#my soft soft old men

[masterwords]

no better place

Summary: “I knew a new puppy was a bad idea.”

or

The time Hotch broke his foot stepping over a brand new puppy and spent the entire holiday season laid up.

Words: 5.7k

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: injuries & surgery, mention of clooney's passing

Notes: So...Comfortember is still happening but this popped into my head and I couldn't get it out so...now it's out there. Chicago Times, old men, Jack is at college and everyone they love comes to help. This should get busy and fun. I want to dive on to SO MUCH comfort. This is Chapter 1 of...many. Probably. I'll make it a landing page later.

****

“Fractured in two places? You’ve gotta be shittin’ me!”

Derek was staring at the x-ray like it had to be a joke. They had to have mixed it up with someone else’s.

“I told you,” Hotch replied with a smug little smile in spite of the fact that it was him sitting on the exam table with his foot draped in icepacks while he waited for the shot of whatever pain killer they’d given him to kick in. Derek rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“How’s that possible? It was one step.”

“I felt a pop. I knew right away.”

“Do we need to check for like, osteoporosis or something, doc? One step…come on. How?” Derek just couldn’t believe it and Hotch was more than a little irritated at how he was reacting. Some part of Derek refused to admit that getting older meant doing less with more consequences, and try as he might to outrun the perils of aging, it couldn’t be done. Still, Hotch wasn’t sure this had as much to do with him being older as it did with just simply landing wrong with his full body weight. He was pretty sure even ten or fifteen years ago it would have ended up with the same result. As if reading Hotch’s mind, the doctor just shook his head and pointed to the two small fractures in the top of Hotch’s foot, a common injury site that had a relatively high healing rate. He’d just begun to feel somewhat comfortable, resigned to his fate of lying on the couch watching the world go by for a couple of weeks when the other shoe dropped.

“This kind of break is extremely common, even in young people. There are a lot of small fragile bones in the foot. The breaks are clean but I am concerned that there are two of them, one in the 4th metatarsal and one in the 5th. This could make organic healing a challenge at your age. I am going to suggest surgery – the procedure would take roughly two hours, it’s an outpatient procedure so you can go home as soon as you’re cleared, and it doesn’t extend the healing time by much. What it would do is strengthen that area and give you the best fighting chance at regaining your active lifestyle.”

“Surgery?” Hotch was at least two full clicks back. The drugs they’d given him were strong and he was out of it. Derek had plenty of experience asking questions and slipped right into that part of his personality that had been neatly folded up and put away since he left the BAU. Suddenly he was Agent Morgan in the interrogation room again.

“What kind of surgery? What’s the prognosis with and without it, doc?”

“Here is the information, everything you could want to know about the procedure and why I am recommending it. If I didn’t know how active the two of you are, I would probably not be pushing for it but this injury could severely impact your lifestyle if it doesn’t heal correctly. And given your age, that’s unfortunately very likely. I’ll step out and give you a moment to look over the paper and talk it over, and then I’ll come in and we’ll splint it up and send you home to rest.”

“Thanks doc.”

Derek didn’t hesitate. He glanced down at Hotch who was lying on the table with his arm thrown over his eyes, and he pulled out his phone. He wasn’t exactly sure what time it was in Thailand but it didn’t matter, he had to call Savannah. Get a second opinion.

“This had better be good,” she said instead of hello. “It is 5am and I still had two hours on my alarm clock, Derek.”

“Good morning beautiful,” he said automatically, a smile on his face. Thirteen hours, he knew now. She was thirteen hours ahead of him and he felt a little bad calling and waking her up, but not bad enough that he wished he hadn’t called. Even when she was grumpy she made him smile. “I won’t keep you long, I just...we had kind of a situation happen and I need your opinion.”

“A medical situation or a Hank situation?”

“Hank’s good, it’s Aaron I’m callin’ about. He broke his foot this morning taking a step weird. Non-contact, two fractures, and Dr. Carter wants to do surgery. What do you think?”

“Did he leave the x-rays in the room?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Send me pictures of them, give me five minutes and I’ll video call you. I want to see him and his foot too okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

She didn’t even take the full five minutes, and when Derek saw her face he breathed a sigh of relief. She smiled at him gently and even in the dark of her room, with no makeup on and her gray flecked hair pulled back in a ponytail, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Has Dr. Carter come back yet?”

“No, just us. They gave Aaron a shot of something that looks pretty powerful and we’ve been waiting for it to kick in. I’d say it’s kicked in, he’s practically dead to the world.”

“Alright. Well I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I agree with Dr. Carter. The fact that it was a non-contact injury makes me a little concerned about it happening again, and putting a couple of screws in there is going to help make sure it doesn’t by helping it heal correctly. There are no guarantees, but this would be the recommendation to just about any athlete with an injury like this. What’s your hesitation?”

“Last time he was under, his heart stopped.”

“That was a traumatic situation and emergency surgery to correct internal bleeding, Derek, not a scheduled outpatient foot surgery. I know you worry but this is a low-risk situation.”

“So you’d do it?”

“I would. Can I talk to him?”

Derek brought the phone to the side of the exam table and tapped on Hotch’s arm, rousing him. He hadn’t been sleeping, exactly, just zoning out somewhere in the caverns of his mind. “Yeah?” he rasped, lifting his arm to look at Derek. What he saw instead was Derek’s phone and Savannah’s smiling face and he followed her lead with his own sleepy, slow smile. “Hey you.”

“Hey yourself,” she said. “How you feeling?”

“Tired.”

“Yeah. They gave you the elephant tranquilizers huh?”

“Guess so.”

“Good.”

“Do you want me to have the surgery?” he asked, blinking slowly. There was only one reason she’d be looking at him right now and even if he couldn’t remember Derek calling her or any of their conversation that had happened right beside him, he knew that much.

“I do. Ultimately it’s your choice, but I agree with Dr. Carter.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it?” Derek asked, staring at Hotch with a look of pure confusion. Hotch just shrugged. “No fight?”

“I trust Savannah.”

“Okay then. Guess we’re scheduling surgery.” Derek’s mind hadn’t quite caught up to where they were at, not really. How they’d gone from his complete disbelief that there could be any broken bones at all to having two of them and surgery on the horizon was beyond him. He wanted to laugh and cry over the absurdity of it.

“Let me know when the surgery is. I’ll see if I can get some time off to come help with Hank.”

“Thank you,” Hotch said, throwing his arm back over his eyes to shield them from the harsh overhead lights. His head was pounding...it didn’t exactly hurt, not through the fog of the drugs, but it was annoying and the darkness made it stop. It didn’t do much to alleviate the intense throbbing in his foot though. That, he knew, he was stuck with for the foreseeable future.

Derek said goodbye to Savannah and hung up, shoving his phone back into his pocket before leaning down and kissing Hotch’s elbow. Hotch hummed in response and Derek only sighed miserably, already beginning a mental checklist of everything he would have to do to get their house ready. Moving furniture, getting a shower chair, installing bars in the bathroom. He would have to take time off of work, talk to his mom, call Penelope and tell her their trip back to Virginia was canceled until further notice. There was so much to do he didn’t hear the doctor knock before re-entering the room. “I knew a new puppy was a bad idea.”

It had only taken a week for him to come to that conclusion. One week ago things had been good, everything was on track for a vacation and a busy holiday season until the dog.

“A puppy?” Derek asked when Desiree brought her over, ready to convince him that it was time. She only shrugged and smiled, holding the tiny little ball of fluff up to Derek’s face. A black sable German Shepherd, all dark fur laced with enchanting bits of tan and silver and red. She stared at him curiously with dark eyes and he already knew he was going to have a hard time saying no, something about her already seemed to know him and love him. It made his chest ache. Clooney had been gone for a couple of years now, he’d been in good enough shape to live longer than a dog his size should have and Derek had almost convinced himself Clooney might be able to live forever. Until he didn’t, and while the years had padded his grief some and their little family had moved on from tears to reluctant acceptance, he wasn’t sure he was ready to get another dog. To replace Clooney.

“She’s not a replacement, Derek,” Desi said, shoving the dog into his arms. “I loved that old fool too, but Jack’s gone off to college and Hank needs someone to play with. You guys could use a guard dog living in that neighborhood.”

Derek regarded the puppy with her floppy ears and huge chunky paws. “A guard dog?”

“Oh, Derek come on. She’s basically Clooney’s granddaughter or something. I don’t know how dog breeding works but her mom is related to Clooney somehow.. Just take her for a week, test it out. If she doesn’t work out I’ll find someone else or take her myself.”

“Why aren’t they training her?”

“She’s a little broken, just like you like ‘em.”

She was bred for duty as a K9 but she had a small heart defect that, while the vet assured them it wouldn’t affect her quality or duration of life, would preclude her from duty as a K9 cop. Desi’s fiance was one of the K9 officers and was trying to get her help to find families for the dogs they couldn’t use. “One week.”

The very first day, she peed inside of Derek’s favorite running shoes and chewed up the toe of Hotch’s pair. Lesson learned, no more shoes beside the door. She wasn’t terribly destructive after that, though she did do a lot of peeing on the wood floor. Hank played in the yard with her for hours, chasing her and playing fetch, and at one point while he watched and found himself softening up to the idea, Derek wasn’t sure who exactly was fetching.

“I don’t want a puppy,” Derek said as they crawled into bed that first night. Already his resolve had weakened but he wasn’t there yet. He would be sad to give her back, sure, but he would still do it. “She’s cute, I’ll give her that...but a puppy? We’re getting ready to fly to Virginia...what do we do with a puppy?”

“Let’s give her a chance. I don’t want a puppy either but Hank seems very motivated to help. Maybe we can use this as a tool, he’s old enough for a little responsibility.”

“He’s seven, he ain’t trainin’ no puppy.”

“I don’t mean that, but he can feed her and take her into the backyard when she needs to go out. He can keep her brushed. He could probably teach her a few little tricks.”

“You’ve gone soft in your old age.”

Hotch had no argument for that, he knew he had. And he supposed it was his right to do so, he’d been gruff and stern far too long. He simply smiled and nestled down beneath the blankets. It was getting cold. “I know you miss Clooney. I do too, every day. She wouldn’t replace him. No dog could ever. But it might be nice having another dog around.”

Derek tried to enjoy the puppy, but her bark grated on his nerves and the peeing in the house was about to drive him crazy. Hotch wasn’t crazy about any of that either but he was trying to maintain his status as good cop to Derek’s bad cop at least for the week.

And then Hotch fell. Well, he didn’t exactly fall, that was the part that Derek was the most bothered by. He never hit the ground, that would have made more sense. He just stepped wrong. Coming up the back porch steps after taking the as yet unnamed puppy out in the early morning, he hopped up the slick steps to the back deck like usual. The same way he took the steps every day, except this time a puppy made a mad dash and darted beneath his feet to chase a bird that landed in the yard. He pivoted on the slick wood to avoid stepping on her and landed with all of his weight on his lead foot at an unnatural angle. He knew right away his foot was broken, or maybe his ankle, that part he didn’t know. But it was broken, that he was sure of. He felt a sickening pop that released a wave of pain that coursed from his toes to his knee. It took everything in his power not to collapse right there on the spot. Instead he just let out a low groan and limped pathetically back into the house like a lame animal, waiting for the puppy to follow him inside before shutting the door and falling into a kitchen chair. Derek found him at the table with his head down ten minutes later, just breathing through the worst of it.

“What’s up?” He asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He looked down at the puppy sitting at Hotch’s feet and thought she had a strangely sad or guilty look about her.

“I think I broke my foot,” Hotch said from inside of his arms. The act of talking made him feel dizzy and sick, his hands were shaky. He knew he was in some kind of shock. “Could you get me some ice please? I can’t walk.”

“Can’t walk? Broke your foot? How? It’s 7am man.”

Derek went to the kitchen and rummaged through the freezer for an ice pack quickly, confused and trying to reason out what could possibly have happened in the thirty minutes since Hotch had gotten out of bed. Walking back to the table, the look of confusion plastered on his face, he watched Hotch slide his foot gingerly out of his slipper with shaking hands and he saw it right away. His ankle and the top of his foot were already swelling, the color changing from pale to a pinkish red. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “You’re gonna have to talk to me here.”

“I was coming up the stairs,” Hotch said quietly, taking the ice and setting it on his foot now propped up on the chair beside him. The pressure from the icepack hurt and he had to put his head down again to ride out another wave of intense nausea. “She got under foot. I didn’t want to step on her so I just shifted a little and landed funny.”

“So you didn’t even fall?”

“No.”

“Probably just sprained…”

“I felt it pop Derek.”

It didn’t seem possible, but Derek made the call to Hotch’s doctor’s office to see if they could get him in today to check it out. Neither of them wanted to go to the Urgent Care and sit for hours, it wasn’t exactly an emergency. The pain came and went, a little ibuprofen at least took the edge off and Derek didn’t have any problem helping him from the kitchen to the living room so he could lay down on the couch to try and rest off the shock. From there they waited. His doctor was able to fit him in for an appointment in late afternoon with an x-ray scheduled first, they just had to stay comfortable until then. Derek still couldn’t believe it.

“It can’t be broken.”

Derek couldn’t bear to watch the x-ray, watching them move Hotch’s foot into positions that caused him pain. He was in the room but he couldn’t look. Still, the longer the day wore on and Hotch’s condition didn’t seem to improve the way it might have if it was a sprain, he began to come around on the whole broken idea – they wanted to put Hotch in a wheelchair and he didn’t argue. If it was a sprain he would have been walking on it. He might be getting up there in age but he was still tough as nails – they’d both suffered their fair share of strains and sprains as a natural side effect of their active lifestyle, so for this to take Hotch down...he knew it had to be big, he just couldn’t wrap his mind around it being this bad over nothing. Over a misstep. Because that meant it could have happened to him too, it meant that they had to be more careful with their bodies, it meant they needed to get into even better shape...he didn’t know. It unsettled every bit of comfort he’d developed over the last few years.

The worst part was, he found himself blaming the puppy. When they told him Hotch couldn’t walk for two weeks and he should spend most of that time resting, meaning he would have to take on extra work around the house, meaning they would have to reschedule their trip to Virginia to visit Penelope and the rest of their friends. Meaning a whole hell of a lot of things, all because Desi convinced him a puppy might be fun.

Well she was going to hear about this, because his idea of fun didn’t involve broken bones and crutches.

“We’re not keeping her,” Derek said as he helped Hotch from the wheelchair into the waiting car. There was no comfortable way for a man of his height to sit in any car with a broken foot, but they didn’t have far to go and Hotch didn’t complain even if Derek could tell he was uncomfortable. “Two more days and Desi can find someone else to take her.”

“Derek…”

Derek didn’t answer, and didn’t look at Hotch because that might wear him down. Hotch had obviously already become attached to the little thing in spite of the predicament she’d caused him. To avoid having to look at Hotch, he swung them through their favorite place to get milkshakes and bought them a treat before driving home in silence. He didn’t want to be so cruel but this wouldn’t have happened if not for the puppy, and now he had to call Penelope and tell her they weren’t coming to visit, that they instead had to spend a week preparing for surgery and then six to eight weeks (or more) recovering from it. It was going to crush her. She’d been preparing for their visit for weeks now.

“I’ll come to you!” she said, without hesitation. “You’re going to need the help and I have plenty of vacation time saved up. I was going to take the whole week you guys were here off anyway...I’ll get a plane ticket right now. How does two weeks sound? Is that too long? Is that long enough?”

“Babygirl, you don’t have to spend your vacation taking care of us.”

“I know, silly, but I want to. Let me. Please. I miss you both so much and you’re going to need the help.”

He found it impossible to say no to her, and by the time their conversation was over he had a time to pick her up from the airport on his calendar for the next morning and a little more peace in his heart. He knew she was going to convince him to keep the puppy too, but she would help him take care of Hotch and he could use her support. As soon as he was off of the phone, he went to tell Hotch they were about to have company and found him sleeping with the puppy lying on the floor beneath the couch looking up at him as he breezed through the room. She still looked sad and guilty, like she knew what happened. He felt a little bad for her so he scooped her up into his arms and gave her a kiss on the head, called her a good girl, took her outside to pee and called Jack while he sat out there waiting for her to do her business.

“Broken?! I’m gone for two months and my dad breaks his foot?!”

“It was a freak accident. He’s okay though, I’d let you talk to him but he’s sleeping on the couch.” The puppy was sleeping on his lap now, stretched out across his thighs like she owned the place. Derek had to admit that was sweet and he wondered if she knew, in some way. If she felt responsible. She’d been a little extra clingy since they got home, staying close to Hotch for no real reason he could account for. And the minute he’d allowed it, she was up on his lap.

“Do you need me to come home?”

“Absolutely not. You’re in your first semester of college, man. You don’t have to worry about us.”

“Apparently I do!”

“No, Jack, you don’t. I got it. Plus my whole family’s here, we got Jess...who I have to call next...and Penelope’s flying out. You stay in New York, be a kid out on his own, don’t worry about your old men. We’re fine.”

“Will you have him call me when he wakes up?”

“Sure thing.”

Jessica was livid. About what, she didn’t really have words, mostly just that he was hurt and he didn’t call her. “How much time should I take off?”

“You don’t have to take any time off. Just come by when you can. Penelope’s gonna be here tomorrow and she’s staying for two weeks. My mom and sisters are gonna help.”

“I’m coming by tonight with dinner, do not cook. We’ll make a game plan then.”

“Jess…”

“Derek, he’s my brother. Let me help.”

Derek sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want the help, he knew they were going to need it, it was just that he was starting to feel the crushing weight of being a burden to everyone he loved. He could only imagine how it was all going to make Hotch feel once he woke up and became aware of the situation. He was glad that all Hotch knew right now was whatever dreams he was floating through and the warm weight of the puppy on his legs.

His mom and sisters showed up with bags of groceries in their arms and a truckload of pillows stuffed into giant trash bags. “What’s all this?”

“Go get the walker from my car,” Fran said, handing Derek the keys. “It’s folded in the trunk.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was a walker, a shower chair and a small brown bag full of gel ice packs all stuffed into the trunk of her car. He scooped it all up in his arms and made his way back into the house, hoping they were all being quiet enough not to wake Hotch.

“What’d you do, rob the old folks home?”

“This belonged to your grandma, it’s been up in my attic since her hip surgery two years ago. I knew it would come in handy. Just needs a good wash.”

Desiree was looking at the puppy on Hotch’s lap while Sarah pulled out the lysol wipes and began cleaning up the dusty old medical gear. “You’re going to need to move this furniture around, make the walkways bigger.”

“I know.”

“And put some bars on the walls in the bathroom. Probably two near the toilet and another two in the shower.”

“I know, Sarah.”

“Hey, don’t take that tone with me. I’m just trying to help.” Sarah had spent the first few years of her adult life working in retirement and assisted living facilities, she knew all of the ins and outs. He was lucky to have her experience even if he didn’t exactly want it right now. He just wanted this all to go away.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m going to do some shopping tomorrow to get everything I need.”

“You have a week. I’ll help.”

“I got it,” he said a little indignantly. He could manage the repairs on his house himself, it was the only part of this whole thing he felt like he did have any control over. The only part he knew how to handle. But the look Sarah gave him was equally as stubborn, and he knew that whatever came out of her mouth next was going to crush his chances of doing it himself.

“He needs you to be available to help him, which means you can’t be out and about at the hardware store and punching holes in the walls. I know you got that whole Mister Fix-It thing you like to do, but you have to step back this time little brother. Your husband needs you.”

Yeah, he saw that coming. She knew how to break him down. He didn’t even recognize it until the tears were burning in his eyes and she was pulling him in for a hug.

“It’s all going to be fine,” she said quietly, patting his back. “He’s going to be okay. You’re just going to have to slow down for a while. It’ll be good for both of you.”

He nodded and tried to stop himself from crying but it was no use, and that was what Hotch woke up to. The sight of his sister consoling him beside a living room full of medical equipment that hadn’t been there earlier.

“Derek?” he asked, his voice a hoarse sleepy whisper. “What’s the matter?”

Derek sniffled a little and sucked it up, puffing up his chest and flashing Hotch his best smile. “Nothing. All good. How you doing? Can I get you something?”

Hotch scrunched up his nose and considered the questions but they were too much in the soupy mess of his brain. He let his hand settle on the puppy’s chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her ribs and smiled.

“I think she likes me,” he whispered and Derek let out a laugh.

“I think she feels guilty.”

“For what?” Hotch asked and Derek just shook his head. Of course Hotch wouldn’t look at it like that.

“Nothing…” he said, brushing it off. “Let me get you some water.”

“Already on it!” Sarah called, rushing toward the kitchen. Hotch blinked stupidly around the room, as if realizing for the first time that it was packed with people. Fran and Desiree were moving furniture out of the way and unpacking what looked like every throw pillow they could find in Fran’s house.

“Ma, what did you do?” Derek asked as the pillows tumbled out of the bag. Fran just laughed.

“These are my extras.”

“I think you got a problem…”

“I don’t see you complaining when you come sit on my furniture.”

“What am I gonna do with a thousand Christmas throw pillows?”

“Prop your husband’s foot up, make him comfortable. He’s going to be laid up through the season so I thought it should be festive. I’ll bring over all of my good Christmas blankets in the morning but they had to go through the wash.”

“Ma…”

“Hush. Don’t you ma me, now sit down with him while we put this place together. I took care of your grandmother for six months while she healed, one of your sisters is in med school and the other has worked as a caregiver for years. I’d say we’re experts and you are simply in our way.”

“Ma.”

“Shh. Hush. We’ll make you a list of things to get done when we leave, but for now...sit.”

“I see why you’re so bossy…” Hotch whispered, sitting up enough to allow Derek room to squeeze in behind him before he leaned back against the brick wall he called a husband. Derek’s arms draped over his shoulders and circled him.

“You boys want me to turn on the TV?” Fran asked and Hotch was about to say something when Derek shook his head.

“No. Just do your thing.”

Hotch wouldn’t have minded the television on, it would have provided a distraction from the intense throbbing in his foot, but if Derek didn’t want it on he must have had a reason so he just lay there against him petting the puppy as he waited.

“Penelope’s flying in tomorrow morning,” he said, and Hotch nodded. He had already assumed that would be the case. No way they could cancel on her for this reason and have her just say okay, maybe another time. “She’s going to stay for a few weeks and help out. That cool?”

“Do I have a choice?” He asked it quietly but with a soft smile. Derek just shook his head.

“Nope.”

“Then yes, it’s cool. Anything else?”

“Jess is bringing dinner tonight. She wants to talk.”

“I figured as much. You made yourself busy while I slept. Did you call Jack?”

“Of course. He wants you to call him. Kid’s probably got a plane ticket ready to buy so you should do that soon. Tell him he’s forbidden to come home until his holiday breaks.”

“I’m sorry Derek,” Hotch said, his voice quiet and thick with emotion. Derek didn’t have to look at him to know he was crying, and part of that was the drugs they’d given him in the office but the rest...well that was just Hotch. He felt things so damn deeply.

“For what?”

“Don’t,” Hotch whispered, reaching up to swipe the tears from his cheeks. “You know why.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Shit happens. We’re gonna be fine.” He knew Hotch wasn’t worried about himself, he was worried about how this was going to inconvenience everyone around him. All of the tasks he was responsible for around the house, taking Hank to school in the mornings, assistant coaching his basketball team, taking trips and Christmas shopping and sledding and...all of it gone. “We might never be alone again...but we’ll be fine. Come on,” Derek said, twisting around so he could look at Hotch. “Don’t cry. Come on. It’s gonna be hard but we’ve done hard things before.”

“I know.”

“Will you stop crying if I say we can keep the damn dog?”

Hotch scrunched his nose and sniffed, a little insulted that Derek was talking to him like he was a child. But it was also funny enough to make him smile. Glancing down at the dog, he patted her on the top of the head and let his hand rest there heavily. He didn’t have the strength to do much more. The drugs in his system were making time lag, making his body heavy and bone tired. They didn’t do much for the pain that drove in waves from his knee to his toes, but they did make him find it hard to care or focus there long.

“You hear that Paige? He says you can stay. I knew he’d come around.”

“Paige?” Derek asked, his voice cautiously quiet. Hotch had named the puppy. He clearly had no plans to give her back whether Derek had agreed to it or not.

Hotch hummed happily and nodded. “Satchel Paige. She loves the baseball Hank throws for her.”

“When did you decide all of this?”

“This morning. Outside. Was going to tell you, but...”

“Yeah,” Derek said, smiling down at her, finding that he’d been stroking her soft fur for the last few minutes absentmindedly. She was so warm, breathing slowly, nestled in against Hotch’s thighs. “I guess you had other things on your mind.” Satchel Paige. Paige. Something about her having a name that meant something to both of them, a link between them, the first member of their family that would come from their own union...it softened him up. And when she snorted and twitched her ear and stretcher her legs out stick straight before curling back up around her cold little nose, he knew there was no way he would have ever been able to give her back either. Hotch just knew it first.

“It isn’t her fault, you know,” Hotch whispered, running his fingers up her fuzzy little snout. He was already in love. “Look at her.

“I know. It just sucks, man. I hate seein’ you in pain.”

Hotch smiled and leaned back, closing his eyes. The world had taken on a foggy, unreal quality that made him feel dizzy. He sank into Derek and grounded himself against his solid form. “I’m alright. Just tired.”

“Then sleep. Jess will be here soon, then you can both call Jack together. I’m not allowed to move anyway...you might as well take advantage of this.”

Hotch didn’t need to be told twice, he was drifting off by the time Derek finished talking.

[miri-draws]

I've been grunklepilled.

[breakingpengui1]

breakfast with you

[thymelessink]

[yurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr]

[mochindayo]

🧧新年快乐🧧！

!!!Qiuniu and Guilin!!!

MY DAY ISNT OVER SO ITS STILL LNY AND NOW IM POSTING IT YAY - today was just coloring it, drawing was done over the weekend for the most part :’)

Other art obligations required attention first~ and also y’know, my 8-4/9-5 😔 (just writing my silly little code that I don’t actually know how to write on my own or test on my own yet because I don’t know how all of our microservices work …yet… I swear I’m learning, it just takes me awhile to process and learn)

​oH also the last panel!!!! Guilin is short compared to Qiuniu. He has to stand on a chair to be tall enough to reach like that hahahaha. Qiuniu is 7ft. Guilin is 5’6ft.

But anyways, Happy Lunar New Years Everyone~

새해 복 많이 받으십시오~

新年快乐～

[tatiejosie]

Look i draw CecilDonald as cats. meow meow meow haha miaouu

That's it that's the post. Little meow meow headcanons + their inspo moodboard under cut

Cecil!!

bites (hard)

ugly ass cat who looks like he lost a fight with a woodchipper

foul beast. growls a lot. probably had rabies.

fur is clumpy, has the texture of crimpled paper. he doesn't allow brushing so it stays that way.

claws are out at all times

food thief

Donald!!

Just a lil guy

Aloof. Anxious, even. Absolutely terrorized, if you wish

Doesn't allow petting. Just awkwardly wiggles out of the way.

If you look miserable enough he will loaf next to you and purr gently

Very patient. If he swats at you he will look very guilty about it. Please don't make him do this.

[rakiah]

LeoVil will be that one celebrity couple that every tabloid believes will divorce in less than 5 years but turn out to be the only one that actually fulfills "till death do us part" bit.

Actually, no. Not even death. They're gonna be 85+, cuddling together as they admire the sunset. The decide to take a nap before dinner and just don't wake up.

Cheke helps see to their funeral. They're buried together in an Afterglow equivalent of the Taj Mahal, a symbol of gratitude for all they did for the kingdom and a monument to their love that not even death could touch.

How dare you come into my house and make me sob like a child... I’m living for that LeoVil headcanon [clenched fist] I do believe in the strength of their alchemy yes and everyone needs to know it! 😤

But, the Cheka part… Damn, my heart aaaa ; ;

OldMenYaoi.jpg

[dustykneed]

--Really, Doctor?

[kindofatheatrekid]

Soft Yandere! Veteran being pegged! (No. You're not on top.)

How long has it been since I promised a male reader pegging this old dude? Uhhhhh... 😢

How about we not think about that and like- uh- focus that it got done? I have absolutely wonderful pookies that motivated me to finish this so let's all thank my lovely alphas for this! I wanted this to be on kinktober but writer's block and all dat- 😄

This has pegging. Which is in the title. It's clearly NSFW. So like-

MINORS DNI. MINORS DNI. MINORS DNI.

Alright! Now that that's all said and done! Enjoy fucking this old man!

TWs: overstimulation, condescending behavior towards reader, cum play, nipple play, I think that's it- comment if I forgot something pls-

WORD COUNT: 1.6K

KINKTOBER DAY ONE: TEMPERATURE PLAY

Pleasure. That’s the only thing you could possibly be thinking of right now. With your dick shoved into his ass, yet he was the one in full control of this situation. It didn’t matter that it was your hands on his hips— no. Your hands were just finding a place to grab onto while he rides you like he’s trying to drain you dry of both cum and life. This had to be why he looked like a silver fox, right? Stealing the vitality of the poor youth that got caught in his seductive ways. Which, in this case, was unfortunately and fortunately you. It was so warm inside him, the slowly cooling water only accentuating just how much more warmer he was— both from the soft walls that were clenching onto your dick like a vice, and from his skin. The wrinkled, aged skin that only made him even hotter in your eyes. White mixed with black hair on his arms just like his head.

Your eyes tear up from the sheer euphoria he was giving you, tongue almost shamelessly lolling as your mouth stayed open. If it wasn’t for that familiar, irritatingly enchanting glint in the old man’s eyes— moan after loud moan would have been falling off your kiss-bitten lips by now.

Speaking of lips, the reason for your current dilemma was now sliding his thumb over your bruised lower lip. His other hand goes to caress your cheek, the warmth forcing a groan to slip from you without warning. He notices the drool that threatened to leak, using it to coat your dry lips— dry from the heavy breaths you forced yourself to take as he rode you.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Cat got your tongue?” He chuckles out as you try to focus a glare on him, pathetically failing due to your vision blurring from the incoming tears. His hips suddenly slam down onto you; a brash, animalistic noise leaving you as you’re buried down to the hilt.

Heaven. This must be what heaven felt like.

Your hands scramble to grab onto his hips, grip almost bruising as if he was the only thing grounding you to reality right now. The almost hypnotic grinding of his groin towards yours not helping with the way your mind wanted to shut down immediately. The cool water, the heat from your combined breaths, the way his hands left trails of fire with every inch they grope your skin— there was just so much for your poor brain to handle.

It honestly felt like you were being used as a dildo with how little work you were doing for maximum pleasure. To be honest, you would happily live your days out as his dildo if that was a choice. His raging hard-on kept on rubbing against your stomach, pre-cum and bath water slick on your skin.

Water droplets dripped down from your hair as you chewed on your lower lip— eyes laser-focused on his cock. His cock that you wanted to touch and feel in your hands. Your left hand lets go of his hip just for it to tentatively stroke his neglected dick; the heat in your palm making you shiver in the water. Thumb slowly tracing circles along the slit of its head, pre-cum continuously dripping down to your wrist and into the already cloudy cold water.

You didn’t want to be the only one losing their head, determined to make him fall into this mindless pleasure you were presently in too. You wanted him to bear himself out like you were doing, to show you the raw, primal instincts that you also had. To the point where manners would be shoved aside, and the two of you would just take and take from each other.

His pace noticeably slows down at the growing pressure of your strokes— hand slowly, yet purposefully, running down his entire length. Fingers smearing the thin fluids along the veined skin, feeling it throbbing in your hands. You could hear the way his heart quickens to the same -if not faster- pace of yours, could see the lust-induced haze in the corners of his eyes.

You use this chance to buck your hips up without warning, relishing in the way his throat hitched. Hand reaching down to squeeze his aching balls that were full of cum ready to be released. Your own cock twitched inside him, not faring better than him— overstimulated, needy, desperate: those were the words that could perfectly describe your deafening thoughts at the moment.

Right when you think that you’ve managed to win this unspoken game between the two of you, his lips curve up into a grin. His eyes held a knowing glint, as if he could read what was exactly on your mind right now— it felt like he was stripping you with his gaze despite your nudity. Crow’s feet deepened while his eyes held an obvious twinkle of mischief.

You should’ve remembered that unspoken games have unspoken rules.

He brings his roughened hands up from the water, skin ice-cold from being in the water for too long. His hands sensually slide up your body -your warm skin prickling from the cold- until they stay on your chest. He could probably feel how hard your heart was pumping right now, wrinkled palm right on top of it. Your eyes meet: calm meeting with panicked, smug meeting with wary.

Rule #1: He’ll always be in charge.

Your back arches when his weathered fingers pinch your nipples— senses confused as warmth floods inside your body, yet everything outside is cold. A gasp-like moan involuntarily leaves your lips, lips formed into an o-shape as your grip on his cock tightens reflexively. A deep groan escaping him as well from the squeeze, cool fingers still refusing to stop as he twisted your nipples almost painfully.

Another, louder, moan is forced out from your vocal cords when his head dips down— lips clamped onto one of your nipples, rough stubble grazing against your wet skin. You couldn’t help but come when his hot tongue swirls around the sensitive nub, teeth grazing against the already tortured skin. Eyes rolled back once again for what felt like the hundredth time. Your other nipple, receiving the same cruel treatment with his icy fingers. He definitely felt when you came; the water significantly more opaque as your cum dripped down his thighs and into the tub you were both in. Your cock still painfully hard in him despite coming just a few seconds ago.

Rule #2: You’re the bitch. Not him.

His eyelashes flutter when he finally releases your nipple from his soft lips, fingers already tweaking it before you could even sigh in relief. Your hand quickly lets go of his cock to grab onto his steel reinforced hips for bearing again— forehead pressed against his chest as you whine for him to stop.

“Why are you moaning, лапочка? I’m the one with your dick in my ass so why are you acting like our positions are reversed, little one?” Fuck. His dirty talk only made you want to beg him for more.

Your moans only get louder as he pulls on your nipples, drool pouring out from your lips like you were a brainless zombie— lips unable to remain closed. Shivers ran across your entire body, body trembling from both the cold and your overused cock. You were sure that you were only shooting blanks by now, every pathetic squirt easily seeping into the cloudy bathwater. You’d need to take a shower afterwards to clean all the come off you.

Rule #3: Don’t ever expect to walk after he’s done.

A choked whimper leaves you when he finally pulls himself off you agonizingly slow, your limbs feeling like jelly by now. You didn’t resist when he brought you into his arms, mind a slurry of contradicting sensations and abused instincts. Your eyelids drooping when he captures your lips in his, the kiss a slow, but careful one— everything he did had a reason and was meticulously planned out. A likely habit from his youth.

“You did so well, Солнце. Such a good boy for me. I’m so proud of you~” He croons out in a heavy voice, peppering kisses all along your face as his scarred hands snake up to your neck— his touch tender as he strokes your warming face. His own, ignored, cock still stiff and raised while he pampered you with the kisses you desperately needed right now. Your voice just whines for more of his attention, arms wrapping around his cold body to pull you closer to him.

The two of you just stay in the chilled bathwater for a moment, clinging onto each other for warmth as your labored breaths become background white noise. His lips trail down to your neck, pressing kisses onto your frigid skin— your breath hitching as his tongue slips out to run a fiery trail of saliva up to your jawline. An almost hissed out groan leaving his lips when he tastes the cold salt on your skin.

His eyes looked practically feral at this point, licking his lips clean of your taste before he crashed his lips onto yours to share what he thought was his own heaven. Swallowing down all your moans and whimpers like a starving man who finally got a feast laid out in front of him.

He reluctantly breaks from the kiss for the both of you to breathe. His hot breaths harsh on your skin as he leans his lips closer to your ear— whispering at a volume where you could only hear even if there was no one else around you two. A little secret that only you would know with him.

“As sweet as ever, Милый.”

Translation:

Солнце = sunshine

лапочка = sweetie pie / cutie

Милый = dear / darling

A/N:

Damn. I honestly didn't think this pegging would win. It was honestly included as both a joke and the consequence of staying up too late for too many consecutive nights... (Y'ALL TORTURED ME. THIS WAS SO HARD TO KEEP THIS OLD MAN'S HOLIER THAN THOU ATTITUDE WHILE BEING RAMMED!!) 😟

There. Y'all got to fuck the old dude. Happy now?? But anyways please comment anything you want me to do. (It'll take time, though. I'm not chat GTP okay?) 😩

Just no vomit, scat, and the works okay? Golden showers are a hell no too. Look. I'm not going to kink shame here, but I cannot write anything like that due to my BOUNDARIES. Non-con, baby trapping, and other dark matters are fine. I love that shit. But yeah. Maybe I'll make another OC, maybe not. It really depends on my mood. 😘

AUTHOR OUT! 😌

[pipartuuli]

I'll try to get back to kloktober posting soon, but in the meantime, have a small doodle of papa Nate carrying the baby to bed. 💛

[animangalover-writes]

Elias bouchard and jonelias fandom I beg of you, I need hurt/comfort fic recs where Elias is the one hurting and Jon is the one providing support. I need that old man in pain NOW.

[sergle]

has the huggable twee irritation always been a Thing or did it evolve in response to like, "you're not ugly. i'd fuck you" type comments? like in your personal experience

god, I'm not well spoken enough to describe it exactly the way it Registers In My Brain... but like. It's not the "you're not ugly, I'd fuck you" genre, and that type of comment is so easy to immediately dismiss because it always comes from a certain type of man, and it's like yeah yeah, I could throw a sandwich and you'd fuck it before it hit the floor. But also, that one's so specific, it's a bottom-of-the-barrel "compliment" that dudes will give when a woman has actively said something about feeling like she's unattractive.

The HUGGABLE THING. The oooh squishy marshmallow somft huggable mom shaped 🥺🥰 She looks like she gives GREAT HUGS. Those comments are UNPROMPTED. I'm immediately like. Every keyword you say, I kill another hostage. I will blow up this whole building and everyone in it. Because it is SO FUCKING WEIRD. And I have heard it one million times. And I see it on every drawing of a character who's even remotely plus sized. These comments would not fly for a thinner person, they'd be rightfully received as weird. People aren't gonna comment on a picture of Ariana Grande going omg she's sooo huggable mom friend shaped. WHAT. Simultaneously are desexualized and sanitized to a weird degree in that uwu language way, WHILE also being creepy. Like, why are you describing what you think I'd feel like if you hugged me? Like the only positive thing you can think of to say is that I look like I have some give. As strangers. I'm not going to hug you, I think you're a creep and I think you're giving yourself a big pat on the back for complimenting a fat person. What are we doing I'm arguing at the air. Where am I And you're just supposed to go oh thank you that's so nice, because as a fat person, you gotta take whatever compliment you get, even if it is actually not a compliment. And that's the thing, there are SO MANY ACTUAL COMPLIMENTS TO PICK FROM. But people settle on huggable and somft. Was this person pretty? Were they hot? You could say gorgeous? Handsome, beautiful? Elegant? Stunning? Sharp? Sexy? Stylish? Are you trying to say that you're attracted to this person's body? Are we being horny? Do you think they just look nice in general? Can't we think of anything else to say? Or are we just gonna sit here and say they fuckin look like Santa Claus. Huggable like a pillow. Girl what the fuck

[bbuzz28]

The Mirror

Memories are tricky things. Sometimes good, sometimes...not.

Old man Fiddlestan, my beloved <3 Plus! A cameo from the younger Pines Twins for good measure from yet another jazzed up Notes app fic.

“Now Mabel darlin’, if ya keep wigglin’ while I try n’ do this ’ere braid, it simply won’t stay together. It’s been almost thirty years since I did this on another person- so we’re gonna need every bit a’ help we can get.” Mabel sat on a chair in his shared bedroom with Stan, swinging her legs in anticipation. Fiddleford ran his dexterous fingers from the crown of his great niece’s head to the bottom of her long hair to make sure he had managed to detangle every knot.

“WAIT, I have SO many questions. Who was the last person whose hair you braided? How did you learn to braid hair? Can you teach me? Do you think I can convince Dipper to grow his hair out so I have someone to practice on?” Fiddleford laughed as he tilted Mabel’s head back and started sectioning her hair into three equal parts. As he worked his way through her hair he leaned forward over the back of the chair and made eye contact with the excitable girl and smiled. “Let’s take those questions one at a time now; ya know whose hair I last braided very well; I’d even reckon there are pictures hidden ’round here somewhere. As for how I learned; Emma May, my son Tate’s momma, she taught me how to braid her hair back when she was pregnant with Tate. It was the least I could do t’ help while he was cookin’ in her belly.” He paused as a flash from a lifetime ago came through, no longer tinged in bitterness but a familiar warmth. Time certainly could heal some wounds, as long as you tend to them instead of trying to erase them. When you try and do that, everything has a way of falling apart. He had certainly learned that the hard way in this long life of his.

Shaking himself back into the moment with Mabel, he continued “as for teaching you, I reckon you’ll take to it like a fish t’ water. Ya clearly inherited your craftiness from your Grunkle Stan n’ me. N’ I s’pose Dip could grow his hair out-but practicing on yourself or your girlyfriends would be a mite easier since y’all already have the hair to work with, right? Now, I figure that’s everythin’- did I miss anything sug?”

In the time it took Fiddleford to answer all of Mabel’s questions, he had neatly finished her long braid and tied it off with a bit of leather cord he had in his apron pocket. He tickled Mabel’s nose with the tail end of her braid to let her know he was all done. Mabel’s familiar Pine’s family brown eyes sparkled as she ran her hand down her new rope of hair. “Oh Grunkle Fidds! It feels so pretty! I need to see it RIGHT NOW!” She leapt off the chair and made a beeline straight for their adjoining bathroom. “Ah now, you’re not gonna find a mirror in there honey. Best go t’ the guest bathroom or your bedroom t’ take a gander at yourself” he called after her.

Fiddleford pushed the chair back against the wall where it belonged as his great niece came back into view. “That’s so weird. I’ve never been in a bathroom that didn’t have a mirror-and there’s a big empty spot on the wall for it. How do you see yourselves in the morning? What if you still have food in your teeth after brushing? How come you don’t have any mirrors in there?” she asked, swinging her hands up into the air in childlike exasperation. Fiddleford froze; it was the first time in a very long time since he thought about the answer to that very reasonable question.

“I got the answer to your question pumpkin” the gruff voice of his partner sounded from where he had been leaning unnoticed to either of them in the doorway. Stan Pines shuffled into the room and upon reaching his great niece twirled her around with a low whistle. “Look at ya; pretty as a picture- you wanna be an attraction as one of those fancy fairy princesses like we did with Dipper and his wolf-boy get up? I bet we’d rake in the dough.” Mabel laughed as he spun her once more but once she found her balance again, she looked at her great uncle expectedly. Stan scratched the back of his neck “oh yeah, uh the mirror. Well, who needs ‘em? I already know I’m the best-lookin’ guy around-outside of your Grunkle Fidds of course.”          

Mabel rolled her eyes and laughed. “ Nice save Grunkle Stan, but be so cereal- that can’t be the real reason.” Stan held his hands up in mock defeat “okay okay, ya wanna know the real reason, huh? Couple dozen summers back I got stung by a bunch of bees and when I went to look at my reflection-BOOM! The mirror shattered. Are ya happy now? Making me relive my trauma.” Stan made a dramatic pose throwing his hand over his eyes and leaning back over the bedframe in despair before peeking out through his fingers and grinning.

Mabel just giggled as Stan straightened himself and shooed her out of the room. “Now go bother your brother for a while, his nose has been in some book all day. It’s unnatural. Make him kick a rock, jump in a muddy puddle or literally anythin’ else. ” Mabel skipped from the room, braid bouncing with each movement. “Okay Grunkle Stan! I’ll make him look for picture albums with me-I will solve the braid mystery if it’s the last thing I do! DIPPERRRRRR” Stan shook his head as he closed and locked the bedroom door behind Mabel.

He quickly shifted over to where Fiddleford had sunk down onto the chair, his fingers laced under his chin as he stared at the floor. Stan crouched down, wincing at his new angle, and tried to catch his partner’s eye. “Where ya at cowboy?” he asked, doing his best to sound calm as he watched for the tell-tale signs of a panic attack. “Hmmm” was the only response Stan got as Fiddleford’s fingers twisted tighter around each other, flashing red then white with how intense his grip became.

Stan covered the hands of his partner with his own, talking softly “hey now, come on back to me Fidds. We made a deal that you’d stop takin’ anymore trips down memory lane without me. Can ya tell me where we are?” Stan watched as Fiddleford’s eyes focused on the hands covering his own. “We’re in our room” he managed, eyes slowly tracing the scars on Stan’s hands. “Good, good. Can ya tell me somethin’ you can feel?” Fiddleford relaxed his grip enough to run his thumb over the largest of the scars on Stan’s right hand. “My fault” he whispered.

Stan took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

--------------------------------------------------------

Almost thirty years earlier, after hearing a loud crash, Stan had run into the bathroom attached to Ford’s his bedroom to find Fiddleford surrounded by broken pieces of mirror all over the ground and sink. He was holding his head, his fingers gripping the front of his shaggy hair with the palms of his hands shoved into his eyes as he shook with silent sobs. Stan walked over and quickly took stock of the situation: most importantly, Fiddleford didn’t seem to be bleeding. Stan hadn’t done stitches on another person, and he was glad not to practice for the moment. There was a forgotten wrench on the floor surrounded with most of the shattered mirror that had splintered off the wall, except for a triangular piece left right in the middle.

 “Fidds, what the hell happened “ he asked the shaking mess of the man in front of him, restraining himself from touching him in case he made him feel worse. Stan had a terrible habit of making things like this worse. “Stanf-no. You…you’re Stanley. I know you. ’m sorry.” Stan bristled at almost being called his brother’s name, even if he knew it wasn’t said with any malice. He was the spare twin after all. Would Ford know how to help him? he wondered as he waited for Fiddleford to continue.

“I…I came in here t’ look at the sink n’ then I saw somethin’ in th-the mirror behind me. It was those…those terrible yellow eyes. Mockin’ me.” Fiddleford dug his hands deeper against his own eyes as if he could reach inside and erase. No Stan thought as he took a tentative step forward, he’s done enough of that. “I think I feel a memory tryin’ to push its way through but” he shuddered, blindly pushing himself up against the wall. “I can’t rightly open my eyes or else I swear I’ll see them again n’ I...I can’t stand it, Stanley.”

Stan clenched his fist. There were days Fiddleford was perfectly fine; but there were other days where a switch was flipped. Instead of the intelligent and sweet scientist he had come to know and care for, he was a completely different person. A scared, incredibly paranoid shell of a man who had barely pieced himself together after Ford went through the portal. And that fact made Stanley angry.

 Angry at Ford for building the damn portal in the first place. If Ford was so smart, why couldn’t he see how dangerous it was? Angry at himself for pushing his brother into the swirling abyss. If he had just talked to him instead of getting defensive, would the result have been the same? Angry that he couldn’t protect the man before him from the demons his time assisting his brother had created in his tattered mind. What are we gonna do if I can’t help him put himself back together? Angry at the last remaining bit of mirror that framed his grim reflection in a splintered triangle.

Anger was a much easier emotion than any other he might feel.

Before he could put much thought into it, Stan slammed his fist against the last section of mirror remaining, immediately slicing a deep cut through the already damaged skin along his knuckles. He swore as the rest of the reflective pieces of glass shattered to the floor. Fiddleford’s warm hands were on him immediately, eyes wide with concern. As he saw the blood start to flow, he grabbed the handkerchief from his back pocket and tried to dab at the cut. “Stanley, what ‘n the world was you thinkin’ ?! That was sillier than a pig in snow boots.” The act had shaken Fiddleford from his own spiraling world, a happy side effect to Stan’s poor impulse control.

Stan couldn’t help but grin. I guess I can be good for somethin’ after all. “There you are cowboy, thought I lost ya there for a second.” They stayed looking at each other for a beat before Stan decided fuck it. He took a step closer, enclosing Fiddleford’s hand in his not injured one and pulled it to his chest. “I’m not good at this, but I know one thing. We’re in this together; and if mirrors are gonna make things harder for ya, then I’ll smash every last one in this shack.” An emotion Stan didn’t recognize passed over Fiddleford’s face as he dragged him out of the bathroom to the get the first aid kit, the shattered mirror to be contended with later.

--------------------------------------------------------

Stan opened his eyes. One thing was for certain, he had gotten better at reaching Fiddleford over the last thirty odd years. He raised his free hand to graze Fiddleford’s face, making him meet his eyes. “You’re takin’ all the credit for me bein’ a jackass again Fidds. We both know I didn’t know my ass from my elbow in those early days.” He watched as Fiddleford relaxed, coming back to himself as he listened to Stan. He took a deep breath and continued. “I hope ya know I’d do it all over again. Every mark we have left on each other-the good n’ the bad-I would make every single one of them over n’ over again if it meant I had ya with me. We’re in this together, remember?” That same look from thirty years ago passed over the face of the man who had remained by his side through all of those long, sometimes tumultuous years. It had almost taken Stan a little too long to figure out what that look meant: love.

Fiddleford touched his forehead to Stan’s in response to his words, sighing as he came back to himself. He feared he would forever walk the tight line between staying on this side of sanity and fading away-the aftermath of the memory gun still troubling them all these years later. It was funny which memories would trigger these episodes, as if they were all connected. (That was something to be unpacked later, not in the middle of the day when they had the littles to worry about.) One thing that he had found to be true after all this time together was that as long as they had each other to bring them back from the brink; Stan with his feelings of inadequacy and Fiddleford’s memories of trauma’s past, they would be fine. They had made it this far at least.

They both looked up towards the door as they heard the twins excitedly shout from somewhere in the house. “GRUNKLE STAN HAD A MULLET?!?” they heard the squeaky preteen voice of Dipper say as Mabel screeched at an octave only dogs could truly appreciate. “Ah shit, I thought I burned those” Stan said with a shudder. He stood, a hand automatically going to support his back as he attempted to straighten it. Fiddleford suppressed a laugh, using the hand that still held Stan’s to pull himself up. “If they’re in the box I think they’re in, I can’t wait to show ‘em the ones where you grew a mustache, Mr. Mystery” he teased as he tried to lead them towards the door. Stan stayed put, his eyebrows furrowed. “Hey, wait. Are ya sure you’re okay?” Stan asked, concern clear across his weathered face. Fiddleford squeezed Stan’s hand, thumb brushing over the faded scar once more. “ Like ya said, I’ve got you for this trip down memory lane. I know I’ll be perfectly fine.” They smiled at each other for a moment before they headed towards the sounds of their excited great niece and nephew.

[hypostatic-oath]

I've started playing Honkai Star Rail and I love how dramatically silly it lets me be. So far I have stolen mail, searched garbage cans, entered a closet to become one with the darkness, waxed on about how life is just a road to death to a terrified guy (somehow that seemed to make him less terrified), bowed in respect to a dumpster, investigated an inconspicuous lamp so many times it got mad at me, investigated a trash can so many times it insulted me, and felt bad for two different trash cans and several sandbags (I believe my Trailblazer is going insane from putting up with me). All this not counting with the countless dialogue options with NPCs around the world that allowed me to be incredibly dramatic (think almost Fischl style) for no reason (you can bet I took them). However, I cannot jump or climb, and fights are turn-based... we respect our opponents in Star Rail (and die. A lot).

What I conclude from this is that while the Traveler has a moral code (and some standards) when dealing with interpersonal interactions but isn't bound by physical restrictions or conventions (stairs? The Traveler does not understand that concept. Fair fights? Please, they don't have time for that), the Trailblazer is the exact opposite. The physical rules may hold them but their only ties to social rules or convention so far have been March and Dan Heng saying "hey, maybe don't fight the guards" and "hey, you can't just accept random jobs".

It also might be because the Traveler is a thousand year old entity that has been through A Lot (has learnt the power of friendship, but is too tired to take the long route) and is on a serious mission while the Trailblazer was quite literally Born Yesterday with the sole purpose of housing a massive problem inside their body (walks and fights like a Normal Person bc they're mimicking everyone else, but is absolutely unhinged) and is just having fun with tjeir newfound existence.

Either way I love both of them and they're basically cryptids but in different ways.

[murd3rouscrow]

Shoscombe Old Place part 2, electric boogaloo

Kinda late on this one, been working on some other stuff. Now, let's get the obvious out of the way... HOLY SHIT MORIARTY. HOLY SHIT WATERFALL. I'll talk about how Moriarty might impact things later, but for now, it's not really a priority.

Anyways holy shit this entire adventure is just so damn soft. Especially from John's side. John continuously talking about how Baker street feels more like home than his childhood home. And just the two of them meeting everyone.

The little moment Sherlock and John had while in the crypt. Sherlock telling John he's invaluable. Then comparing him to a river. It's just all so soft and so domestic. I think the dancing men might've had a tiny lasting impact on them.

I love that their taking on more high stakes cases, but I also love these soft moments in episodes. I really hope they keep doing feelings stuff, cause it just makes my heart melt everytime.

I could go on forever about how John found his safe place at Baker street with Sherlock and Mariana. But I'll leave that for later