headcanon: when phoenix visited miles to discuss a case, he noticed how secretly sentimental the prosecutor is. though he had trouble admitting and showing it, he loves the people in his life dearly, and his home shows it. all over the house, and even in his home office, are pictures of the people he holds close. while looking around, phoenix finds pictures of kay, sebastian, phoenix and trucy, apollo and athena, franziska, maya and pearl, gumshoe and maggey, and even one of klavier.
however, phoenix doesn’t see any pictures of his father, gregory edgeworth.
when he asks miles about it, the prosecutor goes silent before explaining that it was due to von karma. manfred hadn’t wanted any pictures of the man who ruined his perfect record, so miles wasn’t allowed to bring any pictures of his father. he tried to secretly bring one and keep it a secret, but manfred found out about it and burned it in front of the boy.
now, miles doesn’t have any pictures of his deceased father, and he comments with a bitter laugh that his memories of him get hazier and hazier every day.
phoenix, determined to be a hero and make miles happy, will not let this stand and gets to work.
it takes a few months, but he’s able to find and get into contact with people who know gregory edgeworth and collect photos from them. in the end, he has a few pictures of the defense attorney… and several of gregory and miles together. he figured he wouldn’t have any luck with those, assuming they would be destroyed or in some storage unit, but raymond shields turned out to be a godsend.
so, with the photos he collected, he visits miles under the false pretense of going over a case together. once he’s there, he gives the photos to miles, watching the prosecutor intently as he looks through the photos in shock.
he had expected the shock. he had half expected the tears. what he hadn’t expected was the hug and the barely audible murmur of “thank you, phoenix.”
he couldn’t completely undo all the damage von karma had done, but he would repair all he could and do what he did best: hold miles and let him know how loved he was.
and that’s just what he did.
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Been reflecting on my assumptions that anyone who sparks my disabled rage, protectiveness or exhaustion must be abled, and the kneejerk reaction to frame it as a slight by the abled world upon me/my loved ones/our communities.
To be clear, there's many appropriate times and places for acting in defence of us crips, Mad, ND, Deaf, ill and otherwise disabled people. It feels impossible that there'll be a day without that need some time in the future.
And.
I don't think it's as simple as that binary of us vs them. To truly internalise that anyone, anywhere can be disabled (including that random cunt who was just ableist to you!), I think we - I - need to break down this binary of abled & disabled. Not in an "ableism doesn't exist" way or a "disabled is not a useful category" way, but more: There are so many ways to have a body, and to be honest most of the bodies in this world are non-normative.
Whether through being disabled, racialised, fat, queertrans, intersex, gender non-conforming, impoverished, or any other kinda so-called "deviance" from the ""norm"", we have some shit in common! Namely the many varied experiences of existing outside the oppressive boundaries of "normative" bodies. The experiences we have of having these bodyminds in this world are real and important to name, and. the ways we group each of those experiences have arbitrary and ever-evolving, societally/culturally-defined boundaries.
I think in order to be able to not presume the ableist stranger abled-until-proven-otherwise, I/we also need to also come to terms with the ways we let each other down, disappoint each other. Perpetuate shit we shouldn't because the world is a rough place to exist and try to grow. I do it, and so does this random stranger.
So do my family members who deny their disabilities and wonder why I don't or can't do the same. So do average height crips who forget Little People exist in access audits & checklists. So do the Deaf people who express their unneeded sympathy when I talk about my wheelchair use, and so do the disableds who ask why there can't just be one sign language that everyone worldwide uses. So does the other wheelchair user who avoids my solidarity glance at the shops. So does the non-immunocompromised cane user who's dropped all pandemic precautions. So does that neurodivergent person who's forgotten they're not the only one in the vicinity with Brain Shit going on.
We love and uplift and protect and care for one another, absolutely! but we can also fuck each other over just like anyone else. We disappoint each other in big or little ways all the time. It doesn't make us abled, it makes us imperfect people in a world solely populated by imperfect people.
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