#I also don't even know when we could get there because our mum is currently taking her boyfriend to his own medical appointment

[thethingything]

guess who called 111 and explained the situation and immediately got told to go to the hospital as soon as possible. it's a 13+ hour wait for treatment when all they're likely to do is prescribe antibiotics, which they could have done over the phone.

on the one hand at least we're being taken seriously now but on the other hand I really don't want to expend loads of energy sitting in a chair that's going to fuck up our spine in a room that's going to give us sensory overload, when this could all have just been sorted by now if the first doctor actually listened to us.

this is a medical issue we've had before and we know how our body reacts to it and what the treatment for it is, but apparently everyone else is determined to make it as difficult as possible to get that treatment

[coldflasher]

last thing i needed today was to sit through multiple hours of conversation with my mum's shitty boyfriend in which he

told me i should "prioritize driving lessons above all else" (the irony in this will become clear from the points below because he then spent the rest of the afternoon negging me and calling me lazy and unmotivated for not doing other things he thinks i should be dedicating more time to, in an act of sheer, breathtaking hypocrisy)

questioned me about why i have issues driving and then when i explained that it makes me anxious he said "just remember that a car is like a missile. you could easily kill someone with it and also everyone else on the road is trying to kill you." IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MAKE ME *LESS* ANXIOUS, YOU FUCKING PILLOCK?? i was like yeah thoughts like that are literally the ENTIRE PROBLEM but thanks :)

derided me for not having finished my novel yet, even though i sincerely doubt the man has ever written so much as a coherent text message. also i specifically told my mum i didnt want to talk to him about writing cos i knew he'd be a dick about it and oh look

made numerous comments accusing me of "making excuses" for not going to the gym, when i know for a fact he also does not go to the gym or exercise at all. also made weird comments about how my mum eats too much and how we "shovel food in our faces". get fucked get fucked get FUUUUUCKED. my mum is borderline eating disordered. she will literally walk around the garden in circles to hit her step goal and also has earnestly told me that she aims to eat 1200 calories a day, which is an appropriate calorific intake for a toddler, not a woman in her fifties, and i am entirely convinced it is at least 50% his fault

then he started talking about how he'd just spent £50 on a "grounding blanket" that is supposed to absorb all the electrical currents from the human body to make you more aligned with the earth or some other wank. truly incredible. i was like hm now im no expert but don't we need those electrical signals to you know. keep our brains working. not that that's a problem you often encounter, i'm sure

[myopicry]

Prefacing this ask by saying it is LONG and I'm sorry about that. I'm not trying to convince you to transition or something wild like that. It's just that I've been thinking about one of your posts a lot, and I sort of wanted your thoughts on my thoughts.

I'm doing something very similar to lurking on TERF blogs at the moment, but to be honest, it's less to critique myself as a trans person and more like being in high school and finding out who's saying what about you. And I'm sorry about that, because I figure from your blog that you find safety in these sorts of spaces, and in telling you this I figure I'm taking some of that safety away.

I am very, very transgender. My little brother is, too - when we found out, my mum said something about how she knew having all girls was too good to be true. I like to joke that it runs in the family. Neither of us can medically transition, because he's too young and I'm almost eighteen, so they don't know what to do with me. I have to wait until I'm of age and then figure something out. I try not to think about my brother growing up, because while he's always passing now, he won't in a few years. I also try not to think about how much it will cost.

I have this little JK Rowling in my head at all times, repeating everything I've ever read under the gender critical tag. "You're running away from womanhood - you're betraying the female population - you're a poor, confused girl, and you've been sucked into a cult of misogyny run by a transfem oligarchy - you're a stain on the queer community - you're too privileged, too spoiled, and that's why you've got time to think about pronouns and deadnames and how much you would give for a beard - you're a fucking disgrace and it'd do the whole world a service if you could just shut up and sit down."

And I guess I hear that often enough that I can't escape it. I can accept that I'm a freak and a disappointment to my parents and an attention seeker and a traitor and a victim and a perpetrator and a hostage and a loaded gun all at once. But those arguments fall through when it comes to my brother, and even if they did apply to him, how could I tell him to be quiet and go back to the girl's bathroom? How could I tell him, this seven year old with dreams that reach the sky, that he's a mockery of modern feminism?

I don't know. I guess I can't turn myself away the same as I can't turn him away. What would you think about either of us eventually medically transitioning? Not early, not being pushed into anything against our will - just of our own accord when we feel it's right. And for that matter, what do you think about this whole situation? Have I got it wrong? Are we the poor leftist bastards my little JK Rowling says we are?

Sorry again for the long ask, and I hope the world is treating you well. I think your style of writing is awesome, and I'm very glad you're comfortable in your gender identity.

Thanks for your time, and for a good portion of your inbox, depending how much space this ends up taking. Have a good night

hi, no worries about the long ask, I did start this blog with the hope I could engage in discussions and hear about other people's experiences directly, so I am absolutely happy to receive this! I myself will preface this is likely going to be a long, long response as well, since I want to give your message a lot of thought and attention.

[I'll put the response under a keep reading break because I suspect this will get very annoying to scroll through if continue the way I'm planning to lol]

first off, I want to say I can't really truly tell you if you should medically transition or not. I think it's a highly personal choice, and only through seeking your own avenues of self reflection and questioning would you really be able find what is the best for you. and honestly I still can't say I've written the entire concept off for myself. In some ways, that's a little hypocritical, as I obviously am currently engaging with an ideology that disagrees with the entire premise of transitioning in the first place, but I think expecting people to be "ideologically pure" is a bit of a misstep. an argument or philosophical stance would not make sense to inhabit hypocrisy, but an individual can be made of contradictions, and I can accept myself to inhabit these contradictions as long as I also allow myself time to act reasonably in spite of the conflicts in my mind. In a perfect world, if medical technology gets better and transition is a more risk-free and well-researched path, maybe I would take the opportunity to alleviate my dysphoria like that. but in this world, I choose to dig further to the core of my dysphoria instead and approach it from another angle.

I will say what stopped me from solely seeing transition as a "cure" for my dysphoria and identity issues was a deep consideration if it would do me personally more good than harm. a pros and cons list, if you will, just with way more back and forth dialogue within myself. some of the things I contemplated obviously may not be relevant to you, or anyone else, for that matter, but I find that it could offer helpful insight just to hear about someone else's thought process without any argument or "agenda", just pure self reflection. so, here we go...

presenting... the reasons/the thought process that made me decide to not pursue transition for the foreseeable future:

medical transition is a BIG deal. I mean, no shit, but I think in my research process there were two distinct phases I went through. one of idealization and envy, and the other of coming to terms with practicality and the realistic aspect of medical transition. In phase one, I was absolutely idealizing the thought of medical transition, because of course, before I gave gender ideology itself too much critical thought, being a man and passing as a man sounded like literal heaven on earth. sure, I could sort of pass to many first glances when binding if I didn't speak, but if I had the deep voice, the muscles, and facial hair to help, I wouldn't have to be stuck in my current terrible cocoon of a body and I could be like the artists and musicians I idolized. I was pretty jealous of most men I met, just the fact they were born like that. I was/am especially jealous of men who have "feminine" traits like longer hair or painted nails and got more female attention because of it (in hindsight, it's a bit obvious this wasn't a gender thing as much as it was related to my sexuality but that's a whole tangent I won't subject you to). I also was incredibly inspired by non-binary and trans influencers, even though I had long forbade myself from going on tiktok again, instagram and youtube and the like were still there, and everyone post-transition looked so happy and they were so charismatic and of course they were all living their best lives in LA and working in entertainment, a life I had been looking at rosily since I was a kid. however, once I seriously started looking into HRT and top surgery (it helped that I gained a little more realism into my perception of social media too) and when I seriously considered the impact it would have on my body, (stereotypically I didn't want to bald, I knew acne wouldn't be good for me as I already have issues with skin picking, and the atrophy and other complications weren't exactly appealing) I couldn't justify rushing into it like I wanted to. it was definitely a mental back and forth, but I did compromise with myself and decide to take more small steps to socially transition first and make non-medical lifestyle changes like vocal training for a lower register, actually working out and losing some weight, dressing in a way that feels comfortable for me, asking myself how I could change what I dislike about my being while still honoring it, not harming it or making a medical commitment.

I do not feel like a stable enough adult with any kind of financial independence to pursue something like this alone. obviously, transition is not something anyone has to do alone, but for me, I realized it is a primarily self-serving and self-oriented pursuit, and i wouldn't really feel like I was fully committing to it of my own volition if I had to get immense amounts of financial and emotional support for it. this isn't really applicable to all and might be tied to some of my own personal hang ups on depending on others, but I do think when it comes to your own body, you need to be assured in how you're handling it. since I can't even make my own doctor's appointments and I absolutely do not have a stable income, I figured I should at least "transition" into a functioning adult who can make my phone calls before I upend my life with surgery.

I want to live life. sort of related to point one and two, I realized in order to get to a point where I could confidently make decisions for myself and in the process of slowly transitioning rather than waiting for the moment I could make the two big changes that would "solve" everything, I needed to actually live life instead of waiting for my life to start after a perfect transition. again, this is pretty highly specific and doesn't apply to everyone, but for me I just felt the time I spent entrenched in the process of trying to pass/planning my future around medical transition/and just obsessing over how others perceived me, even though this was supposed to be a decision for myself, my concern on how others looked at me was literally keeping me from going outside. on bad dysphoria days I would just self-isolate and spend it all online, doomscrolling on conservative transphobic forums taking the insults towards me or watching hyperpositive trans tiktok compilations, sometimes I did both at once for no good reason other than to prolong my catatonic self-pity party. it was bad, no matter where I decided to focus on, whether it was the negatives or positives of transition and transgender philosophy, I was mentally stuck. I'd never considered letting go of the thing I had fixated so long on, until I actually started reading more nuanced perspectives about it. specifically, this blog popped up when I was suffering from a bit of binding pain and offered a really thorough and compassionate deconstruction of gender dysphoria that I hadn't really seen before. that, combined with seeing more of radblr actually (which, for its expected faults as any online space would have, is still generally the nicest community discussing radical feminism and gender critical viewpoints imo) made me realize there was a way to handle my dysphoria from a more reasonable and less isolating viewpoint, a viewpoint that allowed me some [pun not intended] space to breath.

re-evaluating my self criticism was something really important as well. I really relate to your little brain JK Rowling, I always felt like I had a very judgy TERF in my brain yelling at a "counterculture" side of me, telling me all the ways I was wrong and stupid for feeling this way, or even considering transition at all. what helped was realizing this wasn't the voice of a radical feminist in my head at all, it was just my own voice of self-hatred doing what it always does, undermining my mind, painting itself in a TERF archetype because from my time online I could easily shorthand it as an "enemy" of sorts. but it isn't real, as most internet archetypes aren't real. this might be one of my biggest gripes with internet lgbt culture in general, (although this is a general issue with social media and internet culture in all cases, but I digress) the reduction of individuals and opinions into tropes and pithy sayings. I might just be too neurotic to ever take anything at face value, and clearly based on this blog, I like deconstructing things and yapping about them way too much. "kill all TERFs" and "JK Rowling is horrible and evil" suddenly holds way less weight when you take time to ask why? what did JK Rowling actually say? why do the TERFs all supposedly deserve to die? am I falsely attributing my own insecurities and self-hatred to a caricature of a viewpoint I've just been told is the worst? after further consideration I find it hard to believe that out of all the terrible people and ideologies in the world, the radical feminists and the british wizard books author think I specifically am a worthless piece of garbage. I mean, this is also why I won't say that all TRAs or trans people are evil, because that kind of generalization doesn't seem helpful at all. I wouldn't assume anyone who isn't explicitly speaking in bad faith (think right wing pundits being paid or gaining clout to peddle certain ideas, that would be bad faith) actually hates me personally or that an opposing viewpoint should immediately translate into an affirmation of my own self hatred.

yeah, it's true, radical feminism did help me realize I wasn't the problem. looking into these spaces gave me the words to realize that my suffering wasn't solely my fault. why do I blame myself and my body for causing me pain? of course I hate being a woman, I can't conform to society's predatory expectations of me, but why is it my fault I fail to meet society's standards? why am I planning to shill out thousands and thousands of dollars to change my body, to take the risk of complications and side affects just so I no longer have to expect the world to do better? I feel like I often fall into a nihilistic mindset, which I really try and get away from since I know from experience that is not good for me at all. I had to ask myself, is transition just the nihilism in me winning? that I have to give up on the world becoming better for someone like me and just conform to that expectation that my unaltered existence is a failure? this probably isn't the case for everyone, I know trans people in real life, and I'd never tell them they're "succumbing to nihilism" or whatever pretentious philosophical bullshit I just typed, but for me, it was a helpful framework that made it a little easier to keep going. and simply, embracing a gnc woman identity is just sort of easier to me. it's less stressful. I don't have to deal with the ordeal of passing, or try to distance myself from "feminine" hobbies, I just have to deal with accepting my body for what it is and I no longer have to curate an identity because I can just accept gender isn't actually that important and I just am. I just enjoy dressing and looking masculine, but I don't need it to say something deep about my soul or my mental state. I can be inspired by masculine fashion and men, but I don't need to be jealous of anything they have when I have the same, if not more, potential within myself. it is also way less mental stress to engage with feminist thought because on some levels it is relieving that I'm not alone in seeing a lot of the issues with the world as they are. [there's still that tired nihilism over how fucked women's rights are a lot of the time, but being able to express that frustration in solidarity with other women has brought me a level of relief I didn't get with queer spaces and activism. not sure what it is, maybe it's that a lot of that activism it feels performative. a thought to chew on for myself later]

I really hate social media. ironic, since I've basically used it my whole life and I am saying these words on tumblr dot com. I was given free reign to the internet and a gmail to use when I was nine (off topic: it's astonishing I didn't have worse experiences with the amount of internet access I had. luckily I mostly just stayed on youtube and watched minecraft music videos. too socially anxious to interact with anyone, I suppose.) and until a year or two ago I had accepted a "well, the internet can be bad if you use it unsafely, but it's an important tool for human connection!" mindset. however, in my opinion now, social media only gets worse and worse by the day. I never was into posting anything personal online, mostly using it for art, but the growing culture of personal branding and the way social media is seeping into real life more and more really put me off the entire concept. you might be able to tell this blog would not thrive in any other ecosystem other than a niche tumblr subculture! that is on purpose! I think social media promotes a culture of narcissism and de-personalization that harms people, especially young people, and promotes consumerism and harmful corporate interests. before I get way too lofty for this digital soapbox, I kind of want to offer you (and anyone willing to listen, honestly) the advice to try and get off any algorithm-based social media (instagram, tiktok, twitter and the like. maybe even tumblr if you spend too much time on it like I do), and encourage your brother to do the same. it is incredibly difficult to be a young person growing up in a world being corroded more and more by predatory social media algorithms and invasive technological advancements, and I feel really bad for future generations and the technological hellscape they'll likely grow up in, but I hope the older zoomers can remedy that slightly and promote more healthy, offline communities and activities to the youth. at least attempting to get away from engaging with social media also made me more confident in the long run that I was able to make choices free from influences of "social contagions" (god I hate how useful that term is) online. if you or your brother do end up medically transitioning, I think it would only help to know it was a choice made without direct internet influence.

...all of those points alone could be a much longer ramble, and I have much more to say but out of respect for your eyes having to read all of these run on sentences, I'll cut myself off there.

I'm honestly honored anyone would be willing to ask for insight from me already, so I hope even any sentence of that was remotely helpful, or even remotely understandable as a sentence. I didn't know how to put this next part organically in my already disparate bulleted list of word vomit, so I'll just type it here:

I think the best thing I could say is that you should do whatever makes you the least stressed. forget about attaining your "true-self" and self-actualization for a second. I think being young often makes those things feel like an urgent need, but we can forget how it takes time to learn and grow as a person before attaining that. and we do need to grow as people, if everyone could solve all their life's problems and know exactly who they are as a teenager, then I think we'd be living in a utopia of sorts. you mentioned feeling too spoiled and privileged for having all this time to worry about pronouns and gender identity, and I really get what you mean, it's something that I think about a lot, especially knowing people like my parents, or their parents, were not afforded that kind of luxury of self-discovery. it is a privilege to be here, typing away on my fairly pricey laptop in cozy suburbia instead of having urgent worries like so many people still do at this very minute. I think that's something you have to recognize, and a part of recognizing that is realizing that every moment you send yourself further into stress and anxiety, you aren't honoring the privilege and affording enough gratitude to your own existence. unfortunately, unlike money, time is not something you can donate materially to people, but using your time to make yourself more miserable is like if you were throwing money into a wood chipper, when instead you could be honoring your life by making the most out of it. don't take this harshly though, it isn't your fault that you're "wasting time" by not being relaxed enough or that your brain happens to feel dysphoria at all. you didn't choose for that to happen to you. what I mean is that it might be helpful to expend your energy somewhere else, you can choose how you interact with your dysphoria. instead of getting hung up on what you're doing wrong or entering that unhelpful state of self-critique and agonizing over every minutiae of identity, do things that ease stress and pain and that give you space to explore the multi-faceted existence that you embody, because you are a valuable person beyond what random assignment of sex characteristics you embody or what sex characteristics you wish you had. not to sound like too much of a cliche here, but life is precious and it's better to spend it meaningfully for yourself rather than forever bargaining your hypothetical worth as a person to the ideological forces that you find online. no matter what you end up "identifying" as or what opinions you hold, you deserve to lead a full life not stuck in your head. and if you're taking steps to put living life as a priority, it'll help you be able to decide what it is you do actually want from life. and when you do want to find answers, just asking "why?" about what you feel and compassionately pushing yourself to question your preconceived beliefs in a non-hostile space, that is, a space where you don't only focus on relentless self critique, but instead an open dialogue within yourself to come to an understanding, not a criticism.

sorry for the long winded lecture appended to what was already basically a long winded lecture, this is mostly advice I try to give to myself, and selfishly it was helpful for me to type it all out and actually read for myself again.

it's times like these I wish telepathy was real so I could just beam all my brainwaves into someone else's brain and save myself the trouble of actually communicating with another person [I'm lazy and expressing myself well is hard :p] but alas I suppose we must settle for the imperfect form of the english language. as you can probably tell, I have probably way more to say but I can't exactly dump all my life story and mind ruminations onto one tumblr post, so if you ever want to talk more my inbox is in fact always open! I have no idea how tumblr messaging works and I can't promise I respond to everything quickly [I will take my own advice and do the get off the internet thing sometimes] but I always hope I can offer something thoughtful in response to receiving something thoughtful. that being said, I wish all the best for you and your brother, whatever you choose to do in the future you deserve to be in the best of health and safety!

[distant--shadow]

get to know meme

lil thing where I'll give a bit too much detail so it fills its purpose, honoured honestly to be tagged by three of my favourite writers in this space @sharkodactyl, @unicyclehippo , and @astoriacolumnstaircase - anyone reading this should be reading their works instead.

favourite colour: brown(s), like a mid to a dark tone, i like them to have a bit of red involved. like our old-boy chet, I love the wood. my dream home would be all wood-panelled with built in inlayed and set back shelves and nooks a plenty and yeah just full of brik-a-brak. otherwise my favourite colours are navy blue and greens that are more mixed with blue than yellow, teals and emeralds and once again generally around the mid tones. green makes me very happy. moss and outdoors and all that.

currently reading: fic. haha. (suss my recommend reading tag) I did venture out to my (very) local queer bookshop and asked them for something that won't send me on a spiral if I'm already on one/provide some escapism and they reccomended river of teeth by Sarah gailey. anyone I've said about it to seems real enthusiastic about it, I am not well read at all when it comes to published things, tend to just get really into a few fandom authors works and picking them apart (rereading a lot) . still haven't started it but maybe I'll try take it out to the park in the next week or so. I'm dabbling in reading (and unfortunately writing) poetry thanks to @picturesofthegoneworlds and @blorbotomy 's influence, those mini books are fun to keep on you when out and about, poem or two on a tree stump or boulder with a grand vista and a brain that wants eyes on a phone screen.

last song: last song I consciously (not background music) listened to was:

I went on an early lord snow stint the other night because the air smelt crisp and there was a nice chill. they have remained my favourite heavy (as a broad term) band for a decade now.

I used to have music on all of the time, whether that be cd's at home or in my mp3 player (that I still take out with me) but these days I find listening more of an intentional activity and I prefer to have people just nattering when I'm at home and want background noise. think it's where my heads at and I've just got more sensitive to being overstimulated I guess. I was also pretty good at going to a live gig at least once a week before I did my back in, looking forward to getting into that habit again.

last series: I don't watch much stuff outside of critical role, least other than YouTube videos I'll put on whislt I'm drawing. oh wait yeah I ordered 3 seasons of xena on ebay because it's like a couple of quid a season and it is a real good comfort show and fucking amazing. I hadn't seen it since I was pre teen and it was on day time TV and I'd catch it on sick days. the amount of people I've brought it up to these past few months who've been so stoked to be reminded of it/eager to watch it with me is actually hilarious.

last movie: uhhhh God movies I watch even less. I haven't been to a cinema in over 12 years now, just not my thing, and it's funny caus my mum used to work in the film and TV industry and we had shelves and shelves full of VHS growing up (mostly bootlegged) and she can just ramble about pretty much any early era film up to the stuff from the 80s (when she was working on em) for days. never could sit through em, never felt satisfied with how the story went. guess that's why actual play appeals to me. but saying all this I did rewatch Bound for the first time since I was like 15 last month or so, enjoyed it a lot more than I did back then.

sweet/savory/spicy: savory all day. I am a salt fiend. I used to think I'd be fortunate enough to die from my salt intake. I'll put it on anything. cereal, toast, fruit. I think the other day I noted the one thing I wouldn't put it on, but I can't recall that right now honestly. it's gotta be decent salt too, sea salt or rock salt that has some texture and delicious flavour, I'm not fucking with that table salt shit. I carry salt with me in a mini mason jar everywhere I go, saves when you only have access to bland cold supermarket food. one of my earliest memories is when I was like 6 I had had my daily 1 glass allowance of squash/fruit cordial in my white Tom and Jerry printed beaker with the accordion bendy straw and so when I was pouring myself a glass of water from the tap I put salt in it caus I wanted flavour that would not show through the white translucent container. it's all been downhill from there, although I also, luckily I guess caus otherwise I would be really fucked, do drink a lot of water.

currently working on: myself and healing. hah. I never realised how much paperwork and phone calls came with this maintenance shit. I'm still out of work, and my mental health has taken a huge hit from not being able to do the things I usually would. so right now I'm just trying to keep everything together. I can draw again though, so sorry about that.

I never know who to tag in these things caus I don't think everyone wants to do them. so I'll go with this being open invite as always. hope anyone who read this far is having a good week, and sentiment is still there even if you didn't read this (unless you don't deserve my well wishes, then fuck you.)

[snaggletoothedbastard]

My mum and I had a conversation with my aunt a few weeks ago and I've been having a lot of Thoughts about it.

Basically, my mum was telling my aunt about a book she was reading, about an autistic man's experience with masking. She was really excited to tell my aunt about it.

My aunt essentially just said "fuck that" and went off on one about how she thinks neurodivergent people should continue masking because our unmasked selves are too difficult for her to deal with.

She's quite an opinionated person in general so her response wasn't really out of character but it caught us a bit off guard, seeing as my aunt spends a great deal of her life around neurodivergent people. Her husband and two of her sons have ADHD, her dad is autistic and bipolar, I'm autistic, and both she and her husband have done a lot of work with disabled people (my uncle works with autistic adults and runs a forest school for neurodivergent children, and my aunt has worked in a couple of schools for disabled kids; currently she works with traumatised children). So it was kind of weird to see her having this attitude, seeing as, given her position, you'd think she'd have a better understanding of neurodivergent people.

The reason she gave for having this opinion was the fact that my uncle's ADHD causes him to be quite absent-minded and forgetful, and my aunt often has to remind him about things that he needs to remember. While I understand that this might be a bit tedious, I don't think it's right of her to talk about it as if it's a huge problem. Specifically a huge problem for her. She centred herself in the conversation and didn't seem to be thinking about how my uncle's ADHD affects him. It was like she thought he was just trying to annoy her.

Later my mum told me that my uncle had recently been driving home from work and managed to get completely lost because he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. She said she would have thought about my uncle in that situation first, as he was the one who was completely involved and directly impacted. I agreed with her. Obviously it wouldn't have been great for my aunt to have him call her and tell her he was lost, but the situation just wasn't about her, it was about him, and he needed help. He could have called someone else and my aunt wouldn't have been affected, but he still would have been lost.

My mum and I tried to explain to her that what she was saying was inconsiderate but she seemed determined to prove us wrong and kept interrupting us to say "well how do you know that?". She said she also has to change her behaviour to fit the situation she's in, so why should we have to stop doing that? What I don't think she was getting is that yes, it's normal to adjust your behaviour to your environment and everyone does that to an extent, but the difference is that disabled people are expected to do it a lot more, to the point of burnout. And when we are burnt out, we are expected to keep going, because god forbid we let the people around us utilise a bit of that empathy they're always saying we don't have.

The reason I'm still thinking about this conversation after about a month is how it has made me feel. It didn't make me feel good. It made me scared and frustrated because it was another reminder that people like me are always seen as a burden.

In an interaction between an able-bodied neurotypical person and a disabled person, the able-bodied neurotypical person will automatically be prioritised. They'll be given sympathy and understanding, while the disabled person gets nothing. This is something I am always aware of when I interact with others. I have to pay attention to every little thing, every tiny detail of what I'm doing out of fear that I'm being annoying. Even when I'm unable to change my behaviour, I still think I should be changing it because it's making me difficult to interact with.

I often wonder how other people perceive me. I wonder if it's confusing or irritating for them to have to talk to someone who doesn't make eye contact. I wonder how exasperated they get when I keep asking them to repeat themselves. I wonder if they see my stims as a distraction. I wonder if they think I'm clueless when I don't understand a joke. I wonder if they hear me talking at length about something I love and wish the conversation had never started.

I know these things shouldn't matter. But when you've gone your entire life hiding all your autistic traits, both intentionally and unintentionally, because you've learnt that other people's comfort matters more than yours, it's a difficult mindset to let go of.

I still struggle to set boundaries and recognise when something is hurting me. I still feel guilty about asking for accommodation at school, because I've been made to think that asking for things I need is entitled and selfish.

This is why I get so unbearably angry when I remember why I mask in the first place. And why I get even angrier when people don't care to understand why allowing myself to stop masking is so important.

Ironic that neurotypicals like to bang on about how autistics have no empathy. They could do with some of it themselves.

[little-life-of-bushra]

Persia

Persia was elegant.

She was a little lady. Always elegant. The way she held herself. The way she sat. The way she posed in photos when she wasn't making fun. Persia was way more elegant than me.

Battersea - Persia got upset and complained the Battersea flat which was immaculate most of the time was not tidy enough. So the current Brighton set up couldn't be further from the TRUTH.

Battersea note -

One evening a team member came over. Livia. A very beautiful kind hard working soul. Extremely smart lady from Moldova. To be honest I knew nothing about Moldova so even on that basis it was interesting to hear what she had to say.

We would meet at the conduit and work from there. Frankly it was nice to have the company and to discuss the ideas and viability of how to move forward with the company with her. And we did work very well together completing a few projects.

I tried to keep our friendship and working relationship separate, to keep a professional distance though I thought she was a lovely person. And we had a lot in common - enjoying the arts and eating out. Also at 50, it felt kind of weird having a friend in their 20s. Though she never made me feel weird. Particularly at that point I wasn't seeing enough of my long term friends - note to self to do more of that. Still we always enjoyed each others company.

So back to ... the evening.

I had told Persia I was having a friend/ colleague over. Livia came over with a nice bottle of wine from Moldova. It was a speciality.

I can't remember what I cooked - probably spicy pizza ? Thai curry ? I was probably very self conscious about the fact about my cooking skills. Definitely something spicy - which I was quite surprised by.

We spoke about Moldova and also work. I remember her saying to me that people are all going to ask me questions. I had a situation where Lloyds bank / business were questioning how long I had had my business but I felt it was yet another setup. I wrote about it previously. I felt she was trying to mediate. But I think aka The Rock - I just have strong views on how things should be run.

Anyway it didn't get in the way of having a lovely time.

Persia was back from school and hanging around her bedroom. But she popped out to have a nosey. She made some - I am too cool for school entrance into the room. I know that look she does. Pretends like she is doing something else but coming in totally to have a nosey at the situation and who is in the room. Quite strategic. I don't know who she gets that from.

Persia's face did light up when she saw Livia. I could see she Persia had that - oh my mum knows a cool girl look on her face, highly impressed by Livia's red/pink curly hair I could see. Persia immediately went into into wanting to impress her.

And said I think that her and her friends were making up a dance from tiktok but they made fun of Persia or something. For a couple of years Persia had been learning Tik Tok dances. She proceeded to show Livia. I could see Livia was quietly enamoured by Persia's showing off to the 'older sister' in the room. Then Persia hung around talking about space and shroedingers cat with Livia. Very sophisticated conversations .. trying to show what a little lady Persia was to Livia.

In fact Persia would regularly challenge Ryan on what he knew about space. She is so Smart, funny, nosey, not afraid, strangely sophisticated in articulating herself. Confrontational but shy. Fearless. Funny. Unpredictable in her thinking and articulation of how she sees the world.

That's why I love Persia because she has this original way of thinking amongst just being a gorgeous girl. I can't wait to talk to her.

After Livia left. Persia pointedly asked me = how did I know Livia, like how would her uncool mum know someone like Livia ! Which made me chuckle. Livia definitely made an impression on Persia.

To be continued ... as I write more.

PERSIA

I very much miss Persia.

She had all these little lady quirks.

She would turn it on and off - ideas, her quirks a lot like her mummy. It was very sparky. And very sparkly.

And I don't understand - where is she ?

Why would you substitute her.

It is so strange.

Persia at Bedtime loved her feet massaged, her arms and hands massaged and her back, her hair and her forehead massaged. Even my mum did that to me when I was feeling sad or was fluey etc as an adult. When I went to Bangladesh with her when I was 30 and we had to share bed, I had really had pmt and my mum stroked my hair to sleep. Sorry white people if you have never experienced this - bad f-in g luck.

Persia is kind.

Persia loves her mummy.

Persia is no longer angry about the divorce.

i noticed at the palm in dubai, when there was fakery in the shop where i bought my costume she started to get upset & started biting me - not because of me but because of the situation. She was real in dubai.

Persia has these really interesting eyes - sort of like Chinese sometimes just on her high cheekbones.

Ryan was a bot in clapham & I believe he is ok so Persia must be too.

[sienna-cael2041]

idea for assignment??!??!?!!?

i want to record noises i hear around the house and I feel like it will have interesting acoustics because my house is large but low key has no furniture! and this is because my house is currently in an extended period of transition where my parents are planning to move out to separate places, while preparing to sell our house.

for the past 2 or 3 years, we've been getting ready to sell the house, and i've been planning to live with my mum, and my dad is probably going to be alone. about a year and a half ago, we stripped all our photos off the walls, and painted them all white. a year ago, we packaged a lot of our stuff in boxes, put our couches, bookshelves, tables, chairs and rugs in storage, and redid the timber flooring and carpet. so now my house is both cluttered and empty at the same time.

there's a room full of boxes that have been there for months gathering dust, and a large, empty main area with a tall ceiling that echos. there's another big, dark and empty room downstairs that's also gathering dust. there's a glass shelf full of my mum's parent's glassware that we haven't packed away yet, and almost a third of all the glasses have dead cicadas, dragonflies and spiders inside.

there is a long, dark hallway, and at the end is my mum's room, which is meant to be a master bedroom. there's a huge, semi-newly renovated ensuite bathroom that has a double shower for couples. when she showers she sings and the sound exits the bathroom window and enters through my bedroom window. my dad's room is a small study that has been there since the beginning, and used to be my sister's room before she moved out. it smells like slightly damp laundry in there. and his bedside table has a medically prescribed weed pen, a shot glass holding nail clippers, and often an empty glass containing a metal straw that had been drunk from the night before.

my bedroom is probably the most furnished room in the house, still containing my desk, bed, chair and bookshelf. i think that there's mould growing inside my cupboard, but i don't use it, since most of my clothes stay in laundry baskets. there's newly installed central heating in my house and the machine is right outside my window, providing me with a hum of white noise at almost all times.

my brother's room, (now empty) used to have the heating underneath it, and it would make these awful, loud shuddering noise. my brother also used to complain about it having a high pitched noise at all times but i could never hear it.

my house is usually pretty quiet. and it's kind of always been like that, unless it's dinner, or people are having an altercation or something. it's only in the past year or so i've felt comfortable actually making noise and taking up space in my own home. i used to walk around; literally almost tiptoeing, avoiding talking to anyone. i would be afraid to take showers because of the volume of it or even play music without headphones. i never called anyone and if i did, i'd go outside, not wanting to cause a disturbance. the only sound in the house would be the click-clack of my dog's paws walking around.

but lately i've just stopped caring. because so have my parents. they've randomly, in the past 2 years, really eased up, especially my mum who i had an extremely strained relationship with in my adolescence. like, now i just play music in my room, in the shower, i call my friends and laugh so so loud. i put a cd player in the kitchen and have been building my collection of 90s albums with artists/bands like hole, the cranberries, nirvana, rem, radiohead and portishead.

i feel like it sounds like i'm complaining about my home life but honestly, i'm happy with it. i'm lucky to live in such a nice house in a nice area, i'm happy that my relationship with my parents has improved drastically in the past few years, but i'm excited to move out with my mum because i know that staying here is holding her back. and i also realise that this post is called "idea for assignment" yet i still haven't actually said what my idea is.

what i'm saying with all of this is that i feel me, and my house, are in a state of limbo. we haven't moved out yet because of all these council requirements, yet basically all our stuff is either packed up or already in storage somewhere. i don't feel like a kid anymore, but i definitely don't feel like much of an adult. it's hard to explain without sounding really cringe but i just feel like i'm in between my childhood and my adulthood, my mum's in between two major stages in her life - being with my dad, and then finally not having to live with him. and i feel like usually these things happen kind of fast, maybe.. but we've been sitting in a near empty house for over a year now. but i'm excited for the future. i can't wait to live with my mum, and have all my friends over, and to hang out with her and her boyfriend and watch them play their guitars, and actually have furniture and couches. i miss my couches so bad! and FINALLY what i want to do with this assignment is document all the sounds of my house right now.

i want to record all these familiar sounds, like when at night it's nearly dead silent aside from the steady hum of the heater and the clinking of the metal straw against my dad's glass of vodka + orange juice (he's not an alcoholic he just really loves that combination for some reason and drinks it like every night.) and also he has these coughing fits that my brother and i laugh about because that's when you know he's hitting the penjamin (legally). and sometimes i can faintly here my mum practicing the most basic songs ever on the ukulele, like "amazing grace" and stuff. i also hear my dog (his name is Hutch) shuffling around, and the sound that his collar tag makes against his metal bowl. and the sound of the washing machine, and the fridge beeping because someone (probably dad) left it open. and side note, once i heard the fridge beeping, so i went to go close it, but then i realised it was already closed and it was my neighbour's fire alarm. and then i looked out the window and it was just a huge wall of orange outside.

okay anyway, i don't know how i am talking SO MUCH right now. i don't know if i want to make a soundscape or abstract it honestly, because i feel like making it abstract would sound so cool but a soundscape kind of fits the vibe more. or i could do a mix of both somehow??? i'll think about it.....

[atravenefica]

READING:

The reversed Two of Swords representing your feelings suggests you might be struggling with indecision or uncertainty about your role in the relationship, and how your feelings are impacting the partnership.

The Devil representing Zen's feelings indicates that you might perceive him as being trapped in unhealthy patterns, temptation, or manipulation. This perception could be negatively affecting the relationship.

The Six of Cups representing the overall dynamics and future implies that your relationship might be influenced by nostalgia, past experiences, or a desire to hold onto a sense of innocence or comfort.

REFLECTION:

How do I feel about the reversal of the Two of Swords in the "Me" position? What is causing my uncertainty and indecision in this relationship? I think it's accurate right now, and also has been accurate at other times. I'm uncertain if he can offer me what I need, even though what I ask for is very basic in my eyes. I ask for empathy, open communication and curiosity/a willingness to learn and work together. He offers me lots of uncertainty and an inability to discuss or plan for the future. I know I love him and I will work towards anything with him, but he has told me he has doubts about the future. I don't know how to trust him moving forward. I think I will be hurt badly. I already am.

What patterns or behaviors in Zen's behavior are represented by the Devil card, and how do those impact our relationship? Zen struggles with addiction issues with everything from drinking alcohol to binge eating to scrolling on his phone before bed. This has impacted the relationship a lot. He almost always chooses partying over me and also destroys his own body and mental health in the process. He can become mean spirited and lash out at times when in the throes of drugs and alcohol.

How has our shared history, represented by the Six of Cups, shaped our relationship dynamics? Do I feel like our current relationship is fulfilling, or are we holding onto the past? We met in the 7th grade. We are now 30 and 31. Our families knew eachother in the 1980s and our histories are very intertwined. We were raised similarly and with similar values, but mostly because of our mums. His mum died in 2011. He hadn't seen her much since 2008 as she was overseas. I knew her. I think there's a lot tied up in that. We were kids together to an extent and we have always been in eachothers' lives. We also dated from 2015-2016. I think our current relationship has been fulfilling at times but right now it isn't and I don't know if that is circumstantial. I don't know if he wants it or wants to work on/fix it. I do think we both hold on to the past. A few different pasts, too. Our connection is so beautiful but we are both broken people in different ways. Life gets in the way. A lot of time has passed. I don't know if we are growing further from the beauty that this love can be. I don't know if these things are temporary or circumstantial. I know his fear and my hurt have stopped us from growing. It has been hard. I don't think either of us are the same people and I am ok with that, but I don't know if the people we are now work together anymore.

If I could sum up my main takeaways from this reading in one or two sentences, what would they be?

I fear that the cards could be pointing me towards truths I don't want to see and haven't been willing to face. I have had blind faith but perhaps that was naieve. Getting wrapped up in the love of another person can be blinding, I want to see with clarity.

[mental-health-advice]

I'm trying to build a better relationship with my mom. Part of how I am trying to do that is to try to have meaningful communication about our differences, but I don't know how to get my mom to understand that her toxic positivity is not good. She seems to think that if I have an opinion about anything that is a negative opinion about anything that it is pointless to talk about it. She thinks it is pointless to talk about the past because "you can't change the past". She does not like to talk about anything difficult unless she already has the solution, and coming up with a solution or trying to fix the problem seem to be the only reasons she would ever consider as good enough to discuss a negative topic.

Am I crazy to think that there is more value than just trying to find solutions in discussing "negative" things, differences, things that can't be "fixed", etc? Or is my mom right that I think too much and expect too much?

Hey there,

I think it’s really great that you are wanting to improve the relationship that you have with your Mum, but in saying this it sounds as though you have completely different views on what’s important to discuss and what isn’t for example.

In answer to your question, I completely agree with you. Although I can also see where your Mum is coming from and I think that this is more of how she was brought up as a child. So perhaps she was dismissed a lot in her younger years and was taught that it was invaluable to talk more about things that could be fixed or the current problems that one may be facing. Whereas with you, it sounds as though you are more well rounded when it comes to thinking and topics of conversations that feel important to you. So for example talking about the past and what you could have done better in a certain situation, whereas with your Mum she feels it is irrelevant, because the past has been and she may not be able to see that you can use the past to better yourself in the future.

We are all brought up very differently in life, even in our own families and different experiences we face will help to differentiate how we act or react to certain situations which will vary from person to person.

So with all this being said, whilst I agree with you and everything being important to talk about or revisit (like with the past) I also do not think your Mum is in the wrong, it’s just simply how she is and how she may have been brought up which is completely OK too.

I really hope that this has helped a bit and please do let us know if we can help to support you in any other way!

I’m thinking of you and hope that you are going well!

Take care,

Lauren  

[sandzlib]

I really need to let some shit out of my system and rant a bit but I have nowhere to do so because all the people I know are in my other socials and they would see it and I don't really want that so this is my only safe place...

I'm getting married this year after it was all postponed due to the pandemic

But I live in a different country than my own — I'm an expat as they call us — so all the wedding preparations are being a pain in the arse

I'm basically organising a wedding on one country while living in another and only being able to go to the former on specific dates to put the final touches...

With that in mind, we went back to our country during the Christmas holidays for way longer than just the holidays so we could get everything done.

This is where the shit starts:

We were supposed to receive the invitations before Christmas, that way we could hand them to the family during the different festivities BUT

They didn't arrive until the 30th of December

Since we were doing the envelopes with sealing wax and everything ourselves, I spent half of the 31st and the whole 1st day of the year doing DIY shit

Our flight back was on the 2nd so we obviously couldn't hand the invitations to anyone and did what made more sense: rely on our parents handing the ones for the family and send the rest through post.

Well, my mum tried to meet up with her sisters (my aunts that supposedly love me and all that...) so she could give them the invitations but she was met with refusal to try and organise a day when they could all meet

The excuse was that they rarely go into the city (they live on the outskirts, like 20km away from the city centre)

And not only that's a lie since we know they go to the city centre at least once a week

But also my mum was careful enough to ask for a day they *could* meet, a day that was good for them.

Anyways, three of them said that they couldn't find a moment so they asked her to send the invitations through post, and only one actually agreed on a date.

And this is the part that pisses me off the most and had me crying out of pure rage and disbelief.

The aunt that actually went for the invitation told my mum that one of my other aunts was saying that I had surely managed to hand the invitations to my dad's side of the family as well as to my SO's family.

That it was only them that I was not wanting to meet

and that since I was doing that, she's not coming to my wedding

because she's not going to go to a wedding she is not welcomed at.

What the F***ING F***!

I have never done anything *in my whole life* that could lead them to believe I would do something like that.

They all know that I don't get along with my dad's side of the family because my grandma is a bitch an awful person that has mistreated me my whole life (in fact, I almost didn't invite them at all but finally did just because of my dad) so it makes no sense she could think something like that.

They're the ones who are always bickering and keeping secrets and shit from each other, not me! Like one of my cousins lived for four months in the country I am currently at and neither she nor my aunt told me about it, I found out because of fricking LinkedIn!

I'm the fucking nicest niece they have! I always greet them for their birthdays, Christmas, New Year... Even when sometimes they don't answer back. I am always available when they need me. I've tried countless times to meet with them when I go back home... Fuck! I spent a whole day talking with that same aunt that's dissing me now and her son about different exams he could take to certify his English level as well as courses he could do to practice before taking the exam (something that's out of my area of expertise yet I found the time to search for the information)!

What's most frustrating about this is that my mum told me to do nothing, say nothing, ignore them.

My SO said more or less the same thing and then the conversation turned into why are we even doing a wedding in the first place when I don't want half of my family there and the other half seems like they won't come because they rather think I'm a shitty person than accept that I couldn't give them the invitations earlier.

Note that all of this happened right after I tried to meet with some friends to hand them the invitations (at the time I thought they would arrive on time) and none of them made the slightest effort to meet with me...

I also only have a handful of friends, those 5 girls that couldn't be bothered to meet with me, two more that are actually excited about this, and then a few guys that are shared friends with my SO's...

So I feel lonely, disappointed, hurt... I feel like an idiot because I always try to treat other the way I'd like them to treat me and somehow all I get back is this kind of shit behaviour...

And yet, everyone around me seems to think I'm reading too much into this and that I shouldn't make such a big deal out of it.

Agh!

[the-amazing-simp]

The Way Our Horizons Meet | TASM!Peter Parker

📝 Title: The Way Our Horizons Meet (TFIOS!AU)

📚 Requested: Yes/No

✍ Summary: You met your greatest love at a support group. But, star-crossed lovers really do exist. | 8.1k

🧧 Warnings: cancer (this is a The Fault in our Stars au, so it's a given), death, spoilers for TFIOS

💌 This is officially the longest fic I've ever written in my life. I tried my best to follow the original timeline - I altered some scenes as well as adding in some new ones. And yes, I did copy both eulogies from the book so don't come at me for that.

Love often comes when you least expect it but need it the most. 

Having cancer was hard enough in itself especially when the expression “life is short” could quite literally apply to you.

You were currently sitting in your mom’s car while she drove you to the support group you had always hated attending.

“You don’t have to wait in the parking lot you know,” You said as the car turned a corner, “you’ll have nothing to do and it’s hot.”

Your mum shrugged, peering at you through the dashboard mirror, “I can read a book, but I think I’ll stay at the mall a block away then I’ll come pick you up afterwards.” 

“Okay.” You said, fiddling with the wire of the oxygen tank as she pulled up to the entrance.

“Do you need help with that?” She asked.

You shook your head, giving her a small smile as you got out of the car, “No thanks, I’m fine.” 

“Sure honey,” Your mom answered, “just text me if you want anything from the mall.” 

You nodded in confirmation before you headed past the church and took the stairs down to the basement where the meetings were held, as they called it, “right in the center of Jesus’ heart”.

There was an elevator, but you were fine with the stairs, because in the support group - taking the elevator meant you were close to the finish line. 

“Hey!” Your best friend from the support group, Harry, greeted you with a smile, eyes gleaming behind the shades he wore, “How’re your lungs holding up?” 

You laughed, tapping your oxygen tank, “So, far pretty well. How about you? How’re you and Monica?” 

“As usual, we still love each other till the end of forever.” Harry smiled to which you rolled your eyes at his remark.

“Hey!” He protested, making a face at you.

“It’s cheesy.” You deadpanned.

“It’s not cheesy. It’s love.” Harry said, “And you won’t understand that since you haven’t been in love yet.” 

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny.” You said sarcastically.

Harry stuck his tongue out at you, “Whatever. But don’t go gushing to me when you’re finally in love. Anyway, stay put, I’m going to get some cookies.” 

“You’re the reason why I even tolerate being here!” You called out, causing him to laugh.

Scrolling on your phone to pass the time until the session started, you looked up only for your eyes to meet the honey-colored one of a boy around your age who seemed to be staring at you intently.

The staring wasn’t anything in a creepy way, neither did it make it seem like the boy had ulterior motives. It was like he was vaguely interested in you, like he had seen you before but couldn’t quite recall where or how.

You looked back down at your phone, you just had to hope that the heat you felt on your cheeks was being reflected on your face for the boy to see.

A couple of minutes later, the session group started. With Henry, basically the mastermind behind the support group, leading the opening prayer and the supposedly inspirational talk of how he’s still alive despite his balls being taken by cancer which started the routine of you and Harry communicating via exasperated sighs. 

“Now,” Henry said, “let’s give the floor to Harry who has some news to share with us.” 

Raising a brow at him, he just shrugged in response before standing up.

“I am having eye surgery this weekend.” He started, “Which would make me totally blind. And I also brought my friend, Peter, along here for some moral support.” 

“We pray for you then, Harry, that your operation may be successful.” Henry said before adding, “Why don’t you introduce yourself to us, Peter.” 

Peter, who happened to be the one staring at you earlier, made eye contact with you, shooting you a small smile as he slowly stood up, “My name is Peter Parker. And I had a slight touch with osteosarcoma a year ago. Now, I have no evidence of cancer.” 

As he said that, he rolled up the left pants leg to reveal the metal prosthetic hidden under there.

“I also fear oblivion.” 

“Oblivion?” Henry asked with a puzzled look, “Isn’t that a rather peculiar fear?” 

“I think he fears the unknown.” You spoke up, “Especially since it's unpredictable and what happens next would, most often than not, catch us by surprise.” 

Peter smiled at you, “Exactly, What’s your name?”

“It’s Y/N.” 

“Your full name.”

“Y/N Y/M/N L/N”

–

You were currently in the parking lot, waiting for your mom to pick you up while Harry had his girlfriend pinned to the wall of the church while they made out.

The two pulled back for a moment, whispering “always” to each other before diving back in.

“At this point, I don’t know if he’s trying to arouse her to perform breast surgery.” Peter mused, suddenly appearing by your side. 

You laughed, turning to face him, “I guess he’s trying to make the most of it. Since he won’t be having any sense of sight this weekend.” 

Peter shrugged, taking out a pack from his pocket and popping a cigarette into his mouth, “Makes sense.” 

Slightly glaring at him, you deadpanned, “Are you serious? That’s absolutely disgusting. You just ruined this whole thing.”

“What’s disgusting?” 

“You’re literally standing next to someone with lung cancer and you decide to get a cigarette and smoke. Let me tell you, not being able to breathe normally sucks.” 

Peter grinned, the cigarette sitting by the corner of his mouth, “I don’t smoke.” 

You looked at him, puzzled, “If you don’t smoke, then why do you-” 

“It’s a metaphor.” He interrupted, “You put the killing thing in your mouth but you don’t give it the power to kill.” 

“That actually makes sense.” You agreed.

“See?” He chuckled, causing you to laugh. 

“Why are you staring at me like that?” You asked.

“Because you’re beautiful and I like looking at beautiful things.” He answered with a confident smile.

“Also,” Peter added, “you look like y/f/c from the movie, y/f/m - have you seen that movie?” 

You nodded, “I did, it’s actually one of my favorites. But, I don’t really think that I look like y/f/c.”

“If you want,” He said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and fiddling with it, “you can come around to my house and we can watch the movie together so I can prove to you that you do look like y/f/c.” 

You pretended to think about it for a moment, “Sure, let me just call my mom and let her know.” 

Once you had done that, you climbed into the passenger’s seat of Peter’s car as he started driving.

“Woah.” You said, grasping your seatbelt tightly as you hit another bump, “Are you sure you have a license?” 

Peter laughed, making a u-turn, “Of course I do. Though, I did kinda fail the test twice.”

“Uh huh,” You nodded, “and no one has died while you’re the one behind the steering wheel?” 

“Very funny.” He answered sarcastically with a small smile, “So far, no one.” 

“I really don’t intend on being the first then.” 

–

“I still don’t see how I look like y/f/c.” You said once the ending credits of the movie rolled in.

“Seriously? Are you blind? You could easily pull off being her twin.” Peter protested.

After having a debate over it for the next ten minutes, your attention turned to the stack of books by his bedside table.

“You like reading?” You asked, examining the pile. 

Peter smiled, hands tucked away in the pockets of jeans, “I do. I know that I don’t look like I do though.” 

You rolled your eyes, scanning the spines, “What’s your favorite?” 

“Prince of Dawn.” Peter immediately answered, “You?” 

“An Imperial Affliction.” You said.

His eyes immediately lightened up as an idea popped into his head, “Why don’t we do a book swap? You read Prince of Dawn, and I will read An Imperial Affliction.” 

You smiled, “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

You closed the door of Peter’s car as you reached your house, “Thanks for the ride.” 

He smiled, running a hand through his hair, “No problem. Also, aren’t you going to ask for my number?” 

You giggled, gesturing to the Prince of Dawn in your hand, “I have a feeling that you already wrote it in the book.” 

Peter laughed, “We just met, Y/N, but it seems like you know so much about me.” 

“Who knows?” You shrugged with a grin, “Maybe I’ve known you my whole life and you just didn’t know.” 

“That would’ve been cool.”

You nodded, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “Well, thanks. I better get inside now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“You know, maybe okay can be our always.” 

–

Golden-painted pieces of metal laid on the floor, remnants of the trophy smashing incident that happened mere moments ago that helped Harry feel a little better over the fact that Monica had broken up with him.

“Was it worth it?” You asked Peter as you helped him pick up what used to be his basketball trophies on display.

He just shrugged, “Kinda. I mean, it did help Harry feel a lot better. Besides, I never liked playing basketball anyway, I only did it because it made my dad happy.” 

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” You mused, running a finger through the faux velvet base, “The things we do to make the ones we love most happy.” 

“I think it’s a metaphor for humanity.” He smiled, “The instinct, the need to please others which in turn somehow pleases ourselves too.” 

“Peter Parker, do you ever run out of metaphors?” You laughed.

His smile grew even wider, “For you, m’lady, never.” 

Silence grew between the two of you before he spoke up again, 

“Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

You looked over at Harry, who had now resumed playing the game, “Do you think he’ll be fine?”

Peter shrugged, “All I know is the thing about pain is it demands to be felt.”

–

“But you have to admit it, the cliffhanger was great but it was also damn cruel.” Peter argued as the two of you walked to the park.

“Fine it is. But it just goes to show how unexpected life is that sometimes it just ends in the middle of a sentence.” You said, lugging your oxygen tank behind you, “Also, you’re steering away from my question - what’s with the basketball jersey and the orange tulips?” 

“I told you, it’s a surprise.” He shrugged, before taking the tank from your grasp and holding on to it for you as you walked. 

As soon as he said that, you suddenly saw a checkered blanket laid upon the grass, a picnic basket on top of it. 

“Surprise!” Peter said with a small smile. 

You took another bite of the sandwich, “Shame on you. You already nailed the German theme - the jersey and the tulips but, out of all things, you don’t put German tomatoes in the sandwich.” 

Peter laughed, “I’m sorry, okay, I couldn’t find any.” 

“What’s with all the German stuff anyway?” You asked, taking another bite, “Is this another metaphor?” 

He shook his head, “Nope. All the German stuff is a hint.” 

Furrowing your brows, you recalled a conversation you had with Peter two nights ago about The Imperial Affliction and the rumors that the author, Van Houten, was now living in Amsterdam. 

“Peter…” You said slowly, a slight warning tone in your voice as realization struck.

A light pink tint painted his cheeks as he scratched the back of his neck, “Well, Y/N, the thing is…”

You took a gulp of oxygen, adjusting the tubes that connected you to the tank before saying, “Peter Benjamin Parker, we talked about this, don’t tell me that you use your one and only wish for Amsterdam.” 

The guilty grin that appeared on his lips was enough reason for you to smack his arm.

“Ow!” He complained, rubbing the spot where you hit him, “You sure hit really hard. Besides, at least I’m not someone who wished for something as cliche as Disneyland and Epcot. Unlike you.” 

You assaulted his arm with another hit as you felt the temperature rise up to your cheeks, “Still, you only get one wish and I don’t want you wasting that on me.” 

“Hey,” Peter cooed softly, caressing your cheek, “I’m not wasting it, okay. It’s for us and I know that I couldn’t ask for anything better.” 

Silence grew in between the two of you for a moment with Peter slowly leaning forward towards you.

When his lips were just an inch away from yours, you pulled away, muttering a small “sorry”.

Peter gave you a smile, opting instead to place his hand on top of yours, “It’s fine. We can take it as slow as you want.” 

–

“I still can’t believe that we managed to sell that swing.” You laughed before taking a sip of coffee.

Peter smiled, cigarette dangling from the edge of his mouth, “But you have to admit that pedophilic swing set seeking the butts of children had a nice ring to it.”

It’s been a week since the doctors had deemed you ineligible to fly to Amsterdam and a couple days since you and Peter managed to sell your childhood swing set.

You laughed, “Yeah, maybe.” before reaching forward and plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and placing it inside yours.

Peter chuckled, tongue pressed to his cheek as he brought out his camera and waved it in front of you, “Looks like this is a perfect opportunity for a photo.”

–

You groaned as a throbbing pain appeared in your head. Eyes having to adjust to the bright light above you.

“Honey,” Your mother cooed, a hand gently running through your hair as relief laced her voice, “thank goodness you’re awake.” 

“How’re you feeling?” Your dad asked, appearing by your mother’s side.

Slowly sitting up, you answered, “A bit like my insides have been microwaved but otherwise I feel fine.” 

This was when you noticed the tube connecting you to a plastic bag filled with dark water, most likely sucked out of your lungs.

You flinched, “Not again.” 

“That’s why you passed out. When we brought you here, they immediately admitted you here, the ICU” Your mother gently explained, squeezing your hand as she spoke.

“Also,” your dad said, “Peter’s waiting outside, do you want to see him?” 

Staying quiet for a moment, you thought about it before nodding.

Your father went out of the room while your mom waited with you, asking if you were okay.

The door opened again, this time revealing both your father and Peter.

“Hi.” He said softly, walking to your side, shyly handing you the bouquet of your favorite flowers.

You returned the smile as you placed the flowers he brought in a vase on the table next to you, “Hi, and thanks for the flowers.”

“No problem.” Peter smiled, nervously running a hand through his hair, “How’re you feeling?” 

“I’m feeling okay.” You said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be up and running in time for our trip to Amsterdam.” 

Peter playfully rolled his eyes, “Amsterdam is the least of my worries. What’s important is that you keep on fighting.” 

“Of course I will. I’m going to stick around and annoy you for as long as I can. There’s no getting rid of me that easily, Parker.” You laughed.

Little did either of you know that your parents had been watching you and Peter the whole time, no words were said between them as they watched the young love grow. They exchanged one look and that was enough to say everything.

–

You had never been more nervous for anything in your entire life. 

You were sitting in the corner of one of the conference rooms at the hospital, while a team of doctors debated over whether you were eligible to travel to Amsterdam with Peter or not.

Hearing a small ding, you looked down at your phone to see a text from Peter.

Pete🛹: How’s it going? Are you cleared?

Y/N✨: Nope, they’re still debating.

Pete🛹: Hypothetically, in case they still don’t think you’re eligible to travel, how bad would it be if we just hopped on the plane?

Y/N✨: Well, hypothetically, you could be arrested the minute you step foot back in America for kidnapping.

Y/N✨: Murder too if I died on the flight.

Pete🛹: We better not risk it then 😂

“We have come to our decision.” The head doctor announced, causing you to look up from your phone.

Your doctor looked at you with a smile, “We have decided that we’re giving you the go signal to travel to Amsterdam. As long as your mom or someone who knows your condition well enough comes along with you.” 

You gave her a grateful smile, glancing over to your parents in excitement, “That would be great.” 

Y/N✨: I don’t think you would have to resort to kidnapping then.

– “Was the line at McDonald’s really that long?” You asked as Peter made it just in time for you to board the plane.

Peter shrugged as he gave you a small smile, “A lot of people seemed to be craving McDonald’s.” 

“Are you excited?” You asked, settling into the middle seat between your mom and Peter. 

He chuckled as he nodded, looking out of the window, “Yeah. It’s actually my first time on a plane so this is really cool.” 

Once the pilot had announced that seat belts would be fastened as the plane started to take off, Peter gripped the arm rests, looking like a little kid on Christmas day.

He glanced at the window, looking at the clouds that were seemingly shrouding the vehicle.

“Are you okay?” You giggled, seeing the look of marvel on his face.

“I couldn’t be better.” Peter laughed gleefully, glancing back out at the clouds, “Nothing has ever looked like that in all of human history!” 

–

“Okay,” you breathed out, walking out of your room to have your mom be the judge, “how do I look?” 

Your mother looked up from the brochure that she was flipping through, giving you a smile, “You look amazing.” 

Looking at the full-length mirror, you ran a hand over the creases of the baby blue dress, “You sure?” 

“I am.” She answered.

At that moment, a knock came on the door. Upon opening it, you saw Peter standing there in a suit and tie. 

Van Houten’s secretary had let you two know that you would be meeting the author the next day, but he has reserved a dinner for the two of you at a restaurant called Oranjee.

“Wow.” Peter said, jaw dropping as he drank the sight of you in, “You look beautiful.” 

“Thanks.” You muttered, smiling as you looked down at your feet, feeling the heat rise up to your cheeks, “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Shall we go mi’lady?” Peter grinned, offering an arm to you.

“We shall, my kind sir.” You giggled, taking his arm while you waved good-bye to your mother.

Once the two of you had arrived at the restaurant, Peter cleared his throat and said, “Uh, we have a reservation from Mr. Van Houten.” 

“Ah,” The waitress smiled, “The one for Mr. and Mrs. Parker. Right, come this way.” 

You and Peter exchanged a look, trying to hide a smile before following the waitress to your table.

“So, Mr. and Mrs. Parker huh?” Peter mused with a smile once your orders had been taken, causing you to laugh.

“Kinda has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” You teased.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, “It actually does.”  

“Would you like some champagne?” A waiter suddenly appeared next to you, “It’s like tasting the stars.” 

“Sure.” You grinned, “Why not.” 

The light gold liquid filled both of your glasses, the small bubbles slowly popping upon reaching the surface. 

“Cheers.” Peter grinned, clinking glasses with you before taking a sip.

“Wow.” You said, “I didn’t know the stars tasted as good as this.”

“I know right. We need to bring this home, someone tell me how to bottle up the stars.” Peter said.

“Mhm.” You hummed, taking another sip.

“Gosh, if the champagne already tastes this good, what more does the food taste like?” He said.

“I know right.” You agreed. 

“I am so in love with you.” He suddenly admitted, smiling at you with pure sincerity and lovestruckness.

You giggled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “Same here.” 

You breathed a sigh of contentment, leaning against Peter’s arm as the two of you walked out of the restaurant, “The first thing I’m doing when we get back to Queens is to search up if there are any franchises of Oranjee in America.” 

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “Sounds like a terrific idea.” 

You looked up at him, saying in a whisper, “Peter, you know that this doesn’t change the fact that I’m practically a grenade right? Like, my whole existence could blow up at any minute and I could leave you heartbroken.”

He stopped walking, turning you to face him - a look of pure adoration and affection on his features as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you.”

You sniffed, “Really?”

He nodded, “Really.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” 

–

“What do you mean you don’t know?” You asked from the seat across the author you have been admiring since the very first time you picked up An Imperial Affliction.

Van Houten, drank the brandy in his hand while he gave a shrug, “I just don’t.” 

“You’re the author.” You deadpanned, trying to keep your composure, “How on earth do you not know?”

“Look kid,” The man said, leaning back into his chair, “I did not think about it because I had no plans of writing a sequel.” 

He then sighed, “Teenagers these days. I knew this was a bad idea.” 

“With all due respect,” Peter suddenly piped up, “don’t you see that your book has made a great impact on her and we didn’t come all the way here for nothing. So, the least you could do is give an answer to her questions.” 

The author grew silent for a moment, taking his time in pouring the brandy into his glass after his assistant walked out on him.

“Anna’s dead.” He said, quietly, “There’s no story to tell.” 

With a scoff, Peter stood up - pulling you up with him as the two of you walked out the door without so much of a glance back at the man the both of you had used to admire.

“Don’t mind about him.” Peter said, rubbing your shoulders comfortingly, “I’ll write you a sequel. I’ll write you a better sequel than that dumb idiot could ever write.” 

You laughed despite the disappointment, feeling lucky that Peter was there with you, “I’m sure of it.” 

 –

“Lean here for a moment.” Lidewij said, stopping for a bit as the three of you reached the last step of the stairs.

You were leaning against the wall, trying to catch your breath as Peter rubbed his hand up and down your back.

Lidewij, Van Houten’s former assistant, decided it would be a great idea to accompany the two of you to an Anne Frank museum nearby to make up for her boss’ rudeness.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked, concern lacing his voice as you sat down on the floor, taking a gulp of oxygen, “We can take a break here if you want to.” 

You shook your head, waving him off as you stood up, “No. It’s fine. I can handle it.”  

He gave you a look, silently insisting on asking you whether you were really fine or not. 

Nodding in response, you gave him a small smile, “Don’t worry about me.” 

A shrill ring suddenly echoed through the quiet walls of the museum. Lidewij gave an apologetic smile to the people who glanced in your direction before answering the call. 

“Sorry.” She whispered, turning to you and Peter, “I have to go right now, is it okay if I leave you two here?” 

The two of you nodded, “Yeah. We’ll be alright.”

With a smile,  she dashed off, leaving the two of you in the exhibit.

Peter laced his hands into yours, the two of you walking at your own pace through the exhibit until you reached the video where Anne Frank’s father told about his daughter’s bravery and the grief from the loss of his family.

Looking at the boy next to you, you couldn’t imagine how you got so lucky. You couldn’t imagine a day wherein he wasn’t there for you. 

“Hey.” He said softly, pulling you out of your train of thought, “whatcha thinking?” 

You gave no response, instead,  you stood up on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

You could feel him smile into the kiss, his hands making their way to your hips as he pulled you closer to him.

When you pulled away, silence echoed through the exhibit. You half-expected the crowd around you to start a monologue on how disgusting and inconsiderate teenagers were nowadays. But, instead, they all started cheering at the young love that blossomed right in front of them.

Making it back to the hotel, Peter was about to press the button that led to your floor when you suddenly said, “Do you want to go to your room?” 

A grin made its way to his lips as his finger moved up to press the number of his floor.

A ding told you that you had arrived at the floor, interlocking your hand in his, the two of you ran out the elevator.

Peter stopped in his tracks, leaning against the wall as he clutched his side.

“Are you okay?” You asked, immediately regretting what you suggested in the first place.

He took a deep breath, “It’s above my knee, it’s just a bit of skin then it tapers a bit.” 

Furrowing your brows, you asked, “What?” 

“My leg, or what’s left of it.” He answered, “Just wanted to prepare you before you see it.”

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, pressing another kiss to his lips as you rolled your eyes, “You’re so full of yourself.” 

“Touche.” He laughed, grabbing your hand as you ran to his room.

–

You were almost in tears from laughing too much.

Peter was currently doing an impression of Van Houten as you recounted the story to your mum, making the author seem like a more idiotic, old man who had a hearing problem, an alcohol addiction and kept on insisting that there were Nazis at his door.

“Goodness,” your mother breathed out, “That old man is lucky I didn’t tag along or else I would’ve screamed at him.”

You smiled, “Yeah, but we were fine. Looking back, it is quite funny.”

“Yeah.” Peter agreed, placing his hand on top of yours above the table.

“What did you do afterwards?” Your mum asked.

Both of you exchanged a look, the previous night’s events circling back into your mind, “We went to a museum.”

“Then Y/N humored me with some venn diagram humor.” He continued the inside joke causing you to roll your eyes. 

Peter told you that he had wanted to tell you something, so while your mother was out sightseeing, the two of you were currently in his room. 

“I took a PET scan a week before you were admitted into the ICU.” 

You sat down on one of the vintage chairs, staring at the rug, heart beating in fear of what would come next.

“And?” 

He took a deep breath, trying to reassure you with a small smile, “I lit up like a Christmas tree, Y/N.” 

You gulped, trying to keep the incoming tears at bay, “No.” 

He nodded, “I did.” 

You sniffed, standing up to wrap your arms around him, “You’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. You already defeated it once, you can do it again.” 

“Yeah.” He agreed, pressing a kiss to your hairline as he pulled you closer, “Of course.” 

“Remember how I said that I feared oblivion when we first met?” He said as he stroked your hair.

You looked up at him, “Yeah, why?” 

“I feared the uncertainty that each day brought. But the day that I met you, I realized that life being a mystery, may not be so bad after all.”

–

“Hm,” Peter hummed, smacking his lip as he looked at you making you laugh, “Not up to the standards of Oranjee.” 

“Very true.” You smiled, taking a sip from your own red plastic cup of champagne, “The airport can afford the dimmer stars.” 

He laughed, taking a cigarette from the box and popped it into his mouth as you scrolled through the movies available.

“Excuse me sir.” A flight attendant approached, “But you’re not allowed to smoke inside the plane.” 

“Oh, he doesn’t smoke.” You said, “It’s just a metaphor.” 

“Well,” She said, “metaphor or not, let’s just put the cigarette away to be safe.” 

He nodded, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and putting it back in the box.

“So, what’s the movie?” Peter asked once the flight attendant left.

“Titanic.” 

–

You gently knocked on the Parker’s doorstep, fiddling with the wire of your oxygen tank as you waited.

“Hello dear.” Aunt May smiled as she greeted you with a hug.

“Hi Aunt May.” You returned the smile, “How is he doing?” 

It’s been a week since the trip to Amsterdam with Peter. Once he had gotten back, the doctors had put him up for a clinical trial for something that should supposedly help in lessening the places that cancer had infected. 

“He’s okay. Peter’s over there by the couch, Harry’s also here too.” She said, letting you in.

“Hi Pete.” You greeted, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He smiled, running a hand through his hair, “Hi.” 

“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t just hear that.” Harry said, from where he was seated across from Peter.

You jokingly rolled your eyes, “Hello to you too.” 

“Hey!” Harry stuck his tongue out at you, “Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I can't sense that eye roll in your voice.” 

You laughed, plopping down in the seat just next to the couch.

“Anyway,” Harry changed the subject, turning to Peter, “how’s the clinical trials going?” 

Peter groaned as he shifted to sit up, “I’m on a rollercoaster that only goes up, my friend.” 

“He always never gives a specific answer.” Harry teased

You shrugged, “And somehow we don’t mind.” 

“How’s Monica by the way?” You asked, turning to Harry.

The atmosphere in the room tensed up a bit as you and Peter awaited an answer.

“She, uh, we haven't really had any contact since the operation.” Harry said.

“She didn’t even visit you at the hospital?” Peter asked, to which Harry just shook his head.

After a moment of silence, Peter stood up, taking his car keys from the table and a carton of eggs from the fridge

.

“C’mon.” He nodded towards the door.

You helped Isaac up, “Where’re we going?” 

“Monica’s house.” Peter said casually.

“Here.” Peter handed the carton of eggs to Harry when the car had been parked right across from Monica's house.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Harry asked.

“Throw them at her car.” Peter smiled.

A grin made its way to Harry’s face as he felt around the carton for an egg and got ready to throw it.

“A little bit to your right.” You guided.

Following your direction, Harry launched the egg.

“What did I hit?” He asked excitedly as its contents started to drip on the car’s bumper.

“The bumper.” Peter had his own grin as he encouraged Harry to throw some more.

While the boys were having fun, you took out your phone and discreetly took a picture of the scene in front of you - the smiles of both being preserved in the moment.

Little did you know that that would be the last picture you would take of him.

–

“Peter,” you said, looking up at Peter, “can I ask you a question?” 

He nodded, combing a hand through his hair as the two of you waited for Harry to be finished with his eye check-up, “Sure.” 

“Who’s Gwen Stacy?” You licked your lips, “I remember you mentioning her before and when I looked her up on instagram, it looked like she was your girlfriend.” 

Peter nodded again, “Yeah, Gwen actually was my girlfriend.”

“What happened to her? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Well, she is no longer suffering from personhood.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” 

He tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear before continuing, “She had brain cancer. Towards the end, there was actually no filter between her thoughts and her speech. Once she joked about how she’s sorry that she accidentally dropped a book on my ‘leg’.”

You cringed at the thought causing him to laugh.

“It wasn’t like I had a choice. It would just be cruel to break up with someone in that state.” 

–

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes as your ringtone continued to cut through the air.

Peeking at the caller id, you immediately picked up the phone. After all, Peter wouldn’t just randomly call you at 3 am for no important reason.

“Pete? Is everything okay?” 

You could hear him taking deep, labored breaths.

“Y/N, I’m at the gas station and I need your help.” 

You climbed out of bed, phone pressed between your ear and shoulder as you unhooked yourself from the BIPAP and to the oxygen tank, fear coursing through your body, “Pete, what happened?” 

“I just wanted to buy some cigarettes. I lost the pack a few days ago and they said they’d get some for me but I wanted to do it myself. So, I drove to the gas station and the tube that is attached to my stomach just got tangled and I tried to fix it and it may have just gotten worse.”

“Oh my gosh,” You gasped, leaving the note you hurriedly scribbled down on the dining room table as you ran to your car, “okay, just don’t go anywhere. I’m on my way. Do I need to call an ambulance?” 

“No!” He immediately said, “Please, don’t call an ambulance.”

“Okay.” You breathed out, placing your phone on the dashboard, “Just stay on the line, I’m on my way there.” 

You ran through every green light at the speed limit, praying with every inch of you that it wasn’t as worse as you imagined. 

Arriving at your destination, you ran to where Peter’s car was parked. 

“Peter.” You cooed upon opening his car door, seeing the blood soaking his shirt.

“Y/N.” He smiled, reaching for your hand.

“Peter,” You repeated, your brain now triggering your ultra-panic mode, “I can’t fix this we have to call an ambulance.” 

Peter stubbornly shook his head, grasping your hand harder, “No. Please no. I don’t want to be useless.” 

You kneeled down in front of him, pushing a few brown locks out of his eyes, “Listen to me Pete, you’re not useless okay. You’re going to be alright.” 

Holding his hand, you pulled out your phone, dialing 911 as you muttered, “I’m sorry Pete, I have to. I promise, I’ll buy you a pack, okay?” 

He sniffed, voice cracking, “Damn it! I can’t even get a pack of cigarettes anymore without asking for help.” 

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Hello?” You said, trying to keep your voice calm, “My boyfriend has a tube in his stomach and it's tangled, he’s also bleeding. Uh, I need an ambulance right now. We are at the gas station near the Empire State and he needs to get to the hospital immediately.”

“Okay,” the lady said, the clacking of keyboard keys could be heard, “an ambulance is already on its way.” 

“Thank you.” You said as the line cut off.

Turning your attention back to Peter, you pressed a kiss to his hairline, interlocking your hands together. 

“Okay?”

“Okay.” 

–

“You know,” Peter mused as you wheeled him out on his wheelchair to the backyard, “I never really saw how sunsets are really connected to romance until today.”

“And,” You smiled, encouraging him to continue, “what is your conclusion?” 

He looked at you, raising your hand up to his lips to press a small kiss to it, “Sunsets can be romantic. But, only if they’re with the right person.”

“Real charmer aren’t you, Parker.” You giggled.  

“Always am.” He smiled.

“Peter’s a nice kid and all.” Aunt May suddenly said, appearing behind the two of you, “But sometimes I wonder how he managed to get someone sweet like you.”

Peter feigned a gasp of offense before laughing, “I gotta agree with you Aunt May. There’s not a day where I don’t wonder how I managed to woo her.” 

You rolled your eyes despite the smile you had, “Cheesy.”

“You love my cheesiness.” He retorted, “Right, Uncle Ben?” 

“I don’t know about you, but that how I got your Aunt May.” Uncle Ben chuckled causing Aunt May to roll her eyes.

Uncle Ben placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a smile while Peter and Aunt May were busy talking.

“I thank God everyday for you kid.” 

–

You sighed, staring blankly at the paper in your hands with typewritten words. 

Peter called you earlier that night, telling you that he would be having a pre-funeral so that he would be able to hear the eulogies and he wanted you to be there.

You promised that you would be there, a small part of you wishing that he was the one eulogizing you instead. 

“Mom, Dad, I’m going out for a bit. I’ll be back before 10.” You called out, taking your car keys from the table.

“Where’re you going this time?” Your mom asked.

“Just to the church where we hold the support group sessions. Peter is having a pre-funeral and he wanted me to be there.” You shrugged.

“But sweetheart you’re barely home anymore.” Your dad said.

You nodded, “I know. But Peter needs me. Who knows how much more time I have left with him? Who knows if this is the last time I’ll be seeing him? All I know is that once he’s gone, I’ll be here all the time.” 

Your parents nodded in understanding, pulling you into a short hug as their hearts softened at the sight of you trying to keep your tears in as the thought of Peter dying crossed you.

“Give Peter our regards then.” 

You stepped on the platform after helping Harry back to his seat after finishing eulogy.

Giving Peter a small smile from where he sat in his wheelchair, you glanced down at the paper in your hands and started,

“My name is Y/N. Peter Benjamin Parker was the great star-crossed love of my life. Ours was an epic love story, and I won't be able to get more than a sentence into it without disappearing into a puddle of tears. Pete knew. Pete knows. I will not tell you our love story, because like all real love stories, it will die with us. As it should. I'd hoped that he'd be eulogizing me, because there is no one I'd rather have. I can't talk about our love story, so I will talk about math. I am not a mathematician, but I know this. There is an infinite set of numbers between 0 and 1. There's 0.1 and 0.12 and 0.112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million.”

You could feel the tears streaming down your cheeks, giving a sniff and a small chuckle, you continued.

“Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are days, many days of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I'm likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Peter Parker than he got. But, Pete, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn't trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful. I love you so much."

Peter nodded, his own tears mirroring yours as he mouthed, I love you too.

–

It’s been eight days since Peter’s pre funeral.

Things have just gotten progressively worse. It was 11 pm when you received a call from Aunt May.

“Y/N, dear, I’m so sorry to call at this hour but can you drop by the hospital? Peter wants to see you. I told him that you’d be coming to visit him again tomorrow but he wants to see you now.” 

You licked your lips, momentarily closing your eyes to prevent you from thinking about the inevitable, “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” 

You didn’t have to ask the front desk what room Peter was in. You had been coming in for the past 8 days, you knew where to find him.

Slowly pushing the door open, you gave a small smile as you were met with the sight of Aunt May and Uncle Ben - both who were trying hard not to burst into tears and stay strong, and the boy you loved looking weaker than when you had come to see him hours ago.

“You wanted to see me?” You asked quietly, sitting on the chair that was placed next to his bed.

“I missed you.” Peter said, pecking your cheek as he reached for your hand.

“How’re you feeling?” You asked, evne if you knew that it was dumb question considering his state.

“Like my ass has been kicked and my insides deep fried.” He smiled, making you laugh.

The two of you sat in silence, comfortable silence, no words needed to be exchanged because this was what both of you needed.

Peter licked his lips before he disrupted the silence, “There’s a red box underneath my bed back at home. When I pass, I want you to have everything inside of that box. I left it specifically for you.”

You shook your head, not even trying to hold the tears back, “Peter…”

He held a finger to your lips to shush you, giving one of his award winning smiles, “I feared oblivion. But, I guess it won’t be that bad, if I have the hope of seeing you again there.” 

You sniffed, throat tightening and voice cracking as you joked, “You better wait for me Parker.” 

“I don’t care how long it takes.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

An hour later, a nurse came in, telling you that visitation hours were over and that only the family can stay.

You stood up, pressing a brief kiss to Peter’s soft lip before giving Aunt May and Uncle Ben a hug.

“Hey Y/N.” Peter called out once you’ve reached the door.

“Yeah?” 

“You know you’re the best thing that ever happened to me right?” He looked at you similar to the way he did when you first met.

You smiled, “Happening, Pete. Don’t use past tense yet. You’re the best thing that is still happening to me.”

–

You wanted to scream, to cry, to just have the earth swallow you up whole,  it felt like the whole world just stopped on its axis, gravity was gone and everything everywhere is just absolute chaos.

The only thing that could be heard on the other line was Aunt May’s sobs as she told you the news. 

Once Aunt May had hung up, you called Harry who was able to do the thing you couldn’t do - scream. He cursed the world, questioning where the damn trophies were when you needed them.

You were vaguely aware of your parents standing by your bedroom door, they already knew what happened.

You took a deep breath, which was a mistake as you inhaled the scent of him since you were wearing his shirt after all. The scent that you would probably never be able to breathe in again.

Burying your face in your pillow, you screamed until your throat was hoarse and cried until you couldn’t breathe. Your parents were on either side of you, trying to console you in the best way they can.

You knew this was inevitable, you knew that this was bound to happen on any day. But that didn’t prepare you for the fact that Peter Parker’s heart had stopped beating.

That the star-crossed love of your life was dead.

–

“I am so glad he met you.” Aunt May sighed as she hugged you when you arrived at the funeral, “I’ve never seen him that happy before.” 

“I felt like I was the luckiest girl in the world when I was with him.” You smiled.

“Also,” Uncle Ben said, “If you’re okay with it, can you drop by our house after the service so you can get the box he left for you? I would’ve brought it here, but I don’t think I have the strength to go down there yet.”

You nodded, “Sure.” 

You walked up to his coffin while Aunt May was preoccupied with your parents. Looking around to see if anyone was watching you, you took the pack of cigarettes from your dress pocket and placed it next to his resting figure, hidden from view.

“You can light these.” You whispered, “I won’t mind.”

After the service, you sat in your room - the red box that Peter mentioned laid beside you while the four pieces of paper (along with the various polaroids of you and him) were cradled in your lap.

You ran a finger through his penmanship, the various colors of ink and sizes of the words showed the state of his consciousness during the last few days. You had found them in an envelope with a return letter from Van Houten’s address.

It wasn’t the sequel he promised you, but it was something better. You couldn’t help but slightly smile through the tears as you read,

Mr. Van Houten. I'm a good person, but a shitty writer. You're a shitty person, but a good writer. I think we'd make a good team. I don't wanna ask you for any favors, but if you have the time - and from what I saw you had plenty - please fix this for me: It's a eulogy for Y/N. She asked me to write one, and I'm trying, but I just... I could use a little flair. See, the thing is... we all wanna be remembered. But Y/N's different. Y/N knows the truth. She didn't want a million admirers, she just wanted one. And she got it. Maybe she wasn't loved widely, but she was loved deeply. And isn't that more than most of us get? When Y/N was sick, I knew I was dying, but I didn't wanna say so. She was in the ICU when I snuck in for ten minutes and I just sat with her before I got caught. Her eyes were closed, her skin pale, but her hands were still her hands, still warm, and her nails were painted this dark blue black color, and... I just held them. And I willed myself to imagine a world without us and what a worthless world that would be. She's so beautiful. You don't get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she's smarter than you, 'cause you know she is. She's funny without ever being mean. I love her. God, I love her, I'm so lucky to love her, Van Houten. You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, but you do have a say in who hurts you. And I like my choices. I hope she likes hers.

Holding the letters close to your chest, you closed your eyes and tried to imagine his smile, his voice, his laugh.

“I do, Peter, I do.”

–

It’s been a long and terrible year.

You laid down on the grass at the park where you and Peter happened to have your first date. 

Over the course of the year, your condition worsened, you could feel yourself getting weaker with every passing day.

You held the letter Peter had left you a little over your head, eyes scanning the words that were practically engraved in your heart from reading them everyday.

Once you had finished, you held them close to your heart, looking up at the twinkling night sky and the stars that shone with them.

“Okay Y/N?” His voice echoed clear as day in your mind as you looked up at his almost transparent silhouette as he smiled down at you, just like it was the very first time.

You took a deep, labored breath. A smile gracing your lips as you closed your eyes.

You could vaguely hear your parents calling out for you, screaming your name, telling you to hold on that they’re bringing you to the hospital. But this was it, there was no turning back.

Memories flashed through your mind: your first birthday, first day of school, the day you got diagnosed with cancer, the day you met Peter along with every single memory that had Peter attached to it.

You could feel your heartbeat slowing down with every minute and air getting harder to hold on to. You could see a flash of light, Peter holding his hand out to you, an unlit cigarette nestled in his mouth- keeping his promise. 

Gathering up all your remaining strength, you managed to use your last gulp of air to utter the word you couldn’t bring yourself  to say for a year before everything went dark.

“Okay.” 

Peter Parker and Andrew Garfield Taglist:

@beloved-bucky, @hunnybunimdun, @andrewgarfield2022, @jasmin7813, @andrewgarfieldsbae, @spxiiee, @shaded-echoes-recs, @holy-macncheese-balls, @mcugeekposts

[watermelonlovershigh]

A Day of Breastfeeding

Thank you to this ask for the request of this one shot prompt

Things to help you read this easier:

(Married for 3 years/Any solo Harry era)

(I pray that this photo doesn't get my account in trouble again. It's an innocent photo with no real nudity shown.)

Today has been a busy day with you and your four month old daughter. She woke you up at the early hour of 5:00 am and you've been up ever since.

When she woke up at five, you crawled out of the warm bed you and Harry were sleeping in to go into her nursery. Her reason for awakening was hunger. Instead of feeding her in the nursery like you do most mornings, you carried her back into yours and Harrys bedroom so you could feed her in the comfort of your bed. You climbed back in bed with a hungry baby and laid her on your newly exposed chest. She latched instantly and you may or may not have dozed back off again due to exhaustion.

At 5:30 am Harrys alarm goes off, letting him know he needs to wake up to go to the studio for a few hours and record new music. He reached for his phone, shutting the alarm off, and turned around to glance at his beautiful wife. Beautiful wife who some how stayed asleep through the sounds of his alarm. What he wasn't expecting to see was his equally beautiful baby girl laying on top of your naked chest with your nipple exposed to the cold air of the room. Presumably due to your daughter having finished eating and your nipple falling out of her relaxed mouth. Harry sleepily smiled to himself. How did he get so lucky he thinks internally.

Harry knew he needed to get ready to be at the studio but he just couldn't help himself. He got up and quietly walked around the bed to pick up your sleeping daughter from your chest. Your eyes shot open at the loss of contact with her but Harry was quick to whisper, "Shhh my love. I'm just going to take her to her nursery and let you get some comfortable sleep. Then I'm leaving for the studio. If you need me, call me. I'll come right home. Love you." He bent down to place a kiss your lips and you give him a thankful smile. Right before he let the room, he covered your exposed chest with the blanket so you don't get cold.

Harry decided to burp your daughter on the walk to her nursery knowing she hadn't burped yet. She let out a soft little burp from her tiny mouth on her daddy's shoulder and Harry kissed her soft head in appreciation. He noticed her diaper was dirtied, so being the father he is, Harry changed her poopy diaper and cradled her back to sleep. He placed her back in her crib and gave her one more good bye kiss on his way out. Then Harry got dressed and left for the studio.

Your daughter let you sleep until 7:00 am when she got hungry again. You got up to feed her and decided to just stay awake and start your day. After you fed your daughter and changed her soiled diaper, you went down the stairs to make you something to eat. While you ate your yogurt and berries, the four month old played in her playpen. Then you put her down for a midmorning nap so you could clean up a bit. Around 11:00 am, you breastfeed her again while you watched a bit of tv. She fell asleep shortly after and you called Harry to let him know you were doing fine and talked about dinner options.

Through-out the rest of your day, you pretty much alternated between breastfeeding your daughter, changing dirty diapers, putting her down for naps, and did house chores: dishes, vacuuming, laundry, and dusting. Around 5:00 pm, you felt super disgusting from all the sweating you did today. The only problem was you were home alone with your daughter and there was no one to watch her while you showered or bathed. Usually you'd wait until Harry came home but the sound of a relaxing bath sounded heavenly to your ears. So the only reasonable fix to your problem was to bring her in the tub with you.

Harry and yourself have allowed her to get in the tub with either of you before. Sometimes Harry will be taking a relaxing bath and you'll kill two birds with one stone and have your daughter get a bath with him. Being only four months old, its still expectable for her to bath with her daddy. Or sometimes while you're taking a bath and Harry is watching her, she starts to scream and cry, needing or wanting you, so Harry has no other choice other than to bring her in the bathroom and allow you to comfort her to your warm, wet body.

Now in current time, you're in the bathtub with your naked daughter laying on your bare chest, just relaxing and cooing gentle words into her ears. It feels super nice to have all this skin to skin contact with her, but you're just praying she doesn't pee or poop in the tub. Maybe you should have kept her diaper on.

At first she was calm and relaxed, just staring off into the distance, but now she is grabbing at your boob wanting to be fed again. You reach down and position your nipple to her mouth and she laches on quickly. Your nipples are painfully sore from all the feedings you give her through-out the day, everyday. Harry has told you that you should start pumping and give your nipples a break but you can't seem to do that. Even though its quite painful each time she sucks, it's one of the best feeling to have a baby feed from you directly. That may not make much since to just anyone but you're sure other mums will understand.

While off in your own little world, you don't hear Harry come in the house. He finished for the day at the studio and came home to be with his loving family. First he questions where you two are. He walked in the kitchen to find it empty. Then he walks up the stairs and to the nursery to find it empty. Lastly he walks into your shared bedroom and it's empty as well. He starts to get worried until he hears a soft voice coming from the bathroom in your bedroom. He carries his sock covered feet to the bathroom door and gently pulls it open to see a pretty sight. You breastfeeding your daughter.

"Now we're feeding in the tub, are we?" Harry softly speaks with a content smile. He startles you at first but then you force yourself to relax so you don't disturb your baby.

"I needed a bath and had no one to watch her. Then she got hungry for the millionth time today. I actually think my nipples are going to fall off." you reply back and though you sound like you are joking, Harry could hear pain in your voice when you talked about your nipples falling off. He hates you're in pain.

"I'm sorry my love." he sincerely speaks while kneeling beside the tub to run a gentle hand over the babies back. He has always been infatuated with watching her feed from you. Not in a inappropriate way because they are the same boobs he loves to see jiggle when having sex but in a way where he's in total awe.

Seconds later your daughter spits out your nipple, so you ask Harry, "Could you maybe burp her and get her dressed for bed please, so I can properly wash myself."

Harry responds immediately with, "Of course darling. Anything for you." He bends forward to peck your lips and stands to grab a towel to wrap her small body in. He returns with a towel dedicated just for babies. It's made with thin, soft material so it won't be too rough on their skin. Then with the towel over his shoulder, he bends down to pick up her wet, naked body and lays her directly on his towel covered shoulder. She whines from the cold air but he shushes her. "Shhh my little love. It's alright." he whispers to her while wrapping the towel around her frame and begins to pat her back so she can burp. Before he steps out of the bathroom, he turns to you and says, "I'll be in her nursery. Yell out if you need me for anything."

"Okay." you comment back. As you began to wash your hair and body, all you can think about is how great of a husband and father Harry is. He never puts up fights when it comes to taking care of his daughter. It doesn't matter if it's 3:00 in the morning or while he's working. He'll always come to her aid or your aid for that matter.

Harry successfully burps her and lays her down on her changing table in the nursery. Before any accidents occur, he puts a clean diaper on her bum and finds some clean pjs to keep her body warm. "Alright. All done sweetheart." he tells his baby with a kiss on the cheek. Harry carries her with him to the kitchen, her face burred in his neck. She's awake but the warm bath and feeding did make her sleepy.

In the kitchen, Harry tries to decide what is best for dinner. He decides on a veggie pizza to pop in the oven, knowing you should agree with that choice. Right as the pizza goes into the pre heated oven, you come walking down the stairs in a loose fitting shirt and pajama shorts. "Feeling better?" Harry questions you with a dimply smile while soothingly rubbing your daughters back.

"Much. Thank you for getting her ready for bed." you tell your husband.

"You don't need to thank me. It's my job as much as it is yours. She 'our' baby." he responds.

You take your daughter from his hold and walk into the living room to feed her one last time before you put her to sleep. Harry takes the cooked pizza out the oven and plates you and him a slice. Then he makes his way to the living room, deciding you both can eat in there tonight so you're more comfortable. You eat and breastfeed at the same time, doing mummy multitasking. When Harry finishes eating, he takes your now sleeping baby girl from your hold and carries her to the nursery. Like every time before he leaves her room, he makes sure to lay a soft kiss on her head. Once all that is done, he comes back to you in the living room.

"Please use the pump for tonight. Your boobs need to rest and also that way I can get up to feed her through-out the night and let you get some proper sleep." Harry says to you as you're cuddle each other on the couch.

"But I'm scared if she uses a bottle that she won't want me again. She may realize the bottle is better than my nipples." you mumble in his neck.

"That's silly. Of course she'll want your breast again. You're her mother. She very much enjoys the bonding time with you when you breastfeed her but she's getting to the age to where she needs to have other options. In a month, she'll be able to try baby food. She'll still need your milk but just introducing solids to her diet." Harry calmly speaks while rubbing over your back in a calmly manner.

After a lot of convincing on Harrys part, you decided to try and pump for the first time. So you both stand from the couch and head to your bedroom. Harry grabs the milk pumper from your closet and you get comfortable on the bed. You take your shirt off and pull the covers to your waist. Then he brings the machine over to you and sets everything up. He helps you attach the pieces to each of your nipples, being very gentle knowing how painful they are. Once they are suctioned properly, he turns the machine on and asks, "Are you alright by yourself if I go take a shower? I promise I won't be long." You nod your head and Harry grabs a pair of clean boxers, than makes his way to the bathroom and began his showering.

When Harry returns from his quick shower, the two bottles that collect your milk are near about full. He helps you remove the suction cups and disconnects the bottles from the pump to place them in the fridge for later tonight. As he returns, he see's you standing in front of the huge mirror in your bathroom, just staring at your boobs. Specifically your nipples. Your nipples even look painful he thinks to himself. He walks up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder and caresses your ribcage with his fingers, looking straight ahead at your body in the mirror. "Go lay in bed and I'll put some cream on them." he whispers in your ear.

You follow his instructions and exit the bathroom to get in bed. Harry grabs some cream and returns to you. "I'll be gentle." he says in his tired voice, straddling your lap. He dips his ring less fingers in the soothing cream and bends down. Cradling the sides of your boobs with one hand, he uses his other to rub the nipple itself. His movements are slow and if it was under other circumstances, you swear you would have just gotten turned on by his actions. He looks to be in extreme concentration and you can't help but feel happy. For the second time today, you realize how great Harry is to you and your baby.

Once Harry has covered both your nipples in the cream, he helps you put a bra on that has leaking pads in them, to prevent the ointment from making a mess on the beds covers. Then he goes to wash his hands and comes back to crawl into bed and snuggle with you. "Love you y/n." Harry whispers quietly.

"I love you too babe. And I know you said not to thank you earlier, but thank you. I'm grateful to have you in my life." you blindly reach up to kiss his lips and then shove your face into his neck, smelling the manly scent of his body wash.

Through-out that night, anytime your four mouth old daughter woke up needing a feeding, Harry got up and warmed a bottle from the fridge and sat in the rocker located in the corner of her nursery each time. She would curl up on his tattooed chest, sleepily drink the bottle, and he would rock back and forth, lightly singing to her in a sleep ridden voice. Then he burped her after each feeding and put her back to sleep comfortably in her crib. That night, you got the most uninterrupted sleep you've gotten since before she was born and its all thanks to your wonderful husband and baby daddy, Harry.

MASTERLIST & My Favorite Harry Styles Fics MASTERLIST

[julemmaes]

Robyn

Rowaelin Month, Day Ten

A/N: I'd planned on posting them in order, but you get what you get. Idk when the other prompts will come tbf. I hope soon. Anyway, I managed to write over 6k words today and I'm pretty fucking proud.

This is just fluff over fluff, so yep enjoy!!

Word count: 3,047

Rowan was unbelievably late as he sped through the streets of Orynth.

So late that the school had called not only him, but also the front desk of the place where he worked when he hadn't answered the call on his personal phone. Sorscha, his assistant, had entered his office with an embarrassed smile on her lips, as if she didn't want to tell him that he had forgotten for the umpteenth time to pick up his daughter from school.

Lorcan had joined him, for some strange reason, but Rowan had stopped bothering when it came to his best friend. He'd been trying to figure out how he reasoned for years and had come to the conclusion that there was no logical sense in the actions of the man sitting next to him, who was currently singing at the top of his lungs to one of the songs on the Frozen CD - which much to the chagrin of both of them, had gotten stuck in his car radio months before, forcing them into hours of torture.

He would never deny that the songs were all quite catchy, but after the sixteenth time Rowan had had to listen to Let It Go at maximum volume, his positive opinion of the film had begun to waver.

As they pulled into the school parking lot, Rowan noticed with deep regret that the only cars still there were those of the teachers and school staff.

They both got out of the car, Rowan walking quickly towards the entrance while Lorcan dragged behind him.

He greeted the caretakers sitting at the entrance, who returned a big smile. A smile that grew even wider when his large, imposing friend entered a few moments later. He stopped to talk to the old ladies and Rowan walked down the corridor he knew led to Robyn's classroom.

He could hear muffled voices from inside the teachers' room on the left and the one he knew belonged to Miss Galathynius coming from the right. He looked out over the classroom, spotting the two people sitting at a desk.

As soon as his daughter saw him, her eyes widened and a huge smile flashed across her face.

No words. No "hello, daddy!" or "I missed you!" from the little girl.

Her teacher turned as she leapt out of her chair and ran towards him, hugging his legs and looking up at him. Rowan smiled at her in turn, running a hand over her hair that was shot in every direction.

"Hello, little bird," he murmured to her. The child's smile widened even more if that was possible.

The woman a few feet away from them pulled herself upright, crossing her arms over her chest and offering a sincere smile to the child, who hid behind his thighs.

Rowan was about to tell her that Robyn was shy with everyone like this, ready to defend his daughter's behaviour as he was used to doing in front of every adult, but he was beaten to the punch.

"It's good to see you, Mr Whitethorn," she said, extending a hand. Rowan shook it without hesitation. "Actually, I just wanted to write you a letter regarding Robyn," she continued, never taking her eyes off the little girl. "Nothing serious," she hastened to reassure him when Rowan grimaced, "quite the contrary. Robyn is remarkably good. One of the best in the class, though I shouldn't offer that information so bluntly."

Miss Galathynius winked at him, but he couldn't process what he'd just been told.

"Sorry, could you-"

The little hands clamped around his trousers tightened a fraction more and Rowan looked down, trying to figure out what was bothering his daughter, but then something happened that he hadn't even dared to dream about in recent times.

"You're here!"

The little girl broke off and ran away from him in less than the blink of an eye.

Rowan turned just in time to see Lorcan grab Robyn in mid-air, spinning her around as he brought her to his chest and showered her with kisses. The loud, incessant laughter that erupted from her seemed too much coming from that fragile little body, but he never tired of hearing it.

"Why hello baby!" said Lorcan laughing in turn, starting to tickle her until she begun to rebel and he was forced to let her slide to the floor. Robyn was still laughing at the top of her lungs and nearly fell to the ground as she squealed left and right, letting herself be pushed around by the closest thing to an uncle she had ever had.

When Rowan turned back to the woman, she was wide-eyed and her lips slightly parted as she watched the massive man dressed completely in black and the menacing face turn into a completely different person the second he had seen Robyn.

He chuckled, "I know, it's not every day you get to see a little girl be so comfortable with a brute like that."

Lorcan, who was listening to everything, looked him straight in the eye and without stopping smiling and playing with the little girl, mouthed to him to fuck off.

"Well, yeah. You caught me a little off guard." she confessed, still shocked to hear how Robyn was having a full conversation with Lorcan. They couldn't hear anything of what she was actually saying, but even just the fact she was talking to someone seemed to have Aelin unsettled.

She returned her attention to Rowan and let out a breath that sounded more like a giggle, "I've never heard her laugh before."

He nodded, blushing a little at the teacher's surprised but relieved tone.

"I'm sure the dean warned you about the problem she has," he said in a low voice. He grimaced at her poor choice of words, "I mean, not problem, but the difficulty she finds in interacting with people she doesn't know."

Liar, he told himself. Robyn hadn't spoken to anyone but him and Lorcan since the day Lyria had died. It wasn't a difficulty, but a response to the trauma that prevented her from speaking to anyone who wasn't part of her immediate family.

"I know, I know. We've been looking for solutions together." she informed him. "I give her a white board every morning. Come on, I'll show you." she turned to the desk they were sitting at earlier and raised the magnetic board, on which a few words were scribbled on. "I'll write here what she might need. Yes. No. I need to go to the bathroom. I'm thirsty. I'm hungry." she read, listing the various options. Rowan gaped. "We've only just started going over the alphabet for a second time, so she can't really read or write yet, as I imagine you know, but the little drawings next to each sentence help her."

She continued talking, but he couldn't quite follow.

The woman in front of him - aside from being breathtakingly beautiful - had done as much as she could to help her child with communication.

"Mr. Whitethorn-"

"Rowan. Please, call me Rowan." he said, clearing his throat once he realized how hoarse it sounded to his ears. Lorcan walked up to them at that point, still holding Robyn in his arms and positioned himself next to him, letting their shoulders touch in a comforting way.

"Call me Aelin, then," she smiled at them both. Then she made a small grimace, turning to Rowan, "I wanted to ask if it bothered you, that I sought a solution like that. Maybe I put her in distress, embarrassed her. I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that I wanted to solve this on my own. I really wanted to discuss it with you, with your husband too, to avoid misunderstandings. Maybe we could arrange a meeting."

He was about to tell her that she had given him the exact opposite of annoyance, that he had been more than pleased that she had helped Robyn this way, when her words finally registered.

Lorcan, beside him, had opened his mouth wide and his lips were slowly bending into a mischievous smile.

Rowan furrowed his brow, "I'm sorry, what?"

Aelin's smile seemed to falter. "A meeting? With you? To talk about how to handle the situation," then she shifted her gaze to Lorcan, "You're more than welcome to join as well. I didn't know Robyn had two dads, I apologise for assuming Robyn had a mum and dad. That was very rude of me-"

"I love this," Lorcan whispered, laughing in shock. He turned to Rowan with eyes that sparkled with amusement, "I would definitely be the top."

Rowan looked at him with an expression of complete shock on his face, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Robyn gasped, opening her eyes wide and bringing a hand to her mouth, pointing then to Rowan's.

"Yeah, sorry, love. I shouldn't have said the bad word." he apologised, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. He turned back to Miss Galathynius, "I'm sorry to have to disappoint you, but we're not married."

"No need to lie, sweetie. I'm sure Aelin," he gave her a knowing look, "doesn't mind at all about our relationship status."

Aelin nodded, "Well, yes. That doesn't change anything. Mr..." she turned to Lorcan, searching for a name.

"Salvaterre."

"Mr. Salvaterre can still attend. The fact that you are not yet married is no reason why you cannot both be present at the meeting. You don't have to worry, we are a very tolerant school and if anyone bothers you, you can come directly to me."

A sound of sheer glee escaped Lorcan.

Aelin continued, "I mean it. I was pleased to see both of you today. I was also pleased to see Robyn smiling so much." she concluded, looking the little one in the face.

Rowan took a deep breath, bracing himself, "No, I meant, we're not a couple. We're not gay. He's her uncle."

The woman's blonde eyebrows shot up and a second later she turned almost as red as the dress Robyn was wearing as Lorcan shook his head muttering something very much like 'you're no fun', which made Robyn giggle.

"Why did you even get off the car?" he asked him exasperated.

Lorcan shrugged, "Because I missed my little bean, you monster." he replied, clutching Robyn to his chest. The little girl clutched Lorcan's shirt in her chubby little hands and Rowan huffed, shaking his head.

Aelin brought her hands to her face, leaning against the desk behind her. She shook her head, her face still hidden, "Oh, god. I'm so sorry."

Lorcan let out a dry laugh, "Don't worry about it. It was fun while it lasted." then he turned to Rowan again, who was still trying to recover from the idea of being involved in a relationship with his friend, "You're really no fun."

"Yeah, no fun dad." repeated Robyn.

Silence fell over the class. Rowan looked at her with wide eyes and blinked once, twice. Robyn was staring at him with a sweet scowl that mimicked so much that of the man who was still holding her, but Rowan couldn't get over the fact that his daughter had spoken while Aelin was still beside them.

He was about to talk, noticing how Robyn had started squirming in Lorcan's arms, when there was a knock at the door.

They both turned, Aelin peering over Rowan's shoulder, and saw the figure of a petite girl with black hair and eyes standing in the doorway, watching them with her head slightly bent to the side. She had a tag on her t-shirt that was too colourful to belong to someone who didn't work in a school with children, so he guessed she was a teacher herself. Besides, Rowan felt like he'd seen her elsewhere. Probably every day when he picked Robyn up from school, he said to himself.

"I know you're not supposed to eavesdrop but I stopped by earlier and heard you were a couple of dads," she said by way of introduction. "I just wanted to reassure you that the school is an extremely safe place. I'm the one who did most of the interviews with the parents," that's where they had met then, "and one of the questions that is asked is just about the tolerance of the people who will be attending the school."

Aelin watched her, remaining silent the whole time and putting on an amused smile, nodded, "That's what I was telling them. How tolerant the school is. They make such a cute couple, don't you think, Elide?"

Rowan turned to her, arching an eyebrow, silently asking her what she was doing. The woman, as if she could truly understand what he was trying to convey to her, nodded her head towards Lorcan, who Rowan only then noticed was standing weirdly, his eyes fixed on the woman in the doorway.

He grinned, deciding to take his revenge right away. "Oh, yes. Thank you so much for the reassurance," Rowan began to play along as well. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lorcan turn towards him, dropping Robyn to the floor, who made a disapproving noise at being dumped so suddenly. "We are happy to know that this school is a safe place for our daughter. And for us."

Elide offered him a blinding smile, "Good. I'm happy to hear that you are pleased so far. And I am happy that Aelin is the one who is taking your daughter's class. She's the best one here."

Rowan didn't know her yet, but he knew the thing Elide had just said could only be true.

"Well," she said again, giving them an apologetic smile, "I really must go now, but if you need anything, you can find all my contact details on the website. Have a nice day!"

Aelin and Rowan said their goodbyes, thanking her. Lorcan took a while to recover, but when he realised he was staring into empty space he ran towards the door, almost stepping on little Robyn, who was moved by Aelin.

"We are very much not gay, miss!" he shouted into the hallway. Aelin, now beside him and with a hand on Robyn's shoulder, cackled. With Lorcan's infinite luck, someone walked by just then and gave him a stern look. "Oh, shut up ma'am. I'm an ally. The best ally."

Rowan shook his head as Lorcan launched himself in pursuit of the poor teacher and burst out laughing when he heard him shout, "I'm not homophobic! I'm willing to suck someone's cock if I have to prove it to you!"

Aelin opened her mouth wide before bursting out laughing in turn.

Robyn, seeing both adults so happy, giggled too and Rowan bent down to pick her up. The little girl laid her full head of white-light hair on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

She was tired and Rowan really needed to get her home to sleep.

He glanced at Aelin and reduced his lips to a thin line, "I'm sorry about the commotion, I'll try not to bring him into the building again. Even if it means tying him to the seat."

The soft laugh she gave made something tighten in his chest. He frowned.

Aelin didn't seem to notice the effect she had on him, "Don't worry, Elide is crazy about fools like him. If he says the right things, we might start seeing each other outside of school too."

Rowan nodded, now too caught up in the thought of having to take Robyn home to focus on anything else.

They agreed on when to hold the parent-teacher meeting and then he grabbed Robyn's backpack, walking towards the exit.

He was thoughtless as he reached into his pocket for his keys and balanced everything else - including the girl - on his other arm, but when Robyn's hand brushed his cheek, he looked down and his eyes met their twins. Green against green.

"What is it?"

The little girl's voice never stopped making him smile. Each time was like the first time she had said dada.

"I really like her."

Rowan frowned, "Who?"

"Miss Aelin." she whispered, almost as if she was afraid they might hear her.

He smiled at her, "Yeah? You like her?"

"She's nice to me."

Rowan had to put her down as he opened the door and let her get into the back seats by herself.

"I'm glad she's treating you well, love," he let her know, buckling her in.

He hoped she'd tell him more about her new teacher, but like any kid her age, the topic of conversation couldn't last for more than four lines apiece, "Where's Uncle Lorcan?"

Rowan snorted, "No idea, little bird."

Robyn nodded, "Elide is pretty too."

And as if those words had summoned him, Lorcan appeared beside the car, making them both scream. He entered the car in a heartbeat and turned to his daughter, who was still settling into the seat. "Do you know Miss Lochan?"

But before she could answer him, Rowan had entered the car in turn and smacked the back of his head, which made the Robyn giggle, "You're not using my daughter as your wingman. Now stop it and buckle up."

Lorcan gave him a gentle push, before doing as he was told and for once he was happy he'd convinced him to do something.

Or at least, Rowan thought he had convinced him.

"What if I left you a note to deliver to Miss Lochan, Rob? Would you be up for it?"

Rowan knew, even without looking at her, that she was nodding emphatically.

Keeping his eyes on the road, he murmured, "Could you stop calling my daughter Rob, please? You'll give her an existential crisis."

Lorcan clicked his tongue against his palate, "Rowan, I'm not giving her a damn thing. We live in this new world, okay? Your daughter could be called Simon and still be a beautiful princess. Grow up and educate yourself before you talk shit."

"Aaaah!" shouted Robyn, "Bad word!"

Rowan sighed and shook his head, but still he was smiling.

This was his life. Had been for the past two years.

And he wouldn't change it for the world.

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[queer-adhd]

Caretaking is indeed such hard work, but it's worth it to make sure the person is alright and well taken care of ❤️

And I was just saying that the stigma for abled bodied people taking medicine is a bit worse than disabled people. Cause for abled bodied people taking meds were seen as like 'normal' people and that we could be 'seeking attention' by taking these meds. I had to wait years to get my doctor to prescribe me anxiety medicine cause she thought nothing was 'wrong with me.' my dad constantly doesn't even understand why I need these anxiety meds cause he doesn't get 'what I'm anxious about'. And yet the medicine that my mom needs? No one bats an eye and won't hesitate to give her or to prescribe to her.

And yet they were saying I was gross cause I'm talking about my mom this way and I'm an ableist and I was like...what??? I'm using the experiences that we've both faced as an example, and using my experience as her caretaker as an example of what I've seen about this??? And that's gross??? And ableist????? And then they blocked me so XD

Well, I'd be a little careful about generalising something like that, if only because for disabled people who are struggling and being dismissed by doctors, it can feel incredibly invalidating to have someone tell them it's easier to get medication while disabled than while able bodied.

I'm glad that your mum was able to get the medication she needed with ease, and I'm sorry that you weren't because of what sounds like some extremely prejudiced views.

I will say, however, that that has not been my experience. We have had rouke curled up sobbing in pain, unable to speak or hear from it, and healthcare professionals have essentially told us to jog on, because they weren't going to give anything that wasn't over the counter.

I also know that a lot of visibly disabled people, when asking for medications, have been written off as drug seeking, and in some cases even taken off their current medications because of that. It is definitely not universal that physically disabled people are given medication easily.

I know that my position as an able bodied advocate is so far what has gotten rouke most of its treatment, because our doctors put more weight on MY opinion of its health than its own.

All of that said: I don't think talking about your experiences and the trends you've seen in them is ableist. But I would be careful about applying that to others without knowing their experiences.

[one-abuse-survivor]

it's not mother's day where i live yet (may 29), but the american mother's day was not long ago and it's made me think about my mother. this isn't in the usual spirit of asks that you get, and you don't have to reply if you feel it's too strange or different. i just wanted to get this out there, i suppose.

my mum wasn't an amazing parent. she had her ups and downs, and ultimately i think she's a perfectly average parent. i was a very difficult child and she dealt with me very well, even if she couldn't always control her anger. that's besides the point- it doesn't matter now, anyway. i was the evil one in the end, after all. that's also besides the point. apologies. let me get to the point.

my mum died 5 years ago, when i was 12. cancer got the best of her. i'm 17 now. i miss her. i miss her so incredibly much. i don't really think of her often, but when i do, i miss her and long for her and i wish she was still here. maybe that's trauma. i dunno. i don't think her death was traumatic for me, but i do seem to miss her more than most people would. thing is though, i don't think that's so strange with my circumstances?

a little more context. i'm mixed, more specifically scandinavian and east asian. my mother was my asian parent. i currently live in a scandinavian country, and have lived in western europe my entire life. i have very little of my asian country's culture with me. i can't speak the language, i know nothing about festivities or traditions, and when it comes to theatre, music, art? nothing. i have a little for food. i have vague memories of her cooking, and i usually visit my relatives there once a year (we eat a lot at restaurants then, and it's hard to avoid a country's cuisine while you're there). i haven't been there since the pandemic started, though.

the point is, my mother was my only connection to my asian heritage and culture, and now she's gone. i feel like a part of me is missing. most wasian people wish they were more white, which i can understand completely. it feels wrong that i want to be more asian. i don't even look asian. i have a very weird skin tone that's in between white and EA and my face stores cheek fat easily, but that's it. i feel completely whitewashed.

maybe, if she were still alive, i wouldn't be so whitewashed? she could tell me about the non-fetishized version of her country. she could continue to cook those foods i remember so fondly. she could teach me the language. she could teach me how to celebrate traditional festivals. of course that's not all i miss about her. i miss her hugs. i miss her warmth. i miss her voice. but i think my biggest loss was half of my culture. half of my heritage died with my mother, and i'm never going to get it back. i can't seperate them. my mourning for one spills into the other.

i don't know what i wanted to accomplish with this ask. thank you for reading. i appreciate it. i hope you have a good day, with many positive vibes.

Hey there, nonnie.

I'm really sorry for your loss and for everything it entailed for you. Loss of a culture or of a parent is not something I have experienced, so all I can really say is I hear you, and I'm really glad my blog could provide a space for you to verbalise some of your grief and emotions about it. You're very welcome ❤️

I hope you know difficult children don't deserve anger. I think it's possible to understand that our parents are human as well and can make mistakes, and still give ourselves the space to admit their anger hurt us when we were growing up. I can't pretend to understand what it's like to consider this idea when your parent died before your teens, but I just wanted to put it out there, because I think you deserve better than to think of your child self as evil.

Sending a big, big virtual hug ❤️

[dumblydork]

Dying Embers

Her hair swished wildly in the wind, as if it were leaves swaying from the onset of a cyclone- flowing down to her waist, head thrown back. Fiery red, just like the dying embers of what was formerly a warming furnace. He could hear her laughter, slow and melodic, almost as if it were empyrean. She was the love of Harry's entire being. The soul to his body, the mind to his brain. She turned around, and all Harry could glimpse was her mouth- full, and pulled into a large smile. Her eyes were a bright hazel, shining with happiness, as she ran towards Harry, fitting easily in his arms.

They had met at the ball thrown by his parents that summer, exactly so that their son could meet a suitable young woman to marry. Harry had been extremely bored with the festivities, instead wishing he were out practicing archery with his friend, Neville.

His eyes flew around the room, passing from and then returning to a young woman who had just entered the gala. She didn't seem familiar, and was chaperoned by who seemed to her brother, judging from their hair. Harry was mesmerised- her yellow dress floated around her as if it were made of the finest, lightest silk to exist, and her hair was pulled back elegantly, exposing the milky column of her neck. He walked towards the pair.

"Forgive my intrusion, but will the lovely lady here consider dancing the next waltz with me?" Harry bowed slightly, his hand pulled tightly at his back.

The girl eyed him shyly as his brother did a more open appraisal. "We would like to first make your acquaintance, sir." He finally spoke.

"Of course, forgive me. I am Lord Harry Potter, Viscount of Little Whinging." He said, an automatic confidence seeping into his voice, one which only came from being the son of a duke.

"Forgive me, my Lord, I did not know. I am Ronald Weasley, and this is my younger sister, Ginevra Weasley. Our father is the Baron Weasley of Burrows." The pair bowed deeply, something which made Harry slightly uncomfortable.

"Please, I take no offense. It is my pleasure to make an acquaintance of Lord Weasley's children. He is my father's close friend. My question, however, to Lady Ginevra here remains unanswered." Harry steered the topic back to more important things from mere formalities.

"Of course, my lord." Ginevra said softly, placing her hand in Harry's outstretched one. As they walked towards the center of the floor, Harry's eyes met the identical ones of his mother, who stood to the side, flashing her son a soft smile.

"I adore you. And so does every thread of my existence, until my breath ceases." Harry spoke, bringing himself back from the night at the ball.

"I simply reciprocate, my Lord. And shall do so until death pull us part." She spoke softly, meeting Harry's lips with her own.

At the brink of twilight, a day before their wedding, the two of them wove their lives together, sealed by golden vows.

---

"Harry? Get on up, it's time to go!" His mother, Lily's voice flitted through the room, and sunlight poured inside as well, casting a bright glow all over. Harry sat up in bed, stretching excessively, getting rid of the multitude of pulls and pains he seemed to acquire over the night.

His parents swore he did not sleepwalk and fall down the stairs.

"Harry, honey, come on. You'll be late for uni otherwise." His mother peeked inside, her reddish brown hair pulled into a knot at the top of her head, green eyes shining with motherly affection. Seeing his mother's hair, Harry was reminded of his dream- recurring dream, he should say. Even though it was simply a few minutes old, seeing the 'girl' in his dream, he felt as if it were quite some lifetimes ago.

He had been dreaming of a girl quite frequently lately, and not in the lewd way his best friend Ron seemed intent on. Harry would always simply spot her hair, the curve of her waist and as soon as she turned around, he would be jolted awake.

When he was a child, his mother used to tell him tales in which princesses would dream of faceless men, a golden bond tying the two people together. The faceless person you dreamt about was whom you shared your golden thread of life with. But those were just fantasy- woven to make a dull reality exciting. At least now, at the age of 19, was what Harry believed. He hopped out of bed, and walked off into the bathroom, getting started on his morning routine. It was half past eight when he went downstairs, his first class of the morning at 9:15. His father, James, was stood in front of the kettle, pouring himself a cup of his morning Earl Grey, and his mother was setting down the plate of pancakes on the table.

"Breakfast?" She asked, sitting down, his dad joining her to the left. "Morning Haz." His father grinned lopsidedly, a grin much like Harry's own, glasses steaming up from the hot mug. Harry recited a greeting in return and was about to refuse breakfast on the account of well, running late, when the smell of butter floated up to him and he found himself seated in front of his parents.

"Did you get sore again?" Lily asked, concern lacing her low voice.

"Yeah. I just don't seem to know how." Harry noted, voice muffled from a mouth full of pancakes.

"Slow down, you'll choke." She admonished lightly, shooting James an exasperated look when he snickered a low 'That's what she said' into his morning Daily Prophet.

"He probably needs a new mattress. Let's get one on the weekend." His mother said, earning an affirmative hum from James who was busy with his newspaper.

"I'll get going now. Bye mum, bye dad. See you in the evening." He spoke after having had his share of pancakes and a chat with his mum. He bent down for the customary top-of-the-head kiss from his mother, something she had been doing since Harry started school. And although he wouldn't admit it, he adored this little sentiment. His dad shot him another grin as he walked out of the door, putting in his earphones.

Fortunately for him, the university campus was quite a short bus ride away. However, he still found himself running across the campus from the bus stop to his lecture theatre- he forgot to factor in the fact that the hall today was all on the opposite end of campus.

"Shit," He glanced at his phone, currently glowing 9:21. It was Professor Binns' lecture, and he wasn't too fond of latecomers. Harry counted on his excellent grade in the module, hoping that would pull him through. As he ran across, his peripheral vision noted a mane of red momentarily, but before Harry could turn around and see, he was already in front of the class, digging through the bag for his ID card.

---

"How is it that Binns' lectures keep getting worse through the term?" Ron, the aforementioned best friend groaned.

"Because your attention dwindles further as term moves on." Hermione, the other best friend noted. Harry grinned between the two of them. They were so in love, those oblivious idiots.

Binns' was the only class the three of them took together, and Ron departed for his Victorian Literature module. Harry and Hermione walked to the open amphitheatre, choosing to spend their free half hour which coincided together.

"Oh right. My friend from school is joining today, I was supposed to go show her around. Fancy coming?" Hermione spoke, eyes focused on her text messages. "Sure, I have the rest of the morning free." Harry pursed his lips. Hermione simply nodded and they set off across the campus again after the brief interlude at the theatre.

"Your friend is from school?" Harry asked.

"Yeah- she's a year younger but we were quite close when I was in year 12." She replied, eyes scanning the crowd at in front of the Lifesciences Lab, which was one of the main buildings on campus. "Who are we looking for again?" He imitated the search.

"Redhead, shorter than you." Hermione did not look up from the hoard of people, before her mouth set into a wide grin.

"Ginny! Here!" Hermione waved her arms around, jumping up and down in tandem. Harry couldn't see who Hermione was waving to, but the crowd was being roughly pushed aside as someone made their way towards the pair.

"Hermione! So good to see you!" The woman said, grabbing the older girl into a tight hug and letting go, placing the three of them in a triangular formation.

"Oh my god, I almost forgot to come see you." Hermione said somewhat sheepishly, but Harry wasn't listening. He was staring- no, gaping at the newcomer. Her hair was the exact shade of red as the girl in Harry's dream, and it cascaded down her back in a half up half down style. Her waist was encased in a light yellow sundress, complimenting her red hair. All in all, she was beautiful. Not because of her hair or slender figure, but also because of how her eyes shone as she spoke to Hermione.

"Have I seen you before?" Tumbled out of Harry's mouth before he could stop (or reason), and a pair of bright hazel eyes bore into his own moss green, before glittering again. Ginny simply smiled.

~~~~

And here it is, another AU! I definitely did not plan for this to be a multiple lifetime AU, but Regency!Hinny seemed too good to pass up on. I apologise for what is probably a very poorly written Regency era conversation, my knowledge of it is simply from Bridgerton and Google haha. I decided to keep the end open, just so that you guys can envision your own romance for them! Also, can I just say how I loved writing Lily and James?? It's their little debut in my one-shots yay!

Also, you can find my Ao3 here, where I post quite fluffy Wolfstar one-shots, if that's your thing!

I hope you enjoyed this as usual! Please interact with my pinned TAGLIST post on my account if you wish to be notified of whenever I post Hinny one-shots! Thank you for reading, and big hugs to everyone who loves what I write! Please keep going, it truly makes my day (or week??) xxxx

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