I have been noticing of an increment of people with posts about how a certain âxyzâ character in a certain fandom is misrepresented or mischaracterised or diminished to a few traits.
(1) First, I just want to say it is good that people can take charactersâ canonical representations and keep them in mind while trying to write the characters. It does justice to original work but let me be so frank right now. I have begun to notice that most of these people themselves are NOT writers. They just consume content and do NOT write themselves.
Like if you have such a huge problem with mischaracterised fictional people then write it yourself. Simple. Maybe instead of typing all that just write. âď¸
(2) Second, it is a reason it is called âfanonâ, the writer or the artist can take whatever aspect they like of the character, their dynamics and make it into whatever they like. Fanon does NOT need to be anywhere close to canon. It can be extremely derivative. It does NOT have to be like an edited piece of proper literature. It CAN be but it does NOT have to be.
I mean I would really fine with it and the posts people make but by heavens, they sound so condescending and smug like if you donât want to consume the content on your screen block the author and move on. Go find something that rocks your boat.
You donât like SMAUs okay move on, you donât like smut centered fics okay, you donât like the characterisation okay, block and move on. It is that simple.
This is absolutely unnecessary unless the author was specifically like I want criticism on the piece of work. Unless it is something ILLEGAL or WEIRD, do NOT give unsolicited critic. It is wild how people just keep consuming and have the audacity to critic people out here. Most people indulge in fandoms for fun, not for you to be nitpicky. Fanon has changed from being like an exchange or gift to just consume, consume and critic. This annoys me to the core.
TLDR; If you donât like how an author writes a character, block and move on. Donât like donât read.
Post-war Harry Potter is diagnosed with PTSD. After everything the war took from him, no one is particularly surprised.
Nightmares.
Flashbacks.
Hypervigilance.
Hallucinations.
The most persistent one wears Voldemort's face.
...Or rather, Tom's.
He appears in Harry's office, stands beside him during Auror raids, comments on paperwork, and whispers in his ear whenever a mission reminds Harry of the war.
He even manages to ruin a date with Ginny.
Harry apologizes so much afterward that Ginny has to reassure him it isn't his fault. She understands better than most. The diary left its own scars, and she still has nightmares too. Somewhere along the way, their relationship quietly shifts into a deep friendship built on surviving the same monster.
Hermione eventually convinces Harry to seek professional help at St. Mungo's.
Twice a week, therapy.
Potions exactly as prescribed.
Grounding exercises.
Exposure therapy in carefully controlled doses.
Harry throws himself into recovery with the same determination he once used to fight Voldemort.
He'll get through this.
He always does.
The treatment helps.
Tom appears less often.
The panic fades more quickly.
Harry even learns to joke about it.
The healer suggests calling him "Tom" instead of Voldemort to lessen the emotional response.
Harry can't help thinking that's funny.
Merlin... if he'd done that years ago, he would've been Avada Kedavra'd on the spot.
And Harry keeps calling him Tom.
Tom still appears sometimes.
Still whispers.
Still sends Harry's heart racing.
Eventually Harry starts talking back.
Mostly sarcastic comments until Tom finally shuts up.
â
Unfortunately, real life isn't giving him much room to recover.
With Voldemort's downfall, the remaining Death Eaters have become headless snakes lashing out in every direction. Terrorist attacks happen almost daily, Auror Headquarters is drowning in paperwork, and everyone is exhausted.
"Your report is incomplete."
"I've been writing it for three hours."
"You skipped page four."
"...."
...Merlin.
Harry even complains directly to Tom about how annoying his followers are.
"Your idiots are making everyone's life miserable."
Tom hears him complaining.
Harry swears Tom almost laughs.
"They're hardly my followers anymore."
â
Aurors are collapsing asleep at their desks.
Some fall asleep halfway through eating lunch.
"You forgot your medication."
"I didn't"
"You left it on your desk."
"..."
...Damn it.
Harry keeps postponing therapy appointments.
There simply isn't enough time.
â
The problem is...
Exposure therapy is supposed to happen in controlled doses.
Harry accidentally turned it into a full-time job.
Every report reminds him of the war.
Every investigation leads back to Voldemort.
Every day begins with Tom standing somewhere in the room.
It becomes routine.
Tom complains.
Harry rolls his eyes.
Tom is there for all of it.
"You call that handwriting?"
"It says the man with no nose."
"I had perfectly acceptable handwriting."
"You had atrocious penmanship."
Eventually...
Harry stops reacting.
He figures that means he's getting better.
â
Tom eyes the cup coffee.
"You've had three cups of coffee."
"So?"
"You'll regret the fourth."
"I'm having the fourth."
"You always do."
â
He stops going out with Ron and Hermione.
He misses grabbing butterbeer with his friends after work.
Most nights dinner is instant noodles, which Tom never lets him live down.
"That's dinner?"
"It's edible."
"I've seen Azkaban prisoners eat better."
"You don't even eat anymore. Your opinion doesn't count."
â
Then the nightmares come back.
He sleeps at his desk.
Forgets to eat.
Starts surviving almost entirely on coffee, potions, and terrible life choices.
The Head Auror tells him to take a break.
Harry insists he's fine.
Everyone is tired.
He's just... a little more tired than usual.
He starts surviving on sleeping potions.
They help him fall asleep.
They don't help him stay asleep.
He wakes in the middle of the night with paperwork still clutched in his hands.
He can't remember the last proper meal he had.
He sniffs his robes and decides they probably don't smell bad enough to wash yet.
â
Harry believes PTSD is simply something he'll have to live with.
He believes the exhaustion, the interrupted sleep, the emotional outbursts, and the hallucinations are all part of recovery.
He has no idea that someone is taking advantage of every skipped therapy session.
Every sleepless night.
Every dose of sleeping potion.
Every moment Harry mistakes the impossible for trauma.
Because Voldemort never truly disappeared.
The connection forged between them survived the Battle of Hogwarts.
A fragment of Tom remained inside Harry.
Patient.
Silent.
Waiting.
While Harry struggles to recover from PTSD, Tom quietly teaches him to normalize his presence.
To stop questioning the voice.
The conversations.
The figure standing in the corner of the
room.
The feeling of never truly being alone.
Little by little, Harry grows comfortable with him.
One morning, waking up with Tom's arms wrapped around him won't even seem strange anymore.
And by then...
Tom will already have everything he wanted.
A body.
A home.
And a second chance to return to the worldâwithout Harry ever realizing he had been helping him all along.
op, this was so good.
I loved the sinister vibe and I was so genuinely thinking it was just in harry's head in the starting. Harry giving in to tom but old comforts are to hard resist and the final shift in the pov from harry to tom. ahhh
Post-war Harry Potter is diagnosed with PTSD. After everything the war took from him, no one is particularly surprised.
Nightmares.
Flashbacks.
Hypervigilance.
Hallucinations.
The most persistent one wears Voldemort's face.
...Or rather, Tom's.
He appears in Harry's office, stands beside him during Auror raids, comments on paperwork, and whispers in his ear whenever a mission reminds Harry of the war.
He even manages to ruin a date with Ginny.
Harry apologizes so much afterward that Ginny has to reassure him it isn't his fault. She understands better than most. The diary left its own scars, and she still has nightmares too. Somewhere along the way, their relationship quietly shifts into a deep friendship built on surviving the same monster.
Hermione eventually convinces Harry to seek professional help at St. Mungo's.
Twice a week, therapy.
Potions exactly as prescribed.
Grounding exercises.
Exposure therapy in carefully controlled doses.
Harry throws himself into recovery with the same determination he once used to fight Voldemort.
He'll get through this.
He always does.
The treatment helps.
Tom appears less often.
The panic fades more quickly.
Harry even learns to joke about it.
The healer suggests calling him "Tom" instead of Voldemort to lessen the emotional response.
Harry can't help thinking that's funny.
Merlin... if he'd done that years ago, he would've been Avada Kedavra'd on the spot.
And Harry keeps calling him Tom.
Tom still appears sometimes.
Still whispers.
Still sends Harry's heart racing.
Eventually Harry starts talking back.
Mostly sarcastic comments until Tom finally shuts up.
â
Unfortunately, real life isn't giving him much room to recover.
With Voldemort's downfall, the remaining Death Eaters have become headless snakes lashing out in every direction. Terrorist attacks happen almost daily, Auror Headquarters is drowning in paperwork, and everyone is exhausted.
"Your report is incomplete."
"I've been writing it for three hours."
"You skipped page four."
"...."
...Merlin.
Harry even complains directly to Tom about how annoying his followers are.
"Your idiots are making everyone's life miserable."
Tom hears him complaining.
Harry swears Tom almost laughs.
"They're hardly my followers anymore."
â
Aurors are collapsing asleep at their desks.
Some fall asleep halfway through eating lunch.
"You forgot your medication."
"I didn't"
"You left it on your desk."
"..."
...Damn it.
Harry keeps postponing therapy appointments.
There simply isn't enough time.
â
The problem is...
Exposure therapy is supposed to happen in controlled doses.
Harry accidentally turned it into a full-time job.
Every report reminds him of the war.
Every investigation leads back to Voldemort.
Every day begins with Tom standing somewhere in the room.
It becomes routine.
Tom complains.
Harry rolls his eyes.
Tom is there for all of it.
"You call that handwriting?"
"It says the man with no nose."
"I had perfectly acceptable handwriting."
"You had atrocious penmanship."
Eventually...
Harry stops reacting.
He figures that means he's getting better.
â
Tom eyes the cup coffee.
"You've had three cups of coffee."
"So?"
"You'll regret the fourth."
"I'm having the fourth."
"You always do."
â
He stops going out with Ron and Hermione.
He misses grabbing butterbeer with his friends after work.
Most nights dinner is instant noodles, which Tom never lets him live down.
"That's dinner?"
"It's edible."
"I've seen Azkaban prisoners eat better."
"You don't even eat anymore. Your opinion doesn't count."
â
Then the nightmares come back.
He sleeps at his desk.
Forgets to eat.
Starts surviving almost entirely on coffee, potions, and terrible life choices.
The Head Auror tells him to take a break.
Harry insists he's fine.
Everyone is tired.
He's just... a little more tired than usual.
He starts surviving on sleeping potions.
They help him fall asleep.
They don't help him stay asleep.
He wakes in the middle of the night with paperwork still clutched in his hands.
He can't remember the last proper meal he had.
He sniffs his robes and decides they probably don't smell bad enough to wash yet.
â
Harry believes PTSD is simply something he'll have to live with.
He believes the exhaustion, the interrupted sleep, the emotional outbursts, and the hallucinations are all part of recovery.
He has no idea that someone is taking advantage of every skipped therapy session.
Every sleepless night.
Every dose of sleeping potion.
Every moment Harry mistakes the impossible for trauma.
Because Voldemort never truly disappeared.
The connection forged between them survived the Battle of Hogwarts.
A fragment of Tom remained inside Harry.
Patient.
Silent.
Waiting.
While Harry struggles to recover from PTSD, Tom quietly teaches him to normalize his presence.
To stop questioning the voice.
The conversations.
The figure standing in the corner of the
room.
The feeling of never truly being alone.
Little by little, Harry grows comfortable with him.
One morning, waking up with Tom's arms wrapped around him won't even seem strange anymore.
And by then...
Tom will already have everything he wanted.
A body.
A home.
And a second chance to return to the worldâwithout Harry ever realizing he had been helping him all along.
White Elephant contains a reference to The Parable of the Blind, a painting by Pieter Bruegel the Elder. The painting was also used as the cover image for the original Japanese edition of the story.
Public domain
For ***(three asterisks), the original author of White Elephant, this painting was a familiar one. She grew up in a Protestant pastorâs household and was surrounded by biblical imagery from an early age. Alongside The Parable of the Blind, she encountered paintings such as The Gleaners, The Tower of Babel, and The Annunciation.
The Parable of the Blind is based on a verse from the Gospel of Matthew 15:14 (NIV), in which Jesus speaks about the Pharisees:
Leave them; they are blind guides. If the blind lead the blind, both will fall into a pit.
The criticism is directed toward those who believe themselves righteous and fit to guide others, yet neither understand the truth nor possess the ability to see it. Bruegel transformed this metaphor into a literal scene, depicting blind men leading one another toward disaster.
***(three asterisks) encountered the painting before she encountered the verse itself. It seems that the image of those men remained with her long afterward.
While translating the story, we often found ourselves wondering the same thing. If only someone had shown him a little more kindness. If only he had learned what love was in a different order. It was difficult not to dwell on those possibilities.
But what has happened cannot be undone.
Harry has been betrayed by morality itself. He was cast outside its boundaries, forced to survive there for years, and shaped by what he learned in that place. Can the language of morality still reach someone like him? Can the kind of love contained within it still reach him?
After all, it was the world of morality that abandoned him first.
Eventually, Harry comes to understand.
I see.
He understands that such things exist. He understands what other people mean when they speak of love, safety, and care.
But he cannot receive them.
Years of abuse have taken that capacity from him.
Harry never truly regains his sight. The only way he can learn how others see the world is through accumulated knowledge, through observation, and through effort. He must construct an understanding of light without ever being able to see it for himself.
We may imagine that we are healthy enough to guide someone like Harry. We may imagine that we can safely lead the blind.
But when faced with a person like him, can we remain sighted ourselves?
To help him, we must descend into the pit where he fell.
Can we enter that darkness, carry him out, and return safely?
In this story, Snape is also someone who has been pushed outside the boundaries of morality, though under circumstances very different from Harryâs.
Perhaps it was precisely because he had already fallen into a similar pit that he was able to approach Harry at all.
And yet Snape, too, surely believed that he was not blind.
There is no reason to doubt that he genuinely wanted to help Harry. But for a man who had spent much of his life rejected and denied affection, Harryâs dependenceâhis insistence that âyou are specialââmust have been an enormous temptation.
Just as Harry cannot help but long for violence and the violation of his own boundaries in this story, the desires of both men become intertwined in the worst possible way, drawing them into a deeply codependent relationship.
And yet, despite everything, I believe that it was Snape who saved Harry.
It was precisely because Snape was the person Harry loved most that Harry was finally able to confront the distorted nature of his own desires and choose a different path.
Of course, Harry does not regain his sight.
Even at the end of the story, he remains blind.
But Harry comes to understand how deeply his way of living has wounded Snape. He realizes that he cannot remain beside someone he truly loves if he continues to live as he always has.
And so, he acknowledges his blindness.
He takes up a cane.
He learns to ask who is guiding him.
He learns to walk carefully, mindful of the pit before him.
In the end, he chooses that way of living for himself.
Tano created this White Elephant illustration using the painting that inspired the original author.
The church where ***(three asterisks) grew up also had stained-glass windows. Remembering this, Tano thought it might be interesting to reimagine The Parable of the Blind as a stained-glass piece.
Originally posted on May 27, 2026.
This was not her first stained-glass-inspired illustration. She had previously created another White Elephant illustration using stained-glass imagery. While researching ways to make the effect more convincing, she discovered a set of stained-glass brushes for Procreate, the software we use for our illustrations, and decided to purchase them.
The brushes gave the glass a much more convincing texture and greatly enhanced the stained-glass effect.
What cannot be seen in the finished image is that every hidden area was painted as well.
Because Tano adjusts the colors of the entire illustration at the end of the process, each section required multiple layers. For the first time, she reached Procreateâs layer limit. (On her iPad mini, using a square canvas, the limit was a little over two hundred layers.)
The finished piece achieved a much stronger stained-glass appearance than her earlier attempts.
Originally posted on June 1, 2026.
The characters themselves also show that this was an earlier stage in Tanoâs process.
At the time, she did not yet know the concept of using a Multiply layer to add shadows. Instead, she painted shadows by adding brown tones directly onto the base skin color on the same layer.
As a result, the skin tones appear somewhat muted.
While working on the stained-glass illustration, Tano became curious about several details in Bruegelâs painting and began researching them. We have included some of those findings below.
When Does This Scene Take Place?
Although the subject comes from the Bible, the figures are not dressed like people from the biblical Middle East. Instead, Bruegel depicted them as people living in sixteenth-century Flanders, where he himself lived.
Why Are They All Dressed So Similarly?
The clothing worn by the blind men was not unique to blind people. It was typical attire for farmers, travelers, and ordinary people of the period.
Layering a hood beneath a hat was common practice. The region was often cold and windy, so people dressed in layers for warmth. The hood helped keep hair in place, protected the outer hat from sweat and oil, and provided additional insulation. Hats also served practical purposes, shielding the wearer from rain and sunlight, but they were also considered proper attire and could indicate social status.
There was no strict rule that a particular hat belonged exclusively to a particular class, but there were general differences:
Nobles and wealthy townspeople often wore expensive felt hats or hats with decorative elements.
Merchants tended to wear higher-quality hats.
Farmers usually wore simple wool or felt hats.
Clergy wore hats appropriate to their rank and position.
At the time, laws known as sumptuary laws sometimes restricted which fabrics, furs, and decorations people of different social classes were allowed to wear.
Taken together, these details suggest that the men in the painting were likely farmers or travelers rather than members of the nobility.
While painting the illustration, Tano initially assumed that the head coverings might have been special protective gear worn by blind people to prevent injury when falling.
After researching the subject, however, she discovered that they were simply part of everyday dress in Bruegelâs time.
The same is true of the garments that look like shin guards.
These were not protective equipment for blind people. They were common items of clothing worn by farmers and travelers, usually referred to as hose or leg wrappings.
Roads in the sixteenth century were not paved as they are today. People needed protection from stones, mud, thorns, and rough ground. Once again, what first appeared unusual turned out to be perfectly ordinary clothing for the period.
One detail that particularly caught Tanoâs attention was the strange shape of the bags carried by the blind men.
Even among researchers, there is no complete agreement about exactly what these bags contained. They are generally believed to have been leather bags.
Unlike modern bags, they were not made with rigid internal structures designed to maintain a particular shape. Because leather stretches and softens over time, the bags would naturally bulge according to whatever was inside them.
In other words, those unusual shapes may tell us something about their contents.
This observation led us to another biblical image.
In Matthew 9:17 (NIV), Jesus says:
Neither do people pour new wine into old wineskins. If they do, the skins will burst; the wine will run out and the wineskins will be ruined. No, they pour new wine into new wineskins, and both are preserved.
Leather is a material that stretches remarkably well.
Keeping that in mind opens the door to another interpretation.
If you look closely, the bag carried by the man who has already fallen into the ditch appears larger and more rigid than the others.
This interpretation is entirely my own, but I cannot help wondering whether that detail carries symbolic meaning.
Perhaps the first man to fall is also the one whose old values and mistaken certainties have hardened his wineskin beyond repair.
And perhaps it is precisely that man who attempts to guide the others.
If so, there is something fitting about the fact that he is the first to fall into the pit.
The structure that resembles a tent is generally believed to be part of the rural Flemish landscape of Bruegelâs time. It has been variously identified as a barn, a storage building, a thatched structure, or even part of a church.
When viewed in a restored high-resolution version of the painting, it looks less like a tent and more like the front of a building.
For the sake of simplicity, however, Tano chose to depict it as a tent-like structure in her illustration.
The building shown here is often identified as a church.
With that in mind, another interpretation becomes possible.
If the blind men are indeed pilgrims, then the painting may depict a journey from one church to another.
However, the path they are following is clearly not a major road.
Researchers have proposed several possibilities:
A small path on the edge of a village
A road leading toward a church
A walkway built along a dike or embankment
Could the path framed by the trees be the road leading to the church?
There are signs of water in this area of the painting.
Sixteenth-century Flanders was a region shaped by water, filled with canals, drainage systems, and waterways. For that reason, some researchers believe the blind men may be walking along a raised path beside a drainage canal.
If this painting is indeed based on Christâs criticism of religious leaders who had drifted far from the teachings they claimed to uphold, then perhaps that idea is reflected in the composition itself.
The blind men are moving away from the church.
They have their backs turned to it.
Perhaps they do not even realize that it is there.
This is not a story about complete healing. Harry remains on the road to recovery.
The authorâs final work, organ donor: tres(pass)complex, explores a point much further along that journey. At over 500,000 Japanese characters in length, however, the English translation will take some time.
All of ***(three asterisks)â works were written for the one woman she loved.
But this story was also written for children.
Please do not let it become too late.
Please take them somewhere safe.
Please tell them that they are safe.
Please do not force them to speak.
Please do not demand to know the cause.
Please do not turn your frustration over their lack of recovery against them.
We know that this is painful for you as well.
But for these children, it is as though they have lost both of their legs.
No matter how often you ask, âWhy canât you walk yet?â, there is nothing they can do. Their legs are gone.
âIf only you had not gone there, you would not have lost them.â
Yes. But the past cannot be changed.
âSome people still live happy lives without legs.â
Yes. But are those the only wounds they carry?
These children may have lost things far more essential to life itself.
In that sense, they may never truly return to the people they once were.
Please do not make light of that.
To acknowledge that one has suffered wounds that may never fully heal is an agonizing thing.
Please seek treatment from qualified professionals.
And if you wish to help children like these, please make sure that you, too, receive professional support.
If someone you loved were trapped beneath rubble, your first instinct would be to pull them out immediately.
Yet it is well known that doing so without proper knowledge can place them in even greater danger, as toxins released into the body may cause further harm.
The same is true for children who have endured prolonged abuse.
If they are rescued recklessly, without proper care or understanding, they too may be placed in danger.
We respect your desire to help them.
But please proceed carefully, and with the guidance of trained professionals.
And when your heart aches for what has happened to someone you love, please allow yourself to receive support as well.
i don't think people understand how hard it is not to ship tomarry / harrymort because what do you mean they're borderline canonically soulmates. what do you mean they're PROPHESIED to each other. what do you mean they're literal parallels, had the same childhood circumstances but turned out the exact opposite. what do you mean harry's the embodiment of the light side and tom's the embodiment of the dark even though they're so, so similar. what do you mean they both have common names even though they themselves are anything but common. what do you mean they have uncountable amount of bible references that apply strictly to them, what do you mean harry makes sure to mention tom's the handsomest in the room whenever he sees him and apparently likes their connection. what do you mean their wands share the core of the same phoenix and therefore literally can't kill each other even if they wanted to. what do you mean harry wanted to give him another chance despite everything he's done, what do you mean tom offered him his hand, what do you mean harry killed tom at the same age except the order of the numbers is reversed. what do you mean harry's eyes are the same colour as tom's favourite unforgivable (avada) AND the colour of his house, what do you mean TOM'S eyes are the colour of harry's favourite defence spell (expelliarmus) and the colour of his house. WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY ARE EACH OTHER'S OTHER HALF. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HARRY IS LITERALLY TOM'S SOUL??? đ
NOT TO MENTION THESE THINGS AREN'T EVEN FANON LIKE...? lmk if i missed something though.
help the mole near his lips, the blush on both of them, toms elf like ears and Harryâs scar going straight down and desi harry!!!!
+ is that mrs Weasleyâs jumper??? the sacrilege
Tom Riddle: Harry is a master mind of deception. He knows too much. Heâs a threat to my carefully laid plans. I need to uncover his secret and get him under my control.
Harry Potter Peverell: Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I have no idea what I am doing!
Bonus points if Harry is like fighting demons trying to work out the whole Master of Death thing and Grindewald is up his ass about it. Heâs catnip for dark lords after all.
I've wanted to draw my interpretation of him for a long time. Whenever Abraxas shows up in a Tomarry time-travel fic, I know I'm about to have a great few hours of readingđ.
I've wanted to draw my interpretation of him for a long time. Whenever Abraxas shows up in a Tomarry time-travel fic, I know I'm about to have a great few hours of readingđ.
Tom Riddle didnât know what to do when you didnât show up to classes for the day. Not only that- but you donât have the decency to at least tell him that you were not going to attend the classes that you had no problem attending for the past six years.
    So he does what any rational person does and shows up at your dorm. It was a privilege to be head girl, and you were more than happy about having your own room- and you had excitedly showed Tom your room the second you had it decorated. And being your⌠unofficial boyfriend and head boy, Tom supposes it was his duty- to the school- to find out why you were not reporting to classes or handling your responsibilities with the precision and efficiency that Tom had grown fond of.
    When you finally opened the door after a full minute of knocking, Tom raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at you. His eyes- critical as usual- sweeped up and down your figure thrice before determining that you hadnât gotten out of bed at all during the day. âIt is past dinner time. What could have possibly deterred your appetite?â
    Tomâs attempt at a joke made your jaw set. âIâm ill,â you croaked, going to shut the door.
    Tomâs foot wedged between the wood frame and thick door before it could shut with a thud. âYou are not ill.â Your cheeks werenât flushed with fever and your skin didnât have the mild green tint it usually had when you were sick. âWhatâs ailing you?â
    You sighed and leaned forward a tad- enough to ease the onslaught of cramps that had been terrorizing your body for the past ten hours. âMy uterus, Tom. Thatâs whatâs ailing me,â you snipe.
    Tomâs eyes narrow. âYouâre menstruating? Itâs a week early,â he tells you.
    Your eyes droop with pain and sleep. âShut the door when youâre done gawking at my miserable, ailingform,â you request weakly as you turn and limp back to your king sized bed.
    It shouldnât have surprised you that Tom shut the door a minute later. He wasnât really empathetic and it wasnât his problem you were curled up in your bed, going in and out of sleep to try to handle the constant waves of pain. But at the same time⌠you had hoped.
    Fickle, fickle hope. You tried not to let tears well up in your eyes at your own disappointment. You cursed yourself and your uterus as you wordlessly charmed your small throw pillow to radiate warmth to place against your stomach.Â
    Tears dripped from your eyes as you tried and, eventually, dozed back off into a dreamless sleep. Your arms were wrapped tightly around the charmed pillow as you clung to the warmth (pathetically wishing it was Tom you were clinging to instead of a damn pillow).
    Your door opened just when you were falling into heavy sleep. You groaned and wanted to berate whoever had disturbed your pity party. When you sat up, you ignored the shooting pain in your entire lower body and squinted at-
    âTommy?âÂ
    The man grumbled at the nickname. âWhen have I ever left you by yourself during this time?â He closed the door with his foot because he had things that you couldnât see in the dark lighting in his hands.
    He set a few vials of a shimmering wine red on your abnormally large nightstand- along with an actual bowl of soup, a spoon, a container of chocolate, raspberries, and cherries: your favorite snacks. âTomâŚâ
    Tom uncorked a vial of the swirling potion and handed it to you. âBottoms up, darling,â he ordered as he warmed the soup up with a wordless spell. When you placed the small vial back in his large hands he handed the bowl to you. âEat.â
    âIâm not-â
    âDo not,â Tom interrupted you, âtell me that you are not hungry. If you want to keep that pain killer down, I expect you to eat at least half of that bowl.â
    You blinked.
    Tom fussed over the state of your room as you ate. He levitated clothes nack into your dresser, blankets in their appropriate places, and tended to the variety of plants you had perched all over your room. Tom almost scoffed- you took better care of the plants then yourself.
    âIâm done,â you finally spoke up. Tom turned and strode over to you. âI- Put me down!â
    Tom carried you the short distance to the bathroom. âDo what you must, then youâre going to bed.â When you stared owlishly at him, he rolled his eyes. âWhy are you so surprised that Iâm taking care of what is mine? Go,â he gestured toward the bathroom and gave you the eyes.
    Tom carried you back to the bed when you had dried your hands. He slipped under the covers of your bed after you, wrapping a loose arm around your waist. âGet comfortable.â
    You placed his hand over the part of your stomach that had been giving you the most pain. His breath fanned your ear and neck as he exhaled slowly. Tomâs lips pressed a featherlight kiss to the side of your neck- so light you questioned if you had imagined it in your tired state. âGood night, Tommy.â
    âSleep well, darling,â he murmured in reply.
