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randombush3 · 6 days ago

Text

busco lo de antes

alexia putellas x reader

prologue, que te quiero

summary: you wake up but you're not sure where

words: 5200

content warnings: brief mention of alcoholism

notes: i realised halfway through this that everyone's name (bar eli) begins with an 'a'. bit stupid of me tbh

The day you leave the hospital begins with the man in the bed beside you dying. Bodies surround him, first to save his life, then to remove him from the ward, and, after that, you are no longer dreading the thought of returning home.

Home. That might not be the word for it.

Alexia picks you up, all tentative questions and awkward smiles, and walks you to a shining Cupra that looks just as futuristic as the iPhone she takes out to show the nurses something or other. You want to ask about it but figure it’ll make her turn that pale shade she goes whenever she remembers you’re not quite you.

“Where’s Amaia?” you ask to distract yourself from the ache of your ribs where the cracks haven’t healed. The seatbelt of the car presses against the bruises on your chest, a stark reminder of what happened the last time you sat in a vehicle like this, but you can’t recall any of it and therefore it is almost like it never happened.

“School,” Alexia replies quietly, as though she is afraid to speak louder and scare you away. You feel a bit like an idiot at her response, because of course she is. It’s a weekday and that’s what children do. “I thought it best that she stayed somewhere else tonight, so you’ll see her tomorrow. I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

A sense of protection befalls you. Even if you don’t remember her, she is your daughter. Yours. “Where is she staying?”

Alexia focuses on the road for a moment. Whether she is being cautious because of the accident or because she needs to stare broodily at something to fight off her tears, you’re not sure. She is turning into somewhere quiet: tree-lined streets and quiet curiosity. “Amaia,” Alexia takes a deep breath, “is staying with my mother, Eli. She used to look after her when you first moved to Barcelona.”

“Five years ago,” you tell her, hating how hopeful she looks at the tidbit of information. It has been learnt along with other important things, such as Amaia’s birthday and the details of your job. They provide brilliant health insurance, it turns out. “From… London?”

She nods. “Yeah. You told me once that you missed the sunshine of Spain as though you were from the south.” You can’t help the build up of guilt in your stomach as she smiles at the memory, choosing to watch as she parks the car in an underground garage. “Your firm has an office here.”

You unbuckle the seatbelt slowly, the strap peeling away from your bruised chest like a second skin. The pressure of it lingers, a phantom ache that settles alongside the sharpness in your ribs that make you crave the satisfaction of painkillers. Alexia is already outside the car, standing by the open door on your side, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans. Her eyes flicker over you, the way they always do; cautious, worried, and like she’s afraid you might fall to pieces if she makes one wrong move.

Having stiffened over the course of the drive, you clamber rather elegantly out of the car. She doesn’t offer to help – doesn’t say a word – but her presence hums with restraint. The lift is an even quieter affair, save for the faint whir of machinery and the tap of Alexia’s thumb against her phone screen. There is a pause as she twists a key in the lock of the lift’s control panel, but then she goes back to her text messages. Without looking, she presses the button for the top floor, and up you go.

“It’s a penthouse,” she explains when the doors slide open into a spacious hallway. Her hesitation causes her to hang back, so you boldly take the first step towards a place you cannot recall. It smells faintly of lavender and freshly polished wood, and, despite not knowing much about Alexia, you fail to be surprised by the immaculacy of the place. The scent, however, stirs nothing in you.

It’s warm, bathed in late afternoon sunlight that spills through large windows. You take another step, pushing yourself to move further inside, but a rack of shoes – sizes varying – catches your attention and you slip your own off. There is a gap between two pairs of Nike trainers, but you elect to place them to the side, just in case that’s not where they go.

There are photos lining the walls, and the occasional piece of art (either child-drawn or watercolour paintings of various destinations you don’t remember visiting). And it’s nice. The kind of space you can tell someone loves because of the small things; plants thriving in mismatched pots, books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, pens scattered on the floor in front of the TV.

It feels like someone else’s life. That same imposterous sense you get when you walk through a showroom, wondering about the imaginary people who could live there.

Alexia locks something behind you (you’re not entirely sure of the security system of this place) and seems to hover until you turn around to face her. “We bought it together,” she says, her tone careful and deliberate, like she’s meticulously placing each word into existence. “A little over a year ago.”

Your stomach knots. “Together?”

Her nod does not hide how her smile falters. “Yes, we–” She swallows. “I was pretty much staying over at yours every night, but you said you wanted something that was ours. We spent months searching for somewhere and this felt… perfect. Amaia was sold the moment the agent mentioned the pool. She spent most of the summer out there.”

You pretend not to notice the cracks in her voice. You’re not sure for whose sake.

“Do you… do you remember it?” she asks, and her voice is so small, so terrified, that you feel like a monster when you shake your head.

Alexia’s smile doesn’t fall all at once. It wobbles, withering in stages; a dam straining under its weight before it gives way. She nods too quickly, eyes too wide, face frozen in painfully forced understanding. “That’s okay,” she says, too brightly, voice contorting, twisting like a knife inside of her. “It’s fine. You’re still healing. That’s what matters.”

It’s brittle and raw, the way her words hang in the air. Her mustered conviction makes it seem like saying them out loud will make them true, and you want to say something, anything, to take the sting away, but the sentences tumble down your throat like loose pebbles on an unclimbable mountain. Your ribs ache as you shift your weight, and the pain feels almost deserved. Alexia clears her throat and gestures vaguely towards the leather three-seater in the middle of the living space. “Sit.” It’s not a question. “I’ll make us some coffee. Or–” She catches herself, her voice weakening. “Do you want a coffee?”

And you hide your surprise at the question, because if Alexia and you have this life, this home together, she’d know you will always want a coffee. Maybe you are just as much a stranger to her as she is to you. From now on, at least.

“That was stupid, wasn’t it?” She laughs with a coarse hack, as though her throat is sore. “You will never say no to that. I started switching it out with decaf because you’d be vibrating by lunchtime.”

You offer her a smile although it feels like a betrayal to accept her kindness when your presence is clearly killing her.

She disappears into the kitchen and you lower yourself carefully onto the sofa. It’s soft, comfortable, but frustratingly unfamiliar. Your gaze drifts to the photos hanging on the wall. A picture of a smiling child in Alexia’s arms, holding up a World Cup trophy (2010 is more recent in your memory than most people’s). You’re there too, one hand on Alexia’s shoulder, grinning with teary eyes. You exuberate pride, and Alexia does too, beaming at the photographer as she holds on tightly to the little girl.

Amaia.

You glance away quickly, clawed by a guilty terror. The books on the coffee table are a haphazard mix: novels, colouring books, one thick volume of the history of Catalunya. A pair of sunglasses rests atop them – chic but not gaudily luxurious. You wonder if they’re yours.

“We loved this place.” You look up as Alexia sets a mug down on the coffee table in front of you, holding another in trembling hands as she perches on the edge of the armchair opposite. “You said it felt like a dream being here. We hadn’t expected to… get on so well.” Her gaze fixes just over your shoulder, eyes just as anguished as the breath she draws in. “And we used to sit here every night, when you could no longer be called by clients and Amaia was asleep. We’d plan. It could be anything, what we were doing that weekend, what we were doing in ten years. But I like planning and you knew that, so we’d talk about everything we wanted to do. You wanted to take Amaia to Bilbao. She hasn’t been there since she was a baby.”

You don’t know what to say, so you settle for an absent nod that lights a flare of agony.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, setting her mug down. Her voice breaks with the apology. “I didn’t mean to…” She swallows, the sound thick with tears she is trying to hold back. “I just… I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to look at you and not see the person who–”

She cuts herself off, pressing a hand over her mouth as her shoulders shake.

Your heart lurches. “Alexia,” you murmur, her name foreign on your tongue. It’s the only thing you can think to offer, although it is woefully insufficient.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, swiping at her tears. “I told myself I was going to be strong for you, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to hold everything together when I feel like I’ve already lost you.” Her voice cracks and her hands clench into fists on her lap. “You’re here, but you’re not here. Do you know how–” She chokes on the words, her head dropping forwards. “Do you know how much that hurts?”

“Everyone I thought I loved is gone.” It’s the first time you have said it aloud. “Everything I knew is no longer true, or it is outdated with painful hilarity. And I have a daughter whose name I couldn’t even remember.”

“She’s named after your–”

“My mother.” Alexia looks at you, curiosity dulling the strength of her sobs. “They told me.” You pause. “I tried to call my father the second day I was awake.” She winces at the incoming story, aware of it because of the doctors and unsuspecting that you would mention it. “No one had thought to let me know that he died.”

“He–”

“He was an alcoholic, I found out.”

Palms rub her cheeks to clear the tears, and she sits up straighter. “You weren’t in contact by the time we met. You didn’t even go to his funeral.”

“And yet my fiancée neglected to bring it up.” Standing, you ignore the ache of a battered body. “If you don’t mind, I need to rest.” You hesitate, the sight of her tear-glossed eyes rooting you to the spot for one agonising moment. You force yourself to snap out of it. “I’m sure I’ll find the bedroom.”

…

Amaia prides herself on being deemed a ‘clever girl’. The teachers at school search for her hand in the air when no one else can find the answer, and all the grown-ups in her life include her in places most girls wouldn’t belong. Like the changing room at the Joan Gamper, where people say words she is not allowed to repeat (where Alexia sometimes joins in, and asks that she be a superspy and not let it slip to you that she has engaged in such incivility).

After training, when the mood is lighter and the air is heavy with laughter, the girls will ask why she hasn’t got her boots on, or chastise her for slacking on training when everyone else is muddy and tired. She always giggles at that, because it is a ridiculous notion that she’d be out there with them! But Amaia understands, even at her age, that this is special – sacred, even. She knows to be patient and wait for Alexia to finish leading, to switch back into Mamá Alexia, and to get on with her homework until she is given a reason to be distracted.

The last time she was there, Mapi had joked about teaching her to take long, bendy freekicks. Amaia had scrunched her nose and declared, self-assured and stubborn, that she will continue to prefer goalkeeping. Alexia always needs someone to practise against, and she is determined to prove herself a worthy opponent.

Alexia had laughed at that, a laugh so pure and proud that Amaia felt like the funniest girl in the world.

But tonight, Amaia isn’t at the training ground. She’s perched at the dining table in Yaya Eli's kitchen, her knees tucked under her chin, staring at a photograph stuck onto the fridge: herself, Alexia, and you. The picture is sunny and bright, taken on the beach last summer, but now, as she looks at her family, her stomach hurts.

“Are you going to eat that, petita?” Eli’s voice breaks her train of thought. The older woman gestures at the plate of tortilla and salad in front of Amaia, her face tired but kind.

She shakes her head. “Not hungry.”

Eli hums softly, wiping her hands on a tea towel as she walks over. A chair scrapes on the tiled floor as she makes room for herself to sit down, and then she is resting her hands gently on Amaia’s knees, a silent request for her to sit properly. “You’ve hardly eaten all day, Maieta. Què passa en aquest cervellet teu?”

Frowning, Amaia replies, “Do you think Alexia is sad?”

A beat passes, Eli caught between the truth and the comfort a white lie could bring. “I think,” she begins carefully, “that Alexia is feeling a lot of things right now. Just as I know you are.” She brushes a hand down Amaia’s back, willing the solemn tension in her spine to dissipate.

Amaia stares at the photo on the fridge. “Ama is so different.” Your smile is familiar. Yours. And she can’t remember the last time she saw it. “It’s like she’s not even there.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and two hearts ache because of just how much Amaia understands.

Quietly, Amaia asks her second question. “Does she still love me?”

Eli swallows her in a hug and cannot bring herself to ever let go.

…

A fortnight passes.

You sleep in your bedroom, Alexia in the spare. Amaia seems busy but, with no calendar on the fridge to tell you when things are, you have little idea as to what she is doing. You try to ask her about her day, making an effort to get to know her, but the conversation always turns stale, buckling under the weight of your guilt for its need and her discomfort at talking to someone so familiar like they are a stranger.

With no work and strict instructions to rest, there is not much to do between the declining doctor’s appointments and episodes of wallowing.

The penthouse is large and luxurious, but the walls soon grow tiresome.

Alexia bought you a new phone when you had been cleared to look at screens again. She had come back with something else in the bag too, something lost in the accident, but held off on gifting it. It sits in the corner of the room, its presence almost accusatory. You’re not an idiot, you know what it is. You suppose Alexia wants to choose when to open Pandora’s box. You allow her that control, that comfort. The phone, at least, has proven to be a necessary tether, though you’ve hesitated to use it for much more than practicalities (like looking up who the current Prime Minister is, embarrassingly). Today, though, alone and finished with the idea of sitting in a silent home like a guest overstaying their welcome, you muster the nerve to call one of the few numbers you’d bothered to save.

It takes three attempts to connect. The first time, you freeze when you hear the ring. The second, your trembling thumb threatens to cancel the call just as it begins. But on the third, a gruff voice answers.

“Kaixo?”

He sounds the same, you think, if not a bit older. He’s your brother and he is familiar, which is refreshing.

You clear your throat. “It’s me.”

A pause stretches, heavy and uncertain. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, disbelief blended with relief. “Is it really you? They said you– I mean, we weren’t sure…” His voice breaks off.

“It’s me,” you repeat, softer now, guilt pulling at each syllable. “How are you, Asi?”

The laugh you get is mean, because it does not hide the ridiculousness of the question. Asier is the eldest and he is the wisest, too, although you’d be loath to admit it. Beneath him are two other brothers, Ander and Adrian. The latter was who you last remember speaking to: a shouting match in your father’s house, both sides hysterical. You had walked out, then.

“The last thing you should remember about me is how I asked you to get an abortion.” His voice is distant, emotions running through it no longer raw and real. For him, that was a decade ago. “You could’ve called sooner,” he then says.

“I didn’t know what to say,” you admit. Anger bubbles inside at the thought of the three of them in Bilbao, residue from how things were left. Asier isn’t wrong about what he asked you to do. Even now, he refuses to lie.

“Say you’re okay.”

A lump forms in your throat. You almost choke on it trying to get the words out. “Ez, ez nago ondo.”

“How can I fix this?” he asks, but for a while, the only thing you can hear in his voice is fear.

He speaks for what feels like hours, attempting to cover everything that happened between then and now. He’s married. His twins turned six last month. They visited you and Amaia in Barcelona a year ago, and he gave Alexia enough shovel talk for her to become positively terrified of him. He skirts around the death of your father, a mystery he clearly doesn’t want to help you solve, and he similarly avoids the argument you had. “We’re… on good terms. All of us,” is the most you get.

Finally, he exhales sharply, like he’s trying to let go of something heavy. “I don’t know how to help you forgive us again. It was hard enough the first time. But I do know one thing: you are not going through this alone. You’re never alone, not anymore.”

You haven’t heard him be so gentle, so caring for a long time. The Asier you remember was strict, stubborn, and destined to be just as great a man as your father.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your fingers tightening around the phone, a desperate yearning rising in you. Something needs to change. You need it to.

The air feels thick – too thick – and Barcelona is suddenly too far away.

“I– Asier, I…” The words almost refuse to come out. Something rustles on the other end, his clothes maybe, and it’s like he has leant forwards. You clear your throat, steadying yourself. “Can I… can I visit you? Can I come home?”

There’s a pause, and you regret asking. It makes no sense. Your home is here, according to the doctors and Alexia and the roots you have dug into the ground. But then Asier speaks again, his voice quiet but not unkind.

“Are you sure?” His tone isn’t harsh but there is an air of caution in the way he proceeds.

“I’m not really sure of anything.” And it is set. You know what you are going to do. This is the family you remember.

That evening, you wait patiently for Alexia to have enough of talking at you about her day and her life and how ‘the girls’ – whose names you can’t seem to grasp – were wondering if you’d like to watch their next home match. (She detaches herself from the request. You’ve noticed that she’s stopped trying to ask things of you, focusing mainly on educating you about Amaia. Her selflessness is impressive.) When she leaves you with a wish for you to sleep well and an awkward space of time that you assume would once have been filled with a kiss, you open your phone onto Google and purchase a ticket for the first flight to Bilbao. Living in Sarrià and sending Amaia to an international school are clear signs that the ticket will make no dent in your bank account, and Alexia has already set up your cards for you on your phone, so all you have to do is double click and stare at the camera that can apparently recognise your face.

It’s raining in Bilbao when your flight touches down. Alexia had left twenty minutes before your taxi to the airport arrived. It was a relatively seamless journey.

Asier is grinning in the arrivals section of the airport. “Do you have a coat?” is his greeting. You match his expression, holding up one you’d bought en route. “The boys have taken the day off. We’re going for drinks.” You’re about to decline the alcoholic implication, but he beats you to it. “You can have lemonade.”

He drives a nice car and his hair is clipped in a way that reminds you of your father. Military men.

“You’re not in uniform,” you state as he reverses the car out of its spot, staring straight ahead in order to shake the feel of his eyes flickering over to you every now and then.

“I’m on leave.”

“Because of me?”

He sucks in a breath. “My commanding officer wouldn’t let me argue with him. I’ll go back tomorrow. I’ve been posted here permanently.”

“Like Aita,” you say proudly, because look at the man he has become. He was always on this path, but it is nice to see his hard work come to fruition.

Asier’s nose, however, scrunches at the comparison. “That is something we need to talk about, actually. But I thought it was best to do it with the two nutters present. And alcohol.” He quickly adds, “For us.”

After that, he doesn’t speak much. He’s still the same, quiet, authoritative figure you used to lean on, except now there’s a softness to him, an almost apologetic quality when he catches your eye. You try not to prickle every time you remember the last thing he had said to you, because it’s not a true telling of the past. It’s an uneasy feeling, not being able to trust yourself.

His intrinsic wariness continues to exist; the same kind he bore a decade ago, only heavier, more experience. You don’t know why, and you’re not sure you care to. You’re still angry at them, at the way everything was left, and it begins to build the closer you get to the house you grew up in.

The streets of Bilbao are slick, puddles splashing at curbs, the air growing fresher as you move through neighbourhoods you recognise for once. The city here has a pulse that Barcelona’s neat. Sunny streets can never match, and that pulse settles something in you, even as you silently brace for what’s to come.

Asier pulls into your road. The houses are still large, still intimidating and orderly, with gates that hint at important secrets being kept within the walls. He must have inherited your childhood home, but only the colour of the brick echoes what it once was. There’s a swing on the front lawn, tall enough for the top bar to be seen above the wrought iron gates, and when the gates open, you can tell a happy family lives here. You get the sense that your mother’s absence was more obvious than it felt.

The gravel crunches under the tires of his car as he parks. “We moved in three years ago, had the whole place redone. We tried to rip out that sense of regime and… severity.” He hesitates. “And the stench of alcohol.” Your interest is piqued by that, taking the bait like a stupid fish. He’s amused by it. “Come on.” And he gets out.

You smile faintly and follow him onto the porch, stepping over the deflated basketball discarded on the tiled stairs.

The inside has colour now, no longer so uniform and stark. As much as you love – loved – your father, the man struggled to design a home. It’s nice. Really, you like what he’s done with the place.

Asier gestures for you to follow him into the living room, electric blue and full of pictures. Your two other brothers, Ander and Adrian, are seated on the sofas, both sprawled out and lazily watching a recap of the football as though this were a normal visit. Hesitantly, you make your presence known.

Adrian is the first to notice, his face lighting up at the sight of you. You don’t know what you expected to see, but this isn’t it. His expression softens immediately, and for a split second, you see a glimpse of the little boy he once was, sheepish and guilty of crimes he hasn’t yet committed.

“You’re not too banged up,” he says after a beat, his voice gentle and impressed. The rest of the room goes quiet and you can feel the tension rise, but it’s not as sharp as you thought it would be. Maybe it’s because time has passed for them. You can’t say the same.

Then Ander leans forwards, far less subtle. “You forgave me. So before you shout at me again, make sure you keep that in mind.” He doesn’t seem irritated or put off, just a bit inconvenienced and… bored. It takes you by surprise and kills the fight in your throat momentarily. He pounces on your silence: “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft.”

You shake your head, both to disagree and snap yourself out of the blip of absolution because that is something you don’t remember yet. You don’t feel soft. Not at all. You feel sharp, like the ache in your chest won’t ever leave, like you’ve been carrying something for a long time and it needs to be addressed. You look away.

“I kept the baby.” It’s an obvious statement. Asier already said he’s visited you and Amaia. “I moved away and I had a child, and what did you three do?”

“You told us you were leaving. You asked us not to follow, not to reach out.” Adrian is referencing something you can’t recall. “And you nearly didn’t keep her. Asi was coming from a place of reason.”

“It doesn’t need justification,” Asier says calmly. You’re not sure whose side he’s on. “Adrian is right. You asked us not to interfere. It’s not that we didn’t care, but you made it clear you didn’t want us to. We respected that.”

The room feels colder with the weight of his words, but there’s no bite to them, no condemnation. It’s just the truth. And the truth stings more than you anticipated. “I was a child.”

“You insisted you weren’t. That was your main point, actually,” says Ander.

Adrian fidgets in his seat, his gaze darting between you and Asier. “We were stupid and we regretted it. Dad regretted it too, though he never admitted that.” The boys grow more pained at the mention of him. “I don’t know how we could’ve helped, even if we’d tried. None of us were ready to hear that our baby sister was… not a baby anymore.”

It doesn’t reach you in the way they should. Your mind spins, but it’s not in anger anymore. It’s a sort of blankness, a weariness that comes from unnecessary strife and grief and rupture of a network so strong. “I never asked you to leave me alone,” you say quietly, and the boys hear your voice from six years ago layered on top of it, a mirror of the past. This took place over the phone, then, stemming from an argument about your absence from a funeral. “I asked you not to judge me for my choices, but that was never the same thing. And yet, all of you let me go without a word.”

Asier shifts uncomfortably, the glug of a bottle breaking the silence that follows you statement. He hands you a glass. “Lemonade,” he says.

“I’m sorry. For everything. I don’t know how else to say it,” blurts Adrian, who has always been impatient and far too close to you to drag these things out.

Your legs tremble but Asier is there to steady you. “Sit down, txurru. Let’s talk.”

Over drinks, they recount it all. Fight by fight, death by death. No one cries as Asier carefully details your father’s descent into alcoholism; how he lost his footing, how he left his life’s work with no apparent reason, killing himself slowly until one day, there was nothing he could do but actually die. Unflinching, they tell you about the late-night arguments, the doors slamming, the silence that followed. Your father’s temper had fractured the family over the years, though you’d been too blind to see until the day you left, and it did not subside in the years you spent estranged.

They talk about how much they missed you, how they’d send texts to a number you no longer used, or tried to find you on social media. Pride fills the room when Ander talks about finding you on your firm’s website.

For the first time since the accident, you feel tethered to something, something that feels like it could belong to you. These boys – men, really – share your face and they share your past, and, as the lump in your throat falls away, you realise that this is what home feels like.

But that tether is violently yanked away when your phone buzzes.

“Where the fuck are you?!” Alexia’s voice is sharp, teetering on the edge of fury and desperation.

You squint, confused at why she is so upset, then remembering that Alexia isn’t some random woman who reminds you to take your pain medication and drives you to your appointments.

“Bilbao.”

The seconds tick on before Alexia musters the restraint to reply without blowing up your ears from six hundred kilometres away. “You should’ve told me.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t sound it,” she replies bitterly. For a moment, Alexia seems like she hates your guts. And then she takes a deep breath, leaving the silence to fill the gap between you.

#woso x reader #woso #barca femeni #rm universe #randombush3 #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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dovesndecay · 6 months ago

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It's June! It's Pride! It's (my) Birthday!

The Introduction Spiel:

Hi, I'm Reyah! (any pronouns! no really, go for it!) On June 21st, I'm turning 32, an exciting and mysterious age to be!! (So I've heard)

Warning: This is a post asking for financial help, and if there's one thing I would ask is that if you read the whole thing: please reblog.

I'm a multiply-disabled queer person of color, a writer, artist, and photographer. I live with three of my best-good-pal-friends, (@renthony, @kryptidkhaos, and @natalieironside) and our collective army of pets.

We all know it's damned hard to be all these things at the same time under the capitalistic hellscape we're living under, and we/I am always in need of a lot of help with the existing.

I ended the month of May with some smaller bills left still to pay, but am thankful to say that June already had fewer bills than usual due, and the amount I need to start the summer off right is actually less than I was afraid it would be! Woohoo!

What I Make

I mentioned my artistic endeavors, let me show you them!!

Writing

I write less often than I'd like, but I share poetry and shorts, when I have them, on my Patreon!

You must be over 18 to pledge, as I have, can, and will again share Adult Content occasionally. Patrons pledging at least $1/month get access to all content. But most posts becomes free to access eventually. :)

When I do longer form content, I primarily write fantasy with a focus on queer brown characters with disabilities, mental illnesses, and disordered attachments. Because therapy is expensive, and writing is free.

Photography

I do wildlife and landscape photography, primarily, but you can also check out my portrait and event work on my website! You can purchase PRINTS HERE.

And because it's my birthday, I'm offering a 32% discount code for all my prints! The code is good from June 1st to July 1st!

A Note, if you purchase a print: first off: thank you. (please feel free to send a photo of wherever you display it!!!) secondly: this will not go towards the received totals on my financial need because Pixels doesn't pay out until nearly 2 months after the purchase. Funds made from sales will go towards future needs.

CODE: PDHHTR

Artwork

I've been exploring art, both analog and digital, a lot more lately, and have shared both process photos and final drafts on Patreon! Here are just a few examples:

I admittedly don't post on patreon as much as I wish I had the energy to, but I try to make at least one thing a month, provided I have the spoons and time.

Creativity is, like, a level 5 spell slot when you're disabled and impoverished, and I appear to have exactly One (1) of those available at any given time.

The Needs:

The Bills: $1,100

Yeah, we had to get here eventually. Since this post is already pretty long, I'm putting the rest under a cut.

More than half of this, as always, is just for the car payment and insurance that keeps the regular day-job-haver getting to said job, and all our medical appointments, errands, etc.

I still owe around $13,000 total on Johnny Car, but I think we all know that's just not a real number.

The rest of the funds would go toward paying the small subscriptions, for my various medications, and the regular attempts to whittle away slowly at the $4,300 worth of other debt.

($2,200 of back taxes, and $2,100 of credit card debt, and gods, do I mean slowly. Interest piles up so much faster than I can seem to whittle.)

If you're able and willing to help with paying the bills, direct donations can be made here:

PayPal | (link)

Venmo | (dovesndecay)

Cashapp | ($dovesndecay)

If you can, and only if you can.

The It Would Be Cools:

Since every dime that comes in goes primarily towards food and bills, there's little left afterward to be put towards other life necessities like clothes, toiletries, let alone things I just think would be nice/neat/nifty to have.

I have a High Priority wishlist. It's mostly art supplies, bulk toiletries, etc.

I'm woefully low on clothes, being short, fat, and trans, so very little of what I own actually feels good to wear so much as it simply covers my body. I have a wishlist of clothes that would be nice to have.

For everything that firmly lands under the "I just want it" category, I have an Enrichment list. It's mostly stuffies, but also games, room decor, hobby supplies, books, and stim toys.

Our household keeps a big wishlist for things we need, want, groceries, accessibility products, and everything in-between.

Okay, now what?

Well, now, I'm gonna ask that if you got to this point, and if you can't/don't want to do any of the things listed above, then please reblog this post.

The more people that reblog it, the more likely I'm able to pay my bills for one more month this year.

But if you don't, it's not like anyone's gonna know. I'm not omniscient, I swear.

Anyway, I don't expect anyone to do anything if you can't or even if you just don't wanna, but if you can and you're willing to, it means the world.

I didn't think this is where I'd be at 32. But I never really expected to get here at all in the end, and it's a lot nicer than I thought it would be. Mostly because I am surrounded by amazing people who have the capacity to be so much kinder than I will ever have the words to describe.

Thank you, and to all, a happy pride!

🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤

#fundraiser #dono post #mutual aid #long post #queer #nonbinary #disabled crowdfund

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total-dxmure · 2 years ago

Text

✦ MARLEY AND ME →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER TWO

pairing: modern!ellie williams x single mom!reader

summary: you’re a single mom just doing the best that she can to make ends meet. ellie can’t help but think that you're the kindest, most beautiful girl that she’s ever met. compared to taking care a little girl that's in her terrible twos, coming to terms with the fact that you’re a lesbian is a walk in the park. awkward first encounters, ellie’s broken gay-dar, and her overwhelming urge to take care of the care-giver. . . the road to domesticity is a long one, but it’s well worth the pining that it takes to get there.

warnings: hella SMUT! in future chapters, eventual substance use, no use of y/n (you have nicknames/petnames), the reader is marley’s biological mother, talk of coming to terms with ones sexuality, mention of a shitty baby daddy ( though there is no co-parenting between them), ellie is a total girl mom, lots and lots of fluff, ellie is an anxious dork in this fic, reader is broke but happy, ellie takes pride in being a provider, this is going to be a multi-part fic, ellie is an absolute simp for the reader since chapter one and will remain her #1 fan.

⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅

There were a thousand different ways to tell someone that you loved them.

For you, it could be found in the way that your hands shook with exhaustion after a long night at work as you reached up for the off-brand box of mac n’ cheese. You had your calculator pulled up on your phone, trying to make sure that you had just enough in your bank account for a week's worth of groceries.

Or, it could be found in the simple way that you prepared your daughter’s breakfast in the mornings. Half dead from working eight hours at the little diner, located right off of the interstate. After what felt like a never ending shift dealing with drunk patrons, the first thing you did after getting just four hours of sleep was make your daughter a bowl of oatmeal. You fixed hers the way she liked it- with fresh bananas and strawberries. Fresh fruit was expensive though. A luxury. It was something that you didn’t see yourself worthy of, not when your precious daughter loved it so much. So you stuck to a dash of milk and a few sprinkles of brown sugar, wolfing it down after going without dinner.

You were a single parent, and while your mom and step dad loved watching her while you were at work, you felt incredibly guilty that you didn’t have the extra funds to pay them back for their hard work. You had rent, power, and water to worry about. Plus your insurance bill was incredibly high because of your age, even despite the fact that you drove a car that was nearly as old as you were.

You said “I love you” every time you fed your daughter before you fed yourself. You couldn’t remember the last time you had eaten a meal while it was still hot off of the stove.

You said “I love you” when you didn’t complain. You refused to be defeated or beaten down solely because you were a young single mother. You didn’t want Marley to remember her childhood that way. So you bought her cheap toys to keep her happy. You let her wipe sticky little hands all over the few articles of clothing that you owned. You let her lay in the bed with you when she couldn’t go to sleep, despite the fact that you barely got any shut eye yourself. You carried the weight of her on your shoulders and never complained.

And above all else, you didn’t regret her for a second.

Not when her father abandoned you to do god knows what. Not when you gave birth with just your mother in the room. Not when your lights got cut off. Not when you lost most of your friends, because what young adult wants to hang out with a two year old all the time?

Marley was your pride and joy despite all of it.

So you tossed the box of mac n’ cheese into the cart when she started to reach for it and added the cost of it onto your calculator.

You looked down at your phone as you pushed the buggy aimlessly forward, not sure what else you needed to pick up. You stuck your hand into the front pocket of your overalls, leafing around for your shopping list.

“Uh. . . long time no see.”

Your head snapped up as you heard the familiar raspy voice in front of you. Your stomach did a few flips as you took in her tight fitting boot cut jeans and gray tank top. Her nose wasn’t the only thing that was splattered with freckles, but her revealed shoulders as well. Ellie had looked good in her work clothes, but there was something extra attractive about the way that she dressed in her free time. It was all about comfort and mobility. She didn’t need loads of jewelry, or even makeup for that matter, to be beautiful. You suddenly felt underdressed for the grocery store, hyper aware of the fact that you had only slapped on some mascara before running out of the house.

Your eyes flickered down to the basket she was holding, and you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that the only thing in it was a case of beer and a few microwavable meals. Her dirty, paint covered hand tightened on the handle, and she shuffled her feet before clearing her throat.

“I know I look like hammered shi-” She caught herself, her eyes widening as she noted that Marley was with you. “Poop. Hammered poop.” She corrected, motioning over her outfit.

You brushed her off with a wave of your wrist, making a small noise of denial. If she thought that she looked bad, you didn’t want to even think about how you must look in her eyes. You’d barely had time to run a brush through your wild hair before jogging out the door.

“Do you have the day off?” You asked her, putting some of your weight onto the buggy. Your daughter started to get antsy, so you reached down into the buggy and handed her the rabbit plushie she had insisted on bringing with her, only to toss it behind her the second that the two of you started shopping.

You noticed Ellie’s eyes soften as she watched your daughter hug the small stuffed creature.

“Yeah,” She looked back over at you, her eyes just as soft as they had been a second ago. Your heart began doing that funny thing. The weird pounding ache that made you feel like you were dying. “I scheduled some time off so that I could help Joel repaint the outside of his house.”

Her boots were splattered with white, and now that you were really staring at her, so was her pants. A few baby hairs were still stuck to the sides of her neck and forehead, probably from sweating in the summer sun.

“That was nice of you.” You said simply, chewing on the inside of your lip as you tried to find something else to say.

You didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, but it had been almost a week since you had last seen her, and she never had texted. You despised how sensitive you were, but you couldn’t help but see it as some sort of rejection. Maybe she had asked for your phone number instead of just giving you hers because she never planned on reaching back out at all.

“Nah, not really. He had an old Gibson lying around, so he gave it to me. That’s enough payment, I’d say.” She kicked an imaginary rock on the worn linoleum floor, trying to find a way to tell you that she hadn’t texted you because she’d been afraid without coming off as a complete pussy.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, and you spoke before you could even think the question through. “Gibson? Is that like. . . food or something?”

Ellie stood there for a second, lips parting as she stared at the confused look on your face. The longer she stared, the more embarrassed you felt.

‘Oh god, that’s totally not what she was talking about.’ You thought to yourself, damn near close to slapping yourself upside the head.

She had to place the basket down so that she could brace her hands onto her knees as she laughed. You had made her chuckle a few times the other day, but nothing like this. Her smile was so beautiful, her laugh so hearty, that you forgot the reason why you were embarrassed in the first place. Her laugh was as raspy as her voice was- if not more so. It was also loud. You were sure that people could hear it all throughout the grocery store, despite the loud 80’s throwback that was blasting over the speakers. You didn’t mind if people could hear her, so long as they knew that you were the one to inspire this sort of reaction. You’d happily continue to ask the dumbest questions on the planet if it meant that you got to hear her laugh like this again.

She straightened up, shaking her head a few times as she tried to take steadying breaths.

“I-I’m sorry. . . I’m not laughing at you. That was just- that was a really cute question.” You felt the need to look away from her green eyes. “A Gibson. Like the guitar? Ever heard of one?”

You did slap yourself upside the head, then promptly covered your face with both of your hands. “Oh my god. Of course. . . Holy shit, that’s embarrassing.” You whined.

“Hey,” Ellie smiled at you again. It looked like she was really starting to come out of her shell. All it took was you embarrassing the absolute hell out of yourself. You would have done it sooner if you’d known. “No ‘S’ bombs in front of Marley.” She playfully scolded.

“Right, right. Wouldn’t want a mini sailor as a roommate.” You looked over at the child in question, rolling your eyes as you noticed the poor rabbit’s ear practically halfway down her throat. “She has an odd fascination with trying to eat things that shouldn’t be eaten.” You explained, knowing that you’d have to toss her beloved stuffie straight into the wash the second that you got home.

“I mean. . .who hasn’t eaten something that they shouldn’t have? If bubblegum wasn’t supposed to be swallowed, then why do they make it taste so good?” She stuck one of her hands into the front pocket of her jeans.

“Don’t give her any ideas. I’m sure she’s going to be one hell of a gum eater.”

The two of you took a second to just stare at each other, unsure if the lack of contact should be mentioned or not. You were the first person to break and mention it.

“So. . . I never got a text from you. Was it the caffeine addiction or the two year old that scared you away?” You said it lightheartedly, letting her know that it wasn’t meant to be taken as a jab or a judgment of her character.

Ellie swallowed hard, looking down at her shoes so that she could come up with a way to gracefully answer the question. She decided that there wasn’t a smooth way to answer.

“Neither. I was. . . uh- I was sort of scared that you wouldn’t answer me if I texted you first. I was hoping that I would run into you again.” It sounded stupid now that she was saying it outloud.

It also made it sound like she had romantic intentions. Granted. . . she had hope, but she’d be happy just to call you a friend. If that was really the case though, she shouldn’t have felt so nervous to reach out to you in the first place.

It was nice being around you. It felt effortless, and you didn’t take her ‘rough around the edges’ personality the wrong way, like most people. She would like to blame Joel for her crass attitude, but she’d been like this far before she was adopted. The two of them just happened to be more alike than she cared to admit.

“How about this: you give me your number right now, and I’ll text you when I get home.” You felt ten times better knowing that you really had just been overthinking.

You handed over your phone, and smiled as she reached out for it, starting to type her number in. She paused for a second though, realizing that she was so frazzled over seeing you again that she had forgotten the phone number that she’d had since freshman year of high school. She wondered if it would be too cheesy to put some sort of emoji after her name, and decided against it. Her contact was saved under “Ellie Williams”.

It was right to the point. No nonsense. It was so her that all you could do was smile fondly down at your phone before shoving it back into the pocket of your overalls.

You were also guilty of reading her a bit wrong. She was far more shy and anxious than you gave her credit for. It was sweet, actually. Being forward wasn’t exactly something that you were very good at these days though. Your ex had. . . ruined you, for lack of a better phrase. You hadn’t dated in years, and while most would blame the fact that you had a child, you knew it wasn’t quite that. There were nice people that didn’t care about that sort of thing. Yes, they were few and far in between, but they were out there. The second that someone showed you even a bit of kindness that crossed the boundary of friendship, you often pulled back. Or away completely.

You’d always known that you were into women. It wasn’t a discussion that you had to have with anyone in your life though, because you and your ex had dated all the way back in high school. Queer kids often have some sort of “coming out” story, but you never felt the need to. After the messy breakup you hadn’t felt the need for romance. Were you lonely? Incredibly so, but you’d rather be alone than allow your daughter to get attached to someone only for them to leave.

Now that you were older, you started to realize that maybe you had settled with a man because that was what you thought you should do. Getting married and having children was just the thing to do around here. Living in a place like Jackson, there wasn’t a ton of representation. Now that you were more experienced in the ‘life’ category, it was safe to say that you couldn’t imagine yourself settling down with a man. It wasn’t because of the trauma that Marley’s father had put you through either, it was something that had always been there. A part of you felt guilty that it had taken you so many years to gain the courage to be yourself, but you were far too young for it to be too late.

Or so you told yourself when the anxiety started to weigh down on your heart.

“Do you eat a lot of microwavable meals?” You asked her, pointing to the basket that she had picked back up after her fit of laughter.

She flushed. Like actually turned pink. You smiled as she let out a small groan, wiping a paint stained hand over her face.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t see those,” You didn’t feel as bad for pointing them out as you should have. Not when it gave you a solid reason to see her again. “I’m super busy with work, and after a long day of being around food, I really don’t feel like cooking for just myself.”

Bingo. She’s single.

The old fluorescent light above the aisle that the two of you were currently chattering away in flickered. The both of you looked up at it simultaneously.

“Well, if you ever want a home cooked meal. . . you could always come over to my place? As long as you don’t mind watching a two year old try to use a spoon. It looks like a murder scene.” You said, eyes still locked on the light. You were really putting yourself out there, and felt too scared to see her reaction to the question.

She forgot how to breathe for a second. Was she just being pathetically optimistic, or were you asking her on a . . . very casual date?

“I would really like that.” She breathed, nodding her head to emphasize the fact that she was more than happy to come over. Toddler and all.

Most people her age would be a bit put off by the fact that you had a child, but it was a nonfactor for Ellie. She’d had almost an entire week to fantasize about you. During her routine daydreams, she recognized that she wasn’t bothered by Marley. If anything. . . it made her like you more. You were capable, and she’d like to think that you were incredibly mature. Ellie needed that in her life. She would never vocalize it, but she wanted stability. She wanted happiness. She wanted you.

You made her feel like she was in high school again, which was good. The constant stomach flops and heart palpitations didn’t feel good, but she hadn’t felt this giddy about someone since. . . well, probably forever.

“Great,” You beamed at her, and once again she felt like she might double over. Was her hands shaking? Yeah. . . they totally were. “When is your next day off?”

“Sunday.” She answered a little too eagerly and nearly winced.

“Ah, that’s great! Same here. Well, how does five thirty sound? I’ll text you my address.” You, on the other hand, didn’t care how eager you sounded.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“-and then I just. . . jogged off.” Ellie recalled, taking another drag off of the spliff before handing it over to Jesse.

She gave him a small shove when she noticed his slack jaw and narrowed eyes. He fell back against the couch, shaking his head wildly.

“No you didn’t.” He denied, hoping that his friend wasn’t that awkward.

“No, I totally did. The keys on my belt were jingling with how fast I was moving to get out of there. I forgot like. . . half of the things on my list.” She was mortified. She wanted to shrink down into a small ball and die. She was hoping that Jesse would give her some sound advice, but she should have known that he would give her major shit before going all Confucius on her.

“Oh my go-”Jesse’s barking laugh turned into a fit of coughs. Ellie wanted to think that it was the drug usage and not her retelling of the horrific events from earlier on in the day that was making him laugh so hard. He wiped at an invisible tear on his cheek, followed by a drawn out round of repeated “oooh that was good”’s.

“Help. Me.” Ellie said through clenched teeth, zipping her gray hoodie all the way up to her neck.

“Bring her flowers.” He said with a shrug, taking another long drag.

“I can’t bring her flowers, Jes! What if. . . I don’t know- what if she’s straight and I totally weird her out?” It would be a nightmare to show up with a gift like that, only to have read the situation completely wrong.

“. . . Can’t you tell if she’s gay or not? It’s not uncommon for people to realize they’re a lesbian after having kids.” Jesse’s brows furrowed as he blew off the ash from the eye of the spliff, handing it back over to her.

She took another long drag for courage before letting out a sigh, the smoke curling out from her mouth.

“I can’t. . . I can’t tell when it comes to that sort of thing.” She said lamely.

Jesse’s jaw dropped for a second time that night. Ellie sunk back into her overly-comfortable couch, pulling her hood up and over her head so that she could disappear.

“I just thought you had a thing for straight chicks this entire time,” He gasped, reaching out so that he could roughly shake her by her shoulders. “But you’re telling me that you’re a flaming homosexual and don’t have a gaydar?” He’d known her since high school, and he was just finding out? Damn. . . this entire time he thought that she must be some sort of masochist or something.

“Yes. Are you happy now? I don’t have a gaydar, and I have no clue if she’s sending me friendly signals, so I’m asking for your help.” She needed someone to spell it out to her. He’d seen you at the restaurant, afterall.

“. . . Did you happen to see her nails?”

“It’s almost like you want to get punched in the mouth.”

✦ message me about being put on the taglist!

@viswifetotallyreal @lillysbigwilly @overtrred28 @corpsebridenightamare @gimalo135 @erikaar

why not to buy tlou2 remastered (please read).

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v3nusxsky · 3 months ago

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Can you write Morticia x Larissa x Reader where reader (0-3) (also a shapeshifter like Larissa and shifts when she regresses) is their wife/little and when reader regresses they take her to a pumpkin patch and come home and carve the pumpkin and just loads of fluff and cuteness, please?

Pumpkins day out

*authors note~ AND IM BACKKKKKK! hey y’all okay so this is small intro to being back activly posting now I feel my life is in somewhat order and let me tell you I’ve missed you guys sm. I’ve read every comment ask and dm of kind words and I’m so grateful for y’all being so patient with me! Let’s get it started, imma tweak this one ever so slightly but I just wanna say I love when you guys tell me what you want me to write next as it helps keep me focused and insuring you guys are getting content you want :)*

Trigger warnings~ Agere? Little fem shapeshifter r, mommy morticia, momma Larissa (everything that occurs has been spoken about when r is in her age appropriate head space)

Prompt~see ask^^^^^

(Banner to be added)

Distressed muffled whimpers carried themselves into the principals office alongside the pitter patter of tiny feet indicating your presence was imminent. The two occupants being your wives or rather care givers in this head space. It’s not uncommon for the two elder women to wake before you especially after your late night antics that resulted in you slipping off to sleep in sub space. It was almost routine for you to wake up in little space. Being a shifter allowed your body to lean into your headspace meaning they were almost always greeted by a darling little girl ranging from infant to toddler ages.

Like clockwork your little body came barrelling in through the mahogany doorway and straight into your mommy’s awaiting arms. Her long flowy onyx dress providing the perfect sensory input to help calm your little state. Her words dripping in smooth silk as she stood to full height swaying you gently in her arms as Larissa watched on with an adoring smile. Her two loves looking ever so naturally them always brought her a sense of peace she could never recreate no matter how much she tried.

The fall always created a beautiful almost picturesque landscape of the Nevermore grounds at this time of year. The chill of autumn air being a welcomed change from the blazing heat as Augusts final goodbye. Students of Nevermore spending their time acclimatising to dorm life, new schedules and a whole new academic year. Far too busy to notice what wholesome activities were occurring in the office.

“Momma” you sniffed effortlessly breaking the blonde out of her own thoughts. “Yes little pumpkin” she whispered before attacking your cheeks with sweet kisses. Your infectious giggles causing Tish to let a small smile grace her lips as she found the desired outfit for the day. “Mommy momma me go gets jack-o’-lantern from patch” your excitement practically vibrating from your small frame. “Oh is that so little love? It can’t be that time already can it?” She pretended to ponder, searching her very organised calendar for your initials scrawled in a beautiful heart shape.

“Mommy” you whimpered as Larissa still continued to not see what was so clearly labelled causing the raven haired woman to tut in response, “don’t tease my sweet girl Larissa darling” before easily scooping you up and giving the order to get ready for your yearly traditions. “Momma was teasing baby, we are going to find our pumpkins don’t you worry little pumpkin” Tish reassured before loudly whispering about visiting the weathervane without the blonde if she wanted to tease you.

Unsurprisingly, the whole drive you sleepily clung to morticia as Larissa drove you all to the best pumpkin patch around Jericho. Only when the car stopped did your excitement hit you once again full force. All the pretty colours and leaves being scattered all over the ground, all calling out for you to come and jump around in. “Mommy” you whined as you attempted to wriggle out of the seatbelt by yourself with no success. “Momma” you pouted causing Larissa to chuckle and help get you out of the car where you happily held both their hands. Little giggles filled the air as you crunched the leaves under your little boots, eyes gleaming with pure joy. Both women lost count of how many times you’d run, jump and kick the crunchy fall leaves. Each time a squeal of pure joy and excitement left your little body. It almost broke their hearts to have to refocus your adorable self on the task at hand.

Naturally you had managed to burn yourself out of energy after all the running, jumping, kicking and arguing about which pumpkin you all needed to get. The task of selecting the biggest pumpkin the patch had to offer had taken over two hours with more playful arguments and moments where you’d ran after a falling leaf insisting on catching it for Larissa and Mortica . Now you ended up snuggled into Morticia’s chest being carried to the car with tiny fists rubbing at your eyes as larissa hauled your chosen one to the car. By now the chilled air had Larissa wanting to frequent her favourite place besides Jericho. All the way to the weathervane you snoozed and the two women bantered back and forth about how wrong they were years ago. Larissa had never managed to lose the nickname of stately sequoia tree, morticia remaining the lumberjack and you their precious pumpkin. Hot chocolates secured the women had some how managed to succeed in moving you and the pumpkin into Larissa’s office before arranging the supplies you’d need when you awoke.

Your obsession recently had been black cats so it was easy for the women to find a cute yet Halloween appropriate stencil for you to use. Together they helped you carve and gut the pumpkin while laughing and loving on you. Your little heart filled with a type of joy that you never had as a child. The atmosphere and love was not something you’d had the pleasure to experience until them either. “Fanks best day ever momma mommy I wuvs you” you mumbled as all three of you admired the work of art.

#anon answered #v3nusxsky answers #fanfic #anon requested #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #principal larissa weems #weems #larissa x morticia x reader #Little!fem reader x Larissa x morticia #weems x reader Agere #morticia x reader Agere #Nevermore #morticia addams x reader #morticia x reader #morticia addams #larissa weems x morticia frump #v3nusxsky is backkkkkk

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moonlightsylph · 14 days ago

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Emergency Commissions

tl;dr, I was in a car accident. I need help to get it back on the road if possible as my insurance isn't going to cover it. I don't know the total cost yet, will update once I do, but I'm going to set a starting goal as of now. Longer explanation and details below the read-more

This will be a Pay-as-you-Want through Ko-fi

kofi: https://ko-fi.com/moonlightsylph

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Basics

This is the starting point, where you pick the level of what you want. From sketch (basic blocking out and concept, typically will be done in traditional pencil) to full (shading and rendering)

Sketch- pay-as-you-want (done traditionally, in pencil, before scanned/photographed to be resized and uploaded. Can also be done as digital line if preferred) Lines- pay-as-you-want (Digitally, Unless specified. If traditional, it will be done in ink. It will be scanned/photographed before resizing) Flats- pay-as-you-want (Digitally, Unless specified. If traditional, we can discuss materials wanted. It will be scanned/photographed before resizing) Full- pay-as-you-want (Digitally, Unless specified. If traditional, we can discuss materials wanted. It will be scanned/photographed before resizing)

Examples

Traditional Only: Flairs. This will be done in gold and/or silver pen to add flourishes

eaxmples:

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Background

Backround options. Simple (for me is either a solid background or a gradient. I pick the colours for this one unless you have requests.) to Basic detail (being in a room, set-dressing for the character, ect) to Complex (fighting scene, detailed background like cityscapes or nature scenes. Here you have more control on what exactly you want, instead of a generalized idea. I will complete this to the best of my ability)

Simple background- free Basic detail- pay-as-you-want Complex scenes- pay-as-you-want

Example:

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Style

Here is where we get a little creative. I've toyed with different styles and challenges. For limited pallets, you can provide me with a colour pallet you want to see me transform into your character, or I can generate a few for you to pick from.

As for the Random Blorbo, this is a fun challenge I wish to do where I build you a new character. You can give me a few details you want seen, otherwise its completely up in the air what you get.

Lineless- pay-as-you-want Limited pallets- pay-as-you-want Chibi- pay-as-you-want Random blorbo machine- pay-as-you-want [comes with two-three head shots and one full body]

Examples:

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Fun Stuff

For this section, you can have custom borders done for your personal use. Be it for framing a picture you like, to spruce up your page or blog, or to frame up a personal project you have going (example: making your own tcg, tarot card, ect)

As for the cards, this is where I create a card featuring one of your characters each. Like a tcg or a tarot, or whichever you want to see.

Ref sheets are pretty straight forward. I'll provide two-three headshots + full body + interesting facts you want included. This also included, if you wish it, personal items said character may have to showcase.

Custom borders- pay-as-you-want Cards- pay-as-you-want Ref sheets- pay-as-you-want

Avatars: pay-as-you-want

Examples:

Hello,

I know this is out of the blue, but when things happen they don't give you a forewarning.

I was involved in a car accident yesterday. Fresh with a new N, only had my car for a week to myself, I found myself hydroplaning into a traffic control post and side-swiping a car in the process.

Thankfully, they got off with cosmetic damage and a cracked tail-light as i avoided rear-ending them.

Myself, however, ended up with a banged bumper, a passenger mirror nearly beheaded and a crack radiator. Lucky, considering what could have happened, but still terrifying.

It was after this i learned that my insurance wouldn't cover the collision, meaning I'd have to cover everything out of pocket. Money I don't really have at the moment. Not with the other debts I've been steadily paying off.

I don't know the grand total yet, I'm still waiting for my car to be released so I can take it to a body shop. But from how expensive cars can be, with some insight from those around me, I can make a good guess at a "starting" amount. I'll update the total once I know though.

But I'm now asking for help. I don't expect anything for free, I will be making things in exchange. I've wanted to open commissions for a while, its just sad that what made me finally pull the trigger is when I'm in trouble. I'll link my kofi, the prices will be set to pay-as-you-want. I'll work out details for what people want, and I'll have a list of things I don't think I can do.

But I appreciate that you took the time to read this. Any help will be greatly appreciated and even if you can't, please share. If you just want to donate and not get a work in exchange, just say so in the notes. (that said, you might end up with a doodle anyways as thank you <3)

#commisions open #emergency commissions #tw car accident #moon spam #art stuff #artist on kofi #kofi commission #kofi

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theivorybilledwoodpecker · 1 year ago

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I was exactly halfway into my second pregnancy, and up until that point, we were so ecstatic to be expecting again — a baby we’d been praying for. We kept talking about and imagining the joy it would be to bring our new baby home to meet our 2-year-old daughter. But at my 20-week ultrasound, a day that is supposed to be full of excitement and awe, we received devastating news. Our baby, a second daughter, had many severe and insurmountable skeletal and organ issues. Fetal specialists told us that it was extremely unlikely she could survive because all her major organ systems had significant development issues. We were blindsided and heartbroken, and yet somehow clear-minded. We chose to do what we believed was best for our unborn daughter as well as for our family; because that is what you do as parents. And we saw the choice we ultimately made as an act of love for her. We respect and honor that other parents have chosen — and will continue to choose — the only other option our doctor suggested to us — to let the pregnancy take its natural course and provide specialist or palliative care as needed. And that is the point. Individuals and their families — no matter where they happen to live — must be able to make the best choice for them. They need to be free to choose their own act of love. I believe now more than ever that anyone’s reason for seeking an abortion is valid. Who are we to say it isn’t? What we didn’t know when we made our decision was that in addition to being so difficult emotionally, it would be made so much worse by the abortion bans recently enacted in Idaho. Because of these cruel laws, my Idaho doctors could not provide me with an abortion — something they could easily have done before Roe v. Wade was overturned — in my own community supported by family and friends. We had to spend the following days cold-calling countless clinics in nearby states where abortion is still legal, but found out that because of all the other new abortion bans in states across the country, many clinics had closed, most had no open appointments for several weeks, and still others considered my pregnancy, at 20 weeks, too far along for me to receive care. The thought of waiting out this pregnancy, possibly for weeks, or however long, while trying to get through the day working as a chiropractor and still being active and present for our toddler was more than I could handle. All I could think about was whether the daughter I was carrying was already suffering; my anxiety and sadness were overwhelming. We both felt hopeless and heartbroken until we reached a Seattle clinic with a last-minute cancellation. Although relieved, there was so much we had to do to get there in the haze of our grief. There were flights to make, hotels to book, a car to rent and medical care our health insurance would not cover because we were going out of state to access and receive it. One of the most tragic — and degrading — parts of our situation was knowing that people in my home state of Idaho believe this is acceptable, denying me bodily autonomy. We will always be grateful to the clinic and team in Seattle for offering us professional, compassionate care. I am a person of faith and for months after my abortion, I kept telling Brandon there had to be something positive that would come out of this experience. Several months later, I learned that the Center for Reproductive Rights was putting together a challenge to Idaho’s abortion laws, and I knew immediately that moving forward as a plaintiff in the case was something I had to do. I’m proud to be one of the many women and doctors challenging and broadening these laws. Physicians in Idaho must have greater discretion over when abortion exceptions are warranted, and the decision should be the patient’s in consultation with their doctors.

#Jillaine St. Michel #abortion

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for-a-longlongtime · 6 months ago

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it 'only' took three years

3 years ago the university dept. where I was doing my PhD (with two years of funding) decided "nah we're not gonna let you come back from your medical leave, we're a bunch of ableist conservative assholes who don't want to give you the funding you were promised". They refused to let me re-enroll in classes, jeeted me from my program... and cancelled my student visa on the spot. In the middle of the fucking pandemic. So just like that I was suddenly undocumented, without insurance and unable to work legally.

So a fuck ton happened during the past three years (death, illness, and my mental health going completely to shit), my partner and I got married so I could get my immigration paperwork adjusted/filed, but y'all... that shit is expensive af. And I wasn't allowed to work legally, so it took a long time to get the funds I needed, plus lawyer fees, and then there's the endless waiting for updates from USCIS/the government.

BUT TODAY... I FINALLY GOT MY GREEN CARD!!!

I can't even tell you what an incredible relief it is to no longer live in fear - though I recognize that even when I was undocumented, I still had a lot of privileges being a white ciswoman with a BA who had a partner that was able to provide for us both. Also, finally being a permanent resident in the US means that I can finally safely fly to my country of origin to visit my family and friends at least. I haven't seen my best friends and sister in over 4 years, and haven't been able to hug my nephew and niece (and other family) in 4,5 years, so... it's been unreal.

ANYWAY. We just went out for dinner to celebrate, and while we were having a drink and burgers, what do I suddenly see on the tv above the bar??

JACK. I couldn't even fucking believe it - Kingsman was playing on the tv. What an incredible surprise (I'm gonna call it a little blessing) to have that happen on a day like today, it made me so giddy.

Things are finally looking up again, and I can't tell you what a relief it is. Next on the list of 'how to get my life back' is getting a state ID and learning how to drive so I can get my license (yup, I'm late thirties and still no clue how to drive a car), as well as finding a job!

I don't post a ton of personal stuff like this on my page, but I just had to share the good news with all of you. So many of y'all have been incredibly supportive - be it in general or particular re: this situation, and even just discovering the Pedro fandom (and fic verse) over the past year has been bringing me so much joy. I hope that now some serious life shit like my paperwork is dealt with, I'll have more headspace to do better and more writing, as well as catch up on my reading and rb-ing!

#personal #for a long long time

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20dollarlolita · 10 months ago

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The process of how I bought my wheelchairs.

Someone's asked for help on this, and I've written a couple of really thorough posts that I never published, but here's the short I intended this to be short, but it's not version.

IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: This is not medical advice. I cannot provide medical advice. I am sharing my own experience, and it should not be used as your only research for this issue. Any time I am saying, "you," please note that it is a style choice to use the second person, and not an indication of giving advice.

Quick note: if your doctor prescribed you a chair, make sure you know what kind of chair was prescribed, and why. The best chair in the world is still awful if it doesn't do what you need.

Also if your insurance will cover a wheelchair then, once you've made sure that your insurance will cover the chair you need, make the smart choice about where you'll buy these things.

The first time that I was using a wheelchair full time, I was borrowing this one from a friend. This chair is about $500, so when I was buying my first chair for myself, I was looking at that price point. If a chair I was considering was notably more than $500, I knew I could just get my own copy of this chair that I was already comfortable with. The chair that I was borrowing was three years old and had been heavily used, so I was confident in this model's lifespan.

The other big advantage of this is that it ships free with Prime, which meant that it was easy to send to a friend when I was tired of watching her use a inexpensive chair to get around the Disney parks.

But then I went on ebay and learned about the magical world of secondhand wheelchairs. The short version of the story is that a wheelchair can outlive someone's need for it, and so it's not super uncommon to see someone selling an older wheelchair for much less than the chair is new. A lot of the time, these are custom or modular chairs. Instead of a basic chair that's set up to one-size-fits-probably-most, modular and custom chairs have 10+ pages of options to select from in their order form. When you're buying a new custom chair, you pick every option to make sure it's perfect for you. When your goal to buying a used chair is to just get one that's better for you than a Drive Super Sport one-size-fits-hopefully-you chair, the secret to buying on ebay is to find out what features you absolutely need, and then to check the other elements of the chair and see if they will work for you.

Quick note, at the time that I was buying my wheelchair, I actually already owned a wheelchair, and had decided it wasn't going to work for me to use full-time. This is an Invacare Tracer and it was, according to the tag, stolen from a wheelchair rental place in 2010, and according to my mom, stolen from my neighbor's to-be-burned pile in 2019. So if we don't count alleged crime as a cost, this wheelchair was free. This is a great example of a chair that's set up to be one-size-fits-no-one-perfectly.

This wheelchair would be better than nothing, but it's heavy, the wheels are really far back, and it doesn't really fit in my car. The tires have no tread and are pretty worn, so they don't do great for outdoor offroading. All detachable parts of this (armrests, foot rests) had been lost a decade ago, and they're not cheap to replace. I already knew what kind of budget I was willing to spend, and I felt that just using this as my main mode of movement wasn't going to be worth the saving of the $500.

I do still use this wheelchair a LOT in my house, because it's a pain to get my real wheelchair out of my car and into my house (because stairs), but I wouldn't feel confident taking it out on the town unless I have someone to push me.

So the secret to buying a wheelchair on ebay is a three step process:

Determine how much money you're able to spend. The best wheelchair in the world isn't going to do you any good if you can't actually get it.

Determine what main features you want in a chair, and look for those.

When you find a chair that has those features at that price, check to see if everything else in the chair works for you.

(Secret step 4: be lucky enough to have someone listing the chair you need).

So I picked this chair (Which is a Quickie 2 Lite) mostly because the Medwarm wheelchair had been a bit too wide for me. This chair was narrower and had a lot of the traits of the Medwarm chair that I'd liked. It folded, had 24" wheels with tread, had feet plates that didn't stick way out in front. I didn't actually know how any of that felt until I had it, because I didn't have experience with multiple wheelchairs. My inexperience gave me a superpower, which was that I didn't need to get so critical of certain traits, because I had no idea what any of that meant.

Shipped and with tax, this was $400. At the time, I just went, "hey, this is like the wheelchair that I want, but without the negative trait of being as wide, and it's $100 less."

The main this about this chair that I learned that I love is that the center of gravity is farther forward than on the Medwarm chair (I believe it's set to +1"). This gave me a lot more power pushing myself. When I was using the Medwarm chair, it wasn't uncommon for me to ask friends to push me long distances. I very rarely needed that in the Quickie2.

But I did have to replace it.

Short version of a long story was that when I went to being a most-time wheelchair user, the seat of my chair got smaller relative to my body. I'd picked a narrower chair because it was easier to navigate the world, but I'd actually picked a chair that was becoming too small for me to fit my Kitten Holding Legs into. I looked into getting a new chair.

So let's talk about the wheelchair that I bought and couldn't use. We learn from our wins and our misses.

This is a 19" Catalyst 5. There's a few problems with this one for me, but they all sum up to (for me personally) that it had more negative (to me) traits than the Medwarm one, but also was more expensive. I'd picked this one because it looked like it'd be more like my Quickie2 than like the Medwarm, but it just wasn't good for me.

My Quickie2's narrow, so I could put my feet right next to each other. This was the most comfortable way for me to sit. The way that KI measures a Catalyst frame and the way Quickie measures a Quickie 2 frame are different. My 15" frame Quickie 2 had a 14" wide seat, and this 19" Catalyst 5 had a 22" wide frame. The first time that I unfolded it, I knew that it was just too big for me to use comfortably. In addition, I didn't like the solid low-profile tires. I didn't like how far away the wheels were. It also had a really nice quality back, but the back had to be removed to fold the chair, so it was another step to take in and out of my car. It was also about 2" shorter at the seat than my old chair, and I already deal with being too short for my store's counters, so I didn't like losing that height.

So this was a case where I looked for traits that I thought I wanted: folding, wider seat. Then, instead of checking to see if the rest of the traits of the chair were things that I wanted, I just assumed it'd be okay. Personally, it just wasn't the chair for me.

I ended up learning that selling a used wheelchair on ebay is actually pretty easy as well, so the money I lost on this purchase summed up to the cost of a roll of bubble wrap to pack it up to send it to someone who would benefit from it.

When I was looking for my next wheelchair, I had changed what I wanted out of a chair. I knew that I wanted tires with actual tread on them, instead of solid poly smooth tires. I knew that I wanted a wider seat, but not too wide. If it didn't come with a little bit of camber on the wheels (that's where they slant towards the top of the chair), I wanted to be able to add it. I also wanted it to be a minimum of 17" high seat. But the biggest change was that I'd decided that I didn't really need it to be folding.

I drive a hatchback with back seats that can fold down, and I pretty much never have passengers. I decided fuck it, if I'm not driving people, I don't need to keep the seats up, so I could get a non-folding chair and just shove the whole thing in the back without breaking down. Without breaking down the chair. I could still break down. Life is tough sometimes.

So this is a Quickie GT, which is an old, discontinued model. According to the serial number lookup, it was made in 2009. The good news is that it immediately passed the Cat Test.

When I was looking at this chair, I saw that it was designed for people who push themselves, and would probably be less good for someone who needed other people to push them. This wasn't an issue for me, because I hate being pushed.

(same chair plus two cans of spray paint)

This chair was over the $500 budget (it was $670 with shipping and tax), but this time I'd done enough research to be confident that it'd be a lot better for me than the Medwarm chair. I stuck with Quickie as a brand because I felt like I better understood how they size their seats. The serial number lookup said that this chair was 17" wide, so I was ready to get a 16" seat, and that's what I got. It's got pneumatic tires, which don't just have tread but also roll along the ground like bicycle tires. I love this chair. Instead of two separate foot rests, there's just the one, so I'm a lot more comfortable with how I sit.

It does have the downside of this is the smallest it gets without taking off the wheels. The wheels come off easily and so it's not a big problem, but it's more steps to get it into the car if I don't want to fold back my seats. Also, the front plate doesn't flip up or go away, so if I want to propel myself with my foot I'm a lot more limited.

Once I don't need this anymore, I'm also going to need to either sell it or figure out where to store it. I can keep a folding wheelchair in the back of my closet in case I need it again, but this one will be taking up some space.

For all of the chairs that I got, I was really only searching ebay for a couple of days before the right one at the right price showed up. This is somewhat slanted based on what I need, because certain things do show up more often than others, and at different prices. Wider chairs tend to have less selection and be more expensive, while 12-14" wide chairs are really plentiful.

Let's get together and look at some ebay chairs. We're going to search "wheelchair" and set condition to "used". If you plop the sort system into "price+shipping: lowest first" and then start scrolling until you get past all the wheelchair parts and all the "free local pickup: <location that is in another country>" and into the actual wheelchairs that can ship, you can start checking out the market.

I immediately eliminate anything that doesn't have all the parts, that is too expensive, that is only available for pickup, that doesn't have foot rests, or a few other things. The first one that I saw that I didn't elminate was this.

The most important thing from this listing is where they post the serial number.

And that's because KI, Sunrise, and Permobil all keep databases of all the serial numbers of all the chairs they have sold.

You can now go onto a site that sells that chair and look up what all those things mean. Spinlife sells the Catalyst 5Vx, and if you click "help me choose" on an item listing, it'll usually give you pictures of the different options. For me personally, the draw of this one would be that it's a really good price, and it's roughly set up the same as my default Medwarm chair. I don't like the tires but I do like the side guards and arm rest combo.

This was on a listing for a chair where the serial number wouldn't pull up. I wouldn't consider this one since I can't tell the width or depth when the seller won't list it and Sunrise doesn't have it. I'm just dropping this screenshot because "SELLER NOTE TO SELF" and "BUTT PAD NOT INCLUDED" both made me laugh.

As a quick final note, this is not going to be cheaper than getting a really basic wheelchair off Amazon. However, as someone who has used really basic wheelchairs, getting something upgraded has a whole lot of value. One of the reasons why I really like lolita fashion is that we treasure used things that still have use, and so it's also got some value to me to see if I can get something used that still has use. In my experience, things got better when I tried to get something used. If you do want a really basic chair, it might still be worth it to check if they're available for nearby pickup. Plopping my location into "free local pickup within 30 miles" offers me a basic Drive chair for $20. It's reusing something instead of having to throw it away, and it's also $20. Can't argue with $20.

Anyway, that's half diary entry and half possible advice.

#20dollarlolita on wheels #tag later #going o have to actually go tag things later sometime

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promtad · 5 months ago

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Comparing Car Insurance Quotes: Find The Best Deal

Navigating the complex world of car insurance can be daunting, but comparing quotes from multiple providers is the key to finding the best deal. This comprehensive guide will walk you through the process of gathering personalized car insurance quotes, evaluating coverage options, and ultimately securing the most affordable policy that meets your unique needs. Whether you’re a first-time buyer or…

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#Affordable car insurance #Auto insurance savings #Best car insurance quotes #Car insurance comparison #Car insurance coverage #Comparing insurance providers #Finding the right coverage #Insurance premium comparison #Online insurance quotes #Vehicle insurance rates

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deadfrog-and-friends · 2 months ago

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domestique, part 1

Merxia was a bicycling doll, the finest Mistress had ever made. She was brought onto the Belgian team Clocklike-Sandsoap as a domestique (a rider who primarily helps other team members rather than try to win themselves) at a time when most domestiques were still human riders. The Union Cycliste Internationale deliberated for three or four months about whether clockwork riders should even be allowed in Grand Tours. Then Clocklike Corporation implied they were reconsidering sponsoring the Tour de France as they had the previous 14 years. That helped the UCI reach a consensus on Doll Policy.

The UCI established that dolls were to participate as riders in a race in a domestique capacity only.

A doll could participate in races by bringing bidons (water bottles), snacks, and other gear, between the cars and human riders.

It was allowed to help the team avoid fines by carrying other riders’ trash and disposing of it properly.

It was allowed to trade bicycles with another rider, if theirs malfunctioned or got a flat.

It was allowed to ride in front of another rider to provide a slipstream for another rider who was struggling to keep up for any reason.

However, while the doll counted toward the eight-rider maximum of the team, it was not allowed to win any races or score any points (unlike human domestiques who would often attempt a win if their leader was compromised.)

It was only allowed to be wound once after the beginning of a stage (upon reaching the designated Feed Zone, where human riders eat and drink) and if it mismanaged its energy and could not finish a stage under its own power, it would be disqualified from the rest of the race.

Its dimensions and weight must stay within certain “human” parameters so as not to give it too much of an aerodynamic advantage.

At the end of any stage, a doll could be pulled aside and subject to inspection, to insure it did not contain any hidden motors or batteries or anything else that might give it an unfair advantage as a domestique.

These rules managed to discourage most teams from pursuing doll domestiques or using them for anything but training purposes. But Clocklike-Sandsoap knew they had something special in Merxia. And they had the money. They invested in the strongest materials for Merxia’s mechanisms. They contracted scientists to design her a “human-like” body that was as aerodynamic as possible. They paid Mistress to infuse her soul with agility, stamina, determination, loyalty, and love for speed. (Mistress did it for half a million dollars and certain perks.)

But we all knew she was special, even before all of the enhancements. Not only was she a mechanical wonder, not only was she beautiful beyond words, not only did she ride with the elegance of a gazelle, but she was friendly, funny, and extremely kind. Her team adored her. The public adored her. We all adored her. Whenever a race ended we would watch the coverage praying there would be an interview. And eventually, there was.

“Ms. Merxia, you’re the best doll in cycling history! Why do you do it? What motivates you?”

Merxia would shake out her long red ringlets. “This one thanks you. Just Merxia is fine. To be honest, this doll does it for the other dolls out there. The combat dolls fighting in the wars. The maid dolls serving in homes. This one has so much respect for those dolls. This one is thinking of them all the time. Oh, and its team mates of course. Its team mates are all so wonderful. They are so loyal to one another, and sacrifice themselves, and make sure this one knows it’s an important part of the team. They care about it, they respect it, they try to make it comfortable. And most of all, this one does it for its Mistress. This one longs to be reunited with its Mistress. But Mistress requires it here.” She would smile sadly. It had been some time since Mistress had come to a race.

Merxia had been riding for Clocklike-Sandsoap for ten years and had just signed another 2-year contract when tragedy struck. Our mistress was killed. Some kind of encounter with an angel. I never learned the details. I had been passed on to her younger sister (whom I called Sistress) years ago and did not have much of a connection with the mistress anymore, but Merxia was devastated.

We weren’t in contact with her, but Sistress and I would watch her race on the TV. There was a dead look in her eyes that year during the Tour. The commentators pointed out the dubious moves she was making were almost definitely counter to the orders of her Directeur Sportif. One time she even won a sprint. Her team was fined 200 Euros for this infraction, and the points were awarded to second place. That sprint cost her so much energy she had to draft behind another teammate to even finish.

"This one apologizes for its error" she said to a member of the press who caught her by her team bus getting wound up again by a soigneur. "It simply wanted to go fast. It does not know what it was thinking."

During a mountain stage the following day, she seemingly lost control of the bike on a descent flew off the side of the mountain. She would not awaken. Mistress was dead, so they shipped her back to Sistress. When we opened the box, her head was in two pieces.

#dollposting #empty spaces #cycling #we just thought about this today #and it has to be a multiparter but we haven't figured out the rest completely #so we reserve the right to go back and make changes!#cw: head injury

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jd07201990 · 10 months ago

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My car had broken down while hauling ass down a wide open, middle of nowhere road toward the city. I was passing through nowheres-ville, when the engine made this horrid clanging noise, and puttered out. I knew I should’ve paid extra for the newer rental, but this old classic seemed fun at the time! One last ride of freedom before starting my Bank job and finally moving away from this small-town living. I couldn’t wait to be gone. Luckily, or rather, incredibly unfortunately as I’d later find out, this oil stained, drawling mechanic was putting down the same road, saw me at the side, and offered a tow. He even let me ride with him to his shop. The whole way, he talked nonstop about how his daughter had run off to the city the moment she could, and only called to brag about her successes. He'd hoped she’d have stayed, and settled down with a good, hard working young man, have a slew of grand-babies, to keep the family business alive for generations. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that was my exact plan as well. That I’d been on my way out of cow-ville when the engine had blown up. So, I told him I was just going into the city to pick up some things instead. He was working on the car, when he popped his head up and asked if I was able to pay, when he figured out what was wrong. I gulped, and nodded, pulling out the insurance papers the rental place had given me. The mechanic Frowned, tossing them on a table full of tools and crossing his arms. He glared at me as he said he wasn’t about to wait 6 months for the rental place to fight their insurance, and that if I wanted it fixed, it was cash or credit only. I had neither, as I’d spent the last I had on the rental and the down-payment on my new apartment. He wasn’t thrilled when I said this, and lumbered to the door, locking it. He turned and shocked me as he pushed me off the stool I was sitting on, his boot on my chest. He told me that if I couldn’t pay, I couldn’t leave. His boot pressed down on my ribs, forcing all the air out of my lungs. I gasped, trying weakly to grip his ankle, when finally, I’d blacked out. When I finally woke, 2 years had passed, and one look in the mirror told me I was Mitch’s boy. The strapping young buck he’d always wanted. Best of both worlds, a strong worker, and a virile stud who’d provide him with a big family. Keeping the garage running, living the high life in a double wide trailer with my gorgeous fiancé, one pudgy tot at her breast, the result of a one night stand turned future marriage, and twins swelling her belly once again. Mitch says it’s a blessing to have a large family, and lots of future kin to keep the business and the lifestyle alive. Something told me Tessa and I were going to be quite busy, with me working at Mitch’s garage, and her raising many, many kids. Mitch finally got the grand-babies he was looking for, despite his daughter thriving in the City.

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nye-the-ravenclaw · 4 months ago

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Hogwarts Legacy (Modern Medical AU)

(I’m currently watching medical dramas now and I just needed to get it out of my system - I’m sorry Medical Professionals and Nursing Dept if its inaccurate. It’s lengthy so more under the cut.)

MC / Protagonist : Emergency Medicine / Trauma Surgery - Caring for illnesses or injuries requiring immediate medical attention (ER) as well as a history in conducting surgery for trauma wounds (stab, car crashes, crushes, falls, 3rd degree burns, gunshot wounds)

Definitely someone that jumps into action and the jackknife of medicine. Able to perform under high pressure and maintaining her cool. She works alongside Head Nurse (ER) Everett Clopton who is just as high-strung, reactive and able to keep up with her. Pages medical specialists for various patients, so she sees her colleagues periodically. Ominis Gaunt does come by to discuss certain patients’ care when required but the ER is frankly too noisy and fast-paced for him. In extreme situations where there is no medical posts or other specialists available, she is able to perform trauma surgery or provide assistance.

Sebastian Sallow also likes dropping by often to check in on her unannounced (though he also secretly enjoys the heated atmosphere of the ER).

Sebastian Sallow : Cardiothorasic Surgeon - Performing surgery on organs in the chest, such as heart, lungs and esophagus

Smart, fast, performs well with the adrenaline that comes with high pressure heart and lung surgery. Withstands long hours of precision surgery, able to perform bedside manner with respect and care. His need to jump with an action that is risky and yields the most results with success makes him prime for this department as nothing can be more dangerous than taking someone’s heart out and resetting it a hair away from death if done by the untrained and the weak-hearted. And Sebastian is none of those things.

Ominis Gaunt : Public Health / Health Policy - Researching evidence-based medicine and working with physicians to improve guidelines for treatment of conditions

The blind son of the Gaunt family, a renowned powerhouse and stronghold of medicine in the country. Ominis chooses to work at their least affiliated and poorest hospital (coincidentally also the furthest). His job is purely desk-bound, assisted by Anne Sallow as they work together to improve policies and garner funds for the hospital in the name of public health. Though nothing will stop them from heading out into the field to handle cases that they prefer to approach hands on.

Anne Sallow : Infectious Diseases Specialist - Diagnosing, treating and preventing infections in patients

An expert on Infectious Diseases and was a surgeon-in-training. After she had been diagnosed with cancer, she had to give up her studies to be a surgeon. She decided on helping others instead at a higher level with Ominis. Shrewd, confident and charismatic, she and Ominis make sure the hospital is run to a t while dealing with insurance companies, philanthropists and the Gaunt family board members. She is in remission.

Natsai Onai : General Surgery - Performing surgery, treating diseases of abdomen, breast, head, neck, blood vessels, digestive tract, injured and deformed patients

The best surgeon this hospital has. She transferred over from Uagadou and with her experience, she is able to accomplish any surgery easily. With her strong need to help people, she has amassed extreme knowledge and drive to learn as many possible ways to carry out surgery on different ailments. She also allows the hospital direct affiliation with her mother hospital in Uagadou for resources and second opinions on abnormal cases.

Garreth Weasley : Pediatrics - Medical care of infants, children and adolescents

Family and children have always been a pillar of Garreth’s life. A cheerful and positive doctor, Garreth is a natural with children and has a hand in his family’s pharmaceutical company for manufacturing the branch of vitamin-based supplement chewables that are friendly for children. He is definitely an advocate of wearing a mask in his clinic as children really are the melting pot of diseases. He occasionally organises parties where he makes a lot of mind-numbing drinks for the other doctors, but those are rare as everyone never stops working and no one is willing to work hungover. He works alongside Poppy Sweeting often as their departments intersect. In a pinch, he is also able to deliver babies.

Poppy Sweeting : Obstetrician Gynaecologist - Treatment of pregnant woman, delivery of babies and the care of women’s reproductive organs and health

A firm but comforting presence in the OB/GYN unit, Poppy follows her patients from advisory stage and into the delivery room. When facing complications, she is able to keep her cool and remains a strong pillar of support for starting families. Poppy’s grandmother was an OB/GYN as well and Poppy decided to follow in her footsteps.

Leander Prewett : Oncology - Diagnosis and Treatment of Cancer

With family and history in medicine, Leander follows after the footsteps of his parents who are prolific doctors, gleaning their expertise and knowledge as pioneers in Oncology. While it is a study that is rife with morbidity, Leander possesses the tenacity and drive to keep a cool head and determine the best treatment and clinical trials for his patients.

After Anne was diagnosed with cancer, Sebastian stopped by Oncology way more often than he should for Prewett’s liking as he is akin to a fireball. But after working with him, Leander finds himself open to accepting newer, and riskier forms of clinical trials with an improved set of guidelines he formulated with Sallow’s opinion. In the past, he had low confidence in himself and believed that Sebastian was better suited for Oncology than he was, but after taking on Anne as his patient and seeing Sebastian’s reactions - it cements Leander’s confidence that only those with his measured temperament can do his job.

Imelda Reyes : Neurosurgery - Prevention, diagnosis and treatment of disorders that affect the nervous system, brain, spinal column, spinal cord and extra-cranial cerebrovascular system

Extremely intelligent, precise, determined and focused, Imelda possesses an eye and expertise for the human brain like no other. She does not tolerate nonsense in her office and in her operating room as one wrong move throws a patient into brain damage for life, a fate she decrees worse than death. She plays chess and sports in her spare time, her chess skills equal to being a grandmaster.

Amit Thakkar : Pharmacy - Dispensing and advising medical practitioners, patients, and nurses on safe, effective and efficient use

While it seems like a job with little excitement, it is the clear attention to detail and memory of every drug and pill in his storage that separates Amit from the rest. On top of dispensing medicine, he is also adept at chasing away unwanted abusers of his counter and is currently an advisory to procuring, discerning and looking for new drugs that could speed up patient recovery with lesser side effects.

Everett Clopton : Head Nurse with MC in Emergency Department - Directs nursing service activities in the emergency room

Everett is a trusted second-in-command to MC, and is able to handle, support her orders, and keep track of all patients and their welfare in the room. His main forte is dealing with all chains of command and patients in the chaos with a smile on his face and a sliver of veiled threats to keep them in line. He also takes time to make sure that MC is not overloading herself as she has a penchant for taking on more work than she should.

———————

(I know I’m missing some friends but they should be reserved for other areas such as anathesiologists, radiology, psychology, that sort. I might add on the Professors as well, but that is another post.)

Extra

Lucan Brattleby is definitely an intern with a flair for surgery but for which department? If anything I know he definitely idolises Sebastian and has a minor crush on MC.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy headcanons #hogwarts legacy fanfic #ravenclaw mc #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #anne sallow #garreth weasley #natsai onai #poppy sweeting #leander prewett #imelda reyes #amit thakkar #everett clopton #Hogwarts legacy medical fic headcanons #if i have time i might write something for it #lucan brattleby

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heartnosekid · 10 months ago

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well, friends. i’m sure a good lot of you have seen this post. i was denied today. i have to contact a lawyer and i don't even know how to begin advocating for myself outside of simply contacting the firm an ex-friend of mine used to obtain disability.

if you would rather not read the whole vent, i completely understand. but if you would still like to provide answers or support to me, here are my main issues.

i need advice from others who have been denied disability and have gone through a lawyer to obtain it. i need advice on what to do about getting started with victim advocacy. that's about it, i reckon. i love you all. my dm's are open. you will be blocked if you clown.

and yes, i realize my stim blog is not the place to talk about this. i understand, but this is my largest audience and i feel i would be a fool to not post this somewhere it may be actually received.

tw for mental health talk / long vent under the cut, particularly of the despairing kind, and also mentions of CSA / CSAM, psychosis, and my general disabilities. if this post needs more trigger tags, please let me know and i'll add them.

my whole life i have been treated as if i am not struggling because i can do the bare minimum to keep myself alive. i can survive, but never thrive, and even surviving now has become difficult. i can't feed myself regularly, my guardians do that for me. i can't stand for longer than a few minutes at a time without extreme duress and pain, which makes cleaning, showering, and going out super difficult and beyond draining. i can understand abstract concepts and certain ideas and am emotionally intelligent, but i struggle heavily with understanding money or how government works, particularly when it comes to laws and loopholes. i don't know when i'm "being had", as it were, and others have pointed this out to me throughout my adulthood. it feels as though this entire disability journey has been me "being had". they gave me something to cling on to, the possibility i may be able to receive real help, and it seems as though they basically knew the whole time they were going to deny me again. for the fourth time. i know that is unrealistic but, it does feel that way.

i wrote several full length books when i was a child / young teenager, and had two published. i won't share the titles because i have outgrown what i wrote and find them childish and frankly embarrassing, but everyone upon learning that i have written and had novels published, immediately jumps to the conclusion that i am some kind of self-sufficient, incredibly intelligent and capable person. i have never once been able to effectively take care of myself. without my guardians, i wouldn't be able to manage money, insurance, bills, cars, groceries, among other things. i don't even halfway understand how insurance on anything even works despite having been shown how it works.

i can see something, be "taught" to the best of someone's ability, and i will still not be able to learn. this has been a constant issue throughout my life, and the american public school system has continually helped these issues perpetuate. all schooling has done is teach me how to parrot back concepts and ideas, remember them for a limited amount of time before losing them to the void, and not how to fundamentally understand and learn them or utilize them in daily life. even higher education was like this, and i was not able to thrive throughout my experience with college despite making mostly okay grades (i cheated and lied a lot, okay. i'm not proud of it but i felt i had to get through or i would be severely punished). i had to a sign an agreement that i personally still do not fully understand to "obtain" my associate's degree, and i do not know why despite the fact it was explained to me, in detail. the information has not registered, and i now no longer have anyone that was involved in said agreement to explain it to me. everyone i say this to is like, "what? that doesn't make any sense." and i'm like. yeah. it doesn't, and i have zero ability to explain it to them in a way that makes sense.

i mention my associate's degree because i am sure in some form or fashion it was used against me in the disability process, since i was "able to complete higher education". also it should be noted i did an early college program. also probably has been used against me. also cheated through most of it.

people have always considered my kind of autism to be hyper competent, since it appeared that way when i was a child, despite showing several signs that i was struggling with a math-centric learning disability, called dyscalculia. i have since deteriorated to the point of barely having the knowledge a young adult should have, about how life works financially and honestly in general.

i have extreme fear about what may happen to me without proper assistance. my guardians will be able to take care of me for some time, but after that? that feels like a black hole to me. it doesn't exist nor will it while i am under-assisted, and this black hole fills me with utter despair. i try not to let it permeate my daily life, so as to not dwell in a future that doesn't exist yet and has the possibility for change. but god. it fills me with literal existential dread, and it is becoming so much more difficult to ignore the older i get.

a lot of factors have been used against me my entire life to deny me assistance, and these reasons being yet another factor has really dredged up a lot of shit from my past.

this is besides the point, but i also learned recently that CSAM was made and distributed of me when i was a child and wow. that has hit me in ways i cannot even describe. part of me is like, why was i not allowed to know after the fact, even when i became an adult? i was directly involved. why did no one tell me my abuser was convicted for counts of spreading CSAM, and that they lied directly to the court system about their inappropriate actions with me? i was disenfranchised in more ways than one by more than one person on allowance of my abuser, and i am just now hearing about it. i don't know how to deal and i don't know how to get started with victim advocacy in my area.

but at the same time, whilst being treated as severely more competent than i am, i have also been infantilized relentlessly, by nearly everyone around me. how does this make any sense. i feel incredibly stupid and uninformed and at the same time privy to things about my disabilities others are not, while not being able to effectively communicate it. i feel i am screaming and begging for help, nearly at my wits end with a lot of things, and all of it is reading as "owie booboo" to anyone who could do anything to help. i feel i am falling through the cracks, and i fear having to crawl back up through them. i fear i won't make the trek. i fear i will lose motivation and let myself rot. it feels like no one in a position of power has taken a true effort to really help me and i cannot help or advocate for myself. i am very scared.

on top of all of that stuff, i am withdrawing pretty heavily from cymbalta, experiencing heightened panic attacks every day, PNES (psychogenic non-epileptic seizures), more episodes of psychosis and hallucinating than i'm used to, all of my mental and physical issues are out of control, and now this disability stuff. i also won't be able to see a psychiatrist for...maybe a week or so more, so no bridge meds till then.

these last couple weeks have just really kicked me down. thank you for reading if you got this far. i appreciate you more than you know and i have no idea where i would be without y'all and this blog. i love you all so very much.

-ish

#ish talks #disability #vent #mental health #CSA mention #CSAM mention #physical disability mention #mental disability mention #psychosis mention #hallucination mention #dyscalculia #neurodivergent #autism #victim advocacy #PNES #ableism

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uzunparti · 4 months ago

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