#kren’s writing

[cmkren]

— do you yield?

; gregory house x gn! Reader

Unsurprisingly, a night out between House and Wilson doesn’t end up uneventful. Tensions were strung in a-- stranger way, now with Amber in the picture. One of House's grand schemes goes sideways when the person he provokes ends up punching him right in the face. In an attempt to get Wilson in trouble (due to the whole curfew agreement), House got ahead of himself and now Wilson dumps him onto someone else rather than face the wrath of his girlfriend.

And of course, no one’s ever happy to see House on their doorstep.

a/n; sorta just ! Self-indulgent!! This fic leans towards sub bottom house roles, no sex just sloppily making out. Written in 3rd person, they/them for reader! Honestly not too proud of this, but I wanted to get this out 😓

tws!! Suggestive, minor blood play (like incredibly minor), and house bein house — 4.5k words

The plan had been going smoothly. Drinks were going down quickly for Wilson, lord only knows how stressed he had been to be downing alcohol like it was water, and thankfully for House he recalled scoring over God a couple years ago. Meaning he knew what had been haunting Wilson's always-ready-to-please mind.

The connection that Amber had been so similar to House had already been scrounged up, and even House would be lying if that made him think just a little too. Oh, nothing crazy maybe just the fact that if he'd been a woman, Wilson might have been all over him. Her?

The details didn't matter.

What did matter though, was his loss of control over the situation. House didn't know what he had been thinking. No one had been paying them much attention, and his goal was to just get Wilson drunk. Only Wilson. He supposed that he thought he needed to convince his friend to keep drinking? Maybe that's why House started drinking too. And maybe that's why he started picking fights with strangers.

It started off as passing remarks he made to Wilson, the infamous smug smirk that showed how he thought himself omniscient in a sense. That he was so sure he could read people like a book. To a certain degree, that was true. How else was he capable of coming up with schemes that would puppet the parties involved for his own benefit?

Eventually though, passing remarks would eventually turn into what seemed like heckling. No wonder he ended up getting socked right square in the face by a patron. House was always self-sabotaging, but sabotaging his own plans to sabotage Wilson's relationship with Amber? Now that was a little ridiculous.

Didn't change the fact that it happened though.

"Oh-- come on House, I can't bring you back to my place and you know it." Wilson's voice had some strain in it, one of his arms hooked around his friend's (questionable title given to the likes of House) waist as he led him to his car. "Especially not since you started this... this meaningless war." He muttered, the hesitance in his voice to say meaningless suggested that maybe he didn't think it was entirely meaningless. Perhaps a hint to the fact that he did find amusement in it. Hell, maybe even enjoyed it for a bit.

House was disoriented. Not by liquor, but by the fact that he had blood gushing out of his nose and perhaps even a bit of a broken nose at that. "She's got you on a leash, Wilson." He swallowed, wetting his dried mouth. "If I say I'm sorry for leaving you at the pound and give you a treat, will you come running back to me?" He spoke with a certain monotonous that always indicated that he was just being a dick. Everyone's heard it enough to recognize it.

On the other hand Wilson decided to ignore that remark and start tapping away on his phone. Scrolling through contacts in an attempt to make some sort of solution for this mess. “I’m handing you off to someone else House. Whether you like it or not—” he swung open the car door to the passenger seat, muttering a few ‘careful’s as he lowered the man into the seat. Impaired judgement kept him from stopping the bloody nose first, and instead opting to do it when he got into the driver’s seat first.

”Are you dialling Thirteen?” House tilted his head forwards, just letting his head hang before Wilson shoved a bundle of tissues against his face. In turn he winced and complained ‘oww!’ dramatically. “Better be Thirteen.” His voice all muffled by the tissues.

Little did he know, it was the nurse that worked under a couple of his former ducklings.

House usually didn’t care for the other staff around the hospital, but he cared when he thought he could squeeze out some information out of some. That’s what he’d done to them. But not only did they refuse to sell out their fellow coworkers, they had also exacted revenge on him not too long ago. They didn’t necessarily win but they also didn’t lose.

What they were capable of doing, was bruising his ego.

After that, the two just kept interacting. The rivalry the two shared was almost akin to a friendship, but neither of them would admit to such a thing. After all, they hated each other’s guts.

There was a mutual respect there though, hidden somewhere. Wilson liked to think that at least. He would mention it or make a comment about it to House but of course he was always met with a response like—

“Tomato, To-mah-to. Only respect they ever receive from me is purely superficial. Happy to see them go, even happier when they turn around and I get to watch them leave.”

Wilson had rolled his eyes then, taking it as another one of those jerky comments House made to be a dick for the fun of it. The longer he had let it marinate though, and the tone shift at the time, perhaps it had an underlying meaning to it. Or he could just be giving him the benefit of the doubt. Again.

The car engine roared to life when Wilson inserted his car key, his other hand pressing his phone to his ear as he gave his friend one singular glance to make sure he wasn’t doing something stupid. He wasn’t. Just popping some more pills.

”Wilson it’s—” a voice picked up. They paused, as if looking off to the side.

”It’s 10 pm. This is well after office hours.” They spoke with a certain exhaustion in their tone. Expected, to be fair. They were all employees of a hospital, hard to keep up a good amount of energy when you’re running around the place all the time. Especially a nurse.

”Listen, I know this is a big request but,” he put his hand on the steering wheel, grunting when House would knock the butt of his cane against his forearm, “House— you’re going to cause us to crash!”

“House? He’s with you?” They sounded surprised at first before it all melted away, “Oh, who am I kidding, of course he’s with you.” The tone of their voice simply went from quizzical to bemused really quick. “I’m not doing anything for that bastard— this is too big a favour to ask of me Wilson.” Their indignation to aiding him in whatever he was about to ask didn’t keep Wilson from having his foot on the gas pedal though. He was convinced he was going to have them agreeing by the time they get there. If they don’t agree well… too bad they were going to show up to their house anyways.

As the conversation continued out on the phone, it didn’t take long for House himself to realize who had been called to their rescue. It made him scoff in amusement, “oh yeah smart move Wilson. Get stick-up-their-ass to keep me from bleeding out at their place that’ll work out!” He raised his voice loud enough that he knew he’d be audible through the phone.

Wilson furrowed his brows, his mouth agape for a second as he struggled to formulate a sentence but they cut him off before he could.

”Bleeding out? What the hell were you guys doing?” The concern was real but they eventually sputtered and tried to backpedal, “you know we’re not close enough for me to be covering whatever illegal activities you guys are doing!” Which was reasonable reaction, honestly.

“No— no— nothing illegal!” Wilson opposed, having to fight the urge to just knock his head against his steering wheel. God, it was like having two children in each ear yelling at him. House was talking about something but so were they. It just became a garbled mess. Not to mention the fact that he was still driving.

”I warned you. We’re on our way.” In the end, Wilson stood his ground. Pocketing his phone, he would keep his eyes straightforward on the road.

__________________________________________

“You’re lucky to have a friend like Wilson.” They murmured, lips pulled taut as they dabbed a cotton swab around the other’s nasal area. It was reddened with blood, bits of it dark from it already coagulating and drying out. House remained still, for the most part. Pale blue eyes staring right at them, not necessarily happy about this situation either. He wasn’t even tipsy anymore, just sober and in pain.

To be fair though, that was kind of regular day to day for him.

House’s eyes looked down briefly, flexing his fingers. “Yeah? Well friends like Wilson end up dumping you to get butchered up on a chopping block.” Then he wiggled, “or I suppose on a kitchen counter.” Not even an amused noise from them. Just the knitting of brows as they were wary of his squirming to make his point.

They were firm with him, as many would have to be with House. A hand holding his face steady, thumb and index holding his chin so they could tilt his head if needed. House was surprisingly cooperative.

”Well good for you,” they paused their actions, giving him an obvious look over, “nobody actually likes old meat. Too tough, too chewy.” They scoffed, before going back to dabbing the bloody areas of his face. Unfortunately, he’d also gotten a busted lip. It wasn’t drastic but it was most definitely going to take more than just a couple weeks to fully recover from it.

House had his neck craned up, brows furrowed a little as he stared up at the ceiling. His eyes would shift downwards, looking to his begrudging caretaker. They had their lips pursed, their eyes a bit sunken from a long day.

He took the time to look at them though. Oversized band shirt over a pair of shorts. If he craned his head to the side just a bit, he could see that their shirt had hiked up just a little. Resting right above the small of their back, making it so that the front draped down but their ass visible.

His obnoxious ogling was cut short when he felt a dull pain, hissing as he felt just a little too much pressure being applied on his wound.

“I’m doing this for free already. If you want more, you’re gonna have to pay.” They muttered, voice thick with sarcasm.

House let sucked in a breath, “is this about the hookers? Just because I support sex work doesn’t mean I’ll let you drain me dry of my money! You’re not even a hooker.” He winced again, but not because they pressed too hard again. It was more a culmination of his leg and the busted up face situation.

For a brief moment, their eyes softened. They paused for a moment, pulling away and putting down the cotton pad they had held in their hand.

”Your Vicodin?” They questioned, as if expecting him to already be reaching for any sort of pill bottle. House gave a frown, not even really trying to feel himself to find said pill bottle.

He clicked his tongue, “must have dropped it back at the bar. Maybe Prince Charming will find it and return it to me and we’ll live happily ever after.” Actually, he was pretty sure if he ever came face to face with the guy again, he was going to end up with a black eye next.

They rolled their eyes. “I’ll get you something. Hold this.” They then passes him a bag of frozen… strawberries. Huh. Then they left the room, going to fetch something.

”Don’t even bother,” he held the frozen strawberries, and instead of using it as intended he opens the bag and pops one in his mouth, “it’s not going to even work.” His face contorted when the frozen fruit touched his tongue.

He supposed that was effective too. Brainfreeze. Maybe once or twice.

”I’ll just go on and skedaddle as soon as I can. Say, where are your car keys? A question of curiosity.” He called out, already turning his head to look about. When they popped their head back into the room they held what seemed to be clothes and a bottle of pills.

”You’re not getting my keys House.” They huffed, before walking back to him. The grown man sitting on their kitchen island with his legs dangling off the side, shirt bloodied and smelling of a rank bar.

This exchange caused him to raise a brow.

Not necessarily because they wouldn’t give him their car keys. But the fact that they held a change of clothes for him. Either they were just feeling generous, pitied him, or… they had actually planned for him to stay the night.

”Are you trying to get into my pants? You know, there’s different ways to do that—”

”Yes I want to have sex with you.”

The two stared at each other. His mouth agape as if he was going to speak, but they cut him off.

”No, House,” they gave an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of their nose. “I’m not trying to have sex with you.” They dropped the clothes right next to him, “you just smell like dog food and shit.”

Then they showed him the bottle they brought with them.

”Ibuprofen? That shit doesn’t do anything!” House reached out for it, though his tone spoke of a child who had maybe received fish sticks instead of his preferred mozzarella sticks.

At his complaint, they clenched their jaw. “Either take some or I’m going to shove them down your throat.” That made him give a faux look of offence, “and you work at the hospital! I’m surprised Cuddy hasn’t canned you yet.” Though the look they gave him made him finally unscrew the cap.

They took a moment to watch him take a couple, before walking aside. “Go take that shower. I’m not taking you anywhere, but honestly,” they turned to give him a look, “I wouldn’t stop you from wandering out.”

House recognized that their first instinct might have actually been to care. Hence the actual attempt at cleaning up his mess. Even giving him clothes and letting him take a shower. But he also knew that their history wouldn’t allow them to just will themselves to be happy around his presence.

That’s why, as a fuck you towards them and Wilson, he was going to stay. Prove Wilson wrong by pissing them off they just have to go yell at Wilson tomorrow morning.

__________________________________________

The bright light of the TV flickered, colours danced along the surface of his gruff face as he sat on the couch. He made himself comfortable in their home, meaning he made a mess of the living room. It was almost midnight now. They told him off earlier, but after him not budging the slightest, they just slinked away into their room.

He knew they were still awake though.

It was that stupid pirate cartoon. Only played at night! When else was he supposed to watch it?

“House.”

He looked over, a clueless expression on his face as he then looked to his wristwatch, “is it early morning already? Wait, nope. Go back to sleep.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if shoo’ing them away. From their own living room.

The look on their face wasn’t even exasperation or frustration. They just looked done. They walked over, stepping in front of the television screen with their arms crossed. “Turn it off, you need rest.”

He tried to look around them at first, but it was all but futile! He groaned, “get out of the way. You really going to stand there the entire time?” The irritation in his voice didn’t necessarily match the glint in his eye. Amusement, perhaps even a hint of a challenge in them.

They squinted their eyes at him.

It was always that. The look in his eyes that presented a challenge that was supposed to push people away. Yet for people as stupid as those who willingly stuck around House, it did the opposite. Before their own experiences, they always thought it strange for Wilson or hell, even Cuddy to entertain him. Because for a lack of a better word, that was exactly what they do.

Now that they’ve been in a similar position, they understand why.

“Does it turn you on to be such a dick? Surely you’re getting some sort of sick gratification from what you do.” They sneered, approaching him and his smug son of a bitch face. He stared, like he always did, before turning his head and sticking out his lip a little ‘in thought’.

Then he gave a shake of his head, his expression dumb as he said, “my body says no but my mouth says yes.” Then taking a moment before furrowing his brow, “actually, pretty sure I mixed that up.” Just another one of his snarky remarks that made the recipient’s anger burn hotter. It wasn’t even good, the things he said sometimes. Not objectively.

Sometimes they were so stupid that it provided the same effect. The same results. And that was all House ever wanted— results.

Before they could get in another word though, House graciously interrupted them. “I’m not kidding. Step away.” He nudged his hand again, trying to wave them aside. His other? Rested on his thigh. Running along the problem site, up and down as if trying to soothe. Not that it ever worked.

“You didn’t take the ibuprofen.”

That seemed to strike a nerve. “No— I did. Would my incompetent nurse like to see me try again? It’ll only keep proving that I’m right.” He inhaled sharply, wincing. “It. Doesn’t. Work.”

At that, they finally took one step to the side. Allowing for the light of the TV to light him up again. He was sweating, just a little bit, on his head. If he was in so much pain wouldn’t he get up and go? Or was there something else he was trying to prove? Surely he didn’t hate them enough to endure his own pain to inflict pain upon them. Then again, that would be a House thing to do.

Silently, they sat beside him.

House scrunched up his nose, turning his head as he shifted, leaning further back against the plush of the couch. "That’s it?” He let out a shallow breath, turning ever-so-briefly to look at them. They didn’t return the gesture, just staring straight forward.

”That’s it.”

There was a quiet lull between the two, only the over exaggerated voices of the pirate and the princess audible in their space. Quiet wasn’t really House’s thing, though. He turned to them again, arm raised to rest against the back of the couch, “you’re just giving up? Just like that?”

Giving up?

They snorted. “I’m not giving up anything. You were the one with expectations.” Then they finally turned to meet his eyes, “I’m not in the mood for games, House. If you aren’t going to listen, then you aren’t going to listen.”

For some reason, he looked confused. “You don’t just give up. It’s the one thing that actually makes you interesting.” He spoke as if he was the one getting offended. Even if he wasn’t planning on it now, they couldn’t help but feel some anger bubbling up again. What did he want?

”Then you should fucking leave, shouldn’t you, Greg?” They hissed under their breath, trying to turn back to the meaningless cartoon.

Out of all the petty things they’ve argued about, this felt the most genuine. Over an… animated cartoon?

”No. I shouldn’t. You’re supposed to— to…” he paused, biting his tongue. As if the Gregory House was hesitating. When there was virtually no reaction from his uncharacteristic doubt, he grunted. “You’re supposed to fight back. Keep me here.”

A look of surprise crept up to their face. “What?” They blurted out, turning back around to see the man with his head down, eyes flickering up to get one glance at their face. To see what reaction he had received. There were so many things that could be said. So many things they probably should have said. One of them being ‘get out’ which so gingerly danced upon the tip of their tongue.

His head swayed to the side, mouth opening once but then pressed together in a thin line.

This was probably the withdrawals talking. The pain talking. It wasn’t anything he could really stop from spilling out, either way. “Come on. You’re not stupid now, too.” He clenched his fist, then unclenched, nervously fidgeting. “You might be boring but you’re not an idiot.”

”Stop speaking in fucking riddles and spit it out.”

House scoffed, maybe out of amusement. He made eye contact again and straightened out his back just a little. “You hate me. I like pissing you off.” They raised an eyebrow at this, opening their mouth to speak but House shut them up by just putting his whole hand over their mouth.

”Shut up. I know, stating the obvious.” He mumbled, watching them carefully before slowly lowering his hand again once he deemed that it was ‘safe’. “But you haven’t made any real effort into pushing me out. And I…” he furrowed his brows, pinching the bridge of his nose.

”I don’t know.” It all came to an abrupt end. House looked at them as if he expected them to understand what he was saying. What all this stumbling over words meant. There was a certain look in his eyes though, one that had replaced his smug piece-of-shit look from before. The one they were used to.

Too many silences. There’d been too many between them in such a short period of time. But whose fault was that, huh?

”You’re saying… that I… need you? Or what? That I like you?” Shock was still riddled all over their face— a mixture of shock and anger that is. Every time they calmed down he always managed to rile them up again. That has got to be a skill.

A sort of relief seemed to wash over him as he leaned back again. He made a gesture with his hand, giving them another look. The ever familiar House stare.

He was still playing a game. Whether or not his intentions were to simply screw around with them no longer mattered. Because even if he was being genuine the bastard didn’t know how to express himself without hopping through loops. His reaction to them finishing his thought spoke louder than any sort of response he could have followed up with. Even if they said that it was completely untrue it was too late, he made up his mind.

His reaction also meant that the thought of them needing him wasn’t a thought he disproved of.

They relaxed, eyes downcast for a second before they met his eyes again, “you’re a piece of shit.” They muttered, eyes then shifting to his hand that was closest to them. His other was still on his thigh. It had been the entire time. Right now though, it slowed down its ministrations. His attention was on them.

”I should be proving you wrong.” They were slow, grazing their hand over his before interlocking their fingers with his. Warm. Stiff but not dismissive of the touch.

”But you’d see through me, right? Because you always do. You know so much.” He didn’t lean in, but they did. It was like the air had gone still, nothing held either of them back. Not sure House wanted to be held back in any way. Especially considering the way he looked to their lips, ever slightly parted for him.

He was quiet. Waiting. Wasn’t this what he expected? Or— something adjacent?

They tilted their head, lightly lifting themselves off the couch to reach him, leaning over him just a little. “You’re not stopping me.” They mumbled, taking a brief pause. Their eyes stared at his face, appraising him. What did he look like? Hazy. Supposedly, they should back off now.

They got their answer. Didn’t they?

“You’re such a piece of shit.” They breathed out before kissing him. When did the mood change? Perhaps the very moment they decided to entertain his childish game of feelings.

House didn’t waste any time to reciprocate. His hand moved off his thigh, hiking around their waist and pulling them close, so they didn’t have to hover as much. Mouths moving in tandem, both of them warming up as hands travelled up and down and groped. He tried to advance, but they pushed back.

”Don’t you even think it House.” They whispered against his lips, one of their hands on his other thigh and another against his chest. Kissing him again, he chased after them as they pulled back again to give him a smug smile, “under my roof, my rules.”

”Taking my credit? For this? Didn’t think you a thief.” He spoke, but his eyes were trained back on their lips.

“You think I want the credit for initiating?” They muttered, their hand trailing up from his chest to his face. “No. I want the credit for this.” They leaned back down, inching their bodies closer as they kissed again. As feverish as they were, the heat of the moment wasn’t enough to cover the sudden sharp pain he felt on his lip.

His shoulders tensed, what was akin to a whimper slipping past his lips. His eyes fluttered open, and he saw them above him. A gleaming of something besides saliva on her own lips.

House’s hand goes up, pressing it gently against his lip, “you bit me.” There was blood, not too much, but enough. It was the busted lip they’d nurtured, now it was bleeding again. Yet he didn’t find it at all insulting. Instead, he almost looked pleasantly surprised.

”Want me to kiss it all better?” They mused, chest heaving still, and giving him time to either accept or decline. Maybe they should have asked first—

“You’d be sleeping on the couch if you didn’t.” He hardly finished his sentence before he reached for them again, the two clawing at each other desperately as saliva and blood was smeared against their faces. They were kind enough to not do much more to fuck up his lip more, instead going to plant kisses against the side of his neck and down to his chest.

A few red imprints left in their wake, which looked like red lipstick at the time but would most certainly just look like dried blood in the morning. And most certainly not look like kisses.

The hickeys though— that was most certainly going to be a conversation topic between House and Wilson in the morning.

”Admit it House,” they murmured against his skin, their hands quickly working to unbutton his shirt, “you’re the one who needs me.” They kissed and gently nipped at his skin, their hands moving to his belt when his upper body was exposed for them.

He tilted his head back, hissing out a breath as he tried to muster up some words without giving them too much gratification. Looking back, he eyed their close proximity to where he needed them most. “Says the one with their hands practically down my pants.”

“Fine. I’ll take them out.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Guess they were both going to be sleeping on the couch that night.

[inkybloom-luv]

The last line

EVERY TIME

A Sonnet for a Knight

Eyes blue… no, pink? No, blue, steadily gaze. Surveying the land for possible threats. Hard work, though humbleness, always ablaze, But seeing the good which the world forgets.

You have such kindness set inside your heart Although it seems that you must always fight. Your gentle, calm nature sets you apart From others who also serve as a knight.

Protecting your family, and next king, While batt'ling yourself - your body, your mind. Working for harmony and peace to wing, And quietly showing a smile so kind.

It's true what I say, though it may sound bold: I believe Silver's more precious than gold.

Tags: @dove-da-birb, @azulashengrottospiano, @inkybloom-luv

If you would like to be tagged in my future writing, please let me know!

[casp1an-sea]

MOOTS AND TAGS

(I Will Probably Forget to use these tags lmao)

@xen-blank (#xe.Lu.le :))

@edith-is-a-cat (#edie :))

@theosb0rnway (#Goblin Junior :>)

@distant-velleity (#Kai :))

@l7k-a (#Luka :))

@krenenbaker (#I’m just Kren 😎🌾)

@edith-is-a-cat (#Edxiety bear <3)

@vivisvalley (#Vivi :))

@femmefaeryboi (#Silas :))

@v-anrouge/ @transpomefiore (#Aster :))

@dove-da-birb (#Dove :))

@magics0up (#Crowman >:))

@shinysparklesapphires (#Sapph :))

@messylxve (#Shiloh :))

@keii-starz (#Kei :))

@kirans-wonderland (#Kiran :))

@ravenwing0110 (#Raven :))

@hyperfixation-or-death (#Bee movie script 🐝)

@cheezy-moon (#Novah :))

@sunshinechildskywalker (#sunshine 🍭🌈)

@fizzydreamz (#fizzy :))

@xentari94 (#North :))

@ferris-the-wheel (#ferris :))

@kw4ziicat (#tao :))

@thehollowwriter (Quinn :))

@cimonim-crunch (Chef Wendell 🥣)

@elenauaurs (Elana of Avalore 💃)

@the-banana-0verlord (Lillian :))

@diabollicallyangelic (Eli :))

@notakoolladz (Ladz :))

@snowy-yoshi (snowy :))

@i-like-forgs (Ryo :))

@octo-doofus (Vee :))

@tomatette (mysh:))

@bigmack2go (Mackj :))

@dragonflies-draw-flame (Stella :))

@silly-little-goober-core (Sienna :))

@fryofthefrench (Potato man :))

@cookiecrumbles52palace / @animalsalvationassociation (Cookie :))

@lifblogs (lif :))

@here-comes-the-moose (moose :)

@citrusmornings (Mia :))

@elmer-not-the-glue

@calyxthenerd (Calyx :))

@im-sorry--what (Ro :))

@bifluidmax08 (Robbie :))

@not-so-allegiant-general (Rox :))

@elmer-not-the-glue (Elmer :))

@existing-sadly (Techie :))

@calyxthenerd (Calyx :))

@lovelikemondler (Ken :))

(I love making friends so please ask if you wanna be my moot <3)

Tags:

just fyi I like rarely ever use tags 🥲

Misc: #just little things for my intro post, #Captain America is my father, #caszurole, #Hunter’s Song, #Frilled Shark 🍄, #Re Rambles 🦈, #Re answers 🦈, #Re Asks 🦈, #cas feeds on human interaction (pls talk to me I’m lonely or depressed posts pls look out for this one)

Writing and Art: #Re’s little doodles, #Re draws 🦈, #Cas’s commissions, #Re writes 🦈, #Darling Requiem, #The Line Between, #Cas’s OCs, #Octonauts Intern AU, #Star Wars but Better

Daily Creature: #silly goofy critters

[haruhar-u]

Haru’s moots :D

I forgot the order we became moots on my old account so this is the order on this account

@xen-blank: Xen/Luc/Levi: Skrunkly blorbo pookie. You are super cool and nice. Yout fun to talk to. I like talking to them. I trust you as much as you can trust someone on the internet. Supported me through the whole accidentally deactivated incident.Also an overall safe person for me. pnline sibloubf

@citrusitonit: Citrus: Fellow fuckling, biting you biting you. Who let you be so funny? Also you seem to always be online…

@minty-bubblegum: Minty: Mama :D. Also you have the same birthday as me which is super cool. Music taste is immaculate

@cheezy-moon: Moony: Based taste in characters. Also fellow fuckling. Super cool ocs and super nice. I like your energy

@leonistic: Soru: We don’t interact that much but we do you’re super sweet. Also your writing is just yes. I had a heart attack when you followed me

@dove-da-birb: Dove: one of my very first moots. Super cool. Like an older sibling to me. When they followed me a whole bunch of other followed me too. Bird mafia? Also your earring collection is super cool.

@lucent-blade: Lucent: we haven’t interacted once but your arcana takes are very good :).

@carmensdia: Eden: also haven’t interacted much but whenever we do your are super nice. I like having you on my dash. I like reading your opinions

@the-banana-0verlord: Lilian: Nice just nice. Offered to help me learn French. Super cool. I also had a heart attack when you followed me back. Super supportive too. Also you like fruits basket which is just yes

@ithseem: Ithseem: Super supportive and nice. Really cool ocs too! Also really cute chibis :D

@twistwonderlanddevotee: Sofia: we haven’t t interacted much but you’re super sweet and nice from what I seen.

@lu-lul: Lulu: my wifey and irl

@krenenbaker: Kren: super supportive and nice. Takes part in all my ask games and reblogs my writing a lot. Good vibes. I look up to you. Yes again like a older sibling to me.

@thekitchenywitch: We haven’t interacted much but you were surprised I saw one of your takes (which was an immaculate take in Asra btw) so I decided you’re cool.

@edith-is-apparently-a-cat: Edie: SUPER cool. You are very sweet I wanna swing you around and then squeeze you. You’re the last hope of wholesomeness on this hellsite /hj

@supergigabigboybabechad: Lenore: Super nice one of my first moots. You aren’t online often but when you are I love interacting with you

@angelhairpastawithherbs: Rose: I love love reading your takes. Also the Sukuna meme you made last night is just yes. Also your writing?????? You’re just a super cool person

@averagetoyakinnie: Joey: my first moot. We don’t interact often but your taste in anime is just so good. We watched so many of the same shows. I love interacting with you

@overly-niche-twst: Joy: you were the one of the first accounts I followed on my old account. I love seeing you on my dash too. Your memes are super funny and accurate to the character. Also Wriothesley is based

@silvers-numberonefan: Kei: I don’t know much about kpop but I love seeming you ramble about it. Also a milgram fan super cool. I see you almost as a younger sibling.

@azulashengrottospiano: Auburn: I love your blog. It’s just so nice. I looked up to you since I started Tumblr basically and had a heart attack when you followed me back. I hope your pillow is cold tonight

@chocolate-cat-bread: Nene: little sibling irl

@vivislosingitagain: Vivi: We haven’t interacted like at all but I read your posts like they’re the news paper

@v-anrouge: Aster: the person I like sending my Vil brainrot to. Very take you have is canon idc what it is. Also kinda like an older sibling to me. You’re super cool.

@i-like-forgs: Ryoko: YOURS POSTS YES I LIKE READING THEM

@cave-of-jade: Jade: adopted me one day. I now bite

@distant-velleity: Kai: I LOVE LOVE YOUR OCS. Also fellow milgram fan

Psst psst if you’re not on here and want to be lmk

[mindutme]

The Modern Mindutme Alphabet

The Modern Mindutme alphabet is one descendant of the Old Mindutme Alphabet, discussed in my previous post. It has 31 letters, adding six to the original set. A number of letters have changed their sounds due to the development of the Mindutme language, so there are now several letters with multiple possible sounds, as well as a few sounds with multiple spellings.

Several of the original vowel letters have differing sounds based on stress. The first sound shown below is for unstressed syllables, and the second is for stressed ones.

ix → yaqh [jɐꭓ] “spoon” — /i, jɐ/ ([ɨ] when unstressed and following a retroflex consonant) ul → wal [wɐɫ] “bowl” — /u, wɐ/ et → it [it] “foot” — /e, i/ ([ɛ] when adjacent to a uvular consonant, [ɨ] when stressed and following a retroflex consonant) ohis → oys [ɔjs] “pine tree” — /o, u/ ([ɔ] when adjacent to a uvular consonant)

ɛhɔr → ewr [ɛwɾ] “hook” — /ɛ/ (only occurs in stressed syllables) ɔne → one [ˈɔ.ne] “spear” — /ɔ/ (only occurs in stressed syllables) ɑl → al [ɐɫ] “food” — /ə, ɐ/

There are now six more vowel letters, each deriving from a ligature of two of the above.

it-al — /eə/ oys-al — /oə/ ewr-wal — /ɛw/

one-yaqh — /ɔj/ al-yaqh — /ɐj/. In the dialect of Voṣeaṣi, the capital city, this has become /ɛ/ or /e/, depending on stress. al-wal — /ɑw/. In the same dialect, this is /ɔ/ or /o/.

The consonants are in general less changed, though several have allophonic variation.

wɔɔɡ → wug [wuɡ] “songbird” — /w/ juket → waqhet [ˈwɐ.ꭓɛt] “arrow” — /j/ lɑk → laq [lɐq] “door” — /l, ɫ/

rɛldɛn → reldn [ˈrɛl.dn̩] “hawk” — /r, ɾ/ mɛi → mi [mi] “water” — /m/ noɡɛ → nugh [nuɣ] “bow” — /n, ɳ, ŋ, ɴ/

veud → vewd [vɛwd] “ox” — /v/ zɑje → zaye [ˈzɐ.je] “feather” — /z, ʐ/ fiɛl → fyel [fjɛl] “deciduous tree” — /f/

sɛu → sew [sɛw] “arm” — /s, ʂ/ xet → khit [xit] “onion” — /x, ꭓ/ hus → hwas [hwɐs] “flower” — /h/

bjer → byir [bjiɾ] “knot” — /b/ dɛllɛ → del [dɛl] “path” — /d, ɖ͡ʐ/ ɡuul → qwal [qʷɐl] “hand” — /ɡ, ɣ, q/

poɡɔm → pughm [ˈpu.ɣm̩] “cart” — /p/ tjɔf → tṣof [ʈ͡ʂɔf] “cat” — /t, ʈ͡ʂ/ kiɛt → kyet [kjɛt] “leg” — /k, q/

(The situation with retroflex consonants is not actually allophonic, but it’s a bit much to get into in this post.)

Though Old Mindutme had several writing directions, Modern Mindutme has settled on left-to-right. A brief note I forgot to mention in the last post: in Old Mindutme, several letters had multiple versions depending on writing direction. In general, et “foot” would point to the left in right-to-left text, and to the right in left-to-right text; likewise with wɔɔg, juket, rɛldɛn, nogɛ, veud, and kiɛt. When Modern Mindutme settled on left-to-right writing, most of these letters settled with the corresponding orientation. The only exceptions are waqhet and kyet, which happened to end up pointing to the left.

As discussed in this post, there are two styles of writing Mindutme. One is a disconnected “print” style, which simply takes the above letters and puts them together in sequence. The other, the kakhmikrn or calligraphic style, joins the letters together so that every word is a single connected unit, often distorting the letter forms somewhat to do this. A letter may be to the right of, below, or even within or around the previous letter, ideally fitting in with the general shape of the word as gracefully as possible. Whenever possible, strokes are combined to enhance the flow of the entire word.

Here are the modern equivalents to the sentences from the last post, in both styles. First, fya kren “I wrote”:

And fya hwas am u ṣan, “I gave a fish a flower”:

Some words can naturally combine more elegantly than others. This blog’s icon might be mistaken for a single glyph of a more complex writing system, but it’s actually the interrogative particle zvu:

And the header is the word Mindutme itself:

For more examples, check out this tag!

[dove-da-birb]

The themes fit, the characters FIT, and this is one of my favourite myths.

IT IS MAKING ME ILL! Just *screams with you*

Yes hi, it's me; should I post this on my writing blog? Yes. Am I? No, because I have to write this, but I'm currently working on a Lilia fic.

Enjoy

~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~

Love is a fickle emotion with many faces.

Of two lovers embracing each other, finding home in each other’s arms where they feel at ease. Or a parent tending to their newborn in the dead of night, dark circles under their eyes and spit-up staining their shirt from tending to them. Friends laughing together. Strangers showing others kindness in their actions. An artist perfecting their craft. People consoling each other. 

That is the beautiful face of love; gentle, true, benevolent, from a good place.

But there is another face to love, one that is more dark and twisted. Of love that turns to devotion. Love that turns to violence. Love that turns to death. Love that turns to soul-eating consumption. Of greedy love. Of empty love, where one loves the idea of something or someone yet not the actual object or person. Love when it is only beneficial to them.

Yet, is that really love?

Love is a fickle emotion with many faces, mirroring the very god of this domain. 

Many picture a cherub, a rotund toddler with small wings and a little bow and arrow in hand. Yet the actual god, sometimes called Eros or Cupid in popular folklore, is far from that. The actual god of love, in all its forms, is a man, not a child. The only thing they truly share in common being their wings — with the man’s being far much larger — and the bow and arrow. 

The god of love, the hunter of love. 

He seeks to find a love that will amuse him, but once it grows dull, he’ll snap the arrow, and watch it sputter out like a suffocating flame. And so the cycle continues; find two mortals, and watch them fall in and out of love. Ever removed from the situation, like he is a spectator of a play, watching the plot run its course.

Yet, what happens when the hunter, the spectator of this play, finds himself on the stage? 

~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~

Anyways, currently this is named, "Eros!Rook x Gender-Neutral Psyche!Reader brain rot that won't fucking leave me alone"

DOVE WBAT THW FUCKSJWJJOSLLKDKKEKSKAKSND WHAT HT EHELL OH KU GOD WAIT UDUSHSHS I LOVE WHEN PPL WRITE ROOK AS AN AHEL OR AS CUPID ITS SO FUCKINF GOOD AND RHIS CONCEPT REAAAAGHHHHHH IM GONNA SCREAM

[creepy-crowleys]

// This is such a weird thing to send out of the blue but I've had the thought lately of "Kren could probably remove Crowley's spine explosive if she didn't mind dying a little first". I don't know if that's something you'd ever be interested in writing, and while it's definitely occurred to Kren, he doesn't know Crowley well enough to offer without some indication from her that she's looking for that. But I figured I'd throw the idea at you.

((She would be open to the offer! She's definitely been keeping track of people she thinks she could trust enough to ask. But it isn't something she's looking at in the immediate future - She's a lot more afraid of her people discovering it's been tampered with than she is of it being there at the moment. :'D))

[zelsisi]

OC Master List and Introduction

Hello everyone! I’m Zelsisia but you can call me Zel, everyone else does. 😄 My pronouns are she/her and I’m an asexual and I’m hella nerdy and a theater kid. But my blog is mainly to gush about my OCs from a wide variety of fanfictions and video games and ttrpgs while reblogging posts I like. My main areas are Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, D&D, and many others. I like behind the scenes of movies and tv shows and plays.

I do write fanfictions I currently have two. One called The Lost Heir set in the SWTOR era of Star Wars. The other called Of Vod and Aru’ese that takes place in the Clone Wars era of Star Wars. Each following a set of OCs, all different but all fun and lovely!

Onto the OC Master List! Be warned it’s a bit long 😆:

Star Wars OCs

SWTOR:

1. Zelsisi Alleten

2. Tristan Alleten

3. Sehini

4. Tobani Ragnos

The Lost Heir OCs:

1. Ester Vallrian

2. Markus Vallrian

3. Roy Vallrian

4. Myasara Vallrian

5. James Cantor

Of Vod and Aru’ese OCs:

1. Marissa Tenau

2. Rachel Tenau

3. Denise Tenau

4. Lexi Tenau

5. Duke

6. Sly

7. Shredder

8. Tin

9. Joker

10. Ninja

11. Nox

12. Spark

13. Comp

14. Zeus

15. Gale

16. Aeol

17. Kess

18. Seth 

19. Jaig

20. Marble

21. Seaweed

22. Neptunium

23. Viribus

Star Wars D&D:

1. Nefertiti Anke

2. Cyrene

3. Lilith

4. Marissa Tenau

5. Rachel Tenau

6. Denise Tenau

7. Lexi Tenau

8. Sehini Onath

10. Aguti'cas'iammeo (Cas)

D&D OCs

Original Elebor (First Game I ever DMed):

1. Kila Magicshield

2. Fila Majinaur (formerly Magicshield)

3. Thengel Magicshield

4. Saeros Magicshield

5. Marissa Crimson

6. Raven Leihall

7. Vylstine Viola

8. Venays Viola

9. Celebros

10. Gildor

11. I have more. A lot more. Player Characters will be added as I get player permission

Sequel Elebor (Sequel to Original and quickly approaching (I will be streaming it)):

1. Sebastian Magicshield

2. Aurora Magicshield

3. Edward Magicshield

4. Ian Eessil

5. Victor Viola

6. Vy Viola

7. I have more. A lot more. Player Characters will be added as I get player permission

DM PCs (Characters I play to help the party when I DM):

1. Persephone Natra

2. Victoria Alinet

3. Rena Krezi

Character’s I am or will be Playing:

1. Thyneros Hymn

2. Anduin Thurarsh

3. Azlin Kanasu

4. “Silver Fox”

5. Xenia Hynes

6. Ladon Fey

7. Jay

9. Nevon Kerak

10. Luna Veda Rivera

11. Minerva Basir

12. Atris Chazin

13. Mara Bronwen

14. Cassandra Tamsin (Bronwen)

15. Tondra Varsha

16. Althea Galen

17. Valis Entropy

18. Amos Kren ("Ghost")

19. Idris Azaria

20. Nathara Mereel (“Midnight”)

21. Trisrel Eilsatra

22. Pandora Frost (“Serpent”)

23. Nocta Luna

24. Arthur Harbin

25. Andrea Samson

26. Ashley “Ash” Smith

27. Astraea Vatir

28. Raiden Kenta

FFXIV OCs

1. Nocta Luna

2. Kila Magicshield

3. Fila Magicshield

4. Sebastian Magicshield

5. Nefertiti Anke

6. Aedwen Foster

7. Amasar

8. Astraea Vatir

9. I have more and can talk about them if you ask for one but those are my main ones

And that’s my introduction and my OC master list until I add more 😉

[kariachi]

We’re redoing the Savaran Deities list to include more fuckers, be better organized, and basically just better and more comprehensive overall. Individuals’ chicks are listed under them, major deities get an asterisk.

~~

Shil & Lyis*- the suns and moons, deities over light, darkness, energy, and dams

Osmosians

Voum*- deity over water, battle, and harvest (sire to Osmosians, Keal)

Rervon- deity over reflections, dreams, and luck

Vulkxhen- deity over combat, sport, and strategy

Vernito- deity over food preparation, preservation, and funeral rites

Leruv- deity over trickery, nests, and puzzles

Veirum- deity over vegetation, animals, fertility

Alai*- deity over earth, home, and protection (sire to Osmosians, Keal)

Mainil- deity over love, guardian of chicks

Hegae- deity over the home, gems, and metals

Yaon- deity over crafting and den systems, builder of mountains

Tivaom- deity over sleep, peace, and promises

Kren*- deity over air, travel, and music (sire to Osmosians, Keal)

Mendeves- deity of the north wind

Menyuve- deity of the south wind

Menkaves- deity of the east wind

Menrhove- deity of the west wind

Fuanel- deity over trade and communication

Darum*- deity over death, rebirth, hunting, and heroes (twin to Nanel)

Nanel*- deity over life, knowledge, magic, and heroes (twin to Darum)

Keal*- deity over storms, art, and healing

Leum- deity over song, dance, and writing

Jalen- guide of leaders

[inkybloom-luv]

AIBSHSBSIDB KREN

KREN MY HEART

You make my heart so sisbsjsbsisbs whenever you comment about my writing shwhshdheb my motivation is skyrocketing rn

Words Unsaid 5, Scarabian parties are loud

♪~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♪

Professor Ségdae Tonyx belongs to @dove-da-birb who has graciously allowed me to use them as an actually good teacher that cares about Inky,, justice for Inky, ramshackle is terrible

Hi hi hi everyone! Part 5 is here and for those who maybe need a little nudge, Inky is in fact, a little ✨tistic✨ and for this chapter I've been pulling from my personal experiences but I find it's a little hard to describe at times, I still tried my best for y'all tho!!

Tw: meltdown; trash talk

2.1+ k words

♪~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♪

When the call came in through the more than slightly old wall mounted landline that the Ramshackle prefect and Grim were to pack their clothing as well as other essentials and report to the headmage's office immediately, Inky was left confused and Grim, well, he was worried that they were getting thrown out after all. "Because the prefect wasn't pulling their weight" he said, knowing that he caused more messes than she did. So they both sat in the office silently.

They had been soaked and shivered from the raging storm, which had rolled in from the sea around the island and due to its nature, as it was a magical storm, would not stop for a few days, maybe even the rest of the week, but that was unlikely according to the headmage. Also according to the headmage, they would be temporarily residing in Scarabia. Reason being that the Al Asim family had agreed to donate funds for the renovation of Ramshackle. Why they donated? The headmage would not say, but it was absolutely because of the absolute garbage living conditions of having to stay in a building that was falling apart around Inky and grim.

"Thanks to my endless generosity, and a hefty donation by the Al Asims, Ramshackle will be renovated! Professor Tonyxx will be overseeing the process as they insisted..!" Were his words. At this point this was dragging in entirely too long and the prefect was somewhat struggling with the feeling of the wet fabric against their skin. Inky had always hated the feeling. Sensory issues are what that feeling was referred to. Usually Inky would manage, sure, a little wet clothing was fine, but this time she was soaked and she hated it. It was getting more and more overwhelming when their thought process got interrupted with a knock from the door.

"Headmage, is the prefect in yet? Kalim sent me to pick them up" A familiar, albeit muffled voice sounded through the door. It was Jamil.

"Come in Viper, they're here..!" The headmage answered and the old mahogany door opened to reveal Jamil Viper, clad in his dorm uniform, hood pulled up, the one that made him look like a snake from the side, as Inky had remarked in a letter. Even if Jamil had no clue about that. She looked at him, all dry and still so pretty. He was recovering, well, to her, he should have already been fully recovered despite a slight pain still surprising Jamil every now and then.

Inky nodded up at Jamil in greeting, which he returned, puzzled on the inside on why she was still wet and hadn't been offered a towel at the very least. "Take her and Grim to Scarabia and ensure she feels welcome there viper..!" The headmage said, mumbling something about how he was generous enough to allow this.

Outside of the slightly dark office Jamil used his magic pen to summon a towel each for both grim and Inky, though while Grim had his towel flopped down onto him by magic, Jamil was nice enough to actually hand over the towel meant for the prefect. "Here, you're still soaking wet.. the headmage didn't offer you anything to dry off with I see..?" He said, to which the prefect shook her head. They weren't even speaking to him apparently. Not like Jamil would know but the prefect had simply gone nonverbal.. Grim however communicated just fine and thanked Jamil for both of them.

Generously enough Jamil carried the one slightly large bag the prefect did have while the prefect in question carried a smaller bag with Grim's essentials. Jamil noticeably slowed his pace when he realised the prefect was limping a bit, the fact that he still saw the bandage on their arm, he regretted hurting her. It would most definitely leave a scar, aside from that all the other more minor injuries did still worry him. Crowley was running this girl more ragged than Kalim ran him at times. Jamil felt guilty for what he did, adding to her woes instead of lightening the load like everyone else should have done ages ago. He felt sick to his stomach when he remembered he'd sent her to die out in the desert after she'd nearly drowned barely a few weeks before. And now they weren't even speaking to him.

At least they'd reached Scarabia in little time despite going slower than usual. Kalim was there to greet them both, waving at the prefect. He dragged them off to their new room, Jamil and Grim in tow, so that Inky could put her things away and shower so they could heat up their cold body. Kalim gave them the whole excited spiel of them making themselves at home with Grim and that there was a small party later that had been planned in advance. The prefect was welcome to join them, according to Kalim. While she showered and changed Jamil was busy in the kitchens preparing some finger foods for the party that would be in a few hours, two maybe.

If he was really honest he wasn't even actually thinking about the food, but Inky instead. Something was up. Something about her felt a bit more off. They were struggling to keep their eyes open earlier. And she hadn't said a word since.. well, since he had come to pick her up. Maybe even before, he didn't know. He wished he did. He wished he knew.

Apparently the prefect spent a long time in the extra bathroom, that was according to grim, who had joined Kalim in the lounge. Him and the housewarden were talking.

"Inky's overwhelmed today. She has been for a while.. don't tell her I told you this though, she'll get upset because she'll 'dampen the mood' or whatever.. can you give me more of that tuna?" The cat thing said, nodding along when Kalim handed the delicious canned food over.

"Thank you.. anyway. She likes Jamil a whole lot, read her.. well it's not a diary but whatever. Have him watch over her a bit tonight. There's gonna be a few really loud people here today from what you've said about this party." Grim finished as Kalim agreed to what grim was saying.

"Yeah.. I'll host less parties while she's here, this one's just been planned for a really long time, or I'd be calling it off at any moment" the white haired housewarden laughed to himself, if only to make the topic feel less heavy. "He'll be there to watch over her, no worries..!"

When it was time and the party was in full swing it was a lot of things all at once, people chatting, music playing, lights that flashed and pulsed along the walls and decorations. The prefect Inky stood in the corner farthest away from the loud music in a t-shirt and sweatpants courtesy of Kalim, she'd refunded anything else as she wasn't really in the mood to wear something that could pay for her living expenses for months. Unfortunately some Pomefiore students had thought she'd be rather fun to mock because of this. They witnessed her orientation, they witnessed how the mirror had told her she was not wanted at this school. And they didn't like the way she looked that night, it was a party, not her living room, so why should she show up in sweatpants and a t-shirt? A cute little party dress was the right way to go, but she wouldn't fit into one. That's what they were whispering about at least. Not that it was true but at the moment Inky had little will to fight back.

Fact is she was really only barely keeping it together. The party was too loud for right now, she was exhausted and people were making fun of her. So as tears started forming in her eyes she sank to the floor, covering her ears as they started falling. Her body shook as she sat there crying at the back of the lounge as the Pomefiore students continued to mock her, but they were quickly silenced when Jamil approached them, and he glared at them.

"What joke must you be telling that it's got all of you laughing? Please, do tell me so I can tell the housewarden, I'm sure he'd love to hear it as well" He said, venom lacing his words, which seemed to send them spluttering for an excuse before dispersing. All of them avoided his gaze in fear of getting hypnotised. Good. He might've. But instead of focusing on that he went over to Inky, who had been trying her best to be quiet and to block out the song blasting through the speakers at the moment. He knelt down to her, tapping one of her knees gently. It got her attention, she flinched slightly in surprise in response before lifting her head quickly and looking at Jamil with wide, tear filled eyes. She looked so frightened, Jamil's heart sank. He hoped with every fiber of his being he wasn't the cause, but at least.. she looked at him, in his eyes. He nodded towards a door. That one led to a corridor, where the way to Kalim and his rooms were. It would be quiet there, his room was somewhat soundproof after all. He held out his hands and quickly, along with a sound that indicated she wanted out, Inky gripped them. Jamil recognised the simptoms, a meltdown. The way she was covering her ears before he intervened, she was pulling at her hair.

She wanted out. So he would take her out. She was breathing heavier than normal, heaving slightly even, as if a boa constrictor was wrapped around her neck. And if he could alleviate whatever else she felt, he would. It wasn't enough to make up for the scar that was forming on her arm.. but it was a start to him.

Luckily the walk wasn't long. And once there he guided her to sit on his bed, so that he could close the door fully and lock it too, they didn't need any disturbance right now. Who knows what that would do. So now he stood across from her, from Inky. She clutched her legs to her chest as she cried a little more, so Jamil gave her a glass of water. She didn't like the taste, he knew because she'd mentioned it over lunch, but it was all he had at the moment and he didn't want her to have a headache.

They sat in silence. They sat across from each other until she was done. She was looking at the bed Inky sat on most of that time while Jamil's eyes were on her and her only. Yes Jamil was worried for her since she wouldn't speak, couldn't speak, but he still found her pretty, even now when she looked so disheveled. How come he never noticed just how pretty he thought she was? But then she was done. And he placed the glass on his nightstand. What now? He didn't know what to do, but he should think of something, right? Why was it that now of all situations when he needed his brain to work as normal, it wouldn't? What was it that really made his mind blank so much?

Jamil was in his own head at the moment, maybe even a little too far for once, since he hadn't even noticed Inky uncurl herself slightly to come closer, closer and closer yet, only to somewhat throw herself at him to hug him. And she just cried. That's what brought Jamil back from his almost chronic habit of overthinking so that he could find a good solution. But now instead of thinking about what he could do to help her, he landed on his bed, Inky half way on top of him and laying there holding onto him for comfort as she let out an actual sob.. and a sniffle and another and another.

It took him a second but he realised all he had to do.. was hold her there for a bit until she didn't cry anymore, until she felt comforted enough. Not that Inky did move after she stopped crying. She was too tired and it was warm and comfortable where she was. So she fell asleep, right there, resting her head on Jamil's chest. And Jamil stayed there. The dark haired young man had no intention of waking her for once, because right now? He was crying himself. He didn't even notice. But he knew she didn't hate him now. That she trusted him enough to not attack her again. That she felt safe around him. And so for once, he too slept. Because he could, once at least, not bother with the party or the cleaning. This was more important. This felt better.

♪~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♪

@azulashengrottospiano

@leonistic

@krenenbaker

@cy-inky

@escaaaaaanyeh

@achy-boo

[iliumheightnights]

We Have A Jedi [10] | Peter Parker x M!Stark!Reader

Fandom: Star Wars and Marvel

Pairing: Tony Stark x Son!Reader, Peter Parker x Male!Reader

Summary: (M/N) faces the man that’s been playing games with him. The results will set him on a course he never thought of.

A/N: Boy oh boy. I’ve been wanting to write for so long. Of course when I thought I had time to write I was called back into work. So now that my schedule has calmed down more, let’s see how much work I can get out. ...

Kuat, 1 year later.

(M/N) stood on the bridge of the lightbringer looking over the rings of the shipyards. It had been pretty close to a year since he and Janai had left earth and his father. He hadn’t stopped thinking of him and the other avengers, his mother told him to put them aside but he couldn’t. 

“I can tell you have something on your mind.” He turned around to see Sheyo walking up to him. “Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head at her. “No. It’s just a distraction, I need to sort it out.” She nodded at that. “You know I’m here for you (M/N), no matter what.” She whispered to him. “Even if it’s against the code. You’re my best friend.” He let out a chuckle. “So Scandalous Sheyo.” She playfully slapped his arm. “Stop it!...it’s true though. Just know that (M/N).” He looked back out the window. “Thank you Sheyo it means a lot.”

Like a cold wind, (M/N) shivered. He brought a hand up to his head. A small pain throughout. “Do you feel that?” Sheyo asked him. “It’s like...it’s like…” (M/N) looked back outside the window. “Like a ripple through the force.” Suddenly three large Imperial Star destroyers jumped out of hyperspace, followed by another three. The alarms started blaring. The Star Destroyers began to fire down on the ships protecting the ring. “Shields up! All pilots to their fighters! Protect the Shipyards with your life!” The captain called out.

All around them the crew ran around to their stations. The captain stood giving his orders to the bridge command. Sheyo stood next to (M/N) both watching the invading force. “So your vision was right, they somehow snuck their way here.” The two watched as their fighters launched from the ship and began their counter assault. Just then Janai and Master Dia arrived on the bridge. “Status?” Janai asked, her command voice showing. “Six Imperial Star Destroyers. Three to sectors 34-36, another three to 67-69. They’ve cut off the Hyperspace Lanes  for us, We have enough ships to hold them off...but I’ll be honest. It doesn’t look good.” The captain spoke to her. The cold feeling got stronger. Returning to the window, (M/N)  looked across the battle and witnessed a small light of blue appear and began to open up. It was just like the portal back in New York. “Heads up. He’s here.” Through the portal, a massive cruiser started to come through. Larger than the other star destroyers. “What...how is it doing that? Is it new hyperspace technology?” The captain asked. “We’ll get to the answers later, for now we have to get aboard that ship. Come (M/N) it’s time.” (M/N) turned from the window and walked off the bridge with his mother, Sheyo and Master Dina. 

“Are you ready for this? I know you’ve been training for this but...it’s always different when the time comes.” She gives him a quick glance, a worried expression on her face. “I’m ready. Don’t worry about me master, just stay focused.” With that he walked past her a bit towards the hangar. Entering the hangar, the four of them met with three other jedi knights in front of a shuttle. The group of jedi gathered around a holographic table. “We’re all here today to defeat an enemy of the republic and defend Kuat.” Janai started her speech. (M/N) listened, but knew what was to happen. He needed to defeat Kren and retake the infinity stone. “This right here is our Strike Team. You’ve all been chosen for your talent and skills. Each of us will be challenged when we board that cruiser. Let it be clear, there is no option, we either capture Kren or kill him. He cannot escape.” She quickly went through a strategy of how they’d go through the cruiser. (M/N) paid attention but he already knew what he needed to do, face Kren. “Alright, everyone to the shuttle. Let’s end this.”

The Jedi task force, seven in total, boarded the shuttle. On board Sheyo Sat next to (M/N), Janai opposite them. (M/N) could feel the tension in the shuttle, the jedi might have been taught to let go of their emotions...but that’s easier said than done. The sound of roaring engines and the rough jolt of launching signaled to the party that the shuttle had launched. The mission had begun. Every now and then, the shuttle would jolt from explosions outside. They didn’t have any windows to look out of but they could tell that the battle was large and a heavy firefight was being waged. (M/N) could feel the fear, the anger, the sadness all sorts of different emotions from everyone on the battlefield. He thought of his friends, his family, Kren. He knew he had to face him and end him once and for all.

The relatively silent shuttle ride soon came to an end, it was about time (M/N) had thought. The pilot had informed them they were about to pass into the enemy hangar. The entire strike team stood at once and prepared themselves. “This is it. Everyone remember the plan and the ultimate goal, find Kren and stop him.” Janai called out. The sound of blaster fire hitting the shuttle could be heard and we knew it was time. “Go! Go! Go!” The strike team jumped out of the shuttle lightsabers ignited. Fighting alongside seven jedi was a lot different than with the regular squad, instead of one person with a lightsaber and the force, everyone had them. The team was easily able to cut through the enemy forces and capture the hangar.

“No sith yet, but I would expect to see them soon. Definitely as we get closer to the bridge.” (M/N) said.

“I agree. But I must say I expected to see maybe one or two here. We should be careful.” Master Dia said. “Alright, let’s continue on. Everyone keep moving, we need to be quick and careful.” 

The team had left the hangar and began rushing down the corridors of the destroyer. Janai was in the lead of course, (M/N) and Sheyo taking up the back to stop any followers. The halls of the destroyer seemed so...cold and desolate, he wondered how anyone was able to walk through these halls and stand tall. Most of the offensive had come from the forefront so Janai and the other jedi had already taken care of them before they could reach the other two. As they continued to run down the hall had started to fall behind a bit, not by a lot...but enough for the blast doors to cut them off from the rest of their group. “Karabast.” (M/N) Pushed his lightsabers into the door and tried to cut his way through. “Hold on! I’ll cut us a path through!” Suddenly a blaster bolt hit the door. “No time! We got company!” Sheyo called out. (M/N) retook his sabers and helped Sheyo block the incoming fire. Pressing down onto his communicator he called to his group. “We got cut off. Taking heavy fire, will find another way forward, you all keep to the plan!” His mother's voice went through the comms but he didn’t hear as he pulled Sheyo down another hallway. “This way come on!” The two ran down the halls, deflecting bolts when they could. “Well...this is a fine mess we’ve fallen into!” Sheyo called out with a laugh. “Shut up Master Kenobi!” (M/N) answered with a laugh of his own. It was nice, that even in a time of crisis and uncertainty he still could laugh with his friend.

(M/N) couldn’t help but laugh as he ran through the destroyer. The hallways reminded him of the helicarrier back on earth. His father had shown him around it the day after they met, it was pretty incredible if he could say so. This was like the dark version of that, it felt just desolate and deprived of happiness, except for the wicked, sinister kind. They passed a few halls which clearly were prison wards, they could feel the essence of the poor tortured souls left behind. 

There was static that came through their comms. “(M/N)! There was a change of plans...again. We couldn’t make it to the bridge right away, so we’ve made it to the engine room. We’re placing detonators to make the ship explode. You get to the bridge and We’ll meet you two there. May the force be-” The comms cut out again. “What’s with the comms? They come and they go. Think it’s Kren?” Sheyo asked. (M/N) nodded. “More than likely, probably to play a game with us. That means...we’re more than likely walking into a trap.” Sheyo chuckled. “Good thing we’re great at springing traps!”

The closer the two of them got to the bridge, the heavier the resistance was. The hallways began to be filled with more and more imperial troopers. This must have been the reason why the hangar wasn’t that well defended. The two shot back the blaster fire on the imperial troops and cut their way to the bridge. “Have I ever told you how cool I think your lightsabers are!? I’m jealous you have two of them now!” Sheyo called out over the fighting. 

“You gotta hurry up! You’re missing all the fun of having two Sheyo!” 

“Yeah yeah. Maybe I’ll have a double bladed one and I’ll be stronger than you!”

“You wish!”

After more fighting and playful banter, the two of them arrived at the blast doors of the bridge. They both could feel a strong force presence on the other side of the door. The familiar presence of the dark side was strong...but there was also something else. Something more powerful...the infinity stone. The grip on his lightsabers tightened. “You ready? We don’t have any back up...it’s just us.” He asked to Sheyo. “Always.”

The door slid open and the two of them walked in. To their surprise the bridge had pretty much been abandoned. The stations and computers laid abandoned, no sign of a crew...except for one. “Well well...If it isn’t my apprentice. Long have I waited for you to arrive. Now here you are. Watch as I destroy your precious fleet and bring glory to my empire.” At that moment (M/N) ignited his lightsabers and moved into a fighting stance. “I won’t let that happen.” Sheyo followed in her own stance. “So be it.”

(M/N) was the first to launch himself at the sith. His lightsabers swinging against the Chiss’ lightsaber. Sheyo came in from the side and tried to catch the dark lord off guard. Kren had definitely gotten stronger since the last time they had met, but so had (M/N). The entire time during the fight, he focused on his training from his mother...but also from the time he had spent with his father and the avengers. Having Sheyo beside him made him feel like it was finally an even fight

“I see you have trained for this. No matter, I’ll still be victorious and after I kill your friend I WILL make you kneel to me!” Kren shouted and went for a strike.

Sheyo was able to block and deflect his attack back onto him. “Oops. Sorry guess you’ll have to find a new life goal!”

The two continued to push Kren back. It was obvious that the sith had been too overconfident and had underestimated the pair. The longer the fighting continued on the more angry he became and the less coordinated he was. His swings became less accurate and his stance more lazy. It was working, they were getting close.

But just as the battle seemed to be turning in their favor, it changed just like that. Suddenly the ship rocked. Even during this (M/N) still swung at Kren, he wasn’t about to let the chance slip away from him. Then an explosion sent the three of them flying, knocking Sheyo out. (M/N) quickly got up, Kren was struggling to his feet. Looking out the bridge windows, (M/N) could see the imperial star destroyers had turned and were now firing on Kren’s ship. Sith betrayal at it’s finest. “Traitors! All of them! I’ll deal with them...soon enough.” Kren said, pulling out the infinity stone. “For now I must bid you farewell. We’ll see each other again, the force wills it.” With that, he opened a portal and walked into it. “Oh no you don’t!” He wasn’t about to let this man leave again...at least not with the stone. Using the force he called the stone to him. The sith had passed through the portal but his arm with the stone was still through it on the bridge. Once the hand was through the portal he could close it and be gone, (M/N) couldn’t let that happen. It was like a game of tug of war, who would win. In the end, (M/N) was the victor as the stone flew out of Kren’s hand and into his. With the stone out of his grasp, the portal shut, severing the part of Kren’s arm that was still on the bridge. While the chiss may have escaped again, he didn’t escape with the stone...or his arm.

The ship continued to rock from the fire it was taking. “(M/N) come in! What’s going on!?” His comms roar to life, his mother. “Master! The ship is being attacked by the other Imperial, typical betrayal.” “We can’t get to you! The way has been blocked.” His mother sounded worried. He wasn’t going to lie...he was starting to get worried too.

“We’ll be alright. You all get back to the shuttle and get out of here!”

“What about you?”

“I think I know another way out of here! Now go!”

His mother didn’t respond for a while. “May the force be with you-” The comms cut out.

He turned back to Sheyo, who had begun to stir. “(M/N)- what happened? Did we win?” He shook his head. “Not how I was hoping, but enough. Now...we need to get out of here. Can you stand?” She tried to stand, but only let out a pained grunt. “No...my leg hurts. I need to see a medic soon.” The bridge shook. “Well first we have to get out of here. Here, hold on.” (M/N) wrapped his hand around Sheyo’s shoulders and focused on the infinity stone. He thought of escape, thought of getting out of there. Soon he felt the stone power up and soon he and Sheyo were engulfed in blue. When the blue light stopped and dispersed they were not on the ship’s bridge, they weren’t even back on the lightbringer. (M/N) quickly recognized the sounds of the city and building structures. “What happened? Where are we?” Sheyo asked. (M/N) smirked knowing where the stone had brought him. “Earth. We’re on Earth.” 

Home. The stone had brought him home.

[cmkren]

— a human’s touch

; house x gn! reader

Maybe in some other lifetime romanticism wasn’t lost to House. That he had grown into a man capable of giving clear-cut affections— and capable of receiving it as well. The first ever puzzle he never wanted to solve, and it was of his heart. You, on the other hand, couldn’t give a damn about it all. You tied yourself to him after all.

In your lap, maybe that fact of House’s could be forgotten. For an hour or two.

a/n: i’ve never written for house, or house md at all. Currently in s4, and I’m just so attached to this crowd of misfits. I’m sorry if he ends up ooc— I just wanted to write something as close to fluff as I can with house LMAO 😭

tws; nothing you wouldn’t find in the show — 1.08k words

“What, are we playing mommy and her sexually frustrated boytoy? I don’t recall putting this into the search bar.”

“I don’t think you’re young and spry enough to be playing the pool boy in this scenario. Take as much offence as you’d want to that shocking revelation.”

Despite the very particular banter, nothing nefarious was happening in this scene. It was quite normal actually. In the tidiness of his apartment the two steeped in each other’s presence. Steeped may have been a strange word for it, but it fit the two. House was chatty like always, but even now and then he had grown quiet. Either getting caught by a specific feature of his partner (still thick on his tongue, not something he ever says really) or deep in his own thoughts.

What prompted him to make the off handed remark? Some might ask, especially when they were having such a peaceful moment!

The obvious answer would be because he’s House. What else was he supposed to do? The not-so-obvious answer was the strange feeling in his chest, as his head lay against the thighs of the person he oh-so cautiously let pull him down to such a position. If he turned his head sideways, you’d most certainly feel the prick of his unkempt beard.

He flexes his fingers, arms sort of kept… limp. Close to his chest. The pale blue of his eyes looking up to the other, brow wrinkled into a furrow as he felt awkward. He only allowed himself to be so hesitant for a second more before he went slack jawed and widened his eyes— a mockery of coming to another ‘revelation’.

“Oh! Pray tell me then, what are we?” Spoken like a young teenager picking out lines from a rom-com they watched the day before to aid them in romantic endeavours. His arms even moving just the slightest to resemble a ‘gosh darn it!’ kind of movement. That garnered an amused noise out of you, your hand very gently resting atop his mess of hair.

“Not we, you. What you are, is a man who can’t even sit still and let me dote on you. So I resorted to,” your free hand gestured to him. Legs stretched and resting on the arm rest of his couch, his head comfortably in your lap, “this.”

Then it was House’s turn to give a little snort.

“What you’ve resorted to is crippling a cripple. Can’t move! Should I go dial 911? Or are you going to kick my legs from behind just as I reach my phone?” This time, there wasn’t any sort of sound akin to laughter. Instead, you gave the hairs atop his head a bit of a tug. A warning.

A grunt left him, his eye wincing a little from the sensation but his wit outran any sort of complaint, “Pineapple! Oh— right we aren’t doing anything like that.” He still shot you a half-hearted look. All the playing around didn’t get him anything but a gentle expression though, a soft look in your eye that said that you would put up with him more than he could ever dream of.

A look he’d seen, but never truly appreciated. He wasn’t quite sure if he did so, even now.

“I would tell you to stop being stupid, but I know I could never stop that.”

“Wow, thanks.”

The way you leaned down to give press a kiss atop his forehead spoke to the fact that you never meant any malice or exasperation in their words. Sure, there was bound to be exhaustion, everyone had breaking points. You were always so lenient with him. Even if you wouldn’t admit that yourself.

Suppose in a way, they understood each other like that.

House didn’t react much to the kiss. You gave a lot of those, so. He didn’t say anything though, so that was either a good indication or a bad indication. 50/50, who knows maybe you should flip a coin.

“Good day at the hospital?” You mumbled, slowly twirling the short strands on his head, coiling them around your fingers. House’s face visibly relaxed, only flexing and moving as he responded. “Oh, yeah, like Santa’s little workshop there. Bundle of joy, fun bright lights.” He muttered, eyes closing for a moment.

Everyone knew that his days were full of pain. He made sure everyone knew, actually. Always made sure that everyone had to be dragged down with him. With you though, he toned it down. Just a little bit.

Your hand caressed the side of his face, gliding down the rough surface and down his scraggly beard. Mindless shapes formed along his skin, his eyes trained on your face. Whether your face would contort the longer you looked at him. As if waiting for you to have a revelation of your own— that he wasn’t who you wanted to spend your time with. That’d you’d wake up soon. Wake up from the dream you seemed so content with, him in your lap and the carefulness of your gestures.

“Something on my face?” Your hand trailed back up to his cheekbone, before pinching the skin there. A smile on your face, for him. For a moment, he stayed silent. Lips that were once parted were now pursed into a tight line, furrow of his brows suggested that he was thinking again.

The longer you waited though, the lighter your touch became. As if you were drawing back. An end to a gentle moment.

“No,” his hands shot up, taking yours in his own. His eyes firm, before they would soften and close as he brought your hands to his face. “Keep it this way a little longer.” For once, not a quip. A moment of genuine love, one that came out of him thinking this was all but fleeting.

In reality, you hardly moved at all.

You were just going to shift, hopefully making him more comfortable if he had felt the position a little awkward. Instead he cradled your hands as if they were the one thing keeping him off his pills. Even just for a short amount of time. Your shoulders went lax, tilting your head as you gave a faint smile. “Okay.” Was all you said.

“I’d rather have you touch me than the old reliables here,” one of his hands let go, giving a bit of a jazzy shake as if to emphasize, “god knows I’ve touched myself enough. Your hands are softer.” You snorted.

“I don’t doubt it.”

[inkybloom-luv]

BSJSBSJBSJDBD YOU DID HIM SO GOOD AUBSBDJABDBDBDBF

I am proposing, this is my proposal, marry me rn whejsbwudbshebeuebdvrhqbdbajrbabdh

A Sonnet for a Dancer

Forever in the background you remain

Just waiting for a time to be just you,

You hide your talents and your strengths: "Refrain

from showing all that you can truly do."

You have been told this all throughout your life.

Now, letting others stand in centre stage,

While working hard and pushing down your strife

So one day you may write on your own page.

I see the Jamil underneath the mask,

Raw talent and abilities shine through

Like diamonds, covered, but could also bask

In glory - bright, and proud, and strong, and true.

And like your dancing, it's a wond'rous sight;

Performing yourself your face becomes bright.

Tags: @dove-da-birb, @azulashengrottospiano, @inkybloom-luv

If you would like to be tagged in my future writing, please let me know!

[robhorninginternalexile]

museum minimalism

Since everyone has social media space to fill, everyone has come to operate like a museum, “curating” experiences and memories as images of their lives as deliberate, unfolding works of art. This in turn has inverted the conventional role of the art museum: It functions less as the repository of precious works meant to ground efforts to periodize and regionalize the history of cultural production and more as a place where visitors can stage their interactions with that history and appropriate it in various ways that the museum could ideally profit from. Museums have had to reorient themselves to become more photogenic, to announce themselves as iconic and immediately recognizable tourist attractions, in order to maximize the value of the images that visitors take and circulate of their visits.

But this is not some abrupt about-face trigger by phone cameras. It extends a trend that Rosalind Krauss discussed in her 1990 essay “The Cultural Logic of the Late Capitalist Museum,” when she pointed out a “bizarre Gestalt-switch from regarding the collection as a form of cultural patrimony or as specific and irreplaceable embodiments of cultural knowledge to one of eying the collection's contents as so much capital—as stocks or assets whose value is one of pure exchange and thus only truly realized when they are put in circulation.” 

Then, under “late capitalism,” “capital” was understood primarily as the works themselves as appreciating assets. Now, under what I guess must be “later capitalism,” capital takes the form of the tourist images the institutions can facilitate — the “experiences” it can commodify for the “experience economy.” But this too was incipient in the 1980s. 

Krauss cites a claim made by Ernest Mandel (if only everyone who mentioned “late capitalism” had to do this) that “overcapitalization (or noninvested surplus capital) that is the hallmark of late capitalism,” and suggests that art museums became sinks for that noninvested surplus. But the idea that there is all this surplus capital needing a harmless place to nest also explains the emergence of artists like Damien Hirst and Jeff Koons, whose main function is to make conspicuously expensive objects — under the alibi that this itself is an ironic social comment. 

But Krauss has a different kind of bloated and pretentious art in mind in her essay: Minimalism, which was being taken up as the pretense for museums’ vast expansion programs in the 1980s and 1990s. (She is writing about the genesis of MassMoCA.) Minimalism as an art movement  purportedly aimed to re-center viewing subjects in the uniqueness of their bodily perceptions of an object, yet it came to be the pretense for art museums’ conversion into massive Disneyland-like spaces devoted to art commodities. 

For Krauss, Minimalism undermines itself by using industrial processes to fabricate work that presuppose an ability to manufacture any number of pieces on the same specifications. The pieces — copies without “originals” — have no aura, which allows them to function as commodities, as tradeable assets rather than “irreplaceable embodiments of cultural knowledge.”   

But at the same time Minimalist works are announcing themselves as interchangeable, they are also taking up more and more space. Krauss cites then Guggenheim director Tom Krens, who posited that museums should cease being art historical and aim instead at inspiring the special aesthetic subjectivity in viewers:

The encyclopedic museum is intent on telling a story, by arraying before its visitor a particular version of the history of art. The synchronic museum — if we can call it that — would forego history in the name of a kind of intensity of experience, an aesthetic charge that is not so much temporal (historical) as it is now radically spatial, the model for which, in Krens's own account, was, in fact, Minimalism.

Minimalist art, in Krauss’s account, was devoted to an “idea of a perception that would break with what it saw as the decorporealized and therefore bloodless, algebraicized condition of abstract painting.” It hoped to exist in some space beyond commodification, where the works were protected by being site-specific and devoid of semiotic content. By making viewers participants in the work, activating it by recognizing their limits in perceiving it, minimalist art supposedly restored an “immediacy of experience” in a world full of phony mass culture and programmed laugh-track responsiveness.     

This move is, we could say, compensatory, an act of reparations to a subject whose everyday experience is one of increasing isolation, reification, specialization, a subject who lives under the conditions of advanced industrial culture as an increasingly instrumentalized being.

That makes me think of this essay by Drew Austin, which argues that tech companies have succeeded in making the digital “space” we inhabit more instrumentalized, more centered on exchange rather than social reciprocity. And it makes me think of the contemporary turn to crypto-minimalism in social media that Kyle Chayka describes in The Longing for Less as a misguided attempt to mitigate that instrumentalization. Most of all, though, it is hard to read of a "subject whose everyday experience is one of increasing isolation” without thinking of quarantine conditions and our current renegotiations of space. If Minimalism was conceived as a rejection of relational aesthetics, as Krauss notes, then I can’t think of a less suitable kind of art for this moment, when people seem desperate for ways to relate to one another. 

Krauss argues how Minimalism failed in its own time; it constructed the museum as “hyperspace” and the viewer as a fragmented postmodern subject who is for some reason held to be incapable of “real” experience — they supposedly suffer from what Jameson called a “waning of affect,” the inability to maintain a sense of identity with any depth or continuity. 

The post-postmodern condition seems different. The problem is not a subject who has traded “affect” for “intensity” in a vast field of surfaces and signs. The Minimalist project hasn’t been betrayed by the decentered subject’s vertiginous fall into commodification and commercialization. It now succeeds on its own terms too well: The “perceiving subject” that Minimalism aimed to foreground has become the self-documenting subject that populates social media feeds — the viewer is not a body is space but a camera. The phone camera has given viewers the ability to reify their own gaze and circulate it as a commodity. Minimalist art has become Instagram cliche. 

In other words, the problem with postmodernism was not the decentered subject but the kinds of media that were invented to reconsolidate the subject under the sign of a rising neoliberalism, and the possibilities for image-driven “human capital.”

When Krauss’s essay ran in October, it was illustrated (presumably with a heavy dose of irony) with an image of a James Turrell light installation, the whole point of which is its experiential unphotographability. The work is not the light itself but how your eyes adjust to it and your perception of it changes over time. Now Drake can make a video inside a copy of a Turrell work, and no one can doubt that he is in earnest.

[edourado]

This is just a lil bitty something, just to kick me into writing again. Just some domestic fluff for you.

Much love.

———

Together

The thing that gets to him most is that she was always so happy to see him.

Always, every damn time, and that happiness just did something to him, made him swear to himself all over again that he’d be worthy of that smile.

And that anxiety from before, all that fear of danger and his demons and his own reservations, she slowly worked them away, little by little, every time she turned her head towards him and smiled, happy he was there.

“No, no, don’t go”, she asked, arms tight around him when he said he had to go back to his own place, he needed clean clothes, he needed to air the space out, he needed to see if the building was still standing, but she never wanted to let him go. “Stay here, just one more night.”

“You said that three nights ago”, he replied, his own arms around her, hands running up and down her back, and yeah, of course he was reluctant to leave.

“Well, because this is ridiculous, don’t you think?” She leaned back, all blue eyes and the air of someone who’s right. “Why don’t you just… Stay here?”

Frank looked back at her, almost saying those words, that she couldn’t be serious, she couldn’t actually want him in her space with her all the time, but she blinked up at him, eyes determined, and her hands caressed his face.

“You’re here all the time, anyway. I don’t like it when you leave, you’re spending money on an horrible place you don’t even like, why not just do us both a favor and just stay here?”

“You sure you want that?” He tried, surprised again at how deep his feelings for her actually ran. “Someone messing up your place?”

“You’re the neatest person I have ever met in my entire life”, she argued.

“You’d have to share your closet.”

“Not a problem. You’ll just might have to cram your shoes a little, but I don’t have that many clothes.”

“I don’t have that many shoes”, he blurted out, out of nowhere, and she smiled so big it made him smile, too.

“There you go”, and a kiss, like they had just settled it, and then she was letting go of him and walking towards the closet. “I’ll go with you. Well get the rest of your things, and you’ll tell the landlord that you’ll be giving the place up.”

“Karen.”

She looked at him, unfolding the jeans in front of her.

“Give me one good reason why you should keep that place. Just one.”

She did have a point. It was a shitty, shitty place, the walls thinner than paper, and he was never there anymore. He never wanted be to be there anymore.

Ever since he saw Karen again, killed Pointdexter to save her life, and ever since she told him all about Fisk and his personal grudge, he was reluctant to leave her side. Even more so ever since that first night, when he finally stopped fighting and decided to give them a chance, give himself a chance, it was so difficult for him to leave her, now.

“Plus”, she completed, fastening her jeans and walking back towards him. “I thought we both agreed that it’s safer for me with you. Right?”

“Right”, he agreed, closing his eyes when she walked past him with a hand on his face, a quick caress to settle the subject.

“Alright, then. If you must pay rent, you can split the one from this place with me.”

Frank smiled and watched her pick up her purse.

Hours later, on the way back, his car loaded with the rest of his clothes, books, and the little other possessions he had, she looked at him and said she wanted a burger.

“With beer. And something sweet after.”

They ate their burgers leaning against the hood of his car, cold beers to wash it down, looking at a bridge they had flirted and then argued by, once upon a time, when she had to put flowers on her window to reach him. She ate double stuff Oreos on the way home.

“I buy Oreos in bulk, by the way”, she informed him after insisting he ate one, too. “Keep that in mind.”

“Yes, ma’am”, he replied, kissing her knuckles, her fingertips coated with crumbs.

It took almost no time at all to put his things away. She quickly reorganized her clothes to make room for his, put on her planner to buy some shelves for her shoes, because his had to be crammed after all. Most of his guns were in the… “Office” he and David kept, but the ones he kept with him found suitable places around her - their - apartment: on his nightstand drawer, behind the cleaning supplies in the bathroom cupboard, a special knife behind the cutlery door.

Books were organized among hers, she let him do that. His computer sat a little behind hers on the desk, he let her do that. His coat hung neatly by hers on the hook by the door, and she grazed a finger over the sleeve.

“This lives here, now”, she said, admiring the coats hanging side by side as if they were more that just two coats hanging side by side. She turned to him, smiling simply, and then back to the door. “Oh, one more thing!”

Frank watched as she opened the door, walked outside to the other side of the hall, and stood on tiptoes to reach the edge of the electric panel door.

“Your key!”, she said, smiling again, closing the door behind her, walking to him and handing him a key, somewhat ceremoniously. “We can get a new one made later, but for now, you get this one.”

Frank looked at the key sitting on the palm of his hand. It was rusty, stained on the base, it felt rough to the touch, but it worked just fine. With a small sigh, he looked at her.

“Guess its oficial, then?”

She nodded once, with vigor, and her hair tumbled from behind her ear to graze her cheek. “Yes, sir”, she confirmed, pushing the strands off her face again. “No turning back, now.”

They fell asleep on the couch watching TV, and when he woke up, she was curled up against him, and the TV showed a message that asked “are you still watching?”

Usually, this would be the time he would use to sneak out, while she was sleeping and couldn’t talk him - kiss him hug him whisper him seduce him undress him - into staying. Usually, he would place a soft soft soft kiss on the top of her head and tiptoe to the door.

This time, there was nowhere else he needed to be, no apartment he needed to go back to, he was home. For the very first time since he woke up in a hospital bed with a bullet wound on his head, he had a home. And it had nothing at all to do with the address.

Karen had been his home for much, much longer than he realized.

Turning the TV off, Frank ran his hand on Karen’s arm, touching his lips to her forehead when she stirred.

“Let’s go to bed”, he whispered, and she stretched and rubbed her eyes before she got up. He put his arms around her while they walked to the bedroom, the floor was cold under their feet.

He hugged her to him again once the covers were over them, and she settled more comfortably against him.

There were, still, a million reasons in his head of why he should not do this. Each of them getting weaker by the minute, and her skin against his own skin strengthening the argument that this, right here, was home.

Period.

.:.

It began the very next day.

They had all heard about the virus, a nasty little thing that was making its way, fast, over the world.

David had called to invite Frank to stay at the house with him, Sarah and the kids, and he was touched, because Leo shouted that she could show him all the new books she got, and when Frank, after thanking them, declined the offer, he insisted.

“You sure? I mean, no offense, man, but your apartment really sucks. You’re in more danger isolating there than at an airport, I’d say.”

Frank chuckled.

“You’re not wrong”. He looked over at Kren, who was sitting on her desk, on the phone with either Nelson or Murdock. “That’s why I gave it up yesterday.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I moved.”

“You moved? Where did you- oh! Did you- did you move in with Karen?”

He could hear David’s excitement over the phone, and he rolled her eyes? But his mouth curved in a smile anyway.

“Yeah.”

“No shit! Wow, man, way to go! I’m happy for you. For you both, really. HEY SARAH!”

There was a whole deal after that, where Sarah took the phone to express how happy she was for him, and they both filled Frank with questions, and he only answered because he owed that family a whole lot.

In the end, Sarah gave him a bunch of instructions he didn’t need on how to take care of himself, how to properly wash his hands and not buy too much toilet paper, they sent their love to Karen, and then he hung up.

A few minutes later, Karen also hung up, and they looked at each other.

“Regretting that decision yet?” He asked, only half joking. She furrowed her brows in confusion.

“What decision?”

“That key you gave me.”

She clicked her tongue and got up from her chair.

“I’m happy we did it yesterday. All we have to do now is some grocery shopping, a run to the drug store, and hope this thing runs its course quickly.” She sat next to him on the couch, her body turned towards him. “If you weren’t here already, I’d be calling you right about now. This social distancing thing…” She leaned into him, her lips grazing his softly. Frank closed his eyes. “I’d much rather do it with you.”

Frank smiled, and leaned in further to kiss her properly.

“Yeah.”

He was home.

Period.

[mindutme]

17. Kakhmikrn

Kakhmikrn [kəx.ˈmi.kr̩n] means “calligraphy.” In my first Lexember post I wrote about kren “to write,” from a compound meaning “scratch speak.” The first writing of Mindutme was made by scratching or carving hard materials, but after not too long the use of ink for writing began. This was distinguished by calling it *kɛxmɛi krɛn “ink writing,” which became kakhmikrn. This eventually came to refer to a new style of writing which emphasized flowing connected letters rather than the original separate forms. Although speakers of modern Mindutme typically use ink for both disconnected and connected writing, they still call the connected form kakhmikrn.

I’ve only been showing the kakhmikrn style of writing in most of these posts, but here’s the same word in the disconnected style for comparison: