#tw: bullying references

[pfhwrittes]

"you love him. you've loved him since you were 9 and you love him now 20 years later." TW: references to transphobic bullying, angst, fluff, allusions to offscreen smut, alcohol mention, menstruation mention. pairing: kyle x ftm!reader

1.5k words of childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers. as always i've barely edited it so typos and errors may remain. edit to add: a massive thank you and shout out to @gemmahale for cheerleading me with this one and reminding me to trust my instincts. i love you a lot.

-- you love him. you’ve loved him since he first shared his curly-wurly during break time at primary school. head over heels puppy love. your mum teasing you with a “my little girl with her first boyfriend!” despite the way it makes your cheeks burn (and something twist inside your chest) when you both stand shyly together at 3.15 hand in hand waiting to go home. 

you love kyle when he’s the joseph to your mary in the nativity. you love the way the teatowel your mum leant his mum slips into his eyes and causes him to laugh and forget his next line about needing to find an inn. you love him when he wraps you up in a big hug when missus king takes a photo of you both as your mum cheers the loudest from the back of the little crowd in the assembly hall. 

you love kyle even when you both grow up and go to secondary school at 11, split up into different form groups and different timetables. you love him even more when he folds you into his little band of miscreants, “one of the boys” he says with a cheeky grin that warms you all the way through.

you love kyle when he chooses you first for the biology practical lesson, flicking little slithers of onion at you to make you laugh, despite the way anna-marie looks you up and down and whispers something cruel about how “he just pities the he-she” loud enough for you to hear. 

you love kyle when he skives off school with you the day your period takes you unaware. he sneaks in through the kitchen door 15 minutes after your mum leaves for work, a battered curly-wurly and bottle of oasis clutched in one hand and his rucksack in the other. you love him when he settles onto the sofa, dragging your duvet over the two of you, flicking the telly on so you can both watch bargain hunt together. 

you love kyle the day he cuddles you into his chest, completely uncaring about the way your snot and tears mark his t-shirt as you sob, both of you curled up on your bed. you love him so completely when he listens to you stutter out that you think you’re not really a girl. you still love him when he pulls away for the first time, a tiny frown on his face. you still love him when he doesn’t reply to your text asking him if he got home alright later that night. 

you still love kyle when he starts ignoring you in school, no longer coming to find you during lunchtime. you still love him when he doesn’t laugh along with harry when you trip during design tech but he doesn’t stop james hissing “freak show” as you rub at your hip from where you banged into their table. 

you still love kyle even when your mum sits you down at the kitchen and asks you how you feel about moving schools at 16. you still love kyle when you ask her “but what about kyle?” and her voice catches when she offers you a gentle “oh love” with wet eyes. 

you still love kyle when he stumbles into you at mattie’s house party when you’re both 18, a shocked look on his face when he takes in your close cropped hair and wispy facial hair on your cheeks, despite the fact you haven’t spoken in years. you still love kyle even when he calls you the wrong name and your mumble gets swallowed up by cheers from the kitchen as someone spots kyle in the hallway. you still love kyle when you spot him crowd mattie’s older sister georgia up against the bannister and kiss her breathless before leading her up the stairs with his hand on her waist. you still love kyle when you end up sobbing into alex’s neck, their hand rubbing your back gently as the dew from the front lawn soaks the knees of your jeans. you still love kyle even as alex murmurs that “you should just forget him babe” into your hair as you sob anew.

you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle the next time you run into him, many years later when you pop into the pub under oath from mattie to meet her for a quick pint to catch up. you recognise the shape of kyle’s smile even if he is partially turned away to grin at a man with broad shoulders and a slightly flattened mohawk standing next to him at the bar. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle when he catches you looking and his smile slips momentarily as he offers you a tiny nod of acknowledgement before turning back to his friend. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle even when your eyes keep drifting over to him and the other three men in the corner booth as mattie fills you in on everything you missed during your years travelling around australia. 

you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle when you bump into him again in the same pub the following week. literally bumping into him as you turn away from the bar with a pint in your hand. kyle steadies you with a hand on your forearm and you feel your heart soar before plummeting into the sticky carpet at your feet. you pull your arm away from him and your drink sloshes over the rim of your glass as you offer him a tight smile before stepping to the side. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle, but you can’t help but feel the warmth of his hand long after you’ve rejoined mattie and alex at your table. 

you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle but a thrill goes up your spine when he asks you if he could “have a word with you, mate” as he joins you in the beer garden the week after that. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle but your heart aches as he stumbles his way through an apology. you’ve forgotten how much you missed your friend kyle when he makes you stutter out a surprised laugh when he talks about his friend soap knocking some sense into him. 

you’ve forgotten how much you missed your friend kyle when he texts you asking if you want to join him and his sisters for a chinese. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when he hands you his vegetable spring rolls without asking. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when after dinner he leads you up to his childhood bedroom and he kicks his dirty socks under his bed like you’ve seen him do many times before. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when your ribs ache from laughing and he’s wearing that beautiful grin. 

you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when he slips into the open seat next to you at the pub, his arm slung over the back of your chair, much to the matching shocked expressions of mattie and alex. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when he takes alex’s frosty demeanour on the chin. you fall in love with your friend kyle again when he responds to mattie’s pointed rhetorical “you know you broke his heart, yeah?” with a small squeeze to your shoulder and serious “i know, i was a fucking idiot.”.

you fall in love with kyle again when his hands shake on your waist as he leans in to kiss you outside your house under the flickering glow of a streetlight. just like you hoped he would so many years ago when you were both teenagers. you fall in love with kyle again when he pulls away to take in your stupefied expression and he asks if you’re okay, if he can kiss you again. you fall in love with kyle again when he gently turns you around so he can push you up against the front door to trail sucking kisses down your neck as your keys hit the doormat with a tinkling sound. you fall in love with kyle again when you ask him to slow down - wait - please - as he’s reaching for the top button of your jeans. you fall in love with kyle again when he traces gentle fingers over the scars on your chest, adoration in his eyes.

you love kyle when you trip over your boxers and his shirt the following morning as you stumble to the bathroom. you love kyle when you slip back into bed and he sleepily nuzzles into your neck. you love kyle when his phone blares his alarm from the back pocket of his trousers near the door to your bedroom 30 minutes later. 

you love him. you’ve loved him since you were 9 and you love him now 20 years later as he presses a kiss to your hair. you love him. -- taglist: @kaadaaan

[cjoatprehn]

Happy Escapril! I hope everyone’s had a good weekend so far. I’m a bit late…as I took a break yesterday. I’m dropping another poem this month with @adventurerswritingguild’s 8th Escapril prompt, “What’s the truth?, combined with the 7th Shy Prompt, “domestication vs rewilding!”

I am incredibly late on this combo prompt and have been trying to slow down so I don’t burn myself out again; however, I started to write a completely different poem but ended up writing the combo one I didn’t complete initially!

In the end, I hope you enjoy this unrestricted ride of my thoughts!

I will do a spoken poetry video at some point, and update this post with the link. Maybe a graphic for it.

Thank you for 100 followers, yall! I hope you’re enjoying the ride. 😁

11:46 AM Update

Good Morning! I wrote it late last night, and I admit I was muddled when I wrote it so it may not flow as well or portray things how I intended. There are a few references within this one. But it’s basically me writing a letter to break free to be unrestrainable due to my power and agency as many often are. Signified through wearing my natural hair out as my mane.

A reference to a quote in the Indiana Jones films; there’s one where he’s lecturing in a class and he says, “Archeology is the search for fact, not truth. If it’s truth you’re interested in, Dr. Tyree’s Philosophy class is right down the hall.” Flip that quote to the opposite perspective, Dr. Tyree saying, “If you’re seeking Fact, Mr. Jones’s class is up the hall.”

Idunn Apples I was referencing from God of War, without the specifics of the myth associated with them.

The duckling reference

Hair references

The last is my connection to Dragons.

8:39 PM Spoken Poetry Update

[#escapril Spoken Poetry] “Freedom : Unrestrained” by CJOAT for AWG’s Escapril

[teenbasher]

It all Started with a Splash

Sherlock thought Carl Powers was Jim's first murder, but he was partially wrong. Jim only made it look that way to protect the real culprit, and who would that be? but Sebastian Moran.

Carl was bigger than Jim and even though Jim could defend himself, he couldn't have held him down under water for long enough to have drowned.

It was a little over a year before when Sebastian first encounter this Carl douchebag.

Carl always picked on Jim, and Sebastian hated him. He reminded him of his father, always thinking they could bully others into doing what they wanted and that just got under Sebastian’s skin pissing him off beyond belief. Causing the blond to fight Carl after school very frequently that year.

Sometimes he would be so cruel to Jim, Sebastian would fight him in the hallway, moments after whatever stupid shit Carl had done. It didn't matter the punishment they got, Carl wouldn't stop so Sebastian wouldn't either.

The day the drowning happened. Carl had been particularly awful to Jim after the swimming class they were taking.

Carl thought it to be funny to hide all of Jim's clothes and take Jim's swimming trunks when he was showering. Making the little Irish lad walk home naked.

Luckily Sebastian was outside waiting. He always was, Seb tried positioning himself around Jim whenever Powers was around.

Hearing some of the other boys come out of the locker room talking about Jim desperately looking around for his things. Sebastian rushes in to find Jim on his knees on the wet tile floor, completely naked looking for his bag.

Without a second thought, Sebastian takes off his jacket and shirt giving them to Jim.

"Here.....wear this, I'll find your clothes." He says in an icy dark tone.

He hadn't seen Carl leave so he assumed the boy was still there.

"Carl! You fucking cunt come out! I will rip you to pieces!"

Sebastian growls looking around the locker room with murder in his eyes.

Finding the jackass leaving. Sebastian loses it, Grabbing him by the back of the head he slammed him against a locker as hard as he can a couple of times before dragging him out into the pool area, shoving him into the water at the deep end of the pool.

Carl squirms and flailed trying to get out of Sebastian��s grasp but Sebastian soon held him down with both hands, putting on him as much pressure and weight as he can without falling in himself.

there is splashing and gurgling sounds coming from Carl to stop soon enough.

Jim nervously looked around the pool, hoping no one saw them. He wanted to help Seb, god knows he thought about murdering Carl often enough, but seeing it happen before his eyes and not being in a position where he could participate was to say the least, more than disappointing.

But this incident would live in Jim’s mind forever & would fuel his own murderous fantasies more and more until he would get his own opportunity to murder someone & as a form of poetic justice & undying gratitude to Seb, for riding him of his own bully.

Jim’s true first victim would come two years later, in the form of a brutally bloody car accident he planned in detail for his sole victim Sir Augustus Moran.

As Seb helped Jim end his torture at school, Jim helped Seb end his torture at home & with those two transcending murders, the pair forged a bond stronger than anything they had ever experienced before.

[firedragonx]

Oliver Twisted Wonderland AU referecne

Name: Oliver Miller Height: 5'5 Age: 17 Pronouns: He/him Sexuality: Bisexual Birthday: February 3 Family: Nancy(Mother), Charlotte(Father), Rita(Older sister), Dodger(Older brother) and Jenny(Younger sister) Personally: Smart, Flirtatious, Jolly, Social, Observant, Confident, and Mischievous Profession: Student History: Third to Nancy, a model, and Charlotte Miller, a lawyer. They were good parents and his siblings while teasing him were nice to him. But his school life was rough because kids picked his albino and he couldn't eat certain foods. His parents try to help but there is little they can do. So Oliver takes matters into his own hands. Studying to become the smartest kid in school he knew he could get some of the toughest kids in school who need help with grades help. This gets some kids to protect in exchange for helping them with their grades. There he met Haelth who struggling with her grades and there he got into her friend group which protects the home from bullies.

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[answersfromzestual]

I promised you all a reason why I do not use certain verbals.

Below are personal experiences, and some parts are violent.

Reason as to why I do not use words such as, "fag[got]", "queer", and "dyke" and idenitfying/calling someone "it".

I was always the weird kid, I didn't have much if any real friends growing up.

My own parents and siblings, to this day, call me names. I was a candle burning at both ends.

From an early age (as soon as i could dress myself), I dressed masculine, always wore boy clothes. Mother was okay when I was young because I was just a "tomboy." I had kids starting in first grade of all ages, asking me if I was a boy or a girl.I didn't have the answer. Everyone told me what I was, but I disagreed. I felt like a boy, but the world told me I was a girl... Having younger kids go get a teacher when they saw me in the bathroom, I would always shrug. It was embarrassing other children peeking in the stall... I was bullied into a feminine phase (dressing female, against what I really wanted, age 10-15). I needed to not be bullied as bad anymore. I wanted to push the feelings down and not stand out anymore... I just wanted to fit in and be like everyone else... I prayed to be normal or to leave.

High school was horrible...

I needed to go to the washroom at school during first period, which meant walking by the cafeteria... the seniors had their spare period, and i knew they sat in the cafe. They laughed as I walked by and one yelled "fucking dyke" at me, at the same time two teachers were walking by me the opposite way, talking. We were at the same place in the hall, they didn't say a word. They just kept walking, but they fell silent for a short time...

I had to walk home from school... there was two ways, one was longer and along a main road, where people would yell faggot, queer, dyke, fucking weirdo, out of their car windows at me, random adults and students from both schools in town. The other way was through the alley, faster and no one was around... I was always gambling if someone would jump me (attack me). I was just walking home after abuse from other students and teachers. And a group of guys following you saying "here, here little queer/dyke/faggot" whatever word they felt like using that day. I didn't have anyone to walk with on these days, it was band practice, I stayed later than my friends would...

I would run as fast as I could. They ran faster... Tackled me to the ground and beat me, fracturing a rib at one point. Being told I was worthless and they should kill me that would be doing the world a favor, as their boot hovered over my bloody face... That maybe I need a real man to fuck me to turn me (magically) a straight cis female. I never went to the hospital. My parents never saw the bruises all over my face. (My parents weren't the best). This was at least once a month.

I developed full-blown alcoholism and hard drug addiction by 15-16 years old, trying to numb the pain of everyone in the world rejecting me.

I worked at a fast food joint as a teen. An old man came up to my register, a look of confusion and disgust on his face. I greeted him, smiling. I had just come out to the first person at work, and she was awesome about it, probably half an hour earlier. He slid his empty cup across the counter and asked for a refill. While I was doing his refill, the girl I had just come out also asked if he needed help. He said in a big booming voice, throwing his hands up, "She,him, it, that thing there." *points at me* "has got my refill!" At this point, I no longer felt human. I felt like I was an unknown creature from another planet.

Those are some of the postable, less traumatic reasons why I don't like those words. I grew up, and they were all bad words to be or even be called. I lived in a small, very rural village, and it to this day, people aren't with the times.

These words have hurt me in many ways and I have no intention of the futile attempt to "take things back". Two things you can't take back, history and words. These words will always be hurtful to me, these wounds won't heal. These words are hate to me and always will be.

I do not want to take away your identity, I don't want you to feel negatively if you use them to identify. You are allowed to have your own vocabulary, views, and opinions. The rule is more of reasoning as to why I do not use them most of the time for identities.

If you can, please avoid using those words for me in asks? If you do, it's okay. If it happens too often, though, I may have an issue. I hope you understand and respect my point of view as I respect yours.

Respect the fact we all walk different paths, if you say to someone they have to "deal with it", while that person tip toes around your trauma. Please, respect is a two way street.

This also goes for any other people who have issues with the words, like my partner as well has trauma due to these words (she is part of the lgbtqai as well).

Thank you.

Tltr; I was verbally and physically abused, and the people would taunt me with those terms.

[muu-kun]

Timeline of Mason Thompson’s Most Prominent Traumatic Events (Part 1/4)

Disclaimer: I am not the peacekeeper for what can or cannot be considered trauma. This is solely a document containing a list of what Muu has personally found to be traumatizing to him. And, yes, while nearly 90 percent of it is derived from instances between himself and other muses on tumblr, the original identities have been scraped and replaced with entirely new ones to save face. Any similarity to hereby existing muses is purely incidental. Be mindful of the numerous (but perhaps not limited to) triggers that appear in the upcoming text including: mentions of abuse, bullying, abandonment, neglect, and NUMEROUS discussions on sexual assault. I cannot express enough how frequent that appears in his history, so please proceed with caution. If you have any further questions, my IMs are always open.

0-7:

Born the second born son to a set of young parent, things were rocky from the start. Being that he had colic the first three months of his life did not aid in any manner either. His mother in particular found the cries of her youngest to be unsettling and unnerving. To prevent it as much as she could, her and her husband attempted every option they could to make sure he stayed soothed during his every waking moment. That included a cycle of overfeeding him and a dependency on the over use of a gas preventative medication for infants. The small run down home in the outskirts of town was also forced into as silent as it could be any time the infant fell into slumber. So much as a sneeze would result in anger from the young woman, leaving her husband and older son to live walking on eggshells to keep her from channeling her frustrations out on them. At a year old, when he'd learned to walk, his brother, Matthew, at nearly age three, had only been attempting to awaken the newly labeled tot from his nap to play with him when something irreversible occurred.

Hearing her son's startling cry at being disturbed mid slumber, she responded in wrath. Her oldest would be silently pushed from her presence regardless of his pleas of apology, whereas the majority of her built up resentment and anger from an undiagnosed and untreated case of postpartum depression went completely towards her unprepared baby boy. She'd aggressively pulled him from his crib by his ears and screamed into his face for his transgressions before turning him around and throwing him back into his crib with such force he hit his face against the wooden bars, splitting his nose in the process. The shrills of his screams and sight of a significant pooling of blood were all that was required of the statements extracted from the additional parent in the home, as well of his parents (Muu's obvious paternal grandparents) that hurried over the moment they were called over by their sobbing son. Muu's Mother would be escorted by police away from the home at the same instance the infant was raced over to the hospital for immediate care. In time, her parental rights would be completely stripped away due to a guilty child abuse plea and per her newfound mental health report. That thus left their early twenties father to pick up the pieces as a single parent; however, that arrangement wouldn't last long either.

Knowing he couldn't handle the requirements of being a single parent of two children under five with his minimal wage job, and his own unresolved immaturity in general, he made the decision to go forward with his childhood dreams of being in the Navy, and signed custody completely over to his own mother and father. For a long time, Muu felt resentful of both his parents for leaving him. As well as of feeling a great deal of guilt over feeling as though he caused the family to rift in the first place, thereby taking his older brother's parents from him in the process. Only in really recent years as he come to really functionally understand in his mind that he was the infant, and they were the adults. Life may not have worked out ideally for any of the main four family members involved; however, he doesn't wish for even a day to know what it would have been liked to be raised by someone other than his Nana. He will always be a grandma's baby no matter what.

His grandfather (the one lesser interested in his presence as he too felt a bit scorned of the fact that it was This child in particular that led to their son moving miles upon miles away to live on sea) once picked up every grandchild at a family event to emulate an airplane going high up into the air in front of Muu, but actively refused to pick him up. He'd been three, and even in more recent times he recalls it back fluently. With the pair getting closer as he hits his mid twenties, he would go on to find himself reminding the elder of this event. He had only expected an apology at best, but he would finally get to be picked up by the staggering, yet somewhat sickly in age 6ft7 tall man even if it was only for a split second. To him, it was more than enough. And as such, he is not ashamed to admit he has no qualms about being a fully adult man that sits solely for the sake of comfort atop the laps of BOTH his grandparents whenever he is over at their home to visit.

At the age of three as well, he would begin to spend a significant amount of his time during the day with a babysitter that would only become questionable years down the road. With his brother, old enough to go to a full day kindergarten, and his grandparents unable to maintain the wonderful services of the children's initial at home daycare provider following a move to a district said to have better options in place for when their suspected special needs grandson grew old enough to start school himself, there came no other option than to find him a sitter. What sounded to them like a promising good deal of finding an exceptionally affordable babysitter with a child the same age as Muu that just happened to live in their same complex should've struck them as being too good to be true, but at that time they thought they were making a sensibly good decision. It is to be noted at this point that it has never been canonically decided upon if Muu ever experienced any sort of instance surrounding the topic of molestation in his youth (though it has been the butt of many jokes aimed at him by villainous muses), HOWEVER there are circumstances in his later adulthood that could be taken as deeply rooted indicators that something of the sort had to have occurred. If so, and he simply just has no recollection of it, then it would be while in the care of his less than caring early childhood caretaker where something so heinous would have gone on.

Examples in which his babysitter was a less than kind person:

If any child were to get on her nerves, primarily in instances when she would instruct none of them so much as move an inch, or make a single peep, she'd strike them at their lower back with a such a significant amount of force because she took pleasure in them crying. Hit the least out of the children was that of Muu, but that would be boiled down to the fact that he was the only one at even three years of age that was refusing to adapt to potty training. Being that she still had to change his diapers, and his grandparents had to do so as well, she knew she could not hit him just as she did everyone else. That wouldn't halt her from hitting his peers in front of him, though. And often he experienced her beating up upon her own children more ruthlessly than anyone else no matter her young age that he would conclude on his own behalf that there was no telling just how brutal she'd eventually be towards him once he did move onto wearing big boy underpants.

The fact that when she was only entrusted in the care of Muu and her own daughter, named Layla, she would routinely bring them with her as she made visits to the home's of unknown men with the prospect of exchanging herself for money or drugs. Sometimes she would even hand items to the children to steal without informing them that was what they were doing. To them, she described them as her friends that were allowing them borrow things. They just had to keep the items safe and hidden on them, because she didn't want their new friend to think they were being careless with said belongings enough to no longer let them have those movies, books, games, etc. Being that they were three up until five years old, and they knew plenty about her wrath in those couple years alone, they didn't dare to do anything beyond listening to her.

Muu can still recall which men stood out to him more than all the rest as they visited them very often in his early youth. Enough that sometimes he'd eat, sleep, and sometimes even be allowed to be punished alongside Layla by these men for misbehaving. Vividly does he remember being screamed at in his face, or being put in time out to cry in a corner of a room when he was out of line, but nothing beyond that. He's suspected it at times, yes, but he has no true recollection of anything that would cement in his mind that his babysitter was potentially renting out not only herself, but also the children entrusted in her care, out to men in their area for some sort of compensation. Though he did grow to wonder as he grew older as to why he went from being potty trained at four through the aid of an early childhood program being offered by his older brother's school to still being a child that all the way up until he was seven years old age-- which at that point was just before the family would move yet again to be closer to family in preparation for when their Navy deployed father would be able to return home permanently-- still frequently wet his pants only outside of school that he always had to bring with him a bag with extra clothes in it just in case. (He still has some in his adult bag as well as you can never be too careful.) And the fact that even when he did become old enough to join full time, he still was being left in her care when it wasn't even necessary for her services to be required. Had the family stayed in that living complex for more years of his life, there was no telling how long she would have continued utilizing him in her unquestionable ways. Even now does he wonder what ever came of that little Layla he played with and experienced things alongside. Wherever she is, or whoever she is, he wishes she is well. And that hopefully her mother, Miss Meanie Jeanie, is rotting in hell.

(Interesting fact here: His first kiss was Layla when they were five. In the moment, he remembers not liking it very much as he was well convinced girls at cooties at that age. In fact, he complained about it for much of his life that he didn't get to have it with someone that got on his nerves less. Now he hopes she has settled down with a wonderful husband (or wife) that loves her very deeply. That way when they rekindle in adulthood, he can have the bragging rights to say he got to be her first kiss before them, too. And in the event that wasn't her true first kiss, as she'd learned it from somewhere, Muu can only to say to that that he's always wondered what it was like to kill someone.)

7-15

By this age, the only things he really endured were minor bullying. And even then it was more done as an insult to his intelligence, to which he frankly didn't catch onto 99% percent of the time anyways.

Once got numerous backpacks thrown at him to see how many it took to topple him over being that he was quite miniscule in size. His brother, two grades above him, witnessed the event and retaliated by hitting the lead instigator with his backpack so hard it tore his lip open and he never bothered either of them again.

Being invited to things by boys he wanted to befriend / impress, and then being the only one to show up to the addresses provided. In the amount of times he was led to dangerous neighborhoods, where he could have easily gotten snatched away, you would have thought he'd eventually stop trusting them. No, he really autistic'd his way into a brothel this way. That comes up later.

Hearing all the jokes about his speech difficulties. Being a child that both spoke to himself, and used the third person just really in any general manner, did not make being a kid any easier for him. Or when the rumors began that he wore diapers for having pullups in his bag at the start of the school year. It wouldn't last too long, though, as he very sternly became talk of the teacher lounge by pulling down his pants at the center of his classroom to show off to everyone he had briefs on just like everyone else. He'd given his second grade teacher such a heart attack that she made sure to monitor him extra all of the rest of the year just in case he had any other antics up his sleeve.

Every parent and child event ever at school that his grandparents weren't promptly notified of properly. He got himself plenty of McDonald's every time he got pulled out of school early on days spent talking about mother's or father's day, so don't let him fool you into thinking his adolescence at this point was that bad. It just all around wasn't very fun being reminded twice every school year his family had fallen apart.

Otherwise the rest of elementary, middle, and beginning part of high school were uneventful. He had his brother with him through everything, his grandparents were able to secure better jobs so the family got by financially better, he had cousins to play with, not too many friends but was enough of the class clown to not really notice, and he definitely didn't care enough about girls to be bothered by the fact none really liked him that much. Or if they did, he had unintentionally turned them down to continue on his free-spirited life style. By that point anyways he was beginning to suspect he was gay, but that again doesn't come into play until later on. For now, his life had peaked. He was a happy (possibly he'd thought at the time, but now he's not so sure) homosexual, autistic bean boy that didn't suspect any of the pending dangers to come.

[sourkitkat73]

Rant

Just because you were bullied or hit as a kid, doesn’t mean that kids should get bullied. “All kids should get bullied some”. No they FUCKING SHOULDN’T. It does not give them “character”. It does not make them better people. I’m sorry that you had a shitty childhood, but that doesn’t mean that every child deserves one. Fuck you

[ironunderstands]

I made a bet with a couple of my friends that when I turn 18 I’m going to go to a doctor and try and get a diagnosis for autism because literally everyone close to me besides my parents (denial both my mother and my father have traits of it too 😭) think I have it. We’re each going to bet ~100, if I have it they earn 50 each if I don’t I earn 200. Or a secret third diagnosis. We shall see in 2 years.

Tbh the peace of mind from a confirmation (or lack of a one) means more than the actual diagnoses to me.

Either way I’m richer and I don’t have autism or I lost money but I can finally make the acoustic jokes without getting mobbed (which is deserved if you don’t have autism in my opinion as stereotypes are not fun 🤩).

I’m not gonna bother to convince my parents because once my dad believes something changing his mind is almost impossible (he’s usually right though so it’s not that frustrating). Annoyingly, my mom’s perception of autism seems to consist of Sheldon from big bang theory and people who aren’t that good at/don’t feel like it/ can’t mask their autistic traits. To be fair to her and my dad both, are doctors who work in intensive fields so they don’t have the time or energy to notice people who fly under the radar. I’d say I act a lot more like Donnie from the new TMNT with the crippling feeling of being constantly perceived by others. Also, I really don’t feel like making an entire PowerPoint presentation explaining to them more in depth what autism is or having this same frustrating and quite frankly embarrassing conversation again so it will happen on my own terms. The thing is even if I don’t end up having it I know I will still share a lot of traits with autistic people, and if I do it will help others understand me better which is nice . Sometimes I feel like the diagnoses that have to do with people’s mental state are more for the people in the patients lives than the patient themselves.

[one2-2four]

it's really giving "he's a woman and we gotta respect his gender" vibes

[tinfairies]

pegging w alastor?? fic drabble hcs IDC i neeed more

Inch by Inch

Alastor x GN!AFAB! Reader

TW: Pegging, no prep anal sex, blood as lube, strap referred to as a cock, begging, BDSM dynamics

Having Alastor bent over the desk in his radio tower. He's stripped naked while you're still fully dressed, save for your pants being unbuttoned to reveal your strap. The pretty red silicone one.

Alastor's favorite.

Teasing him relentlessly, tugging his tail and his ears. Smirking as he tries to fight you off and maintain his composure.

It doesn't work and his cock keeps getting harder, dribbling precum all over the desk.

You spit on his pretty, puckered hole and work a finger into him. He hisses at the intrusion, but pushes his ass back against your hand.

Slut.

You add another finger and crook them, finding that smooth spot inside him that makes his voice crackle and ears lay flat.

Alastor pants and you barely have to do any work as he fucks himself back onto your fingers.

The chair scrapes the wood as you stand up and pull your hand away from him. He whines but it's cut off when you shove his face down into the grain of the wood.

You spit onto his ass once more and start prodding his hole with the tip of your cock.

Al's tail wags in excitement, though he will never admit that.

You have half a mind to flick the microphone on and broadcast what's about to come next.

Let all of Hell hear how the all mighty Radio Demon is just a whiny little bitch that likes his ass fucked.

Alastor would have your head however, and unfortunately you've grown quite attached to it.

Your thoughts are pulled to the forefront as Al whimpers, trying to push back onto your cock.

Desperate.

"Use your words." you demand, wanting to belittle him.

He whines and squeezes his eyes shut. A beautiful red is splashed across his cheeks, arousal and embarrassment getting the better of him.

"Please. Please, I need it. I need you." the radio filter cuts in and out as he loses control.

You decide to give him what he wants, in the worst way possible. Your hips jut forward and all 7 inches of your cock stretches him open as you bottom out.

Alastor practically screams and claws at the desk, blood drips down his thighs from the tear your cock made. He makes no effort to get away or tell you to stop though.

Masochist.

You start a brutal pace, and soon the sound of your hips and the squelching of his blood fill the studio.

He's wailing as you bully his prostate, fucking him like a fleshlight, like he's nothing but your toy.

He is.

With each thrust his cock rubs the rough wood and he gets closer and closer to his orgasm. It build in his stomach like fire and he desperately wants to reach between his legs and jerk himself off.

Alastor knows better than to play with toys that aren't his.

You're losing yourself in the pleasure, the ridge inside the strap is rubbing your clit in all the right ways and you're close to cumming as well.

He can sense this and tries to roll his hips to help you cum, because the faster you cum the faster he gets to as well.

You grip his hips harder and spread his ass apart, watching your cock slip in and out of him. Each time you pull out, his greedy hole does its best to suck you back in.

Closer and closer until suddenly you feel lightning strike you and you're moaning as your hips spasm.

Alastor grins wildly, excited to finally get to cum. He rolls his hips harder as you ride out your orgasm, and goes to reach his hand between his legs.

Your own hand grips his hair roughly and yanks his head up. His back arches and you look him right in the eyes.

"Why don't you clean me up, then we'll see if you're allowed to cum."

He whines, "Please, no no. I was so good. I didn't talk back this time! I didn't touch myself! I was good!" he pleads.

"One right doesn't absolve all your wrongs. Now get on your knees."

[hp-hcs]

on a slytherin high rn so I'd be interested to see your take on yandere enzo berkshire? (on his own or poly with mattheo or theodore because there's no such thing as too much of the theo's) or just any sort of enzo x male reader.

~yanxidarlings; why you should make your writing blog a primary blog (case study)

poly bc i love my theo boyos ☺️

i tried real hard on this one i swear, just none of my words are wording right 😭

really? nobody has a single request? 🤨🤲

detention — yandere! poly! lorenzo berkshire & yandere! poly! mattheo riddle & yandere! poly! theodore nott x male! hufflepuff! reader

TWs: possessive/obsessive/toxic behavior, referenced homophobia, implied past repeated homophobia, homophobic slur, implied past bullying, references to past violence, graphic threats of violence, sexual innuendos, implied sexual activities

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“…really, I don’t know what you were thinking. Here, this is the detenti- Mr. Riddle! Mr. Nott! Get off of those desks!” McGonagall scolded, snapping her fingers and casting a wandless spell that made them both fall off of their desks and safely into their chairs.

You hover awkwardly at the doorway of the classroom-turned-detention-room, feeling the sudden piercing eyes of three Slytherins on you.

McGonagall huffs in disappointment, pats your shoulder, and leaves without a word. The boys all share a look you can’t quite decipher.

“Well, well, well. What’ve we got here?” One of them drawls, putting his feet up on his desk and crossing them at the ankle. “A pretty-boy Hufflepuff got in trouble?”

You rock back and forth on your feet, biting your lip nervously.

“Aww, he’s nervous,” another Slytherin cooed patronizingly. “What’s wrong, little badger? Afraid of a few snakes?”

The first boy stands up, sauntering over to you with an obnoxious smirk. He holds his hand out for you to shake.

“Mattheo Riddle, darling.”

You slowly take his hand and shake it, your grip loose.

“Nice to meet you,” you say softly. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” the second boy purrs, joining the first, Mattheo. “Lovely name for a lovely boy. I’m Theodore, sweetheart.”

You swallow thickly, the two taller boys standing over you.

“Leave ‘im alone, guys,” the last boy speaks up. “I’m calling dibs.”

“W-what?” You squeak, your eyes darting between the three as they all share another wordless look.

“Come along, little badger,” Theodore grins widely, predatorily, slinging an arm over your shoulders. “We don’t bite.”

“Unless you ask us to,” Mattheo adds on, joining your other side and wrapping an arm around your waist.

Your cheeks burn with the innuendo and all of the attention. “Er…no, I’m alright. Thank you.”

“If you ever change your mind…” Mattheo shrugs, leaving the offer unspoken.

The third boy finally stands up, swatting away Mattheo and Theodore. They both, surprisingly, acknowledge him and step away from you.

“Ignore these idiots,” he says fondly. “They think only with their dicks and never their brains.”

The Theos™ immediately break out into loud protests at the accusation. The third Slytherin rolls his eyes.

“I’m Lorenzo, but most people call me Enzo.”

“What do you call yourself?” You ask, voice still soft and almost getting lost in the clamor of the two other boys.

“What?”

“You told me what people call you…but what do you call yourself?”

He blinks.

“Uh, Lorenzo, I guess.”

You nod. “Lovely to meet you, Lorenzo.”

“I have a feeling that it’s lovelier meeting you, Y/N.”

~~~ “So why did you get detention?” Theodore asks, looking up at you from where he lays on the floor of the library, the spot you four had chosen to further converse at after your sentence was served. “You don’t seem like the type to really do…anything wrong.”

You wince, closing your book and relaxing further into the comfortable couch. “I uh, tried to ask this guy to Hogsmeade this weekend-” The boys all sit up at this, a dark look passing over each of their faces. “-but he uh…did not reciprocate,” you laugh humorlessly, running your fingers along your orbital bone.

They can barely see it—it’s still too early—but a definite bruise is starting to form. It’s going to turn into a hell of a black eye by tomorrow.

“He hit you?” Theodore asks, his voice low.

You shrug. “Comes with the territory of being the uh, ‘Puff Poof’, as they call me.”

“Creative. Put a lot of work into that one.”

“Tell me about it,” you grumble.

“Wait, how did you get in trouble then? If you were the one who got beat up in the first place?” Mattheo asks, his face scrunched up in confusion.

“Oh, I called Dumbledore a uh…‘batshit crazy abuser with a sanctimonious attitude and a god complex’. As it turns out, he did not like that.”

They all stare at you for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Holy shit.”

“Talk about misjudging someone, damn.”

Your laughter eventually dies off and the conversation comes back around.

“So, Y/N, uh, what was this guy’s name?” Lorenzo asks sweetly, innocently. “Just..curious, is all.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “Cormac McLaggen.”

They all collectively grimace.

“I know, okay? No need to rub it in.”

“You have terrible taste,” Mattheo scowls. “Asking out fucking McLaggen when we’re right here.”

“Yeah, don’t need to worry about him anymore, sweetheart,” Theodore says, sitting up from his spot on the floor and moving over to settle between your thighs and rest his chin on your knee. “We’re enough, aren’t we?”

Your cheeks burn at their words.

~~~ “What’re you all doing, bringing a Puff in here?” A fourth year jeers as the boys lead you through the Slytherin common room to the dorm they all share.

Theodore stares at the kid with his dead eyes; unnerving to everyone in the common room.

“If you even so much as look at him again, I’ll carve your eyes out in your sleep.”

The threat comes not from Theodore, but Lorenzo.

You gape, bewildered, as Lorenzo leads you down the hall, humming to himself like nothing happened.

“Same goes for you, you know,” Mattheo leans down to murmur in your ear. “Don’t even think about looking at another boy, got that, lovely?”

You reach their dorm and are roughly pulled inside, the door being slammed shut behind you all. Theodore pushes you up against the wall, pinning you in place.

“Ours, understand?”

[ruru-me]

Ashe: "I can't believe they're multiplying"

I was messing around with some new brushes and thought it would be funny to draw this scene lol

If you're interested in how they ended up there, you can read it after the cut. Tw: reference to implied bullying

Violet was challenged to see who could stay underwater the longest, but in the end they went into the park's lake alone while their bullies friends went out, leaving them alone in the water for longer than they should have.

(It's not their first time in the river but the other time Lawrence went to pick them up)

[motherraid]

ABSOLUTELY NOT DONE WITH MY SEBEK THIRST AND I TRULY NEED TO SPEAK ON THIS.

Sebek x AFAB!reader nsfw below the cut:

((Tw: somno(?) Dubcon(?) A bit of bullying and mean names/big boy words/pervy Sebek/dumbification? Maybe? I think?/and ooc sebek maybe im not sure))

We see so much Sebek as either the completely subby pillow prince or a sebek that's SO dominant he's like some mafia boss in a wattpad fanfic? It's all wonderful, don't get me wrong. But is that ALL we wanna reduce sebek to? D:

I absolutely CAN see and DO see most times where he's just subby and whimpering and crying, and it IS accurate, but it's not ALL that could happen! We need to start changing! it! up!! He's still Sebek for crying out loud! He'll end up having you crying and spaced out on his cock regardless of how bad you wanna ruin him.

Hear me out, pervy Sebek.

Okay, maybe when you aren't together yet he's mean and snarky, referring to you as "human" and pretending to hate your guts like always, but he'll still try to find excuses to perv on you!!!!! He's so enraptured that he can't help it.

Sebek's so needy that accidentally grazing your hand too high up his arm is a sin you need to repent for it with your pussy. You'd find yourself stuffed in an old broom closet or empty classroom in a heartbeat. He just can't take it anymore. He's already spreading your lips with two fingers and using his other hand to hold your hip in place, your ass squished firmly against the cold wall behind you and your skirt in a heap at your ankles. Who else have you been seducing while he wasn't around? He will not stand for your lecherous ways! He must protect his fellow classmates! The only way to do that is to make you cream on his tongue so many times that you can't think straight. Then, you'll be too tired to prey on any more poor, defenseless students at Night Raven College. Yank his hair, and that's another five minutes of him playing with your pretty cunt. Don't test him, harlot.

Your panties he'll be taking. Probably some lame excuse about your "punishment" for coming onto him like a shameless whore. But... We all know that by the time he gets back to his room in Diasomnia, he's soo horny from the anticipation. He wants to savor the moment, but before he can even pull his pants down he gets a whiff of you once he takes your panties out of his pocket. Now people can hear him mewling while he creams his pants through the walls.

"AND WHAT IF WE'RE TALKING ABOUT SEBEK THAT'S IN A RELATIONSHIP??!!! D:" I hear you ask (no one asked me anything. I'm delusional).

He still will not take no for an answer. He's not going easy on you just because you've won his heart. He is more gentle when initiating, but he still won't drop the "you need to be punished" bit. You've riled him up (you blinked in his general direction), and you have to take responsibility for your actions. He thinks, anyway... Everything is kinda fuzzy, so he can't really process the words coming out of his mouth right now. Sebek doesn't know whether he just cried that you're a horrible temptress or begged you to sit on his face.

Oh, and dont get me STARTED on the crocodile tears. Where's the Sebek that snivels with tears in his eyes while he's ramming his cock into you? Where's the Sebek that's so lost he disjointedly drawls into your shoulder about how you're so pretty and warm?? About how he can't stop himself? How you feel too good for him to stop??? Just one more round? Please?? Where's the Sebek that squeals and sobs when he's stuffed you with his cum for the umpteenth time?? Orgasm so intense his eyes cross and toes curl??? Nose buried in your hair and inhaling hard cause he can't get enough of your smell????? YOU'RE the one getting stuffed with his cock, bent and twisted every which way over any furniture or solid surface he can find at the time, so why is HE the one whining and moaning like a whore?

YES!! He is awkward and has no idea what he's doing, but after a while, he's so desperate he just.. Doesn't care. He's gets so erratic and clingy, and it's such whiplash from how proper and uptight he normally acts in public it's insane.

I need to see this boy's fae genes take over. I need to see this boy instinctively feel the need to have you bouncing on his dick all throughout your fertile window. His big dumb crocodile brain can't understand anything other than stuffing you full of his little hatchling(s).

And he would never curse at you once you two are together!! He'll only praise you. He'll tell you how much he loves you, how amazing you are, and how good you feel. He's got too much love to give, and he wants you to give him your love, too. So please sweet talk and praise him. He'll nut instantly. Even if it doesn't mean he'll stop slipping back into you after cumming all over the backs of your thighs. Praise him. Please?

He can't help it. He HAS to have you. It gets so bad he wants to start fucking you almost anywhere. Like a disgusting wild animal. Even if you WANT to take charge or ride him? He gets so carries away he just grabs your hips and snaps up into you over and over. Sorry babe, you can't tame the croc right now. Do you want to be in control? It's such a shame. Really is. Once you've riled him up enough, he goes into big dumb crocodile mode. And in big dumb crocodile mode he'll forget everything and fuck you like a fleshlight. Sorry, I don't make the rules.

But you think YOU'RE the one being fucked stupid? This boy is a pile of mush on top of you!! He's mid hiccup, muttering how much he loves you into your ear, sobbing and slobbering onto the back of your neck. His jabbering is oddly sweet for someone bent over your ass, hips slamming yours so forcefully you're jerked forward with every thrust (or you WOULD be if his big ass wasn't smushing you into the mattress with his weight because he just DOESN'T have the strength to hold himself up with his arms or grab your hips right now. The most he can do is prop himself up on one elbow).

You're trapped underneath a giant who loves you so much he's unconsciously using you like a sex doll. After a certain point in time this boy's mind is so cloudy he's not even fucking you for your pleasure. He just can't stop. It feels too good and his hips are moving on their own and he's too far gone to consciously still them. He's so pathetic he can't even find your clit. His hand is just rubbing at the bottom of your tummy in circles on instinct, and he does NOT care to correct himself. You'll have to do that for him, sorry.

Huh... Actually... Maybe he DOES know that you're asleep.. I don't think he'd be guiltily snapping pictures of your unaware face to jerk to later otherwise.

You can definitely tell that boy is half fae. His stamina is WELL beyond normal humans. Even now that you've blacked out, he still has yet to stop. In fact, he doesn't realize you're asleep. He's still crying about "one more round," "Just a bit more.. Please??" And, "A few more minutes." And best believe you're gonna help the damn boy. I mean, how are you REALLY going to refuse him now that you're asleep anyway??

[bucca2]

Shrike pt. 1 - words hung above but never would form

definition. male shrikes are known for their habit of catching insects and small vertebrates and impaling them on thorns

König x high school sweetheart reader

2nd person, gender neutral reader for now but reader is afab and referred to as a girl, reader is Austrian/has lived in Austria and speaks German for most of the story, romance, pining, friends to lovers, reader's nickname is Thorn, König's first name is Alexander

4.8k words

tw: bullying, brief mention of cheating and domestic abuse (not explicit, mentions of violence, and not done by König), mention of terrorism, suicidal thoughts

[NEXT]

based on this post by @ceilidho, who gave me permission to write this! many thanks <3

this post is dedicated to @papaver-decervicatus, who I am so proud of for finishing chapter 4 of her fic cat/mouse/den (which I highly recommend) and eating NO glass in the process. her headcanons for König have had a huge influence on me, and while there are some differences between julius and alexander, I absolutely must thank Caedis for her wonderful portrayal of König.

and of course, to @danibee33, for fueling my König brainrot. without you, I probably would not have returned to writing <33

disclaimer, I am not Austrian, I do not speak German, so if there's anything that needs correcting, please do reach out!

You admit, you’ve always had an affinity for protecting the weak.

When you were twelve, a bird slammed headlong into your bedroom window. The poor thing had avoided snapping its own neck but was certainly in no condition to fly. You’d bolted out of your childhood home to check on it, but by the time you arrived, a huge grey tomcat was prowling, sitting back on his haunches and ready to pounce. You generally liked cats, but this one was a mean old stray, and you’d always been frightened to go near him.

Without hesitation, you had shoved the cat aside, spitting and yowling, and taken the little bird into your hands.

It took a few days to nurse back to health, and you still remember the day you released it back into nature. It was worth the long scratch down your arm, pride swelling in your heart as it spread its wings and flew into a vivid blue sky. You remember it even now: a charming little gray bird, a streak of black coloring over its eyes. A shrike, your mother had identified it as.

People are no different than animals, sometimes. People can be cornered, battered, and bruised as well. You recognize the broken hunch of the bird you rescued in the boy sitting by himself at lunch time. His shoulders curl inwards with a desperate need to go unnoticed. You’ve seen him around: he’s not in any of your classes, but your classes always seem to end up in the same hallways, so you pass each other all the time.

He jumps a little as you slide into the seat next to him, shrinking away from you in a way that breaks your heart. “Hey.”

No response. You offer your name, but he seems reluctant to divulge his own.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

He shrugs.

“Thanks. I don’t know anybody at this school, so it’s nice to have a friend.”

“…friend?” He has a nice voice, you think. Timid, but almost sweet.

“Well, if you’ll let me call you one.”

“…”

And so begins your friendship with König.

I was housed by your warmth Thus transformed By your grounded and giving And darkening scorn

You didn’t call him that in high school, of course. You wouldn’t know that name until much, much later. It takes a while to coax him out of his shell, cajoling him that you can’t call him “green-eyed boy” forever, to get his name.

“Alexander is a very good name,” you assure him, and he seems pleased. He’s still hesitant to speak to you at all, but that’s just fine by you. You’ve got plenty to talk about, anyway.

“You know, I read this book about Alexander the Great. There’s this crazy story about one of his battles at a city called Tyre. He was laying siege to it after a misunderstanding with their king…” you chatter on, unaware of the intense stare from the boy sitting next to you.

“…ordinarily, sieging an island is pretty difficult, but you won’t believe what he did,” you rattle on. “He—”

“He built his own bridge,” Alexander says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him at first. You look at him in surprise.

“Yes! You know this story already?”

“I read a lot about him.”

“Then why did you let me ramble on about it if you knew about it already?” You’re a little embarrassed, having felt proud of yourself for knowing niche facts about historical figures.

“I like listening to you talk.”

That shuts you up for a moment. Only for a moment though, before you start to laugh.

“What?” he asks, an edge creeping into his voice.

“Nothing! It’s just—usually people tell me the opposite,” you say. “People say I talk too much.”

“I don’t mind.” His eyes dart to your face before looking away again.

“That’s good to hear. But I hope you know this means you’re never getting rid of me now,” you tease, nudging him gently.

He doesn’t respond, but for a second, you could have sworn that a corner of his mouth had turned up into a smile.

Learning more about him is like trying to draw blood from a stone, but you do your best. He mentions sharing a room with a cousin. His oma makes the best comfort food. Sometimes his mother takes him into town to buy candy, but he has to hide it or his cousin will steal it. Not that he cares that much—he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but his family doesn’t come from means, so it means a lot to him whenever his mother spares a few pennies to buy him a frivolity.

It's what he doesn’t say that tells you the most about him. The way he fidgets with his clothes when he’s nervous. The brief panic that shoots through him whenever you call his name before he relaxes when he realizes it’s just you. The way he shies away from people in the hallways, just to avoid any contact whatsoever.

The fact that he never talks about his father.

The way he curls into himself when he’s being bullied.

“You should be apologizing to me for being in my way right about now, freak,” Andreas taunts him. He’s knocked Alexander’s books to the ground, like some sort of cartoon caricature of a bully, and you’re fed up.

“Hey!” Without missing a beat, you slide yourself between Alexander and Andreas. You’ve recently hit a bit of a growth spurt, so you note with a bit of smugness that you’re at least an inch or two taller than Andreas. You’re also quite a bit taller than Alexander, you realize. The two of you are usually sitting when you talk, so you’ve never really noticed.

“Leave him alone!” You stand your ground even as Andreas fixes you with a withering glare.

“Ah, so you’re gonna let your big strong girlfriend fight your fights now, is that it?” Andreas sneers. Alexander stiffens behind you, and you decide right then and there that you’ve had enough of this nonsense.

“You’re the last person who should be bringing up girlfriends, Andreas,” you say, staring him down with a look that you hope is sufficiently intimidating. “Everybody knows Yulia broke up with you because you can’t get it up.” You don’t know Yulia. You don’t give enough of a shit about Andreas to follow the gossip about him. But by the way his cheeks get ruddy, you know you’ve struck a nerve. The handful of spectators your little confrontation has attracted snicker.

“You little bitch,” he snarls. You hear the gasp of the students surrounding you before you feel it. You put a hand to your rapidly reddening cheek.

The little twerp had slapped you.

“That’s what you get for getting in my way,” he says, with a smug little look that you want to wipe off his face.

You’re not a violent person. And honestly, you could have been expelled for what happens next. But you cast a quick glimpse behind you at Alexander on the ground, and something about the look in his eyes reminds you of that bird you rescued, and a quick and hot anger rises in you.

You punch Andreas.

With no wind-up, no warning, you break his nose, and he drops like a rock, howling and clutching at the blood pouring from his nostrils. A sick little giggle comes out of you as you watch, drowned out by the uproar of your little audience.

“What on earth is going on here?!” You hear a teacher roar, and the crowd quickly begins to scatter. Without hesitation, you pull Alexander up and escape before you can be subjected to the consequences of your actions.

“Boy, am I glad he didn’t put up more of a fight,” you say gleefully, high on adrenaline. “That could have gotten quite ugly.”

“I didn’t know you had that in you,” Alexander says when the two of you have gotten far away enough. The way he looks at you now is a little different—almost reverent.

“I didn’t know either!” you say. “I’ve never done that before!”

“Who knew such a pretty rose had such sharp thorns?” he mumbles to himself. Your eyes zip to him, and even he looks surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

“A pretty rose?” you tease, nudging him on the arm. He flushes pink and turns away, but there’s a bit of a lopsided half-smile on his lips.

You’re not sure why, but the sight of it makes your skin tingle.

The first few years of high school are relatively uneventful outside of skirmishes with Alexander’s various tormentors. Your biggest regret is that you can’t always be there for him—sometimes you have to spend your free periods catching up on readings or speaking with teachers. But you’re always there for him afterwards, poison in your voice as you hatch plans to make his bullies’ lives miserable. The plans never go anywhere, but thinking about retribution always seems to make him perk up a little. And really, that’s all that matters to you.

It's silly, how long it took you to realize how much of a fixture he was in your life. There’s a street corner a few blocks from the school you always meet him at so the two of you can walk the rest of the way together. The few times you share classes, you’re always sitting together, exchanging notes and quietly judging your classmates together. And you always, always sit with him during lunch. Even when you start making other friends who surely would welcome you at their tables, you always return to the quiet green-eyed boy in the corner.

You tell yourself it’s because he’s lonely, and he needs the company. You tell yourself the rumors about the two of you are silly, the result of bored hormonal teenagers who can’t fathom being a genuine friend to someone of the opposite sex. You tell yourself it means nothing that your face feels warm whenever he smiles at you.

You never get the chance to figure out if it does mean anything. He gives you the bad news on the last day of classes before summer break.

“I…I see,” you say, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. For once, you’re at a loss of what to say. His fingers twist around each other in his lap, the way they only do when he’s really anxious.

“Well, a fresh start is good, right?” You offer him a smile, but your heart’s not in it. Maybe you haven’t spent as much time with him as you used to back in first year—you’ve started to take more advanced classes, and you’ve been so swamped with homework and projects that sometimes hanging out with Alexander is put on the back burner. But you’d always taken comfort in knowing that he would always be there at mealtime. A steady presence in your life, as everything around you seems to be speeding towards a future you’re not quite ready for yet.

Now he’s leaving. You’d like to think your concern is for him—what’s to say his new school won’t also be rife with harassment? Will he be able to make new friends? Or will he be all alone at the lunch table again? But really, who are you trying to fool? The sudden heaviness in your chest is selfish. What are you going to do without him?

The roaring in your head stills as you feel his hand cover yours. You stare at it dumbly, unable to lift your head and look him in the eyes. Your gut feels like it’s flipping and twisting all over itself.

You lift your eyes to his. For one breathless, indescribable moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. You’re sure he’s going to kiss you. You lean closer to him, and you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your eyes slide shut.

A shout startles your eyes back open, and he jolts away from you. It’s your mother, calling that she’s here to pick you up. You let out a frustrated noise as you call back to her that you’re coming before turning back to him.

The moment is long gone, and your heart twinges with regret as he avoids meeting your gaze. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?” you say softly. “And we can still see each other?”

“Of course I will, rosethorn,” he says, with that shy little smile you love so much.

You don’t see him for another ten years.

I couldn't utter my love when it counted I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted Ah, but I'm singing like a bird 'bout it now

It’s ironic, really. Saving birds. Saving boys. But the one person you can’t save is yourself.

Your life post-König is like the drop on a roller coaster, but with none of the thrill. High school flies by in a flurry of deadlines and mental breakdowns. It’s worth it when you get into a good university—at least, you thought so. In reality, there’s no work in Austria for someone with your degree. Your parents are older, well on their way towards retirement, so you find yourself unwilling to burden them. You’re lost, stuck, and so very alone.

And then you meet him.

Tall, handsome, a little older, with a blossoming career. In hindsight, how much of a perfect package he presented himself as was the earliest red flag. But when you’re young and behind on rent, anything better than that feels like a miracle.

You know better, really. You knew it the whole time. Getting married after knowing each other for 2 months isn’t as bad as it could be, but it’s still too quick for your comfort. But the eviction notice was on your door, and he was a perfect gentleman. What could go wrong, right?

Everything. He at least has the decency to keep up the façade for another month, but that’s the only credit you’ll ever give the man you’ve shackled yourself to. It becomes increasingly obvious that he only married you to have a live-in maid while he philanders around as he pleases. You try, oh god do you try, for five long, fruitless years. God, it’s so silly when you think about it. You liked him so much, it took you so long to realize he had never liked you in the first place. He’d scooped up the first desperate college grad he’d found, and thinking about it makes you want to hide from everyone you know.

Which you do: hiding from what few friends you do have, hiding from your parents, hiding from the part of your brain that screams that you’re wasting the best years of your life cleaning up after a grown man who won’t even touch you, much less fuck you. Your 20s are for drinking, one-night stands, and figuring out what the fuck the rest of your life is going to look like. There is plenty of drinking, but the rest of it, not so much.

You’re going to divorce him, you tell yourself in year six. Once you get a job, you’re out. But you’re no fresh grad anymore, and the 6-year gap in your resume isn’t helping matters. You spot a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel when he tells you you’re moving: his company is offering him a higher paid position, and it’s in a bustling downtown area. Plenty of opportunity for you, right?

That’s when he starts hitting you.

You’re away from your parents, your friends, your home. You took English classes, but that won’t exactly help you in this equally European foreign country whose language you don’t speak. Now that you’re approaching your 30s, your husband seems to be rapidly realizing that his youth is also disappearing. His new job is more stressful, and most days he has no outlet for it other than taking it out on you.

Now you long for the days when he didn’t come home until you’d already fallen asleep.

And then the terror attacks begin, and your once-bustling city shuts down. More isolation. Even less hope. You stay at home all day, torn between hoping someone will get rid of your husband for you and the abject terror of being left all alone in a foreign country torn apart by violent partisans.

That’s when the despair really sets in: you’ve wasted over a decade in this awful, dead-end relationship. Sure, you’ve got a roof over your head and food in your stomach: you should feel grateful. But you don’t.

You start hoping the attacks will take you out instead.

I fled to the city with so much discounted Ah, but I'm flying like a bird to you now Back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted

“There are mercenaries in town.”

You look up from your breakfast, lost in thought thinking about all the errands you have to run today. “Yeah?”

“About time we stopped relying on our corrupt fucking military,” he grumbles. “Maybe they’ll end this goddamn conflict once and for all.”

You don’t have much to say about that. What does it matter to you, anyway? The only conflict that matters to you lives at home, and you stopped trying to fight it a long time ago.

“The curfew’s a pain in the ass, though. You behave yourself, you hear me?” His sharp glare reminds you that he’s not saying this out of a concern for your safety: if you make trouble for him, you’ll pay for it later. You nod mutely.

Your morning goes by relatively uneventfully. You do the dishes, stare at the wall, sigh, stare at the wall some more. As much of a prison as this apartment is, you like it decently well when he’s not in it. Going outside and seeing the ravages of war all around you is anxiety-inducing. But you can’t put off buying groceries anymore.

The arrival of the mercenaries makes itself immediately apparent. The streets are somehow even emptier, and what people there are on the streets move quickly and cast suspicious glances at everyone else.

You were hoping not to interact with anybody, but your hopes are dashed when you see a checkpoint ahead, manned by soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms. Although most of them are wearing different gear, they still look more orderly and well-kept than the country’s own military. Murder must pay well.

You look around nervously, but there’s no alternate route here, and nobody local going through with you. You strongly consider going home, but you’d just have to do this all over again tomorrow.

You steel yourself with a deep breath.

“Identification?”

You show the mercenary your ID with trembling fingers, gripping your bag tightly and praying he doesn’t find your nervousness suspicious.

“Where are you headed?”

“Just—just down the street,” you say, wincing at your heavy German accent. Years upon years of living here and you still sound like a foreigner. “Getting food.” You’re so anxious you forget the word for “groceries” for a moment. You only know enough of the local language to get by, and you’re sure you must sound like a kindergartener.

The soldier raises an eyebrow at you. “You are German?”

“I…Austrian,” you answer hesitantly. Oh God, you hope there’s no issue with that. You’re not so much afraid of being detained as you are of getting home too late to make dinner.

“Interesting.” The soldier hands back your ID. “Our commander is Austrian, as well.”

You perk up a little bit at that. You’ve met a handful of German-speakers here, but not a single one of your countrymen.

Well. Aside from the one who came here with you.

“He should actually be arriving here any moment now. Big guy in a hood. You can’t miss him. They call him König.” As if on cue, a military grade vehicle pulls up to the checkpoint, military personnel stepping out. And then…

Your blood runs cold.

Nothing, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of the beast that steps out of the car. Even from a short distance, you can tell he’s a colossal size. Two metres tall, easily, wearing a dark hood that reminds you of a medieval executioner. And as if that weren’t intimidating enough, two red trails, like bloody tears, are bleached under his eyes. His eyes, which must have some sort of black paint around them, giving him the impression of being two eyes staring out at you from the pitch blackness of the hood.

Two piercing green eyes.

Trained directly on your face.

Staring in disbelief.

“I…need to return home. I’ve forgotten something.” All worries about appearing suspicious fly out the window as the enormous man in the hood hesitates for a moment before making his way towards you with alarming speed.

You all but fly back down the street, making a beeline for your building. Just a few moments ago, you were excited to meet the man. Now, the image of his eyes staring into yours fills you with a fear you can’t describe.

The next day you take a long detour to avoid the checkpoint. It’ll take you twice as long to get home this time, but it’s worth it. You can’t put the shopping off another day: the brand-new bruise on your arm throbs as a reminder. And you certainly don’t want to run into the hooded soldier again.

You get your shopping done without much fanfare. The old lady cashier, who usually looks at you from over her glasses with the stern look you’ve seen a lot of people around here level at foreigners, even pressed a piece of candy from behind the register into your hand. You’re pretty sure it’s just because she wanted to get rid of it, but it does wonders for your mood.

You’re busy plotting when to enjoy your little treat when you turn a corner and freeze.

He’s here. He’s there, standing in an alleyway near your building. Somehow even larger than you remember him yesterday, still wearing that awful hood.

Does he know where you live? You curse yourself for running straight home yesterday. He must have seen the direction you went in—or did he follow you? You attempt to quietly retreat and take another route home, but your shoe scuffs a paving stone. And like a hawk spotting its prey, his head darts towards you.

You book it.

“Wait!” calls a deep voice. Tears spring to your eyes as you hear heavy footsteps pursuing you. What have you done to deserve this? You’re no criminal. Your only crime is being a naïve dumbass in your twenties.

Your arm burns as you turn corner after corner, not bothering to take note of where you’re going. It’s no use, though: you can hear him gaining on you. Fuck, is this it? You can’t even fathom what he wants you for, and you don’t want to think about it either—

“Rosethorn!” You come to a screeching halt.

There’s only one person who has ever called you that.

You turn around, chest heaving with exertion, as the hooded soldier—König, the soldier said his name was—comes into view, approaching you slowly.

“It’s me,” he says, holding his hands out like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not really sure what the point is, considering the gigantic knife he’s got strapped to his thigh is intimidating all on its own, but somehow it still puts you at ease.

“Alex...?” you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yes,” he says. His posture has changed from when you saw him at the checkpoint. He’s hunching over, trying to make himself smaller. It reminds you of that first day when you sat next to him at lunch.

It’s him.

You instantly drop all your bags and cling to him in a hug, tears spilling from your eyes. He’s so different: most obviously, he's so tall. He must have hit some growth spurt after he moved away, because he towers over you now. You can feel under all the gear that he’s put on serious muscle—not surprising for a soldier, of course. And when his arms fold themselves over you, you’re filled with a sense of safety you haven’t felt in a long time.

“What are you doing here?” you both ask at the same time. A giggle bubbles out of you as you watch his eyes crinkle in an obvious smile. God, his eyes are so green.

“I’m stationed here because of the conflict,” he says. “But what are you doing here? I contacted your parents, and they said you had moved here, but they didn’t say why.”

You’re not surprised. You’re still in contact with your parents, but you don’t talk about the elephant in your home. You know they would have helped you, if only you had asked for it, but you never have.

“I…it’s complicated,” you say, withdrawing from the hug. You stare at the ground, brushing away the wetness in your eyes.

“I have nothing urgent right now,” he says, staring at you intently.

You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I…got married,” you whisper.

Instantly, his body language changes, stiffening in shock. He takes a half-step away from you, which makes you want to cry all over again. This is awful. This is humiliating. You wish you could go back in time and shake some sense into yourself.

“I see,” he says in a strangled voice. “Congratulations.”

Despite your best efforts, the tears spill over again. “No, not congratulations,” you say. “It—”

It was the worst mistake of your life, you want to say, but you just can’t get the words out. He must notice you beginning to quake with fear, because he raises a hand to touch you gently on the arm—right on the bruise.

His stare hardens as he watches you flinch. “Rosethorn, what’s the matter?”

Everything, you want to say. I’m standing in an alleyway with my childhood crush, shaking like a leaf because a monster lives in my house, and I can’t get away from him.

With a feather-like touch surprising for a man with such large hands—he grew so much— he goes to push up your sleeve. You catch a glimpse of the bruise before you have to turn away again, shuddering. It’s ugly: black and green, and very clearly shaped like a human grip.

“I…bumped into a shelf,” you say lamely. You can’t bring yourself to rope him into your troubles. He’s a soldier now, for Pete’s sake. He has bigger problems.

You can’t read his expression due to the hood—but there’s a blazing anger in his eyes you remember all too well. The quiet fury you often saw in him so many years ago.

He must see in your expression that you don’t want to be questioned about it right now, and thankfully, he relents. With an ease in his movement that must stem from some newfound confidence, he reaches over and picks up your bags for you. “Let me carry these for you.”

It’s nice, to be taken care of for once.

Your mad dash took both of you quite far away from your building, so you have enough time for quite a nice little chat. You tell him about your time in university, he tells you what happened to him after he moved away. He’d jumped at the chance to enlist as soon as he turned 17, on the recommendation of an uncle who had spent time in the military. You laugh when he tells you that they wouldn’t let him be a sniper, a pout in his tone. You could have imagined him as a sniper back in high school, but he’s so large now it’s impossible not to notice him.

“The discipline was good for me,” he recounts. “I needed to grow a spine.”

“Don’t say that. You were just trying to get by in school, like everybody else.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to be like you.”

“Like me?” You ask incredulously.

“My rose with thorns,” he says, with a fondness that makes you blush. “Do you remember that day you punched that punk Andreas?”

“How could I forget? My fist hurt for days,” you say with a grin. “But I didn’t regret it for a second.”

He looks down at you—that’s new—with pride in his eyes. “I thought about you that day all throughout training,” he says. “You were my guardian angel.”

Your cheeks grow even warmer, and you feel like a teenager again. How can he still make you feel this way so easily after all this time? “He had a punchable face,” you say dismissively. “If not me, then it would have been someone else.”

You’re almost disappointed to arrive home. Only yesterday, home was your sanctuary. Now, it means being separated from the one person you trust fully in this country. You turn to him, almost bashful. “This is where I live."

He sets the bags down like they’re made of fine china, and he’s standing so close you almost stop breathing. The air is charged, the same way it felt that night when you almost kissed. You watch him as he watches you.

“Can I see you again?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Of course,” you say, and the sparkle in his eye dazzles you.

You watch him leave until you can’t see him anymore. And for once, you enter your home with a light heart.

Remember me, love When I'm reborn As the shrike to your sharp And glorious thorn

if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just drop a reply! feedback is always appreciated, and my inbox is open, so please feel free to drop me an ask! I will 100% write little scenarios/headcanons about this couple because I have so many thoughts and ideas for them lol

I anticipate about 2-3 parts for this, maybe with König pov in the next part? he doesn't come across this way in this part, because it's from Thorn's perspective, but he is a very nasty boy indeed. also, I know putting lyrics in the middle of a fic is so passé, but I can't help myself. it's hozier! indulge me. also this isn't beta read so I really hope it doesn't suck

[kataraavatara]

TW: PICTURE OF AEMOND TARGARYEN’S BIGGEST CHILDHOOD BULLY:

Yeah, I’m tired of the “Jace and Luke are bullies” narrative.

Both Alicent and Viserys are quick to clock that Aegon is the ringleader, not Luke and Jace. Alicent literally asks Aegon “do you think they’ll be your playthings forever” in reference to Rhaenyra’s sons, meaning Aegon is the one who is actively putting them up to this stuff. Oh, and don’t forget that she gives him a free pass to keep on bullying Aemond in private, as long as it doesn’t interfere with that sweet sweet public image!

And let’s not forget that because the lines of communication between Rhaenyra and Alicent are closed, Aegon is the only one who we can 100% say knows that his actions are seriously hurting Aemond. I’m going to say something as someone who grew up in a big family with cousins- sometimes little kids lack the social awareness to understand that what they’re doing is actually hurting feelings.

What would happen in a normal family (or at least mine) is that after Aemond goes to Alicent crying, Alicent then goes to Rhaenyra, explains the situation, and then Rhaenyra would then go to *her* kids and be like “hey, dragons are a sensitive topic for aemond, stop teasing him about it.”

and here’s the scene, cranked up in brightness so i can see wtf is going on because i’m blind.

notes:

when aegon says “we felt badly about it” he nudges jace, prompting him

throughout the scene, jace is looking to aegon for approval

Even when they say “The Pink Dread!” Jace looks to Aegon and not Aemond

Jace does not oink until Aegon does

Luke is…five years old. He’s doing the grunt work of running and getting the pig, which not the behavior of the mastermind behind everything, but of the youngest child who was told they had a very important job ™️ and doesn’t know any better

In my professional opinion (my “professional” qualifications being growing up in a big family and working with kids as an adult) these are not the calculated actions of two masterminds looking to strike at Aemond’s biggest insecurity, but two younger kids wanting to impress an older kid and then being roped into something they didn’t fully understand the implications of.

[haeryna]

I love idol and rockstar satosugu!! Do you think you’d expand more in depth on when Suguru got into a fist fight and when Satoru got bullied with reader sticking up for him 👀

sorry for the long wait anon, i was Scheming lol. i hope you like it! thank you for the ask <3 ↪ continued from here

tw: more homophobia (references to being called a slur), emotional constipation, not proofread, author is a sucker for angst

satoru is eight when the boys at the local playground start calling him names. at first they're petty things; "you run like a girl," or "too weak to be a boy." but you've noticed they've been getting bolder, recently. meaner. but it isn't until that day when that word falls from their mouth that you physically recoil, stomping up to them in your denim overalls and light-up pink sketchers.

"what did you just call him?"

the slur falls from the other boy's mouth as easy as breathing. satoru's lips are pressed in a hard line, but you can see the tinges of self-doubt in his eyes. before you can second guess yourself, you step up and slug the boy hard across the cheek. immediately he stumbles back, wailing, but you're too preoccupied with grabbing satoru's hand and running to care.

satoru will never admit it. but you saved a piece of him that day that he didn't even realize was there until later. he could feel his heart mending as he cooed over you, as you whined about the redness of your hands. the way you gazed up at him so trustingly as he gently blew over the braised knuckles, trying to soothe the sting. you were like his tether, he mused. keeping him grounded, keeping him away from his own thoughts.

"it hurts, 'toru," you whined, bringing him out of his thoughts, and he laughs, pressing a kiss to your hand.

"guess suguru and i will just have to teach you how to throw a proper punch, hm?"

you're twelve when you see the large crowd that's gathered in the courtyard of your middle school. when you push your way through, you can see satoru standing closest to the middle, the look in his eyes cold and hard. you tug at his sleeve.

"what's going on?"

before satoru can respond, another classmate eagerly replies, "geto is beating the shit out of some guy!"

your blood turns to ice in your veins, but as you move to try to see what's happening, satoru catches you in his arms, tugging you away. "don't," he chides, pressing your face into his chest and blocking your vision. "suguru didn't want you to see this."

"a fight, 'toru? why?" your voice sounds so bewildered, so hurt, that satoru almost cracks. he can't tell you about how suguru found out that the boy he's currently pummeling into the ground had been going around talking about how he wanted to "get a taste of the whore that geto and gojo have been keeping around." he can't tell you about the rage that had filled both of them, and the hint of fear. you had been their only weakness. the only reason suguru was fighting, satoru thinks, is because i lost the game of rock paper scissors.

after, when the crowd has dispersed, and after principal yaga has finished giving suguru and earful, you sit in his basement with him. tears crowd your eyes as you stubbornly push through, treating his scrapes with ointment and wrapping them carefully up in gauze.

"you don't have to do this," suguru says, softly. the pain you've been trying to hide in your eyes can't hide from him. "it's fine." your voice cracks and you sniffle as you press a bag of ice to his black eye.

suguru sighs, tugging you closer into his arms. "don't be like that. what's wrong, angel?"

"why were you fighting?" your voice is hushed, and you press the bag of ice more firmly to his eye, ignoring the quiet yelp of pain. "'toru won't tell me anything. what's going on, sugu?"

he sighs, cradling you a bit tighter. "do you trust me?"

you have absolutely no doubt in your voice when you reply, "of course."

"he was just, saying things that weren't right. and words weren't going to convince him otherwise." suguru brushes a strand of hair away from your face, eyes softening as he takes in your teary expression. "i promise i'll never fight unless it's absolutely necessary, alright?"

"promise?"

"I promise," he tells you, linking his pinky through yours with ease. "and i've never broken a promise before, have i?"

and he hadn't until that night.