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justsomeoneunordinary · 4 years ago

Note

angst 3 for winteriron pretty please

Hi Ava, thank you so much for sending this prompt in. Finally I finished it, after… 3 months. I also used it for the WinterIron Week (which I am so much behind for, it’s not even funny). I still have no clue if this really warrants as ‘angst’, cause it feels more dull to me than angsty, but oh well. It is what it is.

Now, the whole organizational stuff (aka the pain in my ass):

On Crossing Paths

Prompt is from this list: “You promised you’d stop drinking.” — “And you promised you wouldn’t hurt me!”

Day 3 of @winteriron-week: Angst & “But I did it”

And since this got way out of hand anyway, combined with:

Day 4 of @winteriron-week: Tony needs a hug (Bucky too) & Forgiveness

(Nvm, I wrote something for day 4 anyway)

M, 5.2k, Alcoholism TW, Angst (-ish), Canon Divergence, Tony Feels, Emotional Hurt, Falling In Love, Hopeful Ending | AO3

(Day 1 / Day 2 / Day 4)

—

Tony meets James for the first time in a seedy bar in Brooklyn on the night of December 17th, 1991.

Twelve hours before that first meeting, he listens with deaf ears to the police telling him his parents died in a car accident.

Ten hours before that first meeting, he cries on Obie’s shoulder while Obie pats him on his head and tells him “everything would be fine”.

Seven hours before that first meeting, he speaks to Rhodey on the phone and makes him promise not to jeopardize his military career by showing up without permission.

Five hours before that first meeting, he drives to the scene of the accident where he screams into the godforsaken void from the top of his lungs, curses Howard and then has a mental breakdown in the middle of the street.

Two hours before that first meeting, he finds himself driving through the city with no destination in mind until he decides that he needs a drink.

Or rather ten.

Which is how he ends up at “Cheryl’s” where no one even bats an eye at the face of today’s headline and sole heir of a multi-billion company entering the bar. It’s too dark inside, the strong stench of sweat and smoke penetrates his nostrils on the spot, and Tony is pretty sure that the mold behind the counter is just about to build its own ecosystem.

He orders whiskey and gets a Jack. Not exactly what he wanted, but it will do.

There’s a glint out of the corner of his eye that gains his attention and when he turns, his gaze falls on the metal hand of a man with the saddest eyes he has ever seen. What once must’ve been a wild grey is now the lifeless stare of someone who’s been haunted by ghosts for a long while. A frigid expression on a pretty face framed by strands of long brown hair and cherry red lips made to be kissed. Wrapped up in an outfit that might as well be from a BDSM scene.

Tony likes what he sees. Very much so. He imagines dragging the guy into the bathroom, pulling those tight leather pants off and giving him the best blowjob of his life. It certainly would take his mind off other things. Like the fact that he’s an orphan now.

So he does, what he does best: he flirts. But this time it’s a challenge. It takes him three attempts until the stranger takes his eyes off the wall and looks at him, a tiny frown between his brows—but no other sign of acknowledgment.

“Finally got your attention, Handsome! You’re not much of a talker, hm? No worries, I can talk for both of us.” Which Tony then does. He talks and drinks and flirts—a wink here, a featherlight touch on the guy’s biceps there—and drinks and speaks of DUM-E and Rhodey and all their pranks during MIT, watches with fascination how that dead look in the stranger’s eyes slowly forms into curiosity, beams in delight when he gets a snort out of him, drinks some more, slides closer with each drink and puts a hand on his thigh, slowly caressing it up and down.

“You got a name, Handsome?”

The guy seems to hesitate for a while until he answers in a deep, raspy voice, “James.” Tony is pretty sure it’s a lie, but then again—he doesn’t need to know the name when he’s got his mouth full of dick.

“Well, James, you can call me Tony.” He flutters his eyelashes and bites teasingly on his lower lip before he drops his tone and asks, “So… your place or mine?”

After that Tony remembers the night only in a blur. He remembers passionate kisses in a dark alley, hands wandering everywhere, rising heat and grey eyes shimmering in pure lust. He remembers a hotel room and soft sheets and strong arms around his waist.

And then he wakes up, the taste of alcohol and James still lingering in his mouth.

When he opens his eyes, he finds James sitting in the chair at window, instead of lying in bed next to him, his entire focus solely on Tony. It should be creepy, but James’ gaze merely comes from curiosity, as if Tony was a machinery whose workings he is still trying to understand. It’s kind of endearing.

Tony gets up, disinterested in getting dressed, and pours himself two fingers of whiskey at the bar.

“This your breakfast?”

Tony grins smugly at the hoarse tone of James’ voice. “Nah, that’s just my mouthwash,” he answers and winks at him over his shoulder.

He eyes James for a moment while sipping on his drink, and then adds, “There’s a diner not far from here. Serves the best blueberry pancakes in all New York, I can vouch for that. What do you think, want to accompany me?”

It’s not Tony’s usual style. Otherwise, one-night stands will remain exactly what they are for him: one-night stands. But James has something that fascinates him immensely. It’s not just the overdeveloped prosthesis that can impossibly be on the market anywhere, and makes Tony wonder where he got it from, but also that look in his eyes of someone who has seen way too much. This emptiness that suddenly becomes filled with curiosity when it comes to small things. This enigmatic thing that surrounds him and whose code Tony wants to crack.

At the diner, Tony watches with amusement as James’ eyes widen in delight at the first bite of the heavenly pancakes and can’t help laughing when James pounces on them like a starving predator.

Since James is not much of a talker, Tony does the speaking. For one, because he can’t stand the silence, but for another, because he needs to distract himself. Because he doesn’t want to think about the death of his parents or how empty the mansion will be when he returns. So he talks about anything he can think of until he comes to a point where he doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, but is pretty sure that somewhere in the torrent of words, he tried to explain James the exact details of his AI study.

When they’re about to part ways though, Tony only too well remembers the emptiness that will greet him when he comes home, and he doesn’t even finish thinking it through, before he invites James to come with him.

James does not only come with him, but he also stays.

—

Weeks pass and before Tony knows it, James has practically moved in with him. If you can call it moving in when James doesn’t seem to have a single thing that needed to be brought here. Tony doesn’t know James’ last name, nor does he have the slightest idea who he is, and with each passing day his suspicions grow that he must have taken a homeless man off the street.

It should be terrifying or at least worrying but Tony can’t find it in himself to care enough. He lost his parents—and Jarvis and Ana even earlier—and would be alone in this big mansion until the loneliness would overwhelm him. And James turns out to be an excellent guest. Or rather roommate at this point.

For all he knows, James could be a serial killer, and Tony still wouldn’t care. He needs the company and he uses James for it—in bed and outside of it.

The more time they spend, the more not only Tony seems to be learning about James, but James also about himself. He discovers a love of books, especially C. S. Lewis, and sometimes holes up in the library all day except when he goes looking for Tony to read his favorite passages to him.

Every time he discovers a new dish that he likes, Tony can watch James’ whole face glow and none of the shadows of his past can be seen in that moment.

His favorite reaction, however, is when he trusts James enough to show him his workshop. James’ eyes widen in amazement and a brilliant smile forms on his lips at the sight of scientific chaos there is. “It’s like Narnia!”

“What? Where do you get that from? Narnia is nature and talking animals. I don’t have any talking animals here.” What DUM-E understands as a cue to speak up and whereupon James gives him a smug ‘told you so’ grin.

In these situations, it’s easy to forget that all is not peace, joy and pancakes. As soon as Tony gets down to the jobs Obie gave him, he remembers again, and the alcohol finds its way to his liver to ease the pain. In the morning, noon and evening.

Sometimes at night too when James has one of his nightmares and Tony can’t help him because James doesn’t talk to him, not about who he is, not about his past—although Tony guesses with an almost certainity on veteran—and not even vaguely about it his nightmares.

But they are fine, they have a routine: talking during the day, fucking at night. Eat blueberry pancakes for breakfast at the diner once a week and fiddle with James’ arm whenever he has time.

It works perfectly well as it is.

—

It’s not until on a particular bright morning in March 1992 Tony realizes that he had fallen in love with James a long time ago—the day after he almost dies of alcohol poisoning.

He wakes up to see James laying next to him, still asleep. Long strands of hair cover his face and Tony gives into the urge to brush them to the side, so he can take James’ peaceful expression in.

It’s a picture he’d like to wake up every day to. The longer he thinks about it, the more Tony has to admit that he can’t imagine a life without James in it—and that’s when it hits him. That those are feelings beyond of sole sexual attraction, beyond cameradine or friendship.

The realization hits him like a slap in his face. He breaths in shakingly and his first instinct is to get up and get himself a glass of whiskey to calm down, but before he can do anything the heart monitor starts picking up and only then does Tony realize that he’s not at home but in a hospital.

James stirs awake at the sudden noise and immediately glares at Tony. “You fucking idiot.”

His eyes are red, indicating he must’ve cried, and Tony isn’t sure what is going on but he can tell it must be bad. But he’s still too overwhelmed with the realization of his feelings, so he just gapes at James, not being able to say a word.

“You fucking idiot,” James repeats. “How often did I already tell you that you drink too much? That you should stop?”

And before he can react to that, he’s being crushed in a sudden hug, James holding him tightly to his chest and tears streaming down his cheeks.

“For a genius you are so dumb,” James murmurs and Tony��for Tony it’s too much. He doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t know what to say, so he blurts out without a second thought, “I love you.”

That brings James to a halt. Tony’s muscles tense up and he instinctively holds his breath.

James pulls back a little bit, so he can look at Tony, who rather focuses on the white sheets of the hospital bed. “Tony did you watch too many rom-coms? Confessing feelings after you almost died should’ve been my job in that case though.”

Tony needs a moment to register the words correctly. “Almost died?”

“Alcohol poisoning.”

Oh fuck. Even Tony knows that this is not good, that he definitely went too far this time.

James gently cups Tony’s face so that he’s forced to look into those gray eyes shimmer in a happiness. “Tony, I love you too.”

Faintly he registers the heart monitor rising up again, but he’s too distracted by the warmth that fills him from within to feel any embarrassment at that. He looks up at the wonder that James is and then surges forward to steal a kiss. He expects a nurse to barge in any moment now at the way his heart rate jumps off the charts, but that’s not stopping him from burying his hands in James’ hair and deepen the kiss further.

“Tony,” James laughs as he pulls off. He rests his forehead at Tony’s while they catch their breath and slowly morphs his sappy expression into a serious one.

“Tony,” he repeats. “I love you. And because I love you, I need you to promise me to stop with the drinking. I can’t watch you destroy your own life any further like that. Yesterday I had to find you passed out in the workshop. Have you any idea what I went through?” His hands wander all over Tony while talking, as if he needs to prove himself, that Tony’s still alive.

Tony thinks of SI and Obie and the expectations he has to live up to. He thinks of mama’s piano and how he hasn’t played on it since the accident. And with each thought the urge to get a drink intensifies. He gulps audibly and asks, “Will you help me?”

James’ quiet smile is more than enough for an answer. “Always.”

“Okay,” he breaths out and adds, more hastily, “okay, but you have to promise to never hurt me, James. I can’t, after mum died and Jarvis and—”

“Of course I will never hurt you, Tony.” James interrupts him and those words leave James lips so effortlessly and earnestly that Tony has not a single doubt in the truth of them.

And with James on his side, Tony believes he can make it. Not just getting sober, but living an actual life. Getting his shit together, looking forward.

He finally tells him of his plans of a new home in Malibu, those he was too afraid to talk about because James is bound to Brooklyn and Tony feared he wouldn’t come with him when the mansion’s constructions are finished. But James just laughs and says, “The only place I belong to is your side. So wherever you go? I will follow.”

Tony feels happy like never before. Things finally go well.

—

Until they don’t.

—

The Winter Soldier fights for the first time against his programming on the night of December 16th, 1991.

It’s the shocked “Sergeant Barnes?” Howard Stark gasps that evokes hidden memories from the back of his mind. Memories from war—gunshots, explosions, screams and the smell of fire and blood. Memories of a guy once tiny suddenly big. Somehow the same person, somehow not.

Memories that lead him to Brooklyn instead of the meeting point where he should deliver the serum to his handlers.

His legs walk him the entire day through the city, while he’s taking in each building—some he recognizes, most of them not. Until at night he looks up at a blinking light stating “Cheryl’s” and sees flashes of himself, hair shorter and a laugh on his face, dancing with another man and exchanging forbidden kisses in a dark corner.

He enters and not much later he meets the whirlwind that is Tony Stark.

With Tony the Winter Soldier becomes James and learns to feel again. Other emotions, besides constant rage and pain. Curiosity first, then amusement, lust, care, warmth and somewhere around March 1992 he knows it’s love.

He falls in love with Tony Stark who treats him like a human being rather than a tool, who talks and talks and makes him laugh, who touches him softly always and everywhere, who isn’t afraid of the metal arm but fascinated by it, who studies it without causing him any pain, who sings and laughs and dances and doesn’t shy away from James even once.

Tony Stark who drinks more than he should, reminding him of a man that might be his father coming home, reeking of alcohol, hitting a woman that might be his mother—bringing back memories that rather stayed forgotten. Tony who almost dies and promises to stop with the drinking. Tony who sometimes looks like a man carrying the entire world on his shoulders, dark bags under his eyes, a haunted expression in them and yet does his best to keep James’ sorrow’s away.

Tony Stark whose parents he killed as he realizes after a nightmare on November 24th in 1992.

—

In the morning of November 25th 1992 Tony wakes up alone in bed, a yellow sticky note on his nightstand and the words “I’m sorry, doll” scribbled on it.

—

Tony waits first, clinging onto the hope that he misinterpreted that note and that James will come back. All of James’ few things are still here—Tony checked.

But the longer he waits, the stronger the urge gets to wrap his fingers around a bottle of whiskey. So he gets up and starts looking. First at the diner, then the park, further to the Brooklyn Bridge, to “Cheryl’s” at last.

He returns to an empty home. Doesn’t sleep in the first night, neither the second nor the third and collapses on the fourth—his face buried in James’ favorite wool sweater, the bathroom reeking of his vomit.

And then he repeats that circle anew.

—

James doesn’t come back.

—

On December 1992 Tony moves to Malibu without looking back.

The bar in his new home is fully stocked.

—

The next sixteen years pass by in a rush. Tony drinks. A lot. He drinks and fucks, and then drinks and fucks even more in a desperate attempt to forget James. To forget his touch and smile, his smell and his taste. To forget James’ everything.

And he doesn’t care enough what happens around him during his wake of self-destruction.

Until it comes back to bite him in the ass.

—

In 2008, after 3 months of captivity, Tony returns to the New York mansion for the first time since moving out. There on the night stand of his old room are still the photos of him and James from the photo booth they once took.

Tony blows the dust away and looks at the old pictures, a wistful expression on his face. He soaks James’ soft smile and bright glint in those beautiful eyes in, remembers how those pouty lips felt on his own, remembers the sound of James’ laugh, the taste of his mouth, his body pressed against Tony’s.

In all this time J.A.R.V.I.S. was never able to find even a trace of James. It was, as if he disappeared from earth. Chances are, he died. Because how far can a guy with a metal arm get without the most advanced AI of the world being able to find him? But even though he doesn’t believe in ever seeing James again, Tony thinks of him and the promise they gave each other when he empties his bar down the sink.

The photos end up in his workshop, next to the arc reactor’s glass case Pepper gave him. Tony finally starts looking ahead.

—

Years pass and Tony lives his life again.

He also almost dies some countless times, and every single time he thinks of Pepper, with a lingering memory of James’ laugh.

—

And then in 2016 Johannesburg happens and with Johannesburg the Sokovia Accords follow.

—

Over the years Tony imagined countless scenarios where he would see James again. Not in one of those could he have imagined it to go this bad.

“I know that road.”

—

Fourteen hours after the whole Siberia debacle Tony pulls the old photos from the drawer in the workshop and sets them aflame. He watches with a grim satisfaction as they slowly crumble to ashes and takes his first sip of whiskey in years. Directly from the bottle.

DUM-E’s distressed efforts at saving anything from the photos with the fire extinguisher are just a tad bit too late.

Nothing is left.

—

Tony starts drinking again.

—

In 2016, despite careful avoidance, Bucky does meet Tony again—in a HYDRA bunker of all places. And his heart aches at the sight of Tony’s shock.

Tony might’ve aged and changed, but those eyes are still the same. Big and expressive and at that very moment filled with sadness and anger and disbelief. And worst of all, it’s Bucky’s fault.

He doesn’t plan to fight and neither does he want to leave Tony behind, but he doesn’t believe Tony wants him anywhere near—Bucky had already done more than enough.

So he goes with Steve and goes back into cryostasis, hoping to stay there forever. Only to be woken up a few months later and informed that they got rid of his trigger words and Tony made sure that the Avengers were allowed to return to the States.

Bucky included.

It seems surreal to him to enter the Avengers compound; as if he was dreaming. As if there was a catch that would strike later because he doesn’t deserve to be here.

And then, in the kitchen waits none other than Tony, his eyes hidden behind colored sunglasses, his fake media smile on his face and a whiskey glass in his hand, the sight of which freezes Bucky’s blood in his veins. He’d like nothing more than to take the glass out of his hand and hug Tony tightly.

Which is a privilege he no longer has.

“Ah, the fossil duo! Welcome back,” Tony couldn’t sound more unwelcome if he tried. “Everything is still as you left it, Rogers. You can show Barnes yourself where everything is.” With these words he mockingly salutes them, turns around at his heel and disappears from the kitchen again without giving Bucky a single look.

A chill runs down Bucky’s spine at the sound of his last name from Tony’s mouth. It’s so… wrong. To Tony, he has always been just James. If affectionate or angry or laughing, James was the name Tony would call him with. This single, condescending “Barnes” feels like a thousand knife stabs in his heart. It’s only thanks to his training that he stays composed and doesn’t go running after Tony in a desperate attempt to try talking to him.

The next few weeks pass similarly. If he and Tony even see each other, which is a rarity in itself, even though they live in the same building—he has the suspicious feeling that Tony is deliberately avoiding him with F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s help—then Tony ignores him as if he were not here at all.

Bucky knows, he deserves worse than just the cold shoulder, but that still doesn’t make it easy. Especially not when he keeps finding empty alcohol bottles scattered around somewhere and can do absolutely nothing about this problem.

His only bright spot is Rhodes, who looks at the bottles with just as much loathing as he does. It means that at least one person keeps an eye on Tony’s consumption, since Bucky himself cannot. Bucky never had a chance to meet Rhodes twenty-five years ago, and Bucky is pretty sure Tony hasn’t told him anything, otherwise Rhodes wouldn’t be content with shooting him deathly looks only.

That’s why he doesn’t say anything to Steve either, no matter how hard he questions him, because he sees that there is something between him and Tony that he doesn’t know about. If Tony doesn’t want to tell anyone about their past together, then Bucky won’t either.

Bucky keeps the distance that Tony obviously wants from him.

Until two months after his arrival at the compound on a Tuesday morning F.R.I.D.A.Y. sends an urgent distress signal, and Bucky is on his way so quickly that the other Avengers don’t have a chance to follow him directly even if they tried.

—

Tony wakes up in a hospital with a throbbing pounding in his head and aching bones all over his body—James’ worried face hovering over him. It’s the shittiest déjà-vu he’s ever had.

At least the circumstances aren’t quite the same. Rhodey diluted Tony’s alcohol every time he thought no one would see him. So that something like alcohol poisoning wouldn’t happen again. Tony is grateful and annoyed at the same time.

No, this time he just flew drunk in his Iron Man armor, lost the connection to F.R.I.D.A.Y., which he has to get to the bottom of as quickly as possible, and then fell. So, waking up in the hospital makes sense.

But that James is here instead of Rhodey or Happy or Pepper or anyone else is both, surprising and unwanted.

James opens and closes his mouth several times, seemingly unable to decide what to say before croaking out, “You promised you’d stop drinking.” His voice sounds suspiciously as if he had cried recently, and Tony almost laughs at the irony of the situation.

But then he remembers the day he woke up without James at his side. Remembers searching everywhere for him, waiting, not being able to sleep for days, and how miserable he felt without him, not knowing what happened, not knowing where he had gone.

He remembers that James had fucked him—no, made love with him—knowing he had killed Tony’s mother. And he feels the blood boil in his veins in anger at that. How dare James after all these years, after all that happened, now talk about that promise?

So he throws him a deadly look, his hand clenched into a fist and growls, “And you promised you wouldn’t hurt me!”

James visibly flinches at that and takes a step back, his eyes wandering everywhere but at Tony. Then he takes a deep breath and looks Tony straight in the eye as he says, “You’re right. I promised you that I would never hurt you. But I did it. I have—”

“Why did you do it?” Tony interrupts, because that’s what he wants to know. What he had asked himself over and over again over the years—the why.

Bucky blinks at him in bewilderment and asks: “Why what exactly?”

“Everything!” Tony throws his arms in the air in frustration, ignoring the ailment of his broken ribs over the sudden action. “Why you suddenly left me overnight, why you never told me anything about yourself, not even vaguely hinting at who you are and what happened to you, why you let me fall in love with you when it was you, who killed my mother and were therefore to blame for my misery!” The last part comes out much more honest than Tony wanted it to be and he quickly looks ashamed to the side to blink away the rising tears of anger.

He hears a deep sigh from the side and out of the corner of his eye he can see James drop into the visitor’s chair.

“Tony, I didn’t know who you were or that my mission had been your parents when we met in the bar,” James begins hesitantly to explain. “Howard… his words brought a few memories to the fore. Just blurry, barely recognizable images. I didn’t even know my own name when you asked me for it—I just named the one that was at the tip of my tongue.

“During the time we were together, my memories have only gradually returned. I had no idea about your parents until a nightmare reminded me of it.” This is where James looks up from his hands for the first time, straight into Tony’s eyes, his gaze steadfast and honest. “And then I realized I had broken my promise—I had already hurt you.”

James sighs and runs his hand through his hair and swallows hard. “I understood that it was only a matter of time before HYDRA found me. We were lucky before that because no one suspected I could be with you. But under no circumstances did I want them to get you. I knew I had to go. That is why I did it.”

Tony nods slowly. “And then what? You just decided to go back to HYDRA?”

James laughs dryly, without a trace of humor in his voice. “Of course not. I went on the run. But in the end, no matter what I do, they always find me, don’t they?” His mouth twists into a grimace of self-hatred and resignation.

Not under my watch, no, Tony thinks to himself. Instead he says, “You broke my heart.” Because as reluctant as he is to show his vulnerability, this is James. And he’s always been able to be honest with James.

“I’m sorry,” James says in all earnestness.

“I’m not forgiving you for what you have done.”

“I understand.”

“Not yet at least.”

At that James’ gaze shoots up in surprise.

Tony clears his throat slightly shy. “I—I understand that the… brainwashing and stuff. That it wasn’t you. I just… I just need some time.” And it’s true. Tony had read the Winter Soldier’s files; he saw what they did to him and he understands on a completely rational level that it’s not James who is responsible for all those deaths.

He only needs his emotions to come to that understanding too and then he would truly be able to forgive him.

And really, as much as he always claims that he worked to bring the Avengers back together was because the world needed them, he knows the real motivations for it had been for James only. When Pepper had broken up with him because “there was someone else occupying his heart she could never reach” he hadn’t been able to contradict her. Seeing James again after all that time has only proven her right too.

“Tony…”

“Great, now that that’s settled, take my tablet and read me something,” Tony interrupts James before he can go any further, because there is only so much emotional talk Tony can handle in one day and that line has been exceeded a long while ago.

“I… what?”

“Read me something. I am a poor injured soul deserving to be properly pampered. And I want a good-night story.”

And as James slowly smiles brightly at him, gray eyes glinting in hope and wonder, it’s like not a single day has gone by since he disappeared on him.

Tony is still wary. Remembers only too well those days after James had left him. Can’t forget the Winter Soldier’s hand around his mother’s neck. His fingers itch with the urge to hold a drink, but he snuggles deeper into bed, letting James’ soothing voice and the story of a girl who finds a wonderland in a closet lull him into contentment.

Tony meets James for the first time in December 1991 in a seedy bar in Brooklyn and then a second time in 2016 in a Siberian bunker. He thinks that if against all odds their paths cross not only once, but twice, then maybe they should take a step forward together and see, where the path will lead them to.

And if they just believe strong enough in it, they might even find their wonderland for a second time too.

#may writes #may's moodboards #winteriron #buckytony #starkbucks #tony stark #bucky barnes #WI WEEK 2020 #WinterIron Week #angxlsgrxce #may answers #fucking finally finished this fic :)))#nothing went as it should've :)))#i am absolutely not happy at all how it turned out but at this point idc anymore <3 #wish this fic was a person so i could strangle it to death <3 #shall it burn in hell <3 #but yay! i finished it! :D

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turnabout4what · 4 years ago

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You used to be diagnosed with ADHD, but then got diagnosed with autism, right? Aside from needing a lot of time to recharge after social stuff, can I ask what kinds of things tipped you off as to the difference? My psychiatrist is looking at an ASD diagnosis for me after years of being labeled ADHD... and I don’t really know what to think. If this is too personal feel free to ignore it!

I’m still diagnosed with ADD, but I’m strongly suspected of having autism. I haven’t been able to pursue a diagnosis because of COVID, but I’ve been in therapy for both. Before I answer your question, I’m going to go over the overlap between ASD and ADD, because you can work on these things regardless of the diagnosis. It’s very stressful to not have a clear idea of what you’re “supposed” to be experiencing!

1. RSD, or Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. Do you feel physical pain whenever a stranger on the internet implies you’re a bad person? You may have this common symptom of ASD and ADD.

2. Difficulties with executive functioning. Lots of people have trouble motivating themselves to do things, but ADD and ASD make it even harder!

3. Emotional regulation. You may become angry or anxious very easily, and you may be oversensitive. This often comes with impulsivity, especially in ADD.

4. Hyperfocusing. Do you ever start cleaning your room and then find yourself unable to stop? This frequently is accompanied by forgetting to eat. Generally, this happens with things that you enjoy doing, but when I’m stressed, it often involves cleaning.

5. Being prone to addiction. This can be drugs, or it can be video games or any number of things that give you a boost of dopamine. Additionally, you may get short-term obsessions. Watching a TV show may be incredibly stressful unless you can binge the entire thing in one weekend.

6. Not being able to make and keep friends in elementary school. I was great at making friends, but I could never keep them. Combined with RSD, this was devastating.

7. A lack of focus on work and school. Notably, if you also have anxiety, you may still be able to pull off good grades by using your anxiety to rein in your focus. I was once told by a psychiatrist who sat down with me for only ten minutes that kids with executive dysfunction couldn’t have a 4.0 GPA and that he didn’t believe I had trouble focusing. Two appointments later, he apologized and officially diagosed me with ADD. There’s a reason I don’t totally trust his diagnosis. I do find it interesting and relieving that your psychiatrist is looking at an ASD diagnosis; a lot of psychiatrists don’t consider that a possibility if you weren’t diagnosed in early childhood.

8. Forgetting deadlines, leaving things you needed at home, and generally being an organizational disaster by neurotypical standards. My third grade teacher gave me the “tornado award” in front of the entire class to publicly shame me for how messy my desk was.

Now, to answer your question, here are the things that stood out as being indicators of me having ASD:

1. ASD runs in my family. My dad didn’t speak until the age of 6, and my younger brother was diagnosed as autistic when he was about two years old.

2. I have a sensory disorder that frequently interferes with my everyday life. I’m the type who can’t be inside of a candle store for more than 10 minutes because the smells are too overwhelming. At homecoming and prom, I could be found as far away from the speakers as possible, wishing the evening would end and we could all go home. Interestingly, my issue isn’t with volume, but with how unfamiliar a sound is—I went to a TOP concert with intense earplugs in. For the opening band, I got so sick that I went to the bathroom and curled up in a ball with my hands over my ears. But when TOP started playing, I was able to take my earplugs out and I felt perfectly fine. Notably, I know every lyric to every TOP song on Spotify, and I’d never heard the opening band before.

3. People who are AFAB and high intelligence frequently don’t show the standard signs of ASD due to how we’re socialized as infants. If you’ve ever stood in a mirror and practiced making facial expressions and hand gestures, it’s a sign you intellectually learned how to act neurotypical. Most people pick up on that intuitively.

4. I only recently discovered that when someone asks, “How are you?” you’re supposed to ask them that question back. I always hated when people asked me that, since I was expected to say that I was doing well, so I never returned it. I didn’t realize that was rude. I still occasionally find things that are considered basic communication that I never realized.

5. My dad was physically abused as a child whenever he showed symptoms of ASD, and unfortunately that meant my younger brother and I were verbally abused any time we stimmed, talked about our special interests, or reacted strongly to sensory stimuli. Because of this, I didn’t indulge my childhood special interest until I was well into college: insects. As soon as I started taking classes about insects, I occasionally scared classmates and even professors! I’m normally a soft and smiley person, but when I’m hyperfocused on something that really interests me, I fall into a certain state that my friends have described as “intense.”

6. Stimulant ADD medications like Adderall and Vyvanse did not work for me. They made me more anxious and didn’t improve my focus well. You know what did work? Wellbutrin. My doctor actually just upped my Wellbutrin dose and I feel incredible

This was extremely long, but hopefully helpful! Note that all of the problems I’ve had with my ASD or ADD came from surrounding myself with people who never tried to understand me. Now I have friends who plan events with my sensory sensitivities in mind, who point out my mistakes without making me feel rejected, and who are excited to see me even when I’m 15 minutes late… again. Neither diagnosis means there’s something wrong with you. It just means people have to put in a little extra work to understand you, and I promise you’ll find people who know you’re worth that extra work.

Best wishes, anon!

#long post #add #asd

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blazehedgehog · 4 years ago

Link

So rather than attach it to the last (rather large) post thread, I’ll start a new one. If you didn’t catch it on Twitter, friends managed to raise some money through nothing but sheer good will and I ended up booking a stay at the same hotel we should have gotten for free.

I’m starting a new thread because I want to ask a question, but first I want to clarify and provide a better timeline of everything that’s happened. This isn’t exact, but it’s as close as my memory can remember right now:

Late 2019/Early 2020: Whoever owns my apartment complex sells it to a new company in California. The complex is in Nevada. It’s a big apartment complex; it used to be two separate ones that were right next to each other and they merged to create a “project” that houses something like 150-200 units. If you consider families, somewhere in the realm of 300-700 people live here.

April/May 2020: We get a notice on our door announcing that our new owners want to renovate the complex. Every single unit. It’s such a big ordeal that they have to put in to get funding from the State of Nevada to do it. The initial claim is that they will move us out of our apartment unit in to a new unit for up to a month or two (at no cost to us) while they renovate. More information will come in summer 2020 during a town hall meeting we will attend in person. I expect that with the pandemic starting and “shelter in place” orders going out that there’s no way they’d be dumb enough to go through with any of this. The notice ends with them pleading with people not to take this as a cue to move out. In the months to follow, we spied at least four people who were smart enough to get out before the renovation hit. We considered it, but the housing authority we have to rent through went dead silent the moment the pandemic ramped up and have yet to say even a single word to us (even now).

Late October/Early November 2020: The town hall meeting finally happens, online, in a Zoom meeting. Three people in California dictate to the 40 or 50 tenants (maybe more) that attend the meeting how this is going to go. Plans have changed: the renovation will take place across ten days. Very tight schedule. In and out as fast as possible. In batches of 4-5 units at a time, going alphabetically across the complex, units will be renovated. New paint, new carpet, new cabinets, new sinks, new toilet, new shower, new appliances, redone balcony. Renovation teams will come in at 8am and work until 5pm. After 5pm, we will be allowed to return to our unit and sleep there. We will be allowed to keep one bed (per person) and one TV, which the renovation team will move out of the way during the day and return to our unit when they leave. We are also told we will be getting a sealable plastic tub to store personal items (toiletries and such) that the renovation team will also handle. We are assured they will be adhering to rigorous sanitization standards, with multiple temperature checks daily, masks, and gloves. During the day, we are free to go wherever, but the complex will be setting up what they call a “hospitality trailer” -- a communal space for everyone currently effected by the renovation to hang out inside, together. There will be port-a-potties and wifi. We’re told meals will also be provided, possibly in the trailer, but details are unspecific. We’re also told some landscaping will be done. All told, between renovating units and landscaping, they say the whole process from beginning to end will take 18 months or more. Tenants in the Zoom call ask questions -- if we don’t want to stay at the hospitality trailer, we’re told we should consider staying with family during the day. They ignore multiple questions from people asking if this will cause the rent to go up.

December 2020: Renovation begins, starting with apartments in the A block. We’re somewhere near the middle of the alphabet, and going by the ten-days-per-unit estimate, we’re expecting the renovation to hit us around March-ish, maybe even as late as April. I develop an ugly toothache; my face swells up. I do a phone visit with a dentist and he prescribes me antibiotics and schedules me for an appointment on January 18th to pull the tooth.

Early January 2021: Going to check the mail one day, I notice it feels like they’re spending a long time on the first few sets of units. Then, all of a sudden, renovations surge ahead, and units worryingly close to our letter start putting tarps up over their balconies, signalling they’re either mid-reno, or at least packing.

January 18th, 2021: Tooth is “fine” (big cavity, no pain) but we discuss options for pulling multiple bad teeth with this problem tooth, since a lot of my upper teeth aren’t in great shape. Will require multiple rounds of surgery to remove them all and set up replacements. First round of surgery is on February 24th. I immediately wonder if we’re going to get called early for renovation and it’ll land simultaneously with the surgery. I try not to think about it.

January 30th, 2021: We receive a notice that our apartment’s number is due. It’s post-dated, which means the notice is late. We’re supposed to have 45 days notice, and the move-out date listed in the notice is February 23rd. By the 45 day rule, this notice should’ve arrived January 9th. There’s also a degree of confusion: the notice was delivered to our apartment, but the notice is addressed to the apartment below us. Parts of the notice still mention our apartment number. We call the front office for clarification, and they tell us that the notice was indeed meant for the people below us. According to them, we’re in the clear for now. “You’re close...” tells us the person on the phone, “But it’s not your time yet.” We consider preparing early, but it sounds like we have to use the provided packing materials for organizational reasons when the movers come.

February 5th: I record my Patreon Podcast. I mention the renovation. If you consider 10 days per renovation, based on when the notice was actually delivered, I’m expecting we’re going to get our notice in the next few days.

February 8th: We get a knock on the door. A man from the front office is checking in with us to see how packing is going. Packing because the notice was actually for us. It was for all four units in this block. We tell him: we called. They said it wasn’t our time yet. He just kind of shrugs and asks if we need boxes. Of course we do. Our 45 day notice has been cut down to less than 14 days. On top of that, we’ve got doctors appointments and things coming up that’s going to eat in to this time. He says everything has to be in the office-provided UHaul boxes. Even if we have items already in cardboard boxes, they have to be specifically repacked in UHaul boxes.

February 13th: After days of trying to contact my dentist office via email, I finally get a hold of them via text. I try to reschedule my appointment, but the receptionist tells me it’s just another consultation, not surgery. I hope she’s right. The stress of all of this is making it hard to get packing as fast as we need to.

February 15th: My Mom tells me she’s managed to book an appointment for her first round of covid-19 vaccinations. Unfortunately, it’s on February 23rd, the day we’re being moved out.

February 16th: We talk to the people below us, an elderly couple. They’re panicking about packing because they have so much stuff. They mention that the front office booked them a hotel for the duration of their renovation. All they needed was a doctor’s note proving they needed it. Given that my 75 year old mother has a doc appointment literally the next day, this seems like extremely good timing. After doing curbside pickup for a grocery order that day, we pass the movers on our way back in as they are loading a unit in to their Ryder truck. None of them that I see are wearing masks or gloves.

February 17th: Doc visit happens, she implies that he kind of blew her off. She’s had chronic pain in her hands and knees for years, and in particular, the pain in her hands has been getting bad, fast. She wraps her thumb in sports tape because bending it hurts. She used to be a waitress, she used to be a cake decorator, she did data entry for a couple years, and now she’s dabbling with painting. Her carpal tunnel is severe and its accentuated with arthritis. Doctor just kind of shrugs it off, tells her if it gets worse to come back in a few months, even though arthritis can kill people if not treated properly. Still, he writes her a cursory note for the apartment front office. She talks to them and they’re very glad she contacted them about this; it sounds like the kind of thing that’s only available to people who ask, since presumably the owners don’t want to shell out $900,000+ rooming the entire complex in a hotel. Either way, we’re excited; maybe this renovation won’t be so bad. They tell us the name of the hotel and where its located.

February 18th: While doing laundry in anticipation of packing things up for the hotel/renovation, we happen to catch someone in the laundry room who just got back in to her apartment after her reno finished. She tells us a horror story: everything they told us in the Zoom meeting was a lie. They are renovating way more than 4 units at a time, they aren’t going alphabetically anymore, and she theorizes they’re going with a cheaper renovation team because half of her apartment straight up wasn’t done. The new tile was cheap plastic, which was already gouged by the time she got there. No new fridge, no new shower or tub, no new toilet. “Those will be happening this summer,” she tells us. Sinks got replaced, but the new sinks are apparently bigger than the old ones, leaving less counter space (a particular problem in the bathroom). Carpets were new, but already a dirty mess because of the movers. She had to go around and pick up nails stuck in the carpet that were left behind by the renovators. Since they didn’t take the fridge, she got to keep her food in there, which was important for her because she had special dietary food that needed to be refrigerated. The bad news? Some of that food was stolen. She had a broom and a dust pan stolen, too. She mentions how poor communication has been. We mention the hotel, and she lights up. She didn’t stay in her apartment either, they put her up in the hotel, too. So at least there’s that silver lining. Though she regrets it, because they damaged her TV while she was away. She finally helps clarify the food situation for us, too: we’ll be receiving a “food voucher” to pay for our meals, whatever that means.

February 19th: My Mom was supposed to call the front office to confirm we got the hotel, but in all the confusion, she didn’t get around to it. We’ll have to wait the entire weekend to get confirmation. But if the elderly couple below us got a room, and the lady we spoke to at laundry got a room, it sounds like we’re a lock.

February 22nd: The front office checks in on us again, shrugs their shoulders at how behind we are on packing, and offers us more boxes. They only give us large boxes; we need small, medium and especially rolls of packing tape. They mention they’ll have more later once they open the storage unit, but we never get any. Across this entire ordeal, we’ve only gotten a single roll of packing tape. We bought several rolls of our own after being tired of waiting. Front office guy says our fridge is being replaced, but we can still keep food in our old one and we’ll just “come in and change it out.” Whatever that means. Later, after getting off the phone, we learn we were rejected for the hotel. The doctor’s note wasn’t good enough and the head office in California denied our request. My Mom tries to contact her doctor again to get a more detailed note, but he doesn’t return her call. We’re going to be living out of the car for the next ten days. We talk about protesting this; by stopping packing right now and refusing to leave, but eventually decide that would be a bad idea. We don’t want to risk the movers breaking any of our things. A couple friends start spreading around my paypal.me link in the hopes of raising money for us to stay at a hotel. They raise a little over $200, but it’s hard to justify spending that on a hotel.

February 23rd, Morning: By this point, we’re running on empty. No sleep, physically exhausted, stressed out of our minds. Both of us on the verge of tears several times. With everything going on, we’re a little over halfway done packing and there’s no time left. We quickly move from “pack everything” to “pack what’s important so the movers don’t have to touch it.” Whatever we can’t finish, the movers will pack for us. At 7:30am the movers arrive, and they knock on the door at 8am. They are very polite. They are all wearing masks and gloves. We tell them they are nowhere near ready, and they offer to do our unit last. We do the best we can and leave the rest to them. On our way out, we talk to the elderly couple that lives below us, who claim the moving truck won’t be enough to hold everything in their apartment. It’s a big truck and a small apartment. I find that hard to believe. We go park somewhere and doze in the car until my Mom’s vaccination appointment at 10am. More friends, some of them with very large followings, start spreading the paypal.me link around. Momentum begins to build.

February 23rd, Midday: We get to the vaccination place only to realize we forgot some things at the apartment. We quickly jog back across town and plan to ask them if it’s okay if we can go in to the apartment and retrieve it. When we get there, they’re still unloading the couple below us, and I notice they aren’t just taking UHaul boxes, but regular cardboard boxes, too. Given it’s been almost two hours, this might be second truckful, maybe even the third. I grab the stuff we’re missing and we head back to the vaccination park. Afterwards, we hang out at my brother’s just in case my mom has an allergic reaction to the vaccine and she needs help. She’s fine, and by the time we’re through there, it’s getting to be time to head back to our apartment for the night at 5pm. Before we leave my brother’s, I use their wifi to check my Paypal account. I joke, “I’m worried that I’ll open my account and it’ll say $2000.” Combined with the little bit of money I already had in my Paypal, the donations have pushed my account close to $2200. I burst out laughing. “YOU WANNA GO GET A HOTEL?!” I shout. We agree we’ll spend the night in the unit tonight and decide what we’ll take with us to the hotel in the morning.

February 23rd, Evening: It’s close to 6pm and the movers are still there. They were supposed to clock out almost an hour ago. I browse Tripadvisor and Expedia in the parking lot and decide to just book the same hotel they dangled in front of our faces, since reviews specifically point out it’s clean and has extremely good quarantine practices. Expedia lets me pay with Paypal directly, but there’s a problem where it won’t connect to my Paypal account. As I go to transfer the money out of my Paypal and finish booking the hotel, the wifi dies. The movers just unplugged our modem and packed it up. They probably weren’t supposed to do that, and they picked the worst time, too. We spend the next 45 minutes driving around town trying to find free wifi so I can book this hotel. We end up parking at my brother’s place and leeching his wifi from the driveway. Hotel booked, check-in is at 3pm on the 24th. For now, it’s back to the apartment to decide what to take with us.

February 23rd, Night: Upon getting back to the apartment around 7pm, we find it’s... a disaster area. They spent so long unloading all the other units, they did not have time to finish packing and unloading what was left in our unit. There’s garbage everywhere, it’s mixed in with the stuff we want to keep, some of it’s broken, it’s horrible. It looks like they just swept everything off the tables on to the floor. TV remotes and mail are spread out all over the place. They didn’t leave us any lamps, so the only lights in the apartment are the front door light, the kitchen light, and the bathroom light. They might have left us our mattresses, but they didn’t leave us any pillows or blankets. Still, we spent the better part of the night sorting through the “trash” and separating it out in to the stuff we wanted to keep. We pack up most of the apartment with whatever materials the movers left behind, but we eventually run out of boxes and tape. We still managed to pack 99.9% of what was left. From 7pm to 2:30am.

February 24th, Morning: At 7:30am I'm woken up by the movers pulling up. I can hear them joking in the parking lot about who gets the honor of being called "papi" and cracking rude jokes about "assuming gender." They probably think nobody's around to hear them. We ask them for more time so we can wake up and get dressed. As we're loading up the car with stuff to take to the hotel, we overhear the movers complaining about how they are being made to wait because we were supposed to be out of here by 8, and it's close to 9. My Mom gives them an earful about how little time we had to pack compared to how long we should've had. "That's been happening to a lot of people here." one of them tells her. My whole body hurts after days of little sleep and packing extremely heavy boxes. I’ve had a throbbing headache for almost 48 hours. With the dentist appointment at 3pm that afternoon, we go to a park and I doze in the car for another five hours.

February 24th, Afternoon: Dentist appointment goes smoothly; they offer to start surgery, but I explain to them what happened with the renovation and they are perfectly fine postponing until a later date. By now, my feet hurt where the soles of my shoes have been rubbing. My ankles and knees are hurting from being crunched up inside a car for two days. My back hurts from all the lifting. I’m beyond miserable and realize there’s no way I could bare to spend 10 days living in this car. Thankfully, with the dentist appointment out of the way, it’s check in time. The hotel room is nice, but given I’ve never stayed in a hotel before, I don’t have much of a comparison. But when I fall asleep that night, I sleep harder and longer than I have in years.

February 25th: The elderly couple that lived below us at the apartment are here at the same hotel we are, and we talk to them. Turns out, the lady has the same doctor as my Mom, and they were rejected from his note, too. The approval they got for the hotel came from her husband’s doctor, who wrote an extremely detailed note about his oxygen needs. They mention that people living in our complex with disabilities weren’t housed here and they don’t know where they are or what happened to them. They also claim that the food provision stuff from the apartment front office is apparently some kind of a $45/day meal credit we get at the end of the renovation. But again, it’s still not clear, and the apartment itself has never clarified. That night, we return to the apartment again to raid our fridge for stuff to bring to the hotel. Now, if you remember, we were supposed to be able to sleep at the apartment every night. The apartment we returned to was in such a state that it would have been impossible to sleep in. No sinks, no toilets, no stove, no running water of any kind, and all of the outlets stripped down. Literally the only thing we could have done was sleep there; nothing else was possible. And even then, remember: no bedding. No pillows, no blankets, and it’s still winter out there.

Update on things I forgot: Also on the 25th, elderly couple in the unit below us also told of how the movers had thrown their $950 couch outside and left it in the dirt for multiple days, asking if it was “trash” because one of the washable seat covers had a single pet stain on it. (When we visited the apartment that night to raid the fridge, we even saw it) Not only that, but last year, our bathroom tub had been leaking in to one of their closets. They had to shut our water off for several days and fix the pipes. Apparently this caused black mold in their apartment that wasn’t discovered until they started hauling boxes out. Upon bringing it up with the renovation team, they got told “there’s black mold everywhere! it’s in the grass! it’s fine!” The husband went in to take pictures of the black mold, but by the time he got over there with the camera, the renovation team had already painted over it. Apparently another tenant on the other side of the complex had mold problems so bad that she’s been paid to stay at this hotel for more than a month already while they deal with it.

Which brings us, roughly, to today.

Now, the question I mentioned way back at the top: what are my options here, legally? A lot of friends have told me up and down that this is either illegal, or should be illegal, but I have no idea where to start with any of this stuff and frankly I’m a little gun shy. I don’t know what Nevada housing law is like, what renters rights are, and I don’t want to risk being evicted. But I also know that the threat of being evicted is also what keeps people complacent.

All I really know is that basically everything they originally told us was a lie, and they never informed us of most of these changes. As for the rest, well... just read for yourself.

Whatever you know, I’d like to know.

#renovation #timeline

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Galactica, Chapter 32 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: We know, these updates are slower recently. It’s intentional to give you time to catch up? Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Adore’s dreams came true, and Bianca was not pleased.

This Chapter: Katya struggles, Courtney turns a page, Violet works her ass off, and Trixie taps his best man.

***

“What do you have to say in your defense?”

An imposing man stood in front of Katya, she couldn’t recognize his face or his voice as he was wearing a mask. She couldn’t recognize the room she was in, she couldn’t move as she was tied into a chair, the chains digging into her skin as she tried to get away.

Katya looked around, the faces of all the people she loved most in the world looking at her. Pearl and Fame, Violet and Max, all of the children from her class, even her grandmother was there, all of them watching her, judging her.

“I… I…”

“Are you trying to deny that you have been drinking?”

“I haven’t, I haven’t, I swear!” Katya searched for Trixie with her eyes, desperately trying to find him, to locate her rock, the man who loved her, no matter what, but instead of Trixie, all of Katya’s loved ones’ faces merged into mirrors, forcing her to see herself for who she really was.

Katya realized why her children had been looking at her in disgust, her clothes were covered in what smelled like alcohol and pee, her tights were torn, her makeup smeared all across her face, making her look like a parody of the joker, her hair was disgusting and chunks of vomit were collected in it.

“Please! Please, this isn’t, this isn’t me anymore! I promise!”

“Katya Zamolodchikova.” The man stepped towards her.

“You have been found guilty on the charges of being a disgusting, worthless human being, and for that you will be punished.”

The man reached up and removed his mask, revealing… Trixie, making Katya burst into tears.

“Trix, please, please don’t do this to me! You love me! This isn’t who I am, not anymore!”

Katya was desperately fighting against her bonds now, trying to get free, if only she could get to Trixie she could explain, she could explain everything and he would hold her and kiss her again and they would be okay, but instead, Trixie only leaned forward, his face so close to hers that she could count the freckles on his nose.

“Please Trix.” Katya was sobbing now. “Please, I’m your wife.”

“Oh Katya, poor dumb little Katya, like anyone could ever love someone like you. Now drink up, it’s vodka, your favorite. Do svidaniya, bitch.”

Katya woke with a scream, her entire body covered in sweat, tears and snot streaming down her face.

***

Katya was like a doll in Trixie’s hands as he quickly undressed her, her spoiled pyjama bottoms and her shirt getting thrown into a corner of their hotel bathroom before Trixie helped Katya into the shower, the two of them standing under the spray together, silent tears still falling from Katya’s eyes, even if she had finally stopped shaking when she felt the hot water on her body, washing away the scent of urine and sweat.

Trixie had never seen Katya so scared before; she had nightmares, in fact she often had nightmares, but he couldn’t remember the last time she had wet the bed.

Katya finally, finally, finally stopped crying altogether while Trixie was washing her, the hot water and the lemony body scrub removing the last traces of her dream from her body.

They could hear the staff of the hotel out in their main room changing their sheets as Trixie had called them right before he got Katya into the bathroom.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

Trixie looked down at Katya. She looked so small with her wet hair and her red eyes, her shoulders slumped as she was fighting against her exhausted body to stay awake.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything, stuff like this happens. Remember when I shat myself because I ate that donut that had been sitting on my office desk for the weekend and you used your lunch break to bring me a new pair of pants?” Trixie smiled as Katya snorted, but that story usually made her double over in laughter.

“Katya,” Trixie gently pushed a strand of hair away from her face, “Are you okay?”

“No…” Katya’s voice was so small Trixie barely heard it over the sound of the water, but as soon as Katya had said the word, she started crying again.

“No?” Trixie felt panic creep into his body, but he pushed it down, he had to be there for Katya, and in that moment he made a decision.

“I’m taking the day off.”

“What?!” Katya looked up at Trixie. “No, no, you can’t. Trix, this is Pari-”

“I’m taking the day off. Fame will understand.”

“Fame is your boss, you have shows-”

“Fame loves you. We’re spending the day together. End of discussion.”

Katya smiled through her tears as she wrapped her arms around Trixie, the two of them standing together until the water turned cold.

***

Violet bit down a noise as Sutan moved, grabbing the ringing phone from the nightstand.

“Amrull speaking.”

Violet could hear how tired Sutan was, and she smiled as she cuddled even closer, draping herself over his chest. She was pleasantly sore, her body warm and relaxed.

“It’s 5:30, what do you think? Of course I’m fucking sleeping-”

Violet snorted, and Sutan looked down at her, a smile on his lips as he ran a hand through her hair.

“Yes, no, yes she’s here.”

Violet sat up on her elbows, the duvet falling off of her, and Sutan raised a brow, a smirk on his lips as he was very clearly looking at her breasts. Why was anybody asking for her on Sutan’s phone? Violet looked over at the table where she had been sitting last night, realizing with dread that she had forgotten her phone, the vibrations of it clearly not enough to wake her up.

“Yes that’s what normally happens when you share-” Sutan rolled his eyes. “I refuse to answer that. Yes, yes you can talk to her.”

Sutan held the phone out, and Violet took it. She quickly mouthed ‘who is it’ but Sutan just gestured for her to put it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Violet? Is that you?”

“Oh. Umh. Good morning Miss, is everything okay-”

“Spare me the pleasantries. Trixie has fucked us over.”

“... What?” Violet couldn’t believe what she had just heard. “I, what?”

“Apparently, when I tell my employee that he can have whatever he wants as an engagement present, that does not mean material goods or the watch I know he’s been looking at. Oh no, no no, it means a trip to some godforsaken tourist trap theme park during Fashion Week.”

“And what should I-”

“I need you to make new itineraries for everyone who’s covering his shows, making sure that no obligations are left undone.”

“I’m not sure I can-” Violet could feel her throat close up. She had no idea what Trixie’s schedule was, had no idea what Trixie even normally did during Fashion Week. He was the only one who didn’t have an assistant, so she couldn’t even call anybody.

“Violet, how long have you been working as my assistant?”

“A- about a year and a half?” Violet usually had a pretty good idea of where Fame was going most of the time, being her first and only assistant meaning that she had to be two steps ahead, but right now, this could go in every direction.

“Then you have plenty of experience.”

“I-”

“Make this work. I refuse to end this week with a dissapointment. That’s all.”

Fame had hung up before Violet could probably process what the other woman had just said. Violet could feel her heart beating faster and faster, as panic tried to creep its way into her body, her thoughts swirling around in her head as she tried to make sense of everything.

“I-”

She needed to get out of the bed, needed to move, needed to go for a run, to do something, anything, but then, she felt an arm sneak around her waist.

“So,” Violet suddenly realised that Sutan was still there, that she was still in bed. “I know you’re probably stressed-” Sutan took his phone, Violet not even realising that she had still held it pressed to her ear. “But there will be no crises before 7 am.”

“Oh?”

Sutan’s statement was so ridiculous that Violet was momentarily pulled out of her panic, a smug smirk on his face.

“Oh yes.” Sutan nodded, looking completely serious. “It’s simply not allowed.”

“Well, if it’s not allowed…”

“It’s not.” Sutan pulled her down, almost forcing her to cuddle, but as Violet laid her head down on Sutan’s chest, the steady beating of his heart in her ear, she felt herself relax more and more.

“Sutan?”

“Yes lovely eyes?” Sutan’s eyes were already closed, and Violet knew he probably had every intention of going back to sleep, but he was also gently petting her shoulder, his thumb slowly running over her skin.

“Thank you.”

***

The more Courtney thought about Willam, the less sad she got. She wasn’t sad at all, in fact. She was angry--she was furious. How fucking dare he?

She’d been in a bit of a daze on Thursday, still in disbelief over the whole thing, but Friday was another story entirely. She ripped through her to do list like a beast, fueled by rage, and even began a few organizational projects of her own. The best motherfucking assistant ever, she told herself as she printed out new, color-coded labels for the filing cabinet.

“Heyyy…” a soft voice drawled from the doorway, and Courtney looked up to see Alaska in a stunning blue plaid skirt suit.

“Hi!” Courtney said cheerfully, giving her a little wave from the floor, where she was affixing the labels to the new folders.

“I just wanted to check on you. I meant to come by yesterday, but things just got-”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m fine,” Courtney insisted.

“Are you sure? Because that was-”

“He’s a dickhead, I’m lucky I found out when I did. Thanks for looking out for me,” Courtney said emphatically.

“Okay, well, then...you’re welcome.” Alaska paused before before asking, “And you’re sure you’re alright?”

“Totally alright,” Courtney said. “I didn’t really like him all that much to begin with, so...good riddance, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so,” Alaska said. “Well listen, I’m popping downstairs to grab a coffee, can I get you anything?”

“No thanks!” Courtney looked back down, her full concentration on centering the label perfectly before she pressed it down.

“Okay. See you around, Court!”

***

It wasn’t that Sutan had a problem with it per say, but he wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about the fact that it seemed like he’d have to start getting used to waking up a lot earlier than he’d like if he wanted to have Violet in his life.

He was sitting on the couch in his and Violet’s hotel room, drinking his morning coffee, watching as Violet was on the phone, her planner open as she was scheduling away.

He hadn’t really listened to Fame’s call, had only made out a word here and there, but he had felt Violet’s anxiety, Fame a very unpleasant person to be around when she was in the mood to ruin someone's day.

He had expected Violet to be a wreck when he had woken up again, had mentally allocated his morning to help her deal with whatever Fame had decided to throw her way, but as he had gotten out of bed, Violet was already fully dressed and seemed like she was handling everything on her own.

Strangely enough, it seemed like she was fine, and if he was being honest, it was beyond attractive.

***

“Mmh-” Katya opened her mouth, biting off the entire ear of the Mickey Mouse marshmallow she had just purchased. “Oh my god!”

Katya’s eyes widened as she was hit with an instant wave of strawberry sweetness, the marshmallow absolutely perfect in her mouth.

Her feet were achingly sore, but it didn’t matter because she was at the happiest place on earth.

“Trix!” Katya turned, practically thrusting it towards him, “You have to try this!”

“Aaah,” Trixie smirked, opening his mouth, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Katya giggled, feeding the entire treat to him, even though she had only meant to give him a single bite.

“Mmh!” Trixie’s eyes widened as well, and Katya felt her heart flutter, few things cuter than when Trixie enjoyed his food.

They were wearing matching Mickey ears, Katya’s backpack filled with little treats and souvenirs for her students. Katya sometimes forgot that her boyfriend, no, fiancé, was a Department Head at a widely renowned fashion house because he usually had such simple tastes, but today he had swung his card left and right, buying everything Katya had put her eye on.

Trixie finished the treat, and Katya leaned forward, pressing a kiss against Trixie’s sugar sweet lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Trixie grinned, and Katya couldn’t believe how lucky she was, kissing the man she loved on a Disney bench.

“Now, Ms. Zamolchikova-“

“Yes?” Katya smiled.

“Are you ready for the haunted mansion?” he asked, making his voice as spooky as possible.

“Please.” Katya snorted. “I’m Russian. Nothing can scare me.”

***

“Princess?” Raja waited for a beat, her voice ringing through their hotel suite, her fingers tapping on the nightstand, but she didn’t receive a reply. “Raven?”

“Mmh?”

Raja almost rolled her eyes at the lazy, non committed sound. They were flying home that afternoon, and Raja was packing everything up, Raven’s mountain of suitcases neatly stacked in the corner.

“Have you seen my earrings?” Raja knew she had left the diamonds on the nightstand, the jewels the last thing she needed to tuck away.

“Your earrings?”

“Yes, my earrings.”

“No.” Raven drawled. “Haven’t seen them.”

“Raven-” Raja rarely, if ever, got annoyed with Raven, but right now, it seemed like her fiancée insisted on pushing every single button she had.

Raja knew she had promised to spend their last day in Paris with her, that they had planned a day of good food, drinks and luxury shopping, but since Fame had allowed Trixie to take the day off, Raja had been forced to work, Raven therefor going by herself to the several boutiques Paris had to offer.

“Don’t lie to me.” Raja stepped out of the bedroom, “You know exactly where-”

Raja stopped dead in her tracks, the sight of her fiance taking her by complete surprise.

Raven was lying on the white couch, one hand under her chin, her legs in the air, her black hair spilling over her shoulders and back as she was lazily flipping through this month's issue of British Vogue, looking for photos of herself.

She was completely naked, her perfect ass on full display, her tits pressed against the velvet of the couch.

“Yes?”

“Are those,” Raja coughed, her mouth dry. “Are those my earrings?”

“These?” Raven looked up, a pair of diamonds dangling from her ears. “Perhaps.” She smiled, closing the magazine. “Why don’t you come check?”

***

Fame took a deep breath as she stepped out of the airport. She was exhausted, the flight home from Paris long and harrowing with upsettingly high turbulence, though everyone else had argued there hadn’t been any.

Violet was still in Paris, her assistant unable to get on Fame’s flight because her ticket got booked last minute, so she had called for her car herself, her driver already on his way thanks to Patrick.

“Uh!” Fame looked to her right, Pearl raising her hand, her black Gucci luggage at her feet. “Taxi!”

She had been sitting with Pearl on the flight, her hand holding the blonde’s the entire time, but now that her feet were firmly back on the ground in her own continent, Fame realized that she had completely neglected to address the rumor she had heard.

“Pearl,” Fame grabbed the collar of Pearl’s jacket, the fact that they were in public the only reason she hadn’t smacked Pearl’s velour-covered ass, the knowledge that the high-waisted tracksuit pants were Prada not enough to make them something Fame approved of.

“You’re coming with me.” Fame pointed to her car. “I need to go over the new website design.”

“Hmm?” Pearl smirked, and if Fame had been anyone else, she would have felt embarrassed about how obvious her lie was. “Message received, Miss.”

Pearl followed behind Fame, her driver putting their luggage in the trunk as they waved goodbye to Raja and Raven, Fame texting Patrick that she was on her way home as the driver rolled the partition up, the engine starting when she felt a hand on her thigh.

“So…website design, huh?” Pearl asked, and Fame turned her head to see a teasing glint in her eyes. “You know, Miss, we did just spend 7 hours together.”

“Because the mile high club is so my brand.” Fame knew she sounded sour, but she was still a little surprised at how abruptly Pearl stopped, her hand freezing on her thigh.

“Wait,” Pearl’s brow furrowed. “Do you actually want to discuss work?”

“Of course not.” Fame rolled her eyes, looking directly at Pearl. “I know that you’re toying with Adore Delano.”

Fame had expected it to be a reveal, for Pearl to look at least somewhat embarrassed, but instead, Pearl simply smiled.

“Oh, that.” Pearl laughed, “Since when do you care who I toy with? Are you jealous?”

Pearl grinned, her perfectly white teeth on display.

“I know who you are,” Fame said, touching her chest, “but Adore is someone I care about,”

“Please.” Pearl gave a good-natured eye roll and sat back against the seat, her hands slipping away from Fame’s thigh, the blonde clearly preparing for a lecture.

“Adore is sensitive and trusting, and doesn’t have the good sense to reject your charms like Violet.”

Fame knew Pearl thought she had been subtle, but Fame had noticed how much she had flirted with her first assistant, and had even seen how Violet had blushed, though thankfully though, nothing had come of the ridiculous situation.

“Mmmh.” Pearl looked weirdly injured, her lips pressed together, and Fame felt her heart soften, Pearl so obviously caring about Adore in her own way.

“I just,” Fame reached out, touching Pearl’s arm. “I don’t want you hurting her, Pearl. Adore is, Adore’s...” Fame knew that it was Adore’s story to tell, that she didn’t have the right to share all the things she knew about her from Bianca, but it was so hard to stay silent. “She’s-”

“Listen.” Pearl put her hand on top of Fame’s. “Don’t worry about Adore, she’s a big girl, and so am I.”

“Pearl, be serious please.”

“We’re, you know, we’re having a good time. She’s a good time. It’s not that serious.”

“Does she know that?” Fame rubbed her thumb, gently petting Pearl. She cared so deeply for the blonde - Pearl, one of the few people she felt truly comfortable around, but that didn’t mean she was blind to her flaws.

“She follows me on Twitter. She knows who I am,” Pearl laughed, resting a hand lightly on Fame’s thigh. “Tell Bianca to stop worrying.”

Fame’s eyes narrowed. The fact that Pearl had just assumed this message came from Bianca was annoying, even if it was mostly right. “Watch your mouth.”

“Sorry...Miss.” Pearl fluttered her lashes innocently.

“Just be nice to her, okay?” Fame sighed, shifting her gaze out the window. She supposed she should just let this fling, or whatever it was, run its course.

“I’m always nice.” Pearl smirked, leaning in for a kiss.

***

Pearl opened the door, finally home, flinging her bags to the ground.

“Hey Pearlie! Welcome home!”

Pearl grinned, making her way to the kitchen where Trixie was standing at the stove, stirring what appeared to be a big pot of tomato sauce, meatballs simmering away in a pan beside it.

Pearl loved Europe, but she hated traveling back, everyone leaving on different flights, though she wasn’t about to complain at the fact that Trixie had returned home first.

“Where’s Katya-Kat?”

Pearl had been planning on treating the happy couple to dinner in Paris the night before, but Trixie and Katya had canceled to live their Adult Disney fantasy, and then left the hotel at the crack of dawn to get on the earlier flight home.

“She’s in the bedroom, scrapbooking.”

“Oh no, is it that bad?” Pearl asked, suddenly concerned. Katya loved arts and crafts, but scrapbooking was a sign that she was deeply troubled. Pearl felt guilty--fashion week was such a whirlwind, she hadn’t really been checking in with her friends much.

“It’s been a rough week,” Trixie admitted.

“Shit. Should I leave her alone then?”

“You can go in. I think she’ll be happy to see you.”

With a slightly relieved sigh, Pearl walked over to her bedroom, knocking softly on the door.

“Come in,” Katya said, her face breaking into a huge smile when Pearl pushed open the door. “Pearlie!”

“Hey girl!” Pearl surveyed the bed, where Katya was sitting cross-legged surrounded by stickers and photos and an array of crafting supplies.

“Come here and hug me!” Katya demanded, and Pearl laughed.

“I don’t want to mess up your whole situation…”

“I said come!”

Pearl climbed onto the bed and wrapped her friend up into a huge hug, settling in to watch as Katya explained her scrapbooking process. After a few minutes, Trixie appeared in the doorway, a soft smile playing on his lips as he observed the girls for a few moments before clearing his throat.

“Hey...mind if I steal Ms. Liaison? I could use some help in the kitchen.”

“I can help!” Katya chirped.

“Uh uh, no way. You relax, I told you! You’re not lifting a finger tonight,” he chided. He put his hands on his hips, attempting to look serious, cutting Katya’s next statement off with, “And that’s final!”

Katya giggled, leaning back against the pillows, rolling her eyes slightly. “Yes, sir.”

Pearl pressed a soft kiss to Katya’s cheek and slid off the bed to follow Trixie into the kitchen.

“I hope this kitchen help is for me to stand around watching and maybe drink, because that’s all I’m qualified for.”

“Actually, I have something kind of important to ask you.” Trixie put an arm around Pearl’s shoulders and squeezed, guiding her towards the kitchen table.

“Oh yeah?” Pearl swiped a piece of carrot from the cutting board and popped it into her mouth. “What’s up?”

“Well… You know we’re engaged now. And we haven’t set a date or anything, but I was thinking about the wedding, and all that and...uh...will you be my best man?” Trixie’s big brown eyes looked as hopeful and bright as a little boy. Pearl would normally laugh at such an embarrassing display of sincerity, but somehow Trixie made it cute.

“Your best man? You know I’m a woman, right?” Pearl teased, pretending to think it over, as if there was any answer to this besides ‘yeah dude of course!’

“I know, but you’re my best bro. And come on...can you imagine like...Max, planning a bachelor party?”

“Oh god, what a disaster.”

“Exactly!” Trixie laughed.

“Well...okay then. Anything for you...bro.” Pearl gave him a light punch on the shoulder.

Trixie grinned, sweeping her up into a hug.

“You’re such a fucking sap, I can’t even deal with you,” Pearl said, voice muffled by his shoulder, but in spite of her words, she hugged him back just as tightly.

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #trixya #vitan #raja x raven #katya zamolodchikova #trixie mattel #raja gemini #miss fame #courtney act #alaska thunderfuck #raven #pearl liaison #lesbian au #m/f au #fashion au

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meta-squash · 4 years ago

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Your ADHD procrastination post has really stroke a nerve with me. I've had the same issue for years, but thought it's normal for everyone. Since about a year or so, I've been wondering if I may have an undiagnosed ADHD along diagnosed conditions. If it's not too personal, how else ADHD manifests in you? I hope it's okay to ask. I love hearing women's stories about ADHD because they are much different than the stereotypical image of it...

It’s not too personal! (FYI I go by they/them pronouns, but I am afab; it’s all good though!) Also, this got VERY long, I’m sorry! I’m verbose and have a lot to say, apparently.

So I personally have a weird relationship with ADHD. I was diagnosed with it (or some sort of attention deficit thing) when I was in like 3rd or 4th grade. I was briefly medicated but I think I was on Ritalin (I forget) and my child body couldn’t handle it; I was a zombie during the day and then when it wore off at night I was Evil and freaked out and wanted to fight everything. So I went off it pretty quick and didn’t get medicated after, presumably because my parents thought my ADHD wasn’t bad enough.

The reason they probably thought that is because my brother has Really Bad ADHD. Like, all the classic stereotypical symptoms and characteristics to the extreme: never shuts the fuck up, really damn loud all the time, extremely high energy, can learn pretty much anything in about 5 seconds but can’t actually hang on to an interest really (now that he’s an adult he can, but not as a kid), can’t sit still or pay attention in class, doesn’t finish homework, etc etc. I was able to mask mine and function enough to get through school just riding pretty much on my humanities grades alone. It sucked a lot but I somehow did it. I had an IEP (Individual Education Plan, which is a US school thing for kids with learning disabilities and such that allows for accommodations and assistance in school) but it didn’t do much except I think give me extra time on math tests because of my dyscalculia (I was in Special Ed Math my whole grade school career). My mother is an OT but I also think that (as you said) ADHD in afab people often manifests differently than in amab people, so I guess my parents just didn’t know what to look for and that’s why I never really got the same help as my brother.

I like to jokingly categorize ADHD into two distinct but overlapping types: Fast ADHD and Mush Brain ADHD. Fast ADHD (in my opinion; this may vary from person to person) is the classic stereotype symptoms. Fast ADHD’s focus problem is too much happening all at once. Lots of thoughts and ideas flying by and you get distracted mid-thought with another thought, or your train of thought gets really crazy but is super fast so your reply to someone’s comment might not make much sense to anyone else because they weren’t privy to your brain’s journey, or you go down a focus worm-hole and sit and do One Thing all day and forget to surface for things like food/water/bathroom. Fast ADHD has more energy (though when paired with depression that usually manifests as restlessness or anxiety) and is quicker to pick up new things. Mush Brain ADHD is kind of the opposite. Thoughts take longer, or you think of something and then it almost immediately disappears (for example, scrolling a website, seeing something that you want to google, you scroll for like 5 more seconds and think “wait, I completely forget what I was going to look up”). With Mush Brain ADHD it’s harder to have conversations because thought-to-mouth time is slower, rather than (with Fast Brain) lots of stuff is going on up there. Mush Brain often feels like, well, mush and like you can’t really form thoughts very well if you want to do stuff. It’s like you’re trying to focus on thinking a thought but it just slides away. Another way I’d describe it is having thoughts but it’s like they’re on a blackboard and they’re being erased as you think them, so they end up mostly smears. Obviously, this is just based on my own experiences as a Mush Brain ADHD person while my brother has Fast Brain ADHD, so this might be different for other people.

Both have lots of overlaps: executive dysfunction (that’s the big one), insomnia, auditory processing problems, hyperfixation (which is not a bad thing! I love my hyperfixations! They’re fun!), absolutely crap organizational skills, constantly losing things, really bad perception of time, detachment from the world (like you drift off into your own daydream, or things feel distant, but not quite the same as depersonalization/dissociating), difficulty making choices, sensory processing disorder, crap abilities with money, rejection sensitive dysphoria, and often comorbid mental illnesses like depression, OCD, anxiety, dyscalculia/dyslexia, etc.

Oh, and a lot of ADHD characteristics also overlap with depression characteristics (and a lot of people with ADHD have comorbid depression, so it really doesn’t help).

But I can tell you about my own experiences with some of these.

The Big One which is basically what that schrodingers motivation post is about, is executive dysfunction. People also call it procrastination (it only kind of is) or inertia. Basically, executive dysfunction is where the difficulty lies in starting the task. You want to do something, but you just can’t get going to do it. You get sort of paralyzed. It even happens with things you like. For example, when I made that post, there was a short (just over 100 pgs) book I wanted to read before the end of the day. It’s a good book! It’s on my reading list! I want to read it! But I just sat on my computer and watched dumb youtube videos because that’s what I was already doing and executive dysfunction makes starting tasks really hard. This happens to me a lot. It can happen with reading a book, or getting up to go to the store and buy groceries, or making a meal, or watching a movie. The movie-watching one happens to me a lot. Basically it’s the brain struggling to switch tasks; you’re scrolling tumblr, and that’s what your brain is focused on, and it doesn’t know how to switch from doing that to doing your bio homework or folding the laundry or whatever the task may be. This happens with “bigger” or more complex tasks too, like starting an art project or starting a new book, because your brain has to figure out all the components of that task (I need these items for my project and this amount of time and I need to use them in this order) which is overwhelming, or it needs to comprehend how “big” the task is (how much time/concentration should I try and commit to in order to read this book) which is sometimes hard to gauge. Oh, also this can happen if you’re interrupted in the middle of a task, whether it’s to do another thing or just to answer a question or something; it’s hard to get back to it because it’s another kind of switching tasks. Aside from the blackboard-being-wiped-thoughts, this is my biggest ADHD problem. I can go more into how I dealt with executive dysfunction in college and now if you want!

Auditory processing issues is another thing that I deal with, although to a lesser extent than some people. It just means it’s harder for your brain to process sounds/talking. Part of this, for me, is because if someone is talking to me but there’s other noises (music, other conversations, general loudish ambiance) going on around us, my brain treats them all as equally important and I can’t focus in on the person talking. Another part for me is in my experience I seem to process conversation different from explanation. If I’m talking back and forth with someone about something and it’s not terribly important, I’m fine. If they’re trying to explain something to me, give me instructions, or read a passage of text to me, it just does not stick in my brain. If I’m helping my best friend with her grad school applications, I have to read the sentence she’s asking me check, I can’t have her read it to me. If she does read it to me, I’ve realized that I try to imagine the words as text in my head so I comprehend it better (it doesn’t always work). Auditory processing issues means that a lot of my conversations in public with people who are not my close friends (and therefore easier to pick out from the noise because familiar and/or easier to predict because familiar) are filled with a lot of me going “what?” Retail conversations with customers are slightly easier because there’s at least a mild “script” that they’ll stick to, usually.

Another one I experience is organizational problems. This one was bad enough that I actually went to a tutor-like thing to help me with it for most of grade school. Basically, I had no ability to organize tasks like doing homework or other activities, so things would get forgotten/lost/never even written in the calendar/etc. I couldn’t do projects because I couldn’t (and still kinda can’t) organize far enough into the future. I didn’t know how to break the project down across multiple days or weeks and make it manageable without totally forgetting pieces of it. I’d forget to write down homework when the teacher wrote it on the board, or I’d write it down but forget to do it. Or I’d do it but misplace it or leave it at home. My perception of time was also really crap; I couldn’t read an analogue clock until I was in maybe 6th grade? Even now I sometimes have trouble. It was hard to know how much time I had to allot to certain projects because I didn’t really have good perception of how hours fit in the day and how much time until homework is due and stuff. (Which meant lots of finishing things in class minutes before I had to turn it in and stuff. Once in uni I completely forgot to do an Entire Essay; luckily it wasn’t a class I needed to graduate.)

Along with this is losing EVERYTHING. I misplace things CONSTANTLY. I’ll put something that’s in my hand down to get a cup of tea or something, or even just to like, move a blanket, and I’ll forget where I put it. I’ve solved this problem with Important Things (wallet, phone, and keys always go next to my bed, for example, and rarely move from there if they’re not in my pocket. All important papers go in my Important Papers Folder as soon as soon as possible) but I lose regular stuff all the time. I’ll be working on an art project, I’ll put my glue stick down to reach for a piece of paper, and lose the glue stick in the time it takes to pull the paper towards me. The other day I was brushing my teeth and I put the toothbrush cover down to say hello to the cat and forgot where I had put it down once I had followed her to the next room. When things have a Place it’s easier, but I’ve learned to live with going “Where the FUCK did I put this thing? I had it a second ago!” at least once a day.

The “Mush” in “Mush Brain” is another big one for me. I don’t know if this has, like, a name? Or anything? It’s just what I call it. The best description for it would either be that blackboard description from above, or like you’re struggling to get to a thought through a lot of mud. Oftentimes I’ll have a sort of concept of a thought but not something full, and I know it’s there, but I can’t get to it. This is really apparent when I’m trying to remember a synonym for something, or trying to elaborate on certain concepts or pull ideas from texts. It doesn’t happen all the time. I was an English lit major in uni, so this affected me a lot back then. It’s sort of a similar feeling to reading the same sentence over and over and not registering the words, except it’s in your own brain instead. This kind of goes away for me when I’m writing/typing. Writing this out is easy (minus me forgetting the word executive dysfunction for like 5 minutes) but if you were asking me to explain this aloud I would struggle, probably. This is probably because I can stare at what I’ve written to see what’s missing or edit my thoughts, which I can’t do while I’m speaking, and also can’t do to other people’s interactions with me.

Just a general inability to focus is also one I struggle with. It goes with the “mush brain” to an extent but I think it’s different. It’s more like my brain doesn’t want to, well, focus on anything. If I’m just messing around on my laptop, that means I end up clicking back and forth between tabs endlessly because nothing is holding my interest. If I’m trying to read or do anything “intellectual” or “academic” it means I just can’t get myself to read or I can’t keep my thoughts on what I’m trying to write no matter how hard I try. Nothing holds my interest for long enough, it’s like brain restlessness. I try and concentrate on doing something, watching something, reading something, and my brain just slides away from it.

Rejection sensitive dysphoria is something I experience on a more minor level. It’s something that also overlaps with anxiety and depression. Basically, it’s a really intense emotional reaction to (perceived) rejection. For example, if my best friend says something to me with a certain tone or gets mad at me for doing something minor, my brain just goes “She hates you! She doesn’t want to be friends with you! You should isolate in your room and never speak to anyone again because you’re so annoying and terrible!” I know that’s mostly incorrect (although I also know I’m quite annoying and that’s another ADHD characteristic; knowing you’re annoying someone in some way and having no idea how to stop) so I can fight it but sometimes I do end up holing up in my room for a little bit. Things like criticism (whether towards you or towards, like, an essay or something) can also trigger this reaction. So can things like having an expectation that you’ll be good at something, and then failing at it or just not being as good as you’d hoped. (I developed a sort of defense mechanism for this one of never expecting to be good at things and never expect higher than a C in a class.) It also can come with a sense of feeling inferior around people doing similar things. It happens to me a lot here on tumblr, actually, because I’ll write a meta about something, and then read someone else’s good meta on the same thing, and feel like I’m an idiot and they’re really smart and nothing that I wrote was insightful or good. It happened to me in uni a lot too. It also happens to me kind of...secondhand, now. What I mean is, my best friend/roommate is extremely smart. Like genuinely one of the smartest people I know and an incredible thinker, straight A’s at uni in a degree she created, etc. She still gets imposter syndrome herself and feels like she’s not smart, and when she says she’s not smart, I feel bad for her but I also feel really terrible about myself, because if she thinks she’s stupid, then what am I? But again, it’s an overreaction to perceived rejection. It still sucks though.

There’s some evidence that ADHD comes with a whacked out sleep schedule. And not just insomnia (although that too, I know this because it’s 7am and I haven’t slept yet lol), but also Delayed Sleep Phase Disorder. Which basically means that most people’s circadian rhythms start slowing down so they’ll go to sleep around like 11pm-1am-ish, give or take. ADHD circadian rhythms are shifted so often we start getting tired around 3am or even 4 or 5am. (This is different from insomnia, btw, with DSPD you can fall asleep fairly easily, you just get tired later in the night; with insomnia it’s an inability to or difficulty in falling asleep quickly.) I always thought I’d just gotten my dad’s night owl genes, but it’s more likely that it’s the ADHD. I also have at least mild insomnia and it takes me a million years to fall asleep a lot of the time.

Hyperfixations are the Fun part of having ADHD (in my opinion). They can get in the way sometimes but they’re also really comforting and nice. Hyperfixations happen when you find an interest and it’s basically all you want to think or talk about, and you relate to the world through it, and you want to learn everything about it. It’s also a characteristic of autism. I’m not autistic, so I don’t know if there are major differences between ADHD hyperfixation experiences and autism ones. Anyway, often hyperfixations stick with you for a good amount of time, depending on the strength, and then you might find something else to focus on. Some of my hyperfixations have lasted a few months, some up to 4 years. A lot of ADHD people rotate through the same or similar ones. For example, a hyperfixation I had back in 2011-2014/15ish was Les Miserables. I then found a different thing to hyperfixate on. This past year I have returned to Les Mis. Hyperfixations are usually pretty cool, because it’s usually something you really like and enjoy learning about or doing and it’s kind of like the thing your brain would rather be doing/focusing on.

Personally, I’ve lived so long without ADHD medication that I’m fairly functional without it just due to coming up with personal adaptations and stuff. The thing that I have the hardest time with/that upsets me the most is the Mush Brain part, which also gets worse when my depression gets worse. I really would love to have clear, quick thoughts whenever I want. It’s frustrating to hold a conversation or try to write creatively and quickly when it takes forever for thoughts to fully crystallize in my brain and then come out my mouth or fingers. Right now I don’t have very good health insurance (all blame to covid layoffs) so I can’t really do the meds thing but I often wish I could. My ADHD is definitely not as intense or severe as some people’s. I have friends, and also my brother, who struggle a lot more than I do, and with different things

Holy hell this was so long. Feel free to message me if you have any questions! Or if you want me to elaborate on some of the things I do to deal with stuff.

#asks #squash rambles #wow i'm so sorry #as an adhd person i know that is a lot of text to read #i'm too verbose for my own disorder lol #seronility #adhd

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copiouscouples · 5 years ago

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Lots o’ Random Thoughts on Good Girls

I want to start off by saying I’m a massive fan of this show. There are many things about this show that I love: Ruby, Beth, and Annie, season 1, Brio chemistry, the humorous moments, Stan and Ruby’s love. Good Girls and This Is Us are the only shows I bother to watch live. I’m committed and hopeful about what the season may bring.

That said. Some of the following points may seem a little negative. Some of them are just shower thoughts/observations.

The writers seem very millennial and very SJW. The Beyonce references, Plan B, anti-guns, talk of slut shaming, etc are all kind of hot button words/phrases of the millennial SJW crowd.

The girls aversion to guns is ridiculous at this point. They want to make counterfeit cash and have ex-cons do their dirty work. Scaring a guy about contacting his parole officer is gonna work with like one guy. They’re gonna need guns if they want to be successful. It’s like saying you want to be an astronaut but don’t want to use a rocket to get to outer space.

Annie/Beth seem like they are borderline white trash or come from white trash - the heavy drinking, Annie’s content with living in squalor, the lowbrow and inappropriate sexual humor (Beth laughing at Kenny’s beef stroganoff joke at the dinner table - a) not really funny and b) gross - it really bothers me when little kids are exposed to that kind of humor), the bad parenting (both from their parents - why was Beth driving to get groceries at 14? and the fact that neither is that great of a mom - Annie’s kid parents her and Beth’s kids are straight up rude and ill-mannered and she doesn’t say boo)

I still root for Annie and I’m excited about her getting her GED and becoming a paramedic. I hope she doesn’t give up just because her therapist is in a relationship.

I don’t know how I feel about Stan’s criminal prowess yet. I love to see him be so good at it, but I kind of miss the old Stan (although not the naggy, guilt-trippy Stanley). It’s OK to have a conscience. It keeps us from doing things we’ll regret.

Beth’s total lack of care for how her home looks drives me batty. There are three kinds of people in this world those that clean for company, those that have a spic and span home 24/7, and those that don’t care at all. Neat freaks don’t stop being neat freaks because they get a job. That scene in Rio’s apartment. She was eating up how clean and organized it was. I miss that side of Beth.

It boils down to the inconsistent writing. Two seasons, Beth is a cleaning/organizational wiz. The next season she’s not. Two seasons, Beth feels betrayed, lied to, and unappreciated by Dean. The next season the romance is rekindled. Two seasons, Beth and Rio have a weird, somewhat romantically-charged kind of mentor/mentee relationship going. The next season she’s hiring a hit man. Two seasons, Stan is a loyal, loving, good-hearted man who struggles with his wife’s criminal activity. The next season he’s totes cool with doing crime himself. Where you going with this writers?

Did they assume that they were going to get canceled at the end of season 2? Is that why they did the shooting?

They did not have appropriate build up for the shooting last season with all the romantical times with Brio. If it had been just the bathroom hookup, I wouldn’t consider their relationship romantic. But the Dubby? Leaving her her favorite drink? The saltiness of her blocking his calls? Her saltiness at him not kissing her in his apartment? The dots were not connected well. When Rio was shot, we should’ve been like, oh, I see it. I get why that happened. Instead of WTF? Things can be shocking and still make sense.

Compare GG to This Is Us. They have random stuff all the time that you’re not sure how it will connect, but throughout the episode/season they connect the dots and you get it.

This season? After what happened to Lucy? I could see a case for them wanting to kill Rio. I can see now why Beth wants him dead (and it breaks my Brio loving heart). Last season, it just felt so random and out of the blue.

I think Rio is gonna die this season. All roads point to Rio getting shot again. Unless something drastic happens.

I think in the first two seasons Rio was “initiating” her into his gang. He had her doing things to prove she was loyal to him. But that said he went a lot easier on her than he likely did anyone else.

This season Rio is just mad. And I miss the flirty banter between Beth and Rio. I understand why he’s so angry but I wish they could go back to a time when she hadn’t tried to kill him/wasn’t actively trying to hire a hitman.

I love Brio, but even before Beth shot him I never had any hopes for a HEA for them. At best, I could see them going all Bonnie and Clyde.

It’s hard to see a path for them romantically. But that doesn’t stop me from hoping they’ll smoosh booties again one day. As long as Rio is alive, my hope for Brio still lives. Sad, I know, but true.

#nbc good girls #good girls nbc #brio

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omgreading · 4 years ago

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2020 Goals Update #182: June 30th

Watched two episodes of Avatar: The Last Airbender

Read P.S. I Still Love You for 2h 40m 4s and read 269 pages, finishing the book

Went to bed

Tidied my bathroom a little and moved out a shelf I don’t need

Tidied in the living room

Watched a few episodes of Queer Eye S4 with my mom while we waited for the packages to arrive

Began pairing down some of our kitchen items

Took a nap on the couch

Watched a few more episodes of Queer Eye S4

Wrote over half a page in my journal

Today was a great day. I finished my book before I went to bed because I was worried I wouldn’t have as much time to read it during the day. I didn’t get as much sleep as I wanted, but I still had fun hanging out with my mom and puppers. I was supposed to have a Collaborate meeting for my German class today, but I skipped it. They get recorded. I just felt awful this morning and I didn’t have the energy to get my desk space cleaned up or sit in the meeting. I’ll definitely watch the session tomorrow. We knew a lot of packages were coming today. I ordered a bunch of organizational shelving on top of bookshelves and then some smaller items, so most of that was delivered today. We were going to try and get a lot setup today, but a frustrating moment with my blinds just shut that all down and we chilled instead. We did small tidying up here and there, but spent most of the time chilling. I am trying to use this downtime we have to setup my room and the rest of the house so it is the best and most productive space for all of us. I am extremely messy and disorganized and I am tired of being that way. I hope by the middle of July, when all of the things are supposed to have arrived, I will have a completely different space in my room.

Tomorrow is my mom’s 51st birthday!!! I wish we could go do something fun or hang out all day, but we have so much stuff to do around the house and have a lighter school load this week, that we just have to work on the house. I hope we still have fun getting it all setup though!! I also have to find time to work on my German exercises tomorrow. I need to start another book, it will probably be the last book in the To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before series or Americanah, my bookclub read for July.

How was your June? What do you look forward to the most in July?

#booklr #bookblr #bibliophile #bookworm #bookish #2020goals #2020update #tatbilb #ps i still love you #p.s. i still love you #queer eye #avatar the last airbender #omgfamily #organizing my room #omgposts #text #americanah

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peachyteabuck · 6 years ago

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study buddy, pt iii

series summary: after crushing on you since freshman orientation, Natasha finally gets the guts to ask you help you pass her postmodern lit midterm, to which you agree.

chapter summary: after an eventful night, there are things you have to accomplish at the library...alone.

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 4,365

trigger warnings: explicit talk of sex work, heavy sexting, smut (incl. fingering, oral sex (F receiving), strap ons, mdlg, humiliation), angst if you REALLY squint

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

part one, part two

You and Natasha stayed like that, her entire body wrapped tightly around you. After sleeping alone for basically the entirety of college, you enjoyed the closeness. It was hard to fall asleep, given how intimate you were to someone you’ve been fantasizing about for, you know, forever. Natasha fell asleep first, mouth pressed onto the back of your neck and hand laying across your waist. When her breath evened against your burning skin and you found the perfect angle to admire the posters on her wall, your own eyes droop closed (what can you say, being the little spoon makes you feel...safe. Also, you hadn’t had sex in a long time and you’re very tired of the mix of solitude and the post-orgasm haze).

When your weekend morning alarm went off, it took everything inside of you not to throw it against the far wall. You played softball for one season in eighth grade and still had pretty good aim, you could probably hit the very center of a beat-up dart board about four feet up from the round. Luckily, you were able to constrain yourself enough to just hit snooze a few times.

Natasha, annoyed by your overly-adorable alarm song (hey, Ed Sheeran is a great artist to wake up to! The guitar calms you as the reality of the crushing weight of your own self-expectations crashes upon you), pushed you to get out of bed. “C’mon, babe you definitely have something to do. And that’s like, one of his worst songs and I need it to stop.”

You shrugged. The Google calendar alert that flashed across your screen notifies that you did, indeed, have to get up and do something. You groaned at the thought of being productive, flopping back down while you told yourself that Zizek would want you to do stay in bed.

Isn’t the only way to defeat capitalism to become unproductive? You’re studying for the next quiz, you tell yourself, even as Natasha starts pushing at the bottom of your spine to get you off the mattress. You’re just experimenting with different ways of destroying the most invasive and deadly economic system. Wait...is capitalism just an economic system, or is it more of a way of life? Can capitalism merely be described as an organizational system and a way to categorize the exchange of goods and services for monetary compensation without influence from government(s)? And like, do humans control the market, or the does the market simply own us like little pawns or a bunch of dumb, yappy puppies? What even is the market? Is the market a finite thing or is it some indescribable, infinite theory? Is it, like the universe, becoming infinitely larger by the minute?

Finally, you sat up, discontented by your own incredibly existential train of thought. As you got up and stretched, you could feel your worn muscles aching and joints popping obscenely loudly. As you bent to crack your back, a dull but satisfying pain started to spread through your body. You couldn’t tell if it was Natasha’s sub-par bed frame or her extraordinary sex kills; either way, though, you’re going to need some painkillers before you leave.

Searching for clothes was...much harder than you anticipated. The pink cotton underwear and matching lace bralette you had pulled on in the middle of the night stood out against the grey cinder block walls, the smoke stains on the ceiling, the deep brown floors. Starkest of all, you were an anomaly amongst the piles and piles of dark clothes. Like a sunflower that’s sunken down to the bottom of the ocean, a ray of sunshine deep within a cave, a small baby animal stuck in a concrete cage.

Still - for whatever reason - you couldn’t find your clothes from the day previous. You would’ve screamed if it wouldn’t further disturb the half-asleep Nat. Why didn’t you just bring clothes with you, you knew were going to be staying over! You even thought far ahead enough to wear a matching underwear set. But no! No, of course you couldn’t just pack an extra skirt and tank or top or something else in your bag. Or even just a toothbrush, or floss, or some fucking gum, because of course you were out of gum. Of course, you were.

Good job, scholar.

After ten minutes of desperate, fruitless searching, you finally accepted your fate of wearing Natasha’s clothes for the day. Sighing, you grabbed a pair of (hopefully) clean workout shorts and a worn hoodie from a band you’ve never heard of and take them into the bathroom to shower.

It was stereotypical, something out of a scene in a shitty romance movie: You wear her clothes as a sign you’re really in love or something, and then she sees how hot you look in clothes you’d normally never be caught dead in, then she fucks you nice and slow with one of those cute white strap ons while she moans into your ear everything she wants to do to you.

Maybe she won’t be fucking you, maybe you’ll ride her dick, or thigh, or her fingers so she can maintain a good look at your in her soft sweatshirt, or maybe-

Fuck, the short and hot shower needed to turn into a long and cold one real quick. A long one. A very, very long one. That also needs to be cold. Did you mention that it needed to be long? And freezing?

When you trekked into the kitchen, you found the cupboards mostly empty. You were able to track down some bread to make toast and discover an egg in the back of the fridge, so you shouldn’t have been be excruciatingly hungry until you could get back to your food-filled apartment. You could pick up a snack on the way to the library if you get hungrier, anyway. Everything should be fine. It’s fine! Everything is fine. You even found some pepper and rosemary, that had to be a good sign.

About halfway through your tiny (and minimally satisfying) meal, Natasha emerges from the bathroom (that’s weird, considering you never noticed her come out of the bedroom). Her sides were fixed, and she had makeup on. Nice makeup on. The soft orange eyeshadow, white eyeliner, blush, bright highlighter, and pink lipstick made her look...sweet, kind, approachable. Her usual outfit had been replaced with black dress pants, black heels, a black dress shirt, and a burnt orange cardigan. You’d guess she’d be dressing for work, or an internship. You watch her closely as she moved behind you and wraps her arms around your waist. Natasha rested her chin on your elbow and pouts, silently asking for a bite of your breakfast like a pitiful dog. .

Reluctantly, you broke off a piece and fed it to her. She grinned as she chews, then kissed your fingertips as she swallowed. “That’s good,” she mumbled.

“Th-thanks,” you managed to get out, still inert at the feeling of her lips on such sensitive skin. In that moment parts of that night flashed in front of your eyes, including when she shoved four fingers into your mouth and told you to prep them for when they’d be inside you. You stuff the last of the bread and egg into your mouth to stop yourself from saying something stupid, sexual, or both. Also, from moaning. But mostly from talking and embarrassing yourself.

Sweet Jesus, you needed to get out of there.

Natasha still hadn’t moved from behind you and pressed her crotch into your bruised ass as she speaks. “You look amazing in my clothes,” she whispered in your ear, nibbling at your earlobes. It was hard to moan and chew at the same time, but she still got the picture as you choked on your half-chewed breakfast. Natasha giggled, a stark contrast to the heat behind her voice. “Look almost as pretty as you did last night,” it sent shivers down your spine. “All spread out and begging for me to touch you.”

You swallowed and whimpered, reminded of the night you two spent together. More memories flooded your brain all at once:

Her standing over you as you babbled for her to “take it, take it Natasha it’s yours it’s all yours please take it.” Her barely touching you with a vibrator while she mumbles how cute you look when you’re a struggling, desperate mess. Her complimenting your high-pitched whines when you’re begging for her to fuck you again, and again, and again and...

“Natasha, please,” you pleaded. You didn’t want to pull away, too entranced with the thought of more time along with Natasha. Still, if you had a sliver of a chance of getting done what needed to be done that day, Natasha would’ve had to let you go first. “I need to go study at the library.”

Natasha stopped peppering kisses on your neck and shoulder to smirk. “Oh, please. You have a whole day off, and I don’t have to leave for work for another hour. We can afford to spend a little more together.”

You sighed as you scrunched your eyes shut and bite your bottom lip. You wanted that so much, so fucking much, but that study session wasn’t a regular one that you can just blow off. You couldn’t just push this work aside and make up the time missed the next day.

That day was that time where you look at all the commissions people have applied for and pick the ones you want to do. You normally only did it once a month, but your rent was almost due, along with student loans and some repairs required around your apartment and you were anticipating your mother’s birthday gift costing a lot (on account of your guilt) and you were hoping to buy some new sticky notes and your favorite pens were almost out of ink and-

In short, you needed money and you needed it now.

That was usually a thing you make into a little time with just yourself; you made some sort of day of it. You’d go to the library, pick one of those secluded rooms where no one can bug you for a few hours, put on the large headphones you only use for when you get super intense in your studying, and listen to your favorite music. You’d track everything in gorgeous marble-patterned notebook you use especially for planning commissions, with some inspiration quote in golden lettering along the front. In it, you’d track stuff props needed, when you’d do the commissions, how much money you’d charge, if there was anything that money needed to go to, if you have to spend anything to buy something specific, and so on.

It was like the calm before the storm of which is taking lots of lots of nude photos and videos of yourself.

All of this means you had to put your foot down and turn down whatever Natasha wanted so you could leave. “Nat, seriously. I’ll be back by,” you checked the clock on your phone. Fuck, it was already nine fifteen. You wanted to be out of here ten minutes ago. “What time does your shift end?”

She shrugged, a little taken aback. “I dunno, like one or two this afternoon. Two fifteen at the latest.”

“I’ll be back before two, I promise.”

Natasha looked you up and down, eyebrows furrowed with concern. She’d never seen you like this in the short time she’d known you. She could feel you were tense, incredibly tense. Sensing something was off, she dropped it and backed off. “O-okay. I’ll see you then.”

You smiled, grateful for her not pressing you on why you seem so pressed. At some point, you’d need to explain to her what you were doing, what you did for a living - especially if this relationship was going where you thought (hoped) it is. But not right then. You’d know when the right time is, and that wasn’t in Natasha’s kitchen with your heart racing. Maybe once you figured out her stance on sex work. But how could you weave that into a conversation?

Hey babe, before we start officially dating, I just wanted to ask you about SESTA/FOSTA, the decriminalization of sex work, and material autonomy? What’s your stance on camming as sex work?

Maybe you could relate this back to what you were supposed to be teaching her, sneak it into a mini-lesson or something like that. Butler’s talked about sex work, so have a bunch of other people. Maybe those people were queer theorists or media studies scholars, but they were still people talking about sex work in a context at least loosely related to post-modernism! Just because those people wrote obscure papers or dissertations from small college in the middle of nowhere didn’t mean their opinions on sex work didn’t matter! But those papers were all probably about prostitution, or escorting, or the phrase “sex work.” None of them about camming or selling private Snapchats and nudes or being commissioned for special videos (which included anything from getting yourself off with a hairbrush or eating cheeseburgers until you throw up). None of them exactly matched up to what you needed to know, making your inquiry that much more complicated.

Still, you could almost imagine the short-answer questions now:

What would [insert author here] say about “modern” sex work verses “old school” sex work? What does newer forms of sex work say about the way capitalism forces us to adapt the ways in which we are productive? What has changed in sex work since its origin? What hasn’t? Why do some disagree with postmodernists stance that the dollar is the most powerful force in the world, whether dissenters believe that racism, sex, or gendered violence is more powerful? How does the frequent use of “porn” as a metaphor show how postmodernists view porn and the way we relate to it? Should porn ever be used as a metaphor? If no, what should take its place?

Grabbing your backpack and phone on the way out the door, you started on the twenty-minute walk to the library. The commute was mostly barren of people, leaving you to the thoughts whirring around your brain.

By the time you’d tripped five (5) times, you’re cursing yourself for nothing taking the bus. Why would you ever need so much time to think? It’s just thinking!

Process might be a better word, though. That girl back there fucked you so good you’d never be able to sleep with anyone else again without measuring them against the night before. You’d never be able to get yourself off without seeing her when your eyelids flutter closed from pleasure. That type of experience just doesn’t happen without changing a woman. Worse, you’d gotten this little baby ache in your sternum and shakiness in your hands that always happened when you had a crush. Why couldn’t you ever see pretty girls without reconsidering your entire life story?

As you kicked a rock over a tree stump, you tried to remember that she seemed into you too. This wasn’t like in tenth grade when you were drooling over that super popular senior girl and it turned out she just wanted to use you for an AP Calc project. This wasn’t some unrequited love story. So why are you so fucking nervous?

Oh. Right. Your profession (or, “profession” as some people have called it in poorly-worded anonymous messages on Tumblr or with fake emails).

Once you stepped inside the library, you found your favorite spot (close to the vending machines and bathrooms) and started working. Once the door had been locked and the headphones were on, you opened your laptop. Slowly, as your email loaded, you saw a notification of a text from Natasha.

You looked behind you on instinct, even though you were completely alone. When all your eyes saw was a wall covered in poorly-applicated beige paint, you sighed and clicked on the little grey box.

As the text loaded, all you could see is that there’s an attachment, and it caused your heart rate to increase dramatically. It felt like a forever later when you finally opened your scrunched eyes, and another trillion years until the photo loaded.

It was a picture of her holding the pink panties you forgot to grab (in your defense, the shorts you snatched from her bedroom floor had built in underwear) back at Natasha’s apartment with the caption “Looks like you forgot something...you gonna come back and get it?”

God, you hadn’t even opened a single commission email, which is the only thing you had intended on doing that day. You should answer at least a few before you text her back…

But a hot girl was flirting with you! Money and paying your rent be damned, you needed to focus on getting laid again.

You hold your breath as your typed, as if filling your lungs would cause your fingers to lose the ability to type.

I don’t know.

You bit your lip as you texted her again.

Why don’t you keep them as a trophy?

You opened one email while you wait for her reply. It was about scat. You specifically said that you don’t do that. Deleted. Immediately after you got a reply from Natasha.

Don’t be naughty with me or I’ll gag you with them.

Before you could reply you get another text.

Or is that what you want?

Um, yes. It was what you wanted. It’s all you wanted. You mean, it’s one of many things you wanted. But you did want it. Since you weren’t physically with Natasha, it’s easy to make your replies a little bolder.

If I did want it, would you give it to me?

You quickly opened another email. This one was easy, just some really artful nudes with your stretch marks on display. Maybe some cool-colored mood lighting. You replied with the normal stuff (the payment, when you’ll have them done, etc). Once that email was sent, you saw another text.

I can give you anything you want, princess

That made you shiver, your hands shaking and breath hitching as you reply.

Anything?

You didn’t have time to open another email before you saw Natasha’s next texts.

Anything at all, Princess

You just gotta tell me what you want.

You felt like God is speaking to you directly. Surely this woman was Heaven sent, given to you by the Holy Father as a gift for all your hard work over the years, or something.

But how am I supposed to talk if I’m gagged?

With that sent, received, and read, you closed the chat before Natasha could reply. If you just opened five more emails, then you could answer. That’s good, right? That’s a good way to keep yourself focused. Four answered emails, two replies from customers, and one blocked user later, you found it in yourself to open the texts from Natasha again.

Oh, really? Is that what you want?

Not gonna answer me?

Looks like you’re actually studying

what a good girl you are

Bad news:

I have nothing to do without you here bc I finished everything early

so I guess I’ll text you what I want

A sharp inhale of breath pierced the stale air, scaring you. Oh wait, you realized. That was you.

Want so much from you. Wanna sit on your face, I bet you’re the champ of eating pussy, aren’t you? So pretty and eager to please. I’d love to see you blow a strap on. Had a girl do that once a while ago, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. She wasn’t nearly as pretty as you, though. Bet you’d look a billion times better with spit dripping down your face while I shove my cock down your throat. Maybe tie your hands behind your back with those panties you left me. You look so cute tied up.

You nearly choked on the water you started chugging in an empty effort to make yourself calm down. Oh fuck.

That’s when you saw another message from her.

I know you’re reading these, little one. Don’t run from Mommy.

You sucked in a breath, unable to respond. It took forever for you to craft your text, in the meantime you tried to switch back to your inbox to see if there was anything you could do to ground yourself.

No such luck, though.

Tell me more, Mommy. Please.

Natasha happily obliged.

You know what my absolute biggest fantasy is? Me and some other top just domming the hell out of you. Passing you around, leaving bruises all of your pretty little body. You’d be so cute, just mewling and whining under us. Maybe we’d both fuck you at the same time, stretching your pretty little holes to the max.

This woman was about to be the death of you.

I’d love that, Mommy

After you saw that message had been sent, you started to pack up your stuff. You texted her you were about to start your walk home, but before you could stash your phone in your backpack you saw another text.

Don’t worry baby. Mommy’s got you. I’m right outside.

And when you stepped out the front doors, she was. You blushed when you saw her, clamoring into the front seat with your knees nervously knocking themselves together. You were about to stutter out a “thank you” before she lunged forward to kiss you deeply. It was hard, aggressive, dominating. As she pulled away, she bit your bottom lip before she turned back to the wheel. “You’ve been bad, baby. So bad.”

You didn’t speak as she sped away, making your way back to her apartment in record time. Each stop light, her fingers seemed to worm their way up your thighs and tease at the hem of your shorts; each time the light went back to green, and she pulled away, you’d whimper as loudly and lewdly as possible. In all honesty, you were hoping to get her attention. Whether or not it would end how you wanted it to be questionable, but it was worth a shot. You would try anything at that point, to be close to her. To feel the softness of her cardigan, to unbutton her shirt, to unzip her pants.

When you made it her front door, you could barely make it inside before Natasha had you pressed against a wall. She slipped your backpack onto the slightly-warped hard wood carefully, not wanting your laptop to break.

You gasped as she ripped the shorts from your body. “Oh, God, Nat- “

She placed her left pointer finger over your lips as two fingers from her right slid into your dripping center. “Sh, baby girl, call me Mommy,” she whispered before she dropped to her knees.

Natasha didn’t start with any niceties, no prepping, rather she immediately began sucking on your clit and curling the now-three fingers inside of you. You wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to do something, but the combination of shock and the proximity to the front door made your mouth silent as you shook violently. You’d stuffed the sleeve in Natasha’s hoodie as you shrieked from your almost-too-quick orgasms, the fabric muffled your hearty screams as Natasha continued to fuck her fingers into you.

“N- Mommy, mommy please stop,” you begged. “Please stop I can’t, Mommy I can’t take it!”

Nat just laughed, never slowing down. “C’mon, princess. If you come one more time like this for me, I’ll stop. Okay, baby girl? Just one more…”

You’d had both hands covering your face now, your cheeks hotter than the face of the sun as your whole body convulsed. For a moment the feeling you had to piss cuts through the fog that had flooded your meninges, and then you felt a wash of pleasure wave through you that made you collapse against the wall.

“Hey, baby girl,” you heard Natasha coo in a metaphysical plane not your own. “Hey, princess it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

It took a few moments for you to come back, for your vision to stabilize. When you were finally able to see the woman in front of you, the first thing you noticed was her cheeks and lips and chin and nose glistening wet. While you looked confused, a shit-eating grin broke out on Natasha’s face.

“Was that your first time squirting?” She asked, her voice just above a whisper and full of excitement.

You nodded. “Y-yeah.”

Her grin only got bigger as she picked you up and brought you into her bedroom, sheets just as messy as when you had left them that morning. The uneven fabric was uncomfortable as she dropped you onto them, but then was no time to complain. No, you were smart enough to know as Nat held up a toy in each hand that you were not in a position to grumble about the sex-dirty sheets or protest to being thrown or grumble that this woman seduced you into coming home from the library early that day.

“Which toy you want, sweetheart?”

They were both silicone cocks, the one in her right hand a glittery pink while the toy in her left a matte black. The pink one was sleek and long, but the black one was truly the one that caught your attention. It was girthy, veiny. Your pussy already ached looking at it, and you squeezed your thighs together for relief as you imagined Natasha fucking it in and out of you at a pace that would leave you bruised and breathless.

Natasha noticed this right away. “Aw, is my little princess feeling greedy today?” She crawled on top of you after pulling on the strap and securing the toy in place. “You sure you want this one baby girl? You sure you want me to fuck you with something so big…could your tiny little cunt even take it?”

All you could do was whimper.

“Good girl,” she purred. “This is gonna look so cute covered in your cum.”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff lemons #black widow x reader #lukis writes stuff #study buddy

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neshabeingchildish · 5 years ago

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02. Charlotte's House

Henry Danger be sometimes throwing out these little one liners for lolz but, I think really hard about it at times, because there is some actually seriously toxic and abusive behaviors they’ve mentioned. So, as I’m known to do, I will be utilizing angst in this fic. This chapter features some.

Charlotte’s House

Jasper and Charlotte walked to Charlotte’s after they had been brainstorming with Ray and Henry about how to deal with Hally the Computer. Eventually, Charlotte pointed out how not only was this the responsibility of the heroes of Swellview and the “Man of the Cave,” but that as long as Ray was swinging that sword around, she wouldn’t be able to think clearly anyway.

Jasper once again reiterated, in case anyone had forgotten, “TERRIFIED!”

Henry complained, but stopped immediately when Ray nearly killed Jasper again and he had to pull him in the other direction with the sword.

Whenever Charlotte got home, she observed, “Well, my parents aren’t here. So if Hally sends the Man drones, at least my family won’t be killed.”

Jasper gasped, “Do you think that she would do that?”

“She 600% suctioned me out of the tube. I’m not putting anything passed Old Girl.”

“Well, you want me to stay until your parents get home, in case she does something like that?”

“How can you staying possibly help?”

“Well, I could distract the drones while you escape?” She made a face. What a crazy idea! He quickly added, “Or, for her advantage, she doesn’t have to send any to my house, because she kills both of us here.”

“Well, if I had thought this out, I’d have suggested we spend the night at your place.”

“You would spend the night at my house?”

She thought about his insufferable mother and the fact that with his small checks, he sort of had to fend for himself, more often than not. His mom locked cabinets and the fridge at certain times, since he was 7, because he was “too fat,” and just kept that horrible practice up to the point where he became a food stasher. She often forgot to buy stuff, like toilet paper, and there were no towels in there! Like… what did she want to do, bring back the Plague?

“You got me there. I hate everything about your house.” She didn’t add And your mom, because she knew that would have been rude. “Well, I kinda like the thought of having drone bait, but trust me, if she sends any, neither of us are making it out of here. Hopefully, it doesn’t harm my face or hair. My parents want to do open casket, if anything should happen.”

He was going to comment on the greatness of her face and hair, but was more distracted by, “Why do you know that???”

“We’ve got plans for every possible conceivable life event, including death. What, you think that my organizational skills, over-analyzing, and extensive preparation was self taught?” They went inside and she let him wash up in her parents’ bathroom and borrow a robe of her dad’s. She threw his clothes from the day into the wash and went into her bathroom to wash up, as well.

Whenever she came out Jasper was sitting on the spare bed in her dad’s robe, waiting nervously. She thought she knew what this was about. He was worried about Henry. She was too, but she also didn’t feel like fighting with Hally. After her Courtney Sham scare, she wasn’t getting into any scuffles with unstable girlfriends of her friends… Even if she is a computer. She sat on the side of her bed, facing him in her pajamas with her head tied up for the night and nodded her head, “I get it. I’m not gonna sleep until I get the text that he’s alright, too. Feel like doing the thing?”

Usually, whenever they were left behind during one of the Man Cave’s dangerous missions, they came into the same room to give each other reminders of how great their friends are and that’s why they’ll come back fine. But, Jasper actually didn’t want to do that. He wasn’t in the mood. So, instead, he said, “I’m actually pretty tired, but feel kinda bad about wanting to sleep while they’re trying to battle Hally. To be honest, Henry’s probably more in danger with Ray wielding Justice than from the computer.”

“Get your sleep, Jasper. I’ll feel better knowing at least one of us has some peace.” He nodded, but remained sitting for a moment. He looked like he had something to say. “What is it?” She asked.

Jasper wanted to tell her that he’d been thinking about her lately, that he’d been feeling things, and he wanted her to feel things too. But the chances of that, this soon were slim. He hadn’t put in enough work yet. “Nothing. Goodnight, Charlotte.” He laid down as she simply nodded her head. She was awake for a while longer, until she got the call from Henry.

She got up, so that she wouldn’t wake Jasper and she stepped out. “Henry! Did you get things taken care of?”

“It’s a good news, bad news scenario.”

“Is Hally gone?”

“Yep.”

“So, that’s the good news. And the bad?”

“Ray crumbled the platinum Frittle.”

“OH MAN!” She squealed. She heard Jasper groan in his sleep and she silently scolded herself for being loud, and peeked in. He was still asleep, but seemed like he was having a nightmare. In fact, he seemed extremely shaken up. “Ugh. I’m gonna go. I think Jasper’s having a bad dream.”

“Jasper’s over? Cool. Should I come crash, too?”

“Do you need to?” She was about to go to bed, now that she knew he was safe, but she supposed she could leave the window open.

“Not really. Just starting to feel more and more left out with the two of you.”

She laughed and said, “That’s silly. You just have more responsibilities, so we end up together more. He’s only here tonight because he didn’t want me to be alone. But, I gotta check on him. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Click.”

“Click.”

Jasper was squirming and sweating, so Charlotte was unsure if she should touch him or anything. She adjusted the air, covered him up, set the diffuser and whenever she got near him, he jumped up and shouted. She shouted too and covered her chest. “Jasper, are you okay?” He nodded, but he was breathing hard. “Jasper?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Sometimes, I have nightmares. Never should have went to sleep without knowing if Henry was okay.” That was partially true. He felt like the nightmare of Man drones flying in and murdering Charlotte in her sleep was punishment for going to sleep on her when Henry was out there risking his skin.

“Well, he is fine. They got rid of Hally.” She was rubbing Jasper’s face and didn’t realize it until his eyes went towards her hands. She abruptly let go and wondered, “You wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head. “Sorry if I woke you up or anything.”

“I was just about to go to sleep… You sure that you’re okay?”

“I won’t disturb you.” He laid back down, feeling weak and embarrassed. Great going. Now, she was never gonna take him seriously…

Then, Charlotte surprised him. She grabbed some lavender oil and sat at the foot of the bed, “Do you mind if I touch you to try to help you sleep?”

“I don’t mind at all,” he said, looking down at her. She smiled gently and took one of his feet. “I’m ticklish!” He warned.

“Awwww,” she cooed. “Well, I just want to try some reflexology massage to help with your stress. Something’s bothering you to have such intense nightmares.”

“It could have been worse. Sometimes, it’s sleep paralysis.” He felt relaxed already. “Whenever I was researching stuff on the WTF is Wrong with Me app…”

“You actually use that app?” She snickered when she asked it.

“I have to. Can’t afford therapy and my mom honestly doesn’t chat me up about my issues because she has a guilty conscious. It’s not as easy being a weirdo as I make it seem.”

“You do come across as extremely comfortable being offbeat.”

“Never had much of a choice. It was either I love me for me or hate myself. Figured other people hated me enough, starting with my parents. You and Henry are the only people that I have.” She bit her lip. “Sorry! That’s a bit much. I should just shut up.”

“No. You’re relaxed and talking through whatever you have going on. Friends can do that.”

“I first started looking into it… well… whenever I was…” he sighed and asked, “Remember whenever you said I was the Playground Pooper and I mentioned in passing my struggles with potty training?”

“I very vividly remember that, even though we glazed right over it.” She had actually forgotten about it, but now that he mentioned it - of course she remembered that weird ass justification!

"Because who has accidents that late in life? I wanted to see. As far as I can tell - stress, neglect, and emotional abuse from my mom.” Jasper gasped. He hadn’t meant to say that. He was getting too relaxed, now. “I hate that I’m pouring out like this…” She couldn’t think of anything to say, so he kept going, trying to somehow fix some of this. “Sometimes, people that you might think are just stupid are actually emotionally traumatized. Our brains develop differently whenever we grow up with stuff our minds can’t handle. I read a bunch of articles about that.”

“Jasper.. I had no idea it was that bad. I mean, your mom is a horror, for sure. And I have thought on numerous occasions that her ways weren’t healthy. But I didn’t know that you were nightmares and bedwetting stressed out because of her.”

“I haven’t wet the bed in years,” he reminded her.

“Right. But… 4 years ago is less time than Henry has been doing his work!” She let go of his foot and said, “You seem embarrassed, but really, you should be proud. You went out to figure yourself out and helped yourself, without any support from her or me and Henry - because I know that if I didn’t know, he probably didn’t either.. Not everyone is so independent.” She yawned. What a terrible time to do that, but God, she was exhausted.

“Hey.. thanks for letting me talk, but you should get some sleep. After that reflexology thing, I’m going back.”

“Well, the lavender I used probably helped.”

“You’re the greatest, Charlotte. I swear. Good night.”

She tried to fight the tingling she felt when he said that. “Good night to you.” Weird. Tingles? I must really be tired.

Charlotte woke up the next day excited to find out if Jasper has slept well the second time around, but apparently, he had enough time to get dressed, fold her dad’s robe and leave it on the spare bed, send her a thank you text, and bail before she got up. She sighed, unsure of what she was bothered by.

He’d let her know in the text that he has to get home because his mom was calling. He told her thank you for the space, the sleep, and the talk. He even made a rose out of characters. Why was she salty that she didn’t get to actually check in with him this morning? She rolled her eyes at herself and got up to get ready for work. Since Hally wasn’t there, she guessed it’d be business as usual. So, she wasn’t going to treat Jasper any differently for his confessions last night. She would never bring it up again, unless he needed to. She did feel like there was some kind of shift in how she saw him though. Who’d have thought that her goofy, silly, but sweet friend was really a wounded, self-aware man of mystery? Wait, should I feel bad for sort of thinking that traumatized Jasper is kind of… attractive? “Yes! Yes, you should feel bad and you shall never mention this again or even think about it!”

#henry danger #A Chasper Fic #chasper #charlotte page #jasper dunlop

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thats-what-sidhe-said · 6 years ago

Text

Keithtober - Family (Voltron Next Gen)

Keith returned home battered, filthy, and carrying a baby in a sling across his chest. "What happened?" Shiro asked. "I thought this was supposed to be a milk run."

"It was," Keith said bitterly. "Someone tipped off the Galra troops and they ambushed us."

"How bad?" Shiro asked.

"Brutal," Keith said. "They're losing, but they'll never back down. They're going to take down as many of the Blades as they can." He touched the baby's head. "We lost Susan and Jarak."

"Oh, no!" Shiro said.

"I never would have sent them in if I'd known," Keith said, looking away from Shiro. "They weren't supposed to be on the front lines."

"We don't always get to decide that," Shiro pointed out.

Keith lowered his head to look at the child he was carrying. "There wasn't anyone to take Yurak, so I brought him home. I figured you wouldn't mind."

"Of course not," Shiro said. "Do you want me to hold him while you get cleaned up?"

Keith looked down at himself. He was coated in blood and soot and reeked of smoke. "Oh. Yeah." He lifted Yurak out of the sling and carefully handed him to Shiro. While the child was - thankfully - not covered in blood, some of the soot from Keith's suit had rubbed off on him.

"Do you have any extra clothes? Supplies?" Shiro asked.

"Just what the babysitter had," Keith said. He unslung his pack and gave it to Shiro. "That should enough to get us through until the stores open."

"What then?" Shiro asked. "Does he have any family?"

Keith shook his head. "Susan lost all her family in the first Galra attack on Earth and Jarak was disowned by his for marrying someone who wasn't Galra."

"Maybe they'll reconsider, now that they've lost their son," Shiro said.

Keith shook his head. "Jarak told me some stories about his childhood. If they try to take Yurak, I'll fight them." Keith touched the fine black hair on the boy's head. "They won't try. He looks human."

"Go clean up," Shiro said. He gave Keith a light kiss. Keith nodded and went into the bathroom. Shiro sat down on the couch and tucked the baby into the crock of his left arm. "You're really tiny," he said. "I suppose you know that." He hesitantly touched the baby's cheek. Yurak grabbed one of his fingers and held on. Shiro smiled. "Strong, though."

"Shiro, I could use a hand," Keith called. Shiro sent his right arm into the bathroom.

"Still funny," Keith said dryly. "I need help changing a bandage, so I think it's better if you can see what you're doing."

"All right," Shiro said. He stepped into the bathroom, took one look at Keith and said, "Doctor tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Keith said. He held up the medical tape. "I did the one on my leg, but I can't reach the one on my back."

"I got it," Shiro said. He took the tape and reached for a bandage, then remembered he was holding Yurak.

"I'll take him," Keith said. He took the baby and Shiro gently bandaged Keith's wound. Keith passed the baby back so he could pull on a black t-shirt. "We're going to need a bed for him," he realized.

"Maybe we can just keep holding him until tomorrow," Shiro said. "You should sleep, though."

Keith shook his head. "I can't sleep yet." He wrinkled his nose. "What's that smell?" And then he realized. "Oh."

So did Shiro. "Oh." He looked down at the bundle in his arms. The baby sucked on his fist and managed to look smug.

"You're holding him," Keith said.

"This isn't Hot Potato," Shiro said. "I don't know how to change a diaper."

"It can't be that tough," Keith said. He tossed out the used bandages and got his data pad for instructions. They decided to change the baby in the office, using Shiro's desk, as it was more sanitary than using the kitchen table and involved moving fewer stacks of books, papers, and interesting rocks than using Keith's desk.

"If you'd clean your desk, you wouldn't have to use mine all the time," Shiro said. He put a stack of folders in a drawer and laid a towel out on the desk.

"Then I'd have to change my entire organizational system," Keith said. He placed Yurak on his back in the center of the towel. Yurak kicked his feet and cried.

Shiro put his hands on the side of the diapers, took a deep breath, and immediately regretted it.

"Hold on!" Keith said. He grabbed their flight helmets off a shelf.

"Good idea," Shiro said. Both men put on their helmets and activated their breathing systems. Shiro peeled away the diaper and set it to the side, still on the towel.

"Wipes," Keith said, looking at the instructions on the datapad. He handed Shiro a box of wet wipes. Shiro used half the box, but Yurak's bottom was throughly cleaned.

"This isn't so bad," Shiro said. Yurak gurgled happily and a stream of urine shot up. Keith leapt forward and threw a diaper over the lower half of the baby, but not before Shiro's faceplate had been spattered with baby pee.

"Sorry," Keith said. "I wasn't expecting a frontal attack."

"It's okay. I've had worse things on this helmet," Shiro said. He used a wipe to clean the faceplate. Keith handed him a fresh diaper and Shiro quickly wrapped the baby in it and taped it up. Keith dressed Yurak in a fresh jumper while Shiro cleaned up. "Next one's yours," he said to Keith. "How many do we have left?"

Keith checked the bag. "None," he said. "How long do they last?"

"Not long?" Shiro guessed.

"Lance!" Keith said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"He and Allura got diapers at their baby shower. They won't need them for a couple of months, so we'd have plenty of time to replace them."

"Can't hurt to ask," Shiro said. They sat down on the couch and put in a call to Lance.

"If we're defending the universe, can it wait until after breakfast?" Lance asked sleepily. He had video on, but a sleeping mask over his eyes.

"It's not Voltron. I just need a favor," Keith said. "Can we borrow some diapers?"

There was a long pause, then, "Keith, if you woke me up at three am to indulge in some weird fetish thing-" He pushed up his sleeping mask and squinted at the screen. "Whoa. You look like you went three rounds solo with a snick."

"I had a rough day," Keith said wearily.

Allura stirred beside Lance and rolled over. "What's going on? Do we need to get the lions?"

"We just need diapers for the baby and the store's closed," Shiro said. "Keith thought you might have gotten some at the shower."

"Baby?" Lance asked. "Keith, is there something about Galran biology that you're not telling us?"

"He's an orphan," Keith snapped. He hated that word. It dripped with pity and condescension, of being given used clothing two sizes too big and being expected to be grateful for it.

"Where did you-" Lance began, then looked at Keith again, battered and exhausted and straight from the battlefield, and said, "Never mind; you can tell us later. Do you just need diapers? What do you have?"

Shiro picked up the bag. "There's a can of formula, a change of clothes, a stuffed yupper, one of those things you put in their mouths-"

Lance laughed. "Hey, remember when Bob stuck one of those in Keith's mouth?"

Allura laughed, too. "Oh, yes!" She caught Keith's glare and sobered. "What else do you have? What about furniture? A crib?"

"That's all," Shiro said.

"We'll be over soon," Allura said. "I'm afraid we don't have any formula, but we do have a few other supplies."

"Thank you," Shiro said.

---

Shiro opened the door at the first knock. "Shh!" he said. "They're sleeping." Lance and Allura crept into the room and saw Keith lying on the couch asleep with Yurak on his chest.

"That is the cutest thing ever," Lance whispered. "Did you take a picture?"

"At least twenty," Shiro whispered back. "I already sent one to Krolia."

"What's happened?" Allura whispered. "Where did you get a child?" She wore long blue robes tied just over her rounded belly.

"Two friends of Keith's died today," Shiro said soberly. "There was no one to take the baby, so Keith brought him home."

"Are you keeping him?" Allura asked.

Shiro watched Yurak rise and fall on Keith's chest. "I don't know," he said. "We've talked about adopting, but that was something for the future. I don't know if we're ready."

"At least you don't have to be pregnant. It's quite annoying," Allura said. "People treat me like I'm fragile and try to carry things for me." She shot a glare at Lance.

"What? When human women are pregnant, there's stuff they aren't supposed to do for their own safety. I was trying to help!"

"I'm not human and you dropped it on my foot!"

"Shh!" Shiro reminded them. "Where's the diapers?"

"In the hallway," Lance said. He stepped outside and came back pushing an old-fashioned crib with wooden slats, filled with bags.

"What's all this?" Shiro asked.

"Supplies," Allura said. "We've got plenty of time to replace them."

Shiro looked through them. Diapers, as promised, plus creams for diaper rash, a stack of cloths and towels, another stack of baby clothes... Shiro picked up a onesie. "There's too much stuff here. We won't need it all."

"Oh, yes, you will," Lance said, with the weary voice of experience. "Trust Uncle Lance."

"Are you sure you want to let us use the crib? We can probably come up with something else," Shiro said.

"Please take the crib," Lance said. "Coran's making us an Altean crib, but this came from my Aunt Neoma and if I chose someone else's gift over hers, I will never hear the end of it. If I give it to you, I'm off the hook."

"It's beautiful," Shiro said, running his hand over the wood. "I don't know if we'll be needing it for long, though."

"Consider it a gift to the child, then," Allura said. "He can take it to his next home, if there is one."

The child made a fussing noise at that moment and Keith snapped awake. He wrapped his arms around the baby and sat upright, then winced as the movement pulled his injuries. "What's wrong?" he asked Yurak. The baby began to cry softly. "Hungry?" he guessed, and looked at Shiro.

"Could be," Shiro said. He got the can of formula from the bag, looked at it, dug through the bag again, and said, "I think we have a problem."

"Nah, I got you," Lance said. He took an empty bottle and rubber nipple from one of the bags and waved it. "Let me show you how it's done." He put his arm around Shiro's shoulders and let him to the kitchen.

"Mind if I sit down?" Allura asked Keith.

"Go ahead," Keith said. He bounced Yurak lightly. "Shh. Shh. Shiro's getting your food ready," he said softly.

"What's his name?" Allura asked.

"Yurak," Keith said.

Allura's eyebrows went up," That's Galran!"

"So was his father," Keith said.

"Oh." Allura was silent for a moment. "He's like you, then,"

"I guess," Keith said. He stood up, cradled Yurak his arms and swayed gently as the boy sobbed. "My mom almost named me Yurak."

"It's a lovely name," Allura said. "Does it have a special meaning?"

"'Tramples on his enemies'." Keith shrugged. "Most Galran names are like that."

"Perhaps he'll grow to be a great warrior," Allura said.

"Maybe he'll make peace," Keith said. The baby's cries grew louder. "And quiet. What do you say, buddy? Peace and quiet?"

Shiro hurried into the living room with Lance right behind. "Okay, I've got a bottle ready."

"Sit down," Lance said, pointing at the recliner. Shiro sat. Keith placed Yurak gently in his arms. Lance adjusted the baby and Shiro into a comfortable position and Shiro held the bottle to the baby's lips. "Tilt the bottle, like this. There!" The baby stopped crying and started sucking on the bottle. "Keep the bottle up. You don't want him to be swallowing air."

Shiro looked up with alarm. "It'll hurt him?"

"It'll give him gas," Lance said. He sat down in the other recliner.

Shiro watched the baby drink as his right arm hovered over Yurak with the bottle. "You know a lot about babies, huh?" Shiro asked. Keith watched the baby anxiously.

"I come from a big family," Lance said. "Everyone helps out."

The baby spat out the rubber nipple after a few minutes. "I think he's finished." Shiro held up the bottle to see what was left. "Did he eat enough?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Lance said. "He'll let you know when he's hungry again. You should burp him."

"Um. How?" Shiro asked.

"Hold him against your shoulder and rub his back," Lance said. "Do you want me to do it?"

"I will," Keith said. Lance draped a cloth over Keith's shoulder. "That's for burping?"

"Yeah, sometimes something comes up. Little messy, but no big," Lance said.

"Okay," Keith said. He took the baby in his arms and positioned him in place with help from Lance's instructions.

"I can loan you some books," Allura said. "I've been reading whatever I can about human babies. They're very similar to Altean babies. I expect Galran ones are similar as well."

Everyone looked at Keith. "I guess I could ask my mom," he said.

"Wow," Lance said. "I can't believe you guys have a baby."

Shiro shook his head. "We can't make a decision like this without considering all the factors. Keith travels a lot. I'm busy with the Garrison and we both need to be able to drop everything if we're needed for Voltron and the Atlas. We've got to look at our finances and we're going to have to think about education options. What if he's not interested in the Garrison?" He looked at his husband, who was watching the baby with a furrowed brow. "Keith?"

"He's like me," Keith said softly, not looking up. "He doesn't have anyone else."

Shiro crossed over to the couch and Allura slid to the side so he'd have room to sit next to Keith. He put his arm around Keith and touched their heads together. "Do you want to keep him?"

Keith nodded.

Shiro let out a long breath. "Then we'll make it work."

Keith looked up in surprise. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Shiro said, and kissed him. He looked down at Yurak. "What do you think, buddy? Wanna stick around?" Yurak gave Shiro a puzzled look and puked up warm formula.

"That's a yes in baby language," Lance told them, as Shiro dabbed at the vomit with the burping cloth.

"This is so exciting!" Allura clasped her hands "Just think, our children will grow up together!"

"Yeah!" Lance said, then frowned. "Wait, no, our kid was supposed to be the oldest. This is cheating!"

Keith looked up from the baby long enough to smirk at Lance. "Guess you should have gotten Allura pregnant faster."

Lance put his hands on his hips. "Ours will be the prettiest. Obviously." He nodded at Allura, who rolled her eyes.

"Yurak will be the better pilot. Obviously," Keith said.

"Ours will be able to do magic!" Lance said.

"We don't know that for certain," Allura interjected.

"Yeah? Yurak will kick your kid's butt in hand-to-hand," Keith said.

"Our kid will kick your kid's butt in target shooting!"

"Hey, hey!" Shiro lifted his hands. "Don't forget academics."

Lance and Keith looked at each other, and both said, "My kid's going to be smarter than yours!" at the same time.

"All right, I think it's time we went back to our apartment," Allura said. She put a hand on the arm of the couch and awkwardly pulled herself to her feet.

"Thank you so much," Shiro said.

"Yes, thanks," Keith said.

"It isn't a problem at all," Allura said.

"Call if you need anything," Lance said. He held out his fist to Keith. "Dad bump," he said. Keith smiled and bumped fists with him.

After Allura and Lance left, Shiro unloaded the crib, then came back to the couch. Yurak was dozing against Keith's shoulder. "Come on," Shiro said. "Let's try out that crib so you can get some sleep."

"'M fine," Keith mumbled.

Shiro looked Keith over. His husband sat propped against the arm of the couch with a little twist, so he wouldn't be leaning on the worst of his wounds. His skin was pale under the bruises and his eyes were rimmed with red. "Come to bed and I'll do the next diaper change," Shiro said.

"Yeah, okay," Keith said, and gingerly got to his feet. He kept Yurak cradled in his arms until the got to the bedroom. Shiro rolled the crib next to the bed. Keith frowned. "Does he need pajamas?"

"Let me see what we have," Shiro said. He went into the other room and returned with a garment that looked like a tiny sleeping bag with arms. He handed it to Keith, who frowned. It was covered in blue Voltron lions.

"Do they make these with black lions?" Keith asked. He laid Yurak down and wrapped him up in the garment.

"Probably," Shiro said. "We can look tomorrow."

"No rush," Keith said. "I think we should get them for Lance and Allura. As thanks." He set Yurak down gently in the center of the crib and hovered over him. The baby made light fussing noises, but settled down quickly.

Shiro put his arm around Keith's waist. "I bet we could find ones with Red."

"I really think Lance would appreciate Black," Keith said. He leaned against Shiro.

"Let's get into bed," Shiro said. "We'll be right here if he needs anything."

Keith didn't move. He just watched as Yurak blinked his eyes slower and slower, until they finally stayed closed. "If we keep him-"

"'If'?" Shiro asked. "I thought we'd decided."

"Shiro, one day I'm going to have to tell him that I'm the one that got his parents killed," Keith said miserably.

"It wasn't your fault," Shiro said.

"It was my plan. I recommended them for the infiltration team," Keith said.

"You had no way of knowing what would happen," Shiro said.

"Will he understand that?" Keith asked. "I used to hate the other firefighters that let my father go back into the house. I thought they should have stopped him."

"He saved three people that day," Shiro said softly.

"I know," Keith said. "I hated myself for being selfish, too. I just wanted him back." He rubbed his arm across his eyes. "Sorry. I guess I'm just really tired."

"Keith, he's going to love you and he will forgive you," Shiro said. "Do you think it's better to put him with strangers who never knew his parents? Who wouldn't know what it's like to be both human and Galra?"

Keith shook his head. As leader of Voltron, he was rarely challenged outright, but he didn't miss the looks people exchanged when they found out about his heritage. It would be tougher for a child. "What about you? You keep asking how I feel, but he'd be yours, too."

"I want a family with you," Shiro said. "I've wanted that for a long time. I didn't expect it to happen like this, but it feels right."

Keith nodded. "I'll start the paperwork tomorrow." They climbed into bed. Keith rolled onto his good side and draped his arm around Shiro. He sat bolt upright about half an hour later, when Yurak started wailing. Keith lunged toward the crib, sniffed, and fell back. "This one's yours," he said to Shiro.

Shiro groaned and climbed out of bed. "I did say that, didn't I? You're up next time."

Keith lay back on his pillow. "Course." He didn't close his eyes until Yurak's crying stopped and the baby was safely back in his crib.

---

I wrote a couple of short ficlets showing Yurak as a kid in the Garrison. I might expand on them, if anyone's interested in reading more. Here & Here.

---

Keithtober Prompts I've completed: Bonds / Garrison

---

My fic on AO3

#voltron #sheith #allurance #keithtober #shiro #keith #lance #allura #keithtober2k18 #babyfic #fic #my fic #family

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