#adhd tortures me when it comes to reading

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Finding Yourself - C.SC [Part 3]

🐢Who: Choi Seungcheol (Seventeen) x female reader 🐢What: 18+. Dark themes. Mafia au. Angst. Fluff. Suggestive. Slow burn. Mafia Boss Seungcheol. Single parent Seungcheol. Strangers to friends to lovers. Chan is reader’s little brother. Hansol is Seungcheol’s son. 🐢Word count: 13.7k 🐢Warnings: Characters with autism/ADHD. Selective mutism. Mentions and depictions of being overwhelmed/sensory overload and meltdowns. Mentions of smoking. Hospitalisation and medical stuff that will not be accurate (I have no experience with that other than TV shows). Blood and various injuries. Suggestive content & sexual conversations. Gang typical content: threats, violence, torture (including with water), weapons, injury, blood, morally fucked up characters, mentions of past forced sex work, death. Mentions of being branded. Degrading language, including mental disability slur. Mentions of past child abuse/abusive parents. Mentions of past forced medical sterilisation. Mentions of nightmares. Discussion of past murder-suicide.  🐢Summary:“In an attempt to protect your little brother, you run away from home and the gang your father forced you into as a teenager.

You truly thought you were done with that life. But months later, when members of the Centaurs gang find you and your brother squatting in their property mid gang-fight, they take you back to their headquarters and force you right back into it.

Suddenly, you find yourself living in the home of the leader of the oldest, most famous gang in the entire country, and you very quickly realise that he isn’t the ruthless monster everyone thinks he is.”

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

Masterlist Finding Yourself Part 1 – Finding Yourself Part 2

A/N- Here is it! The third and final piece to Finding Yourself. I just want to take the chance real quick to say I genuinely never expected this story to receive the love it has, and I truly appreciate every single one of you who has commented/reblogged. Thank you for supporting this story.

Also, a giant thank you to my beabie @ourdawnishotterthanourday for being so supportive throughout the entire process of writing and posting this, and of course, taking the time to read this all and correct my often-atrocious grammar and dumbass way of speaking being reflected in my writing. Love you bby 💗  

Disclaimer: Okay, so I feel like I need to point out that I do have both autism and ADHD, and I have done a lot of research around both during my own discovery/diagnosis periods; even now I’m constantly learning that more aspects of myself are very common in people with autism/ADHD so there is truth behind how the characters are portrayed in this fic. Yet, with that being said, both autism and ADHD are very vast in that you can have a room full of people with both disabilities and yet every single one of those people are incredibly different, which means that the characters in this story who have autism or ADHD are not accurate portrayals of every single person with either. There are 4 clearly stated autistic people in this fic throughout and they are each different personalities and how their disability affects them. So please don’t leave comments or send rude asks accusing me of misrepresentation or anything like that just because a character you’ve watched in a movie isn’t written the same as these characters, thanks.

Accidents happen, especially around children; you’re very aware of that and you’ve always said that you won’t blame anyone if Chan gets hurt due to a genuine accident. But saying it is one thing, remembering the words when faced with the sight that makes your heart momentarily stop beating is another thing entirely.

“Oh, come on, I’m the boss, baby, if I say that you can take five minutes off to make out with me in the backseat of my car, nobody can say shit,” Seungcheol murmurs against your ear, both of his hands firmly holding your hips to keep you pressed back against him, even as you try to return to work.

Roughly twenty minutes ago, you had joined Jihoon out the front of the garage as he took a mid-morning smoke break when Seungcheol happened to arrive to get his oil changed. You had taken charge of the simple task while the pair talked between them about the new cars due to come in any day now, as an upgrade for the current ones used to travel around the estate. The whole time, you could feel Seungcheol’s eyes glued to your ass as you bent over his car, and Jihoon obviously noticed too and wasn’t subtle about leaving you two in peace.

Now, Seungcheol is pressed against your back and trying to convince you to stay with him, which honestly, you want to do. But seeing the big, scary gang boss all whiny and needy just for you is very entertaining; so, you keep wiggling away, only to let him pull you back.

“Jihoon’s my boss,” you remind him with an innocent hum. “You’re my boyfriend.”

Seungcheol grins against your neck. “Yeah, I am,” he confirms, then abruptly turns you to pin between his body and the side of his car. “And you haven’t kissed your boyfriend yet today.”

“Haven’t seen my boyfriend until now,” you point out while running your hands over his arms in his leather riding jacket appreciatively. “Why are you wearing your bike jacket when you’re not going out on it today?”

“Because I’m a considerate boyfriend.” You raise a questioning eyebrow at him. “You very blatantly checked me out when I was wearing this the other day. You like me in this.”

“Like you out of it too.”

“Babe,” he complains. “Don’t wind me up; you know I wanna fuck you a fucking ridiculous amount, but we haven’t had the chance.”

“Almost a whole month together and you haven’t put your dick in me.” You tut disapprovingly. He makes a suffering sound and presses closer to you, while his hands smooth around your body to your back to pull you in at the same time as he gets nearer. “Haven’t even tried to either, but you always stop me.”

“I don’t want our first time to be rushed or anything, baby. I want to lay you out and fucking worship you,” he reasons in a quiet voice while leaning down to brush his nose against yours gently. “I want to be certain we’ll have no interruptions so I can focus entirely on you, like you deserve.”

“That does sound nice,” you concede in a thoughtful murmur that makes him hum approvingly before pecking your lips sweetly. “But also, so does getting fucked in general.” He sighs and slumps while giving you a flat, unimpressed look. “What? You never know what could happen! What if last night in the locker room was the only chance we have?”

“I’m pretty fucking sure I’ll get another chance that doesn’t involve fucking you against the lockers, sweetheart.”

“How sure?”

“Shut up,” he chuckles then tilts in to kiss you, uncaring for who is around or that his phone starts to vibrate in his jacket pocket pressed between your bodies.

Before you can even push him away to tell him to either answer the call or reject it as it’s annoying you, Jihoon bursts out of the garage frantically. “Pearl!” He runs over with his phone against his ear. “You need to get to house right fucking now.”

“What? Why?” You worry, nudging Seungcheol aside so that you can give Jihoon your full attention.

“Squirt’s hurt and-” he doesn’t get to finish talking before you yank open the driver’s door of Seungcheol’s car to start it up.

Seungcheol barely manages to run around and get in the passenger side before you’re pulling away, kicking up dust and gravel in your rush. With one hand, Seungcheol slams his door shut as he calls the gate security for the inner wall with the other hand and tells them to open the gate right now. 

When you approach less than a minute later, you don’t have to slow down and can speed right through thanks to his forethought.

As you pull up to the house, the front door pulls open and Hansol’s terrified screaming reaches you despite the car still being tightly closed up.

Neither you nor Seungcheol think before getting out without putting the car into park or the handbrake on, so that you can run over to where Junhui is carrying a small figure towards you. Your whole body comes over cold as you register that it’s Chan in his arms. Your little brother, covered in blood. 

Your little brother laid motionless in a hold that should be your own.

Seungkwan is rushing along at Junhui’s side while holding a wad of blood-stained cloth to Chan’s head, with his hands coated in your brother’s blood too. Though you barely register him, or Jeonghan on the porch with a screaming, writhing Hansol in his arms as the little boy tries to follow after his best friend.

All you can see is your precious little brother. Your too pale little brother. Your too still little brother.

“What happened?” You ask weakly as your shaking hands lift to touch Chan’s tiny dangling hand when Junhui passes by you to climb into the backseat of the car once Seungcheol opens the door. Seungkwan tries to follow, but you grab him by his jumper to shove him against the back of the car so he’s facing you. “I said what the fuck happened to my brother, Seungkwan?!” You demand, your gaze burning into his wet, scared one. You don’t know what your expression is doing but it must be something evil as the fear in Seungkwan's eyes grows when he takes in the fury on your face.

“H-he fe-fell down the fr-frame,” he stammers, blood-soaked hands trying to remove your grip on him but you’re holding on too tight, and his hands are too slippery; all he’s doing is smearing blood over your exposed arms. Your little brother’s blood.

“How?! Why the fuck weren’t you watching him and doing your fucking job, huh?!”

“That’s enough, baby, that’s enough,” Seungcheol says in a placating tone as he tries to pull you away from Seungkwan, but he’s being too gentle and refusing to use his strength against you. “I’m sure it was an accident; it wasn’t Kwan’s fault.”

“You wouldn’t fucking say that if it was Hansol!” You snap, shoving Seungcheol away and not paying attention to the fact he stumbles back having not expected you to push him so harshly. You turn back to Seungkwan and find him crying against the car, scared; both of your wrath, and for the little boy he truly utterly adores.

“I-I’m sorry!” He sobs. “I-I didn’t m-mean to le-let him get hurt! I’m sor-sorry!”

“You fucking should be,” you hiss and finally let him go to shove him aside, not caring that he falls to the stones harshly on his hands and knees. You don’t look at him and instead look in the car at Junhui. He nods at you, silently confirming that he’s got Chan safe in the back and allowing you to move to the driver’s door with the knowledge that your brother is as okay as he can be right now.   

But before you can pull the door open, Seungcheol grabs you and opens the back door again to sit you inside. “I’m driving,” he declares and shuts the door before getting in the driver’s seat and immediately pulling away, even if his heart yearns to comfort his distraught, screaming son. 

At least when he glances in the rearview mirror at the manor while driving away, he sees Seungkwan joining Jeonghan in trying to calm Hansol, and Seungcheol knows that his son is in good hands.

Seungcheol’s gaze flickers to you where you’ve taken Chan into your own arms, looking down at him with tears on your cheeks and whispering to him, pleading for him to wake up and not leave you alone. He presses down harder on the accelerator.  

It’s hours before you leave Chan’s room; only once Jisoo has triple checked everything that the other doctors have done to stabilise your still unconscious brother and has run all possible tests, plus some more just to be safe.

Jisoo hadn’t been available when you had arrived at the hospital, he had been in the middle of assisting a surgery on another child, so although you wished the man had been the one to initially look after your brother, someone else had to do it.

Yet the moment Jisoo had checked his phone after the surgery and noticed Seungcheol’s text stating what had happened and the room Chan is in, Jisoo had rushed right over and took over from the others. All those he dismissed were grateful to not have to face S.Coups where the man remained in the corner, watching everything intently and only talking to tell the staff that he’ll foot the bill.

Still, it takes a while longer for you to feel able to leave your brother. Only once he has most of his colour back and Jisoo promises that Chan’s more than stable enough for you to get some air, do you step out of the room and leave Seungcheol to watch over your little brother while you go outside.

You’re barely out of the doors of the building before your legs grow weak as the adrenaline leaves you and takes all strength with it.

It’s quiet at this entrance as it’s not near the garden or main wings, so there’s no-one to watch as you drop to the ground and drag yourself a few metres over to the wall to lean your back against it as tears stream down your cheeks.

Not that you’d care if anyone saw you cry right now; you’re too worried that Chan won’t wake from his head wound, or that when he does, he will be permanently affected in a way that will make his life even harder. You’d do all you could for him, of course, and you’d love him all the same, nothing could make your love for your brother lessen. But you don’t want him to have to suffer more than he has from simply being born to parents who chose to abandon him due to a disability he never asked for.

All you want for him, all you’ve ever wanted for him, is a genuinely happy, healthy life and now you’re not even sure he’ll wake and get the chance to make one.

You have no idea how long you’re sitting there, crying into blood-stained hands, and getting smears of red over your cheeks, before you hear another person.

At first, you think nothing of the footsteps nearing from down the path and ignore it entirely. But then you hear a distinctive click and something hard presses against the top of your head firmly. Instantly, your tears cease as you’re faced with the reality that there’s a gun held to your head.

“Been looking for you,” the newcomer announces. Your blood runs cold as recognition settles in your mind and fear in your heart.

Why did he have to show his face now? You could deal with him at another point, in another place, but not right now. Not when your brother is so vulnerable. Not when you can’t take him and run as far and fast as you can until he’s hidden away somewhere safe.

Slowly, you lower your hands to your sides and start to tilt your head upwards. “Dad,” you mutter when he removes the gun to let you look up at where he’s standing in front of you, backlit by the early evening sun. Even with the light behind him and shadowing his face, you can see his sick grin.

“Oh, so you do know what fucking family you belong to, huh?” He moves aside his suit jacket as he puts the safety back on his gun, to tuck the firearm back in the holster and instead pulls out his favourite knife from the pocket he has sewn into all of his tailor-made suits to allow him to carry the lethal blade.

“How did you find me?” You ask, glancing around quickly and noticing the figures standing on guard at the other end of the path at the side of the building; the only entrance to this little area other than the building itself. You know he must already have men standing inside too, so that nobody walks out into the small yard while he’s here, confronting you with a knife.

“Got men posted all over,” he reminds you as he squats down in front of you and taps the knife against your bent knee mindlessly. “You know that. And I know that you’re the only fucking person other than me and Jisung who has access to as much information as someone’s clearly been giving out lately to have Centaurs fucking destroying my men, one group at a time. Gotta admit, kid, didn’t expect you to turn on me.”

“Then you’re even dumber than I thought.” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, he’s shoved you roughly against the wall and presses the sharp side of his blade against your throat. Even with the minimal pressure he’s using, you can feel your skin splitting under the knife’s edge, your blood trickling down to mix with Chan’s already staining the collar of your overalls.

“Fucking say that again, bitch,” he hisses in warning. “See where it fucking gets you.”

“If you wanted to kill me, you wouldn’t wait around,” you point out, talking carefully to not jog the knife against your throat and risk drawing more blood. “What do you want from me?”

“You are going to come back home and tell me every fucking thing you know about S.Coups and his pathetic gang.”

“What makes you think I know anything?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, bitch. You fooled me for thirty years, letting me think you’re stupid and unable to retain or understand important information, just to fucking stab me in the back and hide away.” He sneers at you and pulls his hand back, only to lift the knife and touch the tip against your left cheek just below your eye. “I didn’t fucking believe you would betray me. I thought family meant something to you, but my men sent me photos of you with S.Coups himself; being held in this hospital by my fucking enemy and I realised you have no fucking family loyalty.”

“You’re no family to me.”

“Mm, I can see that,” he watches as he lets the weight of his knife tilt enough to drag the blade down your tear-sticky, and already blood smeared, skin; scoring a thin line an inch or so long as you try not to wince at the pain of being cut over delicate skin, before he pulls the knife away entirely and looks at you properly. “But I know that idiot fucking child in there is.”

“He used to be important to you too.”

“Then I realised he’s a retarded little fuck and will never be of use to me. Except, to blackmail you.”

“If you hurt him-” you start to warn, glaring at the man as he gets up with an amused chuckle that makes you cut off.

“I won’t, if you come with me. I’ll pull back my men and even forget that the man I want dead is here without any guards and I could easily go in and spray the room with the motherfucker’s blood.”

“He’s a far more competent fighter than you’ll ever be, much younger too,” you goad, only to get his knife stabbed into your shoulder in retaliation. You immediately slap your hand over your mouth to stop the yell of pain leaving and being heard inside the building. The last thing you want is for an innocent person to hear and try to help only to get hurt. You’d rather just grit your teeth and bear the pain alone.

“Keep talking shit and I’ll go up there right fucking now and slit both their throats, and even that skinny fucker with them too. And the pretty doctor doting on your dumbass little brother,” he threatens, pulling the blade from your shoulder slowly, just to prolong the pain of the serrated edge of one side of the blade catching and dragging through the shallow amount of skin and flesh he imbedded it into.

Once the blade is out, you take a second to catch your breath, then lower your hand. “If I leave with you right now without fuss, you swear you’ll have all of your men retreat and not harm them? That you’ll leave them be until Chan has been discharged and is safe at home again?”

“Swear on your mother’s grave,” he retorts with a smirk as his empty hand presses over his equally empty heart.

“You never gave a fuck about her,” you hiss. “Swear on your own mother’s grave, or better yet, your own life; you’re the only person you truly give a fuck about, anyway.”

He sighs but concedes. “I swear on my life that I will pull all my men back and leave the retard alone if you come with me right now; I have no interest in him anyway.”

“And the others? Coups, the other man, and the doctor? You won’t touch them until Chan is home?”

“Yes, yes, whatever, just get your ass up now, I’m done talking here. I fucking hate hospitals.”

“I’m well aware,” you grunt as you get up, doing your best to not use your left arm as you don’t want to exacerbate the shoulder wound you feel oozing blood down your torso. “You’re the reason I almost died from a chest infection.”

“You got better.”

“No thanks to you.”

“Get over it, you’re a grown ass woman.”

“And I was eight fucking years old then!” You exclaim as you reluctantly take a step forward to walk at his side down the path. You’re glad that the weakness has left your body now, either thanks to the rest and air, or that there’s a much more imminent threat hanging over not just Chan’s head and forcing your body and mind to toughen back up to endure it and do what you need to.

As you get into the car with your father, you can only hope that Seungcheol will do what he once promised to and look after Chan without you around.

It’s strange being back in your family home. Strange to be marched past men you once worked with and trained alongside, only to now be strapped to a chair in the basement as your father watches his right-hand man pull out all the stops to torture you for information that you refuse to give.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Jisung grunts when he gives up trying to get you to tell them how to work around the Centaur estate’s security in hopes that Vultures can sneak inside and slaughter the members in their sleep, something at least half of them will be doing right now.

You have no idea what the time is exactly, there isn’t a clock down here, or a window to see the progression of the sun and moon in the sky, but you know it’s been hours.

Vultures are known for their sick joy of slowly pulling apart their victims; it’s part of the reason for the name, after all. The other part is the tendency to cause havoc amongst other gangs to have them do most of the hard work, then swoop in at the last minute and take over. Like a vulture circling a struggling animal in the wild only to finish the job when the animal is too weak to go on. It’s a fitting moniker for your father, you think.

Although the man is more than capable of getting his hands dirty, he’s proven that many times, he often lets his right-hand man do most of the work and only steps in to finish the job if he deems it worth his time.

Up until now, he hasn’t deemed you worth his time.

Something about seeing the man remove his jacket, gun holster and shirt to leave him in his plain white tank top makes a sick sense of pride travel through you. For your dad to remove not just his suit jacket, but his shirt too so that they don’t get dirty, you know it means he has no intention of going easy on you and deems it necessary to get as dirty as possible. You’ve only seen him remove his shirt to work someone once before, and that hadn’t ended well for his victim.

You know that you won’t come out of this in one piece, if you even come out of it at all; but you don’t let that scare you, only strengthen your resolve to not give him a single piece of information about Seungcheol and his gang. There’s only so much torture he can force you through before death is the next step. At this point, you fear death far less than the thought of putting the family you’ve been making for yourself the past months at risk. It’s a no brainer, but your father is too pissed off to realise that.

“You trained me well, Uncle Jisung,” you tease as blood drips down your body from various open wounds, saliva, and blood blending together and spilling from your open mouth, nose too broken and swollen to be possible to breathe through. Though you think that maybe your jaw might be broken too, or at least fractured, based on the searing pain when you talk. Still, you persist.

“She’s right, you know,” Jisung comments as he drops down to sit on the stool your father previously occupied to watch.

Now, your dad is standing by the rack to decide which tool to use against you. There are a few new items hanging on display compared to when they took turns forcing you through torture training as a teen, but you’re not worried; you’ll withstand it all for the sake of those you love.

It’s only now, as you feel the sudden burning pain of a heated blade carving into your palm and sealing wounds shut to make sure they scar under your father’s guidance, that you realise that you do love the group of men and the little boy who have shown you what it means to be a family.

You love Mingyu for being the first person to ever truly be kind to you and Chan.

You love Junhui and his tendency to feed everyone at any chance he gets while cracking stupid jokes.

You love Seungkwan and his ability to remain calm even when Hansol has his energy bouts and Chan gets overloaded and has a meltdown. You regret how you treated him earlier and hope that he doesn’t hold it against you; you’d hate for the last time you saw him to taint his memories of you forever.

You love Jihoon and his straightforward method of talking and teaching you everything you’ve never before been allowed to know about mechanics and every tool he can get his hands on.

You love Seokmin and Soonyoung, for their endless optimism and joint skill of making everyone laugh.

You love Wonwoo, Minghao, Jisoo and Jeonghan, even if you don’t see them that often; but they’re always such gentle, supportive presences when you do, even with Jisoo and Jeonghan’s joint endless teasing of Seungcheol.

You love Hansol so fully that he was the first to enter your heart and make you realise that you want to extend your family to include him. You love how he has been the single best thing to happen to Chan in, perhaps, his entire life, and you know he will continue to be. You love him for being so gentle, yet not condescending, as he guides your little brother through life. You love him for loving Chan, and you truly hope with everything in you that the pair will always remain together and have one another to rely on.

And you love Seungcheol, maybe not in the romantic sense yet, but you think if given the chance, you would’ve fallen head over heels for the beautiful man with a heart so big and warm that you’ve never felt like there isn’t space for you there. You wish that you have more time with him, more time to learn how to love him with everything in you, but you don’t. You’ve never been a person to have regrets, but you think you will end your life with just one before a new day dawns.

You don’t scream as the knife drags through your skin; it truly doesn’t hurt that much, not when you think the pain centre of your brain has mostly shut down after these hours of torture. It hurts more to see the winged V being crudely carved into your skin as if the old brand on your thigh isn’t enough to prove the years of pain and suffering forced onto you from the man who was supposed to love and cherish you more than anyone in the world.

“I think she’s done,” Jisung comments, watching with a frown as your eyes glue unseeingly to your palm with no sign that you’re being carved and burned at once in the rest of you. “She’s shutting down, boss.”

“I’ll wake her the fuck up,” your dad seethes and throws the knife aside before walking behind you to the back of the room.

You don’t bother trying to follow him with your eyes, you can hear him running the tap and the water filling the bucket. You know what’s coming, yet when he stands in front of you and throws the bucket of ice-cold water at your face hard enough it stings, you’re still shocked by the temperature and sudden liquid.

Before you can finish gasping from the onslaught, he pulls your head back by his fist in your hair and shoves a soaked cloth into your mouth; forcing you to inhale freezing water, sucking it into your lungs and causing your body to shake and shudder as your lungs fight to expel the water yet only succeeding in gaining more cold liquid from the cloth. It’s not much water at all, only a little really, but you can’t breathe without dragging more droplets into your lungs and giving yourself no relief.

You try to force yourself to stop breathing, to calm down and press the cloth out of your mouth with your tongue, but you can’t. Your body is panicking from being unable to breathe, and you can’t tilt your head up with your dad’s fist in your hair, leaving your throat at an angle so awkward that you can’t even swallow to get the water down the correct pipe.

Just when you think you’re about to pass out as your vision grows blurrier than your facial and head injuries already have it, your dad lets you go and rips the cloth from your mouth.

Immediately, you double over as you try to suck oxygen into your lungs while drooling saliva and blood over the already blood-stained concrete between your spread feet.

“Now,” your father starts as he condescendingly pats the back of your head too harshly. “You’re going to tell me every fucking thing you know about Choi Seungcheol and his Centaurs, or you’re going to spend the rest of your life fighting for breath.” He walks away to grab the bucket from the floor ready to refill while you try your best to get enough breath to respond.

The moment your lungs are no longer screaming for oxygen, and you can breathe somewhat normally, you start to laugh and slowly look up, gaze locking with Jisung’s where the man is staring at you as if you’re some kind of unidentifiable creature he wishes he can escape and never see again.

“What the fuck?” He whispers. “Boss…I really don’t think she’s human.”

“Stop with your fucking bullshit!” Your dad exclaims and throws the first thing to hand, which isn’t the bucket of water, at Jisung. The man doesn’t move and accepts the wooden scrubbing brush to his head without complaint knowing that your dad would certainly punish him if he tried to dodge. You all learned that a long time ago and wear scars for proof.

“Just let me exorcise her, just once. You should’ve let me when she was a kid and then all this wouldn’t be happening,” Jisung reasons a little desperately, making you laugh harder.

“She’s not a fucking demon, I’d prefer she was one than a fucking retard,” your father grunts while resoaking the cloth with water from the bucket as he approaches you.

As he tips your head back ready to shove the dripping cold rag into your mouth, you grin as best as you can at him when your whole face hurts to move in any way. “How does it feel to have a retard be the reason half your gang’s dead, Vulture?” You taunt.

Just as he roughly presses the cloth to your open mouth, there’s a noise so loud from somewhere upstairs that all three of you look towards the ceiling in shock.

“Was that an explosion?” Jisung mumbles as he gets up to his feet, then steps back while ducking down instinctively when there’s another explosion, followed by the sound of gunfire. “Fuck, we’re under attack.”

“Well don’t just fucking stand there, go find out who dares to come to my home!” Your dad demands, thankfully removing the cloth from your mouth as he uses his hand to gesticulate.

“I don’t need to go outside to know,” Jisung declares and turns to look at you. “They’re here for her.”

“No, there’s no fucking way S.Coups would launch an attack for a retarded whore,” he argues and lets you go to walk over and shove Jisung towards the door. “Stop being a pussy before I strap you to that chair and let her get her own back. You trained her yourself, remember.”

“Yes, sir,” Jisung concedes and rushes out of the room, making sure to lock it behind him to protect his boss as much as possible without being present.

“If you believe his words, you’re as stupid as I initially thought,” your dad taunts as he moves over to his belongings to retrieve his gun from the holster and tuck it into his waistband ready to use if the fight makes it down here.

You know that a part of him must think that there’s weight to Jisung’s assumption, that your father also believes, even a little, that Seungcheol has launched an attack on the Vulture’s headquarters to get you back. The realisation that he’s scared makes you laugh.

“Oh, daddy dear,” you sneer through blood coated lips. “I don’t think I’ve seen you scared before.”

“I’m not fucking scared. There’s no fucking way it’s Centaurs, just some pissy little gang with too much fire power for their own good. My men will deal with it while I finish what I started here.” He pulls the stool away from the wall and over to your side before sitting with the bucket between his feet to soak the cloth in the freezing water.

“Better make it count, you’re on limited time,” you remind and drop your head back to stare up at the ceiling.

He stares at you for a moment too long; the silence makes you glance at him and notice the growing fear on his features. He knows that if you’ve accepted him causing you to almost pass out with water tickling your lungs, that he truly is at the end of his time, both in regard to getting information from you, and his life.

“Cold feet, daddy?” You taunt, smirking when you hear yelling and gunfire getting louder, getting closer. “Tick tock, there’s no numbers left on the clock, time to make a decision.”

“If only I knew you’re this fucking tough and relentless, I would’ve rated you higher,” he mutters in stubborn admittance.

“If you had rated me higher from the start, things would be very different right now.”

“How different? You would’ve remained and not sold me out?”

“Only if you rated Chan the same.”

“That boy is fucking worthless; the sooner you learn and accept that, the better. You could be something special with your resilience and skills without him weighing you down.”

“Finally admitting that I’m useful for more than just seducing your enemies into a false sense of security?” You scoff a laugh. “Too fucking little too late, old man. I know my worth, always have despite how much you tried to literally beat me down, and it’s more than you’ll ever be worth.”

He glares at you. “You’ll never inherit all this; everyone who knows you’re my daughter is too loyal to me to let you take over.”

“Why would I want anything to do with this poor excuse of a gang when I’m by the side of the Choi Centaur?”

“So, you admit it, you’ve fucking sold yourself to him like some cheap, nasty whore.”

“No. He doesn’t own me in any way, but he’s accepted me and Chan entirely. He’s shown us what it’s like to have a real family.”

“He’s not your family, he’s not blood.”

“Blood means nothing when it’s spilled by the hands of those who are supposed to love you.”

With all of your injuries, you don’t hear anyone nearing the room, but your father clearly does as he pulls out his gun and aims at the door before there’s a loud bang and the door rattles in the doorframe.

“Time’s up,” you whisper tauntingly and only laugh when he brings his hand around to hit you hard enough in the face with the side of his gun that your head jerks back and your chair tips a little before falling forward again with a loud clunk. And something loosens.

While your father moves forward slightly and steadies the gun in both hands with eyes glued to the door, you blink through the blood trickling into your eyes and lean forward to peer down at your feet. It takes a lot of concentration and sheer will power before you can see clearly enough to realise that your limbs are no longer tied to the chair legs. The chains are still circling your ankles and pooling around your feet, but they’re no longer attached to the wooden legs of the chairs.

The pounding on the door doesn’t stop; someone is clearly trying to break it down, and judging by the way you can spot your father shuffling his weight from foot to foot just in front of you, he can tell that whoever is on the other side is close to getting in.

Part of you hopes it’s Seungcheol, but the other part of you hopes that it’s not; you don’t want him to be here risking his life when he’s got two young boys to look after.

Though you know that logically, Seungcheol will be right here with his men if this truly is the Centaurs skipping a whole bunch of steps in the plan that the two of you had made to destroy the Vultures. You both had wanted to make sure that by the time your father is dealt with, there is no chance of his underlings rebuilding up what he once had, so Seungcheol has been making carefully curated moves for the past two months to be thorough.

Although storming the Vultures’ headquarters and home was never part of the plan, you think it can be forgiven if Seungcheol has made the order to be ruthless with whoever they cross paths with and leave no man alive by the time the dust settles.

You wish you can see the look on your father’s face, that you can see the realisation setting in that it’s over for him as the door crashes to the floor to reveal the seething head of the Centaurs.

“Get the fuck away from her,” Seungcheol demands while stalking into the room. He’s covered in blood, some of which you can tell is his own based on the injuries on his body, but he’s upright and able to go on, so you don’t let yourself focus on it and worry. You need to keep your attention down on your own task, otherwise you fear you will lose the last grip on your consciousness that you’ve been fighting to hold onto since your father’s gun clad hand collided with your face.

“Come closer and I’ll shoot,” your father warns.

“Fucking do it, I’ll still rip your fucking throat out,” Seungcheol growls threateningly and steps closer, yet stops frozen in his tracks when your father moves his gun into his left hand and points it at you blindly.

You only notice because the barrel suddenly comes into your vision where you’re leaning forward with your head bent to watch as you wiggle your bare feet out from the chains as quietly as you can to not draw your father’s attention. The sudden weapon in your face makes you lean up a little and raise your head to look at your father, who is still looking at Seungcheol, and then the man himself, who is staring at you with pain and fear on his features; not for himself, but for you.

You don’t know what you look like, but your body has reached a cold numbness that you know means that you’re only conscious out of sheer spite; the moment you’re done, you know you’ll pass out. And frankly, at this point with all the injuries that have made a home of your body, you think you’ll be lucky to wake any time soon, if at all.

Although it takes more energy than you’d like to expel when you have other things to be doing, you do your best to smile at Seungcheol reassuringly. Somehow, it only makes his expression worsen.

With a little frown at your attempts to soothe the man failing, you turn your head back down, both to focus and because honestly, even holding your head up is too much for you to handle any longer. Your energy and strength are rapidly depleting. 

You don’t have much time left.

“Just-just let her go, you’ve hurt her enough,” Seungcheol suddenly pleads, reluctantly looking back at your father. “Please, just don’t hurt her anymore.”

“Oh, are you weak for this dumb whore, S.Coups?” Your father mocks, gun wavering as he laughs.

You hear Seungcheol respond; hissing at your father about something or other; you assume he’s defending you, but everything sounds too muffled all of a sudden that you couldn’t make sense of his words even if you tried.

It’s now or never. There’s no time left.

Even though there’s still some chain left around your swollen ankles, you lift your legs as quickly as you can, ignoring that the rattling will alert the man in front of you of your movements, and bring your soles down against the back of his knees, knocking his legs out and sending him to his knees with what you’re sure would be a sickening crunch if you could hear clearly.

As it is, all you hear is a muffled bang before your legs wrap around him, to force his neck into the crook of your right knee and then your other free limb traps your own leg to keep your grip tight to choke the man.

There’s another bang and you see blood spurt up from your left knee, making you realise that both bangs were gunshots. As Seungcheol drops down in front of you to wrestle the gun from your father’s grasp, you rapidly look him over in concern as best as you can when your vision is rapidly turning black and your head spins.

“Baby,” he breathes out upon turning to you, tossing the gun away and pressing his hands against your stomach with wide eyes of fear. You blink at him and try to discern what he says next but he’s talking too fast, and a buzzing is growing in your ears. He removes one hand from your stomach to untangle your legs, prompting you to look at the lifeless figure with the bleeding hole in his head.

You hadn’t even heard the bang of Seungcheol shooting your father, ending the life of the man who spent three decades making your life a living hell. You always assumed you’d feel something the day your father died, relief, joy; but you don’t feel anything right now.  

You let Seungcheol move your legs until your father’s corpse drops to the ground, and then Seungcheol is kneeling directly in front of you and pressing on your stomach again. Your head drops heavily to look at what he’s doing, and you now realise that the first gunshot must’ve entered you, even if you didn’t notice it. You’re too numb after everything to feel the pain, even now as you see your blood spilling out over Seungcheol’s hands.

“Oh,” you slur and force your head up with the last of your strength to ask the one thing you need to know before succumbing. “Chan?”

Seungcheol responds, opens his mouth to talk but you can’t hear a word he’s saying. His eyebrows furrow with worry before he nods rapidly, telling you that Chan is okay.

You just about manage a relieved smile before you let go.

The Choi estate hasn’t been this quiet in a long time.

The Centaurs haven’t faced such loss in so long that it touches every inch of the estate; from the entrance gates to the centre of the manor, no-one is left unaffected.

Although the Centaurs came out on top and entirely wiped out the Vultures two weeks ago, nobody has been able to celebrate the win when their numbers have dwindled enough to leave homes empty and rooms unoccupied all over the estate.

News of the battle at the Vultures’ estate had spread quickly, and although it’s not hidden information of the losses suffered amongst Centaurs, there has been an added respect and fear for the surviving gang members.

Seungcheol had gone in guns blazing and eradicated a giant pest from the country, not just the city. Vultures had their grimy talons all over the country and now, although Seungcheol hadn’t managed to send his men out to all of them to deal with them before the battle, nobody has heard anything about any Vulture since; and many have even switched sides to other gangs in hopes of gaining protection from Centaurs knowing that should they remain in their affiliation with Vultures, they won’t have their lives for much longer.

Many gifts and signs of support have arrived at the Choi estate over the past two weeks, but none make it to the manor; with Seungcheol not showing his face on the estate once in the two weeks, nobody has had the permission to send anything to the manor.

Although Mingyu is in charge when Seungcheol isn’t around, he hasn’t wanted to deal with any of that and has been entirely focused on handling everything for the gang itself; arranging funerals, overseeing the still ongoing work, supporting the men as best as he can with a guilt in his heart for not having been at the battle, even if it had been Seungcheol’s orders for Mingyu to remain and protect the estate. Mingyu thinks he’s the wrong person to comfort the men who returned when he hadn’t seen the bloodshed and faced injury himself.

At least Wonwoo, who had been at the battle, returned with only a few injuries and has been standing as Mingyu’s right-hand man, while the tall man is the pseudo leader until their true leader can face coming back when he saw so much loss that day. When he is still suffering so much.

They hope and send out prayers to deities that they don’t believe in that their leader will return to them soon; his son has been crying every day, begging for his father and little brother back while they can only do their best to soothe him and try to convince Seungcheol via call to come home, at least to hug Hansol.

But he doesn’t. He makes sure to tell Hansol that he loves him, and he will be home as soon as he can, but it’s not possible yet. Then he doesn’t answer another call until the same time the next day just to talk to his son and tell him he loves him. It’s a small relief, but a relief all the same that Seungcheol isn’t too gone that he won’t talk to his son.

It’s better than nothing, at least.

After a month, the Choi estate has healed enough that things are almost back to normal, at least as normal as they can be without the Choi Centaur around.

He came back once, just to fetch Chan’s turtle while Hansol was in a fitful sleep curled up in between Seungkwan and Jeonghan in his father’s bed. Seungcheol hadn’t possessed the strength to even look in on his son as he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave if he did, and he couldn’t risk it.

But now, after a month of watching Hansol get worse and worse with every passing day; refusing to take his medication and vitamins, barely eating or sleeping, and only talking to sob out pleas to bring his family back, Jisoo can’t let it continue and picks him up one day, even with the boy weakly fighting the hold, and carries him to his car.

“What are you doing? You know we can’t take him anywhere,” Seungkwan worries, but he’s not stopping Jisoo and climbs into the back of the car at Hansol’s side to strap him in while the boy cries and tries to go back into the house to wait for his father to return, but he’s too weak to do anything more than slap his hands against Jisoo’s strong arms as he’s held in place for Seungkwan.

“I’m doing my job as his godfather,” Jisoo grunts and moves back to shut the door and get into the driver’s seat.

“It’s okay, Solie, it’s okay, Uncle Soo is taking us somewhere. It’ll be fine, we trust Uncle Soo, don’t we?”

“Bu-but d-daddy!” Hansol wails, scrambling at the door but Jisoo has already put the child lock on so Hansol’s little fingers tugging at the handle doesn’t do a thing.

“I’m taking you to him,” Jisoo informs as he drives through the grounds.

Hansol immediately falls quiet and looks at Jisoo with wide, wet eyes. “T-to daddy?”

“Yes. It’s about time he sees what he’s doing to you; I should’ve done this already.” The doctor sighs regretfully, guilt heavy in his exhausted tone. “And I’m going to make you healthy again, okay? But you need to promise me you’ll eat, Sol.”

“I wi-will! I j-just wan-wanna see my da-daddy,” Hansol sobs.

“I know, buddy, I know.”

Seungkwan wraps his arms around the little boy to comfort him for the rest of the drive out of the estate and through the city.

Seungkwan doesn’t recognise the building they pull up to and grows confused yet remains quiet and simply gets out to follow Jisoo inside as the doctor carries the little boy.

It’s not until they’ve passed a few security checks and Jisoo has signed them in, that Seungkwan realises that this building is a very private hospital; so private that he didn’t even know that it exists until now.

Although Jisoo works at the main public hospital, he clearly has experience here as the staff greet him as Dr Hong and he walks confidently through the halls to a wing that is full of men who are somewhat familiar to Seungkwan. Some are in hospital wear and recovering from various injuries, and some are wearing dark clothing with obvious weapons attached to their bodies as they patrol the halls and stand alert at various intervals throughout the wing on guard.

“Who-who are they?” Hansol whispers, clutching Jisoo tighter as many of the men look in surprise at the little boy, clearly knowing who he is yet not having expected to see him here, before looking away respectfully.

“They’re part of daddy’s team; they’re here to guard everyone,” Jisoo answers without slowing as he leaves the busiest part of the wing behind and walks further away from the various men until the section that he stops in only has a couple of guards at the entrance of the hall at the opposite end. Jisoo puts Hansol down, then knocks on the door in front of them before sliding it open and leading the pair into the large room.

“What are you doing?” Seungcheol mutters from where he’s sprawled on one of the two hospital beds in the room with Chan laid on his chest fast asleep. His wide eyes dart from Jisoo to his son, then back and forth as Hansol rushes over, already sobbing and calling for them while tries to climb up. “Sol.”

“Daddy!” Hansol wails and crawls over to lay against him with his arm over Chan’s back to hug them both once Jisoo lifts the boy up onto the bed.

Seungkwan remains back, almost by the closed door, knowing that it’s not his place to be here and he certainly can’t go against his boss’ strict orders to keep Hansol at the manor and not disturb Seungcheol. But Jisoo has always been perhaps the only person, until you, who can dismiss Seungcheol’s words where Hansol is concerned.

Jisoo has been Hansol’s godfather since stepping into his life and it’s a position that Seungcheol respects too much, even if he’s not religious, that he will accept Jisoo’s actions knowing they’re what the doctor truly believes is best for the boy.

“Look at your son, Seungcheol,” Jisoo demands and Seungcheol winces, already staring at his son with pained, guilty tears in his eyes and his hand gripping onto his small body as tightly as he can without risking hurting the slim boy. “This is your fault; he’s not eating or sleeping because of you.”

“I’m so sorry,” Seungcheol whispers brokenly.

“You need to come home.”

“I can’t,” Seungcheol replies as he looks over to the other bed where you’re laid perfectly still as your body fights to heal while your mind refuses to come back. He doesn’t know if you will return to him, but he knows that Chan won’t leave your side and as the only adult the boy truly trusts, he can’t leave, as much as he wants to be with his son.

You trust Seungcheol to do right by your brother and he can’t let you down. He needs to show you that Chan has recovered from his head injury, and although the boy has withdrawn a lot and mostly just stares at you silently in wait for you to wake, he’s alive and healthy. You need to wake up and see that.

Seungcheol knows that if he went home and saw Hansol, he wouldn’t want to let him go. Now that he’s tucked up against him and already almost asleep just from being in his father’s safe hold and able to see Chan sleeping safely under his own hold, Seungcheol knows that he’s not going to be able to let him leave. He’s missed him too much; his heart has ached too much, but now it hurts a little less seeing Hansol.

Though the gaunt condition of his son does grip Seungcheol’s insides with guilt, more than he already feels from just knowing his son was suffering without him.

He knew it was an impossible decision to make, staying to support you and Chan, or going home to his son. He had tried to be logical about it; that Chan only has you and him to trust so much, whereas Hansol has ten men ready to do everything and anything to make him happy. But seeing Hansol’s condition now, Seungcheol wonders if he should’ve let his heart win, not his head.

“Get another bed in here and go get Hansol’s favourite blanket and supplies for him,” Seungcheol orders, looking at Jisoo and then Seungkwan, who nods quickly and backs out of the room.

“Finally, you’re not being a giant dumbass,” Jisoo sighs in relief and reaches out to squeeze Seungcheol’s arm in approval. “I’m getting him hooked up though, I don’t know the last time he ate a decent meal.”

“Thank you, Jisoo, seriously.”

“Just being a good godfather.”

“And friend.”

“Yeah, but I’m always that, I think it’s time I focus more on the godfather duties like I should’ve been. I should’ve brought him here much sooner.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think I would’ve accepted it so easily. I fucked up here, big time.”

“I think no matter what you chose to do, you would’ve fucked up. Abandoned one child for the sake of the other when neither deserves that and both need you.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol tips his head back to stare at the ceiling and blink away the tears that trickle down his temples onto the pillow. “What do I do?” He whispers desperately, broken. “I-I can’t make the boys live in this room for the rest of their lives, but Chan won’t leave her and honestly, I don’t want to either.”

“It’s another impossible situation. But have faith, her vitals have been stable for a week straight; she’s breathing on her own and I have a feeling it’s only going to get better.”

“If you’ve jinxed it, I’m going to make you pay,” Seungcheol promises while turning his head to look at Jisoo, who just chuckles and pats his arm again. “I mean it.”

“Typical of you to only be superstitious when it suits you,” Jisoo tuts as he turns and heads to the door. “I’ll get that bed, and everything ordered, then I will be back.”

“Thank you.” Seungcheol watches Jisoo leave before he turns his head to kiss each slumbering boy on the head, then turns his head even further to look over at you. “Please wake up soon, sweetheart. I need you; our family needs you.”

It’s not dramatic when it happens, there are no racing monitors, no sudden jolts, just a flutter of eyes and a steady chest.

Everything aches and you’re oddly tired for just waking up, but you feel okay, all in all.

The sound of soft giggling draws your attention to where the two boys are sitting on the bed a few metres on your right. Hansol is reading to Chan, using all of his best voices and dramatic gestures to act out the story he’s reading from the book. Chan is utterly entranced, staring at Hansol with his mouth open in awe and big eyes glued to the older boy.

You can see the scar on Chan’s forehead, a scar that wasn’t there the last time you saw him conscious, and it makes you frown as you recall the condition you last saw your little brother in. Though, at least he’s awake and seems like his normal self now, judging by the sparkle in his eyes as he watches Hansol make fishie faces at him while pretending to swim.

Suddenly, Hansol glances past Chan to you and straightens with a gasp while dropping the book on his lap. “Aunt Pearl!”

Chan spins around and shrieks at the sight of you looking at them. He tries to rapidly get down but luckily, Seungcheol is already on his feet between the beds despite having been dozing on the other bed across the room until Hansol’s exclamation, so he grabs Chan before he can fall and carefully deposits your brother onto your bed to allow Chan to scramble forward to hug you tight.

“Careful, Squirt,” Seungcheol reminds, gently pulling back Chan with one hand as he stops Hansol climbing onto your bed with the other. But you weakly bat Seungcheol’s right hand away to pull Chan as close as humanly possible with the monitors attached to your body.

“I wanna hug her too!” Hansol whines.

“There isn’t space, she isn’t well enough to have you both on her right now,” Seungcheol reminds and picks up his son to hold and hug himself to try and comfort the seven-year-old’s sad frown away.

You want to argue with Seungcheol and tell him to hand over Hansol too, but you’re already feeling too weak just from wrapping your arms around Chan and you know you really don’t have the strength any longer. You lace your fingers together behind Chan so that your arms won’t fall when your eyes flutter closed, and sleep takes you seconds later.

“Aunt Pearl!” Hansol exclaims in worry, trying to lean forward towards you, but Seungcheol holds him tighter.

“She’s fine, she’s fine,” Seungcheol promises, putting one hand to Chan’s back when he starts to writhe and make distressed noises seeing your eyes closed again upon leaning up. “She fell asleep. Her body and mind need lots of rest to get better. Look, the monitors say everything is fine,” he reminds them while pointing to the monitors above the bed on the wall, prompting both boys to look up.

After spending the past two weeks in this room, they are both familiar enough with those monitors to know what they should look like, and seeing them now, they both relax.

“She’s just sleeping?” Hansol checks.

“Yeah, she’s just sleeping. How about you finish reading that book, yeah?” Seungcheol suggests as he puts Hansol down on the bed the boy has been sharing with Chan for two weeks now. Though he doesn’t try to remove Chan from you and instead carefully rearranges him into a position that he hopes won’t cause you any problems while still allowing Chan the range of motion to look at Hansol.

As Hansol picks the story back up from where he got to, Seungcheol climbs up onto the bed behind him to lay down with his gaze glued to you. Relief fills his chest from seeing you awake for the first time in six weeks, since he saw you pass out in the basement as he tried to stop the wound in your stomach from bleeding out.

There’s hope mixed in with that relief filling his body, hope that this means you will be able to return home soon; return to where you all belong, together.

Almost three months after last stepping foot in the manor, you finally return, though not on foot, much to your dismay. 

Although you can walk, you’ve been put on rest by the doctors, Jisoo included, until your knee recovers more. You can’t truly blame them considering the fact you had been shot through it and your kneecap shattered to the extreme that they entirely replaced it with a synthetic one, leaving you with a consistent strange sensation in your knee and general constant aching they said may never leave. But still, you really wish you didn’t have to be wheeled around.

Though, having your strong boyfriend carry you when you refuse to use your wheelchair is a happy little advantage you discover over the first few days being home. You’re pretty sure that he knows you refuse on purpose sometimes, just so that he’ll pick you up in his strong hold and move you to where you want to go with a little smirk on his face as your hands appreciatively smooth over his bulging arms.

Part of you thinks that whatever happened to your head that day in the basement has seriously altered your brain chemistry because your libido has never been so active. What makes it worse is that even though Seungcheol is around the house more than he ever has been to keep an eye on you; while also making up for lost time with his son, he still refuses to have sex with you.

So, you endlessly pine, admittedly not so silently when you pout at him whenever he pulls away from a kiss too soon, but it falls on deaf ears, so you may as well be complaining to a brick wall.

Despite the never-ending simmering in your veins, you get better and better with every passing day.

But Chan, on the other hand, seems to be suffering in your place.

Since the four of you returned home, you’ve been sleeping in Seungcheol’s bed with him and the two boys in Hansol’s room. At first, all four of you had shared the bed, but then the boys moved into Hansol’s room and always seem to be so excited to share the bed and have endless sleepovers.

Yet, every single night, Chan wakes a few hours after going to sleep; screaming and writhing in fear that only settles once Seungcheol has fetched him and brought him to tuck up against your chest. Your tear-stained brother falls back to sleep only once he’s gently patted his hands over your face as if to check it’s really you and has his head resting on your chest to be lulled into slumber by your healthy heartbeat.

Come morning, Chan never remembers what happened or how he got to the bed, or Hansol sleepily joining at his father’s side not wanting to be alone and also to make sure that Chan is okay. So, as much as you want to ask Chan what happens, what his nightmares are about, you can’t because he truly doesn’t remember. Though, you think it’s pretty obvious that they’re always about losing you.

Seungcheol had told you that Chan had a lot of nightmares at the hospital; some were really bad and Seungcheol couldn’t calm him no matter what he tried, even putting Chan at your side hadn’t helped. So Seungcheol could only pace, bouncing Chan in his arms and rubbing his back like an unsettled baby until the boy wore himself out and passed out on Seungcheol’s shoulder.

Your heart aches for your little brother, and you wish you could do something to help, but other than giving him sleeping medication to make him sleep deeply enough that he isn’t plagued by nightmares, which is something you don’t want to do if you can help it, the only option is therapy. Though with Chan’s refusal to be far from either you or Seungcheol at any given point, you don’t think it’s a viable option. Plus, Chan has stopped talking to even Hansol, so you know that there’s not a chance in hell he’ll talk to a stranger.

You’re at a loss and can only hope that with time, your brother’s fear of losing you will lessen, and he can go a single night not at your side without waking in petrified tears.

At least Hansol is back to himself now, entirely healthy and sleeping as best as he can when Chan wakes him almost every night screaming. But at least he sleeps in on those mornings, both boys do, to catch up on the sleep they missed overnight.

Those few hours with the boys fast asleep morning and night are the only times you and Seungcheol get to be entirely alone, which doesn’t make much of a difference as mostly, you simply carry on like normal, just with more kissing as you don’t have to worry about the boys seeing.

But sometimes, it means Seungcheol wakes you with soft, minty kisses to your cheek and coaxes you into the bathroom half asleep where you let him brush your teeth then strip you down to place into the large bathtub of perfectly warm, soothing scented water.

At first, he had been shy about stripping with your sleepy, yet very interested, gaze stuck on his body. But after you’d pointed out that he’s now seen you naked many times from being the one to wash you at the hospital for almost three months, he sucked it up and quickly got naked to join you in the tub to hold you and enjoy the peaceful early mornings with you.

Of course, you had tried to initiate some physical intimacy a few times, but by now, you’ve given up and just enjoy the calm of a quiet house with him as you softly talk about things that neither of you think to ask or bring up at other times.

It’s like these mornings in the tub leaning into one another open you both up, heart and mind, and allow you to discuss topics that are usually silently left out of sight. Mostly, you talk about your pasts, your families, and the fucked-up shit you’ve both done being raised in ruthless gangs. Comparing scars both figuratively and literally.

“This one,” Seungcheol murmurs, tracing his fingers over a scar barely visible behind your left ear.

“Mm, I don’t know,” you admit; a worryingly common response for both of you when the other questions scars that you can’t recall the root of. You both have too many scars, too much trauma to remember it all clearly. “How old does it look?”

Seungcheol hums thoughtfully and leans in closer to peer at the scar. “Very.”

“Maybe from torture training.”

“I hate that they did that to you.”

“So did they, in the end. The very thing they taught me is the same thing that made me able to withstand all the shit they did that day in the basement.”

“They didn’t even want you, why did they fucking punish you like that for leaving?” He grunts and nuzzles into your messily tied up hair for his own comfort. He does that a lot; gets closer to you when he’s upset about your past, how you were treated. He knows that you don’t hold on to anything in the past, and those things that linger in your mind you fix however you can; like how you treated Seungkwan that day even if Seungkwan had tried to bat away your apology and insisted you didn’t need to say sorry when he didn’t hold it against you. So Seungcheol doesn’t do it for your sake, but entirely his own; to soothe his aching heart at the thought of all you were forced to endure, all the scars on your skin that he wishes you never had to gain.

“They weren’t punishing me,” you point out, earning a confused noise. “They wanted information on you, the estate.”

“What?” He straightens up and holds your face to turn you to look at him. “They tortured you like that to get information out of you?” You nod. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, baby.”

“It’s fine, I’d endure anything to protect my family.”

Seungcheol’s expression softens before he leans in to press a tender kiss to your lips. “I hope you never have to face anything like that again.”

“Me too, I don’t think the doctors will be impressed if they have to give me another fake kneecap.”

Seungcheol laughs and shakes his head a little yet says nothing more and just settles back down with you in his arms.

You sit for a little while longer before a question you’ve been wondering for a long time comes to your mind. “Cheolie?” He hums to show that you’ve got his attention, not that it was anywhere but on you already. “What happened to your parents?”

“Ah, I guess you were bound to ask one day,” he understands with a sigh. “I don’t know the details, nobody does really, and I really don’t want to know either. I just know I came home one day and found my dad’s body on the floor outside of the kitchen with the door closed, his gun in one hand and a note in the other addressed to me.”

“What did it say?”

“That he had to take his own life because he knew he wouldn’t be able to live without my mother, or the guilt of knowing that in a moment where his mind had run away, he killed her. He told me not to go into the kitchen and to call his right-hand to deal with their bodies, and that from now on, it’s all mine.”

“Oh…”

“Mm, yeah, despite what people think, I didn’t murder my own fucking father to get all this quicker. I didn’t even want it really. I always wished they would pop out another kid and last long enough that the kid would be an adult by the time I had to take over, just so I could pass it right over to them. But I was twenty when they died and no kid in sight.”

“You didn’t want the gang?”

“No, I knew what all this meant; the danger and pressure of leading the Centaurs. I never wanted it, but I didn’t have a choice.”

“Couldn’t you have passed it to his right-hand, or someone else who knows how to run it all?”

“Technically, I suppose I could’ve, but my family started this gang centuries ago; back when they used to ride horseback and gained the name for how in tune with their horses they were, how no-one could beat a Choi on horseback. It’s a legacy and even though part of me hates it all, all the blood on my family’s hands, I’m also too proud of all my ancestors built and kept going for these years that I can’t let it go.”

“Hansol will inherit it.”

“Oh, I purposely misspelled his name on his birth certificate, so he has a valid excuse not to if he doesn’t want to.”

“You did what?” You sputter a laugh and look at him. “You misspelled his name?”

“Yeah, you didn’t know that?”

“I’ve never seen his name written down.”

“Oh, well, yeah, Choi is C-H-O-I but his is C-H-W-E.” You can’t help but laugh again. “It’s kind of stupid, huh?” He chuckles and pulls you back against his chest, tucked up under his right arm side by side.

“It is, but it also makes sense. Has he questioned it?”

“Yeah, I blamed his mother being American and barely knowing Korean.” You can only laugh harder. “He’s asked for me to change it to the correct spelling, but I told him I can’t do that, I only get one chance to name him, and I used it up so it’ll have to wait until he’s an adult and can do it himself.”

“Oh, that’s kind of evil, but also genius.”

“I have my moments.”

“You do,” you agree and shuffle around so that you can face him. “I was wondering if you’ll do something.”

“What?”

“Adopt Chan with me.” Seungcheol’s eyes widen in surprise. “I don’t want either of us to be associated with our father anymore so I want to change his surname and well, I’m going to adopt him anyway, so he’s legally under my care and if you adopt him with me, he can take your family name. We can spell it C-H-W-E and Hansol can officially have that little brother he wants.”

“Are you serious?” He whispers and you nod. “He would legally be our son.”

“Well…legally I guess, but I’m his sister and I have no intention of changing my title to mama, I think that’d probably be a little weird. You’d still be his Sunny.”

“His what?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you that?” Seungcheol shakes his head slightly, looking a little baffled. “He struggles to say Seungcheol, so he’s been calling you Sunny since pretty much the start.”

“Oh…that’s so fucking cute.” He grins.

“It is,” you agree. “Suits you, cutie Cheolie.”

“Ah, shut up,” he blushes and tries to turn you away from him so you can’t see his shyly pinkened cheeks, but you refuse and instead climb onto his lap. “Baby,” he warns, gripping your hips to keep your body on his lower thighs and prevent you getting closer.

“What?”

“Don’t play innocent, you can’t sit on me when we’re naked, it’s too risky.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, you don’t wanna fuck me.” You roll your eyes with a long-suffering sigh.

“That’s really not the issue here. I’ve given up on getting to make our first time how I wanted to back then, we never have time to. And you were right, we never know what’s going to happen and I’m not going to blue ball myself for the sake of being a romantic sap.”

“What?” You deadpan. “Are you saying that there is no viable reason we haven’t already fucked?”

“It’s risky, we only have alone time and privacy in here and it’s not possible to put a condom on under water, not that I have any in here anyway.”

“We don’t need that,” you wave a dismissive hand and try to move closer, but he grips you tighter. “Cheol, come on, before the boys wake.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t want to risk it.”

“Risk what? You know my health; you know I don’t have anything transmissible!”

“I do,” you immediately lean back from him with a concerned expression. “Not like that, I worded that really fucking wrong. I have no diseases or anything either, all good to go in that sense.”

“Okay, then what do you mean?”

“I don’t want to have another baby.”

“Great, I don’t want one either, glad we cleared that up.”

“Baby,” he groans and pushes you even further away when you try to get closer, making you give up and slump against the side of the tub on your right.

“I just want your cock, why are you so mean to your girlfriend, Choi Seungcheol?” You complain forlornly.

“Trust me, I want to give it to you, but I don’t want to risk getting you pregnant, baby.”

“Ohhh,” you finally understand what he’s been trying to say and straighten up. “I’m sterile.”

“What?”

“Medically, dad sent me to do it as soon as I was old enough, he didn’t want me to breed and sully the family name further than my existence already does.”

He gawps at you appalled. “What the fuck? Your dad forced you to have that done?”

“Yeah, but I’m honestly glad now, even if I hated him for it as soon as I realised what he had done to me. I used to want kids, but then I realised that I’d be bringing a child very likely like me into this world and I don’t want to force that on anyone. I’ve faced enough shit being born with a disability I have no control over that I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, especially another innocent kid.”

“Oh…I see.”

“Yep. So, gonna fuck me now?”

“Fucking hell,” he exhales and slumps a little as he closes his eyes for a moment. “You really do have a one-track mind when sex is mentioned.”

“It’s you, I’ve never cared for it before, but I really want your cock, Cheolie.”

“What time is it?” You look over at his phone on the counter beside the tub and read the time out to him, letting him know that you definitely have time before the boys should wake up.

Before you’ve even turned to face him, he’s pulling your body right up against him with every intention of finally giving you what you’ve been wanting for months now.

Over time, Chan’s nightmares lessen, and he opens back up.

It starts with him talking to Hansol one day out of the blue; almost a complete sentence that makes Hansol bounce excitedly and run to tell you as soon as Chan is occupied again.

Then a few weeks later, Seungcheol walks into the playroom while you’re sitting with the boys playing a board game and hears Chan talking away and tries to leave rapidly so as to not discourage your brother, yet he falls and draws attention. Chan simply gets up and walks over to check on Seungcheol with a soft “you okay, Sunny?” and ever since, he’s talked to Seungcheol at every opportunity and the man never fails to give him his attention with big, awe filled eyes.

The very first time Chan talks to Seungkwan, the man has to leave the room, overcome with emotions and cries happily into Junhui’s chest as the cook pouts, wishing to be blessed with Chan’s voice too.

And Junhui is the next person Chan talks to, then Mingyu, then all of the other men one by one until his voice can be heard happily yelling and giggling with Hansol all around the house with no fear of who will hear him.

Though, he still goes nonverbal sometimes, so everyone in the house learns sign language. With everyone trying their best and often opting to use sign language instead of talking, you all pick it up quickly. It becomes so natural to walk past rooms with silent conversations happening within, even without Chan present.

So much has changed in the house and although you had been worried that it would be too much for the occupants, you can’t deny that everyone seems to be so happy and content with the changes, enough that you even admit to them all over dinner one day that you’re autistic too, which most of the men are simply pleased that you trust them enough to tell them.

However, Jihoon is utterly bewildered by the news. Apparently, he thinks you two are very similar in many ways, so he truly didn’t expect to hear you say as much, yet his own words just lead the men to teasingly suggest he see a professional and get his own diagnosis.

Then a few days later, Jihoon approaches you with some papers shyly and asks you to sit with him in his office, where he shows you the papers: print outs and research about autism in adult males. There are a lot of sections highlighted or circled and when you ask, he tells you those are the bits he relates to, so he thinks that maybe the guys might be right and he’s autistic too.

Though even after talking to him and walking through it all with Jihoon and telling him some bits of what it’s like for you, much of which he relates to, he decides not to get an official diagnosis. He says it’s enough to just know and have you to talk to and finally understand why his mind works in ways he once thought were normal yet discovered in his adult life aren’t typical for every person like he assumed.

When Jihoon tells the group a few nights after making his decision to not get a diagnosis, they all look at him in surprise and admit they were joking but they’re happy for him and glad he finally feels like he knows himself better.

Which is something you think is constantly happening with you too; that every now and then since moving into this house all those months back, you discover something new about yourself, something you had never been allowed to learn before coming here.

You now know that you do love cars; the mechanics of them and working out how to fix them all like a giant 3D puzzle that you could spend hours mulling over with Jihoon without either of you noticing the time fly by.

You now know that despite what your father tried to drill into you, you are fully capable of loving and being loved; your found family proves that every single day just by accepting you in your entirety.

And perhaps most importantly, you now know that even if you’re still figuring things out, even if you spend the rest of your life finding out who you are little by little, it’s okay. No matter what version of you wakes up in the morning, there can be another version of you by the time you go to sleep.

Some days, the version of you that you wake with struggles a lot, and some days you don’t struggle at all. Some days you think you’ve got yourself all figured out only to realise the next day that you don’t know yourself as well as you thought you did.

But every day, you know that it’s okay; it’s okay to struggle and to not understand, it’s okay to have days where you don’t feel right in your own skin and where you feel like you never will feel right, because they don’t last forever. They come and go, just like the sun and moon, they rise and fall, leave and come back; sometimes they’re gone for longer, other times they remain for longer. But you know that for every bad day, every struggle, there will also be good.

You’re learning a lot about yourself and the world around you and you hope that through it all, through all you discover, you will be able to remember at your core that every version of yourself is completely valid, and no matter what you were once told and tricked into believing for so long, you are not worthless in any way.

You are worth more than the cruel words of an irrelevant asshole and so long as you remember that and keep those words burning bright in your chest, you will always be able to rise above whatever life throws at you and keep moving forward to learn exactly who you are.

No matter what this big, often painfully cruel world forces upon your weary shoulders, as long as you stay true to who you are, you will always be okay in the end.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle

Finding Yourself taglist: @syluslittlecrows, @gaslysainz, @whoisbaek15, @cherry-zip, @minhui896, @choco-scoups, @coupsvi, @reiofsuns2001

[evermourner]

how to deal with failure when all you know how to do is beat up yourself (as an adhder)

please read this if you are a chronic self-loather like myself.

i used to hate myself for everything i did; the way i talk and walk, my accomplishments, my daily activities, how i cannot keep up with my peers, all that jazz. and especially as a late-diagnosed adhder this gets worse overtime. i ended up getting into a 6-month burnout, failed 3 classes and have to extend one semester, and i had lost my identity as a person.

overall i was just a breathing, walking flesh with depressive thoughts every day.

but after many many months of rediscovering myself, i have come up with the conclusion that life gets easier when i don't fucking hate myself.

shocker, right? ik this is probably like a 'obviously' type of thing, but i think many ppl with adhd can confirm that this is one of the hardest pills to swallow.

but trust me, you don't need to feel bad!!! and i will tell you how to do it down below. pls read, i hope it helps.

(keep in mind im not a psychiatrist or a therapist btw i just wanna help fellow ppl with adhd)

reminder #1: adhd makes you more prone to making mistakes - beating yourself up for every failure is torture.

as people with adhd, we are more prone to making more mistakes and questionable decisions. we are just built that way. we can work on it, but that's our baseline.

self loathing encourages you to beat up your baseline. your default state. your non-productive mode.

beating yourself up for making a mistake is literally like beating up a cat for sleeping. humans are bound to make mistakes, and us with adhd are bound to make more. it's fine, let yourself breathe. im not saying we cannot do anything right or that our mistakes are permissible, but missing an alarm clock or forgetting things we want to say are not surprising. it's just embedded inside us, so either be miserable for the rest of your life or work on reframing your thoughts on failure in general.

reminder #2: you can learn how to be better even if you don't beat yourself up for it

these neurotypical adults who tell you that you should feel bad about failing are stupid. and whoever tell you that negative reinforcement is needed for you to get better are the dumbest motherfuckers ever.

you don't need to feel bad to ge better.

in fact, once you don't feel too bad about it, you can focus more on how to do better in the future instead of replaying the past over and over again.

literally after almost failing college, i only realized that i should not be hard on myself. literally. i remember deciding i should try being nice on myself and now boom! i feel better AND i actually have been working towards fixing my life more and more.

and you know whats the best part?? i can finally start enjoying my life again!!

reminder #3: not everything you do is a failure. seriously.

this is a thought pattern i keep seeing in every person with adhd.

"nothing i can do is right" WRONG!!!! you do some things wrong but you also do some things right!!!! quit discrediting yourself

now try acknowledging your failures:

cry about it first. let yourself sit in and feel your feelings first. you can continue after you finish crying about it

do some form of meditation that helps you clear out your mind. i suggest just 5 minutes or until you don't feel as heavy anymore

let yourself know that failing is an action and consequence, not a part of your identity. it is not you: you are someone who succeeds and fails sometimes. you can fail, but that does not mean everything you do will be a failure.

identify what kind of failure you're thinking about , why you feel so shitty about it, and what you should do for next time. it'd be good if you could write this down. here is an example from me:

failure: failing out of class

what happened: i failed bc i kept procrastinating and ended up sleeping in, so i could not submit on time

consequences of event: i had to retake the class, paid a significant amount of money, and now i cant graduate on time with my friends

why i feel shitty: i feel so left behind and stupid. i feel like this is such a stupid mistake that was easily avoidable.

and now i have so many thoughts in my mind right now, like "how can i be so stupid? how can i be so careless? this is such a stupid mistake."

now notice. if you also think like this, you are actively judging yourself. you are being so mean to yourself, and for what? would you ever told your friends they are so stupid and dumb for making careless mistakes? even if it's stupid, you wouldn't say it to their faces.

after identifying everything, confirm what actually happened, reframe your thoughts, and apologize to yourself:

"How can I be so careless?" -> It's not intentional, and I did try my best to work on it. It's not my fault my executive dysfunction took over the better part of me.

"How can I be so stupid?" -> Just because I cannot initiate tasks as well as the others, it doesn't mean i'm stupid. i am pretty good at other things, i cannot expect myself to be good at everything.

"This is such a stupid mistake." -> It is stupid, and that's... okay. It's fine. I accept it, I'll work on how to make it better in the future.

when you combat negative thoughts, make sure you combat them not only with facts but also with empathy and future action-focused thoughts.

the key is to focus on what you can do now, not what you should have done.

because focusing on the past is very very unhelpful.

now please focus on what you can do now:

Make small goals for the future.

What you should not say:

"I promise I will try harder to focus" -> Nope, you are relying on your ADHD symptom to not be ADHD anymore... which is impossible.

"I promise I won't forget next time" -> Same thing.

"I promise I will make a routine that I will stick to" -> This is too idealist, don't commit to anything for a long run, it's just setting yourself up for more failure.

What you should say instead:

"Next time, I will try to write it down so I won't forget next time" -> Tell yourself the clear steps on what you need to do. You cannot rely on your brain to just be better, come up with actions that can support you!

"Next time, I will set more alarms and ask a friend to remind me. In fact, I will do it now" -> Commit to things you can do immediately! The faster, the better so you won't lose this momentum. Stop thinking that your future self is 100% reliable. Always assume you need to do it as soon as possible to help yourself in the future.

"Next time, I will try out this routine and see if it works or not" -> Experiment with routines. Routines don't last long, so don't give youreelf empty promises. Instead, accept that your routine will chance every once in a while so you need to learn what works or not.

Apologize and forgive yourself

Say sorry to yourself.

It's normal to make mistakes, and it's unrealistic to think you won't make more.

Move on

Seriously. Don't sit on it too much.

Once you know what you need to do to not fail in the future and you have written it down... just let it go.

You don't need to feel bad to grow. You don't need to feel bad to be better.

You are allowed to feel good about yourself.

In fact, you should feel better about yourself now because you are showing your commitment to getting better by reading this long ass post.

Pat yourself in the back.

Failure has its consequences already, you don't need to punish yourself more. Please get something nice.

Failing is EXHAUSTING. Please give yourself a snack or some gaming time.

Allow yourself to breathe.

We are humans, we are not failures. We succeed and fail sometimes, not all the time.

Be nice to yourself, you have been through a lot.

[drdemonprince]

I always used to think about like sending authors I liked letters but somehow that felt too personal and weird but I guess messaging you on tumblr from my torture fetish blog is fine yeah. Anyway I just wanted to say I’ve been a fan of your writing for a while and I’ve always found that even if I disagreed with your ideas, they were thought provoking and made me consider new perspectives, which is something I appreciate. I’m also trans and autistic and I finally got my hands on unmasking autism in my local library and really enjoyed it.

I know I’m not exactly the target audience, as I was diagnosed as a child and don’t mask as much as some autistics, but I actually found I resonated a lot with it and it also helped me empathise more with other autistics I know who do have more of these experiences that I don’t share. I wanted to reflect on the fact that despite knowing I was autistic from an early age, I still feel that I have been pressured into hiding and compensating for my autistic and adhd traits (which I was diagnosed with as an adult, you know, because the previous version of the dsm didn’t let you have both), both intentionally through special education and being penalised for these traits and passively through absorbing societal ableism and prejudice.

Masking is definitely something more intentional for me, and I appreciated that you did touch on how for some of us it is necessary to our survival in certain contexts. I’m a nursing student and while I think I still come off as obviously neurodivergent to a lot of people, I do have a work persona that I find I have to put on, and even in the organising space, I feel that I also have to be more considerate of how I’m socialising and how I come across to others.

I helped found and run the disabled and neurodivergent students society at my university and in doing so I’ve come across a lot of autistics, the majority of whom were diagnosed or self realised as adults and have had to go through a process of unmasking. I have unfortunately found that even among these groups, I still feel the need to mask and I am often judged for my authentic autistic self. I do worry that if I totally unmasked I would actually just not be a pleasant person to be around. I’ve lost friends who have seen me have meltdowns, which can be destructive and distressing for people around me, and I think by nature I am quite blunt, stubborn and maybe don’t have a very agreeable personality, which to me is part of my autism, but other autistics around me still see this as a personal flaw of mine.

I’ve even had to leave a local autism organisation as their policies were very exclusionary and they did not want to listen to feedback or make any changes, and this was mostly attended and run by later realised or diagnosed autistics who seemed to have a lot of internalised and lateral ableism. They intentionally excluded people with learning disabilities from the group and would not let people attend with carers as this made others ‘feel less comfortable sharing their thoughts openly in that space’. I guess I just wanted to highlight this because we still have a long way to go as a community to truly accept our unmasked selves and peers and we need a hell of a lot of societal and structural change for people to truly be able to live authentic lives.

I also just wanted to quickly ask, why do you choose to use neurodiverse as opposed to neurodivergent when talking about people who do not fit societal norms? I always thought that neurodiverse included both neurodivergent and neurotypical people and was more about the diversity of populations, whereas neurodivergent specifically refers to people whose minds diverge from the neurotypical standards. Either way, it was a great read and I will for sure be recommending it to others in my community! Thank you for all your work! -S

Hey thanks for the message!

Oh god yeah, newly realized and newly unmasking Autistics can truly be such nightmares to be around in terms of projecting their internalized ableism at every fuckin body, speaking over nonverbal and intellectually disabled people, prioritizing their own concerns, and insisting upon a singular community point of view. I have some complicated feelings about writing The Book that encourages them and speaks directly to them, because I don't think centering the more privileged and therefore dangerous within a heavily marginalized group necessarily benefits anyone else in said group, and can worsen existing power imbalances... but still, I wrote the book that I desperately had needed when I was still figuring this stuff out, and I'm grateful to hear that some of it still resonated with you and was helpful in conveying how others feel.

I also have determined that in a lot of public spaces I pretty much do have to mask, at least by inhibiting myself heavily, and it's really sad and draining, but it is also the experience of the majority of my Autistic siblings in the world. I have unusual ways of moving, emotions do not come easily or consistently to me, I lack empathy, I find most social exchanges pointless or annoying but still want people to care about me, I am impatient and easily flustered and defensive, I have a somewhat controlling codependent bent and a deep fear of abandonment that can turn manipulative and BPD-y, there is a lot of shit about me that I often feel I need to keep on lock. It is alienating especially when I bump against more respectable and emotionally highly sensitive Autistics who wish to connect in a particular way and are disappointed that I can't give them the glimmering positivity that they like. This is worsened by so many of the aforementioned high masking Autistics being white Midwestern woman socialized and incapable of contending with any negativity or even just neutral even handedness. I know how exhausting that shit is to deal with, is what I'm saying, and honestly sometimes it makes me feel some type of way to see my book being so heralded by people of a kind highly likely to socially aggress against someone like me. But ultimately this is all just pattern recognition and I can't really tell.

As for the neurodiverse/vergent usage it's a long story but basically comes down to some editorial feedback I got at a crucial point in the process. For the sequel, Unmasking for Life, I have gone back to occasionally using neurodivergent, though I prefer neuroconformity / nonconformity as a framework for describing things instead these days. It's not a one to one replacement of the term ND, it's more contextual and flexible and I think a hell of a lot more precise

thanks for writing

[bonesxbows]

What This Means To Me (Lucifer X Reader)

My Masterlist

You've sold your soul to Vox and Lucifer doesn't know. That is until you can no longer hide the scars he leaves when he treats you like his personal play toy.

(WARNINGS) - Graphic descriptions of wounds/abuse - Hiding abuse from partner - Crying - Panic attacks/descriptions of Panic attacks

Guess who's back on their Hazbin Hotel bullshitttt

Me :)

More to come! (Hopefully, if my adhd cooperates) but for now thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy! Reblogs and Likes much appreciatied!

Banners by @strangergraphics

You crashed onto the floor, your chin making contact with the tiles and making your skull rattle inside your head. You picked yourself up, being cautious to still keep your head lowered; over the years you’d learned that eye contact only made him more brutal. 

“Repeat it.” he spat, venom pouring from his neon lips like a waterfall. He was in the middle of a power high and one wrong move would spell the end of your existence. 

“I stupidly made a mistake and I’m terribly sorry, sir, please have mercy and it’ll never happen again.” you droned, the words practically carved into your brain from how many times you would have to repeat them over the week. 

A wash of cold blue light was cast over you as his screen lit up with enjoyment, you knew his sick smile was growing in size even if you still had your eyes glued to the floor. A sudden tendril of cold crept around your neck and you were yanked towards him, a sharp sting assaulting your skin where a bright electric blue chain had been forced around your throat. You couldn't help the way your face twisted in fear, which only served to fuel his tyrannical high more. You were brought face to face with him, the brightness from his screen being so close making your head pound; the impact with the floor from earlier surely leaving you with a concussion. He held your chain taunt in one hand, leaving you powerless in any attempt to try and back away from him.  “Who owns you?” he asked, venom still running thickly through his words. 

You stuttered on your words, the pain in your head making your mind spin in circles. Nausea ran through your body, making you shudder and instinctively arc yourself backwards away from the threat in front of you. Vox read your movements as an attempt to flee his grasp, making his anger flare. He pulled your chain tighter, using his other hand to roughly grab your wrist. A pulsing shock ran through your body, making the hairs on your arm stand up straight. You tried to pull away from him as the contact from his hand continuously sent waves of electrocution under your skin, the smell of burnt flesh and blood oozing from your wrist. Your skin was being fried off while his claws dug even further into the blackened char, piercing the reddened raw flesh underneath. You hissed from the pain and cried out. “Fuck! Vox, stop! That fucking hurts! I’m sorry!” Tears threatened to pour over your eyelashes as you pleaded with him. You struggled against him like a deer caught in a bear trap but his grip was too strong, all of your efforts were in vain but every nerve in your body was screaming at you to get away from him. 

He chuckled at your suffering, the growing stench of charred flesh not bothering him in the slightest. “I’ll ask again. Who. Owns. You?” his voice was calm despite the chaos he was creating. 

“You do! Fuck- you do, Vox! Please, for the love of everything unholy, please stop!” you screamed at him, not stopping the tears that flowed freely now, the pain becoming unbearable. You wanted to pass out from the pain and the smell made you want to throw up. You felt like you would soon collapse if he didn't let up on this torture. 

Your response was satisfactory to him and he let you go, but he did it so abruptly that you lost your balance and crashed into the floor. You immediately curled into a ball and cradled your injured arm, expecting another blow from him before he was done with you. But thankfully another one never came. He barked an order at you and then left with a slam of the door behind him, but your head was pounding so aggressively that all you heard was ringing. 

You spent the rest of the day in the shadows, refusing to look at anyone and staying out of everyone’s way. It was best not to call more attention to yourself after having a “private meeting” with one of the bosses. You waited until the tower was completely empty and everyone else who hadn’t left had retired for the night before making a break for the exit, clearing the doors without a soul noticing. You would make it out of there in one piece, surviving another day of work, but now your only problem was surviving the tidal wave of consequences. If you arrived home without a good cover-up story to explain the nasty wounds that now littered your body Hell only knows the kind of unholy wrath Lucifer would unleash on Vox, and you didn't even want to fathom the type of results that would cause for you as an employee of the Vees. 

The walk back to Lucifer’s palace was a long one thankfully, giving you enough time to thread together a decent enough plan. The doors screeched open when you walked through, but otherwise the palace was empty and quiet, as usual. You made your way to your shared bedroom, being careful to not appear panicked just in case he saw you before you made it. You figured you had a few minutes at least before he figured out you were home. You managed to grab a long-sleeved sweater from the closet and throw it on before he caught up to you. 

“Hey, duckling. You're home awfully late. Is everything okay?” he stood in the doorway with his suit jacket missing and his hair slightly ruffled, telltale signs that he had been in his workshop all day. 

“Yeah everything’s fine Luci, it was just a long day that’s all.” you plastered on the fakest smile you could muster while holding back tears. The abrasiveness of the sweater against your burnt skin was making this more difficult than you had hoped. 

“Are you sure darling? You seem…off. I mean, not like your usual self. You know you can tell me anything, right?” he closed the distance between the two of you and gently cupped his hand around your cheek. The feeling of how soft his touch was compared to the way Vox touched you was another major crack in your already crumbling dam. 

“I'm fine! Luci really, everything’s fine. Please just stop asking.” you snapped. You hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but fear of your cover being blown made anger bubble up and out onto your words. He recoiled back, pulling his hand away immediately as if your skin suddenly went alight. You flinched as soon as his touch disappeared, already knowing you had hurt him. “Fuck…I-I’m sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I just…Vox has been getting a little more aggressive lately and it’s been putting me on edge. I’m sorry Lucifer, I didn't mean to snap at you.” 

“Tell me the truth, ducky.” it wasn't a question. His voice was stern this time. Your yelling had startled him, but now he was seeing right through your bullshit and he was done with being lied to. Your silence only confirmed his suspicions. Your eyes were glued to the floor and he could hear small sniffles coming from you as tears fell to the carpet. 

“I…I can’t.” you choked out, using the sleeve of your sweater to wipe your nose. 

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on sweetheart.” he gently laced his fingers through your other hand, which sent sparks of pain up your arm from the wound, making you cry twice as hard. 

“He’ll kill me. He’ll kill me if he finds out I told you.” you cried out, meeting his eyes for the first time since you started crying. His face looked so strange to you without its usual sharp-toothed smile and prideful eyes. He looked so scared and worried and you hated yourself for making him feel that way. 

“No one can threaten your life, you know that. Whoever they are should be more afraid of me than you need to be of them. You really think I’d let anything happen to you?” he asked as he let go of your hand to use one of his claws to wipe away your tears, still being extra gentle. He touched you like you were made of glass but you didn't mind. You felt like your insides were made of a far more fragile material right now anyway. 

“No?...I…I don't know. I don't know what to think right now Luci. He scares the fuck out of me.” you sobbed. You just wanted this nightmare to end. 

He moved closer to cradle your head in his hands, the tips of his claws brushing against your skin so gently that they tickled. “Look at me, angel.” You did as he asked, staring at his yellow and red snake eyes, creased with worry, through a blur of tears that refused to stop. “You’re safe with me. I promise you, no one can hurt you so long as I’m around.” 

You wanted to believe him. You really did, but the years of torment Vox had put you through had taught you to think otherwise. You were never safe. He always made sure of that. Your eyes turned glassy as your mind was pulled into an endless cycle of torment surrounding the years of suffering Vox had put you through. You could hear Lucifer calling your name, no doubt trying to snap you out of whatever trance your mind had sucked you into. 

“Luci…I…”

“Do you trust me?” 

You blinked and shifted your eyes back to him. “More than anything.” 

“Then trust me when I say that’ll keep you safe.” 

“But you can’t!” you blurted out, a fresh wave of tears washing over your eyes. His face twisted into a mixture of confusion and panic; he hated seeing you cry so much. 

“What do you mean, sweetheart? What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?” his questions came out at a rapid-fire rate but at this point, your safety was on the line and he was too concerned to care. He moved his hands from your face and caressed them down the sides of your shoulders and down the sides of your arms in an attempt to calm you down enough to explain the situation, but as soon as his claws made contact with your forearm you shrieked and leaped back from his touch. Lucifer jumped, pulling his hands away as he did so, fearful that he had hurt you somehow, but when blood started to drip down your hand he knew there wasn’t a possibility that his gentle touch could have caused that. 

“You’re bleeding,” he stated, reaching for your arm, but you yanked it away before he could make contact. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“I barely touched you and you screamed like I took a match to your skin. Obviously, it’s not nothing. Did he hurt you?” 

“It’s-”

“I’ll ask again. Did he hurt you?” you glanced up and knew your bluffing chances were running out; Lucifer’s eyes had turned red, his yellow pupils staring right through you and fire threatened to spill from the corners of his mouth. Any fight you had left in your words died at the back of your throat at the sight. Wordlessly you removed the sweater you had put on earlier to cover the aftermath from Vox, letting the plush fabric drop to the floor as the room fell into a silence. You couldn’t help but drop your head; too afraid to face Lucifer. You had lied to him, repeatedly. You had tried to cover up this mess from him and now there was no telling how he would react. 

The quiet was deafening and for a moment you considered peeking your head up, but before you could Lucifer’s clawed fingertips brushed up against your own. The sudden unexpected contact made you jump and you whipped your head up to look at him, but you didn’t pull away this time. His demeanor hadn’t changed, in fact, he looked even angrier; his eyes now glowed menacingly red and his teeth were set in a snarl. Yet his face held a softness of concern around the corners of his eyes when he looked at you as his hands moved to hold onto yours, cradling your hand in his with the slightest touch as his eyes raked up and down your forearm; examining the now oozing and partially scabbed over wound. 

“Lucifer I…” he didn’t look up when you called out his name so you watched as he continued to examine you, his touch barely that of a feather compared to the way Vox handled you. The worry and compassion and pure love set in his features were enough to make tears well in your eyes again. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to apologize for, but the words were stuck in your throat. You didn't deserve this; you didn’t deserve him. This was Hell, who were you to deserve adoration from an angel? 

When he raised his hand to hover it over the burn wound you began to panic and instinctively went to yank your arm away, memories of Vox’s hand being there mere hours before flooding your mind, but Lucifer held your wrist firmly in his other hand. “You’re okay, ducky. Relax. I would never hurt you like he did.” 

Realization set in as soon as his soft words hit your ears and you stopped struggling against his grip, his fingers loosening as soon as you did. “Sorry…I know Luci, I didn't mean-”

“I know, darling.” He went to place his hand over your wound again and this time you forced yourself to stay still, trusting him completely. A bright yellow light burst forth from his palm, coating your forearm in brilliant golden warmth. You closed your eyes, expecting to flinch from oncoming pain…but there never was any. In fact, you felt nothing at all except Lucifer’s hand still holding onto your wrist. You dared a peek and cracked one of your eyes open a sliver, but by the time you did the light was gone. He removed his hands and you opened your eyes fully to see what had been done. 

You couldn’t help it when your mouth fell open in shock. Everything was gone; the blood, the charred skin, the gouges left from Vox’s claws, all of it was gone. Your skin was back to its original soft and pristine state before Vox had mangled it. 

“I…I don’t know what to say…” when you met his eyes you were surprised to see that the glow had vanished from them and now his halo sat adorned atop his golden locks, a golden snake looped in a circle around the top of his head. It disappeared as quickly as you had seen it, leaving a puff of golden smoke behind as it went up in red flames. He smiled lovingly and placed his hands on your shoulders, lacing his fingers together around the back of your neck. 

“You can start by telling me where I can find this fucker.” the question left a toothy snarl on his face and you could almost taste the venom on his tongue. 

“Luci, he-”

“Is a dead man for thinking he can dare lay a finger on you like that and live? Yes, he is.”

“No, you don’t understand. He-”

“Why are you trying to protect him after everything he’s done to you?”

“He owns me, Lucifer.” 

There it was, the underlying truth out in the open at last. He was struck dumbfounded for a moment, all emotion except confusion washed away from his face as his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth drooped into a small frown. 

But it was only for a moment as he processed your words. 

The next time you blinked all the lights in the room began to blow one by one, the popping noises of the glass scaring you and making you yelp. Instinctively you leaned into the protection of Lucifer’s touch, ducking your head into his chest and curling into the safety of his arms. The room was plunged into darkness, yet there was one singular glow coming from a nearby light source. You tilted your head up to see where it was coming from and you were met with a sight of fire. An aura of pure bright orange flame surrounded Lucifer, though it didn’t burn you even though you were touching him. His demonic form was on full display; his horns had sprouted from the crown of his head and taken over the spot where his halo had been mere seconds ago, all six of his crimson and white wings had unfurled and were thrashing behind him, threatening to encase you in a possessive protective layer of feathers with every forward beat, his spade-tipped tail whipped back and forth beside him like a coiled snake ready to strike, and his eyes began to glow again with a menacingly red flare. You didn’t know what to do. You had seen him like this before, but never this bad; the flames were new, and he had never acted this way as a result of something you had said or done. 

“Luci…?” you meeked out, your arms still pressed against his chest. He had wrapped his arms around you when you had cowered into his embrace, but now he was refusing to let go. 

“Tell me where he is.” his voice was different, deeper and raspier than what you were used to. Should you be scared? Surely the growing feeling of fright in the pit of your stomach was from your memories of Vox, right? 

“I…I don’t…” you stuttered over your words, your emotions twisting in your mind like balls of yarn. You were scared, but you weren’t supposed to be scared. Lucifer would never hurt you, you knew that, but yet something just felt wrong. The scene felt too much like the memories you had of Vox and your whole body was telling you to flee. You felt too small, too vulnerable, and your breaths began to shake and stutter as your heart felt like it would pound out of your chest. But Lucifer placed a hand on your cheek, bringing a temporary halt to your panic. His wings had stopped flapping wildly and came to rest around the two of you, cocooning you in a barrier of warmth and feathers. He blinked and his eyes stopped glowing; instead turning to his red and yellow demon irises. He knew he had scared you; his smile and concerned look spoke for him. You leaned into his touch as you relaxed a little, steadying your breathing. No, you thought. I was wrong. No matter how scary he looks he would never hurt me like Vox has. He’s nothing like him, not even close. 

You took a deep breath and asked the question lingering on the tip of your tongue, “Can you really break it? The deal, I mean?” you could feel a spark of hope gleaming in your heart, but you didn’t know whether yet to nurture it or drown it out.

He couldn't help but chuckle, though you couldn't see what was so funny. “This is my Hell, ducky. You need only ask for it and it’s yours.” He tenderly swiped his thumb across your cheek as he spoke, a loving smile adorning his lips. 

You could be free. Finally free. No more torment, no more pain. All you had to do was tell him where to find Vox. But there was something still nagging you in the back of your mind. A consequence that made you hesitate. 

“You can’t kill him, Luci.” you blurted out, watching as his eyes threatened to glow with fire again. But they didn’t, he remained calm. Somehow. You’d have to commend him for that later. You weren’t quite sure why you were denying Lucifer his revenge on your behalf; whether it was to protect your skin in the future when he couldn’t be around to protect you or to give Charlie’s friend the satisfaction of killing Vox himself you couldn’t figure out. Before he could ask why or refuse you continued, “Just trust me…please? Leave him alive. Can you still break the contract like that?” 

He huffed and seemed to consider your request for a moment, but ultimately he agreed. “Alright…won’t say I’m happy about it but for you…I suppose I’ll listen.” 

You smiled for the first time that day and he couldn’t help but place a small soft kiss on your nose when you did. And with that, you told him the information he had been waiting for. “V Tower, tallest building around that isn’t the Angel Headquarters. He never leaves.” 

He pulled his wings and arms back from you and you immediately missed the warmth, but you knew it was for good reason. The room felt overwhelmingly cold suddenly and a shiver went down your spine, you hadn’t realized the heat that had been pouring from Lucifer’s body being so close to you. He took a step back, making a motion to leave and make good on his word, but noticed your change in demeanor out of the corner of his eye and stopped for a moment.You had wrapped your arms around yourself and he took note of how cold and lonely you looked standing there by yourself in the now dark room. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t like the idea of leaving you here all alone, especially since you were in such a fragile state, but he needed to do this. The sooner the better, the sooner you could be free from that asshole’s torment. But he refused to leave you in such a condition like this before taking off to deal with him. He shrugged off his jacket and gently threw it around your shoulders, adjusting it and making sure it was fully covering you before he placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. You instinctively grabbed ahold of the fabric and curled it around yourself, breathing in his apple pie scent that lingered on the collar. He then turned and flicked a finger out towards the ceiling, a ray of golden light beaming out of his fingertip. It exploded when it made impact with the roof, golden and white smoke swirling out in all directions. But once the smoke cleared the plain white paint had been replaced with a dazzling yellow night sky, bright stars swirling around in the atmosphere and shining a soft golden glow around the room. 

A prideful grin was stuck on his face when he caught the way your eyes lit up at the sight. “There, so you don’t have to be in the dark. I won’t be gone long, alright? Then this mess’ll be over.” 

And with that, he took off from the railing of the balcony with a strong beat of his wings. As you watched him soar away, his white wings a stark contrast against the red sky of the Pride ring, you swore you could see the outline of his horns peeking out above his head. You almost felt sorry for Vox for what was heading his way. Almost. 

At some point, you had fallen asleep before Lucifer had returned, curled up on his side of the bed with his coat covering you. The night sky scene he had left you with was peaceful and its soft light had easily soothed you into a slumber after the emotionally draining day you had endured. 

But you awoke with a scream ripping through your throat. 

You shot up, Lucifer’s coat falling off of you in the process, as an all too familiar bright electric blue chain wrapped itself around your throat. “No…No! Lucifer!” you screamed, kicking and pulling backward as the chain threatened to yank you off of the bed. But your struggle was no match, you hit the floor with a thud, your head making contact with the tiles first and sending black spots into your vision. You blinked and propped yourself up on your hands, tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes again. Through the spots and swaying in your vision you saw a bundle of white next to you on the floor; Lucifer’s coat had fallen onto the ground with you during the tumble. You reached out and grabbed onto it, pulling it closer to you and clutching the fabric in your fist til your knuckles turned white, holding onto the coat like a lifeline and praying it would turn into the real Lucifer soon. For now, you would have to make due. 

It wasn’t long after you had grabbed the jacket that the chain around your neck refused to be forgotten about. It glowed, a sickening blue reflecting into your eyes and making your now-pounding head throb. But it was all a distraction; a split second later you were pulled across the floor. You tried to dig your heels into the ground, but the slippery tiles gave you no traction to stop yourself, so you did the next best thing and curled Lucifer’s jacket into your chest and braced for the inevitable impact with the wall behind you. 

Your spine hit it with a reverberating crack. The force of the impact bounced your head backward, slamming it against the wall at the same time. You cried out, the room now spinning as the black spots in your vision became worse and your ears began to ring. But you looked down and sure enough Lucifer’s coat was still in your fist. You breathed in relief as you began to cry in earnest. You could do that here to cope with the pain, there were no watchful eyes to make the torment worse for showing signs of weakness like there were when Vox was around. So you cried. You cried for all the pain you were feeling now and for all the pain in the past you couldn’t have cried for. You wailed and sobbed and screamed, not caring who heard you, as the chain around your throat tightened unbearably. 

But then there was suddenly a golden glow around your neck and you fell silent. It continued to get brighter, blindly brighter, and you instinctively had to close your eyes. But the light ceased abruptly at the same time as a loud sharp crack rang throughout the room. You held your breath as everything fell silent. 

It took less than a minute later for Lucifer to show up in the exact same spot he had taken off from earlier on the balcony. You hadn’t moved an inch from your spot on the floor. 

“Oh gosh, are you okay?! That was a stupid question- What happened while I was gone? I came back as fast as I could.” he rambled on as his wings disappeared and he rushed forward, sliding down onto his knees in front of you. He looked terrified, his hands froze outstretched between the two of you, simultaneously hesitant of what to do and worried about hurting you further. 

“Is it…is it done? Is it over, Luci?” any strength you had left after the events of the day was now gone, washed away in your flood of tears. 

Lucifer finally decided on a place for his hands and gently placed one over your still-enclosed fist balled in his jacket and the other he molded around the side of your face, cradling your head in his hand. You relished in his touch, leaning into his hand and sighing. “It’s over, ducky. You’re free from that monster. You’re safe.” He caressed his thumb over your cheek as he spoke, his touch no more than that of a feather. You couldn’t help but let a few more tears shed at the sound of the good news, but this time Lucifer was right there with you to help wipe them away. 

[bullet-prooflove]

Mythbusters: Danny Williams x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @football1921 @fangirling-alert @lovebookheart @navs-bhat @star017

Summary: Danny has never been so thankful for an episode of Mythbusters.

Companion piece to:

One Night - Danny realises he’s made a mistake after the first night you’ve spent together.

The Backseat (NSFW) - Danny’s attempt to discuss the night before goes awry.

Distraction - Danny finds you to be a welcome distraction.

96 Hours - Danny worries after he doesn't hear from you.

Gut Feeling - Danny’s fears are validated when he stops by your home.

Three Days - Danny discovers your fate when Peterson decides to send pictures.

Buried - What happened during those three days you were missing?

In the minutes after Danny receives those pictures he can’t function. There’s a roaring in his ears, the loud rush of his blood coursing through his veins as he sits there in his seat remembering those final moments you had together, the hurt in your eyes after he told you about Charlie, the fact he got up and walked away.

He should have stayed, he should have kissed you, he should have promised you that it didn’t change anything, that he wasn’t going back to Rachel but instead he got his car and left you behind.

And now you’re gone, buried in some fucking field somewhere and Danny, he doesn’t know how to find you, he doesn’t know how to bring you home. He almost throws his phone all the wall when it rings, he knows its Peterson calling to torture him, to twist that corkscrew even deeper into his chest.

“At least tell me where her body is…” He rasps when he answers the call, his fingertips pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off pressure that’s building behind his eyes. “Let me give her back to her family-”

“Danny…”

Your voice floods his ears and for a second he thinks he must be hallucinating because you cannot possibly be alive but then you continue, a rush of words that his brain fumbles over as you speak. “I’ve spent two days in the fucking woods and I’m at a remote campsite on the Kaunala Trail. I’ve run into a couple of hunters that have lent me their sat phone but I need you to come get me.”

“Nik…” He whispers. “I thought you were dead, he showed me pictures…”

“Mythbusters.” You tell him and Danny lets out a near hysterical laugh because that’s your thing, making out on the couch with MythBusters on in the background because it helps your ADHD brain focus. “Look I gotta go, one of the hunters is a paramedic and she’s very insistant about trying to administer first aid. I’ll get them to text you to coordinates but please just… I just wanna see you. You’re all I could think about...”

You choke then and Danny can sense you’re at your breaking point. He can’t imagine what you must have gone through over the past three days, how you kept yourself alive after climbing out that grave.

“I’ll be the first one with boots on the ground.” He promises you as he raises from his desk, signalling Steve through the glass window. “Just hold tight ok? I’m on my way."

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[luis-michael6160]

When Deadpool doesn't ruin the moment (that much)

[story collection] <-Click here to see more content

Night had fallen over New York with its usual mix of distant sirens, flickering neon lights, and the faint smell of stale pretzels. Peter Parker sat at the edge of a rooftop, mask rolled up to his nose, exhaustion carved into every line of his face. Shoulders slumped. Suit scuffed. Eye bags so deep, even his mask couldn’t hide them.

“Trouble, Tiger?” came a voice from behind, just as a red-and-black figure dropped beside him with the grace of a cat on ADHD.

Peter sighed. “Hi, Wade.”

Deadpool plopped down next to him, pulling a cheese burrito from seemingly nowhere, holding it like a glass of fine wine.

“Did you know that 87% of superheroes suffer from chronic back tension?” he asked, in a voice straight out of an infomercial. “And the other 13% are probably lying.”

Peter didn’t answer. He just stared at the horizon like he expected the skyline to offer some sort of answer.

“C’mon, Spidey, talk to me. Aunt May mistook you for the DoorDash guy again? Doc Ock trying to launch an OnlyFans with his tentacles again?”

“I’m… tired,” Peter murmured. “Physically, mentally, emotionally. Like the universe wrung me out like a sponge and then threw me against a wall made of taxes.”

Wade sprang to his feet. “Then it’s the perfect time for what I call the Existential Reset Hug™! I saw it on YouTube. Or a documentary about bears. Doesn’t matter. Get up.”

Peter gave him a skeptical look.

“I’m not gonna kill you. Promise. Well… probably not.”

“Don’t hug me,” Peter protested, but without much conviction.

“Too late!”

Deadpool grabbed him in a surprisingly strong bear hug, wrapping him up like a Canadian teddy bear. Peter made a noise like a balloon deflating.

Crack. Crrrch. Pop!

Peter’s body sounded like a box of freshly opened cereal.

“Aaagh...” he groaned, a sound somewhere between pleasure and torture. “Wade…”

“Yes, my sweet radioactive empanada?”

Peter rested his forehead on Wade’s shoulder, defeated by the sudden rush of relief.

“Tighter.”

There was a pause. Deadpool blinked behind the mask.

“Come again?”

“I said squeeze. More.” Peter raised a limp hand and gestured toward his shoulder blades. “Right there. Where the spider-sense makes me vibrate with stress.”

Deadpool held back an excited squeal. “Awwww! This is just like when Hulk used me as a therapeutic punching bag!”

And he did. He leaned into it, resting his chin on Peter’s shoulder as the hug intensified, and the sounds of popping joints continued like they were reorganizing a bookshelf made of bones. Peter let out a long exhale, legs going soft like freshly boiled spaghetti.

“Holy Ben Parker… that was heavenly.”

“See? Deadpool: killer, lover, and chiropractor certified by the University of Life!”

“Don’t tell Logan I said this, but… you’re useful. Rarely. Occasionally. Maybe.”

“That’s the closest thing to ‘I love you’ you’ve ever said to me!” Deadpool trembled with joy. “I’m writing this in my diary. In glitter. With squid ink.”

Peter let him keep hugging for a few more seconds. For one night, it was okay. No one attacking them. No chaos. Just Deadpool, him, and a few suspiciously satisfying joint cracks.

It felt good. Really good.

If this made you smile, sigh, or feel a phantom spinal crack, don’t forget to like, reblog, and drop a comment (it feeds my soul… and the algorithm). ☕ Want to support my work with a virtual coffee? You can do it on Ko-fi: [ko-fi here] Thanks for reading and for embracing this little emotional chaos!

[blacknedsoul-blog]

A detailed explanation from my headcanon that Annabel has ADHD

So I had this six fucking hour trip. On a bus. Alone. And I was bored out of my mind, because sitting around being bored is as close to mental torture as it gets for me.

Fortunately, the light at the end of the tunnel: I was inspired. Away from the burnout I have with fanfics, I remembered that I've mentioned this headcanon several times on Nevermore's Discord and just thought, what better time to talk about ADHD than when I'm having a pretty ADHD moment?

But before I start, there are a few little things that need to be pretty clear on the table:

I'm being a bit hypocritical here: in general, I'm deeply against diagnosing fictional characters for two reasons: first, it's an impossible task to distinguish between character traits and symptoms to such an extent that you can go around forever without coming to a real conclusion unless the author of the work confirms it, and second, even if you have the disorder you're talking about, you can fall into the trap of perpetuating stereotypes or generalizing, thereby invalidating other experiences. So even if the tone of this review sounds very assertive, it is because of my writing style. I am in no way diagnosing Annabel; this is an analysis of her character through the lens of a possible disorder.

In relation to the above, where I point out an event in the comic that can be read as a symptom, I am not reducing it to "this only happens because she has ADHD". You CAN'T reduce a person's personality to "they has a disorder," and when I point out these examples, I'm not doing so with the intention of denying the background behind it, but rather pointing out how, under the magnifying glass of having it, it might exacerbate that behavior.

I am NOT a psychologist, a psychiatrist, or a neurologist: I am a woman with ADHD. One who has done a lot of research on the subject, been in therapy with a psychologist who specializes in the disorder, and talked extensively about it both with friends who also have it and with professionals. But I don't have a career in mental health, I don't pretend to, and everything you'll read below is a mixture of research and personal experience.

You're going to see a lot of "we" or "those of us with ADHD" because, as I said, I have it too, but this is all a generalization made for the sake of flow. The symptoms of this disorder can be expressed in many different ways, and not everyone has all of them (for example, there are some that I don't have, but it would be strange to change the voice of the text just because of that, it makes it harder to read). If you have ADHD and read a symptom and think "hey, I don't get that", that's perfectly normal. Your experience is valid and I don't want to pass it on. But it would be exhausting for me and for the reader to use tentative phrases all the time.

If this text resonates too much with you, I strongly recommend that you see a professional, if you're able, and not self-diagnose: ADHD has many symptoms in common with autism and other neuro divergences, don't risk misdiagnosis.

If you have a different opinion than mine on this subject and want to share it with me, I'll be happy to read it, if I don't answer it's because I forgot (forgive me?). But you can be sure that I will read it.

Anyway, let's get started.

What is ADHD?

According to the NIH (National Institute of Mental Health) website, this is the definition of ADHD:

Attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) is marked by an ongoing pattern of inattention and/or hyperactivity-impulsivity that interferes with functioning or development. People with ADHD experience an ongoing pattern of the following types of symptoms:

Inattention means a person may have difficulty staying on task, sustaining focus, and staying organized, and these problems are not due to defiance or lack of comprehension.

Hyperactivity means a person may seem to move about constantly, including in situations when it is not appropriate, or excessively fidgets, taps, or talks. In adults, hyperactivity may mean extreme restlessness or talking too much.

Impulsivity means a person may act without thinking or have difficulty with self-control. Impulsivity could also include a desire for immediate rewards or the inability to delay gratification. An impulsive person may interrupt others or make important decisions without considering long-term consequences.

Here is an impression that needs to be clarified: ADHD is more about an inability to regulate attention than a lack of it. A neurotypical person may choose to focus on a task to get it done, we may procrastinate to death because even if we want to, we can't focus on it, or stand there absorbed in it ad infinitum until the house falls down around us (and we may still have trouble noticing). This is understood, Understanding all this, here is the list of Annabel's behaviors that could be interpreted as symptoms.

Hyperactivity

One thing that not everyone knows is that hyperactivity is not about running around like an uncontrolled animal. It can manifest itself in many ways, and there are many types: physical, mental, and even emotional.

In Annabel's case, she seems to be the first two types.

Perhaps due to her difficulty in expressing emotions, it is quite obvious at this point in the comic that her moods are made explicit through gestures: playing with her rings when she is happy or nervous, touching the ribbon around her neck in moments of anxiety, or playing with her hair almost as a default state.

Annabel.

Doesn't.

Sit.

Still.

Never.

It is also clear that Annabel is always planning something. Always.

This can be read into the logic of mental hyperactivity: when you have it, your brain just doesn't stop. Ever. And that's something that resonates with this lady.

Emotional Dysregulation

The part of the brain that regulates our moods works…erratically. Not to say it doesn't work at all.

This leads to a painfully common problem in women with ADHD: lack of emotional regulation is seen as drama, and instead of being taught tools to deal with it, we are taught to repress and bottle up emotions.

Annabel has highly internalized this as a defense mechanism. But here's the thing: if repressing emotions instead of learning how to deal with them in a healthy way is harmful, being biologically unable to regulate them can be even worse.

It touches the right nerves, and if you catch us flying low, it can cause explosive outbursts.

Possibly violent reactions to feeling offended or uncomfortable.

Or completely over-the-top reactions that we can't control.

And it's not just anger that's affected, it's the whole emotional spectrum. Another emotion that is very noticeable is fear. If we don't develop tools to help us calm down, we don't get scared, we panic.

If this happens too often, we can become prone to developing severe anxiety or frequent attacks.

We may also have great difficulty dealing with frustration. Our brains love rewards, and feeling that we're not getting them because of our own inability to do something can be downright annoying. And if we don't have the tools to express our frustration appropriately, we can have quite childish reactions, ranging from temper tantrums to…pouting.

I find it funny how several of these pouts are caused by Lenore, a bit like "Oh, come on, honey, what are we talking about?"

Another important thing to note here is that one of the most fucked up and notorious symptoms of this lack of emotional regulation is RSD, short for Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, defined as "a problem that interferes with your ability to regulate your emotional responses to feelings of failure and rejection. While rejection is almost always unpleasant, people with RSD experience overwhelming levels of emotional pain. This can lead to long-term mental health problems, fear of failure, and behavioral changes that negatively affect them throughout their lives."

Rejection and fear of failure are a problem for us. So much so that we may seek strategies to avoid it as much as possible, even when it causes us problems (such as not completing a task for fear of doing it wrong). This is an issue that can tear us apart emotionally.

Annabel is terrified of being rejected or despised. Her whole life has been built around appearances and getting the right people interested in her. If she can't do that, what good is she?

And that's something that comes up a lot in her relationship with Lenore. Repeatedly, in fact, but my favorite has to be this one:

Annabel thought it would be the smart thing to do to break that bond because she knows they're never going to see each other again. But the look on her face when Lenore calls her a "damn liar" is just painful to watch. I think ripping her heart out with a rusty spoon would have hurt less.

Finally, on the subject of things that aren't so funny: that thing Annabel does about biting her fingers when she's in a critical situation is something I used to do, too (only I'd bite my knuckles or palms).

My psychologist explained to me that when you feel like you're losing control, you immediately look for something to ground you, and unfortunately, physical pain is often a quick (if damaging) way to do that.

Codependency

Okay, here's a thing: it's not that we have a tendency as such to codependency, but this is a situation that can occur due to bad practices within a relationship. Especially a couple one.

As it stands out, people with ADHD can have a lot of problems with micromanaging ourselves, remembering things, dealing with our emotions, etc, etc, etc. And it is natural for close friends, family or our partner to help in those processes.

The problem arises when that help starts to become a parentification process where the partner who is providing support starts to do this on behalf of the other person, infantilizing them in the process.

This is a cocktail for resentment on both sides: the party calling the shots can easily feel that the other is putting a huge burden on their shoulders and not trying hard enough, while, on the other side, no one likes to feel like they are being treated like a child. Let alone that the person doing it is your partner.

But at the other end of resentment, there's codependency.

The constant feeling that you are a burden, insufficient or even disposable.

And that means you have a lot to make up for. On a regular basis. So much that you put yourself in a situation where you have to make horrible decisions so that someone else doesn't have to because somehow you owe it to them, who hasn't had that happen?

What I mean is that yes, Annabel feels like she owes this to Lenore because she only remembers the part where Lenore came kicking in doors to save her from a marriage she didn't want. And if she can't do this for her, she doesn't deserve a relationship.

Feeling inadequate, that your partner is doing you some kind of favor by tolerating you and ending up idealizing their in the process is obviously not unique to the neurodivergent experience.

But we try, we try really hard and, like anyone else, we like to feel that the effort we put in is seen and valued.

If we are not careful about that, we do indeed fall into the risk of becoming codependent. The desire to feel loved or valued becomes a constant hunger for validation from which it is difficult to escape because we are aware that our brain will never function in a different way. And if that is mixed with RSD, it can become an even bigger problem.

Novelty, games, challenges, and rewards

Producing dopamine on a normal basis is one thing our brains aren't very good at (one of the reasons we can be prone to depression, for example), but you know what they love? Challenges and rewards.

New things feed our endless curiosity, but for some reason unknown to me, our brains really love challenges and dares. They give us dopamine like we're on a high.

So much so that some people use it as a tactic to perform tasks they don't like: "How many dishes can I wash before my dinner is ready?", "If I can finish this in less than 30 minutes, I can go get chocolate."

One medium we may like very much for this reason is games. Board games, card games, or virtual games. It doesn't matter. Games provide a very good balance of challenge and reward.

If you see that Annabel seems overly interested in how this works, it's because there may be a part of her that thinks "aside from the deadly situation we're in…this is like the most hardcore escape room ever" and inevitably there's something here that stirs her bug.

It may be something she loves about Lenore. As a good hypocrite, Annabel despises the rules she knows so well, so when Lenore comes along with this gimmick and completely changes the paradigm of what she knows, there is inevitably something that appeals to her. Others who are good at the game look down on Lenore's disdain for the rules, to Annabel it is fucking appealing because it offers a range of unexplored possibilities that she fucking loves.

Erratic Communication

When our brains are running at full speed, communication can become a challenge, and we tend to exhibit erratic patterns.

One of these is info-dumping. Touch a topic we know about or are interested in and it's like stepping on a landmine: we explode talking about it. Non-stop. You'll have to hit us to shut us up.

Another thing is that we can have a bad habit of interrupting. A lot. It's not malicious, it's just that we're really into the conversation and want to participate as much as possible.

That said, even if we're extroverts, it can be a nightmare to withhold information or participate in a conversation if it doesn't grab our attention. It's not that we want to be disrespectful or anything, it's just that, again, we have no control over our ability to pay attention and we're swimming against the tide to hold on to whatever it is you're telling us.

This scene is something I've seen in friends with ADHD and have been told I do: stare at people while doing your best to do the hamster run to remember what they're telling you because you know it's important, even though your brain is putting it together with junk information because it's not engaging your attention in the right way.

Ignore the murderous stare part, it's not that common - at least I hope not.

Drinks that are like a pill

Our brains are not designed to produce certain hormones naturally or, in some cases, they produce them under other circumstances. For things like that, we can take pills, develop strategies to help our brains produce hormones.

And drink coffee. Lots of coffee.

Caffeine can be extremely relaxing for us because it can actually help our brains keep functioning, you know that stereotype of the highly coded ADHD character who drinks coffee like it's his life? Well, that's because.

You know what other beverage has a similar effect? Tea. Theine is also a natural activator, perhaps less aggressive than coffee, but it can have a similar effect.

If you're interested in describing this topic in fanfic or touching on it in fanart, tea should have a relaxing effect on Annabel and even help her concentrate.

Boredom

We get bored. A lot. And we get painfully bored. Here's what happens: boredom is caused by a lack of stimulation, and our brains aren't stimulated just because we can't regulate our attention to seek out that stimulation.

Add to that the fact that when we are bored, without dopamine hitting our receptors, our executive functions diminish and we function like shit.

Boredom

Is

Fucking

Murder

Because our brain starts desperately asking for dopamine and we can fall into really unhealthy behaviors like fighting, being chronically online, or eating because we can't find anything better to do. This also contributes -again- to our depression or anxiety.

Conclusions (and if I don't make the joke, I'll die)

In the book ADHD After Dark (a study of ADHD, relationships, and physical intimacy), Ari Tuckman draws some interesting conclusions, one of which is that on a statistical level, people with ADHD seem to be more likely to have what he calls "sexual eagerness": kinks, fetishes, a tendency to be adventurous in bed, and the like. Again, our brains love play, and both intimacy and flirtation can involve a lot of it.

So…

Um…

…well, I think Lenore will be happy. Good for her.

Anyway, this has been a seriously long explanation. Thanks for reading this far.

[definatelymrhyde]

THE JEKYLL AND HYDE

EXPERIMENT

THE FINDINGS

Breaks

I, being the Jekyll in this experiment managed to break my facade only twice. Here’s the info.

Break One: 2:27 PM, Reason: Ashyde reading out the ‘How to fight an ostrich’ wiki how page.

Break Two: 4:04 PM, Reason: Ashyde talking about ‘T posing and back flipping. Imagine it in your head im t posing and back flipping to assert my dominance and how im better than you. You can’t do this so im better.’ Etc etc

Notes Taken During The Course Of The Experiment

-It’s a lot harder to ignore than you would think

-You eventually get used to it, but some things still catch you off guard (See breaks)

-The noise from Ashyde was much easier to ignore when engaging with other people

-Having conversations was mildly harder and required a lot more focus than it should

-I have experience in scare acting and this was scary, spooky even. Someone constantly being in your head and commenting on your surroundings is terrifying just a little bit.

-Keeping a placid smile on your face helps a lot

-Singing songs and sing-songing isn’t annoying or distracting. It just feels like you have a song stuck in your head.

-The longer you ignore the ‘Hyde’ the more they ‘Hyde’ starts to go stir crazy and starts getting more and more creative

-Ashyde has an identity crisis after not being able to get me to be too annoyed and/or break more than I did. He said it felt like torturing himself in the process of trying to torture me!

-In moments where Ash was silent for a few minutes, I almost got nervous about when he was going to come back, what was going to happen, what I would get taunted with next etc

-After the hours of nonstop talking in my head, my mind feels weird and empty after two inner monologues existing in my head. I have ADHD, my mind has never felt this empty before.

The Final Takeaway

Jesus Christ. Props to TGS Jekyll for dealing with stuff like this for TWO YEARS. Because OH MY GOD. This was insane. Jekyll has a steel will and is a phenomenal actor in order to pull of everything he does the way he does. If we ever do this again? Well, I’ll make sure to write more notes because this was interesting.

Thanks to everybody who followed along with the experiment!! If anybody has any more specific questions about how we did it, things that happened over the six-seven hour call and any things you’d like to add please contact me through discord to those who have it or here on my Tumblr!! I don’t bite I promise!!!

[jimmedicated-jambino]

hiii umm feel free to ignore this if u want. im not really good at words and articulating things and i know the full project and context is still yet to come but i would really like to ask what direction you’re coming from with this… cause im perceiving like, a sort of unempathetic “HA stupid shit idiot loser finally realized he needs therapy and medication to be worth something” undercurrent (yknow not maybe in those exact words but this general vibe) and i would really like to know if im totally wrong about this, cause i like your art plenty and it gets shared in my circle but something still pokes the back of my mind y’know? i hope the rest of your day is good :)

Ok I avoided mentioning this because I really prefer not to share details about my mental health and personal traumatic experiences, but I guess I should've said this sooner:

TW: Depression, su*cide attempt

Note: To be clear, whenever I mention "Jimmy" I am NOT talking about the character from the game. I'm talking about the Jimmy in my AU.

This AU is rooted in my own experiences with mental illness, severe depression, and taking medication. I have struggled with depression for the majority of my life and around 4 years ago I reached my lowest point. It got so bad that just being alive hurt. Living hurt. Everything just hurt. From the moment I woke up until the moment I fell asleep all I could feel was just pure pain. Not just emotional pain, it manifested into physical pain. And it was bad. I felt like I was rotting on the inside and my soul was trying to climb out of the torture chamber that my body had become. I was willing to do anything to make the pain and suffering stop. I was prepared to end my life and if I hadn't made the decision to try medication as a last resort, I can say with 100% percent certainty that I would be dead right now. I really couldn't take it anymore. I had reached the absolute bottom. I gave up.

Jimmy in this AU is sort of a projection of myself, both past and present. Good and bad. Not sure why my brain decided to pick this character specifically to project onto. I hated him with a passion when I first finished the game. Idk might have something to do with me having autism and adhd or something or all the jimcurly fanfic I started reading. I'm doing better now, but that experience will always stick with me. Because it's part of me now in a way and I found that using creative outlets to sort of cope really helps. Like taking parts of my trauma, creating something new out of it, and then just putting it out in the world and letting it go. It's not trapped inside my body anymore. It takes some of the weight off my shoulders. It's helped me heal a lot. I also have a tendency to use self-deprecating humor as a coping mechanism. Not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

Maybe I've been too hyperbolic about Jimmy's traits? I'm not sure. I tend to do that a lot to myself.

But, all of this au stuff isn't just something I pulled out of my ass or made up. It's all based on something real that happened to me. This is built on an actual person's experience. My experience.

Jimmy is also meant to be a lot more nuanced. There's an animation in progress that tells the story a lot better. It's like one of those animatic music video things ppl make and post on YouTube. The song is really important to this AU, honestly it's kinda like the theme song to me?? Idk It's called TENSIONNN by Webcage (such a bop legitimately) it's meant to describe the tail end of the "fallout" and the entirety of the "split" from Jimmy's pov. The most important lyric in that song and probably the lyric that this AU was created around is:

"I won't leave you now, It's too poetic"

It's poetic that Jimmy left with the intention of watching Curly crash and burn without him in his life, only to turn around and watch him succeed and soar. It's a tragedy. But it's ALSO poetic that Jimmy started to heal and worked so hard to get to a place where he could re-enter Curly's life and have a healthy relationship with him. Now they're together again, but this time they're not two impulsive, emotionally immature, 20 year olds. They're two adults that have had time to learn and grow as people. And that is beautifully poetic to me. Also super interesting to explore that concept.

If canon Curly and Jimmy sticking together was what allowed the events of Mouthwashing to happen, then them spending some time apart could be what prevents it from happening. Atleast that was my logic while writing this. I wanted to make a sort of fix-it AU to fill the "wholesome Jimcurly" hole in my heart bc fanfics like that are scarce as fuck (understandable bc of the source). I tried to write this whole thing as a fanfic, but I quickly realized that 1) I'm not good at writing anything longer than 1,000 words and 2) this story requires visuals to properly tell it in the way I intended.

Also, I'm having fun. Drawing and writing all of this makes me happy. Obviously, the story isn't very "fun" (I've cried for hours while writing and drawing the more depressing parts probably 20 times by now), but telling it is. I don't know. I'm just a guy that draws. A depressed guy that draws and is still healing. I'm in no way "cured" by the medication I'm on. I still have depressive episodes, but I've been managing them better. I'm in a much better place mentally rn and I'm proud of myself. I've been fighting an intense mental battle against depression everyday for 10+ years of my life at this point. I'm not like 100% happy, I'm just kinda chillin rn idk.

I'm glad you asked this question! I encourage other people to ask questions! It helps me grow as a beginner writer and storyteller.

I hope that answered your question. I appreciate you.

TLDR: No, that isn't at all what I'm doing here. Jimmy is a reflection of myself and my experience with having severe depression and how I started my healing journey. It's based on very real events and thoughts that I have had. No, I don't have any bad intentions. No, I don't hate mentally ill people. I'm mentally ill and neurodivergent. I'm diagnosed. (We're in this fight together, man why would I do that??) I'm not a mustache-twirling villain with an ulterior motive. I'm a tired, mentally ill college student with audhd that is recovering from severe depression that literally almost killed me and drawing these guys is my current hyperfixation that helps me cope with that. That's it.

Also Jimmy is my favorite character (in this AU!!!!) idk why ppl think I hate him. Don't artists usually dump all their trauma on their ocs and make them suffer incomprehensible horrors bc they love the oc?? I thought we all did that. I did that. That's what I'm doing rn. 💀

[kiwis012]

Goofy personal headcanons about the wessel brothers and their bf's:

-the thing about sharing a braincell, most of the they couldn't be more different from each other but by closer observation u can see how they equally brainrot as siblings

-that Marlon secretly borrowers fruity books and films from the library (like fluffy, cheesy romance stuff), when Leon finds out he demands to make it brother ritual to read and watch these together after a long needed coming out talk

-Leon is bi and never really thought about it, he just is and Marlon homo which he accepted in silence to keep it secret

-they hace the funniest hear me outs like Leon having a thing for 'prince charming guy's' and likes rough vanilla *stuff, while Marlon worships villains, gangstas ect and doesn't seem to know that there is a line between bdsm and straight up torture

-they do some 1 braincell shit together sometimes like Marlon shakes his hips in Shakira to good songs and Leon next to him starts aggressively twerkin, or they have fights over 'tf did u eat my snack, I licked that it was mine' one of there bf's commenting about it, so for fun Marlon trys being cheeky and gives Kong a little lick- Leon sees- Leon licks Deniz half face and a little in mouth soaking him in saliva

-Leon makes Chinese jokes about Kong but no 'gangsta' jokes, because he respects that this is a critical topic for him and Kong is thankful for the fact that his bf's combat-dwarf brother hates him respectfully

-Kong and Deniz got along pretty well but don't do much together

-Marlon had a crush on Markus when he was younger and even a small heartbreak over it

-Neither Deniz nor Kong mind being bottom sometimes

-Leon likes to munch on Deniz, or just have something from him in his mouth (like his arm, strand of hair or ear)

-that Lean has adhd and has cute fidget methods

-they have a small breakdown realizing that there both bottoms

-one a them has a knok up kink

-Kong in corset or a tight Chinese outfit with his hair braided back into a elegant bun 🙏

-bad boy Deniz, or like an metal mabey even emo 👀

-Deniz and Leon grow up to be the soccer power couple

-Marlon becomes a teacher, Kong works as a mechanic and they like to dance and cook together

-the brothers have a resist/sexsist half of family and are outcast for being gay and even worse both dating foreigne

-Kong with lots of tattoos and the brothers having a sibling one

-that Jojo is like there little brother and that he started hanging with Kong since they live so close together

-that Kong and Marlon are naturals handling kids

-Marlon gives Leon tips for stuff and a whole presentation on 'how to guve a blowy'

-Deniz likes sports cars and Kong bikes

-the brothers steal their bf's clothes and brag with each other about it

-they kink and taste shame each other just like good siblings do

-one of Leon's fav nicknames for Kong are monkey or king Kong

-the brothers learn together things to tease or seduce their bf's

-Marlon likes to snap his choker

Well I think I have more but for now that's enough ;p

[blueberrybeomgyu]

⚠️ shop closing for maintenance ⚠️

hi lovely!!

if u see this message, i hope it finds you in good health ❤️❤️ i just wanted to let you know that finals are coming up for me, which means back to back essays </3 i won't be able to post a story until probably winter break, which starts in december. in the meantime, i'll still be writing bc i need a way to cope w all the torture im abt to be put through (aka homework), and hopefully when i come back, i'll have a lot of new things for you to read <33

in the meantime, i'm still logged in, so feel free to send me asks and requests !! i'll still post drabbles & ideas, but full fic requests will probably take a few weeks to come out.

wish me luck !! my adhd is abt to be put through the wringer 🤕🤕

-berry <3333

[fireheartedpup]

Okay. So. Ashwaganda.

I lost the post about the supplement from a troll company that was marketing it as hormone replacement therapy. The doses were high enough to send you into serotonin syndrome, and it doesn't replace estrogen. It encourages your body to make the hormones it's already making.

This was in 2023, and the website quickly vanished after backlash.

The thing is, ashwaganda is a mood stabilizer. I'm wondering if it's possible to feel better before the serotonin syndrome. Is the dosage high enough that you feel funny immediately, or does it seem like life is so good that this miracle pill couldn't possibly be bad for you?

Once it starts, it sounds like torture. I'm just wondering about the lead up. The poster who was quoted on that post said that ashwaganda taken in that dosage could cause it in "as little as a month," so what does the lead up feel like?

I don't take medication, so I haven't worried too much about interactions. That said, it's good to know that it can conflict with medications for blood pressure, thyroid, sleep, immunosuppression, and diabetes.

This is mostly because it has similar effects--so again, too much can tip you over from "this helps" to "this is a threat to my safety."

There are other natural things that raise serotonin levels, like ginkgo, and I thought they were mentioned in one of links I included but I can find the paragraph I'm thinking of.

...this could be due to the fact that ginseng can also raise serotonin levels, and I might have misremembered it.

Probiotics, vitamin D, and fish oil can also raise serotonin, as can tryptophan and exercise. Rhodiola is another adaptogen that can help with things like ADHD, and St. John's Wort is also on that list.

There's a lot. I actually left out green tea and turmeric. Oh, and 5-htp. That one I'm careful with. It makes me feel drugged.

Coffee and artificial sweeteners can decrease serotonin, so I'm not terribly bothered. If it's not consumed in high doses or alongside something it shouldn't be combined with, it should be okay.

I'm also not consistent with anything, and in the case of the supplements where it's better to take breaks instead of simply continuing to take them every single day for a long period of time, this works for me.

The thing that made me take a second look at adaptogens in general is that my period is almost a week late.

Remember how it adjusts your hormones? Yeah, a lot of people have this reaction--and it can make your period lighter. I'm mostly finding anecdotes from reddit, but there is a study about it helping with perimenopause.

My periods have never been super consistent. I have a rough idea of when they're going to come, but the cycle isn't exact. So this doesn't bother me a ton, but it's enough for some people to want to switch to an alternative method of controlling things like anxiety.

I'm already questioning whether my hormones are out of whack or not, so that's part of it.

I just think it's interesting. "Natural alternatives" are marketed as safer, without side effects. My experience has been that no matter what you do, you're throwing spaghetti at a wall to see what sticks--and you still need to look up everything you take to see if it's going to interact with anything else.

It would be nice if going to a doctor fixed this problem. Unfortunately, I've read too many stories about patients having to look things up for themselves, even after going to doctor after doctor.

It's like the pegboard with red string.

Anyway. My takeaway is still that what will fix your problems is appropriate treatment for your body. Unfortunately, this is different for everyone, and pretty much requires you to make a lifelong study of what to take and what the side effects are--no matter if you're taking supplements or drugs.

I'm still on the adaptogen train because I don't have to beg a doctor for help or make an appointment or beg a doctor to listen to me when it turns out that I need a change in my treatment plan or get registered as "really, she needs this" in order to get the thing that will help me.

I'm just. You know. Wondering. About what this is going to mean for my period going forward.

(And I'm going to have to research every single other thing I'm taking to see what the crossovers are.)

IMPORTANT: Ashwaganda can cause spontaneous abortion. Do not listen to anyone who says that adaptogens are safe to take during pregnancy. CHECK FIRST.

[sephirthoughts]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

i was ruthlessly tagged by @dee-de-winter so now i shall be exacting vengeance by tagging others

1) how many works do you have on ao3?

74 over two accounts that are separate for reasons

2) what's your total ao3 word count?

2,872,246

3) what are your top five fics by kudos?

great now i have to know this 

titles from the account that isn’t associated with this tumblr have been redacted nice try narcs

1. The Prince (Genshin Impact)

2. [REDACTED] ([REDACTED]

3. [REDACTED] (Eddie x Venom]

4. Good Boy (Genshin Impact)

5.  [REDACTED] (Steve x Bucky)

4) what fandoms do you write for?

whatever i feel like. right now it’s a lot of FF7 but i do Ryu ga Gotoku, Genshin, Star Rail, MGS, Black Butler, i quit marvel cause fuck them forever, Death Stranding, i even wrote some for Destiny 2.

arthurian mythology but that doesn’t count as fandom. pro tip: when the source material is 2200 years old you get to call it literature and act all intellectual and people give you grants about it 

5) do you respond to comments? why or why not?

i absolutely respond to every comment if i can but i have severe executive dysfunction and sometimes social interaction even on that level stresses me out so sometimes i hide under a blanket instead

6) what's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

this one-shot i wrote just to torture sephiroth. otherwise all the stuff i am currently doing to lancelot

7) what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i am a total sucker and i love happy endings almost all my fics have happy endings

8) do you get hate on fics?

nope not even the rottenest shit i write gets hate. i am not popular enough to have haters. 😂 though back in the day like 10 years ago some people started a whole discord server just to hate on my fics. that was very flattering 

9) do you write smut?

SO MUCH SMUT 

10) do you write crossovers?

i would but one has yet to appeal to me

11) have you ever had a fic stolen?

probably

12) have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! i have had several translated into mandarin and russian

13) have you ever cowritten a fic before?

yup. one was such a great experience and i will always remember it fondly because the person i wrote with really vibed with me and was a totally amazing yes-and partner, and one was with someone who is a huge asshole who sucks and that was not so fun

14) what's your all time favorite ship?

lancelot/tristan

bosselot though i have never posted anything about them and likely won’t. sephiroth x cloud. kiryu x majima. steve x bucky.

15) what's the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i won’t finish the venom/eddie one i was writing five years ago because there is too much bad blood between me and a certain venom comics writer who shall remain nameless and he ruined it for me thanks a lot asshole

16) what are your writing strengths?

dialogue and characterization. and i can suit my narrative voice to almost any era and style. this comes of having read a lot in every genre. yes every.

also i can write medieval-flavored (thee, thou, thy) english without getting the grammar wrong and sounding like a twat

17) what are your writing weaknesses?

pacing pacing pacing. my adhd makes it really hard for me to know when i am meandering and when i’m going too fast

18) thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

there are several ways to do this and reasons to do this

 1. tone/flavor. if you are writing a story set in ancient china for example, it’s better for flavor to use the terms they’d use with each other, like terms for brother, martial-brother, teacher, sister, parents, other endearments, funny insults that don’t have an equivalent in your language, etc. it makes the dialogue seem more authentic and helps keep the reader in the scene. BUT only do it if you can do it naturally without it sounding forced. if it’s awkward for you it will be awkward for your reader so just don’t do it. 

if you need a character to feel alienated, out of place, confused, etc., you might leave some bits of dialogue between other characters in their own language for flavor. for example, two russian guards are arguing over whether to shoot your character or not. your character doesn’t understand them, the readers don’t either, and that's ok.

if the words of the language itself are important to the story. like for example your elvish spellcaster is casting verbal spells that use elvish go ahead and write those in elvish. it’s better for immersion and sounds way cooler 

IMPORTANT NOTE: i know your teacher told you all foreign language words have to be italicized, but i have been a professional book editor for more than a decade. i know better than your teacher. do not put foreign language words in italics. that is a relic of very old anglocentric journalistic/academic styles and is something that has become useless, irritating, distracting, and insulting to your reader. 

OTHER IMPORTANT NOTE: don’t insult your readers by putting in-line translations in your text EVER. you SHOULD  footnote translations of potentially unfamiliar terms etc. though, that is just common courtesy. 

2. code switching. multilingual people tend to toss together their languages in casual conversation and multilingual characters should too

3. characters living/working in a culture that speaks a language other than their own who meet will probably at least greet each other in their own language. it's cool to put a bit of that in there

4. commonly used phrases which are applied in the original language regardless of the speaker’s native language, such as “c’est la vie” and “vaya con dios”, also most general greetings like “konichiwa” and “auf wiedersehen”. do not give footnoted translations for these. that is unnecessary and redundant. if your reader is unfamiliar with one of these commonly used turns of phrase they can look it up and then they’ve learned something they can use in their own writing. win-win

LAST IMPORTANT NOTE: writing in another language than your audeince's primary language is different from writing in dialect. mark twain can do this correctly. there is a 90% chance you cannot. so unless it is very very important for characterization or you absolutely know you've got it down, just don't. it is literally the most embarrassing thing to read AAVE or southern american vernacular english or creole english or cockney or irish or scottish or norfolk that is WRONG.

ps. props as fuck to the dialect writers and channing tatum for remy lebeau's few lines in deadpool and wolverine. i was watching like a fucking hawk and it was very well done. good job

19) first fandom you wrote for?

MGS but i didn’t know fandom or fanfic was a thing back then so i just wrote for myself and hoarded my stories like a little weirdo 

20) favourite fic you've ever written?

it was a silly one-shot for Ryu ga Gotoku (Yakuza 7) and i will not be telling you the title because i don't want that ao3 associated with this tumblr but @dee-de-winter knows what it is and used the phrase "old as balls" to describe my character which i am laughing at again thank you dee.

aside from that i think maybe this genshin one-shot called The Ruins, or this kinda short multi-chap one called Skin Dive. i don’t care much for that fandom anymore, but it’s less about thinking they’re the best and more about the experience of writing them. i think i enjoyed those two the most. all my very favorite writing is outside fandoms but i won’t be doxxing myself on tumblr about it

I HEREBY TAG:

@siringadev @soundcrusher @deepgrounded @flowerwiththemachinegun @hiddentrails7 @demial4 @getvalentined @hello-galad @savage-sinister @starpunkd

[the-wip-project]

SloMo WriNo: Finding the Perfect Time to Write

Imagine your perfect writing setting. It’s peaceful and perfect, and the words flow easily.

But reality intrudes. Those perfect moments are hard to find, and, when you find them it can be too much pressure, so the words won’t come. Other times, when the inspiration is strong, and words are ready to pour out of you, you have no time or space to write. 

It seems impossible to find both the time and inspiration to write at the same time! 

That’s because it is.

To have a consistent long term writing practice, you cannot rely on perfect moments or bursts of inspiration.

I’m going to discuss inspiration in a later post, for now let’s focus on finding the time to write, in less than perfect times and places.

For me, I used to write whenever I could, just squeezing writing time whenever. And I was pretty inconsistent in how much I wrote, and didn’t get much finished.

When I decided I wanted to write a novel I knew I needed to get more organized.

I happen to be something of a morning person, and wake up about half an hour before I actually need to get up. I was in the habit of using that time to lie in bed reading, checking messages, scrolling socials etc. It seemed like a no-brainer to optimize that morning time to write.

However, when I tried, I found that I couldn’t stick with it for more than a couple of days at a time. I was frequently breaking my concentration, and easily distracted. And it felt like a grind. Eventually I realized that I simply did not want to write immediately after waking up. (and my ADHD brain will sabotage any attempt to force myself.) See, even though I’m a morning person, it doesn’t mean that I’m ready to do heavy mental lifting when I first awake. Time for quiet, more passive activities are an important part of me transitioning from sleep to full wakefulness.

But wait! Here I am at 6:30 am writing this! Happily! On a Sunday no less! Because I figured out a work around. Another look at my schedule showed me that I had another block of seemingly unused time. The later evenings after my kids are in bed. I’d dismissed that time period because I’m generally too brain tired to do anything productive. The solution was to use that time for sleeping (boring I know) enabling me to wake earlier, keep my gradual wake up routine, and still have time to write.

Strangely enough, knowing that I’m going to write in the morning is incentivising for me, and I find that I simply don’t want to stay up as late anymore. Because I have a fun reason (yes, writing is fun!) to go to sleep.

Now this little story might be helpful for you if you’d like to write first thing in the morning. If the idea feels like torture, then perhaps not.

But the idea is, assess your daily time, and cut something that isn’t refreshing or valuable. And possibly jiggle your schedule around so that you can open up a block of writing time at a time that is good for you.

For me that was the mindless doom scrolling or binge watching that I tend to indulge in after 10pm.

Some times that might work for you (besides the obvious first thing in the morning or last thing before bed): Commute time, Arriving at work or school or other daily appointments early, lunch or other break times in your day, time while you’re waiting. Remember, you’re not looking for massive blocks of time. Fifteen minutes will do. Thirty minutes would be amazing.

So examine your schedule and see where you can block out a regular time to write.

Once you’ve found a few options, try them out. Do you feel good, or harried? Tired or refreshed? If it doesn’t feel right, is there another task you can swap into the time slot to open up a different spot in your schedule? 

Which leads us to the question: does this mean I need to write every single day?

Absolutely not. Take rest days when you need them. Either a scheduled day or two each week, or just a floating flex day taken when needed.

Focus on establishing a habit of writing for at least fifteen minutes 5-6 days a week. (And don’t worry about word counts too much while you’re figuring this out.)

Once you create a habit, the words will come!

— Maree

SloMo Wrino Introduction

Setting Word Count Goals

the WIP Project discord

[changingplumbob]

New Goth: Chapter 4, Part 2

Saturday is date night!

Back home Alexander works out his frustrations on a punching bag. Dina always manages to rile him up. He’s also discovered he has ADHD, Cassandra’s diagnosis had him look into it. James may fit in a workout but he does get very tired afterwards. What can turn that frown upside down? A cat! He goes in search of someone fluffy, Hamlet is playing on the cat tree upstairs.

James: Hey boy, can I have a couch snuggle

Hamlet: *meows* Of course dad

James: You look good in that cape. We must get you a special look for Harvestfest, we want to impress the guests

Hamlet: *purrs* We will if I’m there

Settling down with the oldest journal Milton begins to read.

Dear diary, how exciting is that to write! I got 10 out of 10 on my spelling tests all month so daddy bought me the journal I wanted. I’m excited to start keeping proper track of things. Yes I’m 8 but never to early to organise. Michael makes fun of me but I know he’d never peek. Sometimes I think I have the best older brother in the world…

Milton: I know the feeling mummy

Alexander: Can you follow the star Gertrude

Gertrude: *meows* Oh it is so dead

Alexander: Where’d it go? Where’d it go

Gertrude: *meows* I got it! Wait… get back here star!

Alexander: I think I’ve tortured you enough for one day *turns off laser pointer*

Gertrude: *meows* It… vanished???

Alexander: Here, how about a brush. You do look impressive in the armour but we must keep your coat looking as lovely as you

Hamlet: *meows* I am more impressive

Gertrude: *purrs* dream on son

Milton: Alexander?

Alexander: We’re in here

Milton: I wanted to say thanks to you and Uncle James for the new room

James: You’re very welcome

Milton: I know you have your date but when you get back could we maybe… just for tonight… have a sleepover in my room

Alexander: That sounds fun but I don’t know if James’ back will-

James: I would love a sleepover Milton

Milton’s face lights up at this news.

Milton: I’ll see you later then. Come home safe... promise?

Alexander: We will Milton, I promise

We head to Chez Llama where our normal greeter is on duty.

Caleb: Name?

Alexander: There should be a reservation under Goth

Caleb: Under Goth? Are you sure

Alexander: Yes I made the reservation myself

Caleb flicks his eyes over Alexander’s suit, his aged companion and the space where a celebrity shine isn’t.

Caleb: Yes... well we are very busy tonight

Alexander: No one is in the restaurant yet

Caleb: We have many distinguished patrons, we must keep room for them

Alexander: My father was a five star celebrity

Caleb: Yes, he was

Alexander: My parents spent a fortune here

James: Are you sure we’re not on there? Sorry love, looks like we’ll have to take our service elsewhere *sighs*

Alexander: Look- Caleb? I know I made the reservation. We are long time patrons who wish to spend money here. If you have a problem with that perhaps I should ask to speak to your boss

Caleb: *stiffens* That won’t be necessary- sir, here it is

James: Just like magic

Caleb: If you’ll follow me

The two are escorted to a small table just inside the restaurant.

James: What was that man’s problem

Alexander: I guess he didn’t think we were famous enough

James: Well make sure to leave a big tip so he knows we don’t have hard feelings

Alexander: We don’t have to

James: Maybe we don’t have to but we should. If anything maybe it will make him less judging of future guests that don’t have celebrity status

Diaz: Hello there, what can I get you tonight sirs?

Alexander: Nectar. White I think

James murmurs in agreement and the waiter’s pen begins to mark down the order.

James: You order first love

Alexander: Could I please have the… hmm, the tiger shrimp broth sounds good

Diaz: very good sir

James: Can I have a space taco please

Diaz: Of course sir

The waiter speeds off and Alexander looks at James chuckling.

Alexander: Swanky restaurant and my husband orders a taco

James: Space taco. Maybe it’ll make me fly

Alexander: *laughs* Just don’t go getting abducted, they’ll impregnate a handsome man like you for sure

James: I have been thinking pregnancy thoughts lately

Alexander: *chuckles* Of course. We’ll have a science baby with my hair and your eyes and-

James: Actually…

Alexander: You don’t want a science baby with me?

James: I’d love one, don’t misunderstand me. Raising a mini you would be great but we have to be realistic

Alexander: What do you mean

James: Love, I’m not getting any younger

Alexander: Ridiculous! You’re plenty young

James: You’re sweet but we both know I’m not. Humans here seem to live to about 80

Alexander: Joey would say it’s the watchers fault

James: Yes, he probably would. But Alexander, I want a kid who’s going to remember me

Alexander: But… You’re only 74, you’ve got time left

James: Maybe but not enough time for an infant to get to know me properly. Not enough time for me to be able to pass on my life lessons. Not enough time… for me to know them

Alexander: So what are you saying sweets

James: I’d like to adopt a child or even a teen…

James: What do you think

Alexander: It’s just… something we haven’t discussed before

James: I know, and I’m bringing it up now

Alexander: I mean… I’m not against adoption. Not at all. But… a teen?

James: I know how to handle teens from all my years teaching

Alexander: Yes but *quietly* who says I’ll know what to do

James: You’re wonderful with Milton. You're going to make a great dad

Alexander: Yeah but Milton is my brother. How am I meant to be a dad to someone only a decade younger than me?

James: You won’t be doing it alone, I’m going to be here as long as I can

Alexander: You really want a kid that remembers you huh

James: I do. And I want to leave you with someone that can look out for you to

Alexander: What will I do when you’re gone

James: Pretty sure parenting has a pretty steep learning curve. By the time… well you will know more than nothing

Alexander: What if they don’t respect me

James: I’ll teach them to, we’ll teach them to

Alexander: *sighs* I suppose it can’t hurt to look in to it

James: I’ll win you over eventually

Alexander: *winks* You always do

Previous ... Next

[gl6mp]

i have spent the last hour reading a dictionary and i finally put a bookmark in it as if i am planning on reading the entire thing. i really admire the work of baths and when i do write a fanfic i want to put in words that will make people have to look it up. because to me that is the most fun activity you could ever do ... not too many that make it borderline unreadable but i want to sprinkle some in there.

as of late i've found out that there are a lot of common words i do not understand yet but i always look forward to learning. im also contemplating buying a dictionary full of idioms. i have at least six dictionaries currently in my possession but i need more. i've got five books on grammar from the library that i've yet to read... mainly because im mostly fixated on words rather than the placements of them, but sentence structure is also an important subject to me that i would like to relearn

it is also june. meaning i have two months before my seasonal depression hits in august. it's been so much fun picking up on an interest i had in middle school so far and im just hoping that the spark doesn't die out again. adhd is my biggest enemy when it comes to this but my interests rarely ever change so i am banking on that. writing is something im excited to spend years doing even if right now im amateur at it. reading fanfictions and autobiographies has inspired me. also the death note fixation has lasted for well over a year which is promising!

my seasonal depression spans from mid-august to mid-february, meaning that i have six months of fun and then six months of torture that feels eternal. sometimes when im having fun i think about the days that will eventually pass where i am not having fun. it's something i've been preparing for since i figured out its pattern this year. i also have about a month or two of mania in march and april. my mental health is all over the place but i think my life would be really boring without it and im always down for the struggle if it means i'll end up in a better place.

lots of preparations are being made but if wellbutrin continues to do its job i think i will fare better than the previous years. i have to return back to drawing furry commissions lest the lawlight takes full hold of my brain and i run in the wrong (albeit most fun) direction because adhd does that. i live with an instant gratification monkey in my brain. (multiple of them, actually.)