house x chase

Why Rick Riordan fans are some of the best fans you will meet

-They call the author “Uncle Rick”
-The movies are hated unanimously
-Love diverse characters
-Are all mostly teen girls despite the books being aimed at boys
-Cute OTPs and ships
-Small but welcoming (hufflepuffs of the fandom)


How to Make a Heterosexual Male Uncomfortable in the Workplace…
                                                                                                      …By Allison Cameron


Annabeth’s voice caught on the word friend. Percy was a lot more than that. Even boyfriend really didn’t cover it. They’d been through so much together, at this point Percy was part of her–a sometimes annoying part, sure, but definitely a part she could not live without.

Remedy pt.2

Tags: @the-shewxlf, @megant22, @sexywolfsfordays, @houseofrahl, @sterek-basically, @kittycatgirlmaddie, @misshinehou, @unbreakablevoices, @champagneblues, @dallysgreasergirl, @juliaspnlover, @cineyou, @lipstickstainsandwerewolfchains, @fallenangel-13x, @urwarriorangel, @bless-my-demons, @lunaskyhunter, @arkhamirwin, @fangirlnerd101, @m-a-t-91​, @meanwhilesmiley​, @edithambroreigns​, @totallovelesson@kxttykatmichael

Word count: 3605

Author’s note: I’m shamelessly taking advantage of the fact that I can now insert some good ol’ House gifs in my posts. Also, authentically depicting House’s character is way harder than I initially thought, but hey – it’s my first time with him and I’m trying :) Aaaand prepare for some (a lot of) feels! Enjoy!

Betas: @i-am-a-misguided-misfit, @lipstickstainsandwerewolfchains, @mixed-up-fangirl, @kittycatgirlmaddie, @fallenangel-13x, @the-shewxlf, @b-chocolatelover, @from2016, @safiac, @random-fandom-fangirl2112


Your name: submit What is this?

“A shot man blacked out? You called me back to the hospital for this, idiot? There is no mystery,” House points out to me in a harsh, chiding tone. Clearly he’s moody because he’s back to work, and as such, he doesn’t fail to humiliate me in front of the entire Team for God knows how many time. But it’s fine; I’m getting used to it, and I’m usually not the only victim to his stinging snark.

“He doesn’t remember how it happened. After leaving the message I asked him further questions and it turned out that he hardly ever gets shot,” I say. House frowns at me, while his hand is rubbing his right leg instinctively, apparently without his conscious consent to it. A few seconds later, he averts his mesmerising blue eyes from me only to dart it at the dark grey rug, deep in thought.

“That doesn’t prove anything,” he states firmly, but the heat has now subsided from his tone. “Every cop gets shot from time to time.”

“Would it have been the better choice to leave him there just like that?” I snap. “I thought our priority was healing and making sure no one has further latent sicknesses by investigating until we’re convinced with one out of the many choices,” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest and giving House a meaningful look. When he glances at me, I hold gazes with him for a while before giving in to the temptation to lift an eyebrow at him. House is moving his lips and making faces in the process, while thinking through the options he has. No one speaks; we are all waiting for the boss’ decision.

“Alright. What’s your theory?”

My face lights up at his question—this means he officially accepted to take the officer’s case. I try to stifle my giddiness as I launch into my explanation, “It obviously has something to do with his brain. Most likely it was caused by Multiple Sclerosis or a tumor in his brain. I was planning to give him a CT and lumbar puncture.” House nods okay, and motions in the general direction of the glass door with his cane.

“Nice. Good for us, not good for the patient. Go ahead,” he says. I’m standing before he could even finish his sentence, and after closing the officer’s file on the table and picking it up, I head to the door with the folder clutched to my chest. However, before I’d leave the office, House warns, “If you’re wrong, you’re fired.”

The travel in the elevator seems suffocating after House’s threat. Cuddy has told him he’s not in the position to decide whether I stay or go, but I know him, and I’m definitely convinced that if he doesn’t want me to work on a case, he can sabotage my attempts to take part in it in any way.

Just to make sure, I quickly check the officer’s name once more when I arrive to the floor he’s housed on, then walk to his room, weaving my way through the few visitors and haphazard doctors. Upon entering, the man looks at me, and I give him a small smile in return, hoping he isn’t so worked up like he was yesterday.

“Derek Hale?” I ask politely, approaching the bed he’s laying on, now dressed in just a flimsy pale green outfit that the hospital’s patients are given. My eyes take a momentary glance at the monitor to see his ECG diagram.

“That’s me,” he answers. His voice conveys no distress, no anger, just resignation, like he’s surrendered to medicine. His eyes slip down to my ID then, tilting his head just the tiniest bit to align it with the angle of the card, eyes squinting to try and read my name.

“y/n Lockwood,” I introduce myself, for some reason feeling tempted to stick my hand out for him to shake. This is how it’s appropriate, right? He takes my hand in his—I’ve always known my hands are small, but the way his broad palm and long fingers wrap around it, makes it look even more insignificant in size. He gives me a firm squeeze, which I return, then we let go of each other. “I need to do a few tests on you,” I announce then, picking up his chart from the end of the bed, and pulling the pen out of the pocket over my chest, clicking it and writing on his paper the tests that are going to be done on him.

“What tests?” he asks curtly, crossing his impressively muscled arms in subconscious defence. I hang the chart back on the bed before walking back to stand next to him. “Just a CT and a lumbar puncture,” I answer. “No worries, the latter sounds worse than it actually is.”

“I’m not a vulnerable eggshell, you know,” Derek comments. For a second, I think he was offended by my statement, think that he took it personally, but the way his eyes twinkle slyly, I realise he’s just asserting his masculinity a little sarcastically. Once more, I reach out for him to help him move, but he dismisses it with a shake of his head. Throwing the blanket to the side, and turning to let his legs hang from the side of the bed, he adds, “I was just shot. I can walk by myself.”

I nod slowly, suddenly feeling embarrassed for some reason. My voice is a near squeak when I say, “Right. Follow me then, please.”

I wait while he puts his robe on to cover more of his body—the green outfit is short, like the patient is merely wearing an oversized T-shirt, and the V-neck of it leaves nothing to my imagination regarding Derek’s pectorals, collar bones and strong shoulders. He slips into his slippers, then we take off to the CT machine first.

. o O o .

“There is no tumor in his brain,” I inform the Team about the results of the CT. House gives me a look and narrows his eyes at me suspiciously. The only reason this makes me feel worse than usual is because this time he isn’t the only one standing in front of the rest of the Team—I’m there beside him, too. To relieve the tension a bit, I hold on to the folder in my hands for dear life, fingers gripping it just a touch stronger than a moment ago.

“You’re too calm,” he assesses. “Too calm for someone who was told could be fired if not everything goes smoothly. So I assume there’s more to it.”

I do my best to tamper down the smugness that’s bubbling up in my throat as I hand him over the paper with the results of the lumbar puncture. “As you can see, the amount of his proteins and leukocytes are increased.”

Chase’s head perks up from where he was playing with his pen until now, “That means encephalitis.”

“Told you it was something,” I say pointedly to House, who just looks at me in return. I suppose the knowing smirk on my face wasn’t overlooked by his insightful blue eyes, because he quips, “Come on, don’t be so happy about someone having an encephalitis. What kind of doctor are you? Sociopathic?”

I’m fast to react. “What if I told you I was?” I ask challengingly.

“The million dollar question is, what would you do upon hearing my answer, in case you’re actually a sociopath.”

“How about letting me know your answer and see where it goes?” I offer. The lightest, vaguest hint of a smile on his thin lips lights up House’s worn-out features. He tells me, “Go and give him antivirals. Also, make a test to find out if he has syphilis and check his body for potential marks of a sting from a tick.”

I don’t have to be told twice. I’m already worried about our cop just fine—I’m aware this is going against House’s number two rule here, the ‘don’t get attached to the patient’ rule. The uttermost policy is ‘everybody lies’.

I don’t find Derek in his room, so I have to go look for him. There was a case a couple months ago where we had to play hide and seek with the patient, and it was no fun for us; House was so livid, the Team was nearly snagged for someone getting fired. As for now, I couldn’t tell if my current frustration or my general worry for him is stronger at the moment—I know that if another blackout occurs, I would have to be there immediately. Besides, anything could happen to him while the time’s ticking by with me just searching for him everywhere frantically, even without him fainting.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take me more than a few minutes to find him—sitting on a couch next to the artificial waterfall, a woman on his side, the two of them holding hands. She’s wearing a black skirt suit with matching high-heels, her dark hair put in a neat ballerina bun, giving her a professional appearance. For some reason, it makes me feel utterly small, like she reminds me of the fact that I could never be like her; so strong, so attractive, so stylish. No, I’m just here in my jeans, my flat shoes and a casual shirt, all this adorned by my white labcoat and the ponytail I put my hair in this morning. I guess the clichéd roles—the queen bee and the nerd—will stick to the people for their entire lives. Inhaling deeply, I force a smile on my face before taking off towards them, but a part of Derek’s sentence is enough to stop me in my tracks.

“I’m afraid I’ll lose my job,” comes his quiet voice. The woman strokes his upper arm soothingly, then settles her hand on his shoulder and gives it an encouraging squeeze. Her other hand is still resting in her lap, palm facing up, welcoming Derek’s in it to provide him silent comfort.

“I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” she assures softly. Contrary to what it does to Derek—calming him down and giving him hope—it unsettles me to no end. I’m just about to inform him about the very serious illness that could explain his condition, and now this burden feels even more unbearable than before. “You’ll be just fine. I’m sure in two days you’re going to be chasing criminals again.” No one should be punished with having to tell someone their life is in jeopardy, or how long they have before their disease takes over. No one signs up for shattering dreams, but for healing and saving lives—saving their dreams. My body feels like a cage to me, from which I can’t escape before I’m done with my duty. With the lump huger in my throat, I force my legs to take me to where they are sitting.

“Mr. Hale,” I greet him. My voice comes out as a squeak, despite how hard I’m trying to prevent that. But seeing how his face lights up with the hope the woman gave him? It makes me want to cry, because I know I can’t live up to those expectations.

“Dr. Lockwood,” he nods to me, then motions towards the elegant woman on his side. “This is my elder sister, Laura.” I shake hands with her, but the smile I give her is tight, and I’m sure she noticed it, because her brow twitches shallowly. The grip Laura gives is firm, giving it away to me that she’s a determined person who knows what she wants, and isn’t afraid to go for it.

“Did you figure out anything?” she asks, taking her hand back. I’m taken aback by that question—usually, people start with something like, ‘he’s alright, right?’. Clearly she craves effectiveness and results, not beating around the bush. I have to swallow against the dryness in my mouth before I could speak.

“Yes,” I answer. The siblings’ attention is availably doubled at that, and my heart twists painfully in my chest, knowing that what I’m about to say is not what they are expecting to be told. This is why, I give them a meek warning beforehand, “But you won’t be happy with the results.” My voice is ginger, but tight. Even without my eyes dropping lower than their eyes, I can clearly catch the way Laura’s hand closes tighter around Derek’s. I struggle to go on, “According to the lumbar puncture, Mr. Hale’s leukocyte and protein number is higher than normal.”

“What does that mean?” Laura asks instead of Derek, tone calm and measured, but I can sense the underlying vibrating anxiousness. As soon as the words left my mouth, Derek tilted his head forward to look at the ground instead of me, like he can’t bear seeing me. It feels like a punch to the gut. I close my eyes apologetically for a moment, then explain hoarsely, “It means that Mr. Hale has encephalitis.”

This is the point where Laura loses her perfect mask of the sophisticated woman she normally shows to the world—it perishes silently, in the form of a fat teardrop escaping from her eye and rolling down her cheek. On the other hand, Derek handles it exactly how a strong man would do; he even has the capacity to wrap an arm around Laura and pull her close to him to comfort her, even though it should be the other way around. Laura, though, refuses it for being too proud, already wiping away the stray drop from her face, like it’s never made it there. Derek’s face is expressionless, and the fact he isn’t looking at me anymore stabs me in the chest. His green gaze is fixed on Laura, and nothing else.

I decide to leave them, assuming it’s the best thing I could do, but only after muttering an apology, despite I know this isn’t my fault. I shouldn’t let it get to me, and lately I’ve been getting better at it, but this single occasion ruined all my past successes. I go for the medicine I have to give Derek, then to his room to find a nurse undoing the covers on Derek’s bed.

“Erica, what are you doing?” I ask, putting the antiviral on the nightstand beside the bed. She turns to look at me with a smile.

“Changing his covers, if it wasn’t obvious already,” she quips. I can’t force a grin even for a second after what happened between me and the Hale siblings. Erica doesn’t fail to notice my unease, and she inquires, brows furrowing, “Is something wrong?” Setting down the blanket that’s halfway to being freed, she comes up to me, touching my upper arm gently.

“No, nothing,” I lie, asking the first thing that comes to my mind just to change the subject as soon as possible. “Why are you changing those?” I nod in the general direction of the mess Erica has made. She sighs and goes back to resume her work.

“He’s been going a lot to the toilet. Last time he couldn’t make it there, though, so his vomit ended up on the bed,” she replies, grimacing at the story she shared with me. Clearly the stink is bothering her.

I acknowledge her answer with a nod, then I sit down at the bed, now lacking the sheets, to wait for Derek to return, regardless of the aversion I have for that.

. o O o .

In the end, it takes Derek almost an hour to migrate back and to take his place at his now clear, freshly covered bed. He halts at the door upon noticing me, and just watches me with an expressionless stare. The stretching silence is deafening me, especially with the glass walls shutting out every noise, but this time I can’t bring myself to break it. Instead, I opt to do my job to give myself something else to focus on; I place the plastic pocket of antiviral on the hook above the bed and, after Derek laid down, I inject the other end in his vein. To my surprise and relief, he speaks up.

“How bad is my sickness?” I look at him. Derek’s gaze is darted firmly at the ceiling, not at me, making it clear to me he’s still uncomfortable with seeing me. It stings, but at least he’s now talking—I should appreciate all the small victories. His face is still devoid of emotions.

“We’ll have to figure that out with an MRI later, but right now, the priority is to find out what caused the illness in the first place.”

Derek acknowledges my answer with a nod, then closes his eyes—I get the message loud and clear; he’s telling me without words to leave him alone now. I don’t have a reason to protest, so I consent.

. o O o .

I arrive to the restaurant twenty minutes late. Rushing in, I scan the place, searching for my dinner partners. I spot them in one of the hidden corners, at a dimply lit box with a table and four chairs around it. I stride over to them with a wide grin, greeting them and taking my coat off to lay it on the back of the chair.

“Hey, y/n, long time no see.”

“Scott,” I nod, hugging him briefly before wrapping Allison up in my embrace, too. “Sorry for being late,” I say genuinely, sitting down. “My boss likes to give his Team all the work.”

“We know; everyone knows House’s reputation,” Scott waves it off with a hand.

“How are you?” I ask then, turning to Allison. She beams at me with a shining smile.

“The baby’s due on 14th February,” she announces giddily. “I’m perfectly fine, and so is my baby boy. Only two more months to go,” she drops her eyes at her extended belly, reaching up to rub it fondly, delicately. I chuckle.

“So he’s going to be a Valentine’s boy, huh. How do you know if the baby’s going to be a boy, though? You had it checked?” I ask.

“We don’t exactly know. Allison doesn’t want to check it, wants to wait until he’s born, but she’s convinced he’s a boy,” Scott explains.

“That’s cute,” I coo. A waiter comes to me to take my order, and after the brief chat I have with him, I devote my attention to my friends again.

“And how’s your internship at Princeton?” Allison asks. I shrug; honestly I really don’t wish to talk about that right now—I’d just ruin the mood with it, and that’s the last thing I want. I give them a subtle hint, “I don’t think that’s a fitting subject at the moment.” Scott winces and gives me a worried look.

“Did something happen?” I shake my head no, and pick up my napkin to busy myself with something—also to give myself an excuse not to have to look into either of their eyes.

“No,” I respond a little too late for the other two to believe it. Not that the timing would have mattered anyway; they know me all too well since high school.

“Tell us about it,” Allison urges.

“I really don’t think this is the appropriate time to –”

“y/n, don’t expect me to leave my other best friend tonight without talking this over with her,” Scott demands, a serious gleam in his deep, chestnut brown eyes. “Your face gives you away easily, you know, and I can see it’s something that deeply affected you.”

“Oh yeah, how Stiles and Lydia are doing?” I ask, desperately trying to lead the conversation in another direction, shamelessly taking the chance to talk about the other best friend Scott has without a second thought. While Scott is already opening his mouth to tell me about the other couple, Allison cuts in with a sharp, “y/n”.

“Okay, okay, got it,” I cry out, throwing my hands up in surrender. “So we have a new case since yesterday, and after testing the patient, it turned out he has encephalitis. And he’s a cop.” I take a deep breath before going on, “I had to tell him while his elder sister was there, too.”

“Poor baby,” Allison coos, reaching over the table to stroke my hand soothingly. I’m not surprised by her being so touchy-feely, nor the nickname she addressed me by—I blame it on the raging hormones in her body; thanks to them, she’s way more sensitive to emotional distress than an ordinary person, who isn’t carrying a blooming life under their heart. I manage to smile at her, albeit it doesn’t quite reach my eyes.

“We’re staying here in New Jersey until the baby’s born,” Scott chimes in to whisk the tension away, and the news don’t fail to light up my face.

“Seriously?” I ask, eyes excitedly commuting between the future parents, who just nod at the same time to me with a smile on their faces.

“Yes. And I’m going to attend controls at Princeton-Plainsboro,” Allison says proudly.

“Oh my God,” I chuckle, leaning back on the chair to rest against the back of it. “Give me a call whenever you’re there.”

“Definitely,” she promises. Scott places his hand on her belly to stroke it affectionately. I have never seen such an expression on Scott’s face before—it’s a mixture of responsibility-consciousness, fatherly protection, undying love and slight possessiveness. But above all, it’s meek.

Scott is now officially a grown-up man.


House & Chase | What father does that?

Rewatching ‘House’ and I’m falling back into my year 11/12 feels. I just want House/Chase stuff because of the age difference and I love fictional relationships where one half is abnormally pretty and the other half is grumpy and old but also awesome and people don’t understand the relationship but it works anyway because LOVE. 

I don’t understand how this show manages to do this to me.

anonymous asked:

house/chase and jd/cox are really similar if you think about it

d u d e

  • little cutie doctor with verbally abusive mentor
  • like each other more than they’re willing to admit
  • protege wants to grow up to be just like their mentor - chase ended up almost exactly like house until house was like “YOU DON’T WANNA BE LIKE ME I DON’T WANT YOU TO BE ALONE AND MISERABLE DON’T DO THIS” so chase instead became a better version of house. and jd himself admitted that he wanted to be just like doctor cox, only more successful and more put-together.
  • <333333333
  • otps are real

Originally posted by lillyy17

Dr. Robert Chase x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: This is ‘hot off the press’ with very little editing. I’m kinda proud of it, so I hope you enjoy!

You sat in the cafeteria at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, eating lunch with Dr. James Wilson. He was talking about something….his office? No, House? No, wait, something about a college friend? Whatever it was, you’d both stopped paying attention, and forgotten what it was. Normally you’d listen attentively, as the man was your friend, and mentor of sorts. You shared an office, and he was the one to show you the ropes when you arrived a few months previously. That day, however, you were very distracted. Why? Well, because of a certain blond Australian.

You didn’t know Dr. Chase that well, the two of you only occasionally crossing paths at hospital events, in the halls, or in consults. You were merely acquaintances really. You hadn’t ever spoken for more than ten minutes.

Why was he so distracting, one might ask, seeing as you didn’t really know each other. Well, a few days before, Cameron, aided by a few glasses of wine (something you learned back at the Mayo Clinic would always make her talk) told you he’d been asking about you. Well, curiosity killed the cat, and was slowly wasting you away.

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