#neglect tw

We all know Kris has a dissociative response towards drunk Toriel to the point of visible shame, and even that she's even unbothered by them having a knife, but like

Look at their room compared to Asriel

Those shelves are faded and muted paired with being cracked, the few things they seemingly have are just shades of gray. Hell, Kris doesn't even have little cieling stars and the moon unlike Asriel's side. Asriel is seen with brighter colours, trophies, an alarm clock, a computer, a poster, while Kris literally has nothing to their name. It's to the point they even ignore Susie's bullying, until they made a comment that was enough to get Susie to cry ( this was before the Soul too ) .

Toriel what the have you been doing to Kris. you literally do the bare minimum.

Even Ralsei makes a mirrored image for Kris's Castle Town room with everything they lack . Even Asriel's theoretical side is neglected with no carpet, and a torn up look.

The strong implications of Kris being a latchey kid after the events of Chapter 4's drunken scene show that Toriel didn't even bother to call Kris about the cancelation, and even locked them and Susie out the house.

Danny- My Parents Were Not Neglectful

Tim- I need you to understand that parents aren't supposed to poison their kids

It's not that Tim pities Danny, exactly? But I feel like Danny's incessant denial would bother him. He's like, I'm not here to tell you how to feel about all this, but Your Parents Absolutely Were Neglectful. Which is a tough thing to hear from Mr. My Parents Left Me Home Alone For Six Months.

Emotionally, the Fentons' pre-portal neglect probably had a lot fewer lasting effects on Danny, but there's a lot to be said for growing up in a house that was unsafe from the beginning.

Tim- Your House Had Traps In It

Danny- no it was just kind of messy

Tim- you tripped on wires and died

Danny- I Told You Not To Talk About That

As far as Tim is concerned, his parents loved him (wanted him to have the best of everything, wanted him to be happy and safe, wanted wanted wanted) but not enough to be physically or emotionally present - his dad didn't seem to know how even when he was trying. And Danny's parents loved him enough to be physically and emotionally present, but they sure as hell didn't seem to care if he was safe.

Danny- they were very protective of me!

Tim- they left unlabeled acid on the kitchen counter

Danny- I knew not to touch anything in a beaker

Tim- from experience?

Danny-

Danny- maybe

(I'm on several medications that raise my risk for heat exhaustion/stroke, and suspect I may have an undiagnosed condition that lowers my tolerance to the heat, maybe EDS but nobody takes me seriously so *shrugs*)

I really, really like how they revamped c00lkidd's lore to actually be more affected by 007n7s mistakes and how that made him resent/hate 007n7 but somewhat still love him as his parent. I didn't really like the fact he was so happy/unaffected in the past version. Not that it was bad, it just didn't resonate as much with me.

This is intersexism / intermisogyny.

Initially, her father came for frequent visits, but as his career began an upward climb, he severed any non-professional associations. As his presence in the asylum tapered off to an occasional and distant donation, the doctors became less and less concerned about keeping up appearances.

Though her susceptibility to praise won some of them her fondness, Wilma never fully trusted the doctors or the nurses. She was not offended by their careless neglect - instead, she considered it a loosened restraint that allowed her to accumulate a better trove of shiny stolen things and stories from her fellow wards and secrets from down staircases she wasn’t supposed to descend. Nevertheless, she spoke in a lulling tone that suggested her head was more often up in the clouds than down in the winding, labyrinthine facility, so it was easier to chide her for waltzing into labs or offices at random than to risk aggressively correcting a girl from such an influential family.

This tactic foundered when Wilma opened the wrong door, one with hinges freshly bleeding oil, one that opened so cleanly and so quietly that she saw and understood everything she was not supposed to long before the sawbones saw her coming.

They would command her, belittle her, pry gaps in her psyche in an attempt to convince her, and tell her a thousand times that what she saw was a trick of the dark, a misunderstanding, a convincing production performed by her misaligned relationship with reality. The reports said they were securing a patient for transport home, but she knew the truth. It could not be broken out of her, the view of her friend and fellow inmate, begging for protection, as his body unlocked, swung open and let the air rush in, in a way that no living flesh should.

Nor could she ever forget the view of the doctor’s wide, pained eyes as she sank her teeth into his flesh, deep enough to wrench a chunk free and swallow it. Wilma’s frequent habit of chewing on ribbons and fingernails turned into a much bloodier biting habit after that. 

The treatments never took well enough to scrub the truth from her brain, but they did have other effects. The lies they fed her were so frequent it became difficult to tell when they were lies at all, and slowly she began to see things solely because they promised there was nothing to see. Every door became a mouth, a ribcage, a fist, and every speck of light became an eye. Her hair tangled in her face became matted fur, and it was an easy mistake to make when they had muzzled her jaw so tight and commanded her to stay.