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midoridragonuus · 1 year

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comeuppance

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Attachment: restructuring58xx.pdf

Schwartz Industries // Memo 050820XX

Effective Immediately

We are excited to announce a restructuring effort that will affect various parts of our complex. All department heads are required to read the attached document and discuss it internally with every employee.

A new third shift schedule is attached, which may cause initial disruption to various functions. However, this is non-negotiable and a change in hours due to industry requirements is included in every standard employee contract. Those with medical needs or have children have had an additional document sent that includes employee accommodations.

Schwartz Industries is entering into a new era once again.

Let's welcome change, and the future!

"What the hell is this?" A thick hand slammed down a printed copy of the memo on a massive desk.

The sheer force of which the paper was placed caused the sitting woman's bangs to sway. She huffed in annoyance at the disturbance. "It's exactly what it says it is - a restructuring memo. Can you not read?"

Gabriel frowned, his hands moving from the memo to his hips as he leaned over Ellie's desk. "Stop playing cute. What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know what you mean," she shrugged as she ran thin fingers through her hair and returned to looking at another stack of papers.

"You don't know what I mean," Gabriel repeated. While most words from his lips were dripping with sarcasm or jest, this was laced with venom. He reached over, pulling the stack of papers from her hand and tossing them to the side. "You know damn well what I mean. What is this? All of this? This is the first I'm hearing about any restructuring."

"Good," she frowned. "Because it's the first we're talking about it."

"Who's this 'we'?" he shouted. "It sure as hell isn't the Board of Directors for this company! No one else I talked to knew about this. Which, for a fortune 500 company? Not a good look, kiddo."

Ellie sighed again. She locked fingers and leaned forward to look the man square in the face. "Who do you think? This is Schwartz Industries. She calls the shots. I send out the paperwork. When has it ever been different?"

The two locked eyes, causing Gabriel to mirror a frown. Ellie's eyes were different. Instead of the warm glow of fiery embers, they were dark. Cold. They lacked color, save for the faintest hints of what they once were. He tried to lean closer to observe them in more detail, but the woman pushed back from her desk and turned to face the city through the massive windows behind her.

"Why are you acting so blasé about this?" Gabe straightened and crossed his arms in defiance. It was a half-hearted defense, as he didn't particularly want to pick a fight with Ellie. But this…? It was unacceptable and he was the only one willing to speak his mind while the others shrugged in resignation. "Are you even thinking about the other employees? Who's going to work at my bar?"

"Is that what this is about?" The chair squeaked as she turned - face marred by the most sour look. "You're worried about your bar in a time like this?"

He shook his head. "No. Kinda. …Bad example. It's not about the money, Elle. It's the people."

"And you're their martyr?" she scoffed. "Since when?"

"I'm sorry that I care about my employees. Their work at my bar is their second job. Now you're giving them a third. Where's the time to eat? Sleep? Shit?"

"Again…" The words sat on her lips like poison on the rim of a cauldron. "Since when are you their martyr? When's the last time you even talked to one of your employees outside of work?"

"Not the point," he growled.

"I think it is." Ellie closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. At least that hadn't changed - when she was stressed, it'd build tension in her face and her nose would scrunch in pain. "You're here to start an argument you have no chance of winning, because you aren't fighting me, you're fighting a policy that's already in place. You have no backing, because if you haven't noticed, you're here alone. None of your employees are here. They don't care. No one cares. It's just life, Gabriel. It is what it is. I don't get what you're trying to accomplish."

The man paused, letting the words wash over him like a torrid rain. She wasn't wrong. Conceptually, anyway. He couldn't really argue against her points. because none of what she said was his real counter. She would have known that if she were herself. Ellie had a way of digging into him and unearthing his true motives better than anyone else. It's why he had fallen for her in the first place. But ever since she had re-appeared, something changed.

He had watched her walk through a field of shattered glass, suspended in the air. And just as quickly as he watched her take a step, she had vanished. Ellie was gone. The light imprints in the carpet from her boots halted midway - only the faint outline of her heel was left. He had reached out to stop her, fingers grasping at the lingering scent of her perfume. And then he passed out.

When he woke up, it was to two strangers. At least, that's what it seemed to be when Ellie magically re-appeared next to a man he'd never seen before. She insisted it was her brother, James. But Ellie didn't have a brother. He knew that. That was one of the first things he knew about her, and he remembered a small twinge of jealousy at her being an only child when he had four.

Faced with confusion, panic, and adrenaline built from his own injury, he bolted. It was a shameful habit, and one that bit him in the ass more than it helped. But that was his nature, and there was no arguing with instinct when fight or flight kicked in.

As if fate descended from the heavens and imparted itself on him, an e-mail urged him to meet with the mysterious Carlos Saavas. Of course, even that hadn't gone over well. He'd been cornered by two people who unnerved him to the core - Prophet and the sketchy doctor. Unfortunately, he had been in such a panic after losing sight of Ellie that he wasn't in the right state of mind to listen to whatever the others had to say. He pushed his way out of that room as well and had been actively avoiding them at every turn. Prophet's smile every time they even glanced his direction caused his stomach to flip. It teetered on anger.

In a moment of clarity, he had ran to security to pull tapes when he spotted the woman sitting in the cafeteria as if nothing even happened. He ran to confront her - ask if she was alright - ask what happened. She stared at him incredulously, eyebrows raised in concern. He could still hear her words rattling around in his head.

'I don't know what you're talking about. I've been in my office all day, except now. Obviously.'

Those words struck like a cold needle to his spine. He knew what he saw. And as much as he loathed both Prophet and Carlos, they confirmed his version of events. If two separate people he didn't trust agreed, then either he was being manipulated, they all were crazy, or he truly saw what he saw. He was willing to bet on the latter.

When he reviewed the security tapes, there was nothing spectacular. In fact, it seemed to support option two - there was nothing in the hall. No shards of glass. No Ellie. Just Gabriel himself having what looked like a panic attack. He took a copy to a friend who couldn't find anything unusual. There wasn't any evidence of tampering, editing, or magical interference. There was nothing, and the man was once again torn between insanity and a cover-up.

But now… Now there was no question. The Ellie sitting before him, arguing about whatever inane change to the complex's schedule wasn't the Ellie that disappeared. He refused to believe it. Ellie was short-tempered. Lively. She could be worked up easily and matched his passion. Normally, she'd be overwhelmed and stressed by the sheer amount of work on her desk. The Ellie he saw now seemed almost bored by it. There was no passion left. There was nothing that remained of the person he'd grown to care for.

"You're not Ellie," he stated, jabbing a finger at her. There was no hesitation in his voice.

"Oh my Gods," she sighed. "You can't be seri-"

"Deadly." The man cut her off mid-sentence and pushed a stack of papers onto the floor for a reaction. She looked… bemused. Surprised by his audacity, maybe. But of every emotion painted on her freckled face, none of it was anger.

"Gabe-"

The man turned on his heel and headed for the door. He paused before leaving. "And this? It isn't over. Not by a long shot." Because now she knew that he knew, and that was the first step in his plan.

Ellie sat back, dumbfounded at what had happened. She replayed the entire situation in her head twice, and still was no closer to a conclusion.

After several minutes of silence, interrupted only by the ticking of the clock, she reached for the phone and dialed a new extension.

There was no voice on the other end. The only clue she had was a click, followed by light breathing on the other end.

"He knows," she whispered.

#drabble #c:ellie #c:gabe #flight rising #comeuppance

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pashterlengkap · 1 year

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Art gallery removes lesbian founder’s nude drawings

The 78-year-old founder of a community gallery in Philadelphia is accusing the nonprofit’s board of directors of homophobia after members removed two of her drawings from public view while she was out of town. “The more I thought about it, the more I was upset,” Arleen Olshan, a cofounder of the Mt. Airy Art Garage (MAAG), told the Philadelphia Inquirer of the unauthorized removal. --- Related Stories Movie theater manager calls police on woman for taking autistic son into the women’s room He shouted that it was “not a transgender bathroom” at the mom and her son. --- Now she’s filed a complaint with the Pennsylvania Human Relations Commission, alleging harassment, wrongful pressure to leave the gallery, and random censorship of her artwork. Get the Daily Brief The news you care about, reported on by the people who care about you. “My responsibilities as executive director at MAAG have been usurped by the Board with no notification,” Olshan writes in the complaint. “I no longer feel this is a safe space for LGBTQ+ artists.” “The ongoing attacks against me,” Olshan states, “citing safety of children and family values are homophobic code words. I have begun moving out of my studio as of July 3, 2023.” The artist founded the nonprofit with her wife in 2009. After she was diagnosed with lung cancer last fall, Olshan took a sabbatical from her art practice in April. Before she left, she says she moved portable display walls around her studio and hung the two drawings there. One of the pencil drawings, titled Academy Days, depicts three nude women lounging on a couch and brings to mind a life-drawing class. The second drawing, Kissing in the Summer Sun, shows two women lying in the grass in an embrace. Neither artwork could be considered pornographic. Both date back to the 1970s. According to the complaint, filed on July 9, in Olshan’s absence three board members turned the walls in front of her studio around, removing the drawings from public view. On her return, Olshan complained to the board and was shocked by the response. “Who wants to see naked women?” asked the board’s director, Patricia Smith, according to Olshan. “When you hung your artwork of nude figures on the outside wall, three Board members felt they were not appropriate for children to see in a commonly used space,” a letter to Olshan from the board stated. “I don’t want my 5-year-old grandchild seeing this,” Smith said in a subsequent meeting. “Even gay people don’t want something like this right in their face,” another board member stated, according to the complaint. Olshan was despondent. “I’m very sad about all of it,” Olshan told the Inquirer. “These are labors of love — to just talk about them in such awful ways is really terrible.” She filed her complaint days later. “We’re going backward in a lot of states regarding our human rights, and I don’t want to see that happening. Certainly not in Mount Airy.” In a statement posted to the MAAG website, the board denied the allegations and claimed Olshan’s “communication contains misinformation, exaggerations, and several statements not based on facts.” “MAAG has always been intentionally inclusive and diverse,” the statement continues. “The Board values freedom of expression, diversity, and the inclusion of all voices, including the LGBTQ+ community.” “There has been an ongoing argument about my work — citing children and family values,” Olshan says in her complaint. “My work is also the only artwork focused on feminist and lesbian themes. Why now? No one’s work has ever been censored at MAAG.” “To me, this is homophobia,” Olshan writes, “cloaked in ‘protecting the children.’” http://dlvr.it/SsrGDJ

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robynthomsonnapierfilm · 2 years

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Moth! - cinematography research

Inspiration

A huge part of my research this semester was looking at both film stills/photography and scenes from films that centred around similar subject matter to scenes from Moth! (i.e., the note burning, kitchen argument, Sophia’s bedroom). It was good for me to see the way other people within my field tackled the subject matter – did they capture it from afar? Up close? Was the lighting moody and dark or bright and inviting? By looking at lots of different types of media and seeing what I was most drawn too, I got a feel for the way in which I would like to bring Moth! to life visually.

I put together a big mood board that I plan to keep adding to right up until I finalise my own ideas for the proper Moth! shoot, but until then, it has been a good way of showing the rest of the crew what I have in mind to make sure I am on the same page as our director Lilith. Lilith was happy with the mood boards – claiming it was as if I had “climbed inside her brain” – which is always high praise when first showing a writer/director how you visually perceive their work.

Here is an example of some images from the mood board:

The key elements I have been looking at for now are lighting and framing.

Cinematographers

I have also been looking at cinematographers who have worked on projects that are similar in tone or have similar characters/subject matter to moth!.

One person who’s work I really admire is Rina Yang. Much of her work revolves around lots of handheld and dolly work and has been described as “a subtle style that doesn’t require brash composition, nor does it force you to consider ‘The Cinematographer’”. One project of hers that I looked to most for inspiration both for the test shoot and the film as a whole, was Yang’s cinematography on ‘All Too Well: The Short Film’. A lot of the visual elements I want to include in the cinematography for Moth! have been used in this project – especially the handheld work. It was interesting for me to see how she had shot some of the longer scenes using handheld camera. It was interesting to see the blocking se used when holding the camera on each subject during an argument in a similar setting to one included in our own film’s script.

Another cinematographer who’s work I found to be a relevant source for inspiration was Oli Russell. While the work of his I looked at was for TV instead of film, it was still relevant. He worked as cinematographer for both Sex Education and Derry Girls – two shows which have a similar mix of comedy and drama to the script for Moth!, as well as having a cast of young characters going through strong teenage emotions like our main character Sophia. It was good for me to see his approach to bringing this type of story to life visually. While the cinematography for Derry Girls was more set in social-realism, Sex Education had a brighter approach. The colour grade had pops of saturated colour. This is something our director Lilith said she wanted in the grade for our film because, when watching teen films for inspiration when first writing the script, she noticed films like Mean Girls and Legally Blonde incorporated this look.

Here are some stills from Sex Education and Derry Girls:

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houseboatisland · 3 years

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Do you ship Molly with anyengine?

I think you should ;)

"Anyengine," I like that :3

Molly, as has been said many times for other reasons, is a complicated engine. I wouldn't necessarily call her aromantic, but she tries to snuff out any potential feelings she has for others out of a lack of confidence. "Why bother?" is her mindset in this regard. Per my headcanon, her self-esteem was blunted in her youth by the constant bullying of her sisters. They resented her as an engine comfortable with the commoners, and thus "common" in their eyes, so how dare a common engine shed with them and also be in reserve for Royal Trains? And that was drilled into her smokebox any time she was within earshot... for years.

Her sense of self-worth has grown by leaps and bounds since arriving on Sodor, and being allowed to blossom individually and separate from her sisters, (who are all now Hella Dead.) Still, her mind always stops abruptly at that invisible set of buffers between her and the idea of a significant other, habitually. There were SOME Sudrians she pondered. She eyed Henry from afar right after her arrival in '38, but then a certain diesel-hydraulic named for a hibernating forest animal came along, and that was that.

Now, if you want to hear some real gossip that'll make you pull a landline onto the bed, twirl the wire, and go "No. Way.," hear this:

Gordon fancied Molly once, but he once again hoisted himself by his own boiler sludge and could never bring himself to approach her after the fact.

Now, our headcanon goes that Molly arrived on Sodor in 1938 as a loan in anticipation of Gordon's upcoming rebuild. She would join him, James and Henry on the Express Rota, learn the ropes, and help cover for him until his return. Molly also came with the added benefit of not minding pulling trucks, and she was chomping at the bit to be transferred anywhere as long as it was away from her sisters. Sir Nigel Gresley hadn't forgotten dear old Gordon, (although his pet ducks ranked far higher,) and while the LNER's Board couldn't be convinced to send another Pacific over, Gresley interviewed all potential transfers personally, and decided Molly, out of dozens of candidates, was the best. No small praise coming from the man who was basically the LNER incarnate.

Her service record was virtually perfect, her discipline log was literally free of entries, and after several calculations, she was the fastest Claud Hamilton based on her accumulated train timings. And she never so much as bumped a teacup saucer all the while. Her sisters were, in a word... f u m i n g. And you know what? Molly smiled back at them, for the first time in one of these situations. She was living her best life in that moment, God friggin bless. It would later turn out to be the last moment she saw any of them, and honestly what a perfect note to end on.

The Fat Director, who had been putting off Gordon's rebuild for five years now, knew that Gordon would in modern terms, go postal if he found a way to convince himself that Molly was here to replace him and not just fill a temporary (temporary!!!) void, so great pains were taken with choreographing it all. But they needn't have. Timid Molly, it turned out, was Most Popular Girl in the Shed from the minute she showed up. The Sudrian engines up to this point had been through nigh twenty years of petty feuds, circular arguments, and enough trauma to warrant a therapist at Crovan's Gate if it were in the budget, so a new face who disliked confrontation as a rule was... everything they could have ever wanted.

*willie rushton voice* Gordon was fyeurrius.

Gordon was by this point worn out and paranoid, and the more worn out he got, the more paranoid he became. Despite everything to the contrary, he was sure the knives were out for him. He was a prototype who broke down increasingly frequently, and this new girl swans in acting humble and instantly being in everyone's good graces. He's humble!!! (He isn't.) The last straw of course was when Molly, accidentally, bested his fastest timing on the express to Barrow, and that was after she had started late. Gordon's Berserk Button was hit, let me tell you.

He was dragged to Crewe believing he'd be scrapped in an enemy territory workshop, cursing Molly's name and frankly making an ass of himself, you could cut through the theatrics with a saw. Like, it was embarrassing. Like, Gordon... dude. This naturally shook Molly to her core, and any new confidence she had just dissipated. The other engines would've written Gordon off then and there if he was around when she experienced this. Molly was their rock, and for a moment, Gordon was almost dispensable.

Then comes the war.

Archivists disagree on why, but for one reason or another, the LNER just... lets the NWR have Molly in the last minute it's still within their power to decide it. If you want my opinion, a dying Sir Nigel who still remembered Molly so fondly decided she should be allowed to stay on Sodor. No records exist, but in all likelihood he got Molly's difficulties with her sisters out of her, and acted on those as well as the praises Hatt sung her in his correspondences during the loan. So Molly becomes a Sudrian engine on paper, and this is later revealed to her in early 1940.

Gordon had by this time come back, and his time being rebuilt coupled with the national mood had sobered him up considerably. There was no time for fighting, that's what the Jerries want us to do, there's a war on, you know! As all the engines came to wear black and be worked to the frames, Gordon made his peace with Molly, who accepted it because again, she hates fighting. If she were a more combative engine, Molly probably would have torched Gordon a second tender for his behavior and wedged his apology in it. Gordon, for his part, was honestly contrite, but his uppity nature, history of rudeness and constant references to the war made this a bit hard to believe. The other engines forgave him in short order too, but not because they wanted to. So, even though Gordon was legitimately sorry for a change, it fell flat some.

The war drags on. Gordon is being put on goods work more and more, because passengers are suddenly second-rate, and all pretenses and class are out the window. Increasingly, he and Molly are double-heading the heaviest and fastest freight trains, like the iron ore and coal bound for the steelworks and shipbuilders in Barrow. These are stressful journeys lacking in light and made under risk of enemy bombardment. But it brought them together, as little as they may have talked.

And Gordon felt differently about Molly, very very different.

She had a knack for picking herself back up in the face of adversity, rising above the fray whenever others fought, something Gordon envies very much this day, she inspired confidence in you when it seemed she had so little, and she was beautiful. For the first time, the only time, Gordon saw a mixed-traffic workhorse covered in soot and grime and drab unlined black paint, and thought she was the most beautiful thing to ever grace two forever parallel silver ribbons of rail diving into a tunnel of night bombers blotting out the bloody moon. (Didn't account for Gordon being a poet, did you?)

The war ends, and there's a new deal for everyone. The welfare state is born, key industries are to be nationalized, Crovan's Gate and by extension the embryonic NW Region become critically powerful as the Attlee Government lets them keep all loaned materiel during the war, at no charge. (Sodor has consistently returned Labour MPs ever since.) The engines are returning to their old colors, and years of neglected maintenance are being seen to.

It's Molly's turn to be repainted. Rather than return to Apple Green and be like her sisters, Molly cuts her own path and chooses a slightly loud but altogether very becoming and gorgeous livery of yellow with red and gold stripes, and white wheel rims. Hatt would've allowed her to choose whatever she wanted, and you'd think this livery was a bit much for him, but no. He was enamored with the color scheme and even mused in his memoirs about making it a new postwar uniform livery. In the same line of course, he admits it would never happen, ("lest a Third World War begin on our railways on the heels of the Second!")

Gordon loved it, although he was incredibly subtle when it came to applauding it. This may have seemed cold, but he was ashamed of his earlier behavior. He had been so rude to Molly, and here she was, reaching new heights of popularity and success without so much as a hiccup. She's Ms. Perfect, and he's soiled his chances of bettering himself in her eyes forever.

It took him years, but Gordon managed to shove it all down... just. He still dreams of it, but he knows in his heart of hearts that they can never be together. Even if Molly truthfully forgave him, on top of her earlier wartime forgiveness made out of necessity and fear of disagreements, he wouldn't believe her. There would be no way, from his point of view, that she could say such and mean it. And why should she? He wouldn't deserve it.

And... Molly becomes the last engine Gordon has romantic feelings for. He's just... done.

Does Gordon ever tell anyone ANY of this? Not a chance. Who knew about it? Nobody KNEW, but Edward had a theory. It's Edward. He knows Gordon like a book. Does Edward ever voice his suspicions, even to Gordon alone and in the strongest confidence? No.

Did Molly know? No. Did she ever wonder? No, not even a little. It's Molly. No one could POSSIBLY go for her, could they? It's unrealistic. So, she'll just stuff that behind her tubeplate and get back to these trucks, that's what she'll do.

And there'll be no more of this nonsense.

#ttte #ttte shipping #ttte molly #ttte gordon #molly x gordon #ttte henry #ttte bear #henry x bear #ttte james #ttte the fat director #ttte: wwii #ttte edward

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miekasa · 3 years

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bestie this is completely unrelated except it sorta is bc doctorxdoctor is scrumptious except i cannot with med school so my go to is professors at the same uni who are married

i think you drabbled a bit about this before??? correct me if i'm wrong lol 😭

Oh that’s hot, too and I’m on board. I probably have 😭😭 but it’s a fantastic au, so I love it when ppl wanna talk about it. Some quick ideas for both that have been in my rotation lately

Some cocky new resident bursts through the doors to the office space where you, Levi, your residents, and a few co-workers typically reside, frantic, and demanding to speak to Dr. Ackerman. Levi only looks up from his notebook with a blank expression in his eyes to question, “Which one?” All of the kid’s confidence wavers, “Um... aren’t you Dr. Ackerman, sir?” Levi only shrugs, and points a weighted pen in the student’s direction, to an office door barely open wide enough to see a sliver of your profile as you type away on your computer, “Yes, I am, but so is she.”

You should have known better, or at least been a little more thorough—for someone completing their MD-PhD, you’d think you’d do a quick Google search on the guy you’re seeing at least once to see if anything important pops up—because Jaeger really isn’t that common of a last name. Because not only is your boyfriend of nearly a year the younger brother your least favorite TA/supervisor, he’s also the son of the medical director of the hospital you’ll be working at next semester; and word on the street is Dr. Carla Jaeger doesn’t take lightly to her baby getting hurt.

After taking residences in facilities nearly four thousand miles apart, Jean couldn’t care less about being a fully fledged doctor—the only thing on his mind is getting home to you, and never leaving. So, when he finally gets to your place, there’s not a single doubt in his mind when he drops his bags, cups your face between your hands, and asks you to move in with him.

Connie really needs to stop calling you down to his office for “urgent” matters concerning the x-rays and images of your patients, when his only urgent concern is that he misses you. And that the x-ray table was freshly sterilized, so if you wanna... relieve some stress, he knows a place.

Mikasa always had a soft spot for kids, and at one point considered pediatrics as a specialty. Even though she went down another route, she’s reminded of her love for children when Sasha asks for her to cover at her clinic for last few hours of the day. It reminds her that while doesn’t regret her speciality, but she does envy Sasha sometimes. So much so, that when she comes home to you later that evening, she can’t stop herself before she blurts out, “What do you think about adopting a kid?”

And for the professor/university side of things:

Hange can’t help but cackle in the corner of the classroom as Levi’s student finish their presentation—a fourty-four slide powerpoint defending their belief that you and him are 100% dating—because while they compiled some pretty convincing arguments, Hange thinks it’s hilarious because Levi’s only reply is, “We’re very close with each other, as roommates should be.”

You and Levi have a very special end-of-semester ritual. After all the exams and final papers and projects have been turned in, you like to sit on the touch with a glass of wine, and look through your course evaluations together; and they’re anonymous, but you two like to place bets on which students wrote which review. Most are positive, and you think it’s funny that 90% of Levi’s follow the general vibe of “Prof Ackerman is kind of cold-hearted on the outside and not an easy grader but he’s a good teacher.”

It’s only like the freshman think they have a chance with you—for one, you’re a senior, and secondly, you’re their lab TA and you can very easily fail them if they tick you off—but they have to admit to feeling a little crushed when they find out that not only are you not single, but you’re dating Armin, the other lab TA everyone has a crush on.

A rare au in which Levi does admit that he is married, but doesn’t disclose any information about you until the very last day of the semester. His students are practically bouncing off the walls on the last day of lecture before exams, ready for the big reveal. Imagine how dumb they feel when Levi finally tells them your name, and they realize that he’s been talking about you all the time, because your name is listed well over twelve times in the citations for the articles they’ve been reading all semester. (Eren has you sign his syllabus and his first midterm of the year, because you’re basically a celebrity at that point).

#anonymous #thinking..... thinkinng #80% of these are for levi and so what. i am a levi girlie first and foremost and i will stand my ground #not a teacher/teacher au but see also: zeke beinng the grad student TA for one of eren's classes #and forcing him to be your project partner when he finds out that eren has a crush on you LMFAOOOOO #minicanons #med au

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hiraethenthusiast · 3 years

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The Hollandairé | t.h.

pairing: ceo!tom x ceo! reader

word count: 16k+

synopsis: exes cross paths on a big event. will they be able to forget each other's mistakes?

warnings: language, sexual innuendos, mentions of an anxiety attack (if you squint), talks about miscarriage, my favourite angst.

a/n: well, well, well im back from a very shitty writers block! look at me, writing angst with exes? oof. can you tell that i absolutely love angst and makeouts in the end? i was somehow inspired by 'idfc' by blackbear to write this fic lol. it took some time and ofcourse i went overboard with it, so hope you enjoy! don't forget to like and reblog! (i even made a moodboard kinda thing uwuwu)

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"Conan I won't hesitate to knee you in the crotch if you don't stop pulling me off this sofa right this second" You tell your roommate, who is desperately trying to get you to go to a gala with him. Being a CEO brings its pros and cons. Pros being, you have a private jet, you're your own boss and you can shout at people with a reason. Cons being, annoyingly nice roommates. You had just shifted to a penthouse in downtown London with your friend Conan, because you refused to stay alone in this bigass house. (You tried living alone once, you were bored to death)

"Conan leave me alone yoo!" You said whining and hunching back into the sofa.

"Get the fuck up and get ready for the launch dude you promised me you wouldn't leave me hanging" Conan shouts over the voice of the t.v. blaring in the background. You pull you hand away from his grip and reach for the remote to shut off the t.v., focusing back on this tall red-headed figure in front of you.

"You know I don't like fancy shit." You grumble.

"It's YOUR fancy shit, get up Y/N." He says and reaches for your arms now, finally making you stand.

"Call Laura, I really don't want to go." You say pulling your phone out from your back pocket and handing it to him.

"If you haven't realised, your manager is the one who forced me to force you to attend the introduction of your fashion line" He fights back.

"- and Y/N. Hey, look at me. You've dreamt of this for how long? Almost all your life. And if you miss the chance to see your empire expand, it's gonna be devastating. You'll obviously miss the fashion show who's got the actual Rudy Pankow walking on a ramp, you'll also miss the opportunity to see people happy with YOUR work. Now get your ass up and get ready." He says and leaves the room, to get ready himself.

It's not that you don't want to go, you really do. Afterall, all of it is your hardwork. But the reason you're not going is because of that asshole. That asshole with whom you used to go out with once, the one who's current goal is to bring you down. The one and only, Tom Holland. You two used to date at some point, the ones who were in love actually, but the rivalry you two have got going on now has lead to you two knowing too much about each other. More than you know about yourself, the other knows it all. Small arguments turned into big ones, that eventually lead to the two of you leaving each other alone. You don't want to go because whenever you meet him, it all turns up into a big mess and your night is typically ruined, and you weren't in the mood for that, atleast not today. He's just a narcissistic bitch who thinks of nothing but degrading you. And that's the reason you don't want to go. Because you know if you talk to him one more time, these banters will persuade you.

But you do realise that you have to go. You have to go because you haven't gone to the last two launches for your perfume and swim line as well, and if you don't go today, Laura will actually end you.

So you just chug all your tea, leaving the kitchen with a grunt to go get ready.

"Hey Marco, can you send in that pantsuit I got done the other day? Look over for modifications if possible, although it looks great in just the solid colour, and please get it drycleaned." You tell your designer over the phone, to which he agreed and you go into your room to get your hair and makeup done.

"Wear a dress to the launch of your fashion line when it gets famous, yeah?"

"Pantsuits all the way Holland, you know I hate dresses."

"I know you do."

You remember the faint memory from over two years ago, that dream actually coming true, just without the person you dreamt it with.

You put your hair in a low bun with a middle part, giving you a classy formal look, and you do a almost non existent makeup look, only your eyes bold to accent with your outfit. Marco drops off the forest green pantsuit at your house, you giving it a twist with wearing a lace corset beneath the blazer.

"I look hot." You told yourself.

You and Conan leave for the event, you fidgeting in between 15 minute durations, Conan reassuring you that he'll be with you until the night ends.

That didn't last long. You lost Conan as soon as you entered the venue, so you occupied yourself with having conversations with other company owners, hearing how they're doing in the industry, blah blah blah.

"Do I look like I care?" You say to yourself.

You move ahead, only to cross paths with the one and only. He was wearing a cherry coloured perfectly tailored suit, adding a hint of Tom with the glasses. He looked good.

"And what do I owe this pleasure, Ms. Y/N?" He says, twirling his champagne glass in his hands.

"Look Holland I really don't have time for this shit, please take a goodie bag on your way home" You say with a bit of sass and start to move away, only to get your arm held back, making you bump in his chest.

"I see you wore the pantsuit you always wanted to wear at your event, angel " He says, making you pull away from him.

"Don't ever call me that again, and this is a warning." You were about to continue further with your answer, but you were utterly shocked to see the person in front of you.

"Is that the Y/N Y/L/N, in person, the one who's way too busy to answer my phone calls?" He says, making you laugh a bit.

"Jaeden?" You say, laughing heartily.

"In the flesh, tigeress." He says, doing grabby hands at you as an indication to pull you in a hug. You oblige and walk towards him and give him the biggest bear hug you've given anyone in two years. You pull back just to hit him on the chest once, playfully ofcourse.

"Tigeress. Oof haven't heard that in a while" You keep your conversation going on with Jaeden, while Tom is absolutely dumbfounded about whatever just happened in these past few seconds.

There's this hot guy named Jason or whatever, who calls you 'tigeress' and you aren't pestering him for calling you with a nickname but you definitely were ready to give Tom a piece of your mind when he called you 'angel'? Who is this guy?

Tom goes off to find Conan, who was situated at the bar downing a shot of tequila.

"Hey who's that guy Jason?" He asks him, pointing towards you and Jaeden in the middle of the hall.

"You mean Jaeden?" He says, biting onto a slice of lemon.

"Yeah whatever who is he?" Tom asks again, turning towards to bartender asking for a glass of whiskey.

"Why do you want to know?" Conan shoots back.

"Just curious. Can you just fucking tell me now?" Tom tries again, getting frustrated now.

"Chill dude. Jaeden used to work with Y/N a long time ago. He had this crush on her for like forever, but then Y/N went in for entrepreneurship and they were just not in contact with each other." He says.

"Crush huh?" Tom says, gripping onto his glass so tight that his knuckles almost turned white.

"Why do you look like you're about to murder someone?" Conan asks, getting concerned.

"Because I might." Tom says, grinding his teeth while forcing a smile.

The night goes by pretty smoothly, for you. You and Jaeden were clinged to each other almost the whole night, and then Tom watching you both from a distance, trying not to snap hard at people. He just took enough of it, he had to do something. He wasn't really sure why was he jealous, 'maybe because you love her' his heart said, but his mind crossing paths with a 'no you don't' in the middle. He was in a dilemma, but was mostly leaning towards his heart's side. He finally got up from his seat and walked towards you.

"Y/L/N." He says, keeping his composure.

"Yes?" You turn around to come face to face with him, laughing on something Jaeden had said.

"Board of Directors want to meet you on third floor. I was going that way only, wanted to inform you." He says.

"Oh okay. Jaeden I'll be back in a few. And tell me about that Mario Kart incident." You say, your laughter dying as you walk towards the elevator, motioning Tom to move as well. You both enter the elevator and you click the button for third floor.

"So Jaeden's a long lost friend, I assume?" He tries to small talk, failing miserably.

"Yeah, I used to work with him a long time back. Why do you ask?" You say, being the nicest you've been to Tom in two years.

"Just making small talk. So, exactly how long ago, you used to work with him?" He tries again.

"A really long time ago." You tell him.

"When we were dating?" He says, hesitating.

The elevator dings and you reach third floor, both of you moving into a very empty hallway.

"Why do you care Tom?" You say, making him frustrated even more.

"Because you're my fucking ex-girlfriend whom I'm worried about because that asshole has a mega crush on you" He says, making you jerk your head towards him.

"How many whiskeys have you had?" You ask him, because he was sounding oblivious that's for sure.

You turn around to open the meeting room to find it empty, making you glare at Tom once again.

"Why the fuck did you bring me up here Holland, where's the meeting?" You say, narrowing your eyes towards him.

"There is no meeting Y/N, the Board didn't show up this year, remember?" He says moving and fidgeting around the room.

"Then why did you bring me up here, dumbass?" That put him over the edge. He starts walking towards you making you take a few steps back, finally cornering you in the room.

"Because that guy is fucking flirting with you Y/N. That guy has been roaming around the whole night with my girl, touching and hugging my girl in front of me and you expect me to keep my calm? Huh? I don't fucking care okay? You're supposed to be mine and I was a jerk who let you go. I can't stand seeing you with other people. What the fuck is wrong with you Y/N, why did you leave me?!" He shouts at you, making your blood boil even more.

You push him back and stand in front of him, glaring as if you were going to rip his head off.

"No Tom, YOU left me, alright? I cried almost every night after that day when you left, and you didn't even have the empathy to give me a call. You, are too self-absorbed, and not me Tom. It was all you. I haven't been to even one of my launches just because I know you'll be there, you'll be there to put me down again. And why the fuck do you care about whom I talk to huh?" You shout at him.

"Why would I come to every single one of your launches Y/N?! To see you! To see the person who understood me more than I did, just to fucking see your face and calm my nerves!" He shouts back. He moves towards you and holds you chin to put your eyes at his eye level.

"Look at me Y/N. Look at me. Did we mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you? Look at me in the eyes and tell me you never loved me. Tell me I meant nothing to you and I'll leave this second. Tell me that this was all a lie." He says, making your eyes water.

"You know I can't tell you that."

"Then why do you keep hurting me Y/N?! You hurt me so much! You left me when I needed you the most! I wanted you and you weren't there-" He shouts again.

"SHUT UP TOM, SHUT UP! Stop it! Stop! Please. Stop." You're crying hysterically now, hunching up in a corner trying to calm yourself down. Tom immediately sees it and runs towards you holding your hands and cradling them.

"Hey, hey Y/N. Look at me, look at me baby. It's Tom. Hey baby. I'm here, yeah? I'm here. Stop crying come on babe, please. Love, look at me. I'm here." He says, now running his hand over your cheeks wiping your tears.

"Go away. Go away from me." Is all you say, which makes his ears perk and brings water to his eyes.

He stands up and moves out of the room, closing the door just to hear you crying again. He sits down on the floor with his back on the door now, crying, waiting for you to say something.

"Please, open the door." He says, bursting into tears and hugging himself with his arms, wishing it was you.

Fifteen minutes pass by and you still haven't said anything. Tom misses you so much, and it was so fucked up of you to leave him like this. He was hurt, but he could never stop loving you. Ever.

"Losing you would be a nightmare that I'd beg to be awaken from everyday." You say opening the door, your eyes blood red, hair disheveled making Tom look at you, whose eyes were blood red too.

"What?"

"I was pregnant, Tom." You tell him, making his eyes widen and holding your hand for comfort.

"The day-" You clear your throat "The day we fought is when we lost the baby. I was going to tell you I was pregnant that day, but then that happened." You were crying a bit more now, but still held you composure so you can handle Tom from now.

"The argument gave me too much stress and, and it was affecting the baby so as soon as you left, um, my stomach started aching really badly and, and yeah we lost our baby then. That's why I left." You say, you were crying on his shoulder now, intentionally ignoring his reaction because you knew it would hurt him.

"We, we- lost our baby?" He says, a bit shocked but choking on his tears. You remain silent.

"Hey, hey. Listen. It's okay. It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I shouldn't have fought with you. You were already really worried and I just added onto your pressure. I'm so sorry baby I'm so so sorry." He was full-on crying now, he sniffled in your neck because he was too afraid to show his emotions.

"It wasn't your fault Tommy, it was ours." You say, running your hand in his curls. The way you missed his chestnut curls. It was all good again, well atleast you hoped.

Tommy. That always brought butterflies in his stomach.

You talked everything out in the bathroom, while washing your faces and cleaning up. You both understood that everything was going back to normal, just like the old times. One conversation lead to another, and you spent two hours on the bathroom floor just laughing and having gossip.

"It's been a while." You say laughing, looking at your watch.

"Yeah."

"Why did you say 'my girl' Tom?" You ask him directly.

"Hm?"

"You called me 'my girl' in the conference room. Why?" You tell him, and he instantly remembers that he did do that.

"You're in my head almost everyday Y/N. Even when you're not supposed to be. It shouldn't have been this hard letting go, but it was. I still love you, even if you don't." He says, taking some tissue paper off the counter.

"Who said I don't love you?" You say, making his eyes widen.

"Wha- wh- what are you implying here?" He stumbles upon his words, making you laugh.

"I still love you, you goof."

"Y/N you have to be serious you're making me want things I can't have." He says wholeheartedly.

You say nothing but grab him by his collar and kiss him with full force. After two years, you felt those soft lips on yours again, reminiscing every moment you had missed in these past years. They felt the same, soft and plump, just as if they were made for you. They fit in with yours like a puzzle, that was meant to be solved by these two hearts which were tangled, but now, in a right way. Tom kissed back almost immediately, feeling your lips was like a dream come true. A recurrent dream in his mind. You both pull back to see red and puffy lips and give out a light laugh. He doesn't stop, he keeps leaving peppery kisses all over your face mumbling sweet words again and again.

"I missed you so, so much angel." he says leaving a kiss on your nose.

"I missed you too bubba." you say leaving a small peck on his lips.

"Let's go now, we've been here for almost two hours." You start to move towards the door, but get pulled back by your waist.

"Tell Jaeden to maintain distance, yeah?" He says.

"Or what?" You say in a playful tone.

"Babygirl, I think you've forgotten what I'm capable of." He says, kissing your neck.

"I think I have. And stop kissing me I look shit." You say, laughing.

"I really don't care. You still look hot and I'm trying not to kiss you senseless right now." He says leaving another harsh suck on your skin, which can hopefully be covered by your blazer.

"Are you going to eyefuck me all night or are you going to do something about it?" You say, now kissing Tom's sweet spot.

"Finish this event in the next half an hour. I'll see you at my house babe." He says leaving one last peck on your lips.

You both reach downstairs after fixing your makeup and hair, you reach upto the stage and and hold onto the mic.

"Thankyou all for attending the event. We look forward to having more business with you! Don't forget to post something about our line 'The Hollandairé' on your social media platforms and don't forget to tag us! We are, The Y/L/N's thankyou have a good night!"

He listen to you and smirks to himself, because you do do what you say.

"I'm going to name my first fashion line 'The Hollandairé' " You say making a banner with your hands.

"And I'll be right with you then baby" He says, kissing your cheek.

Looks like he kept his promise too.

tagging some friends whom i think would like to read!:

@hollandslittlekoala @hollandsmushroom @leafy-holland @tomsoxytocin @scarletspideyy @t-lostinworlds

(pls do tell me if you don't want to be tagged further on!)

don't forget to reblog!

ilysmmmm. tpwk y'all!

#tom holland #tom holland and reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland gifs #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #tom holland x reader #raya writes #raya is a mohmaya #q #smut #angst #fluff #makeout #jealousy

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getvalentined · 1 year

Text

Something else that I think a lot of people in fandom need to remember—particularly my main fandom, particularly right now—is that every piece of popular media we enjoy is a product.

I'm talking very specifically about popular media here, mass media studio projects with marketing budgets and teams of hundreds or thousands of people, so put down your whataboutisms about indy projects and creating for the love of the craft and please meet me where I am actually standing.

Now, to be clear, good media is very rarely something that the creators see as nothing more than a profit endeavor. This is their work, and they want it to be good! That's why they started creating things in the first place!

However.

The development of popular media is inherently profit-driven, and the act of monetizing that media isn't inherently greedy or predatory. This applies all across the board, really; if you have a problem with the people who made an award-winning piece of media wanting to get paid for making it, you also have a problem with a tiny artist like me having a Patreon. By insisting that any creator trying to monetize their work has to be doing it strictly out of greed and must only have chosen to create because they wanted money is bullshit—in demanding that any creator do what they love to do exclusively because they love it and not because they need to eat and pay their bills, you're devaluing the entire concept of art.

There are legalities at play for some fields—fanfiction is a profitless endeavor because it's illegal to monetize, that doesn't mean those people don't deserve financial support—but that's a tangent we're not going to go off on right now. Again, meet me where I'm standing, not where you might think you found a "gotcha" to disprove my point.

I'm not saying "waaah think of the studios," I'm saying that insisting a work of popular media should be both accessible enough to build a big fandom where you can have a huge global community (hence the "popular" in "popular media") while also having absolutely no monetization in any capacity is absolutely ludicrous. It would be cool if that were possible, but it's not. Not at this scale, not in this way.

If you believe that the only way for creators to prove that they "respect" their own work (whatever the hell that means) is for your favorite piece of popular media to be entirely and permanently unmonetized, released globally and consistently maintained out of the goodness of the creators' hearts, you're on the wrong side of this argument.

At the end of the day, regardless of your feelings or your fandom, one fact continues to ring true:

Popular media is a product.

It always has been. Products need to be paid for, one way or another. Going on unhinged tirades about paying for a piece of popular media in your favorite series because you've decided that creators continuing to create new titles in one of their favorite series to work on means they have no respect for the original work they created is so far off the path of common sense it boggles the mind.

To get more specific to the fandom in question: you know this is a video game, right? The original was too! Whatever copy you played, however you played it, someone paid for it. It was monetized. The sequel film also cost money. So did every other game in the series. Every single title, all of which were developed with oversight from the same team and headed by the same people, the same writers and directors and artists, has been monetized. The only difference with the new one is that the monetization is shittier—but it's also entirely optional!

This game is important to you, I get it—it's important to me too! But as a creator, as an artist, I can't even fathom the mindset that putting multiple years and millions of dollars into the development of a product in one of the most popular IPs in the field and monetizing the result is "undeniable proof" that the team behind it are bloodsucking fiends with no love for their craft and no respect for their audience.

These are the same people that made the first one. The one that you're saying is the best thing ever created. They wrote that, they designed that, they directed that. If they want to keep playing around in the universe that they made, they're allowed, and we can't expect them to do it without seeing the result as a product because THE ORIGINAL WAS ALSO A PRODUCT.

And if you have a problem with any of that, guess what?

YOU DON'T HAVE TO PLAY IT.

Being nasty to the people who are interested, who are enjoying themselves, declaring that you are the true fan and they're all disrespectful idiots and infants with no sense because you don't like that popular media is always a product is, frankly, much more disrespectful and infantile behavior than someone sitting on the bus playing a fucking mobile game for fun.

Also the previous mobile title they did that lasted less than a year was killed because of actual real life financial fraud, not because of a lack of interest, downloads, or concurrent players. At the time that it got the axe, they were in the midst of approving a third wave of ambassadorships, they had active sponsorships running in the game, it was doing well—particularly for being the series' first foray into a new genre. But, to the shock and bewilderment of everyone in the entire world, we are in the timeline where the co-creator of Sonic the Hedgehog used his position in the development of a Final Fantasy VII battle royale mobile game to facilitate insider trading. Look it up.

#fandom vent #fandom bullshit

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ladyvesuvia · 3 years

Text

It Was Love

PAIRING: Ron Weasley x GN!Squib!Reader

SUMMARY: At two in the morning, Ron receives a call from a hospital about three hours away about you who he hadn’t heard from for half a year. [loosely based on It Was Love by The Elected]

WORDS: 7.3k

WARNING(S): cursing, arguments, breakup, angst, financial problems, driving, hospitals, celebrating Christmas. [Y/S] means your size. this fic is told in switching timelines. Half-proofread! || SECOND PERSON

REFERENCE(S): Ness Point

A/N: i have a love hate relationship with this fic honestly djfhejwjw sorry if it’s messy istg if this flops- ANYWAY um i’ve been working for this for a longer time than i expected so uhsdjhrwiaka rushed the ending a bit mbad. please let me know via dms if there are any pronouns mentioned so i can fix it!

NAVIGATION || MAIN MASTERLIST || HP MASTERLIST

I. TO THE THENS || 2010

Miles from a place you used to call home, you stood on the surface of what used to only be in your mind and on paper. A beaming crowd surrounded you, and it took all of what you had to reassure yourself that they were there to congratulate you and not strangle you to death.

Gulping, you forced yourself to snap out of your dazed state and slip back into reality just after the woman behind the podium at the platform called out your name, waiting for you to come up and cite your speech.

Although you were hesitant, the looks of your coworkers and all the unfamiliar faces whose names you did not know told you they were all anticipating for what it was you had to say. So within a few moments, you were behind the podium yourself, marveling at the grand view before you, scrambling for all the right words.

You made this. You made it.

You cleared your throat. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and people and strangers,” you started, throwing in a nervous laugh, already regretting how you began. To your relief, you earned polite applause among the audience. “First and foremost, I would like to thank. . .”

You proceeded to mention countless names such as the firm you work for, the board of directors, your co-workers, and everyone else who had helped you on your architectural project.

“I am beyond honored to be here today, able to spend this moment with all of you as we witness a grandeur I am proud to say is my creation.” You took a deep breath. “Now, I have more I want to express my gratitude for, and so I’d like to raise a glass to an engineer and an architect.

“This architect did not build a single building nor design one on paper. One thing this architect did, however, is turn me into the person that I am today.”

You had to stop yourself from cringing at your words, the same words that just a second ago sounded so moving but now it sounds so . . . fake. You raised your glass, to which the others followed suit. “To the glorious past, to the thens we failed to protect yet never prevailed to shape us.”

II. THEN || March 1997

His hand on yours as the world moved around the two of you is a truth you’re thankful to preserve. He turned on the air freshener in an attempt to cover something up, worried you’d find it foul.

This was not the case with you, for you only laughed it off and, well, so did he. It’s the beautiful nature of your romance; it’s home, it’s something you’d be honored to go home to when all is lost.

“Ron, there’s no elegant way to say this but I can still smell it,” you said, using a part of your sleeve to cover your nose as you giggled.

“And away goes my honor and in comes shame,” he said with mock agony.

“Aw, how does it feel to fart in front of me for the second time ev — RON, KEEP YOUR HANDS ON THE WHEEL!”

He composed himself, and you couldn’t help but grin at the sight of his ears turning crimson. “Sorry, second time? What are you — what do you mean?”

“Need I remind you the day I introduced you to my grandparents?”

“Yeah,” Ron started hesitantly as his shoulders tensed, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. “What — what about it?”

“You totally farted and blamed it on the dog,” you admitted, and Ron jerked his hand off yours, looking thoroughly offended.

He scoffed. “I totally did not fart and blame it on the dog.”

“Nope, I distinctly remember you saying ‘Oh no, champ’s got a package’ and your ears were as red as they are right now.”

“No, I did not do that and my ears are not red right now,” said Ron, but you kept your eyes on him until he finally gave up and groaned. “Fine, I may have done that, but it doesn’t mean I’m proud of it.”

You snorted. “Sure you aren’t.”

“I’m really not.”

“Okay, mate.”

Silence.

“I swear, I—”

“Merlin, Ron, let it go!” you said with a laugh. “It’s alright. I don’t hate you yet, if that helps.”

“I would say it doesn’t, but it really does.”

You nodded slowly. “Mhm, and what do you say?”

“I don’t hate you, too.”

“Good, now put your hand on my lap.”

“I thought . . . road safety?”

“Road safety my ass, like you care about that.”

He didn’t, for he let go of himself and rested his free hand on your thigh all the while you played with his fingers.

II. NOW || June 2004

Mr. Hoiss always hated Ron’s necktie. The old man constantly said that neckties were an insult to his ancestry, and that bow-ties were far more elegant. You always begged to disagree, though, having always tied Ron’s necktie everyday on his way to the Ministry.

But today, you’re not there to fix him up. You hadn’t been there for almost half a year now, and Ron had been wearing the types of bow-ties that were easy to put on in contrast to the neckties he considered too complicated to learn.

“Great tie again, Weasley!” said Mr. Hoiss, tipping his hat in greeting as Ron prepared to make his leave. “Going home early, yeah?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. . . ”

“Any plans today, Weasley?”

“I — uh — got a date this afternoon.”

“You are the man of the hour, kid. To moving on!” said Mr. Hoiss with a laugh resembling a malfunctioning car engine. “Take care, yeah?”

The least he could do was grimace and hope that Mr. Hoiss thought it was wide enough to be excused as a polite smile. Harsh as it may be, he forced himself to look at the watch you had given him.

01:48, it said. It could just as easily be a bright afternoon, but it isn’t — he’d worked overtime today, and so he hurried down to the Atrium and into the fireplaces, back to his empty house.

As soon as he heard the distant sputtering of his neighbor’s garden sprinkler, he let himself sink into his couch. He ran his fingers over the peeling surface of the leather couch, the orange of it more visible than ever.

He hated you.

He wanted to see you just so he could scream; he wanted you to come in through the door right now just so he could rip off the leather that remained on the couch, just . . . wanted you to come back home.

So that you’d help him do his necktie again.

So that you’d bring him to the store and buy a cover for your couch, looking for a pattern you could both agree on.

So that you’d be there.

Ron tugged his necktie off his collar and tossed it onto the cluttered coffee table. He stared at it for a good five seconds before standing up and rushing to the empty bedroom with wrinkled shirts and belts that resembled snakes the only things occupying the bed.

He swung the messy wardrobe door open and pulled out one of his striped ties. Taking a deep breath, he tried to put it on himself.

After doing so, Ron walked over to the bathroom, unsatisfied with his own reflection and how weirdly unfamiliar he seemed even to himself.

His necktie was a disaster: The back was too long to tuck to the keeper loop and there were subtle hints of his beard growing again.

Ron cleared his throat and picked up his razor and began to shave the length of his jaw.

“Argh!” Ron jumped. He’d cut himself a bit on the side and so he began to wash his face, blood mixing in with the water. “Merlin’s toenail. . .”

Ron covered it up with a small bandage. He could easily cure it, sure, but as much as he hated to admit it, having them on reminded him of when you put one on his fingers the day he met your grandparents: He was trying to open a can of soda when he felt a pang of pain on one of his fingers.

His wand was nowhere in sight as you’d been trying to minimize his use of it so you had hurried to the bathroom to fetch him a bandage and as soon as you came back, you cut its sides and put it on the small wound on his finger.

He couldn’t help but smile even as he touched the bandage on his jaw now, silly as he may have looked.

No, he thought. Get out. Get out of my head. Just get—

Something buzzed. Ron froze, his hand holding his razor defensively.

He remained still, waiting for an intruder to come hurtling through the door.

Nothing happened, but Ron could hear something . . . ringing?

Gathering himself, he searched for the source of the sound, tense. It seemed to be coming from the drawer. He dropped the unplugged razor on the surface of the cabinet and began pulling all the drawer boxes off its places and rummaged, tossing everything in his way such as a black velvet box, a bulky white envelope, and a knitted scarf and more until he found a bulky gray block. It vibrated and a loud sound came from it. Ron realized with a start that it was actually the phone you’d given him.

He fumbled with it.

“This is a nokia phone,” you had told him last year. “Muggles use it for communication, so you could call me whenever you’re out!”

“But we have owls for that,” he’d said.

“Oh, I don’t think I’d want some of those swooping in while I’m out for work.”

Ron snapped himself back, looking at the ringing phone in anticipation. Were you by some miracle finally calling him?

“Which button again? Right!” Gulping, he clicked the green button and held the phone up hesitantly to his ear, and he heard muffled sounds of busy chatter in the background.

“Hello?” Ron inquired. “[Y/N]?”

He winced at your name.

Just saying your name alone felt like a punishment to his throat, but it was also sort of a relief.

“Hello, is this Mr. Ronald Weasley?” said an unfamiliar voice. Ron froze, trying to think back on what your voice sounded like. Is this you?

“Hello?” said the voice again.

“Oh, er — yeah, you’re speaking to him — Ron — Ronald Weasley. Who’s this?”

Then came the news he was not at all enthusiastic to hear.

Did he want to hear from you? Absolutely. Did he want to know if you’re still out there? Of course he did.

But as he ran to the garage with rusty car keys in hand, he couldn’t help but think if it’s really worth it because at two o’clock a.m., Ron Weasley got in the car, about to drive to a hospital three hours away. For you, he was ready to drive at any time of the day and wherever such as what he's doing as of the moment: Driving from Weybridge to Lowestoft.

III. THEN || August 2000

“It’s a nice house,” Ron commented, his arm draped over your shoulder as you scrutinized the porch with narrowed eyes. “We can work with it.”

“Yeah, we could make a few changes. We’ll have one of those weird garden sprinklers those people next door have,” you said, arms crossed in thought.

“Could we shower in those?” Ron asked.

“Heck, why not?” you chuckled.

As soon as the two of you stepped inside, however, silence fell. Safe to say that as of this moment, both of you could see a future here: New picture frames sitting on the fireplace’s mantelpiece as the years go by, a full dining table and chairs occupied by not just the two of you but what would be your children, a very comfortable couch and so much more.

But for now, all you’ve got is a beat green bean bag in the middle of it all and each other. None of you were complaining.

“Shotgun!” Ron yelled before diving to it just before you could even open your mouth to say the same thing. Dust emanated from the bean bag, and only then did you notice the tiny white beads rolling away.

“You busted it!” you exclaimed, wagging an accusatory finger his way.

“Oh, give it a break, you were about to do the same thing.”

“No I wasn’t.”

Ron turned his back on you and began to pick up the white beads. You peeked from his shoulder and asked, “What are you doing this time?”

And in a blink of an eye, Ron had made it snow, throwing countless soft beads over the two of you, the laughter and the raining of soft pellets on each other as if in a snow fight creating a picture one would find worthy of being in a romantic movie.

It’s love, is what it is. Sweat trickling down your necks? Love. Tackling each other to the ground in fits of laughter? Love.

The littlest thing like the unruly bandage he wore long before? Heck, it’s love.

Soon enough, you found your way in Ron’s arms long after you two had wrestled each other to the floor, the ripped bean bag and its contents tucked to the side and it was only you, Ron, and the carpeted floor of your brand new home while your backs were to the wallpaper you had decided you’ll replace one day.

IV. NOW || June 2004 4:44 AM

It’s four in the morning, and you couldn’t believe it: A familiar face stepped into the room looking disgruntled as if he hadn’t slept but even so, his presence was homely nonetheless. He looked like he’d just shaved, though you’d say it was poorly done for you could glimpse a light stubble from afar.

Is that a bandage? you thought to yourself as you squinted your eyes to try and get a better look at him.

He was frantically searching the crowd, and when he reached the reception, he raked his hand through his hair, his ears red. A smile formed on your lips until his eyes caught yours and fell to the blue sling posing as support on your arm. His shoulders slouched, and his nervous expression turned into one of something that could only either be hatred or revulsion; synonymous, but rightfully so.

“Hi,” you said lamely with a hoarse throat, “you can go home now.”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he gestured for you to follow him outside. You complied.

“Seriously, you can go now. I’m staying with a friend just a few minutes from here, I can take the bus.”

The hospital buzzed with busy people, commands being yelled back and forth between everyone, and you were both caught in the middle of it all even when he walked ahead of you.

The parking lot, on the other hand, was just as busy, only that it looked much more better being away from the stench of cleansing agents and such.

He stopped in front of a familiar car you knew too well and leaned on the driver door.

“Get in,” he said, not daring to look you in the eye again. You didn’t move, just studying him for the first time in a long time. Clearing your head, you crestfallenly walked over to the rear door.

“What are you doing?”

“Er — getting in,” you answered, stopping just shy of opening the door.

“Get in the front seat, I’m not your chauffeur.” With a scowl, Ron got in the car, starting it before you could even set foot into it. “Where to?” he asked blankly.

“The nearest gas station,” you told him.

“The nearest gas— are you out of your mind?”

You didn't say anything.

His hand stayed on the steering wheel, yet the car did not move one bit. He’s stagnant, both in his place and his mind. You fidgeted with your fingers, and Ron just . . . sat there.

“Look—”

He turned on the car stereo.

Static.

“Ron, I—”

“Don’t say my name,” he said as he switched the station until it landed on one playing the chorus of an upbeat song.

“Kind of unfitting, don’t you think?” you said in an attempt to douse his anger.

But he only stepped on the gas and began driving. By that time, the best you could do was just lean back in your chair and look out at the window.

Merlin, he hated how familiar and at home he felt in your presence. It’s like any other day, and he loathed the idea that it only takes you being there to throw him back to the routine he’d grown shamefully accustomed to.

A while later, a gas station came into view and you took off your seatbelt with your good arm. “Just drop me off there.”

He didn’t stop.

“Ron, just drop me off there.” He didn’t. He kept going straight ahead, not even looking at you as he did so. “Ron, I said—”

“I heard what you said,” he said with spite. It felt like forever until the car in front stopped as did the others around you.

“Where are we even going?”

As the car stopped at the red signal light, Ron turned to you, his face contorted in disbelief; and you could see from the corner of your eye that his hair had grown longer. If this was like any other normal day like you wished, you’d go ahead and tie his hair up and tell him how much he resembled Bill a bit more now.

Here’s the catch: Today is grim, a day considered both a death sentence and a pleasant merit.

V. THEN || 2001

Money was tighter than it had ever been and you couldn’t stand watching the love of your life struggle to keep himself together as to not let you think he was weak.

You saw the brave smile he’d give you whenever he’d kiss you before sleeping in each other’s arms, sure, but you also saw the conflict in that same gesture. Heard it, even. You heard it in his sugarcoated words of farewell every time he left for work right after you fixed up his necktie he couldn’t ever master learning.

But he wanted to give you everything even when he had nothing just as you did. Merlin, how he loved you with everything he owned: His eyes always seemed to linger a moment longer on you whenever you were around a crowd of your wealthy friends or loaded acquaintances whose necks were donned with jewels one could only dream of — just whenever you were both surrounded by riches: In a mansion both of you could not at all afford even if you tried and much more.

And so when he happened to be out in the open surrounded by riches put on sale by arrogant jewelers, he had his eye set on a ring resting in a red cushion cradled by an elegant black velvet box.

“How much is this?” he asked the Muggle jeweler, who then only looked him up and down and snorted.

He came home defeated that night, but not without at least a couple of consolation gifts: A new white formal blazer from the discount store, a garment Ron considered the best he could find; a slice of your favorite cake, also the best he could get; and the best smile he could give.

“Sorry I’m late,” he told you, pressing a kiss against your temple as he lay down next to you. “Happy birthday, sunshine.”

You stirred in your sleep, only moaning in response. Ron simpered at the presence of your comfort before he laid down next to you, wrapping his arms around you out of habit and soon tapping his fingers lightly on your hand until he fell asleep.

You woke up earlier than him that morning, and you spent a good three minutes only watching his chest rise and fall as you got yourself out to brush your teeth.

By the time you had finished, you went over to the paper bag on the top of the drawer, its handle seemingly tired. You pulled out the blazer to try it on, looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror.

Goodness, when was the last time you felt like yourself? Something that tasted a lot like salt found its way into your lips, and you wiped away the tears from your eyes.

I love you, Ron! you thought as you made serious and formal poses, giddy at the thought of coming to the firm you were an intern for looking like a million bucks. You squealed in excitement and along came a vision: You could get married in this blazer. It was silly, but it could be your something old, even. One would think it was quite questionable to get married in a blazer, but who cares? You could see Ron standing in a make-do altar you and your closest friends had built all for the essence of an intimate wedding. Heck, it could also be in city hall for all you care but other than that, you could see yourself walking down the—

Something at the back itched. With a curious tug, you felt the price tag leaving a mark on your skin. Groaning, you took off the blazer and fumbled to find the price tag in it.

You gasped. He had spent too much. If Ron wanted to give you everything, you did so for him as well. You bit your fingers in conflict before deciding to brokenheartedly put it back in the bag and tell him later on before he went to work that the blazer doesn’t fit and that he should return it.

Which was wrong, you knew that, but money was too tight, right?: Paying for the house’s pricey mortgage, your weekly and monthly budget, funding Ron’s Auror training, funding your tuition for college. . .

“D’you like it?” he said as he stretched in bed, rubbing his eyes in the process of waking up. You were holding the blazer bunched up in your arms.

“Oh, yes, but it doesn’t fit,” you said with the lightest voice you could manage. In a time like this, you could only give or take.

And you chose to give.

“It doesn’t?” said Ron, hastily standing up to grab the blazer, checking the size. “But you’re size [Y/S], right? Oh, I’m terribly sorry, I’ll get it replaced later.”

“No, no, don’t do that, it’s okay. Besides, we’re saving up, remember?”

He didn’t listen. Instead, he came back after replacing the blazer with a necklace with a teddy bear for a pendant. You let it go this time because of that hopeful and expectant eyes of his that you’d like it. Stupid of him to assume that you didn’t love it. Laughing, you turned around after he put the necklace on you and pressed a kiss against his cheek.

But you wouldn’t let him spend his money on you again. He wouldn’t listen to you telling him you want him to have new clothes and not secondhand ones and that he should spend his money on himself, and so you resorted to what one may call tough love.

VI. NOW || June 2004 4:51 AM

He turned off the music and kept his eyes on the road. Cars were stopped just like yours while waiting for the light to turn green. It was still dark and the blinding white lights of the other cars overwhelmed you so.

There’s so much he wanted to tell you but all of this was contained in a furious face, hands gripping the steering wheel too tight, and unsteady breathing.

“I don’t know,” he said, “I was hoping you’d come home, and I hate hoping you still would.”

“Ron,” you said, treading lightly, “I can’t.”

“Right, because it’s so hard.”

“Ron, it’s not you.”

He scoffed. “Yeah? Because it’s you? It’s not me because it’s you, right? Because it always has to be about you.”

“No! If you’d just listen for—”

Ron gulped. “Where have you been, [Y/N]?”

You couldn’t find your voice. Explain, you willed yourself to say. Tell him what you want to say, it’s the least that you could do for him.

But try as you might, there were no words coming out.

“Go on,” said Ron, “explain.”

“I just — it’s for the best, alright?”

He took a deep breath, and you could tell right there and then that he was just furious.

“For the best? You — you left without even a word for half a year for what? For the best?”

“Ron, please,” you breathed, now looking at him for the first time again. You wanted to kiss his anger away, tell him how much you missed him, tell him you wanted to go home with him again, tell him it’s alright because you’re home now.

But such lies are only beautiful once carved on a headstone. You did want to go home with him but . . . nothing can be undone.

He gulped again, not looking at you as he angrily took a turn to the highway. “Oh, look! I took a right turn instead of going straight ahead because it’s for the best! Should I make U-turn in this one-way lane? Who knows? Oh, yeah, I’ll do it anyway because it’s for the best!”

You wanted to laugh. Even when he was angry there was that air about him that made you just want to pull him into a hug. Even this felt like home already. “Ronald, it would really help if you’d just listen to me—”

“Listen? No, you listen. You left on Christmas Eve, never called, never did anything for the past six months! Do you realize how stupid that made me? You think — you think I didn’t — that I don’t feel bloody shitty knowing that I think I’m doing my best when really it will never be enough for you?”

The sense of home was gone. “It is enough for me, what makes you think it’s not?” But your words were drowning in his and he isn’t even listening and so you sat there, taking this heavy blow you told yourself you deserved.

“Oh, yeah, now you’re asking me questions.”

“I’M A SQUIB, RON,” you cried, your chest heaving. “Do you know what a dirty word that is? And — and I know people look at you and think of you as the damned blood traitor boy who — who was going to marry a damned Squib!”

Silence. It was true; you knew you were going down and that you were dragging him down with you. You’d tried to keep the fact that you were a squib as hidden as hard as you can but it’s hard when you’re in love with someone from the very world that pushed you away.

Silence once more. He knew it, too. Your once epic romance would be the downfall of the both of you and it pains him that this is true.

“If it’s enough, then why’d you leave?” He turned to you, expectant, dismissive of what you just said. “If at least for once it was enough like you claim it to be, why’s it that the first time I heard from you in a long time was through a bloody call from a bloody hospital in bloody Lowestoft? Why’s it that the first time that I see you is you’ve got your arm broken — I’m not gonna ask — and why’s it that you keep on rejecting everything I give even until now?”

Because I love you. Because I want you to have what you want me to have, and you wouldn’t be able to give yourself everything if you give it all to me. “So you could stop rejecting everything you wanted for yourself.”

Even when you weren’t looking, you could tell he’d clenched his jaw tight. “What does that even mean?” muttered Ron.

You decided to take a gentler tone in talking to him to diffuse his mounting anger. “Take a turn and drop me off at Ness Point,” you said, expecting another full-blown speech.

Nothing happened.

After a couple seconds of silence, Ron obliged, defeatedly took a turn like you asked him to do.

The next few minutes went still, giving you time to busy yourself watching the stars above twinkle and as cars with overly blinding lights speed past just like that one night.

Exactly like that one night.

VII. THEN || November 2003 8:34 PM

Again, money was tight. You saw the way he came home crestfallen every time, how he always wore the same clothes in a routine. . .

On his way to work, you had kept your eyes on your task of tying his tie, not wanting to look him in the eye in fear of being seen completely. You managed a small smile before going your way upstairs, not even bidding him goodbye as he prepared to step into the fireplace.

The night he drove you back home by car from your internship orientation was unbearable for you always saw those worried eyes of his everywhere: Whenever he pulled out his wallet, whenever he caught you looking at something pricey, just whenever your eyes met his.

It was silent, the AC and your breathing the only things you could hear as cars drove past.

“Do you want to go to a drive-thru?” he had asked you timidly.

You didn’t look at him. “No,” you grunted in response.

“Come on, you barely ate, you could at least use some food.”

“No, Ron, I don’t want to,” you told him, stern.

“It doesn’t have to be grand, just say what you want and—”

“I said I don’t want to! Is that so hard for you to understand?” He was looking at you as if you had just set yourself on fire. You shifted in your seat to face your window, eager not to show the tears streaming down your face. Calming yourself, you said in a lower voice, “Just keep driving.”

But it was for the best, wasn’t it? If he had gone in to buy you some food, he would’ve struggled even more to fund his Auror training, and it would’ve already been a major cut down on your mortgage and not to mention—

“Why are you like this?” Ron said, half-whispering. You didn’t answer, not that you didn’t want to.

It’s just that you hadn’t a clue, either.

——

On the night before Christmas, Ron came home later than usual. Clearly, this year’s Christmas already isn’t as lovely as the past few years had been; you could tell from how sloppily you’d put together the decor, the gifts only being wrapped in brown paper bags and lousy ribbons.

It was ten in the evening and you heard him come into the bedroom and put something on the drawer right before pressing a kiss on your shoulder. You waited for him to leave and go to the shower.

Hesitantly, you sat up and grabbed the small yet fine white bag sitting on the drawer. Inside it you found a tiny black velvet box, the sight of it causing you to call up a colossal nightmare and a lovely daydream: One moment you’re walking down the aisle and being the cause of your husband’s downfall the next.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the box from which you found a ring exactly the way you said you wanted it to be. At that moment, you knew you wouldn’t let your name take down his. You felt your eyes prickle with tears as you listened to him humming in the shower.

I love you, Ron, you thought to yourself once more as you pictured what the ring would look like on your finger. At that moment, you had made up your mind. You stood up and pulled out the two piggy banks from under the bed; one had ‘ARCHITECT’ written on it and ‘AUROR’ on the other.

You took a deep breath before pulling the cap off both of them. You carefully put more than half of the coins from the ‘ARCHITECT’ piggy to the ‘AUROR’ one as to not interrupt Ron.

You grabbed an envelope from one of the drawers and put some bills in it, soon placing it inside the same drawer, its bulky figure seemingly innocent.

From where you stood, you could still hear the faulty garden sprinklers of your neighbor. This is home, you thought, however flawed it may be.

“Oh, where’re you going?” said Ron while drying himself as he watched you pack your bags lousily. “I got us ice cream, it’s in the fridge, in case you were wondering. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just going out to get grocery,” you said hastily as you zipped up your purse.

“It’s snowing outside,” he said, confused. “Is everything alright?”

“No, Ron, everything’s not alright because you just spent loads on a damned ring!”

“How’d you—”

“It’s on the literal drawer!” You ran your palm down to your face, disbelieving what you were doing. At this point, you just weren’t sure anymore. “You know we’re saving up, right? What about your Auror training, my future in architecture, this house. . . We could barely afford our necessities! And — and you’d be marrying me, a Squib! What they would think — what they would all think. . .”

You were spiraling. With countless thoughts tugging at your mind, you swung the door of your bedroom and went down to the kitchen. Ron followed you while hurriedly putting clothes on.

He caught up to you, pulling up your hands to his as you tried hard as you can to not look him in the eye. “Didn’t I tell you that I don’t care about what they think? I — I want to marry you just because. [Y/N], we’ll work it out like we always do, I promise.”

You looked at him; his eyes a scene that assured you it would all be okay. All those memories with him yet you could not recall one where he spoke with such tenderness.

I want to marry you just because.

It was tempting to be blinded by a promise, but you had seen it all before and you knew better. “I can’t do this right now. Actually, no, I can’t do this anymore.” You let go of his hands.

After subtly wiping a tear away, you pulled out your house key from your purse and threw it on the kitchen counter where he now stood hunched, leaning against it with a disheartened expression on his face you hated to see.

He watched as you walked out the door, the snow falling down as if it were a lovely evening.

Ron worried for where you went. You had left your scarf and it was cold as ever.

That night, he waited for you to come back home because you always did. He stood outside or pacing in the front porch or up in your bedroom and looking out the window for any sign of your return. . .

But there was never a sign of a small camper van pulling into the driveway.

He wrote to you by owl, hoping you’d respond. For the first few days, he lay in bed restlessly, worried. Were you still out there? Would you come back home?

He looked for you constantly, going to every place you’d been to together, having even bothered to use the phone you’d given him to call you. You never responded so he tried to call your grandparents, two of which told him they hadn’t seen you since your birthday and asked if you were both okay unbeknownst to Ron that you’d been staying with them for a while since leaving.

On his return to the Ministry, he came to work with slumped shoulders. Mr. Hoiss asked what was wrong with him, who then only shook his head.

Ron didn’t know how but the very next day most of the people knew about it already, giving him words of encouragement.

“It’s alright, Weasley. Let that Squib—”

“Don’t talk about [Y/N] like that,” he had said silently yet still bringing a hushed silence among the workplace.

He hated that it was only now that he realized the gravity of what would become of your relationship. He now saw the way you saw it. All of a sudden, it was all clear: Ron was aware of what everyone not limited to this department would think of the two of you — a laughing stock.

He shook his head, keeping his mind clear as he continued to complete his tasks for the day.

VIII. NOW || June 2004 5:16 AM

Despite the steady length of the road promising a dark night until the end of an era, you knew full well the sun would rise soon in just a few minutes.

The car halted and Ron sat still in his seat. With one look your way, he sighed before swinging his door open.

Ness Point; the most easterly point in the UK. From where you sat, you could hear the crashing of the waves, its tune innocent, calming. You watched as Ron stepped out to the open yet empty road, stopping by in front of one of the railings.

You hesitantly stepped out as well, following him.

“Ron?” you called out.

He turned around, his face contorted in confusion and (surprisingly) hope. “Would you have said yes?”

“What?”

“If I had popped the question on a better night, would you have said yes?”

In that one question, numerous answers sprung up in front of you, each one heavier than the next.

And out of all those answers, you happened to come up with the worst ones: “I don’t know, maybe.”

Across the round and striped platform from below, you found warm streaks of sunlight laying where it always rested. Ron kept silent once more until you began to trudge down the slope, following the railing until you made it down.

After a moment of taking in the scenery of the brilliant landscape that is the Ness Point, you turned around to find Ron, standing just a respectable distance away from you, also marveling at the view.

“Ness Point,” you breathed. “We finally made it.”

“I guess so,” said Ron.

“You know, if someone had randomly tapped my shoulder years back and told me I’d eventually get to see the sunrise from here at Ness Point, I’d have jumped up from my seat and demanded to have it happen right at that moment.”

“What if that random person said it would only be after you left me?”

“Well, Ron, I’d have slapped that random person across the face!” you said with a smile. For the first time since you first saw him, he laughed.

Words couldn’t even define how at home you felt when you heard that sound you had longed for an awful long time.

“I missed you,” said Ron. “It’s a weird feeling, y’know.”

“I missed you, too,” you told him, “and I know.”

“So would you have said . . . yes?”

“In a perfect world, I would.”

“That’s a very miserable answer to a very miserable question,” said Ron, his voice plain and desolate at the same time.

“I don’t know, I think the question’s vividly blithe.”

Silence again.

But this time, it’s a happy kind.

“Why the broken arm?”

“It’s a long story,” you tell him in an attempt to divert the prospect of telling it at all. You’d been staying over at your friend’s after leaving your grandparents’ home and as soon as you left, the first thing you had in mind was clear your name off the mortgage. It did not go well. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Sorry for not taking your name off as emergency contact.

“Thank you for not.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“I don’t hate you, either.” The sun was rising now, and just a few strangers were milling about, some taking pictures by the wind turbine. “But I still can’t come home.”

Defeated, he only nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. Your reassuring circles on his shoulder did the job of soothing him for just a bit, enough for you to reach out to his badly done necktie.

You untied it before putting it back on him again just like you did every single day before you left. He didn’t mention the money you’d left, the ring box you refused to accept, and the scarf you forgot to bring. He didn’t mention that he’d just decided to cancel his date this afternoon no matter how technically free he was now.

He was satisfied just letting you tie his necktie properly on him for possibly the last time ever.

“Don’t listen to Mr. Hoiss, you look dashing in a necktie.” You pressed a kiss against his forehead. Smiling, you pat his chest one last time, relishing the beauty and the harsh undertones of the moment. “Goodbye, Ron.”

With one last smile his way, you began walking away, leaving him watching you as you disappeared, his feet rooted to the ground.

So much he wanted to say was reduced to a nod and a longing look at the rising sun because no matter how hard he wept just as you did, you both loved.

IX. TO THE NOWS || 2010

You found yourself at one of the top floors, the tall windows looking out the countless lit buildings of New York, the idle and busy chatter supposedly trying to distract you not doing its job.

Beside you stood a young woman your age, and it took you a second to realize she was congratulating you.

“Oh! Well, yes, thank you,” you nodded, your mind elsewhere. “Er — may I excuse myself for a bit? I just need a second.”

Not a second. You needed a walk.

Wrong as it may sound to leave guests alone, you had to take a breather. You put your own not even half empty glass of champagne on one of the glass tables right before you slithered out of the crowd and into one of the elevators and into the dead of the night.

All you had was your phone and your wallet but you were pretty much lost. It took a long while for you to reach the sidewalk because of the parking lot but it was worth it as soon as you did.

Why?

Because a little ways down the road, a couple turns here and there stood a thrift store. It was closed, sure, but the windows gave you a jolly opportunity to window shop.

One garment stood out from the rest — a white blazer that almost resembled what you’d received years and years ago.

Maybe it was the champagne kicking in but within a few seconds, you had your phone out and the number of the phone you’d given your ex just a tap away.

Would he answer? It’s a long shot. . .

What would you even say? What would you even ask him, even?

You paced back and forth and back and forth until you finally decided on simply putting your phone away to walk back to your building.

Although it would be nice to tell him about the grand opening, your story’s perfect in itself already even when it had already met its grand ending.

You glanced at the white blazer one last time before turning away, leaving your sentiments alone from that very spot in front of the window.

No matter what the outcome had been, it was was love.

Or at least the closest you’ve come.

i probably should have lead with this

click here to be added to my POTTERVERSE taglist.

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#ves.writes #ves.writes ron weasley #ron weasley #harry potter #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley x fem!reader #ron weasley x gn!reader #ron weasley x gender neutral reader #ron weasley angst #ron weasley x reader angst #ron weasley x reader fluff #ron weasley x reader smut #ron weasley x reader headcanons #ron weasley headcanons #ron weasley fanfiction #ronald weasley #ron weasley oneshot

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cetaceanhandiwork · 2 years

Text

discourse on this OTW terms of service Topic has finally reached my dashboard instead of just being stray comments about an argument happening somewhere else

so I've gone ahead and looked up the original documents that everyone's talking about and... WOW there is a lot of telephone game mutation of the story that's happened here.

first off: if you're basing your argument on "AO3 is considering changing their ToS" or even "a board candidate was running to change the AO3 ToS" then you're already off the trail.

as far as I can tell, the Board of Directors candidate everyone's up in arms about - "Tiffany G", last name undisclosed because she didn't win - never had ToS changes in her platform, or even as a campaign priority. when she floated the idea of ToS changes, it was an off-the-cuff response to a townhall question. at the time, it was a vague response, which she only explained at a later townhall, and her explanation of her reasoning at the time was basically (paraphrased) "AO3 is banned [i.e. you need a VPN to access it] in my country, and it's used mainly as 'the place you go to post NSFW stuff', because NSFW stuff isn't allowed on domestic websites. so a lot of people have misconceptions about what's actually on AO3; they think 'oh it's this illegal porn website, the content there must be truly despicable'. a change to the ToS might be helpful to improve OTW's reputation in that respect."

but, see, by the time she got to all the follow up questions about this position and had a chance to explain the above, she had already sort of backed down from it, because she'd had time to talk with OTW's Policy Committee and Legal folks and discovered that whatever specific changes she originally had in mind (the exact contours of which were never actually discussed in the townhall) wouldn't be feasible to go into the ToS.

(my guess is that she discovered those changes would somehow have a negative impact on the real mission of the OTW, which, let me remind you, is "prepare for the day when Anne Rice 2.0 comes along and tries to shut down fanfic of her copyrights, so that OTW's lawyers can win that case by setting a favorable court precedent about fanfic as Fair Use under US copyright law". that's the core goal of the Organization for Transformative Works - they're a legal theory nonprofit like the Electronic Frontier Foundation or the ACLU - and everything they do as an organization, including how they run AO3, makes more sense if you filter it through that lens. edit: others have guessed that the rules she had in mind may have already been in the ToS, which - as befits OTW's "we're making a legal argument here" DNA - explicitly lists example categories of illegal-in-the-USA content banned from the site... so far down the page that very few people will read it. but ultimately, this whole section is guesswork because, again, we don't know what changes she had been proposing or what turned out infeasible about them.)

so Tiffany G, by the time she's explaining what her off-the-cuff comment about ToS changes was about, isn't even suggesting changes to "what content is allowed on AO3" anymore, and has pivoted to changes to the tagging system - to mandatory content warnings and how they're presented and so forth - so that it's easier for people to not stumble into content they don't expect. but, again, this is a townhall format, so she never gets a chance to articulate her vision here any further before the townhall ends.

as a result of that vagueness... everyone seems to have projected their own preexisting Topic onto Tiffany's argument (which was really about something else). people whose hobbyhorse is "would it be good or bad if everything in the Underage tag was deleted from AO3" decided that this was really about that, even though one of the few things she got the chance to clarify in the follow-up townhall was that this wasn't what she was proposing. and meanwhile people with weird ideas about China projected that all over the situation. and so everyone mentally autocompleted the details of what changes she was actually considering (which, again, she never got a chance to fully explain and weren't apparently a high priority for her anyway) with whatever assumptions best fit their rhetorical point.

so my take is that the whole sordid business has been making mountains out of molehills. and my secondary take is that before you get up in arms about something on the internet, it pays to go read the primary sources to get a better picture of whether there really is a mountain there.

#no way am I tagging this I don't want no trouble from randos

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ldrfanatic · 3 years

Note

Could u do a jim kirk soulmate fic? Thank you!!!

Melvaran Mud Fleas

Jim Kirk x Reader

Soulmate Prompt #8 - Something that resembles your soulmate's line of work is tattooed on your arm.

NAVIGATION

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All your life, from the moment you were even old enough to understand what a soulmate was, you yearned for your other half. Your missing piece. When you were eleven, your mother had explained the purpose of soulmates in your society. "Your soulmate is... quite literally the other half of your soul. They balance you. Once you find your soulmate, you'll learn that the thing that grounds you, that holds your mind, body, and soul to this earth is them. As fairytale as it sounds, when you meet your soulmate, you will find that truly, nothing else compares. When I met your father, it was genuinely the start of my life." From that moment forward, you studied the tattoo on your arm like it was the most defining thing in your life. Because in way, it was. Just a small space ship on your inner wrist. When you started high school, you started learning about warp technology in extraterrestrial travel mechanics. Simply put, space ships. When you studied the Federation and it's peace-keeping armadas, you learned that they had dozens of ships just like the one that rested on your skin. When you turned 18 and graduated high school, you went head first, straight into enlisting into Starfleet. Now, you were a pre-engineering student, working on designing and repairing the very space ships that had consumed so much of your time. One of your close friends, Cadet Uhura, was a xenolinguistics student, who spent much of her time studying to impress Commander Spock, who was one of the Academic authorities, and who you were sure she had a crush on.

You were jarred from your voluntary mental break by Nyota rushing into your room. "Y/n! Come on let's go. The Academic Board is calling a session. Something is happening!" You ran through the halls of the Spacefleet with practically a thousand other cadets, all clad in the same crimson uniform. Now, sitting next to Nyota, and her green friend, you wondered silently to yourself about the purpose of this whole thing. It was rare that such a large session be deemed necessary. "This session has been called to resolve a troubling matter. James T Kirk, step forward." Everyone's head turned to the cadet. You hadn't met him, but Nyota had explained her own personal encounters with him in plenty of grueling detail. She positively despised him, and his blatant disregard for Academy regulation. "Cadet Kirk, evidence has been submitted to this council, suggesting that you violated the ethical code of conduct pursuant to Regulation One-Seven point three of the Starfleet Code. Is there anything you care to say before we begin, sir?" Cadet Kirk was now standing in the right-center of the room, directly before the Academic board of directors. "Yes, I believe I have the right to face my accuser directly." Commander Spock rose quickly from his place among the other officers. "Step forward, please," The Commander took his place in the left-center of the room. Nyota was listening intently like it was a gossip session in high school. "This is Commander Spock. He's one of our most distinguished graduates. He's programmed the Kobayashi Maru exam for the last four years. Commander?" The half-Vulcan turned to face Cadet Kirk before speaking. "Cadet Kirk, you somehow managed to install and activate a subroutine to the programming code, thereby changing the conditions of the test." Cadet Kirk swallowed thickly and shifted his weight between his feet. "Your point being?" Barnett cut in sharply, a hard stare fixed on him. "In academic vernacular, you cheated." Once again, murmurs arose from the sea of cadets before dying down just as quickly. An argument continued between the two as both the crowd of students, and the Board watched on curiously. The door abruptly burst open and an aide came rushing in. He handed a pad to Barnett who immediately began to address the crowd, shock covering his face.

"We've received a distress call from Vulcan. With our primary fleet engaged in the Laurentian system, I hereby order all cadets to report to report to Hangar One immediately. Dismissed."

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The Hangar was loud, and absolutely covered in cadets scurrying around in red uniforms. You stood in a crowd with numerous other students all eager to learn the ship they'd been assigned. "Fugeman, Regula One! Gerace, USS Farragut! McCoy, USS Enterprise! McGrath, USS Wolcott! Y/L/n, USS Enterprise! Rader, USS Hood! Welcome to Starfleet, godspeed." You turned swiftly looking for the dock of small transport vessels assigned for the Enterprise. As you climbed into one of them, you quickly spotted Uhura, taking one of the empty places next to her. The transport began to rumble, and the hangar door opened shooting dozens of transports up and into space. As you came upon the astronautical docks for the vessels, you noticed a particularly familiar looking one. Looking down at the tattoo on your wrist, you were shocked to find that they were the same. You hit Nyota on the arm once. Then three times. "What Y/n?" You pointed at the ship with your finger pressed firmly on the glass. "What ship is that?" She looked at you bewildered. "The Enterprise?" "Nyota, I know you're gonna think I'm imagining things and that it can't possibly be true but I think my soulmate is on the Enterprise."

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Once the transport docked, every cadet filed out to change into standard starfleet uniforms based on their field of expertise. Blue for Science and Medical, Gold for Command Operations, and Red for Engineering and Public Relations. You pulled your red dress down over your body and straightened out the wrinkles before reporting to Lieutenant Olsen, who you understood to be the Lead Engineer. As you walked down the halls, you passed cadet Kirk again. He was being yanked around by Cadet McCoy, who had been in a few of your maths classes back at the academy. "Leo?" McCoy turned to you and gestured with his head for you to follow him to the medbay. "Look, Leo. It'll be nice to catch up with you on some other occasion but I really should be reporting to the Engineering Dock." "I need you to help me with this. Kirk is having an allergic reaction to a Melvaran Mud Fleas vaccine." You followed on McCoy's heals, practically on top of them. "What would you like me to do about it?" "You're an engineer. I need you to use your problem solving skills and whatever you remember from the basic biosciences and First Aid classes to help me get this under control." You huffed a sigh and stood in front of Kirk in the med bay. "I'll do what I can." "You're beautiful." You just noticed the burning on your arm as you looked into his sea blue eyes. Glancing down, your tattoo of the Enterprise was dissipating. This drugged up clown was your soulmate. "Well shit, Y/n. You didn't tell me he was your soulmate."

#jim kirk x reader #jim kirk #james kirk #james kirk x reader #kirk #kirk x reader #captain kirk #captain kirk x reader #star trek #star trek x reader #star trek imagine #jim kirk imagine #james kirk imagine #kirk imagine #captain kirk imagine

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notoyax17 · 3 years

Text

SHIELD/Hydra is not a reason to dislike the accords.

Something that popped into my head is that when Steve cited the whole SHIELD/Hydra incident as proof that more oversight hurt more than help... he was wrong. Like factually wrong.

The problem with SHIELD wasn't excessive oversight. It was a near complete LACK of it.

You see, SHIELD was acknowledged as the shadiest of all shady government agencies, willing to do whatever it takes, no matter how dirty to get things done. So, right off the bat, we have a problem with their Standard Operating Procedures being little different from Hydra's, even if their ideology is the same. Their "oversight" the World Security Council while "international" doesn't seem to be under any actual governing body (the fact that they can just drop a nuke on a sovereign nation without so much as conversing with the President or literally anyone on the ground says a lot) makes them seem like a glorified Board of Directors for SHIELD.

Which brings us to Project Insight. No government, ever, anywhere would be okay with one government agency that only vaguely answers to them having the kind of power to casually kill hundreds of thousands of people at once. In literally ANY other agency, this shit would have been nixed at the idea stage. Never mind the planning or implementation stage.

And the problem with SHIELD, and ALL of their agents, with no exceptions, is that no one was truly bothered by this. But what about Steve, you say? He and Fury had an argument about it after all!

But that was all that happened. Steve argued with Fury but didn't go any further with it until after they learned about Hydra's involvement. Project Insight is a whistleblower's wet dream. The FBI's tip line should have been backed up for hours with agents/staff/etc. calling in about this one issue. But no one said anything to anyone outside of SHIELD (and no, Pierce doesn't really count, being part of the WSC) because they were all either so damn desensitized to this type of bullshit or they were so certain of their status as the best, most incorruptible spies.

Or something. God knows.

But, while the accords as they were written didn't work out, SHIELD was proof positive that real, proper oversight and transparency should be required in all professions.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

#anti SHIELD #not SHIELD friendly #mcu critical #steve rogers critical

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elphiej · 4 years

Text

Be My Light - Chapter 4: The Mad Leader

*Genre: Mafia, angst, eventual smut, slow burn

*Warnings: References to violence, minor assault,

Author’s note: First off, I’d like to send a special Thank You to someone who was a huge inspiration to me and to this story. This is the chapter that really started it all and I was inspired by @bangtan-sonyeonddaeng ‘s mafia reaction series. She is a fantastic person and was one of the first people I showed this Be My Light to when I was too scared to post it. She is a beautiful soul and wonderful writer. Thank you for the push.

Another Big thanks to my editor for sticking with me all this time and into the future. And, of course, to all the people who are reading, commenting, and reblogging this. I can’t tell you all how much is means to me. Thank you all and I hope you enjoy this next installment of Be My Light. (P.S. I have a thing for RM in a long trench coat.)

Tag list: @lolalalooo @bangtan-sonyeonddaeng, @barbikatherine , @mrsfortune1306 , @lovesick-heart0 , @iamnamjoonsbxtch , @deathkat657 , @deeepvibes , @sugamonster22 , @weiinihao, @hemmofluke , @rainbow-zebra-unicorns , @joyfullyobsessed , @elvencantation ,

Chapter 4: The Mad Leader

You stared at the cell phone clutched in your hand, your mind spinning with so many questions. Who were those people? Why did talking to this ‘RM’ make you feel like something bad was coming? With that deep, serious tone, were they just as dangerous as the man with the cane? And what kind of normal person calls themselves ‘RM’? Agust was already on the edge of interesting and odd as it was. Scanning over the still lit screen, you wondered what other names were in the contact list. Other than ‘God of Destruction’, the last few calls you could see without going through the device belonged to ‘Mochi’, ‘My Favorite’, and ‘Worldwide Pain in my Ass’. Based on those names, you couldn’t begin to imagine who was gonna match those names.

It was safe to assume that this RM guy was concerned about the man in the suit trying to finish the job. The hospital had a good security team but you thought it best to talk to Doctor- Henry- to see if more could be done. Your hand paused as it went to put the cell phone back with Agust’s things; if RM or any of the odd named voices tried to contact you for an update, they would most likely call that, instead of trying to navigate the hospital switch board. Figuring it was the best option, you placed the phone safely in your scrub’s pocket as you moved to the bedside for one last check on the patient. Agust hadn’t moved again since right before the phone call and was still as could be. The monitors were all reading normally. There was a blood transfusion line in his arm to help replace what he had lost, along with another IV pushing fluids and medication. You adjusted his arm to make it more comfortable for him once he woke up.

“I’ll be back to check on you as soon as I can,” you said as you fixed his blankets. “Please, try not to do anything until I get back.”

You slipped out of the room and pulled the door shut behind you. There was an anxious feeling that crept back into your gut, the same one you felt when you had first heard the gun shots ring out from the silence of the construction site. Your mind had so many thoughts and scenarios running through it that you felt overwhelmed. Things like, ‘what if the man with the cane and rough voice came here? Would he shoot his way through the floors until he found Agust? Were you really as safe as you hoped?’ The hospital had been under a few threats but nothing had ever come from those except words. It would be best to stay as cautious as possible. You had too many friends and patients to not take your feelings seriously.

As you made your way towards your station, you were surprised to see that Henry was already there leaning over the desk with the phone pressed up against his ear. He pulled a pad of paper from the other side of the desk and started scribbling something down as he nodded and spoke in a low tone to whomever was on the other end. That saves me from having to page him, you mused. Henry did a double take towards you when he noticed you out of the corner of his eye. He beaconed you over with an urgent wave of his hand. The calm yet awkward demeanor from earlier had been replaced with a more serious one. Once you were within an arm’s reach of him, he reassured whomever he was talking to that ‘everything will be taken care of’ and hung up.

“Good,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I need you to help me.”

“Henry, about that John Doe patient. I was able to talk to someone close to him. I think we may need to alert the security team about- “

“I’ve already talked to them. The hospital is going on alert for any suspicious activity entering the hospital. And we are actually moving the patient to one of the private units upstairs. I just got off the phone with the director and we’ve got everything worked out for you so you’ll be safe,” he said over his shoulder as he started walking down the hall.

“Wait, what does that mean? What do you mean by worked everything out?” You took extra long steps to keep up with his brisk pace.

“The same person who demanded higher security for that patient requested that you be kept with him as his private staff until otherwise. Which means you’ll be in the secure ward with him in case anything happens. It’s gonna be for the best. You were the first one with him and it’s gonna be more comfortable if he doesn’t have to get acclimated to someone else after all this. Don’t worry, we’ve got it worked out with Jax already.”

Henry led you back into Agust’s room and made fast work of disconnecting him from the machines that surrounded him. He pulled the IV bags down and placed them on the bed by the still form. Meanwhile, you were frozen at the end of the bed, feeling dizzy from how fast he seemed to expect you to understand what was happening. This wasn’t the first gang related case you had been assigned to since starting at Mercy, nor was it the first gunshot case; why did this sudden change to the routine make you feel ever more nervous? Never had you moved a patient into a secure wing designed from more severe or quarantined patients before just because someone had requested it. Henry called your name to shake you from your thoughts and motioned you to move to the side of the bed as he unlocked the wheels of the gurney and pushed the bed from the wall. As you helped guide it from the room, you couldn’t help but feel the tension grow.

“So, I am just supposed to stay locked up in some room like a prisoner? And be someone’s private nurse? What about the rest of my patients here? I can’t just leave Amber to tend to them all alone. We are short staffed as it is,” you mentioned as you navigated everyone into the elevator at the end of the hall.

Henry hit a button and the elevator started to move. He leaned close to look you in the face, his eyes filled with seriousness. “Listen, Y/N, I know this is strange but you just have to trust me. I don’t know all the details but someone particularly important has to be involved to make the director so quick to comply with whatever they asked. But no matter what, your safety is my priority, maybe a bit more than my patients. I’m sure the director thinks that too. Whoever it is must just want to make sure this guy has the best care possible. And when he gets here, he’ll probably want to hear from you what happened. And if whatever gang did this does try anything, I don’t want you to worry because no one is going to get to him or you. Only the director, you, and I will have access to this room or know where he is. Apparently, the man the director talked to said he would have a way to get a hold of you and prove his identity to gain access. I know how you are, Y/N, you are a great person. That’s why you’re so good at what you do. But don’t think that you are inconveniencing anyone; Jax has already rearranged everything and made some calls. I really need you to think about yourself now. And what is best is for you is to do what I am asking and not over think this right now.”

Henry was being so sincere that you couldn’t find the voice to make any arguments. You gave him a weak nod and tried to take what he said to heart. As Amber had pointed out before, one of your qualities was that you put others well before yourself. Hence, why you were in this predicament. As the doors opened onto the new floor, you promised him that you would try.

The door opened onto a floor where the more severe, long term patients were kept. This floor could, also, be used for quarantining or the more delicate of patients. At the moment, you knew it had only a few occupants: a coma patient, a patient suffering from extreme burns, and someone from the psych ward that needed more focused attention. To enter this ward, you needed a key card, making this more isolated than your full and frantic floor. Henry commented there was no record that Agust had been moved in any of the files. And if anyone tried to look him up, it would be like he never existed. The person who had called to make all this happen had said he’d contact you and that he and his colleagues were to say they were here to perform community service if asked by anyone else. Apparently, they deemed it as security protection. Henry had you swipe your ID to gain access to the floor and you made your way down the silent hall to the vacant room Henry had staked out for you to stay in. The room was bigger than the one you were used to on your floor. There was a small couch across from where the bed was to go, a private bath off near the entrance, and even a TV in the corner. There was, also, a small recliner near where the head of the gurney was to rest. You imagined you’d be there most of the time. Henry helped you set everything back up in the room and did a quick check on the patient after he was secured in his new residence.

“Hopefully, he’s gonna wake up a bit soon. He’s reacting well to what I’m doing,” Henry commented as he checked Agust’s pupils constrict as he shined his pen light in them. He gave some instructions about his IV and transfusion processes. He gave you a quick run down of the floor in case you needed anything. “Until he wakes up, I guess feel free to do whatever in here. It can be like a mini vacation. You know, if you ignore all the weird stuff happening. You can watch some TV or order some food. The mysterious man said to spare no expense when it came to our patient or you. I promise by Friday this will be all over and we can go out and talk about nicer things. Okay?”

Before you could stop yourself, you felt your cheeks get hot and you turned your eyes to the floor. This was not the best place for this, but you knew Henry did it to only ease the anxiety you were feeling. He was almost too perfect. Henry promised to check in once he had finished his rounds as he left from the room and pulled the door shut behind him. You heard the security lock click into place, knowing it would only open from the inside or if you had an ID card. You allowed yourself to drop into the recliner, allowing everything to wash over you. Paranoia was thick in the air as you tried to make sense of everything. Henry was right; whoever these people were they must just want to talk to you and this was easier than scouting the halls. But the thought did very little to chase the nervousness away. Your hands started to rub together out of tension, squeezing your fingers, cracking your knuckles one by one with your thumbs. You took a few deep breaths as you tried to force yourself out of the impending panic. Your eyes looked over at the bed. You tried to remind yourself that you needed to keep it together and be strong for him. Then your eyes landed on his hand. You remembered when you were hiding behind the counter when the man with the cane was getting closer and closer. And when Agust had reached over and squeezed your hand. In that moment, he gave you reassurance with such a small gesture, not thinking of himself. You remembered how genuine it felt. It’d be nice if you could do that now, you thought with a weak smile.

Instead, you settled for forcing yourself to think of something else. You read through his charts, tapped through some news on your phone, and tried to people watch out the window behind the couch. The afternoon sun had started making its way towards the horizon; how quickly the day had ended up flying by. You had decided against turning on the television for now, thinking how awkward it would be for him to wake up to you watching some trash TV show. You tried walking around the room to get a sense of where you’d be staying for the foreseeable future. But all of that only killed twenty minutes and you were still stir-crazy. There wasn’t much you could do for Agust at the moment, except allow him to rest without you trying to hold his hand or anything else.

Suddenly, there was a buzzing in your pocket; it was Agust’s phone. You were a bit ashamed at how quickly you reached for it. There was a new text message. It was from a new named contact: Sunshine. The preview of the message said, ‘To Miss Nurse’, making your assumption that the people on the other end would have expected you to keep the phone on you correct. And since it was addressed to you, you didn’t feel too bad about opening the phone again. You swiped open the text and tried not to scroll anywhere higher into their previous chats.

- Sunshine: To Miss Nurse. if you see this, please take good care of our Hyung. And if he gives you any trouble, tell him I said to behave. RM should be almost there. He tends to speed.

There were a couple silly emojis next to it that made you smile. Surely, they can’t be bad people if this is how they communicate. They must be close friends. Though, you still wondered how they had gotten the director to do all this. Maybe there was someone else doing all of this? You shook your head and typed a quick message back, so not to have them worry.

- I’ll take good care of him. That’s my job.

You really hoped Agust didn’t mind you messing with his phone. Though, you figured it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission in this scenario. There was no response which made you think that it was all he needed at the time. Gazing at the clock on the phone, you had wasted thirty minutes in the room so far. You thought of your backpack in the locker room a few floors down and some of your things at your stations that you could pass the time with. Since Agust was secure here, you thought it may be a good idea to gather some things to help you waste time until this RM shows up. It was unlikely that Agust was going to wake up yet, and you could be fast so he wouldn’t be alone for long. You slipped the phone back into your pocket and rose from the chair, heading for the door. You cast one more look at the still figure in the bed before dimming the lights and pulled the door shut behind you.

You set off at a brisk pace for the elevator and took it down a few levels to where the staff locker room was kept. You raced in, pulled your bag from your locker, and left before anyone noticed you. You were sure since the director had put the whole hospital on alert that everyone was making rounds to keep eyes everywhere. You hoped grabbing your stuff from your station was just as easy; you weren’t sure about how to explain why you had suddenly deserted your station. Amber wasn’t there but you could hear her and Jax talking loudly from a back room. You wanted to talk to your best friend, to help ease some nerves and have her tell you exactly what you needed to hear. But you didn’t want to wait around or take her away from her new workload. You pulled open the drawer where you kept some personal items, incase of slower work days, and shoved them into your bag. You froze when your fingers hit against something that you knew, instantly, should not be in your bag. Peering into the opening, your eyes locked onto a metallic, black, studded object that you had seen earlier that morning.

The gun Agust had placed in your hand.

How did that get in there? You didn’t remember grabbing it unless it had happened in the chaos of the EMTs and police rushing to assess the situation. Well, if you weren’t already anxious, this just made it worse. Let’s just add this to the ever-growing list of stupid things I’ve done today, you berated yourself. You brought a potentially loaded gun into a hospital. You needed to get back up to the room and get this out of your possession. Maybe when this RM got there, he could take it from you. You pulled the bag shut and slugged it over your shoulder, trying hard not to think about it.

You moved away from the desk and down the hall towards the elevator. But as you stepped into the silent hall with all the doors closed, one was not closed as it had been when you left; the room where Agust had been. And there was someone looking inside. There was a man, tall and stocky, and dressed in a simple navy uniform. He wasn’t a part of the hospital staff and you didn’t think he was there to clean the room with the lights still off. Trying to stay as unnoticed as you could, you took longer strides towards the end. As you passed behind him, you peered beyond him into the pitch blackness of the room to just make out another figure lurking there. He wasn’t dressed in the same way as the man in the door. He was in darker colors that you couldn’t make out and wore what looked like a fedora on his head. What caught your attention as you passed, was the small peek of icy, blue hairs that were just visible on the side. A deep grumble that sounded from the room made your breath catch in your throat, and made you stop in your tracks. It sounded so familiar to the sadistic voice from this morning. The man with the cane had gotten into the hospital?! How, they upped security measures, hadn’t they? Maybe it was your imagination playing with you with all the stress. Not wanting to stick around to figure out if you were right, you tried to get away before they had noticed you.

But, sadly, you weren’t that lucky.

“Excuse me, nurse. Perhaps you can help me.”

You felt your whole body stiffen as the voice was all to clearly the one that had stalked you from beyond the counter. The voice that dripped with crazed malice and venom as he called out for Agust, that had taunted and tried to lure him out. The voice that you were sure would haunt your dreams. It was the man with the cane, though he didn’t have it now. As you turned, he looked nothing like the half-crazed man yelling and destroying things around him. He looked almost normal, save for the fake smile he had plastered across his lips. He was no longer dressed in the light blue suit and fur coat you had caught a glimpse behind the counter, but in a simple dark blazer and trousers. The man who lingered in the doorway had come to stand next to him as they walked up to you, dressed in a police uniform. His uniform cap was pulled low to obscure his face, though you could see bruising and swelling through the shadows. Both of them gave a slight bow to you.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Inspector Taop, this is officer Chen. We are here following up on a patient that was supposed to be brought here. I’ve been looking everywhere, but no one has an answer for me whether he is here or not. And I haven’t seen a single worker on this floor.”

He had never seen you at the scene so you knew he didn’t recognize you, or could see that you didn’t believe anything that was coming out of his mouth. That would help you, you decided. You took a deep breath and tried to hide the fear and nervousness. Just act normal. Try to stall until someone comes around.

“Sorry, officer, we’re a bit understaffed as it is. What can I help you with?”

“I’m looking for a patient that was brought here. Gunshot victim, a young man, brought in this morning?”

“Can you be a bit more specific? We are a hospital. Do you know how many young men we have come in here with some kind of bullet wound? I had six this month.”

You saw the smile slip and irritation rise in those cold eyes. He cleared his throat, trying to hold on to his polite composure. “This one would have come in this morning. There was a shooting downtown. He would have had multiple gunshot wounds. One nurse said he was brought in by ambulance this morning, but then another said that they found no record of him. And the last person I talked to sent me here. Please, this is very important.”

“Can I see your badge, sir?” He looked completely off guard by the question. You, also, seemed confused. It had just jumped out of your mouth before you realized it. But it seemed like the right thing to ask. You continued, “There’s been a threat made to the hospital, you see, and I need to make sure that everything is in order. I would get in trouble if I gave such information about any patient to an imposter.”

You could see the wheels in his head turning. But you didn’t expect him to nod his head, understandingly, and reach into his pocket to hand you a leather, bifold wallet. Was this psycho really a police officer? How could someone so vile be in law enforcement? You thought back to what little memories of your father that you had lingering in the back of your mind and couldn’t begin to imagine him doing anything like what this man had done, no matter how bad of a criminal they were. Before you could think, your body seemed to act on it’s own again and opened the wallet and your eyes started to dance across the metal shield. You weren’t entirely sure what you were looking for at first. Until your eyes caught it and something clicked in your mind. It was a fake, but an exceptionally good fake. Anyone else would have just taken it at face value but something in your mind flashed and screamed that this was a fake like the smile still on the ‘inspector’s’ face. In the reaches of your memory, you remembered running your fingers over your father’s badge, memorizing every detail. And you still did that when you were stressed out; you still had his badge and it was currently in the front pocket of your bag. And you seemed to recall your father teaching you how to identify a real badge from others.

A sudden anger took hold of you that seemed to spur on some brave part of you. You closed the wallet and handed it back to him, keeping your face neutral to hide that you were even more sure of his act. Maybe it was the dishonor to officers like your father, or that he was trying to get to the boy you had risked a lot to save. And your hard work was not going to waste. “I’m sorry officer. But like I said, we have a few patients that could fit your description. None on this floor at all. And if the other nurses said they have no record of him, I’m not sure what I can do for you. Besides that, if we did have a patient come in with multiple gunshot wounds, I imagine that they’d need extensive surgery and wouldn’t be conscious to answer any questions you could have. And with no guardian to act in their place until they are awake to consent to a line of questioning about a traumatic experience, I can’t let you go any further. You should know that, Officer.”

The smile was wiped from the man’s face. The uniformed man’s eyes got wide at your declaration and they shifted towards his leader in panic. Taop, or whatever his real name was, straightened up and took a step towards you. He towered over you and the energy radiating from him would have intimidated you into submission. Just like with your ex. But you needed to protect Agust. In any case, all you needed to do was scream and someone would be alerted. There wasn’t much this asshole could accomplish without being found out. But he continued to advance until he backed you up against the wall. Even still, you never broke eye contact with him.

“I don’t think you understand the situation of this, little girl,” he said, rage tittering on the edge of his voice. “There are some really dangerous people and it would be a shame if you got caught in the crossfires. It’s in your best interest to answer my questions and tell me what I need to know.”

“Then bring a warrant,” you challenged.

His hand collided with the wall next to your head, making you jump. His face was so close to yours now, and there was the crazed man you remembered from this morning. Your heart was in your ears. He, suddenly, took a deep inhale then another before tilting his head to the side. “What a brave little girl. Tell me, where were you this morning? Something tells me you may be exactly who I need to talk to.”

“Hey, back off her!”

Both you and the man turned to look down the hall towards the elevator towards the source of the deep voice that had interrupted the line of questioning. The doors of the elevator were opened and from them stepped a young man with platinum white hair. His eyes were haunting and strong, like a dragon woken from his peace. He was exceptionally tall, taking long strides towards the scene. You couldn’t help but let your eyes take in the man who was coming to your rescue. Dressed in a dark trouser and a white buttoned up shirt gave him a classic handsomeness, and a long black coat with a hood drawn up that accentuated his height. As he approached, he slid the hood down and swiped his hand up to push the stray white hairs from his face. If you weren’t terrified, you would have appreciated how handsome he was. You glanced back at the man caging you; his body tensed as the newcomer walked up but his face never showed.

He let out a sigh and a small smile reappeared, but it was not the same he had tried to charm you with. It was one of arrogance. “Ah, Mr. Kim,” the inspector said, not moving from his position, “how nice of you to drop in.”

“You’ve got some nerve,” the handsome newcomer said, his tone low and smooth.

“What for? Being too formal? Do you not like me using your surname? I’m not sure which name you prefer now; you change names so often, it’s hard to keep up after all this time.”

“You’re one to talk. What name are you going by now, officer? Here to investigate a fraud? Or are you here to put yourself into more trouble?”

“Such a negative attitude. Officer Chen and I are here on official business,” the detective flashed his badge at the so named Mr. Kim. “And this nice young lady was willing to help me out with some information. Isn’t that right, Little Girl?”

“It sure doesn’t look that way coming from the elevator. I think you need to take a step back,” Mr. Kim ordered with a strong but suggestive tone that made you question what kind of power someone as young looking as him could possess.

The fake detective made no sign that he was planning on heeding the newcomer’s words to move from your personal space. His eyes shifted from Mr. Kim back to you. His stare bore into you sharper than claws and made your breath catch. You weren’t sure if he was trying to scare you into agreeing with him or just threaten you. But Mr. Kim was having none of that; he gave the older man’s shoulder a hard shove and wedged himself in the space between you to keep you away from the other man. Mr. Kim reached a hand behind him and placed it on your arm, to keep you secure behind him and to give you some reassurance that he was not going to hurt you. You couldn’t help yourself, as you fisted your hands into the back of his coat and peered around his massive frame.

“You always have to play savior, don’t you Rapmon?” The way he had said the name made it seem like he was trying to strike a nerve in Mr. Kim. But the other man gave no sign that he was bothered. “You make it seem like I was doing something unseemly to her. You and your broken boy scouts always turn things difficult. Speaking of, where are the others? Maybe they could answer some questions for me. There’s one in particular I’m interested in seeing. I’m checking up on a victim from a shooting downtown. Just making sure he’s doing alright.”

“You’re really committed to this bit, aren’t you Choi? Oh, sorry- what name are you going by today? It’s so hard to keep track, isn’t that what you said?” Mr. Kim tilted his head to the side, eyes twinkling with a mischievous shine.

“What a nuisance you are. I’m just trying to get information to make sure things go well. Though come to think of it, your boys may not know much. Word was that the victim was all alone. Left all by themselves, bleeding and hurt in such a dangerous situation. What kind of friends would let someone knowingly go into that situation alone? Now, I’d really like to finish my conversation with the little lady, Rapmon.” When Choi, as you figured his name actually was, took a step towards you, Mr. Kim moved the both of you to keep you behind him and further away from the other. “Well, since you seem hellbent on keeping me from doing something so simple, I could always ask you. Though to be honest, your being here may have answered my questions.”

“My being here answers nothing,” Mr. Kim challenged. “Unlike you, I am here to do good for the community. And it’s a good thing I came by when I did. You’re already on thin ice after all the trouble you’ve caused. Imagine what would happen if you caused any problems while on Hallowed Ground. If you were to hurt anyone staying or working here, you would have more than my family looking for you. The rest of the Families would be looking to teach you a lesson. Imagine what most of them will think when they hear about the deceit you pulled this morning. After what I witnessed, you can be sure I’ll have eyes monitoring this place. You will not go against the Accords.”

“Don’t you lecture me about the Accords, you psycho. I’ve been around just as long as they have and lived them. I taught them to you.”

“And yet, you only follow them when they suit you. Just like your leader and his before him. But things are different now. They are gone, and your hold is slipping. I have enough pull now to ensure Accords are followed. And if you want to make a further spectacle of yourself, I’ll gladly show you I’m not that kid anymore that you ordered around. You saw what my boys can do when pushed. Try me.”

Choi started to laugh, eyes shining in disbelief at the younger bossing him around. As you peered around Mr. Kim’s frame, you saw him go to say something to officer Chen, but couldn’t form the word. He raised his hand towards the white-haired man, but let it drop with a growl. Whatever look was set upon the elder made him rethink his next move. He settled for raising his hands in a surrender and jerking his head towards his companion to tell him they were leaving. It surprised you that he was giving up so easily after how he had acted towards you. You weren’t sure what Mr. Kim meant by accords and families, but it was more than obvious that it meant something to them. Glancing up at your protector, his face remained locked in the same stern and serious mask he had when he had appeared. His eyes, perfectly lined and accentuated with makeup that only made him more intriguing, followed the pair as they turned down the hall.

But before they could get too far, Choi stopped. He turned enough to gaze at the two of you over his shoulder, the dark and manic gleam from that morning flashing like a warning sign. He chuckled before his teasing and taunting voice that had called out to Agust filled the hall like glass shattering. “Look at how far our little maniac has come. Really living up to the title of Mad Leader, aren’t you? He thinks he’s so big and strong that he can just order me around and act like a knight in shining armor to the weak. The Mad Leader’s trying so hard to put up a front, to hide who he is, to hide the other side of the looking glass. But lest he forget, I know things he wouldn’t want others to know. And I seem to recall,” Choi turned fully around and took a full stride back towards Mr. Kim, “you had an issue with places like this. You don’t enjoy being here. Are you falling down the rabbit hole? You even have an Alice this time it would seem. So tell me, Mad Leader, are the walls closing in on you yet? Are you feeling anxious?”

You could feel Mr. Kim tense up at the name ‘Mad Leader’ each time Choi said it. He took a deep breath, trying to ground himself. He gave you a polite push away from him before fixing Choi with a glare that made officer Chen startle. You could almost feel the air change as he stepped up to be nose to nose with the thug.

“Since you can’t seem to remember my name, asshole, let me spell it out for you. It’s RM, R to the M. And I’m a motherfucking monster. Keep pushing me. I dare you. You hurt one of my boys. You better pray that he makes it out of all this ok. Or you’ll see just how ‘mad’ I can get.”

Chen seemed to realize that something bad was building as he took hold of his superior and pulled him away from RM, newly identified. Choi kept the taunting smile spread across his lips as he allowed Chen to lead him away. Before he got too far, he looked over at you and gave a nod, “We’ll be in touch, Little Girl.” And then he disappeared from the floor, leaving you in the presence of RM. You can’t say you had expected this person to belong to the voice on the other end of the phone, but it would seem like that was the theme of the day. The tall man took a few deep breaths and ran his hand through his white hair before turning back to you. The serious mask he had worn had slipped away and was more approachable. He straightened his clothes before returning to your side.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said, “But he shouldn’t be back. He talks a good game but he knows when he’s out done. Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head. “I can’t believe he got in. The hospital is on lock down.”

“Well, he’s been around a while. He has his ways. Now that he’s gone, I was hoping you could help me. I’m looking for a nurse called Y/N.” You locked eyes with him and gave him a nod of affirmation. He gave you a smile, showing off a pair of dimples in his cheeks that made him much more innocent and sweeter than the man who had gone nose to nose with the monstrous thug. “That’s a coincidence. Nice to meet you. Can you show me where to go?”

“Prove that you’re who you say you are,” you said, taking a step away from him. Despite that you were sure he was the one you had talked to, it seemed like nothing was safe. He looked at you for a moment, before coming to a conclusion. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone before letting his finger glide across the screen. A moment later, Agust phone sounded off in your pocket. He glanced over at you with a bemused look as you pulled the phone out and saw the screen lit up with a notification.

- God of Destruction: It’s me.

“Sorry,” you said, feeling embarrassed by your sudden suspicion, “but after that guy flashed a fake police badge at me, I just wanted to be sure. Thank you for coming and for helping me. Are you Agust’s brother or a friend?”

RM’s eyes narrowed when he heard you say Agust and gave you a strange look. His eyes seemed to dance about you, as if he was trying to figure something out. But as quickly as it appeared, the look disappeared and he smiled again. “We usually call him Suga. Only people who don’t like him call him Agust. I don’t think he’d want you calling him that. Can we go see him now? We’ve been worried about him.” You nodded and motioned him to follow you back to the elevator. As you waited for the doors to reopen, he leaned over and whispered, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Hyung you had his phone.”

“What? Does he have some embarrassing things on here,” you joked.

“Maybe,” came the reply and heard RM chuckle as he allowed you to step into the elevator.

You hit the button for the floor that they moved Agu- Suga to, the doors slid shut, and the lift jolted to a start. As the sound of the mechanisms filled the space, you caught a glimpse of the tall man flinch. It seemed odd, seeing as he had just faced off against the most frightening person you had ever seen. The taunting words he had said to RM before leaving came to mind, about not liking it in a hospital. It wasn’t uncommon for people to have bad experiences related to hospitals, so you tried to brush it off. Once you had made it to the secure floor, you led him down the hall. You explained that the floor was only accessible to a few people and how they had followed the directions as specified to the director. The entire time, RM listened very intently, eyes never leaving you. He was the picture of professionalism and sincerity. You swiped the two of you into the ward, and he held the door open for you as you led him down the hall to the room. As you neared the room, you wondered if you were going to survive the present of two very handsome men. Hopefully, the rest of his friends that you heard over the phone were somewhat average.

As you both entered the room, RM came to a stop in the threshold of the door, his eyes staring at the bed. You could see the worry and panic that you had heard over the phone slip across his face. You reached out and touched his arm. He looked at you with an almost innocent gaze, like he was questioning if it was alright to get closer. You gave him a nod and he was beside his friend in a flash. He looked as if he was debating to reach out to Suga, as if he were made of glass, but settled for taking hold of his hand. RM let out a breath and looked relieved to have finally seen his friend. From your place at the edge of the room, you could see how much one meant to the other and all worries about them being as bad as Choi disappeared.

“Is he going to be ok? What did they do to him,” RM asked, never taking his eyes off his companion.

“Dr. Na took good care of him,” you said, reaching for the file at the end of the bed. “He was shot twice, once in the shoulder and on his left side. The gunshot wound on his side appeared to be at close range and the bullet went through. Thankfully, there wasn’t much damage done. The bullet was lodged in his shoulder, but Dr. Na was able to remove it and mend up some of the damage. We’ll know more when he wakes up, but he should have full range of motion after some rest. He, also, has some bruised ribs and a slight concussion. Along with bruising and defensive wounds pretty much everywhere. He, also, lost a lot of blood. He’s in the middle of a transfusion now. But he is responding well to everything and we believe he should be waking up soon. With enough care, patience, and support, he should make a full recovery in no time. Which is amazing; when I found him, I was worried with how much blood he had lost that he may have had a harder road to recovery.”

RM flicked his eyes over to you. “You found him?”

“They must not have told you. I was on my way to work when I heard the gunshots. I was the first to find him and get him to safety.”

RM looked like he wanted to ask more questions, when a soft groan came from the bed and drew the attention. Suga took in a deep breath and his body shifted as if fighting to wake and identify the voices. After a tense moment, his body relaxed and his eyes opened slightly. From the edge of the bed, you could see the glazed and shiny effects of the medication still trying to hold him in the state of unconsciousness, and realized he may not fully be aware of what is happening. But you were sure the presence of RM had drawn him out enough to give them a sign that he was okay. RM called out to his hyung softly, drawing Suga’s attention as he gazed about the room.

“Hyung, hey, can you hear me?”

Suga’s eyes fully landed on RM. It seemed as if he was fighting his way to recognition before he gave a small, drugged smile back. “Joon,” his voice sounded exhausted and stained.

RM laughed. “Yeah, Hyung, it’s me. You’re gonna be okay. You’re safe.”

“Joonie, I think I’m dead. I saw an angel.”

The whitehaired man reached out and ran his fingers, gently, through his friend’s hair. “No, Hyung, you’re only tired. That bastard messed you up but you’re gonna be alright now. Why don’t you go back to sleep? The boys and I will be here when you wake up.”

“Oh,” Suga said, almost sounding disappointed as the drugs started to drag him back to oblivion, “too bad. It was a pretty angel. Prettier than Jiminie and Hyungie combined. But don’t tell them I said that.” And just as fast as he woke, Suga went silent and still again.

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