Kammie

I’m doing a 13-story queer horror-romance anthology challenge over on AO3 and I need YOUR opinion to help shape the final line-up. 🦇

It's called Haunted Hearts and it’s full of monsters falling in love when they absolutely should not. Grave robbers, ghost girls, cross-dressing vampires, boys in the woods, banshees you probably shouldn’t kiss… you get the vibe. 👀

💀 Only 13 stories can make the final cut 💀 So if you wanna fight for your fave (or lovingly vote one off the island), come drop a comment on the AO3 post! I'm reading every single one.

spent 3 days fighting for my life writing smut after 7 chapters of emotional slow burn:

yeah so wilson rails house at 100 bpm to the rhythm of ‘Stayin’ Alive’ and then calls him ‘love’ mid-thrust. it’s fine.

and spoiler i had to ruin it by house doesn't say i love you back that night...

sometimes people are like “you wrote smut??” and i have to explain that yes i did but also no i didn’t

i wrote a slow unraveling of emotional repression that just so happened to involve thrusting

bc sex scenes aren’t just “and then they did the sex” they’re a window into the characters—who they are, what they want, what they hide, what they’re afraid of when someone gets too close

anyway chapter 8 is live and wilson calls house “love” while railroading him like he’s giving CPR and i need to go lie down now

me, minding my own business: la ti da its back 2 school szn

also me: what if two morally dubious doctors had a little kiss

me (again): okay but what if the morning after involved medicine, repressed emotions, blackmail, and the science of love vs lust

me, further spiraling: haha imagine if that was exactly what happened in Chapter 7 of Surely to the Sea and it was called King of MY Heart and it was so good you had to stop breathing for a sec

me now: anyway... no reason,

Surely To The Sea

1️⃣ Like A River Flows (Ch. 1)

“Guess I’ll find out what he’s really like.” And then… House kissed a random guy. Right in front of Wilson. Iconic.

2️⃣ You Took The Night Train For a Reason… (Ch. 2)

Wilson + alcohol + coffee machine = existential meltdown. House: “I’m not going anywhere, Wilson. I’m here. I always come back.” Me: sobbing, honestly.

3️⃣ You’ll never be happy, And I’ll never be yours… (Ch. 3)

House barges into Cuddy’s house. Chaos. Juice boxes. Emotional whiplash. Classic.

4️⃣ Scaramouche, Scaramouche, Will You Do the Fandango? (Ch. 4)

Wilson rehearses seduction in the mirror. House appears. Smirk? Check. Panic? Double check.

5️⃣ You’ll just have to taste me when he’s kissing you… (Ch. 5)

Knock knock knock. Wilson internally combusts. House: fully clothed, hot, unbothered. Absolute menace.

6️⃣ “Something is rotten in the state of Denmark” (Ch. 6)

Rain, flashbacks, first-kiss nostalgia, “Am I gay?” quiz. Me, crying at my own fic: same.

7️⃣ King of my Heart (Ch. 7) — coming tonight

House in Wilson’s lap. Wilson: “I have patients” House: “Are they dying right now? Because I’ve been waiting almost twenty years for this…” Me: again. combusting.

If you want chaotic House/Wilson energy, awkwardly sexy tension, and emotional breakdowns in equal measure… this fic is for you. 🫠

Surely to the Sea – When casual slurs become too fun and Wilson spirals into identity crisis. Lesson: Never underestimate socially acceptable queer chaos.

Anamnesis – Bar fight → broken mirror → jail → one unforgettable night. Three years later: House calls. It’s “about work.” Spoiler: it’s not. Trope: trauma-adjacent accidental pining. (Precanon)

Hurricane Heartstrings – One bed, one hurricane, three years of awkward tension. Storm outside, storm inside. Trope: forced proximity + emotional storms = canon divergence disaster.

Infectious Minds – House + Wilson and some Sherlock + Watson crossover chaos. Viruses and tea. Also, emotional repression. Trope: genius men trapped in one hotel, mutual pining, slightly queerbait-y.

Let Me Take It From Here – House exhausted, Wilson done being gentle. Trope: caretaker role reversal, soft domination, quiet love, and tender power dynamics. Warning: feels will hit.

Code Blue – Hospital cot, grief chemistry, emotional bloodbath. Trope: post-cancer angst meets messy codependency, but somehow still smutty.

My Fuse is Almost Gone – Wilson writes letters to everyone (mostly House). Terminal illness + introspection = bittersweet quiet despair.

Inappropriate Workplace Conduct – Bathroom sex as stress relief. Trope: secret office romance + civil disobedience + whispered feelings + bad plumbing.

The Party City Incident – 2 a.m. drunk texting escalates fast. Trope: roommates to lovers, accidental confessions, witty banter, chaos ensues.

Whac-A-Husband – Petty sabotage, fake marriages, jealousy. Trope: jilted-house-acting-like-an-ex-husband, internalized homophobia, emotional sabotage.

Last Call – House fakes his death, Wilson has three months left. Road trip, fake escapes, bittersweet final summer. Trope: terminal illness + fake death + chaos = existential beach feels.

Vicodin and Vows – Years of glances, grief, marriage, adoption, hospital floors drenched in feels. Trope: late-in-life love, family chaos, unflinching emotional honesty.

💉 Conclusion: The only known cure is… writing more Hilson fics. Side effects include: chronic pining, emergency bedside confessions, codependency, and an inexplicable fondness for sarcasm...

Current Infection: Surely to the Sea

Chapters: 6/20 (writing 7 & 8 rn)

Symptoms: socially acceptable queer chaos, identity spirals, sarcasm, unresolved tension

Prognosis: fatal for feelings, highly addictive for readers

(or a slow-burn M/M fic about emotional repression and slurs) 🔗 Surely to the Sea read it before Trippi Troppi eats it from the ocean floor :/

Is this a healthy relationship? Absolutely not. But do they keep doing this dance of unresolved tension and codependent nonsense? 100% yes.

Also, it’s got that classic House energy: passive-aggressive, snarky, and just barely holding it together. Because of course he’s bad at emotions. He can’t even look at Wilson without internally screaming, so what’s a little heart-to-heart between friends?

🛫💥 Gregory House says a slur for fun → realizes he’s bisexual.

Nothing beats a Jet2Holiday... unless you're Wilson realizing he’s gay because House said homophobic slurs ironically and kissed a guy

Surely to the Sea (2025, AO3) GOT TWO CHAPTERS UP CHAT now featuring:

bathtub caretaking

bisexual panic

0 coping mechanisms

working title: "Surely to the Sea" (yes it’s from Can’t Help Falling in Love)

premise? house starts saying slurs because he figures out he can technically get away with it if he’s queer. then he starts joking about being gay. then he starts acting on it. and then (plot twist) he actually likes it.

meanwhile wilson is in the corner quietly losing his mind about all of this.

it’s:

bisexual house because of course it is

bisexual wilson who doesn’t know yet

slow burn but also kind of fast burn but also just… chaotic combustion

emotional repression olympics

tenderness hiding behind sarcasm

house is basically like “huh. more options. neat.” and wilson is like “everything i know is a lie and i might be in love with my best friend and also he won’t stop being hot and annoying about it.”

anyway it’s turning into a whole Thing™ and i will be posting it somewhere. but where should it go?

Thundershower dampens my shoes. Thursday, time 1700. The Orpheum looms, its lights dimmed low. Hands, my hands, grasp another. “Playbill is 20 pounds.” Hand yields the note, crumpled in nervous fingers. Hand devotes to teller. Hand returns to the grasp of woman, steady now.

I hang her jacket in the coat room, Hanging her scent like a curtain on my breath. She slips into the booth, Her eyes cast down, her voice soft, “French 75, please.” Order is up, two straws, one glass— The glass between us, Phantom of the Opera.

Ballet is an art, I decide, like love— Graceful, fragile, yet binding. The first act begins: Hand trembles, dews, I shake them free. “Darling, nervous? Why?” I shake my head. Hand bounces, bad tell, bluff better. Hand stops, mind is in control. Is mind controlled? Mind remembers actor. Actor shuffled of this mortal coil. I am alone. Hand shakes, “I shall take leave.”

Bathroom: tile, sink, bench, stalls. Sign: Men’s Room (Actors and Stagecrew Only) I am neither, but I sit on the bench. Tears shouldn’t happen, they do. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Thirty minutes. The door creaks. A man enters, ballet dancer? Pointe shoes in hand, muscles taut. He stares: “Stage crew?” I shake my head. He sees the evidence. Stupid tears. “What is the matter?”

The question hangs, Suspended between us, fragile. I open my mouth, but no sound comes. I want to speak, to explain, But the words— They are lost, swallowed whole by grief.

Instead, I just nod, A tear slipping down. He watches me, Then steps closer, Hand out, offering a tissue. “Dmitri,” he says, “Let it out.”

I don’t speak. I just take the tissue.

He lingers a moment, Arm out, Like he might pull me into something I can’t reach. Then he withdraws, Quiet, A brief weight in the room.

Dmitri doesn’t ask again. He doesn’t push. He just stands there, And for the first time tonight— I don’t feel quite so alone.

I stand to leave. Dmitri’s hand on my shoulder. “Backstage.”

I follow. Through the dark hall. The woman’s smile fading. Smoke in the wind.

He sits me down. Water. Jacket. A weight lifted.

“Who are you with?” His voice quiet.

I blink. “Woman.” But I’m somewhere else. I don’t care.

Dmitri nods. “Clear your mind.”

I close my eyes. But I can’t. The weight’s too much. His voice.

“Neil.”

also bonus poem loosely inspired might be in fic idk:

To love is to grieve, and in love, to grieve is to die. And in this life, my longing to cry out in anguish is still. So, my fairest love, I shall cherish you no more nor vie— Not for affection, nor lost adoration, nor time to fill. For to love is to grieve, and to grieve is to die.

To love is to grieve, and to grieve is to die. Yet still, I long, like a thief in the dark, For a tether to bind me to life, to the sky, For some fleeting warmth, some love’s spark.

But lo, the heart I once cherished is gone, A void now carved where affection once bloomed. How could I seek the touch of another’s dawn, When the light of my soul is forever consumed?

A tie, a bond, I long for no more— Not for warmth, not for passion’s sweet fire. For the soul I lost, it carved me to the core, And in its loss, I feel naught but desire.

Thus, I make a vow to my broken heart: No love, no affection, no tender embrace. Let time flow, and let others depart, I shall walk this world, a shadowed face.