#greg is the worst of all of them they say

[nightshadehoney]

Everyone hating on Greg because he’s such a slimeball. The thing is, he’s not any more of a slimeball than any of the other character. His sliminess is notable in that he is bad at it. People are having a reaction, not to how scummy whatever he does is (because he rarely does anything uniquely shitty), but to how obvious and transparent he is when he does it. 

If you went down a list of all the objectionable things Greg has done, you could probably name another Succession character who did the same exact thing but with more elegance and subtlety. This might make Greg more irritating, but not a worse person. Tbh, if anything he is less sinister in that everyone knows 100% what he is about at all time so its not like he could really manipulate anybody (except Tom I guess, but only because Tom is deeply weird). 

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: I Want to Retire - Idia Shroud x reader

You write a novel that reads like a dumpster fire and while trying to delete the draft, you accidentally get isekai’d into it. Now, as the villainess you have to get Idia Shroud on your side as well as survive high society. You have your work cut out for you.

Series Masterlist

You’ve lived a life. A noble life, full of honor, glory, and caffeine-fueled late-night writing sessions.

You're an aspiring author.

An aspiring author who, unfortunately, just created the most stupid novel plot of all time.

At least, that’s how it feels. You sit back, staring at your screen, utterly defeated as your latest creation flickers mockingly before you.

You’ve named it: "The Battle for Genius Prince Idia’s Hand" (working title, don’t judge). And wow, it’s a mess.

Here’s the breakdown of your disaster:

You’ve got your heroine—a girl so sweet she’s practically made of sugar, like one of those cookies that look good but crumble the second you bite into them. Naturally, she’s fighting for the affection of your male lead, Prince Idia, who is a socially awkward, genius mechanic prince (because you thought it’d be fun to make him hot and bad with people).

Then there’s the villainess. Ah, the villainess. She’s smart, sharp-tongued, and has enough sass to level a small city. Her entire personality? Sabotage. And she’s also after Idia—because apparently, that’s the only thing women in this story care about. (You regret this immensely.)

But oh no! Plot twist! Idia gets kidnapped by some unnamed evil force (you’ll figure it out later). The heroine? Well, instead of rescuing him, she falls for some Bland Prince. You don’t even know why. You think his name might be Greg. Or Gerald. Honestly, he’s that unremarkable.

Meanwhile, the villainess doesn’t even care anymore about Idia. Instead, she’s full-on dedicated to ruining the heroine’s new, bland romance because… well, that’s her whole schtick.

It’s… awful.

You sit back, hands in your hair, groaning aloud. “What is this? Who would even read this?”

You glance at your notes. They’re a chaotic mess of random scribbles: “Idia = genius, but hates people,” “Villainess needs more fire,” and “Heroine? Too boring. Spice her up. Maybe dragons?”

Yeah. This isn’t working.

You slump in your chair, utterly defeated. The characters are good, great even! But the plot? Oh, the plot is a dumpster fire. No, worse. It’s a flaming dumpster floating down a river of bad decisions. You can’t believe you spent hours writing this.

That’s it. You’re scrapping the entire thing. You’ll keep the characters, sure. But the story? Gone. Deleted. No one needs to suffer through this mess.

Determined, you crack your knuckles and reach for the keyboard, ready to hit the big red “DELETE” button on your disasterpiece.

“Say goodbye to this trash heap,” you mutter, “and hello to some actual good writing.”

But, alas, the universe has other plans.

Just as your finger hovers over the delete key, the worst possible thing happens. Your elbow, as if possessed by the forces of chaos itself, nudges the precariously balanced coffee cup on your desk. The liquid inside, which you had so carefully placed right next to your laptop like a ticking time bomb, tips. In slow motion, you watch the dark, caffeinated doom spill over the edge and land directly onto your keyboard.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” you shout, lunging forward, but it’s too late.

The coffee floods your keys like a tidal wave of misfortune. Your laptop makes a sickening little noise, a soft bzzt, and the screen flickers ominously. You sit there, frozen in horror, watching your computer sizzle as if it’s been cursed by the gods of terrible life choices.

And then—just when you think it couldn’t get worse—it gets worse.

There’s a small, but very real, spark. You flinch back, because nothing good ever comes from sparks. The screen flickers violently, the keys start to buzz, and then—before you can even process what’s happening—you feel it.

ZAP!

Electricity courses through your body. Your vision flashes white, your muscles seize, and in one horrifyingly comedic moment, you realize you’re being electrocuted by your own laptop.

You’d scream if you could, but all you manage is a high-pitched whimper before everything goes black.

Dead. You’re dead. Killed by your own coffee and a poorly thought-out novel. Fantastic.

You blink your eyes open, your head pounding like you’ve been hit with a ton of bricks—or, more likely, an electrical charge. Slowly, your vision clears, and you find yourself… staring at an unfamiliar, ornately decorated ceiling.

Where the hell are you?

You sit up with a groan, and that’s when it hits you: the bed. It’s massive, plush, and absurdly luxurious—definitely not your usual ratty mattress. Panic sets in, and you scramble out of bed, only to catch your reflection in a nearby mirror.

It’s not your reflection.

Oh.

Oh, Shit.

Staring back at you is her. The villainess. The sharp-tongued, drama-fueled antagonist of your novel. The one with a penchant for ruining lives and stealing the spotlight. The one you made up.

You gasp, gripping the sides of the mirror. “No. NO.” You stare at the dark hair cascading over your shoulders, the perfectly arched brows, and the terrifyingly intense smirk that seems to have a life of its own. “Why am I her? Why this of all characters?”

You step back from the mirror and slap your cheeks, half hoping that’ll wake you up from this fever dream. It doesn’t. You’re still stuck in the body of the villainess, and with each passing second, reality—or whatever twisted version of it this is—sinks in deeper.

“Of course,” you mutter, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Of course this is my life now. I write the dumbest novel in existence, and this is what I get.” You pace in front of the mirror, ranting to no one in particular. “Who even thinks it’s a good idea to make me the villainess? Me?! I didn’t sign up for this!”

After a few minutes of thoroughly berating yourself—and by extension, the cosmic forces that brought you here—you finally stop, resting your hands on your hips.

“Okay. Fine. FINE. I’ll play your stupid game, universe.” You throw one last glare at your reflection. “But I’m not tormenting the heroine. Nope. She can have her stupid one-sided rivalry for all I care. I want nothing to do with this mess.”

The decision made, you shake your head and take a deep breath. “Alright, what’s next?” You glance around the villainess’s extravagant room, trying to figure out your next move. And then, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

Prince Idia.

In your novel, he’s socially awkward, reclusive, and definitely doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this disaster. He’s just collateral damage in your sorry excuse for a plot, and honestly? You feel kinda bad about it.

You snap your fingers. “That’s it. I’ll find Prince Idia. Save him or something. Maybe I can even get a reward for rescuing a royal!” You’re feeling pretty good about this plan—much better than sticking around and causing drama with the heroine, at least.

With a dramatic flourish (you are still the villainess, after all), you head for the door, ready to track down Idia and redeem yourself in whatever twisted way you can manage. Who knows, maybe this whole situation won’t be as bad as you thought.

Or… maybe it’ll be even worse. But you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.

After what feels like hours of arguing with your stubborn, uptight butler—who is absolutely convinced that your decision to head straight for the abandoned palace at the edge of town is the worst idea you’ve ever had—you finally break free.

“If anyone was kidnapped, that’s where they’d be!” you shout over your shoulder as you march toward your carriage, ignoring his protests about "safety" and "reckless behavior."

Butler or not, you’re on a mission. And after a bumpy ride to the palace, here you are, standing at the entrance, waiting for the traps or menacing guards to pounce.

...Nothing.

It’s strangely anticlimactic, actually. You push open the door, expecting maybe a cackle or some ominous fog. But no, just dust and an eerie silence. You frown, stepping cautiously inside.

“What kind of royal abduction is this? Budget cuts?”

Just as you’re about to chalk this whole thing up to a monumental waste of time, you hear it—a low curse, followed by the distinct sound of tinkering. You freeze, listening closer.

Definitely someone messing with something.

Your hand instinctively reaches for your trusty gun (bless past-you for deciding guns belonged in this novel), and with practiced ease, you pull it out and slam open the nearest door.

"Hands up!" you yell, pointing the barrel directly at—

A very, very scared Prince Idia, crouching beside what looks like a half-assembled mechanical gadget. His wide, shocked eyes meet yours, and he lets out a startled yelp, nearly knocking over the tools scattered around him.

"Wh-What the hell?!" you blurt, lowering the gun slightly. This was not the daring rescue scene you imagined.

Idia flinches, awkwardly raising his hands. “I—uh, I don’t know who you are, but how did you even find me?!” he stammers, looking at you like you just kicked his favorite gaming console.

"How did I—? Are you kidding me?" You gesture dramatically with the gun, still in shock. "I’m one of the people you were supposed to choose from! Remember? The whole ‘Battle for the Hand of Prince Idia’ thing?”

He blinks at you, deadpan. “Oh… Oh, no,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “Absolutely not. I’m not going back. I staged this whole thing for a reason.” He crosses his arms, stubborn. “I’ll just stay here with my gadgets. You can go back to… whatever you do.”

You stare at him, flabbergasted. “What do you mean you staged this?” You glance around the dusty, decrepit palace. “This is your brilliant escape plan? Hiding out in the palace equivalent of a haunted IKEA?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s quiet, it’s out of the way, and no one bothers me here. I didn’t get kidnapped, okay? I just—didn’t want to deal with all the royal court nonsense.” He shrugs, as if staging a fake kidnapping is the most logical thing in the world.

“You do realize that Ortho is still at the palace, right? Your little brother? Alone? Without you?” You raise an eyebrow, watching the slow dawning horror creep across Idia’s face.

“Yeah, so?” He huffs. “He’s the Crown Prince now. I’m sure he’s fine—"

“Bro,” you interrupt, “have you seen high society? Ortho’s gonna get eaten alive. Not to mention the other princes aren’t just gonna let him waltz around with a crown on his head without making his life miserable.”

Idia’s eyes go wide, his brain clearly working overtime as the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. “Oh… Oh no. I didn’t think of that.”

You nod sagely. “Yeah. Big oops.”

He stares at the ground, looking like he’s physically shrinking under the weight of his own bad decisions. And then—something unthinkable happens.

“Help me,” he says, his voice desperate. He looks up at you with pleading eyes. “Please. I’ll—I’ll make you anything you want, build you gadgets, whatever you need! Just help me navigate high society while I… hide in the shadows or whatever.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you… Are you asking me to pose as your fake fiancée?”

Idia flushes crimson, his hands flailing. “N-No! Well, maybe? Yes. I mean, yeah, but it’s not like I want to—" He groans, burying his face in his hands. “Just… ugh. Yes. Please.”

You cross your arms, tapping your chin. “Hmm. Fake engagement, huh? Alright, but only if you give me a beach house when this farce is over and Ortho officially takes the crown.”

Idia looks up at you, blinking in surprise. “A beach house? That’s your condition?”

You smirk. “Hey, I know what I want. So, do we have a deal?”

He hesitates for a moment, but then sighs, defeated. “Fine. You get the beach house. Just… make sure no one talks to me. Or atleast, you have to handle almost all the talking.”

With a satisfied nod, you extend your hand. “Deal.”

Idia, still red-faced and awkward, shakes your hand. You can’t help but wonder what sort of chaos you’ve just agreed to—but at least you’re getting a beach house out of it.

Sneaking Idia back to your manor wasn’t the most glamorous affair. He insisted on wearing a cloak, “for dramatic effect,” even though the streets were practically empty.

"You know, for a guy who's supposed to be a genius, you're real bad at blending in," you deadpan as he stumbles over his own cloak.

"It’s supposed to make me inconspicuous," Idia mutters, pulling the hood down further. "People see a cloak, they assume you’re some weirdo and leave you alone. It’s basic stealth mechanics."

“Uh-huh. And tripping on it helps too?”

“Shut up.”

Once inside the manor, you sit him down to discuss the details of how you’re going to spin this whole ‘rescue’ thing. Idia, now a little more at ease, starts fiddling with some gadget he pulled from one of his cloak’s hidden pockets. You can't tell if he's actually paying attention, but you figure you’d better get started.

"Okay," you say, leaning in like you’re about to hatch the greatest scheme of your life. "We need a story. Something grand. Heroic. Full of intrigue, mystery—"

“Or we could just say I, uh, got lost?” Idia offers halfheartedly. “And you happened to find me by accident. That sounds more plausible.”

You shoot him a look. "Idia, this is high society. No one ‘just gets lost for 3 months.’ We need something more exciting. Like, I fought off a band of rogue kidnappers—"

“Did you now?”

“And there was this epic battle—"

“With what? Your sense of direction?”

You glare. “Focus. We need an alibi."

Idia sighs. “Fine, whatever. Make it sound cool, but not too cool. If it’s too impressive, people will start thinking I owe you something.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I already have an idea of what you owe me,” you say, smirking.

His eyes narrow in suspicion, but you move on.

"Alright, so I 'bravely' tracked you down to the abandoned palace—"

"Because obviously that's where I'd be hiding," Idia interrupts sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"—and I singlehandedly defeated a gang of ruthless kidnappers, saving you from a life of captivity. You, overwhelmed by my gallantry, are forever in my debt—"

Idia snorts. "Forever in your debt? Yeah, right. You're more likely to find me dead than in your debt."

“Just go with it. It’s a good story.”

Eventually, you both settle on a suitably ridiculous tale where you, after days of tireless investigation, heroically rescued him from an evil plot to overthrow the royal family. It's unnecessarily elaborate, full of conveniently absent witnesses and a dramatic escape from a non-existent dungeon. The whole thing’s so ridiculous, you almost feel bad for making anyone listen to it.

“Right,” you say, standing up. “Now we just need to sell this at court.”

When you arrive at the palace, Idia hangs back while you step forward, playing your part as the "heroic rescuer." Ortho’s the first one to spot you, and when his eyes land on Idia, they widen with shock and excitement.

“Brother!” Ortho shouts, practically flying over to tackle Idia in a hug. “I knew you’d come back!”

Idia, not really one for public displays of affection, awkwardly pats Ortho’s head. “Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he grumbles, though you can see the tiny smile tugging at his lips. “I was, uh, working on some top-secret stuff. Y’know, important genius-level projects.”

Ortho beams. “That sounds just like you!”

You have to hold back a snicker. Yeah, real “top-secret.” Like avoiding social interaction at all costs.

Soon, you’re ushered into the royal court. The king—who clearly knows something is up—doesn't look remotely surprised by the "revelation" that Idia was never actually kidnapped. But, because royal politics are weird, he plays along.

“So, Prince Idia,” the king says, raising an eyebrow, “I suppose you’ll want the Crown Prince title back now that you’ve returned?”

Idia freezes, panic flashing in his eyes. "Uh, absolutely not. Hard pass. Nope. Ortho’s got it handled, right? He can keep the whole… crown… thing.”

Ortho nods eagerly from behind him. “I’ve got it covered!”

The king sighs but nods. “Very well. And what about you?” He turns to you. “Surely, a brave soul such as yourself deserves a reward.”

Here it comes. You’ve rehearsed this with Idia, but now that you’re on the spot, you can’t help the dramatic flair in your voice as you clasp your hands together and say, “All I ask… is for Prince Idia’s hand.”

The king looks thoroughly amused, while Idia, beside you, is turning a very interesting shade of red.

“What?” Idia hisses under his breath. “That was not the line.”

You grin, leaning closer. “Yeah, but you have to admit, it’s funnier this way.”

To his credit, Idia doesn’t collapse on the spot, though he does look like he’s reconsidering his life choices.

Meanwhile, from across the room, you catch the third prince—your so-called "male lead"—glaring daggers at you. He looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel, while the heroine next to him is scandalized beyond belief.

“B-but Idia’s hand was supposed to be won!” she protests, clearly flustered.

You tilt your head innocently. “Oh? Not satisfied with the third Prince?” you ask, batting your lashes at her.

Her face goes red, and the Bland Prince—whoever he is—looks equally scandalized.

Next to you, Idia quietly high-fives you behind his back.

“Nice one,” he whispers.

As you both walk away from the court, Idia glances over at you, his usual sarcasm softened by relief. “You know, I really thought I’d end up hating this whole scheme, but you’re not bad at playing the part.”

You chuckle, nudging him. “Told you it’d be fun. And now I get a beach house, so it’s a win-win.”

Idia sighs but can’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me go to any more parties, okay?”

“Deal.”

You’re sitting across from Idia in the study, supposedly "spending time together" to prove to the world how deeply smitten you both are. In reality, though, you’re plotting out your beach house retirement plan, while Idia is hunched over his latest gadget, muttering like a mad scientist.

"Okay, so if I tweak this—boom, self-repairing AI drone. Easy. The idiots at court would never get it," he whispers to himself, eyes glued to the wires and gears he's fiddling with.

You’re busy doodling floor plans of your dream beach house, adding an extra pool for fun. “Yeah, totally, sweetheart,” you mumble, pretending to listen. This fake relationship thing is going swimmingly.

That’s when the door flies open, and in waltzes the male lead—of course he doesn't knock. The guy practically drips entitlement as he saunters in, admiring himself in the reflection of a spoon he’s for some reason carrying.

Without missing a beat, you and Idia scramble to look like actual lovers. You slide closer to him, casually tossing an arm over his shoulders, and he—already flustered—just stiffens like he’s been caught in a trap.

“I see you two are enjoying each other’s company,” the male lead says, not even looking up from his spoon reflection. “I came to invite you to the tea party. You know, with all the nobles. The whole ‘Idia’s too traumatized to socialize’ excuse isn’t gonna fly anymore. It’s been three months.”

Idia’s eyes widen, and you can practically hear his soul leave his body. You give him a reassuring nudge.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper. “I’ll do all the talking. You just have to sit there, sip tea, maybe nibble on a pastry, and nod at Ortho. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Idia doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. “Sure, sure, as long as I don’t have to, like, interact.”

The two of you arrive at the tea party, and the moment you step into the garden, you realize you're absolutely screwed. It’s not a tea party at all—it’s some weird medieval Olympics with archery targets set up, and a bunch of nobles are taking turns shooting arrows while their wives cheer them on.

“What… is this?” you whisper, horrified. “Why are there archery targets at a tea party? Is this... a misogyny power trip?”

Idia looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. He’s already backing away slowly, trying to make his great escape, but you grab him by the back of his cloak before he can bolt.

He shoots you a look like you’ve just committed the ultimate betrayal. “This... is not a tea party. You said tea and pastries. Where are the pastries?!”

“I didn’t know!” you hiss back. “I thought we’d just sip tea and gossip about whose cousin married whose horse!”

Before either of you can make another move, the heroine spots you and immediately latches onto your arm, dragging you to the tea table. At the same time, the male lead grabs Idia and hauls him over to the archery side.

"Wait—no—uh—" Idia stammers, but he’s already been thrown into the testosterone-fueled chaos of nobles trying to outdo each other.

Thinking fast, you impulsively declare, “I’ll be the one doing the archery! For my fiancé, of course. You know, because those thugs that kidnapped him? They had bows too!”

Idia, catching on, immediately puts on his best terrified expression. “Y-Yeah! Bows! I’m… I’m still traumatized! Please don’t make me relive it.”

The crowd collectively gasps, and you inwardly pat yourself on the back. Nailed it.

Somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about archery, you end up winning the whole thing. Turns out, none of the nobles have actually seen a bow before. You didn’t even hit the bullseye—you just got the arrow near the target, which was apparently enough to impress them.

The prize? A complex-looking mechanical device, something straight out of Idia’s dream workshop. You look at it, completely clueless, before handing it over to him.

“Uh, here. I have no idea what to do with this.”

Idia stares at the device, his eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re… giving it to me?” He looks touched but also suspicious. “You’re not gonna ask for some crazy favor in return?”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s all yours. Consider it a thank-you for not leaving me to deal with this disaster alone.”

He blinks, clearly not used to receiving gifts without strings attached. “Well… uh, thanks. And… good job on the archery. You, uh, really sold the ‘traumatized fiancé’ bit.”

Before you can respond, the rest of the nobles start talking about "true love," and you can practically feel the heroine’s eyes boring holes into you. She’s fuming, glaring at the male lead—who, by the way, didn’t win—and looks like she’s about five seconds away from tearing out her hair.

You shoot her a smug grin, thoroughly enjoying her frustration. Idia, who’s been watching the whole thing with mild amusement, lightly bumps you with his elbow.

“Thanks for… you know, saving me from whatever that was. And for giving me this… thing,” he says, holding up the device.

“No problem,” you reply, smirking. “I think we’re pulling off this whole ‘smitten lovers’ thing pretty well.”

Idia snorts, trying to suppress a smile. “Yeah, well, if you keep dragging me to ‘tea parties’ like this, we’re gonna need to come up with a better plan. Preferably one where I don’t have to socialize with archery-obsessed nobles.”

“Deal,” you laugh. "Next time, I'll find a real tea party."

"Please don't."

You’re lounging on a comfy chair, lazily chatting with Ortho, who’s happily explaining some new contraption he and Idia worked on. You’re half-listening, more focused on sipping tea and enjoying the rare moment of peace in this chaotic castle.

That is, until Idia suddenly appears in front of you, looking unusually determined. He stands there, awkwardly shifting his weight, before thrusting his hand out in front of you.

Without thinking, you blink up at him and, in your confusion, place your chin on his outstretched palm. You give him a questioning look, waiting for further instruction.

Idia’s face immediately flushes a deep red. “W-What are you doing?! That’s not—I didn’t—gah!”

Ortho’s trying not to laugh, but it’s clear he’s barely holding it together.

“What?” you ask innocently. “You held out your hand, so I thought…”

Idia runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered, before spluttering, “I—no, I was asking for your gun!”

“Oh. Right.” Without hesitation, you hand him the trusty weapon you always keep on hand, because at this point, you’ve learned to never question what Idia needs. It’s always better that way.

“Thanks,” he mutters, grabbing it like he’s on a mission and rushing off to whatever secret lair he retreats to.

You glance at Ortho, who’s giggling to himself. “Do you think I should be worried about that?”

“Nah,” Ortho says with a cheerful shrug. “He’s probably just making modifications. He’ll be fine!”

The next day, your luck runs out. Just when you were hoping for another peaceful afternoon, the heroine arrives for a surprise visit, dragging along her little posse of noble followers. You’re seated in a stiff parlor chair, forced to endure the barrage of small talk and fake smiles, feeling as if the universe is punishing you for all the nonsense you wrote in that novel.

One of the heroine’s cronies leans in with a sickeningly sweet voice, “Oh my, Lady Heroine, I just love your new gown. You look positively radiant. Unlike some people who seem to… dress for comfort, I suppose.”

You shoot her a withering glare, but it’s hard to focus when the heroine herself joins in, adding with a falsely sympathetic tone, “It must be so difficult for you, pretending to fit into high society. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be, keeping up appearances.”

You’re just about to snap back when, suddenly, the door bursts open. In comes Idia, holding your gun, looking both determined and completely out of his element. For a brief, terrifying moment, you wonder what kind of chaos he’s about to unleash.

Before you can ask, he walks straight over to you and hands it to you, his expression serious. “Here. I finished the modifications.”

Your jaw drops as Idia starts rattling off a list of improvements. “So, I increased the firepower by 30%, added a cooling mechanism so it doesn’t overheat, and now it’s got an auto-targeting system that can scan multiple threats at once. Oh, and I swapped the trigger to be more responsive, so you won’t have any lag—”

You can’t help but notice how animated he looks. His usual deadpan expression is replaced by a lively spark in his eyes as he talks about all the intricate details. He’s completely in his element, and you find yourself enchanted by the way he speaks. It’s rare to see him so passionate, so alive.

The moment is shattered when he finally notices the others in the room. His face drains of color, and he gives a forced smile that screams I don't want to be here. Without another word, he turns on his heel and flees the room. But you notice something strange—he had been holding your hand the entire time. His grip, tight and warm, leaves a lingering sensation even after he’s gone.

You’re left holding your newly modified gun, your face heating up as you process what just happened. The heroine's entourage are all staring at you with wide eyes, as if they’ve just witnessed the most romantic moment of the century. Even the butler, who’s usually the epitome of professionalism, is grinning like he’s just uncovered the secret to eternal happiness. The maids nearby are giggling behind their hands, clearly entertained.

You glance down at the gun, then back to where Idia disappeared. Great, you think to yourself. How am I supposed to survive this?

As if reading your mind, the heroine gives you a smug smile. “It seems your fiancé is quite… attached. How charming.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the sudden rush of blood to your cheeks. “Yeah, he’s a real romantic,” you mutter sarcastically.

But even as you try to brush it off, your thoughts keep returning to that sparkle in Idia’s eyes, the way he had held your hand, and the way his enthusiasm had made your heart skip a beat. Maybe this royal con is going to be more complicated than you expected… but also, maybe not as bad as you feared.

Dragging Idia to get fitted for the imperial ball is like trying to drag a cat into a bathtub. He’s actively resisting, feet planted as you haul him toward the tailor with all the enthusiasm of a man being led to the gallows.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he groans, leaning back so far you think he might just throw himself on the floor in protest. “An angel loses its wings every time you make me do this. Do you want heaven to be wingless? Is that what you want? To singlehandedly destroy heaven?”

“I’m aiming to open a black market for wings, yes,” you say, deadpan, yanking him forward. “The profits will be incredible.”

“You’re a menace,” he mutters, shuffling along behind you, still resisting like a particularly stubborn mule. “Just put me in a broom closet with a bag of chips and leave me there. I don’t need to go to this ball. No one wants to see me.”

“I do,” you quip. “I’m dragging you into society, one unwilling step at a time.”

By the time you actually manage to get him dressed, you feel like you’ve aged five years. But when you take a step back to admire the result, it’s worth it. Idia looks stunning, even if he’s fidgeting like his clothes are secretly made of fire ants. He’s basically the human version of a rare collectible: usually hidden away, but absolutely jaw-dropping when you finally get to see him.

“Alright, Prince Drama,” you say, exhaling, “I’m going to get dressed. Try not to set anything on fire while I’m gone.”

When you return, you immediately notice something’s up. Ortho’s whispering something to Idia, and whatever it is, it’s causing a nuclear-level blush to spread across his face. He’s stiff as a board, and when he turns around and sees you in your ball attire, he goes straight from “mildly panicked” to “catastrophic system error.”

Without warning, he chucks a flower at you. Just full-on throws it like it’s a projectile weapon.

“Here,” he croaks out, his voice cracking halfway through.

You blink, catching the flower mid-air with one hand. “Uh, thanks? Were you... trying to plant this on me?”

Idia’s face somehow manages to get even redder. “No—I mean yes—I mean—” He looks around for help, but Ortho just gives him an unhelpful thumbs up from the corner.

You grin, deciding to help the poor guy out. “Why don’t you pin it in my hair instead?”

His hands shake as he fumbles with the pin, and you’re pretty sure he’s using every ounce of self-control not to stab you in the scalp. You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but the whole situation is just too funny. Especially when Ortho gives you a conspiratorial wink from behind Idia’s back like he’s this close to winning a bet.

The ball itself is, as expected, a social hellscape. You and Idia survive by sticking together like conjoined twins, fending off the waves of nosy nobles and fake smiles. You can practically see the stress radiating off of Idia, his expression one of pure misery.

And then, the king makes his grand address, signaling the start of the first dance. You feel Idia stiffen beside you.

“Oh no,” he mutters, “Oh no. This is where it all goes downhill. I’ll trip, I’ll break my leg, and then they’ll throw me in the royal dungeon for embarrassing the family.”

“Relax,” you say, squeezing his hand. “It’s just one dance. I’ll lead, you follow. Easy.”

“I hate this,” he mumbles as you drag him onto the floor. “I hate everything about this. I should have just set myself on fire and gotten out of it that way.”

But despite his protests, you manage to lead him through the first few steps of the waltz. To your surprise, he’s not completely hopeless. He stumbles a little at first, but with you guiding him, he starts to get the hang of it.

“You’re doing great,” you say encouragingly.

“Stop lying,” he grumbles. “I’m one misstep away from taking us both out like a bowling ball hitting pins.”

The music continues, and with every turn and spin, you notice the room around you fading into the background. For a moment, it’s just you and Idia, navigating the intricate steps of the dance together. He’s still anxious, but he’s keeping up, and more importantly, you can tell he’s starting to trust you. He’s letting you take the lead, and for someone like Idia, that’s huge.

From Idia’s perspective, this entire ball is a waking nightmare. He’s completely out of his element, surrounded by people he’d normally go to great lengths to avoid. But then there’s you. You’re handling everything with this... ease, this grace that he can’t even begin to comprehend. You’re not just dancing with him, you’re actively navigating the minefield of court politics like it’s no big deal.

And you don’t need to do this. This isn’t your problem—it’s Ortho’s succession, not yours. But you’re here, by his side, going all out to make sure Ortho’s future is secure. Idia’s heart twists in his chest. He doesn’t get it. You’re way too cool for this. Too cool for him. You wink at him mid-spin, and he feels like his brain’s short-circuiting.

"Oh no. I like them. Like, really like them. And soon, they’ll be gone. This whole engagement is just for show. After Ortho’s investiture, we’ll go back to our separate lives, right?"

He swallows hard, trying not to freak out, but it’s too late. He’s in way too deep.

After the dance, you lead him off the floor and start mingling with the other nobles, making alliances and doing your whole “political mastermind” thing. Idia stands awkwardly to the side, trying to blend into the wallpaper, but his eyes keep following you. You don’t have to do all this for Ortho, but you are. And that’s... that’s really cool. He admires you, he can’t help it.

And then—oh no. The lower nobles. They spot him and beeline toward him like sharks smelling blood. Before he can make a break for it, they swarm around him, throwing party invitations at him like confetti.

“Prince Idia, you simply must attend our garden soirée next week,” one of them gushes, eyes sparkling.

“And our evening gala!” another pipes up. “You’ll be the guest of honor, of course!”

Idia’s face goes pale, and he shoots you a look that screams, HELP ME.

You swoop in like a knight in shining armor. “Ah, yes, well, unfortunately, Idia can’t attend. He’s... uh... allergic to sunlight.”

The nobles stare at you, blinking in confusion. Idia stares at you too, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Allergic to... sunlight?” one noble repeats, frowning.

You facepalm. Smooth. “I mean... it’s a joke! Ha! Obviously! What I meant to say is... uh...” You scramble for an excuse. “I need a nap.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I—uh—can’t sleep without him,” you blurt out. “It’s, uh, a couple thing.”

The nobles blink at you again, thoroughly bewildered.

You grab Idia’s arm, muttering, “We’re leaving,” and make a quick exit, practically dragging him behind you.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, you let out a groan. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I said that. ‘Allergic to sunlight’? Really?”

Idia is doubled over laughing, completely losing it. “You what?!” he howls. “You need a nap? And you can’t sleep without me?!”

“Shut up!” you say, cheeks burning. “I was trying to save you!”

“You saved me? More like doomed me!” He wheezes between laughs, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, you are terrible at this. You make me look good, and that’s saying something.”

You glare at him, but his laughter is so infectious that you can’t stay mad. And honestly? He looks free. Unbridled, even. It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh so openly, so without reservation, that it almost makes you forget how embarrassing the situation was.

Almost.

It's finally time for Ortho's investiture, and to say you feel unprepared would be an understatement. Not for any political reason—you've long since mastered the art of navigating court intrigue. No, the issue is far more personal, far more heart-wrenching. After today, once Ortho is declared Crown Prince, Idia will no longer have any excuse to stay in the spotlight. He'll retreat, back into the shadows, probably even fake his own kidnapping to get out of any future public events. And you?

You'll finally get that peaceful beach house you’ve been dreaming about.

But the thought doesn’t feel like a reward. It feels bitter. You don’t want that beach house—not if it means losing Idia. The man who’s wormed his way into your heart with his sarcasm, awkwardness, and hidden kindness.

But you know he’s not someone you can tie down. Idia doesn’t do well with permanence. And as much as your heart begged to hold on to him, you also know he’d likely slip through your fingers if you tried.

So you do what any self-respecting person would in this situation: put on a brave face, slip into your formal attire, and prepare to smile your way through heartbreak.

When you walk out to greet Idia, he’s already dressed in his formal robes, looking every bit the reluctant royal. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, but he says nothing, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

You muster up the strength to smile and reach for his hand. “Ready?”

He nods, but neither of you can meet the other’s eyes.

From Idia’s perspective, today should feel like a victory. He’s been planning for Ortho’s investiture for months, and now that the day is finally here, he should be feeling nothing but relief. But no—he’s filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. It’s not about Ortho. His little brother is brilliant, and Idia knows the kingdom is in good hands.

No, what he’s not ready for is letting you go.

If someone had told him a year ago that he would care about someone—want someone—so desperately, he would’ve locked them up in a mental facility. But here he is, standing on the precipice of his worst nightmare.

You, who shine in every public setting, who effortlessly charm everyone around you, are going to move on. He knows he can’t tie you down with his reclusive lifestyle, his constant desire to escape from the world. How could he? You’re everything he’s not—bright, resplendent, beloved. He can’t ask you to give up your life for him.

But when you come out and take his hand, his heart skips a beat. Neither of you are able to look each other in the eye, but the gesture says more than any words could.

The investiture itself goes off without a hitch. Ortho’s speech is flawless, full of the hope and wisdom of a ruler who will no doubt lead the kingdom into a golden age. You’re so proud of him—of the boy who’s become like a little brother to you.

But even as you smile and clap with the rest of the court, you feel a heaviness in your chest that has nothing to do with the political spectacle unfolding before you.

A few tears slip down your cheeks, and you don’t even know if they’re from the overwhelming pride you feel for Ortho or the quiet heartbreak you’ve been trying to suppress all day.

Before you can wipe them away, Idia silently hands you his handkerchief. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, and that just makes the ache in your heart a little worse.

You take it with a quiet, “Thanks,” dabbing at your eyes, and you both stand there in tense silence, watching as the formalities continue around you.

Once the investiture concludes and the guests filter out, you and Idia retreat to a balcony to catch your breath. The sky is darkening, and the cool evening breeze does little to soothe the heaviness you feel in the pit of your stomach.

Idia breaks the silence first. "I've, uh... already arranged the beach house. It’s in your name now."

You blink, looking over at him. His voice cracks slightly, and when you finally turn to face him fully, you realize that he looks like the very picture of heartbreak. He’s not meeting your eyes, staring out into the distance as if it’ll keep him from falling apart.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Idia... do you want me to leave?”

He freezes, still not looking at you. "I... I want you to be happy. I mean, that's the whole point, right? The beach house, everything—you’ve been wanting that for ages."

“I didn’t ask if you wanted me to be happy,” you say quietly. “I asked if you want me to stay or go.”

The silence between you stretches, heavy and suffocating. You hold your breath, waiting for him to answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“I... I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you’re not here anymore.”

That’s all the confirmation you need. Before he can say anything else, you step forward, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss. For a split second, he stiffens, shocked, but then he melts into it, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

It’s everything you needed and more—sweet, desperate, and filled with all the words neither of you have been able to say. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily.

“Come with me,” you whisper. “To the beach house. We can... we can figure everything out from there.”

Idia lets out a watery laugh, one that’s half-disbelief, half-relief. “You really want a shut-in like me hanging around your dream house? You’re gonna get sick of me in a week.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I don’t think I could ever get sick of you. So... what do you say?”

He hesitates for a moment, then gives a small nod, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Yeah... okay. I’ll come with you.”

And just like that, the weight that’s been pressing down on your chest all day lifts. It’s not the end—it’s a new beginning. One where you and Idia don’t have to part ways, where you can move forward together.

As you both stand there on the balcony, holding each other close, the world feels a little less daunting, and the future a little brighter.

The grand hall is slowly emptying out, nobles drifting away after offering their congratulations to Ortho. You and Idia maneuver through the lingering crowd, dodging overly-friendly dukes and avoiding eye contact with barons hoping to extend the festivities.

Idia clings to your arm like a cat being dragged to the vet, mumbling, “Please tell me we’re not about to be emotionally ambushed again.”

You smirk. “Relax. It’s just Ortho.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say before things get sentimental and I have to deal with ‘feelings.’”

You spot Ortho standing near the dais, still wearing the ceremonial robes from his investiture. Despite the long night, he looks bright-eyed, waving cheerfully at some departing courtiers. When he catches sight of you two, his face breaks into the biggest grin, and he hurries over like an eager puppy.

“There you are!” Ortho beams, practically glowing with excitement. “I was worried you left without saying goodbye.”

“Us? Leave without saying goodbye?” you tease. “What kind of villains do you think we are?”

“Exactly the kind who would sneak away in the middle of a banquet,” Idia mutters under his breath. “And you know what? That plan still sounds great.”

Ortho rolls his eyes fondly. “You’re impossible, brother.”

“Only when I’m awake.”

“Anyway,” you cut in, shooting Idia a playful glare before turning back to Ortho, “we wanted to talk to you before we go.”

Ortho’s smile falters, just a bit. “You’re leaving already?”

You nod, squeezing Idia’s arm. “Yeah. We’re heading to the beach house.”

Ortho tilts his head, curious but not upset. “You’re moving there?”

“For a while, yeah,” you explain gently. “Idia and I need a break from all the court politics. But don’t worry. We’ll visit you. Often.”

Idia shifts beside you, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh... It’s not like I’m leaving forever or anything. Just... you know, temporarily escaping society.”

Ortho laughs, but there’s a softness in his gaze now. “I get it. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave all this behind for a bit.”

You take a step closer, voice lowering. “And hey... I know you’ve got a lot on your plate now. But we’re still family. If you need anything—anything—we’ll be here for you.”

Ortho’s grin returns, full force. “I know. I’m really glad you two have each other. Honestly, I was worried for a long time that Idia might never find someone willing to put up with him.”

“Gee, thanks,” Idia deadpans. “Glad my personal development arc has been so inspiring for you.”

“But seriously,” Ortho says, his expression softening again. “Thank you. You’ve done more for us than you had to. I know you could have just... gone back to your world or left things as they were. But you stayed. And you helped him.”

Oh no. Not this again. That suspicious prickle starts in your eyes, and you blink rapidly to fend off the tears. Not now. Not in public.

“You’re not... making me cry,” you insist, even as your voice wobbles. “This is just... allergy season.”

“Oh no, it’s happening,” Idia groans dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t cry. If you cry, Ortho’s gonna cry, and if Ortho cries, the nobles will definitely blame me.”

“Shut up, you big baby,” you sniffle, swatting his arm before pulling Ortho into a hug. “Come here, you. Group hug, now.”

Ortho barely has time to react before you’ve wrapped him up in your arms. He laughs, squeezing you back. You reach out blindly and grab Idia’s sleeve, yanking him into the fray.

“Wait—wait, what—!” Idia stumbles forward, sandwiched awkwardly between you and Ortho. “This is... I don’t...”

“Shhh,” you whisper, patting his back. “Feel the love.”

“This is emotional ambush!” Idia protests, voice muffled against your shoulder. “I want it on record that I was forced into this.”

“Noted,” Ortho says with a laugh, hugging both of you tighter. “But you’re not getting out of it.”

For a moment, the three of you just stand there, huddled together in a ridiculous knot of limbs, nobles glancing your way but tactfully avoiding comment.

Idia mutters into your ear, “This... this is basically treason against introverts.”

You grin. “Consider it penance for being emotionally stunted.”

“You’re both the worst,” he grumbles, but his arms stay wrapped around you.

Eventually, you pull back, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand. “We’ll be back soon, Ortho. I promise.”

“I know.” Ortho smiles warmly, giving you one last squeeze. “And when you do, I’ll make sure you never have to attend another dull court event again.”

Idia perks up at that. “Oh. Now that’s what I call incentive.”

With one last shared laugh, the three of you break apart. Ortho steps back, standing tall and proud in his new role, though his smile still holds all the warmth of a little brother seeing his family off.

“Take care of him,” Ortho says quietly, glancing meaningfully at you.

“I plan to,” you reply, meeting his gaze with a small, reassuring smile.

“And you,” Ortho adds, looking at Idia. “Don’t screw this up.”

Idia gapes, indignant. “I—why does everyone assume I’m the one who’s going to screw it up?!”

You and Ortho exchange amused glances before both of you answer in perfect unison:

“Because you will.”

Idia groans. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”

With that, you bid Ortho one final goodbye, tugging Idia along before anyone else can rope you into small talk. As you leave the grand hall and step out into the cool night air, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter.

Idia sighs in relief. “Well, that’s over. Time to hibernate for the next decade.”

You chuckle, lacing your fingers through his. “Hibernation in the beach house?”

“Hell yeah.”

And with that, the two of you set off into the night, leaving the court behind—for now.

Oh, what happened to the heroine and the male lead, you ask? Let’s rewind a few months before Ortho’s investiture—back when they were still blissfully unaware of the elaborate downfall that awaited them.

You knew that the heroine and the male lead would try to make a spectacle of themselves during Ortho’s rise to power. The way they pranced around, flaunting their superficial charm and good looks like they owned the place—it was insufferable. And, of course, they were always scheming in the background, hoping to secure power and glory for themselves. You couldn’t stand it.

So, you set up the perfect trap.

It began at a lavish gala, one of those unnecessarily extravagant events where nobles gathered to network, gossip, and throw subtle insults at each other. You arrived fashionably late, as any proper duchess would, with Idia reluctantly in tow, mumbling under his breath about how every social event felt like “one of those long quests with zero rewards.”

“The rewards are emotional, Idia,” you whisper, linking arms with him.

“Yeah, emotional damage,” he mutters.

You suppress a smile, but your mind is elsewhere. Tonight is the night. You had planted the seeds weeks ago, a few well-placed rumors, some whispered insinuations, and a letter you’d accidentally left behind in a well-trafficked corridor. It was all coming together like a beautifully chaotic symphony, and now, the climax.

You spot the heroine first, her radiant smile masking the venom beneath. She’s making a grand entrance, arm-in-arm with the male lead, who, as always, looks like he’s stepped straight out of a romance novel. His hair is perfect, his jawline sharp enough to cut through glass. But you know better. They’re both so predictable.

“They’ve arrived,” you murmur to Idia.

He gives you a blank stare. “Yeah, cool, I’m just here to not die of social exhaustion. Whatever you’re planning... don’t tell me. I don’t wanna be involved.”

“Suit yourself,” you reply with a grin.

You watch them mingle, waiting for the right moment. And there it is—the heroine, attempting to cozy up to the king, laughing a little too loudly at one of his mediocre jokes. You slip through the crowd, making your way to where a certain nosy noblewoman is holding court. A noblewoman known for her love of gossip and her even greater love of ruining people’s lives with it.

Perfect.

You lean in, feigning concern. “Oh, My Lady... I probably shouldn’t say this, but I heard the strangest thing about the heroine. You won’t believe it.”

Her eyes gleam with curiosity. “Do tell, my dear.”

“Well,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “there’s talk that the heroine and the male lead are involved in some... unsavory business dealings. Something about embezzling funds from the royal coffers for their own gain? I don’t know how true it is, of course... but it would explain some things, wouldn’t it?”

You leave the rest unsaid, letting her imagination do the rest. The best part? It’s all technically true. You had orchestrated it so well, the heroine and the male lead had no idea that their “private” meetings and “innocent” financial maneuvers were anything but secret.

She gasps, her fan snapping shut. “I knew there was something off about them! Oh, the gall! I must inform the king immediately!”

And just like that, the gossip spreads like wildfire. Within minutes, the entire room is buzzing with scandalous whispers. The heroine and the male lead notice the shift, the way people start looking at them, and for the first time, they’re on the back foot. They try to smile, but their unease is palpable.

You sit back, watching the chaos unfold, sipping your wine as nobles begin to distance themselves from the pair, shooting them suspicious glances.

Idia sidles up next to you, looking around at the suddenly tense atmosphere. “What... what did you do?”

“Who, me?” You bat your eyelashes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He gives you a side-eye. “You’re terrifying.”

“You knew that when you asked me to be your fake fiancée.”

The next day, official inquiries are launched into the heroine and the male lead’s finances, and though they try to clear their names, it’s no use. The damage is done. Their reputations are ruined beyond repair, and they’re forced to withdraw from court life entirely. A fitting end for their ambitions.

Which brings you to the present...

It’s a peaceful morning in your beach house, and you’re sitting on the veranda, enjoying your coffee while the sun rises over the horizon. The sound of waves crashing against the shore is your only company, and for once, there’s no looming political intrigue or royal drama to worry about.

That is, until Idia stumbles out of the bedroom, his hair a messy blue cloud, his eyes half-closed with sleep. He groans as he sees you, one hand on the wall to steady himself. “Why are you up so early? It’s like... the middle of the night.”

“It’s 10 AM,” you reply with a laugh.

“Exactly,” he grumbles, shuffling over to you. Without another word, he flops down beside you, his head immediately finding its way to your neck. He nuzzles into you, muttering something unintelligible, and you chuckle softly, patting him on the cheek.

“You’re such a big baby in the morning,” you tease, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Despite being married for the past two years, Idia’s face turns tomato-red every time you do something affectionate. He blushes furiously now, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide it.

“Y-You’re unfair,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “Saying stuff like that... it’s embarrassing.”

You grin. “But you’re so cute.”

“I’m not cute. I’m a grown man. And you’re a villain for making me get up before noon.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Maybe, but I’m your villain. So deal with it.”

Idia groans dramatically but makes no effort to move away, too comfortable where he is. You continue sipping your coffee, enjoying the moment of peace, when he finally speaks again, a little softer this time.

“Y’know... you really did a number on the heroine and the male lead. They’re still laying low, huh?”

“Maybe the rumor I spread was truly a masterpiece,” you say with a smirk, remembering how perfectly everything had gone according to plan.

Idia snorts. “A masterpiece of destruction, maybe.”

You chuckle, pressing another kiss to his forehead. He sighs contentedly, the two of you basking in the quiet comfort of your shared life. It’s moments like this that remind you just how far you’ve come together, from court intrigue and scandal to peaceful mornings at your beach house.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

For the next part,

[pixiexdusts-world]

Meet the Heffley’s

Rodrick Heffley x reader

Summary: Rodrick’s girlfriend meets his chaotic family, and Manny tries to steal her. She loves it anyway.

Word count: 1010

Notes: this is very random but I love Rodrick so I needed to write something

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Title: Meet the Heffleys

Meeting your boyfriend’s family is supposed to be a big deal, right? Like, one of those moments where you dress nice, bring flowers or something, and sit down for an awkwardly polite dinner while his parents judge you.

Yeah. That’s not how things work with Rodrick Heffley.

When he invited me over for dinner, it was more like, “Hey, my mom said you should come over and eat with us or whatever.” Super romantic. But I agreed because, well… I wanted to meet them. Rodrick talks about his family all the time, mostly to complain, but still. I was curious.

So, here I am, standing on the Heffleys’ front porch, wondering if I should have brought something. Probably not. This doesn’t seem like the kind of house where formal dinner etiquette exists.

Before I can knock, the door swings open, and there he is.

Rodrick smirks, leaning against the doorframe like he’s so cool. “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up.”

I roll my eyes, stepping closer. “I’m on time.”

“Yeah, well, you were supposed to be, like, ten minutes late so I could say something sarcastic about it.”

I laugh and kiss his cheek, just to make him flustered. It works. His smirk falters for half a second before he clears his throat and steps aside. “Alright, come in before my mom starts thinking I made you up.”

The inside of the house is exactly what I expected. A little messy, with random shoes lying around, a stack of newspapers no one’s bothered to throw away, and a distinct family chaos vibe. The smell of dinner cooking comes from the kitchen, something warm and homey.

And then I hear it.

“Rodrick! She’s here?!”

Before I can react, a woman appears—short, blonde, and way too excited. I barely have time to brace myself before she pulls me into a hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! I’m Susan, Rodrick’s mom. Oh, you’re even prettier than I imagined!”

“Uh, thanks,” I manage, shooting a look at Rodrick, who just shrugs like, Yeah, this is happening.

His mom pulls back, holding me at arm’s length. “Rodrick never tells us anything about his personal life. You should’ve seen my face when he said he had a girlfriend. I almost dropped my coffee!”

Rodrick groans. “Mom.”

“What?” She waves him off. “I’m just happy to meet her. Oh, come in, come in! We’re just about to set the table.”

I follow her into the dining room, where a younger boy sits at the table, flipping through a comic book. He glances up, eyes narrowing slightly.

“You’re Rodrick’s girlfriend?”

“Greg,” Susan scolds. “Be nice.”

“What? I’m just saying.” Greg shrugs, then looks at me. “You do know he’s, like, the worst, right?”

“Hey, shut up, loser,” Rodrick snaps, dropping into a chair.

I grin. “Oh, I know.”

Greg blinks, clearly not expecting that. Then he mutters, “Huh. Okay.”

That’s when I feel a tiny hand grab mine.

I glance down to see a little kid—Manny, I recognize him from Rodrick’s rare stories about him—staring up at me with big eyes.

“I have a girlfriend too,” he announces proudly.

Susan gasps. “Manny! Since when?”

“Since yesterday,” he says, like it’s obvious. Then he looks back up at me and asks, completely serious, “Do you like dinosaurs?”

I nod. “Who doesn’t like dinosaurs?”

Manny grins, clearly satisfied with my answer. “Okay. You’re my second girlfriend now.”

Rodrick groans. “Oh my God.”

Greg snickers. “Dude, you already have competition.”

Manny tugs at my sleeve again. “Rodrick is gross. Do you wanna be just my girlfriend instead?”

Rodrick drops his fork. “Are you kidding me? Mom, tell him he can’t steal my girlfriend!”

Susan barely holds back a laugh. “Manny, sweetie, she’s Rodrick’s girlfriend.”

Manny huffs. “Fine.”

This is amazing.

Dinner is… interesting. The food is good—spaghetti and garlic bread—but the conversation is pure chaos. Susan keeps asking me questions about school, my family, my plans for the future (Rodrick groans at that one). Greg watches me like he’s trying to figure out why I’d willingly date his brother. And Manny? He spends the whole meal making dramatic faces at Rodrick and occasionally whispering, “Rodrick is a doo-doo head.”

Rodrick spends most of the meal making sarcastic comments and kicking me under the table whenever his mom gets too nosy.

At one point, their dad, Frank, comes in late, looking exhausted. He gives me a polite nod, sits down, and immediately starts ranting about something Rodrick did last week. Rodrick barely reacts, just shoveling food into his mouth while his mom scolds him and Greg smirks like he enjoys watching his brother get in trouble.

It’s loud. It’s messy. It’s so different from my own family’s quiet dinners.

And I kind of love it.

After we eat, Rodrick grabs my hand and tugs me toward the stairs. “Alright, we’re done here. Bye.”

“Rodrick, wait—” Susan starts, but he’s already leading me to his room.

The second he shuts the door, he groans. “I told you my family was annoying.”

I flop onto his bed, laughing. “I like them.”

He gives me a look. “You like them?”

“Yeah. Your mom is sweet, Greg is funny, and Manny… well, he’s trying to steal me, but other than that, he’s adorable.”

Rodrick snorts. “I knew that kid was trouble.”

I smile and lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Not worried, are you?”

He grumbles something under his breath, but I can tell he’s relieved. And maybe even a little happy.

Yeah. I think I’m gonna like being around the Heffleys.

[snowluvvie]

strawberry shortcake 🍓

Rodrick <33

₊˚⊹ ♡. Rodrick Heffley is certainly not a planner, he never has been. He spends plenty of time agonizing over how exactly he's gonna blow your socks off on the big day, but when he's ready to start planning, he realizes that it's two days away. He scrapes together the couple bucks in his wallet, some change from his dorm room couch (and you're 99% sure he took some money from Greg's piggy bank,) to present you on Valentine's Day with a grand total of: a beanie-baby stuffed animal, a box of candy hearts, a mostly-crushed bouquet of flowers from the gas station, and a hand-burned CD with the title "jams 4 hot gf" scrawled across the front in his inexcusably terrible handwriting. He's basically grinding his toe into the dirt all shy-like when he gives them to you, giving you a classic "I know it's not much, but—" though you cut him off by throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him so hard he makes an oof noise, the wind knocked out of him.

The two of you make an appearance at your favorite date spot—an extremely sketchy, extremely sticky bowling alley where three of the lanes are perpetually closed, and the lights in the attached arcade flicker ominously. Your squeals and his laughter echo off the wood-paneled walls, and for your whole game (him appearing on the scoreboard as RODPRICK and you as THE BABE,) it feels like you're the only two people on the whole planet. Rodrick insists on winning you a stuffed animal from the claw machine, and you put on an oscar-winning performance of being equally as excited every time he tries, and equally as shocked and disappointed every time it slips from the metal grasp. You rub his back consolingly as you walk away once his pockets are officially empty, and he slings an arm over your shoulders as he mutters, "at least you got the beanie baby" with a defeated shake of his head.

You almost let out a little sniffle at the card he gives you (it takes you a couple tries to read it cause good lord, his handwriting really is awful,) which says "ur way too cool and hot and smart for me, but i'm glad u haven't realized that yet. happy valentine's day babe :)" accompanied by the worst drawing of you two as stick figures you've ever seen. He even plays you an extremely sincere but terribly loud love song on the drum set in the communal music room, and the two of you get promptly kicked out halfway through. Ending the day with your face buried in his hoodie, watching some stupid movie, the whole day having cost probably $30 total, you hum against his lips when he kisses you and think about how it was kind of the best day you've ever had. Sure, it made it glaringly obvious that Rodrick Heffley is a total disaster—but c'mon, he's your disaster.

[cloudrunnerscinnamon]

An "early-ish" House MD one shot. House and reader :)

The reader experiences a particular bad night and finds herself stuck in the ER with the one and only Greg House. This could really go either way...

gif is not mine (found it on google)

"Getting mugged wasn’t the worst part about my night"

„I’ll do it“ House took the IV-bag from the nurse before she could argue with him. You on the other hand really didn’t want him near you. However, you knew House well so you decided against putting up a fight and let him take care of you. He made clear that he wanted to watch over you, discussion over. Doctor’s orders. 

Wilson, Cuddy and all of  House’s attendees (old and new) were standing a few meters away from the two of you. The initial shock of you getting mugged and being delivered into the ER with a grade 3 concussion and a laceration to the forehead had worn off but they all felt like staying close. Now, in fact, they were shamelessly watching the scene in front of them unfold. They all knew this would probably be the pivoting point of House’s and your relationship. For a month the two of you had been buzzing around each other. Chase had bets running as per usual. Wilson was sure you would crack first and confess to House how you felt about him. Cuddy on the other hand had put in for „House, taking one more risk for the sake of finally finding happiness“, what can you do, she was sappy like that. There were a few more variants going around in the bookie but those were the two most popular. 

It wasn’t like House or you were denying that you liked each other. It was obvious, the amount of time you spent together and the pile of insiders you shared annoyed everyone around you. But whenever somebody tried to inquire, all they ever got was a 

„Oh, House and me?“

„(Y/N) and me?“ 

„We just hang out, we watch the same crappy shows and like to piss of the pizza place with weirdly specific orders.“ 

„Seriously, we are just friends!“ Even Wilson couldn’t coax a confession out of his stubborn friend. 

Funny thing, neither of you wanted to screw things up by showing your cards. 

„This will sting a bit,“ House was sitting on a chair in front of you taking your hand in his and carefully inserting an intravenous catheter. His hands were steady and his movements well practiced. You still hissed a little when the needle pierced through your skin and you could feel House’s blue eyes immediately on your face. He wanted to say something but reconsidered busying himself again with attaching the tube of the IV- bag to the IV-line. 

„Sure didn’t sting as much as the rest of the night,“ you snatched your hand away as soon as House seemed satisfied with his work. 

„And no, I am not talking about getting mugged.“ The harsh tone of your voice surprised you. Yes you were hurting because of him and yes you were out of your mind from the pain in your chest, your heart, but still. Wounding House didn’t give you any pleasure or redemption. It still sucked. All of it. Stacy sucked, their kiss sucked and what you heard him say, well, that just was the cherry on top. 

House didn’t get up from his chair but remained right in front of you. The chaotic atmosphere of the ER didn’t seem to phase him at all. Slowly he went to take your hand again but you brushed him off. 

„Fuck off House. I don’t want you near me.“ For a second you could see the pain in his eyes flash, then it was gone again. Replaced by his usual wall of safety guards. Safety guards he had let slowly and steadily dissolve with you. He wasn’t going to give up that easily now.

„Yeah, sorry I’m not going anywhere.“ House sounded firm even though you were sure he was confused and so out of his comfort zone. Him prolonging eye contact and taking a „stance“ was all just an act to hide his feelings and ever growing insecurity. For once the doctor was actually scared to lose someone. Displaying confidence and nonchalance was all he knew how to do right now. 

„What? I am not being funny here.“ You leaned further back, unconsciously creating more distance between you and House. Why didn’t he just leave already. Did he take some weird pleasure in knowing that you had overheard his and Stacy’s conversation? That earlier this week you had seen them kiss in his office? You were so angry and hurt that getting mugged almost felt like a nice distraction. 

„Just go!“ You made a flinging motion with your hand and your voice broke from all the emotions. House scrunched up his face and squinted his eyes at you like he simply didn’t understand what was going on. He was confused by your actions. He was here, he was taking care of you and still you wanted him to leave. 

„Why do you want me to go away?“ His voice was small, he seemed sincere which made you want to jump out of your skin. Sad, hurt, humiliated all of which you were feeling right now but deep down there was also frustration and anger. All those month of casually hanging out and spending time together. Was that all a lie? It had felt so genuine. Could you have been so wrong about another person? You sure weren’t stupid. You had never thought of yourself as the one that would change House. You knew many had and tried to be friends as well as love interests and they had all failed more or less miserably. You simply enjoyed being around him as he was. You liked being his friend. Oh how very stupid you felt now. Friends? Your thoughts were interrupted by House’s voice. It sounded modulated like he was really trying to stay in control of his demeanor.

„(Y/N)?“  

Irritatingly for you the shock of getting mugged, the thudding pain in your skull and Stacy’s performance had taken a big chunk out of your self-control. There just wasn’t anything left to hold back the emotions from spilling over. Tears blurred your vision and your mouth twisted into a thin line. At least you were able to hold back that sob building in your throat. You knew you couldn’t take it much longer, something had got to give. 

„Because it hurts to look at you.“ And there it was. Painfully aware of all the people around you and House blankly staring at you. Was he in shock? Your voice had been so much more penetrating than you had anticipated. Shit, where did all that pain come from all of the sudden? Why weren’t you able to look away from those blue eyes? Was he even breathing? Were you breathing? Why was it so quiet? Was anyone breathing? 

„I love you and you crushed my heart!“ Those eight words had slipped out of your mouth before you even noticed they had formed on your tongue. Your own thoughts betraying you and that at the worst time. Why was your face so wet? Then the blue eyes were gone. House remained unnervingly silent. He had however gotten up from the chair. The doctor’s back was turned towards you. His right hand held onto an unused IV-stand. Was he steadying himself? Might be his leg but the pain had gotten a little less excruciating of late. You knew that because he had confided in you. Hot tears were still running down your reddened face while you stared at House’s unmoving figure.

Behind the two of you, at the reception counter of the ER, Wilson shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He huffed out a breath and ran his hand through his hair. Cuddy throw a cautious look at him. They both felt bad. Usually Chase’s bets didn’t turn into such a flurry of dramatic events. Wilson could sense the rising uneasiness of his colleagues around him. He cleared his throat and leaned back a little, turning his head towards Chase. 

„Now that it happened I don’t know why you let me place that bet.“ Chase’s arms were crossed in front of his chest. He silently stared at (Y/N) and House. 

„This is totally upsetting and those are our friends.“ Wilson knew the Aussie doctor wouldn’t let him off the hook that easy and he especially wouldn’t lend any emotional comfort. 

„So you forfeit?“ Chase raised an eyebrow at Wilson. 

„I,“ Wilson hesitated, his moral compass was spinning like a merry-go-round. 

„No, I don’t. I just think we are terrible friends.“ 

Chase snorted and rolled his eyes. 

„Just because we took on bets doesn’t mean we aren’t their friends. Or well (Y/N)’s friends, I don’t know about House. Does House actually have friends?“ 

Wilson looked dumbfounded and left Chase hanging for a good comeback. The other doctor took that as enough of an answer. Just then Chase‘s pager went off. He glanced at it quickly and with another nod towards Wilson, he pushed himself off the reception counter, he had been leaning against and left.

The machines, next to the bed you were sitting on, started to beep loudly. Immediately House turned around and checked for the reason of the onslaught of alarms. A nurse standing nearby also rushed over. You followed House’s line of vision and quickly realized that your condition hadn’t suddenly taken a turn for the worse. The pulse oximeter that had been clamped onto your left index finger had slipped off. You hadn’t even noticed. 

„It’s okay I got it.“ House waved at the nurse stoping her in her track. She just nodded and went back to scribbling on the chart of another patient. House’s hands took a hold of our left one, he slipped the pulse oximeter back on. The noise stopped and the numbers on the screen went back to somewhat normal at least as far as your non existing medical understanding told you. He kept holding your hand and you let him. Your outburst and confession had drained you even more and you were left longing for contact. 

„There, looks good, normal heart rate. So it can’t be crushed.“ House smiled openly at you although it seemed a little too assertive. You couldn’t believe your ears. 

„You are kidding me right?“ Once again you wanted to pull your hand away from his but he held on. It took you a few seconds to untangle your fingers from his, he watched you struggle a bit bevor slowly letting go. You sniffled and tears started to come anew. The way he kept looking at you made you nervous and confused. House’s weird behavior was something you clearly couldn’t deal with. The moodiness, rude arrogance and sheer lack of interest in other people’s necessities you could handle – but this? This was worrisome. 

„House, please just – just leave.“ It sounded like a plea, your tremulous voice not helping. However House didn’t respond. He looked back up to the monitors again, busying himself, biding his time. You knew he wasn’t gonna leave. A frustrated huff through your nose. Shaking your head in disbelieve you let its weight sink down into your hand, rubbing over your forehead. 

„Why do you call me House?“ Your head snapped back up. The blue eyes were on yours again. 

"You never call me House.“ He said his own name like something foreign, something he had to get his tongue acquainted with.

„It’s always been Greg,“ his eyes fell and you had to bend forward a little to still hear him. „Right from the beginning. You only ever use House when you talk to other people.“ To say you were shocked was an understatement. 

„Seriously? This is what you are going with?“ The harshness of your tone was matched my House’s soft response. You had never seen him so abashed.

„Just tell me,“ a quiver at the right corner of his lips, „Please?“ This, you weren’t able to deny. House was either being sincere in all his coyness or he was playing you to get what he wanted but whichever it was, you couldn’t stop yourself from indulging him.

„I call you House because everybody does and I am not special.“ Fast and prompt, no time to think about your choice of words. This day wasn’t gonna get any worse, was it? Might as well lean into it then. House was right though. You had always preferred calling him Greg. You understood that at work people referred to him as House. It was both formal and still not too friendly for coworkers. In the beginning you hadn’t actually really noticed that hardly anybody besides you called him Greg but when you realized it you couldn’t help but ask yourself why. The nature of your relationship (or friendship to be correct) was purely pleasure. You didn’t share anything work related and so the version of House you hung out with struck you more as a Greg kind of House other than a House House. 

„To call you House is safe,“ you said and in your head you added: and it is less intimate. With a heavy sigh House took a few steps and let himself sink down next to you on the hospital bed. Both your feet were dangling down and you followed the swinging motion with your eyes. For some reason a comfortable silence fell over you. The ER was, now as before, busy but the different sounds and monotonous buzzing worked like a coat slipping around the two of you. There was enough room to stay still in all the hectic. For the next couple of minutes House and you quietly agreed on taking a breather. 

The dull thud of Houses cane on the floor made you jerk up a little. He was going to say something. Repeatedly hitting the and of his cane on the floor was a tell-tale-sign of the Doctor building up to saying something. You had noticed that relatively early, but you weren’t sure if he realized you knew. House would mold the words in his mind until they satisfied him enough to actually say them. You also knew that he only ever did that if he was nervous or stressed out about what he wanted to say. 

„(Y/N), I am not with Stacy. Even though you might think that after what you heard tonight.“ Ah of course, yes, this would definitely make House uncomfortable. You just stayed silent, letting him continue.

„And trust me I know it sounds cliché but it is not what you think it is.“ He half laughed at that, it sounded studded with frustration and a hint of desperation. 

„What is it then? Because it really did sound like the two of you were making up.“ As soon as the words left your mouth you wanted to take them back. You really didn’t want to know. It was enough for you to know that it hurt. 

„You know what? Don’t answer me,“ you lifted your hand, pressing the palm of it against your eyes in an attempt to dampen the headache. It didn’t work and you let your hand sink down again, resting it on your upper thigh. 

„Do you love her?“ Since you had arrived in the ER you had tried to avoid looking at House but the question you had just put to him demanded you to make eye contact. House didn’t immediately answer. His long fingers scratched absentmindedly at his stubbled chin.

„No I don’t and I haven’t for quite some time.“ There was so much conviction in House’s voice that you didn’t doubt he was telling the truth. 

„What I said, what you heard,“ the doctor kept looking around while continuing to explain himself. Scanning over the room but hardly registering what was going on. 

„I wasn’t talking about Stacy and me. But without the proper context I can see how you might think that.“  He snuck a peek at you trying to gauge how this conversation was going. Only the white knuckles of his hand holding his cane in an iron grip gave aways how tense he was. Throwing your hands in the air you could only shake your head. This whole situation was ridiculous. 

„You kissed, I saw you, in your office.“ you said bluntly. You were ready to start a fight. Leaving everything pent up wasn’t gonna work. If House thought he could fool you with this talkative demeanor you were sure as hell gonna make him work for it.  

„I know and I felt awful“ Small voice, barely more than a murmur and two absurdly blue irises. Aaaaand there you crumbled again. You involuntarily mimicked House’s wispy smile.

„Didn’t look like that,“ you muttered. He grabbed your hand carefully avoiding the IV catheter. His fingers drew small patterns on the back of your hand. 

„Well do you believe me if I say you got that the wrong way around as well?“ 

Yes, your thoughts screamed and you wanted to threw yourself into House’s arms. Instead you pressed out a, „No.“ 

But he let you have that one, making sure you could keep your dignity. 

„Fair enough“. House intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing them a little. He sucked in a breath of air.

„But,“ drawing out the vowel, House made his point anyways,“I’m sorry, you do have it the wrong way around.“ Was that his teasing tone? Was he actually mocking you? To be fair you could feel the tension draining from your body. If anyone would ever try to convince you that House wasn’t able to understand emotions and steer them empathetically you would just laugh in their face. Which is also what you did now. You laughed because frankly you were overwhelmed.

„Whatever. This is humiliating.“ You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry or to laugh.

„She kissed me.“ House added, looking all dopy and school boyish. You gaped at him. House was carefully maneuvering this sinking wreck off a ship into saver waters and you knew it but it was still annoying you. Why was it working? 

„Oh well that changes everythi–„ You jumped right on board and countered sarcastically but House cut in.

„Yeah no, I know it doesn’t.“ He agreed with you however he wanted you to fully understand the circumstances. 

„The only reason I let her was because I am shit at feelings.“ House shrugged his shoulders.

„What? Sorry you lost me. You are shit at feelings so you kiss your married Ex-wife?“ Was he kidding you? Your hand slipped away from his and you tugged your arms tightly around your middle. You didn’t want to fell like that but anger and frustration where front runners again. House got the message. When he talked next the lightness in his voice was gone.

„If you are shit at feelings you might not be able to trust them. Sometimes I need actions to fully understand them. Actions I get and I am good at them.“

Your mouth opened but potential words were stopped by an index finger pressed against your lips.

„Ah ah ah wait!“ The Doctor removed his finger and continued.

„So when she kissed me I was able to say goodbye,“ he paused for a second, “ because there was nothing. No love, no anger or other sentiment. It was only a kiss which I did not particular care for. It cleared my head.“ 

„Hmm.“ Not as articulate as you would have liked to be but you couldn’t manage more, so you just kept listening. 

„I wanted to come after you. I…“, House hesitated then he turned a little more towards you. He wanted to see your eyes but you kept your gaze low. 

„Your face. The way you just turned around and left.“ His voice was husky.

„I told Stacy then, what I just told you… and to be fair she was pissed. I should have know that she wouldn’t leave it at that.“ A bitter chuckle slipped from House’s mouth and he shook his head. The doctor was lost in his thoughts for a second. Your voice pulled him back into the ER.

„So when you asked me to come by to talk, you in fact wanted to talk?“ Maybe all was not lost. Maybe just, maybe this day had still something good to offer.

„Oh yes, yes I did and other stuff“ A cheeky grin appeared on House’s face and he softly bumped his shoulder agains yours. When you looked at him he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

„Shut up,“ you snorted. This man is unbelievable. 

„Not funny yet?“ He lightly poked your thigh, testing the waters. 

„Nooooo,“ you said, returning the shoulder bump. 

You looked at each other, wary smiles meeting. House drew in a heavy breath then. He still had a few things he wanted to say, get out of his system. 

„Stacy rang the doorbell 10 minutes before you. She must have left the door ajar. And the rest, you witnessed first hand.“ He scratched the back of his neck and proceeded.

„Annoyingly not all of it. Seeing that we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.“

You nodded slowly, processing. Neither of you knew what to say now so you just kept sitting next to each other. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward it just seemed necessary to pause for a bit. 

After a few minutes you suddenly had this weird feeling of being watched. You became more aware of your surroundings and let your eyes drift. Behind you, at the reception counter you saw House’s attendees as well as Cuddy and Wilson jump apart like they had been caught red handed. All of them were making it a point to be terribly busy looking. 

„I can’t believe they are all still watching us.“ You nodded towards the group of doctors. House followed your line of sight and you could feel him growing a little bit uneasy. There was no smile on his face and his features seemed more in control. You didn’t want to see him so gloomy after there had just been some kind of light at the end of the tunnel. You wrapped your hand around House’s elbow and tucked a bit. His head turned back to you. You were surprised to find sadness and, what was that? Remorse? Etched into his face.

 „They are making sure I don’t crush your heart twice in one night.“ With the bitterness in House’s words came also a promise. He wanted to do this right. He wanted to make this work and find out what this between the two of you could be. He acknowledged how his actions from earlier had hurt you. Everything about this conversation was so out of character for House that you had a hard time believing you weren’t imagining things. Maybe your concussion was worse than you thought and you were having crazy hallucinations. Could you have hallucinations from concussions?

„Yes, but that is highly unlikely in your case, since the CCT-scan did not pick up any intracerebral bleeding.“ 

„What?“ Surprised you looked at House. 

„Did I just say that out loud?“ The doctor smiled at you amused and your stomach fluttered. You always had liked it when he bestowed you with one of those uncensored grins. 

„Yup.“ House confirmed. Chalking it up to the most ludicrous day you have had in a while you decided to ignore reason and precaution and just trust your gut. You let your head sink against House’s shoulder and immediately the side of your body melted agains him as well. Before a sigh of relieve could escape from you House had already wrapped his arm around your waist. This was nice. It felt good and easy. 

After a while you could feel the weight from House’s head on yours. You watched your feet dangling again. The calm breathing and the warmth between the two of you had you feeling drowsy in no time. A stifled yawn from you and House nuzzled his face into your neck.

„Yeah, me too,“ he whispered.

„How much longer ’til this thing is through,“ you asked quietly while pulling at the tube of the IV-bag. House lifted his head and frowned at the IV-bag. He considered his answer for a couple more seconds and before hopping off the bed.  

„Maybe 10 more minutes. We can speed it up a little.“ The doctor reached for the drip and adjusted the roller clamp. Immediately the solution in the IV-bag started dripping faster and he turned back towards you, sitting back down. 

„I don’t want to stay in the hospital,“ You sighed. Next to you House was blowing raspberries, obviously thinking something over. 

„You should with a third degree concussion. But I can take you home and make sure you’re okay.“ House offered looking at you expectantly. You considered your options and figured that the perspective of having House fussing over you wasn’t too bad. Your stomach rumbled loudly. An idea came to you then.

„Do you still have that pizza I brought, at your place?“ House had to chuckle at that and his laugh lines appeared. He nodded.

„Yes I do, at least I didn’t eat it. I went straight after you this time.“ House looked at you carefully, in all the joking there was also truth. Apparently he was satisfied with what he found in your eyes because he continued lightheartedly.

„If nobody broke in and ate it, it should still be sitting on the kitchen counter. “ 

„Great!“ You exclaimed happily.

„I could eat, really had a long night. How about you?“ You really wanted to get out of the hospital and leave the last few hours behind you.

„Nooo, completely normal night. So relaxing.“ House earned a slap from you on his shoulder. 

„Ouch! Don’t hit the cripple.“ His fake whiny voice made you actually laugh out loud and you were so relieved to feel somewhat normal again. 

„How about instead of taking me to my place, we go to yours and warm up that pizza then? I can be on concussion-watch anywhere right?“ With that you slowly slid off the bed, carefully steadying yourself. House watched you, assessing if you really were able to leave the hospital.

„I was kinda planning on that anyways.“ He stood up as well and undid the tube from your IV-catheter. The IV-bag was empty. With his hand he indicated for you to sit down once more. While he removed the IV-catheter from your hand you were happy to run along with the banter. 

„Sure you were. What if I’d refused.“ You cocked an eyebrow at House, challenging him. Even before he spoke you knew there would be some kind of quick-witted comeback.

„Oh I would have just kidnapped you.“ He shrugged his shoulders casually, a big fat grin on his face while he peeled off the adhesive tape that had kept the IV in place. 

„Of course.“ You laughed. The needle in your arm was gone and House pushed down some gauze on the exit wound. After a few seconds he put a plaster over it to keep it in place.You used his focus to study his features. There was still that smile on House’s face, though it had faded a little. You wondered what was on his mind. The heaviness that started to appear on his forehead couldn’t be from doing some routine doctor stuff. Just when you wanted to go for it an ask House what was going on, he mumbled your name.

„(Y/N)?“ Was his voice shacking? Your heart sank. Please don’t mess this up. Your imagination started to run wild and you feared for the worst.

„Hm?“ you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the inevitable let down.

„Can you not… can you maybe?“ House leaned closer to you. He seemed oblivious to your emotional turmoil. The whispering made his voice sound rough. With another sharp intake of air he took the plunge. 

„You are special, you know. To me you really are special.“The words tumbled out of his mouth practically rolling over each other. You scooped them up, holding them, they felt soft and warm to the touch. 

„So could you maybe not do the House-thing like everyone else?“

You smiled at him. This was big. House just committed to talking about his feelings leaving himself unguarded in the process. 

„Okay, Greg.“ 

[balteredsworld]

cha cha chase, gregory house

🥼🩺 | house finds out you're a dancer.

masterlist: greg house n all

tags! house being house, fluff of sorts? house x reader def

"aww that's cute," house tilted his head in amusement, eyes twinkling with signature mischief. you were going to hate this. in fact, you were already dreading it. "we can all give foreman a lap dance."

you rolled your eyes, prepping your dearest ex-friend's arm for a transfusion. "did you have to say all that?"

"what? people should know you were a dancer, especially with a boss like that," she sweetly and very innocently shrugged, before looking at house with pride. "she's got killer mo—"

"—alright!" you jammed the needle roughly, shutting her up. "you'll fall asleep in right about... now."

she dozed off, but not before catching you with a triumphant frown about your lips. oh you were pissed, at least she didn't need to deal with it until after the treatment.

you would've cooled down by then. but you were also in trouble. why? because of that stupid grin house had on his stupid face.

"so you used to dance."

"and you used to walk."

"ouch. low blow!"

"i can blow even lower."

you cringed. the words left your mouth sooner than you could think.

"you definitely have the knees for it," house chuckled, practically looking up into heaven with an extremely exaggerated grateful look.

"shut up. and don't ask."

his brows shot up, face contorting a theatrical face of an innocent. "how could you assume the worst in me!"

"my bad," you deadpanned. "i think it's just your track record with insanely inappropriate jokes."

you slipped swiftly out of the room, keen to get house off of your hair. but for a cripple, he was insanely fast. this man could do more than he let out, but that was only to make people like yourself, his victim-of-the-day fellow, miserable.

house was a smart man, but his aptitude was used for the worst. nothing was a viable escape, he was going to hold this over you until the day you die.

"i ask first," he snarked, making a gesture with his finger. "uhm, i have something inappropriate to say. can i say it?"

you glared at him over your shoulder. he was hot on your trail. if only you could get to the flight of stairs quicker.

he blinked all cutesy, innocently batting his lashes as you two turned the corner. "were you a stripper?"

you threw your head back, eyes rolling back to the point it felt like someone was gauging them out. house looked excited at the prospect. even if you weren't, close enough.

finally, you turn to him with an unimpressed purse about your lips and an angry furrow to your brows. house towered over you, all but amused at your well invited and justified anger. he thought it was cute.

"so?" he cocked a brow, still twinkling in mischief.

"answer's no," you half-calmly answered, titling your head, formulating a wicked idea.

you grabbed house's wrinkled collar, standing on your tip toes, snaking your hand on his shoulders.

"but i am a dancer," you whispered, mustering a sickeningly sweet voice. you trailed your fingers along his neck, letting your breath fan his ear as you crooned your head slightly, just as how you would with your dance partner.

some part of you had a daring inkling to knock his cane over, still unnerved over his shenanigans that last christmas he duped you into getting him a pricey gift.

fortunately for house, you weren't him.

but you maintained your hold on him, before letting out a hum at the same time you descended back to the soles of your foot. an innocent smile creeping on your lips, lashes batting the same way he'd done seconds ago.

"that's right, dancer..." house trailed, with a gaping mouth, still in a childish drawl.

"doctor, actually. the id says m.d., but thanks," you remarked nonchalantly, whipping away in a spin to dash into your escape. "you hired me remember?"

"because you had nice legs!" house shouted in a last ditch effort to win, seemingly paralyzed on the spot. "and even nicer knees!"

you had outrun him for now, although you knew it wasn't long before he revived into an ever meaner bloom. and you were right to dread it, because hours later, house was sitting with a triumphant smirk about his face. he somehow found a video of you dancing embarrassingly online, no doubt with the help of lucas, and forwarded it to any and all.

that only strengthened your resolve for revenge. house was fucked, but he welcomed your challenge.

who knows? maybe he could just get a lap dance out of it.

[saiscribbles]

Oi Sai , what are you thoughts on the offiacial Pearl X Greg art ?

Well it's not "official" for one thing. It's old personal sketches. People need to stop acting like sketches in the sketchbook of the creator or someone else on the team makes something canon. Do you know how many cringe Switcheroo sketches I have of ideas I'm never gonna use?

Obviously I don't like it. Like many other lesbian fans I relate heavily to Pearl. Lesbian fans already get enough shit from people saying "WEEEELLLLL Sugar is bi and the Gems are teccccnniiccally NB sorta and she based them on her so Pearl's not REAALLLY-" like... couldja let us have this one? Could you let me have my silly fantasy of an all-female society where lesbian is the majority.

Look, when I was growing up in the 90's I had to sit through endless media of a woman being introduced a "lesbian" only to have her entire storyline revolve around her suddenly being attracted to a man. It's bad enough society still acts like lesbians are basically bisexual women (or worse, straight women) in denial and that genuine homosexuality in women is just impossible. So it can grate me.

I don't think it would happen, Pearl in canon is shown to only have interest in women and disinterest at best and repulsion at worst with men, but if Sugar ever made me have to relive Chasing Amy in my comfort show I'd be pretty cross with her.

Now I'll just await the inevitable comments that will try to condescend to me about why I shouldn't feel this way.

[mothhuuny]

my nicolina post went over rwally welll so now im going to be insane about her sniles so sneetly

okay. so. nicolina. the barber. woman going through the worst manic episode ever.

all of the bloodfiends have one form or another of "i cant be honest with my feelings or else everything will go wrong" and nicolina's from of that is "i need to always be silly and unserious or else people will think i'm able to experience negative feelings and if i experience negative feelings the people around me will feel Bad" and she also projects this onto the bloodfiends around her, which leads to the whole mask thing

in her prime, she was actually quite smart and level headed! (esp since its established that she helped create the hemobars. girl is smart!) of course, 200 years being denied your basic necessities will drive a bitch insane so thats why she is the way she is during canto 7. my personal headcannon is that she was a researcher or doctor of some kind, which is also why she's partial towards the plague mask. she's still a doctor, but with a fun little flair now!

when sancho and don quixote aren't around, nicolina becomes the de-facto leader. we can see this in the story, actually. she seems to be the one who thought up the plan in the first place, and in preist!greg's uptie story we can also see that she was most likely the one that actually recruited members for the plan as well. not to mention being the person that took the initiative and sewed masks on everyone. thanks girlie.

i mentioned the fact that nicolina has a pair of scissors on her necklace in my previous post. personally, i think that those are the scissors she actually uses when shes sewing. the big scissors are for show/combat. her workspace tends to be hectic and she loses stuff a lot, so she keeps the smaller ones her necklace so it doesnt get lost as easily.

bonus abt the scissor necklace. i pointed that fact out to my polycule and my boyfriend said "her chewelry..../most likely not" in response and i think he's actually SO FUCKING TRUE ABOUT THAT. nicolina has a tendency to chew on things when focusing or stressed, and her most common victims are her dress, her fair or her scissors. basically anything nearby that isnt herself. the scissors have the worst texture to bite down on but also they dont leave fibers in her mouth like fabric or hair. she's definitely ripped her dress before by biting down on it and accidentally tearing it.

more of a character analysis thing but i find it SO FUCKING TELLING that she literally BEGS to die with her mask on. the mask is both the representation of their suffering, as well as, you know, an actual mask that hides their feelings. she doesn't want anyone to see the ugliness hidden underneath. she wants everything to be in control. if she's still happy, if she's still alive, then that means some of this is salvageable. she can fix this. they will suffer for years and years on end because they is what they deserve but they will survive and she will make sure of it because she need to fix this. it's her job.

the reason she goes insane and basically forces herself into a constant manic state is because she can't be sad or else she'll have to acknowledge to herself and those around her that they are royally Fucked. which, of course, leads to her losing herself even faster becaue of the pressure she placed on herself.

i think the resentment she holds for sancho is merely because she desperately wanted a connection between the two, but sancho denied her at every chance. not consciously, mind you, but because of how scared sancho is of connection. even in the world where she chooses the family above her father, she keeps them all at arm's length.

i believe all of this because, when nicolina saw sancho again, as don quixote, above all else she was excited. don quixote herself describes nicolina as giddy.

you could say it's because she's actually trying to hide her anger, or that she's hallucinating quixote senior over sinner quixote, but i dont think either of those are the case.

i think it's because she knows its sancho that she's so excited. shes aware of where quixote senior is, still on the windmill where they all left him to rot, there's no reason for her to *not* know that. we can also see that she's prone to moments of lucidity, as seen here:

but i also don't think... she's really hates sancho? sure, sancho left them all, and she seems angry at her later for abandoning them and never wearing her clothes, but i think that may be just what she's telling herself. i think she's moreso angry at the idea of sancho. or at least what she did. she hated the fact that father clearly loved her more, but also that, of all people, shes the one that got off scott free. she should be just as guilty ad the rest of them!!!! shes a bloodfiend too!!!! but no!!!!!!! apparently she's perfect and innocent just because she was father's favorite!!!!!!!!!!!

but now she's back and she's going to pay the price all of them did! together!! as a family!!!!!!!

just

augh

nicolina..., i miss you girlie.

sniffle

[accidentalmistress]

Snzfic - Sparks of Something New

I'm planning to post a Zayne snzfic soon, but I realized that I never posted the first Zayne fic on Tumblr. So, here's the first snzfic I've written with my OC Zayne: a six and a half foot tall nerd with a PhD in immunology and the worst allergies on the planet.

Word count: 2852

Content and warnings: male allergy sneezing; mild swearing

------------------

No one uses the cubicle next to me. Or the one in front of me, for that matter. I'd say no one uses the one behind me, either, but the only thing behind my cubicle is a wall painted in a hideous dark orange color that some far-removed executive probably thought would be "fun" or "invigorating." There's no one in the cubicle on my other side, the one that shares a wall with mine. The ones diagonally in front me are empty, too. In fact, no one else sits in my row, or in either of the adjacent rows. This entire section is empty, excepting little ol’ me, of course.

When I requested moving my desk after that whole incident with my supervisor Greg, HR claimed that this deserted patch of cubicles that sits down a short flight of steps in the half-sunken ground floor of the lab building was the only area with open seats. I know that's bullshit. The Boys' Club of Upper Management wanted to shove me somewhere out of the way—in a whole separate building, even. Joke's on them: I thrive in solitude. I love having this quiet corner all to myself, without the dull drudgery of small talk or people bothering me with inane questions. I put my earbuds in, get in the zone, and focus on my work without distractions.

Which is why it's super weird when I hear someone in the cubicle across from mine.

I've been so engrossed in what I'm doing that I didn't notice anyone coming back here. It's only because of a lull in the music playing through my earbuds that I notice anything at all. It sounds like… heavy breathing?

"Heh… heEHHhh! … Hh'xcht! … h'gnKT! Heh-hahCHT!  Ugghh…"

Someone is sneezing like crazy in the empty cube next to me. Or, rather, they're stifling an onslaught of sneezes. Do they not know I'm here? I unlock my phone and touch the pause button on Spotify. Oh, I am so glad I didn't start jamming out when “Careless Whisper” came on, because when I get really into it I do the saxophone parts and everything.

Still, I'm honestly a little surprised whoever it is hasn't noticed me yet, or at least the clicking of keyboard keys beneath my fingers. From the sound of it, though, they're probably focused on their own problems with, y'know, breathing. Besides, if they're expecting this area to be deserted, it may not even cross their mind that someone could be back here.

I slowly push my office chair backwards and lean so I can look into the cubicle across the aisle to my right. Sure enough, someone is sitting at the desk. Well, more like slumped over it. Looks like a guy. I watch his back spasm a few more times.

"Gh-CHT! CHT! hhCHT! heh-EHssht! Mmmhh…"

Capping off another string of stifles is a pathetic-sounding whimper that tells me this is not the beginning of his suffering. I have no idea whether he's been back here for a while now or if his problems started somewhere else and he only snuck back here moments ago. Man, why’d he have to come to this section for his little sneeze attack break or whatever? I know I have no claim over these rows of empty cubes, but even so it feels like he's intruding on my quiet sanctuary of productivity.

I could try to ignore him—turn up my music, pretend he isn't there, and refocus on my work. Maybe he'll remain blissfully ignorant of my existence and leave quietly whenever he's done, uh… getting whatever it is out of his system.

Yeah, right. Refocus? There's no way I'll be able to refocus as long as I know he's there. His mere presence will loom like an unseen specter and eat holes in my concentration. Which means my only real choices are to sit quietly and hope he leaves, or make my presence known and hope he leaves. One of those options will have far more immediate results, so I sigh lightly and remove my earbuds.

I get up and go peer at him from the relative safety of standing partly concealed behind the cubicle wall next to the doorway. Do cubicles have doorways? Whatever, the opening entrance thing. He's facedown on the desk, forehead resting on his arms and a box of tissues close at hand. I can't see his face, but I don't think I recognize him. Dark brown hair that’s on the longer side and messy in that tousled, “I just woke up like this” way that I can never achieve when I try to do it intentionally. Slim build. Wearing a white coat. Lab coat means lab guy. His whole upper body tenses up every time he sneezes.

“Heh-chxt! EhCH’nx! Huhh… God, it won't stop…”

"You all right there?"

I take a kind of perverse satisfaction in the way he jumps. His head snaps up, and he fixes me with a wide-eyed stare behind round-rimmed glasses. I'm struck by just how blue his eyes are. It's a deep blue, like a sky just beginning to darken. Now that I can see his face, I know I definitely don't recognize him, but something twitches in my gut all the same.

"Wh-wha-!? Oh n-no- heh-hehh- hhx'ch-TIEW! Heh-ts’CHIUHH! heGH’SHiuhh! HAH-GHSHIEEW!!"

He tries to keep stifling, but I guess I startled him too badly, because he quickly breaks down into a full-blown sneezing fit. It sounds pretty harsh, too, and I have to admit that I feel a little bad.

"Uh… sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"N-no, no, it's- heh-tchiuhh! I, um… I di-hihdn't know anyone was o-over heh-here."

I point across the aisle to my cubicle.

"My desk is right there, my dude."

His face is already flushed from sneezing, especially across his nose, which has a prominent aquiline shape and Roman bump at the bridge. I can just barely make out that he has freckles beneath that blush. He gets a few shades darker before my eyes.

"Wh- R-really? I- oh, hh'chnxt! Nguh… I-I'm so sorry, I ha- hah-shiew! h-had no idea anyone even s-sat over here. Oh, God, then you've been here this whole t-time?" He groans and puts his face in his hands. "Oh man… this day can't get any worse… heh-chtt! Nnhh…"

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I had headphones on, so I only just noticed you were here… So, uh… you sick or something?"

He shakes his head and his eyes screw shut as he grabs a handful of tissues, then he draws in a deep breath and buries his face in them.

"Hehh-GSSHHT!! … Allergies."

“Oh…”

I’m not the best conversationalist, but I feel like I should say something else, so my brain spins a roulette wheel of possible responses that apparently lands on: “To what?”

He looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes and sniffles miserably.

“Everything. Dust, mold, the pollen of every flower and tree you can think of, cats, dogs, fragrances. I swear a light breeze will set me off… -snfff- I th-think what’s really geh-getting me now is the- the- heh- the r- ragweed- heh! HEH-CHSHIEW! ESHyuu!”

He blows his nose into his wad of tissues with a wet honk and a slight moan. Part of me says I should just say a quick "welp, hope you feel better", go back to my desk, and really crank my music up. And yet…

There's something about this guy that glues my feet right where I’m standing. I don't know if it's instinct or empathy or the fact that, despite the streaming eyes and red, sniffling nose, he's actually kind of cute. In the same way a scraggly, wet kitten is, I guess.

"Wow, that… sucks. Bless you."

"Thanks… Um… I-I'm Zayne, by the way. Zayne Reynolds. -snndf-"

I nod, slowly. I'm pretty sure I remember there being a Dr Reynolds in the immunology department. Guess this is him.

"Lynette Sparks. So, like… do you take medication or anything?”

He nods and looks away to the side with a slightly uncomfortable look.

“Mhmm. B-but this morning, I um… Heh'ISSHiuh! -snf- I-I was running late, and I… I forgot.”

“Oh. Uh, well… Can I do anything for you? Or get you anything?"

He regards me with some surprise, eyebrows raised.

"You… want to he-help m- heh-hehh- HIH'chgdt! Nngh… -snfff- You want to help me?"

"Is that weird?" I say the words slowly, second-guessing myself. Maybe he'd rather be left alone.

"N-no, I didn't mean— It's just the guys I work with don't usually… Th-they don't, uh…" He sniffles, nose scrunching with obvious irritation. "Oh no… I-I'm gonna… hehh…"

His chest jumps with hitches of increasing urgency, and I can't help but notice the way his reddened nostrils twitch. His voice quavers and rises in pitch as his breath catches.

"G-gonna h-have a f-fit. Oh God- hehh! HhheEHH!"

He stifles a sneeze. Then another. And another. And another. The next he tries desperately to stifle as well, but the outburst breaks through his efforts to contain it, and from there it's all downhill. A dam has broken. His body is wracked by more and more powerful sneezes, and all he can do now is grip the bundle of tissues tight against his face to catch the expulsions and muffle the sound.

"HEH-TCHIUHH!! EHHSHHGHT! EHHSHHGHT! HEHH-EHH'SSHHIUHH! Ehsht!-Ehsht!-Ehsht! Ehh'SHHIUHH! Oh God- heh'CHSHIUHH!"

He goes on like that for what has to be at least a full minute, and I can think of nothing I can do but try not to stare. By the time he's done, his entire face is cherry red, and his breath comes in labored pants. He moans.

"Oh my God… I'm- I'm s-so sorry. I can't h-help it- Hah-gghhssiuh! Oh man… now I'm lightheaded… I-I’m really sorry…"

My face pinches into a scowl. "What? You- Why are you apologizing?" I sigh and smooth my features. "I was gonna ask if you're okay, but… you're obviously not."

Any irritation I harbored at having my workflow concentration broken feels insignificant and petty now. I may be antisocial, but I'd have to be pretty friggin heartless to just go back to my desk and leave this poor guy on his own.

"Give me a minute." I point a warning finger at him. "And don't go anywhere!"

He looks up at me with confused and bleary eyes. He doesn't even need to speak: his expression screams, "Why would I?"

I duck into my cubicle and grab my bag, hauling it up onto my desk. Rummaging through, I find a small zipper pouch, which I toss lightly into the air and catch with a smirk. Then it's off to the opposite side of the room where a water cooler sits plugged into the wall. I'd heard the phrase "water cooler talk," but I didn't think offices still had actual water coolers until I started working here. Not that there's anyone around for me to talk to, but the water cooler is genuine enough, and I fill one of the little paper cups.

I find the ailing Dr Reynolds much as I left him: hunched over the vacant desk with tissues attached to his face like a diver with a SCUBA mask. I plunk the water down next to him before unzipping the pouch and rifling through until I pull out a small, neon pink pill in a plastic blister pack.

"Here. Benadryl. Might make you sleepy, but I figure that's preferable to… this."

Zayne raises his head and stares at the pill in my outstretched hand for a few silent seconds. I clear my throat when it gets awkward.

"Uh, you don't have to take it if you don't want to."

That at least spurs him to respond. "N-no, I don't- I mean- heh-chhzhiuh! I-I'll take it if… you're sure?"

I raise an eyebrow. I don't know why he's making it sound like a question.

"I wouldn't be offering it to you if I wasn't."

"R-right… sorry. Thank you."

He extends a hand, and I drop the pill into his open palm. He sneezes twice while trying to get the blister pack open, and I'm about to offer to open it for him when he finally gets it himself. I watch the tiny pill vanish as he downs the water and sits back with a sigh. He looks exhausted.

"That should… eh… heh'chgt! Guh… Should hopefully kick in soon… -snfff- Um, thank you again… You said you're, um, Lynette?"

I nod. "Yeah. Sparks. Lynette Sparks. And please don't say something like, 'sparks flew' when we met. I've heard it a bajillion times before, and it's not a great pickup line."

"Huh? P-pickup line? Why would I… try to… um… heh-heh-hehh! HEHTCHIEW! Nnh. -sndf- Excuse me… Um, I-I wouldn't do that… T-try to hit on you, I mean. That's not, um, work appropriate."

Wow, this guy's a dork. I fight a giggle that threatens to bubble up, but it's not that I want to laugh at him. His timid stammering is actually oddly endearing. Maybe this is what people mean when they call someone "adorkable." I cross my arms as a smirk creeps across my face.

“Well, I appreciate your professionalism."

I'm not lying. I genuinely do appreciate that he's being considerate of me as a coworker. Yet, there's something else, too: a twinge of disappointment. Well, that's… new. I chew on my bottom lip for a second before I decide to take a chance.

"So… what if we got to know each other better first?"

I think that makes him short circuit, because he just stares at me for a good five seconds before he can speak again.

"I… What?"

"I'm just saying, if we got to know each other, that would maybe, y'know, open an avenue towards things happening outside of work. Where flirting might be more appropriate. I mean, if you actually wanted to. It's okay to say no; for all I know you're not even into women."

"N-no, I am! Uh, interested in women, that is. I just- I- oh, h-hang on- ah-hahh-HAESHIUU! Nguh, excuse me… I mean, um…"

His gaze rests on the desktop for a few more moments. I can't tell anymore how much of the flush in his face is from allergies and how much is from how flustered he is. I don’t know what it says about me as a person, but I can’t help but think it’s cute. He takes a breath. When he looks back up at me, though, there's something strange at the back of those deep blue eyes.

"Are you messing with me?"

My eyebrows twitch upwards for a moment. In retrospect, I can see how he might think that, what with my rather flippant tone. I’ve never been good at any form of socializing, let alone flirting, so I end up hiding behind sarcasm and humor. That way any screw ups I make can be passed off as a joke, no harm done. Of course, it doesn’t always pay off, like right now. In fact, I may have just blown my chances.

I clear my throat with a somewhat embarrassed cough.

“That was not my intention, no. I’m sorry if I offended you or made you uncomfortable. Maybe we should just, uh, forget I said anything?”

I take a step back with an awkward chuckle, not really intending to return to my own cubicle yet, just wanting to offer a little more space between us in case he is uncomfortable. He must think I'm leaving, though, because he stands up with such abrupt force that the chair he was sitting in rolls and hits the wall behind him. I can’t help but stare for a moment with slightly wide eyes. What I could not appreciate while he was seated (and, furthermore, hunched over), is that Zayne is tall. Really fucking tall. Like, he must be at least six foot six, which means he’s over a foot taller than I am.

Well, shit. He just got a heck of a lot hotter in my book. I'm not the least bit ashamed to admit: I have a thing for tall guys, and the taller the better.

He doesn’t seem to notice my reaction, though, or maybe he’s used to people gawking at his height.

“Wait, I didn’t mean- H-honestly I just… couldn't understand why you’d be interested in me. B-but I would, um, l-like to… ah… ahh-hahh-AESCHIUUH! S-sorry! I-I’d like to get to know you better… if that’s really alright with you.”

The corner of my mouth twitches into a smile that blossoms wider by the moment, and I nod.

“Yeah… Yeah, that's definitely alright with me.”

No one uses the cubicle next to me, and suddenly I'm finding myself even more grateful for that fact than usual. I don't know why Zayne chose this area of the building to hunker down and suffer through his allergy attack, but it seems those dickheads in HR did me a greater favor than I realized when they moved me here.

After all, this could be the start of something very interesting…

[princess-glassred]

Au where Butch and Sonia get married and now Henry and Eddie gotta be step siblings, and they both suffer greatly because of it.

You might think Butch and Sonia would be terrible for each other, and have nothing in common, but you'd be wrong. They are actually weirdly into each other for various reasons. Butch likes a woman who will baby him and take care of him like a mom (he's traditional in the worst way). While Sonia likes a big scary police officer as her hubby cause it means he can constantly protect Eddie when he's out and about. He day drinks, she binge eats, and they both never get off the couch or stop watching tv. The only real conflict of interest between them is parenting styles, but Butch doesn't really care to discipline a kid that isn't his and Sonia doesn't give a shit about Butch abusing Henry unless he starts doing to to Eddie.

Henry and Eddie were very angry when they found out who their parents were dating, but Henry's dad doesn't give a shit what Henry thinks and Eddie's mom insists butch will be good for Eddie. Now that Henry and Eddie live together their dynamic is very Rodrick and Greg Heffley. You'd also probably assume Henry would abuse Eddie alot now that they live together but aside from typical older brother bullshit Henry leaves him alone. He prefers to bully him outside the house, mostly because, and he would never ever admit this, he's a little terrified of Sonia (she's a fucking massive 40 year old woman, and even if he did fight back Butch would beat Henry for it later).

Speaking of beatings, Henry notes that it's odd how Butch doesn't beat Sonia like he beat his mother. It appears Butch seems aware that with Sonia he's got a good thing going, and she's also bigger than him so she could probably kick his ass if he wanted, so he doesn't hit her. On the other hand, Eddie notes that the way she coddles butch is disturbingly similar to how she coddles him, but he's DEFINETLY not gonna unpack the implications of that shit.

Henry would never admit it, but a teeny tiny part of him is kinda bummed that Sonia doesn't care about him. Maybe it was a pipe dream, but for a hot minute he considers it might be nice to have a mother. Unfortunately, if you thought Sonia was a bad mother, just wait till you see her as a step mother. Even though Henry is an abuser himself, if this was cinderella he would not doubt be the one cooking and cleaning all day. At the wedding Sonia purpofully ignores him and leaves him out of all the pictures.

Eddie and Henry have not acclimated to living together very well, Eddie particularly hates when Sonia INSISTS Eddie calls Henry his brother. Because of that he'll sometimes go in Henry's room and be like "MY mother says dinner is ready, and she asks me to come get you because you're NOT my brother.". The fact they have to share a bathroom now only makes it worse, because Henry is unsurprisingly gross as fuck. His rooms a pigstye too, and his mom forces Eddie to help Henry clean it from time to time.

That's the only chore Sonia will ever let Eddie do, Butch has tried to force Eddie to help on the farm but Sonia hates it so he just lets him get away with not working. Henry finds that super unfair, but any complaints about this makes his dad threaten him so he keeps quiet until he can pummel Eddie for it later. Family dinners are super awkward, because Henry and Eddie don't really wanna talk to each other even on good days. That's fine for their parents because they constantly are so wrapped up in whatever gross flirting they're doing at the table to notice their sons silence or vehemnt digust with them. And don't even get me started on how awkward it is when they invite their friends over.

At the end of the day though, despite how much Henry and Eddie loathe each other for many valid and not so valid reasons, and their resistance to ever accept each other as family, there are a few... odd moments here and there. Fleeting moments where their parents are acting crazy, and they lock eyes, and there is a quick flash of understanding, and possibly even a bit of sympathy.

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

The Glasses - The Dark Side

Author's Note: I'm trying something a little bit different with this story. I'm calling it a mirror story. I am going to write a story with the same basic prompt and ideas in two different ways. One wholesome and one dark. This is the dark story. I hope you all enjoy it! Read the wholesome version here.

Greg fancied himself an intellectual. He had a PhD, was the top of his field, and respected by all of his colleagues. He spent all of his free time reading books and papers, absorbing knowledge like a sponge.

Or at least he did, until he met Daddy.

Daddy was everything Greg desired. Daddy was tall, strong, assertive, and brilliant. Greg found himself immediately under the other man's spell.

The first day Daddy brought Greg home, Daddy sat Greg on the couch and pulled the glasses off of Greg's face.

"That's much better," Daddy growled confidently as he watched Greg's panic set in.

Greg, in contrast, found all of his self-confidence leave him as his corrective lenses were removed. Without his glasses, all Greg could see was a soft blur where Daddy's face should be. Greg was almost completely blind. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life, and he hated it.

"Um, could I please have my glasses back?" Greg asked timidly, butterflies fluttering in his stomach from the fear of being left without his glasses for any expanse of time, "I can't see anything without them."

Daddy laughed in response.

"Oh, my pet, you only get to see when Daddy says so."

Horrified, Greg dives for where he thought his glasses were, only to find himself perfectly draped over Daddy's lap.

"Oh, Greggy, you need to learn whose in charge!" Daddy said before Greg felt his pants pulled down to his knees and blows begin to rain down on his bottom.

Daddy never returned Greg's glasses that night, and, despite his horror at being effectively blind, all Greg made no attempt to get them back. With a sore bottom, Greg didn't dare cross Daddy again, especially once he realized that he was entirely reliant on the dominant man to care for him.

Over the course of the night, Greg struggled to care for himself. He sat frustrated through the whole movie, unable to tell what was going on.

He stumbled through Daddy's unfamiliar apartment, unable to tell where he was going. He made a mess of himself eating dinner, unable to see the food he attempted to shovel into his mouth or the utensil he was using to feed himself. And worst of all, Greg eventually ended up wetting himself when he couldn't find the restroom in time to relieve himself.

The whole time, Daddy looked on and teased him.

"Careful, big boy! If you're having this much trouble walking, maybe you should crawl?"

"What a messy boy! Looks like a certain someone could use a big!"

"Oh no! Did the big, smarty-pants professor go potty in his pants?"

Over the course of the night, Greg felt more embarrassed and humiliated than he had ever felt before. By removing just one of his possessions, Daddy has functionally reduced him to a small child.

When they parted that night, Daddy gave Greg his glasses back before showing Greg some pictures and videos on his phone. Greg, able to see again, looked on in horror at images of himself covered in food like a toddler, crawling on the floor after tripping, and, worst of all, wetting his pants.

"What do you think all of those smart colleagues you have would think of you if these ever hit the internet?" Daddy asked like a spider who knew it's pretty was now stuck in its web.

"Please, no…" was all Greg could say in response.

After some 'negotiation,' Greg was able to convince Daddy to keep the images private in exchange for Greg's future cooperation.

As Greg left Daddy's house that night, he felt a strange since of dread set in at the prospect of what the beautiful man had in store for him next. He couldn't imagine giving in and losing his personal autonomy like that again.

Pursuant to their deal, Greg kept seeing Daddy after that night. Their dates took on a common form. At the start of each one, Daddy would remove Greg's glasses and take control over the other man. In turn, Greg would find himself fully submitting to Daddy and all of the humiliations he had devised for him. The few times Greg balked at his treatment, a quick trip over Daddy's lap, a reminder of the photos in Daddy's possession, and a threat to set Greg free without his glasses was all that was needed to remind the submissive man of his place in their relationship.

Over time, Greg--the PhD, the intellectual, and the brain--found Daddy taking more and more autonomy from him each time they met. It was painful for Greg, a struggle and hit to his ego each time he lost a part of himself. However, with Daddy's power over him he could do nothing to stop each relinquishment of freedom.

Over time, Daddy started picking the food Greg ate. He found his mature diet replaced with bland Cheerios, dino nuggets, and other foods designed for the picky palates of toddlers. When he complained, Daddy just pointed out it was easier to eat those foods with his fingers, since he couldn't see well enough to use utensils without his glasses.

He began drinking all of his drinks, which had predominantly become milk, out of baby bottles. Daddy told Greg it was to keep him from spilling given his lack of depth perception, but Greg could help but fill like an infant everytime the rubber teat was pressed between his lips.

Having his pants and underwear removed and replaced with pull-ups and, eventually, diapers each time he entered Daddy's apartment was similarly mortifying. Daddy made sure to emphasize the importance of the extra protection each time he dressed Greg in the infantile garments, given Greg's proven inability to make it to the toilet on time (something made worse each time Daddy changed him out of his soggy padding after Greg repeatedly failed to locate the bathroom in Daddy's home).

Daddy also stopped letting Greg pick out his own clothes. Daddy pointed out that the artificially blind man couldn't see them, and Daddy was the one who had to worry about getting Greg's clothes off to change him anyway, so giving Greg the freedom to dress himself just didn't make sense.

However, no matter how much control Daddy took from Greg, at the end of every 'date,' be it for a few hours or a weekend, Daddy would hand Greg his glasses back, returning Greg to the adult world of academia and filling Greg with a sense of hope that maybe, this would be the last time Daddy would call him over to play.

That pattern continued until one day, Daddy finally made the declaration that Greg had been dreading to hear for months.

"Baby boy, I think it's time you moved in with Daddy full time."

Greg started to cry in his place on the floor where he sat on a soft blanket dressed in only a diaper and onesie while failing to stack wooden blocks due to his poor vision.

Greg immediately crawled (walking haven been forbidden after a particularly nasty trip) over to the Daddy shaped blur sitting on the couch and stared up at him with pleading eyes.

"Please no, Daddy? Please! I hate it here! I hate being your stupid little baby!"

Daddy beant down, wrapped his large hand around Greg's cheek and chin before shoving a pacifier between Greg's lips.

"Hush, pet," Daddy growled softly, his face menacingly close to Greg's, "I've made it very clear who is in charge in this relationship. It seems like you need a reminder."

Daddy then harshly pulled Greg over his lap before proceeding to deliver the worst spanking Greg had ever experienced. At the end of it, the apartment was filled with nothing but the sound of Greg's soft sobs and the crinkling of his diaper, as he thought about the ramifications of daring to question Daddy's judgment.

The next few months passed in a blur. After moving into Daddy's house, Greg found himself wearing his glasses less and less.

Deprived of his ability to see, Greg spent more time forced to participate in infantile activities like playing with blocks or trucks or futilely trying to color in a coloring book instead of reviewing the latest literature in his field like he used to.

Greg's coworkers started to notice how the once brilliant, workaholic man's performance had dropped off. Greg was pulled into his boss' office and lectured on his need to improve, but, Greg, who once prided himself on his career success and independence, found himself unable to improve his performance at work given Daddy's humiliating restrictions at home.

After six-months of living together, Greg's boss had had enough and fired his once best employee.

Sitting in Daddy's lap in nothing but a soggy diaper, Greg cried as he told his tormentor about his lose of a job.

"Daddy," he began softly, hesitant for fear of judgment at what was coming next.

"Yes, pet?" Daddy asked Greg, his ever predatory tone dripping from his every word.

"I was, was, was fired today," Greg chokes out between sobs.

Daddy smiled, although Greg couldn't see it. He rubbed Greg's back possessively.

"Oh, did someone's boss finally realize what a soggy little pants wetter he really is? I can't say I'm surprised, but I am ~very~ excited for what that means. You can finally be my diapered little pet full time!" Daddy said triumphantly.

Greg's sobs redoubled at his sudden understanding of the truth in Daddy's words. He tucked his thumb in his mouth, a soothing habit Daddy had long ago trained in him, and continued to cry in his tormentors arms.

Daddy brushed Greg's hair with his fingers, relishing this moment of absolute victory.

"Daddy is so excited for you to be my soggy little pet forever."

Daddy laughed a little as Greg continued to cry before grabbing a small object that Greg couldn't quite make out off the table.

"I guess you won't be needing these anymore. Maybe we should get them mounted for posterity?"

Greg frowned.

"What, Daddy?"

Daddy responded with a guffaw.

"Your glasses!"

Greg felt his heart drop in sudden realization. Daddy was right. As Daddy's permanent pet, he would probably never wear be allowed to wear glasses again. His world was now fated to forever be a blur.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Valentine's Day, Shana!

Can we get more from F is for Frankenstein? Or more 3 faced Goddess? (More of the Iron Man stuff basically. I don't even really go there anymore, but your writing is so great)

a continuations of 1 2 3 4

The thing is, Rhodey would actually prefer it if Tony didn’t come for them, if he didn’t risk his life by walking into what is so obviously a trap meant to kill him, even if it meant both he and Steve died instead.

Morgan is a child still, far from ready to take the throne, and Pepper would manage but at the end of the day this country needs its king – need Tony, not only doing the work that he is to win this war, but as a son of Stark, as a member of the family that’s ruled for over a millennia. Even to those that believe the worst rumors about Tony, his presence on the throne is still a comfort, still a sign that the Goddess hasn’t forsaken them. Morgan won’t be viewed the same. She’s too young.

At the end of the day, he and Steve are just soldiers. They’re far more replaceable.

Beyond that, these are the people that made Tony swallow a star. They don’t know he’s the Iron Mage, but they probably assume that the Iron Mage is going to be nearby anyway, and are preparing for it. Which means Tony will have the element of surprise going for him

But when he was nineteen, Tony kissed him under a peach tree, tasting of the fruit they’d shared, and neither of them have looked back since.  

When the situations had been reversed, Rhodey hadn’t given up, hadn’t stopped looking, and if they’d offered him an invitation like they’re offering Tony, he would have taken it regardless of the danger. And he’d like to say he did all that for his king, but he wouldn’t have gone to nearly as much effort for Greg, for Howard.

He did it because it was Tony.

And not an ounce of logic or sense is going to keep Tony from doing the same.

Not that there’ll be any. Pepper probably didn’t even hesitate, he thinks fondly. They’ve been friends and partners too long. He’d tell Tony to go after Pepper too, even while wishing he wouldn’t come after him now.

���Why are you smiling?” Steve asks warily.

Rhodey rolls his head to the side. Steve is eight years younger than him, six years younger than Tony, and most of the time Rhodey doesn’t notice the difference. He’s seen more war than Rhodey has, after all, and has some mannerisms that remind him of his grandfather. He ages slowly, thanks to the sorcerer’s enchantment, but enough people have spelled themselves with a false youth that it’s not jarring enough to be noteworthy.

Right now, he looks even younger than he is, tired and wary. Rhodey would have thought his resignation would make him look older, but instead if brings to mind every child that’s found themselves trapped on the battlefield.

“It’s going to be alright,” he says gently. “He’ll come.”

Steve grimaces and looks away. “Even if he does. They might just kill us anyway.”

They might, but their sorcerers are skilled enough to read the enchantments tangled on top of both of them. Tony would know if Rhodey was dead. They performed that spell long before Tony ever sat on the throne. Which means they’ll keep them alive at least long enough for Tony to see them, which is probably all the time he’ll need.

But that’s nothing he can say to Steve, nothing he’ll understand when he doesn’t know the king is Edward and the Iron Mage both, so he tilts to the side until their shoulders are pressed together and hopes Steve finds comfort in that.

[superwhipbros132]

Heres are some art for the other characters in dogman if their younger selves were shown, aside well as clarence, Genie, and Dippy which were already shown and knight, which I already came up with. It took me a little while to come up their names and appearance, mostly with the names because it was hard to choose what their last names should be.

Anyways, Heres some descriptions of some of the characters. Not all of them, just some:

Genie S. Lady: Genie is the youngest out of the kids, and the quietest to. While she is playful and easily excitable like any other child, she can be a little unnerving to some people, especially when she doodles strange pictures of weird animal hybrids, hopefully this doesn't give her any ideas when she's older......right?..

Sarah Hatoff: Sarah is a girl with a dream, that dream being? To become the best news reporter the world has ever seen! Ever since she's seen reporters and news anchers on TV, she's been working hard to make sure she gets that career. She is "practicing" with a toy microphone that she uses to ask kids about things at the worst possible moments, which makes her a bit irritating.

Braxton Reed and Maude Sterling: Aka, mean boy and mean girl. They are both the jerks of the city and like to pick on kids and adults they find inferior to them, their main target for their belittling is Douglas and Greg, mostly because they think Douglas too stupid to do or say anything (even though he as a black belt in karate), and Greg, because he is too weak and small to fight back, or at least not do any damage.

Dippy Dip Dipperson: Dippy is a ditsy little kid in her own little world, not really shown playing or interacting with other kids too much, usually only being seen getting harassed by Braxton and/or Maude on occasion. Maybe one day, she can prove that she is more than just a buck-toothed dummy...or not.

[cryoniide]

could you do a house x male reader where reader is also struggling through a drug addiction to the point they overdose, and house wonders why they arent responding gets mad at them but then finds out reader is in the hospital due to the OD? angsty comfort? sorry im struggling at the moment and this sounds nice, i understand if its a bit too serious to write about tho

of course i can, i tried my best sorry if it isn’t exactly what you want, i can redo it if needed ^^

i’m here now

gregory house x male reader

it was monday, a universal day that was hated by everyone. why? no one really knows. but, today was a very bad day for y/n l/n. he was an employee at princeton-plainsboro teaching hospital. he was under the finest doctor there, dr. gregory house. now, no one knew why the boy wanted to work with the drug addicted sadist. no one but him. his reasoning? because him and dr. house have one thing in common. drug addiction.

for y/n, it started when he was in high school. he had a shitty childhood which continued into his teen years. only when he found drugs had he found peace. but, as the years progressed, so did his addiction. it’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t even remember a time he was sober, besides the weeks leading up to his every-6-month checkups, which were the closest thing to hell on earth.

but, why was it a shitty day for y/n? well, he had given the wrong diagnosis, and got called an idiot for almost killing a patient. he missed breakfast. got his lunch stolen by his boss. but, the worst thing of all was that there was a new patient. someone from his past. someone he never, ever, wanted to see again. his mother. when he saw her, he turned around.

‘fuck this shit.’

after that, no one saw him the whole day. it was only a few hours after y/n left when house started to get angry.

“how dare that brat leave right after we get assigned a case!” he complained to wilson, who rolled his eyes in response, “have you tried, i dont know, asking him?” wilson replied, not bothering to look up from the folder in his hand.

the whole day, house toyed with the patient to release his frustrations. to be homest, he was starting to get less angry and more worried. he made an excuse saying that y/n is the sharpest one on the team and that the rest of them can’t function without him. when, in reality, house was the one that couldn’t function. wilson was the only one who knew why house was actually worried. why? well, the two sort of have a..romantic relationship.

he tried reaching him. call after call after call, but it all went straight to voicemail. after treating the patient, house found out it was y/n’s mom. he was about to go to his lovers home, when he got a page.

‘room 202, now.’

it was from lisa. he rushed down to the room, seeing the unconscious body of his lover. he rushed to his side grabbing y/n’s hand and looking up at the cuddy. “he overdosed…on oxycodone.”

‘fuck.’ house thought.

how could he had let this slip past him? how could he have not noticed that you were suffering all this time? he wanted to beat himself up over this, but he knew you wouldn’t want that. so he waited, sitting in the chair and watching your vitals all night. he didn’t want to risk losing someone so close to him. not again.

you woke up the next day, your head pounding and your feelings all over the place. you were glad to be alive but, god you wish you weren’t. “y/n?” you turned to the voice, seeing greg sitting next to you. he looked miserable, the bags under his eyes darker than they were before. “are you okay? why didn’t you tell me?” you didn’t say anything. to be honest, you wish you could’ve told him. that you were suffering. that you wanted help. needed help. but, it wasn’t easy to admit you were an addict.

“i know it’s hard, but please, talk to me.” you looked in his eyes. he was worried. genuinely worried. right there, tears escaped your eyes, streaming down your face. he got up, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. “it’s okay, y/n. i’m here, now. you’re safe, i promise.”

a/n; I HOPE THIS IS OKAY. i tried my best. again, loveeee writing angst, decided to throw in a sad lil backstory hope you dont mind and i hope you enjoyed. on a serious note, if any of you are struggling with addiction, please don’t be afraid to talk to someone and get help, even if its with a friend at first. i have a family member who’s an alcoholic, and i know it isnt the same as drugs but it hurts me to see that person going down this path. i worry that one day they aren’t gonna be here anymore and i really dont want that to be soon. so please, talk to someone, anyone, and don’t be afraid to ask for help <33 you are loved and cared for i promise

[bridgertonbabe]

I’m popping this here in case you get the urge

But the great Cluedo incident of ‘19…

I need to know what happened!!

BSSG Group Chat

Penelope: So other than all of that

Penelope: How did you enjoy your first game night @ Phillip @ Michael?

Michael:

Phillip: ⬆⬆⬆

Michael: To say I didn't enjoy a single second of last night would be an understatement

Simon: Yeah sounds about right.

Phillip: I can't lie.

Phillip: I did google how to go about getting a restraining order.

Penelope: Honestly Phil that's fair

Simon: I did the same thing after my first game night with them

Phillip: Did you actually go through with it?

Simon: I really was on the verge of it ngl

Simon: But alas, I knew it would be far more trouble than it's worth.

Simon: And besides I should have known what I was marrying into after my first game of pall mall 💀

Penelope: And look as much as we love you guys, if the events of last night were enough to scare you off we'd completely and whole-heartedly understand if you wanted to go NC with the rest of the fam.

Phillip: Just one question

Phillip: Is it just game nights and pall mall that sets them all off like that?

Michael: Yeah we really need to know now if they're triggered like that by anything else

Michael: Because if so...

Simon: It's only anything competitive that sets them all off in that way.

Simon: You have my word on that.

Penelope: ⬆⬆⬆

Penelope: Yes and they're particularly at their worst when they're playing as a family.

Penelope: They really know how to push each others buttons but none of them know when to draw the line

Michael: Yeah no shit

Michael: I managed to pick up on that last night when I was trying to put out an actual fucking fire

Simon: I do have to say that last night was an all time low

Simon: They really were all at their absolute worst

Simon: Even I didn't think they could collectively be that bad, especially after the Pictionary incident of '16

Phillip: I mean I guess it's somewhat of a relief to hear that last night wasn't just a bog standard Bridgerton game night

Phillip: Though from the way you guys are talking about it and now with the mentioned "Pictionary incident", it seems their game nights are always a cause for concern and never fun in general

Michael: Very that

Kate: What?!

Kate: What are you talking about?

Kate: Of course game nights are fun!

Penelope:

Simon: Kate

Simon: Are you actually insane

Kate: Just because last night got a little bit crazy doesn't mean game nights on the whole aren't fun!

Phillip: A little bit crazy????

Penelope: Kate multiple people had to go to hospital last night

Kate: Yeah and?

Kate: It's not like it's the first game night we've ended up in A&E

Michael:

Michael: What do you mean this isn't the first game night that you've ended up in A+E?????

Phillip: ⬆⬆⬆⬆⬆⬆⬆⬆⬆⬆⬆⬆

Phillip: ???????????????

Penelope: Kate 2 casualties as a result of a Bridgerton game night is to be expected but 9 is still nine more than any of us would like

Michael: 2 casualties...

Michael: 2 CASUALTIES IS TO BE EXPECTED?!?!?!?

Phillip: I

Kate: Omg Pen it wasn't 9 casualties

Kate: The doctors were just covering their arses with keeping most of them in over night

Kate: They were fine

Simon: They had smoke inhalation Kate

Michael: Your husband had his eyebrows burnt off

Penelope: Which is what happens when you and Anthony throw a tandem strop and set the kitchen alight

Kate: Objection!

Kate:

Kate: If you want to point the finger at who caused the fire then look no further than your wife @ Simon

Simon: First of all I wasn't pointing fingers

Simon: And secondly I was too busy trying to stem Greg's bleeding to notice the fire happening or who caused

Kate: Deflect all you want but your wife was the firestarter 🔥🔥🔥

Kate: The number of casualties was only so high because of her

Penelope: God I just hope Sophie's ok

Michael: Yeah ngl she's the only one I'm concerned for

Kate: I'm sure she's perfectly fine

Kate: Seriously you guys need to chill

Kate: I don't know why you're all being so negative about last night

Phillip: HYACINTH BOUGHT A FUCKING SWITCHBLADE TO A GAME NIGHT

Michael:

Kate: Omg why are you so mad?

Kate: It's not like she attacked you

Phillip: Oh and I should be so fucking grateful should I???

Phillip: That after attacking 3 others Anthony wrestled it off of her before she could get to me????

Michael: Who tf even let her have a switchblade in the first place???

Penelope: I did tell Colin he'd live to regret getting it for her

Phillip: And he got it for her because?!?!

Penelope: It was the one thing she asked him for when he was in Japan and he thought she just wanted it for ornamental reasons even though I explicitly warned him that definitely wasn't the case

Sophie sent a photo

Sophie sent a photo

Penelope: Omg Sophie!!!!

Penelope: 😍

Sophie: Everyone, meet Alexander 💙

Simon: Oh thank god, congrats Soph! x

Michael: Aw made up for you Soph, he's a right lil beauty! 😘

Phillip: Congrats Sophie 🤗

Penelope: He's so beautiful 🥰 how did it go?

Sophie: As smoothly as it could be considering he's 3 weeks early

Michael: I have to say Ben's rocking that eye patch

Sophie: I mean it's not exactly the get up I expected our son to meet his dad wearing but c'est la vie

Simon: How's Charlie finding being a big brother?

Sophie: I think he's more delighted with his dad looking like a pirate than with his baby brother tbh

Sophie: He very excitedly went to his dress up box and put on his pirate costume so he could be just like his daddy and refused to take it off when we were taking photos of him with Alex.

Sophie sent a photo

Penelope: Oh bless him he looks pleased as punch

Sophie: He couldn't hand Alex back to me fast enough so he could have a sword fight with Ben and make him walk the plank

Phillip: Btw just wanted to say Sophie that I'm really sorry that El accused you of faking your water breaking just to get out of the game.

Penelope: I'm sorry on Colin's behalf too Soph

Sophie: It's ok guys, I appreciate it and besides you were the ones who called the ambulance for me.

Simon: Unlike someone.

Michael: @ Kate

Kate: Omg Alex is absolutely gorgeous, congrats Soph! x

Simon: ...

Simon: Anything else you'd like to say?

Penelope: Yeah any apology to extend?

Kate: Ok ok ok

Kate: Sophie I know I didn't believe you were in labour and refused to call an ambulance

Kate: But from my side of things it just seemed really convenient that your contractions started just as you were losing

Michael: This isn't an apology???

Simon: Your newborn nephew isn't evidence enough that you were clearly in the wrong???

Kate: Ok fine I'm sorry for not calling an ambulance when you needed it Sophie!

Sophie: K.

Kate: But I will add, who's to say she didn't fake contractions and then get induced once she got to the hospital?

Sophie has left the chat.

Michael: Jesus fucking Christ

Simon has removed Kate from the chat.

Simon has added Sophie to the chat.

Simon: Don't worry I removed her.

Sophie: Thanks Simon x

Phillip: One more question.

Phillip: Did the Bridgertons corrupt Kate to be like that or was she god forbid like that anyway?

Penelope: Unfortunately Kate married in being equally as deranged as them in any competitive setting 😔

Michael:

Simon: Very that.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Chloe Simon at MMFA:

President Donald Trump has deported at least 261 migrants to the CECOT prison in El Salvador, alleging that many of them are connected to the gang Tren de Aragua. However, the lack of due process for these deportees and the flimsy evidence of gang affiliation has raised serious concerns. Many family members of those who were deported to the prison have claimed that their relative has no criminal background and their tattoos were unrelated to any gang.  But Fox News and Fox Business personalities and guests have continued to claim that those in the prison are “terrorists,” the “worst of the worst,” and “criminal aliens.” In one instance, after co-host Jessica Tarlov mentioned the “numerous examples” of people reportedly without criminal histories getting deported, co-hosts Jesse Watters and Greg Gutfeld attacked her for “showing more sympathy to these illegal alien gangbangers than you showed to American citizens.” Some Fox figures have also celebrated the conditions at CECOT, calling it “hard-core” and comparing the prison to “a scene out of a Mad Max movie.” 

Trump has deported at least 261 migrants to El Salvador’s CECOT prison

The Trump administration has deported over 260 individuals to El Salvador's Terrorism Confinement Center, known as CECOT, invoking the 1798 Alien Enemies Act and alleging without clear evidence that deportees are members of Tren de Aragua and other gangs. According to ICE's “Alien Enemies Act Validation Guide” published by the ACLU, “having a tattoo an ICE officer says is a ‘gang tattoo’ and “displaying ‘logos,’ ‘symbols’ or clothes an ICE officer says are gang signs” are reasons for deportation to the prison. Mother Jones noted, “Robert Cerna, an acting field office director for ICE’s removal operations branch, said the agency ‘did not simply rely on social media posts, photographs of the alien displaying gang-related hand gestures, or tattoos alone.’ But Cerna also acknowledged that many of the Venezuelans deported under the Alien Enemies Act had no criminal history in the United States.” CNN has also reported that some of the tattoos used to identify TdA members are common, including “stars on the shoulder, royal crowns, firearms, trains, dice, roses, tigers and jaguars.” [The Associated Press, 3/21/25; CNN, 3/17/25, 3/25/25; Mother Jones, 3/26/25, Bluesky, 3/30/25] 

Critics of Trump’s policy have argued that he violated the deportees’ rights to due process, as many were removed without proper hearings or substantial evidence. A federal appeals court upheld a district judge’s March 15 order blocking the administration's attempt to continue these deportations, emphasizing the necessity for individuals to have the opportunity to contest their alleged gang affiliations. In response to concerns over due process, Trump “border czar” Tom Homan said, “What were all these young women that were killed and raped by members of (Tren de Aragua) – what was their due process?” Fox News hosts have also defended the Trump administration’s denial of due process for migrants, with Brian Kilmeade arguing that it’s “not practical” to give them due process and Lawrence Jones claiming the U.S. should “revisit” the rights of migrants. [The Associated Press, 3/26/25, 3/25/25; CNN, 3/25/25; Media Matters, 3/28/25] 

[...]

CECOT has a reputation for inhumane treatment and violence

Migrants deported to CECOT face inhumane conditions, including being confined to overcrowded cells for 23 1/2 hours a day. Upon arrival, deportees were immediately subjected to harsh treatment, including being forced to kneel while shackled and being forcibly shaved. Inmates reportedly sleep on metal bunks without mattresses or pillows, have inadequate access to food and health care, and are allowed to leave their cell for only 30 minutes per day. [Mother Jones, 3/26/25; USA Today, 3/22/25; Human Rights Center, 3/25/25]

​Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem recently visited the prison and recorded a video in front of a crowded cell, warning that migrants who are deported from the U.S. could get jailed there. Her visit drew criticism from human rights organizations, which labeled the visit as “political theater” and accused the administration of using fear tactics against immigrant communities. [The Guardian, 3/27/25; The New York Times, 3/28/25] 

Right-wing media outlet Fox “News” baselessly calls the migrants sent to the CECOT concentration camp in El Salvador without due process “criminals” and “terrorists” despite most of these being sent there based on very flimsy evidence of “gang affiliation”.