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ckret2 · 21 days ago

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How to cook with ADHD

The recipe:

A simple crock pot dump dinner with no prep and no extra dishes dirtied! Five minute prep time.

The instructions:

Grease crock pot

Brown sausage or ground beef (or substitute sausage links)*

Mince 4 garlic cloves*

Dump frozen tortellini, canned tomatoes, spaghetti sauce, chicken broth, sausage links, garlic, basil, condensed milk, shredded cheese, and chicken broth into crock pot

Stir**

Cook on low heat 4-6 hours

*Note: these two steps weren't included in the recipe, because if you don't have ADHD you can manifest already-browned ground beef and already-minced garlic cloves from the aether using your executive function telekinesis.

**Note: "Stir" was listed as part of the same step as "dump" in the recipe, because if you don't have ADHD your executive function telekinesis can stir the ingredients in mid-air as you're dumping them in.

The reality:

Haul out the crock pot; congratulate yourself on remembering where you stuffed it

Lube up crock pot with olive oil; discover something burned crusted inside one corner. You have too much ADHD to typically try crock pot recipes so this is from the roommate that recently moved out, but ex-roommate also has ADHD so this is still an expected stage of the "cooking with ADHD" process.

Try to scrub out the burned flakes without removing the greasing up you've already applied to the rest of the pot

Lube up the formerly burned corner.

Wash off greasy hands

Tear open frozen tortellini bag; dump it in. Congratulate yourself on how smoothly this is going.

Pick up the canned tomatoes

Grab the can opener Search for the can opener in the kitchen tools drawer

Search the utensils drawer

Search the pens & matches & leftover expired sunglasses from the solar eclipse drawer

Search the pot holders drawer

Search the shelf with the canned sauces left behind when your roommate left because sometimes you stick kitchen tools next to the food item that needs the tool, for ADHD reasons

Try to remember whether, when roommate moved out and you split up the kitchen supplies, a can opener was included amongst the supplies bequeathed to you

Realize with the weariness born of long experience that you're about to have An Adventure

Comfort yourself with the knowledge that this will at least make a funny tumblr post

Make mental note to include friendly shout-out to ex-roomie so when they read this they know you don't resent them for taking the can opener(s), something you should have thought to ask about yourself, and also something you would have discovered sooner if not for the fact that you have too much ADHD to typically try recipes that involve opening a can

Inspect the rim keeping the lid on the tomato can

Squeeze the sides near the top hoping perhaps you can just pop it off like Popeye; slightly dent can

Optimistically try to pry the lid off with your fingernails, knowing in your heart that cans were designed the way they were specifically to prevent the lid being removed by such flimsy tools but remembering some kind of youtube video about the the way the rims of cans are rolled over each other.

Google "open can without can opener" while aiming the evil eye at the search results to ward off useless AI sites that spend 1000 words droning about situations when someone might want a can opener before poorly paraphrasing other people's advice

Click on Wikihow with relief

Realize the sink's been running since before step 1 because you're trying to wash off a really gross spoon that was in the fridge with cheese on it for about a week; observe the spoon, nudge it back under the stream, and decide it could use a little more rinsing so you don't have to touch it.

Scroll past "rub a spoon's edge over the weak metal until it wears through," looks too time-consuming

Scroll past "stab lid with knife," looks like too much effort

Scroll past "rub lid on concrete to wear off the metal," you already know that one and you're not THAT desperate

stop at "stab lid with the back corner of a chopping knife," shrug in defeat. You're gonna need to dirty a chopping knife to slice up the sausage anyway.

Stab lid with the back corner of a chopping knife Attempt to stab lid with back corner of a chopping knife; conclude it's too much effort and you're more likely to slip and lose a finger

Attempt to rub spoon through lid; conclude it's even less likely to get through

Suddenly remember with glee that your swiss army knife has a can opener

Grab it from the Specific Spot it lives on the kitchen counter so you Never Ever Lose It Discover your army knife isn't in its Specific Spot

Vaguely search the shelf in the living room where tools sometimes congregate

Remember seeing the army knife on the bedside stand organizer you got to ensure you Never Ever Lose your glasses and ADHD meds

Walk to the farthest room at the very other end of the house

Find your army knife exactly where you thought it was, congratulate yourself; realize it's the LITTLE army knife

Check it for a can opener anyway

Realize you must have removed it from the counter a month or two ago (you don't remember how long due to The ADHD) when The Ants found a way into the kitchen from behind the dishwasher and you scrubbed down the entire counter with ant-repelling flower essential oils to curb the invasion.

Return to the kitchen; realize the sink is still running; decide the spoon could stand to rinse a little more.

Search the table that you meant to remove from the kitchen when you got a new table but that instead has become a Gathering Spot Of Stuff With No Home

Remember that the utensils used to be in the pantry for ADHD reasons

Search the pantry for a can opener; find nothing

Go to the other end of the house again and vaguely search the shelf by your computer desk where tools sometimes congregate

Five minute prep time.

Return to the kitchen and remember that you moved all the stuff from the counter to the other ant-free counter, three feet away from where you started.

Triumphantly locate swiss army knife

Flip open can opener attachment; realize blade is blunt; hopefully tell yourself that must be the bottle top opener.

Flip open the other can opener attachment; realize its blade is blunt as well

Nevertheless, watch a youtube video (from inside the DuckDuckGo search results instead of on youtube itself, because you have youtube blocked on your phone for 6 hours a day with an app you paid real money for to actually lock you OUT of distracting apps rather than merely pop up an easily-dismissible "teehee you shouldn't be on this app right now!" screen, because you have ADHD) on how to open a can with a swiss army knife can opener

Attempt to open can with blunt can opener.

Try the spoon again.

Resort to the "rub can's lid on concrete" technique; grab one of the bricks you got for free a few months ago for some kind of half-baked backyard project you haven't started yet and that's been sitting in the kitchen nook ever since.

Discover that the can is sanding down the brick faster than the brick is sanding down the can; also discover that the lid's acquired a tomato juice-dripping puncture half the size of a vampire bite, but that was probably thanks to the can opener

Wash off the can so that when you finally get it open, you don't get brick and metal shavings in the tomato juice

Five minute prep time.

Move the sausage from the counter into the fridge. You might be here a while.

Decide that you've tried this WikiHow's way; now you're trying it YOUR way. Go to the craft room where all your crafts have been packed in boxes since the last time you moved two years ago and haphazardly opened and strewn about whenever you need something specific.

Locate your toolbox exactly where you knew it was: sitting right in the middle of the floor. Convenient, easily visible.

Take your pliers from your toolbox Discover your pliers aren't in your toolbox.

Vaguely search the shelf next to your computer desk where tools congregate Spot the pliers on your desk on your way to the shelf; have no recollection of what you were doing with your pliers at your desk.

Return to kitchen with wrath in your heart

Start attempting to bend and wiggle the rim of the lid of the can a little at a time in hopes of it snapping off or something. You still vaguely recall that youtube video watched long ago about how cans are constructed.

Discover you've punched a hole through the side of the can when tomato juice starts dripping down your fingers

Try to pour juice into crock pot; get about eight drops

Begin to wonder if it would have just taken less time to drive 20 minutes to Target to buy a can opener

Resume going around the edge trying to pry off the lid. Experience only extremely moderate success

Attempt to pour more juice from the widening wound into the crock pot; get about four drops.

In frustration, jam the pliers into the hole you've already made and attempt to wrench it open wide enough to pour the tomatoes out

Peel off the wet wrapper around the hole

Repeat process 4-5 times until hole is big enough to free all tomatoes

Set the can aside in triumph

With the weariness of a World War I soldier preparing to march back into the trenches, set your eyes on the can of condensed milk

Go to rinse off your pliers so the milk isn't cross-contaminated with tomato juice; realize it doesn't matter because it's all going into the same crock pot

Experience 5 seconds of lost time and come back to reality to discover you're washing your pliers anyway even though you just decided not to. You have no recollection of this.

Continue to let the sink run, for the spoon. It could use it.

Start plying the rim of the condensed milk can; console yourself with the knowledge that at least this can be a much smaller hole since you're not trying to pour tomatoes out.

Punch a tiny hole in the side that drips all over you.

Try to pour can into crock pot; it's dripping out at a rate of 1 drop every 2 seconds.

Remind yourself yet again that at least this will make for a funny tumblr post

Attempt to widen hole. Really maul that one bit of the rim. Get more milk on your counter.

Attempt to pour again; suspect that it's dripping even slower now

Consider driving to Target again

Wonder how you've ended up with ten times as much milk on the counter than poured into the crock pot

Peel the wet wrapper from around the hole

In frustration, take out the screwdriver on your swiss army knife and jam it into the hole on the lid to wiggle it around and expand it

Pour the world's slowest stream of milk into the crock pot. Decide it's not worth it to try to expand the hole. Just wait for it to do its thing.

Realize that holding the can this high doesn't make the stream any faster but DOES make tiny drops splash outside the crock pot. Lower the can.

Shake it a bit.

Realize the sink's still running; decide to let it keep going, the spoon could use it.

Pour in the spaghetti sauce which came in a sensible glass jar with a twist lid

Pour in the chicken broth with sensible twist lids. Ruminate on the wisdom and convenience of twist lids

Add a tablespoon of dried basil

Try to remember the rough conversion rate of garlic cloves to pre-minced garlic, because you have ADHD and you're not about to mince your own garlic. You think it was one clove to one teaspoon. You would check, but the conversion you found was on reddit (after scrolling past a dozen AI sites) and you can't check it again because your app blocker keeps you out of reddit so you don't get distracted.

Add four teaspoons of pre-minced garlic

Dump in the shredded cheese; realize you didn't put it in the fridge with the sausage; decide it's fine, it's cheese, it hasn't been that long.

Five minute prep time.

Take sausage from fridge

Grab a plate to chop the sausage on

Slice open the package, dump out the sausage

Attempt to imitate the super fast chopping you see in cooking videos but when you do that the knife doesn't go all the way through the skin; reluctantly slow down

Once again, resentfully think about how many "one pot" "no prep" "dump dinner" crock pot recipes you've found that assume browning meat is a freebie action that magically takes zero time; wonder where people without ADHD magically find the spare time to complete tasks they've allotted 0 seconds for in their prep schedule

Muse that you probably could've browned half a cow's worth of ground beef in the time opening that tomato can took; remind yourself that if you actually had tried to brown your own beef, it would have probably turned into An Adventure as well.

Think to yourself that tumblr had damn well better enjoy your suffering because SOMEBODY here needs to

Dump sausage in crock pot

Nicely wipe the tomato juice and condensed milk splatters off the rim because a few weeks ago while looking for ADHD cleaning hacks you found the quote "you can wipe it now or you can scrub it later" and you're trying to incorporate that into your life.

Put the lid on at last

Plug it in scoot aside the detritus of the ingredients until you've made room to scoot the crock pot next to the power outlet

Plug it in

Set it to low heat and 6 hours

Check the clock; realize that it will finish cooking at the exact same time that you're supposed to be leaving for two and a half hours to pick up some free tiles you found on craigslist for the half-baked backyard project you haven't started yet; decide this is a logistics problem for future you

Throw away all the empty stuff that doesn't need to be rinsed.

Put the basil in the cutlery drawer, which is naturally where all the spices live because you always need to grab the forks, salt, and pepper at the same time

Realize the sink is still running; decide it wouldn't hurt to let it go a little longer

Put the minced garlic jar in the fridge; remove the last half-empty minced garlic jar that you THOUGHT you'd had, but you don't know when it was opened so you'd decided to get a new one anyway

Double-check to make sure there aren't any other leftover ingredients that need refrigerating because you don't want to have another Mayonnaise Incident (bought a big jar of lime mayo, used it once, accidentally left it on the counter in the spot where it had been sitting when it was unopened rather than refrigerate it, had to throw away the whole thing)

Tiredly tell yourself that you can wash the tomato juice and condensed milk off the counter later THE ANTS THE ANTS THE ANTS. Resolve to wash everything now so that you won't get another invasion.

Reluctantly pick up that spoon that's been soaking and scrub the rest of the cheese off with your thumb. It takes like twenty seconds. You could have cleaned it in twenty seconds at the start of all this.

Stick it in the dishwasher

Rinse out the glass tomato sauce jar and put it in the half of the sink dedicated to letting recyclables dry out.

As long as you're here, remove the actual dishes that are sitting in the half of the sink dedicated to recyclables that you put there when you made room to rinse the cheese spoon; put them in the dishwasher because you want to be able to give yourself an "emptied the sink" point in the gameified habit-tracking app you got for your ADHD (not to be confused with the life skills coaching habit-tracking app you got for your ADHD)

Bemoan the fact that you can't award yourself points this week for getting groceries on Monday because it's Friday. You were willing to let it go as far as Thursday and still award yourself credit but Friday's just too far.

Artfully arrange the cans and their "can openers" so you can take a picture of the carnage, because dammit you're getting SOMETHING out of this

Rinse out the tomato can and put it in the drying recyclables half of the sink

Direct a stream of water into the little hole on the condensed milk can; only realize your extremely predictable mistake when you try to drain it and the world's slowest stream of water pours out

Shake out the rest of the water and chuck the condensed milk can in the trash

Wash off the pliers

Wash the swiss army knife and all three extensions you tried to use even though only one was useful; tiredly recall that you didn't wash them off BEFORE opening the cans and decide you'll just live with that risk

Put your army knife in its Specific Spot where you'll Never Ever Lose It

Forget whether you've washed the pliers

Look at the pliers Accidentally look at your phone on the counter instead; your mind immediately ejects all thoughts like a bomber plane dumping its bombs and you stare blankly at the glowing screen, which isn't even displaying anything interesting, for at least ten seconds, trying to remember what you were looking at it for

Notice that there's condensed milk splashes on your phone; remember the pliers; check the pliers; remember you did wash them already

Wipe off your phone screen

Glance in the kitchen tools drawer while grabbing a paper towel, thinking about what a fool you would have just made of yourself if there is a can opener after all; be relieved to find no can opener

Wash off the counter; congratulate yourself on doing such a good job keeping the counter clean and the kitchen ant-free, except for that one time a week ago when one drop of orange chicken sauce fell on the counter without you noticing and you crushed four ant scouts before you managed to find what they were looking for. But other than that you're doing so good

Realize you didn't plan what you'll eat for lunch.

Casualties: 2 cans

Times I interrupted myself while writing this: 32

Verdict: remarkably low number of interruptions

The most deeply nested distraction-within-a-distraction Matryosha doll experienced while writing this: 4 (plus five separate 3-layer Matryosha distractions)

This includes remembering THE ANTS THE ANTS THE ANTS and going downstairs to toss the trash bag with the half-rinsed condensed milk can outside

This also includes two separate daily alarms I have set to deliberately disrupt my focus in case I've accidentally started hyperfocusing on a task I'm not supposed to be doing and one time tumblr got locked by my distracting-app-locking app

More important tasks I'm ignoring to write this post: 11

Casualties: 2 cans

Amount of time it took me to realize I mentioned the casualties twice and edit this post: 21 minutes

Not including writing this post, total prep time for the five-minute-prep-time dump dinner: one hour and twenty minutes.

#adhd #actually adhd #my writing #(I'm never cooking again)

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the-fae-tricked-me · 2 years ago

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I was really out here telling kids I was straighter then the pole their mother danced on in early middle school when they told me I was gay as an insult, not knowing what either of those things meant— (I had heard that comeback used before and stole it.) And the funniest part of it all? They were right🤦��♀️

#i dont know what straight means but apparently i need to be that #im not sure what gay is either but all im working with is that its apparently an insult??#just a typical casual sexwork shaming middle-schooler #THIS is the sheltered adhd kid experience #tl:dr i AM gay #and they were right

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piscesmerc26 · 8 months ago

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Shining a light on “unfavorable” placements. pt.1

Within astrology, I notice a lot of people addressing only the dark sides of dark placements. These placements being considered as unfavorable and or “unfortunate”. However, tougher aspects/placements are generally considered to be gifts, though they are challenges, I see them as direct callings on what allows the individual to reach success. I am not a professional but these are patterns/observations I make from personal experience and life all around me. Now buckle up, this’ll be a long post, I’ll be discussing only planetary/object placements, next part will be aspects however, less descriptive.

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12H & 8H Suns and Moons

12H Suns are considered to be unfavorable however, this placement is actually a gift, though the sun is “shadowed” in this area; individuals with 12H are actually here on a mission, though it is bleak to see, individuals with this placement have power and it’s not even locked potential, it’s just power that they cannot see themselves but naturally exude. 12H suns are directly connected to the subconscious, they have this “one foot in one foot out” approach to reality, they are immensely creative and are gifted with compassion at early ages, though they don’t realize it, they tend to be ahead of the game in the early stages of life

12H Moons; these individuals are given heavy emotions, probably even a transformative connection with their mother, their emotions is where their spiritual knowledge lies, they have strong intuition and are the true empaths of astrology. Those with this placement are driven by their feelings, they know the ins and outs and have all the secrets, this is more hidden/internal knowledge, similar to 12H suns, they can gain a lot of knowledge later in life

Now 8H Suns/Moons are similar to one another. Individuals with these placements have true power in them, and they are gifted with depth and intensity that people are actually afraid of. These are the type of people to get told something toxic about themselves and they hit you with a “I know.” or they will outwardly tell you themselves (If other points in the chart agree). They are masters when it comes to shadow work and they are constantly changing–if you don’t see them for at least a month and they come back, their mindset could have taken a complete 180, for better or for worse. The 8H expands everything it touches, it creates an intense amount of depth to the matter. These individuals also tend to have a lot of people that will outwardly try to put them down, whether it is directly or indirectly, they also tend to have karma on their side. Their Image(Sun) and their emotions(moon)are heavily protected and praying on these individuals' downfall is like asking for a spiritual ass whooping.

Mercury in Pisces & Sagittarius:

Having Mercury in Pisces is an unfavorable placement, these individuals could be seen as forgetful, in a constant cycle of daze, and emotionally detached. However, the thoughts that boil within the brain of this placement is insane. I mean, we have a civil rights activist and a famous genius with this placement, if that doesn’t tell you anything idk what to tell you. These individuals are gifted with a lot of creativity, their thoughts actually run a mile a minute, they are typically well versed in various hobbies, these are the type of people if you ask what they do they might not give you one answer and hang around them long enough, you will see them having a new hobby every week. The ADHD masters, they’ll tell you they never played an instrument and hop on and immediately sound like an intermediate musician. These people have seen and heard it all, they are intelligent and their words hold weight. They say one thing and it’ll last you a lifetime, their advice sits in the back of people’s minds, their words are food for the soul, everything they say is more calculated and meaningful than even they think themselves. Truly underrated.

Next my lovely Sagittarian Mercuries. These individuals could be seen as rude, blunt, obnoxious, and or lacking emotional depth but just like their jupiterian sister pisces; they are much wiser than they put on. These individuals are witty, they are intelligent, they are humorous, their words hold power as well, they tell the truth and they build people up, they’re down to earth and self-assured, they have a way of making people listen, they are captivating in their words and can be lyrically gifted, natural poets in their own way.

Cadent Dominant Placements:

Being Cadent Dominant in my learnings is considered to have most of your placements within the 3H, 6H, 9H, and 12H. In addition, in case you don’t know, cadent houses are the houses further away from the angular houses and after the succedent houses, they tend to be where the most work has to happen are seen as challenging placements to have. Now, these individuals are smart as fuck, for lack of a better term. They are gifted with an inner drive, a drive that not many people will see or understand but themselves, these individuals have the power of moving masses. Though their efforts are indirect, they tend to hit people when it’s least expected–driven, misunderstood and powerful. 3H placements are well versed in communication, 6Hers know how to get shit done, 9Hers and 12Hers are mass movers and the backbone influencers. Having these placements indicate someone important, possibly even beyond a metaphysical sense. They don’t stop until they win and their perseverance is remarkable just as their lives are.

Saturn/Uranus/Pluto Ruled or Dominance (etc.)

Talk about “fuck around and find out”, these indivudals are like the older or even the middle children in astrology, many people with significant Pluto/Saturn/Uranus in their chart, this includes being ruled(MC & ASC), having it as a dominant planet, placed within the 1H, or aspecting Sun/Moon/Asc–tend to be protected like crazy. They tend to go through a lot of inner struggle and tend to constantly have something to work on, it’s like once they’re done with one lesson they’re given another. It’s like being stuck with chores all day and you’re finally done with your last one and once you’re about to step outside or go to your room to lay down, their parents call them and ask them to do something else and the cycle goes on lol. These individuals are resilient and are hardworking, they’re unique and nothing generally gets past them, you fuck with them, you’re fucking with their team as well, and best believe the universe is ready to dish back what you sent in tenfold; this even applies to the individual, but they rarely fuck up cause they know how it can get everytime. Gifted with power, control and drive, these individuals are goal-oriented, they don’t let anything get in their way and if there is even a slight indication of a distraction about to occur, they shut it down real quick. I like this.

Saturn in Angular Houses (1H, 4H, 7H, 10H) and HM: 5H.

Saturn in these houses are hard hitting. Cracking my knuckles because I’m about to go IN. I will state the

To start, Saturn in the 1H, these individuals are constantly met with lessons that have to do with their identity, they will be put in situations where they are physically limited and their identity is limited/restricted, these people will obsess over themselves and hold themselves to a high standard. However, even through this, these individuals not only directly have karma on their side, but they are ultimately gifted with a deep knowing of self, they build their identity and it is a literal weapon to anyone who brings murky intentions into their world, simply because of how resilient they are and how much they worked through restriction in the past.

For Saturn in the 4H, they may have had issues that involved restriction with their family, this is heavy because they sat through that for their entire lives, up to 18 and possibly even further than that. These individuals weren’t able to make a house a home or generally find a proper home. In their older years, they work with this energy to make a place for themselves and others, they have the power of compassion and comfort.

For Saturn in the 7H & 5H, these individuals are known to have tough luck in love, relationships are rare and if they have many relationships, they are often restrictive and unsatisfactory. They may struggle additionally with their sense of worth and bear a false outlook on love. However, in some moments in their younger years and in their older years, they possess deep knowledge on love, they seem to take it seriously and their love is rich, they are gifted with deep compassion and the ability to be long term with other people. They have unforgettable love, and they are typically unforgettable people as a whole.

Lastly for Saturn 10H, these people could feel restricted career wise, they may feel that they’re always being attacked in their reputation and are held from their true potential, however, they actually overextend themselves more than what they were meant, they can influence and hold a lot of power.

These can also be applied to Pluto as well, with more of a transformative foundation, however, Saturn and Pluto tend to be both extremely transformative planets.

Chiron in Succedent Houses (2H, 5H, 8H, 11H)

These placements tend to fit in a similar category, they are often scarred with themes that are prioritized in life; Money, Fun, Transformation and Community. They tend to see others experience joy and balance within these themes however, they find that this is the source of their trauma and unhealthy codependency that they desire to break away from. Ultimately, these individuals are gifted with strength and influence, they are creative, influential and open-minded when conflicts are properly addressed.

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In this post, I went into depth on placements that have more power than what is spoken about them; however, the dark tends to hold more truth about the light than the light does of itself. The placements listed are powerful and resilient, gifted with all sorts of things, and if you believe that something in your chart is insignificant, understand that astrology is a tool to access potential, it can hint at traits but it is not a concrete definition because there are other calculations that exist and have existed even beyond Traditional Western astrology. Next part will be on aspects, thank you for reading.

- J🧡

#astro community #astro notes #astro observations #astrology

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un-fwuit-un-fwog · 5 months ago

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Falling Behind

Synopsis: The Prefect has ADHD and was medicated for it back in their old world, but when they go to Crowley for help getting a diagnosis here, he brushes them off. They proceed to struggle until finally breaking down. (+ Crewel basically steps up as a father figure)

TW: Pretty descriptive with the negative effects of The Prefect's ADHD, Talk of medication, The Prefect cries, Crowley says the usual things people who deny/downplay ADHD say, Crewel has the "Help me help you talk" with The Prefect, The Prefect cries and is overall just GOING THROUGH IT

NOTE: I went off of my experience as a person diagnosed with ADHD and medicated for it. My experience with it won't apply to everyone else with it, but rest assured this won't be a fic that portrays ADHD like a silly, goofy little quirk. (This is a pretty self-indulgent fic, tbh)

Many people who are diagnosed with ADHD and medicated accordingly have the thought cross their minds every once in a while of "Do I really need the medicine?" When you're on ADHD medication for long enough, you forget what it's like to not function at the level you do when taking it. The memories of the difficulty focusing can slip away with time and leave you doubting. You were no exception.

Key word is were.

When you got thrown into Twisted Wonderland you learned pretty quickly that the medicine in fact does help and that you in fact do need it.

But how would you even go about getting it here? You'd need a diagnosis and for that you'd need a psychiatrist and for that you'd need money (and an official identity which you did not have as an alien to this world).

You tried bringing it up to Crowley, but he brushed it off. He said the same lines you had heard 100 times before, many of which you found yourself thinking from time to time: "You just need to make yourself work. You're unmotivated." and, while he didn't say it out loud, you could clearly tell that what he was really saying was that you were lazy.

You suppose you should have expected as much. No headmage that gave two hoots about mental health would be running a school that has no student counselor.

After that interaction you had resigned yourself to the fact that you'd have to come to terms with being a student and doing schoolwork with no relief to your condition.

You tried your best, you really did. You sat at your desk for hours on end as you tried to finish a simple homework sheet, but hours passed with virtually no progress being made. You couldn't force yourself to focus. When you did your body protested. Your brain refused to allow a single proper thought to form and your eyes wouldn't focus. If you forced the issue further, it only got worse. Your brain and eyes felt somehow heavier than usual and sometimes you swore they were slowly liquifying to a goo in your skull.

You didn't bring it up to your friends. You felt weird talking about it with them. One too many times being told you were faking or doing it for attention you suppose.

Your grades began to slip. Deadlines popped up when you could have sworn you had more time. You made little mistakes you chastised yourself for. You knew the material. You knew you knew the material.

. . .so why were you messing up.

Assignments piled up and slipped through the cracks. It's not like your teachers could notice how out of character this was for you. They didn't know how well you typically functioned when medicated, and it's not like you told them about the disorder in the first place.

Each night you held back tears of frustration as you tried desperately to get any work done. You weren't one to cry easily. In fact, you hadn't cried since you got to Twisted Wonderland, and even before that it had been a while since you last allowed tears to drip from your eyes.

But everyone has a breaking point.

You had gotten so far behind on your assignments that it was decided you needed more than to simply stay in the classroom to work during lunch and you were put in after school tutoring (although it felt more like detention).

The first few weeks you managed to keep it together. You taped over the holes that chipped away into your composure and did your best to hold down the storm of emotions that thrashed violently inside of you.

Another day of after school tutoring came around. By now not even Grim was having to stay for these sessions. There were other students that were in them, but they were in a separate classroom. You knew what was happening even if nobody outright said it.

You sat in Crewel's empty classroom for the second week in a row. The clock on the wall ticked impossibly loud. Every sound around you was amplified tenfold and you could feel it wearing on you. Your arms shook in a sick combination of frustration and exhaustion as you tried in vain to get one question done.

You could feel the ugly jaws of your pent-up emotions gnashing away at your already tattered walls of composure.

Crewel sighed as you once again failed to answer the question: "Look, I really do want to help you, but in order for that to happen I need you to cooperate and listen to me. Right now, it feels like you aren't doing that."

You had had this conversation with him before; with all your teachers for that matter. You used to it. YOU WERE USED TO IT.

You chanted the phrase in your head over and over again.

"What do you not understand."

He didn't say it in a malicious way. He sounded genuine, just. . .exhausted.

He didn't know. He wasn't aware of the storm in your stomach slowly making its way to your eyes. He didn't know.

You don't blame him, but when he said those words you finally broke.

It wasn't anything grand or dramatic like you see in movies. A small catch of your breath in a short-lived attempt to hold it together and then tears. You choked on your sobs as you tried to quell them. The only thing worse than crying is crying in front of people.

Your knees curled up onto the bench, up to your chest, and you hugged them: trying to hide your face and muffle your sobs.

It was no use. Crewel already saw the tears.

He was momentarily stunned at how suddenly you seemed to break down and could only watch as your whole body shook with the sobs you were trying so desperately to hold in.

When he finally snapped out of it he was still unsure of what to do, so he did the only thing he could.

You felt his large, fluffy coat be draped over your shoulders before he somewhat awkwardly sat a comfortable distance away from you as he waited for you to calm down.

When your sobs finally quieted to small whimpers he apologized for making you cry.

You explained it wasn't his fault and, after a bit of silence, you explained to him what was wrong.

He sat with you and listened patiently as you told him about your ADHD, the trouble you'd been having since you got here, and finally recounted your interaction with Crowley.

He led you to the infirmary not far from his office, telling you he'd be back soon and to rest for the time being.

Luckily for Crewel, the headmage's office was just about as far away from the infirmary as it could be.

He could scream as loud as he wanted without disturbing you.

By the time he returned to the infirmary it was late. He was about to apologize for leaving you there so long but stopped himself.

There on the bed was your exhausted form curled up in his coat and sleeping peacefully.

The next day he asked you a few more questions, and the day after that, he accompanied you to the doctor's office. (you didn't bother asking how he managed to get you registered as an actual person)

You went through suspiciously less steps than you had back in your old world to get the diagnosis, but you just chalked it up to the fact that it was clear by your appearance that you had been going through it.

You got your medicine the same day. Wait. . .did Crewel just tell the pharmacist he was picking it up for his child?

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rhettrosunsets · 26 days ago

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Too Much? - Robert Reynolds X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Robert Reynolds X Fem!Thunderbolt Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: You knew you could be a bit much, a bit too excited, a bit too talkative, a bit too loud even at times? But you loved yourself, and that included those things. But after a rough day, your brain spirals and tries to convince you otherwise. But when things get too much for you to handle, Bob is right there to pick up the pieces and assure you that you're just enough.

Masterlist

Warnings: Reader overthinks a lot in this. Reader has some self deprecating thoughts wondering if she's off putting, too much, etc. Bob calls reader petnames like Baby and Sweetheart. Reader is described to be very talkative most times and very bright. Reader sort of shows ADHD symptoms but it is never mentioned (based off my own experiences.) Bob and reader cuddle on the couch. Reader doesn't eat lunch cause she's feeling off. No description of reader. No use of Y/N.

Edited ✅

Notes: This is based off of things I have felt at some points with ADHD. Reader is not described as having ADHD, however some of her traits do link up to some of the things you see with ADHD. Like I said her traits are based off mine, and everyones experiences may be different! ❤️

You weren’t sure when you had started second guessing yourself again.

It wasn't something you had made a habit of since becoming a member of the thunderbolts. You'd began to truly love yourself for you since being on this team, and you had done so much healing.

Maybe it was just the kind of day it had been? You’d had a rough day of training, your body ached and was sore. You hadn't expected to feel so exhausted, but exhaustion didn't typically cause this.

Maybe it was when you’d tried to joke around with Yelena. Your normal partner in crime when it came to your long banter and tangents. She always indulged with you and would often joke back, but she was too exhausted to even think about trying to banter with you in the hall after you guys had finished up.

It had left you alone with your thoughts and a dejected feeling you hadn't felt since you were a kid and tried to go up to others and they'd ignore you. Just finding you off-putting or too much for them. You knew Yelena meant no harm, she was simply exhausted just like you were, but while you knew that your body seemingly didn't and it unleashed a wave of unwelcomed thoughts into your brain all at once.

Now a few hours later you’d barely touched your lunch, and that should’ve been the first sign that something was wrong. Your mind was just swirling with thoughts, and you couldn’t get them to leave you alone.

It was like a complete overload of every negative thought all hitting you at once, overthinking every choice you've made recently. Did you speak too loudly? Did the joke not land the way you wanted that one time and you never noticed? Did everyone hate you and you just were blissfully unaware? The thoughts just wouldn't stop and they were slamming at the fore front of your poor brain.

You always wondered if you were just a bit too much, a bit too offputting. You’d always been a bit loud in your own way, always trying to light up the room, as awkward silences just made you cringe.

You know people would get frustrated when you’d go on long stories with a thousand mini stories in between, but it was just how you were, you couldn't help the way you told stories. But now? Now you were wondering if that was too much this whole time.

The tower halls were quiet as you padded through them. You felt like a ghost in your own body at this point. You felt swallowed alive in your favorite hoodie, and like your pants were too itchy even though they were your favorite sweats that you wore on bad days.

You didn’t even really know where your body was taking you too, until you had walked into the living room and saw Bob.

Your boyfriend who knew you like the back of his hand.

He was sitting on the couch in soft sweats and his blue hoodie. He was reading a book that you had recommended to him. You had gone on a long tangent about the love arc and how much it had annoyed you but how much you loved it anyways. His hair was slightly falling into his face as he looked down at the book on his lap.

He looked so peaceful, so content, and you didn't want to ruin that peace. But you also really wanted your boyfriend right now. He looked up as soon as he heard your footsteps. His eyes are soft and lit up like always when he sees you. “Hey, baby.” he says gently, a soft smile on his face.

“Hi.” you whispered, your voice light and barely there while your gaze was focused on your fuzzy sock clad feet, rather than your boyfriend in front of you.

He frowned a bit in concern. You were never this quiet, you were always, well? You.

You were always so bright and talkative. You laughed at your own jokes, even when they were terrible. You'd get distracted mid sentence by your own thoughts and ramble into something else before finishing the story. You bounced when you walked when you were excited. You told long stories about the smallest things even if the conversation could’ve been cut in half.

And you had somehow even made Bucky chuckle with your ridiculous theory about who on the team would survive the longest in a haunted house. You had said Bob because “if you think about it, he technically was kinda like a haunted house that one time” before promptly gasping and covering your mouth when you realize what you had implied. He’d laughed at that, even if you apologized a thousand times afterwards because you said your brain had seemingly disconnected from your mouth.

But right now, you just looked defeated. You were swallowed in a big hoodie and sweats, your face was set in a sad frown, and your eyes just seemed dull. And Bob didn’t like it one bit.

Bob sat up straight and reached his hand out to you, before motioning and whispering a soft “C’mere, baby.”

You didn’t even hesitate. even when your brain was completely spiraling your body always trusted him. You curled up beside him slowly, like you were afraid to move too fast, your brain still spiraling with thoughts of being too much.

He gently tugged you closer until your head was resting on his lap and your arms were tucked close to your chest as he draped a soft blanket over you.

His hand went to your temple immediately, warm and soothing as brushed gentle soothing motions across your temple and cheek bone. “Bad day?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, but didn’t say anything. He didn't ask for details and he didn’t push you. That was part of why you’d fallen for him so fast, he was calm and patient and always made you feel confident in who you were as a person.

But the silence stretched for too long and even with your head in his laps and Bob’s soothing motions, your thoughts still spiraled. You felt so off. Like the spark that made you, you had just sputtered out completely. You began doubting everything you knew, and while you knew so much of it was self sabotage and your brain playing mean tricks, you just couldn't shake it.

Bob must’ve noticed the way your shoulders curled tighter, and the way your eyes started to glisten as a tear slowly slipped down your cheek.

His hand stilled it’s soothing motions and he quickly whispered, “Hey.” His voice was soft as he continued “What’s going on in that head of yours, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “I just-I don’t feel like myself today. And I know I talk too much and I know I ramble and say dumb stuff and it's like my mouth doesn't connect to my brain sometimes and it’s probably annoying and I’m sorry I’m so-”

“Hey.” He said it a little firmer that time as his thumb resumed its gentle motions. “Don’t do that, Baby. Don’t ever apologize for being you.”

You blinked up at him, tears still slipping down your cheeks slowly.

“I love that you talk so much, baby. I love that you’re always telling me about your day or your insane theories, or the random stuff you think about when you can’t sleep. I even love you when you ask me if I'd still love you if you were a worm."

You tried to look away, embarrassed at how you were feeling, but his hand gently guided your gaze back to him making sure he got his point across to you. “You know what your voice is to me?” he asked.

You shook your head no.

“It’s grounding. It helps keep me here on my bad days. You keep me here, baby. You talk, and I feel safe because I know you’ll always love me, even on my worst days.”

The lump in your throat got heavier, as you tried not to outright start sobbing in your boyfriend's lap.

He continued softly, his voice staying a quiet melodic hum as he talked “when you shut down like this, I know you’re hurting baby. And I hate that. It's not because you’re being quiet, but because I know it means something inside you is trying to convince you that you’re too much. But you don’t know that you could never be too much, sweetheart. I always want more of you, because I love you.”

And that's when the floodgates broke.

Small broken sobs escaped your mouth as you covered your eyes with your hands, just feeling so confused by the different emotions and thoughts in your head. Your breathing picking up as your body just reaches it's breaking point of becoming overwhelmed.

Bob quickly told you to breathe with him, and copy his breaths. And you tried, and after a few more shaky tries, your chest loosened a little. You were still shaky and tears were still slipping past your eyes, but you felt lighter.

“There you are.” Bob whispered softly as he saw your breathing begin to slow, and the way you sagged a bit more into his lap.

You sniffled burying your face into the soft fabric of Bob’s sweats. “I don’t wanna be like this, I hate this. I just feel broken, and I don’t understand why.”

“There’s nothing wrong with needing to cry. Everyone has off days and I’m not going anywhere. I love you loud and I love you quiet. You don’t have to be a certain version of yourself for me to stay, sweetheart.”

You closed your eyes as you nodded, his voice was so calming and so steady that it felt like almost a lullaby.

Bob looked at you relaxing as he spoke and then an idea popped into his head. He knew you loved reading when you were tired, and he knew how much his voice was helping you right now. So what better than to read to you.

“I have an idea baby.” he said after a moment. He reached for the book he’d left open, gently shifting your head just enough to rest more comfortably in his lap, readjusting the blanket over you and then he opened the book, his thumb brushing a few pages before he found his bookmark.

He started reading his voice low and slow. His other hand not holding the book stayed rubbing your temple and cheek, occasionally rubbing over your shoulder and rubbing some of the tension out.

It was so soothing, and the longer he read the more the ache in your chest faded away to nothing, your eye's blinking slower and slower by the minute.

Bob paused, before he went to turn to the next page, gently whispering into your ear. “I think the next time you start worrying you talk too much, I’m gonna remind you how much I love the sound of your voice.”

You sniffled, a soft smile beginning at your lips. “Even when I go on long tangents about which of us would win in a pillow fight?” you ask as you look up at him, your voice still teary.

“Especially then, baby. And for the record, my money’s still on Ava.” he said, grinning down at you. “She phases through things! That's like cheating.” You exclaim as your voice cracks a bit. “That’s strategy.” he countered back, squeezing your shoulder gently, with a soft shake.

You giggled, it came out a little watery but it was still a giggle.

Bob's face lit up like he’d just won the lottery with that single laugh. “There’s my girl.” he whispered, brushing a kiss to your temple.

You shifted slightly, just enough to curl deeper into his lap as your arms wrapped around his knee. “I love you.” you whispered out, but with a soft smile gracing your face this time.

Bob leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose, his fingers reaching up to wipe the remaining tears before whispering. “I love you, too. Good days, bad days. I love all of you, baby, and I'll always remind you of it.”

You smile and closed your eyes, letting the warmth of him and the softness of his voice reading to you soothe you into a soft sleepy state.

Maybe tomorrow would be better, maybe not.

But tonight with him holding you and reading your favorite book to you? You felt just a little more like yourself again, and that's all that mattered.

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rambles-of-mental-illness · 5 months ago

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Neurodiversity

Neurodivergence refers to variations in neurological functioning that diverge from what is considered typical or "neurotypical." While there is no single, universally agreed-upon list, neurodivergent disorders generally include conditions that affect cognition, behavior, perception, or social functioning.

1. Autism Spectrum Disorders (ASD)

Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD)

Pathological Demand Avoidance (PDA) (controversial as a separate diagnosis)

Asperger’s Syndrome (outdated term, now part of ASD)

2. Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD)

ADHD (Predominantly Inattentive Type)

ADHD (Predominantly Hyperactive-Impulsive Type)

ADHD (Combined Type)

3. Learning Disabilities & Processing Disorders

Dyslexia (difficulty with reading and language processing)

Dyscalculia (difficulty with math and numerical processing)

Dysgraphia (difficulty with writing and fine motor skills)

Auditory Processing Disorder (APD)

Visual Processing Disorder (VPD)

Nonverbal Learning Disability (NVLD)

4. Intellectual Disabilities

Global Developmental Delay

Down Syndrome

Fragile X Syndrome

Williams Syndrome

Prader-Willi Syndrome

5. Communication Disorders

Social (Pragmatic) Communication Disorder

Speech Sound Disorder

Childhood Apraxia of Speech

Selective Mutism

6. Tic Disorders

Tourette Syndrome

Chronic Motor or Vocal Tic Disorder

Provisional Tic Disorder

7. Mental Health Conditions Often Considered Neurodivergent

Schizophrenia Spectrum & Other Psychotic Disorders

Schizophrenia

Schizoaffective Disorder

Schizotypal Personality Disorder

Delusional Disorder

Mood Disorders with Neurological Features

Bipolar Disorder

Major Depressive Disorder (long-term cases cause atrophy in brain regions like the hippocampus)

Dysthymia (Persistent Depressive Disorder)

Anxiety & Related Conditions

Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) (sometimes considered)

Panic Disorder (sometimes considered)

Trauma-Related Disorders (sometimes included)

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) (when it significantly alters cognition and sensory processing)

Complex PTSD (CPTSD)

Dissociative Disorders

Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID)

Depersonalization/Derealization Disorder

Personality Disorders (Not all PDs)

Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)

Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD)

Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD)

Schizotypal Personality Disorder (StPD)

8. Sensory Processing Differences

Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD) (not formally recognized in DSM-5 but widely acknowledged in neurodivergent communities)

9. Epilepsy & Neurological Conditions (sometimes considered)

Epilepsy

Migraines with Aura

Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE)

10. Other Conditions Sometimes Considered Neurodivergent

Hyperlexia (advanced reading ability with comprehension difficulties)

Synesthesia (cross-wiring of sensory experiences)

Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS) (due to high comorbidity with neurodivergence)

Autoimmune Encephalitis (when it affects cognitive function)

Neurodivergence is a broad and evolving concept, with some conditions more widely accepted as neurodivergent than others. The core idea is that neurodivergent individuals experience the world in ways that differ from neurotypical standards, often due to innate neurological differences.

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nothoughtsjustfic · 5 months ago

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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.

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jester-nonconforming · 1 month ago

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at first i was like “oh, i wish the short showed Blitz and Loona interacting more,” but the more i think about it, the more i feel like them *not* interacting informs us about their relationship. they had all this time while Mr. Wrigglers was saying goodbye to everyone, but Loona is on her phone and Blitz is just sitting around bored. Blitz really *wants* to hang out with her, and he spends a lot of his daily life around her, but he seemingly still has no idea how to actually *engage*.

and this is a problem in all of Blitz’s relationships—he doesn’t feel secure enough to just ask people to spend time with him, so he either makes everything sexual (which he obviously wouldn’t do with Loona) or he focuses on what he can give them (money for their jobs, driving them places, cooking them food, protecting them from harm, etc). he’s gotten better about focusing less on sex as he becomes a bit more secure in his friendships w/ Stolas, M&M, and Fizz, but he still really relies on that other coping mechanism of “here let me do these things for you and in return you won’t leave when i talk about horses for an hour”.

so in a case like this, where he IS just trying to reach out to Loona (which is a lot more vulnerable for him than i think he’d admit) and the plans change in any way, he falters. he’s completely stuck on his original idea for the day and he can’t get out of that mindset enough to listen to what she wants here.

it’s not that i think he doesn’t notice other people’s interests or wants or needs—he definitely does, at least when he’s not clouded by jealousy or other emotions—i think he just does not know how to have a conversation that isn’t focused on himself. and i don’t mean that in an asshole way, i mean it in a “ADHD kid who never learned how to communicate” way. that’s why his relationship with Moxxie works in some ways, because Moxxie and Blitz are both people who will just talk about their interests without prompting (and yes this is a very neurodivergent type of friendship lol). and with Millie he can talk about their shared interests, or just play games, because him and Millie are both more physical people. and with Stolas, Blitz can be the center of attention and Stolas *prefers* it that way. but with Loona being closed off, he just doesn’t really know how to reach her?

he also tends to be really invasive with his friends (again, he’s getting better at it, but still), but he really tries to give her privacy. at least, we’ve never seen him go into her room or ask what she’s doing on her phone. which is a VERY good thing that probably allows her to feel way more comfortable around him. but it doesn’t give him a lot to work with, and i don’t think he realizes that he could just ask her questions about her interests, or would even know where to start (honestly, idk if i would either, that’s a hard thing to do when someone isn’t giving you much to work with).

and all this doesn’t mean Blitz and Loona’s relationship is “bad” or that they don’t love each other. in fact, I think Loona being comfortable with just existing in the same space as Blitz, rolling her eyes at his antics, finding him kind of annoying and embarrassing but trusting that he’ll always be there and relying on him—that’s all pretty typical “teenager with her father” behavior, and despite being an adult, Loona is still working through a lot of teenage experiences. she might have seen Mr. Wrigglers as an idealized dream father figure, but even he couldn’t live up to that standard in the end. her relationship with Blitz reminds me a lot more of how i was with my parents when i was younger, tbh.

but for all the criticism people tend to give to Stolas and Via’s relationship… there’s actually a decent amount of evidence that, when Via isn’t mad at him, those two are better at just hanging out with each other? Stolas obviously misses the mark sometimes as she gets older, but every picture of them from the past shows them both grinning and clearly actively engaging with each other. he focuses on interests they have in common (like telling her about space, or giving her a guitar to further her interest in music), and Via is a lot more receptive to that (which i’m sure is partially because she grew up around those things).

i’m curious to see if Stolas being more quiet and patient will allow Loona to open up more. the short makes it clear she *wants* to open up at this point, and that’s definitely because of the time and effort Blitz has put in over the past 5 years. but after being unsafe for so long and then closed off for even longer, i don’t think she knows *how* to open up, or when is appropriate (because showing your demon form to a random human was a pretty impulsive and unwise decision. again, a rather teenage one). i think it would be cool to see how as much as Blitz can teach Stolas about reaching out to Via, Stolas might be able to teach Blitz some things about connecting with Loona as well.

#helluva boss #i keep saying this short is just a silly one and it’s not that deep but ive probably analyzed it more than any other short lmao #this feels like a mess of a ramble but whatever its my blog i can post what i want

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rbtpracticeexamus · 2 months ago

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The Autism Diagnosis Deep Dive: Navigating Assessments & Next Steps

Part 1: The "Why Bother?" - Reasons for Seeking a Formal Diagnosis

Before we even talk about how to get diagnosed, let's address the elephant in the room: why would someone go through this often lengthy, sometimes expensive, and emotionally taxing process? The reasons are as diverse as autistic people themselves, but here are some big ones:

Self-Understanding & Validation: This is HUGE, especially for late-diagnosed adults. Suddenly, a lifetime of feeling "different," struggling with social cues, or having intense sensory experiences has a name. It’s not that you’re "broken" or "weird"; your brain is just wired differently. That validation can be incredibly powerful and healing. It’s like finally getting the instruction manual to a device you’ve been fumbling with for years.

Access to Support & Services: A formal diagnosis is often the key to unlocking supports.

For kids: This can mean Individualized Education Programs (IEPs) or 504 plans in school, access to therapies (speech, occupational, developmental), and other early intervention services.

For adults: This might mean workplace accommodations, access to specific mental health professionals who understand autism, disability benefits (in some cases), or specialized support groups.

Community & Connection: Finding out you're autistic can open the door to a vibrant, supportive community of other autistic people. Sharing experiences, finding solidarity, and learning from others who get it is invaluable. The online autistic community, especially on platforms like Tumblr, is a force to be reckoned with!

Informing Others & Self-Advocacy: A diagnosis can give you the language and confidence to explain your needs and differences to family, friends, educators, and employers. It’s a tool for self-advocacy.

Understanding Co-occurring Conditions: Autism often travels with friends like ADHD, anxiety, depression, OCD, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS), and gastrointestinal issues. A diagnostic process can help identify these, leading to more comprehensive support.

Tumblr Truth Bomb: Self-diagnosis is widely accepted and validated within the autistic community, especially given the barriers (cost, accessibility, clinician bias) to formal diagnosis. This article focuses on the formal process, but that doesn't invalidate anyone's self-discovery journey. Many seek formal diagnosis for the reasons above, even after self-identifying.

Part 2: The "Who You Gonna Call?" - Professionals Involved in Diagnosis

Navigating the medical and psychological world can feel like trying to read a map written in ancient hieroglyphics. Here’s a breakdown of the types of professionals who might be involved:

For Children:

Pediatrician/Developmental Pediatrician: Often the first port of call. They can do initial developmental screenings (like the M-CHAT-R/F for toddlers) and refer you to specialists. Developmental pediatricians specialize in developmental differences and delays.

Child Psychologist/Neuropsychologist: These professionals are often the ones conducting the comprehensive diagnostic evaluations. They use standardized tests, observation, and interviews.

Child Psychiatrist: Can diagnose and also prescribe medication if co-occurring conditions like ADHD or anxiety need pharmacological support.

Speech-Language Pathologist (SLP) & Occupational Therapist (OT): While they don't typically give the primary autism diagnosis, their assessments of communication, sensory processing, and motor skills are vital parts of the overall picture and often contribute to the diagnostic team's decision.

For Adults:

Clinical Psychologist/Neuropsychologist: Similar to working with children, these professionals are often the primary diagnosticians for adults. They'll use adapted tools and place more emphasis on developmental history and self-report.

Psychiatrist: Can diagnose, especially if you're already seeing one for other mental health concerns. They can also help manage co-occurring conditions.

Neurologist: Less common for primary diagnosis unless there are other neurological concerns, but they can sometimes be involved.

General Practitioner (GP)/Primary Care Physician (PCP): Like pediatricians for kids, they can be a starting point for a referral, though their direct experience with adult autism diagnosis can vary wildly.

Value Add Tip: Look for professionals who specialize in autism, particularly adult autism if that's relevant. Ask about their experience, their approach (is it neurodiversity-affirming?), and what the assessment process entails. Don't be afraid to "interview" them!

Part 3: The "Assessment Arsenal" - What Actually Happens?

Okay, this is where it gets dense, but stay with me! The diagnostic process isn't just a quick quiz. It's a comprehensive evaluation designed to gather information from multiple sources.

Key Components (can vary by age and clinician):

Developmental History & Interviews:

For kids: Parents/caregivers will be interviewed extensively about the child's development from birth, social interactions, communication patterns, repetitive behaviors, interests, and sensory sensitivities. School reports and teacher input are also crucial.

For adults: You'll be asked about your childhood (as much as you can remember or gather from family), your social experiences, communication style, interests, sensory profile, and current challenges. Input from a partner or close family member can sometimes be helpful, but the focus is on your experience.

Direct Observation & Interaction:

This is where tools like the ADOS-2 (Autism Diagnostic Observation Schedule, Second Edition) come in. It's a semi-structured, play-based (for kids) or conversation-based (for adults) assessment where the clinician observes social communication, interaction, and imaginative use of materials. It’s designed to create social situations where autistic traits might become apparent.

Tumblr Real Talk: The ADOS isn't foolproof. Masking (consciously or unconsciously suppressing autistic traits) can affect results, especially in girls, women, and AFAB individuals, or those who've learned to "perform" neurotypically. A good clinician understands this.

Standardized Questionnaires & Rating Scales:

ADI-R (Autism Diagnostic Interview-Revised): A structured interview often used with parents/caregivers, focusing on developmental history related to autism traits.

SRS-2 (Social Responsiveness Scale): Measures social awareness, social cognition, social communication, social motivation, and autistic mannerisms. Can be completed by parents, teachers, or self (for older individuals).

CARS-2 (Childhood Autism Rating Scale): Used to identify children with autism and determine symptom severity.

AQ (Autism Spectrum Quotient): A self-report questionnaire for adults.

RAADS-R (Ritvo Autism Asperger Diagnostic Scale-Revised): Another self-report for adults.

Many, many others! Clinicians pick tools based on age, suspected presentation, and their own expertise.

Cognitive & Language Assessments:

IQ/Cognitive Testing (e.g., WISC, WAIS, Stanford-Binet): To understand cognitive strengths and weaknesses. Autism can co-occur with any level of intellectual ability. Important Note: Autistic individuals can have "spiky profiles" – very high abilities in some areas and significant challenges in others. This doesn't always translate well on standardized IQ tests.

Speech and Language Evaluation: Assesses receptive (understanding) and expressive (using) language, pragmatics (social use of language), and nonverbal communication.

Adaptive Behavior Assessments (e.g., Vineland Adaptive Behavior Scales):

Evaluates daily living skills, communication, social skills, and motor skills compared to age-matched peers. This helps understand the level of support an individual might need.

Sensory Profile: Questionnaires or discussions about sensitivities to light, sound, touch, taste, smell, and movement.

Medical & Neurological Examination (Sometimes): To rule out other medical conditions that might explain symptoms.

The Goal: To build a comprehensive picture. No single test "diagnoses" autism. It's about patterns of behavior, developmental history, and how these impact daily life, all considered against established diagnostic criteria (usually from the DSM-5-TR or ICD-11).

Tumblr Pro-Tip for Assessment Day:

Be Yourself: Easier said than done, especially if you mask. But try to be as authentic as possible.

Write Things Down: Beforehand, jot down examples of your experiences, challenges, and traits. It's easy to forget in the moment.

Bring a Support Person (if allowed/helpful): For moral support or to help recall information (especially for adult diagnosis if a parent or long-term partner is involved).

Ask Questions: If you don't understand something, ask!

It's Okay to Be Nervous/Overwhelmed: This is a big deal. Allow yourself to feel whatever you're feeling.

Part 4: The "Big Reveal" - Receiving the Report & Diagnosis

After all the assessments, there's usually a feedback session where the clinician discusses their findings and provides a written report. This report can be LONG and full of clinical jargon.

If Diagnosed Autistic:

The Emotional Cocktail: Get ready for a potential mix of:

Relief/Validation: "I'm not broken! There's a reason!"

Grief: For the life you might have imagined, for past struggles, for not knowing sooner.

Confusion/Overwhelm: "What does this mean? What now?"

Anger: At past misdiagnoses, at people who didn't understand.

Joy/Excitement: About connecting with a new community and understanding yourself better.

The Report: It will outline the tests done, your (or your child's) scores, observations, and how these meet (or don't meet) diagnostic criteria. It should also include recommendations. Ask the clinician to walk you through it in plain language.

If Not Diagnosed Autistic (but you strongly suspect it):

This can be incredibly invalidating and confusing.

Ask Why: Understand the clinician's reasoning. Did they consider masking? Are they experienced with subtle presentations or adult diagnosis?

Seek a Second Opinion: If you feel the assessment wasn't thorough or the clinician wasn't a good fit, you have the right to get another opinion, especially from someone specializing in the autistic presentation you identify with (e.g., autism in women/AFAB individuals, PDA profile).

Remember Self-Identification: Even without a formal "yes," if the autistic experience resonates deeply, your self-understanding is valid. The autistic community largely embraces this.

Part 5: The "Okay, So Now What?" - Navigating Next Steps

A diagnosis isn't an endpoint; it's a signpost. Here's where the journey really begins.

Breathe. Process. Feel.

Give yourself time. There's no "right" way to react. Talk to trusted friends, family, or a therapist. Journal. Engage in your special interests. Whatever helps you process.

Tumblr Hug: You are not alone in this. Many have walked this path.

Connect with the Autistic Community:

This is arguably one of the MOST important steps. Find autistic-led groups online (Tumblr, Facebook, Twitter/X, Reddit, Discord) or in person.

Listen to #ActuallyAutistic voices. Read blogs, watch videos, follow creators. They offer insights, support, and a sense of belonging that non-autistic professionals often can't.

Value Add: This community can help you decipher what "autism" actually means in lived experience, beyond clinical definitions.

Learn (and Unlearn):

Read books by autistic authors. Learn about neurodiversity as a paradigm.

Unlearn harmful stereotypes about autism (e.g., that all autistics are like Rain Man, lack empathy, or are non-verbal).

Explore concepts like masking, burnout, autistic inertia, monotropism, and special interests (or "spIns").

Consider Therapies & Supports (if needed/wanted):

Crucial Caveat: The goal of support should be to help the autistic person thrive as an autistic person, not to make them "less autistic" or "more neurotypical." Avoid any therapy aiming to "cure" or "normalize" autism.

Occupational Therapy (OT): Can help with sensory processing issues, motor skills, daily living skills, emotional regulation. Look for OTs with a neurodiversity-affirming approach.

Speech-Language Therapy (SLP): Can help with social communication (pragmatics), understanding non-literal language, alternative communication methods (AAC), and feeding issues. Again, ensure they respect autistic communication styles.

Mental Health Support (Therapy/Counseling): Many autistic people benefit from therapy to deal with anxiety, depression, trauma (often from navigating a neurotypical world), or to process their diagnosis. Seek therapists who are autism-knowledgeable AND affirming.

ABA (Applied Behavior Analysis): This is a highly controversial topic.

Traditional ABA has been criticized by many autistic adults for being compliance-based, traumatic, and aiming to suppress autistic behaviors (like stimming) rather than supporting underlying needs.

Some newer/modified forms claim to be more child-led and focus on functional skills.

Tumblr PSA: DO YOUR RESEARCH. Listen to autistic adults about their experiences with ABA. If considering it, scrutinize the provider's methods, goals, and respect for autistic identity. Many autistic advocates advise against it entirely or urge extreme caution.

Social Skills Groups: Can be helpful IF they focus on understanding social dynamics and providing tools, rather than forcing neurotypical masking. Autistic-led groups are often best.

Parent Training/Support (for parents of autistic kids): Focus on understanding your child's needs, adapting the environment, and advocating for them, not changing who they are.

Accommodations & Environmental Adjustments:

School: IEPs/504 plans can provide classroom accommodations (e.g., noise-canceling headphones, visual schedules, movement breaks, modified assignments).

Work: Reasonable accommodations might include a quieter workspace, flexible hours, written instructions, permission to use stim toys.

Home: Create sensory-friendly spaces. Reduce clutter. Establish routines if helpful. Honor sensory needs (e.g., specific food textures, clothing fabrics).

Embrace Strengths & Special Interests:

Autism isn't just a list of deficits! Autistic people often have incredible strengths: intense focus, attention to detail, loyalty, strong sense of justice, unique perspectives, deep knowledge in areas of interest.

Special interests are not "obsessions" to be discouraged; they are sources of joy, learning, regulation, and expertise! Lean into them!

Self-Advocacy & Setting Boundaries:

Learn to communicate your needs. It’s okay to say no, to ask for clarification, to leave overwhelming situations.

This is a skill that develops over time, especially if you've spent years masking.

Patience & Self-Compassion:

This is a marathon, not a sprint. There will be good days and hard days. Be kind to yourself. You're learning a new way of understanding yourself and navigating the world.

Part 6: The "Don't Forget This Stuff!" - Final Thoughts & Value Nuggets

Autism is a Spectrum, Not a Line: It's a diverse constellation of traits. "If you've met one autistic person, you've met one autistic person." Support needs vary wildly.

Masking is Real & Exhausting: Many autistics (especially women, AFAB individuals, and people of color) learn to camouflage their traits to fit in. This can delay diagnosis and lead to burnout.

Late Diagnosis is Valid: Discovering you're autistic as an adult is increasingly common and incredibly validating. It's never "too late."

Internalized Ableism is a Thing: You might have absorbed negative messages about autism or disability. Unpacking this is part of the journey.

Celebrate Neurodiversity: The idea that neurological differences like autism are natural variations in the human genome, not disorders to be cured. Embrace it!

Phew! We made it through the deep dive! Getting an autism diagnosis can feel like the end of one chapter and the very overwhelming beginning of another. But armed with knowledge, community, and self-compassion, it can also be the start of a more authentic, understood, and supported life.

What are your experiences with the diagnostic process? Any tips for folks just starting out? Spill the tea in the comments/reblogs! Let's support each other!

#Autism #Autism Diagnosis #ActuallyAutistic #Neurodiversity #Autistic Adults #Autistic Children #ASD #Sensory Processing #Special Interests #ADOS #Mental Health #Support #Self Advocacy #Tumblr Explains #Long Post #Worth The Read #Neurodivergent #Autism Acceptance

#autism acceptance #neurodivergent #autism #autism diagnosis #actually autistic #neurodiversity

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lis-likes-fics · 1 year ago

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Perfection

Pairings: Spencer Reid x bau!adhd!Reader Word Count: 2.6k words Warnings: Mentions of rape, mentions of murder, dead body, crime scene, descriptions of gore, typical Criminals Minds stuff, character with ADHD, mentions of medication... A/N: This is a little more self-indulgent than I meant for it to be, but I do want to point out that this is some of my experience with ADHD, so I'm not just writing random stuff. It is slightly exaggerated, but I also say that about everything I do and it is pointed out that this is based off an off day.

The long alleyway makes for a nice crime scene, specifically because, despite the busy streets of this city, it's secluded and easy to overlook. It's not too small that the police team cannot fit, but it's small enough that you couldn't cram a really small building into the space. You don’t know how that’s relevant, but somehow it is.

The scene is relatively fresh, the latest of three that brought the BAU to the case. The police handling the scene had it cleared off for you, Spencer, and Derek to examine, via Hotch’s orders.

Spencer's watching you because he loves watching you, and because you're a little off today. There's something about the way you shuffle on your feet or the way you chew on the dead skin of your lip that he finds peculiar. To be fair, you're like this a lot, but today your symptoms are more obvious than usual.

Your eyes scan over the scene with a million different thoughts rushing through your head, less than fifty percent of them actually coherent and fit for conversation.

The three of you spitball ideas back and forth as you look at the man laying cold on the concrete. He's white, lean with light hair and a relatively thin frame. He's nothing like the other two victims, who's physical profiles were all over the place. The only thing they have in common with one another is a single occupation—male prostitution. While this and the first worked on the streets, the second’s job actually took place within a gay strip club a few blocks away from here.

He's got a starting blow to the back of the head, like the other two, and a number of bad bruising and heavy brutality to the rest with overkill to the chest, hands, and genitals. The message feels clear, but there's something a little off.

“Judging by the position of the body,” you speak, your hands restless, “and the way the weapon is discarded, I think our unsub snuck up on our victim in a blitz attack, hit him with the lead pipe, and ran that way.”

You don't point in any particular direction. Spencer glances up from his spot crouched next to the body. Your eyes are stuck on the bloody pipe several feet away from the body toward the secluded area around the back of the building that leads to more secluded walkways through more alleyways.

There is a long pause where they wait for you to explain, but you never do. Spencer thinks you look far off as he examines your face. Derek looks at you, his brow furrowed as he glances around. “Which way?”

“What?” you hum, looking up at him.

Derek elaborates, “Which way did the unsub go?”

It’s your turn to furrow your brow, turning the thin ring on your middle finger. “Did I say something about the unsub?”

Spencer stands, moving over to your side without spending too much time looking at your face. He doesn't want you to feel dumb or awkward, because he loves you and you're just a little forgetful sometimes.

“Yes,” he says in no particular way. “You said the unsub blitzed the victim and ran. Which way did he run?”

He achieves his goal, because you seem to make an “Oh, duh!” face before pointing in the direction of the street. “That way.”

He follows your finger, his brows knitting together. “That way toward the street?” He looks at the pipe, sitting in the exact opposite direction, like they ran and dropped it. “The pipe looks like he'd run the other way to avoid the street. Why do you think he ran toward?” It's a genuine question.

“To throw us off,” you shrug. “It's riskier to go toward the street, but it's also less suspicious than walking alone in the opposite direction where someone could see you and the victim and assume fault.”

He hums. You add on, speaking as quickly as Spencer usually does, “It also means he looks normal enough that he blends in with the crowd. Someone would see a strange figure coming out of a dark alley, no one would really notice a passerby turning a corner. And if this is a popular spot, it's too loud to hear anything going on all the way back here anyway, or no one thinks much of grunting noises when they do hear it.”

You trail off at the end, tight brows staring at the corpse. Derek shrugs, “But what was our victim doing all the way over here in the first pla–”

“There's something in his mouth,” you interrupt accidentally.

“What?”

You kneel down, taking the offered gloves from Spencer and putting them on. You open his mouth just a slight, spotting the white sticking out from under his tongue. Upon seeing it, both of the boys furrow their brows and tilt their heads. Spencer hands you some tweezers he'd borrowed from forensics for this reason.

Carefully, without disturbing the body as much as possible, you remove the strange object from under the tongue. It's a tiny slip of paper, folded up very small and still a little damp from saliva and any other bodily fluids it may have come in contact with. You unfold it.

“‘Unclean’,” Spencer reads from over your shoulder.

“That makes sense for the victimology mixed with the profile. He's a male prostitute,” Derek points out.

“Which explains the locale,” you say, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“What?”

“The locale,” you look up. “You asked why he was here. He must have been working, lured down here by the unsub, who waited for him to turn his back before he struck.”

Spencer agrees, taking a picture of the slip to send to Hotch. “He was killed at night. The streets are crowded, easy to slip into and not be seen. It's more risky to stray by yourself. What you said makes sense.”

You look up at him, standing to your full height again. “What did I say?” There you go again.

Morgan speaks up, “What you said about him runnin’ toward the street.”

Confusion passes your mind momentarily. “He ran toward the street.” You don't say it like a question, you say it like you're trying to back yourself up on it.

“That's what you said,” he insists.

You remember thinking that, but you don't remember saying that out loud.

Spencer swoops in like your hero, brushing his knuckles against the side of your arm. “Remember? You said,” he licks his lips, “ ‘it's riskier to go toward the street, but it's also less suspicious than walking alone in the opposite direction where someone could see you and the victim and assume fault.’ ”

You nod, remembering his word-by-word recitation as you watch him. “Yeah. I did say that.” You flag down one of the forensics workers to bag the evidence. She does so, taking your contaminated gloves with her as she leaves. You squirt a hefty amount of hand sanitizer on your hands from its place on your belt loop. “This is the first victim who's been left behind with a note, right?”

“Yes, autopsy results found nothing like this on the other victims.”

“If the victim was working when he was attacked, it’s possible that, paired with the brutality of the assault and the note left behind, our unsub may be experiencing some kind of internalized homophobia.” You trail off at the end.

Derek shrugs, looking down at the body. “There’s no evidence of sexual assault. Not on the other victims, at least.”

“How old do you think this building is?”

Spencer looks at you, your eyes scanning the wall of one of the buildings you’re between. Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth, picking at the dead skin again. He thinks you’re cute.

“Focus, honeybun,” Derek reminds you, pulling your attention again.

“Sorry.”

“Judging by the faded color and uneven edges of the brick, and the decay in the mortar,” Spencer says, “I’d say this building is at least 50 years old. Well kept at one point and then let go not long after its production.”

You nod along slowly, taking in the information with a hum. “That’s cool…” Now that that’s out of your mind, you think for a moment. What were you saying again? Spencer watches your eyes light up. “Oh!” You turn to Derek. “He’s obviously confrontational, but he may still be very insecure in his ability and, thus, have to make up for his pent up energy with an excess of violence. Homophobia would explain the obliteration of the chest, hands, and especially the genitalia.”

Derek raises a brow. “What?”

“You asked about sexual assault,” you shrug. “If he continues to escalate above the note, we may see these words carved into the skin as a substitute for sexual violence, or even just blatant rape activity.”

Derek thinks about that, considering your analysis with a nodding head. He sighs and hums, “Alright, I’ll talk to Hotch.” He begins to turn away, grabbing his phone.

Spencer thinks you may have gotten distracted again because you ask, “Did I do something wrong?”

Derek looks back at you, shaking his head and flashing you one of his charming smiles. “No, honeybun, you’re perfect.”

“Oh.”

He leaves to take that call. You start to walk after him and Spencer gently takes your hand. You turn to face him, confused at first but giving him a sweet smile only a second later. “Are you okay?” he asks gently, his voice soft.

You tilt your head, “What do you mean?”

Spencer shrugs, taking your other hand just to rub his thumbs over your knuckles. “You’re hyper today, a little more distracted.”

As if proving his point, you begin shifting back and forth on your feet, shrugging and then shaking your head at the same time. “I’m okay,” you assure him, squeezing his hands gently. “I haven’t taken my medication in a couple days.”

He furrows his brow, suddenly a little worried. “Why not?”

“Didn’t feel like it. Also, I forgot it.” That makes sense. Spencer makes a mental note to remind you to take them as soon as you get back home. “But I’m okay, prommy.”

He smiles. “Prommy?”

“Promise,” you clarify, letting both your hands down so you can swing his from side to side. He lets you.

“I know what you mean,” he says. Though he knows he should probably be more professional because you’re both in public and leaving a crime scene (and Hotch might reprimand the both of you for it if he saw) he raises a hand to cradle your cheek because he doesn’t care. He just wants you to feel safe and loved. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod definitely. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” The way he says it is soft, as soft as a kiss to your forehead or a brush of his knuckles on your skin. “You know, I love you, right?”

You nod, smiling at him like he’s the world—because he is. “Yeah. I love you, too, honey.” You kiss his cheek quickly and pat it. You probably shouldn’t have done it right then, but you did, and you don’t regret it for even a moment.

Spencer’s just happy you know he loves you. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go before Morgan leaves us.” He takes your hand as you both begin walking. He swings your joined hands, just as he knows you like it.

“He wouldn’t leave me,” you shake your head. “He likes me too much.”

Spencer chuckles. “Everyone likes you.”

“Not everyone.”

He looks at you, furrowing his brow. “Who doesn’t like you?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. And then immediately after, “Why does the sun look yellow? Isn’t it supposed to be white or something? I heard that somewhere.”

Spencer is happy to answer your questions as he opens the car door for you. Derek is already sitting in the front, his hands on the wheel. The passenger’s seat is empty, but Spencer sits in the back with you. You both speak gently so you’re not disturbing Derek. “The Earth’s atmosphere scatters blue light more efficiently than red light, so the slight deficit in blue light means the eye perceives the color of the sun as yellow. But, yes, the sun is actually white.”

“That’s cool,” you mumble. “I think sharks would look cool as hell with piercings. Do you?”

“I do,” Spencer chuckles. In the front seat, Derek shakes his head and smiles to himself, amused by your conversation.

“Did you know that sharks don’t have bones, so when they die, the saltwater dissolves their bodies so the only thing that’s left is their teeth?” You begin ranting, absent-mindedly picking at dirty under your nails. “And also, their bodies are primarily made of cartilage and connective tissue. It’s lighter than bone and keeps them flamboyant. Also, their skin has a similar feel to sandpaper.”

When you ramble, you sound like Spencer. You spend so much time with him and endorse his info dumps so much that you take on his speech style when you go on info dumps of your own. Spencer loves this because he knows that people tend to mimic the people they love as a sign of affection, and you mimic him a lot more than you think.

He also knew about all your shark facts, but he’s happy to listen. He smiles, “Is that what you were doing up late last night?”

You smile a little, turning away from him. “I got distracted.”

“What’s your thought process behind getting from the sun to sharks?” he wonders. “I’m curious.”

You shrug. “Well, you said your thing and I said it was cool. And then I remembered a post I saw that sharks would be cool with piercings. Then I remembered my shark things.” You glance down at your fingers, bringing them to your lips as you notice a tiny part at the very edge of the nail where it would probably tear off. “I just think sharks are cool,” you mumble around your finger.

“They are cool,” he says. He doesn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself so he adds on, “Will you hold my hand? It’s a little cold.”

You look down at them, “Yeah.” With a nod, you take his hand between both of yours and let them warm his back up. They’re a bit chilly but they don’t feel that cold to you. You hold them anyway, because you love holding his hand. You intertwine your fingers with his and then cover what’s left.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says. He thinks for a moment. “Did you eat today?”

You nod, still watching his hand as you turn it to look at his palm. You gently trace the lines of it, forgetting for the moment that he’d wanted you to warm his hand up for him. But, as usual, he doesn’t mind. “I had a cereal bar this morning. One of those Coco Puff ones. They’re like Rice Krispy Treats.” He doesn’t think that’s sustainable. “And, before you ask, I did have water.”

He smiles. “I know. I told you to drink some before we left. You hungry?”

You shake your head, “Not really.”

“You want a snack?” he compromises, hoping—and knowing—you’ll say yes.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay,” he hums. “We’ll grab one on the way back.” Derek nods gently, remembering to do just that. It will only take a moment.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Spencer says, his voice lowering to a whisper. He knows Derek can still hear him, but he always just wants to whisper to you.

You look up at him, “For what?”

“Being so perfect.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes but ultimately smiling at the warmth in your chest. “You’re so cheesy, Spencer Reid.”

He’ll gladly be cheesy for you.

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