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trans-eddie · 8 months

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steve's not a religious man, for all the years he spent being dragged to mass by his parents. but if he was, he'd want to ask god why he let someone like eddie die for this piece of shit town that didn't deserve him.

steve had watched from across the room as dustin handed over eddie's necklace, in tears. as wayne clutched it in his hand and brought it to his lips, like a rosary, eyes closed in prayer; and steve had broken a little.

growing up the way he had, he was no stranger to guilt. guilt was a steady undercurrent, a familiar beast he long learned how to wrangle, to compartmentalize.

but not this.

this guilt is a serpent, rearing its ugly head in his chest and constricting around his lungs until he can't breathe. it makes him uneasy, agitated. like he's filled with an energy he needs to expell.

the same kind that made him pick a fight with jonathan byers.

the same kind that made him crash his car into billy hargrove.

he knows there's something wrong with him, but he's never learned how to handle his emotions; he just does his best for having been a kid who was handed a bat studded full of rusty nails to solve his problems.

but guilt is not a thing you can beat down like some bloodthirsty monster from another dimension, no matter how it eats him.

so steve does what he does, and he swings his fists at the next best thing.

it's some buzzcut, blonde asshole from the local church, the older brother of one of carver's guys. a few years older than steve, even. he's mouthing off, worked up and angry. if steve was more rational, more gracious, he'd give leeway for the man's own grief, his own emotional response to loss and terror. steve's been through enough to know what it's like, to crave control.

but he's feeling neither of those things, and the man is sending specks of spit out of his mouth as he yells about searching the rubble of the town for eddie munson, the murderer, the satanist.

steve's jaw tenses. his hands clench tight, and before he knows what he's doing, he's rounded on him and socked him square on the jaw.

there's a beat where he processes, where he makes the conscious choice whether to step back and assess his actions, or to follow through.

the man snarls at him, and the moment passes. steve takes two fistfuls of his shirt and slams him to the ground, shouting as he goes.

"don't you dare open your mouth about him again, you ungrateful -" he cuts off with a growl, slamming the man forcefully against the earth again. "you'll never know, you'll never fucking know what he did for you! nobody will fucking know, they won't ever know now, they won't-!"

steve stops when he feels warm, wet trails run down his cheeks, tastes the salt on his tongue.

he stumbles back off the man, hands touching his face.

he hasn't been able to cry yet. it hasn't come, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how many times steve played that last look eddie gave him, over and over in his head, thinking about the fact that the next time he saw those eyes, they would be vacant and lifeless.

he could never cry, because he blamed himself, and what right did he have to cry over what was his own fault?

he'd had crying beat out of him at eight years old, when his father was on edge from his mother's nagging, and steve had been upset about something or other.

he'd smacked him, pinched the bridge of his nose, and shaken steve's head until he'd stopped, wide eyed and scared.

"men don't cry," his father had sneered, dragging rough thumbs across steve's eyelids, drying them of the evidence.

steve turns his head up, up, up, now, bare and facing the heavens, where god looks disinterestedly on from, and he screams. he runs his voice hoarse, the sobs tearing violently from him, wracking his body with sorrowful tremors.

his face is wet, and it's too salty to be rain.

he doesn't feel like a man.

not when he'd left eddie behind and run off to play hero, only to watch helplessly as the people he loved were choked by vines.

not when eddie had been left to make the hard choice, the sacrificial play, just to get them the win; and they hadn't even defeated vecna, only bought them all some more time.

he's not a man, but a failure.

somehow, in the midst of this, steve drags himself back home. manages to climb into his bed, and pull out what he'd stuffed underneath.

he sits there, numb fingers clutching a swathe of bloody denim, and he cries.

he cries until there's nothing left, until he feels like his whole body is dried and and empty, a husk curling in on itself.

he fades into sleep, too quickly to catch the reflective, red glint that enters his bedroom as the the sun sets, or to catch the way a figure moves through the shadows, perching at the end of his bed.

he doesn't hear the low rumble of a voice, raspy and trying to whisper.

"I thought I was the animal now," eddie says, sharp teeth flashing. "but you're a regular guard dog, aren't you, harrington?"

his eyes glow in the moonlight as he watches the sleeping figure below him with intensity.

"will you fight everyone that badmouths me, I wonder?" eddie laughs mirthlessly. "your work will be cut out for you."

his eyes travel over steve's full form, pausing with surprise when he catches the vest he's clinging to like a security blanket.

steve doesn't wake to see the winged body take off out of his upper story window.

he does wake, however, and find that the item of clothing he fell asleep with is conspicuously missing; and, even more alarming, what's been left in it's place: his yellow sweater, the one abandoned to the upside down, swallowed up when lover's lake split apart.

the one he never expected to see again, because things don't just come back when they've been lost like that.

except, maybe, he thinks, running over the golden fabric with disbelieving fingertips...maybe, there is a chance that they sometimes do.

#steddie #grief cw #past parental abuse cw #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #st #my writing

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maybebabyplease · 1 year

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a little remus and sirius rescue harry from the dursleys for the @wolfstarmicrofic prompt:

hang out space

Remus and Sirius are frantic when Harry disappears. When they find him, sadness and guilt cut through their relief. He’s curled up in his closet on a pile of pillows and blankets, holding a flashlight and a picture book, his fingers and mouth moving as he reads the words. Harry, startled to see them, tries to hide his book under a pillow.

Remus shoots Sirius a look. Sirius crouches down, puts a hand out like you might for a scared puppy. Harry shrinks away, at first, but after a minute, he puts his tiny hand in Sirius’.

“Come on, Harry,” says Sirius, holding their hands tightly together. “Let’s make a blanket fort, yeah? Moony will help.”

Harry smiles, small, and starts gathering up pillows. The three of them transform Harry’s bedroom into a giant blanket fort, and Remus spells little lights to float throughout.

Harry plops down, tired but happy. “I can play here?” he asks, looking up at Remus.

Remus’ heart squeezes. “Yes, Harry. This is your space.”

Tilting his head, Harry thinks for a minute. “My hang out space?” he asks, worrying at the skin on his thumb.

“All yours,” says Sirius. He sits down next to Harry and wraps an arm around him. “But we’ll stay here with you as long as you like.”

Harry looks up at him, eyes wide. “Forever?”

“Yeah, peanut,” says Remus, messing up Harry’s hair. “All three of us, forever.”

#wolfstar raising harry #wolfstar microfic #sirius black #remus lupin #harry potter #wolfstar #cw: reference to past child abuse #blah blah blah sappy sappy sappy #i just wanna see remus as a dad #i feel like he'd be such a fun dad #so kind and understanding!#and harry deserves that #em goes micro

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notfromcold · 4 months

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At some point Ed and Stede are going to explore kink and do a scene where they think it might be fun if Ed "gets in trouble" and is "punished" a bit. You know. For fun. Not serious.

And Ed is going to Shut Down and safeword and start crying. And also possibly he's going to want to tuck himself away and hide for a little while.

And Stede is going to be so understanding. He's going to realize immediately that this was a mistake. And he's going to be just So Gentle and assure Ed that he's not mad and that Ed's not actually in trouble. And that Stede would never, ever, ever hurt him.

And Ed is going to emerge. And he's going to let Stede hold him while he cries. And he's going to calm down. And they'll talk more about it later but for now Ed is just going to be held in the arms of the man who loves him.

#ofmd #kink ment #ptsd cw #abuse cw #past

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baldurs-gate-official · 5 months

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Thinking about Astarion and trauma again (shocking)

He really is the first character I've seen that depicts PTSD/C-PTSD the way he does. He's angry. He's collecting the pieces of himself he had to chip away over the years and figuring out how to fit them back together again, and it's hard.

I rarely see good PTSD rep in media (and C-PTSD is even less depicted/understood). And when I do, it's always the soft pitiable side of it. The side of it that's more palatable and easy to accept. But the reality is that the trauma that stems from such abuse can be vicious, and messy. It can lash out and push people away. Bring out the worst in you, at times. It can be so, so angry.

I love that we see that in Astarion. Both because it's good representation, and because I'm a survivor too. I'm angry. I'm upset. I want to kick and scream about it, but I can't. I feel like I must always remain in control, or that displaying those feelings will only hurt those around me and push them away. I don't want that. I don't want to hurt others or be alone.

Seeing Astarion do those things, being angry and messy over it all... It makes me so happy. He says things to Cazador I wish I could say to my own abusers, with no regard to how others perceive it. He doesn't hold back. And I get to see a character with a very similar kind of trauma do/say the things I only dream about, and not be abandoned for it. He's given the chance to heal and grow as a person, and feel loved. He gets to have a happy ending.

And he gets to be mad. And that's ok.

#bg3 #astarion #text post #cw trauma #cw ptsd #ive never seen a character before with such a similarish past to mine #i feel so seen and understood #i hate that ive had to be silent about it #i hate it so much #it means SO much to see a character with such good CPTSD rep #and see so many people love his character #i recently escaped my own abusers so this sort of thing makes me very emotional #the way he talks about torture too and doesnt try to sugar coat it #i was tortured too. my bones were broken repeatedly for someone elses amusement and it was fucking horrible #years of that #and starvation #among other things #and ive never seen a character before thats been through something similar #ive never even seen a character before this that specifically has CPTSD #ive seen characters who *should* have been written with CPTSD but its as if the writers just googled PTSD and went with that #(C-PTSD comes from continued exposure to trauma over the course of months or years where PTSD is often from a singular event)#(the symptoms differ a bit. and Astarion is a very good example of C-PTSD)#it just makes me really happy. and it makes me feel like people might understand and not blame me for what happened #well. some people do anyway. but. this kind of representation helps a lot with helping people understand #seriously though ive had people act like theyd have fared better in my situation. or blamed me for what happened #how fucked is that???? i want to chew glass whenever it happens #its always people whove never had any experience with abuse too #but they have the audacity to tell me theyre built different or something #q

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cry-ptidd · 2 months

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I want Laura in love maaaaaannn I don’t care what she’s done, what would see really be like in love?like her actions, words, will sex be something nice for her instead of just corrupting some nun?like she actually enjoys the act with someone she cares for?

Laura's highly traumatized and unstable, so her view on that topic is very unhealthy. She views sex as a power play, something to satiate boredom, but being in love? That's not something she's used to. Her mind is all over the place, she's confused. Childish even.

She believes love is something that's unattainable for something like her. She doesn't need it, she doesn't deserve it. She's fucked up beyond repair and doesn't get to demand that luxury.

I mean, yes she's pining from afar, but how can she expect the subject of her affection to like her back? Impossible. She waits for them to harm her to regain that unhealthy sense of familiarity, and when it doesn't happen she gets scared and unnerved.

As to how she would act in love, it'd pretty much be how she acts with Integra.

She becomes more meek, quiet, she's fascinated and serviable. Like how wolves show submissive body language to indicate they like you.

But there's also an underlying defensive hatred because, well something must be wrong with this person to make her feel like this.

She wants to "corrupt" them, because it's familiar, because she views reciprocity of her feelings as the person debasing themselves.

Her love language is acts of service. Most of the time those services include bringing you the head of your enemies and ending anyone who made you uncomfortable because how dare they, or offering her body to entertain you for however long. I mean people are happy when they get laid right? The satisfaction feels nice, she wants her favored person to feel nice.

She sees them as a savior or a saint, puts them on a pedestal and shows her throat in submission.

She pines from afar and denies anything about it to the person but doesn't care to hide it to anyone else. She tries to scoot closer and invade their space when they're not looking or finds any excuse to be closer to them in whatever way, cleaning their room, being physically close when she can (outside of sex of course, she doesn't understand why but it feels nice to be close to someone even when they're not using your body). She denies it all in front of the person but openly says it to anyone else.

It's obsession, devotion, willful submission and fascination because control is a privilege and she's giving it to the person, jealousy of everything but not saying anything because she doesn't get to demand anything, so she gives them her everything and hope they're satisfied. She doesn't want them to leave like how she left her previous partners. The fact that Integra can't exactly leave her without killing her (which is a whole other can of worms) reassures her a bit as well.

Also, actual intimacy is something foreign to her so throw in a hefty amount of cannibalism metaphors.

Maybe it's all an idea of taming oneself out of love. It's bittersweet.

All in all, this is the quote that probably sums it up the best.

Also, I am currently writing a smut fic of Laura x Integra from Laura's pov exploring their relationship and the intimacy they share.

#tfw ptsd annihilates your rizz #is she a complex character?#laura 'what the fuck is a healthy state of mind' chastel #she's such a beaten dog #hellsing oc #my oc #laura chastel #ask response #cw past abuse #long post #i love making her a monster wearing a human face #she doesn't know how humans work anymore (she never really understood them anyway)#how tf is she supposed to act now #(lovingly) i will eat your organs

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shy-urban-hobbit · 7 months

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CW: past abuse

Early on in their romantic relationship, after a truly shit day an over-stimulated Lambert pushes Aiden away with a snarl of how he "Fucking hates people touching him there!" when the other offers him a hug and one of his hands drifts to the back of Lambert's neck.

After the initial 'wtf?' reaction - because this is the first Aiden's heard of this and he's touched Lambert there multiple times over their years travelling together - he's willing to let it go. Lambert's set a boundary (no matter how harshly) and he'll respect it. Lambert however, feels that he owes the other some semblance of an explanation once he's calmed down.

He tells Aiden that it reminds him too much of when he was a kid. Of his father laying a heavy, threatening hand there while Lambert lied about how he'd gotten another black eye. How both he and the Masters at Kaer Morhen would scruff him to drag him kicking and screaming to places he didn't want to go. A crushing hand placed there to pin him down while he received yet another caning for being too mouthy, for not being fast enough, not being good enough. A parody of a comforting hand resting there as he was herded towards Sad Albert before being strapped down.

He hasn't told his brothers - he hasn't told anyone before this because it's nothing compared to Geralt having to shoulder the Butcher reputation and Eskel literally having people run away screaming as soon as they set eyes on him, and it's not like regular townsfolk and whores like to get overly touchy feely with Witchers anyway so outside of the keep it's never really been much of an issue.

From then on, Aiden is mindful of not touching Lambert there and loudly telegraphing his movements if it's a necessity.

#the witcher #the witcher drabble #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambden #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert #CW past abuse

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imfinereallyy · 10 months

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when you said I scared you, well I guess you scared me too

Steve looks over the pamphlet in his hands. The smooth surface shouldn’t feel so rough on his hands. He supposes that’s because of the scars and callouses over his fingers. Nothing is able to be soft for him anymore.

Steve moves his gaze from the pamphlet to the door, to the pamphlet and the door once again. It shouldn’t be so scary. It is a community center door, similar to the ones they have in Hawkins. It’s made of beat-up wood and foggy glass. Steve’s sure if—no when, he pushes the door open, it’ll squeak. Rusting hinges that need replacing long ago, reminding him of his worn-out limbs.

Steve knows he shouldn’t feel so achy at 25, but when facing his own mortality year after year for so long, he knows a few aches is probably the bottom of the barrel of problems he has.

Steve lets out a breath. Circles his thumb around the edge of the pages and gives himself a paper cut. He doesn’t flinch; he knows it will happen. He isn’t sure if he could look someone in the eye and tell them he didn’t do it on purpose. He probably would tell the truth instead; he has many vices, but lying isn’t one of them. The truth being he just wants a reminder that he is alive.

That this is real.

“Okay.” Steve breathes again. He can do this. He promised Robin he is going to try. Even after all this time, he can’t say no to her. Can’t break her heart. So even though they move to a new city, even though Steve has already been sober for two months, she thinks this will be good for him.

Narcotics Anonymous: 6pm-8pm, Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Fucking N.A. Steve thinks. He doesn’t want to do it. It is already hard enough trying to avoid all of the Upside Down stuff, a major contributor to his problem. But the other big part, the abuse part, the queer part, isn’t always safe to talk about. No matter how anonymous it says, it is. Steve isn’t stupid. Sure, there were other things he could talk about. His neglectful parents. His struggles with depression. The countless head injuries. How one of his best friends hasn’t spoken to him in over five years. How he is pretty sure he is dead. How the other friends of his he met when they were 13, and he is nearly 18.

All really good stuff to work out.

But Steve knows he won’t be able to move on unless he can talk about everything honestly. Well, everything that isn’t signed away in an NDA.

“Isn’t the point to be able to heal?” Steve tells Robin when they are unpacking boxes. “It’s either this or therapy dingus, and this is free,” Robin says while wrapping bubble wrap around his head.

She does the research, of course, because she’s Robin. She finds the one group in all of Chicago that is considered “friendly to all groups around.” She even admits to having Dustin help her, and Robin doesn’t ask anyone outside of Steve for help, let alone admit it. So Steve knows she is serious.

Steve groans loudly. His voice echoing throughout the hallway. Using the pamphlet as a barrier between the wood and his palm, Steve pushes through the door.

As usual, Steve underestimates himself, and the door slams against the wall, echoing throughout the room. Everyone in the room turns away from the podium to look behind their seats at Steve.

Steve glances at his watch. 6:04 pm. Shit. He supposes punctuality is supposed to help with recovery. “Sorry,” Steve says to the room with a grimace and a little finger wave.

“It’s okay.” The man at the podium states. He has salt-and-pepper hair and round-frame glasses. He isn’t particularly old, though. He’s handsome, and well-aged. Like a fine wine that Steve knows he can’t touch anymore. “You actually arrived a little early for a first-timer. Please have a seat; we just started.” The man laughs lightly, waving to the empty back row.

Steve rushes to his seat. Thankful that most people here have the humanity to face back to the front. He brings a little relief to Steve, knowing these people can sense when not to push.

Well most people.

See, while everyone else turns back around, one head stays perfectly on Steve. He can feel the eyes boring into him so furiously that Steve can’t help but turn in their direction.

Steve expects an older gentleman who is fed up with young people's disrespect of punctuality. Or a younger person, wanting to move addictions from drugs to sex. Which Steve isn’t looking for right now. He even thinks that maybe it’s a family member someone brought with them today who doesn’t understand the etiquette of N.A.

What Steve doesn’t expect is to turn and see the very best friend he hasn’t seen in five years. A man he thought to be dead. A man whose last words to Steve were that he rather would be.

Because there, staring at Steve with wide eye curiosity and sorrow is Eddie Munson.

And he is even more beautiful than the last time Steve saw him.

***

just an idea I had bouncing around….

part 2? Maybe if people are interested, cause I have so much I could write on this. Either way I think this interesting on its own. Also I’ve dealt with addiction close hand with loved ones, but I am not an addict myself so if I get anything wrong please feel free to correct me. I want to handle this with care.

The title is from “Joey” by concrete blonde. An amazing song, everyone should listen to.

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imtrashraccoon · 5 months

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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."

#selfshipufpap #cw: implied past child abuse #underfell #undertale #underfell papyrus x reader #reader #underfell papyrus #named oc #the hand we've been dealt #thwbd #alternate universe #raccoons drabbles

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justrandomghoul · 10 months

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Mountain x Rain: Shy Waters

CW: Discussion of past pack abuse.

TW: Past verbal and physical abuse.

Angst, hurt/comfort.

Mountain only wishes for the new water ghoul to feel safe in his new pack. Will the water ghoul open up to him?

Ever since Rain was summoned, he kept to himself, keeping everyone at a safe distance. He wasn’t sure what to make of the world around him. Aether was welcoming and understanding with the new water ghoul. He made it clear that Rain was part of the pack. The pack he used to be a part of in the pit disregarded him, saying that he was useless and not worth keeping around, causing the new ghoul to keep himself at a distance, not wanting history to repeat itself.

Mountain wanted to get to know the new ghoul, but was hesitant to talk to him since Rain backed away from him when he offered his hand to shake. He thought that the water ghoul was so stunning, and he couldn’t believe that the stunning water ghoul was part of the pack. Mountain wanted Rain to feel welcomed, and he tried doing so, but each attempt ended with Rain being silent and backing away from the earth ghoul as if he was afraid that he would strike him. Mountain had no idea about the abuse that the water ghoul went through at the hands of his old pack. Rain had no idea why the earth ghoul was even trying when he made his intentions pretty clear. He thought that if he continued to keep himself at a distance, they would give up and send him back to the pit.

Rain sat on the water fountain late at night, staring at the moonlight glistening on the water. He wished he was back in the pit with his old pack and would welcome him with open arms. Bruises fade, wounds heal, but he still had the scars from it all. Mountain noticed them and tried to figure out how the scars came to be, but thought not to ask the shy ghoul. He didn’t want to scare Rain even more since he was already scared enough. Mountain finally decided to try to talk to the water ghoul, bringing a bouquet of white roses to give to the water ghoul.

Rain paid no mind to the gentle giant that was behind him.

Mountain hesitated when approaching the water ghoul and softly spoke his name.

“Rain?”

Rain jumped and turned around in fright, hyperventilating. Mountain wanted to whimper. He didn’t mean to scare him. Why must he look intimidating? Why is he struggling to comfort the newest pack member? What was his life back in the pit? Mountain lowered his head and took a step back, shyly holding out the flowers to the water ghoul.

“These are for you,” Mountain hesitated. “I don’t know what your favorite flower is, but I assumed that you would take a liking to these. You don’t have to take them if you don’t want them.”

He paused before continuing.

“I don’t know what your life was like back in the pit, but I can tell that it wasn’t pleasant, and I’m so sorry that you went through that. I wanted to let you know that we aren’t like that at all. We love and care about every single member of the pack. I want you to feel that way as well.”

Rain hesitated before gently taking the offered flowers out of Mountain’s grasp, studying them. They were pure and beautiful. It was very thoughtful of Mountain to give him something as such. He looked up and saw that Mountain was fidgeting with his hands nervously. He didn’t expect this giant to be so hesitant and nervous. Rain saw how lively this earth ghoul was and how kindly he treated the pack.

“Thank you, Mountain,” he softly spoke. “These are beautiful.”

Mountain looked at him and smiled.

“Of course. I’m glad that you like them.”

Mountain turned his gaze to the moon.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it? Never get a view like this back in the pit. I remember seeing the moon for the first time and waking up Papa frantically asking him what the fuck that big shiny thing was.”

He chuckled and looked back at Rain before continuing.

“You'll never get sick of a view like this.”

He never noticed before, but the water ghoul’s eyes had a shine to them like when the moonlight shines on the ocean. Mountain found Rain to be beautiful. He was too beautiful to be a demon. He was captivating. Rain moved over and patted on the spot next to him. Mountain smiled and graciously sat down, his eyes never leaving Rain’s.

Rain looked deeper into Mountain’s eyes.

“Your eyes have gold in them,” he almost whispered to himself in awe. “Still green, but they have rivers of gold in them.”

Mountain smiled and blushed.

“Yours remind me of the ocean when the moonlight shines on it. They’re beautiful, Rain.”

Rain blushed and looked down at the roses.

“You think so?” He asked shyly.

Mountain nodded.

“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Rain hesitated before speaking up.

“I owe you an apology. I did not have the best experience being in a pack before I was summoned here. I assumed that it would be the same as it was, and even though you all have been treating me with kindness, I still avoided everyone like the plague. I rejected you before you rejected me and that was cruel of me. For that, I am sorry, and I hope you forgive me.”

Mountain gently took Rain’s hand in his and looked at him mournfully.

“There’s nothing to forgive," Mountain reassured him. "I’m so sorry that you went through that. You didn’t deserve to be treated that way. If I was part of your past pack, I would’ve ripped them to shreds and treated you like royalty.”

Rain’s eyes shone with tears and looked down at their intertwined fingers.

He whispered, “I am not worthy of being treated like royalty or being part of your pack. I do not wish for you to see the ugly side of me.”

Mountain gently cupped Rain’s chin and gently tilted his head to look at him.

“There’s nothing ugly about you,” Mountain spoke with conviction. “You’re beautiful and you proved how strong you are by surviving that hellhole. We want you to be part of this pack.”

Rain shook his head. Tears running down his face.

“You are wrong,” he countered. “I have the scars to prove it.”

Mountain gently brought Rain’s hand to his lips and kissed it.

Mountain spoke with kindness that Rain had never heard before.

“You’re still beautiful.”

Rain hesitated before taking a deep breath.

“Do you want to know about the pack I was a part of?”

Mountain gently held Rain’s delicate hands in his own to comfort the ghoul in front of him.

“Only if you want to talk about it. I understand if you don’t want to.”

The water ghoul looked away as tears ran rapidly down his cheeks.

“It is not a pleasant story," Rain started.

He took another deep breath before continuing.

“Back in the pit, I was part of a pack for a long time. I was often picked on or left to fend for myself. When it came to hunting or defending the pack from other ghouls they would use me as a decoy since I could not defend myself. Every day I tried so hard to prove my worth to them. I wanted to mate with one of them, and this was the result.”

He let go of one of Mountain’s hands and pushed up one of his sleeves, revealing multiple scars on his arm.

“He made his answer loud and clear. Told me that he would rather have Lucifer himself smite him than be with an ugly creature like me.“

Mountain was speechless as he stared at the scars. How dare some lowlife treat this beautiful water ghoul like that? He was tempted to be sent back to the pit to find this asshole and rip him to shreds. Rain was beautiful and amazing. Stunning as blue stained glass. How dare his past pack not see that?

Rain shrugged and continued.

“I should have known better than to irk him, and I paid the price for it,” he spoke so casually as if he was talking about the weather.

Mountain shook his head as tears clouded his vision.

“No,” he stuttered. “No, Rain. You didn’t deserve that. That lowlife is an asshole who should be tortured for the rest of his pathetic life for hurting you.”

He took a deep breath before continuing.

“He’s a fucking idiot who doesn’t see how amazing and beautiful you are. I would never, ever hurt you. I would rather be sent back to the fiery pit of hell.”

Rain gently rested his hand on Mountain’s cheek. He saw the raw emotion in the earth ghoul’s eyes. The honesty and promise.

“There is no need to do such a thing,” he almost whispered. “I believe you would not harm me. I am sorry that it took me this long to realize that. Please do not go back there.”

Mountain gently rested his hand on top of Rain’s that was cupping his cheek.

“I promise, but if you change your mind, I would do it.”

The water ghoul chuckled.

“I believe you would.”

From that night forward, Mountain would continue to prove to the water ghoul that he was part of the pack and that he was safe. Whenever Rain would fall, Mountain was always there to pick him up.

#cw: past physcial abuse #cw: past verbal abuse #angst #hurt/comfort #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfic #mountain ghoul #rain ghoul #mountain x rain #nameless ghouls #grammarly is my goose #this is my first ghost fanfic #randomghoulwrites #randomghoulpost

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whump-card · 6 months

Text

This Death That I Chose: Chapter 6

1171 words

CW: past abuse, implied past noncon, conditioning, self harm, pet whump, negative self-talk

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~~~

Tao and Marina raided Faye’s kitchen and made themselves chamomile tea; Marina’s idea, she was desperate to calm her nerves. They sat at the kitchen counter – meticulously clean, like all the spaces Faye occupied – and sipped their steaming mugs in silence.

Tao wouldn’t talk – couldn’t talk – because his head was full of the worst-case scenario. If the community voted to trade Karlo, Tao would have to get him out himself. Marina would have to come with, obviously, and maybe the three of them could make a run for Canada – but Karlo wouldn’t want to go, he would still believe he was putting Tao and his mother in danger. What would Tao have to do to force him to come with? How -

His thoughts were interrupted by the front door opening, and two sets of footsteps coming in through the waiting room. Becca and Faye were back. Marina and Tao exchanged a nervous glance, and rose to meet them.

The four of them convened at the bottom of the stairs. Becca wasted no time.

“We voted to protect him.”

All the air rushed out of Tao.

“Oh, thank God!”

Becca scoffed.

“It was fucking unanimous, Tao, did you really have that little faith in our people?”

“So what happens now?” asked Marina.

“Well, given that we learned from Lark – sorry, Karlo – that the Commander more than likely knows our location,” Becca’s eyes met Tao’s, “We’ve decided to give this place up and make our final push for Canada.”

They’d been nested in their current location for years, striking out and bringing home survivors and defectors. The little neighborhood had become their home, and Tao couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow at the prospect of leaving it. Making a final exodus northward had always been the end game, but the hope of finding more people to join them had kept them in place for a long time.

“So we need to start packing,” said Tao.

“We need to start packing yesterday,” Becca nodded, “We have no idea how much time we have before the Commander runs out of patience and brings down hell on us.”

“How long will it take to prepare?”

“Honestly?” exhaustion flickered across Becca’s face, “I have no idea. We’ve been here so long… It’s going to be hard for people to leave things behind.”

Tao recalled Marina’s home – her afghans, her books, her photos. He glanced at her, and found her looking fiercely determined.

“I can leave anything behind as long as I have Karlo,” she said.

“You gonna tell him?” Faye cut in, “He might make another run for it when he finds out.”

“I’m not lying to him,” Tao said immediately.

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘another run for it?’” Marina asked, frowning.

Tao sucked in a breath and reluctantly explained Karlo’s escape attempt. He left out the young man’s reaction to hearing his mother’s name. Marina listened silently, tears welling up in her eyes.

“He really thinks he has to go back, doesn’t he?” she said when Tao was finished.

“Yeah,” said Tao, “He does.”

~~~

Lark needed to go home.

The longer he stayed with the rebels, the more he was being… corrupted. Lark was a perfect pet. He never spoke about his life before, he was so infallible he never even thought about it. That was how he had survived.

There had been four of them, in the beginning. Four young men, taken from different conquered towns.

There had been four soldiers with cattle prods, there to teach them what the Commander wanted from them.

It took four months, in a little shack on the outskirts of the Capital.

Asked to go home? Shock.

Didn’t obey? Shock.

Called out for their mother? Shock.

Talked amongst themselves? Shock.

Didn’t submit? Shock.

Cried? Shock. Or worse.

In one of the brief moments they were alone, in the dim and grime, Lark had held their hands and told them, “It’s easier if you just don’t think about home. Don’t think about your family. Don’t think about anything.”

They’d looked at him like he was crazy.

Even him.

In the end, Lark was the one who walked out of that building, while the others were carried. But Lark was under no illusions. Karlo was dead, too. Lark was a walking corpse. A beautiful, incorruptible corpse that obeyed every order of its master.

A master he was going to return to, one way or another.

Lark needed to get home before Karlo was resurrected.

As soon as Tao and Marina had left the room – no, as soon as their backs were turned – Lark had started shaking like a leaf. He couldn’t control it. He was supposed to be able to, but he just couldn’t, nor could he stop the sob that bubbled out of him.

I want my mom I want my mom I want -

NOT ALLOWED.

Crying wasn’t allowed. Thinking about her wasn’t allowed. Lark was breaking the Commander’s law, and the rules he had set up for himself in order to function. But there was no one here to punish him.

“What do you do when I’m not around, pet?”

Lark viciously bit his teeth into the pad of his right thumb, drawing blood and nearly separating a chunk of flesh. He froze there for a moment, panting, like an animal making sure its prey was dead. Then he licked away the blood and closed a fist around the thumb to apply pressure. He held the fist in front of him, and it was steady and still. No new tears ran down his cheeks. He breathed, deep and slow.

My name is Lark.

I am a good pet.

I do not cry.

I do not think.

I need to go home.

He sank back into the pillows, rolling the mantra around in his head. He descended into a hypnotic calm, separating himself from the world. Either the rebels would trade him back, or the Commander would come and get him. He was going home either way, and there was nothing more he could do to sway the outcome. He was just a pet, after all.

He was nearly asleep when there was a soft knock on the door. He opened his eyes as Tao entered. The man crossed halfway to the bed before stopping.

“The community voted,” Tao said simply, “We’re going to keep you safe.”

So you’ve chosen to die. Lark almost said it out loud, but caught himself. Good pets aren't opinionated like that. Good pets don’t talk the way he’d been talking to Tao.

I can’t fall out of practice.

(But Mom -)

NOT ALLOWED.

Lark could see it clearly now; he needed to convince these people that he was not worth keeping. They had no idea what he was; once they did, why would they want a disgusting sex toy around?

So he nodded. And he lifted his fist, slowly uncurling it, the dried blood sticky and the re-exposed wound stinging.

“Can you help me, sir?” he asked softly.

~~~

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @whump-em, @morning-star-whump, @thecyrulik

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #this death that i chose #pet whump #cw past abuse #cw past noncon #cw conditioning #cw self harm #cw negative self-talk

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whumpbump · 1 year

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Cw: mentions of past abuse, whipping, death

Reactions to tragedy are vastly different from person to person. Whumper knew this and yet, they were still disappointed in what they got out of Whumpee when they showed them the video of them killing Whumpee’s family. Instead of screaming and crying or anger and wrenching at their chains, Whumpee sighed in relief and chuckled to themselves. This was the first keystone moment of their time together after the abduction and Whumper was utterly confused.

Pulling their belt off and whipping between each word out of pure, searing anger, Whumper asked “WHAT. THE. FUCK. IS. WRONG. WITH. YOU?”

Catching their breath, they again asked “What the fuck is wrong with you? I just showed you evidence that I murdered your family. Any normal person would be broken beyond belief. Why?”

Laughing, Whumpee uncurled themselves and took off their shirt to reveal a constellation of cuts and scars.

“You think I would miss the people who did this to me? The only reason I stayed with them was because I wasn’t ready to risk it on the streets.”

Whumper backed out of the room, trying to mask their emotions of disappointment and surprise. This one would be much harder to crack.

#whumpee #whumpblr #whump blog #whump ideas #whump #whump inspiration #whump tropes #whumper #whump community #injured whumpee #defiant whumpee #abuse cw #cw past abuse #tw death #tw abduction #tw past trauma #tw past abuse

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houseofpurplestars · 11 days

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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

#renfield #renfield anniversary #prompt: past #teddy lobo #cw child abuse

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