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dariaslookalike · 8 months ago

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Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 12: Hidden Fucks and Hidden Girlfriends

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

A/N: two updates in one day because i'm nice like that

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter:

Word Count: 7.8k

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It’s odd, House driving you to work after everything. He doesn’t object when you rifle through his small binder of CDs and slip one into the stereo. Instead, he smiles slightly, lips tugging up.

You’re in your own clothes for the first time in what feels like forever.

Yes, you wanted to tear out your hair because your apartment was currently undergoing a preliminary investigation for violating a dozen health codes. Yes, you wanted to rip out House’s hair because he had reported it.

But at least Pops, seeing the flyer taped to the building and the cautionary tape across the small path leading to it, had gotten your belongings. Or what could be saved, at least. House was right, there was mould growing on the backside of your paintings, your cabinet, and even your beloved Ikea desk. But still, Pops had packed up what little things you had managed to unpack since moving in, and drove them back to House’s apartment; the alternative was emergency housing provided by the state, which you think would have worse health violations that your apartment and Chernobyl combined.

Pop had come bearing gifts too. When House had opened and nearly flung the door shut in his face, Pop had shoved a pot plant into his hands and told him to be grateful it wasn’t another fist. House, for once, had simply shut his mouth and stepped aside to let you greet Pop in a big hug.

Now, your boxes took up a corner of House’s living room. You didn’t want to ask what it meant- now that you were finished with the medication and officially lost your excuse for being House’s unofficial roommate. You didn’t want to ask what it meant that you were still living in his house. In his space with him. Sleeping in his bed with him. Asking would mean you drew his attention to it, which might make him realise you were in fact still living with him, and might make him reconsider that fact. Asking would mean that the past few days that you had spent, fucking each other, making each other cum again and again, might not have happened. So, you simply left your boxes taped up and sitting in the corner.

Maybe you should draw up a tenancy contract and make him sign it, so that way you had some stability. That is what the smart, logical voice in your head tells you, while it also screams at you to find your own apartment- never depend on a man, it tells you, much less House. You tell it to shut up, to let you enjoy this for however long it lasts, and simply reach a hand across the space between you two to rub along House’s thigh while he drives.

He doesn’t ask you to stop, but he pulls into a secluded part of the hospital car park when you arrive instead of his reserved spot, and kisses you until you’re breathless and having to drag yourself away from him to make sure you’re on time.

“You’re sure we can’t go in together?” He asks, eyes trained on you and his thumb smoothing along your cheekbone.

You shrug. “Hell, why don’t I wear a sign that says “House’s little lapdog” and you can walk me to Cuddy’s office where we admit to inappropriate workplace relationships?

“Sounds good to me. I think you’d look great in a collar.”

You shoot him a glare and he leans in quickly before you can pull away in annoyance to place a kiss against your lips. It eases the furrow in your brow, but you still shake your head.

“I go in alone.” You say sternly, and with as much professionalism as you can when you’re conspiring to hide the fact that you’re fucking your boss. “You can wait for fifteen minutes and then join us, all but annoyed to see my healthy return to work.”

He scowls. “Fifteen minutes? Babies in cars die in less time.”

“Good thing you’re not a baby then, and it’s also 40 degrees today. Plus, I’m sure you can occupy yourself for fifteen minutes.”

You tilt your gaze down to his pants, straining against him after your morning make-out session, and his gaze follows. In the brief distraction, you open the car door and slip out, whispering a quick “Bye!” to him.

You’re nearly tackled when you walk into the office.

Cameron clings to you like a koala to a tree, a stream of words rushing out of her mouth.

“I thought you were dead! Or that you hated us all after the ball or had thrown yourself under a car or thrown House under a car but then Chase said he ran into you and I couldn’t believe it and you were sick oh my god and this whole time I was worried you hated us when you were just ill and I’m a doctor how did I not see-”

“Cameron!” You hold her biceps, pinning her to the spot. “I’m okay, and yes it’s great to see you too.”

She just hugs you tightly before finally detaching herself, stepping back. “So you’re not dead? And you don’t hate us?”

“No. And no. Although helping Cuddy was pretty stupid, it’s whatever.”

She gives you a remorseful look, and you feel as if you just kicked a puppy. She doesn’t grovel more like you thought you might, instead flicking her head back to the kitchenette. “I got you a coffee. And a donut. Or maybe three.”

You smile, nodding. “Apology accepted.”

Behind her, Forearm and Chase are already sitting at the table. Foreman offers you a smile and a nod, but he never seemed one for apologies, and instead remains sitting and sipping his own coffee. Chase however, stands up and walks over to you, wrapping his arms tightly around you. Again, you’re struck with the thought you had at the fruit market, of how tall and warm he was.

Cameron is the one to clear her throat, and Chase steps back, a bashful smile across his face. He scans over you as if looking for any signs of illness, any signs that you’re not alright, but he finds none.

“Glad to see you back.” He says softly, and it holds a warmth to it that has the back of your neck heating up.

“Thanks. Glad to be back.”

Foreman snorts. “You sure? House is still here, lurking somewhere.”

Cameron winces, probably hesitant to discuss House with you after you had such a blowout with him at the ball. Instead, you try your best to not blush fully, thinking of his hands and his shoulders and his sheets around you and his legs wrapped around yours and-

Your brain automatically forces you to laugh just before your silence gets awkward. “No, no it’ll be fine. We… talked it out.”

You hope that your words don’t hold any obvious innuendo for the ducklings, but to your horror, Chase nods.

“Yeah, Wilson told us.”

“W-what?” You try to swallow the saliva in your mouth and instead your throat is dry and cracking.

Chase grins. “He said you slapped House, quit and House still asked for you to come back.”

Your heart stops beating out of your chest, and you chuckle softly, trying to feign calm. “Oh, yeah.”

“If Chase did the first part, House would have castrated him.” Foreman points out.

“If Chase so much as thought about slapping him, House would have castrated him.” Cameron adds, leaving the both of them, but not a sulking Chase, to chuckle.

You laugh, and slip over to the kitchenette, biting into one of the donuts Cameron had gotten you. You smile, both happy to have sugary goodness, but happy to see the three of them, squabbling and fighting like nothing had happened, even if your world had been flipped on its head recently.

You’re about to take a second bite when someone calls your name, and you quickly place the donut back to the plate as if it burned you.

Cuddy smiles at you from the glass doorway. It’s no flashy, toothy smile, but one that holds a serious note.

“I think we should talk.” Her voice isn’t domineering but still, authority clings to her tone.

Something curdles in your stomach, the same feeling when a teacher scolds you after perfecting your behaviour.

You will yourself to not succumb to it, to not bend under the shame of potential wrongdoing, to not break under Cuddy’s gaze.

You square your shoulders. “Yeah, I think we should.”

She gives the smallest tilt of her head, but simply smiles again and turns on her heel. She leads you through the hospital to her office, and you fight against the jittery nerves building up in you.

She sits at her desk, and you sit in front her, the perfect schoolgirl sitting on leather office chairs, prepared to be ripped by the principal. You count to six, breathing in, and count to six again, breathing out. Everything in you tells you that you should be apologising or diminutively shrinking, hiding from her gaze and whatever onslaught she has prepared.

Cuddy breathes in sharply, and it whistles through her nose slightly. “I’m glad to see you’re back. But, what happened the other week was-”

“I’d like to talk first. I have something I need to say.”

Cuddy blinks in surprise at your interruption, and you feel shocked too. But she is quick to close her slack jaw.

“Of course. Go ahead.”

You steady yourself, nodding. “What happened the other week was unacceptable.” Cuddy nods her head in agreement until your gaze turns sharp. “What you did was unacceptable. It’s one thing to put me in mandatory counselling, but another to bribe my boss to take me to a work event and lie to me about it.”

Her lips are in a thin line, but she doesn’t object so you continue. “To get everyone wrapped up in the charade was humiliating and embarrassing. My personal life is none of your concern, and you shouldn’t be meddling in anything but my work. I should have expected it from House- but I didn’t expect something like that from you.”

You huff, your small tirade finished and a silence falls over the two of you. For a beat, you think you’ve just ruined your career with one speech and you should be grovelling for her to pretend she was deaf, but then she nods. Her black hair sways with the motion, and she does it again, raising weary eyes to yours.

“You’re right. What I did was inappropriate, and a mistake. I’m sorry, even if it was coming from a place of concern.”

You let out a breath stuck in your lungs. “Thank you.”

Her lips tug up. “I’ll pretend there’s no security footage of you slapping House, and we’ll call it even?”

You laugh, giddy with surprise that she had discovered that. “Email the footage to me, and we’ll call it even.”

She sticks out a hand, smiling. “Deal.”

You shake her hand, lips tilting up.

She sits back in her chair and tilts her head, observing you with no shame. Her lips draw out into a line as she contemplates and she heaves a sigh before speaking again.

“It was a place of concern. You’re a fantastic doctor, and I know House has been hard on you. But you also…remind me a lot of myself.”

Now you blink in surprise. You, reminding Cuddy of herself? You, in all your crinkled slacks and frizzled hair?

“I was young, and I didn’t believe I deserved what I had- my job, my respect, my…love. Even if he hides it, I know House well enough to see that you bring out something better in him.” Her blue eyes pin you to your chair. “And I think you’re blocking yourself from that kind of happiness, because that’s what we’ve been told as intelligent women. That we can’t have it all. That we are intimidating to men and as such, the only focus we should have is on our careers. I just wanted to push you in the right direction.”

She must think you’re about to spit fire at her, mistaking your confusion for ire, because she quickly raises her manicured hands in an apologetic defence.

“That’s the last I will be speaking of it. It’s your personal life, and you are your own person.”

You smile robotically, thinking that must be the right response in this scenario, but your head races. Does she look at you now, and see herself years ago, following her footsteps that have led her to this very office? The actions that had led her to power, but ultimately solitude?

You smile again because you can’t think of what else to do, and rise out your chair, heading out of her office.

Cuddy lets out a shaky breath, and you startle with the thought that this might be as nerve racking for her as it is for you.

You think of her words the whole walk back to the diagnostic office, and the hours pass by in a flurry. House simply doesn’t show up for the morning meeting, and it eats away at you. Forearm quickly steps into his position, updating you on the case they were working on, and directing you to do a biopsy of the patient’s liver.

Hours later, you’re covered in what would make a petri dish scream, tired, and aching. All this time off being sick, and work was the hardest part of it all.

You’re content to fling yourself into an armchair in the break room, and rot for thirty minutes, but as you walk by a closet, your elbow is quickly pinned and you’re wretched inside.

You yell out but a hand slaps over your mouth as the door swings closed. Your knee is halfway through the air, about to inflict damage to this person’s grandkids, when you register who is holding you. House grins and lets go of your mouth.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You hiss, looking around. It’s a supply closet, with a shabby desk-turned-storage unit in one corner, and mops and buckets adorning the other. A bulb flickers overhead. He slides his cane under the door handle.

“It’s a crime to miss you, now?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s a crime to shove people into janitor’s closets, yeah.”

He grins, leaning in closer. “Different bylaws here. The case wouldn’t even make it to court.”

“What’s actually going on?” You look in his eyes, looking for something off, something that tells you there’s a red laser beaming at his back and this is all being surveyed by a blackmailing sniper.

“I missed you.” He reaches up, cupping your face. His thumb rubs circles along your cheekbone.

“Yeah?” You blush, looking up at him.

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

He smirks, leaning in and placing his lips to yours. It’s sweet and soft, and your hand reaches up to wrap around his shoulders. His hand smooths over your cheek, stroking the skin and you lean into his touch. When you tug at his hair softly, the kiss shifts from this domestic, easy, slow joining of your lips, and turns rabid. He nips at your lip, and you press yourself against him, chest to his. His tongue swipes against your teeth and you open yourself up to him. You’re both panting, and his hands shift to push at the small of your back, keeping you pressed to him.

You pull back, and his lips a soft, swollen red. You run your hand along his jaw, smooth from where he shaved this morning.

“How much did you miss me?” He asks, lips tugging up at the corner.

You grin at him, pushing his shoulders until he steps back, pressed against the wall. You lean closer, hands running along his shoulder and the joining of his neck. You place a soft kiss to his neck, trailing up and down, and he leans his head back, sighing in agreement. When he scoffs, mockingly saying this wasn’t much, you nip at him, and suck a mark onto his neck.

“Hey!” He hisses, looking down at you.

“What’s wrong?” You bat your lashes at him, doe-eyed.

“You don’t want us walking in together, but you’ll do that?” He scowls, but there’s no real ire. “What’s next, you’ll leave some lingerie in my pocket?”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you roll your eyes. “No, I’m not doing that.”

He looks like he’s about to pout, so you lean up, placing a chaste kiss to his lips. He smiles like he’s drunk, and his hands rub a smooth line down your back.

“Just a bra?” He smirks. “You had such a pretty one this morning.”

He slips his hand under the collar of your shirt, toying with the strap of your bra.

“House…” You warn.

“What?”

“We’re at work.” You say softly, and his lips tug up like a wolf smiling at a little bunny.

“Tell that to my poor neck.”

You smile, eyes darting down to the red mark. “Say you tripped and fell on your cane. Something believable like that.”

“I have impeccable coordination.” He smirks down at you. “It’d be more likely that Wilson attacked me.”

“That works too.”

His fingers snap your bra strap, and you hiss. He mouths Sorry but a glint in his eyes tells you its payback. His other hand reaches up, and unbuttons the top of your blouse.

“House.” You hiss. “I mean it, we’re at work.”

“So? I’ll wait five minutes after you leave, and I won’t make a peep.” At your silence, his gaze snaps to yours.

“Who’s gonna get you in trouble sweetheart?” He looks at you mockingly. “Your boss?”

“HR.” You bite. “Cuddy. Any single person that respects me.”

“Aw,” He tsks, and unbuttons the next button of your blouse. You glare at him, but you don’t reach down to stop him, and he knows. “Afraid they’re gonna think you’re sleeping to the top?”

You blush, and even though he had been joking, he grins wolfishly. He leans in, eyes dark. “If they know you reached this high up, you’re doing something very right.” You scoff, looking away, but he reaches up, pulling your chin to make you look at him. “I mean it. C’mon, show me how good you are at it. How good you are for me.”

Your eyes flick back to his, and your tongue darts over your lip. “You could have just said you want a quickie in the closet.”

He clicks his tongue. “Would that have worked?”

“Yes.” You say, throwing your arms around him and kissing him again. He leans back with the force of you, but is quick to readjust, his hand reaching between the two of you to unbutton your shirt completely while he kisses you back. You moan softly against him when your shirt falls to the floor, and his hands grope over the lace of your bra.

He steps you back, and together you do an awkward shuffle. You pull back, laughing, and he smiles at you, walking you back until he leans against the desk. He turns, swiping his hand over the discarded junk, and clearing a spot.

He sits on the desk, and you step between his thighs, kissing him again. His hand fumbles at your pants.

“Fuck.” He hisses. “You couldn’t have worn one of those tortuous skirts today?”

You smile, nipping at his mouth and reach down, unbuttoning and unzipping your pants. “I only wear those when I have clinic.”

His hand reaches down, palming at his crotch and he groans, closing his eyes. “Damn, you’re making me miss the clinic. How is that possible?”

You squeeze your legs together at the sight of his, palming himself to the thought of you. He opens his eyes, and tugs at your pants. “Come on, Newbie. Prove that you’ve got what it takes. Might be a promotion in it for you too.”

You swat at his shoulder. “That is so not funny.”

He smiles. “You’re right. We’ll start small, and I’ll make you my second in command.”

You roll your eyes, but reach down, sliding your pants down your legs and stepping out of them, kicking your flats off in the process. He watches you hungrily, and he pats his thigh, settling back until he leans against the wall.

You raise your eyebrow at him, and he scoffs. “What, you want the cripple to climb onto your lap? Didn’t take you for such an ableist, but if the shoe fits.”

You’re tempted to throw your shoe at his head, but instead you kick a crate closer, using it to step up in front of him. It’s awkward and he chuckles beneath you as you clamber atop him, until finally you sit, straddling him (after you’ve elbowed him once accidentally, and twice on purpose in the process).

His hands settle at your hips, gripping the soft flesh. You glance down between the both of you.

“This isn’t fair. I’m practically naked.”

He shrugs. “Well, I don’t look so good without a shirt on.”

You’re about to protest and call his bluff, when he leans forward, mouth sucking onto the cleavage that spills over the cup of your lacy bra. Your hand rest on his shoulders for support, and you arch your back, pressing your breasts into him. He groans beneath you, hips rutting up into you. Just the sound of him has you grinding down onto his lap, and his hands tighten at your hips, digging into them. He can mark you anywhere he likes below the collar.

He realises it too, because he sucks a dark spot onto your breast before trailing up and stopping at your collarbone, nipping and biting and sucking at your exposed skin.

You roll your hips against him, panting. “Thought this was supposed to be a quickie?”

He drags his gaze from your covered breasts back to your eyes, painstakingly so. “Mm, but these are so much fun.”

“Yeah,” You grind down against him, feeling him harden in his pants. “But I’ve got twenty minutes tops until someone comes looking for me. You’ve trained your lackeys too well.”

“I hate when I do that.” He sighs, looking up at you with faux sadness. “Well, since you’re really twisting my arm here.”

One of his hands retreats from your hip to instead pull down his zipper. You smirk, brushing his hand aside and reach between the two of you to tug his cock out of his slacks. You pump him in your hand, and he groans, tightening his grip against you.

“Fuck.” He hisses when you pool your saliva and spit into your hand, returning to pump him up and down. He bucks into your hand, but it’s a bit awkward, pressed so close and trying to jerk him off.

That’s the excuse you use when you pull your panties to the side and line him up between your folds. You roll your hips, coating him in slick and he shudders in a breath.

“Already so wet.” He groans, low in the back of his throat. “All that for me, Newbie?”

“Let me do this for another minute and see how long you last, House.” You snip, and he looks up at you pleading.

You take pity on him, and raise yourself up slightly. You grasp the base of his cock, now hard, slick and weeping at the top and angle him to your entrance. You notch him there for a moment as you reposition, letting your arms fall back to his shoulders. His hands find the dip of your waist and he looks up at you, mouth open slightly.

You smirk, torturing him by drawing the moment out longer and not moving an inch. He realises what you’re doing and scoffs, opening his mouth to spout some expletives, when you lower yourself down over his cock.

It stretches, and burns, and you gasp atop him. Still, you push yourself down slowly, and he looks up at you, soaking in every reaction you give him. When you feel the fabric of his pants against your arse, and that snug, tight feeling of all of him pressed into you, you sigh contently.

“C’mon pretty girl.” He drawls, fingers pressing into your side. “Prove it.”

You grin at him, raising yourself up, dragging yourself against his cock until only the head is in you. You slam yourself back down, easier this time and he groans, eyes closing for a moment.

“Be quiet.” You chirp, leaning in to whisper at his ear. “Don’t want anyone hearing us.”

You raise yourself up, bouncing down on his cock just to make him groan again, louder this time. You bite against his neck softly, and bounce yourself on him. He stretches you with each movement, and when the initial pure bliss ebbs a bit, he focuses again, hands urging you up and down, up and down, as you ride him.

Your knees dig into the desk, and your thighs strain, but the burn, the pain, the tremor starting in your legs is delicious, and you keep bouncing yourself on him.

“‘T’s so fucking good, House.”

You bite your lips in a moan, and he takes it upon himself to draw it out of you.

“Yeah? C’mon show me how good it is.”

You’re not so much bouncing on him anymore as much as he’s fucking into you, thrusting his hips up and guiding you back down over his cock again and again.

He wins and you let out a whine, feeling the slick wetness dripping between the two of you, and likely staining his pants. He eases back, and you groan, shifting to bear more weight onto his shoulders as you pull yourself up and down, up and down, each time the head of his cock dragging at your gummy walls, notching slightly against that spongey spot in you.

“See? You’re doing fantastic.” He growls, rutting up into you. “Riding this dick like you were fucking made to.”

You clench at his words, and he lets out a low groan. “You like that? You like being told you were made to ride me? You do it so fucking well sweetheart. Such a good slut for me.”

You ride him harder, moaning into the crook of his shoulder. His hands smooth over your back, arching you against him. “There you go baby. Fuck, maybe after we’re done I’ll show Wilson how good you are, hmm?”

You murmur against him, and he grasps your hips, rolling you back onto him in a harsher movement. “That’s what good little sluts do- you said you’re sleeping your way to the top, huh? Wilson’s next. See who else wants a fucking piece of you.”

He angles himself harsher, his dick pressing right against that spot inside you, and you moan out. He does it again, and again, a wicked grin on his face, and you moan against him. One of his hands slips between you both, reaching down to circle at that bud of nerves.

“Fuck, House.” You moan, arching into his touch.

“C’mon baby, tell me how much you want it.”

“Please,” You whine, grinding down onto him, feeling him slide in and out, in and out, each time dragging against you, settling you onto the base of his cock and slamming you back down. “Please, House, make me cum.”

He coos at you. “So polite when you want to cum on my cock. Need to sit you on it all the time, no more of that bratty attitude.”

He rubs circles onto your slick clit, messy and loose. “I’ll have you sit on me in meetings, skirt up to your fucking waist. Let everyone see how nice you can be when you’re not desperate for dick.”

You moan against him, and your movements shudder. He fucks up into you, groaning and rubbing at your clit with more purpose. You moan, muffling your sounds against his shoulder, and he lets out a shuddering breath.

“Go on sweetheart. Cum on my cock, go on, baby. Take what you need, sweetheart.”

Sweet and fucked out of your brain, you do as you’re told, moaning against him as your orgasm washes over you in jolts of electricity. He bounces you on him the whole time, fingers not leaving your clit.

“There you go baby, good fucking girl.”

When the bliss subsides and you come back to earth, he’s still making you ride him, moving your hips up and down over his cock. The drag is fucking beautiful, and feels so much more after your orgasm.

“Fuck.” He groans, and you bounce yourself up and down him, invigorated as you chase his high.

“I’m nearly there, baby.”

“Yeah?” You sigh, leaning forward to kiss him. You reach a hand up, cupping his face. “C’mon House. For me, please.”

His breath is shuddering, and you keep a constant, brutal pace atop him. His lip grazes yours, both of you breathing onto each other.

“Where? Baby, fuck, where?”

You kiss him again, pressing closer to him, drawing his body against yours, slamming your hips against his. He doesn’t need an answer, his hands at your waist, dragging you up and down as he meets your movements with his own.

You want to hear him, want to have that sound carved into your brain, but the little part of logic remaining in you forces you to kiss him like your life depends on it, muffle the long, deep groan he lets out as his hips stammer, stilling. You keep moving even when you feel him pulse in you, even when his muffled sounds become more drawn out to a whine, even when his hands grip at your waist to slow you. You take him for every last drop he offers you, drawing it out.

When you do slow, you sit on his lap, breathing heavily, face pressed to his.

“Did I prove it?”

“Fuck.” His voice is wrecked, and he lets his head fall forward to your shoulder.

You laugh, feeling the sweat on your skin cool in the air. “Did I make you speechless, House?”

He just wraps his hands around your clammy back, not flinching, instead drawing you closer until you wrap your arms around him too.

“Did fucking amazing, baby.” He looks up at you, blue eyes electric. “I think I died and came back.”

You grin, chuckling. “I think you must have knocked your head.”

He shakes his head, leaning up to kiss you. When he pulls back, his lips tug up. “Fuck a promotion- do that again and I’ll make sure you get Cuddy’s job.”

You roll your eyes, unwrapping your arms from his. You take one of his arms in your own, angling his wrist to glance at his watch. You look back at him, smiling. “That’s time.”

He scowls. “This hospital depends on me- they can give us ten more minutes.”

You pull yourself off of him, his softening dick falling back to his stomach. The peak of your thighs is slick and you gingerly pull your panties back over it while he tucks himself into his pants.

“Help me down.” You look at him, pouting.

He rolls his eyes, but he offers his hands to you as you clamber off him, setting your feet to the floor.

You blush deeply looking at the mess on his lap. He follows your gaze and shrugs. “Whatever.”

“Whatever?” You swat at him, reaching down to grab your blouse and button it back up. You shoot him a look. “What are people gonna say seeing that?”

He shrugs. “That you’re sleeping to the top.” You glare at him, and he raises his hands in defence. “We are in a literal supply closet. I think I can find something to clean myself with.”

You grab a packet of body wipes off one of the shelves, and throw it towards him. He catches it perfectly, raising his brows in a cocky smile. You walk over to him, standing between his legs again.

“Do you need some help, House? ‘Made such a mess on you.” You take the packet from his hand, grabbing one out, and reaching forward.You look up with wide, innocent eyes.

His eyes are dark and his throat bobs. “Yeah.”

“Yes, what?”

His nostrils flare, but his eyes dip down to you, pantless and with your blouse clinging to you. Looking fucked out of your mind.

You expect to hear yes, please, but instead he groans, pushing off the desk. He wobbles on his leg for a moment, but his arms are steady as he spins you around, sitting you on the desk now. You give him a confused look, and he simply bends down, eyes on yours the whole time, gripping your hips to shift you closer to the edge. His hands grip your knees, spreading you wide. He pulls your slick panties back to the side, and you hiss as his tongue swipes broadly across your centre, hot and heavy.

He’s not desperate, or punishing. He simply licks against you, groaning softly each time you let out a soft whimper. His hands grip at your legs, keeping you spready. Your hands wring through his hair, tugging at his scalp. He just keeps lapping at you, cleaning you of everything you gave him and everything he gave you. You muffle your moans against your hand, and your orgasm shakes over you. You buck against his mouth, but he doesn’t budge, licking you through your orgasm, and then lapping up that wetness.

When he does pull back, you’re trembling. His mouth is slick with you, his hair pulled at. He takes the gentle cleaning wipe from your hand, that you somehow had clenched in your palm the whole time, and finishes the job, cleaning up any residue between your thighs. He tugs your panties back into place, and grins at you.

“Thank you, what?”

You roll your eyes, but you still mumble out, cheeks beet red with embarrassment. “Thank you, House.”

He cups your face, and you lean into his touch, his hand melding to your skin. He leans in, kissing you gently, and you taste yourself against him. When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours, gazing down at you, tenderly.

You push him back gently, sliding off the table and tugging your pants back up your legs. You smirk at him as you slip your shoes back on, smoothing your hands over your hair.

You grab the cane from the door and pass it back to him. His fingers linger against yours, and your eyes dip down to his stained pants.

“Wait five minutes, right? Good luck with that, House.”

You spin on your heel and slip out of the closet, laughing softly to yourself at his scoff you cut off with the closing of the door. You straighten your blouse, and try your best to pretend you weren’t still riding the high he had given you, and get back to work.

——————

When you arrive to work early the next day, adamant that you should catch the bus by yourself and not risk any suspicion, you’re so preoccupied in shaking out your jacket, wet from the light rain, that you don’t even register a person standing right beside the glass office until you bump into their back.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You blurt out, even before they turn around to look at you.

A beautiful woman smiles at you, and there’s a familiar tilt to her lips that reminds you of someone.

She looks a bit out of place here, her black pantsuit too smooth to be a ruffled family representative of a patient, but too the buttons undone at the top a step too close to revealing to be hospital management.

She brushes back her dark hair, and huffs out a chuckle.

“No harm done, sweetheart.”

You blink at the term, looking down at yourself to double check that you were in fact wearing your Doctor’s coat, and not appearing like some teen that had wandered off from their parents.

You remind yourself to nod politely, and you move to step around her. She clears her throat however, and it stops your movement, and you look towards her expectantly.

She offers a bashful smile. “Do you know if Greg is around at all? Or is he off, hiding somewhere?”

You must look as confused as you feel at her words because she speaks again, eyes dipping down to scan you like as a specimen as she does so. “I mean House. Is House here today? Or hell, even Wilson? It seems that the two of them are avoiding me.”

You blink, shifting on your feet. “House should be here today.” You cast a glance into the office, where House’s desk sits empty, and the three ducklings are trying obviously to not look towards the both of you. “If I see him, did you want me to let him know you stopped by, Miss…”

“Stacy Warner.” She says, smiling and offering her hand out with a point of professionalism.

You shake her hand, trying to match the firmness of her grip.

“And yes. If you see House, let him know that I need to talk to him. And that I won’t slap him, this time.” Stacy says, her voice laced with mirth that tells you she’s familiar with House and his antics.

“Sure thing, Miss Warner.”

You both smile to each other, but you can feel her gaze follow you as you step into the conference room. By the time you turn and look at the glass divider, she’s striding down the hallway.

Cameron looks at you with wild eyes, and you nearly step back. In response to her conspiratory whisper, you sit in your chair at the table and lean closer to her.

“What did she say!?”

You shrug, confused. “That she wanted to see House. Why?”

“Fife!” Chase sputters, and you turn your gaze to him. He continues chewing one of your donuts and you reach out to give him a light slap to his wrist.

Foreman rolls his eyes, sipping his coffee. “What Mr Greedy over here is trying to say, is that was House’s ex-wife. Fiancee. Girlfriend. Something.” He says, ominously.

Your stomach sinks and you try to stop yourself from blanching. “Oh?”

Cameron nods, whispering as if House had everything wired- it was a possibility. “Yeah, she’s come around a few times. Wilson told us they were together for a few years and then she left him.”

Chase, finally having managed to swallow your food, speaks. “Yeah, and that he’s still in love with her. No wonder you couldn’t get freaky with him like you wanted.” Chase wriggles his brows at Cameron, and despite her flaming face she reaches over smacking him with full force. “Ouch!”

Foreman’s lips tug up and he shakes his head. “Do it harder next time.”

Chase sputters, aghast at Foreman’s betrayal. “What!?”

Once again it descends into fighting, and Cameron even lands another slap to Chase’s arm.

You try not to sound too desperate for information, or nauseous like you feel when you speak up. “So, what, are they getting back together?”

Cameron huffs, seemingly exhausted from the energy it takes to put Chase in his place. She scrunches up her nose though, as if the thought of House in a romantic context disturbs her now. “She’s married now but…I doubt it would stop either of them.”

Foreman tuts at her. “Wow, that’s a lot coming from the person who wouldn’t have stopped from HR.”

Your stomach sinks, a cement block tugging down all your organs with it. Cameron however laughs off his words, rolling her eyes. “I just mean that from what Wilson says, they were both mad for each other. And House is still obsessed with her.”

You’re going to vomit. You feel every part of you that House has touched light up in shame and embarrassment.

Foreman’s eyes flick to yours. “You alright? You don’t look too good.”

A laugh bubbles out from your nervously. “Yeah no, yeah I’m fine.”

Chase pats you on the shoulder. “It’s alright, we all get disgusted thinking of House ever having a girlfriend- the torture that poor woman went through.”

You laugh, this time trying to seep in more confidence to the noise. Cameron chuckles with you, but Foreman still watches you from the corner of his eye, unconvinced.

You don’t see House all day, and not even Wilson. Only when it’s three hours past your lunch break, and you have found a chance to slip away and scoff down a sandwich you had packed yourself do you see House for the first time.

You drag your eyes from your sandwich in the glass meeting room, back to him, sitting at his desk and in serious thought, judging by the harsh draw of his brow. Sandwich. House. Sandwich. House.

You curse yourself a little bit, walking over, and pushing open his office door.

“Not now, Wilson.” He doesn’t look up, scowling.

“I’m about to- Oh.” His lips tug up, and he sits back in his chair, easing into the fabric. “Newbie.”

“Hey.” You smile, your cheeks dusted with pink.

“Hey.” He echoes back, smirking.

You step forward. “I didn’t see you today.”

“Really?” He looks perplexed. “If I recall correctly, before you caught the bus we were about five minutes away from testing the suspension of my car by having you ride me til-”

You clear your throat, shooting him a look, and tilting your head to the glass office that was putting everything you did on display. This wasn’t some dingy supply closet, this was like a zoo display that invited all sort of observers.

He rolls his eyes. “It’s 4PM. No one’s at a hospital at 4PM.”

“Really?” You laugh. “Everyone’s at a hospital at 4PM.”

He stands up, limping closer to you. “Well, Cuddy’s not. She had a conference at 2.”

“So?”

“So,” He says, reaching you and grinning as his arm slips to your waist. “We can test the suspension of my desk.”

He tugs you closer, and you tell yourself to resist, but instead your feet follow his. He sits against his desk and draws you between his knees, hands splayed across your waist.

You want it to stay like this. For him to keep looking up at you with that drunk look, for you to keep throwing caution to the wind, for only the mingling of your breaths to be heard in the office.

Instead you blurt out. “I ran into Stacy today.”

“Oh.” His hands stop their movement against your waist. “Well I hope you knocked her over too.”

The last half doesn’t ease the tension as he tried to, and instead it feels like a weak attempt for him to sway away any thought of serious discussion.

Your breath is shaky. “Everyone was saying you were still in love with her.”

He swallows heavily, and looks away from you. You take a step back, and his hands drop from you to grip the desk.

“Is it true?”

His gaze flicks back to yours, but there’s an iciness held within it that wasn’t there a minute before. “What, do you believe everything people say? Chase told everyone that ducks were actually small geese. Do you believe in that avian ‘fact’ too?”

You frown, seeing through his diversion. “Answer the question, House.”

He pushes off the desk, grabbing his cane and standing now to face you. “What does it matter? Why do you care?”

“Don’t do that. Not after everything.” You scoff, shaking your head.

“‘Everything’? We’re sleeping together, Newbie, not discovering the meaning of existence.”

He barks out a bitter laugh. You bite your lip and his eyes zero in on the movement. “We’re only sleeping together. What does it matter if I love her or not?”

You’re unattached to your body, and instead all you are is your aching heart. “Because House, you might be proficient in prostitution culture, but for some of us ‘only sleeping together’ actually means something.”

He throws his hand up, like he was scolding an insulant child. “I told you at the start, that this was just sex.”

You stammer. “Well, yeah but-”

“I didn’t know it was that good to make you fall in love.” He sneers, and you know with the venom in his tone he’s expecting you to cry, to lash out at him, to storm off.

“Don’t be so full of yourself, House.” You spit.

He steps forward, scoffing and looming over you with a scowl etched onto his face. “Can’t help it- you were the one humping me to Timbuktu.”

“Yeah, and what did you have to do in your car by yourself this morning?” You glare at him, speaking to him with a tone you would use on a horny, uncontrollable teenage version of House.

He should be scoffing again at your, and replying with some witty retort. But instead, you see his eyes drop down to your lips, back to your eyes, and down to your lips again. And then he’s leaning forward, wrapping an arm tightly around you and dragging you into him as he latches onto your mouth. It’s a mess of his tongue and yours and gnashing teeth and none of it is smooth or perfect but it’s angry and brash, a clashing of mouths in a heated argument where each of you tells the other to piss off with a swipe of your tongue. You wrap an arm around his shoulder and the other goes to the back of his head, pressing him into you and scratching against his scalp.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath fanning across your face. You feel flushed and near lightheaded with how little you were breathing.

You want it to stay like this. Instead you speak.

“When we kiss, do you think of her?”

It’s your words that tumble out of your mouth, but the sound of them out in the open hits you like a tonne of bricks.

He looks at you disgusted, and it stabs you in your chest. “We’re not fucking married. It doesn’t matter if either of us want someone else. We’re not exclusive.”

You unwrap your hands from him, letting them rest limply against his chest in between the two of you. “It doesn’t?”

“No.” He snaps. “It doesn’t.”

You take a step back, and this time he doesn’t breach the distance. He just watches you, annoyance etched into his face, as if he was in disbelief you could think anything different.

“Good to know.”

Your voice doesn’t wobble or waver. You were no longer going to let yourself break because of the man in front of you. You just smile at him, tipping your head to him like you were just another employee thanking their boss.

He seems like he’s contemplating replying, but you turn on your heel and walk out of his office.

#house md fanfiction #house md x reader #gregory house x reader #gregory house #house md #masterlist #house md masterlist #greg house x f!reader #gregory house fic #gregory house smut #dariaslookalike masterlist #dariaslookalike fic

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sunny44 · 1 year ago

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Old vs new

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x daughter

Warnings: none, just fluff

Summary: When Lewis is bored in his house and decide to do a instagram live with his daughter.

This is a request

It was a sunny afternoon and I was bored in the house, my wife was with her sister and I was at our house with my daughter who was doing something in her room and then I had the idea of doing an Instagram live witch is something I usually don’t do but since the fans lives Ava I thought it was a good ideia.

I called Ava saying to meet me in my trophies room and when I press the button to start the live, Ava entered the room and she sit in my lap and we immediately created a buzz as fans tuned in to witness our live.

"Hey everyone, I've got a very special lady here with me today," I said to the phone and Ava smiled and waved at everyone. "As you guys already now this is my daughter Ava. And she’s already in go kart to be the next Hamilton.”

Mia giggled, her eyes lighting up as she playfully jabbed, "Yeah, Dad, you're not as fast as you used to be. You're like, ancient in F1 years!"

The comment sparked laughter from Lewis and his audience. "Ancient, huh?" he responded, feigning shock. "Well, I might not be as young as I was when I started, but I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve!"

Ava’s eyes twinkled mischievously. "Oh, I've seen your tricks, Dad. I've also seen your old races on TV. Vintage stuff!"

The banter continued as they reminisced about Lewis's early days in racing. He recounted stories of his breakthrough races, while Mia giggled at the outdated racing gear he used to wear. "Hey, don't laugh too hard! Those suits were cutting-edge back then," Lewis protested, feigning offense.

Mia, her voice dripping with mock seriousness, quipped, "Yeah, sure they were, Dad. Just like those ancient cell phones you used!"

The playful teasing exchanged between father and daughter endeared them to their audience even more. Amidst the jokes, Lewis shared the valuable lessons he learned from his journey – the hard work, dedication, and resilience that drove him to become a champion.

"You know, Ava" Lewis began with a thoughtful expression, "racing isn't just about speed and trophies. It's about determination and pushing yourself beyond your limits. That's something you'll need to remember when you're the next Hamilton in F1."

Mia's eyes gleamed as she leaned closer to the camera. "Oh, I'll remember, Dad. And when I'm on that track, I'll make sure to remind everyone that the Hamilton legacy continues!"

Their connection was a beautiful blend of admiration and camaraderie. As the conversation flowed, Lewis turned the tables on Ava. "You know what, Ava? I think it's time for a challenge. How about we have a karting race this weekend? Old vs new!"

Ava's face lit up, excitement radiating from her. "You're on, Dad! Just remember, I've been practicing!"

As the live session drew to a close, Lewis shared his pride in his daughter's aspirations. "I'm not just her father, but also her biggest fan. If she chooses to step into the world of racing, I'll be there every step of the way."

The Instagram Live ended with promises of the upcoming karting showdown and a grateful farewell to the fans. Lewis and Ava had not only shared their love for racing but had given the world a glimpse into the genuine bond they shared – a bond that would undoubtedly continue to flourish as the next generation of the Hamilton legacy began to unfold.

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esotericpluto · 2 years ago

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messages from your spirit guides

from left to right; intuitively choose the pile you feel more connected to. To make it easier, you can take a deep breathe, close your eyes and ask for guidance to your deities or guides. These are all general messages, so just take what resonates and leave what doesn't. This reading is timeless. If it resonates, feedback is always appreciated and motivates to keep doing pick a card readings. Please, tip the reader here

pile 1

For you, the first message I received and quick and short. Your guides are asking you to drink water, eat healthy food, especially fruits. Wear lots of sunscreen too, as I'm hearing some of you might be prone to sun damage or sunburns.

For some of you, you should focus a bit more on your friendgroups in the next weeks, as I feel like some friends would want to have you around them and might need your help or support.

I feel like some of you might have many dreams, ambitions and goals, to the point where sometimes you don't know where to begin or multitask between them. Your guides are telling you to figure it out, as it will greatly help you in the future. For this, they highly recommend you to set a practical plan for each of your goals and focus on a fewer at a time, as it will get you further. Setting a practical goal can be simply writing it out in steps, which will help you stay motivated and track your progress. I feel like for many of you, this might also be luxury, lifestyle and finances related, in which case, I also recommend you using affirmations and meditations for abundance and to align your mindset/self-concept with your desire.

I feel like there is also a big desire to be genuine, to just be who you are and express yourself without any fears. Your guides want to tell you to stay true to yourself and just ne yourself without minding anyone's opinions about it. Whoever doesn't like you or judge you just serves no purpose in your life and their negative criticisms say more about them than it says about you. Genuine people will flock to you once you unapologetically become yourself.

Overall, it is also a great time for healing: so focus on healing old wounds, traumas, fears and insecurities. Your healing process will be heightened for the next few months and your guides will aid you in the entire process, making sure you improve and grow.

pile 2

Many of you have been working crazy hard lately, maybe even manifesting things important to you into your life. Your guides are congratulating you on the good job and seem very proud of you. I hear to keep going and persisting as most people who picked this pile will achieve their goals really soon. All it might be needed for some of you is to either let go/trust or have a final breakthrough.

For all of you thinking about starting something new in your life or taking a certain action. I'm feeling that you should definitely go ahead with it. It could also be related to the previous paragraph and be what you need to manifest it fully.

If you are into someone or trying to manifest a new job or business, try to make the first move on them. Even if it might not go perfect the first time around, 100% hold your vision and persist in your desire as you will get success. It will worl out in your favor!

Those of you planning on dying your hair any bold color, I am hearing from your guides to rethink it for a while more as it might not be something you will like a lot or feel comfortable with yet. Maybe trying out different neutral colors first would be better for you for now. However, I'm getting that you should 100% go for the haircut you are planning, if any.

I'm also getting to not stay home this summer and go hang out with your friends more often. If your friends are out of town, take yourself on a date somewhere nice and pretty and buy yourself flowers or a treat!

pile 3

I feel like some of you are being encouraged to go out and try new smoothie and fruit juice flavors, especially if you live next to the beach or similar. Enjoy this with some friends or even your partner if you have any.

If you don't have a partner, I feel like your guides are saying you might find one soon, especially if you are going on vacation soon. If you are not going on vacation soon, your guides want you to try and go, even if just for a weekend.

For many of you, you guys are insisting on something or being stubborn in a situation. If this is a manifestation/dream related situation, then your guides want you to keep persisting and believing/assuming that what you want is already yours and this will make it come true. For those of you who have been in an argument lately, I feel like this means that you might be being too stubborn and it's better to just drop it and let go, as in some cases arguing just won't solve anything. However, for all the cases in this pile, I see that having faith and knowing that what you want will happen is a common theme here.

You should also think about checking on your loved ones soon if you haven't yet and see how they are doing. I feel like some of you have loved ones going through hard times or you might yourself be going through hard times. You are safe and will be safe and get to a better situation soon enough, so will your family and friends.

Your guides also want you to know that communication is important in your connections with others, especially if you are someone who overthinks a lot or has many insecurities. If someone is doing something that is making you confused or overthink, think about bringing up to them how you are feeling and solve the situation.

Your guides are also motivating you to try and contact them when you have questions, whether by praying, meditation or simply talking out loud. They will reply to the best of their abilities. For some of you, I also hear you should start working out to have a healthier lifestyle.

#pac #pick a card #pick a pile #free readings #free reading #intuitive readings #intuitive reading #tarot readings #tarot reading #free tarot readings #free intuitive readings #pick a card reading #pac reading #free intuitive reading #free tarot reading #tarot #readings #psychic readings #free psychic readings

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quietlyimplode · 3 months ago

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ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 10 - I can’t think straight

Warnings: therapy talk of dissociation, red room discussion, talk of forced birth/pregnancy (but not described or graphic)

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha talks to the therapist who reveals secrets of their own.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

Olivia waits.

She itches the scar on her elbow absentmindedly.

She feels her guard go up as Natasha enters; the woman still handcuffed as they go through the rigmarole of uncuffing her and then sitting in silence.

Natasha doesn’t look at her.

Sharp eyes stare straight ahead.

They both know what’s coming.

“What do you want?” she opens, knowing the question will provoke her.

They’ve been at this for weeks.

It doesn’t always start like this. Sometimes it’s making sure Natasha’s not so dissociated that she can function through the day and the time in between.

Sometimes it’s touching on small things she’s said in debrief.

Provoking her, it’s not the point of the exercise.

The woman is barely holding it together, anyone who looks closely enough can see it.

They just have to want to.

No one in Shield has Natasha’s best interests in mind.

All they want is her information; her intelligence.

Olivia knows how it feels to be a defector.

The world is against her.

Natasha has to want to choose something for herself.

She knows this.

She wants Natasha to make a choice, any choice for herself.

The difficulty is that she has a lifetime of being told her voice doesn’t matter.

Natasha looks down at her hands, no words coming.

Olivia waits.

The dissociation that comes with asking hard, self reflecting questions is written on Natasha’s face.

She knows how it is; not being able to think straight.

She wonders how much to push today, how much to disclose and what to focus on.

With no answer forthcoming, she side steps.

“If I were to ask you, how you are, what would you say?”

Eyes look away, glancing at the time.

“Fine.”

The answer is curt.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

Natasha shifts in her seat.

“And if I were to ask you to pretend to be me, and tell me how you seem, what would you say?”

Natasha is quiet.

“I don’t know.”

Olivia pauses.

Natasha watches her closely.

“Do you ever get tired, of battling the old you? The you that’s still stuck in the Red Room, controlled by someone else?”

Natasha looks taken aback, defensive and angry at the statement but Olivia continues anyway.

“I can see it, I see how hard you’re fighting, neither the old you or this version of yourself succeeding; I can see how exhausted you are.”

The room is so quiet.

Natasha’s eyes are intent, breathing shallowly, waiting the next blow of words.

“You made the decisions to put yourself here. So answer me.”

The next words are punctuated.

“What do you want?”

Natasha feels that she could say something profound, something about wanting to live or to be able to take back her life.

But she can’t decide that yet.

She hasn’t decided that yet.

Life has a funny way of deciding things for her and she sits passive on the wave.

Natasha glances up.

Eyes locking onto the scar on her arm, so many things fit into place.

“How did you get out?”

Olivia smiles.

She’d wondered if Natasha knew and how long it would take her to ask.

She straightens her arm.

The mark of her first kill, still present even after all these years. She dug in too hard with her knife, the self loathing in that moment providing a mark for life.

“For every breakdown, there’s a breakthrough. I would like to say that it was easy. That I did it myself, but we both know that’s a lie. People died to get me out. I wasn’t sure if it was what I wanted but I couldn’t dishonour their sacrifice. For a long time, I looked like you do now. Scared and tired. Like the world just needs to stop, to get your bearings.”

Olivia takes a sip of her water, aware of the eyes that watch her every movement now, that analyse her being.

“But it does get better.”

She looks at Natasha, her gaze fierce until Natasha cannot hold the intensity.

Fingers clench and release and Olivia models a breath.

“I can tell you the story, but first,” she pauses.

“Tell me something you want.”

“I want to know how Maria knew my birthday,” she whispers, looking up and expecting the woman to be laughing at her.

The conversation that had occurred all those months ago, still plays in Natasha’s mind. The insinuation that someone knew more about herself than she did, made nights sleepless and haunting. She hated Maria for it, and Shield in turn.

The hatred had abated somewhat, but still simmered under the surface.

After all they had given her, she wanted something for it; even though she had no rights to ask.

Olivia looks at her seriously, there’s no hint of a laugh or a smile.

“Good Natasha. That’s good.”

And the praise feels like a calming balm, honeyed words that rip into her.

Natasha pushes the feelings aside, and stares expectantly at her, wanting the story she’d promised.

Olivia glances at the time.

“Olivia was not always my name, I was not what you see now.”

“I was on a mission to Salta. Argentina is everything you expect it to be, beautiful and if you know the underworld, dangerous.”

Like all widows, Olivia knows how to tell a story.

Natasha reflects on it momentarily before getting lost in the thoughts and feelings of the words that emanate.

She wonders if they all know how, because of the necessity of stories in the Red Room, or because it was the only way to pass the time.

She redirects her attention, back to the present and not to the image of the girls in her dormitory sitting hands cuffed on their beds telling ghost stories about the monsters in the basement that would eat little girls.

“It was my first mission without handlers, and I got captured.”

Natasha’s heart sinks.

“I escaped, of course, a filed down spoon slices throats just as easily as a knife if you know how to use it. But,”

Olivia sighs, “they didn’t believe that I didn’t give anything up. In those days, the Red Room was still a secret, Russia’s own little experimental trojan, to get captured was tantamount to death. But all the money they invested in me. They couldn’t kill me. I was … retired.”

The memory of the pain of hot irons on the soles of her feet makes her swallow.

“After everything; they didn’t trust me. So they had another use for me. Widows, when retired, were forced to have children, to start the next generations of Widows. This was, of course, before they realised that women and girls were more easily trafficked than spending money on maternal health care, if they wanted them to live.”

Olivia frowns, knowing she’s speaking too much.

“Salta taught me two things. One; the way I was raised was not normal. It should be obvious, but sometimes stating that out loud helped, and two, I didn’t want to be that person; I didn’t want to be their killer and certainly not… that.”

The implications of reproductive coercion was something Olivia had nightmares about. Even after all these years.

“So, I found a way out. I killed and maimed to do it. I lived in limbo, until I found someone who I could trust, and they bought me here.”

She takes a breath and looks at Natasha.

It’s simplistic.

Natasha hates her for not telling her the whole story.

The growing pangs of hunger for information just starting to take seeds as she realises the implications of Olivia being a Black Widow.

The things she could ask, the answers she could get.

Breathing stops as her mind moves a thousand miles a minute.

What does she want?

She wants to know more. She wants a real answer to her question.

Natasha feels herself lean back, unaware that her posture had leaned forward to hear all the information.

“I’ll answer your questions Natasha, but don’t ask me about this again.”

There’s a pause.

“I agreed to be your psychiatrist because of shared life experience, but I understand that if this blurs lines. If you do not want me to be your therapist, you can tell Clint, and he’ll sort out another for you.”

Olivia’s pragmatics takes Natasha a minute to sort through.

It’s the contrary of what she’s saying. If anyone understands her here, it’s the woman sitting in front of her.

The room’s silence does not feel uncomfortable.

“Maria knows your birthday because Shield has a dossier on you.”

Natasha knows this, she’d deduced it herself.

“The information they have is from a bug I’d placed in the systems of the red room. There’s a dossier on all the girls. The bug is dead now, the information outdated, but perhaps, if we can get you cleared, you can give us updates on some of the other girls.”

Natasha eyes widen.

Her chest constricts as she thinks of Yelena.

In that one moment, she pushes the thought away, the pain hitting her chest and making her even more breathless.

She’s dead.

She couldn’t survive the atrocities of the red room, nor would she have wanted her too.

She nods, remembering to breathe.

“Yes,” she replies slowly, “I want that.”

Olivia writes something on a post it note.

“What else?”

Natasha is truthful in her reply, wondering what it will cost her.

“I want to help.”

Fury stares; his face unreadable.

“She was going to find out eventually,” Olivia argues.

“By giving her a purpose, you’re helping her become something more than an informant, you’re helping her to become someone who could, in theory, become your greatest asset.”

Angrily, she continues.

“It’s not just about purpose, yes, she has purpose for you, whilst she’s feeding you information, but what happens when that information runs out? What then? Are you just going to let her rot in a cell? Even you can see the waste in that.”

Olivia calms herself, resets and looks him in his eye.

“What do you foresee happening? What does Thompson or the World Security Council see happening? You brought her here because Barton couldn’t kill her and saw promise of a defector that could do more for us than just die. You agreed to let her live and use Shield resources because of the abundance of information - she’s held up her end - and at cost to her, do you know just how much?”

Olivia is angry, Fury starts talking but she’s not done.

“You don’t know, you can’t know, just how hard she must have fought to reveal information. Words like that in the Red Room… to speak so freely… she would have been tortured; I think she expects to be, probably still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Olivia waits and Fury raises an eyebrow.

“Are you done?” he asks, voice low.

“I knew she would find out eventually, or that you would tell her. I think we all knew. I don’t disagree with you, the timelines though, are not ideal.”

He looks at her in thought.

“Design a mission for her. One that will give us our answers of if she has truly defected or not. Design it so there is no doubt that she is on our side. Then, and only then can we start training her like one of our own, trusting her, like we trust you.”

The words hold meaning.

Shield has never fully trusted her.

She laughs in derision but nods anyway.

A plan forms in her mind.

She thinks she knows what Natasha wants, she wants a reason to keep fighting. A reason to keep going that doesn’t leave her empty when she’s done.

Barton had started all this.

“Fine, but Barton is allowed to go with her.”

The manipulation starts slow, slow enough that she knows Fury won’t catch it until he’s deep in her web. He’ll hate her for it, but she can’t find it within herself to care.

Shield is not the safe place she knew.

She leans back on the chair, and Fury nods curtly.

“Fine.”

Olivia sits for a moment before standing.

“Don’t fail,” he tells her as she walks out the door.

“We never do,” replies the Widow, lost in her own thoughts.

(Did you catch it before this fic? Little reveals. Little secrets. <3 as always comments and likes/reblogs are <3)

#whumptober2024 #day 10 #I can’t think straight #natasha romanoff #clintasha #black widow #warnings in title #natasha romanoff fic #black widow fic #my fic #clintasha fanfiction #black widow movie #marvel fic

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cherryslyce · 2 years ago

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Second Son (X) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: Y/N faces the music and has a talk with Harry. Yule Break rolls around and Regulus makes a breakthrough.

Part IX / Part XI / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Little cliffhanger, oops. Also, yes, we are making progress towards learning the truth (more portrait lore, yay).

The watch stands for the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match were brimming in excitement, the student body’s energy revitalized by the appointment of Ron as Gryffindor’s keeper. Standing next to Hermione, you can’t help the exhilaration that swims through your veins, glad that there was a buffer in the grim mood that shadowed over the school year.

The sharp fweet of Madam Hooch’s whistle signals the start of the match, and enthusiastic shouts begin to erupt from all around you. These cheers only grew in volume as Ron’s flawless performance became apparent to all the watchers.

You hadn’t realized your friend was this good.

As if reading your thoughts, Hermione leans over to you as Ron manages to knock away the quaffle again, “Harry dosed him with Felix Felicis during breakfast.”

Quirking your head at the revelation, your eyes follow Ginny’s zipping figure around the field, thoroughly impressed by both Weasleys’ playing.

“Somehow I doubt that. Harry’s sweet, but he’s not wasteful. There are better things to use the concoction on, no?” Hermione doesn’t respond to your words, but you feel her shift at the implications of them, likely agreeing.

If your friend group were leading ordinary lives, using Felix Felicis on arbitrary things like Quidditch matches would be fine, if not expected, but with Voldemort lurking about, the liquid could probably be put to better use.

As the game continues on, you’re hardly surprised when Gryffindor begins to lead by a landslide before ultimately coming out victorious. As everyone explodes in celebration, you quickly slink away from the boisterous crowd, not quite in a partying mood. You had heard Dean talking before the match, and he had mentioned that the party would be open to any house–though, you didn’t suspect many Slytherins would attend anyway.

You figured that the celebration would drag on for hours on end which gave you quite some time to wander without peering eyes.

Roaming the grounds of the castle for a while, you feel lonelier than usual, not having Regulus in your pocket. Despite the boy’s history as a quidditch player himself, he opted to remain in your dorm, stating that he needed peace and quiet. You couldn’t fault him, the both of you were feeling unnerved with every passing day as Harry seemed to pointedly avoid the topic of Regulus’ existence.

A part of you hoped that he perhaps forgot about the whole ordeal or thought it to be trivial, but you knew he was likely just busy with trying to con Slughorn.

Feeling the chill of the weather bite at your fingers, you decide to make your way back inside the castle. As you quietly pad through the halls, you’re shaken from your thoughts as a deep voice echoes around the walls, “L/N. Surprised to see you here.”

Spinning around, you see a familiar figure walking towards you with a small smirk. The faint sag in his shoulders was the only indication that he was fatigued from the quidditch match.

“Zabini. Shouldn’t you be off sulking with the rest of the Slytherin team?” Your words are tinged with amusement and you spin back around, knowing that the boy would eventually catch up to you.

As you round the corner, Blaise manages to fall into step with you, “Moping has never been a strong suit of mine.”

“I suppose tantrums would mar that whole quintessential gentility image you have going on. What about comfort? Is that something you’re adept with?” You weren’t sure what exactly you were hoping to achieve from the conversation, but becoming familiar with the Slytherin may prove beneficial in the future.

Blaise lets out a quiet chuckle at your words, “Are you asking me to console you, L/N?”

“Forget me, you’re not really my type. It’s your little peacock who seems awfully peaky as of late. He nearly bit my head off in the library the other day.” You roll your eyes, recalling the strange encounter you had with the Malfoy heir.

The boy was acting awfully suspicious.

Blaise seems to straighten up at your words, eyes flickering quickly around the hall as he understands your insinuation, “Draco can take care of himself.”

“If you’re sure.” Your words come out just above a whisper, and you’re left to your thoughts as Blaise seems content with just walking in silence.

Not minding the boy’s presence, you began to think about possible avenues of research you could explore to try and solve the mystery of Regulus’ existence, wanting to find answers for not only yourself, but Regulus as well. Merlin, how the boy wasn’t mad for answers was beyond you.

A few moments pass before you’re struck with a thought that has you pausing in your tracks. Blaise is quick to follow, turning to look at your contemplative expression, “Should I be worried that you’re plotting my murder, L/N?”

“Quite the contrary, Zabini. How do you feel about making these meetings a regular thing?” Your smile is only a tad inscrutable, but you can see the interest glinting brightly in the boy’s eyes.

“Are you sure you’re not interested in me, L/N? I wouldn’t fault you if you were.” His words have you rolling your eyes, but you can’t help the victorious feeling that bloats in your stomach as you see him let his guard down.

“Really, you’re not my type. I’m just asking if you want to be…friends, I guess you could say.” You try to plaster on the most companionable smile you can manage. Come on Zabini, accept the olive branch.

Blaise hums in thought before turning around, and for a moment you’re afraid he’s going to ignore your request. Following him quickly, Blaise tosses you a small smile before replying, “I suppose you’ll have to tell me what your type is since we’re friends now.”

You breathe out a small laugh, “Hard to describe, but let’s just say I have a thing for men that are a bit emotionally constipated. A touch of cynicism and awkward affection never hurt anyone either.” It was hard to put into words, but Regulus had a certain way of jarring you everyday, and his occasional niceties always had your stomach fluttering wildly. Not to mention your bloody patronus was all thanks to him.

“A certain slytherin, then?” Blaise’s words come out light, but you can see the wild interest flying around in his gaze.

Shaking your head, you can only sigh at the boy’s quick thinking, “How’d you know?”

“Well, no one is better than me, but I suppose a fellow Slytherin is acceptable. Also, your ring. Two snakes? Subtle.” Your eyes shoot down to the ring you’ve been subconsciously twirling on your finger, and you gape at Blaise’s amused expression.

Before you can respond, you’re both distracted by the sight of Harry and Hermione. The pair are sat at the bottom of the stairs, Hermione clearly upset over something, while Harry was trying his best to silently comfort her. Shooting an apologetic glance at the Slytherin, you’re met with a hum of understanding before he’s walking off.

“See you around, Y/N.”

As you wave at the Slytherin’s retreating figure, you see Harry shoot you a confused look.

Great, another topic of conversation we need to discuss.

Walking over to the pair, you crouch down in front of Hermione, whose eyes are red-rimmed and puffy from crying.

“What happened, ‘Mione? Do I need to hex someone?” Hermione’s only response is a watery laugh before she’s wiping furiously at her eyes and nose.

You look to Harry for an answer and he winces before quietly answering, “Ron and Lavender.”

Well. That’s an unexpected pair.

“Shall I kill the both of them?” Your voice comes out completely flat and serious, but it’s enough to have Hermione smiling down at you before seemingly calming herself.

“It doesn’t matter. He can be with whomever he wants.” She is quick to jump up from her spot, “Now, I’ll see you both before dinner then?”

Without waiting for a verbal reply, Hermione clambers up the stairs and out of your sight, leaving you alone with Harry. The boy simply juts his chin at the newly empty spot beside him, looking at you with poorly veiled anticipation.

Slowly lowering yourself down next to him, you both stare straight ahead in silence. It seems like hours pass as you both sit on the cold stone steps, hoping that the other would speak first.

Harry slowly reaches for his wand, casting a quiet muffliato, before speaking, “So, Regulus Black.”

“Yeah.” You nod slowly and fiddle with your ring, unable to bring yourself to say much more unprompted.

Harry swallows harshly before continuing, “It wasn’t a photo, was it? I thought about it some more, and he was a portrait.” He turns his head slightly and chances a glance at you, “Right?”

You bite the inside of your cheek in contemplation, unsure of how to respond to his remark without accidentally word-vomiting.

“Cats out of the bag, I guess.” Your voice is weak, but you feel relieved when Harry looks over and smiles at you. Good to know he doesn’t hate you.

“Sirius doesn’t know.” It isn't a question, but rather a statement–one that has you hesitantly nodding.

You lean your head down on his shoulder tiredly, mumbling out a small excuse, “Reggie wasn’t ready. We were figuring some things out for ourselves for a while, and he has this annoying gap in his memory that I’m trying to learn more about.”

“Reggie?” You feel Harry turn his head down to peer at you, “Okay. Uhm, you don’t have to tell me everything now, but maybe when he’s up for it, you can bring him round to Sirius?”

Tugging your jacket tighter around your curled form, you nod against his shoulder before whispering a small thanks to the boy. It wasn’t the lengthy exchange you were expecting, but you weren’t upset about how it went. Actually, this was probably the best case scenario.

“So…Blaise?” His words are teasing and you’re surprised that he’s not accusing you of colluding with the boy, especially given how suspicious he’s been of Draco.

Groaning at the implications of his words, you shake your head fervently, “Absolutely not. We’re just friends, kinda. Honestly, he’s not so bad and I’m hoping that it can be a mutually beneficial friendship. Blaise’s mother has connections spanning the entirety of Europe, and I’m hoping that maybe I can learn some more about Regulus’ predicament if I get some help.”

“I see. If not Blaise, then Regulus?” Harry’s finger pokes into your ribs as he tries to fight the wide grin pulling at his lips.

“What?” Your voice comes out strained, but bewildered and it has Harry smiling cheekily.

“Well, he is quite handsome isn’t he?” Harry pauses before continuing, “Not as handsome as Sirius, though.”

Shaking your head, you respond woefully, “I will absolutely be telling him you said that. But is there something you want to tell me? I thought you were tripping over your own feet for Ginny?”

Harry emits a loud groan and gently shoves you to the side, ears flushing beet red. You laugh at your friend’s disgruntled expression and bask in the happy moment, satisfied that you lifted his spirits up.

The following weeks spin by in a blur, and you’re barely able to take the time to appreciate how uneventful it was. It was the night before Yule Break and you were draped over one of the library tables, head pressed against the cool wood as mountains of scrolls and parchments surrounded your motionless figure.

You had packed away your things the night before, excited to spend the break with Harry and Sirius at Grimmauld Place (of course, you secretly had your own agenda). Harry was planning on heading to the Burrow for the second half of the break, which would leave you to attend to the recovering Black Lord by your lonesome.

Hopefully, you could enlist the help of Remus so you could sneak away and explore.

‘Have you died, little bird?’ Regulus’ voice is airy as it rings in your head.

‘Unfortunately not. Mind putting me out of my misery?’ The sudden exchange has you peeling your heavy eyes open to stare at a blank parchment next to your head. Your bleary vision slowly warps and dances before focusing.

‘You’ll have more than enough time to finish work over the break. Go rest unless you wish to miss the train tomorrow morning.’

‘I won’t miss it, I have you, my little alarm clock.’ Your tone is sickly sweet, and you could almost feel the way Regulus rolls his eyes at your words. Though, you supposed he was right, it would do you little good to be sleep-deprived on the first day of break.

Beginning to sort through the mayhem of papers on the table, you barely hear his response, ‘It is truly unfortunate that I am unable to dump water on you then.’

‘How gauche, Reg. Besides, you wouldn’t. You love me too much.’

Reg doesn’t even pause before he retorts, ‘I’m keen on tough love.’

‘Not my observation, you’re a big teddy bear.’ Your smile doesn’t falter, even when you hear footsteps echoing nearby.

‘A little ironic coming from a bleeding heart.’

‘Oh hush, don’t act like it runs for anyone other than you.’ You feel your face heat up at the admission, realizing that it was the farthest you’ve ever gotten at verbalizing your feelings.

‘I suppose we both make exceptions for each other, birdie.’

His words have your face blossoming in warmth, and your hand pauses to hover over your bag. The drumming of your heart failed to cease even as you laid down on your bed later that night. In fact, it only grew worse when Regulus shot you a teasing smile as you rolled over to peer at his portrait.

Merlin.

The start to your Yule Break was confusing to say the least.

It was merely your first day back at Grimmauld Place and a sudden swelling of magical energy coming from your pocket had you frantically pacing back and forth in the disappearing room.

Regulus’ portrait had suddenly thrummed with wound up magic the moment Sirius stalked over to give you a firm hug as you settled into the home. The reaction was almost instantaneous, with Sirius even drawing back in confusion, having felt something faintly draw at his magical energy.

You were quick to make an excuse to run up the top floor, practically barreling through the familiar door once you caught sight of the crystal knob.

Regulus was currently propped up on the dresser, eyes glazed over as he remained unresponsive. You could feel Sirius’ magic wrapping around the frame and interlacing with the faint magic emitting from the object, only further piquing your curiosity.

After a few more rounds of circling the room, you’re dragged from your pool of thoughts at the sound of Regulus’s voice.

“Birdie.” It comes out strained, like he was still trying to sort out his thoughts.

You practically fly over to the aged furniture, pressing your hands against the edge of the dark wood in worry, “Reg. Are you okay? What happened? Should I do something?”

Regulus smiles softly at the flurry of questions, curls shaking as he tilts his head, “One question at a time. But yes, I’m alright. As for what happened…that’s a bit more convoluted.”

“It’s okay, take your time. Sirius thinks that I’m off organizing my classwork anyway,” You drawl quietly.

“Good thinking, my brother was always amusingly frightened by academic diligence.” Regulus’ musing has you propping your elbows on the dresser, keen on allowing the boy to guide the conversation.

“Frightened he may be, but I think he’s fond of me now that he knows I’ve saved his life, twice.” You raise two fingers and wiggle them for emphasis, managing to nick a small grin from Regulus.

“I remembered something. When Sirius hugged you, it seemed to dismantle some kind of block in my memory.” Regulus’ words come out dryly, but he’s still smiling at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

You feel your eyes widen at his words, “That’s fantastic, Reg!” You pause before leaning back, “Right? That’s good, right?”

The boy nods, before he sweeps a hand to push back his curls, “It’s amazing. Overwhelming, but amazing. It’s just, with the block gone, I remember everything. Including that two week gap before my death.”

Your breath hitches, “So, human-Regulus put the block into place then?”

Regulus nods slowly in confirmation, “Yes. Why he did it though still remains a little fuzzy to me. As of now, I only really can make sense of a few details, mostly about the Dark Lord.”

Your lips part as you try to formulate a coherent sentence, but you’re too surprised by the revelation to say anything, so Regulus continues, “Birdie, the Dark Lord was creating horcruxes. That’s likely how I met my demise. I remember it. Shortly before I–human-me disappeared, he was frantic over it.”

“Horcruxes?” The word feels bitter on your tongue, but you fall short on an answer for what it might mean, “I haven’t heard of such a thing before. Do you reckon that Harry has?”

“I think so. If not him, then Dumbledore might have an inkling of suspicion.” Seeing your questioning gaze, Regulus sighs and lifts his eyes to meet yours, “I’m not too familiar with what a horcrux is exactly, but I do know it’s a horrifically dark artifact. One capable of splitting someone’s soul through means of murder.”

“Soul splitting? That sure has ‘Voldemort’ written all over it.” Your breathy laugh does nothing to relieve the sudden pressure in your chest, realizing that Voldemort was much more than just a psychotic wizard deluded by prophecies.

Shaking your head, you force your anxiety aside, “It’s okay. If Dumbledore has an idea of it, then maybe there’s still a chance after all. Let’s skip over this right now, it’ll do us no good to spoil Yule so early. We can approach Harry about it after the break.”

Regulus slowly nods, he too, investing his hopes in the eclectic headmaster, “Alright. There is something else I remember. I don’t know as much about it though since human-me was a bit hush hush on the subject. That, or he thought it wasn’t worth indulging after the whole horcrux news.” You bite down a laugh as Regulus rolls his eyes at the thought.

“Oh? Do tell.” You lean forward on your toes, pressing your weight fully on the dresser.

“It might be in one of the boxes here. It’s some kind of rare book or journal that my Uncle Alphard gifted to me the year everything fell into chaos,” Regulus relays.

Perking up, you quickly shuffle over to the dusty boxes in the middle of the room, bent on finding out what the boy was talking about. As you rifled through the endless pool of miscellaneous items, your fingers suddenly bump against a leathery surface at the bottom of a particular buried box.

Fishing out the promising item, you let out a triumphant cry as you hold the book up in the air, “Reggie, is it this one?” You clamber off the floor and practically thrust the tome into the portrait.

“Bingo. Good job, little bird.” Regulus’ words are colored in excitement and you’re reluctant to take away the book to read the title, knowing that Regulus was eager to look at the book as well.

Slowly, you retract the item and flip it over, reading the words etched across the dusty orange cover.

Fuck.

“It’s in Norwegian!” Your cry of dismay has Regulus raising his eyebrows.

Seeming to take pity on your defeated form, which was slowly sinking onto the floor again, Regulus quickly comes up with a solution, “Birdie, just use a translation charm.”

“Oh. Right.” You frown lightly at the realization, profusely apologizing to Professor Flitwick under your breath. Some Charms maven, you were.

“Don’t get too excited yet. You should go eat something, I can feel your brain fog from here,” Regulus’ teasing only draws a groan from your slumped form.

Whipping out your wand, you cast a quiet reducio at the book, thankful that the disappearing room seemed to block out the trace on your wand. You were careless when you first shrank Regulus’ portrait before fifth year, forgetting about the underage magic trace, but luckily the Ministry never owled you a letter of warning.

Tucking away Regulus and the leather book in your pockets, you swiftly make your way out of the room and down the dimly lit stairs, hands reaching to rub your empty stomach. One thing you didn’t miss during your times at Grimmauld Place was the lack of proper food. Kreacher could cook decently when he wanted to, but he never really seemed to spare an effort when Sirius asked.

As you enter the threshold of the kitchen, you see a delighted Harry seated at one end of the table, and a flabbergasted Sirius at the other end.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Your voice interrupts the silent conversation they were having, with Harry turning to face your approaching figure.

In spite of Harry’s active attention, it’s Sirius who speaks up, crossing his arms over his chest as he smiles widely, “Prongslet was just telling me about his success in Potions.”

You nod enthusiastically at the reminder, “Harry is on his way to a Potions Mastery at this rate. Slughorn is practically yodeling his praises.” Your words have Harry rolling his eyes, but Sirius seems even more pleased at the reaction.

Clapping your hands on Harry’s shoulders, you bring up a pressing matter to the men, “Now, how about we continue this chat over lunch, I’m starved.”

The next few days of your break are spent following a routine of reading the tome, eating with Harry and Sirius, and surprisingly, exchanging letters with Blaise.

The Italian heir was quite entertaining to communicate with, even through letters. You both established an unusual bond, and you found yourself finding common ground with him over your interests in dissecting anachronistic pureblood traditions. Blaise was surprisingly progressive about a lot of the political issues that wracked Britain, having grown up in Italy for a long while.

Apparently British purebloods were the only ones on the upkeep about blood purity.

You had spent about four days at Grimmauld Place before Harry was off sending a letter to the Burrow, notifying the Weasleys of his approaching visit.

You were a bit dispirited to have him leaving so soon, but you knew he was eager to see Hermione and Ron (and Ginny, but he would likely send a stinging jinx at you for saying as much).

It was the day after Harry had left when you decided to do your research more openly, knowing that Sirius had little concern about what books you were reading. As you progressed in your studying of the Norwegian tome, you realized that the book was concerned with discussions and theories on magical essences and their temperament, which was interesting to say the least.

You could feel it. The truth behind Regulus’ portrait was somewhere in this book.

Though you knew very little about the capabilities of magical essences, you realized that you were much more in tune with reading and feeling other wizard’s magic, so if anyone could figure it out, it would be you. No, it had to be you.

“Are you sure you didn’t want to tag along with Prongslet, kid?” Sirius’ voice has you raising your head from your reading, the man casually propping his feet on the opposite end of the table.

“If I’m not here, who will look after you, old man?” You mused.

Sirius huffs in indignation, “I’m not some pallid geriatric. I’ll be fine on my own. Besides, wouldn’t you rather be off with Molly? I know it’s not my cooking that’s keeping you here.”

“If you keep complaining, I just might regret my decision. But nah, I like it here. Plus the Burrow is too loud to get work done.” You droned as you brought your gaze back to the text in front of you.

“Your head is always halfway down a book, kid. You know…you remind me a lot of my brother, he was a huffy scholar growing up.” Sirius’ voice is even, but as you flicker your eyes up to meet his, you can see the undeniable grief lingering in them.

Sitting up, you clear your throat, “Your brother? Were you guys close?”

You already knew the answer, having been given a brief rundown of Regulus’ homelife sometime ago during a sleepless night at Hogwarts.

“Merlin, no. Not when we were older at least. But he used to follow me around as kids, toddling after me with his cherub cheeks and wobbly knees. Admittedly, he was adorable as a youngster. Never had anyone look up to me like he did…then my parents sunk their claws into him.” Sirius seems to be reminiscing more to himself now, words growing quieter with each passing second.

“Do you miss him?” Your question is barely above a whisper.

Sirius raises his eyes to study you for a few moments before somberly tapping his knuckles against the table, “Everyday.”

Reaching into your pocket, you wrap your fingers around the familiar frame, looking back down at the table in contemplation.

‘Reg...’

‘It’s okay.’ Regulus’ words are quiet, his voice sounding choked up. You could tell he was touched and relieved by his brother’s words, unable to hide just how much he missed the man.

With his approval, you decide to take the leap, “Sirius, I think there’s something you should know about.”

The man’s eyebrows raise at your words and he leans forward in interest. You inhale shakily as you steel yourself, confidence wavering as different scenarios flurried around in your head.

Before you can unveil the truth, however, a blast of blue light bursts through the wall and makes its way to the center of the table.

A stag.

The appearance of Harry’s familiar patronus has your blood running cold and you leap up from your seat, seeing Sirius slowly rise from his, as well.

“The Burrow has been attacked. Voldemort knows.”

The patronus dissipates, and you suddenly can't breathe.

He knows.

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junipers-insects · 3 months ago

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@lemonadesys here is the short 1,400+ summary for the Mostly alphys and kinda sans sci centered au lmao

Also I drew something for it back in January I forgot about

So basically I just really love alphys lmao

I called this au Labswitch because sans and alphys technically “switch” labs

in this au sans is the next royal scientist, by accident. After Gaster and his followers disappearance, Sans ended up as the royal scientist instead of disappearing with the followers. That’s because he was just an intern at the laboratory at the time and wasn’t a part of the group of Gasters followers.

After their disappearance Sans, and every one else, forgot about the previous scientists, Sans becomes the royal scientist because, well, because there were no one else left. Luckily he is quite capable and smart and took on the role of the R scientist with little to no hardships.

Until Asgore asked him to continue to work on human souls, and since he didn’t do the initial research on the souls that took a while for him to master and in the end resulted in him overworking himself down to the bone. After seeing Sans fall asleep at work numerous times Asgore suggested they hire an assistant for Sans, which Sans (begrudgingly) accepted.

Here comes Alphys with her robot with a monster soul, impressing both Sans and Asgore and meeting all of the criteria and beyond. She is immediately hired and becomes Sans’ assistant, helper, advisor and close friend.

Sans, now with Alphys, continue their work on the human souls, and soon they have a breakthrough.

Alphys extracts Determination from the human souls. The power that their whole research was based on.

They start experimenting with flowers first. One of the flowers disappears. Over all the flowers were a half success.

At this part in undertale asgore asks monster families for fallen down monster in the brink of dusting for Alphys to inject determination to them for soul research. But since Alphys isn’t the Royal scientist she can’t make these kinds of requests from the King, only Sans has that kind of authority, and Sans doesn’t agree with this just yet.

Alphys thinks they should conduct this experiment as quickly as possible, the flower was proof that Determination works. Sans wants to wait and try to conduct more experiments even though the next logical step would be to experiment on monsters, but the potential for the experiment to become unethical kept him from proceeding with it like Alphys wanted.

So Alphys has no choice but to comply with what Sans thinks is right and they continue to experiment on more plant life, even if the results always ended up inconclusive.

Alphys, frustrated by the lack of progress, goes behind Sans’ back and requests Asgore for fallen down monsters, even though she technically doesn’t have the power to make this request Asgore trusts her and does as requested in the name of progress and their freedom.

Sans, before becoming the Royal scientist, used to live with his younger brother Papyrus in the capital city “New Home”. After becoming the R scientist, he had to move to the laboratory and started living there instead, leaving his brother behind to live alone. He often visited Papyrus, having lunches together and sending letters to each other. But after his soul research started he visited less and less, so with Alphys’ arrival he finally had more free time to visit Paps again. Sans being on his Asgore mandated break was the perfect condition for Alphys to smuggle in some corpses.

She injects the bodies with determination, nothing happens. She keeps injecting them with DT. This has to work or she’s astronomically fucked, in other words, fired.

Sans comes back early catching Alphys in the middle of her experiment, but before he could scold her the bodies start waking up. Instead of scolding her, he apologized for stalling so long and that he should have trusted her to be right.

Of course it couldn’t have been this easy. The monsters bodies started melting into each others, amalgamating and creating unholy forms, disappearing and appearing in the dark halls and rooms of the laboratory.

Alphys was devastated. Going behind her superiors, her friends, back, and doing that to those poor monsters...she can’t live with herself with that.

Sans tries to comfort her, saying that one way or another this would have happened eventually, they would have done the experiment soon enough together. But Alphys wouldn’t listen or believe his words, she’s the one that should be blamed for all of this and she...she can’t show her face here anymore. She has to leave and she can’ go back to Waterfall, everyone knows her there.

Sans, feeling bad for her, has a suggestion for her.

The reason for his visit to his brother was that Papyrus is moving to Snowdin, and he was looking for a roommate, specifically Sans. But Sans can’t go with him, he is the R scientist he can’t leave even if he wanted to at the moment.

He suggests Alphys move in with Papyrus. They know each other and Sans trusts Alphys enough to let her live with his brother, and to look after him. Plus no one in Snowdin knows her, all the letters from the families of the fallen down monsters would be addressed to the lab in Hotland.

Alphys accepted his offer and quickly moved in with Papyrus. Paps was happy to have a roommate again.

Sci was once again alone in the laboratory, with more work than ever. He ended up shutting himself in the lab, put all of his soul research aside, trying to find a solution to help the Amalgamates. He ends up neglecting his brother, no more visits, since Papyrus lives so far away now, and he can’t find the time to read his letters to him anymore, let alone send his own.

Meanwhile Alphys, shuts herself inside her own room, rarely coming out. Until Papyrus encouraging her, pushing her to go out as much as possible, encouraging her to interact with the locals etc.

She’s often annoyed with his persistence, but also grateful for it, because if not for him she would have… She’s grateful to have the brothers as her friends. Soon she discovers the basement of their house, and being a scientist at heart she starts her own independent research… (BOOM labswitch)

Mettaton barges into the laboratory looking for Alphys. Instead he finds Sans, alone, and surrounded by nightmarish creatures.

Both Sans and Alphys within this whole mess have forgotten about Mettaton and his checkups and upgrades. But Sans didn’t build Mettaton so he had no clue how to help him. The skeleton suggested looking for Mettatons blueprints, but the robot refuses for anyone to touch him besides Alphys, so Sans has no choice but to direct Mettaton towards Alphys.

The robot finds the former scientist and soon he starts having his checkups at her new secret laboratory.

After everything , everyone settles down into the new normal. Until Papyrus decides to join the Royal guard. Undyne, the captain of the guard, eventually takes him under her wing (fin?) and starts his private training (cooking lessons). Soon Paps and Undyne become best friends and she often comes over to Snowdin to hang out with him. There Alphys and Undyne first meet and develop feelings for each other. But Alphys full of guilt didn’t want to get too close to her in case she finds out what she’d been lying about this whole time =, so she starts avoiding Undyne as much as possible by hiding deep in the Snowdin forest. One day she wanders in too far and finds a dead end with the giant door to The Ruins. She starts spending more time there and starts using the door as a confession booth almost. One day someone beyond the door answered (Toriel). They become friends and converse a lot. And The Promise also etc. etc.

A human comes through the door .

Here the au diverges into neutral, pacifist and genocide timelines.

In neutral everything is the same as in undertale: toriel stays in the ruins, you fight asgore then omega flowey happens etc. we all know that. But there is an addition of Alphys never opening up and either going back to the lab to help sans with his research leaving paps alone again. Depending on who you kill she has different reactions but there is literally so many neutral routes in ut I’m not writing down all of the scenarios

in pacifist you help alphys confess to undyne and also tell everyone bout her mistakes and also help sans reconnect with his brother besides that everything is the same not counting the more minor details.

In geno you fight Alphys who has sans’ help. He shares his meta knowledge with her besides that everything is the same not counting the more minor details.

#utmv #undertale #sans #undertale au #alphys #alphys au #writing??#writing

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redpenship · 10 months ago

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cosmic wip

an: this fic is taking me FOREVER to write and i like this convo quite a bit so I am posting it on tumblr!!

---

This was a huge claim. Starline blinked in surprise. “You . . . stabilized an energy circuit? Without a surge protector?”

Ivo gave him another paper from the folder. Starline stared at it blankly. On the paper was a schematic for a capsule; in the main section was a drawing of a small bird, and attached to the bottom was a battery. The title read: animal-powered battery.

“This must be some kind of joke,” Starline mumbled incredulously. In what world could animals power a facility like this on their own? He couldn’t even begin to imagine how they would stabilize his energy electrical circuit. That was a feat physicists had been trying to achieve for decades. And here, Ivo was claiming to have done it own his own. Without training.

“It’s not a joke! I’ve been using those batteries as my main source of power for many years, now.” Appearing excited, Ivo leaned forward and tapped the schematic with a finger. “They work because I adapted our laws to the conditions of this world. You are a biologist first, so I will explain this simply: Chaos Emeralds respond to the needs of living creatures. Without their interference, the animals inside the capsule would die during the energy extraction process. The emeralds protect the animals by supplying the electrical circuit with enough energy to function without killing them.”

Starline blinked. Ivo was right—he was a biologist, not a physicist. He hadn’t looked at energy physics in a very long time. But despite his inexperience, he understood just how big this stable energy capsule could be. Ivo had made a breakthrough in Earth’s sciences. Unstable energy had suppressed the planet’s sciences for millions of years. If Ivo’s invention really worked . . .

“Given your silence, I can only assume that you’ve come to understand the grander implications of this capsule,” Ivo said. He took the schematic and put it back into the folder. “Don’t get too excited. I have no intentions of sharing this with anyone else for the time being.”

He was keeping it for himself? “Why?” Starline demanded. “You could help science everywhere!”

Ivo shook his head. “This will not help science. It is a temporary fix to a much larger problem. To help science, I will need to present a complete solution to the energy crisis.”

“This is a good first step!” Starline argued. “Other physicists could use this to find the solution!”

As Starline spoke, Ivo’s face fell. He said his next words sternly. “If human science was capable of solving the crisis, we would have done it by now. I accomplished what I did by abandoning our methods completely. No other scientists would have been willing to do such a thing.”

They were right back to Ivo’s initial argument: humans, and by extension their science, are idiots. “What makes you think so?”

“Anyone who is allowed to practice science in a lab has completed the circuit of higher education. To survive such a circuit, students must depersonalize themselves and accept rigorous training. They are traumatized into accepting academic dogma even if it seems unnatural to them. Upon graduation from such a system, how many of them will be willing to abandon everything they’ve learned to perform ‘unscientific’ experiments?”

Starline immediately disagreed. “They’re rigorously trained to meet scientific standards.”

“On a non-standard planet! Everything they’re learning is useless until we can solve the energy crisis.”

The logic didn’t add up. “Then the crisis is unsolvable. Unless you mean to say that you’re the only one who can do it?”

Ivo crossed his ams with a huff. “I’ve hit a road block in my research. Now that I have the capsules, I am finding it more and more difficult to pretend that I don’t have expectations for my experiments. Staying away from university could only bring me so far. No matter what I do, I will always make assumptions about the future and my experiments. It is an unconscious way of thinking that I cannot overcome; my brain simply cannot accept the uncertainty created by Chaos Energy.”

Unconscious ways of thinking. It all clicked at once. Starline looked to the cognitive tests on the table in front of him and realized exactly what conclusion Ivo had drawn from them.

“You think only someone with a traditional Mobian worldview can solve the energy crisis,” he said. Ivo nodded his agreement and Starline kept going. “It has to be someone comfortable with uncertainty . . . someone with an intuitive understanding of Chaos Energy.”

“Precisely! The energy crisis will only be solved by someone whose first reaction to learning the law of conservation of energy is to refute its existence.”

#its unedited so sorry for any mistakes #anyways its fun to o the starline flashbacks because i can more clearly explain eggmans rationale for kidnapping tails #beyond deterring sonic #fic: the cosmic beholder #wip #redposts

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bengiyo · 11 months ago

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Cherry Magic TH Ep 10 Stray Thoughts

Note that Viu has applied a paywall for the final episodes, but I was finally able to pay them for it.

Last week, Achi revealed his powers to Karan, who took them completely in-stride and suggested they move in together. Unlike in the Japanese movie, they made the correct decision to move into the very nice apartment. Karan spent time figuring out Achi's powers and using them as a way to flirt. They celebrated Jinta's book being picked up for a series and Rock's promotion, and this inspired Achi to examine his own professional career. The boss offered him an opportunity to set up a new office, and after talking through his anxieties with Karan Achi has decided to take up the offer. Jinta confessed his feelings to Min in a really fun scene.

I love Karan trying to find any excuse to come over and see Achi.

Karan suggested they live apart to practice long distance, but Achi is more worried about Karan. Valid.

Oh, nice. Jinta and Min are also about to deal with distance for a week.

Oh fuck yes! They're going to deal with shipper culture around entertainers. Unsurprised that a week is a hard time for Jinta. The Achi-Jinta friendship has been really enjoyable the entire time.

Oh, Jinta, you will have to get used to Min doing BGP for popularity.

I guess I'm glad this show got funded? There's so much PPL in this show.

Rock, you failed step one. You gotta not cause problems for her if you wanna get her attention.

Achi, you aren't the one disappointing Karan because of a work obligation he encouraged you to pursue.

A pinky promise. It's serious, and supported by the magic.

Pai getting asked her advice from Karan about Achi and she's like THIS IS WHAT WE TRAINED FOR!!

COME THROUGH KARAN! I NEVER DOUBTED YOU!

Achi, my man. You gotta appreciate that people can be disappointed about one thing and sincere about their support for you.

No! Don't run away! You had a breakthrough there!

Damn, that girl demolished Jinta.

Aww, Min's team wasn't picked.

Hang in there, Min!

Really glad they stopped making Newwie look as pale as possible.

Sing physically lifting Tay and running off with him was not on my list of expectations, but I'm glad we got it.

FUCK YES, PAI! NO ONE WORKS HARDER AND FASTER THAN A WOMAN ON A MISSION!

Rock finally realizes his seniors are dating each other and not just supporting him.

And she got fireworks? Pai stay ready.

That was a lovely scene.

I wasn't sure how I felt about a whole episode leading up to the separation, but I like the emotional terrain we covered here about trusting your partner. I like how they played out that anxiety and how it can cause problems even before the separation. I also like that Achi relied on their friends to help him out. Jinta and Achi are so lucky to have run into people that understand them. I'm feeling really good about going into the next episode.

#Ben watches #cherry magic #cherry magic th #cherry magic thailand #thai bl #bl series

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 1 year ago

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Stowaway Cloak (2/3)

Characters: Stephen Strange, Reader - platonic

Warning: None.

Summary: You return to visit an old friend but find that something has hidden itself in your suitcase.

Miniseries - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (final)

The party seemed louder than any battle that you had fought and you somehow had found yourself in the circle of the Mayor who was chatting up a storm about scientific funding. You had been trained in the mystic arts and knew how to hold yourself in a situation of torture but you weren’t prepared to endure an endlessly boring conversation that was undoubtedly wasting your time.

Having been feigning interest and politeness for a good twenty-two minutes, you excused yourself and engaged in conversation with another circle of elites who talked about cellular regeneration which slightly peaked your interest – completely deafening you to the loud thump that came from the room above the party hall.

The Cloak of Levitation had promised to stay put but when a shimmering red spark turned into a portal, it peered through the hood of the suitcase and watched quietly as a pair of black-dusted boots landed on the floor with a loud bang.

The intruder treaded carefully to a corner of the room and as their back was turned to the door, the cloak silently slipped out of the case and under the thin crack.

“It’s highly theoretical at this very moment but we’re close to achieving an actual scientific break-through.” One of the scientists said back at the party and was appraised by his circle of socialites.

You nodded with the others and raised your glass of champagne. “I’ve heard of a place that’s already achieved such a feat.” You chuckled, causing the group to fall quiet in the hopes that you’d further an explanation.

Just as you realised what you had just insinuated and thought about how to fix this conversation without revealing secrets, a bright silver gleam hit your eye. Looking over to where it came from, your heart stopped when you saw the Cloak hiding behind a wall.

“You were saying Y/n…?” Another doctor wondered, forcing you to snap back to the circle of people who were still waiting for you to speak.

“Oh, I was saying that I’ve heard of a place but the reporter on the story was said to be fired the very next day due to it being false.” You covered with a shrug. “Some people will do anything for a story, right?”

The merry band of men and women raised the glasses and laughed at your comment in agreement, resuming their drinking and topics of medical breakthroughs while you set your glass down on the nearest table and excused yourself.

Making a mad, yet subtle, dash over to the Cloak, you sighed once you were out of ear-shot and sight. “I thought I told you to-”

You were unable to finish the scolding as the red fabric coiled around your wrist and pulled it up the staircase and back towards the room.

You were just a little way away from the door when the cloak stopped you in your tracks and tapped over where you had hidden your sling ring on a chain around your neck.

Putting the pieces together, you knew that something dangerous had set foot in the home and that the Cloak was attempting to protect the lives that laughed beneath them.

You slipped on the relic that allowed you to open portals and took in a deep breath. You stepped forward but instead of touching the wooden floor panels, you were lifted into the air by the Cloak as it carried you to the doorway like a magic carpet, despite being slightly crooked and unstable.

You raised your hand to the door handle and turned it as you swung the panel open and instantly summoned the mirror dimension. The decision turned out to be a wise choice as you were met with a zealot who followed in Kaecilius’ mad plans of destruction.

The zealot turned and tossed the book he held on the floor. “Where is the cloak?” He demanded.

You stepped off and brought the cloak up to be displayed. “Right here.”

The zealot took a step forward and you forced the cape behind the wall of the Mirror Dimension for its protection, sealing it out.

“Give it to me.” The zealot demanded which only made you laugh at him.

Clearly, he didn’t know what you were capable of. Taking a step forward, you ignored the banging on the invisible wall by the cloak and smiled at the enemy.

“If you so much as touch a thread – I’ll end you.”

The zealot smirked at the confidence and leapt forward, summoning a red-axe almost instantly and swinging it at your head. You anticipated the attack and created a gold shield that had started to show streams of white to keep you from being torn in half.

Once the axe hit the shield, you exerted enough energy to throw the zealot backwards into your bookshelf. Hopefully no one was missing your absence below.

Miniseries - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (final)

Masterlist here

#theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #theladyofmanyfandoms #gif is not mine #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange x reader #doctor stephen strange imagine #doctor stephen strange x reader #dr strange imagine #dr strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange imagine #sorcerer supreme imagine #sorcerer supreme x reader #mcu imagine #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagine

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theeternalwombtarot · 9 months ago

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Channeled message: march 31, 2024

Some of you are undergoing some really heavy transitions here and some of are you are about to stepping into manifestations or be given things you’ve been asking for long term or things that were divinely orchestrated for you to have as these things are part of the divine plan for you to come into, it was only a matter of time I just heard. Someone or some of you have done a lot of inner work or undergone a lot of tower moments within the last couple of years or beyond that. There’s emphasis on past life karma or deeply rooted triggers, past situations or nostalgia weighing heavy on the heart chakra. Issues and blockages with the nervous system are significant as well. Some of you who this message is for may not have super trivial or turbulent pasts or can’t think of anything that has happened to you that may have caused significant damage or changes but some of you have had a humble beginning or have had to pave the way for yourself for a long while and are making breakthroughs at this time, I just heard “debut” someone actually makes music but there’s an energy of those who are being blessed soon being given the opportunity to really step outside of their shell or step outside of a version of themselves or a version of their reality that was stagnant or was limiting for a really long time. Someone is due for a heavy reset in their lives as well and is being pushed to leave all things behind.

Whomever this person is has dealt with a good amount of loss or was being prepared to make these steps for the past couple of months as they went through a consistent process of having to let things go that they carried with them a long time and this is sort of a climax moment in your plot here. You made a physical transformation (through appearance perhaps and/or most certainly through people and environment) there may be people from your past or people you’ve let go of whose karma is coming around to them soon or were taken aback by the move you made to move forward without them and are going to continue to be taken aback for whatever is coming for you next or whatever you’re about to come into. i just heard, "you need to stop hiding." someones fear of being seen made a spontaneous return or there was some sort of extinction burst here but spirit says that behavior isn’t going to do moving forward.

Someone is struggling with guilt or a lot of unresolved feelings and deeply rooted issues or emotions regarding various situations within their past but there’s a message here about coming up on the moment where it’s finally time to let these things go. Indefinitely. Someone had some sort of “villain origin story” or some sort of large emotional catalyst that caused them a lot of chaos and pain I’m hearing but you can’t take that with you where you’re going. Whatever you’re about to receive is on its way but while you wait confront all these things that are coming up to the surface to be let out and resolved. You’re sensitive to energies at this time as well, you know what people are thinking of you or how they feel about you on an internal scale whether they want to admit it or not but this is there problem don’t let their energy dictate the way that you feel. Whatever guilt you’re holding onto, whatever energy they’re sending that you’re absorbing, you need to release. You did the best you could, let it go. Forgive yourself and forgive others. Let it go.

Letting things go is very significant at this time. Don’t let other people’s thoughts, energies, perceptions of you or intentions hold you back any longer. Take all your power back. 2023 is significant as well as 2022 and 2020/2021. There’s a lot of unresolved bullshit within the heart chakra that may be effecting the solar plexus as well as the sacral chakra, I almost said root, the root as well.

Heart: love, healing, acceptance

Mantra: “I love..”

Solar plexus: vitality, manifestation

Mantra: “I do..”

Sacral: creativity, abundance

Mantra: “I feel..”

Root: survival, trust, grounding

Mantra: “I am..”

Pay really close attention to where all your emotions are felt in the body when triggering emotions or thoughts arise within you. The chakras I just channeled tell me a lot about what’s been going on within the collective and where a lot of these trigger points or internal emotions or dialogue are sitting. There’s a lot of crisis or reflection regarding who you loved, what you loved, what you were passionate about, how you loved, what love meant to you, and that experience and what you did/were doing in the name of love or in the energy of love, there’s a LOT of feelings and unresolved emotions and just *shit* really that’s sitting within oneself regarding all of that and who that makes you or your essence!! Forgive yourself for the mistakes you made, for the times when you couldn’t love yourself beyond how much you loved others, and for some of you make peace with the fact that the hardship is over and you did what was asked of you and stood tall in what you loved, believed in and were passionate about despite what you faced from others. A lot of this hardship took place 2020-2023 for a lot of you. Remember who you are, what makes you who you are, your essence, your power, your energy, your strength! There’s a lot of self hatred or some overly critical energy you’ve picked up along the way that’s coming up. Someone feels like throwing up or has been nauseous lately. A physical manifestation of spiritual and internal purging.

This message is really long, can I shut up?

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dariaslookalike · 11 months ago

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Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 8: Bad Lungs and Choking

Summary:

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 9

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

You wake up with a harsh gasp, but the pain is barely present and your fever is gone. The sleep in your eyes makes your vision blurry and you rub at it lazily. You’re still half asleep and if you relax yourself just a bit more, you’ll slip back into your dreams.

Usually, your dreams were an awkward combination of things: going to your grandparents house in your swimmers or being back at highschool and forgetting algebraic factorisation. Of course, in the past few months many had been about House. He had been looming over you in your waking hours, so it made sense he did it while you slept too. But really, what kind of fucking dream did you just wake from? House, in your house?

You walk with bleary eyes to your bathroom. You brush your teeth for the first time in days, and scrub your tongue, and repeat the process until all you can taste is toothpaste. You stare at the centre of your tiles. It all seemed so vivid in your fever. Standing there with House. Undressing. Your eyes trail over to your bathtub and you send a prayer out, thanking whatever higher being, that biting House was a dream. You make your way back to bed, but decide you don’t want to fall back into that dream. House was still a prick. No way in hell would you have gone ten feet near him after the charity ball, even with a fever, and you want to scold your brain for thinking something so ludacris. Instead, you stretch out in the warmth of your bed, sunning yourself in the light drifting through your windows. You roll over, snuggling your face back into your pillow but you stop with a jolt.

Fresh sheets.

Your heart makes itself known by pounding against your ribcage, and you sit up as silently as you can. You study your room with new eyes. Your top draw is open. Your desk chair is pulled back. Even the final box that you have been promising yourself to unpack is tipped over, its contents spilling out against the floor. Suddenly your throat feels tight and you drag your hands down your cheek. Then you look down at your pyjamas, and flashes of your ‘dream’ rush back to you. Vomiting. Naked. Watched.

Fuck.

You tip your legs over the side of your bed and pad silently out of your room. You’re still weak, and you stop every few steps to lean against a wall with a heaving breath. Like a fugitive being tailed, you peek your head around each corner and slowly edge out.

It’s only when your smoke alarm goes off do your muscles grant you enough power to race towards your kitchen. You expect a great, grand fire, but you stop suddenly and stare at what you’re met with. House is standing atop one of your ikea chairs in the middle of your kitchen, with a screw driver jammed to your smoke alarm.

“What are you doing?” Any thought of the previous night is pushed aside for now, as the high pitched ringing continues to sound out.

He huffs and says something that is lost in the sound, but at your quizzical look he repeats himself. “I wanted to test if it worked.”

“Why?! And can you shut it up?”

Your hands fling to your ears but House simply lowers the screwdriver and the screeching stops. House stares up at it as if he wants to jam the screwdriver back to one of the crevices, so you stride forward and yank out of his hand. He wobbles atop the chair and scoffs. “That’s the thank you I get for saving your life?”

He gingerly lowers himself, but you don’t reach to help him down. You take a step back and lean against one of your kitchen counters. “I would hardly call last night saving my life. I was already over the worst of my sickne-”

House raises a hand to silence you. “I wasn’t talking about last night yet, vomit-comet.” Your eyes bulge, but what he says next has your jaw dropping. “Your smoke detector is clearly faulty, because it didn’t detect the smoke from the fire. Who knows when you would have been caught in an inferno?”

“What fire?”

He gestures over his shoulder to your toaster, which you suddenly realise has fading smoke the top. “You have a lot of CDs for me to pick through. Very distracting when I’m trying to make toast.” You deflate against your counter and pinch the bridge of your nose. When you look back up, you see House staring intently at you. Studying you.

You’re the first to break in your weird staring competition, and your eyes trail off to the side where you see House’s cane propped up against a cupboard. You exhale. “Thank you, I guess for last night. And for destroying my broken smoke alarm. And my toaster.”

House doesn’t take the hint, and across the small space of your kitchen he pushes himself up to sit on the top of a counter. Your eyes catch on the flex of his forearms and you curse yourself when he smirks at you. “All in a day’s work for the world’s greatest doctor.”

You stand in awkward silence for a moment before you jut your head at him. The movement makes you dizzy, but you steady yourself against the counter. House’s brows pinch together before he exclaims, “Oh! That wasn’t you thanking me, that was you trying to get to me to leave. I’m like a mould, sweetheart. I’ll grow on you.” He tilts his head. “Or in you, I suppose.”

“What? What are you talking abou…” Your words slur off into a trail and you raise your hands in front of your face. They’re shaking. “I thought- Was better. Whass happing?” Your tongue is heavy in your mouth.

House clicks his tongue and slaps his hands against his thighs. “Well that’s the exciting part! I thought you were getting better too!”

Your head starts to loll forward and you lose sight of him as he keeps speaking. “But that’s because I thought you had something boring. A flu. A cold. Maaaaaaaybe pneumonia. But then I saw your bathroom. Let me guess, the mould was there when you moved in? That’s what made this shithole so cheap right?”

You’re using all your willpower to stay standing but then your knees buckle and you lower yourself to the ground as gently as you can. Still, you thud to the floor. House tuts from somewhere above you, and you hear him push off the counter. “It was everywhere though. Even on the back of some of your canvases. I thought I paid you well enough that you could at least afford a sponge and some bleach. Clearly not.”

From the floor, you manage to raise your head. You can only look at his ratty sneakers as he limps closer. “Walking home in the snow should have killed you, with what’s being festering in you by now. But I guess I-” He clears his throat, “you got lucky.”

Your vision blurs and you hear House groan, as he reaches down and drags your limp body upwards. “You can’t stay here anymore though. You’ll be a walking fungi by noon.”

—----------------

You expect to wake in the hospital. Most people do when they collapse.

Instead you wake in a dark room under heavy blankets. You lay there for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the lack of light. You turn your head to your right, taking in the empty armchair and small cabinet beside you. There’s a phone handset, a clock and a lamp that is no help in the dark. It’s a weird jolt of terror that you get when your eyes trail down to the end of the bed, and only after seconds of staring into the darkness do they make out the form of House, perched on the end. You scramble up as fast as you can, tucking your knees close to you.

House rolls his eyes. “This isn’t my sex dungeon.”

“Oh,” you scowl, “Do you prefer the term basement? Or oubliette? Where am I?”

House squints his eyes and you can tell he’s debating whether or not to tell you. You kick out deftly under the covers and land a softened blow against his arm. He swats at your foot and you retreat. House clicks his tongue. “Mine.”

You laugh. “No, no, no. Not yours. Where are we actually? Where did you kidnap me to?”

House pins you with a glare. “It’s not kidnapping if its done for a perfectly medical reason and you can’t really call yourself a kid anymore, can you?”

“That’s not what that mea-”

He cuts you off and effectively silences your words with his own. “Mine. We are at my apartment.”

At his words, your eyes trail away, instead surveying the room with a new hunger. The bookcase is filled to the brim with novels and texts, and there’s a cluttered desk opposite you. You’re trying to digest that you’re probably in House’s room. House’s bed.

You run your hands down your face and groan. “What the fuck is happening, House?”

He huffs and looks away from you, head tilted back to stare at his ceiling. “You literally have mould growing in your lungs. But, a handy dandy course of pills and you’ll be fine. I already gave you the first two doses while you were out. You’ll be good for a few hours and have to keep taking some if, you know, you don’t want to breathe like a deformed pug.”

“No, no, I don’t give a shit about any of that. Sure, hypersensitivity pneumonitis or aspergillosis, whatever. But what the fuck is happening right now?” You lower your hands and glare at him. “Why did you bring me here? I pass out and your first reaction is to drag me to your apartment?”

And really, how? You get an image of him dragging your down the stairs, thumping the whole way, and shoving you into the boot of his trunk. House doesn’t sound quite as cocky or self-assured as he usually does when he speaks. “Your place is basically a cesspool of fungi. You won't be able to get better there.”

“So why am I not at the hospital?”

There’s a heavy beat of weighted silence, and he still doesn’t look at you. “Because I wouldn’t be able to take care of you there.”

You deflate almost against his pillows, like a tire with a slow leak. “Oh.”

“Yep.” He says, popping the p.

“House. I can’t actually stay here, with you, after…everything.” ‘Everything’. What an odd way to sum up the feelings in your chest, the screaming matches between you two, and all that lay in between.

He sucks in air and it hisses through his teeth. “You kinda have to. According to the state of New Jersey, reported cases of severe aspergillus mould have to go through months long strenuous, and I mean rip-up-the-carpets-just-to-rip-up-the-floorboards-just-to-clean-the-foundation kind of strenuous process for a place to be legally habitable.”

You clench your jaw. “But that’s only reported cases, right?”

House nods inconspicuously. “Right.”

“Mm,” You nod along, “And no one reported anything, right House?” Silence. “Right, House?”

His blue eyes flick to yours. “I mean…. I think I might have accidentally sent a text to someone. Or a phone call to an office. Or a 32-page email with photographic evidence to the New Jersey state health department.”

You groan, and throw yourself at him. You grab onto his shoulders and with surprising strength, or perhaps a lack of resistance, push him down against his own bed. You swing yourself over him, straddling him deftly, and you squeeze your hands lightly against his throat. “I can not fucking believe you!”

House’s hands reach up and steady themselves against your hips. “Glad to hear it, Newbie. I was always told I was mythical.”

You apply pressure against his throat, and lean down, sneering. “You’re not mythical, you’re goddamn infuriating.”

You expect him to spit something back at you or to swat your hands away easily, but instead he lets out a near-inaudible groan. He shifts against you, and his hands tighten on your hips and you suddenly realise the very compromising and very close position the two of you were in. He rocks against you now, with more force, and you feel him drag against you between your legs. You suck in a harsh breath, and let your hips roll as he grinds you down against him.

He says your name quietly, a whisper echoing between the two of you. You freeze, and stare at him, his own pupils blown wide and looking back at you. He’s breathing deeply underneath you, and you’re nearly certain that you’ll both stay like this forever, too scared to stop and too scared to continue. But then House knocks you onto your back and now it's you who falls back against the mattress, with the wind knocked out of you. You gasp, and try to push against him, clawing like a feral cat to sit up, but he shifts his weight against his good leg and manages to manoeuvre himself quickly into the position you were in.

He laughs at how easily you’re defeated, and quickly places his hands against your neck. While both your hands were barely wrapped around his throat, House’s palm presses against your windpipe and his fingers curl around your neck with ease.

He applies the same, soft and mocking pressure you did. You both know you could get out of it if you tried, and that he would let you; a deep flush settles on your cheeks when you make no move to do so. He leans closer, his breath fanning against your ear. “You like that, Newbie? Which one’s better, choking me or getting choked by me?”

When you don’t answer, House tilts his head, leaning to nip against the corner of your mouth. He speaks your last name into your skin. “I asked you a question.”

You laugh, soft and breathy. “You were the one practically humping me, I didn’t think you had it in you to interrogate me too.”

He gnashes at the corner of your mouth now, and you desperately want him to move a little bit to the right, to connect your lips. Instead, you try to focus on not whimpering in front of him; only one of you should be pathetic in this situation, and it wasn’t you.

“Interrogation? That must be why I found those fluffy little handcuffs at your apartment.” House tilts his head, and you hold your breath, waiting for him to land against your lips. Instead, he drags his head down, and you feel him breathe against your neck. Your hands land against his shoulders, and you briefly think of them as traitorous. They could be pushing him away right now, or slapping him, or scratching his eyes out. Instead, they dig into the fabric of his shirt, and grip it as if your life depends on it.

House’s mouth is oddly soft against your neck. You don’t know why you were expecting it to feel rougher, but he’s slow and meticulous against your skin. He sucks at a spot, and even though you clamp your mouth down, he still hears the embarrassingly loud noise you make. You feel him smile against you, and you dig your nails into his shoulders in response.

He only has to press down with his palm against your throat to remind you who’s in power, and you can’t close your mouth in time to stop the groan spilling out. House looks up at you, blue eyes piercing through you with electricity. “Rethinking that question, sweetheart?”

You don’t like the thing that curls in you at his words- sweetheart. “Nup.”

He leans down, sucking against your throat and squeezing it with the other hand at the same time. He still stares up at you, and this time when you moan, you feel him rut against you. He releases your skin, biting at it only to soothe it with his tongue. “You sure? Cause, I can stop. I’m sure I could find something better to do; chase some poor undergrads around at the hospital or annoy Cuddy. If you don’t like it-”

His hand begins to loosen at your neck and your head is reeling, and you can’t believe you’re even answering, but the words tumble out in a blubbering mess. “Choked by you. Mmhm.”

He chuckles. “Slut.”

You laugh, staring down your nose at him. “So says the manwhore.”

He smiles but still squeezes against your neck, forcing you to exhale harshly. He props himself up, looking down at you. You can’t imagine the mess you are right now. You’re more than ecstatic that you’ve showered and scrubbed your teeth after being sick for so long, but you know your hair is sprawled beneath you and you’re losing miserably against the flush spreading across your face.

House’s eyes are…tender, almost, as he looks down at you, where his hand connects the two of you. It strikes you as out of place, that look. It was too tender, too love-like, to be seen in this dark bedroom where he was still choking you. You wondered what your own eyes were revealing, blown wide and gazing up at him.

But then he smirks and that look is lost, replaced by something darker. “This is just sex, right?”

You blink, shocked by his question. “Um, I-”

A knock sounds out, and you stop, head craning to look over House and towards his door. He doesn’t turn, still staring down at you and seemingly content to leave the unknown guest alone. But then another knock rings out, and another, and another, each with more force than the last.

When your eyes flick back to House’s you nod towards the doorway. “You should probably go check that. Might be one of your hookers.”

He doesn’t miss the snark in your tone, eyebrows furrowing, but before he responds, you scramble out from beneath him and drag yourself away. He stares at you where you sit, and you gulp lightly, trying not to betray any emotions across your face. But when another knock thuds somewhere from his apartment, House breaks eye contact with you and slips out of the bedroom door.

You sit on his bed, and try to slow your breathing. Holy shit. Holy shit.

Was this happening? After all your stupid wet dreams and stupid pining, was this happening? You feel your core throb in confirmation, and you flop against the bed, squeezing your legs tightly.

You stare up at the ceiling and your thoughts are projected against it. You were about to fuck House. And, if you’re honest with yourself, you think you still will. When he pops back into the room, tear off his clothes, ravage him and destroy him. But ‘This is just sex, right?’

Right?

You breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Right.

It’s not like that question pissed you off. It’s not like he was bringing up everything you two had fought over, about you possibly feeling something for him and him hating you for it, and waving it in your face like a pathetic schoolgirl who couldn’t control her heart. It’s not like he admitted he felt nothing for you but just wanted a quick fuck.

You could do this. Push aside everything that lay inside your bleeding heart and push aside all your fights and all you hatred, and finally get laid again.

You nod in determination. You were going to fuck House, and you were going to make sure it was everything you wanted, and you were not going to let any miniscule emotions get in the way of it.

Right.

Now, with your own pep-talk done and dusted, you register the voices ringing out in the hallway. Loud. Angry. Deep

You push yourself off the bed, grateful for whatever medication was coursing through you right now. You tiptoe to the doorway, casting a look out into the hallway. To your left is a bathroom, bare of anything but the real essentials. You peer the other way, and past a desk and bookshelf, you see House standing at the door.

You toe forward, trying to make sure he doesn’t see you spying on him. You hear House speak, back to the monotone, dry voice of his. “First Wilson and now you. I am helping her, not stringing her up in my attic for occult rituals.”

You miss the first part of the deep reply, but manage to catch the second. “She hates you, Mr Home. She’s coming with me, now.”

Your heartbeat picks up and House laughs, “Oh, she hates me so much that she was practically riding me back there-”

There’s the deft thud of knuckles on skin, and House stumbles to the side. Your stomach twists, and you push yourself forward, rushing forward on suddenly shaky legs. “House!”

House’s head whips to you, and you see the dark mark already appearing on his cheek from where he was punched. But then you spy the source of the deep voice, and stop in your tracks.

“Pops. What are you doing here?”

The burly man rushes forwards in spite of House’s exclamation, and wraps you in a tight hug. Your face is smothered in his chest, and you hear him above you. “Are you alright?! I haven’t seen you since that night and then I see him,” he spits, “taking you away! We go now, you’ll be safe.”

Finally, Pop’s puts you back to the floor, and you heave in the air that rushes forward. House grunts from where he stands. “You really are a bumbling idiot, aren’t you.”

Pop’s whirls, and you see fury on his face. You’re struggling to draw in breath. “I should hit you again, you dogish-”

House laughs. “Really? And then who’s going to help her when she collapses?” He gestures to you, and Pop whips his head back. “You and that awful moustache?

Your hands are at your chest, and you’re rattling in breaths. Pops face is filled with worry. “Kid, are you okay? What’s going on? What’s happening?”

House rolls his eyes. “She’s sick. That’s why she’s here, and why if you gave me three seconds, I would have told you not to pick her up and squeeze her like a stress toy.”

You wheeze out soft words, “He’s right. He’s getting me medication and getting me better,” You draw in more air, “But I’m still bad, Pops.”

Pops looks at you with concern. “You need to stay here? With him?”

You nod, abandoning words and focusing on drawing in breaths. Pops clenches his jaw. “Okay.” You can see the millions of thoughts that he wants to speak, but he simply says it again. “Okay.”

Pops steps forward, still wary of breaking you it seems, but places a gentle kiss to your forehead. He peers down at you. “You need me, or Ella, we’re there. No matter what.” He throws a look at House as if to say no matter who, too.

You smile weakly, and Pops retreats from the apartment with a fleeting glance towards you. House quickly steps forward, and locks the door.

You speak softly, with evening breathes. “Are you okay?”

Your eyes flick to the mark on House’s face, and he turns the other way. “You should go to bed. You’re gonna need the rest, especially after that.”

You blink. Just like that, you’re dismissed. "Are you...serious? After all that, I'm sent to bed like a bad kid?"

House rolls his eyes. "Don't make this into some big deal."

You laugh, and it sends you into a coughing fit. "Big deal? We're about to have sex and you get decked, and don't think it's a big deal?"

House's gaze flicks to yours and he sneers. "Exactly. No big deal. Because you hate me and there's no need to get worked up over someone that you 'couldn't stand being near'."

"Is that what Pops said?"

His jaw clenches. "You're not even denying it, are you?"

Your eyebrows cinch in. "You can't act surprised. You're the one who picks fights with me at work or at the ball! You're the one who hates me and hated that I even thought about loving you!"

Silence.

House stares at you, but you get the sense that he's looking through you, far away. "Take two of the tablets beside the bed before you go to sleep."

And with that, he grabs his cane and coat from beside the door and leaves.

#greg house x f!reader #gregory house smut #gregory house fic #gregory house x reader #gregory house #house md fanfiction #house md x reader #house md

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theodditylacey · 2 months ago

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the writing stall ౨ৎ⊹ ࣪ ˖ I wrote this for a national poetry competition and I got shortlisted for it, so I thought I'd share.

The Dissonance Of Difference

By Lacey on Tumblr

As humans, we strive to be different from the crowd.

Nobody wants to be a factory produced animatronic, completely laughable, utterly devoid of meaning and emotion, and feeling.

Be original. Advertisements tell us to be original. Original sells, and makes lots, a multitude, an infinite amount of a shiny, thin, slippery material we call money.

We live in a generation that yearns and hopes and wishes upon a sparkly star in the night sky to be the next IT girl, the next celebrity, the next breakthrough.

Alas, society proves to be

Contradictory.

Follow the trends or miss out. Miss out on being liked, on being looked at, on being visible.

Dif. Fer. Ent

Not the same as another or each other; unlike in nature, form, or quality.

We like to preach about the importance of being yourself. Don't be like the others- who are all stuck in an endless machine of the corporate life. Just remember- you aren't.

What happens when you're the wrong type of different?

Wrong. I feel.

Wrong.

Utterly, completely, extremely, entirely, wrong.

The cogs in my machine twist and turn and operate a different way. Unfortunately, we are only told how to be MACHINE NUMBER A1NEUROTYPICAL.

I'm MACHINE NUMBER B2AUTISTIC + NEURODIVERGENT. There's no instruction manual for my model.

They don't teach future teachers in university how to communicate with my machine model. They don't teach parents how to bring up my model. All that I am to them is a dirty, crushed, and old piece of plastic on the ground something they can step over with a sneer of disgust and leave forever, never having to think about me again.

According to society, my machine model doesn't work properly. It's dysfunctional, difficult to control, flawed, defective. Don't go near me.

WARNING!

Big, gigantic, tremendous blaring yellow warning stickers. I never asked for these stickers. Why do I have them?

But I, me, you, my fellow neurodivergent humans

Are in fact not,

Fallacious

Broken

Difficult

Dangerous

We are beautiful.

Poetic

A product of nature

Meaningful

Wonderous

Ethereal

Whimsical, sugar, spice, and everything nice.

If we dare not conform, we are criticized, scrutinized, a complete and total joke.

I urge you from the depths and crevices and corners of my soul, do not conform.

Do not listen to them, do not give them what they want, do not let yourself be told you are wrong.

Page 134, column two of the rules of the society handbook says I'm a mistake. Why should we listen to a handbook that was written by people we do not even know?

They tell us our voices do. not. matter.

What matters?

You ask, you ask earnestly, and I am incredibly grateful for that.

I matter. We matter. You matter.

MACHINE NUMBER B2NEURODIVERGENT matters just as much as the others.

Squishing people into the wrong box only results in bruises, burns, broken bones, and breakage. Caution is advised.

#no stealing #original poem #original works #original art #lacey's writing #prose #poetry #autism #actually autistic #actually adhd #mental illness poetry #neurodivergent poetry #the writing stall

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girl4music · 1 year ago

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Angel: "What?"

Cordy: "What?"

Angel: "What do you want to say?"

Cordy: "Ah, me? Nothing. What makes you think I wanna..."

Angel: "'Cause I know you.”

Cordy: "Well, it's really… none of my business."

Angel: "And that always stops you?”

Cordy: “Actually, it is my business, *our* business, because we're trying to do a job here, and what affects you affects me, and anyway, I don't like to see you suffer more than you have to. I don't think you should blame yourself, or feel guilty for her death."

Angel: "I don't."

Cordy: "Good. Glad to hear it."

Angel: "I didn't even know who she was when I killed her."

Cordy: "Not her! Angel..."

Angel:

*After a beat*

“Oh... you… you want to talk about..."

Cordy: "She was the love of your life and she died.

*Angel sits down on the stairs, facing Cordy*

*Steps closer*

And you weren't there when it happened.

*Sits down next to him with a sigh*

You couldn't help her fight. You couldn't save her. You couldn't die with her."

*Angel doesn’t answer*

—————————————————————————

Cordy: "And how about you?"

Angel: "I'm o..."

Cordy: "And don't say 'okay.' Angel, please. I know you. Ever since you've come back from your grief trip I can tell that something's not right. And, and *obviously* it's not. Buffy's dead, and I don't mean to diminish that. I miss her too. I just wanna say… I know that James with all his Romeo and Juliet madness, opened up a lot of wounds for you, but you'll be okay."

Angel: "I am okay."

Cordy: "Then what's the problem?"

Angel: "That I'm okay. That losing Buffy didn't kill me. That I could deal with it. In all those years no one ever mattered. Not like she did. And now she's gone. Forever.”

Cordy: "And you're still here."

Angel: "Yeah. I just feel like I'm betraying her somehow."

Cordy: "No! If you were a loser, if you were some sick obsessed vampire, you'd go to a Snod demon, or whatever, and get your heart cut out. But you're not! You're a living, breathing... Well, living, anyway, good guy, whose still fighting and trying to help people, and that's not betraying her, that's honoring her."

Angel: "You think?"

Cordy: "I'm Cordelia. I don't think. I know. Okay?"

*Cordy gives him a big grin, which draws a small smile in response*

Angel: "Okay."

So I’m on to Season 3 of ‘Angel the Series’ and this first episode was dealing with the aftermath of Buffy’s death in Season 5 of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’. How it affects Angel and specifically how he keeps the grief of his loss to himself but Cordy can see through him.

But listen - Everything I’ve just quoted above showcases how much better of a relationship Angel has with Cordy over what he ever had with Buffy. All of THIS is what a RELATIONSHIP is. The way they just know each other that they can’t lie to one another. The way Cordy draws information out of Angel like no one else can and is so perceptive in figuring him out. The way he opens up to her with a minimum amount of prodding from her. The brick wall of non-communication that was Bangel is nowhere to be seen in Cangel. This entire conversation is about Buffy specifically and what Buffy means to Angel. Yet through it I can see that were it in reverse and it was Cordy that died and it was Buffy giving this speech….

There would honestly be nowhere near the breakthrough on revealing Angel’s emotions because they’re both one in the same when it comes to communication. They both hide away from each other in moments of being in need of someone to talk to. Maybe it’s just because they have more time and purpose to do significant character interaction in Angel’s own show when it comes to drawing out information from Angel’s psyche, but I just see so much more between Angel and Cordy - just friends - then I ever saw between apparent “love of their lives” Angel and Buffy. This level of intimate relation to one another is on the level of Spuffy or Tillow. This is what you’re supposed to have in a relationship where the people in it are actual partners. Honest and open communication. Buffy and Angel never had this… really ever. I mean I brought up the interaction and conversation they had in ‘Forever’ as the only time where I truly saw Bangel as genuinely relating to one another and this was well passed their heydays.

I really love what I’m seeing in this dynamic. This is what makes Angel - the character and the show - interesting to watch. He finally has someone who KNOWS him to the point where he cannot always brood away in silence and pretend like no one cares. Because that’s not interesting to watch. It’s just sad. Thank fuck Cordelia is in this show as a main character because not only is she better for it. But she makes HIM better for it as well! That’s precisely what was needed for either of them to be considered even half as interesting of a character to me as Willow or Spike. And okay - there’s still a lot to live up to there. But it’s a start! This is what I wanted to see in Bangel but I never could because they were so incompatible when it came to being each other’s sounding board. It was like they were trying but they were never breaking through that communication barrier between them so as much of a whirlwind romance that they had - that was written… there was just nothing holding it up other than all the physical intimacy that they shared. And that’s just shallow. There was no depth to it. Not like there is with Cangel. With what I can see in them.

#angel the series #hearthrob #cangel #angel #david boreanaz #cordelia chase #charisma carpenter #relationship #communication #dynamic #character representation #character development #meta

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black-arcana · 3 months ago

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LACUNA COIL To Release New Single 'Oxygen' Next Week

Italian heavy rockers LACUNA COIL will release a new song, "Oxygen", on Wednesday, October 2. The artwork for the single can be found below.

"Oxygen" will arrive two months after LACUNA COIL released its previous single, "Hosting The Shadow", featuring a guest appearance by Randy Blythe from LAMB OF GOD.

In April, LACUNA COIL released "In The Mean Time", featuring Ash Costello of NEW YEARS DAY. The song's title is a reference to the mean times the world is living in, as well as a reference to the state the band itself is in, between cycles.

In July 2023, LACUNA COIL released the official lyric video for a new track called "Never Dawn". For the song, the band partnered with CMON, the renowned board game publisher behind the popular game "Zombicide".

LACUNA COIL played its first concert with the band's new guitarist — whose name has not yet been disclosed — on August 4 at the Rockstadt Extreme Fest in Râșnov, Romania.

This past June, LACUNA COIL announced the departure of guitarist Diego Cavallotti.

Cavallotti, who joined LACUNA COIL in 2016, initially as a fill-in guitarist following the exit of Marco "Maus" Biazzi, later said in a social media post that "this decision is not the result of my dissatisfaction or desire to explore new opportunities."

When LACUNA COIL announced Cavallotti's departure on June 17, the band wrote in a statement: "As we step into a new cycle, writing and recording our next album, we are parting ways with Diego 'DD' Cavallotti. We thank him for the many unforgettable moments shared over the years and wish him the best of luck in his future endeavours.

"All future live plans remain unchanged and the new songs are taking form, we can't wait to share them with our fans."

LACUNA COIL recently completed the "Ignite The Fire" U.S. tour with support from NEW YEARS DAY and OCEANS OF SLUMBER.

In a recent interview with Brazil's Sonoridades Inc., LACUNA COIL singer Cristina Scabbia spoke about the progress of the writing and recording sessions for the band's follow-up to 2019's "Black Anima" album. She said: "I can't really tell you a lot. I can tell you that we are progressing very fast. We are almost, like, 100… We completed, let's say, the demoing. We still have to record the rest of the songs, but we will soon — probably after the tour, after the [May 2024] North American tour. And if everything goes as projected, before the end of the year [it] will be released. And that's already a big news, because we always say, 'We don't know. Maybe.' … I absolutely love the songs. I'm part of the process. But I'm very pleased."

Asked if "Never Dawn" will be on the upcoming album, Cristina said: "I think it will be. I think it will be, 'cause it will make sense. And it also fits with the other songs — it really fits with the other songs. Many heavy songs."

LACUNA COIL has spent some of the last couple of years promoting "Comalies XX", the "deconstructed" and "transported" version of the band's third album, "Comalies".

"Comalies XX" was made available on October 14, 2022 via Century Media Records.

LACUNA COIL celebrated the 20th anniversary of "Comalies", by performing it in its entirety at a one-night-only concert on October 15, 2022 at Fabrique in Milano.

"Comalies" was originally released on October 29, 2002 through Century Media Records. The LP, which featured the band's breakthrough single "Heaven's A Lie", has reportedly gone on to sell over 300,000 copies in the United States alone.

#lacuna coil #oxygen

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zombiecicada · 4 months ago

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Snippet: a student’s report on reincarnation

Bjarki Maisilva

Mr. Jakob Nugyara

SS 22-15-09-04

26th cycle, semi sextile, 3022 AS-R

Defying the Nature of Life and Death: the founding and developmental process of reincarnation.

Death is a natural consequence to being a living organism.

For something to have a beginning, it needs to have an ending. Any system, with enough time, will break down and eventually become something else. That is, until you take into consideration the evolutions of systems. If nothing is permanent, under the right circumstances this can circle back and be applied to death.

The process of reincarnation, or as it’s properly scientifically known as, Synthetic Cortex and Vessel Animation, achieves a break in the cycle of life and death. Founded back in The Old Locale during 543 OL-ER the concept was pitched by a team of scientists who were concerned on the rate of which the society was advancing. With a rapidly progressing ice age encasing the planet of our origins, it was predicted that the time and knowledge lost to important individuals such as researchers, scientists, engineers and leaders dying would prevent a solution to the global climate change being found in time. In order to survive the death of our species, death itself had to be surpassed and the next step in evolution had to happen now.

There’s been a few people in modern times who say we should come up with a more catchy acronym than S.C.V.A, but I am on board with the original founders being more focused on literally defying death itself opposed to coming up with a catchy name, besides that’s why we just call it reincarnation nowadays.

At its core a very simplistic and straightforward concept. It did not take the scientists at the time long to formulate theories and hypotheticals to solving the problem, even with their technology being, by comparison to today’s standards, subpar.

Using various forms of imaging technology to capture a full scan of a subject’s brain, a digital copy of all its neurological pathways and functions is created. Brains are not terribly unlike computers, in the sense that it’s electrical signals being sent from point A to point B to order to accomplish tasks and move around information.

While originally intended to be used to simply create a copy of the brain (alongside a copy of donor’s body) grown from various stem cells taken from the donor, an unknown error occurred during first trials. The new copy behaved nothing like the donor, and had no memories of the original version. Effectively, they created an identical clone of the original, which in of itself was a major breakthrough, but it wasn’t the desired results. The clone later named herself Helga and became a recognized citizen of the society.

From there it was proposed that in order to make the new version an effective copy of the original, technological impute was required. This lead to the first model of what is nowadays referred to as the Identity Chip. This chip held all the memories, personality traits, and characteristics of the original individual, the idea being the chip would teach the vessel’s brain how it was supposed to act and what it was supposed to believe.

A second clone using the same method as Helga was used, creating the clone Erla. The end results of this trial were frankly terrifying, but enlightening nonetheless. The chip could not function long term with the body’s composition, Erla’s immune system eventually recognized the chip as a foreign body, attacking it and causing severe encephalitis that later proved fatal for the subject.

Some wanted to put an end to the trials and find another way, but the trials were continued and a solution was proposed. To change the composition of the body entirely, and instead of making the chip compatible with the vessel, making the vessel compatible with the chip.

The process of creating the modern vessels is its own scientific paper, to sum it up swiftly after some trial and error and experimentation with various different components, silicon based vessels opposed to the original carbon based bodies were found to be much more stable. Alongside being more stable, being a semiconductor already used in many modern electronics, it was highly compatible with the Identity Chip.

The change of composition also supported more efficient but volatile liquids instead of iron based blood, leading to the creation of hydrargyrum theraphone, which allowed for the vessels to survive harsher conditions including lower temperatures, granting more time until the full effect of the ice age hit and extending the deadline for a solution. Silicon is every bit as abundant as carbon, as well as also being able to create the same complex chains of molecules responsible for making DNA.

Vessels proved to be fairly pricy to make, even when using widely available, sustainable and therefore cheap materials. It was therefore proposed that the vessels be brought as close as possible to perfection: erasing all complications that could cause early expiration to the vessel.

According to long since archived records and backups in the Central Database from those times, this sparked quite the debate amongst the society of what was and wasn’t a ‘complication’. After much back and forth between the two sides, a decision was made by the queen at the time after hearing a statement from one of the main scientists working on the development of S.C.V.A.

“If to be pjofur is to forever be a disease riddled suffering animal stuck as is for all eternity, doomed to die in hell freezing over, I reject being pjofur.”

Not everyone was happy with this decision, and it lead to another debate shortly afterwards. After all, to eliminate death related to diseases and disorders lead to another concern: population control. If reincarnation became available to everyone, the vessels were designed to live longer than a natural lifespan, and everyone could just continue to have children, the population would rapidly reach an unsustainable level.

This debate ended with two conclusions:

1. The right of reincarnation would be an earned right, alongside such one could have this right revoked and an individual would only be allowed to reincarnate a specific amount of times.

2. That the vessels created would be completely sterile.

Naturally, one’s immediate reaction would be to point out that if we were all in a cycle of reincarnation where it was just the same set limit of people for the next couple thousand years, the society would eventually reach a point of becoming stagnant. No new variables to lead to new discoveries and ideas, a lack of variation in new opinions dooming the society every much as the ice age will if a solution is not found.

To such, scientists revisited the experiment that resulted in the creation of Helga, the copy without memories of the donor used to create her. Helga was approached and asked if she’d like to participate in further studies to solve the most recent hurdle in the S.C.V.A experiments. After securing her consent to rejoin the scientific trials, using the process used to create Helga, but instead using DNA samples taken from two individuals in with the goal of making a successful offspring with a vessel body opposed to Helga’s precursor body.

The results were successful, producing an individual that was later named Runar, who much like Helga retained no memories of either DNA donor, but displayed genetic traits of both donors, being a successful offspring of the originals so to speak. Such all accomplished without the risky, lengthy and painful process of childbearing, alongside the fact that Runar was made without being a carrier or being affected by disorders found in the donors. As Runar grew up and could preform in physical and intellectual trials, it was found that Runar’s ability to learn and preform tasks exceeded that of non vessel pjofur and Runar exceeded expectations.

During the time period of the conclusion of Runar’s trial, as well as a few more equally as successful replications to assure that a merit of results could be reached, a method was being devised to decide who was and wasn’t eligible for reincarnation. The debates on if or if not S.C.V.A was an ethical solution to saving the society was no longer active, the trials were in too deep and too much had been accomplished to back out now. The queen was onboard, as were many of the higher officials and other members of power.

The ice age had progressed significantly as well, and I think the remaining bits of the society were finally ready to face any remaining uncertainties if it meant avoiding a certain demise.

More and more of the population traded their bodies for vessels as they reached eligibility for reincarnation. To gain such there was a certain amount of qualifications one had to meet and a couple tests that had to be completed and passed. Naturally, not everyone did meet eligibility, and a debate on when a person becomes ‘worth saving’ came and went.

Nowadays, reincarnation is simply part of the society, the process since has been polished, any old errors and mistakes in coding and vessel creation are so rare and easy to catch and fix that many have come to dub the process as flawless, and we have long since left The Old Locale behind. The cold case of Jokull Nuygara is sometimes still resurfaces now and again, some wondering how safe the process really is.

But all we can do now is keep evolving, bettering ourselves, and serving the society, none of which would’ve been possible in the first place without the success of the S.C.V.A experiments.

#kirby wolfbell au #kirby au #short story #snippet #lore #oc lore #scva

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