#i'm not going to unpack the implications of this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elliewithcellie · 7 months ago

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Protector

summary: After months working for the BAU, your harbored feelings for your boss seem unrequited until your hunt for the unsub goes awry. (hotch x fem!reader)

wc: 9.8k (oh my god)

cw: slow burn, boss/employee dynamic, age gap pairing, criminal minds level violence, mention of alcoholism, implication of father issues, hurt/comfort, reader gets hurt, fluff, angst, SMUT (18+ MDNI), oral (f receiving), p in v sex, Hotch is a professional at heart and takes work boundaries seriously

a/n: Back in the saddle with a new man to hyper-fixate on. Hotch can GET IT. Also, let me know if anyone wants the SFW version I'm working on

“Looks like we’re doubling up,” Hotch announced, a sigh escaping his lips.

Before you could even process his words, the rest of the team sounded off, choosing their roommates for the duration of the case. All that remained were you and your boss. With the team dispersing, you awkwardly shifted your duffle bag to your other shoulder and looked up at Hotch.

His stern expression didn’t change as he looked back at you. “Come on. We’re 202.”

You followed him to the elevators, still unsure what to think. This was not only your boss but someone you had garnered quite a fondness for since you joined the BAU. Of course, you had managed yourself professionally thus far, but you were sure this was going to test your limits.

You understood the immediate pairings among the rest of the team. You were still fairly new, not quite to the rapport that the team had formed with each other. But it also made you think about how no one chose Hotch. The pressure to be Unit Chief also had to be lonely.

The elevator chimed, and the two of you shuffled in. You kept to yourself, trying to maintain composure. The lift from the first floor to the second felt like an hour, the silence deafening. You couldn’t shake your nerves. The doors opened, and he stepped out. You quickly followed.

Hotch opened the door and allowed you in first. The two double beds, office chair, mini fridge, and small bathroom were all less comforting to you than normal.

“Do you mind if I take the bed by the door?” Hotch asked, his voice softer than usual.

You blinked up at him, stirred from your preoccupation. “Yeah, of course. I like the window side anyway.”

“Thank you. If you’d like, you can have the shower first. I’d like to call Jack before he heads to bed.”

“Sounds good.”

You began to unpack your belongings and sighed in dismay. You had assumed that you would have a room to yourself as usual, so your pajamas were a little more revealing than you’d prefer your boss to see. Still, a t-shirt and shorts were reasonable sleep attire, so you tried not to dwell on it. You collected your things as Hotch dialed a number on his phone.

“Hey, buddy, how was your day?”

You smiled to yourself as you entered the bathroom. His “dad” voice was more upbeat, yet calm and soothing. With Hotch distracted on the phone, you could relax in the shower. The boiling water stung your skin, just the way you needed it. As you relaxed, you realized how silly it was for you to stress over the rooming situation. Hotch was here to do his job, just like you. And other than his intelligence, his kindness, and his fierce compassion for kids, you were sure you were only infatuated with him.

You finished up your shower and towel-dried your hair once you could no longer hear his muffled voice through the door. You were desperate not to waste Hotch’s time. With your hair still wet and your large t-shirt hanging over your shorts, you timidly exited the bathroom back to your bed, on your toes as if you were sneaking around. Hotch sat on his bed, his coat jacket now on the desk chair. He flipped through channels with the remote in one hand and loosened his tie with the other.

“All yours,” you spoke, struggling to get the words out.

Hotch looked up at you and gave a small smile. “Thanks.” He gathered up his things and closed the bathroom door behind him.

Another sigh of relief left your lips. You grabbed the book from your duffle and climbed into bed. You rolled over to turn on the lamp next to you and began to read, but before you knew it, sleep overtook you.

------

“Hotchner.”

You woke up to Hotch answering his phone. The sky was still dark. The only light illuminating the room was the alarm clock. You realized that you hadn’t turned off the lamp before you fell asleep, nor did you place your book carefully on the side table with a hotel pen as the bookmark.

“Alright. Yes. Right. Understood. We’ll be right over.”

You looked up at Hotch expectantly. He looked at you, then averted his eyes as he got out of bed. “Another young girl missing. She’s only 16.” He paced the floor for a moment, a short-lived break from the stoic leader he always has to be.

“I’ll call the others,” you said sitting up. His eyes returned to yours, the strain turning into relief. He only nodded and headed for the closet, suiting up right there.

You called the others and followed suit, leaving the hotel parking lot by 3:46 am.

------

The next 18 hours were long, stressful, and only moderately successful. The team was able to work out an arrangement with the kidnapper before their 24 hours were up. The girl, Heather, was returned to her parents with only a few bruises. But the kidnapper got away, practically goading you all at the ability to remain anonymous. The team was exhausted and out of ideas.

The team drove back to the hotel without a single word exchanged. The kidnapper’s voice rang in your head. He was so confident, arrogant even. There was almost never a moment where he fumbled over his words or cracked. His ruse lasted for hours. But he got sloppy in the end, fessing up to her location just enough for Garcia to triangulate. But something wasn’t adding up to you: his willingness to run instead of killing her when he had the chance.

Hotch spoke up, stirring you from your ruminations. “We need to start from scratch. Reid, give us a rundown on what, where, and why.”

“Well, we know his victims are all young women now ranging from 16 to 23. They come from middle to upper-class families. He sends messages to the families always demanding ransom within 24 hours. Three women have been killed, and now two have survived. The strange part is whether or not he stays truthful to his word. The parents have always given him what he wants, but then it’s up to his discretion whether he follows through.”

“Based on these girls,” Prentiss interjected, “this guy’s intelligent. He prides himself on the ability to get away with this.”

“That’s good,” Hotch said, eyes still on the road. “But why work with us sometimes and not others?

The SUV hummed as its passengers sat in silence.

You decided to speak up. “Prentiss said he prides himself on the ability to get away with this, right?” Everyone sat still, expectant for you to continue. “We’re looking at this the wrong way. This isn’t a sadist who gets off on killing. This isn’t a psychopath with a compulsion. This is a narcissistic sociopath who has been evading capture for weeks now. This is a game to him. It’s a game he knows he can win.”

“Which is why when he’s pressured, he releases the girl.” Hotch nodded along.

“He can take a loss where he can because, to him, the ultimate win is to not get caught,” Reid agreed.

“Great work,” Hotch said, parking the car. “You guys head in and get some good sleep. I’ll fill in the other van. Be ready for a big day of planning.”

You walked up with Reid and Prentiss, a small smile refusing to leave your lips. You cracked it, you thought to yourself.

Your two teammates teased each other up to the rooms, you following close behind. You weren’t the type to inject yourself into other people’s conversations, which ended up making it hard to connect with them. It was as if you had been adopted into a family that has known each other their whole lives. You were respected, sure, so there was no need to complain. You just wished that you could make jokes with them and have the levity they had during intense cases like this.

Still, even hearing your teammates laugh was enough for you tonight. You longed for a moment longer, but they said their goodnights and headed off.

You entered your room, much more relaxed than the night before. You had yourself all worked up, and for what? You gathered your things and headed to the shower, sure that Hotch wasn’t far behind and would call his son again.

As you exited the bathroom, Hotch entered the room. You jumped despite yourself.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

“It’s ok,” was all you said in response. You returned your things to your bag and slid into bed. You turned on the lamp and began reading while Hotch took his turn in the shower.

You were still reading when he returned, the book more interesting now than it was the night before. You glanced up only for a moment. Hotch wore striped pajama pants tonight, contrasted to the boxers you accidentally noticed earlier that morning. You looked back at your book but couldn’t read it. Your mind wandered to the message Hotch could be sending. Maybe your shorts were inappropriate. Maybe you weren’t meant to see his boxer shorts at all. Maybe he was just cold.

“Good work today,” Hotch said, interrupting your thoughts.

You smiled up at him. “It was a team effort.”

“We may have never come to the conclusion you did. Take the compliment.” Hotch’s lips raised to a subtle smirk, something you’ve only seen a handful of times and certainly never directed toward you.

“Yes, sir,” you said. “Thank you.” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Your eyes drifted back to your book.

“What’s your book about?”

Was Hotch trying to make conversation with you? True, it wasn’t as late as yesterday’s arrival, but in all of your months of working for the BAU, any discussion with the team had been strictly professional. Still, you blushed at the question.

“It’s a romance,” you confessed.

“I have to say,” Hotch began, “I’ve never read a romance novel. What about it appeals to you?”

You thought for a moment. “I guess it’s the suspension of disbelief. The relief to enter a reality where people love in big, romantic ways. Don’t you ever want to get swept off your feet?”

You cringed at the question, debating on whether it was appropriate to ask your superior about romance.

“I think I’d rather do the sweeping,” Hotch said thoughtfully.

You smiled at his words.

“You don’t think people love in romantic ways in this reality?” Hotch asked, looking up at the ceiling. His breaths were calm, and his face seemed to soften from serious to curious.

“I don’t know,” you said sincerely. “My sister is about to marry a real stand-up guy. He’s caring and has a good family who loves her, too. It’s one of those one-and-done fairy tale deals. Like truly made for each other. But I wouldn’t say that’s the norm. It’s not my norm, at least. So, yeah, I guess you could say I’m skeptical.”

You crossed your legs and fiddled with your thumbs. You tried not to reflect on your history, tried not to give any clue to your boss of your true beliefs. It didn’t ultimately matter to the conversation, anyway. The silence stewed as it stirred up new thoughts and old patterns, feeling yourself shut down the conversation. You didn’t mean to. You hated being seen as the one that was boring outside of work. The one that wasn’t friendly enough to get to know.

“I’m sure you don’t know,” Hotch began again, shaking you from your anxious thoughts, “but bringing up your sister reminded me that I met your dad a few years ago.”

You shot up. “You know about him?” You covered your face with your hands.

“He was nationally awarded for his work in counterterrorism. Of course, I know about him.” He laughed softly, a sound you weren’t used to but would never complain to hear it again. “I met him on a job in Bakersfield. He knew the town like the back of his hand. Is he why you joined?”

“In a roundabout way,” you sighed.

“He brought up his girls every chance he could.” Hotch smiled and turned to face you. “One was a soccer star in South Carolina on track to be a doctor. One was a track star a semester away from graduating with honors and applying to Physician Assistant programs, I believe.”

“My sisters are overachievers,” you said.

“Then it’s you he talked about the most. The musician, the future psychologist, the one who found fascination with the minute details of life.”

“My dad said all that?”

“He did. He had offered us beers when it was all over, and he shared photos of you all. You’re certainly much more grown now.” He chuckled.

Your cheeks flushed red at the comment.

“I showed him Jack playing tee-ball, and we both shared some stories before it was time to go. He had some great advice to give.”

“I’m sure he did,” you mumbled. “Sir, I don’t want you to think I got in because of him. He didn’t know until I made it to Quantico. I mean, yes, he always pushed the army and West Point like him, but I did this all on my own, Mr. Hotchner, I swear.”

“Hotch is fine,” he gently corrected. “I’m not worried about where you came from. I knew the entire time. But your qualifications are what got you on the team, not your father. Keep up the good work, and I’ll continue to remember that.”

“Yes, sir.” You thought to yourself for a moment. The candor of the conversation may have added to your bravery in this moment. “Hotch?”

He raised his eyebrows to imply he was listening.

“Umm, Is there anything that I can do to, like… never mind. I’m about to sound pathetic.” You huffed back down into your pillow. You couldn’t believe you were about to ask Hotch how to make friends.

“They’ll warm up to you, just like you’ll warm up to them. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and I’m sure they’ll see you for who you are.”

You sighed again. Of course, he knew what you were stressing about. He’s the chief profiler after all.

“I’ll let you read now,” Hotch said, getting up from bed. “I’m going to call Jack.”

You gave a small smile and nodded, and he left the room.

------

You woke up the next morning to Hotch returning to the room, two disposable coffee cups and a case file in his hands.

You jerked up from bed. “Am I late?” you asked, scared you slept through the alarm.

“No, no,” he said, walking over to you. “I’m early. Coffee?”

He held out one of the cups to you. You gently accepted.

“Thank you.” You looked over at the clock. 5:54. You rubbed your eyes. “Are you always up this early?”

“On the job, yes,” he said with no inflection. “Much to think about, and much to be done.” He sat back on his bed and reviewed the file you knew he had reviewed countless times. If he was anything like you, he was searching for some hidden puzzle piece, something that the team must have missed to solve the case once and for all. But it was never that easy. Still, maybe some fresh eyes could help.

You slid out of your bed and rested on top of his. “Can I help?”

“Be my guest.” He shifted the file your way for a better vantage point. You crossed your legs and sipped your coffee before getting to work.

You found yourself lost in thought, jotting down those thoughts in the margins. It helped to visualize your connections, even drawing physical lines to connect them. You noticed that the most recent girl didn’t fit the age range of the others, 19-23. You dug deeper, making a note to ask Garcia to run the connection between all of these girls. College? you wrote. There was a college campus within ten minutes of the hotel. One more thing struck you. All of the victims had their hair up in a high ponytail. You weren’t sure how that was associated yet, but you wrote beside each of the photos anyway.

As the early sun began to rise, you grew brutally aware of Hotch’s presence. His body leaned closer to yours, and you felt his eyes sear into your skin. You grew distracted, your mind wandering to the fact that you were wearing only a loose shirt and small shorts in Hotch’s bed. Was he noticing the same thing? Was this a breach of professionalism? Were you making him uncomfortable? Against all your will, you felt your body temperature rise in the form of a blush.

The alarm clock rang out, pulling both Hotch and your attention. You stretched over to turn it off.

“I’ll let you get ready,” Hotch said, jumping out of bed. He headed to the door, refusing to meet your gaze. “Meet me downstairs?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, slightly surprised by the questioning tone of your superior. He nodded and left the room before another word could be spoken.

-------

In the conference room of the local police station sat the team, all watching Hotch interact with the captain of the squad through the glass. You stayed facing the table with your head low. You couldn’t help the bounce of your leg. While the others inferred the conversation outside, your mind had fixated on the morning’s events. The heat of your boss’s breath had tattooed your skin, a branding to the back of your neck. The intimacy, the closeness, and then the flustered nature Hotch left in replayed in your mind. You couldn’t look at him until you could properly collect yourself.

“What’s on your mind, kiddo?” Morgan asked. Your head shot up. All eyes were on you now. You failed to hide the rouging in your cheeks.

“Nothing.” You shrugged, though you knew the contradiction in your body language.

JJ chuckled. “Nothing? You’re so tense, so distracted.”

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?” Morgan asked again, a smile growing on his face. “Hotch keeping you up all night?”

You flinched at his name. You couldn’t help it, but you outed yourself all the same.

“No, I slept fine. I swear.”

“You flinched!” Prentiss laughed and pointed. “It is about Hotch, isn’t it?”

“Leave the poor girl alone,” Rossi said, not bothering to look up from his newspaper.

“Hon, you better tell us what happened in the next three seconds.” Derek swatted at Spencer’s chest. “Reid, help us out, here.”

“Based on the months we’ve known her, she tends to—”

“Don’t you start profiling me, Reid.” You glared at Spencer across the table.

His arms shot up in the air as if to surrender, but a smirk remained on his face. “All I’m saying is that I know the physical signs of a crush when I see one.”

Your jaw dropped. The conference room filled with laughter.

“Leave her alone!” Garcia yelled from behind you. “She’s our sensitive little one!”

“I’m not 5,” you mumbled, crossing your arms. Penelope hugged you from behind as if to protect you from the others. The others continued to laugh, causing you to smile despite yourself. Morgan took a photo of you and Garcia, and warmth spread through you. Even with all the teasing, being here with the team felt good.

Just then Hotch rushed through the door. “Alright, let’s be seated and get to work. We have a big day ahead of us.” Garcia took her seat, but Hotch stayed standing, opting to position himself in front of the whiteboard. “After speaking with the captain and going through the case file with Y/N this morning, I determined our best attack on the situation. Though, it is rather unorthodox.”

The rest of the team stayed silent, waiting for the punchline. Hotch continued. “What do we know about our killer better than anything? His victimology. We know that he goes after girls and young women aged 16-23. They are middle to upper-class, and not the type to find themselves in trouble. Now, who do we all know who fits this very description?”

“Y/N,” Reid said.

All eyes returned to you, this time with a seriousness looming in the air.

“If we don’t want any other kidnappings, we need to give him what he wants. Going after the 16-year-old was off for him. He’s devolving. Which means we need to act fast before he kills again. This is the only way we can approach this head-on.”

“Hotch,” Emily began, “with all due respect, let me take this on. Or JJ. JJ has experience.”

“With his victimology going as low as 16 now, it should be someone who looks the part,” Reid replied.

“She’s just a kid, Hotch.” Morgan reached his hand toward your shoulder, but you gently nudged it away.

“But I’m not a kid at all,” you spoke up. “I have two degrees and the same job as the rest of you. I know I’m young and look younger, but I’m qualified. If my appearance can be used to put this guy away, then let me help. Let me do my job.” You looked up at Hotch, a sudden confidence flowing through your veins. “What do you need me to do?”

-------

For the rest of the day, the team helped you prepare for your role as a 22-year-old college student. The team strategized and planned, desperate to ensure your safety. Everyone added their two cents, but you were happy to receive all the insight you were given. You weren’t going to screw this up for them.

You, Hotch, Prentiss, and Morgan returned to the hotel to pick among your belongings to dress the part. Rossi, Reid, and JJ stayed behind with Garcia to set up intel at the station.

“The shorts you wore to bed,” Hotch began, “go put those on while we find a sweatshirt or jacket. In fact, wear the shirt you wore, too. The size could conceal the mic better.”

You nodded and grabbed your things before heading into the bathroom. It was not lost on you that your boss was thoroughly aware of your pajama situation, but due to the pivotal role you were to perform, it was easier to focus on the task at hand.

You returned from the bathroom where Emily greeted you with the mic. You lifted your arms, allowing Emily to snake the mic underneath your shirt, securing it to your sternum with sports tape. While doing so, Hotch and Morgan returned with a single sweatshirt in Morgan’s hand. It was grungy and old, not quite the goal aesthetic.

Still, Morgan handed it to you to try on. The three profilers evaluated your look.

“This isn’t gonna work,” Morgan said. Prentiss pinched her eyebrows together in dismay. Hotch stayed staring.

“Take off the sweatshirt,” Hotch ordered. “I think I have something better.”

You did as he said while he rummaged through his duffle bag. He pulled out a quarter zip of excellent quality, something he only wears on a successful plane ride home.

“Put it on.”

You didn’t hesitate to follow his instructions. It was a large fit, hanging just above the hem of your shorts and the sleeves landing at your fingertips. The three of them looked at you, then to their reference photos, then back at you. Something was missing.

“Call Reid. Maybe he can find any other similarity we’re missing,” Hotch said.

“No, I got it.” You remembered the notes you made earlier that morning. You took the hair tie from your wrist and pulled your hair up into a high ponytail. “Now, what do you think?”

“That’s it,” Morgan said.

“And just in time,” Emily noted, “We gotta get you to the college fast.”

On the ride to the school, Hotch reiterated the goals in place.

“All you need to do is walk across campus using the roads. Keep to yourself, and most importantly, do not—and I mean it—do NOT, get into the vehicle under any circumstances. Stall him, flirt with him, do anything you can to keep him in place. We’ll be right there. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. I got it.”

“We’re counting on you.”

“Good luck.” Prentiss smiled with seriousness behind her eyes.

Morgan grabbed your shoulder, turning you around. “Be smart, kiddo.”

You returned a small smile and left the van to venture on your walk.

------

You had to have walked the streets for at least an hour. The campus was massive, larger than any school you attended. You did as you were told and kept to yourself. The sun had long since set, so there was no warmth to guard you from the biting breeze. A car or two passed periodically, but none slowed down beside you. There was a peace in the solitude. One could chalk it up to the calm before the storm, but you weren’t afraid.

Another car passed, but this time it slowed down. Your heart stopped and landed in your throat.

“Excuse me,” the man called out. The voice was unforgettable. The very same voice that threatened to kill the girl over the phone. The voice that replayed in your mind for hours. You knew it was him.

You turned to face him, trying to commit every detail to memory. He was a conventionally attractive man with lighter hair and a smile that you would have swooned over under any other circumstance. He wore a white polo and jeans and drove a two-door black convertible with the top down.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m looking for a party my buddy’s throwing, but I don’t go here.”

“I’ll say you don’t,” you chuckled as you walked closer. “Your car must cost my tuition!”

The man grinned. “You like? I could take you for a spin. But I’ll have you know; I like to go fast.”

“Mmmm, top-down, wind in my hair,”—you inched closer still, to feign some sort of interest— “but don’t you have a party you’re missing?”

“Well, if you show me where to go, maybe I’ll consider you my plus one.” He winked.

“Now, do I look like the partying type to you?” You laughed and rested your arms on his car door.

Without another word, he grabbed you by the upper arms and pulled you into the driver’s seat. You screamed at the top of your lungs. You tried to fight him from your disadvantaged position, but he was stronger, quicker. He forced you into the passenger seat as he wailed punch after punch into your jaw.

“Nice. Girls. Don’t. Scream!” he yelled. He punctuated his words with one final blow to the head. And as you drifted out of consciousness, you weren’t sure if the roof was closing above you or if the sky was turning black.

------

The sound of fireworks stirred you from your unconsciousness. Lights of reds and blues lit the night sky. You smiled at the serenity of the celebration. You didn’t want to go, but the strong hands beneath you lifted you away. You were much too tired to argue, his heartbeat lulling you to sleep. The faint words “stay with me” echoed in your mind, and if staying meant remaining in the comfort of the person who held you, you’d be content to stay there forever.

------

You woke up to blinding white lights. This must be heaven you assumed. You blinked through the searing lights and realized it wasn’t heaven at all. You were in a hospital. The sheets, the gown, the blinking monitors, and a small TV playing all clouded your senses. You reached up to rub your head, but someone was holding your hand.

Hotch moved with you, stirring him out of his strained slumber. He had pulled a chair to your bed, his head resting next to your knee. He lifted his head and looked up at you, an urgency deep within his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” He didn’t let go of your hand.

“I—uhhh—Hotch, what’s goin’ on?” You found your breathing quickening at the sound of your slurred speech, the confusion becoming too much to handle.

“You’re ok. You’re gonna be ok. The doctor said they want to keep you overnight, but the team’s on their way.”

“No, no.” You pulled your hand away. “They can’t see me like this. You can’t see me like this! I’m not put together. I—I feel like I'm gonna be sick. I can’t feel my arms. Are my hands shaking? I'm freaking out. I'm freaking out!”

Hotch all but jumped at your ramblings, his eyebrows raised in shock. Before he could answer you burst into tears.

“Hotch, I’m gonna be sick,” you said through your convulsions.

Hotch jumped up in search of a bucket. He grabbed the trashcan at the corner of the room and brought it to you just in time. Tears streamed down your face as you threw up into the trashcan. Hotch held your hair back and gently rubbed your back.

Your nausea subsided, but your panic remained. Hotch sat on the bed, pulling you into his chest. You gripped him with all your might, desperate for the shakes to go away.

“You're alright. You're safe, ok? I think the medicine is messing with you a little. Take some deep breaths for me. I need you to relax, ok?”

You tried to take breaths at the pace Hotch set. Hotch’s hand combed through your hair as he tried to soothe you. Eventually, you were able to cool off. Hotch gently rested you back on your pillow. “Why don’t we go back to sleep for a little, ok? I think you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

You nodded, your face still wet from the tears. You repositioned yourself and fell asleep within moments.

When you woke up again, your mind was your own. Your head was pounding, and your body ached. You allowed yourself to adjust to your environment before searching for Hotch. There he sat by your bed, talking to a nurse. You cleared your throat effortfully. Hotch stood and approached you.

“How are you?”

“Everything hurts.”

“They’re giving you ibuprofen now. It seems like you were reacting to the morphine poorly.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“Not at all,” Hotch said seriously. “Do you remember what I told you? That they want to keep you overnight?”

“That does ring a bell,” you said as you rubbed your head. “Is the team here?”

“They are. I told them to wait outside until you were ready.”

“Oh, ok.” You thought for a moment. “Hotch?”

“Yes?”

“Can—Can you tell me what happened? Like, did we win? Is everyone ok?”

Hotch chuckled, but his eyes appeared sad. “Everyone is fine. We got him. Are you sure you want to talk about this now? Why don’t we wait until you—”

“Hotch. Please.”

Hotch sighed and took a moment to think. “Well, we knew we were looking for an expensive convertible thanks to you.” He smiled. “So, we began our search as you spoke. But then, we all heard you scream.”

You flinched at the word, your memory of the gruesome event beginning to reassemble.

“Of course, it was full speed at that point. He had you, and we weren’t going to lose you. We cornered him on a dead-end road just outside of campus. We didn’t let him get far. Prentiss shot out one of his tires, so he started running. Prentiss and Morgan ran for him, and I ran to you.”

He paused. He looked away as his bottom lip trembled. He took a deep breath in as he settled into his natural professionalism again.

“We had EMT on standby, so we were able to get here quickly.”

You nodded, realizing it was Hotch who carried you out. The fireworks, the lights, the “stay with me”, the reality of it all crashed in on you in the form of a shudder.

“It was you?” you asked.

Hotch knit his eyebrows together and tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“You pulled me out. I felt you. I think I heard you.”

“Someone had to make sure you were ok.”

The fact that it was Hotch warmed your heart. Still, a question lingered in your mind. “Is he still alive?”

Hotch shook his head no.

“Mm,” was all you could say in response. There was no room for emotion. No time to process an opinion. You were just glad it was over. “What time is it?”

Hotch checked his watch. “It’s 2:43.”

“In the morning? Sir, with all good intentions, go to bed. Go tell the team to—”

Just behind Hotch, you caught a glimpse of Spencer in the doorway. “Is now a good time?” he asked.

You smiled and nodded. Spencer peeked his head back out and in a loud whisper said, “It’s clear! Go, go, go!”

The rest of the team hustled into the room and crowded around your bed. One by one, greetings and gentle hugs made their rounds, and your smile grew bigger and bigger.

“It’s a party now,” you said, a giggle bubbling out of your throat.

“Oh, she’s got the right idea,” JJ said as she sat close to you on the bed. She carefully moved a strand of hair from your face.

Prentiss laughed. “All we need now is some good music, a dance floor, and some drinks.”

The room filled with a few laughs and overall agreement.

“Too bad you all aren’t even supposed to be here,” Hotch said, slightly scolding the team. “It’s probably time for you all to call it a night.”

“Aw, Hotch, just a few minutes?” Garcia asked.

“We’ll be quiet!” Reid said.

Everyone looked at Hotch expectantly. You looked around at your teammates. They all were begging for a couple more minutes with you. That alone allowed your pain to subside.

Hotch sighed. “Just a couple more minutes.” A small smile formed on his face.

Everyone crowded around the bed, content murmurs and chatter filling the room again.

“Now be honest, guys. How bad do I look?” You shot them all a cheesy smile to sell it.

A few of them chuckled at your antics.

“I think you’ll be back to dating in no time,” Prentiss joked. “Guys love a badass scar.”

“Yeah, ’cause she was dating before,” JJ teased as she played with your hair.

“Shut up!” you giggled, coughing a little.

“I’ll get you water.” Hotch shot up and walked off.

“I’ll go with him,” Rossi said, sighing.

A seriousness enveloped the room. Derek was the first to speak up. “You know, you really scared us today, kiddo. Not to get all big brother on you, but it was tough seeing Hotch carrying you like that. Just limp.”

“And imagine how Hotch must have felt,” Reid said.

You looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

Just then Hotch and Rossi returned with your water.

“Drink,” he said, his arm outstretched. You grabbed the water from him, your fingers overlapping his. The memory of his hands shot through your spine. His frantic begging for you to stay with him, much more panicked than you remembered the phrase.

Imagine how Hotch must have felt.

“It’s getting late,” Rossi said.

The rest of the team grumbled and said their goodbyes. Hotch allowed the rest of the team to go, lingering in the room with you.

“If you need me to stay, I’d be happy to do so.”

“You need sleep, sir.”

“I’ll sleep on the plane,” he said as if it was nothing to him. “If you don’t think you’ll need me, I can let you be. We can be here early to pick you up.”

You thought for a moment. You didn’t want him to go, just in case. “Would you be willing to stay?”

“It’s why I offered.”

You felt your lip begin to tremble, the brave face for the rest of the team beginning to fade. “Hotch?”

“What can I do?”

“Well, I just… Can I use your phone? I think my mom should know I’m alright.”

“Of course.” He handed you his phone. “I’ll wait right outside for you.”

When the phone call was finished, Hotch returned and sat down in the chair.

“If you’re going to stay, I at least want you comfortable,” you said.

“The chair is fine,” Hotch said, taking his coat off for the first time today. “Get some sleep.”

You scooted to the side of your bed. “Here. At least sit up here where there’s some cushion.”

He didn’t respond right away. You knew you could convince him.

“I promise I’ll sleep,” you continued. “I’d be up worrying about your discomfort otherwise.”

Hotch sighed and stood up. “Only because I want you to sleep.”

He sat in the space you made for him at your feet. He stretched his legs alongside yours and rested his back against the footboard of the hospital bed.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you curled up on your side. The comfort in knowing that he was there to take care of you was enough to send you off to sleep in minutes.

“Goodnight, Hotch.”

“Goodnight.”

------

You woke up to something you had never seen before. Hotch was asleep at the foot of your bed, resting his head against your shins. A hand was placed just below your knee as if he planned to protect you in his sleep. It was the most peaceful you had ever seen him. He didn’t look cross or serious. He was calm and relaxed. You smiled to yourself. You had to fight the urge to return his touch. You knew the moment he woke up he’d return to his professional senses, and you weren’t quite ready for this moment to be over.

The doctor walked in to check on you, stirring him awake, anyway.

“I’m clearing you. Take these twice a day. Your jaw is going to be sore for a couple weeks, so work up to crunchy and chewy foods. And please, no strenuous activity for at least a full week.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said, taking the bottle of pills.

“Thank you,” Hotch said. He stood up from your bed as the doctor left. He threw his jacket on and fixed his hair in the window’s reflection.

You sat up and swung your legs off the bed. Hotch spun around and met you at your side.

“How can I help?”

You chuckled. “I think I can stand on my own.”

His eyes shared signs of concern and disbelief. Still, he took a small step back and allowed you to gather your bearings. Standing on your own, you closed the small gap between you. You began to become painstakingly aware of your attire being only a hospital gown and rubber socks.

“You got it?” Hotch asked, his arms out like you were a baby taking your first steps.

“Mmhmm,” you said. “Are my clothes here?”

“Yes, let me grab them for you.” He rushed to the corner of the room where your clothes had been neatly folded, including his sweater. He handed them all to you, his hands brushing against yours. Your heart fluttered in your chest as he stood over you. You looked up at him. His eyes returned your gaze, though you weren’t able to read him. His chest rose and fell as if his breathing was slow and deliberate.

“I’m going to call the team,” Hotch said, his voice low. “Do you—do you need help with anything before I do?”

All you could do was shake your head no on instinct, your eyes not leaving his. He stayed still. His eyes scanned you like he was contemplating something. He backed up carefully and pulled his phone from his coat pocket.

“Wait,” you said.

He froze.

You felt your face redden as you worked up the courage to continue. “Could—could you untie the top for me? My shoulder—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he said softly as he inched forward again. “Turn around.”

You did as you were told. He brushed your hair over your shoulder and began to work on the knot. His calloused fingers feathered your skin. His warm breath betrayed you as chills ran down your spine. He untied the knot, allowing cool air to reach the back of your now-open gown. Hotch turned to leave.

“Be careful,” he said at the door. “If you need me, knock on the glass.”

You nodded.

He closed the door behind him, leaving you alone.

------

The drive from the hospital to the hotel rendered the air stale. Hotch had insisted on helping you out of the hospital and into the car. But he didn’t speak. He drove while you sat in the back seat. Every once in a while, you’d catch him checking on you in the rear-view mirror, only to direct his attention back to the road.

When you returned to the hotel, Hotch stopped you from leaving the car.

“I’ll grab your things. You stay here.”

“I can get my things just fine.”

“Your bag is heavy. Doctor’s orders. No strenuous activity. Stay here.”

You huffed and sat back in your seat as Hotch closed the door for you.

The plane ride was the same: silent. Hotch sat opposite you as if he refused to allow you to leave his sight. But he kept to himself all the same. The others rested or played their card games, but you stayed put, almost waiting for Hotch to make his next move. He didn’t speak the entire flight.

Upon your return, Hotch dismissed the rest of the team.

“Thank you for the hard work this weekend. Rest up, and I will see you all Monday.”

You all headed out to leave, but Hotch stopped you. “Let me take you home,” he said.

You sighed. “Is driving a strenuous task now?”

“It’s late, and I’m not asking,” he said, returning your attitude.

You followed him to his car. He carried both his and your bag and placed them in the backseat before joining you up front.

Again, not a word was spoken between the two of you. You felt your blood boiling beneath your skin. It was as if the trip never happened, as if the distance between you never closed. The babying was the worst of all. You were sure he was seeing you as the rest of the team did now, incapable, fragile, only a child.

Hotch walked you up to your apartment. He waited for you to open your door, placing your bag directly inside.

“Well,” you began, “I guess I’ll see you Monday.”

He stood in your doorway for a moment, something on his mind. “Are you sure you’re ok? Is there anything else you think you may need before I go?”

“Hotch, what is all this?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

You tried to maintain your sanity, but the anger had bubbled into your throat. “All this, this, this coddling! You’re treating me like I’m fragile or, or useless!”

“Do I have to remind you that you were in the hospital this morning?” Hotch asked, aggravation coating his throat.

“I don’t need this from you, too, ok? The rest of them, I can take it, but you were different! I thought you were different.”

Hotch closed the door behind him and crossed his arms. “What are you talking about?”

“Have you not noticed that all of them treat me like I’m a child? Derek literally calls me kiddo, and the girls act like I’m some innocent girl fresh out of high school. Reid and JJ are five years older than me. That’s it! Rossi, forget it. I’m like a grandchild to him at this point. But you, you never belittled me. So, what is this? Did I fail you? I’d rather you just tell me than refuse to speak to me.”

“I – you didn’t fail me. How could you think that?”

“You couldn’t even look at me after the hospital.”

Hotch’s face turned a light shade of pink, his eyes leaving yours for only a moment. “We were successful because of you. But you got hurt. I just want to make sure you’re ok. That’s all.”

You thought for a moment, still not satisfied with his answer. “Then why didn’t you talk to me? I thought we were—I thought maybe there was something—”

“Please,” Hotch interrupted, “don’t say anything you might regret.” He took a step back.

“Are you saying I’m imagining this? That I imagined this morning?”

“No, no, no. We’re not doing this.”

“The coffee, the book put away neatly,”

“I would do that for anyone.”

“What about when you stormed out yesterday? When we were going over the file on your bed.” Your voice started to shake.

“That’s when I—I realized we had to use you.” He looked down, almost ashamed.

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear that you’ve outed yourself and maybe you were more delusional than you thought.

“This morning…” you said.

“You asked for my help, and I helped you. Just like I’m happy to do for you now if you need. Look, it’s late, and you’ve gone through a lot.”

“Then what did Reid mean?”

Hotch looked back up at you. He looked nervous, something you may have never seen in his eyes before. “What do you mean?”

“He said imagine how you must have felt when you found me. What did he mean by that if it doesn’t mean you care about me?”

“Of course, I care about you!” he exclaimed, moving closer to you. “I almost lost you! And when I found you, I thought you were gone. You were lifeless. So, forgive me for wanting to be careful with you, because I refuse to let that happen again. I refuse to lose you again.”

You looked at him in shock.

He sighed. “I shouldn’t have said any of this. Listen, the only reason you’re feeling anything for me is because it’s me you woke up to. Nothing more. If Reid or Morgan found you, the same thing would happen with them.”

“Do not chalk this up to some damsel in distress situation,” you said a little too boldly. “The whole team knows I have a thing for you.”

Now Hotch was in shock. He shook his head. “It’s not me you want.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“I know you’re desperate for romance in your life because you either don’t make time for it in real life or were burned so bad in the past, that you gave it up entirely.”

“Hotch, don’t you dare profile me right now.”

“I know you have a rocky relationship with men in general, rooted in your relationship with your father.”

“Stop it, now.”

“You refuse to associate with him in any way. You don’t even allow us to call you by your last name. He views you differently from your sisters for some reason, and you hate him for it.”

“Hotch, I swear to god—”

“You mocked him for giving good advice, and you flinched when I brought up getting beers with him. He’s an alcoholic, isn’t he?”

“So, what, honestly? Literally who cares if he drinks? He gets mean, so what? What gives you the right to tell me what I can and cannot have?”

“But he’s not just mean, is he?”

The air in your lungs got caught in your throat.

“That’s it, isn’t it? That’s how he treats you differently.”

“That’s enough,” you said, your voice cold.

Hotch stepped closer, grabbing your shoulders with both hands. You shuddered in his grasp. “You don’t want me, ok? I can’t fix what you’ve gone through. I can’t even protect you at work. Do you know the guilt I feel for what happened to you? I’m the one who got you hurt. And now I have to live with that. What makes you think that I can be what you need if I can’t even keep you safe here?”

You closed what little space was left between you. You looked up at him, your face only inches from his. “Stop telling me what I want. I’m an adult. I can make my own choices. You’re not going to push me away like this.”

Hotch’s breath hitched in his throat. His chest heaved up and down, and his eyes darkened. “This is wrong. I’m your superior. This isn’t appropriate.”

“If you truly don’t want me, I’ll stop. We’ll go back to how things were. But you have to say you don’t want me.”

His grip on your shoulders strengthened, his touch burning into your skin. His now wild eyes scanned you as if he couldn’t have fathomed this happening. A lump formed in your throat as you waited for him to find the words. Instead, he pulled you flush against him and pressed his lips against yours. His kiss was raw and desperate, rougher than your healing jaw could take, but you couldn’t care less. He wrapped his arms around your back and gripped your hair as if it was instinctual. Your breathing hitched, causing you to moan into his mouth.

He pulled away, slightly out of breath. “I need you to tell me this is ok.”

“This is ok,” you said, breathless.

“Good,” Hotch said, “because I don’t want to stop.”

A smirk formed on your face. You grabbed a hold of his tie and pulled him closer to you. “Then I think you need to take this off.”

You dropped the tie and kissed him as he took his coat off. Your mouth wandered to his jaw. Hotch let out a groan.

“Your room. Now.”

His words sent chills down your spine. You took his hand and led him to your room. You turned around and watched Hotch remove his tie, sliding it through his collar. His eyes stayed on yours, his already dark eyes now almost black with desire. The moment his tie came off, he was back on you, kissing you like his life depended on it. His hands wandered to your ass and lifted you up, his lips never leaving your skin. You wrapped your legs around him as he carried you to your bed.

Hotch laid you down, now hovering over you. His lips drifted from yours down to your neck.

“Seeing you in this had me thinking horrible things,” Hotch confessed, slightly pulling on the quarter zip you were still wearing.

You blushed. “Really?” you asked, a smug smile growing on your face. “Is that why you were avoiding me?”

“Was it really that obvious?” Hotch asked, his large hands finding their way under your shirt.

You couldn’t even answer as his hands ventured up to your chest. His hands pulled a moan from your mouth.

“Take this off,” Hotch said as he pulled the hem of your shirt.

“You, first.”

Hotch’s eyebrows raised as if surprised by your reply. He sat up and unbuttoned his shirt. You practically drooled at the sight of him shirtless. You could only assume he was fit when he rolled up his sleeves or manhandled unsubs, but this was all the confirmation you needed.

“Your turn,” he said.

You did as you were told, revealing yourself to him.

“God, you’re perfect,” he sighed as he kissed your chest.

You fought off a moan. You couldn’t believe this was happening. This was only something you pictured in your wildest dreams, and here he was in the flesh.

“I wanted this for so long,” you found yourself saying out loud.

“Me, too,” he agreed. “You have no idea how much I thought about this.”

Your cheeks flushed red. He began leaving marks past your breasts, down your stomach to the hem of your shorts.

“Can I take these off?” Hotch asked.

You nodded.

“Use your words, honey.”

Your stomach did a flip hearing the phrase. “Yes, sir. Take them off.”

He all but growled in response. He pulled at your shorts, taking them off in a swift motion.

“So much for no strenuous activities,” you joked.

“I can be gentle,” Hotch said as he settled in between your legs. “Let me take care of you.”

Your head fell back onto your pillow. You knew you were in for it.

Hotch spread your legs apart, the stretch enough for you to arch into his touch.

A smirk graced his lips, and without another word, he licked into your core. His mouth against you was like a gift from God, something you had only hoped could feel so good. You couldn’t help but squirm against him, grabbing his hair to pull him closer, if at all possible. He placed a hand on your stomach to keep you still. You could feel him smile against you, turning you on even more.

“Hotch,” you breathed out. You were close faster than you had ever been.

“Say my name,” he said as he placed a finger inside you.

“A-Aaron,” you choked out, the new sensation too much to handle. He filled you with another finger, his hitting the spot your fingers never could.

“Fuck, Aaron, don’t stop. Please.” Your breathing quickened, and as he pumped his fingers in and out, you felt the coil in your stomach snap, expletives and his name leaving your lips. Hotch continued to pump you as you rode your high, a daze overtaking you.

When you caught your breath, you pulled Hotch back up for a kiss, your hands finding their way to his belt.

Hotch’s hands stopped yours. You looked up at him, confused.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.

“I want this if you do. Do you?” you asked.

“I really do,” he said. “I need to feel you.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words. “Then please let me help you.”

He released your hands and kissed your forehead as you unbuckled his belt. The moment felt ironically wholesome until you pulled at his dress pants. You couldn’t help but gawk at his cock springing free. You were suddenly nervous, not quite sure it would fit after all this time practically revirginizing. If your jaw weren’t so sore, you’d have him in your mouth without a second thought.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he said as if he could hear your thoughts. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Hotch hovered over you and kissed your lips softly. You returned the kiss and nodded.

Hotch lined himself up with your entrance and carefully pushed in. He and you both groaned at the sensation, the stretch of him filling you something you hadn’t experienced in years.

“Jesus Christ. You’re so, this isn’t your first time, is it?”

“No, no,” you said, slightly embarrassed. “It’s just been a while. Just, just go slow, ok?”

Hotch nodded and started to move. He rested his forehead on yours, sighs and pants escaping both of your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Hotch asked.

You chuckled at his question. “We’re a little past that, aren’t we?”

Hotch smiled as he placed his lips on yours, much more tender than before. He moved a stray hair from your face and cupped your cheek with the utmost gentility. The urgency was gone, replaced by something deeper. Everything had culminated to this moment, and neither of you wanted to waste it.

Still, the need for more overtook you. “Aaron,” you said, your hips bucking up into his.

“What do you need? I need you to tell me.”

“Faster, please,” you said.

His pace quickened, one hand still around you. He used the other to stabilize himself, allowing you to view the tension in his muscles. You bit back a moan as the pressure inside you built.

“Don’t hold back,” Hotch said. “Let me hear you.”

He slammed into you, a smirk growing on his face as your breath caught in your throat.

“Just like that!” you blurted out.

He did just that, slamming into you again and again.

“Fuck. I don’t know how much longer I can last,” Hotch said, his voice almost shaking.

“I’m close, too. Please don’t stop,” you begged.

He pounded into you harder and faster, no longer a rhythm but a motive, a goal to achieve.

“Come for me, honey. I’ve got you. Just come for me.”

You clenched around him as you came, all but screaming his name. His pace didn’t let up as you rode your orgasm, your legs trembling around him.

“Oh, god. I’m gonna, where do I—”

“Chest!”

He pulled out and came on your chest, making the most attractive groans you had ever heard in your life. You watched in awe, absolute shock overtaking you. Never in your wildest dreams did you picture this. And for the love of god, you hoped this wasn’t the last time this happened.

Hotch crawled over you, still catching his breath, and captured your lips in a kiss.

“How are you feeling?” Hotch asked. “Is your head ok?”

“I’m good,” you said smiling at his return to his overprotective self. “I’m really good. I promise.”

Hotch rested his forehead on yours then kissed you, the tenderness returning.

“I like when you do that,” you said, your cheeks reddening.

“Me, too,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“You don’t have to help, if you don’t want to.”

“What, and miss showering with you?” Hotch smiled. “Just lead the way.”

In the shower, the two of you washed up, and you couldn’t knock the smile from your face if you tried, until you thought about showing up to work Monday morning.

“What are you thinking about?” Hotch asked.

“The team’s gonna know,” you said.

Hotch thought for a moment. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, well, I wouldn’t have done it in this order, but would you like to join me for dinner tomorrow evening?”

You blushed, despite the state you were both in. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Hotch smiled. “I’m asking you on a date, yes. I have to be honest, though, I’m out of practice.”

“If tonight was you out of practice, I think tomorrow will go just fine.”

Hotch laughed and kissed you again, something you hoped would never fade in your memory.

************

ForeversTaglist:

@lizziedizzie3 @heavennleeee-blog @hunterswearingplaid @thisismysecrethappyplace @geekinator9 @ronnie248-blog @oliolioxiclean @phonegalhelp @because-you-never-know-when @roonyxx @keithseabrook27 @ericaprice2008 @heythereamigodude

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #bau team #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner fluff

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ratpoizonz · 9 months ago

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ok!!!! my discoveries so far with the new spooky month episode!!!!!!!!!

first off, there's a qr code in one of the shots (i did what anyone presented with a mystery qr code would do and scanned it)

it leads to an imgur page with this image

there's quite a few things here, but mainly more stuff about bob, the cult, dexter, etc. my main point of interest is the three imgur links at the bottom, the fill-in-the-blanks for an imgur page, the morse code, and the symbols page

the three imgur links lead to these images (in order from left to right)

i'm not sure what the first image means or implies?? i think, for now at least, it might be a teaser for a future episode

i don't think there's anything super deep or lore heavy going on with the second one, just jack, patty, john, and the aftermath of moloch's destruction

now the third image is what interests me the most because ignacio has all these things (except for the image of john and his daughter, that's in the police car) in his house.

i don't think i could start to even try and unpack what the fuck the implication of something like this being in ignacio's house is. i think it's best to put a pin in this revelation for now.

moving on to the morse code, i translated it and it turns out as this???

this is the point where i'm at a dead end and i think this has to become more of a community effort, instead of just me. i KNOW this has to do with the symbols page and that what it translates to is to fill out the missing letters and numbers in the middle of the first image, but i honestly just can't understand it at all

any help with uncovering this is appreciated, genuinely!!

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libraryofgage · 1 year ago

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Good Vibrations Four

One | Two | Three

It has been a hot minute since I updated Good Vibrations hfjdksl thanks everyone for being patient with me, I just couldn't get this part written the way I wanted to for the loooongest time

There's a meme at the very end for anyone who sticks around!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

------

Of all the ways for Eddie's free period to go, getting cornered in the boy's bathroom by Robin Buckley was pretty damn low on the list. It's not even Robin's presence in the boy's bathroom that's throwing him off; it's the way her arms are crossed and she's glaring at Eddie like he's just bragged about kicking her puppy down the street.

Eddie pauses just inside the stall, holding the door open as the toilet struggles to flush behind him. A few seconds pass before Eddie forces himself to walk over to the sinks and wash his hands. "Buckley," he says, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We need to talk, Munson," Robin says, her eyes narrowing as Eddie shuts off the faucet, grabs a few paper towels, and dries his hands. "What's your game?"

"D&D, mostly," Eddie replies, dropping the paper towels in the trash and giving Robin his full attention. He notes, briefly, that she's locked the door to the bathroom, ensuring nobody is walking in on them.

"With Steve, asshole."

Oh.

Eddie pauses, shoves his hands into his pockets, and tilts his head at her. "Still not sure what you mean," he says. He's starting to get an inkling, though.

Robin frowns, seeming to argue with herself before shoving her hands into her hair to push it out of her face. She just leaves it even frizzier and messier as she takes a deep breath. "Do you think Steve is just, like, your entertainment of the week?" she asks, placing her hands on her hips as she levels that same glare from before at him.

"What? Shit, no, of course, not," Eddie says, sliding back a step at the implication. "What the fuck, Buckley?"

She grits her teeth, takes a deep breath, and marches up to Eddie. "Listen, Munson. I know you. I know all about your little Munson Doctrine. I agreed with it once. And because of that, I know you might be thinking of getting to know all about how former King Steve is a...a...a deaf idiot so you can tell the whole fucking world about it," she hisses. "And I'm here to cut that shit off before it even starts. So, if that's your angle, Munson, I suggest you waltz your flat ass out of Steve's life before I bury you in the football field."

There's a lot to unpack there, and Eddie is going to start opening suitcases soon, but first he can't help saying, "My ass isn't flat, Buckley." Robin raises an eyebrow at him and pointedly looks in the mirror. Eddie doesn't follow her gaze, deciding he'd like to spare himself that tragedy.

When she looks back, Eddie clears his throat. "Besides, that's not...that isn't what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing?"

Eddie looks away, squirming slightly under her gaze. If this were anyone else, if this were someone who hadn't endured the most awkward seven minutes of his life with him, Eddie wouldn't admit a thing. But because it's Robin, because he knows she'll understand even if she doesn't agree, he finds himself blurting, "I think he's cute!"

"Oh? Oh! Oooohhhh."

He can see Robin going on a whole journey over the course of one word repeated three times, and Eddie almost immediately regrets admitting anything. "You can't tell him," Eddie says, moving forward without thinking and grabbing Robin's shoulders. "I'm serious, Buckley, you can't tell Steve."

She blinks, studying his expression for a moment before humming softly. "What do you want me to do? Lie? I tell Steve everything. He'll know if I'm not telling him something," she says.

"Just say it's not your secret to tell! Because it isn't! It very much is not your secret to be sharing around."

Robin huffs and shrugs Eddie's hands off her shoulders. She leans against the sink, head tilted. "So," she says, her tone implying they're changing the subject now, "when did this little crush of yours start?"

"What do you care?"

"If I'm going to help you, Munson, I need to know."

"You're gonna help me?"

Robin grins at him. "This is my entertainment of the week."

Eddie huffs and looks away, pacing a few times from one end of the bathroom to the other before finally stopping. "Okay," he says, more psyching himself up than anything else. "Steve has always been, you know, hot. It made me so fucking angry when I realized in sophomore year since he was a jock and all. But now...now he's...more. And I'm burning up, man, I've gotta know everything. What's his music collection look like? Do the kids know he's deaf? How does he interact with people when he can't hear them? Is he comfortable closing his eyes when he kisses? Does he feel everything more because he can't hear? Wou--"

"Okay, I'm stopping you there," Robin says, her face twisted in disgust as she levels a judgmental look at Eddie. "I don't want to hear your questions about Steve and kissing or whatever else your dirty little brain is thinking of."

"You asked."

"And now I'm telling you to stop," Robin replies. She runs her fingers through her hair again, frowning slightly. "Okay, I think the most important thing here is etiquette."

"Etiquette? What, am I too rough for Steve's delicate sensibilities?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you'd like to avoid offending him the way you did the last time you spoke."

Okay. Fair. Eddie grimaces at the reminder, the image of Steve's frown and the sound of his closed-off voice forcing themselves to the front of his mind. His shoulders slump and he nods. "Yeah, I would," he says.

Robin nods once, pushes herself off the sink, and places her hands on her hips. "Let's start with some basics," she says, taking a deep breath, and Eddie finds himself wondering if he's about to get overwhelmed by these basics. "Don't talk when Steve isn't looking at you. Don't have anything in or covering your mouth when you speak. Talk a little slower and make sure you enunciate, but if you talk slow like Steve is stupid, I will punch you. If Steve asks you to repeat something, repeat it word-for-word, no matter how many times he asks. If someone addresses Steve and he doesn't notice, give him a subtle nudge. Never sneak up on Steve when he's alone. Even if it means more walking or whatever, move to a spot where he'll notice you approaching. Be expressive when you speak. Steve can't hear things like tone, so he doesn't always know when something is a joke or sarcastic. And never, ever, call Steve or anything about him bullshit."

"That last one...," Eddie says, trailing off as he frowns slightly.

"Is the most important. I'm serious, Munson."

"Okay," Eddie says, nodding once and figuring he'll leave it at that.

"Oh, and ask Steve to teach you sign language. It'll give you an excuse to see each other more often."

-----

Robin has been acting weird since she started her shift, and Steve barely manages to wait until he's 95% sure the store is empty to turn around and ask, "What's wrong?"

Her hands falter, nearly dropping the tape she's busy rewinding. She catches herself, though, and looks at Steve. "What do you mean?"

"You're not telling me something. You tell me everything. What's wrong?"

She hesitates, looking away and biting her bottom lip before sighing and looking back. "I learned a secret today, so it's not mine to tell."

"Oh," Steve says, his shoulders relaxing some. "I thought you were hiding something actually important from me."

He doesn't hear her scoff, but he sees the way her head jerks and her eyes roll when she does. "Why would I bother hiding anything from you, dingus?"

Before Steve can answer, Robin stiffens slightly as she looks over Steve's shoulder. He braces himself for the customer interaction he's about to endure, slaps on a fake smile, and turns around. "Welcome to Family Video. How ca--Eddie?" His smile softens into something genuine at seeing Eddie on the other side of the counter. "Hey, man, what's up?"

Eddie flashes a smile in return, glancing at Robin over Steve's shoulder before focusing back on him. "Hey. Just, uh, kinda had a favor to ask you," he says.

Several possibilities run through Steve's mind, all of them related to the kids, since he can't think of any other reason for Eddie to need a favor from him. "Oh," Steve says, frowning slightly in confusion. "What's the favor."

Instead of answering right away, Eddie shifts awkwardly. He looks away, tugging on a few strands of his hair like he's nervous. He starts to use them to cover his mouth, making Steve dread his inevitable request for Eddie to repeat himself, when he stops. Eddie literally freezes, his fingers twitching before he drops the strands of hair and places his hands on the counter like he needs to keep them in sight.

He takes a deep breath, and Steve is starting to get really concerned now. "Hey, Eddie, whatever it is, just ask. I won't get, like, angry or anything," he says, hoping that makes things easier.

"No, I know you won't," Eddie says, huffing softly before nodding once, more to himself than anything else. "I was, uh, thinking. I read once that sign language is, like, a thing. So, if you teach me some sign language, I'll write you a song that's all noise and vibrations."

Steve doesn't get it all at first, concentrating on Eddie's mouth and getting distracted halfway through by the thought of dragging his thumb across Eddie's bottom lip. "Could you repeat that?" he asks, steeling himself to actually pay attention this time.

Eddie doesn't complain. He just nods and repeats himself. Steve got more of it, enough to know what Eddie is asking for, but he finds himself pausing when he meets Eddie's eyes again. There's no annoyance or frustration at being asked to repeat himself. All Steve can see is patience and nervousness. Without thinking, he asks again, "Sorry, one more time please?"

And Eddie says everything again. He repeats himself word-for-word, still lacking any negative reaction to saying the same thing three times. Steve feels something warm settle behind his ribs, and he nervously licks his lips, catching the way Eddie glances down to follow the motion. He shoves his hands into his pockets, balling them into fists so he doesn't do something stupid like grab Eddie's hand. "One more time," Steve says, the words feeling breathy and soft as they brush past his lips, and he hopes he wasn't too quiet.

Eddie blinks, tilting his head slightly and glancing over Steve's shoulder again. Steve hasn't forgotten about Robin being behind him, but he figures he can just play it off as fucking with Eddie at this point. Eddie doesn't complain or ask if Steve is serious, though. He just...repeats himself, and Steve suddenly knows that Eddie would keep repeating himself until Steve got tired of asking.

"Thanks," Steve says, deciding to spare them both from continuing the loop. "I got it that time. What do you want to learn sign for?"

"A D&D campaign. Thinking of using it in the plot."

"Oh. Uh, yeah, I could teach you. Are you doing anything on Sunday?"

"Nope. Totally free. Nothing planned at all."

Steve can't help a slight grin, and he tells himself it's just because he's excited by the prospect of Eddie writing a whole song catered to how he experiences music. "Cool. Come by my place around noon."

Eddie nods once, exhaling like he's forgotten to breathe the entire time they were talking. His hands tap against the counter, drawing Steve's attention downward, and he suddenly wonders what Eddie's rings feel like. Steve forces himself to look back up before that thought can go too far.

"Will do," Eddie says once Steve is looking at him again. He flashes a smile and adds, "See you then, sweetheart."

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves, waving over his shoulder like Steve isn't trying to figure out if he read his words correctly. He watches Eddie leave, waiting for the door to close behind him before whirling around to find Robin still rewinding tapes like nothing happened. "Did he call me sweetheart?" Steve asks, needing to know if he's misunderstanding.

Robin looks up, eyebrows raised. "Don't know, dingus. I wasn't listening."

Steve barks out a laugh. "You're always listening," he points out.

She grins at him, her expression screaming trouble and that she knows something he doesn't. "Well, not that time," she replies, her grin widening as she adds, "But if I was, I'd say he did, yeah."

"He did," Steve murmurs, looking away from Robin and letting her confirmation sink in.

----------

Tag List (the tag list is completely filled up! There definitely wasn't enough room for everyone who requested a tag orz

Please follow the tag "good vibrations Steddie" or put on notifications for my blog to see when new parts are posted :D)

@hallucinatedjosten, @queenie-ofthe-void, @r0binscript, @jewellthebooknerd, @paintgonewrong, @vacantwatchers, @newagemyth, @gutterflower77, @just-a-tiny-void, @littlebluejane

@whenindoubtb72, @different-tale-student, @sharingisntkaren, @current-steddie-brainrot, @willim-billiam-byerson, @nuggies4life

@lostgurl-12, @anomalygal, @synonym-for-strange, @sani-86, @missmagillicuddy, @ilikechocolatemilkh, @thoughtfulbreadpolice, @harringrieve, @awesomeimportantfan, @fredtheemoplant, @warlordess, @therealscarletpumpernickel, @gsvshsjsbs, @mightbeasleep, @mollymawkwrites

@lil-gremlin-things, @honorarybrit81, @sonny-ray-of-goth, @potent-idiocy, @fandomcartographer, @heartsong18, @lingeringmirth, @ko0kyco0kies, @ccomandercody, @spiderman-stilinski, @l0st-strawberry, @xxsky-shockxx, @stilesstickitinme, @boxsam, @thepansexualsnake, @37-screamingfrogs, @yourmom-isgay, @brainsteddielyrotted, @plasticcrotches, @hannahhook7744

The meme for those who stuck around:

#steddie #steddie fic #good vibrations steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #platonic stobin #deaf steve harrington #protective robin my beloved actually #eddie thought he was soooooo smart coming up with that little deal #meanwhile robin is that “i know what you are” dog meme behind steve #my writing

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johanna-swann · 13 days ago

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I'm still so disappointed with 911. Like yes, seaon 7 was messy, but the opening disaster was great and they got a few really interesting storylines rolling despite the very difficult circumstances.

But then they got renewed really early. The conditions were lining up perfectly, everything was falling into place. And yet season 8(a) is so much worse than season 7. Just look at where we left the characters in season 7 and where they are now.

Hen (and by extension Karen) was stuck with the custody battle storyline again, but for the first time there was an antagonist involved who had not only a personal vendetta but also the power to exact her revenge on a big scale while at the same time the very same conflict also had the potential to drive a huge wedge between Hen and Chim while they try to work out their weird patchwork situation.

But all of that got resolved in a single episode that also somehow had to fit random calls, Eddie's C-plot, their weird obsession with Hotshots and whatever Bobby and Gerrard had going on. And then this very personal vendetta between Hen and Ortiz wasn't even ended by them. It wasn't Ortiz giving up / forgiving Hen or Hen defeating Ortiz fair and square, no. Bobby and Gerrard who have never even had a scene with Mara got to safe the day. And then neither Ortiz nor this storyline ever get mentioned again.

Bobby lost his job, had a major health crisis, was borderline suicidal and lost his house last season.

Then we meet him in season 8 and he's just okay, mentally and physically, he gets his job back very conveniently automatically in one swoop together with Ortiz being dealt with. The rebuilding of the house is mentioned in one episode and never again.

Athena was really worried about Bobby by the end of season 7, her son moved back in with her after having spend the last couple of years at his dad's, she also lost her home and she once again went rogue as a cop.

In season 8 she's no longer worried about Bobby, everything is okay, there are no consequences for her actions job-wise, as I said the house thing isn't really talked about and Harry? Nobody knows what happened to him.

Eddie had the whole Shannon-Marisol-Kim thing blow up in his face with huge consequences. I expected him to go back to therapy, to maybe argue with his parents, to talk to Buck or Hen about losing Christopher like this, to maybe spiral a little and finally unpack the Shannon trauma.

Instead he mentions every now and then how his son is in El Paso right now, but doesn't really get into it, he lives his everyday life as per usual, doesn't seem particularly down or stressed tbh, he doesn't go to therapy, he doesn't talk about Shannon, he doesn't talk to his parents outside of one small exposition scene in 8x01, doesn't try to talk to Christopher about what happened. Instead he talks to a priest once which has the amazing effect that he dances in his house in his underwear once. I'm sure that fixed him. Oh, also he may be uprooting his life again without talking to anyone about it. Okay.

Are Chimney and Maddie even still main characters at this point? Sure, they have a lot of screentime and they had their wedding episode last season. They also temporarily took in Mara.

But despite fostering Mara, they had nothing at all to do with the little Ortiz related drama we got. They were just. There. In the background of a few scenes. I guess. We also don't see them adjusting to being married now or talk about what the future might hold for them now. They just accidentally got pregnant AGAIN and didn't really talk about the risks and implications and so on here either. It was brought up very briefly, but there was so much potential for actual discussion there instead of a one-off conversation.

Buck's the only one whose season 7 storyline really got picked up again a little. He discovered he's not straight and got himself a boyfriend last season.

They (briefly) showed us how that relationship continued - and then very abruptly ended in a very strange way. But once again they didn't pick up the queer topic. They treated Tommy like they would any other love interest which would be fine if Buck's sexuality was already established. But as a matter of fact it is not. Buck only recently discovered he's queer and we haven't seen any of the stuff that usually comes with the package. Are the Buckley parents okay with this? Has Buck chosen a label? Did he and Hen ever share a moment of solidarity? Was dating another man all of the sudden a big adjustment?

I fell in love with 911 because they had great characters, but right now the show is doing fuck all with those characters. They're all running in circles and even worse maybe, the characters feel less connected to each other than ever. Like. I'll keep up with the show via tumblr osmosis, but the show didn't deliver on a single thing in 8a. They literally did nothing right.

#911 abc #911 critical #911 spoilers #911 discourse

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drdemonprince · 17 days ago

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Hey was gonna ask if u have any readings on managing / moving thru conflict in better ways after reading ur critique of certain Accountability dynamics? Seen this play out twice in the local organizing scene recently, and the most recent one I am like directly implicated in enacting to an extent so reading ur thoughts kinda made me sit back and groan :/ also kinda echoes this shitty moment in childhood where my mom would demand a 4-part to-the-letter apology for shit I didn’t do or didn’t do intentionally and make me rehearse and re-apologize until I got the format right aha. Striking me that I run the risk here of being complicit in just that dynamic thru the bad fawning habit that got beat into me thru childhood ahaa .. also feel like in the past you’ve talked abt conflict-avoidance or fawning and would be interested if u had any of those pieces off the top of ur head but this all involves having to dig up links or titles so take ur time if u are at all interested in responding lol. Devil is knocking on my door telling me I need to look at these habits of mine and start practicing something new -_-

It sounds like you are going through a real moment of reckoning with your own trauma and how childhood dynamics are re-emerging in your current community, which is such important work. I just want to give you some cheers for having it in you to listen to those productive feelings of discomfort and being willing to examine this stuff. It's hard, especially when you've been conditioned to fear moral failure.

I'm still unpacking a lot of this stuff myself, but I think my article on disobedience is relevant, as is my one on PDA

and some of this is because i've been inhaling her archives lately, but I would once again recommend Captain Awkward. Also Albert Bernstein's How to Deal with Emotionally Explosive People. (a book that is flawed, but i think there is a lot of growth away from the puritanical mindset to be found in discerning what is useful from a book you disagree with or has flaws). Lindsay Gibson is a perennial rec from me. id love to hear others' recommendations tho because im a bit of a broken record on these and its an area i still need to grow in a LOTtttt a lot a lot. also half the critiques of this kind of culture are shitty "anti cancel culture" charlatans that i cant recommend

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nadas-dirthalen · 1 month ago

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Dragon Age: the Veilguard Was Packed with Lore — But Many of Us Overlooked It

— PART TWO —

[ 1 ]

Welcome back, friends and travellers. If you've been here a while, you'll know that I wrote 30,000 words of predictions in the week and a half before DA:tV released. But here's the most surprising thing—I was right, for the most part.

I spent my first Veilguard playthrough grinning (and then sobbing) at all the lore reveals. And here's the thing: I think most of us missed a lot of them, including even me.

So let's unpack some more.

Titans and Spirits: Dark and Light, Abyss and Fade, the Eternal Hymn and its Endless Listeners (2/2)

This is your warning: This post will contain spoilers for the entirety of Dragon Age: the Veilguard, and all Dragon Age content made before Veilguard.

I've spoken a lot about the titans before. In fact, they make up the bedrock (lol) of many of my pre-Veilguard theories. While a lot of what I said a month ago has since become canon in Veilguard, there's a lot that remains as speculation.

Today, I'm going to talk about why I still stand by my theory from October: that the titans and the spirits have far, far more in common than we think, and that this is of vital importance for the next game(s).

Today's Discussion:

What Solas' Creation and Harding's Personal Quest Have in Common

Not Only Do Titans Behave as Spirits... Spirits Behave as Titans

The Dark and the Light, Sundered

Atonement Solas' Promise: He (Still) Seeks Regeneration

What Solas' Creation and Harding's Personal Quest Have in Common

Thanks to Veilguard (and the hints that came before it, if you're coming here from my previous posts), we know that Solas and Harding have far more in common than they think. Both are inexorably connected to the titans: Solas because his body was crafted from lyrium, and Harding because of how her Stone magic awoke after touching Solas' lyrium dagger.

I've theorized before that I think Solas is still connected to Isatunoll, but that the creation of the Veil altered or harmed this connection somehow. Veilguard touches on this with its implications: Solas says the blight senses his presence during the Minrathous portion of the endgame, and says during his Atonement ending that he is able to soothe the titans' anger. It also asserts, during Solas' Memory #3, that the ritual to create the Veil went wrong, wounding Solas in the process.

Both Solas and Harding, then, have to do with both the titans' past and their future. The Temple of Solasan is referenced when this codex in Trespasser mentions the titans needing to be forgotten, and we know now that Mythal and Solas would come to sunder the titans with the lyrium dagger. Solas is the reason the titans were forgotten, and is likely the source of the song "I am the One."

Harding, by contrast, is one of few dwarves whose magic has awoken. The Titan Shade in her personal quest demands that the world remember the anger and pain it has forgotten: the titans' sundering (as well as her own anger). The titans have no future without acknowledgement of their past, and so both Solas and Harding have instrumental roles to play going forward (assuming both are alive and have agreed to this).

It is evident, also, that the pain of being forgotten is traumatic to the titans. Cole mentions this several times in Inquisition, as referenced in the last post. Songs that once sang the same; titans stuck asleep, forgetting how to wake.

And here is where Solas and Harding's parallels really come to light.

This trauma forces Harding to make a choice with her Titan Shade. In every scenario, she acknowledges the Shade's pain. Her choice, then, is to embrace that pain and carry it in Compassion... or embrace the titans' anger, as well as her own. In other words, as is referenced by Stalgard...

I drew close, and the sound became something more. I could feel it, Lace Harding…. Rage, sorrow, and a vast loneliness. — Codex: Letter for Lace Harding

Rage. Harding must choose between Compassion and Rage. We've seen this before. It comes up in Down Among the Dead Men, a story in the Tevinter Nights anthology:

Following a trauma, spirits are pushed toward changing. For so long in this franchise, we called these changes "demons," and still do. But the creature itself is not different—it just exists in a different state.

Emmrich says exactly this, equating spirits and the Titan Shade.

I once communed with a soul who shared a tale of deep sorrow from his youth. "So that the truth wouldn't be lost," he said. Interestingly enough, he could only bear to recall the event after death, when the memory had lost its sting. (l cannot share the tale. A Watcher must keep the confidences of the dead.) Your experience with what you call "the Titan's Shade" brought this anecdote to mind. As you say, in the first moments of your transformation, you were unable or unwilling to confront the depth of the Titans' sorrow. But unlike my friend, this pain was never quite your own. Instead of being trapped within, it fled elsewhere. — Codex: From Emmrich, on Sorrow Denied

We see, now, that the titans do the same thing. The only difference is that Harding is connected to the titan through Isatunoll; her spirit is not, itself, inside the titan. Put through a trauma, though, the titans turn. This is something I theorized as happening to Solas' titan upon his creation, because the trauma of the elves making bodies from its lyrium caused the titan to lash out and fight back, just like Cole says in DAI.

This is why both Solas and Harding are capable of soothing the titans' anger. It doesn't matter that Harding is a dwarf and Solas is one of the elvhen: both are still connected to their titan.

But as much as Veilguard tells us about the Titans being more similar to spirits than previously thought, it does not stop there. No: if you listen closely, Veilguard whispers to you that this similarity goes both ways. Spirits are more similar to titans than we ever could have imagined.

Not Only Do Titans Behave as Spirits... Spirits Behave as Titans

Something caught my eye during my very first Veilguard playthrough, super early on. Of course, I played the whole game through the lens of my own theories, wondering if there could be a connection between titans and spirits.

Immediately I saw, on the floor of a cell in the Ossuary:

I am Nyrys I was Nyrys I we were we are Nyrys — Note: Inmate Scribbling

Immediately, I was reminded of Harding's description of Isatunoll: "It means 'I am here.' But no, not 'I.' 'I' is singular. But it isn't 'we,' either. 'We' is multiple, but also separate... Isatunoll is the eternal hymn that encompasses all time. All spaces. I am. We are. This. That. Here. There. Now. And forever."

That seems to suggest that Nyrys, an inmate who was probably turned into an abomination, might be connected to Isatunoll. The note is written almost the exact same way that Harding is speaking. "But Lore," I hear you saying, "Couldn't that just be an abomination thing, a spirit struggling to share a body?"

I thought so, too. Right up until this.

Late after— (the handwriting abruptly alters:) a PEACE cut from the ALL golden stranded weaves PROTECTION CAGE keep them OUT keep me IN (Drawn below is a decagonal diagram of perfectly even, intersecting geometric lines.) — Codex: Lucanis' Logbook, 2

Understanding that Spite is likely writing with a phonetic understanding of the common tongue, we can interpret his words as 'a PIECE, cut from the ALL.' While I cannot say for certain what the rest describes (it could be Spite's opinion on the Ossuary, a reference to the titan's sundered dreams, or anything in between)... I know that these two first lines clearly talk about a spirit who has been cut away from something larger and grander than itself. The "all."

Now that sounds like Isatunoll, to me.

If you've been here since my October posts, you know where this is going. I've got to find a way to check this idea against other sources. And the first place I go, usually? The Chant of Light, for all the Chantry's evident faults.

I'm reminded of the creation of the Maker's first and second children.

Then the Voice of the Maker rang out, The first Word, And His Word became all that might be: Dream and idea, hope and fear, Endless possibilities. And from it made his firstborn. — Threnodies 5:1

That exact phrasing—"dream and idea, hope and fear, endless possibilities"—is used both in the creation of the Maker's first and second children. The spirits and the second children's souls. It is not used anywhere else in the Chant of Light.

At last did the Maker From the living world Make men. Immutable, as the substance of the earth, With souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear, Endless possibilities. — Threnodies 5:5

I've said before that I believe that all spirits originate as thoughts—namely, the thoughts of one or more of the titans. I think that even the souls of living people apply, here, despite what some of Emmrich's codices discuss. When you consider how Solas speaks about the Inquistor's spirit in DAI, it seems apparent that (at least to Solas) spirits and souls are interchangeable terms, when they belong to a living person.

Additionally, there is a manor in the Hossberg Wetlands that features an Obsession demon locked away that Rook must kill once they get to its location. The party speculates how the demon may have gotten there, and (I believe Rook) comments on how it is possible that the person from the manor themself may have become the demon.

That would imply that their soul was capable of doing so.

Now, let's go back to how spirits (the Maker's first children) and dwarves (the Maker's second children) are in possession of the same souls, per the Chant of Light. Understanding that the Chant of Light is flawed and that I do not believe that Solas is the Maker (rather, that Solas may have come from the titan that Andraste spoke to), I want to draw attention to this verse.

Then the Maker said: "To you, My second-born, I grant this gift: In your heart shall burn An unquenchable flame All-consuming, and never satisfied. From the Fade I crafted you, And to the Fade you shall return Each night in dreams That you may always remember Me." — Threnodies 5:5

It's important to note that the Maker says to his second-born (the dwarves) that they shall return to the Fade each night in dreams. Remember: the dwarves were once able to dream. More than that, though, the Maker says that the dwarves may visit the Fade each night in dreams to be able to connect with the Maker. They were, in fact, crafted with the "flesh of the Fade," a reference made to lyrium.

That implies a direct connection between the titans and the Fade. It suggests that, once, the titans also shared the Fade with other living creatures—or, perhaps, even more. I still believe that the Fade is the collective consciousness of the titans, and that reconnecting with the Fade is part of reconnecting with the titans because of that fact.

The Dark and the Light, Sundered

In a previous post, I theorized that, because Solas created the Veil and it seemed to have sundered the titans in addition to separating the Fade from the waking world, the Fade must be the titans' shared consciousness. We know now that those were two separate acts: Solas sundered the titans and put part of their dreams into the orbs that became the Evanuris' foci. For a time, I thought that this theory must be wrong.

However, in the same series of memories, we learned one more fact: his ritual to create the Veil went wrong. In Memory #3 (Blackened Hearts), he cries out in pain during the moment the Veil is created. This not only hurt the world, but exhausted Solas. Hurt Solas.

"He broke the dreams to stop the old dreams from waking. The wolf chews its leg off to escape the trap." — Cole dialogue

This refers to the creation of the Veil. We know now that Solas created it, in part, to stop the blight from escaping—that would be the old dreams waking that Cole refers to. What's interesting is that Cole refers to this as Solas chewing off his own metaphorical leg to escape the trap. There was always a personal consequence for Solas referenced here.

But why? Why would being cut off from the Fade outside of dreams hurt him? Spirits exist on Thedas all the time. It is only the trauma of being pulled through the Veil against their will that turns them to demons.

To understand that, we must understand what the Fade even is. How it relates to the titans, and what that means going forward.

First, I want to take a look at this codex from Inquisition, which suggests that the water in the Abyss (the realm of the titans) may be the exact same thing as the emerald waters in the Fade.

It is possible—even likely—that the "emerald waters" Andraste refers to are the substance of the Fade, which began as an "ocean of dreams" (Threnodies 1:1) and was reduced to a well—bottomless but limited in scope—by the Maker's creation of our world. —Codex Entry: Here Lies the Abyss

There are other similarities between these two things that come up in Veilguard, if you're looking for them. The first, for me, is a codex.

What determines which sections of the physical world are echoed in the Fade? Is there an underlying logic, or glacial patterns past comprehension? Do our collective fears and longings craft what we see? The will of a mage is especially potent. We may learn to shape the Fade's pathways, if we are ever-mindful of the dangers this invites. — Codex entry: The Obverse of Reality

The phrasing here is very interesting. We know that Shaping is something that the titans once did. The dwarves, to this day, have the Shaperate, in charge of the Memories. To see that language applied to a mage's influence on the Fade implies that mages may exist the same power to manipulate the Fade as the titans did on the Stone, which suggests that the Fade and the Stone can be Shaped in the same ways. The similarity here does lend itself to a theory where the titans and the Fade are parts of the same being/collective.

The second is that one of the revenants—the Slaughtered Pillars, from Elvhenan's Haven—have a line of dialogue that jarred me the first time I heard it.

"Light and song, stolen."

We know that the titans being sundered took their songs away, for the dwarves (save for a few, now) do not hear the titans' songs anymore. It's the word light that gave me pause.

Three guesses as to where I looked for more instances of the word light. If you guessed the Chant of Light, the gigantic piece of lore with light in its title, you are correct!

The first mention I want to note is the very early in the Chant

Opposition in all things: For earth, sky For winter, summer For darkness, Light. — Threnodies 5:4

Note that Light is capitalized here, implying significance. Again, it appears here. Here, we're implying that capitalized Light refers directly to the Fade.

(11) Above them, a river of Light, Before them the throne of Heaven, waiting — Threnodies 8:11

And, lastly, and most prominently in Veilguard: the Lighthouse. Its name, in the elven language, is "Vhen'Theneras." Translated, though, that would mean, "core of dreams." Unless, of course, dreams and Light are the same thing.

But if the Light is indeed the Fade, and there must be opposition in all things according to the Maker, then where have we seen dark before?

We've seen it in the Abyss—aka, the Void. We've seen it in the darkspawn. Those blighted beings that emerge from the Deep Roads, aka the Abyss/Void. Remember that the blight itself is the escaped maddened dreams of the sundered titans. Darkspawn refers to the product of those escaped dreams—the ones not in the Fade/Light.

Crucially, the darkspawn behave in much the same way as anything connected to Isatunoll. They hear a Calling that, at first, belonged to the archdemons, but Antoine now says is coming from somewhere else, as well.

It's the description of Isatunoll that ties this all together for me: titans/their children and spirits, Abyss and Fade, dark and Light.

In a letter from Dagna to Harding, she describes Isatunoll — but in that description, she focuses on this idea that beings connected to a hivemind "know their purpose." Purpose is a word used by Solas all the time in DAI. Spirits have their own purpose.

Think about ants. Ants know what they are. They know their purpose, and they must understand, instinctually, how that purpose fits within the whole. But what if it doesn't end there? What if their consciousness isn't just individual? What if the nest itself knew what it was? A collective sentience of some kind. Nothing says the ants don't have a collective sentience. We just assume they don't, because they're ants. Ants. Or bees. Or darkspawn. Now, there's a thought. — Codex Entry: Thoughts on "Isatunoll"

What if consciousness itself is not individual? asks Dagna. What if the nest itself knew what it was? This explains the darkspawn, after all: the blighted beings who are all connected to the song of the Calling, and the maddened dreams the blight originates from.

The nest, except for that small trickle of escaped blight, is the Fade. The Fade, which is a place that responds to the collective wants and memories of those inside it. The Fade, whose pathways are shaped by the thoughts and wants of the people—especially mages—within it.

My theory is this: the creation of the Veil may have hurt Solas because Solas was still connected to his titan, and to Isatunoll. Some of his love of the Fade may be because he misses the titans' shared dreams—and, by extension, the shared dreams of every living person on Thedas (except the dwarves, and we know why that is).

Atonement Solas' Promise: He (Still) Seeks Regeneration

We know that the Fade is the collective consciousness of the Titans. Their shared dreams. We also know that not all titans are blighted, because the one in Descent is not. Harding's titan also is not, by the end of DA:tV. I posit that this is why much of the Fade, according to Solas in DAI, is far preferable to the Nightmare's domain that we get to see in DAI. Some of that shared consciousness is still healthy.

Easing the titans' anger, therefore, means fixing all of the Fade. Reconnecting the two might mean that the collective consciousness between all spirits could return to Thedas—and since at least elves' and dwarves' souls likely come from the same origin, it could do a lot to bring some of the people of Thedas together.

This, to me, is part of Solas' grand plan. It is not only to bring back the world from Mythal's time—it is to bring back the world before they broke so much of it, before the titans were sundered by his hand. After all: Solas seeks... regeneration. And that's something he promises us after Mythal leaves.

It's important to me, therefore, that Solas says the blight can feel his presence during the fighting in Minrathous. Not that Elgar'nan can detect Solas through the blight, but that the blight itself can feel him. Neve/Bellara, depending on who is taken, can reach out to protect Solas the very same way: by communing with the blight itself, feeling what it wants, and redirecting its course. We see, here, a hivemind in action.

We also know that Atoned!Solas promises to "soothe the titans' anger." This is something he promises to do from Fade Jail, implying that he is able to interact with the titans and their anger from the Black/Golden City. This implies that the Fade itself, as a realm, is a means of communing with the titans, not just a specific spot within it.

The Veil coming down was always going to un-sunder the titans, and that was always one of the true aims of Solas' goals. Even if it meant blighting the world at first and effectively causing the apocalypse, the titans would eventually feel soothed. The Veil is a wound inflicted on this world, Solas has said before... and we know now that it was.

This section, short as it is, is just me telling you that Solas is still able to achieve those ends from Fade Jail. Just because the Veil is now bound to Solas' life force does not mean that the titans can no longer heal.

This buys us valuable time, allowing the titans' anger to soothe before their consciousness is restored, so that the transition is gentler. It promises hope for all of Thedas going forward. It might even promise a healthier, more stable Fade, shaped by dream, idea, and hope more than fear.

But what will that mean for future games? What could the Fade have to do with what's to come?

Why is now the time that the Executors and "those across the sea" want to make their big planned move on Thedas? Why is now when the "poison fruit" has ripened?

Like many of you, I hope to figure it out—and I feel that every day, I get closer.

Stay tuned. :)

___

If you read this far, you're a hero, now and always.

Like I keep saying: I have to absorb this lore day by day! I cannot inhale the entire wiki in a day, much as I'd like to believe I could! That means that future posts can't adhere to a strict schedule, as they depend on me unearthing enough codices, notes, and connecting threads to provide a post's worth of material.

In future, I'm hoping to learn more about: the Forgotten and Forbidden ones, as well as the connections between them; the Executors, those across the sea, and the connections between THEM; the areas across the sea; the Devouring Storm and what it could mean for Thedas' existence... and maybe how Ghilan'nain was ever connected to any of it.

Stick with me on this journey, if you like. It's fun to keep theorycrafting and yelling with you all. <3

#dragon age #veilguard spoilers #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #da:tv #da:v #da theory #da meta #dragon age theory #dragon age meta #dragon age lore #dragon age theorycrafting #solas #solas dragon age #harding #harding dragon age #lace harding

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delightfullyquirkydoodles · 7 months ago

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Okay, buckle up, friends and neighbours, because it's time for:

THE DOOPLISS DISSERTATION

(Obviously, you should take all of this with a HUGE chunk of salt, since I'm not only an internet-poisoned fandom blogger, but also a former English major with a penchant for over-reading.

Still, I spent a long time writing this, so I'd appreciate it if you gave it a read.)

So before we talk about Doopliss himself, I feel like we should talk about Creepy Steeple, since a lot of the topics I'm going to be touching on relate to the actual building.

Neither the original Gamecube version nor the Switch remake really bothers to explain what Creepy Steeple actually is.

None of Goombella's tattles say anything about the building's intended purpose. The name vaguely implies that it's a church of some kind -- in Japanese, it's called Odoron Jiin, or "Astonishing Temple" -- but that's still not very helpful.

Still, for the purposes of this analysis, I'm going to assume that it's meant to be a church.

This brings me to the Steeple's stained glass window, which shows a scary-looking Doopliss standing over some piranha plants.

From a design standpoint, I'm guessing that this detail was added to give the location a spooky vibe, but from an in-universe perspective, the implications are wild.

Like, who designed this? How long ago? And why? What the heck is it supposed to represent?

Unsurprisingly, the game offers no real answers, but I have a couple of theories.

The first is that the people of Twilight Town (or their ancestors, or something) created the window in Doopliss's honor.

Stained glass windows often depict saints or angels, so maybe the Twilighters used to worship him? Like, maybe Creepy Steeple was once dedicated to him and then, for whatever reason, the worshippers decided to leave?

It's not super likely, but I didn't want to rule out any possibilities. This is a weird freaking temple. Literally anything is possible, as far as I'm concerned.

My second theory is that Doopliss designed the window himself. He seems like a guy with a lot of spare time, so it's not too much of a stretch to say that he came up with the idea and then spent weeks building it by hand.

He could have also bullied the Boos into constructing it for him. I dunno. I just have this mental image of him pulling pranks on them and generally being a nuisance until they caved.

The bottom line is someone wanted to Doopliss's face to be front and center. And if that someone is Doopliss himself, then hoo boy, there is a lot to unpack here.

Maybe I'm projecting, but it feels like Doopliss is wrestling with some major self-esteem issues.

Despite being an incredibly powerful shapeshifter who somehow cursed an entire town, he seems very childish. He spends all his time watching TV and coming up with new jokes. He throws tantrums when he loses. He wears a party hat, of all things.

Based on that, I'd say that he's probably starved for attention. He's probably pretty lonely living in Creepy Steeple all by himself (doubly so if my theory about the Twilighters is correct).

I'd even go so far as to say that his scheme to turn the Twilighters into pigs is motivated by this need for attention. I mean, what better way to get people to notice you than to cause a town-wide panic?

I feel like the disguises he uses over the course of the main story also support this theory.

Though Mario, Zip Toad and Professor Frankly are quite different from one another, they all have one important thing in common: they're famous. Mario's a world-renowned adventurer, Zip Toad is a well-known actor and Frankly is a tenured professor whose students love him.

Doopliss even alludes to this after stealing Mario's body, telling him, "You're so popular around here! I just love being you!"

By transforming into beloved figures, Doopliss can get the attention he craves.

I also think that this is why he joined the Shadow Sirens. Sure, Beldam abuses him almost as badly as she abused Vivian, but at least she notices him. That's better than nothing.

The most conclusive piece of textual evidence is found in the epilogue. In her letter to Mario, Goombella explains that Doopliss has joined Flurrie on-stage in her production of "Paper Mario".

Obviously his shapeshifting abilities make the play a lot more realistic, but why would he bother participating in it at all? This guy was a villain for most of the game. Why would he suddenly decide to join up with one of his enemies?

Because, as far as I can tell, he's not a villain. Just a guy who's sick of being ignored.

I dunno. Doopliss's motivations have never been super clear, but I feel like there's more to him than meets the eye.

If you have any thoughts or ideas of your own, feel free to comment. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this.

#paper mario #paper mario the thousand year door #paper mario ttyd #doopliss #screw it. we're main-tagging this.#this dissertation was brought to you by my brother asking why i like doopliss so much. this is why.#he's just a silly little guy

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alexanderwales · 6 days ago

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I've been thinking a lot about my contrarian instincts.

I'm a research-oriented contrarian.

I read what's supposed to be an aspirational quote, the kind of thing that I think is supposed to just float by on the dash, and I stop and say "well hang on, wait a minute", then write a few paragraphs unpacking the quote and its implications, then hit "save draft" and never post it because it's just a little nothing quote, people like those, they like to be told positive things even if it's more vibes than sense.

I read claims people make, and I say "well hang on, is that actually true", and often finding out whether it's true or not is a bit of a journey, especially when whatever is being asserted probably got a bit garbled along the way.

People make blanket statements, they say things without thinking too much about it, they make remarks that they will instantly cave on given the slightest pressure. It irritates me. It irritates me when I make blanket statements, when I have to walk something back because I just didn't give it a few seconds thought, or was just parroting something I half-remembered.

Some of the contrarian instinct is just truth-seeking, not wanting to take things at face value. Some of it is that a position someone puts forward is a puzzle that I want to solve. And I'm sure that some of it is rooted in anxiety, turning thoughts over in my head, looking out for failure states, worrying for no particular reason.

I think I enjoy being a contrarian, but the risk with contrarianism is that it's often pointless. Sometimes you go to look a fact up, and it's true. Sometimes you irritate people with pedantic corrections, or irritate yourself by swallowing the nuance. Sometimes it's about the vibe, more than the facts, and you just have to accept that.

I also wish I knew where it came from. I'd naturally think that rebelliousness leads to contrarianism, but I'm not a particularly rebellious spirit. It might just be the stereotypical tech nerd thing, finding worth from demonstrating mastery of intellectual pursuits, but that explains the research-oriented nature of the contrarianism more than the contrarianism itself.

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itsmarsss · 7 months ago

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Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 4 - Immediate Murder Professionals

How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn't exactly considered classy, Stolas)

Blitzø just might be stupid.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 8 | pt. 9 | 2nd bonus

Word Count: 2,340

Warnings: eh, mentions of sex only i think. also stolas is newly separated so he's trying this new thing called flirting. yes i'm a firm believer that stolas is naturally so weirdly flirty he could make a succubus flustered no questions asked.

“...and then I yelled ‘sorry I fucked your husband’ and just kinda… left.”

Everyone was gathered around the big table in the meeting room at I.M.P., per Blitzø’s request. Well, he didn’t request it, per se- it was something more along the lines of yelling “Anyone who’s not a whiny bitch follow me, I got something to show you” and everyone just sort of complying.

He had been on and on in excruciating detail about how he’d up and stolen whatever it was he wanted to show you. He had yet to show you a thing.

“Oh wow. You are an idiot,” you state.

“And why is that, witch bitch?”

“You stole from a Goetia prince?”

“Yeah I did. And I looked sexy doing it.”

“What did you even wanna steal so bad?” Millie asks.

“Oh-ho-ho. You’re not even fuckin’ ready. None of you are even fucking ready.” He slams a big, heavy book on the desk. You inspect it, trying to figure out why he would go out of his way, in a borderline suicidal quest, to steal a book. Your eyes widen when you realize you know exactly what it is.

“You stole from STOLAS?” He had to be fucking- wait. “Wait, you fucked Stolas?”

“What how’d you know it was him?”

“It’s- it’s his Grimoire. That’s what this is isn’t it?”

“Yup. And with this,” he explains to the others, since apparently you already knew of it, “we’ll be able to go up to the living world and kill any human we’re paid to kill.”

“That- that’s- Blitzø this is insane. And I don’t mean good insane. I mean batshit crazy insane.”

“How do you even know what this is?”

“I- I used to see him a lot. You know. Ozzie stuff. They’re always in meetings. I didn’t- I’m really having trouble believing he acted like that-”

“What, like a needy bitch in heat?” Blitzø cuts you off.

You feel yourself get flustered at the implication, not managing to finish whatever you had been about to say.

“Oh my fucking Satan, Blitz,” Loona lets out a groan, frustrated at what she was hearing, which is fair. It’s enough to prompt her to leave the room entirely, assumingly to her seat at the front desk.

“Sir, you need to give this back.” Moxxie pushes the book across the table back to him.

“What? After everything I had to go through to get it? No way!”

“No, Mox is right. Stolas is nice, but he’s still, like, one of the most powerful demons down here, dude. And this is- this is next level doing him wrong. You didn’t just steal from him, you played with his feelings too. That’s so much worse.”

“Feelings? Come on! So we’re all ganging up on Blitzo now, are we?” You all cringed a bit whenever he used his own given name. It felt weird and just totally… wrong, considering how adamant he always was about correcting everyone else when it came to it, but, to be fair, he didn’t really seem to notice when he did it. He just happened to absentmindedly call himself that sometimes when he was feeling criticized, which… well, you weren’t sure if you wanted to unpack whatever that meant. He keeps on. “I’m sorry I worry about us having jobs and money to pay rent and food to feed ourselves!”

“Blitz that’s not-” Millie starts, but gets cut off by Loona, who walks back into the room. “Guys, there’s an… owl… guy… thing… looking for Blitz out there.”

Oh, shit.

“We’re gonna die,” Moxxie mutters under his breath, starting to chant it over and over again, eyes almost popping out of his head. Millie puts her arms around his shoulders and brings his head to her lap to try and calm him down, sending a death glare- much like yourself- towards Blitzø, who now looked like a deer in headlights, caught red-handed, apparently not expecting to be found that soon.

“Uuuhhh, tell him I’m not here!”

“Already did, he said some weird shit about being able to smell you or whatever the fuck that was about. That guy’s a fucking freak.” Huh. Maybe Blitzø wasn’t lying.

“Uhhh fuck fuck fuck fuck, gotta think, gotta think,” Blitzø begins pacing in circles around the room.

“Well? What the fuck did you expect?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead, alright? Sue me.”

“Oh really? I could have sworn you had everything figured out!”

His head shoots up and he points at you, completely ignoring your sarcasm. “You go talk to him!”

“Me? This is your problem!”

“Our problem! You work here don’t you?”

“Blitz I swear to Satan.”

“Pleeeaaaase?” He tries making puppy eyes at you. It’s kind of bizarre, but not entirely useless. “You said you know him, he’ll probably be nicer to you. Maybe you can soften the blow. Ha. Blow.”

“If it doesn’t work I’m ratting you out and I’m not gonna feel bad about it.”

“Thank you thank you thank you, I’ll owe you one, now go!”

You let out a groan, making sure he hears it. You could not believe you were about to do this. Sure, let’s confront pissed-off demon royalty about something of theirs that you definitely have in your possession just in the next room. Nothing could possibly go wrong with that. “Can you tell him to go to your dad’s office, Loons?”

“Yeah whatever.”

You make your way out of the meeting room and into Blitzø’s office, which is… a sight to behold. There were horse drawings scattered everywhere around the room, figurines of Millie, Moxxie, and yourself on top of his desk (you didn’t even want to know), guns you knew definitely didn’t have their safety locks on just laying on various different surfaces. Yeah, it was all very on-brand.

You sit down on his chair, getting barely a few seconds to prepare yourself for your talk with Stolas before he walks into the room.

Well, no, he doesn’t exactly walk in. He leans against the door frame, pulling a leg up and running a hand up it as he starts speaking, yet to take a look into the room. “For someone so remarkably sexy you are so hard to find, Bli- oh my!” He’s visibly startled when he finally makew eye contact with you, evidently having expected Blitzø to be the one in your place. Almost tripping over himself, he tries to pull himself together, fixing his posture and wiping non-existent dust off of his clothes as if to pretend he hadn’t just made a fool of himself. Stolas had always kept his composure around you whenever he went over to meet with Ozzie, so this behavior… it was definitely new.

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I thought you were-”

You decide to save him the embarrassment. Or, well, further embarrassment. “Your Highness! Hi.”

“Y/n.” He remembers your name. What, of course he remembers your name, dumbass! That’s completely normal. “You… Do you not work for Asmodeus anymore?”

“Not really. I’d been working there a long time. Wanted to try something new.”

“So you chose to work… here?” He motions around, and you couldn’t blame him. It didn’t look like the best place in Hell. And you supposed it did seem like an odd change in occupation.

“We’re a work in progress.”

“Well, do you and Asmodeus still keep in touch? I recall you were quite good friends.”

“Yes! We still are. We still are. How have you been, uh, doing, your highness?” You ask, carefully.

“Please, there is still no need to call me that.” Your interactions always went like this- you called him by his title, he insisted you call him by his name, and you always refused to. Strangely enough, you called him by his name when referring to him in conversation with Ozzie.

But you don’t feel the need for all of that now. “Right, I’m sorry. Stolas.”

“Well, I haven’t been doing quite so great, actually. I’m sure you’re aware why.”

You shut your eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them up again and forcing yourself to make eye contact with him, trying to stay collected. Play it cool. “I… might have an idea, yes.”

“You see, you have worked with Asmodeus for a long time. You’ve been around myself plenty, haven’t you, darling?”

Had he ever called you darling before? You’re positive he’s never, ever done that.

Chill, dumbass! It’s just a fancy people thing. No big deal. “Yes.”

“Yes, so you know how crucial my Grimoire is for my purpose in the Ars Goetia, don’t you?” He speaks to you in an almost condescending manner. You almost feel insulted. Did his voice always sound like that?

“Yes.”

“Perfect. So I suppose you understand why I would be very upset when I came to find out your friend, Blitzy, stole such a sacred artifact from me.”

“I understand.”

“My Grimoire contains spells that are meant for mine and, in the future, my daughter’s use only, and it would simply be a scandal if it fell into the hands of itty bitty imps such as yourselves.” Okay, he was definitely being condescending now. Why was it kind of hot? It was definitely hot.

What the fuck.

“Uhhhhh-”

“It makes things so much worse that he simply hurt my feelings! After a night of such passionate fornication, you could only imagine my surprise when I came to find out the book had been missing! Had I not known better I would have sworn it had been deceiving work of someone like yourself.”

“Like myself?”

“You are a succubus, aren’t you, dear?” He tilts his head to the side as if what he meant had been obvious. And it probably had- you’d just read too much into it. Was what Blitzø had told you about what happened getting to your head or something?

“Ooookay. Uh. I’m really- I’m really sorry about… all of that. Uh. Wow. Uh that really is a lot huh? I’m just gonna… I’m just gonna go call Blitz now and you guys can talk it out maybe. That fine for you? Fantastic. Good talk, Stolas!”

You slip past him and out of the office, catching your breath before going back into the meeting room to call Blitzø and let him handle the situation. What the actual fuck was that?

[. . .]

“So?” Millie questions Blitzø as he enters the meeting room again after a good half hour. Everyone follows, looking at him expectantly.

He pauses, for dramatic effect. “Guess who just founded the first human-killing business in Hell?”

“What?” You ask, incredulous.

“I’m sorry sir are you saying the Prince is letting us use his spell book?”

“You heard it, Mox.”

“H-how?”

“Well I’m gonna have to dick him down every full moon but I guess that’s a good trade.”

The room goes silent.

Moxie breaks the silence first. “Uhh, what?”

“What?”

“What’s that about the full moon?”

“Oh well. Well, apparently I’m a fantastic fucking lay, just unforgettable. So all I gotta do to have the book is give it back to him every full moon and then fuck him into oblivion and we’re good to go.”

“And you’re sure you’re fine with that?” You ask him, carefully.

“Well yeah? It’s fucking great! We get the book AND I get to fuck a Prince into submission every once in a while? Couldn’t be better.”

You’re not that sure about it, but what was the point in arguing with him? You shrug. “If you say so.”

“And he’s just… fine with that?” Moxxie questions, not buying it.

“What, you think I’d lie?”

“Yeah,” everyone replies, without hesitation.

“Well I’m not!”

“Well shit. Your dick must be good.” Well, that wasn’t supposed to come out.

He grins. “Ya wanna find out?”

You stare at him, unamused, for a second, locking eyes with Moxxie soon after.

“You deserved that,” Moxxie points out.

“Yeah I regretted it as soon I said it.”

“You really should have seen it coming,” Blitzø himself adds.He grabs the Grimoire, bringing everyone’s attention to it. “So. Aren’t y’all curious? I know I wanna know what the human realm is like.”

“It’s really not that different from here,” you tell him.

“Oh yeah, I forget you’ve been there before. What do you guys even do there?”

“Uuuhhh.”

“They fuck people to death, Mills, ain’t that cool?”

“Oh shut up you know that hardly ever happens anymore.”

“But’cha could.”

You sigh, knowing he just wanted to hear that he was right. You give him a little smile. “But I could.”

“Hell yeah!” It was always weirdly nice that he thought that part of what you were was cool rather than being disgusted by it. “Should we go take a look?”

“How’d ya even work this thing?” Millie asks, examining the book in Blitzø’s hands.

“Fuck if I know.”

“You didn’t ask him?” Loona asks.

“Not really.”

“I’m not even-” she rolls her eyes. “Gimme that” Snatching the book from him and going through the pages for a bit, she stops in a particular one, attempting a few times to read some words from it. Fair enough, a portal leading… somewhere… appears. You’d have to put a pin on that for later and ask her how she knew what to do, but right now everyone was too excited.

“Let’s go fuck some humans to death!” Blitzø exclaims.

“No.” You say sternly.

“Let’s go fuck some humans?” He tries again.

“Sir! No!” Moxxie yells, disgusted.

“Let’s go kill some humans!”

“Hell yeah!” Millie finally agrees,

“Yeah! Wait why am I even listening to you guys, I’m the boss here!”

“Sure thing Blitz.” You assure him, getting your foot through the portal. “You coming?”

Blitzø turns around. “Looney? You’re not killing anyone there. Got it? It’s too dangerous.”

“But that’s no fun!”

“Looney.”

“Fine.”

“Let’s go kill some humans then!” He shoves you into the portal, jumping through right after you. Jackass.

A/N: i did a lot of things different than i said id do lmao and i toned down the flirting from stolas to leave it for a different chapter hope this is fun it aint gonna be fun for v long luv yall

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