#cw bullying

[shrimperini]

los human AU wiwis

wheatley, chell and arthur when they were younger :3

chell was adopted when she was 10 years old, she spent early life in an orphanage, she struggled being around other kids and always preferred playing alone.

her favorite toy was a fox plushie! everytime she was found smiling was while playing with it.

it was, however, a shared toy that belonged to the orphanage and when she got adopted she had to leave it behind. when her loving adoptive father bought her a new fox plushie, she found herself missing the first one, it just wasn’t the same ❤️‍🩹

i like to think she became more lively and cheerful once adopted, having a caring parent changed her for the best. she even got to participate to the Bring Your Daughter To Work Day at Aperture, where her father worked, and she got first place 🔥

wheatley has been chatty ever since he was a little kid!!! always yapping people’s ears off. kids used to avoid him so similarly to chell he was lonely, but unlike her, he continuously seeked out company and genuine friends, always failing

Arthur (cake core) is Wheatley’s younger brother, they used to spend so much time together as children but then he was sent to boarding school due to his very high grades so that’s when they started drifting apart

(Bullying CW)

Wheatley stayed in regular schools due to his below average grades and performance, he changed schools 3 times in total and one of those times it was due to him getting involved in a fight with bullies, which he didn’t start, but he got punished for swinging first after months of harassment. that school in specific was rly bad for him but things got better for him once he was transferred, he still struggled with loneliness tho

but yeah main idea is that chell’s loneliness is a choice, while wheatley’s isn’t. lol

chell likes being around friendly faces but she actually enjoys her alone time and is a lone wolf at heart. wheatley is in desperate need of real connections, of people who take him seriously and want him around. Sobs

[gothghostiie]

Omg what about bully!soap that gets a little too drunk at a night out and stumbles into reader's bed, they wake up blah blah blah nsfw stuff but after he cums he's already so tired that he falls asleep while still inside of them and they just have to deal with it because he's too heavy too move off?? 😵‍💫🥺

Love your stuff btw 🫶🫶

thank you!!🫶🏻 and thank you for bringing bully!soap back into my asks, I missed him😩

cw: bully!soap is his own warning,

bully!soap knows exactly what he did - but he's too tired now to regret anything. too tired to pull out of your stretched hole even. his big, sweaty body barely even hovering over yours before he collapses onto you, pinning you into the mattress underneath him. you yelp, trying to tell him to get off, but he's already snoring quietly, leaving you helpless. you try to push him off, or at least his semi hard cock out of you hole but nothing works.:(

you're left to deal with the feeling of him squishing you and your poor, aching hole being stretched by him, until he wakes up late in the morning. let's hope you still get some sleep like this, because the second he wakes up he'll make sure you do too.

[theoddest1]

Notice how Viv will bitch about a 15 year old fan being critical or a 18 or 19 year old critic who made a harmless meme, or be pissy about "My name is Caine, I am your bitch" but will stay DEAD. FUCKING. SILENT about someone in the fandom ending their own life thanks to the shitty people in her fanbase. So, in other words, people being "mean" to her is more worth her time than calling out those who pushed Shay into suicide.

Not surprising tbh. This is the same person who apparently thought karma was awesome when one of the people she had beef with (Dollcreep) was getting mass hate from her fans and was hospitalized for an attempt on their life just to get out of the massive attacks they were facing.

So yeah...what a kind ass person....

Then there's Tracy

Who actually addressed and tried to bring awareness to bullying in her community.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Why König Was Bullied/ Why He Loved His Family

TW: Severe Bullying, Kids Being Cruel, Severe Social Anxiety, Growing Up Mentally Ill, Chronic Feelings of Being Unsafe, Unstable Environments Growing Up, Isolation, Loneliness, Self Esteem Issues, Anxiety, Social Anxiety,

I'm gonna say it. I think König actually had a great childhood home. He wasn't bullied because he was an abused child, he was bullied because he was a socially awkward kid raised by socially awkward parents. He was bullied because he was chubby (his mama loved giving him sweets) and because he was weirdly big and not in a hot way, just in a lumpish oaf sort of way.

On his own, König loved to keep his own company. He would make up imaginary worlds in his mind and play with stuffed animals and model trains. He read fantasy books, and became an advanced reader for his age. He loved learning as much as he could about the world around him, and his Oma nicknamed him 'her little Why' when he would never stop asking why things were the way they were. He loved to play outside most of all. Almost all his free time was spent outdoors, and he developed a deep love of nature, hiking and camping.

Kids are cruel, and one kid looking a little bit awkwardly proportioned and being awkward to boot was the perfect target. It didn't help that (especially in the beginning) he just liked to do his own thing, regardless of what others thought. He liked playing with his stuffed bears and rabbits at recess and he loved to read more than he liked to play sports. He was a bit awkward in both speech and body, growing too big for his body to adjust to too quickly and always a bit nervous to speak to others, leaving him a lonely child with nobody to play with. Nobody wanted to play with a boy who still played with stuffed animals or played imaginary games with himself. He was the kid who would call himself the dog when kids played house. He had to hold other kids' coats at recess just to be acknowledged.

König had a hard childhood due to the isolation. Kids got crueller when puberty set in, and they got more overt with their bullying. It didn't help that König hit puberty early and shot up like a reed. He grew strangely thick facial hair for a twelve-year-old, and people would pluck hairs out of his face when he wasn't on guard. After his growth spurt, shoves and nasty playground names became black eyes and rumours traded between classes. Everywhere he looked people watched him, talked about him, scorned him. He developed mild scopophobia, and the fear still lingers with him in adulthood.

König always had the potential of developing social anxiety. Just genetics, really. But growing up in a poorly equipped rural town didn't help. He didn't fit in, and for that he was tormented throughout life. Bullies would find out who his crush was and kiss them when he walked by in the halls. Girls would ask him out, and when he eagerly accepted they would laugh in his face. Worst of all was how they'd torment him for startling easily, and laugh whenever he physically lashed out in a panic. They loved to scare poor König, and did whatever they could to get a reaction out of him. He learned to keep his emotions guarded and to himself, but he still tears up when he thinks about how they once set his stuffed rabbit on fire after school. Whenever König felt like he'd learned to take it all, something else would come along and remind him that no, he would never fit in, and he would never be safe.

König grew up to be cold, harsh and cynical. He refused to let others play with his emotions. He became hardened as a man. However, deep inside of König, there was always a little boy who just wanted to read fantasy books and play with his stuffed animals in peace. He took to taking long hikes and camping outside when he needed time away from home. As a preteen, he was humiliated by how fat he seemed as a child, and horrified by how thin and lanky he became as he matured, so he began working out vigorously and filled out into a powerful, handsome young man. When girls would ask him out as a teen, he'd scoff and shoo them off, even though they genuinely wanted to be with him. He'd been burned too many times to know when someone truly wanted him. He didn't realize that he was a highly intelligent, strapping teen that had become a heartthrob among some of the other socially outcast children. Sadly, König would never learn, instead focusing on how his bullies would mock his height from afar (they'd long since learned that fighting a 200 lb young man who learned to fight from a war vet was not a good idea after all). But no matter how much König tried to get out from under their thumb, his bullies ruled his life.

But while school was a battleground, every day this brave little soldier would march home into his mother's open arms. His father would be there to remind him of how strong he was, how proud he was of his little soldier son. Home was his sanctuary away from the war outside.

König's mother was very much a housewife. A big, tall (at least 6'1) woman with broad arms and a powerful jaw, Annabelle Leichenberg looked more like a warrior princess than she did the sweet and doting mother that she was. She was always a bit awkward in the village, and many other mothers made fun of her for being harsh and dismissive in her exchanges of village gossip. She was a practical woman who had no time for their prattling nonsense. All her time was spent doting upon her loving family. She was a dutiful, determined woman who never backed down from a challenge. Despite working in the next village over, she would spend as much time as she could with König and her four other children. She would teach König to braid his sisters' hair, and played card games with him and his brothers late at night. She made sure his siblings never picked on him too much, and she spoiled him rotten with strawberries from the garden. To this day, König swears up and down that nobody makes strawberry tarts quite like his mother.

Contrary to his brash and outspoken wife, König's father, Fritz Leichenberg, was a quiet and studious man. He was the tallest man in the village by far, but he was a shy and soft man who preferred his books and his record player to the drunken sports rallies every Friday night, making the other village men consider him effeminate and weak. König's father was a professor of agriculture, and so preferred to spend time in his garden with his wife or reading stories to his children. He was surprisingly soft-spoken for his size, and seemed to always be shrinking away from conversation, preferring the company of his many houseplants to the boisterous drunks at the bar. Fritz liked to play piano on the baby grand in the foyer, and the family would gather and sing around him (Annabelle could never hold a tune, but Fritz never seemed to mind). Fritz was the major disciplinarian in the household, but it seemed his punishments were composed more of long lectures and discussions than spankings that the other children at school got. König was very close to his father, and learned from him the strength of being comfortable with his masculinity, and learned how to be gentle from him. He originally wanted to be a professor like him, but became a soldier when his grandfather passed away.

König had a good relationship with his siblings. He was the second youngest of five. The eldest was Friedrich, then Stephan and Lisa, then König (Alexander), then finally Klara. König's brothers were awkward, but they fought back hard against their adversaries. Lisa was actually rather popular among her age group, and she managed to keep people in her age bracket from targeting König as well. The brothers and Lisa tried their best to protect König, and even his younger sister ended up becoming a defender and prevented her classmates from targeting her brother. König loved his siblings, but even they could be cruel to him on occasion (particularly when they had friends over). However, they cared for him as a sibling, and they did their best to ensure he was always safe at home.

König also lived with his Oma and Opa (on his father's side). His Opa was a veteran, and taught all the children how to fight. He took a shine to König in particular, and tried his best to encourage his grandson to stand up for himself. His Oma was a bit more skeptical. She loved König, but she always worried about him. She would often try to get him to make new friends, but sadly these efforts were in vain.

So all in all, life was not all doom and gloom for König. He grew up a social outcast, but in a loving home. He's fiercely loyal to his family, and skeptical of anyone he does not consider to be of that ilk. He will always be paranoid, he will always be afraid of people watching him, and he will always have that horrible trait of being ruder than he intends to be. But, in the end, he was loved and raised in a good home.

Bonus:

On König's first day of school, his mother bought him a toy. It became a tradition that every first day of school, she would buy him something special. With all the years that passed, most of these things were broken or lost, but he kept the wooden train set his mother gave him on his very first day.

[robo-milky]

Jekyll and Lucy reminded me of them so much, so I had to get this out of my system-

I FEEL LIKE IT’S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I’VE LAST DRAWN ROOK OR ROOKLOCHE AT ALL!

[afewproblems]

Season 2 Halloween AU Part Four

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

A very big thank you to @strangersteddierthings for chatting with me today and being such a great sounding board for the next update!

Synopsis: What if Eddie had been at Tina's Halloween Party in Season Two? Featuring Steve!Whump, Stancy Breakup, and Eddie just trying to keep up with all these new revelations about who King-Steve actually is...

***

"So…I have to ask," Eddie blurts out, cutting through the awkward silence that has fallen between them, "how were you gonna pick up your car before you ran into me?"

"I don't think it counts as running into you, if you were waiting for me Munson," Steve side steps the question expertly, flashing him a strange smirk that seems out of place. It falls after a second and twists into something pained.

"I was hoping Nance would take me," Steve says eventually, his voice soft, "which was pretty stupid in hindsight, 'specially cuz she was counting on me to drive her this morning, which--"

Steve cuts himself, snapping his mouth shut with a harsh click of teeth, he shakes his head and lifts his hand to run roughly through his hair.

"Doesn't matter anymore".

Eddie holds his breath, feeling the conversation begin to shift. It's as though he's stepped onto a tightrope and any wrong move could potentially send him over the edge.

He settles for nodding once, turning the key in the ignition.

Steve sighs and lets himself fall back into his seat, "I know you know already, the whole fucking school does, Billy saw to that," Steve gestures to his face, "say what you really want to ask". 

Eddie's fingers tighten around the wheel as he turns them out of the parking lot, fighting the immediate urge to say, 'why did Miss Priss throw it all away?' 

"You think I believe the rumours that come out of that shithole?" Eddie lies, keeping his eyes on the road this time.

He can feel Steve's unimpressed stare as they continue down mainstreet.

"Right, so you had no clue I was in detention?"

Eddie chews the inside of his cheek to fight the sly grin that begins to creep over his face, "Alright smart ass".

He hazards another glance at Steve as they begin to hit the residential area, he looks so different from the night before.

His limbs are loose, tension free, if it weren't for the heavy bags under Steve's eyes and the nervous tap of his fingers on the passenger door, Eddie would think he was finally relaxed.

"I knew a fight definitely happened, it's Hargrove," Eddie says slowly, carefully weighing his words, "but I typically prefer to hear the whole sordid story from the source before I pass any judgements, ya know?" 

Steve doesn't say anything as they continue driving through residential  the houses getting progressively bigger as they go.

"Did you," Steve pauses and breathes out slowly before shaking his head and lifting his face to meet Eddie's gaze, "is that offer for something stronger still open?" 

Eddie smiles, "I think that can be arranged". 

***

Eddie pulls over beside Tina Cline's house, wincing as the right front tire rolls over the curb and bounces the van as it lands on the street once more, startling a snort out of Steve. 

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up Harrington," Eddie huffs as Steve shoots him a grin.

"Didn't say a word," Steve hums, unbuckling himself from the seat. Eddie watches as he opens the door and hops out. For a moment Eddie worries Steve will pull the same disappearing act from last night but he simply stops beside his car door and motions for Eddie to roll down his window. 

Eddie cracks his door open instead, "window's broken, what?" 

Steve rolls his eyes, "whatever Munson, you know the way? It's north on 5th and--"

"Then two more rights, yeah man," Eddie says with a laugh in his voice, "I dropped you off remember?" 

"Fuck off," Steve huffs out, he's grinning though.

Steve swings the Beemer’s door open and slides in. He turns on the ignition and flinches at the loud burst of music from the stereo, the volume obviously set from the mood of the previous night. 

'I want to know what love is, I want you to show me--'

Steve slams his hand against the console, cutting off the song with a harsh crack. 

The van is parked just behind the Beemer so Eddie can't see Steve's face, but his head drops down onto the wheel for just the briefest moment before he slowly lifts it, turns on his signal and pulls away from the curb. 

***

Steve beats him to the house.

He's getting out of the car, which is parked on the long driveway as Eddie pulls up to the street. 

Eddie hops out of the van, hiking his backpack higher up on his shoulders, not bothering to lock it. Who would even want his shitty van among the BMWs and Mercedes parked down this street --hell, Eddie could have sworn he saw a Jag three houses down.

Eddie stops short of the lawn. The Harrington house is so different in the light of day, the strange emptiness that seemed to ooze out of the dark windows the night before has disappeared, leaving an ordinary house in its wake. 

"Well?" Steve calls out as he pulls a pair of keys from his back pocket and spins them once on his finger, "you coming or what Munson?" 

Eddie rolls his eyes and jogs to catch up to Steve who turns on his heel to stride up the walk. He stuffs the key into the deadbolt and swings one of the double doors inwards before shucking off his sneakers.

No shoes? Fucking rich people man.

Steve must notice Eddie's expression because he blushes and shrugs, "I know, I know, but my parents will be home for Thanksgiving this year so…may as well…"

He gestures around the sterile foyer with a tight smile, as though it explains everything. 

If anything, Eddie has more questions. 

Steve cuts off the thought by clearing his throat, "we should smoke outside, last thing I need is for you to burn a hole in the couch or something".

Eddie steps over the threshold and has to stop himself from whistling, were the ceilings always this high in this place?

He lifts his foot to unlace his left chuck, snorting at the strange little table in the middle of the foyer. A giant vase sits atop it filled with a mixture of what have to be silk flowers --no way they were real. He pulls the shoe off and tosses it to the side before lifting his right foot. 

Eddie never had the greatest balance so he hops back and forth with his right foot in the air before hopping as close as he can to the wall of the foyer and leaning back against it.

He finally gets the knot in his laces undone and throws the sneaker to the floor, dropping his right foot to the hardwood.

Eddie looks up to find Steve staring with a bemused expression on his face, he ignores the wide hazel eyes and removes the backpack from his shoulders -which can't have been helping the balance issue. 

Eddie unzips the top and yanks out the trusty metal lunchbox, sliding a wicked grin into place.

"You said something about outside?"

***

By the time they've settled, facing one another on a couple of pool loungers, the sun has begun to dip low, painting the patio and empty pool a warm glowing copper. It catches Steve's hair, which shines like gold in the dying sunlight, like some Autumnal Fae King--

Eddie wants to slap himself, suddenly thankful for the November wind that cuts through the backyard, forcing him to chillout.

He picks up the grinder from his lunchbox, unscrewing the cap to open it.

"You good with a joint this evening my good King?" 

He pours a handful of a new strain Rick let him try the other day into the grinder and starts twisting. It's not something he would typically share with anyone other than Jeff, but Steve seemed like he could use something a little more special tonight.

Eddie looks up after a beat of silence, "yo, Major Tom, you with me?" 

Steve's face is pinched, tilted towards the empty pool, "please don't call me that," he says quietly.

"Major Tom?"

Steve raises his eyes to meet Eddie's gaze, his mouth cuts a hard line across his face, the typical easy grin it usually houses is gone. 

"King-Steve," he runs a hand through his hair, letting the fingers linger to grip and pull, "I just, that's not who I am anymore, I don't--"

Steve swallows harshly, "that's all anyone could talk about this morning".

He drops his voice and octave, "oh, King Steve is so pussy whipped he let his girl fuck Jonathan Byers before she dumped him".

"Is that what Hargrove said?" Eddie asks quietly as he pours out a portion of weed onto a paper.

Steve shakes his head, "that was Tommy, but that wasn't why I hit him". 

Eddie nods, and lifts the joint to his mouth to run his tongue along the edge of the paper. Steve watches him from the lounger, his eyes follow the movement before he blinks and continues.

"Tommy and I had been best friends since we were five, he uh, he knows a lot about me," Steve lifts his hand to his mouth and chews the nail of his thumb briefly before dropping it back into his lap.

"Stuff I don't tell anyone, stuff he knows will hurt". 

Eddie nods, twisting the joint closed, he can kind of understand that, although the only person in his life that knew him like that was Wayne.  

And Wayne would never hurt him. 

Did Steve really not have anyone else like that in his life, someone he could tell anything to that wouldn't look at him weird or judge him. Someone safe.

"Anyway, Hargrove started in on me after that, but he's been fucking with me for awhile so," Steve shrugs again, "he saw his big opportunity here".

"Hargrove's been messing with you?" Eddie asks sharply as he pours more weed onto another paper. He lifts it and runs his tongue along the edge of the paper before twisting it into shape. When he looks up, Steve's ears have gone slightly pink and he's sitting strangely, slightly hunched and twisted.

"Yeah," Steve says after a moment, he clears his throat and straightens his back, "yeah, it's just been at practice so far, and I thought it was just because he wanted to one up me for my spot but," he shakes his head, "it's getting worse". 

"You know, I have a bit of a reputation around school," Eddie says slowly, carefully, watching as Steve freezes and looks at Eddie with wide eyes.

"The Hellfire club is more than just the game we're playing, it's also kind of a sanctuary for kids that don't have anyone to lean on, we look after each other," Eddie continues, ignoring the way Steve relaxes slightly, "you wouldn't need to play or anything but if you need somewhere to sit at lunch now…" 

Steve looks at Eddie for a long time, his expression blank, guarded, "really? Just like that?" 

"Yeah man, besides I get to use my 'Mean and Scary Guy' persona on these fuckers so it's a win-win for me".

Steve grins, raising one skeptical eyebrow, "mean and scary?"

Eddie bristles a little bit at the questioning tone in Steve's voice and can't quite swallow the urge to snarl, "yeah I mean you looked plenty scared of the town freak yesterday". 

Steve winces and immediately starts to shake his head, inching forward in his seat so he's even closer to Eddie, their knees are almost touching.

"That's not, I wasn't," he stops and takes a deep breath, "I was upset about Nancy and it was so dark outside, the trees--"

"You afraid of the dark Harrington?" Eddie cuts him off, the lingering irritation still simmers in his voice as he coos. 

Steve just looks at him, there's something strange about the haunted expression on his face that makes the hair on the back of Eddie's arms stand on end. 

"Things happen in the dark, in the woods," Steve says softly, his eyes drift to the empty pool again. 

Eddie opens his mouth to ask Steve what the hell he means by that, when a voice shouts across the yard.

"Steve? STEVE?!" 

The sound of someone running through the grass has them both of their feet, the joints forgotten on the pool loungers. 

"Dustin?" 

A kid, he can't be more than twelve or thirteen, skids into the porchlight that has replaced the last copper rays of evening light, the sun fully set by now. The kid's blue eyes are wide underneath a mop of curly hair and hat, he's breathing hard.

"I need your help".

Tag List: @eriquin @luvinthefreaks @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @goodolefashionedloverboi @ellietheasexylibrarian @bambibiest @sadboislovebeans @howincrediblysapphicofyou @coleys-a-nerd @whycantiuseunderscore @airconditioning123 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @corrodedbisexual @starman-jpg @ilovecupcakesandtea @yoriposts @clumsiluni @pelinelin @phantomcat94 @lololol-1234 @anaibis @airconditioning123 @steveshairspray @hellfireone @sunswathe @eddielives1986 @tentativeghost @robin-not-batman @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium @tinyplanet95 @perseus-notjackson

Part Five

and for some peeps that I think may be interested! @steddierthings @steddie-there @steves-strapcollection @outpastthebrakers @henderdads @stevesbipanic

[dreamwatch]

There Goes My Hero

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #12 - Prompt: Ow! | Word Count: 999 | Rating: T | CW: language, canon typical violence, fat shaming, mention of blood, injuries, mention of past bullying | POV: Matt | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Angst, hurt/comfort, violence, fighting,

This was the very first thing I wrote for CCFest back in April!

****

Matt’s not a fighter. He’s not brave. 

He spent years skulking around the halls of Hawkins High, desperately trying to make himself smaller, to make himself invisible. Until Eddie came along and told them it was all bullshit anyway. Until Eddie came along, bigger and bolder than everyone else, a huge willow tree for them all to take shelter under.

Fighting to him, to all of them he thinks, is learning to take a slap and then walking it off. Saying ’it’s fine, it doesn’t even hurt’ as you wipe the blood from under your nose. Not biting back when they call you a fat fuck.

Fighting to him is just taking it.

And that’s mortifying, honestly, fucking pathetic, but he just wanted to keep his head down, play his music and DnD, and be left alone.

So he doesn’t know where it came from, so suddenly, although maybe that’s a lie. Like saying it doesn’t hurt when your face stings, and you’re standing in the hallway, humiliated. If he digs deep, really thinks hard about it, then it’s probably years of pent-up anger. Of having his shit stolen from his locker, of seeing his friends getting picked on and not having the guts to do a fucking thing about it other than watch and hope you’re not next. So yeah, blind, impotent rage, right? The kind that makes good people go off in the world and do bad things. 

This was his bad thing.

He hopes the other guy is okay, mostly because he doesn’t want to go to jail. He hasn’t seen Eddie since they got brought in to the ER, and he really hopes he’s okay. His face looked a mess. 

This was the eighth show on their little midwestern tour. They put it together themselves, all piled into the van, and Jeff’s station wagon (they’d laughed when he bought it, but it was a genius idea in retrospect), and just took off for a few shows over the summer. Nothing big. No real agenda other than to play and get the fuck out of Hawkins.

It would be understating it to say that Hawkins had done a number on Eddie. They still have no idea what happened. Eddie told them he got bit by dogs which just made them angry, honestly, because the stench coming off that bullshit was stifling. What they do know for sure is that he nearly died. That whatever happened left him hollowed out, physically and mentally. That it broke something in their friend, which broke something in them.

Watching Eddie recover was hard. They were all sure the band was over but in some fucked up, twisted, alternate-dimension weirdness, Steve Harrington got Eddie to play again. 

Steve. 

Harrington. 

What the fuck?

And fuck knows what he did, or said, or bribed Eddie with, but it worked. He picked up the guitar again, trading lead for rhythm with Jeff while he built up his strength and coordination, but for all that he was frustrated the light came back on. Eddie was back.

Matt wasn’t letting anyone take him away again.

It only took one show at The Hideout to know they were never going to play there again. Eddie was a curiosity now, something to be gawped at. Someone thought it would be hilarious to throw a cheerleader’s pom pom onto the stage, and it sent Eddie into a spiral. He holed up in the bathroom and wouldn’t let anyone in until Steve showed up and alikazam! the door opens. They were in there for an hour. Eddie was red-eyed and a little dazed afterwards and that was the last night they ever played in Hawkins. 

They’re in Des Moines when it happens. The show was great, objectively fucking awesome. There must have been a couple of hundred people in there, and the manager wanted them back, people asked for tapes. It couldn’t have gone any better.

So of course it went to shit.

They’d barely opened the back of the van to load up before some six-foot giant grabbed Eddie by the collar and punched him so hard in the face that blood sprayed from his nose, landing on Gareth beside him. There was a moment of complete silence, where it felt like the world just stopped or his vision had just whited out. And then—

He’s never punched anyone before, is the thing. He didn’t know there were ways you’re supposed to hold your hand, your thumb, and even if he did he’s not sure he would have done it anyway. What he does know, now at least, is that he has a mean fucking right hook. Jeff was trying to push the giant off Eddie, and Gareth was standing there with Eddie’s blood on the side of his face, shocked to shit to be fair to him, so the asshole didn’t get a second to register Matt approaching, hitting him square in the jaw and onto his ass.

And he doesn’t know what happened after that really, just that he was kicking him, boot slamming into the soft side of the man on the floor, over and over until it was Eddie, face like an abattoir floor, that pulled him off.

He mulls it over while he waits for an X-Ray. There’s definitely something broken, he can feel the grinding when he moves his hand and it hurts like a motherfucker. They still had a few shows to go. He ruined the tour with one punch. 

Jeff opens the curtain and sits next to him on the bed.

“How’s the hand?”

“Fucked. How’s Eddie’s nose?”

“Fucked.”

They sit in silence, shoulder-to-shoulder, self-declared best friends forever. 

“I can’t believe someone recognised him out here,” Jeff mutters, maybe to himself, Matt can’t be sure.

They don’t say it, but they’re both thinking it; Hawkins is going to follow Eddie everwhere. Follow them everywhere. And they can’t keep fighting their way out of things every time it catches up with them.

[yesornopolls]

do you think adults bully way more than kids do?

[divergent-paths]

i feel like twitter in the pkmn world is probably called something like chatter since chatot feels like a good mascot for bird noises full of people words. would still totally be a toxic cesspool though :'D

chara tones on this post filled in by @diamondphantom ~!

[purgemarchlockdown]

I really do like emphasizing certain things the prisoners face and the ways they react to them as things caused by the societal/social environment Around Them rather than something that happens because their just Like That or something.

I'm a bit busy so writing in a rush but:

Muu's Bullying isn't caused just because there were bullies, but because the social environment of the high school encouraged a dog eat dog world where people harmed each other so that they could become "safe." The best way to not become a target was either to be so pitiful people would treat you "better" so they could get some sort of moral high ground.

Or to be one of the bullies hurting everyone else because why would Anyone try harm you if you were at the top.

Similarly, Mahiru isn't just, more obsessed with romance than everyone else because she was born like that or something, she was fed a Story.

She was fed and pushed the idea that to be an ideal member of society one needs to be a perfect wife, it's more socially acceptable for her to be in her relationship. Something she advertises in TIHTBILWY, and she played off that idea in a self-destructive and destructive general way.

These behaviors were encouraged by the stories being told around her about love and romance, and amplified by Mahiru's general shelteredness and vague loneliness.

On the flipside, Amane's abuse is something semi-arbitrary. She just wasn't good enough by metrics she would not be able to quantify in any meaningful way.

But the environment around her that promotes an idea that children should not be treated as equals, and strict community rules about how to behave properly that attack anyone that is out of the "norm" allow her abuse to continue in the way it does. Yknow, it's very environmental.

[the-kr8tor]

Knee Socks

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 4.5k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader, bullying, blood, violence, food mentions, fluff.

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CHAPTER 3 >>> CHAPTER 4

Hobie converses with his friends, casually leaning on the playground's chain link fence, he's only eleven, that awkward stage where he thinks he's too old to use the slide, but still too young to be taken seriously by the older kids. He's too tall to be just eleven, almost a foot taller than his classmates, always mistaken for someone older, he takes it in stride, becoming his year's resident protector from would be bullies. His sheer height alone makes them stop in their tracks, not to mention his perseverance when the bully decides to fight Hobie, even if they're taller or bigger than him, he doesn't back down despite his lanky form and sometimes nerdy personality, wiping at his bleeding nose, he stands up, knuckles at the ready.

This alone makes Hobie an absolute legend in the playground. He doesn't care about that though, he just does what he thinks is right, and that's protecting those who cannot defend themselves.

The children playing stops in their tracks when a loud shriek rings out, ears perking at the difference of the sound from a happy playing yell. This one sounded like they were in pain, Hobie stomps towards the sound, the crowd parting for him.

He sees a bigger kid holding a smaller one by his ear, he recognizes the bully from his year, the smaller one seems like a year younger than him. The crowd around them gets bigger, some kids would be hollering for a fight, some could only watch. Before Hobie could run up to them, a flash of something pink hits the bully right on his forehead, causing him to let go, crouching and holding the bleeding cut it left behind.

You fearlessly strut up to him, screaming your tiny head off, "fuck off, Terrence!" You pick up the pink sketchbook from the ground, threatening to throw it again.

Hobie's eyes widened at your choice of word, not used to hearing it in the playground, he smirks at your bravery, especially that you're five times smaller than the bully. He watches as you shield the smaller kid from Terrence, book at the ready.

You look over your shoulder to look back at the younger kid on the ground, clutching at the shell of his ear, tears falling on his rosy cheeks. "You okay, Danny?"

With you distracted, Terrence finds the opportunity to grab you by the ankle, losing your balance and swiftly falling on your back, you let out a small pained sound. Hobie had enough of being a bystander, he runs up to the bully, punching him square in his face. Terrence doesn't back down, tackling Hobie, they both fall on the harsh gravel, Hobie shields his face from the oncoming punches while Terrence keeps aiming at his face.

You stand up, no time to dust yourself off, you yell a battle cry, flinging yourself on the bully's back, trying to get him off Hobie. Your small fists thump helplessly on the bigger kid's back. Suddenly the crowd parts, a couple of winded teachers arrive, one yanks you off Terrence, while the other stops him from punching Hobie. They hold you both back, like a couple of kittens trying to claw and scratch at each other.

"Enough!" One of the teachers yells out, Hobie sits up, a cut on his lip. Eyes watching as you don't let up from trying to kick Terrence's ass.

—

You sit on one of the school clinic's cot, an ice pack on your head, the condensation slides over your face, landing on the paper of your mangled sketchbook.

"Little shit" you murmur out, wiping at the water on your precious notebook.

The curtains separating the beds flings open, you jump from the sound of metal.

"Y'know you could get in trouble for that" Hobie looks at you, a similar ice pack over his cheek. He sits criss crossed on the bed, blanket pooling around him.

"You would know, of course" the previous anger still lingers, your usual shyness gone from your system.

"So you've heard of me?" He raises his brow, hissing when he moves it.

"Who hasn't heard of you? Here" you toss your ice pack over to his cot, "you look like you need it more" Hobie fumbles a bit before he finally catches it. He looks back at you, your face scrunched up in anger, brows knitted together, you look at the pink notebook like it'll spontaneously combust right in front of you.

"You look like Gromit, when you're mad" he brings your previous ice pack to his brow, the other held up to his cheek. "Y'know when he scrunches his face" you look at him angrily "like that!" He points out.

"Hey! You want a piece of me too?" It sounded much braver in your head, but with the fading adrenaline and anger, your shyness peeks back in, making your sentence sound meek.

Hobie holds up his hands, dropping the ice packs on the bed "nah, I can't fight you"

"Why? Just because I'm a girl?"

"Nope, I saw what you did to big Terry, thought you gave him brain damage" he pokes his temples. "I don't want that notebook flying at me, especially with that aim of yours"

"Fucker already has brain damage" you say softly, your shyness definitely creeping in, but you're still angry enough to swear.

"Where'd you learn to curse like that? You don't look like someone who swears"

"The telly" you shrug.

"That shit ain't good for you"

"You sound like an adult," you scrunch your nose "they always tell me I swear a lot when I'm mad. You swear too, y'know"

"I'm allowed" Hobie leans back, grinning.

"How are you allowed?" you ask, genuinely curious. Why is he allowed and you're not?

"I'm older" he says matter-of-fact.

"You're only a year older than me" you scoff, wincing when a sharp pain hits the back of your head.

Hobie hops down from the bed, quickly grabbing the ice packs. He moves towards you, sitting down, your sketchbook in the middle between you. He hands you the ice pack back, you give him a small thanks, hissing when the cold hits your skin.

"You alright? D'you want me to get the nurse?" He asks you as if he wasn't injured himself, looking worse than you.

"I'm fine, you look worse than me though"

"You draw?" Hobie doesn't acknowledge your last comment. He tries to take a peek at the pages, you clamp the book shut with lightning speed.

"I'm not showing you my sketchbook"

"Why not?"

"It's private! And I don't know you"

"Well, name's Hobie Brown" he extends his hand towards you "and you areee? Then you tell me your name, That's how this usually goes"

You narrow your eyes, "I know who you are" slapping his hand away but you tell him your name anyway, trying to be the polite one "Y/N, it's Y/N Y/L/N"

"Now we know each other, now can I?" His hand hovers over your notebook. "Damn, this looks like it's been trampled"

"Fucking Terrence" you seethe, sliding the book over to him. "Here"

"Fucking Terrence" Hobie smiles as he flips through your sketches.

—

Your mind goes back to the present when your familiar mug lands on your messy table, the content sloshes a bit to the sides.

"Careful!" You hold the mug, stopping its motion.

"Shit, sorry. You looked like Gromit there for a second" he chuckles, sitting down on your bed, a piece of biscuit in his mouth, the springs squeaking under his weight.

"Augh, you trying to bring back that nickname?" You take a sip, the warmth of the tea relaxes the aching muscles of your hand.

"It's always been there, Gromit" he lays down, swallowing the cookie, his chucks still on his feet.

You stand up immediately, cringing when his soles graze your bedsheets, grabbing his shoes off your bed "shoes off!" You struggle as Hobie watches on with a smirk "fuckin' take it off!"

"You're mad mad" he sits up, unlacing his shoes.

You put your hands on your hips, socked feet tapping impatiently. Hobie flings his shoes off, looking smugly at your annoyed face. He lays down, arms behind his head.

You narrow your eyes at him "awwe, are you tired?" You asked sarcastically.

"Yes, talking to you the entire day is tiring"

"You're not the one designing this thing" you gesture towards your table that's littered with crumpled papers, various designs pinned on your corkboard. Your hand cramps at the thought of drawing another line.

"Giving my opinion is tiring, why don't you rest for a bit, you're obviously knackered" he taps the space beside him. It wouldn't be the first time you've shared a bed, it's impossible that you haven't, being that you've been best friends for ten years. But you're still unsure, knowing that when you lie down (especially next to him) you won't get back to work again. But it doesn't mean that your heart doesn't skip a beat whenever you do share a bed, it practically stops in your chest until you two wake up.

Hobie sees your dilemma, knowing you wouldn't be able to work on your designs if you lie down next to him. "Come sit down at least" he finds a middle ground.

You sigh, surrendering, as long as you don't rest your head on your pillow you'll be fine, right? Sitting down, Hobie's legs props you up, preventing you from laying down completely.

You hum, leaning your entire weight over his legs, you can feel the rough material of his jeans on your back, your jumper doesn't provide much barrier from his warmth.

"Don't fall asleep" Hobie pokes your arm.

"Hard to when your bony legs are stabbing my back"

He moves his legs back, you fall halfway, head almost landing on his knees. You smack his arm playfully. Hobie predicts that you'll slap his chest next, he moves his arm shield himself. Lo and behold, that's where you hit him next.

"Fuck you, Wallace" despite your swearing, you grin widely, Hobie laughs at his old nickname, he keeps dodging your attacks, Hobie parries your hand, stopping it mid air. He holds your wrists in front of him, warm fingers wrap bracelets around them.

He laughs victoriously "who you callin' Wallace? Do I look like I'm bald?"

You try to get his grip off your wrist, pulling, but his grip is too strong–it doesn't hurt, it's the opposite actually, his grip on you provides comfort and stability. A laugh escapes you "you smile like him" he says it with you, copying your voice mockingly, already knowing that you'll say those exact words.

You roll your eyes, trying and failing to take your hands back, Hobie pulls you in, making you lean over his chest, your heart immediately jumping at the close proximity of his face from yours. Hobie didn't think this through enough, now he doesn't know what to do next. You both pause on your play fighting.

He watches your reaction, your lips slightly parted, pupils blown out. You do the same, cataloging every line on his face, eyes finding the familiar color of his iris, the late afternoon sun gleaming on his lip piercing. You quickly move your eyes back to his, realizing you've been staring at his lips, you swallow down your fear. You lay on top of him, frozen.

You exhale, breath fanning his face, your pulse thumping hard against Hobie's hand. He loosens his grip on your wrists, giving you time to pull away, but you don't so he slides his hands from your wrists over to your hands, fingers stopping at your clammy palms.

Hobie raises his head slowly to meet yours, his heart uncharacteristically beating hard on his chest. He realizes that his heart only acts this way around you. He can feel the dam straining against the overflowing water.

Knock

The sound breaks you both out of your daze, pushing away from each other, you avoid Hobie's gaze. While he looks at you longingly, chest heaving at what almost transpired.

Knock

You try to act nonchalantly, clearing your throat "yeah?"

"It's almost six! Get your visitor out" the dorm's RA yells out like a warden.

"Yeah, okay!" You give her a thumbs up, as if she can see you through the door. Hobie notices your awkwardness, taking it upon himself to break the awkward feeling.

"She doesn't have x-ray vision" He stops himself from touching your arm, hand landing back to his side.

You scoff, heat slowly leaving your cheeks "c'mon time to go home" you stand up, refraining from tapping his chest.

"We're not done yet" he sits up by his elbows, eyes following you gathering his stuff like a one night stand trying to get him out of your place.

You sigh "I don't think we can finish this today, Hobs" you say defeatedly "I mean look" you take a pinned sketch, showing it to Hobie. You both act like nothing happened, used to the almosts.

He looks at your sketch of him, drawn like a runway model, your design looks good, for him at least. Already sure whatever you make for him will be amazing. But judging from your pout he guesses it's not good enough for you.

"It looks good" he reassures you, "what's wrong with it?"

You drop his shoes back on the floor, stepping over it to sit back down on the bed. You hold the paper gingerly, noting every single line you've drawn. "There's something missing, it– I don't know" you groan.

"Make me understand then, they all look good enough for me" he gestures at your designs on the corkboard "I like the one with red on it"

"They all have a touch of red" you roll your eyes, "I don't know, they just– they have more Hobie in them, than of me y'know?"

He nods "yeah, I can see it, you need more bits of you in it"

"Mm-hmm, it's supposed to be a perfect blend of us both" you cross the barrier that you've put up between him, leaning your head on his chest.

"Yeah, it's like if we had a kid and they ended up lookin' like a clone of me" he looks at you teasingly, a smirk curling on his lips.

"Again, weird analogy, Hobs" you huff out.

He chuckles "D'you wanna rest or continue this at my place?" Hobie covers the top of your head with his palm, blanketing your scalp in his warmth.

Thinking for a second, you want to rest, but on the other hand, you need to keep working, you never know when both of your schedules will clear up, this is one of those rare times.

The loud knock echoes again, "your place, then" you look at him, cheek laying on his chest, hearing how his heart beats against your ear.

Hobie smiles, more than happy to spend more time with you.

—

You stop by a convenience store on the way to his place. The harsh white lights make you squint until your eyes adjust. Hobie grabs a basket, handing it to you.

"Such a gentleman" sarcasm dripping on your lips.

He walks backwards, winking at you, hands in his jean pockets. Hobie beelines for the frozen aisle, his chucks sliding against the tiled floor.

You sigh, already knowing what he'll grab. You take a couple of crisps, Hobie's favourite and yours. You bend down to grab a packet of biscuits, hearing a tinkling sound on your left, your eyebrows knit in confusion at the peeking green sock puppet.

"Hello there" You ask, thinking there's a kid playing around. You stand up, the small basket almost full.

"Hi" the puppet's mouth moves, but Hobie's voice comes out, you laugh at how he tried to hide his voice by making it higher pitched.

"Hobie, where'd you even get that?" You say in between airy laughs. You can't see where he is, Hobie's body is hidden behind a display of oatmeal, but you can clearly see his metal bracelet peeking out from under the puppet.

"Name's not Hobie, it's y/n, and I have a passion for fashion" the puppet's mouth moves dramatically as Hobie speaks.

You giggle at his antics, grabbing the puppet by its 'throat' "ack!" Hobie acts like he's choking. He moves in your line of sight, still making choking noises. The cashier looks at you weirdly, releasing your hand from the puppet.

You keep laughing, Hobie's smiles victoriously, getting the desired reaction from you. You clutch your hand over your stomach, heaving from laughing.

"You done?" Hobie is still speaking through the puppet, his throat aching from making his voice higher.

"Yep, you can stop making that voice" you smile, playing with the little bell strapped on the puppet, it rings softly at your touch.

"Thank fuck," Hobie clears his throat, speaking in his normal deep voice "they're selling these over there" he points to his right, using the puppet to point at it.

You see the bright display of different sock puppets, the bold letters reading 'all proceeds go to the children's hospital'

"It's cute, what even is it?"

Hobie moves the puppet from side to side, little yellow spikes on its head, a long tongue lolling on the side of its mouth. "I think it's supposed to be a dinosaur"

"Looks like it, but its tongue is too long to be a dinosaur, maybe it's a lizard?" You look at Hobie questioningly.

"Don't look at me, I don't know either" he shrugs.

"Whatever it is let's take it, he's kind of adorable, in a weird looking way" you take it from his hand, putting it inside your basket.

"Just like you" Hobie quips.

"Funny" you poke his chest. "You got the frozen pizza?"

"Nah, got distracted" Hobie walks towards the freezers, you follow closely behind, he flings the door open. You peek under his raised arm resting on the freezer door, looking at your choices.

"Four cheeses? Or overload?" You ask.

"You want me to shit myself?"

You giggle "right, lactose intolerant, forgot for a sec, overload it is. Thought you have lactaid?"

Hobie takes the frozen pizza box, bringing it to your cheeks, you jump away when the cold box hits your skin. "I ran out of it"

"Ass" you scoff, wiping away the condensation.

He laughs from his belly, putting the box inside the basket. Hobie grabs the heavy basket from you, happily giving it to him. He makes his way towards the cashier, you quickly grab a couple of canned soda from the freezer, catching up to Hobie.

The cashier gives you an annoyed look, probably because of the noises you two made. You look at him apologetically as he scans the items.

—

You arrive at his place, slightly shivering from the cold air that pricked you while in the back of Hobie's motorcycle. He gets off first, helping you with a steady hand.

"Remind me to bring a proper jacket next time we ride this late. Christ alive it's bloody freezing" you rub your arms, trying to get warm, your thin jacket isn't helping much to shield you from the cold.

Hobie takes off his leather jacket despite being only a few feet away from his place, he drapes it on you since your hands are full with the plastic bag of food. He holds your hands together breathing hot air into it, your heart swells at the small act.

"Why didn't you tell me you were cold? I could've stopped for a bit and handed you my jacket, you idiot" he grumbles out, still rubbing your hands warm.

"It was a short ride, Hobs. Besides we're here already you don't need to do this"

"Inside isn't any better, radiator's fucked since yesterday" he brings your hands to his mouth, blowing more warm air into your cold hands.

"Just my luck" your breathing stutters in your throat when Hobie looks at you through his lashes, lips dangerously close to your hands. "Let's just go inside, I'm hungry" you pull your hands away, already missing his warmth. Hobie looks at you like you grew a second head.

"Oven still works, right?" You clear your throat.

Hobie takes out his keys, opening the door for you "yeah, gas still works" he sniffs, the cold finally bothering him.

Entering the small house, you can hear the loud sound of the television, bright against the darkness of the modest living room. Ned and James play couch co-op of golden eye. James sees you standing awkwardly by the doorway, not paying attention to the screen, his character dies, making Ned annoyed.

"Come on, bruv! We can't pass this level with you dying every bloody minute" Ned follows James' stare, ending with you standing stiffly in front of the door, too awkward to walk in front of the telly, not wanting to disturb them. Hobie's behind you fumbling with the lock.

"Hi, sorry to drop in" you smile shyly.

Ned slaps the back of James' head "really? You got distracted?" He whisper-shouts, James jumps slightly in his seat, Ned quickly moves his neck to look at you, "It's alright, y/n! Make yourself at home"

"Thanks" you say, smiling sweetly.

"Oi, it's rude to stare" Hobie finally locks the rusty bolt, eyes staring at James.

" 'm not," he defends himself, thick Manchester accent rearing its head. "I was lookin' at the bag, is that pizza?" He acts interested in the contents of your bag.

Hobie side eyes Ned, having a non verbal conversation with him.

"I think there's enough for us four, where's Yuri? I still haven't thanked her for her help" you say.

"She's with her friends," Ned says.

Nodding, you walk towards the kitchen, Hobie not too far behind. "Have you talked to the landlord about the broken radiator, Hobs?"

"Don't need to, we're moving out anyway" Hobie replies nonchalantly, like it's old news to you.

"What?" You drop the plastic bag a little too hard on the counter. "What do you mean you're moving out? Where are you moving?" Fear creeps up to you.

"All of us are moving, actually" James pipes up from the couch, Ned elbows for him to shut up.

Hobie grabs a flyer from the fridge door, showing it to you. "Battle of the bands, our last show before we disband"

"You're gonna disband too?!" You look at Ned sitting on the couch, watching the interaction unfold. He replies for Hobie, seeing he might need some help explaining it to you.

"Sorry y/n, it's true. James and Yuri are off to uni, and I'm moving back to Richmond"

You look at Hobie sadly, knowing he'll be left behind by one of his oldest friends. You're well aware that Hobie doesn't like sticking to one band, moving on to a different team every few years, this doesn't surprise you, but Ned has been one of the few constants in his band, always his chosen bassist, and his oldest friend next to you.

Ned and James start their game again, giving you as much privacy as the small space can provide, trying to not listen to your obvious private conversation, they wish you two could just talk it out inside Hobie's room instead. Or better yet, just kiss about it, saving you both the energy.

Looking up at Hobie, eyes slightly watering at the thought of him being left behind, you'd never even thought of doing that to him. Of course you know he can handle himself, but you can't bear imagining him alone. Or maybe it's because you can't imagine going through life without him, turning out he'll be fine on his own without you. And you're the one who's projecting your fears towards Hobie.

Your lives have been intertwined since childhood, celebrating wins together, laughing and crying at the good and bad. You've been through almost everything together, it's hard to imagine your life before you met him, more so after your lives untangle from each other.

"When's the last gig?" You try to not let your emotions get to you, but your smile doesn't reach your eyes. Hobie sees through your charade, he holds your hand subtly, thumb rubbing circles over your palm.

"It'll be fine, love" I'll be fine, he wanted to say, but he swallows it down, tossing it over to the pile of all the unsaid words he wanted to say to you. "We've been planning it for awhile, just need to find a place and I'm good to go"

"You haven't found a place yet?" completely forgetting there are other people in the room with you, melting into his touch.

"Not yet, y'know me, always putting things off" he tangles his fingers through yours. "Once we win, I'll get enough to rent a place"

"I'll help you find a place" you squeeze his hand, he squeezes back three times.

"You givin' it for free? No need for me to punch out a hole in our card?" He teases you.

You roll your eyes "Don't push it, Hobart. But yes, you don't need to use our card for it" you joke, you would've helped him anyways, card or no card.

"Good, thanks Gromit" he smiles, reluctantly untangling your fingers from his. Hobie hands you the flyer, moving towards the counter to take out the food. With that your previous conversation ends, but your sadness and anxiety for what the future holds still lingers. Everything seems to change too fast, you don't think you're ready for any of it.

You smile softly at the nickname. Reading the contents of the advert– Battle of the bands at Oscorp Museum! your eyes widening when you gloss over the date on it. "Hobie, this concert is happening the day before our show"

"And? It's not on the same day" he takes out the puppet from the plastic.

"Yeah, but won't you be too..tired?" You ask.

Hobie huffs, taking the puppet off the counter, slipping it on your hand, you raise a brow at him "say what you really mean by 'tired' use the puppet to help" he crosses his arms over his chest.

You narrow your eyes, playing along, raising your arm halfway. You speak through the puppet, trying to talk with your mouth closed "won't you be too hungover?"

"There we go!" He claps "Thank you, y/n for the honesty"

"That wasn't me, that was the puppet"

"We have a real ventriloquist here, huh" Hobie takes out the frozen pizza from the box, slipping it inside the oven, he shuts the oven door closed "There won't be any alcohol in the venue, there's nothing to fucking drink"

"Sure" you say, still speaking through the puppet, rolling its head with your hand movements.

James whispers to Ned "they were all sweet to each other a second ago, now they're fighting"

"Reminds you of your parents huh?" Ned whispers back.

"Actually yeah, good eye"

Ned looks at him confused "not a compliment, bruv"

"Huh?"

"Nothin' what's up with the creepy puppet?"

Meanwhile, you continue to bicker with Hobie, the cold not helping with your attitude "You know I'm thinking of naming him Terrence, he looks like a Terry, right?" You make the puppet look at you, making it nod.

"Fuck off, after that Terry?"

"Yeah, we can tell exactly what we mean through Terry then we can both put the blame on him" you make the puppet nervously look at both of you.

"Fuckin' Terrence" Hobie remembers the bully.

"Exactly! Fuckin' Terrence" you both laugh, you don't even remember why you were fighting in the first place.

A/N: Thank you for reading! As always likes and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

*pictures above are from pinterest*

[gothghostiie]

・┆✦ʚBully!Soapɞ✦ ┆・

disclaimer: pretty much this whole masterlist is dead dove content and focused on bullying and kinks that come with it. all posts are specifically tagged with their own CW's.

・┆✦ʚsfwɞ✦ ┆・

reader actually getting hurt during training

possessive

・┆✦ʚnsfwɞ✦┆・

childhood bully!soap giving you a proper welcome to base

sneaking into your room drunk (semi-nsfw/after fuck)

pecking order (bully!141)

shower (male!reader)

blackmail

belly punching

flipping your skirt up

pantsing you

marking his territory

front wedgies until you piss yourself

more front wedgies

piss denial

out on a mission

making you discover your wedgie kink

first time

[valeriele3]

Kalim Al-Asim x Bullied!Fem reader

Warnings: Verbal bullying and not proofread (Please lmk if I missed smth)

Words: 669

Serious ver. | Crack ver.(You're here!)

"Y/N is such a bitch." - Random Student A

"I know right!" Random student B says.

"Oh right, have you heard? Apparently Y/N seduced multiple housewardens. Must be why she's so close to them. What a slut."

Random students A and B laugh.

"Hey! Take that back!"

"Huh? And who—” - RS.A

"O-Oh Kalim! Hey there! How's it going?" - RS.B

"Don't pretend like you weren't just talking bad about Y/N! Please take back what you said; none of them were true at all."

“I—” Student B gets cut off by Student A.

"Hm? Whatever could you mean by that, Kalim?"

"You called Y/N names."

"Names? Oh, that? I'm afraid we were simply saying the truth, though. Almost everyone agrees."

"Look, I'm not sure where you heard that, but Y/N is far from what you guys think."

"She's a hard-working, earnest, and sincere person."

"She never seduced anyone."

"She managed to form the connections and friendships she has by communicating with them, helping them, and just being herself."

"And that's why I love her."

You just got done with your potionology class and were walking towards the cafeteria.

You were about to turn the corner until you heard a familiar voice.

"-nd that's why I love her."

Kalim's voice.

Thud

'Ah, it seems that I really stand no chance'

'He already loves someone else.'

"Hm? Oh! Y/N!"

Panicking, you quickly run away, leaving behind your book that you accidentally dropped. "Hey, wait up! You dropped your book!" Kalim runs after you.

After a bit of running, Kalim eventually caught up to you.

He taps your back and says, "Hey, why'd you run away?"

Sniffle

"H-hey..Are you..Crying?"

"What's wrong?"

You stay silent.

After what felt like an eternity, a different voice spoke up.

"Kalim? Y/N? What are you guys standing in the middle of the corridor? You guys are blocking people's way."

You quickly hide your face in your hands.

Awkwardly, Kalim speaks up, "A-Ah, Jamil, can you please prepare us some food?"

"Mm..Alright. C'mon." Jamil leads the way to the Scarabia mirror.

After Jamil finishes preparing your guys' meals, he turns to leave the room.

Kalim mouths to Jamil, "Thank you."

"Just talk whatever it is out" he mouths back.

Creak

Shut

Kalim clears his throat. "Y/N. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"'m tired..I hate this place..The bullying, the overblots, that irresponsible headmage, and my home being taken away from me. I'm tired, Kalim."

Upon hearing this, Kalim engulfs you in a hug.

He doesn't say anything. He just listens attentively.

It felt warm. Like a comfortable blanket embracing you and protecting you from the harsh reality.

After calming down a bit, you move away from the hug.

You felt tempted to lean back into his embrace, but that would be too selfish. It would be unfair to Kalim.

But little do you know that Kalim himself had to stop himself from wrapping you in his arms once again.

"Kalim, I hope you'll be happy with her."

"Her?"

"I mean, the person you love. Obviously, I heard you talking about it earlier." You chuckle, although it sounds strained.

"Hmm, well, I'm always happy with you!"

"Eh?" You pause.

'Did I hear that wrong..?'

"Ahah..I think I heard you wrong, Kalim."

"Heard what wrong? It's true! I'm always happy when I'm together with you!" He gives his signature bright smile that could rival even the sun itself.

'Me..Her..Happy..'

'Wait!'

"Y-you mean me?! You like, no, love me!?" You blush.

"Of course! Who else would I love?"

It was then that you noticed how his eyes seemed to shine so bright; he's looking at you only, all his attention on you, as if nothing else matters right now but you.

"Oh right! Let's eat before the food gets cold!"

"Yeah..!" You turn to the already cold food. 'Oh well, Jamil's food is the best, so I'm sure it still tastes good'

A while later..

"I didn't expect you to confess so bluntly."

"Hm? Wait, what?"

'..I just basically confessed twice. This is so embarrassing!' He blushes

.ೃ࿐Reblogs are highly appreciated! ^^

[raging-bisexual76]

i’m begging you to speak more abt bachira & isagi w a loser!reader

!! Nonnie I'm so glad you asked fr it's gonna be kinda long just tell me to stfu if u need

also they're a lot meaner with reader than their yan counterparts

TW/CW; dubcon/noncon (to be safe), bullying, mention of spitting (sexual style fingerguns), gentle mention of impact play, hard mention of non-consensual picture sharing and can be implied that the pictures were taken without consent

So it's like a college au kinda but also like not? And I'm gonna do it fem reader coded I'm sorry I was trying to stay gn but then my brain was like mmm no

Now obviously the boys are still on the soccer team still and are more than likely popular because they've gotten the team to it's current standing.

Then we have our sweet lil loser reader :) who could do no wrong except standing up against the bullies. She's probably in an unpopular group/club but I'm not entirely sure what one

But reader's all red in the face and jabbing their finger into the boys chest, asking when will it be enough for them and that they're sick of seeing and hearing it. That they should be ashamed, thinking they're big shots when they do stuff like this. And while she's popping off, the boys are just like "holy shit who the fuck does she think she is??"

So as I said, they start moving their bullying efforts to the reader after that. It starts small with them stealing her stuff, tugging her hair, turning her friends against her and spreading rumors, etc.

But the first time they trip her?? And get a lil glimpse of her panties??? Fuuck. Especially as she sits up with tears in her eyes, giving them the nastiest look she can muster as she tells them to fuck off and just leave her alone.

After that though, it gets worse for our dear reader. Instead of just tugging little stands, they grab fist fulls of her hair and pull, just to hear what noises she makes. They'll dump water out a window, or push her into the fountain just to see what's underneath her shirt and flip up her skirt to see her panties. The boys will go out of their way to kick a soccer ball so it hits her, just to see her cry. Pinching her and leaving little bruises on her sides and thighs, groping at her through her clothes as they press themselves against her. They'll start pulling her off to secluded places by her hair or arm to make her give them a blowjob, or get a quick fuck in.

I can see any pictures they have of her in compromising positions probably being shared with the rest of the soccer team. She can't prove it, but the stares from the team say more than enough.

One of the teams favorites is where the reader is on their knees, looking up at the camera with tears and cum running down her face, both Yoichi and Meguru's dicks pressing against her face. Another is a video of reader laying on her back, covering her face with her forearm in embarrassment. She's barely clothed, boobs almost spilling out of her bra with each of Bachira's thrusts. Isagi has her right hand in his as he wraps them around his cock, and with his other he pulls her tits out to abuse her nipples (pinchin, spittin, biting, slappin n suckin my god he'd do everything). And after she thinks they're done, she goes to sit up to gather her things only to be flipped over and pushed back down. Yoichi has the camera now as he steps behind her, running his tip up and down her leaking entrance. Bachira just clicks his tongue with a pout, "You didn't think we were done yet, right, [name]-chan? Yoichi-kun hasn't gotten his turn yet, and I'm still a little dirty. So, clean it." He slides in front of her, lifting her head up by the hair as he presses himself against her mouth.

(m tryin to not think abt if they ((the team)) have seen reader and the boys go at it in the locker room and the showers (((they have))) )

.

.

Idk this isn't all the ideas and I'm all over the place with this,, but it's in the making yk? I feel like yan them doesn't want any harm to come to darling, but bully them? They want to see you bruised, broken and hurting, they want to see the look hatred in your eyes and for you to be uncomfortable around them

[janknabobfdi]

i stayed up till 3 am making this

[afewproblems]

Difficult Days Part One

Even at ten years old Shawn knew he was different. 

It didn’t take a genius to notice, and Shawn was certainly good at noticing things --observing, his dad would be quick to say, correcting him as usual. 

His dad did that a lot, correcting, insisting there was a right way to do things; there was a right way to play hide and seek, there was a right way to camp, to relax, and more often than not it was the opposite of what Shawn was doing. 

While other kids learned how to play baseball and spent their loose change at the arcade, Shawn was instead learning how to navigate through the woods without a compass, escape from the trunk of a car, and how to spot a squeaky floorboard from four paces. 

While his classmates were at the beach, searching for jellyfish in the low tide pools, Shawn would memorize the layout of restaurants and describe the last three patrons to walk through the door in the time it took him and his dad to get their drink orders. 

‘You can’t skate through life Shawn,’ his dad would tell him, breathing the words out sharply, ‘you have skills others don’t and you need to use them the right way, I don’t get why you can’t see that’.

It was exhausting. 

Why was the right way only his dad’s way? It had never been very clearly explained to Shawn, other than how great of a cop he could be -maybe even a detective. But why couldn't he use his observation skills the way he wanted to? This grownup stuff was years away!  It wasn’t like it was something he could turn off, so what was the big deal?

Like Mr. Cooper’s homework spot checks. 

None of the other kids had managed to figure out his system, the pattern to the days when their teacher would ask for their math homework.

Tommy Decker insisted it was completely random, that the man asked for it on a whim -just to torture them all. 

Mandy Holloway on the other hand, whose sister had Mr. Cooper for math the previous year, argued that it was based on the moon cycle and every second new moon the pattern would change - you just have to track it Tommy.

But somehow Shawn always, always, seemed to know without fail the day that Mr. Cooper would ask them all to pass their work to the front of each row.

It wasn’t Shawn’s fault that Mr. Cooper was incredibly obvious, so why shouldn't he take advantage of it? Besides, it was almost mind boggling how the other kids in his class couldn’t see the many, many, tells their teacher had. 

First, there were the heavy purple bags under Mr. Cooper's eyes that would tend to show up a few days before the homework check. 

Mr. Cooper would also become noticeably agitated over the smallest of incidents in the classroom, whether a student was running late or even opened their book bags a little too loudly - it didn’t matter, detention was in their future. 

That coupled with the noticeable creases in Mr. Cooper’s shirts, unironed, and lacking the normal meticulous care --probably on the outs with his wife based on the intermittent wearing of his large gold wedding band.

Finally, and honestly how no one else in his class seemed to see this one, if Mr. Cooper brought in a gas station paper coffee cup as he walked into the classroom -instead of his usual metal thermos from home, that was the nail in the coffin. The final sign that Mr. Cooper would be demanding their homework the very next day. 

It was so, so obvious, at least to Shawn.

But then, so too was Shawns ability to avoid the seemingly random spot checks.

“How do you always know?” Tommy whispers to Shawn near the end of the school year, his voice quiet to avoid Mr. Cooper’s notice as the man wanders up and down the rows of desks.

“Know what?” Shawn says, his voice equally soft as he turns towards Tommy, whose face twists into a sneer at the question.

Tommy scoffs with narrowed blue eyes, “Duh, Cooper’s homework checks, you’ve never not handed it in - what are you some kind of nerd?” 

Shawn blinks, the way Tommy spits out the word, nerd, can’t bode well for him. He remembers just the previous year, how Tommy and a few of the other boys in their grade had given Gus a hard time, even going so far to give his best friend a swirly. Shawn shivers at the memory and shakes his head rapidly, he opens his mouth to argue when suddenly a shadow appears over his desk. 

He manages to quickly turn back to his paper, away from Tommy’s glare, and writes down an answer to question seven from their textbook. It’s not the right answer, he knows that already, but it’s enough to throw Mr. Cooper off his scent.

Their teacher shifts away from Shawn, seemingly satisfied, and looks at Tommy who isn’t quite fast enough.

“Eyes on your own paper Thomas, I don’t want to have to tell you again,” Mr. Cooper says sternly, but his voice is tired at the edges. Whatever fight the Coopers had must have been a real doozy this time. Shawn tries not to think about his own parents' fights and the silence that would drift through the house for days afterwards. Did Mrs. Cooper shut down the way Shawn's mom so often did? Maybe Mr. Cooper yelled, like Shawn's dad. It seemed likely given the number of detentions the man had assigned their class this year. 

Mr.Cooper waits for another beat between their desks until Tommy finally shifts in his chair and lowers his face to his desk, the tips of his ears quickly flushing pink beneath curly blond hair. 

“Yes Mr. Cooper,” Tommy mumbles into his desk. 

Their teacher nods and leaves, making his way over to a pair of girls on the far side of the room hiding a magazine under the desk - or trying to. 

“You did that on purpose,” Tommy hisses, shooting a withering glare at Shawn, “you knew he was there-”

“What am I psychic?” Shawn huffs with a roll of his eyes, “how was I supposed to know he was there, huh?”

Tommy turns away again, glaring at the paper on his desk. Shawn watches as Tommy catches the eye of Marcus Boon across the classroom.

Shawn stifles a low groan as the other boy's eyes flick between him and Tommy; Marcus levels him with a sneer to rival Tommy’s own and lifts a finger to his throat before dragging it across in one smooth motion. 

Well, shit. 

So much for making it through at least one school year without getting into a fight. 

***

“You should’a just told him,” Gus breathes out, his chest heaving as he and Shawn scramble over the fence of the Spencer front yard. Both boys make a beeline for the porch, Gus keeps watch while Shawn stops first at the small garden to grab the spare hide-a-key out from the fake rock beside his mom’s hydrangeas.

Shawn is lucky that Gus had been with him on the way home from school, not that it had stopped Tommy Decker and Marcus Boon from making good on their threat from math class, chasing Shawn down the road to the boardwalk.

Shawn winces as his fingers grip the key, his hands hurt from where he had managed to stop himself from falling face first into the gravel after being shoved by Marcus. 

Thankfully Gus had managed to distract the pair of boys long enough for them to make a run for it. 

“Tommy’s an asshole, they both are, why should I tell them anything,” Shawn mutters, wincing as his split lip opens again, the smell of copper invades his nose, making him nauseous. 

He gets the key in the door and opens it, bringing in the fake rock with him. He’ll have to explain to his dad that he ‘lost’ his house key again, knowing that Tommy and Marcus had taken it from him and thrown it into the trees off the side of the road. One more thing for his dad to lecture him over.

Shawn can feel Gus staring as he brings the hide-a-key with him into the kitchen, but says nothing as the pair make their way through the quiet house. 

He places the rock on the counter with the spare key beside it. Gus opens the pantry door and takes a pair of Wagon Wheels out of the already open box, the cellophane crinkles as Gus tosses one to Shawn. 

“All I'm saying is you might get beat up less,” Gus says before taking a large bite of the chocolate snack cake, he wipes the mess of crumbs from his cheeks onto the floor and shoots Shawn a grin at the mess.

“And I'm saying, they don't need much of an excuse,” Shawn counters, matching Gus’ grin as he watches the collection of crumbs grow on the kitchen tile floor.

Shawn chews on his lip, playing with the thin cellophane around his snack cake, “It’s…it's weird, right?”

Gus blinks, his lips quirk into a half frown as he takes another pensive bite of his cake before finally shrugging. 

“Well, who cares? I think we're cool so if that's weird, then we're weird together”.

Shawn lets a groan out and shakes his hands so hard his own snack cake goes flying onto the counter with a soft thunk.

“No!” He breathes out sharply, “I mean, it's weird being able to know things about people without trying, I don’t want to know them, I don't want to be in this situation, it’s weird and it sucks and dad thinks its so great but--”

Shawn stops speaking as the last of Gus’ chocolate cake is suddenly smushed into the side of his face. Crumbs and icing litter the tile around them, some has smeared from Gus's shoes in his haste to dart out of the line of fire. The previously spotless kitchen is now completely filthy in just a matter of seconds.

Shawn slowly looks at Gus, who has the widest grin on his face, and breathes out a startled laugh.

“Dad is going to kill you,” he says, wiping cake and icing from his cheek. 

“He's not my dad,” Gus snorts as he tries to dodge Shawn's swipe of cake hands.

He might as well be, Shawn thinks to himself as he reaches for more cake crumbs from the floor and manages to smear them onto Gus’ face. 

At least one upside to Shawn’s memory is he’ll be able to hold onto this, their laughter in the afternoon sun, the smell of chocolate, for a really really long time.

Wrestling in the kitchen with his best friend, previous hurts forgotten for now and with chocolate smeared all over their clothes, their faces, and the floor, Shawn had never felt less like an only child. 

Tag List: @adaed5 @drakkywolf