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aclowntiny · 9 months

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Meeting Pirate!Ateez (Female Reader)

This is an old request I'm so sorry OMG! But thank you @matzbear for giving me inspiration to get (semi) historical 🏴‍☠️😁 I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY HELP 💀😂

Warnings: hints of violence/death mentions, fire in one, suggestive at times, depiction of poverty/homelessness in one, LONG POST! lmao the way I’d write a part 2 to this at the drop of a (pirate) hat

☠ Hongjoong ☠

He smirked as he strode into the tavern, satisfied, evidently. Even if you had yet to see the wanted posters, shivering in anticipation-and maybe even something else-at even the depiction’s intense stare, you would have been able to recognize the man as a pirate. It was the way he walked, tilted slightly, legs used to a sailing surface. The confidence with which he moved, swagger suggesting he’d gained control of many a situation and lived to tell about it to anyone who’d listen. The long, roguish coat swirling at his booted feet, the single hoop earring dangling from his left ear, ruby stud adorning the right. Cutlass at his hip.

Outlawed, this man was. Bountied by the crown for what they claimed egregious theft, an epithet you found laughable. They got their knickers twisted over art, artifacts, riches they had stolen from countless around the world. Thieves righting the work of thieves, that was the crew they called the Eightfold.

And the man seating himself boldly before you was the captain. Kim Hongjoong, according to the posters. A face more beautiful than criminal, he glanced around the room with a look of anticipation. Waiting on the rest of his crew, you imagined. Your tavern was one of few that turned a blind eye to piracy, so it was a safe bet the other seven would arrive.

As it was, you made your way to Hongjoong’s table. “A drink while you wait?”

His eyes slid over to you, smile spreading across his face as they met yours- for all the talk, all the images, he looked upon you kindly. “That would be great, thank you, Madam. Nothing too strong, just a light ale if you have it.”

You liked the way he called you Madam. Liked it very much, in fact. “I do indeed. If I was running a tavern without ale, we would be in trouble, wouldn’t we?” You teased, heading back to the bar to grab and fill one of the pewter tankards lined atop the wood.

Foam rose rapidly to the top as you carried it over, setting it gingerly in front of the captain, who fixed you with another look.

“You knew I was waiting for someone,” he said.

You nodded. “The other seven are on their way, I imagine,” you replied matter-of-factly.

Hongjoong grinned, message well-received. “I love this place.”

“I try,” you answer with a smirk, “there is fresh bread in the oven and meat on the stove for when the crew lands.”

He raised his tankard, intense eyes positively glinting in the firelight. “You’re a goddess!” He called out before taking a sip, honeyed words sliding right to the core of your chest.

Smoke choked your lungs, wracking your chest with coughs. With a massive crack, a beam crashed from your tavern’s ceiling behind you, sending you jumping as you pulled your shawl tighter over your face. The torch had almost struck you, but thank the stars, it missed your skirt, leaving your clothing and skin intact for the time being. The heat was closing in on you, though, as panic shot through your steadily pumping limbs.

All you could think of was your next motion, of escape, even as laughter rang out. They’d taken everything from you.

Pirates, the lot of them. Not the Eightfold, but a band of sorry thieves that killed without reason or care. The kind who kept every cent of it, that should have been wanted by the crown, but they pillaged ordinary villages, not crown jewels. Their goal was a slow domination of your country, your home and business their latest target.

Another beam fell, this time closer, and you jumped, arms flailing uselessly above your head in a weak defense. Unlike the torch, this one did connect with your dress. Sweating beneath your layers, you strained, trying fecklessly to free your hem from the fallen, burning wood. For the first time, you risked the shooting pain to your chest to scream for help, scream for someone in your desperation. The fabric of your dress strained also, not giving yet but threatening to rip as your body heaved, almost falling to the wood planks that once rang out with dancing boots. Tears streamed down your face at the mere thought, a sob escaping you with a heavy breath.

But then, you heard it: a voice. “They didn’t.”

You didn’t bother a direct answer. “Help! Help, please,” you called out, voice weak and vision blackening.

And that had been the last you remembered until you woke up in an unfamiliar room, the floor rocking beneath you and a hand closed around your wrist, feeling your pulse as your eyelids fluttered open.

“I knew you’d make it. You’re a goddess.”

You didn’t even have to see clearly to know the voice’s owner was none other than Hongjoong, the pirate captain you’d served numerous times. The one who always threw troublemakers out for you, especially the ones that tried carousing with you. There were times you’d even suspected you’d seen him pull out a knife once he got outside with them, assuring you upon his return you’d never be troubled again, but you could never be sure. You smiled weakly, but your eyes sought a window, the motions feeling awfully like…

“We are still docked. I would hardly whisk you off to sea yet,” he chuckled, the sound a bit uncertain, “Please, please Madam (y/n), stay still.”

Everything you knew had changed in the blink of an eye, but one thing was certain, it hit you as you sat up, coughing and feeling a rasping burn in your fluttering chest: whether by debt or by initiation you would see, but your life was now inexplicably bound to the Eightfold.

☠ Seonghwa ☠

The market was bustling, shoulders knocking yours almost every moment. Flutes and fiddles filled the air from performers hoping for a coin, and the scent of sea breeze wafted through the sunny air. Shouldering your sack, you wound between a fishmonger’s table and a farmer’s honey, wandering closer to the woodworkers and painters.

That day, you were not seeking the necessities, rather preferring something fanciful, indulging the brushes of your fingers over blown glass and thickly-spread paint. A woman’s weaving caught your eye, cords tied into ceiling hangings and finely shaped tapestries of interlaced color. But somehow, there among it all, your eyes fell upon a man with an inkwell.

He sat alone, at a table too small to really be selling much, quill moving deftly, carefully. His dark eyes never moved once from the parchment he bent over, revealing a handsome, serene profile.

“What are you drawing?” You asked, stepping carefully to his side.

Flinching, the man moved his arms to hover over the parchment, his eyes finally leaving it to meet yours widely. “Why?”

You stepped away slightly, taken aback by the startlement in the man’s sparkling eyes. Your hand drifted to your chest and back out as if unsure what to do. “You just looked so focused, that was all. I meant no offense, truly.” Bowing your head, you made to leave again, but his voice beckoned you back.

“It’s a map,” he said, raising his spread arms back from his work.

Gazing over the parchment, you found a detailed representation of your town’s coastline, down even to the groves of trees, all rendered in thin ink swirls quite gorgeous to your eyes.

So many words rose to the front of your brain, then died at your lips. “You are…not from here, then?”

“No,” he shook his head, smiling sadly, “this is only a stop. At least for now. The map will help us remember our way back.”

“So you’re sailing,” your eyes lit up as you gushed, bringing an eager smile to the cartographer’s face, too, “oh, the beauty you must see! How I’ve dreamed of the works of faraway lands, the amazing art!”

“You sound like my captain,” he chuckled, “quite an art lover as well. His vow is to contribute somehow every place we go.”

“That is wonderful,” you continued, a hand resting on the table near the map, “but be warned: I have heard talk of the Eightfold approaching our waters. That their skeleton crew drifts into towns, pillaging, even killing!”

The man’s smile fell into something more thoughtful as he lowered his quill at last, tilting his head as his gaze fixed you. “What if I told you the truth was more complicated than a townsfolk tale? Perhaps not even so bad?”

“What would a man like you know of pirates?” You gaped at the gentle artist. “Unless…you are one of them! Someone like you, and yet you stand with the Eight?”

“I do, and I shall until death.” He rose from his seat, voice dropping lower, tone intent as he stiffened, bracing himself for the descent of his words. “Park Seonghwa, First Mate of the Eight at your service. I think my captain would like to speak with you.”

You gasped, stepping back from the table. “With me? Forgive me, I am but an apprentice. Surely you want my master, or-”

Seonghwa’s eyes saddened slightly. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, but the secret is out. Our faces are being plastered around town squares as we speak. It would hardly be safe for either of us if I let you return to town now.”

Your face fell. This elegant man was taking you as a pirate’s hostage? “But- But I- The market,” your words flopped hastily, clumsily out like freshly netted fish upon a deck. As if the market was your greatest concern.

“I know,” the man whispered, soothing tone of his voice almost infuriatingly calm, “have you a handkerchief, by chance?”

“Why?” You bit out.

“If you have one, let me see it.” He didn’t sound angry, in fact this adoptive tone was more akin to that of a disappointed parent.

Sighing, you reached into a fold in your sack, handing off a wad of cloth. Tying it over half his face, Seonghwa motioned out to the stalls you’d just wandered. “As long as nobody questions me, ask it and it is yours. That is the least I can do.”

“You’re going to rob this whole-”

“Buy you what you want before we go,” you heard him chuckle beneath his makeshift veil, “I don’t do it often, but I will remind you that I am in something of a lucrative business. Have you seen the blown-glass figurines yet?”

Something about the upward tilt of his tone clued you in- he was just as excited as you were. Perhaps he’s been looking for an excuse to do more than carry out orders. Shaking your head, you moved back to his side. Telling yourself you were only doing it because the man was likely armed, you agreed to go shopping with the first mate of one of the most famed, feared pirate crews in the seven seas.

He bought you each five little glass animals before ushering you onto his ship, one of which contained a silvery effect because that was his favorite color. Maybe you really did need to learn the truth behind the tales.

☠ Yunho ☠

The sky was bluer than the sea that day. Shifting your grip on your parasol, you made your leisurely way down the wooden steps, careful not to step on your skirts. The beach was your happy place, the spot you sought to quiet unwelcome thoughts beneath the roar of waves.

Inheritance was not supposed to be so lonely. Being the only heir to a fortune was the dream of many, but you’d have far preferred not being the final member of your family, the only one alive to receive the estate. Take all the fine furniture, every painting on your walls, if you could give back your loneliness in exchange. Certainly you’d receive marriage proposals soon enough once the word got out, but why would anyone marry a suitor who only sought your hand for the money they thought it held? Would marriage to a stranger not be simply a small plaster over a larger, bloodier wound? You wanted nothing more than to fall in love, but until then solitude was the finest, nay, the only, solution.

Instead of dwelling on it, you tried to use your newfound fortunes for good and calmed those thoughts that flitted like troublesome mosquitoes at the sea’s edge.

The wind whipped about your head, whistling in your ears as your bare feet fell upon warm, dry sand, ground shifting beneath their gentle weight. Taking step after step further, uncaring of the grains sticking to your feet and clinging to the hem of your skirt, you soon approached the powerful waters. It was low tide. Small waves formed wide crests some distance out from where you stood just out of the water’s reach. Stooping, you picked up a sand dollar, rubbing rough sand off between your fingers. It would go in your shell jar with other pretty seaside offerings.

The sea kept you company, dulling your desire for a conversational partner. Restlessness took over your feet, carrying you toward a gathering of rocks near the raised hills. As a child, you loved squeezing into little hollows and pretending you’d found a new home.

Nostalgia propelled you toward the hill, where you found your lips parting in surprise. A hollow you had found, yet this one looked quite a bit deeper than a divot to crouch in. This was truly a cave.

It was dim, curtained with dangling dried seaweed you timidly parted with the back of your hand, heartbeat picking up as you realized you could have stumbled upon a makeshift home on the sea built beneath the hilltop houses.

You jumped as your foot struck something cold, lifting it at once with aversion before you realized it wasn’t wet, it was…gold?

Gold coins covered the cave floor as if sprayed upon it. Kicking them aside, you squinted into the dim space, moving toward the rocky edge and sliding along that wall toward the center. There, a chest sat, a padlocked box opened to overflow with riches like in every tale of pirates you’d heard.

Your next breath was interrupted by a hand clapping across your mouth, suppressing your shout of alarm. The cold steel of a knife’s edge rested against your throat. Straining, you fought to sink your teeth into the large hand, which released your lips and whirled you around as your body struggled against your captor’s.

“Wait, you’re a woman?”

Your captor was tall, younger than you’d have imagined- near your age, it seemed. His wide-eyed expression was surprisingly innocent for one pressing a blade to your jugular. Clad in a loose-sleeved, open black tunic, high boots, and a much larger blade sheathed at his side, it was little wonder what you’ve stumbled upon.

This was the hiding place of a pirate.

“Yes, I am,” you whispered, fear rising as heat to your face with each small motion of your neck, “why? What do you want with me?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted, deflating slightly, “what brings you here?”

“I- I used to like pretending to explore caves as a child.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Let me go and I leave. I return home and never speak a word. I wish no further fortune. Please,” you begged.

The pirate lowered his knife, a different look in his eyes. Sympathy? Calculation? Then, it fell in favor of a smile.

“That is refreshing. Your…your husband is waiting, isn’t he?”

You shook your head. “I have none. Who but a lonely fool would go running off into a cave?” You joked weakly, a hand waving at the dim expanse. “Truly, I want no trouble. Just admiring the sea.”

“I understand,” the pirate replied, look softening still, “guilty myself, quite frequently. Come, let us leave this hole, huh?”

Not that you had any choice, you thought grimly, glancing one more time at the pair of sheathed blades the man carried as you stepped carefully back out of the rocky hollow and into the sun. With a breath of relief, you looked out upon the calm blue-grey waves again.

“I love looking at the clouds, too,” the pirate told you, pointing a surprisingly fair hand, one which bore a single silver ring upon the little finger, at one fat shape drifting across the sky, “like that one there. Reminds me of a snail!”

Reminds me of a snail? However you thought pirates behaved, this was not it. You chanced another laugh and the man smiled.

“What?” He fixed you with a smile of surprise.

“Not what I expected, that is all.”

“I’m sorry about the knife. That chest, we- This land is very affluent. My friend’s hometown? They have nothing. These riches could rebuild the whole thing from the ground up.”

“Oh, is that what pirates do?” You asked with an arch of your brow and a sardonic smile.

Guilt flashed across the tall man’s face, then steel returned to his eyes. “Not all of it, no. You would not believe what happens unpunished on other shores, though.”

“And you give that to them?” You asked.

“Sometimes,” he nodded, “and that is why I need the comfort of the sea, of my companions at my side. The sea quiets many a memory.”

“I understand that,” you reply, “perhaps both of us are lonely fools, then.”

“You needn’t be,” he shrugged, glancing out along the water again, “care to take a walk? I suppose I owe you.”

“All you pirates deal in is favors,” you tutted, but you still followed him.

You strolled in oddly comfortable silence for some time, feet caked then with sand they sunk into every time the man stooped, plucking something from the sand he never revealed. He looked down at his hands a great deal, occasionally nodding at fallen jellyfish or clouds to show you and once bursting into a run, chasing a squawking seagull and bringing another smile to your lips. You two had entered the shallow edge of the sea, feet submerged and rocks housing the cave were specks on your eyes’ horizon when he finally held out his busy hands. Dangling from them was a string of dainty orange shells. Your head tilted in surprise, you extended your right wrist when he nodded at it, letting him fasten the shells there. This time, his grin was wide, childlike, and he was a new man.

“So,” he asked proudly, “are we even now?”

“For threatening my life? Not yet,” you replied, shaking your head, “not until I meet the whole crew.”

Baffled, the pirate spoke again. “You seek an audience with my captain and crew?”

You crossed your arms, stealing his prior look of victory with pride lifting your chest. “Do you want a safe house on these waters or not?”

☠ Yeosang ☠

“Well, what say you, handsome?”

The man in question’s eyes bugged, tavern torchlight reflected in the shine of their deep irises. “What say me?”

“Yes, you,” you teased, a hand raising to rest on his shoulder, “care for a dance or not? If no, well, I suppose I-”

“I do,” he blurted out, glancing at your hand, “I definitely do. Let us dance.”

And as if he were a different man he stood up from the stone bench and took you in his arms, holding you like you were made of glass and yet turning you effortlessly in time with the crowd’s other couples.

You’d been sat across from him, sipping your drink and listening to him tell a stupid joke about two fish when you decided you had to be his. Something about the dreamy smile, the way he said he wrote a few poems out at sea, the way he was the last to laugh in the little group and how his eyes so clearly lit up with late recognition. So you’d asked him to dance, not even knowing he’d been blessed with that, too.

Soon the raucous tune was melting into a softer shanty, something begging for a slower sway, and you took the opportunity to slide the man’s hands about your waist.

“The moon is full. Why are you not sailing?” You asked him.

“We have business in town here.”

You quirked a brow, head jerking towards the group of three men he’d been sat with. “Like singing and drinking?”

“You may not see it, but I am conducting it.” He smiled cheekily.

“Much like writing your poems, I imagine,” you replied, “it is always on your mind.”

He nodded, then burst into a giggle, eyes falling from yours. “Something like that. And what fine work do you find yourself in?”

“Me? I am a jeweler’s daughter. Unconventional, perhaps, but I am learning the trade.”

“Good at identifying stones, then? And putting all the pieces together? Not to mention the beautiful designs- a valuable skill set indeed,” your dance partner flushed, pulling you that much closer, and something in it sent an ache through your beating heart.

“Thank you,” your eyelashes fluttered, “I try. Say, shall we go where we can see the stars?”

Your bodies stilled, the man nodding and taking your arm, leading you out to the surprisingly solitary patio. As you tapped across the wood, you saw him stealing glances, lips breaking into a wide, involuntary smile.

“Beautiful, just beautiful.” He glanced very fleetingly between the sky and you, as if your chest hadn’t turned enough somersaults for one evening.

You told him your name. He told you his- Yeosang, it was. And that, that and the way he muttered about his favorite constellation being visible, was enough. The two of you had stood about peering widely into each other’s eyes, frozen, waiting on a word- a word you had no need for. Surging forward like the waves you could hear crashing on the shore below, you cupped Yeosang’s cheeks, pulling his lips into yours and smiling at the hum of surprise he gave into the kiss before responding.

Soon, your tongues had resumed the night’s prior dance, each of you pulling back just enough to get a breath in, never daring end the kiss. His lips were soft, never once challenging yours, just savoring the feeling of them, the taste mingled with the salty breeze as he clutched your waist for dear life.

Finally, though, you parted, lips swollen and smiling as you stared into those wide eyes, his hands still resting firmly on you.

“Wow. And here I thought pickpocketing a solid gold watch was my highlight for the evening,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “but I’d turn on my heel and give it back if it meant you’d run off, come with me.”

This time, it was your eyes that bugged, forgetting briefly the starlight reflected in his. “You’re a thief?”

“A pirate,” he corrected, “one who loves shiny things as much as you, I daresay.”

“Ah,” you laughed the shock away, “now I see why my skills are so valuable.”

“I appreciate the craftsmanship too!” He shot back indignantly, hand that wasn’t on your waist rising to rest above his heart. “For pirates, we all love beautiful things, us eight. Building them, taking them apart, sharing them, stealing them. You would be a natural. And even if you weren't I would have you anyway. So, what say you?”

☠ San ☠

Inhaling deeply, you breathed in the warm, comforting aroma of the stew being ladled into the bowl you held out, barely suppressing a sigh. Thanks fell from your lips again and again, yet the old woman just smiled.

“You remind me of my daughter when she was your age. Can you tell me what happened? If you wish it, if you wish not to speak of it, I understand.”

Shaking your head as you took a spoonful of stew, its warmth radiating through you, you spike when you were ready. “I was orphaned some years ago. My family’s landlord had no pity on a young girl, so my meager income was not nearly enough to satisfy him.”

In your hometown, you’d been known as the shoe-shine girl, for that was how you made your money. But years of your former neighbors, people who knew your name and acted as friends, barely doing more to help you than dropping a coin in passing ached nearly worse than homelessness or hunger. A lot of the help came as just enough for them to feel better.

So you found a town with a boardinghouse welcoming enough to let you stay, your first night there heaven as you fell upon a feathered mattress for the first time in what felt like an aeon. Your new home’s proprietor even prepared you a hot meal, and it took everything you had not to yank her into an embrace. No one had hugged you in so long- not that you’d entirely blame them. This was your first day with a full bath in quite some time, too.

After you told the landlady this, she nodded, and without speaking pulled you into her arms just like you’d imagined. Leaning into the warm embrace, you smiled, energized for the first time in quite a while.

You’d shined three pairs of shoes when he sat down. The sound of boots hitting the plank of your makeshift seat alerted you to another presence as you prepared a new rag. As soon as you turned around the man smiled, and you were taken by how handsome he was. Around your age, the man had sharp features, but the kindest face to greet you upon traveling beside your landlady’s. Black hair fell upon his forehead and his dark eyes lit up when you met them. His clothes were nothing formal, in fact you took him to be a worker despite his regal features and the elegant, sweeping bow he gave you from his seated position. Maybe a docker, judging by the muscle his tucked, sleeveless white tunic revealed.

“Might I shine?”

“I daresay you already do,” you replied with a smile, pleased at the flush of his face- did he not receive many compliments? “Few in this area have been so polite or kind to me.”

His mouth fell open in genuine shock. “Even the townsfolk?”

“This one has proven more friendly than my former home,” you replied as you began working on his boots, alternating between looking up to meet the man’s eyes and cleaning the leather as best as you could.

“The people seem good here,” the man agreed, “fair.”

Smiling at the way he glanced at you with the final word, you found yourself torn between drawing out your work and giving the man the most efficient shining you could. He distracted you from your duties enough, pointing out birds that flew overhead and gleefully calling a cat over to stroke while you worked, making sure you took a break to pet her, too. He told you stories of the sea, too- a sailor, it seemed, not just a docker. It made you long for the glittering expanse yourself, the sound of the waves even louder than it could be heard a bit inland at town’s center. The sight of water lapping upon wood, your hands dangling down to greet it, you could almost see it as your customer spoke and scrawled with charcoal on a little pad.

In the shine of it all, the glow of all the kindness you’d suddenly come to enjoy in a day, you forgot to push your coin hat forward when he left, but caught the glint if him dropping something into it regardless as he left, shaking your hand warmly. It was as if life was making up for lost time, apologizing for your wanderings. Good things coming to those who waited.

After watching your latest customer’s trim figure disappear around the corner, sparing you one more glance and wave that fluttered your heart, you turned around, picking up the old hat of your father’s off the cobblestone to peer inside.

Your jaw dropped. Rather than coin, the sailor had placed within the battered band the most gorgeous necklace you had ever laid eyes upon. Dripping with soft pink and yellow topaz, the gold chain sparkled in your hand. The number of gems shocked you, too- its wearer’s neck would be entirely ringed with the oval-cut gems, the largest of which hung on the bottom row. You began rising, ready to chase after the man and tell him you couldn’t accept something like that. How on Earth could a simple sailor even afford something like-

A torn piece of parchment tumbled into your lap, bouncing of your unfolding knee as you stood. Holding the necklace gingerly with your left hand, you smoothed it and picked it up from the ground between your thumb and forefinger. As you walked, hat and necklace clutched tightly in hand, you scanned the note.

‘Miss (y/n),

The way your eyes lit up when I spoke of the sea sparked hope in me- hope for you, hope for the people of this town. Even more now do I wish to give back to them. If you care not to join me and my crew, I will still smile at your beautiful memory, hoping to be met with it again someday. And of course that my gift has helped you earn your deserved lot (though it would look very nice too!).

Fondly,

Choi San (don’t tell anyone this though on account of the wanted thing- I trust the shoe shine girl!)’

Rounding a corner, you picked up speed, taking your skirt in hand and feeling a flood of relief that the lane was not crowded. Soles thudded against stone as you wound past the baker’s stall, catching a glimpse of black hair and white tunic. As if playing a child’s game, you tapped his shoulder as he caught up, relishing in his jump of shock as it melted into a smile. Words failed you as his head tilted, ready to listen; all you could do was hold up the note, nodding.

☠ Mingi ☠

The moment the sound of the windows shattering pierced you, you were on your feet, scurrying towards the nearest doorway. Clanging metal and gunshots rang out behind you as you crawled as close to the ground as you could.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” a deep voice rang out from behind you.

With a shudder, you turned around, seeing a tall, hatted silhouette surrounded by the chandeliers’ light. “You don’t?” You asked, shuffling to a half-seated position, legs folded at your side.

“These people aren’t your friends, are they?

“What makes you say that?” You shot back, arms crossing defiantly in spite of the way your eyes avoided the pistols slung at each of the man’s hips.

“You were willing to leave them for dead,” he chuckled, “you were only interested in saving yourself. Something about that told me these people haven’t exactly shown you much kindness.”

Posture softening, you sighed. “You are, unfortunately, correct. I’m all but being sold into a marriage to a man who’s been nothing but horrible to me.”

The man in the hat glanced beyond the counter you’d been ducked behind. “Er, fellow with a purple jacket? Ponytail?”

You nodded.

“I suspect you will no longer have to marry him. Will you show me up to this house’s main chambers?”

“I will,” you nodded again, wondering if you had much of a choice, “but what are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re free,” the man stepped forward once more, this time revealing the kindest smile you’d seen in a long time. Quite a contrast to the guns. “Free, just like me.” He extends a hand, helps you up. “You could even join us on the ship if you find no happiness here.”

As you left the room, making for the stairs, you glanced down at the stiff, fine clothes you hated being yanked into every day. Clothes someone else’s money bought to fabricate a standing, a life for you. You were silent as the tall man, grinning like a charming, eager young boy, shot the lock out of the estate owners’ vault, and filled a sack with jewels.

“What do you want?”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He waved his revolver over an array of fine rings, necklaces, bracelets, furs. “I offer you your pick. Even if it is to be your last, this is your first plunder, isn’t it? We always keep a sign of it.”

Eyes drifting across the glittering spoils, one standing out to you immediately, your hand darted out with speed surprising even to you. An onyx seal ring, the shining black surface stamped with the crest of the family you would now never join. You strung it on a chain and fastened it around your neck.

As you looked up to the hatted stranger, your eyes hardened. “I’ll join you on the trip, pirate.”

The pirate with the pistols grinned at you proudly, though a good percentage of it seemed to be self-satisfaction, that he knew you would. “On one condition.”

Your fingers curled into a fist instinctively, used to strings being tied around your actions. “What?”

And then the smirk melted back to the boyish smile as he patted your shoulder gently, reassuringly. “Call me Mingi.”

And as he led you out of the foyer, trying his best to distract you from the handful of bodies laying about the room with sea stories, somehow all you could feel was your numbness fading away, turning to excitement.

☠ Wooyoung ☠

“Hey, now what is a beauty like you doing in a place like this?”

Your eyes practically got sprains from how hard they rolled. As if such words had not been spit at you five times already that very evening. Badly as you wanted to ignore the man, you were serving him. In title of vocation only.

Swiveling on your heels, you bit out, “Making the best bit of coin I can without selling myself.”

At that, the man winced, black hair flowing back as his head bowed slightly. You smirked. Half the men that came through the tavern were all bark, no bite, and that was fine by you. You had enough bite for two after a few years there. Several bruised patrons would have been able to attest to that.

“You’re trying to survive too, aren’t you?” His voice, boisterous moments before, softened to just above a whisper.

Eyeing him suspiciously, you remained where you stood, tugging up the far-too-open-for-your-liking bodice of your dress. “What do you mean?”

“That this world isn’t kind to orphans and outcasts,” he shrugged, running a hand through his hair. He was handsome in a roguish sort of way- clearly not high society, you could tell that much. But you’d have been able to say the same for any clientele of a tavern such as that which employed you. “You are far too beautiful to be cast to the fringes. You should be sailing the high seas, your name inspiring fear, terror, and arou- er, well, anyway, you do not deserve this drudgery.”

You crossed your arms, but leaned closer to where he reclined, boots on the table. “And what would you have me do? Risk whatever the ruffians on the nearest pirate ship would do to a woman?”

He shook his head. “You have that wrong, my dear. Have you hear no tales of the pirate queens? We have much greater respect for women than you’ll find here.”

“Cute words for the man whose first line was the cheapest flirt I’ve ever heard,” you countered.

“I’ll get you a sword as sharp as your words,” he shot back, leaning closer, your noses almost touching. You could feel his breath on your face.

He didn’t back down, so you didn’t either, eyes steeling further.

“I can’t believe you are not a pirate already,” he chuckled, smiling widely, giddily, as he leaned back again, “if you join us, you can smack around all the deserving scoundrels you want. Like those horrible officers you put in their place earlier.”

You’d seen them grab women and throw innocents in their carriage enough times, not to mention not tipping you. Trying their old routine on your coworker was the final straw, and you knew just how to make a tipped tray look like an accident. So did the young, roguish pirate that grinned from your table, apparently. You couldn’t help a proud smirk, one he gladly returned.

Your fingers twitched. The part of you that had been on edge for so long, tired of being grabbed by rowdy patrons and ordered around, wanted nothing more than to land a solid punch upon this man, and yet your heart fluttered with excitement. Perhaps your fighting spirit was in need of a vessel. Seafaring pun intended.

“You take me to your ship tonight,” you told the man, “and I speak to your captain. Anything goes wrong, I will not hesitate to make the seas run red.”

“Oh, I doubt it not,” the man purred, leaning his elbow on the table, chin upon a gloved hand, “well, to celebrate, how’s about a dance?”

Curse the fool, you loved dancing. Well, at least he looked quite fit for it, you reflected as he stood up, movements graceful as he took your hand and whirled you off toward the tavern’s music. And judging by his earnest smile, the pirate loved it as much as you did. He spun you dizzy until you couldn’t help but laugh.

“There we go, now we’re smiling! Can I have a name, then, or do we save that for the captain?”

“Only if you tell me yours,” you chuckled, grip on his firm shoulder tightening a bit when you careened close to an open stool.

“Wooyoung. I sail with the Eightfold- though perhaps we have room for a ninth after all.”

“Don’t push it,” you told him, but the smile you shared as you bobbed about the room said otherwise.

☠Jongho☠

Fortuitous had your father's connections become, it was said, that you had been invited to such a ball. Couples danced in sweeping circles, women's skirts opening like blooming flowers as they whirled around, and you hoped to join them soon. A new dress had even been purchased for the occasion, so you were decked out in a winsome cut of your favorite color as you crossed the glittering ballroom with your drink.

Your opportunity came in the form of a young man you had never seen before approaching you, serious expression melting into a small, handsome smile as he carefully extended a hand, asking if you'd like to dance.

"Certainly," you agreed, and as he led you to the floor you couldn't help staring into the allure of his deep brown eyes.

His hands held you firmly as you waltzed a few songs through, his expression careful and calm as you eventually introduced yourself, asking his name in return.

"Choi Jongho," he replied quietly, as if it were a secret. You hadn’t heard it before, you were certain.

"Well, it truly is a pleasure. Is this your first of such occasions?"

"It is."

You lit up. "Mine too! And who are you acquainted with here-”

A loud smashing of wood resounded behind you, killing your sentence on your lips as you cried out in alarm. Turning you away from the sound, Jongho kept a hand on your shoulder, scanning the room with such calm on his face, you could hardly help but wonder if he expected destruction wherever he went. Leaning into the warm point of contact, you watched awestruck as he launched into the ballroom, meeting a blow by another far more roughly dressed man.

Your hands flew to your face as your dance partner landed a punch himself, the other man attempting to shove him into the drink table in retaliation. He stood his ground, though, as couples scurried across the dance floor, some screaming and some simply muttering indignance, thinking them drunkards. You watched as Jongho lifted the ruffian like he was but a sack of flour, flipping him onto his back and pinning him beneath the heel of his shoe.

“You think I had no cover? The others had you running, it seems,” he shook his head, expression still as if it was a casual conversation, “fight with honor next time. This is our bounty.”

Wide-eyed, you watched as Jongho stood the man up, wiping off the front of his dirty tunic, and hauled him out the door. Half his words were lost upon your ears, but you couldn’t help flushing a bit at his strength. You gaped as he made his way back over to you, bowing his head in apology.

“I am sorry you had to see that,” he told you, smiling earnestly, looking only slightly ruffled for the first time as several ball-goers crowded him, shaking his hand in thanks.

“You have no reason to be, that was amazing!” You gushed, laughingly pulling him free of the crowd to sit at a table. “It was like you knew that man would come crashing in! In fact, it was almost as if…you knew each other.” Your eyes narrowed.

Talks of thieves had drifted through the city of late. Robberies during a dinner or ball, right under the cover of pandemonium. Had that fight been staged?

Jongho sighed. “I was hoping you hadn’t heard that. Believe me or not, that man was no one I care to associate with. Murderous thieves, all they want is gold to line their pockets.”

You frowned slightly, tugging on the sleeve of your fine gown as you searched his eyes. “And you and your…others? What do they want if not that, then? What is your bounty?”

“I won’t lie to you- we steal,” Jongho replied bluntly, straightening his jacket as well, “have you heard the tale of Robin Hood? Think of our crew as the Merry Men, then.”

Cocking a brow, you stepped back and forth. “Robbing the rich to give to the poor?”

Jongho nodded. “The aristocracy has gotten out of hand. Er, no offense.”

“None taken. I am only here for a rare bit of fun. Call my family middle class,” you answered, biting your lip as you processed your dance partner’s admission, catching his stately reflection in one of the estate walls’ looking glasses, “though we are working our way up. Station is the only way to succeed in this world, after all.”

“We want to change that,” Jongho shot back, crossing his arms, gaze lighting as a newly-oiled lamp.

“I cannot blame you. My only task in this world is to marry well and hope I enjoy it. These balls are quite nice, though.”

Jongho snickered at your words before his gaze softened again. “And are you enjoying it?”

“I have no suitors,” you replied, “dancing tonight was my opportunity. All I could hope for was to fall in love tonight.”

“Well, sorry I derailed that. I’ll let you get back to it, then.”

Your chest sunk as he started to walk away, though, every tap of his shoes against marble echoing louder even than the orchestra to you. Without thinking, you reached out, catching his elbow. “No.”

He arched a brow, sending it all but disappearing beneath his shining black bangs. “No?”

“I cannot in good conscience turn back to this all. You are right. Let me help you. I can pretend to lead you out to the garden for a stroll. Meet there with your others.”

And for the first time, Jongho grinned widely at you, an expression joyous enough to send your already jittery heart leaping straight out of your chest. He nodded.

“The Merry Men were never complete without Marion.”

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #hongjoong #seongwha #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez x female reader #female reader #pirate au #requested #matzbear

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icaruspendragon · 3 months

Note

Hi! A while ago I saw one of your tiktoks about how northern democrats typically view people from Appalachia, and it really made me re-examine some biases I had and I deeply appreciated that. I'm from New Hampshire, and basically this primary season we were completely ignored by democratic candidates because of some issues with the DNC and our primary being labeled "unsanctioned". It was weird to not feel supported or valued by my party for the first time ever, (especially when NH tends to get a lot of attention) and it reminded me of your tiktok and how you mentioned that republicans tend to reach out to people in the south while democrats tend to ignore them as a lost cause. Because I saw that happening here with an insanly disproportionate republican presence in my state leading to the primaries. I know the comparisons aren't equal, but it helped drive home the message for me and gave me just a taste of what you explained so clearly in your tiktok. I understand if you choose not to post this, but I really wanted to thank you for opening my eyes and helping me face some biases I didn't know I had.

hello and thank you (for re-examining your biases and for writing me this message). i'm gonna use this as a chance to restate some of the things i mentioned in the video you're talking about.

i'd like to start this by saying i know appalachia and the south aren't perfect. there's racism and homophobia and bigotry. being someone who is marginalized or minoritized in appalachia/the south isn't always easy. but appalachia/the south doesn't have the monopoly on bigotry. america is rife with it. it's something marginalized folks all over the country have to face. and when northern dems act like racism and homophobia and bigotry are things that don't occur in their state simply because it's a blue state, they're doing an incredible disservice to the marginalized people that live in their communities who are facing the results of bigotry.

the folks living in appalachia/the south are heavily stereotyped as nothing more than ignorant backwood cousin fucking hillbillies, and while there are people that live here that fit that bill, appalachia/the south is not a monolith.

appalachia is region that spans from mississippi all the way to new york. the south (depending on who you ask) consists of 17 different states. and here's a little fun fact about the south for ya: according to the 2020 census, out of the 41.6 million black people that live in america, 38.9% of them live in the south.

so when that entire region is written off, forgotten about, and treated as a lost cause it's not the bigots that are being left behind; it's the marginalized people that live here that are being written off. the very same folks democrats and liberals love claiming they care about are the ones being left behind.

one of the reasons republicans have such a strong hold on appalachia/the south is because they put in the work to earn the trust of the voter. work that democrats just don't do. so of course republicans are gonna get the vote, they earned it.

other reasons for the stronghold existing (that people never wanna talk about for some reason) are: gerrymandering, voter suppression, lack of state funding that leads to lack of education, general lack of education, high poverty rates, lack of internet access. i could go on and on.

there are so many marginalized people that live in this region that are working themselves to the bone and trying their damndest to make appalachia/the south a better place for EVERYONE to live and when high falutin yankees act like every single person that lives here is the racist uncle you have to ignore at christmas, they are discrediting the work being done to try and change the region for the better.

allow me to say this again: when appalachia/the south is written off as nothing more than a home to bigots, it's not the bigots being written off, it's the people affected by bigotry.

there are people fighting to make these areas better. we are trying. so please, please stop writing us off.

we are not a lost cause.

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lonepineestate · 6 months

Text

My thoughts/input/extra info on Equiliberty

Hi! Some of you may know I used to be a mod for the discord server, Equiliberty, under the name Nattie | Lone Pine Estate. I’m just going to share the truth and everything that I know from an inside perspective. Everything I say here i have screenshots to prove, I’m not sure how that is classified as “fake drama” or “doxxing”. These screenshots have been passed around as i wand to help spread awareness. There’s more, but this is the gist.

Doxxing definition:

“Doxxing is a form of online harassment that means publicly exposing someone's real name, address, job, or other identifying info without a victim's consent.”

Nobody has done the above, and as usual, proof has not been shown.

The Name Change

Cath/Catherine/Jocelyn/Moe/The Evil Queen/Aaliyah. These are all of her alt’s and name changes. She repeatedly changes her name each time we call her out and post real, true, screenshots while she’s provided none. Her CC page is also called Cath’s Creative Corner, but that may have changed too. Maybe we can all make it a game to see how many fake names/alts we can get her to. Starting number is 5!

The Alt

She then claimed to have a trans friend so therefor she could not be transphobic, (Fr? Lmao), then said “friend” joined Equiliberty under the name “The Evil Queen”. This friend was later found to be yet another alt of Jocelyn’s. The wick bot marked this bot as suspicious when joining as well (detects alt accounts on the same IP), and screenshots have been shown that this was in fact Jocelyn. Matching messages, typing the same (same typos too), same emojis, etc. i find this especially ironic because she claimed we were all childish and needed to grow up.

Clearly, she needs to work on that too.🥂

The Auction

Moving on, she also sniped an auction from Pea by essentially abusing her admin powers and lying. The auction ended at 1, she sent her message at 1:10 and thought that putting a time in parentheses would make it better/legit. She claimed that it was a time zone flaw. Then all of a sudden, it was a network error. So many excuses, so little real explanation. We asked she provide a screenshot to show her time zone, and she denied. This all blew up and messages were deleted while she shushed everyone involved.

The Pronouns

Jocelyn had said many times in a private staff chat that she did not use pronouns other then “she/her” or “he/him”, and that “they/them” is pushing it and she probably wouldn’t use that either. Another member had agreed, but I’ll keep their identity quiet. She thinks all of this is being shoved down her throat, that she doesn’t agree, and will not be forced to use them.

The Hiding

She has also actively hides all the “fake drama” in Equiliberty. She has been seen using a bot to delete messages, delete channels, muting members, and banning for asking questions. I’ve also been told she may have banned a member while they were simply checking their banking balance. When she’s wrong, she demands everyone to “BE QUIET” or “STOP TALKING” and will delete the messages.

The Banning / “Competition”

Jocelyn thinks other horsie sims 4 servers are competition and that hers should be the only one. She banned every single mod/staff of a fellow server simply for being a mod there, because she heard word they were talking bad about her. In the process, they accidentally banned an innocent member. Rightfully so, they were upset. When mentioning another server, you’re muted or asked to stop. When posting on social media, she will say her server is better and that there’s no need for others.

In all honesty, I think that comes from her being in TS3 servers, felt important, and wanted to have her own “big server” like Equus or Equiality (if i even spelled this correctly).

My Faults

She recently tried to “get back at me” by posting our chats about conversions in the past. I am happy to say I do not do this anymore and will not share this content. I have had a chat with a creator (who I am keeping neutral in this situation, purely an example), and have provided screenshots showing that I do not distribute or convert cc any longer. Id like to apologize to creators who’s cc i converted and I can promise from my side and my private server (again, that I shared with the creator), it will never happen again. Jocelyn also wanted to convert, asked for help, tutorials, etc and I believe it was to get back at people in TS3 that hurt her or upset her.

I deeply apologize to any and all I hurt in the process.

Conclusion

I hope this reaches the right audience and members of Equiliberty, others, and more see the truth. I do indeed have an alt on the server purely to update my pose packs to share with everyone else. I’ve seen your server Jocelyn, it’s dying and you caused it.

This will be my last and final public post in tumblr about it. I’m keeping this back on track and relevant now. As I said before, I do indeed have screenshots of all this. I’m ashamed I sat in the dark watching her do all of these things in private and public.

I’m no longer watching in silence.

#equiliberty #howmanyaltsdoyouhave #realdramanotfake #sims 4 horse cc #sims 4 horse pack #sims 4 horse ranch #the sims 4 horse ranch #sims 4 horse poses #the sims 4 horses #sims 4 horses #sims 4 #ts4 horses

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panic-in-the-multiverse · 2 years

Text

Being Logan’s ftm son

Pairings: Wolverine x ftm!son!reader

Imagine: @icydeku14 Hi, I saw that you did a daughter headcanon for wolverine but I was wondering could do an ftm one like wolverines ftm son headcanons? If not I completely understand thank you for your time

Warnings: one swear word, mention of transphobia

A/N I love Logan/Wolverine so much he’s literally one of the best characters so when I got this request I was glad, and I’d gladly do any other request for Logan <3

Oh and sorry if something is wrong, pls send me a message bc I do not claim to know how it is for trans people as I’m not one

(not proofread)

okay so let’s all be real here, Logan is like hella old (still love him tho, as he is one of the best characters ever) and that for me means that he wouldn’t quite understand what you meant when you come out to him. But he would try to search up anything he could find on it. Because your his child, daughter or son didn’t really matter to him, he’d love you either way.

Which leads to the fact that you didn’t know that he’d love you either way. As you are aware that your father is very old and couldn’t help but to think that maybe he thought like a lot of other old people, that it was wrong.

But when you came out he was confused like stated before. He tried to understand, but didn’t quite do it at first. Of course he accepted that you were a boy and not a girl. He just needed to understand everything

for starter he want to understand why it had taken you so long to come out.

So he searched on the internet and even asked all of the teachers (even Scott) if they knew anything about it. Eventually he was pretty caught up on the whole changing gender thing.

He realized that it was a bit like being a mutant, you couldn’t just go around and tell everyone you were a mutant as a lot of people feared them and wanted them all to die. Logan guessed that it maybe felt a bit like that for you. That you couldn’t be open in case some people didn’t accept it.

Luckily he did accept it

He accepted everything with you

When you came to him about getting a chest binder (sorry if that’s the wrong thing, pls write to me if it’s wrong) he was more than glad to help you out, and when you wanted to buy more “manly” clothes he helped you without a single complaint or well that’s a lie as he didn’t really like going through every store fucking store as he put it, even though you did most of the shopping, except for that one time he bought a leather jacket identical to his own.

He went with you when you cut your hair the way you wanted it

If you wanted to change your name he helped with that

He was with you every step of the way to becoming who you really were, he helped any way he could

Though he didn’t understand everything he really tried to, which is the point

When you wanted to learn how to drive he was overjoyed to teach you even though he’d never admit it

You always took his old flannel shirts or leather jackets, they still smelled like him, and whenever he was away on a mission for X-Men or he did something else you took one of his old shirts and hugged it close to you whenever you missed him

Helping your father found out about his past

Becoming an X-Men even if he was against it

Now over to your mutant powers. Well he didn’t care if you had them or not. He’d always loved you even though he might seem grumpy all the the time.

But I believe (like on my daughter one with Logan) that you’d have the same mutation as him after all Laura has it though that’s a different story.

But you might have another mutation which Logan always hoped for swing as his mutation hurt him a lot, and he didn’t want the same for you.

Oh and on the note of Laura she loved you either way, she like having an older brother around, who for a matter of fact always protected her from any enemy whenever she couldn’t or needed help, then again she did the same for you

Being devastated by his death, going to find revenge, if someone just killed the one person that had always accepted you and loved you then they’d die and you didn’t care if you died in the process, nothing mattered more than to get revenge/justice over your father.

Plus who else would let you mess with their hairs in the way you did with your fathers, (you know that iconic wolverine hair, it was you who made that hairstyle for him)

And who else would protect you the way your father did whenever someone threw a bad slur or comment your way

#x reader #marvel #x teen #x teen!reader #x you #wolverine #logan howlett x teen #Logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x teen #wolverine x teen!reader #x ftm reader #x trans reader #x trans male reader #x male reader #x men x teen #x men x reader #Wolverine x teen!reader #Logan Howlett x teen!reader

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mr-ribbit · 4 months

Note

I mean, I blocked her after learning about how awful she was from numerous posts with evidence. So, I'm good there. I didn't bring up her racism to "shame you". You wanted to know who the bigots were that I mentioned so I gave a specific answer and a lil info in case just a name wasn't good enough. When I said I don't care that she's trans I meant, I'm not about to overlook her shit behavior just because she's trans like others do. I obviously mentioned her being trans because that's all she, you, and the rest talk about whenever she's being called out or criticized for something. You guys make it impossible to not mention it.

I only bothered to leave a message in the first place because of the bullying happening from this side. [Not specifically you!]. That person never did what they were accused of, even apologized for the misunderstanding, and txttle & co. still went out of their way to spread the post that had been deleted and act like that op never censored her name in an attempt to avoid any drama in the first place. I don't care for popular people weaponizing their fans like that. But whatever. I'm not trying to convince you to hate her. I'm moving on. I did read the rest of your post and see some of the points you're getting at. And I do apologize for initially telling you to fuck off.

i see, you're right that that was less of a non sequitur than I initially read it as, but I still think its not really relevant to the broader discussion here. bringing up every single past grievance a specific blogger has done (even if you're just bringing it up in your mind) when we're talking about the specific problem of csa being wielded too quickly against people is an example of what I would call uncharitable and unfair.

i won't speak for others, but the reason I brought up transness in this conversation, and think it's relevant to others like it, is because the initial posts that started this particular debate are partially about being trans. when someone says "im trans and i feel that my sexuality is frequently conflated with abuse", and the response is a complete stranger calling that person an abuser, you can see how I might want to explain the effects of transmisogyny while exploring the issue. it's not the only thing I brought up - in fact my post was largely about how even if you do not think you're acting transphobic, that doesn't make it ok to be mean to people anyway. but when you get upset that it was brought into the discussion, and claim it's being used as a "shield" or for "special treatment", you are conflating the concept of speaking up about transmisogyny with lying. this, understandably, will make people want to defend the concept of transmisogyny to you, even if they do not think you specifically care about that part.

i don't really think anyone should be bullied or harassed in general, even if they do something that makes me upset. however, i do think there is a bit of a simplification happening here. i don't believe txttletale or any specific blogger that I've seen speaking on these issues has done anything in this situation besides respond to accusations, and those responses are obviously going to be defending themselves. they may also be angry or upset in nature, since being accused of something awful you didn't do by people you don't know is upsetting to experience.

since making the original post, that person may have apologized but he's also made several posts continuing to make the same accusations again and again, and continuing to say that just because he isn't trying to be transphobic that it's okay. it's not okay. it's also not okay to see other people come to defense of someone and assume that they are only doing it because of some kind of blind trans loyalty, rather than the fact that they're sincerely upset about something that affects their lives too. a lot of people have made posts explaining this extremely earnestly and extremely patiently, and they are almost always taken in bad faith or ignored. the same people have made posts about how nobody listens to them on these issues, and those posts are also used to start drama.

i also sincerely do not believe that txttletale has used her follower count to send haters at this person. she was being talked about by someone to a group of people who all knew who she was and was making fun of her in the notes. she talked about the problem on her blog, because she did not agree with what was being said about her and wanted to correct it. whether or not the original post was deleted, you guys don't get to just decide when it's time for someone to shut up about being called a pedophile in public. if she's still getting hate too, why does the other guy get to keep talking about it but she isn't?

im glad you're letting go, I think it's probably for the best. you say you have her blocked, but youve spent a lot of time talking to me, someone you have repeatedly pointed out might not be sending the hate or might not be the problem, about her. that's an example of what I've been calling an overreaction disproportionate to the problem. you don't like her, so block her and people that talk about her. or blacklist the name. spending time in someone else's inbox, or putting up censored screenshots about a person you hate isn't a good way to deal with that feeling. it's harassment. even if you're not sending it to her, sending it to me where she can obviously see it or posting screenshots of her posts with mean accusations on them is still hurtful and mean and unnecessary for you to do with your time.

thanks for the apology, I understand things get heated but I hope you understand sometimes that means people will respond in a heated manner in return. i appreciate that you were willing to talk to me a little more maturely about this, but I still think you should consider how quickly you jump to conclusions about other people you know. or don't, but idk, don't spend so much energy on hate.

#cw transmisogyny //

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vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses · 2 years

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So basically, AH just proved herself that she's been planning this shit for a long time. She literally just said "No one has this much evidence. Five. Years."

While she's correct that most real DV survivors don't have as much evidence as she does, why compile five years' worth of evidence? While it's true that it has been statistically proven that some survivors take up to seven attempts to leave their abusers, you're telling me that while you were being beaten frequently during this extended period of time that you always had the presence of mind to collect evidence during and/or afterwards? To make sure each and every single incident (that you allege happened) is documented?

And then on top of it, when you do have evidence it's this kind of evidence?

And evidence of your reported injuries are photos that a digital forensic expert testified had gone through photo editing software consistent with your phone type, are testified as to happening by your friends and sister, and TMZ sporadically caught you coming out of the courthouse after filing a TRO and photographed for you?

Not to mention:

a video that has you setting up the camera and laughing edited out as testified by a former TMZ employee who received the video you sent (yep, you sent it, they wouldn't be copyright owners otherwise, not to mention your text message confirming it)

audio recordings that confirm you are the abusive party 99% of the time (that can be proven 100%) while JD was actually trying to get away from you

an ex-fling of his who testified at the time of their involvement that she saw JD throw a bottle but it wasn't directed at her

text messages where JD expresses his anger at everything you have put him through (are they disgusting and some horrid? absolutely; do people who have gone through this type of abuse before get that you are basically driven to the edge of your sanity every single day? yep)

This has been one big setup from the beginning. She keeps mentioning JD's "power" and "support" because she wants it for herself and she's angry she doesn't have it, a fact that is driven home each time she is reminded of people coming out to support him, like Kate Moss. Like Winona Ryder (whose name she didn't want on JD's body if you remember). Like Vanessa Paradis. Like his sister who was his personal manager. Like Eva Green. Like Angelina Jolie. Like all of the other ex-girlfriends and people who have come out in support of him. Like the public. She hates that and it shows each time she's asked about others' testimonies in this case that aren't in her interest.

That's why she makes sure to mention how all of this has affected her career and how she now faces threats every day. She wants your sympathy, she wants your belief, and she wants the table tilted towards her.

Think past JD. She became close friends with James Franco, another actor who at the time was a hot ticket. More than likely, that's why Elon Musk came into the picture. Hell, I bet had he proposed, she would have accepted. (and don't think it didn't burn her when she saw the Twitter deal either) That's why you didn't see her dating some TV actor or screenwriter or some average Hollywood Joe/Jane. She wanted someone with power, prestige, and money, and all three in Hollywood. She even testified herself to how abundantly generous JD was when they started dating, when they met, etc. She saw it all and she knew.

The question is, just how early on did she form this plan? The claims of abuse, I mean, and the evidence gathering.

Like she said herself: Five. Years.

That's an awfully long time to collect evidence for what she thought would be a solid case. To keep him in line should he ever step out of it. She wanted to latch her wagon to his and be propelled into super-stardom.

Five. Years.

And that's fucking evil.

#anti amber heard #amber heard is an abuser #amber heard is a liar #justice for johnny depp

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mariacallous · 1 year

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We now live in a time when energy firms talk like celebrities who’ve just lamped someone at the Oscars, or been covertly filmed making racist remarks. On being confronted with the fact that debt collectors in its pay are breaking into the homes of vulnerable customers to forcibly install prepayment meters, British Gas yesterday summoned the full force of theatrical contrition to wail: “This is not who we are.”

You’ll note that statement conforms to the ironclad rule of the this-is-not-who-I-am apology, in that its precise opposite is true. This is, demonstrably, precisely who British Gas are, given that this is what they do. “It’s not how we do business,” explained the firm, faced with an overwhelming stack of evidence that this is indeed how they do business.

As one debt collector trainer cheerily enlightened a new recruit during the Times investigation into the practice: “That person could tell you that their entire family of 50 were in a horrific aeroplane crash and were the sole survivor, and we’d still be saying: that’s a shame, but we are changing your meter.” The bailiff workforce seems to have absorbed this central ethical message. “If every single mum that starts getting a bit teary you’re going to walk away from,” reasoned one, “you won’t be earning any bonus.” How can it not be the way you do business, if doing it is literally incentivised?

Admittedly, it’s not how British Gas present the way they do business to the outside world. The firm’s website and social channels confront users with a perky message: “We’re tooled up to help bring bills down.” For whatever reason, they omit to mention that the tools are a mortise pick, a mass-issued warrant, and a guy who prefaced setting a locksmith on the door of a single father-of-three by telling the undercover reporter: “I love this bit.” (Whether this man is the biggest tool in the British Gas shed is a matter of debate. I imagine the field is hotly contested.)

The chief executive of the energy regulator, Ofgem, yesterday condemned the practice of forcibly entering people’s homes and switching them to prepayment. He also opened an investigation into British Gas, warning: “No energy CEO can shirk their legal and moral responsibilities to protect their own customers, especially the most vulnerable.”

And yet they can, as everyone from charities to Citizens Advice to a select committee inquiry has been highlighting for a long time now. Perhaps in their submissions to this inquiry, British Gas-contracted bailiffs will claim they are in fact engaged in divinely appointed “moral” work, much in the same way a serial killer argues they are simply cleansing the streets of sex workers once they’ve used them. Surprisingly, that’s not currently the line the firm is going with. If warm words could heat homes, British Gas could do itself out of business.

As for who else is looking busy, the business and energy secretary, Grant Shapps, last week wrote a letter to energy companies ordering them to stop the practice. Ironically, for firms that deplore their own demands being ignored, they seem not to have opened it. Maybe companies that decline to engage with the secretary of state’s envelopes could be forced to prepay their taxes? British Gas expects to increase its earnings eightfold this year.

Naturally, those unopened ministerial demands are not the only irony in town. Yesterday, Shell reported global profits of $40bn (£32.2bn), the highest in its 115-year history. The announcement served as a reminder that our government’s longtime refusal to consider extending the windfall tax was opposed, among others, by Shell itself. Last October the firm’s then chief executive Ben van Beurden told the Energy Intelligence Forum that governments needed to tax firms such as his to protect the poorest. “You cannot have a market that behaves in such a way … that is going to damage a significant part of society … I think we just have to accept as a society – it can be done smartly and not so smartly. There is a discussion to be had about it, but I think it’s inevitable.” The then chancellor, Jeremy Hunt, finally took not-especially-smart action in the autumn statement; the government always being the last to know.

Before we conclude, it must be said that British Gas is far from the only firm forcibly fitting prepayment meters, often while people are out at work, and shockingly often in the case of disabled customers who rely on electrically operated equipment to manage their lives. Many firms are driving these already vulnerable people on to prepayment meters, where the rate is disgracefully and unjustifiably higher. This is simply inhumane. The fact that it has continued despite the resultant anguish being highlighted is a sign that something much bigger than the bond between a company and an individual customer is broken.

This week the US president, Joe Biden, called for a “junk fee” prevention act, reasoning: “You shouldn’t have to pay an extra $50 to sit next to your child on the plane, pay a surprise ‘resort fee’ for a hotel stay, pay $200 to terminate your cable plan, or pay huge service fees to buy concert tickets”.

I know it involves taking a vague interest in how people actually live, but you’d think it was even more of a priority for someone in our own government to say that poor people really, really shouldn’t have to pay more for electricity via prepayment meters. If they can’t even get a grip on that part of the problem, let alone the iceberg it’s the tip of, then mounting evidence suggests it might be time for a number of parties in this story to concede: “This actually is who we are.”

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shiftingxsparkles · 2 years

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hi hiiiii... I need like a harsh shifting motivation because I feel like I've been having some sort of shifting block lately and I'm a little uninspired because of it.

Sooooo....

Shifting is real, right???? Promise???? 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 It's not an inside joke that we're just totally invested in, right???? 😭

(LONG POST AHEAD WITH RANTING BEWARE)

HEY LOVE i am very glad you decided to reach out and send this message and i hope i will be able to help you at least a little bit

however i do want to mention that it is very possible no matter what i say or however way i try to tell you that shifting isn't an inside joke but quite possibly a true and real thing you can experience - there is a high chance you will still continue to have doubts. i don't think it is humanly possible to not have doubts about something until you experience it/see it yourself (or maybe hear it from a very very trusted source) especially if you are a very skeptical person in general or one who overthinks and questions everything. another thing in relation to that is - i have not shifted myself so more or less i am kind of in the same state as you - i don't necessarily know what and who to believe and what to disregard

HOWEVER!!!! one thing that kind of had made me so into reality shifting (besides the fact that it's super fun and a very cool concept lmao) is that i have not once seen a good argument that supports the theory that shifting is fake (ofc i can be corrected at any point here) but well okay so let's see what arguments we come across the most;

shifting is fake/impossible. - okay why? silence…nope thats it. thats their whole argument and when you ask them to explain further they don't have anything meaningful to say or back it up with. -10/10

you are delusional - which makes no sense? when you compare reality shifting from people who claim to have experience it and then compare it to the delusions of people who actually suffer from different mental disorders that have delusion as a symptom you find both of them to be completely irrelevant and different things. people who are genuienly delusional have a very distinct thought and speech patterns that are not present with people who claim to have reality shifted. plus i think it is quite a rare condition and i doubt it will be seen as often as it is so this argument is also quite invalid. (also delusional disorder, schizophrenia, DID, maladaptive daydreaming etc etc have literally nothing in common with shifting so whoever says that STFU lmao) (let's not even go to the point where they use it as an insult and in turn insult mentally ill people who without their shit already suffer enough) 1/10

you are lying - now this is the only one that kind of could make sense since people lie a lot and have indeed lied about shifting - i remember this girl on tiktok that said her body left her DR when she shifted back and i was like gorl💀 it is quite obvious when someone is lying tbh however yes there is a possibility that quite a lot of people are lying but lets get this to the next level why do people usually lie? they usually lie to get some form of recognition or attention right? sometimes people lie to protect themselves however lying about something like shifting so publicly is definitely not about that. okay so let's assume that it is for recognition for a following maybe, maybe to be a part of a community etc etc - okay so where does that leave all the countless other stories of people who also shared their stories without getting any sort of recognition - who for example send many anon messages confirming they have shifted or who post on discord let's say, amino, reddit - yes you can say they are still lying, still hoping to get something out of it but cmon every single one - like not every single person would do something like that? it just doesn't fit right?? it doesn't make sense. however still this is one of my biggest doubts because i just cannot be sure 5/10

it's lucid dreaming - my favourite one. THE STUPIDEST ONE. (besides the one with no argument lol) firST OF ALL!!! lucid dreaming as realistic as it can get is fucking dreaming - dreams are blurry, hazy, they make no logical sense (hence why you usually have 365 fingers) dreams last usually up to an hour and i think the maximum a dream can last is 2 hours. (which not all of it you are going to be lucid and conscious) how are people supposedly dreaming for days and weeks at a time? absolutely stupid comment also lucid dreaming used to be considered fake and delusional :) sooo…waddup with that -1/10

OKAY so we can come to the conclusion with this that there is currently more stuff in support of shifting than against it. so we can at least keep and open mind and entertain the idea right? okay now.. how do you keep yourself motivated and inspired and get yourself rid of that block…okay so i was super unmotivated a month or so ago - i didnt really feel my old dr i was starting to get bored of nothing happening… soo maybe what you need to do is change things up a bit? start a new show, book,movie and create a new dr, or even create a new world yourself - something you have always wanted to see or experience or even a person you have always wanted to be - start focusing on that creating a script, playlists, pinterest boards, drawings, edits even whatever you want and inspires you. start reading/watching other people's stories on reddit, discord, amino, tiktok. maybe potentially find a friend (unless you are asocial like me lol) to share it with. or maybe if nothing works just give yourself a break maybe that is what you need - shifting is never going to go away after all even if you are 80 it is still going to be there for you to experience and have fun with. there is really no rush and it is completely okay to be burnt out

even if you keep having doubts i suggest you keep trying (at the end of the day if anything trying to shift can be quite a healthy habbit - i mean cmon meditating is extremely beneficial for you, sleeping well, positive affirmations - the process itself is good for you) - as long as you keep an open mind and by that i mean keeping it mind that it might not be true and still being okay with that - there is absolutely nothing wrong with trying and trying and trying. (why im saying the "you should be okay with it not being real" is because i dont want you being dependent on shifting, or your happiness being dependent on it - remember that idealizing things be it people, places, memories - is never a good idea and it never ends well and is never what you thought it would be - (like for example you shift for someone and they turn out to be a horrible person yk?)) (if you are in a bad living situation and you find this the only way you can escape things get very complicated and though i understand i do not feel qualified or knowledgable enough to help)

also one of the things that always motivates me (maybe because i can be SLIGHTLY narcissistic) is if there is even the slightest possibility that you are literally going to experience one of the most exciting and weird things known that quite a few people experience then sign me up honestly idc fjdsfds

OKAY SORRY FOR THE LONG POST as an end i want to say i wish you the best, i hope you are taking care of yourself (and anyone who reads this as well) and i truly hope you shift very very soon !!! and trust me whenever i do i will tell you if its real or not <3

#shifting #reality shifting #desired reality #shifting motivation #shiftblr #shifting ask #ask

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quackingwolves · 3 months

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Charles Dickens- George Orwell's A Collection of Essays Part 1

Again, this essay seems extraordinarily long. A brief look at the table of contents after I read the first part revealed that it's a whopping 56 pages, even longer than the last essay.

Because of this, I again decided to split the essay into parts- this is the first one. It also took me two days to get through the first part, though it was two days separated by almost two weeks. I've gotten busy with other things, but I'll try to read at least an hour each day.

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

While the first sentence of this essay is genuinely complimentary, the way I read it was certainly not. “Dickens is one of those writers who are well worth stealing” became “Dickens is one of those writers who are well worth stabbing.” Granted, I had just woken up so I’ll give myself some leeway.

I, admittedly, have never read Dickens, but I have seen some modern adaptations of A Christmas Carol, which is only thought of by most people once a year. But it’s not surprising some groups of people- Orwell mentions Marxists and Catholics- want to say that Dickens thought ‘almost’ like them. Most very successful people have other people claiming that they made them everything the successful person is, or at least are somehow like them. People love to see themselves and their own beliefs in successful people, even if it’s imagined.

Orwell writes of Dickens’ work, of course, but also the possible meaning of his work- what Dickens drew from when he sat down to write. As someone who’s never read a single Dickens novel, it was interesting to read short descriptions of specific events in Dickens’ books.

Orwell also writes that Dickens fell often on the character of a kind rich man, a rich man who wants to help his employees and others. This is a fantasy. Most rich people are more like dragons jealousy guarding their wealth. Nearly none freely give money to even their employees, no matter how well-earned. They tend to keep employees’ wages as low as they can if it raises their own, even slightly.

I was surprised when Orwell writes that Dickens seemed to disapprove of unions. As a child of a union worker, I would never cross a picket line of any sort- whether working or buying. Unions are just people trying to make work a little more tolerable. Unions are what protect every worker. If employers had their way, every second of work would be as grueling and uncomfortable as possible to raise profit for themselves or any shareholders. No one would have breaks, and there would be horrible conditions and child labor.

Orwell also makes an observation that in A Tale of Two Cities, the only thing people seem to remember is the French Revolution. Orwell writes that that plot line only lasts a few chapters, but he seems to think it sticks in people’s memory because of its detailed and evocative writing. Orwell writes that Dickens wrote that if someone behaves as the French nobles had, it was inevitable. There was a particular fragment Orwell writes that I enjoyed- that while the lord is comfortable in their bed and people starved, “somewhere in the forest, a tree is growing which will presently be sawn into planks for the guillotine.” What I found interesting was that Orwell follows this with ‘etcetera etcetera,’ which almost sounds like he doesn’t believe either Dickens’ message or his own interpretation of it. My bed would be on the former, because Orwell already cast doubt on Dickens’ view of the average person’s right to overthrow those in power if they are not being fairly treated.

As I already said, I have no opinion one way or the other on Dickens (based largely on the fact I had never read the man’s work) but from Orwell’s assessment I quickly found myself greatly disliking Dickens. I had to continuously remind myself that this is just one man’s opinion of works I never touched. As I mentioned- union kid taught to never cross a picket line. So reading that Orwell thinks that Dickens had a negative view of unions is distasteful.

Orwell clearly writes this- it’s not just me reading subtext. Orwell writes, verbatim, “And Dickens is very sure that revolution is a monster.” Revolution is many things to me, but not monstrous. There’s only so far you can push people before they snap. And if the abuse was extreme, the snap is the same way. If it’s a whole group of people that was abused, the reaction will be felt. For things to change, people have to turn wheels themselves. And not always peacefully. I’m all for peaceful protest, but if those tactics don’t work, the next step must be taken. Letter-writing is effective, but so is punishing fascists on camera. The former is easier, the latter might be one act but there’s a reason Richard Spencer fell out of view. You need to make people ashamed of their actions, that there are consequences. If you’re racist, be prepared to be shunned or mocked for being one.

Orwell isn’t purely critical of Dickens- he praises the man for being able to accurately portray the way children think and feel, even when the same person reads the same work in childhood and adulthood. Orwell admits that the early 1800s, when Dickens was writing, “was not a good time to be a child,” which is a huge understatement. Children were generally treated as small adults at times, liable to be executed as anyone else for a crime. At the same time, children were seen as very unmotivated people, people whose wills must be broken in order for them to be proper. They weren’t allowed to be kids.

Orwell returns to criticizing Dickens for criticizing school (odd, considering the whole last essay was Orwell criticizing his own schooling). But Orwell makes a clear delineation between his own criticism and Dickens’- Orwell writes that Dickens wants the current system, but just ‘watered down’ and ‘moralized.’ For example- no beatings, but instead some unspecified form of punishment the children avoid. As for what the children are learning in school, Dickens is just as vague. In David Copperfield, the titular character apparently goes to a school that must be better than his previous one. In Dickens’ own words as Copperfield, the new school is “ordered,” though he doesn’t specify how. Dickens also writes that Copperfield and his fellow schoolboys had “an appeal, in everything.”

Now, I’m a firm believer in giving children choices and a say, but those choices sometimes have to amount to the same thing. Not “do you want vegetables?” but “do you want carrots or broccoli?” Children don’t know what’s best for them yet, they have to be shown. Sometimes, showing seems too obvious, but you have to remember that children experience a lot of firsts very quickly. So if they see a trusted adult handling a similar thing, they will copy them. I once stumbled upon a parenting advice post that recommended narrating certain aspects of everyday life. I believe the example was a crooked picture, and it was something along the lines of “This picture is crooked. That makes me sad. How do I fix this? I know! I’ll straighten it. Now it’s straight and I’m happy.” It might seem ridiculous, but I can see how that can help a child. Children listen more than you think, and they’ll learn their own lessons- most of which you never intended to teach. So if you’re more deliberate, chances are the child will learn the ones you want faster.

Orwell neatly sums up his issue with Dickens by writing that Dickens wants “a change of spirit, rather than a change in structure.” In other words, Dickens was mostly fine with the status quo- the only thing wrong with it is that those in power are too cruel. Dickens believed, according to Orwell, that if the powerful were simply more just, then everything would run smoothly. Which is a fairy tale. The people in power want to stay in power, and the way to do that is to take others’ power away. The system isn’t flawed- it was created to be grossly unbalanced and it works perfectly.

#my reads #george orwell #a collection of essays

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autistic-fuckwad · 10 months

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can you talk about the messages that you sent to the admins on ARR? i don't know what was said but whatever you said seemed to really upset them :( i completely understand if you may have lashed out, i can't imagine how much stress being talked about so much must have made you feel. but i keep seeing people say you used to send them death threats and other upsetting messages.... :(

When it comes to the mods, I sent a very, very fucked up suicide note to them pretty much, to put it bluntly. It was talking about how ashamed I was about the things their site had shared, and how I was pushed to suicide because of it, and how I had lost everything thanks to them. At this point I had been sobbing the entire night and was hysterical, and I genuinely wasn't in my right mind. I asked them if they were happy it came to this, that I was pushed to this point. I'm ashamed of every single word in those emails. It was the words of a man who was moments away from genuinely downing a bottle of pills because of internet drama. I'm not proud of it in the slightest and frankly I'm still having nightmares over it all. It eats me alive at night.

This all is over a game I had quit because a week prior someone said they were going to stalk me because they assumed I was a bigot ( because all people who are rude must be bigots in their mind ) and must be sending people death threats ( which by the way, I haven't ever done. The worst I have said in that line was wanting to set scalpers on fire, and in my personal opinion I don't think that's on par with sending personal threats to a single person ). The one time I was accused of sending a death threat to someone personally, I did apologize to them directly in their DMS, even though I didn't do it. You can go ask them yourself, I genuinely felt bad they were getting sent stuff like that over something so... To put it blunt, stupid. They were getting death threats over being anti exalt, like, seriously? Stupid.

I ended up talking to my therapist the next day after those emails and he refused to admit me to a psych ward because it would mentally break me, and he was right honestly. I was genuinely suicidal, it wasn't some stupid bait like people claim. I've been battling with these sorts of thoughts for years, and I've got the self harm scars to prove it. You can ask people who used to know me when I was much, much younger. I am not proud of the fact that I am so volatile when it comes to being suicidal, it's something I have been working on for years at this point.

I still regret what I said to that mod, and I wish I could apologize to them but I was told to not contact them again out of respect for their boundaries. I don't like what they do, or what they support, but they are still a person and I respect them on that level. They didn't deserve to have to see something like that: no one does. Not even mods on an anon hate forum for a dragon game.

TLDR; The emails was a suicide note asking if the mods were happy that I was going to off myself. I don't feel comfortable sharing the emails myself as they are extremely dark and honestly triggering to even me now. I still regret what I said, even now it's making my stomach turn. I wish I had the chance to apologize to the admin I sent them to. I don't even play the game anymore and I still want to fix it.

I don't think what I've said here matters, though. They are convinced I'm a serial liar and that I have no regret, even though I've apologized personally. It's gotten to the point that the sheer mention of anon re rising or flight rising sends me into a genuine panic attack, and right now I feel like I'm going to vomit from the sheer anxiety and guilt of it all.

Sorry for the long post, anon, and I thank you very much for wanting to ask about it. It's more grace than others have given me, and yes, I'm actively seeking help with my therapist and what friends I have left.

If you have any more questions, please feel free to ask, but I don't respond to hate mail here unless the fee is paid. I just can't risk my already fragile mental health over it.

#my asks #ask: anon #tw sucidal ideation #tw sui ideation #tw sui attempt #tw overdose

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tennantdegn51 · 1 year

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catrinajean · 2 years

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I’m very certain the body of Catrina Leblanc is going to claim defamation.

Defamation :

the action of damaging the good reputation of someone; slander or libel.

I would categorize my review on her as freedom of speech.

Reviewing this person on Google, is what i’ve done. Why can’t I share my outlook? Because it’s not a 5 star review? Because I didn’t decide to hide my name? Had I hid my name behind a fake, would that be better? Would she not still suspect me? Maybe I could avoid legal trouble but My words are the truth. Sorry you disagree but as you’re aware this is my perception of you, to me.

Guess it was my mistake I thought Google Reviews encompasses all. Allows voice to everyone with an experience - in this case - with the person.

Maybe set up a Wikipage instead of a Google page for reviews.

I’m certain she will receive more poor reviews as a doctor. Will she also harass them ? Send cops to their home with a “warning” & threats of being arrested? Will she file an order of protection for every 1 star review?

It seems to prove my point of putting her reputation first .

Here’s what I wrote in my review. Copied & pasted.

Catrina Jean, D.O.

---------->>>>>>>>>>>

Tremendously Terrible diagnosing skills. Can’t pick up on common sense clues to health issues. Pretends to care but couldn’t care less. Googles answers . Extremely! Manipulative! Loves to play victim and act confused & unaware of information told prior. Concerned with reputation over health of others & those in need.

-------->>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I never stated she was my doctor.

I didn’t lie.

Her skills are atrocious in my opinion. Which is what this is. An area for people to write their opinions. Their reality of their experience with a person, the restaurant, the business, whatever might it be. This is mine. Sorry you don’t like mine, be better . Why must you constantly trample my voice for your ease?

If there was anytime to showcase your A+ skillset when you had the chance, you failed miserably & are hiding the medical records which is simply confirmation of everything i’ve mentioned.

Inviting people to a birthday party does not hide that fact. . Sorry to say.

You lived with a man for years and called him your husband yet knew none of his family and made no efforts until he passed. Call it a hunch but I sense evil there. Mal intentions for a malpractice needing doctor.

According to your ill professional opinion, your dying husband did not warrant any official need in the hospital until it was too late. An internal medicine/family doctor couldn’t diagnose symptoms happening in front of her. Working in a hospital i’d hope you’d know when something is out of your scope and when to consult another doctor...So why didn’t you do it for the father of your then 6 year old child? The answer is lack of skill or willful ignorance. Unfortunately, i’m pretty sure it’s the second one. Based on every single interaction and conversation since.

Disgusting.

Evidently egregious.

Outstandingly shameful.

Painting your reputation since his death like a celebrity recovering from a scandal.

Barely Brushing with jail since you took the proper actions to ensure that.

Like a corrupt politician ensuring they win the election.

A true menace to society disguised as a distinguished member. Holding arguably the most vital decision making position possible of life or death. You’d think the answer was always life but apparently not.

If I finally deemed myself as a writer, a professional review maker, would that suffice? Will that make my words stand? Hold more weight? Is one voice really enough to take you down? Only when it’s the cold hard truth. If I had a bad review on my business, i’d work harder to get more positive reviews, as most businesses do. No doctor for sure has all 5 star reviews. Wondering what makes you special when you’ve already miscalculated? As only 1 of the 2 current reviews, i’d message all my friends and family to also write reviews and flush it out. Attempting to make yourself seem untouchable is unnecessary . I mean all the new family you’ve obtained from your departed husbands side plus your own and even other doctors that you know can’t just write a review? A review is not law. If I can do it, obviously anyone can. If you’re accepting clients as you are per your webpage, ask them to write reviews. Am i confused on why you’ve decided to harass ME for speaking the truth on my experience that you are 100% aware of? Because you’ve garnered money due on my father’s death to afford a lawyer to attempt to scare me into your submission?

Well anyways, off to have a marvelous new day full of adventure and new experiences.

- Cass .

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miekasa · 3 years

Text

iced tea

+ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

+ genres and warnings: college au, levi is the best not yet boyfriend au, erwin would definitely be an insufferable project partner to have but you gotta love him au

+ summary: there are three rules of night class. come on time, come prepared, and come with snacks. you forget about rule number three. luckily, levi’s there to save the day.

There’s only one appeal to signing up for a three-hour night class, and it’s that you only ever have to muster up the will to attend once a week. It’s a sacrifice, but it definitely cuts down on the temptation of skipping like you would a normal, one-hour section course. Just one and done.

Plus, you have Erwin with you in this class. Is he a little bit of a professor’s pet and consistently overly chipper every class despite knowing he’s about to endure 180 minutes of lecture? Sure, but at least you don’t have to suffer alone.

Really, it’s not as bad as it sounds, especially if the course is interesting enough, or easy enough, and luckily for you, yours is both. Not to mention, your professor is brilliant, actually entertaining, and does her best to keep the class engaging—she’s funny in the dorky, lovable professor kind of way. And she gives you short, ten to fifteen minute breaks at every hour mark just to make sure everyone doesn’t completely lose their minds.

It’s a commitment, but you’ve grown to actually enjoy it. As long as you follow the three rules of night class: come on time, come with your notes prepared so that you don’t get upstaged by Erwin, and come with—

“Fuck,” you curse, watching as Erwin pulls out one of his many, tiny, organic, boxed juices. The ones meant for children with soy sensitivities that Erwin claims are packed with more nutrients.

“What’s up?” He questions, more shocked than concerned, at your sudden profanity as he sets his juice box in the right corner of his desk.

You pout. “I forgot to bring snacks.”

Come on time, come with your notes prepared so that you don’t get upstaged by Erwin, and come with snacks. Those were the only three rules of night class, and you’d completely forgotten about the most important one.

“Oh,” Erwin grins, pulling a chocolate bar from his lunch bag and taunting you with it, “Sounds like a you problem.”

You snatch a piece from the top corner, stuffing part of it into your mouth to spite him; but you regret your choices as soon as it melts on your tongue.

“What the fuck—is this mint chocolate?” you complain, swallowing the rest of the sweet with disdain.

“Yes it is,” Erwin huffs, grabbing the remaining stolen bit from between your fingers and popping it into his mouth, “And it is delicious.”

“You’re an actual menace to society.”

Erwin crinkles his nose at you, “A menace to society with snacks for the next three hours.”

His comment makes you groan, albeit a little dramatically, and you slump back in your chair to debate your options. Class doesn’t start for another twelve minutes; you could try and run to the student center quickly to buy some last minute snacks, but the line was probably already lengthy with students of similar trains of thought, meaning you’d be late if you stuck it out, which would leave you violating rules one and three tonight. Erwin makes you sit in the front row with him, and you were not willing to take the late walk of shame with an armful of snacks in tow.

You could wait it out until the first hour break, but they’ll probably be sold out of anything good by then, not to mention the race to beat out the line again. If you played your cards right, you could order food during class and time it so that it was delivered during your break, but that was risky.

Alternatively, you could try and sprint to the concessions stand near the library, but going there and back was so much further away than the student center; you’d probably end up late, too.

“Hey,” you call to Erwin, refraining from rolling your eyes as he sets all six thousand and twenty eight of his colored pens on his desk for the evening, “Is Hange still on campus?”

“No, they have work today.”

You groan. Why did Hange have to be so responsible and good with their time-management skills. They was your last hope. Unless—

“Do you think Levi will bring me Starbucks?”

“Probably,” Erwin shrugs, humming to himself; but then he thinks it over, replying again with a knowing smirk on his face, “Actually, definitely. If he’s still here, but he probably is. You know him.”

You pout, the possibility of Levi being home is high, but so is that of him being cooped up in his favorite library. Either way, he would likely be studying right now, and you’d hate to disturb him, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

[sent 6:47pm] you — leeevaaaaaaaaai are you still on campus

[received 6:47pm] leeevaaai — yes — why, what’s wrong

[sent 6:47pm] you — uwu — wanna bring me something from starbucks before class — i have my 3 hour lecture today and i forgot snacks :—( — and erwin won’t share his organic $1500 whole foods gummy bears with me

[received 6:48pm] leeevaaai — i told you i don’t like the smileys with the noses, they’re ugly — should you even be drinking coffee this late, you’ll be up until the ass crack of dawn

You scoff audibly, and Erwin takes this as an invitation to peep at your screen. Your comment about his snacks does not go unnoticed, as bitterly munches on his (yes, in fact, organic and gluten-free, as if it being mint flavored wasn’t criminal enough) chocolate bar.

[sent 6:48pm] you — that’s RICH coming from you mister

[received 6:48pm] leeevaaai — you’re being awfully rude to someone you expect to buy you a $7 drink

[sent 6:48pm] you — hehe sorry i loooove you leeevaaai — venti iced chai latte — light ice

[received 6:49pm] leeevaaai — do you think i don’t know your overpriced starbucks order by now

[sent 6:49pm] you — uwu :—)

[received 6:49pm] leeevaaai — but you’re getting a grande, i’m not made of money — and it’s punishment for sending another ugly nose smiley

[sent 6:49pm] you — un-uwu

“I don’t blame him,” Erwin chuckles, scrunching the wrapper from his now finished bar between his fingers.

You flick him away, ignoring the turning heads of your classmates as Erwin’s pens fall in the aftermath. It’s seven o’clock on the dot when your laptop pings loudly with an incoming message from Levi—and a subsequent groan from Erwin, who breeches your personal space once more to press the mute button on your keyboard.

[received 7:00pm] leeevaaai — where are you sitting

[sent 7:00pm] you — front row to the right — erwin’s idea not mine

Levi spots Erwin’s bright blonde hair before he sees you, scoffing to himself as he makes his way to the front of the room; a tray with three Starbucks cups, and a plastic bag in tow. Erwin sees him first, too, waving at him as he crosses from the left side to where the two of you are seated.

“Aw, Levi, you brought me one!” Erwin all but squeaks, reaching for one of the other drinks with grabby hands after you take your iced drink from the tray.

But Levi pulls one hot drink from the tray for himself, and pulls the remaining one out of arm’s reach. “As if,” he grumbles, bringing his own cup to his lips.

“You’re the best, Levi,” you smile, sticking your tongue out at Erwin. Levi only offers you a small nod as acknowledgement. He extends his left hand now, the plastic bag sliding off his wrist and onto your desk, silently.

Confused, you lean forward, setting your drink down to open the contents of the bag. Inside, there are two granola bars, a bagel, cream cheese, some kind of sandwich, and a small Nutella to-go cup with mini breadsticks attached. When you look back up at Levi, he simply shrugs, sipping on his drink again while a light pink dusts over the tips of his ears.

“You said you forgot your snacks,” he explains, “I knew you’d text me the whole time, bitching about how Erwin wouldn’t share his zero-calorie lemon rinds if you didn’t have your own.”

You take note that the chai he brought you was, in fact, a venti, and not a grande like he’d threatened, and that the granola bars in the bag are not only your favorite flavor, but from your favorite brand, too; and you find yourself smiling as you decipher the very clear message underneath Levi’s less than poetic words.

“What’s in the other cup?” Erwin asks, pointing at the remaining drink. Levi carefully lifts it from the tray, and sets it down on the other corner of your desk, a safe distance away from your laptop.

“Tea,” he says shortly, “So you don’t lose your mind after inhaling your coffee.”

“This is tea, too. Chai is tea, Levi.”

“Tea without milk or six kilograms of sugar,” Levi corrects you, “Or ice.”

“Iced tea is tea, you know.”

Levi doesn’t respond to that with anything but a glare. You smile at his stoicism. Erwin thinks the whole exchange is kind of weird, and wonders where you possibly get the gall to make fun of his taste in snacks when you can’t even realize you’re in love with a man who refuses to identify iced tea as a valid form of tea.

“I better go before she starts,” Levi speaks, a single hand referencing to your professor behind him, who looks just about ready to begin class for the evening, “Call me when you’re done, I’ll drive you two home.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, Erwin and I usually take the b—”

“Brat,” Levi cuts your words short, “Call me when you’re finished. I’ll be in the library.”

You throw daggers at him with your eyes, but your resolve is waning, once again, as you closely read at the implications of Levi’s promise. You accept, and Erwin is more than happy for the free ride.

Levi hums. “And eat the bagel before the Nutella.”

“You’re annoying.”

“I’m a saint,” Levi deadpans, placing the palm of his hand on the top of your head affectionately, “Call me.”

He walks away before you can debate again, just as your professor speaks into the microphone to grab everyone’s attention. You scrunch your nose, hands flying to your hair to smooth out the aftermath of Levi’s playfulness, before opening your notes for the evening.

“You’re really dense aren’t you?” Erwin asks, one eyebrow raised, but the overall look on his face is more than fond, “It’s kind of cute.”

“Huh?” you question, cheeks stuffed with food as you bite into your bagel, “Dense about what?”

Erwin shakes his head, turning back to laptop with an exasperated expression, the fondness in his eyes fading quickly. “Hopeless,” he mumbles, “The both of you.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman smut #levi fluff #levi smut #erwin x reader #eren x reader

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busdriver-55 · 2 years

Text

Featuring Mental Illness

Before we begin, I just wanted to say that this fic rec post is actually pretty personal. Now I don't claim to have experienced every condition/illness/struggle mentioned in every single fic I put on here - because that's just not true. But the idea for this post came after I had a pretty rough weak in terms of my own mental state, and since I personally find reading stuff that's relatable to me - a form of therapy, I couldn't help thinking that I'm probably not the only one. I hope those of you that are going through something right now, find something, and to everyone that's just looking for recs - well the fics on here are pretty amazing so I'd recommend them one way or another.... Also this will be getting updated.

Where is My Mind? by @p0lkadotdotdot: They say, monitor. They mean babysitter. Some poor schmuck whos sole purpose for the next month is to be her shadow. Like a court-ordered playdate. She wants to argue that it’s not necessary, that she isn’t so unstable that she needs someone following her around all day but then she remembers the feel of the pills sticking in her throat and the steel slicing through her wrists. Rey closes her mouth. Ben. She say's his name is Ben. Worried for her safety, Rey is taken to a state of the art mental health and rehabilitation facility in Vermont. She's fine. She knows she's fine. She just wished everyone else around her could see it too. (depression)

Beauty Of the Dark by @loveofescapism: Rey Nemo has been ordered to go to therapy after her mental breakdown, but falling for her therapist, the hard, cold and handsome Dr. Kylo Ren was something she never could have expected; neither was the fact that she was also receiving messages from a stranger called Ben who was trying to deal with the grief of his father passing. Can you save someone you’ve never even met? What about if you had met them, but you just didn’t know it… yet. (anxiety) -> this one is so personal for me tbh...

In Between Days quixoticlux: Ben Solo is a Sad Boy. When he finds himself in the hospital after driving his dad’s Falcon off a cliff, he meets Rey Johnson, Sad Girl. From then on, it’s a love affair of mixtapes, vinyl, art, flannel, books, weed, string lights, and late nights.

Serotonin and Dopamine by pontmercy44: Ben struggles with his mental health and huge crush on Rey. (social anxiety)

home is where the heart lies by Aviendha69: Rey Johnson is a fierce friend and when her roommate Rose Tico's boss mistreats her, she breaks his shop-window. She gets caught and sentenced to 60 hrs community services in a soup kitchen in Centre-Sud Montreal circa 2008. (PTSD)

Too much, Too Little by TheWinding_staircase: After overhearing Rose desperately implore his mother, Dr. Leia Organa, the founder of a Mental Wellness clinic, to help her roommate, a struggling girl called Rey, Ben Solo's interest is piqued. Ben, also a doctor, has recently decided to take a step back from his medical responsibilities and open up a bookstore in town. Ben needs a hand at the store. Rey needs someone to take care of her, but she is too independent for her own good and fears the trauma of the medical system. Ben may have a solution to both of their problems. Now he just has to convince Rey to accept. (Depression)

Transference by fear_of_being_bitten: Ben Solo has a problem with sex. He’s addicted to his power over women, to the dominance and control. He’s very good at it and at using sex to avoid real connection and emotional vulnerability. Dr. Rey Niima knows this because she’s the one treating him. Or, “Erotized transference in the male patient-female therapist dyad.“ (addiction)

save me from the ranks of the freaks who suspect they could never love anyone by @pyro-allerdyce : Prince Ben is a little messed up, to put it mildly. He gets a brand new to the country Finn as a therapist, and through Finn and the unconventional therapy he's receiving, he meets Rey. Maybe now he has a reason to not be so messed up. (unspecified)

Winter Means Goodbye by @captainmarvel42: Depression hit him hard every winter, which was why none of his previous relationships had made it to spring. He wondered how long it would be until Rey left him too. He hoped it would be soon. Better to receive devastating news while he was still mostly numb. Or the story of how their relationship survives the extreme lows of Ben's moods. (BPD, Depression)

Coffee by icedameron: Rey is in her senior year of high school. Everything is going great for her. She has good grades, she knows what she wants to do when she graduates, and she has a group of great friends. Her life was relatively perfect, until she is assaulted while at a party. Due to unfortunate circumstances, she doesn't tell anyone. This weighs heavily on her shoulders. Her demeanor changes, and there seems to be only one person who can see past Rey's facade, and that's Kylo, a boy who sits next to her in English. Over time, the pair becomes closer, but Rey is hesitant to let her secret slip. She is nearly at her breaking point, and Kylo might be the only one who can help. With Rey's life crumbling before her eyes, the situation at hand is far bigger than she could have imagined. (PTSD)

The Only Exception by @cartoonjessie: A psychiatric ward outside of London welcomes its newest patient - Rey - a homeless girl without a last name or family. All she wants is to return to the streets she calls home, but that is easier said than done. She will need a lot of patience if she is to survive her time in the ward, for she has no intention of mingling with the other patients. However, Rey soon grabs the attention of one of the outcasts in the group - a young man who prefers to be called Kylo. He is prone to anger outbursts, but takes an immediate interest in the girl as he recognizes parts of himself in her. How will they ever recover - and will they find their way to a normal life in society, or escape before they're ready? (depression, addiction, ED)

#reylo #fanfic recs #mental illness #mental disorder #mental health struggles #alternate universe #fanfic

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theweasleysredhair · 3 years

Text

I Wanna Be Yours [G.W.]

Character: George Weasley

Word Count: 6025

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: Love is complicated. Especially when the boy you love likes someone else. Or does he? [Based on the film Some Kind of Wonderful].

WARNING: brief mentions of alcohol and drinking

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @criminalyetminimal @firewhisky-kisses @obsessedwithrandomthings @angelinathebook @iprobablyshipit91 @potterverseimagine @slytherineheir @kpopgirlbtssvt @rexorangecouny @mytreec @hemmoporro @thisismysketchbook @acciotwinz @shadowsinger11 @aaannabbanana @lestersglitterglue @anyasthoughts @lxncelot @harrypotter289 @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @valwritesx @hufflrpuffforfred @cappsikle @kiwi-sloan @potter-redheads @pigwidgexn @twinkyjohnson @tinylumpiaa @locke-writes @user12345321 @wand3ringr0s3 @ickle-ronniekins @sehunasbitch @cryingforcrystalpepsi @kashishwrites @girl-next-door-writes @susceptible-but-siriusexual @crissdanvers @whizbangs-78 @heart-of-tempered-steel @oh-for-merlins-sake @heavenlymidnight @aylinw3asley @andineversawyoucoming | message or send an ask to be added/removed!

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: i am again naming my fics after arctic monkeys’ songs - fun fact this one is named after my favourite one of theirs, i’m considering having it for my wedding song bc it cute af

also yes i watched some kind of wonderful whilst writing this and cried. it’s not even a sad fic, i’m just emotional smh

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

“Y/n! Wait up!”

You span round on your heels, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen, “I said I’m fine, Fred! Okay? I’m fine. Absolutely fabulous, in fact.”

Fred stopped in front of you, a shimmer of pity in his brown eyes that made you feel even worse than you already did, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I-I’m sorry-“

“I know. I know, Freddie,” you replied, your voice quiet as you pressed your lips together, reaching out to grab his hands in yours, “It’s okay. It is, really. I just... I need to be alone.”

“But I- I just... it’s his loss, just so you know!” He pleaded, shaking his head at you, and swore under his breath at the sight of one of his closest friends in tears over his brother, “Merlin, he shouldn’t have given that to her- I shouldn’t have said anything-“

And that’s where your problem had started. Because a few weeks ago, you were, as you claimed, fine. Well, you had a few essays due and were having trouble finding the textbooks to help you write them, but that was all really.

How you wished you could steal a time turner and go back in time.

And yes, when this all started you knew that George had his heart taken by someone else. It’s not his fault, not really, that his whole plan, scheme, escapade turned into something that would completely crush your heart.

Affairs of the heart. That’s where this started. Because before a few days ago, you were unaware of your own feelings. Before a few days ago, you were unaware of any feelings towards him at all.

But that fateful moment - the one where you were sat with George in front of the fireplace, a half-drank bottle of firewhisky sitting between you, laughing and joking - was the one that changed everything.

You hadn’t even realised yourself, until Fred pointed it out to you the morning after, when he’d found you curled up by George’s side, empty firewhisky bottle laying on the floor in front of the couch, George’s arm around your waist, your face buried into his chest.

In Fred’s defence, he thought you knew. He thought you’d be aware of your own feelings.

How was he supposed to know that you didn’t know you were in love with his twin?

_________~*~_________

“This is the year I reckon,” George announced to you as he collapsed onto the sofa beside you, throwing his legs over your thighs as he rested his back against the arm of the couch, his arms resting behind his neck, “She’s finally single, first time since second year. Now’s my chance!”

You popped a Bertie’s Every Flavour Bean into your mouth and closed the book you weren’t really paying attention to, before dropping it on the table in front of the couch, “And how long have you liked her again?”

George blinked at the way you raised an eyebrow at him and sat up a little, “Since I found out she was single again.” At your pointed look, he shot you a grin, “Nah, since before the summer. Point is, I reckon I could really like this girl.”

“Poor love, having you snivelling around her all the time. I wonder how she’ll cope,” you grinned back, throwing one of the jelly beans at his head.

“Well you seem to cope just fine,” he retorted, batting another jelly bean away from his head.

“That’s just because I’m desensitised to you by now.”

“Is that so?” George asked with a raised eyebrow, a grin etched onto his face as he sat up properly, leaning a little closer to you. You turned your head to face him, meeting his stare as you nodded, “Course, how else would I have put up with you so long?”

He leant further forward and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, “Willingly, because you love me, stupid.”

You nudged him, making him laugh as he went back to lying down comfortably, “Yeah, yeah.”

You watched a few first years clamber through the portrait hole, laughing to each other as they made their way through the common room, an absent-minded smile gracing your lips as you recalled being the same in your first year with your friends.

“How do you reckon I should ask her out?” George’s voice brought you away from your reminiscing as you looked over at him, “She deserves something amazing, something no other guy will have thought of for her.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing this would be the topic of conversation for the rest of the evening, but nevertheless gestured for him to continue on. “I wanna go all out if she’s gonna turn out to be everything I’ve ever wanted in a girl,” George finished, a dreamy, faraway look crossing his features.

Reaching into the box of jelly beans, you grabbed a handful and threw them at him, ignoring his indignant “hey!” as you replied pointedly, “Don’t go mistaking paradise for a pair of long legs.”

Because truthfully, that was why a lot of guys were interested in Kiara. She was smart - being a Ravenclaw and all - surprisingly funny, and, as far as you knew, was really kind too. Not that this mattered to many of the boys in your year (and the years above and below), apparently, because she was also beautiful, with long, glossy brown hair, perfect doll-like features and, yes, long, lean legs.

“That’s not why I like her,” George insisted, grabbing one of the jelly beans that had fallen onto his lap and throwing it back at you, laughing as it hit you on the forehead. You playfully glared at him, rubbing your forehead in mock-hurt.

“Sure it’s not, stupid,” you replied, using his minor insult from before. “Ohhh, I’m the stupid one now, am I?” He scoffed, though the smile on his face told you he wasn’t offended in the slightest, “Now you’re in for it.”

He moved his legs off you and poked your sides, knowing you were ticklish, making you laugh out and push him away, “George, stop!”

“Take it back then, love. Say I’m the smartest wizard you know,” he grinned, continuing his minor tickling assault, making you move away from him so abruptly that you fell off the couch and onto the carpeted floor, bringing him down on top of you.

“Ouch- never! You are stupid, stupid!” You laughed, laying on the floor as you tried to catch your breath, George’s hands either side of your head, holding his weight up above you.

Both of your laughter faded a little and you found yourself staring into his brown eyes, his face barely centimetres from your own. You could have almost sworn that he started moving closer - though maybe it was your imagination - before he rolled away and lay beside you on the floor, his hand brushing yours.

“You’ll help me right?” He asked after a moment. You turned your head to look at him, taking in his side profile as he stared up at the ceiling.

“I’ll help you what?”

“Get a date with her,” he said as if it were obvious, turning his head to meet your gaze. You shot him a smile, “You’re George Weasley. You could get a date with anyone you wanted.”

“Just not you, right?” He turned onto his side, resting on his elbow as he looked down at you. You shook your head with a laugh, “Yeah well, I don’t count. I’m not just anyone.”

The smile he gave you made your heart beat a little faster, “You’re right about that.”

***

“All I’m saying is, is it such a bad idea if you just, I don’t know, asked her out simply? By using words? I really don’t think you need to wax poetic, or write her a bloody song to ask her out,” you shook your head in despair at the nerve-wracked boy sat across from you in the Great Hall.

“I can’t just ask her out,” George replied in a horrified voice, “What if she thinks I’ve not put enough effort into it and rejects me?”

“Trust me, Georgie, if she’s going to reject you, it won’t be because of the way you asked her out, I can guarantee that. It’ll be because you’re annoying, or because you smell, or, and I can’t stress this enough, because of your below-average skills in potions,” you laughed at his unimpressed look, taking the opportunity to grab a slice of toast off his plate.

“You’re supposed to be my best friend, you know,” he grumbled, waving his fork at you. “Yes,” you replied, “And as your best friend, I say to just ask her out. Look, joking aside, you’re a great guy, George. She’d be lucky to have you.”

He nodded, smiling gratefully at you as he reached forward and grabbed your hand to give it a squeeze, “Okay, I’ll trust you on this one. I’ll just... ask her out. How difficult could it be?”

Turns out, extremely difficult. You felt second hand embarrassment as you watched George head over to the Ravenclaw table, to where Kiara was sitting, wincing as he nearly dropped a goblet of pumpkin juice over her.

“Who’re you watching?” A voice said from beside you, making you jump. Fred laughed as you rolled your eyes at him, before replying, “For your information, I’m watching your brother ask Kiara on a date.”

“Wait, he’s asking another girl on a date?” Fred frowned, his eyes darting from George, who was currently speaking to Kiara, his cheeks reddening as she touched his shoulder and laughed, to your confused expression as you looked up at the older twin. “Yes?” You replied, bemused, “Why?”

“Does it not... bother you?” He asked gently. You laughed, “Why would it?”

And as you watched Kiara throw her arms around George’s neck, his hands coming to hold her waist, you swallowed thickly, before shaking your head at the odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Why would it bother you?

You forced a smile onto your face as George made his way back to his original seat, a smug grin adorning his features. “Well?” You asked, rather redundantly as you had seen the whole thing yourself.

“She said yes,” he replied excitedly, picking up his fork and popping some bacon into his mouth. “I told you!” You grinned at him, though you pushed your own plate away, no longer hungry.

“Attaboy, Georgie!” Fred congratulated his twin, “When’s the date?”

“This Saturday, at The Three Broomsticks,” the younger twin replied. You zoned out of the chatter on the table about this newest revelation, feeling your heart plummet at George’s words, though you couldn’t place your finger on why.

George was your best friend, you should be happy for him... right?

***

Saturday arrived quicker than you wanted, after a week of tedious lessons, and a bombardment of questions over what George should do on his date.

You watched him pull out two different jumpers, holding each one up at a time and looking at you expectedly. Tilting your head to the side, you pointed to the red one, “Was always my favourite one.”

“Red it is,” he nodded, throwing the other jumper onto his bed as he held the red jumper out to you for you to hold. Without warning, he pulled the t shirt he was currently wearing off, leaving his toned torso on show as he dropped said t shirt onto the floor and held his hand out for the jumper.

You handed it to him, gulping a little as you forced yourself not to stare at his abs. It was no secret the George was good looking - you’d always known it - but knowing and seeing were two different things. Being a Beater had done tremendous things to his body, you noted.

“Do you reckon I should bring her flowers?” George asked you, looking at you through the reflection of his mirror as he messed his hair up a little.

“Couldn’t hurt,” you shrugged, sending him a half-hearted smile as you grabbed your wand, muttering ‘orchideous’ and handing him the bouquet that was produced.

He thanked you, before taking a deep breath, “Well, what do you reckon?”

The smile that spread across your face this time was genuine, a soft look in your eye as you replied, “You look great, Georgie. Now go get her!”

He shot you one last grin, pressing a kiss to your forehead, before heading out of his dorm, leaving you alone. You picked up the t shirt he’d dropped, folding it and placing it at the end of his bed, before grabbing the jumper he’d discarded.

You took a breath before deciding to put the jumper on, relishing in the smell of George’s aftershave as you pulled it over your head, before rolling up the sleeves and heading out of the dorm.

***

“How many dates has it been now, three? Four?” You asked, wrapping your coat further around yourself as you trudged through the thick snow of Hogsmeade, passing by a couple of cute shops.

“The Yule Ball will be the fifth.”

You froze at the mention of the Ball. Somehow you’d assumed you’d be going with George - you didn’t even think about the fact that he’d have a girlfriend he could take, “Oh! So you um, asked Kiara to the Ball then?”

“Last night,” George bit his lip as he smiled, “Can’t wait!”

Your stomach clenched and mind raced, eyebrows furrowing as you realised you now had just under a week and half to find a date to the Ball - if anyone was still available, that was. You thought about every single eligible boy you knew of, wondering if you had the courage to even ask any of them, before you were pulled from your thoughts by George’s voice.

“I wanna buy her something for Christmas, what do you reckon?” George asked, picking at a strand coming off his woollen hat before placing it back onto his head.

“I don’t really know the girl,” you said truthfully, forcing yourself to stop thinking about George and Kiara dancing and him holding her all night, “I assume you’d have better judgment.”

He nodded over to a small shop on your left, one that you’d passed by many times but never had the chance to look in.

“The jewellery shop?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him. He grabbed your hand and pulled you over to the door, “Let’s just have a look, yeah?”

The bell chimed as you stepped inside and you instantly became enamoured with the little shop, rows of glass cases showing off sparkly pieces of jewellery and adornments. Most, you noticed quickly, were much too expensive for you - and by default, much too expensive for George, too.

“Are you sure about something from in here?” You asked, staring down at a ring adorned with sapphires, “These are pretty pricey.”

“They might be, but she deserves it. Besides, gotta prove I’m better than all the guys that want to date her, right?” George replied from across the shop.

“Georgie,” you looked over at him with a pointed look, “I can promise you are better than all the other guys.”

“No harm in making sure.”

You gave up arguing, knowing he wouldn’t listen anyway, your eyes taking in the beautiful products, before your focus was taken by a rather stunning necklace. Stepping over to it for a closer look, you breathed out in shock at the price, but nevertheless knew you were in love with the chain, a little pendant surrounded by crystals displayed at the centre.

“What’ve you seen?” George spoke, suddenly standing behind you and leaning over your shoulder.

You pointed at the necklace, “Someday, I’m gonna buy that one.”

George glanced down at the look on your face and grinned to himself, “Someday, I’ll buy that one for you.” You turned to look at him, shaking your head in amusement, “You need to choose something for your girlfriend before you start promising me presents.”

“What’s the fun in that?” George laughed as you both left the shop.

You sat beside George on the couch later that night, resting your head on his shoulder as you shared a bottle of firewhisky between you.

“It was not!” You screeched, your laugh echoing through the empty common room as you nudged the ginger boy, making him laugh along with you. “It absolutely was,” he insisted, grinning before taking a sip of the firewhisky, taking in the sight of you looking so happy, and realising your laugh was one of his favourite sounds, “You were the one who wanted to sneak food from the kitchens, so it was your fault we got caught!”

You shook your head, “It was you tripping into that metal armour. All that noise when the bloody head fell off.”

“You pushed me, stupid!” George scolded indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a child.

“I shoved you,” you corrected, laughing as George playfully nudged you, causing you to nudge him back, and soon you were play fighting on the couch.

He, once again, was above you, almost pinning you to the couch as he looked down at you, and it was only then that you realised just how inebriated you both were, the empty firewhisky bottle having fallen onto the floor.

George’s tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, “You know I love you, right?”

You smiled softly up at him, arms around his neck as you nodded, somehow feeling like those words had more weight to them than usual. Leaning up to kiss his cheek, you replied, “Of course, Georgie.”

Morning arrived quickly, much to your dismay, and you were woken abruptly by the sound of heavy footsteps stomping down the stairs. You couldn’t bring yourself to move to see who it was, too comfortable with your head resting on George’s chest, his arm securely around your waist, but luckily for you, said culprit of the noise came right by your line of sight, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Well what do we have here?” Fred cooed, rocking back and forth as he looked at you curled up in his twin’s arms. “Me and George falling asleep after drinking maybe a tad too much?” You replied as if it were obvious.

“You look awfully cosy,” he grinned, “But then, I suppose I would too if I was cuddling someone I was in love with.”

You felt like your heart stopped and you nearly choked on air, “Wait wait wait, someone I what?!”

“‘Someone I was in love with’?” Fred repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes at you, “You do know... right?”

At your blank expression, Fred raised an eyebrow, “You do know you’re in love with George... right?”

“I’m not in love with-“ You paused as you thought back over the years of your friendship. You’d never really thought about it before - never really had to. But you treated George differently to any other friend you had. No one could make you laugh like he could, or make you feel as protected and safe as he did. And no one ever made you feel like you were flying, like he did.

“Oh Godric... I’m in love with George!” You whisper-shouted, a hand coming to cover your mouth as the realisation dawned on you.

Fred nodded, “I didn’t know that you didn’t know.”

“That’s why you asked me if it bothered me when he asked out Kiara, isn’t it?” You suddenly realised, gulping harshly.

Fred nodded again, though a tad more hesitantly than before, “Hey, but listen- I really think he feels the same, if it makes you feel any better! He just doesn’t know it either.”

You moved out of George’s grasp and stood up, pressing your lips together as you looked at Fred, “He’s got a girlfriend, who he’s taking to the Yule Ball and who he adores and they’re probably gonna get married and have kids and I’m going to be alone forever!”

“Hey, that’s not- that won’t happen,” Fred replied, his gaze softening as he saw a tear fall down your cheek. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and stroking your back comfortingly.

“He loves you, I know it. And he knows it too. He just doesn’t know that he knows it.”

***

Ever since your realisation in the early morning, you’d tried your best to act normal around George. It wasn’t easy, and you felt that maybe you were being a little more distant than usual, however you quickly pushed that thought aside as you noticed George being equally - if not more - distant, sitting at the end of the table beside Fred, Kiara on his other side as he whispered things in her ear, making her laugh.

You felt a pang of hurt, one that got worse the longer you stared at them, watching as they kissed, as George stared at her lovingly, as he pushed her long, brown, stupidly perfect hair behind her ear and making her blush.

Sitting on the opposite side of the table, you made yourself look away, instead immersing yourself in the conversation Ron and Harry were having about the Yule Ball.

“This is mad, at this rate we’ll be the only ones in our year without dates!” Ron hissed at Harry as you were all sat in the Great Hall, supposedly studying. You hid a laugh as Snape walked past and pushed his head.

“Well, us and Neville,” he continued with a small laugh. Harry leant over to him, “Yeah but then again, he can take himself.”

“It might interest you to know that Neville has already got someone,” Hermione interrupted their laughing with a frown.

Ron sighed, catching your gaze as you laughed at him - which made him sigh again, “Now I’m really depressed.”

You observed from the other side of the table as Fred threw a piece of parchment over to his younger brother, winking at you when he noticed you watching, as Ron frowned at the words on the page.

Ron handed the parchment back, glancing around to avoid Snape and whispered, “Who are you going with then?”

Fred grabbed the parchment and crumpled it up into a ball, before throwing it at you, the paper bouncing off your shoulder. You looked down at the paper, before meeting Fred’s gaze with a raised eyebrow.

He grinned at you, before miming the Ball, nodding over at you. You rolled your eyes, glancing round for Snape before throwing the parchment back at him, hitting him square in the face and causing half the table to hid their faces as they laughed.

“Well?” He asked, seemingly unfazed by the parchment that was now resting at his feet.

“Yeah, go on then, I suppose,” you whispered, shaking your head at him as he winked at Ron. When all the attention went back to school work, you caught Fred’s gaze again and smiled thankfully.

He saluted playfully, making you laugh, neither one of you noticing George’s frown and clenched fists beside him.

***

You hadn’t seen much of George since Fred had asked you to the Ball, him being too busy spending practically all of his time with Kiara.

It hurt, you had to admit, that he was constantly choosing her over you. Though you assumed it was only natural, what with Kiara being his first proper girlfriend.

Didn’t mean it hurt any less. And the fact you were so used to having George to yourself didn’t help - sometimes turning to ask him something, and then realising he’s not there.

He’d moved seats in class to sit by Kiara, meaning in some classes you were sat with whoever happened to be her previous partner, which therefore meant you were forced to watch as the boy you loved flirted with another girl, his hands constantly on her waist, sneaking kisses when the professor wasn’t looking, and, more often than not, simply not even acknowledging your existence, not even saying a simple ‘hello’.

In other classes you were sat by Fred, who, by all accounts, was actually a pretty good partner, being able to make you laugh and distract you from the show that tore your heart every time you saw it.

In fact, Fred had pretty much mastered exactly how to make you laugh until you cried, his aim in most lessons now, as he hated how sad you were because of his twin.

You were both giggling in the back of the classroom at something he’d said when McGonagall had pointed it out, asking you both to “Please quieten down.”

You bit your lip to muffle your laughing as Fred looked down at you, just happy he could make his friend smile when he knew how much you were hurting.

Much to the dislike of a certain redhead towards the front of the room, who immediately frowned every time he heard your laugh, knowing he wasn’t the one causing it, but his older twin.

His twin who was taking you to the Yule Ball.

George clenched his jaw as he heard you whispering something to Fred, barely being able to focus on anything else.

He knew you and Fred were friends, but since when were you both that close?

***

By the time the Yule Ball arrived, you and George were barely speaking at all. You’d cried about it more times than you’d like to admit, but you had decided that tonight, at the Ball, you would make it a night to remember, not wanting to mope and ruin Fred’s night since he had asked you pretty much as a favour - despite the amount of times he’d insisted he wanted to ask you, you knew he fancied Angelina Johnson, and had things played out differently, you were sure she’d have been the one he’d thrown the parchment at in the hall that day, not you.

Either way, when you’d made your way down the steps to the Great Hall, your dress swirling around you, hair and makeup perfect, Fred made a huge deal of wolf-whistling and complimenting you.

“Well aren’t you bloody gorgeous,” he grinned, taking your hand and bringing it up to his lips to kiss the back of it, “I am one lucky guy.”

“You clean up pretty good too, Weasley,” you grinned, reaching up to straighten out his tie.

George scowled as he watched you with Fred, hating you being in such proximity to his brother, hands clenching and knuckles turning white as he watched Fred kiss the back of your hand. He had to force himself not to run over and shove Fred’s hands away from your waist, as he guided you off to the Hall. He was so distracted by firstly how stunning you looked, and secondly by how forward his brother was being, that he barely even noticed when Kiara had arrived by his side, until she nudged him a little and he forced out a smile.

He complimented the brunette girl, guiding her into the Hall as his hand reached into his pocket, brushing over a box to make sure it was still there.

Fred had been the perfect date all evening. He was a gentlemen - besides the occasional flirty comment - and insisted on staying by your side and dancing, even when you tried to usher him to ask Angelina to dance.

He was just about to give into your insistence with a laugh, when he noticed your expression changed as your attention was taken from him to whatever was going on behind him.

He cursed under his breath as he watched George hold out a small black box to Kiara, who had a huge smile on her face as she took the lid off. She pulled out a necklace, bringing George into a hug immediately, pressing kisses to his face.

Fred stood in front of your view of them, taking your hands in his, “Y/n... I’m sorry. He’s an idiot- he doesn’t know he’s got such a good thing, and wouldn’t know it if you punched him in the face - which, for the record, I think you should do.”

You wiped a stray tear from your eye, forcing yourself not to cry, “He gave her the necklace.”

“I know. I know, but he-“

“No Fred,” you interrupted gently, “He gave her the necklace. That necklace is one I saw when we were in Hogsmeade, and I said I wanted it. He-He even said he’d buy it for me one day! Not that I’d let him but- He bought it for her.”

Fred’s gaze softened, his heart breaking at the sight of your sad face, wrapping his arms around you and swaying a little to the music absent-mindedly.

“I’m sorry,” Fred whispered in your ear. You nodded, leaning against his shoulder, “Not your fault your brother is stupid.”

The song that was playing ended, and Fred grabbed your hand, leading you over to the table where the food and drinks were, pouring you a glass and offering it out to you. You took it gratefully, thanking him before taking a sip.

“Didn’t know you two were that close,” a voice came from behind you. A voice you knew well, one you could pick out anywhere. Fred reached out to squeeze your hand reassuringly, as you placed your glass down, nodding at him before turning around.

“Fred and I have always been good friends. I do have friends, other than you, you know. Which is a good job, considering you’ve been so distant with me,” you replied, focusing on keeping your voice level, rather than on the fact that he’d just given your necklace to his girlfriend.

George felt himself get angry as he noticed yours and Fred’s intertwined hands, swallowing harshly and shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“You know I’ve been trying to impress Kiara, being in a relationship takes up time. Not that you’d know, but I thought you’d understand. Didn’t think you’d replace me that quickly,” George retaliated in the midst of his anger, only being able to focus on you and Fred, and how close you were.

“Replaced you?” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, “You barely even say hello to me! So yes, I turned to a friend so I wasn’t alone. You’re the one who replaced me! And you gave her the necklace, George. The necklace you knew I wanted. You gave it to her.”

Not waiting for a response, you shot an apologetic glance towards Fred before rushing out of the Hall, suddenly needing some fresh air.

“Look what you did now!” Fred almost growled, before storming out after you, in an attempt to find you.

George took a shaky breath, cursing as he watched the two most important people to him leave.

“George?” A soft voice spoke from beside him.

“Kiara?”

The brunette girl smiled, pressing her lips together as she looked at the ginger, “I um... I think we should break up.”

George frowned, though he was surprised to find he didn’t feel too badly about what she’d said.

The girl held out a black box and placed it into George’s hands, “This should be hers. It’s more her style than mine, I think you know that too.”

The redhead hesitated, unsure of what to say in this situation, “Look, Kiara, I’m sorry-“

“She likes you,” Kiara interrupted him, grinning despite the situation.

“She doesn’t-“

“She does. And you like her. Now go find her.”

With one last hug, and another muttered apology, he nodded determinedly at her, and ran off in the direction of his brother and, he realised now, the girl he truly loved.

***

“Y/n! Wait up!”

You span round on your heels, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen, “I said I’m fine, Fred! Okay? I’m fine. Absolutely fabulous, in fact.”

Fred stopped in front of you, a shimmer of pity in his brown eyes that made you feel even worse than you already did, “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I-I’m sorry-“

“It’s okay, I promise. It was always bound to happen right? I was always destined to fall for him, whilst he fell for her. Even if you hadn’t said anything, I would’ve realised. I’m- I’m so stupid, aren’t I? Falling for my best friend,” you let out a broken sob.

“You’re not stupid.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and you swallowed back another sob as you turned around slowly, your eyes catching George’s gaze.

He stood, hair messy as if he’d raked his hands through it a few too many times, tie askew and shirt almost untucked in his haste to run and find you. He felt his heart clench, knowing he was the one to make you feel like this, and stepped forward reaching a hand out towards you as you blinked back tears, allowing him to bring you into his arms as you finally let the tears fall.

You knew you shouldn’t, that you should leave to your dorm, but being in George’s arms had always made you feel safe, made you feel protected.

More tears fell as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, muttering over and over again how sorry he was. How he was a fool, a git, a complete idiot.

You finally calmed down a little, looking around the empty hallway, not being sure exactly when Fred had disappeared but thankful for the privacy.

You wiped away the last of your tears, cursing mentally as you realise your makeup would be a mess - if the state of George’s shirt was anything to go by.

“Kiara told me you like- I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he breathed out, a hand cupping your cheek as you blinked up at him.

“Yeah well, you’re stupid. I always knew you were stupid,” you replied with a sad laugh.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked with a frown, his hands moving to hold your waist.

“You never asked. And then you-you got a girlfriend. What was I supposed to do?” You asked quietly.

“I’m in love with you,” George said suddenly, earnestly, genuinely as he held you against him.

“Not Kiara?”

He shook his head quickly, “She knew I liked you before I knew I liked you. Maybe I am stupid.”

“Maybe you are,” you let out a watery laugh, looking away from his gaze.

George suddenly reached into his pocket and brought out a familiar box, “This is yours. I don’t know what I was thinking, giving it to her. It’s yours - it’s always been yours.”

He opened the box, taking out the necklace you loved so much, and offering you a sheepish smile, “It’s not a good enough apology, I know. But I’m hoping it’s a start.”

He gently turned you around, placing the necklace around your neck, you shivering at the feel of his fingers brushing against your skin, before turning you back around to face him, this time much closer than before, his forehead resting against yours.

“So, and correct me if I’m wrong,” he spoke as he leant forward a little more, his lips almost touching yours, “Does this mean that I like you and you like me and we both don’t think of each other as friends?”

You nodded a little, offering him a soft smile, “I don’t want to be friends, George,” you whispered just as his lips brushed your own, “I wanna be yours.”

#george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley

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