| my world is hallucinogenic |
[March 15th 2008|5.47am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 sleepy |
] |
ah...oh gods..
my brain hurts SO BAD
I can feel the receptors missing each other completely
everything is spinning
yet stays perfectly still?
I am falling
yet, logically, I know I’m just sitting here
I’m shivering because my dreams are so harsh
my dreams are sharp and wholly terrifying
they reveal all my thoughts and fears
things I don’t want to admit
and I want to call out to someone
to let them know I’m sad, sad, sad
small, alone, scared
craving purity
a solid mind and
a gentle spirit*
I need something solid to hold onto when my world is hallucinogenic
but right now all I can do is tremble here in my bed at 5 am
listen to music
drink some water
take big breaths
try not to cry
and hope it’ll be over in a few hours
*Natalie Imbruglia - That Day lyrics
|
|
| maybe it was better being a loner |
[January 2nd 2008|1.19am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 annoyed |
] |
oh fuck it all..
why am I such a TARD
fo' teh realz peeps!
I AM AN IDIOT
why the hell am I so insecure about my friends?
but IS it insecurity?
or am I RIGHT
to back up:
I don't think anyone really likes me
AND BEFORE YOU THINK THIS IS A PITY PARTY
it is not
just observation
it seems people more TOLERATE me..
than really like me
why?
no idea
I piss people off a lot for being who I am is all I know
no one will tell me WHY
mostly because I wouldn't understand
and they're right
whatever
I don't like many people, either
(or people at all, really)
so I'm just as bad, really
...I guess...
maybe it was better being a loner
|
|
|
[October 10th 2007|6.21pm] |
I wish I didn't love you
as much as I do
or maybe not at all.
because its hard when you're there
and I'm there
and we so together
but not.
I wish I weren't so obvious
that I want your kiss
but that I want to be friends
at the same time.
I hate emo poems.
especially when they're sincere.
|
|
| lying on your sofa |
[September 24th 2007|4.55pm] |
no I don't mind
no, I don't care
that's only hair in my eyes
I don't mind
I understand
that you only want to be friends
yeah it's cool
sure its fine
my contacts are just dry
no I'm not crying
please understand
it's just from TV's sharp glare
and what should I have said?
what should I have done?
that it's not over
I still like you
and what should I have said?
what should I have done?
I know a lost cause when I see one
yeah it's cool man
I'm just fine
let me leave soon
now it's late
watch some TV
play some games
yet I'll never be the same
longing glances
ignoring good byes
I'm almost over to my room
sink into bed
try not to cry
why does this happen every time?
and what should I have said?
what should I have done?
that it's not over
and I still like you
and what should I have said?
what should I have done?
I know a lost cause when I see one
and what should I have said?
what should I have done?
that it's not over
and I still like you
and what should I have said?
what should I have done?
I know a lost cause when I see one
so I'll just lie here on your sofa
thinking where things went wrong...
|
|
| oh damn |
[July 25th 2007|10.28pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 anxious |
] |
everything is... perfect and screwed up at the same time.
I want I wish- these are things that echo and bounce in my mind like ping-pong balls, and I'm not sure if they are empty or lead.
I have everything- I have so much- it's not just what I need
and what I need is something stable in my life
I wish more than anything that I was not the only constant in my life
I wish- I want- me not to be the only person I can absolutely rely on.
it's a common theme with me; I just realized what exactly it was.
it's why I go into so many relationships.
it's why I do anything to make them work.
it's what I crave more than food or water.
it's also very sad.
I'm not even asking for love- just a loyal friend.
that's all.
not much.
not really.
but whatever.
I just need to get over myself.
|
|
| I Should Learn |
[June 30th 2007|1.26pm] |
so you don't have to lie
and I don't have to pretend
I say this with conviction
as my cheeks are wetten
it's not as if I didn't know it
this ride coming to an end
so I shouldn't have to hide my tears
and convince myself we're still friends
it was fate
it just happened
it maybe life
but it still hurts
there were warning signs and crossroads
that alerted me of this turn
still I tried my best to ignore them
and see what I could learn
you gave me laughs and smiles
comfort and peaceful rest
I taught you about the arts
and let you lay your head upon my breast
it was fate
it just happened
it maybe life
but it still hurts
yeah it still hurts
yes it burns
not of embarrassment
but that it's still you that I still yearn
you'd think that I would know
you'd think that I would learn
yeah it's hard to act so unconcerned
|
|
| gah |
[June 14th 2007|8.34pm] |
(written at 6:41 pm)
so-um- God- I don't even, I guess, know what to say..?
I mean- there's so much. stuff. crap. drama.
I just want to leave.
but even when I leave, will I be satisfied?
will it just be another case of 'the grass is greener on the other-side?'
probably. yeah.
reality always tends to let me down like that.
I don't even know.
I wish I didn't care.
I really really really wish I didn't care about all this...
so-um- here's the low down:
-new job (in which I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ANYTHING)
-boyfriend which I will have to leave sometime this summer
-and having no friends. or, at least, having to watch my 'ex-friend' take over them as well as all the plans we made together. and I literally have to watch it, too, since I LIVE ACROSS THE FUCKING STREET.
I wish I had some nostalgia to ween over, to be sad about leaving this place.
but there's really not much.
all my friends have either left me, hurt me, betrayed me.
I've got a boyfriend who I can't allow myself to get attached to.
and my family, well, they... yeah.
I don't know... but I just want to leave it all behind.
but will it really be different in college?
I can't allow myself to hope that it will be.
because based on past experience? IT WONT
it'll probably just be the same whole thing all over again, but the actors and scenery will change.
I don't know what to do.
I can't look past.
I can't focus on the present.
I can't even look towards my fucking future.
I think I have to just breathe.
but its so hard when all I can do is try not to cry.
this is so whiney.
why can't I just enjoy things?
I have a fantastic life, despite everything.
I'm a really good person. I'm pretty decent looking.
I've got the fucking 'American Dream'; why can't I just smile?
|
|
| friday night suckage |
[May 25th 2007|7.26pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 disappointed |
] |
HA wow shitty ass day... it started bad, got better, then, when I thought it would all be fixed:
BAM suck vill!
so... I'm suck at home taking care of my mom on a friday night while my buds and boyfriend go to the movies w/o me...
it could be worse, a lot worse, but I'm getting a little tired of saying that. I'd like to not have to keep repeating that, you know? but whatever. it's just teenage angst crap (I'd also like to stop having to minimize my emotions, too, but that's just wishful thinking).
I'm not quite sure what I want right now, really, other than to do decently well on my finals (Bs???), and to impress my tech center friends when I see them.
I guess I'm also still getting over my... unrequited friendship. I mean, if we were still friends, we'd do stuff together, have plans, a social life that does not include my mother or bf... and have some outside to talk to. but that can't be helped. I'd also like Matt to start talking to me and be friends with me, but I've been waiting three fucking years and the most progress I've gotten is that he can be in the same room as me and not flinch or cringe when he sees me.
I'm not.. a bad person. really. I guess I act like I am, but I'm not at all. I'm not even 'not bad'- I'd say I'm pretty goddamn decent for a human being.
...so why do these people, including Scott&Alex, hate me? every person I've ever been close to has left me. I mean, it's not like I purposely (well, okay, sometimes but it was agreed it was for the greater good) tried to drive these people away! I can't wait to get out of here, if just for leaving all that baggage behind...
I'm just really really hoping that there are some even half decent people out there. there has to be! my standards aren't exactly high for the qualification- and that's what worries me.
oh well, it's a common theme of me. I just keep on excepting people to be tolerable creatures. silly me.
|
|
| leaving for college (and leaving you) |
[May 21st 2007|7.19pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 thoughtful |
] |
all I can ask you is, please:
be a little better than me.
don't follow in my steps,
don't travel where they lead:
the grass is not greener, but greed.
don't miss me when I'm gone
or maybe you should.
at least you'd be missing something
that's not a part of you.
don't look into my eyes that way
or to see beyond what you see.
there's nothing much here,
but what is here is me.
don't hold me so tight against you
or give me your warmth or your strength
please save it for someone
who you don't have to hold in restraints.
please don't send me too long e-mails
because you know I wont reply
you'll never know why I don't
and the possibilities would makes you cry.
so just get on with your life once I leave it
don't tarry too long on my face
put away the picture, not even if you need it
it'll be your saving grace.
what I'm trying to say I guess
is that when I leave; I'm gone
don't linger on that hope
or you're already gone.
|
|
| Much Ado About 'Not Much' |
[May 16th 2007|1.11am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
exhausted |
] |
Honestly this is the most spontaneous thing I've ever written. And longest. >_>
Forgive me if I'm brain dead. It's... a ridiculous time in the morning to be writing fanfiction.
TITLE: Much Ado About 'Not Much'
AUTHOR: misstress_max
PAIRING: C/F & H/W
RATING: PG-13 to be safe
WARNING: crack! fluff! laughter!
SUMMARY: Chase and Foreman realize something Very Important.
DISCLAIMER: Oh geez. Not mine, bucko.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: I've never written this couple before, or even seriously thought about them (together) so the entire thing was pretty out of the blue for me to write, but once these fingers start tapping... ALSO: old lady (you'll know her when you see her) is based off my friend, and this fic is for her and her continual support of 'subtext'.
To be honest, Chase wasn't really in love with Cameron.
Well, I mean, he was but not really.
Chase had never really been in love before. And he was painfully aware of this. He just... didn't know what it felt like. Maybe he hadn't met the right woman yet. Maybe his parents didn't love him enough as a child. But the truth of it is, Chase has never been in love but wants to be. Very. Badly.
He's heard the love songs, seen chick flicks all his life, seen those beautiful, perfect smiles beaming at each other. And maybe he wants a piece of that happiness. Nothing wrong that, wanting to be happy.
So he does this... obsession thing, in place of love. He knows it's what he should do if he were in love (like we've- he's- said, he'd watched The Movies). He hopes, maybe, if he acts it long enough, or accurately enough, it'll become the real thing.
Cameron knew that. It's why she dumped him. And how did she know it?
Because he told her.
And why did he tell her?
Because he thought she would help (damn that post coital bliss loosening his resolve. His tudor always said it'd be his un-doing [and it was unfortunately theirs too, since they we eventually fired after his parents found out he was being taught things outside school curriculum] ).
But he forgot that Cameron traded hearts with that bitch ice queen from Narnia and didn't exactly feel like dealing with that. Which was the point of their relationship, anyway. But he still kept up the act, not just because he thought he'd finally get to her, but also that he knew Cameron well enough, and the general female species, that she liked to be flattered by male attention every once in a while, to know that she was really sexy and attractive and that the extra five pounds she'd gained recently from stress weren't the things keeping her from the dating pool, but that she'd just not found the right person yet, and-
What Chase doesn't know (at least consciencly, anyway) is that he doesn't have to pretend anymore.
Because he already loves someone.
You know that aforementioned tudor? And 'their' carefully gender neutral pronouns?
It's because it was a guy. Chase likes to forget this part of the story.
At least on the outside.
His name was Charlie, beautifully pale with his blue blue veins visible around his joints, hazel eyes, and fluffy sandy hair (for, even if you have just the slightest bit of Aryan blood in you in Australia, the moment your hair hits the sun it bleaches out immediatly. Lately, Chase has had to go to beauty salons to keep his hair color up, his natural mousey brown inexcusable).
He loved that man, in a puppy love sort of way. Which is why his parents sent him to the seminary. And medical school. They tried to show him that not only God disapproves of him, but science too.
This is also why he was left out of his father's will. And the reason his mother gave him for why she drank. But they never talked about that. And never would.
Which leads us to know. Chase in love.
But who is he in love with (besides himself)?
Not House (Chase didn't exactly have a thing for 'older men').
Defiantly not Wilson (re: above. And also he suspected that there was more between them that they let on, even to themselves).
Then who?
The one person he claimed to hate (or at least extremely dislike).
The person he could not have less in common with (besides being a racial minority and having some pretty fucked up family issues [though who didn't, now a days]).
The one person, who, honestly, could never feel the same about him:
that's right. Foreman.
He hated saying it out loud. Fuck, he hated thinking it out loud.
But there it was.
The cold, naked truth:
He, Robert Chase, is in love with one Eric Foreman.
What's a poor wallaby to do?
-
As Chase sat there in the cafeteria, miserably drinking his ultra sugary half milk half coffee afternoon treat (and then not drinking it, which he thought was infinitely worse, since all he did then was look longingly into his trendy earth killing Styrofoam cup and sigh, the little puffs of air rustling his bangs slightly. Not that he noticed things like Chase's bangs and whether or not they were moving or not-) that same one Dr. Eric Foreman was watching him, nursing his own cup o' joe, as described.
He sat there on the other side of the caf, suspiciously watching the younger man drink and not drink his coffee. He watched him with the air of a man not exactly having made up his mind about the person or thing in question, which he was not.
Three years and he did not know this man yet. He thought he knew him; he was predicable enough. but it was the little details hiding behind the expected behavior that threw him sometimes. He didn't think about the man anymore than he should (or so he told himself) but yet he had never really taken the time just to sit down and analyze this creature known as his fellow colleague. He had never, as horrible as this sounded, even to himself, thought about one Robert Chase as a fellow human. He resolved to do so then, saying it was the least House like thing he could do under the circumstances.
He walked over to Chase's seat and sat down across from him.
Chase looked up at him with watery eyes.
Foreman wished he hadn't sat down.
-
Twenty minutes later (and 17 past their lunch break) Foreman was no closer to understanding the man practically blubbering across from him than he was before. If anything, he was more confused. The man was lonely, he gathered, otherwise he wouldn't have just told him his whole life's story, garbled and rushed, wide eyed and trembling with-
-trembling with emotion?Startled by this thought, he glanced down to check. Chase's hands were flying. They were on his coffee cup (slowly being drained between the brief breaths he took between changes of topics of his story) fingering his tie, playing with his hair, and just plain fidgeting with everything in arm's length. Including, he discovered, finally detaching himself completely from Chase's narrative, his hands.
The next time this happened, Foreman's left hand trapped Chase's onto his right, like a cat on a mouse, and a shocked silence took over. Foreman slowly looked up at the man (now gripping) his hand unashamedly, the very man who swore complete indifference and dislike to him, and gave him a good, hard look.
The usually composed man was frazzled and a wreck, his own self denial of himself and the situations surrounding him coming crashing into his shallow world.
But what Foreman did know was that this was not his usual state of mind. And that people around them were starting to stare.
Uncomfortably, he shifted in his seat, and some how managed to catch Chase's eye. This was his undoing.
Inside his co-workers stunningly blue eyes ('stunningly blue eyes'? he didn't want to think about why those particular adjectives came to mind just now) he saw himself reflected, sixteen yeas old, eyes wide when he heard the police sirens approaching his first break in. That horror of knowing your life was about to change forever in a way not entirely pleasant shown and glimmered in his unshed tears.
He carefully rolled his own eyes, breaking that second's bond and making Chase turn his face away from his, downcast.
"Look," he breathed, not knowing how or why the words coming out of his mouth were coming out of his mouth, "you'd better take a personal day. You- you're- you can't drive in this condition?" it wasn't a question but a statement and all Chase could do was nod dumbly in reply, shocked into silence. "Damn. I'll have to drive you. You'll- I'll have to drive you back tomorrow too- for your car," he announced all of this as it came to him, not needing or wanting Chase's input for this impromptu plan. He also said this with looking at Chase either.
Resolutely, Foreman got up, leading Chase in a brisk walk to the elevator. If Foreman's mind hadn't been buzzing, repeating his plan and refining it with every step, he'd have noticed a few things. Like that the caf's normal white noise had drifted to a stop sometime in their conversation, or that-
"You're holding my hand," Chase said meekly, though without much feeling on the subject, his voice still a bit sheepish from shock and trying not to cry. The elevator 'dinged' shut as Foreman was brought back to reality.
"Huh?" and he realized he was. He let go instantly, and in the corner of his eye he saw Chase's face droop a bit. He shoved his hands in his pockets, "I was making sure you didn't go anywhere," they both knew this was nonsense
and wondered why he'd said such a lame excuse, and also why'd he feel the need to cover for it anyway, and-
Ding!
The elevator opened and they stepped out, not knowing quite what would happen next.
-
The drive to Chase's apartment (or 'flat' as Chase had insisted on calling it) was unexpectedly awkward and nerve wracking for both parties. Neither knew why. Or would admit why, anyway.
When they reached the semi-swanky apartment complex, they passed through the doors with ease, guards nodding at Chase and not blinking an eye at his male companion. When they reached the apartment (flat!) door, however, Chase fainted just as his keys touched his lock.
They fell to the ground with his body, a jingle accompanying the decidedly ungraceful 'thump' he made on the floor. Sighing, exasperated, Foreman bent down and picked up the keys- or at least tried to.
"Let go, you obviously aren't well enough to do it yourself,"
"No! It's my flat and I'm fine! Just move aside-"
"You just fainted Chase, Are you sure there isn't anything medically wrong with you? We should get you back to the hopsital-"
"No! I said I'm fine!"
"Doesn't look that way to me,"
"Yeah, and what are you going to do about it?"
During all this, they had, with the force of a thousand cliches, gotten closer and closer to each other, Foreman leaning over the prone Australian, face to face. They paused, and stared just looking at each other, when Chase's decrepit neighbor walked by.
"Oh, hello deary!" she said, smiling at the two of them, "how are you today, Dr. Chase? I see you've found yourself a new man! Well, have fun, and don't worry- I'll put my ear plugs in!" she winked and slipped inside her apartment. The door re-opened later after a minutes' pause.
"If you boys get hungry after all that hot gay sex, I've got some leftover lasagna in the fridge!"
-
They sat across from each other, again, this time in Chase's flat's overly fashionable kitchen, and silence rang through the air like a death toll.
"I should... go," Foreman said, without much conviction as he sat down at Chase's mini kitchen bar and swirled his coke around in what looked like a child's cup. He smiled lightly as he turned the glass around in his hand to find a cartoon koala depicted on one side, then took a final swig and set the glass down with a formal air.
"No!" Chase grabbed his wrist holding the glass, clumsily lurching across said bar to reach him- the glass fell, falling onto the plush ikea carpeting below and staining it's pristine white fur.
"Please?" he pleaded, and the look he gave him told him he wasn't just asking him to have another drink.
-
Back at the hospital, House and Wilson were laughing together in coma guy's room during a 'Guiding Light' commercial break.
"So- you really- put endorphins in their coffee cups?" Wilson roared, "copy-cat!".
"Well it worked didn't it?" House grinned in return, "they were being such girls about it anyway, I thought I'd-"
"You thought you'd what?" Wilson deadpanned, still smiling from ear to ear.
"-speed the process along. The sexual tension was driving me nuts," he said too casually, not even acknowledging his bad pun, and attempted to toss a piece of popcorn in his mouth. It bounced off his cheek and hit Wilson in the nose, who, he now realized, was suddenly incredibly close to him (though certainly not uncomfortably).
"That was nice of you," Wilson said cautiously, despite the expression on his face like a cat with a canary.
"Don't say the n-word, Wilson! that's politically incorrect!" as if perfectly timed (and Wilson wouldn't put it pass him) his new secretary, Lakesha, walked in and handed him a fat file, glaring at him. The oncologist passed this look onto House, who only mock mimicked Wilson's very expression before.
"Mr. Weimar will see you now," she said, and strutted off, the file landing with an audible 'slap' on the tile floor.
"I hate you right now, you know that?"
"Yea, just about as much as Foreman and Chase do," he smiled, and Wilson's anger melted a bit, just as it always did.
-
Foreman was learning more and more things about Chase by the second. Like that the white boy tended to drool after sex. On his chest.
He also found out something about himself:
that he didn't mind at all.
END
|
|
| progress (it's coming!) |
[May 14th 2007|4.14pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
I've gots things on my mind |
] |
things are
moving
twisting
changing
out of control
and I look in the mirror and try
not to see me changing too.
I thought this all was solid
I thought things had settled down.
but life shook me up like a snow globe baby
and there's no way to slow.
lets move it up
shake it down
do it like we thought it was
the very last time we'd be
together
forever
at least that's what I thought you said we'd be
maybe sometime
maybe at a later time.
my mind's moving too fast
you're moving too slow
there's no exit
no other way to go
let's move forward
progress
it's coming!
school's white noise as we
slide down the railings we
can't pause and breath
not for a moment
hand and hand
we start to dance
moving to a beat of our own.
they sit and stare
but we don't care
we're too lost in each other.
people's faces
flashing by
all we can do is wave
"bye bye!"
lets move it up
shake it down
do it like we thought it was
the very last time we'd be
together
forever
at least that's what I thought you said we'd be
maybe sometime
maybe at a later time.
my mind's moving too fast
you're moving too slow
there's no exit
no other way to go
let's move forward
progress
is coming!
don't hit the brakes
it's you're mistake
we've stopped now
stranded in mid-air
a pause is born
gay babies float by
and all we can say
is that we had each other.
lets move it up
shake it down
do it like we thought it was
the very last time we'd be
together
forever
at least that's what I thought you said we'd be
maybe sometime
maybe at a later time.
my mind's moving too fast
you're moving too slow
there's no exit
no other way to go
let's move forward baby
let's go!
|
|
| see you in the sea |
[May 10th 2007|5.09pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
thoughtful |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Anna Tsuchiya- FROZEN ROSE |
] |
"don't do it," he said to me
as I swam into the sea
so very long ago
I remember it clearly now
the sun was shining off your hair
your eyes had that concerned look to them
and to me it was a dare
you probably remember the glance I threw over
my shoulder and my parting shot
before I sank into the deep blue sea
never to be found
the salty air must have blown your curls around
as you sat on the sand and stared
at the place where I had left
your thin chest wet and bare
I don' know what you did next
except what they tell me
was that you took your body and soul
and threw yourself into the sea
for miles you must have swam
green eyes searching fast
but you weren't so strong then;
you couldn't have last
the sunset and your hopes died
the coast guard said they'd do what they can
but you knew what people meant when they say that
you knew it all too well
I guess I'm sorry that I left you
but not sorry that I did
leave you with so much regret;
think of it as something to remember me by.
|
|
| pride |
[April 11th 2007|12.00am] |
if I had a heart
I'd give you it
free of charge.
if I had a soul
it'd be chain to you
forevermore.
if I had a mind
it'd be yours
thinking for the two of us.
but, fortunately, I have pride.
|
|
|
[March 23rd 2007|4.39pm] |
AN: There is no excuse for this, honestly. The plot bunny came over and raped me in the ear with a carrot. What was a girl to do! . This is dedicated to Jeremy for being the Wilson to my House. <3
"..!"
"What is it? My hands too cold for you, Jimmy?".
"No... it's just-"
"-don't say it-"
"-you're being-"
"-Jimmy, do you want to have your foot back after this? Cus I could totally break it. We could be cripple bud-"
" -nice... "
"Now you've done it. No more sex for a month"
"No more foot rubs, either?"
"Just shut up. See, this is the kind of treatment I get! I rub your feet, and you call me-"
" Nice? "
"Stop it! You're cutting me to the quick!"
"By calling you-"
"..."
"..."
"...I thought you said no more sex for a month?"
"Kissing you to shut you up is not sex, Jimmy"
"Wait- so, you... like rubbing my feet? "
"Aren't you ever happy?! I thought gratuity was something your people emphasized?"
"I wont tell anyone, Greg"
"You're just saying that so I'll go down on you again"
"What else is a boyfriend to do?"
"You really ought to get better shoes, you've got calluses all over your heels..."
|
|
| Boy Licker |
[March 11th 2007|3.05am] |
|
NOTE: This is an inside joke distorted by Slash Vision Glasses™ (simular to Rose Tinted Glasses™ but much more pervy) too much lactose, pringles, crack! art/fanfiction, it being 3 flipping am, sexual fustraition , and angst about House show as usual. Needless to say (yet I'll say it anyway) it is un-BETAed at my sheer joy at writing something other than homework.
<3
MM
He heard it, barely noticeable, a near decibel almost out of hearing, but it was there . The sound of laughter.
Now, this wasn't the ordinary kind of laughter, because, otherwise House wouldn't have cared. But oh no , god forbid , it was flirtatious laughter .
See? See the reason for concern?!
Because it was even just one voice! NO! It had to be two. Two sickeningly sweet, perfect, flirtatious voices rising in volume by the second. A pretty, lilting female one and Wilson's own deep chuckle. The kind you only see on commercials about viagra or family planning videos. Yeah, it was that bad .
Now, House considered himself a reasonable man, not one prone to impulsive behavior, or rash decisions. But this took the cake. Hell, it took the fucking bakery .
He tried to sit still and take it. Honestly! Tried to ignore some bitch trying to steal his man , but, you know, sometimes these things have a way of, well, 'hitting him the wrong way'.
So, he stormed into Wilson's office without a second thought and threw open the door with a dramatic flare that Hamlet would have been proud of (maybe he was more of a flamer than he thought, he mused, as he made this comparison. After all, what straight guy compares himself to a such pussy ass classic lit character).
The scene was as horrid as he imagined it.
Wilson was not only laughing flirtatiously, but had good reason to do so ! Not that he could blame him, as he took in a quick study of the woman before him. Blonde, sparkling brown eyes, huge tits. But this was beside the point.
Both occupants of the room froze as he made his appearance, laughter choking in their throats in an instant. He said nothing, but stared hard at the two of them, silent, and let the moment pass. And how it passed.
In that silence, that deliciously awkward silence, you could almost see the guilt piling up on the two of them, like snowdrifts. Soon, they were heaped in it, their former gay (ha) selves lost under the pile, shapes barely visible beneath the mound of shame.
House saw, out of the corner of his left eye, that the Blonde was about to open her mouth, and he made his move with absurd speed for one with only a singular fully functional leg.
In one swift movement, he flew across the room to Wilson side, got obscenely close to his fellow doctor’s face, and licked him .
A stunned silence followed this action, and House swelled with pride as every passing minute made Blonde look more and more uncomfortable, and Wilson increasingly redder. As soon as his partner perfectly resembled a tomato and Blonde looked as if she’d caught her parents having kinky sex with a band of midget gypsies whilst being suspending upside down in handcuffs above a shark tank, he said one, singular, and compleatly unnecessary (but just to make this whole situation totally clear and understood to all parties concerned):
“Mine”.
And, with that, he walked out and back to his own office, humming a snatch of a long forgotten tune, and in the back of his brilliant mind he registered it as “As Time Goes By” from Casablanca. However, Wilson was not going to let him escape so smoothly.
“What was that?!” he demanded, and House was sure he could hear his lover’s hands being set oh-so firmly on those lovely hipbones of his. House kept walking without bothering to turn around.
“I thought I made that obvious,” he said, mockingly casual, while Wilson fumed in the background. He stomped behind him to catch up.
“I thought we weren’t going to make- you know- public ,” he said, losing his bite but not the steam of the statement.
“I thought we were exclusive,” House shot back, and couldn’t resist looking out of the corner of one eye to see his masterpiece.
He was devastated . Shocked into silence. Bewildered into beguiled. Astounded into-
Before he could think of anymore alliterations, Wilson spoke, as soft and monotonously as a patient given his death warrant:
“You… think I would cheat on you?”
“Well history does tend to repeat it’s self”.
There was a hush among that busy corridor, as if a bubble had placed it’s self around them and their drama, a world with in a world. House scratched the back of his neck; he wasn’t used to this overwhelming feeling in his gut telling him he’d taken things a step too far. Wilson loves him, he knows this, but, sometimes- and here he let himself take a look at the man behind him, as beautiful, tragic, and still as a Greek statue- while he knows things are different this time around, knows that this thing between them is the real deal , he couldn’t help but wonder sometimes, because what he also knows is was what he is: a darkly comic, sarcastic, wilted man past his prime whose only real virtue is that he is sincere and he also knows how ridiculous and unlovable he is, especially when compared to that hot piece of ass who had now just fled Wilson’s office, and he was considering just taking the whole five fucking years back and just-
Wilson’s smile is the most comforting, amazing thing in all the world and it doesn’t fail him now as it beams upon him like sun to a man trapped in a cave all his life.
“It’s okay,” he chuckles, and bestows a boy-ish, lovingly dimpled sideways smirk, “I’m not going to leave you”.
“Hmph,” House snorts, and turns back around, walking back to his office with nary trace of a limp. Wilson chuckles again, and House knows and remembers how that same, appreciative noise sounds oh so much better when against his chest but doesn’t say anything more as they part their ways.
They’ll meet up again later, after work, outside the building, and then they’ll drive back home together in the Volvo. Next, Wilson will make dinner while House tides up around the place and checks his e-mail, and they’ll dine together, maybe watch TV. Around 10-ish, they’ll lay in bed together, reading, until it’s time for lights out. Finally, they’ll sleep together, sex or no, and just rejoice in their being together.
This House knows, and marvels that he could have ever doubted it, but even so, he’ll be sure to put a few extra hickies in much less conspicuous places than usual tonight, just to make sure.
End!
|
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| if nothing, this will make you giggle |
[February 12th 2007|7.50pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 amused |
] |
House and Wilson
sitting in a tree
F-U-C-K-I-N-G
first comes oral
then comes anal
then comes Wilson with a kinky paddle!
|
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|
[January 2nd 2007|8.38pm] |
“You’re sweet! I’ll bet the other boys will be hopping mad.”
As House and Wilson made their daily walk to the cafeteria, House noticed something strange . It began with prickles on the back of his neck, but he ignored it. Next, came the goose bumps; he disregarded those too. It was when he compulsively shuddered and felt a sudden chill across him, he who never got cold that he finally looked around. The hallway was, as usual, filled with the normal tide of people that slowed and changed but never ceased, but the was something, or some things, that stood out. There were five or so nurses, crowded in a circle glaring at him in the midst of stream of activity. He racked his brain for any particular offense he had caused them, when he felt a tug on his elbow.
“Come on! The salad will get cold,” joked Wilson, urgently looking up at him and tugging at his sleeve playfully. House considered his friend for a moment, then turn back to the sirens. They stared angrily at him, and he could feel his face turn red, though not with embarrassment (“You have to have humility to be embarrassed,” James once said to him). It took him but a split second’s look back at Wilson’s hopeful face to make him understand.
“Come along, Jimmy, we have work to do,” he smirked, and slid an arm around Wilson waist, pulling him in closer as they walked side by side, each step perfectly aligned. His companion shot him an odd look, but was contented when he chalked it up to one of the doctor’s eccentrics. House stole once last look at the fuming, jealous women behind them, and transformed his triumphant smile into a kind, gentle one at Jimmy, who was understandingly startled. He laughed, though, that tinkling one where all his sparkling white teeth show and dimples darken into oblivion, and House thinks that those women might actually have something to be green about.
[Takes place during this spring, when, supposedly, House is at re-hab.]
Ellen O'Hara was thirty-two years old, and, according to the
standards of her day, she was a middle-aged woman…
Allison Cameron’s body sagged with the weight of the world as she manage to jog hurriedly into the elevator before it closed, a kind hand holding it open for her.
“Hey,” she breathed to Dr. Wilson, flashing him a quick, joyless smile.
“Hey your self,” he charmed back, and she couldn’t help but really smile at him this time, “are you-“ he paused, trying to find the words as she adjusted a bra strap and put her numerous bags down, “-alright?”
“Oh, me?” she laughed and looked around the empty elevator; as if it couldn’t possibly be her he was talking to. Bewildered that he was, infact, concerned about her she turned back to him, puzzled.
“Yeah, why?”
“You just look a little…” he stopped as her saw her pretty face pale and big blue eyes widen.
“What?” she breathed, as if the wind had been knocked out of her.
“…You look great,” he finished lamely, and Cameron gave a startled squeak and covered her face, completely dropping three of the seven or so shopping bags she’d been carrying.
“Oh!” she groaned, and picked them up, her hair coming undone from her already messy ponytail in the process.
“Oh no,” she sighed. ‘Not today. Why’d it’d have to be today ,” she continued, and nearly jumped out of her skin when the elevator bell rang her floor.
“Oh shit !”
She scrambled off, and in her rush, tore the seam of her skirt. He heard her anguished cry even as she disappeared from view.
Parking haphazardly outside her apartment building, she flew up the steps, seven heavy shopping bags in tote, since the elevator happened to be broken. She ran up those steps, and was reminded of her cross-county running days in high school and college.
‘Pace yourself,’ she repeated to her self as a mantra, ‘one step at a time’.
Bursting into her small room, wheezing and coughing, she found it empty. She looked around the tiny apartment, behind the couch, under the bed, as if this were just a big joke and he’d be hiding somewhere, and at any second he’d leap out screaming: “Surprise!”
Her wildly beating heart near stopped when she saw the red light of the answering machine. With a trembling hand, she pushed a button, breath held in suspense.
“Hey, you’ve reached Brent and Allison’s place, but unfortunately we’re not here. Please leave a message after the-“ her overly chirpy voice was cut off by a loud beep, then silence.
“Hey, Ally, I’m not going to be home until late again, okay. So, you know: don’t wait up for me,” there was a pause, and the next sentence came out sounding like, because it problem was, an after thought, “oh, and uh- Happy Anniversary baby,”
She collapsed onto her sofa, and felt more tired than she ever felt in her life. Slowly, she picked out some of the foodstuffs from the bags and put them away in the fridge. It was only when she was putting away Boston Market’s special rotisserary chicken that she thought, ‘well screw him’, promptly opened up the plastic box, and bit into a leg. Since she hadn’t eaten lunch (because she’d used her lunch break to go get the food in the first place) it tasted delicious, heated or not, She grabbed the large bin of mashed potatoes and dug in, using a random plastic spoon she’d found in the kitchen. A telephone ring interrupted her gorging. Her mind raced with things to say to Brent. Should she be forgiving? Kind? Or un-repentive and angry?
“Hello?” she answered, mechanically rearranging her clothes and hair.
“Listen,” it was Cuddy’s voice, “we’ve had a fifteen car pile up and need all the hands we can get. We’ll discuss overtime later,” she heard sirens and screams in the background, her mind was already calculating, “will you be here?” Cuddy’s worn voice commanded, rather than asked. She didn’t need to. Cameron was already packing her things away, the feast, and the ruined two-year engagement party forgotten.
“I’m on my way,” she said sharply, and hung up the phone.
As she rushed into her car for the third time that day, she caught her face in the rear view mirror. Wilson had been more than kind to her earlier. Her hair was static-y and mussed, clothes wrinkled, make-up smeared. She looked far older than her age, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out to a party on the town with her girlfriends. She paused, but stuck the key in the engine and started the car.
She wasn’t paid for her beauty, after all. She was paid for her brains.
They had sorely missed the excitement of the drills while
away, and they counted education well lost if only they could ride
and yell and shoot off rifles in the company of their friends.
[Set after ‘A Merry Little X-Mas’]
It had been three days, seven hours, and forty-five minutes since they last saw each other on that fateful Christmas day. ‘Forty six,’ House mentally chided himself, without looking at a watch. He was far too busy looking at someone else. That someone looked as tiered as- well, he couldn’t think of a just comparison when he saw his Jimmy’s face. They stopped at the same moment, as if timed, at the sight of each other. It was like one of those old shootouts, he thought grimly, panicked mind trying to gain stable ground, where the one who moves first is the-
At that moment James Wilson flung himself into Gregory House’s arms, holding him tightly, possessively, towards him.
“Shut up,” Jimmy chided, whither to himself to him he could not gather. Perhaps both, he corrected as he felt those strong arms feel so weak around him. He stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do, for the first time in a very long time speechless and stunned.
“I missed you,” James mumbled, stepping away from him and straighting out his lab coat. House’s body leaned towards him, unbalanced now the counter weight for his cane had gone.
“Apparently,”
|
|
| Proving Nothing |
[December 8th 2006|3.51am] |
BIG LOVE TO twitchy_kris FOR BEING MY AMAZING BETA
Once, Gregory House went without vicodin for a day. It was the first
and last time he did.
-
It was a sunny mid-summer’s day, and nothing could be better. His
convertible flew down the open country road, top off, wind gushing
through his hair, good company beside him. It was a day off for the
two doctors; the day right after James’ second divorce: a day of
celebration. They drove until they were hungry, and then sat down
at a local dinner to eat dinner. Through the grimy, tinted windows,
they watched as the last of the day’s light faded.
Greg looked up at James and found him whimsically twirling the
flagged toothpick that had accompanied his burger. The light caught
his friend’s dimples, making his face glow with sun and joy. House
smiled to himself and happened to glance over James’ shoulder at the
clock behind him. Shit. It was eight already. Without knowing why,
he nervously fumbled for his pill bottle.
“What are you doing?” James chuckled, securing a lone pickle
stranded on the edge of House’s plate and chewing on it.
“Pills,” he mumbled, and shook out a few into his palm. His suddenly
unsure hands tipped the canister too far, and his medicine spilled
over the counter. Still shaking, he cleaned it up, though not
without help.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, and was about to pop the pills, when their
waitress waddled over.
“Is ever’ thin’ alright here, huns?” she asked without caring,
eyeing the bottle held in House’s trembling hands suspiciously.
James, seizing up the situation, acted accordingly.
“No, ma’m, everything thing’s fine. We were just leaving,” And with
a pointed look, they were out and back in the car. The moment they
sat down in their seats, however, James exploded.
“What was that?”
“How many pills have I taken today?” House answered, fingering the
label on his bottle as he avoided his friend’s eyes. It took a
second, but recognition dawned on Wilson's face. An awkward silence
followed, leaving Greg wondering why he didn’t just take the pills
already. They sat in his clenched fist, waiting, and some of the
sweat from his palms started to disintegrate their coating.
“Is this the first day you’ve . . . “ James’ words were tight, and
his frightened eyes met Greg’s own, forcible with their need. Not
being able to look away, he closed his eyes and swallowed, wondering
briefly why this was so difficult for him.
“Yes.”
Another silence threatened to stretch out, so Greg shifted gears and
backed up the car.
“Maybe I should--"
“No.”
-
When Greg finally got home he collapsed on his couch, breathing
labored. He could do this. He could get through this. It was simply
pain, that’s all, he told himself even as the throbbing reached his
sensitive solar plexus. He managed to drag his spasming body to his
bedroom, though later he’d have no recollection of how he got there.
The pain wasn’t fire; it had burnt past that, but it became so
blinding he couldn’t see straight. He let out a scream as he felt
his eyes cross. He started to hyperventilate, to panic. Isn’t this
what he had mocked his patients for a thousand times? To
breathe, to calm down? This fragile logic penetrated his fevered
mind, and he took deep, shuddering breaths. The next wave of pain
came and left no shred of logic, only utter animalistic terror. He
flailed, hitting his bed frame with his arms, trying to take his
mind off his leg, but it wasn’t enough. At last, he subsided into a
fetus-like position, interrupted only by the hiccupping of his
spasming body. The jerks settled down into twitches, and then into
subtle jolts.
Greg opened his bloodshot eyes, brain fried by the vehement torture.
The world swam and shifted before him, never staying still long
enough for definition. It wasn’t consciousness, nor was it a dream. He felt
transcended beyond life as he had known it. The pain, like his mind,
wasn’t gone, nor was it with him--it just floated along beside him. Images
and sounds drifted past him in his daze. The ones he tried to
recognize sent him reeling. Without warning, his world went black.
-
When House awoke he was still lightheaded and dizzy, but recognized
his surroundings. It was the coma guy’s room, except he was the one
strapped to a bed. Sure enough, when he twisted his head to the side
(no easy feat when his head was swimming) there was the fat bastard,
the steady beeps of his heart monitor oddly soothing. He listened to
his own and drifted off once more.
The next time, some not-so-quiet sobbing woke him. To his surprise,
it was Wilson, who was sitting by his bed and shaking with tears.
“I shouldn’t have said anything to him about it. I didn’t realize-“
“Hush, it’s okay,” was the stiff answer from Cuddy, and House had to
try to keep the grin off his face at her awkward comforting.
“No- it’s not. I-“
“-Am a self centered pussy that has more Jewish regret than Cuddy’s
ass?” House finished, unable to resist. Wilson’s relief was mirrored in
his trademark grin, the one that started this whole mess. House
frowned and Wilson adjusted his tie with unnecessary manly grunting
(or "clearing his throat", as he called it, but House wasn’t fooled).
“It’s- good to see you’re better,” he squawked, and exited quickly,
whipping away tears. Cuddy gave House a reproving look.
“You can be such an asshole sometimes. Get some rest and I’ll check
on you tomorrow. We’ll talk then,” was her ever-sensible parting
shot. There was a pause, then she peeked back in the doorway.
“You’re not as strong as you think you are, House,” she said softly, and then she was gone.
It was only in the darkness and in the company of someone who’d never
tell that he whispered, “I know.”
|
|
| Un-beta'd 'Proving Nothing' |
[December 7th 2006|1.45am] |
Once, Gregory House went without vicodin for a day. It was the first and last time he did.
-
It was a sunny mid summer’s day, and nothing could be better. His convertible flew down the open country road, top off, wind gushing through his hair, good company beside him. It was a day off for the two doctors, the day right after James’ second divorce: a day of celebration. They drove until they were hungry, and finally sat down at a local dinner to eat dinner. Through the grimy, tinted windows, they watched as the last of the day’s light faded.
Greg looked up at James, and found him whimsically twirling the flagged toothpick that had accompanied his burger. The light caught his friend’s dimples, making his face glow with sun and joy. He smiled to himself and happened to glance over James’ shoulder at the clock behind him. Shit. It was eight already. Without knowing why, he nervously fumbled for his pill bottle.
“What are you doing?” James chuckled, securing a lone pickle stranded on the edge of House’s plate and chewing on it.
“Pills,” he mumbled, and shook out a few into his palm. His suddenly unsure hands tipped the canister too far, and his medicine spilled over the counter. Still shaking, he cleaned it up, though not without help.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, and was about to pop the pills, when their waitress waddled over.
“Is ever’ thin’ alright here, huns?” she asked without caring, eyeing the bottle held in House’s trembling hands suspiciously. James, seizing up the situation, acted accordingly.
“No, ma’m, everything thing’s fine. We were just leaving,” and with a pointed look they were out and back in the car. The moment they sat down in their seats, however, James exploded.
“What was that?”
“How many pills have I taken today?” he answered back, fingering the label on his bottle as he avoided his friend’s eyes. It took a second, but recognition dawned on his face. An awkward silence followed, leaving Greg wondering why he didn’t just take the pills already. They sat in his clenched fist, waiting, and some of the sweat from his palms started to disintegrate their coating.
“Is this the first day you’ve . . . “ James’ words were tight, and his frightened eyes met Greg’s own forcibly with their need. Not being able to look away, he closed his eyes and swallowed, wondering briefly why this was so difficult for him.
“Yes,”
Another silence threatened to stretch out, so Greg shifted gears and backed up the car.
“Maybe I should-“
“No,”
-
When Greg finally got home he collapsed on his couch, breathing labored. He could do this. He could get through this. It was simply pain, that’s all, he told himself even as the throbbing reached his sensitive solar plexus. He managed to drag his spasiming body to his bedroom, though later he’d have no recollection of how he got there.
The pain wasn’t fire, it had burnt past that, but it became so blinding he couldn’t see straight. He let out a scream as he felt his eyes cross. He started to hyper venalate, to panic. Isn’t this what he had mocked his pacenits on a thousand times before? To breathe, to calm down. This fragile logic penetrated his fevered mind, and he took deep, shuddering breathes. The next wave of pain came and left no shred of logic, only utter animalistic terror. He flailed, hitting his bed frame with his arms, trying to take his mind off his leg but it wasn’t enough. At last, he subsided into a fetus like position, interrupted only by the hip cupping of his spasiming body. The jerks settled down into twitches, and then into subtle jolts.
Greg opened his bloodshot eyes, brain fried by the vehement torture. The world swam and shifted before him, never staying still long enough for definition. It wasn’t consciousness, nor dream. He felt transcended beyond life as he had known it. The pain, like his mind, wasn’t gone nor with him, it just floated along beside him. Images and sounds drifted past him in this daze. The ones he tried to recognize sent him reeling. Without warning, his worlds went black.
-
When House awoke he was still lightheaded and dizzy, but recognized his surroundings. It was the coma guy’s room, except he was the one strapped to a bed. Sure enough, when he twisted his head to the side (no easy feat when his head was swimming) there was the fat bastard; the steady beeps of his heart monitor oddly soothing. He listened to his own and drifted off once more.
The next time, some not so quiet sobbing woke him. To his surprise, it was Wilson who was sitting by his bed and shaking with tears.
“I shouldn’t have said anything to him about it. I didn’t realize-“
“Hush, it’s okay,” was the stiff answer from Cuddy, and House had to try to keep the grin off his face at her awkward comforting.
“No- it’s not I-“
“-Am a self centered pussy that has more Jewish regret than Cuddy’s ass?” he finished, unable to resist. Wilson’s relief was mirrored in his trademark grin, the one that started this whole mess. House frowned and Wilson adjusted his tie with unnecessary manly grunting (or ‘clearing his throat’ as he called it but House wasn’t fooled).
“It’s- good to see you’re better,” he squawked, and exited quickly, whipping away tears. Cuddy gave him a reproving look.
“You can be such an asshole sometimes. Get some rest and I’ll check on you tomorrow. We’ll talk then,” was her ever-sensible parting shot. She peeked back in the doorway.
“You’re not as strong as you think you are,”
It was only in the darkness and the company of someone who’d never tell that he whispered; “I know”.
|
|
| Living the Symbolic Life |
[December 6th 2006|2.30am] |
December 14th, 1:14 AM, Dr. House's living room
Wilson was having a nice dream.
"What's this?" asked his current patient, age 7, wide eyes gleaming up at him.
"It's a lollypop," he answered, handing the child one, "it cures cancer!"
"Really?" the boy's eyes widened further, awe struck, as he gave the proffered candy an experimental lick.
"It works! Thank you Dr. Wilson, you're the best!" as the child gave him a hug, Wilson started to notice several odd things in quick succession.
#1. The child's hug was not warm with gratuity- in fact- it was disturbingly frigid.
#2. The child was much taller, longer, however you phrased it, than originally expected.
#3. The child had an annoying stubble grazing his neck that reminded him of...
"House!"
He was awake with in an instant and in that same instant wished he were back asleep.
House was hugging him. Tightly . On his couch. And he was freezing .
Wilson's body seized up as he grasped the situation (or more accurately, as the situation grasped him):
House was giving him a full frontal hug, necking him.
House had his bad leg slung over his thigh in a way that could be considered possessive.
House was snuggling into his once warm body.
House was being a leech.
Wilson informed him of this last part.
"Shut up," was the answer mumbled into his shoulder. Greg's warm breath left Goosebumps in its wake.
"What are you doing?" he asked carefully, noting the uncomfortable way that Greg's hipbone drove into his.
"What do you think?"
"Stealing my warmth?"
"Right"
"..."
"..."
"You're very boney"
At this the aforementioned hipbone was thrust.
"You have no idea"
A small scream escaped Wilson's lips.
The feeling of Greg's rough laughter against his vulnerable chest was almost too much. Wilson tried again.
"Most people have electric blankets to get warm during winter"
"I thought you'd be happy at saving money"
"I know you have a quilt in your room. I gave it to you last year."
"I don't have your blubber, fatty"
"You could turn the heater up"
"I'm saving the environment"
"What do you want?"
"Your warmth"
"You took it; I'm cold now"
"Well I'm fine"
"..."
"..."
"Move over"
"Say please"
"You're going to fall off the couch; let's switch places"
"..."
"Well?"
"..."
With a resigned sigh, Wilson bodily picked up House and rolled him over. As he held him, he felt the fragile bones in his friend, thinner than expected, almost frail. After repositioning himself, Wilson returned the hug, mirroring their former position. He felt Greg stiffen.
"Let me go"
"What?"
"I'm warm now," House wriggled awkwardly out of his grasp, frantic when he discovered his good leg trapped under Wilson's. Dazed, Wilson fell off the couch. He watched as Greg stood over him briefly, expression unreadable in the darkness, then limped heavily back to his room, and slam the door.
Half awake and terribly confused, Wilson fell back into a troubled sleep.
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