#do you know how many times ive seen people in wheelchairs struggle to get up a ramp or need to be pushed bc theyre too steep?

[ghostly-rantings]

also most ramps that ARE added arent even safe or built to regulation standards making them extremely inaccesible despite the fact that the Entire Point of adding a ramp is supposed to be accessibility

maybe it's pendantic but it annoys me when ppl say stuff like accessibility is more than just adding a ramp, bc like they are not even adding ramps bestie. like that's not being provided in 9/10 situations

[magnoliamyrrh]

buttt it was the second one which was saucy lmao and uh it felt i think a bit like what the district ppl must have felt abt the capital ppl in the hunger games

dont know how it started but me snd this other woman were driving around, i still rememberd the other dream but in this dream i processed waking up as escaping from those dudes, so i was still somewhat freaked out but calmer. anyway so she was driving we were talking about casual shit when i look out the window and see another dude getting a rifle ready and im like. Oh Fuck theyre back so i tell her to floor it and she does, crossing through some intersection illegally, knocks over some shit, swervs into a lane while this dude is shooting. ends up in cross traffic and she yells to jump out of the car cuz a truck is coming down the steet, she manages to jump out. i hesitate, i wait too long, i dont do it soon enough. i see the truck coming, the first seconds of collission, im somewhat aware that a big, big explosion took place, for a moment it feels like i have become torn apart completely, shredded apart along w everything else at a molecular level, and then black out

to wake up in a ,,,, hospital of sorts. run down one. actually, more like a hostel of sorts turned into a hospital it seems. and here it gets blurry and chances pov several times and sam and dean show up hysterically enough and have one of them bro u alive?? brohug moments fhdks (havent even seen any spn in so long, why now) but were gonna move past that. either way, eventually im in a body instead of some floating pov watching things again

,,,,, and i realize again and more clearly as,, myself now that i must have miraculously survived that explosion, somehow. im alive, somehow. and clearly ive been comatosed for awhile. my first thought is oh god, what happened to the woman driving the car (clearly i cared abt her), what happened to the other driver, the other people???

and then shit gets more weird. my vision anyway still seems to be blurry, i imagine from waking up from the coma. and i get the thought that maybe my eyes have burned off, maybe i have severe burns anyway from something like thst... it makes sense no? i couldnt survive unscrathed. and as i think that, i come more to my senses. my whole body starts hurting, burining, and im like,,,, ahh yea. yup. wonder how bad it is

a nurse comes in, tells me shes glad to see me awake, that the others who have survived have recently woken up too. surely wed all like to see each other no? so she gets my still dizzy and blurry self in a wheelchair, down the hallways of this motel turned hospital, down to a room, some sort of public hangout area living room

and im so excited and horrified to see whoever survived and then...,,,.,.,, i look at them and realize through some sort of first person and third pov that... ,,, were far from human anymore. in the normal sense. i was expecting burn victims, i was expecting missing limbs, disfigurments, but no. not this. they and i have morphet, morphed into some sort of creatures,,, melting skin, several arms and limbs where there were humans have only two, fur, ears, body shapes small and big and long and short, amalgamations of animal, human, and,,, some unnatural thing gone very wrong, melted twisted into wrong shapes. i realize im like that too. far from human anymore. my body seems to be more like if you combined a beluga and a walrus with a dittoo, pale green smooth skin, tusks or fangs in my mouth, eyes too round and big to be mine. uncomfortable and twisted and painful

but,,, were all so fucked up, were beyond recognizable, and i seem to be the last one to fully catch on to that. the woman who was driving the car, she now has several arms and an inhuman face, but she smiles at me and waves her many hands hello and i feel so relieved and horrified and we all give each other looks of ,,,,, who even knows what emotion. i still cant understand how were like this. im struggling to handle any of this, and its making me too calm

i get taken to the middle of this room on these cushons that the rest of them are sitting on, at least im glad im not alone in being like this i guess, as horrifying as it is.,, others seem to have gathered around us. excited, curious, they arent like us but they arent... human either. they whisper and chitchat and ask excited questions which we all seem to confused to answer

one of them starts, casually, too casually "well, since the nuclear fallout and winter, weve been -" i realize somehow, somehow that explosion was nuclear. those of us fucked up were right in the center of it. and to an extent its cause. my stomach drops. we must be like this out of some horrid nuclear mutation when noone should survive that. maybe thats why it hurts. why it burns. maybe were still decaying, dying slowly, thats what that feeling is, bodies so mutated with dna so beyond eaten away at and degenerating that we are ticking time bombs until we get worse and worse, and god knows what well turn into then. piles of goop? piles of goop screaming about being in pain? i remember wondering if were radioactive, surely we have to be. why are all these ppl around us? isnt it dangerous for them?

the apparent excitement and casual nature of those around snaps me out of it. they keep talking, chattering. theyre too excited. i realize theyre not human either. they look much much much better than us, but theyve become some odd mix of human and animal too; fur, ears, some human bodied and some like small animals with intelligence. not malformed and fucked like us, theyre pretty, beautiful even if weird. and they dont seem like us, horrified and in god awful pain. they keep talking. none of them seem to mind the nuclear fallout that has apparently happened, the one that turned them like this. who even knows How long ago the nuclear fallout happened

but theyre fascinated by us. too fascinated. they think were beautiful, which i remember thinking is absolutely insane. they think they want to be like us. some weird idea, almost like theyve build some sort of religious cult like belief that those with more radioactivity are blessed somehow. i remember those of us in the middle looked at each other shocked and confused thinking it must be some sort of joke, right? they say they want to be like us. that theyre going to expose themselves to more radioactivity to be like us. hell, might even detonate some more bombs and stay in the middle hoping theyll come out like this. which makes me start feeling fucking insane, not that im the only one bc i see the others are shocked and horrified too, having a hard time processing. anger grief confusion irony offense pain disbelief? but these people are serious, and somehow while were the grotesque malformed ones were the sane ones here

i remember feeling disgusted, shocked, angry with them. shutting down. thinking god, god this is so awful what idiot would ever want to be like this? glorify this?? choose this?

this,,, creature comes to me, sits halfway in my lab, some sort of ferret like thing. shes pretty, shes naive, shes maybe younger. she looks up at me with big round eyes in excitement and starts talking about how she wants to be just like me. i cant even get mad at her because shes so oblivious, so naive, so priviledged i suppose she may as well be from a different planet. she keeps talking on and on and on about it, oblivious to my growing distress

. i remember everything hurting. everything hurt so fucking bad. my entire body was fucking searing, when i looked at the mess it was it wasnt burned on the surface rly, but it was searing, and definetely beyond fucked up. my throath hurt too. everything hurt, horribly. i remember looking down at this creature and trying to ask her,,,, why? dear god why would you want to be like this, when it is so painful and horrible? i couldnt get the words out, only a soft whisper, a breaking sound. my throath was probably irradiated, my insides were, everything was. i somehow started crying bc apparently this fucked body could still do that. the ferretlike creature didnt really get why, she was too naive and too confused, she kept trying to talk. and i wanted to ask her, so bad, kept trying to, but the pain just kept getting worse and worse, unbearable until i managed to somehow vocalize that i needed the nurse or anyone or anything to give me something. gentle hands manage to spread some sort of cooling cream over mine own, which feel like theyre burning to her touch. they give me something, inject me with something. for a second i can calm down, breathe from the pain. i look at the fetter with her big eyes and manage to speak. i ask her, why would you wsnt to be like this? dont you see how much pain it is? she only smiles, giggles, doesnt understand anything, and says shell be just like me, pretty one day, and jumps off of me

i give up. mentally drained by all this, beyond even crying again. the entire situation is simply too beyond fucked up. but i feel the gentle hands on me again, rubbing more of whatever cooling cream into my searing skin. i look over, and realize the nurse is some sort of weird,,, white rabbit like creature, blue and clear eyed. she smiles at me, and i feel shes more sane that the rest for some reason. maybe bc shes bothering to give me pain meds, maybe she understands pain. i thank her, and i ask her quietly why the ferret, why all these,, people and creatures want to be like us. she only gives me a pitiful, somewhat coy smile. that i cannot tell you, people have become rather odd nowadays. but i, for one, am not jealous of you. she says something which manages to get a tired laugh out of me, i remember making quiet and slow small talk, looking around at the utter weirdness of everything, and still feeling the horrid, horrid god awful searing pain, mended only a little by her cold hands on mine

. uh. yea. and then i woke up. and just like in the dream my entire body literally everywhere felt like it was actually searing and hurt so bad that i wanted to scream or cry but as per usual i did nothing but start rubbing my own hands. everything felt so weak, and it hurt. it still does. better now, but it still does

so uh. yea. guess i had a painful night lmao

[snowdice]

The Things We Never Mentioned (Part 3-Final) [Part of the Relabeled; Refiled Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton

Characters: Logan, Patton, The one EMT from the last chapter

Summary:

“Believe it or not, academia and relationships are not mutually exclusive.” That was likely true, Logan knew. It was also not the problem.

The problem was his ability to move things with his mind, a blue suit he kept in his bag, and the mountains of red files he kept hidden in his apartment. No one knew that Logan was Bluebird, the cities resident superhero. He hadn’t even told his parents and he wasn’t planning on doing so. Sharing such a secret with anyone was a danger to everyone involved. He refused to do so.

At the same time, he knew that starting a romantic relationship with anyone who didn’t know the truth, was unfair to that person. Inevitably they would find out and there would be a disastrous fallout, but beyond that, starting a relationship on a foundation of lies was a horribly cruel thing to do to another person.

These two conflicting rules Logan followed had never posed an issue for him before recently, but…

But he did like Patton.

This is a three-shot dealing with events set before my story Sometimes Labels Fail set about a month and a half after the mini fics A Coffee Shop Meet Cute and A Coffee Shop Incident Report.

Notes: Superhero AU, Surgery, Medical Procedures, Drugs for Medical Purposes

Part 1  Part 2

Awareness came in waves for Logan.

At first there were just impressions of voices, but no understanding of any of the words. The sharp smell of disinfectant tingled at his nose and he strung together with bits of memory that he was likely in a hospital, but that knowledge faded as he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Next, he was jostled a bit and then he could feel himself being moved while the click-clack of wheels met his ears. He cracked open his eyes briefly to see the long rectangular lights in a hallway’s roof. Someone spoke but he just hummed and closed his eyes again.

Then, he woke briefly as just a bit of sunlight was starting to stream through the windows, opening his eyes for just a moment before closing them again. Things were starting to hurt just a bit now beyond the fog of whatever drugs were in his system. He tried to struggle against the drowsiness that seemed to creep through his veins, not particularly content with the sensation, but a hand touched his shoulder. “It’s okay,” a voice said softly and for some reason he believed it and let himself be pulled back under.

He listened for a bit the next time he woke. He could hear the steady beat of the heart monitor and a whispered conversation a small distance away. That was probably a good sign. Though he had yet to try to move, his body ached and smarted, especially his chest and lower abdomen. Luckily, the pressure of his mask was still on his face. With a breath, he blinked open his eyes. He moved a bit and a face was immediately hovering over him.

“You’re awake,” Patton said. Why was Patton here? He racked his brain, a vague memory of Patton dressed up as a doctor coming to mind. In fact, he was wearing a doctor’s coat now. Was he a doctor? Logan didn’t know he was a doctor…

That didn’t matter right now. He wasn’t Logan right now.

He cleared his throat, but it still came out a little hoarse. “I am.”

“Your mask was not removed,” Patton said, face serious in a way Logan hadn’t seen it be before. “You had a couple of people making sure of that.” He nodded at a woman sitting in a chair on the other side of Logan’s bed.

“Hello,” she greeted. “I was one of the EMTs on scene.” Yes, Logan thought. He remembered her if only through a pain filled haze. “I was tasked with upholding the mask courtesy.”

“Thank you,” Logan said, but then he blinked up at Patton. “Why are you here?” he asked.

Patton bit his lip. “I was your surgeon. You, uh, said a couple of things when you were out of it.”

Logan swallowed. “What did I say?” he asked.

“Nothing that reveled much other than that you know me.”

Logan closed his eyes and sighed. “I see.”

“If you feel you are well enough and are willing to sign the release form for me, I can leave and let you two have this discussion in private,” the EMT offered.

He nodded. “That would probably be for the best.” She produced the papers and he quickly signed them. With a brief nod to Patton, she was gone.

Patton slowly sat down on the edge of Logan’s bed, angled so Logan could see half of his face. “I won’t ask your identity,” he started, “but I do have to admit I… figured it out. Not many people know me by name, but don’t know I’m a doctor.”

Logan felt his throat tighten. “I see.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the heaviness of knowledge hanging in the air around them.

“You never mentioned you were a doctor,” Logan said softly.

A melancholy smile ghosted across his lips. “I like to pretend sometimes that I’m not,” he said. “I go to coffee shops or parks and just exist. I read books and talk to interesting mathematicians,” his smile got just a little bit more genuine as his eyes flickered to Logan’s, “and I try to forget for a couple of hours all the responsibilities I have in these walls, all of the things I see, the feelings I can’t escape when it’s all over and I’m alone.”

“That’s…” Logan said. He didn’t know what that was. Patton always seemed so cheerful. He was always ready with soft smiles and warm touches, but he did not seem happy now.

“I…” he said when Logan didn’t move to say anything else for a long moment, “I’m pretty good at pretending. I can forget that I know this. But…”

“But?”

“Will you let me drive you home?” he asked. “I know you can’t stay here long, but you’re hurt and I… I would like to make sure you get home okay.”

Logan paused to think, but there was really no reason to refuse at this point. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

“I feel I should be the one thanking you.”

“Please don’t.” Logan was frozen, unsure what to do in this situation, but he wanted to do something. Before Logan could devise an action to take, Patton seemed to shake off whatever emotion had had ahold of him and turned to face Logan fully. “I’d like you to eat something before I release you and then I have some cloths for you that should fit in my locker.”

Logan agreed, and he was quickly handed a package of applesauce and a carton of milk. When he found he was still hungry, Patton brought him a sandwich. After that, Patton checked on his wounds briefly with intense eyes and gentle fingers. He seemed reluctant to leave him alone to go get the cloths, but Logan tossed the empty apple sauce container and plastic spoon into the trashcan with his powers, carefully hiding the wince as everything inside him ached at the action, and he left.

Patton came back with a bag of clothing and without his doctor’s coat and removed the IV before helping Logan get to his feet. Logan’s ribs ached horribly at the movement, but he schooled his face. Patton gave him a suspicious look at the lack of pain on his face.

Logan changed into the clothing in a small bathroom that he was pretty sure was only for staff and stuck the mask into the bag the cloths had been in. He watched Patton’s face when he exited the bathroom, but there wasn’t even a flicker of surprise.

“Here, sit,” Patton ordered, making Logan bristle just a bit at the tone even though he was probably right.

“I don’t need a wheelchair,” Logan argued, his face twisting up.

“Please,” Patton said softly and oh, Logan wanted to argue, but he couldn’t when he caught sight of the expression on the other man’s face. He sat in the chair and let Patton fuss a bit over him before he wheeled him into the hospital parking lot. If Logan was being honest, walking to the bathroom had worn him out and the parking lot was quite a distance away, so it was likely best that he hadn’t walked even though it wounded his pride a bit.

He gave Patton directions to his apartment complex. He pulled into some of the street parking outside the building. “You live closer to the hospital than I do,��� Patton commented. “I live on Monroe.” He fed the meter a few coins before coming around to help Logan into the apartments.

They took it slow, but Logan was still trying not to pant when they finally made it to his door. “How many ribs did I break again?” he asked once the door closed behind him.

Patton frowned at him and herded him toward his couch. “Four,” he replied. “So, make sure to take it easy.” Logan nodded and leaned back against his couch exhausted. Patton looked around. “Your apartment is… very tidy,” he commented. “Do you have any blankets or pillows?”

Logan hummed. “Hall closet.” Patton walked away and came back with what was almost certainly his entire blanket and pillow collection. “I’m not that cold,” he protested. Patton ignored the protest and positioned the blankets and pillows around him to make a sort of nest and pulled one of the blankets over him. Okay, he had to admit that was sort of nice. He relaxed back into the couch.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Logan said.

“Water at least,” Patton fretted.

“Patton,” he said. Patton blinked at him. The faucet in the kitchen started running and a glass of water zipped into his hand, Logan being careful to keep the water in the cup despite the speed. Using his powers hurt a bit less this time at least.

“Right,” Patton said. He looked like he wanted to ask something, but then he stopped and looked away. “Do you need a doctor’s note or anything for work or school? I could get one for you.”

“I didn’t have to be anywhere today. All I have left to do is grade which I can do from my couch. Also, I wouldn’t want people to be able to trace things back to you. It’s unlikely anyone would look, but you are on record for having done surgery on Bluebird last night.”

“I was going to forge Doctor Walter’s signature on it. He forgets when his glasses are on his face half the time. If someone ever brought it up to him, he’d just assume he forgot about writing it.”

“Should the man be working as a health professional then?”

Patton shrugged. “No.”

Logan laughed and Patton smiled back at him, but it faded slightly at the edges after a moment. “Well, if you really don’t need anything, then I should probably go.”

Logan paused, an ache in his chest not due to the fractured ribs. He didn’t need anything from Patton, but he really didn’t want him to go. “Of course,” Logan said anyway. Patton after all, had his own life to attend to.

Patton nodded and grabbed his bag. “Here are instructions for homecare,” he said, setting down a packet of paper on Logan’s coffee table. “Follow them, please,” he requested.

“I will,” Logan promised.

“Good,” Patton replied, “I… hope you feel better soon.”

“I’m sure I will. From what I understand, my doctor was very good.” Patton gave him a half smile and turned to the door. Logan stopped him before he opened it. “You said you’d be willing to forget this ever happened,” Logan said.

Patton paused and turned back to give him a tiny smile. “Of course.”

“I don’t want that,” Logan said.

Patton blinked at him a few times before a larger smile graced his face. “Okay then,” he said. “Um, I left my phone number on the instructions in case you needed anything medical related. So, call me if you need me?”

“I will,” said Logan and then he paused. “Also, if you are at any point worried, you can feel free to come back and check on me. If you aren’t busy.”

He looked relieved at the offer. “I’ll do that,” Patton said. “I’ll bring you something to eat for dinner, so you don’t have to cook.”

“That would be nice.”

“Okay,” he replied and bit his lip before opening the door and stepping back into the apartment hallway. “Bye.”

“Bye,” Logan said. He closed the door behind him. Logan had a long time to think that day and the days after while he healed, even while trying to grade his student’s exams on time. Most of those thoughts were about Patton. He had two rules, you see, that were almost always in conflict, but…

But they weren’t for Patton anymore.

Thanks for reading!

The next part of the Relabeled; Refiled prequel series is  Logan’s 25 Step Plan to Ask a Boy Out.

[daddysfangirls-marvel]

70 Years of Grief

Request 

warning: language, angst, sadness

Summary: If you take requests could I request this. Bucky Barnes x reader, Steve Rodgers x (sister) reader. After Bucky and Steve fail to come home after ww2 y/n is driven crazy from the hatred she feels from being abandoned by her brother and left alone in the world she becomes an Assassin to kill those who ruined her life. 70 years later the avengers are sent to find an Assassin that has been killing for the last several decades only for Steve and Bucky to be horrified by who it is. (Codename reaper) 

Do you know how hard it was? The entire world was celebrating the end of another great war whereas (y/n) was in her room grieving. All she wanted was silence. But everyone was so loud why couldn’t they let her be. 

Why did they leave her?

Bucky was drafted in, he knew months beforehand but didn’t say anything until the very last day when he left. Steve inlisted he left the day after Bucky no warning. One day he just can out with his bags packed and said he was leaving for the war and would be back when they won nothing else. Just like that, they were gone and she was left alone with no one.

They never came back.

-

“This is our Track it codename Reaper. She’s an assassin been working for a little over 70 years.” Fury said Shield had fallen and he was now working pretty much of the grid but there were few moments like this right now where he brought the avengers something he could not handle alone. “She started off sloppy leaving behind bodies and a big mess but over time she got better to the point she didn’t leave behind anything, not even the bodies. We don’t know how many people she has killed but we know it’s a lot  ” He showed a picture of a massacre then switched to a picture-perfect clean room.

“We thought she was killing at random but mostly at Shield as she was taking out our agents too. It wasn’t until after Shield fell that we discovered she had been taking out Hydra. She has been killing and stealing files for years. The Reaper is ruthless taking out men, women, and children leaving no witnesses behind. She was unseen and untouchable ...until recently” He pulled up a picture of her.

“Over the last couple of years, she has been slipping up. Leaving behind evidence, getting caught on camera, not erasing her tracks. We’ve got closer to catching her in these past few years than we have in decades. But she’s still just out of our reach. This is where you guys come in.”

He looked around the table Tony, Natasha, Sam, Vision, Bruce, and Bucky. The others were off on another mission. 

“We’ve got information on her next location. I need you guys to bring her in.”

-

“How long is this going to take,” Sam said as he was perched up on the roof across the street. Their target was in a bar sitting and drinking. She was supposed to be meeting someone so they were waiting for that person to show up so they could take them in too. It had been two hours but no sign of her visitor and she was still sitting there drinking.

“I don’t think this guy is showing up,” Natasha said in her earpiece Bucky was sitting across from her they were in the bar in a far corner undercover. They had been sitting here as long as her. “Let’s just take her”. The bartender leaves to go to the bathroom.

“She’s making a move,” Bucky says as he watches her gets up walking around the bar. She grabs a bottle off the top shelve and three small glasses she begins to walk over towards their table. On the inside, they were internally screaming and panicking but on the outside, they looked chill and badass.

She takes a seat next to Bucky putting three glasses down and pouring some drinks. “You’ve been here for what Two hours and you’re still not getting it,” She says looking at Bucky.

“What are we not getting?” Natasha asked but she completely ignores her.

“Who are you here to meet?” Bucky asks

“You” she smiles.

-

“So she wanted to get caught. But why?” Natasha asked as she looked into the interrogation room through the two-way mirror. After finishing her drink (Y/n) came in without a fight the only thing she asked for was for them to pay for her drinks. The only person she has spoken to so far was Bucky she blatantly ignored everybody else. He tried to ask her questions but she said she’d like to wait. Now they were waiting for whatever she was waiting for.

“Do you think it’s some kind of trap?” Bruce asked the whole situation was making him nervous.

“I don’t know. But she wants to be here and that’s a big red flag” Sam says. They were all just watching her.

“The others have returned and are on their way down. Vision is filling them in on the situation.” Tony came in with a tablet. “Holy shit...102″

“huh”

“That’s how old she is. She’s-”

“(Y/n)” Steve said as he walked in the room to see a woman beyond the window sitting in the interrogation room. He immediately smiles and tries to walk into the room but the others stop him.

“You know this chick”

“yes, It’s (Y/n) my little sister”

“what the fuck”

“I Want to see her” Steve starts to push past the others

“What the actual fuck,” Tony said still frozen in his place.

Steve Makes it in the room pushing past the others and stumbling in. (Y/n) just smiles watching as they struggle with him. 

“(Y/n), (Y/n), it’s me, do you remember me? It’s me” Steve said his voice cracking and eyes tearing up as he tries to move towards her.

“Hi Stevie, long time no see”

“You-you remember me?”

“On my 19th birthday, you baked me a cake. Even though you were a terrible cook. You messed it up so you ran to Mrs. Barnes and begged her to help you. You never told me but Mrs. Barnes did, she thought it was cute. We had my birthday at their house that night.” They both smiled at the memory. (Y/n) gracefully slipped out of the handcuffs that connected her to the table and opened her arms to hug Steve. He didn’t notice the others on the other hand did and were freaked the fuck out.

Steve brought her into a tight hug “ I thought you died. They said you were dead. They wouldn’t tell me what happened.” he pulled back from her and cupped her face tears of pain and joy in his eyes “ my god, what happened to you?”

“It’s a long story. I’m going to let your friends fill you in for now”

“But-” She kisses his cheeks 

“Go I think you’re in trouble” she laughed and pushed him away his friend dragged him out of the room quickly as he could. She waved him goodbye as he left whispering a soft “sorry“.

-

Steve sat on the couch head in his hands. The team had just finished explaining the history of his sister. He couldn’t believe his innocently pure baby sister had done such things. My god what happened to her. This couldn’t be her. But it was.

“When we brought her in the only person she would talk to was Barnes”

“Makes-makes sense” the others looked at him for a further explanation “Um... You guys dated back then...you planned to propose to her when you got back but you never did...go back...neither of us did. We left her alone Bucky, we left her alone. We left her alone for 70 years. And she became this”

“how is still here?” Natasha asked

“Hydra” Everyone, but Steve and Bucky, jumped up drawing their weapons. (Y/n) was found leaning on the wall arms crossed and relaxed despite the dangerous situation she was in.

“They took you too” his heart broke.

“No...I went willingly”

(Y/n) sat in a wheelchair in nothing but a tank top and panties being wheeled around. “How long will this take?” she asked looking back to Dr. Klah, the man who had brought her here. Everyone else here spoke Russian and didn’t understand her or pretended not to he was the only one to speak to her.

“Patience my dear. Perfection takes time” he chuckled

“I don’t want to be perfect I want to kill the people who killed my boys”

“And you will, little lady, you will,” he said rubbing her shoulders. He pushes the doors to the lab open rolling her in. Inside Doctors, nurse, and Russian military men were buzzing working and talking in a language she had yet to understand. “  You’ll be okay, little lady. Don’t worry”

They wouldn’t even let her walk to soldier picked her up and carried her to a cradle of sorts in the middle of the room. The doctors were talking around her as the poked needles in her two, three, four needles of clear liquid entered her. They then started strapping her down she glared at the soldiers who strapped her down. 

“This better work Doc. If I don’t like the results... you’re dead” She said as the cradle slowly closed. She is met with pay that starts in her spine and crawls slowly to the rest of her body but she doesn’t scream. Tears leave her eyes blood drips from her lips but she doesn’t scream. And that amazes them. 

-

(Y/n) wakes up and finds her self in a room on a cot with an IV sticking in her arm. She looked around the room there was a mirror and a sink and one single light that hang swinging slowly back and forth the shadows changing and waving lighting the little room. She rubs her eyes she stands up and looks at the mirror. The smart girl she is she realizes it’s a two-way mirror she didn’t question it she knew this was a shady business her brother had actually shown her pictures of the scientist who helped him and this guy wasn’t it. She assumed he would have killed her and she was okay with that she thought he would end her suffering but then he showed her something different. He really was something this doctor Klah.

She looked around the room again the walls were dirty green. Except for this one spot this large fainted red spot but it was more than a spot. She took a few steps back until her back was to the other wall then she recognized it. It was symbols a symbol she recognized she had seen before her brother had shown her.

Hydra.

Her expression didn’t change as she realized where she was nor did her emotions. She picked herself up and sat back on her cot and laid down. A few minutes later Dr.Klah comes in with two guards.

“Hello, Hello. Ms. Rogers. Wakey, wakey.” He said sitting down by her cot she doesn’t move. “ It seems like we might have another failed experiment and here I thought she would work. Considering her brother and all...Oh well. Get rid of gah.”  The doctor feels a sharp pain in the back of his neck and suddenly he starts coughing up blood before dropping to the floor. (Y/n) quickly tackles one soldier stabbing him with the same IV she stabbed the doctor in the neck with. Taking his gun she then shot at the other soldier who was too slow to move. She took their guns and she walked through that base killing every man and woman.

“That day I found out I had healing abilities. I can’t dead nor can I age. I'll be like this forever.”

“Why did you kill all those people?” Bruce asked then awkwardly shuffled back as all eyes were on him before turning to her again.

“They were hydra”

“Not all of them. Some of them were innocent civilians.”

“No, they were rapist, pedophile, thieves, murders, and abusers. The people I killed deserved it and will not be missed. I did it and I’ll do it again.” (Y/n) gave a small smile and walked away back to the interrogation room. Steve sat with a look of horror.

-

“What is going to happen to her?” Steve asked as he watched shield agents take his sister to an armored van in chains. Everyone was relieved she went willingly no one really wanted to fight her.

“For now, High tech prison. Later? Well, we’ll have to wait and see” Fury pat Steve on the back leaving him with those words as he walked away to supervise her transfer. 

Bucky came up next to Steve watching as the van slowly disappeared. He knew his friend was hurting but he had a question he was desperate to ask. And Steve knew it.

“Go ahead”

“Did I love her?”

“Yes, very much. You were going to marry her.”

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[jedimaster941]

A Declaration of Lost Independence

A Declaration of Lost Independence

As we get older, as we live life, like stone eroding under the power of crashing waves, our bodies break down. And as our bodies break down, we become more and more unable to do things. Sometimes not to the standard we once did, and sometimes we lose the ability completely. We lose things that bring us joy, and we lose things that bring us to life. Whether it be slowly or quickly, we all lose our independence. Aging is something, like it or not, we have all signed up for. We will get older, our bodies will break down, and we will lose our overall independence. It’s not ideal, but we understand it to be true.

For Chronically ill people, however, we can lose our independence rather suddenly, and it has absolutely nothing to do with natural aging. If someone aged 78 years has trouble walking, getting dressed, or going to the bathroom, very few would question it. But imagine you are 28 years old and you have the same difficulties. Think of how you would feel. In this article I will discuss the ways in which people with chronic illness lose their independence in the areas of physical, mental, social, and dietary, and the toll it takes on us when the things that we should be able to do becomes out of reach.

*This post features responses from chronically ill patients whom I asked…*

------------------------------

Physical

Loss of physical independence is the area that most people think about when illness takes over. It is at least the most public. People see wheelchairs, walkers, canes, crutches, and handicapped placards. They are also readily aware when someone takes a little longer to stand up, when they have trouble buttoning a shirt, or their handwriting becomes illegible. If someone gets to know a disabled person well enough they may also become aware of PIK lines, feeding tubes, and colostomy bags among others.

When someone is chronically ill/disabled their bodies are the primary victim of their disease. In one way or another, our bodies are malfunctioning. As my primary care physician said to me once, “We are all getting older, you're a just doing it a lot faster”. (If anyone is curious, I did not take offense, I appreciated that he acknowledged my illness and my lack of certain abilities)

Our independence is very much directly lost in these examples. We lose the ability of climb stairs, walk short distances, wash ourselves, cook food, and one I’d like to discuss a little more, exercise.

Doctors and online experts tell us we need to exercise. I can’t disagree with that. Exercise is important to keeping what we have left tip top. However, when we can’t climb stairs, walk short distances, or wash ourselves, how do you expect us to get the the gym to do some Cross Fit? I know for me, exercise of any kind hurts and has lasting effects. Some of my readers may remember how not long ago I walked a peppy poodle for half a mile and my legs hurt for three days after. This wasn't from being out of shape, this was due of my condition. Yes, exercise, but understand sometimes it's more harm than help.

I used to be a distance runner, a golfer, and could give the best piggy back rides. Now, due to Ankylosing Spondylitis, I can’t do any of that. And believe me when I tell you, that hurts me mentally as well.

Mental

With chronic illness and disability there comes a mental toll as well. Both in the areas of cognitive ability, and depression.

First, let's touch on cognitive ability which will then (as all of these sections do) we will move on to depression.

I imagine many of my readers are already well versed in the words and terminology used in the discussion of chronic illness. However, if you are new to this world, let me share a term that I, and all of us use probably on a daily basis: “Brain Fog”.

Brain Fog is exactly what it sounds like, a thick layer of fog on your brain. You know how hard it is to see through a covering of fog? Now, imagine that fog is in your head and your brain is trying to see thoughts, feelings, and ideas through it. It’s not easy and often things are lost.

Brain fog is caused by pain and the inability to actually shut down and rest. When people go to sleep their bodies and minds go into power saver mode to recharge, refresh, and do diagnostics checks. However, what happens when you drink caffeine, or you eat a big meal before bed? Well, if you can sleep, your body has now been given other things to work on. The caffeine makes your heart work harder, and your body needs to work to digest that big meal. So what happens? You don’t wake up rested because your body never actually got any rest. The same thing happens every night for people with chronic illness, but without the caffeine and steak dinner. In my case, with Ankylosing Spondylitis, my body is always working to fight off a foreign invader known as the lining between my joints. (I guess it’s actually a domestic invader) For most of us, because of constant pain, we can never get comfortable and even when we do sleep, we aren't actually resting. This lack of true sleep causes our brains to process at a diminished rate limiting our abilities to remember, problem solve, and function.

When I go to the doctor, I bring my wife. Not because I need a supportive hand, but because I need a partner and coach to help me tell the doctor what I need to say, and then remember what the doctor tells me. There have been times I have come home from an appointment solo and either forgot what treatment we discussed or, through my fogginess, made up something completely different because I could have sworn the doctor said she wanted to try bloodletting. (Or was it Methotrexate? I can’t remember) Although I love my wife, and I will always welcome her to join me at an appointment, I'm 37 years old, I shouldn't need someone to be my brain while the doctor checks out my body. While I am not depressed about this, this loss of mental and physical independence can also lead to depression.

I used to run, and I loved running. When my health got worse I took up walking long distance. However, only a few short years later, I couldn't even walk short distances without great pain and weakness. I was 34 the last time I walked with any kind of purpose. Far too young to lose so much ability. When I see people out running, or I drive past the local health club with overly large windows, I get sad longing for my glory days. When I watch American Ninja Warrior I’m sometimes heartbroken. Believe it or not, I used to be able to do stuff like that. It’s crushing to think that somebody actually has the freedom to wake up in the morning, pop up out of bed, and then think to themselves “Well, I think I will run 10 miles, shower, go to work, spend an hour at the gym, play with my kids, and then get 8 hours of restful sleep before doing it all over again.” Here I am thinking, “I hope I can get out of bed.”

Chronic illness can take a great toll on our mental state and subsequent independence.

-------------

Diet

With the chronic illness life, more often than not it seems, comes a list of dietary restrictions. 90% (not actual figures) of life comes from our gut. What we eat and drink. Other than breathing and IV treatments, it’s the only way anything gets into the factory known as our bodies. So, there is much stress put on us by our doctors, friends, family, TV, and the woman on the corner to eat right to better our condition. And not everyone is wrong. There are certain things that improve or worsen our condition. We will listen to the “experts” and try certain things. Excluding things like sugar, dairy, nightshades, and gluten. Or “fad diets” like Paleo, Keto, Vampire, or Atkins.* We might even try Kale! Many of us will try anything if it means we reduce our pain and get a little life back. But, the more foods we give up, the more independence we lose.

Personally this area has been my biggest struggle. Two years ago I went dairy free at the suggestion of a nutritionist, and one year ago I totally cut out sugar. And, I won’t lie, excluding both of those have been fantastic for me! I may not always notice the improvement, but if I happen to slip up on purpose of by accident, I certainly notice then. I am solid and confident in my sugar free/dairy free life, and for the most part I am happy.

However, this does not mean everything is butterflies and unicorns. I still struggle as I’m sure many many of my chronically ill brothers, sisters, and non-binary siblings do. Two examples: My birthday, and the ice cream aisle. On my birthday my co-workers wanted to know what to get me for my party. Typically the birthday treat is cupcakes and fudge. Hello sugar and milk! After much thought, I received the treat of peanuts and pickles. (And I didn't complain) However, it didn’t mean it didn't hurt. My co-workers needed to avoid yummy delicious treats because of my AS. They were supportive, but it didn’t mean I didn’t feel like a party pooper. As for the ice cream aisle, they have dairy free ice cream, and they have sugar free ice cream, but as a friendly store clerk told me, diary free & sugar free ice cream isn't ice cream. I'm out of luck there.

When it comes to dairy and sugar, I have lost my independence. People need to accommodate for me. Oftentimes meaning they might miss out on what they want. When my school does nacho day, frozen custard day, cookie day, etc for staff wellness days, I’m the only one not well. I could tell the people that sorry I can’t eat this, but that opens me up to feeling bad for making them feel bad.

Or when you need to find out if a restruant is accessible. Many would think that with all the handicapped parking spots all places would also be accessible. This is not always true. I have seen places where the "accessible" table is in a door way or up against a wall. The freedom to go to any restaurant one wants is never a guarantee.

When friends want to go out those of us with diet restrictions need to be “that guy/girl”. The one who has hard opinions on what we can eat. Ever stand behind the person at Starbucks who insists on soy milk and Stevia? Have you ever thought “Just take your coffee and drink it! You're holding up the line!” Yeah, that’s us, the ones holding up the line. Doesn't feel good.

We are jealous of those people who can eat whatever they want. Go to any restaurant, order anything off the menu, and even have dessert. This isn't about gaining weight, it's about being able to get out of bed in the morning.

Social

The next topic of how we lose our social independence ties into the three topics above and any others I have not mentioned. Humans are meant to be social. We aren't bears where we can just crawl into our cave and sleep for a few months. If any human crawled into a cave, nobody would be friends with them. Why? Because interacting is one of the standards of human life. We need other people! Sure, there are the mountain folk who go out, kill a deer, make clothing from it, light a fire and live their life in seclusion. (And there is nothing wrong with that) But, most humans need other people to cook our food, make our clothes, work on projects, drive us, and socialize purely for fun. The problem is, for many chronically ill people, getting out of the house and socializing sounds equal to climbing up and living in a mountain.

We are exhausted! Chronic illness takes a lot out of us! Every day can be a struggle to move, breathe, think, and complete other daily activities. Showering can be one of the most difficult activities for some. Doing laundry is pure hell! When most people hate it for the fact they have to do it, for me, folding makes me want to die! Seriously, I don't fully know why, but it hurts so much and takes so much out of me. After doing everything we have to do, we don’t have energy left for what we want to do.

I come home from work, my shoes come off, and I’m done! Very little is going to convince me to put my shoes back on and go out with friends when all I want to do is sleep. Because of this, many chronically ill people are forgotten. We bail on friends two or three times, and they just stop inviting us. But, then we have a good day, we are ready to accept an invite. Do we take it? No. Why? Because, we feel good now, we don’t know if we will feel good later.

Chronic illness symptoms can come in waves. We can have good days (or at least the start of a day) but then we drop. We don’t always know why we drop, but our feelings and mood are in no way guaranteed. So, we don’t risk it. It’s far better to be at home near our bed than 30 minutes away with a group of people you will need to apologize to for leaving early. Declining the invite or simple ghosting is far easier and less harmful to our psyche.

-----------------

Chronically ill patients lose all sorts of independence. We can not truly live free with AS, Fibro, EDS, POTS, Lyme, MS, ME or one of the many other chronic illnesses that totally sap us of life. We are not free do do as we like.

While others wake up and get to choose between running, biking, partying, fixing cars, eating amazing food, and/or playing with their kids. We wake up and.. well.. that's it.

In closing. If you know a person with a disability/chronic illness try to be understanding of their limitations. Don’t give them a hard time when they can't do everything you want them to. Our lives are hard enough dealing with all the independence we may have lost.

*I might have made up one of these diets

[antheminmyheart]

Runaways Running The Night (Barlyle)

Modern AU

Title: Runaways Running The Night

Word Count: somewhere around 16,000, I don't even know man

---

Twelve.

That was the number that haunted Phillip Carlyle since he was eight years old.

Twelve visits to the hospital (more than that, if you counted the false alarms). Twelve surgeries. One of them was for his leg, but most of them were life-threatening, and all of them cost his parents a great deal of money. They were wealthy now - Phillip's father landed a job as some major executive when he was eleven and he himself wrote plays that, all things considered, rolled in quite a bit of cash. Even his mother, a woman who never worked a day in her life, was a money-saving goddess who learned how to tuck away cash back during the days when they struggled for an extra dollar.

But back then - starting from the day Phillip was three days old, up until just before his eighth birthday - all Phillip Carlyle knew was the inside of hospital rooms. With a total of twelve surgeries, he made visits to the children's ward of the ER more than once a year. But, in his eight year old mind, it was the IV that scared him more than literal brain surgery. He developed a lifelong phobia of needles early on and often had to be held down, kicking and screaming, despite the unbearable pain in his head, as the doctors injected him before he was put under with the sleeping gas.

All together, Phillip Carlyle was afraid of three things any normal eight year old boy shouldn't have to think about. Needles, for one - and death. Phillip was terrified of death. Having had life-threatening surgeries all his tender eight years of life, he was plagued with terrors about black, eternal nothingness - so much so that his parents considered taking him to a child therapist. They never did - unsurprisingly, his father bitched about the costs - and so Phillip grew up with an unrelenting, inescapable, paralyzing fear that only worsened and worsened as he grew older.

A month before his fifteenth birthday, he attempted suicide ("if I have to die, might as well get it over with") and, soon thereafter, developed panic attacks. He was dragged to therapy just once after he was caught in his attempt to take his own life, but never again after that - the therapy session was forgotten (he himself could hardly remember the details) and, as he got older, he learned to keep his anxiety and panic attacks to himself. He learned to control most of them, to weep about his paralyzing fears of growing old and dying in the middle of the night when nobody could help - or hit - him. He never attempted after that, never even took to harming himself, but the lonely tears came often.

The third thing Phillip Carlyle was afraid of... was his father.

Jonathan Carlyle did much more than bitch about the costs of his son's expensive medical coverage. When Phillip was still a child, he would hit the boy - throw him against walls, smack him, scream at him. He would laugh when Phillip hit his head - his condition, called hydrocephalus (loosely meaning "water on the brain"), required a shunt implant and that shunt, while magnetic, could pose serious dangers against Phillip if it malfunctioned and he wasn't rushed to the hospital in time. The condition was not technically terminal, but, if his shunt happened to malfunction (meaning, failed to drain the excess fluid from inside his head), a severe build-up of cerebral fluid would press against Phillip's skull - applying so much pressure, in fact, that he would be dead within hours if left untreated.

Once Phillip's father became successful and the Carlyle family found themselves in the public eye, the physical abuse stopped. The man could have continued the abuse, if he so desired - on top of having a life-threatening neurological condition, Phillip's body was also wracked with one-sided cerebral palsy that spread down his left side, half-paralyzing him below the waist - he walked with a permanent limp and, though he had control over the fingers of his left hand, he was overall physically weakened by the condition. He could walk, yes, he had no need for a wheelchair, but he could not so much as move the toes on his left foot. He was no match for his father, who was strong and able-bodied and could fling him around like a rag doll if he so desired.

However, Jonathan Carlyle could not afford the risk of the media noticing Phillip's black and blue bruises. So, most of the physical abuse stopped - in favor of emotional and mental torture, harsh words and threats that cut into Phillip's skin like glass. They were just words, he knew, just facts of life - but sometimes they still hurt when he cried at night over the maddening feeling of wanting to move his toes, but never being able to succeed because his foot was, really, hardly more than a deadweight. The cruel, damning words spiraled again and again in his head, never relenting except for when he finally succumbed to slumber.

"Limpy, limpy legs." (This particular insult was started by a student at school - Jonathan Carlyle overheard Phillip weeping to his mother about the offensive names one night and took great pleasure in using it against his son himself).

"Special needs bitch." (This name originated after a fight with Phillip's mother - though they never separated, they had teetered on the edge of divorce for a long while, and Jonathan had screamed this at his son, blaming him for the divorce, before storming out of the household. Unfortunately, they'd never gone through with the split).

As if the abuse at home wasn't enough, Phillip attended public school throughout high school and had to deal with the narrow-minded likes of able-bodied students and faculty there, too. He would never forget a particular incident Freshman year - though he had no mental disabilities whatsoever, the high school he attended enrolled him into a class for the severely mentally disabled. After just one day of being talked down to as if he were a child, Phillip came home weeping to his mother. At first, she was hesitant to do anything - insisting to Phillip that he needed to "learn his place" amongst the able-bodied norms of society. However after her son broke down in a school counselor's office the following day, Elizabeth Carlyle finally relented and they were able to pull him out of the "special" class. They spoke none of this to his father, in fear that the man would lash out.

Though, he came to find out, he never quite fit in with his supposedly "normal" classmates, either.

Years passed, graduation came and went, and Phillip, relieved to finally be out of the hellhole that was high school, turned to playwriting. He went to college (his anxiety crippled him even more so than he already was, but he couldn't bear to be around his hellish father any longer), studied literature, and became a fairly well-known playwright within a few years. Of course, his talent wasn't the only thing to make the news - his disabilities always made the headlines too, sometimes overshadowing the plays themselves. The able-bodied "normal" people always had to point out the permanent flaws that wracked his body, as if a disabled person finding success was some sort of mind-blowing miracle. On the other hand, when they weren't drowning him in empty, fake, sugary-sweet drops of praise, they lashed out at him. The characters in his plays rarely shared his disabilities and the reporters ragged him for it. They did not approve of his finding escape in characters that could wiggle all ten of their toes - something that he would never, ever be able to do.

On top of that, he was alone - the one and only sort-of girlfriend he'd had mid-Junior year broke up with him after finding out that he felt no attraction... between his legs. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make his body want sex - and the mere thought of faking it, of lying with someone even though he could not get his own sexual organs to work, absolutely repulsed him.

Nobody wanted to be with a freak whose body was half-broken.

Nobody wanted to be with a freak who could drop dead thanks to the ticking time bomb in their head at any given moment.

***

P.T. Barnum was not a stranger when it came to making the smallest amounts of money count. Still, it hurt - he was a self-made man and having to return to a lifestyle not much above his childhood of sleeping on the streets was a slap in the face. His company had suffered greatly thanks to his wife's embezzlement of millions. The money was hidden away somewhere - neither Barnum, nor his lawyers, could figure out where to even begin looking - and his wife... was dead. They'd found her at a remote home in some South American country - he couldn't remember which one. Her death came as a shock and he did miss her, but he couldn't help the relief that invaded him, too. Despite her name, Charity was a greedy woman - she'd grown up in wealth all her life and wasn't used to sharing. The scandal with Jenny Lind - a remarkable singer Barnum had met while on a business trip, but felt no real attraction for - had sent the woman over the edge. The last time he'd seen her, she'd threatened a court case against him - for what, exactly, he didn't know.

Thank the good God above he'd never had children with that woman. Though he did miss her nieces - Caroline and Helen - something terrible.

After his business began to fail, Barnum was forced to move from his sprawling mansion to a tiny apartment in an apartment complex filled with people who had absolutely no sense of humor. He tried going out, tried to move on with his life, but there weren't many places he could afford with his now extremely-restricted budget. The few dates he did go on bored him - the women were often left disappointed after finding out about all the money he had lost, and the men, well... even though this was, really, his first chance to explore the hidden realms of his sexuality in twenty-some odd years, he'd quickly learned that most men who felt the same attractions as he weren't looking for someone quite so much... older. Barnum could not ignore that he was a man in his mid-forties, and most of the men his own age had been harboring passionate relationships in secret for years - jumping at the chance to finally marry once the verdict became legalized nationwide.

Though a formerly successful suit-and-tie businessman, Barnum was truly a man of light, of passion, of laughter. He was not meant to live life alone in a dusty little apartment overlooking New York, and the drab days took their toll as he tried looking for work. He started to wilt, started to disconnect and forget why the life he was given was worth living at all.

And then Phillip Carlyle moved in across the hall.

P.T. was no stranger to Phillip Carlyle's work. He'd even gone to see a play once or twice himself, though he never much cared for sitting around and watching people talk on stage. Mostly, he knew Phillip Carlyle's name because of the news. When the reporters weren't talking about the young man's parents, - with whom the man, for reasons unknown, had a strained relationship - words like "cerebral palsy" were constantly tied to his name instead. That, and some odd, rare neurological condition that Barnum couldn't quite remember or place the name of.

He was surprised to see the young man move in - it was no secret that the Carlyle family was swimming in money, and the man himself had his own fairly successful profit, so why had he chosen to move into a dumpy little complex? It was a mystery that even P.T. Barnum couldn't figure out.

Still, Barnum was not asking these questions when they first bumped into each other. Phillip was a private man - didn't even come to the door when Barnum tried to introduce himself properly - and so their first exchange had been a chance encounter in the elevator.

"Ah, finally - the one and only Phillip Carlyle, in the flesh!" Barnum grinned, eyes beaming, teeth flashing white. Stunned, Phillip shrank into the corner of the elevator and tried making himself as small as possible. P.T. noticed that his left hand hung limply in front of him - Phillip had most control of his bad hand, but letting it hang was a habit that he sometimes fell into, without thinking, in public. Face flaming, he wrapped the fingers of his right hand around his left wrist and drew both hands to his chest.

"You - You know who I am?" Phillip asked.

"Well, of course. There's no escaping the Carlyle name."

Phillip's face burned even brighter and he stared down at his feet. He could not wear slip-on shoes - they slid off his bad foot and, foot being paralyzed, he could not easily work it into certain shoes in the first place. Instead, the dress shoes he wore were specially designed, and one was bigger than the other, as his bad foot was about half a shoe size smaller than his good one.

Eyes trailing back up to look at the grinning man in front of him, he said, in a voice so quiet he seemed almost afraid to speak, "and who, may I ask, are you?"

Barnum continued to smile as he held his hand out. "Phineas Taylor Barnum, at your service."

Phillip timidly took his hand and shook it - the playwright's hands were soft, used to writing instead of hard, physical labor. "Barnum? As in—"

Barnum's smile faded into a frown as they dropped hands. "Yes, yes. I... would rather not get into the details of my company at this time. It's been a rough few months, you understand."

Phillip nodded and stared down at the floor. Before Barnum could get another word in, the elevator stopped with a 'ding' and the doors opened. Phillip was quick to get out of there, but he limped as he hurried and Barnum took notice in the awkward way in which the man walked, dragging his left foot across the floor.

"Hey, wait a moment," Barnum called, stepping out of the elevator himself. Phillip tensed, then slowly turned to face the older man.

"What do you want?" he sighed.

"You've lived down the hall from me for days now and I hardly know a thing about you, Mr. Carlyle," Barnum explained, corner of his lip curling up into a slight smirk as he dragged out the man's family name. "How about going out for a drink? On me."

He really couldn't afford to be offering this man - despite his name, still a complete stranger - a drink, but... ah, well. He'd worry about that later.

Instead, though, alarm flashed in Phillip's ocean eyes.

"I don't drink," he mumbled hurriedly.

He limped away without another word.

***

Barnum hadn't seen Phillip since the encounter in the elevator last week. The younger man purposely made sure to avoid him - Barnum didn't quite know why, but he had suspicions that he might have come on just a... little too strong, perhaps. He couldn't help it, though - he craved human interaction like a drug, and nobody in the complex even bothered to talk to him.

Now it seemed that Phillip wouldn't, either.

Ah, well. It hurt more than it should, seeing Phillip hurry away from him like he was a man on fire, but... what could he do? Apologize, perhaps, but he wasn't quite sure what he'd be apologizing for - and he was fairly certain Phillip wouldn't let him get a word in inch-wise, anyway, without taking off.

It'd been about a week since speaking with Phillip in the elevator, and Barnum was sat in his apartment, newspaper clippings spread before him on the coffee table. He couldn't afford a decent computer - he was practically living on fresh air, yet again - and so he was forced to comb through the newspapers for a job like it was the 1980s and he was on the verge of going homeless all over again.

He was interrupted from his mind-numbingly boring search (seriously - did anyone in New York genuinely enjoy working full-time jobs?) by the sounds of a shout and a startled scream coming from down the hall.

Immediately casting the newspapers aside, Barnum jumped to his feet (almost, he thought, chuckling to himself, like a superhero ready to save the city) and left his apartment. He entered the hall just in time to see someone slam Phillip's front door shut, head low, black hair in his face, grumbling to himself as he buttoned up his jeans. He had a t-shirt on and angry, frantic scratches down one of his tanned arms.

Eyes wide, Barnum watched the man go - he seemed a bit older than Phillip, perhaps in his late thirties - and waited until the man disappeared around the corner before approaching the front door of the apartment himself. He hesitated for a moment, then rapped his knuckles on the door three times.

"Phillip? Are you in there? It's me - Phineas."

Silence.

He called for Phillip again and, when he didn't get an answer, hesitantly tried the doorknob. The door was still unlocked and swung open with ease. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Barnum stepped into the little apartment and shut the door behind him.

He was first stunned by how... neat the apartment was. Phillip had moved in not very long ago, but everything was tucked away, all prim and proper. Though the apartment itself was small in size, Phillip had chosen to splurge some of his money on finer works of furniture - the kind of furniture that Barnum had seen taken away from him after the Charity fiasco. Among the furniture, Barnum took note of the tall bookshelves standing floor-to-ceiling against the walls. With just a brief glance, it appeared that Phillip had everything from Shakespeare to Kurt Vonnegut to J.K. Rowling.

Barnum was snapped out of his inspection of the bookshelves by a high-pitched, frantic barking coming from a partially-opened door. A small Yorkshire Terrier appeared in the doorway, and Barnum chuckled as it snarled at him.

"Hey there, little guy. Have you seen Phillip around?"

At the mention of his master's name, the Yorkie silenced - then tilted its head and whined. Turning its back on the man, it retreated into the room it came from. Barnum hesitated for just a moment before following it in.

Phillip sat on a bed, legs drawn up to his chin with his arms wrapped around them, face buried in his knees. The Yorkie climbed onto the bed and whined again, lying its chin on Phillip's arm.

"Not now, Benji," he choked.

Instead of obeying, the Yorkie - Benji? - pawed at Phillip's arm and whined. Sighing, Phillip lifted his head.

"What do you wa—"

He froze upon seeing Barnum standing in the doorway. His face lost all color and his breath hitched, starting to come out in short, little gasps. Benji whined and nuzzled his face in Phillip's arm as his panicked eyes fixed themselves on Barnum.

"What are you doing here?" he gasped.

"I apologize," Barnum said, motioning toward the front door. "I heard a scream from my apartment and came out to see what was wrong. I saw a man leave here and I... are you all right?"

Barnum was alarmed to see Phillip lower his head, tears streaking down his cheeks. He hugged his legs closer to his chest and Benji whined as he climbed into Phillip's lap.

"I'm fine," Phillip muttered. "Please - just go away."

Barnum glanced toward the exit again, but turned back to Phillip. Sighing, he approached the bed and sat on the edge. Phillip cringed, but didn't say a word.

He was fully clothed, but Barnum had to ask - "Did he... hurt you?"

"No," Phillip choked.

"If he hurt you, Phillip, I can—"

"We've been...seeing each other," Phillip spat out. He sniffled and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Nothing serious, but a - a few dates, off and on, these last few weeks. I told him that I didn't - that I didn't—"

He froze and choked up, burying his face into his knees again. Barnum hesitated, then slowly wrapped his arm around the younger man's slumped shoulders. Phillip flinched, but didn't pull away.

"You didn't what, Phil...lip?" Barnum asked, adding the second syllable to the man's name as an afterthought.

"I - I don't—" Phillip took another deep breath and rubbed his eyes. "I... I don't feel—"

His voice cracked and another sob escaped his throat. Benji whined, placing his front paws on Phillip's stomach, and the younger man dropped a hand to scratch behind the dog's ears. Almost subconsciously, he rested his head against Barnum's upper arm.

Surprised, Barnum slowly wrapped the arm around Phillip's shoulders and pulled him closer. Phillip lifted his head then, and tried to pull away, but Barnum shook his head no.

"It's all right," he murmured. "Take your time."

"I'm sorry," Phillip whimpered. He lifted Benji up and buried his face in the dog's soft fur. "This is so embarrassing," he muttered as Benji started to frantically lick his tear-stained cheeks.

"Can you tell me about that man again?" Barnum coaxed. He didn't have children, but the way in which he spoke reminded him of the way he would talk to his dead wife's nieces.

"You wouldn't understand," Phillip murmured. He shifted, repositioning his seat, and Barnum took notice that, while his right foot was bare, his left foot was still encased in a white sock.

"Try me," Barnum challenged. He lifted an eyebrow and a familiar smirk played at his lips.

"Would you want to be with someone who didn't want sex?"

The question was blunt and Barnum stared at the younger man a moment as the words sank in. He tilted his head to the side, lips just slightly parted.

"Is that why that man stormed out of here? Because you... rejected him?"

Phillip sighed. It was long and heavy and sad, and, for reasons he couldn't quite figure out, Barnum's heart twisted in his chest.

"I can't... bring myself... to want anyone," he muttered. Then he laughed, bitterly. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. You're a fucking stranger. But I can't... I don't—" He motioned toward his lap and Barnum, unthinkingly, followed with his eyes. When Phillip sighed again, he jerked his head upward to meet the younger's eyes, mentally smacking himself. "I don't feel anything... down there. I can't - my left side is paralyzed below the waist. I can't move the... muscles... necessary..." He drifted off, face burning bright red. He buried his face in his hands again.

Finally finding his voice, Barnum cleared his throat. "Nobody should want you just for sex, Phillip. And nobody should ever, ever attempt to force you into it."

Phillip didn't look up and didn't say a word. After a minute passed with no reaction, Barnum - not even thinking about the fact that this was only his second encounter with the man - impulsively drew Phillip into a hug. Benji yipped, caught in between the two men, and scrambled out of Phillip's lap. He barked in irritation before settling by Phillip's feet, carefully watching Barnum's every move.

Phillip managed a small chuckle at the dog's antics, and Barnum smiled as Phillip slowly wrapped his arms around him, returning the hug. Slowly, Barnum moved his hand up into Phillip's hair - pausing only when he felt a peculiar bump near the back of Phillip's head.

"Did he hit you?" Barnum inquired at once as they pulled away.

"What?"

"That man, did he... strike you? When you refused him?"

Phillip frowned. Then he brought his hand up to the back of his head, rubbing a finger over the spot where Barnum had his hand just moments before. Realization dawned on him, and his face fell. He stared at the wall.

"That's just my shunt," he muttered.

"Your... what?"

"The only thing keeping me alive," Phillip scoffed. "Surely you've heard about my 'condition.' All the reporters eat it up."

Barnum stared at him, blankly.

"Hydrocephalus. The shunt itself functions as a drain, and redirects the cerebral fluid build-up on my brain."

He got nothing, but a tilted head and confused smile in response.

Phillip sighed heavily and shifted to get up off the bed. "It's all right. I don't blame you for... for not knowing. People are so blind to all of the disabilities and sicknesses plaguing the world unless it's somehow impacting their own lives—"

"I'm sorry," Barnum interrupted. He reached out and curled his fingers around Phillip's wrist. The younger man looked down, wide-eyed, then back up at him, but didn't say a word. "I've heard of it, I've seen it in the papers. I just... forgot for a moment. Please, stay?"

Phillip stared at the man. He wanted to say no, but a feeling of...something...

(longing)

overcame him and he nodded, taking his seat next to Barnum once more. Barnum smiled softly and reached his head around to trace the odd bump in Phillip's head once more, fingers encased in the ultimate softness of his hair.

"Does it hurt?"

"My... shunt?"

Barnum nodded wordlessly.

Phillip shook his head. He reached back, his fingers tracing over Barnum's hand. "I haven't had a surgery - shunt or otherwise - since I was eight years old. Almost twenty-two years." He smiled wryly. "That's a lot in this game. I have no way of knowing when the next malfunction will be. And there are some things that I can't do because it might fuck up - I've never been on a rollercoaster with loops. And I collapsed in an underground cavern once, when I was fourteen, because different gravitational pulls can put too much or too little pressure on it."

Barnum's smile fell. "I'm sorry, Phil—"

"Don't pity me," Phillip snapped. Then he cringed, and sighed. "I'm... sorry. It's just... after dealing with pitying comments all your life, it gets really old really fast. And I'm not even halfway to sixty yet."

Barnum nodded, not knowing what to say. He glanced over at Benji, who had curled up, asleep, at the far corner of the bed.

"Well," he cleared his throat, standing after a moment of silence. "I'm glad you're okay, Phillip. I didn't mean to intrude, and I do sincerely apologize for barging in like I did. I'll leave you alone now."

He turned, with the full intention of leaving the room.

"Bar - Phineas, wait."

Barnum had to hold back a gasp when he felt a soft, warm hand intertwine their fingers. He looked down at Phillip, who looked up at him with bright, uncertain eyes.

"I... I don't drink, but I'd... still like to take you up on that offer, if that's all right? Perhaps somewhere with less alcohol. And... people." He wrinkled his nose.

A low, hearty chuckle erupted from within Barnum's chest. He gave Phillip's hand the tiniest of squeezes as he nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"I think we can figure something out."

***

There was nothing in the world that Phillip loved more than books.

When Barnum suggested, upon thinking back to all of the shelves he'd seen in Phillip's apartment, going to a hybrid coffee shop/book store a few blocks down, Phillip couldn't hold back his excitement. He'd flung himself at Barnum, arms wrapped loosely around his neck, before it registered with him what he'd done and he backed off quickly, murmuring apologies under his breath.

Barnum assured him that it was fine, he didn't mind, but on the inside his heart swelled. He cursed himself, telling himself that it may have been man storming out of Phillip's apartment earlier, but that didn't mean Phillip wanted anything to do with him in... that way. They were still practically strangers, he wasn't even out to Phillip yet... and, even if he was, Phillip wouldn't want him. He was so much older (and had been ditched because of his age time and time again), had too many financial troubles...

But, God, Phillip was beautiful.

He sat at a table, sipping his coffee (that he could barely afford) and watching with a smile as Phillip roamed the endless bookshelves. He came back with a stack of three or four books and set them on the table.

"Careful," Barnum chuckled, eyes roaming the spines of the books, taking in the titles. "You'll spill your coffee."

A light pink blush settled over Phillip's cheeks as he finally sat down and took a sip of the drink Barnum had ordered for him. Grimacing, he reached for the sugar.

Barnum laughed.

"What?" Phillip scowled, dipping a spoon into the sugar. "We're not all barbarians like you, y'know."

"Phillip, that coffee is already five shades lighter than the coffee gods ever intended coffee to be. How sweet do you need it?"

"I won't be happy 'til I've gone into diabetic shock, thank you."

Barnum laughed - a loud, rumbling sound that instantly brought attention to their table - and took a sip of his own near-black drink. Phillip eyed it with disgust, nose scrunched up, tongue poking out from between his lips.

"I tried black coffee once. Never again."

"I added sugar!"

"Yeah - maybe a speck."

Barnum smiled around his mug as he took another sip.

"Psychopath," Phillip muttered, shaking his head again. But the corners of his lips lifted up into a tiny smile, too.

***

The kiss upon Phillip's cheek was impulsive, accidental. Phillip stepped back, eyes wide, hand up to his face.

Barnum's eyes were equally as wide, equally as horrified. He swallowed, hard, and half-expected Phillip to run into his apartment, lock the door, and never speak to him again.

Instead, a slow smile spread across Phillip's face and he traced a finger along Barnum's jaw. He tilted his head, staring at the older man for a moment.

"Thank you for today, Phineas," he mumbled. Then, he slowly reached up and returned the kiss to Barnum's cheek.

He went inside and Barnum walked down the hall to his own apartment, face warm and belly doing somersaults like a schoolboy with his first crush.

***

A few nights later, after a trip down to the park (an outing together that, thankfully, wouldn't cost Barnum any money), they found themselves in Phillip's apartment. The sun was just beginning to set and, instead of parting ways like they normally would, Barnum simply followed Phillip inside.

Benji barked in that high-pitched, shrill sound, but seemed to remember Barnum - the man who'd been stealing his owner away these past few days - and settled down quicker than the first night the man and canine had met. Phillip smiled and knelt down, not caring that he was getting dog hair all over his dark pants. He hugged the dog to his chest and buried his face into Benji's soft fur.

"Family pet?" Barnum asked. He sat down in an armchair, crossing one leg over the other.

Phillip looked up, his face bright red. He clutched at the dog and Barnum was alarmed to see tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. He uncrossed his legs and sat perched at the edge of the seat, face contorting with concern.

Benji, sensing his owner's distress, licked Phillip's cheek and whined. Tears fell from Phillip's face, matting into the Yorkie's soft fur, and he shook with the effort to even out his breathing.

"I-I'm sorry," he gasped. "He's an... e-emotional support dog. Because I c-can't—"

He choked on a sob and Benji licked his face again, whining. Then the dog looked over at Barnum, with an expression of freakishly human-like concern crossing his face, and barked.

Barnum dropped to the floor and slowly crawled toward Phillip, who was still on his knees. He wrapped his arms around the younger man and felt him shake underneath his touch.

"Shhh," he murmured. "I'm sorry, Phillip, I didn't know—"

"N-No," Phillip whimpered. He scratched behind Benji's ears and the dog licked his face again. As the shaking slowly began to subside, he held the dog to his chest like a mother cradling an infant. "I... I know it's stupid. H-He's supposed to help...c-calm me down," he trembled with the effort to speak, "b-because I... I have... a-attacks, and—"

"You don't have to explain anymore, 'Lip," Barnum murmured - the nickname slipped out like honey and he didn't even realize it.

"I'm a... a f-freak," Phillip muttered. He couldn't even look at the man. "I can't even c-control my a-attacks anymore... I—"

"None of that," Barnum snapped. His tone was sharp, but he held Phillip close and stroked his face, his hair. "Lots of people have anxiety, Phillip. Lots of people have support animals. Please don't think you're anything less because of it."

Phillip hid his face in Barnum's chest and Barnum just sat there, holding him close, until he was ready to look up again. His eyes were red-rimmed and watery.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"None of tha—"

"You didn't let me finish." Phillip managed a tiny smile on shaking lips and rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry f-for... not even showing you around. I'm a terrible apartment host."

Barnum stared at him. As Phillip shifted, edging out of Barnum's hold, and stood up (Benji hopped out of his arms), the older man laughed.

"Yes," he teased. He looked at the main living space, which was designed as a living room and kitchen in one, and grinned. "Please, show me around this sprawling apartment."

Phillip smiled again, shakily, and held out his hand. Barnum took it, stood up, and was led on a five-second tour.

The last place they ended up, somehow, was the bathroom. It was hardly big enough to accommodate both of them and they stood almost intimately close.

"I - I don't think I have anything that'll fit you," Phillip muttered, eyeing Barnum's chest with pink-tinted cheeks.

"I could run to my apartment," Barnum offered. "I'll be right back."

"Are you sure? You don't have—"

"I live right down the hall, Phillip." Barnum teased, lightly playing with the collar of Phillip's shirt. "I'm not going to die in some freak fire while I'm gone."

Blushing harder, Phillip nodded. He walked Barnum to the door, with Barnum promising he'd be back in just a few minutes.

Back in his own apartment, he retrieved a change of clothes for that night and the next day. He stopped in the bathroom to brush his teeth, and he packed the toothbrush with him before exiting his own apartment. He paused again to close and lock the door, and then made his way to Phillip's residence, feeling like an excited little kid going to his very first sleepover.

Phillip's door was unlocked so he stepped inside. Phillip himself was nowhere around in the living room or kitchen, and he smiled to himself as he pushed open the bedroom door.

"Hey 'Lip, I—"

He paused.

Phillip stood facing the door, pajama bottoms on and in the process of taking off his shirt. He stared at Barnum like a deer caught in headlights and quickly yanked his shirt back down... but not before Barnum caught sight of the scars.

There were several littering his chest and stomach, but he zeroed in on one in particular. It indented deep into his skin, right above his naval, about three inches long, vertical, with a bunch of tinier horizontal markings crisscrossing it. Further down, below his naval and just above his waist, was a fainter, horizontal scar - one that was hardly visible, but it was aligned directly beneath the harsher, bigger marking.

Slowly, Barnum looked up into Phillip's eyes - shining with tears again that threatened to spill over. The younger man said nothing as he sat on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands.

"Phil—"

"You weren't supposed to see that."

"Phil, that scar looked... like it's been messed with—"

Phillip shook his head. "My... mother... wanted any surgery scars to be as close together as possible so they wouldn't... blemish multiple areas of my body. S-So each criss-cross represents a new shunt replacement - except they extended the most recent one, the one I got when I was eight, a little further down. That's the fainter one."

"And... the others?"

Phillip laughed bitterly. "You can thank my father for those. My mother's scar rule doesn't really apply when he took time out of his days to permanently remind me of what a fucking burden I am."

"He... hit—?"

"He did a lot more than just hit," Phillip sighed. He didn't go into further detail after that - his breathing was clipped as he struggled not to cry again.

Barnum strode across the room and enveloped Phillip in a strong, comforting embrace. The younger man buried his face in Barnum's shoulder, soaking his shirt with the tears that he couldn't hold back.

From the living room, Benji yelped. Then he came running.

"It's all right," Barnum whispered over and over again, rubbing the younger man's back. The dog at their feet whined and stood on his back legs, trying to get Phillip to pick him up. Phillip didn't notice and the dog settled for lying at his feet, nipping at his toes.

His toes that, Barnum noticed, were encased in socks.

"Phil..." Barnum murmured, holding the man at arm's length, tilting his chin up to look him in the eye. "Scars are nothing to be ashamed of, darling."

Phillip gasped at the nickname, but then he shook his head and jerked his face away. Barnum cupped his cheek in his hand and brought the man to face him again, as his other hand slowly lifted his shirt. Phillip tensed, but didn't try to yank away.

Barnum used the hand underneath Phillip's shirt to run a thumb over a jagged scar, slightly raised on the skin. He didn't ask for an explanation, but Phillip closed his eyes.

"A bottle," he sighed.

Barnum paused, and tilted his head.

"I d-don't drink because I'm... scared of accidentally blacking out and hitting my head," Phillip muttered. "When I was... nine or ten I found my father blackout drunk on the ground in the kitchen - this was before we were in the public eye all the time. I tried to wake him up and he... cut me... with pieces of a bottle that had shattered after he'd dropped it."

"Oh, Phillip."

Phillip closed his eyes again, tears wettening his lashes. Barnum half-wanted to lift his shirt further, to massage every one of the younger man's horror-filled blemishes, but he let the shirt drop and gently cupped the playwright's face in his hands.

Phillip's eyes fluttered open. "Phineas, wha—"

Barnum's lips were warm on his and his lips parted as he gasped, feeling his body tense. He was rather impartial to kissing - the idea of another person's saliva in his mouth didn't particularly appeal to him - but the way Barnum held him - one hand cupping his face, the other pressing into his back - made him relax and, slowly, he raised his hands up to entangle his fingers in the other man's hair.

The idea of being anywhere near another person's exposed genitals still repulsed him, made his skin crawl, but this... yes, he thought he could get used to this - to Barnum - just fine.

Barnum broke the kiss slowly, as if wanting to hold onto Phillip for as long as possible. His hand left Phillip's back and rose to cradle his face. Phillip leaned into the touch, blushing pink and smiling softly. He bit his lip, and Barnum chuckled.

"You're beautiful, 'Lip," Barnum ran his thumb along the other man's jaw before pulling him into a tight hug.

As Phillip laid his head against Barnum's shoulder, he had to fight to hold back the same tears that Barnum had, moments ago, kept from falling. He'd had a few relationships over the years, but none ever lasted long... and nobody ever called him beautiful. He was a cripple, whether he liked it or not, and nobody ever wanted the extra burden that came with the possibility of brain surgery looming over every corner. Hell, they didn't even want a person who couldn't—

Who couldn't—

"I can't," Phillip whimpered, pushing Barnum away. He pressed his hands to his eyes - he cried more than enough around Barnum. He wasn't going to cry again here, not now.

"What's wrong?"

He flinched when he felt the familiar rough, soft hand against his cheek. He kept his hands to his eyes.

Not here, not now.

"I can't give you what you want," Phillip whimpered again, dropping his hands from his face as he took a frantic step back.

Benji barked.

"'What I want'? Phillip, darling, what are you—"

Barnum paused, mouth forming a slight 'o' shape as he looked at Phillip as if seeing him in a whole new light.

"You think I won't want you... because I can't... fuck you?"

Coming from Barnum, it sounded so stupid and Phillip bit his lip so hard that he drew blood, just to keep from crying again. He winced and mentally kicked himself - why are you so weak, Phillip? why? - and shrank away as Barnum tried to reach out. The older man grabbed him by the wrist, his grip loose, but Phillip flinched against the wall nonetheless.

"Please don't... don't h-hit me," he whispered, cowering against the wall, trying to make himself as tiny as possible. He could feel the blood dribbling down his lip, to his chin, could taste something metallic on his tongue, but he didn't care about that. Instead, he brought his hands up to his head - his father knew all his weak spots, who's to say Barnum didn't, too? - and squeezed his eyes shut.

On the floor, Benji barked and barked. Whining, he clawed at Phillip's pajama leg and, sensing his distress, turned to growl at Barnum. He sat perched with his ears pulled back - despite being such a small dog, he was ready to attack if need be - and snarled at the older man.

"Phillip," Barnum's voice broke and he cringed. "I'm not going to hit you."

He wanted to approach him, but, between the dog and the fact that Phillip looked ready to flee if he so much as touched his shoulder, he held himself back and watched with helpless eyes.

"Please, darling. I would never..."

He drifted off when he noticed Phillip peering out from between his fingers like a child cowering from a neglectful parent. Then, he realized, like a sharp punch to the gut, that perhaps Phillip was. Barnum was a big man and older by at least fifteen years. And that man that Barnum had seen angrily stalking out of Phillip's apartment several days ago, the one that had practically started all of this... he had to have been older than Phillip by at least five years, if not five more. If he had reacted in a violent way to Phillip rejecting him for sex...

Barnum was not a stranger to emotion, but, ever since Charity turned his life upside down, the more sensitive side to the businessman had, for a lack of better words, taken a backseat. There was a period of time before Phillip moved in, alone in the apartment complex, where Barnum had felt... empty, but not necessarily sad. The depression that had hit him in that short period of time had been something out of lack of motivation. Not true despair.

Now, though, as he stared upon a weeping man he had only known for a few weeks, true sadness hit him. For the first time in a long time, he felt a hitch in his breath that might suggest tears. He was horrified that Phillip had been misused so much, misguided so much, that he would be genuinely led to believe that he deserved to be hit, physically abused, over something as... over-exaggerated as sex. Sex was good, but, despite what the modern expectations of society wanted everyone to believe, it didn't define everything in a relationship.

And Barnum, truth be told, could live without it. He was getting older, it was not the most important thing in his life. Hell, wed to Charity, it never really had been.

"I'm not going to hit you," Barnum said again, voice like a low rumble, thick with emotion and coming from deep within his chest. He stayed back, knowing his place, but his fingers twitched - he yearned to hold Phillip.

Then he was struck with an idea.

Barnum turned and left the bedroom. Crossing into the semi-familiar living space, he hurried over to the bookshelves and selected a random book. Taking a deep breath, he set the book on the coffee table and then called for Phillip.

No reaction.

Barnum stared at the doorway to the bedroom, biting the inside of his cheek. Then he grabbed the book from the table and went back to the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.

When the door shut with a 'click,' Phillip jumped. His hands fell from his face and his eyes widened in alarm.

"I'm sorry," Barnum said at once, opening the door again. Then, he sat on the bed with his book in lap and motioned Phillip forward. "Sit with me?"

Phillip backed up, face as white as a sheet. His hand hung in front of him again, but this time he didn't take notice.

"I've got a book for you," Barnum told him. He held up the book so Phillip could see the cover.

The words blurred in Phillip's teary vision, but he just managed to make them out. "The... N-Night Circus?"

"Have you read it?"

"Not... yet," he whispered.

Barnum reached out, without rising from the bed, and this time Phillip let him hold his hand. He gently pulled Phillip forward and the younger man sat next to him on the mattress. They sat practically thigh-to-thigh and Barnum could feel him shaking.

"Can you read this to me?" he requested softly, handing the book to Phillip.

The book shook so violently in Phillip's trembling hands that Barnum wasn't sure how the younger man could even read the words on the page, but he did. As he started to read, his voice slowly evened out and his hands stilled.

"The c-c-circus arrives without w-w-warning..."

***

Phillip finally fell asleep slumped against Barnum's shoulder, The Night Circus falling into his lap. Barnum kissed his forehead as he laid him down and, before tucking him beneath the covers, he slowly removed the man's socks.

He paused, and sucked in a breath.

Phillip's right foot was normal, but his left one, the one effected with cerebral palsy, was smaller and narrower. His paralyzed toes flexed slightly in his sleep, giving a tiny implication of movement, but they bunched together, unable to move on their own. The second-to-smallest toe seemed somewhat overlapped by the two surrounding it, and the padding on Phillip's big toe was rough with callouses from the way he carried himself on that particular foot.

Glancing up at Phillip's sleeping face, Barnum kissed his cheek and pulled back. Balling the socks and tossing them into the hamper, Barnum got off the bed, gathered his clothing, and went to change in the bathroom. Upon returning, he crawled underneath the covers and drew Phillip close to him. Tension still thrummed through the younger man's sleeping body and Barnum cradled him to his chest as he rubbed his back.

He fell asleep with Phillip held tight in his arms.

***

Barnum was woken in the middle of the night by a cry.

Turning over, he peered sleepily at Phillip, who had the covers thrown to the side. He stared down at his feet, chewing at his healing lip.

"Phil?" Barnum mumbled. Glancing blearily at the clock, he saw it was just past two in the morning. "What are you doing up?"

His head snapped upwards and he looked at Barnum in alarm. "Where are my socks?" he asked.

"I... put them in the hamper." Barnum sat up, confused, and watched as Phillip scrambled for his dresser and pulled out a fresh pair. As he slipped them onto his feet, Barnum said, "you don't have to do that."

"Yes I do," Phillip whispered, choking over his own words.

"Phil—"

Phillip sighed as he glanced down toward the end of the bed, where Barnum's own feet were still covered by the blankets. "You have perfect feet, just like everyone else. You... You don't know how maddening it is to not be able to move your own toes. I don't want to see them," he said, avoiding Barnum's gaze.

With a sigh, Barnum reached out. Something troubled was hidden in Phillip's eyes and he had a feeling it had something more to do with just feet. Phillip let Barnum take him, but did not reciprocate.

"Talk to me," Barnum urged. He tilted Phillip's face up, peered into his eyes. "You have bags underneath your eyes, darling." He sounded awestruck, like he was just discovering them for the first time. How had he not noticed before that Phillip wasn't getting any sleep?

"It's not important." Phillip shook his head.

"You're losing sleep."

"It's nothing I'm not used to."

Barnum stared at him as he tried to figure what to say that would make Phillip talk to him. Phillip shifted, crossing his legs so he sat criss-cross style, and sighed.

"It's nothing, Phineas. Please," he rested his hand against Barnum's cheek, "don't worry about it."

"I want you to be able to talk to me." Barnum took hold of Phillip's wrist, lowered the playwright's hand from his face, and slowly rubbed circles into Phillip's palm. "You don't have to be afraid around me," he lowered his eyes, "please know that."

When he looked up again, Phillip's lips were trembling. He pulled his hand away and scooted toward the edge of the bed. Barnum thought he was going to get up and leave the room, but he simply sat, perched on the edge of the bed, and leaned forward. He shivered, though Barnum wasn't sure if it was because he was cold, or because of the words that he confessed.

"I have... anxiety attacks, alone at night."

He sounded like he was fighting to spit out every word, but he didn't sound ready to cry. Barnum shifted behind him, and wrapped his arms around Phillip's shoulders, holding him close.

"We can get you help," he whispered, though he didn't have the slightest clue how he would afford it. He showered Phillip's neck with lighter-than-air kisses, silently urging him to continue.

Phillip sighed. "A therapist isn't going to help me, Phineas. At least, I... I don't think they will. It's not something that - that—"

He paused, hesitated. Barnum laid his head on Phillip's shoulder, silently urging him to continue.

Phillip's next confession was whispered so silently that Barnum had to strain to hear him.

"I stay up at night thinking about... f-fearing... death."

Barnum took a deep breath. His parents both passed when he was a child, his father going when he'd been about fifteen. He knew how scary the thought could be - though, his experience with death had been more losing the people around him. Not so much worrying about it himself - he took it more as, simply, a fact of life.

"Phillip, we all—"

"You don't understand," Phillip whispered. "I can feel it."

"I—"

Barnum didn't know what to say to that.

Phillip trembled, but didn't cry. "I had... my first surgery when I was three days old. They had a week to install the first shunt, or else I would've died without ever knowing life. Growing up, I had... a dozen surgeries, one on my leg, but the others all shunt related. They were all fucking terrifying, but there was one in particular when I was five. My parents almost waited too late - when my shunt fucks up, I only have hours. Hours, Phineas, and my father refused to take me to the hospital because he thought I was making the pain up. It wasn't until I collapsed that they... r-rushed me there, almost too late. My parents almost had to buy a child-sized c-coffin because I couldn't get myself to the hospital."

Barnum felt a lump in his throat. He buried his face in Phillip's hair.

"I can... feel it. The blackness, the nothingness, the feeling of nonexistence. I've... always been highly empathetic." Phillip struggled to take a deep breath, struggled to force air into his lungs. "I don't have to experience something to know what it feels like. And I - when I imagine death, that's what it is. Nothing."

It was dark, Phillip had his back to Barnum, but he could hear Phillip sniffle. Regardless of whether he was crying or not, Barnum brought him into the tightest, warmest embrace, and guided Phillip's hand up to his own heart.

"As long as you feel that beat, you don't have to be afraid," Barnum promised.

Turning, Phillip found himself captured in a kiss. It was slow, Barnum's lips were warm, and he sighed against the older man's mouth. Barnum pulled them chest to chest and Phillip swore he could feel the thrum of the older man's heart. When they pulled away, Phillip put his hand to Barnum's chest.

Hands on Phillip's arms, Barnum slowly laid back, pulling Phillip with him. Phillip shifted, fitting next to P.T. like a puzzle piece. He wrapped his arm around Barnum's chest, drinking in the heat and his heartbeat, as he sighed.

"As long as I'm here, you won't have to go through that alone." Barnum's hand was in Phillip's hair, running through the soft, slept-on locks, gently thumbing over the indentions that marked Phillip's shunt. Phillip whimpered.

"I wouldn't want to wake you—" he started.

"You've been alone for so long, Phillip. I don't give a fuck if it's nine p.m. or four a.m. Wake me up. Whatever you do, just please don't go through those terrors alone again."

"Phin���"

"Promise me."

Phillip looked at Barnum. His face was hidden within the shadows of the dark room, but his intense eyes glittered, locking onto Phillip's. Slowly, Phillip finally nodded as he laid down against Barnum's shoulder.

"I promise," he whispered.

***

Before they went back to bed, Barnum urged Phillip to take off his socks.

He protested at first - he didn't want anyone taking notice of his messed up foot, not even in the privacy of his own bedroom - but finally relented after quiet, heartfelt promises telling him that it was all right, it was just a foot, it was just the two of them in the room (besides Benji, who slept curled by the door), and nobody would make fun of him for it.

So Phillip went to bed with his socks off, legs entwined with Barnum's as they slept face-to-face.

***

Weeks passed, slowly dissolving into months. They became even closer, stayed with each other more and more. Phillip started to crave Barnum's warmth and his gentle, loving touches that he danced across the younger man's body.

Sometimes, when Barnum was asleep, Phillip would lie awake. But though the ever-lurking threat of death always lingered at the back of his mind, that's not what kept him up at night and he never felt the need to wake Barnum. Instead, as he looked upon Barnum's sleeping face, he would kiss his hair, his eyelids. He would hug Barnum close and wonder how he'd gotten so lucky.

If they'd never met in that elevator, who knew whether they'd ever end up speaking, despite living right down the hall from one another?

Worries did still plague Phillip, though. Sometimes, when Barnum tightened his arms around him, or rose his hand in greeting, Phillip would flinch. He couldn't shake the fear that, someday, Barnum would snap - demand sex from him, perhaps even try to force him down. The playwright couldn't figure out how Barnum hadn't, yet - hell, if Barnum pleasured himself at all, it was never while Phillip was around. He had no idea how a man like P.T. could stand being with someone who wouldn't - couldn't - perform sexually.

He tried his best to hide these feelings from P.T., but P.T. wasn't blind. He noticed when Phillip would recoil away from his touch.

They had taken up to reading together, which often featured Phillip reading to Barnum in his living room. They were about a third of the way through The Night Circus and that day, Phillip settled himself in Barnum's lap. They both wore sweats, enjoying a lazy, rainy day inside, and, so long as Barnum didn't try coaxing the organ between Phillip's legs to life, he could relax. He enjoyed settling in the older man's lap, Barnum's arms around him, book opened to their next advancement in the world of magic. Barnum would often lie his head back, close his eyes, and soak in the sounds of Phillip's silky smooth voice as he read to him.

That day, however, as Phillip read, lost in a world of magicians and dark competitions, he felt... fingers. Creeping up his inner thigh, getting dangerously close to a certain spot below his waist.

He gasped and moved so quickly that he practically tumbled off Barnum's lap, to the floor. The book slammed shut on the tips of his fingers and he winced - from shock rather than pain - but everything happened far too quickly for him to even register what was going on.

Barnum shot up, sat up straight in his seat, and looked at Phillip with wide eyes. He rubbed at his face as he asked, "What's happened? Are you all right?"

Benji had taken to tending to Phillip and was already in his lap, licking at his fingers. Phillip used his free hand to wipe at his eyes. As he gazed upon Barnum now, he didn't see a smirking man with wandering hands - rather, just a man in sweats and disheveled hair who looked half-asleep, having started to lull off to the sound of Phillip's voice.

Phillip's face burned bright and he glued his eyes onto the dog in his lap. He looked up only when he felt fingers lifting his chin, and shied away from the touch.

"Phillip."

Barnum's eyes held nothing but concern. A lump formed in Phillip's throat that he couldn't force down.

"Did I do something wrong?" Barnum asked, quietly.

"N-No," Phillip gulped. "It's... stupid."

Barnum sighed and rubbed his thumb across the younger man's cheek. Instead of shying away again, Phillip leaned into the touch. "I notice when you flinch away from me."

Phillip froze. His eyes flicked to Barnum's like a deer caught in headlights.

"I'm not going to touch you," Barnum swore, "not unless you want it. Please, darling. Trust me."

Phillip glanced down at Barnum's other hand, the one that he had rested on his knee. That hand wasn't touching him, not in any way, but Barnum saw the way he looked at him, like a child waiting to be disciplined by a parent.

"Phillip." Barnum pulled away and rested both hands on his knees, palms facing upward. "I. Will. Not. Hurt. You."

Phillip closed his eyes. In his blackened vision, he saw the man he'd brought back to his apartment several weeks - months? - ago. He saw the man hovering over him, shirtless, a hand raised, ready to strike if Phillip didn't lie on the bed like a good little boy and take it. It was only when he'd screamed, and clawed and kicked the man that he'd left the apartment, growling and grumbling under his breath.

"—with me? Are you with me, 'Lip?"

Barnum gasped when Phillip kissed him, falling backward and briefly supporting himself on his hands when he felt Phillip's lips on his. Then he straightened up, kissing back just momentarily before gently pulling Phillip away from him.

"I'm sorry," the younger man murmured, encircling his arms around Barnum and lying his head on his chest. He felt a comforting hand on his back and sighed. "It was an accident. I know."

"You keep apologizing." Barnum chuckled, but his words held a hint of despair underneath. "You don't ever have to apologize for what you do and don't want."

"But—"

"It's okay, Phil. Now, c-mon—"

Barnum was interrupted when Phillip squeezed him, hugging so tightly that Barnum gasped. He laid his head against Barnum's chest and breathed in deeply. Barnum rubbed his back as he exhaled.

When the first "I love you" escaped Phillip's parted lips, the room stilled.

***

Realization over when he'd just said dawned on Phillip a few seconds after the words themselves escaped his lips. He blushed and fumbled, making up some excuse as he stuttered with embarrassment.

Barnum kissed him to shut him up.

"You deserve the world, darling," Barnum mumbled as the kiss broke. He ran his hand through Phillip's hair and lightly massaged his scalp. "I will do everything in my power to give it to you."

A content little sigh escaped Phillip's lips. He closed his eyes, snuggled close, and held Barnum tight. They still sat on the living room floor, but he pressed himself as physically close to Barnum as he could get and Barnum himself leaned back against an armchair to support himself upright.

Phillip was content and his embarrassment had faded. He was relaxed, well and truly, and his eyes stayed closed as he leaned into Barnum's massaging fingers. Most every fiber of Phillip's being was focused on the hand in his hair, the thumb running lightly over the two little bumps that marked his shunt.

But a teeny tiny part of Phillip wasn't focused on Barnum's touch. It wasn't focused on Barnum's lips as he pressed them, gently, to Phillip's forehead. No, that teeny part of Phillip was busy attempting to send alarm bells ringing throughout the rest of his head. That teeny part was trying to get the rest of Phillip's brain to focus on what it, and only it, had picked up on.

Phillip told Barnum he loved him. And, though it slipped, he had meant it. Whole and truly.

Barnum told Phillip he 'deserved the world.' And he meant it, whole and truly. He would do everything in his power to make sure Phillip did not feel alone or afraid again.

But he had not said 'I love you' back.

***

Barnum wasn't sure whether he could tell Phillip.

Most of the money Charity had stolen from him, months ago now, had finally been recovered. He was contacted immediately and, after verification that the money was his, it'd been returned to him in silence - no big newspaper articles or celebrations about it. He was a wealthy man once more, but... truth be told... he wasn't sure he wanted to reinstate his business.

Being with Phillip made him realize how fucking valuable life was, and P.T. Barnum was no man suited for any ordinary job. Of course, being as wealthy as he was, he was certain that no average person would call his job "ordinary," but it was... boring. He'd come to realize that he hated his suit-and-tie, 9-to-5 life. Despite the hell Charity put him through, and despite the crummy little apartment he was now living in, it was almost as if she'd sent him on a little vacation - and now that he'd gotten a taste of freedom, he never wanted to go back.

And, had it not been for Charity pulling the rug from beneath his feet, Barnum could not be certain that he would have ever met Phillip.

Phillip.

God, words could not describe how much he'd fallen for that man. Being with Phillip made him come alive and appreciate life for what it truly was - precious. He desperately wanted the younger man to love himself, to accept himself for his flaws, and that passion, that desire, to help Phillip battle through the demons that had haunted him all his almost-thirty years of life had not dulled, not since the moment he'd met the man in the elevator.

When Phillip told Barnum he loved him, in such a casual state - sitting on the living room floor together, the playwright sleepy against his arm - Barnum's heart swelled and he'd nearly cried then and there. He wanted to hug Phillip, to shower him in kisses (as corny as it sounded), and twirl him around. He wanted to tell Phillip that he loved him too, God he loved him so much, and that he would be treasured, the way that he was, for the rest of Barnum's natural life.

But, for the first time since begging for money on the streets, Phineas Taylor Barnum found himself absolutely, positively tongue-tied.

He wanted to trust Phillip. He did. But he couldn't help it - what if Phillip learned of his reclaimed fortune and took off with it, just as Charity had?

There was no real reason to fear this - Phillip himself was quite wealthy already, and he'd told Barnum he loved him before he knew of Barnum's reinstated profits. But the fear twisted at his gut nonetheless... and he missed his opportunity.

So, instead of telling Phillip that he loved him too, so, so much, he stayed silent. Like the foolish man he was, he blurted out the only other thing that came to his mind.

"You deserve the world, darling. I will do everything in my power to give it to you."

Phillip did deserve the world. God, he deserved it so much after all he'd been through during his mere three decades of life. But, despite everything screaming at him to tell him, Barnum could not bring himself to add on those three little, but oh-so-powerful words to his vow.

If Phillip noticed, he said nothing of it.

It was not late, but the rain outside had started to lull the young playwright to sleep, and Barnum lifted him in his arms to carry him to the bedroom. He removed Phillip's socks and tucked the young man in, but he himself had to leave - he had a call to his bank to make.

***

The headache came like any other. Phillip woke up groaning - his head pounded and he ached all over, but he'd had aches worse than this with the common cold.

Turning, he realized the bed was empty. Benji replaced Barnum and laid, snoring, on the older man's pillow. Phillip reached out - his fingers swam blurry in front of him - and stroked the dog's soft fur, but Benji laid unbothered.

When he tried to sit up, a wave of dizziness hit him. He groaned and collapsed back on the bed and against the pillows. He was rubbing his forehead when Barnum strolled into the room, dressed, a lazy and teasing smile on his face.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Carlyle," he chuckled.

"Afternoon?" Phillip muttered, squinting. His head hurt too much to think and he winced.

Barnum nodded and gestured to the clock on the nightstand beside the bed.

Phillip turned his head, gasping in pain, and tried to read the clock. He could vaguely make out a 12 before his vision went fuzzy and he collapsed, groaning, against his pillow.

His head hurt even worse lying down.

Tears formed in Phillip's eyes. He shakily called Barnum's name.

The man was by his side in an instant, pushing his hair back. "Are you all right?" he quipped. His face blurred.

"Medicine," Phillip groaned, "and water. Please."

Barnum nodded. He tried to help Phillip sit up, but his world exploded in pain and he cried out as he fell back against the pillows again. Lying down, his head legitimately felt like it was about to explode.

Phillip sobbed with the pain.

He heard a faint whining noise and then felt a tiny Terrier tongue on his cheek. He reached blindly for Benji, but then a blurry, bigger figure was in front of him, handing him a glass with something in it that moved and splashed.

"Here," Barnum urged, voice laced with concern, "take this."

Phillip struggled to sit up so Barnum hand-fed him the pills and held him up as he drank water. His hands shook so terribly that the water splashed over the side, soaking his hands and pajamas.

He felt the bed shift with new weight, and then strong arms were around him, pulling him close.

"Are you all right?" Barnum murmured worriedly in his ear. His vision was still blurry, but he felt a feather-light kiss against his earlobe, felt the warmth of Barnum's lips, and relaxed a little.

"H-Help me stand up?"

"Are you su—"

"I need to... bathroom. I need the bathroom."

Barnum nodded - just watching the motion made Phillip's head explode with new pain - and helped Phillip up, a firm grip on the younger man's arm.

Gasping through the pain and the ever-blurry sight, Phillip took the tiniest of steps forward.

And collapsed to the floor.

***

He came to, screaming, when he felt the IV needle pierce his arm. He thrashed and thrashed, trying to yank away from the needle sticking out of his skin, but doctors held him down. Doctors, and—

And familiar hands, a familiar scent. Familiar eyes that blurred together in Phillip's panicked state.

"Phin," he gasped. He could feel the tears wettening his cheeks, but doctors held his arms down and he couldn't wipe his face. "P.T.!" he cried out, feeling a familiar eight-year-old fright. "Phineas!"

He gasped and struggled for breath. Barnum's hands were on his face, brushing the tears away. He felt the briefest ghosting of lips against his own.

"I'm here. I'm here."

Barnum was crying.

Why was he crying?

He shouldn't be crying.

Phillip tried to reach out. His vision blackened at the edges.

From somewhere far away, he heard someone ask, "can you rate the pain, Mr. Carlyle? On a scale of one to ten—"

"Ten!" he screamed out. "Eleven! Ele—"

Phillip Carlyle swirled around and around, and tumbled into blackness.

***

He faded in and out of consciousness a few times before the actual surgery, but he only clearly remembered one thing.

The CAT scan.

He used to call it a spaceship when he was younger. It was a big, round machine that was supposed to take pictures of his brain. They put something on him - he wasn't sure what it was, but it was supposed to prevent other parts of his body from being scanned. It was like a big, heavy bib.

He remembered coming in and out of consciousness. He remembered entering the spaceship, he remembered heavy pressure on his chest, and he remembered the doctors taking x-ray like photos of his brain. He remembered the clicks, the murmured talking between doctors in the room. He remembered voices telling him to stay absolutely, positively still.

He didn't know it then, but Barnum was also in the room. Biting his knuckles, watching his boy go into the CT

(spaceship)

machine. There were tears on his face. He was shaking, crying, coming completely undone, and all he wanted, more than anything, was to be held. To be held, like he was a child again, and rocked, and told everything was going to be okay.

But he couldn't be held, he couldn't be rocked, he couldn't be told everything was going to be okay because his boy was about to have life-threatening

(life-saving)

brain surgery.

Phillip Carlyle remembered nothing after that.

***

When he came to again, all was still. He groaned and lifted an aching arm to shield his eyes from the achingly bright light.

Everything was still.

Everything was silent.

His head didn't hurt anymore, he observed. But his stomach hurt like—

"Am I in hell?" he muttered.

"Afraid not, darling."

A warm blush erupted throughout the entirety of Phillip's body and he looked over at the source of the voice. Barnum sat in a chair beside the bed. He was smiling, but his eyes were red-rimmed and his face was pale. He reached out to Phillip and grazed his fingertips, but then pulled back like he was afraid to touch the man in the hospital bed.

"Phineas?"

He licked his lips in discomfort - they were chapped and dry, and his throat scratched with thirst. His tongue was dry, heavy, and tasteless in his mouth. He swallowed, but all that did was fuel the fire ravaging his throat.

He felt Barnum clasp his hand between both of his, and he watched with bleary eyes as the older man brought his hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. Barnum had been crying - Phillip could feel the wetness of his tears drip onto the back of his hand.

"Phillip," Barnum rasped, "oh, God. I thought I lost you."

Phillip smiled, but it was weak and the corners of his lips trembled.

"Just another shunt surgery is all."

"You collapsed, darling. You don't even - you probably don't even remember speaking with the doctors, do you? Or going into surgery?"

He remembered the IV needle, and the spaceship. That was all.

When he reported this to Barnum, he was stunned to hear the responding sob that erupted from his throat.

"God, Phillip, I've never been so... fucking terrified—"

He was interrupted by a doctor who knocked onto the door and came into the room. The doctor was pleased to see that Phillip appeared to be much more coherent, and he reported that the surgery went well - his old, failed shunt had been removed and replaced with a newer, stronger one.

"Hopefully we won't see you here again for another twenty years," the doctor teased. Phillip did not laugh.

He told Phillip that he would have to stay overnight for observation, to make sure the new shunt was working well, but that was not new news. Phillip had vague memories of staying overnight at the hospital after his surgeries as a child. They often served him pancakes in the morning.

Then, the doctor dropped a bombshell that shattered Phillip's world.

"Your parents are here to see you."

***

"My parents?!" Phillip rasped after the doctor left. He had mere minutes before they came barging into the room. "What are my parents doing here?!"

"Relax," Barnum mumbled. He knelt beside the bed and gently took Phillip's face in his hands. "If they get out of hand, we can ask them to leave."

"Does - does anyone know? The media, the reporters—"

Barnum took a deep breath.

"I saw reporters outside the hospital, yes," he admitted. Phillip's stomach clenched with fear. "Physical copies probably won't be published until tomorrow, but online - it wouldn't surprise me to find your face in an article, at this very moment."

"Oh, great," Phillip sighed. He leaned back and his eyes stung, but whether it was from exhaustion or tears, he didn't know.

"Please, just try to relax. It'll be over in no time." Barnum took hold of his hand.

"But—"

"I know it'll be hard," the older man mumbled. He leaned forward and softly pressed his lips to Phillip's, "but I will not let either of them touch you. I'm here, and," he paused, deep whiskey eyes looking into tired blue, "I - I love you, Phillip."

***

Phillip was a fool for hoping, for even daring to hope, that the encounter with his parents would go over well. Yet, despite everything he'd experienced by his father's hands, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope in his stomach as they awaited Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle's arrival.

That flicker quickly burnt out.

"Well, well," Mr. Carlyle's familiar sneer sent a jolt of fear down Phillip's spine, "I should've known you'd never amount to anything, boy."

"Like this is anything I could control," Phillip snapped. "Hydro—"

"Yes, yes, we know all about your condition. Have you forgotten who kept you alive your first eight years?"

Mrs. Carlyle rested a hand against her husband's arm. She murmured something that Phillip couldn't hear, and Mr. Carlyle relaxed his shoulders - but the sneer was still plastered on his face like he was looking at a pile of dog shit on his shoe.

"I see you've picked up more than one condition," he spat.

Phillip's eyes flickered over to Barnum, who stood, broad-shouldered and head held high, in the corner and took it. Phillip gulped. Barnum may be older than he was, but that didn't mean he deserved to hear Mr. Carlyle's paralyzing (no pun intended) words, either.

"Leave Phineas out of this, Father," Phillip commanded, quietly.

"Oh?" Mr. Carlyle laughed - a nasty, nasally sound. "It's got a name! How sweet."

"Honey," Mrs. Carlyle placed her hand on her husband's arm. She dropped her voice, but Phillip could still hear. "That's Phineas Barnum."

Mr. Carlyle stared at his wife, but realization dawned in his eyes after just a moment. With a sneer, he turned to Barnum.

"So," he began, eyebrow raised, "your wife is gone, you've lost everything, so you've taken to fucking my son?"

Phillip's face flamed bright red and a lump formed in his throat. His eyes flicked to Barnum as the older man clenched his jaw.

"Your son is not an animal, Mr. Carlyle," Barnum began. "I realize it's none of your business, but, if you must know, I have not, and will never, 'take to fucking your son.' Phillip deserves so much more than—"

"Phillip deserves what?" Mr. Carlyle scoffed. "Phillip is a cripple, Mr. Barnum. He can hardly think for himself, let alone—"

"How dare you speak about your only son that way," Barnum spat. "He is your flesh and blood. He is the carrier of your family name. He is—"

"He's a fucking freak, is what he is."

Phillip had all but curled himself up in the hospital bed when Jonathan Carlyle came over and slapped his son straight in the face. Crying out, Phillip shrank against the bed with stinging eyes as he struggled to hold back tears and soothe his cheek all at the same time.

The smirk was on Mr. Carlyle's lips only a second before Barnum had him up and pressed against the wall. Jonathan Carlyle's advancing age betrayed him as he clawed at Barnum's hand in an attempt to get the pressure off his throat. Barnum did not squeeze hard enough to choke him, but the elder Carlyle would need to wear a scarf or high-collar shirt if he wished to hide the marks that would inevitably form on his skin.

"You will never touch him again," Barnum hissed through his teeth, all but spitting in Mr. Carlyle's face, "do you understand me?"

He let go of Jonathan Carlyle then and the man fought for breath, tears forming at the corners of his eyes as he sucked in unrestricted air.

"I'll have you arrested!" he threatened, pointing a shaking finger at Barnum as he straightened up. "I, I'll—"

"I don't think so," Barnum tutted, shaking his head. "If you do choose to press charges, Mr. Carlyle, my lawyers will see to it that you serve the time for child abuse and neglect that you should have served twenty years ago."

Phillip's eyes flicked to the door. His father had closed it upon entering, and he hadn't noticed until just then. It was the only reason nurses weren't barging into the room and Barnum and his father weren't being led away in handcuffs.

"Lawyers?" Mr. Carlyle barked out a laugh that made Phillip flinch. It reminded him of his younger days, when his father would stand over him with a cane, laughing and cackling into his ear as he cowered on the floor. "What lawyers? Your bitch of a wife saw to it that you don't have a shred of a dime left, Mr. Barnum."

In response, Barnum just laughed.

"I may have married a talking dog," he said, ever-familiar smirk curling at his lips, "but she wasn't nearly as smart as her canine counterparts. Did you really think that money would stay hidden away forever, Mr. Carlyle?"

Phillip's eyes widened.

Barnum... had his money back? Since when? Why hadn't he moved out?

Why had he... stayed?

Mr. Carlyle's expression mirrored his son's, though neither of the older men took notice to Phillip's shock. Mrs. Carlyle had backed herself into a corner and watched the escalating scuffle in silence, hands pressed up to her mouth. She had tears in her eyes.

"You don't—"

"I do," Barnum grinned.

Jonathan Carlyle's face reddened. "I will not see to—"

"The only thing I would like to see to you doing, Mr. Carlyle, is turning around and walking right out of this hospital room."

"Phillip—"

"—is a grown man who can make his own decisions, no matter how you view his mind or his body."

Mr. Carlyle stood there, in silent rage, for what felt like a lifetime. Then he turned, grabbed his wife by her arm, and stormed out the door.

The door slammed shut behind them.

Phillip laid in silence, trying so hard to hold back his tears that his skin trembled with the effort. When Barnum knelt, delivering a feather-light kiss to his mouth, he couldn't hold back his sob. Despite the awkward angle, Barnum sat there and held him until he cried every last tear he had in his system into the older man's shirt.

"I'm s-s-sorry," Phillip choked as he pulled back.

"Please don't. You've got nothing to apologize for."

"Ph-Phineas," Phillip whispered, his lips trembling, "the m-money—"

"We can discuss that later, but I suspect a doctor will be barging in here at any moment given the racket we just made. Straighten up now, darling. Wipe those tears and look pretty."

Barnum finished the statement with a smirk, and Phillip smacked his arm. His was exhausted, physically and emotionally, but Barnum's familiar teasing ways had him blushing like a lovestruck teenage girl.

"Phineas, your shirt—"

"Don't you worry about that. Sit up, now."

Phillip nodded. He sat up in bed just as the door opened and his doctor poked his head into the room.

***

The first thing to greet them upon their arrival home the next day was Benji. They could almost hear the Yorkie's yaps from a mile away.

Phillip dropped to his knees just inside the doorway and Barnum chuckled as he nudged the door shut. Benji scrambled up Phillip's chest, nails finding a hold in his shirt, and his laughter lit up the whole apartment as he leaned back against the wall, being assaulted by a small Terrier tongue.

"He missed you," Barnum commented, smiling, as he dropped his coat across the back of a chair. Phillip stood up with the dog in his arms.

"Has he eaten?" Phillip fretted. "He probably needs to go out. We were gone all night, I—"

"Relax, darling. I stayed here last night."

"You did?"

Barnum nodded.

Phillip looked around the apartment, taking note, for the first time, of how everything was neat, but, upon closer inspection, had the slightest look of disarray about it. A chair at the kitchen table was slightly crooked, not pushed in all the way. There was a book on the coffee table that hadn't been there yesterday. Benji's food bowl had crumbs at the bottom, and he had a fresh bowl of water about half full.

Phillip looked down at the floor. When footsteps and a familiar hand tilted his face up, he kissed Barnum, the dog held in between them.

"Thank you," he mumbled as they pulled away.

"Common courtesy, 'Lip. Something that your father, I bet, couldn't even define if we asked him."

The tiniest of smiles tugged at Phillip's lips and he sighed as he lowered himself onto the couch. Benji squirmed to get out of his arms and small nails clacked against the floorboards as he scurried off to find a toy.

"I should probably let him out," Phillip decided out loud, having not been seated on the couch for a full two minutes before he attempted getting up again. He was stopped by Barnum's hand on his chest, pushing him back.

"In a minute. We need to talk." Barnum sat on the couch, holding Phillip's hands in his. When Phillip avoided his gaze, he said, "it's nothing to be afraid of, 'Lip. We just need to talk about what you've found out. Please, look at me."

"The money," Phillip stated as their eyes met.

Barnum nodded.

Phillip's eyes were glued to his hands again. His hands which were in his lap, nervously twisting and untwisting.

"I understand," Phillip sighed, causing Barnum to tilt his head as he listened. "You've got your money back. You'll want to move out and move on. I... get it. I'll miss you." A lump formed in his throat. "But I get it."

"Phil—"

"You'll probably want to go back to your home, right? That big, sprawling mansion - it was all over the news when you moved out."

"Phillip, the bank took that home away from me. It's not mine anymore."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's okay too, right? You can look for a bigger, better home. You don't have to live in these stuffy little apartments anymore."

The remark confused Barnum. If Phillip thought the apartments were so 'stuffy,' why move in in the first place? Phillip wasn't as wealthy as his father, but he was not a poor man by any means.

"You live here," Barnum pointed out. "You live here, but I know you've got more than three dollars in your bank account, Phil."

Phillip scoffed, but something caught in his throat. Something... like a cry forced back. Tears unshed.

Barnum did not miss it.

"What's wrong?" he asked, bewildered. Drawing Phillip into his side, he leaned in and kissed the younger man's forehead. "Tell me."

From the floor, Benji watched them with interest. Alert and ready to comfort his owner if it came down to that.

"It's easier here," Phillip admitted, voice low. "Here I'm not... surrounded by wealth. It's easier to hide here, to pretend that I don't have all the money that I've... received over the years."

"Received? Phillip, your plays sell out theatres! You didn't receive that money, you earned it."

"But I don't deserve it."

A beat of silence. Barnum stared at Phillip, stared at his sad, withdrawn face and his slumped shoulders.

"What do you mean... you don't... deserve it?" Barnum asked slowly.

"Look at me, Phineas! You heard my father. I'm a cripple. A good-for-nothing fucking cripple. I became successful on accident. The media don't care about my craft, they care that somebody lesser than them found success. My disabilities make bigger headlines than my shows! The only reason people go is so they can say, 'Phillip Carlyle? Oh, yes, that poor man. He probably needs the money for all of his medical expenses. I thought I'd buy a ticket or two, help the cripple pay a few bills.'"

His voice shook so badly by the end that Barnum could barely understand him. Benji was barking his little head off, whining, nudging against his distressed owner's leg. Phillip fell back against the couch, hands over his ears.

"I don't deserve it," he muttered over and over again, under his breath, "don't deserve it, don't deserve it, don't deserve it."

"Hey." Barnum took hold of Phillip's hands and gently removed them from his ears. "None of that. You deserve success, Phil. You earned it. You worked for it."

Phillip looked at Barnum in silence. He wasn't crying, but pain etched itself deep into his features. Barnum ached to hug him, but he needed to stay focused on what he was getting ready to tell him.

"You can build a name for yourself without your father's money. We can... do that together, if you'd let me help you."

"Wh-What?" Phillip gulped. "What are you saying?"

A single tear rolled down Phillip's cheek and Barnum wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. He took a deep breath. "Awhile ago, I was contacted saying that the money Charity had stolen from me had been found. I waited to say anything because... well, I was afraid." He chuckled drily. "I was afraid of losing you, and... truth be told I was afraid to go through a replay of the Charity incident."

"I would never—"

"I know you wouldn't, and I've known that all this time, but still I... wanted to hold back. But then you... then you had to go to the hospital and I—" his voice broke and he cringed. "I was so afraid of losing you, Phillip. I was so afraid and I hadn't gotten a chance to tell you that I love you—"

Even though it was his second time hearing the words come from Barnum's lips, Phillip's heart leapt up in his throat.

"—and I was so afraid of you... dying... without knowing the truth." Barnum's voice trembled and he sucked in a breath. "I wouldn't be able to handle going away, knowing that something might happen to you here alone. Phillip, I—"

He paused.

Phillip's fingers threaded with his. He laid his head on Barnum's shoulder, suddenly tired but silently coaxing Barnum to continue.

"I would... like you to move in with me."

Almost as soon as he settled down, Phillip found himself lifting his head again. "What?"

"I want you," Barnum traced Phillip's lips, running his finger along the little crevice between Phillip's chin and bottom lip, "to... move in with me. If you'll allow it."

Phillip stared at Barnum, lips parted in shock. At first, he didn't say anything. He couldn't find the words.

"Or not." Barnum dropped his hand. "That's all right, too. I shouldn't have assumed—"

"Of course I'll move in with you."

Barnum's eyes lit up. Phillip knocked him against the arm of the couch as he threw himself at the older man in a hug, body sprawled on top of Barnum's. He littered the man's face in quick, feather-light kisses. Barnum squeezed the younger man's body to him as he laughed, practically humming underneath all of the sudden attention.

"I love you," Phillip mumbled as he finally settled down, still stretched out on top of Barnum. He sighed and laid his head on the older man's chest. "God, Phin, if you hadn't come to my apartment that day—"

"You'd still find a way to wrap me around your little finger," Barnum chuckled, lifting Phillip up to kiss him again.

From the ground, Benji barked. They parted and turned their heads to stare at the dog, who whined and wagged his tail under the sudden attention.

"Somebody's jealous," Barnum mumbled. "Don't worry, fur ball, you'll be coming with us too."

Phillip just laughed and kissed him again, threading his fingers into P.T.'s soft hair.

A new life... with Phineas Taylor Barnum. The man who'd come to his rescue seemingly seconds from teetering off the edge.

***

When Barnum read off the numbers, Phillip had tears in his eyes.

"We did it," the younger man breathed. "Oh, God, we did it. We're doing it."

He couldn't help the tears that flowed from his eyes, soaking Barnum's shirt. But, for the first time in a long time, they were tears of joy. Barnum turned away from the computer and held Phillip close, murmuring soothing words into his ear.

After moving from his apartment, into a home with Barnum, the two had launched a campaign. Called Runaways Running The Night, their campaign took disabled children from abusive homes and matched them up with parents - some disabled themselves, some not - looking to foster or adopt. With both Barnum's and Phillip's names glued to the movement, their campaign gained traction quickly - the numbers of disabled children rescued skyrocketed, with the numbers of successful fosterings and adoptions starting to creep up behind it.

Phillip still feared death and growing older - he figured he always would - but his fear was manageable now, and Barnum found him a therapist willing to work with his death anxieties.

Benji helped at home too, of course.

And there was one more thing that P.T. Barnum and Phillip Carlyle added to their growing legacy.

The office door opened and the two men broke apart as they turned to greet Keisha. Anne, the girl's nanny, wheeled the seven-year-old into the room, smiling through the girl's shriek.

"Mr. Phillip! Mr. Phineas!"

Chuckling, Barnum knelt down. Keisha threw her umber arms around him in a hug, her eyes sparkling bright from behind her glasses. Phillip knelt down, too, and ruffled the girl's hair before teasingly taking hold of her stuffed unicorn.

"Pretty soon, you'll be able to call us both Daddy," Phillip promised. The girl beamed and he chuckled as he leant forward to kiss her cheek.

Anne smiled as Phillip stood up, her eyes flickering to his hands. "I see you've made it official, huh?" she teased, eyeing the silver band.

Phillip blushed. Chuckling, Barnum pulled him into his side as he kissed his cheek.

"Lunch today," Barnum confirmed.

"He told me he wanted to discuss Runaways numbers," Phillip confessed. "I should've known—"

"I took him to the rooftop of our old apartment building," Barnum grinned.

Anne beamed at the two, about to congratulate them both when Keisha tugged at her hand. She knelt down and Keisha whispered something into her ear.

"She wants to know if she can be the flower girl," Anne repeated, smiling, "and Mr. Scruffles," the unicorn, "wants to be the best man."

"Well, of course." Barnum grinned, ruffling the girl's hair. "What kind of flowers would you like, Miss Keisha?"

"White roses!" the girl declared.

"Ah, excellent choice. The symbol of purity." His eyes flicked to Phillip's. Phillip ducked his head and blushed.

"What's purity, Mr. Phineas?"

"Ah, I'll explain it to you later. For now - let's go home."

As Barnum interlocked his hand with Phillip's, he struggled to hold back tears. The four of them - Phillip, Phineas, Anne, and Keisha - left the office together. As they left, Keisha launched into a song she'd learned that day at school.

They were going home.

---

A few things:

1. I KNOW that this fic is very hope-heavy with things like Barnum totally, 100% accepting Phillip's asexuality and his disabilities. I purposely wrote it to be overly idealistic. It was kind of like... therapy, for myself?

2. In my case, cerebral palsy effects my right side. Not my left. Lemme tell ya, the paralyzed toes frustration is very real and very aggravating. I have had somewhere around a dozen surgeries, but the numbers are slightly off. I have had one leg surgery and two eye surgeries (I did not include partial blindness in this fic). The rest were shunt-related. I have not had a shunt surgery since I was 7, and I have not had a surgery in general since I was 8 (the last one was for my leg). However, a relapse could happen - the hospital descriptions are based solely on what I remember as a 7 year old.

3. Mr. Carlyle is largely based on the fandom headcanon that he's an abusive dirtbag. I was not, and am not, physically abused. I also have never been abused for being asexual, but that's because I'm not out publically. Forcing asexual people into doing sexual acts is a VERY real fear for a lot of aces and Phillip's concerns are legitimate.

4. A lot of the things Phillip experienced in high school really happened, or was based on, things that happened to me. I was called "limpy limpy legs" by some asshole in the hall. I was not put into a special-needs classroom, but I was treated that way in a real club (that assisted severally mentally-disabled people) that I did try to join. I did sob my eyes out in a counselor's office at one point, but that was because of an emotionally-abusive dirtbag ex-stepdad, who really did call me a "special needs bitch." However, unlike Mr. Carlyle (as stated in #4), he was not physically abusive. And he WAS kicked out. My breakdown in the office finally convinced my mom to get rid of his psychotic ass.

5. The anxiety and the death/aging existentialism are very real. I do not have a support dog, but we might be training my dog (no, not a Yorkie, and no, not named Benji) to become one. Also, I KNOW Phillip has a lot of breakdowns, and cries a... lot. It's very real.

6. I generally am against people who don't know what they're doing writing fics with majorly disabled people because they often come off as having lots of ableism (I, for example, would not dare to write a fic about being autistic), but I am all for disability education. We need disability education! Why? Because my biggest representation as a person with right-sided cerebral palsy is Nemo. That being said, I hope you learned something :)

[a-husband-for-a-carer]

A couple of numbers

Four thousand five hundred and seventy-two. That’s the number of days I’ve been providing care for MW in some form or other. Right from the first symptoms of her MS: a bit of a limp and eyesight problems. Back then, it was just guiding her around as much as I could. There have been many stages of gradual progression of symptoms.

The first year following diagnosis: coping with blackouts and begging her to eat because she stopped eating, thinking she’d get fat from being immobile. Dealing with her continence issues, including stopping a London - Edinburgh train at Doncaster so I could take MW to the disabled toilet and change her clothes, as there was no disabled toilet on the train and she’d had hot coffee spilt on her. Her gradual loss of mobility: lifting her in and out of cars, on and off beds, chairs, etc. Feeding her for the first time: an unsaid but mutually acknowledged sense of a loss of dignity.

There have been good times post-MS. My 40th birthday year. The year we went on holiday to Europe. We met friends and had fun gadding about the continent’s fashion capitals. Getting giddy because we were ushered past the velvet rope in the Louvre to get that bit closer to the Mona Lisa (one of the few advantages of being a wheelchair user). Having a private tour guide to show us around the Vatican and Sistine Chapel. Shopping together in Milan and the hotel’s delicious chicken sandwiches. My eyes get a little more misty each time I look at the photos. Of how things were.

One. The first. Today was the first day I told someone official that I can’t cope any more: I can’t keep going to the well of strength because it’s almost dry. MW is in hospital after her swallow became compromised. I couldn’t tell if fluids were going down properly or not. There was no evident deliberate swallow. She’s due to have a PEG tube fitted and that operation has been brought forward. The risks involved are scary: more so given MW’s progression.

This hospital admission has been the most upsetting because she seems so weak now. I think I’ve cried every day bar one. Tonight was rough. Her breathing rate was a real cause for concern as it had got so low. Every conversation seems to have that sombre tone - do you want us to resuscitate in the event of…?; do you want us to ring you during the night if her breathing rate falls below…? I can’t even bring myself to type the words.

Those of you who know me already know that I lost my Dad to cancer two months before MW and I were married and five months before her symptoms began. What you may not know is what happened when he died. I was all set to go across from where we lived to my parents because the Macmillan nurse had said things were getting towards the end and I’d said I wanted to be there. I’d also started with panic and anxiety symptoms and had a doctor’s appointment that same day. I’d travel across the next morning.

You’re probably way ahead of me already. I did travel across the following morning, thanks to a lift from a friend of my Dad’s (now no longer with us. Brian was one of the kindest, most selfless men I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing). A journey of 110 miles, give or take a mile or six. Twelve miles from their home, my mobile rang. He’d gone. I’d not seen him at the end. I got to their house to see his body lying in a hospital bed in their front room. Shock, sweet tea, grief.

Looking back, I preferred it happen that way. I couldn’t watch him take his final breath and go. I know I will have to be there when MW takes hers, whenever that will be. I know she needs the comfort. I know she needs the reassurance and love that we - her family and I - will provide. I’m just not ready for this to happen now. This deterioration just seems so sudden. There seems to have been no time at all between listening to her giggle with her Mum and a carer and seeing her in hospital, reduced to being made up of hourly observations, fluid balance chart, IV fluid intake rate…

This pretty much all boils down to me saying that it’s not fair. She doesn’t deserve this. Why her? Why does this thing keep making her worse? Why is it going to take her from me? Screaming won’t change anything, I know that. I’m scared. I’m struggling. People keep telling me that if I wasn’t this way, I’d not be human. It means I care. That being with her despite this also means I have strength. Somewhere, I know this - I just wish that strength didn’t hurt so much.

[sending-the-message]

Apotemnophilia by Middlenameredundant

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve never really felt at home in my own body. Early on, it was just the sense that there was something not right. Later, that sense of unease solidified and became clear. My body didn’t feel like my own. Even though it looked like it should, according to most definitions of ‘should,’ to me, it looked grotesque and ugly. There was just too much of it.

They used to call it apotemnophilia, but my therapist says that’s old-fashioned. “Body Integrity Identity Disorder” is what they call it now. Much more clinical, much more safe for people to talk about. Instead of saying “I want to cut off my own legs because they don’t feel like they belong on me,” I can now say “I’m a sufferer of BIID.” So much better.

Whatever it is, it makes me hate myself and this body I’m trapped in.

Can I tell you about the times when my body has let me down? About those times in my childhood when I would dig my dirty fingernails into the flesh of my thigh just to get a semblance of relief? Of how I would sit on my legs until they went numb? The pleasure of for once feeling ‘right’ would wash over me in waves until the sensation once again returned to those hateful appendages.

For most of my life, I thought I was alone in my particular brand of torment. No one could really understand this desire I had. Occasionally I would see some trashy daytime talk show where people like me were guests. The audience gawped and hooted and the host smirked incredulously, as if asking the audience “can you believe these freaks?” But I saw something different in those shows. When I looked at the faces of the people who had successfully transformed their bodies into the right shape, I saw happiness. Not even the disgust emanating from the audience could take that away from them.

I was incredibly jealous of those people, and lonely in my jealousy. No one could possibly understand what I felt; society had deemed it wrong. We’re taught from the moment of birth that our bodies are precious, temples even, and that we should do whatever we can to preserve them. We look at people with physical disabilities as if they are somehow wrong. That’s not what I see at all.

The internet was a godsend for me, and other people like me. In my adolescence I discovered newsgroups for people with apotemnophilia, and later on message boards for those with BIID (by that point the language had ‘evolved’). I was able to finally connect with other people who understood me as I had always wanted to be understood. It was as if a weight had been lifted from me, and I could finally be myself. In these groups, I wasn’t a freak or a mistake, I was accepted.

We didn’t meet in person for a long time. Most of us lived far away from one another, and many of us were too poor or too young to travel halfway across the country. We did talk, though, and formed deep friendships. We played role-playing games on those message boards, each of us disappearing for a moment into a world where our perceptions matched our bodies. In my fantasies, I was me, but without the dead meat hanging from my hips. I wheeled around town, satisfied and whole, even though parts of me were missing.

When eventually I would snap back to reality, depression would overcome me. That’s when the friendships I had developed were their most precious. We all could share in that feeling. We all could comfort one another, even though we were miles away. Those groups were how I survived this long. If not for them, well, I don’t know that I could have kept myself from doing something stupid.

Late last year, I discovered that three of the people in our group lived in my city. It was like learning I had a long-lost twin. We talked for months, growing our bond through the internet, before we opted to meet in person. It was necessary to wait, given how disingenuous some people can be online.

Grace and Howard were both near my age, and had struggled with BIID for their entire lives. Kyle was slightly older, and no longer considered himself a sufferer of BIID.

We all met up at a coffee shop downtown. I arrived first, and I knew Kyle the second I saw him. I could tell it was him: he had one arm, and the biggest smile I’d ever seen. Grace and Howard arrived a few minutes later, and we immediately got down to sharing our stories. When it came time for Kyle to share his, we all listened with rapt fascination.

“I always knew I was wrong,” he said. We nodded in understanding.

He continued. “The arm that was attached to me was not my own. It was like I knew it instinctively from childhood. It drove me crazy. Every day I’d look at it and feel hate well up inside of me. I used to cut it, little strokes to see what it was like. It didn’t help. I only wanted it gone. It was an obsession, really. All I thought about all day every day was getting rid of my arm.

“Then, one day, I’d had enough. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to do something. I was so keyed up and I did the only thing I could think of. I turned on the garbage disposal, and before I could talk myself out of it, shoved my arm into it.

“I passed out from the pain, I’ll admit. Thankfully my wife came home just after it happened. They got me to the hospital in time to save my life, though I was unconscious for it all. When the long-faced doctor came to tell me that the couldn’t save the arm, I nearly jumped for joy. I tried to hide it, but honestly it was the happiest day of my life.”

We stared at him in shocked envy.

“And did it make you feel better, long-term, I mean?” I asked.

“Maggie, it made me feel like I was complete. Since that day, my life has been so happy. So fulfilled. I don’t regret it for a second.”

Howard, Grace and I exchanged looks. I knew what we were all thinking: how can we do the same thing? Kyle must have understood that look, because he piped up again.

“Listen, though, happy as I am, you do not want to go about things the way I did. It’s incredibly risky, and you could easily die.”

“But what are the alternatives?” asked Grace. “I’ve been to every surgeon in the state, and no one will remove an undamaged limb.”

“It’s true even out of state,” grumbled Howard. “They don’t understand what it’s like to wake up every day in a body that isn’t your own.”

Kyle nodded. “I know, I know,” he said. He looked around the room, and leaned in, whispering. “What if I told you there is a surgeon who will do it?”

Grace laughed. “Some back-alley amputation? There’s no way anyone would do that.”

“There is, though,” said Kyle. “I know it sounds crazy, but there’s this guy, Dr. Felix, and he helps people like us. It’s his life’s goal. And he’s legit.”

I sat back in my chair, chewing on my bottom lip. If this was true, if a doctor really would do the surgery without damage to the limb, it could be a life-changer.

Kyle once again spoke up. “What would you have him do, if you could?”

“My left leg,” Howard said, not even pausing to consider.

“Both of my legs,” I replied.

“Same as Maggie,” said Grace. We exchanged glances as Kyle smiled.

“It can absolutely be done.” He pushed a business card across the table toward us.

I debated calling the number for days. We all did. In the end, we each decided that only one thing could make us happy. We all eventually called Dr. Felix. He agreed to come to town, and scheduled appointments with each of us.

The surgery would be done in my own house, as hospitals and doctors’ offices were much too dangerous. Dr. Felix was adamant about discretion; his license was on the line, after all. I agreed, and the date was set for a month out.

I spent the next few weeks in a tizzy. I bought a wheelchair and practiced maneuvering around my house, picking up or rearranging anything that got in my way. I studied post-surgery care instructions, and read up on the procedure. The days passed in agonizing slowness.

When the day of the surgery came, I felt like a weight had been lifted. I met Dr. Felix at my front door. Anticipation and excitement bubbled up inside of me, just like the Christmases of my childhood. Finally, it would all be okay.

He greeted me warmly, taking my hand in both of his.

“Maggie! How nice to meet you. I know you’re excited to get started, but I want to go over a few things with you first.”

I nodded my assent.

“You wish to have both of your legs amputated, correct? Above the knee?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” I said, barely able to contain myself.

“And you understand the ramifications of the surgery? I know this sounds stupid, but you do realize that once your legs have been removed, there is no getting them back?”

I smiled broadly at him. “Yes, Dr. Felix. I understand that perfectly.”

“Okay,” he said, “let’s get to work then.”

I waited in the kitchen while Dr. Felix prepared the bedroom. It had to be sanitized for the surgery, and I understood that it would take some time. Every second of waiting felt like an eternity. Finally, he appeared in my doorway.

“It’s time. Your room has been prepared.”

I let out a little squeak and followed the doctor to the bedroom. Crisp, clean white linens lay on my bed, and an IV drip sat next to it. I changed into a gown and lay on the sheets. The doctor made quick work of cleaning my legs and inserting the IV. I watched as he pulled a syringe from the table beside the bed, and injected its contents into the IV bag.

I felt myself relax and waited for the unconsciousness that would usher me into my new life.

It did not come.

After some seconds, I tried to move, to alert the doctor that I was still awake. I found that I could not. I was paralyzed.

“You may be wondering,” Dr. Felix said as he moved around the bed, “why it is that you are both awake and immobile. Well, that’s simple enough. I need you to be aware of what I’m doing. I need you to see the procedure unfold. Unfortunately, there will be some pain.”

I tried to force my body to move, tried to wrench myself free of the drug-induced prison I was in, but I could not. Was he really going to cut off my legs with me awake? As the thought passed through my mind, Dr. Felix propped me up slightly and positioned my head so that I was looking directly at my legs.

“I’ve been working on a treatment, you know?” He looked at me as if I could answer him, and then shrugged his shoulders.

“No one really knows what causes BIID. Some think that it’s the brain’s inability to accurately map the body. Others take a more Freudian stance on the whole thing, saying that it’s those all-important early childhood experiences. That’s, of course, complete hogwash.”

I could only stare as the doctor pulled another needle from his bag. He tapped it twice with his forefinger and then injected it into my IV.

“My theory, which I will need your help to test, is that it’s actually a...well, that’s not for me to say. Wouldn’t want to confound my research, would I? All I can tell you is this drug you’ve been given is a cure, plain and simple.”

The doctor hummed to himself as he began taking his instruments from his bag. Panic welled inside of me with each subsequent tool he produced. The scalpel, the oscillating saw, the ligature. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and wanted desperately to shut my eyes. Try as I might, however, my eyelids stayed open and unblinking.

As the doctor began to tie off my right leg above the knee, a new and unfamiliar feeling washed over me. Suddenly, and with the force of jackhammer to the gut, I did not want to lose my legs. I felt a surge of desire so strong it was overwhelming. I needed to keep my legs. They were part of me. They were my legs. Mine. I would have cried if I could, would have screamed out until my throat was raw. But I could not. I could only watch while he brought the scalpel to my skin. I could only watch as a line of bright red appeared on my thigh.

I felt the cut throughout my entire body. The pain was sharp and radiant. I can’t say whether the pain distracted from the regret or whether the regret distracted from the pain; all I know is that my mind mixed the two together until they became one in the same.

I’m not sure how deep the doctor got before I lost consciousness. That blissful escape as my brain shut down might have lasted a few moments, or might have lasted hours. I faintly recall coming to at the sound of the oscillating saw cutting into my femur before blacking out once more. When I finally awoke for good, I was lying in my homemade hospital bed. I was alone, and my legs were gone.

I screamed, both relieved and frightened that I could once again move my body. At the sound of my voice, Dr. Felix entered the room.

“What have you done to me?” I asked, angry at myself for the way my voice sounded, like a petulant child’s voice.

“I have eliminated, permanently, your BIID. You are quite welcome.”

“You took my legs!”

“Yes, well, you did request that, did you not?”

“You changed my brain. You made me want my legs, and then you took them!”

“My dear girl, don’t you see? You have been instrumental in providing a cure for this wretched disease! I “messed” nothing up, only repaired a broken neural pathway.”

I stared at him.

“Now, of course, it won’t be your name in the literature, but you’ll be there just the same. Patient 7, cured of her Body Integrity Identity Disorder.”

“But why take my legs? Why take them from me just as I want to keep them?”

“Oh, well, I do have to be rigorous, do I not? If I had given you the shot without taking your legs, you might not have come to the realization that you desired them. You might have rationalized away your newfound affection for your own body.”

“But, doesn’t that just confound your research? I mean, how do you know it was the drug and not the realization that I was losing my legs that made me want to keep them?”

He stared at me for a long time before finally speaking again.

“It’s not your place to know my methods. Your reaction upon waking told me more than any post-intervention interview could have. Now, no more talking, girl. You need your rest.”

I watched as he pulled a syringe from his pocket and injected it into the IV. He faded from my vision as I lost consciousness.

When I awoke again, Dr. Felix was gone. I was alone in my room; my wheelchair sat beside me, with a packet of post-surgery instructions in the seat. I saw that straps had been installed above my bed, presumably to allow me to move from bed to chair.

For hours I sat in my bed, alternating between bursts of crying and fits of rage. How could he have done that to me? I’m ashamed to admit how long it took for me to think of the others. Grace and Howard. They had appointments with Dr. Felix, too.

I felt along my bedside table until I could locate my phone. I turned it on and immediately called Grace. There was no answer. Neither was there an answer at Howard’s. I sat still as the realization hit me fully. We were all his test subjects. I didn’t want to think about Howard and Grace, about how they too would have felt the same fear and regret as I had.

As I sat with my thoughts, I began to feel a dull throbbing in my legs. No, in the remnants of my legs. The pain medicine was evidently wearing off. I reached for the bottle of Vicodin that the doctor had left on the nightstand, only to find that it was empty. I shook the bottle, but heard nothing.

All the while, pain began to prick the nerve endings up and down my legs. I reached down to rub the spot that hurt the most, and encountered only empty sheets. My leg was gone, but still pain pulsed through it. Phantom limb. I had read about it in my surgery preparation, but the reality shocked me still.

Alone and butchered in my room, I screamed.

It was days later before I heard from Grace. By then, I was moving around the house as I’d practiced. I was recovering physically, but mentally, I was a wreck. My legs throbbed with pain from my ankle to my hip, and no pain medication could soothe the limbs that weren’t there. They burned and pulsed, as if punishing me for ever having hated them.

Grace had fared no better. We spoke on the phone for hours, each mostly just crying into the receiver. In her desperation, she had even gone to the police. But once she told them she’d consented to the surgery, they only referred her to a psychologist.

She had also heard from Howard, she told me, and he was doing slightly better than us. He’d only lost the one leg, after all. She and I resolved to find as much information as we could on Dr. Felix. Tracking him down became our only goal.

We met up, Grace, Howard and I, a few weeks after our surgeries to exchange notes and try to find the good doctor. We had all come up with nothing.

“His office is empty,” said Grace over a steaming mug of coffee at my kitchen table. “I went by last week. No sign that anyone had been there in ages.”

“And you asked the neighbors?” Howard asked.

Grace looked irritated. “Of course I asked the neighbors! They hadn’t seen anyone that fit the doctor’s description.”

“I couldn’t find a thing about him, not in any of the medical journals. Whoever he really is, he’s not publishing his work,” I said.

“Figures,” said Grace. “I tried to track down his phone number, but it was a burner. No record of the guy anywhere. No trace of Kyle, either.”

“Goddamnit!” Howard shouted, slamming his palm on the table.

We jumped back, startled.

“It’s just…” he started, “it’s just so unfair. This was all I ever wanted, and he’s turned my dream into a living hell.”

Grace and I each reached out to Howard, holding him as he started to cry. We sat like that for what could have been hours, consoling each other through the tears. We had all gotten what we wanted, and now we’d have to live with it for the rest of our lives.

[gothify1]

Several weeks ago, I got an email from Cartier’s PR team inviting me up to San Francisco to attend its Women’s Initiative Awards. From previous experience, I knew that press trips with Cartier are fun and fancy. However, I didn’t know I was in for an experience that would move me deeply. Upon arriving to an uncharacteristically sunny and balmy San Francisco, I was introduced to the Women’s Initiative program from previous laureates and Mercedes Abramo, president and CEO of Cartier North America. I learned that the Cartier Women’s Initiative is the world’s largest competition that gives female entrepreneurs who are running social impact-driven companies the opportunity to win coaching, mentoring, and financial support. I’m going to hit you with some facts to put this in context: Since the initiative started in 2006, more than 18,000 women have applied, and more than 200 businesses from 51 countries have been supported, which has created almost 7000 jobs around the world.And not just any jobs, but jobs that are directly making the planet a better place. These businesses are doing awe-inspiring and frankly humbling work. I heard from finalists who were doing everything from creating a centralized 911 emergency system in Kenya to providing employment opportunities to Middle Eastern refugees. And it’s not like Cartier has to run this program. I would guess they might sell just as many Love bracelets without it. Yet the company sees tremendous value in supporting women all over the world. In Abramo’s words, “It’s very dear to who we are and what we stand for. We’re a company primarily targeted at women, so it aligns very well with our values of bold, pioneering women.” After getting to hear elevator pitches from all 21 finalists, there was one woman I knew I had to interview. As you might have guessed, she and her two co-founders have a fashion-related product, but one that happens to be changing the lives of people with chronic illnesses. I sat down with Emily Levy in a sunny little corner of the room to learn more about her story. Levy went undiagnosed for seven years with chronic neurological Lyme disease, and when she finally got her diagnosis, she was told she would need a long-term IV to pump antibiotics to her heart. As for how Levy was supposed to protect this expensive medical device (known as a PICC line)? She was advised to wear a sock on her arm. Yes, as in a sock designed for feet. “I was known around campus as the girl with the cut-off sock on her arm. I noticed that people were treating me differently once they could tell that something was going on with my health,” says Levy.  Drawing from her experience, she was inspired to create Mighty Well, a company that sells stylish clothes and accessories for people with chronic health issues. “What we’re putting forward is a sick girl who started a company with her two best friends,” says Levy. “I was in a sorority, but not many of my ‘sisters’ were there for me. It was really my two best friends—now my co-founders, Maria del Mar Cortez and Yousef Al-Humaidhi—who helped to take care of me when I could only take on a partial course load, could no longer go to parties, and getting dressed in the morning was hard. Even just dealing with the amount of medical supplies and nursing visits to my dorm room, they were there for me.” As if this story couldn’t get any more moving, Levy’s friendship and business partnership with Al-Humaidhi grew into a romantic relationship, and the pair were just married last month. When I asked Abrams about what stood out to her about Levy’s business, she remarked, “At [just 25 years old], she identified a problem from personal experience, and she found a way to instill confidence in others and help them through this process. It’s just magic that she put those pieces together to create a wonderful product.”. That first product is a PICC line protective arm sleeve using sportswear fabric technology—a stylish, serviceable solution for the six million people who get a PICC line placed every year, including people receiving chemotherapy. The company has expanded since then to include the Mighty Wrap, which conceals IV lines, the Mighty MedPlanner, and the Mighty Pack, a backpack designed to fit over wheelchairs that has a hidden insulated medical compartment. Levy brought up the recently released Mighty Pack when I asked her about any anecdotes from customers. “We’re a scrappy startup, and within 24 hours of releasing the backpack, we had two young women both in wheelchairs tag us on social saying that the product gave them mobility and that no one was staring at them because they had medical supplies. Dealing with my illness, I’ve felt ‘less than’ too, and I want to be a face for them and show them that just because you’re sick doesn’t mean you have to live a sick life. I still face a lot of health challenges and a lot of doctor visits, but what motivates me every day is getting tagged in those pictures.”  It’s clear that Levy’s company has a significant impact on her customers, so next I asked about the impact being part of the Cartier Women’s Initiative had on Levy and her business. In what I’m learning to be typical Levy fashion, she draws on personal experience to make her point. “My husband, Yousef, is from Kuwait, which is a huge market for Cartier. A lot of women go to Kuwait as teachers and end up marrying men they meet there. Unfortunately, a lot of women are seen as coming there with the aim to find wealthy husbands. In my case, Yousef and I met in college in the United States, and for a year and a half, I didn’t even know where Kuwait was on a map. “When I went to Kuwait for the second time to get married, I told his family members that I was a finalist for the Cartier Women’s Initiative, and they treated me like a businesswomen instead of someone who was coming to find a husband. It was a completely different level of respect because a brand like Cartier stood behind Mighty Well.” Indeed, Ambramo concurs, “It’s all about helping get these women the recognition and exposure they deserve.” That’s respect and exposure for a business that not only does social good, but also reflects inclusivity in multiple ways at its core. For my last question, I asked Levy if she had anything else to add. “Yes,” she replied, “I want to highlight that my co-founder Maria is here on a H-1B visa. She’s originally from the Dominican Republic, and we have faced the challenges that are being talked about in the media. I think it’s so important that we’re sharing our story that I’m a Jewish American, she’s Latina and Catholic, and Yousef is Muslim and Arab. And all three of us have started a social-impact company. The world is telling us we shouldn’t be friends, but I don’t believe that.” As the interview concluded, I rose from my chair without a second thought and then realized Emily was struggling and couldn't immediately lift herself from her seat. Before this moment, there had been no visible cues that Emily was sick, besides the IV port she showed me below her clavicle. Mighty Well often talks about how chronic Lyme disease is an invisible illness, and it was to my eye (until that instant). I helped her up and we swiftly moved on from the moment, nervously laughing a little as we exited the room. In retrospect, I should have paused and asked her what that felt like. To have this great interview—here she was being honored by Cartier and getting to share her and her co-founders’ important work with Who What Wear, a company she mentioned she loves and follows—and then as our conversation ended, being reminded, for likely the millionth time, that her illness can get in the way of simple actions like standing up from a chair. It could have been an opportunity for me to further step into her shoes and gain a deeper perspective on the condition that inspired her company. Without speaking on behalf of Levy, I can only assume that it didn’t feel good. But by creating Mighty Well, she’s a part of the solution—a solution that makes the daily reality of those who have chronic conditions feel just a little bit better, a little bit more supported, and a little bit more confident.

[ten-and-donna]

ALL 53 :V

OH GOD HERE WE GO :V

1. What do you put on hotdogs? Just ketchup and mustard. This gal doesn’t have the patience or the will to attempt to handle an overladen hot dog.

2. Do you say “anticlimatic” or “anticlimactic”? “Anticlimactic”, and it genuinely pained me to write “anticlimatic”.

3. Do you check flyers before grocery shopping? No, I don’t, but honestly, I probably should.

4. Blue, black, or some other color pen ink? Black usually, but blue if it’s the only one available.

5. Do you use your parking brake? YES. I have seen what happens when that thing isn’t used. Not pretty. Not fun. Parking brake for me, please.

6. Look to your left. How many framed pictures are there on the wall? On the wall, none. There’s one sitting on top of a bin, though. (signed picture of Orlando Bloom as Legolas. I had a crush.)

7. Do you know how to play chess? Yes. The real question is “Can I play well?” to which the answer is a resounding NOOOOOOOOOO.

8. How often do you clean the interior of your car? Not often at all, seeing as I don’t have one anymore.

9. Do you ever read the last few pages first? Never on purpose, but I leaf through pages idly and sometimes spoil things for myself like a NOOB.

10. Ever fallen in the shower? YES, and lemme tell you, THAT SHIT HURTS.

11. On a scale of 1-10, how likely are you to swear at other drivers? PRETTY FUCKIN’ LIKELY, ‘SPECIALLY IF THEY DON’T USE THEIR GODDAMN BLINKERS!

12. What’s the worst thing you’ve called someone you cared about? I hate to admit it, but I have called an ex (who I was dating at the time) a bitch, though in recent years I have made sure to check my emotions at the door in very tense moments, so I thankfully have avoided that kind of insult.

13. Do you have a Snuggie? A Snuggie? In this economy? Lol nope.

14. Are you allergic to anything? OH LORDY AM I! Three types of grass, two types of tree, latex, codeine, and POSSIBLY FRICKLE-FRACKIN’ GLUTEN.

15.  Do you have any TV shows on DVD? I have the first season of Criminal Minds, which I still count among the greatest seasons of television ever created.

16. How many times do you hit the snooze button before getting out of bed? Out? of? bed? What is this “out of bed” you speak of? No but seriously, I hit that shit at least twice.

17. Ever driven away in anger? Can’t say for sure, but I’m an angry person, so probably.

18. What’s your favorite freezie color? BLUE ALL THE WAY

19. Are you a vegetarian? Vegan, in fact, about five-and-a-half years running.

20. Do you have a garbage receptacle beside you? What’s on top? not directly beside, but a couple feet away, and nothing but the lid.

21. Do you cross out your mistakes or erase/whiteout them? It depends. If I’m using pen, I’ll cross them out. Pencil, I’ll erase. If it’s important though, like a card or a letter, I’ll usually start all the way over on a sheet/card.

22. Ever torn something up that you instantly knew was too important for such treatment? Almost guaranteed, but I don’t recall any instance in particular.

23. Do you think that things will get better? Okay well that’s an interesting thing to ask, because yes and no. I’ve dealt with depression all my life, and am struggling particularly recently, so my instant answer is “no are you kidding?” but the fact that I’m able to nail that down as a symptom of my depression means that logically I am able to say “yes, absolutely, in time”.

24. Do you have an unpopular opinion? Oh shit, an unpopular opinion? On Tumblr? Do you want me to be banished? No but seriously, “unpopular” is so subjective, and honestly, I’ve stopped giving two flying fucks what’s a “popular opinion”, which I wholeheartedly encourage amongst all my followers. Don’t care what’s “popular”. Care what’s right. But if I must: “health days” at businesses, where they shut down elevators for the day to “promote exercise” should be illegal, period, end of sentence.

25. What’s your favorite quote? I honestly have so many quotes that I love. So many. If I really gotta choose, it’s actually a pretty simple one, from my favorite book of all time, The Name of the Wind, by Patrick Rothfuss. ““Yes, I suppose I am,” Kvothe said, and his voice had iron in it.” I won’t say any more on the context. It just sticks with me even all these years later, “and his voice had iron in it” LIKE HOW AWESOME IS THAT WORD CHOICE?

26. Did you/are you going to prom? Yes, I did, three years, actually. I was dating someone one year ahead of me and was able to go to her junior prom when I was a sophomore. Not nearly all it’s cracked up to be.

27. What’s the most physically painful thing you’ve ever experienced? One night, a few years ago, I was lying in bed, and literally all of a sudden, I had the sharpest pain in my stomach. I was doubled over. I was cursing at my mom in pain. I was in tears. Went to the emergency room. NO ONE EVER KNEW WHAT WAS WRONG. Never happened again. Freaks me out to this day.

28. What’s the most emotionally/mentally painful thing you’ve ever experienced? Falling in love with someone who didn’t fall in love with me.

29. Have you ever legitimately saved a person’s life? Well, I played a part in the saving of one life, but I wouldn’t put it so directly.

30. What’s your favorite book genre? FANTASYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

31. Did you like “Gigli”? Be honest. Honestly, never saw it. Don’t care. If I don’t ever see it, I won’t count it a loss.

32. Have you ever walked out of a movie at the theatre? Walked? No. Wheeled? Yes. I mean, that is how one leaves a movie, is it not? Otherwise, I’d still be in the theatre for Lion King. Have I ever wheeled out in the middle of the movie? Probably, but I don’t recall (do you notice something about me? I don’t remember shit well)

33. Do you peek between your fingers during the scary scenes? NOPE! I’m either glued to it or muh eyes are SHUT TIGHT.

34. What was your reaction to Tatum getting killed whilst stuck in the pet door in Scream? Never saw it, not gonna.

35. Do dogs like you? They’re often scared of my wheelchair, especially small ones, but if they can get past it, they love me.

36. Would you say you project an air of authority? Not even close, y’all. Not even close.

37. Do people listen when you speak? The people I keep around do.

38. How are your elbows? Are they okay? Dry as hell in summer and anxious for the return of Stranger Things, but otherwise fine.

39. What is one thing that you do exceptionally well? Be honest. Writing. I love it, and when I have the spoons, it’s all I wanna do, so I’ve gotten pretty dern talented if I do say so myself.

40. Do you use torrents? HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE SUCH DISHONOR UPON MY NAME?

41. When was the last time you paid for music? Technically, this month, when my Spotify subscription was renewed.

42. Are you addicted to technology? I’ve never been diagnosed with it officially, but I don’t like to rule things like that out. Anything is possible.

43. Pick a person (you don't need to give their name). How do you feel about them? Be as honest as you can get yourself to be. Okay so I got this friendo I met on here (super specific, I know) but like, they’re an incredible badass, and honestly every time they post anything, it makes me smile and idk I love them so much and they’re an incredible listener, and adorable, and kind, and always inspiring me to push through. They go through a lot of shit, but they’re always looking forward, and I think that is an amazing way to be.

44. Do you check your computer's dictionary for the definition of words you'd otherwise feel confident about using during in-person interactions? Just to be sure? Oh god, not nearly as often as I should.

45. How heavily do you rely on spellcheck and autocorrect? When typing on a computer, not much. on my phone, a helluva lot.

46. Have you ever gotten into an argument on the internet? Did you win? I don’t go into arguments looking for “wins”. I look to stick to what I know to be true, try to open myself to the possibility that I’m not, and being as close to true as possible by the end of the encounter.

47. Do you pause movies/TV shows if you have to go to the bathroom or the kitchen, or do you just let them keep playing? It depends on whether I’ve seen it before. If so, I’ll probably let it run. If not, you bet your ass I’m pausing.

48. If you use a regular alarm clock, do you have it set to music or that obnoxious beeping? I have it set to music from The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion.

49. Peter Pan? Yes? What about him? He’s an overrated character in an overrated story.

50. How often do you fall up the stairs? Seeing as I almost never encounter stairs, not very often.

51. Do you pronounce "anti" as ant-eye or ant-ee? (Example: "That scene was very anticlimactic.") Both, depending on the moment. I’m not a prescriptivist when it comes to most pronunciations. (don’t you dare get me started on “gif” though)

52. Do you pronounce "via" as vee-uh or vie-uh? (Example: "We can get there via Tremont Street.") Vee-uh. Not sure why that one’s so consistent.

53. How often do you forget to close your parentheses? More often than I care to admit.

[yourcertainstudentlight-blog]

Car insurance decreases, when? 26 yrs old?

"Car insurance decreases, when? 26 yrs old?

I started driving when I was 22 years old, and never had an accident. Right now, I'm 26. I pay $116/month for insurance, which I think is kinda high. The vehicle I drive is a 2006 Hyundai Eantra. Car insurance is: Erie Insurance  http://www.erieinsurance.com/

BEST ANSWER:  Try this site where you can compare quotes: : http://insureinfo.xyz/index.html?src=tumblr 

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im 17 years old (female)about to be 18 in march,want to get added to my moms policy which she pays 103 a month for ,the car is a 99 nissan sentra i have had my license for about a week ,did driving school and probably can get the good student discount how much would it cost?""

Best health insurance for a young married couple?

My fiancee and I are doing some research on health insurance. What is the best kind to by? What should we be looking for? I take lexapro and birth control everyday. We are nonsmokers, full-time college students and fairly young. I'm about to turn 19 and he will be 20. How much should we expect to pay for health insurance? Can we still be on our parents health insurance after we get married? Anything would be great! We would love to have a plan that has good coverage. We aren't looking for the cheapest, just something to cover us. Thanks!""

Whats the rough cost of insurance for a 17 yr old new driver?

im looking to buy a car like a corsa or 306. summin like that but just wanted to know what the cost of insurance will roughly be. and no dont tell me to 'get a quote' caus you need like all the details and full licence etc, that i dont have yet""

Insurance rates for 18 year old?

I've never owned a car but I will for the first time soon. I know that in high school insurance rates partially depended on grades, is it the same way in college? What other things are factors in determining the rate?""

Health Insurance Question?

I currently have Crohn's Disease and I'm taking daily medications. When I turn 21 my insurance will not be in effect (CCS insurance I believe?) and I will not be able to afford medication and health insurance. My parents don't make enough money to buy health insurance..Does anyone have any idea on how to approach this?

Is there a price auto-insurance difference between a 2 door and 4 door Honda Civic?

Here is my situation which could possibly affect the the insurance pricing. I just turned 16 and my dad and I are looking at a 2008 Honda Civic EX-L Coupe and Honda Civic EX/LX (not sure model) Sedan. He is worried the insurance will cost more for the 2 door coupe? Will this make a difference in insurance cost? My logic is that a Honda Civic 2 door is not exactly that much of a sporty vehicle and is still a very reliable car so I need a good answer. Thanks

Car insurance questions?

Can you buy a car and not have to pay for car insurance? If you must have car insurance, can you use your parent's, like a family plan?""

Mazda Miatia Insurance Costs!!!?

I am 18 years old and am in the process of buying a mazda miata. I am looking to buy one between 2002-2005. how BAD will the insurance be on it for someone my age? LIke minimum coverage, just Liability and Uninsured Motorist.""

Why's my insurance so high at 19?

I've had my licence since October last year and i had my car before i passed my test so i could get insured on it straight away. When I looked at quotes last year i was getting prices of around 3400 and couldn't get it below the 3000 mark, but now I'm getting prices of about 2700 on a 1.0 litre vaxhaull corsa which is the cheapest car for me to insure as it has the smallest engine i can find as is only group 1 insurance but still way to expensive. can anybody tell me why mine is so high please?""

Why is homeowners insurance so high?

Been paying on my house for over 20 years.Never missed a payment.Always pay my taxes on time.Always carry insurance.Raised 3 children on my own.Always worked.Didnt collect food stamps or state insurance.Payed back anything I borrowed.Could not afford higher education.Was paying to raise my children.Husband left when kids were young.Owes me over 70000 in child support.Never covered one cent of their medical bills.Their all in late 20s and early 30s now.I guess all that doesn't really matter except for the fact that because I was too proud to suck off the taxpayers I worked.I made my bed and I slept in it. .But now im being penalized again.Insurance rates based on many things like your education.So,because I am stupidier than the average driver I will probably get in more accidents.How but this?Im over 50.No accidents No tickets.Always drive older vechicles so its not possible to speed even if I wanted to.I always thought my car insurance would go down after 50.In a few years they'll be jacking it higher because im too old.When does it stop?Okay.So back to the house insurance.If they refuse me house insurance Ill lose my house.All the money in interest and principal ive payed over the years will be in vane.The banks and mortgage companies will keep all the money ive worked for and take the house too.Homeless .Wont beable to work wont beable to pay taxes.will probably freeze to death and die..All because the sharks that call themselves insurance executives need to take another vacation.I wonder if they have mothers.If you have someone living in your house who has gotten a ticket or so on,your rates go upAnother way they our breaking up the American family.Is it true our politicans have sold us out to other countries.China for one.They are buying up our food sources.They probaly don't want us to beable to grow our own foods or have our own livestock.The crops are genetically engineered so our seeds probably are too.They probably own the insurance companies tooHow do people go to florida for the winter and leave their houses vacant without paying higher rates.I was told insurance companies don't cover vacant homes.Thanks for listening.Bless you""

I have my driving test soon need insurance help im 17 could go on mums insurance but lowest quote is 1500?

and thats with a box in the car but lowest quote without box in lowest quote 3500 and lowest quote on my own insurance 4000 her car is a 1.4 54 plate fiesta on my own it would be a banger old car

Extra costs covered by car insurance ?

I had to pay 150 to get my car brought home when a car hit me from behind ? Can i reclaim this money through my insurance company ?

Car Insurance Fine costs driving without insurance on one car but had 3rd party on another?

Being a bit stupid I didnt relise I had to inform my insurance company that I changed cars and was stopped by the police for no insurance even though they proved that I had insurance on my previous vehicle 3rd party whic

What would be the insurance policy on a 2013 Mustang GT/CS?

Make believe it is the summer of 2014 and I just bought the stated car above. How much would a typical insurance go for a used Stang with around 7,000 miles in a small city(like Gainsville) go for?""

Loan insurance?

is it worth getting loan insurance? or is the whole thing a big scam

""My car insurance, can i still pay monthly?!?! HELP!?""

my car insurance got cancelled because I missed two payments but, I always gave it to them on the same day I missed it. Anyways, I cannot afford to pay the full amount up front! its $2000! I need to pay month to month! does anyone know a car insurance company that will do this for me? I live in Canada so I need a reference for here.""

Can I get temporary car insurance for 3 to 5 days?

I'm not currenty insured because i go to San Francisco state and dont need a car, im going to florida for thanksgiving and ive got my old car out there, but my parents wont let me drive it unless im insured..""

Which comes first? The car or insurance?

You can't drive without insurance, but your insurance rate depends in part on what kind of car you drive. So which do you get first?""

Will my insurance be high?

I'm 16, turning 17 soon. I have strait A's so I get the driver discount and plus my insurance company has a program you can do for an extra 15% off which my mom is going to make me do. I'm a girl so I know my insurance will be less then a boys.. But If I got my own car ( years around 2000-2009) will my insurebce be extremely high?""

Car insurance decreases, when? 26 yrs old?

I started driving when I was 22 years old, and never had an accident. Right now, I'm 26. I pay $116/month for insurance, which I think is kinda high. The vehicle I drive is a 2006 Hyundai Eantra. Car insurance is: Erie Insurance  http://www.erieinsurance.com/

Help with Health insurance?

I was wondering something about health insurance - i'm divorced - my ex is suppposed to have health insurance on the child. He has health insurance on it - so I have a blue cross blue shield card for that. my ex has remarried - and his wife also has health insurance through blue cross blue shield. And with hers, she also put my kids on her insurance. My question is: can my kids step mother also have insurance on my kids -- is this legal. Before I start using both insurances - I want to make sure this is legal to do.""

How will a $135 speeding ticket show up on my car insurance?

Will the insurance notice show how fast I was going/how much I had to pay for the ticket?

""Young driver getting a new car, insurance?""

Me and my fiance are buying a new car, im 20 and hes 22. Its a 2010 Mazda 3. We already went to the dealership and got a good price on it and even 0% financing. Signed all the papers and now we are looking at getting insurance but its putting us back a little bit. The car is all ready to go but not until we have insurance. Any ideas on good cheap insurance or are we basically screwed?""

Can I put my mom in my health insurance?

Can I put my mom in my health insurance?

How much is motorcycle insurance for a minor in Maryland?

I'm 17 and am looking to get a motorcycle sometime this summer i have experience ridding. i was looking at a ninja250 ninja500 gs500 a gsxr600 cbr600 and an r6 if you can give me at least a rough estimate of the cost or suggest other bike that would be great

How do I get Renter's Insurance?

It's required for college dorming, but i'm not sure how to get it. Help?""

How much would state farm car insurance charge for a 17 year old under my own name in connecticut?

i have a acura 3.0 cl... 2 door... and i was just wondering does anybody know how much i would be paying.. in anyway (monthly, yearly... but monthly is better)... so if you could help thanks... and dont tell me to look it up... im just asking.... and this kid has it under his own name... but i dont see him anymore so i cant ask him....""

Car insurance is it legal?

would I be able to drive my wifes car that she owns but has no insurance on the car. I have my own car and are fully comprehensive so would I be breaking the law.

Health insurance in CA?

I'm a college student thinking of getting health insurance that is affordable. What health insurance should I get? And what's the cost of the insurance per month? Thank you

How much will my insurance cost? Just turned 16?

I want to get a 1994 Mitsubishi 3000gt, but my dad said the insurance would be way to high. Can anyone estimate the price per month insurance would be for a 16 yearold that just got their first car and lisence? Thanks, Dustin""

How much do you pay for car insurance?

What company are you with? How old are you? What kind of car do you drive?

Where can I find info on LOW COST Medical Insurance In Central NY? (Student Artist Musician Business Owner)?

My wife and I are moving soon from PHX, AZ to the greater Syracuse area. I am moving my multimedia business / record label (websites, print design, videography, DVD production and studio recording) and I need information on which companies can provide my family reasonable cost heath insurance. Right now my wife works fulltime so we use her benefits, but we will be starting a family and would like to keep her at home for a few years. In PHX, health insurance for non-group individuals runs about $300 a month - from what I can see in CNY it can cost closer to $1000! Can some one help me with this? Am I looking at the wrong companies or is it just that mush more expensive? Are any loop holes? In some states Students, Artist, Musicians & Small Business Owners can get highly discounted rates - is this true in CNY? Can anyone help? Thanks in advance!""

Totaled my car and my insurance company will no cover car rental?

I have Mercury car insurance and I pay for ful coverage, I just totaled my 12 month old Camry and now my agent is telling me that I do not have access to a rental car, that the only ...show more""

Im moving to Las Vegas. How much is car insurance in Nevada?

I am moving to Las Vegas. I am also planing to buy a car. How much is the car insurance in Nevada?

Would my insurance be high?

There is a 1973 Dodge Charger online I found that needs restoration for $1750. What would I do for insurance and would it be high since I'm only 17?

How much does car insurance cost for a 16 year old?

i live in nevada. and if you have good grades do you get a discount i got A's and B's

What is the difference between term life insurance and cash value life insurance.?

which one is better if you are starting your own business. also how much time you need to have to cash it out all the money from the term life insurance. Moreover, what are the advantages and disadvantages of both of these options?""

What company should my son contact for affordable health insurance in the state of Virginia?

What company should my son contact for affordable health insurance in the state of Virginia?

Should i carry collision insurance on my 2006 silverado?

Should i carry collision insurance on my 2006 silverado?

Put my 17 yr son on insurance for '85 vette?

Is it possible to put my 17 year old son on the insurance for my 85 corvette? God blessed

Where can I get some good cheap SR-22 insurance?

I'm in the Chicago area. I need SR-22 insurance as it's required by the state. My license was suspended and it expired soon afterward. I trying to get my license back. So I need SR-22 insurance for someone who was an expired suspended license. I don't own any vehicles either.

Does a Dodge Dart have sports car insurance?

If i buy a dodge dart Rallye and it has the 1.4L turbo engine, will i have to pay for sports car insurance?I have statefarm..""

How much for insurance on a Scion Tc? Does it get good MPG?

I am looking into getting a Scion Tc, I went to the dealer to look at the car and the sales man said that insurance will be a lot for a new scion. But he didn't know how much. I am 18, female, I will have my license for almost 2 years(by the time I get a new car), I have no tickets and have never been pulled over by a cop. And I live in California (if that makes a difference) Instead of getting a brand new Scion I am looking into a used one. A 2006 or 2007. I have Wawanesa car insurance. So does anyone know how much it would be a month? Oh, and from someone who has a Scion Tc, does it get good gas millage? It will be a deal breaker for me if it doesn't.""

Where can I get the cheapest motorcycle insurance quote for a brand new VESPA?

I'm 20 years old and looking into buying a vespa to use in Toronto! Looking for the cheapest insurance possible!

I am looking for an affordable holiday abroad ?

can anyone reccommend any good web sites with exellent deals please as i have never been on holiday abroad and is there any extras like do you have to have travel insurance and is it affordable?thankyou

Car insurance decreases, when? 26 yrs old?

I started driving when I was 22 years old, and never had an accident. Right now, I'm 26. I pay $116/month for insurance, which I think is kinda high. The vehicle I drive is a 2006 Hyundai Eantra. Car insurance is: Erie Insurance  http://www.erieinsurance.com/

Cheap car insurance for young people?

i just turned 15. ive gotten a few quotes and all of them are around 300 dollars a month. who should i get my insurance with and what type of car will make it the cheapest.? Please help.

Cheap car insurance for a young driver...

is there any insurance company who can give me a good deal on my car insurance? (i am hoping to get insured on my mums grande punto) I am getting ridiculous quotes all the time just because I'm an 20 year old male, and being from liverpool probably doesnt help matters either haha. Thanks in advance""

""How much will it cost to insure a mini cooper, for a young driver?

just about to start driving and would like to know the costs?

""Out of a mini one, mini cooper, fiat 500 and Rav-4 ?

Ok so this is my first car and these are all the cars I like and can get. So could someone plz tell me which is cheaper insurance for a 17 yr old girl and which is cheaper on petrol? Thank you xox

How much is insurance for a road legal buggy? Or how much would you guess?

I'm 22 and only just got my drivers licence. The buggy I'll get will probably be about 250cc. Probably second hand and worth around 1500-1750. If you have the answer that'd be great, but mainly I just want to know whether it'll be significantly lower than it is for males my age to get car insurance. No need to mention getting quotes from websites, I've already thought of it.""

Will a car insurance company cover a collsion if I have a salvage title?

I purchased a vehicle which came with a clean title from an owner.I called my car ins.company and added insurance to the car then went to register it.DMV says this vehicle was in an accident and would have to be a salvaged title. My question is if my ins.company has it down as a clean title and I get into an accident,will they then find out its a salvage title? If not then how will they find out if at all? Im afraid if I tell them its salvaged now they won't insure the car then I'd be stuck with it.""

Is my insurance rate going to go up? High Point Auto Insurance?

Long story short, I received a speeding ticket today. It will be a 2-point ticket. I called my insurance provider and they said yes, my insurance will go up but she couldn't tell me by how much. She also didn't sound like she knew what she was talking about. This is my first moving violation in 8 years, so I was wondering if anyone with High Point had any experience with this so I can weigh my options between pleading guilty and fighting the ticket for a dismissal. NYC is a non plea bargain jurisdiction so plea bargaining is not an option. I am not asking for exact answers, I am asking whether there has been anyone in my position, with a relatively clean record, has experienced an increase in their insurance rate, and if so, if it was a substantial increase.""

Which auto insurance company offers the best six month rates for a 19 yr old male?

im looking for a company public or private where i can get a 6 month premium for under $2500. the rates i get or ridiculous. am i expected to cough up $6500 for a 1 yr premium at minimal coverage with all discounts (6 hr class, vin ethching,etc.)included in the premium? thanxxx in advance for ur help""

Is there car insurance for people who don't own cars in Ontario?

My parents are taking me off their insurance as an occasional driver. I don't own a car and don't plan on getting one. I was wondering if I need insurance in order to drive someone else's car? I haven't had any luck finding info relevant to Ontario. Thanks!

Best Car/SUV/Pick Up-Trucks for Insurance(Young Driver)?

Im turning 20 in a months time, and i will be purchasing a used Car, i will have about $10,000CDN to spend. I found cars/SUV that im interested in, and I've got Quotes off of web sites on how much insurance would be, and so far there all pretty expensive. What Model would be a good choice?""

Insurance costs for a new driver insured on own car in Canada?

Yeah I know if varies but has anyone recently received their license and bought their own car for their own use? How much was the insurance? I tried checking on websites but they weren't really helpful. It would help if it was in ontario too.

Does home owners insurance covers water leaking ac ?

my central unit ac is leaking ,i have insurace but not sure if it will cover it . please help!""

Can the police seize a car off you in a petrol garage for no insurance when you have got in surance?

more info the police seized a friends car for no insurance when he had insurance to cover him to to use any car be cos it did not come up on the PNC as having insurance' on the car so can he get the car back for free from the police car Pound for free if he shows he insurance cover s hime to use any car . and is a petrol garage classed as a road help me wive this

Question about changing term life insurance companies?

My term, no medical exam life insurance is almost up for the 10 years and it's going to renew higher than what I can get from another company, so I am going to apply at another company online and cancel the old one, but it says are you planning on replacing another policy? if yes, you can't buy this insurance, if no then you can buy it. I don't understand, why wouldn't they be happy to get another customer, is it illegal to change companies? I am in California. Should I just put no so it will accept it?""

I paid my car insurance in full but iv seen a better car thats cheaper to insure?

iv only had the policy 2 weeks can i trade my car in for the one iv seen and claim the difference back of insurance company also just taxed the car iv got 135 for the full year would this be transferable sorry this is my first car so new to all this

Average car insurance rates for people under 21 years old?

Average car insurance rates for people under 21 years old?

Health Insurance for Newborn baby?

I get health insurance through my job but I think I can get a better quote than what they offer if I go about it independently. What suggestions do you all have in terms of a good health insurance coverage? Is it best to have a higher deductible and lower premium or vice versa for a newborn? I want what will be the best for him but the most affordable for us. Thanks! :)

UK- Can you help me find cheaper car insurance?

I currently own classic mini and after 6 months of driving it i want something more reliable. I didn't earn any no claims bonus on the mini as it was on a classic car policy, which I paid 900 a year third party, fire and theft. I want to get a 1.3 toyota yaris but cheapest insurance I have found is 5500! I will be the main driver of it and no i will not front it (go as named when im actually main driver). Which companies are best for young people. I don't want to pay more than around 2000 a year on the insurance. I know there are many factors that affect insurance but I'm looking for companies with good deals/lowest premiums and/or general tips to reducing the premiums. I live in the UK by the way.""

Car insurance accepting no claims when not been on a policy for 2 years?

I need car insurance with a company who will accept my 9 years no claims from 2 years ago, does anybody know any companies who accept this??? thanks""

""I need short term auto insurance, since i will be on vacation for 45 days in southern california,?

Now my insurance company doesn't cover me in the states

If you can't afford health insurance for your family and the government says you make too much...?

then what do you suggest? What if your family has too much income according to the government for your kids to even qualify for Medicaid or the low cost options (CHIP)? My husband makes $48,000 a year before taxes are taken out. While that does pay the bills and keep food on the table, we can't do a $800 monthly insurance policy and our kids are denied Medicaid and CHIP (we make $300 too much per month, of all things). We pay the necessities. We don't over spend and we don't go out and spend money on entertainment more than a few times yearly and even then it's cheap entertainment. We do what we can, but health insurance just isn't going to happen for us unless one of two things happens: 1- my husband gets a major pay raise or 2- the government changes their income requirements (don't see that happening). So what do you suggest for my family? We do what we can. We use our tax returns each year for medical expenses and bill pay offs. If a major medical expense comes up, we pay it down little by little. We do use the public health department when we can. But bottom line is that we can't afford insurance. Period. So, for all of you who think this is completely unacceptable, what do you suggest we do?""

Car insurance for a new driver aged 21?

hi, im really close to taking my driving test, and i will be 19 when i hopefully pass. but i know that i would be unable to afford car insurance just yet! however, i would be hoping to maybe get a car when i am round about 21 or 22, as i will hopefully be in a more of a position to buy and run a car! however i was wondering if you could give me a rough ESTIMATE on how much the insurance would cost! i would be looking at getting a car such as a Nissan Micra, and would more than likely get a 1.0 litre! if you could give me an ESTIMATE on how much it could cost, so i can get a general idea! i know its hard to give an exact price, but lets just say the car is all safe and has been MOT'd and is being parked in a garage! hope you can all help, oh and its for a MALE!""

What are teenage driving insurance rates for girls?

whats the cheapest in illionois? do i have to have insurance while driving w/ a permit??

Ex-friend was using my car insurance for 2 years without consent?

While looking for a new car and insurance (I am on my mothers insurance) i discovered that an ex-boyfriend has been using my last name and claiming i was his husband to get car insurance. The policy was expired last year but he had multiple car accidents. Now my name is somehow connected to his in the car insurance world and I cant get insurance at a decent price. Can I charge him with a crime? How do I get him off my records? Any suggestions?

How do I get a cheap full coverage car insurance? Can I put my name in my dad's car insurance?

I want to get a car insurance and I want a cheap and full coverage one. But I am a college student and not ready to pay 200 or 100 for a car insurance. My dad is 54 would it be cheaper if I used him or he puts my name with him? If something happened to my car will they cover it or not because he is not the owner of the car? Can someone please explain how this works :D

Car insurance decreases, when? 26 yrs old?

I started driving when I was 22 years old, and never had an accident. Right now, I'm 26. I pay $116/month for insurance, which I think is kinda high. The vehicle I drive is a 2006 Hyundai Eantra. Car insurance is: Erie Insurance  http://www.erieinsurance.com/

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