#After 5 Years Of Relying On Medication

[alcohol-eyes]

.

[missmatchablossom]

summary: you've been helping your neighbor, gojo satoru, out by babysitting megumi. when megumi's catches the flu, gojo relies on you for help.

a.n.: megumi is ~4-5 years old, and is extremely attached to you. a little angsty, mostly fluffy, a sprinkle of smut at the end. cursing, female reader.

~

The first time Megumi got sick, Gojo panicked. Not the frantic, frenzied sort of panic, but the quiet, desperate kind that he did his best to hide. But you noticed it - the way his fingers trembled, the way he barely looked you in the eye, the way he repeatedly ran his hands through his hair.

It was usually you who made the elevator trip up to Gojo’s high-rise loft to babysit Megumi a couple of days a week. That’s why it took you aback to see him at your door at 11:53 at night, looking stricken as he told you Megumi refused to eat all day and started throwing up. 

You followed him to his place immediately, your heart squeezing at the sight of Megumi bundled up in his bed, his little face scrunched up in discomfort.

“Hey sweetie, you’re not feeling so good?” you cooed, kneeling as you placed your cheek against his warm forehead. He shook his head, though his flushed cheeks and labored breathing were enough confirmation that he was sick.

“He’s running a fever. Probably a cold, but you should take him to the ER just in case,” you told Gojo, watching as his shoulders tensed. He was slightly older than you, but still young to have a child; you could imagine how anxious he was feeling about Megumi’s first ER visit.

“I can come with you,” you offered, watching his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

“Please,” he said lowly, looking at you like you were his salvation.

You made quick work changing Megumi out of his sweat-soaked clothes and prepared a small bag of his favorite snacks and toys. You caught a glance at Gojo’s awe-stricken face before you scooped Megumi into your arms and followed Gojo to his car. 

The silence in the car ride was heavy, Gojo’s stress was obvious in the way he gripped the steering wheel so hard his fingertips turned white.

“He’ll be okay. I’ll be here until he is,” you said gently.

His eyes flicked to you for a second before he swallowed roughly. He nodded, murmuring his thanks before you lost him to his thoughts.

Megumi was seen within the hour, the perfect patient as he allowed himself to be examined without a fuss (As long as you held his hand the entire time).

“It’s the stomach flu, pretty common for this time of the year. I’ll send you home with some medications, just be sure to keep him hydrated,” the doctor said.

“Let mom and dad take care of you, alright Megumi? You’ll get better in no time,” she said kindly, patting his head as he nodded sleepily. You looked at Gojo, waiting for him to correct her. But he didn’t.

As soon as she left the room, Gojo sank into the chair, exhaling heavily as he placed his head in his hands. It was strange to see a man so proud and confident to look so…tired. So human.

You stood between his legs, gingerly laying your hand on his shoulder.

“See? Megumi will be just fine,” you said, swiping your thumb back and forth over his skin.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt scared like that,” he admitted, reaching up to cover your hand with his.

“It’s how you know you’re a parent,” you said, moving your hand to cup his cheek.

He finally looked up at you, a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and something else painted in those eyes of his. You watched him wordlessly as he leaned into your touch, his long lashes fanning across his cheeks. 

After a beat, his eyes snapped open, looking downwards as a sleepy Megumi tugged at his pant leg.

“Home now please?” he asked groggily, barely able to keep himself upright.

The two of you laughed as Gojo lifted him into his arms, Megumi settling his head on Gojo’s shoulder. 

“Let’s go home,” he said, wrapping his jacket around Megumi. You could’ve sworn he was looking at you as he said it, though.

~

Sick Megumi was unexpecedly clingy. The first few times you babysat him, you were taken aback by how quiet and independent he was. Most kids his age demanded constant attention, but he was happy to be left alone with his two dogs. You did find out that shadowpuppets was a surefire way to get him to laugh, though. 

You tried getting Megumi to rest in his bedroom, but as soon as the preschooler realized you weren’t right next to him, he’d get up to wander Gojo’s loft, tearfully calling your name until he found you. That's why you decided to settle down on the leather recliner in the living room, Megumi asleep on your chest with a blanket draped over the two of you. You were immersed in your Kindle before the sound of the front door unlocking dragged you back to reality.

Gojos strolled in, stopping in his tracks when he noticed the two of you. His sharp eyes eyes softened as he approached.

“Welcome home. You’re back early,” you greeted quietly, your heartbeat quickening as Gojo lowered himself to a crouching position so he could sneak a look at Megumi’s face.

His eyes flickered to yours, full of emotion you couldn’t quite place. He swept a few strands out of Megumi’s eyes, studying him like he needed to confirm that he was breathing.

“I may or may not have snuck away,” Gojo mused, eyes full of warmth and mischief.

“Careful, or this one will begin picking up some bad habits,” you teased, rubbing Megumi’s back as he stirred.

“Nah, he’s too much of a goody-two-shoes. Besides, there are more important things than work,” he said fondly, and the way his eyes flowed between the two of you while he talked, it felt like he was talking about you too.

You averted your eyes as you blushed, thankful that Megumi chose that moment to wake up. 

His little fists rubbed against his half-closed eyes, looking between you and Gojo like he was wondering if he was dreaming. 

He reached his hands out towards Gojo, who readily scooped him into his arms.

“Alright, I’ll get going then. I already gave him his meds and a bath so he should be okay for the rest of the night,” you said, gathering your things as you sat up.

You leaned forward to kiss Megumi goodbye, only to be stopped by the tears welling up in his eyes and the grip his hand had on your own.

“Don’t go,” he said, almost making you cry with how sad and adorable he was. 

“Not fair Megumi. You don’t even cry when I leave,” Gojo teased, rubbing his back as you laughed.

“Gojo is home now my love, I’ll see you tomorrow though! I’ll already be here by the time you wake up,” you promised, wiping the tears from his soft cheeks.

Megumi sniffed as he shook his head, reaching his arms out towards you. You took him back into your arms, giggling at Gojo’s feigned hurt expression.

“I’m hurt, Megumi,” he said, making a show of wiping fake tears from his face.

“Oh no, look how sad he is Megumi! Don’t you want to spend some time with him?” you said, inching closer to Gojo, whose arms were outstretched.

Megumi looked at him for a second before shaking his head, burying his face in your neck. 

You laughed even harder at Gojo’s expression, unable to find Megumi anything except utterly adorable. 

“Fine, I get it. I would’ve chosen her too,” Gojo said, throwing you off with the affection in his smile. 

“I can stay untill he falls asleep,” you mouthed to Gojo, hoping he could read your lips. He smiled at you before leaning into your space, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

“Or you could stay for dinner. As a friend, not a babysitter,” he whispered, sending shivers down your spine. 

“I couldn’t impose,” you replied, a bit more breathlessly than you intended.

“Nonsense. I’ve been dying to cook you dinner while you sit prettily in that chair,” Gojo said, seemingly pleased at the blush revisiting your cheeks. 

How could I say no to that?

~

The sun had set long before you were finally able to get Megumi to bed for the night, the moonlight seeping into Gojo’s living room through the enormous windows.

You allowed yourself to sink down onto his couch, the exhaustion from the day wearing on you. Though Megumi’s fever finally broke, he could barely keep his food down today, forcing you to go back and forth bathing him, changing his bedsheets, and cooking different meals to see what he could stomach.

The click of the door being unlocked made you jump, the familiar sight of Gojo making you forget about how tired you were.

He sauntered towards you, looking so enraptured that he didn’t speak a word. 

You froze as you understood why. The usual modest clothes you had on were long forgotten after repeated trips to the bathtub to wash the vomit and sweat off Megumi. The chaos of the day left you in your underclothes -  a thin tank top and cotton shorts - which Gojo seemed to be studying as though he’d never seen them before.

“Welcome home,” you began shyly, sitting up as you attempted to cover yourself with a pillow.

“Sorry about the outfit. Long day,” you continued sheepishly.

Gojo’s eyes finally snapped up to yours, somehow making you feel more naked than ever.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, something unreadable in his tone. 

He changed out of his work attire - taking off his watch, loosening his tie, and stripping off his jacket. Completely normal things to do when you get home. But he captivated your attention, unable to tear your eyes away from him. 

“I can’t believe I’m jealous of a child,” he said to himself as he sat to join you on the couch, looking sinfully handsome with his hair tousled and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

“What do you mean?” you pressed, feeling your self-control begin to slip as you smelled as his cologne wafting towards you.

“Megumi gets to be with you all day. Gets to hug you, hold you, lay his head on your chest. I’m jealous,” he drawled.

You heard it again. That voice in the back of your head begging you to give in to the pull you constantly felt towards Gojo. 

You dared to inch closer, well aware of his gaze roving up and down your body.

“You can do those things,” you said slowly, never breaking eye contact with him. And just like that, he snapped.

He was on you instantly, pinning you to the back of the couch as his lips moved against yours, desperate and demanding. 

You kissed him back with the same fervor, shamelessly roving your hands over the smooth expanse of his chest, until you reached his hair. His silvery locks were just as silky as you expected, and you couldn’t help yourself as you gave them a light tug.

The deep, guttural sound that came out of him sent a wave of pleasure throughout your body. You felt your breath leave you as Gojo laid you on your back, positioning himself between your legs.

“I’ve wanted you since the day I saw you,” he murmured against your ear. His lips began moving from your jaw down your neck, causing you to gasp and squirm as he smiled against you.

“I kept myself on a tight leash for Megumi’s sake,” he started, trailing kisses across your shoulders.

“But you in that outfit? Fuck, I knew it was over for me,” he said, pulling back to admire how flushed and breathless he made you.

You grabbed the edge of his collar, tugging his lips to yours to return the favor. You wrapped a leg around his waist, pulling him even closer to you, his ragged breathing music to your ears.

“Fucking finally,” you said between kisses.

The sound of a thud coming from Megumi’s room caused you both to freeze. You rushed over to check on him, relieved to see he kicked his water bottle off his bed in his sleep. Sighing, you dragged the blanket back over his sleeping form, walking back to where Gojo sat on the couch.

His pupils were blown out, his lips bruised and swollen. 

“Maybe we should continue another time, I don’t wanna wake him up,” you said, surprised at Gojo’s lack of protest. Instead, he tugged you into his lap, placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Free your schedule next week. Megumi’s gonna spend a day with Uncle Nanami, and I’m taking you out on a date. And we’re gonna end the night in my bedroom, where you can be as loud as you want.”

[helen-with-an-a]

The Object that stood in the way of a World Cup pt. 3

Hi. So here is part 3 (again, this will have another part because I am determined to get it happy at the end; it's just taking me a while to get there ahahah). Big thanks to @lyak12 for helping me work out my issues with the fic <3

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Epilogue

Ona Batlle x Reader

Flashbacks are in italics

TW: Injury, R ain't ok mentally, suggestiveness

Description: R comes home from Australia to start her recovery

Word Count: 3.6k

You had required three surgeries in total to fix everything – an emergency one to save your leg, one to place the screws and realign everything and one to reattach the ligaments in your knee. The damage the tackle had done was extensive; your shin was splintered into 3, some coming through the skin, and the force of the collision ruptured your ACL and meniscus ligament, too. No one dared show you the video, and you weren’t bothered to look it up. Even though you couldn’t remember what happened, you’d have the scars for life. You had asked what the timeline was for when you could get back on the pitch. One doctor had said it was an if not a when. You didn’t like that doctor. It would be a when – football was your lifeline, your escape when times were tough. You didn’t know how you would cope with it. Your physios at Barca had said that when … if … you were back on the pitch, your playing style would have to change. They had told you in broken English that you probably would never play the same and would have to rely on speed and technical ability rather than strength in matches. But that was ok; as long as you were on the pitch, you didn’t care how you had to play, just so long as you could.

You flew back to Barcelona a month after the World Cup. You wanted to be back earlier, but you hadn’t been cleared to fly and definitely hadn’t been cleared to fly halfway across the world. The medical staff in Australia were lovely – sneaking you extra desserts, cheering every milestone, no matter how small, braiding your hair, and helping apply your moisturiser when you were too tired to do it yourself. Your family had only seen you that first day. You didn’t mind – you didn’t particularly like when they were around anyway. It was always too loud with them. The bad kind of loud. The Lionesses were the good kind of loud. They had piled into your room, staying as long as possible. Georgia had left you with her Tamagotchi, making you promise her you’d try to keep it alive. Being suitably distracted by the mountain of sugary sweets piled on your bed by Hempo, much to the horror of Leah and Sarina, you missed the way Lucy eyed you wearily.

You considered Lucy a big sister, especially since moving to Barcelona. She had been concerned about you since you arrived. The happy, bubbly young woman she had come to care for deeply had retreated back into the quiet shell you had been when you first joined the senior squad. At first, she thought you were just nervous – she knew how scary it could be to be in a new city without many friends. But after a while, she knew it was something more sinister. She barely saw you outside of football; you were always making excuses to avoid team bonding or insisting you needed to stay late to work on things. Things you already excelled at. She grasped just how badly something was wrong with the first international camp of the new year. She thought you would return back to your old ways, finally being around your old friends and not having to navigate another language. But that wasn’t the case; if anything, you grew even quieter – especially around Alessia and Ella. That concerned her the most – you were closer than family to those two. They could always be relied on to drag a smile out of you. So, she kept an eye on you. Quietly observing your behaviour.

Whilst you hated that you weren’t back in Barcelona as quickly as you wanted to be, you were glad you didn’t have to see Ona again so quickly. That night was the last time you had seen her. You hadn’t said anything as she took a seat across from you. She hadn’t said anything as you started to drift into an uncomfortable slumber. Only when she was sure you were in a deep sleep did she break her silence.

“Mai podré dir-te com ho sento,” she whispered. “Sempre t'estimaré. Espero que algun dia em permetis estimar-te de la manera que et mereixes.”

“Oni, I can’t speak Catalan, remember? You’re going to have to repeat that in English.” You laughed as she chattered away. It was an off-day and oddly warm in Manchester. You lay with your head in her lap, top tucked up into your bra, exposing as much skin as possible in an effort to soak up the summer sun.

“Sorry, amor. I’m just happy it’s finally warm here. It reminds me of home a little bit.” She carded her fingers through your hair as you snuggled your face into her stomach.

“Tell me about it?” You asked gently. You loved hearing the stories of her home, her childhood, her life back in Spain.

“There’s this little cafetería back home. It sells the best Crema Catalana ever. I don’t know what they do, but, mmmm ... es tan delicioso. It’s even better than my Mamí’s. It’s so pretty too. It’s got this really cool tiled pattern flooring and vines on the wall at the front. During the summer, they open all the doors and play music and …” You could listen to Ona talk all day; the excitement when she mentions her home is unparalleled. You could feel yourself drifting into sleep – the warm weather, her gentle fingers scratching at your scalp, her intoxicating smell that wrapped around you like a soft hug.

“Mmmm,” you hummed happily. "It sounds fantastic. I wish I could visit,” you commented.

“You shall. I’ll take you. You’ll come to see my home, we’ll do all the touristy things in Barcelona, and then I’ll show you all the local spots in Vilassar de Mar, prometo,” She vowed.

“Good. I …” you cut yourself off with a yawn, “I don’t want to see Barcelona without you.” Your eyes fluttered gently.

“You won’t. I won’t let you. You’re stuck with me for life, amor.” You smiled softly at her words. You liked the sound of being with Ona for life. “Ve a dormir, amor. I’ll be here when you wake up.” You nodded and allowed yourself to slip into a gentle dream.

Arriving home, it was easier to avoid Ona than you thought. You were still on strict instructions to rest. Alexia had tried to force you to stay with her. When that failed, Lucy had tried. You liked your space. You liked your private time. You felt like you could never fully relax around people … except for around Ona - that voice in your head reminded you. No! You couldn’t allow that voice to win. You had a recovery to think of now. You had compromised a little bit, though. You lived in the same building as Ingrid and Mapi, so you gave them permission to get a spare key cut. This allowed you to have people constantly checking on you without feeling like a burden on them. Alexia wanted a key for herself, but she lived on the other side of town, and you didn’t like dragging her so far from her usual daily routine.

To be honest, you were unsure if you wanted to see Ona. Alessia had quietly told you that you wouldn’t calm down on the pitch until Ona held you. In the extra month you were in Australia, you had come to terms with the fact you were still in love with her. You had tried to deny it when you initially came to Spain. But now it was just a fact you had to live with. That night in the hospital was so incredibly awkward … strange … nice. She had stood in a training top you were fairly sure was yours once upon a time, head hung low as she picked at her nails. You wanted to bat her hands away, to tell her to stop, but she had sat too far and out of your reach.

“I’m telling you, Y/N, something’s wrong with Ona”, Hayley whispered to you in the bathroom. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but she won’t stop picking at her nails; she’s really quiet. Something’s not right. I think something may have happened during the break.” You sighed deeply. You also think something may have occurred whilst she was in Spain. You had picked her up from Manchester Airport, and you could tell instantly something wasn’t right. 3 of her fingers were wrapped in plasters, and the others looked just as sore. When you extended your arms out to hug her, she looked a little apprehensive but stepped into your embrace anyway. No matter how much you wanted to keep her in your arms, you stepped away after a few short seconds. You had never seen her so tired, so different, so … you weren’t quite sure what had happened. You kissed her forehead gently as you ushered her to the car.

It didn’t take long for you to find Ona – she was sitting in your cubby after all. Despite your concern, your heart couldn’t help but flutter as you recognised your number on the hoodie she was wearing.

“Me gustas en mi ropa,” You said as you crouched in front of her, hands resting gently on her knee. She didn’t smirk like she usually would. She didn’t react when you started tracing gentle shapes on her bare legs. She just kept picking at her nails. “Oni… lo que le pasó?” You asked in the gentlest tone imaginable. She just shook her head, wiping a stray tear away. “No … hey, hey, hey, no. Oni. Mi niña hermosa. Don’t cry.” You surged forward. “Please don’t cry.” You didn’t know how to comfort her. You had seen her angry, you had seen her scared, you had seen her frustrated. But you had never seen her cry before.

You had eventually coaxed her into going home. You had waited until everyone had left—Hayley hurrying people along to let you deal with the situation. The force with which she gripped your hand left a sour taste in your mouth. You had kept your hand in hers the whole journey home and into your flat. You led her to the sofa as you lay down, pulling her on top of you.

“Now …” You started, “I’m not going to make you talk to me. But I can tell something happened when you were in Spain. I want you to tell me, but I’m not going to force you. Whatever you want to share that’s entirely up to you. But please, Oni … I’m not going to judge you, or laugh at you, or hurt you for telling me anything. Un problema compartido es un problema dividido, right?” You whispered as your fingers slipped under her jumper.

It took a while, but eventually, she told you. You held her as she cried over the conditions in the Spanish camp. You held her as she recounted the story of her being forced from her bed at 5 in the morning for a run and not being allowed to stop until she threw up or passed out. You held her as she ranted about how mean the coaching staff were to Pina, and when she had stepped in to intervene, she had it twice as bad. You held her as she eventually slipped into a fitful reprieve from the nightmare she had just returned from.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake Ona’s voice from your head telling you, you weren’t could enough for Barca. If she thought that before your injury, what would she think about you now? You were looking at a year off the pitch, at least, let alone having to train in a new style and learn a new way of playing that could have you set back even further. It echoed in your mind before behind, when you looked at yourself in the mirror, when you were with the team as they tried to help you feel better.

Most days looked similar for you in the first month you returned. You were still in a cast and brace, so you couldn’t do much. The doctors - and Alexia - had told you how important it was to establish and stick to a routine. So, you did. You woke up at 8.30 every morning. There was training – you obviously couldn’t go, but since all your friends had that schedule to stick to, so did you. You would go into the bathroom and have a really awkward shower; more often than not, you would flood the bathroom, then get ready for the day. Lucy told you that you needed to change out of your pyjamas every day, so you slipped on loose shorts and a shirt – your ‘day pyjamas’ you had christened. You had breakfast with Ingrid and Mapi before they left for training, and then you sat on the couch. All day. With your mind slowly descending into chaos over everything that had happened. And then you would hear the conversations from outside that told you some of the girls were coming round to see you, and you plastered a smile on your face as you asked them about their day, and they would ask you about yours. On non-training days, you granted yourself a lie-in. Keira and Lucy would come by with pastries from the bakery down the round and fresh fruit for you to snack on. You would sometimes have a Lioness Facetime if everyone’s schedules allowed.

You had yet to go to a match or the training facility, watch a game on TV, or even just play Fifa. But that would come with time; you would have to go eventually because that was where the physios and trainers were. People thought you were reluctant to go because of what had happened. Which you were … a little bit. The main reason that made you nervous about going was Ona. A picture of her on your timeline had sent you into a spiral for a good few hours. You were scared of what seeing her in person would do.

You had seen the picture of her in the Champions League promotion. And she looked so good. You had stared for far too long at her beautiful smile that still took your breath away, her chiselled jawline that you used to pepper kisses across when you cuddled up against her, her veiny arms that had made you feel so safe and loved, her messy bun that you had jokingly begged her to teach you how to do, her freckled cheeks that would sport a soft pink hue every time you complimented her, the dimples you would poke at when she was trying to be angry at you but failing miserably.

“Great game today girls, you played fantastically. And well done to Ona.” You were standing next to her in the post-match huddle, she shyly groaned as her achievements were recognised in front of everyone.

“Mi Oni’s got her name on the score sheet,” You sang out as you walked back down the tunnel, arms wrapping around her waist. “We need to celebrate.” A round of cheers from everyone echoed the sentiment. Just as you were about to separate to go shower, you felt Ona squeeze you gently. “Hm?” You asked, scanning her features for discomfort.

“Could we do something … just us tonight?” As much as she loved the girls, she wanted a night with you. Alone. She looked so adorable as she quietly mumbled her desires to you.

“Absolutely we can,” your smile reassured her. You pressed your hands against her cheeks quickly before turning to head to the showers.

You didn’t even bother with an excuse when you messaged Lessi and Tooney.

Y/N: Sorry not coming tonight - other plans x

Tooney: Rude

Tooney: Do these other plans involve a Spanish defender???

Y/N: Maybe x

Y/N: She wanted to do something just us

Lessi: I want details! x

Y/N: Nothing’s going to happen

Y/N: U know we r just friends

Tooney: And I’m just friends with Joe :p

Y/N: Its just a MOVIE NIGHT x

Lessi: If u say so x

Tooney: stay safe x

Y/N: ffs and I do say so.

Y/N: text me when ur both home pls x

Lessi: Will do x

Your other plans involved very little deviation from your regular nights. She had cooked for you like always, serving up a delicious paella that had you begging her for cooking lessons. Over dinner, you relived her goal from your perspective and forced her to tell you what she was thinking when she sent it into the back of the net.

“Now that you’ve started scoring, you won’t stop. I’m telling you.” She had laughed at your promise. “I’m being serious here. We need to come up with a celebration for you.” She just hummed and kissed the top of your head as she gathered the plates and took them to the sink.

Later, you were lying on the sofa watching a Spanish movie she insisted on, telling you how it was a part of her childhood and she needed to share it with you. You weren’t paying any attention. You were far too distracted by her fingers running up your spine. It was driving you mad in the best way possible. Your ear was pressed against her chest, her heartbeat comforting and peaceful as you burrowed yourself deeper into her.

“Estás bien?” Ona asked, your movements catching her attention.

“Yeah.” You responded. “I’m really proud of you, you know that, right?” You shifted again, this time drawing yourself up to cage her in with your arms. The blush reappeared on her cheeks as you stared intently at her. God, she was so beautiful. “And I’m really happy you came to Manchester. You make everything better.” You told her honestly. She was getting overwhelmed. You could see that as she avoided your gaze. You gently poked the place where a dimple appeared when she smiled. “Oni …” you waited until she looked back at you. “Puedo besarte?” You said as you stared at her lips.

“Sí.” This wasn’t your first kiss, drunk or sober. But this time felt different. You couldn’t explain it. Her soft lips parted as you licked the seam of her mouth.

You continued to make out lazily on the sofa before Ona broke away for some much-needed air. You didn’t care, though. Your lips just moved to her neck – you were careful not to leave any marks, no matter how much you wanted to decorate the pale skin with dark splotches that claimed her as yours. She whimpered and whined underneath you until she was begging for more.

“Por favour. Do something. Anything. Necesito más,” she implored, hands tangling in your hair as you pulled away.

“Relajarse. Let me take care of you.” You sighed into her skin.

You're just a quick fuck. Easy. Nothing more to me. Her wicked words bounced around in your head. God, she had really ruined you. That was the first night you allowed yourself to truly feel everything, every emotion you had suppressed and bottled up for the last 9 months. It was painful. Raw. Terrifying.

At first, you were angry — so, so angry. Pure, unadulterated rage bubbled up and over the top of your carefully constructed walls. You threw a vase. It shattered into pieces like your heart had done all those months ago. It was satisfying, but you wanted more. You needed more. You ripped apart a cushion someone gave you as a housewarming present. You screamed and raged and shouted your emotions.

Then you cried. It started as a few lone drops that quickly became a torrent of unstoppable, hot tears. The sobbing hurt. It was painful and gut-wrenching. You had never cried like this before, and that scared you. These were the tears of someone heartbroken, and desperate. You cried so hard you thought you were about to throw up.

When you came to your senses, you were standing in the middle of the living room – how you got there was beyond you – feathers lightly floating around you, the wall had a slight dent, and someone was knocking frantically on your door. You didn’t move. If it was Ingrid or Mapi, they had a key. If it was Lucy or Alexia, they knew where to find the spare set. If it was anyone else, you didn’t want to see them.

Strong yet gentle arms pulled you to a warm body. The scent that engulfed you was soft and sweet. Alexia.

“Está bien, cariño. Let’s get you to bed, sí?” She was too gentle. Alexia didn’t do this kind of comfort. She offered practical solutions, honesty, and tough love.

“I… I’m scared,” You admitted as she helped you twist into bed.

“I know recovery can be scary, pequeña, but you will do it. It will be hard. But you can do it. Te lo prometo, puedes hacerlo. Everyone is going to help you. You can lean on us. We're here for you, bebita.” She was misunderstanding what you were referencing. You weren’t scared of recovery. You were physically healing well. A physio had been sent to your house from Barcelona to assess you at home to see whether you could start your rehabilitation at the club. She had asked you questions, and you had given the right answers. Your scars were healing well, and you had the expected range of motion for your injuries. Physically, you were right on track.

You were scared of your own mind. In the month you had been home alone, you had thought hard about anything. Ona had really broken you, yet you couldn’t let her go. What did that say about you? You had always thought you were stronger than that. You used to never understand what it was like when people would go back to an ex-partner who had broken their heart. Ona was never even officially yours, and she had managed to do so much damage.

This is becoming a lot more intense than I had planned ahahah. Hopefully, the next part will be out soon.

[doctorofmagic]

Doctor Strange's disability: a (much needed) chronological review

In view of recent ableism and drama on the other social hellsite involving Doctor Strange's disability, here's my response, based on *CANON* material. (link to the thread on said hellsite here)

Stephen disability is established since 1963, back in Strange Tales #115. The story is focused on a flashback which portrays his journey from the decay of his medical career because of a car accident to his path towards the mystic arts.

Note that, in this very same issue, the Ancient One never says he would heal Stephen's *hands*, but perhaps Stephen would find the cure within. In other words, Stephen was supposed to heal his heart and soul from arrogance and egoism through magic, not a physical cure.

Also note that there are limitations within every aspect of comic books' universes. In this case, we're talking about magic. Magic is not a miracle thing. It demands training and, most recently as established by v4, a cost (Doctor Strange v4 #4).

Another clue that "magic can heal anything because it's fantasy" is not a valid argument within Marvel's magic world, as seen in The Oath. Stephen had access to the Otkid's Elixir, which could heal any disease, but the formula was lost in order to save Wong's life.

One last example comes from Spider-Man Family #5 (2007), featuring Morbius and Spidey. It establishes that healing demands the exact same price when it comes to magic.

Long story short, it's clear that the magic side of Marvel does not offer a solution to diseases through magical miracles. So this argument is totally invalid ~within~ this established universe.

Now back to Doctor Strange... No, he isn't using magic to heal his hands unlike some misleading accounts are claiming. In fact, there are several panels which show that he's actually in constant pain. Here's some examples:

- Doctor Strange - Sorcerer Supreme #48 (1992).

- Captain Marvel v10 #6 (2019)

- Doctor Strange v4 #1 (2015)

He also struggles to hold a pen and write, relying on magic to do so, as seen in the Book of the Vishanti.

Then comes the stupid argument I saw.

"Oh, but Google says his hands are healed!" is not a gotcha moment you think it is. We had FOUR MAIN BOOKS after that (Surgeon Supreme, DODS, Strange v3 and current v6). Allow me to clarify the details in chronological order.

Stephen indeed made a "magic" gamble and healed his hands. That much is correct. But it's not all (panels from Doctor Strange v5 #19 - 2019).

Waid continued this storyline in a new book called Dr. Strange (Surgeon Supreme), which would portray Stephen's duality as the Sorcerer Supreme and a brilliant surgeon. Except the book was cancelled at issue #6 (2020), leaving the character in a kind of limbo. Now enter MacKay.

MacKay kept a little bit of the former storyline as seen in Death of the Doctor Strange #1 (2021). On top of that, his hands appeared healed. However, that lasted only until Kaecilius murdered Stephen and stole his hands.

Stephen's temporal duplicate used a regenerative spell to bring original Stephen back through Kaecilius' body and the stolen hands. In here, we can see that his hands are scarred just like after the car accident (DODS #5 - 2022). OG Stephen died a second time with scars as well.

Stephen is indeed seen writing in v6 but it's not clear if he's using magic or not. Besides, he's not working as a surgeon anymore. Moreover, MacKay considers Stephen disabled as seen in this recent issue of v6 (#7 - 2023): "My own connection to the aether, the magic of the world, the power of the Vishanti, the power of the Sorcerer Supreme... Gone. Without all of that? I am just an old man with useless hands and a blade in his stomach."

In conclusion,

As of CURRENT DOCTOR STRANGE RUN by Jed MacKay and Pasqual Ferry, in the year of our lord Vishanti, 2024, Stephen Strange is a disabled character and no magic or ableism will erase that. Thank you very much.

[bellezaycafe]

Get Your Shit Together - Extra; a section of a DTS Episode.

Masterlist | Part 1

genre: 2024 Season AU

pairing: there will be romance but I haven't finalised who yet. platonic! oc x literally the whole grid.

warnings: lots swearing, major car accident, mentions of broken bones, blood and hospitals. A lot of shit happens.

context: Sadie, a 20 year old university student from Melbourne, decided to take a gap year and volunteer at 2 Formula One races in different countries.

Sadie's Faceclaim: Maia Mitchell (but you can visualise her however you want :) )

comments: READ CHAPTER FOUR BEFORE READING THIS. This is an extra and is not actually thaaaat vital to the story. I just know if this happened irl, DTS would 100% make an entire episode on it. This is gonna be so strange to write because DTS is a visual format but imma try for the cool perspective. You’re gonna need a good imagination.

*Drive to Survive theme and intro*

WILL BUXTON: Silverstone, the home of formula one.

LANDO NORRIS: It’s one of my favourite tracks, I love the support we get there.

BUXTON: Our hearts were in our mouths, in 2024. The title fight was ramping up!

CHARLES LECLERC: It was close.

CARLOS SAINZ: We were fighting, but it was horrific race.

BUXTON: It ended in shambles.

OSCAR PIASTRI: I mean, I was out in lap, 5 I think, it might’ve been 6.

BUXTON: No one expected five DNF’s.

LEWIS HAMILTON: I don’t know how it happened.

BUXTON: Let alone Lando’s accident.

NORRIS: I don’t remember much.

BUXTON: or the Mystery Medic.

*dramatic pause*

BUXTON: It was incredible, in a morbid way.

NORRIS: I was panicking

*onboard footage of moments after the crash, with radio subtitles*

NORRIS *onboard radio*: MY ANKLE, **** MY FOOT!

BUXTON: First, they catch Lando as he falls from the halo. He is in pain, and at one point you can hear him scream.

*onboard footage of the Mystery Medic catching Lando as he falls from the halo*

NORRIS: I knew it was my ankle or my foot. I’d never been in so much pain.

BUXTON: The medic starts to, essentially drag, Lando towards a safe section of the barrier. We could see that it was bad. We could see how much was relying on them and leaning on them, considering that he was taller than the medic.

PIASTRI: We could see that he wasn’t even letting it touch the ground.

NORRIS: “Keep it off the ground,” they told me. They didn’t have to, I was in too much pain anyway.

BUXTON: Then Sergio Perez approaches the accident.

TOTO WOLFF: There was debris everywhere, McLaren and Mercedes.

SERGIO PEREZ: I still do not know how I did not see it.

NORRIS: I didn’t know until I was on a stretcher.

BUXTON: You can see, if you watch the replay you can see, the moment the Mystery Medic hears Checo’s car.

*footage of the Mystery Medic turning their head towards the track*

BUXTON: Put the moment into slow motion, and you can see them make the choice.

*footage of the Mystery Medic putting both hands on Lando’s waist and switching to his right side*

BUXTON: To put yourself between a driver and a Formula One car? That’s either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

HAMILTON: Brave.

WOLFF: Stupid.

BUXTON: Either way, I don’t think Drive to Survive can show what happened.

*footage of Perez’s Red Bull striking black and papaya debris*

BUXTON: The medic barely stumbled.

NORRIS: If I hadn’t have seen it afterwards, I wouldn’t have known. I don’t remember it happening.

BUXTON: It was horrifying! They were walking, and almost carrying Lando, with a piece of debris in their thigh.

NORRIS: I’ve watched the replay. It was headed straight for me.

BUXTON: Watching it live was… it was awful! But you couldn’t look away.

*footage of everyone in the McLaren garage watching screens with various expressions of terror*

BUXTON: You had to know if they were going to make it.

NORRIS: They saved my life. Racing is my life, and if that debris had hit my leg? We don’t know what damage it could have done.

BUXTON: But there’s a reason we call them the Mystery Medic, and it may be a feat just as incredible. They did the impossible.

*seperate shots of Sir Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen placed side by side*

BUXTON: Lewis and Max worked together. They put their rivalry aside and worked together to keep the Mystery Medic a secret and we have no idea why.

MAX VERSTAPPEN and HAMILTON *in unison*: I’m not going to comment on that.

BUXTON: We don’t know their name. We don’t know who they are, where they’re from, or how they’re doing now.

*another dramatic pause*

BUXTON: It’s like they never existed.

[wasabijean]

‼️ART FOR DONATIONS TO PALESTINIAN FUNDRAISERS‼️

Hello! A few days ago I began kickstarting my own personal Art for Palestine Campaign on Twitter, and I’m bringing it over to Tumblr as well! By donating to the fundraisers linked below, I will draw you something!

Details on how to help are here!!⬇️⬇️

First, send proof of donation to this google form (I require a screenshot of receipt with name, amount donated and who you donated to.)

After receiving your form, I will then DM you on Tumblr, to let you know your place in queue on trello, and the Estimated time of completion for your art! I will send WIPs if asked.

Here is what to expect based on how much you donate, example drawings are in the google form, or search #my-art tag on my blog.

$1 - traditional full page notebook sketches

$5 - digital messy sketch 

$10 - digital clean sketch black & white/monocolor shading

$15 - digital clean sketch with color

$30 - (2 people) digital clean sketch and color

($40 - Three people)

($50 - Four people)

$60 - Clean Rendered Portrait (simple background, bust up)

$100 - Clean Rendered Full body, full background, full color

5. And here is the list of fundraisers participating, please donate to ALL of them, not just one!

Aya & Mohammed - Both torn by the occupation, them and their families are trying to evacuate Gaza. Mohammed is a survivor of IOF imprisonment for 20 days without outside contact.

Farah & her family - A 20-year-old english translator studying at Al Azhar University, Farah is young and has already gone through much. She and her family are trying to cross the border in Rafah.

Mahmoud Mush - A Palestinian graduate with dreams of establishing his Bakery, all his work undone by the bombings. He is determined to rebuild and pursue his dream no matter what.

Dounia Tanani & her family - A Palestinian mother who graduated as a translator and has been left homeless like many others. She and her family are trying to evacuate Gaza and begin a new life to raise her child.

Ahmed Almofty & his family - He is a recent graduate in Gaza with a promising future, and now he has no home or possessions. Ahmed's future relies on rebuilding his families lives.

Sondos Maher & her family - She is a 27 year old mother of three children who runs a family vlogging channel and now is trying to get them out of Gaza.

Nagham & her family - She is a third year medical student in Gaza who hopes to escape to Canada where her Gaza-born brother, Yasmeen, resides. To start her life anew for her and her family, they need to be evacuated!

Issa & family - They are apart of a family of 6, two of which are college students, while their youngest child is 12 years old. They are trying to evacuate and continue their children's education!

Hafez & his daughters - He is a father two young and bright girls, Malak, a 5-year-old with a love for school and his baby Habiba, born during the occupation. Please donate so they stay healthy!

Mostfa and his family – A young Palestinian body builder who has broke many records and set a precedent for his community, he and his family suffers from the occupation and sickness caused by it.

I will add more fundraisers for those who would like to participate, just tell me and I will add on to this via reblog. Palestine will be free, and it starts with helping the people who need freeing.

[em-dash-press]

8 Tips for Writing Crime Fiction

People love a good whodunit. It’s why there are so many crime fiction subgenres: detective fiction, courtroom fiction, thrillers, cozy mysteries, historical mysteries, and more. 

If you want to try your hand at a story centralized around a crime, you might wonder if you need detective experience or a lifetime in the actual crime world to make a great short story or novel.

Check out these tips to find out what you need to get started.

Tips for Writing Crime Fiction Stories

1. Read Crime Novels or Short Stories

When someone wants to become great at sports, they find a coach. When they want to start a new career path, they go to school or find a mentor.

If you want to write crime fiction and you’ve never tried it before, treat yourself to some new reading material. You can browse the latest crime novels or short story collections to see what readers can’t get enough of. As you read with the intention of studying the work through your writer’s eyes, you’ll learn how to pull a crime story together.

Pay attention to how the authors build tension, introduce new facts and pull characters together through the primary criminal act in the plot. Note whatever interests you or makes you excited to read the next page.

2. Pick Your Conflict

While you can have multiple types of conflict in a successful story, you should pick a primary conflict as your crime fiction plot device. The crime itself could kick off your story and push everything forward, or it could be what makes your story fall apart on purpose.

Will you write an interpersonal detective story or involve the criminals themselves? Maybe your narrative will center on a victim’s loved one who becomes your protagonist. Your primary conflict will shape your plot and help you create the best protagonist to carry your story.

3. Create Your Crime First

It’s not impossible to write a crime story without detailing the crime itself before you start writing—but it’s much easier. It’s especially important if you’re planning to write a novel because there are so many elements that rely on things like:

Who does the crime?

What is the crime?

When does it happen?

Why does it happen?

Where does it happen?

What’s the motivation for doing this crime (if any)?

What are the repercussions of this crime (for all of your involved characters and their world)?

You’ll spin everything out from the crime, so start by picking an illegal event you want to write about. If you need help, read newspaper articles or browse true crime documentary descriptions to make a list of possibilities.

4. Save Your Most Helpful Research Sources

The realism of crime fiction plays a significant role in interesting your readers. You’ll need to research so much when you know what your plot will hold and what crime it involves.

You might spend weeks, months, or even years reading about things like:

How your protagonist’s world works before the crime and how the crime changes it

How DNA profiling does and doesn’t work

How first responders and cops handle crime scenes

How people are treated by the media when they or their loved one are hurt in a crime

How the legal proceedings afterward work for your protagonist

Once you know how the framework of each element works, you can create plot twists by causing slight breaks in the systems. I highly recommend saving pictures, links, and detailed notes in digital documents like a Google Doc or spreadsheet. You can also use the resources listed here to find other ways to visually save your research.

5. Give Your Antagonist a Motivation

Many crimes happen because people plan them to their advantage. A robber steals money because they have overwhelming medical debt. A killer murders someone who hurt them in the past.

The motivations won’t always be morally right, but they have to exist. Make sure your antagonist has one before and after the crime occurs. How does the event change their motivations or goals? That’s essential to know to keep them grounded within their own realm of reasoning.

If you’re writing a crime that wasn’t intentional, there has to be a motivation carrying your antagonist forward in the aftermath. What’s making them make their decisions regarding how they cover up the crime or distance themselves from it?

Tips to Take Care of Yourself While Writing Crime Fiction

1. Check In With Yourself

It’s so easy to bury your emotional well-being while writing a dark story. You might want to finish it on time or get through a particularly gruesome part of the plot, but pushing your emotional state to the side will only lead to burnout or worse.

Check in with your emotions to see what you need throughout your writing process. Sit quietly by yourself and ask what emotions are present. Let them speak above your story’s needs or your other responsibilities. Then see if those emotions have been lingering for the last week or two. Journaling can help with this, but you can also record your thoughts in the Notes app on your phone or a spare piece of paper by your laptop.

You might need to step away from your work for a bit or write a more laid-back story to give your mind a break. Maybe a good cry will release the pent-up emotions from your hours of research into how cruel humans can become.

Writing about darkness doesn’t mean you have to be trapped in that darkness for however long it takes to write the story.

Take care of yourself first. You’re more important than any story.

If your mind ever starts to feel overwhelmed while you’re writing a story with heavy thematic elements or violent events, please get help. I highly recommend the sliding-scale therapy available through OpenPath (sessions can become as little as $30/hour). You can access licensed therapists in your area, arrange in-person or virtual appointments, and make each session fit within your budget.

2. Take Breaks

Pausing your creative writing for the day or even the week could be what your mind needs. Research shows regular breaks make people more productive because they utilize other areas of our minds and help us return with fresh energy.

It’s also important to take breaks for your emotional well-being. You may not feel as sucked into your antagonist’s (or protagonist’s) violent, dehumanized state of mind by walking away from your manuscript. Talk with someone you love, watch your favorite show, or go to that farmer’s market you’re always talking about.

It’s easier not to get caught up in negativity when you retain control over it through things like breaks.

3. Don’t Sweat Your Search History

Cops won’t show up at your door if you’re googling which artery pumps the most blood and how long it would take to bleed out if that artery opened. That’s not how the internet works.

There are very few odds that police will need your search history while trying to solve a crime one day. However, if it makes you uncomfortable, look into a VPN and use incognito mode (if you’re on Chrome. Firefox users can use Private Browsing.).

You can also avoid specific internet searches by watching true crime documentaries on a similar crime or reading books about similar cases. Do whatever makes you feel comfortable, especially if you’re writing a long-form manuscript that could take months or years to complete.

-----

If you’re interested in writing crime fiction, these are a few ways you can get started. Remember, you don’t have to write a perfect first draft. That’s impossible. All you need to do is start creating your world and use tips like these when you need help along the way.

[bookishbrewer]

⚠️ CW: Suicide, Toxic relationships, depression, mention of self-harm

Why I believe that House's story ends with tragedy post season 8 - an opinion piece:

Hello everyone, this is a remake of a post I did a couple years ago on an older blog. If you find it familiar, I'm sorry if this one is a bit messier than the original. It's been longer since my last rewatch.

So, let's recap the finale of House MD: Treating a drug addict patient results in House examining his life, his future and confronting his own personal demons.

As we know, House ends up faking his death in this episode, after going on a 2 day drug fuelled bender with his drug addicted patient. The patient ends up overdosing & dying, and House remains to confront his 8 seasons worth of demons. At the end he escapes the firery scene & fakes his death by switching his medical records. After all of that, he runs away with Wilson to spend his remaining 5 months to live.

Before House replies to what Wilson is saying, he thinks for a moment. I want try & piece together what was going through his head at that moment evaluating his life:

1. Every romantic relationship with House ends in heartbreak

Stacy

Season 2, Episode 11

Cameron

Season 3, Episode 8

Lydia

Season 5, Episode 23-24

Cuddy

Season 5, Episode 6 // Season 7, Episode 23

Dominika

Season 8, Episode 13 // Season 8, Episode 18

Every single one of these relationship was ended because House either deliberately behaved in a way that would push the love interest away or by breaking their trust. House was never actively malicious towards his partners, but he was not a very good partner. He was self centered, self loathing, very much focused on himself (even when trying to be as supportive & caring as possible) but at the end of every relationship, the women understood that they could not remain in a Healthy relationship with House. Either because he refused to tackle his addiction, his psychological distress & trauma or be honest with them and respect them as equal to him in their relationship.

2. House's relationship with his family

House was severely abused by his father, a military man, both physically & emotionally. His mother did not protect him from said abuse (probably because of feeling deeply guilty about her affair that gave birth to Gregory), which lead to him growing in an abusive houshold that was built on lies, dysfunction & distance (which partially explains his behavior in the show, especially his approach to human nature: "Everybody Lies"). House was never really close with his parents, so it would make sense that he would not rely on them for support in any way, not even in a life or death situation such as him feeling at his lowest in every aspect of his life. In addition to that, he may even doubt how much his loss would effect his parents if something were to happen to him.

3. House's suicidal ideation

House is shown numerous times in the show to not reject the option of ending his life. He actively tries to commit suicide twice during the show (Merry Little Christmas, season 3 episode 11 // Simple Explanation, season 5 episode 20), ponders it in the season finale (Everybody Dies, season 8 episode 22) but decides against it, choosing to fake his death instead.

In addition to that, he also indulges in self-harm in the form of cutting himself (also "Merry Little Christmas" & "Nobody's Fault"), intentionally hurting his limbs (leg - "Under My Skin", hand - "After Hours").

Like Wilson said, House cannot go back from that decision (similarly to how you can never come back from suicide). He can never have access his addictions: puzzles (medicine) & escapism (Vicodin & other drugs). We know how House gets without his meds, he becomes... A shadow of himself. Sometimes it's a violent dark figure, sometimes it's an apathetic & silent husk, sometimes it's a dark creature screaming in agony, sometimes it's just House, but something is off. Without constant puzzles, dissecting human nature & feeding his ego & emotional needs, he's lost.

Unlike other characters, like Dexter Morgan from the Showtime series "Dexter" House never treats suicide like it is somehow "beneath him":

Dexter speaks to Sg. Doakes, Season 2 Episode 11

Compare & contrast that to House's reaction to Taub pleading with House to try & understand Wilson's decision to discontinue his cancer treatment & to die with dignity:

Season 8, Episode 21

Just the thought of Wilson passing away before his time triggers House's suicidal thoughts. He disregards the patients & visitors in the background, the colleagues that may hear, Taub himself, everyone. This, in my opinion was the start of the "nothing else matters anymore" mindset. House was already at the end of his rope, and losing the person he loves more than anything else in the world was just... Too much.

4. House doesn't see a future without Wilson

In season 6, Episode 10, House refuses to be present during Wilson's surgery at first:

Wilson: I want you to be there

House, after thinking: No.

Wilson: Why?

House: Because if you die, I'm alone.

House cannot fathom the possibility of witnessing Wilson die. He cannot even consider for a moment to stand before Wilson's lifeless body & realizing that this is it, he is completely & utterly alone in this world.

We see multiple times that House not only cares deeply about Wilson, he is also dependant on him, to the point of the relationship often becoming toxic for both of them (hurting other relationships, sabotaging new ones, need for validation of both the relationship itself & both of them of each other individually, indulging unhealthy behaviors towards others etc).

But we all remember how that situation concluded:

House watching over Wilson as a big bright light washes over him as he loses consciousness. To me, this seems like foreshadowing for what's to come after the season finale, after those last 5 months.

Another thing that caught my eye was him stating "I can live without Kyle" (season 8, episode 20) when referring to a guy that stole Wilson's prom date when he was in highschool. He wanted to immitate said 'Kyle' for the entire episode, trying his best to act uncaring, aloof, "alpha". Essentially, to act out of character. But numerous times in said episode, Wilson still displayed the very same characteristics that both House and the audience love so much about him. So House affirms that he cannot live in a world without Wilson, just the way he is.

5. House is willing to preform a "mercy kill" for his close friends

In the episode "The Dig" (Season 7, Episode 18), House assures Thirteen, who's diagnosed with Huntington's, that he is willing to euthanize her when her Huntington symptoms worsen (this happens after Thirteen confides in House, telling him about how she killed her own brother after his Huntington symptoms worsened. House's reaction left Thirteen shocked, hurt & disappointed, as it seemed like he did not care at all. But we know he did, very deeply).

House gets a positive reaction from Thirteen, which is later also approved to the audience & the people in House's funeral when she states in her eulogy: "He was willing to kill me". Wilson, as we know, is also in the audience. He then knows that House is willing to preform a "mercy kill" on a loved one. He also mentions it in the finale:

Wilson: When the cancer starts getting really bad-

House, putting a halmet on: Cancer's boring.

I want us to return to the "I'm dead, Wilson" scene:

House is at a point in which he feels like he has nothing left to lose. He has no close friends that give him meaning besides Wilson, no family to rely on, no romantic relationship seems to last, he feels powerless when it comes to his addiction to drugs, he is facing jail time after accidently breaking an MRI machine with Foreman's ticket gift which he flushed down the hospital's toilet (which may as well cause him to be fired & lose his job and/or license to practice medicine, in addition to the fact he faked his own death).

We already know that House is prone to depression, self harm & suicidal ideation (including attempts), we've covered that he is willing to end a loved ones life if there is no medical solution to their health related state, we know that Wilson is not (to our knowledge up to the last episode) willing to go through any other treatment & we know that House cannot live without Wilson.

Adding all of this up & remembering the foreshadowing of Wilson's health related issue & House's course of action (watching over him as a bright light covers the screen as he loses consciousness) I believe that after those 5 months, when the cancer gets really bad, House will take Wilson's life... And then, his own.

This is essentially the end of the post, but I would like to add a few things:

Disclaimer: this post is not meant in any way to promote, encourage or agree with anything that supports one taking their own life, self harming or any other kind of self inflicted damage. This is just a theory based on how I've precieved House's character.

I am considering writing a short fic based on this post, and would like to know if anyone is interested in reading it.

Thank you very much for reading, have a good day 🙏🏼

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts no. 14

Danny gets thrown into the Blue Exorcist universe, saw how Rin was being treated and straight up kidnapped him when no one was looking and took him to another dimension/reality/whatever to keep him safe.

Rin, as you can imagine, doesn't take kindly to being kidnapped and tries to roast Phantom. The fact neither understands the others language did not help. Danny, taking a gamble, dropped his phantom form and raised his hands in surrender.

Rinse eyebrow twitched and he asked wtf he thought he was doing. Danny got an idea and raised a finger ask if asking one moment please before bringing out his phone and typing into Google Translate.

Things go better after that, Rins still kinda mad and demanded to be taken home but Danny refused, saying he wasn't going to send him back to a place that would treat him like that! The fight escalated until Danny confessed he died because people ignored the abuse and neglect from his home situation and he terrified Rin will face a similar fate. This finally took the wind out of Rins sails. Rin comforts Danny who may or may not be crying.

This is when the local heros show up because it turns out they landed in the dc universe. They realize they've pretty much melted part of the city they were in during thier fight and scram before anyone can get a good look at them. They're branded as mysterious villains almost immediately.

Danny and Rin take to stealing in order to survive and start teaching eachother thier language so they don't have to keep relying of the translation app. (Also they can't reliably recharge the phone) They're bonding and building up eachothers self esteem. Rin enjoys having someone who let's him protect them as a big brother should and Danny enjoys feeling safe and protected for once in his afterlife. They both start wearing masks and start stealing bigger marks as supervillians in order to survive.

The Justice League Dark is absolutely freaking out because why is a Gahena demon and some kind of Lazarus Pit child working together?? Demons from Gahena never come here cause they shouldn't even be able to and they had no idea Pit People even existed up until now. And why are they stealing such strange things? The bank robberies they understood but the baby food incident? (They stole a bunch of baby food to help the homeless and low income population) The lab thiefts? (Danny recognized the type of machine they were making was designed to be a portal when the press conference about it said nothing about portals. So he stole it and destroyed it cause it was sus.) The JLD knew they were missing something.

Batman himself eventually tracks them down and finds out

1. They are 14 and 15 year olds.

2. Both are traumatized

3. Black hair blue eyes

4. Both have supernatural abilities they can't fully control

5. Both are very sweet and are being more vigilante than villain

Bruce has already mentally signed the adoption papers.

Unfortunately, Danny has bad memories of another billionaire who kept trying to adopt him and is avoiding both him both as Batman and as Bruce Wayne. The boys run in to Harley Quinn and she figured out these kids needed help. She aids in thier language endeavors and if the only reason she knows Japanese as well as she does is from her binging anime for a few months during a quarantine caused by Scarecrow then thats her business.

Anyway, she gives them not-therapy since she can't ethically give them therapy therapy and in exchange they pay her with cash they stole. Neato. Rin eventually gets onto an ADHD medication that suits him and he's doing so much better. He uses a lot of the coping skills aunt harley taught him and its like hes a totally different person. Granted Rin has to take an ungodly high dose for it to work due to his demonic heritage but they make due. They already rob banks, whats a few pharmaceutical companies?

Ivy and Harley pseudo adopt Rin and Danny and sometimes the boys would just come over to Gotham to hang out or play with the pets. Rin loves cooking and has taken over the kitchen in his and dannys safe houses. He does most of the cooking and keeps the kitchen spotless. Danny does the laundry and dusting and they share most other chores. Rins used to having Yukio sleeping in the same room as him so sometimes he sneaks into Dannys room in the middle of the night to sleep on the floor.

Danny keeps waking up and moving him to the bed. Neither say anything about it and Rin assumes he slept walked into the bed and flees before Danny can be woken up and weirded out. Miscommunication! Yay!

Meanwhile the birdie brigade are on thier tails and watching/spying on them every chance they get. They're already making preparations in the manor for two more people.

[itzmoonies]

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔* :･

Headcanon about my favorite duo in BSD : Ranpo and Yosano !

1 - Their trust in each other is on another planet. Yosano can go so far as to put her life in danger being sure to survive if Ranpo said she would survive.

2 - Yosano has always been feminist, as far as she remembers. So she always talked about her ideas of equality etc to Ranpo, and since Ranpo was a mama's boy, he agreed. Which made her happy to find a boy who was respectful like Ranpo.

3 - Yosano used to have a lot of nightmares of the war when she was younger, Ranpo even changed rooms to be with her to reassure her.

4 - Yosano once did a full face on Ranpo.

5 - They once exchanged their clothes. Ranpo was wearing Yosano's usual ouftit, and Yosano was wearing Ranpo's usual ouftit. It actually fits Yosano, but not for Ranpo…

6 - Ranpo bought her medical books when they were younger and she was coming out of the war, so she's not forced to rely on her ability.

7 - As long as Ranpo is not seriously injured, she refuses to torture him for healing. She just can't. She will heal him like a normal nurse would, and can't use her ability on him.

8 - Ranpo knows how to use makeup and take good pictures because Yosano force him.

9 - They both roast each other, public or not.

10 - Yosano used to rely on him a lot when she was younger. He was her savior, so she used to get stressed whenever he wasn't around. But it got better after a year, and she didn't rely on him that much.

11 - They know each other like the back of their hand, just like when Ranpo said "the danger arrive in 10 seconds", to give the other detectives time to hide before she arrives to ask who wants to accompany her for her purchases.

12 - They gossip like 294628 times a day

13 - Yosano explained medicine to Ranpo, and Ranpo said it's too confusing

14 - Both Yosano and Ranpo came to the conclusion that the agency is just a bunch of mentally ill persons

15 - Ranpo used to carry Yosano's bags. Don't think he enjoyed it

16 - Yes, Ranpo can give her his life, organs or whatever, but no, he won't give her his chips.

17 - Yosano often buys ramune for Ranpo, and she's mostly the one who opens it BECAUSE IT'S HARD TO OPEN DAYUM (I've tried)

18 - Yosano's name on Ranpo's phone is "Sadistic bitch" and Ranpo's name on Yosano's phone is "Genius bitch"…

19 - People often think they're either siblings or dating

20 - They both like to do night walks, where they both talk about their days, their past, their memory etc.

[thatdiabolicalfeminist]

Wanna help Maire get through July 2023?

Happy disability pride month!! Maire is trying to figure out her capabilities now that she's had the big excision surgery she's needed for a few years.

Her application for disability is still in appeals and she's testing the waters to see if she could manage work or grad school instead, now that her most impactful symptoms have been reduced.

In the meantime she's still relying on help from people like you and me to get her basic needs met.

She sent me this list of needs for the month of July:

Final storage: $122 (Due 7/5) going to get rid of it mid month!

Car Insurance: $103 (Due 6/3)

Gas: (monthly appointments): $40

Cat Expenses: $60

Spotify Subscription: $13

Instacart Membership: $5

Tylonel&naproxen&tolietries: $25

Gas to clear out storage: $200

Total is $578

Maire says:

"Hopefully we'll be all done after this, because either I'll have disability OR work OR grad loans come August.

And don't need to go up north for special meds now I'm not in constant, excruciating pain! Yay!

I am so deeply and eternally grateful for the overwhelming love and support I've received since I lost my job and had to find medical care and everything. So thank you very, very much.

Love, Maire"

I'd be really grateful if you'd help me at least one more time to take care of this lovely young person who has been through so much and is still determined to make the world a better place.

all Maire’s links: http://linktree.com/maireg

PayPaI: @MaireGrupp (or maire114 at gmail dot com)

Venm0: @Maire114

C@$h app: MaryBear23

Maire’s gfm: https://gofund.me/0799702d

Etsy: https://www.etsy.com/shop/TuesdaysCottage (use code GOLDENTICKET for free shipping)

As always I'll update this post in a reblog if/when she gets some help so please check the notes for the latest info!!

[spectrumgarden]

how do you know if you have medium support needs?

Gonna go on a bit of a long winded support needs rant here.

Frankly theres no hard lines between the terms low medium and high support needs. Medium support needs specifically is a community term, meaning it was made by autistic people instead of medical professionals. There are also many people who consider themselves right between two categories, so they'll say they are low-medium or medium-high, which honestly turns it into more of a 5 options system than 3 if you're being pedantic. And then theres also the option of describing the category further, for example like saying you are on the high end of low support needs, or the low end of medium support needs.

( slight tangent: depending on where you live there might be actual legal categories with strict definitions, based on how much support someone needs, seperate from the specific terms of LSN MSN and HSN. In germany where I live there are Pflegegrade, translating to "care degree", which has 5 levels. I am right under the point cut off for level 3, so I'm a high level 2, described as "substantial limitation of indepence and skill". (Which I think also fits well with me considering myself on the low end of MSN.) This care level translates to funding for my care by my insurance and (alongside my disability ID score and markers) is often used in services for disabled people to "prove" that I need them to begin with before the question of funding even comes up. )

When it comes to assessing these support needs, whether legally defined or community coined, you can not really get around ADLs, activities of daily living. There are bADLs and iADLs, and most lists online will be fairly similar in what they include. ADLs are used in assessing disabled peoples need for care no matter their type of disability. It's what was used for my grandmother with alzheimers the same way it's used for me or my neighbor with mobility issues.

Since there are no strict "you need to hit exactly these many of the bADLs and these many of the iADLs that you need help with in this way" rules to qualify for, anything past this point will be my subjective opinion that I formed after looking at tons of peoples self reported and caregiver reported support needs label and what they need help with, and in what capacity. Others might define this (slightly) differently.

Support basically starts at reminders and ends in someone else completely doing it for you (sometimes done as hand over hand to hopefully build motor memory so you might be able to start doing them a bit more independently in the future). Theres also the detail of "how do you define needing care" and in general disability circles, not necessarily autism specific circles, I've often seen the phrase "can you do it reliably and safely" to assess if you need help with something. So if you can only get yourself to shower once a month for example even with reminders, that would still count as requiring care of some level for it to be done reliably. Or if you can use an oven to heat up / make food but you sometimes get burns that go beyond regular "clumsiness" that also means you probably need additional support to use it safely.

From what I've seen in the community over the last few years I honestly consider bADLs to be a large deciding factor for your support needs. If I did not need help with bADLs beyond reminders I could for example probably get away with only having a few hours of support a week for things like assisted grocery shopping or driving me to a doctor's appointment or helping me write an email or make a phone call or helping me deep clean the bathroom or kitchen, while spending my day to day completely by myself. I would still have to accommodate myself the rest of the time, such as mostly relying on instant and generally low effort food, my apartment would probably never be super tidy (but also like. Majority of peoples apartments get messy on the regular, I should know from my friends that are all 100% abled), and relying on a schedule, for example an app or physical list on the wall, for bathing, dressing and grooming.

But because I need prompting for my bADLs to be done reliably in any way or form I suddenly need a lot more care, so this small detail made it go from 1-2 days a week to daily.

with bADLs (and similarly iADLs but that's not the focus right now) it starts with people who need no help with them, then people directly below me who need reminders for (some) of them, people like me who need prompting and on bad days hands on help with some. And over that are people who need prompting for most if not all of them, and ending in people who need hands on help for all of them. And if you crammed that entire experience all into high support needs and left low to medium support needs open for people who only need help with iADLs it would be way too much for the HSN category alone I think. But if you extended it into low support needs it would also make low support needs basically useless as a term. Which to me means it makes the most sense to consider needing some help with bADLs beyond reminders the thing that sort of starts the category of medium support needs applying. Because frankly speaking reminders dont take up a lot of time, often can be done virtually or without the need for another person via reminders and checklists etc. Which is a stark contrast to someone who needs to be walked through a task from beginning to end by someone by their side at all times. So you can need help with most/all of your iADLs, which means you still need a relatively high amount of care if you look at it from an abled perspective ( i.e. someone to control your finances for you, and organize your transportation, and help you keep your environment clean, ...) and maybe rely on a phone app that reminds you to brush your teeth and shower, and still be low support needs, because you're putting it in the perspective of the large variety that is disabled experiences.

Lastly I do think the ADLs are not perfect, for example at least older definitions usually do not include things like if you can engage in fun activities by yourself such as watching media or reading or drawing, whatever you enjoy, or how effectively you can communicate in daily life even though that is in itself important to your quality of life and will affect how much time needs to be spend on your care. However they are the best we have currently and make a lot of sense.

[battleangel]

Walking While Carefree & Black

Fetishized & dehumanized.

Daily misogynoir.

Harrassed on my daily walks for hugging a tree, picking a flower, laying on grass and stretching out my arms, twirling, smiling, being an unrushed unbothered carefree fierce ferocious unapologetic black woman who isnt on the way to somewhere, Im not going to 7-11 five minutes from my apartment, Im not rushing to work, Im not hurrying, Im not hustling, Im not bustling, Im not harried, Im not distratcted, Im not anxious, Im not impatient, Im not speedwalking, Im not in a car, Im not on a bike, Im walking on sidewalks, under bridges, near highways, busy intersections, busy traffic lights, near school buses, near angry white stay at home moms pushing their strollers, moms with toddlers shielding their eyes from me, white police men slowing their patrol cars when I am doing nothing but take a selfie under a bridge.

Why cant I be free?

Why cant I twirl?

Why cant I hug trees?

Why cant I treat a light pole as a stripper pole?

Is it a crime to joke around during the day when people are at school and work, jokingly twirl myself around the pole, pretend I am a pole dancer, and take a video selfie?

Will I be Sandra Bland'd?

Why cant I take pictures of a rose garden?

Why cant I take a selfie under a bridge? On a park bench?

Why cant I pick flowers near the sidewalk, smell them, place them behind my ear and skip down the sidewalk pavement?

Capitalism demands that I, a black woman, be a slave to their system but I left their system.

I left Amazon in a week with no job lined up.

I left Dow Jones with no job lined up.

I left Bank of America in 3 months with no job lined up.

I left Yale.

I quit my career coaching business after 3 years and over a hundred executive clients.

I permanently left corporate in 2019 and quit my business this year.

I am a permanent freeelancer now.

I am a podcaster now. We dont have sponsors yet so I dont currently generate income.

$55/hr at Amazon and after six months they were going to convert me with the coveted unrestricted stock aka golden handcuffs.

It was a cult. I left in a week.

I made -$7,000 last year as my business failed. I hated sales and referrals dried up.

Capitalism says I am a failure and a loser.

Capitalism says I, a nubian queen, Isis, an egyptian goddess, am only worth the revenue I generate.

I was the highest rated recruiter with the most hires at every Fortune 500 company I worked at.

I had over a hundred executive clients with my career coaching business that landed offers at Disney, Deloitte, Goldman Sachs, Amazon & Comcast with five figure salary increases.

I was a career advisor at Yale who coached graduate and postdoc STEM students.

Capitalism rolls its eyes and asks me, What have you done for me lately?

It demands I turn myself back into a machine to be deemed worthy.

But those days are over.

I will never work another 9 to 5 in any industry -- corporate, academic or non-profit.

I will never work a job that requires that I report into a supervisor.

I will never work another job with dictated shifts.

I will never sell anything to anyone ever again. I detest sales and I hate capitalism.

Capitalism is dehumanizing and it kills. It profits off of, relies on and thrives on energetic and psychic attacks that sends its adherents & acolytes to an early stress-induced death.

I was having GI issues and I healed myself.

No doctor, no gastroenterologist, no harmful laxatives, no chemical stimulants, no synthetic lab-made prescription medication that can all be addictive.

The smoothie takes 5 minutes and is just blending 1 cup pineapples, 1/2 cucumber, 1/4 grated ginger, 1 lemon, 1 orange, 2 tbs apple cider vinegar and 4 ice cubes & 1 cup of water in a mixer. Makes 2 servings, drink 1 cup in morning and 1 cup at night.

I just started walking outside in nature for an hour a day, not power walking, no step counting, no calorie counting, just being in nature, soaking up the sun, breathing the air, barefoot in grass, hugging trees, picking and smelling flowers, doing simple yoga exercises, abdominal massages, using a heating pad on my stomach, drinking 32 to 64 oz of water a day, eliminating coffe, not drinking soda during the week (used to drink 1 to 2 cans a day), fresh fruit & vegetable smoothie in the morning, oatmeal or grape nuts cereal with peppermint herbal tea no sugar or honey, homemade vegetarian salad & homemade vegetarian dressing (store bought dressing has a ton of fat, sugar amd calories) and mixed nuts as a snack Monday through Friday then I take a break and eat what I want on the weekend.

GI issues resolved themselves in a week, I am healthier, lighter, less sluggish, more fit, more in shape and more energetic. This is now my diet 75% of the time (5 days a week).

Decolonize your mind.

You have the ability to heal yourself. Stop running to doctors and quick fixes.

Change what you eat. Move more.

Get outside in nature! You are nature!

That is what heals. We come from nature and we are nature.

Trees, grass, sunlight, air, flowers, butterflies, streams, brooks, meadows, gardens, pumpkin patches, orchard farms, parks, nature trails.

Get outside.

Not to get in your car. Not to go somewhere.

Stop spending all your time penned inside like an animal and a prisoner.

Not to go to the mall, shopping, a restaurant, a salon, a spa, a movie theater, work, school, a grocery store, a laundromat, dry cleaners.

Not to run an errand.

Not to sit in traffic in a machine.

Not to burn calories.

Not to power walk.

Not to lose weight.

To reconnect with nature.

To reconnect your mind, soul, body, heart and spirit.

The west purposely severs this connection in service of capitalism.

Its up to you to restore it.

Walk. Breathe. Be. Skip. Twirl. Pose. Use the sidewalk as a catwalk. Take selfies. Take pictures.

Stop and smell the flowers.

Hug a literal tree.

Lay on the grass while cars roll past you with their windows down and stare at you like youre crazy.

Its 11 am on a Tuesday.

What the hell is she doing laying on the grass with her arms outstretched?

Why isnt she at work or at school?

Confuse people with your very presence.

I have a goth alt kawaii japanese street fashion aesthetic that includes boyshorts, leather garters, torn fishnets, leather chokers, hello kitty tiaras, six inch pink platform heels, black lipstick, mini cut out crop tops, extremely thick black eyeliner and hot pink eyeshadow.

For wearing this on Friday on my daily walk at 8:30 am which I then shared on TikTok, I was accused of being indecent, inappropriate for children to see going to school, people stared, rolled their windows down, honked at me, cars followed me, two men purposefully walked right into me bumping me (there was plenty of room on the sidewalk), an HVAC repairman leered at me outside of his van and literally just stared holes through me as I walked by.

Im 41. Im 5"1. Im 92 lbs. Im black and female.

I have a quirky style and aesthetic. I look young.

I also shaved my head bald a few weeks ago and have a bald fade.

People have since then called me a dyke, asked if I am trans, am I a boy or a girl, whats the deal.

Thats when I dont have a wig on.

I love different looks so I also wear long wigs.

The reaction is completely different when I wear a wig and people tell me how good I look, that people are slowing their cars down because I am attractive.

Bald fade, bony dyke who looks like a boy and might be trans.

Long wig, attractive girl, let me slow down and get a look.

Still black no matter the hair. Still followed.

Still harrassed.

A MAGA Proud Boy harrassed me with my bald fade while I was wearing an Eagles shirt and jeans. He stared at me as I took a selfie on a bench under a tree, when I got up to walk home, he started walking towards me and blocked my path in the small walkway we were both on and wouldnt let me pass.

Doesnt matter if its boy shorts and leather garters or an Eagles shirt and jeans.

I am harrassed for being a carefree black girl in capitalist Amerikkka.

[loving-n0t-heyting]

If it’s not too personal, can I ask about your experience with antipsychotics and why they didn’t work for you? And general opinions? I was considering them really hard but I’m very wary and don’t want to take something that isn’t like. Worth stopping hallucinations. I guess.

Definitely. Somewhat tmi at parts, below the readmore

So i should say upfront that I am not psychotic and was not prescribed antipsychotics for psychosis, and the medications on reflection achieved basically nothing for me beyond their “side” effects; so I can’t speak directly to the comparative badness of hallucinations and antipsychotics (though there are many, many psychotic ppl you can easily find who will attest the cure is worse than the disease, and I have promised myself on the basis of my own experiences not to seek out medication even in the event I start undergoing serious hallucinations—it’s just that bad ime). This is the sort of thing that happens in psychiatry bc the entire discipline is half-submerged in the equivalent of bloodletting and humours-balancing

My own experience is principally with “extrapyramidal” symptoms: akathisia, dystonia, and a weird symptom I have not found attested in the literature that tended to co-occur with dystonia where I would desperately seek out circles in my field of vision. Akathisia was the worst of these (followed by the circle lust and then dystonia—tho they were all torture), and it went away after 6wk on lurasidone, but would start up again from 0 if I dropped the meds for more than a few days and then picked them back up. I experienced a brief respite from suicidality when I started the drug, which at the time I chalked up to efficacy, but looking back was more plausibly just akathisia painfully draining so much of my attention to itself I could not even contemplate suicide. Propranolol helped mitigate it, but only partially. You can find a lot of claims on the internet to the effect that akathisia is torture (the wiki article even includes citations for the claim it was used as such against political dissidents in the USSR), and they are right

The other two were also quite awful, developed only some time into my taking them, usually occurred together by the end, and persisted until I quit the drugs altogether; I am told from a nurse that inducing dystonia over the course of years is known to cause permanent neurological disability, which I was lucky to escape. My particular brand was “oculogyric crises” every 2-3 nights lasting ~5-7h, in which my eyes would roll painfully far back into my head virtually uncontrollably, taking a Herculean effort to move at all, at which time I would suffer from horrifying intrusive thoughts and lose my ability to speak clearly and without needless repetition. I could go into great detail about the circle lust, too, but suffice it to say it was miserable and incapacitating to the point that unlocking my phone became a struggle (too distracted by the circles in the numbers on the keypad to focus on entering the passcode)

At some points the drugs I used to treat these symptoms were almost as bad as the side effects themselves. Cogentin was the only one to really stop the dystonia, and even at a low dose it caused urinary retention that forced me to go to the ER to get a catheter installed so I could walk around for the next several days with a tube connecting my bladder thru my urethra to a bag of piss strapped to my leg. After that, I had to start relying on increasingly large doses of Benadryl to achieve a lower level of dystonia suppression; I did not reach the point of the drug’s notoriously bad trips, but I was running the risk

I was lucky enough to avoid the cognitive blunting also known to commonly affect antipsychotics druggies but that was dumb luck on my part, and they sound both nightmarish and fiendishly self-obscuring. Check out robnost’s category tag in the link

In conclusion, I would strongly urge you to seriously question whether the hallucinations are bad enough to be worth it, especially in light of the drugs’ tenuous levels of long term effectiveness . I think categorical denunciations of drugs are generally most likely to shut down thought one way or the other, but this comes as close as anything could for me I think. I would urge particular caution getting them prescribed by a professional embedded in a system capable of forcing compliance if at some point you abandon compliance of your own accord: involuntary confinement and drugging are very much realities for the psychotic and otherwise seriously mentally ill

Good luck, whatever path you decide on. I’m sorry the hallucinations are giving you trouble

[yukitonz]

Michael Afton designs. Cause- I can ✌️ also apologies on any mess-ups to the games. I don't really care about the new stuff tbh, haven't been in this Fandom for years, am relying on theory videos- and headcannons. So yeah, cool Afton designs is what I mean.

1st design- Teenage design. I don't have a very inparticular age? But around 14-16. Also- he's very mature for his age, and is one of those guys that are like "wtf? How are you not an adult?" But, I headcannon he was actually the one who you play as in FNAF 4. I heard it from my sibling- and loved the damn idea that it was his own nightmares because of what happened to his brother- especially given the context of the game. William basically left him since he hated him, and was forced into a hell like FNAF 4. Also in the bottom image- he's supposed to look ghost like. Never goes outside, stays in his room an anxious mess.

Design 2- (I meant Fredbear in the art lol.) Anyway, this design is supposed to look like William around the time of the bite of 83' but ofc ofc still Michael. Michael is okay. But, this is the extra night of FNAF 2 when the main security guard leaves to be the next victim of the biting season. This is where he starts to get extremely guilty again, and where he builds his obsession to the opening FNAF restaurants to try and fix his past, to fix what his father did, and to try and redeem himself. In this era he also begins frequently writing letters to his brother, as if he could see them. Because he sincerely wants to make things right.

Designs 3- Fnaf 1 and sister location era. All before the scoop. For FNAF 1, he wears a simular outfit to FNAF 2- Just a more purplish- shade of blue. He's also growing his hair out- trying to look less like his father, due to his pure resentment. He is succeeding a little more now. Though, in sister location he wears a purple uniform, and ends up in a simular look that his father was so generously killing kids in (other than suit. Michael doesn't look like a bunny thing, sorry guys.) Also fun little fact, he joins these jobs to redeem himself- but is scared shitless of animatronics.

DISTURBING IMAGERY AHEAD. BODY HORROR!!

Design 4- Basic idea of half a year or so of recovery. After lots of surgeries and medical attention, he looks a little better. He still has some wire in his body, mainly in parts that were very attached to his body (just ripped off of Ennard) and was left behind in places that keep his body together. (Wire runs along his stomach/chest and skin attaches there to keep him closed. Wire replaces his knee so he can still walk, and other wire was just pulled. Lots of scar tissue is present where any stitches are, or any places Ennard poked out from/entered from. His eyes were popped out by Ennard, leaving him blind and more or less with no "pupil." He is also able to grow very thin hair, but it falls out and is rather short.

Design 5- You can steal Michael's hair. He wears a wig that was the same colour as his past hair, and wears that whenever he is out/working. He wears a lot of looser clothes to avoid skin irritation- considering his skin falls off easily (also wears a ton of bandages around his body to prevent this.) In public he adds a mask to his look, some of his face being ripped up. Due to his look and practically dead body, he is unable to age normally. He'll have a simular appearance the rest of his life, maybe with a few more wrinkles and a load of weakness. Now, he is starting to move on. He's still extremely sorry, but he writes letters to Evan everyday. He also visits his grave, bringing the fredbear plush Evan had. Ofc he still wants revenge, but is more at peace about his brother. (He still hates his father. Badly.)

Proof

[sunoorintarou]

Catharsis: Hair holds memories

Phos!reader x (Platonic) Shoko Ieiri

Warnings: Angsty to comfort-ish, general themes found in Catharsis

Notes: The urge to post like 5 parts all at once😔

"Ah, Y/n, it's been a while." Shoko looked up from her desk, noticing your figure in the doorway.

"Shoko - Sensei, sorry for being such a bother." You frowned, nervously scratching the back of your head.

"Not at all. What happened?" She asked, ready to use her cursed technique on you.

"Oh, I'm not hurt, I just-" you paused, looking at your feet. You weren't quite sure if Shoko was the right person to ask, but she was the only person you trusted enough.

"Hmm? What's wrong?"

"I- I want to cut my hair, but I can't do it myself, so I wanted to ask if you could help." You said, fidgeting with your fingers. Shoko's eyes widened, humming as she looked at you before smiling kindly.

"Sure, take a seat."

You were silent as Shoko prepared, waiting for her patiently as she grabbed a mirror, putting it on the desk in front of you.

"How short do you want it? Any styles in mind?" She asked.

"Uhm, pretty short, about here, with messy bangs." You motioned. Shoko's eyes widened, immediately realising who's hairstyle you were taking inspiration from. Her heart softened as she began, letting you think in your own world.

Shoko felt regretful to an extent. Although, unlike the others, she understood that these things simply happened sometimes and no amount of regret could change what had already happened.

You were a bright kid. Kind with the prettiest smile. Shoko thought back to when you first arrived. Before you were allowed to join the team in missions.

You'd spent the majority of your time with her. Acting as her assistant, listening to her intently as she explained how to treat certain words that she didn't need to use her cursed technique for.

You were always so enthusiastic, waiting for your teammates to return from missions, helping her treat minor injuries. Watching over them vigilantly.

In all honesty, Shoko missed you. She missed how you'd spend days at a time with her, helping her with whatever she was doing. She missed when you'd run to her with a wide smile, tackling her in your embrace with a loud, "Shoko - Sensei!". She missed when you'd scold her for smoking with a wisdom beyond your years, claiming you wanted her alive and healthy for as long as you lived, and after that.

She missed when you'd ask her to do your hair, when you'd make silly mistakes and look at her with an innocent smile, when you'd skip class, telling Gojo you were going to the bathroom only to show up at her door. She never had the heart to chase you away. When you'd speak to her about your true feelings and confide your worries in her as if she were your elder sister more than your teacher.

And a part of Shoko wondered that if she'd perhaps said one thing different, if you'd still be the happy child you once were.

Yet, Shoko knew first hand that in the Jujutsu world, lively kids like you never stayed the same.

She thought back to one specific conversation she had with you. One about how hair held memories. And as she snipped away pieces of your hair, she understood your decision.

When she was done, she patted your shoulders, smiling at you. "It looks good on you. You look pretty."

"Thank- thank you, Shoko - Sensei." You looked in the mirror, smiling softly. You were worried your team would find it weird. They had been out on a mission for a while after all.

"Don't worry so much. It looks good."

"Shoko - Sensei, I-" You hesitated. You missed Shoko as much as she missed you. In your mind, however, you couldn't rely on anyone. It would make you weak, after all.

"Here." Shoko suddenly interrupted, pulling out a carton of banana milk from the mini fridge she was supposed to be using to house medication. She handed it to you, your eyes widening at the gesture.

"I always keep some for you here. It's a habit now." She smiled, so gently your eyes began to glaze over. Banana milk was your favorite. You'd always buy at least one a day, claiming that it was to you what cigarettes were to her, just healthier.

When you had started spending the majority of your time with her, she had started buying them for you and keeping them in the fridge so you wouldn't have to run half way across the school to get some. Even though that was months ago, she hadn't stopped. Shoko still waited for you.

"I'm always here, you know. You don't have to tough out your injuries by yourself. You made me buy all those coloured bandages and patterned plasters for a reason. They haven't been used in a while." She laughed.

You looked up at Shoko with teary eyes, lips trembling when she gently ruffled your hair.

You suddenly stood up, looking at the ground as you fiddled with the sleeves of your hoodie. Before Shoko could say anything, you wrapped your arms around her in a quick embrace. Shoko's hugs were always warm and comforting.

"Thank you, Shoko - Sensei." You whispered into her neck, letting your body relax in her grasp for a split second before you pulled away.

"I- I'll visit you next time I get injured." You stuttered, nervously scratching the back of your neck.

"I'll be waiting." Shoko smiled, watching as you left. She sat down at her desk, opening the top shelf. Inside was a picture of a group of teenagers. A boy with white hair, a boy with black hair, and a girl with brown hair.

Shoko inhaled deeply, closing the compartment. A sad smile spread across her cheeks. If there was one thing she wished, it was that you'd never have to feel what she did.

But she supposed it was already too late.