Dr. Gregory House
Gregory Jonathan House.
House. Greg (first-name basis is very rare).
11th June, 1959
Place of Birth:
Cleveland, Ohio
Social Security no.:
Brown; graying
"It's a basic truth of the human condition that everybody lies. The only variable is about what. The weird thing about telling someone they're dying is it tends to focus their priorities. You find out what matters to them. What they're willing to die for. What they're willing to lie for."

- Three Stories

August 2007
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House & Stacy
A role play set pre-show and pre-infarction that follows how House and Stacy met. Rated NC-17.

Dr. Gregory House
Did you know that "meme" spelt backwards is "emem"?
Tags: meme

Doctor's orders - the Timelord one, that is: leave me a comment, and I will...

1) Tell you why I friended you
2) Associate you with a song/movie
3) Tell a random fact about you
4) Tell a first memory about you
5) Associate you with an animal/fruit
6) Ask something I've always wanted to know about you
7) Show you my favorite user pic of yours
8) In return, you MUST spread this disease in your LJ

Completely OT, but what's a good punishment to give someone who's slipped SSRIs in your drink?
mood: cheerful and it's not my fault cheerful and it's not my fault

Dr. Gregory House
You burn my soul, my cheeks are red, turn out the night... rp for mcgill_pride

ooc: set after this.

Take it you're not busy. If you are, I'll just pretend you're not, anyway.
location: wilson's office
mood: apprehensive apprehensive
tunes: Largest Living Things - Turn Off The Night

Dr. Gregory House
[title goes here]

My stereo got stolen.

On the upside, check out the new cane.
mood: blah blah

Dr. Gregory House
Drabble/ficlet/fic offer meme
Tags: meme

This is an old meme, but I like it - so I'm digging it up again for fun.

Select a Greg House from the following list, suggest a pairing if you wish, and a drabble/ficlet/fic shall be written based upon that Greg House. To add a touch of variation, please include a picture prompt to go with your request.

Anyone is free to request. The offer is open to all.

01. pre-infarction!Greg House TAKEN
02. loving!Greg House TAKEN
03. sad!Greg house TAKEN
04. playful!Greg House
05. motorcycle-riding!Greg House TAKEN
06. dressed in a suit!Greg House
07. possessive!Greg House TAKEN
08. horny!Greg House TAKEN
09. playing the piano!Greg House
10. child!Greg House TAKEN
11. medical school!Greg House TAKEN
12. laughing!Greg House TAKEN
13. sick!Greg House TAKEN
14. apologetic!Greg House TAKEN
15. romantic!Greg House TAKEN
16. grocery shopping!Greg House
17. doing housework!Greg House
18. cooking dinner!Greg House TAKEN
19. caring!Greg House TAKEN
20. AU!Greg House (please stipulate what the AU Greg House is to be) TAKEN
21. wearing a lab coat!Greg House
22. rude obnoxious asshole!Greg House TAKEN
23. situation of your choice!Greg House
24. situation of your choice!Greg House
25. situation of your choice!Greg House
mood: creative creative

Dr. Gregory House


House slowly opened his eyes. The room looked out of focus, like everything was tilting to the right. He blinked, trying to blink away the heaviness in his eyelids and the fuzziness in his mind. His body felt like it was pinned to the bed by a heavy weight, his arms slack and his legs--- He shifted on the bed and felt pain grip at his leg; pain that was dulled by the morphine running through his veins. He let out a sharp breath and felt a hand touching his shoulder, and when he turned his head he saw his mother looking down at him with worried eyes.

“Mom,” House said in surprise, his voice coming out croaky. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool.

She gave his shoulder a tentative squeeze, like she was scared to hurt or break him. “Yes, it’s me,” Blythe said, trying to sound soothing, but House could hear the anxiety in her voice.

“When did you get here?”

“We got here a few days ago.”

House peered up at her blankly, his mind too foggy to piece together how his mom could’ve found out and how the hell she came to be here in Princeton from the marine base in North Carolina where his dad was currently stationed, for several days without him knowing about it. “Few days ago…?”

She nodded, giving him a sad smile as she stroked his cheek with her hand. “We’ve been in to visit you every day, but you’ve been asleep. We didn’t want to wake you.”

House felt confused and disoriented. He frowned up at his mom before his eyes slowly drifted away from her, drawn to another figure lurking across the room, and he saw his dad standing further back by the door. House blinked a few times again to try and get his eyes to focus, and he could just make out the frown of concern on his dad’s face and the way John had his hands pushed into his pockets, like he didn’t know where to put himself in the room.

House felt his mom’s hand smoothing back his hair, and he darted his eyes back up to her, still looking and feeling completely confused. “Every day?” he echoed.

Blythe nodded, smoothing his hair back again. “My boy,” she said, though seemed to be saying that more to herself than to House and as he felt her hand stroking her hair back again, he noticed her eyes becoming bright with tears.

He wanted to tell her to stop it because he didn’t want his mother crying over him, but he couldn’t find the energy or the coherency to get the words to come out of his mouth. “Mom…” he managed.

She quickly shook her head and sniffed before pulling her lips into an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry,” she said briskly, as if she knew what House was thinking, and she dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. She sniffed and smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Greg,” she said again in a wavering voice. “It’s just…”

House was suddenly aware of his dad approaching cautiously, and he caught sight of John’s hand reaching up to Blythe’s shoulder. House darted his eyes from his mom’s face to his dad’s, and despite how drugged he was, he felt uncomfortable at his dad seeing him like this: weak, vulnerable, sick.

Blythe reached a hand up to John’s on her shoulder, and grasped at it while her other hand stroked House’s cheek again. “How’re you holding up, son?” John asked awkwardly.

House tried to pull himself and his thoughts together. I’m fine, Dad, he wanted to say. He couldn’t form the words, though, and he was left staring up at his dad before turning his eyes helplessly to his mom.

“The, uh, the doctors said you’ll be just fine,” John continued.

House felt his mother’s hand stroke over his cheek once again before she was brushing his hair back. It was bizarre seeing his mother so fretful - she was always so resilient and strong, even when she was soothing House. It was confusing House all the more because he couldn’t gather his thoughts to make much sense of her quietly trying not to cry. It was tiring him out, and he gave up trying to decipher what was going on and closed his eyes instead, when he felt her hand stroking his hair back once more.

“Think we should let him sleep, Blythe,” he heard his dad murmur. House heard his mom sniff, followed by a coaxing, “Come on,” from his dad.

“You go,” Blythe said in a teary voice. “Get us some coffee. I could use some.”

“He doesn’t want to see you like this.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine, John. Go and get…”

House was starting to drift away into sleep, the sounds of his parent’s voices fading into a series of droning noises. He was only vaguely aware of footsteps leaving the room, the door sliding open and then shut again, and then his mom’s hand touching him on the cheek and stroking back his hair, soft as a feather, gently stroking over and over.

Dr. Gregory House
House MD
889 words
talking_muses May prompt: Despair
mood: sick sick

Dr. Gregory House
What's a good anagram for STOP PISSING ON MY FLOOR?

I now have a dog called Hector.

A dog's not just for Christmas, you know - you can eat the rest of it the following day.
mood: pissed off pissed off

Dr. Gregory House
Our relationship is like an addiction.

Being in love makes people do stupid things. Makes people impulsive, rash, guided by emotions rather than logic and common sense. Makes people unable to see or think beyond the person they’re in love with. Makes them… happy and on cloud nine and so utterly consumed by thoughts of this one person, they sometimes can’t think straight.

I’d know. Because I’ve been there.

Stacy was---

She… There was life before Stacy. And there was life after meeting Stacy. And then there was life after Stacy. Before I met Stacy isn’t what matters - but after meeting her---

You never think anyone ever will impact your life in a way that leaves you unable to think about life without them. Until you meet that person. And then… that person becomes your whole world. And you’re so madly in love that---

Stacy, she was--- I’ve never known anyone who could frustrate me as much as Stacy could, and still be crazy about her at the same time. She could infuriate me and within seconds have me laughing. And I know I used to do the same to her, where she’d be so frustrated and angry with me that she’d want to slap me. And then I'd make her laugh in the same breath. And she hated that, I know she hated that because she’s such a stubborn woman, but she loved it, too.

And the way she’d smile. And laugh. And the things she did that drove me insane. And the things she did that just--- I was in awe of her. Stacy was… everything to me. She was amazing. Smart, beautiful, assertive, strong willed. Passionate. Frustrating. Stubborn. Incredible.

And then she was gone. Out of my life. Found a new life with someone else, someone who gives her what I can’t. And---

Life after Stacy, after the infarction--- I want to hate her, I want to hate her, so much. But… I can’t. Because---

Because. You can’t hate someone like that, and not still love them at the same time.

You never meet a person like that twice. And even if I did, I wouldn’t want to go through that again. Hurts too much when it all falls to pieces.

God, Stacy.

OOC: Meta or OOC comments only. House would never want people to really know any of this.

Dr. Greg House
House MD
392 words
fandom_muses April prompt: Addiction
mood: depressed depressed
tunes: Paul McDermott & Fiona Horne - Shut Up and Kiss Me

Dr. Gregory House
A well-balanced person has a drink in each hand
Tags: rp

The table was littered with empty glasses; some of them shot glasses, some of them cocktail glasses, along with a few empty glasses that had contained beer. There was music playing over the speakers, music that was loud enough to drown out other people’s conversations, not loud enough to drown out conversation if people huddled close together at the bar, or around tables, or in booths - which was where House, Stacy and Wilson were.

It was a corner booth, away from most of the people milling about the bar or around the tables scattered near the front stage, where a band was setting up to play shortly. House wasn’t drunk, but he was getting there. Grinning, his face flushed slightly from both the amount of drink he’d imbibed and from the stuffy atmosphere of the bar, he was sitting close to Stacy, who was sitting fairly close to Wilson - they were huddled close enough so that they could hear each other over the music. This was House’s idea of making Wilson stop being such a sad bastard, as House liked to call him: going out to a bar, having enough drinks to put Wilson in a merry mood.

“Want ‘nother?” House asked in a mild slur, waving his hand at the collection of empty glasses on the table. He leaned against Stacy, craning his neck past her so he could lean in closer towards Wilson. “You know, you’re not really drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on.”

ooc: This is set somewhat in the future of House and Stacy's pre-infarction universe we've established - although, this is AU. For fun more than anything, yesss. Because House/Stacy/Wilson = FTW.
mood: drunk drunk
tunes: The Smiths - Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me

Dr. Gregory House

Title: Pathetic
Character: Dr. Gregory House
Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing: House/Wilson
Words: 1,083
Rating: PG
Prompt: "Rage" for eclecticmuses

He was in Long Term Care for almost five months. Where he learned to rely on routine and habits and gruelling rehabilitation sessions and hospital food that tasted like Styrofoam. Where he lost Stacy. Where he grew to become more dependent on Wilson because that’s the only other person who’s stuck around, beside his parents.

And now he’s home, standing in the middle of his living room which looks completely unfamiliar to him, all of Stacy’s things gone, just him with Wilson standing by the front door with his arms crossed over his chest and House’s bags set down by his feet. House’s parents said they’d be around shortly, because his mother wants to help him settle in, except House doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want his mother here making a fuss and he doesn’t want his father loitering in that way he does when he has no idea what to do with himself. He just wants to be left alone, go to bed, lie down, ignore the pain in his leg and the tiredness in his body, and the fear twisting in his gut of having to do this all on his own now. Without routine or direction or help.

“Want me to make you something to eat?” Wilson asks.

House shakes his head and he winces in pain as he slowly turns on the spot to face towards the hallway.

“You want to go to bed?”

House pauses. “Yeah,” he says gruffly.

“Want me to help you?”

“Get lost, will you?”

Read more...Collapse )
mood: sick sick

Dr. Gregory House
licenseartistic: "Pinch"

The pain is---

He’s clutching at his leg, hunched over as he sits on the couch, rocking back and forth, breathing sharply through his gritted teeth. Rocking back and forth, back and forth, rubbing his thigh, gripping it, rubbing, gripping---

It’s been like this for hours. Hours. Smouldering, shooting pain, firing through his leg like he’s been stabbed, or burned, like he’s being stabbed over and over and over and over and--- He needs to keep moving, can’t keep still, can’t think straight, needs to keep moving or he’s going to go insane. Because the pain won’t go away, won’t fucking go away---

He’s on his feet and he’s pacing, pacing around the living room, around and around the couch, sometimes down the hall and back to the living room again, around the couch, back down the hall, slamming his fist on the wall in frustration when he comes to a stop in the hallway because he’s getting too damn tired to keep walking because this pain is exhausting and he can’t rest and he can’t--- he can’t--- he just can’t---

Back on the couch again, gripping his thigh, rubbing, gripping, rocking back and forth, gripping, rubbing, over and over and over and over, and it’s times like this that he gets so desperate and frustrated that he feels his eyes burning and his face screwing up and a lump forming at the back of his throat because this isn’t fair, this isn’t fair, this isn’t fucking fair. Nobody should have to live like this, with this, crippled and in pain, crippled with pain, barely unable to function because the pain is so consuming, so insistent, constant, relentless, burning, stabbing, over and over and over and over.

He’s back on his feet again, back to circling the room, down the hall, back to the living room, getting more and more desperate the worse the pain gets, and it’s getting worse because he can’t stop thinking about it and he can’t think straight and he can’t--- can’t make this stop and can’t---

Can’t put up with this any longer, just can’t, and what’s he supposed to do if the Vicodin doesn’t work? Circling the living room, thumping his cane the floor in frustration with each step, sometimes gripping the back of the couch for balance, sometimes wiping his face when he feels sweat dribbling down his temples, sometimes grabbing his shirt by the hem and using that to angrily wipe his face, sometimes stopping in the middle of the room and hunching over in pain because he’s so god damn tired and sick of this and useless and desperate and utterly at a loss for what to do and--- and---

He thinks about calling Wilson, hell, he thinks about calling Cuddy, or Wilson, definitely Wilson, he could call Wilson and Wilson could come over and---Collapse )

Dr. Gregory House
House MD
1,900 words
mood: in pain in pain
tunes: The Dissociatives - Forever And A Day

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