#idkwhatthisis

[lodisama]

BIBLICALLY

—ACCURATE SLYTHERIN BOYS IMAGINES

—slytherin boys x gn!reader

mattheo riddle, theodore nott, lorenzo berkshire, draco malfoy, blaise zabini

them getting jealous but cant(?) do anythig abt it

LORENZO BERKSHIRE—

"Could you possibly do anything other than read, Y/n?"

He groans in exasperation, leaning his arm and forehead on the bookshelf, looking down on me. I don't bother to look up as I smile with anticipation. I know this boy enough to know what he wants.

"Oh, please, Lorenzo. If whining is your invitation to bother me with nonsense, I'll be your guest." I look up at him now, grinning as so he was. He grabs the chair close to me, pulling it to him, sitting down closer than it was already placed. "I've missed you, Y/n." He hugs me to the side, his head leaning onto mine. Now, I'd be lying if I said I didn't like that. Because, Merlin—

"Very flattering coming from you, mate. I missed you, too." I cut my thoughts off, purposely adding the unusual name to shrug it off. To which I see his face notice. Enticingly enough, I regret it for a second.

"Right... Very well, then." He frowns, but continues "We must go back to the common room before curfew, Y/n!" Returning that giddy tone and pulls my arm, in hopes of tearing me from the book. "Alright, alright! Give me a moment." I finally give in, stifling a small laugh. I watch as he grabs most of my things, as I only got to grab the book I held in hand. An unconscious smile emits from me. We both hastily walk through each isle of books, but in no rush of anything. I quickly follow next to him. And he swore that made the air clearer and sliced the thick suffocating one. A solstice to life he thinks.

You smile in comfort at the presence of him. He'd been your friend when you had both been paired by Professor Sprout, 'a perfect match for each of your clever brains' she complimented. He then looks down at you, to which you captured— doing the same.

"Do you think a quick meal at the Black Lake would be a lovely idea?" he spoke abruptly. "Oh? For whom?" I tilt my head, surprised by the suggestion, though this wasn't uncommon for him. He was always one to invite spontaneous fun for our group. "Well, I was— h-hoping we'd all have a calm hangout away from all the alcohol, y'know?" I hum at his thoughtful idea, almost dismissing the fact that he was searching words through his thoughts.

We take a turn from a hall, with all the other students now. Following to enter the dungeon.

———————

The next day follows on, a long awaited weekend as one can say. So, here we find the group of men all huddled in Mattheo's room. An odd forum this early in the morning, especially with the occasion.

"You are beyond stupid, Lorenzo." Mattheo huffs out his cigarette. The said man plops down his bed, sighing hopelessly. "That I already know.." he focuses his gaze on the ceiling, hoping it'd give him some kind of answer. Lorenzo was whipped. "Well, there's no taking it back, yes? Best we could do is help this fool." Theodore pipes in, chuckling to himself and at his friend. The poor boy stumbled through his words; and seemingly invited his friends to a picnic instead of just the girl he had been hesitating to ask.

"We should hurry to hogsmeade before it strikes lunch. Let’s buy food or something— I— anything for it. And tell the others too." Lorenzo finally jolts up, holding his forehead in between his fingers. They all laugh at his state but nod in agreement. Draco, who was laughing— was the first to get up, putting his wand inside his pockets. "Anything for you, mate." He sardonically says, earning a nudge from Theodore.

Just as they go down the stairs, Pansy, Blaise, and Y/n had just entered the common room. "Oh, perfect.." Lorenzo says with a shaking breath. They all smile in anticipation.

"Oh, there you all are. What seems to be the agenda here?" Y/n greets, pointing at the herd of men towards them. Lorenzo's eyes were clinged to Y/n's, but then interrupted by Mattheo's rough elbow. Stopping him in his trance "Oh— fuck, mate. You've got to sto—" a puzzled look from Y/n in anticipation of his answer. "Merlin. We're off to hogsmeade for our picnic this lunch." He clears his throat. To this, Blaise and Pansy coo in amusement, earning confused looks from the men. Here comes my que then. I sigh, somewhat annoyed and anxious. Annoyed, because I had to tell him and face my disappointment. Anxious, due to the fact that I'm too scared to hear what he'd say— Blimey, it's stupid that I care about what he thinks.

“Adrian’s asked me out for a morning stroll at hogsmeade..” I clear my throat as my words falter.

He draws a breath, as if taken aback at my words. Everyone around us pining anticipation, smiling as if I had said something out of the blue. I tilt and knick my eyebrows in confusion, “Have I said something wrong? You lot seem to be speaking with your eyes.” I observe.

Blaise by my side clears his throat and chuckles, as everyone else stands awkwardly. “Well. Erm— enjoy the… date?” Theodore smirks knowingly; unsure of the situation. I blush at his words— it isn’t a date, is it? “Fucking weird, you lot. I’ll catch up with you all soon, I’m sure we won’t be long.” I cut the silence, wanting no more than to get out off this stand-off in the middle of the common room. Everyone bids me goodbye, except for Enzo. I pout yet didn’t pay any more attention.

———————

“I mean— seriously, who does he think he is? We’re not in the eighteen hundreds anymore. I-I could’ve volunteered as a chaperone if that was his idea of a date.” Lorenzo banters as he picks up two of the same bundles of strawberries. “You’re just mad someone else had the balls before you did.” Theodore snickers as he follows closely behind him. pointing at the left bundle of strawberries Lorenzo had raised up. “Piss off.” He replied quietly this time.

They all collectively went to the counter in unison to pay. Lorenzo now going quiet as racing thoughts went through his head. Roughly taking his wallet from the inside of his coat, then tossing ten galleons. Jaw clenching, eyes batting slowly, and his eyes growing darker.

When finally done with paying, he was first to leave the store, paper bag roughly tucked between is palm and his anger. Draco by his side angrily unwrapping an English cheese stick, ‘til he finally does and slowly lifts his unoccupied hand to feed himself. The paper bag on his right arm nearly falling on Enzo, to which he catches, earning an unusual yet nothing unexpected of a sour tone from Enzo. “Fuck’s sake, Draco. Just give me the damn bag—“ he pulls the paper bag from the blond, earning a nasty face from Draco, but then he shrugs.

“Enz!” I gasp as I spot these familiar faces, yet again arguing out of nonsense. I excuse myself from Adrian Pucey who was looking at the latest broom design for Quidditch before running to them. My first instinct was to hug Lorenzo, dismissing the fact that he has paper bags occupying his hands, and yet his hand that was heavily handful went to the small of my back. This didn’t for unnoticed from me. Especially that I was wearing a thin fabric of my long dress to pair with the nearing heat. “Y/n..” He whispers as if it’s a secret only for me to hear. I pulled away to tend to his struggles. “Always the favorite, eh?” Mattheo jests from behind. I laugh at this and bid the rest of them.

“Come, Adrian!” I invite him to come.

“Ahh. The man of courage, Pucey.” Mattheo comes front, trying to intimidate but there stays the sarcasm in his voice. What is he implying to?Lorenzo clenched his jaw more than it ever had, that it started to hurt his head, knuckles white from his tight grasp. Everyone showing amusement and talking to Pucey, yet Lorenzo stayed stoic still. Benefit of the doubt, he must be not in the mood. I ignore the deeper thought in my head to not raise confusions to myself.

“Times up, Chaser. We have a picnic to prepare, if you don’t mind.” He finally spoke. I blink profusely at how bleak it sounded. “Oh, yeah. Right. See you ‘round Quidditch practice, Pucey.” Theo feigns a farewell and the others too, whilst laughing might I add. I ignore it as I come in for a hug “I had fun Puce’. See you around.” I smile.

A sigh withdraws from Lorenzo from behind me and I turn around. He shoves the heavy paper bag to Draco’s chest who was done chewing on something as I noticed earlier.

It was nearly lunch, which was just in time. I pace myself with Lorenzo— and there I was blushing again. But feeling somewhat guilty that I went on with Pucey’s invitation. Well, to be fair it was sudden— and I hadn’t known they’d plan on go—

“How was Pucey?” His quiet sternly confused voice emits from my thoughts. I blink, but quickly thought of an answer. “It was alright, I think. He payed for my waffles..” I say with a nervous chuckle, to which he bluntly hums.

I could buy you a whole restaurant for you if you wanted.

His eyes grow darker as he clicks his tongue. But he quickly let go of this trance, looking down at my height, scanning my figure. He holds me by my back once more to get a better look. “You look amazing with the dress, love.” He genuinely smiles. probably the brightest I’ve seen his face since this morning. I give a twirl and a smile, feeling as though that brought my confidence up more.

“It wasn’t worn for you, mate.” Blaise chimes in, laughing.

“You’re not cute, Blaise.” Lorenzo faces him with the same bleak tone. “Allow it!” Blaise’s thick English tone mocks him, and I can’t help but laugh as well. “The weather’s getting hotter, Merlin forbid a woman wants to get comfy.” I prompt.

I turn back to him, noticing his hand snaking its way to my back once more.

——————

Bird’s chirping, along with the lake’s water harmoniously flowing through the sunny day at the Black Lake. Everything was all set, and I was more than ready to dive into the meals in front of me. We sat comfortably on the picnic mat. They maybe pure alcoholics and repulsive smokers— these men. But I’m glad we could all get along with things like these. I sat next to Pansy, Enzo to my left.

“Try this strawberry with the whipped cream, love.” Lorenzo catches my attention— I open my mouth as he takes the strawberry coated cream to my mouth. Closing my eyes; I moan at the perfect balance of the light sweetness and sourness of the strawberry. “Fuck, that’s good.” I peel them open, and the brunette seemed to lock his eyes at my lips with ajar lips. Shock displaying on his face. And everyone went silent as well.

He licks his lips, hazed at either the sound that you made— or how delicious your lips look coated in whipped cream.

If only he could lick them off your—

“Enz? You still with us?” Draco sheepishly interrupts Enzo’s obvious gaze. To which the poor boy shook his head to. “Shove off.” He replies, earning a laugh from everyone else, but the oblivious girl.

He then lifts his thumb up along my lips, earning a flinch from me. His rough finger pad softly grazes my lips— making direct eye contact with my fluttering eyes. He takes his now whipped cream covered fingers to his own, licking the cream clean. He chuckles lightly at my perplexed face.

“Eat up, love.” Pointy finger swiftly finds itself on your chin, tapping it. Oh, now I’m smiling.

Placing a kiss on my cheek, then whispers; “Wouldn’t want Pucey to taste what’s sweet and mine. Hmm?” He murmurs quietly like it was a sin to be said aloud.

Merlin—

———————

LMAOOO FINALLY FINISHED TS😭😭 i hope this doesnt flop

[outofluckandoutoftime]

i started typing and i couldn't stop

tldr: this is long as hell

i'm not a writer but I was thinking about how Wilson / House's post-canon interaction would go outside of what we get to see on screen. Where do they go after House shows up for Wilson? How do they process what's going on? Anywho I threw this thing up on the floor after thinking about it too hard:

I believe that they wouldn’t necessarily directly speak on it at first.

It’s the same day of House’s funeral. Wilson finished off his eulogy with a “But to know him…enough to—sorry. Everything in his life was about chasing the absence of pain. Maybe one way or the other, he got what he wanted. I don’t know if the whole ‘eternal peace’ thing was ever House’s style… but I hope he got what he wanted. Yeah. Thanks for coming.”

He stuck around for the rest of the service, some more speeches maybe, a quick obituary. His phone keeps going off. House’s. Wilson says that he needs to skip the dinner afterwards. That he needs to pick up some more stuff from his office. He sits in his car for a while, sat the phone on the dash, he’s staring it down, if he blinks, if he looks away it might disappear. It might stop ringing. Think 15 minutes. Think 20. By 25 he’s already on the road back to the hospital when he pulls over, picks up the phone and sees an address. Drives to it. Thinks to himself that this could be a stalker, could be a wrong number. It could be an old vengeful patient, one of the med students puling a prank. Wilson just doesn’t want to go home. 

“Ok. I—ok.” Wilson nods at his friend sitting on the doorstep, 10 minutes later.

He smiles at him. “Ok.”

Wilson nods again, and again. And a few more times after it. He doesn’t even notice himself doing it, his eyes flicking around his surroundings, his hands digging at his hips, his feet antsy, all of him in motion. He nods, because yes, because sure, because why not.  It’s all so loud and so very real. He can feel his cotton cufflinks rubbing against his skin, he can feel the south jersey wind whipping at his neck. He can feel his teeth against his lips and when he looks up again House is alive and breathing. Yes. Sure. Why not.

“What’re you thinking?” 

“I’m…” but no words directly come out. It’s more like a deep release of air, the sound as full as opening a pressure chamber. He lifts his hands and drops them, shakes his head and he’s smiling, although he’s not quite sure that he’s happy. But House, House is happy. He has that squint in his right eye, that pull back of the corners of his lips, not upwards but straight horizontal, that’s joy. And he almost looks younger. Under all of the fine lines and scarring on his cheeks, his neck, his hands, he has the look of someone with a tomorrow, with expectations and plans and passions. The living being brushed Wilson’s shoulder with his hand and asked if he wanted a drink. And yes, sure, why not as they’re driving down 4th on their way to Barry’s, the nearest bar, a bar he hasn’t found himself in since he was 26, since his hands found themselves too easily up jean skirts, since his hair found itself too easily growing out instead of down. Of course it’s exactly how he remembers it, with its sickly yellow lighting and waxed artisan tile floors that made shards of stone into the shapes of birds and rounded fruits. TV screens littered with various US Sports, the kind that would be on at a time like this, tennis, golf, volleyball. House orders a reuben and Wilson nods when the bartender asks if he wants one too. He nods as House bumps his knee playfully when a 20 something walks past to get to the bathroom. He nods when House asks if he wants another and perhaps by the 17th or 18th nod Wilson realizes he hasn’t spoken a single word in 30 minutes.

“—but if Thompson knows anything about the final four its speed. You can just tell the kid’s from Socal and bitter next to Meister, he was on every corner of the fucking court by the time he hit anything,” House semi-shouted, lips kissing but not sipping from his bottle right before he snuck in a snide: “ He wins fast and loses quicker. It’s like he knows he’s hot, but by the time everyone moved inside the Bruins already had their toiletries in their underbus compartment.”

“He’s a Cali kid who goes to a California University which is how it’s supposed to be,“ began the bartender, ever the contemplatively pissed look adorned when the final points flashed on the above-bar tv screen for the last time, “SEMIFINAL SCORE — UCLA: SIX / USC: ONE” 

“Meister and Thompson went into that match with a limp,” the bartender continued, volume unabashed, arms folded over his uniform when the numbers replaced themselves with a dealership commercial. Wilson watched the side House’s face as it grimaced towards the man. “The start was shaky because the umpire’s whistle was up his own ass. It was a good match when they actually got to play.”

“A boring match.” House called.

“A good—“

“Boring as hell. You know what Novikov looks like? Bored as hell. He never breaks a sweat. The stroke’s built into his fucking genetic makeup.”

The man gave a dry laugh and moved back towards the counter from the opposite side. House ignored him, continued to stare at the screen, and Wilson continued to stare at him staring at the screen. “Every Russian we put on our court looks like they’re on ket,” said the man, “ No regard for anything, they all look 35.”

“But the good kind of ket. European branding ,” Once House could feel the bartender’s annoyed grunt from behind him, he spun his chair gently and faced Wilson again, face settling into a satisfactory grin. “Fuck the Bruins, though,  right?”

The bartender snorted at this, drifted away from the counter again towards the back without even refilling either of their glasses, because it was the least active hour of the day; 2:15 in a bar in south Jersey on a Tuesday wasn’t exactly anyone’s favorite third-space. Drunk Wilson, drinking Wilson considered himself a bleeding heart, sure. Maybe even more considerate than when he was sober. Wilson’s first sentence in 30 minutes, he made sure, was heard only by House. He didn’t make sure, however, that it didn’t slur out all at once: “What d’you wan’from’e?”

The second he said it he twisted his face inwards, blamed the half-swallowed gin in his glass and the completely swallowed gin squeezing his stomach for his embarrassing lack of tact. But who needs it? He’s coming back from a funeral, the Bruins were down 4-1, and House didn’t seem to care or hesitate or give any visible moral qualm to the fact that as of now his entire recorded life was in a Barry’s in downtown Jersey. That his friends and family were telling stories, making comments about him over a dinner table just miles from here. That where he’d once existed he now melts through. He’s talking about tennis. He’s died and he’s talking about college tennis. Wilson shook his head. Because no, never, absolutely not. “What do you want, House?” He asked, clearer this time, “What t’hell’s wrong with you?”

“You’re drunk, James.”

“You’ve fucked up this time house. You really really have.”

House lifted an eyebrow at this. Just one, however. Just enough expression to convey that there was still some thought process going on behind his apathetic eyes. “You…you are fucked…up. And I want you to leave… me alone. For good,” Wilson glared at him, made as harsh and sharp a face and voice as he could under his condition, “And I’ll never for’ive’ou.” The last part came out softer and messier than he’d hoped, but House would get the point. Because he was clearly, oh so clearly trying to hurt his feelings. Trying to bruise him, dig at him. Wilson didn’t do much else than just stare, because he knew that he didn’t have to. He felt so much malice, so much anger towards him. For anything, for everything. Screw dying, screw not dying— on this Tuesday, in this Barry’s, in his nicest black suit he hated Gregory House for existing in the first place. For ever taking up any kind of space. And fuck him— fuck him for insisting his presence in his life. Like it was some sort of gift that he wasn’t in that porcelain vase, wasting away. Like he should count himself lucky that he crawled out the back of that building. Wilson had hoped that he’d died quickly. That those flaming overhead beams crushed him straight on impact. The whole day, the whole week after the fire he’d slept on the floor of his kitchen, hoping he’d died quickly. No, he would never forgive him. Not because he couldn’t, because he absolutely refused to. 

And Wilson would’ve loved to say all of this, from start to finish, if he could just stop crying.

It was his hand on his shoulder. That’s what provoked it. House’s expression didn’t even attempt to carry the weight of the situation, he simply drew his eyebrows down and kept silent as Wilson sat there crying. Neither one counted how long they sat there like that, it sure felt like enough time for Wilson to sober up. There were eight more things wrong with this. Nine more. Ten more as House slid a twenty across the counter with his free hand and helped Wilson stand up. Eleven more as Wilson let himself back into the driver’s seat and waited for House to get in the passenger before he turned on the ignition. Twelve as he pulled into a random parking lot in front of a laundromat and rested his forehead on his steering wheel once he switched to park. At least 15 more things wrong in the way that House lightheartedly rubbed his back for a few minutes, both silent. And in the way that Wilson didn’t even flinch. He felt warm to the touch.

After the sky turned dark and dull, and threatened to leave Wilson having to drive home tipsy at night, he tried to say it as slowly and as clearly as possible, head still down:

 “I’m not going to spend…the last few months of my life… helping you get away with ruining your life, when I have spent… twenty years trying to fix it.”

“Ok,” said House.

“ And I’m not…going to feel guilty during the last few months of my life… because you finally did something no one’s gonna patch up.”

House’s hand slowed its circular movement, but stayed firm pressing between his shoulders. “Ok.”

“I don’t care…” Wilson took a breath. A deep one. God, it felt like he’d been holding his breath for months. Until here. “I don’t care… what happens to you. I don’t care what you do, or where you go. You call, I’m not answering. You leave, I’m not chasing after you. If you fuck up…I want you to disappear on me. I don’t even want to know about it. Just go.” He finally got enough strength to lift his head, to make eye contact with his friend. No, friends are alive. With his someone. With his anyone, he begun to stare again. To try and communicate how honest he was being, even though he wasn’t even sure himself. House did nothing but stare back. He always had to challenge him. “House, can you do that?”

“James,” he gave his back two solid pats, and they weren’t enough. Just beneath the socially acceptable response to the situation, that’s where House lived. Wilson thought, and didn’t say this observation, for the first time in their relationship: maybe he couldn’t live any other way. He flattened his lips and closed his eyes.

“James. I said ok.”

“I heard you.”

“But you don’t believe me.”

“Did you expect me to?” Surprisingly, this back and forth felt like a more lighthearted dialogue than the other ones they’d been having. The air wasn’t as thick. Wilson sat himself up with a sigh, shook House’s hand off his back in one smooth motion, “You don’t come back from the dead asking people to trust you.”

“I’m not asking people, I’m asking you,” he chirped, left hand now floating above the console in between them, “Plus, dead men tell no tales.”

“You took that phrase completely out of context,” Wilson twisted the keys in his car with a sigh. It jumped, then started its low hum. The rumble of it felt good, finally there was some movement, it felt very alive. He wrapped his hands tight around the wheel, and he felt itching to go somewhere, to go anywhere. Maybe they’d take to the road for a couple of days, go sightseeing. Just ride the freeway as far as it could take them. Run away, no phones, no bags. Just this rumble of the engine and rolled down windows. He tried hard to picture the breeze in his hair. The soft sunset glow bouncing off his rear view. 6 months didn’t have to be a short amount of time. Not if he kept moving.

There was a tap on the console. “For your next trick you should change gears.”

“Hold on, I need a minute,” Wilson said, eyes still closed.

“You barely have minutes. That’s just generous,” the other man replied, and Wilson cringed when he heard the thud of what he could only assume was two feet propped on his freshly detailed dashboard, “What you really need is me as a life coach. Death coach. Someone to make sure you’re not wasting time as you’re wasting away. I’ll book trips, tennis lessons, brothel appointments, confessionals, last rites. I get paid hourly, you get paid…paradisiacally. I’m actually doing you a favor, considering you have heures démarcatif, you won’t even have to slide me checks for that long.”

Wilson leaned his head back. And, God, did House talk this much before? He felt the low vibrations of the car rush through his fingertips in time with his pulse. Wilson knew he wanted to drive, he just didn’t know where. Anywhere. Just drive. Just go.

“What, is it a headache?”

“House.”

“If it’s a headache you have to tell me.” He felt his eyes on him now. “James, it could be—“

“Shut up.”

“Christ, Is this how you’ve been spending the past week since I’ve been gone? Meditating and bitchy?” Wilson couldn’t help but snort at this. “I’ll never die again. For your sake.”

“Actually when someone says to ‘shut up’ its a social cue to stop talking.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Wilson heard the sound of the other man say, and the sound of an unbuckled seatbelt, an opened door.

He winked one eye open to watch House swing his bad leg down onto the asphalt outside. “Where are you going?”

House sniffed over his shoulder. “Musical chairs. C’mon, we’re switching seats, get up.”

Wilson frowned. “Uhm… no. You’re not driving.”

With one leg out the door and one still on the dash, House dramatically sunk back into his seat like a toddler kicking its legs, “But mom.”

“No license, no ID, no dice,” Wilson started, shifting to fully face House and his stupid position, “Legally the only place you can be in a car is outside it. I could strap you to the top like quarry.”

“Or we can rent a hearse,” said House, arms folded. Wilson sat unmoving, staring him down. “Careful. Blank, soulless expressions turn me on.”

“I need you to take this seriously, House. Are you taking this seriously?”

House blinked,. “Yeah. Of course I am.”

Wilson hummed uncertainly. House gave him an exhausted look, fair seeing as he looked exhausted, Wilson guessed he didn’t really look at him until now. At his face— more sunken in some places, puffed up in others. His bright eyes lined with darkened shadow. His hair was sticking up in places that seemed aerodynamically impossible. Where did he stay, anyhow, for that week when he was dead? In a shitty motel? Paid with cash? Did he just wander the streets until he found a bench somewhere? The idea unsettled Wilson a bit, the idea that maybe House even thought to come to his door a couple of times, the idea that House had called from a payphone somewhere uptown, in some random city, cold and shivering, dirty and hungry, and Wilson had disregarded it as spam or slept through it. But, as he practiced before, Wilson didn’t say these thoughts out loud. Instead, he said:

“Why do you call me James, now?”

“It’s your name,” House replied simply. But then,  he readjusted in his seat, expression slowly forming into the unreadable one he gets when there’s a puzzle to solve, “Why are you,” he asked, face brinking on a smile, “unable to drive this car?”

Wilson squinted at him back, “I… don’t know where to go. Wilson’s also my name,” he drawled, also leaning forward to face him, “But you’re calling me James now. Why?”

“James is more direct. What do you mean you don’t know where to go? The ever so arduous Dr. Wilson didn’t bother making death plans?”

“Since when do you care about being direct,” Wilson scoffed, shifting the focus back to his friend as soon as he could, “And yes. And no. I have plans. I just, don’t know how to execute them. The whole best-friend-funeral thing threw a few wrenches.” He made sure to add the last part with a slight bite to his tone, making sure they mattered.

House didn’t seem to notice. He simply kept the same unreadable expression, “ To answer your question, since I’ve died I’ve cared about being more direct. I called you Wilson because you were Dr. Wilson to me, my coworker. Now I’m not a co, or a worker, so you’re just James to me. James. And to respond to your statement,” House made a habit of forcing his space, and sooner than Wilson could even notice, he’d had positioned both his feet back onto the floor of the car, the top half of his body all the way across the console, and rested his head on his hands directly beside Wilson, elbows swaying. Sometimes he reminded Wilson of a stray.

“I don’t think you do have plans,” House said, throwing a sideward, knowing glance, “ I think that your ‘plans’ were to just quit your job, pack your things and live with your parents up in Greenwich till you croaked. Am I right?”

“First off,” Wilson took a breath, uncomfortable by how easily his counterpart saw through him, “does this mean that I have to call you Greg now? Since we’re neither co, nor workers, do I change your contact to Gregory?”

“Sure, Greg’s fine. You can even call me Greggy for short. Keep it light on the ‘Dr. House’ thing, though. It might freak people out, y’know, considering that Dr. House is dead and all.  ”

“Not calling you Greggy.”

“And what are you calling your parents?” Wilson rolled his eyes. “Mama? Dada? You’re gonna use their credit cards at the liquor store, have them drop you off and pick you up for dates?”

“I was just planning on visiting not staying.”

“But after that it was all open schedule, wasn’t it? You’d probably end up staying because you’d have nowhere else to go.”

--- once again I'm not a writer and this isn't finished but why do anything at all que sera sera

[fwtxl]

okay but Buck saying yes to being a their sperm donor is so him. This season for him is finding what he wants and who he is, and sure that’s what Buck begins was all about but with that he was looking for a place that he fit. People grow and change and as scary as that is no one stays the same they can feel the same on the inside, but things are always gonna change and with everything that’s gone on with Eddie and Taylor (him finally being the one who leaves first) he’s looking to do things for HIMSELF he needs to really find who he is now and not the him he was 4-5 years ago. if the writers do this all correctly and not mess it up it could honestly be a better story arc then him just being for spare parts because he’s so much more than that. This also really gives him a chance to REALLY see things (himself) the way others do because sure people can tell you your good, kind etc. but you don’t really fully believe it until you look hard enough at yourself. This becoming possibly a full circle moment for him and realizing he already has had a family and people who love him without conditions (him thinking he’s expandable when he not is prof no.1 that to him love and people caring needs to have conditions). This also just continues to leading back to the will and shooting Buck and Eddie might finally talk about it and how Buck as always been a dad to Chris and that’s how it plays into the interview that Oliver did when he said Buck steps more into a co parent more this season. Buck is finally gonna be able to see how amazing he is, but first he needs to figure out who is NOW and not who he was before.

- a little something I tweeted + and expansion of my thoughts

[goforsyd]

[shiraishi-mai]

[10:00pm]

"I will still always love you."

'I didn't say anything," you said, leaning against the brick wall. Your eyes were focused on the orange and red leaves that crunched under your shoes.

"I think I know how you feel. I know how I would feel."

You ignored the stinging in your eyes. How could he know when even you didn't know how you felt? There was a strange something bubbling in your chest. Why did you feel this way? Why did it feel as though your breath was knocked out of you when you saw the invitation with curly silver writing beautifully written on the white envelope. You were happy for him. He deserved the best the world had to offer and you always knew that this was bound to happen. After all, he was never yours to begin with.

"I'm happy for you." You tried to keep the hurt out of your voice and gave him a small smile. Suga walked over to lean against the wall beside you. His lips were pursed and you knew he saw right through you. After all, he was probably the only person who knew you inside out.

"You know, I imagined it before. Whenever you dated someone new, I thought about how it would feel if you got married." He exhaled.

"And it bothered me more than I thought it would. More than it should have. I think I would still mind, even now, in some awful, possessive way." He sighed and looked up at the night sky. "We've never been with each other in that way and it's not like we made any promises."

We both heard the 'but'.

"We knew this would happen," you finally said. "We chose different paths a long time ago."

There was silence. You thought about all the years Suga stood by your side. Always looking out for you, always supporting you. He was your first kiss, the shoulder you cried on many times, and the first face you looked for when you achieved something. He was your best friend and at one point in your life, he was home.

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

A familiar figure walked up to them.

"Y/n?" The boy wore a light, pale sweater with brown khakis and white shoes. His grey hair was a bit tousled and his confused expression mirrored yours.

You whipped around with an accusing glance at your friend who flinched a little under your gaze.

"So it turns out the guy's friend couldn't come...and you and Aera wouldn't come out unless we all went on a date together." Your friend had complained she would leave high school without ever getting a boyfriend and somehow organised this mess that you only agreed to to get her to stop begging.

"SO YOU CALLED SUGA?" you exclaimed.

"Standing right here," he said, putting his hand up. "I am also shocked, thanks for asking."

"You could have just told me he canceled," you muttered, "It's not like I was super excited to do this." Your friend's face was sheepish and her eyes slid over to Suga who had an odd expression on his face. He walked over in front of you and lowered his face, an impish grin replacing the expression.

"Aw come on, is going on one date with your best friend so bad? It'll be the same as hanging out, plus I'm a perfect gentleman." His tone was light and teasing. You rolled your eyes and let out a breath in relief that he wouldn't take this seriously.

Though, you still felt your heart skip a beat when his grinned widened as you agreed.

"Just this one time."

[later]

The girls stared at their respective boys, unimpressed. Your friend's date punched the air and they high-fived each other while Suga and Asahi stared at the ground in shame.

"How can you two of all people be bad at this?" You said flatly.

The scoreboard of the basketball hoop arcade game flashed a 60 while Asahi and Suga had made a measly 10 and 15.

"We're volleyball players, not basketball!" Suga exclaimed.

"I don't think your hand eye coordination should be THAT bad."

The boys grumbled and you and your friends giggled. Suga refused to look at you as you all walked outside of the building into the park after that. Exasperated at his silent treatment, you dragged him over to the ice cream cart as an apology for making fun of him.

"What did you get?"

"Chocolate. What about you?"

"Strawberry," you said happily. "It's really good! Do you want to try?" You held out your cone. He leaned down to take a bite and found himself with ice cream on his face instead.

"First you make fun of me, and then you attack me with ice cream." He shook his head. "Some date you are."

"That's what they always do on dates on TV. It looked fun so I wanted to try."

He gave her a sly grin. "You know, the guy usually gets her back."

You yelped as you attempted to scamper away but a strong arm caught your waist and you struggled to escape. You saw the cone get closer to your face and shrank back - closing your eyes and scrunching up your face.

But the cold sensation never came. Instead, you felt a soft pair of lips peck your cheek and your eyes widened as you turned to look at him.

"You scared me! I thought-" Ice cream was suddenly on your nose. Suga laughed, clutching his stomach. "Your face, oh my god."

You couldn't help but smile at the delight on his face.

When he finally straightened up, your eyes locked and he looked at you with a soft expression. You didn't know when he had started to make your heart pound and your face burn. Maybe it was when he had gently put on a bandaid on the scrape on your knee (he claims to carry a few since you're so clumsy) and briefly swiped his thumb over the plastic, or rubbed your hands and blew on them in the winter, or carried you to your bed when you fell asleep studying together.

He had confessed to you in your second year. You had frozen, unsure of what to do, before blurting out that you didn't feel the same before you could process his words. You had slid down your locker after he waved bye with a smile on his face, saying "no hard feelings", and went to practice. Your thoughts raced. You knew him for such a long time, it would ruin your friendship to date him, right? You couldn't bear to hurt him or end up fighting with him. And besides, when both of you discussed your futures, he had been surprised that you wanted to move out of Miyagi while you were surprised he wanted to stay.

Is this what it would have been like? You thought, as you both sat with your head on his shoulder and his on top of yours. You relished in his warmth and he had a faint smell of laundry detergent. Both of you stared out at the river, enjoying the quiet of the night.

Your hands were intertwined and placed on your lap. Every time you opened your mouth to say something, you found you didn't have the words.

"I made my decision. I'm going to leave after graduation." You finally said.

"Okay," he said softly.

"Like leaving the country."

"Okay." He repeated.

"I don't know when I'll come back."

"Okay."

You squeezed his hand tighter as your eyes suddenly filled with moisture. You peeked at his face to see he was staring at the bright bridge lights with a neutral face and you turned back to look at them too. You heard him quietly take a breath.

"I love you."

You pressed your lips together to keep them from trembling.

"Okay," you said.

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

"In the next life?" You finally turned to look at him. His grey eyes twinkled with humour and mischief. He may have grown taller and changed throughout the years, but his eyes always stayed the same. You both had joked about what you would do if you were born again and agreed that you would meet again.

"In the next life," you replied. "I promise I won't leave you. Ever." You clenched your jaw.

He chuckled. "I'll hold you to it."

The silence between you two as you stared at each other lasted for a brief few seconds but felt so heavy and your nails dug into your palms.

"Come on," he finally said, holding out his hand, "let's go back inside."

[prvngslet]

Draco: *holding a cross up to Harry* THE POWER OF CHIRST COMPELS YOU THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YO-

Harry: what are you doing?!

Draco: that muggle book, the biblay, said holding this cross up to a demon and repeating 'the power of christ compels you' would get rid of it.

Harry:

Harry: okay first of all its called the Bible-

[ramblingsandwritingstuff]

Prompt 68: “Can we please pretend I never said that?”

Queens: Anne Boleyn and Anna of Cleves

Anne looked at Anna in shock. The whole room had gone silent as Anna spoke, and the queens all stared at Anna in shock. “Can we please pretend I never said that?” Anna whispers. “I- we could, but I have a few questions” Anne replies. Anna looks at her, slightly confused but mostly nervous. “Okay?” she questions hesitantly. “I think I speak for all of us when I say, please can you repeat what you just said?” Anne questions. Anna plays with her fingers, something very uncharacteristic of her. “Kitty is beautiful, and I would happily date her” Anna whispers. A shockwave passes around the room, and Anna starts to panic. “And what are your intentions with my cousin?” Anne inquires. 

Anna glances over at Kitty and is relieved to see she doesn’t appear to be uncomfortable with the situation. “I don’t know. I just meant that- I mean I think Kitty is attractive and- I don’t- I didn’t mean anything by it” Anna stutters. Kitty giggles and whispers “Who’s gonna tell her?”. Anna looks around in confusion. Kitty giggles again and gives Anne a look. Anne backs away from Anna, and Kitty approaches her. Anna blushes, something uncharacteristic of her. Kitty smiles and whispers “We all know how you feel Anna, I didn’t realise anyone could be so bad at hiding feelings” Anna looks up in confusion. “I- I thought I was better at hiding it” she whispers. Kitty shakes her head and whispers “no my love. But I don’t mind it” Anna smiles and whispers “I’m glad” Kitty leans up and kisses Anna on the cheek. “I wouldn’t mind dating you either” she whispers.

[uhohscorpio]

her: but I -

me: *pulls out PowerPoint presentation on why I love her* No doubting, I’ve come prepared!