#I like to imaging Ron is the kind of Dad that feels like safety and home

[bestillmygoldenheart]

This is from chapter 13 of Order of the Phoenix.

I love how deeply uncomfortable Ron is, and I like how rightious Hermione is being.

I don’t think this is how they’ll behave as parents, but there’s something delightful in seeing glimpses of a possible future in them

[azaleablueme]

Starry Night

This is a surprise birthday one shot for  @callieskye .

@callieskye   because I just wrapped it up and wanted to post it while it’s still technically your b’day, it’s also unbeta-ed. @idearlylovealaugh will make it better, I promise!

UPDATE: This is now a beta-ed story, thanks to @idearlylovealaugh !!!

For now, enjoy the musings of 16-year-old Ron. I really hope you like it!  💖 💖 💖 HAPPY BIRTHDAY ONCE AGAIN SWEETY!!! ………

The mouldy, old wood creaked as Ron made his way up the stairs as quietly as he could manage to the tiny bedroom Hermione was sharing with Ginny.

He had ensured his sister was busy with the twins who were once again busy finding ways to sneak into the dining room that doubled as the meeting room for the Order. He’d have been there too; after all, Harry was still stuck with those Muggle relatives of his while the Ministry hearing hung over his head. It made Ron sick in the pit of his stomach to imagine what was at risk, but he trusted Dumbledore - surely the Headmaster would not let Harry be expelled. But despite all his vehement and hopeful arguments, the truth was that he was as worried as her- only he didn’t want her to know. She did all their share of worrying anyway, and he didn’t want his anxiety to seep into whatever little hope she had left. He had even helped her with her research, browsing through enormous volumes of law books that, in his opinion, could easily substitute for a strong dose of Sleeping Drought.   

He knocked softly on the wood and when there was no response, pushed open the door and called.

“Hermione?”

The girl sitting on the bed in the dimly lit room looked up with a snap, and Ron noticed she had a smudged ink-stain near her brow, perhaps due to flicking of those shorter curls at her temple absentmindedly.

“Ron,” she responded in exhausted relief and a lazy smile materialised easily.  He walked towards her, looking fondly at the pile of books surrounding her form. An inkpot was balanced precariously on top of three books and she was filling up a scroll, squeezing in words at the very end of the parchment.

Ron dragged the only and woefully old chair in the room, pulling it close to her and picking up one familiar volume as he sat down.

“Found anything new?” he asked, forcing his hands to flick the pages he knew he would never read if only to curb the urge to wipe the ink stain off her face.

She heaved a sigh, placed the quill in the pot and turned slightly to face him.

“A fair amount of similar cases where the judgement went in favour of the accused. I’ve noted them all with the dates and a synopsis of the case and the verdicts. Do you think we should give this to Dumbledore?”

Ron noticed the creases on her brow and the quiver in her voice, and it tugged painfully in his heart.

“We haven’t seen much of him lately, have we?”

She nodded and seemed to scan the books, absentmindedly searching for some more material. “We can give it to Remus, or your Dad perhaps?” she asked hopefully.  

He knew she was trying to keep the jitters away by drowning herself in research work, the only thing she could do while stuck in this woeful place.

“Guess we can do that,” he replied, although he knew that Dumbledore probably wouldn’t need it. “The twins and Ginny are trying to find out what they are discussing,” he added in hope to get her out of the room. However, her face fell and she looked away quickly, busing herself with corking the inkpot and setting it aside.

“You don’t want to know?” he guessed, hunching over ever so slightly to reach her. Merlin, when would he stop growing?! She looked pretty small when compared to him as it is.

“What’s the point, Ron, not like we’ll be allowed in the meetings anytime soon,” she grumbled bitterly.

“But we can try,” he insisted, hoping to cheer her up, “Fred said something about a new product that’ll help. They are just days from perfecting it.”

Hermione looked up, met his eyes and smiled- a tired, sad one that made him want to dash down the stairs, knock the door of the kitchen down, and force the Order to let her in. Didn’t they know, not knowing was almost physically painful for her?! And didn’t they know he’d do anything to make her happy?

Woah! Wait, What?!

He gazed bewildered at the girl who was not just one of his best friends but meant so much more in ways he didn’t quite understand himself. She was looking down again, busy sorting her books, and he was mighty glad about it too, for it would be absolutely barmy if she found him gawking at her.

Something happened at that moment, a desperation of sorts which he’d later find to occur every time in the future when Hermione would get upset. But fifteen-year-old Ron was too preoccupied with the curly brunette in front of him to bother deciphering the depth of his emotions. Instead, he stood up promptly and extended his hand.

“That’s it, C’mon, lemme show you somethin’.”

If she was surprised by his boldness it would certainly be dwarfed by his when she took his hand, and almost on reflex, he pulled her up. His heart was doing some wonky movements inside his chest and he hurried them towards the door lest it got some more funny ideas.

“Ron, where are we going?” she asked, hurrying to keep up as he dashed up the rickety old staircase, hand still firmly grasping hers. He couldn’t pause to ponder over how magical it felt to hold her this way, not now.  

“Hold on, almost there,” he replied, without breaking steps. If he stopped now, he would surely do something absolutely mental(like pulling her into his arms or something crazier) and he had to avoid that scenario at all cost. He was way too young to die.

He paused only when he reached the tiny attic and pushed open the door. Hermione, who was holding the stitches on her side and panting, gasped.

“Wha-”

“C’mon. Not as bad as it looks, I swear,”

She looked up at him in contemplation and nodded once. “Well, what can this room have that we haven’t seen enough of already?” she mused and followed him inside.

He chuckled, “Not spiders, I assure you- but this…”

With practiced ease, he grabbed the rope hanging from the ceiling and pulled- a section of the slanted roof opened up just like he knew it would, and the floor extended to form a tiny balcony overlooking the park in the distance, complete with a wrought iron railing and the glittering sky adding a different kind of magic to the backdrop.

He watched as Hermione let out a soft gasp and then walked into the open space, taking in the view. Once again, his heart did some sort of a weird jiggle, but he had to admit, this time it was quite pleasurable a sensation.

He watched as Hermione held onto the railing, soaking in the freshness of the open air while her curls danced in the cool night breeze. He now knew it was an utter waste of time pretending otherwise. He fancied this girl. 

Oh, fuck, alright, he was bloody insane about her. 

‘Fancying’ could never describe his feelings enough. Two restless weeks alone at the Burrow before she arrived was all the proof he needed. At first, he had tried to convince himself that he missed the adventures they had together, or perhaps by some weird twist of fate, he’d got habituated to her nagging. He even tried to sway his brain into thinking that he only missed her bickering. And then he was sure he was just worried about her safety. But even a bigger moron than he would have eventually figured out what was common in all his arguments- her.

“Ron, how did you find this place?” she beamed, and he could feel his ears redden at the sight. The chill in the air had added pink to her cheeks, and that smile- Sweet Merlin! He was doomed to die of some painful curse of her own invention once she realised the things she was making him feel.

He looked away, pretending to watch the light-illuminated neighbourhood. “Just chanced upon this place before you arrived. Was trying to escape Mum’s chores.”

He glanced at her and noticed her bite her lower lip. Looking away quickly, he grabbed the rails harder than before. But then her hand was so close to his…

The first time he had found this place, his thoughts had created an image very similar to this- Hermione, the night sky and him- all by themselves. Ron didn’t think he had it in him to bring her here though. It would need far more courage than he possessed.

All his actions tonight were instinctive. He knew he fancied her, but that wasn’t all. There was a strange kind of twist in his heart whenever she got upset and he wasn’t quite sure if it came as a part of the package of fancying someone. But then, she wasn’t just his crush but also his best friend. And while he could do nothing for Harry who was possibly going bonkers with those lunatic, muggle relatives of his, Ron could at least try to help Hermione relax.

“Do you think they can see us?” she asked all of a sudden, scooting closer and pointing at some muggles down in the street.

“Don’t think so, this is an extension of the house which is invisible,” he replied, forcing himself to ignore the tingling in his arm that was practically touching the side of her arm.

She sighed softly, scooting a tiny bit more to close the gap between them, resting her head on his arm. “Harry will be okay, right, Ron?”

“Of course, we’ve got Dumbledore,” he replied fiercely.

How long would he be able to hide his feelings under layers of bickering and arguments? That was supposed to be his backup plan; no one would notice the change in him since he seemed to be an expert at making her cry anyway. The thought made him queasy. No, no more making her cry. Bickering would have to do. But that was for another day when the lioness in her would bite back at him with equal vigour. For now, all he needed was her to relax.

“Thank you, Ron. I needed this,” she whispered, and he grabbed the railing harder. His hand seemed to be trying its best to wrap around her shoulder.

“Wanna go downstairs?” he asked. This had to be about what she needed and not what he wanted.

“Let’s stay a little longer, please?”

“Alright,” he replied and she looked up at him and beamed before looking away.

He smiled and relaxed, and Hermione seemed to snuggle closer.  

Perhaps someday in the distant future, he’d allow himself wrap that arm around her and pull her into him. Someday, it would be alright and not so selfish to dream. Maybe, by some miracle, Hermione wouldn’t curse him for having these feelings, maybe… The list of his wishes that involved her seemed to be unending.    

But tonight, he had made her smile. That was enough for him for now.     

[nothingman]

I can’t even with hypocrites who stand in the way of people who are actually trying change how things are done. I can’t even with people who, because a particular problem doesn’t affect them (or perhaps because they identify a bit too closely with the accused), feel comfortable deciding when and where is “appropriate” to fight things like sexism, sexual harassment, or assault—as if these problems didn’t need to be eradicated from every angle and fought in every sphere. I can’t even with Michael Rapaport and Ron Perlman.

Yesterday, we reported on the awesomeness that was John Oliver holding Dustin Hoffman accountable for alleged harassment he’s committed throughout his career. During a 20th Anniversary screening of the film Wag the Dog, John Oliver was moderating the panel, and he interrogated Hoffman about his responses to the allegations, catching him “off guard.”

Though I have to ask, how ignorant does one have to be of the world around them to legitimately be caught “off guard” by questions and a conversation that is permeating every facet of our lives right now? A conversation in which one is a principal actor and example. How far does one’s head need to be up their own ass in order for them to actually believe that a movie panel upon which an alleged sexual harasser sits can ever be just a movie panel again?

Well, apparently Hoffman was surprised by the line of questioning. Probably because at any other point in history, the allegations against him would’ve been brushed under the rug for the sake of “politeness.” Because as we’ve been taught, nothing is more important than men being made to feel comfortable. Even if that means never getting around to the pesky matter of women “not wanting to be abused” or whatever.

WELL NOT TODAY, BUDDY!

So yeah, Oliver questioned him about it publicly, because allegations like these deserve public scrutiny, and while Hoffman could’ve used it as an opportunity to reaffirm his commitment to being better, or to acknowledge just how much society allows men to get away with, he did not. He got defensive and flustered, expecting the event to cater to him, and when it didn’t, you could tell he was angry.

In this moment, John Oliver was exactly what I would hope every man would be, and what I believe every man can be. We talk about things like “masculinity,” and usually that includes a conversation about “strength.” This is the kind of strong that men need to be. I don’t care how much you can bench-press, or whether or not you can throw a good punch. I care how much you’re willing to put yourself on the line for others. I care about how you stand up for what you believe in. When I talk about men being “providers,” I’m not talking about money, I’m talking about providing emotional support, providing help, providing an environment of safety, and you do that through your actions, not by how much you earn, or how loud you get.

Enter actor Michael Rapaport, who for some reason felt the need to not only comment on the Oliver/Hoffman exchange, but come after Oliver hard. Like really hard. Like, really too hard?

This Motherfucka John Oliver calling Dustin Hoffman “Dustin” Motherfucka you address this man as Mr.Hoffman. You came to moderate a discussion about a movie #JohnOliver, you selfish fuck,you ruined paying customers evening out in Manhattan

— MichaelRapaport (@MichaelRapaport) December 6, 2017

Dustin is his name, and he’s not Oliver’s dad, teacher, boss, or the goddamn President. Listen, I know you respect the shit out of him as an actor or whatever, but “Mister Hoffman?” Bro, please.

Like, sorry your movie night was ruined? But there’s shit happening right now that’s more important than your favorite actor being made uncomfortable.

You assume that every paying customer had their evening ruined as opposed to improved by the exchange. I would happily bet you money that there was a decent number of people in that audience who were happy that Oliver was doing what he did. Not everybody prioritizes film over people’s lives the way you seem to.

You repeatedly talk about Hoffman being an “80 year old man.” Exactly. He’s GROWN. He’s not a child. He can handle himself however he wants to. He doesn’t need you swooping in for the rescue, or policing how other people approach him about alleged wrongdoing.

But wait! There’s more! In video form. Take it away, MISTER Rapaport:

Since John Oliver “had” to ask Mr.Hoffman those questions about alleged sexual harassment,why didn’t he ask Mr.Hoffman face to face backstage before the @Tribeca event?Why did he wait to get on stage & ask?Was he doing this for the Gram? For merit points?#JohnOliver http://pic.twitter.com/FUksCXqH9m

— MichaelRapaport (@MichaelRapaport) December 6, 2017

Me:

Brah. Brahbrahbrahbrahbrah. It was Oliver’s job to ask him questions and get answers, and when you’re talking about a 20th Anniversary screening of a film, you’re at liberty to ask about a person’s entire career. Sadly, these allegations against Hoffman are a part of his career. Oliver was being more of a journalist than a lot of journalists have the courage to be in a similar situation. But it was absolutely his place to ask the questions.

Oliver asked him publicly rather than privately so that Hoffman wouldn’t get to weasel out of an answer privately the way he allegedly harassed women in private. Oliver was holding an alleged predator accountable while standing up for women. Yes, publicly. Why exactly are YOU commenting? What are you standing up for publicly? Who exactly told you they give a shit what you thought about it anyway? Oliver was doing his job. You’re just flexing on Twitter for no reason. Who’s doing what for the ‘Gram?

Oh wait, maybe there is a reason:

Of course, this is from a man who pleaded guilty to aggravated harassment of an ex. http://pic.twitter.com/HfIgNBWEfW

— Lori (@loriegabidel) December 6, 2017

Aaaaaahh. I see now. This isn’t about Hoffman at all. This is about being afraid of a climate that no longer tolerates this kind of behavior. This is about covering yo’ ass. This is terror masquerading as righteous anger about “proof,” because something-something chickens and roosting-something.

(whispers) The chickens are coming from inside the house …

And because ignorance loves company, Ron Perlman decided to speak up in “support” of Rapaport, because solidarity, bro.

Dude’s got a point. And I particularly loved how he kept saying “I hate to do this, but..” Dude, you LIVE to do this. Cutting people down gets you hard! https://t.co/UeDlyIToTf

— Ron Perlman (@perlmutations) December 6, 2017

Um, not that I in any way want or need to be thinking about your junk, but does cutting down panel moderators on Twitter get you hard? Seriously, why are you even up in here? Why are you commenting? When did this become something you had to get involved in? Yes, “dude’s got a point,” it’s just not a good one. The fact that you’re jumping in on it speaks volumes about you.

I got no problem having a serious discussion about the actions of Dustin Hoffman in an appropriate venue. John Oliver’s a show boater who picked the wrong fucking time and the wrong fucking place to make the story about himself.

— Ron Perlman (@perlmutations) December 6, 2017

“John Oliver’s Ron Perlman’s a show boater who picked the wrong fucking time and the wrong fucking place to make the story about himself.” Fucking fixed it.

And just to head this off at the pass, you might be thinking Oh, you’re yelling at me for defending Hoffman and coming after Oliver? Why do you get to come after me? Oliver doesn’t need your protection.

No, he doesn’t. But I’m not saying all this to protect him. He’s clearly a fighter capable of fighting for others as well as himself. He doesn’t need me. I’m saying all this to protect women by trying to create an environment in which certain behaviors and attitudes will no longer be tolerated. I’m coming at you critically, because for too long men like you have been allowed to just spout whatever they want without having to deal with any repercussions. That time has passed.

The way to get men to stop being criticized and come for is not to stop the criticism, but to stop the actions that warrant it. You wanna be helpful? Why don’t you put your focus there instead of on the people who fight against the inappropriate behavior, complaining that they’re “not doing it right.” Put them out of a job! Because believe me, none of us wants to be doing this. Yet here we are.

It appalls me that Rapaport and Perlman can both profess to be “totally against any sexual harassment in any way, shape or form” or that they “got no problem having a serious discussion about the actions of Dustin Hoffman” yet feel totally justified in thinking themselves the arbiters of when it’s “appropriate” to have those conversations.

Certainly not during their movie time, apparently. I mean, how dare we, right? That’s damn near blasphemy.

If you’re not going to help, then shut up and stay out of the goddamn way, but don’t “denounce” sexual harassment out of one side of your mouth, while putting terms and conditions and disclaimers on it out of the other. You’re only further muddying waters that are already hella muddy. The rest of us are trying to clean it up, and we don’t need you and your advocacy for the devil tarnishing the effort.

The devil doesn’t need any more advocates. He’s got enough support as it is.

(image: Netflix)

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