#fun fact my father is not taking meds to heal from something that could actually kill him because it stops him from eating

[coffeeworldsasaki]

Once again chanting in my mind "graphic card" to avoid snapping at my mother saying dumb shit

[bittysvalentines]

The Science of Crushes

From @17piesinseptember

To @jackzimmermemes

Happy (Bitty's) Valentine's!! I hope you have a fantastic day.

Justin/Tater, general rating, no archive warnings

Justin is in the middle of packing-up when a man rushes into the museum's lecture theatre, startling him. Thankfully, he was only holding a packet of balloons and not one of the more lethal accessories he uses in his science demonstration.

“Can I help you?” Justin asks, starting to gather the balloons now scattered over the table.

The man’s figure is shadowy. The stage lights are on but Justin switched off the audience lights after everyone left. The only thing Justin can discern is that the man is tall.

“Have I miss the show?” the guy asks. He has an accent that Justin thinks is some kind of Eastern European. It sparks something in his memory but he doesn’t know why.

“Yes, sorry. I just finished,” Justin tell the man.

The man says something in a foreign language. Justin doesn’t know exactly what but he’s certain it’s a swear word. 

“You have another today?” the man asks, walking toward him, every step bringing him more into the light. Not only is he tall, but he’s broad as well.

“No. Sorry,” Justin apologises, still gathering balloons. “I’ve got two tomorrow though. One at eleven and the other…”

Justin trails off as the man comes fully into the light and Justin realises why the voice was familiar.

The man is Alexei Mashkov, former Falconers player and Justin’s celebrity crush all through college.

Seeing him in the flesh brings a flash of the old attraction back and Justin’s heart speeds up despite him being fifteen years out of college and not having watched a game in years.

"The other?" Alexei prompts.

"At two."

"Okay. Will remember."

Alexei turns and walks out before Justin can quite process that he was in the presence of Alexei Mashkov.

-

True to his word, Alexei turns up to Justin’s 2pm show the next day. 

Sure, Alexei asked Justin about his show times, but Justin didn’t really expect the man to turn up. Which adult comes two days in a row to the same kid-centric science and technology museum? 

Justin deals with Alexei's presence by trying to ignore him and stick to his script. It doesn’t work. Alexei is the odd one out in the audience, not only because of his height and his fame (and Justin’s rekindled college-days attraction), but because he sits and takes notes during the whole show.

After the big finale with the liquid nitrogen and a balloon, the room clears quickly. Except for one person.

Justin swallows, throat dry, as Alexei approaches with the notebook in his hands.

Justin should have a better grasp on his hormones after having lived with them for 37 years. He apparently doesn’t.

“No kid?” Justin asks, because of the not-having-a-grasp-on-his-hormones thing, and it seemed better than blurting out that he used to have a poster of Alexei in his college dorm.

Alexei frowns, but responds. “I don’t have children.”

Justin’s stomach twists in embarrassment. “Sorry. I wasn’t asking that. That’s unprofessional. I mean, no kid here with you?” Justin isn’t making things better. He decides biting his tongue is the solution.

“Ah.” Alexei’s expression smooths out and he shakes his head. “Is no kid. Just me.”

“You came to the kids’ science show by yourself?” 

Will biting his tongue was unsuccessful. He’ll have to try something else.

“Yes. I come to learn.” Alexei holds the notebook up. “Then can go back and tell niece about show.”

“That’s sweet,” Justin tells Alexei, while his brain is flipping out to see Alexei’s sweet side up close. It was always part of the narrative during his time in the NHL; ferocious on the ice and a big teddy bear off it.

“Thank you. She meant to be here but a few days ago, she fall badly,” Alexei explains. “Now can’t walk while healing.”

“That’s rough,” Justin empathises, surprised Alexei is still standing here engaging him in an actual conversation.

"Yes. Spending holidays in hospital not fun."

“Which hospital is your niece at? If you don't mind me asking."

"Royal Far West."

Justin nods. "I know it. I did a rotation there when I was in med school."

Alexei looks at the table covered with Justin's props. "You have gone to med school?"

Justin laughs at the look on Alexei's face. "Yeah. Burnt out after ten years though. It's intense."

"Intense. I understand this."

Alexei looks down (down!) at him and Justin feels like he's back in college. No, even worse. In high school. 

Alexei holds his hand out to Justin. "I'm Alexei."

Justin catches himself from replying 'I know', finally on top (somewhat) of his hormones. "Doctor Justin Oluransi."

Alexei’s hand is rough and warm. And large. 

"Doctor Oluransi." He smiles at Justin.

"Justin is fine,” Justin replies as a shiver runs through him at the way Alexei shapes his name. Maybe his college crush isn't as in the past as he thought. 

Not knowing how to act on that, but trying to extend his time in Alexei’s orbit, Justin makes a suggestion. "Look. If your niece is stuck in a hospital bed, I can get in touch with the hospital and arrange to do a show there."

Alexei’s eyebrows raise. "You can?"

"Sure. I've done it before. We have a partnership with them."

"You are a saint,” Alexei says earnestly.

Justin flushes. "Let's see if the hospital approves it before declaring my sainthood."

Alexei throws his head back and laughs. Justin’s stomach feels fluttery and he subtly pinches his leg. Yep. It’s real. Alexei is laughing at something he said.

-

The hospital is more than happy for Justin to come and do an abridged version of one of his presentations. Then Justin is stuck with how he passes that information on to Alexei. The hospital could have done it for him but he wanted to speak to Alexei again. Thankfully, he's on good terms with a lot of the staff still, and when he explains the situation he's pointed in the right direction.

He finds Alexei's niece in a private room already crammed full of flowers and get well cards. If he didn't know after some late night googling that Alexei was childless and single (not that he's focusing on the second part) he would've assumed they were father and daughter. She has his exact colouring.

Alexei is thankfully in the room and chatting to his niece whose entire left leg up to mid-thigh is covered in plaster. Justin at least knows the language is Russian now, even if he still doesn't understand a single word.

The girl spots him first and says something to Alexei that puts a blush on his cheeks.

"Doctor Oluransi!" Alexei unfolds himself from the chair and comes over to shake Justin's hand. Justin's still not over how towering his height is. It's so rare anyone is taller than Justin. All the man has done is say hello and Justin's already got jelly legs.

"I don't have to do my presentation in Russian, do I?" Justin jokes, holding onto Alexei's hand too long.

"No, no. Sandra first language is English."

"Uncle Alexei is just teaching me Russian for fun," Sandra explains.

Justin turns to her, hoping he appears casual and not flustered because Alexei's now holding his shoulder. "For fun, huh."

Sandra nods. "Yep."

"I get it. I used to try to memorise the periodic table," Justin tells her.

"Already done that," she grins.

"Already--" Justin looks at Alexei who nods at the declaration. The pride for his niece is clear.

Justin must hold Alexei's gaze too long because Sandra clears her throat to get their attention.

"Uncle Alexei, can you get me a coke please?"

"Yes. Of course." Alexei turns to Justin. "You come also?"

"Actually," Sandra interrupts. "Can I ask you some science questions, Doctor Oluransi? Please?" She asks so innocently Justin gets the feeling there's an ulterior motive.

"Well, uh, I guess if it's okay with Alexei?"

Justin can't believe he just used Alexei's name like they're close enough to be on first name terms. He pinches himself. Yep. He really did that.

"Is okay,” Alexei confirms immediately. “I trust you. Plus, am very bad remembering facts, even after writing down. You will do better."

Alexei leaves them alone and Justin takes the seat by Sandra's bed. "What do you want to know?"

"Do you like my uncle?"

So much for Justin appearing casual. "That is not a science question."

"You're a scientist, so it half is,” Sandra points out.

Sandra's intelligence astounds him again. "I'd rather not discuss feelings I may or may not have for Alexei with you."

Sandra pouts. "Fine. Being in here is so boring though."

"So is my love life," Justin sighs. 

Realising it's maybe inappropriate to have shared that, he moves on quickly. "I think I can make it less boring, though. I came here to--"

"So you do like Uncle Alexei!" Sandra sits up straight and fist-pumps.

"No.”

“But you just said--”

“I was talking about you being bored. Not my love life."

"Oh." She slumps back against the pillows.

"Right. Well.” Justin worries he isn’t making a good impression with Sandra. Not that it’s something he should be worrying about; making a good impression with Alexei’s niece. 

“The hospital is letting me do a science show here on the weekend,” he tells Sandra.

Sandra's face lights up again. "That's so cool. Really?"

Alexei returns then with the coke. "What so cool?"

"Doctor Oluransi is doing a science show here on the weekend!"

"See?” Alexei crosses to them and places his hand on Justin’s shoulder. “You are like saint."

Justin's going to have to be more careful about letting his rekindled attraction show while Sandra's in the room. Thankfully, it’s impossible for her to see how fast his pulse is racing as Alexei’s fingers graze the skin above his collar.

“You forgot the straw,” Sandra pouts at her uncle.

“Ah. Sorry. Think I was distract.” 

Sandra sends Justin an indecipherable look at Alexei's words.

“I go get now.” 

Alexei shoots an apologetic smile at Justin. As soon as he’s out of the room, Sandra grins at Justin.

"You do like him," she declares, and takes a sip of her coke without waiting for the straw.

Justin doesn’t try and deny it this time.

-

Justin prepares for the show like he would any other, even though it’s at the hospital and even though he knows Alexei is going to be in the audience. He’s decided that even though he’s clearly still attracted to the man, there isn’t a future there and he shouldn’t spend time imagining one. 

Alexei goes with Sandra back to her room after the show. Justin tries not to feel upset by the fact, but even without the daydreaming, a part of him was hoping Alexei would come and talk to him after the show (that part of him may have gone so far as to make Justin dream of that very thing happening last night).

Telling himself it’s for the best, and he should let his interest in Alexei fade, Justin is totally blindsided when Alexei finds him in an elevator on his way out of the hospital.

“Ah-ha!” Alexei exclaims, stepping inside. “I find you!”

Alexei doesn’t press any of the floor buttons. The doors close and the elevator continues taking Justin down to the parking lot.

“You were looking for me?” Justin knows it’s not possible for his heart to flip over in his chest, but it feels like that’s what happens when Alexei nods.

“Of course I look for you,” Alexei tells him. “Need to say how amazing show was.”

Alexei’s eyes are on Justin. His dreams haven’t done them justice. They’re so warm, Justin feels his blood heating just from staring at them.

The moment is broken as the elevator opens and a mother and son enter. Alexei shuffles in closer to Justin to give them room. Goosebumps run up Justin’s arm when their elbows bump. He’s never found his elbow an erogenous zone but there’s a first time for everything.

The child stares at Alexei. Justin sees the moment he realises who he’s in the elevator with. The kid’s jaw drops and his eyes widen. Justin hopes his face wasn’t that transparent in his adoration when Alexei showed up at his show that first time. It mustn’t have been, otherwise Alexei would have run the other way.

“You’re Alexei Mashkov,” the child announces.

“Honey, don’t bother the man,” the mother tells her son.

“Is no problem,” Alexei smiles and crouches down in front of the kid. “You can call me Tater.”

The kid beams. “Can you sign my cast, Tater?” The child lifts his arm. His cast is already half covered with scribbles. Alexei adds his name.

“Thank you so much,” the mother says as they exit at the gift shop floor, leaving Justin and Alexei alone in the elevator again.

Justin is thoroughly charmed by Alexei’s interaction with the kid. The college crush he had on the man that flared up when Alexei showed up at his first show hasn’t gone away like Justin was imagining it would. Every interaction they have, Justin discovers more of Alexei. And it makes him want to know even more.

Justin doesn’t think he’s in a position to ask for that though, not from a man he’s only interacted with a handful of times. 

As soon as the doors shut, Alexei turns to Justin. Justin notices they aren’t standing as close anymore.

"Sorry,” Alexei apologises. Justin isn’t sure what for until he continues. “Happens a few time with me. Was hockey player in NHL for many years."

"I know,” Justin tells him.

Alexei blinks. "You know? You know who I am all times we talk?"

“I used to follow hockey," Justin admits.

Alexei shuffles on his feet, ending up closer to Justin. “Used to? Where we go wrong?” 

Alexei smiles and Justin laughs. He never thought he'd be teased by Alexei Mashkov. Maybe asking Alexei out isn’t the ridiculous fantasy he first thought. 

“You didn’t go wrong,” he assures Alexei. “I did a doctorate and that took most of my brainspace for 3 years. I never got back into it after that.”

“If you want to start again, I maybe get you tickets to a game?" Alexei suggests. "Falconers, of course.”

Justin's jaw drops. "Seriously?"

"Yes. Serious.” Alexei nods. He shuffles his weight again and ends up so close Justin can smell his deodorant. “You do so much for Sandra. You are great, smart, kind man."

Justin's insides melt. He knows it isn't possible, but he can’t think of another way to describe it.

“That would… That would--Yeah. Okay,” Justin stammers. “That's amazing, Alexei.”

“Okay." Alexei smiles. The right side of his mouth pulls up higher. Justin’s enamoured by it. 

"And I go with, then. Like date.”

Justin’s brain short-circuits. He’d only come around ten seconds ago to the possibility of asking Alexei out. Now Alexei is maybe asking him out?If twenty-year old Justin could see him now. 

“Like a date. Or a date?” Justin checks.

“Ah, I not want to pressure you.”

“I’m a grown man. I can say no if I want.”

“Are you say no?”

Justin is the one to move closer this time. “No way. I'm saying yes.”

[cami-chats]

I Always Have You

Fandom: Marvel

Pairings: Bucky Barnes & Tony Stark

Warnings: Mentioned pedophilia (but nothing happens or even comes close)

Summary: From Tony's first day on the earth, he had a soulmate looking after him. Not everyone wanted Bucky to be that close with him, but they manage.

Also on AO3

Bucky was half excited and half scared. Mostly excited because it's not like this was his baby, it was his friend that was having a kid. Which meant he got to have all the fun and none of the headaches. Ply him with candy so Bucky was his favorite, but then he wouldn't have to deal with the kid bouncing off the walls at bedtime. He had it made, and he loved it. 

Maria's labor didn't take very long according to people that knew more about birth than him, and when Howard came out to retrieve them, they filed in with quiet steps but eager faces-- Peggy and the Howlies minus a noted few. 

Peggy was the first to hold him of course, positively beaming at the scrunched up little face. Bucky was next, and he was careful that his left arm was already perfectly in place when Peggy eased the baby into his arms. 

Maria was exhausted but smiling, strands of hair sticking to her face from sweat. "His name's Antonio Edward Stark," she said, pride clear as day in her tone. 

"Aw you little thing," Bucky cooed, "they'll probably call you Tony. Do you like that? Tony?" He wiggled a finger in front of his face, then stroked it over a chubby cheek. The he froze as the world... exploded. There was no other word for it. Color didn't seep into his vision like it always belonged there, it was like a knock to the head that landed so hard his vision whited out before blowing back in. 

"Bucky?" Howard was asking from in front of him, clearly no the first time he had said his name. 

"Yeah," Bucky said nonsensically, glancing down at Tony for a moment before shoving him into his father's arms. As if that wasn't enough to warn everyone in the room that he wasn't feeling right, he fumbled the door knob when he tried to stumble out into the hallway. He didn't bother trying to find a chair, he just leaned against the wall right next to the room and slid to the floor. 

He had a soulmate. Shit. Shit. He'd always thought that if it wasn't Steve it wasn't going to be anyone, and he was fine with that. But now he had a soulmate and he couldn't even begin to know how to handle that. He was going to have to go to a goddamn class to learn what all the colors were. He probably wouldn't have to take the meds that would prevent him from getting headaches the first week because of his healing factor, but that was a pale comfort. He didn't know how to be a soulmate to anyone let alone a baby. He was good with kids when the occasion called for it, but that was a hell of a difference to helping raise one. But maybe he was getting ahead of himself because there was no guarantee that Howard would even let him see Tony again. 

Howard was kneeling in front of him now, face concerned and saying his name over and over to try and catch his attention. When Bucky finally met his eyes, he gave a small smile. "It's okay. We're just uh-" he glanced at the closed hospital door- "not going to tell Maria for a while. She'd panic, but it's not like anything's going to happen. Take a couple of breaths and get back in there, okay?" 

"You're takin' this better than I am," Bucky noted, doing as instructed and taking several deep breaths. 

Howard shrugged, staying where he was on his knees so Bucky didn't feel rushed. "He's not going to have it easy being my son. I feel a lot better knowing that you'll be there to look after him." He clapped Bucky on the shoulder, and it actually made him feel better. He was still freaking out, but he knew that it was temporary. 

*

Bucky spent more time at Stark Mansion than his own home. Howard offered him a room full time, but Bucky turned it down, citing Maria as an excuse. Even so, he ended up spending the night about half the time. 

Tony was absolutely adorable, all wide-eyed curiosity and demanding that Bucky explain things to him. It only took a couple years before Tony was asking questions he didn't know the answer to. 

"Dad says you knew Captain America," Tony said one day, a Bucky-bear in one hand and an official Captain America action figure in the other. 

"Yeah." 

Tony tilted his head. "Like the one in the comics?" 

"Yep, only I knew him before he got super." 

Tony looked at him skeptically, so full of doubt in a way only kids could manage. "He's always been super." 

"Really? I thought the comics showed him getting bigger." 

"That's not real," Tony said like it was obvious. "Nobody grows that much in one minute, it takes years." 

Bucky was the one that had corrected him on that originally, explaining that everyone had to wait years to get big and Tony would too. Evidently Tony had taken that to heart. "That's how it is for you and me, but Steve was... special." 

"I thought I was special." 

"You're special too," Bucky assured him. "It's just in a different way." 

Tony hugged the Bucky-bear tighter, Captain America falling to the side, forgotten. "Different," Tony repeated. 

"That's right." 

Bucky-bear firmly clutched in one hand, Tony crawled onto the couch and put himself in Bucky's lap. "Was Captain America different too?" 

"Yeah kiddo," Bucky said, laying a kiss on top of Tony's messy hair, "he was different too." 

*

"Why do people wear white to get married?" Tony asked. He was lying on his stomach, arms propping up his head while he wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

"I dunno," Bucky said. "Purity, I think?" 

"Well it's boring. They should wear red. Red's the best color." 

Bucky shrugged, and Tony continued to frown. It should have been so innocent. Tony knew that Maria worked with fashion, so if Bucky didn't know why people wore white to weddings, maybe she would. He sought her out a little later, when Bucky had to leave to do some boring adult thing. "Mama?" 

"Yes?" 

"Why do people wear white to weddings?" he asked. Then, because he wanted someone to agree with him, "Wouldn't red look better?" 

Maria froze. "Red?" 

Tony nodded, sure that she was about to say 'Yes Antonio, you're right, red would be much better'. 

"Who taught you your colors?" 

"Bucky." It had been a little game, pointing at candies. When Tony got the color right, he got to eat the candy. Tony was too big for that game now, but he still did it sometimes. 

"Bucky," Maria repeated, jaw clenched and something steely in her gaze. Tony didn't know why she looked like that. Bucky was great! He gave hugs anytime Tony wanted them, and he was always warm and squishy. Plus, anytime Tony asked, Bucky would carry him around like he didn't weigh a thing. 

Without answering Tony's question, she left the room, yelling for Howard. Tony waited for her to come back at first, but nothing happened. With a put-upon sigh, Tony went to go look for him. He heard the yelling long before he saw them. 

"I want you out of my house!" Maria screamed. 

"It's my home, and I say that he'd not going anywhere!" Howard yelled right back. 

"Think of our son!" 

"That's who I am thinking about!" 

Him. They were talking about him. Tony ran to get closer, stopping just outside the doorway so they wouldn't see him. 

"You have no idea what he's going to face in the future, wouldn't you like it if he had some protection?" 

"He needs protection from him!" 

"Maria-" Bucky tried to say, but she cut him off. 

"Take your shit and get the hell out of here!" 

"No," Howard snapped. "He stays." 

There was a tense, long pause. "Fine," Maria spit, and Tony ran back to the parlor so he wouldn't get caught. He had no idea what was going on, but it sounded bad. 

Three days later, Maria told him he was going to boarding school, cheery smile on her face and his already packed bag by her feet. 

"What?" 

"Boarding school, darling. It'll be better for you than staying cooped up in this house with only the occasional visit from your tutors." 

"I'm not cooped up," Tony protested even though he knew that she'd already made up her mind and no amount of protests would change that. He couldn't help but try though, especially since what she said was wrong. Bucky brought him out all the time, and Howard taught him things the tutors didn't know. He didn't say any of that aloud, remembering the strange argument he'd heard before. 

Maria looked at him in that way adults did when they thought he didn't understand what they were saying. "This will be good for you Antonio. I want you to be happy, and this decision's already been made." 

"My name's Tony," he muttered, and Maria's face hardened though she didn't say anything to correct him. 

"It's time to go darling, we wouldn't want for you to be late." 

"We're leaving right now?" 

"That's correct." 

"Are Bucky and Dad coming?" 

"They're both awfully busy Antonio. It'll just be you, and, and Mister Jarvis. Doesn't that sound like fun?" 

No. In fact, it sounded weird and like nothing they'd done before. But when she took his hand and started pulling him towards the door, he didn't try to get away. 

*

When Tony had realized that boarding school had meant never going home and not getting visitors, he'd tried to leave. When he got shipped back, he figured that she couldn't do it again if the school wouldn't take him. So he got himself expelled, but instead of everything going back to normal, Maria found a different one to stick him in. He got kicked out of that one. He tried telling her that he was miserable, the classes too easy and the other students too mean, but nothing worked. For whatever reason, Maria was determined to keep him away. 

Before he knew it, he was in college, shoving all the engineering tools he was unwilling to part with in a tiny dorm room that was painted slate grey. 

Tony was busy trying to shove boxes under the bed when the door opened. The only part of him that was visible were his calves and feet. 

"You must be Stark." 

"Yeah that's me!" This thing was stupid heavy. If Bucky'd come to help, it wouldn't have been a problem, but Bucky had looked all awkward and said, "I don't think I should. Call me when you get there though, yeah? Let me know if I can help." It finally shoved into place, and he wiggled out from under the bed. He rolled over and saw his roommate. James Rhodes was plenty handsome, but god at what cost? Tony had no idea a shade of red that horrible existed. He looked nice though, and Tony wasn't going to make Rhodes annoyed with him quicker than usual if he could help it. "Rhodes?" 

"Yep." He offered Tony a hand up, and Tony forced himself to take it because he wasn't allowed to be squeamish with his classmates-- Maria had made that pretty clear. "Listen man, I know this is college and all, but you're way underage so don't expect me to get you beer or anything." 

Tony snorted. "Yeah don't worry. I'm sure if I want some, I can get it on my own." He almost went back to putting things away, but he wanted to check on this before it became a problem. "Try not to bring too many people to our room, yeah? Who you sleep with is your business, but people have a tendency to 'accidentally' pick up my things when they leave and I'd prefer not to deal with it." 

"Shit man. Yeah, you got it." 

"Thanks." 

"No problem, it's not like I was hooking up with a whole bunch of people anyways." He looked at his side of the room, nodded to himself then said, "Ignore the ten different people helping me move three boxes. My family all insisted they come even though I told them I didn't really need the help." 

His entire family was coming? Tony had Howard and Maria for family. Past that, the help he could expect would come from Jarvis of Bucky (of course). But Maria wasn't exactly that kind of mother, so wherever she was was where Jarvis would be. Howard had a trip planned for this entire month, and they'd known about that before they even knew Tony was going to college. Bucky's help had been a given to Tony, all the way until Bucky had given him that look and been entirely uncertain in his own skin. "I'm probably going to clear out if it's all the same to you," Tony said, and Rhodes grinned. 

"Don't want to deal with them? Smart move. See you around." 

Missing out on the family interactions was definitely a bonus, but mostly Tony needed to find a phone so he could call Bucky. It was easy to find a phone, and he didn't have to wait for anyone else to be done, because everyone else on campus was busy moving. He dialed the number for the Mansion, assuming that's where Bucky was. 

"Stark residence." 

"Hi Mrs. Jarvis, it's Tony. Can you put Bucky on?" 

"Mister Barnes is not here," she said, and Tony waited for her to elaborate but nothing was forthcoming. 

"Uh, okay. Thanks." 

"Of course sir," she said, then hung up. 

Well. Maybe he'd be at his apartment, though only Bucky and god knew why he bothered to keep it. He tapped the receiver down then dialed the much less familiar number for Bucky's apartment. It didn't make it to two full rings before he answered. "Barnes." 

"Hey Bucky." 

"Tony," Bucky said, noticeably happier. "How was moving in?" 

"Would've been better if you were here." 

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Maria sorta hates me though, so I would've just gotten in her and Jarvis's way." 

"Their way?" Tony asked. "They didn't come." 

"...what? Then who helped you move in?" 

"No one." 

"Fuck Tony, I'm so sorry, I would've come to help you if I'd known. Maria told me-" Bucky blew out an angry breath "-or I guess she implied that she'd be there to help you so I wouldn't have to show up. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I know it doesn't do you a whole lot of good now, but next time something like this happens, you can call me before you start and I'll come help you." 

"I will." 

"I'm so sorry," he said again. "You shouldn't have had to do that alone." 

"It's okay," he said, though he was still a little hurt; he just wanted Bucky to be happy again. "What are you doing at your old apartment? I'm surprised you spend the money to keep the lease running when you spend all your time at the Mansion." 

Bucky made a noncommittal noise. "Without you or Howard there, there's not much point in me staying, y'know?" 

"It's your home too." 

"I'm happy you think that kiddo, but technically I'm only visiting. And again, without you there, there's not much point." 

Normally, Tony would have been comforted by the reminder that Bucky liked him, but something in the phrasing was off. Was Bucky a babysitter? Is that... why he always spent so much time with Tony? He didn't want to believe it, but it was a familiar pattern in Tony's life. Teachers, tutors, and friends, they'd all been bought for him before. What was a babysitter in the face of that? All the fond smiles Tony remembered, all the times he'd thought that Bucky was rescuing him from boredom, bought and paid for. Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I should probably get back to unpacking." 

"Yeah of course. Did you want me to come down and help you finish? Not as good as being there from the start, but better than nothing." 

Tony thought about saying no and pushing him away. But the truth was that even if Bucky's time was paid for, Tony liked him, and he wasn't willing to give that up. "I'd love that. If you have the time." 

"I always have the time for you. I'll get there as soon as I can, and don't bother trying to finish before I arrive. Sit around and work on that AI of yours or something, yeah?" 

"Yeah." He thought about saying something else, something about how much he appreciated him. He settled on, "Thanks Bucky." 

"Anything for you kiddo. See you soon." 

*

"Hey sugar patch, can you hand me the screwdriver?" 

"Which one?" 

"The red-handled one." 

"Uhh, right. And which one is that for us normal people?" 

Tony looked up from his project frowning. "It's that one," he said, pointing to the one on Rhodey's left. "Do you not... know your colors?" It seemed ludicrous to him, but he didn't have a better guess. 

Rhodey handed it over with a snort. "Man, I can't even see my colors, let alone tell them apart. When did you meet your soulmate?" 

"My who?" 

"Soulmate," Rhodey repeated. Now they both looked confused, and that was never a good place to be. 

"Am I supposed to know what that means?" 

"I mean, I thought you would, but I guess not. You're... you and- you have a soul, right?" 

"Okay," Tony said slowly. It was the same tone he used when Rhodey was explaining why he thought Han could use the Force.

"So, the idea is that there's at least one person out there with a soul that complements yours." 

"That's nice. What does this have to do with me?" 

"When you touch them, you can see colors. It's how you recognize them from everybody else." 

Tony blinked. "Seriously? You're not messing with me or anything, this is real." 

"Yeah it's real." 

"It sounds like romanticized bullshit." 

"Some people think that, but it's still true. Until you meet a very specific person, you won't see colors. It's not perfect obviously, since some people are blind and some have the medical condition of color blindness, but it's legit." 

"But I've been able to see colors my entire life. There was never a chance to meet anyone." 

"You probably met them really young. I don't think there's actually ever been anyone born with them." 

Tony started to say that well, he must be the exception because Bucky definitely would have told him. Then he froze. Bucky. "Are soulmates- um, romantic?" 

"Most people think so." 

"But you don't?" 

Rhodey shrugged. "My older sister has a soulmate, and she swears up and down that she'll never love him that way even though she loves him more than anybody else in the world. Maybe that'll change, or maybe they'll keep being best friends the way they are now. Nobody really knows but them, y'know? Everybody's different." 

"I see." Bucky... if by some chance he wasn't Tony's soulmate, he'd definitely know who was. "I'm gonna make a call." 

"I'll clear out," Rhodey said getting to his feet and stretching. "I've been craving a meatball sub for hours." 

"Okay," Tony said, even thought they both knew Rhodey was only leaving to give him privacy. "Thanks man." 

Rhodey pat him on the shoulder as he left, and for a brief moment, Tony stared at the phone without moving. What was he hoping to hear? That Bucky was his soulmate and maybe the obligation he felt had nothing do with Howard or money, but was solely because he cared about Tony? That was exactly what he wanted to hear actually, but what then? If that was true, Bucky would've been keeping it a secret this whole time. Even if it wasn't Bucky, he had to know, and he still hadn't told Tony a damn thing. He picked up the receiver and dialed the number for Bucky's apartment since that where he spent all his time these days. 

"Barnes," he answered, like after all this time he was still expecting a military call. 

"Hi Bucky." 

"Hey Tony," Bucky said, smile evident in his voice. "How's it going?" 

"Who's my soulmate?" he blurted. He expected a pause, some sort of stalling, but there was nothing. Bucky answered immediately. 

"Me. Unless you've got some big news for me," he joked. 

Tony couldn't often say that he'd been struck dumb since most of the time when he was quiet it was by choice. But right now he wanted to ask how the hell Bucky could say that so casually, but he couldn't force the words out. 

"Tony?" he asked, sounding worried. "You okay?" 

His throat worked, and he choked out, "No one told me." 

"No one told you what? Tony? Are you okay?" 

"Soulmates. I didn't- no one told me." 

"...oh." It was amazing that one little word, more of a sound than anything else, could hold so much emotion. "I thought you knew." 

"I didn't even know that soulmates existed. Rhodey mentioned it and I sounded fucking stupid. Are people really born not seeing colors?" 

"Yeah. Shit, it never even occurred to one me that you wouldn't know. Of course you wouldn't, we all just assumed that you'd know, somehow." 

"Maria," Tony said suddenly. "This is why she hates you, right?" She thinks you're going to take advantage or some shit." 

"Basically. And Tony, I would never-" 

"I know. Fuck's sake, you're better to me than I am." 

"I wouldn't go that far," Bucky said, but it was a blatant lie. 

*

Tony felt numb. He'd felt numb (and more than a little disbelieving) when the police told him that his parents had died in a car crash. He'd felt numb when Obadiah clapped him on the shoulder and said that he'd take care of things until Tony was ready. He'd felt numb as they made the funeral arrangements and Bucky had to leave the room to cry because he didn't want anyone to see him like that. He'd felt numb through the wake, with old friends and business partners huddled together in the grass as reporters took pictures and filmed from the sidelines. 

He didn't know how long feeling numb would last, but he guessed another week. He wasn't expecting it to hit when they got back to the mansion after the funeral. It's not like he saw something that reminded him, but he realized that Howard was never coming back; he wasn't on a trip, he was just gone. 

Bucky already had an arm around his shoulders, so it was easy to turn and smush his face against Bucky's chest as he cried. Tony didn't say anything, and Bucky didn't say anything. He simply held him, like a warm shield between Tony and the rest of the world. 

It was probably the first time Tony truly understood that Bucky was his soulmate, not just a friend who had always been there for him. In the midst of a tragedy, snot clogging his nose and cheeks sticky with tears, he felt true comfort. It didn't fix anything, and in the moment it didn't even make him feel better. But he clung to Bucky that much harder, and in return, Bucky squeezed him tighter. 

"I've got you," Bucky said when the tears tapered off. He pressed a kiss to the top of Tony's head. "I've got you."

[marinaaniseed]

Dark ‘n’ Stormy Pt. 3

Hilariously, it is thunderstorming like a mofo right now, so I’m going to pretend that Thor is giving his approval on this utter trash. Many thankings to @mindthelspace for reading an early version of this drivel around the campfire.

Around 3,600 words. Follows on directly from Pt. 2. Some unhappy discussion of y/n’s past, some feeding, body worship, and sexy shower shenanigans, but no actual sex, because I am the worst. That’s planned for Pt.5. Or Pt.4 if I decide to stop teasing everyone.

Hand in hand, the two of you sauntered from the bedroom, Thor’s large paw completely enveloping yours. You spied the Pop-Tarts spread forlornly in pieces and moved to tidy them up. Bending over, you offered Thor an excellent view, and he could feel himself become aroused imagining you face down, arse up on his bed.  

The smell of the Pop-Tarts hit his nose as you walked past him to the kitchen and his stomach let out a thunderous rumble.

“You go ahead and get cleaned up, I’ll have lunch ready when you’re done,” you offered.

“I was rather hoping you’d like to shower with me,” Thor said with a shy smile.

“Alright, so food first, then a shower?”

“An excellent plan,” Thor agreed. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh no, I’m fine, thank you. You can just talk to me keep me company.”

You filled a pan with water and set it on the hob to boil. Lunch was going to be macaroni cheese. Nothing fancy but enough to keep Thor satisfied. Not that he was willing to wait. He busied himself laying the table and taking the pitcher of water from the fridge, before settling down with the remains of last night’s pizza. You were surprised he’d grabbed the water instead of a beer but chose not to comment.

“Tell me about yourself, y/n,” he said through a mouthful.

“What’s there to tell? I’m a person and I’m here,” you responded guardedly.

“You know. Where are you from? Why did Valkyrie find you wandering along the road?” Thor pressed, seemingly oblivious to your tone of voice.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I want to know who I’m going to make love to.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m going to let you.” Then, seeing Thor’s face fall, you added. “You’re right, of course. I am going to let you but I think we need to address the problem of protection. I don’t think my condoms will accommodate you.” You nodded your head towards his crotch in emphasis.

“That’s not a problem. I’m a god of fertility as well as thunder. I won’t give you a child unless you desire one.”

“That’s an...interesting combination of powers. But what about infections? Diseases?”

“Asgardians are immune to all terrestrial diseases.”

You added the pasta to the pan and looked at him, trying to ascertain if he was serious or if this was an elaborate way of getting out of wearing a rubber.

“You have my word,” he assured, sensing your thoughts.

“Fine. But,” you said, waving a wooden spoon at him, “I will find several interesting ways to exact my displeasure on you should I find out you’ve been bullshitting me.”

“I have no doubt about that,” then, he added ruefully, “My brother would’ve liked you.”

Turning back around, you saw the time. You were late taking your meds. That would explain your tetchiness.

“Sorry Thor, I get a bit arsey when I don’t take my tablet on time. May I have a glass of water, please?”

Wordlessly he brought you a glass and gave your shoulders a gentle squeeze as you swallowed your tablet. You continued cooking in silence, using Jarlsberg to make the cheese sauce.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t answer your question. Like I said to Brunnhilde, I’ve just been travelling around pretty much since the snap, doing odd jobs and trying to see the world.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t stay as I was, it was too painful. Maybe one day I’ll tell you.”

“What did you do before the Valkyrie picked you up?” Thor asked as he sat back down at the table.

“I worked in a bar in Oslo.”

“Ah! You were a serving wench.”

“Something like that. The landlord tried it on with me. Tried to take liberties,” you clarified for Thor. “So I left.”

Thor’s blue eye darkened from aquamarine to sapphire, as a storm seemed to gather across his face.

“That’s no way to treat a lady. I should go there and teach him a lesson,” he growled.

“Easy there. I appreciate the sentiment but I don’t think it’d be good publicity for New Asgard if the king went to Oslo to beat up a publican.”

“I’m not king,” Thor insisted.

“Ok, but you’re still the face of your people.” A very handsome, comfortable-looking face, one that would be fun to sit on, you thought. “Besides, I gave Soren a swift kick in the knackers on my way out, so hopefully I bruised more than just his ego.”

Thor roared with laughter at this. You were so small and delicate in comparison to him but he had no doubt that you could defend yourself ably if provoked, like a cat whose tail’s been pulled.

“Sorry this isn’t very interesting,” you said as you brought the hot pan of pasta to the trivet on the table. “I was aiming for something easy.”

“Don’t apologise,” Thor replied. “It smells delicious.”

He scooped some into a bowl and handed it to you, before serving himself.

“This is the best macaroni cheese I’ve had,” he said after inhaling a large mouthful. You couldn’t understand how he could eat it when it was so hot - you were blowing on your fork, trying to avoid burning your mouth on the cheesy lava.

“Have you had much macaroni cheese?” you asked.

“Oh yes, Rhodey made it all of the time at the base.”

“Well, next time I go shopping, I’ll make sure I get some sweet chili crisps. Growing up, my dad used to make macaroni cheese but instead of cutlery, we used to scoop it up with sweet chili crisps.”

“I think I’d like that.” It was the first time Thor had heard you offer some kind of information about your family, so he decided to press to see what more you’d tell him. “Is he still around, your dad?”

“He is now.”

Ah, so he’d been dusted. You didn’t seem too happy about the fact that he was back. Thor would dearly love to have one of his parents or his brother here. They’d know how to help Asgard.

“Have you seen your father since...you know?”

“Only via Skype. It’s been hard to adjust. For five years, I thought my family was dead. And then they were back, like nothing had happened. They know I’m in Scandinavia but I don’t like to get into specifics. They’d try to visit and I’m not sure I can face them.”

“But they’re your family.”

“Yes, they are. But I lost them, I mourned them, I tried to move on with my life. Dead people should stay dead.”

“I’ve watched my brother die a couple of times.It never got any better but I was always so pleased to learn that he wasn’t really dead. I keep praying to the Norns that he’s still out there somewhere.”

“I can understand that but it took me a long time to get to the point of being able to accept what happened. Some days I still can’t accept it at all. I lose the love of my life. Even now there are things I see, jokes I think of, that I think ‘Alex would love that’ but then I remember that Alex is dead. It’s selfish and it’s greedy but Alex was my world. All the other losses and problems I could’ve coped with, maybe, but not that one. My parents didn’t live through it, it hasn’t sunk in for them. They’re forever asking me how Alex is. Dead. That’s how Alex is. I went through that alone. And now other people are reunited with the love of their life and I’ll never have that. I’ve got a bunch of people I mourned, who today, next month, ten years time - whenever - are going to die again. It’s easier for me not to acknowledge that they’re alive again.” You rubbed your ring finger throughout, shame flooding through you at how you’d tried to forget it all with strong booze and meaningless fucks.

Watching the tears and snot running down your flushed face, Thor didn’t think he could feel any guiltier. You’d lost the person that meant everything to you because he hadn’t gone for the head. He’d thought that after the second snap, everything would be good again. Apparently not.

“It’s not your fault, Thor,” you choked out. “I’m not ungrateful to have some of my loved ones back, but it’s hard to pretend that everything is great. It’s like I said yesterday, a lot of damage was done.”

“What happened to Alex?” he asked tentatively.

“Lorry driver got snapped. Lorry kept going and hit the front of Snappy Snaps. That always seemed oddly apt. It’d almost be funny if it wasn’t so sad,” you said with a strange smile.

Having seen the beer lorry Brunnhilde drove, Thor knew and average human would stand no chance against that amount of machinery. He desperately wanted to hug you but was aware of the cum crusted onto his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Is there anything I can do?”

You sat for a moment in silence, poking at the pasta. Funnily enough, you weren’t hungry anymore. You slid out of your chair and padded over to Thor, perching on one of his thick thighs. Burying your face in his chest, you let the tears fall. Not the pretty tears they cry in films but horrible, noisy sobs that wracked your entire body. Everything you’d tried to forget over the years rose to the surface, an eruption of sorrow that could no longer be contained. Thor held you close to him, stroking your hair, his softness and warmth comforting you until you quieted.

“We’re a right pair, crying and snotting at each other,” you said, before wiping your nose on your arm. “I know I needed to get it out but I’d rather you hadn’t seen it.”

On the contrary, Thor was glad that it had happened. It made him feel less alone. Of course, he knew other people were hurting but he never saw any proof of it. You were so raw and vulnerable, it was like he was only truly seeing you for the first time. Everything was a mask, and armour you wore to protect slow-healing wounds and prevent new ones. And now you had bared to him. He wanted to do everything he could to ensure your heart was never hurt so much again. He was about to scoop you up and carry you to the bathroom, when you reached for his spoon, shovelled up a heap of pasta, and brought it to his mouth.

“I’d hate for you to miss out on the best macaroni cheese because of me,” you said.

Thor let you feed him. His compliment about your cooking had obviously stuck and he didn’t want to disappoint you. Once you’d fed him all of his bowl, he brought the pan towards you both and let you feed him until it was all gone. Thor felt a little ashamed that he’d eaten so much when you’d had so little, but you seemed content, rubbing small circles on the top of his stomach. For whatever reason, you seemed to like that part of him, so he squashed the urge to remove your hand.

“Shall we get ourselves cleaned up?” he asked.

“I need to wash up the pan first,” you said, shifting away from Thor,

“No, no. I’ll sort that tomorrow. Today is a day off for you. I want you to relax, not worry about work.”

You nodded mutely and this time he did scoop you up and carry you to the bathroom.

“Oh wow,” you gasped when you saw yourself in the mirror. Your face was a mess but it was nothing compared to your neck. Thor had well and truly left his mark. Good thing you had a scarf at the hut. The marks you’d left on him weren’t quite as impressive but he looked pleased as he stood beside you, trying to remove cheese sauce from his facial hair.

“I fancied a shower to wake myself up more, I hope that’s ok?” he asked, extending his hand. You took it and followed him, grabbing a bottle of body wash from the cupboard. Much like the bath, the shower was far larger and grander than an average one. Thor stepped in and turned on the powerful rainfall showerhead, turning his face up towards the spray.

“C’mon,” he said, beckoning you in. You copied him and let the water hit your face, flowing where the tears had flowed not that long ago. Thor took your hands in his and you stood there in silent reverie, as though the steamy shower could cleanse not just your body but your soul.

“I believe I offered you some more worship,” you said, at last, the smirk returning to your face.

“You did, yes,” Thor replied, mirroring your smirk. You poured a generous amount of the body wash into your hand and began to clean down the length of his body, working out the knots in his back and down the backs of his thick legs. Thor shuddered, despite the warmth of the water, as you pressed yourself against his back. He could feel your nipples running over his damp skin, could feel the warmth building between his thighs. You slide around him to clean his front, feeling the buried muscles of his arms and lavishing attention and kisses as you worked your way down his torso. Your lips pressed against the plum bruise on his thigh elicited an excited moan and he cleaned himself as you worked down to his feet.

“I’d like to return the favour, if I may?” he said, as you stood back up. You nodded and passed him the body wash.

Although his hands were more used to handling an axe, he was amazingly gentle and attentive, running his fingers with care over the evidence of this morning’s passion. When he got to your breasts, it was like he was lost in a trance, cupping and kneading, coating them in a thick lather. Eventually, he stopped cleaning them and just held a breast in each hand, looking at them like they were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Realising he was lost in thought, you moved away, bending your knees so that your chest was level with his aroused cock. You guided him between your breasts, slowly sliding him between the soapy flesh you held together to grip his erection.

“Fuck,” he moaned, pressing a hand against the marble tiles to steady himself as you literally made him weak at the knees. You let him have a couple of thrusts before standing back up. Thor pursed his lips, trying to swallow his frustration.

“Did you like that, bear?” you asked in mock innocence, languidly rubbing your breasts against his belly, hard nipples dragging across his soft flesh.

“Uh-huh,” he whimpered, wondering if he should pin you against the tiles and take you just to end your teasing.

“I think you’re going to like this more,” you said, sliding down to your knees. You washed the suds off Thor’s cock, and with a quick prayer to any god apart from the one in front of you to not choke, you slowly eased him into your mouth. You teased his head with slow sucks before flicking your tongue across the ridge between his head and his shaft. You could hear him wheezing above you and decided to press on, taking more of him into your mouth, your tongue trailing up and down in firm movements that drew further gasps. You didn’t focus your attention in any one particular place, although Thor seemed to especially enjoy it when you licked the underside of his shaft, growing noticeably louder when you strummed across his frenulum. Your childhood penchant for Twister lollies certainly had its uses.. His soft stomach was a welcome cushion but it impeded what you wanted to do. You pursed your lips around him, pressing your tongue firmly against his shaft, slowly withdrawing with a teasing flick over his head.

Looking up, you could see Thor was bracing himself with one hand still, other stroking his nipple. His face was flushed, not just from the heat of the shower, and he opened his blue eye to look down at you. You gave him a mischievous grin before lifting his stomach with one hand and returning to pleasuring him. It was going to take some work but you were determined to have him. All of him. Wisdom teeth had made it harder to accommodate larger guys but you could still do it. His thickness caused your jaw to ache but you continued your journey, lubricating your path with insistent swipes of your tongue. You knew you were getting close and took one large breath through your nose, before taking the rest of him.

“Oh fuck,” you heard Thor roar, his legs trembling as your buried your nose into his soft, sandy pubes. Fighting back the urge to gag and feeling your eyes begin to water, you knew you couldn’t stay here for long. You ran your tongue clockwise around the base of his shaft, then back the other way. Your free hand cupped his balls and you ran your thumbnail over them, your fingernails dragging down his inner thigh. You weren’t sure if it was the pressure building in your ears, the shower or Thor, but everything was very loud. You pulled back just enough for some air then moved back for more. Each time you retreated a little further for air before taking him deeply again.

Thor desperately wanted to fuck into your mouth but he was so impressed by how well you were taking him, he didn’t dare disrupt your rhythm. He could count on one hand the number of people who’d achieved that particular feat. He chose instead to stop playing with his nipples and moved his hand to the back of your head, fingers gripping onto your hair, possessive but not forceful.

You could tell he was getting close by the trembling of his thick thighs and the increasing shortness of his pants.

He tried to warn you, he really did. But instead of words, all that came out was an incoherent roar and that was drowned out by an almighty clap of thunder. You swallowed him with pleasure, licking him clean and sending a tremor through his body. You sat back and let go of his tummy, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

Came to the shower to get clean and ended up even dirtier, you mused, as you looked up at Thor with heart eyes and a saccharine smile.

Nobody had looked at him that way in years. His heart was hammering like a mini  Mjölnir in his chest. The Norns only knew why you liked him so much but he was grateful they’d brought you to him. He scooped you up and pressed you against the tiles, one hand supported you under each thigh. He pressed against you, tasting himself in your mouth.

You wound your hands into his hair, enjoying the weight of him constricting your breathing, a warm, hairy man-corset. Eventually, you had to come up for air and gave his braid a sharp yank.

“Oh, oh sorry. I forgot my size. Did I hurt you?” he worried as you gasped against his shoulder.

“No, no. I was rather enjoying it, I just sometimes need to breathe.”

“Perhaps we should continue this in my bedroom?” he suggested, setting you back down and turning off the water.

“Sure,” you said, slapping his ample arse on the way past.

You began drying yourself when you realised Thor was loitering behind you.

“May I?” he asked and you handed him the towel. He gently patted you dry, lingering on his favourite areas, before letting you return the favour. He was so soft and fluffy, a giant teddy bear grinning goofily down at you.

“Shall we?” he said, extending a hand to you. You slipped a hand into his massive paw and began to leave the bathroom, trailing slightly behind him.

Lucky for you that Thor was so big. He’d barely made it through the door when he stopped dead in his tracks

“Thor! Cool thunderstorm bruv. Ready for some Fortnite?” came the unmistakable voice of Korg.

Thor’s hands shot forward to cover himself.

“Er, this isn’t really a good time buddy…”

You can’t see what’s going on but presumably, Korg has now turned to look at Thor because the next thing you hear is:

“Woah! Where are your clothes? And what happened to your neck? Was it y/n Do I need to fight her?”

“I just had a shower. And no, please don’t fight her.”

“Well, where is she?”

“I’m here,” you said, peeking your head around Thor, hugging him from behind.

“Oh my god. Were you two…? Well, good for your bruv. Y/n, do you want to play Fortnite too?”

This is ridiculous, Thor thought. For the first time in years, I have the chance to fuck a beautiful woman, and being cockblocked by a guy made of rock.

“Uh, yeah. Like I said, this isn’t really a good time...I was hoping to spend some time with y/n. Alone. Maybe you and Miek could go to the beach, or the tavern or literally anywhere that’s not here for a bit,” Thor suggested.

“Aw man, ok. But you’ve got to make it stop raining first.”

“Oh yes, of course.”

Korg and Miek lumbered off and once the front door was shut, you burst out laughing. Perhaps Thor might want to start locking his door after all.

@morganhoran1671 @innerpaperexpertcloud

[charmingturkeysandwich]

Knock, Knock Ch. 25: New Beginnings

Full disclosure: I literally just got off an actual real life pirate ship excursion and I might be a little drunk. But I wrote this sober, promise! I hope you enjoy this chapter - things are definitely wrapping up for our pirating lovebirds.

Read on AO3.

Read from the beginning on Tumblr.

Recovery wasn’t like it was in the movies and TV shows. Well, not in the happy ones at least.

Emma was miserable a lot of the time. Her voice was mostly back to normal, but the aching in her chest was still pretty severe. The burns she and Belle had suffered were admittedly minor by comparison to what they could have been, but they still hurt like a bitch (and didn’t look very aesthetically pleasing either).

And the pain. Ugh. The pain was nearly constant. She’d stopped taking the pills the doctor had given her – the addiction videos did their proper job of scaring the living daylights out of her – but now she was left at a constant 6-7/10 pain scale (definitely the level of one of the miserable looking emojis) and it was negatively impacting just about every part of her life.

“For God’s sake, Emma, is there any meal you will eat?!” David snapped at her, deeply frustrated by her current distaste for all food that wasn’t ice cream, frozen yogurt, or milkshakes.

“Sorry, dad, I’m just not feeling lasagna today. Especially not since you most definitely just bought this from Granny.”

“Well my pregnant wife and I got sick of putting in so much effort to try to cook you delicious, homemade meals just to have you turn your nose up at them! I know you’re going through a lot, Emma, but, quite honestly, you’re acting like a toddler. Mary Margaret and I are happy to have you here and we love you but I swear to God if you don’t eat this lasagna I’m going to throw it at you.”

Yeah, most people were at their breaking point with her.

Killian was the most patient, of course, but he’d finally broken just the day before. And what a delightful break that was (sarcasm).

You see, if this had been some movie, then Emma would have done some rehab to the tune of a quirky alternative rock song, would have had some montage where she slowly healed and Killian helped her do things while she beamed with her incandescent love, and most importantly she would have been on his fucking boat when he finally needed to get down to business (and not to defeat the Huns).

Ever since she woke up in the hospital she’d been dreaming of that first piratey excursion they’d have after her recovery. She’d probably have some bandages but play it off like it was all part of the costume. It would be fulfilling. Triumphant. It would make her forget how fucking stupid she could be sometimes and how that affected the people around her.

But no. The meds had made her loopy and the lack of meds had made her cranky. Saltwater hitting her wounds was a super ouchy – she discovered that just sitting at the goddamn docks, no less – and it turned out the rocking of the boat was something that really angered her severely battered insides.

So, yeah. Killian had to get back to work, had to execute some of her meticulously crafted plans – without her.

Today was the first one. It was the start of a weeklong camp, and Emma had been so excited for it. They were going to cover the history of the town, the types of creatures in the waters below them. And most importantly, they were going to tell stories. In trying to figure out how exactly to make these summer kid-adventures more interesting (and different from things they already offered), Emma wracked her brain about what really appeals to kids – what they want and what they need.

She’d had a shit life. Obviously. Well, most of it, anyway. But as is true with anyone, she still had those bright spots in her life that shone through all the darkness. Oddly enough, most of them involved fiction.

That’s what hit her. The reason that Killian’s pirate ship tours were so interesting wasn’t because people were interested in actual pirates – no, historically they were rapists, murderers, and thieves with halitosis and scurvy. What people were interested in were the stories. The folk legends. The fairy tales. So on the last two days of this camp, Killian would tell stories of his own – fake ones, of course, as Belle had already done a lesson on the “real” pirates of the region – and then the kids would create their own.

It’s something Emma had done a lot. Not in a controlled, educational setting, of course. More like while hiding in the woods from her abusive, mentally unstable foster father who was threatening to kill her and all the kids with a sawed off shotgun. But it was the same concept. We’re fascinated by fantastical things, fictional adventures, but when it comes down to it, we have all the ability inside us to create our own worlds and stories. And that’s something really powerful for kids – even the ones who aren’t damaged beyond all belief.

You could say Emma was bitter the night before Killian’s camp began, seeing as she wouldn’t be participating. In fact, the pregnant lady was going in her place, because apparently growing a child allowed you more capabilities than her own predicament did.

So she may have started a fight with Killian just before bed.

Despite it being less than 24 hours prior to her lasagna refusal, the details of the encounter were escaping her. What she didn’t forget, however, was Killian’s meltdown. It went something to the tune of you’re the one who put yourself in danger and tried to fucking leave me and you think you get to hold the burning building card forever, well I’ve got the same card in my pocket and I love you so much I can’t even put it into words but funny enough I have a lot of words for you right now that have nothing to do with love.

Emma reacted like a brat, which wasn’t fair. And Killian didn’t call her a brat – or any other b word for that matter – but she could see it in his eyes.

It was so damn frustrating not recovering quickly. Why couldn’t she just be Buffy Summers? Ugh. That’s right. Thinking she was Buffy Summers is exactly what got her into this mess in the first place.

(Non-slayers should probably await the firefighters’ assistance when exiting a burning building. She’s learned her lesson. Please, no more lectures.)

“Emma!” David’s voice boomed, bringing her out of her bitter reverie.

“What?” (She sounded like a sullen teenager, even to herself.)

“I’m giving you ten seconds to start eating that lasagna. One.”

“Or what, you’ll burn all my stuff? Too late. ”

“Two.”

“David, I’m not a child!”

“Three.”

“Seriously, you need to stop this.”

“Four.”

“You realize your kid isn’t even born yet, and you’ll already an annoying father.”

“Five.”

“You’re really not going to give this up, are you?”

“Six.”

“I’m going to text your wife and tell her you’re having some kind of pre-baby meltdown.”

“Seven.”

“Remember how I have serious injuries?!”

“Eight.”

“Burns and scrapes and sprains!”

“Nine.”

Emma crossed her arms and stared, I dare you written across her eyes.

“Ten.”

Before Emma could open her mouth to triumphantly declare having called David’s bluff, he reached over the table, picked her slice of lasagna up off her plate –

–  and (gently) smashed it onto her skull.

“What the hell?!”

“I warned you. Now go clean up while I cut you another piece. That you’ll fucking eat this time.”

David wasn’t one to swear very often. He was very Steve Rodgers about it all.

But Emma had broken him. Just like she’d broken everyone else.

-

The kids couldn’t have been happier. It was a lovely summer day – the storms of the weekend had given the coast the drink it desperately needed, so the flowers were blooming bright and the trees and grasses were greener than ever. The fish were jumping and the birds were cawing and there couldn’t possibly be a single thing missing in that perfect day.

You know, except his pirate princess of a partner.

She was feeling like shit. And he was trying so hard to just let her work through it all herself. Her guilt about everything was tangible, her mild regret about her heroics constantly on her mind – especially when it came to the limitations it was currently imposing on her. He knew that she was being a bitch because she was in pain and missing out on things and sorely unable to take the next step they’d promised each other because of her slow progress.

But there was only so much a man could take.

He regretting yelling at her. Why it had turned to a fight the previous night, he really couldn’t be sure. But he’d been bottling some bitter of his own and the thing about pushing down your feelings is that they inevitably come bursting out. Generally at a most inopportune moment.

So Emma had slept on the pull-out couch rather than in the guest room (their room), and he’d left in the morning before she’d awoken, and now he was on his ship carrying out her wonderful plans, all without her.

Mary Margaret could tell he was only half there. She was picking up a lot of his slack like a damn champ. She was answering all the kids’ questions and keeping them excited, even when Killian had clearly been somewhere else in his head. He was endlessly grateful for the fairer Nolan for putting her child-corralling expertise into practice while he… gathered his bearings.

He’d get through today. He’d put on a great show for the kids, make sure they learned something and were excited for tomorrow, and then he’d get home and fix things with his admittedly still ailing princess.

Deep breaths.

-

After washing her hair (and changing her shirt), Emma quietly walked back to the kitchen, sat down at her place at the table, and ate two full pieces of lasagna without a word. David just stood there, arms crossed, looking at everything but Emma (while clearly also keeping an eye on her in his periphery to make sure she wasn’t tossing scraps in the trash).

With the newspaper already opened in front of her, Emma started browsing. The police reports were always fun – small seaside towns had some quirky little problems, to be sure – but it was the Classifieds that caught her attention most.

Especially the 2-bedroom house for rent just a couple of blocks from where Killian kept his ship. It was so close to the water that they could probably see the shore from the upstairs. Was that where the bedrooms were? Could Emma get so lucky as to live in a house overlooking the sea with her perfect pirate prince?

(Her life was never this easy.)

It was around one in the afternoon, so Mary Margaret and Killian wouldn’t be home for at least another three hours – more if the kids really wreaked havoc on the ship (hopefully not). And David didn’t have to go into work until 7 (he was doing overnights since Emma needed someone with her in the daytime, yes, like a fucking child).

She shouldn’t be asking David for any favors, but this one was probably acceptable. Because it was a big step and hopefully at least somewhat proof that Emma could do more than brood (and yell at the people who love her).

“Hey, do you think we could swing by this house? Pretty please?”

“Not until you shower. You still smell like marinara.” When Emma finally met David’s eyes, they softened and his scowl gave way to a smirk. (Guess she only broke him momentarily).

 The house wasn’t that far from the Nolans’ so they were there by two that afternoon. And as luck would have it, the agent was having an open house until three. So after staring at it from the outside for far too long (she still had some fear, OK?), David and Emma walked up to the door and knocked.

“Hello! Are you folks interested in the house?” A bright-eyed redhead (who wore far too much green) greeted them, ushering them into the foyer.

She was struck by the… cuteness of the place. It wasn’t the vast, column-adorned mansion type. And it wasn’t a cottage in the woods. But it was homey. It was sweet.

And why the fuck was it just for rent?

“Uh, well, yeah. I mean I’m interested in the house. This is my… brother. He’s just, um, helping me.” Emma unconsciously tugged at one of her bandages, suddenly feeling awkward about needing a chaperone. But the woman seemed to realize immediately who she was.

“Oh my goodness! You’re Emma Swan, aren’t you? The girl who tried to save the meth head?”

“Uh, I think it was PCP, but yeah. That’s me. Hence the bodyguard. Sorry.”

“Goodness, no, don’t be sorry. I suppose I should be sorry for being so forward. I do hope you’re recovering well.” She extended her hand and offered another, more sincere smile. “I’m Zelena.”

What a name. “Nice to meet you. This is David. He’s here to stop me from running toward fire. At least until these heal.”

“It really was a wonderful thing you did. It seems Jefferson is finally going to get the help he needs.”

“What he needs is a punch to the face,” David muttered, but Zelena either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore it.

“Can I show you around?” she asked, Emma already wandering about to see the details of each room.

“Yeah, but I mean, I’m already thinking this is too good to be true. Why would someone put this up for rent? It’s so… nice.”

“Well, renting doesn’t mean slumming it, my dear. I’m truly sorry for the loss of your last home, but renting doesn’t always mean it’s small apartments with crappy heat and thin walls. The gentleman who owns this property and many others simply enjoys renovating houses. And he’s found that he generates a nice, steady income from renting them out. And he likes to give people a starter home they can be proud of. Is that something you’re looking for?”

God, if she only knew. “Yes, yeah, that’s… that’s what I need.”

“Then allow me to show you around.”

The tour really only solidified her too good to be true feelings (worries). The carpets were new and the walls were freshly painted. The bay window in their (hypothetical) bedroom would be perfect for curling up and reading. The closets were small, but the basement wasn’t awful, so they’d certainly have room for storage.

And best of all, their view of the bay was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that she could literally see Killian’s ship, out there on the water, molding young minds to be adventurers, explorers and dreamers.

(And yeah, that second bedroom might someday be able to hold a young adventurer, explorer, and dreamer who just so happened to share DNA with her and Killian.)

In short, it was pretty damn perfect.

“Now, I do have several people interested already, but I know that glint in your eye, Ms. Swan. You’ve found your home, haven’t you?”

It was a tactic. Emma knew this. She could spot a slimy salesperson from, well, all the way out to the ocean, probably.

But it’s not as if Zelena was wrong.

-

The kids had been incredible. It kind of made him feel guilty for being the little shit he was as a child, but it’s all about circumstance. He didn’t have nearly the support these kids did.

Then again, if he had, he may never have crossed the pond, may never have met Milah, may never have loved her and lost her and then found himself on a ‘pirate’ ship and living in a tiny apartment, just one thin wall away from what would become a most magical journey.

It’s funny to think about cause and effect. Because sometimes it could set your insides on fire with anger, with guilt, with regret. But there were those other moments that the cause was something unexpected, terrible, that you’d never wish on your worst enemy – and somehow the effect was, what – happily ever after?

(The lesson plans and build the kids’ imaginations was clearly affecting him.)

Once he’d put the Emma situation (mostly) out of his head, it was a really great day. They talked about colonization and the ships that came to America from the far-off lands. They talked about the wars that had been fought here, the things that had been discovered. And they talked about the heroes of Storybrooke and other surrounding areas – the corrupt mayor who’d been defeated by a brave young woman, the young boy who’d stopped the curse of scarlet fever, the brave huntsman who’d given his life to save a young princess from a faraway land. There were historical accounts of each of those tales, of course, but they weren’t quite as fun as the folksy versions. Killian was careful to tell both, though, and the kids were captivated.

When he bid them all farewell and he and Mary Margaret packed up their things, they both had a glow about them (and his clearly had nothing to do with pregnancy). It was more fulfilling than he’d ever imagined to be using his powers for good, so to speak.

Frat boys guzzling rum made him money, but damn did this new arrangement just give him so much more.

“What do you think the whiner and her warden have prepared for us for dinner?” Mary Margaret asked, her being the only one really taking Emma’s constant crankiness in stride.

“Oh, who knows. Emma probably won’t even be there. I sense she’ll be avoiding me. Again.”

“Oh, she will not. I heard your fight – well, part of it. Our walls aren’t that thin. But you needed to let it out! And I know her. She’ll understand. And maybe you showing how her sullenness is affecting you will finally make her clean up her act a little bit. I love her, but damn. She’s a level of bitter I haven’t experienced before. And I was there when she was attempting to live in her car.”

“I know all the stories, Mary Margaret. I think she’s angrier because she was happier? I think the fight last night started all because she’s just mad that she couldn’t go on the ship today. After all her planning and being so dedicated to trying to really cultivate the whole ‘educational’ and ‘family’ aspect of the business, she’s stuck at home. She’s taking it out on us which is super not OK, obviously. But I know from experience that your emotions hit you harder when there’s actually something you feel you lost.”

“Well I’m sure she’d recover faster if she’d just try a little harder. But don’t tell her I said that.” Mary Margaret looked over at Killian and smiled for a moment before focusing back on the task of backing into their driveway. It was nice, the camaraderie he had with Mary Margaret and David, Emma’s only “family” – despite their not being blood-related.

They were all this little unit. Along with Belle and Will and Regina and Ruby and Robin – somehow Killian had found his people.

All because of Emma.

When Mary Margaret and Killian entered the home, they found a surprising sight: Emma and David were making dinner. Together.

Emma was actually contributing to the meal’s preparation. She was even – gasp – smiling?

Until she saw him. At that point her expression morphed to something between fear and panic. Was he accidentally dressed like Freddy Kruger?

“You’re home!” Emma stuttered, visibly nervous.

“I can finish this. Why don’t you go… chat?” David suggested, bumping Emma out of the way with his hip while he stirred what looked like sauce.

“Uh, ok. Just… keep stirring.”

“Just keep stirring, just keep stirring, just keep stirring, stirring, stirring,” David started singing, continually moving the wooden spoon through the substance in the skillet.

“David. You’re not Dory,” Emma chided, a hint of a smile on the corners of her lips.

(David was breaking tension. Which meant there was something up. Fuck, he couldn’t deal with any more drama.)

Emma approached him overly cautiously – the kiss she laid on his cheek so quick he barely felt it. “We’re having this tortellini veggie bake that I found on Pinterest and I don’t want him to fuck it up. I’ve read it’s delicious.” Emma seemed to be trying to explain her nervousness away, to blame it on cooking. But there was definitely something more going on.

She took his hand and led them to their room, Emma awkwardly standing in the doorway even as Killian sat down on the bed. She was quiet for far too long, staring all over the room instead of looking at him.

Until she finally blurted out, “please don’t be mad at me!”

Which took him by surprise. “Uhhh, are you talking about last night? Because I was just frustrated and I shouldn’t have said what I did – I’m annoyed at you, admittedly, but I’m not mad, per se, and I don’t want you to think I hate you because I don’t, I’m just – ”

“No, Killian, I get it. I’ve been a bitter, frustrated bitch and it’s not fair and you needed to get it out. No harm done except me feeling guilty for being awful. That’s – that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then why would I be mad?”

“Well, you know how you worried that I’d be mad when you made a big decision without asking me?”

“… yes?”

“You really don’t see where I’m going with this?”

“Yes, Emma, I obviously see that you made a decision without me, but I’m not sure what that decision might have been so I’m waiting for you to explain it before I assure you I’m not mad!”

“Well, I may have, um… put down security deposit and first and last month’s rent on a house. It’s adorable! I promise! And it overlooks the water and has a bay window and it’s mostly new and we don’t have to share any walls with psychopaths and it has a brand new fire alarm and sprinkler systems and a fireplace and I just want us to move forward and I’m sorry that I’m terrible at recovering and I know I should have asked you first but you were with the kids and I knew you couldn’t text or call and the slimy sales lady was all I have other people interested and making me feel like I had no choice but to take it right that second and I shouldn’t have fallen for it, but Killian, it’s our house. I could feel it. So. I took the leap.”

Emma was out of breath from her babbling, so Killian gave her a moment just to breathe, to attempt relaxation – however impossible that might be. And then he stood, grabbed her hand, and pulled her to sit next to him. He put his hand on her leg and gripped it tightly, willing her to listen to his words and stop her damn panicking.

“Emma. We have got to stop worrying that each other is going to leave just because we took a positive step forward. Or, perhaps we need to communicate with each other before taking steps. I don’t know, it’s one of the two. But the point is: I’m very happy that you found us a house. It sounds perfect. And I’m so happy to be starting a life with you. Not that it hasn’t already started. I mean, we’ve kind of been living a joint life for a while now. But you know what I’m saying. We’ll start our fully independent life together.”

“I know I should have resolved last night especially first. I’ve been terrible. I’m still going to be terrible – I swear I can only control my snark about 45% of the time. I resolved long ago, just after everything with Graham, that I wouldn’t ever use you as a punching bag. Even when you’re offering yourself up for it. And I failed. I know that. I know I let myself just let go and take everything out on you and Mary Margaret and David. I know that’s why Robin won’t even come visit and why Belle gets short with me. I mean we dealt with the same trauma and yet I’m the only one going all Cruella de Vil because of it. I’m working on it. I promise to always work on it. Because, you know, I love you.”

“As I love you. Now how about you show me this home I apparently have because somebody just couldn’t wait…” Killian put his forehead against hers, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

“After dinner. I’m serious about the tortellini. It’s supposed to be near Godly and it took us a Godly amount of time to cook it, so we’re damn well eating it. But then I’ll take you to see the house! It’s perfect. I promise I made a good decision, even if I shouldn’t have done so alone.”

“Oh, love, any house would be perfect with you in it.” Killian kissed her cheek, her nose, her forehead, and then captured her lips in a deep, loving kiss.

“Only my dinner should be that cheesy, Jones.”

Go to Next Chapter

I have finally experienced the type of excursion that I’ve been writing about for over a year, and I’m happy to report I was correct about what it was like. So yay! Cheers, friends & thank you for reading : )

[docboots]

(PotDA 11) The Professional Patient

   It has been a year since my upper teeth were ripped out. While some of the updates to my life are good, there are plenty more issues that rise up. Specifically in how much I feel I need to do before and while I continue to try and get my teeth removed. Though, at this point, it is bringing myself to actually make the appointment. The machismo from the adrenaline has worn off, and I find myself terrified of another go. While the pain was not spread over a weak like the torment I am used to, the agony of the removal of my teeth sticks with me. While I can take comfort in it as inspiration for horror plots and ponderings that hopefully will become the horror stories to define my legacy one day, but the terror of another go holds me back. Like it did in writing this.  

   I suppose, at this point, you could clearly call my focus on the health care system a bit of an obsession. Though, I personally do not know how I should otherwise approach a situation as I have experienced. The years go by, and still, I have more to write and ramble about. Still, I have more that makes my mind throb with conflicting emotions of manic outrage and debilitating depression. All the while the buzz of anxiety add to the haze, while the ADHD warps me completely. Fuels the fire of the rest by being the name for a peculiarity in my mind I had since I was born, I’d imagine, as I was diagnosed with it at the age of 5. However, I’ll get to the bumblefuck that was my ADHD treatment (or lack thereof for the past decade) in the next ramble. This one is to bridge the gap I mentioned in the last one.

   As a brief recap, on March 23, 2018, I went in to have all of my teeth removed. This was required as a lifetime of one of my disease’s flare-ups mixed with a decade (around 16-20 to a week ago. More on that later.) of the issues of suddenly taken off medicine for your ADHD and forced to stay off it no matter how many damn doctors/shrinks/pill-shrinks you see explaining your symptoms causing the stress to increase and the flare-ups to become more frequent. The constant vomiting exacerbated an issue a sugary diet may have caused and utterly demolished my teeth little by little. However, thanks to complications from how infected these teeth had become (having been unable to do anything due to co-pay costs, then not having insurance, then Medicaid being a headache to find anyone to be able to get it fixed) which lead to a few hours of pulling, waiting, pulling, blah blah… I was referred to an oral surgeon.

   Which is where the Health Insurance Shenanigans begins. I am quite familiar with these shenanigans, as they have been happening since I started. You see, the many different Nevada Medicaid healthcare providers who have insured me will have a list of the different doctors that will take your insurance. It sometimes might even claim to be able to tell you if they accept patients. This would be highly convenient if it did as it said. Instead, whenever I wanted to find a doctor, I would have to go down the list and call them one at a time. The moment Medicaid is mentioned, their tone sours ever so slightly. They tell you that, regardless of what the list on my provider’s own list says, they do not take Medicaid. The other constant was that if they DID, they were full on patients. If the did and they had openings, it is months down the line. When you need to find multiple specialists to deal with multiple issues caused by the same illness, this gets highly agitating. Frustrating as the ones I believed I could complain to like to assure me they understand it as. Why I do not believe them is they also seem surprised at how FUCKING PISSED OFF fucking up my health makes me.

   Remember these shenanigans, I will be bringing them up often.

   On March 6th, 2018 I received a letter from the allergist, who had been (poorly) helping me with my HAE care, that my care with them has suddenly been terminated. Now, I had only a few months prior FINALLY received from this doctor a pair of highly useful medications. In between the belittling, lecturing, and talking down to I got more than treatment, I finally was prescribed HAEGARDA and FIRAZYR. The first being a medication I WAS taking twice a week. It was rather painful for 15 minutes upon injection, but that cleared up quickly. The other was to be used in the event of swelling, injected like an Epipen (WHICH IT GOD DAMN ISN’T) might be at the moment of attack. With these two medicines, I had been comfortable enough to make my appointment with the dentist in the first place, which after a few appointments before I received the letter had been set for March 23rd.

   Suddenly I received that letter, which was soon followed by the provider of the two medicines telling me my YEAR LONG PRESCRIPTIONS with them had suddenly been pulled. Something they were confused about, MUCH LIKE IS WAS. Upon calling my allergist’s office, I learned that the reason had been APPARENTLY I wasn’t taking it. Which is confusing, as I had been, and had only missed the one appointment before the letter thanks to the INFECTION IN MY GUMS I NEEDED REMOVED along with all the other damn issues I was having and trying to mix making me have troubles sleeping and making an early morning appointment. Something that I apparently need to suck up.

   This reasoning SHOULD have been easily refuted by the constant deliveries of the medicine TO MY DOOR. The nurse that had come and taught me to use these medicines, THEIR APPROVAL THAT I KNEW WHAT I WAS DOING. As well me having sharps container with plenty of the injection needles I used. They did not wish for any of this, and after angry demands given I HAD A SURGERY APPOINTMENT for my teeth which has a DAMN HISTORY of causing swelling of the throat. So they extended it for 30 days, a bridge period, after constant calls that now just sit in my head like an angry flurry. Mixing them up, but the point is I had to FIGHT to make sure I  had enough of the medicine for my blood disease so I could go through the dental procedure with the lost chance of a POSSIBLY FATAL flare-up. Fun.

   So, once I was healed up after the dental appointment so I could start calling and get the bottoms removed… The Healthcare Shuffle appeared! This is when  I tried to call the Oral Surgeon I was referred to, they said they never received it. I call the Dentist who sent it and they said they sent it to my insurance. I call my insurance and they first said they haven’t received it. Later say they do and sent it but the Oral Surgeon never got it. WHILE all this was happening, a far more problematic issue arose. Keep in mind, this is all happening as I am still getting over the fact I now have these annoying dentures that I am STILL angry over.

   The medicine ran out. So, of course, I had to find someone new to prescribe me it. This had the issue of me needing to FIND someone who would do this. The Primary Care Physician that I had was uncertain himself and kept telling me he knew nothing about the disease. After explaining, he referred me to a Hematologist and Allergist… IN VEGAS. (This is 8 hours away from me on a good day or requires an hour and a half plane trip for something I likely need to do multiple times. I live in a city, not a small town. That has MANY ALLERGISTS AND HEMATOLOGISTS.)

   Annoyed by this, and after Medicaid Shenanigans, I eventually got an Allergist and a Hematologist referral. Upon calling the Hematologist, they refused! I was highly confused, as they kept repeating that I should go to an allergist. They don’t treat allergies. Hereditary Angioedema is a blood disease. NOT an allergy. Apparently, nothing can be done and I have still yet to see a hematologist. Joy. The reason? Even though I explained extensively this was a genetic blood disease and the symptoms only could be COMPARED to an allergy to stress. IT DOES NOT REACT TO ALLERGY MEDS. An epipen makes the area I inject just swell up yet give me the energy for my skeleton to feel like it wants to run around the block without the rest of me.

So, not surprising, this caused a lot of issues with swelling. Inevitably, I had an episode involving my gastrointestinal system. This time, it was bad enough I couldn’t seem to use medical marijuana to cover the symptoms until I was well and had water in me. So one Ambulance ride later I am in a hospital bed… Oh, wait, no, I am at the front desk of the emergency room waiting for a bed for a bit. Until I puke enough to be a disturbance. However it still takes quite a while before I get the main thing I want and have been kept from thanks to my body violently puking it up. I wanted an IV with something to hydrate me. The drugs could wait untiul the doctor, but as time went by and it felt like an eternity, I kept being told by all the people checking on me that I had to wait for a doctor to get my damn liquid.

All the while my fiance and my father are both helping explain that this was, without any doubt, an attack from my blood disease. It was an hereditary angioedema attack, blah blah… My discharge papers (useful in tracking my disorder and proving problems.) instead say it is some ‘unspecified vomiting type’ instead of maybe ‘blood disease triggered vomiting’ or ‘HAE triggered vomiting’, ‘genetic disorder triggered vomiting’. Think you get the point, more something that proved the medical staff were actually listening to my concerns. Attempts to fix this so I had proof with disability was met with them saying once that is written down it is permanent.

Then, five months later, it happened again.

   Luckily, the Allergist I eventually found turned out to actually have heard and seen a couple others who had this disorder. He knew of medicines and, instead of feeling like I needed to teach my doctors… I was given hope! I was given a vial of Firazyr. He said it was extending an olive branch, and I feel this will be what I remember when I try to think of the emotions needed to write a scene similar. I have never felt hope like I have then. Hope that likes to come and go, but at least I have one doctor at-bat for me.

Until a couple of months ago as of March 20th, 2019, I FINALLY was put on a new medication. Tahkzyro which I take twice a month. HOWEVER, I am still getting push back when it comes to getting the Firazyr, which would help me with my anxiety over the next surgery to remove my bottoms. Which, now that I have Tahkzyro, I once more have to take on HealthCare shenanigans to try and figure out who gets the god damned honor of removing my teeth. As the ones I was referred to HAVE the damn referral… But they don’t take Medicaid. SEEMS THE INFECTION IN MY BOTTOM TEETH GETS TO STAY! Just get to keep draining that thing myself. GUESS WE ARE FRIENDS FOREVER, ME AND THIS INFECTED TOOTH! Though it is crumbling away like the rest. It is down to the gums now. Though, I would like the Firazyr so I can inject myself IMMEDIATELY upon noticing my throat swelling. Never been asphyxiated but something tells me it ISN’T ALL THE FUN AN END! Especially at twenty fucking eight. So you can see my troubles. That doctor is still great, and makes a good point, I just think I need to make myself a bit clearer.

The years feel like they become less and less about me finding my place in this world, healing, and learning but instead more and more about me working as quality control for a broken system with no desire to fix itself. With every passing event involving them, I feel less like a patient and more like the data point I clearly am. With articles full of professionals professionally talking about diseases and medicines without much mention or care for the patients. The ones who that was made for.

For patients like me to heal. Not for people to make money. That is a side-effect of the job they signed up for. To fucking CARE for your goddamn patients. Not be coerced into giving meds left and right (or taking them away as a debate on whether or not ADHD FUCKING EXISTS goes on) or whether you believe the name given to the collection of symptoms I show. My disorders are not Cryptids. I have blood tests, medical papers, and diagnoses. Not blurry pictures of my blood viewed through a slide where fragments of the disease are seen peeking over their shoulder as they rush into a forest of red blood cells.

My particular disorders that I had since birth (ADHD and HAE) were caused by my body’s INABILITY to produce something. So if someone who CAN produce it takes it (least in the sense of ADHD as I doubt anyone else will benefit from a c1-inhibitor. No more than insulin if they aren’t in need of it like a diabetic) then of COURSE something different will happen. Of course, they might get high. That is not my fault as the patient it was made for.

As the point I am trying to make is that I do not feel I have been treated as a patient, I feel I am given more paperwork and calls than a cubicle worker. I feel I have to study more about the laws and practices to keep myself from being further burned. In between the Madness. The Pain. The Suffering that ALL OF THIS has inflicted on me. In between the new disorders this has caused me, particularly my obsession.

All I can think of is how to fix this. How I keep seeing articles, posts, and websites full of cries for help at a broken system. Of people fucked over, lacking their medicine, and the only ones getting the fucking attention are the dipshits who thought that taking someone else’s necessity would be a good way to get high. A good way to ‘focus’. To ‘relax’. While you use that as a fucking excuse to let people like me suffer, and further excuse it by brushing us into a group of people who just ‘slipped through the cracks’.

This obsession has grown now. Especially from the subject of the next article, ADHD meds from the perspective of someone who was one them from the age of 5, had them taken somewhere between the ages of 16 and 20 (my memory is incredibly hazy in this period thanks to the damn medicine being taken away) and getting only mild relief from marijuana replenishing my Dopamine… But that isn’t all Marijuana does nor all ADHD needs. I FINALLY am being treated, though it is just beginning. Still need to find MY medicine. It only took a decade for them to admit they were screwing with me. The lengths of my rage, again, is the subject of the next article.

This one was about how this madness turned me into someone who believes his job is to be a Professional Patient. Being talked into long commutes, long waits waiting for a doctor who will drop you for being late when they are constantly 45 to an hour late. Constantly filling out paperwork and debating about the fact my problems EXIST. Being treated as too young to be suffering. To the point, I don’t know what else to do. When you are too fucked up to work, explained in an earlier article, too fucked around for college, and the only thing you can apparently do is smash your rage against a keyboard and hope spreading your story around for no one to read will get something done.

If not? Then no matter what happens. If I die from malpractice or my disease, if I am killed, if I am silenced. My words on how this bullshit has made me feel will be, hopefully, somewhere.

The internet is notorious for being difficult to clean thoroughly, after all. If you do a little light digital legwork with the intention of being annoying as all hell. Especially since I got denied for disability again. Next time, I have to go to federal court apparently. JOLLY GEE GOODIE.

[slythian]

I know their are people out their who wonder what its like to know what someone in certain situations think and maybe this can in someway help someone else out there someday so if you see my post please share it so it spreads out there so people can see it and hopefully learn something from the pain I go through.sorry about any terrible grammar I’ll try my best but i suck at that…I’m going to put what my are issues out their that led me to being the way I am today and share my thought on my depression and suicidal tendencies.I know two of my closest friends will see this either stop here and skip this post all together or continue to read it past here to know some of my thoughts and y'all may know parts and you may not know other parts.this is to help share my mind and my issues where even of I end up failing to continue my fight that most days I feel like I will fail at maybe this post could help others out their or give others perspective to learn from where I failed to.I know I’m putting this in place where I know my family can’t see it though and that is for my peace of mind on purpose.I know theirs alot of people on here and a lot of people do go here for fun art or sharing/try to deal with their problems maybe someone will be able to learn from where i can’t and truly find a way to continue their lives……I have what most people would consider a great life over all.I have a roof over my head,food on the table ,even family and friends that love the hell out of me,I even have a job where I make money to do things I wanna do even with paying bills.I grew up with a loving family that tought me to care with all my heart and treat everyone you can with the best respect you can manage. to live life with your heart and care about everyone. This resulted in me growing up a sarcastic dick head of a friend that most people love to have around in their lives.But I’m one of the most caring persons I know which when u care as much as I do about everyone that can lead to many issues and problems and caring as much as I do has led to many of the problems I plan to talk about here in a few. Since I love and care about people as much as i do this has the unfortunate side effect that when people have messed you over so bad you stop caring completely and or hate them someone can’t come back from that with me normally.most of my life was great and yah I didn’t really have a lot of issues surfacing and any I did just stayed buried to where they didnt effect me to much but growing up a.d.h.d. and a.d.d. and being told your bipolar always taking meds for it all kinda sucks.especially since meds never helped any growing up so always taking them kinda shurked me away from medication. I had to find the things that could help with these things and for me this things I was able to get lost in was art and drawing,music, video games,and the biggest one that always was my favorite thing above all else reading fictional books and stories with things like magic,dragons, faries ect. For me these were the escapes to help me deal with the disorders I was diagnosed with at an early age.my mom and dad were never married and wernt together really after I was born as I was born through them breaking up ironically so kinda a mistake to begin with.but both my parents didn’t live together but have always been in my life and as a kid I loved and lived with my mom and worshipped the ground my father walked on. Now I have three siblings one middle older brother on my dads side we share different moms and my oldest brother and younger sister on my moms side we all share different dads.I lived with my sibling on my moms side and barley saw my brother on my dads side.my dad tried to act like a father to me and my siblings on my moms side which growing up I have kinda realized that my father never really cared about me as much and the kids that aren’t his as he wouldnt pick me up for custody appointed times if he didnt get the other kids which is where of my problems began when I was younger always seems like noone cared about me when it really mattered and always chose other people over me including the father who I worshipped and cared about more then anything as a young child.only people I have always had that never doubted they cared about me even till an adult was my mom and my siblings looking back until these last few years.so I had the issues when younger of disorders I couldnt do much about and a father who didn’t really care about me.now wish those were all the problems I had to deal with.I was born in 1995 and until 2010 you could say my life was great overal compared to what followed but when I was really young my mom dated a guy that ended up creating my sister but was an abusive prick so had that to deal with till he went to jail few years after my sister was born in 1998 other then that was great till I was 15. so when I was 15 years old I decided I wanted do be an idiot and have the father I always worshipped go for custody of me to try and make my relationship better with everyone I currently lived with at my moms better bc during the time period of living with her she married my step dad and all which was great to an extent but always fighting with sibling step dad and mom got old I cared about them so much and hoped by moving out that things would get better.things did and didn’t bc my dad going for custody of me which was my decision even though he wanted it to I asked him to do so.things that went bad for this decision was my mom went back to stripping to help pay bills at the time for losing money to pay on the house we lived in that was going to trying to fight me moving in with my dad since my mom knew my dad was a piece of crap while I had no idea.which when she was driving after wards one night of stripping got into a wreck that crippled her for the rest of her life.I always feel responsible for her wreck and her death that followed a few hears later bc it all extended from a choice I made even if they made their owe choices to.its something I’ve always partially felt responsible for and feeling responsible for the death of your own mother takes a toll after awhile too.but she was crippled in the sense of everything from the neck down she couldnt use right and she couldnt live and survive on her own after that.I went to live with my dad seeing her for custody appointed times after that.for the following three years thats how my life went….going to school living with my dad and seeing my mom on weekends after a decision I made costed her most of her life after that point ever being the same.I know that its not entirely my fault but still always have felt I share some blame for it all too.my dad actually turned out to be the kind of dad whose their your entire life but really doesnt care about you at all just what he gets out of the equation of you being alive and me living with him meant he didnt pay child support anymore.I learned what type of person he was those following three years.my middle brother whose older then me lived with us for awhile till my father put his hands on him and that’s not okay after what I had gone through when I was younger.two of my biggest pet peeves in this world is never cheat on a person and never lay your hands on a women or children both are destructive as hell one is physical abuse and the other is more mental abuse but both can fuck you up so much more then almost anything else.this was when I started learning who my father really was and things got worse after that.. my father ended up stopping me from seeing my mom for weeks at a time when she was sapposed to have me for weekends and stuff which costed me alot of time with her the last few month of her life in 2013.my mom ended up passing away right before I turned 18 and graduated high school bc of complications from a nursing home she was in at this point.after losing time with my mom I moved out of my dads.at the point we had her funeral I learned that she had tried to kill herself twice few months before she passed away and had written me and her other two kids suicide notes and to this day I carry the note I was written by my mom in my wallet everywhere I go.this was my second time facing these types of situations as when I was young family friend commited suicide.so at first my main perspective on suicide was the same as most people out their. That suicide is idoitic,selfish,a cowards way out,a way to hurt those around you,a lot of wrong opinions.when I found out my mom had tried to do so my maine opinions were even though I missed her even if she had done so I couldnt bla.e her for the way her life was at that point I had a different view on suicide which had changed my earlier views on it all to thinking sometimes people dont see another way out all you can do is accept that they did what they decided to do.since then when my mom died my world was turned to he’ll since then my life to me has slowly gotten worse and worse for the last 5 years to now 2018. I had lived with my step dad and sister afyer moving out of my dads and at a certain point in time everything with my mom just started destroying me along with the loss of my grandmother I lost 3 months before my mom.my biggest fear I have learned are loosing the people closest to me to death. It absolutely destroyed me and I havnt been able to heal from any of them can’t deal with pain a big part of how much I care adds to the fact that the loss on the end side is so extreme I cant handle it.so in 2013 I had lost both my grandmother and my mom.fast forward to half way through 2017 I ended up looking both my grandfathers to cancer which messed me up a lot more then I was already while never being able to deal with the previous losses.I ended up being to messed up to deal with life itself I didn’t even know what was happening to me at all to begin with except I was fucked up in the head and wasnt able to feel anything but pain anymore after dealing with everything I have including being abondened at the time by some of the people that meant the most to me since at the time my brothers and sisters wernt talking to me and my step dad had left me to live in his house by himself and my sister went to live with our older brother I had felt abandoned by every one I cared about.it turns out that I have depression and anxiety just having been diagnosed with it recently along with being suicidal when I tried to kill myself by downing a bottle of pills a year ago.I had really good friends ive fucked up everything I used to have with and others I barley saved a friendship with.even if they probably are better of in the end without me around from my point of view.I just dont see why people decide to deal with me a depressive and suicidal problematic person even if they decide to stupidly care. it turns out that depression and anxiety effect everything within your mind from how things effect you to how your brain can interpret things and makes your brain tell you lies like noone cares about you when clearly people do but you can’t run from whats in your own mind so you start to believe the lies that your own mind is telling you.you start to believe that the only escape from the pain is to end your life especially when nothing makes you happy anymore and everything in you life you used to enjoy you can’t enjoy anymore.nothing seems to have any impact but to make you miserable. Your brains tricks you and a lot of people can get help with this.you can talk to people wether a professional or just friends and family..try taking pills that are prescribed by a doctor for depression or anxiety and sometimes that can help for some people like me no matter what I have done nothing does any good for me it has no impact for me.the thing that sucks the most is the day I gave up on life and decides to commit suicide I failed which meant I had to live with the consequences of my actions including the suicide notes I left to friends and family in some cases I almost lost friendships bc of decisions I made and words I put in those letters and thankfully I still have that person in my life but I almost ended that by being stubborn and stupid for feeling things and not keeping it to myself.their are some things though no matter what you do you can't get rid of feeling things for certain people you either learn to live with it being their or hid it from the people who dont want to know its there at all.that's what I deal with now for three people who have mattered the most to me in a different way then everyone else.the biggest thing I have to live with as long as I still do live is the fact the day I decided to kill myself I gave up being their for my younger sister which destroyed her and I have to now deal with the pain I caused the people I love by being me.I always no matyer what others tell me feel like I’m a problem in everyone’s lifes and in the end just hurt the people I care about.but the sad thing is it has been true but the people that care about me have still tried to be their for me even though I think in the end its just a waste of time for those who care about me bc I feel like in the end I’m just going to keep failing everyone around me.the people who love you and are around will tell you your not a failure and you won’t fail.I won’t tell you this since it may not help.the thing from someone in the headset of being exactly here is you may feel the same way I do try your best to find a reason to live for be it a person a hobby an animal if these things work for you find what helps.my problem is nothing helps me even in my situation I’m still fighting to try that’s all anyone can ask for even if you fail in the end you at least tried don’t let anyone make you feel bad for trying to fight.that’s all I will promise anyone anymore not that I wont fail but that I will do my best even if its not good enough in the end.I care and love everyone in my life but the problem is the pain is great and in most cases to much for me to handle pain from withing your own mind is a pain that’s different then any other kind I will always try and I hope everyone out there will try their best but everyones best is of different levels so is everyone’s ability to deal with levels of pain. I try evsrything I used to enjoy and even tried new things nothing really works hopefully I will find something that does something for me but I’m not really sure its possible to be fixed when you are to broken to heal but who knows either one day ill find a way or ill be gone either way that’s life just try to fight to survive no matter who you are out their that’s all I ask from someone who is their themselves is to try.its not selfish to fail but its selfish not to try at all. I dont know if this will ever help someone else but its a chance it will this is my story and I’m still living it at this moment in time. ✌😸✌September 17 2018

[braindamageforbeginners]

Self-assessment

For those keeping track, today is Week 3, Day 27 (of chemo), and I have 17 radiation treatments under my belt. However, because today is a holiday, I have a brief respite from radiation. I’m almost at the four-week mark, by any measure, and, as the philosopher Bueller once noted, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” Admittedly, life is moving much, much faster for me than the average person, but that’s all the more reason to pause and take one’s pulse.

So. I’m still daisy-side of the dirt (obviously). I’m capable of writing (sort of), and I’m mostly-coherent. Mostly. One thing I’ve noticed, browsing through the archives is a recent spate of typos (which isn’t terribly concerning, since I have monster-truck-sized hands and tend to type with the reckless abandon of a four-year-old playing on a typewriter*), half-thoughts, and repeated thoughts. Those last two are cause for concern. Both of them rely on short-term memory - namely, remembering if you’ve already made your point, and finished it. Of course, it could also be indicative of the severe stress and sleep-deprivation that goes with my current lifestyle. It could also be due to the fact that I frequently write these in 5-minute segments scattered throughout the day, and wind up finishing them after all the frail mortals of the house have retreated to their chambers. Of course, I also know from personal experience that brain damage is virtually impossible to detect, and you make up all kinds of excuses and ways to avoid dealing with the issue, until it becomes unavoidable. On the other hand, I did successfully remember the name of an old friend of my father’s, based on some vocabulary/idiomatic cues, and I haven’t seen her in at least thirty years, so, long-term memory’s intact.

And there’s just always the horrible, nihilistic fact that we live in a society ruled by sociopaths who seem hell-bent on keeping the sick from ever getting better. Case in point; I spent today refilling, rechecking, and fetching prescriptions. That’s not a half-finished thought; it took a while on the phone trying to coordinate the various chemicals that keep me alive and/or kill me (yes, I am taking both simultaneously, that’s how cancer meds work)(and, no, I’m not going to let up on that fact until science develops something a little less horrifying). I wasn’t terribly successful in that; I managed to get one drug (after a week of skeevy phone-calls with insurance), and, although I’m down to my last week of anti-seizure pills (sort of, I have a few of them; one of my doctors actually told me she would double-dose a prescription; which I thought sounded good, then I got a letter the next day from the insurance company saying that they had made a temporary exemption for me, but that drug was not covered under my plan, and they wouldn’t do it again; so, really, it was a clever doctor taking advantage of the health insurance industry to give me a few more weeks on this planet)(these are the types of people you want looking after you when the rubber hits the road), I have enough to last until Friday, and I am seeing the mad scientist oncologists tomorrow, who have a helluva lot of juice in the system (these are the guys who literally got me a radiation oncology consultation within two hours of seeing them, and got me a same-day anti-depressant refill, which, in California, qualifies as witchcraft), so I’m planning on siccing them on it. Again, for all readers who want to know one of the hallmarks of someone who will help keep you alive (because this did come up in conversation with my undergrad friend the other day), a strong indicator that you’re in good hands is when, whenever you bring up a problem, the response isn’t to shunt you to some other department or give you another phone number, it’s, “You ain’t got no problem, Jules. I’m on the motherfucker.” Even if that means they get back to you in a day or two after doing some research, as frequently happens when you’re a one-of-a-kind medical specimen.

So, with another horrible experimental injection tomorrow (there is absolutely nothing enjoyable about it, and I have to chug loads of Gatorade the night before, which is just kicking me when I’m already down), the potential for medical complications from an unfulfilled keppra prescription on the horizon (although I still have a card or two I can play on that one, if the witch doctors are a bust)(if you’re getting the impression that it is taking every single screed of energy, luck, and cunning I possess merely to stay alive; well, that’s completely accurate), I did what anyone else would do: I went to the gym. It’s what Martin Luther King, Jr would’ve wanted.

Holy shit, did the law of averages catch up with me. Folks, I believe I mentioned that Radiation Oncologist started microdosing me with hateful, vile decadron. This is a general steroid, which means it keeps inflammation down (namely, it keeps pain and swelling down at the joints, which, thanks to my butcher surgeon, I now have where I should not have them, and they hurt)(again, I suspect Radiation Oncologist prescribed this not only to play down the deleterious effects her nuclear weapon medicine is having on my surgical healing processes, but to prevent my brain from swelling)(which would, presumably, burst out of my skull, like Mojo Jojo and/or Jeremy Irons in Time Machine)(if you don’t get those references, well, I’m not writing for you). So, yeah; low-level steroids of the decidedly not-androgen variety are in my system. Which means most low-level immunological reactions no longer happen with me. What you don’t know is, most of the pain and/or inefficiencies you experience with disease or work-outs (physiologically, the two are similar; I’ll go into more detail upon request, but most people tend to get glassy-eyed and move toward the door) is due to accumulations of all those white blood cells (which are responsible for inflammation, let’s not forget). Well, not anymore. I am now doing more intense work-outs than I ever have, in perfect form, and in half the time. I am not making that up, and I am not exaggerating any of it. Now, it’s extremely possible I’ll wake up paralyzed or die in the night (the one good thing about experimental injections and having to drink 132 gallons of Gatorade is that you no longer fear death)(as long as it’s not a Gatorade-related death), but, focusing on the positive, this just lends more credence to my hope - just a fool’s hope, admittedly - that I will become Captain America (and, although there is always the horrifying and distinct possibility that I’ll die a horrible death and/or be lobotomized; I haven’t even begun to discuss neuroplasticity, and why another mad scientist** is probably in the process of writing a paper on neuroregeneration based on me)(again, this is true, albeit slightly-exaggerated).

So, yeah, we close on what is undoubtedly a discombobulating set of half-thoughts, unfinished themes, and/or unknowingly repeated ideas. Have fun with it, future-me; I’ve got to be up early tomorrow for another fun set of science experiments wherein I am the experiment, and I’m exhausted after a long day at the gym and lying to various pharmacy technicians and office clerks. *I know this because I actually did this when I was four. Shut up. **Yes, I collect mad scientists; everyone needs a hobby. Shut up.

[mizmahlia]

Cape-Stealing Crusader, Part 3 of 3

I was recently inspired by this post here where the writer replies to a request for headcanons about how Bruce, Tim and Damian would react to someone borrowing/stealing their capes, sort of like how you steal a jacket or something of your significant other.

Of course, when it comes to someone stealing capes in the BatFamily, Stephanie Brown is the first one who comes to mind.

The first part was for Bruce.

The second part was for Tim.

The third part here is for Damian.

Enjoy! :)

For the purposes of this piece, Damian’s 20 and Stephanie is about 27.

The night was still young by their standards. It was only two-thirty but she was ready to call it quits. It was cold. The forecast had been bleak to start with, but once the wind picked up and the mercury fell below zero, Stephanie Brown was done. “Batgirl to Robin.” “Go ahead.” “You find anything worth our time?” There was a pause and she shut her eyes, praying to all that was holy he hadn’t. “The atrocious holiday decorations on the bank I’m looking at should be a crime,” he muttered, continuing to survey the city below him. “But no, nothing has caught my attention.” “You’re at First National, aren’t you?”

The corners of Damian's mouth twitched, dangerously close to a smile. He was indeed across the street from Gotham First National Bank, high up on a Queen Industries building. The roof was twenty stories up and he was comfortably perched on the façade overlooking the gaudy decorations she was so fond of. He heard the sound of her grapple gun through his earpiece as she made her way to him. “Perhaps.” She landed quietly somewhere behind him and Damian barely heard her as she approached. She gave him a hefty punch to the shoulder. He glanced sideways, arching an eyebrow. “What was that for?”

“Calling my favorite Christmas decorations in all of Gotham a crime.” “But am I wrong?” He turned his focus back to the bank below. Stephanie sighed and grinned.

“No, they are pretty tacky. But they're the fun kind of tacky.” She dusted the snow off the ledge next to him and sat down, her hip and leg flush against him. He bristled at the contact. She ignored his reaction. "Must you invade my personal space? There's plenty of room." He nodded to the rest of the ledge that spanned at least fifty feet in either direction. “Yeah, I know. But the spot here,” she said, wriggling for emphasis, “is next to you, mister furnace, therefore it’s warm. And I’m absolutely freezing. Problem solved.”  

“Tt."

With feigned annoyance he raised his arm to allow her to scoot closer to him before wrapping it and his cape around her. He pulled her smaller frame against his side and felt her shaking as she leaned into him. Absently he rubbed her upper arm and shoulder as he stared out into the darkness. She sighed again and this time he knew she was smiling that dorky, wistful smile of hers. Something in his stomach started flipping somersaults and he willed it to stop. “I can see why you like sitting here,” she said, looking out at the sprawling city below them. “It’s got a nice view of the harbor.”

She grabbed the edge of his cape and pulled it around her face to block the wind, the fabric soft and warm against her cheek. She closed her eyes a moment and smiled. It smelled so very Damian. “It’s not the tallest building in Gotham, but the location offers a tactical advantage.” She rolled her eyes. “You just like sitting here because it’s Oliver Queen’s building and you can assert your Bat-dominance.” She nodded to the security cameras at the roof entrance behind them. “You know he can see you.” Damian smirked but said nothing.  “You know, this city isn’t without its problems, but on nights like tonight it’s easy to forget about all the crap we deal with.” He hummed quietly in agreement. He had to admit it was nice to have a night like this once in a while. People here in Gotham deserved the break, his present company included. It was one of her first nights back out after being cleared to resume patrol since Black Mask nearly killed her four months ago. Her physical injuries had healed, but he knew she was still having vivid nightmares and panic attacks despite her efforts to hide them. She’d scared them all senseless the first time she’d woken up screaming. Everyone home that night rushed to her room, but, much to the chagrin of Tim, Damian was the only one she would allow to get close to her.  In the nights that followed, she would sleep in his bed while he was on patrol or steal one of his capes and sit in the theatre room, falling asleep watching Disney movies. She never tried to hide the fact she’d slept in his room, but they never spoke about it, either. She never remade his bed and he could smell her shampoo on his pillow. Sometimes his bed was still warm like she’d just crawled out of it. He’d never admit that it disappointed him; he’d started hoping she would be there when he got home. He didn’t necessarily mind her behavior but it was something he didn’t fully understand and he was too stubborn to ask anyone about it. He was pulled from his thoughts when she started shaking again. He stole a glance from the corner of his eye. Her cheeks were bright red and her lips were nearly blue, but she was smiling. “How can frostbite possibly make you that happy?” She snorted.

“Does wonders for my complexion.” Damian was glad his hood was up so she couldn’t see the exasperated look he gave her. But she knew him so well she didn’t have to see it to know it was there. Her voice was quiet, nearly lost in the wind.

“It’s nice to be back out here.” She paused. “You know I haven’t had a panic attack in over two weeks?” He swallowed hard and nodded, his arm instantly pulling her closer to him. That one had been particularly severe. They were taking care of a smuggling ring when out of nowhere, Black Mask came strolling in, bragging about bribing his way out on bail. Stephanie startled and nearly fell from the beam she was sitting on. Damian grappled over and caught her before anyone spotted her. He’d carried her up to the roof, calling Drake to provide some backup for Father. Nothing he tried helped until he remembered overhearing Drake talking her through one once. He'd pressed her hand to the center of his chest and leaned his forehead against hers, calmly asking her to look at him and breathe. Her eyes locked with his, but she couldn’t focus with all the noise coming from below. Without hesitation he’d hauled her into his lap, wrapped his arms around her and she covered her ears with her hands. That did the trick.

So now with Roman Sionis once again a resident of the maximum security wing at Blackgate, she was allowed back on patrol and here they sat. A brooding Robin sheltering a partially-frozen Batgirl beneath his cape. She'd tucked herself against his chest to block her face from the wind, his cape still wrapped tightly around her. “If you’re that cold, we can head home. Father would kill me if I allowed you to lose fingers and toes.” He actually felt her roll her eyes, which he had to admit was impressive. Had she rolled them any harder they would have gotten lodged in her head somewhere.

“Since when do you 'allow' me to do anything?” she asked, jabbing a sharp elbow into his ribs as she disentangled herself from his arm and cape. “You should respect your elders, D. We have ways of making your life miserable.” “Too late.” He earned another jab, though this one had less force behind it.

“C’mon. I’ll race you home.” She grinned and stood, holding a hand out to him. He refused so she sprinted across the roof, gracefully leaping from the opposite edge and grappling toward home. Damian stood and took off after her.

There was no way she would beat him home.

Damian entered the cave and stopped in his tracks; she had somehow managed to beat him back. She was across the cave behind the workbench where Tim was working on his latest project. He was making notes on a laptop and completely oblivious to Stephanie creeping up behind him, and Damian watched as she wrapped her frigid hands around his neck. He yelped in surprise and nearly fell off his chair. Their backs were turned so Damian didn’t bother to hide his glare as he made his way toward the changing area. “I was wondering when you’d get here!” she said, turning to face him. She was grinning from ear to ear. “Someone had to follow to make sure you didn’t plummet to your death because you couldn’t feel your hands.”  Tim was pouring a cup of coffee and reading over his notes. He looked up at Damian as he passed.

“Hey, Damian.” “Drake.” He joined Stephanie near the med bay where she had already taken off her suit and was down to her insulated base layers. She kept pausing and rubbing her arms, trying to get warm.  “You’d think I’d be warm after all this reveling in my success.” He said nothing, but removed his cape and draped it around her shoulders before sitting down to take off his boots.  “Thanks.”  He nodded and continued taking off his gear, hanging it neatly on the hooks in front of him. He paused a moment before turning and facing her. “You used to steal Drake’s capes. Why?” The question came out of nowhere and she stared at him blankly for a moment before sitting down.  “Well…“ She rubbed her hands together and Damian noticed how pale they were. He went over to the workbench, grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee from the carafe sitting next to Tim. Tim opened his mouth to protest, but said nothing when Damian handed the mug to Stephanie and sat down next to her. She wrapped her hands around the mug and sighed, the warmth leeching into her fingers.

“Thanks.”  “So, why did you?” He leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the mug in her hands while studying her face in his periphery. “Several reasons. Sometimes I needed the reassurance he was okay after getting hurt. Other times I needed something familiar, something positive when the home situation sucked.” Then she smiled, staring into the mug. “And he smelled nice.” Damian noticed how she smiled when she talked about Tim and he wondered if she ever smiled that way when she thought about him. The thought that she might made him happier that he cared to admit and he bit his cheek, forcing himself to focus.

“Then…” he started, his voice cautious. Unusually quiet. “Why do you take mine?” She thought for a moment and was careful how she responded. She’d picked up on the hesitation and knew when she heard that, he was letting his guard down. And that certainly didn’t happen that often.  “It reminds me of the night four months ago.” She tried to sound casual, to keep it light, but she knew he could hear the fear in her voice at the mere mention of it. Damian’s expression darkened at the memory. She’d been beaten so badly they thought she was already dead when they arrived. He remembered seeing red before Dick held him back while Father and Drake took Sionis down. Dick told Damian to get her to the car so they could get Sionis out before Damian got a hold of him. “Why on earth would you want to remember that night? You nearly died.” His hands clenched into fists. She leaned forward and put her hand over one of them, squeezing gently. He relaxed his hands and she turned one of his palms up, lacing her fingers between his. His hand dwarfed hers when he returned the gesture.

“But I didn’t. You saved my life, Damian.” She looked at him. “I thought I was dead, but when I heard your voice I knew I’d be okay.” Damian froze. He remembered what he’d said to her, verbatim, and didn’t realize she’d been conscious for that. Crimson swept over his cheeks and he cast his eyes downward, suddenly embarrassed. She’d probably heard everything- the promises and confessions he'd made, how broken he'd sounded, and yet, she'd never said anything. “I felt safe,” she continued and tilted her head a little to catch his gaze. She nudged his arm, trying to get him to look at her. “And you smell nice. Like that tea you’re always drinking and that scented stuff Cass brought back for you.” She paused, a small smile working its way across her lips. “And spoiled Batbrat.”

Damian rolled his eyes and tried to fight the laugh that bubbled up from his chest, managing to smother most of it, but not before he snorted softly. Steph grinned. “So that’s why. You wrapped your cape around me and I knew I’d be alright because you were there. Stealing your capes now, when I’m having a rough day, reminds me that you'll be there.” She stood and unwrapped the cape, hugging it one more time before giving it back to him. “A hot bath is calling my name. See you later, D.” Damian was speechless. He sat there a moment, staring down at the cape in his hands, trying to process everything she’d said. He was so lost in thought he hadn’t heard Tim approach and startled slightly when he’d leaned up against the wall next to him. Tim waited until she was at the top of the stairs before leaning down and closing Damian’s mouth. “For someone so smart, you know so little.” He grinned and shook his head, turning to get back to work. Damian stood and moved to hang up his cape, but not before holding it to his nose. The first thing he noticed was that it smelled like her. He smiled to himself. He could get used to that.