#What Is Group Weight Loss & How Does It Work?

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Chapter 1

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.9k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

fic summary: When Din Djarin – principal dancer at Concordia Ballet Company and generational talent in the classical style – suddenly left CBC and joined the Nevarro Ballet Theater mid-season, it shocked the ballet world. You never would have guessed that he would change your life, too.

a/n: here we go! Chapter 1 starts sometime in late fall, November-ish. See my notes on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions), a bit of angst

Chapter 1

“‘In a surprise move that shook the dance world, the Concordia Ballet Company announced yesterday that they have parted ways with principal dancer Din Djarin.’”

You could hear the sudden gasps through the open door of the large studio as you walked towards it. You recognized Clara’s voice as she read the news aloud, you assumed from her phone. 

“‘Djarin, 27, who trained at the rigorous Concordia Ballet School from a young age, has been with CBC for 10 years and is in the prime of his career. He was promoted from soloist to principal two years ago, as is the norm at CBC, where they do not promote dancers younger than 25 to principal. His performances have been highlights on the CBC schedule over the last two seasons, earning many rave reviews.’” 

You turned the corner to enter the studio and found most of the company class crowded around Clara as she looked down at her phone.

“‘The CBC press release did not indicate the reason for the split, which only makes this mid-season decision more disconcerting for fans and donors alike.’”

The group around Clara murmured and shifted their weight. You had just read the article on the bus and knew what was coming next. You slid down to sit against the wall by the door, watching.

“‘This decision comes amidst the company’s preparation for spring and for the last show on their fall schedule, Don Quixote, with no explanation as to how their roster of principals and other dancers may be adjusted to compensate for this enormous loss. Djarin is well known for his powerful physique, technical mastery, and classically perfect performances.’” Clara paused, and then continued, “then it talks about some of his work, we know all of that already, blah blah blah, ok whoa!” She gasped. “Ok. Listen to this – ‘Djarin has not been available for comment, but was seen boarding a flight to Nevarro two days ago before the announcement was made public!'”

You started to put on your shoes for barre and watched as everyone else in the room started to completely freak out.

“Here?!” Owen exclaimed, hand thrown over his mouth. “Is he coming here here?” He gestured around the studio as he asked.

Clara shrugged. “It doesn’t say, look, that’s the end of the article.”

Sophie had started rising up and down on the balls of her feet by one of the barres and you weren’t sure if she was aware she was doing it. Her tone was excited as she asked, “would he come here? Why? We’re, like, not his style.”

The room broke down into several noisy conversations at that point, and you felt your friend Adrian slip down the wall to sit next to you. “So, what do you think?” he asked, nudging your shoulder. 

You shrugged. “No idea. I can’t see any reason he’d even want to come here. CBC is so…” You trailed off, but he knew what you meant.

“Yeah. Traditional. Rigid. Not like us at all.” Adrian waved his hand towards the mismatched group of dancers in front of you and you both smiled. The Nevarro Ballet Theater was different from the Concordia Ballet Company in many ways, and the diversity of dancers in the company was one of the things that set NBT apart the most.

You nodded. “Right. If his flight destination even means anything.”

“If it does, what would that mean for us?” Adrian looked around the room. “We already have a full roster of soloists and principals.” He bit his lip. He looked nervous, and he wasn’t the only one — you noticed Sasha, Lu, Carlos, and Isaac were huddled around the bar, clearly worried. All principals, you assumed they were nervous about losing out on parts. For Adrian, you knew it was because he had just made soloist at the start of the season. A new superstar coming in might shake things up too much.

You nudged his shoulder with your own. “I was thinking about that when I read it on the bus. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I heard what Karga said, about how good you are.”

He nodded, but didn’t look reassured. “At least you don’t have anything to worry about, Ms. Soon-To-Be-Principal.” 

You rolled your eyes and shoved down the anxiety lurking in your stomach. You’d made soloist a couple of years ago, and then first soloist this season. There were some people (including Adrian) who seemed to think you’d be promoted soon, as early as the end of the current season. But there were at least a few critics who disagreed, and for months you’d been having trouble putting the words of one in particular out of your mind. You could quote it from memory:

“While her lyricism and skill are undeniable, one wonders if she has the artistry or stage presence to carry a narrative. She more than deserves the promotion to first soloist, but is this her ceiling?” 

You wished you’d never read the article, but it had seemed to be the usual season preview and you hadn’t been expecting the targeted commentary. You’d spent the last few months trying not to think about it too much, or you knew you would get all in your head about it.

“Shut up.” You nudged him again and he laughed.

He opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the door opening next to you. It wasn’t your teacher who walked in, though, and once you saw who it was you both leapt to your feet.

Greef Karga, director of the Nevarro Ballet Theater, looked happy, but then he usually did. 

“Good morning, dancers!’ His voice was deep and loud and you all scrambled into a semi-circle facing him at the door, where your ballet instructor, Alexa, followed him in. You chorused a “good morning” in response.

“I’m sure you’ve all seen the news,” Karga continued, with a knowing smile on his face. “And you must be wondering why I’m here!” You glanced in the mirror and noted that everyone did indeed look both curious and a little wary. “Well, I am very pleased to confirm that Din Djarin will be joining us for the rest of the season here at NBT.”

There was some general murmuring and shock in response, but he was not deterred.

“I know we’re in the middle of the season, with many roles already planned. Din and I have agreed to try not to disrupt that too much this year. We’ll be adding some things to the anniversary gala and the mixed programs.” That made sense — the latter were showcases of the work of different composers and choreographers and could be more easily rearranged to include a new dancer. “We won’t be making any changes to Midsummer, Swan Lake, or Cinderella, which I know we’re already planning for and rehearsing.” You felt Adrian take a deep, relieved breath beside you. He was supposed to be Puck this year for the first time and it sounded like that wasn’t going to change. 

“Din will start joining your classes and the rehearsals for the gala and other programs over the course of the next two weeks. Please introduce yourself and welcome him — we are very excited to have him join us.”

You all nodded, of course, even though you knew a lot of your fellow dancers would be wary of the newcomer. 

“Well!” Karga clapped his hands together and smiled. “I’ll let you get started. Continue with your rehearsals as normal unless you hear otherwise. Have a wonderful day, everyone!”

Alexa moved towards the stereo system in the corner as Karga swept out of the room, and you turned to look at Adrian. 

“Well,” he said, turning towards his usual place at the barre. “This should be interesting.”

You nodded as Alexa turned on the music and you took your usual spot next to him at the barre. It definitely would be.

…

After all that excitement, you didn’t even see Djarin for a few days. He didn’t join the morning company classes right away, but you couldn’t really blame him — moving suddenly across the country wasn’t easy. It didn’t stop you from glancing around every room as you entered, trying to catch sight of your elusive new company member. 

You heard from the others that he’d dropped by a couple of rehearsals, and they’d overheard him talking about plans for the mixed programs with some of the choreographers and other staff, including Talia and Jee. You wondered if he’d ever met Kuiil, the current guest choreographer in residence, who traveled and usually worked with different companies every few years. You somehow doubted it — Kuiil’s style was much too contemporary for CBC.

You’d been in rehearsals for Nutcracker and Midsummer all week, though, so you weren’t really surprised that you hadn’t run into him yet. 

Finally, on Friday morning, you arrived early for class to find a group of your fellow company members huddled by the mirror and staring awkwardly across the room. You followed their gaze and found Din Djarin, in the flesh, warming up at the barre. For a moment you couldn’t reconcile the sight of him in your familiar space. He was tall and imposing, and dressed all in black — black ballet shoes, black tights, black sweats that cut off below his knees, and a tight black long sleeve shirt that showcased the breadth of his shoulders and just how strong he was. His curly brown hair was tousled. His signature mustache, somewhat uncommon in ballet, was in place, though you knew he often shaved for performances — there had been articles about his daring breach of the Concordia status quo when he didn’t. At least at NBT he’d be allowed to keep it, you thought. His face was blank, completely expressionless as he stretched. 

You knew he had to know the rest of the group was watching him, and when you glanced back and found them still huddled you sighed. You felt someone step into the room behind you and turned to find Adrian taking in the standoff. 

He shook his head. “Great start.” His tone was dry, and you laughed under your breath. 

“Should we say hello?” You sat to put on your ballet shoes and Adrian sank down beside you.

“Who, us?” Adrian raised an eyebrow at you. “Do I look brave to you?” 

You laughed again, and were about to suggest going together for moral support when Alexa walked in. She took in the situation and sighed, shaking her head as she crossed the room to where Djarin was still warming up alone.

“Look! Alexa took care of it.” Adrian nudged you and smiled. “No need for us to take one for the team after all.”

The two of you watched as she spoke with him, though you couldn’t hear what they were saying. He nodded at her, and she smiled before walking towards the stereo.

“Alright, let’s get started!” She called out without looking to see if anyone listened, but you all did. You realized as you took your normal spot that you were diagonal from Djarin across the space between two of the barres in the middle of the floor. You’d be able to see him whenever you were working your left side, and somewhat in the mirror on your right. You resolved not to stare.

You only sort of succeeded.

The problem, you quickly realized, was that his movements were beautiful. Even while doing simple pliés or tendus you could see the power in his body, the strength in his muscles, the rigor of his training. Every movement was precise, clean, and perfectly placed. The elegant line of his arm and the curve of his hip drew your gaze like a magnet, over and over again. His effortless coordination and control were mesmerizing. You watched the slow extension of his leg into grand battement until you had to force yourself to tear your eyes away.

Well, you thought, he certainly lives up to all of the hype about technique. CBC had a reputation and he more than exceeded it.

It made you painfully aware of the limits of your own abilities. You knew you were good – you’d made it this far, of course, and now you were first soloist, despite having what was seen as a late start in ballet (at age 7). And despite what the critics said, you were considered to be one of the better technicians at NBT. But you were no match for his level of skill, for the rigorous training you’d heard about at CBC. That much was obvious just from looking at him. 

You tried to clear your mind as the class continued, knowing your worries would start to show in your movements if you let them. It was hard to do that when so much strength and technical perfection stood only five feet away from you, demonstrating the ideal version of every move and transition that you attempted.

As you finished at the barre and quickly put on your pointe shoes to work in the center of the room, you finally put it out of your mind. There was no use in comparison, you’d learned that a long time ago. In the end, the only dancer you could compete with was yourself. And NBT was not a company that encouraged that kind of competition among dancers anyway.

You found your feet going across the floor, letting yourself sink into it as you moved through some jumps and short combinations. You tried to feel nothing but the pull in your muscles and pattern of your breath. By the end of the class you felt a little steadier, a little more centered.

Alexa dismissed the class, and you started to gather your things. As you slipped off your pointe shoes, you felt someone brush past you, heading for the door — Djarin didn’t look back as he crossed the threshold into the hall. You realized as he did that he hadn’t spoken a single word for the entire class. You wondered if he was unhappy to be here, after all. 

By the time you stepped into the hallway, he was nowhere to be seen.

Adrian fell into step next to you as you walked towards the larger rehearsal studios at the other end of the building. He hooked your arms together and looked around quickly to see if anyone was nearby. He leaned in to whisper, “did you see that? He was amazing!”

You nodded. “I know. I didn’t think anyone could live up to all that hype, but he does.”

Adrian shook his head, looking dismayed. “I know they said some roles wouldn’t change but, ugh. I wouldn’t blame them.”

“Hey,” you elbowed him lightly. “Don’t. You’re going to be amazing as Puck. And you know that role plays to your strengths. I don’t see him taking that one from you. It’s not really his style.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I guess. Ok, let’s hurry, I need to tape my knee before Nutcracker.” You winced in sympathy, knowing how much he’d be jumping in practice for both the Russian dance and the jack-in-the-box roles. But his words jogged your memory.

“Shit.” You froze in the hallway. “I left my tape in the studio. Go ahead, I’ll meet you there.”

He nodded, but you were already turning as you said it, waving him on.

You heard him jog off towards the rehearsal rooms behind you as you walked quickly back the way you’d come, turning past the bathrooms and the administrative offices. It didn’t take long and your tape was right where you’d left it. 

Tape in hand, you turned around again and started walking back down the long hall. 

As you approached the offices, though, the sound of Karga’s raised voice stopped you in your tracks, just around the corner from his office door.

“We talked about this, Din. It's part of this company’s identity. You want to break away from them? You need to make a statement.” You heard the slapping sound of one hand against another and imagined Karga hitting his hand with his fist for emphasis. 

“No, Greef, listen. I don’t—“ You startled. It was the first time you’d heard Djarin’s voice and it was much deeper and more pleasant than you would have imagined. 

Karga interrupted him. “No, you listen. Din, you can do this. I know you can. And it will show them everything they’re missing, everything they let slip through their fingers. They are so stuck in their ways, they have no idea what you can really do. What you’re capable of. Let me help you get there.”

You heard Djarin sigh. “This will go badly and I’m going to blame you.”

Karga chuckled. You tried to picture Djarin looking amused, too, and failed. All you could conjure was the expressionless mask he’d kept in place for all of class that morning. Karga continued, “I’ll take it happily. This is going to be great, don’t you worry! We’ll ease you into it. Now, let’s go share the news.”

You heard them start to move around in the office and startled into motion. As you turned the corner, the door to Karga’s office swung open in front of you and Din Djarin stepped out of it. He was moving quickly, shoulders hunched, brow furrowed. He barely glanced in your direction, but when he did, you took a surprised step back at the fierceness of his glare. It was the most emotion you’d seen from him so far, and it wasn’t exactly pleasant. He didn’t stop, though, and quickly turned away from you to move down the hall towards rehearsal. You blinked, frozen mid-step, unable to shake the look he’d just given you. What was that about?

...

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a/n: sooo what do you think? ballet terms in this chapter:

see the masterlist for principal, soloist, class vs. rehearsal, season

plié - a bending of the needs (you've probably seen dancers standing at the barre and bending their knees -- that's a plié)

tendu - tight or stretched out - stretching one leg out long, often in brushes along the floor

grand battement - the leg is raised from the hip into the air and brought down again, both knees straight (with apparent ease)

barre - the rail that ballet dancers use in class (don't lean on it!). usually you'd wear normal ballet shoes at the barre and switch into pointe shoes (toe shoes) to do exercises in the center or go across the floor

and if you'd like a visual aid, one of the dancers I'm mentally modeling Din after is Carlos Acosta, who you can see in this compilation (~6:49) doing a variation from Don Quixote.

tag list coming in a reblog!

[wholoveseggs]

Can I maybe have an angst/fluff where the reader had turned her humanity off and Elijah is trying his best to flip it back on? Thank you!! Love your work 💕

Forgiveness

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

After a tragic event you flip your humanity switch and begin to terrorize the Quarter. You have to be put down for the good of the city, but your husband will stop at nothing to save you.

♡♡ Thanks for the request anon(s) sorry it took so long! ♡♡

5.5k words - Warnings: so so so angsty, violent, reader does some evil shit, a bit of sex but its not sexy, this is definitely the darkest thing I've ever written.. you want angst??? you get angst.

Marcel sat on a stool in a dimly lit bar, staring into his glass of whiskey. He wondered how much more loss he could take, and when it would finally break him.

He was experiencing a kind of helplessness he hadn't experienced since he was a boy, sneaking half rotten apples in his shirt, running home as fast as he could so he wouldn't be caught.

He couldn't outrun his feelings now. They followed him wherever he went, nipping at his heels, mocking him for the things he couldn't fix, the things he couldn't undo.

It wasn't his fault, not really, yet he felt guilty, because a part of him still cared for you. Even after all you had done. All you had become.

He was pulled out from his melancholy by one of his nightwalkers, a vampire called Arthur, a man who had served in the first World War, and came to New Orleans, looking for the easy life.

He sat down next to Marcel and placed a gold chain necklace on the table, it had distinct little jewels, each one a different color. Marcel recognized it instantly and his heart sank at the flecks of blood still clinging to it.

"Jean," he said softly, picking the necklace up and examining it.

Arthur nodded his head. "I found her in an alleyway, anyone could of come across it," he told Marcel.

"How bad?" Marcel asked, already knowing the answer.

"Not pretty. I got rid of the body."

"Thanks," Marcel said, and he meant it. He didn't want a bunch of human detectives finding the body and raising questions. "I told Jean not to go after her," he said, shaking his head, the weight of his regret was almost crushing.

Arthur poured himself a drink, and looked at Marcel with a raised brow.

"What else was she supposed to do? Sit at the bar and mope while her friends are slaughtered," he said, taking a swig.

"You know it's not that simple," Marcel told him.

Arthur sighed, "I know," he said, "but we gotta stop her, she's killing us off, one by one,"

Marcel finished his drink, his knuckles turning white around the glass.

"Yeah," he agreed, his voice breaking, "I know."

He looked down at his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl around, wondering if he could ever drink enough to forget who you used to be, if he would ever get you back. The ironic part was that he needed some solid advice and the person he usually would go to was you.

He threw his glass on the ground and it shattered on the floor, causing the other vampires in the bar to jump.

"Fuck," he yelled, standing up, looking around at his people. "Listen up, she got Jean," he paused as the crowd murmured in shock, "and I'm not gonna stand here and let her kill anyone else," he announced.

"What about Elijah?" A young vampire asked.

"Fuck him," Marcel shouted, "he will let us all die before he hurts his precious wife."

"If you see her, bring her to me, and I will give you the daylight ring of your choice," he promised, and the crowd cheered.

"Now go, and do not approach her alone," he ordered, and the group dispersed.

"We got this Marcel," Arthur told him.

Marcel gave him a nod and watched him leave. His heart broke for what he knew he had to do. He would stop you, no matter what it took.

A soft low moan came tumbling past your lips as you rocked your hips forward, and dug your nails deeper into the neck of the man beneath you. His eyes were closed in a mix of ecstasy and pain, and his hips thrust upwards, chasing the pleasure you were giving him.

"Don't cum," you compelled him, and his body tensed beneath you.

"Please," he begged, his hands reaching for you, grabbing your thighs and squeezing.

You moaned and lifted yourself up, and then slammed down onto him, hard. He cried out in pleasure, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"Please," he choked out, and you could see the tears pooling in his eyes.

You were getting tired of him. His stamina was abysmal, and you assumed that since he was covered in tattoos he enjoyed a bit of pain. You had been disappointed when you had learned that wasn't the case.

"Don't be a bitch," you spat, "and shut up."

He nodded, and you could tell he was struggling. You sighed, and grabbed him roughly by the hair, pulling his head to the side and exposing his neck.

He groaned, and you bit into his neck, making sure your teeth sliced deep. Blood poured from his neck, you could taste a hint of the endorphins rushing through him and smiled. You sucked on his wound, and began moving again.

His breathing hitched, and his whole body was shaking, you knew it wouldn't take long for him to reach his orgasm.

"You can cum now," you told him, and he moaned, and his fingers dug into your hips.

You continued rocking into him, and a few seconds later he let out a strangled cry, and you could feel his cock throbbing inside of you.

You smiled through bloodied teeth then sunk your fangs back into his neck, tasting the flood of endorphins. You continued to drink, feeling him struggle underneath you.

"Too much," he wheezed, trying to push you away, but he was far too weak.

You kept going until his breathing slowed, and his body stopped moving. You pulled back and let his body slump onto the bed, looking down disappointedly.

"I don't even get an orgasm out of it," you complained, rolling your eyes.

You lifted yourself off him, stretching and cracking your neck.

You glanced over at the woman laying in the chair in the corner of the room, and frowned. You had forgotten about her. She was alive, her chest rising and falling, her heartbeat thumping loudly.

You had compelled her to be silent and still, she was doing an excellent job. You stood up and walked towards her. She stared at you with wide, terrified eyes. You were naked, and covered in blood, it dripped down your face, and neck, and coated your breasts and legs.

"Oh, honey," you cooed, brushing her hair out of her face. "I'm so sorry, was that your boyfriend?"

The woman whimpered, tears spilling out of her eyes, and you shushed her, gently running your thumb over her bottom lip.

"You shouldn't stay with a cheater," you told her, and she looked at you in confusion, "and you should choose better men," you advised, then snapped her neck.

You went to the bathroom, and turned the shower on, and stepped under the hot stream, letting the water wash away the blood and cum.

Your mind was calm, the only thought swirling around in your head was your desire to drink and fuck, and the two together was an amazing combination.

You washed yourself quickly, then found a dress and slid it over your wet body. It clung to your skin, but you didn't mind.

You put on some jewelry you found and checked yourself out in the mirror. You were beautiful, and the darkness behind your eyes made you look deadly.

You smiled, satisfied with your appearance, and left the hotel, deciding to find your next victim.

New Orleans was a big city, but it was full of sin, and you loved walking the streets, feeling its pulse, and knowing that somewhere there was a soul aching for you to feed on.

You could have compelled yourself a meal, but where was the fun in that? There was something so satisfying about hunting and the chase was exhilarating.

You walked down a back street, thinking about having a redhead for dinner when the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and your stomach clenched.

You were being followed.

You sped up and the person followed suit, and you smiled. Finally, something to cure your boredom. You took a sharp left, and the footsteps following you became hurried.

"Fuck," a male voice shouted, and you laughed, and took another left, and then a right, and a left again. Leading them exactly where you wanted.

You were back near the hotel, and you slipped into the alleyway and waited. You were going to enjoy this.

You didn't have to wait long, a few seconds later a vampire rounded the corner and stopped when he saw you.

"Arthurrr, it's been a while," you said, licking your lips. "I thought you and your merry band of idiots would have learned their lesson by now," you told him.

"Well, you know me, I'm a slow learner," he replied, standing at the head of the alley, his arms crossed.

"Jean was such a nice girl, you guys were together, right?" You asked, knowing full well they were.

"We were," Arthur said, his jaw clenching, and you could see the hurt in his eyes.

"She was so sweet, always so eager to please," you continued, taking a step towards him, "and so willing to do anything for those she loved," you said, pausing, "it's a shame that you're all so willing to die for one another," you finished, taking another step forward.

"Has Elijah seen you like this?" Arthur asked, taking a step back, his hand sliding into his pocket.

"What, covered in blood and looking sexy as hell," you replied, grinning at him.

"No, like a monster."

Arthur watched you freeze, a flicker of emotion crossing your face. It was gone as fast as it came and your expression went cold again and you smirked at him.

It hurt him to see you like this, you had been his friend for decades. But this wasn't about him and you, it was even about his beloved Jean. He didn't care if Elijah would tear him apart for it. He would not let you hurt another person he loved. He had to put you down, like a rabid dog.

"Isn't that what we are Artie? Monsters."

"Not all of us," he said, his voice cracking.

"Come on, don't be shy," you said, stepping closer, "I'll let you get a hit in."

Arthur reached into his pocket and felt the needle he prepared. You were much older and stronger than he was, but all he had to do was get close enough to you and shove the needle into your skin and maybe he could end this nightmare

Marcel knelt down over Arthur's body, or at least what was left of it. He didn't have anymore tears left in him to shed.

"I'm sorry, my friend, go be with Jean," he whispered, closing Arthur's eyes.

"And Mark, Jessa, Sean, Patrick..." Said a voice from behind him.

Marcel closed his eyes and sighed, turning around and looking up at Elijah.

"How can you be so fucking callous?" Marcel snarled.

Elijah didn't know how to respond. He was numb, and the pain had become too much. He was barely holding himself together, the only thing keeping him going was his promise.

He was going to save you, no matter the cost.

"Are you just going to stand there and act like you don't care?" Marcel spat, standing up, anger and resentment coursing through him.

"Don't make this any worse than it already is," Elijah said.

"You are killing us!" Marcel shouted, taking a step towards him.

Elijah shook his head and clenched his fists, and Marcel saw the pain in his eyes. He stopped himself and took a breath.

"Elijah, she is out of control, you need to do something," he said, his voice softer.

"I know," Elijah agreed. "But... she's... I can't, not yet," he stuttered, his voice breaking, "just a few more days," he pleaded, looking at Marcel desperately.

"A few more days," Marcel scoffed, "Elijah, if you don't stop her, I will have to kill her."

Elijah flashed forward and shoved Marcel into the wall.

"You won't lay a finger on her," Elijah growled, his face inches from Marcel's.

"I don't want to," Marcel told him, and Elijah could see the truth in his eyes. "But I can't let her keep doing this, you can't expect us to sit around and let her murder everyone we love."

"Marcel..." Elijah warned, his grip tightening.

"Elijah, this has to stop," Marcel said, shoving Elijah back, "I have to stop her, before she kills the whole fucking Quarter," he exclaimed, his eyes glistening.

"I know you Mikaelsons only care about yourselves, so let me put this in a way you will understand." Marcel took a breath, and tried to remain calm. "We can't hide what she's doing anymore. The humans are scared, and are starting to ask questions. If this continues, they will figure out that we exist, and the whole world will come down on New Orleans, and none of us will make it out alive."

Elijah's shoulders slumped and he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"What would you have me do, Marcel?" Elijah asked, his voice soft and defeated.

"Turn her humanity back on."

You felt like shit, cold yet hot, your throat was on fire and every limb ached. You sat up slowly and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, and blinked several times. Your vision was blurry, and it took a moment for the room to come into focus.

You thought it was just vervain in that needle, nothing a couple of drinks couldn't fix, but when you started to see things that weren't there, you realized that Arthur must have dosed you up with wolfsbane.

You managed to crawl into some hole of an apartment to hide from the hallucinations, hoping when you woke up you would be feeling better.

But it didn't, you were dying. You could feel it.

"No," you moaned, falling back against the wall, the reality of your situation sinking in.

"You didn't think I would just let you die," a soft, familiar voice spoke.

"You're not real," you told him, refusing to look at him.

"That doesn't mean I'm not here."

You looked up and Elijah was standing in front of you. You sighed and closed your eyes, but he was still there, in your mind.

"What kind of monster are you?" He asked and you laughed.

"Child killer," you answered, looking at him, his expression was blank. "Murderer, adulterer, thief, blasphemer..." You listed, but he remained expressionless.

"Whore," he added and you laughed again.

"I'm a terrible wife," you said, smiling.

"You are a monster," he repeated.

"So are you," you snapped.

"I never claimed to be otherwise," he said.

"If you are real you should kill me," you suggested.

"I'm not real," he reminded you.

"I know, the real you would never call me a whore," you replied, and he chuckled.

"I'm dying Elijah," you stated, your eyes welling up with tears, "this is it, I can feel it."

"What are you going to do about it?"

You took a deep breath and stood up, leaning against the wall for support.

"I'm going to go get the cure," you decided, stumbling out into the night.

The compound wasn't far from the apartment, and the cold air helped you wake up, and your head was clearer, and you could focus on your destination.

"Why not let yourself die?" Elijah asked, walking alongside you.

"Living is much more fun, so many possibilities," you said, "food, sex, money..."

"Family, friends..." He added.

"Waste of time," you dismissed, waving him away, watching him dissolve.

You pushed through the iron gates, trying your best to compose yourself. You entered the courtyard and saw a few nightwalkers scattered around, they didn't notice you and continued drinking and chatting.

"Where is Klaus?" You asked loudly.

Everyone turned and looked at you, and the room fell silent. All you could see was their fear and it amused you.

"I will not ask again," you said, smiling sweetly.

"In his studio," someone answered, and you gave them a nod, and walked past then, heading upstairs.

You barged right in and found him standing in front of an easel, painting. He only painted when he was troubled, and his canvas was filled with darkness and death.

"Lovely," you commented, walking towards him.

Klaus didn't turn to look at you, he simply continued to paint. "Elijah isn't home, but I expect you know that already," he said.

"How perceptive," you remarked.

"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" He asked.

"I need your blood," you told him.

"Rather bold of you to ask, considering the circumstances," he said, finally turning to look at you.

You didn't know what to say. You had no words, and for once you were lost for a witty remark. You just stared at him, and he studied you.

"I've been hearing about your extracurriculars," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Is that so," you replied, and the corners of your mouth curled up.

"Killing a child, now that's unexpected," he remarked.

You ignored him, unable to respond, because it wasn't something you wanted to think about. You could see your hallucination of Elijah staring at you from the corner of the room. A small child appeared next to him, blood pouring out of her neck.

"Why didn't you save me?" She asked, her eyes filled with pain and betrayal.

"Shut up," you whispered, shaking your head.

"She died in pain, and you did nothing," the vision of Elijah said, and you closed your eyes, trying to will it all away. It was becoming irritating.

"I'm sure the mother will be most upset," Klaus said.

"Spare me the guilt trip, you've done far worse," you spat, opening your eyes, relieved the visions had disappeared.

Klaus observed your disheveled state and noticed how much you were sweating, and the dark circles under your eyes. You were clearly unwell, and it explained why you risked coming back to the compound. You really did need his blood.

"I have, love. But that's just who I am, it's not who you are," he replied, turning back to his canvas.

"Well, I've always wanted to try the whole serial killer thing," you said, trying to sound light-hearted, but the joke fell flat, and neither of you laughed.

"So you killed the child because you wanted to? Because you enjoy doing such things? I'm not even that diabolical." He chuckled, adding a bit of white to the canvas.

"Yes, Klaus, I wanted to kill her, I wanted her to suffer, and I wanted to see the look on her mother's face as I did it."

Klaus set his brush down, and turned back to you. "That's a lie, it was an accident, Marcel told me," he said, watching your eyes widen, and your face fall.

"It was an accident," the little girl's ghost said, appearing in front of you.

You stumbled back, bumping into the sofa, and the girl was right in front of you.

"Why didn't you save me?" She repeated, tears filling her eyes.

"FUCK!" You yelled, your hands gripping the sides of your head.

"Wolfsbane is one hell of a trip," Klaus said casually, watching you stumble back from something he couldn't see.

"If you won't give me your blood, just kill me, I rather not die in agony," you told him.

"Do you think you deserve it?" He asked.

"Deserve what? Death, mercy, life? Who knows, who cares," you answered.

"I think Elijah does," Klaus said, and you froze.

"I'm not talking about this with you," you said, turning to leave.

"Despite what you may think, I do consider you family, even in the state you are in," he said, and he saw the look of surprise on your face.

"Ahh, there it is," he said softly, "a flicker of feeling just under the surface, fight your way back y/n," he encouraged.

Frustration was the only thing you were feeling and you lashed out, pushing over his easel, knocking his paints off the table.

He raised his eyebrows at your outburst and laughed, it was a rough, genuine laugh, and he grinned at you.

"Very well, Elijah wouldn't be pleased if I let you die and I kind of like you like this," he admitted, "though, you are rather irritable."

You stopped yourself from talking back, just needing to get your hands on his blood. You didn't want to waste any more time with him.

"Now, what am I going to ask in return," Klaus said, stroking his chin, "something I've been wanting for a very long time."

"If you want to fuck you don't have to bribe me," you told him.

"As tempting as that is, no," he said, grinning. "I want a favor, in the future," he offered.

"You're going to have to be more specific."

"That's the beauty of a favor, it can be anything," he said.

"Fine," you snapped, "blood now please,"

Klaus smirked and opened a drawer in the table, taking out a vial and handing it to you. You snatched it from his hand and uncapped the lid, gulping the blood down.

"What hallucinations were you having?" He asked, and you froze, and he laughed.

"Private ones," you replied, placing the empty vial on the table.

"You're no fun," he pouted. "You have my blood now, get out," he said, returning to his canvas.

You didn't argue, leaving him to his painting, and returned to the main courtyard. You stood there, trying to figure out your next move. You knew what was waiting for you if you turned your humanity back on. Guilt and self-loathing, and the pain of knowing what you've done, and not being able to take it back.

You needed to leave the city before they forced you to turn it back on. There was nothing here for you anyway, not anymore.

"That's her," you heard someone say, and looked around.

"Are you sure?" Another asked.

"I'm sure," the first one confirmed.

They were staring right at you, but the fear in their eyes from earlier was gone, replaced with anger and resentment. You smiled and flashed forward, snapping the neck of the vampire who had identified you.

The rest charged, and you were surrounded by vampires, but it wasn't a challenge. You were far older and stronger than them. The courtyard turned into a slaughterhouse and the floor was covered in blood.

You were standing over a body, tearing the heart out when Marcel called your name. You dropped the heart and slowly turned, your lips curling up into a smirk.

Marcel grabbed your arm, trying to break your hold, but it was no use, you were stronger than him. You smiled, digging your fingers deeper, and he gasped.

"Marcellus," you greeted, smirking. Before he could react you slammed him against the wall. "I was hoping I would run into you," you said, pressing your hand into his chest. "We have some unfinished business,"

"I taught you better than that sweet Marcel," you taunted, twisting your wrist.

Marcel looked into your eyes, full of emotion, and you couldn't tell if it was sadness or pity.

"Stop this," he said, his grip tightening, and he tried to push you back. "I don't want to kill you," he said, his voice softer.

"And why not?" You asked, digging your fingers deeper, his face twisted in pain.

"Because..." he choked out, his heart slowing down, and his vision blurred, "I know you are still in there, my friend, and I'm not going to lose you,"

"I was so boring, so full of weakness," you told him, "this is who I was meant to be."

"No, you're not," he gasped, struggling to breathe, his legs buckling under the pressure. "You were the woman who helped raise me, would bake me apple pies whenever I had a bad day, would let me sleep in the same bed as her and Elijah when I had a nightmare, the woman who taught me love and compassion," he told you, and his grip tightened on your arm.

"And now she is hurting because she made a mistake, and that is something that I can forgive, because I know her heart is good."

You laughed coldly, his attempts to manipulate you not working, and you tightened your grip. You didn't want to hear anymore from him, his words were getting under your skin in a way that caused fear to trickle in.

"Goodbye, Marcel," you said, squeezing his heart, and it was too late for him to stop you, his strength was leaving him.

"Darling, put Marcellus down," said the last voice you wanted to hear. The one that could make all your pain return.

You felt him behind you, his hand on your waist. Your breath caught in your throat and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

"Let him go," Elijah said softly, his hand moving to your arm, keeping you from tearing Marcels heart out.

"Fuck off Elijah," you growled, struggling to get free, but his grip was like a vice.

"We can do this the hard way if you insist, I have no issue breaking your neck," he warned.

"You would never do that to your precious wife," you taunted, tugging in Elijah's grasp causing Marcel to cough up more blood.

Elijah let out a long sigh, then he moved faster than you could comprehend and everything went black.

You woke in a small windowless room, only a few candles illuminating the space. You were in a chair, your wrists bound by chains.

"You're awake," a voice came from the shadows, and Elijah stepped into the light.

"This is kinky, even for you Elijah," you teased.

He did not look amused, sadness and regret filled his eyes, and he had never looked so broken. He knelt in front of you, and rested his hand on yours.

"Turn it back on," he demanded, looking into your eyes.

"I can't," you lied.

"Yes, you can," he said, his grip tightening.

"No, I can't," you argued, "turning it off was the best decision I have ever made."

"What happened was an accident, it wasn't your fault," Elijah said, and you could see the pain in his eyes, "and turning off your emotions does not fix things, it only makes it worse."

You let him talk, he was so good at it, his deep sexy voice creating a perfect melody of bullshit. But you let him think he was getting through to you as you subtly slipped out of your restraints. Your loving husband was so trusting.

"We can work through this, I can help you," he continued, "I love you," he said, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand.

"I know," you replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, and without a word you freed yourself from the chains and sped to the door.

Elijah was quicker, blocking your path. You let out a huff and tried to push past him, but he shoved you back and grabbed your shoulders.

You felt anger again, the only thing you could feel and you unleashed it on him. Clawing, scratching, striking him wherever you could. He took everything you threw at him, and eventually, he trapped you against the wall.

You let you a high pitched scream, it was feral and animalistic, and you thrashed in his grip, but his body pressed against yours, his hands on either side of your head, keeping you still.

"Stop," he said softly, it was barley a whisper.

Your body was pressed firmly against his, and you could feel his heart racing.

"Please," he begged, his eyes filling with tears.

He didn't look angry or annoyed, he looked sad, and it wasn't until then that you noticed his blood, covering your hands and clothes, and you realized how much you had hurt him.

"Just stop, please," he said, his voice cracking, and you knew the pain was too much.

You looked up at him and felt your anger give way into sadness. It was just a trickle, a soft misting of emotion, but it was there. You knew what was coming next.

You felt the weight of everything that had happened, all the hurt, and the pain, and the death, and it consumed you. The dam broke and you wanted, no, needed; to turn it off again.

Elijah could see the torment in your eyes, the light flickering behind them, fighting to return.

"Do you know why I fell in love with you? Why I married you?" He said softly, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

"You pity me, that's all," you said.

"Because," he began, taking your hand in his, "you have a heart," he said, placing your palm on his chest, "that's bigger than anything else, your kindness is endless. Even as a vampire you have always helped more than you've harmed, and that is a gift that not many have."

"Elijah," you whimpered, feeling the weight of his words and the force of your emotions bearing down on you.

"And I can't watch you destroy yourself any longer, because if you die, a part of me will die with you," he finished, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to yours. "You have to feel all the pain, it's worth it, because you also can experience the love," he said, gently cupping your face, "the love I have for you."

You couldn't help yourself, the flood gates had opened, and there was no closing them. You let out a small gasp, and the tears streamed down your cheeks, and he kissed them away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you sobbed, clinging to him.

"It's alright," he hushed, pulling away and brushing the tears from your cheeks.

You didn't respond, you couldn't. You felt a wave of nausea wash over you, and your knees buckled. Elijah caught you, and pulled you close, holding you tight.

"I got you, it's okay," he assured, lifting you off your feet.

He sat down in the chair and held you on his lap. You couldn't stop crying, your face buried in the crook of his neck, and he cradled you.

"I'm a monster," you said quietly, and he held you closer.

"Not to me, never to me," he said, his fingers combing through your hair, and he felt you tremble.

"I killed her," you whimpered, your body tensing and your eyes clenched shut. "An innocent,"

"Shhh," he hushed, and you clung to him.

"How could I," you said, pulling away from him.

"It wasn't your fault. It was an accident, you tried to save her," he reminded, stroking your cheek.

"What's the point of having the power to heal when I can't even save a child," you cried, the guilt and shame tearing you apart.

"She fell, no one could have stopped it, not even Niklaus," he said, his hand moving to the back of your neck, pulling your head forward.

His lips brushed over your forehead, and he planted a small kiss. "Let's go home," he whispered, and your eyes widened.

"I can't, everyone will hate me, I deserve to die," you protested, pushing him away.

"You've been my wife for five hundred years, but only now have you become a true Mikaelson," he chuckled, picking you up and carrying you to the door.

It would take time, penance, and a lot of groveling to repair the damage you had done, and there was a chance some of them may never forgive you, but you had a chance now, to make amends, and that was all you could hope for.

It had been a week since you turned your humanity back on, and it was still painful, and overwhelming.

Klaus came to you one day, while Elijah was out. He had his hands in his pockets and he leaned against the doorframe. He could see how much you were struggling, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm here to call in that favor," he announced, and your eyes narrowed.

"What do you want?" You asked, not bothering to look at him. "I'm really not in the mood, so say it fast and get out."

"You need to promise me that you will fulfill it, no matter how difficult," he warned, and you groaned, rolling your eyes.

"Just spit it out Klaus," you said, glaring at him.

"Forgive yourself."

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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[qqueenofhades]

what's been particularly vile to me is this group of white online leftists who insist that anyone who cares about more than this one issue for the election is a bad person, like, as if us black and brown people are making up reasons to be afraid and not.....believing the gop when they say they are coming for us. believing trump who has said previously that he does not bluff, that he will do the things he's said he will do (i hate what social media has gone to the word gaslighting but it feels like gaslighting. we lived through four years of trump. we saw the damage. stop treating us like we're being dramatic). it must be great to not have to worry about that i guess? "life won't change under trump" is such a telling admission because maybe theirs won't but mine will. and so many others' will.

and it is often again these (white) online leftists that love to call anyone who disagrees with them a white liberal (derogatory) because they know it would be racist (bad) to be this shitty and condescending to poc but they don't want to actually listen to anything black and brown voters are saying. it's easier to just call us white liberals and throw our opinions out, to ignore the work of black people for decades to gain the right to vote, to disregard the weight of telling them to not do that. it's genuinely appalling. they care so much about racism until it's time to engage with poc who have different opinions than their online echo chambers, then we're just stupid liberals with terrible opinions like..... wanting to live. not wanting four more years of trump. so sorry for that.

sorry for this vent in your inbox, i'm just so fucking tired of white people trying to rewrite history as if trump wasn't that bad. he was for my family and countless others and i am terrified for what's to come if he wins.

The thing about (the often-white) Online Leftists is that they have become just as much as a radicalized death cult as the diehard Trumpists. If you don't want to die for The Revolution and/or sacrifice your life, friends, family, the rest of the country, etc., then you're Insufficiently Pure and must be Purged. (Which I think is just complete BS, as none of them could actually handle sacrificing anything, but it's increasingly the only kind of performative rhetoric that is acceptable in leftist-identified discourse spaces.) This is functionally identical to "if you aren't willing to lay down your life for our Lord and Savior Donald Trump and the Great White Christian Nationalist Dictatorship, you're a liberal cuck," but with the names and justification changed. It doesn't change the underlying radicalization, nihilism, and insanity of the premise.

Another thing the Trumpists and the Online Leftists have in common is that they are busily rewriting just how bad Trump was in order to serve their Ideology. Ever since January 6, 2021, the Republicans have thrown everything they have at revising and whitewashing any suggestion that it was an "insurrection," and the Online Leftists have done the same, in an attempt to "prove" their insane point that Trump "would be better" than Biden. This is embodied in the recent ultimate-brainworm-nonsense maximalist-online take that "Biden has to lose so the rest of the world will see that the US rejects genocide!!!" That's right, the message that the rest of the world would take from Biden losing to Trump is that the US rejects genocide. Never mind if Trump literally wants to commit all the genocide possible and to install himself as a fascist theocratic dictator. In the deeply twisted minds of the Online Leftists, this is the only possible interpretation of Biden's loss, so they'll push for it as hard as they can! The Trumpists and the Online Leftists, at this point, are working pretty much in concert to damage Biden for similar insane reasons and get Trump elected. Etc etc., one Nazi and ten people at the same table is eleven Nazis.

Like. Sure. Four years ago, when Trump was president and people were dying by the thousands because he didn't want to wear a mask because it smeared his bronzer, just to name literally one of the terrible things he did every single day (and not even mentioning how much worse a second term would be) we were absolutely better off. Super-duper great. (Sarcasm.) Either that or "there is suffering and evil in the world and the only solution is to drastically increase the suffering and evil for everyone and to destroy what progress we have managed to make because It Does Not Fix Everything Now" is an absolute moral imperative, and either way, yeah. I'm calling bullshit.

[thoughtfulfiction]

Hike of a Lifetime

Author’s Note: Set in the 2022 offseason after Justin’s labrum surgery in January 2023. Rewriting my first Justin fic is a full circle moment for me so I hope you like this one!

The last two hours of your life had been spent going over orders of Gatorade protein shakes, protein pack quick bites that usually contained some sort of cheese and sausage, various brands of Greek yogurt, apples, bananas, blueberries, granola bars and anything else you could think of to stock the weight room with while you were on vacation. You had been the head nutritionist for the UCLA men's basketball team for the last year, making customized, ever changing meal plans and consulting with the health care staff to enhance your athlete's performance to the best of your ability.

After the team's loss to Gonzaga in the NCAA tournament known as March Madness, you ran to Eugene, Oregon at the first opportunity you had to go see your sister Chloe. March up until this point was one busy day after another, truly living up to the name. Most days you didn't even feel like you got to sit down for more than 10 minutes at a time due to the constant travel and meetings you had to attend. So you took a week off and as soon as you closed your laptop today, you were going to enjoy being one with nature.

Chloe had moved to Eugene two years before you got your LA job, working as a team photographer for the University of Oregon's football team, allowing the two of you to see each other during conference play more often, which had done wonders for your relationship. It's one thing to be siblings but you could genuinely call her a friend now, which was both weird to say aloud, and nice.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?" Chloe steps into the living room, breaking you out of your vigorous typing. You look up and groan at the guilty look on her face. That was definitely an I have a work emergency and I’m going to be leaving you, look.

"No. You're not canceling on me. I got here two days ago and I have yet to really be outside. How am I supposed to enjoy some of the most beautiful scenery of my life if I'm stuck at the house the whole time? Does spring ball even matter anyway?"

Chloe laughs, heading into the kitchen to grab a snack. You'd recently lectured her about how although cereal is a grain, she can't consider it a food group and she needs to introduce more of a balanced variety in her diet. Unless she enjoys her daily 4pm sugar crash. She surprises you by pulling out a bowl of overnight oats from the fridge, with strawberries on top. After giving her your nod of approval, she gets back to the issue at hand. "Yes, spring ball matters. But I promise you it will not take me that long, I'll be back before you know it."

You huff out a breath, trying to come up with a solution. "What if you have one of your interns do it? Mine are really holding down the fort this week, I'm obviously working from home to help them out a little and I think you should do the same."

"Well our jobs are a little different. I can give them things to edit and post but I don't want to have to approve every single one of their photos and make sure they're featuring the right position groups and players based on a schedule that I created in my head. It'll just be easier if I'm there to walk them through it and then I can come home and we'll have a relaxing week until you have to be back in messy Hollywood."

"It's just Los Angeles, not Hollywood, genius. I still work at a university just like you do," you laugh at her exaggerated version of the place you now call home.

She rolls her eyes, stepping away from her food to grab her keys. "Same difference. It's all polluted air and earthquakes anyway."

Finally finished with your task, you stand up to snatch the keys out of her hand and lead the way to the garage. "Whatever, I'm in clean air now and would really like to be able to experience it. So I'll be dropping you off and getting to my hike."

You get out of the car and the sun immediately hits your skin, not in a way that’s intense but rejuvenating, bringing you back to life. The scent of early spring, mixed in with the sweet smell of freshly bloomed rhododendron sparks a further revival. The air really is different here. Life is more…undisturbed.

Families are getting out of their vehicles without a crushing sense of urgency that you’re used to, people are laughing and enjoying each other’s company and you’ve been to this park before so you feel somewhat comfortable navigating the terrain on your own, opting to quiet the sounds of the world by listening to a podcast during your leisurely stroll. Without even making it a mile on the trail, you spot a friendly black dog making his way over to you, nudging your leg with his wet nose, essentially demanding that you pet him. You usually probably wouldn’t have but the serene energy of the space you’re in brings it out of you.

“Well hello there, buddy. Who do you belong to?” You bent down to search for a name on his collar. “Dylan, that’s a cute name. Should we go find who you came here with before someone has a heart attack?” You laughed softly as the dog happily panted away and let you grab onto the leash. Before you could even take a step, you heard a booming voice calling out the dog’s name.

The distressed figure comes into view and lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh my gosh, thank you so much for grabbing him. I’m so sorry if he’s bothering you, I bent down to tie my shoe and this guy decided to make a break for it.”

“He’s taking advantage of the fact that you only have one good arm.” You point out, remembering the shoulder surgery announcement you saw in the LA Times. The man was probably getting used to having both arms again. “No worries, he’s sweet. And super friendly.” You handed him the leash and he thanked you again.

“I seriously owe you, my mom would’ve killed me if I lost our dog when I just got home.” He chuckles nervously. God his laugh was cute. “I’m sorry, I never got your name. I’m Justin.”

“I know.” You smile. “It’s nice to meet you though, I’m y/n. Hope you enjoy the rest of your hike.” You grabbed your AirPods and went to place them back in your ears to finish getting lost in your own little world once again before he stops you.

“Wait—maybe we could finish out the hike…together? You know, just so Dylan doesn’t take advantage of me again.” Maybe he was just being cautious because there was no way he was flirting with you…right?

Those green eyes were going to get you in trouble and you knew it. But you were on a beautiful scenic getaway and hiking with Justin Herbert wasn’t going to come around every single day.

“Let’s do it. Wouldn’t want you to hurt your shoulder even more chasing after Dylan. Bolt nation might collectively collapse if anything happens to you so I’m calling this a public service.”

He unsuccessfully tries to stifle a laugh. “What a Good Samaritan you are.”

Justin was funny. And sweet. And the most fun company you’ve had in a while. You talked about your job, the entire NCAA tournament and what you both thought about being in LA. Even though you both lived very different lives, it was filled with sports and schedules and meetings and practices and there were a lot of things to bond over. Before you knew it you’d been out there for three hours and Rachel texted you to let you know she was done and ready to resume your sisterly activities. He took a look at your deflated expression.

“Do you need to head out?”

“Yeah, unfortunately.” You whispered. “This was fun though.”

He readjusts the hat on his head. “Yeah this was great. Um, I meant what I said earlier though. I owe you.” He gestures towards the phone in your hands and you hand it to him watching him type in his number, texting himself immediately so he has yours.

“Maybe we could grab dinner or something before you head back to LA?” He states pensively, holding his breath a bit until you answer.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

The two of you head back to the parking lot and you give Dylan one more pat on the head. You look up to meet Justin’s gaze, shy smiles painting both of your faces. He walked you all the way to your car and waved goodbye as you drove away to meet Rachel.

While you waited all you could do was stare at your phone, Justin had given you his number and you had his. He’d put his actual contact information in your phone AND had asked you to go to dinner. None of this felt like real life, what kind of person stumbles upon an NFL quarterback on a normal hike?

“Why are you smiling like that? It scares me.” Chloe interrupts your thoughts. You hadn’t even realized she opened the door and got in the car. “Did that hike change your life or something?” She finished with a dry laugh.

“I’m not sure, but I think it may have…”

Rachel nods her head slowly, desperately hoping to understand what’s going on. “Yeah okay whatever. Let’s get some lunch because I am absolutely starving.”

You put the car in drive, your phone notifying you of a text from its spot on the dashboard car mount. Rachel grabs it and asks, “who the hell is Justin and why is he asking if you’re free tomorrow night?”

“Just some guy I met while hiking, no big deal,” you tried and failed to be nonchalant. She knew you way better than that.

“If it’s really no big deal then tell that to the gigantic smile on your face. You’re going on that date. I’m texting him back to let him know you’ll be free.”

All that Chloe knows is his name. The rest of it you decide to keep to yourself not only to respect his privacy but you want to keep this special thing for you and only you. In case this doesn’t go anywhere, you’ll always have the memory of today and whatever happens on Friday to look back on fondly. And by telling your sister you’re putting a little bit more pressure on it, like this has to become something. You don’t really know this guy yet, only the small tidbits that he shared on the walk and that his family dog’s name is Dylan, who would run away with any stranger if enough treats were offered.

There are so many things going through your mind as you change your outfit for the fourth time tonight. What if he thinks you’re boring? Or he’s boring? What happens if the two of you run out of things to say and you’re just sitting in the restaurant in awkward silence until someone decides to call it a night? Even worse, what if this is the best date you ever go on, you fall for him and then never hear from him again because he’s an NFL quarterback and you sometimes spend three hours a day planning out breakfast options for 18-22 year old basketball players.

You glanced in the mirror, slinging a tiny black purse over your shoulder with a subtle smirk on the way out the door at your final clothing choice. Chloe mentioned that the car outside being a super nice Porsche and you made something up about thinking that he worked in finance or a job closely related to that so she wouldn't keep digging for more information. All she followed up with was "have fun and be safe."

Ambrosia's staff walked you and Justin into the restaurant by the back entrance into a private room, which was the most abnormal part of the night. The rest of the evening was spent consuming seafood stuffed mushrooms, pasta and sharing a classic tiramisu, the best one you'd ever had in your life.

The nerves that once seeped through every pore were quickly replaced with what a vacation was supposed to feel like. Conversation flowed easily, there was no pressure to be perfect or funny or overly sexy. Justin was so…normal. He was pretty, not in a way that was intimidating because you really weren’t sure he realized how attractive he actually is. But pretty in a sense that everything about him made him more attractive. His ability to actively listen to the words you say and bring them back up when it’s relevant. The way his dimples are more pronounced when he laughs. The way he stops mid conversation to say thank you to the service staff every time they refill his water. There wasn’t a bone in his body that wasn’t filled with humility and kindness. Everything he did was gentle. And on top of all of that he paid without hesitation.This date truly had been a breath of fresh air.

“Thank you for tonight, I had a lot of fun.”

His lips curl into a smile, “this was probably the best first date I’ve had.” He doesn’t know why he’s just admitted that to you, but he’s glad it’s out there now.

“Me too,” you stand up out of your chair after he does, a collection of butterflies appearing in your stomach when he places a hand on the small of your back, before encasing his hand with yours to lead you out of the restaurant.

“When are you heading back to LA?” He asks. You only know that because you’re reading his lips and not listening to a word he’s saying. You really want to kiss him.

You hesitate to lean in, bringing your focus back to his eyes, meeting his soft gaze. “I’ll be here for a couple more days, then it’s back to work. What about you?”

“Tomorrow…” he begins, slowly losing his train of thought when a little bit of the light goes out in your eyes. Should he kiss you before he leaves in the morning or wait until you’re both back in California with busy schedules and no clue if and when you’ll see each other again? “…I don’t want to leave now due to some unforeseen circumstances,” he laughs, “unfortunately I’ve got some stuff to take care of. But I’ll call you and we can maybe do this again?”

“Yeah. Definitely. I’ll see you around.” He gave you a warm hug on the way out and you watched him walk away to his car, smiling to yourself at the thought of a second date. You couldn’t wait for that phone call.

Two weeks later...he still hasn’t called. You would’ve been surprised had you not prepared yourself for this very scenario. Even with all of this so-called “preparation,” the radio silence from him still stung. Who would’ve thought this would happen? The NFL quarterback is busy with his offseason recovery while the girl he went on one singular date with continues to replay minute by minute interactions they had. No one could’ve seen this coming. The thought of that date feels like so long ago and the fact that you can remember it in vivid detail is a feels a little humiliating. You can’t even look at an Apple Watch without your stomach ending up in knots.

You've closed your office door today, taking a few hours to yourself in between meetings. Earlier in the day you and the rest of the staff had to sit through a Tyr presentation, listening to the representatives of the brand try to sell you their endurance sports drink and leaving you with some samples. Then you had CLIF come in with some new energy chew flavor samples for the guys to try. All of the boxes of products now sat in your office and you really hoped to spend the rest of the day going through the food budget, managing receipts and preparing for your first year presentations for when the new freshman arrived sometime in June. You were glancing back and forth between Whole Foods receipts and Amazon orders when your phone rang. Too busy and in the middle of crunching numbers, you ignored the call. Then it started ringing again. You stop what you're doing, assuming that if someone is calling you twice in a row, it must be urgent. The contact name flashing on the screen has you frozen in time.

It was Justin.

Even though you've been alone in your office for a while, you look around to make sure you're not making this up and this is actually happening. He's calling you. Finally.

"Hello? Who is this?" You can hear him shuffling around, probably walking around in a circle aimlessly just like you are. Despite your best efforts to seem unfazed.

"I deserve that," he cringes. "I'm so sorry for not calling you sooner."

"What—what made you call me now?"

He can tell your voice is softer than when you first answered, and he missed hearing it. "Um...life got a little ahead of me and that's not an excuse. I just—didn't want you to think that I wasn't ever going to call," he pauses, "can I make you dinner? Tonight? If you're free. And we can talk in person."

You look at the door with a sigh, contemplating your entire existence. And then you think...fuck it. "Yeah sure, I'm free tonight. Text me your address and I'll be there around 7?"

"Seven works, I'll see you tonight."

His house is perfectly spotless. There is just no way that a single adult man in his 20s is naturally this organized and clean. Even the cat, who he introduces to you as Nova, a gorgeous Bengal walks around like she owns the place, greeting you briefly (sizing you up) before trotting away without a second glance. Justin walks you into the kitchen where he's in the middle of plating the meal. He just looked good doing normal things, filling glasses of water, opening and closing the fridge, taking off his apron. You really needed to get a grip. "It smells great in here chef, what's on the menu?"

He laughs a little, presenting his dish like he's the star of a Food Network show. "Tonight I've made for you a Traeger filet mignon seasoned with the Traeger seasoning and chimichurri sauce with a side of roasted garlic mashed potatoes and asparagus."

You happily clap for his A+ presentation and he gives you a bow. "Justin, this looks amazing! I can't wait to dig in."

The man leads you to the table, setting the plate down in front of you before grabbing a seat right next to you. "So...let me explain."

Taking a bite of your food, you shake your head. "You really don't have to explain yourself, we went on one date. There's nothing to explain I mean—”

"Yeah there is. I want you to know that I wanted to call sooner, I really did. But I came back and had to meet with doctors to make sure my recovery was on track and then the draft happened and then I had to talk about the future of my contract and I didn't want the craziness of my life to overshadow what we have going on. The last thing I wanted was for you to feel like you're being put on the backburner."

Unbeknownst to you, he had also been replaying that date...more often that he'd like to admit. Anytime he had a minute to himself he thought about calling, seeing what you're doing. And then there was a meeting, or a draft party or someone needing him to be somewhere. But you were always on his mind and he was glad to now have life slow down a little bit to show you he really did care.

"I get it. Definitely thought you forgot about me there for a second. A few seconds," you correct yourself. "But I knew you were busy and we're here now so you're forgiven. Especially because this steak is incredible."

"Well thank you," he smiles sheepishly.

He begged you not to help him clean up but you insisted. After everything was put away he gave you a tour of the place and then you sat on the couch looking for a movie to watch until the stack of puzzles on the shelf caught your eye.

"You haven't unwrapped this one. Is it new?" You note the plastic wrap lining the box on the shelf meeting you at eye level. The flowers look familiar but you can't exactly remember where you've seen them before.

“There's a lot of flowers at the park we met. Any rhododendron I see now," he nods at the box in your hand, "makes me think of you. So I bought this. Figured we could do it together.” The way he's looking at you when you turn around makes you feel warm and tingly inside.

Something about being with him is addicting. You feel physically drawn to him, this pull, an invisible hold that he has on your heart that soon makes you want to run for the hills. But you know that the second you’re away from him it’ll feel like an important new part of your life has been ripped away. It almost felt like the universe had sent Justin to you as an apology for all men. Even doing something as simple as a puzzle feels like the most romantic thing in the world. All of the pieces are laid out on the table and you tackle the corners first, working from the outside in. You're sitting so close to each other that your arms are touching, reaching and grabbing at the puzzle pieces in sync like a well oiled machine. He pulls you into his lap toward the end when there's a few pieces left, giving you a high five when all 300 pieces are in their rightful place. Your hand is in his once again, like it belongs there, holding you close and steady.

He lets you go momentarily to cup your face, a look of adoration adorning his that makes your chest clench. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you for the last 22 days," Justin whispers, his face so close to yours you can feel his breath on your lips.

"Then why are you still waiting?" You whisper back, barely able to finish your sentence because he's nipping at your bottom lip, teasing you slightly as he runs his thumb across your jaw. You're a puddle in his hands, his lips on yours kissing you with his heart pounding against his chest like he's never kissed anyone before. The kiss is so simple yet the most intense experience either of you have been a part of and you want more. Both of you are fighting for dominance, a somewhat rough dance of tongues and a little bit of teeth increasing in intensity the longer the kiss lasts. You moan into his mouth, feeling him begin to stand at attention underneath you, deepening the kiss by pulling him in even closer by his hair. The other hand is wrapped around his thigh, squeezing his leg and producing goosebumps across his entire body. He had to take a few moments to recover, slightly out of breath at the kiss that he was convinced had just changed his life. "Was that worth the 22 day wait?" You ask with a laugh, holding his head in your hands.

He nods, still incapable of speech, blowing out a breath of relief when the tightness in his pants continues to go down. You lazily make out throughout the entirety of whatever movie he puts on, more than making up for lost time.

You have to be at the facility early for morning workouts so Justin walks you out to your car, pulling you in for one more kiss. "Text me when you get home so I know you made it safe?"

"I will."

Justin lays in bed that night looking at your goodnight text, already planning the third date in his head because he needs to somehow make it better than tonight was. He doesn't have any ideas yet, he just knows he can't get enough of you.

One year later...

You were back in Eugene at your favorite park, ready to get back to your favorite scenery.

"Are you excited?" You ask Dylan, who barks excitedly as you hold onto his leash. That must mean yes.

Justin laughs beside you, grabbing onto your hand. "You ready?" He gives you a kiss on the forehead before the three of you begin your hike.

[sliebman10]

Teacher AU

(Harry's loss of his parents is discussed but nothing is graphically described)

“Hello, I’m looking for Professor Lupin,” a voice said from the hallway outside Remus’s third grade classroom. 

“Can I help you?” Remus asked politely.

“I have an appointment regarding Harry Potter? I’m Sirius Black, his…godfather,” Sirius said, stumbling slightly over the relationship. It was all so new, after all. But he couldn’t think about that now.

Remus wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he’d arranged the conference with Harry’s guardian, but this tall man with long hair and a leather jacket was not it. He offered his hand and Mr. Black shook it and Remus couldn’t help the jolt of energy he felt when he touched this man’s hand.

He gestured for Mr. Black to sit. He’d prepared a speech about how Harry was acting out, and he’d referred him to the school counselor, but maybe he needed outside therapy…but he forgot all of that as he watched Mr. Black, who was now lounging comfortably in a small plastic chair next to Remus’s desk. 

“Is there someone who usually sits here?” Sirius asked, looking sideways at Remus, taking in his messy curls and cardigan with the sleeves pushed up to reveal his rather sinewy forearms

“That's not a permanent seat, no,” Remus answered. “A student might sit there if we are having a conference about their work…or if they need some space from their group to concentrate.”

“Does Harry sit here?” Sirius asked. The question had weight to it. Both of them could feel it. Remus knew what he was asking. Does Harry sit there because he can’t cope with being that close to his classmates?

“Sometimes,” Remus responded, truthfully.

Sirius nodded, like he was expecting it. “What should I do?” Sirius’s voice sounded small. Without thinking about it, Remus reached out and took his hand. It was cool, and his fingers were long and lean. Sirius curled them around Remus’s gratefully.

“Is he in therapy?”

“Yeah, But he hates going,” Sirius said, with a sad smile. Remus didn’t blame him. Not many nine year olds would want to talk about their feelings after losing their parents.

“What about you?”

“Me?” Sirius looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Are you taking care of yourself?” Remus asked softly, wondering about his real motive for asking but then deciding he didn’t care. He didn’t want to see these two sink under their shared grief. 

“I mean…I guess? I thought we were here to talk about Harry?” Sirius said, a mischievous expression crossing his features but was gone so quickly Remus thought he imagined it.

“Right,” Remus said, embarrassed.

“But I’ll tell you what, Professor…we can chat about me over drinks tomorrow night.”

Word Count: 441

@wolfstarmicrofic

[hughiecampbelle]

Nausea (Billy Butcher Oneshot)

Character/s: Butcher

Word Count: 1,349

A/N: This is a re-upload bc the first time I posted it I got self-conscious and deleted it lol. It's just not my best writing, but I feel like I have to get it out. Just me writing about my issues again! I still have no idea what's going on, but all the same diagnoses come back from the first time (uc/crohn's/celiac/gastroparesis) and it's so infuriating. My doctors don't know what's wrong and my family, who I love, just think it's nerves. I don't think my very graphic symptoms are nerves 😅 I have so many remedies by my bed, it looks crazy. I haven't slept well in a few days bc of the pain, but I'm also so afraid of not being believed again, it's a vicious loop. Okay I swear I'm done complaining! Thank you for putting up with me!!! 💜💜💜💜💜💜

He knows when it’s happening. There is no great show or performance. There is no crying or whimpering. No one else would even notice, but he knows the signs. Albeit too late, but he does. You’re quieter, withdrawn, hand over mouth, hoping this will stop the nausea. Deep, even breaths: breathing through it. When that is not enough, when that stops working, you slip quietly out of the room and into the bathroom. He tries not to notice how long you’re gone. Mere minutes. It feels so much longer. Someone snatches his attention from you and suddenly, you’re back. You reappear as if you were never gone. You offer a smile, a joke or two, a sense of normalcy, but beneath you’re stomach is churning, clenching, radiating pain through your middle. You only let him tell a few people, who you’re sure told everyone else. Still, none react besides him. He doesn’t say anything, to do so would draw attention. That’s the last thing you want. Instead, he moves towards you, casually, standing beside you. Close. You can feel his jacket on your arm. Worn and scratchy. Familiar. He looks at you and you offer him a small, insignificant nod. That’s as far as he’ll get to asking if you’re okay. That’s as far as you’ll let him when you’re working. 

Its been happening on and off for years. Off, for a long time. You thought it was over. Gone. Dead. It’s come back, though, an uninvited guest. This sudden pain, this distress, this mystery no one is curious enough to solve. When they looked, they found nothing. Said you were fine. You were embarrassed, hurt, questioning if it was all in your head. Eventually, you moved on. Things got better. You believed them. And now it’s back. A fullness, nausea, pain, weight loss. You can’t be in the apartment while he’s cooking. The smell repulses you. The taste, too. You can’t eat, afraid you’ll be sick. Again. He urges you, please, something more than your morning coffee, but you cannot handle it. Everything you try you end up spitting out: everything is gluey, everything is profoundly unappetizing. Hiding in the bathroom away from the scent or leaving altogether, it’s put a rift between you. Meals that were safe turned poisonous. Entire food groups cut off unwillingly. It’s been days. Your stomach growls, but that is a trick. You try to ignore it, hide it, knowing what he will insist. He watches you. You can feel it. You don’t say anything. It’s easier this way, not to fight, not to argue. This is a hill you will not die on. He does what he can, pouring your coffee, grateful you at least have that. So far, it doesn’t cause problems and it keeps you full. That’s all you can ask for. 

He wants you to get looked at, checked out. You refuse. You were so sick, so scared, and they told you nothing was wrong. You were constantly doubting if this was even real, then and now. If they didn’t find anything, if they didn’t have the answers, you’re not sure what you’ll do. You can’t be doubted again. You can’t be looked at and deemed dramatic. You knew the pain was real. Why did you have to prove it? Why did you have to show them when they refused to believe you? So, you keep it to yourself, far from friends and family. They congratulated the weight you lost. Said you looked good. Remind them you were petrified to eat. You were smaller and that’s what mattered. It’s worse at night. Lying beside him, you push from him, untangling his arms from around you. A trash bin by your head, waiting for it to pass. If things are bad, really bad, you’ll lock yourself in, on the floor, praying for it to go away. He wakes up to an empty bed night after night. The pain wakes you up. You have nausea patches, and losanges, and a heating pad he is constantly rewarming. If you lay very still, perhaps you can trick it. Play dead. Hours you’ll spend curled in a ball, wondering what it was that you ate that set it off, that made it so angry. Was it the time? The combination? You were down to drinks with minerals and vitamins, hydrating agents to keep you going. Baby food. Liquid diet. You missed food. You missed having an appetite. You missed cooking. But it wasn’t worth it afterwards. Immediately or hours, the nausea, the pain, the discomfort invites itself back into your life. 

Butcher isn't a natural worrier. There isn't a lot that scares him. But this? This leaves him petrified. There is something wrong and no one will listen. You try to shrug it off. It was so much worse all those years ago. It was excruciating. This, if anything, is a walk in the park in comparison. Uncomfortable sure, but that's all. It's not Vought or Homelander, that he can protect you from. That he can stop. Your body working against itself? That he can do nothing about. It isn't fair. It isn't right. And yet, there is nothing to be done. The tests they did were inconclusive. Why risk it again? Why waste your time? You assure him soon it will be gone, a few days, maybe a few weeks. Last time it was six months. You swallow that time like a prison sentence. Six months. You could do it again, if you had to. You could manage. Maybe by then they’d take you seriously. He wanted to yell and scream, at them. Order them around, insist they help, but would that even help? More tests, more waiting. By the time it would be your turn, it would have gone into remission. Loved ones would hypothesize, becoming doctors themselves. Their favorite diagnosis? Nerves. You weren’t anxious, or nervous, or worried. You were wasting away. You were spending your nights trying not to throw up and your days doing anything to prevent discomfort. Even certain clothes, too close, too constricting, were off the table. You couldn’t stand the way they looked at you, everyone but Butcher, wondering if it was physical or mental. He heard you, he saw you, he knew this was all too real. Why couldn’t others? 

You're more tired, exhausted as soon as the sun starts setting. You lose a lot of hours at night, in the early mornings, praying to anyone who will listen that you’ll wake up tomorrow and it will be gone. That you will be fine again. That it really was all in your head. Falling asleep in the car. He tries to avoid bumps in the roads, potholes, not wanting to wake you. Your attention straining: it's always there, in the back of your mind, at the back of your throat. It sits deep in the pit of your stomach and it mocks you. When you finally do complain, just a little, when it's too much, he knows it's really getting bad. He's helpless all over again. The people he's loved, the people he's lost, he can't risk it. Not again. Not with you. There’s little can do, though. There’s little anyone can do. This is not someone he can kill, this is not an organization he can take down. This is chronic, spontaneous, vengeful. It has no rhyme or reason. You let the mask slip every so often. You’re scared. Scared of what they’ll find, scared of what they won’t. He reassures you, whatever it is, you’ll figure it out together. You trust him, you love him, but you can’t do that to him. You can’t be a burden. You body is your own to take care of. So, you throw up in the bathroom, and wear your patches, and make your jokes. You tell him it’s a three, always a three, on a scale from one to ten. You can’t let him worry, he’s got enough on his plate. Yours will remain empty until, hopefully soon, it goes away just as it has appeared.

[mcsm-confessions]

Another anon mentioned having a hard time seeing how the Jesse twins AU would work, and to answer the question, without a serious overhaul of the storyline, it wouldn't work in any way that would result in a meaningful, non-redundant story.

In stories with dual protagonists, even siblings, each protagonist each serves a different purpose in the narrative, and both represent different aspects of the story's theme. The issue with most twin AUs is that they don't really consider this, and have an extra Jesse tacked onto a preexisting narrative role that's already accomplished by one person. The other Jesse's just... there.

This causes more issues, namely the fact that some choices can only be filled by one of them. Who carries the amulet that causes the Witherstorm to follow the group? Who becomes the leader of the Order of the Stone? Who puts on the gauntlet, and who ultimately wields the Golden Gauntlet to defeat Romeo? You then have to pick and choose which Jesse does which, leading to an uneven distribution in character moments and growth.

And for something less often mentioned, having to make certain choices is what makes the games' decisions feel like they actually matter, to an extent. Sacrificing Ellegaard or Magnus. Unchipping Lukas or Petra. The admin's choice of champion, and staying in Beacontown or going with Petra. These decisions simply don't carry as much weight if you can have your cake and eat it too.

In order to actually make the twin AU work in anything other than funny vibes haha land, you need to put in the legwork to write a believable narrative that gives each Jesse a different role to play in the story, resolving the issue of trying to fit two characters into a role meant for one.

Conflict is the engine of story, and the twin AU gives you an option to do it. Maybe f!Jesse wants to explore the world and find out what her passion is, while m!Jesse's more content with being with his friends and staying in town. What situations could you engineer to really push those differing beliefs into strong conflict with one another, and explore the chain of cause-and-effect that arise from how each Jesse deals with problems differently?

If the central thematic question of the story is 'Is it worth sacrificing your humanity to achieve your goals?', maybe over the course of the story f!Jesse grows to embody the 'yes' to that question, while m!Jesse is the opposite (emphasis on how relationships are more important than goals). You can then take other characters in the story to show them as different aspects to the side of the theme each Jesse represents.

As an example: m!Jesse's more laidback nature syncs up with Axel, or f!Jesse's ambition more closely aligns with Olivia's desire for recognition. If, for example, f!Jesse goes to Redstonia with Olivia, and end up sacrificing Ellegaard to stop the Witherstorm, this might reinforces the belief for them that, partly because this loss is more personal, Ivor should be shown no mercy after he shows up at the cave, repentant. M!Jesse, who went with Axel to Boom Town instead, hasn't felt that more personal loss and might disagree with her decision, and is more willing to forgive Ivor.

These are by no means good examples, but you get the point. You can apply the same kind of thing for Lukas and Petra. There are some interesting ramifications you can explore for the Admin arc, but I'll leave that to your imaginations.

~~~

[live-laugh-legolas]

Hi! Could you write something set during the first night after the fellowship left Lothlorien in which Gimli is still dealing with the entire Moria situation and sneaks off into the woods to basically cry a binch while the rest of the fellowship is sleeping but Legolas joins him and cue hugs and crying, the more the better (maybe they sleep while hugging). It can be romantic, but I would prefer platonic. Thanks.

This is so sweet and I’m such a sucker for hurt/comfort so this feels like a good prompt to try writing my first one shot. I’m going to put extra emphasis on the fact that I’ve never written a one shot before so set reasonable expectations lol. I also have no idea what to title this so if there is any better suggestions lmk :)

The Weight of Moria

(Gimli x Legolas)

They have only been on the river for one day now. Although the group feels slightly rejuvenated from their time in Lothlorien, the weight of losing Gandalf and having to face the rest of this journey without his guidance is still heavy. Frankly there hadn’t been much time to really work through everything they’ve seen. There is not time to dwell on the past with orcs on your tail; when one misstep could very well cost them the quest, and in turn, their world. So when they set up camp for the night it is very quiet. It’s their first night in the wild without their wizard. Even Pippin who is usually full of energy cannot find it in him to speak.

They have all experienced a loss together, it is a shared grief. However Gimli can’t help but find his mind wandering to the Mines he had been so excited to enter.

He had never been into the famed mine before but he knew he would be welcomed warmly. He thought he could share a bit of dwarvish culture to his companions as they had gotten to experience that of the elves. And to be honest he was homesick. Despite their journey having just begun, it has been hard and he longs for the comforts of home.

Even after first entering Moria to find the mine seemingly deserted he would not abandon hope that his kin would be further in the mines. But you know the story, this was not the case. The dwarves of Moria were long gone from this world. In the mines he went through denial and anger. He bargained in Lothlorien, during so he even fooled himself into thinking he was alright.

But now sitting around a fire with his new friends he finds the camaraderie suffocating. He looks at the group and cannot muster any hope. He sees the faces of his kin scared and trapped, awaiting death. Because that’s what they are doing aren’t they? This quest is impossible at best.

He finds he cannot breathe. His chest will not expand and he feels an unfamiliar shake in his hands. He gets up and silently excuses himself before speeding off into the dark forest. Had he been thinking logically he would not have gone so far, but he isn’t. He eventually collapses on the ground gasping for breath, breath that keeps being stolen from him by choked sobs. He cannot feel anything more than the burden of his grief, never has he felt so depressed and without hope.

He does not know how long he stayed there before his spiraling is interrupted by a gentle hand on his shoulder but he cannot find it in him to look up. He vaguely registers a voice speaking to him and a man sitting down next to him. As proud as dwarves are, they are not ones to hide their emotions, so he doesn’t make much of an attempt to stop them. But the quiet presence remains next to him.

As he starts to calm he looks over slightly to see the pants of the only elf in their group; go figure

“Can’t a dwarf cry in peace?”

“Not if he wanders so far from camp” Legolas says in a gentle jest, mirroring the tone Gimli took with him.

Gimli sighs and slumps back over slightly “my mind was elsewhere”

Despite their differences and their strained relationship Legolas does care about the dwarf even if he isn’t sure he wants to admit it. He rests his arm over the shoulder of the dwarf in a half hug, allowing space should Gimli wish to pull away, but when he doesn’t, he allows his grip to tighten.

“You needn’t dwell in your sorrow alone. I cannot fully understand your pain, but I do know the weight of loss and that it is much easier to bare if the weight is shared”

Gimli looks up at Legolas, finding nothing but sincerity and compassion in his eyes, “thank you”

They stay there a little longer as Gimli collects himself, finding a quiet solace with each other’s company that they would never have predicted could exist. But they can’t stay forever so Legolas stands and offers Gimli his hand.

“Come, let us return to the others”

Gimli lets himself be pulled up and nods in gratitude to the elf. As they walk back to camp Gimli finds himself feeling comforted, finding acceptance in the losses and a renewed feeling of hope for their journey. Maybe this elf isn’t the worst…just maybe.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Well that’s the first one shot I’ve ever written and idk how I feel about it lol. One thing I’ve learned is I don’t know how to write dialogue, like at all.

I’d really appreciate some feedback as I personally feel like I may have drawn out the beginning and rushed the actual interactions at the end which feel kinda sloppy to me but maybe I’m overthinking idk.

I hope this fulfills the request enough, ik I didn’t include much hugging or comfort so I apologize if it’s not what you wanted, but I personally just couldn’t imagine much more at this point in their friendship without it feeling a bit ooc. There is nothing wrong with ooc, but I personally prefer to avoid it as much as I can to give myself a little structure :)

[pumpumdemsugah]

That Nikocado Avocado guy 'pretending' to be insane and batch recording his videos so he could spend the next 2 years losing weight isn't impressive it's fucking mental

How is that not weird concerning behaviour? He still did it, and I don't believe he planned this out as much as he was pretending to. I think he eventually figured out ohh I can do many of these in a day and save so much money that he didn't have to work for 2 years and focus on weight loss.

I used to watch his videos when he was a raw vegan in 2016 and when I saw him very obviously get addicted to being controversial because he got views by first speaking out against being raw vegan ( and those videos were fine and were genuine ), then veganism in general because he said its not healthy or sustainable and then some videos after only made junk food mukbangs that got bigger, I knew he's an attention seeker I need to ignore.

He does not need to be congratulated for humiliating himself online for years. He wasn't acting on a set or had a research group. This isn't what a social experiment is.

It's far too easy to be financially rewarded online as long as you're willing to completely and utterly humiliate yourself. There's a level of shamelessness needed to become and stay popular online, but this is beyond

[nobody-nexus]

TADC Incorrect Quotes

(With have Ragatha/Pomni, Jax/Zooble if you squint, and maybe like ONE Jax/Bubble for shits and giggles)

Ragatha: As your best friend— Gangle: Zooble's my best friend? Ragatha, holding a knife: As your best friend—

====

Ragatha: Pomni is at that very special age where an adult only has one thing on their mind Caine: Boys? Pomni: Homicide

====

Pomni: You know what? When I join this friend group, I thought you guys would be dealing with my bullshit Caine, Zooble and Kinger continue screaming about mold water Pomni: Not the other way around! Bubble: I dunno, sounds like you need to drink the mold water :)

====

Gangle: How do Zooble and Jax usually get out of these messes? Ragatha: They don't. They just make a bigger mess that cancels the first one out

====

Ragatha: Just be careful, Pomni! Pomni, heading out the door: I'm always careful, Ragatha! Pomni: It's everything around me that's careless

====

Caine: I truly believe that water can solve all your problems! Gangle: Weight loss? Drink water Ragatha: Clear skin? Drink water Jax: Want to get rid of someone? Drown them.

====

Zooble: Hold on, I can explain Caine: Really? Can you now? Zooble: I can if you give me a minute to think of a convincing lie

====

Caine: You have to apologize to them Jax Jax: Fine! But I must warn you that this might make me a better, nicer person and that is NOT the person you fell in love with!

====

Gangle: I came out here to have a good time and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now

====

Ragatha: Do you guys ever have a civilized conversation that doesn't require insulting each other every time you get a chance? Zooble: No. Jax: No. Ragatha: Didn't think so

====

Pomni: Hostage or not, sometimes it’s nice being held Ragatha: Are you okay

====

Zooble: When I get Doordash I order 20 Cheeseburgers at a time and heat them up throughout the week so that I don’t have to pay the delivery fee multiple times Ragatha: I hope you understand how food poisoning works Zooble: I hope food poisoning understands how I work. I never met a burger I couldn’t eat

====

Ragatha: Wake me up- Pomni: Before you go go Gangle: When September ends Caine: WAKE ME UP INSIDE

====

Ragatha, smugly, after security arrives to escort Jax and Pomni out: So, do you wanna walk out of here or do you wanna be carried out? Jax, in defeat: Let’s go Pomni: Wait. Jax: What? Pomni: I’d kinda like to be carried out...

====

Gangle: We have fun, don’t we, Pomni? Pomni: I have never been more stressed out in my entire life

====

Kinger: Hey Ragatha? Ragatha: Yeah? Kinger: What's your favorite color of the alphabet? True or false? Ragatha: Ragatha: ...What.

====

Jax: How high are you? Pomni: Mm, I don’t know how to say it in feet. Zooble: No, he's asking what drugs are you on Pomni: Oh, antidepressants, why?

====

Caine: It is 6:09 . Caine: I am wondering why I’m still alive. Caine: Send Wendy’s. Pomni: The whole restaurant?!

====

Zooble: I’m the smartest person in this group.... Jax: Really? Then why is your hand stuck in a vending machine? Zooble: I paid for my Mars Bar, I’m getting my Mars Bar.

====

Pomni: Which one of you was going to tell me that tea tastes different if you put it in hot water?? Jax: Y- you were putting it in cold water?? Zooble: Pomni. Answer the question, Pomni. Pomni: Yeah??? I thought people just put it in hot water to speed up the tea-ification process. didn't realize there was an actual reason. Pomni: Plus, you think I have the patience to boil water? Jax: You don't have the patience to microwave water for 3 minutes?? Zooble: Why are you putting it in the microwave to boil it? Jax: Do you think I have the patience to boil water on the stove? Zooble: It takes less than a minute. Jax: Is your stovetop powered by the f#%king sun??? Zooble: How long does it take you to boil a cup of water on the stove? Jax: Like seven minutes?? Gangle: Just stick the mug on top of the stove on medium heat and it boils in like 2 minutes... less than that if you use a saucepan! Zooble: Why are you putting the whole mug on the stove?? On medium heat?? Gangle? Your stove is enchanted! Pomni: Every single person here is a f#%king lunatic. Ragatha: Do none of you own a f#%king kettle?

====

Gangle: Guess what I'm about to get! Jax: On my nerves.

====

Zooble: Jax has discovered "deez nuts" jokes and it's all they say now. Everything is deez nuts. They simply can't stop. Zooble: I asked Jax where he learned that joke. He made me promise him wouldn't get in trouble if he told me. I agreed. Zooble: So, he leans in and whispers, "deez nuts."

====

Pomni: HELP! I TOLD RAGATHA I'D COOK DINNER TONIGHT BUT I CAN'T COOK! Jax, pouring milk directly into the cereal bag: And you thought I could help?

====

Jax: It’s impossible to make a sentence without using the letter A. Ragatha: Despite your thinking, it is quite possible, yet difficult, to form one without the specific letter. Here’s one more to further disprove your theory Pomni: F$%k you.

====

Zooble: New challenge! Don't say stupid sh!t for 24 hours!

====

Pomni: Coca Cola is a health potion, Pepsi is a mana potion Ragatha, amused: What’s grape soda? Pomni: It’s f#%king purple baby!!!

====

Zooble: It doesn’t have a bone Jax: Then why is it called a boner?

====

Pomni: Can I get a waffle? Caine and Bubble: *fighting and yelling at each other* Pomni: Can I p l e a s e get a waffle?

====

Jax: I committed all 7 deadly sins in 30 minutes Zooble: Wow, I've gotta hear this Jax: I was angry and envious of my neighbor, so I lazily seduced his wife and ate all his groceries and didn't share Ragatha: You forgot pride Jax: No, I'm pretty proud of this

====

Ragatha, trying to be cute: WOW, Pomni, you want to hold my hand before marriage? How AWFULLY lewd of you. Pomni, confused: We literally slept together yesterday? Ragatha: Eh- sweetie no that's not-

====

Caine: Can we talk about that mass email you sent? Pomni: Why? It was important Caine: All it says is, "I'm back on my sh!t". Jax, shrugging: The people need to know

====

Jax: We’re getting married, bitches! Bubble: And we're about to make it everybody else's problem

[noviablast]

Secret Santa

This is for @netbug009 I hope you really enjoy this! And thank you @sweetcircuits for hosting this event! I have this posted on ao3 and underneath the read more!

“And I have the perfect movie planned after everything else tomorrow.”

Sprx grinned to himself before a fist hit his head, “OW! What was that for?!” Spinning around to face Nova, she was giving him a hard stare.

“We agreed I would pick it.”

“What, no we didn’t.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

Nova huffed, “Fine, then we’ll have a competition for who chooses. The others can be the referees.”

Sprx could feel the smirk come easy to his face, “You sure you wanna do that? I can take whatever is thrown at me.”

Nova simply walked past him, not giving him a chance to react when she grabbed his hand and dragged him behind her.

_______

Nova and Sprx stood in front of the rest of the team, explaining their dilemma.

“... And that’s why we need you to be the refs.”

Sprx grinned at Nova, “Yeah, otherwise it would be totally unfair. For Nova at least.” Her response was a roll of the eyes.

“Let me get this straight,” Gibson started. “You want us to basically pit you against each other over a ‘lovers spat’?”

“But this is a really important matter, Gibson!” Otto jumped in, Chiro nodding along, adding his own thoughts, “We’ll do it!”

Gibson groaned, bemoaning his lost alone time while Antauri merely smiled.

_______

Sprx groaned under the weight he held above his head, only slightly regretting the contest now. He had 5 large weights all placed on a fairly large piece of metal, holding them up with his own strength as much as he wished he could use his magnets. His only saving grace was Nova had easily over half the amount of weight he did to make the contest more fair. A contest of endurance.

Gibson looked almost bored with Antauri hovering nearby while Otto and Chiro cheered for both. Sprx swore he could see worried glances from Gibson but that could also just be the strain on his body and the sweat in his eyes.

He could feel his arms burn as the minutes ticked on, nearing the 10 minute mark. Until Sprx made a fatal mistake. He glanced at Nova, to see how she was fairing. He quickly dropped the weights as he felt warmth rush to his face from something other than the weights. He felt weak at the knees seeing Nova straining to carry the weights just as much as he was.

He groaned as Nova’s cheering quickly filled his ears, he knew he would need to sit down for a few minutes before he could feel like he could breathe normally again and the flush faded from his cheeks.

_______

Nova knew full well what was happening, in a best out of three match, the group was gonna choose one thing she was good at and the same with Sprx. At least Antauri suggested handicaps to help even the odds. Which is how she was in the foot crusher cruiser 6, racing as fast as she could to a marked out finished line. Her track was straight forward while she knew Sprx would have sharp turns and other obstacles in the air to bypass along with having a delayed start. Sprx complaints filled the comms even as he navigated his track with ease.

She wanted to end this contest as quickly as she could. With one more victory, she would secure her choice as the movie for the night. But she couldn’t help snarking back at Sprx via comms.

“What, you afraid you’re gonna lose that easily? Thought you could handle anything.”

“Sorry love, we both know I would never make anything easy for you. Besides, I can make up for your loss tomorrow at our date tomorrow.”

Nova felt her cheeks light up from anger and for Sprx’s comment. For as much as he flirts and talks big, he does well with sweeping her feet and taking her breath away with every date. But her momentary distraction of her thoughts was just enough for him to reach the finish before she could. She groaned, knowing that now the odds were evened out again.

_______

Everyone stood in the robot main control room once again, Nova and Sprx both readying themselves for the last challenge. Otto and Chiro both were practically vibrating with excitement, ready to see how this planned out. Gibson cleared out his throat as he prepared to speak.

“As is clear, Otto and Chiro did an excellent job with choosing a challenge that may have been more challenging for one of you but adding additional handicaps to help even everything out, even if the expected winner was the same. For this last one, me and Antauri had both agreed upon the tie breaker.”

Sprx couldn’t help the comment from leaving his mouth, grinning from ear to ear, “I thought you thought this was a waste of time?”

Gibson shot him a glare before continuing, “Thankfully as this is the last challenge, we won’t have to deal with this last matter for that much longer. And as such, this challenge will just need your mind to be completed rather than anything more intricate. Antauri?”

Antauri nodded, “Whoever answers correctly will win this challenge and the competition.” He cleared his throat before speaking again, a riddle this time, “Felt in the chest and given away, I can be broken but never stray. What am I?”

Everyone watched with bated breaths as both began to think heavily, not wanting to lose to a riddle. A minute ticked by in silence before both suddenly yelled out at the same time, “THE HEART!”

Antauri nodded as Gibson groaned, “Of course they answered at the same time….”

Sprx and Nova quickly began arguing over who answered, while Otto and Chiro both shared a look, ready to plan something else.

Antauri interrupted the chaos, “Perhaps it is best to discuss what movies you both wanted to watch and decide together.”

Nova huffed, “I wanted to watch a Nightmare before Christmas.”

Sprx quickly snapped his head from Antauri to Nova, “Wait really, I wanted to choose that one too!”

Gibson’s annoyed yell could be heard even outside the robot, “YOU MEAN THAT YOU COULD HAVE SOLVED THIS BY JUST TALKING THIS OUT AT THE BEGINNING?!?!”

[frodothefair]

Nisilë vs. protracted SSRI withdrawal, an update.

Welp, here's a health update. As some of you may know, in early 2023 I tried an anxiety medication that I've taken before, had a bad reaction that was initially not recognized as such, and then when I started to get off of it, I had a different bad reaction, which turned into so-called protracted withdrawal. (For those interested in the topic, there's a website known as Surviving Antidepressants, a support group for people in my situation). Apparently, now I have to go off this medication over the course of several years, and I hardly wanted to be on it in the first place.

Anyway, things are a lot better this year than they were last year. The bottom line is that with this condition, things do get better, it just takes an inordinately long time. This time a year ago, if I had a good day it was a miracle. A lot of the time, I felt like I was having a low-grade panic attack, or like I had food poisoning, or like I was hungover. Whether or not I got sleep on a given night was a game of Russian Roulette.

This summer, most days are good, but I still get symptoms every few weeks, or when I encounter certain triggers. One trigger was a simple cold. Another was particularly spicy food. So I've cut out anything that could stress the nervous system: alcohol, coffee, spices. I'm fanatic about wearing a mask in public and avoiding travel. I won't get on a plane unless there's an emergency, because idiots fly with COVID all the time. (I personally know two such people).

But while I could take or leave it with the coffee, the alcohol, and the spices (I'll probably be healthier for it, in the long run), I was absolutely gutted when I learned of another trigger.

I can't do even the lightest exercise for more than 20 minutes, particularly when it's hot. I tolerate it fine in the moment, but the next day I feel like I've been poisoned, I may struggle to sleep, and I get panicky even when there's nothing going on. You'd think exercise would be helpful, but no. It has an invigorating effect, but for me that invigoration becomes over-activation.

So now, where does that leave me? I can forget about travel, because how realistic is travel without at least some walking? I can't sit on a beach or go swimming, and I used to love beach vacations; Hawaii was everything two years ago. I used to be an active person: there was no physical activity I could not do: hiking, biking, skiing, tennis, lugging suitcases up five flights of stairs when there was no help available... I did not do any of those things particularly well, but I had the strength and the physical prowess.

What's worse is that I've been wanting to get back into exercise. I've never done it regularly before, but I'd grown efficient at my job and I hardly take my work home anymore, so I finally have the energy and the time. I'm also in a place where I'm ready to make changes. For instance, I've stopped biting the insides of my mouth, and I'm doing my continuing medical education credits after I get home from work, rather than procrastinating until they're due. I also count my calories again, though without exercise the weight loss is painfully slow.

Anyway... I was in a funk about the above for a while, but I'm happy to say that I'm over it. After all, the mantra on Surviving Antidepressants is "this, too, shall pass." Someday I'll be able to hike and go to the beach again, but for now, I'm ripping through my continuing education requirements, I'm editing old work and putting out new work, and I'm happy to be alive. I am right where I want to be, for the most part.

[notjosieyouremy]

every edsheeran book ive ever read and what i thought

*reblog without tags please

update #1: i just finished reading Letting An@ Go by anonymous. the teenage drama and romance is gross and annoying. the protagonist has a lot of strong opinions about peoples weight, especially her mother’s, which is very triggering. plenty of m3an $pO if that’s your thing. rampant fatphobia. i give it 3 out of 5 ⭐️⭐️⭐️

5 star tier ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

• hunger: a memoir of (my) body by roxane gay. one of the best edsheeran books ive read. it’s about sa, food addiction, boolimia, feminism, fatphobia, the struggles of just trying to exist black woman in a large body. would recommend

• i’m glad my mom died by jennette mccurdy. it’s so good. i think i finished it in a day. it’s about a lot more than edsheeran. highly recommend. go read it right now

• unbearable lightness: a story of loss and gain by portia de rossi. a gay actor’s struggles with edsheeran. one of the few i’ve read more than once. would recommend

• wasted: a memoir of an0rex!a and boolimia by marya hornbacher. really deserves to be in a class of its own. it’s the best written edsheeran book out there. it’s sad, hilarious, intelligent, perfectly captures the internal voice of mania. highly tr!ggering, so proceed with caution. after wasted was published she relapsed, which she speaks about in madness: a bipolar life. it’s also a very good book but edsheeran is not the focus

4 star tier ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

• insatiable: a young mother’s struggle with an0rexia by erica rivera. if you wanna read about someone who takes fistfuls of bisacodyl and exercises intensely, you might like this book. it’s very good. would recommend

• dying to be th!n by nikki grahame. imagine being so severely malnourished as a child that you never go through puberty. thats how serious her illness was. she basically grew up in treatment facilities, managed to recover against all odds, went on big brother (the reality show), published a book, relapsed, and tragically passed away in 2021. the covid lockdowns were hard on her mental health. would recommend

• the girls at 17 swann street by yara zgheib. semi-autobiographical work of fiction. what sets this one apart is the protagonist isn’t a teenage girl. she’s, like, 28 i think? something like that. would definitely recommend if you get tired of reading about teens and preteens all the time

• elena vanishing by elena dunkle. at a certain point, all these books can be summarized in one sentence: she had to choose between recovery or death. it’s a very good memoir. would recommend

• born round: the secret history of a full-time eater by frank bruni. we love to see male representation in the edsheeran community. he was a chubby kid, turned to unhealthy means to achieve we!ght loss, eventually learns to heal his relationship with food and becomes restaurant critic for the new york times (ever heard of it?). would recommend

• sure, i’ll join your cult: a memoir of mental illness and the quest to belong anywhere by maria bamford. if you don’t know who maria bamford is, she’s one of the best stand up comics, period. that’s not even my opinion, it’s just an agreed upon fact within the stand up community. she’s brilliant. the book is about her mental illnesses and all the different self help groups she joins (so many!). she does go into her struggle with exercise boolimia, though that’s not the primary subject. it gets 5 stars as a book, but 4 stars as an edsheeran book because there just isn’t a lot of dis0rder talk

3 star and below ⭐️⭐️⭐️

• stick figure: a diary of my former self by lori gottlieb. good but i had trouble relating to the protagonist because was quite young and immature

• the art of st4rving by sam j. miller. some much needed male representation in edsheeran literature. and some lgbtq representation. it’s YA (young adult) fiction, not really my taste. would recommend for those who like YA. great cover art!

• wintergirls by laurie halse anderson. a lot of people love this book. i thought it was ok. it’s a work of fiction by an author who isn’t really part of the edsheeran or recovery community. it’s another YA book. i will always prefer memoirs and non-fiction

• fat chance by lesléa newman. this was the first edsheeran book i read. it was assigned reading for my high school health class. it’s a YA novel about a 13 year old girl who wants to lose we!ght. she re$tricts, she b;nges, she poorges, she becomes boolimic. i can trace my edsheeran back to this book. i started d;eting, b;ngeing, and abusing lax4tives as a direct result of reading this material. it did the exact opposite of its purpose, trying to steer young people away from toxic d!et culture. my take away was, i’m overweight, therefore i should be willing to do anything to get th!nner. it’s not very good tbh. maybe if you like YA you’d like it but otherwise, would not recommend

[harleyxhoward]

Analyzing The Abilities of Characters From The Boys Pt. XIII

🧲Andre🧲

In loving memory of the incredible Chance Perdomo, thank you so much for giving us not one incredible, generational ally and hero, but two: Ambrose and Andre.

Andre, the son of essentially this world’s Magneto, has the identical ability to his father. They both possess the ability to manipulate magnetism, which expresses itself as mostly bending metal to their will. This is a perfect example of how genetic factors influence the way compound V manifests in subjects, much like Maverick with Translucent.

Andre’s interesting to me, mostly because he’s what holds the friend group together, almost like his magnetism works on them as well. He drew Marie in and placed her in their orbit. He encouraged Jordan to go out with her, and was quick to console Cate after Luke’s death. He was the group’s heart in a way, which matches well with his power.

Additionally, the fact that he’s constantly under the pressure of his father, Polaris, to be the best at everything he does insinuates that his power has a downside. We find out that overexertion of his power results in potentially fatal brain damage. The source of his strength is also the source of his weakness, and yet, Andre chooses to defend Marie regardless in the S1 finale.

Magnetism can attract, propel, and in Andre’s case, crush him under the weight of his father’s expectations, almost like his father’s magnetism was interacting with his own. He was constantly expected to be one thing or another. He should have been the hero, saving the day and getting the girl. He should have lived* to take down Homelander. He should have gotten to Cate sooner. All of this is to say that maybe all he had to be was the true hero he truly was: a friend.

*I’m well aware nothing has been confirmed for his character following Chance’s passing, but I doubt they would recast a role like his given them only really having one season left for his character. I can imagine they kill the character off in an offscreen jailbreak that would be implied to have taken place after the Gen V S1 finale, and the characters have to grapple with his loss and potential sacrifice, but I’m also talking out of my ass right now.*

[fightingwithtruelove]

Chenford + 💙

💙 Drunken kiss / tipsy

Tim would never admit it, but he's having fun.

When Angela had insisted on a group night out for all of them, he'd rolled his eyes, but reluctantly, he has to admit, his friend was right. They needed this. After this stressful couple of weeks at work—after losing one of their own, kidnappings and failed weddings and several attempts on their lives, a fun night out might be just what the doctor ordered.

Not that Tim would ever admit that.

But his notion of fun is currently threatened by a very tipsy, and very touchy Lucy Chen. She's been leaning into him for the past half hour, invading his mind and his personal space, and Tim is in his very own version of hell.

“Hey, Lopez, I'm taking Chen home.”

Angela nods, giving him a knowing smile and he knows she hasn't had as much to drink as she led on. He can't quite say the same for Lucy.

At her insistence—and because he knows it'll do her morning hangover good—they stop for tacos on their way to her apartment, and end up eating them mostly in silence in the back part of Tim's truck. He glances at her with a puzzled expression. Lucy is never normally this quiet. As if she can read his mind, she leans in again, resting her head on his shoulder, letting out a sigh of content, and he figures she must be exhausted from the dancing and the alcohol, so he lets her.

He tries to ignore how good it feels—how natural the weight of her head is and how he almost feels flattered that she trusts him this much. When she lifts it suddenly, he mourns the loss.

Tim isn't left wondering for long, because Lucy grins and—in what seems a natural extension of her resting her head on his shoulder—leans further in and presses her lips against his.

He's a much worse person than people give him credit for, because he doesn't instantly pull away. Instead he allows her lips to move softly over his, his hands finding purchase on her hips, pulling her in before pulling back. He's going straight to hell just for wanting this so much that he has to convince himself this isn't the way.

Because Tim has been in love with Lucy for a while, but this—filling some invisible hole inside of her when she's drunk—isn't how he’s imagined it. Her lips chase his for a moment, before she realizes he's not kissing her back anymore and her mouth forms a pout.

“Lucy—”

“Um, no I get it. Crystal clear.” Her big eyes fill with tears and she looks down to hide her cheeks flaming with rejection.

“That's not—I'm not—”

“You don't have to explain.”

“I'm not saying no. Just, not like this. Not right now.”

Her eyes widen and she dares to look up. Understanding fills her features and somewhere inside of him hope blooms.

He drops her off at her apartment, walks her up to her door and remains the picture of a gentleman the entire time.

Only when he's telling her to lock the door, to drink water and take an aspirin, does he allow himself to let loose the words weighing him down.

“God, I hope you still want this tomorrow.”

She offers him a soft smile before closing the door, and it's the most sober she's looked since they left the bar.

Tim drives back to his house, making a mental note to thank Angela, even though he doesn't sleep a wink that night.

Lucy's stubborn “I will,” to his desperate sentence is echoing in his mind on repeat, the promise of tomorrow lingering in the air around him. When his tired brain finally does shut down, and he succumbs to sleep, it's no surprise Tim dreams of kissing Lucy.

[daitranscripts]

Iron Bull: Warm Approval

Tell Me About Your Troops

Iron Bull Masterpost

Available after meeting the Chargers and if they are not sacrificed.

PC: I’d like to hear more about the Chargers.

After Demands of the Qun Iron Bull: They’re good. Riding high after we hit those Venatori. Glad they made it out alive, too.

Iron Bull: Always happy to talk about my guys. What do you want to know?

1 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: How did you start? [2]

Investigate: You must have crazy stories. [3]

Investigate: Your group is diverse. [4]

Investigate: Tell me about Krem. [5]

General: Goodbye. [6]

2 - Investigate: How did you start? PC: How did you start the group? Iron Bull: It’s easy to make a name for yourself as a merc when you’re a head taller than most folks. I spent a year or two working for Fisher’s Bleeders, but their captain was crap. Figured I could do better. The best folks in the Bleeders agreed with me, so we split off.

Dialogue options:

Special: What about Fisher? [Back to 1]

7 - Special: What about Fisher? PC: I imagine Fisher disagreed. Iron Bull: (Grunts.) He came at me. I snapped his sword in half, and we talked things out over drinks.

3 - Investigate: You must have crazy stories. PC: What are the craziest jobs you’ve ever taken? Iron Bull: Besides this one? There’s a lot of violence between the nobles here, but that’s standard work. The fun stuff is when they party. They always want to impress each other, and that means getting something shiny. We’ve hunted wyverns, fought through caves to find some old magical crap, even went giant-baiting once.

Dialogue options:

Special: Giant-baiting? [8]

[Back to 1]

8 - Special: Giant-baiting? PC: What’s giant-baiting? Iron Bull: So this old guy, Comte Vanchess, has some kind of pageant planned, but he needs a giant, which is off in some damn cave. He’s got some kind of rare charm to control the giant, but no way he’s going into that cave himself. So we go in, kill some spiders, find the giant, and wake it up. It attacks us, because of course it does, and we let the big bastard chase us outside, where Vanchess is waiting.

Dialogue options:

Special: You let it chase you? [9]

[Back to 1]

9 - Special: You let it chase you? PC: That was actually your plan? To let a giant chase you? Iron Bull: Yeah. We had to stay out of reach but close enough that it wouldn’t give up. It was tricky. Good news is that giants are slow. Long as my guys ahead could clear out the spiders, we were fine. Bad news is that giant spiderwebs slow you down a bit more than you’d think. PC: But at least Comte Vanchess got his giant for the pageant. Iron Bull: Ah, turned out that charm was a phony. Giant ate the poor guy alive. It’s okay, though. We still got paid. [back to 1]

4 - Investigate: Your group is diverse. PC: You have people from plenty of different backgrounds in your group. Iron Bull: Yeah. Well, when you’re in Orlais and you look like me, you can’t be picky about who you take in. A lot of ’em got turned away from other companies that didn’t want a knife-ear or a crazy dwarf. Their loss. You get my back in a fight and carry your own weight, you’re good with me.

Qunari PC Iron Bull: How about you? You had a company of your own. How did you put yours together?

Dialogue options:

General: I took all kinds. [10]

General: I mostly stuck with humans. [11]

General: I used Tal-Vashoth. [12]

10 - General: I took all kinds. PC: Like you, more or less. I took anyone who could take care of themselves and follow orders. Iron Bull: Great minds… [back to 1] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 11 - General: I mostly stuck with humans. PC: I only had humans, for the most part. I thought I’d get more work with the nobles that way. Iron Bull: Yeah, that makes sense. Some of them only want the right people bleeding for ’em. [back to 1] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 12 - General: I used Tal-Vashoth. PC: My company was mostly Tal-Vashoth, like me. Iron Bull: (Grunts.) Well, it’s better than becoming bandits, I guess. [back to 1]

5 - Investigate: Tell me about Krem. PC: I’d like to know more about Krem. Iron Bull: He’s a good soldier, and a better second-in-command. The troops need someone to complain to when I’m being a hard-ass. He’s good for that.

13 - Dialogue options:

Special: But you hate Tevinter. [14]

Special: Him being her isn’t an issue? [15]

[Back to 1]

14 - Special: But you hate Tevinter. PC: You don’t have a problem with him being from Tevinter? Iron Bull: Nah. PC: But you hate “the Vints.” Iron Bull: Sure. But he’s not a Vint. He’s just Krem. I can get worked up about a group or a nation just fine, but people… It’s too much work to hate them one by one. [back to 13]

15 - Special: Him being her isn’t an issue? PC: You don’t have any problems with him being a woman? Iron Bull: He’s not a woman.

Iron Bull (Qunari PC): Look, you and I have to walk carefully so we don’t accidentally break the furniture or the elves. Iron Bull (Dalish PC): Look, I’ve got horns. You’ve got pointy ears and those freaky, big elf eyes. Iron Bull (dwarf PC): Look, I’ve got horns. You only come up to my knee, and you can’t dream. Iron Bull (mage PC): Look, I’ve got horns. You can shoot fire out of your ass. Iron Bull (human PC): Look, I’ve got horns. You’ve got a magic mark on your hand that makes demons pop out of the sky.

Iron Bull: We’re probably not the best people to go around deciding what’s normal. Krem’s a good man. I don’t give a nug’s ass that it’s a little harder for him to piss standing up. [back to 13]

6 - General: Goodbye. PC: See you later, Bull. Iron Bull: Nice talking with you, boss.