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purpleqilinwrites · 2 months

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better than.

a/n: i fell in love with danmeshi over the weekend! i have so many thoughts and feelings about chilchuck and his wife and their daughters, so i wanted to write something about them. i wish we knew her name! since there's no canon name for her (yet??? please! i'm manifesting), i gave her one mostly for ease of fic writing but also because i think she should have one haha.

fandom: dungeon meshi

pairing: chilchuck tims / chilchuck's wife

genre: angst, general

info: told from the perspective of the wife; she is named (junnimay); takes place pre-canon

warnings: might not be canon-compliant

synopsis: for the better, she comes to learn that moving with the tides of life is a mercy in itself.

word count: 3.3k

Chilchuck Tims / Chilchuck's Wife

The apple trees were starting to clothe themselves in pale pink blossoms, releasing a sweet fragrance into the air. Kahka Brud took it as a sign of the winter's end, shedding off the furs and double-lined coats of the coldest months, and so did Junnimay. Reaching for one of the thinner woollen cloaks hanging by the front door, she whispered, "I'll be back soon, Fler," to her still-sleeping daughter before setting out for an early morning walk.

A contrary breeze made it difficult for her to shut the door quietly, a rather unceremonious slam of wood against wood following a series of laboured grunts from her lips. Fler had always been able to sleep through even the most turbulent of autumn storms; a little noise a ways from her bed surely wouldn't stir her from her needed rest.

Junnimay wiped her palms down on her cloak even if they weren't sweaty, and she started on the unpaved path that led to one of the larger streets of Kahka Brud.

At the place where the narrow local paths merged into the cobblestone main street, she greeted the elderly gnome couple having breakfast in their front yard. The younger of the two women stopped her with a shout in Gnomish and then waved for her to come closer. She approached the line of potted miniature trees that formed a makeshift fence between the public walkway and the gnome couple's property, and the elderly gnome pressed a still-warm bun into her cupped hands.

With a smile, she thanked the women in Gnomish, biting into the bread and telling them how delicious it was before she continued down the main street. As she chewed on a particularly large cluster of candied orange peel bits in her next bite, she pondered visiting the farmer's market on the way home so that Fler could have some candied orange buns to share at the tailor shop where she worked. It would be good to make a larger batch to share with the neighbours, too.

A splash of deep reddish brown dragged her attention to the present, the burst of colour out of place among the blush-pink apple blossoms and the grey-brown tree barks and the yellow-streaked blue sky. Junnimay almost dropped the last bit of the bun gifted to her, eyes wide as she took in the sight before her.

There were two half-foots under the large apple tree at the end of the street that opened to the southern market district. One of them shook out a grey bedroll that was much too large to have been designed for half-foot use, and the two of them took turns scooching into it and then reclining to watch the clouds.

The taller of the half-foot pair sported an uncannily familiar head of auburn hair, poking out of their shared bedroll that was made for one tall-man but could apparently fit two half-foots comfortably. She chucked what was left of the bun into her mouth before she took slow steps towards the mouth of the market district, keeping her eyes on the half-foot couple the whole time.

They paid her no mind, even if her gaze never left them minutes and minutes after coming from behind them to appear in front of them. They were too in love to notice her.

Chilchuck was lying in bed next to her, but his back had never felt so far.

Even when Junnimay was a child relentlessly chasing after him and his older siblings in a game of tag melded with hide and go seek, the distance of rows upon rows of tomato plants between her parents' house and his was tiny in comparison to the hand's breadth that separated Chilchuck's sleeping form from her. The entirety of the vast tomato field was easily crossed under her quick and stubborn feet, possible to traverse. She didn't feel the same way about stretching her hand out to touch her husband.

When she had yelled something or the other about getting caught in the tomato vines, Chilchuck would've instantly turned around and run to her. He always did, even if it meant that he would lose to his older brother, the person he hated losing to the most. She remembered that being the reason why she liked him; when she called for him, he made haste to come to her.

If she woke him up at this point in their lives, years and years after playing games with ever-changing rules in the tomato field that belonged to everyone in the village, would he be quick to awaken and ask her if there was anything troubling her? If there was anything he could do to help?

Chilchuck shifted as if her thoughts were so loud that they woke him. She squeezed her eyes and mouth shut, pretending to sleep the way their daughters did when they were still red-faced in the way half-foot children usually were in their most tender years. His blanket swished when Chilchuck pulled it tighter around himself, curling in on himself and inching all the more away from her. All was still on his side of the bed after.

She fell into a true sleep as she pretended. While pretending, she was trying to remember the last time her husband broke out into a run coming to her simply because she had called his name.

The neatly placed line of dark bottles filled with various alcohols that Chilchuck accumulated over the years never looked so inviting to Junnimay.

Between her and her husband, he was consistently the more avid drinker. Since she first discovered she was pregnant with Mei and Fler, she found that she hadn't had the same taste for alcohol that she once had as an adolescent. She used to sneak sips from her father's hidden stash of ales from time to time, careful never to take more than a single large mouthful off the top of the bottles that were full.

With Chilchuck out accompanying yet another party of adventurers to one of the dungeons scattered around Kahka Brud and her three daughters asleep, Junnimay thought it was a better opportunity than ever to indulge in a little alcohol. It has been years since the last time she partook, after all.

She tiptoed to grab hold of the bottle she felt was most appealing, the scarlet label on the front boasting that the mead within contained floral honey from a well-known apiary on the Southern Continent. Pouring herself an economical portion into a dark glass cup, she settled into the alcove overlooking the sea and cracked the window open to feel the salty night-time winds on her face.

"Mama," came a sleep-addled voice from past the kitchen and down the hallway. Junnimay made it to the dining table when she found her firstborn daughter rubbing her eyes at the threshold that separated the kitchen from the rooms.

"Mama," Mei said again, sounding a little more awake than she did the first time. "I think Dad's not coming back yet."

The staunchness in her daughter's statement made her inwardly flinch, and she tried her best not to show it on her face. Mei had always been an unusually perceptive child, and it worried her that her daughter might be picking up on the growing unhappiness between her and Chilchuck. She wouldn't be able to bury it from her girls forever, but she wanted to keep any marital issues hidden from their young and still innocent eyes. The world should be sunny and kind when they gazed upon it, more beautiful and right than when she was the one looking.

Junnimay put on a smile, approaching her daughter and putting her arms around her, stroking at her head of wild ginger hair. It soothed her somewhat when Mei immediately buried her face in her chest, her comparably smaller fingers clutching at the cotton of her sleeping tunic.

"Not for a while, little heart," she said, vacantly running the fingers of her right hand through Mei's hair to untangle the knots. "But he'll be back."

It had only been two days since Chilchuck left for his most recent dungeon expedition. He had never been one to complete a job sooner than he said he would, diligently seeing to it that the task he agreed upon beforehand was carried out as promised. It made him an excellent addition to any adventurer's party, but she realised it also made him an absent father and an unavailable husband.

"He'll miss my birthday again," were the condemning words Mei chose for Chilchuck, muffled from the way she was pressing into her mother and clinging. Junnimay's heart twisted at the disappointment in her daughter's voice, as if her father had let her down for the final time.

Mei suppressed a sniffle and tried to mask it with a sound of exasperation, little fingers starting to pinch at her flesh beneath the fistfuls of fabric already within her hold.

It reminded her that Mei, while able to pick up on subtle things that most children weren't, was still a child. It reminded her that Mei still needed her protection.

It reminded her that she was failing quite miserably.

Chilchuck was at the door for the first time in almost three years, and it was akin to seeing a ghost when she swung the door open, not quite knowing if it was definitely him after hearing his voice on the other side. Junnimay blinked twice, squeezing her eyes shut as she quickly completed a simple incantation of protection taught to her by one of the gnome neighbours, and then opened them once again. He was still there, so she moved aside so he could come in.

"The girls are all out today," she said, leaning against the closed front door to resume lacing up her work boots. "Puck's staying with a work friend in the meantime, so you won't be seeing her until she comes back at the end of winter."

He seemed rather displeased at her lukewarm reaction to his return home, but he didn't mention it. Mirroring the burgeoning pile of her grievances about their marriage, she kept silent when he pretended there wasn't anything to complain about. It was a complicated dance that the two of them had perfected over the years, intimately familiar with each step.

"Where you are headed?" Chilchuck asked, sweeping his eyes over her attire as if he were scanning his lock-picking toolkit for signs of wear and tear. She hated it, and it was bitter when she swallowed the feeling with an increasing level of ease, automatic.

"To the bakery," she said, needlessly undoing the fastening tie of her cloak and doing it up again, tighter the second time around. "My shift ends late, so don't wait up for me. There's leftover cured meat and cheese from Mei and Fler's birthday dinner last week in the pantry, if you want to eat."

Chilchuck crossed his arms rather aggressively as she spoke, and she felt validated at his show of displeasure. She was starting to become suspicious that he believed their marriage to be as intact as it was when they were walking away from the ceremony, but it gave her a twisted sense of unity that they were both looking at the same cracks and being afflicted with the same unpleasant feelings.

"The one along Third Street, right?" he asked.

It sounded to her like he was running out of things to say, and it made her all the more eager to get out of the house and fall back into the safety of her daily routine in which he was entirely absent. She had become comfortable as a mother of three daughters whose father's only contribution was a pouch of gold coins every full moon, delivered to the door by an administrative employee of the local Adventurer's Guild.

The money he provided for her and for the girls has been slowly and steadily increasing over the years, and she was glad that he appeared to be making a name for himself as a skilled locksmith. There was a sudden jump in the weight of the pouch put in her hands a few months ago. She wanted to ask about it since Chilchuck was here, but ultimately decided not to, keeping her questions about his work and his time in the dungeons of Kahka Brud close to her heart instead.

There was once that he had snapped at her for being too curious about his work, and that one time was enough for her to become unnecessarily cautious when speaking to her husband about the jobs he undertook.

She nodded, putting a hand on the doorknob and finding solace in the coolness of the metal against her skin. The silence between her and Chilchuck felt awkward with how large it was, taking more space in the house than even the house itself. When it became apparent that he had indeed run out of things to say, she pushed the front door open and stepped out.

"I'm off," she said, expecting him to regroup with a new adventurer's party on yet another dungeon expedition by the time she returned from her own work at the bakery.

In the early hours of the morning when she found herself home again, Mei and Fler were asleep in their beds. They left a note for her on the dinner table, saying that they ate at the tavern close to the main street and that they brought back a portion of wild boar stew for her in case she was hungry.

For once meeting her expectations at the exact line where she drew them, Chilchuck was nowhere to be found.

Mei was taller than her now.

It was obvious that her daughter was bending at the waist to give her a greeting hug, the height difference between them further exaggerated by the thick soles of Mei's work boots. A bittersweet sense of awe nipped at Junnimay as she was reminded once again how much Mei resembled her father.

"Mama," Mei said, linking her arm with her mother's as the two of them wandered the Central Market on an impromptu stop on the way to Fler's home. Junnimay thought it would be nice to take a long walk with her firstborn, since Mei had taken the opportunity to surprise her by picking her up from the bakery on one of her rare free days. "You deserve to be happy, you know?"

Junnimay froze mid-appraisal of the many kinds of honey on display at the store on her left, slack-jawed and wide-eyed as she turned her head to face her daughter. Where was this coming from? Briefly, her thoughts led her to the husband she recently left, and it brought to the forefront of her mind once again her every reason for finally acting upon what was in her heart.

Mei seemed to be taken aback by her mother's inarticulate but apparently tumultuous contemplation, so she cleared her throat, eyes darting to the side as she visibly mulled over her next words. "I saw you talking with a gnome uncle at the bakery. Your smile was so bright," she said, beginning to pick at the unoccupied holes in her belt with her free hand. "And I can't remember the old man ever looking at you the way the gnome does. I think you can be happy with him, now that the old man's out of the picture."

Bodies were skimming the pair of them in the passing as they stood in one of the many footpaths in the Kahka Brud's largest market. There were many sights to behold and smells to contemplate, and there were even more wares on sale. She had to be mindful of pickpockets in a crowd as thick as the one that eternally thronged this market, but she could only focus on the determined jut of her daughter's chin.

"I'm just saying," Mei said, making eye contact with her after allowing her a moment to ponder. "I want you to be happy. Fler and Puck, too. You deserve it more than most people."

Junnimay moved her arm from its curled position around Mei's and used it to pull Mei into a one-armed hug, squeezing. The wet warmth of tears pricked at her eyes, and she gave her daughter the widest smile she could muster in an attempt to keep her face from crumpling the way it did when she cried.

"I am happy, little heart," she said. "But I think I'm not made for a second marriage."

She watched the gears turn in Mei's head from behind the screen of tears in her eyes. Wiping at her face with the back of her other hand, she apologised instinctively to a male voice that yelled a phrase in Elvish for her to move from somewhere in the mass of people behind her.

Mei sported a scowl as she scanned the crowd over her mother's head to see who was intruding on their conversation. Junnimay laughed, making sure to steer herself and her daughter closer to the wall between the honey store and the one beside it.

"Did the old man ruin it for you? Marriage, I mean," Mei said, after her sweep of the crowd proved unsuccessful. The majority of the market-goers were tall-men who unintentionally blocked her view of the offending elf, lost in the commotion.

Junnimay felt the need to put on a smile, but remembered that Mei was too old to fall for it. Mei had been too old to believe her fanfare of a reassuring smile since she was just a child.

"His father told us that since we liked each other, we should marry. So we did," she said. The memories trickled into her mind's eye slowly, obstructed by years and years of trying to fill the space of both mother and father for her girls. Looking back on her childhood in a small village where everyone was a half-foot was akin to looking into an old spyglass, trying with much difficulty to spot something on the far horizon.

Chilchuck's father was far more authoritarian than hers ever was; if he said something was to happen, everyone around him made sure it happened. Her father, while affronted by the other half-foot's demand, was agreeable to the match and gave her his blessing since she had insisted that she liked Chilchuck enough to marry him.

"I wanted my parents to be happy, and I liked the idea of marriage at that time. I didn't stop to think about if marriage was the right thing for me," she said.

Noting Mei's silence and hoping to assuage any anxieties her daughter might have, Junnimay gave her another squeeze, smiling without the express intention of consoling. "But I don't regret marrying your father. Because of him, I have you and Fler and Puck. I gained the world's best daughters."

Mei chuckled at her bold proclamation, sighing affectionately when she leaned up to press kisses to her daughter's cheek. "Mama, you say embarrassing things sometimes," were the words that Mei spoke, but Junnimay knew her well enough to hear the words she actually wanted to say. She smiled into Mei's jaw.

"Are three daughters better than a husband?" Mei asked, a cheeky glint lighting up her eyes.

Junnimay squeezed her yet again, a tense fist of unease inside her chest loosening with the surrender of a long-kept confession that bared her heart. Even the golden afternoon rays of sun became brighter and more beautiful, her secret feelings being received most graciously by her firstborn. She was sure they would be received similarly by Fler and Puck too; the three of them were all warm-hearted women whom she was proud to have birthed and raised.

"By a thousand tall-men leaps and bounds, three daughters are infinitely better than a husband."

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi scenarios #delicious in dungeon scenarios #chilchuck tims #chilchuck's wife #chilchuck tims x his wife #chilchuck tims x chilchuck's wife #fic #angst #general #kaija writes #kaija writes: dungeon meshi #i'm anime + adventurer's bible scans only #so there's still some things about chilchuck and his family that i haven't come across yet #but still!!!#it doesn't stop me from having so many thoughts and feelings!!!#i wrote this from the perspective of his wife #but what i really want to write a little something more from the perspective of meijack #meijack chils i am writing a fic about you next #something about her eldest daughter syndrome makes her a sister to me #i don't know if it comes up in canon #but i know her #it is there and i want to write about it #i also think a lot about the fact that chilchuck and his wife are childhood friends #childhood friends + exes to lovers???#maybe maybe maybe #i am frothing at the mouth thinking about it

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litnerdwrites · 2 months

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It's interesting how Nesta had to apologise for something she wasn't even in the wrong of doing while Rhys, who overreacted by threatening to kill her (for a mistake he made) and chasing her out of the city, did not have to. Especially, after it was canonically established by Feyre herself that he did not have the right to do that..

And for someone who claims to write about badass female mcs who crush patriarchy and choose the course of their own lives, shouldn't an apology scene for something in which a female's right to information on her own body was undermined be a fundamental part of the book?

I mean, she could add a bonus chapter about the characters in question fucking to make babies but had to keep the apology off-page? Weird.

The only somewhat sufferable part of the book was the scenes with the Valkyries and the smut (if you ignore the poor timing).

I don't know if it's my eldest daughter syndrome acting up but I feel strongly about this.

I agree completely. I won't deny that Nesta has some things to apologies for, but so does Rhysand, and Feyre and Mor. I'd even argue that the things the IC put her through negate the need for her to apologies, or at least makes it a little less urgent/important than the apologies she's owed. This is mostly due to the fact that Nesta's so-called crimes amount to a bad attitude (most on page examples of which are pretty understandable to me), and issues she had with Feyre in childhood. Meanwhile, the IC's actions are immature and ignorant at best, and extremely abusive at worst.

Honestly, I don't think any of them, much less Rhysand, see what they did as a mistake. If any of them did, they wouldn't have made her walk through those woods. Feyre would've demanded Nesta be brought back otherwise, but she didn't.

As for Rhysand, honestly the part where he hugged Nesta gave me ick. Especially when Nesta said he'd been acting like a brother the whole time because he hadn't. He abused her. He broke her down. He only showed any semblance of decency (even then it wasn't much) when she did something to benefit him.

Offering pity jobs for somebody else's sake without taking into account Nesta's strengths or passions into account isn't what a brother, or anybody who cares for her, would do. Staring at her like a circus attraction when she enters the room isn't something a brother would do. Forcing her to social events just to ignore her isn't something a brother would do. Financially abusing her, refusing to give her a salary for her work during the war, along with her inheritance, is not something a brother would do. Not caring for her wellbeing beyond how her sister feel's is not something a brother could do. I could go on.

I think, at the end of the day, this amounts to a simple fact. SJM clearly doesn't see anything wrong with the things she writes and narrative she creates. No matter how you argue that ACOSF is a healing story, not a redemption story, it doesn't matter. Through analysing the sext, the author clearly shows how she feels about Nesta. Looking at what she says about the book, the author clearly has little understanding of mental health, and hasn't done enough research on it to be able to write a healing arc that isn't straight up abuse/torture (seriously, the bar is in the crust of the earth).

ACOSF could've been the best book in the series. All of the material, the concepts, the potential was there. Nesta's story was set up in ACOFS, and perhaps I wouldn't have minded the actions of the IC as much (from a literary perspective anyway) if they had been acknowledged as wrong and the IC apologised. I don't think anyone would've minded the locked in the HOW plot either, if, at some point, the characters acknowledge how abusive it was. If the narrative itself acknowledged how messed up it was, and did something about it.

If Cassian apologised for abandoning her after the war, Cassian especially. If Feyre apologised for not trying to reach out in a way that Nesta was comfortable with. If Elain apologised for not being there for Nesta the way Nesta was for her. If Mor apologised for, intentionally or not, isolating Nesta from the rest of the court. If Amren apologised for her comments. If Rhys apologised for sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

Rhys apologising for the hike, or threatening to kill her would mean nothing because both he and the narrative don't see anything wrong with his treatment of her. If he did, then the forced training/library/stuck in the how part would've ended half way through the book.

The part that infuriates me the most, however, is that they don't see their wrong doings at all. They still think they're doing the right thing and that they know everything. It's messed up.

#anti acosf #anti ic #anti inner circle #nesta deserves better #anti amren #anti mor #anti rhysand #pro nesta archeron #pro nesta

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celaenaeiln · 6 months

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Okay, so I've been scouring your blog these past few days, and ughh, it feels so good to find someone who actually seems to understand who Dick is! His eldest daughter complex is something I relate to so much, and was the thing that really drew me in. A lot of people look at the mediation and emotional weight lifting, (and those are huge parts of it, don't get me wrong,) but something else I find very eldest child is the way his own relationship with Bruce has continued to take hits all so Bruce can have better relationships with the others. Like when you're the oldest your parents make so many more mistakes with you. I also can't help but feel like it's got to be so hard as Dick to look at the way Bruce is with Tim/Dami/Cass, and wish that he could have that kind of relationship with his Dad. They want to be jealous of the trust, think he's the golden child, and yet at the same time, he's wishing he had something more resembling the true parent/child relationship the others got. (Idk maybe I'm projecting, but oh lord I go absolutely feral for eldest daughter Dick, it just hurts so good)

og post in reference

Yes! I'm so glad you brought that up!!

In terms of parenting, and why I don't really write about Bruce being a parent to Dick, is because Dick is kinda a guinea pig, as my engineering teacher put it once.

He was the Bruce's first for everything. First friend, first partner, first son - he just took responsibility for all roles. It makes things even worse because Bruce at the time he took in Dick, he had only been Batman for three years. Three. And he was literally drowning under the weight of the mask until he found Dick. There's a reason why Dick is Bruce's is right hand man and that's because Dick's been with him through everything. When Bruce was struggling and almost giving into his obsession, Dick was there to pull him out of it.

He quite literally mothered Bruce through his feelings, asking if everything was okay, what's wrong, watching him constantly and guaging his mood. This is exhausting work because Dick's mind was always on Bruce's mental state, much like a mother worried constantly about her teenage daughter or a father about his son.

That adoption scene where Dick asks Bruce, "why didn't you adopt me?" That's the realization of eldest daughter syndrome brought up.

Up until then, Dick was completely fine with being the caretaker for Bruce and lifting him up. He parented Bruce for so long and so smoothly, neither fully realized how much Dick was doing for him until he left. When Bruce adopts Jason, that's when Dick realizes there's something wrong with their dynamic.

I don't know if at that time Dick really wanted to be adopted or if he felt neglected because that he's wasn't while another was. But one thing he feels isn't jealousy, he's very clear on that, but Dick feels hurt.

Was there something he did wrong that caused Bruce to do that? What he do differently? What could he have done better? These types of questions constantly cloud his brain because he's gotten so used to taken care of his guardian for two decades now that he must feel hurt on some level even if he never expresses. He wouldn't begrudge his siblings because he feels happy Bruce isn't making the same mistakes to them that he did with Dick but at the same time, it's just exhausting for him.

Bruce might have improved but he isn't the best, so now he's busy taking care of both his brothers and sisters and his father. He also has to take care of his friends too.

He has the weight of the world on his shoulders but the worst part for him isn't the actual the weight - it's the realization that he's holding the weight. Because before he could live on in ignorance and bliss that Bruce was always going to be this way, and taking care of him would naturally just be Dick's job. He's so used to it, he's been doing it since he was eight.

But now, he knows what he's doing, he knows he's not supposed to, but he must. Because they rely on him, but also because that's what Bruce made him into. And I think that hurts the most for him.

He'll feel conflicted about it because on one hand, he loves Bruce. He loves him so much, he'll do anything for him. But also what about all those missed opportunities? Could he have been something different? Maybe he could've hung out with the Titans more if he didn't have to deal with bruce constantly demanding his presence. Maybe he could've joined a new class he never thought he would try.

Dick doesn't regret what he did and if he could go back in time, he would do it all over again but...he probably feels melancholic again. To love a parent so much you sacrifice your happiness over and over again so they can be happy while you're forced to grow up early. Dick's personality itself just lends itself to helping others but constantly taking care of your parent?

He's happy but he feels helpless and sad so he stays silent about it all.

It's said that Eldest Daughter Syndrome can make women feel overburdened, stressed out, and constantly responsible for others.

More signs include having a strong sense of responsibility (leading the batfam and hero teams), feeling a need for control (him fighting for his independence against Bruce and fighting to take care of his own teams), carrying the heavy weight of parents' expectations (his entire monologue in Nightwing 1996 about his feelings towards Bruce), perfectionism (Roy grouching about Dick's perfectionist tendencies to Kori in Outsiders and Roy yelling at Batman for it in Batman Plus), struggling with same-age relationships (dating older), and feeling resentment towards family (his outsiders era was him just resenting Bruce in the beginning).

He's been parenting Bruce for so long he was forced to grow up prematurely. I mentioned in my compartmentalization post when Dick's parents have literally just died. And he's forcing himself to act happy because he doesn't want Bruce to feel guilty and upset about not catching their murderer yet. That's not a responsibility a child should have - pretending everything is fine so as not to worry their family. That's the role of a parent. He's taking parenting his own parent because his actual one is incapable of doing so.

But Bruce's greatest fear is that by taking in Dick, he deprived Dick of opportunities to shine. To live in the limelight. And Dick knows everything about Bruce, so he knows Bruce's worst fears. And for this reason, out of the love that he has in his heart, Dick will never tell Bruce if he's hurt him because this is directly connected to his worst fear.

And that hurts. Because vocally releasing anger and sorrow is cathartic but to have it build up silently inside and letting it sink beneath the waves each time is painful.

#dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #eldest daughter syndrome #anon I can't begin to tell you how much I understand #it's exhausting #cl anon asks #thanks for the ask!#anon you inspired me to make a post about this that I'll upload later

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mermaidsirennikita · 2 months

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ARC REVIEW: The Other Side of Disappearing by Kate Clayborn

4.25/5. Releases 3/26/24.

Vibes: true crime podcasts (critical), soft hero/hard heroine, complicated families, and dropping those defenses even when it's hard

Heat Index: 6/10

Ten years ago, Jess and Tegan's mother disappeared--with her con artist boyfriend Lynton Baltimore, made famous by a popular podcast. Now, the podcast's creator is on their doorstep with her protegee, Adam. They want to find Lynton; and Jess and Tegan could be their key. The last thing Jess wants to do after raising her sister on her own is go down this rabbit hole. But if Tegan is going, so is she; and as they unravel their mother's secrets, Jess finds herself more exposed than she's ever been before... and, even more horrifyingly, opening up to Adam (and his massive shoulders, perfect for crying into).

I was a little worried by the premise of this book. Don't get me wrong, it's a great idea--but was it going to be women's fiction? The answer: nope! This is a great example of how to write a book that has a big plot, and has well-developed characters beyond the two leads... while still being a romance. That's something that used to be way more of a norm, but I've noticed lately that it seems to have become all or nothing. You're either all focus on the leads, no plot and paper-thin supporting characters, or the romance gets crumpled up and it's women's fiction. (Which is fine! Women's fiction is fine! It's just generally not my thing.)

Trust Kate Clayborn to give you all the feelings about EVERYONE involved, along with a thought-provoking and twisty-turny concept, while never sacrificing the strength of the love story. I was so invested in Adam, a truly good dude who isn't without his own sore spots, slowly worming his way into Jess's heart. And Jess is simply a great heroine--wounded and tough and a bit angry but also desperately holding it together for the sister she's raised. I loved watching them fall in love. In fact, this is probably my favorite Kate Clayborn book so far.

Quick Takes:

--I am very vocal about finding a lot of good guy heroes boring, and that is because "good" often seems to translate into "perfect" or "completely toothless". Adam is a great example of how to write a good guy hero correctly. Kate Clayborn generally knows how to write about good people who aren't perfect and are compelling.

Here, Adam is essentially a gentle giant with great intentions in the long term... Who still compromises his morals initially. (Not for long! and I would say that she could've pushed him to compromise those morals for a bit longer, but I get it.) And he doesn't always handle everything perfectly, and he's not always smooth, and he's interesting and hot and kind of the boyfriend I feel is ideal without being PERFECT.

Also: his ears go pink when he's embarrassed, and he is definitely a bit embarrassed about his Bigness. Like, he's always bumping into shit because he's so Big, and that's embarrassing, you guys!!! This is. So important to me.

--I'm so into the Eldest Daughter Syndrome Stuff, as an eldest daughter. Jess and Tegan's relationship is so great, sitting in that space between parent and sibling, and at a really awkward point (as Tegan just turned eighteen). I found Jess deeply relatable, and her prickliness makes perfect sense... while still getting in her way.

Honestly, Jess's character growth is the type of thing I don't think heroines are allowed to do enough? It's introspective and difficult, and I absolutely loved where we ended up.

--There's a supporting character, original podcast creator/Adam's mentor Salem, who went in some really different directions. I kind of loved having a character who was like... not malevolent, but not wholly good, too? Who was selfish, and not an ideal parent, and a LADY?

In general, the commentary on true crime fandom stuff and podcasting is so good. I think we've definitely reached this point where true crime podcasts have really dipped heavily into exploitation. Of course there are good ones! But let us be real. I loved the way that she confronted this being both a story and Jess and Tegan's lives. And, in addition, how knowing that early on conflicts with Adam's sense of morality.

--As a random note... I've noticed recently that a lot of romance novels, even those by people I so love, have parents do some really shitty stuff, and then shove in this reconciliation with their kids at the end. I think this has to do with the need for an HEA. But like. You can have an HEA that involves acknowledging that your parent is shitty and doesn't deserve forgiveness. Trust.

All I'll say is that I really loved how Clayborn handled the parent stuff in this book.

The Sex:

Kate Clayborn always leans more towards the romantic than the explicit in her sex scenes, though they are open door. There are a few scenes in this book, and they're reeeeally sensual. I loved the way she wrote the dialogue during sex scenes, and like, the sexiness of Jess and Adam sneaking around on this road trip with her teenage sister right there. Ooh, it was hot.

Insightful, romantic, and challenging in some ways, The Other Side of Disappearing really impressed me. I already liked Kate Clayborn, and this only made me more excited about her future work.

Thanks to NetGalley and Kensington for providing me with a copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

#romance novel blogging #romance novels #arc reviews #book reviews #book recs #book recommendations #books #netgalley

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eighthdoctor · 10 months

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Can you expand on why being a middle child is a defining trait for Sylvanas? I hope you don't mind if I share my own thoughts on it first: She is objectively the most intelligent and skilled Windrunner sister, but tradition prevents her from taking the position everyone knows should be hers, but as the spare to the throne she isn't allowed to go out and do her own thing either, so she was stuck under an artificial ceiling she was only allowed to pass by the grace of her elder sister.

HAPPILY

so i mentioned this briefly in another ask of yours here, but there's an early psychologist, adler, who proposed that birth order has an enormous predictive effect on your personality. it since looks like it's not AS strong as he said, but also these are fictional characters and i make the rules.

anyway.

oldest sibling: we're all familiar with eldest daughter syndrome, where you're constantly pushed to be older, be more mature, be more competent, parent your younger siblings, etc. this is the conceptual root of that--less built-in sexism, and an acknowledgement that if you're oldest, you HAD some time where you were The Only Child and got 100% of the parental attention, and then had the trauma of losing that when your sibling was born.

psychcentral, which i am pulling from bc i'm lazy, has the following characteristics: controlling, conscientious, cautious, reliable, achievers, structured

middle sibling: for most of their childhood the middle sibling is the left-out one. they're attention seekers. they're not the most obviously successful (just bc they're younger) but they're not the most obviously needy (just bc they're older) so Inferiority Complex time (ALSO proposed by adler)

psychcentral has: Middle children can become competitive or rebellious. But they can also be even-tempered, being able to compromise between family members.

wikipedia also adds: Consequently, the middle child, who would experience neither dethronement nor overindulgence, was most likely to develop into a successful individual yet also most likely to be a rebel and to feel squeezed-out.

aaand youngest: the baby. the spoiled coddled child. the one who gets away with everything.

wikipedia has: Youngest children would tend to be overindulged, leading to poor social empathy

so let's put the windrunners into this bc they're FASCINATING.

alleria: alleria had one moment of self awareness, which is also the most self awareness ANY of them have shown, and realized that Eldest Daughter Syndrome was going to actually kill her. she quit because she could not live up to her mom's expectations, she knew this, and she was determined to save herself. which BACKFIRED HORRIBLY BECAUSE WINDRUNNERS but hey. there was an attempt.

otherwise alleria has the eldest child thing of "i love my siblings but hey do you remember when i was the only child best beloved bc i sure do. i only have minimal resentment about that." and DEFINITELY has the eldest child thing of "the entire time they were growing up i was better (literally because i had had more time to practice) ergo i am STILL better and know more than them wait come back here why aren't they listening to me--"

vereesa (i'm coming back to our girl don't worry): lol. lmao even. vereesa is DEFINITELY the baby. vereesa got away with fucking murder as a child and continues to do so as an adult. on the other hand, she has never ever ever been the best at ANYTHING ever and no there's no resentment about this either. definitely not.

so sylvanas.

sylvanas has never been the best. sylvanas has never been the baby. sylvanas has--literally from birth this is not a post-death phenomenon--ONLY EVER gotten attention when she KICKED AND SCREAMED AND MADE A FUSS ABOUT IT. she has never been impressive for doing something (because alleria did it first). she has never been coddled for not getting something (because vereesa was having more problems with it). she's just there.

and if she EVER wanted one-on-one attention she had to deliberately go get it herself while watching her siblings get OFFERED it, readily.

the FIRST TIME IN HER LIFE she got free serotonin parental attention was after alleria stepped down. no wonder she imprinted on the position so hard, no wonder she's just neurotically obsessed with it.

even if you're doing a pre-third war AU, or even a pre-SECOND war AU and alleria's still around, sylvanas is a middle child. she thinks you get attention by forcing it to happen, by MAKING people pay attention to you. and like toddlers she doesn't really care if it's positive or negative attention, because anything is better than being ignored.

she doesn't think people will help her Just Because, because that never happens. she never got that. she wasn't the oldest, wasn't the baby, was just There, she's always had to figure everything out herself or suffer.

which means from the outside she comes off as an arrogant asshole (don't ask for help) who interjects herself into every conversation (have to get attention) and makes everything about her (nobody else will).

and that's BEFORE the traumas start happening and prove this all 100% right. nobody helps her. nobody pays attention to her. nobody remembers anything she says.

--except jaina.

#asks for ts #deloxd #proudmoores ALSO fascinating bc derek's death just fucked that all up #but jaina is 100% straight down the line incurably eldest daughter #rip to her #blorbos from my games #sylvanas windrunner #the power to manipulate belief #sorry vereesa but i haven't been able to care about you yet so you get the least thoughts here

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ly-luna · 1 year

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Re8 ladies as the poet, soldier, or ruler in my opinion :)

Mother Miranda: ruler, do I even have to explain this one. She is a ruler because she rules over the small village and is willing to do whatever she wants and in this situation it is Eva she is willing to kill hundreds for . She rules over the four Lords and is in control on everything and everyone in her village. She's put into a place of power because she chose to dedicate her life to try and bring back Eva and if she couldn't she would die trying. She gives orders and makes sure everything is perfect(kind of) she enforces rules and regulations since she is the highest power the village as seen. They fear her but also worship her, she is God to the village they pray to her and believe she is going to fix things like she has mostly likely done in the past due attacks and ect.

Alcina: I'm stuck on her because she would be both the ruler and the soldier. I feel like the soldier is someone who is willing to do anything for what they beliven and are very passionate about one thing and are willing to protect it, and to me that sounds like alcina and my reasoning behind this is she was willing to kill Ethan for mother Miranda's ceremony but he killed her daughters and she is passionate about getting revenge on him. She would also be the ruler because like mother Miranda she has power just not as much as mother Miranda. She is in a motherly role leaving her to be the ruler of the castle and her family since she is the mother figure. She has a responsibility to keep things in order and to not let things out of control.

Donna: she is the poet. I interpret the poet to be creative, calm, free and someone who wants to change themselves or others for the better. She's quiet and expresses herself through the art of her making her dolls. Though she lives alone and is isolated she is free to some extent. She's calm and most likely wants to change just based on what we know about her. We know so little about her but we know she loves dolls it's mostly an art form or a coping mechanism.

Bela: the ruler. She is the eldest of the 3 daughters giving her responsibility for her and her sisters. She's seen as the most responsible sibling as to Cassandra and Daniela who are destructive and immature at times. She follows rules and also most likely makes them as well. She keeps things in order and is perfect. She has to handle things for her and her sisters and is probably the most hard working sister out of the 3. She wants freedom though to, the stress of things makes her bottle up her feelings and act as if they are not important to keep the balance and order of things.

Cassandra: she is the soldier. She's willing to fight and protect what she loves. She is described as She is passionate about hunting, her family, and keeping them safe. She is passionate but also aggressive. Looking into her character she is the middle child and mostly likely suffers from middle child syndrome. She trys hard to impress her mother but is looked over. Alcina loves all of her children but is probably occupied by Bela and daniela. She protects her family and her loved ones with all she has she can be immature at times but never enough to make alcina or Bela angry with her.

Daniela: poet, with how the fandom portrays her it makes me believe she reads she probably would write something of her own. Like Donna she is creative and wants to make things better that being herself or something she's working on. She's free to do what she pleases. Being the youngest she is most likely to not be told no or be corrected. She loves to make new things such as story's or maybe even oc's of her own. She's described as the most delusional of the 3 sisters and it makes me believe she is the most likely to have high ambitions and dreams.

Honestly idk if this makes sense at l but oh well ig this is my thinking on what to the 6 women fit into.

#donna beneviento #cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil #badly written #idk if this makes sense #poet #soldier #king

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milesmentis · 1 year

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From the Pride OC asks!

3) How did your oc discover themself? Did something cause them to question, or did they always know?

for ALL OF THEM (please? 😁)

*cracks knuckles* Okay ... let's do this!

Daren: answered here (everyone else is under the cut)

Gil: She was my late bloomer. Going back to the mention about Gil and demisexuality, she probably has the closest parallel to my own journey. When she was growing up, she definitely thought she was asexual because she had -100% interest in boys and 0 interest in girls. She has that intense Eldest Daughter Syndrome that most Hawkes tend to carry and that + her discomfort with male attention made it easier to just ignore anything that had to do with her own sexuality because it make her feel complicated messy things. She was an incredibly awkward and apologetic teenager, but when she's older (around 19/20) her feelings for other women started to really develop. She doesn't fully blossom though until she gets to Kirkwall, cuts off all her hair, and starts hanging out with a bunch of disaster bisexuals

Hallapan: She figured out she was a girl at a pretty young age (I'd say about 7 or 8), because I headcanon that's also when the gender roles in her clan would have started hitting. That's also about the same time that her magic manifested and I feel like those two things kind of run parallel in her mind ... the idea of suddenly becoming something else, something rare but a little strange. Clan Lavellan wasn't actually her birth clan, and when a few more mages manifested when she was a young teen, she was sent to them. It was a two edged sword - she was upset that she had to go, but also excited bc it meant that she could go train as a Keeper in another clan where they never knew her as a little boy. It was a fresh start and helped her anxiety about puberty and social transition a ton.

Magnus: Oh Maggie ... my dear angry macho bisexual. Out of all my characters he is the one who struggles the most with his internalized homophobia and toxic masculinity. I headcanon that the further north you go, the more rigid things like gender and sexuality tend to be. In his case, Magnus was from a small town in the free Marches with a very strict father who joined the army the second he had the chance and stayed there for over a decade. Those two things gave him a kind of skewed view of masculinity and male-attraction. He's honestly something of a frat boy, so his own feelings for other men were a thing he could explain away through, like, the rituals of male-bonding. Definitely a guy who would say, "Of course I've fucked dudes. I was in the army wasn't I?" Meanwhile, Daren and Donnie would be staring at him like "......... bro." It takes until he's about 30 to get really comfortable with his own queerness (he has such a huge crush on Cullen, it's insane) and honestly his friendship with Dorian is so healing. Just finally having another queer male friend to talk to, and one with such a different but equally repressive upbringing ... yeah ... I think they're real neat.

Brosca: The female Brosca origin is so goddamn Gender to me! Unlike the canon, Brosca is actually older than Rica (about 33) and experienced a ton on gendered violence, starting from their mother. She grew up under a constant tirade of "Everything would have been better if you were a boy, you useless failure" (her father was merchant class). After Rica's father leaves for the surface and their mother falls into depressive alcoholism, Brosca is the one who has to shoulder everything - she becomes the breadwinner the only way she can (breaking heads for Beraht) and does everything she can to protect Rica (usually by making herself the wall or the target). Orzammar being so aggressively heteronormative forces her to carve out a sexless space for herself in order to survive. She's not a woman like her sister (pretty, painted, artistic, kept) and she's not a man like Leske (desperate, letcherous, envious, possesive). She's a knife and if you touch her for ANY reason, you're going to get cut. Going to the surface changes her life in so many ways, but I think one of the most powerful is hearing gender-neutral Ser for the first time. She never truly unpacks her own feelings about sex and gender, because she doesn't have the reason or language to do so, but even though she continues to use she/her for the rest of her life as a convenience, she really grows to think of her own gender as Warden. And that finally feels right.

Eyas: Eyas is a very reserved and introspective person, so I feel like he figured out that he was both gay and aromantic in his mid-teens. It was always a kind of perfunctory thing: clans are very interconnected groups and as a result, I don't think things like nudity, sexual interest, or gender really ... matter as much? Because everything is so interpersonal. When he leaves the clan, however, he doesn't handle it very well. He becomes even more withdrawn, and the only person who he even slightly warms up to is Zevran. Unfortunately, Zev interprets this change in behavior as romantic interest, and when he offers sex to Eyas, he panics. It takes a long, complicated, and shockingly emotional (for him) conversation until he finally admits how badly he's hurting, how little he wants sex, and how afraid he is of losing the closest thing he has to a clan brother because he can't feel the same desire. Zevran is absolutely understanding and helps him talk through his feelings about sex and romance (generally) and specifically (pining for Alistair), and gives him reassurance that what he feels is natural and understandable. They become even closer after that - a literal lifeline for Eyas in many ways - with a tinge of that homoerotic non-tension that really good queer friends always have. His actual "awakening" doesn't happen until Awakening (if he makes it that far) ... the second he lays eyes on Nathaniel Howe.

Donnie: The only character I've ever made who Gets The Goddamn Therapy and Support They Deserve! Aside from the background radiation of "Mild Homophobia and Sexism That Permeates Military Life Even In The Future" he doesn't have any hangups about his sexual orientation. I think, like most bisexual nerds, his awakening was Star Wars (which might be two centuries old, but he will defend with his dying breath). Like Daren, he gets a kick out of people assuming he's straight but he's never shy about mentioning ex-boyfriends. He's primarily attracted to women and a lot of the bros-to-lovers arc he has with Kaidan revolves around them both talking about hot women over beer and then dropping a quick reference to hot men ... no homo tho ... haha ... unless.

#pride asks #gil hawke #hallapan lavellan #magnus 'trevelyan'#brosca mac tir #eyas mahariel #donnie shepard #it's oc ask time 24/7

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yandereorg · 1 year

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Also before I forget bc I'm heading to bed in a few: Nonchalant bimbo!darling being really maternal bc their a big sister or have eldest daughter syndrome 🫡 so the need to spoil her yandere is instinct , she can't help it that yandere is so BBY girl to her. I can see Roy eating this up bc now him, Lian & darling can be a family fr 😎 I can imagine Roy introducing Lian & darling to each other & darling going into mom/big sis mode 🥺 Roy's just like 'I 💖 milfs 🙂' LMAO everytime he sees his two favorite girls getting along he's just like ' just u wait darling I'ma turn u into milf fr soon 😏' I can see darling talking to Roy offhandedly about how she always wanted to have a family of her own - Roy is just eating that up so he subtly uses Lian as a wing woman lol Lian just starts calling darling mom n stuff & darling is just like 🧍‍♀️'i am overwhelmed with positive emotions but unfortunately I am not ur mom- ROY WHAT DO I DO SHES CALLING ME MOMMY' 'Aww that's so cute, your gonna say no to my babys face like that? Besides, I can always make u a mommy if you want 😏' ktstkslhdy 👁️👁️ losing my mind rn ALSO 👀 bimbo darling casually tracing her yanderes scars & calling them sexy 😏 I can see Jason/Roy/Damian eating this up especially if their like dangerously close to more intimate areas 😩😼

!!!!!!!! okay but imagine darling is like patching up jay bc their friends and this is something friends do and everything is fine and jay's shirtless, and darling spots a scar near his happy trail and starts to trace over it and jay's had enough because you're always teasing him so he starts doing it back and being like omg friends!!!!!!!

no because Roy's using lian to get you close and keep you there and you know Roy has a breeding kink and every time they go at it he's like ??? you wanna become a milf???

#bimbo anon

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hyperfixation-or-death · 4 months

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Just remembered I never actually posted my headcanons about Bilal and Romane's future timeline kids. Anyways. I have headcanons about Bilal and Romane's future timeline kids.

Okay, their scenes are blurry. But! After rewatching closely, it looks like:

Two kids. One girl and one boy. The girl looks a little older than the boy.

So. On to the actual headcanons:

Romane thought of the name for their first child. A lot of grief that she thought she had already processed had resurged with the realization that their lives were about to change, and her mom, their friends, and her sister wouldn't be there for it. And she didn't want to directly name this kid after anyone she had lost; it wouldn't have felt fair. To the baby, to her loved ones, to anyone. But maybe something more subtle. Some way to remember someone. She ended up suggesting Vivienne. (Victor and Vanessa both started with a "v", so having the same first letter was kind of a subtle memorial to both of them, while still making sure the lines between past and present were clear.) Bilal thought it was a good idea, too, so they went with it.

So, Vivienne, Bilal and Romane's eldest daughter. Headcanons for her:

A little over a year older than her brother.

Autistic.

This kid has main character syndrome the likes of which you've never seen before.

Went through a phase of wanting to be a mad scientist, so Bilal got her one of those science experiment kits for kids. She loved it, and did all the experiments within three days.

She's a Lemony Snicket kid. Camille sent her A Series of Unfortunate Events for her birthday one year, and she was hooked. She's based her entire personality off of those books.

She can cook eggs. Nothing else, absolutely not. But she can cook eggs.

She's convinced everything is a conspiracy, a mystery to be solved. Her questions range from normal kid stuff - "Can you actually prove I wasn't switched at birth? Where's the certificate? I bet I'm long lost triplets with [unrelated classmates who have a similar hair color, but otherwise look nothing like her or each other.]" to questions that Romane would really like her to stop asking - "What actually happened to Dad? I think you're lying. Where does that key go to? Mom, why won't you tell me anything?"

On that note. Bilal, Romane, and Sofia all agreed to tell Vivienne and her brother about the time travel eventually. Before Bilal went back, he wrote each of his kids a letter explaining it. Romane is keeping the letters until Vivienne is fifteen and her brother is fourteen; that's what they all agreed on.

Vivienne ends up figuring out parts of what happened before that. Just how much she figures out and what she does with that information, that all depends on the timeline. (I did have an AU where canon-timeline Victor and Romane didn't succeed in time traveling, but the bunker ends up basically overlapping between dimensions, allowing them to meet Vivienne, who is in there for. some reason. idk. it's a vague concept.)

Okay, I know I said I had headcanons about both kids. I lied. Just the older one. I don't even have a name for the second. Sorry to disappoint.

anyways! blurry future timeline kids with zero canon information. they're very cool. you agree.

#this is what writer's block does to me.#disney parallels #disney paralleles #paralleles #parallels #where is the line drawn between blurry background character and oc? i don't know and neither do you. goodbye.

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indigoninja · 2 years

Text

You know, something kind of... sad, has been sitting in the back of my mind for months now.

Ever since I had heard of the term forced pregnancy, forced birth, I came to a really, really horrible realization about my own life.

When my mother was pregnant, back in ‘97, she wanted a baby because she was the eldest of her three other siblings, and her younger sister already had a child about a year and a half before her. She had thought that, since she was the eldest of four children, she had the “honor,” the “responsibility” to be the first one to have children.

But... there was a medical history with my father’s family. They had a hereditary illness. Hurler’s Syndrome. Gargoylism. It was most commonly found in those born to parents of Caucasian descent. My mother had found out about this, because my aunt on my father’s side had a daughter, and she had it. She died at the age of 16, in pain, unable to care for herself. Her body simply shut down, unable to function properly, and her body starved to death.

The life expectancy of children with Hurler’s is 10. Ten years old. And for most, if not all of their lives, they’re in pain. They’re unable to care for themselves, because they will not make it to adulthood.

At the time of that cousin’s death, in ‘96, she was the longest-living person with Hurler’s. Someone else was able to live past that, and the last I read about them was that they lived to the age of 23.

There was a high chance that my father was a carrier of Hurler’s, since his sister and brother-in-law were both carriers, and that was how their only daughter was born with Hurler’s. It wasn’t their fault, they didn’t know, and they loved her dearly until she passed away.

I only visited her grave once, as a child, ignorant of the significance it had for my aunt.

But, back to when my mother was pregnant with me. She had been living in New Orleans, Louisiana, and she wanted prenatal tests to be made, and if the results came back positive that I was going to be born with Hurler’s, she was going to terminate, preventing me a life of pain, and preventing her a parenthood and lifetime of grief.

But her doctor... he delayed the test. Delayed it as much as he could, because his religious beliefs influenced his choices as a doctor, and so it became too late to terminate the pregnancy unless my mother’s life was in critical danger. She switched doctors when she realized what had happened, and got the test done.

It came back inconclusive.

Imagine how my mother must have felt. Was she scared? Terrified? Angry?

She had been forced the responsibility of carrying out the pregnancy now, and to deal with the life that she was going to bring into the world. She was forced the responsibility of potentially caring for a child who might not even get to live for very long. Forced to potentially watch as their child may wither away, because another human being decided that they knew better than my own mother.

But even then, time passed. My mother persevered, and I was born. I wonder how scared she was when she first met me. How relieved she was. Her baby was born, and she was okay.

She was alive.

She was so, so lucky to be alive.

My birthday is this Saturday. I turn 25. I’ve been through so much. My father’s death, middle school, high school, my granny’s passing, college, the pandemic, moving away, my grandfather’s passing, Covid, struggling to stay afloat.

But I’m still here. I’m still persevering. I’m still alive. But... I wonder, now, if I’m the product of a forced-to-keep pregnancy. What if I wasn’t lucky? What if I had been born with Hurler’s? Would I have been in pain? Would I have been aware of it? Would I still be me? Would even the wonders of modern science and medicine have helped me to live a life in relative peace? I don’t know. I don’t wish to think of this. But I am so lucky to be alive. I’ve met people, my family, my friends. My partners, even if we’ve left one another for one reason or another. The joy of these experiences makes me so grateful that I was so lucky just to be able to be fucking alive.

I’m alive. I’m so happy to be alive, despite this world, despite these people, despite what I’ve been through, I’m here.

I’m here.

I’m alive.

#burding

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reidscanehand · 3 years

Text

Eldest Daughter

RCH 3k Celebration

Song Fic inspired by “Eldest Daughter” by Isabel Pless

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUfem! Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Key: unbolded italics are memories, bolded italics are just the lyrics to the song

TW: family (specifically a sister) being mean, light trauma due to emotional bullying from family, insecure reader, cursing, imposter syndrome

Word Count: way too many

Very thankful for this opportunity to write the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever written - thank you to whoever anonymously requested a fic based on this song. Also, please listen to the song. I’m a massive fan of Isabel Pless and I wish more people would listen to her. This is also the first proper song fic I’ve ever written, so it really is more inspired by the song rather than directly informed by it. Love you all and hope you like it! xx

I’m back on my eldest daughter bullshit Drawn to broken people like a magnet Pull out my toolkit Hammer you back into place

It’s rare for Spencer Reid to be at a complete loss for words. What he’s just witnessed, though, is enough to send all words reeling from his mind. It’s hard to countenance anyone being cruel to you, but for it to come from your family...it’s difficult. Sure, his own father used to say all sorts of questionable things regarding his intelligence and social awkwardness, but he’s very thankful it hadn’t been a constant, like yours has apparently been. After rather awkwardly hugging your parents goodbye, you get into Spencer’s car, smiling uncomfortably and forcibly as he stiffly waves to them and pulls out of the driveway. The second your parents are out of sight, you let out a very shaky and long sigh. He doesn’t say anything - mostly because he can’t think of anything to say - but also because, due to the many, many years he’s known you at this point, he knows when you need a moment to settle your thoughts. You get like this after difficult cases, too, silent until you can think of something to say. He hears you intake a deep breath and let one out again.

Only now he knows it’s not a coping mechanism: it’s a trauma response.

Proficient in tension headaches and white lies Grind my teeth even at night Draw lines in the sand just to watch them wash away

“Sorry about that,” you finally manage to rasp. He can hear you keeping yourself from crying and he can practically feel his heart tearing in two. When you don’t say anything else he feels a need to respond.

“It’s alright,” he replies quietly.

You shuffle in your seat next to him and he just barely keeps himself from looking at you. He doesn’t want to - frankly, he’d love to stare at you constantly. He kind of, sort of, does - at work, anyway, and any chance he can, if he’s being honest. When you hang out at each other’s apartments, he finds himself watching you. When you’re on cases, he finds himself watching you. Even when the team goes out together, despite his best efforts to be subtle, he finds himself watching you. Hell, they all know how he feels about you. But, you’re his best friend in the entire world. He’s absolutely head over heels for you, but he doesn’t want to scare you. Especially because of...this. This wall that you have around you. You’re his best friend, you’ll do anything in the world for him, but you will not allow him to do the same for you. You won’t fully let him in. It makes sense now that he’s met your family.

“It-it’s not, though,” you whisper, your voice heavy with tears. “I didn’t mean to...if I’d known it was going to be so terrible...I just...I thought they’d be on their best behavior since you were there. I-I’m so sorry if they made you uncomfortable.”

And with that, Spencer lurches the car off the road, pulling it into park the second it’s safe so that he can fully look at you.

“Make me uncomfortable?” He hates himself for his exasperated tone, mostly because it makes you slightly flinch. “Y/N, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” you ask softly.

“About what they...how they...about the way they are to you,” he whispers, desperate to hold you hand or cup your face in his hands, but he doesn’t want to alarm you. “Especially your sister.”

“Oh,” you whisper. “That’s...it’s fine.”

“Y/N,” he begins carefully, barely controlling the boiling rage he felt from dinner with your family, “it’s anything but fine.”

Want everyone to adore me, even though People’s emotions are out of my control Smothering fires, letting flames claim my hands I would do anything to be needed Over and over again

He wasn’t quite sure why you’d invited him at all. He could tell something was up. You’d approached his desk so uncomfortably, highly unusual for you, who approached him almost every single day.

“Hey,” he greeted, “what’s going on?”

“Could I-um...” you trailed off, twisting your hands in front of you in discomfort.

“Y/N?” he asks cautiously. “Are you okay?”

“I just, um,” you look up at the ceiling and then back down at your hands. “I need to ask a favor.”

“Sure, anything,” he replies, his fingertips gently pulling your hands apart and holding them in his own. “Just take a deep breath and ask.”

“It’s...uh, it’s a big favor,” you almost whisper. Spencer almost stops himself - almost - but he doesn’t. Not in this moment. In this moment, he gently tucks a finger under your chin and tilts it so your eyes meet his.

“Whatever it is,” he breathes, barely keeping his own nerves at bay, “I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

As it turned out, it hadn’t been a problem at all. You asked if he’d be willing to join you for a family dinner. Your parents live about an hour from Quantico, which was the part you were the most concerned about. To assuage your fears, Spencer agreed quickly, even offering to drive. You’d let him, too.

The drive there had been lovely, actually. It’s turning into fall, meaning the drive is littered with beautiful trees. The whole drive there, it felt like everything was normal. Just the two of you, chatting and enjoying each other’s company. As he pulled into Brandywine and you gave him directions to your parent’s home, you begin to stiffen up.

In an attempt to make you laugh and because he genuinely wanted to know he asked, “So, do they think I’m your boyfriend or something?”

You’d turned to him, all wide-eyed with embarrassment, “Why would you think that?”

Spencer shrugs, his eyes still on the road ahead, turning only slightly to you as they come to a red light, “I don’t know, you seem nervous? And I thought maybe that was why?”

He’d been hoping that would make you laugh, but you only clammed up further.

“Um,” your voice is so quiet, he can barely hear you. “So, here’s the thing: no, they don’t think you’re my boyfriend, but my family....they’re a bit much.”

“Much?”

You meet his eyes then, looking absolutely terrified, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but...I avoid going to family gatherings as much as I can. I was hoping that by bringing a-a f-friend...they might be on their best behavior.”

Spencer can’t help the small smile that grows on his lips, reaching over and squeezing your hands as he pulls into your parents’ driveway.

“Are you angry with me?” you ask very quietly.

Spencer parks the car and looks over at you, deeply concerned, “Not at all. In fact, I’m honored you felt like you could share this with me.”

I'm back on my routine-loving bullshit Pamper myself with meticulous habit Cling to what I know like a golden safety net Caffeine and praise, like wind in my sails Trying and failing to quit biting my nails Keep moving to silence the voices in my head

What he hadn’t been prepared for was your sister. Y/S/N: younger than you, already married and with one kid - a nephew named Ellis that you adore to no end. Her husband and son, whom you were very excited to see, couldn’t make it that evening - a last minute Boy Scout trip. You’d attempted to cover your disappointment, but Spencer could also tell you were a bit scared to get on without your nephew as a distraction. As the evening wears on, he understands even more.To Spencer, and likely to you as well, though he doubts you’ve ever or will ever admit it to yourself, it is obivous that your sister is a textbook narcissist with an inferiority complex to boot. He wasn’t quite sure why your parents didn’t interecede. He thought it might be rude to profile your family, but it was hard not to, especially when your sister continually rips into you as she does. It was easy to see that your parents both hate conflict, but it would seem that after years of shoving your sister’s behavior under the rug, they’d learned to almost tune it out altogether. That it got so bad that it would be a bit much to try and take on the issue altogether.

Knowing that doesn’t make it easier, though. It doesn’t make it easier to watch as your sister digs at you. They’re kind of subtle, enough so that it makes a bit more sense she’s gotten away with it for years. But then the meal actually started and, delicious as it was, nothing covered the sour taste left in his mouth after the conversation. Any chance she could, she’d shoot you down. And she ragged at you about everything: Your job - she apparently still can’t believe they’d let you into the FBI. Your lifestyle - always out on the road with no actual roots put down, even at your age. Your degrees - she thinks criminology is rather pointless and sinister study.

Want everyone to adore me, even though People's emotions are out of my control Smothering fires, letting flames claim my hands I would do anything to be needed Over and over again

Spencer was so proud of you for shrugging off the little digs your sister made, but he could tell she was just biding her time to delve into Spencer. The meal was almost complete, your very sweet mother had just served slices of ginger cake when Y/S/N cleared her throat and stared down Spencer for the first time since meeting him.

“So,” Y/S/N said, “Dr. Spencer Reid? What are you a doctor of?”

“I’m not a medical doctor,” Spencer corrected quickly, as he usually does.

“Oh,” she snorted, “that’s disappointing.”

“Y/S/N!” you exclaimed.

“Y/S/N,” your father said warningly, “that’s enough.”

“I’m just saying,” your sister shrugged. “How are you a doctor then?”

“I have three Ph.Ds,” Spencer explained.

“Oh, so that’s why Y/N likes you so much,” your sister teased.

“Y/S/N,” you whispered, embarrassed.

“What?” she asked with a faux innocence even a non-profiler could catch. “Why would you bring your boyfriend to dinner if you didn’t want us to tell him how obsessed with him you are.”

There is a horrible silence and then your very quiet, very shaky voice retaliated with, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Your sister let out a cruel, mocking gasp, “What? How is that possible?”

Your mother cleared her throat, “Y/S/N-”

“Mom, Y/N’s the one who’s always talking about Spencer. I just assumed that they were finally together.”

“Y/S/N,” you pleaded quietly, looking at your lap. Spencer’s watching you, wishing for a way to politely break in. Wishing he could grab your hands and tell you everything will be alright.

“She’s only teasing you,” your father said unhelpfully. Spencer could tell that he was just trying to keep some form of peace, the reason, he suspects, that your sister has gotten away with being this way for so long.

“Exactly,” your sister said smugly. “You have to have a better attitude about these sort of things Y/N, especially if you’re still single.”

“Y/S/N,” your mother warned again, but your sister was more focused, staring at you as you fell to pieces under her gaze.

“Poor little Y/N,” she taunted.

“That’s enough,” Spencer said quietly, but it didn’t stop her.

“Always falling in love with people who just, well, don’t love her back,” Y/S/N finished, smirking as your shoulders shuddered with the beginnings of tears.

“That’s quite enough,” Spencer said again, his tone quiet but stony. “Your sister is one of the best people I know. If you can’t see that, then I guess it goes to show why you aren’t a member of the FBI. If we had people like you on our side, we’d never solve anything.”

“People like me?” your sister scoffed.

“Bullies,” he stated plainly.

Bring me your battled, your bruised, and scarred Florence Nightingale to your broken hearts Bring me your bleeding, I'll stitch it up with a bow Tugging at the sword in the stone The dormant hero in me is yet to know Dying to prove myself again, but I don't know how

“I’m sorry if I made it worse,” Spencer says.

“No worse than it’s ever been,” you reply sadly. “I don’t...I mean I wasn’t like ‘sister of the century’ or anything...but I’m not sure what I did to make her hate me so much.”

“Do you want the answer or do you want me to say something mildly comforting and stop talking about it?” he asks. That, thankfully gets a smile out of you and, small as it is, it makes Spencer’s heart breathe a sigh of relief.

“You think you know the answer, genius?” you tease, voice still heavy with unshed tears. “I’m a profiler, too, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” he replies, allowing himself to tease you a bit. “And, despite what anyone else might think, you’re a very good one, but I think an unbiased take on the situation might provide some clarity.”

“Ah,” you reply simply. You sniffle and straighten yourself in your seat. You attempt to take away your hand, but Spencer clings to it steadfastly. You stare at it for only a moment before saying, “Alright, Dr. Reid. Hit me with it. Why does my sister hate me?”

Wanna lay my weapons down Lay my weapons down

“Y/S/N exhibits a lot of narcissistic behavioral traits,” Spencer states simply. If he presents it like a profile, he’s able to do it more comfortably. “I imagine they started young, but went unnoticed. The natural exploits of childhood mean that most children can exhibit lots of these traits, including the overly self-involved and unfeeling traits of a narcissist, but grow out of them. Your sister never did, but I’m sure it was overlooked.”

“And why is that?” you ask genuinely. He barely fights his smile; he adores the fact that you always listen to him, thoroughly and with interest.

“Because I’m sure your parents were distracted by their awesome eldest daughter,” Spencer explains. “You were off getting amazing degrees, and you were joining the FBI, becoming the amazing person you are. Empathetic, fun, smart-”

“You don’t have to pity me, Spencer,” you interrupt him. You don’t sound angry, just...sad.

Want everyone to adore me, even though People’s emotions are out of my control Smothering fires, letting flames claim my hands I would do anything to be needed Over and over again.

“I don’t pity you, Y/N,” he says, swallowing down his own nerves. You deserve more than his nervousness right now. “You’re an amazing person, Y/N. You’re my favorite person, and you deserve a hell of a lot more than a jealous, insecure, semi-narcissist with an inferiority complex for a sister.”

“That’s kind of you,” you whisper, a tear running down your cheek. Without much thought, Spencer wipes it away.

“I’m not being kind,” he tells you. “I’m being honest. Not fully honest, though.”

“Why aren’t you being honest?” you ask.

Spencer swallows, ready to tell the truth, “I’m in love with you.”

“No you’re not,” you rasp, tears falling more steadily now. “You just feel bad for me.”

“I don’t feel bad for you,” he corrects. “I mean, I do, about this specifically. But, I was terrified to tell you. I didn’t understand why you wouldn’t let me in, but now I-I get it.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to profile each other,” you finally say, quietly.

“We aren’t,” he acknowledges, “but I know...I know how hard it can be to let in someone when you’ve grown up around people who aren’t always kind to you.”

“It’s scary,” you whisper. “I’m scared that...that they’re right.”

He cups your face in his hands, relieved that you don’t pull away, “Letting people in is scary. But, I promise that I have never, ever seen you as anything but the wonderful woman you are and I will never see you otherwise.”

You say nothing for a moment, but then a soft smile grows on your face, “You’re in love with me?”

Spencer smiles down at you, “I thought we weren’t supposed to profile each other.”

~~~

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nightwishesworld · 3 years

Note

Oh, I have a request! How about the daughters (who love the reader very much) always taking the reader and practically stealing her every time she’s with Alcina? (Cuz we need more daughters and reader interaction 🥲) And maybe to the point of our precious big dommy mommy gettin ya know ya know jealous? ;)) HAHGSHAHAHAHA, that would be hilarious to see. Anyways, hope you’re havin’ a great time~ ✌🏻till next time!

I’m so sorry this took me so long anon! I’ve gotten more requests than I ever thought I would and I’m starting to get behind. This was a really sweet one to put together though- really enjoyed it!

Slight Gore warning for Cassandra! Nothing too detailed but it is referenced. If you don’t like it just skip her

Bela

Being the eldest sibling has made her the most level-headed of the three. After decades of ending squabbles between her younger sisters, she’s discovered the pleasures of retail therapy.

She takes great joy in popping off to neighboring villages for a few hours perusing the various aromatherapy shops.

And she takes even greater pleasure bringing you along. Dragging you, really. Even if you’re otherwise busy. Sometimes she’ll buy you a few scents or lotions that catch your eye.

She calls it “compensation for being dragged away from Mother,” but really she’s just happy to spoil you

Also loves asking you for literature recommendations. As vast as the castle’s library is, Bela had read through most of the literature over her lifetime

Is absolutely fascinated by modern day novels.

She takes you on a day-long shopping spree visiting five surrounding villages just blowing through money buying almost every book that peaks her interest

Most of your time together is spent relaxing in the library talking about your novels.

Eventually you’ve collected enough books to make an entirely new section in the library just for the two of you.

Even when cuddled up with Alcina in the library, there is simply no escaping Bela when she’s looking for recommendations or simply someone to talk to

At the end of the day, you really didn’t mind. You were more than happy to spend time with all the girls and happy they wanted to spend time with you.

You knew as annoyed as Alcina got when interrupted she found it incredibly sweet that her daughters will go out of their way to be with you

Cassandra (Cassi)

Suffers from middle child syndrome hardcore

She’s a bit too old to understand Bela’s interests, but too old to join Daniela in her delusional fantasies. So naturally, she tries to cling onto you.

At first she tries to convince you to enter the basement with her so she can show you her “Art Gallery,” but Alcina forbade it. So things between you and Cassi went quiet for awhile

Alcina says Cassandra is an artist of some sort and all her work is done in the basement

After about a month of silence Cassandra came barrelling into your private study with some kind of canvas in her hands

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, y/n, but I’ve been working really hard on your gift.”

You gush, “oh Cassi, you didn’t have to make me anything. That’s so sweet of you.”

She eagerly flips over the canvas to reveal her painting of a human heart.

It was beautifully detailed, the heart really jumped off the page against the black background...but something was off about it. It took a minute for you to realize it but once you did, you couldn’t stop staring. The heart was painted with blood.

You were lost for words.

“Well?” Cassi, asked with a broad smile on her face. “Do you like it?”

All you could do at first was nod you head. “Oh Cassandra, its gorgeous. You really made this?”

The girl’s eyes were rapturous. “It’s my favorite hobby! But this particular piece was my first try at observational painting. I hope I did a good job...”

“Are you kidding Cassi? It’s beautiful! I’ve never seen anything like it. Can I hang it on my wall?”

She lunges at you, wrapping you in a suffocating hug. “Thank you, y/n. I made it a heart so you know how much we love having you here with us.”

Tears were starting to prick your eyes. “I love you guys, too.”

You looked up lust long enough to see Alcina walk in your study, roll her eyes and walk right back out.

Daniela (Dani)

Being the youngest Dimitrescu definitely has its advantages and Daniela knows how to use every single one.

Gets away with absolutely everything and anything under the sun. Even things her older sisters could only dream of getting away with and it irritates them to no end.

Daniela is definitely the most daring of the three. Always pushing her boundaries with her mother and will go out of her way to annoy Alcina just for funsies.

Is comfortable (and has) appearing in your bedroom while your, erm...busy with Alcina. Literally grabs you by the arm and swoops you away in a swarm of moths giggling the entire time. You hear Alcina shouting obscenities as you’re taken away.

You’re both thoroughly embarrassed.

Daniela seems to be, just like her mother, very needy. Attention starved if you will. So of course, she’s in need of your presence every hour. Sometimes more.

And for the dumbest freaking reasons!

“Y/n come quick! Look at the birds in the garden. They’re so pretty!”

You laugh at her excitement “They’re crows, Dani. We see them every day.”

Other times she will drag you to her room and pull out her vast collection of weapons and tell you different stories associated with each one. You loved hearing how passionate Daniela was about her collection.

On a few rare occasions, she even gifted you a set of daggers, or crossbow, or whatever your favorite weapon is.

“You don’t own any y/n, which means you’re vulnerable to attacks. One day I’ll teach you how to use them.”

BONUS: Alcina being absolutely done with her girls not sharing

Late hours of the night are Alcina’s favorite time of day

She gets to relax in bed with you all to herself while shedding away all the stresses from the day.

More often than not she’ll lazily sip a glass of wine and reread her favorite novel to you while you’re nestled in her lap.

It was the only time of day she knew she had you all to herself

...usually...

One night all three of her daughters barged in your bedroom arguing who you would spend time with first. Alcina tried shouting over them to take control of the situation, but none of them were even paying her attention.

Situations like this call for drastic measures.

Alcina covered your ears and shouted at her girls from the top of her lungs. Once she knew she had their attention she reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a...spray bottle? They were about to laugh at her before she explained that the spray bottle contained holy water.

That scared them enough to make them back up a few steps. Daniela even hisssed at her, baring her fangs like a feral animal.

“I am tired of you three stealing away my y/n and I’ve reached my breaking point. This is the one time of day I’m allowed exclusive time with them and I will not have you getting in the way of that.”

You couldn’t process what was happening before you. Was Alcina really prepared to spray her own daughters with holy water just because she wouldn’t get her cuddles tonight? Really?

Daniela felt bold tonight. “As if you would actually do it. I bet that’s not even holy water.”

Alcina only arched a brow. “Well you’re more than welcome to come see for yourself, Daniela. By all means.”

The redhead was about to do just that until Bela pulled her backwards. “I guess we can wait and see y/n tomorrow. Goodnight, mother. Goodnight, y/n.”

As soon as Alcina knew they were gone she fell back onto the mattress, pulling you with her, peppering you in kisses.

“Darling,” you ask. “Is that really holy water?”

She chuckles into your neck. “No, it’s not, and they should have known that. If it were I wouldn’t have been able to hold it without it making me feel ill. But they’ll figure that out eventually and once they do they’ll be back.”

“What then?”

“Pelting them with fake silver should do the trick.”

#lady dimitrescu x reader #tall vampire lady #alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu

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sylverstorms · 3 years

Text

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity Ch.3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Your quiet days in castle Dimitrescu met their end the moment Cassandra took an interest in you.

You should have known. Perhaps you did know and just didn’t want to admit it.

The woman –vampire, mutant, what even are they— is a bipolar sadist.

One night she may be walking down the halls sending you a sexy wink under her hood as she passes you by, the next she could show up out of nowhere and cut you ‘hello’ with her sickle, scoop up the blood with her thumb to taste, then disappear again. The evening after that, she may not even give a damn about you, may not spare you a single fleeting glance, like even the notion you could be worth her time is laughable.

And it is, isn’t it.

Humans are nothing to them. Your significance is below that of a pet. You may as well be livestock. It doesn’t matter, though, so long as you continue to breathe and remain intact. They’re the two essential factors to escaping. All else is secondary.

It doesn’t matter how Cassandra views you.

You don’t even like her.

What is there to even be drawn to? She’s covered in blood more often than not. The scent of iron usually drowns out her perfume. She’s capricious and cruel and the living personification of an unsheathed knife. You prefer your routes safer. Playful, creative pretty girls that are good for you and most importantly, sane.

Whatever weird tricks your brain and hormones are playing where she stars –you hate it, what is wrong with you— they’re just delusions, you reason, born from her questionable flirting and your time in captivity. It’s just a really bothersome case of Stockholm Syndrome you’re developing. And it has to stop.

Another week passes. You don’t see her.

You are on another night shift when you hear the telltale buzzing of insects down the corridor. Hervoice reaches your ear afterwards;

“Ugh, Bela, you never complain about anything. It’s so annoying.” Two pairs of heels steadily tap towards you.

“I leave it to you and Dani to cover for me, since you complain about everything.” The quieter sister drawls. You can easily picture her roll her eyes as she says it.

“You know, you really should sound more thankful I came with you in this unearthly cold.”

“I gave you the option not to—”

“Just to have you rummage through that bookshop for what was definitely the most boring twenty minutes of my life.” Cassandra continues.

From the fleeting glance you steal at them, the entirety of her attention is on Bela. You don’t think she’ll notice you as you continue polishing the corridor’s decorations. It’s just another one of these nights where you don’t exist and you’re deeply glad for it. Not just for yourself, but also the other maids.

“I thought I was going to die of frostbite.” she growls, shaking the elder sister’s arm.

“Technically, you can’t.” Bela shakes hers back.

It would be… cute, if they were any normal family. But you are quick to remind yourself of what they really are. Devils in human form. Monsters that took you from your home and trapped you here, to clean after their mess, with the threat of death looming over your head every second.

Their steps pass you by. You can almost breathe normally again, when—

Cassandra stops.

“Not even going to tell me hello?” The hurt in her voice can’t be genuine, you tell yourself as you turn around to face her. She’s closer than you thought, enough for you to be able to make out the tiny melting snowflakes caught in her long lashes.

“Um—hello.” you say, awkwardly.

“Cassandra.” Bela lets out a soft sigh.

“Bye, Bela.” The brunette pointedly speaks over her shoulder.

And to your horror… “Just keep in mind what mother said about the maids.” the eldest sister leaves you alone with her.

Each further step until the blonde disappears from view fills you with dread. Cassandra has that spark in her eye that you’ve learned to not associate with anything good. She’s completely still until she’s sure the two of you won’t be overheard or interrupted.

Then, she moves.

Her hands all too easily shove you against the wall. It’s more startling than painful, you realize, when your back doesn’t protest much at the collision.

Cassandra maintains eye contact with you as she tugs at the fingers of her gloves. You cannot fathom why it looks that sexy, the way she pulls them off, whether it is intentional or not.

“Plaything.” she says. Another new nickname for you. Not that you ever expected her to care to know your name. “I’m terribly cold.” she doesn’t seem to be lying, though the soft pout that curves her mouth is surely for effect.

It’s a test and your wellbeing depends on it.

Only, you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. Ruling your nerves under control, you decide to start slow. “Shall I light the fireplace in your room, my lady?”

“Maybe I want something more… immediate.” she replies, raising her hand to your neck.

The second her freezing skin touches your flesh, you cannot help but flinch. It feels like a slightly softer block of ice. Cassandra’s eyes creak at the corners. Of course, the sadist is enjoying your torment. Slowly, her fingers move under the collar of your black button-up shirt, which only makes it worse. The cold spreads, a peculiar tingle at your stomach with it.

“Well?” she asks. You get the memo that just sitting back and letting her have her way isn’t going to work, this time. You call upon all the willpower you possess and act.

Carefully, your hands rise to meet her own. You aren’t looking at her in the eyes –you don’t think you could— as your fingers wrap around hers and bring them in front of you, close to your body, warmed from hours of work. Instead, your gaze locks on the golden jewel decorating the chocker at her throat, before falling down, to your point of contact.

It is not the first time you see her hands without gloves on, but it only now hits you just how dainty they look. Her nails, filed round, are dyed a darker shade of crimson, stark against the white of her skin. There isn’t a single blemish or uneven spot you can feel on her palm. It is a princess’ hand you seem to be holding, not a killer’s.

But appearances can be deceiving.

The very corner of Cassandra’s lip curls up, amused or pleased or both. She then reaches forward, at the lowest clasped button of your shirt… and frees it open. You’re sure you aren’t breathing. Two more buttons are released. Her fingers, at least now considerably warmer, splay against your stomach. Something inside you quivers like a flickering candlefire.

You don’t want her touch.

But a traitorous, weak part of you has already decided that it does.

“You work out?” it is merely a whisper between you. She presses a little closer, entirely unashamed to be feeling the contours of your middle up while you’re burning with embarrassment.

“…probably the days of working in the fields.” you say, voice low because it cannot be trusted any higher. She’s doing a little thing with her thumb over your skin that you desperately want to deny turns you on.

Thanks to her you’re now freezing and burning at the same time.

Cassandra just stays like that for a few more seconds.

“Draw me a hot bath.” she eventually orders and extracts herself from you as if she’s not remotely happy with her own decision.

You don’t really know how she likes her bath and she doesn’t tell you.

All you can do as you test the water on your hand is pray. Your mind isn’t really working right after the touching at the hallway, but your survival instincts are strong still. Strong enough to remind you that Cassandra likes to be treated like royalty above all, so bubbles are your best friend in this. The more, the merrier.

The Dimitrescu daughter does not ask if the bath is ready when she comes in. You aren’t used to her being so silent, so you turn to see if something is wrong –but immediately regret it when the heavy robe clinging to her body drops down. The only glimpse you catch is of the fabric pooling at her feet like a shadow.

Your eyes stay glued on the queen-sized bathtub, even when she approaches. They turn to the side as she enters it.

You want to ask if the water is fine, but you can’t find your voice. You lose even your train of thought when she lets out a small hiss as she sinks in, replaced by a moan once she’s completely settled back, neck tilted and eyes closed in bliss. The polite thing is to let her bathe in peace, so you move to do just that.

Cassandra has other plans.

Her hand shoots out of the tub to wrap around your wrist, inescapable as an iron shackle. Those intense yellowish eyes are on you again and they seem to be glowing under the dim lights.

“No.” she says. “Massage. Now.”

Ah, great. You think. You’ve spoiled her. But if giving Cassandra massages is what is going to keep your hands attached to your body, you won’t complain. It’s just that… you can’t really focus right now. None of your thoughts are right or remotely what they should be. You need time off from her, rather than touching her.

Thankfully, the moans are kept to a minimum and there is no teasing. She is utterly relaxed, only giving the occasional command for higher or lower. It does kind of kill you when at one point she whispers “Right there.” but you are able to move past it.

You leave fresh towels beside her when you’re finally allowed to leave. Back in her bedroom, you light the fireplace in a way that you make sure will last through the day, while she’ll be asleep. The plan is to leave before she returns, but she’s already there by the time you’re finished with the preparations.

And –you’re trapped.

Because, again, she’s changing and you have to look away to preserve your sanity and probably your eyes. “No peeping, now.” she calls over her shoulder. You know better than to dare.

You keep your hands busy arranging bottles and boxes at her vanity until she’s done. Cassandra does that ‘flashing’ thing where she’s on one side of the room one moment and right behind you the next. You only then notice a little insect flying back into her form. It was spying on you.

“You didn’t even look near me, huh.” she says it like ‘congratulations, you passed’, but there’s a bitter undertone of disappointment in her voice.

She’s only feeling down that you didn’t give her an excuse to slice at your face, you think. Then again, does she really need one?

“I wouldn’t, my lady.” you assure. “If I may be excused—”

“Did I say you can go?” she turns you around, none-too-gently, her hands on your biceps tight. You’re effectively pinned against her and the vanity, but you have much bigger problems to worry about, when you take in what she’s wearing.

Cassandra is clad in a flimsy nightrobe that leaves little to the imagination, the fabric nearly see-through. You can see the edges of her lacy underwear underneath it, how nicely it sits against her perfect curves. To make matters even worse, the robe ends at about mid-thigh and your eye catches the expanse of creamy skin on display.

Your brain nearly melts.

“I don’t know what it is about you, plaything, but you’re working up my appetite.” she confesses, pressing into you, pressing you harder into the furniture. You try to think of literally anything else than how well her thigh is slotted between your legs.

If you’re supposed to look away from her lidded eyes, however, you can’t. And if you’re not supposed to feel the echo of her nails on your arm all the way down to your center, you can’t. You are definitely not supposed to be so achingly curious about her bow-shaped lips. But you just can’t.

“You’re working me up.” she breathes, so close you can feel the ghost of her lower lip on yours.

And then –her mouth is on you and you forget how to breathe. Your eyes close and just feel, instead. If this is how you die, maybe it isn’t such a bad way to go. It’s been too long since you kissed anyone, seems like ages ago now, but you gradually remember how to move once you allow your muscles to unlock.

Not looking at her makes it easier. Her lips are balmy and smooth and slide so good on your own you can’t think at all, much less of what she’s capable of. You would have guessed her to be aggressive, but Cassandra is oddly hesitant, the only thing hard about her being her grip.

You’re not sure what you’re doing or how you get so bold, but your hands trail up to her waist and pull her in. The little hitch in her breath threatens to break you. It provides the perfect opening to part her lips with your tongue. As soon as it touches hers, she moans low in her throat and slowly drags her hips against your thigh.

Oh. God.

There’s a hollow ache in your stomach. You’re shamefully wet for her. The voice of reason is mute in your head, until you’re forced to break your liplock to breathe and it only then hits you what you’ve just done.

Cassandra’s lips are insistent on your jawline, on the vulnerable spot under your ear. Her open-mouthed kisses are just hard enough, at first, but then start to border on painful. Your heart skips a beat when you feel the press of teeth, yet she rips herself off of you before she bites down.

“Ugh. I’m… so thirsty.” she says it lightly, but her voice is hoarse and something about her body language gives you the impression she’s hurting. “You should leave. Fast.”

You almost make the mistake of reaching for her. Almost.

Cassandra turns away from the temptation of your veins.

For both your sakes –mostly for yours— you hurry out of her room and never stop to look back.

#cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x oc #lady dimitrescu #resident evil village #fanfiction #she's so flirty in game I love her #playful vampire sadist princess of my heart #and Bela's just plain a boss and a bae too

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clandonnachaidh · 3 years

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Light Across The Seas That Sever (Ch6)

AO3

“Mind ye’ve got that meeting this afternoon?” Ian reminded him for the thousandth time as they all sat at the breakfast table and Jamie fought the urge not to roll his eyes, already mildly annoyed at the fact that his bowl of porridge wasn’t quite right. He should’ve made it himself without backing down when Jenny had insisted on doing it for him, that way it would’ve been thick enough to plaster a wall with, just how he liked it. But his sister would never surrender the spurtle, working it through the oats and milk until they became creamy and setting a large bowl of sugar on the table, much to Jamie’s distaste. Thick enough to clart a wall and with enough salt to make your eyes water, that was exactly how he’d had it since he was a bairn, their mother taking hers in the same way. Only Jenny and their father had preferred that their breakfast be covered in sugar and the sweetness of the Scottish strawberries that grew wild on Lallybroch estate.

“Aye, I ken fine well enough,” Jamie grunted without turning his eyes towards Ian who was trying to encourage a spoonful into Wee Ian’s mouth. “Whit was the name of the estate again?”

“’Tis the only estate in Tomich but did I no’ tell ye? He’s changed the meeting to the golf club.”

It had been his idea to begin with but now Jamie was uncertain about how their drunken plan was taking shape. After one too many whiskies of a night, he and Ian had been sprawled in front of the fire as they chastised the blend that they were imbibing, arrogantly announcing that the two of them could do much better. Jamie hadn’t thought anything of it as he’d stumbled to his bed and let sleep take him but a few days later he found himself mending a fence post in the back field as Ian continued his musing about Broch Mordha putting its stamp on the world as a new destination for a premier whisky distillery and the two of them, its innovative creators.

Jamie grunted as he rose to his feet and deposited his bowl into the deep sink, letting the tap run to soak the dish and refusing to turn his body to take in the picture perfect family scene that was sat at the kitchen table.

“Mr Dunsany—“

“He’s a Lord, is he no’?”

“Is there a reason yer being a particularly crabbit arse this morning, brother?” Jenny’s voice was dripping with irritation, not wanting her nice family breakfast to be ruined by the interminable grey cloud that had been brewing over Jamie’s head for the past few weeks.

“Jen, leave him be.”

“I will not. He’s been a moanin’ greetin’ face since he came back from that bloody reunion and ’tis hell time he snapped out of it,” she said a little louder to ensure that Jamie heard the emphasis that she placed on the insult as it flew from her mouth.

This caused him to turn on his heel and level his sister with a careful eye.

“I’m sorry, Janet, but sometimes I think ye forget that there is a world outside of Lallybroch. Life can be a damn sight more complicated than poppin’ out weans and tending tae chickens, ye ken.”

If her temper didn’t hit the roof, her eyebrows certainly made a good go of it. Silently, her fingers curled tightly around the spoon, stilling herself against the pull of Wee Ian’s chubby little hand that was fisted in the material of her shirt, demanding attention.

“I ken that fine well, James. But ye canna jus’ come home every time ye see her and sulk like a wee bairn that doesna get what he wants. Grow up a wee bit, aye?”

At the end of her parting shot, Jamie felt the anger licking at the sides of his throat. The rage that he’d been directing towards himself was now begging to be let loose on someone else, someone that would bite back and Christ, Jenny would do just that. It had been this way since he’d come home, the frustration melting into a sullenness that had punctured the idyllic bubble that the family lived in at Lallybroch. In his worst thoughts, he resented both his sister and his best friend and the happiness that they shared. Jamie loved them to their bones, of course he did, but after leaving Oxford with yet another memory of how he’d let Claire slip through his fingers, the last thing he wanted to see was the very evident love between Jenny and Ian and their three children.

And so he found himself, in a suit that was a bit tight across his shoulders but he’d purchased anyway in a department store on the Inverness High Street, shaking hands with Lord William Dunsany in the bar of a golf club that he’d never seen fit to frequent himself. Jamie tried his hardest not to let the glances from the club members get to him as they walked around the lounge with an understated belonging the he’d never feel himself. He made sure that he gave a strong handshake, looking the shorter man straight in the eye and made the informed decision to swap from his usual Scots to his best Received Pronunciation, assuming that Lord Dunsany was one of those people who claimed to be a ’Scotchman’ but was as English as they come with the age old story of inheriting Scottish land as a birthright. Jamie had realised, however, that the man certainly knew his whisky and would make a not-half-bad business partner with himself and Ian if he managed to convince him to part with some cash.

Jamie was fuzzy on the details of how’d they’d come to the agreement but two hours and four whiskies later, he found himself once more shaking hands with Dunsany. The Lord would foot the seed money in exchange for a fairly sizeable but not unfair amount of the business and as a personal favour, Jamie would escort his eldest daughter around Edinburgh the following evening.

“She’s up here with me to get away from some nonsense that’s gone on at home but she’s been cooped up in her hotel for days while her mother tries to organise a townhouse for her. I just want her to get out and see the city. Who better to show her around than a native?”

Late next afternoon, his slight hangover thankfully having subsided after a coffee and a square sausage roll, Jamie stepped off of the train and onto the platform of Waverley Station in the heart of Edinburgh.

The tang of the breweries immediately filled his nostrils and he breathed deeply as the ever present sound of bagpipes floated down from the upper level of the street. While Lallybroch where was his heart lived, and he loved the humour and familiarity of Glasgow, Edinburgh held a special place in his heart. He never got tired of grabbing a coffee and walking the length of George Street in the sun, the castle bursting into view if he turned his eyes to the east.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he made his way towards the hotel that Dunsany had insisted on to putting him up in, the same one as his daughter just to make things simple. Although Jamie had spent many a morning diving into the spectacular breakfasts put on at one of his favourite places in Edinburgh, The Huxley, he had never imagined staying at The Caledonian that loomed over the small establishment just metres from its door.

Jamie didn’t quite know what to do as the doorman who was wearing a bloody top hat opened the door to the hotel for him so he settled on giving the man a polite smile, resisting an absurd urge to give him some type of formal bow. He had been in nice hotels before but nothing like this with its polished marble floor and a huge vases of fresh cut flowers on most surfaces that he could see.

“Mr Fraser, we have you in the Robert Louis Stevenson Suite for two nights. Here is your room key and it also includes the number for the Concierge, should you have any need. We have a table booked in the Peacock Alley bar for you and Miss Dunsany at 6pm this evening and I would be happy to make any dinner reservations you would like to make, within or outwith the hotel. Michael can get the rest of your bags from the car,” a neat blonde woman smiled at him from the reception desk as she inclined her head to the bellboy hovering at a polite distance over Jamie’s right shoulder.

“It’s nae bother, lass, I’ve only got the one bag,” Jamie muttered with a hint of embarrassment as he pulled the bag from the floor and swiped the keycards from the desk, smiling back at her. “Thank ye.”

When he stepped through the door that bore the name of one of Scotland’s most beloved authors, his growing Imposter Syndrome ramped up a few notches. Crossing the floor towards the window, Jamie was greeted by a beautiful view of the castle as it loomed over the city. He didn’t quite know how to act, having never been in such a large and clearly expensive hotel room. In fact, it wasn’t even a room, the woman at the desk had called it a suite.

Flicking through the TV channels for a little while, settling on the new show about Billy Connolly’s upbringing in Scotland, his fingers lazily scratched at the bare patch of skin just above his belt buckle. Something about being in a different city and having some time to himself made him feel lighter than he had in weeks and he gave himself permission to laugh at a particularly lewd joke that spilled from The Big Yin’s mouth on the TV.

Jamie’s phone, lying face up on the mattress beside his left shoulder, startled him as it gave a firm buzz. Sitting up, he opened the latest message from Geneva, telling him that she wanted to go out for dinner somewhere nice tonight. He was under no illusion as to the fact that when someone like Geneva Dunsany used the words ‘somewhere nice’, she was actually saying ‘somewhere expensive’. But thankfully, Jamie knew just the place and sent her a reply saying that he had it in hand before phoning down to the reception and having the helpful woman book a table at a restaurant he knew would be impressive enough but not so posh that he would feel out of his depth by eating there.

Although they’d messaged back and forth that afternoon, he hadn’t bothered to enlarge the tiny picture next to her name at the top of the screen. Toying with his phone, Jamie resolved that he had to know what the lass looked like, not wanting to have to shuffle embarrassingly around the bar trying to figure out who he was there to meet.

Her picture brought to its full size, he looked at her for the first time and tried was pleasantly surprised. She was clearly beautiful. Dark hair that flowed in loose waves over bare shoulders, her skin a beautiful olive brown from a summer tanning on a beach somewhere. She was looking at the camera dead on with a surety that came from a privileged upbringing, her face painted perfectly and a twist of the lips that couldn’t really be called a smile, as if she didn’t want to be seen to be having fun. She looked like every posh girl that Jamie had met in his life, every girl at university who would air kiss their friends on both cheeks while their manicured hands clutched at bags that cost more than his first car.

Suppressing a groan at the thought of spending a weekend with a person who no doubt came from an entirely separate world than the one he’d grown up in, Jamie divested himself of his socks as he plodded, bare feet on plush carpet, through to the bathroom to take a shower and clean himself up ahead of his evening.

Later, he sat at the bar, his fingers playing with the patterns on the cut crystal glass that housed his double whisky, he felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder.

“James Fraser?”

His stomach dropped into the floor.

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind at what hearing his name fall from the lips of an Englishwoman would do to him. He felt an absurd wave of revulsion swipe through him in an instant and he took a quick drink before turning on his stool to face her, swallowing the bile that had risen up in his throat.

“Och, lass, nobody really calls me James. Ye can call me Mac. ’Tis another one of my family names,” he tried to sound light and not as if the sounds of his name leaving her lips felt like the flesh on his back had been ripped open to the bone.

There was a reluctance in her eyes and he immediately knew that she was uncomfortable so he did his best to send her his most charming smile, gesturing for her to sit and then signalling to the bartender.

“What would ye like tae drink?”

“Martini, if you would, extra dry, extra dirty,” she ordered confidently as the bartender nodded and turned to begin preparing it for her.

With her chin in the air, she asked, “So, my father said you were a business associate?”

“Aye, I suppose I am now. My brother-in-law and myself wish to start our own whisky company. Your father has kindly offered to help.”

“My father isn’t generally in the habit of helping out of kindness.”

“Aye, well, hopefully he trusts that we ken what we’re doing. Or that we’ll figure it out at the very least,” Jamie tried to joke but she gave him nothing. There was something cold in her demeanour that he hoped he wouldn’t have to fight against for the whole evening.

After watching the martini disappear down Geneva’s throat in record time, he offered her an arm as they left the hotel and were hit by the cool air of Edinburgh in the evening. As soon as Jamie took the first step towards Princes Street, Geneva halted.

“We’re walking?”

“’Tis no’ far, only ten minutes or so. We have time before our reservation,” he replied, gently tugging on the arm that she’d looped through his so that she would begin to walk with him. Her feet stayed firmly planted on the concrete.

“These are £500 shoes, I’m not walking anywhere.”

“Lass, Edinburgh is a city tae get lost in. If we get a taxi we’ll just be looking at the sides of buses and traffic lights. Yer father asked me tae show ye the city,” letting her arm slip from his, Jamie took a step forward and gestured towards the castle, atmospherically lit from beneath now that the sun had gone down. He turned back to her with a kind smile and held out his hand. “Let me, aye?”

Reluctantly, she acquiesced and let him lead her away from the hotel. Jamie’s skin tingled at the contact and he realised that he hadn’t touched a woman apart from Jenny since the university reunion with Claire. He flexed his fingers experimentally and felt something swell in the pit of his stomach when Geneva tightened her grip in response.

The two of them made small talk as they walked through Princes Street gardens and up towards the restaurant, Geneva seeming happy enough with the venue that he’d chosen. He’d heard good things about The Witchery before and as they sat down at a table covered in a pristine white cloth, surrounded by painted dark wood on the walls and ceilings, he noticed how pretty Geneva looked in the candlelight. Only a fool would try to argue that she wasn’t beautiful. But there was a coldness to her that hadn’t warmed yet and so he kept on being as charming as he could, hoping that another glass of wine might bring down the steely demeanour that she seemed to hold on to for dear life.

Oxford had been full of girls like Geneva Dunsany. Wealthy, privileged and confident. After four years of university, Jamie had perfected the art of tuning out their inane conversation about which exotic place they’d spent their summer, who’s guestlist they’d been placed on for the weekend and what they were planning on wearing. So he knew how to respond to her constant stream of speech, nodding and agreeing in the right places and sending dazzling smiles across the table when he felt like rolling his eyes. Though somehow, he found that he didn’t actually dislike Geneva Dunsany. Something in her eyes, or maybe it was the way she chose her words, showed Jamie that the poor little rich girl personality was an act. Underneath the mask, she felt the same way that he did—unfathomably sad.

Something inside of him felt sorry for her, recognising the pain that he knew all too well in another. And while he didn’t particularly care for the woman, Jamie decided to be kind to her. He leaned closer across the table and started to respond to her stories with anecdotes of his own. With the help of another two martinis, she began to blossom in his company and the two shared a relatively pleasant evening together.

When they reached the hotel elevator, Jamie had nothing on his mind other than stripping off his constricting shirt and sleeping off the whisky cloud that was hanging somewhere around his temples.

“What’s on the agenda now, then?” Geneva asked as they stood side by side.

“Shower then bed, I think.”

“Sounds good to me,” she all but whispered, Jamie’s head twisting to see the dark look of seduction that was painted on her face. “Mind if I join you?”

He didn’t say no.

It was shocking how easily he slipped into the worst version of himself. There had been a few nights in the past where he’d spent too much time and money in the pub in Broch Mordha and woken up the morning with some woman curled around him at whatever bed and breakfast they’d invited him back to. He only ever slept with women who were in the area for the moment, never anyone who he’d run into again. It was always when he was half gone with drink, his body acting solely on blind need that he succumbed to his baser instincts.

The doors of the elevator opened and Geneva walked in purposefully, turning to look at him with an alluring smile. Jamie walked in beside her and pressed the number for her floor.

They found pleasure in each other’s bodies but it was skin deep at best. A simple matter of scratching an itch that they both clearly had and had resolved to using the other to sate that particular need. There were no delicate touches or gazes held for any real length of time. Jamie set himself to work, making sure that she got hers before followed suit. It was perfunctory. Pleasant. And when they both uttered their subdued sounds of fulfilment, Geneva immediately rolled away from him, shielding herself once more.

“Do ye want me to go?” Jamie’s voice broke through the dark silence of the room.

Her response was barely a whisper, “Please.”

He dressed quickly, roughly, and scrambled around in the dark for his phone that had fallen from his pocket. Geneva was lying as still as a statue but Jamie could hear the odd sniff from her and realised that she had begun to cry. After dithering between his options, his inherent gentlemanliness won out.

“Is there anything I can do?”

There was no response for a few seconds and he took that as his answer, beginning to move towards the door of the room when a single word stopped his hand from turning the doorknob.

“Stay.”

Keeping his eye on her as though she was a frightened animal that might bolt at any provocation, he slowly began to undress. When she moved over slightly to give him room to get under the covers, he did just that and felt a strange sense of kinship as she wrapped her body around his. Jamie held her, stroking her hair until she fell asleep in his arms. The sound of her gentle breathing was the only thing filling the room until his phone suddenly pinged with a notification.

Facebook Congratulate Claire Beauchamp on their engagement!

Before he could stop himself, he opened the app and looked at the posed photograph of the two of them, her left ring finger showing off an almost comically large diamond ring.

After telling our friends and family, we are so happy to announce that we are engaged! We thank everyone so far for their kind words and well wishes. From the future Mr and Mrs Frank Randall.

Every muscle on his body was thrumming with energy. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what the energy was made from. Rage? Fear? Utter desolation? Whatever it was, it was coiling its way around his ribs, holding him in stasis and holding him hostage as he experienced it.

He wasn’t even considered a friend anymore, seeing as he hadn’t been given the privilege of a private message, having to find out through fucking Facebook. She had clearly changed in her time in Boston, the Claire he knew would never have given up her name and become Mrs Frank Randall. Randall-Beauchamp at the very least, for Christs sake.

Tasting the rare metallic nature of blood in his mouth, Jamie realised that he was biting the inside of his cheek. He felt the need to get up and do something, anything to expel the energy that was going to burst out of him if he didn’t channel it into something. But he was stilled by the feel of Geneva’s naked body against his and a rush of guilt tried to swallow him whole.

How dare he question Claire’s life, assume to know her situation all the while he was in bed with another woman. Reminding himself for the hundredth time that Claire had made her choice and it wasn’t him, he swallowed his pride and went to send her a message, even though he knew it wasn’t a smart idea.

He shouldn’t have had that final whisky.

Jamie: Just seen the news. Congratulations to you and yours.

A blatant lie but what was he supposed to say?

To his surprise, her reply was almost immediate.

Claire: Thank you!

Short and to the point. Two words that would shut down any further conversation, a feigned attempt at excitement and gratitude that he prided himself on being able to see through.

He knew that he would have been one of many to send the same sentiment that day but he had kidded himself that his text would receive a more personalised response. Maybe all she thought of him was a copy and paste response as she planted her phone down screen first on the sofa before climbing into the arms of her future husband.

In an attempt to hold the tears at bay, Jamie curled an arm around Geneva’s prone body, bringing up his hands to his arm and pressing his palms into his eyes until he saw stars.

#light across the seas that severed #clan donnachaidh #ao3 #outlander fanfic #jamie fraser #Claire beauchamp #outlander #modern au

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fandom-blackhole · 3 years

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Lil' personal rant feel free to keep scrolling 😊

Idk where to begin....

Well first, I know I usually just shove these things in a post with a period and just rant in the tags but I'm tired and I guess I don't want too. So here goes......

Tonight has been...alot. First I'm informed by my sister that she's been cutting herself. Not deep and they are more scratches than anything, but her leg is cover and the intent was still there none the less. I encouraged her, not pushed, to speak with my parents. And after a bunch of putting around she did, and I'm glad. My mom was the only one there at the start of the conversation and she just kept derailing things while I kept trying to keep things serious, and then my dad comes in and we bring him into the conversation and he does take it serious, in fact he was the first one to suggest therapy much to my surprise. And we all talked and settled on her trying it out, which I'm glad.

But here's where I really come in and whats bothering me right now. I don't remember why, but my mom eventually directs the conversation to me and asks a question she has asked me alot, "You used to be such an outgoing child, what/did something happened?" And I don't know how many times this question has been brought forth, and I've never had an answer for her always brushing it off and saying basically I didn't know, I'm just a quiet anxiety ridden and timid person. And to an extent I still believe that.....but recently I have also come to the realization, and I told her tonight, that the only connection I have been able to make is that i have eldest daughter syndrome. This is a term I heard on tiktok and when explained I was like oh...yeah that fits me a little too well. Basically eldest daughter syndrome is the oldest daughter, obviously, is usually the family crutch, they're the one that is looked to to step up when the mother isn't around, who everyone goes to to talk about their problems, knows about the family issues, plays a hand in raising their siblings, and takes on more responsibility than what they should have too (though I'm probably missing important things or am off a little but this is what I remember). As a child, later elementary and middle school, I was forced to step up and race home as qhick as possible after school because my dad worked nights and needed sleep so I had to watch my two younger sisters, keep them quiet as possible, until my mom got home. During these times I also had other chores, laundry or dishes or cleaning whatever room or what not, and this doesn't even take into account what homework I had (though in middle school I purposely would not do during my free period so I could have a valid excuse to not do my chores). Anyway, me running home after-school meant I never hung out with my friends, I never got invited many places or to have sleepovers. And while I know its not their faults and it was just the circumstances which we had to work with, I have idk what else to say but because of them I really didn't get much of a childhood. My mom always wo ders why I grew up so fast or I never ask for help or anything, but its because I had to handle this responsibility at such a young age. I was about 4 - 5 when my first sister was born, by the time my next sister was born (I was ~9) I knew how to make a bottle, burp a baby, change a diaper, and so on. I shoved my childhood away because I knew my parents need help and I need to fill that void. And I told her that, and all my mom said was, well you never asked to hang out with your friends......but was I to know that I could ask? What I knew was I HAD to be home so dad could sleep, I HAD to be there for my sisters, I HAD to step up. How was I to know that I could just ask, when as a child I was told that I had to do this chore or I had to do that one, I had to clean up after the dog when he potties in the house when dad dozed off during the day, I had to help my sisters clean up their toys. All I knew was what I had to do to make my parents lives easier, and I learned it was easier to just be quiet (dad- child are to be seen not heard) and do them, even if I really didn't want too.

And I don't want to seem like I'm over exaggerating or I'm complaining, but these are my truths, and while this isn't the full reason I am the quiet reserved person I am today, these things were the catalyst of the reaction. I don't want pity and thats not the reason for this post I just needed an outlet because more was said and I am going to talk about it, but like this is what hit me the most about this conversation, because it is quite obvious that my parents don't realize how much I did as a child for them, and I full blame that on the fact that they were not raised by baby boomers, my moms mom was of the generation before baby boomers and my dad was pretty much raised by his grandparents, so what I went through was what was taught a d expected of them, and there is a strong generational disconnect with what I think is right and wrong in raising a.child and what they do.

Anyway other highlights brought up:

I brought up that spanking is proven detrimental in the development and raising of kids and my father and I argued because I'm sure all he was hearing was "spanking bad, it is abuse" when what I was saying was is was a studied and proven fact (that I discussed in my developmental psychology class) that spanking is harmful to a child in the long run, and I mean think about it, spanking may teach a kid not to do or say something again, but it just means they associate it with being hurt, not told why said action or word(s) are a bad thing. This is just my stance, im not saying you are bad for spanking your child, I personally do not believe in that style after I have done research. (My dad did get mad and storm off after this convo)

I brought up that when I was in middle school at one point I started drawing on my arms, because I was having small thoughts of hurting myself, I told this to someone who immediately ran and told my mom, whose reaction was to get upset and start crying and stomp into my room and toss a book at me (sharp objects) say, this is about a women who cuts herself everywhere except a spot on her back she can't reach, I want you to read it and tell me if you want to still cut, then she stormed out. And I mean put yourself in my shoes, im in middle school and my mom finds out I want to hurt myself so she comes into my room and with anger in her voice tells me that and throws a book at me while pretty much sobbing... how was that supposed to help? (I never did end up self harming, just so we are clear) and im happy my mother did not react that way to my sister, but both of them ca.e at me and said that I couldn't hold that against her, that she's changed and I couldn't hold onto past things like that.... and yes I agree I should hold onto past things like that. But am I not allowed to be angry about that?? Am I just supposed to forget that in a cry for help my mom jut got angry with me? Idk i....ugh I just... I understand what they are saying, and yes I should move one, BUT I HAVE A RIGHT TO BE ANGRY OVER HOW I WAS TREATED, right?

After that I got quiet, because I felt very attacked and out numbered. And I knew if I spoke I was gonna cry, and I'm probably going to tonight because it did feel very invalidating to have them dismiss me like that...

Later as my sister and I were sitting on the couch i realized more issues i had, though I don't have the energy to type them out and they don't have to really do with the rest of this, but like to put it slightly briefly I do think there is some issues I have over having "friends" make plans in front of you, not include you, and later send videos and pictures of them all hanging out together....and doing this multiple times.

Anyway thats my shitty mess of a rant,nif you get this far here's my favorite gif of Ezra from prospect and I love you for caring enough to read or look through this :)

#im tired #and probably gonna cry #yay....#bc my mental breakdown mon didnt dehydrate me enough from crying all afternoon #ANYWAY

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toushindai · 3 years

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Hades characters listed oldest to youngest according to me

Based on a combination of canonical text, myths, and outright headcanon. I'll try to note which is which.

Chaos - I mean, obviously.

Nyx - I imagine she's co-generational with (maybe slightly older than?) Uranus and Gaia, who are parents to the titans. (Or, to use the language of the game, I suppose, "the rest of the titans")

Charon - idk it just feels right. In Japanese, Hypnos refers to Charon as an older brother. (Thanatos, curiously, doesn't use kinship terms for Charon at all in Japanese.)

Aphrodite - I am committed with unwavering firmness to the headcanon that Aphrodite, like the Furies, is born of Uranus's castration rather than Zeus x the titaness Dione. You can't change my mind on this, don't try. I think that mortals may believe the Zeus/Dione story, though, given that Achilles calls Demeter the eldest upon Olympus.*

Megaera - First of the Furies... but Aphrodite is older. Given that I perceive Aphrodite as a kind of estranged sister to the Furies, this seems like the kind of thing that would annoy Meg to no end.

Tisiphone - I feel like outside of Hades Game I more frequently see the Furies listed with Tisiphone first, then Megaera, then Alecto. If that's meant to indicate something about their mythological ages, it doesn't seem to be the case in the game.

Alecto - Megaera calls Alecto her "youngest sister."

Thanatos - The Japanese text of the game makes Thanatos elder than Hypnos. By the way, I place the Furies as older than Thanatos&Hypnos mostly because Meg will use a nickname for Than but Than will only call Meg by her full name, which I've chosen to interpret as an age/respect thing.

Hypnos

Demeter - Achilles calls her the eldest upon Olympus, which I know I'm contradicting by having Aphrodite up above; see my note above&below on Aphrodite for all of that. That she is the eldest of the first-gen Olympians seems a fairly solid belief. In Japanese, she refers to Hera as older at one point, but unlike my surprise at the Japanese making Than older than the Furies, I think this is genuinely counterfactual to the reality of the game (and I actually F10'ed it).

Hades - game-canonically and myth-canonically the eldest of the brothers.

Poseidon - and doesn't he just have middle brother syndrome?

Zeus - game-canonically and myth-canonically the youngest of the first-generation Olympians, although he can be considered "eldest" in the sense that the other five mythcanonically spent their first years of life in their father's stomach.

Cerberus - Echidna's children were born around the time of the Gigantomachy, I believe...? I'm fuzzy on this bit.

Persephone - Placed here just because Demeter is older than the rest, though I'm not firmly committed to the idea that she's the oldest of the second-gen Olympians.

Athena - Second-gen Olympians are ordered based on feelings in my heart and nothing else.

Ares

Artemis

Hermes

Dionysus - Honestly in Hades Game canon Hermes feels a little younger, but mythologically it makes more sense to me personally to have Dio be the youngest of the Olympians, so.

Dusa - As Perseus apparently predates Theseus & the Minotaur. It seems that she didn't start working at the House until well after Zagreus's birth, however.

Asterius

Theseus - obviously co-generational with Asterius, but probably a bit younger?

Skelly (Odysseus) - Skelly's approximately here even if he is "Schelemeus," as the strongest statement in that direction is that Asterius recognizes the name, but this is MY post and I've put him here because I think he's Odysseus.

Patroclus - usually older than Achilles by a few good years.

Achilles - was already famous on Olympus before Persephone left it, but apparently was not in the House at the time, as he never met her until the postgame. Which indicates something spectacularly dreadful about how long Patroclus's shade may have been standing in line in Erebus.

Sisyphus - nb that Eurydice, Orpheus, and Sisyphus all seem to have met Persephone when they first came to the Underworld. For the sake of how I envision things, I'd actually love it if Sisyphus were much earlier in the whole business (an early Example of what happens if you cross the Olympians), but given that he apparently was in the Underworld during Persephone's original tenure, and Persephone's original tenure was long enough after the Trojan War that Achilles was already a well-known hero before said tenure began......

Eurydice - I place Eurydice as older than Orpheus just because she's a nymph.

Orpheus - one thing I just remembered is that while Persephone was present when Orpheus attempted to retrieve Eurydice, she is surprised to find that he's been made court musician while she was out--perhaps meaning that Orpheus died after she left the Underworld.

Zagreus - wow, he's baby! Like I did not set out to make this post to prove that he's baby but apparently he really is baby.

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* Trying to follow the game's style of reconciling disparate myths, my thinking is essentially that Zeus likes to lie and say that everyone on Olympus is related to him. Aphrodite rolls her eyes and plays along for the prestige; similar stories exist about Persephone, which is "why the myths we in the real world know say that Persephone is Zeus's daughter" (in much the same way that the in-game "Hymn to Zagreus" is "why the myths we know say that Zagreus and Dionysus are the same god"), but Demeter is less fond of those rumors and contradicts them at every opportunity.

#hades game #hades game meta #long post #headcanon

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