#but just because you have a diagnosis doesn’t make you any less of an asshole

[takemebythehand-andsetmefree]

You are NOT your diagnosis

But you ARE responsible for your actions.

Stop saying your diagnosis MADE you do something. You chose to do that, your diagnosis might have influenced that decision, but ultimately you are responsible for your actions. Stop blaming your diagnosis for them.

[anendoandfriendo]

So, we have a LOT of gripes with this post but more just want to address then individually without giving the OP any harassment so:

These first and second paragraphs is fine honestly, we won't tell people how they should feel about their own experiences.

The problem starts at the next part where OP starts trying to tell people how they should feel about their own brain.

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Also we just REALLY need to get this out of the way woth no other comments —

"We don't label [implied word is diagnose] personality types"

LMAO try saying that to uhhhh — *checks notes* — people with PERSONALITY DISORDERS.

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People who generally live life functionally but who every now and then are reminded that they’re disabled and need help in very specific situations. Like somebody who doesn’t struggle much socially and who doesn’t need supports at school or work but who sometimes doesn’t have as much energy for doing the dishes because they’re exhausted from living as an autistic person in an allistic world.

Did you know that therapists require a diagnosis to see literally anyone, ever? At least in the United States?

By your logic the neurotypical idea that "nobody is normal" actually exists. Why is someone who goes to a therapist and is forced to get like, let's just say a depression diagnosis for the ease of thos conversation. Why are they allowed to get that diagnosis, do the therapy, then consider themselves completely neurotypical but an autistic person isn't allowed to do that?

Please make that make sense.

And if you didn't realize everyone who's ever gone to a therapist loses their neurotypical card and is lying to you (using YOUR OWN LOGIC these people would be lying/faking neurotypicality) then don't worry about that! We didn't know that either until this year.

Anyways, that leaves us two options: either everyone is disabled or these people are allowed to choose their neurotypes in spite of the system labeling them otherwise. We sincerely hope why you realize the former is more shitty and we do not have to explain to you even bodily autonomy you don't like is still an inalienable right.

--------

So if you’re like me, please don’t speak over higher support needs people. Recognise that, if you can generally live independently, you are lower support needs than a LOT of others.

Is this about the assholes who went "waaah!! Don't call yourselves nonverbal!!! You share the same brainbody!!!" yes and as a plural system, we are still DIFFERENT PEOPLE. SOME OF US ARE NONVERBAL AND CANNOT SPEAK WHEN FRONTING WITHOUT ADDITIONAL ASSISTANCE FROM ANOTHER HEADMATE. SOME OF US HAVE TO BODY DOIBLE EACH OTHER JUST TO GET THE DISHES DONE YOU DESCRIBED IN THIS POST.

YES WE DO STILL HOLD A JOB TAKIMG PHONE CALLS. BECAUSE THE VARIETY OF AUTISTICS IN OUR HEAD MAKES. IT. SO. WE. ARE. COLLECTIVELY. NON-DISORDERED.

We may be endogenic, but we would still not, in any way, survive the world as a singlet. We are low support needs on a fucking technicality because they confirmed us as an autistic person when the brainody was two!!!

Just because you do not benefit from a purely social model of disability doesn't mean there are autistics who straight up wouldn't have issues anymore if people just..accepted them and society in general was less shitty.

The ONLY!! WAY!!! We have seen this kind of statement be used is to gatekeep people like us who try to describe their experiences of plurmisia and its intersectionality with ableism.

We are a non-disordered autistic collectively with specific members in our system who ARE in fact disordered autistics. The only reason we don't have people who describe themselves as neurotypicals in this system is very specifically because they do indeed feel a change in them when they arrive here.

Yes! We are a lot lower in support needs! To the point we do not consider ourselves such! Because of our multiplicity. Not because our autism "isn't that bad" or anything like that.

------

TLDR:

Stop fucking telling people how to feel about their own experiences.

If youre trying to gatekeep what we think you are trying ro gatekeep, you're an asshole and need to stop. Maybe we are just lucky, who knows, but we have NEVER seen this kind of sentiment occur in a way that does not have an undercurrent of plurmisia and/or other ableism.

You can in fact be a nondisordered diagnosed person. It happens all of the time, otherwise therapists as an institution couldn't exist lmao.

Additionally, as far as we are concerned, there are, in fact, situations you can be simultaneously non-disordered and disordered.

How about you follow the advice you said to everyone else, and not tell no-support and low-support autistics how to feel about their experiences? You're a fucking hypocrite OP!

Someone or somesys with more experience analyzing this kind of thing from a mad pride lens and/or a bodily autonomy lens is absolutely free to add onto this but we're just. Tired. And also kinda we have to be at work in likeeee 10 to 20 minutes.

[schizodiaries]

hello. i hope this doesn’t come off as a trauma dump but I’ve came across your blog and read about your first psychosis episode experience and i just feel… seen. I relate to it so much. I also had a psychosis episode in 2022 while I was working at a bank/office and it did took a tool on me because it was stressful and i was fairly too young for it(I was 19 and it was my first job) and I had such an asshole coworker whom i couldn’t really sympathize because he was a huge douchebag, he was always making lil comments about people and gossiping and it started to stress me out because i was a v reserved person at the time so I hated picturing myself as someone he would badmouth. But it escalated so quickly, I started stressing about it + the job so much that I begin to be repetitive about how work and he was like and no one wanted to hear that so I had a digital diary where I would write my heart away but then I started to be paranoid about people finding about it… and then I started to think I was being watched. This coworker in question used to ask me random questions at all times but it started to be a little too frequent and at the time I thought he was always looking at me, like a persecutory delusion? And then it got worse, one day at work I felt like everyone was talking about me as if they discovered something about me and I was feeling followed/watched, and that day I had the psychosis episode(i didn’t really heard voices in my head, I just had extreme paranoid that what people were saying was about me) and said to my boss I was sick so I asked for my dad to take me to a doc. Long story short, I was sent to a psych ward and stayed there for 2 months. Nowadays I still take meds for it and go to therapy but idk specifically about my diagnosis but ever since then I didn’t had any other episode.

Hello, sorry for the late response. I’m so glad my story has helped you feel seen. And I’m grateful that you shared your experience with psychosis too, as it helps me feel less alone as well. I can’t imagine being in a psych ward for as long as you did. It must have been really hard for you, but the fact that you made it through just shows how strong you are. And you are most certainly not alone, though it may feel that way at times. You don’t have to feel ashamed of your psychotic episode, but even if you are, just know that it gets better over time.

I’m glad you haven’t had another episode since then, and hopefully you won’t have another in the future. I wish you the best.

[copperbadge]

kungfunurse

Hey Sam - as an adult what do you feel are the benefits you gain by being diagnosed? Honest question from someone who’s been repeatedly warned against adult diagnosis of my math learning disability.

I kind of asked this myself when I was considering testing. I have good coping mechanisms and I’m living a successful life. But just because I’m doing my best doesn’t mean I couldn’t be doing better with some help. I really know very little about ADHD, since I’ve never had reason to read up on it, and if I don’t have it then I can lay that to rest, while if I DO have it I can do more research and maybe develop better skills for it.

Also, I’m not normally much one for medication but if medication could make my life easier, I’d like to give that a shot. Imagine if I could drive without worrying I’ll murder someone, or if I could focus on something for more than ninety minutes at a time! My employers already think I’m a miracle worker -- if I had better focus I could actually feel like one instead of always seeing only the details I missed. (I could miss fewer details!) I’m doing okay...but if I could do better or even just be less tired, that’d be really cool.  

And honestly...I feel like no self-knowledge is wasted. I’m actually curious, honest question in return -- what is the reasoning behind the advice to avoid getting an adult diagnosis? I assume there is some rationale, but I’m coming up blank except for “Probably not something you want to disclose at work in case they start assuming you’re incompetent.” (I’m certainly not going to tell my employer about my diagnosis.) Is it the risk of getting an official medical opinion of “No you don’t have a disability”? I do know people who avoided getting evaluated for autism on the premise that their family would start being real assholes if they got an erroneous negative diagnosis. But as an adult you don’t have to tell any motherfucker what your diagnosis is, and a cognitive issue shouldn’t impact your insurance rates (or it might, IDK, but it’s not like it’s cancer or something). 

Anyway, I just like knowing stuff, and the evaluation ran me $20, so it seemed worth it. :) 

[thehmn]

This post is inspired by a friend of mine who belongs to a couple of queer groups and expressed worry about younger people who react with hostility to people who don’t know enough about the queer community and accidentally say harmful things, but doesn’t want to educate people in a gentle way because “it’s not their job”. My friend worried people expect outsiders to be too aware of communities they’re not in and told me “You’d be a perfect example. Not even people in the queer community know much about you”

What they mean by that: I’m intersex. My body is much closer to a mix between the standard “female” and “male” than the large majority.

What does that make you think about me? What do you think my gender experience is like? What did you think I had to go through? Did you for a fleeting second wonder what my genitalia looks like? How I have sex? What kind of sexual partners I have?

Now, how many of your thoughts and assumptions do you think are wrong or maybe even harmful? Are there questions you think are okay to ask and others that would be offensive? How do you know? Maybe the questions you think are tame touch on something that’s a major hot-button issue for intersex people. If I reacted with hostility to you simply asking if it is okay to ask questions at all, how would you feel about that?

This is all meant to be hypothetical questions. It’s just to give you an idea of what it’s like to be on the outside. And of course no one should be expected to conform and be the perfect poster child for their group or hold everybody’s hand, sit them down and gently explain everything to them. There’s a lot of assholes who don’t deserve it, but I think there’s even more people who accidentally say stupid shit because they don’t know any better. I’m very grateful for all the people who didn’t attack me when I was being stupid but instead educated me. It’s thanks to them I’ve improved and continue to improve. They’ve inspired me and I try to follow their example.

So if you care to know: Intersex people are diverse like everybody else, so what is offensive to some is a-okay to others.

Physically I lean closer to female than male, but it’s common for children to ask if I’m a boy or a girl. Some adults get confused too. Depending on how I dress or how far away I am people have assumed I’m a butch lesbian, a transwoman, or a transman. Because my fat deposits are very masculine it’s very common for people to think I’m a pregnant woman because I get the classic male “beer belly”.

I personally don’t have a strong gender identity but prefer female pronouns because that’s what I’m used to. Other intersex people have very strong gender identities and might even get angry if you ask if they are gender queer in any way. To many it’s considered extremely offensive to use intersex people to make a point about the fluidity of gender so it’s probably best to avoid that comparison unless you are intersex.

I’ve gone through a lot of phases where I either tried to be more feminine to feel less like a freak or own my masculine side. If the internet had been more common when I was a child I might have convinced myself that I was trans just to find a label and an identity (I hope people understand that I’m not saying trans people are delusional, just that I was in an unusual situation)

People have asked me if it’s offensive to use intersex people for erotica but characters they call intersex are always more like futanari with fully functional penis, balls and vagina. Intersex genitalia is often more of a mix. You might not even be able to tell from the outside but on the inside they might have an extremely shallow or non-existent vagina or no uterus. There’s a lot of possibilities that are usually not considered all that sexy. I personally have a jotun character inspired by the jotun Ymir from Norse Mythology who had both male and female genitalia and had children with himself. I call that double-sexed instead of intersex.

For years it was assumed that I had PCOS because as the doctor said “You don’t have any of the things we usually use to give the diagnosis but you have the symptoms so you must have PCOS?” The symptoms being a lot of male characteristics. I was put on hormone therapy to correct it. One gynecologist asked if I had been mutilated during a cancer operation a few years earlier because my downstairs didn’t look quite right. I only found out I was intersex a few years ago when another gynecologist asked if I got periods. Confused I said yes to which he responded “Oh okay. It’s just that I can tell you’re intersex and you often don’t get periods” Let’s just say we had a long talk after that.

So for me it was just a nagging feeling that something was off, especially after sex education in school because I didn’t quite fit the diagrams and some of the things the teacher said were impossible and if we experienced those things we were probably just doing it wrong. Well, they fit me and for years I was wondering what I was doing wrong.

For other people they find out later that they were operated on as infants to fit into a gender that they may or may not identify with later in life and they fight for children’s right to not be operated on.

For that reason some intersex people want to be included in the queer community while others want to be left out because they consider it a “body thing” more than a “brain thing”

So like I said, we’re diverse but I hope you feel a bit more informed. If you set out to learn more, just know that few things are a universal experience so just because I’m okay with telling you these thing, any of them could be super touchy for another person.

And as you can probably tell, I very much agree with my friend which is why I made the post. You do you, but I do believe it’s worth being patient with people who don’t seem to have bad intentions. And a big thank you to those who were patient with me.

[subsystems]

On the guy who “changed MPD to DID”

Recently I’ve begun to see things like this surfacing...

AND IT NEEDS TO STOP!!!

An article that was written in 2014 has been resurfacing lately in the plural community, especially among people without DID/OSDD. This is the article in question. In this article, the author is expressing some less than validating feelings about what he calls MPD. He didn’t believe in it. He seems to personally adhere to the unsubstantiated iatrogenic (it’s created by therapists) & sociocognitive (it’s a fad) models. He talks about how he wanted to remove MPD from the DSM-IV, but couldn’t do so.

Why is this such a big deal...?

Well, the guy who wrote this article is Allen J Frances, the man who chaired the DSM-IV taskforce. People have recently started spreading around these scary rumors that because he personally didn’t believe in MPD, he came up with “DID” to replace it.

This is NOT true.

Each edition of the DSM is run by a taskforce of many people. You can learn about how the taskforce for the DSM-IV worked here. Basically, the diagnoses were divided across different work groups who would receive input and data from researchers that specifically researched those disorders. They’d then analyze what might need changes, conduct field trials, and propose their suggestions, etc.

Frances just oversaw this process. He wasn’t a member of any of the work groups who were actually down in there coming up with & suggesting the changes. (Source: The DSM-IV pp.851-873 lists out everyone who contributed & what they did.) He wasn’t a researcher, either. He wasn’t giving any input or data.

He did not "coin” DID. The name change was recommended by researchers.

Look, I’m not a fan of Frances either. He doesn’t believe in the disability that I have. As the chair of the DSM-IV, he was strongly against ‘diagnostic inflation.’ His intention with the DSM-IV was to make sure that diagnostic criteria were as limited as possible so less people could get diagnosed. Because of this, many diagnoses ended up with minimal information and vague, limited criteria.

He's not on the taskforce anymore and hasn’t been for a long time. If he’s the chair of anything now that would be campaigning against the DSM-5. This guy actively condemns the most recent DSM because it undid a lot of the (frankly, harmful) changes. The DSM-5 lowered the threshold of many diagnoses, undoing the more restricted nature Frances pushed for.

That doesn’t mean that the DSM-5 is perfect; I certainly don’t think so. But it’s a lot better than the old manual, in my opinion.

Back to the whole “He coined DID!!!” thing...

So this whole thing that Allen Frances “coined DID” and “DID is his ableist replacement of MPD” is so fucking ridiculous. Don’t you guys think that if this were true, people would have been talking about it more? The earliest thing I could find mentioning something like this was this blog post from 2019.

I keep seeing threads practically repeating what is in this blog post. They keep bringing up that article I shared at the beginning of the post, but if you read through that article...he never mentions that he changed MPD to DID for some ulterior motive. He never even mentions changing MPD to DID at all. He just talks about his shitty opinions and whines about how he couldn’t delete MPD even if he wanted to. The best he could do to harm the diagnosis was injecting some controversy into the manual (which has been removed in the DSM-5).

Here’s that controversy. (The highlighted bits)

(^ Fuck that ableist shit. Why is everyone focusing on the disorder name and not THIS?)

I just have to wonder... If someone who was literally not a researcher coined DID and did so in order to harm people with it, over 20 years ago, WHY WOULD NO ONE WHO ACTUALLY RESEARCHES AND CARES ABOUT DID/OSDD TALK ABOUT THAT? Because there’s quite a lot of professionals who have talked about the controversy & restrictions he put into the manual! And, unsurprisingly, the name is not something that has come up! Nearly all professional sources I have found that talk about the change from MPD to DID says that it was done in order to make the disorder more understandable.

And do you guys wanna know some of the other disorders that were renamed in the DSM-IV? Literally all of the dissociative disorders (other than DPDR). They were all renamed to have “dissociation” in the name. To make them more understandable. Yeah.

DSM-III:

DSM-IV:

So, to all those people out there shitting on the DID diagnosis because they think that this asshole coined it...why are just shitting on DID when you should be shitting on ALL of the dissociative disorders that got name changes? Seriously, though. Saying that he coined DID is just straight up misinformation. My concern is that all this “DID is ableist” talk is going to end up getting dissociative people attacked or push them away from getting help. Reframe the hate lens!!! You can dislike Frances without spreading misinformation that can end up harming the people with the disability that he does not believe in.

That’s all I have to say on this.

- Sunflower

[therenlover]

Songs From Musicals Y/N Would Sing To The Evans

If fanfictions were musicals, these are the songs I could see the reader insert singing to each of the Evans. I understand that this is cringy but cringe culture is dead, pls just let me enjoy my stupid little daydreams lol. 

Warnings: Mild Language, Brief Mentions of Death (specifically su*cide and murder), Mentions of Cancer, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics

The songs are linked at their titles!

Tate Langdon

I Dreamed A Dance from Next To Normal

Yes, I am aware that I am taking this song way out of context

No, I do not care. I’m looking at this from simply a lyrical point of view

It has all the sad ghost mommy issues vibes

Like, pre-teen me during my Aaron Tveit phase would have 100% associated this song with Tate

I’m sort of half and half on if Tate would actively try to get someone to die to be with him, which is why There’s A World isn’t included, but I can see someone head over heels in love with him considering death as an option to stay with him forever

This song just gives me the self indulgent fanfic vibes

“I'll wake alone tomorrow / The dream of our dance is through / But now until forever love / I’ll live to dance with you / I’ll dream my love / I’ll live my love / And I’ll die to dance with…”

Kit Walker

I Don’t Need A Roof from Big Fish

Kit Walker is too good for this world, just like Edward Bloom

The thought of him being traumatized and having nightmares after his time at Briarcliff? Heartbreaking. But him coming home after his cancer diagnosis? That hits even harder

That’s when I imagine this song would come into play

Sitting and watching him sleep while crying and singing this song

Because you can’t let him see that you’re terrified of losing him but you can’t pretend you’re not

Kit is one of the only Evan characters I can see having a healthy enough relationship for this song, and that hurts

“All I need is you and you forever / All I feel is true and absolute / I don’t need a legal deed to help me play my part / I don’t need a roof to hold my heart,” 

Kyle Spencer

One Boy from Bye, Bye Birdie

A classic song for a classic boy

Pre-Death Kyle gives me very much high school sweetheart vibes

Like this is the golden retriever boy who would’ve given his girlfriend the pin off his letterman jacket

The song also kind of gives me foreshadowing feelings when it says “one boy to be with forever and ever,”

Like, you loved Kyle. You made him a promise to be there forever

But will you be able to keep that promise after his Frankenstein-style resurrection? Is he really still the same person, or has he changed enough that he isn’t the same Kyle he was before?

Mostly this song is just cute tho

“One boy, one steady boy / One boy to be with forever and ever / One boy / That’s the way it should be,”

Jimmy Darling 

Somewhere That’s Green from Little Shop of Horrors

I have a whole lot of thoughts about this one!!!

Jimmy is attractive, like we can’t deny that, but he’s not really gonna be considered “marriage material” because of his job and his hands

The 50′s are ruthless like that

Imagine, though, realizing that he’s the one you want to spend the rest of your days with despite society’s ideals

Just dreaming of domestic life with Jimmy Darling, that’s the whole post

I know a reader insert would do it to escape the reality of their terrible life because I do it too and I’m a real person

Also, the specific thought of Jimmy doing his very best to be a good dad because of his experiences makes me soft

Also, you can probably think of Dandy as Orin in this scenario, because they’re both terrible assholes

“I’m his December bride / He’s father, he knows best / Our kids watch Howdy Doody / As the sun sets in the west / A picture out of Better Homes and Gardens Magazine,” 

James Patrick March

It’s A Dangerous Game and Take Me As I Am from Jekyll and Hyde

Okay, I know this is kind of cheating but this is my post, so lets pretend it’s not

Relationships with JPM are usually portrayed as extremely balanced and loving with both parters holding pretty equal standing or extremely dark and controlling with James holding full control in the relationship.

These songs fall into each dynamic respectively

It’s A Dangerous Game is that filthy, controlling roll-in-the-sheets song you just need sometimes

It’s also delving into the literal danger

Like, Mr. March is the most prolific serial killer ever. He’s a massive sadist. Being near him while also being alive is a massive risk.

But it’s a sexy risk

Take Me As I Am is the complete opposite vibe while still talking about the exact same dude. 

It’s still a duet, but this one is even, measured, romantic... and all about accepting a criminally insane fiance for all his peculiarities! Perfect!

This is the song where JPM talks about how much he loves his wife lol

Because he might be a psycho, but he absolutely respects and cherishes his wife

“No one speaks, not one word / All the words are in our eyes / Silence speaks, loud and clear / All the words we want to hear,”

“Give me your hand, give me your heart / Swear to me we’ll never part / You know who I am / This is who I am / Take me as I am,” 

Kai Anderson

As Long As He Needs Me from Oliver

I hate Kai Anderson with a burning passion

But this song belongs to anyone who he manipulates into loving and trusting him

It’s just so sad

And it really encapsulates the idea of doing anything for the person you love even if you get less than nothing in return

It’s not healthy in any sense of the word, but it fits

“He doesn’t say the things he should / He acts the way he thinks he should / But all the same, I’ll play this game / His way,” 

Peter Maximoff

You’re The One That I Want from Grease

Who could forget the classic scene in Grease when Danny and Sandy dance through that weird fun house? Definitely not me.

This is another holdover from my Aaron Tveit phase because Grease Live was a masterpiece (it was very difficult to not include more songs he performed, because Evan gives me Aaron vibes) 

I picked this song less because of the actual content, and more because of the vibe

Like, imagine Peter Maximoff learning all the choreography from the movie in his spare time

And he shows off by whipping out the whole ass dance routine with you during karaoke night at X-Mansion complete with leather pants for the both of you

Peter might even let you borrow his jacket as a prop, who knows

It’s just a fun little ditty and it makes me smile

“You better shape up, cause I need a man / And my heart is set on you / You better shape up, you better understand / To my heart, I must be true,”

BONUS CONTENT: Peter Maximoff would sing you One Knight from Wonderland 100% it is just so him please go listen to it

[heraldofzaun]

what are your thoughts on viktor and being neurodivergent? though like, obligatory disclaimer that if riot ever did come out and say that "hey! viktor is canonically [something]" that would be catastrophic but i think it is a little bit of fun for consideration

Oh! Well I like to think he's autistic, which is partially because I am too. (Of course in canon it would be catastrophic because haha, oh man, look at how they've treated Blitzcrank's biographies ever since they gave him an updated one. There's some coding in there, alright, and I am... not a fan...)

I’ve posted a lot of long posts recently (this is no exception) and this is also on a kind of tricky subject, so I’m readmore’ing it.

So anyways, while I have to admit that some of the reason why (my) Viktor is autistic is because I am - I think that you can make a general semi-convincing argument. Or I'm so wrapped up in my own interpretations that I can, at the least. Anyways, from here on out when I say Viktor I mean my personal take. Your mileage may vary on applying this to other interpretations.

(Also, thoughts on new lore Jayce's being kind of coded to be like, a stereotypical autistic dude? (If you have any I mean.) I don't like that Riot is doing it, of course, but I've seen a few good rehabilitative takes on it in fandom. @hamartio's Jayce springs to mind, because their Jayce has been developed over the years and also written by someone who like. Cares. Anyways, I have my own personal Jayce ideas that rely on his old lore so he's not really an asshole there, at least in those regards, so I don't really have many thoughts on new Jayce. I think new Viktor is... pretty coded as well, but it’s also insanely stereotypical. The whole “always working, always wants certainty, gets into automation not because he (primarily) wants to help those injured by catastrophes in Zaun but because the catastrophes interrupt his work” thing makes me uncomfortable. Maybe I’ll write sometime on why the rewrite of his lore fails, in my opinion, to hit upon the same themes of his first - would that be of interest to folks? Anyways, this parenthetical is too long.)

I think that autistic Viktor is cool and makes sense, somewhat because of the fact that the ways he goes about solving his problems are, er, unorthodox. (Of course I am not saying that the GE is because he’s autistic, because that’s stupid. This is why I’m kind of squirrely about talking so openly about what I think Viktor’s got going on, and why I don’t really trust if a non-autistic person headcanons him as autistic. There’s a lot of room for that headcanon to just reinforce the “autistic people are supergeniuses with no emotions that work based off of Facts and Logic” trope, and I hate that.) Since a lot of autism is about feeling adrift from/at odds with neurotypical society, I think that Viktor’s general solutions and also his idealistic leanings in the face of everything Zaun is tracks for that. Roboticization makes sense as a way to stop suffering and death, because it’s more achievable than individual feats of immortality through magic or whatever. Viktor doesn’t really get why people would be so opposed to it - he’s made it clear that while he dislikes his own emotions and wants them gone, he doesn’t expect others to cast off theirs. (Maybe he expected that when he was in the thick of his emotional pain, mostly because he couldn’t imagine others choosing differently than he at the time, but not in the current day.)

Of course, externally, when the scary cyborg man who admits to cutting off his own limbs says “no, being a robot is cool, you can keep your emotions even”, any Zaunite (or any person) is going to interpret that as “he is definitely lying”. Viktor doesn’t quite make that leap. (I have thoughts on the whole Theory of Mind concept and I don’t mean to say that Viktor can’t empathize - he does, and does too much - with others, but I think that in this instance he just can’t quite understand sometimes why people don’t believe him.) He also doesn’t quite get why people would be so attached to the bodies that they’re currently in, especially if he can make a mechanical replica. Or why people might want to die and pass into non-existence after a life well lived. (To him, personally, there’s always more to do. Also he’s terrified of death but that’s another topic.)

I also think that Viktor’s empathy is of the hyper- rather than hypo- kind, partially because I feel like outside of self-advocacy groups the mere concept of autistic hyperempathy is seen as like... impossible? It’s also because he generally seems to be kind of an emotional guy in canon before Stanwick, what with the lore saying that “almost no trace of the original man remained” in reference to Viktor reemerging as someone without emotions. That, combined with the fact that he was described as having a “hope to better society” before everything went down, kind of makes me believe that he was a naive idealist type. (Again, not that autism makes you naive, but...) But yes, hyperempathy. Hence "no pain, no wars, no suffering, no death” being part of his ideology for the Glorious Evolution. He gets pretty ripped up about people being hurt, and it’s really only gotten worse over the years as he’s grasped the full scope of pain in the world.

Personally, I write pre-Stanwick-incident Viktor as someone who is still somewhat awkward with expressing emotion, but it’s not due to him not having them. It’s due to the fact that the ways in which he naturally expressed them and in which he interacted with the world were just... seen as odd/different/etc. (I don’t think Runeterra has an autism diagnosis or particularly excellent psychology, even in Piltover and Zaun, so he just gets the “you’re a weird dude” treatment for his entire life.) Stimming or smiling a certain way or talking a lot about his interests or, you know, the general autistic existence is weird to most people around him, as it unfortunately is in real life. So he’s more reserved until you actually know him, because he’s just masking all the time. (Fun fact about my Viktor: he’s pretty expressive under that actual mask of his. It helps to not have to micromanage expressions all the time when he isn’t experiencing a bout of flat affect due to [gestures vaguely at everything else going on with his mental state], although he sometimes feels poorly about not being able to manage himself. But that’s his issues, and I think it’s good for him to show emotion.)

Side note - Stanwick was able to do such a number on Viktor due to: a) Stanwick being very charismatic and manipulative, on top of being an actually smart man and scientist - he’s really a great example of a “good Zaunite”, in the sense of being good at being what the culture rewards, b) Viktor actively dealing with the death of his parents and Stanwick being an older adult who’d treated him kindly and had never seemed put-off by Viktor’s oddities, and c) Viktor not realizing that he’d get backstabbed, because yes he knows that that happens in academia but Stanwick’s nice. Whether or not the outcomes would have been the same if Viktor were more competent at being “a good Zaunite”... well, probably not. Viktor ended up where he did because of who he is.

(Secondary side note: Viktor has a very strong and very black-and-white sense of what’s right and wrong, as well as general black-and-white thinking. You can see how that would have... not helped in the situations he was put through.)

This is getting kind of rambling, but I guess the point of this is that Viktor’s wanting to remove his emotions may be cloaked in the language of them being “inefficient” or “unhelpful”, which would feed into autistic stereotypes, but it’s really more of a matter of them being too painful and raw for him to process. He feels too much and hurts too much, and no amount of positive emotions in the world will (in his mind) make up for the pain he’s felt and will feel. So it’s better to not feel anything at all, isn’t it? At least then you aren’t overwhelmed by it all.

Viktor just hasn’t fit in with Zaun for all his life, really. Not as an odd child who can tell you all about science-fiction and techmaturgy, not as an odd and reserved teenager/young adult, not as a bright young doctoral student still dealing with grief but trying to make the best of it, and... not as the Machine Herald. But now he’s given up on trying to fit in, for better or for worse.

(Other miscellaneous and less serious autistic thoughts on him: generally a pretty fixed diet, partially due to being autistic but also due to what’s easily available in Zaun + what agrees with his stomach. A fan of weight and pressure - I like to think that the reason his outfit is like that is that he finds it comforting, and also that he has a weighted blanket or two around. Special interests of general techmaturgy, robotics, and science-fiction. He can talk for hours about any of those, and has. Both his parents were mildly spectrum-y, his mother a little bit moreso, so they just kinda assumed that him being him was out-of-the-ordinary and a bit strange but not something “horribly wrong”. Oh! And his third arm, which is under a little less conscious control than the rest of him, still stims sometimes when he’s working or otherwise not paying attention to it.)

This was very long and jumped around a lot, because I find it hard to give a convincing paragraph-by-paragraph argument about exactly why I think that Viktor is autistic, or rather why I headcanon him as such. But hopefully it was interesting! I just have a lot of thoughts on him, as well as the general state of autistic-coded or perceived-as-autistic-by-individuals (both allistic and autistic) characters in media and so it’s very hard to do anything concise without branching out into discussing other topics.

[gabelish]

Hey, I’m sorry if this comes off as presumptuous or is otherwise unwelcome but I saw your guide on how to represent BPD in fiction and I was wondering if you knew of any sources addressing DPD in particular? I realize you’re not, like, the all-knowing god of personality disorders (I’m not even sure what flavor of despair my bipolar counts as lmao) but dependence was a big thing that came up when I was initially brainstorming for the character and it’s still p significant in his arc throughout the wip. I just don’t want to unknowingly perpetuate anything negative or do that weirdo thing where a character is blatantly coded as something yet the creator doesn’t seem to know (or respect) anything about it and doesn’t commit to it (if that makes any sense). There’s kind of a dearth of resources by those with DPD concerning the experience meant for an outside perspective (and just in general tbh) and I’m not going to intrude in spaces meant for those with DPD. Thanks in advance, and, again, I apologize if this isn’t the type of ask you’re open to.

Writing A Character With DPD + Bonus Comments

Hey! I’m very sorry I never saw a notification for this ask and I have no idea when you sent it.

This is the best source I was able to find that wasn’t ableist or basically said “it’s great to have characters with personality disorders because it makes them ~spicy~”. It goes through the criteria one by one with examples of how this presents in life. It also has “associates features” which are things that aren’t diagnostic criteria but are common in people with DPD.

I will tack this on here since I didn’t cover it myself in my BPD post and nor does the article cover it.

Mitigating Factors To Diagnosis & Treatment

Remember women, queer, BIPOC, and impoverished people (1) face higher rates of incorrect diagnosis or no diagnosis as their doctors are less likely to listen to them or don’t have access to one (2) face higher barriers to seeking treatment whether it be in the form of therapy or medication, either financial or simply because they live far away from a major city wiry adequate medical resources (3) face higher rates of abuse. Mentally ill people face higher rates of abuse and stigmatization in general, and if your character is any combo of the above, those become compounded.

Obviously if your character (I’m speaking generally here for everyone) is a white affluent woman (DPD is more commonly diagnosed in women) she will be more likely to have resources to help her. You could even bring up this disparity casually if she’s in a support group and becomes friends with, say a poor Latina woman from a rural community who has to drive an hour and a half to therapy and didn’t get any help until she was hospitalized after a su*cide attempt, but that’s just my brain spinning ideas.

Combat Stigmatization

I’m also going to talk briefly about stigmatization of mental illness. Depending on the disorder, we are either characterized as (1) inherently violent, abusive, dangerous (Borderlines, Psychotics, Bipolars, Antisocials, Dissociatives, etc.) and often used as an explanation in real life and fodder in movies as serial killers or just the crazy stalker obsessed with the girl next door. or (2) feeble, a burden, hopeless (Depressives, Dependents, Autistics, PTSDs, etc.) or (3) not taken seriously, ignored, fakers (ADHDs, Depressives, Anxious, PTSDs, Anorexics, Bulimics, etc.)

So I would largely recommend as a blanket Do Not make your character fit one of these negative stereotypes in an uncritical way since it contributes to this stigmatization. By uncritical, I mean you can absolutely have a character with DPD feel like they’re a burden to their family or even be directly told they are (even if it’s true or not or that character is just an asshole), but just don’t play into it. Show your character making strides to improvement or how hard they struggle to be better but simply can’t. Not every mentally ill character needs to recover or whatever by the end of the story. I will always have BPD but I’m “recovered” (which is a misnomer) because I’m better at coping. Have asshole characters who think the diagnosis is nonsense. My go to response is “oh do you have a medical degree?”. Etc.

And I always say recovery isn’t an uphill slope, where each time you stumble you start at the bottom again. It’s a cycle of recovery and relapse and each time you might get a little bit better. You may repeat the same mistakes a thousand times. Some people cannot cope effectively and that’s okay. The mentally ill people who matter aren’t just the ones who “recover”.

Final Thoughts

I firmly believe no writer has to have xyz illness in order to write about it. As long as a writer does their research, compassionately portrays the character (not the character having compassion, but you treating your character with compassion), and gets 1-3 people with xyz illness to look over the character summary or a particularly important chapter strongly focusing on the illness, I think you’re fine.

[alwaysmychoices]

Jealousy & Pasta

Synopsis: After a long day at work, Charlie and Ethan are ready to go home, make dinner, and finally have a date night, if Charlie’s jealousy of the new intern won’t get in their way.

Chapter 14 of the “with and without” series

Previous Series: “a weekend with dr. ramsey”

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlotte “Charlie” Greene)

Words: 4.7k

Rating: T (suggestive language at the end)

Charlie was staring.

She couldn’t stop, no matter how hard she tried.

She came to the nurse’s station to find a quiet place where she could finish her paperwork for the night, but the paperwork quickly fell to the wayside.

She was watching Ethan – or rather, she was watching Ethan interact with her.

Ethan was working with Ava Silva, the new star intern. About half an hour ago, Ava found Ethan in his office, waiting for Charlie to finish for the night so that they could go back to his apartment and make dinner. When she presented Ethan with her patient, he was intrigued enough to join her on the case, and Ava did something to impress him. He didn’t watch Ava like he watched the other interns, like he was studying every moment for a sign of a mistake. He looked… pleased. Maybe even a little proud.

Ethan Ramsey was unusually agreeable, and that intern was standing unusually close to him.

Until tonight, Charlie flattered herself as being the only intern Ethan Ramsey regarded like that, but now that specialness felt mundane. Had his approval really been so miraculous, or was Charlie just hoping it was?

Charlie felt ridiculous as she watched the two of them. She knew it meant nothing. She knew that, once he finished in that patient’s room, he would take Charlie home. Yet, something eerily resembling doubt left her feeling unnerved and – dare she say – jealous.

So, she kept staring.

“You and Ramsey, huh?” Esme’s voice startled Charlie. With an expression that could only be described as pure horror, Charlie looked to her intern, hoping for a clue that she’d misheard Esme and hadn’t been caught.

Esme’s smirk dashed those hopes immediately.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Charlie’s voice wavered, making her lie even less believable. She gripped her pen tighter and cast a glance down to her unfinished paperwork as if trying to belatedly establish an alibi.

For all her attempts to hide, she was only making it more obvious.

Esme cocked her eyebrow, looking surprised by Charlie’s audacious lie.

“So, you just stare at everyone then?” Esme challenged, casting a meaningful look in Ethan’s direction. Charlie didn’t bother lying this time, which relieved Esme. For the last ten minutes, Esme passively watched Charlie, waiting for her concentration to break. When it didn’t, Esme cemented her long-held suspicions about the two colleagues.

“I’ve just never seen Dr. Ramsey get along that well with anyone, especially an intern,” Charlie shrugged, forcing herself to look at Esme and not Ethan, “I was just curious.”

“He gets along that well with you,” Esme countered, turning her gaze back to her paperwork as she scribbled a signature. She didn’t intend to let Charlie explain it away, and Charlie grimaced.

“It just seems like that now,” Charlie shrugged, “He hated me when I first started here.”

“I highly doubt Dr. Ramsey has ever hated you,” Esme mumbled, checking a box and signing a corresponding signature.

“He did,” Charlie asserted less confidently. Had he ever hated her? Certainly, he had insulted her, and more than once, his criticism had driven her to drink and complain after work. But had he ever hated her? Or were his expectations just high?

Or… had he always liked her? Had he just been an asshole to keep his distance?

Charlie felt less sure than ever, but she tried to keep her uncertainty off her face.

Esme paused for a moment, looking between Charlie and Ethan and Ava. She mulled it over and finally decided to ease Charlie by saying, “Well, even if he hated you then, you shouldn’t worry now. He doesn’t look at anyone else like he looks at you.”

Charlie blushed, which was all the confirmation Esme needed, but she allowed Charlie to deny it anyway. Truthfully, Charlie didn’t want to deny it anymore. She wanted to ask Esme a thousand questions. How long had she known? Were they obvious? Did he really seem to like her that much?

She longed for Esme to resolve all the timid doubts that came with a new relationship, especially because she couldn’t ask her friends to do so.

Their secret relationship was just two weeks old, and though Charlie felt secure in Ethan’s affection and her own decision to pursue a relationship, she couldn’t deny the series of small insecurities that sprouted under the secrecy. Without any outside opinions, she was left to interpret everything herself, and her own tendency to doubt had no one else to counter it.

“I think you’re just reading into it too much,” Charlie decided innocently, purposefully keeping her eyes off Ethan as she looked down to her paperwork.

“Maybe,” Esme shrugged, “For all I know, you two aren’t together.”

Charlie let out an inaudible sigh of relief.

“But,” Esme continued, knocking Charlie’s victory, “something is there. When I got here, you two couldn’t be in the same room. Now, I rarely see you apart. So, whatever it is, you two are certainly back on now, whatever that means for you.”

Charlie's expression went slack. She had nothing to counter that with, so instead of stumbling through an explanation, she just stared with dismay.

Just then, Ethan and Ava concluded their examination of the patient, and together, they exited the room. The spoke briefly to confirm the diagnosis and next steps. The entire time, Ava stood just an inch too close. Though he may not have looked at her with anything other than professional approval, there was undoubtedly a glimmer in her eye. Oblivious, Ethan affirmed that he would check on the patient in the morning, and when he left, Ava’s eyes followed him.

Charlie saw the whole thing out of the corner of her eye, and her stomach lurched.

Ethan saw Charlie immediately, and in the split second before he noted Esme beside her, his face broke out in a warm, wonderful smile. It disappeared when he realized they weren’t alone. Startled, he tried to twist his face into something normal, and instinctively, he cleared his throat and tightened his jaw.

He looked imposing. Maybe even intimidating.

But still happy.

To Charlie’s chagrin, Esme was always observant, and now, she had no doubt. She knew what they were doing, even if she lacked the details. Fortunately for both of them, she had no interest in stirring up hospital gossip. She liked Charlie, and that was enough for Esme to feel sworn to protect her. Besides, Esme felt like she owed Charlie for defending her encounter with Dr. Thorne.

“Good luck,” Esme whispered meaningfully to Charlie, and before Charlie could stammer out a final denial, Esme collected her paperwork and left the nurses station.

Charlie had only a few seconds before Ethan replaced Esme by her side. It wasn’t enough time to wrap her head around the conversation, nor her jealousy. She hardly knew what to say to him and was relieved when he spoke first.

“Are you almost done for the night?” Ethan nodded towards the paperwork in front of Charlie. He could see several blank spaces, but he hoped it was near completion. He had looked forward to taking her home all day.

“Nearly, maybe fifteen minutes left,” Charlie confessed sheepishly. She should have been done by now, but her envious stares and awkward conversations cost her time. She was cutting into their date night, a rarity given their schedule and secrecy.

She wished they could have just left anyway. She was happy to drop everything just to shed her jealousy and insecurities. She was eager to adore him without fearing unknown eyes and to get back to the basics of this relationship – the parts where they were happy, not anxious.

Ethan, casting a casual glance in both directions, made sure that no one was watching before he leaned closer, squeezing her hand and smiling softly, “Meet you in the garage in 20 minutes then?”

Charlie instinctively melted into the intimate warmth of the moment, and just for now, she forgot about Ava and Esme and secrets. Squeezing his hand back, she whispered, “You’re willing to be seen with me in the garage? How scandalous.”

“I think we’ll survive it,” Ethan shook his head softly, amused by her dramatization, “Besides, I’ve missed you today.”

“It’s your fault for not giving me any cases.”

Other than the brief diagnostics meeting to discuss the senator, they hadn’t interacted, save for fleeting glances and small talk in an elevator.

“I apologize for not overworking you, Charlotte,” Ethan tried to sound stern, but it came it just as love-drunk as everything else.

Giving up, Ethan squeezed Charlie’s hand one more time and commanded, “Now, finish your work so we can go home.”

“Fine,” Charlie teasingly grumbled, watching as Ethan gave her a warning glance and retreated to his office.

With the offer of homemade pasta and a night with Ethan Ramsey, Charlie worked much faster. Charlie powered through the material as fast as she could while staying thorough, and soon enough, the paperwork was completed and submitted. Eager to get to the garage, Charlie took off for the locker room to collect her stuff.

The room was empty except for the back corner, where a handful of interns crowded around a locker. They were talking loud enough that, if Charlie had been interested, she could have heard it all. But because she was far more concerned with quickly changing and meeting Ethan, she ignored them and focused her energy on shimmying into her jeans.

That was until one of them said Ethan’s name.

“I can’t believe you just spent thirty minutes with Ethan Ramsey,” one of them exclaimed, sounding overjoyed for her friend.

“And he said she did a ‘good job.’ I didn’t even know he knew how to compliment people,” another chimed in.

Charlie’s skin prickled with horror. She wanted to stop listening, button her shirt, and have a lovely night with Ethan. But she felt frozen, unable to escape the conversation.

“Stop, you guys! It wasn’t that big of a deal!”

This time, Charlie recognized the voice. It was Ava.

Fuck.

With her back the group, Charlie continued to eavesdrop.

“Please, if Bryce Lahela ever told me I did a good job, I would offer to marry him on the spot,” the first girl asserted confidently.

If they hadn’t been talking about Ethan, Charlie would have laughed and told Bryce the next day, but they were talking about Ethan. So, Charlie hardly registered it.

“Guys, shut up,” Ava hissed at her friends, suddenly swatting at her friends to stop talking. Charlie had a hunch for why Ava shut down the conversation, and to test her theory, she cast a casual glance in their direction.

All three women were staring at her, with Ava in the middle looking particularly mortified.

Equally embarrassed, Charlie looked back to her locker. She was now determined to leave as quickly as possible and put the entire encounter behind her. Maybe she would joke about it with Ethan at dinner. Or maybe she would quietly mull on it for days. Either way, she needed to leave.

Charlie finished buttoning her shirt, and after shoving her belongings in her canvas tote, she was ready to get the hell out of there.

“You’re Charlie Greene, right?” Ava asked just before Charlie could make it to the door, forcing her to stop in her tracks.

Great.

Now, she had to talk to her.

“Yeah, I am,” Charlie affirmed, not offering any more information. She didn’t want to make this conversation longer than necessary.

This was the woman who had just flirted with her boyfriend and bragged about it with her friends. Was she wrong for instinctively hating her?

“So, you work with Dr. Ramsey, then?” Ava inquired. On either side, her friends squirmed and evaded eye contact. Perhaps they expected a lecture about professionalism. Perhaps she should have given them one.

But when you’re secretly dating your boss, can you really yell at someone else about staying professional?

“I’m on the diagnostics team, yes,” Charlie corrected. She didn’t enjoy framing her accomplishments through a man, even if it was her favorite man. She earned her spot on that team, and even if she frequently felt out of her league in their meetings, she deserved recognition for standing on her own.

“Right,” Ava swallowed, “I’m actually a big fan.”

Oh.

Charlie squirmed, and something strange stirred in her belly. The instant hatred felt weak and perhaps even misplaced. Was it Ava’s fault for being attracted to Ethan? Almost everyone was. Even patients tried to sneak their number in his pocket when he wasn’t looking.

Now, Charlie looked directly at her, and she was struck by their similarities. Physically, they were different of course. Ava was shorter, yet leaner and more muscular than Charlie. Her hair was much darker, as were her brown eyes. Her skin was nice and tan, a stark contrast to Charlie’s perpetually pale body that burned if untreated with sunscreen. Yet, there was something similar in their posture and expression. They were both dedicated and hungry. They were both, at some time, the star intern, and they both earned Ethan’s approval.

And that was what flared Charlie’s jealousy.

They were so similar that, no matter how much Charlie reminded herself of Ethan’s affection, she worried that she wasn’t really special.

And if she wasn’t special, would Ethan still be so enthralled?

“I’m sorry about, um, before. We were just joking around,” Ava explained, her voice shaking from fear. She dreaded the idea of her words making their way back to Ethan. “You know how it is.”

Charlie did understand how it was.

And thus, Charlie decided she didn’t hate Ava.

She was just another girl to whisper about her crush in a locker room. Charlie wasn’t angry at her. She was angry that she couldn’t publicly claim Ethan as her own.

“It’s okay. It happens,” Charlie shrugged and watched as Ava let out a sigh of relief.

Tentatively, one of Ava’s friends asked, “So you know Dr. Ramsey pretty well then?”

“I do,” Charlie confirmed.

The girl seemed to deliberately consider her next question, wondering how best to take advantage of this opportunity. Charlie decided to indulge her but only her. She had pasta and Ethan to get to.

“So, is he… dating anyone?”

Charlie was shocked by the question, and she realized that the Ethan these women knew was a very different man than the one Charlie knew. Their Ethan was fiction, an assortment of assumptions and experiences morphed into one gorgeous but grumpy figure. He was easy to fall in love with, but it was even easier to fall out of love when he failed to live up to expectations.

But Charlie’s Ethan was real. He was handsome and guarded, and he struggled to express his feelings, even when they threatened to overflow. For him, Charlie stumbled in and out of entanglements, recklessly tearing apart her life in the name of forgetting him. Together, they had smiled and cried and laughed and screamed. They ran away so many times, to so many places. Yet, just for the chance to say she adored him, she ran through the rain and stood on his doorstep, braced for rejection.

After a beat, Charlie decided to answer honestly, “He doesn’t talk about his personal life, but I’m pretty sure he’s dating someone.”

The three women blinked in surprise.

Charlie had been risky enough with that answer that she didn’t dare stay for follow-up questions. Bidding them all goodnight, she locked her stuff up and made a beeline for the garage.

The entire walk, she tried to put her thoughts together, but so much had happened that they were all jumbled.

She was jealous, insecure, and disappointed, but she also felt remarkably safe and known – and happy.

All the more so when she saw Ethan in his car.

He was waiting for her, his Charlie.

“That was longer than 15 minutes,” Ethan greeted her as she climbed into his passenger seat. Despite his complaint, he was smiling wide enough for her to know that her presence was appreciated.

“Interns stopped me in the locker room,” Charlie explained as she buckled her seat belt. Ethan pulled the car in reverse, and with his arm behind her headrest, she caught her first, unreserved glimpse of Ethan that day. It was enough to remind her why he was worth running through the rain.

“It’s starting. One day, you will dislike them just as much as I do,” Ethan gloated. Once out of the parking space, he easily navigated the near-empty parking garage. Feeling safe in the solitude, he found Charlie’s hand in the passenger seat and tangled his fingers in hers.

He was surprised by how much he enjoyed holding her hand. He had never been particularly fond of it in past relationships, nor was he partial to most physical displays of affection. But there was something different about holding Charlie’s hand. He felt a constant craving to be near her, one he couldn’t always satisfy. Holding her hand felt reassuring that she was still there and still willing to take on the inconveniences and burdens of dating him.

Part of Ethan kept waiting for Charlie to come to her senses and run away. When he was touching her, he could silence those thoughts.

“I don’t think the medical community could handle two of you, Ethan,” Charlie squeezed his hand softly as they exited the garage.

“I’m not sure the medical community can handle one of me, to be frank,” Ethan thought aloud, and he noted Charlie’s grin out of the corner of his eye.

The drive was largely uneventful after that. Occasionally, he had to return his hands to the wheel to manage Boston traffic, but once the streets settled down, he found himself touching her again. They were comfortable in the car’s silence, and they were equally intrigued by the occasional quip or comment on the road.

It was comfortable.

It was… natural. Like their steps were in sync as they walked Ethan’s hallway. Like Ethan knew when to press the elevator button and Charlie knew exactly where to be. Like Charlie knew to lean against his shoulder and he knew to kiss the top of her head.

It was right.

As soon as Ethan opened his front door, Jenner joined the happy pair. He leaped from his comfortable bed in the living room and sprinted towards them. Jenner made a general acknowledgment of Ethan, but he lost all interest in his master when he noticed Charlie. The dog’s whole body wiggled as he jumped into Charlie’s open arms. He showered her face in adoring kisses, and likewise, she rewarded him with head scratches and a stream of compliments.

Ethan watched from the doorway with a mix of adoration, amusement, and frustration.

It was arguably the cutest thing he had ever seen, but after a long day away from Charlie, he now had another competitor for her attention.

“He likes you more than me,” Ethan commented, stepping into his apartment and dropping his keys in on the nearby table. He didn’t interrupt Jenner and Charlie, and when they were ready, they joined him in the apartment, Charlie walking with Jenner following on her heels.

Charlie found Ethan in the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he assembled the necessary ingredients on his kitchen island. He had been saving this recipe for a night that Charlie could help him make it, and he beckoned her to his side.

Charlie obliged, stopping only to wash her hands. But when she stood that close to him, she could think of a million things she’d rather do than make pasta.

“What do you need from me?”

“If you can mince the garlic, I’ll start the pasta,” Ethan decided, placing his hand on her side to pull her closer to him, and he kissed her temple, “Then, you can make the sauce, and I’ll make the seafood.”

“Seafood?” Charlie clarified, peaking through the ingredients to find clams, shrimp, and scallops. She stared at the pile of food with unfamiliarity. She never did this much for a casual, weeknight dinner. Truthfully, she was a bit intimidated that Ethan did.

“What?” Ethan asked, noting her stare, “Charlotte, are you allergic and neglected to tell me?”

“No, no,” Charlie clarified quickly, “I’m just…” she motioned vaguely to the kitchen island, “I’m just amazed you put this much effort into a weeknight.”

Ethan eyed her suspiciously and, after a beat, he said, “I have a feeling that, if I press you on that, I will be very disappointed in your habits.”

“Probably,” Charlie conceded, smiling softly as she watched him shake his head in preemptive disappointment. He squeezed her side and then pointed to the garlic.

“Mince,” Ethan commanded, trying to get himself back on track. Charlie made a show of rolling her eyes, but she happily crushed, sliced, and chopped garlic until she had a suitable product to give to Ethan.

Next, he tasked her with blending the tomatoes and let her freely spice the mixture, taking the risk she would lean into her affinity for heat. He sautéed the garlic in olive oil and added the seafood. When she delivered her sauce to add to the pan, she hummed, and Ethan smirked as the tune got stuck in his head. He watched the pasta and the sauce, but he also watched her dice peppers and gently sway to the song she sang.

When she turned around to add the peppers to the mixture, she was startled to find that he was watching her.

“Are you staring at me, Dr. Ramsey?” she asked, standing right beside him as she dropped the peppers into the pan.

“Yes.”

Charlie beamed as he leaned down to kiss her softly, his hand resting comfortably on her hip. With his head ducked, he felt like the perfect height for her to wrap her arms around his neck. Of course, there wasn’t much about him that didn’t feel perfect right now.

Ethan only pulled away when dinner demanded their attention. Nearing the end of the recipe, Charlie wasn’t much needed in the kitchen. So, she got out plates, and under Ethan’s instruction, she poured two glasses of wine. She poured more in her glass, just so she could sit at the island and drink wine as she watched him assemble the final stage of the recipe.

He plated the pasta and, wine in hand, he led her to the balcony so they could enjoy one of the last warm nights of the season.

And they did enjoy it.

Naturally, the pasta was delicious. Ethan had never cooked anything bad, as far as Charlie was concerned, and he was confident that her assistance made it that much better. Of course, he may have just been distracted by the view. While Charlie looked out over the Boston cityscape, he was more than satisfied to admire her alone. They talked about work for a while, but quickly, the conversation diverged to something more intimate and playful. Despite having met a year before, they were still getting to know each other, and effortlessly, they dipped into past relationships and all of the humorous stories associated with them.

Charlie's list of previous partners was short, with only a few meaningful names. She had been too focused on her career to develop a serious relationship, save for one or two, but she had plenty of funny anecdotes. Ethan’s list was longer but with far fewer meaningful names. He didn’t broach the most meaningful ones because their stories were too sad and too much time had passed for the discussion to feel necessary. He did, however, tell a very embarrassing story from his middle school dance that made Charlie lose her breath laughing.

Maybe it was the honesty of the moment, or maybe Charlie was just inspired to hear how jealous little Ethan had been of that popular boy and his 7th grade date. Whatever it was, Charlie said something she didn’t intend to say.

“You know, today, I overheard someone talking about their crush on you,” Charlie announced. She said it so casually that Ethan missed the underlying jealousy and self-doubt, so he chuckled.

“When?”

“At work,” Charlie didn’t betray Ava by saying it was her. Even if Ava wanted her boyfriend, Charlie didn’t feel justified in exposing her to her boss.

Ethan laughed and shrugged it off, taking a sip of wine like the whole thing was just another funny story.

It could have been. She could have left it there.

But squirming in her patio chair, she added, “I… I might have been a little jealous.”

Ethan’s face fell just a bit, like he was unexpectedly sobering up and becoming present in the moment. And, as he studied Charlie, he was suddenly aware of how meaningful this might be.

“You were?” He was shocked. Had she not seemed so serious, he surely would have thought this a joke. He had been jealous, of course, but that was before. Now, could she doubt him?

“I mean, she was very pretty,” Charlie was eager to justify her jealousy with all but the truth.

Ethan’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it was increasingly somber and concerned. The sight made Charlie squirm even more. She’d said something real, and she couldn’t hide from it now.

“Do you doubt me, Charlie?”

Hurt.

Ethan’s hurt.

She didn’t mean for that to happen.

“No,” Charlie answered quickly – maybe too quickly because, when faced with saying anything else, nothing came to mind.

Ethan waited, but he didn’t feel less injured.

He thought, once they risked everything and promised to make this work, that everything could stay perfect. Yet Charlie was jealous. And he didn’t really understand why. He couldn’t imagine being anywhere else but here, with her.

“I’m a little...” Charlie stumbled to untangle days’ worth of messy, uncomfortable thoughts, so she stammered, “I love this. I really do. I am so, so happy that we’re here, but… I’m still a little insecure in all of it. I know we’re together, I do. But nobody else does. Secrecy is tricky, and it’s just…”

Charlie felt like there was an explanation out there, a perfect combination of words that would make sense of everything, but if they existed, she couldn’t find them.

“I’m so happy, and I think I’m afraid of messing it up somehow,” Charlie settled on this answer. It didn’t encompass everything, and something was surely missing. But it had to be enough for now, “And I wish I could just say you’re mine.”

Ethan sat in the wake of her speech, its weight sitting on him thoughtfully.

He wanted to erase all of it. He wanted to free her from insecurities and doubts. He wanted to give them both the happy ending they deserved after their bitter ups and downs.

But there was a bitter truth to swallow. Happy endings were just the beginning of something that could easily turn messy and painful, and they were responsible for maintaining happiness, even if it meant uncomfortable conversations.

“Charlie, I’m yours, secret or not,” Ethan, though shocked that he had so say it at all, meant it, and Charlie knew it. He stood, crossing the small distance be next to her. In the dim light, he found her hand and squeezed it, reassuring them both.

“Even when I’m not special?” Charlie laughed at the end of the question, framing it like a joke, but the laugh was hollow. And it was never a joke.

“You’re always special, Charlie,” Ethan kissed between Charlie’s eyebrows, where worry creased her skin.

“You’re not just infatuated with the star intern?”

“There have been many star interns,” Ethan consoled her, “I’ve only run away to the Amazon for one.”

Charlie chuckled, the light coming back into her face as she teased (for real, this time), “I thought you were just dramatic.”

Ethan laughed – for real, as well.

And they were okay. They were.

Ethan picked up the bottle of wine, which they’d nearly drained, “What do you say to another bottle?”

“It depends. What’s your policy on wine in bed?”

Ethan had a mischievous smile as he disappeared into the apartment to retrieve more wine, which they would hopefully share from the comforts of his king-size bed soon. Sitting on the balcony, content and waiting for him, Charlie struck with the realization that this was the happiest she’d ever been in a relationship.

As he walked back to her, she found a star, and focusing all her hope, she asked it to let them stay like this forever.  

I’m kinda iffy on if I like this chapter, but here it is anyway. 

Also, if you’re interested in making the recipe mentioned, here it is: https://rasamalaysia.com/seafood-pasta/ 

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[caffeinatedbraincell]

Thank you so much for the wonderfully sweet andromaquynh story! 🥰💖 if I may request more since I saw the Touch sheet and uh I’m in love:

24. Whispering in their ear, lips touching their skin, either pairing

Thank you for this ask Shatters!!! And for encouraging me along the way<3 I know it took forever but I hope you enjoy this!

Read on AO3

The door of Dr. Shukla’s office rattled. Inside, Joe took a sharp breath. Nicky threaded their hands together beneath the table, murmuring reassuringly.

A second later, the doctor walked in, large yellow folder in hand and a stethoscope slung across her neck. Joe and Nicky stood to greet her.

“Please, be seated. It’s alright,” she said, voice low and steady. “I’m Dr. Shukla, a neurologist. I have some CTs and MRIs here of Mr. Yusuf Al-Kaysani’s brain that we’ll be discussing today.”

Joe exhaled shakily as they all sat down. Next to him, Nicky cleared his throat.

“How bad is it, doctor?”

“Good and bad aren’t diagnoses, Mr.…”

“Al-Kaysani. I’m his husband. But call me Nicky, please.”

“Of course, Nicky.” She extracted the prints from the folder. “There is no easy way to put this. The truth is, the symptoms Yusuf is presenting with, and these images from his scans, make it very likely that what we’re dealing with here is early-onset dementia. Possibly Alzheimer’s.”

In the silence that followed, Joe sighed in relief. Finally, someone had said the words. It wasn’t a vague suspicion hanging over his head anymore. It was reality. They could work with reality.

Next to him, Nicky was arguing with the doctor.

“…but how can you be sure? Scans are inconclusive when it comes to diagnosing-”

“I would not have brought this diagnosis to the table if there was any better explanation for what Yusuf is experiencing. Any at all.”

“But-”

“Nicolò.” Joe moved his hand to Nicky’s thigh. He looked at the doctor. “So where do we go from here?”

Dr. Shukla leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “I will not mislead you, Yusuf. There is no cure. But there are treatments - therapies, medications, management strategies - that can slow the progression of the disease. You can still live a long and meaningful life.”

“Of course he’ll live a long and meaningful life!” Nicky exclaimed.

“Tesoro, please-”

“Look,” Dr. Shukla said. “I know this is extremely hard. For both of you. But what’s important in this moment is that you take your time to process this news and adapt to it. Be there for each other, and be patient with each other.” She stood and walked over to her computer. “I’m going to put in a prescription for something called Razelon; it’s a cholinesterase inhibitor that will reduce early behavioral symptoms and boost cognitive function.”

“Do we need to pick it up today?” Nicky asked.

“Yes. Yusuf, I’m starting you off on half a pill. We’ll see how you react to it. If it works for you, we can modify the dose as necessary going forward.”

As they stepped out of the clinic into the stinging wind, Joe pulled his coat tighter against his body. At his side, Nicky fumbled with his phone, pulling up the prescription.

“Razelon,” he muttered to himself, typing it into Google. “Look, Joe, it seems to be a fairly common and effective treatment. Actually, it’s good the doctors caught this early. I’m sure we can-”

“Nicky.”

“-make this work until something more effective comes out. Alzheimer’s research is at a revolutionary place right now and-”

“Nicky…”

“-there’s definitely going to be some new, highly effective treatments on the market in a few-”

“Nicolò!”

Nicky froze where he was reaching for his car keys, lips pressed into a thin line. “What?”

“My love, we’ve had over one thousand years together.” Joe stepped forward, gently taking his hands. “Haven’t you had enough of me yet?”

Nicky shoved him away lightly. “Stop it, Joe. That’s nothing to joke about.”

“Listen-”

“No, you listen. I don’t care if it’s been a millennium. If you don’t think I’m going to fight tooth and nail for every second - every single second - we can possibly have together, then you’re wrong. You’re wrong.”

“I will fight with you, my love, I swear. But-”

“But what?”

“But I cannot watch you mourn me while I am still here. Promise me this changes nothing between us, Nicky. I don’t want you to treat me like I’m suddenly made of glass.”

“Says the person who tried to wrap me in literal bubble wrap when we discovered we were mortal.”

Joe snorted. “Touché.”

Nicky stared at him for a second. Then, he leaned forward and kissed him, slow and sweet. “Get in the car. I’ll buy you a caramel frappucino by the pharmacy, yeah?”

***

“Joe, don’t forget, Nile’s coming over at 8 tonight for dinner, so we’ll have to be back at least an hour before that.”

“I don’t know, tesoro, forgetting is kind of what I do best now,” Joe quipped from the couch.

Nicky stuck his head out of the kitchen testily. “Still not funny, you asshole.”

It has been several months since that fateful day at the clinic, and Joe could tell he was getting worse. He didn’t feel it, exactly; the Razelon was helping, and Dr. Shukla had added an antidepressant to his prescription to ward off the vague sense of dread and loss that sometimes settled in his chest.

No, Joe could tell he was getting worse because of Nicky. The way Nicky never let him make the same mistake twice. Joe had forgotten to take his medication one night, and ever since, Nicky made a ritual of bringing it to him with a glass of water after they brushed their teeth. A few mornings ago, Nicky had seen Joe walk away from the coffee machine without turning it on, and ever since, there would be a freshly brewed pot of coffee on the table before Joe woke up.

It was as if by covering for Joe enough, Nicky could pretend this wasn’t happening at all. Joe frowned deeply at the thought.

“Hey,” Nicky said, coming to sit next to Joe. “What’s wrong, hayati? Would you rather stay in today than go to the beach? I won’t mind, you know.”

Joe shook his head. “No, it’s not that, it’s…” He furrowed his brow, then sighed in defeat. “Nevermind. Let’s just go to… the place. What you said.”

“The beach?”

“Mhm. Let’s go to the beach.”

“Alright. I’ll get us a bag.” Nicky kissed Joe’s forehead gently and got up to leave.

“Nicky, wait.”

“Yes, love?”

“Is it- Am I getting a lot worse, do you think?” Joe blurted.

Nicky frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s just- You didn’t let me pay rent this month. Usually you remind me, but you did it yourself last week, didn’t you?”

“So what if I did? I don’t want to make things any harder for you than they already are. Let me be there for you in these little ways, ya qalbi.”

“You are. You’re always there for me. But you’re doing so much now, too much, and I feel like I’m not pulling my weight anymore. I don’t want to become a- a…”

“A burden?”

Joe was already shaking his head, having clocked the disappointment in Nicky’s eyes. “No! No, Nicky, that’s not what I-”

“Joe. I think we should move back to Malta.”

Joe paused, a little taken aback. “Back to Malta? Like, for good?”

“For good.”

“We’ll be far away from Nile and Booker, though.”

“They can come visit whenever they want. They’re still immortal, Joe. We’re not. I want to spend the time we have left in the place I married you one thousand years ago.”

Joe stood up and looped his arms around Nicky’s neck. He grinned as Nicky’s arms circled his waist, pulling him closer. “And you say I’m an incurable romantic.”

Nicky laughed. “So you’re okay with that, then?” he asked, hopeful eyes searching Joe’s.

“More than okay. I can’t wait, amore.”

***

Dinner with Nile was a lovely time, as always.

“How is Booker doing, sorellina?” Nicky asked as he dished second helpings of lasagne onto everyone’s plates.

“Fine,” Nile said with her mouth full. “His therapy group is taking a field trip to the Met tonight, so he couldn’t come. But he said to bring him back some food.”

Joe laughed, turning to Nicky with delight. “Sir, be sure to pack this young lady your restaurant’s finest lasagne, to-go.”

Nicky rolled his eyes. “If Booker wants food, he can come get some himself,” he grumbled, nevertheless grabbing a clean tupperware from the counter. “It’s been ages since he’s shown his face around here.”

“He wants to come all the time, I promise,” Nile reassured him. “It’s just so busy now, between jobs and therapy-”

“I keep telling Nicky we can still work the jobs,” Joe cut in. “Just because we’re mortal doesn’t mean we can’t help with intel and stuff. Or Nicky can, at least.”

“And I keep telling you it’s not necessary,” Nile countered, gentle but firm. “It’s important that you two spend this time with each other. And anyway, Booker and I are managing just fine.”

“It can’t be easy, though.” Nicky popped open a bottle of wine. “Do you mind non-alcoholic, Nile? If so, I can pull up another-”

“No, no, non-alcoholic is great. And to tell you the truth, we are taking on less now. Choosing our battles more carefully. But the ones we choose, we’re fighting them better, I think.”

Joe sat back, smiling fondly. “Good. Good. I think we’ve all been prioritizing doing a better job of living. But the offer always stands, Nile. If you two ever need some extra hands, we’re here.”

Over lasagne and wine, the conversation ebbed and flowed late into the night. It was nearly 2AM when Joe stood up, yawning.

“Bed, habibi?” Nicky asked.

“Hmm. I think I’ll call it a night.”

“Let me get you your medicine. Nile, would you mind moving the dishes to the sink? I’ll be back in a minute to wash them.”

Nile stood up, piling the dishes together. Joe and Nicky walked towards the bedroom.

As Joe settled into bed, Nicky puttered around to arrange his pills and a glass of water.

“Nicky, we forgot to tell Nile about the plan. That we’re going to move back to, uh…” Joe’s eyes widened in mild horror as he struggled to remember. “Malta! Malta. We’re moving back to Malta.”

Nicky walked over to him and sat down on the edge of the bed. He lovingly cupped Joe’s face, leaning in to rest their foreheads together.

“I’ll tell her. Here. You take this medicine and rest. I should go-”

“Do you want to see what I drew at the beach?” Joe cut in. He didn’t want Nicky to leave just yet.

“Ya amar, of course I do. Where is your sketchbook, still in the bag? I’ll get it.”

Nicky handed him the book, and Joe flipped through it until he found what he was looking for.

“It would have been better if I had colors, but…”

He held out the book to Nicky, who promptly forgot how to breathe. Done in nothing but ordinary pencil graphite was his own profile, set against the background of a stunning black and white sunset. The fading rays of light gleamed on the ocean’s surface, and the waves looked, magically, like they could move.

“Do you like it?” Joe asked. Nicky realized he’d been staring in silence. He set the book on the nightstand and wrapped a hand behind Joe’s head, pulling him in for a kiss.

“I love it,” he said, kissing him again. “I love you. It’s beautiful. Everything you make is beautiful, but this one especially so. And you’re beautiful.”

Joe giggled beneath the onslaught of kisses and praise. “You’re a sap. Now go, Nile is waiting for you.”

“Alright, alright. I’m going.”

“Nicky?”

“Hmm?”

“Come back soon.”

Nicky grinned. “It’s almost 3AM. I won’t be long; Nile is probably exhausted, too.”

“Tell her to stay the night,” Joe mumbled, already half asleep. “Too late to drive.”

“I’ll tell her, love. Sleep well.”

“Tell me what?” Nile asked as Nicky returned to the living room.

“To stay the night, it’s late.” He looked towards the kitchen. “Where are the dishes?”

“I washed them, they’re on the drying rack.”

“Sorellina! You are a guest!”

“I’m family. I can help with the dishes,” Nile argued, rolling her eyes.

Nicky smiled, settling down next to her on the couch. Nile shifted, curling up close to his side and resting her head on his shoulder.

“How are you doing?” she asked after a beat.

“Fine, Joe’s been-”

“I said you, Nicky.”

Nicky hesitated. “I’m alright, I think. Life is not harder now, not really. It’s nice to spend our days enjoying each other’s company, without having to worry about jobs and stuff. But…”

“But?”

“I can’t shake this sense of… loss? Our every interaction is tinged with it. He is the one diagnosed, but sometimes it feels like I’m the one who’s losing my sense of reality. I feel untethered.” Nicky broke off with a dry chuckle. “He gets upset if I’m too sad around him, so I try not to show it.”

“Oh.”

“Is it terribly greedy of me, Nile?”

“What?”

“That we’ve had over a thousand years together, more than anyone else in human history, and all I can think of is that it’s not enough. That I’m not ready. That I want more.”

“Love always wants more, Nicky. And no one is ever ready, no matter how much or how little time we have. Like, Andy and Quynh, right? You knew them for centuries, I knew them for a few years. But neither of us were ready to lose them.”

“I can’t do that again, Nile,” Nicky said wearily, feeling the full weight of his years. “I can’t mourn anyone else. I can’t mourn Joe.”

“You already are.”

Nicky’s eyes snapped to hers. “Wha- what do you mean by that? He said something like that, too.”

“You’re mourning the parts of him he’s already forgotten. You’re mourning the Joe who remembered his sisters’ names. The Joe who could differentiate San Paolo ‘34 from Berlin ‘27. The Joe who-”

“Stop.” Nicky squeezed his eyes shut. “He’s still here. My Joe is still here.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Nile said. “Think about the Joe you fell in love with outside of Jerusalem, Nicky. Now think of Joe sleeping inside. Everything has changed, but you still love him. What was it you fell in love with, the one thing that’s remained constant? His body? His mind?”

“His soul.”

“And can Alzheimer’s touch that? Can death?”

Nicky sniffled. He kissed the top of Nile’s head. “You’re far too wise for your age, you know.”

“I’ve had practice,” she mumbled.

“Yeah. Let’s get you to bed, alright? Will you stay the night?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

Nile ended up finding out about Malta the next morning, when Joe mentioned moving plans to Nicky over breakfast.

“You didn’t tell her last night, tesoro?”

“I meant to. But I guess we were all really tired.”

“I think it’s a great idea. When are you two planning to move?” Nile asked.

“As soon as possible. Joe and I were looking at flights for this weekend.”

Nile nodded. “Booker and I can help you pack. How’s tonight?”

“Fine, if a bit early. We don’t have that much stuff,” Joe said between sips of coffee. “At least not here. There are some things in the safehouses…”

“Sure. You and Nicky make a list whenever you’re free, and I’ll make a few trips with Booker and ship everything to the Malta address.”

“You’re an angel, sorellina,” Nicky said.

In the comfortable silence that followed, Joe looked back and forth between them, trying to memorize this moment. Nicolò di Genova is reading the paper, he thought. Nile Freeman is eating toast. Nile is married to Sebastien Le Livre, whom we call Booker. Booker isn’t here because he was- he had-

“Did Booker send you any pictures from the Met?” Nicky asked Nile.

Ah. He’d gone to the Met with his therapy group.

Nile shook her head. “A few cute ones they took outside, but I think the exhibit they went to see didn’t allow photography. He’ll probably have some brochure pictures to talk our ears off about later, though.” She smiled fondly. “It’s our turn to bring something over for dinner tonight, okay?”

“Absolutely not,” Nicky argued. “I love cooking for you guys. Let me make dinner. You’ll be stuck with your own cooking once we leave for Malta, anyway.”

Nile gasped in mock offense. “Well, someone has an inflated sense of their own abilities.”

“Habibi, listen, she’s disparaging my cooking,” Nicky complained.

“You insulted her first, my love. If you can dish it, you’d better take it.”

Nile laughed at the look of utter betrayal on Nicky’s face as she walked her empty plate to the sink.

“I’m gonna head out,” she said. “I’ll be back with Booker around 7. And fine, looks like dinner’s on you, Nicky.”

“I’m making poisoned mushroom risotto.”

“Suit yourself, I’m not the one who’s mortal.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Nicky muttered around a grin as Nile and Joe high-fived. “See you later, Nile.”

***

Midnights were Nicky’s favorite part of Malta. The sky hung heavy like a black velvet blanket, and the sparkle of the stars reminded him of Joe’s eyes.

In the months since they’d arrived, Joe’s health had taken an undeniable turn for the worse. They’d talked to Dr. Shukla and doubled his dose of Razelon. Soon after, they’d doubled it again. But the disease progressed with a vengeance of lifetimes, as if it was trying to recompense Joe’s immortality by cutting his mortal life short.

Nowadays, Nicky almost never left Joe’s side, from waking him up in the morning, to bathing him, to feeding him, to taking him on long walks to visit their favorite places.

And truly, there was nowhere he’d rather be. But Nicky was wracked with guilt over the terrifying intensity with which he missed Joe. He found himself clinging fervently to Joe’s few and far-between moments of lucidity, dreading the day when Joe would look at him and no longer remember his name.

A tear startled Nicky as it slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, leaning over the balcony railing and breathing in the sleeping city.

“Nicky?”

Nicky whirled around. “Joe? You’re not asleep?”

“I woke up. I- I missed you.”

“Oh, my love, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d wake up. Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

As they settled back under the covers together, Joe reached for Nicky’s hand and squeezed gently.

“What is it, hayati?”

“Nicky, I need to tell you something.”

Nicky turned to face him. “I’m listening.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

There was a tense pause. Then-

“Do you know how much I look forward to this, Joe? These brief minutes when you’re present, fully alert and oriented? Tell me, have I waited for this moment only to hear you say those words?”

“I just- I want you to know that you can leave. This is only going to get worse, Nicky. You didn’t sign up to change my diapers.”

“I didn’t sign up for immortality, either. But I embraced over a thousand years of it, Joe. Because I was in it with you.”

Joe rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling and blinking back tears.

Nicky groaned, propping himself up on an elbow. “Listen here, you idiot. I know I can leave. I could’ve left when you offered me your hand outside of Jerusalem. I could’ve left when we had our first fight. I could’ve left when we lost Quynh. I could’ve left after WWII, when we became so depressed that we could hardly stand the sight of each other.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Of course I didn’t. I love you, Joe. I don’t ever want to leave you.” He paused. “Unless you want me to.”

“And if I say I do want you to?”

“I’d tell you not to be a martyr.” Nicky sighed in frustration. “What would you do if it were me, Joe? Would you walk away?”

Joe’s breath hitched. He immediately shook his head.

“Why?” Nicky barrelled on. “Because of some twisted sense of morality? Because of some obligation-”

“Because I love you, amore. I would suffer a hundred deaths to spend just one hour more in your arms.”

Nicky slowly lay back down. He cupped Joe’s tear-stained cheek, tenderly guiding their lips together in a warm kiss.

“See? Can we drop this, now?”

Joe nodded. “If you’re sure.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, ya qalbi.”

They drifted to sleep in each other’s arms, exchanging quiet kisses and hums of contentment. The next morning, Nicky realized he’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.

It was their wedding anniversary. Their original wedding anniversary, the approximate date they’d gotten married in Malta over a thousand years ago.

Nicky had meant to be absolutely insufferable about it, to go on and on about it from at least three days prior. That way, Joe would remember. He wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt of forgetting, or the reality that his dementia no longer afforded him keeping track of the date.

Instead, Nicky had all but forgotten as well, only to be jarringly reminded by the date flashing on his phone.

He cursed as he fiddled with the coffee machine, analyzing his options. First option, he could simply remind Joe that today was their anniversary. Slip it into casual conversation or something.

But then he imagined Joe’s eyes going wide with shock and sadness as it sunk in that this is where they were at, now. He imagined Joe apologizing profusely for not planning anything special for Nicky. He imagined the guilt that any further attempts to celebrate would be tinged with, and that just wouldn’t do.

Second option, Nicky decided. He would simply not say anything. They’d treat this just like any other day, and what Joe didn’t remember wouldn’t hurt him. Something ugly twisted in Nicky’s gut at the thought that this could be their last anniversary together, but he stubbornly shoved it down. He could do this for Joe.

“Nicky?” Joe’s voice echoed down the hall. Nicky quickly switched on the coffee machine and returned to their bedroom.

“You’re awake already, love. Did you sleep well?”

Joe nodded, looking a little dazed. Slowly, his eyes focused on Nicky. He smiled. “Can we go brush my teeth? I want to kiss you.”

Nicky laughed, coming to sit at the edge of the bed. “How about a kiss first, beautiful?”

Joe’s smile went soft, his gaze drifting languidly to Nicky’s lips. “Okay.”

Nicky reached for Joe’s hand as they kissed, threading their fingers together. Joe made a small noise of happiness, draping his other arm over Nicky’s shoulder and pressing closer.

This is enough, Nicky realized with startling clarity. This is more than enough for celebrating today. If he’s happy, I’m happy.

***

Awareness was strange for Joe, these days. Dr. Shukla had told him that no two people experience Alzheimer’s the same way; it was better to observe what happens than to expect a specific process.

These days, life often felt like working on the corner of a painting, some zoomed-in fragment for his mind to get lost in. He would zone out and zone back in, switching between his immediate reality and some dark, floaty place deep inside his consciousness. Any concept of the “bigger picture” seemed uncannily absent.

It would be terrifying, he knew, if not for Nicky. My husband, Joe thought fondly. That, at least, he had not forgotten yet.

Joe’s body still remembered perfectly well what his mind could no longer articulate. Nicky’s hand in his hand, Nicky’s lips on his lips. The instinctive way he’d reach out for comfort and find Nicky there, calm eyes and steady arms and gentle smile.

“Joe?”

With tremendous effort, Joe pulled himself out of his thoughts, trying to focus on the voice. “Hmm?”

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t strain yourself.” Nicky rested a hand on Joe’s shoulder, and he immediately relaxed. “I’m making pastizzi. You remember pastizzi?”

Joe furrowed his brow. He doubted the word alone would have meant anything to him, but combined with the savory smell wafting from the kitchen, a fuzzy memory clicked into place.

“Favorite.”

Nicky chuckled softly. “That’s right. It’s your favorite.”

“Special. It’s for special days. Is today something special?”

Nicky startled like a deer in headlights. “Uh, wha- Yes! Of course it is.” He leaned down to kiss Joe’s curls. “Every day with you is so, so special, my love. It goes without saying, does it not?”

Joe grinned guilelessly, taking Nicky’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “Is Andromache coming?”

“Andromache is not here, sweetheart.” Nicky wrapped his arms around Joe, swaying gently from side to side. “It’s just us, for now.”

“That sounds nice, too.”

“What do you want to do after breakfast today?”

“Draw. I want to draw you. But can we take a nap first?”

“Of course.” Nicky unwound his arms from Joe and walked into the kitchen. “You got up too early today, habibi. I told you, you should rest more. You’ll be tired all day, otherwise.”

“I only like to sleep with you, tesoro.”

Nicky barked out a laugh. “You don’t need to tell me twice. Here, let’s eat. Then we’ll nap together.”

Joe enjoyed breakfast, taking comfort in the familiar, grounding taste of Nicky’s homemade pastizzi. And he definitely enjoyed falling asleep in his husband’s arms, head pillowed on Nicky’s chest, bathed in the late morning sunlight.

When Joe woke up, it was in one of those increasingly rare and precious moments of clarity. Nicky lay beside him, still fast asleep. Joe stared unabashedly, marveling at how Nicky managed to look even more soft and peaceful than usual in his sleep. He reached for his sketchbook and began drawing.

As the hours passed, portraits turned into poetry, and poetry into letters. Joe wondered, for a moment, if he should wake Nicky up for lunch, but he was loath to disrupt the little rest that Nicky managed to get these days.

Instead, Joe sat quietly by his side, taking advantage of his own lucidity to write a letter to Nile and Booker. He vaguely recalled Nicky mentioning that they would visit at some point, and he wanted to make sure he could convey what he wanted to say to them.

Just as Joe was wrapping up, Nicky stirred beside him.

“Joe?” he said, voice rough with sleep.

“Sono qui.”

Nicky glanced at the bedside clock. He scrambled to sit up, gently taking Joe’s face in his hands.

“Hayati, why didn’t you wake me? It’s three in the afternoon! Oh my love, aren’t you hungry? Did you drink water today?”

Joe smiled, kissing Nicky softly. “I went and drank water. I accidentally dropped a glass, though-”

“That’s alright.”

“-and don’t worry, I’m not hungry yet. Breakfast was very filling. You looked so relaxed sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you for no reason.”

“I’m so sorry, Joe, I didn’t mean to crash like that. How long have you been up?”

“Since noon. But please, amore, don’t apologize. You deserve to rest.” Nicky opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but Joe pushed on. “Do you want to see what I drew? And I wrote you a poem, can I read it to you?”

Nicky’s expression softened, the tension visibly draining from his shoulders. “Absolutely, Joe. Show me everything you’ve sketched and written. Then we can go out for a late lunch, okay?”

To Joe’s immense satisfaction, the mental fog largely stayed away for the rest of the day. There were moments, of course, when all he could do was hold Nicky’s hand and follow his footsteps, mind eerily blank except for the buzz of physical sensation right beneath the surface.

But for the most part, Joe was present. He recognized by name the café they stopped by for lunch and the restaurant they went to for dinner. In between, when they visited il-Moskea, Joe was able to pray properly for the first time in weeks. Nicky had prayed alongside him, and as Joe listened to the quiet recitation of Quran verses from his lips, peace had seemed so easy. So reachable.

“Lean forward, hayati,” Nicky murmured. The moment they’d come home, Nicky had started a hot bath for Joe. Joe complied, leaning forward until the lightly scented bubbles tickled his beard. “Feels good?” Nicky asked, swiping a washcloth over his back.

“So good. Ti amo, Nicky.”

“Ti amo tanto. Now lean back, let’s rinse.”

“Did we- did we used to do this before?”

“What, bathing?” Nicky teased.

“Shut up. I mean, bathing each other. It feels familiar. An ancient ritual from way before I got sick.”

“Hmm.”

“But I can’t remember, Nicky. I visit the place in my heart where I stored those memories, and it’s empty. Like they’ve been stolen.”

Joe heard the distress creep into his tone, and he was sure Nicky could hear it, too. Sure enough, Nicky set the washcloth down and cupped Joe’s face.

“Hey, shhh. Just breathe, my love. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“I feel like I keep hurting you when I forget important things about us. I don’t want to make you sad. But I can’t help it, Nicky, I don’t know-”

“Joe, ya amar, this isn’t your fault. You never make me sad, do you hear me? And it’s okay if you can’t remember. Getting to be here with you, in this moment, is so much more important to me than anything that came before.”

Joe lowered his eyes, unconvinced.

Nicky sighed. “Hey. The water is getting cold. Let me get your towel from the dryer, I’ll just be a moment.”

Seconds after Nicky left, his phone buzzed, sliding from the toilet lid to the floor. Joe frowned, extending a shaky arm out of the tub to put it back.

But as he picked up the phone, Joe caught sight of the date. June 18th. His frown deepened. June 18th, June 18th, June 18th…

Joe had no idea how he did it, but somehow, he managed to put two and two together. The pastizzi for breakfast. Their favorite restaurants. The trip to the mosque. The way Nicky’s hands had been impossibly gentler today, the way his eyes shined even softer with love.

“Why didn’t you tell me it’s our anniversary?” Joe demanded as soon as Nicky set foot in the bathroom.

Nicky froze. “Joe. How in God’s name did you remember that?”

“I figured it out.”

Nicky set the freshly washed towel on the toilet lid and knelt by the tub. “Joe-”

“You were celebrating it without telling me.” Joe sniffled, mortified to feel tears pooling in his eyes. Of all the things dementia had taken from him, this had to be the worst. He hadn’t even bought Nicky a present.

“Yusuf, please. Please let me explain?” Nicky begged, reaching into the tepid water to hold Joe’s hands.

Joe shook his head, feeling the tears slip loose. Nicky drew a shaky breath, leaning forward to kiss them away. He was crying, too, Joe realized with a start.

“Perdonami, my heart. Perdonami. I didn’t think you’d remember. I didn’t say anything because you would have been devastated that- that it’s gotten this bad. I couldn’t bear you blaming yourself for something so utterly out of your control.”

Joe didn’t reply.

“Joe, listen to me. It’s just a date on the calendar, my love.”

“I don’t want to forget you,” Joe whispered.

A sob caught in Nicky’s throat. He pulled off his shirt and stepped into the tub, wrapping Joe in his arms. Joe tucked his face into Nicky’s neck and cried like a baby.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Nicky croaked, rocking them back and forth. “Everything will be okay.”

It was late by the time they dried off and made it to bed, not bothering with clothes. Joe watched as Nicky put a second comforter at the foot of their bed, in case it got cold during the night. When they were finally snuggled together beneath the covers, Joe spoke.

“Nicky?”

“Hmm?”

“If- when I forget you, will you forgive me?”

Nicky pulled him closer, inhaling deeply as he tangled a hand in Joe’s hair. “There will be nothing to forgive, hayati.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose-”

“I know, Yusuf. I know. You never need to explain yourself to me.”

“Nicolò, promise me that- promise me that you won’t forget. Please don’t forget me.” Joe muffled a whimper, pressing closer until he could feel Nicky’s heart beating against his chest.

There was a long silence. When Nicky spoke, his voice was the steadiest Joe had ever heard.

“My beloved, I promise you that I will not forget. Whether or not you remember, whether or not you can even tell I’m there, I will be at your side for as long as we have together. I will take care of you in every way I know how. And when there is nothing left to do, I will honor your memory until my dying breath. I promise.”

Joe couldn’t reply, couldn’t breathe, as he felt his eyes well up again. His husband rubbed a soothing hand up and down his back, and gradually, the moment of terror passed. Joe relaxed into the sensation, falling asleep to the rhythm of Nicky’s heart and the echo of his magnanimous words.

***

“He doesn’t speak much, now,” Nicky briefed Nile and Booker as he helped carry their overnight bags in. “You’ll have to introduce yourselves.”

Months had passed since their anniversary, and Nicky was adjusting to this new life right alongside Joe. Their dynamic had changed, but their love had not.

Joe no longer walked up behind Nicky and hugged him while he cooked. Nicky no longer woke up at 2AM to find Joe hunched over his sketchbook, struck by some untimely inspiration. They’d never had much need for words, but now, verbal conversation was even rarer.

Instead, they spoke the well-loved language of gentle touches, of midday naps wrapped in each other’s arms. A spontaneous kiss never failed to make Joe smile, and Joe’s smile was enough to make Nicky’s entire day. Their interactions fell back on a bedrock of trust one thousand years in the making. Of course there were bad days - days colored with grief and sickness and loneliness - but far more often, Nicky found his heart flooded with quiet gratitude.

“Hello, Joe,” Nile said, kneeling in front of Joe’s chair and taking his hand. “I’m Nile. It’s lovely to see you.”

Joe said nothing, but his lips curved up in a tentative smile. Booker came forward and knelt next to Nile.

“Hey, buddy. It’s Booker. Long time no see. I don’t know how much of this you understand, Joe, but I hope you know that we love you. So, so much.”

“Hmm,” Joe grunted softly. He turned his other palm over in his lap, as if in invitation. Booker wrapped his hands around Joe’s, eyes shining as he brought it to his lips with reverence.

“I think he knows, Booker,” Nicky smiled fondly. “Come on, I made rice. You two must be hungry from the long plane ride.”

It was later that night, after everyone had eaten and napped, that Nicky remembered about the letters. Joe sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket, watching with interest as Nicky, Nile, and Booker played Snakes & Ladders on the coffee table.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Nicky exclaimed.

“What?” Nile asked.

“No, no, no - stop trying to distract us,” Booker said shrewdly. “You’re about to land on that snake and you know it. No cheating.”

Nile laughed. “He’s right. Take the fall, old man. You’re back to square five. Come on.”

Nicky scowled, sliding his piece all the way down the board. He’d been so close to winning.

From the couch, Joe snickered. Nile and Booker looked at him in surprise.

“He understands what’s going on?” Booker asked incredulously.

“Just enough to know when to laugh at me.” Nicky rolled his eyes, stopping to kiss Joe’s forehead as he walked away. A soft smile melted across Joe’s face, and he snuggled deeper into his blanket.

“I didn’t think he could get any more adorable, but here we are,” Nile commented. “Joe, you’re a sap, you know that?”

“You’re one to talk,” Nicky countered as he returned with the envelopes. “Remind me again what you gave Booker for your last anniversary?”

“A five-page poem comparing our love to the heavens from five different religious traditions,” Booker bragged. “It was the best thing I’ve ever read.”

Nile blushed furiously. “Alright, alright. Point taken. Hey, what are those?”

Nicky held up the envelopes. “Joe wrote us letters a few months back. One is for you two, and the other one is for me. But he said I couldn’t open mine until I gave you guys yours.”

Nicky handed Nile one of the envelopes and slipped the other into the pocket of his hoodie. Joe watched with mild curiosity, clearly not recognizing the letters.

“Should we call it a night?” Booker asked. “It’s nearly 1AM.”

“Quitting while you’re in the lead, Book?” Nicky teased. “But no, I think that’s a great idea. Joe would normally have slept hours ago.”

“He doesn’t look tired,” Nile observed.

“That’s because he’s entertained. He loves when people visit.”

The four of them walked towards the bedrooms. Nile and Booker waved goodbye to Joe as Nicky guided him into their room, before continuing down the hallway to the guest room.

“Nicky’s set everything up for us,” Nile appreciated. “These sheets are so soft.”

“That man works too hard. I worry about him.” Booker ran a hand through his hair fretfully. “I don’t know, Nile, I feel like we should hang around here more. Help Nicky out, spend more time with Joe.”

Nile stepped out of her clothes and curled up under the covers. Booker followed suit.

“We could,” she agreed. “I would appreciate the change of pace. And of course, having the family together will be nice.”

“But you would get restless.”

“Me and you both, Book.” Nile turned to face him, reaching out to caress his cheek. “I know, I know the point of immortality isn’t to fight all the time. But when we’re not fighting, I feel like we’re wasting this gift.”

“Yeah. I’ve had centuries longer to get used to immortality, and I still feel that way.”

“Maybe we could visit more often?”

“Hmm,” Booker smiled. “That would be nice.”

“Hey. Should we open Joe’s letter?”

“Oh, yeah! Definitely.” Booker propped himself up against the headboard, holding out an arm to Nile. She snuggled up next to him, carefully opening the envelope.

“Here we go.”

***

There were good days, and there were bad days. Nicky had spent centuries caring for the world, and now, he savored the years he’d been given to care for his world.

Nile and Booker visited more now, and Nicky sensed, deep down, that something had changed. Late-stage Alzheimer’s had not been easy on Joe - the darkness that came with cognitive decline was an extremely unpleasant experience for someone who preferred putting their emotions into words. And then, as Joe’s motor skills wore down, he’d found himself increasingly cut off from his art. Nicky had ached for him, helpless to provide much relief.

But these days, there was a calmness about Joe that hadn’t been there before. The anxiety gave way to an aura of peace, especially when Joe could see or hear Nicky nearby. Often, Nicky would stop whatever he was doing to just come sit with Joe, trying to absorb some of his serenity. It was like being in the presence of someone deep in meditation.

One night, Nicky returned to their bedroom after doing the dishes to find Joe sitting up against the headboard.

“Still awake, hayati?” He shook out the sheets as he undressed for bed, not expecting a response.

“Nicolò.”

Nicky froze. Surely he’d hallucinated that; it had been over a year since Joe was able to recognize him by name. He didn’t dare look up.

“Nicolò, my beloved,” Joe repeated, voice hoarse with disuse. Nicky closed his eyes, clamping down on a sob. He tossed the sheets aside and crawled into bed, reaching for Joe.

“What is it?” Nicky asked as he took Joe’s hands in his own, kissing his cold knuckles. “Tell me.”

“It’s time.”

“No,” Nicky shook his head, wrapping his arms around Joe. He was utterly unprepared for this. “No, no, please God, please, no…”

Nicky clung to Joe, sobbing unrestrainedly into his shoulder. This couldn’t be happening. This was madness. A nightmare, Nicky decided - a particularly torturous nightmare that he would soon wake up from. And Joe would be next to him, perfectly fine, their lives untouched by this ugly monster of a disease.

When he finally calmed down enough to pull back, Nicky found Joe watching him, eyes round with unshed tears. The moment of lucidity had passed, Nicky realized. All Joe could see now was his seemingly causeless distress.

Joe tightened his grip on Nicky’s arm minutely in a silent question, and Nicky almost wanted to laugh. Even now, Joe was still checking in with him.

“It’s nothing, love.” Nicky wiped his eyes quickly. “Let’s sleep, yeah? You must be tired.”

Nicky helped Joe lie down on his back before lying down next to him. He pulled Joe closer, gently kissing the shell of his ear.

“I love you,” Nicky murmured, the words feeling like too much and not enough. “I’m going to tell you a story tonight, okay?”

Joe grunted his assent, already half asleep. Nicky closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to ground himself. He thought back to Joe’s letter, to the words he’d memorized the very night he read them.

When the time comes, amore mio, I ask that you hold me close. And speak to me, please. I want to hear everything - how we met in Jerusalem, our adventures with Andy and Quynh, all the bets you lost to Booker, the delight on Nile’s face when you let her use the paints you’d preserved from the 1500s. I want to hear about all the times we got married, and all the anniversaries we celebrated. Most of all, Nicky, I want to hear your voice. I want to move on from this world surrounded by you, your beautiful voice, your loving hands.

And in case I can’t tell you then, I love you. Deep down, I think I’ve always loved you, even before we made peace. And I know I will always love you, be it in this world or the next. Please never doubt this, my all. I love you so much.

Nicky struggled for a moment to regain control, overwhelmed at the memory. Then, lips touching Joe’s ear, he began to speak. He held Joe in his arms as he whispered their story into the silence of the night. Joe sighed deeply in his sleep, pliant in Nicky’s embrace.

Nicky had no idea how long he continued on - hours, at least. There was so much to say. He talked and talked until he fell asleep next to Joe, right where he belonged.

***

“Abort mission,” Nile hissed into the comms. “Code Red. Meet me at the checkpoint ASAP.”

Minutes later, Booker jogged up to the checkpoint. “What happened? Are you okay? I’d almost gotten through-” Booker stopped, noticing Nile’s tear-streaked face. His tone softened immediately. “Mon amour, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Nile sniffled. “Joe’s gone, Book. He’s gone.”

Booker staggered backwards like he’d been slapped. “Gone?! What the fuck do you mean, gone?”

Nile pressed a fist to her mouth to stifle a sob. “Voicemail.” She held out her phone.

Booker put the phone to his ear and listened. He heard Nicky’s voice, quiet and anguished, but felt oddly removed from the whole situation. What language was Nicky speaking? It sounded like Italian, so why wasn’t it making sense?

“Hey, Book? Talk to me, love. Hey.”

Nile’s voice, Booker thought. It sounded like she was talking to him through a very long cardboard tube. His vision swam. Everything seemed so distorted.

“Booker!”

The next thing he knew, Booker was blinking up at Nile from the ground, head half in her lap.

“Do not pass out on me,” Nile muttered through gritted teeth. “Get up, Book, please. I can’t do this. Not alone. Please.”

Booker felt an itch on his cheek, but when he reached up to scratch it, his hand came away wet with tears. Nicky’s words, tinny and wrecked with sorrow, floated back into his head.

It suddenly struck him that Nicky was an ocean away, alone with his grief. Booker pushed himself to his feet, holding out a hand to Nile.

“Come on. We have to go to Malta.”

They fought on the trip, during a two-hour layover in Spain. Exhausted, hungry, and grieving, it was no surprise their tempers ran unusually short.

“What do you mean, let him be?” Nile assuredly did not yell. She was simply disagreeing loudly. “He’s lost his life partner of a thousand years, Book! He needs support - he needs family.”

“And what makes you think we can be that for him? What makes you think we can even start to fill the void left by Joe’s absence?!”

“It’s not about filling the damn void-”

“You don’t know what it’s like! When I lost my mortal wife, I felt like I’d lost everything! Even though I had Andy, and Joe, and Nicky, and- and you.”

“You were entitled to your grief, Book. So is Nicky. But I lost people too, so don’t you dare tell me I don’t know what it’s like. I’m immortal, too. I’ve lost my parents. It’s not just you.”

“No, that’s not- Listen! It took me centuries, centuries, to overcome that grief. I didn’t want to. I wouldn’t have done it if I had a choice. All I’m saying is… Nicky has a choice, Nile. He’s mortal.”

Nile’s eyes went wide. “So you’re saying we just- let him take his own life?!”

“I’m saying it’s not our decision to make! And it’s not… morally wrong or something if he chooses that. Look, chronic pain is real, Nile, whether it’s physical or emotional. Everyone who can has a right to opt out.”

“This isn’t the same thing as euthenasia, Book.”

“It’s not so different either, is it?”

There was a minute of silence as they stared daggers at each other across the terminal bench. Then Booker sighed.

“They’re closer than we could ever imagine, Nile. They’re one soul, two bodies. If he wants to go, we have to let him go.”

Nile sat down, running a hand down her face in devastation. “What about the letter?”

“What letter?”

“You know what letter. Joe’s letter. He asked us for one thing, Booker. One thing only. And that was that we don’t let Nicky die of a broken heart.”

“It doesn’t matter. Joe’s not here. Nicky is.”

“How could you dismiss his last wishes like that?”

“Nile, look at me. What do you think Joe wants above all else? What’s the only thing he’s ever really wanted?”

“For Nicky to be happy,” Nile whispered after a beat. “Love, can’t we at least try? Can’t we just… be there for him?”

“Of course,” Booker said, sitting down next to her and taking her hand. “Of course. But we cannot choose for him, amour. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Okay,” Nile sniffled, not entirely convinced. “Okay. I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

“I’m sorry, too. I’m just really…” Booker waved a hand in the air, trying to find the words. “Broken. I feel broken. Like I’m not myself.”

“I understand. I feel like that, too.”

“Hey. We don’t board for another 20 minutes. Can I get you a coffee?”

Nile managed a tired half-smile. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

***

In the end, it took four days of sleeping on Nicky’s couch for them to convince Nicky to drink water. It was another two days before he could keep down any food.

On the ninth day, Nicky broke down in front of them for the first time, crying his heart out as Booker and Nile just held him, murmuring gentle nothings and waiting out the tears.

They decided, at length, to take the year off from missions. They stayed with Nicky in the large house, trying to make it feel less empty. The grief would hit each of them at different times, and when it did, the other two would be there, always ready to lend a shoulder to cry on.

Within a year, the depression was slowly starting to lift. None of them had quite moved on, but they were very deliberately trying to make peace with this new reality.

Nicky fell back on simple rituals. Across from his bed, where he could see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night, he pinned up one of Joe’s charcoal self-portraits. Nicky loved it for how raw and alive it was in its beauty; not simply an image of Joe, but one that still carried traces of his fingertips in the sweeping strokes, the perspective of his eyes in the lighting.

Every morning, Nicky would kiss the tips of his fingers and press them to the bottom of the portrait in benediction. Then, he would close his eyes, letting the love and sorrow flow freely in his chest for a few minutes.

“I will see you again, hayati,” he would say. “Wait for me by the gates of Heaven, just as you did by the gates of Jerusalem. I will be with you again soon.”

It was a ritual that Nile and Booker supported wholeheartedly.

“Tell Joe to say hi to Andy for me,” Booker would add.

“Tell Joe I miss him. No one else will geek out with me over the Impressionist Movement,” Nile would grumble.

Sometimes, Nicky thought, it was like Joe was simply away on a mission. Like he would walk back through the door at any moment.

“Maybe he never left,” Nile mused once when Nicky voiced this thought. The three of them were sitting on the veranda, sipping hot tea and watching people mull about on the street.

Nicky frowned. “I want his soul to be at peace, Nile. Not wandering around like a ghost.”

“You know what they say. Not all who wander are lost.”

“I do feel like he’s here, sometimes,” Nicky confessed. “People say that your loved ones never truly leave you, that they stay alive in your heart, but I always figured it was a metaphor. I never imagined it could feel so real.”

“Can I ask you something, Nicky?” Booker’s voice shook slightly with hesitation.

“Hmm, go ahead.”

“How- how did you survive?”

Nicky rubbed his eyes. “Joe would never forgive me if I didn’t. That was the main reason. But I also believe that this is my penance.”

“For what?”

“For how we met. For what I did to him, to his people, his family. All this pain - being without him, mourning him - this is what finally cleanses me of my actions. It hurts, every day it hurts, but I can’t bring myself to run from it.” He stared down into his tea for a long moment. “I will continue on until it is my time, because it’s what my Joe would have wanted.”

***

Three years after Joe’s passing, Nicky finally gathered the courage to sort through his things. As he carried a stack of notebooks from the closet to the bed, one slipped to the ground and fell open.

Nicky set the others down and picked it up, running his fingertips over the page. It was a poem, written in Joe’s familiar cursive.

Empires rise and fall In a blink of God’s eye, The laws of nature bend As what’s mortal becomes divine. And the realization dawns When I see I’m left behind, Humankind’s greatest inheritance Is losing something to time.

As Nicky contemplated this, his cell phone blared to life on the nightstand. He reached for it distractedly.

“Hello?”

“Nicky,” Nile gasped on the other end.

“Nile? Dio, isn’t it like 3AM there?”

“Yeah, I woke up. How fast can you get to Medina?”

“Uh… I could book a flight for a few hours out?”

“Great, do that. Booker and I are already on the way to the airport.”

“Wha- Nile, slow down. What’s going on?”

There was a brief pause. Then-

“We had this dream. There’s a new one.”

[luci-cunt]

Hannigram??? Works???

aka: Hannibal and Will’s relationship isn’t healthy but at the end of the series its sort of has the potential to be? Or: a very long and rambly analysis of idiot gay cannibals and the power of equal standing in relationships

(1.5k words because I murder brevity with my teeth)

Trigger/ Spoiler warning for: Hannibal

-------------------

Ok I said they have the potential to be healthy and not that they are healthy because--lol, they’re not. 

In the first season they’re “friends” but Hannibal’s also gaslighting the hell out of Will/ keeping a life threatening disease diagnosis from him/ framing him for murder/ shoving their daughters ear down his throat.

In the second season they’re almost enemies? but not really? Because Will is just as fucked up as Hannibal is so he doesn’t actually consider Hannibal to be his enemy, he just realizes he has Hannibal twisted around his finger and starts jerking the fucker around and it takes Hannibal all the way up to the finale to realize he’s not the one in control anymore.

In the third season they’re struggling because they don’t know how to be equals, they’re both fucked up and don’t know how to have normal, stable relationships so they’re jsut kind of feeling in the dark, falling back on old habits (eating your problems, murdering your problems, running away from your problems, etc) when things get uncomfortable. It’s--again--not until the season finale that they both realize that’s what they’re BOTH doing and find a comfort in realizing they’re both trying, but not succeeding.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Hannibal finds people interesting he “fosters codependency” so they cannot leave him (Abigail with the Boyle murder cover-up, Bedelia with getting eaten, Will with literally all the first season). Meanwhile Will just doesn’t do close relationships. Alana is the only person he considers to be his friend but she’s constantly fighting to keep that title, same with Beverly actually. Will himself doesn’t put any effort into keeping those friendships, he leaves it entirely up to them.

But Hannibal and Will’s bond forms so easily that it surprises both of them--and then when Hannibal defaults to his need to make Will dependent on him so he can’t leave, Will defaults to his rejection of dependency and points out that’s what Hannibal’s doing but also goes along with it because he finds himself almost wanting to be closer to the man.

This--the fact that Hannibal’s attempt at closeness is recognized and accepted, and that Will is allowing himself to be open with someone--is new to both of them. Equally.

(By the way this is in the form of Abigail, Hannibal fosters codependency by putting the responsibility of Abigail on both his and Will’s shoulders and Will allows this by recognizing it, pointing it out [”You’re fostering codependency doctor.”], and then still allowing it [going along with the Boyle cover up].)

Just--ok think about Dolce. (The ep where they reunite in the third season and Will tries to kill Hannibal only to get shot by Chiyoh and then for Hannibal to decide he’s going to eat Will’s brain before the Italian’s show up and kidnap them both.)

Will finding Hannibal is big for both of them: because it means that Will looked for Hannibal--actively sought him out by reflecting on past conversations they’ve had--and it also means that Hannibal was where Will could find him. It’s a shaky apology on both sides because they aren’t willing to actually apologize for any of their actions but they recognize the pain they’ve caused on another.

However, Will tries to murder Hannibal because he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I mean--he does--what I mean is that this relationship is such unexplored territory for both of them that it’s uncomfortable at first, and Will doesn’t trust Hannibal to be waiting on the other side while he stumbles thru the dark rn, so he falls back on old habits and tries murdering the problem.

Hannibal tries to eat Will’s brain because he’s also falling back on old habits (eating his problems) because he’s also uncomfortable with the new territory. He’s just more open to fumbling, but he’s hypersensitive to rejection (Mizumono, Dolce, getting himself arrested when Will tells him to get gone, that “Was it good to see me Will?” scene, etc.), and he takes Will’s stabbing attempt as rejection. At least until he drags him away and they have their “you forgive like god does Will--would you have made it quick? Or would you have stopped to gloat?” “Does god gloat?” “Often.” Conversation, and he realizes he’s not being rejected BUT he reminded that he’s still terrified OF the rejection so--boop eat the man.

(Oh also Will running away from the problem by letting Hannibal kill him--which, yes, is what was happening. He could have warned Jack that Hannibal was under the table as SOON as Jack came in the door but instead he waits until the last possible second. Also you can’t blame it on the drugs either if he can complain about Hannibal’s soup and keep up with this idiots waxing poetic ramblings he can tell that Jack came in. Also also also: Hannibal told him Jack was coming and also got under the table literally there was no reason for Will to NOT call out to Jack when he came in except that he didn’t want Jack to stop Hannibal.)

I guess what I’m trying to say is that in season one the power balance is in Hannibal’s court--and season two it’s in Will’s--and then in season three it’s wildly rocking back and forth between both of them before someone hits a metaphorical pause button--aka the “this is all I’ve ever wanted for you--for us.” “It’s beautiful.” scene.

Fundamentally I think this show is about Hannibal and Will’s relationship. The cliff scene is as much an ending as it is a beginning. That “it’s beautiful” exchange is both of them realizing they’re EQUALLY having trouble finding footing in their relationship, they’re realizing they’re BOTH uncomfortable to a certain degree with the new territory and that it’s just that for both of them--new territory.

Idk, you know when you’re taking a test and you have no idea what the answer to some question is so you’re slyly trying to look around to figure out if you’re the only one being stupid or if it’s just a hard test? And you don’t see anyone else looking around so you just miserably try your best but it’s not your best becasue you’re already in the mindset that you’re an idiot? And it’s not until after the test at lunch when you hear everyone else talking about how difficult it was that you realize you weren’t the only one struggling?

THATS this.

Hannibal and Will are both extremely lonely people becasue they’re fucked up. No one can know Hannibal entirely because he’s a serial cannibal, and no one can know Will entirely because his boredom with other peoples mortality scares them. Neither of them have been seen entirely until the other came into their lives, but they’re not used to being seen so it’s scary.

Both of them react to one another hostilely first--Will blatantly being an asshole at the prospect of Hannibal psychoanalyzing him and then Hannibal putting on this guise of “I’m completely removed from the situation and just curious to wind this man up and watch him go” but he’s not removed.

Honestly to me it feels like it was originally Hannibal’s plan to just leave Will in jail taking the blame for his murders, but actually misses Will, because being seen was scary but the other option is so lonely.

Will’s going through something similar, but he’s less inflammatory. Hannibal is all action, present--Will is getting too close? Get rid of him. He starts missing Will? Get him back. He has a problem and he acts on it immediately.

Will is patient and willing to wait and watch--Hannibal frames him for murder? Set up an elaborate series of events that will end in Hannibal losing something he holds more dear than his own life--his freedom. Mason kills his unborn child? Convince Mason to kill Hannibal so that Hannibal will torture Mason for Will.

Hannibal is dramatic and Will is apathetic, they’re both danger but different brands.

If the first two seasons are them trading power, then the third is them wildly grabbing for it despite the fact that they don’t want power over one another, and that final episode--that final scene--is them realizing this.

I said it was a beginning as much as an ending because it’s now that their relationship can finally actually advance, but it’s also the conclusion of them working separately, and instead embracing the idea of fumbling together.

I honestly don’t know where people get the idea that the show is about Hannibal “corrupting” Will. If that’s the case then this final episode makes this show a tragedy. Good succumbing to evil.

But--motherfuckers its not!!!

Will isn’t good, he tells us from the first episode he enjoyed killing Hobbes, that the reason he stopped being a cop was because he knew once he started killing he wouldn’t be able to stop. He manipulates people constantly, he got Abel killed, tried to get Chilton murdered, and then a season later he gets Chilton burned alive. He’s not good, he’s fucked up!!!

This show isn’t about corruption--it’s about realization!!!

Idk I love them, I hate them, and I love them.

[scripttorture]

I have a weird scenario and i want to ask about its implications, mostly focusing on soliditary confinement aspects. So I am writing about this all powerful being who is immortal+eternally youthful (with a human like mind) who gets trapped in basically a big snowglobe created by his powers. Its a big mostly open space set inside a forest with a magic mansion to occupy him and provide him basic needs and the limits of the globe are very defined. {1/4}

{Weird anon} After some time alone he comes to create a friend to accompany him and make sure everything goes well during his absence using his powers. This friend can and does leave for periods of time to fullfill his duties but comes back. The being also realises during his imprisonment his powers dwindle with time and the globe starts to get smaller as he starts to age, meaning he will either die from old age or the globe shrinking. {2/4} {WA}After what he thinks must be a long time, his graying hair biggest indication, kids who knew about his legend come to discover him. They then bring him their older sibling, then their parents to talk and after some plot he gets to get some of his powers back and be free. (Posting my questions in the last part) {3/4} {WA} I was wondering if the confinement area being comfy and big, him having this friend would help during confinement? How could he react to aging/idea of dying? Although this isnt very possible in RL, could the fact he had to create this friend ,but mostly the fact he would have no one else if he didnt, get to him? How could he interract with kids/people who found him, i know people tend to have difficulty with interractions after time. Ty for your help! {4/4} {WA EXTRA} Forgot to mention these but 3 kids are 10 to 12, older sibling is 14-15, parents are mid thirties . Again, thank you for your time.

-

That’s an interesting fantasy scenario (and not even close to the weirdest thing I’ve been asked) thank you for sharing it :)

 I think the first thing to grasp is that this character isn’t constantly in solitary confinement here and that’s a smart writing choice. You’ve got the character creating at least one companion and even though that companion isn’t always present that means it’s likely they’re both getting at least 1-2 hours of contact most of the time.

 That doesn’t mean this isn’t a stressful situation and it doesn’t mean there are no periods of solitary confinement.

 But it gives you leeway to make the effects of this fairly realistic even with the fantasy concept.

 Having a big, comfortable space doesn’t really make a difference to how well people deal with isolation. Socialising is a physical need for social species like humans. But the presence of a companion makes the world of difference.

 I think the first thing to decide is exactly how long it takes him to make his companion. A lot of people really overestimate the time we can withstand isolation.

 For reference the safe period is about a week. After that most people will start to show symptoms and the symptoms are a lot more likely to persist after release. A month is more then enough time for the character to be seriously effected. A year is a really extreme amount of time. And by the time you start getting to multiple years the chances of suicide attempts are… significant.

 With the kind of story you’re describing I get the impression you want long term effects but don’t want symptoms etc to take over the story. I think 1-3 months is a perfect time frame for that. The character would develop long term symptoms but it’s still in the realm where it’s survivable. Which means it’s less likely to take over the whole narrative.

 You’ve probably seen my masterpost on solitary confinement but here it is again just in case :) I really recommend Shalev’s Sourcebook on Solitary Confinement which is linked as one of the sources on the post.

 As with the symptoms of torture more generally you’ve got some scope to choose symptoms because not everyone will experience every single symptom. There’s still some debate about how common individual symptoms are. However broadly depression and anxiety seem to be very common and hallucinations are less common (though they seem to become more likely the longer someone is confined). It’s a good idea to pick a mix of physical and psychological symptoms.

 If you choose insomnia as a symptom remember that sleep deprivation also causes problems which you can read about in the masterpost here.

 If this is your first time writing something like this then picking out symptoms can be daunting. I try to think of it in terms of what adds to the story. I try to consider the characters, plot and overall themes. Symptoms that give you opportunities to show aspects of the character’s personality, change their relationship with other characters, highlight themes in the story and/or create interesting problems in the plot later on are all good picks.

 It’s also important to consider what you’re comfortable writing and what you feel able to write. If you don’t want to write self harm for example that’s a perfectly good reason for ruling out that symptom.

 I have a post that outlines my process for picking symptoms that might be helpful for you. :)

 I think that brings us round to the more fantasy side of the questions.

 I’ll be honest and say that I don’t know how people generally deal with the idea that they’re going to die soon. I suspect that there’d be a lot of individual variation. I think you’ll get the best answers by looking up charities that support people with terminal illnesses.

 I found a couple of links at Marie Curie that might serve as a starting point. There’s this page on palliative care. This general page (with lots of links and first hand accounts) of living with a terminal illness. You might find this page about emotionally processing a terminal diagnosis helpful.

 I would treat the emotional issues around the created companion the same as a character who is reliant on only one person for their social needs. Which can put a lot of weird strains on a relationship.

 I’m not a psychologist and what I say here is based on impressions I gained from interviews with people who are very isolated. If you see a mental health professional or someone who studies isolation more seriously saying something different take their word over mine. Because my reading and knowledge is broad rather then deep.

 Relying on one person for all your social needs isn’t healthy. We all have different needs and it’s a lot easier for those needs to be met when we’re interacting with more then one person. Being entirely reliant on one person puts a lot of pressure on that person. It can make it seem like any problems or issues the more isolated person has are the other person’s fault.

 Because they’re not magically meeting all of someone’s needs. And I say ‘magically’ because it’s almost impossible for one person to do the ‘job’ of a dozen people.

 There can be a lot of guilt, resentment and anger floating around in this sort of dependant relationship. Even when both parties are genuinely trying their best and trying to be healthy.

 Any depressive period or severe mood swing on the part of the reliant character might be interpreted as failure by the companion. As if it’s their job to ‘fix’ the mental health problems he has. And that can lead to a lot of internalised guilt and shame.

 Conversely being aware of how dependant he is could make the confined character resent the comparative freedom of his companion. They get to leave. They’ll survive the end of this snow-globe. They’ve never had to be alone as he was.

 The companion has a lot of power in this scenario because the confined character is entirely reliant on them. They also have the power to leave. Knowing that can breed resentment, whether it’s rational or not. And if it’s irrational and ‘undeserved’ that can lead to a degree of self hatred and guilt.

 For both parties anger at each other and the situation seems likely. Not necessarily all the time but I think it’s likely to come up over and over again.

 The companion has their own desires and wants. But the confined character is entirely dependant on them and may well expect them to drop everything to help him/meet his socialisation needs. And the thing is that’s unfair on both of them, because the situation is unfair.

 That’s not a critique of the story. It’s unfair for the confined character to expect the companion to be able to meet all his needs and to drop everything to help him. But it’s also not unreasonable for the confined character to grasp at his only option for fulfilling a fundamental need.

 I think that if you wanted to treat this ‘realistically’ then it would lead to a pretty unhealthy co-dependant relationship however much both characters tried to avoid that.

 But you do have the ability to reduce or avoid that in your story. Because you choose the rules for how this companion feels, acts and behaves.

 The confined character may be human-like but in a lot of ways the companion does not have to be. A realistic human-like person would not be able to support all the social needs of another person. But there’s no reason the companion has to be that human.

 If you do choose to deviate from a more human-like character I think my advice would be to think through any changes you make logically. And be consistent. If for instance the character can’t feel angry or resentful towards their creator think through what that might mean.

 Which leaves the final question about interacting with others and how difficult that can be after periods of isolation.

 The exact way this effects interactions depends chiefly on the symptoms you pick out and the character’s personality.

 Generally mentally ill people do not want to be assholes or upset other people. But we do tend to have greater difficulties interacting with people and our social interactions can go badly in ways that healthy people don’t tend to experience.

 For instance say we have a character who has a severe anxiety disorder and this disorder is often set off by noises they don’t expect. That’s a fairly common symptom and a fairly common trigger for it.

 That means that kids running around, shouting or just talking loudly about something that excites them, could set off an anxiety attack.

 Some people would get angry in that situation. Because they’re in pain and, even though they did not mean to, those kids ‘caused’ that pain.

 Some people would abruptly remove themselves from the situation. Which could leave the kids wondering why/how they upset their new friend so much.

 Some people would stick around and not blame the kids. But they might have visible signs of their anxiety attack that could be very frightening for a child who doesn’t understand what’s going on. If an adult they care about suddenly starts shaking and breathing hard and needs to sit down and looks pale- Well worry is natural. And it’s difficult to explain triggers/mental health problems while you’re in the middle of an anxiety attack.

 So there’s a set of issues that are symptom driven and around the extra difficulties interacting while mentally ill. There’s also a set of issues around… basically forgetting how to socialise.

 This doesn’t necessarily mean being age in-appropriate.

 I think the best way to think about it is a combination of finding it harder to interpret other people’s emotional cues and being less aware of the cues they’re sending out themselves. It might take longer for the character to realise they’ve upset someone or they might misidentify the other person’s emotional response.

 They might also think less before they speak. Which can mean things like- I guess not moderating what they say to account for other people’s feelings? They might come across as blunt or thoughtless or scatter brained as they jump from one topic to another. They might also have less of a grasp of when to give the other person space and let them speak.

 The biggest thing I see survivors of solitary report is that normal social interaction makes them much more anxious/nervous then it did before they were confined. Socialising has a bigger ‘cost’ then before, in terms of energy and emotional impact.

 And this often means they withdraw from it more quickly. They need to take breaks. Or they start getting more stressed and frustrated.

 I think the main thing to navigate here would be how to explain these conditions and needs to children in a way that doesn’t seem like it’s blaming the kids. Which is certainly possible, but can take some time and care to get right.

 I think I’ll leave it there and if you’ve got any further questions drop them in when the ask box reopens. I hope that helps :)

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Disclaimer

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

Headstrong

Part Six

Summary: After a health scare in Los Angeles, Haven tries to make amends.  Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC Word Count: 1865 Warnings: Post-brain injury symptoms, language. A/N: Taglist is open, you can be added to the one for this fic or Buckvember simply by sending an ask. I don’t know a whole lot about how boxing standings work, so just know that any errors are unintentional and everything is for the sake of the story. Happy Reading!

Series Masterlist

GIF found via Google Image Search. 

Another concussion, the doctors in Los Angeles had concluded. Haven had indeed taken a risk, going into that fight still suffering symptoms from her head injury after the car accident. The neurologist in the ER gave her a very stern lecture on taking these sort of risks with her life, and ordered off fighting for another month, to allow her head time to heal. Running was fine, as was light weight training, as long as she didn’t push herself, but sparring or another fight was out of the question. 

 A few days later, Haven woke up in her own bed, feeling awful. It had nothing to do with her physical state, despite the headache still plaguing her. The awful feeling stemmed from a lot of guilt she felt over not telling Bucky sooner. The relief in his expression and carriage had been undeniable when the doctor had told them the diagnosis wasn’t life threatening. After that, he hadn’t spoken to her. Hell, he would hardly even look at her. 

Since they returned home the day after the fight, Haven had called Bucky three times, but he hadn’t returned her calls. She couldn’t blame him for that. If her condition had turned out to be worse, a lot of people would have placed blame on him … the fault was all her own. 

Meandering down to the kitchen, she drank down a glass of water before pouring herself a cup of coffee. Wes was at the kitchen table on his laptop and bid her a quiet good morning. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Wes continued, “that jump off the cliff — was that really a stress-reliever, or was that an impulse-control issue because of brain damage?”

Haven shrugged and sunk to one of the chairs. “Maybe some of both. The doctors said I’ll be fine, though, so no need to worry. I just need to keep an eye on things. Not put so much pressure on myself when fights come up. Take this month to take really heal, all of that.”

Wes went back to his work on the computer for a couple of minutes before interrupting the silence again. “He was really worried about you, you know.”

“Who was?”

“Bucky,” Wes answered, rolling his eyes. “Who else could I mean?”

“The doctor?”

Wes shook his head. “You’re so dumb sometimes. I should have them check your head again. Yes, Bucky was really worried about you. He was angry, but I think it’s only because he was so worried. You know?”

Haven chewed on her bottom lip and chipped away at the fading glaze on her coffee cup. “He won’t return my calls. We’re supposed to start training again tomorrow — the things I can do — and I don’t even know if I have a coach or not. Damn it, I should have told him. I was being so … so …”

“Stubborn,” Wes supplied. “Stubborn would be the word you were looking for. And, by the way, you dragged me into it, thanks. I’m not going to lie for you again. The thing is — never mind that. It’s not my point. My point is, Haven, Bucky was really worried about you. More than I would expect him to be.”

Haven frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know there was a limit to which people could worry about other people.” 

“I’m being serious so quit being a brat. What’s going on with you and Barnes?”

“Nothing is going on with me and Barnes. I crossed that line with Rum, I’m damn sure not going to cross it again. That was a catastrophe of epic proportions, and, quite frankly, almost cost me my life — and, let’s not even bring my career into it.”

Wes closed his laptop and rubbed his hands into his eyes. “Rum’s an irresponsible, selfish, manipulative asshole. If you ask me, he saw you coming and took advantage of it. Bucky isn’t like that. He wants what’s best for you, he understands you, you guys work well together. He doesn’t train you, he trains with you. Brock was using you to make a name for himself and to take all the credit. Bucky doesn’t do that — he’s here for you.” He leaned back in the chair. “I’ve watched the two of you since he started coming around. There's a tension you both have that goes away when you're together.”

Haven sipped at her coffee but didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Knowing her brother the way she did, she knew he wasn’t telling her to hurry out and date Bucky or ask him out — he simply wanted her to consider Bucky as an option. She reached her fingers up to her lips, remembering their kiss in the ocean. 

“Right now, I just need to know if I still have a coach,” she finally commented, getting up to put her coffee cup in the sink, “and if he won’t answer my calls, I’ll just go to him.”

Bucky was running late for Steve and Charlotte’s get-together. He may have already know what they were going to announce, but it was important to him that he be there, especially after the conversation with Steve the previous week. He was trying to be a better friend than he had been after the cancer diagnosis. 

“Wallet, phone, keys,” he muttered to himself as he made sure he had each item before opening his apartment door. He didn’t expect Haven to be standing there, hand poised to knock. He took a step back from the surprise. “Haven.”

“Hey,” she greeted, blushing and hesitant, “I’m sorry to barge in on you uninvited and unannounced, but you weren’t answering my phone calls. I know you’re mad, Buck, but I —”

“Listen, I don’t mean to interrupt you, but I’m on my way to an important thing. Kind of a family thing, actually.”

Haven shoved her hands in her pockets. “Oh, right. I’m sorry. I’ll just … well, call me later then. Please.”

She turned to go but Bucky called her name. He closed the apartment door behind him and locked it before motioning in the opposite direction she had been walking. 

“You wanna go with me?”

Haven shrugged. “Haven’t I intruded enough for one day?”

“No,” Bucky chuckled, “you haven’t. C’mon. It’ll be okay.”

He held his hand out to her and, after another few seconds of hesitation, Haven took it, following him out of the apartment building and down to his car. She buckled herself into the passenger seat and waited patiently while he got the car started and navigated into traffic. 

“So, uh, where are we going, exactly? You said a family thing?”

Bucky checked traffic at a stop sign before crossing the intersection. “More or less. My best friend Steven and his wife Charlotte are making a big announcement today to our close friend group.”

Haven gnawed on her bottom lip, wincing when she hit a sore spot. “Maybe this isn’t the kind of thing you bring … company for.”

“It’ll be fine,” Bucky assured. “How’s your head?”

“Fine,” she nodded. “No problems since we got home. I’m sorry, Coach, that I didn’t tell you about the head stuff to begin with. That wasn’t fair. I was just so ready mentally to get back in the ring, I didn’t care about the risks.”

Bucky drew in a breath. “First of all, how about we drop the coach title unless we’re training or something like that. I know you don’t want to cross personal lines, but we’ve kissed once —”

“And you’ve seen me naked,” Haven couldn’t help but giggle, her own attempt to lighten the situation a little. 

Bucky laughed with her, taking his eyes off the road long enough to see her smile. “And I’ve seen you naked, yes. So can we drop the title when we’re not doing boxing things?”

“I’ll try.”

“Fair enough,” he ceded. “Second, yes, you should have told me. I don’t care about it for my sake though, I care about it for yours. I don’t want to see you get hurt. Besides watching you dive off a cliff, not finding out about a potential head injury after you took headshots — that was one of the scariest moments in my life, Haven.” He took an exit off the highway, into a nice neighborhood. “I’m not Rumlow, I won’t use things against you. You don’t have to hide things from me.”

Haven looked out the passenger side window as rows of houses passed them by. “It isn’t easy to trust people after something like that.”

Bucky pulled up to a modest, cozy home. Several cars were already parked in the drive and in front of the house. Haven cleared her throat and unbuckled her seatbelt. 

“You’re sure they’re gonna be okay with me being here?” she asked him. 

Bucky caressed her cheek with his thumb. “You can trust me, Haven. They’re going to love you.”

From the panic in her expression, Bucky would have expected her hand reaching up to push his away from her, but instead, she held tight to his hand. 

“Promise?”

“Which part?”

She swallowed hard. “All of it.”

Maybe it was another risk, but Bucky took it: he pressed a soft kiss to her lips before answering her in a low, husky voice. 

“I promise.”

All of Bucky’s friends were welcoming and happy to meet Haven. Though they did ask some questions about the fight and her boxing career, most of the conversation centered around everyday chitchat, which, surprisingly, Haven was grateful for. 

When Steve and Charlotte announced they had a baby on the way, the whole friend group was excited, and Haven found herself excited for them, too. Bucky’s smile was quiet, so she nudged him lightly with her elbow. 

“Did you know about this?”

Bucky grinned mischievously. “They told me last week. I’m the best friend! Wanna know a secret?” Haven nodded, so Bucky leaned over to whisper in her ear. “If it’s a boy, they're gonna name it James.”

She ignored the shiver down her spine. “Is that a family name?”

Bucky saluted her. “James Buchanan Barnes at your service, Ms. Cleveland.”

“Oh!” Haven giggled, realizing it had never occurred to her that Bucky was a nickname. “Well, that’s an honor.”

“It is,” Bucky returned. 

The group returned to chitchat, though this time it was mostly baby-related. Haven felt good, being part of a friend group again where she wasn’t pressured to be a boxing star. Wasn't pressured to be Brock Rumlow’s perfect trophy girlfriend. Wasn’t pressured to be anyone other than herself. 

She was standing on Bucky’s left side and, mostly without thinking, she laced her fingers through his. However the prosthetic worked, Bucky’s vibranium fingers curled around hers before his eyes snapped toward her. Haven let go of his hand and apologized. 

“I just … I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Bucky took her hand again. “First time anyone’s willingly touched it besides me and the doctors.”

Haven nodded her understanding and pushed her fingers through his again. She re-joined the conversation as though she and Bucky held hands all the time, ignorant of the warm way he stared at her for several more seconds before Steve called for his attention again. 

Buckvember: @peace-love-hobbitness​​​ @disastersoldierbucky​​​ @connie326​​​ @rebekahdawkins​​​ @wonder-cole​​​ @shynara51​​​

Headstrong: @disastersoldierbucky​​​ @captain-s-rogers​​​ @amanda-teaches​​​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​​​ @tanelle83​​​ @tellmewhatyouwill​​​ @capandbuckylvr​​​ @pinknerdpanda​​​  @ntlmundy​​​ @siggy85​​​ @itsallyscorner​​​ @m-blasterrr​​​ @just-the-hiddles​​​

[physioblr]

How to get a 4.0 with ADHD-C and Dyscalculia

(Or, how to survive Uni as a disabled student)

Disclaimer: 

This is what has worked for me. I don’t claim that this will work for everyone. Not every ADHD brain is the same. Also other axis of privilege, time of diagnosis, and support are different between people. I have severe ADHD-C and was diagnosed as a young adult and had little support to help me deal with my symptoms until I met my partner. Psychiatrists aren’t trained to help you deal with the range of issues you will face. 

Do keep in mind as well that some professors are just ablest assholes. The idea that someone is kind, empathetic, or will always follow federal law just because they are in a profession that gives them a power differential is ridiculous. You may also run into professors that also take pride in their exam distributions looking like a statistician’s nightmare. Keep an eye out for the obvious dog whistles, and do research before registration when possible. If you end up in these situations, drop the class during the add/drop period if you can. If not, be prepared for your GPA to take a hit. 

I’m writing this from an American perspective, if you are in the UK/Europe I lived in Scotland for 5 years and would be happy to help if you have questions regarding the Equality Act 2010 and the UN convention of disability rights.

A. Lifestyle:

1. Sleep hygiene. Sleep = study retention.

I had trouble sleeping for most of my life. I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep or stay asleep at the appropriate times. A lot of people deal with this by being “night owls” — i.e. just accepting that our clocks are set later than neurotypicals’. Other people deal with this by sleeping on a biphasic or polyphasic sleep schedule. 

There is another option though. You can train yourself to go to sleep at the same time every night and wake up at the same time every morning. This might take a couple of weeks for your body to adjust. Here is how I did it:

Take your morning dose of medication about 30-40 minutes before you actually need to wake up. This allows medication to kick in. It’s similar to the trick of drinking a cup of coffee before taking a power nap. I have two alarms. One to take my medication, and the other to actually wake up. My medication alarms have a particular tone so that I don’t take my medication twice.

Wake up at the same time every day, including weekends. You can’t oversleep or your body won’t adjust. Do not press the snooze button. Get up right away to start your morning routine. The 5-10 minutes that your snooze gives you isn’t going to make you feel less tired. It will make your feel groggy, which is something called sleep inertia. Your body doesn’t get to complete a full sleep cycle, and it will donk you up.

Add going outside to your morning routine. Even if it’s the winter, or mostly dark. I have an adorable greyhound, and he has to go potty as soon as I wake up. In the very least open your blinds/curtains and open your windows to get some fresh air and morning light. Studies show that light effects our circadian rhythm. I find that even when it’s dark out though, going outside helps due to the cool morning air.

Keep a consistent morning routine. Do everything in order like you are going down a checklist of tasks. Make your bed as your final task. Don’t get back in your bed. Your bed is for sleep or sex only.

Go to bed at the same time every night, no matter what. Medication has likely worn off by the time you go to sleep, and contradictory to neurotypical belief, when your brain wanders it can make it harder to fall asleep. So can hyperfocusing. I find that reading can keep me up as I will hyperfocus, but listening to audiobooks doesn’t cause those problems. I turn off the lights, put a seep mask on, and play an audiobook with wireless headphones to help me get to sleep. I recommend reading/listening to something light like fantasy or science fiction.  Save thrillers, horror, and mystery books to listen to during the day.

2. Exercise.

I recommend exercising in the morning everyday, cardio and strength training. Even if you just do some cardio 10-15 minutes, it is still beneficial. Most exercise physiologists would recommend a rest day, but I’ve found that lighter days work better than complete rest days. You will see a noticeable difference in your hyperactivity symptoms. It’s not simply that it gets the fidgets out of your system, it is good for a hyperactive mind and helps with emotional dysregulation as well. It will help you sleep at night too.

Always speak to your doctor before you begin any exercise regimen, especially if you are taking 60+ mg of ADHD medication and have not exercised regularly on your medication previously.

3. Eating.

Eat at the same time everyday. Your body will tell you you’re hungry at those times. It’s also helpful to schedule your food around medication so that you don’t repress your natural appetite. Also, not that it needs to be said, but the brain uses up a lot of calories. You need to eat to retain what you learn.

4. Emotional Regulation.

This is one of the hardest parts of ADHD that no one ever talks about. You may not even know what this is, or that emotional dysregulation is a symptom of ADHD. It’s never mentioned in the DSM or ICD because emotions are hard (and expensive) to quantify. A lot of medical professionals have never even heard of it. If you want to read up on it, I suggest reading work by Dr. Russell A. Barkley. To give you the basics though, ADHD brains fail to self regulate emotions. We have emotional impulsivity. When we take in sensory information for conscious appraisal the pathway goes like this: stimulus —> thalamus —> cortex —> amygdala. Our frontal cortex is not the greatest at giving us context, or telling us to chill out, so our amygdala can be in the driver’s seat often. This aspect can make us really fun people, because it can make us get excited easily and enjoy life to the fullest. It can also cause us problems. For example, expressing anger at your boss or teacher (even if you are rightfully angry) might not be the best—diplomacy may give a better outcome. Our amygdala doesn’t know what is best for our future selves.

So, how does one regulate emotion when you’re brain doesn’t function like you want it? Try practicing mindfulness. And no, I’m not taking about attending to everything coming into your working memory or weird granola hippy garbage. When you are having an emotional response, check in with yourself. Are you feeling overstimulated? Are you feeling understimulated? Are you hungry, are you thirsty? Are you tired? Is your medication wearing off? Notice patterns, notice what triggers the emotion, write it down. Develop a proverbial toolbox that can help you when you are not regulating your emotions well. This toolbox is individual to you, and it may take some trial and error.

Keep in mind that trauma is different than emotional dysregulation, although our emotional dysregulation doesn’t exactly help. A lot of us ADHD brains have experienced severe emotional trauma via ableism and abuse from the school system, from teachers, or from parents. It never gets talked about because it’s usually caused by someone in a position of authority, and we are hardly ever given a voice to talk about our own experiences. Find someone you can trust to talk to about it. Find ways to self sooth in a healthy way when re-experiencing that trauma. You may have complex PTSD. It’s difficult for us to get help for complex PTSD because society doesn’t recognize that disabled people experience trauma in a very unique way. Keep in mind PTSD wasn’t even considered a disability under the ADA until 2008, one couldn’t get social security for PTSD until 2017, and the ADA didn’t exist until 1990. If you do seek out help though, expect push back from some medical professionals, have someone that will support you through the process, and do so when you will not be experiencing new trauma. Also, remember, fellow ADHD brains are here and we all love and support you.

B. Disability Services:

I’m not going to sugar coat this. We are barely recognized as human beings, so our rights are always under fire. Being disabled in this world is like walking through a mine field. Not every university or work environment is going to follow the ADA. The ADA became law in 1990, and the abled have been dragging their feet ever since. It’s difficult to enforce, complaining to the government often leads to nothing, and getting a lawyer is expensive. It’s also hard to prove discrimination in court. The ADA leaves a lot of room for improvement. Ableism is a systemic problem pretty much worldwide. I’m not trying to upset anyone, but you need to be prepared for what you are up against.

1. Keep the nature of your disability private.

Never ever ever tell a professor or TA the nature of your disability. Tell them you have a disability recognized under the ADA which is federal law, do not tell them what disability you have. There are lots of tips on tumblr that will tell you to inform professors that you have x disability, and that they will be empathetic and blah blah blah. Those uninformed tips are putting your legal rights, and your grade, in danger. There are so many biases professors can and do have when it comes to ADHD and dyscalculia. You are just asking to experience ableism if you divulge. Some professors don’t believe that ADHD is a disability, or they believe that vaccines cause ADHD, or that you just magically grow out of ADHD when you turn 18 etc.  It isn’t your job to deal with their delusions, their biases, or their ableism — that’s their therapists’ or HRs’ problem. You do not have to tell anyone but your university disability services. Under the ADA you have a legal right to privacy, but if you divulge to a professor you are waiving that right.

I also wouldn’t recommend telling other students the nature of your disability. Unless you are pretty sure the other student also has your disability, but even then internalized ableism is a thing. You never know who they are going to tell, if they are ableist, or how they feel about your accommodations. You never want an abled student crying to a professor because they think your accommodations are “unfair”. If a student wants to know what disability you have, and you want to tell them something because you have become acquaintances/friends but don’t want to tell them exactly, say that you have a neurodevelopmental disability and/or a learning disability.

2. Advocate for your legal accommodations.

Disability services are not going to hold your hand. They are not going to simply offer you all the accommodations that you are legally allowed or would make you successful. They deal with hundreds of other students and likely have accommodations they offer everyone, regardless of the type of disability you have. Request accommodations that actually put you on the same playing field as everyone else. Read the ADA, and understand what reasonable accommodations are.

If you have ADHD, I would recommend requesting extended time on exams and assignments, a private room to take exams in that is free of distraction, handouts/materials and textbooks in text-to-speech capable formats, the ability to take breaks in-class or exams, reduced course load, and the ability to record lectures for note-taking. You may be able to request a memory aid for ADHD, as a lot of ADHD brains have very low working memory (also called short term memory) capacity. Part of our attention difficulties come from low working memory capacity as sensory input goes through working memory before it is stored in long term memory. Anything stored in long term memory must be pulled back into working memory to be used and manipulated. Get a psychologist that specializes in ADHD adults to test your working memory capacity if needed.

If you have dyscalculia, I would recommend requesting a memory aid (used for formulas, constants, equations etc), the use of calculator on exams and assignments, extended time on exams and assignments, reduced course load, and a private room for exams.

3. Get accommodations implemented.

This is a different process than getting accommodations approved. My uni makes me contact professors at the start of the quarter in an ‘engagement process’. Due to re-experiencing trauma, I avoid setting up a meeting with professors and just email. Emailing prevents professors form cornering you or badgering you to divulge your disability, or subtly threatening you about your registration or degree, and puts everything in writing so there is a legal paper trail. 

Professors may try to get out of their legal obligations. I have had this happen multiple times. I’ve even had professors tell me that accommodations aren’t helpful for disabled students, or that they are not fair to abled students — I responded with “well it’s not fair that I was born with a disability and that you’re gatekeeping disabled people from getting an education”… they didn’t take that well. Do not try to argue with a professor about your disability rights or accommodations, it will only make you upset and they will likely accuse you of being hysterical or unstable. I’ve even had a professor say that I “threatened” them when I simply reminded them of their legal obligations under federal law as they were trying to not implement accommodations. This is why email is the best choice — you have time to respond professionally and having the receipts is important to keep you legally safe. If a professor is being belligerent about implementing accommodations, tell disability services what is going on (forward your emails) and remind them that accommodations must be implemented in a timely manner under the ADA. If disability services tries to make you argue with your professor, say that you do not feel comfortable doing so. If they push further, tell them you would rather not without an attorney or other representative present — mention you would rather the university handle it internally as you are concerned bringing an attorney or representative into an argument would escalate the situation which isn’t ideal for anyone.

I have a standard email that I send professors during the ‘engagement process’ that I edit slightly to reflect the course. It is professional, polite, and reminds them of their legal obligations as well as university policy. In it I also outline what my approved accommodations are and suggest how they should be implemented. 

4. Any paperwork you have to turn in, make sure to do it early. 

Create reminders on your calendar, write the dates in your bujo future log, whatever you need to do to get that paperwork in on time. Read everything slowly. These are legal documents. If you have a support system… ASK FOR HELP. Seriously, don’t be afraid to ask your support system for help with legal documents.

C. Studying:

1. Choose two places to study.

I don’t like studying in the library or in cafes. I know it’s not as aesthetic to study at home, but it prevents me from people watching and getting distracted. I have two designated study areas. One is my desk, the other is a cozy couch. Choose locations based on stimulation and comfort. My desk is fairly understimulating, while the couch is a bit more stimulation.

2. Learn to use your hyperfocus.

Most reading this probably know what you need to get in the hyperfocus zone. If you don’t, then note any patterns/conditions when it happens so you will have an easier time using the only ADHD super power you’ve got. When you are hyperfocusing on studying, ride the wave for as long as you can. However, make sure to set alarms to eat, go to the bathroom, stretch etc. Don’t let your hyperfocus keep you from taking care of yourself.

3. Create a study routine.

I know I keep blathering on about routines, but it helps. Treat studying like you would training as a professional athlete. When you have a study routine, you never have to decide to study. That decision is already made for you. When studying for exams, make a checklist of everything you need to cover. Ask the professor in advance about what is going to be covered on exams so that you can make an exam study plan early. If your professor is a garbage person and won’t tell you use the syllabus, textbook readings, labs, lecture slides, and snoop on the internet for past exams. Last minute learning is never a good idea. The human brain simply can’t do it, and your working memory capacity is too low to cram.

4. Accept that everything will take you longer, and that it’s okay.

It sucks, it really does. Those neurotypicals don’t know how lucky they are. It’s going to take you longer to read, to learn material, and to do basically anything in life. That’s okay, you do you. Don’t compare yourself to others, it will only cause you to feel bad about yourself. Guess what though, you are already a statistical anomaly. Only 32% of ADHD children graduate high school. Only 22% of adults with ADHD get into university. Only 5% of ADHD adults graduate from university. You are already punching those statistics in the face by existing. Seriously, do what you need to do and fuck anyone that has a problem with it. You’ve got this! 

5. Create the environment you need for your brain.

Sometimes I’m feeling really over stimulated and I need complete silence. Sometimes I feel at a sort of stimulation equilibrium and I listen to lofi study beats playlists. Sometimes I feel understimulated or I’m doing something really tedious, and I need to put on a tv show or a movie in the background. I keep a list of TV shows and movies that I can put on in such cases. Pick things that you won’t really watch and that you are familiar with. It usually helps me transition so that I can start the studying task. Listen to your body and do what works for you.

6. Don’t use the pomodoro technique.

The pomodoro technique was made for neurotypicals. ADHD brains have difficulty transitioning between tasks. It’s better to study for as long as you can maintain focus or hyperfocus than rely on a set 25 minutes. Again, be sure to eat and use the bathroom! You don’t want to be taken off your meds due to weight loss, and you don’t want to get a UTI.

D. Tools of the Trade:

1. iPad Pro & Apple Pencil v.s. Echo Livescribe Smart Pen

I used to use the echo livescribe smart pen but now I use an iPad. It’s cheaper in the long run and I don’t have to worry about running out of paper. Apple has way better customer support as well as iCloud backups, plus they can find your device if lost. Now I only use the echo livescribe pen when taking exams. My university lets me use one from the disability office so that I can make verbal notes when doing long answer exam questions and to keep track of my thoughts if I want to skip over a question and come back to it. I requested it as an accommodation, it had to be approved by committee. They actually thanked me for being so creative and trained the person in charge of accessible technology so that it could be used with other students. It’s almost like asking disabled students about what helps us and our experiences is a good thing!

2. Notability

I use the app Notability for lectures as it can record the lecture and has great organizational capabilities. I usually copy/paste slides into my notes so that I can write on them as well. I also use Notability to read textbooks. It’s got fairly good text-to-speech compatibility, so you can move around if you need to. 

3. Goodnotes 5

I use the Goodnotes 5 app for a digital bujo as well as for making mind maps. It’s got some great shape recognition functions. Although Notability has improved their shape functionality, it’s still not as great as Goodnotes 5.

4. iWork 

I also use pages on my iPad to make condensed study guides / study notes. It’s also really great for writing essays or making tables. I used to hand-write study notes, but it takes way longer.

4. Omnifocus

Omnifocus is great for breaking down big projects into smaller tasks or making quick checklists. It’s a bit of a pain to learn how to use, but once you do it’s completely worth it.

5. Quizlet Plus

Quizlet Plus is completely worth it. I use it a lot for figures or structures I have to memorize, I draw figures in Notability and take a screen shot or grab it from my textbook. It’s a really amazing flashcard app. Also, if you have your textbook on your device, you can copy/paste definitions right into quizlet.

6. Studybreak

Studybreak is a great app for iphone. It tells you how long you have been studying, nags you if you’ve touched your phone to scroll social media, and can suggest that you take a break. You can program it to set how long you want to study for, how long you want to take a break for etc. You can also ignore the break suggestion which is nice when one is hyperfocusing. It also keeps statistics on how long you have been studying and for which subjects.

[jupiter235]

WIP....wait, it’s actually Wednesday??

Tagged by the forever awesome @jeannedarcprice. Have another excerpt from the Days Gone AU I’m working on. This is a part of one of Gil’s memories that’s going to appear at some point in the fic (I don’t yet know where, though.) 

~Start of the “freaker virus” outbreak, Boston, Massachusetts:

It was meant to be a two-week visit to America. Two weeks to visit my friends and more importantly, to spend time with Meri. Then Vetra and Suvi’s wedding was meant to be near the end of it, then they’d get on a plane to their honeymoon while I caught my flight back to London.

But to Hell with all that, of course.

All flights were grounded mere hours after my arrival. That was when Jill really began to worry. Meri picked up on it, I know she did—kids aren’t stupid, after all. I did what I could to try and soothe them both—probably used some sappy drivel or something about how this all couldn’t last. Doesn’t matter, because it didn’t really work, anyway.

The next day, Vetra calls. She and Suvi were moving their wedding up to that afternoon.

“She’s terrified,” Vetra had told us on the phone. “She’s convinced that if we don’t do it as soon as possible, then we may never get to. And I think she’s right.”

Suvi knew a preacher that was willing to perform the ceremony at the last minute. So it was just the preacher, his wife, me, Jill, Meri, and Sidera at the preacher’s house. We’d all tried to get in touch with everyone else who was supposed to be there—some weren’t answering their phones, and some were just too far away to make it in time. We all tried not to think about it, honestly.

Then the news just started getting oh-so-much-more cheery. That the hospitals were already beyond capacity wasn’t new. That the dead were starting to number in the millions wasn’t new either. That those who hadn’t died were turning into cannibalistic monsters also wasn’t.

What was new was that the ones who were turning were gathering together into what they were calling “hordes,” and no one seemed to know how to contain them. So they were running rampant everywhere, invading entire towns and killing whoever couldn’t run away from them fast enough. They’d stopped keeping track of the number of infected people, so many were getting sick.

Then the hordes started overrunning the large cities. Evacuation orders started going out. I think it took about two days before the news channels all stopped broadcasting. Then phone calls stopped going through.

I think that was the point where I knew that shit was seriously fucked now.

Meri had started staying closer and closer to me, her hand sliding into one of mine at random times. I could tell she was trying to not be scared. I wanted to tell her it didn’t matter, because we were all scared.

I had always thought she’d been so small for an eleven-year-old. When I would look at her, meaning to reassure her with some ridiculous and pointless platitude, it would die in my mouth.

My daughter was afraid, and I had to help her to not be.

So all I could do was hug her and hope it was enough.

I think it was about the time that the cellular towers stopped working that Vetra, Suvi, and Sid came over. They were leaving Boston, and they wanted us to come with them. Jill and I only glanced at one another. Decisions like this never really called for a debate between the two of us—we both always knew when we were in agreement with one another. Meri, smart girl that she was, seemed to know what the decision was before either of us had said anything and ran straight to her room to begin packing.

We followed their example; one backpack each containing a change of clothes and the barest essentials, with the hope that we could get more wherever we were going. Jill didn’t even bother locking the door when we left. She never said anything, and no one else bothered mentioning it, but that was when we all knew that we weren’t coming back. And several of her neighbors had had the same idea about leaving—several of them were packing their vehicles, others were walking like we were.

We wound up at the NERO refugee camp just outside of Boston. And it turned out we’d left just in time; word had begun circulating around the camp that they’d given the order to evacuate the city. People would be flooding the place within hours.

And they did just that. It didn’t even take a day before they had to start turning people away. The rumor was that they were being diverted to other refugee camps (were there any others to go to? Assuming they could even make it…) but some people had their doubts.

There was another rumor going around that NERO had executed a bunch of incoming people in their cars.

Vetra, Suvi, Sid, and I would find out later that that one was not a rumor, but a fact.

We’d all been at the refugee camp for a rather uneventful couple of days when shit went from bad to worse. Vetra was off somewhere trying to negotiate information out of anyone that would talk to her, and Jill had started working with the NERO scientists at the camp who were trying to come up with anything to try to help treat the people that were still getting sick. Suvi and I were trying to keep Sid and Meri entertained with a game of cards when we’d started to notice Meri was looking more and more pale and listless.

“I’m fine,” she said when I asked.

It was Sid who’d reached over and felt her forehead. “No you’re not, you’re burning up,” she pointed out.

I’d never truly felt that feeling of pure dread creeping down my spine before. First time for everything, I suppose.

The cards were forgotten as I picked Meri up and the four of us went to the medical tents. She was immediately put in a bed and hooked up to an IV. And Jill and Vetra had appeared from wherever they’d been.

The doctor diagnosing Meri with the virus was pretty much a formality. A cruel one, at that.

I wanted to punch him.

It wouldn’t have helped anything.

I held Meri’s hand instead. Jill held her other hand.

I don’t know how much time passed before the two NERO soldiers suddenly appeared, but I think it had only been a few hours. Meri had passed out not long after her diagnosis, and slept fitfully the entire time. But next thing I knew, there they were, armed and everything.

Then they told Jill that they were flying all of the scientists to another location, and demanded she come with them immediately.

“Hell no!” she’d protested.

“We don’t have time to argue,” one of them said. “Besides, your kid’s either gonna turn or die soon, anyway.”

“She said no, you prick!” I said. I could feel Suvi’s hand on my shoulder.

“She doesn’t have a choice,” the asshole argued. I hadn’t seen his partner move, but suddenly they had Jill by one arm and were tugging her away from Meri’s bedside.

“You fucking son of a—“ I started forward when they’d grabbed her, but was immediately cut off by the two rifle barrels suddenly pointing at me. I could feel Suvi clutching at my arm now.

“Turn loose of the girl and come with us,” the other asshole ordered, “Or I shoot your friends.”

“Gil, Suvi, it’s okay,” Jill said, pressing a kiss to the back of Meri’s hand and putting it down, and I could feel a surge of rage welling up at my helplessness to stop any of this.

“We’ll stay with her, we promise,” Suvi said, and before we could do anything else, Jill was ushered out of the medical tent.

I hadn’t realized that complete silence had fallen over the medical tent until I heard Vetra snarl “Motherfuckers” after the NERO guys left with Jill.

“Where are they taking mom?” Meri suddenly asked, and that was also when I realized she’d been awake for most, or all, of that confrontation.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” I answered, taking her hand again. That was when I realized a third, then a fourth, thing.

“Where are all the doctors?” someone at another bedside said.

“They’re all leaving,” Sid answered the tent at large. There were gasps and denials, and several people ran outside to confirm what she’d said. I glanced up at her and Vetra as they arrived at Meri’s bed, and that was when I noticed they had all of our backpacks.

“It’s true,” Vetra said. “I heard one of them mention that there was a massive horde headed this way. We have less than ten minutes to get the hell out of here.” More gasps and denials went around. Then someone came back.

“She’s right,” the woman said. “All the NERO people are gone and I just saw the last helicopter take off.”

“What the fuck??” someone else shouted.

“Where are we supposed to go?” a third person demanded.

Not that anyone had an answer, of course. Suvi reached down and started unhooking Meri’s IV, and several other people started moving around.

And then

“HORDE INCOMING!!!! HORDE INCOMING!!!!!” a man ran by the tent shouting.