#lots of feels

[sleepisapriviligethatidonthave]

I've been composing a list of songs for Optimus and Megatron for a while now and that's what I have so far

Beware some of them are just MegOp angst

I'll update this post every once in a while when I find more songs

I'm just putting this here bc it's easier to see: almost anything made by ABBA fits them both together and individually

If anyone has any other songs feel free to share them so I can add them here

[mudhamster]

Touch (1/5) Observe

I'm broken, tell you I'm fine

But you wouldn't believe me if you knew the things that crossed my mind

And I'm hurting, but I show no sign

'Cause I'm afraid to give in, break down, and waste your time

You say that you'll help me, tell me I'm worth it

But I don't deserve it, I don't deserve it

It's easy for you ‘cause you know you're perfect

And I need your hand, but I don't want to burn it

Izuku sat on the couch with his knees on his chest and a blanket around him to keep the world away. The apartment was shrouded in darkness and the television was on, playing the last melancholy scenes of a drama to the sound of piano music. Katsuki threw his keys on the table and turned on the light at the same time. He routinely looked back at the exact moment when Izuku would startle and turn to him with eyes as big as... but Deku hadn't made a move to face him. Katsuki wasn't even sure if he had noticed that the light in the hallway had come on. Or that Katsuki was actually home.

"Oy."

[aidaran-alha]

“...and we never went for that picnic, Crowley, now that I think about it. Remember I suggested it in the 60s?” Aziraphale’s comment took Crowley out of his self-deprecating reverie.

“Uh?”

The angel rolled his eyes. This was going to be a long day. “I’m saying, I want to take you out to the park. Just you and me.”

Had Aziraphale had any more knowledge of computers, he would have noticed the blue screen flashing behind Crowley’s eyes as the demon’s brain crashed and tried to grasp what the angel had just suggested, burning all the circuits of his mind in its wake.

“You mean… outside.” Crowley.exe stopped working, and a couple ram modules decided they wouldn’t accept those unhealthy working conditions anymore.

“Yes.”

“Um… Together.” All the cooling fans stopped working at the same time, making his head start to overheat and burn some microchips.

“That’s sort of the meaning of going with you to the park, dear.”

“In… ngk… in public. With, ah… people. Around.” The hard drive crashed too, all the information stored there cleanly wiped out.

“You told me several times we’re safe here on Tadfield, Crowley.”

“Just us.” Finally the system in Crowley’s brain stopped working altogether, his processor beyond any possible repair. He was quite sure smoke was coming out of his ears.

“That’s pretty much the idea, yes.”

“Ngk. Ah. Ok. Yes, sure. Right. When?”

(Continue reading in ao3)

[jaimebluesq]

I know you have a lot of WIPs, but if you're still taking requests, could you write a take on Nie Huaisang and Nie Mingjue's reunion after NMJ's release from Nightless City? Maybe NHS caring for his Da-ge? No Niecest sexytimes please, just two brothers who are each other's world. Thank you!

I'm always up for requests!!! And I read your request and was immediately in my head, thinking I had a WIP on that very topic - and I did! And I've just worked on it a bit more to flesh it out - still rough, so not ready for AO3 posting, but here's what I have of it so far :D

Warning: Nie Bros Feels ahead!

~ ~ ~

Nie Huaisang slowed his horse as he approached the Nie Sect's camp near Nightless City. He'd received word just over a day earlier that the war had ended, that the Sunshot campaign was victorious in taking out the evil of Wen Ruohan, and he'd quickly packed up a handful of items before saddling up his horse in the stables. Two other disciples had insisted on joining him to protect him along the roads, and the three of them had made record time reaching Qishan.

The closer they came to Nightless City, however, the more evidence of the war they saw. There were dead bodies everywhere wearing various shades of sect colours, defaced emblems and signs that had once stood proudly announcing the territory belonged to the Wen Sect, and large chunks taken out of the earth from the sheer power the cultivators had been using against one another. Once again he was thankful not to be a fighter, that he'd missed seeing all of this carnage up close and personal.

As he neared the camp, he saw a few disciples who appeared to be in good spirits. They recognized him immediately and helped him and his guards dismount, leading their horses away to be cared for after their hard journey. He asked the directions to his brother's tent and tried to make his way through the camp, though he was stopped every now and then by disciples calling out his name and asking him to share a toast with them to victory.

He paused when he saw a familiar face sitting by a nearby fire, hands running a sharpening stone over one of two sabers sitting in his lap. Nie Huaisang approached, making certain to step as noisily as possible before reaching out to place a hand on the man's shoulder.

“Nie-er-gongzi,” the man said before he even lifted his head, and when he did, he gave a half-smile up at Nie Huaisang. His eyes were weary with dark circles underneath, and there was a healing scar across his jaw on the left side, but otherwise he looked well.

“Nie Zonghui.” He didn't think it would be proper to say aloud I'm happy you survived, even if that's how he felt. “Of course you would be maintaining your weapons while the others are celebrating their victory.”

Nie Zonghui glanced over at a pair of disciples nearby who were doing just that with bottles of wine and joyful singing, and nodded. “They deserve it. They worked hard, everyone did.”

“As did you,” he said softly, patting Nie Zonghui's shoulder before taking his hand back. “Don't forget to rest and take care of yourself, or else I'll tell Da-ge.”

Nie Zonghui's expression shuttered. “You're on your way to his tent.” Nie Huaisang nodded. “Good. He's barely left it all day, and any of us who try to check on him get sent away.”

“Did something happen?”

“He led a group to infiltrate Nightless City while the rest of us were fighting outside.” Nie Zonghui paused, his voice turning rough. “There were... casualties.”

And knowing Nie Mingjue, he would be placing most of the responsibility for their loss on himself, no matter who committed the act. “Thank you for the warning.”

He left Nie Zonghui's side and reached the large, central tent at the same time as another disciple holding a tray with food upon it. The moment she set eyes upon him, she sighed in relief. “Nie-er-gongzi, it's good that you're here. I was just about to bring this to Nie-zongzhu's tent...”

“Has he eaten at all today?” She shook her head. He tried to offer her a small smile and took the tray from her hands. “I'll make sure he eats something.” She gave a quick bow and scurried away before he could change his mind and call her back.

He pulled the tent flap aside and walked in, wrinkling his nose at the scents of blood and metal and stale sweat. There was some light coming in from a small window flap, enough for him to see the space in disarray, a tray of uneaten food upon a low table, and there on the tent's lone cot, a large figure bent forward, head cradled in his hands and hair tangled around his guan. Nie Huaisang set the tray next to the other and tried to approach his brother carefully.

“Da-ge?” He tried to step as noisily as he had for Nie Zonghui, not wanting to startle his brother. “Da-ge, I'm here. I came as soon as I heard the news.

“You should have stayed at home.” Nie Mingjue's eyes only just flicked up to glance at him. “You didn't come alone, did you?”

“Of course not, Li Fengwei and Nie Yifong rode with me.”

“It's a long ride. You should get some rest.”

Now this wasn't acceptable. Nie Huaisang may not have been a good fighter, but he was excellent at acting like everything was normal, and sometimes that was what his brother needed. “But Da-ge,” he whined, stepping closer to his brother. “Yours is the best tent in the camp. I could use a nap, but I'd rather sleep here.”

Nie Mingjue lifted his head this time, giving Nie Huaisang a look that seemed to say Really? You're doing this now?

Ignoring his brother's glare, he flopped down onto the cot next to him, tried to ignore the smelliness of it all, and lay his head on Nie Mingjue's shoulder. “Ew, Da-ge, when's the last time you took a bath?”

“I've been a little busy,” his brother snarked back at him.

“No wonder you're so grumpy. If my hair was this bad, I'd be grumpy too.”

“Huaisang. You're free to leave.”

“Not happening.” He could see the beginnings of resignation in his brother's eyes and gave a short sigh of relief. “But I think this is where I can help.”

He got up briefly to search out his brother's comb, and was thankful to see a bowl of water and a washcloth nearby (likely dropped off by other disciples concerned for their sect leader). He brought everything over to the cot and placed them behind Nie Mingjue, then knelt up behind his brother.

The fact that Nie Mingjue had no other protests to issue spoke volumes.

He started by untangling the mess of hair from around his brother's guan so that he could remove it. The moment the guan left Nie Mingjue's head, there was a slight shift in the room – Nie Mingjue's shoulders dropped and he pressed his face into his hands again. Now they were no longer sect leader and heir, but brothers.

Nie Huaisang drew back his brother's braids and slowly began undoing them, setting aside the decorations in a safe place. He took his time, slowly running the comb through his brother’s hair and using the washcloth to scrub away any remaining dirt and viscera from the battles. He occasionally spoke aloud to keep the room from going silent, muttering about the long ride to Qishan or expressing his concern that Nie Zonghui wouldn’t allow himself to rest until all the other disciples did.

By the time he was finished, his brother’s shoulders were shaking, and Nie Mingjue took in a sharp breath that wasn’t quite muffled by his hands.

“How many did you lose?” he asked gently, setting the comb aside.

“Too many,” Nie Mingjue whispered back.

Nie Huaisang was reminded of when he was nine years old, and his brother had taken over as sect leader. There had been a night hunt and something had gone wrong, and the party his brother led had returned two disciples short. Nie Mingjue had put on a brave front until his people were cared for, then had retreated to his room and collapsed on his bed. Nie Huaisang had been too young to do more than crawl into his Da-ge’s bed and curl up beside him, but eventually his brother had cried out his pain at having lost his first disciples, and Nie Huaisang had held him until it was over.

Over a decade later, and Nie Huaisang only felt slightly more capable of helping his brother.

“Do we have their sabers?” he asked gently, and his brother nodded. It had always been a Nie tradition that, even if the bodies could not be returned to Qinghe, that every disciple’s saber was brought back.

Nie Mingjue breathed again into his hands. “I failed them.”

“And how do you think you failed them? The men and women outside don’t look like disciples who were failed by their sect leader.”

“I should never have led them into Nightless City,” Nie Mingjue’s voice shook. “I should have known it wouldn’t go well, that-” He gasped, then pressed his lips tightly together.

Nie Huaisang didn’t know what his brother wasn’t saying, he only knew that he was glad his brother had made it out alive. “You’re not a god, Da-ge, no matter what the disciples think. There’s no way you could know everything. You did the best you could – you would do nothing less – and you made it out and back to us.”

Nie Mingjue shuddered. “I wish I hadn’t.”

His face growing wet at his brother’s admission, Nie Huaisang leaned forward to wrap his arms around his brother’s neck. “You don’t mean that,” he sniffed into his brother’s ear. “You’re upset, but you don’t mean that, because then you’d be leaving me all alone, and you said you would always protect me.”

His brother reached up to grab one of Nie Huaisang’s hands, and he thought he brother was going to shove him away – instead, his brother simply gripped his hand where it rested under his chin.

“I watched them die,” he hissed. “One by one, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“But you can remember their names,” he replied. “You can tell their stories, make sure they’re remembered for their bravery and their loyalty.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t reply, but he made a low keening sound as his head lowered further.

“They knew what it meant, going into battle,” he whispered to his brother. “Everyone in our sect, from the disciples to the kitchen staff, know that something might happen one day and we will be gone, us more than any other sect. Everyone knows, and they accept it, and they still will follow you into death and beyond – because they know you would do the same for them.”

Nie Huaisang held his brother in the silence of the field tent until he was no longer shaking in his arms. He pulled back to fetch the washcloth and offered it to his brother, and was thankful when Nie Mingjue began running it along his still dirty and tear-stained face. He then went to retrieve the food tray – the rations were nothing fancy but would fill them all the same. He somehow convinced his brother to eat with him, and they shared a meal for the first time since Nie Mingjue had left for this final surge on Wen territory. By the time they were finished eating, Nie Mingjue looked like he was barely keeping his eyes open.

“All right, Da-ge, time for my nap,” he announced, crawling onto the bed like he was ten years old again and curling up next to his brother, settling his head on Nie Mingjue’s large thigh. And much like when he was a child, his brother’s hand idly ran along his hair as if he were trying to comfort Nie Huaisang rather than the other way around.

Eventually, Nie Mingjue fell asleep where he sat on the bed, and Nie Huaisang guarded his brother’s sleep from anyone who might dare disturb it.

[wamo]

thinking about how ford won't hesitate to throw himself in the face of danger every. single. time. and that always involves him nearly sacrificing himself and he convinces himself it's for the sake of others. for the sake of the world. but can't he stop to think that maybe it's for the sake of himself? maybe part of him liked the heroism but isn't it because he was tired of it all? that he just wanted it to end? that he hated having to be the one saved over and over again and he just wanted to prove himself, to prove to anyone, that he could do the saving? how perhaps his family, his brother, would do anything for him and there is nothing wrong with needing help even if he's alone and the canyon is miles deep and he has no way of knowing whether he'll make the leap across?

[daniwib]

What's Yours is Mine

Buck and Eddie wake up to an unusual situation. Predictably, they don’t talk about it. Instead, they have sex. Friends-with-benefits sex, not I-love-you sex, because that would require talking about it. Something these two are absolutely terrible at.

AKA the Dick Swap fic

Chapter: 1 of 6

Length: 23k in total . Fic is fully written, chapters will be posted weekly.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: None

[disintegratingnoodles]

right no one is going to care about this or my thoughts but like- MHA is over? its finished??? done?? finito??? i dont know how to feel- ive been reading since like before the traitor reveal came out in like the beggining of 2022 and i just- w h a at. i cannot process these feelings and emotions and i am just severely underwhelmed and overwhelmed like i knew this was going to happen but it never really clicked and now it is over and they're all grown up and adults and i just dont know what to do with myself but i do know that i am proud of these characters and how far theyve come and yes i know they're fictional characters and yes i know im the same age as them but STILL-

anyway have a good day sorry to peeps who dont read the manga but technically this isnt even a spoiler so like- anyways bye.

[masterwords]

For the fluff ideas, I love Jack accidentally giving away the extent of Hotch and Morgan's relationship. To anyone. It's great, especially if they've already got an inkling as to what's going on.

Oh, well, this isn't fluff. I'll just say that now. But it is SOFT. And it does have a sweet ending.

Basing the whole story on THIS moment. Because when inspiration strikes, it strikes hard. So, we've got another Foyet theme here but it's all Morgan POV. It's a lot of angst and lots of feelings.

(5.2k words)

******* i'll be home soon *******

When SWAT shows up in a neighborhood like this, people notice. There are neighbors peeking through their curtains at the caravan of armored vehicles swinging through the gates at the Hotchner house. The black SUV in front had stopped, and a familiar face jumped out to punch in the gate code, which was somehow even more unsettling than the sight in general. A few of the neighbors stepped out onto their porches and watched from behind pillars, trying to stay out of sight but not able to stomp the curiosity.

They enter the house without being let in, and anyone watching knows that something bad has happened or is happening. They watch the swarm of men and women in kevlar vests with huge guns enter one after another and they step a little closer together hoping that whatever is happening stays located only in that house, doesn't seep out into the neighborhood. This isn't going to do anything for the HOA.

“Dave,” Derek whispers, indicating a hallway. He's trying to make it seem like he doesn't know every square inch of this place, but he also knows he wants to make it up to Haley's room first and taking the main route is going to put them arriving after strangers. If something has happened to Haley up there...he wants to be first. It's all that drives him. “Let's go this way,” he hisses and Dave nods, leading the way. Dave knows this house, too. They both have long histories with Hotch and it doesn't seem suspicious that Derek might know the layout, not to Dave. But JJ might get ideas and he doesn't want her to get those ideas...not now. He wouldn't mind their secret being out in the open but Hotch is still very protective of it, and he suspects it has less to do with the job and more to do with his own insecurity. With the spectacular failure of his first attempt at something big, and putting what this was under the intense scrutiny of profiler eyes was not something he was prepared for.

Derek wasn't worried at all. Not about that.

Haley is dancing to music in her bedroom while she folds laundry, enjoying an afternoon to herself while Jack plays at a neighbor's house. Derek had the playdate on his calendar, Haley always shared that kind of thing just in case. Hotch wasn't able to be around a lot but he wanted to know where they were, that they were safe. Divorce papers didn't change that, and Haley didn't mind.

She's more than accepted Derek's role in their lives, she's come to cherish it. He's good for Hotch in ways she never could be, he knows the work and he knows how important it is not to be there. Hotch has been a better and more present father since Derek entered the picture. Still, love him as she does, she doesn't expect to see him kick in her bedroom door while she's folding clothes.

She screams and pulls the earbuds out, staring right at hime. There are strangers in her bedroom, they brush past JJ and Dave and Derek to check closets and the bathroom and she just...stares. Scared. This kind of reaction can only mean one thing, a thing she'd prepared herself for time and time again. The day that Hotch wasn't coming home.

“Where is Aaron?” she asks Derek directly, doesn't bother looking anywhere else. Dave has lied to her more times than she can count, and JJ's face is too raw, her eyes too wide. She looks to Derek.

Derek wrestles with how to approach this. How important it is to maintain the secret at this point. He's not sure it matters anymore. Hotch will probably feel different, but Hotch is in critical but stable condition in the ICU, according to the doctors. He doesn't have much of a say about how this goes down.

“He's in the hospital,” Derek replies a little coolly before deciding he needs to be the one who goes to Jack. Hotch would want it to be him, to make Jack comfortable. Jack's friends' parents know him, it'll only scare everyone if a stranger comes for him. He locks eyes with Haley before speaking. “Text me the address,” he says like he even needs it. The house is two blocks away, he doesn't need to drive but he's going to...it'll help him maintaining what little cover he still has. “Tell them I'm on my way.” He's careful to say them, not their names, though he knows it still gives him away if they're really paying attention. It comes out a little stiff, but he doesn't think Dave or JJ have picked up on it, so he turns and leaves.

Derek isn't very nice to Marcy and Joe, he's short with them in an effort to get Jack and get back to Haley's quickly but his head isn't here. He can't think past the way Hotch looked in the hospital and the fact that he's not there. This is where they run into problems. When one of them gets hurt, the other can't just stop moving and be with their partner. He would give anything to be there right now, to talk to the doctors and know what they were up against. He would rather sit in the chair beside Hotch's bed and just stare at him while he sleeps. That isn't the way this works. Hotch is down for the count, so Derek is effectively in charge, he's got to step up and work twice as hard. It isn't ideal but he can't imagine a different life anymore.

And if he's being really honest, he doesn't want anything else. A short break would be nice, though.

“Hey buddy,” Derek says, affecting something close to a smile as Jack approaches him in the kitchen of his friends' house. He knows it isn't very convincing to the adults, they can see the weariness in his drawn features. But maybe Jack won't see it. He's so little. And right now, he looks even smaller. “Sorry to cut your play date short. Did you uh...” he's getting choked up because he knows what happens next. He takes this precious little boy, his little buddy, out of his friend's house and there is a high probability that he won't ever see them again. He might never have another play date over here and Derek can't say anything about it. “Did you say goodbye to Georgia and Jason?”

“Yep. Georgia said smell you later! Isn't that funny?" Jack giggles to himself and looks around, suddenly confused. Like he understands something is off here. Derek is wearing his FBI vest; the one Jack is fascinated with. "Where's mommy?”

“I'm taking you home to see her right now.” He realizes he's still in his vest, and Marcy is staring at it with fear in her eyes. She didn't see SWAT pull up, they're just out of view of the street the cavalcade had barreled down but she's keenly aware now. Joe has peeked out the window and seen the line of police cars on their little street, police and K-9s combing the cul-de-sac. Derek came with an escort and they're looking for someone. “Mommy is fine,” he adds, more for Marcy than Jack.

On the way to the car, Marcy taps on Joe's shoulder insistently and sends him after Derek. He follows behind them to the car not unlike a puppy, walking a little extra fast to keep up.

“Has something happened to his parents?” Joe asks quietly, hushed so Jack doesn't hear as he buckles himself into the vehicle. There isn't a booster seat, but they're only going a short distance and he lets Jack sit up front with him. He'll grab Jack's seat before they leave Haley's.

Derek searches for the best response he can arrive at...he doesn't want to lie but he can't tell the truth. The fewer people that know what happened, the safer they all are. Foyet wants the news to spread, infect everyone with fear. This whole neighborhood would turn into a ripe little hunting ground for him if Derek says one wrong thing.

“Aaron was injured in a job-related incident,” he says, closing the door. “He's in the hospital, we're just responding to the situation out of an abundance of caution. You know how we are, huh? It's probably overkill.”

Job-related. Joe knows what he does. What they both do. He doesn't know case details, but he knows enough to have a sort of idol worship for the two of them, and at neighborhood get-togethers he would seek Hotch out for stories, for a glimpse into a life more exciting than his as an accountant. “Oh, yeah, of course...” Joe stammers, staring hard at Derek's vest. Until Derek takes it off, shrugs out of it and holds it at his side. “If there's anything we can do, you'll let me know? They're like family.”

“Could you keep an eye on their house for a bit? We're going to take Haley and Jack for a little while, just to be safe. It's entirely likely that we're overreacting but...” his voice drifts off when he realizes there are tears in his eyes and they're giving him away. He and Joe aren't close, but they've been to plenty of barbecues together, they're friendly, Joe is well aware of his relationship to the Hotchners. With Aaron. He touches Derek on the forearm and smiles.

“Of course, yes. We still have our key from watering the plants for them last summer.”

They're good people. Derek feels terrible not being honest with them, but when Hotch's attack makes the news they'll know and maybe they'll understand why he had to do what he did. Maybe he'll drop a bottle of wine off later as an apology. For now, he's got to get Jack back home.

Time is of the essence. They're only going a couple of blocks, and they're creeping at a snail's pace because he's nervous with Jack not in a real booster seat, but he lets Jack push the button because he loves hearing that siren scream. His neighbors probably don't love it as much, but Derek thinks it might at least look a little amusing...big black SUV with lights flashing and siren blaring but going no more than 15 miles per hour, creeping slowly through suburbia. It elicits a small smile as he considers the spectacle of them.

By the time he gets back with Jack, Dave has helped Haley pack her bags and JJ has packed as many of Jack's things for him as she could find room for. Derek enters the room with Jack clinging to his neck, poking at his earring holes. He likes to do that; he pokes at them and tugs at them and tells him he should wear more treasure in them. Like a pirate. One night, solely out of pettiness, Derek had pointed out that Hotch had the same little holes and Jack had been beside himself. "But you said those holes meant you were cool..." the kid had some shade to throw at his dad. Hotch hadn't found the conversation nearly as amusing as Derek had.

“Member when daddy got you the red crystal?” he asked, poking again. “And you said he was a dork?”

JJ stares at the interaction, a little confused. Dave doesn't seem like he's listening, he's focused on Haley and talking her down as she mutters about this being isnane, an overreaction, she has a life and a job and too many things just to give up for this stupid fucking job. “I thought I was getting away from it all...”

“He is a dork,” Derek whispers back, grinning at Jack. “It isn't a crystal though. It's called a ruby. It's my birthstone.”

Now JJ is certain that she's not supposed to hear this conversation, but she can't stop listening. Sure it could just be something sweet. Hotch is old fashioned and gives beautiful gifts, and he and Derek have known one another for so many years now that he probably has to get pretty creative to come up with something that hasn't been done yet. She can almost believe it's not what she assumes. Hotch never half-asses anything like that, his gifts are thoughtful and usually way too expensive because he doesn't really think about that. He knows what he wants to give the people he loves, and he does it without expecting reciprocation. But an earring, Derek's birthstone, that seems a little romantic even for Hotch and his traditional leaning. Romantic and thoughtful, the kind of thing you offer someone you love in a way that isn't defined by where you work.

“He got you an earring?” JJ asks in a hushed whisper, sliding up beside them. She wants to know more and Derek looks like he's going to tell her, like he's ready to confirm what she's suspecting. It wouldn't be the end of the world. But Haley clears her throat and smiles awkwardly before he can answer.

“I think he said it was a joke,” she lies. “Right? Because Derek was getting old, and you know...the 90s were a wild time and Derek was so hip...didn't he say something about reclaiming your youth?” she's reaching but JJ pretends to buy it. They're obviously trying hard to keep it a secret. By the looks of it, there is some truth to what Haley said, but the motivation behind the gift was definitely not in jest.

Jack, however, isn't playing along. “No, mama, daddy said...”

“Jack, honey, I think we need to get on the road if we're going to see daddy, huh? He's probably sleepy and he's waiting for us.” She wipes the tears from her eyes and Derek feels sorry it wasn't him that told her what happened to Hotch. Not knowing what Dave said, how much he said, makes Derek a little nervous that she's not going to be prepared, that her expectations aren't realistic.

She's going to see him awake and he's going to tell her he's okay and she's going to get mad because if he's so okay then what the hell is all of this for? And she'll know he's not okay but dammit, if he can't be honest...Derek can see the writing on the wall. This situation is volatile.

On the way to the car, Haley stays close to Derek as he carries Jack who hasn't allowed the man to put him down the entire time. “Dave says he's okay. Is he okay, Derek? Because Jack is going to want to see him...but if he's...”

Derek stops and puts Jack down, tells him to run to Ms. Jareau and get buckled in. They've got his booster seat ready for him this time. “I'm not gonna lie...it's bad, Haley. Bad bad. He's lucky to be alive. But I don't think Jack will know any of that by just looking at him if it's kept short. He's gonna look mostly okay if you don't stay long.” And if you don't look too closely, he thinks.

“Can he...” she clears her throat and wipes the tears from her eyes. Her mascara is running. “Can he talk?”

“He can talk. It has to be fast; he's been through a lot, and they don't want him to have any excitement. He lost a lot of blood and the strain on his heart... but we can't...you can't leave...without saying goodbye.”

The car ride is punctuated only by the sounds of Jack's voice chirping on about the things he played with his friends, how they have toys he doesn't, and he wants to play with them more, and then he gets set on seeing daddy. Derek drives, a little too fast and a little too intense, trying to outrun that conversation.

“I'll keep him here,” he says as they walk down the long hallway to the ICU. His room is right at the front, closest to the nurse's station, and he can see the window from where they stop. Haley is pale, gray, afraid of what she's going to see when she walks in that room. Every fear she ever had about this job is coming true. “You go talk to him first. If he says he'll see Jack...”

“He will see Jack.”

“Haley, please give him the choice. He's been through a lot.”

She nods a little curtly and turns to walk toward Hotch's room. She only goes a few steps before she turns to Derek with a look of complete despair on her face. “What if we never see him again? Will he be able to live with that choice?”

She doesn't give Derek a chance to answer that one, and he's glad for that because he doesn't fucking know. This whole situation is a little out of his depth. All he knows is that Hotch isn't okay. No matter how many times he says he's fine, he's simply not. And maybe the rest of them can pretend it'll be fine but Derek isn't there yet.

The extent of it is beyond his ability to reason out.

“He says he'll see Jack,” Haley says as she rushes down the hallway to get her son, and Derek crouches next to Jack and holds him by the shoulders for just a second.

“Don't be worried, okay? Daddy's gonna look a little sick, and you gotta be real gentle with him but don't be scared. He's gonna be fine. I promise.”

He feels instant regret for that last part. He hates lying and he doesn't make promises he can't keep, but now he's just...well he might just have. But maybe this is parenthood, when you make promises you might not be able to keep but you'll die trying and that hopefully negates some of the act of the lie itself. There was hope when the promise was made. He pats Jack on the shoulder and sends him running toward Haley before backing off to stand with JJ and Dave.

“Don't,” he says when JJ opens her mouth. “Not the time.”

“I wasn't...” She was. He knows it, she knows it, they all know it. She smirks and Derek shoots her a look that says be careful. He isn't in the mood for playful ribbing. He isn't in the mood for any of this. Another day, maybe.

“Is the car ready for them?”

“Just pulled up. Sam's on his way now.”

Derek curses under his breath and scrubs his hands over his face, up and down. “Are we sure this is the right thing to do? We take them away from him, what's he got left to live for? Aren't we just telling Foyet he wins?”

“Hotch is in no condition to make that call, so Chief Strauss and the Director have made the decision.” Dave is clearly not convinced either. “We just have to trust that they'll be safe, and it is our job to get Foyet.”

JJ steels herself for a bad reaction but knows this is her shot. "He's not alone. He has you."

Derek hates that answer. He watches as Haley and Jack leave the room, both with tears in their eyes, and he knows Hotch will be doing his best not to let his show. He's already vulnerable enough without crying and he'll make himself sick in order to try and control it.

“Um,” Haley says, sniffling, looking at Derek. “I'm sorry. I know this is...I'm not supposed to...”

“It's okay. Think they figured it out.”

Haley laughs and sniffs again, glancing nervously at JJ and Dave before returning to Derek. “Yeah. So, um? My sister...can you call Jessica? I'm um...I'm not allowed to call her or my parents...I guess it's a security risk...they said Foyet could be watching us right now?”

“Yeah. I'll call her.”

“Thank you, Derek. She's going to want to come down here and rip his head off, but I promise she'll be kind when she gets here, she loves him so much...so...um...so let her come even if she says something awful? Please. She doesn't mean it, and they're going to need each other.”

Derek nods and holds his arms out to Jack, lets the boy crawl into them and wrap around his neck once more. Maybe for the last time. “Sure, consider it done. I gotta go get some of his things as soon as they clear the crime scene...I'll call Jessica on my way.”

He makes good on part of the promise. He does call Jessica, but not on his way, he can't pick up his phone. The rest of the team go and mill around outside of Hotch's hospital room hoping he'll invite them in, but only Rossi actually makes it inside. Derek drives across town, takes the long way, listens to music a little too loud and tries to zone out. He's thinking about Hotch and he's thinking about Reid and how that damn pig farm was like a really bad omen. It was pure evil and it sank its claw into his family. His voice won't come so he waits to call Jessica until he's done in the apartment, until he's had some time to reset.

He knows what he's about to walk into, and he is going to need the pain of it in order to listen to whatever Jessica is going to shout. It'll help steel him against her valid but misplaced anger.

It doesn't disappoint. In fact, it's worse than he imagined. It's pure Hell. He couldn't have prepared himself for the yellow tape, the glass on the floor, the scent of whiskey and blood. It's horrifying. It's the type of scene that you walk into and know without a doubt that there were no survivors. That two men were in this apartment the night before and those two men are still breathing is nothing short of a miracle.

“Hey man,” Derek says, coming up beside someone logging evidence in the kitchen. “SSA Derek Morgan, FBI. I got a call saying the master bedroom and bathroom were cleared and I can grab a few things for him to have at the hospital. That cool?”

“Just let me know what you take before you go, please.” The young man doesn't even look at him, doesn't look past his credentials. He walks down the hallway slowly, careful to step around evidence markers, eyeing everything that is out of place and broken. The bullet hole in the wall is eerie, but that blood on the carpet...god there's so much of it that he feels sick. He remembers Foyet's house, the buckets of his own blood as he faked his own death.

Slowly, he enters Hotch's room and he leaves it dark. No reason to turn on the light, he knows what he's after and where everything is. His go bag is neatly tucked in his closet, he keeps a few of them there and ready, well inventoried. He knows the way they're organized, which ones are ready, and which are waiting on dry cleaning or toiletries to be added. Hesitantly, he pulls the work clothes out of the bag and stuffs in more comfortable things – t-shirts and sweatpants, wool socks, a few sweaters. He rifles through the drawer, the bottom drawer, until he finds what he knows is stashed back there. Even in the dark he knows the sweatshirt by touch, it's worn and too soft, the kind of soft that makes it a little dangerous to put in the washer. Chicago PD emblazoned on the front in cracked white letters against faded navy blue that looks a lot more like gray. He balls it up in his fist and drags it to the bag, shoves it in. It used to be his father's, and somewhere along the line he left it at Hotch's place and it just sort of lived here after. Hotch had referred to it as his favorite cashmere sweater one time, one silly time when he'd had a few beers and was at a loss for how to describe just how soft it was. It had incited a whole discussion about cashmere that went nowhere except Derek being unable to bring himself to take it back. The ratty old sweatshirt, Hotch's favorite cashmere sweater, lived at his apartment now.

He has no idea if Hotch can even put something like that on right now, no idea if his injuries are going to mean he can't wear any of this but he's going to bring what he can. He'll buy new clothes if he has to later.

The drive back to the hospital is torture. Every red light feels like centuries and his stomach is all tied in knots. He hasn't eaten all day, and he only realizes that because he's driving down a street littered with about seven different fast-food chains, and he actually considers stopping.

Finally, he just can't take it and swings into a burger place without a line in the drive thru. He's about to lose his mind and more than likely some food will help that, even if he's dumping buckets of grease onto what feels like a fire. He scarfs it down while he talks to Jessica on the phone, he eats fast and spends more time listening than talking with the excuse that he's chewing to make it easier on both of them. He has nothing to say, and she has so much. When it's done and settled and she's calmed, he tosses the trash into the backseat, a problem for another day. He's about to miss visiting hours if he doesn't hurry.

He feels bad not bringing Hotch any food, a milkshake, something. But he has ten minutes and Hotch probably isn't even allowed to eat yet. He'll bring something next time.

The hallway is deserted. He can hear every footstep echo through time and space, the squeak of his rubber soles, every ragged breath he takes as he realizes he's finally got a few minutes just to be with Hotch. And it really is only a few minutes, because he spent the whole damn day running around. “Visiting hours are over in ten minutes, sir” he's told by a nurse brushing by to do a vital check on another patient.

“I'll be quick.”

He stops in the doorway and thinks it's cruel that he has had to do so much all day that has kept him away from the one place he wanted to be. But the more he did, the less Hotch had to think about, and wasn't that the point? Taking the burden and laying it on his own shoulders.

“Hey,” Derek says, entering cautiously. Hotch's eyes are barely open, narrow slits that catch the light from the hallway. He's barely awake and Derek feels guilty for even coming. He should have waited for morning.

“Hey,” Hotch rasps, drawing a shallow breath. Derek can see the pain that flashes over his features. The meds are doing their job, but there is only so much they can do. The pain is sharp in places, burning in others and he's just trying to lay as still as possible in the hopes that it'll help.

It doesn't.

“I don't have much time, they're gonna kick me out in ten minutes. Well probably nine now...”

Hotch doesn't move much, just a flinch when he breathes in again and he drags his hand slowly up his thigh until it rests there palm up. An invitation to come closer. He just wants Derek close. He's just been through hell, and he's been alone for most of it.

Derek can't imagine anything he'd rather do for those nine minutes, so he drags a chair over to the bed and places his hand right on top of Hotch's. His hand is cold and dry, and he thinks back to one of his anatomy classes that talked about the connection between blood loss and dehydration.

“They being nice to you?”

“Yes.”

“You being nice to them?”

“...think so...” That probably means no, or it's debatable anyway. He's not a good patient but he's polite and he's kind, it usually garners him favor in spite of his general unwillingness to submit. Derek could help with that in the morning. Visiting hours start at 7am and he's going to be waiting at the door when it opens.

“I brought you some things, for when you're a little more with it. Some clothes, your toothbrush, your electric shaver cos I'm not letting you come outta here looking like a mountain man...and this.” He reaches with his free hand down into the bag and pulls the sweatshirt out, dropping it over their hands. “Thought you might get cold, you're kind of a baby about that.”

Hotch knows what it is by the smell alone, he doesn't even open his eyes. He doesn't think he can put it on yet, his range of motion is severely limited by stiches and staples and an incredible amount of swelling, but he's glad to have it anyway.

“...think they're finally going to figure us out...” he slurs as he balls his fist up in the material and holds it not unlike a child and a teddy bear. Derek laughs a little under his breath.

“I got news for you. The cat's out of the bag, baby,” he replies, squeezing Hotch's hand. “Jack took care of it for us today.” He pauses, feeling out Hotch's reaction and is pleasantly surprised that the sedatives must be doing their job because there isn't even a tick in his blood pressure. He almost wished there had been, it looks a little low. “Haley finished it off.”

Hotch smiles dreamily and lets his head fall to the side, trying to focus on Derek's face in the dark with every ounce of awake he has left in him. He just wants Derek's face to be what he sees before he falls asleep. “What'd they say?”

“Well, first Jack broadcast to JJ, Dave and all of SWAT that you bought me an earring...and Haley asked me to call Jessica...and her parents...”

Hotch grunted and shifted painfully, tucking the sweatshirt under his chin. “I'll do it.”

“Like hell you will. I already called Jessica, she's gonna meet me here first thing in the morning...and she's gonna call her parents. I asked Joe and Marcy to watch Haley's house, I'll meet with Garcia in the morning to clear your schedule and delegate whatever you had to everyone else...everything is taken care of. Your only job is to be nice to these nurses who are coming to kick me out now. You listen to them, and you get better so I can take you home, okay?”

“...don't....deserve you...” Hotch whispers miserably, losing his battle with sleep mid-thought. Derek smiles and nods adamantly, giving his hand one last squeeze before standing up. There is a nurse standing expectantly in the doorway, ready to shut the ICU down for the night.

“No, you do not. But you got me anyway.” He bends forward and leaves Hotch with a kiss on the forehead. “See you tomorrow.”

[tailsbeth-writes]

By now, I thought I'd be over it

A hurt/comfort request (that I probably should have got round to quicker) & as usual it's a 400ish word drabble that turned into over 1000.

[shrubsparrow]

It's in the eye of the beholder

[alivingtypo]

you can pry starting sentences with 'and' or 'but' out of my cold, dead hands

[sweetwhispersofchaos]

In the words of Hangman…hoooollllyyy shit…..

LEWIS PULLMAN Skincare (2024)

[vamprisms]

i feel like a lot of the 'i hate kids' crowd would be more tolerant if they understood that due to a kid's limited experience of the world that 4 hour flight might just be the longest they've ever had to sit still for or that trapped finger might literally be the most pain they've ever felt in their short life or they might not have ever seen a person with pink hair ever so of course they want to touch it or nobody's told them yet that they can't run around the museum and they only just learned cheetahs are the fastest animals so of course they want to put that to the test. how were they supposed to know etc etc.

[brawnie]

*grabbing mlm shippers by the shoulders* guys nobody needs to be the twink. nobody needs to be the sub. nobody needs to be the femboy. they can both be big fat hairy men who bask in each others masculinity or they can both be unspeakable monstrous creatures with inhuman genitalia it’s okay I’m holding your hand. Let me show you the way

[inbabylontheywept]

i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.

adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.

right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.

it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.

still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.

i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.

i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.

so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.

coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."

and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.

still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.

i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.

so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went

...oh.

and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.

so i did.

i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.

i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.

it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:

*ptooie.* "that all you got?"

i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!

but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.

my coach did not.

i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.

"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"

and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said

"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."

which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.

and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.

fine.

but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.

and then he left.

and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."

but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.

and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.

he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.

and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

License to Kitty.