#asthmatic!peter

[lavoixhumaine]

i have officially posted my final fanfic for the year.

and boy howdy, it’s been a hell of a wild ride and i honestly don’t see myself quitting this anytime soon. i didn’t expect to find this kind of freedom in writing literally whatever the hell i want and finding people who appreciate it and enjoy it, but damn, it’s been so weird but fucking beautiful.

honestly, i’m trying to let go of the fact that so much has happened in the last few months because i’m really not the type who dwells on things. but i will be honest and say i am a little disappointed with myself that i was not able to finish hearts in atrophy in december as i originally planned. we still have january though, maybe february and then by march we get the real thing back so who’ll need fanfic then, yeah? pfft!

i promised some fellow bobby x athena fans i would get them through the hiatus. i don’t know if i was able to really live up to that but i hope i got to help in some small way at least. i love this ship so much and this fandom has been a dream. we’ll hold on to each other until the week of march 14, huh? we can do it!

anyway, seven stories in eight months doesn’t seem too shabby though, right?

i wanna thank everyone who took the time to sit down and read what i have to offer. i would also like to give my deepest and most heartfelt thanks to all those who left comments, kudos and took the time to write to me here on tumblr. and yes, this includes all the good things and bad things—i appreciate them all in different ways.

i am deeply, deeply grateful for the friendships i’ve been blessed with through this fixation. these fantastic, kind and generous duckies helped get me through some of the truly darkest times of my life. they probably don’t realize how much of an impact they’ve made in this oddball’s life but i hope someday they will. i wish them nothing but the absolute best and most wonderful, beautiful blessings for always.

and one last thing—

dear reader, i hope you have a lovely time ringing in the new year and you are surrounded by those who love you—whether that’s in person or online or by pigeon or snail mail. i wish you happiness, good health and comfort. remember to be kind to yourself and…breathe. see you next year 🌸

much love,

sunny 🌸

(i am taking this time to post this now because i am about to start cooking and after that, i will most likely get a little drunk—see ya’ll next year!)

[ddringo]

Just Breathe

A lot of people thought that the lake of wheezing, that tiny whistling sound coming from a person’s inflamed lungs during an asthma attack, was a good thing. That the medications were working, or the attack was ending. That everything would therefore be okay.

Peter knows better.

He had his first Asthma attack, a full-blown asthma attack, at age six. Wheezing and coughing, and gasping for air that never reached his burning, oxygen-deprived lungs. It had felt like he was dying, and maybe he was dying.

At sixteen, you’d think you’d get used to it. But you’ll never get used to feeling young lungs close in on itself. You’ll never get used to dying…

Prompt: Asthma attack @badthingshappenbingo

[iconicloneliness]

Peter, panting: gaslight *gasp*, gatekeep, girlboss

Kitty: here's your inhaler

Peter:ohmyfuckinggodthankyou

[shiorimakibawrites]

Flare Up (Daredevil Fan Fic)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Asthmatic Reader

Summary: You have a flare up of asthma along with a cold. Matt takes care of you.

Warning(s): Descriptions of asthma and cold symptoms, fluff

Author's Note: The description of asthma is based on my own experience, including a flare up over the last couple of days.

Tagging: @itwasthereaminuteago

Flare Up

You woke up feeling terrible. Your entire torso ached like someone had been kicking you. That dull ache turned to pain when you started coughing. Deep, hacking coughs that felt like they lasted forever. When the fit was over, you were short of breath and feeling light-headed. But now you knew why your chest hurt so much. You had been coughing in your sleep. No matter you didn’t feel like you had slept at all and why your throat felt scrapped raw.

You tried to take a deep breath but that only made you cough again. It wasn’t as long as the previous bout of coughing but it still left you aching. You could hear the wheeze in each breath. You needed to use your inhalers. You sat up and turned toward your bedside table, opening the top drawer.

The first one you grabbed was the rescue inhaler. Holding it in your hand, you started giving it a good shake but had to pause to ride out another coughing fit. When it stopped, you finished giving the inhaler its shake. Raising it to your mouth, you took a breath at the same time as you pressed down on the canister. You took a few more breaths, then another puff from the inhaler.

You sat it down, grimacing. You hated the taste of the medicine. You were more neutral about the way it made your heart race and gave you the sensation that you were trembling even when you weren’t. But you accepted all of that for the easing of the tightness in your chest. It didn’t magically fix everything. You were still coughing. Your entire chest and back still hurt. The medicine in your rescue inhaler couldn’t really effect the inflammation deeper in your lungs.

If you kept having this much trouble breathing, you would do a breathing treatment. It was the same kind of medicine but the nebulizer machine helped it get further into your lungs. If you remembering what the doctor had told you correctly. You thought it might be a larger dose than your inhaler delivered but you couldn’t remember.

You grabbed your second inhaler, the maintenance one which held a different, longer-acting medicine. But when you pressed down on the canister, you got nothing. Feeling confused, you took a closer look and realized that it was out of doses. A quick check of drawer didn’t reveal a box with a new one in it. How, you had that prescription on auto-fill at the pharmacy . . . then you remembered. You had gotten the text telling you that your prescription was ready but had forgotten to go pick it up. It had been hectic week.

The opposing party had backed out of the pending settlement agreement at the last minute. One of their new case had Burke & Winthrop Associates on the other side – something that made all of you groan. Not because you couldn’t take them but because they were always a massive pain in the ass. Spider-Man’s girlfriend had been accused of punching a cop. Not that the cops knew about the girlfriend part but you did. This meant a certain amount of hovering from the aforementioned vigilante, both in and out of costume. Not because he didn’t trust Nelson & Murdock to help his girlfriend but because Peter, like Matt, was a worrier. It didn’t help that the ADA was dragging their feet about providing certain discovery materials – like the officer’s body cam footage . . .

His hovering had come in handy the other night when, due to some complicated series of events that you still weren’t clear on, something had started making a loud, ear-piercing shriek. The criminals, who hadn’t been expecting it either, had their hands clapped tightly over their ears. But Matt was completely down, writhing on the ground and almost biting off his tongue trying not to scream. Now Spider-Man wasn’t a huge fan of loud noises either but he darted over anyway. Got the noise stopped, webbed up the criminals, and hauled Matt back home. It took the rest of night for the resulting vicious migraine to subside.

You had felt a little off yesterday but you had chalked it up to being tired. It had been busy week. You had stayed up helping take care of Matt during his migraine. You had decided to stay the night in your apartment last night beside knowing that you slept better at Matt’s because you were still paying rent on the place and it seemed silly to never stay there . . .

You wrapped yourself up in your robe, put on a pair of fuzzy socks, and shuffled toward the kitchen. Hot drinks always eased your symptoms during an asthma flare up. The normally quick task of putting on coffee went slowly because the slightest hint of exertion left you feeling short of breath and brought on another coughing fit.

While the coffee brewed, you went into the bathroom. You hadn’t noticed it immediately – feeling like you could barely breath had understandably distracted you – but you might also gotten sick. You were a little congested. Your face felt tender across the top of your cheeks and forehead. There was feeling of pressure in your ears. All things you had experienced when you had a cold or similar infection. But sometimes seasonal allergies gave you the same symptoms.

Illness, allergies, or both could have easily triggered this flare up.

You took a pill for an allergy relief along with a multi-symptom cold. Unfortunately it was the last dose of cold medicine. You would have to get more before this one wore off. You were not looking forward to it. But maybe you could get some fresh lemons while you were getting your medicine. Hot tea with honey and lemon always felt so good on your throat when it was this sore. You had tea and honey but no lemons . . .

Your phone started ringing. It was, of course, nowhere close to you being still hooked onto the charger on the other side of the living room. You sighed and started heading toward it. You barely managed to reach it before it switched over to voicemail, not even bothering to look at the caller ID.

“Hello?” you said, wincing at how bad your voice sounded. Croaky as a frog.

“Sweetheart, you sound terrible.”

Matt. And he sounded like he had already slipped into worrywart mode.

“Matches how I feel,” you said, then winced for another reason. It hurt to talk.

“What’s wrong?”

“Asthma flare up,” you said. “Cold.”

You felt a tickle in your throat. You tried to swallow, to prevent the oncoming coughing fit and making Matt more worried than he already was. But you couldn’t stop it. Worse luck, it was a bad one. The coughs were deep, barking, seemed to have no end in sight. You couldn’t breath. Darkness crept into your vision and the room swayed . . . then it stopped. You could take a breath. A ragged, thin breath but a breath.

You leaned against the wall, rubbing your chest. That one really hurt. Your chest felt like it was on fire and your throat felt like you had tried to gurgle with glass. Tears pricked at your eyes . . .

Then you realized that you had dropped your phone. Bending down to pick it up didn’t help with your dizziness but you had to get it before Matt had an actual heart attack. As it was, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was already darting out of the door to parkour to your apartment.

You heard his fanatic voice before your phone got up to your ear.

“-heart, answer me!”

“I’m here,” you said. “I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t,” he retorted.

Which was fair. Hearing your own voice – wheezy, faint, and croaky as a frog – you wouldn’t believe you either.

“I’m coming over.”

“Matt,” you started to protest, not wanting him to get sick, but was cut off by another bout of coughing. Not as bad or as long this time but so close on the heels on the previous one, it hurt just as bad. Some of the tears escaped your eyes.

“I’m coming over,” he repeated, his voice firm and unyielding. You gave up trying to argue. It would be a total waste of energy. You recognized that tone. Matt had found his hill. He was ready and willing to die on it.

“Okay,” you said.

“Have you used your inhalers?”

“Yes.”

He made annoyed noise. “Partial lie.”

“Used rescue inhaler,” you retorted.

“What about the other one?”

“Out of doses.”

“Don’t you have that on auto-fill?”

“Yes,” you said. “Forgot to pick it up.”

You swallowed, trying to sooth your throat. Your voice was getting rougher.

“I’ll get it,” he said. “Do you need anything else?”

“Medicine,” you said. “Lemon.”

“Get some rest sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay,” you agreed. Rest sounded really good right now. Your bed had more pillows and blankets but the couch was much closer. You shuffled over to it, wrapped yourself in the cuddling blanket and sat down. You rested your head against the back and closed your eyes. You were just going to rest them for a moment . . .

You must have dozed off because the next thing you knew, the door to your apartment was opening to admit Matt, a shopping bag in his hand. Unless it was windy outside, you suspected that he had taken shortcuts getting here. His hair had that windblown quality you associated with him using his ninja skills while in his civilian grab.

“Hey Matty,” you said.

“Hey sweetheart,” he said back, giving you a little smile. It wasn’t his big smile, the one that lit up his entire face. He couldn’t smile like that when he was worried. “Your lungs sound even worse up close. Maybe you should go to the hospital.”

“No.”

“Sweetheart . . .”

“No,” you repeated but was prevented from elaborating by coughing. Which probably didn’t help your case. “Just gonna tell me to do what I’m gonna do here. Rest, breathing treatment, etc.”

He didn’t look convinced. You glared at him. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see it. It was the principle of thing.

“I’ve had asthma since I was a baby,” you said. “I know the drill.”

“Alright,” he said, either surrendering or making a strategic retreat. Probably the later. You had little doubt that he felt like your home treatment wasn’t doing enough, going to the hospital would come back and this time it would not be negotiable. “Where is your nebulizer?”

You told him where to find it and the liquid medicine. Both of which he brought to you. While you set up the machine, you started feeling like you were forgetting something. Something important . . . you suddenly bolted upright as you remembered. “Court!”

“What?” Matt asked, confused by your sudden panic.

“I have court this morning,” you said. You looked at the clock and groaned. You’d never make to the courtroom in time. “I’m going to be late.”

“No, you aren’t,” Matt said, moving back into the living room. “I called Foggy on the way here. He’s going to cover you at the hearing and the appointments that Karen can’t reschedule.”

“Really?” you said.

“Really really,” he answered.

“What about your appointments, Mr. Murdock?”

“Karen’s working on it. She’ll let me know if I need to come in.”

That was that. You finished setting up the machine, opened the capsule of medicine and poured it into the cup. You screwed on the mouthpiece and flicked on the machine. A familiar, droning and hissing sound filled the air and soon steam began to appear around the mouthpiece. You put it in your mouth and dutifully inhaled the medicine. Despite the fact that it didn’t taste any better like this than it did in puffed form. And it dried out your mouth something awful.

But you were well aware that it was either do the breathing treatment here or at the hospital. You’d rather do it here, where you were comfortable. Matt surprised you by sitting down beside you. The nebulizer wasn’t exactly loud to your ears but it wasn’t whisper-quiet either. But if the noise or the smell of the medicine bothered him, he gave no sign of it. Just rubbed your sore back and sides with his big, warm hands until the treatment was done.

Soon afterward, you had a mug of hot tea with lemon and honey in your hands. Part of you wanted coffee but knew the tea would feel better on your throat. While you sipped the tea, Matt quietly suggested putting something on and cuddling on the couch. Which you thought was best idea he had ever had.

You decided to put on a series of nature documentary, ones about the oceans. There was something about watching pretty fish and other marine critters accompanied by soft-spoken narration that you found relaxing. And that pretty much set the pattern for the day. You watched a program about ocean animals, drank hot tea or ice water, and cuddled with Matt on the couch. Sometimes you dozed off. Sometimes you coughed again and Matt’s hands would rub your back until it was over.

You didn’t have to get a single drink. It seemed like you tried to get up for anything over than a trip to the bathroom, Matt was giving you the worried face. You hated the worried face. And you had almost no defense against his big hazel eyes looking sadly at you. It helped that you didn’t really want to argue with him about pampering you all day anyway.

That pampering had extended to the hot shower you decided to take partway through the day in hopes of feeling less like crud. With how much your chest still ached, it was nice not to have to bend down to soap up your legs. Through seeing Matt on his knees in front of you, nearly naked, while the water poured down around you, gave you certain thoughts. Thoughts that you made a mental note to revisit when you felt better.

Matt washing your hair and massage your scalp eased discomfort that you hadn’t entirely realized was there until it was gone. The oversized tee shirt and sweatpants he grabbed didn’t match but you couldn’t care less. They were some of your softest, most comfortable clothing and that was more important than matching.

After Matt had dried himself off and redressed, you took the opportunity to hug him. While surprised, it didn’t take him long to return the hug.

“I love you,” you said softly, burrowing your face into his chest. His arms tightened around you, holding you closer.

“I love you too,” he said. Low and quiet, almost like he was afraid that if he said it too loud, that if anyone beside you heard how much he cared, that something awful would happen. Your arms did their own tightening.

You didn’t know how long you both stood there, in your little bubble of lingering steam and whispered confessions, before your stomach decided to ruin the mode by growling loudly. You felt your face flush but Matt just chuckled.

“Lunch?” he offered.

“Good idea,” you said.

Lunch ended up being potato soup, fresh from your favorite cafe and delivered by Karen. She let Matt know that she had managed to rearrange his schedule so he didn’t need to come in. Foggy sent the message that he hoped you were feeling better and not to order dinner since that mother would be sending over her famous chicken noodle soup. You hadn’t had it yet but Matt swore it was delicious.

He was right. It was delicious. Not complicated but it was amazing how good something could taste if made from fresh ingredients. The pumpkin cookies that she also sent along tasted just as good.

‘Being sick will always suck,’ you mused as you dozed on the couch, snuggled in Matt’s arms. ‘But sometime it doesn’t completely suck.’

Still, you felt like you should apologize a week later when Matt came down with your cold.

[soothinglee]

(no longer in use- go to page to see updated!)

my favorites: ಇ

dreamsmp

dream:

↳how they hype you up (dteam) (hc)

↳ holding their face reactions (dteam)(hc)

↳nicknames they call you (dteam)(hc)

↳it looks like i'm best

↳little things you do (dteam)(hc)

↳in sickness and in help

↳reacting to you being sick(crewboys) (hc)

↳asthmatic sibling (hc + text) ಇ

↳ where are you ಇ

sapnap:

↳how they hype you up (dteam)(hc)

↳holding their face reactions (dteam)(hc)

↳nicknames they call you (dteam)(hc)

↳little things you do (dteam)(hc)

↳patch me up ಇ

↳reacting to you being sick (crewboys)(hc)

↳pickup lines

george:

↳how they hype you up (dteam)(hc)

↳holding their face reactions (dteam)(hc)

↳nicknames they call you (dteam)(hc)

↳little things you do (dteam)(hc)

↳reacting to you being sick(crewboys)(hc)

tommy:

↳series!: "please don't go." one - two - three

↳wolf hybrid reader (sbi) - two

↳eyeliner

↳skilled protecter(hc)

↳you're weak, who can i help(hc)

ranboo:

↳series!: "goodbye."

one - two - three - four -

five - six - seven - eight

nine

↳revenge - two

↳midnight skies

↳you're weak, who can i help(hc)

tubbo:

↳series!: "goodbye."

one - two - three - four -

five - six - seven - eight

nine

↳gifts

↳you're weak, who can i help(hc)

wilbur:

↳wolf hybrid reader (sbi) - two(hc)

awesamdude:

↳just go

↳charged creeper

↳momma and dada

fundy:

↳protection and love(hc + text)

michael (the pig):

↳thunderstorms

↳watering and learning

quackity:

↳series!: "the peguin and the duck." one - two - three

↳reacting to you being sick(crewboys)(hc)

slimecicle:

↳why won't it stop

spiderman

peter parker:

↳save me (tom)

↳science homework help (andrew)

↳left in the dark

euphoria

elliot:

↳ensename

↳ser mia

rue:

↳i'm tired

celebrities

timothee chalamet:

↳like will smith

stranger things

steve harrington:

↳series!: "cursed." one - two ಇ

eddie munson:

↳peace

↳i only have eyes

↳wounds

the last of us

joe miller:

↳stab wounds and a somewhat grateful patient ಇ

scream 6

ethan landry:

↳what it's like dating ethan (hc + text) ಇ

heartstopper

tao xu:

↳slow train | two ಇ

↳intoxicated romance in parisಇ

[ao3feed-peterstiles]

The injury of finally knowing you

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/55262434 by QuartzR How does someone tell their best friend they have a werewolf mate when: 1. They don’t know werewolves are real 2. They don’t know what mates are 3. Said mate is 12 years older than you 4. Most of the Hales die in a fire, your mate is a living corpse, and it all becomes mostly irrelevant so what does it matter anyway? At least, until Stiles just so happens to eavesdrop on one of his dad’s calls from the station. Until he’s in the woods with an asthmatic Scott at his side, huffing and puffing and hissing at Stiles for dragging them out here to find a dead body. Words: 3223, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale, the usual peeps Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: Canon Rewrite, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Claudia Stilinski, Canon-Typical Violence, Scenting, Scent Marking, Scent Kink, Werewolf Culture, Pack Alpha Peter Hale, Feral Peter Hale, Semi-Sane Peter Hale, Left Hand Peter Hale, Pack Dynamics, Good Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), I stopped watching Teen Wolf after season 4 and I think it's obvious Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/55262434

[princeescaluswords]

I like Stiles as a character, but I often get frustrated by fanon diverging from canon, and the worst of it to me is the ways that Lydia treated by Stiles - as something he deserves, most notably when she kisses Scott and he's angry, which the fandom holds against Scott because apparently Lydia making choices means Scott is a bad friend - or in the scene when Lydia is high after the werewolf attack at the movie rental place, and the only thing that keeps Stiles from doing [something] is that Lydia calls out for Jackson rather than him.

I think Stiles is kind of a jerk, and I like him because of it, but the fanon Stiles used as a weapon to bludgeon canon Scott is... the dumbest thing in the fandom

Have you ever seen the frequent criticism on this site that certain people should have paid more attention in English class? This criticism arises from posts like the one I saw today, where a person was confessing that "people think Stiles is evil because he almost made out with Lydia while she was drugged up." I don't think Stiles is evil for doing that; it sounds like you don't think Stiles is evil. I've never actually heard anyone call him evil for almost giving into temptation. (The closest I've ever come to calling Stiles's evil is his behavior in Lies of Omission (5x09) and Status Asthmaticus (5x10) and I don't even go that far). What we do recognize that what he did in Lydia's bedroom in The Tell (1x05) wasn't the right way to behave.

Stiles's desire for Lydia is real and natural; it was his inability to recognize and respect proper boundaries that almost created a very bad situation. He did pull away when Lydia said Jackson's name; the realization that she was confused about who he was and not secretly attracted to him reminded him that his behavior wouldn't be the fulfillment of his desire but him taking advantage of her. It's a good scene that tells us about Stiles's weaknesses but also about his strengths: beyond the insecurity that leads him to fixate on the most unattainable girl in school and his constant disregard for proper boundaries, Stiles is a fundamentally decent human being.

So why do I, personally, bring up this scene when talking about Teen Wolf a lot? Stiles-stans (who are not really fans of Stiles but fans of Fanon Stiles or, more accurately, Self-Insert with a Stiles Name Tag) like to go on and on about how deficient a person Scott McCall, the lead protagonist, is because he was "obsessed" with Allison and lacrosse. They argue this to say why they 'dislike' him, but what they actually mean is that he shouldn't be the lead protagonist. But they never seem to remember Stiles's behavior when it comes to Lydia (or Derek's behavior when it comes to Paige or Liam's behavior when it comes to Hayden for that matter).

My position -- and I think the production shared this position -- is that Scott's desire to have a girlfriend and make first line on the lacrosse team is real and natural. However, his attempts to avoid recognizing and coping with the consequences of Peter's vicious assault could lead to very bad situations unless he took responsibility. Scott had to learn how to anchor himself -- which he did! He had to make sure he put what was truly important ahead of his relationship with Allison -- which he did!

I have always maintained that Teen Wolf is a bildungsroman, which is a story about children becoming adults. Throughout the series, Scott's growth is primary; he evolves from an asthmatic loser who feels like he sits on the sidelines of life into a True Alpha werewolf leading a war against those who would murder supernatural creatures out of self-interest. But he's not the only one to grow. Allison had her own story; Lydia had her own story; Derek had his own story (one of the best redemption arcs ever); and Stiles had his version of that story!

The problem is that there are a lot of people who didn't watch Teen Wolf as a story, but rather as raw material. They swooped in and picked up the parts that they wanted, like vultures devouring a carcass. They wanted Stiles and <insert white male love interest here> to be the focus of the show, as they were the focus of their interests, but they could do without the part where Stiles struggles to grow up. In response, they selected only the parts that fit their agenda. Thus, Scott becomes dull, obsessive, stupid, with a foolish no-kill rule, and an unearned hostility toward the Hale Family whom he shamelessly usurps, even though none of that description is remotely true. On the other hand, Stiles becomes the should-be valedictorian of his class, a master archmage, and a ruthless anti-hero ready to kill anyone to protect which ever white male character he loves this week, even though none of that description is remotely true.

Fandom, in the name of their own enjoyment, has boiled their understanding of the story down to "I don't like Scott" and "Stiles is not evil!" Nuanced takes like "Stiles had the courage to cross boundaries to protect others but that tendency also led him into some problematic actions" and "Scott didn't start out a heroic protagonist; he only embraced the mantle when he realized that the threats he had to face didn't care that he and his friends were teenagers." become difficult for them to understand and unpleasant for them to process, because they only really want Power Fantasy Stiles and Bad Friend Scott. Those bits and pieces fit into the pre-existing tropes that bring them pleasure. It's the limitations that frustrate them, not Teen Wolf's.

[professional-benaddict]

Asthmatic petey having an asthma attack at one of tony’s parties..? Pls🙅‍♀️

it’s been forever since i’ve written for a prompt sksk😳💗 thank you for getting me out of my writing slump!! i hope you like it💓💓

Established Peter and Tony, CEO Tony, trophy husband Peter, party, cigars, asthma attacks, whump, comfort

It’s a warm summer evening and so people are out on the balcony enjoying their drinks and chatting. Peter is not entirely sure where Tony is, but he is somewhere. The young man feels content, despite not being super into the political talk that he is engaged in with one of Tony’s colleagues. Peter sips at his mojito and nods along to what the other man is saying.

Then, Peter catches a smell in the air, a musky and rich scent which tickles his throat immediately. A few people have started smoking cigars, and the evening breeze is blowing it right in Peter’s direction. Peter doesn’t want to seem like a «snowflake» and run away, so he stays a little longer, trying to clear his throat and remain calm.

“You okay? You look a little pale.” The man asks, but Peter brushes him off. He feels hot all over now and loosens his tie. Except, it doesn’t help. Peter is running out of air fast.

Peter excuses himself and hurries away as the coughing starts. He draws in a breath and it is so wheezy that people turn their heads as he passes by. His inhaler is upstairs, God dammit. Can he make it up the stairs?

He tries to, he really does, but the room is very crowded and Peter feels his limbs getting heavier each second with the lack of oxygen. He coughs to try and clear his airways, but when he inhales, it is like sucking air through a straw.

“Shit, are you okay?” A woman in a red dress asks, looking very concerned.

“M-m-” Peter tries to gesture at his throat, but the woman just looks more confused. More and more guests are turning their attention to Peter who sinks to the floor as his lips turn blue.

“Hey, hey! Someone call 911!” The woman cries out and with the help of another guest, they ease Peter down to the floor.

Hearing the commotion across the room, Tony heads over, gently shoving people aside to see what is going on. His stomach drops when he sees Peter on the floor, a tint of blue on his lips and face and eyes closed.

“Shit, fuck! Did he stop breathing?” Tony asks, crouching by Peter.

“Yeah, he was coughing and then fainted.” A guest says.

Tony gets up with lightning speed, shouting for someone to call an ambulance while he runs up the stairs, two steps at a time. He heads into the bathroom, searching the cabinets and knocking things to the floor. He finds one of Peter’s emergency inhalers and sprints downstairs again.

“Ambulance is coming!” The woman in the red dress says, seeing Tony crouch by Peter.

“He needs this first.” Tony says, smacking Peter on his cheek. Some of the guests gasp audibly, but it is necessary.

Peter’s eyes open and he wheezes badly, clawing at his throat and kicking his legs in distress.

“Hey, hey, hey. Take this.” Tony says, shaking the emergency inhaler and helping Peter to wrap his lips around it. The man focuses for a second, making sure to push the plunger when Peter is able to draw in a breath. “Good, good. Try to relax. It will pass, shhh. I’m with you.”

Peter whimpers and tears are welling up in his eyes, both from fear and from all the straining. He keeps clawing at his throat, disloging his bowtie in the process. Tony helps him to take it off completely, unbuttoning his shirt a little.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m with you. Just breathe, try to relax. You’ll be fine, it will pass. Give the inhaler a minute.”

And Tony is right. The inhaler takes effect shortly and Peter can breathe a little easier, but still laboured and far too quick.

“Hey! Someone go out in the street and meet the paramedics when they arrive.” Tony calls out and a few guests head downstairs.

The whole party has essentially come to a full stop. The music has been paused and people have set their drinks down, watching worriedly what is happening. Only now does Peter notice everyone watching him.

“I’m- ‘m so-”

“No, no, no.” Tony says, shaking his head. He cups Peter’s cheeks in his hands. “None of that. Let’s just make sure you’re okay. Nothing else matters. The ambulance is coming soon. You’ll be just fine.”

Peter feels tears welling in his eyes again, although this time they are out of relief and love for Tony.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hello! May I bug you with an ask about an especially irritating fic search? Because there's a fic, that one single fic I've ever found for the trope to boot, that I naturally forgot to bookmark. 😑 It was a Sterek fic that contained the trope "Scott doesn't get bitten, stays human and asthmatic", but unlike many of its ilk, it didn't have Scott managing to get Allison to notice him, what with her immediately being added to Lydia's clique, and pre-bite Scott doesn't really have much to attract a girl like that. I don't think it was a fic with a break of the Stiles & Scott friendship, but I could be wrong about that. I don't remember anything else other than it was a plot-heavy longfic. Pretty vague, but maybe, hopefully, it rings a bell? Thank you!!!

Hi @felinitive! @relatively-einstein wonders if it could be this one.

Emancipation by HarleyJQuin

(40/40 I 144,411 I Mature I Sterek)

There are legends that in times of approaching chaos the Nemeton will create an Alpha Pack.

Derek has no idea that the worst day of his life was the start of the best thing that ever happened to him. Abandoned by his family, his mother, his alpha, as an omega Derek remained with his comatose Uncle Peter, forging what bonds he could with two humans who fully accept him for who he is. A werewolf.

[spacefinch]

Characters with the most Disabled Swag

(according to me, an autistic person)

General Amaya (Dragon Prince-- deaf)

Ingo and Emmet (Pokemon BW; autistic-coded)

Toph Beifong (Avatar: The Last Airbender-- blind)

Clint Barton/Hawkeye (Marvel comics-- deaf)

Percy Jackson (ADHD + dyslexic)

Annabeth Chase (ADHD + dyslexic+ autistic-coded)

Leo Valdez (ADHD + dyslexic)

Shellington (Octonauts-- autistic-coded)

Peso (Octonauts-- anxiety)

Callum (Dragon Prince-- autistic-coded)

Ezran (Dragon Prince-- autistic-coded)

Bucky Barnes (Marvel-- amputee)

Phoebe Terese (Magic School Bus -- autistic-coded)

Arnold Perstein (MSB-- autistic-coded and anxiety-coded; visually impaired)

Ralphie Tenelli (MSB-- ADHD-coded)

Dorothy Ann (MSB-- autistic-coded)

Carlos Ramon (MSB-- autistic and ADHD-coded)

Mikey Ramon (MSB-- paraplegic; wheelchair user)

Kanan Jarrus (Star Wars Rebels-- blind)

Peter Parker (Spider-Man -- ADHD/autistic-coded)

Ava the wolf (Dragon Prince-- amputee)

Viktor (Arcane League of Legends-- uses a cane)

Jinx (Arcane League of Legends-- schizophrenic)

Deanna Troi (Star Trek TNG-- autistic-coded)

Julian Bashir (Star Trek DS9-- autistic-coded)

The Moon Knight system (Steven Grant, Marc Spector, etc... Disassociative Identity Disorder)

Zuko (ATLA: autistic-coded, traumatic eye injury)

Nick Fury (Marvel; partially blind)

Winona (Pokemon-- autistic-coded)

Iris (Pokemon-- autistic-coded)

Red (Pokemon-- non-verbal and autistic-coded)

Hiccup and Toothless (How to Train Your Dragon-- amputees)

Soren and Claudia (Dragon Prince-- neurodivergent-coded)

Jayfeather (Warrior Cats-- blind)

Crookedstar (Warrior Cats-- dislocated jaw)

Briarlight (Warrior Cats-- paraplegic)

Cinderpelt (Warrior Cats-- limited mobility)

Gray Wing (Warrior Cats-- asthmatic)

Moth Flight (Warrior Cats-- ADHD-coded)

Captain Picard (Star Trek TNG-- artificial heart)

Spock (Star Trek TOS-- autistic-coded + dyslexic)

Captain Barnacles (Octonauts-- autistic-coded + claustrophobic)

Pryce (Pokemon; uses a cane as a mobility aid)

Anabel (Pokemon-- amnesia)

Looker (Pokemon -- anmesia + ADHD-coded)

Allister (Pokemon -- social anxiety + autistic-coded)

N Harmonia (Pokemon -- unspecified trauma + autistic-coded)

Elesa (Pokemon-- autistic-coded)

There are plenty more characters, but this is it for now! Who do YOU think has the most disabled swag?

[ao3feed-irondadspiderson]

Hold me tight(teach me how to breathe)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54134002 by Liailoveyou3000 Peter Parker is intern in Stark Industries and for the first time meeting Tony Stark so close his Parker’s luck show itself and he has asthma attack. Well, the beautiful time for it, isn’t it? Words: 2718, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Gen Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark Additional Tags: Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter Parker Whump, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Happy Ending, Fluff, Asthma, Asthmatic Peter Parker, Medical Inaccuracies read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/54134002

[trashmouth-padfoot]

Mauraders era band au but I’ve definitely already spoken about this and have more to say lmao

Sirius and James are both trumpets and they’ve definitely done the thing where they put each others bells together and play as loudly and obnoxiously as possible. This is disgusting, and Remus refused to speak to the both of them for a full week because of it. They’ve definitely shared mouth pieces before (blech) and when people call them out on it they’re like “he’s practically my brother idc” and then when they proceed to get sick no one spares them any sympathy. The behavior does not change, the lesson was not learned.

The two definitely have hand kinks, and the fact Reg plays piano, Lily plays sax, and Remus is a percussionist is horrible for the two (jegulily for the win guys).

Sirius steals Remus’ sticks all the time. All the time. It’s not uncommon to see Sirius just twirling a pair of drumsticks, when he has literally no clue on how to play drums. It pissed Remus off at first, but when they began dating, he gave up on caring. Sometimes, Remus braids Sirius’ hair, but this usually takes ten minutes longer than normal because Remus interrupts himself to just play with the black haired boy’s hair. Sirius loves it.

Reg tries to teach James to play the piano and James fails horribly, but neither of them care, too caught up on the closeness of it all. Reg teaches Lily too, and Lily, surprisingly, isn’t half bad. They tease James about it for like a week.

One year, the band goes on a trip to some amusement park thing, and the marauders room together (Reg rooms w/ Barty and Evan, oboe and French horn respectively). All four get their own keycard, James and Sirius loose theirs first. James borrows Peter’s, and looses his as well. Sirius steals Remus’ and looses his.

After everyone is sans keycard, they go down to the hotel pool with Lily, Reg, and his mates on the last day of the trip at about six in the morning. The boys all stay while Regulus and his friends and Lily all go up to their rooms to get ready for the last day of the trip.

Sirius and Remus leave James and Peter to go take a smoke, Remus insisting Sirius really shouldn’t be smoking because of the fact he plays a brass instrument but Sirius doesn’t give a damn. James goes and smokes with Sirius, Peter tagging along to preach Remus’ argument to the both of them now. Sirius says something about Remus smoking and “didn’t you say your mum thinks you’re asthmatic?” They stop arguing about who shouldn’t smoke.

Finally, the smoke break ends, and they go to go back inside. Remus feels his pockets, Peter does the same. Then, they realize they are without keycards, and Remus is lecturing the two trumpeters as they make the walk of shame around the hotel to the front desk, Remus angrily asking for an extra keycard.

They are the last to get their luggage on the bus and the last to board them, all four of them with still damp hair. Remus doesn’t speak to James or Sirius for the first half of the day, finally caving when Sirius attempted to jump into a water fountain.

[bitrashteddy]

Harley: I've got 99 problems

Peter: I bet owning a hoover would solve like 10 of them you asthmatic dumbass

[axelwolf8109]

You know, I think I'd have like to know who Scott was before Peter bit him. Because it was mostly after the bite that he became an insufferable asshole who treated Stiles like shit and ignored so much for Allison. Seriously id like to know if the asthmatic weirdo was nicer before becoming a asshole werewolf...

[priestfrommidnightmass]

i’m having another one of those nights where i physically had to ban myself from thinking abt peter maldonado too much… literally was just thinking abt him being asthmatic and i had to be like boy if you don’t take that plate of corn ass brain of yours elsewhere…

[diana-bookfairchild]

@fluffbruary Day 23

Peter Parker was Morgan Stark’s absolute favourite person.

Everyone knew that. Peter himself couldn’t deny it, no mater how much it flustered him.

Rhodey laughed and pouted at being replaced as the fun uncle. Happy rolled his eyes. May smiled at him and told him Mo had good taste. Ned went to pieces in excitement. Mrs. Potts always got this sad smile on her face which meant she was remembering Mr. Stark, so Peter had never dared to go past just complaining about it.

There wasn’t much to complain about. Morgan was amazing. She was only five, but she held herself with the grace of a much older lady, talked like a professor, and could bring about the mischief and chaos of someone his age.

Peter adored her. He remembered being younger and begging his parents and later Ben and May for a younger sibling. Mo was everything he’d imagined, and so much more.

He’d just. . . He’d never thought he’d know Mr. Stark’s child, well, without the man being there himself to be the annoying fairy godmother figure he was.

Mrs. Potts had told him that she didn’t intend on superheroes being too big a part of her daughter’s life, and Peter had offered to go. She’d shaken her head and said that Peter was more than Spider-Man, that Mr. Stark had loved Peter Parker as much as, if not more than Spider-Man, and she wanted those who knew him best – him, Rhodey and Happy – as much around Mo as possible.

Peter had ducked his head and blushed, and he’d sworn he would be the best big brother possible.

That meant being indulgent with sweets and other treats, but only with her mom’s permission and within limits. It meant answering every question she had and occupying her huge brain so she didn’t feel bored at school. It meant telling her all about her dad. It meant walking on the ceiling, her precious cargo in his hands. It meant Peter would burn the world down for her.

He was spending the weekend at the lake house again, and Mrs. Potts had told him it was okay to take Morgan to the garage workshop until dinner when he’d asked.

Everything in there fascinated Morgan to no end, and Peter wasn’t sure if it was the objects themselves, or the fact that her dad had once used them.

“Peter, Petey!” Morgan called, holding something up. Peter turned from the schematic diagram curiously. “What’s this? It doesn’t look like anything useful. Is it junk? Can I use it for my scrap metal project?”

“Hmm,” Peter hummed playfully as he made his way to her. “Lesson one of the mysterious lab, Miss Morgan Hope Stark.”

Morgan giggled. “What is it?”

Peter swung her into his arms. “Nothing is as it seems!”

He pressed the sides of it, revealing it to be a capsule. At his touch, it opened to show the camera inside. “Your dad based it on the Snitch, from Harry Potter,” he explained. “It reacts only to … my touch now,” he finished sadly.

Morgan gasped in awe. “It’s cool,” she said. “Definitely not scrap. Is there anything on the camera?”

Peter flicked through the photos on storage. “Hmm. . . Let’s see. We didn’t exactly use it much before. . .” He trailed off, but the word Thanos echoed in their thoughts. “Oh, would you look at that.”

The camera projected a hologram on the wall – of Peter, in his ballet performance for Christmas that Mr. Stark had come to see. The Peter onscreen performed a near perfect arabesque – he was still proud of that one – before moving to a pirouette and chasse.

Morgan clapped her hands together delightedly. “Peter! I didn’t know you danced!”

“Well, it’s only casual,” Peter said quickly. “I’m not a serious dancer – honestly, I wasn’t too good before the spider bite. I was asthmatic and tripped over everything—”

Morgan ignored his rambling, the way she did everything she considered beneath her notice. “But you can dance! You can teach me ballet!”

“I didn’t even know you were interested,” Peter said in astonishment.

“I wasn’t,” Morgan said impatiently, the underlying Keep up, big brother very clear. “But if you do ballet, it can’t be all that bad. And mom wants me to ‘increase my repertoire and get out of my comfort zone’.” She sounded extremely put out at that. “This is perfect! And then you and I can spend more time together! FRI, play ballet music!”

“Woah, Momo,” Peter grabbed her and set her on the table. She folded her arms sulkily. “Not so fast. What have we said about whims?”

“That I need to think through them before acting on them,” Morgan muttered petulantly. “I don’t see why that’s necessary.”

God, she sounded like her dad. Peter felt a wave of crushing grief pass through him, and he steadied himself, taking a breath.

“Petey?” She sounded uncertain, suddenly.

“When you’re all grown up like me,” Peter said in a tone of haughty superiority. “You’ll see exactly why it’s necessary. Till then, Madam, you have to follow it.”

“You talk like you’re as old as Uncle Thor,” Morgan rolled her eyes, but acquiesced. “Okay. Why can’t we do ballet now?”

Peter ruffled her hair gently. “That’s my girl. And first, we need to talk to your mom to see if she really will be as eager as you say. Then we need to get you the stuff you need – pointe shoes, for one. And we certainly won’t be dancing here.”

Morgan nodded. “There is a lot of breakable stuff in here,” she allowed. “And we don’t want to destroy any of Dad’s things.”

“Nah,” Peter agreed quietly. “We don’t.”

“Can we go talk to Mom now? It’s time for dinner anyway,” she pointed at the clock.

“Sure,” Peter said, beginning to pack up. “First pick up your crayons, and put all the things you took out back in the box.”

“Okay,” she said, and they worked hurriedly, Morgan as organized and methodical as her mother. “Done, Petey?”

“Yep,” he held his hand out to her, and swallowed the lump in his throat as he felt her smaller one curl into it. Mr. Stark isn’t here. I am. She’s my little sister. Mine to protect.

Mrs. Potts greeted them, looking haggard, but smiling. “Hi, sweethearts. Do you mind if we just have a snack for dinner tonight? There’s enough for you, Peter, and tomorrow’s breakfast will be big, I promise, but I needed to handle a call with the board. I can make something now if you need though.”

Peter shrugged, concerned. Mrs. Potts reminded him of May in the first few months after Ben. She was taking on far too much, and he didn’t know how to help.

May says it’s enough to just be there, he reminded himself.

“I’m fine with it, Mom,” Morgan said.

“I am too,” Peter said. “Mrs. Potts, if it’s just a snack, why don’t we take a blanket out beside the lake and have a picnic?”

“Ooh, sounds fun!” Morgan said. “Please, mom? Please?”

Mrs. Potts looked hesitant, but smiled then. “Sure, why not. Give me a moment. Peter, can you pack the food? Morgan, get one of the picnic blankets out, please.”

They went to do as she said, Peter considering what he could do to help her. He hadn’t known Mrs. Potts too well before the Blip, but Mr. Stark had loved her, and that had been enough for him. “You can leave the phone here,” he insisted.

She pursed her lips. “Peter—”

“Seriously, Mrs. Potts,” he continued. “They can survive for your half-an-hour dinner break. Mo!” He called to his sister, who was running forward. “Wait up!”

Mrs. Potts looked at him with a half-rueful half-tender expression. “You may be right,” she gave in. “At any rate, Morgan looks ready to combust with impatience.”

Morgan had picked a Spider-Man blanket, which she looked very proud of as she spread it on the grass. “It’s you, Petey!” She said happily. “How do you like it?”

Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, remembering buying his own merchandise for the first time and swinging to Stark Tower to show it to Mr. Stark. “It’s amazing, Mo.” He said quietly. Mrs. Potts gave him a look of quiet empathy, and they commiserated in their grief.

“Mom, you remember when you said I needed to develop new skills?” Morgan asked, as she finished her second sandwich.

Mrs. Potts was having a cookie. “Yes, dear,” she said. “Have you changed your mind about learning French from FRIDAY?”

“No,” Morgan denied, and Peter made a note to get the whole story from her later. “But Peter knows how to dance, and he said he would teach me!”

“Ballet,” Peter added hastily, in case Mrs. Potts thought of the ‘dances’ most teenagers did. “I’ve been learning since I was a kid, for almost eight years now. I’m not qualified to teach, but I could show the basics for about a year, until you’re ready to join a proper class, or you get bored of it.”

Morgan scowled. “I won’t get bored of it!”

“If you say so,” Mrs. Potts looked at them contemplatively. “Yes, I remember Tony telling me about your Christmas performance. The Nutcracker, wasn’t it?”

Peter blinked, still startled at every evidence that Mr. Stark had really, truly cared about him. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, it was.”

Morgan furrowed her eyebrows, clearly committing that to memory, as she did everything about her father.

“What would you need?” She asked.

“Well, the second sitting room is large enough to pass for a studio,” Peter began. “And FRI’s there to play music. We’ll need some equipment to stretch, and ballet shoes for Morgan – and a tutu and leggings – but that’s about it.”

Mrs. Potts nodded, graciously as though she were a queen, as she did everything, Peter thought. “Very well. We can do that. You’ll take the lessons whenever you come up?”

“I think,” Peter responded. “Once school starts up it’ll be harder, so maybe some video calls then, but, it might be too much.”

“We’ll see,” Mrs. Potts agreed. Then: “I’m proud of you for taking initiative, Morgan,” she added. Morgan beamed. “Even if it was only to spend time with Peter.”

“I want to learn ballet too,” Morgan protested. “It’s not just that!”

“Really?” Her mom teased. “Eat more, Peter. Your metabolism will barely be satisfied with that much.”

Peter sighed, taking another snack. “Yes, Mrs. Potts.”

“Yes, I am!” Morgan’s voice rose in a tantrum. “I’m going to be the best ballet dancer in the whole, wide world!”

“Wow,” Peter said in overexaggerated awe. “I’m sure you will. You can do anything you put your mind to. I can’t wait to see it.”

The rest though, was honest. Morgan Stark was already amazing, and even though he hated that her father wouldn’t be there, Peter couldn’t wait to see her grow up to be a star and live her life.

(In the years to come Morgan Stark would gain a degree in Mathematics and Astrophysics, and take SI into a new era. And every time she danced, crowds would rise to give her a standing ovation. Morgan would give the credit to her childhood teacher, whose name and face, unfortunately, neither she nor her mother could remember. Somehow, for some reason, she associated them with Spider-Man.)