kamwritesonvicodin

[kamwritesonvicodin]

i need to do english assignment but writing for flipping Eng 200 study abroad and writing fanfic does not spark the same joy in my tism...

(hype me up bro i need motivation im leaving thursday and aint even packed)

[kamwritesonvicodin]

[kamwritesonvicodin]

I will definitely finish this chapter tonight. I have the entire plot mapped out in my head."

Also me, 3 hours later:

Staring blankly at the screen, rewriting the same sentence 47 times while questioning every decision I’ve ever made in my life.

[kamwritesonvicodin]

track one: Rocket Man

hi pookies 💌 i'm starting a new project where I take songs that scream "character study" and write ficlets inspired by them—starting with Hilson because of course. the vibes are yearning, repression, and riding off into emotional ruin together... whoop whoop have fun reading i am keeping this fic pg bc that is a lot easier for me to write emotionally <3 enjoy also bring tissues

[kamwritesonvicodin]

POOKIES I FINALLY FINISHED THIS DANG TRAILER for my GIRL DADS :) ao3 link <3

“He was never good at love. But Wilson was never good at walking away.”

Dr. Gregory House has spent his entire life solving puzzles and pushing people away. But when his best friend—Dr. James Wilson—becomes the one person he can't imagine losing, everything changes.

From quiet glances to a wedding day, from hospice rooms to adoption paperwork, from sarcastic jabs to “I love you”s whispered at 3am—this is Hilson like you've never seen it.

Years later, with two kids, a failing body, and a hotel bathroom floor soaked in grief, he learns the one thing he can’t diagnose his way out of: being loved.

Vicodin and Vows (Season One) — now on AO3 + Wattpad by me 41 chapters. 10 hours. infinite pain.

[kamwritesonvicodin]

if wilson was a woman house would’ve proposed in season 3 and the show would be about a tortured genius and his wife who keeps the demons at bay with soup and disappointed looks but no he’s a man so now we have 8 seasons of “get out of my life” followed by “do you want to split a milkshake”

[kamwritesonvicodin]

it is genuinely so saddening to me to see people using AI to learn how to write. like for one there are so many resources made by human writers about writing, and beyond that you are not going to get good advice from what is essentially a plagiaristic random word generator.

so anyways this post is to say that if anyone has any questions or wants any advice on writing, how to start writing, how to practice different skills, i and my multiple textbooks on this exact subject are here to help. and if anyone feels the same, feel free to reblog so people know they can ask you FOR FREE without using AI.

[kamwritesonvicodin]

Love is enabling your serial killer husband responsibly... (read the sheriff's son frfr)

[kamwritesonvicodin]

WELCOME BACK TO: Group Projects That Should Be Illegal... Episode: ⚖️ “Counsel, Please Sit Down”

💖 Elle Woods (Legally Blonde)

📺 Saul Goodman (Better Call Saul)

💼 Harvey Specter (Suits)

📻 Perry Mason (OG courtroom sadboy energy)

Mission:

Defend a high-profile celebrity in a wrongful death trial that’s way more complicated than it needs to be.

ELLE: Okay, so! Opening arguments. I made us a draft outline—Harvey, you get the dramatic intro, Perry does the moral backbone, I’ll handle the jury charm, and Saul... you’re on witness prep.

SAUL: Witness prep? You mean the guy who thinks the moon landing was faked and won’t answer unless Mercury’s in retrograde?

HARVEY: Sounds like your demographic, actually.

SAUL: Oh I’m sorry, did Mr. Wall Street just mock a conspiracy theorist? Without them, half your clients would be in jail.

PERRY: Can we please focus? A woman died, remember?

HARVEY: You’re assuming the jury cares.

ELLE: I care.

SAUL: God, I miss working with meth dealers. They were simpler.

HARVEY: No one here is stopping you from leaving, Saul.

SAUL: Please. I’m staying for Elle. She’s the only one here who isn’t a brooding disaster or morally bankrupt.

PERRY: mutters Give it time.

ELLE: Okay! Let’s take a deep breath, center our intentions, and maybe not threaten each other before trial, yeah?

SAUL: I love how she says that like we’re in yoga and not actively plotting legal warfare.

HARVEY: She’s not wrong. Jury selection starts in eight hours. We either pull it together or this client’s going to prison—and frankly, she deserves it, but I don’t lose.

PERRY: drinks coffee Then let’s get to work.

[kamwritesonvicodin]

today on “group projects that would never work,” we’ve got:

👮 seeley booth (bones) – patriotism in human form, says “I’m not a squint” like it’s a slur with occasional Catholic guilt 🧠 spencer reid (criminal minds) – walks into the room with 3 trauma flashbacks, 12 degrees, and zero social battery 🚔 danny reagan (blue bloods) – thinks the constitution is a vibe suggestion, yells like it’s a love language, probably punched a vending machine once

assignment: work together to solve a kidnapping-murder-arson-who-knows combo case in NYC problem: they all hate each other for wildly incompatible reasons

booth: “hey, maybe don’t threaten the suspect before we question him?” danny: “he looked smug. i don’t trust smug.” reid: “actually studies show that people with asymmetrical facial expressions aren’t more likely to lie—” danny: “who invited Doogie Howser with anxiety?” reid:visibly dissociating booth: “ok no, we’re not bullying the nerd, he’s the only one solving the case.” reid: “thank you.” booth: “also stop talking in stats, you’re freaking me out.” reid:silent, but dying inside danny: “can I shoot someone yet orrrr—” booth: “NO.”

[kamwritesonvicodin]

on todays episode of convos btwn various characters who would despise each other we have...

temperance brennan (bones): can’t lie, won’t lie, facts > feelings, will not stop talking about ancient bone structure and crime scene particulates gregory house: hates everyone, addicted to vicodin and being right, will provoke a room full of people just to prove a point and ruin lunch shawn murphy: says what he thinks with no social filter, has saved 27 lives today and still got roasted by a nurse for not saying “please”

setting: forced to work together on a combined FBI–hospital–murder–medical mystery episode crossover extravaganza. tone: like locking three cats in a shoebox and shaking it.

house: “oh, fantastic. a forensic anthropologist with the bedside manner of an MRI machine.” brennan: “i don't understand why you're angry. i simply corrected your flawed diagnostic.” shawn: “i like bones. they're very organized.” house: “great. rain man with a scalpel.” shawn: “that’s not a kind thing to say.” brennan: “you’re both exhibiting emotional responses. it’s inefficient.” house: “i’m going to fake a seizure so i can go home.”

meanwhile, the patient’s spleen has exploded, a corpse is missing a femur, and cameron is crying in the hallway. none of them have noticed.

[kamwritesonvicodin]

ok so like what was ur first fanfic omg tell me ur embarrassing beginnings i’ll start bc mine is a mess

it was finals week, i had literally like 1 hour of sleep and a lethal dose of benadryl bc i had an allergic reaction the night before my bio final and what do i do? i go home and write a WHOLE fanfic on google docs about house and wilson from house md getting married and honeymooning in ITALY because why not

so on their first day there, house makes this homophobic cab driver real mad (like throw hands energy) and then fast forward two days later—they get in another cab and guess who’s driving??? yeah mr homophobic from before, turns out he has a friend who kidnaps tourists for ransom bc italy is wild like that apparently

they lock house and wilson in some sketchy shack and ask them to name people who would pay ransom. house is all like “i’m Very Important” and can only name cuddy, lol. kidnappers are like “bet.”

then house, being the reckless genius he is, tries to escape with wilson who is totally strung out on vicodin and muscle relaxers (bc house drugged him so he wouldn’t complain), but obviously they get caught AGAIN and get shipped off on a cargo ship to florida bc this story is chaos

on the cargo ship house is just sulking like “it’s my honeymoon and i’ve barely gotten laid” and wilson’s like “bro that sucks we’re kidnapped in a cargo ship somewhere who even knows where” and then they try to be sexy but kidnappers catch them mid-act and get shook lmao

finally they get to florida and the whole team’s looking for them but then out of nowhere the bau shows up bc cuddy apparently knows them??? crossover chaos

this wild fever dream fic got heavily rewritten and became vicodin and vows but the original was read by like my roommate and four other ppl and became a legendary running joke

ur turn now, spill ur first fic tea!!

[kamwritesonvicodin]

Look. We’ve watched House and Wilson dance around each other for years... years of painfully repressed looks, half-spoken truths, and “not a big deal” moments that are everything. So I rewrote that final scene in Birthmarks the way I can bc I have free will

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside and the flickering of a muted TV, casting long shadows over the room. Wilson sat curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, his fingers twisting the fabric like he could pull himself together if he just held on tight enough. His eyes were tired, raw, like someone who’d been running for too long and finally, finally had to stop.

House stood by the window, cane resting lightly on the floor. His back was to Wilson, but even without looking, Wilson could feel the weight of his presence. The silence between them was thick, heavy with words that had been too hard to say.

“I’m sorry,” Wilson said, his voice quiet, almost breaking. “I didn’t mean what I said before. About failing… about everything.”

House didn’t move at first. He just stared out the window, watching the city like it could offer him something he didn’t know he needed. “You meant it,” he said, his tone softer than usual, more careful. “Every word. And all the ones you didn’t say.”

Wilson’s chest tightened. He wanted to argue, to say that wasn’t true, but he couldn’t. He had meant it. The weight of it still pressed on him — the feeling of not being enough, not for his father, not for anyone. Not even for himself.

“I just… It’s hard,” Wilson whispered. His voice cracked, betraying the walls he’d built up for years. “Feeling like I’m not enough — for my dad, for you.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, something neither of them knew how to face. House didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed on the city lights, unreadable.

Then, slowly, he turned. He took a step forward, the sound of his cane tapping on the hardwood floor oddly comforting. There was something softer in his eyes now, something that hadn’t been there before. Something raw.

“You’re not failing,” House said, his voice rougher than usual, like he was speaking through a crack in his own heart. “You’re just… you. Flawed and human. And stubborn enough to keep trying.”

Wilson swallowed, the words lingering on his tongue. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that he could stop running too, that he could just be. But the walls were still there, thick and unyielding. His throat tightened.

“What about you?” Wilson whispered, eyes searching the depth of House’s gaze. “What are you?”

House blinked, a fleeting, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. But it didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were something else. They were stormy, guarded, like a man who’d been fighting himself for so long, he didn’t know who he was anymore.

“I’m scared,” House said, voice barely more than a breath. The words came out like they’d been stuck for years. “Scared of what happens if I stop running. If I let myself care... really care.”

Wilson’s heart stuttered. It was the first time House had ever said it aloud, the first time the walls between them cracked enough for Wilson to see the truth. And it terrified him in the best possible way.

He didn’t think. He couldn’t. Instead, he moved, slowly, deliberately, closing the space between them until there was nothing left but the heat of his breath and the weight of what they hadn’t said. House didn’t pull away. He didn’t even blink. For the first time, it felt like House was letting himself be seen.

Wilson’s fingers found the fabric of House’s shirt, tentative at first, then more sure as he pulled him closer, like he could anchor himself to this moment, this truth. House’s lips were soft against his, unsure at first, like he was still testing the waters. But Wilson answered without hesitation, leaning in, pressing closer. It was everything he’d been afraid to want. Everything he’d been fighting.

And in that kiss, Wilson let it all fall away.

The kiss deepened, slow and searching. It wasn’t perfect. It was messy, and hesitant, and yet it was everything. Two broken people, trying to piece themselves together with something so simple. So raw.

When they pulled apart, the room was silent. Neither of them moved. For the first time, the quiet didn’t feel like a wall. It felt like a beginning.

House rested his forehead against Wilson’s, and for once, there was no clever remark, no sarcasm. Just the sound of their breaths mingling.

“You’re mine,” House whispered, voice rough and almost shy in its honesty. “You always were.”

Wilson’s heart ached at the words, tender and fierce all at once. He had waited years to hear them. He had always known, deep down, but hearing it made something inside him break open.

“Guess I’m stuck with you, then,” Wilson replied softly, his voice full of the kind of warmth he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in so long.

And in that moment, they didn’t need anything else. No more walls. No more games. Just the two of them, finally, in the quiet of the night.

[kamwritesonvicodin]

Five Bucks... a ficlet :)

It starts with Thirteen saying, “You couldn’t make Wilson blush if you tried.”

House looks up from his diagnostics board like a cat that’s just heard the can opener.

“Oh honey,” he purrs. “Watch me.”

She doesn’t flinch. “Five bucks says you can’t do it by 5 p.m. No touching. Just pure, weaponized charm.”

House grins like she just dared him to punch God.

Wilson is reviewing blood panels when his phone buzzes...

[House]: hey remember that tie you wore yesterday? you looked like the prom date i never had

He stares at it.

No response.

He opens the patient’s chart again. Tries to focus on lymphocyte counts.

Fails.

House appears like a cryptid.

“Dr. Wilson,” he drawls loudly. “Did you get my private and deeply emotional message?”

Wilson stops walking.

“I’m working.”

House leans on his cane, smirking. “So am I. Flirting is exhausting, James. The things I do for love.”

Behind them, a nurse snorts audibly.

Wilson keeps walking.

He returns from the bathroom to find a pastry on his desk.

It’s heart-shaped. It has his name spelled out in chocolate drizzle.

There’s no note, but he doesn’t need one. Only one person at Princeton-Plainsboro weaponizes sugar and sarcasm in equal measure.

He stares at the pastry.

Then at the ceiling.

Then at his own reflection in the microwave door.

“Do I… like this?” he whispers.

Around an hour later he’s writing a discharge summary. Trying to, anyway.

Then his intercom buzzes.

Receptionist (hesitantly): Dr. Wilson? There's a delivery for you. Uh�� it’s a small plant? In a mug that says, ‘WORLD’S #1 WILSON-SEXUAL’?”

There is a pause.

A long one.

“...Send it in,” Wilson says, audibly dying inside.

House is leaning smugly in the doorway, holding his hand out.

Thirteen sighs, reaches into her coat pocket, and slaps a five-dollar bill into it.

“I hate you,” she says, not entirely without admiration.

“He turned red when he saw the mug,” House gloats. “Nurse had to sit him down. It was beautiful.”

Foreman doesn’t even look up. “You two are exhausting.”

[House]: u blushed

[Wilson]: You orchestrated a psychological warfare campaign in the middle of my work day.

[House]: for money. and love. mostly money. but like… also love.

[Wilson]: I can’t tell if this is harassment or a proposal.

[House]: Por qué no los dos?

[Wilson]: I hated the mug, by the way.

[House]: you watered the plant

[Wilson]: shut up

[House]: ok but… dinner?

[kamwritesonvicodin]

Help me name my new crossover fic and more!

I’m writing a story where all our favorite characters who died or vanished end up in one mysterious place — like a waiting room between worlds.

Which title do you like best?

Jack of Graves

The Dead Man’s Draw

The Dead Place

The Ferryman’s Lobby

The Liminal Room

Flicker

Fiction's Own Purgatory

Would you read this?

Yes, definitely!

Maybe, if it has hurt/comfort or found family

No, not for me

Who else should be there? Drop names of any dead or lost characters from movies, books, TV, or games! Here are a few to start:

Classic Literature & Theater

Neil Perry (Dead Poets Society)

Beth March (Little Women)

Hamlet (Hamlet)

Ophelia (Hamlet)

Jay Gatsby (The Great Gatsby)

Anna Karenina (Anna Karenina)

Sydney Carton (A Tale of Two Cities)

Dorian Gray (The Picture of Dorian Gray)

Juliet Capulet (Romeo and Juliet)

Romeo Montague (Romeo and Juliet)

Heathcliff (Wuthering Heights)

Film & TV

Jack Dawson (Titanic)

Fred Weasley (Harry Potter)

Sirius Black (Harry Potter)

Remus Lupin (Harry Potter)

Tony Stark / Iron Man (MCU)

Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow (MCU)

Eddie Munson (Stranger Things)

Joel Miller (The Last of Us)

Oberyn Martell (Game of Thrones)

Hodor (Game of Thrones)

Ned Stark (Game of Thrones)

Walter White (Breaking Bad)

Villains & Antiheroes

Loki (MCU and Norse Mythology)

Bellatrix Lestrange (Harry Potter)

Killmonger (Black Panther)

The Master (Doctor Who)

Crowley (Supernatural)

Crow (The Crow)

Mythology & History

Achilles

Medusa

Joan of Arc

Vlad the Impaler

Hades... fun stuff rlly

Persephone

[kamwritesonvicodin]

What the name of ur ao3 account you always talk about?

oops my bad its inkedbykam i hate spamming links lol i feel so bad abt it <3

[kamwritesonvicodin]

INT. HOUSE & WILSON’S SHARED APARTMENT – NIGHT

The front door bursts open. HOUSE enters, holding a half-ripped Party City bag and a 12-pack of Gatorade. He looks like he just ran a marathon fueled by pettiness and horniness.

HOUSE (in the tone of someone entering a motel room with malicious intent) Helloooo, birthday boy.

WILSON (face down on the couch, muffled) It’s not my birthday.

HOUSE It is now. I brought streamers and thirst.

He tosses the Party City bag on the table. A single balloon floats out. HOUSE walks over, peers at WILSON like he's studying a rare frog.

HOUSE You’re drunker than a Princeton sophomore at rush week. This is hot.

WILSON (rolls onto his back, squinting) You actually came back for me.

HOUSE Of course I did. You said I could see your real personality. I want that. I want to see it. Naked.

WILSON Greg.

HOUSE Jimmy.

WILSON You’re doing it again.

HOUSE Doing what? Being devastatingly handsome and alarmingly available?

WILSON Being a menace to my sexuality.

HOUSE That’s rich coming from a man who just texted “emotionally eat me” at 2 a.m.

WILSON That was metaphorical.

HOUSE Nothing is metaphorical when whipped cream and stethoscopes are involved.

WILSON groans and throws a pillow at him. HOUSE catches it with surprising grace and sits down next to him, closer than necessary. The air gets weird. Like, third-base-in-the-living-room weird.

HOUSE So, what now? You gonna make a move, Dr. Wilson? Or do I get on all fours and pretend I’ve fallen again?

WILSON Greg—

HOUSE —Gregory. Use my full name if you’re gonna reject me mid-foreplay.

WILSON (sharply, but blushing) I’m not that gay.

HOUSE (smug) Great. You can be the top then.

WILSON Shut up. (beat) God, you’re impossible.

HOUSE And yet… you let me live here. You pay the rent. You bought me that weighted blanket.

WILSON That was for your insomnia!

HOUSE That was love, and you know it.

HOUSE leans in slightly, like he’s testing the gravity between them. WILSON doesn't move away. He looks at HOUSE like he’s trying to do long division with his emotions.

WILSON You’re serious?

HOUSE Only about three things in life: pain, Vicodin, and you.

Silence. Long. Charged. Ridiculously romantic if not for the fact WILSON is draped over the couch like a Victorian lady recovering from consumption.

WILSON If I kiss you, I won’t remember it in the morning.

HOUSE Then I’ll kiss you again. Sober. And worse.

WILSON You’re the worst man I know.

HOUSE And you want to make out with me so bad it’s giving you a tumor.

They stare at each other. The jazz starts playing softly from the speaker House queued earlier like a little freak. The balloon bumps against the ceiling. Neither of them moves.

WILSON …Do you have any of that cake?

HOUSE Only if you feed it to me shirtless.

WILSON Shut. Up.

But he’s already smiling. And House is already winning... on my ao3 guys its a one shot