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thewritingcaptain · 4 years ago

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A Failed Homecoming (Chapter 3)

It was time to call May and tell her what had happened - the abridged version of it, anyway. He would need her permission to handle some of the paperwork in the aftermath of this anyway, and he couldn't keep this from her any longer. He just hoped she didn't try to keep Peter from him when she found out.

The next few hours were some of the most agonizing of his life.

By the time Tony had reached the nearest hospital, the kid was limp and lifeless in his arms - with the exception of the occasional seizure, of course. He was glad for the suit, because without it, he might not have been able to hold on to him at all, let alone with as hard as he himself was shaking.

He still had the bag with the clothes strapped onto his back, but there was no time to change him, and little need for it anymore. The outfit that had once passed for his old suit was unrecognizable now, between the blood soaking it, the various rips and tears in it, and the fact it was half disintegrated from the electrocutions. Even Tony himself wouldn't have known what he was wearing if he hadn't seen the video of him in it before his arrival.

At least he didn't have to lie to the paramedics about what happened as he dropped the kid in the ER. It was simple enough to cover up his involvement as Spider-Man by simply saying that he had been abducted to use against him because of a presumed relationship they had, and the reasons behind Tony bringing him in and the circumstances surrounding the injuries were soon forgotten by the medical personnel when he told them exactly how he'd gotten them and what he'd been through.

Now, Tony sat in the waiting room, alone, pacing back and forth as he waited to hear some kind of news. He'd already called Pepper and Happy to let them know that he had the kid and to tell them to alert the police about the Vulture's escape, but he didn't have any more information for them than that. And he was so not looking forward to calling May. He still hadn't done so, largely because he didn't want to call her simply with news of what had happened but no explanation of Peter's condition. There was no point in calling until he knew something.

It was an agonizing few hours that he spent pacing that small waiting room, waiting desperately for news of the kid. When a doctor finally came out of the double doors to talk to him, he practically leapt at her.

The news she carried wasn't good, but it wasn't the worst case scenario, either. He was damaged, yes, but he was alive. Damaged he could work with; dead, on the other hand, he could not.

He allowed himself to be escorted to the room they were keeping him in and nodded to the nurses before coming in. What greeted him wasn't a pretty sight.

The kid was absolutely plastered with tubes and machines. He had one attached to both his chest and his head, an IV in one arm, an oxygen mask strapped onto his face, and a leg casted and placed into one of those hanging slings to keep it elevated above his heart. That was just what Tony could see. Under his gown, he knew there was at least one open wound in his side and a few broken ribs that had been wrapped, and his head was also swaddled in bandages on the one side. Lord only knew what else.

But he was alive, and breathing on his own, and that was enough for now. Tony took a steadying breath as he seated himself in the hospital chair and pulled out his phone. It was time to call May and tell her what had happened - the abridged version of it, anyway. He would need her permission to handle some of the paperwork in the aftermath of this anyway, and he couldn't keep this from her any longer.

He just hoped she didn't try to keep Peter from him when she found out.

Taking a deep breath again, he pulled out his phone and placed the call.

May picked up on the second ring, despite not knowing his number. Maybe she was just desperate enough to know where he'd gotten off to by that point that she was answering all the calls. "Hello?"

The panic in her voice broke his heart, as did the fact that he was going to have to solidify it. "May, this is Tony Stark. Do you remember me?" Not the best way to start off, maybe, but better than just blurting out the news.

"Mr. Stark? Listen, with all due respect, I'm in the middle of something right now, so-"

"I know." He closed his eyes. "Peter is missing. I'm with him now, though. I found him. Or rather…" he swallowed. This was the tricky part. "His captor found me."

May was so quiet on the other end of the line for a moment that he was genuinely worried that she'd either passed out or had some kind of heart attack. "May?" he asked cautiously.

"I-... I'm here." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "What's going on, Tony?"

"Before I tell you that, let me just tell you that he's hurt, but he's with me now and he's gonna be okay. Okay? Can you trust me on that much?"

"Where is he?"

Tony hissed through his teeth. "We're in the hospital. But he's alright, remember?" he added quickly at the pained noise from the other side. "I'd tell you which one, but it's out of state and I don't actually know. I just got him to the quickest one as fast as I could."

"What happened to him?" Her voice broke slightly, and something in his chest seemed to crack at the sound. He may well have a heart attack before this day was over.

"I…" Tony stopped, trying to think of the best way to put it. He couldn't give her the whole truth, not yet, not until Peter was ready to tell her, which he clearly hadn't been, and he couldn't add that to her pain right now anyway. As furious as he himself was with Peter for putting himself in harm's way, he didn't need May to be as well. It was better for her to think the blame was all on him. "Peter was abducted. Someone knew of his connection with me because of the internship and tried to ransom him back to me." There. Not good, but close enough to the truth.

"Oh, Peter." He could hear the tears in her voice, and suddenly he found himself blinking back a few of his own. No, he wasn't going to cry. Not here, not right now. "How did you know? How did you get him back?"

"I… was at the Tower when the guy called me off of Peter's phone. I tracked it to them, gave the guy the money." So much more had happened than that, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her half of what had happened in between.

"How much?"

"It doesn't matter. Trust me when I say it was pocket change for me, May. I just… I would have given anything to get him back, alright? It honestly doesn't matter." He looked down, picking some imaginary lint off his pants, just to have something to focus on that wasn't the flashbacks of the kid's face while he was in pain, or his broken body in front of him. "This whole thing is my fault, May, and I am… so sorry for what happened that I can't even express it. If I had ever thought for a minute that this could happen…" He didn't even know what to say. He would have spared no expenses to keep him safe. "I would have done everything in my power to make sure it didn't. And if you don't want him to continue with the internship, then I completely understand, and I will respect that." Even if it kills me. "I just… would still like to be allowed to check up on him, if you don't mind."

"Oh, Tony." Her voice broke again, and he knew she was crying on the other side. "I would never keep you from seeing him, and I could never take the internship away from him, either. Working with you means so much to him." Funny, considering he had no idea what he did when he said he was interning with him, but now wasn't the time or the place to reveal that. "The fact that you can even say half of what you just did is enough to tell me everything I need to know."

Some of the tension drained from his body as he processed the relief. "Thank you, May. I honestly don't know what else to say. Apologizing won't change what happened, but I can assure you it will never happen again."

"I know it won't. And it's not your fault, Tony. You couldn't have known this would happen. I'm just so grateful that you got to him in time." She stopped for a moment, and he waited patiently, knowing she was trying just as hard to keep her composure as he was. "How is he? Do you know anything yet?"

"Yes, I talked to the doctor right before I called you." He sat back in the chair, staring at Peter's nearly obscured form. "It's a long list," he warned quietly.

"Just tell me."

Tony closed his eyes. "As of right now, he has a broken leg, broken foot, a few broken ribs, a wound in his side, and a concussion. They think he's having sensory issues due to nerve damage, and they detected a mild cardiac arrhythmia that should straighten itself out." Hopefully, if the kid could go more than a few hours without being shocked. "And… he's having seizures."

"Cardiac distress? Seizures? Nerve damage?" Her voice was so high that he winced slightly. "What the hell happened to him?"

He wet his lips, looking down. "Sources say he tried to fight off the guy who abducted him. Nasty fight, some nasty conks to the head, probably where most of the wounds come from, although we won't be sure until he wakes up. And…" this was the worst. Why did he have to tell her this? "I… think he may have been shocked once or twice." Or three or four times. And electrocution was closer to accurate of what he experienced than a small shock, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her that.

"Oh, God." She was really crying now. "What makes you think that?"

"The symptoms, and, well…" he closed his eyes again, his face contorting as he tried to block out the pain himself. "I may have seen it happen."

"How many times?"

The shaking in his voice mirrored hers as he answered. "Twice." His voice was barely a whisper. It was all he could manage. "It was probably the most horrible thing I've ever seen." Tied right up there with believing he'd watched Pepper fall to her death.

They were both quiet for a long minute. The only sound was May sniffling softly as she tried to get herself together. Finally, she said, "I'm so sorry, Tony. But thank you so much for what you did. He's… he's like my son."

Tony stood up slowly, walking over to the kid and looking down at him. He longed to reach out and touch him, but he knew it would just hurt him. "Yeah. Mine too."

Again, that horrible silence. "How is he?"

"I don't know if I can say fine, considering his injuries, but he's doing alright. He's unconscious but stable. They're keeping him sedated until they can figure out where the seizures are coming from and what to do about it." His eyes flicked to the nodes attached to the kid's head before he forced them away again.

"Will they be permanent?"

"I don't know yet." He shook his head. "They've all been short and lower level, which is a good sign. It could be a result of the shocks or the concussion or both. There's no way to tell yet."

"When can I see him?"

Tony sighed heavily. "I don't know. I want to get him out of here, at least to a better hospital, but I'm trying to let them get all the preliminary stuff done, at least. I don't want to risk moving him before he's ready. And I would like to see him wake up first." He paused. "I'll probably need your permission for a lot of that. They took him because of his state and they've only given me as much as they have because I brought him," and because he was Tony freaking Stark and no one dared challenge him, "But legally they shouldn't have. If I start trying to give orders they'll want your consent."

"Of course. If you figure out where you're at and text me the number, I'll call in and get it handled." She paused for a minute. "But one more thing before you go."

"Anything," he responded without hesitation.

"I… Do you have a plan for when he gets out? I still have to work, and I don't think I'll have the time to give him the care and attention he'll need. I can't afford not to go."

Shit. He had been so worried about the here and now he hadn't really thought about letting the kid go home and what would happen once he got there. He really didn't want him out of his sight again, which he knew was completely infeasible but not an illogical response to what had happened.

And May… she was right. Of course, it wasn't as though he couldn't fund them plenty for as long as she needed to be off work, but she didn't seem like the type of woman who took handouts well, and if he had to guess, her job was probably one of the few things holding her together at this point. He knew that feeling.

He also knew that he didn't want to leave him. In his mind, he knew there was a seemingly simple solution to both of these problems, but… was he ready for that? Most days he could hardly take care of himself, let alone the kid. And what would happen if the other Avengers showed up at the tower? And with the move… how could he balance that, honestly?

"I…" He swallowed thickly. He could figure all that out later, if May even said yes. Peter was the most important thing right now. "I could take him."

"What?"

"I mean, he could stay with me. Most of the time, I mean. You know, until he's better. You'd still have full access to him, of course, and I'm not exactly experienced with taking care of someone, I admit, but between Pepper and Happy and I, we could figure out. Take shifts, or something." He was rambling, he knew, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth he was struck with an overwhelming fear that he'd overstepped, and that May would change her mind about him even being able to see him, so he found himself fumbling to justify his offer.

"Oh. Oh." May stopped for a moment, and he thought his heart stopped too. "That's really kind of you, but I couldn't ask you to do that."

"It's not asking. I'm offering." He looked down at him, reaching up and brushing the kid's hair from his face, careful to avoid touching his skin. "I'd be thrilled to have him. Besides, it's the least I could do, considering this whole thing is my fault." Which was all the more reason she'd be justified in saying no.

May went silent, and he said nothing, knowing nothing else he could say would do much for her. "Alright, then," she said at last. "Let me know when you're on your way back to the city, then. I'll meet you at the Tower?"

"That sounds great. I'll keep you updated, May."

"Thank you." He knew those two words went so much deeper and were for more than just promising to keep her updated.

"Anytime," he said, and meant it. Then she hung up, and he lowered the phone, staring at it for a long minute before putting it away.

He'd done everything he could. Now all that was left to do was sit there and wait.

#irondad #thewritingcaptain #au #spiderman au #spiderman homecoming au #marvel cinematic universe #marvel cinematic universe au #irondad fanfiction #iron dad #irondad and spiderson #a failed homecoming

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wonderlandmind4 · 6 years ago

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Delicate Stages of Life: One

Break Me Down

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC. Platonic Steve Rogers x OFC

Summary: Looking into the life of Bucky and Ana. Life in Wakanda is filled with love, laughs, some tears, all emotions, lazy days, goats, hot springs, a soul connection, and something dark that looms over Bucky’s and Ana’s domestic bliss…

Ana attempts to go through the motions without Bucky.

Warnings: Language. Mentions of alcohol use. Mild mention of prescription drug use. Some angst.

Words: 5.2k

A/N: I’m posting drabbles for Delicate Stages here! They will be in order, so there isn't any skipping randomly about (except this first part) This first part is in Steve's perspective because that's how the narrative fits. This will be the only part that jumps from the present, to flashbacks. (Do not read unless you've read Delicate Stages first)

***THERE IS NOTHING BETWEEN STEVE AND ANA. IT IS A STRICTLY PLATONIC RELATIONSHIP***

**Present Day**

“You’re shaking the entire jet, Rios.” Steve informs her, glancing over his shoulder in amusement.

“Sorry…but not really.” Ana shrugs, smiling so wide her eyes are nearly shut. “I’m just-“ she forces out a breath, “I’m so excited. Fuck, I’m so happy! Not that I won’t miss you and everyone else, I just-“

“I know.” He interrupts her gently. “You both deserve this, to be happy and be with each other.”

“Thank you for understanding that, Steve.” Her voice softens in gratitude. “And thank you for being there for me. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through all these months without you pulling me out of a near depression.”

“You’re family, Ana. We’re there for each other no matter what.”

She nods. It’s quiet for a moment before her smile comes back. “Bet you’re excited too though. You haven’t seen Bucky for almost as long as me.”

“Yeah.” Steve chuckles, quickly focusing his eye back on the sky. He swallows the lie bitterly. It’s not the first time in ten months. In fact, Steve has seen Bucky for the first time seven months ago. Then one month ago. “Yeah.”

**Seven months ago**

“What happened?” Steve demands, trying to keep his voice calm and patient. He’s panicking internally, though he would never let T’Challa, Shuri or their team of scientists see that.

“There’s no need to worry, Captain.” T’Challa informs him calmly, his hands behind his back in a relaxed manor. “Our country had a minor incident for a few days. It was taken care of, however, there was some damage to the lab, which caused a momentary loss of power.”

Shuri clicks her tongue. “Brother makes it sound worse than it was. Everything is fine. The technology I have been using for Sergeant Barnes malfunctioned briefly. We woke him up to fix it without accidently shocking his brain.”

“So, he’s alright then?” Steve asks, crossing his arms and trying not to laugh as the King of Wakanda side-eyes his sister.

“Yes, yes! He’s fine. He is sitting in there looking like a lost puppy.” Shuri chuckles, then steps closer and her humor drops. “I think he thought we fixed him, that Ana was here to surprise him.”

Right, he expected that might be the case. He also braces himself, because Bucky asked Steve to take care of Ana, and he’s going to have to give him the rundown of the past three months. Bucky will ask, because he has constantly thought of her from the moment he met her. He is not going to like what Steve is going to tell him.

“Do you mind giving us some time alone?” Steve requests the royal siblings.

They both nod, and that’s all the permission he needs to enter the lab. Bucky is sitting on the same table he had been when they first arrived in Wakanda. There’s an IV stand next to him, but his right arm is free of any needles or cuffs. The medical team must’ve already taken his vitals for the day, just a precaution for being brought out of ice again. Bucky is swinging his legs back and forth, and his expression is neutral, if a little weary.

“You sure this ice tube can’t do anything about your looks?” Steve quips once the door is shut.

Bucky glances up at his voice, his eyes rolling upward. “Says you, you little punk. You were frozen for longer.”

Steve laughs then hugs his best friend once he reaches the table. Bucky returns the embrace with his arm, then shoves Steve to the side.

“Missed you, jerk.” He says, purposely knocking into Bucky as he hops on the table. “Doing okay?”

“As well as I can right now. How’ve you been?”

“Alright. There’s the issue of the Accords being brought up again, makes for fun dinner talk.”

“I bet.” Bucky chuckles lightly. “How’s everyone else?”

“Good, good. Barton fell asleep on a mission recently, it was that boring.”

“I envy his ability to just fall asleep anywhere.”

“Must be nice.”

“And how’s…Ezra?”

“Ezra is good, He’s a cat, so, he has it made.”

The silence that falls between them is heavy. Steve waits patiently for Bucky to ask what he really wants to know.

“Does she hate me?” Bucky’s voice comes out small.

“Ana could never hate you, Buck.”

His jaw clenches briefly as he nods. “She’s healed? Her knee?”

“All healed. She’s a little more limited this time around though, since she refused Stark’s bionic rods. Doesn’t stop her from boxing though.”

Bucky huffs a laugh under his breath. “I wouldn’t expect her to.” He pauses, then his eyes meet Steve’s. “How is she- uh- otherwise?”

This is what he has been waiting for. “The truth?”

“Yes.”

“Not good, Bucky.” Steve tells him sadly. “She’s had a really hard time with it. Ana misses you. A lot.”

He ends up telling Bucky what he keeps walking in on.

Three weeks gone:

It’s only been a few weeks since Bucky had left, and Ana has been scarce more often than not for those days. Steve needs to check on her, since he hasn’t seen Ana for hours and she skipped dinner. Again. At this point, Steve doesn’t even bother going to the gym or her room. Instead, he goes to Bucky’s. He gently opens the door, and right where he expected her to be, Ana is curled up in the middle of the bed. She’s clutching one of the many journals left behind for her.

Bucky’s scent still lingers in every fiber of the room. He knows this is why Ana comes here. It’s not to be sad, it’s just a form of comfort to her. To remember his smell, to feel his bed, to read his words, to fall asleep peacefully with his presence wrapping around her like a phantom hug.

Steve gave up trying to move Ana to her own room the third time he found her like this. Instead, he carefully maneuvers the comforter around, bringing it up to cover her body. Then, he gently moves one of Bucky’s pillows under Ana’s head, and slowly sits next to her on the bed. This is a lot harder than he ever thought they would both take Bucky’s absence.

When sunlight streams into the room, Steve winces, opening his eyes. He’s met with Ana staring up at him with wide, brown eyes that are a little bloodshot. He blinks and adjust his neck, pushing himself to sit up straighter.

“Why do you stay with me in here?” Ana questions right off the bat, voice thick like she had been crying again. “This is hard for you too.”

“Misery loves company. Isn’t that what they say?” He responds gruffly.

“That’s really sad when you think about it.”

Steve nods, remaining silent.

“He asked you to take care of me, didn’t he?” She whispers, clutching the notebook in her hand tighter.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Ana says gently.

Then she pushes herself up and leans over. She places a gentle kiss on his cheek, just quick and friendly gesture. Abruptly, she smacks the journal against his forehead as she pulls back.

“Now get your lazy old ass up. I’m hungry and you’re taking me to Luna for coffee and cheese danishes.”

“Am I now?”

“Yes.” Ana shakes the journal in her hand as she stands from the bed. “Bucky specifically said that if you don’t make me happy, that when he wakes up he’s going to kick your punk ass. Danishes makes me happy. Now let’s go, Cap!”

“Well,” Bucky prompts. “Did you get her a danish?”

“I bought her a whole box.” Steve rolls his eyes, shoving his friend. “I hate you for that, by the way. She demands danishes every Saturday now.”

“She works you with those big eyes as she flutters her lashes, doesn’t she?”

“How did you ever resist her for anything?”

“I didn’t.” Bucky chuckles before it fades away. The mood suddenly turns sad. “Except for this.”

“Ana knows it’s for the best, Buck.” Steve reminds him.

“I know. She’s amazing. I love her. It’s why I’m doing this.” Bucky sounds like he’s still trying to convince himself. “I’m doing this so that when I do go back to her, she’ll be safe.”

“She wasn’t doing a good job at keeping herself safe.” Steve mutters.

A dangerous gleam flashes in Bucky’s blue eyes. “Meaning?”

Steve sighs.

One month gone:

“One…two bottles of wine…and ten mini bottles of vodka. She doesn’t even like vodka!” Tony snaps, throwing the empty bottle against the wall.

Thankfully it’s plastic. Steve understands Tony’s frustration and worry to an extent. He remembers when Bucky fell from the train all those decades ago that he tried drowning himself in alcohol. If it weren’t for the serum burning the affects away, he would have. Steve had a war to fight then, he had other people to save, he had the world to save and he had to remain focused. He had Peggy to help him through it, to remind him that Bucky wouldn’t want him to drown his heartbreak away. Steve needs to channel those same words now.

“Pepper doesn’t find out about this, Rogers. Not yet.” Tony tells him, holding up a threatening finger. “Goddamnit! She isn’t supposed to be like me!”

With that, he spins on his heels and rushes towards Ana’s room. Steve’s heard of Tony’s past days where he would drink until he blacked out, spiraled into a near self-destructing shell of a person. He knows the anger is resonating from fear of watching Ana do that to herself. Wincing at what might happen when Tony finds her, Steve follows behind quickly.

Tony hesitates by her door, fiddling with the lock before he disables it and enters her room. She isn’t there, but it doesn’t stop him. Steve follows as Tony doesn’t hesitate to exit out her open window. Both men make it up to the roof in record time.

Ana is laying on the lounge chair, holding up one of Stark’s most expensive bottles of vodka, almost like she was expecting for Tony to march over and snatch it away. Which he does. Steve can tell by how tense his shoulders are and the set of his jaw just how utterly furious he is. Until they both see her expression, and the anger melts away from Tony’s body.

He hands the off bottle to Steve, gesturing for him to just toss it. He does so without any regrets, chucking it over the side of the roof. Then he sees Tony sit next to Ana, gently grabs her arm to pull her up and holds her tightly against his chest. He hugs hers, keeping his hand on the back of her head as her face presses into his shirt.

Steve realizes her body is trembling, her hand is clutching Tony’s back. He hears the muffled sniffles and he wants to move forward, wants to join in to comfort her. But as he continues to watch them, Tony’s arms tightening around her, he thinks better of it.

“I don’t know how to handle this.”

Steve hears Ana’s shaky, slurred words, and he’s thrown back to that first night after Steve came back from bringing Bucky to Wakanda. He found her sobbing on Bucky’s bed, repeating those same words. He just held her like Tony is holding her now.

“You’re going to be okay, Ana. I got you. I got you.” Tony soothes softly.

Steve knows the situation is under control, that if anyone can comfort a drunk and upset Ana, it’s Tony. Making his decision, Steve quietly leaves the roof, giving them privacy. This is what her family is for. This is what she has Pepper for, what she has Tony for. Sure, the rest of them have become an extension of her family, and Steve knows Ana will fight for that no matter what, but this time. This is just between her and Tony.

When he reaches her room, Steve quickly and thoroughly checks any hidden compartments for more bottles. He finds only two; whiskey and wine, still full. What flutters to the ground after he checked her pillow cases, pauses his search. He picks it up to replace it, but the words written on the paper makes his curiosity get the best of him.

It’s a letter Bucky left behind for her, just like he did with his journals. Except, this one seems more personal, more intimate, reads like a poem, and Steve hurriedly puts it back. He knows she’s read it, since the letter had weathered fold lines and smudges that looked like tears on the paper.

He leaves her room, rounds up Nat and Wanda, and together they get to work on cleaning out the place of alcohol. Just for a little while.

“Did you read it?”

“Just the first sentence before I realized how private it was. The words just popped out, sorry Buck.”

Bucky waves off his apology. “How long did the drinking last?” He questions, his voice small and full of remorse.

“Two weeks.” He answers honestly. “Pepper took her away for a week to Paris, and when she came back, she seemed much better.”

“Paris.” Then suddenly Bucky releases a loud laugh. “One of the first things she ever said to me in French,” He drops his face into his hand for a moment, laughing more. “She asked me if I wanted to sleep with her.”

“What?” Steve laughs in shock.

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir. Apparently, my expression made her laugh so hard she nearly fell off the treadmill. She kept saying it to, just to make me blush.”

“You were so head over heels for her within a week, Bucky.”

“I really was. I still am. I always will be.”

Steve smiles at the clear love Bucky has for Ana. Then he winces because he just remembered that one time she tried making that last martini a week after she came back from France. He tells Bucky this much.

“This doesn’t sound good.” Bucky sighs heavily.

It wasn’t.

Two months gone:

They’re all looking at her, and Steve knows by the irritated twitching in her jaw that she can feel it. He wants to offer his help, but he remains silent, knowing his head will be bitten off if he even opens his mouth. Sam seems to be the bravest soul out of all of them; even Banner is nervously fidgeting in the corner.

Steve doesn’t even know where she got hold of more vodka, but at least this was her first drink in months.

“Ana, let me help you with that.” Sam offers kindly.

They should have expected the loud smack of the jar against the counter, but the noise still makes them all flinch. When Ana lifts her eyes to Sam, there’s a rage of fire in them, something Steve has never truly seen from her before.

“It’s fine.” She grits through her teeth, voice clenched. She turns the jar of olives upside down. “I just need to do that trick with the-“ she bangs it on the counter – “tapping of the-“ She hits it again, “lid.” She flips it back over and tries twisting the top off again.

It doesn’t budge. It’s strange, watching her struggling with something as simple as opening a jar, however, deep down, Steve knows that isn’t the issue. The issue is Ana’s lack of sleep for the past three weeks. The issue is Ana’s crazy work ethic lately, where usually working everyday and being focus would be a good thing at times. With her, it’s not. Especially when Steve catches her popping Adderall pills just so she could focus on new mental health research and that machine Telly had told her about months ago.

When he caught her the third time, Steve snatched the bottle away and made her tell him what was going on. All she told him was that she had to help find a way to make Bucky’s triggers go away, because she failed him over and over and she can’t fail him again. Steve’s heart broke at her words and he ended up silently sitting at her desk in the Lab until she passed out on her key board.

“No!” Ana snaps, pulling Steve from his thoughts. Sam apparently tried offering again. “I can do this okay, Sam. I just want olives, like I just want my vodka martini like really dry- open you damn piece of fucking shit- really dry and really dirty. Like a really dirty martini with at least three olives and-“

She stops talking, grimacing as she twists the top again. Finally, it pops off and a bit of juice and a few olives fall onto the counter. She slams the jar down, grabs the rolling olives and plops them in her martini, followed by pouring a little of the juice into it as well. She hastily grabs a paper towel off the roll and cleans up the juice on the counter, throwing the wet paper towel in the sink.

“See. Easy.” She states dryly, picking up her glass. “Now. If you’ll all excuse me, I have a dirty date tonight.” She lifts her drink as proof, then leaves the kitchen.

Ana has no idea Steve has been watching her break down for the past ten minutes. He wanted to intervene, wanted to stop her from using her energy, but something stopped him. Maybe the tears in her eyes, or how she was giving her all into the punching bag. She had already knocked down one, when Steve entered the gym, and now she’s wailing on the second one.

Her chest is heaving, sweat dripping down her body. The lights keep flickering as if there’s a bad storm raging outside rather than the form of a person. The chains holding up the bags rattle, and the treadmills actually beep and turn on once in a while.

A sob ripping through the charged air makes Steve finally enter the gym. Ana is throwing punch after punch, fast and hard and she’s crying. She’s crying, and sobbing and before Steve can reach her, she punches the bag clean off the chain with a jet of golden yellow light. It flies across the room and slams into the opposite wall, further than the first one did.

She turns as she accidently knocks her gloves into her head when she tried to grab her hair. She releases a frustrated growl, tearing off the velcro gloves and throwing them to the side. She’s panting, her body shaking along with the lights on the ceiling. Ana hastily wipes her eyes and she finally notices Steve standing in front of her.

Her chin quivers for a moment, then she steels her emotions so fast, it’s scary. So, Steve says nothing, and walks past her. He knows. He understands this. The lack of sleep, the dreams, the pent up energy, the unadulterated anger and frustration. Ana may not have been frozen for 70 years only to wake up to a different world, where everyone she knew was gone and had been thrown right into more wars.

That may not have happened to her, but Ana’s own world shattered around her and she had to watch the love of her life almost die trying to protect her. She almost died trying to protect him, only to lose him in a different way and watch him go with the ever-looming threat of darkness hanging over them.

He knows Ana didn’t fall under ice for 70 years, that they don’t have in common. Losing Bucky. That is something Steve understands exceptionally well.

Steve picks up the closest punching bag, dragging it over and re-hooking it. He repeats the same process with the other bag, then he goes to the little bucket of bottled water to grab one. He offers it to Ana, but she just turns, fetches her gloves to put them on, and starts punching again. He sighs, dropping the bottle in favor of watching her. Just making sure she doesn’t actually hurt herself.

After another two rounds of knocking the bags off and Steve going to fetch them, Ana actually screams. She screams in what sounds like aggravation and stops punching. She rips the gloves off again, lifting the right one and chucking it at the wall. She repeats the motion with the left, then starts hitting the bag again. Only she isn’t punching it. She’s literally just smacking her palms against the bag, releasing little grunts and growls.

“This. Is. So. Fucking. Stupid!!” She yells with each hit.

“Ana.” Steve finally speaks up. He has to, otherwise she’ll brake her hands.

“No! No, Steve! This is stupid! It’s fucking stupid! He’s so fucking stupid!”

He grabs her by her arms and spins her around. Her momentum follows, and she accidently punches him in the gut. Steve huffs out a breathless grunt because he wasn’t expecting that, and also because Ana is much stronger than she lets on. She doesn’t look sorry. She just grabs his shirt, scrunching the material in her fists, trying to shake him back and forth.

“He’s your stupid friend, Steve! He’s stupid and you’re stupid for not stopping him and I’m stupid for letting him leave! Fuck him and fuck you and fuck me all over the fucking city because I fucking failed him!”

Steve wraps his arms around her, squeezing her tight to his body, holding her steady. He keeps his grip strong, so Ana can’t free herself, and she finally breaks down against him. She sobs into his chest, her body shaking and the lights pop, throwing the gym into darkness.

Ana lost Bucky. It’s the same, but different. It’s so different for her because Ana is in love with Bucky, and he’s still well and alive, but he’s in a place where she can’t reach him. Ana and Bucky have a different level of connection and that is all due to their energies being intertwined in more ways than one. The intimacy level of their relationship is unparallel to anyone else’s. It’s like they can almost feel each other. So, this, this has to be devastating to her.

“I failed him. I failed him.” She keeps repeating between her cries.

“Ana, listen to me.” Steve says vehemently. He doesn’t think softness will get through to her right now. He puts conviction in his next words. “You did not fail him. You hear me? You did not fail him.”

“I miss him so much.”

“I know, I know, honey. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay, I promise. I promise you’ll see him again.”

He believes the words himself when he says it to her. Steve knows where Bucky is, and he knows the Wakadan team his friend has behind him are trying to work this out. Ana falls silent after that, her sobs slowly coming to an end. Steve doesn’t know how long he stands there for, trying to hold his best friend’s girl together.

Finally, she stops crying all together and when she pushes herself back, Steve lets her. Ana wipes her eyes, now puffy and red, then wipes under her nose. Steve leaves her for a moment to grab a box of tissues by the towels, handing it to her when he returns. She gives him a watery smile, then chuckles humorlessly.

“I snotted all over your shirt.” She says wetly, dabbing at her nose. “I’m so sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean for all of this to happen. I’m sorry I hit you.”

“Don’t apologize for any of that.” He tells her, reaching out to grab her elbow. “I just need you to get some rest, alright? No work, no drinks, no gym. Just sleep. Can you do that for me?”

Ana nods. “Yeah, yeah. I think you’re right. I need to sleep.”

“C’mon. I’ll walk you back.”

Bucky sighs heavily. “Fuck. Of course, she would do that.” He says sadly, fiddling with a thread on his pants.

“I shouldn’t keep telling you these things, Buck.” Steve frowns. “They just upset you.”

“I need to know how she is.”

“Why don’t you just come back?” Steve pleads. “We can figure something out. I’m sure Shuri-“

“It isn’t safe, Steve.” Bucky interrupts him bitterly. “If there’s even the slightest chance of being triggered again.” He shakes his head. “She can’t keep fighting me off with her energy alchemy. It could kill her. I could-“

He swallows thickly but doesn’t continue.

“Bucky, she needs-“

“Don’t. Do not finish that sentence.”

“Why? Because you know I’m right and you know it’s the truth and if you hear it you’ll come back.”

Bucky looks to be in physical pain, close to tears. “I can’t.” He whispers. “I want to, fuck, I want to go back to her so bad, you have no fucking idea but I. I can’t. Fuck!”

Bucky shoves his hand through his hair roughly, gripping the roots. Steve backs off, because it isn’t just hard for Ana. He knocks Bucky’s hand out of his hair, then squeezes his right shoulder in comfort.

“I’m sorry for pushing.” Steve apologizes quietly. “I know it’s rough on you too.”

“I dream about her all the fucking time. She’s constantly in my head and when you woke me up I thought she would be here. I thought I was fixed and cured and I’d hold Ana in my arms again.”

Steve didn’t really think about that fact. He was called to Wakanda because that incident caused damage to the lab and Shuri had to prematurely wake Bucky up as she fixed it, and T’Challa called Steve asking if he wanted to see his friend during this time. He neglected to tell Ana about it. He didn’t think informing her, just to see Bucky for a few minutes and have to say goodbye all over again, was a good idea. Not when she was finally starting to sleep normally, eat properly, and slowly gather herself together.

“I’m sorry.” He tells his friend again. He can’t take seeing this amount of sadness and heartbreak on their faces anymore.

“Don’t be, it isn’t your fault.” Bucky sighs wearily. “I just miss her.”

They fall silent for a while after that. There’s a heaviness between them, the same one that Steve feels when Ana is in the room with him. He still finds it fascinating how connected both their energies are. His eyes flit across the room, landing on Shuri as she intently focuses on the computer.

“Has Shuri mentioned how close they are to erasing the triggers?” Steve inquires.

“She said they’re really close, just one more thing to figure out.” He shrugs, following Steve’s line of sight. “If anyone can do it, I think she can. Besides Ana. Tell her that for me, will you? I don’t think she believed me when I said she didn’t fail.”

Steve turns to look at him.

“Steve. She could never fail me. Ever.” Bucky states with a fierce passion in his tone.

“Deep down, I think she knows that. I hope she does.”

“Sergeant Barnes,” They’re interrupted by Shuri’s voice coming from behind them. “It’s ready.”

Bucky’s eyes fall shut, inhaling deeply. Steve doesn’t miss the stray tear that falls down his cheek. It’s his choice, but going back under isn’t easy. He claps Bucky on his shoulder, squeezing to offer him comfort. Bucky nods, and when he opens his eyes, there is a sadness to them.

“How is Ana now?” Bucky asks timidly, slowly slipping off the table. “Is she okay? Getting enough sleep?”

“Yeah, Bucky. She’s alright, she’s better.” Steve answers, walking him over to the glass chamber. “She’s strong. She’ll be okay.”

Bucky steps into the chamber, settling against the cushioned pads. A member of the of the medical team carefully straps him in, then checks his vitals.

“This will work.” Bucky states firmly. “It will work, and I’ll be fixed. I’m coming back to her.”

“I know, pal.”

“Thank you, Steve, for helping her.”

“Of course, Bucky. She’s family.”

Bucky smiles at that. Then his eyes shift, and he nods to the man, who presses a button. Slowly the glass cover comes down and Bucky closes his eyes, looking peaceful externally. Steve hopes his honesty and stories of Ana don’t give him bad dreams or makes him feel utter guilt and regret. The hissing noise and puff of white fog within the chamber signals that Bucky is now frozen once again.

**Present Day**

The second the door of the jet opens, Ana is running out, dashing through the hanger and weaving in and out of people. Steve just laughs and follows behind her, assuming they’ll get her things later. When Steve arrives just two minutes after her, he sees Ana already in Bucky’s arms.

Steve’s heart swells at the sight. Not only because his best friend and the girl who has become extremely important to him lately are together, but because Bucky looks healthy. He looks well rested, peaceful and clearly Shuri made him a new arm that Ana can’t seem to stop touching. Actually, neither of them can’t seem to stop touching each other for long.

“You look a lot older than when I saw you seven months ago.” Steve jokes, playfully shoving Bucky’s shoulder.

“First it was ugly and now it’s old. Why do I keep you around again?” Bucky quips, rubbing his knuckles atop Steve’s head.

“Wait, what?”

Him and Bucky stare wide eyed at each other. Slowly, they both look at Ana at the same time. She’s figured it out, he can see it in her eyes, and her jaw shifts as she crosses her arms.

“Are you telling me you saw Bucky seven months ago without telling me?” Ana states calmly. It’s scary.

“Last month too.” Shuri informs, unhelpful as she passes by the three of them.

Ana’s eyes widen and she steps away from Bucky. “What the fuck!”

Steve winces, yet Bucky is trying to contain his laughter. Sure, he finds it funny because Ana didn’t come back to the tower to pack then hit him over the head with his shield. Twice. She also launched various fruits at him as she saw fit, then filled his punching bag with flour so it exploded into a flurry of white clouds all over him and the gym.

“I was told it wasn’t a good idea!” Steve says, stepping behind a table for protection.

“By who!?” She demands.

Steve looks flatly at Bucky. Bucky flips him off.

Ana holds up a threatening finger, but when Bucky gently grazes his fingertips along her hip, her anger fades. Instead, her eyes shift back to the man standing next to her, then back to Steve. She drops her finger and smiles.

“You know what? It doesn’t matter.” She tells Steve. To Bucky, she says, “I should be angry because I would have loved to seen you, no matter what you vindicated your reasons for. But it doesn’t matter because you’re here now and I’m with you and-“

Ana grabs Bucky by his face, pulling him in for a loving kiss. Steve should look away, but the happiness of both their faces as they wrap their arms around each other, is enough to make the past year worth it all.

*********************************************************************

Drabbles: Two

Tags: @justreadingfics @nerdyandproud9 @buffy-morgendorffer-01 @kat-lives @towrite-or-nottowrite

#delicate stages #delicate stages drabbles #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x original female character #platonic steve rogers x ofc

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spartanguard · 7 years ago

Text

stripped down

kind of spec fic based on a crack-y headcanon I’ve had since we found out about the alternate/cursed identities, further spurred on by the odd title for 7x05 and the enablers. muchas gracias to the amazing @optomisticgirl for looking this over!

completely gratuitous. 1.5k.

Backstage was so poorly lit that eyes were nearly useless. It was just as well—he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to see what was surely just a brick wall, chipped paint peeling away, and a floor with cracked tiles he could feel shift under his shoes.

Loss of vision meant the other senses took over; he could hear the high-pitched, mostly feminine squeals of the overzealous crowd; smell the booze wafting off them and from where it was likely spilled over sticky tabletops; feel the heavy pulse of the music booming through the beams of the building and shaking him where he stood.

He’d heard this same song way too many times from this same spot. The singer’s repeated invitation for an unnamed person to jump on his saddle was starting to fade out, telling “Hook,” as he was known around here, that it was almost showtime.

What little light there was dimmed to a green glow as the cowboy guy—Butch or Billy or something equally stereotypical; he’d never bothered to learn the guy’s name—left the stage in just a stetson and assless chaps, nodding while strolling past.

He ran his hands down his tight leather pants, checking one last time to make sure everything was in place and giving the workers on stage a bit of time to dash around collecting the dollar bills that gave Greenbacks Bar & Lounge its name.

Then the strains of a slowed-down version of a John Cale piece began to play and a hush fell over the crowd. He smirked at the reaction; he did every night, but it was something that always amused him, and made it that much easier to play the role of a cocky pirate captain.

As soon as he took the stage, the audience erupted and cash started flying. Some panties, too, if he wasn’t mistaken. It was all a blurred confetti coming from the crowd around him as he stalked down the catwalk-like stage.

He still wasn’t entirely sure how mild-mannered Officer Rogers had become the main attraction at a semi-seedy strip joint under the guise of Captain Hook, but he wasn’t about to argue it. Not when it broke up the solitary monotony of his days, and not when it was so oddly liberating.

The music picked up and he began his routine, slowly stripping off the see-through tunic that hid nothing of the hair that decorated his chest and stomach; to most, it would seem useless, but the ladies seemed to like the way his muscles moved as he lifted it up over his shoulders and slid it down the arm bearing the straps that held on his “namesake” appendage. Honestly, that hook was more useful than his prosthetic some days.

The crowd went wild when he let the shirt drop from where it had dangled off his hook, and then grew into even more of a fervor when he unsheathed the sword from the scabbard hanging off his hips.

It was far from his regulation weapon, but was much easier (and safer) to dance with the prop cutlass than his police-issued handgun. As he twirled and grinded with the blade, he wondered at the fact that he was never recognized outside—but being half naked, with thick eyeliner framing his eyes, hair looking freshly sexed, and a bit of mascara darkening his reddish beard apparently was a good enough disguise.

(His anonymity had been assured when he was recruited by the detective who ran it. Turned out, it was Hyperion Height’s best-kept secret. He’d been a bit shocked and honestly kind of creeped out when Gold, as the detective was known here, proposed the idea to him, but he decided he had nothing better to do with his time and ended up enjoying himself, for a variety of reasons.)

One of his favorite parts of the routine was picking someone to absolutely destroy. He leveled his sword at the ladies in the front row and scanned the crowd, stalking along the edge as he searched for his victim and being sure to make eye contact with each person as he made his choice.

He finally met a pair of familiar, teasing brown eyes, and resheathed his sword (oh, the innuendos he made to himself while he was on stage). Kneeling in a wide open stance, he winked at the brunette in front of him as he one-handedly began to undo his sword belt. Roni winked back at him, laughing; she was the only other person who knew what he got up to on the nights he wasn’t on duty, and as the tender of the bar frequented by the neighborhood’s police force, she was adept at keeping secrets.

Despite the way his hips slowly undulated toward her face as he pulled the leather strap and unclasped the buckle, he also knew she wouldn’t imply any desire from her being the object of his attention tonight. He'd once briefly entertained that with her, he might be able to find the love they both so desired, but it had felt like a betrayal—of who or what, he didn’t know—so they were happy to keep things platonic. That didn’t stop her from leaning forward and sliding a $5 into the waistband of his pants with a wink.

Making sure to arch his pelvis forward, he stood, dangling the belt from the tips of his fingers before dropping it. Slowly, he turned around and swaggered back up the stage to a chorus of calls unoriginally praising his pirate booty. As cheesy as it was, though, he loved it. There was something unimaginably freeing in his stage persona—as if, deep inside, he truly was a man who’d spent his life chasing love and revenge on the high seas (though, admittedly, he'd known neither). Overhead, the song proclaimed By hook or by crook / I am the captain of this line, and his command of the stage confirmed it—or at least sold it.

He continued to get lost in the fantasy, both his and the crowd’s, as the soundtrack’s bass thumped and he moved to the beat; who knew prog rock was so good to strip to?

As he gyrated, twisted, and twerked, the music and the cries of the audience built until they reached that breaking point he was all too familiar with. In one swift motion, he slid his thumb and hook under the edge of his pants and tugged, the sound of snaps giving way drowned out by screaming as he was left in just his boots, brace, and a leather thong.

The chaos that ensued never ceased to make him grin; he now knew what Elton John had meant by a pirate smile. As cash flew, he strode back down the stage to retrieve his sword, sliding on his knees to pick it up, and resumed his earlier dance with it more to the sounds of the crowd’s mania than to the music. It probably should have been concerning that there, in that moment, he felt more at home than he ever did in a squad car, but who was he to argue when it felt so right?

The music hit its last few notes and he flawlessly executed the flourish and pose he always ended with, placing himself on display for his onlookers. He briefly surveyed the crowd and reveled in the adoration they threw at him—both through their cheers and their money—until he caught a flash of blonde hair in the throng that seemed familiar. Why, he didn’t know, but it was poorly timed deja vu on his brain’s part.

He didn’t let his face fall as he turned on his heel and headed backstage, the lights again dimming as the stagehands scrambled to clean up and the audience began to trickle out. He was always their biggest earner of tips on the nights he performed, but he didn’t need the money, so he usually donated it to whatever cause suited him in a particular week; he’d already earmarked these earnings to help a group battling gentrification.

Once back in the dressing room, though, the grin disappeared. Why had a mere glance of a woman he didn’t know bring his high crashing down? Why was that all it had taken to bring him back into the lonely tedium of his day-to-day life?

Hastily, he threw on his jeans and shirt, not even bothering to take off the hook. His jacket was snug around the brace but he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it; it would suffice until he got home. Then he tossed on a baseball cap to hide his face from any stragglers and wordlessly slipped past the bouncer into the night.

He tried to blame the downfall in his mood on stress, on the missing persons case he was working, maybe even on hunger—anything but the aching solitude that one weird glance had set upon him. But as he walked the lamp-lit sidewalks home, he couldn’t shake a line from his song playing over and over in his head: Oh can't you see / You're losing me / Again?

It was true enough that he felt like there was something gone from his life that should still be there. But until he figured out what that was, he’d be back at the club tomorrow, filling the empty hours in the only way he knew possible.

A/N: The song in this fic is “Captain Hook” by John Cale

tagging some lovelies @kat2609 @nfbagelperson @thesschesthair @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @its-like-a-story-of-love @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @disastergirl @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @stubble-sandwich @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose

#ouat spoilers #ouat s7 spec #killian jones ff #ouat crack #my ff #I need to stop posting fic at 11pm

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i-luff-wilhuff · 8 years ago

Note

// *screeches* I have a request for anything to do with his experience on in the Carrion Plateau tbh. Also, I love the fact you used screencaps from The Curse of Frankenstein. It's my absolute favourite Hammer Horror film.

Souvenir

For the first time in his life, Wilhuff stared death in the face.And it stared back with moonglow eyes. He did not recognize the large cat, but then, this was only his second day in the Eriadu wilds. It did not take experience to know the cat was hunting him. Its ears were laid back against a triangular head covered in spots. A deep growl rumbled in its throat. Its tan fur nearly blended into the tall dead grass as it moved. Every muscle working visibly to keep its body low and taut like a coiled spring. Wilhuff dared not breathe. He knew not to run. Jova had taught him that much.Where is Jova?It did not matter. Uncle Jova was not here, and this cat was.It was so close now. Then it stopped. It sunk lower in the grass. It stilled.This is it. I am going to die.Wilhuff was on his back before his brain registered the beast had leapt. Instinctively, he raised his arm a half second before the cat had a chance to rip out his jugular. Mesmerized, the boy watched his forearm disappear under yellowed teeth. His skin screamed with pain, his bones strained under the pressure of unrelenting jaws. He was mere seconds away from the scrawny limb breaking in two like a brittle twig.A shadow appeared over the beast. A flash of blue lightning followed. The cat received the majority of the shock, but the electric current seized Wilhuff’s body for an agonizing few seconds.The cat released the boy’s arm and whipped its head around to the new assailant.Another crackle of electricity. Another mild shock of pain. Wilhuff was crying out now, scrambling to get away with one good arm and frantically kicking legs.Round-eyed, he watched his uncle zap the beast backwards with his spear, positioning himself between the boy and the cat, the golden rays of the setting sun cast down on him like some sort of angelic warrior from a holodrama. “Get up,” Jova ordered, snapping Wilhuff out of his amazement. Wilhuff got to his feet and ran over to grab his own spear, but by the time he figured out a way to activate its electrical charge one-handed, Jova had already ran the beast off.Wilhuff watched the cat lumber into the tall grass, vanishing from sight far too early for the boy’s comfort. “It might come back.” He said as Jova put away his staff.“Correct,” Jova replied, turning to the boy, eyeing the wound without concern. “And if it does, you will be better prepared, yes?”Wilhuff nodded, but the gesture seemed to continue even as he ceased moving. The world around him seemed to still nodand…nod…and nod…and…When Wilhuff woke up it was night.They were at camp now. A roaring fire licked at a skewered deer with tusks for teeth. Jova and his fellow hunters sat around chatting amongst themselves and carving off chunks of meet from the smoking carcass. “Hold still,” Jova said. The order suddenly brought Wilhuff’s attention to his ghastly injury. Skin hung in ribbons and Wilhuff thought he saw a flash of white bone. He felt sick, the world begin to spin again. “Oi, none of that,” Jova warned, slapping a sticky, wet hand against Wilhuff’s cheek. “Stay awake.”Wilhuff grunted in agreement. He looked out into the dead grass surrounding their camp and wondered where the cat had gone. He wondered and tried not to focus on the fact his uncle was piecing his forearm back together with a needle, thread and thin strips of bacta-soaked bandages.When Jova was finished, Wilhuff took his place in front of the campfire, favoring his bandaged arm which had quieted from a searing pain to an intense throbbing.“Have a drink. You’re gonna need to eat somethin’ soon too.” Jova nodded to another hunter, a rough, bald-headed man with deep leather for skin whose name Wilhuff yet to learn. The man sat next to Wilhuff and handed him a flask. “For the pain, and celebratin’ your first souvenir in the Wilds.” The other hunters grunted in affirmation, raising flasks and wooden cups in toast.Wilhuff put tentative lips to the rim of the flask, but the man tipped up the bottom of the flask quickly, sending thick liquid down Wilhuff’s throat. It tasted like honey, cloves and lighter fluid. He swallowed, sputtered, coughed, gasped. The camp dissolved into chuckles. The man patted Wilhuff’s back until the boy stopped coughing. His head was beginning to fuzz, but his arm was feeling a bit better. A slice of red meat was pushed in front of his face when he was able to breathe once again. He took the slab and shakily began to eat. The moment his teeth sank into the juicy hunk of deer meat, some of hjis tension began to slip away. He took another bite, and another, before finally processing the man’s words.“Souvenir?” he asked. “What souvenir? The cat got away.”Jova leaned into the light of the fire, scars that crisscrossed deepened in the firelight. “Souvenir,” he said, tapping a few of the scars.“Souvenirs,” the other men all said as if repeating a mantra, and they all tapped a different part of their body showing their own battle markings.“This is the first of many,” Jova said, clapping a hand on Wilhuff’s free shoulder. “This won’t be the last time you face death. And every scar you gain is another reminder that you’re alive. You survived and your souvenirs are going to teach you another lesson to help you survive the next time and the next.”Souvenir…Wilhuff looked down at his bandaged arm. He wondered if his scar would look as formidable as the other men’s. He hoped so. Decades later, Wilhuff Tarkin caught himself running his fingers over the messy web of scarring along his forearm. His skin was older now, looser and freckled, but the scarred skin was smooth and pale, if not unevenly distributed along his limb. In his later years, the markings were more than souvenirs of lessons learned. They were reminders that he had survived impossible odds many times over, and until this galaxy was done with him, he was going to continue to face those odds and continue to survive them.“Sir?” voiced an officer through his commlink. “We are approaching Yavin IV.”“Thank you, captain,” Tarkin replied.Tarkin slipped on his tunic, the scars disappearing under a uniform worthy of a Grand Moff. Until this galaxy is done with me…I will continue to fight to survive.He lingered on that thought a moment, before making his way to the bridge.

Thank you so much for this prompt @txrkin and yessss I love that movie too! The ultimate comfort movie for me!

(Sorry for the format issues. Did this on my phone ill fix it later!)

#wrfanfiction

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careergrowthblog · 7 years ago

Text

Teachers describe their worst injury at work

For some reason, when I ask a question about people’s worst experiences I get far more clear answers to the question, alongside complaints about that I have a sinister agenda and demands that teachers be silent.

My latest question was:

What’s the worst injury you’ve suffered while working as a teacher?

I’ve had fewer complaints about this one, although somebody did sarcastically ask why I didn’t ask for people’s best injury. I’ve ignored the many responses where people discussed damage that was only to their pride, credibility or dreams. I haven’t included discussion of mental health as that’s been covered in previous posts. Also most (but not all) of the people telling me about their paper cuts have been left out. As ever, I followed up the more suspicious ones, but may still have been fooled. The thread can be found here.

I shot myself in the arm… though it wasn’t with a firearm. With the top of an exploding 2 L[itre] bottle. Lab coat had the bloodstains to prove it. I was utterly, utterly mind-bendingly stupid and learned a very great deal in about a third of a second

30 mini whiteboards fell out of cupboard onto my head – 1 at a time – 4 hrs in A&E and head glued back together – very painful … my fault for not putting them away properly

Caught a ring on a door handle and it cut into my finger so deeply it needed to be cut off by a mechanic at the garage across the road.

Paper cut… on my eyeball. Child did it by accident. It was horrific! Needed anaesthetic drops for a few days.

Basketball hit me full in the mouth…whilst I had a whistle in it…lost two teeth. The cost of getting them replaced was the real shock of the whole ordeal. My savings took as much damage as my mouth did.

Last Friday of this half-term – college laptop trolly rolled into my 2 biggest toes on left foot. Same foot as plantar fasciitis & Achilles tendinitis issues. I didn’t use the ‘f’ word as student was with me.

Hypermobility + a few months of sitting on tiny children’s chairs caused lower-back go into semi-permanent spasm. Had to ask for adult chair Policy was for child-centred classrooms with no adult desk or chairs- teachers to be ‘working with group or individuals at all times’ Was told ‘If we give a teacher a chair, the problem with that is that they will sit down and not get up from it’ So, the ideal was for T[eacher] to stand or kneel near a table, or sit on a child’s chair, or sit on the floor.

As new H[ead]T[eacher], went to U[pper]K[ey]S[tage]2 Xmas party, vaulted over bench to leave hall and removed 4 square inches of skin from bald head on door frame. Was away at a meeting with the L.A. the next day, by the evening local rumours were that I was in hospital with head injuries

1) Staple in my finger. 2) Banged my knee a few times.3) Catching my arm on door handles.4) Heart attack.5) Trapping my finger in a drawer.

1) got tangled in cables like a giant fly in a spider web 2) slipped down a muddy slope in front of the entire school while on bus duty. Massive bruising and huge embarrassment both times. Although a kind Year 11 helped me up out of the mud & didn’t laugh while the other 1499 students pissed themselves.

nearly lost my left hand in a horrendous accident on school trip! 10 ops later it’s as good as it will be. there’s the proof. …had hold of the seat in front as the coach rolled and then slid down m6… window broke…. Had to have it stitched into my stomach for 4 weeks for a flap to cover I know even I gulped when the doc suggested it! I was a ‘little teapot for a month. it was a nightmare!! They needed the blood vessels to join… 9 hour op too! I should add the NUT were fab … Their solicitor was superb

Slipped a disc lifting student into water ambulance during school trip to Venice. Contracted TB (possibly not at school, but sounds good).

I was hit by falling scaffolding once.

Grade 3 tear of gastrocnemius. Happened on sports day. Exactly coincided with pistol to start 100 m[e]t[re]s. I thought I had been shot. True story.

Broke a burette off in my thumb last year and severed a nerve. Still no feeling in it.

Definitely a student moving chair onto foot whilst sat on it

Concussion- could see children messing around for TA & glared at them-ch[ildre]n stopped- missed footing on last 5 steps…cue pratfall/f[ore]w[ar]d roll

Exhausted by overworking and unreasonable demands, I completely missed a step and fell down stairs. Thought “Didn’t get a degree for this”.

Pulled my back celebrating a spectacular comeback by the Y[ear] 8 football team was coaching back in the day. Took 3 month’s chiropractic to sort.

Missed a step covered in a drift of leaves & fell full length.Usual hilarity from students tempered by fact that I was 8 months pregnant.

Broke a finger attempting to stop a rugby ball from hitting a spectator. Still hit her, but on the back rather than on the head.

Crashed my motorcycle on the way to school. Still got in. My form saw the blood on my leg. Got ambulance. Came back from hospital to teach.

Ruptured my thigh muscle taking a penalty against a year 7 on lunch duty. Went top corner though so not all bad [this was from my former form tutor, but I’m assuming I’m not implicated as it was “1st year” not “year 7” back then]

Prolapsed disk when the caretaker used the wrong polish on the floor turning it into a skating rink!

Husband snapped achilles tendon, teaching football on astros…

Temporarily blinded as lid came off the copydex mid shake. Shouted “Shit!” loudly which shocked kids more than my eyes covered in glue.

Spine surgery from writing too many schemes of work without good back support. I took on a dept[artment] in 2nd y[ea]r of career, managed all of SLT and there was nothing. Had an op in 2009 and learned a lot about life in that year!

Accidental broken toe. Me vs. heavy box of music stands. Helpful child said ‘you can swear if you like miss – looked like it hurt’. It did.

I scraped my shin and badly injured my pride falling-off a chair balanced on a table, as I put up a display… as a class quietly worked… and I dislocated my knee in a Staff Vs Parents hockey match.

Almost broke fingers and arm, grassboarding down a slope on y[ea]r 7 activity holiday session!

being bitten. Also having a chair leg land on my foot (sandals

Molten jelly baby flew out of boiling tube onto my hand during open evening demo. I kept smiling

Sort of injury, kidney stones from not drinking enough water during school day. Agony for 2 days. Now I know opioids REALLY work.

slipped on a wet corridor and broke a finger pride also suffered considerable injury. After year 11 stopped convulsing with laughter following my very slapstick slip they did show great concern and sympathy

Sewed through my finger on a sewing machine whilst helping Year 11. Just about managed not to bleed on her coursework!

Ice skating lesson with a school group in 1988 & stuck the rear right boot spike through my left boot. Stab wound & 2 broken bones in foot!

Fractured my arm after falling off a ladder putting Christmas dec[oration]s up or scalded my foot after dropping an urn of hot water.

Electric shocks from various electricity experiments, and falling over and hurting my thumb.

Ran a ski trip to Italy and chair lift bar fell on my head, lots of blood and was taken down the slope in the blood-wagon. Tried to walk through a swing door which was normally well oiled, unfortunately this time it wasn’t and I went head first into the glass!

Stitches in a finger due to a stubborn classroom locker. Expletives were used. Entire Year 4 class were shocked. Hospital swiftly attended.

cracked patella jumping rope with 3rd graders

Mild concussion. Projector screen fell from roof hit me on head.

A bruised backside when I slipped on ice taking Tutor group to Xmas carol service. They kindly picked me up.

Slipped a disc standing up from my chair whilst teaching a PSHE lesson. Needed [other teachers] to carry me away from class!!

Fell off a table whilst putting up a display. Did my knee good and proper

I stapled my finger when putting up a display. Ive also caught thousands of colds (but that’s illness not injury).

My funniest injury at sch[ool]: stapled my fingers together whilst holding a stapler & teaching.

Electric shock off a whiteboard…it certainly made me jump!!

Torn my knee ligaments jumping on a trampoline

During my PGCE I dislocated my shoulder from stopping a pass in a lunchtime basketball game.

Fractured my humerus, two ribs and cut my eyebrow… I fell

Trapped arm in a door while restraining a student (Special needs School) [went to] A&E

Regularly I have bruises mid thigh from walking into tables

I slipped in the dining hall on a sausage and did a strange somersault, a plate crashed to the floor bounced up & and sliced open my cheek

Tripped up stairs on the way to a lesson, laptop went flying, smashed my head on the handrail, knocked myself out, in front of students

Punched in the temple by a y[ear] 8 boy. Headbutted (didn’t connect) by an angry y[ear] 11. Wallet nicked by a y[ear] 11 that I had spent hours supporting.

Lice, scabies and flea bites. All in a days work. Oh yes. And a tub of black powder paint with no lid, fell off a shelf on my head. Scary sight.

Torn [anterior cruciate ligament] in right knee whilst separating two Year 9 boys fighting!

Once thought it good idea to remove OHP bulb immediately after it blew. Fingerprints returned after a few months

I ripped a muscle in my lower back moving a filing cabinet. Had waited for the site agent for 5 days and got tired of waiting. won’t make the mistake again, will just wait nicely!

Bumped into a table (fixed to the floor). Bruise on my thigh is about 10 cm long, 5 cm high. Done this almost every month, for 20 y[ears].

Broke a tooth on school pitta bread…

Dropped a recycling bin on my foot and lost a toenail.

Got slapped around the face and then kicked twice one morning.

Burnt most of my hand when I didn’t use a long enough fuse for a flash powder demonstration

I fell off my bike in front of the main entrance, causing moderate but prolonged reputational damage.

Put a staple through my finger while putting up a display.

Badly cut knee and ripped suit after attempting to show Y[ear] 6 boys,playing football on the playground, ‘how it’s done’.

Took an “accidentally released” rounders bat to the gentleman’s area. If I wasn’t the recipient it would have been funny.

Partially tore ligaments while mucking about being a wolf in the playground

Tripped on cracked car park tarmac, burst knee wide open. Lots of stitches

I broke my foot at 7am at school on a dodgy paving slab and then walked around on it for the rest of the day before getting an X-ray. I also once dropped molten hot sulfur on my hand while doing a demo,had to teach the rest of my lesson with my hand in a bowl of cold water

Fell 2 steps walking down unlit stairs and twisted ankle. Had an xray and 2 days off work.

Cut my finger open whilst shutting a toilet door I spotted was ajar. Kid in my class provided me with loo roll from his bag that he kept there with a torch in case he needed to go for a poo in the dark! Not sure which event was the weirdest.

Fell off a chair doing a display- Huge bruise black on arm…despite just saying to students always use a chair for its intended purpose!

I broke my ankle in the middle of one of my [physical education] classes.

Broke bone in coccyx. Also got pneumonia from sewage has when basement flooded. Illness rather than injury really.

My eye got cut from a student’s nail when playing basketball with them. Lost a high % of peripheral vision in my right eye.

I’ve suffered a cut lip when a child I was sitting next to shot his hand up a little enthusiastically. Still think he did it on purpose

There have been a couple of reasonably serious injuries in the staff-sixth form football. Not to me though.

Banging my head – It’s not easy being a giant.

[From a school business manager] There was the time I was walking along a corridor & a teacher opened an outward opening door & pole-axed me. They were mortified..

Got punched by a parent, but wasn’t injured, and in retrospect she was probably in the right. Who was I to tell her son to tuck in his shirt?

Shut the filing cabinet in my classroom and trapped my nipple in it. No idea how I managed that..

Teachers describe their worst injury at work published first on http://ift.tt/2uVElOo

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alexatwood86 · 8 years ago

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How Marijuana Legalization Will Effect Substance Use Treatment: A Counselor’s Opinion

2017: Where We are Today

In the U.S., we are seeing a paramount shift in attitudes and policy on The Big M: Marijuana. As of today, we have 28 states that have legalized medical marijuana, 16 states that have legalized CBD oils (that are known to treat certain seizure disorders), and there are 8 states that have legalized the recreational use of marijuana for adults. Although marijuana has long been a threat to the dogmatic ideology of addiction recovery, the legalization of the drug is making many treatment professionals uneasy in navigating this uncharted territory of government sanctioned marijuana use. In this article, I will discuss how I view the changes in marijuana policy and how this impacts the field of addiction treatment.

My Experience with Recovery and Marijuana

When I was 24, I entered a residential treatment facility for the first time. At the time I used alcohol, marijuana, and opiates on a daily basis and also had a past history of daily cocaine use. Upon entering treatment I had basically no knowledge of the disease concept, 12-Step work, or addiction treatment in general. All that I knew was that my relationship with alcohol and opiates was making my life miserable.

After being sick in bed for a few days, I became clearheaded enough to start to comprehend what I was hearing in treatment. Once detoxed, I immediately realized that the treatment center not only expected me to quit alcohol and opiates, but also expected me to stop using marijuana. This was a complete shock to me.

I had never even considered that to be “clean” required me to quit smoking pot.

Once I realized this, I went from being hopeful about my recovery to being completely unsure about my ability to remain abstinent and my future as a person in recovery. It wasn’t that I was unwilling to consider my marijuana use as harmful, but this new obstacle destroyed the future that I had imagined.

Medical or Recreational?: Needs VS. Wants

Many treatment providers hold unjustified fears about the legal use of marijuana. To address these, I’d like to share a few benefits that I foresee in legalization of marijuana as a recreational drug. In fact, I can see how certain policy and perspective can directly support abstinence based treatment.

It’s a common addiction treatment exercise to have clients reflect on the differences between needs and wants. The hope of the curriculum is that substance users will see that there is a difference between needing something, and wanting something. Once the difference is established, then hopefully, the substance user acknowledges the fact that drug use is a “want” not a “need.” Now that drug use is separated from being a need, the substance user can see that they have the ability to choose their relationship with drugs in the same way that they could change any unnecessary relationship.

As a substance treatment counselor myself, I know that trying to convince a person who uses medical marijuana to stop using cannabis is near impossible. This is because, in the client’s eyes, marijuana is not a drug; it is their medicine. When a drug is prescribed as a medicine it becomes a “need.” Medical marijuana users don’t “want” the use marijuana; they “need” to use marijuana. Telling a client to give up medical marijuana is telling them that we know more about medicine than their doctor (assuming you are not a doctor).

Living in the San Francisco Bay Area, I see that the prescribing process of marijuana is anything but medical. I have taken clients to medical marijuana doctors; a medical diagnosis is the last thing that is required to get a card. Of course, there are countless people who have legitimate medical reasons to use marijuana, but I would assume that there are just as many people who get prescriptions for no medical reason.

The benefit of legalizing marijuana for recreational use, from an abstinence treatment perspective, is that it creates more users who “want” marijuana, and less people who “need” it. Those individuals who were getting medical marijuana under a false diagnosis no longer need to go to a doctor; they can now just buy it legally. Now, when these users come into treatment, if they are honest with themselves, they will have to admit that they use marijuana, not because they need it, but because they are choosing to get high. I see this making a big difference in motivating clients to conform to abstinence based treatment and also avoids the unethical practice of telling clients to stop taking medication that was prescribed by a doctor.

Legal Sanctions Create Unmanageability

The First Step in 12-Step programs is that, “We are powerless over our addiction––that our lives have become unmanageable.” It is the second part of the step that most concerns us in the treatment field because it explains why the individual is seeking treatment. People come into treatment because some part of their life has become dysfunctional – a state which is independent of their amount of use or the level of physical and mental dependence. If a person is physically dependent on a drug and they are still able to manage their life to their standards, they will never seek treatment. Therefore, for those people seeking treatment, addiction has more to do with the drug’s effect on their social life than their physical one.

Of the criteria used in the diagnosis of Cannabis Use Disorder, 4 have to do solely with social function**. Here are the social criteria for cannabis substance use disorder.

A great deal of time is spent in activities necessary to obtain cannabis, use cannabis, or recover from its effects

Recurrent cannabis use resulting in a failure to fulfill major role obligations at work, school, or home

Continued cannabis use despite having persistent or recurrent social or interpersonal problems caused or exacerbated by the effects of drug use.

Important social, occupational, or recreational activities are given up or reduced because of cannabis use.

** DSM IV listed reoccurring legal problems as a result of use but it was removed in the newest addition.

Overall, there are eleven total symptoms used to diagnose Cannabis Use Disorder; including the four social symptoms listed above. Social criteria alone make up over 1/3rd of the total diagnostic criteria. To be diagnosed with a severe disorder, a person must have at least six of the eleven criteria. Two criteria must be met for a mild diagnosis and four criteria for a moderate disorder. A person who meets all of, and only, the four social criteria would be diagnosed with a moderate substance use disorder without having any physical dependence or health issues.

Because marijuana is an illegal substance, cannabis users are at greater risk of suffering dysfunction in their lives due to the risk of the criminal justice system intervening in their life. Having a drug arrest immediately creates unmanageability in the substance user’s life, regardless of their level of addiction. These legal sanctions dictate how a person is able to navigate their social environment, not because of the drug use itself, because of the drug’s legal status in the community. This last election we voters in California have completely legalized marijuana. This new law has, literally overnight, cured people of the diagnosable disease of addiction based on the four social criteria in the DSM by removing social obstacles that have obstructed people from controlling their own lives. Substance use disorder, in the social sense, changes across time due to the fluctuation of laws which completely negates the fact that addiction is a personal relationship between the drug and the individual.

Court Ordered Treatment May Not Best Target True Addicts

In California, clients who are in treatment solely for marijuana use makes up between 15-20% of all substance use treatment clients. These numbers appear to be dropping in correlation to the decreasing marijuana penalties in our country as a whole.

I wonder: How many of these marijuana users are in treatment only because the illegality of cannabis has made their lives unmanageable?

Undoubtedly, many of these treatment clients were having difficulty with their cannabis use, not because they are addicted but because of legal complications beyond their control. Since it is the legality of the drug that funnels individuals into treatment, through increased dysfunction due to legal consequences, treatment is not acting as a health care institution but rather an extension of the criminal justice system.

In my time working as a substance use counselor, I have seen clients who are in treatment only because they have violated their probation or parole due to violations of drug testing. These individuals may, or may not, have a problem with drugs but if they were using a legal drug such as alcohol, they would not have wound up in treatment. Again, in these cases, the treatment referrals have less to do with treating addiction, and instead act as a punishment for not following an arbitrary law that has been socially constructed.

As we begin to legalize marijuana, we will be opening up space for individuals who actually have drug addiction. It allows counselors to do their job without being manipulated by political and judiciary institutions. When clients are able to make their own decision about the role drugs play in the functioning of their lives, it benefits everyone.

Cannabis Laws Do Not Equally Affect All People

Drug use is, and always has been, a civil rights issue. It has been shown in countless research that people of color are arrested of marijuana offenses at much higher rates than whites, although whites use cannabis at equal rates to other racial groups. If cannabis laws affected all people equally, across racial and socioeconomic lines, we would be having a different conversation. In fact, it is a strong argument that the only reason that marijuana legalization has ever even been considered is because so many white people use pot. It was only when enough white people suffered the collateral damage of the war on pot that decriminalization was considered.

Because more people of color suffer more unmanageability from pot use they are more likely to have a more severe diagnosis of Cannabis Use Disorder. We as clinicians cannot sit back and allow a socially racist construction to interfere with the ostensibly unbiased work of clinically diagnosing individuals with medical disorders.

This is unacceptable and unethical.

By ignoring the racial implications in diagnosing individuals, when using social diagnostic criteria, we are directly implicit in perpetuating racism. This should make us angry, when we realize that we have unwittingly become active participants in a system of oppression.

Shouldn’t We Consider “Treatment” On a Client’s Terms?

In my opinion, the greatest failing of the disease model has been its ignorance that Substance Use Disorder operates on a continuum of severity. It is a myth that all addiction is the same and therefore requires the same treatment of abstinence. The disease model only caters to the most severely afflicted polysubstance user.

Arguably, there are many people who have such a chaotic relationship with substances that they can never safely use any substance for the rest of their lives. These are the people who benefit from the disease ideology, but what about people who fall lower on the spectrum of substance use? There are few treatment options for people who wish to change their relationship with substances on their own terms.

We do not know how many people there are who fall on the lower side of the continuum because these people avoid seeking the type of treatment that will tell them they have a chronic progressive disease. This lack of sympathetic treatment providers discourages individuals from seeking treatment at all. This is the great irony of disease treatment: that it is making the silent majority of users more isolated and mentally unstable.

This is why I see harm reduction as the only ethical practice of substance use treatment. Often thought of as radical, harm reduction allows clients to decide for themselves how they want to change their relationship with substances. We can still work with clients on treatment goals independent of their drug use. This includes giving a client the benefit of the doubt when they believe they can continue to smoke marijuana while changing their relationship with other substances. This allows the clinician to be a true agent of change, instead of policing individual’s behavior.

My Story, Continued

After spending 30 days in that residential treatment center, I had become convinced that I had the disease of addiction; that I could never use any substance without disaster (excluding nicotine and caffeine, of course.) After a short relapse on all my original substances, I joined a 12-Step fellowship and followed strict adherence to the disease concept of abstinence as the only way to live a successful recovery. I became fully involved in spreading the ideology of the disease of addiction. When I sponsored people who thought they could still use marijuana I stubbornly dictated to them that they are not “clean” or in “recovery” if they continued to use cannabis, even for medical reasons.

It should be obvious by this point that I have changed my view on what it means to be in recovery, although I have continued to remain abstinent of all substances for almost 10 years and continue my membership in a 12-Step fellowship.

For me, it is a personal decision to abstain from marijuana. I don’t abstain because it’s against 12-Step rules, or it might lead me back to harder drugs, or that it would reset my clean date. I don’t use marijuana simply because I choose not to and I believe that I can manage my life better without using cannabis. It is my choice and I allow others to make their own choice on whether or not they want to continue a relationship with marijuana––or any other drug for that matter.

Final Thoughts

We, as clinicians, need to follow our own advice when we tell our clients not to fear change. As a society our laws and perceptions are changing, and we risk becoming obsolete if we don’t change along with new ideas.

I realize that most of us don’t work in environments where we have the ability to change rapidly. Change is hard and slow; the disease model is so deeply entrenched into our work, and our world, that there will be major resistance to moving towards a harm reduction model. It is worth fighting for. I, for one, am tired of policing people’s bodies and behavior. To be able to give clients the ability to decide their own behaviors is both liberating and ethical.

To this end, I maintain that legalizing marijuana is a step in the right direction for a healthy and equitable society.

Reference Sources: ACLU. The War on Marijuana in Black and White. NORML. State Laws. SAMHSA. Client Level Data/ TEDS.

Copyright © 2011 This feed is for personal, non-commercial use only. The use of this feed on other websites breaches copyright. If this content is not in your news reader, it makes the page you are viewing an infringement of the copyright. (Digital Fingerprint: f7a6e0cc3471137b83805a08cd727b99) from Addiction Blog http://addictionblog.org/treatment/how-marijuana-legalization-will-effect-substance-use-treatment-a-counselors-opinion/

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jmd303 · 8 years ago

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Ive decided to write this blog. Not because I want to be heard but because all i want is a release. A healthy release. To be happy. To feel something again and all my heart wants is to never feel alone.

Ill tell my story first. Over 3 months ago my life was perfect. Or in my opinion it was to me. I was powering through my second year of my building design course and had been dating a kind, gentle guy for the last 18 months. He was like no other guy I had dated before and he made me a better woman. More considerate and I stressed less with him. We loved eachother or atleast I thought we did. We never pushed anything on eachother and barely had fights and when we did disagree, the fights never lasted long because we both knew that loving eachother was more of a mission than fighting with eachother.

It was long distance relationship about 1 and a half hours from the CBD of town or 2 hours if from my house. And although it was tough, we made it work. We would drive to one another. Him more so than I because I was contracted to work alot of weekends although, i was determined to make time for him because he was so important to me. His flaws were that of mild selfishness and being a little bit of a know it all. And although those traits are annoying they were always masked beautifully with his charm and large vocabulary that would be able to manipulate any insult or fight in his favor or to be seen as the more mature person in the relationship. He was far from mature and although he was charming…. I always saw through it. That was both a skill and curse of mine. Sometimes I wish I just believed it all and didnt see any of his flaws but we are after all only human. Despite these mild flaws I still loved him no matter what. My heart raced when he looked at me and when he put his arms around me I felt safe and warm.

For a little while I noticed he was having a hard time at work and at home with his family. Mostly because they had made him feel bad for leaving to see me all the time and his sister had not developed a proper healthy social life that she became dependant on him which is understandable as thats what siblings are for. His job also was very demanding and long as he was a draftee for a large design production company. Pushing out floor plans was a mission to managers whereas my ex partner valued quality in work and wanted to ensure a better deal for his clients and for the designs to be structurally sound and worth the money spent. He was a hard worker and that was another trait I loved about him and boasted about with anyone when he was not in my presence. I could see he struggled to keep everyone happy and it put a weight on him but he powered on and all we spoke about was looking forward to everything being simple and being able to come home and kiss eachother and be there for one another. Although we never pushed any ideas of family and living arrangements we gradually fell into the arrangements of house inspections. It was so natural and not pushed and I was feeling more and more content with life.

Approximately 3 weeks before my schooling was coming to an end for the year my ex rang me after work. I was surprised he rang and thought it was gonna be another lovely phone call full of “i miss you” and “cant wait for the school holidays. Finally get more time and family events together”. He told me he was down. Struggling and didnt know what he wanted to do. I was very thrown and said ask over and over what he wanted and how I could help make his situation better. I started shaking when I realised he was leading up to a break up.. I asked him outright if he was breaking up with me…and to my surprise, he was.. He was very apologetic and felt the need to explain that he thought I was the perfect girl just a bad time scenario.. the moment I heard that I felt like such a sad cliche… Like in really bad movies with b grade actors that cried ugly. My heart was absolutely broken and he could not tell me or did not know why he needed to break up.. he just knew he needed time or change and was unsure if the issue was me, him or his current situation with everything else in life. I knew in my heart he just decided I wasnt worth it. I was the girl that just filled his emptyness that had been around since he graduated high school. Struggling to find a girl and then building his ego up when he got what he wanted… or atleast thats how I feel and felt as i heard his empty and unsure excuses.

Although I was angry. I was so soo angry at him part of me still felt so very much in love with him. And still do.. he was and still is not a bad guy deep down… Thats the hardest part of watching someone you love move on. Being inlove with them but, not being with them. You lurk his facebook and hope to get a text message begging to take you back and it never happens. It got to a point where I decided that I had to move on because my heart could not take anymore. 1 month passes and although I had high hopes he still did not want me back but, i maintained busy and looked forward to the future and that was when it happened…

To my shock I learned I fell pregnant to my ex boyfriend. It was not a recent pregnancy. It had already matured to 10 weeks in my belly by this point. The day I used the at home pregnancy test my heart dropped again for the second time. I had cried and screamed, yelling out for my mum and sister in hopes that I was dreaming and that my nightmare hadnt become true. The lonely pregnant spinster that was unloved and depressed. I cried alot and then got mad and I remember clearly thinking “that asshole led me on in our relationship, got me pregnant and left me to pick up the pieces”.

I laid in my bed, tossing and turning deciding what my next step would be. I read up on articles and went to my closest family members for advice and spoke to a counselor within the 24hrs of knowing. All were supportive on either end of the spectrum. Little did alot of people know I had a chemical abortion not long after high school with another ex boyfriend of mine with no other reason other than I was too young and had so much to live for, i gave up my first possible child. And had also gone through a miscarriage but had not known until after I had lost the baby. These life experiences played with my mind alot and I did the math and learned that I would be 6 months off 24 when this baby arrives. So many reasons for and against having this child came to play. Most of the ‘against’ reasons were that of me looking out for my ex boyfriends feelings and future. Funny how he treated me and I still felt like protecting him more than myself and more than my oncoming child. The fact that I still loved him clouded my decision that would be best for my conscious, heart and possibly future. How wrong is that!?

I decided enough was enough. I went to the 10 week ultrasound and there it was. A perfect little baby with a head, two hands and two legs. The baby was actively moving around, sucking its thumb and the moment I saw it I knew to my core I couldn’t give he or she up. I loved it and I didnt even think it was possible as I saw those types of woman as crazy nutjobs just wanting to have babies. I never understood why women could not give up something they had not yet physically seen or kissed goodnight or even built a relationship with…. until now. I knew with some health concerns that I would struggle to carry a child had I continued to delay it as I approached 30 years of age or longer (although it was never a serious concern of mine). The chemical abortion also did a little number on my uterus and if i did another one now at 10 weeks it would be a more messy abortion and would result in scarring of my uterus tissue which is what the doctor warned me about… I then started to consider other life aspects as I was nearing the end of my design course with 6 months left. My car was large enough and other materialistic objects were not a worry with things like baby showers and government funding. Support was immense from family, friends and even work colleagues. Now the real question. Was I ready? Was i ready to tackle such a massive change in my life? Was I ready to tackle on my career and a child. Knowing full well that it was going to be absolutely hard in life. I wasnt sugar coating anything my head knew it was going to be the biggest game changer in my life. Being a single mum and trying to put my foot in the door in the workplace.

My dad reminded me of something and did not tell me in anyway what he wanted me to do nor did he help me make my mind up. All he did was sit with me and explain that all the women in our family, the mothers and mothers before them were all very strong women. Even the daughters were ones that would never show weakness and were the most hard working and made the most of any situation. Life has always thrown its darts my families way and we always seem to make it through because we are strong people and a strong family unit.

So despite my age, my marital status, life experience and readiness. I made the decision to keep the baby. Not based on those factors specifically but, based on my heart. It had gone through so much thus far that I could not for the life of me get rid of another child and feel later the guilt that is destroying life and apart of myself. The health of my uterus and the risk that I may not have many or no childen later on in life hit me hard. My decision was made up from many factors but ones things for sure, I did it with no one elses heart or future in mind other than my childs and mine. My ex had become a distant thought in my mind it was tough but, it had to be done.

After a couple of days I contacted my ex partner and told him the news. He took it well but, the moment I told him I was keeping it he went into a small panic and kept asking me “why”?!. Why?!.. I was so overwhelmed that I knew my reasons wouldn’t be understood by a man and especially not at that stage as I only just told him what I had planned on doing. Time was the key but, time was something he didnt want to wait for with knowing my reasoning.. Although it clicked in my head, I honestly did not need to explain myself to him. I mean why would I?, it was a decision I made when I was left on my own… looking back, when he was overwhelmed and felt bad for leaving me he too could not tell me his honest to heart reasons except for that he didnt know why and need to figure himself out. I just expected him to respect my decision as I did his when he chose to leave me. I was no crazy ex girlfriend. I was a respectful ex girlfriend and only wanted whats best for him. I figured he would have the decency to do the same. He could not.. It upset him and angered him, naturally. I honestly expected nothing less as it was a huge deal but, he behaved like someone i had never met before. He was no longer the guy I loved. He changed for the worse and became a real jerk. His selfishness amplified and I was made out to be selfish for the making this decision that I felt was important to my heart and body. Apparently that was a selfish thing to do in his eyes.. Its as if he didnt want me to have my health and happiness, he wanted me to do what was best for him despite the fact that I said he didnt need to be physically involved in the childs life. I was in no way tieing him down because I wanted him to be with the baby knowing he loved it and be with me because he knew he loved me. But that was all a dream and a hope at this stage. For now all I wanted was to take care of my child and myself. To be happy and healthy!

His indicated he wants nothing to do with our litte one and wants to travel the world and do things that make him happy. He claims being selfish is not a bad thing but to what extent is that not a bad thing?. With little to no communication efforts from him or his family and I feel as though he will forever regret this decision in life because I plan on raising the best damn kid in the world. I will be there for every Birthday, Christmas , Easter and family holiday. Im gonna show mini me the world and empower this little person so that he or she does not get treated poorly, is respectful and keeps its head held high. ❤