#instead of writing the whole fic i'm posting this because i have no control over my thoughts about my baby boy

[daenysx]

grumpy x sunshine with aemond, you try to wake him up with bunch of kisses on his neck but he doesn't wanna leave the bed just for once so he makes your job as hard as he can just to get more kisses

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Does the serum make Steve…. louder? Like his lung capacity is obviously more than the average. Did his vocal cords get super soldier-ed too?

Of course, that would mean that Bucky would have to gag him when they have sex. Especially the marathon, sweaty, desperate, edging, kind of sex where Steve just loses all control over his volume because he can’t even hear how loud he’s being over the the sound of his own blood pumping straight to his cock.

They have all kinds of gags so Bucky can control how loud he wants Steve to be since Steve can’t. Maybe even one that looks like the Winter Soldier mask.

Holy shit, I love this idea.

Even if lung capacity and/or vocal chord strength doesn't equate to volume in any meaningful way, my answer to this ask is fucking YES.

YES.

Yes, simply for the fact that I fucking love vocal partners. Major knee-buckling, weak spot for me. So, there's no way I can resist a louder Steve post-serum. Louder and more sensitive, which is just... irresistible 😮‍💨😮‍💨

This got out of hand, I'm supposed to be doing homework, not writing filth on Tumblr, lmao

And the mention of gags alongside the vocal-nature of this makes me think of this fic:

"Day 18: Leather/Latex" by hannahrhen

Anyway--

I can not get my mind off of vocal top Steve. There's 🤌🏻something about him🤌🏻

Imagine him, on top of Bucky, pressing him into the mattress with all his strength--back muscles rippling, so slim to so broad from his hips to his shoulders that it looks impossible, making your eyes almost roll back, just staring, his ass round and biteable, his thighs flexing, his dick putting in work, carving out space for himself inside Bucky.

Steve's shaking and sweating as his hips thrust, his movements so well practiced--fluid, but deep and hard, too. It's intense as fuck. Just how Bucky likes it. Feels so good.

And, God, the rhythm is more than enough to leave Steve's blonde hair hanging over his forehead, mused and sex-ruffled. He's glowing sweat, misted like a fucking Greek God, but so, so much better than pale, white marble he's pink and feverish, his heart pulsing wildly in his chest all the way down to his devastatingly hard dick.

His heart racing and racing as he pants with his mouth open, groaning lowly when Bucky clenches down on his thick cock hard, it makes Steve insane, so tight, he can't believe he fits inside his little hole, whimpering when Bucky tells him faster, faster, oh, ah, ah, ah, yes!, moaning right in Bucky's ear when Steve stops pinning his wrists to the bed, shifting to grab his shoulders and really pound him instead, and Bucky's hands grab at him greedily, wanting to feel his muscles work as he fucks him, pulling him down. He fucks him good and hard, using all his bulk to make Bucky fucking take it.

When he moans like that in his ear, making him crazy with want, Bucky might try to tilt his head to the side, panting just as hard, breath humid and thick, gasping for just a little oxygen between their mouths, begging for a sloppy, filthy kiss but Steve can't lock lips. He can't stop making sounds. The best he can do is moan right into his mouth.

It's so hot. The sounds.

The noises.

Gasping. Whining. Moaning. Panting. Groaning.

All these obscene sounds that mix intoxicatingly with the harsh, wet sound of their bodies colliding. Steve is fucking him hard. And it feels so good. It lights Bucky up--he's only dry kindling and Steve is a match, the friction between them lights them both. Flames lapping at their skin. Soon enough, it's hot enough to crackle and spread, and they're taking down the whole forest. Ignited. Unable to stop. Not when Steve sounds like that. Not when he moves like that, making Bucky see nothing but white-hot sparks.

Pleasured so good, Bucky can bite his tongue, groaning softly and panting and swearing under his labored breath as Steve lays into him like he wants him dead, pounding his prostate until he feels like he might burst, all this pleasure rushing like painful, aching, glorious, intense static through his veins. Steve can't bite his tongue, though.

Steve can't shut his fucking mouth.

Bucky loves it. He's so loud. When it's not mind meltingly hot to hear every hit of pleasure that he takes, it's hilarious because it's so goddamn inconvenient. As much as Bucky might want to bitch and moan about it, complaining that they'll never be able to have a quickie in some closet or bathroom or back of the car because they'll be found out immediately with Steve wailing like that... the moment he starts to feel irritated, he'll twitch or clench or grab, and Steve will just let out the most guttural, wanting sound at the perfect moment, leaving Bucky snickering. Combing a hand through his hair, cooing at his big, dumb, fucked-out face. Mouth-open moaning.

Yeah, Bucky's best guy is loud.

So, even when Bucky manages to reach up, muscles trembling as he goes boneless on Steve's dick, to jam a few fingers between his gaping, swollen lips... Steve's hardly muffled. He's distracted, sure, licking, tonguing, and slurping around his fingers as if they're his dick, but he's moaning too. He's moaning more. That part of Bucky's body in his mouth. How could it not be good? How could it not make his lungs punch out a sound of desire? Lust thick inside him.

Guh.

He's hot and wet and drooling around Bucky's fingers and not any fucking quieter. He might be louder, Jesus Christ.

Naturally, then, it escalates.

If fingers won't do it, what will? How can Bucky get Steve to a reasonable goddamn volume when they fuck? What about Bucky's underwear, literally ripped off of his body in impatience and now an otherwise useless scrap of fabric, stuffed into his mouth? What about Steve's own underwear? There's no difference, really, Bucky just wants it. How about the bottom hem of Steve's sweatshirt, pushed up and shoved between his teeth, giving Bucky an eye-crossing view of his clenching belly and bouncing tits as he fucks him? A ball gag? Bit gags (again, because Bucky wants it, Steve wants it, there's no reason why it would keep Steve's volume down when a ball doesn't, no matter how fat the intrusion is)? A scarf tied around the back of his head? A panel gag? A thick belt doubled over and pushed between drool-glistening lips? A strip of shiny tape slapped over his full, plush lips that leaves a red mark around his mouth like smeared lipstick when they're done, and Bucky tears it off of him? An inflatable gag that Bucky can pump more and more until Steve is whimpering about the fullness and stretch while he's pumping Bucky full?

What will it fucking take? And why is it so hot, the length they have to go to just to make sure that nobody interrupts them with how loose Steve's lips are. All whiny and needy, despite how Steve fucks like a champ. He sounds like he should be the one getting pounded into the mattress (or couch, or wall, or shoulder wall, or... yeah.)

What will it fucking take?

A muzzle?

Bucky jokes. It's a half serious suggestion while they have lazy, post-mission sex that is absolutely better than the sex anyone else is having when they're not exhausted and at the top of their game, thank you very much. Their uniforms are half on, on the way to getting suspicious stains, half revealing dirty, bruised skin--just enough to whip it out and to take it.

Steve is hesitant at first, considering their history with muzzles. He doesn't know if he could stand to do it. Especially if it's a full muzzle that covers the bottom of his face like what the soldier wore. But, later, when they're toweling off after their post-lazy-sex, lazy-shower-sex... the moment Bucky gives him that lazy, charming grin, popping his dimples, and drawls richly about the pleasure of taking the power back, feeling the reins in his own hands, calling the shots...

Oh, God.

Steve's stiff in his jeans immediately, and he needs to, at least, try. For Bucky's sake. Sure, Steve, Bucky's sake. It doesn't have to do with any kind of selfish need to see Bucky's eyes lit with fire, as he dangles a muzzle in front of his face, taunting him. Steve kneeling. Poised to crawl on his hands and knees toward the other man above him. Low enough he could kiss Bucky's feet. He could use his tongue to clean his boots, humming at the taste, knowing exactly where he's been by the grit on his teeth and tongue. Savoring it. Everything he's done for him. The hell he's walked through to get to him. Above him, Bucky's reclined on the edge of their bed, one hand behind him, leaning, all casual and powerful, alluring with his thighs spread wide, setting the muzzle in his lap before curling his finger smoothly. Wordlessly beckoning Steve over so he can shut him up and they can have fun without the neighbor's calling the cops... again.

Those sure, knowing fingers tilting Steve's head up with a mean grip on his chin and slipping the rigid leather onto his face, making sure he can't open his mouth to moan like hell when he's given the privilege of fucking Bucky.

Those fingers.

Those fingers that Steve's going to watch, silenced and muzzled, as they stretch and pry his tight, wet flesh open, preparing himself for Steve's cock. Propped up on his knees in front of Steve, his belly and chest to the bed, hips up, thighs invitingly wide, showing him where he's so tight and aching, but... not yet.

Steve can't touch yet.

And he can't beg to touch. Muzzled.

He can only swallow back sounds and stare desperately, longingly, saliva flooding his mouth.

While they're at it--Steve muzzled like a big, obedient puppy, so good and big as he slides into Bucky after he's stretched, squirming on his back, his thighs still wide open to give Steve a teasing glimpse of his wet hole--Bucky adds a collar for good measure.

A collar.

The strip of thick, dark leather around his throat is complete with a leash, so Bucky can pull it tight, keeping his big, hulking puppy close with the taut, short stretch of leather between their heated bodies.

His fist. Steve's neck. Connected. Joined as one.

He owns him.

It's not like Steve could go anywhere with Bucky's thick, powerful thighs clenched around his trim waist anyway. He's trapped. Entangled in Bucky's heat. All tight and hot and wet inside. And his voice is just as restricting as the leash around his throat--cutting off his air, pulled at just the right moment to slice his muffled moans in half when he pulls at his leash--and orders him to hold back. D-don't cum. Not yet. I'm, 'm not done fuh-fucking done with you yet. Make me cum again. J-just, ngh, just one more. 'M not done yet. Then you can have your treat, okay, boy? That sound good, huh, pup? Mmm, mmm-hmm, yeah, yeah, just like that, gimme it like th-that.

Steve whines, pathetically muffled. It's barely a sound at all, so softened, but at the same time, it's so saturated with want that it's dripping.

How did we get to puppy play? What?

[bagelrites]

^^^ It has come to my attention that whatever I post next (this post) will be my 5,000th post, so I've decided to make it a special one!

Did you know that I started this blog, it was originally named OfDemonsAndDruids, because all I intended to really post about was my fanfic series by the same name? And if you did know that, congrats! And thanks for sticking around, that's so cool :)

And for the rest of you! you will now be indoctrinated by the epic ODAD lore (which plagues my drain to this day, even after writing 176k words about it.)

George is the crown prince of the Mushroom Kingdom, a secluded but prosperous country which boasts powerful druid magic and control over the Lichens, a strange yet formidable species which bonds with humans when their true name is spoken. George, as the prince, is given a Lichen to bond with when he's sixteen, and the Lichen will serve as his guard, protector, and servant for the rest of his life.

Dream is that Lichen, though his real name isn't Dream. Dream is the "code" by which he goes so no one other than George can speak his true name. He has been trained his whole life to serve the royal family and to protect George with his superhuman powers of speed, strength, and stamina. He wears a mask, as do all Lichens, because their most powerful skill is that of control. When a Lichen looks at someone with their bare eyes, they can completely control that person (and yes, he can see through the mask. It's magic.)

Sapnap is, well, just some guy! He lives in a village north of the Mushroom Kingdom, but longs to leave home and go on an adventure. Maybe someday his dreams can be fulfilled...

Bad is a full-blooded demon, or at least he appears to be, when he wears his enchanted cloak which casts a shadow over his face. He's worked for years building a reputation as the best bounty hunter in the Nether, and works with his team of white wolves to hunt down his bounties.

Skeppy is an imp, a species closely related to demons, though they're about half the size and have wings instead of horns and a fuzzy tail. They're also shapeshifters, and don't follow the code of order that demons do. Instead, they're led only by chaos and a drive for trickery. Skeppy and Bad have been friends for a long time, though that friendship mostly consists of Skeppy teasing and trolling Bad, and sometimes his pranks go too far...

I've just barely scratched the surface about these guys (like this literally doesn't even get into the main plot) so if you're curious, give it a read!

Symbiosis is the main fic in the series, and follows George through the events of a war between the Demons and the Mushroom Kingdom. It's 100k words and very plotty, and focuses on DNF and the four muffinteer's freindship.

Maladaptation is the companion fic to Symbiosis, which follows Bad and Skeppy through the same events, but showing a very different perspective. It's 70k and just as plotty, but focuses on Skephalo (as well as Quackity and Skeppy's friendship - I started writing it over a year ago...)

And Devotion is a short follow-up to Symbiosis, which is basically just a nsfw DNF one shot that shows a bit of Dream's POV on his relationship with George.

While it's been almost a year since I've worked on this series, I want to say that I'm not done with it and I do plan on writing more in 2024, because I've been having some serious brainworms about these guys. But regardless, I hope you enjoyed learning about my complicated fantasy AU, or if you've read Symbiosis, that you enjoyed this walk down memory lane.

With that said, happy 5,000 posts to this blog! Here's to 5,000 more 🥳🎉

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

Bang

First posted: October 4, 2019

Focuses on: Jason Todd & Damian Wayne

Favorite bookmark: "No spoilers, but if OP doesnt write a sequel I will literally die."

Second favorite bookmark: "The noises that came from me when I reached the end of that countdown were, um, violent. 😭"

Tier: Middle of the pack

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

I am so friggin' proud of this fic, I can't lie. It's such a powerful little one-shot, and I'm pleased with how I did it, and I'm pleased with the reaction it received. Gold star, me.

There was a bomb in the school. And the rec center. The Grove Street bank. The post office on Utica. The Nockaphee Building. The newly opened inner city hospital.

Once again, my dreaded foe, logistics. I knew what I wanted the crux of the story to be with Jason and Damian, so then I had to backtrack and figure out the scenario that best fit. Not one bomb but multiple, to scatter the family around (because there are so dang MANY and they're always RIGHT THERE in the city), and where a villain might be most inclined to stash them. I know where I got the names for the bank and the post office, but no idea for the Nockaphee Building. Google shrugs at me.

Bombs all over Gotham, embedded in the spines of community spaces and corporate structures like ticking tumors.

This inversion still tickles me.

Batman and Black Bat had bypassed evacuation to head straight to the source. Stop the bomber, stop the bomb. The rest of them were merely backup, protection in case the caped pair failed. Their job was evacuation. Get everyone out and keep them away. Every time they were given a new location, a segment of the core broke off until their forces were scattered wide across the city.

Again, friggin logistics. I duck and dodge plot as much as I can, because I don't care, there is so little actual plot to my fics. But I am as careful as I can be about seeding in realistic barriers into my story. I don't want to stop the whole story to say "Well, you see, they couldn't do XYZ because" or handwave away the most obvious solution to the problem at hand. I want it to make sense why each person is doing what they're doing (or not doing.)

Jason wasn’t normally a keep-tabs person, but explosions made him nervous.

Again, weaving plausible explanations and justifications in a way that also tells a little bit more about what relations are like between Jason and the fam right now.

The one moment of potential disaster—the bomb tucked into the belly of the rec center had malfunctioned and gone off on its own—had resulted only in property damage and no loss of life. The bomb maker hadn’t even set them all to run independently but instead had retained control via a mechanism that turned deliberate detonation into an all-or-nothing deal. All Batman had to do was incapacitate the bomb maker and turn off the controls.

Ugh, this bit of seeding was so tricky. A lot of partially started mental dead ends before I figured out these two pieces: setting up the rec center and the all-or-nothing bomb.

Jason wasn’t fluent in all of them—and had done his best to forget most of them—but he knew that a “hrnn,” unlike a “hnn” or a “mm,” was not a good sign.

This was plucked directly from the group chat. Certain members have a habit of reacting with typed out grunts like Bruce, so I've had time to appreciate the nuance.

Normally, it would be Nightwing’s job to nudge Batman into using his big boy words, but Officer Grayson had been on duty when the emergency alarm rang.

More logistical justification loaded and ready to go.

Jason leaped to the next building and ducked down, pressing his back against the low retention wall.

I don't know, I just like this. If this were a visual medium like a movie, you'd be able to see Jason deliberately blocking out the world so he can focus on whatever horrible thing is about to happen.

Okay. Okay. He was expecting worse. Jason scowled.

The double okay is a very me thing. There are two different tones involved but that's hard to invoke in writing.

Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. This was why Jason refused to be affiliated with these people. They were all idiots. “I didn’t want Batman to worry.” Yeah, because Batman wasn’t a grown adult who couldn’t handle his own crap. Obviously. So the little gremlin had lied about where he was, concealed an injury, and now was calling Hood like his own personal Uber. And Jason was going to let him, because he was also an idiot, apparently. “You’re a brat, you know that?” Jason growled as he hauled himself to his feet again. “Fine. Fine! Where are you?”

I personally l o v e this because right now Jason doesn't actually know what's going on, he just thinks he does, so you get to see his reaction to the assumed situation of "The baby of the family did something stupid and got hurt so I get to be mad about that but obviously I'm still going to help and then I'm probably going to make his life miserable for worrying me retroactively."

“The shelving units fell on me. I extricated myself, but something is blocking the doors. I can’t—I am—I made it to the supply closet.”

Damian is being amazingly patient through all this, if you think about it. But I guess he doesn't want to have to say it all out loud yet, so maybe he's just procrastinating. Once Jason understands, then it's real.

“I wanted to know if it hurt.”

That was my cornerstone line, right there. That's the whole reason I wrote the fic. I wanted someone to say this to Jason, because they needed to know. Please picture me dabbing.

This wasn’t happening. He’d just seen the kid a couple hours ago. They’d nodded while passing to their own teams. He’d left a movie about a dog on Jason’s windowsill last week.

It's such a little piece, but I wanted to hint at the utter disorientation of traumatic tragedy, how quickly the day can change and the swooping sensation a person might feel amid that change. Also, even as Jason has spent this entire fic being like "We don't talk!" I did want to seed in that they still interact. Damian trades movies he likes with Jason. He knows where Jason's safe house is. Jaosn is upset that he's about to die.

I would go back and change all those contractions, though. And having two different he pronouns back to back without tying them to a proper noun is just bad form.

Jason couldn’t lie, not even to a little kid.

This appears to be a tiny bit of Ronan Lynch seeping into Jason. Huh. @audreycritter are you seeing this

It had hurt to the point beyond pain, like every cell, every molecule, every atom had been lit up like a Christmas tree.

That "like a Christmas tree" is from something and for the life of me I can't remember what.

Don’t say please to me. Don’t say thank you. Don’t say things that you only say because you think you’re about to die.

I write this kind of thought pattern a lot to exemplify stress and grief. I don't know how I feel about this realization.

“No.” No matter how Jason tried, it was impossible to miss the tears in the boy’s voice now. “It would kill him, having to listen. And he’ll be so angry. I cannot—I-I cannot die knowing he’s angry with me. Please don’t call Richard.”

This was where my throat started to hurt. I don't remember where exactly I started to actually cry while writing.

“You understand. You can tell them. Tell them I-I’m sorry. And that I was brave?”

It was definitely by here, though.

Jason cleared the stairwell, slowing only slightly to duck under the sagging ceiling and pick his way through the debris-strewn hallway.

Oh hey. I don't use any details here but rereading reminded me that I based the rec center on parts of a real place so that I could visualize what Jason would have to get through to get to Damian. Totally forgot.

Ten seconds. Jason lunged at the barrier, roaring as he tore aside mountains with his hands. Nine.

I think building in the countdown itself helped with the tension. It definitely helped with the writing. Generally speaking, the length of sentences should match the pacing of the action itself. For tense writing, you really want short, snappy sentences, but I am a wordy bird who loves long multi-part sentences. See: this paragraph. So hacking up the action into short sentences bracketed by a single digit countdown really helped with the vibe.

“Jason?” Damian gasped over the earpiece. “I don’t want it to hurt. I don’t want it to hurt.”

That would be me. Dying is scary, but the pain before it is scarier.

Jason threw himself into the closet and shut the door.

Sometimes a lack of closure is fun, actually.

Funny story: I didn't actually consider that readers would think I set the bomb off and killed them both. I was new, hadn't done any sad-ending fics before, and also it's comics. Even when characters die, they come back in a few months, so it doesn't really count.

So my notifications start blowing up in the middle of a football game and I had to figure out if I wanted to continue the story...

[bihanzo-advocate]

Ughhh I'm so fucking sluggish and down nowadays but BiHanzo's one of my hyperfixations that keep me going. Kinda pathetic I know, but I don't really care anymore.

Anyway, I got a lot of messy ideas/prompts/headcanons for fics of these two which I WISH I could make my own but I don't have the writing skills to execute it. Mainly focused on MK9 BiHanzo and I kinda made up my own AUs where they aren't grandmasters of their clans yet, the other where they just turned into grandmasters but have a secret affair while their clans are still enemies, then the other one where one misunderstanding leads to another and BAM these are just one BIG mess. Incoming messy ramblings and thoughts of them.

Some NSFW stuff:

Hanzo sneaking into Lin Kuei quarters late at night to meet his esteemed rival and secret fuck buddy in his bedroom. Bi-Han is surprised at how bold he is and tries to reason with Hanzo that they shouldn't because they're at risk of getting caught. Hanzo is too horny to care and just makes Bi-Han control and muffle his voice as much as he can. It gets very hot and heated. Hanzo putting his hand over Bi-Han's mouth while pressing his body down on him. Wherever Bi-Han held on for support, ice started to form on the surface showing how much he was trying to control himself. The room gets steamy from how rough and crazed their sex is.

I'd love to read about Bi-Han being tied up in Hanzo's chains and getting fucked senseless or getting pounded against a tree in the woods. They got the whole tree shaking for sure, leaves falling, branches tweaking- Yeah, I'll stop there.

Modern AU, Hanzo seeing a drunk and weak Bi-Han for the first time at a late night bar and he just gets his mind blown away from the sight. He gets a whole new perspective of Bi-Han and wants to know more about him. It seemed that Hanzo had way more tolerance and discipline than Bi-Han when it came to alcohol. The poor cold bastard was way too drunk to see or care that he's basically opening up to his sworn enemy and rival. Hanzo tries to stifle his laugh but shuts up very soon once he realizes it must have taken a lot for Bi-Han to get to this point where he starts dumping about all he has been through. I CAN ADD A LOT MORE TO THIS BUT I'LL SAVE IT FOR ANOTHER POST AND ANOTHER TIME. They don't fuck until they come to a conclusion about their relationship.

The hate sex is strong but it's also extremely satisfying for the two of them. I'm really into Bi-Han being a bottom here lol... after all he is SUB-Zero. Him being a dominant sub works too.

Pining/fluff/some angst:

Them always bumping into each other while on missions, tournaments, etc. They hated each other at first but slowly become fond of one another as time passes. Instead of fighting, they start conversing and notice that they are somehow similar, beginning to respect the other more...

Hanzo makes the first moves (holding hands, small touches, hugging, showing affecfion) and he doesn't mind doing it until Bi-Han is comfortable.

Bi-Han longing to be closer to Hanzo but he tries to suppress his feelings as much as he can, he then projects his "anger" and "hatred" for Hanzo so that he can hide the truth. He doesn't have internalized homophobia, it's just his circumstances that make it forbidden for him to have personal ties and fall for the enemy. His loyalty to his clan and the desire of his heart are constantly at battle. It slowly begins to rip him apart. He does a good job hiding what he really feels because Hanzo can't see through this facade. The cryomancer became all bark but no bite because he didn't want to hurt his secret love anymore. Bi-Han finally confesses his love before almost getting killed by Hanzo because he'd been tormented enough. He only wished to die by his love's hand at that point. But Hanzo is taken aback and shaken by the whole thing... then it goes on from there.

These two make me sick sometimes. I just need more gritty stuff between them. But that's it for now, will add more when I get ideas.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Assorted thoughts about Astarion's epilogue that I have only seen in video because patch 4 broke my save files and I have to replay the whole thing to get there.

From what I've seen everyone's good endings seem a little... overly good and free of consequence? But at the same time I haven't seen everything with my own eyes and everyone deserves to be happy, so whatever. If I want angst, there's fic.

Sooo... is it that unromanced Astarion disappeared after the scene at the docks and nobody could find him, or did you assholes just not try? I will be generous and assume the former.

Stop stabbing the table you little gremlin. ...although I'd probably enjoy doing that, if I could get away with it.

I still hate that outfit with the ruff.

Not surprised Larian is doubling down on the "no cure" angle. I don't really care if Astarion remains a vampire or if he goes the cure route, so long as he's happy - although I do think in his shoes I'd look for some way to day-walk anyway, on practical grounds alone.

Hiding a knife behind his back while asking an unromanced Durge if they're showing any signs of being under Bhaal's control... I adore a pragmatic bastard.

---"I could've told you that [you can kill people in a socially acceptable manner]" ---"You realise I don't actually pay attention when you talk, right?" ^This is why I both love him with all my soul and also want to push him off a roof.^

Delighted and validated by Astarion feeding by taking jobs as a bounty hunter or something like that. That was 100% what Vel was suggesting to him post game. Like "Hey, have you considered bounty hunting? if my memories of killing people for fun and profit, and the last month or two of everyone suddenly celebrating instead of getting mad when I murder has taught me anything; if you eat the people the majority want dead, you can have all the blood and money you can get your teeth into and nobody will have a problem with it."

And then there's Ascended Astarion... who I will put under a read more to save space and for those who'd like to avoid the uglier side of endings.

So I don't think Larian read the supplement Van RIchten's Guide to Vampires (it's from 1992, but as far as I know it's also still the most comprehensive write up of D&D vampire lore, and some of it still looks to apply here (or at least, it can).)

But the first thing I thought of, watching him constantly turn into a bat, is that it reminded me of the vampire psychological development stages. Stage one is where a vampire is drunk on their shiny new powers and just will not stop showing them off. (Stage two is the "find out" stage of the fuck around process, where the vampire discovers they're not as invincible as they believed and descends into full blown, paranoid monstrosity.)

Then "I will be watching." "I/We need to eavesdrop on everybody."... Oh, the paranoia. How's that thing where the curse of vampirism is twisting the trauma and fear going for you, my dude?

"I'll never forget the time we spent together, though. And I know you'll never forget about me. Until next time, darling." ...might be his expression or the datamined epilogues where he still wants his ex, but that feels like a threat to me? Might just be a jab after being dumped...

And, oh yeah, we're definitely looking at vampire bride/groom tier stuff here: Just sit on the decorative pedestal I built for you and look pretty until I'm in the mood to take you down and play with you. Stop complaining about how you're bored and want freedom!

The PC isn't weak by any measure, they could become a rival.. AA isn't my ending of choice, but I am morbidly fascinated with the concept of Tav and Astarion as toxic vampire divorcees: Two angry, powerful "lovers to enemies" vampire lords "sharing" territory; passing the centuries obsessing over each other; fighting each other; sometimes maybe hate-fucking, and generally making their bad relationship everyone's problem.

[allbluedepths]

This was originally part of the ship bingo post, but it spiraled out of control and became a very large pile of thoughts. So instead, the Wings of the Emperor AU is getting its own ship dynamics post for Shanks, Mihawk, and Benn because it's sorta its own thing, and I'm having a hell of a time trying to figure out how to even tag for it because none of their relationships fit in neat boxes very well.

(Wings of the Emperor AU is my early Red Hair Pirates era AU where Mihawk chooses to not become a Warlord and ends up not joining, but semi-sailing with the Red Hair Pirates. It mostly focuses on Mihawk's early dueling years with Shanks, his interactions with the Red Hair Pirates, and eventually getting swept up into their sailing shenanigans. TL;DR: I had the thought of "who would Mihawk be if forced to answer the question of 'who am I beyond just being a swordsman'" and it all spiraled from there.

For the record, some of the earlier posts aren’t 100% accurate anymore — big one being that I traded the “Mihawk was almost Shanks’ first mate” bit for something else — but this is an indulgent ship post, not me correcting my own lore post LOL.)

So, here’s a pile of thoughts to get my brain in gear to actually write more of the fic itself, haha. : )

This AU is… complicated? I'd say it's endgame Mihawk/Shanks/Benn triad in a very non-traditional relationships way. For example, by the time Mihawk semi-joins them and turns down the Warlord position, even Shanks and Mihawk don't have a concrete romantic relationship, and theirs is still the closest to that, haha. I guess it's best classified as:

Shanks and Mihawk: close relationship bordering on romantic; there's mutual interest, but their definitions of romantic also don't match "standard" definitions of romance, so it doesn't always read as that to others. Rivals/partners with a romantic flair?? Since Mihawk turning down the Warlord position and choosing to join them comes with a good chunk of other upheaval, there's a conscious decision to not really label anything, but they're on the same page of being mutually interested.

Shanks and Benn: hellooooo complex intertwined captain-first mate relationships. The fun duality of being both incredibly simple and incredibly complex. I'm team "many working captain-first mate relationships basically become life partnerships", and they're probably the prime example of that. Inconveniently for tagging purposes, it's smack dab in the middle of "&" and "/" relationships for AO3, so… eh, the vibes are vague. The details past the fact that they're basically each other's most trusted person stop mattering at a certain point.

Benn and Mihawk: Complicated, haha. By far the side of the triad with the most development to be had; right now, it's more like they're separate sides of a V polycule, rather than a triad, but the foundation's there. An odd, unexpected friendship turned an even more unexpected camaraderie as the years go by and Mihawk's around more and more. Absolutely no one outside of them (and occasionally Shanks) can really parse out what's going on here. Again, just over the line of what I'd tag as "&", and develops veeeeeery slowly over the years in its own undefined way.

…That ended up as a whole ass wall of words, haha. Shorter summary if you're looking for general relationship shifts:

Mihawk sails with the Red Hair Pirates (~6 years after the RHP start): only Shanks/Mihawk are semi/almost-romantic

Sailing time until Dawn Island: Shanks/Mihawk slowly get their shit together; Shanks/Benn inch toward maybe another realization or two, Benn/Mihawk "two introvert cats" bond starts really kicking in

Post-Dawn Island: Shanks/Benn get their shit together (thank you, realizations about mortality)

The decade-ish between Dawn Island and current canon: It's a polycule between an Emperor, an Emperor's first mate, and the World's Greatest Swordsman. Who cares if it makes sense to anyone else; it works for them, lol.

If you read this far, thank you, and I hope you enjoyed an unexpectedly long analysis drop for an AU I haven't posted for in a while and mostly exists in my brain right now, haha!

[ehh-is-the-name]

Pulling all this from me notes app yesterday:

Cobs and Mephone4 really are one in the same and I hate that ii16 ep proves it. Mephone uses the show as a form as escapism and Cobs ended up doing the same. They were always in cahoots. Like father like son and all but this is a lot to take in. The fact that MePhone slightly did what Cobs did to him. He created sentient beings with his purposes in mind, sure not to colonize a place, but still with a purpose in mind. He shaped the contestants into what he wanted them to be to have fun but still. Just because the method and purposes were different both Cobs and Mephone made sentient beings for their own purposes, and now they use them both for entertainment. This makes Mephone even worse than he already is- and as a Mephone apologist it's already pretty fuckin' hard. Like this just makes things so much fucking worse. Damn... Guess him and Airy are more alike than I first thought. Ahhh it's like ONE all over again but the opposite. Instead of context making him better it's making him worse- step the fuck back augh.... I might just pull a post-ONE 18 fan move and just ignore the finale. Every single fanfic that tried to be as canon accurate as they could is now fiery fanon. Which is still good, but Maaannn. Can't have shit in the OSC these days. Twists at every corner and not the good kind. I say that but I probably wouldn't be mad if I wasn't drowning in "fanon I consider canon" juice. Wait is that why the contestants could see the gemories? Since they weren't real to begin with?

Hope y'all know that I cried like twice between writing that on the 7th and now, and now I'm fucking sick because my immune system can't handle my waterworks-

"Drowning in 'fanon I consider canon' juice" is an understatement. To all ii fic writers our there, keep your headcanons please- I'm begging! Don't let the canon kill you, you're right to me </3 And man, this whole thing has me dying for real. To pull lines from Taco Tirade, I've lost more than I've gained, but I also know that feeling double crossed is part of dealing with a loss. When they said we weren't ready, they could never prepared me for that bombshell.

I've got so many questions.... Does Mepad know? I mean from the way he begins to care about the contestants and Toilet makes me think not and other scenes, but I can't be sure of anything anymore. Is Mephone kinda a dad but not? Are the contestants fully controlled by Mephone or is it a situation like Cobs and Mephone, where the creator gives free will only for things to go awry? I think it's the second one (I'm groveling to the OSC overlords that it's the second one.)

Once Mephone got his memory back he knew just how behind everything Cobs was because he himself knew the extent of the show... Side tangent, Mephone is a great actor then, grade A top of the line. Probably gets it from his dad, given the theatrical performance we saw- But no really, Mephone IS smart, a lot smarter than he gives himself credit for honestly. Even if I don't believe he was puppeteering the contestants, he still made a diverse cast of characters and subtlely brought them together and tore them apart all without him hinting to the audience that he knew he made them. Sure the hints came along the way, but not directly from Mephone. Or at least I don't think so, please feel free to prove me wrong about that- I seriously don't know anything about this show anymore.

acutally going through the stages of grief because of a parody iphone- wtf is living. Am I even real?

[cheesybadgers]

There is going to be a wider point to this very specific rambling, but let's just start off by saying I live for a Steve corruption arc, particularly in relation to Carrillo. I still wish so badly we'd got more of those two without Javi in season 2, because can we just remember that despite all of his moral righteousness re: the helicopter incident, Steve specifically went looking for more violence after Javi told him Carrillo shot and murdered a kid? Like, his whole "Stop icing me out" thing was never about him condemning Carrillo. He saw how traumatised Javi was in the aftermath and instead of confronting Carrillo about that, he...spat the dummy because he wasn't invited to play (I'm not letting Javi off the hook either, because both he and Steve got over their outrage by the next episode, but that's a whole other post about the way the writers set up the flawed concept of morality in the entire show).

Something I wanted to tap into in the All In universe was Steve embracing that side of his character, especially in relation to Carrillo. And yeah, I may have added a lot of kinky sex into those fics lol, but I did also include a lot of character study as well (my favourite combination). And when I find some more creative energy from down the back of the sofa, I would like to re-visit those themes one day, especially because I don't think many people have.

So, anyway...meanwhile, I'm currently re-watching season 3 of a certain firefighter show and I've got to the episodes where Eddie starts illegal fighting as a way to (badly) cope with his grief. And oh man, the potential re: the whole fighting arc in fics. The way it could all be tied in with his repression, his need for control, his relationship with his sexuality and masculinity (hello violence as a metaphor for homoeroticism, my beloved), maybe the fighting tipping over into something else with one of his opponents which eventually leads him to a certain best friend and a journey to healing (but only after all the angst and him having his hot mess era, obvs). But I just haven't really been able to find existing fics exactly along those lines? Admittedly, there are almost 30K fics to filter through on AO3 and I've only scratched the surface, but I really thought more people would have leaned into these ideas (and maybe they have but I've just not found them yet).

But something I notice quite often in fandom, not just these specific ones (although I do know not all of them are like this), is even when the source material and the characters go dark and fucked up, thus opening the door for so much fic potential, the majority of the fandom don't want to go there lol.

I'm not even criticising really as people can and will write what they want, but it's just funny to me that my brain latches on to the more fucked up elements of a character's arc and goes 'Yes I'd like to read more about that, please' 😂

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

“That’s her choice.”  Tattletale repeated herself. “No!  That’s- that’s not her.  That’s the change I made doing the talking, or the aftermath of it.  Even if I removed all the neural connections that have been made since, there’s so much more in the emotional cocktails and hormonal balances.  She’s channeling it into anger instead of… instead of love.” Love.  The implications were so fucked up.  It was the sort of thing Heartbreaker did. She hugged her arms against her body.  There were tears in her eyes. “You need to fix her mind now.  For you, not for her.  Maybe she’ll forgive you at a later date, when she’s thinking clearly again,” Tattletale said.  “Maybe then she can approach you, you two can start interacting again, you rebuild that trust over months or years, and you can finish healing her body when she gives you her permission.” “Or I can fix her now, undo what I did and then walk away forever, because I don’t deserve forgiveness and she shouldn’t have to live like this because- because a wrong I committed fucked with her focus or made her too aggressive or-”

Tattletale isn't wrong here, not even close, and Amy absolutely should fix Vicky's mind now, but Amy's also not wrong that it's not quite that simple.

Amy has fallen into the trap her whole life has built for her, the idea that she's a monster, is only capable of being a monster and that's what she is and always will be, and she's now starting to commit to that path.

Now, even allowing for that, it shouldn't be hard for her to fix Vicky's mind and then keep healing her and then unparalyze her and just leave then. But Amy's mind is shot - as she said, she needs rest, I doubt the girl has had anything resembling good sleep either lately, and realistically she has ever right to fear she might get things wrong given how she got here in the first place.

The question continues to be not 'did she do wrong' (because she did, obviously, and will do worse), it continues to be 'what does what she did, and the mental state she was in, say about her more broadly'.

Very few people actually act like Amy did nothing wrong. Even before Wildbow 'revealed' his 'original meaning' of later scenes. People, acting on some of Wildbow's various errant words of god that he has long since decided to ignore, did sometimes believe Amy's moral culpability was more reduced than it (officially) is because of the Aura, or Broadcast or that more of this stuff was accidental or driven by Shaper messing with her mind, etc, but very few people actually said Amy did nothing wrong here unironically.

Almost all those "Woobie Amy" fics and notions that Wildbow supposedly saw that made him decide to be so damn spiteful in Ward have situations such that Amy doesn't do what she does here. The number of fics where Amy mind-controls Vicky, let alone actually wretches her or rapes her, that treat her sympathetically or like she's not some horrifying monster/villain/etc was almost certain and is almost certainly miniscule.

So it's hardly 'apologia' or 'whitewashing' her to write a story where she doesn't do this. I've hardly read every old Worm fic or Worm thread but I'm all but certain it was more just Wildbow fundamentally not understanding his own fandom, and certainly not understanding fanfiction. I already have proof from his own reddit posts he fundamentally doesn't understand fanfiction, so...

I just don't get people, and I sure as fuck don't get Wildbow or his Cult.

[milktearosethorn]

Oooh if you read MHA what did you think of the ending ?

Oh man.......... Where do I even start....

For context, I've adored MHA since season 1 of the anime first dropped. It was probably my main fandom for at least five years. The first fic I ever posted to AO3 was an MHA fic. I obsessively kept up with weekly manga leaks, and even helped translate the raw Japanese for friends in discord servers.

It was never a perfectly written manga, and I was fine with that. The writing was on the wall since the Overhaul Arc, where cracks started showing with character bloat, constant sidelining and awful treatment of female characters, and out of control power creep. I think the manga could've been a lot better if Horikoshi wasn't crushed by the brutality of the publishing demands of Shounen Jump. But I thought at its core, the story had a wonderful heart, and that was what kept me in love with it.

I fell out of MHA in around 2021 with the Deku vs Lady Nagant fight, because when she blew up from the AFO failsafe I pretty much rage quit over the fact that every time a woman got to do or be something cool, Horikoshi found a way to rip it away from us. I wasn't really feeling the story anymore, so my love for the manga became overshadowed with my frustration and I decided to move on for awhile (and then my friends got me into DSMP lol). Also the fandom was toxic AF and that was not helping. For instance, I have some criticisms of the overall writing of the Todoroki family plot, but some people chose to interpret every manga panel and line of dialogue in the worst faith imaginable, threw a fit over it every week, and it was just exhausting. The LOV were some of my favorite characters too, but that section of the fandom was a cesspool of negativity sometimes. (Of course, other portions of the fandom had their own issues too, but I wasn't around to see all of it).

I still kept tabs on the story to this day, and while I thought the final arc was heading into a rushed mess, I loved the thematic direction that the story was going in. That Midoriya, Uraraka, and Shouto were going to be better heroes than all that came before them by saving the villains.

Then, uh, we got the most depressing endings imaginable.

I could forgive the flaws of the ending and walk away from the story happy if it hadn't lost its heart along the way. It's just baffling to me that a series that began with the Deku saying "This is the story of how I became the greatest hero" ends with him failing to save the person who needed it the most. Shigaraki is the saddest character in the manga and Deku, our protagonist, who back in the Sports Festival Arc would break all his fingers twice over just to get through to a friend, had to kill him instead of saving him. It's bleak. It's a tragedy. And it makes no sense that we are experiencing this tragedy in the same chapter where somehow Edgeshot of all people survived by becoming a sentient worm on a string. Where Hawks's solution to fix a hero system that enabled domestic abusers to flourish and used assassins to 'keep the peace' is to hand out participation trophies. Like????? Meanwhile 17-year old Toga has to die of blood loss even though Gran Torino gets disemboweled on a monthly basis and Best Jeanist has no lungs. There's also the whole issue of how the story seemed to show that having a clear #1 hero and that responsibility being on one man's shoulders (All Might) was a bad thing. But then the power scaling got so out of control that the same burden was placed on Deku's shoulders 😭😭. I'm just baffled lol. It's so odd that we are flip-flopping between a bleak tragedy/cautionary tale and a cartoonishly simplistic way of looking at the world. Idek, but no matter what I wish the best for Horikoshi's health because I think it's clear that this manga took a huge toll on him.

[spumonibones]

I've noticed that yandere corrupted Venti pics are aplenty, but ...

I think a corrupted yandere Xiao fic has potential

Oh very much so, especially with the karmic debt, and the theory that Abyssal Corruption actually enhances your negative ambitions!! (Good stuff for twisting love from afar into an obsession that results in abandoning his post) I can probably type up at least af fic idea for it! Unfortunately at the moment I'm not at a point I could write a fic like that - still looking over my shoulder thanks to some personal experiences. These two have been a sort of "safe, comfort" ship since. But! I'm pretty sure I saw some fic summaries with that! When I find them, I'll send those your way! :]

As for a fic idea... Hmm. I know there's a popular Time Loop theory for Genshin. But, I'm not a big fan of it? Far too often those storylines get fumbled hard, and it would feel too much like a cop-out to escape the growing retcons instead of accepting that the story has changed since the game's start. (Which is pretty normal for games of this nature) Ah. Sorry. Anyway. There could be a parallel timeline. Maybe in that one, the Sinner from the Abyss acted sooner, and Teyvat has been coated in Abyssal energy? Oh, Xiao's beta design would work well for an Abyss-infected variation! (More under cut because WOW this got long??)

If his Barbatos died trying to stop the Sinner, it would be motivation to find ways of different times in which Barbatos still lives. Given the Monstadt story prologue, we know that Venti can get "poisoned" from Abyssal energy. If our... Let's call him, "Void Xiao," to mitigate confusion. As players we're taught to associate the Abyss Realm with the Abyss Order, though we've learned in Fontaine these don't always go hand in hand. Another term for the Abyss Realm is the Void Realm, so it'll function for these needs.

I looked up the definition of yandere, and included it for anyone that may need it! (I actually like this because it notes that this incorrectly tries to attribute these actions to mental illness. Individuals with mental illness are significantly more likely to be victims! When looking at "real life" examples of yandere attitudes, it's often individuals with no respect for the boundaries of others, and a sense of entitlement. No one owes anyone else their time or affection - always place firm boundaries, and if you ever feel unsafe do what you must to get out of the situation to be safe!!)

Back to the story idea! Hmm. Maybe VoidXiao got access to Forbidden Knowledge and that's how he jumped timelines...? If the Sinner took over Teyvat, the Heavenly Principles/Primordial One wouldn't be there to enforce the Laws they created. The whole world would be infected with Forbidden Knowledge and Void energy, and access would be easy. Don't quote me, but I'm pretty sure the game describes karmic debt to be different from Abyssal Corruption? But it (karmic debt) does sound similar to Forbidden Knowledge in its affects.

And if we go that karmic debt and Forbidden Knowledge ARE connected, he might even just have access to it as the Abyssal Corruption enhances that ambition to possess, and in a way protects him from succumbing to karmic debt to instead control it? Hmm. Might be bit of a stretch, but there's potential, maybe?

But, it would allow for a corrupted yandere Xiao! Though I feel like someone already wrote this...? Ah, if this is a fic summary I read and am just regurgitating, please let know the fic! 😭 I'll link it and delete my text if this is the case!

I'm sorry if this isn't a good request fulfillment orz

I think the first thing Void Xiao would do, is try to kill the main timeline Xiao and dump him in the Chasm where no one can find the body. Xiao could get saved by the Black Serpent knights, of whom are on a loop of protecting people and with the Abyssal Corruption on our Xiao, might mistake him for a dying hilichurl. The Fatui underground could then further help him identifying what they believe is an injured person and as we learn from them while in there, they aren't inherently bad people. I think they would genuinely try to help him, even with their limited resources.

Anyway, Void Xiao would split his attentions between capturing the time he lost with Barbatos, never being close enough to risk hurting Venti with the Abyssal energy (in Monstadt prologue, we get confirmation it "poisons" Venti when he gets hurt by it when the Traveler+Paimon interrupt him attempting to heal Dvalin). But also that distance is so Venti *can't* identify that Void Xiao is compromised. Lots of bittersweet moments, with Venti happy that what he thinks is his Xiao finally wants to spend time with him. Void Xiao savoring each visit, the painful reminder it could be so easily taken away again, that this was something he once refused and now sees was for silly reasons.

The other would be him trying to empower Venti by gathering more believers. I know there's general agreement that Venti is much stronger than he let's on, and I won't get into that discussion too much. But in this story, if however strong he is wasn't enough to survive the Sinner, Void Xiao would see fit to give him more strength to maybe stand a better chance when the time comes in this world. (Perhaps there was never a Traveler in his timeline, and that's why the Sinner acted sooner?)

I can see him rescuing people from old habits, telling them that Barbaros sent him to save them. Venti would notice more people going to the church, worshiping the statue. Would get a bit confused, why are people getting more into... That? All the while, Void Xiao is feeling jealous. He understands WHY everyone wants to fawn over Venti when he sings, when he plays music. But do they have to get so close? And Monstadt citizens start getting hurt, going missing. Venti recognizes the pattern, and while he investigates Void Xiao goes with, pretending he doesn't know who did it either. All while adoring how "kind" Venti is, even to worry about his "stalkers" (none on the citizens ever were).

Our Xiao has strength to call for help, and Zhongli comes. Gives him the adeptal drink to help stave off the mix of karmic debt and Abyssal Corruption threatening to consume him, too. His only resistance is that he SAW what he becomes if he let it, and that if he doesn't resist Venti WILL get hurt and he'll be helping to hurt him instead of warning him. Once strong enough, he struggles towards Monstadt, hoping he isn't too late.

Back over, Venti is noticing the trend and speaks with Dilic, well aware the man has also been following closely. They make a plan. Diluc pretends to be tipsy and be "too friendly" with Venti, and Venti "leaves." On Diluc's way back to the Dawn Winery, he gets attacked and is READY.

Except he's face to face with a demon. Diluc struggles in the fight, recognize the Abyssal energy his opponent is using. Venti shows up to help (he was tailing Diluc with enough distance), and is horrified to see the state Void Xiao is in, that HE'S the one that had been hurting people. Void Xiao holds Diluc hostage, telling Venti that he's doing what he has to. Doesn't Venti enjoy time with him, too? Doesn't Venti want to be with him? Venti asks him to let Diluc go. Diluc is one of his children, and was just pretending because Venti asked him to so he could find the culprit. He tries to reach out to the last goodness on Void Xiao, not wanting to hurt him but also trying to save Diluc.

Diluc is not blinded by the love that Venti is. He can very well see that Void Xiao is ready to kill Diluc once Venti isn't there to force the corrupted one to save face. He uses his Delusion (in Canon he has the one that killed his father), and the Pyro distracts/hurts Void Xiao enough he can put some distance. Venti helps hold off Void Xiao, and tells Diluc to run. Diluc doesn't want to leave, but Venti goes Full Barbatos and gives that look parents give to their kids to know they can either willingly go to their room or get carried to it. So Diluc runs, but back to Monstadt for backup.

Void Xiao, now terrified he's going to lose Venti again, shifts to more desperate measures. If Venti is corrupted, maybe he'll be safe? Maybe he'll understand? Too far deep into the affects of the Abyssal Corruption to realize this would kill Venti. So Void Xiao pleads - please? Won't Venti hold his hand while he succumbs to karmic debt? Playing on that kindness Venti has. And why would Venti refuse? Warped as Void Xiao is, he still thinks this is his Xiao! Yes, he'll get poisoned, but he'll just go to Windrise again to get cleansed.

Except Void Xiao grabs him, claws in and bites down so Venti can't get away without hang to literally rip the other off. The energy immediately starts trying to seep in, Venti struggling to get away, trying to find how to do so without hurting Void Xiao too much. Void Xiao is whispering it'll be okay, giving the soft kisses he always wanted to give but until then couldn't.

And then Xiao shows up, cutting clean off both Void Xiao's arms to save Venti. It's slow-mo. Venti turning, eyes widening to see his Xiao there, full of exhaustion but there. Xiao glaring at Void Xiao through his mask, more angry that he was killing Venti with cruelty while whispering how much he loved him. Void Xiao, who's eyes never leave Venti even as the corruption forms monstrous arms so he can "save" himself and Venti "from" this timeline's Xiao.

Diluc arrives with Jean, Kaeya, Rosaria, and Lisa (Jean knew, Kaeya and Lisa figured it out, and Rosaria learned about it while tailing Venti when doing her own investigation of the injured/missing citizens). Xiao orders them to get Venti to Windrise, as their best option is Barbatos not dying? But Void Xiao tries to prevent that, and it becomes a battle to not get infected themselves, and getting Venti who's getting weaker to the tree.

It's difficult and long, but they do get to Windrise. Venti gets stronger, Void Xiao gets weaker. And at the end, the last of the Abyssal Corruption leaving a dying Void Xiao, Venti holds him. Gives him those last moments that he never got. Afterwards, he checks on his children, on his Xiao. Everyone is hurt, but not tainted. Before Xiao leaves Venti tells him, "he told me that he regretted never spending time with me, and then it was too late." And then he asks, "Are you the same?" Hopeful that maybe, maybe all that time he spent with Void Xiao wasn't just the influence of Abyssal Corruption. That this isn't one-sided on Venti's part in this time.

"...I would like that." Xiao admits. Because his biggest regret in the Chasm, where he thought he might die... Was that he never spent time with Venti. Never got to be the reason the other smiled, and all this time... Now? He's learning Venti felt the same.

And so they do.

[encasedinobsidian]

Thoughts on writing - June 16 

I don’t expect anyone to read this, but I meant for this tumblr to be specifically for my writing after all, so I figure this is the place to put these thoughts, and anyone is welcome to read them if interested. I’m just reflecting on myself as a writer, how I relate to this hobby, and about feeling discouraged/lacking in meaning, and trying to figure out where to go with it when there are no clear paths ahead. 

I feel like I vent to my friends often but never really try to articulate my thoughts the way I do when I actually write, so maybe writing about writing will help me sort it out for myself. 

I never meant for writing to become much of anything at all. I started writing a fanfic, thought it was funny, and my intention was to post it and move on like I always move on from any other hobby, following the same pattern of interest → hyperfixation → creating something → getting bored → discovering something new. I had no experience with writing or fandom, and it was thanks to a tiktok on my FYP that I even discovered Pedro boy fanfic in the first place, though I found it insanely weird at first. My eventual amusement obviously turned into something much more significant, and I’ve found a lot of personal healing through writing, discovered different sides of myself, developed the ability to sustain the attention needed to read a full length book, etc. I guess the difficulty is knowing where to go with it. 

It’s funny - I frequently find myself thinking this sucks, why am I doing this, nothing interesting will come of this, my brain is empty, fuck this, about writing. And I say those things but then I write anyway. I say I’m done with it and thanks for the past 15 months, I’m out, and then a few hours later I’m on my doc coming up with something. I can’t really stop at this point, it’s like my internal monologue got a physical manifestation and now it’s something I just do. At any given time, I can open my docs and add something to some story, regardless of where I am. It’s like a reflex at this point, and I have no control over it. I put my hands on the keyboard and things just come out one way or another. 

I frequently feel like I’ve reached the end of my own ability, though, or the end of what I’m capable of creating. I was never an avid reader, so there’s a foundational understanding of storytelling that I largely feel like I don’t have. I’ve read more in 2024 than I have in my whole life, actually finishing books instead of reading the first quarter over and over, so I essentially feel a bit dumb or lacking in knowledge about what makes a story interesting. I really, truly have no idea what I’m doing, I don’t know any conventions I’m supposed to follow. I pretty much know the concept of “showing not telling” and that’s it. I also know the typical series buildup of the angst peaking, conflict, resolution, which I'm now trying not to do so I don't repeat myself too much across series. I’ve also read a lot of things (both books and fics) that I very much enjoy but that don’t match my inner voice at all really, and ended up feeling less than as a writer because certain styles of writing don’t come naturally to me. Reading American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis was the first time I read something and thought, wow, this actually reads very naturally to me, especially after a year of feeling like my inner voice is wrong or oversimplified or dumbed down. 

And even though we all write for ourselves, we are all affected by our audience. I’ve been sort of brutal in unintentionally cutting down my own audience by moving platforms and no longer writing the things that gained me my following in the first place, and I guess I’ve done it as part of my constant, neverending, extreme need for authenticity of some sort, and a hatred for being boxed in or expected to do things I don’t want to do. Truthfully, I don’t know what my audience wants from me, and even if I knew, I probably wouldn’t be able to cater to it. If I put out a poll and asked what people wanted to see from me, the overwhelming majority would likely say Joel Miller with no real specifics on what type of story they’d want to see, or they’d want my rendition of something they’re already familiar with. And there’s nothing wrong with that at all, I’m very flattered by everyone enjoying my takes on that man, but I guess I’m in this place where I’ve spent so much goddamn time on writing and I need to figure out who I am as a writer completely outside of that. 

One of my writing colleagues said that I’m very mercurial, and I’d never thought much about that word at all despite how well it describes how I’ve been my entire life. I can never seen to make up my mind on things, and I’m frequently changing, removing stuff, my writing style changes as I deepen my understanding of the story, my characters etc, as I take more things into consideration and expand my own view. 

To put it in Patrick Bateman terms: this reflection…. Has meant…. Nothing. And it’s true - there is no real meaning to it, cause it’s me sitting here at 6pm, looking out my window and trying to find meaning and direction in a hobby that is a completely open landscape, and where it seems like publishing is the only real goal one can have. Either that or internet success. I don’t know, I’m not sure where I’m going with any of it and who will want to read it. I guess I have a fear that everyone who has ever followed me only wants me around as yet another source of endless Joel fic and that nobody really has an interest in my writing for what it is, or for the writer I am. I don’t try to be like anyone else - everyone sees things differently, and my fics are just a representation of how all these different scenarios look in my mind. My hope is that the people who enjoy my writing regardless of characters enjoy my writing because they enjoy my POV, or enjoy the attention paid to the things I emphasize. 

Maybe I’ll come up with something more concise next time, but this has been my writing journal entry for now !! 

[inkblot22]

I just read the azul request and your writing was so goooddd. If you don't mind, i'm curious what happened with their friendship after that. Is darling would end the friendship or forced to still in the friendship because her "kind" personality?

Thank you! I'm honestly planning on making time to do some more editing on that one because when I reread it, there are a few odd spacing incidents and typos.

Anyhow! I'll put this under the cut so that people who don't want to read about this don't have to scroll past a wall of text, but be warned that this is a little heavy:

So, before I get to the good stuff, in the original request said a people-pleaser and anxious darling, but people-pleasers are some of the most anxious people I know. They're constantly stepping all over themselves to allow others to treat them like a doormat. It's incredibly sad to watch, and while it can be mistaken for kindness, people-pleasing is more so indicative of a lack of self-respect. People-pleasers look for validation from others based on how strongly they dislike themselves, imo. So Azul's darling is... struggling.

Okay, on to the good stuff in headcanon format:

+ To put it very plainly: No, they're not friends anymore but that's not really the main issue.

+ So within the fic, there is a point in which Azul's darling just blindly signed a contract. If Azul is nothing else, he is a capitalist- to put it alternatively, he consistently takes advantage of other peoples' weaknesses and faults in order to benefit himself.

+ Because his darling never reads the contract, she doesn't get context and, therefore, neither do people who read that fic without coming to look at this post. I know this is a shit move on my part but this is a clarification thingy. His darling doesn't get to know that Azul mistook his fondness for her stroking his ego for him being in love with her, she doesn't get to know that he misunderstood her rambling at Jade for her having a crush on him, and she doesn't get to know that he wrote that contract, banking completely on her blind trust in him so she'd either just go along with the contents or not look at them at all.

+ Azul lucked tf out in that area, honestly. Within the contract are clauses upon clauses of legalese that forces his darling to remain by his side, unless Crowley finds a way to get her home (never going to happen) or she literally dies.

+ Of course, from his darling's POV, it'd be ridiculous to continue being friends with someone who, quite literally, raped her. Hopefully this post doesn't get me shadowbanned again becs I said the r-word. The issue comes in with her inability to get out.

+ She'd be tentative, more so than usual, because she would be stuck with someone who she immediately lost all respect for, but since she's stuck with him and, as previously established, has low self-esteem, there's a high chance that she will start to believe that she deserved it in some capacity.

+ Trauma manifests in really odd ways, and one of those ways is a ton of guilt. Bone-crushing, soul-rending guilt. Anxiety makes you believe some really weird stuff sometimes, so it's also very likely that she hyperfixates on one thing she did, blaming her own actions instead of the whole bastard who did this to her. Like, 'Oh, I shouldn't have mentioned birth control," or "I should have tried on the other outfit first, not this dress."

+ Obviously, Azul knows that her mental health is shit. He takes advantage of it throughout the whole fic, and it only makes sense that he continues to do so. One could even say that Azul never even saw her as a friend and only as a fancy accessory. She's arm candy, because unless there are some female teachers, she is the only woman on campus. That's a big flex, or something. Idk, men are weird.

+ Regardless, it's very hopeless for Azul's darling. He's scarily powerful in multiple fields and has connections everywhere. Even if she believed she had the ability to get out, she cannot. Hence the power imbalance tw in that fic.

[masterwords]

the shape you take

Summary: Hotch is sad. Jack is just about to turn 18, Hank is spending the summer with his mom and he's dwelling on the empty nest. Morgan has just the ticket: sea, sand, food and naps. Fun in the sun and the sack. While exploring a nude beach one night they find a little more than they bargained for. (Part of The Chicago Times series)

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 8.8k

Warnings: sex (not explicit details, just "hey they're having sex" type thing), food & alcohol, mentions of Foyet’s knife, scars (both of them), murder/corpse/blood, an inappropriate boner situation...

Read on AO3: the shape you take

Notes: This is my first entry for @imagining-in-the-margins CM Summer Sunshine Fic Challenge. I used one of the NSFW prompts but this is basically PG-13 because I don’t really write smut, just some sexy vibes. The prompts I chose were: Character A finally convinces B to go to the beach with them. Turns out it's a nude beach mixed with The sun makes Characters sleepy, so they take a nap. (They take a lot of naps. They're old.) There are a couple more from the list that I hope to write for before the challenge is finished, but we’ll see where the summer takes me! The end here is purposely left open for a special surprise...another collab with @domestikhighway58! Because writing with hwy58 is a dream and I want to do it all the time. To be unveiled soon-ish. (How's that for noncommittal?) (I'm posting the whole thing here, I haven't done that in a while...do you want me to go back to that or keep just linking AO3?)

**

Win by persuasion, not by force.

All spring Derek had been dropping hints. Little ones at first. He would add feta cheese to salad one night at dinner, or watch Hercules with Hank when he knew Aaron was going to be coming home from work or a run. Nothing big, but he knew Aaron would pick up on it eventually.

As they approached summer, the tactics became a little less subtle. There was a brochure stuck to the freezer, and a bottle of Greek red wine opened after dinner on Derek’s last day of work for the summer. Aaron had been done a week earlier. They waited to celebrate until everyone was finished and on summer break.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Aaron asks, pouring the wine and watching the boys set the table. Hank likes to fold the napkins while Jack sets out the silverware. Too many years separate them and yet Jack has been drawn closer to him in the last few months as he realizes how close he is to moving out, not seeing his little brother every day. He’d waited years to have one and it feels like it’s over way too soon. He wants to go to college in New York, but Hank makes him want to stay in Chicago instead. The thought of not being here, of missing big milestones, is crushing. Some small part of him thinks he knows how his dad must have felt missing his milestones for work – first words, first steps, first day of school, first everything. He’s going to move to New York and he’s going to miss all sorts of big moments.

“I’m not trying to tell you anything,” Derek replies, scooting between the counter and Aaron, pressing in so close they barely have room to breathe. “I am telling you something.”

“When?” Aaron asks, because he knows better than to ask stupid questions. If Derek has the brochure and he’s laying it on this thick, he’s already booked the trip. And that’s okay, because Aaron spent too many years in complete control of everything and watching it all fall spectacularly to pieces...he’s shockingly willing to go with the flow these days.

At least to some degree.

“Jack leaves for New York on the 19th, Savannah’s picking Hank up on the 22nd, and my mom and sisters leave on the 25th. So, we’re leaving on the 25th. We’ll drive them to the airport and then hop on a plane ourselves.”

“When do we come back?”

“I booked the hotel for two weeks but...let’s just play it by ear huh?”

Play it by ear. That phrase would have struck fear into Aaron’s heart a few years ago. Sometimes he still feels like he’s going to make plans and then get a phone call that pulls him back to the BAU. It’s a hard habit to break even after all of these years.

“Two weeks in Greece. Where?”

“We’ll fly to Athens, spend a few days there, and then take the ferry over to Milos. I booked us an ATV rental so we can go wherever we want. We can do some day trips to other islands, go hang out on Crete and do all your nerdy shit...plus beaches, food, hiking, nightlife. Our room on Milos has its own private saltwater pool.”

“Private?” Aaron likes the sound of private. He’s not very interested in all that nightlife type stuff but a private pool? That he can get behind. Of course, if Derek asked him to dance he could hardly turn him down.

“I’ll show you pictures after dinner.”

Jack’s going to be 18 in a few months. This is his last summer of high school. He’s decided to skip sports and summer camps in lieu of spending two months living with Sean who has done good things with his life in his time since being released from jail. Sean who has earned, in Aaron’s eyes, his shot at redemption. What Aaron learned as a young teenager being packed off to boarding school, Sean had to learn through just over three years in a small cell, stripped of his liberties. Better late than never. Jack is old enough now to handle himself anyway, he’s more than proven his own responsibility in their years living in Chicago. He drives all over the city, he doesn’t break curfew, he’s really a little too good. It scares Aaron sometimes that he’s not out there causing trouble. Giving them hell. Just another way he thinks he’s broken his son.

He knows that isn’t the case though. Since Jack turned twelve, he’s had Derek and Fran and Sarah and Desiree and Savannah. He’s always had Jessica and Roy, he never doubted his mother’s love for an instant. His support system is full of incredible strength. Aaron knows that even if he’s failed, none of them have. But this trip to Greece, he can tell it’s Derek’s way of trying to pull him out of this spiral he’s sauntering into. This deep well of sadness at his son growing up and moving out, this empty feeling that he’s losing the last part of Haley that was never his to keep in the first place.

“What are you hiding?” Jack asks over dinner. He can tell they’re sitting on something. They’re terrible at keeping secrets.

“Not hiding anything,” Derek says, handing Hank his plate full of cut up steak and salad. “I just told your dad where I’m taking him for summer vacation.”

Jack rolls his eyes and huffs, visibly relieved. “Finally. I thought you’d have to take him all the way to the airport for him to get it.”

“I had a lot going on,” Aaron says a little defensively. It isn’t like he didn’t see Derek’s hints, but his mind was simply not present enough to try and guess why Derek was going crazy for Greece. “Final exams, your trip to New York…”

“Dad.”

Aaron throws his hands up in exasperation and smiles. “Take it easy on your old man. This is a hard time.”

Jack stops at that, he knows the idea of him moving out is killing his dad slowly. They’ve been on their own together for so long now he’s a little scared himself. “Well, you guys have to send tons of pictures.”

“Of course.”

Aaron cries when he hugs Jack goodbye at the airport. He manages to wait until Jack is far enough away that he doesn’t see it, but Jack knows it’s happening, he knows his dad cries easily so he doesn’t turn around. He saves him the trouble of trying to hide it. And he calls the minute his plane lands at JFK to let his dad know he’s safe and just as planned (and on time), Sean is waiting for him.

Savannah shows up a day early unannounced, her flight was changed due to weather. She sleeps in Jack’s room and spends a little more time in the city with family than expected. It’s a nice surprise for them all, and keeps Aaron from feeling too gutted at Jack’s absence. Having a full house means he’s making coffee and planning meals and making sure everyone is taken care of, it hardly leaves him any time at all to worry about whether Jack is getting into trouble in New York. (He’s not. Nothing too bad anyway. Sean might have encouraged him to live a little...but they’ll keep that to themselves. Sean is reformed, he’s no angel.)

When Savannah takes Hank, and it’s just the two of them for a few days, they spend their time preparing their house to sit empty for weeks. They have people lined up to come check on things, get the mail, mind the yards but for the most part it’ll just sit. They pack their bags and eat off of paper plates in the days leading up to their trip. They empty their cupboards and refrigerator. It feels like working in the BAU, never being able to keep anything perishable on hand just in case. Aaron always joked that it was incredible that none of them ended up with scurvy.

At the airport, they walk Derek’s mom and sisters to their gate. Off to Hawaii, a vacation paid for by he and Aaron. A sort of thank you for taking care of them, for helping with Hank, for everything. “All inclusive means all inclusive, mom,” Derek says as he wraps her in a hug. “You put on the little bracelet and you don’t pay for a damn thing. You want a piña colada? You get one. You want a meal? You get one. Don’t skimp okay?”

“Oh, believe me...I won’t be…” Desiree says with a smirk and Sarah agrees.

“Gonna make sure I drink every drop you paid for.”

“Girls!”

Fran still can’t believe she’s going to Hawaii. She’s never been on a plane that’s gone farther than Virginia. She’s never been west. She’s anxious to fly over the ocean, but more than that, she just can’t believe her son is in a place now that he’s married and buying tropical vacations for her and his sisters like it’s nothing. If you asked her where she saw her life going when her husband died and she was thrust into being a single mother struggling to survive on the south side of Chicago, this wouldn’t have ever occurred to her.

“Be safe on your trip,” she says as she hugs Aaron around the neck. “Don’t let him do anything dangerous. I don’t want any pictures of him jumping off of cliffs or swimming in the open ocean.”

“I don’t want any of that either,” Aaron says, knowing with absolute certainty that if Derek wants to do either of those things he won’t be able to stop him. He’d like to say that he wouldn’t be doing those things, but if Derek grabbed him by the hand and asked him to jump off of a cliff into the crystal blue water, or climb down off of a boat and swim in the open sea...he isn’t sure he could say no, even if he wanted to.

“Don’t let him eat too much cheese, it makes him sick,” Fran adds, still holding Aaron’s neck. He nods.

“I know.”

“And you! Don’t you worry about Jack or the house or...anything. Don’t get sunburned. Eat good food. Smile. Have fun. Make memories.”

“You too.”

(x)

He’s drunk on sunshine and the sound of waves. On blood red wine and salty, briny cheeses and oil soaked olives. Decadence never appealed to him, but being here on their private patio, his feet dangling in a small private pool and staring out at the Aegean Sea that’s about as lazy and warm as he feels right now he wonders why. Derek is sleeping on the bed just inside the sliding doors, bathing in glorious sunlight. A cat nap, he said over an hour ago. At their age a cat nap tends to turn into an afternoon lost to dreams.

They started the nap together, lazy and lounging, twisted tangled limbs and feather soft kisses as they drifted off. But he was hungry so he got up before he managed to fall completely asleep. Untangled himself from Derek’s sweaty grip and padded barefoot toward the fridge for some food. Cheese and olives left over from their breakfast, an apple sliced with some honey. He’s practically starving by the time he’s sitting on the balcony with a plate on his lap watching the seagulls and the cats battle for scraps that the tide left behind.

He’s never loved the beach. Sand gets everywhere, it smells bad, and people are rude. They rarely stay in their own areas, you have to fight for a space. Too crowded. He wonders how people find it at all relaxing. But this? Overlooking the beach from his own balcony, this is good. No sand, all ocean as far as he can see. Islands in the distance. He counts them off mentally, notes which ones they’ve already traveled to, visualizes his way through them. Storing those memories tight in there. He doesn’t want to forget a moment and he’s afraid he already has.

Beside him is a journal, just a little notebook filled with shorthand and chicken scratch, things he wants to do and things he wants to remember to tell Jack about. It calms the storm in his mind to have it all written down.

Jack is pulling away, naturally, but Aaron got a text the day before with a photo of him eating with Beth and Sean. She insisted on seeing him when she came on a work trip, and Aaron thinks she’s more beautiful than ever. He still loves her a little, he never really falls out of love with anyone. People imprint on him and he can’t let them go. It doesn’t make any difference, he knows Derek still feels the same about Savannah. It just works for them.

“How long did I sleep?” Derek’s voice floats through the room, out onto the patio on the breeze. His words are jumbled and muffled by the pillow his face is still smashed into. Aaron smiles.

“A while,” is his reply. He’s trying to let go of itineraries and timelines. He’s trying not to look at clocks at all, really. Clocks remind him of time passing and he’s better off without that on his mind. “Not too long.”

“Mmmfff…” Derek mumbles and Aaron can hear the sleep smile, the way his eyes are still closed and he’s considering whether to let himself go back to sleep or get up and rummage through the cupboards himself. His shoulders are a mountain of bronze and Aaron glances back into the room, thinks about the way they would taste, the skin salty and warm against his lips. He’s tempted to get out of the pool, and then he decides he might lay a trap instead to get Derek to come to him.

“I have a snack,” He offers. It’s almost too easy. “I might share it with you.”

“What’s the catch?” Derek asks, sitting upright and scrubbing his hands down his face. He’s sweaty, the humidity drenches his skin and he needs a shave again already. Aaron can’t take his eyes off of Derek out here, it’s like the light is in love with him, it paints him in a way that Aaron can’t resist. He’s carved from the cliffs and chiseled by the hands of the gods. Meanwhile, Aaron is pretty sure he just looks like a drowned rat. His hair, a little too long for his taste, hangs limp where it would normally be mussed up and messy against his will. An unruly mop, now tamed by humidity.

“No catch.”

“Alright, then what’s it gonna cost me?”

Aaron smiles and tilts his face to the sky expectantly. He’s waiting for Derek to appear above him. “A kiss.”

A kiss is a dangerous thing and as they slip easily into the still pool water unclothed, Aaron thinks they’re bound to end up back in the bed sooner rather than later. The water is a cool break from the oppressive heat of the afternoon sun. Aaron dunks himself first, goes under like a torpedo and slicks his hair back from his eyes when he surfaces. Derek put a headband on him the other day and on principal he hated it, but he didn’t take it off either, at least not for a while. It kept the hair out of his eyes. Derek said he looked cute. The water works just as well now. Derek stares at him in awe and smiles, thumbs smoothing over the droplets that cling to Aaron’s eyelashes.

“You are gorgeous,” he muses, hands cupping Aaron’s jaw, leaning in for a kiss. They wrap around one another, limbs tangling, turning and bouncing weightless in the aquamarine. “Do you even have any idea?”

Aaron hums. It’s a delighted sound that Derek craves, it means he’s in the mood for a little more than kissing. Moving together in unison, their bodies making ripples across the otherwise calm surface, they can’t seem to keep their hands off of each other. Aaron envisioned historical site visits and hikes, ferry trips between islands, all sorts of excursions and so far the thing he’d explored the most was the expanse of Derek’s body. With two kids at home, they don’t get as much alone time as they’d like and it’s just about all they can think to do now. They’re going to have to stay an extra week just to actually experience more than just the inside of a hotel room.

“Wanna go inside?” Derek asks, nose pressed against Aaron’s shoulder, littering kisses amid saltwater droplets. Aaron moans deep and sonorous.

“Absolutely,” he smiles, head lolling back, adam’s apple bobbing dangerously. Derek licks and bites, lifts Aaron into his arms and turns until he’s floating on his back, Aaron on top of him. He kicks and pushes them toward the steps, dipping below the surface once or twice, turning until he’s on top, acrobatics they’re old pros at a week into this hotel. Dancing in the water has become a sort of specialty. Naughty synchronized swimming. Neither of them wants to get out, the foreplay is just as fun, chilly fingers working at delicate skin, hips rocking and muscles twitching.

Inside, they dry off quickly and leap into the bed before their skin adjusts to the temperature of the room again. The sex is languorous and slow, they have nowhere to be, no one expecting them. Afterward they shower, still touching, still kissing, they almost head back to bed except they’re both starving. They come to an agreement that they need to make their way into town for dinner after discussing the possibility of one more quick fuck. It isn’t in the cards, though. Derek is about to gnaw his own arm off he says, so they dress and start their slow evening walk. The ATV sits in its spot waiting for them to take some interest in something other than sex and a walk to town.

They’ve eaten at the same restaurant the last three nights in a row, it’s never as busy as the others and the owners don’t mind the way that they want to just sit quietly and eat their way through small plates of everything with bottles of wine. They’ve tried a lot of the menu, and now the cooks are just sending the plates on the fly. Testing things out.

The owners, an elderly couple with gnarled hands and twinkling eyes the color of the Aegean, like to listen to their stories (the less terrible ones anyway, they spare them that). They look at these two men, Aaron with his salt and pepper hair that’s definitely got a lot more salt these days lighting up his temples and Derek with his goatee that’s shimmering with silver sparkles and they can’t believe they carried guns and caught serial killers. “It sounds like a movie,” one of them says in a thick accent that makes Aaron melt. “It can’t be real.”

But they have pictures. The two of them in the office, candid shots that remind them of days gone by. Days they miss with every fiber of their beings but wouldn’t repeat for anything. Days when taking a nap seemed as absurd as the sky suddenly turning bright yellow. Now, missing a nap is ludicrous. They get off work in the early afternoon and siesta before they even decide what to make for dinner. Vacation just means more naps, and it does seem crazy that there was a time in Aaron’s life that he needed to carry two weapons or that he was put in the hospital by a serial killer. It’s like a different life, a different person. He can understand why they don’t exactly believe him.

“Baba ganoush,” Derek says as soon as they sit down. It’s become his favorite food in the world since they landed in Athens. Since they made their way from Athens to Milos. He’d eat it with a spoon if that were socially acceptable, he likes it that much. And here, they drench it in olive oil and pine nuts and thick green parsley. Aaron chooses small plates of seafood that make Derek squirm in his seat, prawns with their eyes still staring at him and octopus tentacles purple and swirling and spiraling over the edge of the plate dramatically. Aaron is an adventurous eater now. He always had it in him but his job made him paranoid and sick, ulcers eating away at him from the inside. There are still plenty of days when he walks around with an ache deep in his stomach, but it’s less to do with food and more to do with how his body functions after Foyet played mad surgeon with him.

Aaron’s favorite is the fried anchovies. It’s the only thing Derek has tried that he won’t touch again. “It’s like cat food with extra salt. The bones are like little razors,” he’d said, swallowing it only because he didn’t want to be rude. He really wanted to spit it into his napkin.

Their table is full of tiny plates, dips and seafood and breads. Olive oil and bread is a constant. Derek can’t remember the last time he ate so many carbs so happily. They’ll get full and lean back, sipping their wine contentedly until there’s room and then eat a little more. Whatever doesn’t get eaten is taken back to their little hotel fridge and they’ll snack on it the rest of the night and maybe even for breakfast, though they do like wandering into town to find food for breakfast just after the sun has crested the horizon.

“So, I was thinking,” Derek says as they walk back to the hotel hand in hand. They each have a to-go box in the other hand. “You wanna go check out that ancient theater they got up on that hill? Go drop this off, grab the ATV and explore?”

“You mean leave the hotel room for more than food?” Aaron asks with mock surprise.

Aaron smiles and nods before Derek can respond. He can’t imagine anything better than absorbing more history. They’d made plenty of stops while in Athens but nothing so far here. He’s nowhere near his limit. “Leave the notebook,” Derek tells him when they drop off their food and grab a blanket. “You can write it down later.” It might be hot during the day but it gets chilly at night, the briny wind coming in off of the sea is bound to make Aaron shiver. He used to poke fun at him for how his blood seemed to run like rivers of ice, a blessing in the heat when he wants to wear his suits on a case in Florida but when they’re in Alaska and his lips are nearly blue even in his big puffy coat it’s a little problematic. He’d always run cold, but after Foyet, after his heart stopped and too much of his blood was spilled...he can’t seem to shake a chill when it settles in his bones. Here it’s only a minor inconvenience, nothing a blanket draped around his shoulders won’t fix in a snap.

The ATV ride is nice. Aaron clings to Derek’s back, relaxes against him with his hands on his hips and watches the scenery creep by. They don’t go fast, this is the most new that they’ve seen in days. He’s taking it all in.

They’re the only ones in the carved marble and stone theater for a long time. It’s just before sunset, close enough that all of the tourists have ambled away from the other sights and headed for the higher ground, the places they can get their pictures so everyone they’ve ever (or never) met can see what they see. Selfies are king and everyone wants the shot. They aren’t interested in that, they don’t even have social media. For a variety of reasons, perhaps, not the least of which is simply that they covet their privacy.

That doesn’t stop them from taking hundreds of photos, though. They just keep those photos close.

Derek takes pictures of Aaron, his aquiline profile against the glow of dawn, his feet in the sand, his thick fingers against the delicate stem of a wine glass...all of the little pieces of him that he adores so much. A former bomb tech, Derek obsesses over small details. The way the early morning sun plays with the silver at Aaron’s temples or the band-aids he’s always got over skinned knuckles and broken nails. Aaron favors a wider angle, candid shots from far away, admiring the way Derek seems to fit into the strange lunar landscape, terrain created by ancient gods. He looks crafted from their sunbeams and Aaron can’t get enough of the way the sun plays with his skin. He aims his camera as Derek splashes through waves, as he jumps from the highest rock he can find with slicing precision, as he leaps into the ocean from a small boat. He captures Derek napping on a hammock on a boat in the middle of the sea before he lays his camera down to do the same. He clicks the shutter when Derek is laughing at a story he’s being told or learning how to do something new with that intense look of determination and curiosity.

In their old age, they’re kind of obsessed with each other. And neither of them feels bad about it.

“Let’s take our clothes off and have some fun tonight,” Derek says with a slow grin. He’s not even worried Aaron is going to say no, they’re too far in now. Aaron has scaled rock cliffs for him, climbed down (and then back up) ladders and ropes and through steep canons of red rock to get to a secluded little beach. They’re sitting alone in the center of an ancient Greek theater and Aaron is so wrapped up in the idea of watching a performance or a speech here that he doesn’t even give Derek’s question any thought, he simply agrees. Fun sounds good. Fun with Derek always sounds good.

“What kind of fun?” Aaron asks curiously, already knowing that he’s going to do it regardless of the answer. He’s loosened up but he’s still Aaron Hotchner. He doesn’t like to be kept in the dark. Surprises make him uneasy. And more to the point, the idea of sex on the beach is less than appealing no matter what. It doesn’t matter that his husband is a bronze sun god, he doesn’t want sand in his mouth or his ass and that’s pretty final.

“We’re pretty close to a beach that lets you drop your trousers...go all natural...”

“Nothing too crazy. I don’t want sand inside of me but...maybe just…” he starts, ready to suggest that they start fooling around at the beach and head back to their hotel for the rest. He stops mid-sentence when an elderly couple amble past them, two rows down, hardly seeming to mind the conversation they’d been privy to moments before. They lower their voices anyway.

“Please. I did all those boring castle tours.”

“They weren’t boring,” Aaron mutters a little indignantly. Derek kisses his knuckles and smiles.

“No, they weren’t. They were awesome. I just think you’d have a great time...it’s really freeing taking your clothes off. You could use a little freeing.”

Aaron thinks about Jack going off to spend most of his summer in New York. His last summer at home as a child and he wants to be away for most of it...Aaron can hardly begrudge him that, he saved up money all year in order to do this on his own. He’ll be home next summer and they’ll spend the whole thing together as a family, doing everything and doing nothing, Jack promised him that. It’s a give and take with a grown child. But then he thinks about Jack going to college in a year and it makes his chest ache. Around that kind of tightness he thinks he can’t handle any more freedom. They still have Hank. Sweet little Hank who went from only child to youngest and is about to go back to only in many ways. His grasp of the situation is tentative at best, it’s going to be a big adjustment. Derek sees the darkening in Aaron’s eyes and pulls him close, kisses him on the temple. “I know. You don’t need more freedom. I get it. But I want you so bad I can hardly stand it…I’m your ball and chain, baby...you can’t get free of me.”

“I don’t mean to eavesdrop,” the woman says, startling both of them. The couple is now closer, standing over them from behind. Aaron freezes against Derek’s chest, mortified that these people heard them talking about their rabid libido, but he can’t be bothered for long. Her husband looks mortified. She looks pleased. She’s wearing bright blue pants and a white shirt, she’s clearly gone out of her way to match her surroundings. He can’t quite place her accent. “But I overheard you mentioning finding a...natural...beach? We go every night. You’re right, it is freeing. I’ll show you the beach we like, Harold get the map. It’s busy in the daytime but it empties in the evening. Most families head up to the church to see the sunset, leaving the beach to us.”

Aaron is mortified but Derek is beaming. “What’s your name?”

“Catherine,” she says and Aaron watches the flush in her cheeks when Derek takes her hand and kisses it. “This is my husband Harold.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Aaron says, shaking Harold’s hand.

She hands them her map and Aaron looks at it intently, though he doesn’t bother to tell her he’s already practically memorized the thing. It’s folded in his journal back at their hotel. She points to the beach and to the cove with a smile, her massive collection of gold bracelets crusted with jewels dragging and making the sound of wind chimes. She smells like peonies and roses with a faint underscore of denture cream. He likes her instantly.

“Will you be there tonight?” Derek asks. She smiles bright with her crimson painted lips and nods. Harold, a little more reserved but no less flashy in his brown suit and gold chain, gives a little shrug.

“More than likely. We just can’t stay away. You take a bottle of wine and a blanket, you find yourself a little nook and you enjoy yourself. What more could you want in life?”

Derek nudges Aaron with his elbow. “What more could you want?”

Aaron can think of a few things, perhaps, but he smiles and offers agreement.

The sunset is glorious, and Derek really wants to head down to the beach right away but Aaron looks tired. He didn’t take a nap earlier and it’s catching up to him now. There’s a special little flicker of premonition that comes with knowing a person as well as Derek knows Aaron, and he can see the future: they’ll get to the beach, and Aaron will fall fast asleep if they lay down on the sand. The conditions will be too perfect. He’ll have to practically carry him back to the hotel, and there will be no sex.

That won’t do, so he compromises. “Let’s go take a little nap,” he says, pressing his nose to Aaron’s cheek. “We’ll head down to the beach when it’s almost dark.”

“Set an alarm.” That means he’ll sleep all night if they don’t. Derek heeds the warning and sets his alarm for one hour.

There isn’t anyone on the beach when they show up and make their way around to the little cove their new acquaintances told them about. During the daytime they imagine the place is flooded with people, flesh and kissing and as Harold put it with his wry little smile: “debauchery”. He’d told them about their first time, showing up just after lunch and feeling as though they’d joined an orgy. They enjoyed themselves fine but prefer the solitude of dusk. Derek thinks the daytime hours would be a kick and a half and plans to get around to a trip on his own down that way, but with Aaron he’ll stick to the dark.

“How about right here?” Derek asks, spreading the blanket up next to the cliff wall. They have a perfect view of the sea, the last bursts of sunlight barely cresting the horizon and fighting with the silvery shreds of moonlight filtering through blinking stars. They each have a bag full of provisions, snacks and drinks, flashlights and other beach necessities that they set down on each side of the blanket to pin it in place against the breeze skating in off the sea. Derek wastes no time at all stripping, his shorts are around his ankles immediately and he’s tearing at his shirt before he even steps out of them. Aaron is a little more timid, but he gets there. He’s looking around, over his shoulder, out at the sea for fishing boats, anyone whose eyes might be on him.

He hadn’t been cold before, but now his skin is flush with goosebumps and his nipples could cut diamonds. He folds his arms over his chest and bounces on the balls of his feet a little. Derek wraps his sun-soaked arms around Aaron and shares the warmth from his internal furnace.

“You’re a big baby.”

“I know.”

“Huge.”

“I’m aware, thank you.”

Aaron has always been self-conscious, his scars are huge and eye-catching. They look exactly like what they are: knife wounds. They don’t look like they could be anything else. He imagines how he’ll explain them without frightening people, and it inevitably ends up with him leaving his shirt on to save everyone the trouble. It makes people visibly uncomfortable. And his back? Well it’s a little easier to explain away through lies – bicycle wrecks, falling out of tree houses, the kind of stories that indicate an idyllic country childhood spent in the open air getting into all sorts of trouble. He doesn’t feel bad lying about those to strangers. They’re messy. But the scars on his front, there’s no good excuse for those. They’re severe and precise and there’s no palatable explanation for them.

But Derek’s chest is scarred too, a huge track of melted skin all the way down his sternum. Hotch looks at that and sees incredible strength and resilience, he sees triumph over his captors, he sees survival. What Derek accomplished in that cabin on his own makes Aaron swell with pride for him. Derek oozes confidence – the scar is a story that belongs to him, and when people ask he just says it was an on-the-job injury the same as the bullet scars, the same as anything else. And he says it so casually that no one really bothers to ask for more information, they just stare in awe at this miraculous man in front of them. But Aaron can’t seem to gather that same kind of confidence without his suit and tie. An on the job injury that involved nine stab wounds? What kind of thing is that? And all he really had to do to get out of it was stay awake. It’s hardly as impressive.

He doesn’t have much time to consider it because he feels a soft tickle at his ankle and looks down to find a cat. Scruffy and orange, the cat purrs loudly and slides against his shin one direction and then back. Glancing around, he realizes it isn’t the only one. They’re surrounded by curious cats. “I read about this,” Hotch says in awe. “They live in these caves.”

“Just a bunch of cave pussy, huh?”

Aaron gives Derek a disapproving look but cracks a smile anyway, he’s funny, he can’t help it. His crass humor has only gotten worse as he’s gotten older. In mixed company it makes Aaron blush.

“Let’s see where they live,” Aaron says. Derek jumps at a chance to explore a little of the area and honestly the idea of wandering through a cave completely naked is a little thrilling. Aaron digs around in his shoulder bag, past the bottle of wine and plastic cups and to-go container of bread and oil and cheese from dinner earlier until he finds his flashlight. They had headlamps too, but he didn’t think they needed to go that far into the cave. Not at night anyway. He’d heard that some of these caves connected directly to the sea on the other side, more like a tunnel, but he isn’t keen on going that deep tonight.

The follow the trail of cats back into a large cave not far from where they set up their little evening rendezvous. Aaron’s flashlight sends a flood of hazy yellow ahead of them and throws the walls and rock formations into striking shadow figures. “You smell that?” Derek asks. He was prepared for the smell of cats, this cave was probably a natural litter box but this smell...isn’t cat-made. He would know this smell anywhere.

It’s death. More to the point, it’s blood, the sickly metallic tang of fresh blood. It doesn’t immediately call their attention to danger, it could be anything. An animal the cats killed, they have to eat too and these cats are scavengers.

“I might not hear well but I can smell just fine,” Hotch replies, noting that the further in they go the worse the smell gets. He’s picturing another cat, maybe, or a mess of seagull and feathers. He’s anticipating a gory mess...but what they find is worse.

There is no mess. It’s a body, sure, and there is blood...but it’s not cat food. It’s a young man, younger than they are anyway. Probably in his thirties though it’s hard to tell in this light. He’s lying on his back with a stab wound in his chest, a crimson bloodflower spreading slowly over the white linen of his button down shirt. Aaron can’t even help it, he lets out a long, miserable sigh and looks at Derek in the sickly yellow glow of the flashlight. “Damn.”

Aaron instinctively crouches beside the body and reaches out to check for a pulse, knowing with certainty that he won’t find one. Still, if there is any possibility at all of life, he can’t stand and watch it fade without doing anything. There is no pulse, no breath, the skin is cooler than it should be. He hasn’t been dead long but he’s absolutely dead.

“So much for sex on the beach,” Derek mutters, and Aaron shakes his head. All thoughts of wine and picnics and making out in the ocean breeze are dashed from his mind. He hasn’t been with the BAU in years, and yet the change is almost instant. He goes from Aaron enjoying his vacation to Hotch working the case. Derek’s change is immediate as well. Just like putting on a new pair of clothes.

“Did you bring your phone?”

“It’s in my pants. Stay here with him.”

“I’m naked, Derek. Bring me my clothes or the blanket or something to cover up with. Please.”

“We’re both naked. It’s a nude beach, Aaron. If we’re down here in clothes don’t you think they’re going to immediately suspect us? Check out more of the area, see if you can find anything useful.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. I’m going to wander naked and barefoot alone in this cave. That sounds smart.” He’s biting back with sarcasm and he doesn’t like it. Derek doesn’t deserve that. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Where is SSA Hotchner?” Derek asks, returning the sarcasm in spades. Aaron groans.

“He’s old and retired, trying to avoid dead bodies and killers. He’s tired.”

Derek hums, content in the knowledge that he’s bullied Aaron into at least scoping out the site to see if he can find anything else. That’s a stab wound, he could tell, and the weapon wasn’t in the victim. He hurries back to the blanket, suddenly worried that he left Aaron in the cave unarmed and barefoot – what if he steps on the knife? What if the killer is still in there? He moves faster, rifles through the bag for another flashlight and finds his phone hanging halfway out of the back pocket in his shorts. He thinks about putting them on but remembers what he’d said and doesn’t. He does grab a towel from the bottom of the bag and decides he’ll offer it to Aaron. He’s not worried about being naked in front of the police but he knows Aaron battles with his insecurity and he’s not eager to make it worse. Not right now.

He calls the police and directs them to their location before going back into the cave and offering Aaron the towel to cover himself up. Aaron looks at him with so much love in his eyes, sparking embers in the shadowy cave and once again he mourns the ruined plans for their evening.

It doesn’t take long for police to show up with huge flood lights they set up at the mouth and string along the craggy roof of the cave. The whole place is lit up like daylight and Derek scoots until he’s shielded a little by Aaron and his towel. Maybe he should have grabbed one himself. He’s never been self-conscious but this harsh light makes him feel like he’s been put under a magnifying glass.

While they waited for the police to show up, Aaron managed to find few footprints that don’t belong to he or Derek, some blood on the wall, and a knife half buried in the sand about ten feet from the body. He had nearly stepped on it. Still, potential danger aside, he can’t believe it’s this easy.

The police, three of them, rush toward the body and push Aaron and Derek back while they examine it for themselves. One of them, the man in charge, speaks English.

“You found him? How long ago?”

“About ten minutes. We called right away.”

“What were you doing in the cave?”

“We followed some cats in. We were curious about where they lived and how many there were.” It sounds flimsy even as Derek says it, but it’s the truth. He doesn’t make his pussy joke.

“The body is still warm. The killer can’t be far away.”

“There’s a knife in the sand over there, and footprints leading further into the cave. I don’t know how far in they go.” Aaron stops himself before he goes into everything he’s already figured out about the body. He can’t help it, this is second nature. Derek asked him where SSA Hotchner was, and it turns out, he may be incredibly tired and rusty but he’s right here.

“I don’t think the killer meant to do this.”

Derek shoots him a funny look, eyebrows raised. He recognizes the tone of Aaron’s voice. He’s already got a profile. That fast. He’s naked, wrapped in a terrycloth towel, ready to deliver the damn profile to police officers who barely speak English in a cat filled cave. Aaron has taken control of the entire situation, and even though he’s a naked tourist they’re all listening to him. They’re all looking to him. Derek has to think about baseball statistics being rattled off by his grandmother in order to keep the resulting erection at bay. He uses the flashlight, turned off now because there’s plenty of light in the cave, to hide it. He’s barely successful.

The best part is that as he watches, he realizes that Aaron is standing taller. He’s not trying to hide his scars, his stories. He seems to realize that standing there the way he is, those scars tell a story that is riveting and the officers can’t look away. Maybe there is some power in them and what he’s survived, maybe they’re to his advantage after all. Maybe the way they make these officers uncomfortable is useful.

“What makes you say that?” the lead detective asks, tearing his eyes away from this scarred man in a towel to glance at the body again. Aaron feels bad for him, it’s pretty obvious they don’t deal with things like this here very often and they’re all visibly shaken. Probably petty theft and some vandalism, tourists behaving badly, that sort of thing. Not murder.

Aaron would rather be just about anywhere else in the whole world right now but he’s here, and he’s going to help them out the best he can. At least they seem, so far, to believe that he didn’t have anything to do with it. Either that or they think he’s about the stupidest man they’ve ever come across and eventually he’ll just give himself away. The thought almost makes him smile but he maintains his composure.

“This crime scene is messy. It looks like there was someone here, maybe two people, and my guess is that the victim surprised them while they were otherwise occupied. The victim doesn’t have any defensive wounds but he does have some hair caught between two of his fingers on his right hand and a smudge of what looks like lipstick on his arm.”

Bright red lipstick. Aaron’s stomach fills with a kind of dread that he used to thrive on. The kind that leads him right to the person who held the knife.

The police are all staring at him with their mouths open, incredulous. The detective who speaks English is translating to the other two quietly, at least he hopes he’s translating and not condemning him.

“I think his killer was older, probably a man. Most likely self-defense. The state of the scene makes me think that the person who killed this man was afraid and as soon as the knife went in, they ran away. They most likely didn’t stop to see if the man was dead before they ran. I would look for an older couple who seem rattled, or who check out of their hotel room abruptly and leave the island. They’re afraid of what they’ve done, but I think you’ll find this wasn’t premeditated. This man most likely threatened them in some way. I would expect that the knife probably belonged to him.”

“How do you know all of this if you are not the killer?” the officer asks. Aaron and Derek both expected that question a lot sooner. Aaron had been thinking about telling the police to check the man’s pockets where they would likely find jewelry or something from the woman, perhaps the man. A gold bangle bracelet or a chain. But they’re starting to suspect Aaron knows too much so he keeps that to himself. They’ll find that on their own.

“I’m a retired FBI Agent.”

“We both are,” Derek chimes in, ready to stop being just a naked bump on a log. He’d been enjoying Aaron somehow running the show but he wants in on the action now. He’s kind of an adrenaline junkie. “We worked with the Behavioral Analysis Unit hunting serial killers all over America.”

The police stare at them for a moment and start laughing. “You retired and came here on vacation to relax only you cannot get away, the killers follow you,” the officer says. “It’s amusing, no?”

“Is it?” Derek asks with a laugh. He gives the officers all of their information, including the number to Emily’s desk at the FBI to check their references. Their alibi for the estimated time of death was flimsy, they’d been napping in their room until they came to the beach. No one could vouch for their whereabouts, but they were complying and it didn’t seem like the police suspected them.

Back at their hotel, they ready themselves for bed. Washing up, brushing their teeth, going through the motions. Aaron takes his mess of evening pills and Derek checks that their doors are all secure. When they meet up in the bed, they both lay silent side by side, exhausted yet wide awake. They’re both buzzing with the excitement of a case they don’t get to work and the only way to alleviate that kind of charge is by getting physical. That part is easy. The bed sheets are peeled back and in they slide, ready to settle the score. “Back there,” Derek says between hot breathy kisses. “You were so damn hot I could barely handle it.”

“Yeah?” Aaron asks, a little coy, smiling into the next kiss. “How close did you come?”

“My grandma had to tell me all about Hank Aaron’s stats…” Derek whispers desperately, rocking his hips against Aaron’s thigh. He’s thinking about the cave again, about the way Aaron became Hotch, about the power in the way he stood. About the way he squared his shoulders and didn’t shield his scars from sight but claimed them, claimed his survival, claimed a showdown with a prolific serial killer. Aaron smiles and knows exactly what to do.

“Hank Aaron had 3771 hits in his career,” Aaron whispers hot and slow against the pulse in Derek’s throat. He moves lower, dusting kisses along his collarbone, along the ridges of his scar. “755 home runs…”

Derek moans as Aaron glides down his abs and finds his destination, and with one hand Derek pushes Aaron’s head so he’ll stop ruining the stat trick, so he has something else to do with his mouth. Even that’s turning him on now.

The phone rings as they lay panting in bed, spent and happy, ready for another shower and a dip in the pool. Muscles twitching, chests heaving, neither of them any closer to being ready for sleep. Derek answers, hums a few times, nods and thanks whoever is on the line. Aaron has a guess.

“That was the police, they caught the killers.”

“Harold and Catherine?” Aaron asks and Derek nods, feeling that same pool of warmth spread again in his groin.

“They were in the cave to feed the cats and probably to get busy. You remember all their bling. Catherine and all that gold, I’m not surprised. He grabbed her by the hair and Harold knocked the knife out of his hand and stabbed him. They ran through the cave to the main beach, the police caught them by Catherine’s engraved necklace under the guy half buried in the sand. He ripped it off her neck. Doesn’t sound like the police are gonna do much to them, this guy had a record and is wanted in Athens for the rape and murder of a tourist a few years back. Sounds like a piece of shit that got what was coming to him.”

Aaron smiles and nods before yawning. “Shower?” And just like that he’s turned it off. Case closed. Hotch is back in retirement and Aaron just wants to shower and take a dip in the pool with his husband. He wants to resume vacation mode. They get into the shower and wash the case off of them with ease, soap suds and slick skin and smiles. It doesn’t take them long before they’re dancing slowly in the shower, just small sways and circles, Derek’s hand settled at the curved small of Aaron’s back, Aaron draped over Derek’s shoulder.

“Let’s have a snack” Derek says, always thinking about food. Aaron nods. “I have something I want to run by you...”

“I have a guess,” Aaron replies with a smile, turning his face toward Derek’s and kissing him. He’s been waiting for Derek to bring it up. “You want to extend the vacation. You’re not ready to go home to the empty house either.”

“We’re already all the way over here...what if we just pop over to Italy and spend some time there?”

“Just pop over to Italy huh?” Aaron smiles dreamily and rests his cheek against the mound of Derek’s shoulder, swaying again beneath the shower. The water is lukewarm and feels heavenly against their sandy sticky skin. He’s content to stay here for a bit longer dreaming of more travel. They don’t have kids who will be home for another month, they’ve got plenty of time and resources. There’s no good reason not to. “Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s go to Italy. Why not?”

[musashi]

That's similar to what my experience on Vyvanse has been! I'm on 40mg now, and the way I usually describe it is that I can focus more, but I have absolutely no control over WHAT I'm focusing on. I'll try to write a fic, and end up filing my taxes & sending some work emails I was putting off instead. Which is better than not managing any of those things I GUESS, but is also very annoying when I'm trying to do something specific :/

i do not mean to be rude but that is not what i am experiencing at all and i am a little confused how that is what you got from my description. it's not hyperfocus where i can't switch tasks or maneuver away from the task my brain has chosen, i literally cannot stay on a single task for more than 30 seconds. i keep opening new social media windows, googling stuff, posting, just all over the place where normally i have the urge to do that but am able to wrangle my focus and say 'ok, yes, i know you want to play with the rattle because it makes funny sounds, but we need to build this super mega powerful rattle that will make even BETTER sounds now, thank you.'

unmedicated me builds the super rattle and complains the whole time. me on adderall breaks into 40 different supermarkets within the span of a minute to grab every rattle on the shelf, discarding all of them after looking at them once.