#also she appears to be chronically ill?

[doe-eye-oswald]

I feel like we (and the show itself, but that's a given) don't aknowledge enough how fucked up the deaging is for Mary specifically. Like, this is a whole ass adult woman with an established career, and a wife, a mother etc

Like yeah, it ruined Shinichi’s life too, but he ‘just’ lost a decade. He essentially went from the end of his school life to the beginning, from almost adult to young child again. He was basically still at the beginning of his life.

Meanwhile, Mary is 53 years old with a husband and (almost) three adult children!

And now she's lost 40 whole years of her life, is younger than her youngest child and pretty much dependent on her.

[sageofthestrange]

✿

bold for things i could definitely see or want, italics for things i could see or am unsure of and striked out for things i don’t want or cannot see.

FRIENDSHIP.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need  /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime  /  old friendship  /[your muse] is the good influence  /[your muse] is the bad influence  /[my muse] is the good influence  /[my muse] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other

ROMANCE.     childhood sweethearts  /[your muse is mines] childhood crush  /[my muse is yours] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [from your muses side]/  unrequited [from my muses side]/  unrequited [from both sides]/  skinny love  /  friends to lovers  /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  /  soulmates [ metaphorical ]/  soulmates  [ literal ]/  awkward  /  turning toxic (only in Godhood Path)  /  toxic love (only in Godhood Path)  /  cheating [on your muse]/  cheating [with your muse]/  other

FAMILIAL.     siblings [half]/  siblings [step]/[my muse] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /[my muse] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse  /[my muse] is a parental figure to yours  /[my muse] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /[your muse] is taken under mines wing  /[my muse] is taken under yours wing  /  other

ANTAGONISTIC.     dangerous to each other  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into sexual or romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of off circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based off misunderstanding or lies  /  conflict of ideology  /  betrayal  /  hero - villain dynamic  /  enemies  /  fight club  /  friends turned enemies  /  lovers turned enemies  /  exes turned enemies  /  other 

[shmaptainwrote]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 [𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS — James Wilson x ex-wife!Reader

SUMMARY — James and Reader have not been on great terms since their divorce, but an emerging situation with their son forces them to put aside their differences and work together and hope that past feelings don't resurface

WARNINGS — hospitalization, chronic illness, swearing, complicated feelings (idk y'all they're divorced what more can I say)

NOTE — Okay so I have so many things to say about this fic, but if I say them all this post will be way too long it already is like this came up as 33 pages in my docs but this is a day late birthday present for @shots-of-wilson-and-whiskey who also provided the James pic I hope you had such a fun day and a great year of simping ahead!

Pronounciation — Mahlet = Ma-h-let | Hennock = Hey-knock

Ever since you had become a mother, birthday parties were the bane of your existence. The sugar overload, the loud noises, the cleanup afterwards, all amounted to your own personal hell. Yet, you would move hell or high water for your son to have the most enjoyable party every single year. 

Today was no different, eight years later you were still breaking your back to ensure every small detail was perfect, from the pin the spikes on the stegosaurus to the cake you’d spent at least a month painstakingly training to make. 

A friend of yours, another parent from the school your son Julian went to, came over in the kitchen to give you a hand with some of the snacks. 

“How are you managing here?” she asked and you took a deep breath. 

“Managing is the operative word,” you chuckled. “Kids having fun out there?” 

“Yeah, loads, you’ve outdone yourself again,” she assured you. “Will James be making an appearance?” 

“I stopped asking myself that question after we got divorced,” you said while fixing the plate of vegetables and dip. “He’s supposed to, he promised Julian, but we all know how that ends.” 

There seemed to be a bit of commotion out in the backyard and you tried to assess what was happening from the window, but your suspicions that something was off was confirmed when Julian’s best friend, Hennock, came rushing inside.

“Mrs. Wilson, something’s going on with Julian,” he said and you frowned while your friend followed you outside to see the kids circling around Julian who seemed to be gripping onto his chest. 

“Jay, what’s going on? Are you okay?” you bent down to be closer to his eye-level, trying to understand what was happening to your son. 

“Can’t…” he pointed to his mouth. “Can’t…breathe,” he wheezed. 

Your eyes went wide, but before you could grab him and run for the car he began to cough and you hoped and prayed there was just something caught in his throat that would make its way out, but with the coughing came spatters of red all over your white shirt.

“Mahi,” you looked over at your friend quickly while picking Julian up. You didn’t have to say a word, she already knew what she needed to do. 

Living close to the hospital, it was worth it to drive yourself, that way you didn’t have to wait for an ambulance to get to you. You had made the mental calculations many times before, just in case there was an emergency and now it was finally coming in handy. 

When you got Julian in the car, you checked in on his breathing, it was still laboured, but at least at this point he was getting in the air, even if he was coughing up blood. 

You turned on the car and began driving while calling your ex-husband with one hand. The line rang until you reached voicemail so you called again, expecting at least this time for him to pick up, only to hear the tone once more. 

“Dammit James!” you threw your phone down on the seat next to you knowing you’d deal with him later, now you needed to focus on getting to the hospital without killing either of you. 

Barely paying attention to how your car was parked, you grabbed Julian out of the back seat and ran into the ER with him. 

“Ma’am, what’s going on?” a nurse came and asked you as you put Julian down. 

“My son, he-he’s having trouble breathing and he’s coughing up blood I-I-I don’t know what’s happening.” 

Before you could say a word they had whisked Julian away and another nurse came to ask you some questions about his medical history and any information that may be important to the doctors treating him. 

“Where’s my son?” you asked, “I want to see my son.” 

“Ma’am I’m sorry, but the doctors are working on getting his airway cleared, you can’t be with him right now.” 

You pressed your lips into a thin line and bit back your tongue. There were a million and one things you wanted to say to the nurse, but none of them would help your situation. On the other hand, finding your ex might. 

So instead of finding the waiting room you went over to the elevator and made your way up to the oncology department, briskly walking through the halls until you reached his office. At this point, you didn’t bother knocking, opening the door to see him sitting down over a file and talking with House. 

“Hey Greg,” you said in a fake cheery voice. “Mind giving us the room?” 

“Oh, this is the wife with the kid, did you forget to pay child support?” House asked James. 

“Get out, Greg,” you said warningly and he listened, instead opting to steal the rest of James’ sandwich and slipping past you, while wishing James good luck and letting you slam the door shut behind you. 

“What’s going on?” James asked, clearly confused by your demeanour and appearance. “If this is about the party I didn’t forget I was-wait is that blood,” he stood up from his chair and came over to you. 

“What’s going on is you didn’t pick up your fucking phone,” you said angrily. 

“Hey,” James looked at you sternly. “What is going on?” he repeated his question, this time more pointedly. 

You could feel your lips begin to tremble and your vision became blurred while you shook your head. 

“Who’s blood is on your shirt?” 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “It’s Julian’s.” 

“Julian-I-what happened?” his demeanour changed from frustrated with your attitude towards him to worrying for his son. 

“I-I don’t know he said he couldn’t breathe and then he started coughing up blood and I just picked him up and drove him here a-and now they won’t let me see him.” 

“You drove him?” he asked incredulously. “You didn’t think to maybe call an ambulance?” 

“That’s what you’re hung up on? That I decided to drive because it was faster than getting him an ambulance?” 

“That’s not what I-,” 

“Yes it is,” you stepped back. “I wouldn’t have needed an ambulance if you were there.” 

James sighed and chose to ignore your comment, 

“Where is he?” he asked. 

“Emergency room,” you muttered. “They won’t let me see him, you need to talk to them, say something, anything.” 

James nodded his head, at least you could agree on that. He walked with you out of the office and to the elevator so you could go to the ER together and figure out what the hell was happening to your son. 

When you got down there and James began speaking to the nurses, they informed him that Julian had been moved to the ICU and his respiration was being closely monitored while they ran a few tests to see what had caused the arrest. 

You had to fight to hold yourself upright when they pulled back the curtain and you could see Julian hooked up to all the machines and with a ventilator tube stuck down his throat. You covered your mouth with your hand and shook your head again. This couldn’t be happening, now you were supposed to be cutting into cake and opening presents, not sitting in the ICU. 

You stepped inside with James and he closed the curtain to give you a bit of privacy and decided to look over his chart and see if they had given any relevant information there. Seeing none, he turned his attention over to you, seeing your eyes filled with tears, unable to tear your gaze away from your son. 

James walked over to you and cautiously put a hand on your shoulder, eventually encouraging you to turn around so he could pull you into his arms. You allowed your tears to soak his white coat, gripping onto him so tightly because there was nowhere else to hold. 

You could hear his breathing change, accompanied by the small sniffles and you knew he was doing just as bad as you were right now, wiping the tears from his own eyes as he finally allowed himself to see his son as he was, sick, helpless, vulnerable, and only moments ago, without his dad’s help when he needed him most. 

Your moment was interrupted when you heard the curtain being pulled back and you saw two doctors standing there. You pulled away from James and wiped whatever remaining tears were in your eyes so you could properly address them.

It seemed as though one of the doctors recognized James and when he looked down at the file and saw the name he made the connection internally. 

“Can we talk to you guys out in the waiting room for a moment?” he asked. 

“I don’t want to leave my son,” you shook your head. 

“Ma’am, this is the ICU and the visiting hours are very strictly adhered to, I think your husband maybe got lucky and pulled a few strings so you could see your son, but we need to leave now.” 

“He’s not my husband,” you muttered and reluctantly followed them out of the makeshift room and towards the waiting area. 

“Did you find out what was wrong?” James asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I looked at his chart. You took him for an emergency CT and bloodwork.” 

“We also ran a few other tests,” the doctor began explaining. “From the medical history your, um, ex wife gave I had a suspicion of something so we ran a sweat test to check for elevated chloride levels and it just came back positive.” 

“Chloride levels?” you looked up at James. “What does that mean?” 

James sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “It means Julian has cystic fibrosis.” 

“I-I’ve heard of that, is it curable?” you asked. 

“I’ll leave you guys with Dr. Liu, he deals with the pediatric cystic fibrosis cases and will be able to answer your questions better than I can,” he wished you a good day and left you alone with the other doctor. 

“Cystic fibrosis is manageable-,” 

“So you can’t cure it,” you reiterated. 

The doctor shook his head, “Unfortunately there is no cure for CF yet, but many people have been able to live longer and happy lives with the medical technology now available.” 

James was silent, taking in all the information that was being presented. 

“How did he get it? Is it contagious or-or was it just always there?” you asked. 

“It’s a genetic condition, so he’s always had it, the symptoms have just gotten to the point where they’re now visible,” the doctor explained.

“I-It’s genetic so one of us is a carrier?” you pointed to you and James. 

“We both are,” James said. “Both parents have to be carriers to pass it down to their child, right?” 

Dr. Liu nodded and you pressed your lips together. 

“C-Can you just tell us what this means for right now?” you asked. “I just think-I think I need a minute.” 

Dr. Liu nodded his head and explained they were giving Julian medication to help with the infection and airway damage that caused him to cough up blood, then they would get him on some bronchodilators to help with his breathing for the time being while they assessed what other issues the cystic fibrosis had potentially caused in his body. He’d have to stay at the hospital for a while, but hopefully could be moved to the pediatric ward within the next day or so.

“We can talk more about what Julian’s medical journey will look like later, I’ll give you guys some time together and if you have any questions, Wilson’s got my pager and knows where my office is.” 

You nodded your head and thanked him quietly as he left the waiting area. You finally sat down on one of the chairs. 

James took the seat next to you and you covered your face with your hands. 

“We couldn’t give him a functional family and a happy home and now we’ve given him a chronic medical condition to top it off.” 

“Blaming ourselves isn’t going to do anything for Julian,” James said. 

“And sitting around here is?” you asked and James sighed. 

“No, no it’s not.” 

You sat there in silence for a little while longer before you noticed James stand up and motion for you to follow him. As much as you didn’t want to listen to him and just sit and wait until they would let you be with Julian again, you got up and followed him to one of the OR supply closets. He used a key to unlock the door and sifted through some materials until he found what he was looking for, pulling out a scrub shirt in your size and handing it over to you. 

You looked down at your own shirt, seeing the red specks of Julian’s blood and closed the door behind your both, pulling your shirt off over your head and handing it to James. You were about to put the other shirt on when you noticed the flecks of dried blood against your chest. 

While you eyes were transfixed on that, James had grabbed an alcohol wipe package from the shelves and tore it open with his teeth, removing the wipe and reaching over to help you clean the blood off yourself. 

“James, I can do it myself,” you reached for the wipe, but he pulled it away. 

“You’ve got some on your neck too, just let me take care of it,” he insisted. 

You knew better than to cause a fight over something trivial like this right now so you put your hands down, watching as James tossed your shirt over his shoulder and carefully began wiping away the specks of your son’s blood off your chest, collarbone, and neck. 

“Have you eaten today?” he asked you while holding your face to tilt it to the side so he could get a spot he’d missed earlier. 

“No, why?” 

“Because it’s his birthday, you’d always forget to eat until dinner and even then it would be scraps from the party until I forced you to eat something better,” he recounted. “Let’s just go grab something from the cafeteria before we go back to the ICU, okay?” 

“Will it make a difference if I say I’m not hungry?” you asked. 

“You can’t take care of Julian if you’re not taking care of yourself.” 

You scoffed and pulled the shirt over your head, “And you’ve suddenly become an expert on taking care of your family?” 

“Believe it or not, we were once happy and there was a reason we got married and decided to have a child together.” 

“And there’s a reason we got divorced too,” you added and opened the door behind you.

You didn’t go to the cafeteria, instead heading back to the ICU waiting room knowing either visiting hours would have to start eventually or they’d move Julian to his own room and you could finally sit with him. 

James clearly hadn’t followed you so you ended up alone again, wringing your hands and waiting for some sort of news. 

Eventually, you felt a bag drop on your lap and you looked up and saw James standing overtop of you. You looked inside and saw a package of a sandwich, a small bag of chips, and a water bottle. 

You knew he was right, that if you didn’t take care of yourself you wouldn’t be able to take care of Julian, so you forced yourself to eat, even if you didn’t want to. 

A little while later, Dr. Liu had returned and informed you that they were moving Julian to the pediatric ward and you could stay with him there in his room. When you joined him there, James had taken off his white coat and tossed it on one of the chairs, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and sitting down next to Julian’ taking one of his hands in his own. 

“Don’t you have patients you need to see?” you asked, sitting on the opposite side of the hospital bed. 

“I told Cuddy I needed the day, someone else is taking care of it for me,” he said, not removing his gaze from Julian. 

With the two of them sitting next to each other like that, you could clearly see the similarities Julian had with his father. They shared the same eyes and nose, and when they smiled they had the same little creases around their eyes. 

You wished that’s what you could have been looking at, them smiling together, instead of the frown etched onto James’ face and Julian still fast asleep while an oxygen mask now delivered the air he needed to help him breathe. 

“Do you know much about cystic fibrosis?” you asked James, brushing your thumb against Julian’s other hand. 

“Only that it mainly affects the digestive system and the respiratory tract,” he explained. “I’m not too familiar with how it's managed, just that there’s regular doctor’s visits and probably some medication and therapies involved.” 

You could feel a small stirring and you looked down and saw Julian’s hand begin to move underneath yours. 

You smiled when you saw his eyes blink open and James was quick to stand up and come closer to him so he had a familiar face to look at while he took in his surroundings. 

“Hey buddy,” James smiled and you could see Julian light up at the sight of his dad. He lifted his hand to try to remove the oxygen mask, but James gently encouraged him not to. “This is giving your lungs an extra hand right now, let’s just keep it on until the doctor tells us it's okay to take it off.” 

“But you’re a doctor,” Julian countered and James chuckled. 

“I am, but I'm not your doctor. I am, however, your dad so you have to listen to me anyways,” he teased and bent down to kiss his son’s cheek and tickle him a little bit in the process. 

“Hey, go easy on him,” you placed a gentle hand on James' arm and he laid off. 

“You know,” James said. “It’s still your birthday.” 

“It is?” Julian asked and you both nodded and James reached down to grab something he’d brought with him. 

“All the presents your friends got you are at home waiting for you to get better so you can open them, but this is what I got for you,” he said. “I was gonna come and bring it to the party, but I think you brought the party to me.” 

Julian laughed a little at that and you rolled your eyes, of course James could make himself look good by not showing up. 

He sat up with the help of his dad and pulled out the tissue paper from the bag to see the present that was hiding underneath. With a big grin on his face, he took out a dinosaur stuffed animal along with a book all about the different species of the Cretaceous period. 

“This is awesome,” Julian grinned. “Thanks dad, I love it.” 

James gave Julian another kiss and you joined them, taking a seat on the bed and glancing over at the book on Julian’s lap. 

“How are you feeling sweetheart?” you asked, fixing the twisted band of the oxygen mask on his face. 

“My throat hurts a little bit,” he admitted. “And I’m kinda hungry.” 

“Let me call a nurse and we’ll see what you can eat,” you said and pressed the button to send someone over from the nurses’ station. 

Meanwhile, James poured Julian a glass of water and helped him take a few sips of it. His throat was probably irritated from being on the ventilator, but his lungs had become stabilized from the use of the bronchodilators. 

The nurse came and you spoke to her about getting Julian something to eat and she said she’d double check with Dr. Liu and then grab him some food. 

“Hey, Jay,” you walked over to the bed and took your son’s hand in yours. “Are you okay to hang out here with dad while I go grab some stuff from home? The doctors said we might hang around here for a few days so I think I need to pack a bag.” 

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Julian nodded. “Are you okay mom?” he reached up and touched your cheek and you realized you'd let a few more tears slip.

“Yeah, I’m just really happy you’re okay,” you wiped the tears away and pressed a big kiss to his cheek. “Right, Jamie? We’re both happy he’s okay.” 

James looked over at you with softness reflecting in his eyes at the sound of the nickname he hadn’t heard in a long time and nodded his head. 

“Bring some cake back with you,” Julian whispered. “Even if dad and the doctor say no we can sneak some.” 

You laughed at his plan and gave him another kiss, assuring him you’d pack some in a container to bring for him when you came back.

When you arrived at your home, you thought you might cry at the sight in front of you. The kitchen and living room were completely clean, presents piled neatly on the coffee table along with a new card you didn’t recognize. Coming closer, you noticed the bright marker, signature of eight-year-olds across the country, with the message Get Well Soon Julian! written on it and signed by all his friends who had attended the party. 

You packed the card in your bag along with a few other things and made a mental note to grab a nice thank you gift for Mahlet to thank her for what she had done. 

As promised, you cut a big chunk of cake, enough for the three of you to share, and packed it in a tupperware to bring back to the hospital. 

You grabbed a few changes of clothes for both you and Julian and changed out of the temporary shirt you had on and into something more comfortable for the rest of the evening, making sure everything you needed was in place before heading out and going back to the hospital. 

When you got back to Julian’s room you saw James squished in next to him on the bed, the book he had bought him opened on his lap as he read its contents to Julian. Julian was resting his head against James’ arm and James was doing those big exaggerations he always would whenever he’d read bedtime stories to Julian, emphasizing all the insane details and changing the inflections of his voice in just the right way to make him laugh. 

“I brought cake,” you grinned, holding up the container as you entered the room, holding three plastic forks. “If Dr. Dad says it's okay, we can eat it.” 

“Dr. Dad desperately needs some sugar,” James nodded his head and closed the book for the time being while you took a seat by Julian’s legs and opened the container, handing each of the boys a fork. 

You helped Julian take off his oxygen mask for the time being and placed it off to the side, acutely aware of how his breathing sounded more laboured without it. 

James only snuck in a couple bites of the cake before taking the mask from your side and holding it ready in case Julian needed a bit of an extra hand. 

Just as he had predicted, after a few bites of cake Julian was noticing a bit of a difficulty to get air into his lungs and James held up the mask to his face, allowing him to take a couple deep breaths. 

“What do you think of the cake, Jay?” you asked. 

“Really good, just like everytime you make it,” he grinned. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t have a great birthday, buddy,” James apologized. “I mean with all your friends and classmates.” 

“What do you mean?” Julian asked. “I think I had a good birthday.” 

“You do?” you frowned curiously, wondering what kind of light he’d seen in the day that you and James as worried parents had somehow missed. “What made it good?”

“We’re sitting eating cake. Together. Just like when I was little,” he said simply and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, looking over at James whose gaze hadn’t left Julian. He almost looked disappointed, at what, you couldn’t place, but at least for the moment Julian was happy and that was all either of you really wanted. 

—

You grabbed your purse from the ground and thanked Dr. Liu for all of the information he had given you and assured you’d be there with Julian at the allocated follow-up time you had arranged. You were just about to leave when James came rushing into the room, apologies spewing out of his mouth for being late. 

“Late? You missed the whole appointment.”

“I-I did?” he said, looking down at his watch and cursing when he saw the time. 

“Jay, sweetheart, why don’t you sit down here,” you moved out of Dr. Liu’s office and set him up on a chair in one of the general waiting areas and handed him his dinosaur book from your purse. “I just need to go have a chat with your dad real quick.” 

Julian nodded and opened up the book, flipping through the pages while you grabbed James’ arm and pulled him into a dead-end hallway so you could speak in private. 

“What the hell took you so long?” you asked firmly. “We waited for twenty minutes before even starting the appointment!” 

“I’m sorry,” James apologized, “I was in the OR with a patient and something went haywire and it took longer than expected to fix it.” 

“Still, you couldn’t have told someone to at least pass on a message?” 

“I was in the middle of saving a patient’s life! What did you want me to do?” 

“I wanted you to be there for your son,” you whispered harshly. “You make promises you can’t keep and I have to watch him get disappointed over and over again. He does not deserve that, especially now.” 

James placed his hands on his hips and said, 

“I am trying to be there, it’s not for lack of effort-,” 

“Well try harder!” you threw your hands up in the air. “You’re an ex-husband James, not an ex-father. You don’t have to show up for me anymore, but you damn well better show up for him.” 

When he said nothing you continued. 

“Believe it or not, you don’t have to work as much as you do James. You chose to do that and right now that’s coming at your son’s expense and he is scared and vulnerable and neither of us know half of what Dr. Liu is talking to us about. Do you know what he said to me when I was confused about the management plan? He said Dad would know what this means. Dad can help us. And he’s right, you would have known and you can help so stop acting like your fucking schedule controls you and get your schedule under control.” 

James was quiet for a moment before he nodded his head, 

“Okay,” he said simply. 

You knew better than to get your hopes up with him and you didn’t have any more energy to argue, so you told him you could talk more later, but right now you were going to take Julian home so he could rest in his own bed and finally open his birthday presents. 

“Is dad coming with us?” Julian asked when you picked him up and began walking away to leave the hospital. 

“No, not this time,” you shook your head. 

“Did you fight with him again?” Julian asked and you pressed your lips together. 

“We just had a disagreement,” you settled on. “You can call him later when he’s done work if you want to talk to him, sounds good?” 

Julian was content with your answer and left it at that. 

Over the next few days, aside from Julian’s call, you didn’t hear much for James and you assumed things were right on track to going back to the way they had always been. You loved your son to pieces, but this was one time you wished his dad would be here to support, working and caring for Julian on top of trying to figure out how to be his at home doctor was already taking its toll and you didn’t know how you’d be able to keep it up. 

One night, you were sitting in the living room reading a book Dr. Liu had recommended. It was detailing strategies for parents with children who had cystic fibrosis. In the middle of your chapter you were interrupted by a knock to your door and you put in your bookmark, wondering who was stopping by this far into the evening. 

Unlocking the door and opening it, you found it hard to hide the surprise in your face when you saw James on the other end. 

“James?” you tilted your head. “I haven’t heard from you at all this week, what’s going on?” 

“I reduced my patient load,” he said, “and I talked to Cuddy about reducing my clinic hours. I still have to do some administrative stuff for the department, but it can be done from home for the most part.” 

“Oh,” you were surprised to say the least. You didn’t realize your outburst the other day had worked. 

“You were right,” he said. “I need to be here for Julian and I can’t do that if my work always comes first.” 

You nodded your head, following along with what he was saying. 

“C-Can I come in and see him?” James asked. “I know our custody agreement has always been all over the place-,” 

You didn’t say anything, simply opening the door wider for him to come inside. 

“He’s asleep in his room,” you said. “When you’re done we can talk some more.” 

James nodded and stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and taking off his jacket, making his way to Julian’s room to sit with him for a moment before joining you in the kitchen. 

“Want something to drink?” you asked and he said some water would be nice. You poured him a glass while waiting for the water to boil for your tea. 

“I saw the book you were reading over there,” he pointed to the couch. “Dr. Liu recommended it to me too, I just finished it the other night.” 

“Show off,” you rolled your eyes and handed him the glass. 

“What I was trying to say is I think something that stood out to me is having consistency and a routine is good, especially when things are new,” James explained. “I don’t think it makes sense for him to be moving back and forth from here to my place.” 

“So you think we should have a home base here?” you confirmed and he nodded. 

“I can come by more often, if there’s days where you need to be at work I can be doing the administrative stuff here after school and take care of Julian until you get back.” 

You pursed your lips and as you heard the kettle click, moved to pour your hot water into the mug you were holding. 

“These are all good ideas,” you started. 

“I’m assuming there’s a but coming?” 

“But I don’t want to give Julian the wrong impression is all.” 

James shook his head. 

“You really need to pick whatever it is you want,” James crossed his arms over his chest. “First I’m not here enough, I don’t put my family first. Now I’m putting my family first and you’re worried Julian’s going to think this means we’re getting back together.” 

“He doesn’t need to get his hopes up for something that’s never going to happen,” you said flatly. 

“Have you ever considered having a conversation with him instead of shielding him from every little thing that might hurt him?” James asked and you rolled your eyes. 

“Clearly every little thing can hurt him!” you pointed over to his room. “He can’t even breathe without help, James. Maybe he needs to be protected.” 

“Stop, just stop,” James ran a hand over his face. “I can’t get into a fight with you every single time we see each other. Julian is just as much my son as he is yours, if this is going to work we need to be able to have a conversation with each other.” 

You took a sip of your tea and said,

“Okay, I’m worried Julian might take the fact that you’re around more the wrong way.” 

James nodded his head, “I hear you, so maybe we should talk to him about it and say I’m coming around more to lend a hand around the house and help take care of him.” 

“Dad? What are you doing here?” as if on cue, Julian had walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes awake and adjusting to the light. 

“Julian, where’s your oxygen mask?” 

“I don’t wanna wear it mom,” he whined. “I don’t like the way it feels on my face.” 

You sighed, having had this conversation at least five times before, you didn’t know what else you could say to convince him. 

“Hey buddy, maybe we should listen to mom on this one,” James suggested. “You know that feeling you’ve got right here,” he pointed to his chest. “That’s only gonna get worse if you don’t wear it and we don’t want to have to go to the hospital again, right?” 

Julian shook his head and sighed, stomping back over to his room to grab the portable machine and place the tube under his nose and around his ears, allowing him to get the right amount of oxygen. 

You looked over at James gratefully and he reached his hand out to yours and gave it a squeeze. It was nice being on the same team even if you had just been arguing. 

When Julian came back he repeated his question to his dad who explained that he was here to talk to you about a few things that would be changing soon and that he’d be around more to help look after him. 

“If you’re going to be here to help look after me can you stay tonight?” Julian asked. “Mom still has some of your clothes in those boxes in her closet.” 

“She does, does she,” James looked over at you. 

“It was the stuff you wanted to give away and I never got around to it,” you said. “There’s probably a hoodie and some pyjama pants in there if you want to stay.” 

James pressed his lips together and sighed, 

“You know buddy as much as I would love to have a sleepover with you I don’t think it’s a good idea if I spend the night here,” James said. “But I can tuck you in again and wait until you fall asleep to go back home.” 

“Mom, can you come too?” Julian asked and you nodded your head. 

James stood up and helped Julian carry his portable oxygen machine back to his bedroom and you trailed behind them, watching as James carefully tucked Julian back under the covers while peppering his face with small kisses, like he would do when Julian was younger and just learning to sleep in his own room. 

“Dad that tickles,” Julian giggled and James simply smiled and continued littering his face with kisses. 

“Too bad. I love you too much; I just can’t get enough of you.” 

“Alright, move it,” you nudged James from the opposite side of the bed and took your turn. “It must tickle having two parents who love you so damn much.” 

“It does,” Julian’s laughter died out as you both finally left him alone, sitting on either side of his mattress. 

You both wished him a good night and waited as he slowly fell back asleep. When his breathing was steady and his grip loosened on yours and James’ hands you took it as your cue to leave the room. 

James placed a hand on your shoulder as you stepped out of the room, prompting you to turn around and face him. 

“I’ll come by tomorrow and we can work out a schedule or something, does that sound good?”

You nodded your head, 

“Yeah, I have a work thing tomorrow in the evening, I was gonna ask Mahlet, Hennock’s mom, if she could come look after Julian, but if you’re around…” 

“I’ll come for dinner and then do the bedtime routine,” he said and you smiled. 

“James I’m begging you-,” 

“I won’t be late,” he assured. “No surgeries planned and I’m ending my shift with clinic duty.” 

You pressed your lips into a thin line and nodded your head. 

“I’ll see you then,” you patted his arm and he showed himself out. 

You walked back to the kitchen grabbing your now lukewarm cup of tea and sitting back on the couch picking up your book and opening it, reading until you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, falling asleep right there on the couch. 

—

Over the next few months, you, James, and Julian had developed some sort of routine around school, work, and doctor’s appointments. A part of you thought you were spending more time together as a family than when you were married. 

Today you had to go in for work, also having reduced your hours, but in a way that you were working in tandem with James. When you arrived back home the house smelled like warm spices and big plates of home-cooked food. 

You dropped your keys on the entryway table, next to James’ keys and wallet and took off your jacket, hanging it up before coming to the kitchen and seeing Julian and Hennock doing their homework at the island. 

“Mr. Wilson, what is the difference between these two words?” Hennock asked, holding up his paper so James could see while cutting some vegetables for a salad. 

“I think the first one is the kind of principal in your school that looks after all the students and the other one is… man, that’s hard to describe. Hey, how do you describe what principle is to an eight-year-old?” James asked you. 

“I think that kind of principle is something that guides the way people behave or act,” you sat next to Julian and Hennock. “Like a principle is the foundation for something that people believe in.” 

Hennock and Julian still looked a little confused by your explanation so you tried to give an example. 

“So a principle could be to be kind to everyone we meet and so people who believe in that principle will try to follow it.” 

That put it in better terms for them to understand and there was a chorus of oh’s before they looked back down at their papers and scribbled down a few things to answer the questions they were asked. 

“They learning about homonyms?” you asked James and he nodded.

“I talked to Mahlet,” James said, changing the topic. “Hennock’s gonna stay for dinner and she’ll come pick him up around seven.” 

“Sounds good, it’s always nice to have you, Henny,” you smiled and ruffled your hand through his coarse curly hair in an endearing way. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Wilson,” Hennock smiled. 

James was now over the stove, stirring what looked like a soup before giving it a taste and figuring something might be missing.

“Can you taste this?” James asked. “I don’t know why, but every time I make it there’s something off.” 

You took a spoon and tried a little bit of the broth, looking down to see that he was making matzah ball soup and immediately when you tasted it you knew what was missing. 

“I know what it is,” you said. “But you can’t tell your mom I told you. She swore me to secrecy.” 

“My mother told you this?” James asked and you nodded. 

“When we were getting married she wanted me to know how to make it the way she would for you when you were sick.” 

“And she didn’t think to tell her own son how to do this?” he seemed thoroughly offended, but all you could do was laugh. 

“It’s tarragon. I don’t think it’s something everyone adds, it was just something special she’d put in hers to make it a little different. Here,” you reached into the spice cupboard and took out a jar of dried tarragon and took a bit of the herb out of the container and crushed it in your hands before sprinkling it into the soup. James mixed it in and gave the broth a minute to soak in the flavour before trying it again and shaking his head. 

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me!” 

“I’ll let you finish having your little meltdown,” you patted his back. “I’m gonna hop in the shower quickly and we can eat when I get out.” 

“Did Dad forget the tarragon?” Julian asked and you nodded your head. 

“Wow, so everyone knew, but me?” James asked and you nodded your head with a shrug. 

“Sorry, I guess your mom has favourites, or something.” 

“Figures,” James teasingly rolled his eyes and you chuckled, waving him off and going to take a shower and change into something a little more comfortable. 

When you came back outside they had migrated to the dining room table, each with a bowl of soup in front of them and a plate of salad. You sat on the same side as James since Julian and Hennock were already sitting next to each other and the boys happily recounted the details of their school day and playdate with you while everyone ate their soup and salad. 

“What did you do at work, Dad?” James asked. 

“Oh, nothing interesting,” he shook his head. “I think your mom was doing bigger things than me.” 

“Bigger than treating people with cancer? You flatter me,” you drank some of your soup’s broth. “I had a meeting with a big company about a building they’re making.” 

“Did you go do a site visit?” James asked and you nodded. 

“Engineers are being a pain in the butt, keep making me adjust the design, but we’ll see who gets the last laugh.” 

“Mom always does,” Julian told Hennock and they chuckled along with James. 

After dinner James helped you clear up some of the dishes before heading out and leaving you with the boys. When Mahlet came by to pick Hennock up you invited her in for tea and a little visit. 

“Thanks for coming to stay with Julian the other night,” you said after handing her a mug. “For once, I was the late one and James had an emergency come up so it was a huge help.” 

“And how are things now, with the co-parenting?” 

You took a sip of your tea, “Weirdly good,” you admitted. “We don’t argue as much which is nice and Julian gets to see his dad more.” 

“Do you think maybe you’re not fighting because he’s changing?” she asked. 

“I don’t wanna go down that path,” you shook your head. “If Jay hadn’t been diagnosed things would still be the same as they always were.” 

“But they’re not. More often than not people show their true colours during times of difficulty.” 

You took a deep breath and sighed, “If that was the case I would have seen something worth keeping when my marriage was falling apart.” 

Mahlet nodded, seeing as you had a point and your conversation was halted as they boys came out of Julian’s room. 

Mahlet and Hennock left shortly afterwards and you quickly got Julian ready for bed, tucking him in and then going to get settled yourself. You looked through a few client papers for work before calling it a night and turning off your bedside lamp, curling into bed and falling asleep. 

Your sleep was interrupted in the middle of the night by a tapping on your shoulder and when you blinked your eyes open you saw Julian standing next to your bed. 

“Jay, sweetheart, is something wrong?” you asked. 

“My stomach really hurts,” he told you and you sat up, motioning for him to come sit with you on the bed. 

“Where?” you asked, turning on the light and he pointed to the upper right corner of his abdomen. If you remembered correctly that wasn’t exactly where his stomach was and your suspicions were confirmed when you saw the yellowing whites of his eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, I think we have to go to the hospital.” 

“The hospital? What happened?” Julian looked worried and you assured him everything would be alright. 

“We’re just being safe,” you told him. “I’m gonna call your dad, maybe he can tell us a little bit more of what’s going on. Do you feel good enough to get your jacket and shoes and your hospital bag?” 

Julian nodded his head and you gave him a kiss and he went off to grab his things while you did the same, but also taking your cell phone and calling James. 

It took a few rings, but he eventually picked up. 

“Hey, did something happen?” he asked and you could still hear the sleep thick in his voice. 

“I think something’s wrong with Julian. I’m gonna take him to the hospital, can you meet us there?” 

“Yeah, of course, I’m on my way.” 

“James…the whites of his eyes were yellow. Does he have jaundice?” you asked.

“It’s possible, was there anything else?” 

“Yeah, he mentioned stomach pain, but he pointed to like his upper right abdomen, I think,” you explained while grabbing your bag and putting on some socks. 

“Makes sense as a liver issue,” you could hear his car starting in the background. “If he’s presenting symptoms now I would call an ambulance.” 

“James-,” 

“Just trust me,” he said. “Call 911.” 

“Okay,” you nodded your head and hung up, calling the emergency services and explaining the situation to them and then to Julian while you waited for them to arrive. 

James made the right call, seeing as while you were in the ambulance Julian began to throw up and the paramedics obviously handled it better than you could have if you had driven him. 

When you arrived at the ER they wheeled Julian away and you began getting flashbacks to when you first brought him in. 

“Where are you taking him?” you called after them, but no one answered you. “What the hell kind of hospital is this?! Where are you taking my son?!” 

“Ma’am they're taking your son to do a liver biopsy,” one of the nurses came back and informed you. “We need you to sign this consent form.” 

You nodded your head and took the pen from her hand, signing it, but just as you were about to ask her a question she ran off to give them the okay. 

You could feel your anger and worry bubbling inside your throat and you wanted to let it out in a scream and you were about to go running after her, but before you could you felt someone grab your wrist and pull you back. 

“James let me go,” you said warningly, looking back at your ex-husband. 

“No,” he stated just as firmly. 

“James-,” 

“I am not going to let you do something you’re going to regret,” he said and pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you, even when you pushed to get away. 

“James, let me go.”

“No,” he repeated and simply held onto you tighter. 

“Let me-,” your voice broke and you stopped pushing away. “Please, Jamie, please I just want to see him,” you cried into his shirt and he squeezed you so tight you thought you might get bruises in your arm from the way he was holding you. 

“I know, I know,” he whispered. “You brought him here and he’s going to be fine.” 

“I can’t do this anymore, James. I can't be his mom and his doctor and they can’t expect me to wait out here while they drag him away and ask me to consent to God knows what.” 

James didn’t know what to tell you, instead he just continued to hold you close, rubbing his hands up and down your back, and pressed a soft kiss against your temple. 

You wrapped your arms around him and finally let yourself fully sink into his embrace, hating yourself for how much you liked it and how good it made you feel while your son was in some back corner of the ER getting a piece of his liver biopsied.

Eventually James pulled away from you, helping you dry your tears on the sleeve of his sweater and walking with his arm wrapped around you to the waiting area. You didn’t know how long you were sitting there, but it was possible that you had dozed off once or twice against James’ arm, waiting to hear some sort of news from the ER doctor. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Wilson?” 

Your eyes blinked open when James gently shook you awake. 

“That’s us,” he said. “Is Julian okay?” 

“Your son has a mild case of cirrhosis,” the doctor explained. “Due to his cystic fibrosis diagnosis we believe this is due to clogging and inflammation in his bile ducts.” 

“What does that mean for him? Does he need surgery to fix it?” you asked, fighting back a tired yawn. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” the doctor nodded. “It’s good you caught it early, there’s minimal damage to his liver so far and he’s still growing which means his liver is too. We can get him into an OR tomorrow if you consent to the surgery.” 

You looked over at James and he nodded his head. You trusted him and told the doctor you would sign the papers as soon as you could see Julian. 

“He’s been moved to the pediatric ward for now and Dr. Liu has been informed of the development. He should be in touch with you tomorrow.” 

“Thank you,” James said and when the doctor left, he helped you up and you began the walk up to the pediatric ward. 

When you arrived a nurse pointed you in the direction of his room and after each pressing a kiss to Julain’s forehead you sat on the seat bench together. 

“We should sleep,” James said, but you had a hard time imagining how that would be possible. 

“I’m having a hard time working out the logistics,” you admitted. 

“Come on, it’ll be just like on the way back from our honeymoon,” he insisted, recalling your extremely delayed flight on the way back from France, causing you to sleep with your head on James’ lap, stretched out along the airport chairs. 

You were too tired to argue or try and find another way, so you leaned down and rested your head against his legs, closing your eyes and sighing when you felt his hand rub up and down in long motions along the side of your body. Sleep could not have come quicker.

��

“Mom…Mom, Dad?” 

Julian rolled his eyes when he received no answer and grabbed the stuffed animal you had placed next to him when he’d come into the room and threw it at his sleeping parents, nailing his dad in the face. 

“Oh, God, mhm, wake up,” James shook you while he raised his hands to rub his face.

“Huh?” you opened your eyes and pushed yourself off of James’ lap. “Oh crap, my back. Remind me not to listen to you when you talk about doing something I did ten years ago.” 

“Julian, did you throw Steggy at my face?” James asked, picking up the stuffed animal from where it had fallen on you. 

“You weren’t getting up,” Julian shrugged his shoulders. 

“Julian,” you chastised and took the dinosaur from James’ hand. “You could have hurt your dad’s important doctor-face,” you joked and rubbed your hand all over James’ face making Julian laugh. 

“Okay, okay,” James moved your hand away and gave you a look. 

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” you yawned and moved from the bench to the side of his bed. 

“A little better,” he said. “Did the doctors fix what was wrong?” 

“Not yet,” James shook his head and came to sit next to you and placed a hand on Julian’s. “You’re gonna have to go in for surgery today.” 

“A surgery?” Julian looked a little nervous. “Like cut me open?” 

“It’ll be just a line right here,” James drew it with his finger along Julian’s abdomen. “They’re going to fix a part of you called your bile duct and then sew you right back up and you’ll be good as new.” 

“Is it dangerous?” he asked. 

You looked over at James, a small note telling him to lie to make him feel better. He didn’t need to know all the details. 

“No,” James shook his head. “You’re gonna be fine and your mom and I will be here the whole time.” 

“Promise?” Julian whispered. 

“Swear on it,” James leaned in towards his son and snuck a kiss to his cheek. “We love you, buddy.” 

“I love you guys too.” 

Dr. Liu came by a little while later to inform you what time the surgery was scheduled for and he helped make Julian feel a lot better about the procedure. When it was finally time for him to go, you were a nervous wreck, but tried not to let it show for Julian’s sake, instead just pressing a big kiss to his forehead and telling him you’d be waiting for him once he got out. 

It only took about fifteen minutes of your pacing to get James to grab onto your arm and make you stop. 

“You’re gonna burn a hole in the ground,” he said. 

“I don’t know what to do with myself,” you admitted. “If I sit I’m gonna fidget, if I stand I’m going to pace.” 

“Then come on, let’s go to my office for a second, grab a coffee and a snack and then we can come back out and wait,” he suggested. 

You agreed to his idea so he stood up and you walked side by side to his office, passing House who had some comment about your dishevelled appearance together. 

“You’re an interesting man, Greg,” you shook your head at him. “You can’t think of any other reason we might be here?” 

House was silent so James explained, 

“Julian’s in surgery right now. He’s got cirrhosis.” 

“Ah so not a late night ex-wife rendez-vous. Can’t get ‘em right all the time,” he shrugged and you chuckled. “I hope the kid’s alright.” 

“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you,” you admitted. 

He raised his brows and lifted his cane to say goodbye, letting you and James continue your walk to his office. 

“House mind that you’re not spending as much time here?” you asked. 

“No, he just bothers me more when I am around,” James said while opening the door and letting you inside. 

He went towards his desk and pulled out a few packages of snacks tossing you one and you shook your head when you saw the label. 

“You still eat these? I thought the FDA recalled them?” you asked sarcastically. 

“I’m sorry I have better taste in food than you do,” he said right back. 

“Right, this is food,” you chuckled. “And if you have such good taste why didn’t your mom tell you about her secret ingredient?” 

“That’s cold,” he pointed to you with a bag of chips in his hand. 

“No, it’s true. Just like your dad telling me I was his favourite wife of yours,” you opened the bag James had tossed you. 

“Just shut up and eat your snack,” James chuckled and you listened to him, beginning to eat a little something, not realizing how hungry you were until the food made its way to your stomach. 

“You got another one of these?” you asked and he nodded, passing it to you when you were finished with the first one. 

“Feeling a little better?” James asked and you nodded your head. 

“Hey James?” you said, unsure of how you’d gotten to this point, but you were too exhausted to stop yourself from saying it. “I want you to move back in.” 

“You want me to do what?” he raised his brows and looked at you stunned. 

“I want you to move back in with me and Julian,” you said. “It’s becoming pretty clear to me that it’s safer to have two people around when possible than not and you’re already around all the time now.” 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked. “I mean you didn’t want to give Julian the wrong idea about us.” 

“Our lives changed the second we got that diagnosis. I think we need to change along with everything else.” 

You couldn’t believe that just barely twelve hours ago you were telling your friend there was no chance James had changed, but here you were saying things that had proved you had changed. Things you wouldn’t have dreamt of saying a year ago. 

“Okay,” James nodded. “I’ll move back in.” 

You just silently hoped you wouldn’t regret asking. 

Waiting for Julian to get out of surgery was a little easier now that you had some food in your stomach and you decided to wait on coffee until you got the note from the surgeon that everything had gone well. 

As James had continued to assure you almost a hundred times, the surgery went fine and before you knew it you were back in Julian’s room watching him sleep off the anaesthetic. 

“You know he looks like you when he sleeps,” James said from the bench while you sat on the bed next to Julian. 

“He does?” 

“Yeah, his nose does that same scrunchy thing when he sniffles and when he snores-,” 

“Hey, I only snore when I’m congested,” you said defensively. 

“I never minded,” James smiled. “I thought it was cute when you sounded like an old man.” 

“Yeah, but you’re not fond of all my old man characteristics,” you turned around to face him, still holding Julian’s hand in yours. 

“All your old man characteristics?” James furrowed his brows in confusion. 

“You told me I argued like an old man. Stubborn and could only see my own way. And I fought dirty.” 

“You sure did,” James nodded. “If you brandishing my mother’s clear favouritism shows anything, it’s definitely that you fight dirty, but I never said I disliked that about you.” 

“Really? Near the end I thought there was a lot you disliked about me.” 

James shook his head, “No, I was just upset and you were passionate. It wasn’t like my other marriages where things just…fizzled.” 

“We did go out with a bang,” you inhaled deeply. 

“If it weren’t for Julian… do you think we’d…” 

You shook your head. 

“No, we probably never would have seen each other again. Another old man trait, I hold a pretty mean grudge.” 

James pressed his lips together and looked over at his sleeping son. 

“I’m happy we had him,” he said quietly. “Even if we didn’t work out.” 

“Me too,” you agreed, looking over at Julian quietly snoring, just like his dad had said. “Best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Julian’s nose watching him scrunch it up, making you smile. It was a miracle that two such flawed individuals could make a child so perfect. 

—

“Alright, he is asleep, but I do warn you it took some bribery so you’ll have to buy him another dinosaur book to read to him at night,” you walked out of Julian’s room, dusting your hands off like you’d just finished a heavy labour job. 

“I’ll run to the bookstore tomorrow,” James nodded and you fell onto the couch next to him and sighing as you sunk into the plush fabric before noticing what he was doing. 

“Where did you pull these out of?” you asked with a soft chuckle. 

“I was just clearing up the closet in the guest bedroom and I found a box of these,” he picked up the albums. “Look at this one.” 

He placed the book of photos on your lap and you smiled seeing as it was Julian’s baby album, filled with small mementos and little notes you and James had made in the margins. 

“Oh my God, Mom’s first day home, she looks like an angel,” you read from the side. “And my response: I look like I just got hit by a bus, cut it out.” 

“You can still read my chicken scratch writing?” James asked. 

“My most useless talent as I like to call it,” you nodded. “You wrote a lot in here.” 

“I used to bring it with me to work cause I missed you guys so much,” he admitted. “Made me feel closer to you.” 

You read through some of the notes in the book, chuckling a little at some of the written back and forth you had. Eventually you got to the family portraits you’d had taken a few months after Julian was born, smiling softly to yourself. 

You remembered the day well, you felt like you hadn’t slept in weeks, James was just getting off of a twelve-hour shift and you were almost late to your appointment with the photographer. You were worried everything was going to look terrible and you’d barely had enough time to do your hair or makeup, but James had silenced your worries with a kiss and assured you the pictures would be fine. 

In the end most of them were terrible, but the photographer managed to get two shots, one of you and James smiling down at Julian in your arms and another immediately after where you were looking up and smiling at each other. 

“That session was a shitshow,” you recalled and James agreed. “We did get a few nice things out of it though.” 

You looked back down at the pile of albums in front of you and noticed a large white one, tucked under a few things and even though nothing good could come of it, you pulled it out from the bottom of the pile, carefully blowing off the dust and turning the first page. 

Centerfold, just like you remembered it, was a picture of you and James on your wedding day. You leaned further back into the couch and James scooched in closer to get a look. 

You both looked younger in the picture, with that spark of je ne sais quoi in your eyes. 

“I told you there was a reason we got married,” he said quietly, his hand brushing the corner of the photo. 

“Yeah, we loved each other,” you said. “That was the reason.” 

“Same reason we decided to have Julian,” he added. 

You could feel your breathing become a little more shallow and a tightness in your chest as James spoke about Julian. You remembered the conversations so clearly, like you’d had them yesterday, caught between happy and passionate kisses while James made some dirty jokes about getting you pregnant. 

That was back when he still couldn’t get enough of you. Before things changed and he slowly distanced himself until it felt like it was just you and Julian against the rest of the world, and not the three of you like he had promised all those nights throughout your pregnancy. 

You wondered quietly to yourself what had changed? What had become so unbearable that there was distance in the first place? There was never a lack of love on your end which is why this was dangerous. 

At least when there was distance you could be angry with him, you could go to bed at night and not remember all the little things that made you love him in the first place. He wasn’t there as a constant  reminder that you loved his cooking, or even just your banter together. More importantly, it was giving you new reasons to feel that fluttering feeling in your stomach. 

You’d always loved how he’d interact with Julian, but now that you got to see it day in and day out, it made it harder to weigh that against the cons of everything. Most notably, this was the beginning of the end. If you let yourself fall you would both crash and Julian would be caught in the middle once again. 

You tried to distract yourself by flipping through the album photos to find some funny old picture of a relative or maybe even an embarrassing moment to tone down whatever it was that looking at that picture was making you feel. 

All you could focus on was how in every picture, almost without fail, James was looking over at you. Rarely into the camera along with everyone else. He was enamoured, that was the only word to describe it, and oh how much you missed that look. 

You made the mistake of tearing away your gaze from the pictures, looking up at James instead, and for a moment you thought just maybe you saw that same look in his eyes. But no. It couldn’t have been. The dim light of the lamp must have been playing tricks on you. 

Finally you closed the album and put it back down, unsure of what feelings might resurface if you opened another one. Your honeymoon, family dinners and pictures were all just reminders of the happy times, not what came after.

James did what you didn’t want to, grabbing another album and sifting through the pages until he found what he was looking for, taking a picture out of its protective sleeve and showing it to you. 

“Can I keep this one?” he asked. 

You took it from his hands, examining it while your fingers precariously held the edges of the photograph. 

It was a silly picture, something you had taken while you were travelling. James got someone to take the camera, but along with snapping a few shots while you were posed with smiles they caught a few candids, most notably, James kissing your cheek while you laughed and tried to squirm out of his grasp. 

Your finger gently brushed over the spot on the photo where James’ lips were against your cheek before nodding your head. 

“Sure, you can have it,” you handed him back the picture and patted your hands against your legs, preparing to stand up. “I should get to bed.”

“I’ll be out here for a while longer if you need anything.”

You gave him a tight lipped smile and stood up, walking towards your bedroom. When you closed the door behind you, you let out a breath you had been holding and ran a hand across your face. 

Maybe Julian was never the one at risk of getting the wrong idea.

—

Waking up in the middle of the night always made you feel uneasy. Especially if Julian was the one waking you up. The chance that you’d have to drive to the hospital or call an ambulance was high and you hated the fear and worry that came along with any possible complications. 

Tonight, you woke up on your own accord. Your heart was beating inside your throat and your stomach felt like it was housing a group of persistent butterflies. 

You glanced over at the clock and saw the time, flashing in red. 

3:07

You took a deep breath trying to steady your heart rate and breathing before peeling away your blanket and kicking your feet over the side of the bed. You grabbed a different pair of pyjamas from your dresser and walked into the washroom, tossing them on the far end of the floor while you stripped down and turned on the water for the shower. 

When you stepped inside you hissed initially at the cold, but forced yourself to become fully submerged under the water, closing the curtain behind you. Your muscles clenched as your body adjusted to the temperature, and when the time finally came you let your thoughts and dreams become washed away by the water coming out of the shower head. 

You were simply standing there, letting the water fall on your face when you heard the click of the door opening. 

“Julian, sweetie,” you sighed, turning around so you could speak. “Maybe you should go to your dad if something’s wrong, I’ll come out in a sec.” 

“No need,” you heard a voice that did not belong to your son. 

“James? I’m in the shower. What are you doing?” you asked incredulously, feeling the need to cover yourself up even though there was a curtain blocking his view. You felt exposed nonetheless. 

“It’s three in the morning, I thought something was wrong, I came to check on you,” he explained. 

“And what were you doing up?” you asked. 

“Got in late. There was an emergency at the hospital after you guys went to sleep, I dealt with it and just came back.”

You stepped under the running water again, washing the water over your face with your hands. 

“So, is everything okay?” 

“Peachy,” you said sarcastically, leaning against the wall of the shower. 

“Nobody ever says peachy when things are okay,” James pushed further and you sighed, moving to sit down on the floor of the shower, still positioned under the water. 

“I just had a dream, that’s all,” you said, watching as the water hit your toes and the ground around you. 

“A bad dream?” he asked. 

“No, it was more like… déjà vu.”

James sighed, and rubbed his hands on his legs. 

“Was it about us?” 

He took your silence as a yes. 

James didn’t really know what to say, his hands were clasped together as he leaned  forward sitting on the bathroom counter. 

“You’re not gonna ask what it’s about?” you hugged your knees close to your chest. 

“Would you tell me?” 

“Maybe…I don’t know,” you mumbled. 

There was another moment of silence before James spoke up again, 

“What was it about?” 

You turned to face the water with your eyes closed again, gathering the courage to speak. 

“It started when I told you I was pregnant,” you said softly. “Like the memory replayed in my head, exactly how it happened.” 

“I remember that day,” you heard the soft smile in his voice as he spoke. “You took the test at work and when it came back positive you came straight to the hospital to tell me.” 

“I was barely two steps inside your office when I blurted it out, you were eating lunch and had that stupid look on your face with a mouth full of sandwich,” you chuckled to yourself.

“I almost choked on that,” James shook his head. “And I just remember running up to you and freaking out.”

“And then when you were done freaking out and everything sunk in you kissed me, and you told me you loved me, and we cried because we made a child. Our love did that.” 

You reached forward and turned the shower off, pushing yourself up on your feet and taking a deep breath before pulling back the curtain. You had told him what you were thinking. You couldn’t get any more exposed than that.

James looked stunned for a moment and it didn’t go unnoticed how his eyes raked up and down your figure. 

“Get me the robe, would you?” you motioned to the back of the door and he jumped down grabbing the robe and holding it out for you so you could place your arms into the sleeves and wrap the towelled fabric around you, trying it off with the belt. 

When you turned your head to look back at James, you could tell at least you’d succeeded in raising his heart rate, much like he was doing for you recently. 

You moved to go sit on the closed toilet while James retook his spot on the counter. 

“Do you remember when Julian was born?” he whispered. 

“I like it was yesterday. I can’t believe it’s been eight years,” you nodded your head. 

He was having trouble holding your gaze and you wondered what he was about to say. 

“I-I screwed up,” his voice was soft, almost hurt, like it pained him to think about what he had done. “When you were resting afterwards the nurse asked me if we were going to do a newborn screening. We hadn’t talked about it, but you were so tired and it was such a hard labour…” he swallowed thickly, his voice wavering slightly, remembering the birth. It wasn’t easy by any means and James had often thought that the hardest thing he’d ever had to watch was you in that much pain. “I told her we weren’t going to do it. I just didn’t want Julian to leave and h-he looked so perfect I never thought anything could have been wrong with him.” 

James took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, “I am a doctor and I didn’t get a newborn screening for my son, what the hell kind of father does that make me?” 

“Oddly enough, I think it makes you a good one,” you admitted. 

“Even though we could have known about this years before? We could have gotten him treatment, medication, therapies, all sooner?” he looked back at you confused. 

“You said it yourself, Jamie. He was perfect for us. Still is.” 

James nodded his head and looked forward at the opposite wall. You stood up and walked over towards him, reaching out a hand to gently hold his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek while he looked at you. 

“I don’t blame you for this,” you whispered. “I don’t blame you and I don’t think you’re a bad father.” 

“I know,” he murmured, “but I do.”

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, not knowing what other comfort you could offer. 

James leaned in a little to your touch, sitting up straighter when it was gone, trying to play it off like he hadn’t been missing it and craving it as much as you. 

You were about to say something when you heard a knock on the washroom door, and this time it had to be Julian. 

“Mom? Dad, are you in here too?” you could hear his small sounding voice, a little strained and worried so you quickly assured him you were both inside and opened the door. 

“Sweetheart, what happened?” you asked, noticing his tear-stained face. 

“I just had a bad dream,” he sniffed and wiped his eyes. 

You kissed away his tears first before assuring him everything would be fine, you and James were there to take care of him. 

“Why don’t you go and lay down on my bed with your Dad?” you suggested. “I’ll get dressed and come join you.” 

Julian nodded and made his way over to your bed while you went to quickly speak to James. 

“It’ll be good for you. Both of you,” you told him. 

“You don’t mind?” 

“Just this once.” 

James thanked you with a kiss to your cheek and left the adjoining washroom, closing the door behind him and giving you a minute to get changed and deal with anything you needed to before going back to bed. 

When you opened the door and came back into your room, you saw James under the covers with Julian pressed close to him, their foreheads resting together while James told him everything was going to be alright and he could go back to sleep. 

You slipped in under the covers, sandwiching Julian between you both, letting his back rest against your chest while you pressed a kiss to his hair. 

One hand was tucked under your pillow and another was draped over Julian, and your fingers carefully placed over top of James’. 

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Julian asked his dad. 

“Right next to you,” he kissed his nose. “Now try to get some sleep, okay?” 

Julian nodded his head and yawned and you whispered a quiet goodnight to bed him and his dad before letting your eyes close, silently smiling when you could feel James’ hand finally hold your own. 

—

“You guys, relax, he’s going to be fine,” Mahlet placed a hand on both yours and James’ shoulders while you spewed out your worries. “It’s one night, I have the whole list of things he needs and I’ve taken care of him before, right? It’s just at my house this time so the boys can have a sleepover and you two can have a bit of a break.” 

“She’s right,” James sighed. “I’m still worried out of my mind, but she’s right.” 

“Mahi, are you sure you don’t want us to come even for a little bit?” you asked. 

“Absolutely, if something happens I’ll call an ambulance and then you, but Julian’s been good for months now, he can survive one night away from home,” she assured you. 

“Thank you, Mahlet. I’m sure Julian and Hennock will have a great time tonight. Just call us when he’s ready to be picked up tomorrow morning,” James said. 

James wrapped his arm around you, giving you a squeeze knowing you were still uneasy about this, but deep down you knew Mahlet was right. The chances of something going wrong at this point were small and you’d had enough time since your last hospital visit to even consider doing something like this. 

“You boys ready?” James called and Julian came rushing out of the room with his bag in hand, Hennock following close behind him. 

“You have fun tonight, okay?” you bent down and gave Julian a kiss. “And if anything happens or you feel sick, or are having trouble breathing, tell Mahlet, okay?” 

“I know, Mom. Dad already told me this like fifteen times,” Julian chuckled. 

You looked up at James and he shrugged. 

“Alright, well you guys better go before I change my mind,” you crossed your arms over your chest and that was all the permission the boys needed to run off, leaving Mahlet to say goodbye before stepping out and closing the door behind her. 

You sighed and turned around, looking at James who had his hands shoved into his pockets. 

“You hungry?” he asked. 

“I could eat,” you nodded your head. 

“Why don’t we make something for dinner together?” he suggested. 

You looked at the clock and smiled, “I think we’ve got enough time for pizza, what do you think?” 

“I think that’s a great plan,” James agreed. “I can start on the dough and you get the sauce and toppings?” 

You gave him a thumbs up before putting your hand out to high-five him, noticing how your fingers so easily intertwined before you walked apart and let go. 

James rolled up his sleeves and took off his watch, placing it on the small jewelry tray you kept by the sink for when you were washing dishes, while you went to the fridge and began pulling out all the things that could make good pizza toppings. 

Moving to the sink to wash some vegetables, you noticed James’ watch resting there. You didn’t pay much attention when he was wearing it, but now you realized why it looked extra familiar. It was one you had gotten him as an anniversary present after your first year married. 

“You still wear that?” you pointed with your eyes to the watch. 

“It’s my favourite watch, of course I wear it,” he nodded while portioning the flour into a large bowl.

“Even with that engraving?” you raised a questioning brow. 

“Dearest Jamie, Here’s to the first of many happy anniversaries. Love forever, Your Wife,” he recited the engraving back to you. 

“I don’t know why you do that to yourself,” you chuckled a little, looking down into the sink. 

“Yeah, well why do you still go by Mrs. Wilson?” 

“Easier to keep the name than change it again,” you partially lied, it wasn’t the full truth, but it was what you had been telling yourself ever since the divorce was finalized. 

James could sense you were lying, but he knew the only way to get you to open up would be to let himself be open with you. 

“The watch is my favourite because you gave it to me. Functionally it sucks and it's uncomfortable, but you went out of your way to get me something that looked nice and that’s why I love it.” 

You smiled a little to yourself, but kept your head facing the sink and continued to wash the vegetables. 

“You’re not going to say anything?” he inquired. 

“Do I have to?” you asked. 

“That’s normally how a conversation works,” he remarked and you chuckled. 

“What do you want me to say?” you asked. 

“Honestly, the real reason why you kept your married name,” he said plainly. 

You sighed, “It wasn’t a full lie. If I went back to my maiden name Julian and I wouldn’t have the same last name it just makes things complicated and confusing and I didn’t want to deal with it, but,” you added, “I always kind of liked the sound of Mrs. Wilson and even though I was pissed at you all the time I still liked that there was one thing aside from Julian connecting us. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t want to end up like Sam or Bonnie just…detached, like there was barely a trace that you were even there.” 

“It’s a fingerprint,” James said. “Mine.” 

“Yeah, even though it's small for who we were to each other, it's the fingerprint you left on my life.” 

James pressed his lips together and opened his mouth to say something before shutting it and evaluated how he was going to speak, 

“Can I ask you something?” he settled on. 

“Sure,” you nodded, moving over to the cutting board and placing yourself on the opposite side of the kitchen island. 

“Did…Did you ever stop loving me?” 

Your smile faltered and James noticed the change in your demeanor, quickly retracting his question. 

“You know what, forget I asked,” he shook his head and continued to knead the dough. 

There was a moment of silence before you spoke again. 

“I didn’t, but I got tired of not being loved back.” 

James stopped what he was doing and looked up at you with concern. 

“You thought I stopped loving you?” he asked.

“James, I was wife number three. Didn’t take much to connect the dots and see you got tired of me,” you said bluntly. “I wanted to know if I could count on you, and it was starting to feel like maybe I couldn’t. Then the divorce happened and everything after that just made me feel like I was right.” 

James chewed on the inside of his cheek and remained silent. 

“You didn’t fight for me,” you said quietly. “You fought for joint custody, but you didn’t fight for me. You just…accepted it.” 

“I…I didn’t know you wanted me to fight for you.” 

“Are you saying you would have?” you asked, unsure of whether or not you wanted to hear his answer. 

“I’m saying I thought I didn’t even have a chance,” he admitted. 

“So you wouldn’t have,” you clarified for him, beginning to chop the toppings into pieces and separate them into bowls. 

He chuckled humourlessly, “I have dated one person since the divorce. I hated it.” 

“Why do you have to talk in puzzles, James? Why can’t you just come out and say what you really mean?” 

“And then what?” he asked. “We go back to living in the same house. Sleep in separate rooms. Move on now that we know the truth?”

“Say it,” you put the knife down and looked him right in the eyes. 

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked, cleaning the dough off his hand. “I’m going to say it and you’re just going to stand there and I have to live with that?” 

You walked around the counter and came right up in front of him. 

“If you were listening to anything I was saying, you would stop making excuses and say it.” 

“Fine!” he threw his hands up in the air. “I still love you. I never stopped loving you. These past few months, even though stressful, have been the happiest I’ve been in so long because I feel like myself again when I’m with you and Julian. Because I feel like your husband, and I feel like a father and I keep kicking myself wondering how I could have been so stupid to lose that.” 

“Say it one more time,” you whispered, lifting your hands to hold onto his face. “Please.” 

“I love you,” his voice was softer, relieved like after being underwater he could finally breathe again. 

You finally pulled him into you, your lips hesitantly resting on his at first, before you found your rhythm again after so long. It was muscle memory, his hands finding the spot they always rested against on your hips, his lips moving in synch with yours, eventually trailing off and finding their favourite spot against your jaw and behind your ear. 

“James,” you breathed. 

“Jamie,” he mumbled against your skin. “Call me Jamie.” 

“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie,” you repeated the nickname until he silenced you with another kiss, muffling your voice. 

“God, I missed you,” he whispered when you pulled apart, breathing heavily due to your fast beating heart. 

You closed your eyes while your forehead rested against his, feeling his nose touch yours, his hands still firmly planted on your hips when your thumbs brushed against his cheeks. 

“Jamie?” 

James snuck another small kiss at the sound of the nickname. 

“Yes, my love.” 

“Can I count on you?” 

You could feel him nod his head and confirm with a verbal ‘yes’. And even if it turned out to be a lie, at that moment you didn’t care. He had proved to you that it was possible, you could work with that. 

“I love you,” you said and kissed his nose and then you said it and kissed him again for good measure. “You told me twice; I tell you twice.” 

James moved his hands up from your hips and brushed the back of his fingers against your cheek, a warm smile coming to his face. 

And there was that look, the one you thought had vanished over time. His eyes fully transfixed on you with nothing but love and admiration. It didn’t take much to convince yourself you could get used to seeing that look for a long, long time. 

TAGLIST —

@cuntyvicodin @paola-carter

[mychemicalweevil]

Ianthe Tridentarius is a mystery to me in many ways EXCEPT when Coronabeth makes fun of her for not being able to hold her arms up long enough to braid her own hair. Girl, I’ve never related to anything more. I know she’s icky and we love her for that, but this specific facet of Ianthe is just reality when you’ve got cardiovascular or nervous system issues. Ianthe is objectively Gross and she leans into it, and I wonder how much of that is a way to take control of how people view her embodiment… or something else.

Let’s contrast Ianthe’s necromancy with Harrow’s quickly. Flesh and bone are very different domains, but for both characters their specialties seem deeply connected to them, internally (as in, their actual physical bodies).

Harrow braces her own weak limbs with bone constructs. I’m inclined to make the assumption that she does this regularly/for daily activities, not just when she needs to fight in HtN. This could all be explained away by the fact that she specializes in bone: of course she’ll think of a bone-related solution to her problems. But what if it’s also a bone problem? I’m not saying there’s textual evidence for this beyond Harrow bending her fingers backward to the point of dislocation when she’s nervous in HtN. I still think it would be fascinating if part of a necromancer’s ability was connected to their own body’s weaknesses. (This probably doesn’t hold up with spirit magic, sorry.)

Could Ianthe be so exquisite with flesh magic because her own flesh and blood are virtual beacons for thanergetic decay? I’ve talked about chronic illness as a potential well of thanergy a necromancer can dip into, but here I’m thinking about a one-to-one relationship between a physical illness (e.g., anemia) and a necromantic specialty (e.g., blood/flesh magic). Back to Ianthe and how she presents herself. Leaning into looking unsettling is absolutely an emotional response to people making enough comments about your unsettling appearance, but I wouldn’t put it past Ianthe to have made a connection between whatever is happening with her physically and her necromantic skillset, to the extent that it’s now a point of pride. Yes, she’s gross and physically weak. Maybe that in itself allows her to be such a prodigious necromancer. I can’t imagine how frustrated she was growing up in Coronabeth’s shadow, as much as she tries to make it seem like that was an entirely strategic move. She knows she’s not the good looking twin, and she knows people discount her because of that. This would be absolutely infuriating if Ianthe understood that the things that made her unattractive (anemia, chronic illness, non-specific necromancer syndrome) were LITERALLY the reasons why she was the necromantically gifted twin.

I’m clawing at the walls of my enclosure.

Let her be as gross as she WANTS, let her look physically disgusting and create flesh constructs that you can’t even imagine. Let her do all of this because illnesses are only allowed to present one specific way in women, and if you’re not ill in the tragic romantic damsel-in-distress way then you sometimes get treated like a freak. Ianthe is that freak, and I hope she gets worse ;)

[cripplecharacters]

sorry if this is a little too vast, but how often do you feel the whole fantasy concept of curses falls into harmful stereotypes? just because a lot of ‘curses’ in fantasy media:

a) display either symptoms of real disabilities, especially chronic illnesses, or have fantastical symptoms that disable the character in some way or another

b) are often tied to some form of morality, whether a person is cursed because they’re evil and it’s a punishment, or they’re helpless and need to be saved from the horrible life of being ill

c) are usually curable through some sort of magic solution, even though disabled readers cannot magically cure their body

d) overall are linked to magic, and it is my understanding that ‘disability caused by a magic spell’ is very tropey with conditions such as vitiligo.

as an (aspiring) fantasy author, i think the whole concept of curses holds a lot of potential, i just wanted to know if it’s something that could likely be taken as hurtful and ableist, and if so is there a specific aspect of curses that shouldn’t be written about or is it a case of ‘abandon the whole concept of curses’.

sorry if this isn’t very coherent, i’m currently on a flare up right now so words are harder for me than usual. thank you all for running such a cool and helpful blog.

Hello!

You're right that this is a very broad topic. Curses on their own aren't inherently problematic but they certainly can be, especially when they're tied with the first point you've mentioned (That is, having symptoms of real disabilities).

Something also worth noting is that none of those points are necessarily bad on their own, it's all about how the author handles it. For example, a character that becomes cursed with immortality after stealing a child from the fae would be okay. A character that becomes cursed with paralysis after offending a sorcerer, however, would be different.

One example that comes to mind is Eda's curse in The Owl House. For those who aren't familiar with it, Eda was cursed by an unknown person for unknown reasons (Though this is later revealed). Her curse caused things such as limbs that pop off easily (Literally becoming removed from her body, in a cartoon-y way), changes to her appearance (Eye and hair colour), occasional transformation into a large demonic beast, negative effects to her magic, and several other things that are more similar to chronic illnesses (Periods of low energy, etc.).

Even before Eda became disabled (She becomes an amputee later on), her curse felt a lot like a disability narrative to me. She's found ways to cope with it and manage the symptoms she experiences such as taking naps and using an elixir (Which has a similar use to medication for her) that keeps her beast form at bay. There are days when the curse is worse and other days when it's better.

Two main things that stick out to me the most about this example is that, though she obviously doesn't enjoy the curse, Eda is more upset about (And focused on) the fact that she doesn't know who cursed her or why. The fact that curing her curse isn't her main goal is very refreshing to me.

The other thing is one particular arc where her mother comes to visit and it's shown that she comes every year with a new proposed cure. Although this is a magic world, the proposed cures are equated to the whole idea of curing paralysis with certain herbs or ADHD with a certain diet. What was especially relatable to me about this was that Eda doesn't want these so-called cures and her mother's actions are shown as an imposition rather than an act of kindness or charity. As somebody who has accepted my own disabilities while my friends and family members have not, this was something that felt very close to home for me.

Eda's curse has some similarities with real world disabilities -- both in some of the symptoms such as low energy as well as in the way it's treated -- but it isn't a disability in and of itself. That said, it's still one of the best portrayals of living with disability that I've seen and it's an excellent example of how curses can be done and related to disability in a way that isn't ableist or poorly designed.

The main reason that the portrayal of Eda's curse is so well done is because it's designed with consideration for the show's disabled audience. Although some able-bodied people may pick up on certain things, the whole narrative around Eda's curse is much more relatable and obvious to people who live with a disability than those who don't.

Essentially, it's the story that a lot of disabled people want to see.

Not somebody with a disability being cured or fixed but somebody with a disability living a full, meaningful life and with those around them learning to understand and accept that.

Eda's mother doesn't stop looking for a cure because she gives up on her daughter or because her daughter pushes her away. She stops because she realizes how her efforts were hurting Eda and how their relationship was suffering from it.

Not only that but she also accepts that Eda knows her curse better than her mother does AND she wants to learn more about Eda's methods for dealing with it.

This is huge!

The series is showing respect for Eda's bodily autonomy and her independence. It's recognizing that disabled people know our disabilities and our bodies better than others do. A lot of us have to deal with constant unsolicited advice on how to deal with our disabilities from friends, family members, and even complete strangers so to see this situation portrayed in this way was especially refreshing.

This is a smaller factor but another way that Eda's curse was done well is that it's clearly fantasy. The cause is fantasy, the manifestations are fantasy, and the resulting effects are fantasy.

While the effects may have some similarities to real life disabilities, the manifestations are enough to differentiate the curse from actual disabilities. For example, people with dissociative disorders may have moments they can't remember but they don't turn into a large demonic beast during them.

There's enough of a distance there that it isn't equated one-to-one as disability, even if the narrative is very similar to disability narratives.

Unfortunately, I have also seen curses portrayed in a way that is ableist and rather poorly dealt with.

I don't intend to name it (I'll explain my reasoning below*) but I recently read a book where one of the side characters was cursed as punishment for her own selfish actions and ended up functionally mute. She used ASL to communicate for the most part. Within the book, the character is shown to be so bitter and upset about her curse and the resulting effects that she takes it out on her family and her child in particular.

This is bad for several reasons.

First, by making the curse so similar to a real-world disability/symptom, any associations made with the curse are also, by extension, being made with that disability. In showing how much this character hates her curse, it's also showing how much she hates being disabled.

If her curse was something like waking up every day in a different body (Or something else that has no real-world equivalent), it's easier to put distance between the curse and any similarities to disability. It also allows you, as the writer, to focus more on other aspects as opposed to the immediate focus of how the curse disables a character (Such as how Eda was bothered by not knowing how or why she was cursed rather than the curse itself).

Because the curse is equated to her disability, this also falls into several ableist tropes.

As the curse was a punishment from the fae for her own selfish actions, it falls into the "disability as punishment" trope.

The fact that her curse -- or at least her frustration/bitterness from the curse -- is pushing her to act the way that she does also causes it to fall into several problematic tropes involving disabled villains. For one thing, the prime cause of her "bad behaviour" (For lack of a better term) being her curse/disability.

In contrast, Eda from The Owl House does push people away because of her curse but it's because of her fear (Specifically the fear of losing control of her beast form and hurting somebody) that causes her to do that. This habit of pushing people away out of fear is also touched on and shown outside of the context of her curse.

With the book, the character's actions are directly shown to be because she's mute and the anger/bitterness/frustration she feels around that.

A lot of this specific problem comes from the writing itself. If the author had wrote it so the character was lashing out at her family because she felt like she wasn't being heard or because she was afraid they might do something dangerous (Such as going after the fae that did this) and she wouldn't be able to stop them, that would be a different situation. There may still be some negative associations but it's less of a direct correlation between being cursed/disabled and being a jerk.

Now, having a character become cursed as a punishment isn't necessarily a bad thing.

In the show Lucifer, the side character Cain is cursed with immortality after killing his brother (And, as this is the same Cain from the bible, committing the first murder). Throughout his arc on the show, Cain is looking for a way to cure his curse and, essentially, die.

Because immortality isn't anywhere close to a real-world disability, these other factors aren't a problem as there's no association with disability.

Essentially what I'm getting at here is that curses can be perfectly fine. They aren't inherently ableist or problematic in any way but they certainly can be. It's all about how you, as the writer, handle it and what associations you're making -- whether you intend to or not.

The main thing to keep in mind when including curses in your writing is to consider what purpose they're serving and what you want to do with them.

If you want the curse to be a punishment for something terrible that the character has done, it's best to stay far away from disability and lean more into the fantasy side of things.

If you want curing the curse to serve as the character's main goal throughout the story, it could be okay to have some elements of real-world disability in there. For example, in a world where magic is used freely maybe your character is cursed to only be able to use their magic through a specific conduit and if it goes unused for a while, it causes tics or spasms.

While this is still similar to real-world disabilities (Such as Tourette's syndrome or epilepsy), there's enough distance between the manifestation of the curse (Only being able to use their magic through a specific conduit) and the disability-like effect of it (The tics/spasms). This distance gives you the ability to focus on other aspects of the curse (Such as the problems with magic) as the motivation for wanting to cure it rather than the disability aspects of it.

One final word of caution is to be careful when mixing the "curse as an allegory for disability" and "curse as a punishment for doing something evil". I'd generally suggest avoiding it. I have never seen it done in a way that doesn't end up incredibly ableist and reading as a bad cautionary tale for children ("Eat your veggies or you'll end up in a wheelchair" = "Don't kick children because they might be witches and you'll end up blind").

This is especially important to keep in mind if you want to use the curse as a disability narrative or otherwise have it be treated/showed similarly to disability (Like The Owl House did with Eda). If you want to do that, explore explore other causes for the curse. Maybe it was the result of a training mishap with a new witch? Or maybe they accidentally broke a dangerous artifact? Just as long as it's not shown to be a punishment/consequence of sorts.

As promised, I've explained my reasoning for not naming the book down below.

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

*So my reasoning for not naming the book is because of a few things. The main one is that, while the rest of the examples I gave have a fairly large and established presence, this book is by a new author and published by a small publishing company. Simply put, they don't have the same resources that corporations such as Disney and Fox do.

The other thing is that while there are multiple writers working on tv shows like The Owl House and Lucifer, this book has a singular creator and this is her first book. Although I did criticize her portrayal of the character's curse heavily, there were several parts I enjoyed and I am reluctant to put the book on blast and risk discouraging her from writing more.

If this was the work of a more established author (Such as Rick Riordan or JK Rowling) or I was discussing it in a more positive light, I'd be more comfortable naming the book openly.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mad Season 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, social anxiety, chronic illness, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker

Summary: a class project gets messy. (short!reader)

Note: happy weekend.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Hey, how’d you get in?” Peter rushes in, a tray of drinks in hand. 

You pop up on the stool, broken from your trance. Uncertain what else to do, you spent much of your time trying to distract yourself with his schematics. You twist to face him. 

“Um, Bucky,” you answer and cringe at home dumb you sound. “He helped.” 

“Bucky? Helpful?” He nears and puts the cardboard tray on the table, “I guess he can be.” He picks at the edge of the tray, “I got you a blueberry matcha. The place I hit didn’t have strawberry in season anymore.” 

“Oh, sounds... interesting, but you--” 

“Didn’t have to. I know, you always say so but I felt bad for being so late. I told may to get an airtag for her wallet. She can be so--” he stops himself and chuckles. “It’s whatever. She’s got a lot going on.” 

“Mhm,” you accept the cup he offers. “I was just looking over the plans. I think we could probably just go with yours. Makes more sense.” 

“What? Oh, no way,” he takes his iced whatever. It just looks like layers of sugar and cream. “I think we could easily bring together both. Take some of your features and mine. I don’t want to take over.” 

“Yeah, but...” 

“But nothing. Really. It’s a team project, not my project,” he insists as he hops up on the stool next to you, “so,” he swipes his hand in the air and a holographic screen appears. You flinch. “Let’s compare and redraw.” 

You gape as another floating rectangle appears before him. No wonder his look so much better than your Paint hack job. You want to sink down and disappear. You always figured you’re not interesting enough to be his friend but now you’re certain you might be too stupid and poor for him too. 

“So, I’m going to get logged in...” he mutters. 

“Um, Peter?” You murmur, “are you sure you wanna be my partner?” 

“Why... wouldn’t I?” He hovers his hand before the screen as he looks at you. 

“I dunno. I don’t... I don’t have much to offer. Not a lab, not all these cool computers...” 

“Oh this? No, it’s not—it's not a big deal. Dude, I'm so lucky Mr. Stark is letting me use this. I’m not ignorant, you know? I just thought it would be easier. I don’t think your roommates like me much and mine are so loud.” he explains as he lowers his arm, crossing both over the table as he leans on it. “Do you not want to be my partner?” 

“Nnnooo,” you drag the word out. “No, I do, but I want to contribute to and I don’t know how to use any of this.” 

“That’s cool. I’ll show you.” 

“Um, okay,” you nibble your lip sheepishly. “I guess...” 

“Did you try the tea? Is it good?” He changes the subject. He does that a lot. Pivots around before you can finish your thoughts. 

“Not yet,” you look down at the bright pink lid, “where did you get this?” 

“Some place called Berry? I don’t know. Everything was bright. You’d hate it,” he laughs again. “Oh,” he snaps his fingers as you blow into the lid cautiously. “Before I forget, I’m having a party. I know it’s not really your thing but it’s ‘my turn’,” he makes quotations with his fingers, “and I don’t really wanna but I also thought I'd invite you in case you wanted to not be there with me, too.” 

Your blink in surprise, “a party?” 

“I know, too much. Well, I didn’t wanna leave you out.” 

“Mmm,” you drone nervously. It is really nice of him to think of you and after everything else, you hate to say no. “No one ever invited me to a party.” 

“No?” His brow furrows, “really?” 

You shake your head, “I’ll come. Yeah. I’ll try. You know, it’s college and ...” you take a sip and clear your throat, “should I bring a dessert?” 

He laughs and gives you a playful grudge, “wow, I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone ask me that except my aunt’s friends. Nope, you can just come as you are. You can always bring some drinks for yourself but I’ll have more than enough to share.” 

“Oh, okay,” you nod. 

“The tea good?” He asks again. 

“Yeah, sweet,” you put the cup down. 

“Awesome!” He grins. “I really didn’t think you’d come. I’m so excited.” 

“Really?” You ask. 

“Well, duh. You’re so fucking cool. Like all my other friends, they try so hard. It’s all ‘let’s go do shots’ or ‘watch me do this dumb shit’. You don’t even try, you’re just you. It’s like people don’t realize they can just be nice and be cool for just that.” 

“I... yeah,” you don’t know what to say.  

It’s like he’s calling you boring but not. You know you are and you don’t mind but you can’t ever remember when you just felt like everyone else. Where you weren’t the odd one out. Despite trying to include you, Peter still manages to push you to the edges. 

You wince as you notice how he stares at you. You fidget and pick at the button on the front of your corduroy skirt. His eyes flick down to the nervous movement. 

“I like that,” he reaches to touch the ridged fabric, “blue. Oh, thick.” 

Your leg twitches in surprise, “uh, yeah... found it at the student thrift shop.” 

“Really?” His fingers brush over the hem and touch your coloured tights. They linger for a moment before he pulls away. “Cute. I’ve never been there.” 

“It’s not bad...” you cross your legs as you knee tingles from his touch. That was strange. 

“Well, anyway,” he waggles his fingers as he turns back to the table, “uh, where was I?” He squints at the screens and taps in the air. He pauses and looks at you. “Here, I’ll show you how it work, alright?”  

He reaches over again and you brace yourself. He grabs the underside of the stool seat and drags you closer. He it so easily, you gasp. He’s a lot stronger than he looks. He slides his hand around so his arm is diagonal around your back. 

“Right, so...” his shoulder presses to you as he points with his other arm, “you can just use your finger. I’ll have to add your prints to the program. Put your hands up.” 

You obey as he stays close. You’re overly away of it. The way he’s pressed to you. He doesn’t seem to notice at all. You try not to think of it and focus on his instructions. The project. That’s why you’re here. 

[chrissy-kaos]

**Health update**

So I never wanted to make another post like this but here I am.. I was hoping to just get better and never bring it up again.

To get those of you up to speed. I was diagnosed with CKD back in late 2021. I’ve been battling that for a while now. I’m actually doing really well in that regard. During a routine MRI in Nov 2023 for my kidneys we found what looked to be a hepatic steatosis and splenomegaly. It was later determined and I was diagnosed with hepatic tumors and splenomegaly. I also had a fairly large gallstone and what appeared to be a tumor/cyst on my gallbladder. We decided it was just better to remove my GB and the tumors all at the same time. So in January of this year I had laparoscopic cholecystectomy/tumor removal. That’s what the scars on my stomach are from. The tumors were tested and were benign. That was a huge relief. But it left my liver fairly damaged. I wasn’t to concerned about because your liver can and will heal itself. I recovered well and felt great.

Fast forward 9 months. I wasn’t feeling very well. So I made an appointment with my PCP and she wanted me to do a bloodwork panel. This is normal. We actually do blood once a month but really only check kidneys, thyroid, and hormones. So I did the panel and when the test results came in my Dr called me immediately. She ordered another AST/hepatic function panel for my liver, kidneys and pancreas.

After those test results came in she had me come to her office. I was met with her and a Hepatologist. They broke the news to me that unfortunately my liver not doing well according to the bloodwork. My pancreas/kidneys are actually pretty ok rn which is cool. But my total bilirubin is 1.4 mg/dl. At 1.5 mg/dl total bilirubin is where we really start looking at the possibility of Cirrhosis. If you don’t know what that is. Google it. Now I’m not saying I have this rn but it seems to be looking that way 🫤

They were telling me they could see my bilirubin trending up over the course of the past few months of bloodwork. Also previously being diagnosed with Splenomegaly which is a tell tale sign of Cirrhosis apparently. They’re pretty sure I have it or will have it. They want to run more tests and see how bad or good it is and we’ll go from there. It seems like they have a pretty good plan. Also for those of you that are going to say get a second opinion.. I got a second and a third. They said the same thing go figure..

So again I find myself going in and out of the hospital again. I don’t wish this life upon anyone. It’s not fun. Being chronically/terminally ill is no fucking joke. If it’s not one thing it’s another. It’s tiring and I’m soo tired. Honestly I can’t wait until it’s all over.. forever.

Anyway I figured I’d give you a bit of an update on my health and such. A lot of you ask in my DMs. It’s hard to answer everyone so a post like this gets it out there. But yea if you made it this far thank you and I love you 🫶🏻

[callsign-rogueone]

defective

Bodhi Durran x reader, Brennan Sorrengail & reader words: 1.7k 🏷️: did somebody say more chronically ill reader? with sweet baby Bodhi this time, and reader with a heart condition. negativity about illness / reader thinking they’re weak, others calling them weak / defective / etc., but not Bodhi or Brennan (they would never.) Brennan makes an appearance as an older brother figure, reader is referred to as she/her and a girl by members of the assembly but not by Bodhi. I think cuddling Bodhi would cure me of all my ills. I got the idea for this the other day when I went up stairs carrying a laundry basket and almost fainted. I would not make it up to the parapet, let alone be able to cross it lmao. anyway, here, have this. already plotting a part two of them reuniting after Resson 🥺

The assembly are too busy arguing to notice you standing in the doorway — arguing about you, you realize quickly.

“We can’t send her to her death.”

“We’ve been forced to send 15 to their potential deaths so far, with 92 more to go. Why is she any different from the rest?”

“You know damn well why, Ulices,” Brennan snaps. “Everyone else has a fighting chance, but there’s no way she’s going to survive the parapet, let alone the rest of the year.”

“There’s 250 steps up to the parapet. She won’t even make it to the top,” another voice adds.

“There’s still time to fix that. They don’t leave for another three months.”

“You can’t fix her,” Trissa says firmly. “No amount of  time in the gym will change the fact that she’s defective. She’ll never be able to do the things that the others can. She’s too weak.”

The word echoes in your ears. Defective. 

Your gaze falls to the empty chair — Xaden’s chair. What would he say if he was here? Would he let them call you weak? What would he say? Maybe it’s for the best that you don’t know. It would only hurt you to hear that the boy you’ve always idolized and regarded as an older brother call you weak and pathetic.

“So what would you have us do?” Felix asks.

“Either we send her with the rest, knowing her name will be at the top of the death roll on conscription day, and her blood will coat our hands forever, or we tell Navarre that she died, and keep her here. It should be believable enough that the weakling girl with the heart problem died young. It’s a miracle she hasn’t died already.”

Tears blur your vision, and you bring a hand up to swipe them away with your sleeve. The whisper of the fabric moving is enough to give you away; five heads turn toward the door, seeing you standing there.

Something compels you to run away — likely the fact that you’d been caught eavesdropping by the entire assembly. These meetings aren’t secret, but there’s an unwritten rule that the kids aren’t invited, especially if it isn’t a routine meeting.

Brennan calls your name, but you ignore him, moving faster, intent on getting back to the room you’ve been sleeping in and shutting the door in his face so you can cry alone in peace.

He catches up with you quickly, his strides longer and his movements faster. He lays a gentle hand on your arm. “Hey,” he coaxes. 

You stop and turn toward him, knowing that you can’t run again — he’s faster than you, and moving would also be a very bad idea right now; you feel like you’re going to fall over.

“I’m so sorry, kid.”

“Not your fault,” you rasp, fumbling for the wall and pressing your hand into it to support yourself. 

“Hold on to me,” he instructs. “Can I check your pulse?”

You nod, regretting the motion when it makes your head spin faster, and wrap your hand around his forearm, using him as an anchor to hold yourself up.

“Attagirl. Keep breathing.”

You work on deepening your breaths, filling your lungs all the way before you exhale, like he’d taught you last year.

Hot, frustrated tears slip down your cheeks. 

They’re right. You are defective. You can’t even run down a hallway without your body giving up on you. You wouldn’t be able to get up to the parapet, let alone cross it after that exertion — you can hardly stand right now. 

“Talk to me,” he asks after a moment. 

“I don’t want to go,” you say softly, “but to stay here, and let all my friends go where I can’t ever see them or help them, knowing they could die any day…”

“I know. I felt the same way when my sister started, but she’s a full fledged Captain now. Commands her own unit in Montserrat,” he says quietly, but it sounds like it pains him to say it — to tell you that she’s on the other side of the fight. “They’re all strong, they’ll make it through. And they’ll have each other to lean on.”

You nod again, and this time it doesn’t make you dizzy. “Yeah,” you say hollowly. “They’re strong.”

He immediately knows what you’re getting at. “Hey. I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t think you’re weak. I think you’re just at too much of a disadvantage to risk it. Your strengths lie elsewhere— not in the physical.”

“If only we could be scribes,” you sigh.

“If only,” he says softly. “My youngest sister is going to start in the scribe’s quadrant the year after this. She’s a lot like you, actually. She was born with an issue with her bones. She’s got a heart of gold, though. And she’s incredibly smart, like you. I think you’d get along well.”

“If it wasn’t for this, yeah,” you say quietly, looking down at your relic. 

He tries to hide his wince, but it doesn’t quite work. “I think she’d come around once she realized how great you are.”

“Whatever they decide, can you be the one to tell me? Alone?” you ask in a small voice. “I don’t want to see the looks on their faces. I know I’m an embarrassment to them, but I don’t want to be reminded of it.”

“You aren’t an embarrassment,” he chides softly. “But of course. I can tell you when they make their decision.”

“Thank you.”

He opens his arms to you. “C’mere, kid.” 

You step forward, letting him guide you into a gentle embrace. 

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” you ask into his shoulder.

“For surviving. For not giving up. For dealing with your symptoms every day and not letting it break you. For so many things. You’re amazing.”

“I don’t feel amazing.” 

“That’s okay. I hope you will someday, though.”

“Someday,” you agree softly.

“Alright. Let’s get you back to your room.”

You nod, keeping a hand on his arm while he walks with you. He’s slowed his steps to match yours, but he doesn’t show any sign of impatience.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

“Of course, sweet girl. Get some rest. Bodhi should be back in a few hours.”

Your cheeks warm as you realize that Brennan knows about whatever you two have going on — you don’t call yourselves boyfriend and girlfriend, but you’re very close, and there’s definitely a spark there. 

He drops a kiss to the top of your head, waiting to make sure you’re safely inside your room before he heads back down the hall. 

———————

Bodhi shows up around sunset, his hair damp from the showers. He sits beside you on the edge of your bed, leaning back against the pillows. “Hi, lovie.”

“Hi.”

He tilts your chin up with a gentle movement of his knuckle, seeing the tears in your eyes. “Whoa, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I’m not going to Basgiath,” you admit quietly.

“What?”

“The assembly decided that I’m too weak to even make it up the stairs to the parapet,” you answer, your voice wavering. “They’re going to tell Navarre that I died, because of my heart problem.”

Why are you crying again? You went over all this with Brennan already and got it out of your system — but evidently not.

Bodhi looks conflicted. You watch the gears turn, and see him weigh the good and the bad. You won’t have to endure everything riders are put through, and the assembly is right, you wouldn’t survive it. But to stay here while everyone else risks their lives, with no way to communicate with them, would be crushing. And if you’re found out, Xaden’s life will end along with yours.

He gathers you up into his lap, holding you close. He smells good, clean — soap and the tiniest bit of cologne, something warm and woody. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

“I am too,” you sniff. “I wish I could be there with you, but…”

“It’s for the best,” he says gently. “I’d rather you be here, safe with Bren and the elders, than overworking yourself every day, and making things worse.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I still feel guilty about it, though.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just how you were made. And you know it doesn’t change the way that any of us feel about you. We all love you so much, because you’re you, and you’re our friend.”

“Love you too,” you sniff. “M’ gonna miss you so much.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m going to miss you too, every day. But I promise I’ll write — I know first years can’t send letters, but I’ll ask Xaden or Gare to send it for me. They’ll probably have to sign their names on it, and address it to someone else, but you’ll know it’s from me by the handwriting.”

That makes you feel a little better, but you’re still worried. “But when you graduate, and move across the continent…”

“Then I’ll come visit you here, as often as I can. Maybe I’ll be closeby. Or maybe Tyrrendor will be freed by then.”

“Maybe,” you sigh. 

“I don’t want you to think for even a second that this means I’m letting go of you,” he says firmly. “You’re stuck with me, even if we’re apart, okay?”

“Okay,” you say quietly. 

“Good. Now, I have had a very long day of having my ass kicked by Imogen, and I’d like to spend the rest of it laying here with my favorite person.”

You’re his favorite person? You must be looking at him in disbelief, because he laughs lightly, his chest shaking against yours. “Yes, you. I thought it was obvious. You’re the one I spend all my time with.”

“You’re my favorite person too,” you say softly. 

He smiles. “I’m glad we sorted that out. Get comfy.”

You scoot off of his lap, settling down on the mattress. He slots himself in beside you, letting you work your way under his arm to rest your head on his chest. He’s put on a considerable amount of muscle in the last few months, and it’s so nice to rest your body against his like this, a strong arm keeping you in place as he reaches toward the foot of the bed for a blanket to drape over the both of you. 

You hum sleepily, content to rest in the warmth of his body and the softness of the blanket.

“This good?”

“Perfect,” you murmur. 

“Perfect indeed,” he agrees softly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and wrapping his fingers around your wrist, resting his thumb over your pulse point. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“G’night, Bo.”

[rustyarcade]

My headcanons for Nina Mazursky under the cut!

Nina is Mexican/Guatemalan/Chinese with Polish roots! 🇲🇽🇬🇹🇨🇳🇵🇱

She is a DemiPansexual and her pronouns are she/her! (Don’t rlly have trans headcanons for her, but I think it’s cool if yall do)

Has autism and OCD

Her body is mostly soft and smooth like a dolphin or whale, but tougher parts of her skin like the bottom of her feet are more like scales.

Has alopecia! I immediately thought of this since when she’s younger (before she turned aquatic) she didn’t have any hair, even as a toddler.

She kept Doggy the Caterpillar around with her into Belle Reve and sleeps with it every night.

Loved watching/playing Lacrosse even when she left the team and well into adulthood.

Has a big fear of hospitals due to her incident along with being a chronically ill child.

Her and Phosphorus have a “wannabe, cool uncle/shy, down to earth niece” relationship

Phosphorus makes a lot of seafood jokes at her expense. She isn’t the biggest fan of them, but she doesn’t say anything because she “doesn’t want to kill the mood”.

Such a good singer! She wanted to join the theatre club in school, but was discouraged after the whole lacrosse fiasco.

Also she’s a theatre kid. Sorry, not sorry. She loves Phantom of the Opera and Wicked (she related heavily to Elphaba). It’s her dream role!

One time, the Bride caught Nina singing “Once Upon A December” to Weasel to help him calm down during his night terrors. She just stood in the hallway listening to her. Once she made her appearance known, Nina freaked tf out as she’s very shy about it, but Bride promised to keep it as a secret between them.

And speaking of Bride, TALK ABOUT (GIRL)FRIENDS!!! Whether platonic or romantic, their relationship is so important to each other. They are each other’s one and only.

Nina and GI are also besties!!! Nina enjoys listening to GI’s stories and training with him.

Chronically offline. She’s one of those people who think they’re “better than social media cuz it just makes ppl compare themselves to others blah blah”. In reality, she’s just frustrated that you can’t use phones underwater.

She’s a Sanrio fan! Her favorites are Pompompurin and Chococat. She claims that she doesn’t like Hangyodon, but she secretly loves him. She doesn’t want to seem cliche.

Board game nerd. No one else on the team is a big fan of them, but they’ll play together if it makes Nina happy.

Oh she loves sad girl music… Mitski, boygenius, Phoebe Bridgers, etc

Looked up “girls kissing” on the family computer

Constantly missing her dad and she feels guilty for “causing his death”

Cries herself to sleep a lot of nights thinking abt her dad :(((

The Commandos (whose cells are closer to each other now cuz of their good work in Pokolistan) will escape from their cells when they hear Nina crying to go comfort her

Genuinely appreciates that the Commandos always stick up for her no matter what, even if their protectiveness can feel a little over bearing at times

Despite her lack of combat skills, the Commandos still treat her as a valuable member of the team and Nina sees them as her true family :’)

Ok I’m done for now! If u want to hear my fishbride specific hcs, lmk and id love to do them👀

[beebeesiims]

Anyway I was trying to go back to sleep this morning and couldn’t because of Dorym baby headcanons so suffer with me

They might have more than one, but if it’s just one I think it’s a girl

I want so badly to say her name is probably Sky but idk too on the nose?? Maybe. Then again, Orym’s the one with the moon tattoos that fell in love with a man whose middle name is SecondSUN he literally made a sun pun to Keyleth’s face so actually Sky is probably perfect. Alternatively: Austen could be very funny.

Dorian gives pushover parent vibes but no it’s actually Orym who’s the complete sucker bc the kid looks too much like Dorian sorry (I live in trans!Dorian world but frankly I have a million and one ideas for how this kid came about and they all involve her looking like Dorian)

C-Poppers hate her: how this random baby got an entire collection of one of a kind C-Pop toys

Remember the squishy face kissing “you’re gonna do so good!!!” From the charity one shot?? Every morning before school.

She’s probably the only BH baby. I could MAYBE see Fearne & Ashton having an oopsie but I don’t think it’d be before Dorym had an on purpose

Speaking of Ashton, even though Imogen, Fearnie & Laudna get to be aunties, Chetney gets to be Pop and I think even Braius eventually gets some Uncle status, Ashton is just “My”. As in “My Ashton”. And they consistently rub in the rest of the Hells’ face that their nickname is the best one.

This kid has never been on the ground a day in her life. Carried everywhere bc her Aunties think she’s Too Cute. Totally. Climbing onto a table to see what her Tall Dad is doing? Absolutely. Hanging off of Braius’ horns, standing on Coriolis, sitting on top of Ashton’s hammer, riding wolf!Pop and Caviar (look between Chetney, Fearne and Laudna, Caviar does not scare this kid).

There’s absolutely more rattling around in my head I’m sure but I’ll add those later. EDIT: All the notes about this being 100% canon has made my heart warm so here’s the more i promised:

On the list of ways this child appears: 1. trans!Dorian (My fave). 2. trans!Orym. 3. AFAB!Ashton if it’s Dashrym but full “I didn’t know I was pregnant” vibes bc stone body & chronic illness. 4. Cyrus’ illegitimate child (but I live in resurrected Cyrus world tbh). 5. Surrogacy via one of the triplets. 6. Surrogacy via Fearne tbh. 7. Surrogacy via more modern means aka they pick a halfling with similar features to Orym. 8. A gift from Nana Morri. 9. A gift from the wild mother (8 & 9 are my second fave)

In most instances, she’ll never pass 5 ft I’m so sorry kid (but if she’s a Dashrym kid, sorry Orym she’ll outpace you before 1st grade).

Horse girl summers with Auntie Imogen!!!

I know Sam said he didn’t think FCG should come back but FRIDA says he’s not dead and i really want a Finding FCG one-shot SO once they get FCG back they’re baking buddies! They make a lot of good stuff but also the wildest kid mud pie concoctions.

Alma/Nel/the triplets/Imodna are the parent preferred babysitters, Alma/Chetney/Ashton/Fearne are the kid’s picks and Braius is a last resort bc they splatter painted the backyard last time.

Has a sending stone for Nephele & Zeru (& Cyrus).

Yearly family vacations to the Byroden festival!!!!

[emblematicae]

VALEDICTORIAN, EGO TE PROVOCO: PART ONE, DUO

Tom Marvolo Riddle x Female Reader

Content Warnings: 1940’s Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, predominantly written in the third-person limited perspective of Tom Riddle, intentional minimal use of Reader’s perspective, canon-divergence, canon-typical violence; possessive, obsessive, and emotionally manipulative behavior, emotional abuse, first-degree murder, voluntary manslaughter, abuse of power and authority, complicity, coercion, petty thievery, reoccurring themes of death and acceptance, childhood friends, unhealthy relationship dynamics, one-sided rivalry, jealousy, limerence, chronic illness, hallucinations, ghosts, mental instability, morally grey reader, Tom Riddle is his own warning.

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For the first time in the history of ever, Tom forcibly removes himself from the sanctuary that is his secluded room to head downstairs and join you in the quaint, tiny dinette for afternoon tea. At this hour, you typically busy yourself with hosting afternoon tea for the enjoyment of the other children. To acquaint them with the mock experience that imitated a daily event for many households in London, hopefully, one they would have the luxury of sharing with their future families. It was nowhere near as ritzy as the standard low tea was, lacking the fastidiously prepared pastries and a wide array of finger sandwiches, but you made do with what you had. Not that Tom was keeping tabs, there was hardly any entertainment around the orphanage as is, and he only knew just enough to avoid spending time around all the other children—and, to stay out of your way.

He quietly made his way down the staircase, stopping momentarily when he got a cursory look into Mrs. Cole’s office. Expectedly, she was inside, lousily writing away with pen and paper while her other hand was used to prop her head up. The housemother must have subconsciously felt the scrutinizing stare with natural intuition as she looked up, but only with her eyes. She’d be disappointed, or perhaps more accurately she was surprised to be met with the same empty view. True observers do not get caught in the act, and Tom was one of them. He’d only wanted to ensure she would be occupied for the following hours to come, and it was made clear she had dedicated her precious time to what appeared to be menial paperwork that wasn’t worth sticking around for and inquiring about.

Tom found it a taxing endeavor to catch you, neither of your schedules aligned in the slightest. Being orphaned did not mean being entirely exempt from education. Tom, along with the other permanent residents—and those older than five—were enrolled in primary school not far from the facility. By strict definition, you were as well, though you never attended in person and private tutors are what satisfied the requirements for classroom lectures. Despite your absence on the school grounds, you seemed to be getting on just fine seeing how Amy would always politely plead with you to help her with her mathematics homework afterschool, and how Dennis would constantly need you to re-explain for the nth time proper grammar until it finally clicked.

Tom could have easily aided them in your stead, he was more than capable because contrary to popular belief (if only due to his public image within the orphanage) Tom was as brilliant as you disingenuously claimed him to be out in the courtyard. He was simply overshadowed by you, much to his chagrin. To his credit, you are older, if only by a year, and you have the advantageous gift of time—in which you spend it all presumably studying. But if Tom were to guess, truthfully, he believed any advanced academic knowledge you possessed was thanks to whatever life you lived before coming to the orphanage. It would also remain a mystery what exactly such a life entailed seeing as you refused to disclose anything to anyone.

If he were lucky enough, Tom would win the dormant war today, but even he found that quite the tall order. He’d rather not acknowledge the inane conundrum if he could help it, such speculation would insinuate loss, and Tom does not lose. Furthermore, he was one for dramatics, to put it in plain English—and his soon-to-be prized war trophy: the diary. As per his personal preparation for any and all outcomes, he lowered his expectations, and not because he believed himself to be lacking the ability to interrogate, nor persuade with assistance or not from his ability in unraveling minds. Tom would be relying on an entirely inconsistent variable, that being you, though he has exhausted all other options and has been left with no choice. It is mildly concerning how erratic his already turbulent emotions have become, no, in reality, it is quite. Though Tom would prefer not to dwell on the matter to any degree. Sentiments do not suit him, and for the seldom few he retained to be flaring so capriciously at the mere prospect of your being was… unpleasant. It posed your existence as a threat, the concept of you even being a threat in the first place was insulting to him for your brittleness alone made you inferior. And yet his mind plays tricks on him, Tom deceives himself because of you and the unknown that willingly wields itself in your favor, and that just won’t do.

How inconvenient, that is what he makes of it.

Tom quietly made his way to the first floor, seamlessly passing through the foyer without drawing the attention of the other orphans who occupied the area, and he was led right to the opening where the dinette was. He caught a glimpse of you making arrangements inside, accompanied by two children whom he hadn’t the slightest in regards to their names. Before announcing his presence he decided to idle about by the doorless entrance, but unlike his typical demeanor of loitering to intimidate, it was out of genuine curiosity if anything. Forever yearning for knowledge, Tom Riddle was. It was tiresome to observe from afar, you were not as simple as you feigned to be, so naturally gathering any information on or from you could not be accomplished through behavioral stalking (unlike the rest of the orphans who Tom had no issues with observing and understanding from a mere glance). He’d like to think he was the only one who could see through your shoddy ploy, though your charisma reigned supreme and actually authentic, it appeared everyone around was none the wiser to the other traits you enjoyed hiding from them. And as Tom grew disinterested seeing you converse with the two children at your side, restless feet urging him inside, he made an abrupt halt after witnessing an unexpected scene unfold before him.

You’d maneuvered around the long table, now pristine and ready for set-up with the assistance of your clumsy helpers who still cast their dirty washcloths to the side, and moved all the way to the back wall. You stood in front of a wooden cabinet, parallel to the entryway despite being the furthest from it, and gradually pulled the glass doors wide open. You were cautious to not fling them in such a way that would surely hit the two younger children latched onto you, Tom found it a pity but unsurprising. The precious items inside the encased cabinet consisted of various porcelain and glassware, holding about four shelves worth of humble goods, most of which you could not entirely reach. For the fleeting moment you were not indulging them, the children quickly turned to arguing amongst themselves (likely over who would be in charge of what), which eventually turned into them pushing one another aside as they eagerly waited for you to face them. You’d ignored them up until this point, focused on elevating yourself onto the tips of your toes and maintaining a balance as you blindly reached around in the cupboard before getting your hands on whatever it was you had been looking for. Tom could tell as much when he watched you straighten your posture and become practically engulfed by the open cabinet.

“Name! Can I be the one to help you set up the table?”

“No way! You did that last time, it should be my turn!”

With terribly shaking arms, you carefully managed to retrieve a silver serving tray from the shelf about a head above yours, its contents certainly a tea set of some kind. But before you could give your full attention to the incessant orphans, let alone turn around, one of them recklessly grabbed you at your elbow to stop the other child from getting at it first. Tom heard you let out an audible gasp even from where he was. He watched with great anticipation upon seeing your shoulders rise up to your neck, with an unusual fraughtness in your movements as one of the saucers and cups had slipped from the platter with your now lopsided hold on it. It was your left hand that was tasked with stabilizing the tray, and you were somehow capable of steadying it despite how obviously it pained you to do so. Your wrist twisted in a strained manner that must have been particularly awful for you, though it’d bring immense amounts of discomfort to any regular, healthy child as well. With your back turned to the rest of the room, save for the cabinet, Tom was unable to see your face. Perhaps cruelly, he hoped the fine ceramics would come crashing to the floor and make a horrid clamor as they did so, he wanted to see you make a mistake and lose your composure.

The kids had been too distracted with one another to notice the descending dishware, they likely hadn’t even known it was falling to begin with. Unexpectedly, Tom saw you forcefully place your free hand atop one of the children’s heads, gently shoving them backward before the cup and saucer could collide with their crown. But it hadn’t seemed like enough, the porcelain still swiftly made the distance despite your valiant efforts. The reaction of the child whose head you were holding was delayed, but it was clear how much they trusted you as they did not bother to even question your odd behavior, or rather, they had not retaliated by fighting your grip. Instead, they were obedient and allowed you to do so and their only form of protest was calling out your name again. Only you had this effect on people, even if Tom’s opinion was imminently biased given his notoriety with the other orphans. He was not jealous, or so he’d like to believe. And let the object of his envy not be confused with the close bonds you were able to have with the others that he was simply helpless to even create, but rather how they listened without you having to lift so much as a finger. Tom was not fond of having to reinforce himself to the insolent brats around him, it was tedious, it was untimely, and frankly, an all-around hindrance as he saw it. But of course, only you could get this lucky.

And when Tom expected the scream of two pretty, porcelain dishes, a bruise or possibly even a split head of one of Wool’s Orphanage’s residents, and an unpredictable response from you that would only be revealed in due time; nothing came. It did not happen because the cup and saucer disappeared. His eyes frantically darted around the room, desperately searching for the two pieces but nothing was out of place. Tom’s face contorted into a scowl of sorts, his nose scrunched up and his lips pulled into a taut frown, it was clear how displeased he was. And he subconsciously accepted this was your doing, accrediting you without there being any inherent evidence at the scene without even a second thought, which only proved to bother him more. He preoccupied his thoughts with the present to distract from the terror that was his own mind.

“Be careful now,” you warned quietly, in a breathy manner as if to express your subdued exasperation. “It would be a tragedy if any of the teacups had fallen.”

“Yes, sorry!”

You smoothed the hair atop the child’s head, and due to the lack of support in holding the tray, your wrist began to tremble—which did not go unnoticed by Tom. Methodically, you slowly withdrew your arm and pulled your other hand back to grab the platter’s handle, letting enough time pass to not seem suspicious. If you had panicked, then the other orphans would have certainly followed suit, and it would do no good for anyone. But you took deliberate and measured steps to conceal any disturbance at all, Tom believed this was something you were unsettlingly skilled at. You turned around, and he finally got a good look at your face. Tom studied you with care, even with the frame of the wall partially obstructing his view, he was watching with such determination that it had done nothing to hinder him. He was sorely disappointed to see that familiar smile, not a crease to your forehead or flick of sweat to be spotted. If he were to nitpick, it only seemed that you were growing tired of holding the tray—which was mitigated with ease as you had immediately passed it down to the table once you turned around.

The children dispersed, one on either side of you, impatiently awaiting further instructions from you while you took out saucers with cups atop them, one for each of them. Before you handed them out, you spoke to them with a rather serious expression, and while they nodded at what you were saying, Tom doubted they digested any of it because they continued fidgeting around, taking every strength they had to hold back from reaching out and outright grabbing the dishware. One of them did but you jerked back, holding the porcelain just out of reach, only lowering them again when you forced them to repeat what you said. As they set up the table, frequently returning to you so you could hand them another saucer and cup, you laid out the empty cream pitcher and sugar bowl. The table was set up within a matter of minutes, eventually running out of cups to give them, and the only item that remained on the tray was the teapot.

“You two did a good job, thank you,” you said, reaching for the tray.

“Uhm, what’s next?” the child to your right looked up to you. Before you could say, the other one, who was focused on the table, interjected, “There’s one missing.”

They pointed at the head of the table, where there was indeed no saucer or cup to be seen. To be certain, they recounted with their index finger and affirmed their suspicion since there were supposed to be six, but only five were present.

“Where is it?”

“Right here.”

Tom got déjà vu from seeing you whip back around to face the cabinet, standing on your tippy toes again, and aimlessly reaching to the shelf that was just a bit too tall for you. It did not take you long to find what you had been looking for though, as you swiveled your heel and revealed the last saucer and cup. Tom’s eye twitched.

You took the teapot by the handle and left for the kitchenette, telling them to grab one of the other two other pieces and follow. The child who grabbed the sugar bowl did as told, but the other one—who had mentioned the missing cup—grabbed the pitcher and stayed. By now, Tom had already begun to step inside and hadn’t expected the child to dawdle around. He reckoned they must have felt something amiss, even if they couldn’t place a finger on it. He approached the table, and the child finally took notice of him, freezing in place. They made haste to accompany you after he shot them a dirty look, though were clever enough not to make a single peep that would alert his presence.

Tom walked around the edge of the dining table, placing a hand that absentmindedly traced along the wooden surface as he made circling steps. Tom finally stopped when he was in the exact spot you were standing in less than a minute ago. He turned to inspect the cabinet, its doors still open and flattened against the wall. Tom stood only a bit taller on his toes and reached inside on the high shelf, grabbing at nothing. He supposed he wasn’t looking to find anything in particular, but rather, he wanted to see if there was anything at all. He flattened his feet, retracting his hand and rubbing his pointer finger against his thumb upon seeing a thin veil of dust, which he grimaced at. Then, he spun around and zoned in on the teacup and saucer that should have fallen. They sat perfectly and pretty in their respective spot, with no chipping of any kind, and wholly complete. Tom placed a hand on the crest rail of the chair in front of him, moving it aside and leaning over the table. He extended an arm out toward the teacup, his fingers twitching and barely within reach of the handle. Tom knew it was real, that much was conclusive when you had set it down and it did not shatter, but he wanted to be sure of something—

You came back, the teapot in your hand that was surely filled with hot water and loose tea leaves, although there was no telling with how it looked from the outside. You paused for a brief second at the open entrance of the kitchenette before continuing your venture back into the dinette. It was clear you had been surpised to see Tom hovering around by the table, within a convenient window of time when you had left no less. So were the two children, at least the one he didn’t glare at. Tom lazily stood up, withdrawing his arms to the sides of his body as his eyes followed you around the room.

“Good afternoon, Tom. Have you come for tea?” You’re quite fond of saying his name, unfortunately, it doesn’t have the desired effect on him as it has on the other children.

“I think I have.”

You moved behind the chair at the head of the table, where he had just been leaning toward, instructing the children to set down the pitcher and bowl. You chose to hold onto the teapot. Tom locked eyes with you, and even as you turned your head to the side, your eyes lingered on his figure before you looked away from him. This newfound predicament caused the two kids to become reluctant to do or say anything because of the newfound unwelcome presence. They were also apprehensive about sharing your time with the troubled orphan who they had come to know as tyrant Tom, and they glanced back and forth between you and him—as if pleading for you to make some type of excuse as to why he could not be allowed to attend afternoon tea, to tell him off, to do something.

Instead, you grinned. “Why don’t the both of you head into the lounge? I’ll call for you when the tea is done steeping.”

They were satisfied with your delegation, compliantly abiding by your request as they trailed out of the dinette one after the other. You watched them, head tilted in the direction of the entryway until they were not only out of sight but their footsteps could no longer be heard even far down the hall. It was only you and him in the room now.

“Do you like Earl Grey, by chance?” you asked, lips now pressed into a thin line as you set the teapot down.

Tom pulled out the chair in front of him and sat down, still somewhat facing you. “Yes,” he said, completely deadpan.

“That’s a relief.” The smile came back.

You backed away from the head of the table, moving along the elongated table side, standing in front of Tom only a few paces away. And for a while, Tom did not speak, and neither did you. From where he sat he continued to stare at you, Tom liked to do that. He watched as you pulled your arms back and folded them up behind you as you always did when you were relaxed. The pose appears to be universally interpreted as one of formality and professionalism, even authority, but to Tom, it always made you look like you were hiding something. Perhaps that is why you do it in the first place, the shoe certainly fits, he thought. Tom’s gaze finds its way back to your face, and the mischievous gleam in your eyes would have made him spiral into his thoughts if he hadn’t already been consumed by them. Tom wasn’t thinking of anything, and yet at the same time he was, but only about the teacup and saucer—or so he had convinced himself.

You’d done it right in front of those two children, you couldn’t have been any closer or obvious, but neither of them ever noticed. And Tom wonders to himself, how could he have never noticed? It was not a mere one-off as he first suspected, Tom considered you conniving and sneaky for having hidden your abilities from prying eyes, and most of all, he saw it as cowardice. After the revelation with the dishware, Tom dismisses his incorrect hypothesis as a rare occurrence of negligence on his part, but deep down, he knew that was not the correct answer. The truth was clear, he had thought nothing special of you, or anyone else for that matter, there was little purpose in giving any attention of any kind to anyone that was so simple—not only simple, but happy to be it because those were the type who weren’t even worth mentioning. But you are worth every second glance he gives you, every double-take he dares to look, you proved to him you were. Your display involving the diary, whether intended to be done with self-fulfilling pride to make a show of your superior talent or true generosity in which you wanted to relay your knowledge with him, Tom was finally beginning to see it was the more altruistic of the two. Regardless of your intentions, it served as an invitation, one you didn’t seem to fully grasp the sheer weight of until now.

“Tom,” you called out to him, to which he blinked owlishly in response. “You aren’t as sly as you clearly think you are.”

“You think I only do things when no one is looking, but you’re mistaken.” You’re still smiling, but the slow drawl of your voice is flat in tone, apathetic.

“And what do I care?” he sneered, though Tom was not being mean, at least not this time. Not in the same mean way he treated the other children. “But you do.”

You cocked your head to the side and leaned forward, as if to get eye-level with him from where you were standing from across the table, almost mockingly, condescending him as a parent would a child. “You care because I know more than you—because I can do more than you.”

It sure did strike a nerve, but the crimes of your words were worse than just simply angering him, they happened to be the truth as well. Tom had not made time out of his day (which would have been much better off spent on his schoolwork and studies in the little library) to come to pay a visit to this terribly claustrophobic room where he had planned to put aside his dignity and solicit your help. But Tom was prepared to settle things if need be, and he would do it in the only way he knew how; he’d hurt you. The only difference is that Tom would not need any assistance [from his powers], you were known to bruise easily.

The sound of chair legs scraping the floor created a deafening silence over the already soundless room, the rate at which Tom moved was alarming, and before you knew it he was right in front of you. You may have been older than him, but Tom was freakishly tall for his age, and you were plagued with sickness. His movements hadn’t startled you out of your trance, like an effigy you remained still, but you must have felt some way (whatever that may have been) because your soulless-looking eyes that Tom loathed himself for falling victim to were now wide open. As if your beating heart could be seen reflecting in the pupils themselves. He did not run, but perhaps his sharp, steady paces were much worse. Tom closed the gap the moment he figured you were within arms reach, literally, and roughly seized you with his left hand by the collar of your old uniform’s button-up. The unrelenting grip he had on the now popped collar yanked you to the side, but you were quickly readjusted into place when Tom reached for your bicep on the opposite side of your body where he already had a grasp on you, and he committed to breaking your arms away from their hiding place behind your back. Tom heard you wince when he dug his nails into your skin, evidently felt through the cloth of your dress shirt, and he finally laid his eyes upon you. Tom’s leer was only pensive when he looked at your face, as if it were an afterthought. He contemplated if it would be worth it, and every repercussion and ramification, no matter how impactful or insignificant, absorbed him completely. But when you made the quietest of noises, Tom’s focus snapped toward your eyes. And then, he saw something else entirely.

The courtyard and Dennis Bishop. Children in the playroom. A toy train being carelessly tossed. It narrowly missed his head. Swerving in an odd manner, unnatural. Some luck.

Billy Stubbs overcome with panic. The latch won’t unlock. The rabbit stuck in a cage. He runs, crying for Mrs. Cole. But in his absence the barred door moves itself wide open.

Flower seeds and muffled laughter. An empty flower pot. Amy Benson watching over it expectantly. The new dawn, new day. The flower already bloomed from the soil.

Whatever it was that he had seen was nothing he could ever recall. Not from his past, he never experienced those situations, not even in his dreams (or lack thereof). It felt as if he were unwillingly trapped in another body, reliving—or rather, remembering memories that were not his, that did not belong to him. Tom let go of you. In one swift motion, his hands retracted from your figure, fingers still suspended in the place above the areas near your neck and arm. But he didn’t step away, he didn’t move at all. His eyes refused to leave you, he drank in every movement you made. You had certainly been unsettled when he abruptly grabbed you, as any sane person would be. Tom was quite jarring at times. But unlike Tom, you were looking at his hands. When you decided he was not going to do anything with them, you let out a quivering breath, one that sounded like you had been holding it until you became lightheaded. But his attempted assault against you was not what stirred the hopeful glimmer that shone in your eyes when you finally acknowledged him. You also hadn’t planned on divulging such information [as to why] anytime soon, at least nothing of use.

Your only answer: “The tea’s ready.”

Since that day, Tom has been unable to share a single thought with you. But he does not need to, you willingly speak to him about them now. The mental connection is undeniable, it transcends the absolute minimal understanding that humans seem capable of at best, it is more than that; he’d almost call it metaphysical. If you reciprocated he would be able to access that mind of yours, Tom had even offered an equal exchange for his own thoughts, the potential was there but you never did permit it to happen again. What you say to him now isn’t what you are truly thinking, or so he assumes, but he will make do with what he has. The one thing he can be assured of is that you are not lying about your tea preferences.

“Tom, what have you done?” you sigh. It has become a familiar habit to him now. “You’ve let this one seep for far too long,”

“It’s only tea. What does it matter?” Tom replies, rather apparent about the fact his attention is elsewhere.

“Perhaps you'd enjoy a nice, bitter cup to compliment your book then?”

“Maybe I would.”

Disapprovingly, you lightly shake your head at his purposely doltish responses because heaven knows good and well you will only manage to inflict a self-induced headache otherwise. Reaching with dejected hands for the saucer and teacup, you stir the dark liquid with a silver spoon, but it is clear you have no intention of drinking it. The repetitive gesture just barely unhidden by his book captures his attention, and Tom stops reading—not even ending the full sentence he was on—to look at you. He can’t help but stare at you stir in this harmonious clockwise manner, again and again, until you raise an eyebrow at him.

“How come you’ve stopped?” You were referring to him reading. He had been reading to you as well, aloud, not just himself. At least that was before you were temporarily called away by Mrs. Cole, having returned only seconds ago. For what? He hasn’t a clue.

“You’re distracting me.”

That smile of yours strains in this enervated way as you lean your head to the side, warily asking, “Are you tired?”

You set the silverware down on the saucer before tentatively placing them both on the table, stilling all motion. Tom sets the thick novel flat on the wooden surface as well but keeps it open. There isn’t anyone else in the lesser dining room, it’s nearing curfew, and he reckons Mrs. Cole is sure to come in any minute now (though Tom wondered why she hadn’t done so when you were in her office) and usher you two upstairs.

“Are you sure you’re not imposing your feelings upon me?” he easily deflected.

“Quite.”

Truthfully, Tom was a bit tired. He was unsure what had given it away, dark circles did not hang from beneath his eyes, nor was he slumped over in any way that would indicate his exhaustion. You were able to read him so easily, and he did not want to give you the satisfaction of knowing so out of sheer pettiness. But even so, Tom slipped the discarded bookmark atop the open pages of the book before shutting the hardcover. Sliding it off to the side, he propped his elbows up on the table, intertwining his fingers as he looked to you for further amusement. You hadn’t sat down since you went out of the dinette, though you moved your chair aside to do so, and refrained from drinking when your eyes landed on the tea that you deemed unusual in color. He watched, curious like a cat, while you gathered the ceramic tea set, snatching up the empty cup and saucer that was meant for Tom as well. You briefly made eye contact with him before heading into the side room, and from his seat in the dinette, he heard the low ‘clink’ of dishes being placed in the sink. The lightbulb went out and you came back shortly after, wiping the nonexistent dust from your skirt. He got up but didn’t miss the remark about how you would teach him how to brew a proper cup in due time.

“Goodnight, Tom.” You had walked him to room 27.

You also did not leave until he went inside.

“Goodnight.”

If Tom cared more about the chivalrous way of life upheld by the gentry, he would have insisted on walking you and waiting until you went to bed before retiring to his own chambers. But Tom was not a member of the aristocracy and saw life a bit too black and white than that of a normal child. So he shut his door, careful not to close it all the way, and peeked through the sliver of the opening to ensure you had made it your room as well—and without collapsing in the hall along the way. Perhaps one would believe he was exaggerating, but it didn’t feel like it, not to Tom. He takes your condition rather seriously, ever since you two have been chatting more that is.

Tom dressed himself in his nightclothes and went to lay in his bed, but remained upright. His mind was busy, no room to even entertain the thought of rest. You happened to know much more than Tom did, and he was under the impression this only extended to whatever unique talents you happened to share, but as he had more conversations with you over afternoon tea, sometimes even ‘late night’ tea, he began to realize your intelligence covered all fields of interest. And Tom could not tell if he hated or respected you for it, but he was inclined to believe it was the latter. Tom was wise beyond his years even if he preferred to remain under the guise of an innocent child who knew no better at times, when it mattered. But you were smarter, your independent nature (worthy of rivaling his own) established this to be the reality. Such was the reason why all the orphans relied so heavily on your guidance, depending on you for everything, especially in the absence of Mrs. Cole. And perhaps that is why she wordlessly appointed you as the leading girl of the orphanage.

But it was like you had already lived a whole life, you were still quite obviously a child much like himself, but even gifted children cannot compare. Otherwise, he would have caught up to you. Tom could only concur you were this way from what you had experienced prior to coming here, your words ringing in his mind: “For a while now. Before the orphanage.” He’d already thought so, but his new… ‘bond’ with you only affirmed it.

Tom does not know much about you. No one does, not even Mrs. Cole; one evening, Wool’s Orphanage had eleven children fall asleep under its roof, and in the morning, twelve had awoken. You did not know much about his origins in the orphanage either, sometimes it doesn’t seem like you even want to know. If you do, you hide it well. But it’d be for the best if you didn’t.

Tom did not forget about the diary. It took undeniable precedence completely driven by his own self-interest and thirst to know more. But for now, he could handle taking on a different approach to learning, even if that meant it was through you.

𐙚 @himikoquack

© 2025 emblematicae all rights reserved.

[see-arcane]

Oh, Lucy. Lucy, Lucy, Lucy.

There are few characters in gothic horror, or fiction in general, that better exemplify the hell of being caught in a chronic state of highs and lows. I would jump straight to chronic illness--her battle with commandeered sleepwalking and vampiric exsanguination is very clearly that--but also the endless limbo state of one being preyed on by a stalker.

Right now, Dracula must be away, and so she's better for his lack of a new visit. His earth-boxes are being moved to their initial destination in Carfax Abbey, his respite in Whitby and toying with Lucy now paused. Lucy appears to be out of danger.

But she does not live in Whitby either. She must be on her way eventually. And even first-time readers can guess what's on the bleak and bloody horizon once she goes home.

It won't be a constant thing. A steep sudden drop and an ending. No.

Like sickness, like the menacing of a sadist who savors, Lucy's condition in Whitby has been a series of hills and valleys in wellness and ailment, joy and dread. The monster is jabbing a needle (two needles) into her over and over rather than skewering her in one go and being done with it. When he wants to collect a victim, he makes sure the uncomprehending fear, anxiety, and power play of the collection lasts.

More proof is to come on that front later. But Whitby's miseries are a great prelude. Highs, lows, hope, despair.

Lucy, Lucy.

I'm so sorry.

[thepulsatingflapper]

JKR's treatment of Voldemort is evidence of her serious ableism.

Voldemort becoming disembodied immedaitely after trying to kill Harry really shows how JKR sees physical disability as a "punishment" for being a bad person. It shows how in real life she believes disabled people became disabled because they weren't good enough.

This is just one of many examples of JKR's writing showing her real life beliefs about a group of people. Just like the werewolf shows that she believes gay people with HIV are dangerous and predatory, or how the narrative treats slavery like it's a good thing, or the fact that the characters joke about love potions shows that she doesn't believe rape is really that bad.

When Voldemort gets reborn, he says how painful it was to become disembodied, which is an obvious illusion to chronic illness. Because he wasn't a good enough person by JKR's standards, she decided to give him a chronic illness as punishment, which really shows what she thinks about people who are chronically ill. News flash JKR, chronic illness isn't a punishment for being naughty or bad, and chronically ill people aren't automatically evil.

Not to mention that Voldemort has lots of traits of neurodivergence, as well as becoming disfigured and "ugly", again as a punishment for not acting the way JKR thought he should act. His inhuman appearance shows how she doesn't really see disabled people as human at all. And how she believes disabled people are ugly (they're not).

The Most evil character of all, also being the most disabled, is a really bad look and really shows that JKR has not made any effort to not put ableist themes all over her writing.

(I don't support murder or any other evil stuff, I just think it shows how JKR imposes her owl morals and bigotry all over her writing. Sorry if any of this was offensive just let me know and I'll correct it.)

~The Pulsating Flapper~

[myalgicencephalomyelitiscfstom]

Dismissed and Disbelieved, Some Long COVID Patients Are Pushed Into Psychiatric Wards

There is some discussion of ME/CFS also

Some extracts:

"Such experiences fit into a long, troubling tradition in medicine. Because there often aren’t conclusive tests for these types of complex chronic conditions, and because many patients do not outwardly appear unwell, they’re frequently told that they aren’t physically sick at all—that symptoms are all in their heads. “Mainstream medicine really isn’t geared toward treating conditions and diseases that it cannot see under a microscope,” says Larry Au, an assistant professor of sociology at the City College of New York who has studied one of the consequences of that disconnect: medical gaslighting of Long COVID patients." -- "The experience made things worse. She was given numerous medications to which she had bad reactions and went through electroconvulsive therapy, which she says damaged her memory to the point that she had to relearn how to talk and navigate her hometown. “Nobody was listening to me, and people were not informed enough to make a correct diagnosis,” she says. “I was being misdiagnosed and treated for something that I didn’t have.”" -- Without the backing of a doctor or diagnosis, patients often find that other people in their lives don’t believe them, either. Doug Gross, chair of the department of physical therapy at the University of Alberta, has studied how hard it is for Long COVID patients to find medical care. He says patients often talk about “disbelief from not only the health care system...but more broadly in their social sphere: family members, employers, supervisors at work.”

--

Rivka Solomon, a longtime ME/CFS patient advocate, says she hears this story a couple times a year: a patient, like Knights, has been wrongly admitted to or threatened with inpatient psychiatric care. And those are just the instances she learns about. “I worry about who is, right now, lying in a bed in a psych ward, too sick to function, left with no one to properly care for them, left with no one to advocate for them,” she says.

--

Some clinicians, however, fail to differentiate between side effects and root causes, or use screening techniques that aren’t well suited for people with chronic conditions, Verduzco-Gutierrez says. For example, asking someone whether they struggle to get out of bed in the morning—a common question when screening for depression—isn’t all that useful if the clinician doesn’t differentiate between physical and mental exhaustion. “The only way to solve this is more education,” Putrino says, “so the next generation of clinicians are not looking at these patients and saying, ‘A couple of antidepressants and a day off will fix you.’” --

Science for ME update describes it as: “Good article on the negative outcomes for patients when Long Covid and ME are psychologised. Comments from among others researcher/clinician David Putrino and patient advocate Rivka Solomon.”

[cripplecharacters]

Alright, I'm just gonna bite the bullet. Worst that can happen is I make a fool of myself. I've been working on superhero stories, versions of the same universe since I was in 8th grade and what I want more than anything is to modernize superheroes, create a world where they act for all people's social good and take representation to the highest level I can think of. From your position of expertise, what can I do with the creation of disabled characters that would buck the trend, do some good, and show a good side. The non-prosthetic and non-corrected for disability rep in the genre is basically nil, I have no ideas and nothing to draw on. I guess I just wanna know what disabled audiences might like to see for once in their lives.

Hello!

Disabled superheroes are awesome. There's really few of them but the ones that we do have are often really important to us - you can look at the reactions to Sun-Spider being first introduced to the Spiderverse, back then I couldn't open my fridge without seeing that one panel where she explicitly says she has hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos.

Here are a few suggestions of what I'd like to see in the superhero genre:

Superheroes with facial differences. Comics love to use us for their ugly disfigured evil villains but not much else unfortunately. I'd kill for a superman type hero who saves people with a smile and a facial difference on his face. Especially for superhero stories that are geared towards kids and teens, we just desperately need something to help with shifting the public perception of people with facial differences from "evil and ugly" to "people that can be awesome". A hero with burn scars, with Treacher Collins syndrome, Bell's palsy, neurofibromatosis... anything.

Superheroes who use disability aids (and still need them when doing their job). Sun-Spider is an awesome example, she swings from her crutches and has a spider wheelchair. That's cool as hell. But even a less in-your-face aid would be great. A superhero flying above the city with her ankle-foot orthoses visible would go really hard. Also, superheroes who are concerned on how much these things cost and try their best to make sure they're still functional while they save the city.

Heroes with different causes of their disabilities. The vast majority of morally good disabled characters were involved in An Accident or some sort of Attack that disabled them. That's not bad or wrong at all, but I think in media is kind of oversaturated with this specific portrayal when a lot of people have progressive or congenital conditions. We need more stories that show those who were born disabled as heroes equal to those who were born abled and spent most of their lives abled. Superheroes with cerebral palsy, chromosomal disorders, congenital rubella, achondroplasia, all the disabilities that tend to get ignored despite so many people having them. Same for really common chronic illnesses, diabetes or COPD are criminally underrepresented.

Disabled superheroes that aren't saints because of their disability. This is the whole "disabled person can do no wrong" trope that appears sometimes. I'm mentioning it since superheroes are more "perfect" than most characters in other genres, so try to not make it so the disabled ones can do no wrong. Disabled people can still make mistakes that are their fault, make poor decisions, or just simply be angry sometimes.

When there's no active superhero action going on, show the normal human parts of the disabled experience. Depending on the demographic you're writing for it would be different things, but there are some fairly universal concepts like inaccessibility, microaggressions, or just boring things like the prosthetic leg no longer fitting well after the character gained some weight. If your characters are from the US, don't be afraid to mention that their insulin costs are barely affordable with their superhero pay. Show how the common everyday kind of ableism affect them when they're in civilian mode. This will make it much more authentic to disabled readers.

These are my suggestions, and I hope they are helpful. My last advice is to have multiple disabled characters, and in different roles. Maybe a character with ALS can no longer do superhero fighting, but he can still be a wonderful parent. Maybe the character with Usher syndrome is more interested in the hero than being a hero themselves (disabled heroes in relationships!). Maybe the character with phocomelia can't be a hero yet because she's six, but she can train hard to be one when she's older. Keep it varied, have them come from different life situations and have different goals just like abled characters do.

I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[elliespuns]

how do you think joel would react to his girl having tinnitus and yk having hearing issues.. (bc i have tinnitus since like 2020) i think he would notice she has trouble hearing sometimes and often cries at night. i think he would be so sympathetic and supportive bc he himself has deaf problems ❤️😭

I just got this ask today, but I am compelled to respond to this ask as soon as I can so you know you're not alone.

Like you, I have been dealing with tinnitus myself. For me, it's the "humming" sound in my right ear. I'm 31 years old, healthy lifestyle, no smoking (except weed, lol), no caffeine (wish I could). It started almost 3 years ago. They say that many tinnitus sufferers thinks of commiting a sucide. I don't blame them, because when this phantom ear noise first appeared and I wasn't used to it being my constant companion, I wanted to blow my head off. As it started, I experienced near daily headaches and felt chronically unwell.

I thought it was a hearing issue, so I began seeing an otolaryngologist to determine the cause. Despite conducting every possible test and procedure, they were unable to find anything wrong. In fact, when they measured my hearing acuity, the results showed it to be perfect for someone my age. Paradoxically, the ill ear actually tested with even better hearing than my other ear.

I was at a low point in my life, battling depression and feeling utterly hopeless. Nothing brought me joy anymore. The constant hum in my ear was ever-present, except for when I listened to loud music. Only then, with my earphones on or in a noisy environment, could I temporarily escape the frustrating sound. The worst were nights and being in a quiet place.

But as I was also experiencing problems with my cervical spine, someone suggested I consult a specialist, as it could potentially be linked to my tinnitus. So I was referred to a physiatrist and neurologist who performed various physical manipulations to correct my alignment. I also underwent electrotherapy sessions.

Nothing helped. Eventually, I resigned myself to my fate. Over time, the sounds faded into the background and became less noticeable, blending in with the ambient noise of everyday life, unless I was focusing on it. Then, 6 months into physical therapy a miraculous change occurred—the tinnitus, while not vanishing entirely, greatly subsided in intensity. I still experience it to this day, but now it only bothers me when my back is acting up, during a killer migraine, or when I'm exhausted to the point of feeling utterly spent.

So let me tell you, I totally understand you and I'm sending you a big hug, honey. Tinnitus is truly an awful thing to experience. From what I've heard, even those who are completely deaf can still hear tinnitus—can you imagine not being able to perceive any sounds, yet still having a constant ringing, humming or buzzing noise in your ear? Life has a fucked up sense of humor.

And when it comes to Joel...

Joel would likely be very sympathetic and understanding if his girlfriend was experiencing tinnitus and hearing issues. As someone who is also hard of hearing in one ear, he would have a personal connection to the challenges and frustrations that come with hearing loss. I imagine he would be extremely supportive and patient, always making sure to face her when speaking so she can read his lips. He would put a lot of thought into communicating in ways that work for her—speaking clearly, finding quiet spaces for discussions, being mindful of background noise, maybe even learning a bit of sign language. He would want her to feel seen and heard, like she's still 100% connected to him. If she expressed anxiety or hopelessness about her condition, Joel would probably share some of his own struggles and how he's learned to adapt. He'd reassure her that she's still the same person, and that a hearing loss doesn't define her worth. His gentle, steady presence would be a source of comfort and strength for her to lean on. Joel's also the type to help research treatment options and go with her to appointments. He'd be her rock through the whole process—whatever it takes to help her feel better. His love is unconditional like that. He'd find ways to make her smile even on the tough days, like bringing home her favorite comfort food or just cuddling up on the couch watching a movie. In his quiet, steadfast way, Joel would be her biggest advocate and most loyal ally through this journey with hearing issues. He'd show her that even with a different way of experiencing the world, nothing would change the love and bond they share. His girlfriend would feel so cared for and lucky to have a partner like him.