#tw: past bullying

[broccoliboix5peepeeman]

Considering it's bakagou birthday let's give him more suffering :), so reamber when shoto and bakagou were saving a human from the villain and bakagou said above the lines of'GO TAKE YOUR SUICIDE SOMEWHERE ELSE!" And then when they got home they clebrated they got there license exam ( I think) it really made me upset that we're just gonna forget that bakagou told someone to take there suicide somewhere else,so I have this thought what if shoto called bakagou out on this In front of class 1A + midorya and how everyone would react to it? 🤔

(It wouldn't be the first time he got a free pass to suicide-bait someone 🍸🐸) I mean... what a great way to celebrate XD

Shoto didn't hear it initially. He was too busy taking care of the villain, but when he saw the footage of their fight afterwards, played in the class 1A common room, he couldn't help but flinch slightly.

'If you're going to commit suicide, do it somewhere else.'

The harsh voice of his classmate rung through the speakers, and Shoto felt conflicted: on the one hand, he'd just saved two people - he was being a hero - but on the other, it was an awful thing to say, even if he hadn't meant it.

Shoto pulled his lips into a thin line. It wasn't long ago that he, himself, was in a dark place - with a lingering voice inside his head that wondered "what if?" - not knowing if anyone would care if he was gone, other than his bastard old man.

The latter thought was what used to upset him the most.

'Why did you say that to her?' He found himself asking. On the screen, he was about to use his fire, garnering the attention of his classmates. He raised his voice. 'Bakugou, why did you say that?'

'Hah?' The aforementioned craned his neck back to look at him from where he was perched on the sofa with Kirishima and Sero. 'Say what, you bastard?'

'Why did you tell that girl to commit suicide somewhere else?'

The room fell eerily quiet, save for the video still playing. Shoto was aware that people were looking at him, but he focused on those crimson eyes that narrowed carefully; white teeth clenched together and he bristled.

'Because I meant it.' Bakugou finally answered. 'She deliberately put herself in danger by being an idiot, which meant I had to save her instead of killing that bastard villain!'

'It was pretty irresponsible of her.' Yaoyorozu spoke up hesitantly. 'But maybe you could've chosen your wording better.'

A few other comments circulated around the class, which prickled Bakugou even more.

'You can't just say stuff like that.'

'Why am I even surprised?'

'It's not very heroic.'

'Or manly.'

'Fuck off, all of you!' He finally snapped. 'I can say what I damn well want!'

'I wouldn't worry, guys.' Midoriya was quick to try and placate the situation, waving his hands in front of him as he took his place at Shoto's side. 'Kacchan says this kind of stuff all the time. He doesn't mean it.'

Shoto expected Bakugou to bite back - scream that he didn't need a damn Deku to defend him - but instead, the blonde simply regarded his rival carefully. That was enough for suspicion to form.

'Midoriya... what do you mean, "all the time"?' He glanced between his two friends. 'He's said this before?'

'You heard the damn nerd! It's just part of my lexicon!' Bakugou snarled. 'Mind your business for once!'

'"Lexicon."' Mineta echoed mockingly.

'Shut your face.'

The pieces fell together. Shoto wasn't an idiot - his classmates liked to call him an airhead, but that didn't mean he was stupid. He knew Bakugou treated Midoriya like shit - until now, he'd remained silent out of respect for Midoriya's wishes - but he couldn't maintain that now. He wanted to know what was going on, and from what (admittedly) little he knew of Midoriya's past, he could hazard a guess.

'You've told Midoriya to kill himself before, haven't you?'

A beat passed, then another; everyone waited for the verdict, but Bakugou’s silence was answer enough. That was then punctuated by Midoriya quickly bolting from the room, a muttered excuse about needing the toilet on his lips.

Shoto watched his friend go - guilty that he'd obviously upset him - then whipped his head back around.

'You're a bastard, Bakugou.' He spoke coldly, clenching his fists. 'I hope you never have to experience someone treating you that way. No one deserves that... but also... fuck you.'

With one last glare, Shoto turned on his heel and strode after Midoriya.

[Part two coming tomorrow]

#i need sleep #tododeku #todoroki shoto #midoriya izuku #anti bakugou #anti bakudeku #izushou #dekutodo #todoizu #todomido #tw suicide baiting #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: past bullying

[dovewingkinnie]

good teacher

#oc #oc art #me when i bully my own students #what a great guy #did i mention hes like in his mid 20s or something #you are a full grown man sir!!!! #stop picking on people who are barely past 10!!! #abuse tw #tw abuse

[punkeropercyjackson]

"Unlike antis,us prosh///ippers are nice to others😌"You guys can't even handle dnis

#it's not 'gatekeeping' or 'purity culture' or 'harrasment' my dudes it's literally the same as abouts😔especially if the ops are minors #why do you guys get so offended at them???shouldn't YOU know to block them then if you know you fundamentally wouldn't like eachother? #please this discourse is more stupid than the shipping kind that started it all.you're literally insulting strangers for vaguely being rude #'people are gonna interact anyway!!!'okay well maybe they shouldn't.maybe you have enough control over yourself to scroll past a post #imagine that! #antiproship #anti proshitter #dnis #harrasment tw #bullying cw #< for the tags #inappropriate treatment of minors tw #summerposting

[sleepyorchidmonster]

Thinking again about the future Interschool Spelldrive competition, what if we get a second boot camp (it almost worked on Book 5, damn you Rook).

This time, things would be a bit more hectic, though.

Assuming the team would consist of all the overblotters + Grim, here's some headcanons:

- After a lot of arguing, they agree to name Vil the leader, with Leona acting as the coach and captain;

- To make things easier, they establish a few rules, only to remember Riddle is there. They settle for "No fighting or it's Off With Your Head for a day";

- Vil creates a skincare routine for everyone;

- Malleus and Leona are constantly bickering;

- There was an attempt to enforce a diet (it was just a ban on Idia's instant noodles), but Riddle got offended and we got this exchange:

Riddle: As you can see, I already follow a strict diet, so no need to worry!

Vil: That's way too unhealthy, you're starving yourself! You need more nutrients!

Yuu: Soooo, is this plus the overblot enough to call the CPS on Riddle's mom already? And revoke her license while we're at it?

Grim: Man, everytime we think we've seen the worst of her, Mrs. Rosehearts just finds a new way to show how she sucks at parenting...

Everyone: WHAT THE ACTUA-

Riddle: MOVING ON!!

(Azul also wanted to say a few things on the diet part, but Leona cut him off with a pointed look and a "You're fine, octopunk, remember, don't let the opinions of a bunch of jerks control you! Be yourself and be healthy!")

- They dealt with the Mrs. Rosehearts problem as soon as possible to avoid a murder on the day of the game;

- They wake up early for practice! Idia and Leona have to be dragged out of their beds. The others started a game over who could wake these two the fastest (Vil brough an orchestra while Yuu brought Adeuce and a kazoo, Jamil won) ;

- I sincerely don't know where Azul or Idia would be on the team due to their low stamina and hatred of brooms. Right now it's Riddle, Jamil and Vil on brooms, Leona and Malleus on the ground. Maybe Idia on the ground while Azul goes through his character arc and flies;

- Game nights for team building. Don't let them play Uno or Monopoly. Jamil is killing it on DDR though;

- To teach them the importance (and how to skirt the rules) Leona created a game where people have to break a rule and not get caught by the referee (Riddle). If you can escape his notice, you're fine;

- They exchange Spelldrive tactics, though most moves are familiar to the rest, Heartslabyul's "Throw the disk and the player into the goal" was new (it was inspired by the chandelier incident);

- Vil is designing a new NRC outfit (team spirit requires a good team outfit);

- They may or may not find a hidden catacomb in Ramshackle;

- Jamil has finally known peace, he just needs a set of headphones;

- Breakfast time includes a lot of yelling. Riddle can be seen drinking tea with the ghosts on the ceiling, trying to avoid the chaos. Malleus sometimes joins the group;

The rest of the cast pays them regular visits to make sure nobody died yet.

#twst #riddle rosehearts #malleus draconia #leona kingscholar #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #azul ashengrotto #jamil viper #tw eating disorders #it's just a mention about riddle's mom starving him and chapter 3 but I don't want to trigger people so here's a warning #jamil has experience waking up kalim #waking up leona and idia is a piece of cake #mrs. rosehearts found dead on NRC's parking lot. more at 11 #Vil is having a headache #but things are way calmer than he thought #the main conflict for this would be Azul facing his past bullies (Rielle) and surpassing his fears

[propertyofwhitney67]

House Party

Whitney the Bully x Reader

Words: 828

Warnings: Implied past sexual assault

Note: I’ve been wanting to write something like this for a while, it’s been stuck in my head more lately and my maladaptive daydreaming of characters comforting me hasn’t been enough. It was years ago but every once in a while the thoughts just don’t go away.

The music was muffled through the wall of one of the many bedrooms at this house party. I don’t know whose house it is, Whitney dragged me along with his gang of friends to it. With a bit of drink in me I let Whitney drag me upstairs where we are now.

He picked me up and sat me on his lap and started to kiss me hungrily, I kissed him back just as eagerly. He began to grope my chest while I ran my hands through his hair. The door swung open and without missing a beat Whitney yelled, “Fuck off!” and started to kiss me again. I heard mumbling then the door close. I laughed into the kiss, letting him slip his tongue into my mouth.

Before I knew it I was basically naked and he was on top of me. He broke the kiss, took off his shirt and went to undo his belt. The clanking sound of the metal sent me into a panic. I tried to get out from under him and in my panic I pushed him hard back onto the bed. 

I jumped off and ran into the adjoining bathroom, closing the door and locking it. I held my knees to my chest and tried to calm myself. Breathe in and out. In and out. A bang on the door caused me to jump, “What the fuck slut?” He sounded angry with a hint of something else I couldn't place in my terrified state.

“Go away…please just go away…” I mumbled while hugging myself on the cold floor. I don’t want to, please don’t. 

Everything came back from that night. The drinking, the smoking, the smell of his detergent, and the godawful sound of his belt. How naive I was. He acted so nice, I should have known it was a ruse. I was just a new toy for him to play with, to damage. 

I heard a thump on the other side of the door as Whitney sat down and leaned against it, “...What happened?” I didn't answer, only letting out a few sobs. He sighed, “I won't hurt you. I’m not that kind of piece of shit Y/n.” He used to be, but not anymore. He had truly grown to care for you, he just didn’t show it very well.

I spoke incoherently through my sobbing, “I’m-I’m…I-I…” I tried to regulate my breathing again to no avail.

“Can I come in?” He asked in a surprisingly soft voice. I shook as I stood up and unlocked the door. I quickly went to the other side of the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub. 

He opened the door slowly and made his way to me but stopped short, not wanting to scare me more. He threw his shirt at me and gestured for me to put it on. I didn’t say anything and did as he wanted. He was silent, trying to think of something to comfort me, “Do you want to talk about it?” I shook my head furiously. “Ok…do you want to go back into the room?” I thought it over and nodded. He held out his hand and helped me up then led me back into the room.

I suddenly felt embarrassed and put my head in my hands. I can’t believe I let myself panic like that. Whitney would never do that to me, “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize, just tell me who I have to kill for touching you.”

I shook my head, not wanting to say his name. It was so long ago at this point, but the name still instilled fear in me. “Doesn’t matter, he graduated a few years ago. I’m sure he’s left town by now.”

He patted the bed beside him and without thinking I sat beside him. He put his arm around me in an attempt to comfort me, “Sick fucks like that don’t leave this town, they thrive here.” I sniffled and leaned into him but he pulled away and held my hands up to my ears. I looked at him in confusion, “Just do it.” I nodded and covered my ears. 

He stood up and took off his belt and threw it to the other side of the room. I uncovered my ears as he laid on the bed and patted beside him again. I crawled up to him and rested my head on his chest as he held me close. “I’m sorry I ruined the moment…” I mumbled after a while. I already apologized, but I still felt bad about it.

“I can fuck you another night slut. Just want you to be ok.” He said quietly while petting my hair. I smiled and looked up at him, he leaned in and kissed me. It was short but filled with emotion. “Rest, I’ll stay up.” I smiled at him again and laid back down on his chest and fell into a peaceful sleep.

𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

#tw implied past sa #tw implied sa #dol #dol fanfic #dol x reader #degrees of lewdity #dol whitney #whitney the bully #whitney x reader #whitney degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity whitney #dol whitney x reader #whitney the bully x reader #whitney dol #my writing

[castien-ffxiv]

Rules & Unforseen for one word prompt

All the girls were expected to play by the rules as per the request of the Matrons. No, the demands. Then again there was a harmony to peace and following such guidelines, it kept people happy, safe, on track and on task. There were nearly 30 girls located within the small building and every day they had the same routine.

What else was there to know outside of this place? Castien was here for as long as she could remember, eight summers….or was it nine?

Of course, she had given up counting. This was home either way she tried to splice it but there was always something off about it.

She stood in the garden starting at the building wondering how old it might have been, how many more orphans came and went – what stories each of them might of had.

Vague blips of her mother’s face, never knowing her father – a strange sensation to yearn for someone who gave you away in earnest. A swell in her chest blossomed and she was uncertain if it was sadness or relief.

There was a forceful shove as Castien lurched forward, her small frame tumbling to her palms and knees in the dirt, “Mutt! Look at you gawking around again. Are you going to talk or just continue to ignore us, that's rude you know!”

The sting in her knees wracked her legs, she could feel the pebbles embedded harshly into her knees and shins – she should have worn pants today knowing that at least once a day Tabatha was going to find her and express her rage.

So much rage – why?

Something Castien couldn’t fathom and most of the time she never cared to.

Vile girl. Vile creature.

When the pain subsided, Castien went to lift herself off the ground – daily torture and bullying were the norm. The Matrons often didn’t believe her when she reported it and of course, Tabatha and her friends would find Castien alone just to single her out when the Matrons weren’t looking.

Once more she met the dirt with a knee into her shoulder and another along her forearm as two of the other girls pinned Castien belly down. She hadn’t had time to react and see how many there were this time – of course not. Tabatha had to get her kicks in when Castien had her back turned.

She wormed and wrestled the best she could especially when she felt the fabric of her shirt lifting off her back. Then it came. The stinging sensation made contact with her flesh. She wasn’t sure if the sting of the whipping motion was worse or the force in which the thick thorns made contact with her flesh. It was enough to mark and bruise, to puncture and bleed.

Tabatha liked to use whatever she could but it was the wild rose bushes in the garden that were her favorite, fashioned into what she would use as a thorny whip. Double the infliction, double the pain.

And Castien endured it, each time spitefully holding back her cries of pain and the tear of skin, the blood she knew that was to come and time and time again she’s found the grass or dirt to muffle any sounds if only to endure and not allow Tabatha her weakness until Tabatha’s boredom got the better of her.

When it was over, Castien lay face down on the ground and when the girls released her she was far too wracked with pain to even move.

“Pathetic shit. We’ll see you tomorrow.” the girls chuckled and then one spit towards Castien – wonderful. Now she had to worry about someone’s saliva on the back of her leg that was now mixing with her blood.

How much more could she endure – a few months or years? Tabatha was older than her by a few years and would easily be out the door before Castien but….then again, that seemed like a long way off.

With a heavy breath, she laid upon the earth, spent after her struggle.

‘This is nice.' she thought, breathing in the earthy smell at her nose, trying to think of anything beyond the smurting of her reddened flesh. Enduring this was exhausting.

Why did she even put up with it?

She could have napped here for eternity, becoming one with the Star and finding a greater peace. A joy she could not replicate no matter where she’d end up.

Lifting her fingers, she moved the tips along the apex of the blades of grass – she was still alive at least, for now.

Far off she could hear the Matron calling for the girls and the gaggle of chatter begun to die down – how long could she stay out here before they noticed she was gone? Did it matter?

Could she have made a clean break for it? No – there was unfinished business.

Laying in bed that evening Castien woke to a shuffle in the room and odd moaning coming from within along with wimpers. When she finally came to sit up and look over the room, many of the girls had already been awake too, three of the Matrons were scuffling within with lanterns fussing over Tabatha as she clawed at her neck.

“Here, warm towels.”

“Summon the chirurgeon right away, tell them that it's urgent and that they’ll need their tools!”

“Yes ma’am!” the youngest Matron rushed out of the room.

Slipping from the bed Castien stood in the corner of the room watching in silence as there was frantic crying coming from Tabatha in what was wet gurgles, no words just panic and pain. Her throat was bungled and blood pooled out from her mouth but it was at the very opening of her mouth that the crimson blooms of roses spouted upward, it was as if someone had made the girl’s throat a literal vase.

While matrons tried to make the girl comfortable despite their disarray in the middle of the night they had begun asking a myriad of questions: “Who did this?” and “What happened?”

Tabatha didn’t know, she couldn’t speak let alone move much of her face or head and shoulders without bursting into a fit of tears which only fueled the pain for her further.

Amidst the chaos Castien watched – numb even but there was no hiding the glint in her eye that the semi-distant lanterns cast upon her or the subtle smirk that donned at the corner of her lips.

Unforeseen karma.  Justice.

Tabatha was no longer going to be a problem for Castien.

Sometimes lessons had to be learned painfully. A mangled throat, loss of voice – these were Tabatha’s consequences for messing with a good heart that eventually had reached a boiling point.

You get what you give.

#Stories #Blurbs #The past #tw; bullying #tw #Bullying #Thank you! #Asks #Inbox #IC reply #Castien things!

[house-afire]

Old Chums (Stede/Nigel)

Prompt: 100 words of "we're not gay, we're sailors"

Nigel had seldom been so pleased to see someone. The long journey to the Caribbean had looked to be intolerably boring—this downright crawl across the ocean was not how he’d hoped to celebrate leaving school. But Father had insisted on seeing what England had made of him before he wrapped himself in its colors for good, so here he was, in the middle of blasted nowhere. Milling about at sea in his private life before he’d be strongarmed into doing it all his life. And there was very little chance of fun on this stodgy ship—

Or so he’d thought, until he’d seen Stede.

“Little Baby Bonnet, all grown up!” Nigel said, clasping him by the shoulders. “I honestly never thought about you existing outside of our dear old school.”

“Was it dear?” Stede said, squirming under his hands, soft and shaky as a pudding, bless him. “Can’t say I’ve given it any thought either, since I left. I finished up—”

“Oh, were you in England too? I’m surprised we didn’t run into each other before now.” Nigel patted himself on the chest. “I was at Eton.”

“Harrow,” Stede said, with another of those appealing wriggles. This time it slipped him out from under Nigel’s hand—clever little fish.

Nigel decided to be magnanimous. “Well, that’s nearly as good. You’re headed home, then?”

Stede nodded. He looked a bit miserable about it, poor fellow. But then Stede just tended to look like that, didn’t he? Like a little stomped-on rose, all crumpled and red-faced and dew-damped, their dear Baby Bonnet. Nigel had decided early on that he couldn’t possibly be as unhappy as he looked, because only an absolute spoilsport would properly sulk through all their romps and fun.

Actually, aside from the rather pathetic cast of his features, Stede looked … good. He had quite unexpectedly acquired some definition about his jaw and shoulders, and his mouth had shed some of its poutiness. The wind ruffled that Goldilocks hair of his.

Nigel was vaguely aware that one didn’t technically consider such things, not when it came to a friendly handy—it was obviously very far afield from, say, choosing a wife. You just wanted a chum. Had nothing to do with proper intercourse. More like how you couldn’t tickle yourself. It was just useful to have somebody else involved.

He was probably only thinking of Stede that way because Baby Bonnet had always been a bit of a girl. They’d forced him into one of the matron’s dresses once and told him he looked almost pretty. So there you were, Nigel thought, relieved. They had all said that much.

“Let’s go see the stores,” Nigel said, putting an arm around Stede’s shoulders and steering him belowdecks.

Stede stumbled as he followed along. “And, ah, why should we want to do that?”

“Like the games shed, you know. Lots of clutter to duck behind.”

“Duck behind for what?”

Oh, playing hard to get, was he? If he thought Nigel was going to turn foolish over him, like one of those soppy, soft-handed boys who used to turn half their tuck over to the cricket captain and moon all about him, he would be sorely disappointed.

Then again, it was a long voyage. If he absolutely had to give Stede a fruit tart and a silly compliment about his lovely hair to make him behave like a proper pal, he could probably be talked into it. It would be entirely understandable if Nigel chose to indulge him like that, just to make it all go over without any fuss.

Only a real problem if you did it on land, when there were plenty of women to be had. Then you were just a deviant. At sea, one simply made compromises because one was healthy and red-blooded.

“Ah, here we are,” Nigel announced. He swung the door open and had a look around for any sailors already making use of the place. None at all. What a lucky day it was turning out to be.

Stede let Nigel drag him in and close the door behind them, but he still had an endearingly baffled look on his face. Maybe he truly didn’t know. God, he really was a babe in the woods, wasn’t he? Nigel decided to clarify things by pushing Stede back against the door and doing his best to get Stede’s breeches off him.

“Mmf!” Stede protested against Nigel’s mouth, which had wound up overlapping a bit with his.

“Oh, come on, Stede,” Nigel said, pulling back because one didn’t kiss during this sort of thing. They were both gentlemen. “There’s nothing else to do on this unbelievably dull boat. And anything goes when one’s at sea, you know that.”

“I do?” Stede’s voice trembled like a maiden’s, but—in a move that made something inside Nigel flash bright, like the sun had hit upon it—he tugged his own breeches and drawers down and thrust forward into Nigel’s hand.

His cock was rosy and far more sizable than Nigel would ever have guessed. He wondered what it would be like—

No, he didn’t. He put that aside firmly. He was going to be an officer in His Majesty’s Navy, yes, but he was not going to be a sailor in that sense. He would get accustomed to whatever was convenient, but he was still going to have some decorum.

“Obviously,” Nigel said, stroking Stede’s prick and feeling it twitch in his hand. “We wouldn’t be doing this on land. Not unless you wanted to dress up like a girl again and pass yourself off as my wife.” He mashed their bodies close together, his burning cheek against Stede’s temple.

“I didn’t even—” Stede’s breath hitched. “I didn’t even want to dress up as a girl the first time!”

“Oh, it was all good fun. I did it for that panto, remember?”

It was foolish of Stede to pretend that the stage, or lack thereof, made that much of a difference. So what if he’d been shoved into that frock in the dark, by more than one set of hands? They’d all been high-spirited, and Stede had squeaked so marvelously back then that he’d made for wonderful entertainment. And Nigel remembered perfectly how Stede had blushed when they’d all told him he was pretty, and how well he’d curtseyed when they’d finally talked him into it.

He had thought of it a lot over the last few years, really.

“Be a good chap,” Nigel said into Stede’s ear, “and shoot off in a hurry. I’m more than ready for my turn.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t surprise people if you want them to be ready,” Stede said, with a very Stede-ish blend of querulousness and heat, as if Nigel could possibly be cowed by him. He honestly was very fond of Stede. Always had been. He suspected Stede was fond of him as well—Stede had always watched him, back at school, as if Nigel’s every move had needed to be charted.

Then again, he had watched all their circle of school chums that way. Little harlot.

But all those fellows were far away, and even if they’d been aboard, Nigel wouldn’t have minded sharing Stede with them. An Eton man was generous. Anyway, he was sure they’d understand that Stede would always prefer him.

“I think this trip is going to turn out to be quite bearable in the end,” Nigel said, pleased.

Stede threw his head back until his skull cracked against the door, sinking his teeth into his lower lip as his hips juddered in helpless little spasms.

Not on land, Nigel reminded himself, even as he further reminded himself that obviously he needed no reminding. Pretty as Baby Bonnet is, there will be prettier women, of course.

But would any of them be wrung out like this, shaking, their spend slicking Nigel’s hand? Would any of them ever be so gloriously flushed, so sweet and so petulant? Would they tug at his cock with this look of utmost concentration, like they were trying to understand some sophisticated machinery? Yes, of course they would. Of course they would have to be all those things and better, and whatever they were not, he wouldn’t want. This was a matter of opportunity. He was clear on that.

And if he closed his eyes and imagined Stede in a turquoise silk gown, approved as Mrs. Badminton by popular delusion, well—it was only because he had no proper girl in mind. And might not for some time.

Very abruptly, he felt a sudden, awful gratitude at being pushed into the Navy. What a lot of long voyages there would be, so unavoidably.

“It’s so good,” Nigel said afterwards, panting into Stede’s almond-scented hair, “to have friends. Old friends. Isn’t it?”

“I suppose it must be,” Stede said.

#nigel badminton #stede bonnet #stede/nigel #tw: dubcon #tw: bullying #(past) #tw: internalized homophobia

[snixx]

time is a circle

#my first mlm ship in years and this is how you guys react 😔 message received #this is karma for all the vicious white boy hating in my past isn't it #rip byler phase you will always be famous #i was in the GLEE fandom and i wasn't bullied this hard for that rip #byler related harassment #wheeler tw

[distinctlywhumpthing]

In League — Dead Ringer, part III

Masterlist

Summary: (Continued from part II) The foreshadowed and promised caning. August is punished by Keats and loses any progress he might have made in making a friend. Takes place two years before August meets Wyatt. Beta-read by @alittlewhump!

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, indentured servitude, classism, degradation, manhandling, implied past noncon, burn mention, implied starvation, punishment (caning). Whumper pitting whumpees against each other and being a bully.

“It’s been a spell since I’ve seen you, Fionn,” Keats said, his back to August as he fingered Fionn’s bowtie. “I truly wondered if I’d gotten it right with this new one.” He circled Fionn, keeping an open hand pressed to his throat as he moved to stand behind him. A python holding its prey. “Isn’t he just perfect?” He leaned down, just shy of putting his chin on Fionn’s shoulder so their faces lined up as they regarded August. 

Or, rather, as Keats did. Fionn started ahead unblinking, unseeing. 

Their master must have been wise to his absence but rather than turn angry, he smirked and winked at August conspiratorially. “I think—” He pulled Fionn closer, forcing him to stand taller by the hand at his throat, and placed the end of the cane between Fionn’s feet. “He’s even better than the last.” 

Fionn’s expression crumpled, something of a whimper escaping his lips. His hands at his sides were trembling fists. 

Keats laughed, the movement shaking both of them for how close together they stood. His hand at the top of the cane between Fionn’s hips pulling him nearer still. 

August averted his eyes, all too aware of Keats watching his every move, feasting on his reactions as encouragement. 

“My, my, you have been missing me, haven’t you?” Keats continued, too loudly for it to be an honest exchange. All of this was just another game. “Poor wretched thing…”  

How long had Fionn been up here alone? How long for him to be melting into the embrace as if it were salvation and not something wicked?

Some years ago, August had stumbled upon a tangle of limbs at Elmwood. A footman who’d always given him sour glances with one of the stablehands whom he wouldn’t have been able to pick out of the lot of them. He’d turned and run, abandoning whatever errand he’d been sent on and later refusing to return to complete it when he was discovered skulking in the servant’s hall. The footman had taken it on to make August’s life miserable, a display of influence and power, to dissuade him from becoming loose-lipped. 

He didn’t realize that August was afraid to even admit to seeing the depravity, fearing any association with it. They’d all been warned about perversions at the workhouse. Had once watched a pair of boys whipped bloody on the racks before being dragged to prison for the crime. With little to look forward to after the workhouse, the boys often occupied themselves ranking the various types of labour they might find themselves indentured to. Among the worst were mining for the stories of being buried alive; factory work that would cost fingers at a time;   being shipped to America only to drown on the voyage; and digging sewers whilst knee-deep in shit. 

It was a taunting game to assign these wretched fortunes, same as it was an indulgent fantasy to allow themselves to wonder at being chosen by a tradesman, a farmer who’d never had a son, or a shopkeeper in the city in need of an assistant. But after that day, they had been armed with the ultimate derision, born of their shock and fear: Handsomer boys could be bought by twisted men and damned to suffer Hell twofold. 

 So, August was more than relieved when Keats said, “None of that today, Fionn.” Though the promise in his admonishing tone made August’s stomach flip. Fionn shivered as he was released but remained standing at sharp attention. “I’m not sure if August has informed you, Fionn, but he made a mistake earlier today and we agreed that the natural course of punishment would be the cane—”

“Sir, I thought—” The slap surprised August, a flash of pain on his cheek that brought tears to his eyes. 

“You will learn to hold your tongue and speak only when invited.”

He clenched his fists at his side. 

“Where was I? We agreed the transgression was deserving of the cane. I’m sure you’ll agree, Fionn.”

“Yessir,” came his well-trained reply, face betraying no emotion.

August swallowed. He hadn’t imagined they’d formed any sort of understanding in such a short time, let alone some sort of alliance, but it still felt like something of a betrayal for Fionn to simply accept this course of events. Perhaps it was purely self-preservation, which August ought to imitate rather than resent. 

Their master tapped the end of his cane on the floor. “On your knees now like a good boy.” 

There was less shame in simply sinking to the floor. At the very least, he’d be able to hide his reddened face from—

Keats snapped his fingers and August found himself hanging by his bowtie and collar, the oaf holding him from behind. He scrambled to put his feet back under him and straighten, reflexively gasping in a breath as he did, though he wasn’t released. 

“You are slow,” Keats observed, grabbing August’s chin in a bruising grip. He turned his head left and right, inspecting him with those beady eyes. “I hope you’ll wind up being worth all of this trouble.” He released August and stepped aside. “I didn’t tell you to move.”

Fionn was on his knees. 

“What?” August should have expected the slap this time. Tears spilled down his cheeks but he did his best to ignore them. “He didn’t do anything. Sir, the��mistake was mine, the punishment should be as well.” Keats raised his hand and August cowered as much as he could with the lackey still gripping his collar.

Keats let his hand fall. He paced back and forth like he was having a constitutional through garden instead of threatening his kept boys, cane tapping along with his heels on the hardwood. “You were agreeable downstairs. You thanked me so graciously for sparing you from the cane.” 

“Sir, please.” His voice notched higher, made thinner by the pressure on his throat. “I didn’t understand this to be what it meant. I never meant for—”

“You are astonishingly dull-witted.” 

“Please, sir. I’ll gladly take the cane myself. He shouldn’t have to pay for my error.” Fionn hadn’t even spared him a momentary glance and August couldn’t blame him. There was little chance they’d find camaraderie after this. 

“An admirable sentiment and certainly meaningful as we are learning that your shortcomings far outnumber your strengths.” August felt his cheeks burn, his blood boiling with hatred for this man who was so visibly sated by the suffering he could cause. “Perhaps next time you will employ more of your limited discernment to make a better choice.”

He seethed, holding tightly to his anger rather than dissolve into hot tears of defeat. He wanted to scream, to lunge at Keats and beat him with his own cane, but he couldn’t take a step – let alone hope to best two bigger men. 

Keats was smirking. “Yes, best not to fight and make things worse for poor, old Fionn.” At that, Fionn let his gaze fall, just for a moment. Keats turned to see what August was observing but Fionn had already fixed his expression, returning to emptiness. “I was planning to be merciful. Rather than strikes to equal the worth of the item you lost me, just one for each hour that you’ve been here, succeeding only to disappoint.” 

August couldn’t help but be relieved. It had to be less than ten, maybe fewer than six. Things really had gone downhill rapidly. Fionn had told him it was fixed, which explained how it could have all turned on him. He felt even guiltier. Fionn had tried to help him. Perhaps if August apologized enough, when this was over, explained that he truly had never intended to pass off the punishment and—

“Unfortunately, I have no way of telling the time…” Keats raised his hands in a theatrical shrug, cane swinging, hooked over one of his open palms. “We’ll simply have to take the whole day. Twenty-four hours.” August struggled against the hand restraining him, struggled to stop himself from swinging and kicking out. Keats grinned. “Perfectly reasonable, don’t you think, Fionn?”

“Yessir,” he whispered, no different than before but now he looked so small and frail, kneeling there, Keats looming over him. August squeezed his fist tighter, fingernails biting into the burn on his palm, pain radiating up his wrist.

Keats raised the cane. August wondered how Fionn managed to stop himself cowering or flinching. His obedience was frightening. Their master swung the cane up. August held his breath—

And Keats let the cane fall. “Can you count as high as twenty-four? Or shall poor Fionn have to take responsibility for that as well?”

August gaped at him. Fucking—

“Well?”

“Yes, sir,” August grit out. “I can count to twenty-four.”

Keats raised his eyebrows. “I hope for Fionn’s sake this isn’t more of your unfounded arrogance.” He turned his attention back to Fionn. “Jacket and waistcoat.”

Fionn removed the layers until he wore only his white shirt, buttoned up to the same fucking bowtie that was being used as a collar on August. He painstakingly folded each item before placing it beside him. Keats didn’t wait for any further sign once he had straightened again. 

The cane whistled through the air and came down with a crack on the center of Fionn’s back. 

“One.” August had almost forgotten to say anything. “Two—”

Keats wound up for every blow, putting his whole weight behind it. By the fourth, Fionn seemed unable to kneel upright and had sunk onto his heels, starting to bow forward. He was breathing through his teeth, tears streaming down his face, but he hadn’t made a sound. 

Halfway, Fionn was doubled over, an even easier target with his back horizontal. His spine and shoulder blades caught the worst for how much they protruded. Keats delivered the blows even faster now that he didn’t have to pay so much attention to the angle. 

When Keats landed a blow across the back of Fionn’s neck, the boy finally cried out. His scream cut off with the next and then he was breathlessly whimpering. Keats paused to wipe his brow with a handkerchief and spared August a grin that made him want to be sick. 

“—Twenty-four.”

The air rang without the sounds of the beating. Keats was breathing heavily, more so than Fionn who hadn’t made a sound for some minutes and remained, still as death, curled on the floor. 

Keats wiped his brow again, letting his handkerchief fall in a flutter to the ground when he finished with it. “You’ll still have plenty of time to think, to make sure this really sinks in.” He stepped closer to August, too close, so that he could feel his breath on his face as he spoke. “I’m sure you’re grateful for my merciful hand to guide you in bettering yourself.”

It was all he could do not to laugh out loud and spit in his face, but clearly a spoken answer was expected of him, judging by the oaf shaking him. “Thank you, sir.” There was nothing to be done about the bitterness that was evident in his tone.

His master chose to ignore it, straightening his jacket as he headed for the door. He paused in its frame, turning to look at August again, though he didn’t address him. “Fionn, be glad that you’ve no need for such corrections.” 

“Thank you, sir,” he croaked, using his hands to push himself up just enough to bow his head at Keats. 

August’s lip curled in distaste and Keats grinned, winking at him. He was glad Fionn couldn’t see the judgement he so poorly contained even knowing Keats had only elicited the response to get a rise out of him. 

He didn’t breathe any easier when he was shoved away from the lackey’s grip. Nor when he and Fionn were locked back in alone. Even as the seconds stretched into minutes since their footsteps had disappeared, he still stood there rigidly, fingers balled into fists, seeing red. He thought of all the freedoms he’d enjoyed at Elmwood. His own time to walk into the village or on the meandering paths through the wood. The small shelf of books in the servants’ hall they could borrow from. Even at the workhouse, there’d been scraps of newspapers, empty cupboards and deserted corridors to hide away in, and his best friend. August really had found himself in Hell on earth.  

It was Fionn that finally snapped him out of it. He whimpered, trying to unfold himself to replace the rest of his uniform. 

August rushed to help him.

“Please,” Fionn whispered, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Please, don’t.” 

Of course not. August was the last person he’d want to help him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, knowing it was no concession.

He retreated to the mattress Fionn had approved earlier, lying with his back turned to give the other boy what semblance of privacy he could. He stared ahead at the greying wood of the eaves and wondered how long it would take for him to match Fionn not only in looks but in spirit as well.

@whumpy-writings @writer-reader-24 @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @whumptakesthecake-deactivated20 @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash @peachy-panic @hold-him-down @poeticagony @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @melancholy-in-the-morning

#whump #captivity whump #punishment whump #multiple whumpees #whumper pitting whumpees against each other #indentured servitude #historical whump #hurt/no comfort #manipulative whumper #emotional whump #burn mention tw #manhandling tw #implied past noncon tw #beating tw #internalized homophobia tw #poor old fionn #keats is a bully #august just wanted to make a friend #(unrelated: how long is too long for a bath scene? asking for a friend) #(or would we rather see august trying to run away from wyatt?)

[broccoliboix5peepeeman]

Midoriya-sensei AU

Part 13: Kacchan

Part 12 | Ao3 | Part 14

Look... these past few manga chapters have really fucked with me and some parts of this fic and I'm super mad about it, but alas canon can go fuck itself. Also unreq tdbk lost the poll *sad trombone noise* Anymoo, happy Mido-sensei Monday [is actually tuesday now bc I fell asleep proof-reading] - I hope you enjoy ❤️ TWs for this chapter include: -PTSD -Breakdowns and dissociation -Self-loathing -Accidental injury

'Honey? What time are you going out?'

Upon hearing his mother's question, Izuku removed his headphones and turned to face her.

He was currently cluttering the dining table with his hero analysis notebooks, along with his laptop. Shoto had hired a new sidekick recently—who could adjust the temperature of anything they touched—so naturally, Izuku had spent the morning analysing the quirk in detail. He was heading to Himura Agency soon to visit Shoto, so he wanted to finish up so he could take his notebook with him.

'In about fifteen minutes.' He double-checked the time, confirming his response. 'Why?'

'Do you not want to start getting ready?' She tilted her head to the side with concern. 'I don't want you rushing.'

'I'm nearly done, it's okay.' He assured gently, albeit he could definitely understand where she was coming from. Once he got into his flow state, it was difficult emerging from the other side. 'I'm just gonna finish this page, and then I'll clean up. I've already got my bag ready, and I don't need to get changed.'

He patted his yellow backpack, situated under the table, and smiled. 'Satisfied?'

'Yeah, alright.' She huffed, good-naturedly. 'I just don't want you stressing. I know what you're like. Plus, last time, you rushed out so quickly that I had to clean the table for you.'

'That was one time!' He cried dramatically. 'And I said I was sorry! When will the suffering end?'

'Never.' His mother flashed him a serious expression, before her joking smile resurfaced. 'Anyway, I'm going to the library to return a book for one of my patients. Have fun!'

'You too! If you see Himura-san, tell her I said hi.' Izuku picked up his pen and resumed writing.

'Oh, Todoroki-san's mother?' She paused, stroking her chin, before seemingly realising something. 'Wait, the nice lady with the white hair is their mother? Why didn't you tell me sooner?'

'I assumed you'd figured it out by the fact that Shoto's agency is named after her?' Izuku answered slowly. 'And that she and Fuyumi look really similar.'

'You hush now!' She pouted, walking past him to go put her shoes on. 'I can't believe we could've been sharing embarrassing childhood stories together this whole time. I should go to the library more often. Better make up for lost time.'

'Wait, hang on-'

'Byeee!'

Izuku grumbled as the door shut behind his mother, but didn't dwell on it too much. In truth, he didn't mind what the two women spoke about—he was old enough now where he wasn't affected by people knowing about his All Might obsession, which was his mother's main go-to when it came to embarrassing him—he was just glad they had the opportunity to maybe become friends.

He continued his analysis for another five minutes, before using all of his self-restraint to call it a day and tidy everything away. Once packed up, he grabbed his bag, put on his red shoes, then left the apartment.

It was a decent walk to Himura Agency—around thirty-five minutes—but Izuku wouldn't begrudge a little exercise. The streets weren't particularly busy, a normal amount of bustle for a Sunday, so he weaved through the crowds with relative ease. Once the agency was in his sights, he felt a small smile grace his face, glad of the familiarity.

However, just as he was about to enter, his path was blocked by someone else leaving.

Izuku stepped to the side politely—using the time to quickly type out a message to Shoto, to let him know he was here—but the person continued to shadow over him. He pointedly didn't make eye contact, but frowned at the inconvenience. Why were they standing in the way?

'Deku.'

Instinctively, Izuku flinched so violently that he dropped his phone and jumped a couple of steps backwards.

That voice.

He finally looked up at the person he'd been patiently waiting to pass, only to find spiked blonde hair, familiar red eyes, and an orange and green hero suit that was featured on so many sports brands throughout Japan, he'd have to be living under a rock to miss it.

The hero Dynamight was a household name, after all, but it wasn't him who was addressing Izuku at that moment.

'K-Kach-chan?' The way his voice broke was humiliating, as was the way his body immediately began shaking. For years, he’d been conditioned to react a certain way under the scrutiny of his childhood bully; it made him sick to know their decade apart hadn't changed that in the slightest. ‘W-W-What are you doing here?’

A stupid question. There was a clear reason why the number five hero was just leaving the agency of the number two. ‘Ah, you don’t have to answer that. Of course, it’s obvious why you’re here. In fact, you’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, as that’s certainly more out of the ordinary. It’s just, I didn’t expect to see you as it’s been years and I’ll stop talking now. I’m sorry.’

Kacchan sighed. Izuku closed his eyes with a wince, anticipating a hit. However, it never came.

‘It has been a while.’

Hesitantly, he opened one eye to find Kacchan regarding him with a mixture of emotions; his eyes were squinted in his usual displeased manner, albeit the anger that had typically manifested when they were children was absent. Izuku wasn’t sure whether that made him more or less nervous.

The silence was agonising, yet he kept his lips sealed. He knew better than to start talking and risk suffering Kacchan’s wrath. Wistfully, he hoped Shoto would read his message and come out to meet him before anything could get out of hand.

Kacchan sighed again. ‘I was actually hoping to run into you at some point. I could’ve reached out sooner, but it would've been weird tracking you down.’

Izuku tilted his head to the side.

‘What?’

‘Don’t sound so shocked.’ As soon as he said it, it became evident that Kacchan knew that what he was ordering was unreasonable. He shook his head. ‘Look, we need to talk. Are you free now?’

Izuku’s head thudded and his stomach dropped with anxiety; he could feel adrenaline pulsing through his body. In the past, he'd learnt the hard way that going somewhere alone with Kacchan was never a good idea—not that he'd ever really had much of a choice in their teen years. Now, he was being given a choice, yet it still felt like an illusion: he knew Kacchan well enough to know that “no” wasn’t an option.

‘I’m just about to see Shoto-kun.’ He pointed towards the agency, hoping that an excuse would be met better than an outright rejection. ‘I don’t really want to keep him waiti-’

‘You know Half n Half?’ Kacchan frowned for the briefest of moments, before bending down to pick up Izuku's discarded phone. ‘Doesn’t matter. Look, it won’t take long. Come on.’

Before he could protest further, a large hand grabbed his tricep and guided him past the building and down the side alley. Izuku tried to level his breathing—in, two, three, four, and out, two, three, four—to prevent him hyperventilating and entering a panic attack. He couldn’t show any weakness right now; he had to be brave.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. He can’t hurt you, he’s a hero now. He tried to reason, desperately trying to ignore the other voice that reminded him of everything Endeavour had done to his family whilst working as a hero; of everything that had happened when they were children in the name of Kacchan wanting to be a hero.

He yearningly eyed his phone, still grasped in Kacchan’s hand. There was no calling for help. He was stuck.

After they passed some bins, he was finally released. 'That'll do.'

Izuku's back faced the wall, and he stared up at his old bully. He never did grow much taller; he still had the same colour trainers, and a backpack containing hero analysis notebooks. And of course, he was still quirkless, whereas Kacchan still defined himself through his explosions. Sure, he wasn't as over-excited and sadistic as he used to be, and his face had matured, but that didn't change facts.

Izuku was afraid.

It felt reminiscent of their middle school days: backed into a corner with nowhere to run, while Kacchan threatened to use his quirk on him. The only differences now were that they were older and one of them had a hero licence; and while he was hesitant to admit it, Izuku was also a lot stronger than he had been back then. Briefly, he entertained the thought that maybe—maybe—he could take Kacchan in a fight…

If the latter didn't have a quirk at his disposal.

'You wanted to talk?' He prompted, hoping the other would take the hint and explain, instead of just staring at him. 'What is it?'

'I can't just come out and say it!' Kacchan snapped, albeit there was little bite in it. He rubbed his brow. 'I just… Give me a sec.'

Izuku didn't have much of a choice, so he stayed where he was—body poised and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice—as Kacchan gathered his words.

'I did a lot of thinking over the years, about the way I treated you.' He started, slowly. 'I fucked up. I was a piece of shit.'

Izuku said nothing; he frowned, confused.

Where is this going?

Kacchan let out a frustrated groan.

'I realise now—why I did everything that I did. It's just, you were obviously meant to be behind me... but in a lot of ways, it also felt like you were ahead of me too.' Kacchan paused. 'I didn't like it. I didn't want to see you, so I bullied you to get away from you; to feel superior. I was scared… scared of you. Not in a prissy way obviously, but I hated how… stupidly heroic you were. You'd put yourself in stupid situations to try and help people and it made me mad, because it was supposed to be me whose body moved without thinking. I wanted to protect you from yourself, put you back in your place before you went and killed yourself, but I was wrong for what I did.

'I got my way back then, you failed at becoming a hero, yet I failed in my own goal. I wanted to be on top—I still do—but in order to do that, I have to get better. I have to recognise my mistakes and atone.

'So, that being said. Dek- Izuku… I wanted to apologise.' Kacchan hung his head. 'For everything I did to you.'

Izuku's body shook, whilst his heart pounded against his chest—so violent it hurt; his nails dug into his palms from how hard he was clenching his fists. He didn't know what to think—which probably reflected in his dumbfounded expression—it just didn't make sense. All these years, he'd had nothing, then suddenly… this? Kacchan was… sorry?

'Ha. Good one, Kacchan.' He laughed hollowly, then quickly slipped past the blonde with the intention of leaving. If this was some kind of elaborate prank, then he wanted to get a head start before he became the punchline. 'You almost had me. Anyway, nice seeing you, but I really have to go.'

'I mean it.' Kacchan didn't shout, but his voice carried; firm. 'I'm sorry.'

Izuku stilled, throat swelling as he forced his emotions to remain at bay. At first, he wouldn't—couldn't—believe it, but now he was faced with reality: Kacchan was actually apologising.

He wanted to ignore him. He wanted to keep walking. He wanted to forget this ever happened.

He didn't do any of that.

'You're not serious?' Izuku murmured, lips feeling foreign, as he turned around to face him. 'Is this a joke?'

Kacchan met his eyes and growled.

'Do I look like I'm fucking joking?!'

Izuku's arms shot up to protect himself, but the threat never came.

'Shit.' Kacchan at least had the decency to look guilty. 'Calm down, I'm not gonna hit you, and I'm not joking. I mean it.'

Izuku slowly lowered his arms.

He was conflicted. He knew he should be happy with the apology—it should be cathartic and he should admire how much Kacchan had grown. The right thing to do would be to forgive him, but as compassionate as people thought him to be and as much as he tried to be kind, resentment sprouted from the pit of his stomach.

'Why?'

'Why?' Kacchan echoed, sounding physically pained. 'I just told you why! It was a whole speech!'

Izuku's pulse drummed against his temples; his jaw clenched. Distantly, he heard a vibration.

'Cut the bullshit.' The words were out of his mouth before he could comprehend them.

'Hah?!' Kacchan started to exclaim, then caught himself, lowering the volume. 'It's not bullshit.'

'It is. It's all excuses.' Izuku gripped his hair and shook his head, surprised by his own nerve. He wanted to tell his brain to shut up. He wanted to forget this interaction all together—what was he doing? 'If you're s-sorry, then just say it. Don't try to justify it.'

'But I need you to understand why.' Kacchan argued, like it was obvious. 'I was trying to-'

'You've had a long time to think about this, to try and rationalise it.' Izuku interrupted, eye twitching from barely-repressed anxiety. He couldn't get his voice to stop trembling. 'But at the end of the day, Kacchan, y-you bullied me because I was- am quirkless.'

This time, it wasn't him who flinched.

'That's… that's not…'

'Isn't it?' He smiled wobbly. 'It wasn’t because I was useless D-Deku who couldn't fight back?'

His throat closed up, betraying him. 'I was an easy target. You say wanted to protect me from myself? You were my worst nightmare, and we both know that if I had a quirk, you wouldn't have done what you did.'

He had so many scars, so much mental baggage that he was still unravelling with his therapist after several years. He might not look after himself as well as he should sometimes, but that was irrelevant right now; it was always the same insults being thrown at him.

Useless, quirkless Deku.

'You d-don't need to pretend you did it with honourable intentions.' He shook his head slowly. 'If you genuinely regret what you did, just tell me. I might not have much self-preservation… but I don't think I deserve excuses.'

He bit his lip, waiting for a reaction. Initially, Kacchan remained silent, staring at him. Izuku wasn't sure if he was thinking of a response or waiting for something. Again, he could hear an indiscernible vibration.

'Okay.' Kacchan finally responded. 'No excuses… I- I'm sorry.'

A beat passed, then another. Izuku wanted to feel something, yet his mind—despite the adrenaline going through his body—felt numb.

'I accept your apology.' He forced his mouth to move, keeping his resolve. 'Th-'

'Midoriya?'

His head whipped around so fast his neck clicked. Shoto was walking towards them, slightly rushed and phone in hand. The first aid supplies on his belt clicked together from the momentum, as did his boots against the concrete.

When he came to a stop in front of Izuku, those dichromatic eyes scanned him carefully. 'Are you okay?'

He nodded, not trusting this voice.

Shoto's shoulders slumped with relief, then looked past Izuku to see who he was with. His eyes immediately narrowed. 'Bakugou? What are you doing here?'

Kacchan scoffed.

'Dek- u- Izuku and I were just having a private conversation.' He answered brashly. 'None of your fucking business, Half n Half.'

Shoto stepped past Izuku, putting himself between him and the blonde. It was almost a defensive shield, which he had to admit, he was grateful for.

'Then why have you got Midoriya's phone?'

Izuku's eyes widened—the vibration sound he had been hearing on and off—Shoto had been ringing him this entire time?

'Because he dropped it.' Kacchan stepped forward, holding out the device, which Izuku hesitantly took. 'Fuck off with the interrogation, Todoroki. I thought you hated cops, so stop sounding like one.'

'I don't need to be a pig to worry about my friend.' Shoto quipped, before switching his gaze to Izuku. 'Midoriya, are you ready to go or should I give you another few minutes?'

The idea of spending another few minutes alone with Kacchan was enough to make him feel nauseous, but he also didn’t want to convey that in his answer.

Don’t cry. Be brave. Don’t show them how weak you are.

‘Yeah, I’m ready now.’ He spoke quietly. ‘We’re done now, right, Kacchan?’

Crimson eyes regarded him carefully, before he waved his hand dismissively.

‘Whatever. I’ve said everything I needed to say anyway. I’m going home.’ Kacchan strode past them, towards the main street. However, before he could disappear completely, he called back. 'I've changed, Izuku. I won't ask you to believe me, but just… watch me, and I'll prove it to you.'

Izuku didn't reply, other than a slight nod of acknowledgement, and Kacchan made his exit with a grunt. Now that they were left alone, he felt a new sense of numbness wash over him; his eyes glazed over; his muscles refused to move.

Panic consumed him briefly. He didn't know what was happening. He didn't feel in control of his own body, yet instead of fighting it, all he could do was succumb to the way his senses slowly shut down. His mind soon followed after, rescinding the last of his perceived independent thoughts.

Powerless. Useless Deku. Weak-

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ Shoto was in front of him again, but Izuku couldn’t focus. It took several seconds of silence before his friend cursed. ‘Shit, okay. Let’s get you up to my office… Can you still hear me?'

He couldn’t speak, but he did manage a slight nod.

'That's good. Okay, one more question: are you comfortable with me carrying you?’

Izuku nodded again, eyes falling shut of their own accord. He wasn't sure why he was acting this way—his episodes usually manifested into hyperactivity—but he couldn't even begin to analyse his behaviour right now. All he could do was focus on Shoto's body as the hero guided him into a piggyback and lifted him up with a slight grunt.

His arms rested on Shoto’s shoulders, while the strong hands under his legs held him up. Izuku's chest pressed against his friend's back—he tried to concentrate on the temperature contrast, which manifested into him resting his forehead against the left crook of Shoto's neck.

The warmth felt safe.

Had he not been stuck in his head, Izuku would have definitely panicked over their proximity. Instead, his body welcomed the touch with open arms; it was grounding. It also helped that Shoto didn't stiffen or reject him. He encouraged Izuku.

'I won't drop you, but try to hold on.' He murmured gently. 'Ready?'

When Izuku nodded, Shoto bent his knees, then jumped into the air, using fire from his left foot to send them higher. It didn't take long before they landed on the agency balcony, and Shoto slid open the door to his office.

Izuku kept his face firmly pressed against his friend's neck, until he was gently coaxed to sit down on the tatami floor and shed his backpack from his shoulders. He felt significantly lighter without it—his body had gotten used to the weight—but he didn't let the uncanny feeling linger for long, before he returned to nothing.

'I'm still here.' Shoto assured him gently. 'Just give me one second.'

The world was bright when Izuku tried opening his eyes in response, and he winced. Before he could squeeze them shut and resign himself to darkness again, Shoto pulled the hanging curtain framing the balcony door half-shut, bathing them in a dimmer, manageable light.

Izuku exhaled—the closest he could come to conveying his thanks—then watched as Shoto moved around the room, looking in drawers, on shelves and even Izuku's own backpack. Eventually, when his friend approached him once more and knelt in front of him, his arms were full.

'I've got some things that I know help me when I have a catatonic breakdown.' He shuffled slightly. 'I know this probably isn't the same, but yeah. And I know it's rude, but I also got some stuff from your bag because you've mentioned before that you have comfort items in there. Try to let me know if you're uncomfortable with anything.'

Shoto waited a moment, before taking two large pillows, placing them behind Izuku and switching on a remote, which made them start vibrating softly—like a purring cat. He then picked up a fluffy cream blanket and wrapped it around Izuku's body like a cape, making sure to cover most of his front too.

Izuku found himself leaning back against the materials, which cushioned the wall behind him, as Shoto started playing rain sounds from a portable speaker. He then handed Izuku his favourite All Might-themed stress ball that he always carried with him.

It was practically a reflex, the way his hand closed around it and started squeezing.

‘Th-Thanks.’ He spoke, matching each syllable with his wrist movements. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. ‘Helps.’

‘I’m glad.’ His friend replied. ‘Do you want to stay like this for a while, or do you want to try some grounding exercises?’

Izuku was aware enough to recognise that he wanted to escape this feeling as quickly as he could, but realistically, he knew that he needed a little longer.

‘F-few minutes.’

‘Okay.’ Shoto slowly got to his feet. ‘I’ll just be at my desk doing some paperwork. I'm not on-call, so take as much time as you need… unless there's suddenly a national emergency.’

On a normal day, Izuku would've laughed.

For the next half an hour, the office was quiet, if not for Shoto's fingers on the keyboard and the tropical storm playing from the speakers. Izuku, for the most part, clung onto the mindlessness—not wanting to acknowledge what had happened nor what was currently happening—but soon, his internal monologue started to resurface; it never liked being quiet for long.

He supposed he'd have to face everything sooner or later.

‘Shoto?’

His friend looked up from his computer, then locked the screen and approached him once more. He sat down in front of Izuku, crossing his legs and tucking his hair behind his ears.

‘You ready to do some grounding exercises?’ He waited for Izuku’s nod, before continuing. ‘Okay, you probably know this one, but can you tell me five things you can see?’

He did know this exercise—he’d applied it to both himself and his students in the past—so the familiarity was comforting.

‘Y-you.’ He started with the obvious. ‘Bookcase… bonsai tree… computer… charred table.’

‘Good job, but don’t worry about the chabudai.’ Shoto’s cheeks darkened slightly. ‘Four things you can feel?’

Izuku had always been sensitive to touch, despite what his high pain tolerance might've implied, so he felt more confident with this one.

‘Stress ball, blanket, pillows… tatami.’

‘That was a lot quicker.’ Shoto furrowed his brow. ‘It’s good touch, right?’

‘Yeah.’ The corner of Izuku's lips quirked up for a moment in an attempt to be reassuring. 'Thank you.'

His friend nodded his head in acknowledgement.

'Three things you can hear?'

'Your voice.' He began, without giving it much thought. 'The rain noises… and my own voice.'

He was slowly starting to feel more like himself—his movements became fluid as he squeezed the stress ball, and his eyes were more focused than they had been. It wasn’t like being trapped in a bubble, it was more like a viscous liquid had been clouding his surroundings and was finally starting to evaporate.

'Two things you can smell?'

'Peppermint.' Courtesy of the teapot next to him. 'And you. The room smells like you.'

He desperately wished his filter would return before he could embarrass himself further. Luckily, Shoto didn’t seem to mind the comment.

‘That makes sense. After all, I’m the only one who works in this room.’ He paused for a few beats. 'Okay, last one: one thing you can taste? Don't worry if you can't think of anything. You've done really well.'

Usually, when Izuku was the one asking, he skipped that final sense. After all, most people would just reply with a confused “the inside of my mouth?”, but he supposed it was worth acknowledging.

'I…’ He paused as his taste buds identified iron. ‘I can… I can taste blood?'

Ignoring Shoto’s concerned look, Izuku poked his tongue around his mouth, until he found a freshly bitten wound. 'I must've started chewing the inside of my cheek at some point without realising… It happens a lot, I just don't usually register what I'm doing till after the damage is done, but it's nothing to worry about.'

His friend’s worry didn’t seem to dissipate upon hearing that, but after a few moments, he ultimately decided to let the issue slide.

‘That’s a conversation for another day.’ Izuku wasn’t sure which of them Shoto was promising that to. 'At least you're more vocal now. How do you feel?'

That was a loaded question. How was Izuku supposed to begin answering that?

Shoto seemed to read his thoughts. ‘That was a bad question. I’ll be more specific, what’s the first thing that comes to mind when I ask, “how do you feel”?’

‘Shit.’ Izuku snorted without mirth. However, that seemed to be the gateway for an elaboration. ‘I’ve never reacted this way before. It’s always been more erratic, not… yeah. I hated it. I couldn’t control my body.’

‘I can understand that.’ Shoto was earnest. ‘The first time it happened to me was during a training session with Endeavour when I was a child. The stress was too much, so my body shut down… only okaasan could get me out of it, but it took hours. I barely remember it, only that I was scared.’

‘That sounds awful.’ Izuku lowered his eyes.

‘Yeah, but my point isn’t to gain your sympathy, it’s to show that you’re not alone.’ Shoto paused. ‘You can talk to me… about anything.’

Izuku gnawed the inside of his cheek, before forcing himself to stop damaging the already wounded area.

He trusted Shoto—he really did—but he didn’t deserve to listen to Izuku’s turmoil; his friend had gone through so much worse that his own struggles paled in comparison. However, he remembered some of their earlier conversations, and how Shoto never flinched when he’d explained his failed dream of becoming a hero. He thought about all the times his friend had been open with him and accommodating when he spoke.

Izuku trusted Shoto… so maybe he should trust that he knew what he was signing up for.

‘I just… seeing him again after so long and with no warning.’ He began, trying to piece his words together. ‘I told myself to just get through the interaction, but I didn’t expect to spiral like this.’

‘I should’ve told you he was at the agency.’ Shoto pursed his lips, guilty. ‘It wasn’t scheduled in or anything, but when he showed up, I should’ve messaged you.’

‘It’s not your responsibility—you didn’t know I’d react that way. Plus, if I’m your friend then I guess I should’ve been prepared to run into him at some point.’ Izuku was quick to argue, but when he took a breath, he couldn’t help but sigh. ‘As you’re probably aware, we weren’t exactly best friends… Well, we used to be, before his quirk came in and I was diagnosed as quirkless.’

Shoto nodded deliberately, prompting Izuku to continue.

‘I used to follow him around a lot—he was familiar, and I didn’t really understand that I wasn’t wanted anymore—and soon, Kacchan started to make it more obvious that he didn’t want me around. He had a lot more friends—ones with cool quirks that would obey him—and I was… pushed around a lot.'

He intentionally omitted the specific details: verbal taunts and physical attacks. He didn't want to incriminate Kacchan more than he already had. After all, it was in the past now.

Izuku pressed his palms to his eyes. 'I just… I admired him so much—he had a great quirk and the bravery of a hero, and we both loved All Might—but… but I hated him.'

His voice turned into a whisper. 'I really did, and that somehow made everything worse because I really tried not to. Heroes aren’t meant to hate people… But I kept trying to placate him, hoping that he’d leave me be, but when it came to applying for high schools, I just couldn't simply make him happy.’

'He told you not to apply for UA, right?' Shoto asked, albeit it was obvious he knew the answer.

'Yeah.' Izuku replied anyway. 'Things got unbearable when I refused. The things he'd say, the things he'd do.' He swallowed thickly. 'It doesn't matter. When he got into UA and I didn't, that was it. Everyone laughed at me, because I never stood a chance in the first place. After we graduated, I never saw him again… until today.'

Ten years…

It had been so long, and as much as he tried to forget, he couldn't. He still had nightmares; he still flinched at loud, sharp noises; he still struggled with his self-worth.

He still had the scars.

His throat prickled, but he persevered, pulling back and staring at his hands instead of Shoto; he couldn’t bear to see his reaction just yet. 'He took me down that alley—I didn't want to, but I felt like I didn't have a choice—and I thought he was going to hurt me; follow through with one of his old threats- I shouldn't say that.'

He sighed, frustrated at himself. 'Anyway, instead… he apologised to me. Actually apologised. Like, it wasn’t a joke! I should've been happy. I should've forgiven him.'

Izuku dared not continue that sentence. Admitting it out loud would just solidify that he was a bad person.

'But you couldn't forgive him.'

Izuku broke.

For the first time today, tears built up, breaking the surface tension and running down his face without restraint. An accompanying sob escaped his lips and Izuku finally allowed himself to cry. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, like his reputation implied: he brought his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his arms to muffle his already quiet sounds—just like when he was little and tried not to draw attention to himself.

Part of his mind was screaming that even this was too much; he couldn't cry like this in front of anyone, not alone Todoroki Shoto. What would he think of him? How could Izuku show just how weak and pathetic he really was?

Yet those thoughts only led to more tears; more baggage to throw onto the already crushing pile.

He held his breath then, trying desperately to quell the crying, but it was futile. He only succeeded in making himself lightheaded and congested. His nose started to run and saliva built up in his mouth.

'I don't know how best to help you.' His friend admitted, just loud enough to be heard over Izuku's own thoughts. 'But I do know that it's okay to cry. I'm not judging you.'

How was he supposed to respond to that? Shoto was so kind; so understanding. He wasn't disgusted or disdainful.

But he should be….

'Would you-' Shoto hesitated. '-erm, like a hug… or something?'

Izuku's eyes immediately shot up to stare at him, exposing his gross face in all its glory.

'W-w-what?'

Shoto didn't seem put off by the snot and tears, albeit he did rub the back of his neck awkwardly.

'A hug, would you like one?' He clarified, confirming that Izuku had indeed heard him correctly. 'It's just… I'm not good with words, but I know physical contact can help alleviate pain. So I thought I'd offer.'

If this were a typical day, Izuku would turn bright red, stutter so much that he couldn't get his words out, and probably overthink to the point of exhaustion. However, this wasn't a typical day; while his face was blotchy and his mind was both overthinking and exhausted, he couldn't fathom his awkward crush right now.

In front of him was his friend—whom he adored in a way so unique—offering comfort, and Izuku was starving.

'Please.' He whispered, blinking as more tears stained his cheeks. He then wrapped his arms around his thighs and rested his forehead against his knees.

He could hear Shoto shuffle closer until they were side-by-side. After a moment, he shifted the blanket to accommodate them both, and slowly wrapped his arms around Izuku; one hand splayed out across his back, while the other reached around the front to cup the side of Izuku's head. Shoto then gently guided him to lean against his chest.

Izuku's entire body moved with him, putting all his weight against his friend, who willingly shouldered the burden with ease. In fact, he even rested his cheek atop his curls.

The relief was instantaneous: his body relaxed—basking in the positive touch—and a fresh sob escaped his lips. Shoto rubbed his shoulder with encouragement; repetitive, but soothing.

Izuku wasn't sure how much time they spent that way—quiet if not for his muffled sniffling—before his friend spoke again.

'I won't pretend to know what you've been through.' He murmured, each word careful. 'So feel free to tell me to fuck off, but I think, if you can't forgive him now, that's okay.'

Reactively, Izuku opened his mouth to counter, albeit Shoto beat him to it.

'And if you can't forgive him in a few months, a few years or never, that's okay too.'

Izuku's words died on his tongue and he swallowed heavily. It was like the entire concept was new: he never even considered a scenario where it was acceptable not to forgive Kacchan. After all, it was what the world preached—forgiveness was part of being a hero.

A sudden thought emerged.

'Have you forgiven Endeavour for everything?' He asked quietly. 'Not that you need to tell me.'

Shoto didn't answer straight away, contemplating the question first.

'No.' While the answer was firm, his tone sounded thoughtful. ‘And that’s okay too. It doesn't make me less of a hero.’

‘You don’t think you’re a bad person because of it?’ Izuku’s eyes widened, and he shook his head, almost jumping out of Shoto’s hold. ‘Not that I’m implying that you’re a bad person! You’re a very kind person and I think you’re amazing! Just… that was a pointless question.’

Shoto blinked once, lowering his arms.

‘He’s changed, which I accept and welcome, and we've moved on, but that doesn’t erase the past and the damage he's caused. I’ve forgiven myself, and that's enough for me.’ He scratched his cheek. ‘So, no. I don’t think I’m bad.’

Izuku nodded slowly. It made perfect sense—it was similar to his situation Kacchan—but convincing himself and rationalising his thoughts was still arduous.

‘I think I understand.’ He wiped away his tears, feeling more at ease. ‘Sorry for being like this.’

‘You have nothing to apologise for.’ Shoto was adamant; unyielding. ‘I’m just glad I could help.’

His small smile ignited a fresh wave of emotion through Izuku—his usual flustered affection for Shoto returning in full force. Mentally, he kicked himself for pulling out of their hug sooner than necessary.

‘Y-you did. Thank you.’ He flashed his own wobbly smile. ‘You’re…’

Perfect, amazing, I think I’m fall-

‘A great friend.’ He finished, admiring Shoto’s reddening ears.

‘You too, Midoriya.’

Falling...

🔥🔥🔥

Me [1740]: Just fyi next time I see you I am going to personally ram my foot so far up your arse you’re shitting icicles for weeks

Bastard Gremlin [1742]: Fuck off Icyhot

Me [1743]: Like I knew you were an asshole but really?

Bastard Gremlin [1749]: Deku told you everything then

Me [1751]: Left out some finer details but yh

Me [1751]: Enough for me to piece together the rest

Bastard Gremlin [1752]: Why do you even care?

Bastard Gremlin [1752]: How do you even know him?

Me [1753]: He's my friend. That's all you need to know, so dont bother replying.

Shoto stared at the screen a moment longer. In truth, he wanted to say more, maybe even follow through with his initial message, but Midoriya would get upset, so Shoto reluctantly put his phone away. However, as soon as it was secured in his pocket, it buzzed again. Rolling his eyes, he took out the device, expecting a snarky retort.

Instead, he was met with a pleasant surprise.

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1754]: Thank you for today, really

Me [1755]: You don't have to keep thanking me

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1756]: I know but I want to

Shoto's lips twitched with fond amusement.

'Texting Midoriya again?' Fuyumi commented dryly, not even looking up from the homework she was marking next to him. 'You're both insufferable.'

'You started it.'

Me [1758]: You can thank me by relaxing and going to bed at a normal time tonight

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1759]: I take it all back I hate u

Me [1759]: You love me 😇

Shoto paused then, cheeks heating up as he stared at his message. Why was he suddenly so warm? Why did anxiety pool in his stomach after he sent that message? Why was he getting more nervous the longer it took for a reply to come through?

He was just making friendly banter, like his old classmates taught him, yet it felt more significant when he was saying it to Midoriya.

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1802]: I guesssssss 🙄

Shoto immediately felt himself relax; his stomach fluttering in a way that had started to become a common occurrence around his friend. He wasn’t sure if it was a bi-product of his quirk, now that he was using his fire more often, but it was strange that it was only when Midoriya was around.

Midoriya 🙏🔥 [1804]: Hey, I thought Id ask,you don’t have to or anything, but the HQA information session at the school is on tues and I was wondering, if you’re free, it’d be good to see you there? Even if you wore a disguise or something. Totally okay if not though!

Shoto tilted his head to the side, processing the message. He and Fuyumi had spoken about the session a lot over the past few weeks, but they'd given no indication that they wanted him there—why the change of heart?

'Fuyu-nee, Midoriya's inviting me to the HQA session.' He told his sister, not really sure what he was expecting her to say. 'Should I go?'

'I mean, you can if you want.' Fuyumi shrugged, albeit not dismissively. 'Whether it's supporting him or advocating your own knowledge, it might help. I certainly have no problem with it.'

Shoto nodded slowly in thanks, then turned back to his phone. He supposed in asking his sister, he was really just looking for validation, because of course, if Midoriya was inviting him to something, then he'd happily accept; he was just glad Fuyumi thought he was making the right choice.

Me [1807]: I'll be there :)

#tododeku #todoroki shoto #midoriya izuku #todoizu #izushou #todomido #dekutodo #midoriya sensei au #AgarJelly writes #teacher au #teacher midoriya izuku #quirkless midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #tw: self deprecation #tw: past bullying #tw: breakdown

[irondad-defensesquad]

Idk if they mention it in the MCU (including the MCU-canon comics), but I did learn somewhere that Tony was bullied when he was younger, I think in boarding school. Not sure if MIT counts as well.

I just got sad because Peter is bullied too, and I don’t usually see Irondad fics tackling that AND Tony’s past with bullying. Of course, I’m not saying their experiences are the same, but I think Tony would understand Peter if he ever found out.

#lotus speaks #tony stark defense squad #irondad #bullying tw #as far as i'm concerned i think ppl associate steve more with peter #well because steve gets beaten up on screen by bullies #tony's childhood is not shown very often #i think we only see it briefly in iron man 1 through pics of tony #and then the tape in im 2 #but that's it #we don't know much about his past #they unfortunately give a lot of spotlight to his abusive shitty father #okay i'm going overboard #rambling in tags

[fletcherwilbury]

@sicktember Day 3: “What happened to your phenomenal immune system, huh?”

Warning for illness, food issues, bullying, and mention of past traumatic incident.

#sicktember #sicktember 2023 #sicktember day 3 #“what happened to your phenomenal immune system huh?” #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 donnie #tmnt 2012 casey #tmnt 2012 april #jonatello #illness cw #food issues tw #bullying tw #mention of past traumatic incident cw

[cornedbread]

Real Alex Suffering…pt.1

Paranoia and Trauma, with a slight helping hand

#corny creations #I don’t even know what trigger warnings to put here 🥲 #or content warnings for the matter #tw disturbing #tw bullying #tw violent imagery #tw paranoia #tw past trauma #real alex abibaz #alex abibaz #alex basics in biology and zoology #alex basics #dolly abibaz #traditional art #doodle #original art #fanart #real alex suffering

[steavia]

on lydia’s past: 2. the group home

(part 1, information on her parents, can be found here)

the details of Lydia’s early history are a blur. she has a mother and a sense of security until she doesn’t. by the time she’s found by child protective services or police, or some officers whose role a small child couldn’t discern, she’s just old enough to write her own name in crayon—LYDIA. uneven, sloppy letters.

she is deemed an outcast by her peers the moment she enters the group home. it’s not the scottish accent she inherited from her immigrated parents, though it doesn’t help—it’s her inability to connect, the awkward silences and stares, and the overemotional way she reacts that deems her a target in her peers’ eyes.

autism spectrum disorder, after all, was highly underdiagnosed and not well-researched at that point—especially in little girls. what would’ve made sense as legitimate symptoms becomes a list of “weird” traits to make fun of. she gets laughed & prodded at in early childhood. 

she learns how to mask—or tries desperately to, but her interactions fall short and any slight misunderstandings with other children or adults are met with tears. lydia is a miserable child. as she grows up, she loses the accent her parents taught her; she learns that avoiding social situations is the safest way to avoid making mistakes in those situations.

she lucks out with making the occasional friend or acquaintance, however. it’s not all bad; some of the girls are nice, or at least they pretend to be in order to get lydia to stop crying. there are staff who are kind to her, too—many are underpaid and lack the resources to care for lydia on an individual level, but she sees a counselor at the group home and it makes her childhood considerably more bearable. most of the nice girls get adopted out, of course.

her interests develop over time, too. she has a worn-out astronaut poster by her bed, saves up her allowance for a model train that becomes her favorite object in her childhood.

desperate to put an end to the bullying, lydia finds a more creative means to solve her problems—logistically. though she lacks charisma, she’s small & quiet; these are traits that lead to making it much easier to go unseen if she decides to take things that don’t belong to her. the bully has a hole in her shoe? lydia offers her an arrangement—leave her alone, and she’ll give the imposing girl a new pair. any of her peers in need of a new walkman, a pair of socks, mint condition baseball cards? she’ll get the items to them, whether through buying it herself or stealing it from someone. if they continue to be unkind to her after her peace offerings, she threatens to use evidence she’s gathered against them to get them in trouble with the group home’s staff.

lydia learns she has a passion for bringing things from point A to B, for appeasing the dangerous people in her life through material means, and she knows that it’s what she wants to do on a professional level. (by this point, she’ll go quite far for even a hint of feeling secure.) so, she puts her heart into highschool. she graduates early, finds a way out of the group home and into business school, and leaves that chapter of her past behind as soon as possible.

#( headcanon. ) #ableism tw #bullying tw #childhood neglect tw #abuse tw #lydia's fucked up past..... TWO! #please heed the TWs here because uh. she did not have a good time being an autistic child with no parents :(

[ineffable-gallimaufry]

oh wait did i ever post this here. it's probably not my best work but i think it's still pretty okay

#just gotta push past the instinct to cringe at all of my past works ... #sonic voyage #miles tails prower #sonic the hedgehog #tw bullying #tw blood #ask to tag #fr slur #if i did post this then i am sorry for forgetting