#I have a whole story for them in my brain

[hoe4hotchner]

With blood on his hands | [A.H]

Pairing: UnSub!Hotch x gn!reader CW: Dark. This story contains descriptions of graphic violence, murder, mental illness, grief, and emotional distress. Dark themes, betrayal, loss of control, and fear, kidnapping, physical aggression, helplessness. WC: 5.2k

Please don't request a part 2 unless you have a very specific idea, my brain physically couldn't come up with more plot for this.

           The house was quiet. Too quiet. Bearing signs of life throughout the whole layout of the building, yet the disturbing truth of what had happened made you uneasy.

           It was the same scene they’d encountered twice already - an all-American family, slaughtered in their home, with no apparent struggle, no clear motive. A mother, a father, and their young son, all lying lifeless, their blood staining the carpets, their lives ruthlessly cut short.

           You stood beside Rossi, your hands clad in gloves, and a frown etched upon your face as you surveyed the scene. The scent of blood and suffering hung heavy in the air, choking your senses. You had seen your fair share of horrors, but this was different. This unsub was different.

           "Third one this week," Rossi murmured beside you, his voice gruff with exhaustion and irritation, feeling the weight of the case starting to take its toll. "We need to catch this guy before he strikes again."

           You nodded, eyes scanning the room as your mind worked through the details. This unsub wasn’t just killing; he was destroying. The brutality of the murders suggested rage - deep and personal rage. There was a familiarity to the way everything was laid out that you couldn't put a finger on.

           You stepped over to the nightstand, where the mother’s jewelry lay scattered. Your eyes caught a golden ring, glinting in the light. You reached for it instinctively, feeling a strange pull toward the piece of metal. It was simple but familiar, in a way that made your stomach churn with suspicion.

           Frowning, you held it up to the light, inspecting it. That’s when it hit you like a punch to the gut.

           You knew this ring.

           Your blood ran cold as memories flooded your mind. Years of working alongside him, watching him fiddle with that exact band on long nights at the office, lost in thought as he processed information and clues. You had seen it on his finger countless times.

           Hotch.

           Your heart pounded in your chest, a dizzying sense of disbelief washing over you. There was no way. No possible way. You told yourself it was a mistake, that the stress of the case was playing tricks on your mind.

           But the more you stared at the ring, the more your instincts screamed at you.

           You weren't wrong about this.

           You swallowed hard, slipping the ring back onto the dresser. Rossi hadn’t noticed your reaction, he was busy analyzing the scene with his usual calm efficiency. You forced yourself to stay composed, your mind racing.

           The families. The pattern. A mother, a father, and a young son. Haley and Jack. It was so obvious.

           It all clicked into place with horrifying clarity. Hotch's stressor… the deaths of his family. You remembered the way he had shut down after losing them, how the grief had changed him. But never in your worst nightmares could you have imagined this. This was not the man you knew.

           You took a shaky breath, your mind spinning. You couldn’t tell Rossi - not yet - he wouldn't believe you. Wouldn't believe that his oldest friend was capable of this. Not until you were sure. Not until you’d seen Aaron, looked him in the eyes, and confronted him yourself. You owed him that much.

           "Dave," you said, forcing your voice to stay steady, "I’m going to head out. I need to check something."

           He glanced over at you, raising an eyebrow. "You okay? You look pale."

           "I’m fine," you lied, offering a weak smile. "Just need to follow up on a hunch."

           Rossi nodded, distracted by something on the floor, and you took the opportunity to slip away, your heart pounding in your chest. You could barely keep your hands from trembling as you made your way out of the house and into your car. Thankfully you had arrived separately.

           The drive to Aaron’s old house felt like a blur, your mind spinning with possibilities. Every part of you hoped you were wrong. That this was all some horrible mistake, that there was no way the man you had worked with for years could be behind these murders, that this was truly just some twisted dream, and that you'd wake up soon.

           But deep down, you knew.

           This was reality.

           When you pulled up to Aaron’s house, the pit in your stomach deepened. His car was in the driveway, the lights inside the house dim and all the curtains closed. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay calm. You had to confront him. You had to know the truth.

           You walked up to the door, every step feeling like a death sentence. When you knocked, there was a long pause. Then the door creaked open, revealing Aaron, standing in the doorway. He looked disheveled, his eyes dark and sunken, the weight of grief and something darker pressing down on him.

           "(Y/N)," he said, his voice low and rough. "What are you doing here?"

           You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. You stared at him, your heart racing as you noticed the subtle signs - the tension in his posture, the way his hands flexed at his sides. And most of all, the unmistakable wedding band missing from his finger.

           "I…" you began, your voice trembling. "I need to talk to you."

           Aaron’s eyes flickered, something unreadable passing behind them. He stepped aside, letting you in without a word. You walked into the house, the air thick with tension, your nerves screaming at you to turn around and leave, to get out while you still had the chance. But you couldn’t. Not now.

           As you stepped further into the room, your eyes landed on something that made your stomach drop - on the kitchen counter, barely noticeable, was a small streak of blood. Fresh blood.

           Aaron closed the door behind you, the sound echoing ominously through the quiet house.

           "You shouldn’t have come here," he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

           Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned to face him, the realization crashing down on you with terrifying certainty. Aaron Hotchner wasn’t just your old colleague. He wasn’t just the man that had been your boss. He was the unsub you were looking for. He was the monster you’d been chasing.

           And now, you were alone with him.

           Hotch stood over the lifeless body sprawled across the floor in his living room, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his knuckles bruised and bloody. The man beneath him had been dead for several minutes now, his face a mangled mess of flesh and bone, barely recognizable.

           Hotch’s fists clenched and unclenched, the blood dripping from his fingers painting the carpet with small, crimson pools. His heart was pounding, not from fear or guilt, but from the pure adrenaline coursing through his veins. He should have felt something - regret, remorse, shame—but there was only emptiness. Nothingness. And rage.

           The rage never left him. It simmered beneath the surface, a constant presence, threatening to consume him whole. After Haley and Jack, everything had spiraled. Their deaths had shattered the last bit of humanity he had clung to. He had tried, God knows he had tried, to be the man everyone needed. The leader. The protector. But after them, something inside him had broken, irreparably so.

           At first, he had managed to keep it hidden. But over time, the mask had slipped, the cracks becoming impossible to cover. The anger had grown, festering like a disease, until it had taken over every part of him. It was easier this way. Easier to stop pretending to be the good guy, the man who saved lives, when all he wanted to do was destroy them.

           Besides the way he had hurt Foyet had felt so good.

           He turned his head, his gaze cold and calculating, as a knock landed on the door.

           The scent of sweat hung thick in the air, and the room was suffocating with the tension of your predicament.

           You stood in the doorway, your eyes wide with shock, taking in the scene before you. The man on the ground, the blood, the violence. And Hotch. Not a single drop could be seen on his clothes. Only his hands bore signs of the crime. Your mouth moved, but no sound came out. You were frozen, paralyzed by the realization of what you were seeing. What he had done.

           Hotch stared at you, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. The look on your face - the fear, the disbelief - only fueled the fire inside him. For a moment, there was silence, an unbearable tension hanging between the two of you.

           Then, he spoke. His voice was low, a growl barely restrained by the thin thread of control he had left within him.

           “You really shouldn’t have come here.” He repeated his previous statement

           You blinked, finally finding your voice. “Aaron... what have you done? This isn't you.”

           Hotch’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with something unrecognizable. He took a step toward you, the cold gleam in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine. “I did what needed to be done.”

           You could barely breathe, your mind racing as you tried to process what had happened. This wasn’t the man you knew. The man you had worked with for years, the man you had trusted. The man you had secretly loved. He terrified you now. This was someone else entirely - a predator, who was cold and unfeeling.

           “Aaron, please...” Your voice shook as you took a step back, instinctively retreating from the danger that loomed before you. “You don’t have to do this.”

           His eyes flashed with anger, and in an instant, he was on you, his hand gripping your arm with a force that made you wince. His breath was hot against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t tell me what I have to do. You don't know anything”

           You swallowed hard, trying to remain calm despite the fear coursing through you. “This isn’t you,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re not a killer.”

           His grip tightened, and you gasped, pain shooting through you as you felt him slightly twisting your arm. “Aren’t I?” His voice was sharp and dangerous. “Do you know what it feels like, to lose everything? Watching them die? Knowing you couldn’t stop it? Knowing that you weren't fast enough?”

           Tears welled in your eyes as you tried to pull away from him, but his hold was unrelenting. “Aaron, please,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. “This won’t bring them back. What Foyet did was terrible.”

           For a moment, you thought you saw something - some flicker of humanity cross his face. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by cold indifference. He released you, shoving you back roughly. You stumbled, catching yourself against the wall, your heart pounding in your chest.

           Hotch stood there, his eyes burning with fury, his hands still stained with blood. “Don't tell me what's right or wrong. They’re gone and nothing can bring them back,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice void of emotion. “There’s nothing left for me but this.”

           You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. “There’s more to you than this. You’re better than this, Aaron. I know you are.”

           He laughed, a bitter, cruel sound that sent chills down your spine. “Better? Better for who? For you? For the bureau didn't trust me to be in the field after what happened?” His eyes bore into yours, and you could feel the hatred radiating off him. “Do you really think you know me? The man I am now?”

           You didn’t answer, too afraid of what he might do next. His rage was palpable, an almost physical force that seemed to fill the room, choking you with its intensity.

           He moved toward you again, his eyes wild, his movements erratic. “You think you can save me? Is that it? You always had a savior complex, just like Morgan.” He grabbed your chin roughly, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You can’t save me. No one can.”

           You trembled under his touch, your heart thrashing in your chest, trying to claw its way out as his fingers dug into your skin. For a moment, you thought he might hurt you, that you might face the same predicament as the lifeless body in his living room. That he might go too far. But then, just as quickly as the anger had flared, it seemed to dissipate, leaving only emptiness in its wake.

           He released you, stepping back, his breathing heavy and uneven. His hands shook as he wiped them on his pants, the blood smearing across the fabric. He looked at you, something dark and broken in his eyes. “You should leave,” he said, his voice hollow as he turned his back to you.

           You swallowed, your throat dry. “Aaron—”

           “Go.” His voice was cold, final. There was no room for argument.

           You hesitated for a moment, torn between the part of you that wanted to stay, to help him, and the part that knew he was too far gone. Finally, with a heavy heart, you turned and walked toward the door, your footsteps echoing in the silence.

           As you reached the doorway, you turned back to look at him one last time. He was standing in the center of the room, staring down at his blood-stained hands, his expression unreadable.

           “Aaron,” you whispered, a single tear rolling down your cheek, and your voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

           But he didn’t look back. He didn’t say a word. And as you stepped out into the night, the door closing behind you with a soft click, you knew that the man you had once known was gone.

           The door had barely closed behind you when Hotch’s mind snapped back into a cold calculation. He could still feel the sting of your words in the air, your plea for him to stop. You should leave, he’d told you. But now, as silence wrapped around him, a horrifying realization dawned - you knew of him.

           Who else knew?

           You were the only one who had seen him like this, who knew what he had done. The team… They would never believe it on their own. Not until you told them, he was sure of that. But what evidence did you have to back up your claim?

           His pulse quickened. His anger, momentarily soothed by the violence he'd unleashed, flared again. He couldn’t let you leave. He wouldn’t.

           He moved quickly, his body still humming with adrenaline. You had made it to the end of the driveway when you heard him behind you. His footsteps were heavy and purposeful. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest.

           "Aaron?" you called over your shoulder, your voice trembling. But there was no response, only the oppressive sound of his approaching footsteps. Fear gripped you.

           Before you could take another step, he was on you. His strong hand wrapped around your wrist like a vice, yanking you back toward him with brutal force. You gasped, struggling against his hold, but it was no use. His grip was unyielding, his expression dark and twisted as he dragged you back into the house, thankful that he and Haley had bought a house in a secluded area.

           "You thought you could just walk away?" His voice was low, a deadly whisper, sending a chill down your spine. "That you could leave me and run straight to the team? Tell them about what I've been doing?"

           You blinked, fear coursing through you as you tried to speak. "No, Aaron, I—"

           "Don’t lie to me!" he snarled, his face inches from yours. "I see it in your eyes. You were going to tell them. Weren’t you?"

           Terror constricted your throat. You wanted to scream, to plead with him, but the words wouldn’t come. His anger was suffocating, his eyes filled with a malice you’d never seen before.

           "I can’t let you do that," he said, his voice eerily calm now, the storm of his fury momentarily quieted by cold calculation. "You’ll ruin everything. This—" He gestured to the leftover blood still staining his hands. "This is who I am now. And you’re not going to stop me."

           Without warning, he yanked you roughly into the storage closet, slamming the door shut behind him. The darkness swallowed you both whole. You stumbled, trying to catch your balance, but Hotch was determined. His large frame loomed over you, his hand still gripping your wrist with bruising force.

           "Please, Aaron, you don’t have to do this," you whispered, your voice shaking as you tried to reason with him. Tried to pull yourself out of his grip.

           But his expression was unreadable now, lost in the darkness. His fingers tightened around your wrist, and you winced in pain. A high-pitched whimper left your throat as the pain coursed through every single nerve in your body.

           "I do." His voice was cold, devoid of the empathy and warmth you once knew in him. "You’re the only one who knows as far as I can tell. And if I let you walk out of here, it’s over for me."

           Your breath hitched, panic rising in your chest. "Aaron, I won’t tell anyone," you pleaded, desperation leaking into your voice. "I swear, I—"

           "I told you don’t lie to me," he hissed, cutting you off with a deadly glare. "I can’t trust you. Not anymore."

           The air was thick with tension, the weight of his gaze suffocating. You could barely make out the features of his face as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, but you could feel the cold determination, it was unmistakable. He had made up his mind. There was no reasoning with him, no turning back.

           Hotch fumbled with something on the wall and soon enough the overhead light bulb flickered on, the dim light barely bright enough to light up his features. Before you could react, Hotch pulled a length of duct tape from a nearby shelf, yanking it free with a sharp sound. Your heart raced, and you instinctively tried to back away, but he was faster. With a cruel efficiency, he shoved you up against the wall, pressing his body against yours to keep you in place.

           “Stop fighting me,” he growled, his breath hot on your neck.

           You struggled, trying to wriggle out of his grip, but it was no use. He was stronger, and his anger gave him a terrifying, unnatural strength. The tape wound around your wrists, biting into your skin as he bound you tightly. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you realized there was no escape.

           When he was finished, he stepped back, watching you with an unnerving calm. Your heart pounded in your chest, panic threatening to overtake you.

           "What are you going to do?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

           Hotch tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he considered you. “I’m going to make sure you can’t destroy everything.” His voice was cold, emotionless. “I’ve lost too much already. I won’t lose control again.”

           Without warning, he grabbed you, throwing you over his shoulder with brutal force. You screamed, but the sound was muffled by the closet walls. His grip on you was like iron as he carried you out of the building, and into the garage where his car waited patiently.

           You thrashed against him, panic clawing at your throat. But it didn’t matter. His mind was made up, and his body moved with the cold precision of a man who had crossed the line of no return, a man who wasn’t coming back.

           He tossed you into the trunk of his SUV, the metal cold against your back as he slammed the hatch shut, trapping you inside. The darkness closed in around you, and all you could hear was the sound of your own panicked breathing and the engine roaring as Hotch turned the car on.

           You were trapped.

           The engine screeched as Hotch drove with grim determination, the rain streaking the windshield of his SUV. His fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white at the force of his grip. You still lay in the cramped trunk, the tape burning the skin on your wrists as you struggled to free yourself. Hotch had made a stop after about an hour on the road on the road to gag your screams, he was tired of hearing your begs and pleas for mercy. You lay helpless as the vehicle bumped along the dark, slick road. Every movement jostled your body, sending sharp pains through your limbs, but the terror coursing through you dulled the physical discomfort.

           The man behind the wheel was someone you thought you knew. But this version of Hotch was a stranger.

           His phone buzzed on the dashboard, but he ignored it. You could barely make out the faint sounds through the barrier between you, but you knew it had to be the team. They had to realize by now. But the phone in your pocket still clutched tightly against your side despite the restraints, was your only lifeline. Garcia could trace it if you managed to answer it the next time they tried your number. The team would find you, you were sure of it.

           But Hotch already knew that. And he wasn’t going to let it happen.

           Your heart raced as the SUV took a sharp turn, causing your body to slide slightly across the floor of the trunk. The storm outside was intensifying, and you could feel your anxiety building in the way he drove — focused and determined. He had a plan.

           The car slowed, the rhythmic thud of the rain against the roof of the trunk filling the silence. He pulled off the main road, the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires. Your pulse quickened as the vehicle came to a stop.

           A car door slammed shut, and you heard his heavy footsteps approaching. The trunk popped open, letting in the cool, rain-soaked air. Hotch loomed over you, his face set in a harsh, emotionless mask. Without a word, he reached down, his grip bruising as he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you out of the trunk. You stumbled onto the muddy ground, barely able to keep your balance.

           His fingers moved deftly, reaching into your pocket and yanking out your phone. His lips curled into a dark smirk, his eyes flashing with twisted amusement.

           “You thought the team would save you,” he grinned in a low almost scary voice. “You thought Garcia would trace this… pathetic.” He held up your phone. A flash of lightning struck down in the distance behind him.

           Before you could react, he dropped the phone on the ground and crushed it under his heel before throwing it into the lake you had stopped near. You barely heard it splash into water over the sound of the pounding rain. Hotch calmly walked over to a large rock, grabbing it with both hands. You watched in horror as he smashed his own phone repeatedly, reducing it to a mess of shattered glass and plastic.

           Your only connection to the outside world was now gone.

Hotch turned back to you, his face illuminated by the brief flashes of lightning. His expression was as cold and unfeeling as the storm around you, but there was something darker in his eyes — a satisfaction in watching your hope slip away.

           “You always were smart,” he murmured, stepping closer, towering over you. “Too smart for your own good.”

           Without another word, he shoved you back into the trunk, his strength leaving no room for resistance. You were thrown back into the small, confined space. The rain and the outside world disappeared, leaving you in pitch-black darkness once again.

           The car started again, the engine rumbling as Hotch continued driving. You were no longer sure where you were, feeling like he potentially had driven you in circles to throw you off track, and that uncertainty gnawed at you. There was no doubt in your mind that Hotch had planned this meticulously. He had been covering his tracks, eliminating threats, and now he was eliminating your ability to interfere.

           The drive felt endless, the sound of rain against the roof your only marker of time passing. You tried to shift, to loosen the restraints on your wrists, but every movement sent sharp pain through your limbs. The car’s motion made you nauseous, the fear and discomfort blending into a haze.

           Eventually, the car slowed again. You felt the shift in the vehicle as it came to a stop. The air was suffocating, your breath quickening in panic as you heard the sound of the driver’s door opening for the third time and then the distant crunch of dried leaves under Hotch’s footsteps. Where had he taken you?

           The trunk opened again, and Hotch’s silhouette was backlit by the faintest glimmer of moonlight filtering through the storm clouds looming above. His face was unreadable, but there was no regret, no hesitation in his actions. He reached in and grabbed you roughly by the arm as he pulled you from the trunk once more.

           You were in the middle of nowhere - an abandoned building ahead, its windows dark and some of them were even shattered.

           The perfect place for someone to disappear.

           “We’re going inside,” Hotch growled, his voice harsh and barren of the warmth it once held.

           Your legs buckled beneath you, no strength left to carry your body, but Hotch didn’t care. He hauled you toward the entrance of the building with ease, his grip bruising on your bicep as he pulled you through the door. The interior was pitch black, the only sound was your rapid, panicked breaths and the distant rumble of thunder as the last of the storm was passing you.

           He led you through the building, the air biting at your skin. You could feel the hatred radiating from him - the complete absence of the man you once knew. He stopped in the center of a large, empty room, turning to face you with a dark, predatory gaze.

           “You should’ve stayed out of it,” he hissed, his voice low and dripping with venom. “But you couldn’t help yourself. You just had to know.”

           He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as he reached out, his fingers gripping your chin tightly, forcing you to look up at him. His eyes bore into yours, cold and merciless.

           “You’ll wish you hadn’t.”

           The BAU team gathered in their conference room, the air filled with a heavy silence. The flickering lights of the monitors and the scattered case files did little to lighten the grim atmosphere. The latest string of killings had left them all feeling drained and frustrated. They knew the pattern - the targeted families of three - but the connection was proving elusive.

           Reid, hunched over his paper files, spoke up. “The pattern is consistent. Every victim family has been targeted in a specific order: the father is always the first to go, followed by the mother, and then the child. We’re missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. Why does the unsub want the sons to watch their parents get murdered?”

           Morgan, pacing back and forth, nodded grimly. “We’ve checked financial records, phone records, and even personal connections, but nothing’s coming up. It’s like the unsub is just a ghost.” He listed, counting with his fingers as he mentioned each thing.

           Rossi, reviewing photos from the crime scenes, frowned in concentration. “There’s something we’re not seeing. Maybe we need to look at the details of each scene once again, this time more closely. There’s got to be a common thread.”

           Garcia was furiously typing away, her eyes darting between various screens. She was usually the one bringing good news or revelations, but this time her face was a mask of worry. “I’ve cross-referenced all known data, and I’m still coming up empty. It’s like the unsub is erasing every trace of himself.”

           Penelope’s words were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a new piece of evidence popping up on her screen. The team watched in quiet concern as she displayed a series of images on the large television screen behind them. The new evidence came from a tech at the latest crime scene.

           “Look at this,” Garcia said, her voice trembling slightly as she pointed to a photo of a golden wedding ring lying on a dresser. “I’ve run the image through our database. It’s not just any ring. It’s a unique design only a handful made in total, and I found a match.”

           The room fell silent as the team examined the image. Reid’s eyes widened as he recognized the significance too. “That ring… it’s a distinct piece. I’ve seen it before.”

           Rossi’s gaze shifted from the photo to Garcia. “You’re saying this ring could be linked to someone we know?”

           Garcia nodded, her fingers flying across the keyboard. “I cross-referenced it with our records, and it matches the description of a ring worn by someone in our team.” She swallowed the lump in her throat as she saw the name displayed on her laptop.

           The realization hit like a thunderclap. The team exchanged worried glances, their earlier frustration giving way to a new kind of dread. Rossi’s face darkened as he leaned in closer.

           Garcia nodded again, her expression serious as she confirmed the words Rossi had been about to ask. “The ring belongs to Hotch.”

           The room erupted into chaos. Morgan’s eyes widened in shock, and Reid’s expression was one of horror. “No way,” Morgan said, his voice filled with disbelief. “Hotch? He’s one of the most dedicated agents we’ve ever worked with.”

           “Is there any chance it could be a coincidence?” Rossi asked, his voice tight with concern. "That it's one of the other owners of similar rings?"

           Garcia shook her head, her face pale. “I don’t think so, they've all been spotted across the country and have rock-solid alibis. The design is too specific. And if Hotch is involved, we need to find him before it’s too late.”

           Reid began to piece together the information, his mind racing. “If Hotch is connected to the unsub, then it’s possible that he’s been orchestrating these murders from within. We need to act fast.”

           The team sprang into action, their earlier determination now transformed into urgency. Rossi and Morgan began to gather additional evidence and check Hotch’s recent whereabouts. Reid and Garcia worked on tracking Hotch’s phone, hoping to pinpoint his location.

           As the team raced against time, their focus sharpened on finding Hotch and uncovering the truth behind his involvement in the killings. Each agent’s heart pounded with the realization that someone they trusted might be the very monster they were hunting. But they were not ready to admit it just yet.

           Meanwhile, the darkness within Hotch continued to grow, his plans advancing while the team desperately tried to uncover the truth.

           The next move was crucial - finding Hotch could be the piece they were missing.

[jcollinswrites]

How the fudge are you writting so fast??? I sit down to write and end up with nothing or reworking plot instead of writing 😭Have any tips you want to share? Perhaps the ingredients to the dark ritual you perform to get the motivation and remain focused 👀👀👀

So, first of all, you'll need half a newborn, shaken, not stirred…

lol jk (don't shake babies)

Believe it or not I'm the same as you, so here are some stuff that helped me tremendously, especially with my squirrel ADHD brain:

NUMBER ONE that I needed 20 years to learn, is that… forget editing, man. You can't edit if there is nothing to edit, so first you have to sit ya ass down and just fuckin' do it. It doesn't matter if it's shit at first. It's called work in progress for a reason. Who cares if it's shit? You can edit it LATER when the whole thing is already done. What you're reading in my game is literally my first draft. Lots of scenes might change later. In fact, I'm already changing scenes in the background, I'm just not always telling you. It doesn't matter. If anyone gives you shit for it, tell them to kindly fuck right off.

Have a plan for the book (written down. Not just in your head). Don't even start writing until you have a plan for the entire book. It doesn't have to be detailed. Mine is just bulletpoints, but you should know which chapter will contain what, including plot points, character development, relationship progress etc, otherwise you'll get lost, especially in a big IF. And then as you get closer to the next chapter, you can work out more details in the plan to help the actual writing.

If you don't feel like writing a scene, then don't write it. Leave a placeholder word there (I use 'mandarin' because that word likely won't come up anywhere else in the text), and instantly move on to another scene that you have inspiration for. Later, you can just search for 'mandarin' and add the scene when you feel like it. If you accidentally come across any MANDARINs in my game, that's the reason lol.

If you are writing an IF, it helps to start simple. Write the story until a choice comes up, then write the title of the choices, and continue ONLY with the route you feel the most inspired for atm (use mandarin for the rest). Don't let your momentum die by getting bogged down in choices. That's why I have so many greyed out choices when I start a new origin or chapter. I just write write write until the end of the chapter, THEN I go back to whatever choice is the simplest to add, and put the variations in the already-existing text if needed. Repeat until all the choices are written and coded in. This way, the text might feel more organic too, because you already have a pre-written skeleton that you can just add variations in.

Keep notes. It helps to have them on paper, next to you, so f.ex. when you make 9 different deities to choose from, you don't have to go back to the beginning of the chapter every single time to look up which deities those were and what they mean, you can simply turn your head to the side lol.

Take regular breaks. Exercise, stretch. Keep a daily schedule. Eat and drink enough. Try to keep a good health. Your brain won't work if it's starved.

Know yourself and your habits, and be honest with yourself. I know of myself that once I start working on the big plot points, I won't have any motivation to come back to the beginning again. That's why I'm writing all the origin stories first, because I know that if I start going into chapter 2, I definitely won't feel like coming back to start yet another route from the very beginning. So if you don't feel like doing something, then just… don't do it. Or do it simpler. Do it smarter. Trick that asshole brain into cooperating.

Last but not least, guys, 90% of my motivation COMES FROM YOU! Your engagement, your messages, your feedback, every little interaction is what keeps me going! So write me! I will answer! (if you aren't a dick). Literally, about anything. Even if it's just "hey I really liked this small detail here", that will already make my day, seriously. I LOVE talking about my work, and I'm pretty sure every author is like that, so keep engaging with writers, because that's 90% of the reason when a novel gets finished! I'm writing for YOU! Your enjoyment, your fun, because I love telling stories, but those stories don't mean anything if no one is reading them.

[ihopesocomic]

It's such a shame how many good brother-brother duos or sister-brother duos there are compared to sister-sister duos

I know it stems from writers always feeling the need to add a man in every woman's life

A lot of writers can only make a character who's a sister if she's a sister to a brother and it's a real shame

Honestly I think Nothing from MP is a pretty good example of that

Look at her relationship with her female siblings/cousin vs her male siblings/cousin

Fire ended up being horrible and Feather is a toxic positive "lemme make you feel bad for wanting to change your ableist name even though it literally doesnt effect me" dirtbag

But Nothing had a better relationship with vs her younger sisters/cousins

Farleap and Silentstalk bullied her and Feather's sisters thought she was weirdo though they like literally never interacted

It's just always suspicious when a writer seems to prioritize a female character's relationship with guys over her relationship with girls

Like their gender shouldn't matter but they'll always pick their male characters first

The sexism in writing still to this day is wild. Especially where so-called independent creators are concerned. Because I thought the whole point of being indie was creating stuff you wanted to see in mainstream media but didn't get, but a lot of it is just more of the same crap you get from bigger productions. So either people want more sexism, or its just baked into their brain and they don't even realize it.

A lot of better stories out there are about brothers (well, I could argue that a lot of it is lazy and that there is no point to the characters being brothers, especially when strong emotional friendships between men are practically nonexistent in media.) and anything having to do with sisters is as I said, either petty nonsense or there's no point to being sisters at all.

And then there's as you said, an inherent need by creators for women to have men be relevant in their lives when that same standard is not applied to men. You can throw a rock and hit a movie or show with a female pov where her only motivation has to do with a man. Father, son, brother, husband, boyfriend, abuser. Whatever.

That's not to say any of these are bad stories. But when its the majority of supposed woman-focused media, it loses its edge as woman-focused when the women in question are focused on men. The writers either consciously or subsconsciously don't get that women have motivations beyond men. This even happens with lesbian characters, where men should have even less relevancy? LOL And it doesn't even matter who the writers are, whether they're men/women, cis/trans, straight/gay, everyone does this. You'd expect better from queer creators but even then there's a clear preference. And they're wont to bring up that "gender shouldn't matter" but only when it pertains to asking why they're so opposed to women being the focus. Its quite interesting.

MP is in an interesting position of hating both men and women at the same time while not commenting on how the patriarchy has negative effects on both men and women. Not an easy feat but Tribble sure made it look easy. She made Feather Nothing's prime motivator for leaving the pride, and while I have my own criticisms of Nothing's "subtle" motherlyness towards Feather, that wasn't extended to the female cubs. Fire is Nothing's other motivation for leaving the pride, and then he turned out to be a wannabe dictator. Quickmane was shown to be a sympathetic and caring mate who definitely wasn't homophobic, but had no qualms about killing children. And then there's alllllll the women who are meant to be oppressed to the same extent as Nothing, but they all somehow manage to be even worse because the narrative wants us to side with them.

And even Nothing's abusive relationship with Quickmane as we've stated in our review is arguably less fucked up than the relationship she has with her own mother. Because we know what they think about each other, and Powerstrike still insists that Nothing's existence is a burden on her soul or whatever. Like what the fuck is up with that?? I'm sure they could've made Powerstrike less-bad than Quickmane, was this some sort of weird equalizer of the sexes? And you can count Nothing's relationship with Sharptongue if you're so inclined to, but even if you ignore everything else she did, Sharptongue would still be the only positive female influence in Nothing's life. But not a key motivator in Nothing's story. Like not even a little bit.

[batneko]

last night as I was trying to fall asleep my brain gave me a story about Bowser as an imprisoned dragongod who is worshiped but enslaved, kept in a cave where he can't do anything but watch the outside world. He can tell the worshipers what to do (within reason) because his powers are so useful to them that they know if he ever gets angry or miserable enough to off himself they'll all be screwed. They have a LOT of enemies, who all assume that the god is their willing ally, and would be more than happy to crush them the moment they have the chance.

the closest thing to affection Bowser ever had was the woman who decided to bear his child. He genuinely believed she wanted to be the bride of a god, but the moment she was sure she was pregnant she left without even looking back.

years later, when he's told himself he doesn't care anymore (he obviously very much still cares), he sees a beautiful sweet princess and decides he wants her. He orders his "minions" to capture her and present her to him as a... permanent guest. He doesn't think she'll like being a prisoner, of course. HE sure doesn't. But he's stuck down here with no hope of escape, ever, and he can at least make her stay very comfortable. She's a princess, she must be used to being in a gilded cage.

though he knows that the princess has protectors, and they've made things difficult for his followers over the last couple years, he never gives them much thought. Bowser never imagines that they'd be so determined to protect the princess from him that one of them would disguise himself as the princess and willingly get "sacrificed" to the inescapable dragon cave.

(this was briefly brought up as a potential plan by the brothers, but discarded immediately because they don't want anybody to have to be stuck with a dragon forever, especially not each other. But then they got separated and Luigi was the only one left to protect Peach and they were captured and there was no time to spare and... it was the only thing he could think of.)

Bowser is furious, of course, but what he really wanted was companionship. If this random guy is who he's got, it's who he's got. And the random guy is weirdly optimistic about this whole thing, although he's scared of Bowser he never once stops believing that his brother will be coming to save him. No matter how much Bowser explains that not even a god can get out of this hole, Luigi insists that it's only a matter of time. His brother will come for him.

(he does, of course, freeing both of them.)

And that was as far as I got! I probably won't ever write it because it's too dramatic and also absolves Bowser of most responsibility for the evil done in his name. I like Bowser as a villain who really isn't justified in what he does. That's where the spice is! 🌶

But it's fun to think about Luigi being his usual nice guy self around someone who isn't used to being treated like a person, on multiple levels.

[carlos-in-glasses]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

Thank you Michelle and @bonheur-cafe for asking! ❤️

Rhythms - I'm only two chapters into posting but the whole thing is written and I do think (alongside Where All This Love Comes From), it contains some of my best writing. It's the story about how Carlos came to write his wedding vows to TK, how he used to write poetry as a closeted teen and the adventures that accidentally ensued, and how he might pursue poetry again with TK's belief in him...

Where All This Love Comes From - The most ambitious I've been with a fic. Lots of flashbacks from TK and Carlos' relationship and pre-canon, as well as 'current day' scenes to handle. I wanted to combine exploring TK's addiction with Carlos' own trauma, while staying as close to canon as possible, and it all came together as I hoped.

Fire Island - TK and Carlos go to Fire Island, where they are befriended by an older gay couple who tell them about life at the height of the AIDS crisis in 1980s NYC. I'll never forget reading this out loud to my boyfriend and both of us crying, and the feedback in which people shared their own memories of how AIDS touched their lives. It's my most meaningful fic on a whole other level. TK and Carlos do not die or get sick in this fic - I know some people were worried about that because I got anons about it, but to reassure, it does not happen.

When Soulmates Swim - An  alternative first meeting AU. TK and Carlos' relationship blooms in many pools as they both heal from workplace injuries. It's smutty, fluffy, angsty and silly. It was such a fun one to write and I desperately want to write a sequel. I have an idea! I just need the time!

Suddenly, In the Silence - This fic was a challenge because I needed to write a satisfying conclusion but also ambiguity, designed so readers decide if they think something happens or not. Based on comments, I think I pulled it off! Also, this was the first fic I wrote after finishing Where All This Love Comes From. I was panicking that I'd never write again because I was spent. So, very grateful to this fic for arriving in my brain when it did! Which was really thanks to a conversation with @thisbuildinghasfeelings - in turn showing how helpful and inspiring this community can be.

[aeligsido]

[WM — September 2024] Prompt 6 — Time-Turner.

Rating: G.

TW: none.

Characters: Remus Lupin, Seren Lupin (OC), Mary Macdonald, Sirius Black (in the haunting-the-narrative kind of way).

Additional Tags: actor Sirius Black; celebrity Sirius Black; trans Remus Lupin; past trans male pregnancy; Mary and Peter are great friends I just need to say it; modern au; actress Seren Lupin but she’s just starting; Seren as a wolfstar baby except Sirius doesn’t know she’s his (or Remus’s for that matter).

Summary: Seren Lupin gets the lead role for upcoming coming-of-age movie Time-Turner.

Words count: 975.

A/N: Heya! I dropped this au in @impishtubist askbox some time ago and since it refused to leave my brain I'm now forced to write about it idk. I’ll write Sirius and Remus’ first meeting (in twelve years) for a later microfic I think lmao. Hope you like it! 💕

@wolfstarmicrofic

read on ao3.

-

Remus is worrying himself sick, pacing alone in the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge to make sure the cake is still here, getting the glasses out, putting them back in, starting making tea, forgetting it halfway through the process. He should have joined them after work, but he was too stressed and too scared of somehow destroying Seren’s chances.

It’s her last audition today. Some sort of chemistry test? To see if she gets along with the other actors? It all made sense when she was excitedly telling him about it yesterday again, but it’s like his brain is mush now.

The door opens, cutting him down from his own spiral, and Remus perks up, more stressed out by the whole affair than his daughter ever was.

“Dad! Dad! I got it!”

Seren appears in the kitchen, grinning like the little gremlin she is, teeth out and her brown curls slipping free from the careful braid Mary pushed them into this morning. Her eyes, a circle of dark brown cascading into a warm grey, are shining with delight and joy, and Remus finds himself breathless with love — just like almost twelve years ago, when they put this small, red, squealing baby on his chest with a congratulation.

His daughter jumps into his arms and he laughs in tandem with her. “That’s amazing! I knew you could do it!” He lets her free, just enough to put his hands on her cheeks and look at her in the eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”

She beams with the force of a thousand suns.

“Thanks! It was so cool, and, oh, you’ll never guess who’s gonna play my dad in the film! And Mister Dumbledore said that we could get a TV show too!”

Albus Dumbledore, one of the most acclaimed film directors still alive, with so many successes behind him — yet so eccentric you could never guess what he will go for next. After a blockbuster about a young crowds of vigilantes saving their world from tyranny, a rather depressing story about a young orphan in the middle of WWII becoming the oppressor, and a passionate but tragic gay romance at the end of the 19th century, a coming-of-age children story is right on par for the course. Time-Turner, as it’s called, will follow a young girl — played by Seren, his own daughter! — discovering her time travel power, while dealing with her mother’s recent demise.

Which makes the father of the heroine the other lead of the film, and someone Seren will have to spend a lot of time with. Remus hopes he’s a good person. Someone nice, who wouldn’t be put-out by her unlimited energy and her never-ending supply of questions.

“So?” he asks as Seren stops talking to take a breath. “Who will play your dad?”

She grins, more excited even than before. She has always looked more like him, in general, with more elegance in her traits and grace in her body than he ever possessed. But like that — oh, like that, she looks just like…

“Sirius Black!” she yells, bouncing on her feet, and she can’t help but do a little, victorious dance.

“That’s great,” he says, croaks out more than anything, and smiles as wide as he can, drowning the drumming of his heart and fear as much as he can. “Why don’t you call your grandparents to tell them the news?” He checks the time. “And your uncle Peter? He should be out of work by now.”

Seren nods and babbles some more and disappears toward her room. Mary, who was standing silently near the door the whole time, finally comes around.

Remus starts busying himself with tea. It’s easier than thinking through his rising panic.

“So,” says Mary, because of course she cannot not say anything. For a brief second, Remus wishes Peter had been the one disponible today — he would have judged silently but not said anything, him. “You never told us Sirius Black is Seren’s father.”

He groans. His face hits the table and he considers staying here forever.

“No one knows,” he finally mumbles. “How did you even guess?”

“He was here today.” She ponders her words an instant. “They’re a lot alike.”

“But he doesn’t—” He stops himself, but Mary has known him since they were kids. She can read him too easily.

“I don't think he does.”

Remus sighs. It’s not ideal; it was already not great when Sirius Black was Seren’s idol, but it will be worse now that they’re in contact. Now that he will be in her life.

“Do I ask how it happened, since you didn’t tell me at the time, or are we doing that later when you can get drunk?”

“Second option,” Remus immediately answers. He can still remember, after all those years, how Sirius kissed him like he was important, the warmth of his hands on his body, the softness of his hair— But they had basically been strangers to each other, several hook-ups to escape boring parties resulting in Remus's panic at his sudden pregnancy and a total loss of contact. And now— Now he has so much to lose.

“I’ll call Peter,” Mary nods sagely. Then, after a beat of silence, “it will come out at some point, you know.”

“I doubt it,” he mutters, prays. “It’s not like he’ll remember me, anyway.”

How could an acclaimed actor, known all around the world, remember a random waiter he slept with twelve years ago? Remus didn’t impact his life the way Sirius impacted his. He’ll never regret it, of course — Seren is the most precious thing in his life, and all the moments preceding her existence were pretty great too — but it's not like Sirius would want to have anything to do with them, anyway.

Remus can at least try to speak it into existence.

[strawberri-draws]

Oc, android, they’ve got a copper base that has since rusted. I liked these doodles of her 🫶

[bizarrelittlemew]

calling it right now that season 3 starts like this

[bacchuschucklefuck]

pygmalion and galatea for aroace people

you should tell your friends what I look like, riz gukgak.

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 282

at last a monster gfs continuation in celebration of the spooky season

(tbh. since it is The Season if yall have any questions or prompts about the au or Them i will absolutely take them)

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

i have this really stupid idea in my head that im frankly a little obsessed with and the idea is this: trent crimm doing a drunk history episode on ted lasso's first tenure at richmond. is that how drunk history works? i don't think so. do i care? absolutely not. it's a special episode who cares because this image is not only hysterical to me but treasured. i treasure this image. i hold it close in my heart and also laugh and laugh and laugh.

[gearbroth]

[concept-dump] Space-au - (main(?) Antagonist) Skal, enemy of sun and mentor to iron

[mechazushi]

Fortitude Privilege {Staring Yu/Na and Base Inspector} (A short story)

After everything had settled down, they let Kafka do what-the-fuck-ever. That also includes snuggling on his boyfriend at anytime during work hours.

Vice Captain Hoshina was the first to leave the training room when Iharu passed by with a new recruit. He was showing her around the expansive base when he was presented with an opportunity to have a down to earth meet-and-greet with the base's second in command.

"Hey! Vice Cap! Good timing. Yunna, this is our Vice Captain Hoshina. Vice-Cap, this is Yunna. She's a transfer from Division Seven." Iharu took the lead on the introductions while the two of them were exchanging salutes. They all began trading questions with each other, busy distracting themselves with platitudes to not notice another person turning a corner and coming up behind Hoshina. A tall, burly, and clearly tired individual shambled up behind the vice captain and slumped over his shoulder unceremoniously, almost knocking him over.

"Oof, Kafka! Is everything okay?" Hoshina said calmly at the intruder. The man he called Kafka just wrapped his arms lopsidedly around Hoshina's left shoulder as he dug his face into the crook of his neck on the right.

" 'M fine. Drained" He mumbled incoherently, sacrificing vowels in his state of exhaustion. He nuzzled his nose affectionately in the curve of Hoshina's neck and took a noticeable whiff. "New cologne's nice."

Yunna, the new recruit, became visibly flushed as she continued to stare on. Iharu was already completely desensitized to this and just continued his conversation with the Vice Captain. Noticing the state of shock on the newcomer, Iharu took a second to explain what was happening.

"This is Kafka Hibino. He's the Captain's and Vice Captain's boyfriend. Everyone has learned to just let him get away with this bullshit." Iharu smiled cheekily at Yunna after he had finished.

"What am I supposed to do when he's like this? Tell him 'No'?" Hoshina said as he crossed his arms. He felt the rumbling of deep throated laughter coming from the man on his shoulder.

"Conveniently leaving out the fact that I'm also a kaiju." Kafka said as he lifted his head a little just to speak clearly. Yunna made a small squeak of surprise as the revelation made all the pieces click into place.

Down the hallway behind Iharu, everyone could hear another person aggressively shouting as they came down their direction.

"Aw, shit." Hoshina whispered under his breath.

"Who's that?" Iharu questioned as he turned around to look.

"Base Inspector. Probably looking for me to bitch about something inane." Hoshina continued. Iharu took that as a sign to whisk the new person off to a different location, sensing a need to disappear before he got themselves caught in possible corporate crossfire. Hoshina prepped his best Resting Bitch Face as the lanky inspector approached viciously.

"Afternoon, Inspector." Hoshina said in a deadpan manner. He took a longer look at the man coming toward him and noticed he recognized none of the man's features.

'Hmm. I wonder if he's new?' Hoshina thought. His hopes were raised a little, thinking that this possibly new base inspector wouldn't have the same stick up his ass like the last two did.

"Vice Captain Hoshina. Just the person I was looking for." The inspector called out. He opened his mouth to begin what was most certainly about to be a mindless rant concerning some slighted offence over some breach in paperwork or protocol, but quickly shut it when he noticed Kafka making no move to acknowledge his presence.

"Well, I was going to bring up your continued disregard to execute less leniency toward how officers structure their reports, but now it seems I should take over instilling basic officer conduct as well." The Base Inspector straightened his square framed glasses and leveled the most demeaning glare at the tired, hairy, lump that had made its place on Hoshina's shoulder.

"Oh, lay off. He said he's tired." Hoshina countered. He was beginning to wonder if a mightier-than-thou attitude was a requirement to being an inspector.

"Lethargy is no excuse for blatant indifference to higher authority." The stringy looking man sniffed haughtily. A threatening, rolling, and loud inhuman growl emanated from Kafka, still not looking up from his place at Hoshina's side. Hoshina chuckled as he ruffled his hair while he talked to him.

"Mind being a dear and head up to Mina's office for a bit? The only adult in the room needs to discipline this child, apparently." Hoshina spoke in hushed tones, sounding incredibly loving into Kafka's ear. Only a more disappointed growling whimper was heard in response.

"You could beg for more cuddles if she's in there." Hoshina sang quietly as he nosed Kafka's hair. The slacked-spined man lifted his head to stare disapprovingly at the unwanted interloper before planting a smooch to his Vice Captain's cheek and walked away, radiating an irritated aura all the way down the hall. The two that were left followed his path and waited for him to turn around a corner before continuing the discussion.

"You do know that having a relationship between a higher authority figure and an officer is prohibited, correct?" The inspector said as he turned back to face Hoshina.

"You know that man has a fortitude rating, correct?" Hoshina snarked.

"Don't you mean an aptitude rating?" The inspector returned wearily.

"No, fortitude." Hoshina reiterated firmly as he stepped closer into the inspector's personal space, " Ya'know, because he's a kaiju and all." The inspector tried not to express it, but he seemed taken aback. first from the clear hostility, then from realizing what Hoshina meant.

The inspector's lips flapped open and closed for a moment before letting slip a small, simple "oh."

"Were you not made aware that we had such a person within our ranks?" Hoshina asked poignantly.

"I was made very aware of such personnel." The inspector said as he adjusted his glasses again, "What I wasn't made aware of was how much leniency he seems to be permitted to have because of such an obscenely paltry standing." The inspector spoke with baseless higher authority, attempting to recover from finding himself on the back step. Hoshina could feel his lips being stretched thin over his teeth as he felt the need to use them to rip the throat out of this obstinate and unwarranted trespasser.

"Then you should have also been made aware of how that man had not only saved the lives of millions, but also saved the planet six times over consecutively." While being shorter than the inspector, Hoshina did a fine job of making it seem like he was towering over the other man.

" As... notable... as those achievements are, it shouldn't take away the fact that a relationship between an officer and a Vice Captain is unconducive to to the workplace since it could be used to unjustly gather sway in one's ranking." The base inspector held his position in the conversation, but was forced to slink down in height as he cowered under Hoshina's invasive presence.

"Ohh, trust me. The higher ups have made it very clear that he's already achieved the highest ranking they'll allow him, and that's being an exploitable weapon." Wrath tinged the edges of his words as he managed to climb higher over the base inspector.

"There is nothing in this world that he hasn't earned by not working his ass off for. So excuse me for thinking that the least he's owed is the right to express some fuckin' PDA." Hoshina could feel the tips of his lips curl into an unfriendly smile with an uncanny amount of teeth showing.

"If you really want to drag rank over this and piss off a man who's capable of leveling all of Western Japan for no decent reason, be my guest. If you have nothing drastically important to talk about, like something that's impeding the health and wellness of my officers, then I bid you farewell and hope your day is as wonderful as you are." Hoshina reclined back onto his heels and crisply marched away from the inspector, who still wasn't recovered from the invasion of personal space and was stuck being slant backwards, even as Hoshina moved out of eyesight.

Minutes later, Hoshina had found himself in Mina's office. Hoping to join in on Kafka's sudden bout of needed physical closure, he slipped past the threshold and quietly dumped his gym bag next to the door. Taking up most of the center of the room in front of the desk, was Mina, sandwiched between Bakko and Kafka. Reclined against the tiger formed monster, Mina looked silently overjoyed to have an asleep Kafka nestled between her legs as he rested his head on her stomach. Laying tilted on his side, the left portion of his face was buried in Mina's clothes while his arms had dug a hold around her midsection, framing his head. A low vibration hung in the air, getting louder as Hoshina snuck over.

"Need me to pry him off?" Hoshina lovingly muttered into Mina's forehead as he planted a small smooch as well.

"Later. Now, I need you to grab my phone!" Mina tried to contain her excitement as quietly as she could while gently brushing her free hand through Kafka's hair, the other being trapped under his heavy shoulder.

"Yes, he looks adorable, doesn't he?" Hoshina playfully rolled his eyes as he made moves to stand up.

"Well, yes, but you can't tell me you can't hear this?" Mina's smile was wide as she looked up at Hoshina. He took a second to listen as he processed the low rumble in the room.

"Is... is that not Bakko purring?" Hoshina questioned.

"No, he's awake!" Mina harshly whispered in joy as she jabbed her finger behind her, "This is all him!" She pointed her finger again at Kafka, emphasizing her revelation.

Hoshina made a quiet, deep throated cackle as he comically tiptoed around her desk to grab the phone and pull up the camera. He managed to settle onto the floor and shimmy his way under Mina's free arm as he held the camera close to Kafka's face. They got at least a good minute of audio, starring his purrs before Hoshina decided to end it there, not wanting to push their luck.

"It's a shame he can't purr all the time. Instead of the sleep talking, I mean." Mina commented as Hoshina made himself more comfortable in their embrace on the floor.

"We wouldn't be able to get out of bed in the morning if he did." Hoshina muttered sleepily as he finally stopped shifting when he found a good spot to settle into. Mina brushed his hair for a second while she returned the forehead kiss from earlier before relaxing into the warm and heavy pile she had unintentionally made for herself.

@iceclew

I hate to ask this from ya, but... Have you seen this yet? If you didn't have an opinion one way or another, that's fine. Just wanted to ask.

[timelordian-disaster-126]

I AM ALIVE MY GOOD PEOPLE!! I'm sorry for my disappearance! My hyperfixation shifted for a bit, and I've been so burnt out on drawing for a min because I've been in the limbo stage of hyperfixating on something 💀 but! I finally finished something to feed to y'all! >:D

I got bored yesterday while I was listening to music, and this one song literally inspired this entire story in one go, so I just HAD to give it a big finish title cover look! I even gave Honeydew Turner a return! >:D I hope you guys enjoy it! I've missed y'all sm!! Hopefully, I'll start posting more regularly here soon!

[vorestarr]

thoughts on vampirism as a symbol of trauma

i've been thinking about this in relation to Astarion's story arc for a while and started writing this post a couple times, only to have it become much longer than expected, so for now this post is just going to be about the different paths of ascension vs spawn from the end of his personal quest. (i think there are multiple ways to read his story, and this is just the way i've been reading and thinking about it.)

the basic idea of this post is that Astarion's vampirism is a physical manifestation or symbol of his trauma, and therefore the two different ending paths for him are distinguished by how he addresses his vampirism (and therefore trauma).

it's pretty clear that the vampirism itself is a traumatic experience for Astarion, from how he describes almost dying, then actually dying, and then everything that comes afterwards at Cazador's hands. but i think of this a step further, in that the actual symptoms of vampirism are also part of this. there's an idea that there are physical manifestations of traumatic experiences held in the body, even if the trauma itself was psychological in nature (i.e., the body keeps the score). this is how i read vampirism for Astarion, specifically.

to start, he's turned into a vampire after a traumatic experience (almost being killed by a group of people one night). he's "saved" from this by Cazador turning him into a vampire, but still his body literally dies when he turns into a vampire, which is another separate traumatic event where he feels himself die and then has to climb out of his own grave. (also noted, i believe it's hinted that Cazador orchestrated the attack on Astarion that almost killed him in the first place, so Cazador is the cause of all of this trauma in one event that is Astarion becoming a vampire.)

his body is physically changed by the experience. he loses things because of it, maybe things that were not particularly important to him but now seem incredibly important once they're gone (like walking in the sun) or things that were previously important to him and now he can no longer enjoy (living indulgences and pleasures like food, or his own reflection). also critically, he cannot get those things back. his life is changed (literally ended) and there's no fixing it.

he learns coping strategies during the subsequent 200 years, which i will not get into in this post, but suffice to say that he learned things that he believed would protect him in the moment.

after the tadpole when he experiences freedom from Cazador's influence for the first time, there are some critical shifts that happen to start him on a path to address these things, or not. the recent interview where the devs mention that the ascended path is one of fear, i really agreed with and have said similar things in previous posts, because to me, i think the main difference between how Astarion acts in those paths is that for ascension, he relies on the methods he learned in those 200 years to survive in the moment, while in the spawn path, he learns new ways to cope.

to elaborate on that, i think the ascension path specifically is about avoidance.

in trauma, avoidance is what it sounds like: avoiding any triggers or negative emotions related to the traumatic experience. the avoidance can manifest in different ways, but a key idea is that by avoiding those negative feelings, they are never actually addressed.

i think there are two big ways this manifests in Astarion's story, related to vampirism:

ascended Astarion is avoiding those negative feelings of fear of Cazador (or someone else doing what Cazador did) by focusing on seizing power and control. if he's more powerful, in control of a situation, then nothing bad can happen to him again. the way this ties back to vampirism as a symbol of trauma is that this is literally described to us in the game as the natural course of life for vampires: they live in fear of other vampires, fear of their own spawn seizing their power, etc. this is the story of Vellioth and Cazador, and then later Cazador and Astarion (regardless of the choice he makes to ascend or not). we even get a list of vampires where ALL their life spans/eras of power are timed so that we can infer that each subsequent vampire has killed the previous vampire to dethrone them. so, vampirism itself is trauma and the known course of vampirism is this same cycle we see repeated with multiple vampires and histories in game. by taking a different path and not becoming a full vampire, spawn Astarion has started to learn a new way of dealing with his vampirism/trauma, rather than avoiding it.

the OTHER major way i see this manifest in the game is how ascension and spawn paths deal with the literal symptoms of vampirism: walking in the sun, Astarion's reflection, food versus drinking blood, the vampiric state of undeath, etc. these are all things that changed about Astarion when he became a vampire, and things that (in the normal course of events) cannot be changed back. he died, he's dead, there's no curing his vampirism. in other words, there's no going back to who he was before the traumatic experiences. that by itself is a neutral statement, the same way that there's no going back to who a person is before any major event (be it meeting someone important, choosing to take a certain job, etc etc), because we are all constantly changing and growing. HOWEVER, i think the places with Astarion where this stops being neutral is how he addresses that fact: with acceptance or avoidance.

to elaborate on the second point, which is my main reason for making this post:

on the spawn path, Astarion learns new ways to be and to live with his vampirism. in his epilogue, he can mention that he's not bothered by losing the sun again, he can describe finding a sense of belonging with others who share his vampirism, and he can define himself in new ways that he's picked for himself rather than stay in the definition of vampire that Cazador held.

in the ascension path, Astarion avoids all of those difficult realizations and choices. he falls back on the same strategies that helped him survive in the moment for those 200 years, but which can and do hurt him after escaping that environment. he's working hard to keep from addressing those negative feelings -- and on the surface, this works! he can walk in the sun without the tadpole! he has new vampire powers and he can do all the things he lost when he died! he can see his own reflection again! but, he's still a vampire, still has his fangs, still has his red eyes.

this is why i think the route is characterized by fear and why i found that interview with the devs interesting: by focusing on all those avoidance behaviors, Astarion ends up being stuck in a state of mind that's all about fear because it's all about avoiding that feeling. he feels great in the moment because he has been able to claim back some of what was taken from him, but this is not a solution because he's still a vampire.

personally, i do not read the ascension path as continuing a cycle of abuse, but as the continuation of avoiding the painful process of healing from trauma.

ascended Astarion is elated after killing Cazador because he feels the power flowing through him and it makes him feel safe in the moment, and because he is avoiding addressing any lingering feelings of pain or negativity, including avoiding addressing that he just killed 7000 people.

spawn Astarion meanwhile looks absolutely miserable immediately after killing Cazador when he cries and breaks down, and then he feels numb later because he's so overwhelmed. this i think resembles something that can happen in trauma therapy, where a person feels worse when they initially start addressing and working through their trauma, because it means actually feeling all of those negative emotions they've been avoiding.

in the end, ascended Astarion has not changed how he addresses his trauma or vampirism, and the ascension has actually given him more tools to continue avoidance. spawn Astarion meanwhile is exploring other ways of living with his vampirism, and can be experiencing success with that by the time the epilogue rolls around (even if there are some bumps and regressions along the way, like losing his ability to walk in the sun again).

because this is my main reading, i also don't think this makes ascended Astarion evil or irredeemable -- i think he shows that he does still have all the emotions that he's displayed through the game and therefore he still has the potential to follow the same path that spawn Astarion did in healing. but, the critical thing with the ascension path is that he does not have the clear motivation or triggering event to start him down that path. he's further away from that, and it will take more work to get there. everything he did after all comes back to the ways he learned to survive under Cazador, so those behaviors helped him at one point. the issue is that he's past the point of those things helping him, but he can't let them go.

tl;dr: i like looking at vampirism itself as a physical symbol of trauma and as a way to read Astarion's potential storylines, because it provides a context for me to view how the ascension and spawn paths treat his vampiric symptoms -- avoiding them in the ascension path by giving him an "out" of sorts to avoid addressing how those symptoms impact his life because of the extra abilities granted to him by the ritual, versus being forced to grapple with them and figure out a way to life with them and even enjoy them on his own terms in the spawn ending.

if you read this whole post, thanks for sticking with me and feel free to share your thoughts too. :)

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