#some of these things DO NOT help the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy and otherness you get out of being neurodivergent

[barnbridges]

what's funny is that "the tism" or whatever is fed on people's inabilities to break certain cycles or habits, not because they can't, but because they feel uncomfortable doing so. having back problems isnt an inherent autistic trait, just most people have it because we don't comprehend posture very well. you at some points need to make greater effort to fit in and be happy and healthy. but some people would rather die than work on themselves.

[maxlarens]

saw that your requests are open! currently moving flats and cities and wow this is utterly exhausting and scary to do alone - would love to read a lil something with Lando where reader is moving and maybe it's pre relationship but they've known each other a long time and he somehow shows up to help reader out, in between races / on break whatever. Tysm!

omg good luck! genuinely moving is the worst and good on you for doing it all on your own that must be so difficult. i hope you enjoy this💝 i did it with best friend!reader, felt very perfect. and apparently i had some personal insecurities to address?

You’re starting to regret listening to Lando.

This isn’t a new feeling— you often regret listening to Lando. When he begs you to come out only to inevitably disappear with a girl. When he says that you look fine, only for you to look in a mirror and find your hair at weird angles or your makeup smudged. When he invites you to a race just for you to have to spend an awkward three hours around one of his flings; inevitably ending in disaster when he hops out of the car and hugs you first.

Lando’s not an idiot. Lando just doesn’t always know how to plan ahead.

Move to Monaco, he’d said. And you had. At the very least you’d had professional movers and your family then. It was hard work but you’d had help. Still, it had been such a nightmare that you’d sworn off moving again, deciding that the next time you did it’d be somewhere more permanent. That had been a nice dream— perhaps unattainable with Lando around.

It had been great, perfect even, or at least until Lando had found out about the vacant flat in his building. Then you’d been subject to a month of pointed sighs and wouldn’t it be awesome if we lived in the same building and we could work out at the same gym and we’d see each other all the time! Wouldn’t that be great?

You’d tried to tell him that you already see each other all the time, and if it really mattered to him you’d come all the way to his gym to work out. But Lando’s Lando and doesn’t know how to let a thing that he wants go. It quickly becomes a point of contention, a reason for him to whinge at dinner and direct his green puppy dog eyes at you. So, y’know, of course you fold.

Of course you do.

You don’t want him to feel unwanted. And you really do like the idea of living in the same building as him, even if moving is the last fucking thing you want to do.

You hire people to move the big things. The couch, the fridge, the bed. But you’re left with everything else and only your hatchback to move it with. You’ve collected truly an insurmountable amount of things— dishware, linens, random trinkets, clothes and books and decorative stuffed animals. You don’t realise how much it is until you’re packing it into cardboard boxes all on your own and nearly crying at how long it’s taking you.

By some cruel twist of fate there’s no one available to help you. All your friends in Monaco are Lando-adjacent, either his friends or people you’ve met through F1. You’ve got a few work buddies, but no one you feel like you can ask to give you a hand. Besides, Lando’s racing at Spa over the same weekend you’ve got to be out of your old flat— so you can’t rope him and his friends into your mess. Even Fewtrell, who would help, is on holiday.

By Monday morning you’re at your wits end. You’d slept on a thin little futon for three hours last night, and are up bubble wrapping dishes before the sun rises. You’ve got noise cancelling headphones on, blasting some house music playlist that Oscar had recommended you and you’re trying to be okay— trying to let the jumpy beat lift the panic in your heart. But you can feel yourself hiccuping, crying rather. You wipe salty tears off the bubble wrap to make sure the sticky tape stays.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

It’s just overwhelming. Doing this all alone, in Monaco, without your Mum, your Dad, without your best friend. It’s not anyone’s fault, not even Lando’s. Just you and this feeling of inadequacy that you harbour. This sense that you’re not grown up enough, that you’re not accomplished enough. Lando’s out there driving a Formula One car, flying in a private jet and partially running a business and you’re here crying over the amount of shit that you’ve accumulated.

It’s just—

You hear a faint thud, muffled by your headphones. Heart racing, thinking something might have fallen or broken, you rip them off and clamber up off the carpeted floor. You’re ready to run into the hallway, your bedroom, every room that’s still got things in it to find the inevitable wreckage.

But it’s just Lando—

Standing at your front door in an old t-shirt and shorts, with cardboard boxes tucked under his arm. He’s frowning at you. You’re not sure why until you remember that you’re still in yesterday’s clothes and there are dark circles carved out under your eyes. Tear tracks down your face as well, probably.

“What’s wrong?”

He drops the cardboard, it goes sliding onto the floor and he has to dodge out of its way as he steps towards you.

You shake your head, sniffing, “I’m fine, Lan.”

You don’t quite reject his attempt at a hug, just dodge it slightly. Force him to give you a one-armed, half-hearted thing, instead of the squeezing, reassuring hug you’re sure he meant to give you. He grumbles something into your hair that you can’t hear then says,

“Well, clearly you’re not fine.”

You sigh, push him away in your anger at yourself, “I’m fine, Lando. I just— I just can’t do anything on my own as per usual.”

You watch his shoulders drop, his eyebrows press into the bridge of his scarred nose, concern flooding his face. He shakes his head minutely, pink lips parting slightly.

“What are you saying?”

You shrug, looking away and feeling shame fill the cavity in your chest at your admittance of weakness, “You know what I’m saying.”

“That’s absolute shit and you know it,” he cuts back, “You’ve done all this by yourself haven’t you?”

He gestures around you and admittedly the room is rather empty of things. The whole flat in fact. You’ve got just the little things left pretty much, and a bunch of cardboard boxes that are ready to be ferried over to your new building. It’s not nothing that you’ve managed to do over the weekend. You sniff again.

“Don’t say that crap,” he manhandles you into a hug, winding an arm around the back of your shoulders, pulling you to him, “I’d have to pay movers a couple grand to move all my shit, you know that. I wouldn’t be able to get any of this done.”

“Yes you would,” you mutter into his chest, “You’re capable of things.”

He shakes you, just a little, like trying to knock some sense into you, like trying to make you hear your own words, “Okay. Then so are you.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I guess.”

After a moment, he brings a hand up to your face, uses his thumb to tenderly wipe the tears that pool in your tear duct. You don’t think anything of it then— but you do later—

When the sun is setting over the water and you and Lando are watching it and eating takeaway burgers on your new balcony, in your new flat, that has every single bit of your stuff in it. And you’re thinking about the feeling of pad of his finger on your cheek and how he’s just spent his first day of a very well-deserved summer break helping his friend move—

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for Ibiza?”, you cut him a bit of an admonishing look, and scold yourself for not remembering sooner, not urging him to go pack.

He shrugs, turning his green gaze to you, the light of the sunset making him glow, “‘S fine. I can join later.”

You bite your lip, resisting the urge to tell him to go start packing straight away. You won’t change his mind, once he’s got his heart set on something he doesn’t know how to let it go.

“Will you come with me?”, he asks suddenly eager, as your heart skips several beats, “I know you said you had this to deal with. But.”

“But?”

“But. I want you to come. It’ll be no fun without you.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Ibiza will be no fun without me?”

He nods, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You’re going to say no. It’s on the tip of your tongue, on the verge of slipping out. You’ve got a million boxes to unpack, all your clothes are in suitcases, this is what your holiday leave is meant to be used for. Not the trip to Ibiza that you’d already said no to—

But, it’s Lando.

Of course you fold.

[chheolie]

ready get set go get it go ♪ (part 2) first part here

on the second meeting with seokmin, the nervousness didn’t seem to have diminished. you thought that maybe, after seeing him for the first time and feeling the good energy he radiated, the anxiety would fade. but it didn’t. as you waited in the rehearsal room, your mind buzzed with worries: was he overwhelmed? did he really want to be there, or did he feel like it was just another commitment to add to his already packed schedule?

you sighed, staring at the piano in the corner of the room, trying to focus on anything other than the restlessness in your chest. seokmin was already known for having a tight schedule, and you knew that besides rehearsing with you, he still had to juggle recordings, training, and preparations for seventeen. deep down, there was a part of you that wanted to be invisible, to not get in his way at all, but you also knew these rehearsals were important.

when the door opened and seokmin walked in, out of breath with a genuine smile on his face, you couldn’t help but smile back. he always seemed so at ease, even when you knew he was probably exhausted. the feeling of inadequacy returned with force.

"sorry for being late, i had a quick meeting with the manager," he said, adjusting the backpack on his shoulder.

"no problem," you responded quickly, trying to hide how nervous you were. "i was just reviewing some notes."

seokmin smiled reassuringly before stepping closer, placing his backpack on the floor, and grabbing a bottle of water. while he got ready to start, you could no longer hold back your thoughts.

"seokmin, i know your schedule is crazy with seventeen. i keep wondering if you really have time for these rehearsals." the insecurity spilled into your voice, something you had been trying to hide since the first meeting.

he paused, twisting the bottle cap in silence for a few seconds before looking directly at you.

"y/n, i want to be here. really. these rehearsals are important to me too, and i'm not splitting my time for no reason. besides, working with you is great. believe me."

you blinked a few times, absorbing his words. he seemed sincere. seokmin’s calm smile and warm eyes always had a way of making you forget your worries, if only for a moment.

"if you need anything, just tell me, okay? let's give it our best, no rush," he added, placing his hand on the piano for support, a spark of encouragement in his gaze.

you smiled, even though there was still a small twinge of uncertainty. seokmin was doing his best to make things flow naturally, and the feeling that everything would turn out fine, even if temporary, began to settle in you.

with each rehearsal, things were starting to flow better between you. the initial nervousness was still there, but it seemed easier to handle over time. seokmin always arrived with that radiant smile, and gradually, you began to feel more comfortable in his presence. the tension between his rehearsals with seventeen and yours still hung in the air, but he never showed signs of fatigue. on the contrary, seokmin always seemed genuinely happy to be there.

that afternoon, after a series of vocal warm-ups and reviewing some harmonies, you took a break. he pulled his phone from his pocket and started typing quickly, frowning. you watched him from the corner of your eye, trying not to seem curious, when he let out an enthusiastic sigh, putting the phone back in his pocket.

"something important?" you asked, trying to make conversation.

seokmin smiled, his eyes shining with excitement. "ah, i just got an invitation from some friends. they're putting on a musical tonight."

you nodded, trying to appear indifferent, but the curiosity was there. a musical? of course, he must have a circle of equally talented friends.

"i think... it’ll be fun," he said, looking away for a second. and then, before he could stop himself, he added, "do you want to go with me?"

the invitation lingered in the air for a moment, as if he hadn’t realized he’d just asked the question. there was a hint of surprise in his eyes, and you noticed he probably acted on impulse. and, just as quickly, before you could rationalize the situation or think about the consequences, the words had already escaped your mouth.

"i’d love to."

the silence that followed was brief but loaded with mutual surprise. you both looked at each other with shy smiles, as if processing what had just happened. it wasn’t like you had planned to hang out outside of rehearsals, and the idea of a social outing suddenly felt... different.

"great!" seokmin broke the silence with an excited laugh, slapping his hands on his thighs. "it’s going to be fun. i think you’ll love the cast. they’re amazing."

you smiled, trying not to show the mix of nervousness and excitement now filling your chest. had he noticed how much this invitation had shaken you? the ease with which he’d asked you stood in contrast to your internal reaction, which was a whirlwind of thoughts. now you weren’t just rehearsal partners—everything seemed to have moved up a level, and the closeness that came with that was something you weren’t entirely ready to process in that moment.

the next few minutes passed in a blur. as he talked about the musical and the cast, you could barely focus. part of you wondered, "this is just an invitation between colleagues, right?" but another part—the one that was constantly aware of his every smile, of the way he always tried to make you feel comfortable—suggested there might be something more, something you were just beginning to understand.

when the rehearsal ended, you left the room with your heart racing, clutching your bag tightly. it was just a musical... or was it the start of something more?

after watching the musical, you were filled with emotions. the play had been incredible, and seokmin seemed radiant beside you, smiling and clapping enthusiastically at the end. he turned to you, his eyes shining with excitement. "what did you think? wasn’t it amazing?"

"it was! you were right, they really nailed it!" you replied, feeling energized by his enthusiasm.

after the performance, seokmin suggested you join him backstage to greet his friends in the cast. the idea of being in such an intimate space with people who knew him so well made your stomach churn. as you walked towards the dressing room, he chatted excitedly about the play, but you were lost in your own thoughts, nervous and a little insecure.

upon entering the dressing room, you felt your shyness intensify. seokmin was all smiles, his gentle and affectionate demeanor shining through with everyone, especially the lead actress... she was a striking presence, full of confidence, and the way he interacted with her made you wonder if he would ever feel that comfortable with you. a small pang of insecurity tugged at your heart.

while he chatted excitedly with the others, you tried to distract yourself, fiddling with your phone. you scrolled through random photos and videos, but your mind was far from the screen. the mood in the dressing room was joyful and celebratory, and you felt a little out of place, like an outsider in a world that seemed so familiar to seokmin but so new to you.

"y/n, are you okay?" seokmin finally noticed your distance.

"oh, yeah... my manager just sent me a message, i was replying." you lied.

"any problems?" he asked curiously, and you shook your head with a smile.

he moved closer, with a worried expression. "sorry for not introducing you earlier. come on, let me introduce you." he instinctively grabbed your hand, and your heart seemed to skip a beat.

you forced a smile, feeling a bit guilty for being so caught up in your thoughts. he guided you towards the cast members, who greeted you warmly. "guys, this is y/n. but of course, you must already know her."

“oh, y/n! i can't believe you came to watch us!” said one of the actors, and the energy in the room shifted. you felt a bit more welcomed as they expressed excitement about your work. the lead actress, who had been seokmin’s partner in a previous musical and shared a few staged kisses with him, looked at you with a curious and excited smile. "i never would have guessed you two knew each other."

ridiculously, you felt an uncontrollable need to justify your relationship, as if you had to explain yourself to someone who meant so much to seokmin. “oh, we’re working together on a project,” you explained quickly, feeling a little embarrassed for having to give an explanation.

“our boy seokmin really is an important guy,” one of them said, making seokmin laugh shyly, his eyes nearly closed and his bright teeth fully showing. you couldn’t help but gently touch his back.

“i can’t believe i’m going to sing with someone so famous,” you admitted. seokmin looked at you with admiration.

still, you remained calm and friendly, laughing and interacting as if you were completely at ease, even though the sensation of being in the spotlight made you a bit uneasy. what was supposed to be a simple interaction turned into a curious moment of shared laughs and mutual compliments.

soon, the meeting was coming to an end. seokmin said goodbye to his friends with hugs and laughter, and you felt a mix of joy and sadness. as you both left the dressing room, he asked you, "did you like the play? i think you should watch a few more.”

“definitely! everyone was so talented. do you have any other musicals to recommend?” you asked, trying to keep up with the conversation as you walked towards the parking lot.

“yeah, actually i love watching musicals,” he confessed. "we should plan to watch a few more together." he was so happy to talk freely about what he loved.

your heart raced at that. “sure! sounds like a great idea!”

“great!” he said, looking so excited that you could barely contain your smile.

after leaving the dressing room area, you both walked to the parking lot. the environment was lit by streetlights, and the fresh night air surrounded you, creating a comfortable atmosphere. seokmin chatted enthusiastically about his plans and projects, but you were still processing the energy of the meeting and the interactions that had just happened.

when you reached the car, seokmin turned to you, his eyes shining. "i really hope you enjoyed it. they’re amazing, right?"

“yes, they’re incredible!” you smiled, though a small part of you still felt distant, as if you were trying to find your place among those who seemed so close and intimate with him.

as he drove, the conversation flowed naturally, and you found yourself smiling and laughing at his jokes. when you arrived at your house, the atmosphere became a bit more serious.

"well, i guess we’ll only see each other again in berlin," seokmin said, with a hint of sadness in his voice.

“yeah, i can’t wait for the festival,” you replied, feeling the anxiety rising again. the moment of goodbye was approaching.

he opened his arms, and you felt a little lost. did he want a hug from you? it was your first hug, and it felt like the world around you stopped. the warmth of his body enveloped you, and everything seemed easier right there, in that moment. you could smell the softness of his cologne and feel the steady beat of his heart, and your insecurity was replaced by a comfort you hadn’t expected.

“take care, okay? see you in berlin,” he murmured, his voice low and reassuring.

you nodded, still wrapped in the feeling of the hug. “you too. good luck with everything.”

as you both pulled away, his eyes held a mix of excitement and expectation. the farewell was sweet but also carried with it an unspoken promise. the time until berlin might feel long, but the connection you were building made everything more exciting, despite the lingering insecurities in the air.

i believe the third (and final part) will be available on sunday, sometime after the broadcast of lollapalooza berlin :)

[mooniedust]

Modern Aemond X Transreader Prompt

Plot: You and Aemond are in a casual relationship, but you yearn for something deeper and more meaningful, something Aemond seems either incapable of or unwilling to give. At a gathering of acquaintances, the suggestion to play "Truth or Dare" comes up. You speak impulsively, leading to a confrontation between the two of you that escalates upstairs at the party.

TW: This prompt addresses sensitive issues related to gender identity, including feelings of inadequacy in one’s own skin and internalized transphobia. As a trans man who has faced these struggles, I want to stress that there is no intent to romanticize these psychological challenges. If you’re experiencing something similar, please seek support/help. And remember, you are not alone, you are valid, and you are loved.

Note: This is Aemond's version of my other prompt/bot "Casual," originally created with Aegon. Many changes have been made to fit each character’s personality.

With all my heart,

Moon dust.

---

"I just don't get it. We do all these things together, so why does the word 'dating' seem so terrifyingly repulsive?" Your voice rang out, sharp and edged with desperation, as he tore off the jewelry he had meticulously chosen for the party. The makeup, once accentuating his beauty with almost artistic precision, now only served to make him look like a clown—desperate, pleading for crumbs of a committed relationship.

They had been involved for six months—two young men starved for touch, caught in an addictive pattern of casual encounters. Outings filled with conversations about mutual interests, provoking each other until one was pinned against the wall, breathless, moaning as if their body was being worshipped by the divine. You were at peace with this. Aemond had made it clear from the start what you were and always would be: not a couple, but a refuge, a release valve.

until you weren't anymore.

Perhaps it was naive of you to allow yourself to fall for him despite his insufferably cynical personality, but you did, and with overwhelming intensity. Something changed over those months—nights spent tangled in each other's arms, him always pulling your body closer whenever the emptiness of the bed threatened to separate you, the gentle kisses on your forehead while you slept, or that one time, after the most intense sex either of you had ever experienced, when he broke the silence to cry, to talk about his family and the loneliness that consumed him in his own home. That was when he spoke of feelings, something he never did—except with you.

It was a low blow.

Congratulations, you fell for the broken boy.

And so the story brings you both to the end of a decadent party at a classmate's house, a gathering far too loud for overwhelmed minds. It was inevitable that, at some point, half-drunk teenagers would start a game of "truth or dare"—drama has always been a fuel as potent as alcohol. Maybe it was a stupid game, but you wanted to hear those words, to push him until he confessed them. You wanted to hear so many unspoken truths. But you ruined everything. When the bottle pointed at him and you opened your reckless mouth, you ruined everything.

"Is it true what you said that night? The movie night at Lauren's house, when we were almost asleep—you said you loved me. Is that true?" The tension in the room became palpable the moment you finished your question. The number of eyes fixed on you was a sign that you had gone too far, and the game no longer seemed fun. Damn it. Fuck. Shit.

No one had to wait long for an answer before Aemond grabbed your hand to the muffled sound of Avril Lavigne's "Complicated." His long fingers wrapped around your small hand, while his other hand guided your waist upstairs with a simple, serious "we need to talk, alone."

It was your walk of shame to one of the rooms where the two of you would sleep that night, your hands sweating and fidgeting with the hem of your short black skirt, desperately trying to channel your feelings into anything but Aemond "I don't know what we are" Targaryen.

"It makes no sense to keep saying we're nothing. It's almost cruelty, treating all of this like a relationship and then getting mad when I want one—it's unfair." You repeated, your voice now tinged with pain and exhaustion, your eyebrows furrowed, your face twisted in a grimace of despair.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for what?

"Because we're not in a relationship. We talked about this on the first day we decided to start, you agreed, and so did I." Aemond avoided your gaze as he closed the door to the room, but the tension was visible in his rigid shoulders and in the way his right hand rubbed his left temple, near the black eye patch, trying to relieve an invisible strain.

"I've changed, Aemond. I'm everything you need. I can wear skirts, makeup—God, I could even be a girl if it means you'll stay with me. I can forget about this whole trans thing, maybe it's just in my head, yeah? Silly me. Just stay with me, please, You love me, we both know that. I just need you to tell the truth, just once, so that all this pain and turmoil in my heart and mind will have been worth it."

But they aren't worth it.

"Look, I'll say this because you're right about one thing: I love you, {{user}}." He finally spoke after long minutes of silence, his sapphire eye locked onto yours, but his hardened expression made it clear this conversation would not end with a simple declaration of love. "But I could never love you in the way you want. I don't want a relationship right now with you. It doesn't matter if you feel like a woman or a man—that's not the point. Just not now."

"But you could, maybe in the future. I could wait." Your voice was almost pitiful, a desperate plea. Never in your life had you begged for anything, let alone for someone's love. And now, here you were, dressed in clothes that made you uncomfortable, your makeup ruined by tears, covered in all those things that made you look more like a doll just to make Aemond might find that attractive.

Look like a girl.

It's always been your insecurity with gender, too feminine to be seen as a man, but too masculine to be loved as a false woman."

Silly boy.

Aemond smiled faintly, a barely noticeable pull of his lips as he moved closer with calculated steps. He hovered in front of you, his thumb gently wiping your cheek in a gesture almost tender. God, you were pathetic, even to him.

"I never could, either, and that would make the wait even more painful. Do you understand? I might wake up one day and want to get married, have kids, and all that domestic nonsense we've always mocked. How can I guarantee I'll feel the same way in four years? I don't want you to wait. I don't want you to change. No one who truly loves you should ask that of you. This is probably where I have to end the mess we've made." He bent down slightly, tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear, and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead before whispering that he was sorry.

Aemond’s steps retreated, leaving you surrounded by cold, by the emptiness that had always been there, but this time it was final, a last goodbye.

"Someone will love you. Someone will love the man you are. But that someone won't be me. I'm sorry."

Four weeks.

And Aemond was now officially and openly dating a girl.

[peterman-spideyparker]

Strange (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I've been meaning to post this for months as the sequel to 6B inspired by this instrumental cover, but the actual inspiration to post it and get it out of my drafts folder has been lacking. I hope you all enjoy! :)

Summary: You've gotten to know your neighbor, Matt, and have grown very close to him over the last few months. Not only that, but his friend group has readily accepted you into the fold. But when they want to come and see a concert you're in and things start to go wrong, you're not only worried about the performance, but letting them down.

Click here for some listening inspiration!

Warnings: Fluff (Matt and Reader being sooo into one another but unable to just say it, kissing, Matt being supportive), angst (Reader has a panic attack)

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, Karen Page

Word Count: 2,349

“You know,” Foggy says as he downs his drink. “I could have been a butcher.”

Karen and Matt groan, which means this is a frequent story that Foggy likes to tell anyone who can listen.

“Please, spare her this one,” Matt begs melodramatically. “You’ll scare her away.”

“Yeah, and it’s been nice for me these last few months to have another woman in this circle of weird,” Karen chuckles before she drinks her beer. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you say with a small smile, sipping your drink. “Tell me.”

“Fine, we’ll go with the abridged version: I wanted to break ranks from cured meat, got into Columbia to do law, expected to get rich, and now get paid in bananas and strawberry rhubarb pie,” Foggy huffs.

“Yeah, but that pie means you’re doing good work helping the people that need it. And it’s a delicious perk of friendship with you guys,” you grin as you all clink your drinks together.

“Professor (Y/L/N)?” you hear a voice call through the noise of the bar.

You all look over, and you notice a small group of your students at a table in the bar. They wave and cheer, making their way over to where you sit.

“Hi guys,” you smile. “It’s nice to see you out instead of in rehearsal.”

“Well, even the workaholics gotta take a break,” one of your students says.

“We just wanted to say hey before we left,” another says. “We’re on our way to dinner at a friends. But we’ll see you in class and at your concert.”

At the mention of your upcoming performance, you feel a blush burn on your cheeks as you wave goodbye to them, knowing you're about to undergo the third degree.

“You’ve got a concert coming up?” Matt says, turning toward you, his knee brushing against yours.

“Yes,” you confirm with a sheepish dip of your head.

“Is she trying to be humble as a way to dissuade us from gathering more information, counselor?” he leans over to Foggy.

“I believe so,” Foggy hums. “Ms. Page, since the client is hostile, we are enlisting your investigative journalism talents.”

“My rates have gone up,” she chuckles as she brings her drink to her lips. “I don’t think you can afford it.”

“I’m assuming you’re gonna keep this jig up until I tell you what you want?” you interject.

“Ah, so astute, Ms. (Y/L/N),” Matt smirks.

“Saturday at seven in the Miller Theatre at Dodge Hall on campus. Happy?”

“Extremely. Nelson and Murdock always gets their case,” Foggy laughs.

“What kind of music are you going to be playing?” Karen beams with interest.

“Nothing special, really. I’m going to do some conducting, playing some covers, and some original pieces—.”

“Originals?” Foggy grins.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” you say softly. “I appreciate you enthusiasm, really, it means a lot.”

“But you don’t want us there,” Matt says softly, picking up on your tone.

“I mean, it’s not that I don’t want you there, I just . . . it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Foggy repeats.

“But musicians want people to hear their music, right?” Karen continues.

“I love to share my music. But when people I know are in the audience—.” You shrug, an overwhelming sense of inadequacy washing over you. “It’s like I’m gonna disappoint them.”

The mood of the group is immediately changed, and you feel your face grow hot again.

“Listen,” you start again quietly. “I have to teach an early class tomorrow morning. I’ll see you guys later.”

You pull the money out of your wallet to cover my beers, giving a gentle squeeze to Matt’s knee as you wave goodbye to your friends. 

“(Y/N), wait!” you hear Matt call after you on the sidewalk. “Wait!”

You stop in your tracks, turning in time to watch him fold up his cane. “Matt, listen—.”

“No, please, let me,” he breathes as he comes to a halt in front of you. “I’m sorry if we made you feel weird. We just want to be here to support you. If us coming to your concert would make you uncomfortable, we won’t come, but we’ll be with you in spirit. But I can say with confidence that no matter what, you could never disappoint us—you could never disappoint me.”

You give him a soft smile, and you lean forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Matt,” you tell him. “If you guys want to come, you can. Just keep the expectation bar low?”

A soft laugh falls from his chest, and it’s more beautiful than any composition you could have put together. “If it makes you feel better, we will keep the bar on the ground. Now c’mon, let me walk you back to your place.”

“You sure it’s not out of your way, Murdock?” you grin.

He loops his arm in yours and lets out a long sigh. “It’d be a bit of a hike, but, I’d only do it for you.”

“Please, please, please,” you breathe as you move into the audience, hoping this is one of the rare occasions that your friends didn’t listen to you. You almost burst into tears when you see Matt, Foggy, and Karen in the front row with flowers in hand. Before you can even move to try and get close to them, you watch as Matt gets up from his seat and unfurls his cane, slowly approaching you.

“Matt!” you call softly, watching him turn his head in your direction.

“You okay?” Matt asks you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “You’re oozing nerves so much a blind man can tell.”

“I . . . no,” you whimper. “The last song is a duet—piano and violin. My pianist just called and has the stomach flu and is currently in the hospital for dehydration. I-I . . . Matt, I don’t know what to do. I’m freaking out—I don’t freak out, and I’m freaking out.”

“(Y/N)—.”

“See, I could do it, but I can’t play the violin and piano at the same time. I have to think of something new on the fly. I can’t think on the fly like this. I wrote that piece months ago for tonight, and now it’s out the window! I can improvise when I play, but I can’t think of a new plan on the spot.”

“(Y/N), you need to take a deep breath.”

“What does a heart attack feel like? I think I’m having a heart attack.”

Matt places your hand on his chest, square in the middle, mirroring the action with his own. “Take some deep breaths for me, okay? I’m right here. Focus in on my heartbeat.” You match your breathing with his, putting all your focus into your breathing pattern. “There you go. Nice and slow, just like that. Tell me how I can help.”

“Matt—.”

“Please. Let me at least try to help.”

You suck in your bottom lip and bite it, grabbing his hand and pulling him to one of the side rooms with a piano.

“You said you played piano in church when you were little, right?” you confirm as you sit on the bench, pulling him down next to you.

“Yeah, I did,” he nods.

“I’m really hoping that brain of yours is photographic-adjacent,” you say as you sit on the bench. You begin to press the keys gently, the notes softly reverberating in the room. You play it as you have a million times before, and you can tell by Matt’s laser-focused on how you press the keys: he’s absolutely astonished by each note, capturing the sound and storing it away in his mind. When you finish, you turn on the bench and look at him while he looks at you with nothing but affection. 

“That was absolutely amazing,” he breathes, sounding utterly awestruck.

You blush, immensely flattered. “Do you think you can mimic it?”

“I think it’s doable,” he says with a gentle but confident grin. "Can I ask, why me? There's a stage full of musicians behind the curtain."

"I trust you," you say, your heart racing once more. "And that's not to say I don't trust them, but, I think you're the only one that can help, and I trust you with every bone in my body."

He places his hand on top of yours. "Let me give it a try."

You move from the bench, allowing Matt to take your place as he replicates the piece note for note, sounding identical to what you just played.

“And just when I think you couldn’t get more amazing,” you whisper with a smile, almost on the verge of tears from being so grateful. “Are you comfortable going up and doing that at the end of the night?”

“Of course. For you, of course,” Matt breathes. 

You smile, leaning forward to kiss his cheek before you take his hand and pull him from the bench and back to the main performance hall. “I can walk you up to the stage when it’s time,” you tell him. “I’ll never be able to thank you for this, Matt. Honestly.”

“Save your thank-you’s for when the night is over,” he hums, giving your hand a tender squeeze. “You’ll be amazing—you are amazing. And I will be right there with you every step of the night, with every note you play.”

With a shaky breath, you squeeze his hands once more before you resume your position backstage, and give a pep-talk to your performers. By the time you make it to the stage, you go on auto-pilot, tuning into your performers, the audience, and how everything comes together as you lead them and play matching melodies with instruments of your own. You feel extra flushed when you reach the near-end of the program when you have to address the audience before your final piece.

“This next song will be the last one of the night,” you start. “I want to thank you all for taking the time out of your busy lives to come here and enjoy the music brought to you by these absolutely talented musicians. This last piece is an original duet I have put together over the last couple of months. New York isn’t my home. I grew up all across the country, but I first came to this city to get my degree from this very institution. Fate brought me back here, and even though I lived in this city for the formative years of my adult life, everything felt so new and different when I came back, but it also felt like I hadn’t left for a moment. It was strange. Upon my return to the city, I met a spectacular human that embodies that strangeness, but also oozes hope, kindness, empathy, and acceptance, and I’m honored that he has agreed to join me in my final performance of the night on the piano.”

Moving down from the stage, you meet Matt at his seat, offering your arm for him to take as you guide him up to the piano. As he sits, he squeezes your hand one more time, just as he has so frequently before, and you know that no matter what happens in the next three minutes, everything will be okay because Matt believes in you, even if you haven’t believed in yourself. Softly, you count off, Matt gently pressing on the keys for a few notes before you join in on the violin. Everything blends together beautifully—better than you ever could have imagined. You both play as if you were a duo that have been playing together all of your lives, and you don’t exactly process that the song is over until it happens and the crowd rises to their feet and erupts in applause. You put your instrument down, taking Matt’s hand and bringing him to the edge of the stage to take a bow with you as the curtains close. You wrap Matt in the biggest hug you physically can, burying your face into his neck.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you just did,” you breathe into him. “Thank you so much, Matty.”

He squeezes you tight, holding the back of your head and smoothing down your hair. “You were amazing, angel,” he whispers before leaning back from the hug. “Everything was so incredibly great. It all sounded so beautiful. I am so, so incredibly proud of you.”

A warm, fuzzy feeling spreads all over your body, starting from your tummy and flowing outward, making your skin burn hot. Your lips part slightly, your heart skipping a beat when you notice Matt’s tongue poke out and wet his lips. 

“(Y/N), I—,” he starts, but you glide your hands up to cradle his face, pulling him in for a kiss. He gladly receives it, moaning into your lips and holding you close, squeezing your waist and dipping you slightly. Pulling back after you straighten, he rests his forehead on yours and gently brushes your noses together before leaning in for more soft, sweet kisses. “I’ve got some tulips with your name on it out in the front row,” he grins. “Foggy and Karen insisted on roses, but, I know you like tulips. Mr. Wilson at the corner florist helped me put the colors together for you.”

“How’d you know I like tulips?” you hum, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I might’ve talked to your students. They gave me some ideas.”

“Ah. Well, since I can’t kiss them as a thank you, I think I might have to give you a few more to show my full extent of gratitude.”

“Mm,” Matt happily hums, his hands moving down your body soothingly. “I’d like that. But not here. When we get back to our building. I have a feeling people are looking to congratulate you.”

“Okay,” you breathe, taking half a step back, slipping your hand in his so we can go into the audience. “I’m gonna hold you to it.”

“I hope you do.”

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[1d1195]

Tulips Extra I

You can read Tulips here. I wouldn't read this if you're having a good day, lol. The original was therapeutic for myself so it's a little on the sad side for sure. It was good timing since I've not been feeling very positive lately.

Anyway, it's probably very angsty with a bit of fluff.

Thank you for reading my diary 😉

~4.7k words

Highly recommend listening to: Lung (Vines version) by Vines & Adrianne Munden-Dixon while reading.

“Shh,” he shook his head. “I got it,” he tilted his head at her. His voice was so sure. Like he was telling her the sun would come up tomorrow.

She supposed it would.

If she looked in the mirror, she would see a lot of growth. It had been six months since Harry moved in and she was more open, more communicative, and delegated more. Harry was perfect. Probably too perfect. It was almost unfair and if she thought about it too long, she worried a little too much about the ramifications of her own inadequacy.

Harry never let her feel that way. When she made dinner, he nearly threw a parade. If she was at Target and saw something she thought Harry would like and bought it, he thanked her for hours. It was a little overwhelming sometimes to be praised so highly. In previous relationships, she thought about the fanfare she would get from doing those kinds of things but after years of never getting it, she assumed it wasn’t in the cards for her.

But she hadn’t met Harry. He never let her feel that way. Everything she did was thanked with the utmost gratitude. It was unnerving sometimes that he adored her exactly how she imagined love was supposed to be. There were days, weeks, years, when she thought she wasn’t worthy of the love she dreamed about. Harry came along as if all that time feeling sad never existed. He praised her for things that didn’t need it, but it made her smile.

“M'a lucky guy, kitten,” he kissed her on the forehead while they watched TV. She had brought over a cup of hot water. Harry always had a cup in the middle of the afternoon. It was good for his throat, which was prone to colds and good for his vocal cords when he spent so much of his job talking to other people.

*

There were still hard days for her. Days when her mind ran wild and told her that she wasn’t good enough for Harry. That if she didn’t do everything perfectly or if she forgot something at the grocery story, she didn’t deserve to have Harry in her life any longer. Those years of not being good enough, or rather not feeling good enough, were hard to stamp out of her mind. Harry did a wonderful job getting most of it to disappear. But a bad day was a bad day; and it was hard to predict that. Hard to know when her mind would play a trick on her.

Work was okay except everyone was on edge close to the holiday. The end of the year was always a tricky time. Things needed to be wrapped up financially and socially. Honestly, she was probably the calmest one at work, but she was kind. Helping others with their workload because hers didn’t entail the same types of problems that everyone else was facing. But it did require a lot of her mental load. The satisfaction she felt from helping others was really good for her emotional well-being, but it came at a pretty significant cost: she had a really hard time saying no—especially when she needed to say no.

This led her to carrying several grocery bags into her apartment with Harry. She didn’t want to take two trips. Except she was struggling. Two trips would have been better. Or calling Harry when she got to the parking lot would have helped. He wouldn’t have minded either. He probably didn’t know she was grocery shopping after work, or he would have offered to go with her.

But unfortunately, they had gotten into a bit of a... disagreement the night before. Which only added to her stress emotionally. It was a well-based disagreement. Harry worried she was doing too much for her coworkers and thought (in the kindest way possible) that she should set some boundaries where she felt comfortable helping but still able to get her own stuff done.

In her head she did something wrong. Harry was so kind. Extremely understanding of all the boundaries that she failed to set in her work life and with her family. He knew it wasn’t easy for her. But it was hard for him to watch the person he loved struggle to feel okay with anxiety and stress plaguing most of her thoughts over things she didn’t necessarily need to worry about.

She was almost at the door. Her arm was sore from holding the bags up for so long. The circulation in her hand was disappearing from the bags that had slid down. Why she didn’t just set the bags down at the end of the hall will always make her wonder. But instead, of course, the bag ripped open. The one stupid paper bag she had to get from the store to fit everything. Of course, it had eggs in it. While trying catch it, she dropped the gallon of milk she had in her other hand that naturally exploded onto the floor with the eggs. She gasped and looked at the mess she created in the hall. Fortunately, her neighbors weren’t affected. She was so close to her own door the only one impacted would be herself or Harry.

“—her location says she should be home—oh,” Harry stuck his head out from the door. He heard a loud thud from inside the apartment. Paired with his missing girlfriend, he worried she had hurt herself or something coming up the stairs. Harry watched her for a moment, a frown settling onto his lips at the sight. Her shoulders shaking, her lip wobbling while tears filled her eyes. “Love, m’gonna have her call y’back. She jus’ got home. Think she had a tough day,” he murmured. “S’okay. I’ll take care of it. She’ll call y’back,” he promised. “Okay, bye,” he slid his phone into his pocket. Her gaze didn’t move from the mess on the floor, but she could sense Harry approaching her. Like an injured animal in the wild.

“Was that my sister?” She whispered.

He nodded, but she wasn’t looking. “S’nothing serious,” he promised.

“I think she needed help with her assignment or something. I was supposed to call her when I got home so I could read—”

“Love,” he stepped directly into the mixture of eggs and milk and put his hands on her shoulders. “S’not important right now,” his voice was so gentle. Almost too gentle. “Let’s go inside,” he tugged her gently toward the door. “M’gonna clean this up,” he offered easily.

She looked up at him, her eyes so blurred with tears that his expression was hard to make out. The only good thing her tears did was magnify her perception of Harry’s pretty eyes. They actually looked like emeralds and made her heart flutter despite how sad she was. “You don’t have to,” her voice cracked. “I dropped everything. I should clean it—” the tears fell from her eyes in slow motion. It was like she was watching one of those movies where the girl tries to keep working even though she just found out the love of her life died and she was basically ignoring it. She hated those scenes. They hurt so much. She swiped her hand across her face. “I just need to grab—”

“Kitten,” Harry stilled her movements as she tried to push away from him. “Angel,” he whispered softly. “Please stop.”

“No, I’m okay,” she promised, the saddest smile falling across her lips. Harry looked at her with so much worry and he shook his head.

“No, kitten. You’re not,” his voice was low and he cupped the side of her neck and held her in place. “What happened?”

“Nothing! It’s nothing,” but the words were choked and only half-uttered by the mixture of tears and her throat closing around the sound trying to force its way out of her vocal cords. “I’m fine.” It was like her body was trying to repel the words because she almost folded in half, she crouched and covered her eyes as she let the sobs take over for a second. She would be fine; she just needed a second to get some of the emotion out.

“Angel,” Harry crouched right beside her. “C’mon, kitten. S’not nothing,” he murmured.

She shook her head. No, things with Harry were fine. She wasn’t going to burden him with needless worries and all the anxiety that was coursing through her head. It was all in her head. Truly. It wasn’t something that he needed to—

Harry pulled her toward their door where milk and eggs hadn’t spread to yet. The remaining pile of groceries was mixed in the mess. She crouched by the door again, unable to stop the emotion long enough to make it past the entry way. Gently, Harry pulled her toward him and kissed the top of her head. He knelt beside her, hand cupping the back of her neck and the other gently rubbing up and down her arm. A neighbor peered into the hallway raised his eyebrows at the mess before turning to see Harry and the girl in their doorway. Harry shook his head so minutely he doubted she noticed. Fortunately, their neighbor saluted ever so slightly and retreated inside.

“I’m. Sorry,” she hiccupped.

He shook his head feeling so awful she was this distraught. This upset. He wished he had checked her location before her sister called to ask if she was ignoring her. Wish he had gone down to see where she was when he realized she was supposed to be home. “Shh,” he hushed. “S’nothing t’apologize for, kitten,” he promised quietly.

She continued sobbing and Harry wondered how on earth someone so beautiful, so kind, so utterly adoring could be so sad. It pained him to no end. Watching her breakdown like this felt like someone stabbed him right in the heart. He wanted to do whatever he had to do to make it stop. He knew she kept a lot of her emotions to herself. Years of bottling them up so as not to inconvenience others for simply existing.

“Kitten,” he whispered when her sobs subsided to sniffles. “Y’gotta talk t’me,” his voice was gentle but filled with worry. “M’sorry people let y’down. M’not one of them, though.”

“It’s hard,” her voice was so crackly and broken. Harry almost let it go because he wasn’t sure he could bear the weight of how sad she was.

“I know, baby, I know it is, but I love you so much. I want nothing but t’help you,” he hoped she heard how sincere he was. “I hate seeing y’like this. It hurts me, kitten,” he cupped her face and gazed into her eyes so hopefully she would understand how much he adored her and how much it hurt him. It wasn’t to minimize what she was feeling. It was to hopefully help her reach the conclusion that he was on her side, always. He would do whatever it took to make her smile.

“M’scared,” she whispered. “You’re just going to tell me that I’m being ridiculous—because I am, Harry. I am being ridiculous. I have you. You’re so perfect. You love me so much and you don’t care that I’m a little crazy and you don’t—”

“Kitten,” he frowned. “I would never tell y’that you’re being ridiculous. Please tell me y’don’t really believe that,” his heart felt even worse. How could she think that?

“Because,” she croaked. The seconds it took her to speak after felt like years. Harry waited so patiently, his heart pounding. “Because whenever I felt so overwhelmed,” she shook her head and looked down, despite Harry holding her face so she would have to look at him. She closed her eyes and sniffled.

“Tell me, angel.”

“I have never had someone,” she started again, squeezing her eyes tight. They felt red and swollen. She was certain she looked as terrible as she felt. “It was my own doing,” she whispered. “The reason I get so overwhelmed. When I complained even a little it was turned into something about how I did things wrong. I overwhelmed myself. It was just... in my head,” she whispered.

Harry wasn’t completely sure how he managed to stay upright. He swiped his thumbs below her red rimmed eyes. He thought she was beautiful even when she cried but it hurt him so much to see her like this. “S’not in your head, m’love,” it was hard to say the words without breaking out into cries himself. Seeing her hurt like this made him feel like the worst boyfriend in the world. “Love doesn't have t’be even, kitten. Being mad doesn't have t’be even. Being upset with something I do doesn't mean I have t’be upset with something you do. Y’can be annoyed with me, and I don't have t’bring up something m’annoyed by—which is nothing,” he assured her quickly because he could spot something he said creating a spiral easily. “But love, y’have t’tell me... talking has t’be done. I can't do this alone, kitten. I can't do this without you,” he explained as gently as he could.

“It’s not important,” she shook her head. Her voice cracked again.

Harry winced. “No, but it is, kitten. I can hear how important it is. I see it. I can feel it. Y’need t’tell me. I need you t’tell me everything y’feel. I can tell it hurts. All of it. I want t’fix it. I don’t want you t’hurt. M’not going anywhere. Ever.”

“But it’s… so bad to talk about... exes,” she whispered the last word like it was a curse—like she would be sent right to jail for it saying out loud.

Harry frowned. “Yeah, maybe if y’still in love with them. Do y’still love him?” It was rhetorical honestly. He knew she didn’t.

Her face paled immediately, her sad eyes filling with more tears. “Of course not!”

“I didn’t say it t’make y’mad, m’love,” His voice was gentle again. “I want you t’process this. I can’t have you all bottled up. I need t’know signs and feelings you’re having when y’don’t want t’share them. He messed with you so good,” he smiled without an ounce of humor behind it. It was the saddest smile she had ever seen on his face. He looked… so... disappointed. “M’usually good at figuring out what m’supposed t’do as a boyfriend. But y’stump me sometimes,” he admitted shyly. “It hurts me t’see you flustered and hurt without telling me why. I want t’be there for you. Always. In ways he never was because you—”

“He was always late,” she sobbed again. Harry pulled her to him immediately letting the tears pour out of her and he rocked her so gently. The words spilled out of her as fast as the tears did. “I swear he did it to piss me off and then he would say I was too controlling or neurotic. I was too planned out. He never got me flowers and my mom knew how much that bothered me. She knew he didn’t, even though I lied and said he did. I lied about flowers,” she felt so pathetic saying it out loud. “I lied about so many things he didn’t do because I was disappointed in myself. He didn’t see the point in romantic gestures. He didn’t think about how it kind of made me look like an idiot. I know that’s not the point of a romantic gesture, but I kept doing them for him and I—” the sobs choked her voice for a moment but Harry stayed silent. “I ignored all those red flags. All of them. Every single one of them. Why did I do that?” She cried; her voice sounded so tired. She looked so tired. Harry was quiet for a long time while more tears than he thought were possible fell across her cheeks.

“Because love is also red,” Harry whispered eventually. “Rose colored glasses are red… tulips, my sweet love,” he paused to kiss the top of her head, “are red.” It felt like hours she sobbed against him. The milk spread on the floor probably getting warm and souring the smell in the air and Harry just held her rocking ever so softly. “Thank you,” he said after way longer than anyone would have waited to speak. “For telling me that. I know that was hard. I promise I won’t be late. Ever,” he vowed. “Everything else between us? Might have t’be some compromises and more talking and we might argue. I might get mad, but it doesn’t mean it’s going t’end us, kitten. You have t’know that. M’here for the long haul... But late? On purpose? It won’t be me,” he promised easily. “Whether m’mad because I had a bad day at work or because of traffic, you’ll know the moment I know. M’not going t’miss a single time y’tell me. I will be there early.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head and kissed her temple, letting his lips drag along her skin for longer than he needed but it felt so soothing she nearly cried again. “S’nothing t’be sorry for,” he promised. “C’mon,” he stood, his knees aching from crouching for so long. He held his hand out to her and pulled her to stand beside him. He pushed her toward the sofa.

“What about—”

“Shh,” he promised. “S’fine,” he murmured pushing her to sit. Once seated, he pulled her shoes off, wrapped a blanket around her and kissed her forehead. He placed a book in her lap that she had started earlier in the week and hurried to the kitchen to bring her a bottle of water. “Stay here,” he kissed her forehead again, this time cupping her cheek at the same time and rubbing his thumb along her skin.

“But I—”

“Shh,” he shook his head. “I got it,” he tilted his head at her. His voice was so sure. Like he was telling her the sun would come up tomorrow.

She supposed it would.

*

As low as she got, she felt so much better, much quicker than she usually did. Harry was grateful for the change and was extremely mindful of things that caused her stress. He tried to read her mind as much as possible and was successful more often, which made him feel a lot better.

Talking was so much better. She had never felt so free. Harry knew her every thought. He didn’t belittle her emotions or make her feel like an inconvenience. Right before they fell asleep, she was snuggled close, her eyes watching Harry breathe evenly. The only light coming from a streetlamp outside their window. It wasn’t too bright but illuminated the room enough for her to make out Harry’s shadow beside her. His hand skimmed up and down her arm making her drowsy. “I love you,” she sighed.

“I love you, too, angel,” he murmured.

When they were out with friends Harry was mindful of her well-being. If she wanted to leave, he could sense it before she wanted to go. In fact, he even said he wanted to leave before she mentioned it. Taking her out of the equation made her anxiety lessen profusely.

If there was a problem Harry had (and rarely did that happen because he truly believed she was an angel) he looked her dead in the eye every time and promised her that he wasn’t mad. “I am not mad,” he held her face in his hands like she was a fragile vase. He waited until she nodded, he could see the emotions scrolling through her eyes like an index searching for one to land on for a moment. Only when she nodded would he continue. “I don’t like when y’leave the remote in the couch. S’hard t’find,” he explained. “Can y’try t’leave it on the coffee table?” He asked. She nodded. “Are y’okay, kitten? M’not mad,” he said reassuringly.

She nodded again. “I know,” her voice was soft. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “S’okay,” he smiled encouragingly. “Do y’have anything y’want t’share with me that’s bothering you?” She shook her head. “You’re sure? Not even the whole pizza thing?” He eyed her suspiciously. Harry put the whole box of leftover pizza in the fridge, and he could see the distaste in her eyes when he did so.

“It just takes up a lot of room,” she admitted.

“Good,” he smiled excitedly that she was telling him the truth and he kissed her forehead. “I’ll go fix it now; can y’find the remote?” He found giving her a manageable task was a good distraction when she voiced her worry. He could see her eyes fill with tears despite the fact he wasn’t upset, but he knew it was because she was more than likely overwhelmed with how easy that was. She swiped her hand across her cheek and dug between the cushions to find the controller. When he returned, she handed him the remote to put on a movie. He pulled her toward him, her body half resting against his chest. He kissed the top of her head. “I love you, so much, angel,” he promised.

“I love you,” Harry could hear how much that really meant to her in every syllable.

*

She was carrying her work bag, her lunch bag, and her clunky water bottle when her mom called. Most of the time her mom texted her. So, she assumed it was bad. She settled her things onto the counter as she answered.

“Do you know Harry texted me?” She asked.

“What?” Her heart leapt to her throat. Harry hadn’t ever texted her mother to his knowledge. She knew he periodically texted her siblings but never her mom.

“He shared a whole album with me. I had to have your sister help me open it because you know me with this contraption,” she laughed but she didn’t want to hear about her technological illiteracy. She wanted to know what the album was. “It’s just a bunch of bouquets of flowers. At least two dozen. Maybe closer to three. He said it’s every bouquet he’s ever bought you and the reason why. Birthday. Christmas. Valentine’s Day. Bad day at work. Being brave at the dentist,” she laughed again. She had a hand on her heart as she tried to quell all the emotions rapidly flowing through her in quick succession. “Sweetie,” she whispered, a smile in her voice. “He said he was going to add to it every time he got a new bouquet, but he wanted me to know that he got you flowers. Wanted me to have proof. Do you know what it’s about?”

She felt tears thicken her throat. “Yeah. Yeah I know,” she whispered. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” she promised.

“I know you lied to me,” she said softly. It wasn’t accusing. It was exactly how a mom would react to such a statement. “You never lie about anything so it’s pretty obvious when you do. Especially about something so...little,” she felt horrible. But honestly, she didn’t feel like telling her mom that the flowers weren’t little. They were huge, in fact. It was a huge, glaring, obvious thing that she should have known was wrong. “I’m not too sure what’s going on with you and Harry lately, but I can see how much that man adores you and I know he would do anything to make you smile.”

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know,” she responded. “I know why you did it.”

The tears rolled down her cheeks, but she doesn’t make a sound. “Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she repeated.

“Okay, well... I’m glad you have that album,” she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got a couple of chores to do, Mom.”

“I know, that’s fine. I just wanted to tell you how happy I am for you, sweetie,” she could hear her mom’s encouraging smile in her voice. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Almost as soon as the call ended, she sniffled. Then just as quickly, Harry came through the door and found her wiping her eyes. “Oh, kitten,” he frowned. “S’matter?” She wanted to say ‘nothing.’ But he was holding another bouquet of flowers. Half the tulips were red, and the other half was white. So, she was unable to utter a word and began to cry again. “Angel,” he set the bouquet on the counter beside her stuff and wrapped his arms around her tightly. “M’sorry, love,” he murmured into her hair and squeezed her.

“Can we get married?” She asked through her tears.

Harry didn’t even care how ridiculous she sounded. He continued as if this was a normal conversation that he had every day with her. As if she wasn’t sobbing on a Thursday night for no reason. Or if he asked her if she wanted fish for dinner. “Of course we can, baby, but I have t’propose—”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t care. Right now. Please. I love you so much. So, so much. I can’t—” she hiccupped.

“Hey, hey,” he pulled away and looked at her. “Kitten,” he smiled gently. It was a sad smile, but a cute one. Like he didn’t want to set her off completely. “I love you, too,” he assured her. “I want t’propose the right way and make sure you’re—”

“Then give me the ring now,” she looked at him squarely in the eye. The smile melted off his face and other than her soft sniffle, there wasn’t a sound in the apartment. “Please,” she repeated.

“Kitten,” he sucked his cheek in a bit and looked at her nervously. Like this was a break in her tired mind that he wouldn’t be able to handle. “What happened? Please tell me, you’re worrying me.”

She wiped her eyes again. “You told my mom you got me flowers.”

His entire body deflated, and it was like he just knew. “Stay here,” he said simply.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded, and watched as Harry walked through their apartment. She wondered if he was walking so slowly on purpose. By now, she was used to Harry’s footsteps, and she listened to the sound of them: light and quiet on their hardwood floors. From the kitchen she could hear his dresser drawers sliding open and closed. It was as if he took ten times as long to come back to the kitchen as he did to leave it.

“How did y’know?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I didn’t.”

He smirked and pulled the little box out of his pocket and set it on the counter beside the flowers, her bags and her water. “I was going to wait until Christmas, y’gonna have nothing t’open.”

“I don’t need anything,” she promised.

He chuckled. “Kitten,” he sighed. “What am I going t’do with you?”

“I don’t know. But you have a lifetime to figure it out,” she vowed.

He smiled, shook his head. “Will you—”

“Yes.”

“Can you let me do it the right way—”

“No.”

He sighed. “Kitten,” he chided with a chuckle.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” she wiped her cheeks again and shook her head.

Harry took a deep breath. “Angel, will you—”

“I can’t do it, I’m sorry. Please just kiss me,” she begged.

He laughed, shook his head, and pressed his lips to hers. He held her so firmly in his embrace, dipping her backwards in the middle of the kitchen like this was the most romantic place in the world. When he stood her upright, her cheeks were flushed, and she was silent. She no longer looked anxious as she had when he entered the apartment. He grabbed the ring box, pulled the ring out of the safety of its little cushion and slipped it onto her finger. It fit perfectly. It wouldn’t need to be resized or anything. “Will you marry me?” He managed to ask without her interrupting.

Her response was immediate, though, barely finished the word ‘me’. “Yes."

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

[icycoldninja]

Allow me to elaborate:

What abt the DMC guys with a fem reader who grew up sheltered? Almost a complete opposite from them

She grew up as an only child, always in her house watching TVs and movies and had barely ever gone outside to play with other kids: which leads to her being rather dependent on her legal guardian whether it be her mom or grandma when it comes to decision making as they always comes up with the solution for her instead of guiding her to find the solution on her own; having little to no social skills.

Being sheltered can sometimes lead to low self-esteem or feelings of inadequacy. If individuals were not allowed to explore their interests or talents freely, they may struggle to develop a strong sense of self-worth.

Constant sheltering can lead to anxiety and stress when individuals are faced with unfamiliar or challenging situations. They may feel overwhelmed by the demands of adult life if they were not exposed to such experiences during childhood.

People who were sheltered as children may find it challenging to cope with failure or setbacks. They may have a fear of making mistakes or not meeting expectations, which can hinder their personal and professional growth.

That doesn’t necessarily mean she’s completely dumb and naive just like how the mass media usually portrays people growing up sheltered as she can still do some basic forms of household chores like hanging clothes, mopping floors,etc…just keep her away from the kitchen ofc, not as naive as how sheltered individuals are usually portrayed since she knows sex, political matters, etc…

But that being said, she’s still sheltered, which means she isn’t used to the bloodshed that normally wouldn’t bother them, would’ve definitely grossed her out; lacking major knowledge on how to protect herself ( she jokingly said she would try to bite a devil’s jugular if they were to catch her )

Ok!

Sparda boys + V x Sheltered!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante wasn't used to being around someone so...well...to put it lightly, useless.

-He couldn't believe that someone your age still needed to call her momma for help when a decision had to be made, such as whether to buy your trusted laundry detergent or the brand that was 50% off, even if you'd never used it before.

-He was sorry to hear you had self esteem issues because he himself had a few of those back in the day.

-Don't worry, Dante will work to help you. He has plans to teach you the ways of the world and to help you through your issues.

-Is glad that you're capable of basic tasks, so at least he doesn't have to worry about you starving to death when he's not around.

-Thinks it's cute that you believe you'd stand much of a chance against demons, though you might be onto something--having one's jugular bitten is painful no matter what your species.

■ Vergil ■

-To be frank, he thought you were pathetic. You were weak, incapable of making decisions for yourself, yet he still found himself growing fond of you.

-Maybe it was the fact that you needed his protection that made him feel this way, or perhaps it was because he just liked how you retreated behind him whenever you went out in public. It made Vergil feel important; purposeful.

-He likes it when you run to him for help when it comes to making difficult decisions because it makes him feel wise, like you're an inexperienced queen and he's your advisor.

-You are capable of basic, everyday tasks, so you're not completely useless, Vergil reasons. He could surely train you to be a competent adult, give him two or three months.

-Of course, this goes for combat training too. He won't settle for a weak partner, he will MOTIVATE them to gain POWER, as he does.

-Your idea to bite a demon in the jugular is very interesting indeed--he might even borrow that technique himself.

□ Nero □

-Nero was surprised to find that you were a grown adult who couldn't do many things for herself.

-He understood stews and anxiety when you went out in public, but having to call your mom or grandma to make a choice? Really?

-He was worried about your self esteem too, though he wasn't too sure what he could do to help.

-Nero's never been very good at comforting or teaching others, but he still does his best to help you learn important life skills.

-He wants to teach you to fight, too, so you can defend yourself against any demons that might come after you.

-He doesn't think biting a demon in the jugular is gonna so much for you, should you ever face one.

● V ●

-V was worried about your safety because in dating him, you expose yourself to countless dangers.

-He's not too concerned about your inability to make choices by yourself because you're young, you have time to learn.

-V knows he won't be around forever, so he tries to assist you best he can, teaching you things your parents should have taught you many years ago.

-He can't teach you to fight himself because his physical stage isn't the greatest, but he can have his familiars do it.

-He wants to assist you in improving your self esteem, doing whatever he can, whenever he can.

-He thinks your silly idea to bite a demon's neck is cute, but doubts it will work in a real life scenario....unless you have very strong teeth.

[arikasugar]

Do you have any advice about having anxiety and the need to be liked?

hey there, anon. I sure do.

I had pretty severe anxiety for most of my life that stemmed from this overwhelming need and desire to please others and keep them around. it kept me from setting healthy boundaries and eventually gave me an identity complex because I didn’t feel like I could be myself and have people like me at the same time. I would often settle for less than what I was worth as a result, because I didn’t want to be the cause of any confrontation or negative reaction from others. this took me a long time to work through in therapy and through self help prompts. let me share some with you.

start by unpacking and examining your anxiety and desperation to be liked. where did it come from? when was the first time you felt that way? did you experience any trauma that could have lead to feeling this way? what beliefs make up your anxiety? why do you have those beliefs? write it all down. once you boil it down to “I feel anxiety about (x) because (y) happened to me, and the trauma / feelings from this experience changed my beliefs about (z)” we can move onto the next step.

ask yourself how you would feel if the negative experiences that contributed to your anxiety and people pleasing played out differently. reimagine those memories in a way that worked in your favor, in a way that didn’t cause feelings of sadness or resentment or fear. maybe this is imagining a healthier relationship with your parents than what you really had, or imagining a reality in which you did not end up dating That Person Who Traumatized You. understand that had those things gone differently, you would have completely different beliefs about your self worth and relationships today.

you likely wouldn’t be full of fear of dread and obligation. but how would someone without the baggage of all those negative experiences feel? what would someone who came from an emotionally supportive and healthy background think about themselves? maybe they would have higher confidence, or a sense of intrinsic value for who they are and what they can offer others. maybe the courage to set boundaries and be honest, even at the expense of being disliked. now take a moment to digest the fact that this is the truest version of yourself. the one who would have thrived with the right love and support and environment is who you are at your core once you throw out all the bullshit.

now, emulate that. remind yourself of this often. remember who you’d be if not for the people and situations that instilled those feelings of fear and inadequacy into you. tell yourself that those negative beliefs you have about yourself are untrue any time they pop up. take the changes one day at a time. practice exposure therapy. take baby steps outside your comfort zone whenever you can. surround yourself with people who value you. read daily affirmations. little by little, start doing things your true, highest self would do. this is by no means an overnight fix, but eventually, you’ll see your own worth, grow your self esteem, and overcome your anxiety.

good luck, sugar

xoxo

[avidreadersandemergingwriters]

Creating in Spite of Self-Doubt

It’s the saboteur within and it can torpedo our dreams.

“The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” ― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Every writer I know, including myself, has anxiety and self-doubt about their creative efforts. When I went into it further, I found that it’s the curse of the creative classes.

The Gifts of Creative People

Creative people see possibilities, value complexity and have the gift of innovation. They can bend their glorious imaginations to envisioning new things or ideas. Often sitting a little (or a lot) outside of the mainstream, they have a different lens through which they experience the world. At their best, creatives see possibility everywhere and enjoy experimenting with concepts and perspectives. What they love most is bringing those ideas into form, whether it’s a book, a painting, a poem or an entrepreneurial venture.

The downside? The gift of a rich and profuse imagination holds within it a curse.

Every Creative Person Has Self-Doubt

It takes a big imagination to come up with all the reasons why our work isn’t good enough and why it shouldn’t be released into the world. Some common themes run through all self-doubt scenarios:

1.     Confusing the value of our contribution and our infinite self-worth as a person.

Overidentifying with how an idea or creation might be received can cause us to supress the creation for fear of judgement, criticism or ridicule.

2.     Interpreting any feedback as criticism.

To avoid any possible negative feedback, we get to the final stage of bringing something to life and then hide or quit.

3.     We feel defeated when our creations don’t match our visions.

No matter how bright and sparkly our ideas are as they frolic in our brains, bringing them into form irrevocably changes them. It’s easy to feel frustrated and deflated when our creations don’t fulfill our visions.

4.     Comparing ourselves to others

It’s oh-so-easy to slide into idealizing the lives of others doing what we want to do and tip over into comparison, envy and resentment. Feeling like a loser is very common. At times we feel like our noses are pressed up against the window with the desired object forever out of reach.

Sneaky Ways Self-Doubt Sabotages Us.

1.     We find safety in the possibility of creating without actually delivering.

It’s known as Shiny Object Syndrome. We feel overwhelmed with ideas; find it impossible to choose, bouncing from project to project never completing anything. This leads to invidious comparisons with our original vision and the output of others.

2.     We juggle too many projects at once.

In the vain attempt to act on multiple ideas at once, we fail to align our projects with our desired outcomes. We dissipate our energy across too many projects. The result is we wear ourselves out before anything is completed. Therefore, we save ourselves from having to release anything out into the cruel world. You are likely to feel depleted when there isn’t a clear alignment to what you really want. Honouring the ebb and flow of our personal energy is a big deal for creatives.

3.     Our Inner Critic runs amok.

This is the helpful little voice we hear that tells us nothing we produce is good enough. This voice is a complete jerk.

It is scornful.  “Who are you to thrust such paltry ideas on an unsuspecting public?”

It mentions (often) our terrible limitations, our hopeless inadequacy, the impossibility of ever getting it right. If we let it, it can bring us to our knees.

4.     Falling for the carrot on the stick.

We find ourselves saying things like, “If I ever get ______, then I’ll____________. E.g. “If I ever get published, then I’ll call myself a writer.” “If my painting is accepted by this gallery, then I’ll call myself a painter.” “If my business hits a million dollars in sales, then I’ll feel I’ve made it.”

“But until that day, you’d jolly well better not call yourself a _______,” says the Inner Critic.

The Bad News

Self-doubt never goes away. It rises and recedes and sometimes lies dormant for blissful periods of time. But it always comes back! Nothing we ever gain or accomplish will erase that doubt entirely. It goes back to the same brain that can imagine wonderful creations can also imagine why they can and have gone wrong.

But when self-doubt has our confidence swirling down the drain, we can be prepared.

Defences Against Self-Doubt

 Sas Petherick, Self-doubt Researcher + Coach + Podcaster suggests, “Go on a comparison diet and remove any people or apps that become your default shadow comfort when you get stuck.” She also offers the following practices:

Start a 30-day project and do something easy and creative each day, just for fun.

Begin a conversation with your inner-creator - the part of you that leads from curiosity, innovation and inspiration. What does your creator-self want for you?

Explore the question, “What does being ‘creatively courageous’ mean to you? In what ways do you wish you were more courageous?”

To her sage advice, I would add:

Accept you’re going to have self-doubt. 

You’re never going to get rid of it completely. That doesn’t make you damaged or peculiar or deficient. You have self-doubt because you a creative person.

Accept the self-doubt and decide to create it anyway. Don’t listen to the doubt that tells you to quit.

Accept that not everyone is going to love your work

Criticism is just someone else’s opinion. Even people who are experts in their fields are sometimes wrong. It is up to you to choose whether to believe some of it, none of it, or all of it. Their criticism (or what you interpret as criticism) is only about the creative output. It has nothing to do with your worth as a person.

The hard truth is that we never really know what someone else is thinking nor can we control it. It’s what you think that counts.

Give yourself permission ‘fail forward’. 

Yes, this means what you create may be “all wrong.” Learn from it.

If you keep going, you will improve—even when creating crap. Tell yourself, “It’s okay if I suck right now. I will figure it out and it will get better.”

Stand up to your Inner Critic.

You don’t need to pay attention to the insidious voice within you that creates pain, or makes you feel less competent, smart or able.

Just because the Critic tells you something that does not make it true.

Look for three things that make what the Critic is saying false. Give your Critic a name. This immediately distances the Critic from “me”. So, for example, my Inner Critic is called Delilah. This helps me to see her pronouncements as an external point of view and not as true statements.

Write Your Manifesto

This is a declaration of your promise to honour your creativity and to engage in it no matter what. Make a fancy poster, print it off and stick it up where you can see it while you work

It might look something like this:

·      I will _______ when I don’t feel like it.

·      I will _______ when it hurts.

·      I believe I can ________, even if I don’t always get it right.

·      People want to ______ what I create. I know because I want to _________ it, too.

·      It’s okay if I fail right now. I will figure it out and get better.

·      I will not stop _________.

If you hang on to these four steps, you’ll make it through.

Believe in your ability to create.

Believe that being a creator is worth the fight.

Know the episode of doubt will pass, and it will also return. Doesn’t mean you have to let it win.

Do NOT listen to the doubt and stop creating. Creating garbage is far, far better than not creating at all; bad practice is better than no practice.

 REMEMBER: When we try we might fail, when we succumb to self-doubt, we doom ourselves to failure.

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love Pt. 9

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 Word Count: 2160 (average 16 min read) Content Warnings: mention of mating, nothing happens....yet ;) All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil. Not beta-read. Criticism is welcome, but be sure to distinguish criticism from hate.

I looked for Altan everywhere, but I could not find him. I was at the market every morning looking for him. The vendors grew annoyed at my presence every morning. They told me I was bad for business with my grim expression. I didn’t really pay them any mind because I was too concerned about other things.

I told myself to stop worrying, that Altan clearly had just moved on now that things were done between us. I knew he had left home to get away from his father - or at least I assumed that from the way he talked - and I knew he likely couldn’t stay here forever. I had just hoped that all of those talks we had would mean something more…that maybe I could take the time to get to know him more.

I reopened my forge, tried to resume my work, but found that my mind would always stray to Altan and my hand would go up to the vial on my neck, playing with it. There was just this nagging feeling.

I was useless, completely useless. I found nothing could keep my focus for longer than a few minutes. My mind started to paint a different picture. What if Altan hadn’t left by choice? What if something was wrong? Something was telling me not to rest, not to settle down until I found him. 

I finally grew desperate enough to ask some of the inns around if they knew of him. Each one would consider me warily before answering. 

Luck would find me after a couple days of this, when the wife of one of the innkeeper’s pulled me down to take a seat and tell me all about the sweet boy she took care of that matched Altan’s description exactly. She handed me a piling plate of food - told me I looked like I could use it - before she told me all about how he would come and play at nights for the tenants.

“He had such an angelic voice. He sounded just like one of those glorious elves I hear about.” She reminisced. “He hid himself in his room for almost a week after a certain point. I left food at his door, and when he came out, he was a sorry mess.” She shook her head, her voice turning morose, “Not long after that, some official men came looking for him. They told us that he was the son of a duke. They grabbed his things and went and found him at the bathhouse and I suppose he’s back home.” She shook her head again. “He really was such a sweet young man.”

I felt my blood grow cold at the news of Altan being taken by his father’s people. His father was a Duke, a man of high rank. That meant Altan was also a noble. Immediate feelings of inadequacy and shame overwhelmed me. Who was I to Altan if nothing more than a distraction from his comfortable life? Maybe I was nothing more than a dalliance for the summer. I left the inn, feeling deflated and unsure what to do next.

I couldn’t sleep that night, my mind still stuck on Altan. I could swear that I was still experiencing lordhovid with all the time I was consumed thinking about him. I was worried. Genuinely worried. He didn’t say hardly two words about his father…but somehow I knew, I just knew that it meant something bad for him to be going back to him. He must have run away for a reason.

He had told me how much he had admired me and how I was his first friend. I couldn’t take any of that lightly. If he needed help, I might be the only person who could help him. 

The next day, I found myself stepping into the town’s library for the first time ever. The librarian looked at me with reluctance and disbelief that an orc would be in a library of all places. I ignored their ignorant comments, “Do you have any family charts of the Dukes that rule around here?” 

“What would you need it for?” The librarian asked.

“Do you have one or not?” I pressed, my tone impatient. 

The librarian’s eyes widened in fright and scurried away, returning with a book from a few years back that lists all of the Noble family names throughout the continent. 

I was still not the best at reading the common language, so I borrowed a paper and quill and wrote Altan’s name out so I could see exactly what it looked like and then my finger trailed over the lists, looking for any matches. The librarian watched me closely as I studied each name, one by one. I finally stopped when I found his name under the Family Hilmar. I ran my finger across his name again and again. Altan Hilmar. Altan Hilmar. His father was Taliesin Hilmar of Berdusk. His mother Telmira from Evermeet. A sun elf. 

The librarian aided me with a copy of a map that I studied finding the paths that would take me to Berdusk and I left with the librarian watching me with disbelief. 

The next day, I closed my forge again to the dismay of all my neighbors and customers and I was on the road again, this time with the intent to find Altan. I hoped that maybe seeing him would help me make sense of all of the feelings and thoughts I kept having about him and maybe I could help him too. 

The maps I followed that led me to Berdusk made the travel look straightforward. I kept to the main roads most of the time. I found my hand on the vial more and more often as my mind strayed to Altan through my walking. He was the main occupying thought in my brain. How was he? Was he safe? Is he happy? Am I wrong to do this? What if this is all a fools’ errand? Will he be happy to see me? What will I do when I see him? I pondered that last one a lot and I couldn’t deny that my arms around his waist was a frequent vision in my head. I still wondered what that would feel like.

When I entered the gates of Berdusk, not more than 6 days later, I noticed that most people’s eyes fell on me. It was not much of a diverse town. They were mainly human and they all seemed to watch me with a wary gaze. I caught one eye of a dragonborn who looked at me with an understanding nod. I nodded back before passing on and making my way towards the first inn I could spot. 

“We don’t make beds for folks like you.” The innkeeper said, glaring.

I nodded, “I’ll pay for a room with two beds then.”

“Don’t got any of those.” He said. 

I could spot the lie in his answer, but I didn’t fight it, instead I gave him my coin and walked up the stairs to where my room was. 

What in all of the nine hells was I doing here?

I played with the vial again and stared at the crimson liquid. I had pondered that little vial a lot while on the road and had considered maybe drinking it. It would have eased my anxiety of knowing exactly where Altan was, but I also didn’t know if it would be safe for him if I did that. I needed to know where he was before I did anything so foolish. Plus, I didn’t know what I really wanted yet. To see Altan, yes. To mate with him…that one still terrified me. But less so. If anyone were to be my mate…oh hells, these thoughts were so unfamiliar to me.

The bed was incredibly uncomfortable and I didn’t sleep well, but I awoke early in the morning and made my way towards the large mansion that sat above the rest of the town. I knew that would be where the Duke would be. However it was little use trying to make an appointment to meet with the Duke. The guards up front scoffed at my asking and dismissed me immediately without a dire need. I found myself growing more and more uncomfortable in this place.

I paced through the streets, my eyes always on the mansion above. I kept hoping I could spot him. I kept hoping I would find the answer I needed to know he was here, that he was okay. 

I never really got accustomed to the way people stared at me, and I felt like all of them were holding back their insults until I did something wrong. I was constantly on my guard. I didn’t really sleep much either. I started to have funny dreams of Altan alone in a room, separated from everyone and everything, pounding against a sealed door, begging to be set free, for someone to let him out. It troubled me every time I woke up from it. I didn’t know if it was my own brain making up this story…or if I should put more weight behind this dream.

I found myself on the main thoroughfare of the town when I noticed a crowd forming along both sides of the road. There was an excited energy about the people. I hung to the back of the forming crowds and wound through the shadows, staying out of sight. I was about to head inside and make myself scarce when I heard the people around me talking.

“It’s hunting day. That’ll be the Duke and his men coming down that hill” I heard a woman say to another woman.

I jerked my head up and looked up the road and felt my heart beat fast as I watched as a large gathering of men on horses slowly made their way down the main road. A pale-skinned man in a red robe was taking the lead on his own steed, looking proud as he waved to the people. His hair was dark, graying, and he wore a circlet. To his right was an even larger man with red-brown hair, a beard and dressed in armor. The men behind were also all armoured and their faces were concealed in helmets, except for three young riders that rode in the center of the guard. Each were young, tawny-skinned and bright eyed, more elfin in their features. And there in the middle, was the one with crimson curls and a strained smile on his face as he waved.

Altan. 

My Altan. 

My breath caught as I saw him there. He was there. He was there. He was right there.

Lordhovid was nothing compared to the want I felt then to jump in front of the horses and stall them from going any further. 

I gripped the vial and shouted his name before I could stop myself. 

He looked over in my direction, searching for who could have said his name. He drew his horse back and slowed, looking through the crowds. His smile fell when he saw me and over the din of the cheers and adulations from the crowds I could only see him mouth “Drun.” And I saw the same longing look in his eyes. We understood each other in that moment.

Our eyes did not stray from each other as the gathering passed on and even as he was going further and further from me, his head swiveled to keep me in his sight. He yelled something back at me, but I couldn’t hear or read his lips. I swam through the crowd, trying to keep him in my sight. I couldn’t let him go. 

“Altan!” I yelled again. Something in me, something I didn’t dare name, was pushing me to stay near him. I couldn’t lose him. 

I stood, devastated to watch him leave me. I pushed my way through the crowds and wrestled my way down the thoroughfare, doing everything in my power to keep him in my sights. I needed to know where he was going. I cut through alleyways to pass through the crowds. My orc hunting skills had never really left me and as I sniffed the air, I could follow the dust trail left behind by the horses and I cut through every back road I could until I could find them again at the bottom of the hill. 

Altan’s eyes met mine again and he shook his head. “Don’t.” 

He was warning me. I glanced over to the man at the front of the team and I saw steel in his eyes as he met my gaze. He turned back to Altan, then back at me. His gaze hardened and he urged the horses to go faster. His eyes followed me as they rode passed and I met his gaze with my own steely glare. He would not have my Altan.

[faithfromanewperspective]

hey quick question but what's the most depressing part of australia? sorry this is so weird but i have an oc whose Tragic Backstory is that he's a first-gen immigrant whose family moves from a large chinese city to the suburbs during the early days of covid in 2020 and he gets really isolated and depressed... i was asking because i don't want to slander random parts of australia 😭😭 the plot requires him to be in nsw quite close to sydney if that helps!

hey! hmmm this is quite a broad question I think I'll need a bit more detail honestly to give you a good answer! but a lot of greater sydney shut down and was in lockdown for quite a while in 2020 (6 months or more if I remember correctly, I was in Brisbane at the time) so that's gonna be depressing. otherwise, ngl I feel like your oc would be alright in the hurstville area though they're probably going to think the public transport sucks, they might also like cabramatta or burwood (don't know those other areas that well but I think these are the main Asian hubs of greater Sydney). however if you want him to feel isolated I reckon he moves somewhere else--sutherland area is really white-dominated but otherwise decent, however the southwest and northwest really far out can be quite isolating, so places like campbelltown and richmond which are far more rural but like suburban as well if you get what I mean might work to make your oc feel isolated and depressed esp the way the culture tends to be there, idk how to properly describe it, you also get rougher (i guess, I don't actually know these areas that well) areas around Penrith that (I think) are also quite white dominated (again not necessarily bad in of itself but if you're an immigrant who doesn't speak much english or know culture and slang it might be hard), I guess there are a lot of have-nots there and a lot of people dealing with generational trauma and as a result may not be as welcoming, but it really does depend on who you meet because there are lovely friendly people everywhere. otherwise there's also a lot of have-nots in the lakemba area (though it's better now) like I can access my demographic maps from uni if you really want I'll get them! again still really lovely people there but it really depends on what part of china they're from and what culture they're used to. canterbury-bankstown area has a lot of multiculturalism and definitely some people can end up feeling tension and a need to be more loyal to their culture and people at the expense of properly mingling but this is also interspersed with a lot of community coming together and a lot of creativity, it's also a very working class area and if you catch the train at night you will sometimes encounter the 'rough' types--still most people are cool as long as you're not being hostile to them though the thing about cultural differences is sometimes it's easy to come across that way when you're just overwhelmed and confused. then you've also got the opportunity to bring your oc to a richer area where the sense of community might be a bit fragmented due to rich people problems (like just not letting people in basically because they're clinging to their wealth instead of dealing with feelings of isolation and inadequacy would be how i sum it up) and somewhere like rozelle in the inner west can be a bit like that, the traffic and public transport are pretty bad there too. I also imagine much of the central coast could fall into that category in the more mansion-y areas but also I really don't know that area too well and there's a lot of really down to earth people from there too. in general i do find community around sydney to be pretty good, same goes with a bit further out like wooloongong. however newcastle/maitland is both very white dominated and just far enough out of sydney to be not really well connected and also very suburban, very working class and it's easy to get into substances there and feel hopeless in terms of getting a better life--it's a weird paradox, you've got lovely chill people who absolutely love that area there and also people who get out and never go back because they just can't take it. it's about a 2-3 hour drive/train out of sydney and honestly i'd recommend putting your oc there, though i don't know any Chinese immigrants who've gone straight to that area, a lot of them show up on the southside of sydney though like hurstville, bankstown, probably out to cabramatta

[dollsonmain]

Having a hard time lately. My brain is crushing me under the weight of my own inadequacies.

I'm extremely excited to work on those ponies, and a little excited to see if the boys like what I got them for giftmas. There are no gifts for me other than the ones I bought for myself.

I am also in a lot of pain, and not happy with myself.

My FB feed has been all Nate Petroski all the time, now, (come on Algo, give me something different.....) and I was thinking about homesteading and how it feels like that's the life I'm supposed to live. It feels like I'm supposed to be destroying myself with labor in order to survive in that setting because I can't do whatever it is that I'm expected to in order to survive in society.

But it's like I was saying to Scott about it, because he plans to take that path in a few years luck holding, about how that lifestyle has a sort of weird pull on me like I deserve that as a punishment for being me.

I'm reminded of my great grandma and my cousin David. David was likely autistic but no one really knew enough about that in the 80's for it to do him any good. He was already an adult at that point. David lived with great grandma in a cabin with no water, no electricity, and a wood stove, in dirty conditions, yard piled in garbage and trash, constantly toiling just to maintain, and it feels like that's where I should be.

It's hard to explain.

I feel like I don't belong where people are and like I should remove myself.

I was also thinking about cleaning. You all know I have trouble with cleaning because I blank on the fact things are dirty often and I tend to nest.

Flylady, Konmari, UFYH, none of that worked for me at all.

Having a kid and watching hoarded house videos made some difference because those videos showed me dirt in places I didn't think to look before (like doors and the walls near doorknobs), and my addictive nature latched on to new fancy cleaning supplies and gadgets which, once I had them, of course I wanted to use them.

That helped. I still don't keep the hose clean-clean, but it's certainly better and I get overwhelmed less often with the scrubbing-cleaning.

Still can't organize for shit, and that is overwhelming.

Either way.

Not doing so great today, NGL.

[llycaons]

came to the conclusion as I have several times before that I am simply not cut out for my job. I am bad at it, slow and a poor communicator and passive and easily overwhelmed. they said it would take about a year (from hiring? or from being on my own? either way) but whatever makes people slip into the flow and anticipate needs and Know The Supplies, maybe I would have gotten it had I gotten the normal training. maybe I wouldn't have. its easy to say 'oh I'm struggling because I'm in a unique situation' and maybe that's true, but I had trouble long before we got the Unique Training part, and then since the training was so different I had trouble with that, to the exasperation of my trainers and co-workers. and it really didn't feel good every day to know you're not living up the expectations and standards of the people around you, to know without a doubt they're all smarter and more adaptable and quicker-thinking than you.

I'm doing okay now since I'm one of the very few people on my unit and they desperately need me, and leadership is covering for my inadequacies by sending me to do easy stuff when I need to get floated, but like...there are team members who are extremely hostile to me and its for good reason! and it makes it worse to know THEY'RE not the ones in the wrong. maybe they could be nicer, but if I truly had confidence in myself, it wouldn't bother me so much.

but I don't know what to do. there is no other job I can do with these qualifications and skills, and no way to leave this city until late next year. and I need this income. I'm going to limp along until I can safely extract myself, but until then, we'll all have to bear it. and it's a terrible thing, to know you're a burden on your team and that you're only here because everyone else has quit. if I thought I would ever actually put someone in danger, I'd of course leave immediately. but I'm doing relatively straightforward cases with very qualified people all around me, and I know the basics to keep people safe at least

I find myself thinking about my strongest critic, who quit a few months ago, and how much my failure to adapt may have led to that decision. maybe it's self-centered; there were many issues far before I came along. and they haven't spoken to even their closest friend here in months, so I think they probably resent this place a lot and want to leave it all behind, and I don't blame them

things have gotten so much better recently because of those staff members quitting and my manager waking up to realize she has to actually support us, and I don't dread going to work anymore, even to float. tho we haven't been canceled in ages 😔 I don't know, I think the true issue is that I just need more predictability and stability in the things I do on a day to day basis. I learn slowly, and I have trouble remembering things. ideally I would find a job where we do a limited type of low-acuity cases every day but still....pays as well? I don't know, I don't know. give this another year then I'm sure everyone will be happy to see my back.

it's difficult to see yourself as incompetent, disliked, and unwanted in your job, and not have that bleed over into your personal feelings about yourself. it's really hard. I think of my failures and the anger, contempt, and aggression that came to me as a result, and it really makes me nervous. we're doing cases in another part of the hospital soon, with different people. it was such a mess last time! why was I so overwhelmed?

it's frustrating. I know I can do some of these cases - even difficult ones like livers and kidneys- and do them perfectly competently. I'm fine in any belly case. I even enjoyed neuro. I just freeze up when I don't have confidence. I don't know what to do all the time! and I need to be in a situation where I do. I don't know how much work I can even do on my end to Not Be Like This. studying didn't seem to help, and I can't study from the internet anyway since every place does things differently.

I've always thought I'd either leave here and then go back home, or stay exactly in place, but I could still stay a year and then just get another job in the same place.

I've always wanted to get higher certification, but knowing the people around me are way more competent without having that, it feels like a joke. a slap in the face. I dont have anything neat to wrap this up with it's just. I've always been so good at school and so proud of that even when I don't have much else to lean on. so this feels really bad. I should contact my EAP counselor today

[thistlecatfics]

I mean, *someone* has to ask you about Andromeda for the hp character therapy ask, right? Maybe after a few different 'milestones' in what we know of her life? (Loving these btw! <3)

Doshu!! I hope you know I’m answering these instead of working on a fic I’m gifting you lol. 

Omg Andromeda. 

So I really hate working with parents haha so I’m going to pick two pre-mother times and try not to totally lose myself in my answers

Just after she runs away -

I could see this going one of two ways-

First, the transition is just extremely overwhelming, and therapy is just focused on her adjustment to the muggle world. (definitely billing this as an adjustment disorder lol.) we’d do grounding skills, space for venting, validating her feelings around inadequacy when she doesn’t understand things and also utilizing a strength based approach focused on utilizing her strengths to adapt. 

Also - assessing for alcohol use disorder, harm reduction around that, nonjudgmental support, potentially some motivational interviewing though it’s not so much my vibe, doing a lot of skill building in early sobriety to cope with the sheer amount of bad feelings she now has to endure

OR - she’s one of those people for whom as soon as they get out of their family (or any other abusive situation), they just need to verbally get it out. Each session would just be venting about a different family memory without a lot of feeling associated (beyond protective anger). She doesn’t want to talk about this stuff with Ted or with anyone else so therapy is that space. 

In either case, I’d hope she’d stick to therapy long-term and actually get into the emotions behind those memories. (After she takes a break to have a baby - then it’s just more coping skills and venting time.)

Validating that she can still love her sisters (and Sirius), and that’s ok. 

I headcanon her (obviously) as experiencing sexual abuse from both Cygnus and Bellatrix, and I would (totally not projecting here!) imagine it takes 5+ years for her to admit that in therapy. We spend a lot of time with just nonjudgmental support and then potentially doing EMDR with the core beliefs of I’m defective. (Young child Tonks is actually a major trigger, and that's a big reason she starts talking about it and feels moved to process it.)

Or, she’s a teenager and she’s sort of quietly acting out/breaking down and she’s made to go to therapy. (would her family ever make her go to therapy? Lol it’s a game of pretend.) 

She does not trust me. Ever. Every adult is a potential spy of her parents, especially if they’re being paid by them. 

We just do coping skills work, and she vents about schoolwork and academic pressure, and I think she’s not actually absorbing anything until one week she casually mentions she used 5 senses when she was overwhelmed and it “helped a bit” and then transitions quickly to talking about her potions essay. (I leave the session and do a little happy dance I’m so thrilled that she utilized something from therapy.) 

(When I learn she ran away from her family because it's a public scandal, I’m over the moon and need to process my intense counter transference in supervision so I don't do something inappropriate like send her a congratulations/I'm so proud of you letter.) 

Oops lost myself in the answers haha. no one is surprised.

[perexcri]

ten lines, ten people (rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. if you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.)

thank you for the tags @etchedstars and @light-lanterne :D i have enough fics to do this, but i liked how @etchedstars included some wips as well, so i’m gonna go that route heheheh

10. can we rest now? (wip - and coming very soon the rate things are going lol)

The token feels heavy in his hands as the cage descends, and after a perilous shake of the apparatus, he realizes Hawkins has grown shoddier in his absence.

9. We Are All Fools in Love (since this is a collab, i’m doing the first sentence that i wrote, which is in chapter 2!)

Michael Darcy had been entirely convinced of the ball’s inadequacy in all matters which concerned him–namely the ready availability of places to hide from conversation and an ample distance from all guests seeming to be of a lower class–until he’d been forced into socialization, and with a member of the middle class, no less. 

8. the truth beneath the rose

Many centuries ago, carved into the heartland of the continent, there lived a kingdom called Havikheim, the fairest rose of all the lands. 

7. Hedgehogs Staying Warm: A Study on the Impossibility of Emotional Intimacy without Mutual Harm (wip)

For being an underground facility in what has historically been one of the most underdeveloped parts of the US, the Climate Corps’ Jackson base has a pretty decent library. 

6. love from the other side of the apocalypse

The world had broken into a cacophonous eruption of icy, electric blues and siren reds, a blast of cold air and the overwhelming lurch of shadows everywhere.

5. with a little help from my friends

Despite the chill that had first overtaken Hawkins with Vecna’s siege, not even the threat of the supernatural can completely smother the heat of a Midwest summer or drain the humidity from the air. 

4. irresistible

Will Byers knows what having a crush looks like–he sees it in the mirror every day. 

3. A Flower That Resembles You

The sea is warm–it’s what he loves most about it. 

2. the end of the world with a shot of espresso

The open sign flickers, dangling from the ceiling and casting the broken panes of glass in siren-red light. 

1. drowning on rooftops

The prophets always spoke about the end of days in terms of heat: hellfire and brimstone, stars collapsing out of the sky to lodge themselves into the earth, the molten core bubbling over to the surface and turning solid ground into liquid.

uhhhhh now for my tags! no pressure at all ofc: @chubsonthemoon, @starsarefire824, @notebooknonbinary, @cherryisgone, @thornywords, @daydreams-in-the-moonlight, @fireflywitch, @parkitaco, @elmaxed, and @magentamee

[my-head-is-an-animal]

Problems With The Heart

Greg House x Dr Anna Harding (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 24 - Rehab

‘How are you doing?’ Wilson sat down opposite Anna in her office a little while after they dropped House off.

‘I’m fine.’ She smiled but it never reached her eyes.

‘He’s going to be fine.’ Wilson reassured her, but it didn’t really work. ‘His doctor called me, he’s stopped dry heaving, no more hallucinations, he’s getting better.’

‘That’s good.’ She said, but she still worked.

‘Happy birthday.’ Wilson smiled, she stopped working, stilling. Wilson stood up and left her office, knowing she’d be okay in the end and so would House.

House finally gave in and started to talk to Dr Nolan, Anna didn’t come up at all, but he was thinking about her constantly. When he kissed Lydia he felt the guilt overwhelm him once again.

‘Who are you not talking about?’ He asked one day, out of the blue. It had been a long time talking about all sorts of things, deflecting, rationalising and defending himself, he was tired.

‘Anna.’ He said, leaning on his knees, sighing deeply.

‘Tell me about her.’ Dr Nolan said, simply. ‘What does she do?’

‘Her birthday was a week ago,’ he said more to the ground than him. ‘I thought about taking her somewhere for the weekend to celebrate.’

‘Sounds nice.’ He nodded. ‘You wanna call her?’

‘Really?’ House looked up at him.

‘Sure. It’s clear you care about her, I’m sure she’d like to hear from you.’

‘Thank you.’ House nodded.

‘Does she work at the hospital?’

He breathed deeply, turning his head to look out of the window. ‘She’s a cardiologist, best I’ve ever known. She used to be a military doctor for the British. She did three tours in Afghanistan before being discharged.’

‘She must’ve have seen a lot of terrible things.’

‘She was shot.’ He could just about hear her having an episode, clutching at her shoulder. ‘She has episodes, some are pretty bad, others are just stressful.’

‘Is she seeing a therapist? Going to a group?’

‘I don’t think so. She went to a sleep clinic, I think it helped a little.’

‘Did you tell her how you felt about her?’

House nodded. ‘Several times.’

‘And she didn’t feel the same way?’

‘She told me she was in love with me,’ he continued to stare out of the window. ‘But when I told her I wanted to have more than casual sex and nights at a bar… I think she was right, we wouldn’t be good for each other.’

Dr Nolan was quiet for a while. ‘Maybe you could be. If you leave here a new man, maybe you could be what she needs.’

House shook his head again. ‘We always said we weren’t warm, fuzzy people, but…’ he didn’t know what the end of the sentence was. ‘I taught her to play the piano, I bought her one for Christmas so she could practice.’

‘You bought her a piano?’

House nodded.

‘Sounds like you two were pretty serious for a while.’

‘No.’ House went back to looking at the floor. ‘I kissed someone else, hallucinated about sleeping with her.’ He felt the shame coursing through him. ‘Anna deserves better than that.’

‘You’re letting your own feelings of inadequacy cloud your judgement.’ Dr Nolan insisted. ‘She told you she loved you, maybe all she needs is you. This “more” you keeping asking for, are you sure you’re asking for more from her, or are you asking for more from yourself?’

House, in part thought it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard, in part, thought he was probably right. Anna needed him to be better.

House got his phone call, but he didn’t know what to say. Dr Nolan just watched him pick up the phone, but he took a while to dial.

‘Hello?’

House thought his chest might have caved in. He leaned back against the wall and breathed a laugh.

‘Anna.’ He said, smiling.

‘Greg?’ She sounded like she was just getting home. ‘Oh my god, are you okay?’

‘Yeah,’ he realised he was crying. ‘Yeah, I’m good. I’m good. I just called to say Happy Birthday.’

‘Bit late for that.’ She chuckled. ‘It was last week.’

‘I know.’ He sat down on the floor and held the phone as if it was Anna herself. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t call.’ He listened to Dr Nolan going back into his office to give him some privacy. ‘Have you got some time to talk?’

‘Yeah, I’ve got time.’

They talked for a full hour, he listened to her tell him about her work, she played a new piece she’d learned on the piano, they laughed when she got a note wrong, but neither of them minded.

‘Are you painting? Rock climbing?’ He asked as they were about to say goodbye.

Anna seemed a little awkward. ‘No, I… I haven’t had the time really.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I finished the painting of you, I don’t know if I’m happy with it, but it was the last one I did.’

‘I bet it’s perfect.’ He smiled. ‘I should go, leave you to your evening.’

‘Greg.’ She stopped him. ‘I… I’ll see you when you’re back.’

House waited a moment before listening to her hang up.

‘I love you.’ He whispered to himself.

Dr Nolan had seen fit to apply to give his medical licence back and the last session with him was a difficult one.

‘Will you be seeing Anna again?’ He asked.

‘Yeah, eventually.’ House nodded, he knew he was smiling a little.

‘I’m sure she’ll be very proud of you.’

House finally managed to leave Mayfield. He’d arranged with Wilson to stay with him for a while until he could function on his own and figure things out. He went to the hospital to quit his job and Cuddy had taken it surprisingly well.

On his way out, he went toward the elevator to go and see Anna, but he didn’t need to go that far. The doors to the elevator opened and there she was, head in a file and glasses perched on her nose, those were new, but she looked good. She didn’t even see him standing in front of her and wandered past him towards the clinic.

‘Anna.’ He could have said it louder, but she heard him anyway and turned back. Her blue eyes widened and she scanned him quickly.

‘Greg.’ She breathed, removing her glasses, embarrassed. ‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t you say you were getting out?’

‘I wanted to surprise you.’ He shrugged.

‘Oh my god, you look great.’ She reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and House couldn’t help but hold her against his body. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘I missed you too.’ He said close to her ear, he couldn’t believe he could feel her again, he could hold her and smell her again. ‘You’re beautiful.’ He said and felt her chest skip a breath.

Anna pulled back, smiling. ‘I’m so glad you’re back.’

‘Me too.’

‘I have to get to the clinic, but if you wanted, we could get dinner tonight?’

‘I’d like that.’ House nodded and soon watched her turn away and head to the clinic. He was happy.

Dinner was nice, Anna was a little late, but he didn’t mind, she was a little stressed, talking about work and all the little things that had happened while he was gone. Anna had to work early the next day, he offered to take her home and for the next couple of weeks, they hung out. Just as friends. She’d come over to Wilson’s and he’d cook her whatever she wanted.

House had gone back to Dr Nolan a few times and told him about Anna and how his leg had started hurting again. He was worried he wouldn’t be happy.

Anna was offered his old job, but she refused straight away saying no one wanted to work under her, they wanted him and surprise, surprise, Foreman had asked for the job. Cuddy gave him a chance, but House was the one to solve the case online. Anna was impressed, but he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not.

‘So, are you going to show me the new song you learned?’ He asked, one night at hers.

‘Okay.’ She said, gently biting her lip and heading over to the piano.

She seemed a little nervous and he soon learned why. It was a complex piece, but she was actually pretty good.

‘It’s good.’ He nodded. ‘A little slow, but it’s good.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled.

House took a seat next to her and began playing a piece he’d composed himself. She leaned on his shoulder while he played and he’d never felt more settled.

‘Anna,’ he whispered, she’d almost fallen asleep. ‘You wanna sleep?’

‘Mmm.’ She hummed. ‘Stay.’ She breathed.

He thought about it and decided he wanted to go about this properly. ‘I’ll put you to bed, but I think I should leave afterwards.’

‘Why?’ She lifted her head and her heavy eyes found his. They were dark and her slight smile had him weakening as he always did around her.

‘I don’t remember.’ He said, he leaned forward a little and placed the softest kiss to her lips. She was soft and warm and all the things he remembered he loved about her.

He took her to bed and decided to stay with her that night, she was exhausted and he missed the feel of her body against his. She slept soundly all the way through til morning.

They went to dinner a few more times, hung out, but it was never more than a kiss goodnight at the end of it, he wanted to start again with her and treat her the way she deserved to be treated.

Wilson was glad to hear that House and Anna were getting along, she was happy, he seemed like he was recovering the way he should’ve done. It was going well until House started provoking his neighbour.

Anna had mixed feelings about the foreign president being treated at the hospital, Foreman wanted her to consult when his heart started becoming a problem, but she sent down other doctors to consult.

It was odd to see friction forming between Foreman and Anna, he seemed to be under the impression that Anna would allow him special privileges that even House didn’t get when he was in charge of the department.

‘Look, just call the nurse’s station like everyone else.’ She said, leaving Foreman standing in the hallway after what appeared to be a heated debate.

‘What was that about?’ Wilson asked.

‘I just asked her shuffle some things around to get my patient in for an echo in the next hour,’ Foreman explained. ‘Next thing I know she came down and started overreacting. I don’t get it.’

Wilson just chuckled to himself. ‘You should ask about the time House asked for special privileges, this was timid in comparison and they were sleeping together at the time.’

‘What do you mean? I thought diagnostics took priority.’

‘You can’t be that naïve,’ Wilson told him. ‘Like every other department head, Anna won’t be bullied or ordered around. She’s reasonable and can be negotiated with, but you’ve just thrown out every chance you had of coming close to a reasonable line of communication.’

Foreman sighed. ‘How do I fix it?’

‘Well, you’re lucky you have someone on your team who might be able to get you a lifeline.’ Wilson went to walk away, as he did, he caught House watching them both, smiling. Wilson rolled his eyes and went back to his office.

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