never was good at small talk with authority figures— not that they typically took much time with him anyways. Perhaps he hadn’t had the chance to practise.

Either way, he knew the simmering rage he felt towards the whole department wouldn’t be able to kept in check for long. It was best he held his tongue, grit his teeth and pushed down every swear and insult scrambling to break free.

They finally entered a small room that looked more like a place of interrogation than an ‘interview.’ It probably was an interrogation room. Behind a long wooden table sat Musaad, Robards, the Auror he had taken out on the roof, and another female Auror he didn’t recognize. They left an empty seat on the end Sealy-Pearce promptly filled.

“Take a seat, Weasley,” said Robards, waving a hand to reveal a wooden chair behind a small table with a pitcher and glass of water.

He sat, and immediately realised the chair was terribly uncomfortable. The back was too low, and the seat managed to slide back in an angle that made his tailbone hurt.

Ron stood, waved his wand and made it more his size and sat back down. If he was going to be fucked with, he’d at least do it without a sore arse.

“Water?” asked Robards.

“No thanks,” said Ron, trying to figure out where to lay his hands. On the table? In his lap?

“That was quite a show you put on in the exam,” said Robards, a wry smile on his face. “Quite a show… Musaad and Sealy-Pearce had said you were good, but I was impressed. We hadn’t heard much of you before this. Usually there are rumblings if someone has potential, but I didn’t hear anything about you from Hogwarts. Why is that?”

Ron clenched his fist and tried to convince his face not to flush. His face gave him the middle finger and slowly began turning him red, one centimetre at a time.

“I don’t know much about how ‘rumblings’ work,” Ron said, a small shrug.

He found himself rather impressed with his answer. He’d sounded sort of cool and nonchalant, in a way he rarely felt. The feeling of calm abated when he saw the unimpressed look on Robards face.

“Would you care to expand on that?”

Fuck.

“I dunno…” he said with a small cough.

He didn’t know what to tell them. All he could think of is things he probably shouldn’t say. Ron knew he probably shouldn’t say it was because he’d never been noticed a day in his life. He probably shouldn’t say he was useless compared to everyone else. He probably shouldn’t say they were putting him on the fucking spot and could eat a bag of dicks.

“Have some water, Weasley,” said Robards.

He promptly took a drink, and used it to buy more time. The water had a slightly acrid taste to it that made him wish for better water to wash it down with.

He had done things at Hogwarts… He’d never done them all that well, but he’d done things! He’d helped Hermione and Harry get across the chess board. He’d gone to the Ministry. He’d fought Death Eaters… He’d tried. And he’d obviously done alright in these trials.

“Maybe ‘rumblings’ aren’t much compared to people actually doing things?” Ron asked, scrambling to put his thoughts together and finishing off his glass of water.

“I mean, Neville’s obviously good enough to be an Auror, but I don’t think there were ‘rumblings’ before last year with him. But he was bloody brilliant at the Ministry in fifth year, and in sixth year he was there fighting off Death Eaters too.”

A few of the Aurors nodded, but Musaad bent forward. “This isn’t about Longbottom. This is about you.”

“I know that,” said Ron, irritation growing. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to tell you why I was underestimated by people. That’s on you, isn’t it?”

He nearly slapped a hand over his mouth. He had to say the wrong thing.

Musaad leaned back in his chair, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Your performance today suggests you have the skills," Robards conceded. "But being an Auror is about more than skills. It's about dedication, teamwork, and a commitment to upholding the law. Do you feel you’d be capable of that?”

“Yes… I mean, I hope so,” said Ron with a shrug. “I’m… I try to be there for people. And if a law is a good one, then yeah, I’d commit to upholding it.”

“Sometimes you’ll be asked to uphold laws you don’t agree with,” said Sealy-Pearce, her face unreadable.

“Like the ones Voldemort put in place last year?” Immediately scowls turned his way. Ron averted his eyes. “If the Ministry has just laws, I’ll do my best. If it falls to hell again… That’s a different story.”

“What would you do?” she asked.

“Probably the same as last year,” he said, squinting at her and leaning back.

“Would you like to tell us more about your actions in the last year?” asked Robards.

Ron knew he’d have to tread carefully. The last year had more secrets than he thought himself capable of holding.

“Erm… What part do you want to know about?”

“We know you didn’t go to Hogwarts last year. Had a clever ruse with the ghoul taking your place,” said Robards, a genial smile on his face. “Was that your work or Arthur’s?”

“My idea, but my dad helped a bit with the spells.”

A few of the Aurors nodded in approval.

“So before you were captured at Malfoy Manor, what were you doing? I’m assuming you were part of the Ministry break in?”

“I was.”

“Why did you break in?”

“We needed to retrieve an object.”

Ron’s fingers tightened into the slight folds on the side of his trousers.

He wondered how much they knew of what he’d been up to with Harry and Hermione. Was this line of questioning about Ron and further proving his abilities by describing his record?

“What was this object?” asked Robards, genial mood slowly slipping into something more pointed and eager.

Were they fishing for more information about Horcruxes? If they were, they were a fat lot of idiots because he would never tell them anything. He’d rather bleed out on the floor and let them have an inkling of anything they wanted.

“A h—” Ron stopped himself. What the fuck? He hadn’t meant to say a thing and he’d nearly said Horcrux. He must have been more tired than he thought. “An object to help stop Voldemort.”

“Was this a Horcrux?” pressed Robards.

“I didn’t ask it,” said Ron.

Robards expression turned glacial.

“You were pretty gabby in the transcripts of your exams, Weasley. Is there a particular reason you’re reticent now?”

“I’m answering your questions,” said Ron, struggling to keep his voice neutral.

Robards leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. "Tell me, Weasley, have you ever had any struggles with your mental health? Stress, anxiety, anything of that sort?"

He knew Robards was trying to throw him with a sudden change in tack. Unfortunately, it was working.

Ron's heart stumbled and he hesitated for a moment, his voice less steady.

“Y-yeah. Sometimes. The last few years I’ve been fighting Death Eaters, I’ve lost people, and my family and friends were in danger… I think I’d be barmy not to have stress and anxiety during that.”

“But what about after? Today you had an extreme reaction to the Boggart dust,” noted Musaad.

“Everyone did,” said Ron, crossing his arms.

“Well, at least you didn’t dangerously blast one of your fellow recruits,” Musaad conceded.

“That wasn’t his fault!” Ron protested, struggling to keep himself in check. “He’s been through more than anyone.”

“Apparently…” Musaad with a small snort.

“Watch it,” Ron warned.

“You seem angry.”

“Of course I am. You’re a bunch of sadists who tortured my friend!”

“We didn’t put Boggart dust in the field,” assured the rooftop Auror. “The breeding den had been underground for years, it seems, growing without our knowledge.”

“Oh like that’s better! You put a bunch of people in danger—”

“None of you were in danger from that Boggart den you stumbled across. The only danger was from your friend,” Musaad added.

“Stop saying that!”

“You could barely restrain him when he was going mad. Are you really saying you don’t think Potter is dangerous under those circumstances?”

“He was but—” Ron cut himself off. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“Have you ever seen Potter behave dangerously before?”

He had to fight to keep himself from saying yes. Why was it so difficult?

“Under the right circumstances anyone can be dangerous!” Ron growled.

“The problem is, you can’t always be there to restrain him.”

“I know that, but—” Ron grit his teeth to cut himself off again. He felt almost compelled to speak.

“And while your loyalty is admirable, as an Auror you’d have to put the needs of your team and your government above your friend. Can you do that?”

Ron was about to snap back ‘probably not,’ when the realisation hit. He let out a bark of laughter and looked to the ceiling.

“Something funny?” Robards asked.

“You lot…” Ron said with another humourless laugh. “You’ve put something in my water and are trying to get a rise out of me. What is it, some sort of Veritaserum?”

“You’re not on—”

“I am,” Ron said surely. He could tell when he had been fucked with. It had happened enough times; the brains when he was sixteen, the love potion when he was seventeen, and then the locket… Add in Boggart dust and he’d had enough of it for a lifetime. His mind wasn’t entirely his to control.

The table mutely stared at him, but Musaad finally answered, “it’s a variant on Veritaserum. Makes you more suggestible to tell the truth, but leaves the speaker able to express themselves with full emotions, and able to hold back the truth if they are very inclined to do so. It’s less detectable than normal truth serum and less unethical as—”

“Less unethical?” Rons snorted. “You lot are nothing but unethical from where I’m sitting.”

“Oh?” Robards asked.

Ron could feel it— the need to tell the truth— the need to tell them off with everything he had. They said he could hold it back if he was very inclined to do so.

Too bad he had no inclination at all to hold back.

“This whole things has been needlessly fucked up. You didn’t properly check the place for dangers like the Boggart dust—”

“No one was in danger—” began Robards.

Ron had so many emotions going through his mind, it was hard to pick just one. He decided on livid.

“Mental stuff is dangerous, okay!?” growled Ron. “People’s heads being fucked with is dangerous! And you lot have done it every single exam.”

“As Musaad said, you can hold back what you want to say if you’re so inclined,” said Robards, jaw clenched.

“I’m not, but thanks for that reminder,” Ron said with a shake of his head. “Do you have more questions for me, or can I go?”

Robards gave a supremely displeased look.

“Do you even want to be an Auror?”

“After seeing how you treat recruits? Not really,” Ron curtly replied.

“In that case, do you have any final questions for us?”

Ron thought and stared at the floor before letting his eyes meet theirs.

“I’ve known three great Aurors in my lifetime, and they were all in the Order. Where were you lot? Why didn’t Dumbledore trust you? Were you even helping fight in the war?”

They stonily stared at him, except Musaad who looked away.

“There were many ways to help in this war,” Robards quietly said. He had a glower that should have made Ron nervous, but he didn’t care anymore.

“Right, well, I’ll take my Order of Merlin and shove it, shall I?” he said, rising from his chair. “How’s that for ‘rumblings?’”

“You haven’t been dismissed,” barked Robards.

“You saw what I can do. Either you think I’ll be good at this, or you don’t. I don’t reckon anything I say will change your mind for the better when I’m on truth serum-light. I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.”

Ron went to the door and realised he had no idea how to leave.

“I’ll escort you,” said Musaad, a wry grin on his bearded face.

Ron begrudgingly followed the man out the door, and pointedly ignored the barbed looks the rest of the table were giving him.

He’d utterly ruined his chances of being an Auror, but he felt strangely lighthearted about it. Theold had said he would get money for the Order of Merlin— that could cover his expenses along with his pub job until he could get employment he enjoyed and was proud of.

They were a few metres into the hall when Musaad let out a laugh. Ron stopped walking and stared at him.

He’d let his temper ruin his chances to be an Auror and now Musaad was mocking him. It felt like a most fitting end to a most imperfect day.

“And Robards thought you gave quite a show in the exams,” Musaad laughed. “I must say, Weasley, you’re one of the most interesting recruits I’ve ever met.”

“I’m on truth serum or whatever so you might want to shut up,” said Ron, fists beginning to clench.

“I am not trying to provoke you anymore,” said Musaad, putting his hands up.

“Okay…” Ron crossed his arms and looked down at Musaad. He’d seemed an intimidating figure, but Ron realised just how much smaller Musaad was than himself. “How was Harry, really?”

“I can’t reveal anything from his fourth exam, that’s confidential,” said Musaad, but he continued before Ron could protest. “Right before the exam it was reported to me that he was quite distraught. They sent someone in to check him over for any remaining spores of Boggart dust. He was able to gather himself after knowing Kevin Gunther was fine.”

It wasn’t fully relieving news, but it was better than not knowing anything.

“Thank you…” said Ron. He gave a forceful exhale through pursed lips. “Have I… Did I ruin my chances back there?”

“Oh you want to talk to me now?” asked Musaad.

“Might as well.” Ron shrugged and waited.

Musaad continued down the hall a few paces before he spoke. “Your performance in the first three exams was excellent. The only red flags we had for you were a wild case of insecurity, and you have a tinge of disrespect for authority. Nothing too major, especially given the circumstances… You were probably a shoe-in after exam three.”

“And now?”

“Well, Robards is a proud man… Deserves to be. He did quite a lot to help our side win this war, but from the inside. He has an impeccable record. And you chose to question it in front of his peers and throw your Order of Merlin in his face…”

“So I’m fucked,” Ron said, rubbing his left arm.

“Well, it’s hard to say how he’ll react. We are very hard up on recruits, and it doesn’t hurt that your best friend is one of the most politically powerful people in the Wizarding World. Potter was a bit of an upstart too.”

“He saved everyone’s arses. He deserves to be.”

Musaad nodded, holding Ron’s gaze. “One could argue you deserve to be too. We’re alive and able to interview you both because of the steps you took to end this war. That won’t be forgotten. And I won’t let your very fair reaction to our tests affect your chances if I can.”

“Do you have anything to do with this decision?” Ron asked, a tiny bit of hope scrambling its ways to the front of his mind.

“Yes. I do,” said Musaad before giving a laugh. “And despite how much you very obviously disdain me, I find I like you.”

Ron narrowed his eyes.

“I like what I saw in the field,” Musaad continued, not the least bit intimidated by Ron’s glare. “You’re the kind of person I would want beside me in a battle, and nothing you said in the interview convinced me otherwise. But, at the end of the day, I’m just one vote.”

He stopped walking, and looked Ron in the eyes.

“If this somehow doesn’t work out, feel free to contact me. I want to make sure you have a position somewhere for your skills. I could, perhaps, write a letter or talk to someone. That’s the least you deserve.”

Musaad put out a hand for him to shake, and despite everything, Ron found himself shaking it.

“You’ve got a good nose for tactics. It’s a pretty rare thing in someone so young. It’s been a privilege,” said Musaad, firmly shaking his hand before letting it go and leaving Ron in the locker room.

He changed, but the whole time he had unsure footing similar to when he’d just played a Quidditch game and finally landed on the ground. Everything felt slow and unsteady as he took each step and changed his clothes. The world around him felt like it was vibrating. The tensile pulse still rang in his ears, but he had no idea of where to move and nowhere to walk.

He felt the inexorable urge to run and run until he was far from this underground torture chamber.

He didn’t know if he even wanted to be an Auror anymore… But he didn’t want them telling him he couldn’t be one…

He wished he could say goodbye to the Recruits. He wished he knew how they all did on the exam. He wished to go home and check on Harry, to throw himself into Hermione’s waiting arms, and to maybe have some of his Mum’s cooking. He wished… He wished a lot of things, actually…

But most of all, he wished to sleep in his own bed and wake up not regretting a thing.

“Fat chance of that,” Ron mumbled to himself as he stumbled towards the lifts.

--------------------------------

author's note:

Thank you to everyone who reviews- you all really help motivate me and make me feel tied to other people. Sometimes it's hard to feel a sense of community in my life, but you really give that to me and it means so much!

Next chapter Hermione's POV again.

[carmillatism]

hello! i hope this ask finds you well <3

i’m just looking for a bit of advice and i saw one of your posts about being disabled so i figured i might ask;

(to preface: i am not disabled) but sometimes my right hip does a weird thing and hurts for a bit on and off and i can’t really walk (my hips have always been weird - they pop really easily and hurt if i lay down on them for too long) and i was curious if you might have advice on how to deal with that? (though granted i don’t actually know what kind of physical disability you have so this might just be headed out into the aether)

(sorry if this is the wrong blog to ask!)

hello! sorry for getting back so late; i had school! and yes, you came to the right place! want to preface this with a disclaimer by saying i'm not a professional, and i recommend you talk with a doctor if possible. i also recommend doing your own research as i don't know you like you know you!

that aside, i have pots and hsd, both which cause me chronic pain. hsd, or hypermobikity spectrum disorder, causes me chronic joint pain. and good for you, my most common place of pain is in my hips, so i have a lot of experience with what your describing.

my biggest recommendation, other than talking with a doctor, is for you to try and stay off of it when it hurts. you can also apply heat or cold (with an ice pack, heating pad, etc.) to the area that hurts. that usually makes me feel better. i also recommend taking otc (over-the-counter) pain meds. take the dose it tells you to take, and that will usually help soothe the pain!

i also recommend that you keep your mind open to the idea that you could be disabled. if this pain is pretty common for you (as in it happens a couple times a week) and has lasted for at least 3 months with common occurrences, then it's considered chronic pain. if you have chronic pain, you are disabled. ofc i don't know you and can't say for certain! but keeping your mind open to the idea can help you more easily make that transition in the future if you are diagnosed with a disability or your symptoms become disabilitating.

i also recommend getting a cane if possible! canes help a lot with getting weight off of the leg that's hurting, thus allowing the pain to decrease. do not worry about "faking" being disabled. if you need a cane to lessen the pain you feel whilst walking or to support your walking, then use it! you would use your left (opposite of hurt leg) hand for the cane. you don't have to get one, of course, but they are a pretty cheap investment if you get them at a pharmacy or online, and they are extremely helpful.

but again, i can't recommend it anymore for you to see a medical professional. what you are describing sounds similar to my experiences with chronic pain, plus having pain flareups for seemingly no reason pretty consistently along with your hip feeling out of place or popping out of place, sounds like something to bring up to your doctor. based on the limited symptoms you gave, i recommend looking into heds, hypermobile ehlers-danlos syndromes (plus the other versions of eds), or hsd (which is what i have. both are hypermobility from a connective tissue disorder that causes a slew of symptoms, but a major one is joint instability and chronic pain. hsd is sort of a different part of the spectrum of eds, or just a different but similar disorder (scientists really don't know)).

some good medical websites that i use a lot for info on my own health as well as my medical science interst are the cleveland clinic, the nhs website, and mayo clinic. these have digestible pages of information about many different disorders and problems.

i also recommend keeping a list of your symptoms that don't seem entirely normal or healthy. also, keeping a journal of your pain flares and describing when and why it happens can help you track it and see if it worsens or gets better. i also recommend using these to look into possible disorders that you may have. advice given for any type of similar disorders with symptoms similar to yours (or that you might have) can greatly benefit you if you want more advice!

if you have any more questions you can dm me, use my ask box again, or ask someone else for another point of view! talking about it with many different people can give you many different and helpful perspectives that can help you figure out what's going on. i wish you all the best!

[dilf-whore]

robin and y/n had been hiding their feelings for eachother until the night after going to the Creel house y/n goes to the bathroom only to be greeted with Robin waiting outside for her (possible smut idk if you donthay though)

now or never

pairing: robin buckley x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers!, fluff

summary: robin checks up on you in the bathroom

A/N: i don’t do smut so it’s just all fluffy. sorry if this is short jhshdhjdie and i made a teeny tiny change on your request hope that’s okay.

requested: yes

requests are OPEN

masterlist

｡･:*˚:✧｡

You and the rest of the gang arrive at the Wheeler’s house and go straight to the basement. You all decided to go to the Creels’ abandoned house and take a look, hoping to find some things that could help connect with the current events happening in Hawkins.

You drop your bag and flashlight on the floor beside the stairs, you sigh as you rub your exhausted eyes. You see your friends sit on a circle, Robin looks at you and pats on the space beside her, motioning you to sit. “What we know now is that Vecna has already appeared long ago and came back now - he like hibernated or something” Dustin starts.

Max nods, “and we know that there’s a pattern to his victims and also how they have symptoms”.

“Yeah but that’s not enough, we need to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible and kill him. This needs to end before he takes you Max” Nancy says, everyone’s concerned eyes landing on Max.

You cover your face with your hands and try to process everything’s that’s happening. You feel a light nudge on your side, you remove your hands and look at Robin, “is everything alright?” she asks.

“Mhhm, just uhm tired and stuff” you reply.

“Hey Nance, mind if I use the bathroom real quick?” you say as you stand up.

“Sure go ahead”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

You were all divided in the Creel house and went to different parts of the house, you and Steve, Robin and Nancy, and Dustin, Lucas, and Max came together.

Nancy and Robin went upstairs to go check the rooms, you look at Robin as her figure disappears off your sight.  “You know, staring at her won’t do anything. Stop being a creep and just talk to her” Steve says. You turn to look at Steve and sigh, “gotta say the same thing for you, you’re eyes never left Nancy as well”

Steve and well, the rest of the gang knows your feelings for each other. They play matchmakers and try to make one of you confess, but no matter how much they try, you both seem to be such cowards and hide your feelings instead.

“Just so you know, Steve and I are just friends. Our relationship is platonic with a capital P” Robin says as she rummage through an old bedroom. 

“Uhm, you didn't have to tell me but I know, you guys are just friends” Nancy replies. She goes to Robin and take a look if she found anything, “I also know that your feelings for Y/N is not platonic” she teases.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

“What’s taking her so long?” Robin says, worried. The rest shrugs as they look over the bathroom, you’ve been there for a while now. An uneasy look falls on their faces, causing Robin to finally go and check up on you.

Looking at your reflection on the mirror, you splash some water on your face and try freshen up a little. You lean on the sink and stare at the water droplets dripping out of the faucet - your mind filled with worry.

You hear a soft knock on the door, “Y/N, it’s Robin. You good in there?”.

You open it and she suddenly enters inside, closing the door with her foot. “I’m good. W-what are you doing here inside?”.

“G-good, thought you got cursed by Vecna” She replies, leaning on the cold tiled-wall. “Look, it may not be the right time but I’ve been meaning to tell you something” she adds. 

“What is it?”

Robin crosses her arms, “I like you, Y/N. For a quite a long time now, I figured that I should tell you now and not hide how I feel anymore. Especially given the circumstances, I-I don’t know what could happen. It’s kinda like a now or never situation you know?”

She pauses for a while, “I love how you make everyone’s day brighter, how you look after your friends, how-”

You cut her off, lips on hers and hands on the walls - trapping her. You pull away and smile, “I like you too. If we finally kill Vecna and hopefully live, let’s go and watch Tom Cruise’s new movie. What do you think?”.

Robin straightens up and wraps her arms around your waist - you do the same, “I think that’s a wonderful idea”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

[seasickzig]

Hey, I have a scifi WIP I've been working on for a long time and during a recent (and ongoing) flare of what I'm almost certain at this point is undiagnosed hEDS, I've decided to give my favorite character (he's the tritagonist and already has a whole plot around him) undiagnosed hEDS as well. Any tips for writing it? I'd like it to be subtle enough in the first few books that only other people with EDS would pick up on it qnd have it as a headcanon, and then bam! Actual confirmed diagnosis later on in the series when it's least expected. Do you have any advice for accurately and respectfully writing a character with undiagnosed hEDS? Thank you!!

Hi! Thanks for the question! I want to preface this by saying that my current diagnosis is Hypermobility Syndrome, and I’m waiting to see a geneticist for an EDS diagnosis!

I think the best way to write an undiagnosed character would be to write about how they cope with their symptoms before knowing that what they were experiencing isn’t normal. I knew I was flexible and got uncomfortable easily long before I realized that most people don’t feel discomfort and pain after staying in the same position for more than five minutes! I thought everyone felt similarly to me and just dealt with it a lot better.

Some things I did to cope with my symptoms before realizing they were abnormal were:

1) Ignoring it until I literally couldn’t anymore (leaving me stuck in bed/on the couch for multiple days after)

2) crouching/sitting on the ground anytime I came to a stop

3) Shifting my weight and swinging my legs while standing still

4) leaning on counters, walls, posts, anything that could get weight off my legs

5) taking frequent breaks, especially in the shade. One of my most obvious symptoms prior to diagnosis was heart issues and heat sensitivity!

6) stomach problems, random bad reactions to food that never upset me before, and maybe never will again!

7) Getting extremely fatigued after “simple” tasks like grocery shopping, or even cooking a meal. I need about 10-12 hours of sleep to feel rested.

8) never feeling comfortable! this is my main symptom that I struggle with. I can’t sit, stand, or lay in a position that is comfortable for more than a few minutes. It makes sleeping difficult because I need many pillows to support my body.

Some other things that you could include that I didn’t notice in myself until after doing research are:

1) thin/see through/flexible skin. A lot of people with EDS bruise or get cuts easily because our skin is very fragile!

2) scarring. People with EDS are more likely to form hypertrophic/keloid scars. Thats not always the case, I’m someone who scars very well, but I’m kind of an outlier there!

3) Low reactions to pain medications. Some people with EDS dont get relief from advil/tylenol. And many people with EDS have a high tolerance for local anesthetic! I’m good with general anesthesia, but if I need numbing shots at the dentist, i need more than 4 to feel results.

4) eye issues/migraines. Since connective tissue runs through your whole body, it can also impact how your eyes focus, and your pupils (light sensitivity). Many people with EDS also have Binocular Vision Dysfunction, where our eyes don’t work together to focus on things correctly. That can lead to migraines, car sickness (i get carsick just walking around without glasses), and anxiety around driving (especially at night and on the freeway).

I hope this helps!! Good luck with your book!

[chl-owo-e]

★-{Wild Sunflowers}-★

(Daryl Dixon X Reader)

Summary; The past hurts, even when the wound healed it still feels like it’s bleeding. But sometimes you have to rip off the bandaid, if not the pain wont get any better.

Warnings; Flash back, readers past before the fall, Angst, fluff, blood, wounds, walkers, family death, normal TWD stuff.

————————————————

————————————————

[Chapter Two/002]

-(what used to be)-

————————————————

—“This is a Public Announcement”

“Do not go outside.”

“If you see any injured people do not go near them they are aggressive, and will hurt you on sight.”

“I repeat do not go outside.”

“The government will help as many as they can, but in the meantime.”

“Good Luck.”

The TV rang throughout the living room in the small apartment. The announcement repeated every single time, no channel was left untouched with it either.

A somber feeling was only left in the air, as you sat on the couch with your friend next to you. “This has to be a joke right? They can’t honestly think that we’ll fall for that.” You spoke with a chuckle at the end. “I don’t know Y/n, maybe they’re right. It is all on the channels—Look! Even the kids TV.” Your friend replied as they searched through the sea of TV channels.

“Turn it off Alex…Please.” You calmly said before getting up and walking to the kitchen for a cup of water. They turn the electronic device off and places the remote on the couch cushion. “Do you think they will help us?” They ask as they walk to the kitchen bar and sat down. “I doubt it.” You replied in a gruesome tone. “Are we even safe where we are?”

“A biomedical facility in France has accidentally let out an airborne Virus.”

“Scientists are quickly trying to make a vaccine for this deadly Virus.”

“If caught you will have symptoms of, fever, coughing, vomiting.”

“Quarantine the ones that are sick as it is highly contagious.”

“Y/n…Y/n…Y/n! Are you even listening to me?” Alex yells and asks. “Uhh, yeah—sorry.” You reply still thinking about the news channel you saw a couple of weeks ago. “Sure, whatever you say. Like I was saying, do you think were safe where we are? You’ve seen those videos! The people are literally attacking and eating one another! Its horrible!” Alex continues and cries out.

“We should be fine, we live on the third floor. Other than that, the only things we have to worry about is our neighbors.” You had turned to them with the glass still in your hand half empty with water. You had let out a deep sigh as your eyes turned to the window by the TV. It was dark outside besides a few helicopter lights shining below the roads and streets. There were loud but silent screams throughout the city.

Setting down the cup you walk towards the windows and quickly shut the curtains. “We should probably call our family, and check up on them. This could be something the world can’t bounce back from.” Your voice had saddened, and you looked at Alex. Nothing was left in your head besides survival. The videos of people getting torn apart was horrifying, but you only thought it was part of some new movie they were going to make. But of course, you were wrong. It was real and people have went to cannibalism as some cure to stop this.

A week had passed and food was already almost gone. Mistake number one, not going to the store days before the end of the world. Alex seems to not care anymore, like their life is nothing. After the third day of being stuck in the apartment any internet you had disappeared. So we lost connection to our family and any other friends we had out there. All we could do now is hope that they’re still alive and more successful than we are.

“Maybe we should go and get more food.” Alexs voice had snapped you out of your thoughts. You had looked at them with glassy eyes contemplating what they had just said. “Thats a good idea, but we have no clue if anyone else is alive besides us.” Your monotonous voice came out of your mouth. “Its worth a try, we could just go to our neighbors jenny and paul. If they’re alive they will for sure help us.” Their voice came out hopeful, even when they lost hope for what they had left. They still wanted to survive.

It wasn’t long when the two of you had gotten your items together. You had a knife on hand, and Alex had a bat in the other. You gave each other a determined look before opening the front door to leave for the first time. It was silent, no noises, no messes other than some random pieces of plastic. You quickly look to both sides making sure that it was clear before you left into the hallway. You had turned left walking slowly, to your neighbors apartment. You knocked lightly when you seen Alex on the look put behind you with their bat ready to swing at anything.

But nothing came out of it, neither one of the couple answered the door. You tried the knob and to your surprise it opened. “Come on, it’s unlocked!” You had whisper yelled to Alex. The black wooden door slowly swung open. The place was trashed, food wrappers everywhere and surprisingly some blood splatters too. Both of you had made way into the house closing the door behind you. Alex was the first person to check out the place for Paul and Jenny. You had quickly yet quietly went into the kitchen and started stock piling on some canned food that was left. Everything was going good till you heard their scream.

You had dropped your backpack on the wooden floor in the kitchen and ran to Alex with your knife in hand. You followed their voice and into a bedroom where Alex was fighting off a very wretched looking person. They’re back was faced towards a door as they violently beaten the rotten corpse. Your voice had came out too late when you saw the door open. It was Paul, except his body was rotting and bloody. Alex had turned, yet it was too late. Paul had his hand on them.

The screams, the absolute terror that was inscribed on Alexs face. It will be ingrained in your memory forever. Then they had dropped their bat, now trying to rip themselves from the grip of the monster that was eating them. You couldn’t move, it was like everything was going in slow motion. Your body was shaking, there was nothing you could do Alex was done for.

“HELP ME!”

“PLEASE!”

“Y/N!”

“HELP—”

Everything had faded and all went to black. You had shot up from you makeshift bed, only to be greeted with Daryl kicking at your leg. Gasps had left your mouth and a light sheen of cold sweat had graciously covered your body. “Took ya long enough been tryn’ to wake ya up for the pas’ hour thought you were dead.” His country accent was deeper, like he just woke up. “What the hell is wrong with you for waking me up at this time of day?” You grumbled as you rubbed your eyes and stared at the sun that was still barely over the horizon.

“Were goin’ huntin’. Now get yur ass ready.”

———————————————————————

A/N;I tried to get a gender neutral name for the friend. so that you could think of them as whatever gender you wanted. I also didnt want to just put F/n (friends name) cus personally i read ff to get away from life, and i didn’t want that to take away from the experience.

This is also a shortish chapter I kinda wish I wrote this longer but oh well

[ina-nis]

On a constant basis, I feel bad about not working and about having given up on finding employment or a career.

The idea of having a job makes me want to kill myself.

I don’t care about money. I never go outside anyway, I don’t have a social life, and I have no use for material things. I live life in simplistic ways and I feel like money is a “curse” of sorts: without it I’ll be homeless and starve, I’ll be without my meds or access to transportation. Nothing good comes out of it.

I feel awful about spending time (or money) on leisure, and awful about having “free time” at all, since I don’t work.

It’s like I’m a parasite, leeching from others who work hard to earn their keep.

Somehow, in my head, I always conveniently forget I spent most of my adulthood looking for jobs, working odd gigs, studying and specializing to try to find something else, realizing I don’t want to do that, trying again, making connections and networking and it all was for nothing.

It’s almost like that’s a very good reflection of how I came to develop this disorder: no matter what I do, it’s not enough and I ultimately feel disposable and unwanted.

I tell myself, over and over, I need to find a career or something for me to do with my life because I know what I’m capable of and, to me, “disability” is but a placeholder or a stepping stone. I’m disabled for now, but I won’t be when I “get it together”.

But as the years passed, the reality I’m faced with is ruthless: the longer you go without employment, the worse it is (I have talked about this before here).

There’s not only employment discrimination but also the social stigma, which is terrifying. I’m not reliable because I don’t have a job/am disabled, that’s alienating on itself.

As I get older, that only feels worse.

I try to not check Reddit too much anymore because when I see avoidants my age and older, it leads me to despair.

Being stuck in a dead end job is alienating too, among other things. In the end, I ask myself what went wrong with us, and what could change. I don’t have any good answers.

It’s not like we’re carrying these dreadful feelings, these depressive behaviours and all that sense of disconnection and isolation on purpose. I don’t think it’s our fault this condition don’t really respond to treatment after you’re past anxiety symptoms, nor it’s our fault the fact that it might worsen.

For some, existing dissociated from everything and everyone, even from the self, is a good answer: avoiding the avoidance.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s it, and when will it get to me.

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

y’know not to jump onto the string of posts that i’ve been seeing about “please learn small talk for the love of god”….. but i think the memes around “all i want is deep talks and REAL conversations. none of this shallow shit anymore. i have to talk about space and existence and everything when i first meet someone” really do rot your brain.

because during my time in UG uni (2015-2018) i was very much on my high horse about needing deep conversations. but following that line of thinking is mostly why i made next to no friends at uni. i was so obsessed with the idea of needing “deep, meaningful and insightful” or whatever the fuck the memes said convos, that i really struggled to build small talk skills about “inane shit” (as per memes) like the weather, sport, the daily mundane hum-drum of life. and also work (but we all know i never worked during uni so this bit doesn’t count for me). i forgot how to ask people what their fave shows were, what their fave music was. hell, even what their fave flavour of coffee was or whatever. y’know, besides all the lame getting to know you ice breaker games at the beginning of each semester…. that tried and always kinda failed at trying to get everyone to build common ground and be friends, i really never asked these types of questions to anyone during undergrad. so obvs, in turn, no one/barely anyone asked them of me outside of icebreaker games. so, it was very isolating and lonely, to say the least.

but when it came to it, i never actually wanted the deep conversations, really. my degree was deep enough, being english and philosophy. so much so, that i didn’t even want to explain things to people (like the symptoms of my stomach tumour- ie constant bouts of nausea and extreme tiredness) which is exactly one (1) of the many, many things that put me off dating for the entirety of uni. i just wanted empty conversations, to keep my mind off of my assignments and the sheer amount of course content that i was trying to avoid for them. i wanted time to stop. to freeze. to slow the fuck down. and god. i just wanted someone to talk to. but lo & behold, fucking dumb ass early 20s me also didn’t want to talk to anyone bc “the conversation isn’t quality and deep”; all because of the amount of time i spent on This Here Hellsite (affectionate)™️ reblogging those bs memes and also liking them on fb. but what fucking early 20something year old actually knows what Quality Conversation™️ is anyway???? lmao. sure asf not me back then. and i’m sure asf not many other early 20somethings would know, either.

but now that i’m finally in a job, i see the importance of small talk. i see how it helps build routine and build connections slowly, but surely. i’m still building friendships at work. but god. it’s so much easier to blab about the shows you’re watching, what you did on the weekend, your fave wine/s, the good places to eat in the city or whatever the fuck else small stuff that you talk about at work.

because holy fuck. if someone had come up to me on my first day in march this year, demanding that “oh hey! we have to talk about quantum physics and the essence of being a solid state of non-celestial being and how that effects the very existence of humanity in the world” or some other weird sounding deep shit, i would have ran straight out of the office. like no joke: what the fuck is up with todd??? because we sure as fuck aren’t in a quantum physics lecture or a philosophy of science or physics lecture that would begin that debate. bc bro. simmer the fuck down and tell me if you like to surf or not. good fucking god. we’ll get to those convos on lunch break, eventually. but not when i barely fucking know you. sweet baby lord jesus.

like don’t get me wrong. yes. we need to have deep conversations with people. but you’re never going to get them if you totally block out and dismiss ALL small talk as “pointless, inane and useless” or “vapid and empty” as opposed to putting “deep conversations about time and the universe and how people meet in the cosmos (not counting vision boards)” on a pedestal…. and trying to paint yourself as a pretentious pseudo-intellectual (i guess) douchebag who only wants to talk about that stuff. because like i said earlier, no one wants to talk about the state of the human race or whatever the fuck the first time they meet someone, really.

(although asking political beliefs and stuff is probs a good idea but that’s a whole other post).

basically my point is: for anyone who is Terminally Online™️ and a Humble Meme Farmer™️ like myself and has had the Internet Brain Rot Worms™️ infiltrate their brain with the “fuck small talk! i have to have deep conversations the moment i meet you!” bullshit….. please try to break free from them. practice small talk in the mirror. practice in the shower or the bath. practice it while you drive yourself around (if you have your licence/a car). practice it in the dark of night in a seance of small talk demons. idek whatever your style is.

just. learn to build small and simple connections with other people with easy things like “what’s your fave colour?” or “what’s your dogs name??” et al. ad infinitum. because for crying out loud. when you really think about it, that’s what all those OG tumblr askbox question posts were all about. small talk. but it’s easier obvs with only a keyboard in front of you, and an imaginary audience. but it’s obvs different in person, where you can’t delete words and screwups. but who the fuck cares???

just get the fuck away from your laptop and actually talk to people in the real world. not just your fellow terminally online meme farmer mutuals on various social media sites. because then you’ll realise that small talk, albeit it being a bit of a pain sometimes, ain’t all that bad….. even for a socially awkward ambivert/introvert infp (like myself- see i’m still ~quirky ✌🏻✨~)…. and is kinda inevitably essential to building stable friendships/relationships…… instead of believing that being deep and meaningful and trying to force The Big Deep 🧐🌊🔮👽🤯™️ on everyone, all the time, is the only way to have good conversations.

[vent-channel]

I hate that there’s basically no portrayal of just pure self h arm in media at all. I just want something to relate to.

There’s always those awareness things that oh-so-carefully avoid triggering things and every time people talk about it there’s always the cliche reasons of just the sad little victim of it. And in other things there’s usually something else like guilt or going out and getting drunk/high because you ‘just don’t care’.

And yeah those people exist but also it’s always such a little depiction of what people think is a little issue.

Where’s the crying over having to go swimming because you’re self-conscious about scarring? Where’s the competitive nature and the anger? Where’s the thoughts whenever you see a sharp object? Where’s the blood all over your clothes and the tissues you hid and the evidence that got found and the embarrassing confrontation with your parents and the things you’ve never even told anyone about? Where’s purposely triggering yourself because you feel better but don’t want to get better? Where’s the iron deficiency from too much blood loss?

It’s like people are TRYING to avoid the subject. People will go this much into detail about su1cide, EDs, dr ugs, etc. but nobody wants to talk about self h arm. Not even self h arm charities will talk about how isolating it is.

They’ll talk about depression sure. Feeling like you can’t get out of bed, tiredness the lot of it but you don’t have to have a depression disorder to self h arm consistently for years.

I know technically it is but I’m sick of all my problems (excluding autism) just being brushed off as minor symptoms of disorders I don’t have. It just feels like at some point you’ve got to admit that the self h arm is the problem. It’s not depression, it’s not my circumstances, it’s not even sensory overload anymore, and it’s only minorly connected to the weather. It’s its own thing that fuels itself. Even inside of other problems it fuels itself. It’s like it wants to keep itself alive. It will always be there at the back of your mind. Doesn’t matter how many years you’ve been clean because the scars are always there and it will always be in the back of your mind waiting because your clean in just the space between 2 relapses.

What about those of us who don’t do it on impulse who don’t ‘black out and wake up with our arm like that’ who sit there and contemplate and want to just see the inside of our skin. Plan out when we’re going to do it. Hyperfixate on it. Think about how we want a prettier bl ade and just can’t bring ourselves to delete those pictures so we have to be careful scrolling in front of family.

I do like a few things like ‘menhera chan’ and also some of avogado6’s stuff with self h arm in it

I think this entire post kind of went off the rails with my feelings so sorry. Not that anyone has seen these posts anyways lol.