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faerievampling · 1 month

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Killing Time

Chapter 7: Eternity's Promise

Summary: Astarion is alone.

Word Count: 4.9k

Pairing: Soft Ascended Astarion x Female Spawn Tav/Reader

Warning: 18+. Blood and Violence. PiV. Cunnilingus. Handjob. Masturbation. Obsessing over his consort’s panties. Obsessive and Possessive behavior. Heavy trigger warning for Panic Attack & Anxiety. Our vampire lord really going through it.

Link to AO3!

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Masterlist

A/N: yall this one was hard to write and took way longer than I intended, i hope I did it justice. please enjoy <3 I’m hoping chapter 8 will be out soon, I have 4 days off next week (mini vacation!) so I still intent to post chapter 8 this coming week :)

Pic by: @druidess-vp <3

Astarion believed he hadn’t forgotten what true suffering felt like: there had been too many times in his past where he was tortured, beaten, starved – no, he had certainly suffered. But the vampire lord had been out of touch with his pain for a long time, enveloped in a loving, fairy-tale-like existence with his darling consort, so perfect and submissive, for the past two thousand years.

Astarion had everything he could ever want: riches, power, eternal love.

Even when he listened to the news from the realms, on how multiple nations had evolved to civil war, the threat of societal breakdown imminent, he had you, which was enough for him. Everything else could be rebuilt, just like the Ancunín name – but you couldn’t be replaced.

“Involve the military. Whatever needs to be done, have it done,” Astarion demanded, his frustration growing immensely as he was acutely aware of his wife’s discomfort at the banquet; but he had to ignore it. Astarion had an incredibly powerful mind after his ascent, but that didn’t stop him from feeling mentally spread thin.

“The people are already marching to the capital of Amn. Neverwinter has been taken by a militia,” A man said; Astarion hardly bothered to memorize the faces of his advisors and other figureheads, anymore. It was easier to identify them by scent alone.

Astarion mindlessly twists his wedding ring, the only one he had chosen to wear. He wanted to protect the Ancunín fortune and the power he’d consolidated, if possible – and most of all, he really didn’t want to have to handle the managing of accounts during a coup.

Suddenly, Astarion senses a strange feeling – one that he is familiar with, instantly recognizing it: a vision is coming over you, and he’s already racing towards you, wasting no time excusing himself.

“Astarion, Astarion, Astarion!” Your voice rang out in his head as you called his name over and over. Your fear was imminent, your panic rising by the second.

“I’m coming, my love!” Astarion desperately responds, but your cries only continue, racking through his mind as your fear becomes his own.

“Follow,” Astarion commands Alpohso and Ygritte, who obey immediately.

Snip.

Astarion’s eyes widen. There is something bubbling inside him, deep in his chest, threatening to blossom as he digs his nails into his palm. It’s painful, making his heart physically ache. Your thoughts and feelings slip away from him, making that void between the two of you entirely empty: Astarion only hears his own thoughts reverberating in his mind.

Upon viewing the Vampire Ascendant when the cord is cut with his consort, he merely pauses, his intensity so frightening that his spawn tremble with fear, dropping to their knees, ready to serve their Master in whatever way possible. He is empty, a vassal of space that is filled with a vicious anger so feral and vile that Astarion himself fears it. He doesn’t understand what’s happened: he knows you aren’t dead, because he would just know if you were, but he can’t sense you anymore, can’t probe into your mind, and for the first time in two millennia, Astarion finds himself alone.

You are his: his first spawn, his favorite spawn, his consort, his wife, his best friend, his one and only. “Where the hells are you?”

Astarion doesn’t come back to himself until he hears the high pitched screaming of a woman in his ear. He is back at the crèche, in a grand hall he doesn’t even recognize. Astarion knows he followed your scent here, to the end of the trail.

The blonde servant is holding onto a pile of blood and guts on the floor, the gore slipping through her hands as she clutches her chest. Looking at the blood on his hands, he couldnt be sure what he’d done to the spawn, but Astarion thought the servant was surely being dramatic – Ruth would heal, he was a vampire for god's sakes, and the pain the couple felt was nothing compared to how Astarion himself felt.

Something about seeing the two lovers together makes Astarion even more angry, his fury growing steady with every passing moment of your absence. Your voice plays back in his head, your image, the memory of your tender touch…

Cynthia sobs echo through the chamber of the dining hall, even louder than the crowd of gith that hung around the corridor, as she brings her wrist to Ruth’s mouth: the vampire latches on, sucking greedily at his lover. Astarion thinks it might make him feel better if he killed Ruth’s beloved; it would be an apt punishment for the spawn, but it wouldn’t be great enough. Astarion didn’t think any punishment would. Moving towards the couple, Astarion feels a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

The hand is firm, not aggressive but assertive. The hold on him isn’t trying to keep his fist, but get his attention; Astarion turns to see Lae’zel, her makeup smudged and eyes filled with common fury.

Astarion can hear the sound of the Kith’rak attempting to clear the hall, followed by a barrage of questions from the crowd.

Astarion flinches away from her, her touch only making his skin crawl. He flits through her mind before she can even speak, gathering all the information the gith had about your disappearance. You vanished through a portal of darkness, Ziir’o had grabbed your hand, but the force was too strong, and you slipped away.

Lae’zel begins to speak, but Astarion moves past her, deciding Ziir’o should also be punished. But Astarion stops, recognizing something in the eyes of several of the gith: they, too, longed for you. It only reminded him of your absence, of that blank space in his mind that only increased, like the never ending expansion of the universe.

“You promised me forever, Tav.”

Instead of crushing the young gith’s chest and eating his heart, Astarion materializes into red mist, flitting away from the scene to scan the crèche for any sign of you. After many hours, he finds himself in the enchanted forest, zipping through the trees and murdering anything in sight.

The cavern in his chest only grows more hollow, and Astarion finds himself crying out for you with every stab, every bite, until his throat feels sore. He ran himself to the point of exhaustion, and although he would recover quickly, the wild thumping of Astarion’s heart made him feel a bit more steady. Alive, reminding him that he was still here, even if you weren’t, which means that he would just have to get you back.

Once Astarion finds his way back to your room, he numbly lays himself on your side of the bed, his nose rubbing into your pillowcase. He knows he can't waste any time, and he will only stay like this for a moment – but it’s a moment he needs, because he’s feeling your absence wash over him all over again, threatening to sweep him off his feet.

He finds himself in a daze, and there is a feeling in his heart that could only be described as frigid. Astarion brushes his fingers through his silver curls, closing his eyes as he accepts how wrong he was to think he ever understood suffering.

****

Astarion rests for only a moment before his mind is itching at him again, his thoughts on loop as his heart churns in his stomach. He felt desperate for your scent, desperate for any sign of you: he found his way to your laundry, finding the clothes you had worn to training that the servant hadn’t gotten around to washing yet.

They smelled distinctly of your sweat, your blood, and he needed your odor close to him – gods did his chest ache. Astarion would swear on his life his heart wasn’t physically beating right in his chest: he imagined it bruised and broken, fragmented, all its pieces being held by you, leaving behind a shell of a man.

Astarion lays your clothing on the bed, finding himself clutching your silk panties in his hand. They were white, perfect for one so demure and delicate as his beautiful spawn wife –

Bringing the crotch of your underclothes to his nose, he closes his eyes as he takes in your most intimate scent: but it only makes him feel a deep ache inside, his hardening cock only making matters worse. “I need you, Tav.”

He decides to lose himself in the moment, to escape the looming pain: freeing his member, the warmth of his hand and the fabric of your soft panties has him coming undone quicker than anticipated. His strokes are rough, fast, and he’s imagining your hot, wet mouth wrapped around the base of his cock, his tip reaching the back of your throat. Your eyes would always tear up, but you were such a champion for him –

Astarion lets out a strangled cry as he shoots thick spurts of come, careful not to soil your underclothes, his tears falling before he can stop them.

Astarion doesn’t understand how this has happened: doesn’t understand how he will begin to fathom that you are gone. He knows he must act soon, but his entire body is aching for you, his hands shaking. His orgasm only made him feel your absence more, and Astarion is cursing himself.

Suddenly, Astarion remembers the necklace, the warding bond, and he’s grabbing at his throat, only to find the twinkle of the gem had died. Astarion can’t help but imagine you dead, or chained up somewhere, being used – the thought makes him sick.

Moth had you. It was the only person in the world who would take you from him. Astarion had left you alone, and now you were gone, and it was entirely the worst feeling he could recall, other than when Cazador’s blade carved the symphony of the contract into his back.

Astarion really couldn’t waste anymore time, he decided. He needed to know the specifics of how you were taken and where: he knew about several of Moth’s palaces, and who knows how many more the dragonborn might have, but he may be able to narrow it down if he could get close enough to search for your scent.

Once Astarion’s recovered, he stuffs your panties into his pocket before gathering your things; he’s interrupted by a brief knock on the door before it swings open. Lae’zel enters, followed by the spawn and your warriors, all ten of them. Astarion hissed at the intrusion, not wanting any of them to muck up the smell of you that still lingered in the room.

Lae’zel immediately notices Astarion’s bloodshot eyes. She remembers something an old hero said, something about vampire lords not being able to love, only craving one thing. The state of her pale friend makes Lae’zel question if what the old hero said was anything more than plain ignorance.

Their conversation happens in a snapshot, Astarion’s tone lifeless but nonetheless frightening: “This is your fault.”

Lae’zel blinks. “You needn’t be absurd. We are here to help you, Astarion.”

Astarion doesn’t respond for some time; he is thinking about your smile, his deplorable thoughts twisting this precious image to one of your fangs piercing the throat of a dragonborn. Astarion had heard Moth was known for his exotic beauty, and he is seething at the very thought of you caressing scaled skin.

It was worse if he was taking you by force, if you weren’t enjoying it – that is only the cruelest torture, and Astarion is prepared to tear across realms to prevent this from happening. But if Astarion was being honest with himself, it hurt him more to imagine that you were enjoying your time with this other man. This other vampire…this other lord. ‘He will be her new Master.’ The thought has Astarion crawling in his flesh. He had to have you back, either way. And he was not so proud to deny help, not when it came to you.

“A wizard. We need a good one.” Astarion looked around the room, his hand involuntarily grabbing at the fabric in his pocket, almost as if to check they were still there. He would have to find something else to track you, something of yours that he was willing to part with: your adorable white panties were not one of them.

The gith nod at his request, Lae’zel sending one of the young ones to fetch a shirt of yours.There is something about Astarion’s aura that clears the room, leaving only Lae’zel and the spawn behind, who kneel whenever Astarion is idle. It deeply unsettles Lae’zel, but something about this entire situation felt off to her.

“Is it not strange, to you, that this lord betrays the nature of vampires by taking a spawn he didn’t create?” Lae’zel asks, wiping away a smudge of makeup with a finger. Drenched in sweat and a few tears, It had been a long night for her. Handling Orpheus and the Kith’rak’s reaction to the situation had her reeling: Orpehus was more apt to help, but Elan wanted the vampires gone. Lae’zel and Orpehus had the final say, of course, and she was permitted to continue doing what she was doing: gathering her fighters and spreading her cause in whichever way needed to happen. She couldn’t leave Astarion like this and knew this was the next part of her strange journey.

“It’s not that strange if you consider the fact that this lord is utterly insane.” Astarion also thought it was rather strange how the Crystalline Spire had no windows, and it made him feel even more closed in. “And I am the only vampire alive who matches him in power. It was only a matter of time before he attempted to take me down.”

“He is a red dragonborn, correct?”

“Yes.”

“It is in their nature to hoard. You’re sure his first name is Geldon? Geldon Moth, the red dragonborn?” Lae’zel’s quizzical tone was beginning to irritate Astarion.

Astarion looked to his spawn. “Up. Gather.” Lae’zel watches uneasily as the two spawn begin to collect the rest of your things. “What do you mean to say?”

“He can’t be much older than you, Astarion. Dragonborn had only been in Toril for hardly two hundred years when you and Tav met.”

“Don’t say her name,” Astarion’s voice was a force that barreled through Lae’zel’s mind, causing her to grab the sides of her head in anguish. The corner of Astarion’s mouth twitches, relishing in the way her heart flutters with fear.

“Do you think I'm an idiot, Lae’zel?” Astarion’s heart is filled with fury, with grief, and Lae’zel backs up to brace herself for a fight. His knees are bent, and he’s nearly crouched, like a predator. “He is only a hundred years older than me. He was named and raised by humans after his parents were slaughtered, and he was created by a vampire far greater than I.”

Astarion pauses, his face softer than Lae’zel had seen before. “Lae’zel. Moth has resources beyond what I’ve amassed. He has a harem of spawn who fight for him, and even more thralls. If I could find the bastard, I could probably take him down myself, but he’s well protected. And he has what is most precious to me. I have to be careful…I have to think.”

But Astarion was having a hard time thinking of anything but you.

Lae’zel steeled herself, clearly shaken by the situation.”And you have a hoard of gith. And the daylight. And me, of course.” She gave him a weak smile, but it was one Astarion oddly appreciated. He doesn’t return it, but stares at her for what feels like an eternity to Lae’zel before the spawn are kneeling before him once more, prepared for their next task.

“I must do whatever to get her back. At any cost.”

Lae’zel pauses. There is something she doesn’t understand, something she’s missing: the empty look in Astarion’s eyes gives it away. But she retreats, knowing when to choose her battles.

“We’re returning home for the time being. Ring me once your witch doctor is done with his tricks.” With that, Lae’zel watches as Astarion turns the corner, disheveled silver curls disappearing at the bend.

“Wait!” Lae’zel runs after him. “Let me come with you, Astarion.”

Astarion turns to her, unable to hide the glassy look in his eyes. He flits through her mind with ease.“You think you still love her. And what you feel for her, Lae’zel, is so very little compared to the bond I share with my wife.”

Lae’zel’s cheeks flush. “My feelings matter not, Astarion. Our friend, Tav, is missing –“ Astarion turns around, but Lae’zel continues, sensing that despite his actions, he was still listening. “I wouldn’t ever leave her behind. Gale, Karlach, Shadowheart, Wyll…none of us would ever have let harm come to her. It will be that way all my life, as it was for theirs.”

Astarion hardly reacts, already leagues away. “Do whatever you want. You know how to find me.”

****

Astarion isn’t surprised when Lae’zel shows up with five githyanki fighters on her heels; Astarion immediately knows it’s your warriors, the ones whose scents tended to linger on you longer than the others. He meets them in the portal room of your palace, the one the Ancunín’s called home.

“Our mages have yet to find any trace of her on Toril,” Lae’zel’s words inspire only frustration within Astarion. “Astarion, tell me why you cannot sense her on your own.”

Astarion turns, his back to Lae’zel and the others. Silently commanding his spawn to escort the gith out, Lae’zel and Astarion are left alone in his office. He turns to a large painting of you, noticing it having caught Lae’zel’s eye.

In the picture, you’re looking over your bare shoulder, your long hair cascading down your back. The expression on your face is soft, your plush lips parted in a way that made you look girlish. Your red eyes seemed to follow Lae’zel, who decided she much preferred your old eye color.

“I’ve had many of her done over the years. That one is my favorite.” This wasn’t true, but Lae’zel didn’t need to know about the collection of lewd paintings Astarion had of you hanging in the boudoir.

“When was this painting of her done? It’s lovely.” She asks, her tone as steady as her arm.

“Around eight centuries ago.”

“It’s difficult to fathom that much time has passed,” Lae’zel takes a breath in. “You know, I still remember how she reacted on the docks when the tadpole died.”

Astarion flinches at the thought. When the tadpole died, your vampirism became fully actualized; your hunger had become immediately apparent, uncomfortable. Your senses had drastically sharpened, the smell of blood and guts and the sound of beating hearts hitting you all at once. Your eyes widened, filling with tears as your hunger pains wrecked you. Astarion had felt it, your pain, because your vampiric connection had solidified in that moment: it was beautiful, terrifying, and it was then Astarion knew he would always be a slave to you.

Astarion had to take you away from the others, feeding you from his own wrist while doing his best to restrain you until you got your fill. If you were full, your hunger was easy to control – and a vampire’s hunger is everlasting, even if the vampire has special abilities.

“She didn’t suffer for long that day. I’ve taken care of her from the moment I made her mine,” Astarion narrows his eyes at her, raising his voice as he feels his anger rising. “Why do you bring up the past? What relevance does this have to finding her?”

“You must know where I stand with you, Astarion. I still cannot bring myself to forgive you for turning her into a vampire. For stealing her life, which you so happily did.”

Astarion grimaces before flashing his fangs at her. He hadn’t really the energy to spare. He sighs before he speaks. “I can easily read your mind, Lae’zel. All your pointless words amount to nothing, to me, because I really don’t give a shit. The only thing I care about is getting my wife back. Hats off to you for saying it to my face, I suppose.”

“She was different after that.”

“Still on about that, are we? We both made sacrifices so that we could spend eternity together. That was my promise to her, and I intend to keep it. Let's not waste anymore time.”

****

After a long day of traversing portals across Toril, handling a divide of a once united world, and dealing with the attitude on Lae’zel, Astarion wanted nothing more than to be alone at the end of the day. He had worked through most of the night before Bethild suggested the lord should rest. He had reluctantly agreed.

“Bring me a glass of red, would you?” Astarion didn’t bother to clean his desk: he would be back in just a few hours.

Bethild hesitated for only a moment. “Of course, my Lord.” The request was an odd one coming from Astarion, but Bethild was good and never questioned him.

Astarion was met with your favorite red wine by the time he arrived at the boudoir. He thought it far too strong and bitter to be drunk before bed, but it did taste like you: right at the fall of night, before you washed away the doings of the day. He swished the wine in his mouth, savoring its sour flavor before he swallowed.

Astarion can’t help but dwell on what Lae’zel said: how you were different after your turning. This was undeniably true, Astarion himself having experienced it: you were overall less emotional, but more prone to violence, and you enjoyed combat far more than you ever did. But these things had only made Astarion love you more, and your feelings for him only grew, as well. Astarion would know, because he was always watching his darling.

Astarion hadn’t bothered changing since you vanished, and he realized he was still in the extravagant, elegant clothing he had been in at that stupid meeting about the mortal wars. Studying his ensemble, Astarion feels tight all of a sudden, like he buttoned his clothing too tight, or his chest was being crushed, or like he was underwater – drowning. His breathing quickened until the tips of his fingers went numb, and he was surely dying.

But Astarion reasonably knew that he couldn’t actually die like this: but something inside told him he simply wasn’t safe. Astarion grabs at his collar, yanking the buttons free as he easily tears through the fabric, and he doesn’t stop until he’s on his knees, shredded cloth at his feet. Sitting back on his heels, he brings his ring to his lips before losing all composure. His tears are hot and salty, streaming down his cheeks as his arms move to wrap around his waist. When his fingers brush the scar tissue on his back, he flinches away, not even feeling safe in his own body.

Bringing his hand back to his mouth, Astarion bites his wedding ring, bringing his tongue to the metal, savoring the metallic flavor as he takes a deep breath. He stays like this for some time before gathering himself up. He was a mess, and as he walked to the bathroom to wash up, he caught a glimpse of himself in a vanity mirror.

He wasn’t surprised at his puffy eyes and disheveled hair. Astarion typically gazed into any mirror he could: he adored his reflection, and yours, which had been a triumph of his as a vampire. He was able to give you something that was so cruelly taken from him, and you never had to forget your gorgeous face.

Astarion gazed heavily into his own eyes, which were the same shade of deep crimson as yours. ‘How rare. How sweet.’

Every thought of you burned him, like a double edged sword: to try not thinking of you hurt just as much. Astarion narrows his eyes at himself – even after two millennia of being able to see his reflection, he never got tired of it, but there was something in his expression that was just off. If he looks close enough, if he focuses only on his eyes, he can see you in him…

“I love you, Tav.” But it doesn’t fill the growing void in his chest. The words weren’t a magic spell, even if they felt like it when spoken from your lips. Astarion returns to the bed he once shared with you, your clothes littering the mattress as your beloved vampire desperately tore through your belongings, grabbing anything and everything that smelled like you.

He should have told you that more. How much he adored you – how much he loved you. How his heart beat only for you, and everything he had in this world was nothing without you. How he felt that even with his ascension, even with everything he’s given you, he still hadn’t given enough.

Astarion stays in reverie while he can – at least until the sun comes up. For now, Astarion simply wants to live in memories of you: your smile, your laugh, your smooth, flawless skin, the pitch of your voice…

Astarion’s tongue was between your lips, your kisses languid and sloppy as the two of you lay naked in bed, silken sheets resting at your hips. Astarion has you on your back; he is perched on his elbow, curls falling out of place as he’s forgotten the world around him.

His tongue sucked and stroked your own, a trail of saliva connecting your lips when he pulled away to look at you. “My treasure…”

Astarion twitches. This had been right before Lae’zel showed up and ruined it all. Astarion goes back further, to a more lewd memory:

Your cunt was sucking his cock in, taking him so relentlessly that he felt like you wouldn’t ever let him go. His hands roamed your body, his fingers stopping to tug at your nipple, the hardening bud sensitive enough to make your back arch just from his touch.

He softly ruts into you, causing a whimper to escape your lips. “Tell me again, my favorite spawn.” Before you could respond, Astarion grasped your jaw with his hand, meeting your eyes to his. “Obey me.”

“I love you, Master Astarion.”

“Tav…” the elf moans, his mind already involuntarily flickering to another memory.

Astarion is perched at a window. He swiftly breaks the lock, entering the house silently, crouching as he approaches a sleeping man.

The man was tall, muscular, his curly red hair and copper skin immediately having an effect on you. Astarion thought the man rather attractive himself, and permitted you to ask him to bed. He had been invited back to the Ancunín estate many times.

Astarion thinks about the way you cried out the man’s name the last time the three of you were together as he slid the dagger into his throat. The way you run your fingers through the hair on the man’s chest and groin flashes before Astarion’s eyes when the man tries to ask why.

“I won’t share in her heart.”

Astarion opens his eyes, cursing at the wretched memory. He didn't understand why he was dwelling on such things, but the pit in his stomach spoke tenfold: he had never told you the truth about the man’s death, even when you cried after hearing the news of it. He hid the information away from you, one of the few secrets he kept, and it only made his stomach churn to think about it. Astarion shakes these thoughts away as he eases out of the bed and makes his way to the balcony. He breathes in the cool night air, the stars shining bright in the sky as he looks off into the abyss of the city below.

In the coming days, Astarion would be in agony: he wouldn’t rest, his mind flitting to you every second as his thoughts became single minded, obsessive, like he was on a loop that is purely you. Astarion has music playing in the halls continuously, because he began hearing an echo of your voice throughout the palace, and he really thought himself going mad.

He would create many more spawn, sending them out into the night to scout for your scent. Astarion himself would do so for days, even returning to the crèche to ensure he hadn’t missed any information, but all roads lead to nowhere.

On the mantle of the fireplace in the grand boudoir, a painting hangs: you lie on your back, your breasts exposed, the expression in your eyes is hungry, wanting, and your lips are parted just enough to see the tip of your fangs. Your arms are overhead, as if you are lounging in a stretch. Your thighs are together, and when Astarion looks at the painting, he imagines spreading them, taking your folds in his mouth and pleasuring you until you’ve come undone around his tongue. Astarion has thousands of memories of you like this, desperate and whimpering for him, and something about knowing he’s fucked you, his eternal bride, far more times than his body count brings comfort to him.

But no amount of memories could replace you. Tears were unbecoming of a vampire lord, and yet they began to feel like second nature to Astarion.

****

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Masterlist

#astarion x reader #ascended astarion #soft ascended astarion #ascended!astarion #ascended astarion x you #ascended astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x you #astarion x tav #spawn tav #lord astarion #astarion fanfiction #vampire tav #Killing Time

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fishklok · 5 months

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Torts + Army of the Doomstar part 1

I looked for torts in the first half of the movie, but I figured I should get back to actually studying.

Note 1: Just because I raise an issue doesn't mean it would be successful in court. You have to bring up the shitty claims on exams too.

Note 2: A lot of the stuff in this movie/show probably falls more under criminal law. I wouldn't know because I haven't studied criminal law yet. This is torts so we're in civil law bay-bee. There is no such thing as guilt or innocence.

Note 3: AOTD spoilers lol

Intentional Torts

Battery: A volitional act in which one intends to cause a harmful/offensive physical contact (or put someone in apprehension of a harmful/offensive physical contact) and a harmful or offensive physical contact occurs. Depending on the jurisdiction, the intent could either be to cause harm/offense, or the intent could be just to make contact.

Pickles v. Toki (when Toki hit Pickles)

Edgar v. Nathan (when Nathan grabbed Edgar's face)

Nathan v. Charles (when Charles grabbed Nathan's face)

Murderface v. Salacia (all of the possession shit. The idea of him bringing a torts claim about it is just very funny to me.)

Pickles v. Skwisgaar (when they were doing trust exercises and Skwisgaar didn't move to catch Pickles. This could also be raised as a negligence claim if it can be proved that Skwisgaar didn't intend to let Pickles fall)

Assault: a volitional act in which one intends to put someone in apprehension of an imminent harmful or offensive contact.

Skwisgaar v. Toki (when Toki tried to hug Skwisgaar and he moved away)

False Imprisonment: A volitional act in which one confines someone to a bound space and that person is either aware of the confinement or harmed by it.

Crozier v. Orlaag (the interrogation scene. Like Murderface and Salacia, this feels like a funny claim to raise.)

Trespass to Property: A volitional act in which one intentionally trespasses onto someone's real property and that person is the sole causation behind the trespass.

Murderface v. Salacia (More possession shit. Because it's funny to me.)

Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress (IIED): When one intentionally behaves in a way that is extreme or outrageous in a way that causes severe emotional distress. This would have gone on forever if I wrote down every little insult, so I tried to find instances that could satisfy the severe emotional distress element.

Nathan v. that interviewer/host (Nathan had a mental breakdown after some of the questions asked. Although, he was already in a delicate place and I don't think Eggshell Skull Rule applies here. The host would have no reasonable way to know Nathan's condition and likely won't be found liable for the performance.)

Toki v. Pickles (when Pickles yelled at Toki)

Abigail v. Nathan (when Nathan proposed to her. No evidence of severe emotional distress, but it could be raised.)

Nathan v. Abigail (when Abigail rejected his proposal. More evidence of severe emotional distress, but still probably not that strong.)

The fans v. Nathan (when he "broke up with them." I only studied class actions for like 45 minutes in civil procedure, but I don't think this claim would hold up either.)

Dethklok v. Knubbler (when he yelled at them and destroyed their breakfast. This is the part where I should explain that IIED claims are notoriously hard to win.)

Negligence

Negligence is when a party has a duty, they breach that duty, resulting in an accident that they have both actual and proximate causation for and that resulted in damages.

The church v. Nathan (all the stuff he accidentally broke)

Knubbler v. the gong manufacturer (when the gong broke off the rope and send him tumbling down the stairs. Could also raise as a products liability claim)

Temple + Dethklok v. Murderface (when he pissed in their water supply. Could be raised to conversion (another tort I didn't explain lol) if he continued after knowing the river was their water supply.)

Temple + Dethklok v. Knubbler (when Knubbler accidentally knocked over that candle and started a small fire)

The estate of that klokateer v. Knubbler (when Knubbler rang the gong, causing it to break off and knock that guy off the cliff. While the gong manufacturer could be liable too, Knubbler would probably carry a larger proportion of the blame because he already had cause to believe that the gong was defective.)

All those people v. Dethklok (when they performed the wrong song. Since all of the deaths that occur can be linked back to that performance, they still have proximate causation. The Doomstar seems like a textbook example of a superseding cause, but since Dethklok had a duty to stop the Doomstar and the consequences were foreseeable, they're probably still negligent. Other possible tortfeasors in that chain: the airplane pilots, the truck drivers, the estate of that guy jumping off his diving board would be barred from recovery in a contributory negligence jurisdiction, at this point I started losing track of the deaths and just decided to blame Dethklok for all of it.

Strict Liability

Strict liability is when a defendant is automatically liable regardless of reasonable care, lack of negligence, or lack of intent. This includes wild animals and abnormally dangerous activities. As if this point in my notes, I haven't seen much evidence of either.

#aotd spoilers

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moki-dokie · 7 months

Text

My OCs: Ed

bit of info on my fucked up trash cat

Name Edrick Ishida 石田エドリック AKA: Ed, Edo, Cat, Tiger

Species Nekomata/Werecat (Nekomata mother, werecat father. Werecat virus passed at conception.)

DOB May 3 1850 (173 years old)

Gender Cis Male (Sometimes fem presenting)

Orientation Bisexual, Homoromantic, Polyamorous

Ethnicity Japanese/Dutch

Height/Weight 5'6"/140lbs (Petite, often malnourished)

Analysis Edrick presents extreme anger issues and is immediately hostile. He is generally in poor physical condition, being malnourished and often injured. His mood is unstable, but he is coherent and very aware of time and place. Edrick shows several signs of severe and chronic emotional trauma that has been left untreated since childhood. He is very uncooperative. Symptoms point to the following:

PTSD

Bipolar I disorder with mixed affective state

Paranoia

Antisocial disorder

Avoidant personality disorder

Major depression with suicidal tendencies

Insomnia

Kleptomania

Sexual masochism

Hypersexuality

Several illegal drug addictions

Edrick struggles to maintain relationships at all levels. He purposely closes himself off and avoids giving or asking for more than basic information about a person. Due to extreme emotional distress as a child, he has developed a defense mechanism through rude and lewd behavior. He defaults to anger and violence and is often too impatient to handle most social situations. True intimacy is avoided, but he practices prostitution for physical intimacy and pain. Edrick does not value himself highly, if at all, and treats himself accordingly despite being capable of doing more and better for himself. He has spent the majority of his life homeless and without any true stability, making a living via prostitution and theft. He is highly intelligent and talented but carefully conceals that knowledge, sometimes even from himself.

Within the past 3 years, Edrick has made significant progress in healing and recovering from many past traumas, but at the same time has unfortunately gained new ones. His social skills have improved impressively, complete with a small but close circle of friends. He is also engaged to be married to a man named Cole, though the relationship is highly unorthodox and questionable. One would not label it a healthy relationship by any normal standards - but they are also not normal people. Though toxic on many levels, it works for them and the deep love and bond Edrick and his affianced have is abundantly clear. Unfortunately, after a very traumatic brush with death, and prolonged threats to his and Cole's safety, Edrick's PTSD is worse than it ever has been. He is in severe and urgent need of professional help.

Manifestations

Glamoured Can pass as human entirely - default when in public.

Natural No glamour. Cat ears, tail, sharper/longer incisors, and claw-like nails. (All can vary in appearance depending on circumstances. isn't always convenient to have claws, for example.) Most common in private. Can develop fur along spine, face, and other parts of the body if nearing a shift into werecat form.

Cat Simple domestic housecat, larger than average (about the size of a small savannah cat). Smoke black oriental longhair. Can change into it at will and easily. Some extremely limited verbal speech is capable, restricted only to the sounds a feline is able to make. Fully capable of non-verbal animal/feral speech.

Werecat Triggered by extreme anger. Very ‘wolfman’ like appearance. No conscious control, retains no memory. Highly aggressive.

Nekomata (mutated) Form is misshapen and mutated from werecat virus. Hulking beast. Painful to remain in. Extremely powerful both physically and magically. Necromancy and fire are primary magic. Severe emotional distress, total mental breakdown, or imminent threat to life currently the only way it can be accessed.

Species Traits & Quirks Nekomata don't gain their full powers until at least 1000 years of age, Ed is still very young and thus most of his abilities are unimpressive.

Once at 1000, aging ceases. He will not die from any natural causes of the body. Only beheading or removal of the heart will kill. Until then, while he may age very slowly, he is still susceptible to dying from pretty much anything, although he can endure much more than the average human.

Nekomata start with 9 lives. Lives increase exponentially at 1000 years. Ed has somewhere between 6-8 currently.

Nekomata abilities include, but not limited to: Dreamwalking Necromancy Controlling fire Life force absorption Unrestricted shapeshifting Spell casting Cursing Superhuman senses, speed, and strength Enhanced nightvision

While not a true hybrid, Ed does have certain traits and minor abilities passed along from the werecat DNA of his father.

During sex, a scent may be released from the base of his neck that is directly linked to the hormone Oxytocin. The more released, the stronger the scent. This, sometimes called the "love hormone", is commonly released during intercourse in mammalian females, but far less in males who instead get a surge of Dopamine, the addictive pleasure hormone. In Werecat males, it is a biological signal of being bonded with his mate. Like the typical intact domestic tomcat, Werecat toms have an extremely high libido and will mate often with many different individuals. Bonded pairs will often, but not always, become monogamous (or polygamous if more than two are bonded) and forgo mating with others. It is rare for such bonding to happen, as they are a relatively solitary and shy species. This scent is often subtle even when at its strongest, much like a perfume still lingering on clothes several days later. It is described as musky with a deep, warm, indolic sweetness like vanilla. At its most potent it is deeply euphoric and even narcotic.

Accelerated healing factor - physical wounds heal about three times as fast as humans, what few illnesses he can contract are weak and run their course within a couple of days.

Allergies to silver, malachite, and garlic.

Writings Year of the Cat Series Cocaine Kaleidoscope (WIP) Winter's Faded Light (Complete) The Truth About Yesterday (WIP) (Been on a long writing hiatus to heal a bad case of tendonitis booo)

#my ocs #ed lore

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anonymityisfunwriter · 2 years

Text

Forever Winter

Pairing: Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader Part of The Grumpy Sunshine Series

Bucky wakes up in a cold sweat, gasping for air that just keeps escaping him. He looks to your side of the bed, feeling particularly empty that you're not there tonight. He knew that, of course. You'd been on an extended mission for just over 4 days. It wasn't a lot of time, but each night he found himself spiraling further and further into that depressingly familiar abyss.

He tried to think about your numerous reassurances. The numerous times you'd talked him down from this dark, at times unreachable state.

"You don't understand, there's so much blood on my hands. Eventually you're going to see, and you'll leave. Because deep down I'm a monster."

You fake a gasp, reaching out to grab Bucky's hand. You harshly turn his hand over, animatedly examining each side of it. '"I don't see any blood. Definitely not a monster's hand. Just a hand. A human hand. One that's held mine many times."

He harshly sighs, but doesn't pull away his hand. "I'm being serious."

"Me too!" you exclaim, tracing the lines on his palm. "No blood, just a hand."

"One day you're going to realize that you could do so much better than me."

"And one day you're going to realize that you're stuck with me because I love you. Always."

"Always is a long time."

You gently press a kiss to the center of his palm. "Promises, promises."

But tonight, you weren't there to reel him back in. Even though he knew it was borderline co-dependency, even though he'd never admit to anyone else that he needed you on nights like tonight, he did. He so badly did.

Nights were the darkness seemed just a little darker. Nights when his traitorous brain convinced him that you were going to leave him. That it was imminent.

Any day now, you'd grow tired of his innumerable issues. You were bound to get sick of it. Waking up to him sweating and shaking because he remembered something or because he had a nightmare. Holding him as he was spiraling. Constantly talking him off that ledge. Wiping away his tears and soothing away the hurt. His problems taking a toll on you, it had to be taxing.

He's pacing through your shared apartment at the compound when his phone rings. He jolts at the unexpected call. It's almost 3 in the morning, and you're calling him. His brain sends him into a tailspin of dread about what's awaiting him on the other end of the call. With one final breath, he flips open his phone.

"Doll?" he roughly exhales. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine - I was actually going to ask you the same thing," you admit.

"What? I'm fine, I'm here in our room," he says, his voice raspy from exhaustion and his mental breakdown.

"But you're not asleep? It's late over there."

He remains silent, not wanting to burden you with his endless load of issues while you were on issue.

"Hi, Bucky!" he heard in the background.

"Sam says hi," you chuckled. "That he misses you a lot."

"I didn't say that," Bucky hears Sam call.

"James says he misses you too," you reply.

"I didn't say that," Bucky rasps.

"Hold on, let me find a spot where I can talk," you murmur, walking toward the back of the jet away from Sam and Steve.

"You don't have to do that, I'm fine," he insists.

"It's alright," you assure him, plugging some old headphones into your phone to be able to hear Bucky over the sound of the rumbling engine. "I've been wanting to hear your voice."

A smile tugs on Bucky's lips. "Where are you?"

"On the jet. We're heading back."

"You finished quick," he states. "Is that why you called?"

"No, actually. Call it an instinct. A sixth sense maybe?"

"What's the sixth sense for?"

"That my person needed me."

He exhales, the knot in his stomach already loosening. He loved when you called him your person. Two sides of the same coin, Sam once said and as much as he hated to admit it, Sam was exactly right. Being your person, you telling him that he was your person- it meant something to him. On nights like tonight, it allowed him to believe that even if you no longer loved him, you were as irrevocably tethered to him as he was to you. "I didn't want to bother you. I should be checking up on you, not the other way around."

"Says who? Besides, I've got Sam and Steve watching out for me. Now tell me what's wrong," you gently, but sternly demand.

He wipes away the silent tears from his cheeks, his head relentlessly reminding him what will inevitably happen.

"James?" you coo, after hearing only silence.

"I'm here," he chokes out, and you can hear the strain in his gravelly voice. How he's choking back the tears and muffling the sobs building in the back of his throat.

"I love you," you remind him.

"I love you too."

"Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"I couldn't sleep," he mumbles.

"And?"

"Don't you get sick of taking care of me, constantly listening to me unload on you?" Bucky asks in exasperation. "It's not right."

"I like that you trust me," you counter. "I like hearing your story, even the not-so-great parts."

"You're going to get sick of this. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually..."

"I love you," you repeat, knowing that he desperately needed the reminder. "Always."

"I don't know why."

"But I do. And I'm always here if you need a reminder. Okay, before I start, go make yourself some of that tea. It'll help you get to sleep. And quit pacing, it just works you up more," you instruct, Bucky immediately halting his steps.

"Okay," he sighs, walking to your little kitchenette to make himself that herbal tea that you found for him.

"Now, where do I start?"

"You don't have to-"

"Shh," you hush. "I'm thinking...Well, first, you make me feel like a person, you don't want anything from me except me. And it doesn't hurt that you're easy on the eyes."

"Easy on the eyes?" he chuckles, holding the phone to his ear while fixing up his tea.

"Oh, definitely! You would have had me the day we met if you'd smiled at least once."

"I miss you so much," he sighs, taking a small sip of his tea.

"Me too."

"You're too good to me."

"I wouldn't have left if I'd known you were having a hard time."

"I don't know why I'm having such a hard time, it's usually not this hard to be apart."

"I wish I was there. I'd take that bomb in your head and disarm it. Tell you how much you mean to me. How lucky I am that you're in my life. That if you don't believe anything else I say, believe that I won't go away."

"You won't?" he asks, his voice cracking again.

"Never," you promise. "Are you drinking your tea?"

"Just finished."

"The whole thing?" you knowingly probe.

He chuckles at how well you know him, that he never voluntarily finishes the slightly bitter tea. He gulps down the rest of the hot beverage, slightly burning his tongue in the process. "Yeah."

"Good. Now go lie down, I'll talk with you until you fall asleep. Hopefully I'll be there before you wake up."

"Alright," he grunts, padding over to your bedroom.

"Great, now would you like a really incorrect retelling of The Hobbit, which I'm still trying to finish, or would you like to hear about the mission in excruciatingly boring detail?" you ask once you hear the faint noises of Bucky settling into your bed.

"Thrilling choices," Bucky sarcastically huffs.

"Well I'm not trying to entertain you, I'm trying to put you to sleep."

"Or you can just talk to me until you get here? Besides, I like hearing you talk, you can't bore me to sleep."

"Nice try, but you need to sleep. So take your pick- and when I mean excruciating detail, I mean excruciating detail."

"Mm...tell me about the mission."

"Okay," you chuckle, the sound already soothing Bucky's aching soul. "Well, first we got onto the jet. Steve insisted on piloting again. Meanwhile, Sam and I got into the back. Sam strapped himself in, with a parachute right next to him, 'just in case'. I don't know why he'd need it considering his whole thing is being the Falcon-"

And soon enough, after enough excruciatingly boring detail, Bucky did fall fast asleep. You only hung up after being completely sure that there wasn't any risk of Bucky waking up again. And thankfully, after your mission you returned to your room to find Bucky peacefully sleeping, not an ounce of duress or fear etched onto his face. You crawl under the covers, careful to not jostle Bucky awake.

Except for a brief stutter in his otherwise even breathing, there's no sign that Bucky wakes as you curl up next to him. He doesn't say anything, just drapes his arm over you, pulling you closer to him as he sighs in contentment, "Missed you."

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Grumpy Sunshine Series Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

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star1117-archives · 1 year

Text

𝐀 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 - 𝐂.𝐒

♫ Pairing : dad!san x fem!reader

♫ Genre : supernatural au, angst + hurt/comfort

♫ W.C : 2050

♫ Warnings : major character death, car crash, mentions of blood + injuries, argument, mental breakdown, reconciliation

♫ A/N : Adapted a repost for Christmas <3

♫ Network : @cacaokpop-fics

This was definitely not what he’d expected while driving home for Christmas.

San’s eyes struggled to stay open as he breathed heavily, blood trickling down his forehead like a river. The mangled metal of what once was his car twisted and writhed, screaming in agony as San tried to lift his head out of the airbag that had deployed on impact. Everything hurt, many of his bones most likely broken and his breathing shallow. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, the air dense with smoke. A hissing came from under the bonnet.

“Sh-..Shit.”

Slowly lifting himself up, San hissed in pain when he heard a crack from near his ribs. A burning sensation tore through his arm yet he reached up regardless, coughing and subsequently groaning in pain. His fingers fumbled with the sun visor before he managed to pull it down, taking a picture out before letting his hand fall back into his lap.

The last of his strength was slowly but surely leaving him.

His eyelids felt as heavy as lead, and his eyes grew unfocused despite his attempts to squint and see the picture. He was desperate to see his family one more time.

A bright light could now be seen further up the road, and all of San’s lights had been ruined by the crash. There was no way for the driver to see him until it was too late. Knowing there was a slim chance he’d escape this second impact with his life, San sighed and turned his head to the sunroof, marvelling at the beauty of the stars. He chuckled at the irony of life, a shooting star passing overhead. Although it felt meaningless, the male still closed his eyes and wished, tears now flowing down his cheeks as he heard the truck speeding towards him.

It wouldn’t hurt to make one last Christmas wish.

He mumbled quietly to himself, hating that he couldn’t reach his phone to say goodbye, whimpering quietly as a loud honk drowned out his words. It kept going, again and again as the driver slammed down his breaks, the car squealing in response. Despite the immense pain he was in, San lifted the picture and kissed his loved ones for the last time, the headlights blinding and the horn deafening. He let out one last sentence as he freely sobbed, the imminence of his fate terrifying him.

“I-I’ll see you guys s-soon okay? Daddy’ll see y-you soon.”

Then, darkness.

──── ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♫ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ────

Two Weeks Later

San shot up with a start, holding his head as a sharp pain made itself known. He winced with a hiss, cursing under his breath quietly as he rubbed his temple.

“Daddy! That’s a bad word!”

Looking up, San smiled in relief when he saw his eldest child, Hana, playing quietly with her tea set. Shakily standing up from the floor, San made his way over to Hana with a chuckle.

“Sorry baby, Daddy just had a bad dream.”

When Hana smiled up at San, he gave her a smile back, moving to place his hand on her shoulder. He was soon surprised to find however that his arm passed straight through her. The girl’s expression seemed to darken a little, Hana setting down her cup and adjusting a teddy before turning to a confused San.

“Mommy says you’re a dream too, Daddy.”

Hana let her hand fly out at San’s legs, seemingly unfazed when they passed through cleanly. San, however, jumped back with a start.

“What- What the fuck!-“

Bringing a finger to her lips, Hana shushed her father with wide eyes.

“Daddy! Stop swearing!“

Despite his breath spiralling out of control as he searched for a reason for such a strange event, San tried to calm himself and keep himself from stressing out Hana.

“Sorry, sorry. But baby, how did you know that was gonna happen?”

Hana gave a little huff as she played with a utensil half heartedly, seemingly unable of looking San in the face.

“When I saw you laying on the floor this morning, I tried to hug you but it wouldn’t work. Mommy says it’s because your a fig-ge-mant of my image- in-nation.”

While Hana seemed to struggle over the complicated words you had used, San began to pull at his hair in stress. What the fuck was happening right now? Before he could ask any more questions however, you opened the door to Hana’s bedroom, eyes red and sore as you bounced a restless Haru on your hip.

“Honey, were you talking to yourself again?”

San stood up with a start, taking in your dishevelled appearance with concern as you gazed tiredly at Hana. Not only sore, your eyes had dark circles underneath them as if you hadn’t slept for weeks. Your hair was messily held back by a bandana, and stains adorned your clothes, seemingly from the little menace whining into your t-shirt. Despite this, the girl only pouted in response, shaking her head.

“No Mommy, I was talking to Daddy. See? He’s right there!”

Hana pointed eagerly at San, who walked closer to you hesitantly, unsure of himself. You turned your head to face him, but only seemed to see through him as your eyes watered. You quickly wiped away a tear with a sniffle before turning back to Hana, leaving San hurt and even more confused than before.

“I’ve already told you Hana, Daddy had to go on a very long trip. He cant be in two places at once, can he?”

San rose a hand to your face as you said this, closing the gap between the two of you and cupping your cheek. You shivered briefly, raising your own hand slowly to feel where San had touched you.

“Y/N, I’m here. Can’t you see me?”

Haru had finally calmed down a little as he stared at San, his tear-stained face slowly brightening as he made grabby hands towards his father. When you pushed his hands down, Hana’s voice rose indignantly, the girl standing up from her chair and walking closer towards you, hands on her hips.

“Why aren’t you letting Daddy touch Haru?! I know he can’t really touch him, but Haru’s too young to understand anyways!”

You let out an exasperated sigh at this, running a hand down your face before replying with a slight edge to your tone.

“Because your dad isn’t here Hana, he’s away! I’m sorry you couldn’t say goodbye, but that doesn’t mean you can raise your voice at me! I didn’t get to say goodbye either!”

Your chest heaved as you tried to keep yourself from erupting, Haru also starting to become stressed as Hana ignored your words and continued. San meanwhile stood between the two of you, unsure of what to do as Hana ignored your warnings.

“Stop lying! Daddy’s right here! I can see him!”

San shushed Hana, coming over to her in an attempt to calm the situation down.

“Hana don’t-”

“He’s not here, Hana! He’s gone away for a very long time, and he’s not coming back! Don’t you understand?! He’s gone! Forever!”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as those words left your mouth, sobbing helplessly as Haru started screaming. Despite San’s efforts to keep her from starting up again, Hana walked straight through her father, pushing at your legs until you stumbled out of the doorway.

“You liar!”

And with that, Hana slammed the door in your face, collapsing against it as hot tears of anger flowed. Sliding to the floor, she curled up in a ball and broke down. San quickly came over to her, wrapping his arms around Hana as she bawled, the weight of the world crashing down on her tiny shoulders. Despite not feeling the physical touch of San, she could still feel the love radiating off of him. The two of them stayed there until the fast beat of her heart slowly but surely returned to normal, her anger turning into sadness as she lifted her head and looked at San with a sniff.

“Daddy, are you real? Mommy’s wrong, right?”

San gulped at this, have no clue what to say. I mean, he felt real, but was he? How could he not hold his own children if he’s real? How can his own wife not see him? But how could he not be real?

“To be honest, I have no clue baby. All I know is that I love you so much, and so does Mommy.”

San tried to steady his hand to keep it from slipping through Hana’s face, cupping her cheek.

“Cut your mum some slack, okay? She’s… not herself right now. Plus, you shouldn’t be shouting at her like that either way.”

Hana nodded sullenly, her expression soon brightening when San pulled a silly face at her.

“Now, go apologise to Mommy okay?”

Nodding again, Hana stood up with a sniffle and opened the door, not noticing how the door passed straight through San. That was something he’d never get used to. Surprisingly you were also on the floor, Haru hugging you and whining quietly as you sobbed into his clothes.

San immediately went to your side, pressing small kisses to your face and shushing you quietly. It seemed like you had some sort of connection with him still, as you quietened a little. Hana silently joined Haru in hugging you, all three of you now crying quietly on the floor together. Grabbing Hana’s face, you kissed her forehead before pulling her closer.

“I’m sorry honey, Mommy’s so sorry.”

Hugging you tighter, Hana shook her head, burying it further into your neck as she mumbled onto your skin.

“Me too Mommy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

Watching on quietly, San smiled at his family’s reconciliation, standing up and staring down lovingly at the people most precious to him. Lifting your head up, you pulled back from Hana with a red nose.

“Honey, are you… sure you see Daddy? Could you.. tell me where he is?“

Hesitantly, Hana pointed to where San had frozen in shock, eyes wide. Giving Haru to Hana, you stood up and looked him right in the eye, smiling at him with a sniffle.

“San mountain man Dorito built Choi, I love you so damn much. Wherever you are right now, make sure you’re as happy as possible. But not too happy, miss me a little, okay?”

Chuckling, San gave you a salute before pressing a kiss to your lips. Just as you’d done many times when berating him, you wagged your finger at him with a mock-scowl.

“The last part’s super important, don’t forget it or I swear you’ll be in so much trouble when I can finally join you.”

“I won’t forget, I promise.”

“I’m gonna assume you agreed, so now I’m gonna uh-.. I’m gonna go..”

San rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms loosely around you, not wanting to fall right through you. Whispering quietly in your ear, he pressed a kiss to your ear after speaking.

“I’ll watch over you my love, I promise. I’ll wait as long as it takes, and it better be a long fucking time.”

Hana let out a little shout from the floor, annoyed once again with her father’s apparent potty mouth.

“Language, Daddy!”

Chuckling heartily, you wiped a tear from your eye with a wide smile as you spoke.

“God San, even as a imaginary friend you can’t check yourself.”

San gave you a sheepish smile, dimples showing as his ears tinted red. This soon fell however when you walked right through him to get a tissue. It wasn’t painful, physically at least, yet it still took away some of his relief. How long would it be until Hana couldn’t see him? Until she didn’t believe he was there?

Thoughts like this now plagued his mind, yet he plastered on a smile when he saw Hana staring. It wasn’t exactly what he’d wished for, but he’d take what he’d get either way. Death, in his opinion, seemed more lonelier than this transition stage. He’d make the most of this precious time he’d been gifted, and hope that the next day he wouldn’t wake up somewhere else as he’d done today.

“Merry motherfuckin’ Christmas to me, I guess.”

♫ SFW Taglist !! ♫

@agustd-essert @hyuckilstan @a-soft-hornytiny @like-a-butterfly1026 @artemis-in-your-area @violetwinters @lynnsqueendom @galaxybambam @yunhobabygurl @lee--felix @multidreams-and-desires @starlightracha @b1zcx5 @deja-vux @itbecina @rialovesyunho @anpanseok @yunhosprettyhand @mingitheii @vilavixg @mrcarrots @the-answer-is-love-yrself @effulgentfireflies @serialee @imwhoever @ateezbabysitters @meowmeowminnie @soft-teddybear @reaperhwa @a1sh1teruu @fantasy2wonderland @xuxibelle @dazzlingligth @simeonswhore @neocuddlytechnology @greenymar @owjohny @xye-weirdo @jwnghyuns @plutoneu @m4rsluv @anowamij @minkysmilk @softkpopplace

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weirdplutoprince · 2 years

Note

Character opinion bingo: Akito, Tohru, Shigure, and Sawako

I already answered Tohru and Akito, so Shigure first.

Imagine a show where most conflit is resolved through honest conversation and heartfelt acknowledgement of pain and trauma.

The protagonist is a 15 year old girl that is both a) Homeless and b) Recently Orphaned, but is pushing ahead with optismism anyway. Her life takes a turn and she ends up housing with, among others, a 25+ year old man known for flirting with teenager girls.

He is engaging in a years long feud with his estranged lover and hopes speedrunning her imminent mental breakdown will do it for their relationship. His favourite methods to do so include emotionally manipulating The Orphan, and regularly triggering other children in his care at will. He has three (3) friends, but two are part of the cult he was born into and the other one will attack on sight if forced to meet him so it's a bit of a reach. He is the most emotionally vulnerable when he is spouting ominous comments aloud that fall deaf to the people around him, or by viciously attacking his mentally ill cousins for no reason. At the end of the story, no punishment is ever delivered to him and he gets everything he wants exactly how he wants to with no obvious consequence for it.

This could be an horror classic but it is actually the plot of Fruits Basket.

AND BEFORE YOU GET MAD, I like him. I think he is a very good addition to the show and I enjoy his time on screen very much. Not so when he's flirting with underage girls but more when he's being ominous and slyly moving the strings along for his goals. He is so toxic and terrible and I think that's very entertaining of him. I like that he's the one character Akito can't win again or hurt - at least not the way she intends to - and I actually like that he's this weird middleground bwtween hero and antagonist. I think he is both terribly fascinating and oddly simple: he is a selfish man that wants a thing, but doesn't find it necesseary to be very mean about it most of the time. I'm not going to discuss much about the merits of what he wants and why because uh. It's not very nice and I don't think the show handles that very well. But it's still very compelling to watch him fight for it anyway.

I'm so curious about what goes on in his head, about what made him like this. I can only guess the powerless of the curse numbed him very early on and he used this as an armour that eventually distanced him enough from everything that hurting others comes easily to him now but. It's literally all speculation!!! We will never know!!! Characters like him really get me like...I think writing people that are so terribly flawed, and have something so obviously and fundamentally wrong with them is an art and that if done right can really add to already very good stories. Shigure is a CHARACTER all right. What a freak. 10/10.

#falando #fruits basket #fruits basket spoilers #ask meme #I'll do Sawako next!

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bonesandthebees · 2 years

Note

I see Tumblr has been messing with my asks. Good thing I numbered them. Anyway, Ican only see your answers to 1 and 3 so J don’t know if everything came through. So have the condensed version:

All Stars!Wilbur’s past mistakes are coming back to haunt him while he is actively making more and not solving any of them because lack of energy and imminent mental breakdown so making healthy decisions isn’t an option even though they are right there and Tommy is literally holding them up to him like: “look it’s a healthy decision, would you care to make it?” and Wilbur is like “nah, I’m good, I’m just going to make my own life hell and be mean about it.”

-🌲

IDK WHY TUMBLR IS BEING SO WEIRD ABOUT ASKSSS PLS LET ME BRAINROT ANALYSIS WITH YOU GUYS

yeah that's pretty much it in a nutshell. tommy is begging him to learn healthy coping mechanisms and he refuses because he's got so many mental problems. seriously if wilbur needs anything these days it's a goddamn therapist lmao

#ask #spruce anon #the stars and their children

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dragonfox-in-a-teacup · 10 months

Text

I have realized a good way to gage how much stress I'm under is how many pens (that I'm not using) I have on me and where

0 pens- I'm doing okay

1 pen-

- behind the ear: possible stress, possible I'm just focused

-in pocket: I'm likely okay

- in mouth: either hyperfixated on something or rather stressed

2 pens-

-2 in pockets: maybe stressed but I'll get through it.

- 1 in pocket 1 behind the ear: stressed

-Behind the ears: danger will robinson

-Either in mouth: stressed^tm

3 pens- automatically stressed out

- at least 2 behind my ears: oof

- 2 behind my ears one in my mouth: mental breakdown is imminent.

#i have two pens behind my ears right now

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time-is-standing · 2 years

Text

top 10 songs of june

sorry for the delay, I've cut off a piece of my thumb while cooking. typing with one hand really sucks. --- this was the main reason, I was gonna post it yesterday but Techno's death shook me to the core and I just couldn't finish this in time.

1. Keep Me - Acoustic by Imminence

I still have my sleepless nights when the only thing soothing me is this song. it's the one that inspired the last chapter of my mcyt fanfic - until I'm not ready to continue with the dnf pov.

2. Love & Grace by Imminence

this one is special to my heart. I don't think I've ever had a connection this strong before with a song. for me it's like a complaint or screaming into someone's face and I really do need that sometimes. & also:

"staring down the barrel of a gun

even when we die the battle isn’t won"

3. listen when i'm gone by Jack Powell

oh my, this song. I've had so much to get through this month. it all started with my sessions. we eventually had the session about sa and it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I've been crying for days about it. I even opened up to my mother about it because I was crying so much I couldn't hide it anymore. soon after this, I read they both die at the end & I cried for two days straight. after all of this, last morning technoblade's death was announced and I'm... I'm just done.

I don't know what to expect, how should I survive, how will I move on from all of this?

4. Suicide by Dog, Smoking Stogies

this one is a heavy song as well. I've been feeling more safe listening to sad songs and this one... this means a bit more than anything else lately.

"someone will love you

but noone will love me"

5. Queerball by McCafferty

I don't know how else to explain. this song just lives here by now. that's it.

6. life waster by CORPSE

this song is a masterpiece. corpse is a really talented guy and I seem to be loving every one of his songs. but this one is quite special because of the lyrics. it really is worth a listen (or a million if you ask me lol).

7. You Might Not Like Her by Maddie Zahm

my journey about my sexuality/identity is a never ending thing. it's just like I'm changing daily & it's really hard to try and figure out who I might be every fucking day.

but the song is so great!! relatable lyrics for the first time ever, it made me cry so much.

8. Panic Room by Au/Ra

"welcome to the panic room"

reminds me of heartstopper & the next story of mine I'm currently trying to figure out. I don't know if I'll ever be able to create something fully unique, but I hope I can write something good at least.

9. Boyfriend by Dove Cameron

I don't want to talk about it...

but I love listening to this because it matches my energy so well.. but anytime I'm around a pretty girl, I'm becoming that shy & quiet little girl who I was always supposed to be. it's annoying.

10. PPL ALWAYS MAKE SHT FKN WORSE by sadeyes, Days to Waste

the first real mental breakdown of the month happened to me while listening to this gem. it's from my favs, not a new song but I still love it to pieces. such a cool song, it helped me through the roughest time/feelings.

0 notes

nednickerson · 2 years

Text

my crush lasted 4 days and now i've convinced myself that it's a sign that the massive mental breakdown i've been building up to for the past 3 months is imminent

0 notes

happi-tree · 2 years

Text

T. Thinking about Anne with “Surface Pressure” again :(

#I rarely make my own posts but when I do you can bet its about my blorbo from shows <3 #I feel like sasha would be an obvious choice for this song bc of the whole strength correlation but consider. s3 anne.#like? she just discovered she has literal *superpowers* now (strength included!) and every time she puts them to use #not ONLY is she fighting for her life she's also always doing it to protect her family and something about it always feels inherently wrong?#plus the fact that she's still trying to figure out how to be a big sister (it's a lifelong process and bestie's had ~5 months xp)#and she has to juggle the expectations of not one but TWO families (three if you count the trio as a found family)?#and all this on TOP of juggling whatever's up with her classwork and trying to get sasha and marcy and the plantars all back home safe????#and she's just. taking all this shit in the show without a fuss constantly trying to be strong for everyone?#after the way she reacted to stuff in s1 vs now it's kind of terrifying tbh. idk if numb is the right word to use but it's what came to mind #anyway long story short this girl has a mental breakdown imminent and in my mind this is the soundtrack #god. this girl. she's goin thru it truly she is </3 #happi rambles #cartoons #amphibia #oh! I should probably also add #anne boonchuy

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ajkal2 · 3 years

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the essay: childhood trauma, responsibility, and tma. part 1: jon

in a tma fic i published like six months ago, i left an authors note that promised an essay on jon and tim’s trauma to anyone who asked. several people asked, and so here i am!

the fic is called a deeply annoying child. it’s about being a kid and seeing something horrible, and it’s about jon and tim’s rocky relationship.

this post isn’t actually about the fic. it’s a breakdown of jon’s mental state through s1-3. im going to make another post about tim, and then a final one linking it all back to the fic. i’ll chuck links to those on here when they’re posted!

but first, let’s talk about my boy, JON ‘JARCHIVIST’ SIMS.

(fair warning- this isn’t a fully backed up meta post, it’s my interpretation of canon. any thoughts/queries/additions welcome! my askbox is always open <3)

part o: a note on guilt

hey, you know what’s fucked up? an eight-year-old kid with survivors guilt.

as a child, jon watched someone he knew die, due to circumstances that, while they were not his fault, were set in motion by his actions. children (and often teens!) think in black-and-white. complex logic often just doesn’t occur to them. jon, at 8, looks at what happened, and says that’s my fault. i did that. jon didn’t like his bully, and wanted him to go away, and then he did. that instinctive reaction is something i think he never grows out of. when you already hate yourself, it’s easy to pile more fuel onto that flame. he doesn’t think about risk, not to him, because he deserves whatever happens. he let someone die. he doesn’t ever forgive himself for that.

part i: belief (precanon+s1)

now, i have a headcanon about why jon doesn’t believe statement givers, and imma lay it all out for you right here.

when jon was 8, and freshly traumatised, i think he tried to tell someone what happened. beneath all the layers, jon is compassionate, and tries to help people. now, picture this. a kid, one with a history of troubled behaviour and an atypical home life, goes up to someone (a police officer, his carer, a teacher) and tells them a giant spider ate someone. what’s that person, someone who is a rational adult, someone who doesn’t believe in silly things, going to say back? are they going to believe that kid?

no. no way. they’re going to tell that kid that they’re making up stories, that they had a nightmare, that they should stop making jokes about someone who actually disappeared, jon, you need to be more sensitive about these things.

now, that kind of dissonance- ‘this did happen, it was real’ and ‘everyone i talk to is telling me it’s not real’- is hard on adults. to a kid? devastating.

jon, because he’s jon, would have been desperately searching for a way to explain this, and i think the thing he grabs on to is evidence. if he had some evidence of what happened, if he could prove what happened, people would believe him.*

but he doesn’t have evidence. and he resents that, and he resents that so much that by the time he’s an adult he’s settled into a mindset towards the supernatural somewhat akin to ‘i didn’t get believed, but you think you should be believed? what’s so good about you? you think you’re better than me?** fuck you! i don’t believe you!’ this is also a way of keeping himself safe. if the monsters aren’t real, they can’t hurt him.

and then, through s1, that mindset is chipped at. the statement givers start being real people, who come into jon’s office and cry when he dismisses them, and that clearly makes him uncomfortable. martin gives his statement, and martin has evidence. jon knows martin, and knows that he’s a good person, so martin having evidence isn’t likely to be an attack at jon.

jane prentiss attacks the institute, and then suddenly jon’s shield of denial and anger is ripped away, because the monsters are real, and they can hurt him.

*would they? i don’t know. people can be very attached to believing that the world is good, and kids are misguided, and there are a hundred thousand ways to explain away a piece of evidence, as jon comes to know well.

** this ties into jon’s self hatred, as people saying they are better than him kicks him right in the Issues.

part ii: paranoia (s2)

after prentiss attacks, jon is left floundering. his old I Do Not See It mindset has been smashed to pieces, and underneath all the trauma he’s been brutally suppressing is bubbling up. jon has no real experience in judging threats, because for the last 20 years he’s been burying his head in the sand and yelling he can’t see any threats. so he overcompensates, and assumes everything is a threat. his experience re:not being believed tells him that everyone around him is stupid and wrong and the only person he can rely on is himself.

so he investigates. he’s convinced that his life is in imminent danger, that everyone around him is plotting to kill him. he doesn’t hold back, because you don’t hold back in a life-or-death scenario. he knows something is wrong. something is very wrong. he’s sure it’s a threat to him, a threat to his life. but he can’t put a finger on what it is.

this is when his friendship with tim breaks down. i’ll talk about tim in a minute.

jon spirals, and obsesses, and wrings answers out of the ether until it all falls together. he understands what is wrong, that it’s sasha that wants him dead. or, well, not sasha. he’s been winding up tighter and tighter all series, and he lets loose by striking out, acting for once instead of reacting. it is remarkably easy to buy an axe in central london, after all.

and then, well, that doesn’t go well.

part iii: desperation (s3)

after what jon did backfired so badly, he goes to georgie, because he has no other option. and he thinks, what went wrong? and the answer he comes up with is i didn’t know enough.* that’s why it all went wrong, because he didn’t know what he was dealing with. and so the solution is to find out more.

he’s starting to realise that he’s changing.** he wants to find out more about that as well, to control it.

so he goes and finds out more. or, tries to. he doesn’t have many leads.*** jon is not good at judging threat, and doesn’t know the danger he is putting himself in. he’s stubborn, and locked onto getting more knowledge like a dog and a bone.****

and then he does get more knowledge, but it’s the knowledge that the world is ending, and he’s the only one who can fix it.***** he can’t process his trauma. he doesn’t have time. the world is ending.

in late s3, jon is desperate. he’s overworking himself. he feels alone: daisy’s at his throat, elias is dangling information over his head, tim...

we’ll talk about tim later.

basira doesn’t trust him, georgie isn’t happy with him, melanie’s never liked him. he gets kidnapped for a month, and no one notices. the only person jon has firmly in his corner is martin.****** and he doesn’t have time to talk to martin, because he’s getting kidnapped, and jetting across the world chasing shadows, and desperately, desperately trying not to fuck everything up again.

and he doesn’t! they build a plan. it’s dangerous, sure, but jon doesn’t even know what that means anymore. his whole life is dangerous. jon going into the unknowing is cautiously, waveringly hopeful. maybe this time it won’t go wrong. this time they know what to do, they know what they’re dealing with.

and, the tragedy is, it doesn’t go wrong. they save the world. they send elias to prison. it all goes to plan. and tim is dead, and daisy is buried, and jon is lost in dreams.

*👁️ **👁️ ***👁️ ****👁️ ***** he’s not the only one, of course, there are a whole team of people working on stopping the Unknowing, but jon is the Archivist. he’s the heir to gertrude’s legacy.

****** this is where they fall in love, after all. which is a good thing, of course, but it adds an extra weight to every interaction they have, guessing and double-guessing how the other feels, until jon actually can’t talk to martin, not how he wants to, because he’s not sure if they’re there yet. (martin is there. jon doesn’t have time to be.)

see yall next time

i would like to cover s4 and s5, but this post is 1.5k already, and i’ve covered up to when the fic takes place! next time i will be ranting incoherently about timothy stoker, punctuated by bursts on uncontrollable sobbing. when that’s up, i’ll chuck a link here, and on the author notes of the fic i’m doing this for. see you then!

#tma #tma meta #jonathan sims #jon sims meta #character analysis #a deeply annoying child #the essay tag #god this is a mess but w/e posting it anyway

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years

Note

What do you think of Tom Riddle/McGonagall?

You reminded me this is even a thing, anon, well done.

I can't say I have any thoughts on it. But I guess let's dive in and see what we can find.

Canon?

No.

Tom Riddle and Minerva McGonagall did go to school in the same time period (well, before CoG retconned McGonagall to be several years older), so in theory it's possible.

However, I think it's unlikely.

McGonagall might have liked Tom. He's prefect then head boy, charming, handsome, and generally well liked by the student population. I imagine a lot of people had a crush on Tom.

Minerva's also not as held down by anti-muggleborn sentiment and classism as some of her peers. She doesn't really get muggles, but at least as an adult is very pro-muggleborn and it doesn't seem like she had a large change of heart sometime between her schooling and when we see her in canon.

She's pureblood, and her parents might have balked at her seriously dating a boy with the last name Riddle, but a school fling could happen.

It's also likely that anti-Slytherin sentiment wasn't nearly as bad as it was in canon. Sure, it's typically home to the likes of Abraxas Malfoy, but being Slytherin doesn't make you evil.

The trouble comes in a few places.

1) I imagine that Tom kept everyone at an arm's distance.

He's a guy with a lot of acquaintances, but 0 friends. McGonagall's not the type to casually date, she'd want an actual relationship, which means Tom is not interested.

2) Tom in his later years of Hogwarts was having a mental breakdown

Between opening the chamber, closing the chamber, framing Hagrid, murdering his uncle, OWLs, NEWTs, prefect, and head boy, Tom's swamped. He doesn't have time for a girlfriend who expects anything from him.

3) McGonagall might be nice but she's still a pureblood

We see it in canon, McGonagall every once in a while drops these disparaging lines about muggles. Every pureblood does, Ron does it quite a bit too.

Even though Tom's no great fan of muggles necessarily I imagine that would really piss him off. McGonagall's never even seen a muggle in real life and here she is pretending that she knows how perfectly dreadful it is that London's getting bombed and that the imminent invasion of Nazis has absolutely nothing to do with her.

4) Tom's a romantic

I imagine Tom has 0 interest in casually dating or dating period. It's go big or go home, either this is real, true, love or he's not going to bother.

I imagine a fling with McGonagall in school, that he has no interest in further pursuing, just wouldn't interest him.

5) We see no hint of it in canon

McGonagall, thanks to Dumbledore, likely knows who Tom Riddle is (I forget if she's said as much, it's been a long time). She has enough clues to piece it together at least thanks to the diary incident in Harry's second year.

True, Dumbledore could have kept that under wraps and Ginny may never have told McGonagall exactly what happened. So it's possible she didn't know.

However, all that said, we see no hint that McGonagall or Riddle were anything more than acquaintances. It's never mentioned that McGonagall and he dated, McGonagall never mentions as much herself or even talks about the guy.

And true, Dumbledore could have decided that this would just complicate things for Harry during the pensieve lessons, and McGonagall might not know what Tom Riddle became, Tom wouldn't bring it up because he doesn't want people to know he's a guy named Tom, but it's a pretty glaring thing to leave out if it had happened.

Harry had enough pieces that, had it happened, he probably would have found out about it. He didn't though, which leads me to believe it never happened, or if it did then it was so casual and short it was basically meaningless.

But What About Not Canon?

I could see it happening, though caveat, on a very casual level.

Minerva asks Tom out, Tom says, "What the hell?" and says yes, and they break up in three months after Tom never went on any dates with her, never took her anywhere, and forgot both her birthday and Christmas.

I don't see it on any level being serious.

Tom wants Tom Riddle to disappear, he's very committed to this, and as a result he's not going to pursue anything serious.

I also just don't see any serious chemistry between them. Minerva's smart, driven, amiable, likes quidditch but I don't think Tom would see any of that as all that interesting to him. She's a face in the crowd and no one of huge importance.

As for Tom, he's distant, overly polite to add to that distance, cold and melancholic, and likely a very forgetful boyfriend who is an utter drag at quidditch matches. He looks great from a distance, but once you get up close there's a whole lot of baggage that a teenage Minerva wouldn't be interested in.

I just really can't see the chemistry. At all.

How Have I Seen it in Fandom?

Fandom typically makes this pairing, from the bits I've seen of it, sort of Tomione 2.0 (without the time travel and a thicker Scottish accent).

Which makes Minerva not really Minerva, but more Hermione in a hat with a Scottish mustache.

Though that said, I haven't actually read many of these fics so I'm hardly the expert. You'd have to tell me.

TL;DR

Unlikely in canon, unlikely to have ever been anything remotely serious or long lasting, I see 0 chemistry, and fics around are usually knock-off Tomione.

#harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanon #harry potter shipping #minerva mcgonagall #tom riddle #tom/minerva #anti tom/minerva #shipping #meta #headcanon #opinion

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jimalim · 2 years

Text

Bullet Points

The Wilds, Complete, Words: 1477

Summary: What is a year? Just a passage of time. A collection of days. Repetition. A routine. And Dot loved a routine. It didn’t matter where she was in life, she always had a precise checklist of things to do.

Dot spends the year after their rescue collecting her friends one by one.

AO3 OR UNDER THE CUT

What is a year?

Just a passage of time.

A collection of days.

Repetition.

A routine.

And Dot loved a routine.

It didn’t matter where she was in life, she always had a precise checklist of things to do.

Numerous bullet points.

· One.

· Right.

· After.

· The.

· Other.

As a child it was a short list:

· Wake up

· School

· Homework

· Playtime

As she got older, additions like:

· Chores

· After school clubs and activities

drag out the points further and further down the page.

When her father got sick, the list grew exponentially so that a single page would no longer suffice.

A notebook was needed. A hand drawn spreadsheet. One large list broken down into several smaller, more manageable instructions, many bullet points requiring a breakdown of steps forming lists of their own.

It started as a way to keep Dot on task, to learn responsibility. By developing a routine to keep her disciplined. Dot worked through every day of her life by

1. Identifying the days needed tasks

2. Competing each task one by one

3. Preparing for the next day’s tasks as best as possible.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

The same was true on the island.

In fact, it was an existence that was amplified even. It wasn’t just about getting things done anymore. It was about getting through the day. To get though one more night. One more morning. Every single day the slate being wiped clean and resetting with the rising sun.

· Wake up.

· Get water.

· Collect firewood.

· Find food.

· Keep everyone sane. Safe.

Over and over and over again.

The lists ever growing. The responsibility more and more dire as the days ticked by and the bullet points get checked. But if she had to boil it down to one point, just one single item on the top of a nonexistent list, it always came down to the same thing, at every point in her life:

· SURVIVE

The same was true post rescue.

Dot was forced into foster care in the interim, left waiting counting down the days to her 18th birthday. A new era, a new routine, the same goal. Survival.

It wasn’t so bad. Certainly, better than the imminent danger she faced on the island, constantly on the brink of death, just one uncompleted task away from a major disaster. But it was different. She was alone. No father, no group of misfit girls, not even the fake investigators. None of the people she’d grown accustomed to being around. The ones whose presence would influence the lists she’d mentally tailor make each day.

She didn’t know what to do without those people. Without anyone to take care of or look after. Her bullet points dropped off the page.

So, she came up with a plan.

She continued to count down the days even after her birthday. She made a new long term to-do list. She went through the motions, day to day, checking off task after task. Until she finally reached the first major subcategorized item-

The knocking on the door is rough and loud. Shelby answers with a moment of confusion, quickly replaced with an exasperated relief.

When Shelby lets go of the death grip around Dot’s neck, Dot hands her a small box with a red ribbon tied around it. “Happy Birthday.”

Shelby opens the box to reveal a key.

“Come with me.”

They’re in LA three days later.

· Shelby

Fatin’s excited squeals over the phone drown out Dot’s eardrum and she’s left with a splitting headache all day. But she doesn’t care. She’s on her way. By this time tomorrow they’ll be reunited, and Dot will be one point closer to completing her list.

· Fatin

It’s much longer between two and three. Shelby and Fatin were easy. There’s no way she could leave Texas without her Dawn of Eve counterpart. Leaving her in that abusive household was not an option. And Fatin, well she’s been set to leave home long before they ever boarded that plane.

Months go by and Dot struggles to finesse things just right to reach her next goal. One more person. She only had so much blood money Gretchen gifted her for her passive participation. She felt weird about using it at first knowing the details of what exactly Gretchen did to get her that money. But then she thought about all those girls she met out there. How none of them deserved what was done to them. And how, with this money, Dot could at least do something to make life better.

By bringing them together again.

So, she bought a house. The biggest one she could afford with the small lump sum. Only three bedrooms. Certainly not enough for eight young women, but it’s the best she could do for now, so she makes it work.

Leah stays at the house nearly every weekend. Holing up in Fatin’s room at night. It’s the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

“Why don’t you just ask her to move in? She practically lives here already.”

Fatin seems to ponder the idea for a moment before defeatedly concluding, “we don’t have a room.”

“I think we both know she won’t need it.” She winks.

Leah moves in three weeks later.

· Leah

She uses a similar tactic for Toni. Getting Shelby to convince her to take the leap. (Not that it takes much.) Long distance unnecessarily hard when there’s a perfectly good, and infinitely easier option available. The problem they run into is how to bring Martha along. Dot trades her full for two twin beds and configures her room just so, so it can become their room. She sends pictures and the others offer their encouraging pleas as well.

The Minnesotans are on a plane a few days later.

· Toni

· Marta

The twins are the hardest to crack.

No space left unless they convert the living room into a highly improbable open concept sleeping quarters. Dot feels resigned to just accept that she can’t get them all. But Dot’s never been one to give up. She’s been up against harder challenges. That word comes back to mind: survive.

Fortunately for her, and rather unfortunately for everyone else, the trial finally gets a date and they’re all required to prep for testifying. Dot uses this time together to hold a trial of her own.

It takes a lot of silly bickering about which coast is superior, the pros and cons of becoming a ‘valley girl’, and a rather large settlement from the conviction of Gretchen and the whole Dawn of Eve Co. to get Rachel to finally agree.

“But I’m getting my own place nearby. Even if yall upgrade to a bigger spot, I can’t be living with all of that.” It’s not lost on any of them that Rachel’s playful ire is directed toward the two couples both wrapped up in their girlfriends arms.

· Rachel

Another one down. Another bullet crossed. All that remains is that final name.

· Nora

Things with Nora are complicated at best. Her involvement with the experiment created quite the rift between all the girls, and rightly so. But as time moved on, and arguments were had, slowly and surely one by one, the divide begins to heal.

Nora goes to NYC for undergrad. So a potential move gets pushed at least four years into the future. And Dot reluctantly but understandably lets go…

But Nora visits for the one-year anniversary of their rescue.

All eight of them finally in the same place at the same time, outside of a courtroom, or a underground bunker, or an island, in a year.

Dot sits alone on the couch in the living room, the one they moved to make room for a makeshift dancefloor. She watches her friends celebrate together. Shelby laughing wildly with an arm around Toni and a giggling Martha on her other side. Fatin leaning back against Leah, the two of them swaying along to the loud music that drowns out the animated conversation Nora and Rachel have across the room, large smiles plastered on their faces.

She watches them together. Happy, and free.

Unburdened by the death grip of survival.

It occurs to her in this moment that this project, the large task of getting everyone back together wasn’t about doing something for them.

It was for her.

She needed this.

She needed them around again.

Because without someone to look after, Dot didn’t know how to exist.

She lived to serve others, whether she liked it or not.

She needed them to survive.

And maybe that’s why she took that money, agreed to that passive role of ‘unknowing yet willing participant’ because she needed a goal. A purpose.

Meeting these girls may have been by mistake, or misfortune, but it certainly wasn’t unfortunate.

It was exactly what she needed.

· Friends.

· A family.

· A home.

· A life.

#the wilds #dot campbell #fic rec #happy one year!

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