#cw past child abuse

[abubblingcandle]

Augusnippets Day 25 - Flashbacks - Ted Lasso

cw - flashbacks, PTSD, past child abuse, claustrophobia, panic attacks

Jamie had been working with Doctor Fieldstone on the things that his dad had ruined for him and that caused his panic attacks. But every so often he still accidentally stumbled on something that set off a memory he had forgotten about

Here on AO3 @augusnippets

“Fuck!” Jamie cursed, dropping down onto the moist grass. He didn’t even do anything. He was just running, stopped and was stepping down the curb. His body went down the curb, his ankle didn’t agree with that as an idea and so his body crumpled.

“Shit!” Roy continued the swear word roulette. Before Jamie could think about moving, Roy had his arms underneath Jamie’s and was pulling him back upright.

“I think I’m,” Jamie winced before testing putting weight down on the irritated appendage. “Nope, nope,” Jamie cried out as it buckled again under his weight. He squeezed his eyes shut and let Roy manipulate him. All Jamie’s focus was on making sure his foot did not touch the floor. Until the back of his legs hit on the rear bumper of the G Wagon. The feeling was like a jolt of electricity, piercing through his veins leaving destruction in it’s wake. He couldn’t breathe, his chest was collapsing in on itself. There were hands on him, he didn’t want hands on him.

“Just get the fuck in junior.”

The hands weren’t letting go. He couldn’t struggle. It would hurt more if he struggled.

“We’ve got places to be and you’re the smallest. I’d do it if I could but I won’t fit you hear.” Jamie could feel his dad’s breath on his face and smell the stench of cheap cologne and stale beer.

“I’ll just walk,” Jamie whispered, hands finally reconnecting with his brain to reach up and grip tightly onto his hair.

“Jamie.” Hands gripped at his wrists, trapping him in place.

“Jamie do not embarrass me. If you will not get in there then I will make you. So stupid.” The grip on his wrists was becoming bruising as Jamie struggled in place lashing out with his elbows, his feet, his head anything that would move. But the grip wouldn’t release. The growling of displeasure continued. He was lifted up of his feet and then everything went black.

It was too tight. His dad had said with pride just a few days before that Jamie was a growing lad and would be taller than his dad in no time. That growth spurt height now was betraying him as Jamie tucked his knees into his chest to stop whatever else was in the boot digging into his legs. His head was already throbbing from the hit against the old opened paint can that had been leaking into the boot of his dad’s car for months. It was so dark. Jamie couldn’t even tell if he had is eyes open or not. “You’re lucky mate, kids just ain’t built like they were when I was a young un,” Jamie could hear his dad’s abrasive laugh over the rumbling of the engine turning over.

“Tell you the number of times my old man would take me out and I’d have to sit in the boot as there wasn’t room,” Denbo laughed and there was a chitter of mirroring chuckles from the other occupants of the car.

“Just a part of growing up, George fucking spoils the little leech. Needs a bit of toughening up,” James huffed. Tears prickled at Jamie’s eyes. He pressed his fist against his mouth to bite and try and stifle the pained and scared sobs. He couldn’t be seen crying, not by his dad’s friends, that would just make it a million times worse. He wasn’t some little baby that was scared of the dark. It was his own fault. His dad would have taken off the parcel shelf and there would have been more room if he hadn’t had been a whiny brat. He just needed to get over himself and …

“Jamie, can you hear me?”

Jamie froze in place. That wasn’t one of his dad’s friends. It was too soft, too caring to be someone that would associate with James Tartt.

“He’s stopped the biting, that’s something right?”

Roy? Roy was here? But wasn’t there? Where was here?

“Jamie I need you to open your eyes for me?” the nice voice, not Roy, asked. But Jamie couldn’t do that. He shook his head slightly, too worried about hitting the paint can again to do it further. If he opened his eyes he would just see the darkness and Roy and Not Roy would go away and he would be trapped and alone again. “Jamie, you are on a side road near Richmond Green leaning up against the wheel of Coach Kent’s car. If you don’t believe me you can reach out. Just move your right hand off your lap and you’ll feel the tarmac.” Jamie shook his head again. No matter what the nice voice in his head was saying he couldn’t move his arm because it would hit something and what if it was the bolt cutters?

“Jamie, could you try? I’m, I’m starting to get really fucking worried mate,” that was Roy Kent that time. Jamie would know that voice anywhere. But Roy Kent was worried about him, why was imaginary Roy Kent worried about him and asking him to move his arm. But despite that his arm moved seemingly of it’s own accord. It stretched downwards and collided with a rough, bitty surface. It did feel like a road.

“There you are Jamie. See what that feels like. Focus on that feeling and open your eyes.” Jamie rolled a loose piece of the fine rock over his fingertips. His eyes did inch open to look down at the piece in his hand. It was dark grey and jagged and despite the prickle, felt good in his hand. He wasn’t in a car boot. He was sat on the side of a road with a very concerned Roy Kent holding out a phone with Doctor Fieldstone’s face peering back at him. “Are you back with us Jamie?” Doctor Fieldstone asked and that was enough to start the torrent. Sobs ripped their way out of Jamie and poured all over the pavement like someone had taken a knife to him and just started ripping things out.

He could faintly here Roy thanking Doctor Fieldstone then a hand settled on his knee. Roy could surely feel the small flinch at the contact but he kept his hand there, a settling weight. It was easily identifiable as Roy Kent’s hand, not anything that could be kept in a handyman’s car boot.

“I just want to go home,” Jamie choked out through his tears.

“Ok then lad. Let’s get you home. You wanna choose the music?” Roy offered, opening the passenger seat door with his free hand and leaving it there inviting for Jamie. Jamie nodded, that would help. He could do this. He wasn’t scared of cars. He could get in the passenger seat like the passenger princess Roy always muttered about him being and he could annoy Roy with his music selections. He could do this. This wasn’t going to be another thing ruined by James Tartt.

It was the topic of an emergency session with Doctor Fieldstone the next day, another trigger that Jamie hadn’t been aware of. Another thing ruined by James Tartt Sr. But when he stood a respectable distance away and saw a loving uncle lift a fantastic little blonde veterinarian for wild animals to sit on the edge of the boot so he could clean a scraped knee, Jamie felt like it might be one he could fix.

[the-haunted-office]

‘what doesn’t kill you…' 

@katsuko-rp-blog

Send me    ‘what doesn’t kill you…'     and my muse will talk about a difficult experience in their life that they learned a valuable lesson from.

"Parents and authority figures do not always have your best interests at heart. They can be as selfish as anybody else."

"I already knew I couldn't trust my father, but I thought I could trust my mother. She would stand there and do nothing when my father verbally and sometimes physically abused me, and when I asked her why she never stood up for me, she told me it's because one day I would grow up and leave, but her husband would never leave. Apparently he was more important to her than I was."

[reasonsforhope]

"Colombia’s congress has voted to change a law that allowed minors to get married with parental consent.

The proposal would make the minimum age for marriage 18, and seeks to protect the rights and development opportunities for minors. It still must be signed into law by President Gustavo Petro.

Currently, the country’s civil code allows person as young as 14 years old to get married with parental consent.

The initial proposal to reform the law – presented in 2023 – used the slogan “they’re girls, not wives” and aimed to prevent young girls from being forced to marry, to be subject to different forms of violence and to miss out on education and development opportunities.

“Minors are not sexual objects, they’re girls,” congresswoman Clara López Obregón said in a statement after the proposal was greenlit.

Child marriage remains a widespread practice worldwide and affects around 12 million girls per year, according to the UN’s agency for children, UNICEF.

But there’s been a global drop in child marriages over the past few years, according to the agency’s statistics. “Ten years ago, one in four young women aged 20 to 24 was married as a child. Today that number has fallen to one in five,” UNICEF said.

In Latin America, poverty is the main factor leading to minors getting married, according to UNICEF."

[ravenquingvax]

Vex calls THIS scrawny???

Either that armour beefed our boy up or a certain elf needs his ass kicked for giving his children body image issues.

(Does feed into my headcanon that Syldor withheld food as a punishment though- Fucking Syldor!)

[ninjatrashpanda]

I'm Falling Apart (You Hold Me Together)

Written for @bucktommypositivityweek Round 2. Today's prompt is "Supportive Boyfriends!"

Read on AO3 here!

“Babe?”

Tommy blinked at his phone. He was aware of Evan’s voice, but it sounded dull to his ears, as if he was underwater. The screen had gone dark by now, but his mother’s words still ran through his mind, making his chest feel tight, as if he was wearing a corset that was two numbers too small.

“Tommy,” Evan’s voice rang up again, clearer now, definitely closer, but still muffled. Tommy could hear his blood rushing through his ears, sounding like a waterfall crashing down into the depths. A sharp pain started in his chest, almost as if he’d been stabbed right through the heart, and spread out into every inch of his body, from the tips of his toes to the top of his temples.

“Tommy, please talk to me.”

Why did this-? He hadn’t even-! He shouldn’t-!

“Tommy!”

Tommy’s head snapped over to look at Evan, who had knelt down next to him. Blinking, Tommy looked around himself. He hadn’t realized that he had dropped down to the floor, where he sat hugging his legs, the cold, hard wall of his living room at his back. His breath hitched as he took in his surroundings, but his vision blurred, turning everything around him into a bizarre mosaic. The soft hum of the refrigerator from the next room over, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, everything felt too loud, too close. He tried to focus on Evan’s face, but that proved difficult when it seemed to melt away a bit more every time Tommy blinked.

Tommy could feel Evan’s hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing it. He could feel the weight of that touch, solid and real, but it did nothing to anchor him. He was falling, deeper and faster, only waiting to finally hit the ground and shatter. He swallowed hard, his throat dry and scratchy like sandpaper.

"Tommy, what happened?" Evan’s voice started to cut through the fog in his head, slowly clearing it away, bit by bit. "You're scaring me."

Tommy tried to speak, but his mouth felt like it was full of cotton. He swallowed again, forcing himself to breathe slowly, methodically, like he’d learned to do whenever his anxiety threatened to swallow him whole. One breath in. Hold. One breath out. But it wasn’t working this time. The panic clung to him, refusing to let go.

“I… It’s…” he managed to choke out before a strangled sob broke through out of his throat, making his entire body shake. His eyes practically erupted in tears Tommy didn’t understand, but couldn’t hold back either. “My Dad. My Dad died.”

Evan’s face immediately shifted, his expression falling. Without hesitation, he pulled Tommy into a tight embrace, holding him as if Tommy would actually fall apart if he didn’t. Tommy’s sobs grew louder, raw and ragged, and he turned to bury his face in Evan’s shoulder. His body trembled violently, each shudder sending a fresh wave of pain he couldn’t make sense of through him.

“I haven’t talked to him in…in ten years,” he managed to grit out through his teeth. “He was awful! I hate him! Why am I…?”

Evan held Tommy even tighter, his grip firm but gentle, almost as if he was holding a baby. He stroked Tommy’s back in slow, soothing circles, murmuring soft words that Tommy couldn’t quite catch, but it didn’t really matter. Just knowing that Evan was here, that he was with him, made Tommy’s heart lighter, even with his everything being turmoil.

His thoughts were a whirlwind, a tangled mess of resentment, past wounds opening up again, and a strange sense of grief that Tommy didn’t want to feel. His father’s face flashed in his mind, sharp and clear, then faded into the vague, blurry images of his youth he’d thought he had worked past, but apparently hadn’t. Harsh words and cold stares pushed themselves into his head, while his skin started to ache from the punches and belt strikes he’d received decades ago. Tommy had spoken to his therapist about all of it countless times, had untangled the whole mess as best as he could. He had been under the impression that his father didn’t have any power over him anymore. But now, all of it came rushing back, Dad was just as powerful as he’d always been, and Tommy felt like he was ten years old again.

Evan’s voice broke through the cacophony, soft but insistent. “It’s okay, babe. It’s okay to feel this way. Even if he hurt you. Even if you think you shouldn’t care. He was still your father, and it’s okay.”

Tommy knew that Evan was right, but he didn’t want to hear it. He hated his father. He had vowed years ago to never talk, never think about him again. He shouldn’t care that the son of a bitch was dead. But he couldn’t deny the small, painful ache that was rocking his body to the core.

“I hate him,” Tommy whispered again, his voice cracking slightly. “I hate him so much, Evan. He never…he never apologized, never cared, never said he regrets what he did. I should be happy he’s finally gone; I don’t want to cry for him.”

Evan pulled back slightly, just enough to look Tommy in the eyes. His gaze was steady, understanding in a way Tommy still wasn’t really used to. “You’re crying because it hurts,” Evan said softly. “And it’s okay to hurt, even for someone who doesn’t deserve it. It’s okay to grieve the things you never got to have with him. It’s okay to still love him, no matter how little sense it might make. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. And it's okay.”

Tommy nodded, though he wasn’t sure if he fully understood or even believed Evan’s words. But there was something in Evan’s eyes, a silent promise to never leave him alone, that made Tommy feel just a little less lost. He let out a shaky breath, trying to mimic the steady rhythm of Evan’s breathing, trying to calm down whatever storm was raging inside his chest.

“I just… I thought I was done with him,” Tommy admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I moved on, you know? But now it’s like… everything’s back. All the shit he said, all the times he hit me. Fucking asshole let me join the military when I was seventeen, what fucking parent does that?! And now he’s gone, and I never got to ask him ‘Why?’”

Evan’s expression softened even more, and he let out a gentle hum, one of his hands wandering up to card his fingers through Tommy’s hair. “That’s the hardest part,” he said quietly. “Not getting the closure you need. Not getting the answers. And maybe… maybe you never will. But you don’t have to do this alone, Tommy. You’ve got me, and we’ll get through this together.”

Tommy nodded again, his grip on Evan tightening. The tears kept coming, but they weren’t a rousing waterfall anymore. He didn’t know how to make peace with his father’s death, didn’t know how to reconcile the decades-long hatred and hurt with the explosion of grief in his chest. But as he sat there, cocooned in Evan’s embrace, he allowed himself to just feel it all, every messy, conflicting emotion.

For a while, they stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, letting the silence fill the space between them. Evan’s hand never stopped its soothing motion through Tommy’s hair, a gentle reminder that he was here, and that he would never leave. Eventually, Tommy’s sobs subsided into soft, uneven breaths, and he pulled back slightly, wiping at his tear-streaked face with the back of his hand.

“Sorry,” Tommy mumbled, his voice hoarse from crying. “I didn’t mean to…to fall apart like that.”

Evan shook his head, a small, reassuring smile on his lips. “You don’t have to apologize, not to me. You can fall apart all you need to. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tommy’s chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t from the pain. He didn’t deserve Evan. Evan was so unapologetically kind, and gentle, and good, and with everything Tommy had done in the past…Evan could do better. But he had chosen Tommy, something that Tommy had vowed to never take for granted.

“Thank you,” Tommy whispered, his voice barely audible. “I don’t… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Evan squeezed back, his thumb gently rubbing over Tommy’s knuckles. “You’ll never have to find out,” he said softly. “We’ll figure this out together, one step at a time.”

Tommy nodded, a small, fragile smile finally tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, a tiny spark of hope in the midst of the overwhelming darkness. And as he sat there, holding onto Evan’s hand like a lifeline, Tommy allowed himself to believe, just for a moment, that maybe, somehow, he’d be okay.

[therookandthecrow]

Aloisius may not have been there for Lucanis' childhood, but he was going to be there for him for the rest of his life. He'd make sure that no-one would bring him harm ever again.

The righteous anger that he feels for Lucanis' sake, that will be channeled into protecting him, and making sure that he always feels safe and secure for as long as he lives.

He'll kiss him where others have struck him, and he'll give him all the love, tenderness and affection that he never got during his childhood.

[houseofpurplestars]

Some Lobo angst for the Past prompt. An excerpt from one of my Drac/Teddy (smut) fics 😈

Teddy was thirteen when he saw his mother's eight-year-old adopted daughter covered in blood for the first time.

"Teddy?" His father called to him from down the hall, but he barely heard it.

All Teddy heard was Mandy's giggles and his mother's predatory laugh. All he could see was the two of them, a perfect pair, framed by the doorway, smiling. Right there, in the same building, and yet, deeply embedded in a world he would simply never be a part of.

"Good work, Mandy! You're a natural." Bellafrancesca purred, stroking the girl's hair. Another giggle, and a splash of blood painted Mandy's face. She grinned from ear to ear.

Bellafrancesca had always told Teddy that he wouldn't be able to understand the importance of her work. She said men could never understand, they had no connection to divine suffering. They never experienced true pain, and therefore, could never understand how to inflict pain upon others effectively. Men, she always said, were weak.

"Tedward." His father put his hand on Teddy's shoulder and the boy startled. "That's your mother's work. Come on, son. We have a busy day."

Teddy still felt frozen, but he shuffled his feet alongside his father. Screams and laughter echoed through the basement as they made their way to the stairs.

*

At fifteen, Teddy got his first tattoo in a coke dealer's basement. He could have had the best of everything. At a word, his father would have arranged a world-renowned artist in a high rise studio. But that wasn't the point. Teddy was relieved, honestly, that it was just him and some almost-stranger, in a dank basement where he could cry and scream. He thought about Mandy, and how she would have laughed at him.

After the first, the rest became easier. He'd get a new one before the last had even healed, transforming his body into a scabbed-over canvas. They got better each time, and so did he. Soon he longed for the rush of the tiny machine that sent vibrations through his bones. Soon it became a spiritual experience. Soon, it became an escape.

The first time his mother hit him- on his eighteenth birthday- he'd already begun to enjoy pain.

*

At twenty-three, after Teddy had survived the front lines of his first turf war, his father's men took him drinking. It was everything he'd ever wanted. He felt like a king.

Bloodied, sore, high on amphetamines, adrenaline, and alcohol. He had earned a measure of respect. The men who fought beside him would be his forever now.

Teddy Lobo would spend the next decade leaning on that victory. It was enough to win his father's respect; his father expected him to be a soldier. What his mother wanted was something else entirely

[imtrashraccoon]

This one was a bit tricky to write and it's a bit rougher in places than I'd prefer, but I wanted to get it out on time. My sister helped me with the basic idea as I would've gone with a more convoluted idea instead lol.

CW: Reference to implied child abuse in the past but nothing explicit.

@scrambledmeggys

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day.

Day 13: First Fight

The moment Papyrus stepped inside the house after work, you instantly knew he was in a bad mood. Besides the stony look on his face, the way he harshly shut the door behind him and didn't bother to greet either you or Frisk like he usually did, proved without a shadow of a doubt that something bad had happened at work.

Frisk seemed to notice as well and when they glanced at you for reassurance, you didn't miss the anxiety that flickered through their eyes. You pulled them into your lap and hugged them tightly.

"Let's give Papyrus some space for a little while, okay?" you whispered in their ear. "He probably just had a bad day."

They nodded silently and you both returned to the book you'd been reading together.

Several minutes passed before you heard Sans come home. He teleported inside the living room like he usually did and greeted both you and Frisk. You smiled slightly and murmured a "Hello" before he went upstairs to his room.

"hey bro, did someone manage to get under your skin or somethin'...?" you heard him ask.

Papyrus slammed a door which caused you to jump slightly. "Numskull..." he growled. "Are You So Blind That You Cannot See I Am In No Mood To Deal With Your Idiocy?"

Sans scoffed, "i just asked a simple question. 's not my fault you're too dense to comprehend it..."

You glanced up at the balcony at this point, both the brother's raised voices were quickly becoming too much to continue ignoring. With a sigh, you scooped Frisk up and moved into the kitchen. Setting them at the table, you held them close and whispered soft words of affirmation.

The brothers continued to bicker, each comment becoming more bitter as they seemed to grow more irritated. You hadn't witnessed them get this frustrated with each other for the whole time you'd been staying with them - just over two months at this point. Sure, they occasionally made snide comments directed towards each other but you figured that was just how they were and that they didn't actually hate each other.

You could see their argument was stressing Frisk out quite a bit and the longer it went on, the greater the urge to do something about it grew. You were normally a pretty non-confrontational person but seeing how anxious Frisk was becoming, it was almost like something snapped deep down inside.

With a sigh, you squeezed Frisk slightly closer. "I'm going to get them to calm down, okay?" you whispered.

Frisk glanced sharply at you and with great effort, managed to sign what they were thinking. "Be careful... I don't want you to get hurt."

"They won't hurt me, Frisk," you said, trying to reassure them further. Spotting Doomfanger over by her food bowls, you got an idea. "See how relaxed Doomfanger is? Why don't you cuddle with her for a little bit? I promise this won't take long."

Frisk seemed to relax slightly as they watched the fluffy cat. They slowly nodded, "Okay..."

You set them down near Doomfanger and after making sure both Frisk and the cat were alright, took a deep breath and prepared for what would surely be a rough encounter.

Maybe this was a foolish decision, but ever since you'd become friends with Frisk, if anyone did anything to upset them, it was enough to stir up some sort of primal rage inside you. They had put up with enough already and you'd be damned if you let anyone make them upset or afraid again.

"And Another Thing, Where Do You Get The Audacity To Act Like You Care So Much? Last I Checked, I Am The Only One Who Keeps You From Getting Dusted Because You Cannot Seem To Get Off Your Coccyx And Do Things For Yourself!"

Sans said nothing and yet you could feel the tense energy in the air change. The room seemed to grow frigid and almost charged, causing the air on your neck to stand up. Glancing up at the balcony, your eyes widened as you realized why.

Sans and Papyrus were staring each other down and red magic was flickering from their eye sockets, as if they were just waiting for the other to make a move. Realizing this situation had escalated further than you'd first thought it had, you hesitated for a moment but still felt the urge to do something.

After a moment, Sans huffed and released his magic. "i don't need to put up with this," he grumbled and pulled his hood over his skull. "i'll be at grillby's if you cool down anytime soon, not that you care..." He disappeared before Papyrus could retort.

Papyrus stared at the spot Sans had been standing in for a few seconds before letting out a heavy sigh and releasing his magic as well.

Against your better judgement, you said the first thing on your mind. "How dare you? How dare you say all those hurtful things about him? He's your only brother and that is how you treat him?!" Your voice was calm at first but increased in volume slightly as you spoke.

Papyrus said nothing and only turned to look at you coldly.

You clenched your fists as the sheer apathy coming off of him only served to frustrate you further. You slowly climbed the stairs until you were standing in front of him. While you were trying to remain calm on the outside, inside you were still seething.

"Does he mean nothing to you?! He clearly was concerned, not trying to antagonize you! What gives you the right to speak like that about your own family?!"

Papyrus continued to remain silent as you scolded him. You were so angry that you didn't register how uncharacteristic it was for him to remain this deathly quiet. By the time you'd run out of words to say, it finally dawned on you how bad of a decision confronting him was. You fell silent and only then did Papyrus finally speak, although his tone was much icier than how he'd ever spoken to you before.

"Are You Done?" he asked quietly.

You took a few steps away from him, all anger dissipating as you realized how badly you'd messed this up. The plan had been to diffuse things calmly, not rake the coals and spark another argument.

Papyrus took a steadying breath and tightly clenched his fists. He made no movement towards you at least, but you could see how desperately he was trying to remain calm.

"Look, I Mind My Business So You Should Mind Yours," he stated and turned towards his bedroom door. "Just Leave Me Alone..."

His comment caused a brief spark of anger to flicker up but rather than retort, you glared at the back of his skull. As soon as he'd entered his room, you returned to the kitchen to check on Frisk.

They'd apparently picked up Doomfanger and had been cuddling them like you'd suggested. When they looked up at you with concern though, you immediately felt regret.

Sitting next to them, you pulled them into a hug. "I'm sorry..." you murmured against their fluffy hair.

< ~ - . - ~ >

You didn't see either Papyrus or Sans for the rest of the day. So instead of focusing on what had happened, you focused on comforting Frisk and helping them feel better. Whether they knew what the argument had been about or not, you weren't sure, but you couldn't let them become disheartened.

Sometime in the early morning, you woke to a light on in the kitchen and a quiet conversation going on. You couldn't seem to fall asleep again and so you laid there for a while, just holding onto Frisk and listening to what was going on.

You soon figured out that Sans and Papyrus were talking and while you couldn't hear everything they were saying, it seemed like they were talking about what happened. It made you feel some relief that things could work out.

You laid there for several hours, drifting in and out of sleep. At some point, you woke up again to find the light still on but unable to hear any more talking. In your half awake state, you assumed one of them had forgotten to turn it off and drowsily got up.

After carefully prying Frisk's arms from your body and sliding a cushion into their grasp, you stood up and wandered into the kitchen. You immediately noticed two things, one, the light by the stove was the only one on, and two, Papyrus was sitting at the kitchen table with his skull resting in his hands. He looked up when you entered and for a moment, you both just looked at each other.

You finally broke the silence. "I'm sorry for getting upset earlier...and for butting in," you murmured. You weren't sorry for what you'd said as you still believed you were right, but even you could admit that you could've gone about the conversation differently.

When Papyrus didn't respond and just continued to look at you silently, you turned to leave. He could still be upset and you'd rather leave him alone if he was.

He grabbed your shoulder and stopped you though. You turned to look at him quizzically and for a moment he seemed unsure of what to say.

"I Am Sorry For Getting So Angry and I Am Also Sorry For Scaring You Like That," he finally said.

You nodded, "I forgive you, Papyrus."

For a moment you both stood there in the kitchen but then Papyrus pulled you into a hug, which you reciprocated.

"We should probably focus on communicating better in the future, huh?"

"Definitely, I Will Also Try Working On Being More Patient," Papyrus responded.

You smiled slightly, "That's a good idea. Going forward, I'll try to be more mindful of how I say things too."

[eddiemunsonsmum]

I know it's not Wednesday but I don't have another graphic.

I wrote all afternoon and night and now I humbly request some dopamine to get me through the weekend. Please, I beg. Read this WIP and give me a little hit so I can finish this damn story before the School Holidays starting Monday.

~~

The train of thought he was on made his throat feel like it was going to close up. His breath came short and sharp as he realized he had spiralled himself into a panic attack out of nothing.

“Calm down.” Sally directed flatly as Eddie’s chest heaved with the shallow breaths he was taking. His wide eyes watering as he looked around the room desperately to try and find something to ground himself. Anything else to think about to distract his brain and bring him back from thoughts of a lifetime of suffering.

“Ah!” He yelped in surprise as his head was jerked backwards. The shock of the motion forcing air out of his lungs with the cry and affording him the chance to take air back in without stuttering.

That’ll do it…

A long gasping breath was inhaled and held inside him for a long few seconds before he was struck again against the back of the head and it was forced out in a way that left his lungs completely empty.

He finally took a relatively normal breath. Tears in his eyes as he turned to look at Nurse Sally with fear clouding his brown orbs.

Did she just... h-hit me?

He asked himself, surprised by how fearful he sounded inside his own mind. His stutter was brought forth without even speaking. All thoughts of running her down in his van had vanished and suddenly he was again that scared little boy that had been struck over the head for not talking fast enough.

He was that kid, trapped in a room with an adult that didn’t care that he was afraid.

Tears spilled over and down his hot cheeks as he blinked at her. Realizing as he did so that she hadn’t been hitting him over the head to try and stop his panic attack.

She may as well have though, considering his body’s reaction to the touch he wasn’t ready for. It had triggered him in a way he hadn’t been expecting.

His eyes fell to the object in her hand. He looked between it and her frustrated face as his fear started to simmer down and was replaced with anger. The tears continued all the same as he glared at her with as much hatred as he could possibly muster in a vulnerable moment.

You fucking bitch.

~~

[abubblingcandle]

Augusnippets Day 21 - Delirium - Ted Lasso

cw concussion, past child abuse, manipulation

“I’m fine,” Jamie growled, “passed your fucking tests didn’t I?” “I think we’ll let the professionals tell us that Jamie,” Ted scoffed. Jamie was flushed red, his eyes were flicking everywhere and there was already a solid bruise working it’s way to the surface on his cheekbone. “He passed all the tests.” “See Jamie … wait what?”

Here on AO3 @augusnippets

This match had been a cacophony of disasters. It was no one’s fault it just seemed like AFC Richmond had collectively broken a mirror and had seven years of bad luck bestowed upon them. This display of celestial hatred culminated in Jamie sat on the turf with physios checking his brain for any bumps. The boys were grabbing drinks apart from Isaac who stood there looking very bashful as it was his shoulder that had caused Jamie all of this bother. But thankfully Jamie was ushed back to his feet and was batting off the hands of the physios as they tried to help him to the sideline. Jamie locked eyes and glared at Cockburn who was warming up to come on in his place if needed. “I’m fine,” Jamie growled, “passed your fucking tests didn’t I?”

“I think we’ll let the professionals tell us that Jamie,” Ted scoffed. Jamie was flushed red, his eyes were flicking everywhere and there was already a solid bruise working it’s way to the surface on his cheekbone.

“He passed all the tests.”

“See Jamie … wait what?” Ted was so ready to use the physios answers to tell him to head down the tunnel but he was fine?

“See I told you now the lads are playing a man down and they need me out there so any more fucking questions or can I go play?” Jamie spat out. That was odd. Jamie was being Loanee Jamie levels of defensive and he really didn’t look good.

“I don’t know,” Ted hummed looking to Roy and Beard for help. Beard shrugged but Roy was staring at Jamie with intent. “We are told if in doubt sit it out, there were very convincing posters in the training I have finally been forced to do.”

“There is no doubt. I can walk in a fucking straight line. I met all my baselines. I answered all the questions right. My face really hurts but that’s cause Isaac’s got a hard shoulder not anything else. You want me to answer more questions, I can tell you who the president is. I can tell you my birthdate, my address,” Jamie ranted, inching and inching towards the pitch.

“What did you have for breakfast this morning?” Roy asked. Both Ted and Jamie turned to look at him with a frown.

“We’re still one man down coach,” Beard reminded Roy.

“Tell me what you had for breakfast this morning and you can go back out there,” Roy stood his ground.

“Granola, strawberry bits, natural yoghurt, honey and a protein shake,” Jamie rolled his eyes and turned to face the pitch.

“That’s wrong.”

Jamie stopped in his tracks, “that’s what I always have for breakfast before a game.”

“Not today. Today you had cheese and spinach omelettes because Phoebe found a recipe on tik tok. Cockburn you’re on,” Roy declared grabbing Jamie by the shoulder only for Jamie to flinch and topple precariously to the side. Now Roy had called him on his bullshit it was a lot easier for Ted to see the flaws in Jamie’s façade. He was barely remaining upright, that was why he didn’t want to be touched by the physios. His eyes were flickering side to side as he was taking in information, Jamie had no clue where he was. And now his skin took on a dangerous   shade of white as his breath hitched. The subs board was being prepared and Jamie’s struggles, now in Roy’s grasp, resumed.

“I’m fine. Get off. They need me out there,” Jamie protested but Roy’s grip remained too strong.

“No. We are going inside.”

The end of the match, a dirty 1-1, found Roy, Ted and Jamie sequestered in one of the away treatment rooms. Jamie was still in his muddy kit and the bruise on his face nearly matched the mud stained home kit in colour. His hair was dried stuck in all sorts of directions, his pallor was sickly and his head was in a bucket. “We need to talk about this Jamie?” Ted sighed, leaning up against the treatment bed Jamie was sat on.

“Can we not, my head hurts,” Jamie whined so pitifully that Ted was actually considering letting Jamie go get some rest and then having this conversation.

Roy was not, “oh so now your head hurts. Got over it and spill.”

Jamie looked up and levelled Roy with a glare that might have been intimidating if he didn’t look like a sickly child throwing a tantrum.

“Spill,” Roy growled again.

“There’s nothing to spill. I thought I was fine then I wasn’t,” Jamie sighed.

“How did you pass your baselines? Why did you start lying about what you could remember when you clearly couldn’t remember it?” Roy was really taking no prisoners from where he leaned against the door, blocking Jamie’s exit even though he was in no condition to make a break for it.

The silence stretched out between them and Ted only managed to keep his own mouth shut by observing the battle of wills between the assistant coach and the star player. “A concussion is two weeks off after symptoms end,” Jamie broke the deadlock with a timid whisper.

“Yes it is, for good reason,” Roy sighed.

“I can’t afford two weeks off. The team can’t afford two weeks with me off,” if the room had been two feet bigger Ted and Roy wouldn’t have heard the confession.

“Jamie,” Ted leapt to try and reassure Jamie that the team could survive without him as he healed but Roy cut him off with a shake of his head.

“And so what did you do?” Roy asked.

“It’s something my dad trained into me. Cause like if you can run then you can play and any missed playing time is a missed opportunity. So have a pre-game routine. Same breakfast, same workout, same way of getting to matches, same outfit,” Jamie’s grip on the bucket was white knuckled but he was in a flow now. Ted shouldn’t stop him from talking but he deathly wanted to. They had enough of the picture right. They could stop Jamie spilling his metaphorical guts.

“So that if anyone asks you about it you’ll know off by heart even if you can’t remember that morning,” Roy groaned.

Jamie nodded, slowly and then leaned back over the bucket.

“And …”

“And he taught me how to quickly pick up information about around me to work out about the match. Looking at the crowd and stadium to work out where we are. Find the scoreboard as quickly as possible. I also rigged the basline tests,” Jamie’s head was nearly in the bucket in his embarrassment.

“How do you rig concussion tests?” Ted asked even though he really didn’t want to know the answer.

“Under perform in the beginning of season baselines,” Jamie whispered. Ted’s heart sunk. That was … god that was worse than Ted could have thought it would be. This wasn’t just a spur of the moment, here’s how to lie so you can play. This was planned. Jamie must have been doing this since he was a minor. His father, if the man even deserved that name, had got so in this kid’s head that for half his life he had been lying to be able to put himself in more danger. That was …

“I’m going to kill him,” Roy growled and for once Ted was verging on joining him.

“Roy, it’s nothing,” Jamie sighed. “Just a habit.”

“Well we can break habits. Beard managed to kick his recreational drugs habit with my help and I can help you too,” Ted forced a smile to his face but they could all see the pain in his eyes.

“Beard absolutely still does drugs,” Jamie muttered.

“Well second time lucky,” Ted shrugged and that dragged a pained chuckle from Jamie.

“I am taking you home to mine, where I can watch you and make sure you don’t get into any more trouble. You are taking off those two weeks after the symptoms are gone and it will be a medical professional who decides when that is. Then you are redoing your baseline tests, you will do them properly or I will feed you your own intestines. Are we clear?” Roy stated, walking forwards just adding to the thin layer of menance.

“Crystal,” Ted nodded.

“Not you Lasso,” Roy groaned.

“Yeah coach,” Jamie signed resigned to his fate. Ted did not envy the lad the motherhenning he was going to experience over the next three weeks. But he deserved it. Dear god did he deserve it.

[thedeafprophet]

i really do think about like. The way the princess talks about being 'raised' in the honey in Reunion and acts of it being a good thing really just fucks me up a little bit because

that was neglect! that was bad! that was active endangerment! that was horrible treatment towards a child! and the implication here is that she was raised that same way

and i dont know if thats geniuenly what she believes. or if its what she came to believe, and has to believe.

idk i have the inclination to go 'ha she was probably really creepy as a child too' but then i think about the actual reality of her growing up and its just. eugh. especially conjected with her adult actions of seeming to not want to be alone in what she is..

obviously none of it comes close to excusing what she does or became, but it paints such a tragic story.

[fifiophobia]

If Nightstar got her own comic storyline, I hope DC explores transgenerational trauma with her.

⚠️ Content warning for parental abuse

Section 1: Her Parents and Gramps

Koriand’r was sold into slavery (some versions she was sold as a child), was experimented on, and is often taken advantaged of due to her kindness.

Dick witnessed both of his parents die, he became a vigilante when he was 10, was physical/mentally/emotionally abused by his adopted father, and he watched Blüdhaven explode.

Bruce watched his parents die, failed to save his son from dying, and struggles with his mental health to the point where all of his relationships have fallen apart at least once.

I’d go on with each member of the Batfam but that would take all day. I picked these three because I feel like these three had the most influence on Mar’i (not to say there wasn’t anyone else who influenced her)

With how these events affected these characters and their relationships, it makes me wonder how it would affect their relationship with Mar’i.

We actually saw Mar’i struggle with her fear of death because of her family’s history with death. Perhaps this could be something to start with.

A trait she shares with Bruce and Dick is obsessive perfectionism because all three of them feel burdened with the task to save everyone. This has resulted in most of Bruce’s relationships to deteriorate, and in Dicks perfectionism. Poor Mar’i would most likely pick up something similar in her life.

Section 2: Breaking the Cycle

Something that isn’t talked about much is how Bruce’s abuse affected Dick and his overall family. If you don’t believe me when I say Bruce abused Dick…

(Unfortunately, Dick isn’t his only victim and Bruce also engages in other types of abuse. Not to mention there are more examples of Bruce hitting Dick and being an overall messy parent and putting Dick through parentification)

Seeing how Bruce’s abuse affected Dick, it makes me wonder how it would affect Mar’i and how he would hurt her. Would he put her through a similar parentification he put Dick through? Or would he do something else

Since Mar’i has some of her moms’ influence, it makes me wonder if she’d put her foot down and confront Bruce about all the terrible stuff she did to the batfam instead of excusing his behavior and blaming herself.

I think she’d be the type to tell Bruce:

“This is why your family doesn’t want to be around you. It’s not because you’re this loner who ended up getting stuck with a bunch of kids against your will, it’s because you’re an emotionally immature coward who takes your pain out on others. How is it you can figure out the biggest mysteries in the world, but you can’t figure out why 10 year olds aren’t good replacements for your parents or therapy!”

I just hope Mar’i breaks the cycle of abuse and perfectionism.

After all, one of Mar’is main motifs (the star) can represent the past, hope for the future, optimism, goals, and our ancestors.

If you have any more suggestions, please let me know.

[lena-kelley-oiar]

She would hate this. She would hate me if she knew about this. I would have been a disappointment already for rejecting the role of a man she wanted me to take on so badly, but to reject my nature as well...she would have beat these thoughts right out of me as soon as she found out. I can't even imagine the amount of prayers she'd make me recite, before she'd finally be satisfied, having banished the delusion of androgyny from the son God gave her.

[spicywhumper]

febuwhump '24: 18. too weak to move + whump bingo: self-harm

series: crimson history / rating: teen and up audiences

trigger/content warning: past child physical & sexual abuse, accidental self-harm, blood and mild suicide ideation

Jessica’ not sure if anyone believes her when she says that sometimes she’s too tired to even move. At least, in the coven she had the excuse of spending hours and hours training. Daily six, seven, eight hours of training – mostly physical,  and magical, but so much of it was just her reading scrolls and books for hours and trying to make sense of runes so old that she doubts they still hold any value nowadays.

But in the Crawford Mansion? The longest day has not even four hours of training. A quarter is physical or magical training, the majority is her helping Head Magician Crawford. There’s nothing exhausting about cutting herbs and smashing dubious-looking bugs.

She tired anyways.

Today she extremely tired.

Head Magician Crawford says it’s ok if Jessica wants, or needs, to talk to her at any time. She says it does includes non-conventional hours such as in the middle of  the night. Jessica heard her whispering to Sub-Head Greenwood that she has seen traumatized children before – the Sub-Head herself was one o these, and it’s good for them to have someone to talk to at any times. Even more after they have vivid nightmares of things related to their traumas.

Jessica has way too many of those, if you ask her. Almost in a daily basis, it’s fucking annoying. 

Like tonight. 

Another explicit one, tied to the bed of mother’s private chambers, arms ted to the headboard, legs forced open by a spreader bar that she probably had the strength to break with ease. But the Dog was obedient. The Dog stayed there, naked and exposed. Body covered in bruises and cuts from the latest mission, a particularly nasty bruising on Its left side, pretty sure there’s a cracked rib, or five. Breathing hurts, it’s more bothersome with the muzzle still firmly in place despite the lack of other pieces of clothing.

Joan punched the bruises ribs, only three times, and actual weak punches. But still makes the Dog almost flinch, already sensitive and exhausted. She straddles the Dog’s waist, always does something like at least hump on some part of It.

It’s filthy, feels filthier than anything else she does.

It makes Jessica wake up dry heaving – she didn’t have appetite all day, barely able to take Head Magician Crawford’s offered sweet-ish nutrition potions and supplement pills, even that was hard. Even water barely went down her throat and stayed on her stomach. She doesn’t know what’s making her sick she thinks it ‘s the shift from a rigid routine to this loose, empty one.

She dry heaves, but nothing comes out, even if she tastes stomach acid on the back of he throat.

Her arms sting and she groans.

Jessica’s not sure why her body does that. She knows she has excess magic, her Core had been trained to produce stupid large amounts of it. Not only because of how much magic she needed for her actual magical training, but also because of how much it needed to keep her functional. To keep her  from needing a team of healers making sure she’s not walking around with internal bleeding and fifty different broke bones from how brutal Joan is most of the das.

Most wizards bleed off their magic willingly, there are cool down spells – spells she was never taught for obvious reasons. So her body cuts itself. She did it a few times, pretending it’s bloody runes training when she wasn’t casting any spell. When she wanted to make neat lines on her stomach and thighs, wrists and forearms, after seeing a peer with scars. A peer that killed himself a month later, Jessica experimented the same day, something on her asking if she also can get rid of herself the way he did.

Even considering what she was, she’s not sure she can climb the highest towed and jump. (she still imagines her mangles body, head splattered on the stone. Skin bloodied and with the regular bruises from Joan’s hands.)

She enjoyed the controlled pain.

Joan bashed her face into the wall when she saw the mostly healed cuts.

Her body still registered. And now that she has excess magic, it reopens those same neat lines from fours years ago (what were you dong? She can imagine Head Magician Crawford, with that too-gentle, too-worried, too-genuine face, hurting yourself like that at twelve?)

(She wonders what the Head Magician Crawford would say if she knew how dirty, used and damaged Jessica is).

Apparently, she has too much magic, the cuts are deeper than they ever wore. Her nightshirt is soaked through, more red than light grey. The sheets too, she things the mattress is strained too. There’s a small pool on the floor, where her arms is dangling like it always is when she sleeps deeply enough.

She’s making a fucking mess.

Her head spins, she feels cold and there’s dread on the pit of her stomach.

A familiar sensation: some significant blood loss.

She’s so, so tired. So weak. She closes her eyes, just wants to let the numbness, the darkness take her. She won’ t fight when Lady Death come collect her, not when she can’t move, or think too much. She knows, in the back of her mind, that a being like her can’t loose that much blood, not when its even more vita to her than it is to humans.

She just grins with the idea that her own body decided to take the bait, to be brave enough to let her finally die. Let her go, like she ash  wanted for so long now.

It’s a shame she didn’t manage to write a note, at least an apology for the accidental bloodshed on the guest’s bedroom (guest. She ignores her name engraved in a plaque that Head Magician Crawford put in there this afternoon).

She thinks of Jennifer, if she’s fine, stuck there. Choosing to stay behind and try to make sure soldiers wouldn’t come after her.

She wants to write a note to her, apologize for being so fucked up that they never stood a chance to be happy.

But Jessica, for all her resilience and all her strength, can’t do much more than wait for Lady Death in a unsettling silence – one cut through with the drip, drip, drip of her blood.

[galaxywhump]

You know, I think one of the things that prevent me from working on the next SV-240 chapter is worry that the focus on Wren and Nathaniel's dynamic won't be well-received

[musesofthesun]

EXAMINE: red leash (Yui)

examine [ . . . ] = accepting!

it's a red leash, used for walking your puppies...

first, it was kuro's. next, it was chaco's. then it was... asphyxiating. you lost everything. nothing was worth it. it is your fault and you deserved it. yet your chest seizes and your breathing stutters; you glance back and forth, wondering if the eyes are still there somewhere. will they take you again? it's dark. it was so dark. you didn't know where you were.

the leash is far too loose now. you can't bring yourself to tighten it. why are your hands shaking? shouldn't you be stronger than this? nobody ever likes a crying child, mother said. you can't cry or everyone will leave again. you can't tell haru. you can't tell anyone. besides, that night was your fault anyway.

it's just a leash.

it's just a leash.

. . .

you put it back in its box. chaco's grown so much in two years that you can't use it anyway.

( your neck hurts. )