#Can't imagine then asking about what surgeries I've had

[serenhob]

Obviously disability is hard. I hate the pain. The pack of independence. Fatigue. And all the other stuff that stops me being able to do things. But I think the strangest thing for me to adjust to was how everybody else viewed and was around me. Idk if that was because I have and had disabled family members but I was fine with the cane while apparently nobody else was.

Like it is such a strange experience for a grown man to look me in the eyes and call me a cripple. What are you getting out of that???

I do feel like it's worse with people who knew you before it all as well, there are those who come over and give their condolences like you're gonna die but there are also people who tried to take my cane and tell me I was making it up. Dude you think I chose to have a chronic illness? Or the canes an accessory?

And the fact people just feel they are entitled to my medical information. So freaky. Literal strangers will come up to me and be like 'I hope this isn't too invasive but why do you have a cane' (cause how would that be invasive?) And I feel like I have to awkwardly explain to this 40 year old women I met in tesco why im crippled.

Sorry for the yapping and have a nice day <3

[ghostedeabha]

imagine like simon goes into some sort of surgery and has to be put under anesthesia, and when he gets out hes like still high asf on it 💀 and hes being a lil silly goose

okay this is such a cute idea omg, this is 100% based off that tiktok audio where it's like "my wife wouldn't like you touching me like that" "i AM your wife."

thank you so much for the request nonnie, a forehead kiss for you MWAH MWAH

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

wc: 563

warnings: none really, lots and lots of that good ol fluff, mentions of surgery, goofy simon, maybe a little ooc simon (he's high so it's fine)

a/n: i hope this is okay, i'm feeling a bit rusty with my writing but i've finally got back some motivation and energy to do so after the past two months of low energy and bad mental health. if you guys want to know a bit more about it and my mental health (i don't see why anyone would but lmao) let me know, i don't mind making a post about it if you guys want an explanation of some sort or whatever. anywho, sorry this is so short but i hope you still like it!! <3

a/n 2.0: i recently applied for a part time job at a bookstore so y'all pray for me that i get this job because i want it so bad. i am just gonna decide that i WILL get this job, because why wouldn't i?

simon had been out of surgery for just over an hour now, being a soldier you 'd think perhaps he was going under surgery for some kind of wound he had inflicted upon him on the battlefield but no, he was just getting his tonsils removed after a bad bout of tonsillitis ended up with him developing really bad tonsil stones.

so here you were, waiting by his bedside for him to wake up. the doctor and nurses reminded you just as he had gotten out that he may still be a little, well loopy, off of the meds depending on how quickly he woke up. you waited in a chair at his bedside, reading a book when you heard the blankets of the bed rustling just a little.

looking up from your book you see simon starting to wake up and you reach out to grasp his hand, only for him to rip it away from you when his eyes were fully opened.

"uh, si? you okay, hon?" you ask gently, maybe he just wasn't feeling too well after waking up, or perhaps he wasn't wanting physical touch, that happened quite often and you always respected that space he may want when he wanted it.

"don't call me that." simon said, voice hoarse and scratchy from the surgery, he sounded a little angry.

"what?" you questioned, this wasn't like simon, you couldn't understand why he wouldn't want you speaking like this to him.

"i'm taken."

"i know." you replied with a short laugh.

"you should be touching me like that then."

it hit you then, he was woozy from the meds and didn't recognize you. the realization made you laugh a little more. you decided to have a bit of fun with this high version of your boyfriend.

"sorry about that simon. wanna tell me about your partner?"

"oh, (name)? they're amazing, you know they're so pretty. and they're funny too. they always know how to make me feel better, i miss them." simon replies, ranting and raving on and on to you about his partner, about you.

"you love them a lot, don't you?" you ask him with a smile, it felt so nice to hear all these lovely things about yourself, your boyfriend clearly unfiltered by the effects of the anesthesia he was under.

sure he definitely said sweet things to your face, but something about hearing it when he was basically high as shit made your heart pound a little more.

"i love them with my whole heart." simon replies, a goofy little smile on his face.

you can't help but reach out to gently caress his face at those words, body filling up with some much adoration for the soldier in front of you.

"hey! what did i say about touching me. i have a partner!" simon scolds, trying to dodge your touch.

"simon, love... i am your partner. it's me, (name)." you reply with a laugh.

simon takes a good long look at you when you tell him this, he stares at you, looks you up and down before letting out a soft and quiet "oh."

you begin to hear the beeping of his heart rate monitor speed up, his cheeks turning slightly pink as he stares up at you.

you couldn't help but laugh a little more at this. what a sweet idiot. your sweet idiot.

[brighteuphony]

I LOVE your Sakura AU, thank you so much for making it 🥹

Even though her ending is supposed to be “good”, I always thought that canon didn’t do her justice and threw any character development she had out of the window so she can be with Sasuke

I SO wanted her to finally move on and just let go

And I don’t have anything against Sasusaku

But I think it’d be much more beautiful if Sakura long let go of her feelings by the time Sasuke came to his senses and they developed their relationship TOGETHER from the START

And, once again, your work is AMAZING and I can’t wait for next pieces ❤️

Btw, can I ask a question?) Will we see Naruto’s and Sasuke’s reaction to her condition (maybe flashback to before she left the village?), if not, can you please tell me a bit about it? I can’t imagine them to ignore her after the incident, especially considering that they are at fault as usual

Thank you so much for the kind words! I've also never been a fan of how Sakura ended up. I have no beef with SasuSaku, but my biggest issue was that we never saw Sasuke try to make up/connect with Sakura in the same way we saw him do with Naruto, so their romance in Boruto just felt so...abrupt?

As for what happens to Sakura and her friends....

Sasuke was essentially put on probation/jailed, but broke out and defected to Otogakure as canon. This devastates Sakura, as she's both in deep denial about his contribution to her injuries and also the fact that she basically threw herself in there for nothing. Kakashi shuts down completely. It's a nightmare replay of his own past, including the female team-mate being horrifically injured by the chidori. The guilt of everything is eating him alive so he basically withdraws into himself and uses her demotion to civilian status as a way to trick himself into thinking that if he just 'rips off the bandaid' and cut ties, she'll be able to move on more easily.

Naruto is the only person who is really able/willing to face justice. After the incident, he was basically also put on probation/awaiting trial but busted himself out to join Jiraya.

So for context, Sakura got clapped hard by the Rasengan/Chidori combo (hearing gone, nerve damage, eyes shot etc) and basically had to be put in a coma to try and stop the damage from getting worse, but unfortunately none of the medics in Konoha had the ability to reverse anything but the most superficial damage. So Naruto joined Jiraya in an attempt to find and bring the only person in the world who could give Sakura a sliver of hope.

I felt like this worked well with canon and the desperation to get Tsunade to be hokage and Naruto basically begged her on his hands and knees to help Sakura. Tsunade made it there in the nick of time managed to save everything but her eyes.

But Sakura's life has fallen apart, her career is over, her parents dead from Konoha Crush and her eyes gone...and Naruto is the most convenient and available person to take out all her rage on, so...while he deserves a lot of that rage..she is essentially punching down on who she perceives to be the cause of all her problems.

Lee is in the same boat as her, but while he tries very hard to be there for her, Sakura can't stand to be with him right now, as it just makes the reality of life hit that much worse- especially when she finds out there's a surgery that might give him a better chance than she'll ever have.

And Ino visits often at first, but then it's awkward...and painful as the weeks go by. They have lunch and gossip but at some point, there's not much a shinobi and civilian have in common, especially after the shortage of manpower post Konoha-crush has Ino entrenched in the shinobi life more than ever before.

I hope this answered some stuff! Thank you so much for the questions and the interest! I love Sakura and I just wanna give her the development and power she deserves!!

[talaok]

Can you write a pedro x sick!reader story, but the reader doesn't just have a little cold im talking SICK reader. Like rushing to the emergency room hurt/comfort kinda thing.

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader

a/n: ok first of all im incredibly sorry for the wait, genuinely im really really sorry. and secondly im not 100% sure i did what you had in mind, which makes me feel like shit even more, so if it's not, you can tell me and ill try to write it again 

"Sir I need you to calm down"

"I will as soon as you answer my questions"

"sir," the paramedic said more sternly now "I've already told you I'm not a doctor so I cannot answer your questions, now please calm down"

And he wanted to fight more and beg that woman to answer his questions because, after all, the only one he cared about was: Is she gonna be ok?

But your eyelids fluttered and the ambulance took a turn and all the sudden he couldn't talk or think or do anything anymore but take your hand in his and start a low chant of the only thing he would allow himself to think, the only thing that still made him able to breathe oxygen into his lungs:

You're gonna be okay, sweetheart, he whispered, his words verging on prayer as he squeezed your hand and watched your beautiful face pale more and more You're gonna be just fine

__ __ __

And as it turns out, his prayers were answered.

"the surgery went well, she's gonna make a full recovery"

He had no words, all he could do was smile like a fucking idiot while he passed a hand through his hair.

She's ok

She's ok

She's ok

That's all his brain was able to muster up, and then for some reason he was hugging the doctor.

"thank you" he grinned "Thank you so much doctor-" he smiled, leaning away "Can I-can I see her?"

The woman cleared her throat, clearly taken aback a bit "Yes," she nodded "she's in the first room on the left, but just so you know the anesthesia is still wearing off so-"

"yes, yes, thank you so much doctor," he couldn't wait for her to finish as he was sprinting to the room already "thank you!" he said one last time, finally opening the door to your room.

He had to stop for a moment and look at you lying on the hospital bed, looking just as perfect as ever.

She's ok

"hey" he spoke softly, approaching your bed, and seeing a smile slowly part your mouth.

"hey"

"How are you feeling?" he asked, moving some hair out of your face and letting his hand linger on your cheek

"not great"

"I'm sorry" he cooed, taking your hand in his and feeling you squeeze it as your eyes watered "What's wrong?" he panicked "Does it hurt- do I call the doctor-?"

"no" you sniffled as a tear fled your eye "I just-"

"what is it, sweetheart?"

"I was just... I was s-so scared"

"oh baby" he murmured, bringing your hand to his mouth to leave a kiss on it "I'm so sorry" he cooed "I can't even begin to imagine how scary that must have been... but hey" he offered you a soft smile as he crouched down to be at your level "you're ok now, there's nothing to worry about anymore" he promised, gently kissing your forehead "you can relax now. I'm here for you, whatever you need you just ask, ok?"

"ok" you nodded, taking a breath "thank you... for everything" you murmured, looking into his kind eyes "for this, for calling the ambulance, for being here for me... just- thank you"

He didn't know what to say, so all he did was kiss you,

"I love you" he smiled "and sugar... don't you ever think about scaring me like that again"

You couldn't help but snort at that

"oh so this is about you then?" you joked

"damn right it is" he laughed in that way he could only do with you "they were about to have to assist two people in that ambulance," he said jokingly (although it was the truth) "and I think I was annoying one of the paramedics so much that I was about to get thrown out"

"oh no what did you do?"

"let's not think about that now," he said, the smile on his lips not able to go away from the first second he saw you

"Baby..." you tilted your head, scolding him silently

"I've brought you a kit-kat" he smiled that smile of his that made you forget what you were talking about every single time 

"You did?" it was as if your eyes sparkled

"Of course" he nodded, handing you the candy bar "I'm not sure you can eat it, we're gonna have to ask the doctor, but I wanted you to have something you liked when you woke up"

Your eyes watered again, but this time, for an entirely different reason

"I love you" you whispered

"I love you more, sweetheart"

[zepskies]

This is very very niche one, but how would Beau, Dean and Ben react to seeing reader has breast reduction scars, and that’s how they find out about it since she never mentioned having one? I won’t be offended if you ignore because again, it’s very specific 🤣🫶

Hello my lovely friend! @chernayawidow

Ooh this is very niche, but I'm okay with that! I love a narrower prompt. It makes it easier to imagine, to be honest. And I can safely say this is the first time I've gotten a request like this. 😘

*cracks knuckles* Here we go!

Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only on this one for some smuttish behavior. Description of surgical scars, body insecurity and body appreciation.

Headcanon: How Dean, Beau, and Ben would react to seeing your breast reduction scars.

Dean Winchester

Let's start with Dean...

The first time he spots it is after a hunt, in the room of this week's grungy "motel crap."

He notices the edge of some kind of scar under your breast when he accidentally walks in on you changing.

He only sees it peeking out from the edge of the bra you're trying to hook on. It's black and lacey, and it immediately attracts his attention (in more ways than one).

"Dean!" you gasp. Your face sports a wild blush. "Learn how to knock, damn it!"

Shit! He remembers himself with a shake of his head and a placating hand in the air as he spins away. "Sorry!"

Of course, he's not going to say anything then. He wonders if it was a hunting injury, from before he met you.

He buries that curiosity...until you two finally start dating.

The subject doesn't come up, however, until you have sex for the first time. Dean has you underneath him in his bed. Kisses are feverish, hands exploring each other's bodies like a pair of teenagers making out. He can't lie to himself, he kind of feels giddy like a teenager.

But he notices that you're self-conscious about him getting your shirt off. You almost stop him with your hands on his wrists.

Dean hesitates. His hand are already under the hem of your shirt, but they become more soothing along the curve of your waist.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

Biting your lip, you nod and encourage him to continue. He goes slow, but he eventually takes your bra off, and he sees them.

Faded, pink scars (small circles around the nipple, with an anchor line stemming down the middle of the breast, and a small curve line underneath).

A younger, less mature Dean might not know what to say at first.

He might ask, with a note of caring, "What're these?"

He also might feel the need to lighten the question with a joke (not at your expense), of which you might not appreciate in the moment. And he'd very earnestly apologize.

And he might ask if he can touch the scars, softly tracing the outlines.

You would explain to him that it wasn't a hunting injury, or anything like that.

The answer is simple: You had breast reduction surgery. If you feel comfortable enough with him, you'll share the reasons why. (To reduce your lower back pain, and make it easier on your body to live your life and do your job. And the truth is, you feel better.)

A Dean in his 40s would probably have seen this before, and know what they are. But he'll still be curious on why you did it, because he's curious by nature.

He'll want to make sure you feel comfortable with him, asking you if the scars are still tender, and where you'd prefer to be touched.

But the scars don't faze him.

"I like 'em," he later says, with cheeky green eyes, and his tongue moving lazily between your breasts.

You giggle at that, carding your fingers through his hair. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he smirks. "I got me a little tiger. She's got some pretty stripes."

You laugh fully at that, and your body trembles with it underneath him. It makes him smile against your skin.

You're a beautiful woman, and he feels lucky to have this chance to be with you. Not just in your bed, but trying to be together.

Because it's a chance he didn't think he'd ever get to have again.

Beau Arlen

Ah, my Cowboy Sheriff...

He first notices it on the summer you two start dating, when you two go swimming at the lake. It's Montana, so the water is still pretty cold, but you both are too high on the giddy feeling of a budding romance to care.

He sees the edge of a crescent shaped scar under your breast, under the sexy bikini you're rocking. It piques his curiosity, which is already near insatiable at the best of times.

So much so that when he next has you in his arms in the water, and his arms are wrapped around your waist, with your arms wrapped around his neck, he gains enough courage to ask you, thumbing gently at the edge of raised flesh on your skin.

"What's this, darlin'?"

You're matter-of-fact about your answer, telling him it's your breast reduction scar. It's also a subtle way you test men.

You can tell a lot about someone's character by the way they react to things like this. Especially when it's something you might've been insecure about at first. But these scars are just a part of your body now. Though they'll fade even more in time, there's a chance they might always be there. So you've accepted this, and don't find cause to hide.

Beau takes your response in with a nod.

"You're...okay with it?" you ask.

Beau smiles and presses a tender kiss to your cheek. "What's to be okay with?"

"Yeah?" you lightly press. You smile at his beard scratching your cheek. You turn your head, and he gives you a proper kiss.

"Of course, sweetheart," Beau says. And he means it.

He's a father. He watched many a change happen to his ex-wife's body over the course of pregnancy, birth, and over a decade later of natural developments with age. He's aged and changed too.

So superficial things like stretch marks and fading scars aren't going to deter him in the slightest from being with you.

His thumb edges around the hem of your bikini, sliding under the tie in the back. His smile grows a bit cheeky, while yours becomes knowingly suspicious.

"Maybe you'll let me get acquainted," he hedges. His voice deepens with southern drawl and flirtation.

Your heart beats faster, and your smile deepens.

"Okay, Sheriff...but only if I get the same privilege." And your knees begin to slide his swim trunks down his hips under the water, at the same time he unties your bikini.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Aw geez, this cheeky motherfucker...

Ben would easily be the most unfazed.

This man's gotten "around," so to speak. He's pretty much seen it all in his 102 years of pussy plowing. (Minus 40.)

You're different, however. You're more than that.

You were the first one to treat him like an actual person when he made it out of Russia, back to the States, back to New York, after dealing with Homelander and ending that piece of shit at Vought Tower.

While the whole world either looked at him like an oddity or a terrorist, you saw a man, displaced from everything he had known.

A man entirely alone.

Until you.

Still, it took all the patience he had within him to even get you to agree to date him. And you were cautious about physical intimacy. At first he thought you were shy (or worse, a fucking tease).

Or maybe...maybe you were afraid of him.

"It's not that," you tell him firmly. You feel comfortable and safe in his arms. You look up into his eyes, and he can't help but kiss you. You cling to him tightly, like you're starved for touch. His touch.

He sits down on the edge of his living room couch and brings you down with him, to straddle his thighs. You take his face into your gentle hands and briefly look down at him with a smile.

He sees things in your eyes that he's never seen from a woman before. Softness. Genuine caring. Maybe even something deeper.

But you tense up a little, the second his hands venture under the hem of your blouse.

"What's the matter?" he asks. His brows furrow. He can't fucking figure you out. You seem to be into him (and more), but you don't want him to touch you.

You hesitate. "It's just...um..."

With much effort, Ben controls every impatient, borderline callous remark he wants to make and squeezes your hips.

"Just tell me, baby doll. You're not gonna shock me."

You smile at the sight of his grin. You let out a breath and take off your blouse yourself. Ben eyes you hungrily as you bare yourself to him.

You unclip your bra and his eyes are drawn to your breasts...and then the scars. Just like you feared they would be.

But he doesn't look disgusted or put off. He just raises his brows at you.

"Is that what the fuck you're worried about?" he asks.

Your throat constricts for a moment as you rest your hands on his chest. You can feel the warmth of his skin through the fitted shirt.

Ben dips his chin and catches your downturned gaze. Then his head bows a little further, and he traces the scars lightly with his tongue.

Your breath hitches. Your eyes widen as you watch him, but pleasure tingles delicately down your spine and across your skin as his tongue swirls around a nipple. He lifts you up higher against him so he has easier access. All you can do is cling to his arms, sink your fingers into his hair, and moan wantonly as he ravishes your body.

By the end of the night, he knocks every single insecurity out of your head. (And you both sleep soundly, fully sated in his bed.)

AN: Whew! 😮‍💨 Feel like my fingers ran a marathon. I got into this one deeper than I thought I would! I hope it hit all the right notes. 💕💕

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[satansdarlin]

Ace in the hole

Apparently I can't write anything small (lol), this is technically a continuation of royal flush and pa's little Spade. I hope you enjoy this nonny! I based a bit of this on my own experience coming out as non-binary (technically I'm genderfluid but I use non-binary and fem terms more than masc)

Rating: T

Word count: 8.4k

Warnings: anxiety about coming out, transphobia (immediately shut down), overly excited boy dad remy

If you liked this check of my masterlist or put in a request if they are open

Spade, your eldest, had moved out and was living in an apartment with her fiancée Alex, but that didn't mean the house was empty. Chip, the youngest, was only turning ten this autumn, while Alice was now sixteen. On this particular afternoon, Chip was out with friends when your second oldest asked to speak with you and Remy.

"What's goin' on, poupée?" Remy asked, his accent thickening with concern. "Remy doesn't like seeing you so nervous.”

"I want to talk to you both about something serious... about me," they finally spoke. You placed your hand over Remy's. While it couldn't be as dramatic as finding seventeen-year-old Spade with a suppression collar or discovering she'd hidden a boyfriend for three months, something in your second oldest's tone made you worry.

"You can tell us anything, sweetheart."

"Could be about a boy or somethin'?" Remy chuckled teasingly, but when you squeezed his hand, he tried to compose himself. "Remy will be serious now, promise."

"You could say that," they murmured before clearing their throat. "I'm just going to say it, and you can ask questions after I'm done. I... I don't think I'm a girl. I feel like a boy. And I don't want to be a girl. I don't... want to be Alice anymore." Their voice grew quiet, nervous about their parents' reaction.

"Oh," you said softly before clearing your throat. "Well, what would you like us to call you before we proceed?"

"I... I like the name Ace."

"Sticking with the theme, huh?" Ace nodded slightly.

Remy was clearly taken aback but not angry or upset—just surprised. This wasn't a scenario he'd ever imagined. "Ace... that's a good name." You could tell your husband was searching for words. "You really feel like a boy?"

"I do, Pa. I don't think I've ever felt like a girl." He scuffed his foot against the ground, unable to meet his parents' eyes, expecting disappointment that wasn't there. You could feel your husband practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of having a son old enough to share traditionally masculine activities with.

"Remy," you spoke in a warning tone. "Give him a moment before you start trying to teach him football." Remy deflated slightly, catching himself before his smile grew too bright. He took a deep breath, nodding as he refocused on the conversation.

"So, what does this mean for you, son? Should we start calling you Ace full time? You wanna see about a new wardrobe? And are you... are you planning on doing anything like surgery or somethin'?"

Ace was about to answer, but you caught his nervous look first.

"It's up to you, darling. Your father and I aren't upset at all. I can promise your father is thrilled about having another boy under his roof. We just want you to be comfortable."

Ace looked stunned by how well you were both taking it. While he hadn't expected a negative reaction, he'd worried about disappointing you somehow.

"You're both so cool with it..." he said, voice uncertain as he looked between you. "I just feel like a boy, honestly... I thought maybe a shorter haircut would be a good place to start."

"Remy could cut it!" your husband offered eagerly.

"You are not cutting his hair," you spoke firmly. "We will take you to get it done professionally."

"Aww, come on! Remy knows what he's doing!" he tried to protest, but your stern tone left no room for argument. He sighed before nodding. "Yeah, yeah, okay... Remy will let the professionals handle it."

Ace's shoulders visibly relaxed, tension melting away as he realized this conversation was going better than any scenario he'd imagined. "I've been looking at some clothes online too," he admitted, finally settling into the armchair across from you both. "Nothing expensive, just... different styles."

"We can go shopping this weekend if you'd like," you offered, already mentally cataloging stores that might have what he needed. "Maybe get that haircut too?"

"Oh! And Remy could—" your husband started excitedly.

"After the haircut and clothes shopping," you interrupted, knowing he was about to suggest a dozen different father-son activities. "Let's take this one step at a time, okay?"

"Actually..." Ace fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. "Could we maybe tell Spade first? Before we go shopping? I don't want her to find out from someone else, and..." He trailed off, but you understood. Spade had always been protective of her younger siblings.

"Of course, mon fils," Remy said, testing out the words. His accent wrapped warmly around the French. "Remy thinks we should invite her over for dinner tomorrow. Your choice of takeout."

"Pizza?" Ace asked hopefully, a hint of his usual mischievous smile returning.

"With extra cheese," you agreed, then added, "And what about Chip? Do you want to tell him right away?"

Ace considered this for a moment. "Maybe... maybe after Spade? He's only ten, but he's pretty smart for his age. I just don't want him accidentally telling everyone at school before I'm ready."

"That's very thoughtful of you," you said. "We can help you figure out the timing for telling others too. There's no rush."

"Speaking of school..." Remy scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Does Remy need to talk to your teachers? Or the administration?"

"Not yet," Ace said quickly, then more slowly added, "I think I want to try the other stuff first. You know, hair and clothes and... seeing how it feels at home. Is that okay?"

"More than okay," you assured him. "This is your journey, sweetheart. We're just here to support you."

"Though," Remy added with a growing grin, "Remy may have some old baseball cards in the attic that need sorting..."

You rolled your eyes fondly as Ace laughed, the sound more relaxed than you'd heard in months. "Pa, you've been trying to get someone to help you with those cards for years!"

"And now Remy has two sons to pass them down to!" he declared triumphantly, before catching himself. "That is, if you're interested in that sort of thing. No pressure."

"Maybe," Ace said, smiling. "But first... could I have a hug?"

You both moved at the same time, enveloping your son in a warm embrace. As you held him, you could feel the slight trembling in his shoulders, the release of fears he'd been carrying for who knew how long.

"We love you so much," you whispered into his hair – hair that would soon be shorter, marking the first step in his new journey. "Nothing could ever change that."

"Remy loves you too, mon fils," your husband added softly, his voice thick with emotion.

When you finally pulled apart, Ace wiped at his eyes quickly. "I love you guys too." He paused, then added with a hint of humor, "Even if Pa's going to try to teach me every sport known to man now."

"Hey! Remy is an excellent teacher!" he protested, but his eyes were twinkling.

"You taught Spade basketball and she broke a window," you reminded him dryly.

"That was one time! Remy cannot be held responsible for that!"

Ace laughed again, and you treasured the sound. There would be challenges ahead, you knew – telling family and friends, navigating school, dealing with the wider world. But right now, in this moment, your son was happy and loved, and that was what mattered most.

"So," Ace said, looking more confident than he had all afternoon. "Pizza tomorrow with Spade?"

"Pizza tomorrow," you confirmed. "And maybe this weekend we can look into that haircut."

"And the baseball cards!" Remy added hopefully.

"And maybe the baseball cards," you conceded, watching your husband and son share identical grins.

Some changes happened slowly, and others happened all at once. But as you watched Ace settle more comfortably into the conversation, already planning what style of haircut he wanted, you knew that this change – this truth – had been there all along, just waiting for the right moment to be shared.

.

.

.

The next evening came faster than expected. You'd barely finished setting out the pizza when Spade arrived, her keys jingling as she let herself in.

"Remy's oldest is here!" your husband called out excitedly, already heading for the door. "Come give your papa a hug!"

Spade rolled her eyes fondly as she was enveloped in a bear hug. "I was here last week, Pa." But she squeezed him back just as tight before making her way to you for another hug. "Where's the troublemaker squad?"

"Chip's at a sleepover," you explained, watching Ace hover nervously in the doorway to the living room. "And... Ace wanted to talk to you about something."

Spade raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar name, but her expression softened when she saw her sibling's anxious stance. "Everything okay?"

"Maybe we should sit down," Ace suggested quietly.

You and Remy shared a look as you all settled into the living room, pizza momentarily forgotten. Ace took a deep breath, fingers twisting in his lap.

"So... you know how you always said I could tell you anything?"

"Course," Spade replied immediately. "That's what big sisters are for."

Ace winced slightly at the word 'sisters,' and Spade caught it, her brow furrowing in concentration.

"I'm... I'm your brother, actually," Ace managed, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm a boy. And my name is Ace now, not... not the old one."

Spade was quiet for exactly three seconds before "Oh! Oh shit, that makes so much sense!"

"Language," you corrected automatically, but you were smiling.

"No, but seriously," Spade continued, leaning forward. "Remember when we were kids and you kept stealing my baseball cap? And how you always wanted to be the male lead when we played pretend? And—"

"Remy feels very called out right now," your husband interrupted with a chuckle. "Because Remy didn't notice any of that."

"That's because you're oblivious, Pa," Spade said affectionately before turning back to Ace. "So, little brother, huh? Does this mean I can finally give you all those hand-me-downs Pa bought me that I never wore?"

The tension in Ace's shoulders melted away. "You're... you're okay with it?"

"Are you kidding? This is great! Now I'm not outnumbered by sisters anymore!" She paused. "Wait, have you told Chip yet?"

"Not yet," you answered. "We're taking it one step at a time. Haircut and clothes shopping this weekend."

"Remy has many plans!" your husband added excitedly. "Baseball cards, football, Remy can teach you to shave even though you don't need it yet—"

"Remy," you warned, but Spade was already laughing.

"Oh god, Pa's going to try to cram eighteen years of 'father-son bonding' into like, a week."

"Remy will pace himself!" he protested. "But also, son, if you want to learn how to throw a perfect spiral—"

"After the haircut," you and Spade said in unison.

The next week proved Spade's prediction eerily accurate. While you took Ace shopping for new clothes and to get his hair cut into a stylish short style that made his whole face light up, Remy was making lists.

"Remy found his old comic books!" he announced one morning, dragging a box from the attic. "Every boy should read these classics!"

The next day: "Does Remy's son want to learn how to change a tire? Very important skill!"

And the day after: "Remy thinks it's time for some man-to-man talks about—"

"If you try to give him The Talk right now, you're sleeping on the couch," you threatened, watching Ace turn bright red.

"Remy was just going to discuss sports statistics!"

But for all his enthusiasm, you noticed how careful Remy was too. How he always checked if Ace was interested before launching into something new. How he'd caught himself almost saying "Alice" once and had spent the rest of the day practically showering Ace with "mon fils" to make up for it.

The baseball cards turned out to be a hit, though. You found them one afternoon sprawled across the living room floor, cards arranged in careful piles as Remy explained the different statistics and players.

"And this one," Remy was saying, holding up a well-worn card, "This one was Remy's favorite when he was your age."

"Because he was a good player?"

"Non, because Remy thought his mustache was magnificent! Look at it!"

Ace's laughter echoed through the house, and you paused in the doorway just to watch them. Your husband caught your eye and smiled, and you knew he was thinking the same thing: your son had always been your son, even before you knew it. You were just finally seeing him clearly.

"Hey Pa?" Ace asked, carefully setting down a card. "Think we could try that spiral throw now?"

Remy's entire face lit up. "Remy thought you'd never ask! Let Remy get his old football—"

"In the backyard!" you called after them as they scrambled up. "If you break anything, you're both grounded!"

"Remy makes no promises!" came the cheerful reply, followed by Ace's giggling.

You shook your head fondly as you watched them through the window, Remy positioning Ace's arms just so, demonstrating the proper grip on the ball. There would be broken windows in your future, you were certain, but watching your son and husband together, you couldn't bring yourself to mind.

Some things were worth a few repair bills.

.

.

.

A few weeks later, after Ace had settled into his new haircut and wardrobe, and after Remy had only broken one flower pot with their football practices, it was time to tell Chip. The ten-year-old was sprawled on the living room floor doing homework when Ace decided it was time.

"Hey squirt," Ace said, settling cross-legged on the floor near his little brother. "Can we talk for a minute?"

"Is this about the cookies missing from the jar? Because that wasn't me, it was Pa. Remy did it," Chip said without looking up from his math worksheet.

"Remy would never!" came the indignant call from the kitchen, followed by your knowing snort.

"Actually," Ace continued, fighting back a smile, "it's about something else. Something important."

That got Chip's attention. He set down his pencil and sat up, looking between you, Remy, and Ace with growing curiosity. "Are we getting a dog?"

"Non, but Remy likes where your head's at," your husband grinned, earning an elbow from you.

"Focus, please," you reminded them gently. "Ace has something he wants to tell you."

Chip's brow furrowed. "Who's Ace?"

"I am," Ace said softly. "That's... that's what I wanted to talk to you about. You know how you've always called me your big sister?"

"Yeah?" Chip drew the word out uncertainly.

"Well, I'm actually your big brother. I'm a boy, like you. And my name is Ace now, not the old name."

Chip stared at him for a long moment, his face scrunched up in that way it did when he was processing new information. "But you were a girl yesterday."

"Non, mon petit," Remy interjected gently. "Ace has always been a boy, we just didn't know it yet. Like when you got your glasses and suddenly realized the trees had individual leaves instead of being big green blobs."

"Oh." Chip considered this. "Is that why you got your hair cut? And why Pa keeps trying to teach you football even though he's really bad at it?"

"Remy resents that accusation!"

"You hit Mrs. Peterson's cat with the ball last week, Pa."

"The cat ran into the ball's path! Remy maintains his innocence!"

You cleared your throat loudly, bringing the focus back to the matter at hand. Ace was watching his little brother anxiously, waiting for more questions or maybe rejection.

"So..." Chip said slowly, "you're my brother now?"

"Yeah," Ace nodded. "If... if that's okay?"

Chip shrugged. "Okay. Can you still help me with my math homework? You're way better at it than Spade."

"Don't let your sister hear you say that," you warned, but your heart warmed at how easily Chip was taking this.

"Wait," Chip's head snapped up suddenly. "Does this mean I have to share my video games with you now? Because Pa always says brothers have to share, and when I visit Tommy's house his big brother never shares the good controller, and—"

"Remy thinks we can figure out a fair system," your husband chuckled. "But maybe we should let Ace answer your other questions first?"

"Oh, right." Chip turned back to Ace. "Does it hurt?"

"Does what hurt?"

"Turning into a boy."

Ace smiled gently. "I didn't turn into a boy, buddy. I always was one, inside. I just... didn't have the words to tell you before."

"Like when I knew the answer in class but couldn't remember how to say it?"

"Something like that, yeah."

Chip nodded sagely. "Cool. Can we have pizza for dinner?"

You laughed. "We had pizza last night."

"Yeah, but Ace is my brother now! We should celebrate!" Chip paused thoughtfully. "Unless you were already my brother yesterday when we had pizza. Were you?"

"I was," Ace confirmed, looking more relaxed now.

"Oh. Well, we should still have pizza. Just to make sure it counts."

"Remy seconds this motion!" your husband called out.

"Remy is not helping," you said dryly, but you were already reaching for your phone to order. Some battles weren't worth fighting, especially when your youngest was being so wonderfully accepting.

"Hey Ace?" Chip asked while you were ordering. "If you're my brother now, does that mean you'll teach me how to climb the big tree in the backyard? Pa says I'm not allowed to learn from Spade anymore after she fell through Mrs. Peterson's fence."

"Absolutely not," you called out, covering the phone.

"Remy will teach you both!" your husband declared proudly.

"Absolutely NOT," you repeated more firmly.

"Remy was just kidding, poupée!" But he winked at the boys when you turned back to your call.

You watched as Chip scooted closer to Ace, shoving his math homework between them. "This problem's really hard," he said. "But maybe my big brother can help?"

The smile that spread across Ace's face at those words could have lit up the whole house. "Yeah," he said, voice slightly thick with emotion. "Your big brother can definitely help."

"Remy is not crying," your husband announced, wiping his eyes. "Remy just has allergies."

"To math?" Chip asked innocently.

"Oui, exactly! Remy is very allergic to math!"

As you finished ordering the pizza, you couldn't help but smile at your family. Sometimes the biggest changes were met with the simplest acceptance, especially when seen through the eyes of a child who just wanted pizza and help with his homework.

And maybe, you thought as you watched Ace patiently explain fractions to his little brother, that's exactly how it should be.

"Hey Ace?" Chip asked suddenly. "Do I have to give you my dessert now? Because Tommy says his big brother always takes his dessert and—"

"Remy thinks that's enough questions about Tommy's brother!"

The sound of your children's laughter filled the room, and you knew that everything was going to be just fine.

.

.

.

A year had passed, and the changes in Ace were remarkable. Not just the physical ones – though the hormone therapy he'd started six months ago had begun to deepen his voice and reshape his face – but the confidence. Gone was the nervous teenager who'd paced in front of you and Remy that first day. Your son now walked with his head high, laughed freely, and had even started a GSA at his school.

The mall was crowded that Saturday afternoon. Chip had outgrown his shoes again ("Remy swears he grows overnight!"), and Ace needed new binders since he'd been working out with Remy in the garage gym.

"Remy thinks we should look at sports equipment while we're here," your husband suggested hopefully, making both boys perk up.

"After shoes and binders," you reminded them, steering the group toward the athletic store. "One thing at a—"

"Did you see that?" A loud whisper cut through the mall chatter. "That girl's trying to be a boy. It's disgusting what parents let their kids do these days."

You felt Ace stiffen beside you, his shoulders hunching slightly. Remy's face darkened, and you could see him starting to turn, his protective papa bear instincts flaring.

But you were faster.

"Excuse me?" Your voice carried across the walkway, sharp as steel. The middle-aged couple who'd been whispering jumped, not expecting confrontation. "Would you care to repeat what you just said about my son?"

"Your son?" The woman sneered, doubling down. "That's clearly a confused young lady who—"

"The only confused person here," you cut in, stepping forward, "is you, if you think I'm going to stand here and let you talk about my child like that. My son is braver than you'll ever be, living his truth despite people like you who think they have any right to comment on his life."

"Now see here—" the woman's husband started to interject.

"Non, you see here," Remy growled, moving to stand beside you, but you held up a hand.

"I'm not finished," you said, your voice deadly calm. "My son has more courage in his little finger than you have in your entire body. He gets up every day and faces a world full of small, narrow-minded people like you, and he does it with grace and strength that you couldn't begin to understand."

"Parents like you are what's wrong with—" the woman tried again.

"Parents like me?" Now you laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Parents like me who love their children unconditionally? Who support them and protect them and celebrate who they are? You're right, that must be terrible compared to parents who teach their children to be judgmental, hateful, and to make cruel comments about strangers in public places."

You felt Chip slip his hand into yours, squeezing tight. Ace stood frozen, watching with wide eyes.

"If you're so concerned about parenting," you continued, your voice rising slightly, "maybe worry about the example you're setting right now, teaching that it's okay to bully teenagers in shopping malls. Is that the legacy you want to leave? Is that the kind of person you want to be?"

The couple seemed to shrink under your words, finally seeming to notice the small crowd that had gathered.

"My son is kind, intelligent, and brave. He has a family who loves him and friends who support him. What he doesn't have is time for your ignorance or any obligation to justify his existence to you. So I suggest you take your outdated prejudices and remove yourself from our presence before I decide to speak with mall security about harassment."

"Remy suggests you listen to his wife," your husband added, his accent thick with barely contained anger. "Remy is not as diplomatic as she is."

The couple retreated, red-faced and muttering, but you weren't done. You turned to address the onlookers directly.

"And that goes for anyone else who thinks they have the right to comment on my son's life. You don't. End of discussion."

A smattering of applause broke out from the crowd, making the couple hurry away faster. You turned back to your family, your hands shaking slightly with leftover adrenaline.

"Mom," Ace whispered, his eyes suspiciously bright. "That was... you didn't have to..."

"Yes, I did," you said firmly, pulling him into a hug. "I absolutely did."

"Remy is so proud right now," your husband declared, wrapping his arms around both of you. "Though Remy thinks he should point out that he was about to say something too."

"You were too slow, Pa," Chip piped up, squeezing into the group hug. "Mom was like a superhero! Like Wonder Woman, but scarier!"

A laugh bubbled up from Ace's throat, slightly watery but genuine. "Yeah, she kind of was."

"Nobody," you said firmly, pulling back to look your son in the eyes, "and I mean nobody, gets to make you feel less than who you are. You're my son, and I will fight anyone who tries to hurt you."

"Even though you tell us fighting isn't the answer?" Chip asked innocently.

"Remy thinks your maman just proved that words can be the strongest weapons," your husband said wisely, then ruined it by adding, "But also, Remy knows how to throw a mean right hook if needed."

"Nobody is throwing any hooks," you said firmly, but you squeezed Remy's hand in gratitude. "Now, let's go get what we came for. And maybe ice cream after."

"Before sports equipment?" Chip gasped dramatically.

"Remy thinks this calls for both ice cream AND sports equipment."

As you walked through the mall, you noticed Ace's posture had straightened again, his head held high. A few people who'd witnessed the confrontation smiled at him supportively, and one elderly woman actually stopped to tell him she had a transgender grandson and was so happy to see supportive parents.

"Hey Mom?" Ace said quietly as you waited in line for ice cream. "Thank you. For... for everything."

"Always," you promised, pulling him close again. "Always and forever, no matter what."

"And if anyone else wants to start something," Chip announced, trying to make his voice deep and intimidating, "they'll have to deal with all of us!"

"Remy's money is still on your maman," your husband stage-whispered. "Did you see how fast those people ran? Now you two know why remy fell in love with your maman."

You rolled your eyes fondly at your family's antics, but your heart was full. Let anyone try to hurt your children – they'd learn quickly that a mama bear's love was fiercer than any prejudice.

"So," you said, changing the subject as you reached the counter. "Who wants extra sprinkles?"

"Remy does!" three voices chorused in unison, and just like that, the afternoon was back on track. Because that's what family did – they stood up for each other, protected each other, and then got ice cream with extra sprinkles.

And sometimes, that was all the victory you needed.

.

.

.

The house was unusually quiet with Remy taking Chip to his soccer tournament for the weekend. You were just finishing up the breakfast dishes when Ace wandered into the kitchen, still in his pajamas despite it being nearly noon.

"Did Pa text yet about Chip's game?" he asked, sliding onto one of the barstools at the counter.

"Mhm. Apparently 'Remy's youngest is a star in the making!'" you mimicked your husband's enthusiastic tone. "Though he also admitted Chip spent the first half waving at a dog on the sidelines."

Ace snorted, reaching for the coffee pot. You slid it away from his grasp.

"Ah-ah. If you're going to have coffee, you have to have breakfast first. I know for a fact you haven't eaten yet."

"I'm seventeen, Maman," he protested, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. "Nearly eighteen."

"And I'm your mother who knows you skip breakfast when you're anxious about things," you countered, already pulling eggs from the fridge. "Want to tell me what's on your mind while I make you an omelet?"

Ace fidgeted with the sleeve of his sleep shirt. "It's stupid."

"I doubt that very much." You cracked the eggs into a bowl, adding a splash of milk. "Is it about the college applications?"

"Kind of?" He sighed, slumping forward onto the counter. "It's just... all the applications ask for gender, and some of them want to know about name changes, and I know it's illegal for them to discriminate but..."

"But it's still scary," you finished softly, understanding flooding through you. "Oh, mon cœur."

"Told you it was stupid."

"It's not stupid at all," you assured him, pouring the egg mixture into the pan. "It's a big step, and it's okay to be nervous about it. Have you looked at the LGBTQ+ resources for any of the schools you're interested in?"

"A little," he admitted. "The one in Boston seems really good. They have gender-neutral housing options and everything."

You hummed thoughtfully as you added cheese to the omelet. "That's the one with the strong engineering program, right?"

"Yeah." He perked up slightly. "They have this really cool robotics lab, and their website showed some of the projects students have worked on—" He cut himself off, blushing. "Sorry, I know I've talked about it before."

"Hey." You slid the finished omelet onto a plate and placed it in front of him. "I love hearing you talk about things you're passionate about. Never apologize for that."

He poked at the omelet with his fork. "Even if it means moving across the country?"

Ah. There it was.

"Even then," you said firmly, starting another omelet for yourself. "Though I won't pretend I won't miss you terribly. But that's what parents do – we raise you to chase your dreams, even when those dreams take you far away."

"Pa's going to cry so much at graduation."

"Oh, absolutely. Remy's already gone through three packages of tissues just thinking about it." You settled across from him with your own plate. "But you know what?"

"What?"

"We're all going to be so proud watching you walk across that stage. Every tear will be worth it."

Ace ducked his head, but you caught his smile. "Thanks, Maman."

"Now eat your breakfast so we can start our day properly."

He looked up, curious. "Start our day?"

"Well," you said casually, "I thought since the boys are away, we could have a mother-son day. Unless you're too grown up for that now?"

"Never," he said quickly, making you laugh. "What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking we could start with that new bookstore downtown – the one with the engineering section you've been wanting to check out. Then maybe lunch at that café you like, the one with the good hot chocolate? And after..." you paused dramatically, "I may have gotten us appointments at that salon you mentioned. The one that specializes in masculine haircuts?"

Ace's whole face lit up. "Really? But I thought you said my last haircut would last a while..."

"That was before you showed me the picture of that undercut style you like," you smiled. "Besides, every boy needs to treat himself sometimes."

"Even with college coming up? I know it's expensive..."

"Ace," you reached across the counter to squeeze his hand. "Let me spoil my son a little, okay? You've worked so hard this year – with school, with transitioning, with everything. You deserve nice things."

He squeezed your hand back. "Okay. But can we maybe... can we also stop by that tea shop you like? The one with all the fancy blends? Since we're spoiling people today?"

Your heart melted a little. "That sounds perfect."

An hour later, you were strolling down the main street, window shopping and talking about everything and nothing. Ace had inherited your love of people-watching, and you spent a good twenty minutes making up stories about passersby while sharing a bag of roasted nuts from a street vendor.

In the bookstore, you watched proudly as he confidently asked the clerk about their engineering section, no trace of the shy uncertainty that used to color his interactions with strangers. He ended up with two new books on robotics and, at your insistence, a novel he'd been eyeing.

"For fun reading," you insisted when he protested. "Life can't be all textbooks and college applications."

The café was busy, but you managed to snag your favorite corner table. Ace wrapped his hands around his hot chocolate, looking thoughtful.

"Remember when we used to do this when I was little?" he asked suddenly. "Before... before I knew? You'd take me here when I was sad, and we'd make up stories about the other customers."

"I remember," you said softly. "You always ordered the same thing – hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings."

"Still do," he grinned, taking a sip that left a whipped cream mustache on his upper lip.

"Some things never change," you laughed, passing him a napkin. "Though some things do. All good changes."

He wiped his mouth, expression turning serious. "Do you ever... do you ever miss how things were? Before?"

"No," you said without hesitation. "Because we didn't have you then – not really. We had a child who was hurting and hiding. Now we have our son, who smiles more, laughs more, and orders the same ridiculously sweet hot chocolate he always has." You reached across the table to touch his cheek. "The only thing I miss is that I didn't know sooner, so you didn't have to hurt for so long."

"Maman," he whispered, eyes suspiciously bright.

"Now drink your chocolate before it gets cold," you said briskly, pretending not to wipe at your own eyes. "We have a haircut appointment to get to."

The salon was everything Ace had hoped for. The stylist, a young man with bright blue hair, took one look at the reference photo and launched into an excited discussion about face shapes and styling options. You sat back and watched as your son animated discussing what he wanted, how he styled his hair, what products he used.

"Your son has great bone structure," the stylist told you as he worked. "This cut's going to look amazing on him."

You didn't miss how Ace's face lit up at the casual use of 'son,' or how he sat a little straighter in the chair.

When it was done, the undercut was perfect – professional enough for college interviews but with enough edge to make Ace grin at his reflection.

"What do you think?" he asked, running his hands through the longer top section.

"I think you look very handsome," you said honestly. "Very you."

The tea shop was your last stop, where Ace insisted on buying you three new blends ("One for each acceptance letter I'm going to get," he declared confidently).

As you walked back to the car, shopping bags swinging between you, Ace bumped his shoulder against yours.

"Thanks, Maman. For today. For everything."

"Thank you for being you," you replied simply. "For trusting us with who you are. For letting us walk this journey with you."

"Even when I'm in Boston?"

"Especially then." You linked your arm through his. "Though you better believe I'm making your father set up video chat on every device we own."

"Oh god," he groaned. "Pa's going to try to teach me football through the computer, isn't he?"

"Probably," you laughed. "But that's what family is for – loving you and embarrassing you, no matter how far away you go."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said softly.

Neither would you, you thought as you drove home, your son singing along to the radio beside you. Neither would you.

.

.

.

"Pa?" Ace lingered in the garage doorway, watching as Remy adjusted the weights on the bench press. "Can I... can I talk to you about something?"

Remy sat up, wiping his brow with a towel. "Of course, mon fils. Remy is always here to listen."

Ace shifted from foot to foot, a gesture that reminded Remy so much of when his son had first come out. "There's this person at school... in my GSA group..."

"Ah," Remy's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Remy understands. Come, sit." He patted the weight bench beside him.

"Their name is Sky," Ace said, settling next to his father. "They're non-binary, and they're just... they're amazing, Pa. They do these incredible pencil sketches, and they're so passionate about environmental justice, and..." He trailed off, blushing.

"And they make your heart do that funny little flip, non?" Remy gently nudged his son's shoulder.

"Yeah," Ace admitted, ducking his head. "But I don't know how to... I mean, I've never... and what if they don't..."

"Would you like to hear how Remy won your maman's heart?" Remy asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Mom says you knocked over an entire display of books trying to ask her out," Ace laughed.

"Ah, but did she tell you why?" Remy leaned back, grinning at the memory. "Remy was so nervous, you see. Your maman was – is – the most incredible person Remy had ever met. Remy thought surely someone so amazing would never look twice at him."

"But Mom loves you more than anything," Ace protested.

"Oui, and you know why? Because Remy finally stopped trying to be perfect and just showed her his heart." Remy's voice softened. "Love isn't about being smooth or having all the right words. It's about being brave enough to be yourself."

Ace absorbed this, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Sky asked if I wanted to get coffee after GSA meeting tomorrow."

"And?"

"I panicked and said I had to help Mom organize the pantry." Ace groaned, covering his face. "Our pantry is already organized!"

Remy chuckled warmly. "Then perhaps you should text Sky, tell them you've had a miraculous breakthrough in time management, and ask if the offer still stands?"

"But what if..." Ace took a deep breath. "What if they don't like me once they really know me? What if being trans is too complicated for them?"

"Mon fils," Remy turned serious, placing a gentle hand on Ace's shoulder. "The right person will love you for exactly who you are. Being trans is part of your story, but it's not all of who you are. You are also kind, funny, smart, and have your maman's fierce heart."

"Sky makes these little paper cranes during meetings," Ace confided, a soft smile playing at his lips. "They leave them all over school with positive messages inside. Last week, I found one that said 'You are exactly who you're meant to be.'"

"They sound très special," Remy observed. "And very wise."

"Yeah," Ace pulled out his phone, staring at it thoughtfully. "They really are."

"You know," Remy said casually, standing up. "Remy thinks the pantry could survive without reorganization for one afternoon."

Ace's fingers flew over his phone keyboard before he could lose his nerve. The response came almost immediately, making his face light up.

"They said yes! Coffee tomorrow!" His excitement quickly shifted to panic. "Oh god, coffee tomorrow. What do I wear? What do I say? Pa, help!"

"First," Remy laughed, pulling his son into a hug, "you breathe. Then, perhaps we ask your maman to help with the outfit? She always says Remy would still be wearing cargo shorts if she hadn't intervened."

"Hey Pa?" Ace mumbled into Remy's shoulder. "Thanks. For... you know."

"Remy knows," he pressed a kiss to the top of his son's head. "And Remy is always here. Now, let's go raid your closet before your maman gets home and vetoes everything."

As they headed inside, Remy watched his son practically bouncing with nervous excitement. He remembered that feeling – still felt it sometimes when your smile caught him off guard – and sent up a quiet prayer that Sky would see the treasure that Ace was.

"Pa?" Ace called from halfway up the stairs. "Do you think it's too much if I learn to make paper cranes before tomorrow?"

Remy's heart swelled with love for this wonderful boy who had taught him so much about courage and being true to oneself. "Remy thinks that sounds parfait."

And if Remy spent the next hour watching origami tutorials with his son, well, that's what fathers were for.

.

.

.

The coffee shop buzzed with afternoon energy as Ace fidgeted with the small paper crane hidden in his jacket pocket. After hours of practice (and a small mountain of crumpled attempts), he'd managed to fold one that didn't look completely terrible. Inside, in his neatest handwriting, he'd written: "Thank you for making the world a little brighter."

He'd arrived fifteen minutes early, partly because Mom had insisted it was polite, and partly because his nerves wouldn't let him wait at home any longer. Chip had tried to tag along ("I'll be your wingman!"), but thankfully Pa had intervened, distracting him with the promise of teaching him to make gumbo.

The bell above the door chimed, and Ace's heart did a somersault. Sky walked in, their azure hair catching the sunlight, wearing a oversized sweater decorated with tiny embroidered stars. They'd added a new pin to their collection – a sparkly rainbow telescope that read "See the Universe Differently."

"Hi," Sky said, sliding into the seat across from him. Their smile was soft and slightly nervous, making Ace feel better about his own butterflies. "You look nice."

Ace silently thanked Mom for helping him pick out the dark blue button-down that brought out his eyes. "So do you. I like your new pin."

"Thanks!" Sky touched it reflexively. "I got it at the science museum last weekend. They had this amazing exhibit about perspective and how different cultures see the same constellations..."

They launched into an enthusiastic explanation about Indigenous star stories versus Greek mythology, their hands dancing as they spoke. Ace found himself leaning forward, captivated not just by the subject but by Sky's infectious passion.

"Oh gosh," Sky caught themselves, blushing. "I'm rambling. We should probably order?"

"No, it's fascinating!" Ace insisted. "I had no idea the Big Dipper had so many different stories. Though, uh, coffee would be good too."

They approached the counter together, shoulders brushing. Sky ordered a lavender latte with oat milk, while Ace got his usual iced mocha. When he reached for his wallet, Sky gently touched his arm.

"Let me? You can get the next one... if you want there to be a next one?"

Ace's cheeks warmed. "I'd like that."

Back at their table, they fell into easy conversation. Sky asked about the GSA's upcoming projects, and Ace shared his ideas for an art showcase featuring LGBTQ+ student work.

"That's brilliant!" Sky's eyes lit up. "Art can say things that words sometimes can't. Like those paper cranes you keep finding."

Ace's hand instinctively touched his pocket. "About those..." He took a deep breath, channeling his Pa's advice about being brave enough to be himself. "I actually... here."

He pulled out the crane, slightly squished but still recognizable, and placed it in Sky's palm.

Sky's expression softened as they carefully unfolded it, reading the message inside. For a moment, they were quiet, and Ace's heart thundered in his chest.

"You know," Sky said finally, their voice gentle, "I've been leaving those cranes hoping you'd find them. Most of them were meant for you."

"Really?"

Sky nodded, pulling their backpack onto their lap. From a side pocket, they retrieved a small tin. Inside were dozens of tiny, perfectly folded cranes in various patterns – stars, rainbows, galaxies. "I've been practicing for months, but I never had the courage to give you one directly."

Ace laughed, relief and joy bubbling up. "I spent all night learning to make just one!"

"It's perfect," Sky declared, carefully refolding Ace's crane and tucking it into their tin. "My first crane looked like it had been stepped on by an elephant."

"You should have seen my first attempts. My little brother made one into a paper airplane and launched it at my Pa."

They shared stories about their families – Sky's two moms who ran an art gallery, Ace's amazing parents and hurricane of a little brother. The afternoon slipped away, punctuated by laughter and shared smiles.

As the sun began to set, painting the coffee shop in warm gold, Sky reached across the table and tentatively took Ace's hand.

"Thank you," they said softly. "For being brave enough to make me a crane."

Ace interlaced their fingers, marveling at how natural it felt. "Thank you for making me want to be brave."

Later, when Mom picked him up (because of course she had parked around the corner "just in case"), her knowing smile said everything.

"Good date?" she asked, though his glowing face surely gave it away.

"The best," Ace sighed happily, pulling out his phone where Sky had already texted:

*Next time, let me teach you how to make galaxy-patterned ones? 🌌🦋*

He quickly replied: *Only if you let me buy the coffee 🌟*

"You know," Mom said as they drove home, "when your Pa first asked me out, he knocked over an entire bookshelf trying to impress me with his knowledge of French literature."

"Pa told me," Ace grinned. "But did he tell you I almost knocked over the creamer display trying to help Sky with their coffee?"

Mom laughed, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "Like father, like son."

And somehow, that felt exactly right.

.

.

.

Three months into dating Sky, and Ace still couldn't believe how perfect everything felt. They'd fallen into a comfortable rhythm – study dates at the library, GSA meetings, afternoons in the park where Sky would sketch while Ace read to them from whatever book he was currently devouring. Each day brought new paper cranes, now exchanged between them like secret messages, carrying words of affection and support.

But there was one secret Ace hadn't shared yet, one that made him increasingly anxious as their relationship deepened. It wasn't just about being trans anymore – Sky had proven wonderfully supportive of that part of him. No, this secret was about the way electronics seemed to malfunction around him when his emotions ran high, about the strange calm that radiated from him when he was centered, about the way he could sometimes feel the energy flowing through everything and everyone around him.

The revelation came unexpectedly, as such things often do.

They were all in the backyard – Mom tending her garden, Pa grilling (and occasionally making the flames dance for his own amusement), and Chip practicing his newly discovered ability to create small force fields by bouncing energy off Ace's passive energy field. Sky was supposed to come over for dinner in an hour, giving Ace plenty of time to help Mom finish setting up the patio for their meal.

"Ace!" Chip called out, his face scrunched in concentration. "Watch this! I figured out how to make them bigger!"

Before anyone could stop him, Chip channeled a massive burst of energy toward Ace's natural field. Normally, Ace could absorb and redirect such energy – it was why he and Chip made such good training partners. But this time, the sheer magnitude caught him off guard.

The resulting explosion of energy sent a wave of pure calm radiating outward, strong enough to make every electronic device in a two-block radius temporarily shut down. The garden lights flickered, Pa's phone died, and the neighbor's wind chimes suddenly went still.

And there, standing at the garden gate with wide eyes and a handful of paper cranes, was Sky.

"I can explain," Ace said quickly, his heart racing as the energy around him pulsed with his anxiety. The garden lights began to strobe in response to his distress.

"Mon fils, breathe," Pa called from the grill, his own powers keeping the flames steady despite the energy fluctuations. "Remember what we practiced."

Sky hadn't moved, their eyes taking in everything – the dying lights, Chip's guilty face, the strange stillness in the air around Ace.

"I'm sorry," Ace whispered, trying to rein in his powers. "I should have told you sooner. I just... I was scared. Being trans was one thing, but being a mutant too... I didn't want it to be too much."

"Too much?" Sky's voice was soft as they stepped through the gate. The paper cranes in their hand rustled gently in the energy field still radiating from Ace. "Ace, you make the world calmer just by existing in it. How could that ever be too much?"

Mom and Pa exchanged knowing looks as Sky moved closer to Ace, reaching out to take his trembling hand. The moment they touched, the energy field stabilized, the lights stopped flickering, and a profound sense of peace settled over the yard.

"Oh," Sky breathed, feeling the gentle wave of tranquility that always emanated from Ace when he was content. "Is this what you feel all the time?"

"Kind of," Ace admitted. "I can sense and manipulate passive energy. Usually, I can control it better, but when Chip gets excited..."

"Sorry!" Chip called out, not sounding sorry at all. "But hey, at least now Sky knows why their phone always has full battery when they're around you!"

Sky's eyes widened. "Is that why? I thought I just had really good battery life lately!"

"Yeah," Ace ducked his head, embarrassed. "I kind of... subconsciously share calm energy with people I care about. It can affect electronics too."

"That's amazing," Sky squeezed his hand. "Though it does explain why my laptop never gets the spinning wheel of death when we study together."

"You're... really okay with this?" Ace asked hesitantly.

Sky pulled out one of their paper cranes – this one made from galaxy-patterned paper – and handed it to him. "Open it."

With slightly shaky fingers, Ace unfolded the crane. Inside, in Sky's flowing handwriting, were the words: "You make my world more magical just by being in it."

"I wrote that before I knew about your powers," Sky said softly. "And it's still true. Maybe even more true now."

The garden lights suddenly blazed brilliantly before settling into a warm, steady glow – a physical manifestation of the joy surging through Ace.

"Remy thinks this calls for a celebration!" Pa declared, flipping a burger with a unnecessarily dramatic flame flourish. "Sky, you like your burger medium-rare, non?"

"And now you know why we never have to worry about Pa's grilling getting out of control," Mom laughed, coming over to hug both Ace and Sky. "Welcome to our peculiar little family."

"Does this mean you can teach me how to make glowing paper cranes?" Sky asked Ace excitedly. "Because I have so many ideas..."

"After dinner," Mom insisted. "And after we explain the house rules about powers. Rule one being no using Ace as an energy battery for art projects without supervision."

"That was one time," Chip protested. "And the scorch marks mostly came out of the ceiling!"

As his family began sharing increasingly embarrassing stories about power-related mishaps, Ace felt the last of his anxiety melt away. Sky hadn't run. They were still here, still holding his hand, still looking at him like he was something wonderful.

"Hey," Sky whispered, bumping their shoulder against his. "Think you could teach me how to make those galaxy-pattern cranes actually sparkle?"

Ace smiled, letting a tiny pulse of energy make the paper crane in Sky's hand glow softly. "I think we can figure something out."

And as his family gathered around the patio table, powers on casual display – Pa making the candles dance, Mom using her enhanced strength to effortlessly move furniture, Chip creating tiny force field bubbles to catch falling napkins – Ace realized that sometimes the best secrets were the ones you got to share with the people you loved.

Even if those secrets occasionally caused neighborhood-wide power fluctuations.

[cheerfullycatholic]

Hey, this is totally random, and honestly I apologize for dumping this out on your blog. But I need to talk to someone and I don't know what to do.

Hi, I've been in a relationship for about 4 years now. I love him with all of my heart. But I've been thinking of leaving.

I need to know if I'm justified in this. If maybe this is a push from God, or something, to get out.

He's always been insecure, I've always had to reassure him. Constantly. It was fine at first, but it's exhausting sometimes. It feels like I have no privacy. When I am on my phone, he asks what I am doing, when I am talking to someone, he asks what we are talking about and makes sure that I'm "not talking about him". I have to tell him what I write in my journal, just in case it's about him. He says he doesn't read it, but I don't entirely believe him, or think he wouldn't.

He usually sits in the bathroom while I shower. If I have my phone to play music, it's suspicious to him. If I'm on the couch or anything and my phone is face down, it's suspicious to him.

He has gone through my phone before behind my back. He has told me about the one time, but I suspect there's others.

He doesn't want to go through RCIA or attend Catholic mass. Something I have been passionate about, or at least was, until he ruined it. We would fight every time I wanted to go to church. He would make me feel so selfish for dragging him along. So I stopped fighting it. I never asked him to be a member. I just asked him to learn with me, to explore. But he doesn't want to. Now, he wants to pick a different church. I said I would. Because I don't know what else to do. Mind you, it is non negotiable that we have to attend the same church, he will not compromise.

We talk to each other about our expenses which I don't mind, but often, when I want to buy things, he calls it a waste of money. But when he wants to buy things, it's not. I have spoke to him about this, it doesn't seem to change.

We have to eat the same foods for dinner. I can't eat things that are different from him. I don't know why.

I have an opportunity to get a college degree with a mild commute. He doesn't want me to take it because we won't work in the same town anymore. And he is worried I will meet someone more interesting and leave.

I have told him that I'm doing it no matter what. But when I bring it up, he shuts down, or gets angry.

Our intimate life has been lacking, as I have had issues with pain during and after, and hormonal imbalances, due to possible Endo. While I know it's been out of wack for the better part of two years, and that can be frustrating, it seems he really isn't understanding about it. After about 3 weeks going without intimacy, he gets depressed, and ends up either arguing with me, or making me feel bad because it must mean that "he's not attractive to me" or "I think he's gross". I can understand insecurities stemming from that. But it's a struggle for me too, and I'm literally scheduled for a surgery to fix things and diagnose. That doesn't seem to matter. I feel like I have to constantly prove myself loyal to him. Even though he says he trusts me, I constantly have to tell him I'm not cheating on him.

I can't talk to him about this, because I'm almost certain nothing will change, and it will just make him more insecure. I'll have to reassure him more. And I can't. I don't have any more to give. I can't talk to anyone about this through text or anything because I know he'll find out somehow. That's why I'm doing an anon ask, so that it will not be in my notifications.

Am I wrong for feeling suffocated? Is this unhealthy? I don't know what to do. I have no family where I live, they're halfway across the country. I feel so trapped.

Oh my gosh, Anon, that's awful. I can't imagine how hard being in that position must be and I'll be praying for you both 🖤

You are absolutely justified in leaving and I recommend you do so soon. I won't rant but, man, that is far from a healthy relationship and you deserve better. But please, be safe. I hate to assume, but do you think he'd be the type to lash out? Just from what you've told me, I personally wouldn't trust him to just let me leave. If you think it wouldn't be safe, maybe have a friend or even a police officer there with you, just in case. I wish I knew what else to say. Maybe someone else will have something to add?

I really hope you'll both be okay and that you'll be able to get through this safely. I wish there was more I could do

[wellsbering]

i've been going through prismatic-bell's blog to try to piece together exactly what happened to make xir think that reporting someone to the FBI for terrorism with zero evidence was a logical course of action, and i came across something i felt like i just had to pick apart here. i thought about responding to the post directly, but i don't want my notifications to get overrun by zionists (i mean, that'll probably happen anyways, but...fingers crossed)

if you don't wanna read this whole long thing where i explain why this specific gofundme is indeed trustworthy, at least share & donate to muhammad's campaign here

first, what kind of fucking racist brain worms do you have to have to see an arab man asking for help and think that it's "threatening"?

what, exactly, is threatening about this screenshot? saying the honest truth, that being unable to afford medical care for a serious injury could make an amputation necessary??? asking someone to share a link on other social media to increase reach??? using ALL CAPS, LIKE A LOT OF PEOPLE ON THE INTERNET DO FOR EMPHASIS?? please explain it to me.

and then, of course, we have Zionist of the Year prismatic-bell's response.

most of these grammatical inconsistencies that prismatic-bell seems to think of as damning proof (mixing up 1st & 3rd-person pronouns, mixing up "hand" and "arm") are probably not things that someone who doesn't speak english would catch. tell me, tumblr: which of these do you think are "he" and "his", and which do you think are "i" and "me"?

if you're unfamiliar with the arabic writing system, you have zero clues to go on, right?

some of the people sending these asks are copying & pasting english text they see other people using to ask for donations (this is what led to that other scam controversy with bassel). learning a new language is fucking hard. trying to proofread their own messages in not just a foreign language, but a foreign ALPHABET, is not a good use of their time when they're in a warzone and desperately trying to ask anyone they can for help. also to elaborate on the hand/arm thing, it's not that fucking hard to find his gofundme, which contains photos of his actual x-rays.

you can see the shrapnel in his arm. reverse image search only brings up 5 results, 4 of which are tumblr posts linking to this gofundme, and one of which is the gofundme itself.

the bullet is in his arm. as you may imagine, having a bullet strike and break your arm is going to impact your ability to use your fucking hand. muhammad has nerve damage as a result of this injury. so yes, surgery is necessary. you can't really fix nerve damage with a simple round of antibiotics.

"ALSO also also: has nobody in Gaza heard of antibiotics? Why are we going straight for surgery?" is so fucking patronizing. yes, everyone in gaza has heard of antibiotics. unfortunately, antibiotics don't randomly spawn in hospitals like a fucking video game, they need to be TRANSPORTED there, which impossible to do when israel is blocking nearly all humanitarian aid from entering the gaza strip. this is why there are so many amputations being performed in gaza right now. they are running out - or in some locations, have already completely run out - of basic medical supplies.

also, by reading the gofundme description, the "rebuild" vs "evacuate" bit becomes clear: his family needs to rebuild their home, and he has to leave gaza to get adequate medical care. in other words, he has to leave a dangerous place that is being bombed to get to somewhere safe where he can receive medical treatment. if only there was a word for that. perhaps one that starts in evac- and ends in -uate. if only!

regarding the emojis: personally, i don't use a ton of emojis in my writing. but again, considering the aforementioned language barrier, is it surprising to see a lot of emojis? those are at least something that make sense in every language. they also serve to break up a big wall of text that people might otherwise scroll by. i have adhd, so sometimes if a long post is broken up with an occasional ❗ then my eyes will be drawn to that, and i will actually read that sentence and get put back on track.

i don't think i need to get into the "outed as a scammer" bit, since that's been thoroughly debunked. even blogs dedicated to identifying scams on tumblr, like kyra45, consider el-shab-hussein and 90-ghost's vetting process to be reliable and share their lists of vetted fundraisers.

and finally: "People can be bought. Accounts can be hacked. Maybe they used to be honest. They’re not now." this wording seems to imply that all blogs dedicated to palestinian gofundmes are dishonest? it's just as ridiculous to say "every single ask you get is a scam" as it is to say "every single ask you receive is legitimate". a blanket statement like this only serves to continue to undermine the legitimacy of the many REAL GAZANS who are asking for help to rebuild their lives.

i hope this clears some things up if anyone was confused about the legitimacy of some of these asks. the long and short of it is, it's not that hard to just look up a person's blog and see if a trusted person, who actually knows what they're doing (unlike prismatic-bell), has verified the legitimacy of their campagin or not. to be honest, i think that automatically assuming every ask related to gaza is a scam says something about the way you view palestinians. and it's not pretty.

[pomeloandtv]

So how does it feel to sit in your new car?

It's cute, but ... I miss my old car, it was bigger, and much more powerful that this ....

But you crashed that car, if you want a car like that again you have to convince people you are a good enough driver for it

Wait .... it's an automatic?

Yes?

There is no gearstick or clutch, are there manual electronic gears?

No, no manual electronic gears, it's an automatic. do you remember how you did your new test in a rented automatic?

Yes

And you found that weird at the time?

Yes, but you said I couldn't ask about it

Well, see now your new license is specifically for automatics only, you can no longer drive stick

But the crash wasn't even my fault! You know that! You know I am a good driver, I've never caused any damage to any car ever!

Too bad. We both agreed that the old you, the strong, competent and capable you, had to go. That we needed a new you, one that emanated an aura of weak, ditsy helplessness. Did we not?

[small voice] ... um ... yes ... but ... I love driving ...

I know, but you've also found so much other things you love over the last few years, haven't you?

That's true

You are swapping some things you used to love for other new things you love. Just be glad I didn't convince the judge to ban you permanently

Oh my god, would you have?

Just imagine the loss of independence, needing other people to drive you around, always having to be extra nice to your friends because you would need them more than they need you, letting them decide where to go, and just being grateful that they are willing to take you, sitting around at home waiting for me to get back because you need me to take you somewhere ...

[eyes closed] ... oh god ... stop ... [eyes open] I'll be good! I love that it is an automatic!

Really?

Yes REEEAAAALLLY! Besides for the last year these heels made working with ALL THOSE ANNOYING PEDALS so difficult.

Great that you don't take them off for driving like I forbade. You are such a good girl

Thank you. .... um ....

Yes?

But, this means ... um ...

Yes?

I'm flying to visit my parents next week. Whenever I go back, I use their car, I borrow it if I need to, and I usually need to a lot ... but they have manual ... so ...

So you won't be doing that anymore, you'll have to ask them to drive you around if you need it. Wonderful, maybe you'll discover you like being driven around, maybe the feeling of sheepishly asking them for a lift will grow on you, feeling like you are less, maybe you will come back and beg me to have your license cancelled ...

No!

Ok, just joking, what were you saying

But what will I tell them, they know I drive manual?

Tell them you always hated stick, you found it confusing and stressful

But I know how to drive stick, its easy?

Well you certainly won't be telling anybody that anymore, make sure to tell them you're happier knowing you don't have to worry about manual gear shifting anymore

But my father thought me how to drive, he knows I love stick!

"Dick" sugarbutt, you love dick

Hee hee, I love dick, I do!

Besides, your parents are probably going to have a LOT more difficult questions for you about getting another boob job without telling them, even though they made you PROMISE you would never do major cosmetic surgery again without at the very least telling them

[downcast, small voice] ... ... oh yeah ... ... [even smaller voice] but you didn't let me tell them ...

Now, now dollface, we both know I can't make you do anything unless there is a part of you that wants it, right?

[small voice] ... yes ...

I didn't hear that?

yes ... [small voice] ... i know ...

Say the line

um ... your role isn't to make me do things I don't want to do ... your role is to make me do things I want to do but am too afraid to ...

OK, now don't worry, it's going to be awkward for you next week, but it will work out in the long run

[small voice] ... yes ...

I can't wait to hear about it. Anyway my advise is in future if your parents or anyone else want you to promise something again, you should outright and explicitly refuse if you aren't 100% sure it is something you can keep

[small voice] ... yes ... [normal voice] can I please tell them about my upcoming nose job?

We've been over this. Absolutely not. There is nothing wrong with your nose, its a good cute nose, it matches your adorable face perfectly, you will not be able to make them accept that

But ... then ... why am I getting it!

We've been over this too, and I understand the next time you see them, the time after this time, it will be very awkward for you, but we both agreed your face should look faker

[small voice] ... you agreed ...

Really? Say the word now and we will cancel the procedure

...

Well? I will cancel it right now, it's not a problem, it'll be easy

No! I want it! Please! I'll be good!

Why?

Because I think I'll look even cuter and faker with a paired down button nose.

Really?

Yes! I want to be plastic! Please, I really do! I want a fake bimbo nose! I'll be good! Please!

Ok, now its fun when we battle like this, but that was too far, and you know it

I know, I'm sorry, I'll be good. And I won't tell my parents about my nose job and I know I'll love it and I can't wait. I promise!

Good girl

Yes :)

And remember, you hate stick, you love dick

Hee hee, I hate stick, I love dick

And while I can't speak for everyone, in general dick loves those stupid looking melons you've had nailed to your chest

Hee hee, yeah I know! everyone's so nice, the guys in the gym are always looking. Dick loves these tits! And though I hate stick, I really love dick :D

Good girl, now lets take those honkers for a spin

Hee hee! yay! Wait, give me your empty bottle, I'll put them in the bin over there

Hmmm, no.

No?

Take my empty bottle and your empty bottle and throw them on the back seat or in one of the floorwells

What? I would never!

I've decided it would please me greatly if you are now one of those people with a messy car

No! But my car is always spotless. So is yours! You'd hate it too!

That's right, I would hate it. But I would find it hilarious if you were known as someone with a very messy car. I want your friends to argue behind your back about who has to go with you because no one wants to travel in the messy car. I want them to beg you to clean your car, but you will always refuse to care about the problem

I will! I will care!

Yes, I'm very pleased with this idea, your previous car was the old you and the spotlessness of the interior betrayed your old competence and diligence and adherence to what is expected of you. Your new car is the car of a very different woman. I'll bet you even grow to enjoy it

No! I'll hate it!

Here, that plastic bottle in your hand, face forward, don't look, and toss it behind you over your shoulder. There now didn't that feel fun?

No!

Ok, take my bottle, before you throw it, where would you like it to land? No objections, pick a place.

uhhh, behind the back seat on top of the boot.

Mmmm, not much to aim for even if you were looking, difficult throw, try it

.... Ohhhh, no, I thought ... almost

Wasn't that fun?

This isn't fair!

Ha ha ha

The first two of many. From now on I forbid you to take used, finished items from this car without my explicit permission. We'll see how bad it gets but maybe after 6 months I'll pay to have your car cleaned.

[laughing] No! I can't believe this is happening!

OK enough, pre-drive checks?

Yes, the mirrors are good actually!

No, I mean make-up

Hee hee, yes sir

Maybe I'll get you a custom car sun visor on your side, one that's all mirror, including a small section that does that real up close magnification.

Ha, you wouldn't?

Yes, actually I should get one for your side of my car too

Ha! No!

Ok, serious question, how often do you check your make-up before and after driving?

Sometimes before, sometimes after, some drives both, some drives neither.

Ok, from now on, unless you are blocking someone, you have to check before and after, and you also have to do a touch up.

Oh my God? Ok, but I think I look good ... but ...

... you look fantastic ...

... BUT! But if I MUST [side eye] then I will do my lipstick again

Good girl

[small voice] yes

Also buy an extra supply of whatever make-up utilities you would normally have, wipes, bases, I don't know, whatever your favorites are and keep a stash in your glove box

Hmmm, can I have the money?

Yes. And whenever I see the inside of that glove box it shouldn't be well-ordered. it should be a mess of random things at random angles all over the place. When you drive around a corner or over a bump I want to be able to hear them clattering

Hee hee Stop! Enough for today!

I'm really looking forward to there being discarded make-up paraphenalia in all the floorwells

No!

Admit it, you're going to love people seeing the inside of your car, and maybe they'll be too polite to say anything, but they'll be thinking, you live like this?

Oh God! Too much!

That was a lot for one day, but it is a new car day, always a big day.

True

Ok dummy, let's go

Yay! Hee, hee ... yay! dummy!

[kiefbowl]

i'm curious about your thoughts on medical transition, which you've said you aren't against. for me, the medical modifications i've made to my body are more about the material qualities of my body than a specific 'gender goal' - my breasts caused back and neck pain, i didn't want to be able to get pregnant, when i was on testosterone it was equally about the potential effect on my chronic health conditions as it was the aesthetics. but i also feel like i have a pretty different relationship to the concepts of gender and having a body than some trans people seem to, in both public and private. i don't think people should be rushing down a checklist of medical procedures without personal reflection and i think the social pressure to do a 'full' transition for the 'right' reasons is getting worse and will have (and has already had) ill effects. but i don't really think that's something policy can address effectively.

anyway. interested in your thoughts!

Well, to clarify - I think well informed adults get to decide these things for themselves. I don't think it's necessarily a good or best choice, and I don't think most people are well informed about these things. I can concede, though, that I don't know the particulars of everyone's life, so how can I objectively say what has been beneficial to someone's life and what hasn't. For example, if you were to ask me in a vacuum and divorced from all contexts if a nose job is better than someone attempting suicide, unequivocally my answer is yes of course. But I don't think a nose job is the root of what's causing someone's suicidal thoughts. People want nose jobs not because they're perceiving their nose as correctly ugly. But also, can I imagine how horrible the ceiling of bullying is to push someone into that headspace? Yeah, of course. My hope is that someone who's not a cosmetic surgeon intervenes first.

Cosmetic surgeons though...it doesn't behoove them to provide alternate ways of thinking. They're also not psychologists. They have to sell surgery to make money. Every incentive is there to agree with you that you're right: you're unhappy because you are capital U Ugly! Or capital WM Wrongly Made! And surgery will give you that happiness. I don't trust them, I don't like them, I don't think they do good work.

I will be frank about my own body right now, I've mentioned this before, but people can get weird about it - I have extremely large breasts. I'm not going to post a pic to prove it, so you'll just have to trust me. I've had above sized breasts since twelve, they are extremely cumbersome, I do think they've impacted my body's health in negative ways. When I was 20, I pursued breast reduction but wasn't willing to jump through the hoops asked of me to get insured, so I dropped it. Looking back now, I don't regret it, but I do wonder how my life would have been different if I had gone through with it. When I get the itch, when I think what a little fat off and a tiny lift could impact my life, I research like crazy. Each time, the older I get, the more dubious I am that I could get the magical results I really want. I can't get any surgeon to give me confidence they could prioritize what I prioritize. They can talk a big game, try to sell me, but they can't give me the confidence I need to ensure they wouldn't go beyond the changes I would want and make sure I wouldn't lose sexual feeling in my breasts. I think I'm a highly skeptical with a big bullshit detector, and if you really push a plastic surgeon to explain how they would achieve or avoid something, I find they come up empty. Maybe other people have different experiences, but I find they just push statistics at me. Let me tell you something: losing sexual feeling in my breasts would feel like ruining my life more than the bullshit I put up with having big boobs. I'm not willing to risk "only happens to 5%" or whatever. And that isn't even how pushy they are to make me feel like I need a huge lift and reshape, push how sexy I could be if I would just trust them to make "the perfect breast". It's humiliating to me.

This is all to say that I am not unsympathetic to why women look to cosmetic surgeons for diverse reasons, and if a woman has gone that route and it's impacted her life for the better, that's awesome and I have no interest in changing her mind.

But to your point about gender transition (which I'll use that term for the sake of being understood, but I don't think those words are accurate), I do see anecdotally trans influencers (or just GNC influencers) that appear to be pushed into more and more surgery. Not only is the pressure there to make content, but I think it's downstream of what's going to be an issue for most people seeking out cosmetic surgeries: these surgeries aren't fixing the root of the issue and can never feel complete. You can't change your sex, these surgeries are superficial - so they don't give the desired results long term. That breaks my heart honestly, because surgeries of this kind are not reversible. And the people who win out are surgeons who are happy to charge you again and again.

When it comes to policy - I don't think the solution is to address only gender transition. The entire industry should be under scrutiny. However, this will always run up against the issue of defining the difference between a "necessary" surgery and a "cosmetic" surgery, and I'd rather be in the camp that says "well informed adults get to decide these things for themselves" than push for legal repercussions for quote unquote purely cosmetic surgery. Downwind of that is some nasty stuff, like denying abortion or denying disabled people certain care, among other things we could imagine.

[kaliforniahigh]

Hey could you writing something where the reader needs comfort because they are really struggling with body dysmorphia or just their body Imagine. You can choose who comforts them.

That's if your comfy with it

Thank you xx

Thanks for the request! Inserted a little bit of my own struggles with body image if that's okay :) Decided to go with Noah for this one.

Warnings: body dysmorphia, reader is self deprecating towards herself.

You were in the bathroom for well over 1 hour at this point.

Your phone was perched on the counter top, a Youtube video entitled "how to contour your face" playing on repeat.

You had your make-up spread all over the place.

You have probably washed your face three or four times, you lost count of it by the first time you got it all wrong.

The girl on the video already had a perfect face, and it just got prettier when she blended everything seamslessly.

You didn't have the same luck. When you tried to blend out the contour, you just looked like you had dirt on your face.

But you had to get this right. How else are you supposed to hide your big nose and your double chin?

Surely surgery wasn't an option because you were scared shitless of being cut open.

You were so concentrated (and frustrated), that you didn't notice Noah watching you from afar.

When you threw your make-up brush on the counter rather aggresively, he decided to intervene.

"Hey, hey. What's wrong, baby?", he stepped closer.

"I just look fucking stupid, can't even get my make-up right"

"Hey, don't talk like that. Here, drop this and come sit down on the bed for a while"

He took you by the hands and sat you down on his bed, brushing his hands over your arms to calm oy down a little.

"Why are you so frustrated because of your make-up?", he asked you.

"Because I want to get this right"

"And why are you so intent on getting this right?", he knew where you were going with this, bue he wanted you to talk to him.

"Because I want to learn how to do this so I can hide this ugly nose that I have", you finally admitted out loud.

"And why would you want to hide this beautiful nose?", he booped you to get his point across.

"It is not cute, it's big and shaped like a potato"

"I'm gonna tell you something and I need you to listen to me, ok?", you nodded "I love you because you're you, I chose you because you're you. These days, everyone just wants to look the same and it's heartbreaking that they made you feel like you needed to change yourself to feel accepted. When the next trend rises they'll changes themselves to look like something else. You remain true to yourself and that is what I love the most about you"

You had a few tears escape from you eyes. Feeling overwhelmed by his words.

"Thank you. I guess I've been having a really bad week. I don't usually feel like this"

"It's ok, and when you feel like this I need you to tell me. You don't have to go through this alone", you nodded, putting your hands around his neck and pulling him in a hug, thight against you.

[galactic-rhea]

*guy who is so normal about surgery voice* surgerylesson…what is surgerylesson…

HEY, I'M NOT NORMAL ABOUT MEDICAL STUFF EITHER, LET'S BE FRIENDS-

Ah, yes, yes, that's meant to be a little oneshot from...some whumptober list i completely lost, but it was Anakin saving Ahsoka from some building collapsing during a mission and getting separated from the rest in an empty city, but Anakin being Anakin (aka, the guy with the worst luck ever) got a nasty wound and Ahsoka didn't notice until Anakin pretty much falls to the ground and starts writhing in pain.

Ahsoka's voice trembled, failing to finish any logical sentence. He grimaced, not out of pain, but because he had never quite seem her so distraught, so scared, she never looked more like a child than now. "It's fine,Snips,just…some blood loss," He made sure to press the wound harder, not that it was helping very much. He closed his eyes and focused, Ahsoka said something, but he couldn't spare too much of his attention on it, he needed to think. "The medkit," he breathes, then doesn't wait to see if Ahsoka heard him at all. "Does…Does master Jenara still teaches padawans nursery basics?" He thinks Ahsoka's answer was a not yet. He couldn't remember exactly when or why, but he remembers where; he remembers the twin suns' implacable warm and the pained voice of his mother stating how important was to keep the sand out of the wound, somehow. He remembers crying and being scared of needles for months. And then he remembers being an older padawan, and being alone with Obi-Wan in some jungle with bloodsucking bugs, and Obi-Wan's pained voice trying to make a snide comment about Anakin's rather clumsy sewing, 'No more Caff for you, my young padawan'. "Use the scissors,cut the fabric away," he explains even before she has opened the kit. "I don't…" Ahsoka kneels beside him, starting to uncover the wound. "You'll have to," once again he closes his eyes and focuses, he's pretty sure something made its way deep into his flesh, glass…perhaps. "Steady breaths, Snips, count to ten and then back to one. I'll tell you what to do." "But, Master, I don't…you—, I've never—" He feels cold, but then again, he always has been sensitive to anything that isn't a blazing sunset. He bites his inner cheek until he tastes blood and momentarily imagines Ahsoka holding his dead body, and that's something he can't allow her to ever see, that's something no one should've to deal with, he couldn't allow her to be left alone. "You'll see worse, this is wa—" he falls silent.

Wip title game! let people let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it

[terephin]

Howdy! I'm Flowey, Flowey the flower!

Anyways, I'm gonna ramble now. Introduction segment done.

So, Homura right? Homuhomu, Homegirl herself. She's a deeply broken girl.

I'm gonna talk about what I believe to be some of the why's, beyond just the looping itself.

Now, other than Madoka (A topic for an entirely different rant, honestly) and maybe Oriko (I mean, *gestures vaguely* look at the bitch, she's good at her job (Traumatizing Homosexuals)) I'd say a certain girl has hurt Homura more than anyone else.

Who?

Miki Sayaka. (Though you could argue Mami too) Now some might think this has to do with the general fragility of her mental state, but her witching out isn't what I'd say is the focus. It's the distrust.

Sayaka, despite how i usually see it passed over, was in the end one of Homura's first friends (Excluding maybe one or two people from before her surgery, but we haven't seen much implying Homu ever had friends before Madoka picked her up like a stray cat). Sayaka was, and is, someone who's opinion Homura values quite a bit, and her opinion of Homu herself hasn't exactly been good through much of the loops.

And here, I'd like to argue that this is a rather core hurt, part of turning Homura into who and what she is now. That rejection from someone who she knew as among the first to accept her, from one of her first friends.

Imagine, for a moment, the pain each time she was called evil, a monster, by that upbeat girl who was so strong and so brave. The girl that, if you ask me, looking back at Homu with the golfclub, she tried to model herself after.

It really is something I've seen quite a few fics forget, that Homura and Sayaka were friends in the beginning, that in the mind of the broken girl who doomed herself to never grow up they still are. (Sidenote : I've considered writing a snippet of Homura and Sayaka set in the Homurinth, or maybe in that world she made after her apotheosis, have them talk and have Sayaka mention that she came with in part to apologise, for all the hurtful words she'd spoken.)

Miki Sayaka is a brave, headstrong yet fragile girl, one that you can't help but admire, and I believe that Akemi Homura was swept up in that wave too. That, though they've both respectively forgotten and repressed the fact, Sayaka was an idol in the mind of that lost, lonely girl, a Hero amongst those who saved her. And perhaps that, too, is why Homura despises Sayaka's ambition to be such.

[angryschnauzer]

19th February 2024

An update.

Hubby has finished his radiotherapy. It seemed like a long 6 weeks, and its taken its toll on him with extreme fatigue. He was also on a mild dose of chemotherapy at the same time, that thankfully didn't come with any side affects such as nausea, but he was on anti sickness meds for that.

He'll now have about 4 weeks off all treatment to allow his body to recover and to try and regain some strength. But during those 4 weeks he'll have some tests and MRI's to see if the tumour is growing back.

Then from mid march he will have 6 rounds of strong chemotherapy, with one week on, three weeks off. This will be a much stronger dose so the nausea side affects may be considerably more than the small dose he had with his radiotherapy.

What we don't know is what the prognosis is. We don't know if he has 6 months, 18 months, 5 years, whatever. And now we aren't told either. They wont be pinned down to a 'you have x amount of months left' because its been found this is much more detrimental to patients mental health (and also their families) as if the patent passes away before then there is resentment that the prognosis was wrong, or if the patient lives longer there is also resentment as to 'why did we rush to do the bucket list' when i actually had more time.

This however is impacting my mental health. The uncertainty of what the future holds, and what plans i can make for the future. There are trips with our son's school that i've had to ask the school to make special exceptions for us with where we'd like a space reserved but can't commit to it. Same with any sort of commitment or plan for the future.

Hubby however is fairly relaxed about it all. I honestly think he thinks its going to be cured. He plans on going back to work from start of March, but working the equivalent of 1 day a week spread over 5 days, so around 2 hours a day. This would be working remotely from home, and i do support this as he needs something to concentrate on, but its hard to imagine what future life is going to be like. He can't drive for another 2.5 yrs (one year after his seizure, and then 2 after radiotherapy because it was on his brain), so he won't be able to commute into the office anyway by car, and he can't go via train as he can't carry a bag because of his reconstruction surgery on his shoulder.

Thankfully his employers have been wonderful about this, and we are covered for the bills financially as well but will have to tighten our belts with a lot of things. I'm still trying to work and keep my business going, but finding the time to do so is tough as i'm now basically a full time carer for two people; my son and my husband. (The government doesn't consider the work i do for them 'enough' to pay an allowance though').

So that's were we're at. We've had a lot of other shit thrown at us since the start of the year too, but its not as important as the situation with my husband so that's what i'll keep you updated on.

[my1onlylove]

[TANAENNO FIC REC]

These are some smut-less, not heavily sexually implied fics. The smutty, PWP one are here.

[STILL UPDATING]

1. Canon Divergence (Highschool)

The Odd Tanaka Out

Ryuu overheard some girls in the hallway talking about how he's the only single in Karasuno, so he decided to investigate, pulling Chikara into the mess.

I've Been Trying To Fix My Pride

The third years graduated. Chikara might have been too drunk to remember what happened at the party.

just hit send

Ryuu confessed to Chikara through text. Chikara was not having it.

'Cause You Haunt Me

Ryuu doesn't like being called straight. Chikara doesn't get it.

In Which Nishinoya Would Say: Tanaka Finally Grew Some Balls To Ask His Crush Out!!!

Nishinoya's had enough with two of his good friends pining after each other.

I Can't Imagine

Ryuu and Chikara are worried about what the future holds for them.

It's Okay If It's You

Chikara receives a confession.

Loving Hercules

Ennoshita is a logical person, not when it comes to Tanaka.

Like almost straight out of a romance movie

Chikara may have barely came to the conclusion that Ryuu likes him.

2. University/ College

tell me that you love me

Ryuu knows what he and Chikara have isn't pure platonic. Kiyoko and Noya are there to help.

Ad Libitum

Chikara reunited with Ryuu at Tokyo Pride.

3. Domestic Fluff

“A Kiss that Tastes like Home.”

Chikara wakes up from the surgery all groggy, and might have forget the handsome man in front of him.

5. Soulmate! Au

Waiting for Fate

Fate makes Chikara and his soulmate learn about themselves grow before confirm what he believes to be true.

6. Slow burn

7. Others

a. Farm/ Ranch

you, me, the moon and her stars

5+1, 5 times Chikara gets hurt on accident and the one he might done it on purpose

the sound of your voice

Ryuu (and Tobio) loves Chikara's singing

monochrome yesterdays, rainbow tomorrows

Chikara's obliviousness makes it hard for Ryuu

b. Compilation

[lightofraye]

Hi there! You certainly didn't waste any time, jumping straight into your concerns.

With respect... I disagree. He might've had some fillers, but I believe any and all Botox might've been done for his depression (as I mentioned not too long ago). The lines around his forehead and other areas of his face would not have settled that quickly if it had been done for wrinkles.

(Someone I follow on Facebook had gotten Botox for wrinkles and it took her a good number of weeks, not a week or two, for it to settle.)

Because as you can see... his face is pretty similar here! He's always had those kinds of cheeks and lines when he smiles!

As for the rhinoplasty... I must disagree. I've searched high and low for any differences in his nose since Days Of Our Lives and honestly? I don't see it. Because look:

That nose has always been asymmetrical. I don't think he's ever bothered to get it fixed. But, ah, the red lines? Let's see!

Nope. No red lines that I can see. I would love to see where you're seeing them!

No worries! I've kept your name off the ask as you've requested!

And you're very welcome! I love Sign Language! It comes in so handy, especially in loud places or wanting to communicate across the room! No need to shout! Just sign and be 'heard'! Plus, it allows me to really read body language. It's amazing how many people miss that.

I absolutely hope to teach my son--his father is being combative about it, but I keep trying!--and my daughter is learning as well.

I wasn't sure if you wanted me to post the last part, your "private aside", so I'll just try my best to address it without actually, uh,... sharing what you said.

RE: Danneel. Yeah... she... she tries on many masks, pretending to be something she's not. But everyone can see right through her because she's such a bad actress. She's an awful mother, unable to parent without the nannies around. She's an awful wife; can't even support her husband in his worst moments (like the Rust shooting). She's a terrible producer; cue The Winchesters lawsuit. She's a terrible actress; cue her non-existent acting career. She can't even pretend to be a decent being without folks giving her the side-eye about all the "compliments" and "jokes" she slaps around.

She's offensive as a human being, honestly.

I just wish she'd go away.

Back to your main message: I understand we may disagree. I know some would say "Yeah, Jensen's had some work", and it may be he's had a little bit, due to Hollywood being what it is.

However, he didn't have nearly to the extent that Danneel's had--her face is unrecognizable to what it was like, way back when. She's even messed up her philtrum lines (the curvature between our nose and lips) so now it's all crooked because she's had so many botched fillers.

I mean, imagine looking at this face and thinking it's all natural:

I can almost guarantee some of that are filters from the photographer because no human skin is that smooth and untextured. Her lips? Fake and fillers. Her cheeks? Unnatural fillers. Her forehead? Botox and tons of facelifts. If she doesn't stop her eyes are going shrink in the creepy way from too many plastic surgeries. Hell, even her eyebrows are fake.

So yeah. Jensen has a long way to go before he ever reaches her extent and I hope he never does.

Thanks for the ask! (And don't worry. I may disagree, but I'm not offended! Everyone's free to disagree!)