#maybe consulting with someone else might help..?

[ziirogravity]

need to redesign my main group of ocs again I think (I'm mostly just not feeling their outfits, plus I don't think I've drawn any of the others besides Agnes and Beau in a hot minute)

if I do I'm thinking of redrawing their OG, old designs alongside the new ones as well

just as a sort of comparison

and maybe I'll like talk about their history and stuff (even tho Beau's is a bit embarrassing lol)

I also probably wanna rework their story again, the alternate dimension story idea's starting to show too many things I don't rly like about it ;-; (plus I have a new OC who hops between worlds/dimensions now anyways)

so I'll be trying to think on ideas for that if I do ultimately decide to scrap it.

but yeah this seems like it could be a cool project 👍

[malkaleh]

Ways being rich would really help - there are two pieces of clothing I would really like, total $400 (i have to buy none synthetic fabric because my skin is in hell) and I know know this is a ridiculous privilege of a problem but it would be so nice to just be able to buy the clothes straight away and not worry about groceries and bill paying as a result and again, I’m fortunate in so many ways but…I would just like to be comfortable, to be able to commission artists, to get my friends gifts when I want, to buy books and pretty things and tea and travel and not worry about money.

[unboundprompts]

advice for a character who grips control like a lifeline. who wants to be in charge of every little thing because whenever they're not in control of something something bad could happen. has happened. they can't let a single variable be wild or in someone else's hands

How to Write a Controlling Character

Backstory Rooted in Trauma or Guilt

This character likely has a history that has ingrained the belief that they must be in control or face devastating consequences. Perhaps they once trusted someone else with something crucial—a promise, a responsibility, or a life-altering choice—and that trust was broken in a way that had lasting repercussions. For example, maybe they lost someone because they weren’t “careful enough,” or they experienced a betrayal when they trusted another person’s plan.

They might frequently flash back to this moment, possibly catching themselves thinking, If only I’d been the one in control, this wouldn’t have happened. This memory fuels their need to keep a tight grip on everything, especially if they’re in high-stakes situations.

Rigid Daily Routines and Habits

This character’s day is probably packed with small rituals and routines that give them a sense of security. From double-checking door locks to setting multiple alarms, they rely on routines to give themselves a sense of order. In fact, they might be nearly ritualistic about small actions—checking emails three times before sending, never leaving a task halfway finished, or meticulously arranging their workspace.

Even something as simple as making coffee can become a precise process. If someone moves one of their tools or a file from their desk, they may feel a spike of frustration or even anxiety, seeing it as a disruption to their personal “system.” They could feel that control in their daily life is the only thing keeping chaos at bay.

Intensely Observant of Details and Mistakes

They are hyperaware of mistakes or inefficiencies in others, mentally cataloging things like a coworker’s slight lateness or a friend’s disorganization. They may feel a sense of superiority (or frustration) over people who don’t “have it together” and take it upon themselves to organize or “fix” things for others.

In conversation, they might cut people off or “correct” them even over small points, often justifying this to themselves as necessary. For instance, if someone shares a plan that seems half-formed, this character could immediately dive in, pointing out potential problems or filling in details.

Controlling Relationships and Social Situations

This character struggles in relationships where they aren’t the dominant or organizing force. They might instinctively take over when making plans with friends, micromanaging even casual hangouts to make sure everything goes “right.” For example, they might pick the restaurant, plan the travel route, and check weather forecasts—assuming that if they don’t, no one else will think of these things.

When someone resists their attempts at control, they can respond defensively, often turning cold or resentful, unable to understand why anyone wouldn’t want them to manage the situation. Statements like, “Fine, but don’t blame me if this doesn’t go well,” are frequent in their interactions.

Extreme Anxiety or Panic When Control Is Taken Away

When things go beyond their reach, this character might experience panic, as if they’re suddenly powerless. For instance, if an unexpected roadblock prevents them from handling a task (like a canceled flight they needed to board, or a plan that falls apart), they might spend hours trying to regain control, calling every contact or frantically exploring alternatives.

Their reaction may feel extreme to others. Even minor setbacks—such as a colleague taking initiative on a project or a friend planning something without consulting them—can trigger a disproportionate response, like clenching their fists, pacing, or silently stewing as they feel the situation “slipping.”

Inability to Accept Help or Collaboration

Their controlling nature makes it hard for them to collaborate, as they believe their methods are the only ones that work. For them, accepting help feels like an admission of weakness or failure, so they rarely delegate or ask for assistance. If they do reluctantly accept help, they are constantly supervising or “suggesting” things, making it feel more like they’re still in charge.

In a team setting, they might take on all the major tasks, either out of distrust in others’ abilities or a feeling that no one will match their standards. Their motto could be something like, “If you want something done right, do it yourself,” even if that means working late or burning out.

Reluctance to Show Vulnerability or Need

Since vulnerability and control rarely coexist for them, they avoid showing weakness at all costs, preferring to mask stress or struggles as “just part of the job.” If they do become overwhelmed, they’re more likely to shut people out, saying, “I’ve got it handled,” even if it’s far from true.

When people push them to let go or share the load, they might lash out, accusing others of “just not understanding.” They often see their intense responsibility as a form of sacrifice, justifying their behavior with, “If I don’t handle this, who will?”

[abbotsanatomy]

Jack x reader

Possessive & Protective Jack. Reader is the hospital social worker. Jack finds out a grieving family member has been stalking and harassing reader.!

⨳ (I’LL BE WATCHING YOU)

pairing: jack abbot x social worker!reader warnings: age gap (28, and 49), depictions of stalking, grief, child death, epilepsy (seizures), verbal assault, physical assault. author's note: this was a rough one to write tbh! hope u like! title’s totally inspired by ‘every breath you take,’ i love double meanings lol

“Good morning!” you greet, strolling into the ER break room.

You set aside the coffees you bought for everyone. It's your turn to bring everyone their fix tonight. They're nothing fancy, as can be expected from someone who earns almost half of what everyone else around here does.

You pick one of the brown coffee cups up from the paper cupholder on the counter, “Or, Y'know. Good night?”

“Live-saver!” one of the second-year residents yells. She's quick to grab one of the coffees, too.

The few people in the break room do the same, thanking you along the way. They slowly filter out, presumably going to tell everyone the break room's stocked up again so they can get their own before it's all gone.

It's just you and Dana Evans in the small room now. She's never been one for rushing home the moment her shift's over. She always lingers, you feel like you might know her even better than the night shift's charge nurse. The affinity you have for her can also be attributed, in huge part, to the fact that the veteran charge nurse reminds you of Dr.Abbot.

“Hey, kid. I heard what happened yesterday,” she starts. “Are you good?”

Wow. Word gets around much quicker than you expected. What happened yesterday should've been less than a blip on someone like Dana's radar.

The situation in question was just a grieving parent who'd said some pretty nasty things to you. He was in shock. You understand. You have to; it's your job.

His anger was justified. You were partially responsible for him missing his kid's last few moments. The memories kept you up all day.

The girl was barely two. When they came in, she was having an epileptic seizure that wouldn't go away. Upon further investigation, the doctors, with a neuro consult, told her father there was a surgery that could reduce her seizures. He'd heard about it before, but he was skeptical.

Apparently, having had his seizing daughter in his arms, unable to do anything but wait for an ambulance changed his mind.

There was one minor problem, though. Before they could get his daughter prepped for surgery, the hospital needed his insurance documents. She was stable; this wasn't emergency surgery. So the financial aspect was, unfortunately, a priority.

“Her mother's out of town. It's just me. I can't leave her alone,” he'd told you.

“Well, she still needs to be monitored for a while. And I understand you want the surgery immediately,” you'd reasoned with him. “Maybe you can make it home and back quickly, before she wakes up.”

He was hesitant at first, but you were determined. You'd help where you can.

“I'll be with her the whole time. I promise. Our doctors will do the best they can to make sure she's comfortable and safe.”

Safe. What a stupid word to use. She wasn't safe when he came back. She was dead.

She'd had another seizure minutes after he left. The entire medical team tried their best, you know that. You were there, holding her hand through it all. Begging her to stay strong for her dad.

When he came back, he was held back by security as he shouted all kinds of evil truths at you.

“You bitch.”

“You all killed her.”

“I could've been here if it wasn't for you!”

It was all true.

His words have replayed in your mind ever since. So, no, you aren't good. But there's nothing a charge nurse you're sure has been through worse can do about it, so you won't tell her.

“Mhm, I'm fine. Don't worry about me,” you lie, straight to her face.

You have a feeling she doesn't believe you, but she's also smart enough to recognize when someone doesn't want to talk about something. So, she drops it.

“Alright. Be kind to yourself, okay? Take some time off if you need it,” she advises, and you trust her judgement. It isn't like you'll listen to her, though.

“Okay. I'll try.”

Dana walks out of the break room, but not before giving you a long hug. On a good day, you'd be soaring with happiness. Today, it makes you feel just slightly better.

You're mid-sip when your favorite attending walks in. Jack looks shocked to see you. He'd given you the exact same advice Dana just did. You'd obviously not taken it.

He walks towards the counter you're leaning against. You feel like he's about to tell you off. He just stands there for a long moment. Then, he's searching your face for something. A sign of distress, maybe?

He doesn't find whatever it is he's looking for. You smile at how ridiculous this staring habit of his is.

“Are you good?” he parrots Dana.

Your brows crease, “Have you and Nurse Evans been talking about me?”

Jack looks confused.

“I'm fine. I'm great, even. Okay?” you demand.

He nods, but it's very hesitant.

“I have a shrink. I'm seeing her after work. You don't have to worry about me,” you reiterate.

Everything he could say was said yesterday. He reassured you for thirty minutes after, brought you water and food in between patients. There's nothing more he can say right now.

He just grabs one of the coffees you brought, “Thank you.”

His tone's a little too sincere for what this is. You'll take it.

You both exit the break room and part ways to get on with your shifts. His eyes are front and center in your mind the entire time, especially when you need some comfort.

You've been on edge lately. You're flinching at things you aren't supposed to. You close your curtains whenever you're home alone. You just can't shake this feeling that you're being watched.

The 90$-an-hour therapist you visit once a month says it's a symptom of your PTSD. That's of no consequence, because the anxiety feels as real as can be. Your nerves are fried all the time.

You need a break. There's one person in particular you want to spend your time off with. He's been invited to your apartment for dinner tonight. Thankfully, Jack hasn’t embarrassed you by rejecting your invitation.

He's just texted you that he's on his way now. You're in the kitchen with your cooking playlist playing in the background. It's the kind of mellow moment you haven't experienced in weeks. You're bringing the wooden mixing spoon up to your mouth to get a taste, when the moment's rudely interrupted.

Someone's pulling you back, with their arm tightly wrapped around your throat. This isn't psychosis, paranoia, or PTSD. This is real.

You try to hit back with the spoon in your hand, but it quickly clatters to the floor, splattering soup everywhere.

Your next line of defense is clawing your way out. Literally. You scratch and pull away at the stranger's arm. It's minimally effective. You're trying to scream out for help, too. It barely comes out as a squeak.

Your vision's getting blurry, when you feel someone tackle the intruder, bringing them to the floor. You can hear an altercation happening on your floor, right next to where you're coughing up a storm, just trying to catch your breath again.

Someone's landing more than a few punches, in the distance. The sound becomes much less distressing when you realize it's Jack who has the upper hand in this fight. His eyes lack the tenderness they usually have when you’re staring back at them.

“Jack...” you croak out, trying to pull him out of it.

He stops, pulling the guy under him up by the collar. That's when you realize it's the same grieving man who was shouting at you in the middle of the PTMC’s emergency room, less than a week ago.

Jack slams him against your kitchen wall, his arm pinning the man in place by the throat. On the floor, beside you, is a set of pictures. They must've fallen from the man’s pocket mid-brawl. They're all of you. At your therapist's office. At home. At work.

He's been watching you, following you. The realization fills you with dread.

You pull your phone out and dial 911 immediately.

“Are you okay?” Jack asks, his eyes still set on the man in front of him.

“Yes, I'm fine. Be gentle,” you tell him.

He shakes his head subtly. He'd be smiling a little too, if he wasn't so angry at the man in front of him. Of course, you'd want him to be gentle with the man who was about to kill you. You've always seen the best in everyone.

He can’t ever deny you a thing, so he's as gentle as he can be, with how furious he is right now.

“911, what's your emergency?” you hear on the other end.

Jack takes care of it all. Tells the officers what happened, shows them the pictures, escorts them out. All you could manage for now was a few hums in agreement to the questions the officers asked you.

Once they left, Jack came to sit beside you on the couch. Now, he’s been staring at your neck intensely. You can tell he wants to take a look.

“Do you mind?”

“Nope,” you answer, pulling your hair to the side.

His fingers are gentle on your neck, as they graze the bruise forming there.

His voice is tight, like he's still barely containing his anger, “It looks alright. It'll just be slightly bruised.”

You nod, “Thank you. For everything.”

Your hand finds his, interlocking your fingers. He brings your joined hands up to his mouth, to place a chaste kiss onto the back of your hand. You grin, and finally look up from the spot on your carpet you’d been staring at.

There's a cut on his cheek, still bleeding. You bring your other hand to rest on his cheek, pressing your mouth to the skin beside the cut.

“Let me take care of that for you,” you offer.

It's almost like he didn't even hear you, though. “You probably shouldn't go to work tomorrow.”

You nod in agreement, “Yeah, probably.

“Can you stay?” you propose, barely louder than a whisper.

You're asking because it'd make you feel safer. He can tell. He agrees, immediately.

You pull your hand away to go grab the first aid kit in your bathroom cabinet. You're also rehearsing how you're going to convince him to sleep in your bed with you, instead of the couch. He ends up being very easy to convince.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Differential Diagnosis

Spencer Reid x fem!reader x platonic!James Wilson

wc: 3.4k

note: okay, hyperfixations are WORKING. I started watching House MD (I saw a few seasons years ago, but I'd forgotten about it) and this just popped into my head during a night of mystical delirium. I hope it makes some sense; I had a lot of fun writing it.

The mere thought of asking Gregory House for a favor made your stomach turn.

Not because he was incompetent—quite the opposite—but because you knew his corrosive humor and his eagerness to make others uncomfortable all too well. Every time your paths crossed in the past, he found a way to mess with you, point out any personality trait that might make you vulnerable, and laugh it off with his signature mocking tone.

And yet, there you were, standing next to Spencer Reid at Princeton-Plainsboro, trying to convince yourself that this encounter wouldn’t be as terrible as you imagined.

As members of the FBI, the team had the freedom to consult with as many specialists as necessary, even if they weren’t directly involved in the case you were working on. And deep down, you knew there was no one better to help you than Gregory.

You cursed the moment Spencer had mentioned it in front of Hotch because you had to confess to the "friendship"—if you could even call it that—you had with the doctor. Well, more than a friendship, Hotch had sent you because he trusted that you could persuade him. You had asked Reid to go with you so he could explain the medical aspects and, in part, as a kind of punishment for him.

You had already spoken with the hospital director, and she had given you the all-clear to head to his office. When you arrived, House had his back turned, checking something on his computer. His voice greeted you before you could even speak.

“If this is another attempt by Cuddy to get me to take cases for free, tell her my charity quota is already exhausted this week.”

“It’s good to see you too,” you said, crossing your arms.

House slowly turned in his chair, and upon seeing you, a mocking smile appeared on his face.

“Well, well. My favorite FBI agent. What brings you here? Need a consultation, or are you here to arrest me for being too cool?”

You sighed. House was already getting on your nerves, and you hadn’t even been with him for five minutes.

“I’m sure if I were to arrest you, it wouldn’t be for that. We need your help with a case.”

House leaned his elbows on the desk and interlaced his fingers. He looked curious, like someone who, after hours of boredom, was offered an intellectual challenge. At least you had one advantage: you knew him well enough to read his expressions.

“Are you serious? The United States National Security and Intelligence Service needs Gregory House?”

“Maybe. But if you get too full of yourself, there are always other alternatives.”

“None as good as me, I see. I’m the first one you go to,” he murmured, a mixture of arrogance and mockery in his voice. “Don’t you have other FBI doctors for this? Or perhaps a 'medical council' that includes the entire detective team?”

You took a few steps closer, making it clear you were there for something serious. Spencer followed you cautiously.

“No, House. What we have is... something we can’t solve without your specialized knowledge. And I know this because you specialize in cases that no one else can interpret correctly.”

“And what do I gain?”

Reid intervened in his patient tone.

“It’s a case with complex medical implications. We thought you might be interested.”

House turned his head toward him, assessing him. He seemed as if he had barely noticed his presence.

“And who are you?”

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid,” you said, stepping forward. “He’s my colleague at the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Huh. I’ve heard about you…” House began, as if Reid were some kind of celebrity whose biography he was now trying to recall. “You’re the genius at the FBI, aren’t you? The child prodigy who memorized the Encyclopedia Britannica before he could ride a bike.”

“It wasn’t before I learned to ride a bike,” Reid corrected matter-of-factly.

House burst out laughing.

“Okay, you had my curiosity, but now you have my attention. What do we know?”

You sat in the chairs in front of his desk and slid the files you had brought toward him. Reid, from his spot, waited patiently for you to give him a signal to begin the explanation.

“Several victims have developed severe neurological symptoms before dying. We haven’t found any common toxins or obvious signs of poisoning, but their organs show unexplained deterioration.”

House flipped through the documents with little interest, probably analyzing what Spencer was saying.

“Interesting.”

“At autopsy, we found significant degeneration in the basal ganglia and the substantia nigra of the brain,” he continued. “There was also an abnormal accumulation of proteins in the limbic system, similar to what occurs in prion diseases, but without the presence of prions themselves.”

“Go on.”

“The liver tissue showed massive necrosis, with no signs of viral infection. And the lungs had edema, although the fluid levels were not sufficient to indicate severe heart failure.”

House narrowed his eyes.

“Hallucinations?”

“Yes,” Reid nodded. “In all the victims, the symptoms began with confusion, then extreme paranoia and episodes of aggression.”

House leaned forward slightly, interested.

“How long did it take from the first symptom to death?”

“About a week.”

“Common substances in the body?”

“Nothing consistent with known poisons. No recreational drugs or heavy metal exposure either.”

House let out a low whistle.

“Wow, this is interesting.”

You watched the interaction in surprise. House rarely took anything seriously in the first few minutes of a conversation, and the fact that he was now listening intently to Reid meant he was genuinely impressed. Then again, it was easy to be impressed by anything that came out of Reid’s mouth.

House leaned back in his chair, turning his cane slightly in his hand. His gaze slid from Reid to you and back to the file.

“All right, genius boy, give me a diagnosis.”

Reid squared his shoulders with his characteristic seriousness.

“It could be an atypical variant of Creutzfeldt-Jakob syndrome. The abnormal accumulation of proteins in the limbic system and the degeneration of the substantia nigra could indicate an accelerated neurodegenerative disease.”

House shook his head almost immediately.

“There are no prions. There’s no evidence that it’s spongiform encephalopathy. Furthermore, Creutzfeldt-Jakob doesn’t kill in a week.”

“It could be a case of L-Dopa analogue poisoning, perhaps exposure to a compound derived from MPTP. That would explain the necrosis in the substantia nigra and the neurological symptoms.”

“If that were the case, I’d expect to see rigidity and bradykinesia, not extreme paranoia,” House countered. “And liver necrosis doesn’t fit.”

Reid frowned slightly, thoughtful.

“Paraneoplastic autoimmune encephalitis?”

House snorted.

“And where’s the tumor, Einstein? Did I leave it in my other pants?”

“Some tumors may be too small to be detected in their early stages, especially ovarian teratomas—”

“Oh, right, because I’m sure all the victims had ovaries,” House interrupted, his sarcasm evident.

Reid was unfazed.

“Autoimmune encephalitis may also be associated with thymomas or lung carcinomas.”

House tilted his head, assessing him with more interest than he cared to admit.

“How old did you say you were?”

“Twenty-eight.”

House gave a short laugh. There was something like approval on his face, as if you’d brought him a tribute and he was happy with it.

“Medical specialty?”

“I’m not a doctor.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Cardiologist? Neurologist? No, wait—infectious disease specialist with a Sherlock Holmes complex?”

“I’m not a doctor,” he repeated, as if he hadn’t heard him the first time.

House hated being treated like an idiot, and, to be honest, you were enjoying the situation a little.

He frowned, that signature expression of his, and looked at your colleague again. “Then what the hell are you doing diagnosing?”

“I have PhDs in Chemistry, Mathematics, and Engineering. Also, specializations in Psychology and Sociology.”

“So, no medical degree, but you’re still correcting me.”

“I don’t need an MD to understand pathology, neuroscience, or toxicology,” he muttered nonchalantly, as if it were just another ordinary conversation.

You already liked Reid a lot, and after solving the case, you would make sure to buy him a few drinks just for the simple pleasure of infuriating the most cynical human being in the world.

“Tell me the truth, does the Bureau pay you well?”

“Excuse me?”

“Because I could give you a job here. Then I could fire those three idiots I have under my command, and you’d be enough to keep this department running. You’re more efficient, and while somewhat annoying, your answers are more grounded than theirs.”

“Don’t even think about it. Get your own genius.”

“You’re finally talking! For a moment there, I thought you were going to let your boyfriend do all the work.”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. There was no need to inconvenience the poor boy.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Wow, what a waste,” House said with mock pity before turning his attention back to Reid. “Okay, smart-ass, let’s do another brainstorm. Neurotoxins in the environment? Maybe a rare fungus, something that affects the central nervous system and causes necrosis in other organs?”

Reid shook his head almost instantly.

“If it were an environmental toxin, we should have found traces in lung tissue or blood. We did extensive testing, and there’s no evidence of chronic exposure.”

“Okay, how about mitochondrial disease? A rare genetic mutation that only manifests under certain environmental conditions?”

“Unlikely. The progression is too rapid for a classic mitochondrial disease, and there’s no evidence of prior systemic failure.”

House pressed his lips together in approval.

“You were right from the start. I love this case; it’s like an intellectual prostitute to me, and that doesn’t happen very often.”

Although the tasteless joke didn’t amuse you, you were reassured because he had agreed. The pre-arranged conversation was proof enough for you that the case would be resolved in the best possible way; after all, you had two geniuses standing in front of you.

You looked at Reid with a slight smile, grateful that he’d been so punctual with the details and had sparked House’s curiosity. He, as sweet as ever, returned the expression.

“Tell me something, do you always rub your fingertips together before you speak?”

Reid blinked, confused, as you frowned. It was obvious House wasn’t talking to you.

“Sorry?”

House waved a hand.

“You’ve done it three times since you came in. A repetitive pattern. Do you also avoid prolonged eye contact and feel uncomfortable with loud sounds?”

Now it was Reid who frowned. Before you could say anything, your companion spoke:

“Are you implying that I have autism?”

House shrugged.

“Asperger’s, specifically. Although that’s not used anymore because it’s not right to separate the functionally from the non-functionally mentally ill, right?” he laughed to himself. “And I’m not insinuating anything, I’m just observing what you’re doing.”

“I’m not autistic.”

House tilted his head, looking at him almost like an exotic animal.

“Maybe you should get tested.”

Just then, when you were about to point out House’s clear traits of Antisocial Personality Disorder and Narcissism, the door opened and someone else entered the office.

“House, could you stop torturing the interns for a moment? I need your help—”

The voice cut off as soon as the newcomer saw you, and your heart gave a treacherous leap.

James Wilson stood in the doorway, his white coat neatly buttoned, holding a pair of folders. His expression was calm and patient, as if he was already used to House’s games.

In your youth, you had a ridiculous crush on him, back when you had to do some internships at the hospital and had the misfortune of ending up supervising House. That’s when you met him.

Wilson was the kind of man who exuded kindness and confidence, with a sharp yet approachable intelligence. Not like House, who enjoyed making others feel stupid, or Reid, who was simply brilliant without even trying.

It wasn’t one of those extreme, idealized loves, but it was enough to have followed some of his medical lectures with fascination, impressed by his intelligence, his empathy, his way of explaining things clearly. You admired the person he was, how he always looked out for you and became your lawyer when House was getting too unbearable.

And now he was standing before you, after years of that old crush being left in the past… Or at least, that’s what you thought.

Because the moment he said your name, your mind seemed to forget how to coordinate words.

“It’s been a long time! I heard you’re working for the FBI now, right?” he politely approached, and you jumped to your feet to take the hand he was offering. “Congratulations! I always knew you’d go far.”

“Huh, thanks, Doctor,” you murmured shyly. The others present could notice the change in your voice, your posture, even your expression.

“Oh, just call me Wilson. Otherwise, you make me feel like you’re my patient.”

“Then thank you, Wilson. How nice to see you again.”

The smile he gave you made you blush, and you unconsciously brought a hand to your hair, tucking it behind your ear. House, never one to miss a juicy opportunity, narrowed his eyes and then smiled wickedly.

“Oh, this is glorious.”

Wilson looked at him, confused.

“Did I miss something?”

“Yes, dear. Turns out you have a secret admirer,” House said, pointing at you with his cane. “How did I not notice this before?

You felt the heat rise up your neck to your face. Spencer, who had remained silent, watching the interaction, now looked at you with something close to surprise.

“House, what the hell are you talking about now?”

“She! Look at her when you arrived. She was insulting me a second before, and as soon as she saw you, she turned into a lovesick schoolgirl.”

“It’s called kindness. It’s hard to practice it with you because you tend to be a jerk who makes me insult you every chance I get.”

Your attempt to divert the subject was useless because, once House got something stuck in his head, it was hard for him to let it go.

“You know, I always hoped you’d like older men and thought I was the ideal candidate, but I see you already had someone else in mind.”

“Did you like Dr. Wilson?”

“No! I mean, I… I liked him, but not in that way. Besides, it’s irrelevant!” you exclaimed, annoyed by Reid’s sudden indiscretion. Sometimes he spoke without thinking.

House smiled with delight.

“Oh, that’s completely relevant. In fact, I think your medical case can wait. This is much more interesting.”

Wilson sighed in resignation and looked at his friend, deciding it was time to intervene.

“House, will you stop bothering her? It’s not her fault that no one wants to treat you with human decency because of your behavior.”

You avoided looking at Wilson at all costs. You knew that as soon as your eyes met his, you’d blush, and that would only give House more reason to be a nuisance.

“For God’s sake, can we talk about the case again?”

House let out a laugh you never, ever imagined coming from him. He was ecstatic about what was happening, completely amused.

“Don’t you want Reid to know that his coworker had romantic dreams about the most smarmy oncologist in the hospital?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, a study from the University at Albany found that nearly a third of young women report having been attracted to authority figures like teachers, doctors, or supervisors at some point. It’s a well-documented phenomenon linked to perceptions of competence, security, and emotional maturity—”

“Reid,” you hissed. You swore you could die of embarrassment any second. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry.”

House ignored the comments and leaned toward you.

“Tell me the truth, did you dream of being diagnosed with a terminal illness just so you could spend more time with him?”

“House,” Wilson exclaimed, his tone now stern. There was a second of silence before he continued, “Don’t bother her. Just admit that you’re trying to humiliate her because you’re jealous that your pretty assistant had a crush on me instead of you.”

You immediately raised your head, staring at him directly. There was amusement on his face, and you tried not to burst out laughing—not knowing if you were doing it out of embarrassment, to deny the accusations, or out of genuine amusement.

House looked offended, and even Spencer held back a chuckle. He didn’t want to make fun of you because you were his friend, and there were feelings involved, at least on his part, but he found it endearing to see you so flustered by the situation. Besides, it was hilarious to think of a young woman’s pupils dilating in the oncologist’s presence. He hadn’t pictured you as that kind of person.

“I’m Spencer Reid, by the way. I haven’t introduced myself.”

Your partner’s unwelcome intrusion, in an attempt to lighten the tension, made Wilson burst out laughing.

“James Wilson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You knew he was truly committed to protecting what little dignity you had left when he shook Reid’s hand—because you knew how terrified he was of physical contact with strangers.

When you looked at House, waiting for him to offer you a truce, he waggled his eyebrows up and down, like a provocative little boy. No one was surprised when you gave him the middle finger.

“Are you going to help us or not?”

House tilted his head, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“Hmm, I will. Only because now you’ll owe me a favor, and since I know about Wilson, I doubt you’ll refuse to do it.”

Wilson sighed.

“You’re hopeless.”

“You know me well. What did you want to ask me, by the way? Everyone seems to need me these days.”

“Nothing urgent, I can wait,” he murmured. Then he looked at you. “Unlike House, I do have work to do in my department, so I’m leaving. It’s nice to see you again. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Same here. Although I hope we don’t have to call on each other’s services anytime soon.”

He laughed at your joke. Almost as if he wanted to test your limits, he leaned closer and, in addition to shaking your hand, planted a goodbye kiss on your cheek.

House (surprisingly) had the good sense to wait until his friend left the office before he started making exaggerated kissing noises—completely childish, if they asked you.

That was the final straw. You grabbed a tennis ball lying around and threw it straight at his chest: a ruthless and deliberate shot.

“Hey! Didn’t anyone teach you not to hit cripples?”

“And be thankful it wasn’t in the leg,” you exclaimed disdainfully. “Now move your handicapped ass outside. We need to go, and I’ll drag you to the car if necessary.”

“Now I see why you’re not her boyfriend,” he muttered as he stood up, rolling his eyes in Reid’s direction. “She’s just as crazy as my boss, and no one sleeps with that woman.”

You maintained your composure until he limped out the door, clearly pleased with the mess he had made. Once you were alone, Spencer cautiously approached you, testing the waters to avoid triggering your anger.

“That was… interesting.”

“Reid, I swear if you tell the team, not even all the love I have for you will stop me from punching you in the face. And it would be a shame to ruin your best attribute.”

“Hey, don’t take it out on me. I was just an unfortunate listener in this mess.”

“I’m serious.”

“Understood, ma’am,” he said slightly mockingly, raising both hands in a show of sincerity. The two of you then headed for the exit, following House.

There was silence for a stretch of the hallway until, just before reaching the elevator, he decided to speak again.

“But you did like him?”

God knows how you looked at him to make him laugh nervously, half amused and half worried.

“Don’t tempt me, Reid.”

“It was just a question!” he murmured innocently. The elevator doors closed in front of you once you stood next to the man with the cane. “Though, to be honest, I wouldn’t blame him if he had feelings for you. You’re so smart and pretty, it would be silly not to.”

You looked back at him, but this time there was a certain surprise and delight in your expression. Spencer, afraid of your answer, just stared at you with those huge doe eyes.

“Shut up, please,” you laughed.

With that, you leaned against him, defeated, and he allowed himself to give you a sweet hug as if he wanted to console you for the painful scene you had just experienced.

The rest of the case wasn’t any easier to deal with House, but at least you had the company of your own genius to make it more bearable.

[reidsapplelady]

PAST IS PAST (part II) — /S.Reid/ & /R. Chase/

SUMMARY: when your ex, Robert Chase, and House's team, is brought in to consult on a case, old feelings start to surface. Caught between Chase's flirting and Reid's quiet affection, you find yourself caught between a love triangle, and a choice that you have to make.

spencer x psych!bau!reader x chase ⸝⸝ fluff & slight angst ⸝⸝ co-workers to lovers

WARNINGS: reader has attachment and commitment issues! wow!!, house being sassy as always (i cant tell if i made him too sassy), past!ppth!reader x chase, present!psych!bau!reader x spencer. Wow house prefers reid!!! And yay!!! reader finally toughens up and finally chooses!

WC: 1.4k+

Chase stood near the board, his arms were crossed and his posture's relaxed. His presence pulled at something deep inside your chest.

On the opposite side of the room was Spencer, who was flipping through the autopsy report like it didn't burn to watch your past, Chase, linger so close to you now.

"Alright." You clasped your hands together as you stood up, "We need to connect these symptoms to something, there might be an environmental trigger to this so I'll go to Garcia and speak to her about pulling relevant data—"

"I can help." Chase offers, stepping away from the evidence board to go to you.

"I'll help her." Spencer cut in, too fast, and maybe too sharp. His voice snapped across the room.

Chase blinked in surprise, as House tilted his head "Oh, good. A territorial standoff." Foreman just clicked his tongue at House's remark.

"House, shut up." Foreman cut in, clearly tired from House's antics but he knew him. He wouldn't stop even after being told so, so he just gave up immediately.

"I-I mean she's asking for support from Garcia, it's only logical if I help her since I am her co-worker after all." Spencer said.

Chase just raised his hands in surrender, "Alright then, also for your information, I wasn't trying to step on toes."

"More like he steps on hearts." House said, which earns him a glare from Chase.

"House," Cameron warned. "Can you not?"

"I can always not, I just choose not to." House's gaze then flicked on you.

You sigh as you stood abruptly, "I'll work with Garcia, Spencer, I'll catch up with you later." It took a few seconds for Spencer to look at you (finally) and replying with an 'Okay' before he walks out.

Chase steps forward, his arms crossed and standing next to you. "So.. You and Reid?"

You chuckled as you grabbed all necessary files. "He's a colleague."

"You know that's not what I meant." Chase then looks at you, the others were just minding their own business but House stares at the two of you with interest. Knowing you probably won't have privacy with this man around, you accept your fate of him potentially using this as blackmail.

"Right." Your breath hitched.

"Listen, I'm not trying to undo anything." He added, he tried to explain but nothing came out of his mouth.

"Chase." you said quietly. "You did enough already." You turn your back against him and walk out of the briefing room to talk to Garcia.

Chase looked like he wanted to say more, but House butts in before he could. "You know, Chase, I always pegged you as smarter than this."

"What?" Chase turned to him.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm not judging. I’m just saying…" House’s voice dropped an octave, "sometimes people don’t realize how badly they needed something until someone else starts taking care of it better." He shrugged.

Chase raised an eyebrow, "Are you saying this is my fault?"

"No," House clicks his tongue before he continues "what I'm saying is that you didn't tell her to stay after she told you she was going to the FBI, nor did you contact her after that. That's an ass move by the way. Way to go Aussie."

"She was chasing her dreams?" Chase responded defensively.

"She was willing to find a solution to still have you." House rolled his eyes. "But oh well, past is past isn't it?"

After your online adventuring with Penelope, trying to figure out ways to find anyone who has had a science background you sat yourself at your desk at the bullpen. Without knowing Penelope was following you.

Penelope grabbed the nearest chair and sat next to you, you look at Penelope with confusion as she says, "You're doing it again."

You blinked at her, confusion still in your eyes, "Doing what?"

"Thinking so hard to the point you're practically giving yourself a stroke, maybe over two men."

you huffed a soft laugh, as you shifted yourself in a comfortable position in your chair. "I'm fine, Pen."

"No, you're not." She leans forward to you. "You're stuck between what was and what could be. And darling, I love you, which is why I cannot standby and watch you self-destruct!" she whispered loudly to you, her hands found its way to yours, holding your hands tightly.

You opened your mouth to protest before Penelope's hand let go of your hand and held it in front of your mouth. "I know what your deal is, hell it's so obvious! Chase is history. He's good, warm and has familiar history. And you?" She gives you a small smile before continuing, "Babe, I know you, you've never been one to choose safe."

You exhale softly, her words sinking deep into you as you listened. "And Spencer? He looks at you like he's reading a mystery that he doesn't want to finish, He waits for you. He always has."

"So, you think I should choose Spencer..?" Your eyes then landed on your cup of coffee before your eyes landed back to Penelope to speak. "I think I already knew who to pick. I just didn't want to hurt anyone. Especially Chase." She squeezes your hand before she opens her mouth to speak again.

"Loving someone isn't hurting someone. But not loving the right one back? That hurts everyone babe."

You look at Spencer at the kitchenette, who was preparing his coffee, Garcia gave you the 'Do it' and a thumbs up signal before you sighed and made your way to Spencer.

"Hey." You said, Spencer looked behind him, noticing you, before grabbing his cup of coffee. "I talked to Garcia."

"Any suspects yet?" He looks at you as he took a sio of his coffee.

"Uhm, not yet, but... That's not why I'm here." You pursed your lips before continuing, "Look, I'm sorry. About me and Chase. I'm sorry for not telling you."

"I didn't realize how much I was holding on to what Chase and I used to be. I told myself I could choose between you and him. But that's not fair. To you. I knew that, but.." you paused, he looks at you with a hint of hope in his eyes. "I was afraid of letting go. But now.."

"I realized that I should let go of what I used to have. And I don't wanna keep hesitating." you whispered as you continued, "Chase reminded me of who I was. But you.. You remind me of who I want to be.. I don't feel lost when I'm around you."

Spencer didn't say anything right away, he put his mug on the counter before speaking, "I've been falling, or I've fallen in love with you for a while now." He purses his lips before setting his hands in his pockets.

You smiled at Spencer, your voice thick with emotion "Took you long enough to say it."

"Why're you smiling at me like that?" He asks as your hand landed on his cheek.

"Nothing." You chuckle before he smiled back at you. You then decide to go back to your desk to tell Penelope everything.

Later, after an endless day filled stress, you lingered by the window in the briefing room, admiring the view of the city lights. Behind you, was House who leaned against the wall, with the support of his cane too, with a small satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

"Well," he drawled, "that's one less emotionally repressed genius wasting potential, you're welcome."

You looked at him with your eyebrow raised, "You had nothing to do with this." you chuckled as you joked around with him.

"Actually I inspired clarity with my fantastic insights. You're welcome again." He then gestured to the door. "Now, go. Your boy genius is probably somewhere trying to calculate the square root of his BPM" He says before he limps his way out with his cane. You roll your eyes as you head out, closing the door behind you and making your way to Spencer.

"Let's go, I'm tired." You sigh, before continuing, "You mind if I crash in your place for tonight? I don't feel like driving too far." You ask as you dig out your car keys from your pocket.

Spencer looks at you like he's never been in love before, before he agrees with a nod and he puts his hand on your shoulder.

Chase just looks at the two of you with a smile, with House beside him. "So, Aussie, what will you do now? Will you become a brooding mysterious man?" He looks at Chase.

Chase just rolls his eyes as he dug his hands inside his pockets, "Whatever, just as long she's happy, I'm alright. I'll move on eventually." House hummed at him before they walk out of the bullpen, to wait and take the elevator.

all rights reserved — © reidsapplelady

taglist: @dearlenore @tinkerbellsgf @1nterstellarcha0s @th3g5eren0

[girlkisser13]

for the first time

"it's just like seeing her" "for the first time" "again"

pairings: amelia shepherd x fem!reader

warnings/tags: angst with a hint of fluff at the end. mentions of amelia having a relapse.

summary: you reunite with amelia after she comes back from rehab.

the corridors of grey sloan memorial hospital held a familiarity that felt like home. the steady rhythm of beeping monitors, hurried footsteps, and murmured conversations had been the soundtrack to your life for years. it was comforting, yet today, as you walked through the halls, there was an undercurrent of unease you couldn’t quite shake. maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t been back in seattle for a while, or perhaps it was the uneasiness that always seemed to follow you since things fell apart with amelia.

mark had paged you for a consult. another reconstructive case that needed your expertise. you were good at this— rebuilding, putting things back together. it was what you did best, even if you couldn’t always apply the same skill to your own life.

you turned a corner sharply, your mind preoccupied with the upcoming surgery, and collided with someone. papers flew into the air like a cascade of autumn leaves, and you stumbled back, reaching out to steady the person you’d bumped into.

"i’m so sorry! i didn’t see you," you apologized, dropping to your knees to gather the scattered documents.

"no, it’s okay, i wasn’t looking where i was going either," a familiar voice replied.

you froze, your hand hovering over a paper as the recognition hit you like a tidal wave. you slowly looked up, heart hammering in your chest, and found yourself staring into the eyes of amelia shepherd.

"hi," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of surprise mixed with something else— something you couldn’t quite place.

"hi," you echoed, your voice barely more than a whisper.

the hospital faded away, the bustle of nurses and doctors becoming a distant murmur as you stood there, looking at each other. she looked almost exactly the same as the last time you’d seen her. her hair was shorter, yes, but her eyes still held that familiar spark of determination and defiance. there was a vulnerability in her gaze, though, that hadn’t been there before.

for a moment, you were both back at johns hopkins, two young residents studying late into the night, navigating the grueling demands of your profession while also navigating the complexities of your relationship. she’d been your world back then, the anchor that kept you grounded when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.

"amelia…" you began, but before you could find the right words, your pager buzzed, breaking the moment. you glanced down, seeing mark’s name flashing on the small screen. "i—i have to go," you stammered, taking a step back. "mark’s paging me."

"yeah, of course," she replied quickly, masking the disappointment that flashed across her face. "i’ll see you around?"

you nodded, still trying to process the fact that she was standing in front of you. "yeah, sure."

as you walked away, you couldn’t help but look back. amelia was still standing there, watching you go, a wistful expression on her face. a wave of emotions threatened to overwhelm you, but you pushed them down, focusing on the task at hand. mark needed you, and that’s where your focus had to be.

mark was waiting for you in the attending lounge, leaning casually against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. he looked up when you entered, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"what took you so long?" he asked, his tone teasing.

"i, uh, got held up," you replied vaguely, trying to shake off the encounter with amelia. "what did you want my opinion on?"

mark handed you a patient file, but his eyes stayed on your face, studying you intently. "i was looking at a complicated reconstruction case. thought you might have some ideas. but, you know, since you’ve been avoiding seattle like the plague, i haven’t been able to ask for your expertise in a while."

you knew he was baiting you, and you weren’t in the mood. "i’ve been busy, mark. you know that."

"sure," he said with a shrug, his expression still smug. "by the way, did you know amelia’s here?"

the file slipped from your hands, falling to the floor. you bent to pick it up, trying to hide the sudden rush of emotions his words caused. "yeah," you said, your voice more steady than you felt. "i ran into her in the hall."

mark’s eyes gleamed with amusement. "and? how was that?"

you shot him a glare. "she said hi. i said hi back. then you paged me."

"really?" he said, his voice laced with disbelief. "because she looked like she wanted to say more than just hi."

"do you know why she’s here?" you asked, changing the subject.

"nope," he said, shaking his head. "but she did say she was looking for you."

you felt your heart skip a beat. "looking for me? why?"

before mark could answer, a voice cut through the room. "mark." both of you turned to see amelia standing in the doorway, looking hesitant. "can i talk to you for a minute?"

mark straightened up, glancing at you before nodding at amelia. "sure, come on in."

you felt trapped, the walls of the small lounge closing in on you. "i should go prep for my surgery," you mumbled, quickly walking past amelia without meeting her eyes. as you left the room, you heard mark and amelia start talking, their voices fading as you made your way down the corridor. your mind was a storm of thoughts and memories, each one bringing with it a wave of emotion you weren’t prepared to face.

later that afternoon, you were in the lounge again, trying to focus on a patient’s chart when amelia found you. she entered quietly, her presence like a ghost in the room. you didn’t look up, your attention fixed on the papers in front of you.

"can we talk?" she asked softly, breaking the silence.

you took a deep breath before raising your eyes to meet hers. "what are you doing here, amelia?" you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral.

"i wanted to see you," she said simply.

you felt a flicker of frustration. "you flew three hours just because you wanted to see me?"

"yes," she replied, her voice unwavering.

silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating. you felt her eyes on you, searching, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her gaze. she took a step closer, and you saw her pull something from her bag. it was an envelope— the letter you had sent her when she was in rehab.

"i read your letter," she said, holding it out like it was a fragile piece of glass. "i’m sober now. i’ve been through rehab, therapy… i’ve done the work. but you weren’t there."

her words stung, and you finally looked up, meeting her gaze. the sincerity in her eyes was unmistakable. she looked like the same woman you’d fallen in love with all those years ago, and yet there was something different about her now— an openness, a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before.

"you don’t get to use my letter against me, amelia," you said, your voice tinged with anger. "not after everything you said to me."

her eyes filled with tears, and she took another step closer. you instinctively took a step back, the distance between you growing. the hurt in her eyes was palpable, and it mirrored the pain you’d carried for so long.

"i know i hurt you," she said, her voice breaking. "i didn’t mean those things. it was the drugs talking. i was scared and angry and broken. i wish i could take it all back."

you felt a lump in your throat, memories of those final days flooding back. the way she had looked at you with nothing but disdain, the harsh words that had cut deeper than any scalpel ever could. you had known she was spiraling, but you hadn’t known how to help. and then she had pushed you away, saying things that still haunted you.

"i know you didn’t mean them," you said quietly. "but that doesn’t make them hurt any less."

"i’m sorry," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "i’d do anything to take it all back, to make it right. i’m here now. and i’m sober. i came back to you. please, come back to me too."

loving amelia had always been complicated, a tangle of emotions you could never quite unravel. but standing here now, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes and hearing the sincerity in her apology, you felt something shift inside you. her presence brought back a flood of memories— late nights studying at johns hopkins, quiet moments stolen between surgeries, laughter shared over dinner.

but there was more than just nostalgia. there was pain. deep, lingering pain from the harsh words she'd said during her relapse. words that had cut deeper than any scalpel ever could. words you weren’t sure you could forget.

"amelia," you began, your voice uncertain. "i don’t know if i can do this again."

she looked at you, her eyes filled with emotion. "do you still love me?" she asked softly.

the question hit you like a freight train. did you? it felt like loving her was an inherent part of who you were, woven into your very being. but could you survive loving her again? you opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. instead, you stood there, silent.

amelia’s face fell, but she didn’t back away. instead, she took a tentative step closer. "because i still love you," she said, her voice trembling. "i’m still so in love with you. i don’t think i’ve ever… stopped being in love with you."

her words were like a balm to the wounds you’d carried for so long, but they also brought a new wave of fear. could you trust her again? could you trust yourself not to fall into the same pattern, the same heartbreak? "what are we supposed to do, amelia?" you asked, voice strained. "ruin each other all over again?"

she shook her head fiercely, determination shining in her eyes. "no. that’s not what i want. i want to love you the way you deserve to be loved. i want to be there for you, support you, make up for all the times i hurt you. and if you’re not ready yet, that’s okay. i’ll wait for you. as long as it takes."

you studied her, really looked at her, and for the first time, you noticed the changes. she seemed different, stronger, more grounded. it was like seeing her for the first time again, and it scared you. what if you had both changed too much? what if the love you’d once shared was gone, replaced by the scars of time and pain?

"i don’t know if we’re the same people we were before," you said quietly, voicing your fear. "we’ve changed, amelia. what if we’re too different now?"

she reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against yours, and the touch sent a spark through you, familiar and new all at once. "then that just means we get to fall in love with each other all over again," she said softly. "we get to learn each other’s hearts from the beginning. we get to build something new. something stronger."

her words resonated with you, and you felt the tension in your chest begin to ease. maybe she was right. maybe love didn’t have to be about holding on to the past. maybe it was about letting go, about choosing to believe in the possibility of something better. something real.

you took a deep breath, letting her words sink in. she was offering you a chance, not a promise that things would be perfect, but a promise that she would try. that she would be there. that she would love you.

"okay," you said finally, your voice barely more than a whisper. "okay, let’s try."

amelia’s eyes lit up with relief, a smile breaking across her face. she stepped closer, and this time, you didn’t move away. Instead, you let her wrap her arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. you closed your eyes, resting your head against her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of peace. a sense of home.

[honey-milk-depresso]

Hello! May I request Diasomnia boys dealing a very sick S/O? Like they will get sick every month. High fever, vomiting, headaches, blocked nose, sore throat, you name it and they have had that illness before. And they're also very behind on their studies because of this.

I had a friend like that too, and she’s currently in another school but we still talk to each other once in a while. This might be a little bit of my own experience mix in this so hopefully it doesn’t sound weird :”))

Diasomnia looking after a really sick s/o

Malleus Draconia

The smallest of a little sneeze from his precious child of man already makes him panic. Seeing you bed-bound with a runny nose, sore throat and headache, he’s getting an actual heart attack.

How can one be so frail??? Malleus might offered casting long lasting healing spell, or try making an elixir to make you permanently well again that no sickness can touch you no longer. But even you think it’s a bit too much when he elaborates how hard it is to find all the damn ingredients.

But Malleus is insistent. “It’s alright, my dear. I will scour the whole continents to find each ingredient.”

After much convincing from you, he reluctantly agreed to just help make simple, healing potions that can last you for a few days before you need to consume them again from him.

He might also consult Lilia on what he should do to entertain you while your bed-bound, and I swear to the SEVENS that he will bring his whole violin as entertainment while having many other brass instruments playing a whole orchestra of soothing music for you like you’re royalty or something like-

He might’ve also consulted with Silver for help and he told Malleus that you probably only wanted his company. To talk to him while you’re stuck in bed for a while until the potion boils finish so that’s what Malleus do. It’s rather peaceful just sitting there and talking to you quietly. It makes his heart feel at ease and he hopes he makes you feel at peace too. <3

Lilia Vanrouge

He’s experienced in taking care of sick people because he had young Malleus and Silver, so he’s pretty much equip to look after you.

Although Lilia has never quite experienced someone who can REALLY get sick and stay sick for a long time, he’s up for the challenge if it means to care for you. You’re his S/o after all!

Lilia is actually really good! He knows how to make the bed super comfy for you to sleep in, his voice always soothes and calms you down, he always remind you to take your meds and drink lots of water while you’re at it. Maybe he’ll ask Malleus to make you a potion to cure your sickness for a while or do it himself!

Just errr…. Don’t eat his cooking because, well, we all know how ominous it looks. And tastes.

Lilia has the habit of reading bedtime stories to you, mostly because he did that for Silver and Malleus when they were younger and he projects that action into you to comfort and soothe you while you’re sick. After all, you won’t feel better if you’re heart isn’t at ease, either.

When you finally fall asleep, Lilia smiles softly before kissing your forehead, sitting on the chair beside you bed and watch over you. <3

Silver

He panics a little, but the first thing he’ll tell you is to get lots of good rest and sleep.

He also tries to mimic what Lilia would do when he was sick during his younger days: singing you a lullaby, try reading bedtime stories (although he might fall asleep halfway), reminding you to take your meds and drink plenty of water.

Silver may also seek Malleus help in making a potion that could help you recover for a while or even lend one of Lilia’s storybooks to help you.

Would stay around you to be company while you’re bedridden, even if he gets sleepy and tired he’ll never leave your side or stop taking care of you.

Might’ve also tried to cook for you, but he only cooks soup because he doesn’t really know what else he can do. He just hopes it can make you feel better at least.

While you rest in bed, Silver, although succumbing to falling asleep, still holds your hand while you rest as both of you fall into a deep slumber together. <3

Sebek Zigvolt

Panicking beyond belief. How can one be so fragile and sickly?! He can hardly believe it and he doesn’t know what to do when you are bed-bound. The smallest sneeze of you already has him all over you with concern, so with your really sick nature, he’s practically made it a point to just be in your life now. Like he shares with you.

Initially, Sebek might’ve come off a little bit insensitive, saying how you should exercise more or something to build up a better immunity system. However, Lilia taught him otherwise to put you first. He knows the boy cares about you so he’s helping him show care in better ways.

He learns to cook soup, pray to Malleus for help in making a potion for your sickness (which the latter helped obviously), might’ve also pulled off the “I WILL TRAVEL THE WORLD FOR THE RARE POTION INGREDIENTS TO CURE YOU FOR GOOD” thing like Malleus which you have to keep on insisting for him to, I don’t know, not be stupid to get himself killed and he RELUCTANTLY listens to you.

He watches over you despite being tired and despite him not being the most lovey dovey or romantic boyfriend out there, you know he cares about you, maybe much more than you know. <3

Reblogs help! ^^

[crocomum]

Humanformers Dratchet/Ratchlock AU idea: SugarDaddy! Deadlock and reluctant SugarBaby! Ratchet

Ratchet finds someone (Drift) overdosing in an alleyway on his way home from a long night out drinking with colleagues. Still tipsy, he stops to help the stranger in the alley, gives him a kick; quickly realizes he's dying of an overdose.

Immediately goes into doctor mode and does everything he can to stabilize the dying man. Realizes he also has multiple stab wounds on his back and needs more than what he can do without equipment.

Calls it in.

No ambulances are close enough to take the call before the stranger would expire. The stranger, waking up now, barely cognizant, tells Ratchet to just let it happen. Laughs. Ratchet tells him if he's got nothing useful to say, to shut it.

They're not far from the hospital, the bar he, Pharma, Ambulon, and Red Alert (their call signs) all go to is close enough to walk to. Slapping himself fully sober (now Drift's looking at him like he's crazy) Ratchet asks the stranger if he can walk. Isn't surprised when it's a no.

Huffs and heaves a sigh--then heaves drift up and starts hobbling them toward the hospital. It's not the smartest thing to do but he's done dumber.

Drift acting as dead weight, asks why Ratchet is going so far for him. He's nobody. He has nothing. Wants nothing. Just let him go. No one would blame him.

Ratchet like, I would blame me. And what did I saying about closing that yapper unless you've got something useful to say. Like your blood type.

The stranger goes silent and they make their way into the hospital. Not a word is spoken as Ratchet hauls him inside, on an operating table, and gets to work.

It's not until Ratchet is cleaning up the bloody tools when the man sits up well before he should be able and asks why Ratchet did it. He's glaring at the doctor. Ratchet finishes wiping down a tool and goes to the stranger, grabs his hands.

Says he's special.

Means it. Doesn't know why he does. There's just something about the strange man that compels him to say it. He could have added that if the man were meant to die, he would have well before Ratchet found him. Or he would have died on the way to the hospital.

The stranger might say he doesn't want for anything, but his actions speak louder than his words. Even with all the protests, it's obvious the man wants to live.

Nothing more is spoken, the stranger having gone silent. But as the night drags on and after Ratchet is done cleaning, he asks if the man has anywhere to go. Is told no, then yes, then maybe.

Ratchet frowns but doesn't press. The stranger asks what he owes and Ratchet says nothing. Then thinks on it again and says for the man to keep his stitches clean until they disintegrate. Lay off the drugs if he can.

The stranger like, I meant money...not that he has any.

Ratchet just, do all that and it'll save me time and money.

Ratchet also remembers he hasn't introduced himself.

Holds out a hand for the stranger to shake, says he's Ratchet, CMO of Iacon Hospital.

Stranger, warily, takes his hand and shakes it weakly. Says he's drift. Just drift.

Drift slinks off after that, and Ratchet hopes it's the last he's seen of the man. Because it would mean he's kept himself out of trouble. Tries not to dwell on what else it could mean.

Too late to go home, he sleeps in his office. Wakes up to an early call to go into a board meeting; all the directors are there. It's a performance review. For Ratchet. About last night.

It's not that Ratchet used the hospital's equipment to save the man's life. It's that he let him leave without paying. Ratchet it waves it off; he'll pay for it himself. But now they're looking into his history and. Oh. He does this a lot. Mysteriously, there are a LOT of payments from Ratchet's personal account to pay for the uninsured (homeless) people he brings in.

Ratchet is demoted, and then demoted again. His pay is cut as low as it can feasibly go and he's little more than a glorified consultant. He's not saving any lives here. Decides he didn't become a doctor for the paycheck or the prestige and Iacon Hospital might be the biggest and most well funded hospital in the city. But he realizes that he'll do better, help more, by quitting and striking out on his own.

So that's what he does, using the last of his savings to do it. Opens up in the worst part of town. Calls it the Dead End Clinic. Thinks it's funny, thinks it's ironic.

He's busier than ever but his tendency to charge less than he should for treatment and not pay himself is starting to catch up. Bills are stacking and it doesn't help that gang activity in the area has increased. Means more patients and even less payment, considering the types who usually wind up in his clinic.

His friend on the force, Orion, does what he can and patrols the area during his off hours, but there's a rising crime organization/lord the cop is trying to track down (no one believes him that it's happening) and that's been taking up most of his time.

It's getting to the point Ratchet can't afford to keep his regular hours, can't keep the most commonly needed medicines stocked. Thinks about, not closing the clinic, but going back to Iacon Hospital, just to have a steady paycheck to keep the clinic afloat.

He's in his dingy little office head buried in bills, payment defaults, and maxed out credit card statements. When some guy in a white suit, red tie, with slicked back, but still pointed hair kicks the door open.

Ratchet, unimpressed, having dealt with thieves before, tells the stranger to let him know if he finds any money in the safe; and if he does, if he can do any other miracles or if he's just one-trick kind of robber.

Stranger laughs, approaches, slams a fat stack of cash on Ratchet's desk. Leans down, smirks as he declares, "Found some--and look, here's your miracle. Me"

Ratchet finally sits up, gives the man a once over and decides he probably couldn't take him in a fight. The man is built like some kind of lean tank. Grabs the wrench he keeps in his desk just in case. Gets serious. Asks the stranger what he wants.

Stranger responds, "Good question. I didn't used to know, but then I met God and he gave me an answer. Born again and all that."

Ratchet rolling his eyes. Great, a religious nutjob, those were always so reasonable. Doesn't help that the guy looks like some kind of wealthy mobster. Not that Ratchet has ever really considered what one would look like before.

Still hedging his chances for getting out of this without a fight, he asks the stranger what God told him. The stranger responds--

"I'm special."

[stellar-haikyuu]

in your hands ☆ shirabu kenjirou x reader

synopsis: when life gets to you, shirabu reminds you that your future is in your hands. details: hurt/comfort | romantic relationship | ~1k words | gn! reader warnings: mentions of anxiety about the future and expectations. self-insert/heavily self-indulgent. very dialogue-heavy, rushed ending, not proofread. not my best work but i needed it for mental processing.

“I’m not sure you’re cut out for it.”

For a dreamer like you, these are the sentiments that hurt you the most.

“You’re not assertive enough.”

While you excel in some aspects, it’s easy to look past that.

“Maybe you should do something else.”

A part of you will always direct your attention to any sign of dissatisfaction, doubt, or disappointment.

“I expected more from you.”

While you know it’s better to process your feelings before letting them go, your mind holds on to them with an iron grip.

“You’re too quiet.”

And their words run circles in your head until you can’t keep up.

“There are times that others overpower you.”

You know you shouldn’t exist to please others, but you can’t help it.

It’s too-

“You’re staring.”

You register the sound of a door closing, followed by the sound of footsteps.

The chair next to you is pulled out, and Shirabu takes a seat.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, bewildered at his sudden statement.

He points at your laptop screen, which has blacked out. Huh.

“You’ve been staring at it for five minutes. There’s nothing on the screen.”

You splutter. “What? You were watching me?”

“Yeah. The whole time I was in line to borrow these books.” He places a stack of science textbooks on the table. “So, what’s going on?”

“Me?”

“You’re spiraling, aren’t you?”

“I, what-”

“Don’t be stubborn.” Shirabu raises an eyebrow. “What did we agree on last time?”

“To talk to someone if I’m having a problem…” you mutter.

“And what did I say about talking to me?”

His gaze is steady, expectant. You almost forget to respond.

“That I’m not,” you avert your gaze before continuing, “...a burden.”

He hums to himself. “Is it your mid-semester grading?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “What gave it away?”

Shirabu briefly shows you an email notification on his phone. “I also got mine earlier. That’s why I told you I’d be late for this study session. My professor suddenly called to meet.” 

He puts his device on the table and pauses, almost like he’s thinking hard about what to say next. “And, you remember what happened during your last grading consultation, right?”

You nod silently, staring back at your reflection on your laptop screen.

There’s a stretch of silence as the two of you wonder how to start the conversation.

You’ve spent the last six months feeling like your understanding of reality has shattered.

Feeling like you’re not enough. Stupid. Incapable. A waste. A fraud.

“Hey.” Shirabu cuts through your train of thought, gently easing the wrinkles on your forehead. “What happened?”

You take a deep breath, readying yourself to confront what you want to avoid.

“I’m going to the hospital for my next internship site.” You start.

He nods. “And I’m going to help you prepare for it, remember?”

“Yeah. But I talked to my adviser earlier. She suggested that I switch to another location.”

His eyebrows furrow. “What, why?”

“I don’t know, maybe she thinks I can’t do it…after everything that happened.”

At that, Shirabu’s expression shifts into something like frustration. “And do you plan on switching?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I still want to try, but a part of me thinks she might have a point.”

“Then, go try,” he says, resolute. “Did she actually tell you that you can’t do it?”

“Not really.” You put your face in your hands. “I think it was implied. I’m still an anxious mess. That much is clear.”

“So, she thinks that pushing through will result in the worst-case scenario?” 

“I suppose,” you sigh. “Like I’ll have another anxious breakdown or some shit.”

Another silence. You hate these moments—reminders of tense meetings with supervisors, their disapproving gazes, their clipped words.

Suddenly, Shirabu drags his chair closer, then takes one of your hands in his. You almost jump at the gesture.

“What do you gain from running away?” He asks, voice softening. 

You think it over as he kneads over your knuckles.

While the upcoming months fill you with dread, you find yourself wanting to push forward.

The idea of losing this opportunity genuinely frustrated you. It was what you’ve always wanted since you heard about it.

You’d be stupid to let it go. 

“Regret,” you reply.

Shirabu nods, satisfied with your answer. “And is the worst-case scenario the only possible outcome?”

Scenes immediately flood your mind. Supervisors berating you, freezing up in front of patients, being told you’re not good enough, failing to overcome your anxiety, realizing that you’re not as resilient as you thought you are-

“Is the worst-case scenario the only outcome?” he repeats, nudging your knee.

Your head goes blank.

“Do you remember how happy you were when you finally understood your adult client’s cases before?”

Yes. You do. Sometimes, you never wanted the sessions to end.

“Your past supervisor said that you’re capable of adjusting and learning quickly, didn’t she?”

You recall the satisfaction of getting techniques right, seeing progress, and celebrating small victories with clients.

“Do you need to be perfect to learn something valuable?”

You shake your head, and in response, Shirabu squeezes your hand.

“So, is a challenge equivalent to your downfall?”

“No.”

Shirabu hums to himself, satisfied with your answer. “And we’ve been working on your coping strategies, remember?”

“Yeah.” You smile, thinking about everything Shirabu’s helped you through.

From telling you to seek help, talk to your parents, reach out to your friends, advocate for yourself, and make time for self-care? There’s progress—while it isn’t linear, it’s there.

“So, to hell with people if they think you can’t.” There’s a hand under your chin, tilting your head upwards. “Look at me.”

You listen, meeting his sandy irises. 

“They can’t tell you what to do. The only thing that can stop you is the decision you make.”

You inhale deeply, letting the words sink in. 

He’s right. They have no control over your life.

With a burst of courage, you make your final decision.

“I’ll do it.”

Somehow, the weight on your shoulders disappears at your statement.

"That's it, sweetheart." Shirabu presses a kiss to your forehead. "Your future lies in your hands."

masterlist

[petercapaldi-press]

Reposted from @dawnlestaffs [Original post here.]

INTERVIEW

May 30, 2009

[transcript under the cut]

Out of the Loop

He went from pop star to pop has-been, Local Hero to zero, Oscar winner to TV-show extra… But it took the role of a foul-mouthed spin doctor in the BBC’s hit political satire The Thick Of It to transform Peter Capaldi’s fortunes

As the frerocious spin doctor Malcolm Tucker in the biting BBC political sitcom The Thick Of It, Oscar-winning actor Peter Capaldi has demonstrated a talent for swearing that would make Alf Garnett blush. In person, Capaldi, whose talents have found a wider audience following the success of the recent big-screen spin-off In The Loop, barely cusses at all. The air only really turns blue as he warms up to a rant about the world of politicians.

‘Politics is a whorehouse,’ he says. ‘It’s a brutal world where there’s no place for the thin-skinned. I’m not saying that all politicians are awful. I don’t know any of them well enough to say whether they’re awful or not. But almost every day you find out something about them that’s appalling. Maybe we shouldn’t be surprised any longer. But it’s still a shock to find out about Damian McBride sending emails filled with very unpleasant allegations about members of the Conservative Party. Like everyone else, I’m tired of all this. It’s a terrible way to behave, a completely disgraceful way to conduct any kind of business.

‘It shouldn’t be encouraged. There’s nothing smart about it whatsoever, but it’s part of the mechanism by which things are achieved in politics. Whatever anyone pretends, it’s not just McBride behaving appallingly and it’s not just Labour. It’s going on all over the place. The idea that David Cameron and George Osborne are going to come in and clean all this up is, frankly, laughable.

‘Forget it. Because it’s going on already. You can’t blame anyone for being cynical about politicians. I wish someone like Obama would come along and say, “Believe in me.” We’re in dire need of someone with a sense of honour, because I don’t see any honour out there. Personally, I have as little to do with politicians as possible. The ones I’ve met I’ve found very boring. They’re extremely egotistical, incredibly self-important. If I can help it, I try to stay as far away from them as possible.’

As he admits, this has become increasingly difficult since he introduced Malcolm Tucker to the world in 2005, when The Thick Of It first hit our screens. Directed and co-written by Armando Iannucci, the show followed a team of government ministers quaking under the rule of Tucker, a spin doctor with an Oxbridge degree in foul-mouthed intimidation. To ensure Tucker’s lines are as sharp and obscene as can be, a special swearing consultant is kept on the payroll. ‘He’s a mysterious chap called Ian who possesses a genius for creating grotesque insults,’ says Capaldi.

The show was hailed as both a brave new chapter in political satire and the funniest thing on TV since The Office. By the time it had been extended to two hour-long specials, Tucker was being wildely discussed as belonging to the pantheon of classic British comedy creations, alongside Del boy, Alan Partridge and David Brent.

Everyone involved with The Thick Of It has maintained that Tucker is a composite of several government spin doctors. Even so, Capaldi’s character is frequently compared to Alastair Campbell, Tony Blair’s communications director, who is famous for his Tucker-esque short fuse and use of industrial-strength language.

Campbell himself seems to have few qualms about being associated with a character so profoundly monstrous that he’s at his most courteous when telling a special adviser, ‘If you don’t go and get me some cheese, I’m gonna rip your head off and give you a spinedectomy.’

While acknowledging Tucker is ‘a devious, lying, bullying, truth-twisting, warmongering psychopath,’ Campbell has also conceded that he is ‘to an extent, based on me’.

Given that Capaldi might sooner settle for a ‘spinedectomy’ than endure the company of politicians, imagine his delight when he attended a Channel 4 political awards ceremony last year and found himself sharing a table with Alastair Campbell.

‘It was a very strange evening,’ says Capaldi. ‘I had no plans to sit next to him and the first I knew about it was when I arrived. It was extremely rude of Channel 4 to have set it up that way. Equally, it would have been rude of me to have walked away from the situation. I never wanted to meet Campbell, because I knew he’d be very charming.

‘It was very entertaining to watch him in action. He provided a running commentary on the night’s proceedings which had its Tucker moments. Certainly lots of swearing. It was a riotous sort of night. Having attended comedy awards, which involve drunken losers getting more and more horribly drunk, I thought I’d seen the worst kind of bear pits. Nothing compares to being in a room full of politicians screaming abuse at each other all night. It’s hilarious but also a bit terrifying.

But Capaldi has come closer to the centre of power than that. While making The Thick Of It, he spend a day filming at 10 Downing Street. There, to his grim bemusement, real-life Malcolm Tuckers queued up to have their photo taken with him.

‘Number 10 could not have been more welcoming,’ he says. ‘They threw open the doors to us and gave us the grand tour. We ended up sitting in the Cabinet Room, thinking how bizarre the whole experience was. They all seemed very happy to have us around. The real-life Tuckers weren’t nearly as colourful as ours, but obviously they were all on their best behaviour.

‘It might seem odd that the find the show so funny. Maybe the spin doctors all see themselves as victims in some way. They work under tremendous pressure. Unlike most other office workers, the fruits of their day’s work have far-reaching consequences for all of us.

‘There are no health-and-safety regulations for what they do. Nothing is laid down in terms of how they should treat people. There are no restraints. Essentially they’re gatekeepers, the tough guys who ensure that politicians are protected from the media. Their position in the chain of command is not defined, but it’s understood that their task is difficult and vital. As such, they enjoy enormous liberty in the corridors of power. They’re free to dish out random b*****kings nd make them as savage as they like. If anyone feels that they’ve overstepped the mark, they can’t go to a tribunal and claim they’ve been abused.’

But not all politicians have seen the funny side of the satire. Conservative MP Michael Portillo has dismissed In The Loop as ‘exhumed satire, hopelessly dated, deeply boring’.

‘Portillo’s reaction was extraordinarily angry,’ says Capaldi. ‘It should have reminded us how much we all hate the man. He’s been through an interesting cycle. We all used to hate him and, to the fierce delight of a generation, he lost his seat in 1997. Then he became a lovable TV personality. Now we can hate him all over again.’

The film has a stellar cast, including Steve Coogan, Gina McKee and Tom Hollander. But none is more impressive than James Gandolfini in his first film since his eight-year run as Tony Soprano came to an end. For a hardened Sopranos fan, working with Gandolfini was the thrill of a lifetime.

‘Waiting for him to arrive, the anticipation was electric,’ says Capaldi. ‘Then he walks through the door and his charisma fills the room. I kept thinking that this is what it must have been like to spend time with Sinatra: everywhere he goes he’s recognised and everyone wants a photo or an autograph. He’s incredibly gracious with everyone he meets.

‘We finished filming in New York and an end-of-shoot party had been arranged at this fabulous steakhouse in Brooklyn. It’s very hard to get a table there and there’d been a miscalculation. The actors had been put with the producers, but make-up and wardrobe had been put in a separate room.

The maître d’ was very resistant to the idea of putting us all together, explaining that the table we needed was occupied and it would be bad form to ask those people to move. When James arrived I explained the problem to him, but even he couldn’t persuade the maître d’. But James became aware that the people at the table were looking at him in complete awe. So he walked over to the table and, of course, they were happy to do anything he asked, so long as they could have their photo taken with him. The way he dealt with it was so cool. He’s a real class act.’

Capaldi is no stranger to working with screen royalty, beginning with Burt Lancaster, with whom he starred in 1983’s Local Hero. ‘The thing I remember most about Lancaster is that he was a great swearer. It was my first film and I was a gauche 24-year-old. Meeting him for the first time I was nervous and doe-eyed. I asked him how his hotel was and he barked, “The hotel’s fine, but the woman who runs it is a ****.” At the end of the filming he turned to me said, ‘You have a good instinct for acting, but I can’t understand a f***ing word you say.”’

Before his acting career took off, Capaldi had a brief stab at rock stardom, singing in a Glasgow punk band with future US chat-show supremo Craig Ferguson on drums.

‘Originally we were called the B******s from Hell, but we figured that a name like that would prevent us from becoming as big as the Beatles. So we changed it to the Dreamboys, possibly the worst band name of all time. It made us sound like a bunch of oiled-up musclemen who stripped off at hen parties. We did manage to put out one single, though, which was called Bela Lugosi’s Birthday. The definite highlight for the Dreamboys was playing third on the bill at the Camden Palace to three rows of skinheads who kept threatening to kill us.’

He came close to missing his shot at an acting career. Having failed to win a place at drama school, he enrolled at Glasgow Art School, where he studied graphic illustration. One evening he came home drunk to find his landlady, a costume designer, chatting with director Bill Forsyth, then riding high on the success of 1981’s Gregory’s Girl. Forsyth decided there and then that Capaldi would be perfect for the role of Danny in Local Hero.

This lucky break would prove to be the first of Capaldi’s false dawns. He moved to London, confident that plum roles awaited him. Instead he spent much of the next decade working in repertory theatre and landing bling-and-you-miss-them parts in shows as diverse as Rab C Nesbitt and Poirot. Then, in 1995, he won an Oscar for directing his short film, Franz Kafka’s It’s A Wonderful Life. Suddenly it seemed that Capaldi had arrived yet again.

‘The feeling of success was very short-lived,’ he says. ‘Collecting an Oscar in front of my heroes, people like Steve Martin and Robert De Niro, was unreal, like being on an acid trip or something. For the next couple of weeks, I was invited to every big Hollywood party. But it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I’d find myself at some swanky do being introduced to Al Pacino and finding I had nothing to say to him beyond, “I really admire your work.”’

Returning to London, he kept plugging away at writing scripts. When Miramax expressed interest in a piece he’d written called Moon Man, Capaldi once again thought his ship had come in.

‘I flew out from Heathrow having being assured that this was a goer. Unbeknown to me, the project was cancelled while I was up in the air. I landed in New York and took a cab to the company’s Tribeca HQ, imagining the popping of champagne corks and the handing over of a very large cheque. I gave the cab driver a massive tip and marched into the building. Within 30 seconds I’d learned that it was all off. So I got back into the cab. The driver felt so sorry for me that he handed me back the tip. Then I returned to London to direct dog-food commercials.’

For the next ten years he worked mainly as a journeyman actor, putting in solid but uncelebrated performances in TV shows such as Foyle’s War and Judge John Deed. By 2004, he chances of Capaldi landing a career-defining acting role seemed to have finally eluded him. Then Armando Iannucci happened to see him play a hot-tempered professor in an episode of Peep Show and invited him to audition for the part of Malcolm Tucker.

The Thick Of It was officially an ensemble piece, but the main star of the first series was Chris Langham, whose role of bumbling minister Hugh Abbot completely revitalised a fading career and won him two Baftas.

Then, in November 2005, Langham was arrested as part of an investigation into internet pornography. He was subsequently found guilty of possessing child pornography and sentenced to ten months in prison. Though his character has not officially been written out of the series, the actor did not appear in either of the two specials.

Capaldi is the most charming and accommodating of interviewees until the subject of Chris Langham is brought up. Asked to confirm whether the Langham case is the reason for the BBC not showing repeats of The Thick Of It, he says firmly, ‘You’d have to ask them; I don’t know.’

Iannucci is on record as saying that he’d love to have Langham back on the show but he realizes that it would be an impossibility. When asked whether he shares this view, Capaldi’s mood visibly darkens and he fixes me with the flintiest of stares, saying, ‘I’d rather not discuss that.’

The moment passes and he brightens up when discussing how the role of Tucker has transformed his career. After years in the wilderness, he is currently one of the most in-demand actors around. He’s recently starred in Skins, The Devil’s Whore, Torchwood and Doctor Who. So high is his stock at present that, after a tortuous ten years, he’s just received the green light for his pet project The Great Pretender, about the making of a movie about Bonnie Prince Charlie, starring his friend Ewan McGregor.

Our time is almost up. Capaldi is off to begin filming a new series of The Thick Of It and hints that this could be the beginning of the end for Malcolm Tucker. ‘I think this could be the last series with the present cast in it. Labour aren’t likely to be in power much longer. The show needs to reflect the times. So I imagine we’ll soon be gone. Of course I’ll miss it. Most of all I’ll miss getting into the character of Tucker. It’s always such a challenge for me. I’m incredibly mild-mannered and he’s the opposite. I’ve only lost my temper big time on three occasions. I’ve got a long fuse, but when I do go off on one it’s nuclear.

‘It takes weeks to get into character. Before filming I can be found ranting and raving, swearing like a demon in my kitchen, while my wife and daughter cower in the living room. I hope the neighbours realise I’m being Tucker and not simply losing my mind. When Tucker’s gone, I won’t have that outlet. Hopefully the writers have a colourful exit planned for him. A heart attack, maybe, or perhaps they could finally silence him by bringing him down with a nasty stroke. That would be nice.’

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Forever Love

Summary: Clark Kent/Superman x Fe!Reader -> Everyone knows you and Clark love each other and despite knowing everything about each other, you both seemed to have missed that shared information. So what happens when Clark overhears something before you're about to get married to someone else?

Disclaimer: Oblivious idiots in love, best friends to lovers, fluff, cute moments, splatters of romantic angst throughout, happy ending, Jonathan and Martha Kent helping meddle...sorta. Set in the 90s Lois and Clark show but can be for any version of Clark/Superman. There might be some spelling mistakes but we're gonna ignore them. Enjoy!

You felt like you were drowning. 

Surrounded in taffeta and organza and another fabric you couldn’t name. For the last two hours, you’d been pushed and pulled out of a wedding dressing room, trying on dress after dress after dress. And you didn’t like a single one of them. 

“I think it needs to be…bigger. And perhaps more veil.” 

You could hear your future mother-in-law behind you as she spoke with the wedding dress consultant and the rest of the entourage she’d surprised you with at ten o’clock outside of the building. 

“No, it’s the beads. Maybe a few more?”

“Ooh! I saw the perfect dress on one of the mannequins.”

“The cream one?”

“No, the off-white. The one with the ruching.”

Under the pile of…whatever fabric you’d been forced into, you sighed. 

“Perhaps you’d like to come back next week?” The dress consultant turned to you before sneaking a look to the rest of your entourage. “We have a new shipment coming in on Sunday. We’ve got an opening for Monday?”

“I think that will be great,” you smiled, touching her arm. 

“Nonsense. We can find a perfect gown today.”

“I think we’ve tried every dress on in the store.” 

Your mother-in-law looked at you and hummed. “Maybe Monday will be best. Right, I’ll call Todd and tell him.”

With a thankful sigh you made your way back to the changing room and kicked the dress to the corner of the room – not that it moved. There was that much fabric, it remained still. 

~~~~~~~~~

“I thought this was meant to be your wedding.”

“It was. It is.” You quickly corrected yourself. “It’s just…it’s not every day your child gets married and she always wanted a daughter. She just wants to…help.”

Clark handed you a coffee. “Do you want me to come with you on Monday?”

You shook your head. “I think that would just make it worse.”

“How?”

“She believes no man apart of the wedding should see the bride in her dress. And since you’re coming to the wedding, and you’re a man, you won’t even get into the parking lot.”

You sighed as you sat down. 

“You look like you could do with a break.”

You nodded. “Understatement of the century. You know, I thought planning your wedding was meant to be…exciting. Stressful, but exciting.”

“Do you want to come with me this weekend?”

“To what?”

“Smallville County Festival.”

Your entire being practically glowed. “Is it that time of year already?”

Clark smiled and you followed him towards your desks. “Yep. Everyone’s gonna be there. Mrs Ingrid is gonna be making her famous jam scones again.”

He was practically teasing you. 

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

You groaned. “I was meant to be going with Todd to this business gala.”

“You have a lifetime to go to them. Who knows, this might be the last year Mrs Ingrid is gonna make her jam scones. Might be the last year they have the hay-bale toss. Might be the last year-”

“I’ll try and get out of it.”

Clark smiled and you felt yourself relax a little. He’d always had a way of doing that to you; making you relax. Making you feel comfortable in your own skin again. 

That’s what it was like with Todd…sort of. 

You’d met him two years ago at the local coffee shop. You’d run into him and spilt your coffee down his white shirt. You’d apologised profusely but he’d laughed it off and said it wasn’t anything dry cleaning couldn’t fix. Then he offered to buy you a new one. You’d debated him for a while about who should be the one to buy coffee for the other. Before you knew it, you found yourself agreeing to go to dinner with him. 

Two years later, you’d finally met his family and you were engaged and everything was…being sorted. Todd’s mother had arranged it all. The wedding planner, the florist, the catering, the venue. And you liked it. Most of it. Some things you wished you could change, but you and Todd had talked. 

His mother always wished she’d gotten a daughter after Todd but she never got pregnant. If some details weren’t to your ultimate liking, was it really the worst thing in the world? 

So you agreed. 

You agreed to lilies and sunflowers at your wedding. 

You agreed to the sixteen extra layers on the cake for the extra four hundred guests that had been invited.

There was already more of Todd’s family attending, than yours, so what was a few extra friends and business associates. A wedding was an opportunity for networking, just as any other gathering. 

You even agreed to her helping you pick out a wedding dress. And she did take your ideas on board. On all the dresses she’d picked out, there was a lace detail in the band. Even if it was covered in bling and diamonds. 

Todd was a great guy. You were lucky to be able to call him your husband. 

“You should go.”

“Are you sure?” 

Pouring two drinks, he placed the stopper back in the bottle. “Of course. Besides, once we’re married who knows how much time you’ll have to be able to visit? Mother told me about a social event that might be right up your street.”

You nodded. “The wives club? Yeah, she mentioned something today. It sounds..fun.”

Todd smiled, handing you the glass and sitting beside you. “Go, have some fun. Clark will look after you?”

You nodded with a light smile. “I can look after myself.”

“Still. You’re going to be the next Mrs Fifth Richest Man in the World.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s Smallville, not Wall Street. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

Todd leaned forward and pecked a kiss to your lips. “Good. I love you.”

You smiled. “I love you, too.”

The next day, you were pulling your overnight back from under your desk and following Clark to his car. 

Just as the clock turned ten, Clark pulled up outside of his parents’ farm. 

“Hey, we’re here.” Clark gently shook you awake. 

Stirring, you looked around in the dark. The familiar wooden porch was lit up by the headlights of the car just before it settled back into the darkness as Clark turned the car off. A few moments later, the screen door creaked open and Martha came running outside. 

“Honey, Clark and Y/n are home!”

You smiled as you heard her include you in being home. Truth be told, the Kent’s farm, as well as Smallville, had always felt like home. 

You and Clark had met in the first semester of college. And, after getting caught in the torrential downpour and taking solace in the local library only to get locked inside overnight, you’d found a close friendship in each other. 

That same year Clark took you home. 

You were meant to fly out to England and meet your uncle for Christmas but when he called and cancelled the day before due to his work load, you decided to stay at your dorm. You could get a headstart on the next workload and clean the entire apartment before the new year. 

But Clark didn’t accept your excuse and when he knocked on your door at six in the evening, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He brought you with him, telling you his folks wouldn’t take no for an answer either. And you’d gone back every year. 

“How ya’ doin’, honey?” Martha asked as she hugged you. “Clark, get her bag.”

“Already on it.”

Taking you by the arm, Martha walked with you inside the house. “How’s the wedding coming along?”

You hesitated to answer, but your hero came swooping in behind you. “Mom, maybe we should keep wedding talk to a minimum?”

“That bad, huh?”

You shrugged. “It’s just…not what I thought it would be.”

Martha and Jonathan exchanged a look which neither you or Clark fully picked on. 

“Honey, the kids have had a long drive. Maybe we should let them rest.”

“Yes, you’re probably right.”

“Busy day tomorrow.”

Martha smiled. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room. Did I tell you I made a new blanket?”

“You did?”

Martha nodded, taking you towards your bedroom. “It took me a while since the wool went out of stock but…”

The conversation travelled away down the hall and Clark and his dad exchanged a look. 

“Son.”

“Not now, dad.”

Jonathan just sighed. “I’ll make some tea.”

After getting changed into your pajamas and unpacking some of your things, you joined Martha and Clark in the kitchen before Jonathan strolled in from the back porch. “Got it.”

Martha took the small jar from her husband before standing and getting a teaspoon from the drawer. Then she handed it to you. 

“Here, this should help with the allergies.”

You smiled and thanked her. She���d been doing the same thing since the first spring weekend you’d spent in Smallville. Martha always swore by a dose of local honey to help with the allergies. And nothing got anymore local than from her own bee hives. 

Just as you lifted the spoon from the jar, Clark dipped his own in and took a teaspoon of it himself. 

“Tastes great, mom.”

“Like home,” you smiled across the table. And Clark smiled back. 

Martha and her husband exchanged another look. 

“Well, I’m glad you both think so. Because I’m selling some jars at my stall tomorrow.”

You looked up at her. “You are? Oh, Martha, that’s wonderful.”

With her hand on your cheek, she brushed her thumb across your cheekbone. “Thank you, my darling.”

It wasn’t long after that you all went to bed. After all, you had a busy day ahead of you. 

~~~~~~~~

It was safe to say that waking up in sheets that smelled of fresh laundry and that home smell that you could never quite put into words, was one of the best feelings in the world. The mattress sunk beneath you the minute you laid down. You were pretty sure you hadn’t moved from the minute you’d fallen asleep. 

With the window on a latch, the fresh air started spilling inside and clearing your lungs of all controlled and forced breathing you’d done in the city. You loved the city, but there was just something about Smallville. 

It was calming. 

In every aspect. 

Waking up, opening doors, talking to people. It was all…bright. Welcoming. 

“Well look who’s awake.” You heard Clark say as you entered the kitchen. Then you heard Martha gasp. 

“Oh, I forgot to mention. I gave one of your shirts to Y/n last night.”

Clark just smiled while you looked down to the old sweatshirt you’d pulled over yourself last night. 

“That’s alright. She looks better in them than I ever do, anyway.”

You were glad you were looking down because the smile and the heat you felt on your face was a new kind of embarrassing. You’d worn his clothes before. And his comment had always been the same – maybe phrased a little differently, but still the same. You should have expected it. 

But he caught you off guard each time. 

“There’s some coffee on the pot if you want it.”

“Thanks.”

Pouring yourself a cup, you sat back at your place across from Clark at the kitchen table. “So what’s on the agenda for today?”

“I’m heading out in about an hour to set up the stall if you’d like to join me. Then I thought you and Clark could head round the festival. There’s meant to be a show at about seven in the town centre. We can all meet up back there?”

You smiled, sipping your coffee. “Sounds good.”

And it was. 

After your shower, you got dressed and met Martha by the shed. Clark carried most of the boxes to the car, but you and Martha helped. Then, driving into the town as the sun started to warm to the sky, you helped set up Martha’s stall. 

The town was buzzing with people. Buying, selling, laughing, joking, running, talking, singing, dancing. Just like every year, except it always seemed to get better than the last. 

“Think you’ll try out at the hay-bale throw again?” You asked Clark as you both manned Martha’s stall whilst she talked with Josie three stalls down. 

Clark laughed, handing over the carrier bag of fresh fruit and two jars of honey. You passed the change back to the customer before starting to bag another customer’s order. 

“I think the coach still had me banned from when I was in middle school.”

Meanwhile, three stalls down, Josie agreed to Martha’s plan. A plan that both you and Clark came to find out about a few hours later. 

“Your mom’s asked if you can go and get some more boxes from the farm. The way these berries are disappearing, there aren’t gonna be enough to last through the lunch hour.”

You looked around. “But I just got another crate from the car.”

Jonathan turned you and Clark around, pushing you out the back of the tent. “I-I think you both better go. Oh, and make sure to bring an extra box of corn. I’ll get the grill fired up. You know how quickly the corn sells out.”

You both agreed, but you shook your head. “I could have sworn I just carried another crate inside.”

“That was weird, don’t you think?”

“You’re telling me. Come on, we should hurry before the lunch rush.”

However, it all became apparent there was no mystery crate since you had carried one into the tent and the entire thing had been a ruse to get you and Clark back to the farm. 

“Now, please don’t yell at me but Clark was telling me about your dress fittings and-”

“Mom!”

“And I just thought I might be able to help. Now, you don’t have to try any on, but I should tell you Josie is inside and I doubt she’ll let you walk away without at least taking a look.”

“Mom, I told you-”

You shook your head and pressed a hand to Clark’s chest. “No, it’s okay.”

“You don’t have to agree.”

You gave a small, yet slightly hopeful, sigh. “It’s okay. Really. Wouldn't hurt to take a look?”

Inside, Josie was running around three different travel racks she’d set up, each filled with different wedding dresses. Each was a different style with different veils and trains. 

“I think I’ve got two of each style and don’t worry about the fit. Martha already told me your measurements.”

“She has?” Both you and Clark looked at her. But she just shrugged. 

“You forget how many times I’ve made you stand on my wooden box when I’ve made dresses.”

You smiled and touched her arm as she linked hers with yours. “Thank you for doing this, Martha.”

She shrugged. “Clark told me how tired you were picking out a dress in the city. I thought you might like a bit of home comfort.”

“What about the stall?”

Martha just waved her hand. “John’s got it all under control. Besides, the Miller’s boy agreed to help out. We can take as long as you’d like.”

For the first time in months, you felt relaxed at the thought of picking out a wedding dress. However, something still panged inside of your chest. 

You didn’t have many people in the way of family, but Clark, Jonathan and Martha had become your family in more ways than one. A small part of yourself had wished you could join their family for real, when you were younger. A small part of you still wishes that now. But it was a young-and-in-love dream you had once. A dream you had to convince yourself to let go before you spent the rest of your life in heartbreak. 

“I-I should probably head back-”

“No, Clark, honey, you should stay. Go on, go and sit on the sofa.”

“I don’t-”

You looked up at him. “Clark, stay. Please?”

He smiled at you. “Okay. But only if you want me to.”

You nodded. “I want you to.”

So he stayed. 

Sat on the sofa, he watched as Josie pulled a dress from the rack and carried it down the hallway and into your room. 

He’d seen some of the photos of you in the dresses your mother-in-law had put you in. The expression on your face, the way you drowned in the amount of fabric she’d put on your head…you looked dejected but he could still see where you were putting on a mask to keep her and her family happy. 

That wasn’t anywhere near the look you had on your face when you walked down the hallway and into the living room/ make-shift bridal runway. 

With his arm across the back of the sofa, Martha watched the look on her son’s face change from slightly nervous to, well, completely stunned and annamored. It was a look she saw often on her son’s face when he looked at you, but never as boldly. 

“Wow.”

One word from Clark and you felt your cheeks heat right up. Out of slight nervousness, you looked down at yourself and smoothed the dress out. “What do you think?”

Clark seemed speechless. “You look…you look beautiful, Y/n. Really, really, beautiful.”

Smiling, you said, “Thank you.”

Finally stepping forward, Josie held your arms and helped you turn on the box to face the mirror before she stepped back and lifted the train of the dress out. 

For the first time, standing in front of a mirror in a wedding dress, you weren’t drowning. The gown wasn’t overpowering or filled with a tone of different fabrics that all seemed to have the same name. 

It was simple, elegant and classic. 

With a longer train, a lace detail around the middle and lace off-the-shoulder sleeves; for the first time in a dress, you could breathe. 

“What do you think, honey?”

“I love it.”

In the mirror, Martha looked from your face, to her son’s and back again. Neither of you were paying any attention to her or Josie. In fact, from looking at you in the dress and at each other, it was as if you and Clark were the only two in the room. 

“I do have a few more options we can try, too. Martha told me you wanted a lace detail. Not all of the dresses have one, but I do have a ribbon of lace to tie on if you’d like.”

You nodded and thanked her. 

As Josie carried your train and you walked back to your room, Martha stayed leaning against the kitchen beam that led into the living room. 

“She does make a beautiful bride.”

“She’s stunning. Todd…Todd’s a lucky man.”

Martha nodded. “He is.” 

Then she paused. 

For years she’d seen the same thing happen after moments like this. The dejected look on his face when he realised it wasn’t him she was with. 

“There’s still time, Clark. You can still tell her how you feel.”

Clark shook his head, pretending to pick some lint from his trousers. “It’s not that simple, mom.”

Martha scoffed. “I’ve told you since the beginning, you should tell her how you feel.”

“And risk losing her in the process? She’s happy with Todd, mom. And I’m happy for her.”

“Are you both, though? Are you both happy?”

Clark didn’t have time to answer because the door clicked open down the hall and you appeared in another gown. His reaction was the same. 

His, and your, reaction was the same with each dress you tried on. 

But it was something else entirely when Josie was searching for the perfect veil, only for Martha to appear from her bedroom carrying one you recognised. Well, partly. 

“Clark, honey, can you help me? I’m a little too short still.”

Standing, Clark walked over and helped place to fastener into the back of the makeshift hairstyle Josie had done. 

“I made it a few months ago. I still had a box of material you’d given to me from your mom’s closet.”

Stepping back from the mirror, Clark watched as you became teary-eyed. 

“It matches perfectly.”

You were doing everything you could to stop yourself from balling your eyes out. For the first time, you not only looked like a bride, but you felt like one. 

Standing with Martha and Clark in the one place you’d called, in your heart, home, you felt like a bride. 

From behind you, Josie captured a picture before Jonathan walked through the front door. 

“Well, isn’t that a sight for sore eyes. Y/n, honey, you look beautiful. A blushin’ bride if I ever did see one.”

Taking your eyes from Clark’s, you looked over your shoulder to Jonathan and then back again. 

Making everything official with Josie, she hugged you and promised to have the dress sent to your apartment in time for your wedding. Not a lot of alterations had to be made, just a seam here and there. 

After that, you walked back into the living room, dressed in your normal clothes. However, you couldn’t help but feel as if you’d walked in on a conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, honey. Uh, I think Clark’s waiting outside for you. The show should be starting soon.”

“Oh, okay. Are you coming?” You asked as you grabbed your jacket. 

“We’ll be there soon. Save us some seats?”

“You got it.”

Stepping outside, you found Clark nowhere in sight until you called out for him and heard his voice from under the car. 

“What are you doing?”

“Dropped the keys. Just filled the trunk up with some extra crates. Apparently more people have turned up to the show than expected.”

“Then we better get a move on.”

Arriving back in town, you and Clark relieved the Miller boy from his duty and started to serve the hungry customers of Smallville, together, before going to find your seats to watch the play. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Just a little after ten, Clark pulled the car up outside of the farmhouse once again. 

“Are you okay?”

It took a moment before Clark’s voice reached your ears. “Mmh?”

He switched the car off completely as he turned and looked at you. “You’ve been quiet ever since you came back after the interval. Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Clark asked again. 

You sighed a little. You never kept anything from Clark. Well, almost anything. 

“What is it?”

“Todd called me.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine. It’s just…we’re getting married next week.”

Clark’s brows furrowed. “But I thought the wedding wasn’t for another two months?”

“It is. It was. But his mom’s put a rush on the dress and an opening has come up for next Sunday.”

Even if Clark hadn’t known you for years, he’d still be able to hear the sad and tired tone behind your voice. 

“So what did you say?”

You opened up the car door and stepped out, Clark quickly following your actions. “I don’t get much of a say. I suppose every bride dreams of having everything being taken care of. All I have to do is show up and look pretty.”

“But?” 

“But I kinda wanted to do it myself. I wanted to tour venues with Todd and for us to pick the perfect one. I wanted to go to cake tastings and talk with other brides. But that’s all been taken care of. And I’m grateful. I really am. It would just be nice to be the one to make the choice every now and again.”

You both walked up the steps of the porch and into the house. 

“Did you tell him you chose a dress?”

“I did. He said he’ll call his mom and tell her.”

“You sound sad.”

You turned around quickly. “No, no. I’m not sad. It…it’s been a long day. I think I’m just tired. See you in the morning?”

Clark nodded. “See you in the morning.”

Then you did something you only ever did when you were practically half-asleep. You leaned up and kissed his cheek. 

It wasn’t like you hadn’t kissed other people’s cheeks. 

When Jimmy finally found a break in your case at the Daily Planet – a case you’d been working on for almost two weeks – you’d called him a genius, kissed his cheek, grabbed your bag and went running out of work and towards the local docs to find someone to corroborate the story. 

But there was something…intimate…about when you kissed his cheek. Maybe it was because he always wished it was, or wished that was how you meant it. 

You were engaged, he reminded himself. You were engaged to Todd and you were happy. At least, he thought you were. When you were just dating Todd, you seemed happy. He treated you well, always called you during your lunch break. Some days he’d come to the Planet and surprise you and take you out to dinner. Todd was also one of the less corrupt millionaire tech people in Metropolis. 

“Goodnight, Clark.”

“Night, Y/n.”

Thing was, Clark never went to bed. As he heard your door click shut, someone spoke. 

“You’re still in love with her.”

Looking into the kitchen, Clark saw his mom sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. 

“Does that matter?” Clark asked, throwing his jacket over the back of the sofa as he passed it. He made his way into the kitchen and sat across from his mom. 

“It does when she doesn’t really love him.”

“Mom-”

“I know what I see in her eyes when she looks at you, Clark. I’ve seen it in both of you since you first brought her home. I heard it in your voice when you first told me about her. I hear it in her voice when she calls your name.”

Clark shook his head as he sat down. 

“She’s getting married in eight days, mom.”

“But not to the right man.”

“Mom.”

“Clark, I know what I saw when I met him.”

Martha had met him when she surprised Clark in the city. She’d arrived at the Planet around the same time as Todd when he was surprising you at work. She shared an elevator ride with him before they reached your floor. 

He was well mannered. Let her on first, pressed the button for her, made polite conversation, let her out first, introduced himself when she realised who he was to Y/n. Then you offered to cook dinner. Todd stayed and helped with the clean up. Martha had talked to him. Todd was a great guy. 

But there was that spark missing. 

You were happy. And you loved Todd. And he loved you. 

But neither of you seemed in love. Not properly. 

“She cares for him. She wouldn’t want to see him hurt. But she’s not in love with him. Not completely.”

“She’s still marrying him. If she didn’t want to, she would have said no. She loves him, mom. That’s the end of the story.”

Martha sighed. She loved her son to death, but by the gods could he be a complete idiot. The same with you. You’d both loved each other for years and yet, for some unknown reason, neither of you had ever done anything about it. 

You’d been friends for the longest time, then you started working together, too. Maybe you’d both waited too long, you thought it was too late. 

“There’s still time, Clark.”

Clark shook his head. “I know you’d like to think there is, mom, but I just think it’s run out.”

Standing, he pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek. “Go and check on your dad before you go to bed. I think he’s still watching the fireflies.”

Clark smiled. “Okay, mom.”

As the back door shut, along with the screen door, Martha heard a door click open down the hall. 

A few moments later, you appeared in the kitchen. “Oh, sorry. I was just coming to get some water.”

“Can’t sleep?”

You sighed, picking up a clean glass and filling it with cold water. “Not really. How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to hear you’re getting married in a week, tomorrow.”

You sat down across from her. “Todd called me earlier.”

“Are you happy about that? The wedding being moved?”

You shrugged. “It is what it is. Everything’s planned. Todd’s mother has everything covered.”

“You can be excited.”

“I know. And I am. Sorta.”

“But you wished you could plan something?”

You nodded. “The only thing I could get Todd’s mom to agree with was the wedding date. But, I suppose it doesn’t matter when or how I get married. I love him – that’s all that matters, right?”

Martha nodded. “It is. But you have to remember, you’re not just marrying Todd. You’re becoming his family. You know, it’s funny. I always thought you’d be joining our family one day. Officially, I mean.”

You smiled. 

“You’ve been a part of our family since Clark brought you home in college and you will be even after you marry Todd. But, I don’t know.” Martha shrugged. “Part of me always wished something would happen between you and Clark. You were always so close.”

You shifted in your seat a little as you felt a small, nervous, chuckle rise. 

“I’m being serious. I would love to have you as my daughter.”

The sadness in your chest panged again. Daughter. Not just a daughter-in-law, but a daughter. A real family. One with monthly visits, daily calls, laughter, stories, comfort, freedom, love. 

Then you heard yourself admit something you’d never admitted out loud. Not even to yourself. 

“I’d love to be your daughter, too. If I’m being honest, I haven’t not thought about it before. But…” you sighed, turning the glass around in circles. “Clark and I…we’ve been friends for so long…it was easier to try to let that teenage dream go than jeopardise losing him.”

Martha just looked at you. She didn’t seem surprised. But she did give you a brief smile. 

“You still love him.”

It wasn’t a question. 

And for some reason, you wanted to cry. 

“I think part of me will always love him.” 

“Oh, honey.”

Standing, Martha moved to the seat beside you and held onto your hands. “You don’t have to marry, Todd.”

You swallowed and nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“But why? Honey, if you don’t-”

“I can’t keep holding onto a childish dream,” you admitted. “Clark will never see me as anything other than his best friend, and maybe that’s for the best. And Todd’s a great guy. His mother might be a nightmare,” you laughed a little, lifting your hand to wipe the corner of your eyes. “But Todd cares for me. He loves me and I love him. We’ll have a good life together.”

“But will you enjoy it?”

After a moment of silence, you heard the clock strike eleven. You stood quickly as if you’d been caught doing something wrong and wiped your eyes. “I-I’m sorry. I should probably- I should get to bed. I’m sorry for telling you about all this. You don’t need to worry.”

“Y/n?”

You stopped in your tracks and watched as Martha stood from the table and walked over to you. 

She hugged you. 

“No matter what, we’re still your family.”

Hugging her back, you said, “Thank you.”

Kissing your cheek, she left you to walk back to your room before she went towards hers. And just as both of the doors closed, the backdoor slowly opened and Clark walked inside, his heart beating faster than it had ever done. 

~~~~~~~~~~

“And you’re sure she said that? Those words? Specifically.”

Jimmy rushed alongside Clark as they walked through the bullpen. Clark hadn’t meant to tell him; he hadn’t meant to tell anyone. It kinda just slipped out. 

“Yes.” Clark pressed. 

“But this all happened while you were away,” Jimmy pointed out. “So what have you been doing for the last three days?”

“Panicking? Worrying? I don’t know, Jimmy. What am I meant to do? It’s not like she knows that I know.”

“She doesn’t? You haven’t talked to her about it yet?”

“What can I talk to her about? She’s getting married in four days.”

Jimmy stood back. “Oh, I don’t know. How about…” Jimmy pretended to think. “Don’t marry him. Marry me instead. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since I met you. I heard you talking to my mom and I need to tell you that I feel the same way.” 

Jimmy watched Clark as he sat down at his desk. “I mean, I’m just spitballin’ here.”

Clark rolled his eyes and rolled his chair underneath his desk and from the immediate panicked look on his face, Jimmy turned around and found you walking towards your desk. 

“Hey, Y/n. How are you feeling?” 

Once more, it took a moment before Jimmy’s voice reached your ears. You’d been so distracted for the last few days that you’d somehow managed to run into the same coffee cart not once, not twice, not even three times, but four. Clark saved you from the fifth. 

“Uh, yeah. Good, yeah.”

You sat back at your desk and opened up your computer and started typing. Unaware of the chaos going on at Clark’s desk, you continued to make spelling mistakes and grammar mistakes as you typed away. 

Jimmy kept making signals to Clark. Help her. Talk to her. Talk to her. Now.

“Hey, Y/n, Clark wanted to talk to you.”

Then Jimmy left. 

“You did?”

At his desk, the pencil continued to turn over and over in Clark’s fingers. “Uh, yeah. Just…just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. You…you’ve kinda been distracted lately.”

“Oh, yeah, no. No, I’m fine.”

“And you’re…sure?”

You nodded, trying to make yourself believe it. “I’m sure.”

“You don’t sound it. First wedding jitters?” Cat appeared behind you. 

“Cat!”

“What? Every girl gets nervous before her wedding. Not that you should be. After all, you’ve got the perfect wedding, to the perfect guy, with the perfect life waiting for you. Hell, if I were you I’d be getting ready to pack my stuff up now.”

“Cat!”

“What? It’s not like she’s going to want anything. Fifth richest guy in the world.”

“Fourth now.” Lois corrected as she walked by. 

Then your phone rang. 

“Hello-”

“Y/n, dear. We need you down at the tailors immediately. I’ve just found some more fabric-”

“This is Y/n. I can’t come to the phone right now but if you leave your name and number after the beep, I’ll get back to you.”

As Jimmy passed by, you pulled him down and after a silent argument he made the noise. 

“Beeeeep.”

Waiting for a moment, you put the phone back down before relaxing back in your chair. 

“What was that about?” Clark could almost laugh. 

“I can’t take anymore fabric.”

“Fabric?”

“What kind of fabric?”

“What for?”

“For my new-new wedding dress.”

Clark stood and walked over to your desk. “New wedding dress? But I thought you were wearing the one you picked out back home.”

“Picked out?”

“Back home?”

“You have a new wedding dress?”

You looked back at Clark. “I did. And I do get to wear it. At the reception.”

“And at your wedding?”

Looking at Clark, you gave him a look that worried him to his core. You looked fed up and annoyed as you pulled a large binder that was spilling over with hot glued patches of fabric on a drawn bride. 

“Oh my god!” Was the main reaction in disgust. 

“Haven’t you said no?”

“I can’t get a word in edgewise. She just talks over me and by the time I can talk, I’m drowning in thirty tones of organza and ruching fabric. She’s taken over everything. I’ve tried speaking to Todd but suddenly trying to get him on the phone…I’d have better luck sounding for Superman outside of that window and having him hear me than getting hold of Todd. I just…I don’t know what I’m meant to do. I accepted her help because she’s gonna be my family soon but this week.”

Cat looked horrified. “You’re not thinking about cancelling the wedding are you?”

“What? No.” Though you didn’t sound so convincing yourself. “No, of course not. It’s just….I thought this was meant to be about me and Todd. Not Todd’s mother and all the connections that can be made during the ceremony. Please tell me your mom and dad are still coming?”

Clark nodded, a little defeated himself but he hid it well, before walking behind you and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Of course they are. They wouldn’t miss it.”

Under his warming hands, you relaxed for a moment and leaned back in your chair. And for that moment, you let yourself believed that hideous binder didn’t exist and that you weren’t being waited on by a nightmare mother-in-law who didn’t want to listen at the tailors but rather you were planning on driving back to Smallville at the end of the week to visit Clark’s family with him. 

But the ringing of your phone broke that small moment of calmness. 

“Want me to get it?”

You groaned as you sat up. “No, it’s okay. Thanks Jimmy.”

“If you need another beep, just holler.”

You smiled and sat up, Clark disappearing back to his desk with the others. Saying a silent prayer, you answered the phone. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And you still haven’t talked to her? Clark!”

“I know, I know. But it’s not like it’s going to change anything. You heard her. She loves him.”

“She cares for him. Deeply. But, Clark, honey. You are the one she’s been in love with. You are the one she’s still in love with.”

Clark shook his head. “You keep saying that, mom, but if she did, she wouldn’t be marrying him. She would have called the wedding off or done something. But she’s agreed to the dress, she’s agreed to the extra hundred guests and she’s agreed to marry him.”

“She’s being pushed to agree and you and I both know that. She said yes to Todd – I get that. He’s a great guy. But she only said yes because she thought you would never feel the same about her.”

“But I do.”

“Then why haven’t you talked to her, son?”

Clark sighed. It was your wedding day. You were hours away from changing your last name and becoming the fourth richest man in the world’s wife. You were hours away from being pushed around by your mother-in-law introducing you to different people with fancy backgrounds and lots of money to spare. 

Resting his head in his hands for a moment, Clark eventually looked back up. 

“Look, maybe she loved me once but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s about to get married. To someone else.”

His dad sighed. “Son, just talk to her. Tell her how you feel. And if she doesn’t feel the same way, and I mean is she truly doesn’t then you know you can move on. But what if you don’t? What if she goes the next however long before she realises she’s made a big mistake and that on her wedding day, you could have put a stop to it all. That you could have both gotten the life you’ve always wanted. Together.”

All of a sudden, Clark’s front door swung open. 

“C.K, she’s asking for you.”

With one final look from his parents, Clark grabbed his jacket and followed Jimmy out of the door. 

~~~~~~~~~

“Clark? What are you doing here?”

Clark looked around behind him and looked at Jimmy as he hung in the doorway. He said nothing. Just mouthed the word: “Talk.” Then he shut the door. 

“Clark? Is everything okay?”

Turning back to you, Clark took you in. You looked beautiful. Well, underneath the layers and layers and layers of fabric. But he already knew that. 

But Clark didn’t have to say anything. Somehow it was like you could read his mind. Something was wrong, but it wasn’t anything material. 

Or maybe it was just your wishful thinking. 

“Clark, is there something you need to talk to me about?”

A million thoughts rushed through Clark’s head. Don’t marry him. I love you. I heard you last week. I wished I could have told you sooner. But then he looked around. It was less than three hours before you were meant to walk down the aisle. You were already in your wedding dress. He could hear a chorus of bridesmaids down the hall. 

He loved you too much to be the jerk who tried to convince you on your wedding day, not to marry a great guy who loved you. 

“Clark?”

He stepped back as you reached for him. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. You must be excited, right?”

You stepped back and put your mask back on. You smiled. “Oh, y-yeah. Of course.”

“Is there anything you need me to do-”

Then he saw it. The mask faded for almost a second. 

“Y/n? What is it?”

Shaking your head, you stepped towards him. You spoke in a hushed tone. “Clark, I-”

The door swung right open. “Miss?” 

You and Clark stepped back from each other, a fraction of the distance from before. 

It was Todd’s mother’s PA, 

“She wants to see you.”

Looking at Clark, your eyes pleaded something awful but you let go of his hand and walked away. 

After waiting for twenty minutes, Clark left the room and headed outside. People were arriving since most things had finished being set up. Some people had found their seats, others were taking pictures. 

But all in all, the wedding was still going ahead. 

~~~~~~~~~~

“I need to tell her, Jonathan.”

He sighed. “Maybe Clark’s right. We should just stay out of it. They’re grown adults. They can make their own decisions.”

“I can’t just stand here and watch her sign her life away to someone who isn’t her forever love.”

“Martha.”

“Jonathan, what if this was me and Clark was you? Would you stand by and let me marry someone just because you thought it was best? Or would you have wanted someone to tell me that the man I loved, loved me back just as much, but he is not the man I was marrying.”

Jonathan thought over the sentence. “But that wasn’t us, Martha.”

“She has a right to know Clark feels the same. Better yet, she has the right to know he knows.”

Jonathan sighed but did nothing to stop his wife from walking away from the wedding ceremony, out of the doors and up the stairs towards the bridal suite. 

She paused for a moment, her husband stood behind her. She had his full support. 

She knocked. 

“Come in.”

Opening up the door, they found you sitting alone at the vanity. 

“Martha? Oh, thank goodness.” 

Standing up, you rushed towards her and embraced her hug as Jonathan shut the door discreetly. “Is everything okay?”

“I…I don’t know anymore.” 

Slowly you walked back to the vanity and sat down on the stool. Martha shared a look with her husband. 

“Well, honey, I…I need to talk to you about something.”

She pulled up a chair with Jonathan’s help and took your hands in her’s. 

“What is it?”

Taking one final look at her husband, who nodded, she looked back at you with a deep breath. 

“Before I tell you, I want you to know that I’m telling you because you deserve the right to know and you deserve a choice.”

“Choice? What choice?”

“Clark knows.” Jonathan spat it out. 

“What?” You turned back to Martha. 

“Last week, when you told me about your feelings for Clark. He was outside and heard everything.”

You didn’t know how to feel. Embarrassed, confused, sad, dejected, hopeful?

“He…he did?”

Martha nodded. 

A few moments passed in silence. “No wonder he’s been so weird this week. God, he heard and now he…he…” Then it felt like a dagger to the heart. “He doesn’t feel the same.”

“No-”

“Honey, no-”

You felt yourself stand and start to pace. “God, how could I be so stupid! I- I knew he never felt the same. I suppose part of me held hope but-”

“You should still hold hope.” Jonathan held you still. “Because he loves you, too.”

You sighed, feeling tears brewing behind your eyes. “It’s okay. You don’t have to-”

“But we’re not.” Martha came to your side. “He really does.”

“If he does, then why didn’t he say anything?”

“Because he thinks he’s doing what’s best. He loves you too much to lose you. When you think about it, you’ve both been protecting each other for so long…even when you might have a chance, you still don’t want the other to get hurt.”

“Todd’s a great guy, sweetie.” Jonathan told you. “And if you really want to marry him I’ll walk you down there myself. But I think you should think about it before you do.”

Your eyes wandered over to where you’d been sitting before they walked in. You’d had a million thoughts running around your head but the main one was that you would rather be any place else than in a bridal suite waiting to walk down the aisle and become the next Mrs. Fourth Richest Man in the World’s wife. 

“But you shouldn’t just do it for Clark, either.” Jonathan added. “He loves you and will support any choice you make. So will we. But the decision should be for you.”

You waited for a few minutes but your mind was already made up. Your heart had made up its mind a long time ago. 

“Can you go and get Todd for me? I-I think I need to talk to him.”

Jonathan and Martha didn’t know what choice you had made but agreed anyway and a few minutes later, Todd entered with his eyes covered. 

“Unofficially, I’m here. Is everything okay?”

Standing and stepping towards him, you lowered his hand. “I need to talk to you.”

And for an hour you and Todd talked. You both talked over everything. Every feeling, every moment, every opportunity. But your mind was made up. 

“I’m so sorry, Todd.”

He smiled. “It’s okay. We would have had a good life together but…you would have been unhappy. And I think I would, too. Eventually. You know, I looked into that room today and all I saw was a networking event. If I couldn’t even stop my own wedding from becoming a business meeting, what would our marriage look like?”

You nodded and he took your hand. “Just do me one favour.”

“Anything.”

“Well, it might be two.”

You nodded. 

“Get yourself into some more comfortable clothes. Ones that maybe don’t look like they’re about to sink you to the bottom of the ocean if you fell in.”

You laughed and looked down at the extravagant wedding dress you were still wearing. 

“And go and find Clark.”

You looked at Todd. You hadn’t mentioned Clark. Just that you gave your heart away a long time ago. 

Todd just smiled. “He deserves to know the truth, and you deserve to give your heart what it’s always wanted. I wish you the best, Y/n.”

“I wish you the best, too.”

Todd smiled, contently, and kissed your cheek. 

Then you both looked down at your dress. 

“Do you want me to get the chainsaw? I’m pretty sure the gardener here has a spare one.”

“I think all these beads would break it.”

It took a long fifteen minutes to get you out of the dress with Martha and Jimmy’s help. Todd had left and ran into him in the hallway as he was on his way to talk to his mother and announce to the guests the wedding would not be continuing. 

Jimmy had run in a few seconds later with a spare set of clothes since you had nothing but silk underlining pajamas. 

“Whoa.”

“Just help me get out of this thing. I need to find Clark. Is he here?”

Jimmy shook his head as he started to undo the buttons from the side of the dress as Marth tackled the otherside. “No, he left.”

“He left? Where?”

“He just said he was going for a walk. Wait, are you going to find him to tell him-”

“She loves him. Yes. Now, hurry up with the buttons.”

Pulling the crew neck jumper over yourself as you ran out of the bridal suite. There weren't many places to walk near the wedding venue and after asking two gardeners if they’d seen someone matching Clark’s description, you realised where he was headed. 

“Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Hopping in the car with Jimmy, he started driving around the city before pulling up outside of Clark’s building. You practically flew through his front door. 

“Clark! Clark! Are you here?!” You couldn’t find him. “Clark? Oh, where are you?”

It was as you stood in the middle of his apartment, spinning in circles, that you heard a small woosh outside. Then a very frazzled Clark came running through the door. 

You just looked at each other. No words were said but a part of Clark was confused – confused at your or the suppressed hope? He couldn’t tell. 

In the silence, he walked down the steps before you ran towards him and hugged him tightly. Your feet were lifted from the ground as he hugged you back, his eyes closing, his senses becoming filled with you. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

He set you back on your feet, but his hands remained on you, holding you close to him. His breathing was heavy as if he’d been rushing to get to you, too. 

“I went back to try and find you. I wanted to tell you but when I got there, Lois told me you’d run out.”

“I couldn’t wait any longer. I talked it through with you mom and dad, and Todd. I couldn’t marry him. My heart was never in it. Not fully.”

Clark just waited. His body was still recovering from the adrenaline. 

“Clark, I gave my heart away a long time ago. I think before I even knew it, too. Clark, I’m in love with you.”

He was silent. 

“Clark, please say something.”

But he couldn’t. So he did the next best thing. 

He kissed you. 

Holding you close to him, his fingertips digging into your skin enough to let you know he was holding onto you for dear life, he kissed you. Your arms came around his neck and pulled him closer to you. Then, finally, as his hand came to the side of your face and the kiss peppered away, his forehead remained against yours. 

“I’m in love with you, too.”

A year later, the runaway bride story was old news and the announcement of your engagement to Clark being made inside the Daily Planet was published as a short story in the next day's edition. 

It had been purely by accident. Clark did have a plan but after Jimmy searched his desk for the extra copies of the evidence papers, he’d found a box and opened it accidently. 

“Is that an engagement ring?”

“Oh, my god, it is.”

“C.K, I’m so sorry.”

He sighed a little. “It’s okay, Jimmy.”

“What’s going on?”

As they all turned, you and Mr White were greeted with the looks of panic on everyone’s face. In Clark’s hand was the open box with the engagement ring. 

“Great shades of Elvis.”

“Clark?”

A nervous smile was being held back on your face. For all you and Perry knew, it was a part of a missing case. But you recognised the ring. It was the same one Jonathan had given Martha when they got engaged. And in the silent conversation between you and Clark across your friends, he walked around Lois and Cat to get to you. 

“No time like the present.”

You smiled, watching as he looked at you for permission before he got down on one knee. Perry ran around you both, joining Lois, Jimmy and Cat. 

“I want you to know, I did have a plan but-”

“Yes. Sorry.”

Clark smiled. “I figured we’ve both waited long enough-”

“Yes. Sorry. Continue.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I promise I’ll wait.”

Clark went to speak but Perry spoke up. “Oh, you’ve both waited nearly ten years. Just ask her already.”

Clark looked around and Perry closed his mouth, whispering a light, “Sorry.”

Finally, Clark looked back at you and had a pleased smile on his face. 

“Y/n?”

“Yes.”

Clark waited a short moment. “Will you do me the greatest honour of, finally, becoming my wife?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yes. I’d love to.”

As the entire bullpen started cheering and whooping, Clark stood quickly and kissed you before finally slipping the ring onto your finger. 

Two months later you and Clark got married on his family farm surrounded by your friends and families, in a small ceremony where Martha had helped you pick out a wedding dress with Josie, Lois, Cat and Jimmy– one which Clark hadn’t seen, but one which you loved. 

It had taken almost ten years but as you slow-danced with Clark on the grass, you kissed him. You’d both found your Forever Love and now you had an entire lifetime to share it. Together.

[pink-amethyst-tarot]

Looking for a sign?

a pick-a-card reading

Take a deep breath and let your intuition guide you. In the end, only you know what is truly best for you.

P I L E 1 P I L E 2 P I L E 3

pile 1

"You are a badass being, full of life, love & possibilities. Through this deck, may you find a path to your best self." Modern Witch Tarot Deck, Lisa Sterle

Page of Swords, Queen of Pentacles, Eight of Pentacles, Ten of Cups, The Emperor, Seven of Swords

It seems you are looking for the joy in life and you have been working really hard to find it. The thing is, you might be looking in the wrong places. You're looking right when you should be looking left. You aren't seeing your potential and how powerful, beautiful and magnificent you are. The things that you are trying to manifest want to come to you but you first have to look within.

Card from the Angel Answers Oracle Deck: Don't Stop!

I am reading this as your angels telling you that you are doing so well, even if things are uncomfortable right now. You have made amazing progress, and you should acknowledge that. If you look back on who you used to be and where you used to be, you will notice that you have made some amazing strides forward. Don't give up on you. There is a reality that you want to live in and it's calling for you, but it can get to you if you don't meet it in the middle.

I hope you enjoyed this reading, if you would like to get a more person look into your situation, see this post.

pile 2

Six of Swords, Three of Swords, Five of Wands, Death, The World, Ace of Swords

Change is inevitable. There is a change that you have been resistant to because you don't want to be uncomfortable. You're so used to one side of the river, you're afraid to even think about going to the other side. This thing you are avoiding, it's not what you think it is. Change, good or bad, can be uncomfortable. It's still going to happen, though. You will not be able to please everyone but you will be happier, in the end. It's not your problem if there are people that don't understand what you're doing or what you want. They are either along for the ride or they can stay home. You know what the right choice is.

Card from the Angel Answers Oracle Deck: YES

There's your answer. The answer is yes. I'm hearing Say Yes by Floetry; all you gotta do is say yes, don't deny what you feel. Once again you know what you need to do, what you want to do. You just wanted someone else to say it so I'm saying it. Don't think of all the reasons why you think it's a flute. Your angels/guides/the universe doesn't do flukes. If it's for you, it will find you. The answer is yes. Yes.

I hope you enjoyed this reading, if you would like to get a more person look into your situation, see this post.

Pile 3

Queen of Wands, Ace of Wands, The Devil, Temperance, King of Wands, Justice

First thing I heard was, "leave him alone." Now, this is a general reading so apply the pronouns and genders this will apply to. You are doing something that you know is wrong but it feels damn good. It makes you feel powerful. You're aware that something is off. Maybe a power imbalance. If you don't cut this out now, it will bite you in the ass very quickly and painfully. It's time for you to take control of the narrative again and do right by yourself.

Card from the Angel Answers Oracle Deck: NOT THE RIGHT TIME and NO!

This has HEEEEELL NO energy to be quite frank. Whatever you are doing or planning to do, just don't. Just avoid the mess and drama while/if you can.

I hope you enjoyed this reading, if you would like to get a more person look into your situation, see this post

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. These readings are not a substitute or replacement for any professional help or services. My readings are not a substitute for any form of professional legal, medical/psychiatric, relationship, religious/spiritual or financial/ business advice nor consultations. You should always see a professional legal/trained adviser for help in any matter. I am not responsible for any decisions/ actions you take.

[mousepatta]

Sharks and Minnows

What could be worse than waking up in a dangerous, magical world with no idea of how to get back home? Waking up in said world to find out that your perfectly average height apparently translates to about four inches tall in this world.

Yuu is nothing if not industrious. However, their decision to live in Octavinelle dormitory's walls may have backfired.

· · ─────── ·.· ─────── · ·

Chapter 1: Unfortunate Circumstances

->

· ─────── ·· ─────── ·

Azul had a problem.

It had started off small. So small that he almost hadn't noticed.

Little things would go missing here and there. Nothing valuable, just a stray button or ink cartridge. Maybe a small amount of food would go unaccounted for from the kitchen. At most, it had been annoying. Azul had assumed it was simply Floyd misplacing things. But then things had taken a turn.

Suddenly, students were coming into his consultations a tad more… informed than they should have been. They would nit-pick clauses he had discussed only in private. Of course, he could “roll with the punches” as one might say, but it sure made his job harder. He had to stay on his toes when making deals with what should have been naive little first years. It was as if someone was feeding them knowledge they should not have been privy to.

Azul had already embarrassed himself by prowling around his own office, searching for some sort of hidden recording device. For how else could these people have such exact knowledge of the lounge's inner workings. Exhausted from ranting to Jade, Azul steeled himself to attempt to get help from Idia. Though they weren't exactly the best of friends, Azul would garner that he was likely one of the few people on campus who interacted with the reclusive housewarden, so gaining his favor shouldn't be too difficult.

“So, like, what d’ya want me to do about it?”, Idia stared blankly.

Azul had confided in him during a meeting at the board game club.

“It is a matter of technology, is it not? I've been unable to find any sort of recording device, but you may be able to find one with your more advanced methods, no?”

“Yikes, getting dragged out of my room again in one day sounds like a major L.”, Idia muttered to himself.

“I would not seek your assistance if this was not a serious matter. I'm sure I can offer something in exchange.”

Azul reached into his bag, pulling out a boxed figurine.

“Omg! That's totally a collector's edition doki club figurine from the fast food tie-in! How did you get your hands on that?”

“Worry less about how I acquired it and more about how you can. Just one little favor and it's all yours.”

“Geez, this guy can't say anything without sounding sus. But I guess I'm in!”

“It'll be a pleasure doing business with you.”

After these stressful few weeks, Azul's spirit finally began to lift.

…

Yuu rushed forward. They didn't have much time. Waking up in an unfamiliar, magical, world without any clear way to get home was stressful enough. Adding onto that, the fact that their perfectly normal height apparently translated to about four inches in this world, Yuu had been having an unpleasant experience.

In the aftermath of a stressful orientation, the headmaster had allowed Yuu to stay in Ramshackle dormitory along with their “familiar”. Though, most students would not know Yuu was even there, which they were perfectly fine with. What was not fine was the state of the dorm they had been given asylum within. It was decrepit. If they had been the appropriate size, they were sure they could pretty it up a bit, or at least clean it enough that the dust didn't irritate their eyes and nose too much. Alas, with that not being the case, Yuu had no choice but to search for alternative solutions.

The other dorms were all well-maintained. Yuu was sure that no one would even notice if they were to slip in and stay in secret. That just left them the decision of which dorm to choose. They couldn't find much information about Diasomnia, just that many strong mages were there. Maybe they would be able to sense an unwelcome presence? In the same vein, Savanaclaw housed most beastmen who might be able to sniff them out. Ignihyde was supposedly full of hermits who would stay in the dorm too often. Heartslabyul and Pomefiore had rigorous rules and standards that would make any evidence of Yuu's existence harder to ignore.

That left them with Scarabia or Octavinelle. The scale was tilted the moment the prefect discovered that Octavinelle housed a restaurant, the Mostro Lounge. Getting food would be a breeze. After thoroughly convincing Grim to give them a ride over, using the promise of free food stolen from the Mostro Lounge, Yuu got to work. They made the risky, but rewarding, move of carving out their home base in the walls of the VIP room of the lounge. It kept them far enough away from the rush of customers, but close enough to food and other supplies.

Which led them to where they were now. Yuu rushed through the walls toward a dorm room. They had taken too much food from the lounge itself lately and the Octavinelle housewarden, Azul Ashengrotto, had taken notice. An added bonus of their chosen place within the walls was that they could hear any grievances and quickly course correct. For now, they would switch to finding food within the dorm rooms for a while. Just until any suspicion died down.

If Grim hadn't gotten greedy, there wouldn't be any suspicion in the first place, Yuu thought bitterly.

Their steps were hurried, keeping in mind that students would be filing into the dorm soon. If Yuu didn't have the added responsibility of attending classes in secret despite their size, the time to forage would be plentiful. They internally cursed Dire Crowley for his borderline hazardous requirements.

Their mood lifted as they reached their favorite dorm room. A smile traced their features as they popped their head out of the secret entrance they had made through the wall. Just as expected, three different bags of chips were left open. The prefect wasn't sure what sort of person would leave so many snacks open without finishing any, but they wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

The dorm room was split down the middle, with one side staying tidy and the other side being a mess. Yuu would mostly ignore the cleaner side of the room as it never bore any fruits. At most, they could pick off some of a mushroom from one of the terrariums placed on the shelves, but they didn't know enough about fungi to know which were safe to eat. Accidently poisoning themself would be a pretty embarrassing way to go. They would stick to their pre-packaged goods, thank you very much.

Just as they had finished packing up a variety of chips and a bit of candy they had found on the way, they heard two sets of footsteps approaching the door. Yuu slipped down and under the bed of the messier side of the room, heading toward the safety of the wall. Before they could get there, the door opened and someone flopped onto the bed above them. Yuu jolted. The stress on the springs almost made them think the bed would collapse. The second set of footsteps calmly pulled out a desk chair.

A bag crinkled.

“Wha- Jade, ya haven't been eating my stuff have ya?”, a voice lilted.

“Wouldn't dream of it.”, a deeper voice replied.

“Well something has been. Should tell Azul to quit holin’ up in his office while we get mice out here.”

“I sincerely doubt a mouse stole two chips from you and left without a trace.”

“Well, what else could it be? Don't think anyone here would sneak in and steal from me. That's just askin’ for a squeezin’.”

“What indeed?”

Yuu had heard enough. They quickly and quietly slipped back into the walls, drowning out the rest of the conversation. Something about the tone that “Jade” had used unnerved them.

They had little time to dwell on that matter as Yuu made their way through the walls and back to their home base. As much as they appreciated the dorm they were in, the housewarden was a bit… much. He often tricked students into signing contracts, luring them in with false promises before ultimately striking. Yuu rolled their eyes at the thought. It wasn't as if he couldn't fulfill the promises he would make, he simply refused to. Taking advantage of students in exchange for “favors” that took little to no effort on his part. Yuu could understand not wanting to be constantly helping others, but if he really did have the power to help his desperate peers, why not just do it?

With these thoughts in mind, Yuu had taken to giving out their own scraps of advice. Their position gave them insider knowledge on certain terms and after hearing so many consultations, they had acquired quite the knack for finding cracks in different clauses. Knowledge in tow, Yuu would anonymously message students before and occasionally during their meetings with Azul. Though some simply dismissed their warnings, those who would heed them were ultimately able to gain more bargaining power at the very least. It may not have been foolproof, but it was the least they felt they could do.

Yuu peered out through a small hole in the bookcase. Azul seemed to be in high spirits. Likely because of some scam going well, Yuu thought bitterly. He was humming to himself, happily scrawling away on whatever paperwork needed attention. Yuu eagerly flopped into their jewelry-box-turned-bed, ready to enjoy some well-earned rest.

· · ─────── ·.· ─────── · ·

[rpgchoices]

More on Davrin's character (his beliefs about gods and elves) (part 3)

I promise I will stop at part 4! I just want to collect all the possible info before I actually start writing fanfics. Part 4 will be specifically for his romance, tho I already wrote a small meta about it here.

This part contains SPOILERS mainly from Solas' murales/memories.

Part 1 (Davrin and his Dalish clan) here Part 2 (Codex, Davrin naming Assan and his journal) here

In this part I wanted to talk about:

Davrin and the gods (Solas' murales) plus some contraddictions with "Vows and Vengeance"

A bit more about Davrin's vallaslin (90% sure it is Andruil's)

Davrin's feelings abour protecting other elves

Some extra from the artbook (his age, when he left his clan, his armor)

Davrin and the gods/believing Solas' memories

Transcription of the video: (first scene) Bellara: And the mages who declared themselves my gods. Well, mine and Davrin's. And Rook's. Rook: They're not gods at all, much less my gods. Davrin: I'm with Rook.

(second scene) Emmrich: This is astounding! The ancient elves were spirits who voluntarily manifested a physical form! Davrin: I'd rather go back to talking about the blight. Taash: Hey, Lucanis. Could Spire turn into an elf? Lucanis: No. Bellara: Sorry, but. What? Rook: Okay, no. This whole spirit thing is stupid, and I vote we ignore it. Davrin: Seconded.

(banter) Bellara: Elf came from spirits! Emmrich: An incredible revelation of what happened thousands of years ago! Bellara: I asked Davrin what he thought, and he just shrugged! Emmrich: Ah, he would! Bellara: Rook! Do you feel any different? Rook: As an elf? Should I? Bellara: More spirit-y, maybe? I don't know.

While sometimes it is frustrating to see characters and companions not reacting to the big lore revelations, I find it works pretty well with Davrin. He is clearly uninterested in Dalish gods, even if in Vows and Vengeance he uses "May Andruil guide you on your path", and he is uninterested in openly (with others at least) talk about his feelings on the main revelations. Elves are spirits? He shrugs it away or decides to ignore it (much more interested in how this will affect elves than anything else), the gods? Not his, not interested in them.

He even calls Solas "Baldy" and is not particularly intimidated by him or by the two remaining Evanuris (or respectful of them). (And we also know he does not believe the Fade is real, tho much of that Emmrich banter seem more like he is teasing him).

Another small element of his relationship with the gods is another Vows and Vengeance comment. Someone mentions Fen'harel doing a ritual, and Davrin reacts quite alarmed, asking where the other person heard that name. Does he actually believe in Fen'harel? Or is it simply the idea that someone would use the name of the trickster god?

EDIT: UPDATE! There is a dialogue between Neve and Davrin where Davrin confirms he never truly believed in the gods, he always thought they were a myth.

Neve: Does it bother you they're elven gods? Davrin: It won't help our reputation, that's for sure. Davrin: But me, I never gave our gods much thought. They were just a myth. Neve: Not anymore.

I also wanted to say - yes, I know some discrepancies are probably writing related. To me the most "out of narrative" explanation is that the Vows and Vengeance writers did not fully consult about his character with the game writers, and the game writers rushed through these revelation and did not allow for many reactions.

About Davrin's vallaslin

In a previous interview the answer was not given (it was treated like it was supposed to be a big spoiler), but in the game, as far as I can tell, we do not see any identification for Davrin's vallaslin.

I talked before (here in part 1) about why I think it is Andruil's (or a mix of Andruil and Ghil) and now I am even more certain it might be Andruil. Not only Davrin is the one who tells of the tale of Andruil during the Solas' memories event, but in Vow and Vengeance he gives Nadia a blessing from Andruil:

Nadia: My love. He waits for me Davrin: Then may Andruil guide you on your path.

This is of course a Davrin pre-Veilguard. In Vow and Vengeance he also is alarmed by hearing that the Dread Wolf is doing something. I am a bit confused by how much he actually believes in the gods, at this point!

Davrin and protecting elves

In general, Davrin seems the only character to mention elves discrimination, mainly through banter or some rare comment here and there. We also know he is the only elf who lived away from other Dalish elves (different from Bellara who seems still in contact with her clan and lives with a group that highly respects elves), and we know he described his impact with the outside world as "different" (from what he imagined, see part 1 here).

At the end of the game, you can also have a banter between him and Solas:

Video here.

Solas: You are Davrin of the Grey Wardens. And judging by your vallaslin, you are Dalish. Solas: I expect you have been urging the team not to trust the Dread Wolf, based on the stories you heard around the campfire in your youth. Davrin: What story should I tell? The one about the Dread Wolf creating the blight when he and Mythal slaughtered the Titans? Solas: Have you told the Dalish? Davrin: Why? So it can spread and make humans blame elves for even more things our ancient ancestors did? Davrin: Sharing that story would get a lot of people killed. Davrin: So the best thing I can do right now, as a Warden and a Dalish elf, is to stop the blight and clean your mess. Solas: Mala shivanas ar athim.

(the last seems to translate as "Your duty humbles me").

A similar sentiment is shared after the "elves were spirits" memory from Solas:

The main core reaction we get about the Solas' revelations are not inwardly focused (his own reaction to them) but focused outwards: towards other elves. It seems not to be as important that Solas made the Titans tranquil as much as the danger of humans to blame elves. He is not as interested in elves derived from spirits, as much as he is interested in bigoted humans starting to see all elves as demons.

I think it is also interesting that he only mentions "humans", even if the reactions regarding the Titans would probably come from dwarves, it is clearly humans that in the DA world oppress and discriminate elves.

More Davrin info from the Artbook

I also just wanted to add this for completion sake!

He's in his early 30s and left his dalish clan in his teens. Usually elves (from the codex compiled in the wiki page) get the vallaslin around 18 or younger, so it could overlap to being just before his departure if he got the vallaslin in his clan.

Also the artbook says he created his own armor from different pieces!

I love seeing the stitches in his main blue-like collar jacket, and you can see some wear and tear on the rest of his clothes, especially the waist piece!!

[cactus-cuddler]

Peter Parker

TYPE OF BOYFRIEND

!femreader

◇ You met in the library, he was there for research with Ned while you had to study;

◇ When he saw you he stared at you the whole time and Ned couldn't make him come back with him from the cloud world;

◇ You felt uncomfortable, you had to study but you couldn't concentrate because every time you looked up he was there. You texted your friends to say there was a strange but cute boy who kept staring at you and they advised you to talk to him;

◇ You got up and went to talk to him. You introduced yourself and he apologized because he seemed like a stalker, you laughed sweetly and left him your number. You went back to studying and that evening he wrote to you:

◇ You talked all night, you had a lot in common and he was different from everyone you've met. It is extremely sweet;

◇You chatted for days but he never had the courage to ask you a date, you had to ask him and he thought it was extremely cute;

◇ If you ask him: what is the thing you like most about me? He will answer:

your eyes when they are on me

your lips when they are on mine

your hair when you let me caress it

the tip of your nose when it rubs with mine

your neck because I like to kiss it

your hips because they are made for my hands

your arms when they hug me

your legs when my head is resting on them

your hands when they touch me

I can't say anything else because I'm ashamed of what I might say

◇ He texts you every hour to ask if you are okay and if you need a "Peter hug";

◇ You asked him to get engaged because he never found the right opportunity, he wrote you a letter in which he confessed all his feelings and gave it to you on your anniversary saying: "with this I wanted to ask you to get engaged but you have more balls than me";

◇ He checks that your cycle is regular, he even created an application that acted as a calendar and predicted when your period would start and when you told him that it already existed he made this face:

(He worked there for two months)

◇ When you are late even just a day he is more anxious than you! He wants to become the father of your children but would like to plan it calmly

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

Y/N: calm down I'm only two days late!

Peter: if it's a boy I want to call him Tony if it's a girl May, if it's boys twins Tony and Steve! It would be so fun but I want a daddy's little princess

Y/N: we have never had sex!

Peter: no daddy's princess?

Y/N: no!

(looking baby's photo)

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

◇ When you're on your period he always buys you your favorite sweets and gives you belly rubs to relieve cramps;

◇ When you don't have time to be with him he still asks you to be on a video call together so he can see you;

◇ If you don't answer him within two hours he panics and clogs Ned with messages:

◇ When you're sick it becomes a walking pharmacy and makes sure you get the best care and that you get the right amount of rest;

◇ He loves when you make him feel special with phrases like: you're an idiot but I love you anyway!

◇ When someone looks at you him don't have toxic attitudes but he smile and tell you: you are so beautiful that everyone looks at you, I almost feel sorry for them because only I can do this [he takes you on the hips and kisses you];

◇ He lets you go out peacefully with your friends, he trusts you blindly but would like you to wear a sweatshirt that says: I'm happily engaged to Peter Paker (it have him face on.);

◇ He likes it when you steal his hoodie and shirts, when he buys a new one he asks you first to consult him to decide which is the best one to buy and the size;

◇ His favorite dates are Netflix and chill with pizza;

◇ He wouldn't let you win at video games on purpose and when he loses he uses the excuse "I let you win" (You know the truth);

◇ He's not jealous if you say that a character in a series/movie is hot, he helps you look for fan fiction and you read them together (maybe he writes some if that character has few but he would never tell you);

Sorry for any mistakes, I tried to do my best! I hope you like them!♡