#gregs just being dramatic about it

[higurehige]

So texas just declared rebellion against the united states ....I live in Texas.... Not really sure how that's gonna go down but, alright, guess we're just fillin out the square that said "civil war" earlier than I expected....

[lunawlw]

im thinking about new ocs for my story :J . . the vibes of the two are kinda as followed

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

Could I request a House fic with the general prompt being a Doctor/Patient pairing? Like House is attracted to (reader) patient. Your choice of fluff or smut

So sorry it's late but this is my first House fic so I wanted it to be good! Hope you like it!

********************************************************************

Dying's Easy

House x reader

description - you don't want to do the surgery and House is determined to change your mind.

word count - 781

warnings - talks of death, illness, terminal illness, hospitals, surgery, being put under.

a/n - my first House pairing fic so let me know what you think!

Masterlist

REQUESTS OPEN - request here

Your whole body ached and felt like your blood had been drained and replaced twice over. You tried to curl up onto your side, in search of the comfort you received from such a childlike pose. But the wires and your fragile bones screamed for you to stop. You fell back onto the bed as tears of frustration poured down your cheeks.

A knock from a distinctly wooden object halted your crying. Upon seeing the face of your doctor you quickly wiped away your tears. But he had already seen.

He limped forward and place a chocolate pudding cup and spoon in the space between your hands. Before moving away he squeezed one of your bony hands, a little part of him sunk at the feel of your fragility.

“I got you a present.” He gestured to the dessert with his cane.

You looked at him suspiciously. “They’re free for patients.”

“I never said I paid for the present. Does our love mean so little that you must attach monetary value to it.” He dramatically placed his hand to his heart in faux hurt.

You giggled. “Thank you.” He smiled at the flicker of joy but his frown returned when he saw your hands uselessly attempt to open the cup in spite of their shaking. He rose and took the cup and opened it for you.

You gave him the sweetest smile you could muster but sunk down in the realisation of your inability to complete the task.

He went back and dragged his chair closer to your bed as you slowly tucked in to the delicious treat. Only taking small bites.

You had come to enjoy the frequent visits with your doctor. It seemed he only needed to be with you to soothe his own worries which you saw furrowed on his face. His team had often remarked how unusual his behaviour was, comparing him to manic genius with no sense of empathy. You found their quips funny especially because of how anachronistic they were to the man who helped you fix your pillows any time you so much as squirmed.

“I heard you’re refusing the surgery.” You halted your eating, your face fell. Of course it was this.

“I just don’t want to.”

“You realise you aren’t choosing between some cosmetic alteration, this is the choice between living and dying.”

“Well maybe I don’t want to live.”

“That’s ridiculous everyone wants to live.” He rolled his eyes.

“Living’s tiring.” Your voice became childlike in your admittance. This shocked him as his focus was no solely on you. “I’m tired, Greg.” Your words shook and were on the precipice of falling. He took your shaking hand in his and they lay linked on your bed.

“I know.” He cooed. “I know I’ve been wrong before, but I know I’m right about this. I won for you, now just let me fight it. For you.”

You still couldn’t bring yourself to look into his eyes, afraid you’d crumble.

“Being alive is the worst.” You giggled at his dark quip. “But dying is the easy way out.” He used a finger to gently poke your cheek as you tried to contain your smile. “And I never took you for a coward.”

He sat there with you for a full hour. You dropped in and out of sleep but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of your hand.

Eventually Cameron came to prep you for surgery. House still did not let go.

You lay on the table and the surgeons bustled around you, the anaesthetist approached with the gas. House stood next your head and softly stroked your eyelids to offer some comfort.

“Just one thing.” You managed out. “If I don’t wake up, there’s something I’d regret not doing. Can you kiss me?”

House was stunned for a moment and looked around at the surgeons managing one ear on  the interesting turn of events. He carefully leaned down and planted the softest kiss onto your cracked dry lips. As soon as you connected he felt the stress leave your body and you welcomed whatever was to come. The gas mask was placed over your nose and mouth.

“See you in a bit.” House teased.

********************************************************************

Your heavy lids fought open and your blurry vision focused on the outline of your hospital room. Despite the post surgey pain, you could sense that everything else was gone. You were going to be okay. You strained your neck to turn to the side where your eyes landed on House, who’s bedraggled clothes indicated where he had slept waiting for you.

“Welcome back.”

You reached out a weak arm and cupped his cheek.

“Thank you.”

[blueiscoool]

Roman Sculptur Head and Bust Discovered at Burghley House in England

A mysterious 1,800-year-old Roman statue has been unearthed during car park construction work.

Now taking pride of place on display within the dramatic Hell Staircase at Burghley House, the marble head of a Roman lady was discovered by a digger driver in spring 2023, closely followed two weeks later by a marble bust.

After being cleaned, experts dated the sculpture from the First or Second Century, with an iron dowel added later, allowing it to be attached to a bust or pedestal.

This type of adaptation was often carried out by Italian dealers in antiquities during the late 18th Century to make excavated ancient fragments more attractive to aristocrats travelling in Italy on what was known as the Grand Tour.

It is believed that it was during one of the ninth Earl’s two tours to Italy in the 1760s, when he purchased many antiquities, that he brought the sculpture back to Burghley.

But it remains a complete mystery how the head and bust ended up buried in the park, with explanations ranging from a bungled burglary to someone simply discarding the statue and it later being covered by soil.

It is also unclear how long it has remained hidden underground before being discovered in late April 2023 when the new car park was nearly complete.

It was during work on an overflow parking area, at the edge of the main site, that digger driver Greg Crawley noticed a pale object amongst the lifted earth, which turned out to be the head. Thrilled with the discovery of the ancient artifact, to everyone’s amazement just weeks later a second discovery was made within a short distance of where the head was found, when the bust was also unearthed.

Both items were immediately taken to Burghley’s Curator before being sent to a professional conservator who was able to carefully clean and consolidate the figure, revealing the features of a beautiful Roman lady, before reassembling both pieces as they had been intended. The find was also reported to the British Museum, which maintains a database of such discoveries.

And when the House opens again for the 2024 season, on 16 March, the remarkable find will be on display, together with an explanation about its discovery, and alongside other sculptures that were purchased by the ninth Earl.

[watchfuldeer]

the thing about tom and greg is that yes, the nero and sporus scene in 3.04 for instance is homoerotic, tragic and heartbreaking, yes it says a lot about tom’s neuroticism/his unhappiness in his marriage/queerness, and greg’s ability to fend for himself/ability to see tom for who he really is etc but it is also one of the funniest and strangest scenes in the entire show.

tom and greg’s subplots have always been a vital component of succession - their dramatic function being primarily comedic does not make them inessential. this is after all a show that was developed by a comedic writer, who is also the showrunner, and is written by a core group of people who have long careers in comedy and satire. some of their finest work across the seasons has been with tom and greg, who are an incredibly popular aspect of the show for that reason.

i really love kendall, roman and shiv but while they quip and squabble and lie to each other and grieve, they don’t have the comedic truth of a dynamic like tom and greg. comic relief does not mean some inconsequential sidebar on succession (i would argue that it rarely does in anything, but that’s a different post), it’s necessary to the plot. it’s where the big dramatic themes are played with and mirrored, made absurd, even whimsical, and above all honest.

having to stuff so much plot into season 4 now logan has gone has absolutely decimated the show’s internal structure. not because they haven’t written subplots, we know they exist, but because they simply don’t have space to include them. succession used to be many things, and for three episodes now has been mostly one thing, because there is no time for B plot - it’s all A plot, all the time. it feels weighed down, as opposed to mercurial - like, i was just getting bored last episode. i was bored during a succession episode! we the audience need relief: it enhances the A plot significantly and always has done. now, it’s getting cut for time and without it the show is suffering. the shift in editing has made the drama mawkish, and the comedy insubstantial, neither of which are particularly enjoyable effects.

i’m really, really hoping they can find that equilibrium for these last four episodes. this post might sound overly critical, but i am still enjoying succession. i’m more frustrated by post production decisions, as it just feels like a different show in ways that seem to be a product of foiled writing ambition and time constraints rather than actual creative intent.

[endgameinthenorth]

What truly shocks me most is Greg's 180 shift around Tom. Gone are my doubts that Greg's merely putting up with Tom, not attracted to him or that Greg's actually straight. Amazingly, the more straight Greg tries to act the less I believe it.

I honest to God thought it would be more subtle in their shifted dynamics, but it's been a few months since the last episode and apparently Tom and Greg are occasionally out getting drinks together. Greg is being mentioned by Shiv like he's the other woman. Things have shifted more dramatically than I envisioned since we last saw them. I knew it was coming, it was teased in interviews that the power dynamic may be be shifting. Greg is going to be the one this season pushing Tom in the direction he wants.

We saw glimpses of it at the end of last season with Greg telling Tom to "prove it" when Tom said he fucks like a bullet train; Tom was out of his depth to respond. It was the most forthcoming and direct Greg had ever been in a scene. Almost like what he really wanted was shining through. We saw Greg casually call Tom, "Tommy" with a pat on the back just before he sold his soul to Tom. They seemed more at ease with one another, like Greg finally felt comfortable in his place at Tom's side.

And now the first thing we see of them this season is Greg greeting Tom by sliding up his body and in his personal space in every possible scene, whispering in his ear. He's more open, acting silly and smiling.

Bridget-Random-Fuck (who it sounds like didn't even make him cum) was just there by all appearances to get a jealous reaction out of Tom. She didn't have any status so it wasn't like he was climbing her on his way to a better conquest. She was another notch like the rest. So what's with all the posturing?

Last season, he speaks of falling head over heels for a woman and then has no true motivation and follow through. But he gushed to Tom all about her and got a visceral reaction out of him. Unfortunately Tom could not analyze his own emotions and deflected, stating Greg had ruined his mood but not knowing why.

In an interview with Nicholas Braun he hinted at Greg going to the "dark side" and how it was freeing for Greg to no longer feel restricted between what's right and wrong (gay dad causing you to repress?). By all appearances this so far has manifested as Greg being given permission to actually be more authentic with his feelings towards Tom. The women are just a necessary part and have an undercurrent of, "aren't I great - aren't you jealous?" He is in Tom's space, he wants Tom's approval. He wants Tom. He just needs to feel like he's allowed to... I imagine with the divorce eminent he feels closer to obtaining him. Perhaps Greg will be the unhinged one this season.

In season one when he asked if Tom was trying to seduce him and Tom said he was, that hair tuck bashful reaction? I don't think that was a coincidence — that was an intentional filming choice. Now I really truly see it.

[lisbeth-kk]

May Prompts (21) Fire

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter 21)

Summary: Rosie muses about her peculiar family, and gets invited/ordered to come to the pub.

Twenty-One Years Old

My family wasn’t exactly what you would call average or normal, but as Dad and Papa constantly pointed out: who wants normal. Certainly, none of us. Being an only child and without any cousins, I was mostly exposed to adults outside school. By now, I think you can agree that that wasn’t as boring as it sounded.

Uncle Myc made sure that our small family was extended when he and uncle Greg finally realised that what they had was too precious to ignore. 

Papa tried to warn the DI in his normally dramatic flair.

“You know this is playing with fire, Gavin? Falling for a Holmes, means there’s no escape. You’ll be trapped for life, and our love is fierce and protective. A bit like that dragon. John, which film was it?”

“The Hobbit,” Dad answered and reassured uncle Greg that he had nothing to fear. “Deep down, they’re as fluffy as new-born kittens.”

This got him glares that brave men would’ve flinched under, but Dad only laughed and gave Papa a kiss on the forehead and uncle Myc a pat on the shoulder. No one knew how to deal with the Holmes brothers like my Dad.

Of course, this didn’t stop Papa’s attempts to abuse uncle Greg’s name but probably increased it. From that day, every name in the book was put to good use. Dad told him he was being childish, but Dad’s poker face in such matters was laughable at best, so he fooled no one. My uncles just rolled their eyes, knowing that arguing with Papa would accomplish absolutely nothing.

The less said about my aunts, the better, but I’m not exactly one who’s able to keep my mouth shut, am I... 

Aunt Harry, the one who was still alive, just barely, by the state of her liver, according to Dad, another one playing with fire, had never been a part of my life. Just like Papa’s deranged and murderous sister, thank God. Dad gave Harry an ultimatum after we moved to Baker Street; get help to get sober or stay away. It sounds harsh, doesn’t it? I had started school when I learned of her existence. We got an assignment to make a family tree.

“Extended and chosen family can also be included,” our teacher told us.

I had no idea what she was talking about, and neither did my friends, so I turned to my main source of information, my parents.

When Dad told me he had a sister, dozens of questions were instantly on the tip of my tongue, but he cut me off before I could utter any of them.

“She’s only my sister by biology, not by heart. You can put her name on the family tree if you like, but she’s sadly not interested in switching the bottle for family.”

“What Dad means, is that the biological part doesn’t always matter. Chosen and extended family can be just as good, sometimes even better,” Papa explained.

***

I found it comforting when uncle Greg moved in with uncle Myc, because the older I got, the more I worried about uncle Myc’s solitary life. He deserved to be loved by others, not just his family. 

The pair were even more peculiar than Dad and Papa. Dad and uncle Greg were much more similar, coming from the same upbringing and social class, while uncle Myc and Papa were posh gits. (Dad and uncle Greg’s words.) But still, they fitted together, just like Dad and Papa.

And where did that leave me? Somewhere in the middle, I guess. I wasn’t really that exposed to the upper classes. That was uncle Myc’s area. At least in the connection with his job. I had the advantage of being raised by people of both societies, though, so I coped better at posh events than Dad for example. Granny and Pops were quite down-to-earth people, who obviously rose to the occasion if need be.

***

Uncle Myc was unable to deny the love of his life anything, but he drew the line when it came to pub quiz nights. He didn’t budge a millimetre when uncle Greg tried to flatter him into participating.

“Myc, love. You would ensure that my team won the whole shebang. At least when the questions are about politics, language, history, mathematics et cetera.”

“Gregory, mon cher,” uncle Myc said softly and arched an eyebrow.

Uncle Greg admitted defeat and turned to me. I was twenty-one, drank alcohol on occasion, and was above average intelligence. Three good reasons to join the team apparently.

***

“So, do I call you uncle, Greg, or Lestrade?” I inquired before we entered the pub.

“Just avoid Gaylord and Grimmwolf,” he deadpanned.

“Those are his latest then?” I giggled.

“John said he looked up obscure ones online when he’d used up all the names in the book he found among Mary’s things.”

“Sounds like Papa,” I replied.

I had seen the book now and again, but I never knew it once belonged to my mother.

Luckily for everyone involved, Philip Anderson was no longer a part of uncle’s team Division. Sally Donovan was, but she and Papa had long since buried the hatchet, and she welcomed me quite civilly.

Uncle Greg mocked me the entire evening for my choice of drink. 

“Sour beer has nothing to do with beer in my opinion,” he scolded looking disgusted at my pink brew.

“I don’t mind what you call it. Your Guinness looks more like tar than beer to me, so I guess we have to agree to disagree,” I retorted. “Now, do you know the answer to the fifth question or not?”

“You’re a good mix of Watson, Holmes, and yourself,” Sally told me after that.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” I said. “Thank you. I take that as a compliment, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. That was the intention. They’re…um…good men and are evidently skilled at parenting. I’ll obviously deny it if I’m ever confronted with this,” she murmured.

Uncle Greg placed another glass of the “undrinkable” beer in front of me and gave Sally’s shoulder a pat.

“Getting sentimental on my, Sally?” he inquired with a smile.

“Hardly,” she scoffed and headed for the bar, but her soft expression gave her game away.

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at @helloliriels

More tags in the replies

[satansapostle6]

Kids | Rodrick Heffley

Spotify Playlist Link

Rodrick Heffley becomes obsessed when he finally meets his thirty-five year old band mate, Bill Walter’s, younger sister.

Warnings: Mature themes/language. Sexual content.

“Break Stuff”

“Black Hole Sun”

“Mom, I cleaned my room yesterday!”

“No, you did not, young man!”

Sara Walter sat patiently on the stairs of the Heffley house, arms crossed lazily as she listened to her boyfriend arguing with his mother for the second time that day.

“Mom! I cleaned my room right after you told me to! Greg saw me!” Rodrick exclaimed, looking up the stairs for support. “Hey! Greg! Greg!”

Susan Heffley sighed, exasperated as she heard her younger son’s voice respond.

“Yeah?!”

Greg ran down the stairs with Rowley in an instant, worried he was about to get in trouble with either Rodrick or his mom. He stood on the stairs just behind where Sara was sitting, as Rowley Jefferson stood behind him, waiting patiently.

“Did I, or did I not, clean my room yesterday when Mom told me to?” Rodrick asked expectantly.

“You did,” Greg said after a moment of thought, “I saw you.”

Rodrick threw up his hands at the revelation, looking back to Susan. “I told you so.”

“Well, if you did clean your room yesterday, you didn’t do a very good job,” she smiled sarcastically. “Clean it again.”

“But, Mom!”

“‘But’ nothing, it’s a pigsty in there,” Susan insisted in disgust.

“You’re being dramatic, there’s only a few shirts and jackets on the bed.”

“Rodrick,” Sara mumbled, “It’s fine, we can go after—”

“Then it won’t be that hard to pick them up!” she argued, cutting Sara off.

“But, I’m supposed to take Sara out for sushi!” Rodrick complained. “I saved up all month…”

“You’re not going anywhere if you don’t clean your room,” Susan repeated.

“Can’t I just clean it after?!”

“Rodrick, it’s fine,” Sara whispered, silently pleading with him.

“You know, Rodrick, I’m getting real sick of this attitude of yours,” she said crossly, “Ever since you started hanging around Sara, you’ve been irritable and rude. I think she’s a bad influence on you, Rodrick.”

Sara looked up at Susan with her mouth sitting agape, a look of disbelief in her eyes.

“But, Mom,” Greg spoke up, as Rowley began to seem visibly afraid, “Sara hasn’t even said anything this whole time—”

“Greg, this is between me and your brother,” Susan stated sharply, as Rowley pointedly backed up up the stairs.

“Sara has nothing to do with this!” Rodrick just stared at her.

“Hey, guys,” Frank Heffley’s voice cut in.

Everyone turned to see Frank standing by the stairs, confused by the fact that his entire household was gathered near the front door just before dinner time.

“What’s going on?” he questioned.

Susan was the first to speak, as Rowley and Sara were both equally uncomfortable as guests in the Heffley house.

“Your son is refusing to re-clean his room before he leaves the house with his girlfriend,” Susan explained promptly.

“…But, I just saw his room, there’s just some clothes on the bed,” Frank said, before seeing the look of pure anger in his wife’s eyes.

Then, everyone was silent once again.

“Frank. Tell your son that he needs to respect my wishes, and that we feel his girlfriend has been a bad influence on him,” Susan spoke firmly.

“We do?” Frank questioned, feeling as if he’d missed something.

“Yes!”

“Hey, I can just leave,” Sara offered, standing up out of extreme discomfort.

“Yes, I think that would be best,” Susan decided with a nod.

“No!” Rodrick cut in, angry on Sara’s behalf as she stood behind him. “You’re staying, and I’m gonna take you out for the best dinner ever!”

“Susan, maybe he can just clean his room once he gets home,” Frank offered a compromise, “You’ll be home before nine. Yes?” he asked with authority.

“Yes,” Rodrick nodded, growing frustrated with the situation.

“Absolutely not! He needs to learn responsibility!”

“He is learning responsibility!” Frank expressed. “And my stomach needs to learn what food is!”

“He hasn’t learned a thing!” Susan screamed back. “Not while he’s dating that—”

Greg’s face fell in horror, and his older brother was fuming. Sara stood behind Rodrick, experiencing more emotions than she cared to in the moment.

“While he’s dating that what, Mom?!” Rodrick shouted. “What is she, Mom?”

“She’s…” the woman just sighed. “She’s Bill.”

Rodrick’s eyes darkened with rage as everyone grew even more tense, if that was even possible.

Susan angrily shut her eyes for a moment, overwhelmed. “Rodrick—“

“No. You don’t get to bash Sara, again, just because you’re pissed at me!”

“So Sara’s exempt from criticism, just because she’s your girlfriend?!”

“Jesus Christ!”

Everyone slowly turned in horror, seeing Sara sobbing as she remained beside Rodrick, who stood blocking the door, stained black tears running down her face.

“Can I please just leave?!” she screamed.

Her heart was beating faster than she could track it, and she was shaking profusely. Frank Heffley looked at her with pity as Greg and Rowley both started to get scared for her and Rodrick.

“No, babe,” Rodrick said, taking her hand, “We’re gonna sort this out.”

“Sort what out?!” Sara cried, “She’s never gonna like me! No matter what I do!”

“Well, why should I like you?!” Susan asked confrontationally. “You smell like cigarettes, and you do drugs with my son, and you put crazy ideas in his head!”

“Susan,” Frank said quietly, glancing up the stairs, “The kids…”

She was past the point of taking them into consideration.

“‘Crazy ideas’?!” Sara questioned. “What crazy ideas?!”

“That a 2.9 GPA is a good thing to have, for one!”

“That’s what this is about?!” Sara gasped. “Rodrick came over to my house, crying because you all but called him stupid! I told him he wasn’t stupid, how am I the asshole here?!”

“You cannot speak to me that way!” Susan thundered.

“And you can speak about me, and my family that way?!” Sara screamed.

“Oh, don’t play the victim!” Susan shouted. “Just because you’re the one with the white trash family, and the crazy mom, and the dead cousin, no one can criticize you!”

Sara’s eyes widened as she froze, every instinct in her body screaming at her to start swinging.

“Jesus Christ, Susan!” Frank exclaimed.

“No, I’m tired of it!” she yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Sara as she froze, her fight or flight response beginning to kick in.

Evidently, ‘flight’ seemed to be the safer option when it came to your boyfriend’s mother.

“I’m tired of walking on eggshells around a seventeen year-old girl who used to do drink, and do drugs, and cut, and have sex with any boy who looked in her direction. My friend worked with her mother; even her own mother doesn’t like her! You should’ve heard the things she overheard!”

“Mom, stop!” Greg yelled.

But everything was already in motion. Sara had already forcibly pushed past Rodrick, and ran out the front door.

“Sara!”

Rodrick glared hatefully at his mother one last time before running out after her.

“Rodrick! Get back in here!” Susan shouted.

“Susan…!”

Frank didn’t even know what to say.

“What?!” she snapped furiously.

“Mom!” Greg cried, as Rowley ran up the stairs out of fear. “I love Sara!”

Susan looked up at her middle son in complete shock.

“What’s to like about a girl like that?!”

“Why do you hate her so much?!” Greg demanded.

“Because! She smokes, she drinks—”

“So does Rodrick!” he pointed out. “How is she any worse?!”

There was a pause as she tried to formulate a response.

“Mom, there was no reason to say that about her,” Greg sighed, hurt. “Sara loves Rodrick. And she loves us too.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Susan scoffed skeptically.

“Yes, she does!” Greg argued as his father just listened. “When she comes over, she asks you if she can give Manny candy, doesn’t she?”

There was no immediate answer to the question.

“When she comes over, she makes sure Rodrick does what he’s supposed to. She always makes sure he’s home on time when they go out. She asks me how school is, and she listens to my answer. She helped me with my history paper.

“She calls me names like ‘kid’ and ‘champ’ and ‘tiger’ because she thinks it’s funny. She told me if I ever wanna buy a girl jewelry, I have to know whether she likes gold or silver. She hugged Rowley for a full three minutes that time he came over after he heard his parents arguing,” Greg reminded her.

Susan was silent, not seeming to have any specific reaction to the case he’d made.

“Sara isn’t a bad influence on Rodrick. She’s the reason he’s happy. She’s the reason he hits me less and actually tries on his homework now,” Greg sighed. “Whatever‘s going on with you guys has nothing to do with her.”

Frank watched as his son ran back upstairs, taking one look at his wife before he ran outside.

“Sara! Sara!”

Rodrick was chasing her all down the block, breathless and terrified he was losing her.

“What?!” she demanded, still in tears.

“Come back!” he cried. “I’m sorry about my mom, let’s go back inside—”

“For what?!” Sara hissed, stopping as she slapped his hand away from her. “For her to just rub my family in my face again?! I can’t do this anymore!”

“Do what?” he stared, terrified of what was coming next.

“Maybe your mom was right,” she sighed, not knowing what to think or feel.

“What?! You’re not a bad influence on me!” he cried.

“No. Not about that,” she gulped, her voice cracking. “I think she was right… I’m not like you. I’m white trash,” she scoffed, laughing coldly.

A sad look graced Rodrick’s features as he tried to disagree with her as adamantly as possible.

“Mental illness and addiction run in my family like red hair, or twins. My mom’s a piece of work, and my stepdad’s a deadbeat with nowhere else to be,” she admitted. “I… I’m on the same path as everyone else in my family; schizophrenia, and a bullet in the head. I’m not like you; I’m not gonna grow out of this, the smoking and the crazy; you have everything ahead of you, and everything is behind me,” she concluded, running a hand through her messy blonde hair as her world slowly began to collapse.

“That’s not true!” Rodrick protested. “Any of it! I love you, Sara! You’re the smartest person I know! You’re nice, you’re kind, and you’re funny, and you help me, and you’re, like, the sun…! And you revolve around me, or something…! Fuck, I’m stupid! Fuck! Why am I so stupid?!”

“I make Bill look like the responsible sibling!” Sara laughed hysterically. “I’m a plane that’s already headed down.”

“That’s not true,” Rodrick repeated, a hopeless look in his sad eyes. “I love you.”

“That’s why you don’t see it,” Sara concluded, completely burnt out as she just walked off to her car.

Rodrick watched her go, unable to come up with anything smart or profound.

“Sara?!” he called, afraid she was truly walking away. “Sara?!”

She didn’t respond.

“Sara!” he screamed. “Sara… Please don’t leave me here,” he begged her.

Frank Heffley came running up with Greg now trailing after him, both of them worried for Rodrick as he sank to his knees in the middle of the sidewalk. He didn’t know what else to do, breaking down completely as Frank tried to comfort his son.

“I’m so stupid!” Rodrick wailed, as strangers seemed either curious or too nervous to acknowledge. “I’m fucking stupid! Stupid!”

Greg grimaced, physically pained as he’d never seen his older brother like this before.

“FUCKING STUPID! STUPID, STUPID, STUPID! I’M FUCKING STUPID! STUPID…!”

-

“This Night Has Opened My Eyes”

[fans4wga]

25 June: IATSE and studios reach tentative agreement

"With more than a month to go before IATSE‘s current contracts expires, the union and the studios have come to a tentative agreement on a new deal.

As fears of another Hot Labor Summer had Hollywood anxious, the successful negotiation news Tuesday evening comes a mere two days into the resumption of talks between the parties this week.

Touting wage gains, AI guardrails, and pension and health plans increases, IATSE leaders just sent out the news to its members of its 13 Locals in Hollywood. As you can see below, with increased penalties for extended workdays, safety concerns and crew well-being played a not insignificant role in the bargaining:

Dear Basic Agreement Sisters, Brothers, and Kin: The Basic Agreement Negotiating Committee has reached a tentative agreement with the AMPTP. Below are a few of the details about the proposed deal. A complete summary of the tentative agreement will be released in a few days, and in addition to local town hall meetings, a multi-local webinar will take place on Saturday, July 13th at noon PST to review the proposed language in the Memorandum of Agreement (MOA). To avoid undermining our fellow members in the Area Standards Agreement (ASA) Locals, who remain in negotiations with the AMPTP, we will wait to release full summaries of both tentative agreements simultaneously. Some of the proposed changes in the Basic tentative agreement include: scale rate increases of 7%, 4%, and 3.5% over the three-year term; hourly workers will receive triple time (3x hourly) wage when any workday exceeds 15 elapsed hours, all On Call classifications will now receive double time on the 7th day of the workweek, and additional increases in pay will take effect on non-dramatic productions under the Videotape Supplemental Agreement. The tentative deal includes new protections around Artificial Intelligence, including language that ensures no employee is required to provide AI prompts in any manner that would result in the displacement of any covered employee. These changes in the Basic Agreement are in addition to the tentative agreements reached in the Local Agreement negotiations. For the Motion Picture Industry Pension and Health Plans (MPIPHP), the tentative agreement includes additional payments from employers that would address the $670M funding gap, including new streaming residuals. Additionally, no participant shall incur a break in service for plan year 2023. We thank everyone who participated in the 2024 Basic Agreement negotiations process. From start to finish, your input was invaluable and ensured that our Negotiations Committee was at the bargaining table with clear goals and a consensus for how to achieve them. The ratification timeline will be forthcoming and we look forward to presenting to you the complete package. In Solidarity

The correspondence to members was signed by Tobey Bays of Local 44, Cathy Repola of Local 700, Greg Reeves of Local 728, Bob Denne of Local 729, Chuck Parker of Local 800, DeJon Ellis Jr of Local 80, Alex Tonisson of Local 600, Marcy Brooks of Local 884, Patric Abaravich of Local 871, Karen Westerfield of Local 706, Brigitta Romanov of Local 892, Adam Nestra-West of Local 705, and Scott Bernard of Local 685.

The announcement to members from the Locals leaders was followed within minutes by a joint statement from IATSE and the Carol Lombardini-led Alliance of Motion Picture & Television Producers:

The International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees (IATSE) and Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP) announced a tentative agreement on all issues for the Hollywood Basic Agreement and Videotape Agreement negotiations. The tentative agreement is now pending ratification by the unions’ membership. Members and signatories will have the opportunity to review the agreement in the form of a Detailed Summary 2-3 days following this announcement, as well as a Memorandum of Agreement (M.O.A.) an estimated 2 weeks following this announcement. The parties now look forward to closing negotiations for the Area Standards Agreement.

To put tonight’s deal in context, the IATSE Basic Agreement covers the around 50,000 members of the mainly L.A.-based 13 West Coast Locals. The still to be completed Area Standards Agreement is for the 23 Locals across the nation and their 20,000 members.

Working on the schedule laid out by IATSE and the AMPTP tonight, and if the landing for a new Area Standards Agreement is smooth, August could usher in a rare lack of labor anxiety for a town and an industry still reeling from the pandemic, some bad business decisions, and last year’s WGA and SAG-AFTRA strikes."

[immeasurablesaladagere]

do u think u could right a fic about cg!house finding regressor!wilson small at work please??:00 thank u!!!

Here you go my friend!

-----

Word Count: 1138

Summery: House crashes Wilson's office during an overnight shift only to find that Wilson has been teetering on the edge of regressing. House gives him the nudge he needs and they make do with a bedtime routine in the hospital.

-----

House threw open the door to Wilson’s office. “Honey, I’m home!”

Wilson jumped in his chair and clutched at his chest. “Jesus, House! You scared the crap out of me! What are you doing in here?”

He dropped down into the other chair and kicked his feet up onto the desk. “Oh, stop being dramatic. You’re not allowed to have a heart-attack on me, I came here to get away from dying-patient-duty.”

“You’re ditching your night-shift?” Wilson asked, like a disapproving mother about to take away his video games for cutting class. 

House rolled his eyes and snagged a trinket bobble-head from the desk. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of nurses. Unless, of course, you’re saying the nurses are incompetent.”

Wilson sputtered. “I— Wha—? No. Just— Whatever. I’ve got work to do.” 

“Yes, that was the point. I wouldn’t have come to see you if you weren’t here.” He said, “What, I can’t see my best friend, Wilson?”

Wilson didn’t engage him any further than a disinterested hum, and rubbed at his eyes with his fist before returning to his paperwork; most likely patient-related and why he was also taking a night shift at all. House cocked an eyebrow. Normally Wilson would banter with him for at least a little longer than that. It was only 1:30 AM, it wasn’t late enough for him to be as tired as he looked; all wound up and unfocused.

House gave the bobble-head an absent flick and watched Wilson intently as he flipped through the patient’s folder. Tight posture, shaky movements, eye-rubbing with his fists, speech avoidance. To any normal person, all mere symptoms of physical exhaustion and normal enough, but House knew better than that. 

“You’re doing that thing.” 

Wilson blinked, delayed, and looked up at him. “…What thing?” He asked. His tone was irritated, but voice was soft, almost a whisper.

“That thing. You’re regressing, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. Wilson was sluggish even for an unplanned overnight stay at the office, and even though he was pretending to work, House doubted he was actually processing any of it. His eyes were staring right through his desk instead of at the page.

“What? No, I—“ Wilson cleared his throat and his voice returned to normal, “I’m not.”

“Uh huh. And you tell me that I repress my feelings. That’s pretty hypocritical, y’know.”

“I’m not regressed, House. I’ve got a job to do.” He insisted, and stubbornly returned to the file.

House flicked the bobble-head again. “I didn’t say you were regressed, I said you were regressing. There is a difference, but I don’t think toddlers learn that for at least a few more years so I’ll give you a pass.” 

He could feel Wilson glaring into the side of his head, but he elected to ignore it. After all, indulging children in tantrums only encouraged their behaviour, and he wouldn’t want that. He would just have to wait for Wilson to crack, because he always did. Given his defensiveness, he was probably trying to ignore the feeling before and House pestering him about it was only pushing him towards an inevitable drop. 

And just like he expected, it only took fifteen minutes for Wilson to give in, dropping his head to his desk with a disgruntled whine. House grabbed the phone and dialled the nurses station.

“Hello? This is Doctor Greg House. Doctor Wilson will be unable to oversee his patient tonight, he seems to have come down with the flu.” Wilson looked up at him with a pathetic attempt at a glare that turned out to be more of a pout. “Real nasty stuff, don’t ask. Have his patient reassigned to an on-call oncologist, thanks.” He hung up.

“Houssse…” Wilson whined.

“Wilsoonnn…” House whined back. “There. You’re officially cleared for the night, so how about we get ready to sleep now, hm? No offence kiddo, but you look pretty tired.”

“But… I wan’ed to get stuff done…” He mumbled, then shrunk down in his chair a bit more. “…an’ we can’t do bedtime here…” Wilson was almost inaudible, and House knew it would only be a matter of time before all he would be getting was head shakes and sounds from him. Wilson was right, to an extent. Even though House was skipping watching over the patient directly he couldn’t leave the hospital entirely, and Wilson couldn’t get home on his own, so they would just have to improvise something.

“Oh sure we can. We don’t have your jammies, but you can change out of your dress shirt and just wear your sweater. That’s pretty soft still, right?” 

Wilson shrugged. “Mm.”

“And while you do that, ol’ House will go down to the cafeteria and find you a night snack and you can sleep on the couch.”

“…Cookie?” Wilson asked softly, sleepy eyes hopeful and round like a baby deer, disgustingly sweet. How did he do that?

House chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do. Get settled while I’m gone and see if you can find a book for me to read to you. I’ll be right back.”

He got up and hobbled down to the cafeteria. They stayed open to staff until three in the morning, which meant that he was easily able to place an order with the tired and disgruntled-looking cook for a coffee cup of warm milk and a package of digestive cookies. For his troubles he got a confused look from the employee, like he’d never heard of the concept of milk and cookies before bed, but it was delivered quickly nonetheless.

With his order in hand House made his way upstairs, stopping by a linen closet on the way back to grab a pillow and blanket. The balancing act was precarious, but he managed to get back to Wilson’s office without any spillage.

When he opened the door Wilson was sitting curled up on the couch, dress-shirt discarded from underneath his swearer, head lolled lazily on his knees, and a book sitting next to him. He looked ready to fall asleep at any second, but he perked up slightly when House walked in.

“Your cookies, and a cup of milk.” He set them down on the side table and dropped the blanket and pillow down on the free space on the couch, and sat down on the coffee table.

Wilson fumbled with the package of cookies for a moment before managing to tear them open, but once he did he ate them quickly, holding each one with two hands like a squirrel. Once he was finished his snack he pulled up the blanket around himself and wordlessly handed House the book he had chosen.

He took it and examined the cover. Charlotte’s Web. A very Wilson book.

“Good choice. I like this one too.” He said, and Wilson smiled sleepily, shuffling deeper into the cushions. “Chapter One: Before Breakfast…”

[bi-bard]

Misdiagnosis - James Wilson Imagine (House M.D)

Title: Misdiagnosis

Pairing: James Wilson X Reader

Word Count: 1,108 words

Warning(s): none that I'm aware of

Summary: [Season 4, Episode 9] After discovering he had misdiagnosed a patient, Wilson is left in a spiral of thoughts. (Y/n) tries to pull him out of it.

Author's Note: A while ago, I had a House MD OC. I deleted it because I wasn't happy with it. The planning was shaky, and I didn't really like the OC's storyline. So, I went back, I replanned it, and now we have a better House MD OC that I am much happier with. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

FIND MORE OF THIS OC BY CLICKING HERE

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

It wasn't common that Greg voiced his concerns to me.

Even when he did, he was never clear about them. He acted like he didn't care and was just making jokes about other people's misery. I could usually see through it.

So, when he came in joking about how James was going to be sued by a patient because the patient was going to live, I understood what he was saying.

"And why did you tell that patient that they had a solid case," I asked, folding my hands together and resting my chin on them.

He dramatically scoffed. "You think it's me?"

"You have very weird ways of intervening when you think someone is being stupid," I shrugged. "Plus, no lawyer would actually tell him that he had an actual case because he was going to live."

House sighed and plopped onto the chair on the other side of my desk.

"Now, why did you do that?"

"Because Wilson was being an idiot," he explained.

"More detail, please."

"He was going to pay that man because he gave that man good news."

"And now, you're here because you want me to go get him to agree with you?"

"Use your psychologist babble."

"You can't only acknowledge my job when you need me to do something."

"I can if I'm asking you to help our friend avoid becoming self-destructive."

"Self-destructive?"

"You won't know for sure unless you talk to him."

Greg pushed himself out of the chair and walked out of my office. I let out a huff and shook my head. He knew exactly how to get under my skin. Asshole.

I found myself outside James's office a little while later. I sighed before knocking on the door. He pulled the door open.

"How did one of you learn to knock and the other one sometimes climbs across to my balcony," James asked.

I just shrugged. He motioned for me to walk in. I took a moment to look out at the balcony once I had.

"You could put tinfoil along the top," I said. James had his eyebrows furrowed when I looked at him. "Like when you have a cat that keeps jumping onto your counter. You put tinfoil along the top and something about the noise spooks them."

"Are you comparing your brother to a cat?"

"It's probably the nicest thing I've compared him to."

James laughed and shook his head, going to walk back to his desk.

"Were you really going to pay a patient for giving him good news," I asked.

He paused, looking at me for a moment before speaking, "House sent you here?"

"He said you were becoming self-destructive," I replied. "Not that I really believe him, but I was very curious-"

"It was 6,000 dollars-"

"Why?" my eyes went wide.

"I... I gave him six months to live," he explained. "He needed the money after he sold his house. He had a trip to Venice planned! I... I wanted to help him."

"This is about the false positive patient?"

"Yes!"

I sighed. "Okay..."

"Don't psychoanalyze me."

"Your guilt surrounding your patients is unhealthy-"

"(Y/n)!"

"Listen to me," I stepped forward and leaned on the desk. "I can't say why, but I think you're feeling unnecessary guilt around events that aren't your fault."

"I gave that man the wrong diagnosis-"

"Because of a false positive," I replied. "At the end of the day, medicine is a field with very little control. I think your guilt is an attempt to control what you can't."

He didn't respond to that.

"I should know... I deal with the human psyche," I shrugged. "Even more variables than the physical body."

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Wrong diagnoses happen," I continued. "Sometimes they're completely out of our control. And sometimes they work out for the better, sometimes they don't. This last patient was one of the good outcomes, no matter how that man sees it. You cannot control the actions of another person when they believe that they are facing the end of their life or how they choose to handle learning that they aren't. You are not responsible for that. You are responsible for giving that man the correct diagnosis. That's it."

James continued looking at me for a moment before sighing and responding, "I see why Cuddy hired you."

"She does better with two voices of reason than one."

He grinned at me. I pushed myself back, so I was standing up straight again.

"So, do I still have to worry about you becoming self-destructive," I asked.

He scoffed. "I'm not the self-destructive one in your life."

"Yeah, but you're more willing to let people help you," I replied.

I opened my arms and waved him over. He raised an eyebrow at me. I just waved him over again.

He walked over and let me pull him into a hug.

"You're doing a good job, James," I muttered. "I promise."

"Thanks," he mumbled before stepping back and grinning at me. "You have no idea how much hearing that means to me."

I don't think I could've formed a good response to that statement. I don't know if there was one. Saying something like "you're welcome" risked the chance of looking egotistical. Trying to shrug it off could've looked ungrateful. No response felt like it was good enough.

I didn't have to worry about that for long.

I barely had a moment to overthink my response before James leaned over and pressed his lips to mine.

I leaned back a few seconds later out of complete shock.

"I... I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I... I don't know why I did that-"

"It's okay," I stopped him. I started walking toward the door. "Really, it's fine. Just fine. I just... I have a lot of work to do. This was meant to be a quick visit. I'll... I'll see you later."

"(Y/n)-"

"I'll see you later," I repeated before leaving and closing the door behind me.

I looked around, feeling like everyone knew what happened or could easily figure it out by looking at me. I shook my head. Spotlight effect. I knew that.

"Shit," I muttered to myself before running my hands over my face and starting to walk back to my office.

It wasn't that the kiss was bad. It was the exact opposite. It was perfect. That was the problem.

It felt like years of friendship were teetering very delicately on a rope and whatever happened in James's office tried to push it off. And I couldn't tell if I would've been upset but that idea or not.

And that terrified me.

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

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

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[crash-cinematic-universe]

Human Resources

Roman Roy/reader (drabble)

~ Having lunch with your problematic boss is about as fun as it sounds (very fun)

warnings: joking about sexual harassment (no actual sexual harassment)

notes: i wanna make this guy meow for me. lil somethin to shake off the cobwebs. this is like a little corny but I forgot how to write good during my hiatus

“I could bludgeon you to death.” 

“What?” 

Roman almost seems offended by your surprise. He looks at you from across his desk as though he’d asked you the weather and you slapped him across the face. You’d been having a relatively peaceful afternoon–it had been hectic in the office, so you both decided to eat lunch at Roman’s desk. Your conversation had been fine, if maybe a little mundane. You were almost grateful for Roman’s weird outburst for allowing the both of you to fall into your regular routines. 

“I feel like, if it really came down to it, I could bludgeon you to death,” He leans forward in his chair. “I’m not saying I want to, I’m just saying if the situation called for it, I wouldn’t, like, struggle.”

“Why the fuck would the situation call for it?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I don’t fucking know, maybe you start PMS-ing and end up taking a swing at me.” 

“Jesus, Rome,” you chide, “Is this the kinda shit you fantasize about? Spend a lot of time playing with yourself imagining what it would feel like to bash my brains out?” A part of you is grateful that you've finished your lunch already–this conversation is not working wonders for your appetite. 

“Ok, well, now you made it weird.” Roman slumped over in his chair, sitting at an angle that could not have been comfortable. “I was just throwing it out there, no need to get your fuckin’ dick twisted in a knot.”

“Y’know what? I bet you’re wrong,” This catches his attention. “If we got into a fight like that–like, life or death–I could kick your ass.”

“No fucking way, are you kidding? Have you seen yourself?” he pushes himself up where he sits, fitting his legs underneath his body and leaving him perched on his chair like a bird. “You’re, like, 2% muscle and 98% bitch. You can’t even send your drink back if they get your coffee order wrong–I think if you were faced with life-threatening danger, your heart would self-destruct to avoid the conflict. I wouldn’t even have to bludgeon you to death.”

If anybody else was saying this to you, you’d be appalled. Thankfully, you’ve had years of practice fully dedicated to building up your Roman tolerance. “You’re hardly life-threatening, Rome. All I need to do is call you gross, like, once, and you’d be too blinded by weird, horny brain-fog to fight me,” You’re not sure when you rose from your seat and began to lean against his desk, but you pay it no mind. Like clockwork, he rises up on his chair to reach your eye level. He has a smug look on his face that you’d grown increasingly accustomed to. 

“You’re disgusting, you know that? I could get you fired for talking to a superior that way, you pervert.” He narrows his eyes at you, and the corners of his mouth quirk upwards. He’s moved closer to you, close enough so that you feel his breath on your face. Too close. You take the opportunity to flick him on the underside of his jaw, and he throws his head backward as though you’d socked him in the nose. 

“That’s assault! You just assaulted me! God, Human Resources is going to have a field day with this. The young, naive assistant violently assaulting her boss after making crude, sexual comments about him–feminism really has gone too far.” He leans back toward you, this time straining to seem as though he was towering over you. Instead, he ends up talking to your forehead. 

“Please, Roman, you’re being delusional.” His jaw drops.

“And now you’re gaslighting me. I cannot believe I’ve had someone so cruel working for me all these years.” He fans himself like a southern belle. You stifle your laughter at his dramatic display. “You’re toxic, this is toxic. Do you think Greg treats Tom this way? Because I sure don’t.”

“Greg treats me in what way?” Tom’s voice cuts through. Both you and Roman jerk backwards, and for some reason you feel your face heat up. It feels like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. 

“He treats you like the pretty pillow princess you are, Tom.” Roman quips, seemingly unaffected by Tom’s sudden appearance. Tom’s face contorts strangely, and he lets out a strangled half-scoff-half-laugh while flapping his hand dismissively. You cock an eyebrow at his behavior, which draws out for just a little too long. Tom clears his throat.

“Anyways,” he straightens his tie. Your mind wanders to a late-night conversation you had with Roman where he called Tom a ‘sad, deeply repressed, half-muppet-half-man hybrid’. It becomes clearer everyday that he was spot on. “Kendall asked to see you in his office. I’m not sure what about, but he seemed… frazzled.”

“Frazzled.” Roman repeats, irritated. He turns to you, and for a second, you almost think he looks disappointed. “Duty calls. I’ll have to report you to HR later. Try not to sexually harass anyone else until then, m’kay?”

Before you have a chance to respond, he blows you a kiss and scurries out the door, leaving you and Tom alone in his office. Tom looks at you with his muppet eyes.

“Sexually harass…?”

“Get out, Tom.”

[boilbluedenim]

Over the liminal mindscape

I love and hate how this show's ending is completely left up to interpretation, mainly because of Wirt and Greg's potential deaths and how that makes me feel about the show as a whole. It attaches a sort of bittersweet feeling to it which I'm not too sure about. more on that soon though.

Anyway, when paying even just an inkling of attention to this show, you can almost immediately connect the dots and come to the conclusion that none of the adventures (for the most part) actually happened. This conclusion is heavily drawn from the frames we see at the very beginning, of Wirt, Greg, and Jason Funderburker (the frog) drowning. (ep 1)

and from the frames where Wirt wakes up in the water after having said goodbye to Beatrice, saving his brother and the frog by carrying them both out of the water. (ep 10)

Taking into account that Wirt, Greg, and Funderburker all fell into the water moments before almost getting hit by a train, which we discover in episode 9; Into The Unknown, I think it's pretty safe to assume that this is, in fact, the case and that OTGW takes place in either a mental space or a physical limbo, occurring while they are all in the process of drowning.

Another thing I'd like to mention is that OTGW is heavily based off of Dante's Inferno, which, in the simplest of summaries, is a poem about a journey that begins in a forest, leads through hell, and eventually into heaven, hence the theorized death I mentioned earlier. It's actually pretty easy to spot where these references and homages lie, for example, the formula of the story is somewhat similar, and the characters take on similar roles. (for example, Virgil: Beatrice/Woodsman(?)or even Greg in some cases, Beatrice: Sara, Dante: Wirt.) (please read Inferno or a summary of it to fully understand this if you haven't already because it's actually really interesting).

Rewatching OTGW with this in mind led me to realize a lot of things that I originally passed off as unique writing choices with no actual meaning behind them. Then again that could be the case but what's the fun in assuming that?

Upon entering the unknown, we're launched into a universe with a seemingly ever-changing time period. Characters talk funny and fancy, dress and act as if they're from the 1600s-1700s, and none of our protagonists seem particularly fazed by this (except for Beatrice, occasionally) with Greg using a phrase such as "brother o'mine" and Wirt's dramatic poetic rambles. Everything feels very inspired while also being all over the place, almost as if it's been composed from memories, lying in the pits of somebody's mind...

Wirt is a Huge Nerd.

If I am to believe that this show takes place in one of our protagonists' minds, which I do in fact believe, then I would say that that protagonist has to be Wirt. Wirt has a tendency to go on poetic spiels, even dropping two of them in the very first episode. Accompanied by his teenage boy dread (being a nerd at 14 is tough) and his overextending knowledge about curious things, which he showcases in his exclaim at Beatrice's ability to talk and his comment about one of the rooms in Endicott's mansion (below), It becomes a glaring possibility that OTGW is primarily from Wirt's point of view, with the Unknown existing solely in his head.

I've actually seen this point argued before, with some people mentioning the black turtles on the poster in Wirt's room or just his entire room in general. However, if true, that doesn't really answer the question of whether the unknown exists as a physical space or a mental one, having no supernatural effects on the real world.

2. The Implications of the Bell

Okay, so, listen.

I hate to be the kind of person who goes "Well it's probably just a fun and silly bit that doesn't actually mean anything." but I'm gonna be that person anyway, or at least I'm not going to assume character death because I don't want to and free will is a thing blablablabla. I will however be serious for a second and try to provide a tangible reason for why I think this scene doesn't have any real-world implications.

For one, this scene immediately jumpcuts to a voiceover, followed by scenes that serve as conclusions for the stories of the characters we've met along the way, all of them being positive. I think this serves the purpose of letting us know the story did in fact have a good ending, with Wirt learning how to treat his brother with respect. I also think that ties into the theory above.

Not only does the unknown serve as a mental limbo but it also serves as a lesson for Wirt in particular. This journey is riddled with self-critique, characterized as Beatrice, all the while Wirt is drowning and realizing he's not only failed himself but his brother as well.

3. The Beast

Surprisingly I haven't mentioned the beast yet even though he's very important to the story. The beast represents a couple of things, one being death and two being the overarching, real-world problem. Those may sound like the same thing, and honestly, they are depending on what you think the problem is. To me, it's Wirt's relationship with, and treatment of Greg in the real world that bleeds into the universe of the unknown.

The exchange that Wirt has with the beast at the end of episode 10 fully encapsulates his character growth. The characters his mind has created have actually taught him something, that being; wallowing in sorrow and accepting your fate is just going to lead you further down this winding path, or in this case, to the bottom of this lake. You will never get home.

Unlike I've seen others suggest, this is not a story of a boy failing and dying while so wrapped up in his own fantasy, eventually residing in a false heaven. Instead, everything is put back where it needs to be.

From the forest, through the unknown, and finally, back home.

[operafantomet]

What makes a good pre-show/overture proscenium drape? Replica/non-replica(if it has one).

I don't think I have any strong preferences. But I do like some sort of ancient looking dust cover / drape / veiling, and it being pulled off in a dramatic or effectful way. The more, the merrier!

I love the original design, with heavy drapes, curtains, mist. It's mysterious and layered, everything is covered, and you just know something is about to happen. And when it does, it's glorious. Also, good excuse to finally post Greg Mills' amazing photo of the full set-up on Broadway.

I alos loved the Vegas take on it. THEY DRAPED THE WHOLE GODDAMN AUDITORIUM! All while the chandelier was suspended in the air, in multiple pieces, coming together during the Overture. It was an amazing space to come into. Photos never did it quite justice; still, here is one I took back in 2012, and a random internet find:

I also enjoy the new draping in the West End revival. I like the layering, even if the draped panels in front stage feels a bit too random. I wish it actually covered the proscenium. But I like the rest.

Of non-replica production, I think the cobweb curtain and the chandelier curtains (eventually sucked into the construction itself) is a gorgeous opening look:

I furthermore liked the understated look in the Oslo production. More or less empty stage, with the addition of the auctioneer and Raoul in wheelchair, and then the chandelier veiled up like a giant jellyfish. Moody and elegant.

I also like what the new Romanian production has going on. The veiling itself may not be super intriguing, but the way it comes off - the whole proscenium cover just kinda falling down, and the chandelier veiling pulled aside - is super effective. Also, pretty chandelier.

And finally, Poland. They're not particularly subtle in their draping and I am here for it.

[di-greglestrade]

Hello, I am officially speaking out right now. There's not much behind the scenes, at least for me. Thank you to @bewitched-bullet for being so patient and understanding, and all you stand for. You are inspiring. :)

Here's most of my statement. I will screenshot and post here, regardless. Screenshots of my statement under the keep reading.

This is as far as my experience goes, so I have nothing else to add after this. I hope everyone learns better communication so they can go back to having fun. It's just not working with me.

Under the keep reading I have 1 other statement based on an ask, but then it goes into my screenshots of my original statement.

First, to comment on this:

If this was a stand alone blog, I agree we don't necessarily have to communicate. Since there is already established lore of a relationship between Mycroft and Greg, I tried to communicate. Since people would ask me what happened at events I was included in:

I attempted communication. I received none back, so I stopped roleplaying. (Sure, I could make up something for the new years party, but what am I to say about the toxicology report on a fanfiction someone else wrote without me?) Simple and nothing dramatic.

Here are the screenshots of my statement:

[lust4life01]

I wish I was your girl. chapter 1

First chapter is a little short, just to introduce the story and move it along! Set around the early seasons :) -please check out this post for warnings.

You dont know my mind.

Your head laid on House's bare chest, as his fingers drew soft circles on your shoulder, while you both listened to each other's heavy breathing from the highs you both just came down from.

Breaking the sweet silence, House couldn't help but ask a provocative question ruining the simplicity being held in each other's company.

“Are you sure you’re not a porn star?” He asks with a huge grin plastered across his face.

“Ha, ha, very funny. And anyway you'd be so lucky, old man.”

Your tone sarcastic yet playful as you try to hide the smile creeping onto your lips, while staring up at him with doe eyes.

House dramatically places a fist to his heart and lets out an exaggerated hiss.

“Ah, ouch! God I hope you weren't this mean to all your other bosses, or well pimps.”

“Mhm only the ones I was sleeping with.” You shot back immediately, earning you a proud smirk from him.

As he goes to get up to grab hisvicodin, and break from your touch, you let out a whine in protest, not wanting to feel the loss of contact.

“God, you're so needy, better keep you away from Wilson. Actually speaking of Wilson he's meeting me here in about half an hour, and quite frankly I wouldn't like to sit and explain why a member of my team is on my couch in her underwear.

You can't help but take his last statement to heart, you knew it was stupid as you were sleeping with Greg House, what more were you expecting? However the desire to be more than a fuck buddy had been creeping up on you lately and you simply wanted more. Was you just an employee with a nice set of tits and a nice arse to him?

“Actually, I was thinking maybe it wouldn't be terrible if people knew about us.”

You lowered your head and your voice was quiet and consumed with seriousness. House didn't reply for a few seconds until you lifted your face to meet his eyes.

“What? You can't be serious.”

After a moment he realised you in fact were not joking and let out a frustrated laugh.

“Oh my god. I don't see how you dont think its a terrible idea, (y,n), we agreed that we would just have great mindless sex, no strings attached. Why ruin that?”

He was defensive which just pissed you off even further.

You became more enraged and hurt the more you thought about the words spilling from his harsh mouth.

“That was then, this is now. Maybe I don't want to be your dirty little secret, who is chucked out everytime there's a threat of someone seeing us, forever. I'm not asking for the moon here House, I just don't see why you're so scared of a little commitment.”

“Yeah well maybe I didnt think by fucking you I was signing up to be husband for god sake. Did we sign a prenup?”

House's voice was mean as he spoke and his hand rested on his forehead out of frustration.

You let out a scoff of shock and disgust.

“Fine. I won't be bothering you anymore, you know unless a patient is dying, if that's even worth bothering you for.”

As fast as the words travelled out your mouth, so did your clothes appear on your body and feet step out of his apartment.

Tears filled with rage brimmed and finally spilled from your sad eyes once outside his apartment door. Thankfully spilling outside of House's sight despite them threating to stream from your face as soon as his vindictive words hit you.

— 2 days later —

Hostility wasnt near close enough to explain the feeling and tension between you and House. Snide comments and brooding stares were exchanged but other than the differentials and generally doing your job you didn't speak or acknowledge House.

House was being more of an ass than usual and it was obvious the team were starting to pick up on it as for the past couple of months he had seemed relatively happy. They ultimately knew there was no point trying to figure out Greg House.

Your best friend Foreman on the other hand had no problem trying to figure out why you had been acting strange. He was worried you might be slipping back into past habits.

He came to look for you while you were in the common room, where you were finishing up paperwork but mainly hiding away.

“Hey, how come you're in here instead of the office?”

He asks the question already knowing the answer, he just wanted to know why exactly you were hiding away,

Feeling slightly defensive not wanting to unload all your problems and thoughts on to your best friend, you did the only thing you could think to do. Lie.

“Um, I don't know, it's just quieter I guess. You gonna join me?”

You try to give him a convincing smile, although it definitely didn't work all that well.

He let out a sign of slight annoyance seeing straight through your lies, not understanding why you weren't being straight with him.

“Quit the bullshit (y,n). I can tell somethings up with you. You've hardly been yourself and believe me I know when somethings bothering you.”

You hated shutting Foreman out but you couldn't be arsed to explain that the reason you had been distant was because Greg House only saw you as a cheap fuck. I mean it's pathetic.

“Okay, yeah i've been a little off lately and im sorry, totally nothing of your doing. I just stopped seeing this fling but i don't know I was delusional to want to take it further. It's dumb really.”

He nodded his head to make sure you knew he was listening before finally giving you a sympathetic smile.

“Not to sound like a jerk but yeah that is pretty dumb. But he'd have to be even dumber to not want you.”

He let out a chuckle and you smiled trying to act like you agreed, despite knowing it was far deeper and more complex than you let on.

“Look, come for a drink with the team after work. Have a few drinks, or a few kisses and forget about whatever idiot you were screwing.”

You nodded your head in agreement.

I mean sure you know that getting out will dull the hurt you feel but the alcohol will only spur on your self destructive manic side.

What could possibly go wrong?