cryptidcircuswrites

[cryptidcircuswrites]

hey again

[cryptidcircuswrites]

sorry guys I’m angsty today. here’s how some of the boys would break up w you.

Toby: Loud and messy. More angry than sad (the grief will come later). Tears streaming down his cheeks and shaking hands as he points an accusing finger at you. His entire body taut like he’s holding himself back from lashing out further. Calls you every name in the book. Says shit so cruel you’re left wondering how long those thoughts have been stewing in his brain.

Cuts you off in the middle of a sentence by storming out and slamming the door so hard it makes you ears ring. It’s the last time you ever see him.

You would really have to push him to the absolute brink for this to happen. Toby’s always one to try and work things out instead of letting his emotions get the best of him. He loves hard, and it’s unwavering. You’d have to do something pretty damn horrible for that to be snuffed out completely.

- “I c-can’t believe I wasted so much time on someone like you.”

-

Jack: Silent but brutal. Clinical and apathetic. He won’t be the one to actually start the fight or utter the final blow, he’ll just slowly push you away and ice you out until you’re the one to sever the ties. You can practically feel the affection leech out of him over the course of a few months. Doesn’t touch you unless you initiate it. His tone with you gets drier, more detached. Like the words you speak are muffled, and he’s just responding off of autopilot

When you finally do decide to end things, he doesn’t flinch. Barely bats an eye. He won’t fight you. He’ll agree the moment you even suggest splitting up. His ears twitch at the quiver in your voice but he won’t comment on it.

You’ll probably storm out out of frustration over his complete and utter nonchalance. He’ll be gone by the time you get back.

- “If that’s what you want.”

-

Brian: Completely out of left field. Completely blindsides you to the inner workings of his mind. Thought about ending it for months, but didn’t let it show even a little bit - continued on as normal, plastered that same old charming smile on his face, let the pet names roll off of his tongue just as smoothly as always. All while plotting the easiest way to let you down. He’s always been uncannily good at keeping his true intentions hidden, the mask he wears indistinguishable from his true self. Shame you didn’t find that out until it was too late.

He’ll take you out for a drive one night. Start the conversation out like normal. But when the silence between you starts to stretch, it feels heavier than it ever has. When he finally speaks again, he doesn’t beat around the bush. No sugarcoating, no preheating the dread by starting off with ‘we need to talk’. He just says it, point blank. Peers at you out of the corner of his eye to gauge your reaction.

And of course you’re shocked. Of course you cry. But it doesn’t really phase him. He’s been preparing for this for ages now. When he comforts you, it sounds hollow.

He’ll drop you off at home with a weight lifted off his shoulders.

- “You didn’t actually expect to marry me, did you?”

-

Tim: He just leaves. Crawls out of bed while you sleep and silently packs his things into the closet bag he can find. He probably forgets a few things in the rush. He won’t miss them, but they’ll ruin your entire mood anytime you come across one of his old socks, or notice that his toothbrush is still sitting by the sink.

He’ll write you a note and leave it on your bedside table. Telling you how he’s sorry he was too much of a coward to say all of this to your face, but it’s just easier this way. He knew you’d cry. He knew you’d beg for him to stay. Doing it this way was a much cleaner break - on his end, at least.

He’ll tuck the sheets over you gently, lets his gaze linger on your face for a few moments too long - nearly long enough for him to just crawl back in bed and let this whole plan go to hell. But, that subsides rather quickly as his eyes scan across your sleeping face. You look so calm. So serene. So sweet.

He wasn’t deserving of you and he knew it. He had known from the start.

- “This was never going to work. I know you thought it would. I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

-

Cody: Just shuts you out completely. The breakup version of ‘quiet quitting’. In his mind, the moment he starts to get the urge to do so - you’re already broken up. Shuts himself in his lab for hours on end and doesn’t let you in like he used to. Makes up excuses about how it ‘needs to be a sterile environment’ and that he ‘can’t afford distractions’.

Goes back to wearing his gloves around you. Wanting that barrier that he had broken down for you to go right back up again. Brushes you off every time you try to make plans with him. Short, one word answers every time you speak. Like Jack, his ultimate goal is for you to just get fed up and end things before he can, but unlike Jack - he’s less patient.

It irritates him how you try to cling on. How you just roll over and let him treat you like this just because you’re reluctant to lose him.

One day, he’ll just hit you with it. Short and sweet. And he’s walking back off and locking himself up in his lab before you can even get a reply out.

- “Your inability to take a hint is mind boggling. We’re done. Why can’t you get that?”

-

Habit: Kills you. He had joked about it when you first got together. How once he’s tired of you, he’ll just lob your pretty head clean off. It wasn’t actually a joke. You should’ve probably guessed that.

He just can’t be bothered. Would much rather avoid everything that came with a real, formal breakup. The tears, the bartering, the desperate pleas. All just trivial human emotions that irritate him so much it makes him feel nauseous. He’d much rather just put an end to that before it can even start.

How he does it depends on what mood you catch him in. Maybe he’s feeling merciful and does it in your sleep. Slits your throat so quick that you barely even have time to wake up before you’re choking on your own blood. Maybe he’s just fed up. Strangles you with his bare hands jusy so that he can watch the fear flood into your eyes - knowing that he’s serious this time.

Doesn’t even bury you. Throws you in a lake and walks off like nothing happened.

- “I told you this would happen.”

[cryptidcircuswrites]

JW: About to go pick up food. Call me back.

GH: Can’t. Jerking off

JW: Hurry up.

GH: U want me to jerk off faster

JW: Sure. Whatever. Just call me when you’re done.

GH: What else do u want me to do

JW: What do you mean?

GH: U want me to go faster

GH: What else 

JW: ?

GH: Is this ur first time sexting or something

JW: Yes?

JW: We are not sexting.

GH: Well we WERE. Party pooper

JW: Just get it over with already.

GH: U want me to cum already? I just started :( 

JW: Does it usually take you this long?

GH: I can go all night big daddy

JW: Do not call me that.

GH: :P

GH: What should I call u

JW: My name.

GH: James… Jimmy…

JW: Either is fine. 

GH: U dont like being called Wilson in bed?

JW: No one has ever called me Wilson in bed.

GH: So I’d be the first 

JW: We are not in bed. You’re probably on your couch. 

GH: Damn u know me so well

JW: I also know you’re not jerking off.

GH: Yes I am. Look

GH: [MMS Received]

JW: House! You did NOT just send me a picture of your lubed up dick. 

GH: Told u

GH: Are u gonna take care of this or what

JW: How can you possibly still be going?

GH: I’m waiting for u to keep sexting so I can finish

GH: Duh

JW: You’re insufferable. I don’t know why I put up with you.

GH: Oh yea I love being degraded in bed. Keep talking dirty to me

JW: I just wanted to have dinner. 

GH: U could feed me ur big thick cock for dessert

JW: Jesus Christ, House.

GH: Are u hard

JW: I’m sitting in my car.

GH: That’s not a no

JW: I only needed you to call me so I could ask what you wanted to eat tonight.

GH: U know what I wanna eat ;)

JW: No, I don’t. Just give me an answer.

GH: I’ll give u what u want if u give me what I want

JW: I really shouldn’t be encouraging this behaviour. 

GH: Yet u will anyway

JW: You know, we have very few boundaries left in this friendship that you haven't completely trampled on.

GH: I am now bulldozing over this one 

GH: BRRRVVVVVVGGRRR (bulldozer sound) 

JW: Brat.

GH: Now we’re getting somewhere!!!

JW: Take your pants off and lie back.

[cryptidcircuswrites]

I still love you  - Choreman

Picture by - @justtoomuch

The stale air in the conference room had a faint scent of dry-erase marker and burnt coffee. They had been stuck in there for the past hour and a half, debating. Dr. House, perched dramatically before the whiteboard, resembled a crazed conductor leading a silent orchestra.  He scribbled barely decipherable medical symptoms, muttering incomprehensibly under his breath, his brow furrowed in concentration as he impatiently waited for someone – anyone – to grasp at something even if it were just straws. The whiteboard itself was a chaotic tapestry of interconnected lines, half-formed diagrams, and abbreviated medical terms, a visual representation of the turbulent process churning in his brilliant but erratic mind.  Empty coffee cups and discarded papers littered the table. 

“Fever. Rash. Elevated CRP. Pain localized in the joints. What am I missing?”

Taub leaned back in his chair, tossing a pen between his fingers. “Could be viral arthritis.”

“Could be you’re wasting oxygen,” House fired back. “Foreman?”

“Still waiting on the lumbar puncture. CSF looked clear visually, but we’ll know more when—”

“Blah, blah, tests take time,” House interrupted. “How about someone has an opinion before our patient flatlines out of boredom?”

Chase sat across the worn oak table in the dimly lit office, his posture rigid.  The harsh fluorescent lights above cast an unflattering glow on his face, highlighting the ashen pallor of his skin – a stark contrast to the deep tan he'd cultivated during his two years working outdoors.  The usually crisp knot of his silk tie was loosened, hanging slack against his starched shirt.  His hands, usually expressive and animated, were clenched tightly in the deep pockets of his expensive wool overcoat, the tremors barely able to be hidden.

“I still think it could be vasculitis,” he said, voice faint. “Could explain the systemic inflammation—"

House cut him off with a wave of the marker. “Oh great, vasculitis. Let me guess what’s next: you’ll say lupus.”

Taub smirked. “It’s never lupus.”

Everyone chuckled except Chase. He was breathing too fast. The kind of breath that tried to go unnoticed — short, silent, forced through the nose. He swayed slightly on his feet, then stiffened like he could will himself steady. Foreman noticed the stillness first. Chase’s posture was too rigid now, as though he were holding himself up by sheer will. His lips had lost their color.

“Robert?” Foreman asked carefully, standing halfway.

Chase blinked. His eyes tried to find the sound, but they didn't land anywhere. He opened his mouth, like he was going to speak—then. A cracking sound as his knees suddenly give out and hit the floor. His body followed fast — head slamming into the corner of the table on the way down before crashing to the floor like dead weight. The impact echoed. The entire room froze.

“CHASE!” Foreman lunged, nearly knocking over his chair as he dropped to his knees. “Somebody call a code!”

Chase lay motionless, sprawled out unnaturally, one arm pinned awkwardly under his torso. Blood trickled from his temple where it hit the table edge, sharp against the floor. His chest rose too fast, his breathing shallow and erratic.

House crouched beside them, all traces of sarcasm gone. “He’s febrile,” he said instantly, the back of his hand brushing Chase’s forehead. “Boiling.”

“Skin’s clammy,” Foreman muttered, fingers pressed to Chase’s neck. “Pulse is weak and thready. He’s hypotensive.” His voice cracked, just slightly, but he didn’t stop working.

A nurse rushed in with a crash cart. “Page the ICU and bring a gurney!” Foreman ordered. “We need fluids, O2—stat!”

House stared for a moment longer, then stepped back and out of the way. His face had gone still. Foreman stayed kneeling, his hand on Chase’s chest, counting each rise and fall, willing them not to slow.

The ICU room was too quiet.

Chase had a nasal cannula threaded under his nose. His vitals had stabilized, but only after two liters of fluids, oxygen, and a careful cocktail of antivirals. His fever hadn’t broken yet.

“Viral pneumonia,” Foreman muttered to himself. “Progressed into sepsis. He never told me. He lives with me, and he didn’t say a word.”

House stood at the glass, watching from just outside the room, his cane tapping once against the floor. “He’s a doctor,” he said finally. “Which means he’s an idiot when it comes to treating himself. We’re trained to ignore symptoms until they scream.”

“He collapsed in front of us,” Foreman snapped, voice lower but sharper. “Hit his head hard enough to need stitches. He could’ve died.”

“And you think yelling at me will make you feel less guilty?”

Foreman didn’t answer. He turned back to Chase, who stirred faintly in the bed — eyelids fluttering without opening.

House tilted his head, something unreadable in his eyes. “Don’t let him go back to work too fast. He’ll try.”

Chase woke up hours later. His first sound was a soft, pained breath. Then his eyes opened, slowly. The light hurt. The room smelled too sterile. But when he turned his head slightly, the blur resolved into Foreman, sitting in a chair pulled close, their hands already laced together.

“You’re here,” Chase rasped, barely audible.

“I never left,” Foreman replied quietly. His thumb brushed over Chase’s knuckles. “Jesus, Robbie. You scared the hell out of me.” The thin green line jumped rhythmically over the black screen. Foreman had known that Chase loved being called Robbie and now he had proof on the monitor.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Chase murmured, trying to smile. It faltered into a grimace. “Didn’t think it was serious.” Foreman shook his head, looking at his lover. 

“You collapsed,” his voice shaking now. “Hit your head. You were septic. You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to be weak.”

Foreman leaned forward, forehead gently pressing to Chase’s. “You’re not weak,” he whispered. “I love you." Chase swallowed. He knew Foreman loved him, that's why they were together, and he loved the other man a ton too.” And I want you to stop pretending everything’s fine just because you’re good at hiding it.”

Chase closed his eyes. The edges of his mouth twitched, something close to surrender. “Okay.”

“Good.” Foreman pulled back, brushing his thumb along Chase’s cheekbone. “You’re going to stay here until the fever breaks. Then we’re going home, and you’re not touching a lab for a while.”

“You hate when I’m homesick.”

“I hate when you almost die in front of me more.”

[cryptidcircuswrites]

Tobias 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[cryptidcircuswrites]

okay but how would the guys react to the reader breaking up with them?

aha! the flip side!

Toby: Goes through four stages of grief in the span of like, ten minutes. everything except for acceptance. he won’t ever truly accept it. it could be literal years later and he’d still be dreaming of you, still touching himself to the thought of you.

the day it actually happens, he’ll try to play it off at first. hit you with a ‘th-that’s not fuckin’ funny’ with a soft snort and a roll of his eyes. like you being serious wasn’t even an option. but of course, you’ll insist - and that’s when the dam breaks.

first comes the anger. his eyes sharpening into a glare as his jaw sets. accusatory in every word he spits at you. throwing every single thing that he’s every done for you back in your face. glossing over everything he’s ever done wrong. hoping that maybe you’ll fight back - maybe you two can just get into another fight like you always do, and end up tangled up together in his sheets by the time night falls.

but that doesn’t happen. you just take it. just listen silently as you pack your things - already detached. and that’s when it really sets in. the anger will simmer, and then he’s apologizing profusely. offering up things he can’t even give you, all in the hopes of changing your mind. and when that doesn’t work? he just breaks. a mess of ugly sobs and hands trying to pull you to him. pleading. begging. borderline grovelling at your feet.

you’ll leave him a mess of tears. he probably won’t move from his spot on the floor for hours. days maybe.

- “W-What do you want? What can I d-do to make you stay? Just name it - I’ll g-give it to you.”

-

Jack: Just so incredibly cold. Like the moment you utter the words, every ounce of affection he held for you fizzled into smoke. You can practically see it when the switch in his brain flips, how his entire body tenses up, how his lips set into a firm line. He won’t say anything for a good long while. He’ll just stand before you, waiting, like he’s giving you a chance to take it back.

‘Jack? Did you hear what I said?’ To which he’ll just reply with a snippy; ‘I heard you.’ And barely elaborate further.

He won’t let you in. Won’t let you pry into his mind in an attempt to figure out how he feels about all of it. He’ll keep it all locked far deep down, under a shroud of bitter nonchalance. If you didn’t know him better, you’d almost think he didn’t care - but the slight tremble in his fingers proves that otherwise.

He won’t fight you. He knows better than that. Though he loved you to the ends of the earth, he knew he wouldn’t be able to continue on with you after this. Knowing that you don’t wholeheartedly want to be with him.

He’ll leave silently. Give you short, simple answers to every question you ask. Leave you second guessing if this was even the right decision at all.

- “What? Did you want me to scream? Beg? Cry? I’m not giving you that satisfaction.”

-

Brian: Horribly toxic. Blackmail supreme over here. You sit him down, tell him you want to break up with him, and the first thing he’s saying is, ‘are you sure you want to do that? with all the shit I have on you?’

And you know he’s right. He has drawers full of tapes depicting you in the most compromising positions known to man. Taken with the promise that they’d only be for his eyes. But, that was on the basis that you’d stick around. He’ll be patronizing, cruel, dangling this threat over your head with a raised eyebrow - daring you to have the guts to still go through with it.

Promising you that no one else will ever want to be with you after him. A little too calm, a little too composed. Like he’s so sure deep down that you’ll cave under the weight of what he’s saying and just roll over.

But if you don’t? If you hold your ground? You can just barely see him crack. A little twitch in his jaw, his gaze hardening over. The way his eyes flick away from you like he just can’t the sight of you any longer. He’ll freeze over until you gain the courage to pack up and leave. All that confidence lost, swapped for a silent resignation.

Won’t say a single thing to you on your way out the door.

(And he probably won’t actually make true on his threats, he was just really banking on that working).

- “Fine. Leave. See where it gets you.”

-

Tim: Just resigned acceptance. He saw it coming from the start, never really expecting you two to be in it for the long haul. He hoped that maybe you’d go against the odds, but he was smarter than to bank on that. Your life didn’t mix with his. He took a risk letting you in. He had set himself up, and he knew it.

It’s his shoulders slumping. His expression dropping. The slight quiver when he lets out a deep sigh and lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment like he’s trying to shut it all out. He doesn’t ask why, because he knows why. It’s everything about him. And he’d rather spare himself the burden of hearing that fact come from your lips.

He’ll be silent for a good long while. Reach into his coat pocket with trembling fingers, pull out his pack of smokes, light one and take a few drags before he speaks a word. And when he does, it’s just all apologies.

Apologies for dragging you into this in the first place. Apologies for wasting your time. For getting your hopes up. For making you believe that you could be the cure for everything that plagues him.

He won’t look at you the entire time, because he just knows he’ll break - and he doesn’t want to burden you with that too.

- “‘Bout time you smartened up. Always knew you deserved someone better.”

-

Cody: Really doesn’t know how to handle it - and maybe that was the issue all along. His good with the physical aspect of humans. The blood, the flesh, the chemical reactions. What he’s not good at, is the mind. The emotions. The inner workings of relationships, and person to person connection. He really tried with you, broke out of his shell in an attempt to let you have that closeness you craved.

It feels like an insult to have it thrown back in his face. He’s not upset, he’s offended, a silently brewing anger simmering in his veins with every word you speak. It just feels like he wasted so much time. Put in so much effort into something that ultimately proved fruitless. Like a failed experiment, but this time it affects him deeply. Like you were taking one of his limbs with you when you left him.

Asks you so many questions it makes your head spin. Why are you leaving him? What specific thing did he do? What could he have done better? Do you really truly believe there’s nothing that can fix this? Why are you giving up? Why don’t you want to try?

He’ll let you leave. He won’t beg and plead, but he will borderline interrogate you before he stalks back to his lab and shuts himself in there for the next week and a half.

- “All that time wasted. Such a needless distraction.”

-

Habit: Laughs in your fucking face. Cruel and mocking. Near doubles over with it. The type of laughter that absolutely stuns you, with the way he wheezes and cackles, wipes a tear from his eye and shakes his head like you’ve just performed a comedy special for him.

To him, you have. Because that’s fucking rich. You leaving him? As if you had that choice. It’s comical to him how you’d even entertain that thought, that you thought it might just be as easy as showing him the door and expecting him to walk through it. It’s not happening. Not by a long shot.

In fact, when you call him cruel, he’ll show you just exactly how cruel you can be. You hate him now? Let’s see how much you hate him when he chains you to the bed and leaves you there. Chuckling under his breath about how stupid you are. How you should’ve just kept your mouth shut, and appreciated the fact that he was being easy on you this whole time.

So, no. You will not be breaking up with him. This relationship ends on his terms, and his terms only.

- “That’s cute. You think you get to make that choice?”

[cryptidcircuswrites]

Can we get headcanons on WHY theyd break up? Also do you think any of the pastas would cheat?!

I shall keep this one more short and sweet since the last two posts really hold a lot of the answers

so why’d you guys break up?

Toby:

If he breaks up with you: It’s because you did something absolutely unforgivable. eg. cheated, kept a big lie from him and he found out, undermined/made fun of his trauma

If you break up with him: It’s probably because his love is suffocating. It’s cute at first, the way he wants to spend every waking hour of the day with you, the way he’s so protective of you. but, it’ll come at the cost of your freedom. he’s insecure to a fault, and it always comes back to bite him.

Jack:

If he breaks up with you: It’s because he believes he’s doing you more harm than good. In his eyes, you’re sabotaging yourself by being with him instead of some nice, normal - human - man. He thinks he’s doing you a favour.

If you break up with him: It’s because he’s a tough nut to crack. Trying to get into Jack’s mind is like trying to kick down an iron door. The allure of the silent, aloof type can only last for so long.

Brian:

If he breaks up with you: It’s because he can’t handle the work/life balance. He tried to take a shot, tried to fall back into the motions of having a normal life - but it all just feels like a sham. Probably swears off dating completely afterwards.

If you break up with him: It’s because it always feels like he’s hiding something. Like he’s biting his tongue. All that honey sweet charm just a sticky trap that caught you like a fly. He’ll never admit that he’s hiding something from you, but you just know he is. You can’t take the stress from constantly second guessing everything he says.

Tim:

If he breaks up with you: His reasoning is quite similar to Jack’s. He feels like he’s doing you a disservice by keeping you around. By letting you fall deeper and deeper in love with someone who finds it easier to show violence than affection. He’s sure you’ll thank him in the future.

If you break up with him: It’s because you thought you could fix him, and you couldn’t. You truly hoped that maybe your love could patch his wounds and coax out the man buried deep down. You couldn’t, and it’s too tiring to keep trying.

Cody:

If he breaks up with you: It’s because he can’t give you the time he knows you crave. He’s too consumed in his work. Appreciative of your presence, but reluctant to pull himself out of the lab in favour of catering to you. He knows you don’t deserve that.

If you break up with him: It’s for the exact same reason. He’s just barely there. Barely around, both mentally and physically. Even if he lets you into the lab with him, he’s often so engrossed in his tasks he barely acknowledges you. It’s exhausting to constantly be begging for his attention.

Habit:

If he breaks up with you: It’s just because he grew bored. He never loved you like you loved him, he just found you entertaining and easy to play with. But once you grow accustomed to him - once you start welcoming the pain instead of cowering away from him - it’s not as fun. Like a broken doll.

If you break up with him (or try to lol): There’s a laundry list of reasons. The psychological torment, the way he treats you more like a toy than a partner, the violence, his apathy towards anything and everything - including your emotions. It was only a matter of time until you broke.

and then would any of them cheat? hmmmmm. I really can’t picture any of them cheating on this list except for habit probs. MAYBE. MAYBE! Brian but it would definitely just be a one time drunk lapse of judgement where he immediately goes “oh fuck.” when he sobers up. he is simply too charming. if you catch him on a bad night he might be privy to give in.

[cryptidcircuswrites]

Who would regret breaking up, would they want to get the relationship back? I need some male suffering and HUMILIATION! Especially from CODY!!!! <3

Toby: IMMEDIATELY regrets it. like the moment all that anger cools into grief he is a goddamn fucking wreck. tries to convince himself it was for the best but doesn’t believe that at all. might go out looking for some random girl to hook up with in attempts to get over you, only for him to close his eyes and imagine it’s you the entire time. like. it’s rough.

He cycles between anger and sadness on a constant loop. Cries himself dry. Trashes his room in an attempt to get all of these horrible feelings out, and it doesn’t work.

he is either a) stalking you and trying to win you back over like i detailed in a prior post, or b) straight up showing up at your doorstep begging for you to take him back. he’s pathetic.

-

Jack: Regrets it after a week or two. He thought he’d get used to it - he’d been icing you out for the last few months of your relationship anyway, so what’s the difference in just not having you there at all? Turns out, it’s a big one. His body aches for you. Any flesh he sinks his teeth into tastes rotten compared to how sweet he knows your blood is.

Your absence weighs on him heavy. Like he had accidentally given you a piece of himself when he sent you away. Despite this, he’s not seeking you back out. He did what he did for a reason - and he’ll suffer if it means you don’t have to.

He truly, wholeheartedly believes that you are better off without him. And though sometimes he debates being selfish and crawling back to you, he can never bring himself to actually do it.

-

Brian: Sort of kind of regrets it? But more so missing the familiarity than the actual… relationship itself. He had just grown used to having someone to come home to, some to talk to, someone who was always happy to see him. He thought he could go back to being alone since he’d done it before, but for some reason this one sticks.

He stays up late watching back old tapes he took of you over and over again, trying to work up the courage to delete them. He never does.

There’s a 50/50 chance on whether or not he asks for you back. If he does, it’s him calling you from a pay phone late at night, not even giving an introduction because he knows you know his voice. To the point, just like how he had been when he broke up with you. ‘darlin’, i fucked up.’

-

Tim: Misses you the moment he steps out of the door, but doesn’t regret it. Even if it hurts, he knows it would’ve just ended up being more painful if he stuck around. The two of you weren’t made to last, despite how much both of you wanted that to be wrong. He was just the only one with the courage to actually end things before they got messy.

He doesn’t forget about you, not ever. Doesn’t find a new partner - partially because everyone else just falls short in comparison to you, and partially because he knows that any other romantic endeavour would just end up the exact same way.

He prays that you’ve moved on. Checks up on you sometimes in hopes that you have. Maybe one day he’ll watch you from the other side of the street, happily walking along with a new boyfriend. It’s equal parts soothing as it is gut wrenching.

-

Cody: Tells himself that he doesn’t regret it, but he most definitely does. You were the only one who really, truly got him. The only one who was patient enough to break down his walls. The only one who didn’t scoff, didn’t berate him for the way he acted - you encouraged him. Loved him. He doesn’t realize how much he really needed that until it’s gone.

Finds himself forgetting you’re not there. Turns to the spot you’d always sit next to him at his lab bench, a half-formed question on his lips that dies the moment his eyes fall on the empty space.

But, despite all that, he doesn’t ask for you back. This was his choice. He could’ve kept you, and yet he chose to let you go. It’s a fact he’ll force himself to live with.

-

Habit: Doesn’t regret it. Well, maybe a tiny bit deep down. But not because he misses you, or feels remorse for his actions. It’s just because you had just been such a treat while it lasted.

You just took everything he gave you. We’re so blinded by your love that you were so easy to just push and push. To take you to your brink and then push past it. It was a treat every time, watching how much you could take before you broke.

Of course he picks up new victims, fresh meat - but they’re just not as fun. He finds himself getting irritated when they can’t take as much as you could.

[cryptidcircuswrites]

I Not sure if you’re taking requests right now, but I’d love to see your take on trans Jeff the Killer!”

AHHHHAHAHAHAH YES LET ME SPEAK LET ME SPEAK SIT AND LISTEN. This is long, I have a deep love for raunchy transmascs.

── .✦

Afab tomboy kid to bitter transmasc adult pipeline.™

Jeff was always rowdy. Always scraped knees, dirt under his nails, running with the neighborhood boys, never wanting to wear the pastel dresses his mother picked. He’d have screamed if he had to wear a bow. Every time one of the other kids said “You can’t play with us, girls aren’t allowed.” He’d be getting sat down and scolded by his mother because he had given that kid a bloody nose out of anger.

He was that “problem child” who never sat still, roughhousing and refusing to act “like a girl.” It earned him constant lectures from teachers and endless sighs from his mother—the “why can’t you just behave?” moments that felt like acid on his skin.

He liked toy swords, monster movies, getting his hands dirty—anything that let him feel powerful, even if he couldn’t yet name why it felt right. He would hide bugs and tiny critters in his pockets and bring them home to scare his brother.

The second puberty hit, Jeff’s sense of betrayal was off the charts. His chest came in. Periods started. Suddenly the adults were trying to mold him into a “young lady”—and the body that had always felt mostly neutral in childhood turned into a prison.

He became angry. Bitter. His room went from messy-kid-chaos to total rage den: holes punched in the wall, broken pencils, fists clenched so hard they shook. This is where the mask of apathy starts—Jeff acting like nothing bothers him, but inside, he is rotting with confusion and dysphoria. The worst part? He’s completely lost in it.

He doesn’t know what transitioning is, doesn’t understand that he could change, doesn’t have the resources or the patience or the want to seek help. All he knows is that he’s angry and he wears clothes way too big for him.

By high school, he’s full-blown spiteful. Short hair, baggy clothes, fights every authority figure tooth and nail. When he hears “you’re such a bitch,” it’s a death sentence in his brain. He’d weaponize his rage, becoming known as the scary teenager that you didn’t want to look at in the lunchroom for too long. He’d lean into the violence, because being feared felt better than being pitied.

It’s only when Jeff hears about the first trans person in his school that he stops and thinks, for once. Everyone badmouthed them, preaching how nasty and weird it was. He just stayed silent, slowly clicking every puzzle piece together when he didn’t even know there was a puzzle to begin with. It just all suddenly clicks.

The “killer origin” moment (burning off his face, slicing his smile) is also a transition metaphor. He chose his name, his body, his power. It was a permanent break from being what everyone demanded. Even though it’s bloody and horrifying, there’s a raw beauty to how Jeff reshapes himself—no more being a daughter, no more being a girl, no more being told “you can’t.”

He over-corrects, though, with aggression. A brutal, controlling masculinity that’s almost satirical—picking fights, dominating rooms, refusing to show vulnerability. If you ever see him truly soft, you’re seeing a side only his closest do. His entire life he’s learned that boys are mean, men are brutal, and masculinity in its whole is anger. So that’s what he embodies, because that’s what he’s learned.

THIS IS FOR THAT ONE ASK I GOT, HERE YOU ARE ANGEL: If you headcanon him Latino, mainly Catholic based, that adds such a sting—a family that saw girlhood as “pure” and “holy,” a church that said his feelings were a sin. That made Jeff’s rebellion even more violent. The guilt stays with him, even as an adult. Sometimes after a kill, he’ll wonder if God is sitting there watching him ruin everything. He’ll spit blood on a cross just to feel in control again.

Post transition? He’s proud as hell. He uses the scars from his face as a kind of armor—they distract from what he used to hate about his body, and make him feel permanently, violently other. They gave him ownership over his own flesh. He still deals with dysphoria sometimes—certain clothing, certain angles—but Jeff is the type to overcompensate with bravado and aggression. He’ll joke about “having a bigger dick than anyone here” and absolutely believing it.

He’s DIY’d more things than he should. Ben sometimes jokes about “Frankenstein hormone therapy” because Jeff refused to go through proper channels and took T from thrown away vials or by swiping them in drugstores. He binds, because even after he’s threatened murder on EJ, he still won’t give him top surgery because he doesn’t care, “you smell like a man, isn’t that good enough for you?” while snarling his nose (not in a transphobic way, in a you fucking reek way).

He binds so tight it hurts to breathe, but he likes it that way. It makes him feel secure. Pre-wrap and medical tape that nearly tears his nipples when he takes it off (if he does, he wear that shit for days at a time, only changing it when it begins to fall on its own). Kinda feels badass lounging around with no shirt and covered in bloodied tape.

Gets serious muscle tone and definition from missions and wrestling people to the ground, becomes incredibly lean and strong especially in his biceps and shoulders, which helps a lot with the “man” image.

All in all, don’t fuck around with it. It doesn’t matter who you are, what you are, or how close you two are—one word about any of it and you’re gone. It breaches a sort of delusional sense about his transition, he truly unshakenly believes he has a dick and he’s hormonally a male and that every childhood picture is somebody else. It’s the mental illness, but it’s also a safe-block on his brain to keep him from spiraling into anything messier. He has enough going on, there’s no point in stressing his body and psyche further.

꩜ .ᐟ

[cryptidcircuswrites]

🌱 wip game🌱

rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have wips.

Thanks for the tag @vamillepudding!

revenant

Inheritance

Side of your father

these are high pressure tags. if you don't play my feelings will be hurt forever @coquitten @galaxythreads

[cryptidcircuswrites]

Typing on my typewriter like the shining get your pussy up get your money up get your pussy up get your money up

[cryptidcircuswrites]

VITALS

Finally, it's here!

House still limps through the halls with Vicodin in his pocket and his usual attitude.

Wilson still deals with said attitude.

Cameron clings to her principles, even as they melt in the heat.

Foreman tells himself he's above it all. The patients, the drama, House, but he never walks away.

And Chase? He's still hoping someone might look past the pretty face and find something worth keeping.

To ease the ever-flowing caseload, Cuddy has to find a new hire.

As rare diagnoses test their limits, something deeper starts to unravel.

Fondness, feelings, regrets..

CHAPTERS RELEASE EVERY SATURDAY NIGHT @ 8PM ET

Times may change depending on the time of the year/scheduling conflicts/personal reasons. Please note that if a chapter is not out right away, my Tumblr will likely reflect reasoning for the pushed back release. Thanks for understanding.

(Explicit, Gregory House/James Wilson, Allison Cameron/Original Female Character, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Mentions of Sexual Activities and Possible Depictions)

tags for you nerds:

(Suspense, Drama, Comedy, Comedy with Feelings, OC insert, Series, Case Fic, Happy Ending, Hospital Setting, LGBTQ Characters, Drug Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, Character Development, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Unhealthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/No Comfort, Fluff, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Extremely Unprofessional Behavior, Work In Progress, Gregory House and James Wilson being in love, Medicine may be inaccurate, I too am in these additional tags, My first ao3 fic, No beta reader we die like men, Tags may change)

Vitals: The kind of truths that don't show up on scans.

OUT NOW ON AO3!

[cryptidcircuswrites]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[cryptidcircuswrites]

Easy Come, Easy Go

A Marble Hornets 1920’s au fic

enjoy!!

Next

͙✧˖*°࿐

Chapter One - Birdie

The streets were draped with a tranquil silence. Only the buzzing of distant cicadas and the rhythmic chirping of other nighttime crawlers filled the void that formed in the heart of Birmingham, Alabama. The streets may be desolate at this hour, but beneath layers of asphalt and crust was a bustling community.

The dance floor was cast in an elegant glow that coincided beautifully with men and women alike that moved and swayed about suavely in dazzling attire. Risqué attire of the likes that were frowned upon during the daytime. People of all sizes, backgrounds, and colors mingled and chattered between watered down bootleg alcoholic beverages. Brassy music filled the air that swirled stagnantly with remnants of tobacco smoke. The night life was energetic and free. Up until a few years ago, it was foreign and daunting world to Jay. Yet, it was one that he’d come to accept. What choice did a paperboy like him have?

“Birdie!” A masculine voice slurred from across the finely polished wooden countertop. This snapped Jay from his mindless idle daze.

“Pour me another whiskey on the rocks!” He looked up to meet the clearly inebriated man, who slapped a couple of crumpled bills atop the shiny bar-top. Jay had learned the hard way to keep his head down while on the clock. To do exactly as he was told. To speak only when spoken to. This job was the only thing keeping him off of the streets. The last thing he needed was his loud mouth getting him fired. So no matter how arrogant or crude his customers were, his body moved on command.

“You got it.” Practiced and gentle hands moved with precision prepare the man his requested beverage. He slid the sparkling glass across the lacquered wooden surface in exchange for the mishandled bills. The man tipped his fedora in thanks before vanishing into the crowd, melting into the sea of mingling strangers.

The bartender shoved the crinkled paper into a jar behind the bar, then folded his arms lackadaisically on the countertop with a heavy sigh. Jay often caught himself wondering if this was the life truly deserved. It certainly wasn’t the life he’d imagined as an ambitious teenager. He often wondered how things would’ve turned out had he gotten that position at his childhood friend’s budding film company. Kralie Inc. It was an industry mammoth now. He’d always known it had potential. Especially with the knowledge and expertise of the man running the business. Alex Kralie.

—

“No, no, you’re doing it all wrong!” An immature voice scolded. “You need to feel what the character is saying, not just speak the line!” The young blonde in his memory had lighthearted frustration carved into his features as he berated his friend. The innocent southern sun beamed upon the two of them, singeing his delicate skin even with the protection of his stained blouse. It was how they spent all of their days together; in the yard of his father’s victorian style mansion beneath the endless canopy of blue above them, acting out every book they could get their grubby little hands on.

“This is too hard,” Jay huffed in protest. “why can’t your sister act as the princess? She’s a girl!” Little beads of sweat glistened on their blemish-free features. A symphony of birds sang around them.

“Because she isn’t pretty enough, I already told you that.” Alex argued, arms crossed firmly over his chest. “Now start over!”

It was in that moment that Jay’s entire perspective of the world shifted, turning itself inside out. He was a boy; he couldn’t be pretty! His prepubescent mind couldn’t fathom such a concept. Oddly enough, the sun seemed to beat down on him harder.

“What are you doing just standing there? Move!” Alex nudged his shoulder with a closed fist, shaking the boy out of his flabbergasted staring contest with the ground. When he looked up, he was met with a smiling expression. One that, as a child, Jay had become familiar with. A smile that spread to his own features. A light laughter bubbled from his chest. The memory faded.

—

“I can’t be friends with you anymore.”

“But Ale—“

“DON’T!”

The voice echoed. Then, there was a trembling breath. It was so faint, yet oh so fragile. Like a mere gust of wind would cause the male to crumble into a million little fragments.

“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me anything at all. I— we’re done. For the sake of my life and yours, don’t write me. Don’t look for me. Y’know what— just forget we ever met.”

His chest burned.

“Goodbye, Jay.”

—

It was as if a boa constrictor had wrung itself around his heart. Becoming tighter with each loop around. Why, oh why did that memory always come back to tourment him?

“Sir? ‘Scuse me, sir.” A thick country accent filled his ears, smooth and warm as honey. Jay looked at the man across from him, tired eyes boring into the stranger. Eyes that weren’t quite seeing in the present.

“You seem to have, uh.. spilled.” The man gestured to the glistening puddle of an unknown liquid and cubed ice in front of him. If Jay wasn’t wide awake before, he certainly was now. He jumped to action, yanking the rag dangling from his belt and hurried to clean up the liquid. The surveying man chuckled. It was a pleasant noise that carried above the music flowing from the stage across the establishment.

“Long night, huh?” The curious customer inquired. Jay huffed out a short laugh. It was a pathetic attempt at courtesy towards the customer.

“Yeah, you could say that.” He’d murmur. With the spilled alcohol now soaked into the rag without a trace, he plopped the soiled fabric aside. Before he could lift his gaze, a wad of neat bills were slid his way. It was more than enough cash for just one drink.

“Neat moonshine for me. Get yourself somethin’ while you’re at it. You look like you need it.” His effortless smile exposed a little tooth gap hidden behind his lips. A subtle feature that complimented the man’s kind attitude. Jay could only stare at him in wonderment at the suspiciously generous offer.

“Thanks.” He’d awkwardly reply after a few moment of battling his own brain to come up with coherent words to say in response. He took the cash, then worked to pour the stranger his alcohol of choice. Surprisingly enough, even as a bartender in one of the several underground speakeasies in Birmingham, Jay didn’t get around to drinking often. To summarize a long story short, he was a lightweight and didn’t enjoy how quickly the substance got to him. But bootleg beer was the perfect ratio of water and actual alcohol to give him a comfortable edge. So, he poured himself a glass.

To Jay’s confusion, the stranger didn’t leave after being served his drink.

“Brian, by the way. Are you new ‘round here?” Brian focused in on him with upmost curiosity, but it wasn’t the condescending type. It was friendly and lighthearted. This man didn’t seem like the type to frequent a speakeasy like, yet here he was.

“Uh, yeah, kinda. I work weekends mostly.” He’d sheepishly reply. Truth be told, he wasn’t new at all. He’d been working at that joint for about a year now. Sometimes, the paperboy couldn’t help but tell little white lies. What did it matter, anyways? At these bars, he was Birdie; a hard-working student caring for his siblings at home. Not Jay Merrick; the man who was hardly getting by. A failure living a double life to escape his unfortunate reality.

The man, who he’d come to know as Brian, nodded and sipped on the golden liquid in his glass.

“Thought so. I was wonderin’ why I haven’t seen the likes of you ‘round.” He idly responded, swishing around the liquid in his glass. There was a brief silence between them. “What’s eatin’ you? You’ve got that thousand yard stare to you.”

The question came as a surprise to Jay. It wasn’t often that anyone acknowledged him beyond asking for a drink. For a moment, he faltered.

“I thought the bartender was supposed to be the one asking those questions.” He cracked an insincere smile. It was true. Jay was wrung dry; undeniably so.

“Says who?” Brian chided, a charming smile dancing on his lips. Jay felt his mouth go dry at that. He lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip of the bubbling liquid inside in a desperate attempt to drown the butterflies in his stomach.

“Well, y’know how it is.. the state of the world ‘n all.” Jay brushed the man’s obvious prying off with a lazy shrug. Much to his relief, Brian seemed to take the hint. He hummed from across the wooden bar top.

“Yeah, real shame what’s goin’ on in these parts. Especially with folk disappearing or turnin’ up dead in the night. Real scary world out there.” The stranger spoke before tilting his head back and taking a swig of his aged moonshine. At that, Jay could only stare.

“S-Sorry, what?” He stammered over his words. His brows knit together. “Did you say people are..” He couldn’t even utter the words. Why hadn’t he heard of this in the papers he delivered? Surely the press would be raging about something so alarming. Brian nodded.

“You heard that right. Murders and disappearances. Some say there’s a killer on the loose. Some are sayin’ it’s a man-eatin’ cryptid that lives in the forest.” He continued. It sounded absurd, and yet there was no sign of jest in the mans tone. Jay felt his heart lurch in his chest.

“No one really knows. Just stay safe out there, alright? Don’t give in to the shadow’s call.” Their eyes met. Jay held Brian’s gaze, which was terrifyingly sincere for a man he’d just met. It was a haunting passing moment. Then, he realized the message he was being delivered; a warning. Brain must know something that he did not. A wave of unease washed over him. Perhaps he was just paranoid— but if he were paranoid, how could Brian make such claims with a straight face?

“Loosen up, kid! look like you’ve just seen a ghost!” Jay’s boss, Mr. Murphy, boomed as he rounded the corner. He was a plump and jolly man with slicked back salt and pepper hair. Your stereotypical black-jack loving speakeasy owner. He casted one of his thick arms around Jay’s scrawny shoulders, which made him stumble. At the appearance of a new face, Brian’s pleasant smile reappeared.

“Good evenin’ to you, Mr. Murphy. I’ll get goin’ now.” Brian stood from the barstool, abandoning his now empty glass. He straightened out his tan overcoat. “It was nice talkin’ to you, uh..” Brown eyes flickered over Jay’s appearance. Oh right! He hadn’t introduced himself.

“Call me Birdie.” He promptly filled in the gap. At that, a smile tugged at the corner of Brian’s lips. A glint of an emotion he couldn’t quite capture twinkled in his eye.

“Right. Until next time, Birdie.” With that, the man with the comforting accent excused himself from the bar, revealing the atmosphere behind him. The population of customers were slowly dwindling. The music tapered to a laid-back swing. The morning hours must’ve been approaching. Beside him, Mr. Murphy droned on about tonight’s business and the typical drama that occurred almost nightly. Jay tuned him out. He took Brian’s abandoned glass and acquired a clean polishing rag.

As he was wiping the surface, something caught his eye. In red ink at the base of the glass resided two lines side by side and a curved one beneath it, resembling a smiling face. It was uniform and tidy, like it had been stamped on. Jay’s eyebrows creased. Where could this have come from? He’d been watching the customer the entire time, had he not?

He looked up towards the dark stairway that led towards the only entrance and exit of the secret establishment and felt a freezing chill run down his spine.

“Murders and disappearances. Some say there’s a killer on the loose. Some are sayin’ it’s a man-eatin’ cryptid that lives in the forest.”

Jay began to vigorously rub away the red ink with the smooth fabric of the white rag, staining it with the dye as a result.

“Don’t give in to the shadow’s call.”

He set the glass aside. He found himself looking back towards the darkness engulfed door way, as if something was luring him towards it. Beckoning him. A sense of unease hung over his shoulders. Brian’s words stuck to him like a curse. What did that man know that he didn’t? There was something strange going on. And something from deep within him, a primal yearning for knowledge, urged him to find out what it was.

Next

͙✧˖*°࿐

HIIII THIS IS MY FIRST “big” project so feedback is appreciated :]]] will be posted to ao3 and wattpad at some point!!

[cryptidcircuswrites]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐌.𝐃 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

☾‧₊˚ ⋅ ― female reader. no description of features. no mentions of size, race or age. Requests are open!

🇲​​🇦​​🇮​​🇳​ ​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​ | ​🇳​​🇦​​🇻​​🇮​​🇬​​🇦​​🇹​​🇮​​🇴​​🇳

Gregory House – You’re His Daughter

He stares at you in complete silence for what feels like forever. No sarcastic remark. No joke. Just… stunned.

Once he regains speech, he tries to brush it off with a snarky comment like, “Great. Another reason to disappoint someone.”

Acts like he doesn’t care, but suddenly starts keeping tabs on you—subtly. You’ll find your favorite snack in the vending machine or someone mysteriously cleared your name off a hospital infraction.

He avoids talking about it directly, but you catch him staring at you with a weird mix of confusion, guilt, and awe.

One day he finally mutters, “You’re smarter than I was at your age,” before limping off as fast as he can.

Eric Foreman – You’re His Cousin

He’s surprised, but not overwhelmed—Foreman processes things logically first.

Immediately verifies the facts, maybe even asks for a DNA test. Once confirmed, he nods and says, “Okay. We’ll figure this out.”

Tries to be supportive without being overbearing. Offers to help with med school or your career path.

Might struggle at first to break from his typically guarded demeanor, but you’ll notice he starts checking in more often.

Proudly introduces you to his colleagues, especially if you're achieving things. “Yeah, that’s my cousin. She’s killing it.”

Robert Chase – You’re His Paternal Younger Half-Sister

Stunned. Absolutely did not see it coming—especially with his father’s history.

Laughs bitterly at first, “Of course. Another surprise from the man who never showed up unless it was inconvenient.”

Feels a complicated mix of resentment toward your shared father and protectiveness toward you.

Opens up slowly, but once he accepts it, he becomes surprisingly sweet—invites you out for coffee, checks in regularly, and gets weirdly defensive if anyone criticizes you.

“I don’t care how we’re related. You matter. That’s enough.”

Allison Cameron – You’re Her Cousin

At first, she’s confused and thinks it’s some mistake. “Wait… like first cousin?”

When it sinks in, she gets a little emotional. Family’s always been complicated for her.

Offers to connect and get to know you better. Bakes something and brings it to your place like it’s a peace offering.

She’s very empathetic and curious about your upbringing. “I wish we’d known sooner. We could’ve shared holidays… birthdays…”

Becomes your unofficial life coach and therapist, always ready with a kind word or a warm hug.

Lisa Cuddy – You’re Her Niece

She’s shocked but warms up to the idea fast. “Well, guess that makes me your cool aunt now.”

Feels a strong sense of responsibility for you—invites you over for dinner, tries to keep you on a straight path.

Gives you career advice like it's second nature. “You want to survive in medicine and still have a life? Let’s talk.”

Fiercely defends you if House teases you too much. “House, that’s my niece. Back off.”

Becomes a bit of a mentor and fierce advocate. She believes in you like a second mother.

James Wilson – You’re His Daughter

At first? He’s quiet. Like all the air’s been knocked out of him.

Struggles deeply with the revelation. Guilt over not being there. Fear he’ll mess up being a dad.

Eventually reaches out gently. “I know I wasn’t there, but I’d like to try now—if you’ll let me.”

Starts doing very “dad” things—buying you thoughtful little gifts, over-worrying about your health, offering unsolicited relationship advice.

Becomes one of the most supportive people in your life. He may tear up when he says, “I’m proud of you.”

[cryptidcircuswrites]

Odd idea, proxies as tutors? What would their subject be?

So cute!! Welcome to Slender High, folks. Might’ve went a little crazy with this one.

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer ➝ coach woods

P.E. / Health class.

Gym/Health Class. An extracurricular, but somehow still mandatory. He also coaches the baseball team.

The chaotic hot substitute energy. Always wearing a hoodie with the school’s mascot, sunglasses indoors, probably chewing on a toothpick.

“Alright losers, five laps, and if I see you walking, I’m calling your mom.”

He somehow turns dodgeball into mortal combat and makes health class 80% stories about near-death experiences and how to reset your own nose.

Probably shows a video on CPR and then says, “Now forget that, here’s how you really do it.”

Kids love him. Teachers fear him. The nurse hates him. And yes, he did have to teach Sex-ed. It was traumatic for everyone.

✦ . ticci toby ➝ mr. rogers

Woodshop / Auto mechanic Tech

Woodshop & small engine repair.

Looks constantly disheveled but knows exactly what he’s doing. Calls you “kid” even if you’re older than him.

“You cut your hand? Sick. Lemme see.”

Surprisingly patient with students and very good at explaining with his hands. Loud power tools soothe him. All the troublemakers sit in his class for lunch.

Keeps forgetting he’s not supposed to swear.

Will give you a project to build a birdhouse and then disappear for twenty minutes only to come back with a full crossbow.

✦ . eyeless jack ➝ dr. nyras

Biology / Anatomy

Advanced Biology & Human Anatomy. Both honors.

That freakishly calm, soft-spoken teacher who you don’t want to piss off. Wears gloves at all times.

“Today we’ll be dissecting fetal pigs. Please refrain from vomiting on your lab partners.”

He talks about organs with way too much enthusiasm. Will give you full marks for effort and curiosity, but will also deduct points for making squeamish faces.

Nobody’s brave enough to ask where he gets the extra specimens.

Has an endless supply of black coffee and leaves the room colder than any other on campus. There are definitely rumors circulating that he is secretly a cult member.

✦ . masky (tim wright) ➝ mr. wright

History.

American & World History. But specifically World War II and awesome battle retellings.

Burnt out, deadpan, but wildly intelligent. Could teach the class hungover and still make it captivating. The kind of homework you could turn in a blank document and somehow still get a 100.

“History’s just war, ego, and bad ideas. Let’s begin.”

Will go on 30-minute tangents about conspiracy theories but somehow ties it back to the curriculum every time.

Wears the same cardigan three days in a row. Still smells like parchment paper and cologne.

Doesn’t grade your paper, just leaves cryptic comments like “The empire always strikes back. B+.”

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas) ➝ mr. thomas

Photography / Media Arts

Photography, Film Studies, Journalism. Has published his own book and reads from it daily.

Quiet, intense, incredibly observant. Wears all black. Always has a camera or notepad.

“Art should make you uncomfortable. That’s how you know it’s real.”

He gives very detailed feedback on creative work but refuses to compliment directly.

Shows weird documentaries and calls it “inspiration.” However, people are falling asleep left and right.

You catch him staring out windows or filming empty hallways. Nobody knows where he goes during lunch.

✦ . kate the chaser ➝ coach milens-hayes

Debate / Track Coach

Debate, Current Events / Track Coach.

Tactical jacket, heavy boots, hair tied back. No-nonsense, all intensity. Lives off of making kids nervous.

“Speak like you mean it, or sit down.”

Coaches you like a soldier: brutal honesty, high expectations, but genuine pride when you succeed.

Has you running mental laps just as much as physical ones.

Won’t admit she cares about her students, but she shows up to every event and stays late to help you prep. First to get to the field and last to leave, always making sure it’s in tip-top shape.

✦ . ben drowned ➝ mr. b

Computer Science / Game Design

Coding, Game Development, Hacking 101.

Hoodie pulled up, Monster can in hand, sits on top of the desk like a menace.

“Anyone touches my gaming rig and dies. Let’s boot Unity.”

Encourages cheating “if you’re smart enough to not get caught.”

Replaces your cursor with a meme. Has every shortcut known to man memorized. Practically speaks in HTML code.

Once programmed a jumpscare into the school website for fun.

✦ . clockwork ➝ dr. ouellette

Psychology

Intro to Psych, Criminal Behavior, Criminal Justice.

Cool older sister energy. Heels, eyeliner, slightly intimidating but smells amazing. Dresses like a lawyer.

“Let’s talk about what trauma does to the brain. Yes, again.”

Talks casually about serial killers and makes it sound like reading a cookbook. Always starts class by pulling up the town’s news articles to see if there’s been any murders.

Students either have a crush on her or fear her (usually both).

Never lets you slack off. Encourages you to journal and process your emotions even though she never does. Snatches phones like it’s a hobby.

✦ . laughing jack ➝ mr. lj

Theater / Creative Writing

Theater & Creative Lit. He likes to multitask his teaching.

Always wearing eccentric scarves, multicolored pants, and glitter eyeshadow. Calls everyone “darling.”

“Today we’re expressing grief through mime. Yes, you have to participate. No, it doesn’t have to be good.”

Encourages absurd ideas with wild enthusiasm. Will show up with sock puppets and expect you to act out King Lear. Art is whatever you can get away with in his class.

Gives strange but insightful writing prompts like “Describe your first heartbreak in the style of a horror movie.”

Students adore him. Admin tries to fire him every year. They can’t catch him. He once got a hateful letter from a parent and acted it out in front of the class with props.

✦ . nina the killer + jane everlasting ➝ mrs. hopkins + ms. richardson

Cosmetology + Home Ec

Duo teachers who co-teach Home economics and Cosmetology / Personal Care.

One side is sleek, black, hyper-organized. The other is hot pink chaos with glitter stickers on everything. The energy is immaculate. Their outfits reflect that.

Nina is your cool chaotic older sister who shows up with a matcha and false lashes at 8 a.m. and somehow makes it work. Nail art, extreme glam, wigs, special FX gore makeup (where she thrives—suspiciously too good with blood effects).

“Blend like your ex just saw you at Target, babes.”

Jane is strong, composed, elegant—but always one thread away from snapping. Always in black. The only one in the building who can get the lunchroom to shut up just by walking in. Knife skills, holistic skincare, sewing/repair, and self-defense baked into everything.

“No, you may not use glitter glue in your soufflé.”

Enemies to reluctant co-workers who constantly roast each other but would absolutely murder anyone else who tried to do the same. Nina walks in late with Starbucks and Jane says “You’re late.” Nina replies, “Your mascara’s uneven.”

The class becomes the spot for gossip, life lessons, and oddly effective therapy. Students worship them both. Their arguments are like watching two queens from rival kingdoms argue over who gets the last bit of land.

✦ . slenderman ➝ principal s

Principal / Philosophy

Technically the principal, but hosts one elite seminar class on ethics and metaphysics that only the honors students are allowed to attend.

Wears suits so sharp they could cut time. You can hear his presence before you see him. Definitely has a lanyard with keys you can hear from two hallways away.

“You are not here to learn. You are here to remember.”

Speaks in riddles, never uses a whiteboard, and grades on an unknowable system. Heaven help if you’re called into his office for disciple, you won’t come out the same.

Everyone is scared of him. Everyone respects him. Rumor is he doesn’t walk—he glides. He buys the faculty’s lunch every Friday, but that doesn’t make them any less nervous around him.

You leave his class every time feeling like your brain got wrung out and kissed on the forehead.

꩜ .ᐟ

[cryptidcircuswrites]

House MD × The Last Of Us AU

The two of them kneel in the damp dirt, lungs rapidly working for air. House stares at the wound on Wilson’s forearm. It’s oddly bite-mark shaped. He pulls Wilson’s rolled up sleeve over the bloody, broken skin.

“You’ll be fine,” House’s voice is unnervingly calm. He rips a section off his blood-stained The Who band tee (most people wouldn’t know that, due to the fact that it’s faded beyond recognition), and knots it around Wilson’s upper arm, though he’s not sure why he does that.

“You’ll be fine, you’ll- you’ll be okay,” his voice breaks. Why does it hurt so bad? House pushes the question away.

I’ll have the time to figure it out later, House thinks as he gets to his feet. The prosthetic leg chaffes against his skin. Long hours of running has taken its toll, it seems.

Re-adjusting his bag-strap over his shoulder, he offers a hand to Wilson, who just stares up at him. There’s something swirling like a storm in gaze. House is afraid. He doesn’t want to know what that look means, but it reveals itself to him anyways. Wilson stares up at him, and in his eyes he sees pity and longing, and under it, the fear and the desperation. Wilson doesn’t take his hand.

“Time to wake up and go-go, Jimmy.”

The joke doesn’t sit right in House’s chest.

“Two hours,” Wilson chokes out. His throat fills with overwhelming anguish, threatening to spew out his trembling lips. He can almost feel the tendrils of cordyceps creep through his veins, finding its greedy way to the host’s brain.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

House’s hand is still outstretched insistently.

“I have two hours, House.” Wilson’s voice is soft like an apology, almost a whisper. He pats the ground next to him. The grass is wet and muddy. “Sit, please.”

The neurons in House’s head fires signals at their own clumsy and desperate accord. They tell him to run. They tell him to yell. They tell him to yank Wilson to his feet. They tell him to sit. But sitting feels too difficult. He just stood up. Shouldn’t they be walking away by now? His mind echoes with the mangled remains of Wilson’s words.

Two hours.

“You could have eight hours,” House points out, and something in him rips itself apart. He adknowledged it. It’s real, it’s happening.

“I’m giving myself two hours.”

And so House sits. Wilson tenderly holds his hand, as if House is the one who’s dying.

Fuck the oncologist and his stupid oncologist habits.

The first thing Wilson does is lean in and kiss him. His lips are soft, and they tremble slightly.

From emotion, not from the infection, House reminds himself. He kisses back, and he knows that will be the very last time they do it. Better now than risk infection when the fungus eventually invades the trachea, growing and spreading till it crawls out Wilson’s mouth. House shudders at the thought.

“I’m sorry,” Wilson says after the kiss breaks. He mutters into their interlocked hands, “I’m sorry.”

“If you plan to spend your two hours apologising, please tell me. I’ll happily shorten it to five seconds.”

Wilson laughs. House wonders how he still has the strength to form anything resembling a smile, much less a laugh.

For a long moment, they just sit in silence, bloody fingers brushing and circling tender goodbyes on bruised knuckles. The need for words had left their relationship long ago. If there’s anything that needed to be said, they’d have said it already.

In this moment, Wilson’s presence reads like a sad song. Or perhaps it reads like the macadamia nut pancakes that will never be made by his hands ever again. A cold and lonely winter awaits Gregory House.

House can’t help but resort to earlier memories for comfort. He sinks deep into his own head.

The night he bailed Wilson out from jail. House had felt the thrill of having a complete stranger to pick apart in front of him. Wilson owed House, and so he let himself be picked apart. Too soon, House found himself stuck in the rabbit hole of Wilson, and apparently Wilson had done some picking and digging of his own as well.

He moves forward in time. The day the infection had begun its ruthless attack on humanity. Wilson had dragged him out of the hospital and drove him home. Chase’s wheezing and gasping breath still haunts his mind.

Then, there came the day, three years later. Wilson begged him to amputate his bad leg. He’d just came into contact with a doctor specialising in prosthetic limbs. Turned out that Wilson had been searching for one for a year.

“Please, House,” Wilson begged. “You'll die if you can’t run.” I can’t afford to lose you.

“That’s ableist,” House joked, but he knew Wilson was right. He usually was. And so after one night of quiet sobbing, he finally agreed. Wilson held House’s head close against his chest, fingers caressing tufts of hair. “Thank you.”

House threw all his painkillers he’d gotten from trading that day.

House’s mind returns to the the present. He pulls Wilson closer, allowing him to rest his weary head on his shoulder. His hand found its way to the back of Wilson’s neck, toying softly with the soft strands of hair.

House doesn’t know when, but Wilson’s hands had begun to tremble.

He tightens his grip, trying to quell the twitching muscles, only for Wilson to pull his hands away.

“No.”

The word slips out of House’s lips involuntarily. His voice is small, weak.

With unsteady hands, Wilson unzips his bag, and pulls out his gun. He presses the cold metal into his hands.

House evaluates Wilson’s state. He shakes his head, attempting to push the gun away. “You still have time.”

“Yes,” Wilson makes sure House’s hands held firm on the weapon. “So you can take your time.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Wilson doesn’t miss a single beat. Yeah. No, he didn’t.

“Why do you want me to do it?” House doesn’t want to stop talking. It’ll be just like the old times, where House would say something stupidly genius, and Wilson would say something geniusly stupid in retaliation, then life would go on.

“I need to know if you can m��move on,” Wilson guides House’s hands up, until the gun is aimed at his forehead. “If you can do this, you can move on.”

“I’ll shoot myself after I shoot you,” his hands shakes, as do Wilson’s, but for painfully different reasons.

He sighs. “I can’t stop you, but, please… please d-don’t,” Wilson swallows, and he swears he can feel tendrils creeping up his throat. It’s getting hard to talk, like he’s forgetting how.

Wilson wonders if his memory is starting to fade. He can’t remember the last time House cried like he does now.

He sees the amalgamation of grief, anger and loss in his tears. And yet, there is acceptance. He reaches out a hand to dry the other's tear-stricken face. House will go on without him.

"I love you."

"This is such a chick flick moment," House manages through his tears. "I love you, too."

Wilson smiles, and it reaches his eyes. "I know."

And House pulls the trigger home.