yuliana

-forehead kisses. HELL YES. leikkkk. he will always kiss your forehead before he leaves for the hospital or if you work at ppth, even better, your getting forehead kisses whenever he can get House away

-daily check-ins. 'Did you eat?' 'Do you need anything from the store?' 'Need help with something?' 'Everything alright?' 'Need a break?'

-which leads me to walks together. he will hold your hand, keep you close, listen intently to whatever you need to ramble about, or just lets the silence hold

-late night drives. he doesnt care the time. he'll let you pick the song, roll the windows down, go on a long ass car drive with no exact destination

-'CAN I HELP?' syndrome. no need for explanation on this

-you borrow his clothes. steal that McGill sweatshirt or anything you can get your hands on that looks good

-if ANYONE is EVER rude to you, he drops nice guy but doesnt act aggressive. he'll be calm but very firm. and if house was rude to you, or even worse, genuinely hurt your feelings, wilson will raise his voice

-anxious affection. if hes had a bad day with House or with patients, hes gonna be clingy. he might bury his face into the crook of your neck, or rest his head in your lap whilst laying on the couch

-he always wakes up before you to make your morning tea or coffee or matcha or what you need to start your day. he'll bring it to you in bed, kiss your cheek and apologize for having to leave for early rounds

-i can lwk see him just getting you small stupid (funny) gifts. maybe a keychain or a candy you mentioned ONCE or a book and he will buy it instantly for you, leaving it on your pillow or in your office desk.

Now NSFW but idddkkk

-HE TALKS YOU THROUGH IT-... i would know-

-he's very... passionate.

-whenever you whine or whimper, he cups your face with one hand, the other hand on your hip, thumb tracing rhythmic circles on the bone.

"Shhh... I know, baby... I know... jus' tell me what you need..."

"Atta girl... you're so gorgeous..."

"Just like that, sweetheart... look at me. Oh, baby... those pretty eyes.."

-He's very gentle with his words. VERY gentle. maybe a hint of possessiveness but otherwise he's never mocking and will always ALWAYS be willing to change anything for you

-Hes just wrapped around your pinky and goes at whichever speed you need

-He LOVES missionary. He wants to hold your face and kiss your cheek, watch you come undone below him.

-He'll pull one of your legs over his shoulder and go in gently

-whenever he has enough time between consults or rounds, he'll pull the blinds, lock both doors in his office and pick you up, pinning you against the wall.

-he'll eat you and kiss you like a starved man. hes such a puppy with his eyes

-NECK. KISSES. CHEEK. KISSES. COLLARBONE. KISSES. HE'LL KISS ANYTHING YOU LET HIM KISS

For me, it took me a while to except food. I didn't like my bone structure and I am naturally on the low end of weight. So i'm here, staring in the mirror, picking myself apart. I kept weighing myself. Eating very little. I saw some change, but it wasn't permanent.

So what was I supposed to do? Decrease food again, increase hours on the ice with more intense workouts?

You probably thought yes.

You're an idiot---NO!!

The body will stay at the weight it feels comfortable at. Doesn't matter if you think you have to lose weight, your body will go fight or flight and keep the fat or whatever.

But think again.

Your weight is you.

No, not you as in YOU.

You as in YOU.

Your weight is all of your organs, bones, muscles, tendons, joints. Everything that makes you a living breathing organism.

You wouldn't be here without that.

But if you're like

'but I dont wanna be here... ;-;🫪🥺😔'

GET UP, DAWG. YOU GOT THIS VROOOOOO.

js remember, 988 is the suicide Hotline in America. idk for other countries but you matter.

BACK TO MY DICUSSION.

Ykw, lemme put some ideas for you in bullet-point form. I, myself, am autistic and very picky about eating, so js... random thing, so if you're autistic or picky or both. here ya go.

cucumber and avocado salad (with salt, pepper and white balsamic vinegar)

cucumber avocado salad but now with soft hard boiled eggs for protein

salad with tofu

Boston lettuce salad with a portion of grilled chicken

but you get the jist? do whats comfortable for you, but still eat.

dont just save pinterest photos of the lifestyle you want--actually get to the life style you want.

baby steps.

clean your room, go through your clothes and donate what you dont like anymore, redo your skincare routine, watch vlog videos, listen to different music.

anything to get you into the vibe of what you want.

Chapter 1

Do I Wanna Know?

Gregory House is a man of few words. Psychologists and lawyers always seem to have plenty to say about him. In everyone else’s version, it always comes back to his daughter. Now she is graduating high school, pursuing her dream to become a doctor.

Being House’s daughter was… interesting, to say the least. Thank God Julia didn’t look much like him. But her heterochromatic eyes let his recessive gene shine through; the other eye color belonged to her mother.

She isn’t here.

She hasn’t been here.

Julia and her father don’t talk about it.

However, they do talk about medicine.

Julia originally wanted to work in the psych ward just upstairs, but her father said:

“NOPE. I’LL BEAT THE CEILING WITH MY CANE IF I HEAR YOU WALKING UP THERE.”

But screw that. Why would she listen?

So, to ensure she wasn’t playing poker with the mentally ill—or making them cry—House assigned her to his core team. The move was inevitable. And to be honest… it was better than she expected.

But she could never be so sure.

It was Julia’s third day working at the hospital. 09:30 in the morning, warm light seeped through the blinds of the break room. She lay sprawled across the table, absent-mindedly doing waterfalls with a deck of playing cards.

Her dark ash-brown hair spread around her, every strand leading back to that strange mind. A mind that held too many secrets but somehow had answers for every question. She wore flared blue sweatpants with a fitted long-sleeve top.

“Didn’t expect to see you so early.”

That firm Australian accent rang through her ears, causing her to stop mid-card trick. Julia slowly sat up, as if pulled upright by a string hooked somewhere beneath her collarbone.

Her eyes met his.

Dr. Robert Chase.

Blonde hair in that classic side part, folders tucked under one arm, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he tossed the files onto the table beside her.

“To be on time is late. To be late is a death sentence. To be early is on time,” Julia stated casually, slouching as she looked back down at the cards.

Chase was an odd man in her eyes. He had that polished golden-boy exterior, but there was something sharper underneath it that made her brows furrow slightly.

He let out a snort.

“So, to translate, you’re trying to make the rest of us look bad because you want to be the early bird?” he asked. “Sleep is crucial, y’know.”

“Ya wanna know what else is crucial?” Julia asked, sliding off the table and stepping closer until they were face-to-face. “Mixing black tea with amphetamine.”

Her voice stayed flat. Her eyes stayed dead.

Chase blinked.

“Basically using caffeine and speed to live? Not exactly a healthy lifestyle…” He paused, expression shifting. “Wait. How the hell are you even getting amphetamines? Because if your father’s giving them to you, that’s illeg—”

Julia held up a hand to his face.

Her demeanor shifted from relaxed to quietly irritated.

“When you have ASD and look drowsy, pharmacies tend to believe anything,” she deadpanned. “And kissing a nine-year-old probably wouldn’t look great in your file.”

“My God—she was dying!”

“Kill yourself, retard.”

Chase’s jaw dropped in pure disbelief.

“I should report you for verbal harass—”

“Didn’t know the break room was a battlefield,” and in walks in---none other---than Dr. Gregory House.

Julia raised a brow, judgment etched across her tired resting-bitch face. She opened her mouth to speak but was immediately cut off by Chase.

“She called-"

"You're fine," Julia cuts off.

"You literally-!"

"You're being dramatic."

When Julia thought the situation had ended, Chase used this moment to explain

"She called me retarded and told me to kill myself! That is a clear violation of Section 4 of the Employee Code of Conduct regarding a hostile work environment and verbal harassment!”

House paused, leaning heavily on his cane as his eyes darted between the two of them. A slow, mocking grin spread across his face.

“Section Four?” House echoed, limping toward the coffee machine. “Impressive, Chase. I didn’t know you actually read the handbook. Did you skip the part about inappropriate physical contact with minors, or was that under the table of contents?”

“House, this isn’t a joke!” Chase snapped, face flushing red. “She’s out of control. It’s a zero-tolerance policy. If I go to Cuddy, she’s expelled from the program.”

House took a slow sip of coffee, raising a brow.

“You won’t go to Cuddy,” House said quietly. “That just shows how you can't de-escalate a situation. A bit of humbleness would be useful."

Chase opened his mouth to respond before immediately shutting it again.

House sighed softly before glancing toward Julia.

“Julia, go look at something shiny in Cuddy’s office.”

The tone was uncharacteristically gentle.

Julia stood there for a moment before nodding once and walking past him without another word.

House’s attention shifted fully back to Chase.

He cocked his head slightly.

“You’re surprisingly on edge for…” He glanced down at his watch. “09:40 before any case has even started.

...

Within a matter of minutes, Cameron, Foreman, and for once Wilson enter. They all take a seat wherever they could find, House standing with that blue marker in his hand.

"Look alive, people, this isn't a morgue," House announces, Cameron looking up from her lap, Wilson leaning against the table, and Foreman sitting in a chair.

House writes down the symptoms.

"Alright. 15 year old female figure skater coming in unexplained vertigo and keeps fainting. Ideas?"

“Vestibular migraine," Cameron states.

“Too inconsistent," House replies.

“Chiari malformation?" Cameron asks. "Becau-"

“MRI would’ve caught it," Foreman cuts off.

Meanwhile, Chase and Wilson haven't said a thing. Chase was on the couch, looking like a man posing for a Vogue magazine while Wilson just leans against the wall, gazing down as if the floor was whispering answers.

House noticies and rolls his eyes.

"I said this ISN'T a morgue. Snap out of it!!" he demands, both Wilson and Chase blinking out of their reverie.

Chase stutters, shrugging whilst shaking his head. “Um- uh- well- post-concussion syndrome?”

“Post-concussion syndrome doesn’t explain the bloodwork,” Wilson points out.

“POTS?" Cameron shakes her head while thinking, scrunching her nose.

“That explains fainting, not the dizzi-fizzy," House contrasts.

“Lupus,” Foreman says after a beat.

House lets out a long, suffering groan.

“It’s never lupus,” he says, already reaching into his pocket.

“Except when it is,” Wilson mutters.

Cameron exhales, tapping her pen against the table a little too hard. It slips from her hand and clatters somewhere near Foreman.

Foreman looks down at it, then up at her.

“…Really?”

“Sorry,” she says flatly, not sounding sorry at all.

House ignores them.

The room shifts when a new voice cuts in from the doorway.

"Damn," Julia says, leaning against the frame. “You people are exhausting.”

She pushes off it and walks in like she owns the space.

"I actually did look at something shiny in Cuddy’s office," she adds casually. "Then I had a conversation with her."

House glances at her.

"That sounds like a threat."

"It wasn’t," Julia replies, stopping beside him. "It was a negotiation." Her eyes flick to his pocket as he adjusts the Vicodin bottle.

"Oh," she says lightly. "And since you’re not letting me go see Gwen Stefani with Kate, I’m confiscating these.”

She plucks the bottle from him before he reacts. House stares at her for a moment.

"…That’s not how confiscation works.”

"Like I care."

Wilson watches her for a beat.

"You’re in a better mood," he notes. "Compared to earlier."

Chase leans back slightly on the couch. "Especially this morning,” he adds, more quietly than snide.

Julia tilts her head.

“Relax, blondie,” she says. “You want something? Zoloft?”

She taps the pill bottle in her pocket, letting it clink lightly. Chase blinks at her.

“Or something like speed?” she continues. “My bad—Adderall. Allegedly.”

Wilson is already moving. He crosses the room and takes the bottle from her hand before the sentence finishes properly.

"Julia," he says flatly.

She sighs.

“What?”

Wilson inspects the bottle, then looks at her over it.

"This is your prescription," he says.

"Yes," Julia replies. "Unfortunately."

He pauses, then pockets it. "Don’t joke like that in here," he adds, lower now. Julia shrugs.

"I wasn’t joking," she says. "I was observing."

Wilson holds her gaze for a beat longer than necessary. Then he exhales through his nose and turns away.

House watches the exchange briefly, then looks back to the board.

"Try dimenhydrinate," he says. Chase frowns slightly.

"For vestibular symptoms?"

"For dizziness," House corrects. "Unless you’ve got a better guess that isn’t ‘it’s never lupus’ said louder."

Cameron closes her folder.

"That’s not a diagnosis," she mutters.

"It’s a starting point," House replies. Foreman is already moving toward the door. Chase hesitates a second longer, then stands. Cameron follows.