#tw childhood neglect

[gor3sigil]

I had a session with my therapist and I was talking about traumas and wrapped up by saying: "Sometimes it's very hard to be a trans man with female rage". And she looked at me and asked what I meant. I explained that the sexual traumas, having to take over chores because I was the "woman of the house" after my mom left, yada yada, all that was because I was a girl and it was hard to deal with and grieve while transitionning.

And she was like: "Have you ever thought that your trauma is genderless ? I'm not looking to invalidate what you feel, I totally see how being assigned female and treated and perceived as one played a role, but when I think back at how your brother was treated by your parents and his peers, do you see that much difference ?"

I was simple. But it shattered a lot of the way I viewed my past, my self etc. Because she was RIGHT. And listen, it may only apply to me but she was right. My brother, though differently, went through the same traumas as me. He was sexually harassed too, dehumanized too, physically abused, mentally abused, went through bullying etc.

We went through the same hardships, same addictions.

It kind of changed my brain chemistry, ngl.

[this-is-a-podcast-fanblog]

Young Cecil doing his homework with no help and walking past his mom’s half-open door hoping she doesn’t hear him sneaking out and doodling things like “CGP + EH” in his notebook (crossed out) and turning in permission slips at school that the teachers reject because they’re all signed by his big sister and feeling a shiver down his spine whenever he sees a too-tall tree and stealing makeup from drug stores but popping out the mirrors first and falling asleep to the radio and stacking cassette tapes next to his mattress because he never got a frame for his bed and leaving out bowls of water for stray cats and chasing the mice out of his room and learning Torah verses even though he knows no one other than Abby will come to his Bar Mitzvah and crying himself to sleep at night but making up stories in the morning about the citizens he’s seen around town and bumping into Josie at the supermarket where she offers to drive him to the bowling alley and bringing his mom mother’s day flowers even though he’ll be the one who puts them in water, plucks away the dead leaves, throws them away while she watches with blank eyes and when he stares at the loud sunrise he feels an ache in his chest he can’t explain yet and hating that Abby can get a summer job but he’s not old enough yet, it’s starting to feel like decades have passed and he’s still not old enough, and failing his practice SATs because he had to teach himself all those big words and dying in front of a broken mirror and looking at a mirror with broken shards that’s still intact and being a beautiful person in spite of everything and dragging his boy scout recorder into a blanket fort to record cassette tapes about how one day things will be better, one day things will be better, one day things will be better. 

[angelsdean]

a very specific headcanon i have that i've just written into one of my longer wips (so you won't see the scene for an age) is that john is kinda a dick abt food and dean's eating habits. and he's just. so oblivious to the amount that his kids are suffering when he's gone. because dean sure as hell is not gonna bring up how the money is never enough, how they're near starving toward the end of some weeks. how they've relied on charity more than once. so when john comes back and gets them big full meals and dean especially practically inhales his food (bc he's hungrier, bc he's given more of his portions to sammy) john chides him to slow down, it'll make himself sick etc etc. but dean struggles. and he's always SO eager for burgers and pie and carb-y filling things. because he's starving. but he gets a reputation for "eating junk." john teases him for it. or berates him for it when he's feeling especially mean. when dean's older, stanford era, and they meet up for a hunt and get lunch dean still digs into his food a little too quickly, he asks the waitress for pie with a little too much gusto, and john shakes his head, laughing, saying it's a good thing dean's a hunter, it's a good thing he's got the grueling work to keep him fit or else all those burgers and pies would've definitely caught up to him by now. laughs at how dean still eats too fast, "you've done that since you were a kid. never grew out of it, huh?" and dean bites his cheek, bites back a remark about why he always ate so fast, why he's still always squirreling away food and jumping at every "free food" "free samples" opportunity even now when money is easier to come by

[nekrosdolly]

Wesker surviving RE5. Taking a good while to recover. When he final tracks Chris many years later he sees a young woman with Chris. Obviously not Chris' wife.

Chris got a daughter. And Wesker knows how to truely break him now.

Poor girl, she gets hit on by a super hot dude not knowing that he is her dads biggest enemy

listen... this would go fucking crazy... 18+

cw; afab!reader, creep!wesker, reader is 21-ish and wesker is... *gulps*... 61, dad!chris isn't the best dad, i'm projecting big time with this one guys sorry, takes place circa re8, reader is in college, no use of y/n, chris is the kind of alcoholic dad that you don't want your boyfriend to meet because you are, in fact, embarrassed of him, wesker drives a lincoln mkz zephyr.

you look like your dad but prettier. softer, sweeter features than your father's own. your eyes are paralyzingly innocent, and he can't help himself when he lays eyes on you. you're younger than albert by a concerning amount of years, but thanks to your dad's unintentional neglect during your childhood, you've got some issues.

your father never told you about wesker- or anything relating to his line of work. how foolish of chris to not take such precautions with his daughter. you never bothered to ask, either, as you felt some sort of resentment towards your dad in your teenage years. everything he did pissed you off, especially when he was trying to bond. so of course you decided to date someone just as old, if not older than your dad, just to piss him off in return.

that's when you stumbled across wesker. he was handsome for his age, though he looks much younger and you're not sure why. the sunglasses thing confused you, though he'd told you once when you had first started talking that he has light-sensitive eyes. you, being so trusting of this nice, older man who made you feel wanted, believed him and every little thing he ever told you. he'd make you feel so warm inside, and it didn't take long for you to fall for him.

he'd made a show of falling for you, too, to keep you under his thumb. you were the type to flee at the first sign of abandonment; he couldn't have that.

your dad was shocked when you told him you'd found a boyfriend. thanks to your strained relationship, you'd hardly talked to him after leaving for college, which he blamed himself for. it had only worsened between the two of you after your mother left.

and now, at dinner, your dad thinks it's the greatest idea in the world talk about your beloved.

"so," your father starts as he saws through thick-cut steak with a serrated knife, cutting you off a piece, "this boyfriend of yours, when am i meeting him?"

"you want to meet my boyfriend?" you cock an eyebrow at your father, though he doesn't meet your gaze. his own is fixed to the bit of steak he's setting on your plate beside some vegetables.

"well, yeah. must be pretty serious if you told me about him." chris finally looks at you, setting his silverware down. you swallow.

"i don't know, dad."

"what, are you embarrassed of me?"

"i didn't say that, don't put words in my mouth." you stuff a piece of sauteed cauliflower in your mouth as chris sighs inwardly. for the next ten minutes, there's no sound except silverware clinking against your plates and your father's jaw popping here and there.

neither of you can take much more of the awkward silence.

chris clears his throat and leans back in his chair, "listen, i just want to make sure you're dating a good guy, okay?"

"yeah, sure." the bitterness and slight annoyance in your voice is hard to hide. you don't bother.

"is that a crime? wanting to look out for my kid?" he crosses his arms over his chest, getting a little defensive.

"don't you think it's a little late to play dad of the year? i'm not a child, i don't need you to look out for me."

"i know you're not a child-"

"then just stop." you're standing up from your chair, "stop trying to be a bigger part of my life. stop acting like you care. stop."

"fine, you want to be an ungrateful brat?" your dad stands up too, "then get out. take your shit and leave, or shut the hell up."

you don't really have anywhere else to go, so you slink back into your chair and reluctantly finish your food. with all the money your dad gets from his job, he's paying your tuition.

your dad downs the whiskey in his glass and gathers his dishes, leaving you to sit in silence at the dinner table.

-

your father lets the boyfriend thing go until you bring it up to him again, this time on your own.

when you bring it up to albert, he's delighted.

"i'd be honored," he tells you as he leans down to kiss your cheek, he's confident about this, which puts you at ease because you know your father isn't going to take this very well.

-

you're dressed your best, as is albert, who's got his hand on your lower back protectively. he can sense your nerves- uroboros didn't completely burn out of his system- as if they were his own, and he kisses your head as you unlock the front door. based on the black jeep in the driveway, beside albert's zephyr, your father is home. you open the door, and in a flash, you're pushed out of the way.

you didn't expect your father to have a loaded gun aimed at your boyfriend so quickly, if at all. a deep laugh sounds from albert.

"oh, chris..."

[loveyourlovelysoul]

All the times you were told by your equally wounded caregiver to not dream too far, that something (eg. even a toy or game table) was just useless so you shouldn't buy it, that you were obliged to say no to something your soul was calling for, all those different situations are still inside of you. And they are often playing with your mind, hindering you, caging you, blocking you unconsciously from moving towards anything you really want. Not letting you see your real worth, not letting you try for something better, different, for anything you really desire. Please, don't let this mental pattern block you. Free yourself. Believe you can try and have what you desire. You are deserving at least a try, no matter how things will go. Stay hopeful, stay positive, and keep believing in yourself and how much you deserve. Do not let the past or someone else's pain hinder you. You deserve much more. And you surely deserve accolades for making it to today despite it all.

[sulasnsleep]

“i do not recall the taste of love. i remember being fed poison and told it was sugar.”

— sulasnsleep

[pfhwrittes]

Hey P!

I hope you're having a good day - it's really cold where I'm living today! It was -1.5 C this morning, but the wind made it feel like -6 🥶 Its gonna just keep getting colder and colder. Which one of the 141 would you most prefer getting stuck with in cold weather? Who runs the hottest? Who would take the most pleasure in putting their cold hands on your stomach or back?

How do you feel about the cold? What's your preferred temperature? I like the cold, but the wind kills me! It's very common for Midwesterners to talk about winter weather and say, "It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the wind!"

-💚💚

hiya 💚💚!

oh boy. i do not handle being cold well. i'm lucky that i live in a milder climate in the northern hemisphere but i still struggle when the outside temperature dips below 5*C (that's 41 Freedom Units *F).

honestly my perfect temperature is somewhere between 18*C-22*C (64*F-71*F) but in winter i'll take 10*C (50*F).

as for the 141 i like to think that the order of cold weather tolerance from "would wear shorts in -5*C" to "if you turn that thermostat below 18*C and i'll peg you out on the washing line" goes: soap, price, gaz, ghost.

i'll explain below the cut.

(trigger warnings for a brief mention of calorie counting in gaz's headcanon and poverty/childhood neglect in ghost's headcanon)

soap tolerates the cold the best as a native scot. he automatically factors windchill into outside temperatures and thrives in the cold. however he will quote still game when it is icy outside, you've been warned.

price in my headcanons is a liver bird so he's alright with a chilly temperature. plus, he has the facial furnishings to ignore jack frost nipping at his nose for longer than wise. also i just like the idea of price packing on some winter weight to counteract the cold like a bear. (hat tip to @/ceilidho for the glorious fic "landscape in honey" for the visuals there)

gaz will tolerate cold but he's not happy about it. i like to think gaz factors in how many extra calories he'll need to eat to keep his macros perfect when the temperature dips. i wouldn't say it's a problem but he's well aware that to maintain his baseline and not go into a caloric deficit he needs to up his protein and carb intake.

ghost doesn't tolerate cold. he might've been born and raised in manchester but i think the cold fucks with his head. he spent too many years huddled up with his brother in all the clothes he could fit on his body under a shitty duvet when the gas meter was out of emergency credit to ever be happy when it gets cold.

and now i'll answer your other questions!

Which one of the 141 would you most prefer getting stuck with in cold weather?

hands down the answer is gaz. he's not going to tell me that "it isnae cold!" like soap or shut down emotionally like ghost and i won't have the patience to listen to price tell me to put on another layer. plus i want to snuggle up with gaz to "retain body heat" and if we happen to need to get naked because skin to skin contact is the best thing to counteract hypothermia? whoopsies there go my pants.

Who runs the hottest?

ghost or price. the amount of body mass and layering these men do would mean they run the warmest. i'm not saying gaz and soap are delicate flowers but i am saying that they prefer having abs over a healthy layer of fat. in fact, just sandwich me between ghost and price when it dips below 10*C.

Who would take the most pleasure in putting their cold hands on your stomach or back?

soap. and i'd strangle him. jokes on me though, he's into that shit.

[butthead7]

i have to vent about something.

TW. Mentions of childhood n3glect, her0in.

My biological mother growing up had me on the weekends, and I don't remember much about her. But I remember being at most 7 years old and taking my 3-4 year old brother by the hand and walking him over to a neighbor's house to get food because she never woke up to make us any, and there wasn't any in the fridge. My aunt told me that she saw me feed him individually sliced cheese from the fridge, because that's literally all there was. She took us to McDonalds, for two hours, and when we got back, my mom still wasn't up.

My brother is 13, he just had his birthday, and he remembers nothing. I don't care if he remembers that I took care of him, I don't care about that. It's the fact that he doesn't remember it happening at all. He forgets. He asks my stepmother (who i consider my real mom, and she is by law) what he was like as an infant. She lies and entertains this.

That house is burned down now. My biological mom left when I was 7. I haven't seen her or heard from her since, and I don't know if she's dead or alive.

but I feel so alone in this. The house is gone. I remember hardly anything. My brother, born addicted to heroin, can't remember. I remember that at some point she got an air freshener, and I smelled the same one at my grandmother's house recently. I took him right beside it and asked through the tightness of my throat if the smell reminded him of anything. He says it didn't.

I am so utterly alone in this. It's like it never happened, like some bad dream only I had. The house isn't there, but I can't smell cigarettes without remembering pounding on the bathroom door, begging to get in and being greeted with a wall of smoke I could hardly see through. I have to look my father in the eyes and know that I have the eyes of the woman who abused him. I can't drive down a back road or see a willow tree without having a panic attack. I hid them for 7 years, these panic attacks. I only recently got the courage to tell me parents.

My brother is the only one I went through this with, who understands, or would understand, but he was just too young to remember.

[s0ulcrushed]

My frustration has nowhere to go.

I am still 5 and hyperventilating.

[ttyls]

good evening, my pals 🧡 i haven't been very active lately bc:

work takes up so much of my day 😭 (why can't the work day be 2 hrs... 🤲🏻)

i've been processing many memories of childhood neglect that i buried, and they're resurfacing mostly bc i live with my parents and they're now retired and are around a lot more

my friend has convinced me to run a marathon with her in 3 months!

work crush likes to be out and about and when she invites me places, i have no choice but to follow her like she's my orpheus 🧍🏻‍♂️ i have never wanted to be someone's wife so badly...

but! like everyone else, time management is something i'm working on and i'm still always writing in my head 🥹🫂 so, i guess all this is to say i'm still around even when i'm not as active :-D

[gor3sigil]

23/11 - The black labret and bleeding gums

Yesterday, I took off my labret piercing. I noticed it was doing some pretty bad damage to my gums and teeth, that I’d really like to keep in relatively good health. It made me think about her. It was sad, in a sense, because this piercing made it finally bearable for her to look at her reflection in the mirror. But it was, at the time, the bare minimum she could do to take back control over her body, her face, her life, whilst being actively suicidal. She never cared about teeth. She barely brushed them, in fact.

And now, I have to take that little stone away from the mural of ourselves we built, little by little, brick by brick. I promised her that for this jewel we had to take out, we’ll get pierced twice, on the same lip, vertically, if we can. If we can’t, we’ll do the nostrils. But she’ll get something back, pinky promise. Only now, it’ll be with the intention to be a work of art, complimenting our features, more than just repairing damages. Just like the tattoos over our scars. Just like our flat chest.

I also promised to put her black labret in epoxy, to wear as a necklace. She hasn’t gone anywhere. When I look at my reflection in the mirror, my hair growing out, even after 2 years of HRT, it’s still her that I see, clear as day, with her little mischeavous smile, her contagious laughter, her intense gaze looking at my own soul, our soul, to remind me that she has never died. Sometimes she talks to me still, she lets me know that I may be in control the vessel, but she is still the primary life inside us, the flame that drives us forward, something transitonning, changing our name, cutting through flesh could never erase. And we hug, and we cry from the same eyes, and we scream from the same mouth, and we drink from the same glass.

We’re at the hospital, she’s scared she never got better. She hates the scent of disinfectant and the nurses. I have to calm her down when we’re put on oxygen. Keep a brave face when they cut ourselves open once more. “But we’re so young still !” she yells. I wish I was her age. I wish I didn’t care about bleeding gums. I wish I wasn’t a month wiser.

She looks at our reflection and she says: “Hey, let’s get our lips pierced as a reward for going through surgery !”. One jewel per tonsils removed. I spat out a trail of blood in the sink and brushed my teeth. I wish we never cared for bleeding gums.

I read her back the letter I wrote to our parents, asking her what she thinks, should we send it ? She scoffs and goes back to play. She thinks her pain doesn’t show, even after all these years, even after she almost died from it. She thinks I can’t see it because I’m not her. And yet.

She tears up as I unscrew the black labret from our lip. We never got taught how to brush our teeth. It’s all their fault, she says. It’s all their fault we have to worry about bleeding gums. I hold her hand. She brushed our teeth like she could repair the damage in one flush.

Last night I dreamt I was losing my teeth, but new ones grew, stronger. I wish for it to come true.

[buuuuggggggggggg]

Abused kid things: closing all the windows so you can hear everything that's happening inside

[loveyourlovelysoul]

When you had to spend most of your life renouncing, or hearing no's related to anything you wished for, it's hard to start believing things will change and you'll actually receive anything you actually wish for. It's hard to feel like you're deserving. It all just seems impossible, no matter how you try and hope. You just take any (even partially) negative sign in relation to it as a confirmation of your fears. Adding to this, if you've been living with a parental figure giving you mixed signals and often lying to you and judging you, or giving themselves anything but rarely doing the same for you, it may be even tougher to believe that even having the smaller good thing is possible for you.

You even get ready to renounce once more, or to believe it's never gonna happen or that you've been a fool to believe it could be, even for a second, and in order to not feel betrayed and hurt once again you just give up and block yourself (you keep yourself in the known and comfortable zone). You build your own future in a cage, craving for one thing but reminding yourself that for any random reason (probably cause you're not enough or not deserving, probably cause others have been telling you -even unwillingly, even to "protect" you- what you deserve and need all your life), it's not for you.

And at the same time, you see people around you getting what they want and ask yourself what's wrong with you. Darling, there's really nothing wrong with you. But you need to give yourself a chance to try and actually see what it is that you want and need. And if this dream is for you (if you really want it now or it's from a wounded childhood trigger) or not. Work for it, no fear of what it could be in the end (see it this way, you know how to deal with disappointments: at least, you won't have regrets cause you tried your best to get it and you'll know for sure if it's possible or not. And if by any chance you'll feel like it'll be too much to not get it, then ask yourself about the possible childhood wound it reminds you of) and no fear of being judged by others or feeling behind others (there's no such a thing as you're living your own life; and people who use/d to judge you on one thing, probably know/knew unconsciously they are/were lacking it as well: it's easier to judge others instead of looking inside). You're you. And that's amazing. And for this reason, you're deserving to at least try.

[huntress-cori-voidchaser]

Daughter of the Void (Pt.1)

The high elves of Silvermoon had never been lenient when it came to voidmancy, Sintalla knew that, but she'd been curious, she'd always been curious. The others knew this of her, but they hadn't known what exactly the extent of her curiosity had been.

When the Silvermoon guards had come for her, Nathanos and Sylvanas weren't quite sure what to do, so, they started with reciting the facts.

Number one, their wife had just been dragged away, probably to her death, for studying the void.

Number two, there was a baby currently hidden in their home, a baby that was, very distinctly, not human or high elven.

And number three, neither of them were very good with children.

"I could take it to the stead, raise it there- it'd be hidden," Nathanos was the first to speak,  the two of them had agreed the child should be allowed a chance to survive, for now.

"She's not an it, Nathanos, she's a girl." Sylvanas responded, her expression conveying an aura that was miles away from their current location.

"My point still stands, if she's found here they'll kill her, if I take her to the stead she'll be able to hide in the cellar if anyone comes snooping around," Nathanos continued, giving Sylvanas' hand a squeeze.

There were two rings, on each of their hands, though only one was recognized in Silvermoon.

"That. . . that would make sense, we could train her, she could learn to defend herself, if she's ever caught on her own," Sylvanas muttered.

"Are we going to give her a name?"

"I. . . suppose we should, I would've preferred if Sintalla could've named her, but. . ."

"Don't think about that now, it's. . . it's too late to do anything about it,"

"There. . . there was- one- name- that she'd mentioned. . ."

"And that would be?. . ."

Cori Voidchaser grew up with a very complicated family dynamic. She lived with her father, in a cellar, not because he didn't want to give her a real room, hopefully, but to keep her safe. She had two mothers, one who was dead, and one who visited every so often, to make sure her training was going well.

She felt distant from the two of them, she wished it was different, she wanted to like them, she wanted to like them so so so much, because they were all she really had.

But. . . she didn’t, the night she heard the undead overtake her father. . . she did nothing.

She already knew she had lost another mother, too, her father would’ve put up a better fight if he’d thought she would be waiting.

But, just Cori wasn’t enough.

Just the last remaining piece of Sintalla Windrunner, meant nothing.

She was just a weapon to them, why else would she have spent more time practicing with a bow and arrow than playing with other children?

Was she even a child anymore? She didn’t know, she’d never had a way to keep track, other than perhaps the cycles of day and night peaking through the wood of the cellar doors.

She’d stayed in that cellar for quite a while, even after Nathanos’ death. It was safe, it was comfortable, and it was the only thing she’d known for much of her life.

Cori awoke that morning, fifteen, she was quite certain she was fifteen, and the world was ending.

It had to be ending, didn’t it? The ground was shaking like mad, as though something were hatching from inside of the earth.

Cori tried to steady herself as the ground shook from underneath her, the sun had just begun peaking through the cracks of the cellar as she approached it, pushing on the door with all the strength she could muster.

She kept quiet, so as not to alert the undead that littered the remains of the Marris stead.

The stead had been the only home she’d ever known, but the quaking of the ground around her told her that perhaps an underground cellar was no longer a fit place to live.

Then again, nowhere around her seemed to be a good place to live anymore, what with the undead swarming all over the place.

Cori made her way down the hill upon which Marris stead rested, bow and arrow quiver strapped tightly to her back.

She’d heard stories of the many paladin factions that existed across Azeroth, so she thought, perhaps, she could scout one out.

Maybe if she posed as a slightly emaciated night elf they wouldn’t question her presence. . .

As Cori contemplated what it was she should do, she came across a road, dropping to the ground, she let herself adjust to the surroundings, the tremors of the earth had finally begun to ease themselves.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the strangest thing that’s happened to me,” Cori muttered to herself.

Cori looked around as she stood, eyes resting on a nearby sign, she approached it, keeping an eye out from the corners of her vision for anyone approaching.

“Crown Guard Tower, keep right. . .” Cori read aloud “Well. . . it would be nice to have something to eat that I didn’t have to snatch off of a corpse. . .” Cori  murmured, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head.

She took a deep breath, searching for something inside herself, images of wildcats flooded her mind as she began to rush forward, stopping only when she reached the steps of the outpost.

Only to find herself out of luck, the tower was crumbled and old, bricks falling off, long abandoned.

“It’s a shame, isn’t it, the Argent Crusade has plans to rebuild it, though,” a voice spoke from behind Cori, causing the girl to turn on her heel, drawing her weapon and readying an arrow.

The human in front of her took a few steps back, they were dressed in paladin’s clothing, yellows and whites, though they had no crest or tabard to declare an affiliation. Their hands were raised slightly, an apologetic look visible behind their gold-rimmed glasses.

“Hey hey- easy now- I’m not here to cause any harm, there’s no need for weapons,” said the human, Cori stood with her bow still notched for a short while. The human didn’t move, their hands still raised, feet still in a position to back up further.

Finally, Cori began to lower her weapon, though her eyes were still wide and alert.

“Quite the reflexes you’ve got there- I’m sorry for whatever caused them,” said the human, clearing their throat “Darcy Whitemane- I- patrol this area to look for people who need my help,” Darcy said, cautiously offering their hand.

Cori stared at it for a few seconds before realizing what Darcy was expecting of her and shaking it.

“I can get you to Light’s Hope Chapel if you need, no offense, but you look famished,” Darcy said, letting out a low whistle.

Cori watched as a horse approached the two of them, stopping beside Darcy, who swung their leg over the gold-embroidered saddle and sat atop the steed. They offered a hand out to Cori, this time with their palm facing upward, an invitation to sit behind them.

Cori accepted silently, her eyes still searching for any sign that the human in front of her might pose a threat.

“We don’t get many elves like you around here- or any- really- I’ve never seen anything like you before if I’m honest,” Darcy said with an awkward laugh.

“You. . . know what I am?” Cori murmured, narrowing her eyes.

“Well- not exactly- but I know you aren’t like any other elves I know, which is fine, you don’t seem like you’d pose a threat on purpose,” Darcy said.

“How can you tell?” Cori asked.

“Because if you wanted to kill me, you would’ve shot me earlier,” Darcy stated matter-of-factly.

“I could still drive an arrow through your head if I wanted,” Cori responded, though she made no moves toward her quiver.

“But you aren’t, because I’m not a threat to you either,” Darcy said.

The horse came to a stop as the two reached the chapel, Darcy sliding off of its back and assisting Cori in dismounting as well.

“Another refugee?” another human said, looking up from where he’d been working.

“Yep, battle-worn too- looks a bit young for it though,” Darcy replied, Cori raised an eyebrow.

The two of them approached the chapel, Cori pulling down the hood of her cloak hesitantly.

“Jessica! Any extra rations? This one’s in need of some serious attention,” Darcy said as they walked into the building, gesturing for Cori to sit down.

“Of course General Darcy- she’ll be taken good care of,” said the woman Darcy had spoken to.

“So, are we gonna get a name for you, or do I get to make one up?” Darcy said with a laugh.

Cori paused for a moment, muttering a quiet thank you to the innkeeper as she placed a bowl of stew and a loaf of bread in Cori’s hands.

“Cori. . . Cori Voidchaser,” she responded, flinching slightly as she waited for these champions of The Light to come at her with their swords drawn.

“Well Cori, we’ll get you patched up and ready to head back to the safety of Stormwind in no time,” Darcy said, smiling.

Cori supposed, maybe, that being raised in a cellar had interfered slightly with her people skills.

[turtlethebean]

I know it's been like 2 weeks, but here's the fifth chapter of ANF. Bone apple tea.

A Normal Family - Chapter 5 - Turtle_The_Bean - Criminal Case (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

[madeofbees]

Here’s to all the motherless kids

The ones who chose to leave and not come back

The ones who had to excise themselves before the tumor overtook them

Here’s to all the kids who can’t leave yet

The ones who are trapped at home with their demons

The ones who are forced to celebrate those demons

Here’s to all the kids to who are grownups now

The ones sitting on the floor of someone else’s mom’s house

The ones trying not to cry on a joyous day

Here’s to all the kids who aren’t on social media today

To the ones who can’t look at other people’s happy families

To the ones who I really hope will see this tomorrow

Here’s to us. We got this.