So life has decided to chomp me in the soul…Due to medical hiccups, drastic life changes, and other various bills, I’m now juggling financial stress like a madwoman, trying to get everything back in order again.
So as a result: I’ve decided to open up fic commissions!
I’ve got three slots currently open, with rates of one cent per word (minimum 500 words, maximum 10k). Slots will be filled on a first-come, first-served basis, and finished pieces can be either published or private—your choice!
I’m most comfortable—and most experienced—writing content for My Hero Academia. However, I’m certainly not limited to just BNHA! I’m also comfortable writing for these fandoms:
Gravity Falls
Mob Psycho 100
The Disastrous Life of Saiki K
Barry (HBO)
Devilman Crybaby
Over the Garden Wall
Hades
Bojack Horseman
LAIKA films (Coraline, Kubo and the Two Strings, Paranorman, etc.)
Most Don Hertzfeldt films (both short film and feature)
Most Dreamworks films (Open to discussion!)
Most Disney or Pixar films ’89 to present (Also open to discussion!)
If there are any other fandoms you’re interested in, feel free to pitch ‘em to me! I won’t write for anything I’m not familiar with, but you may have caught a fandom I missed, so no harm in asking.
Stuff I willwrite:
Gen fic
Ship fic
OC content (including OC x Canon!)
Reader/Self-insert content (including Reader x Canon!)
Both canon-compliant and AU fics
Smut (Must be 18+ to request NSFW content!)
Stuff I won’twrite:
Omegaverse or A/B/O
Explicit content involving animals or furries
Crossovers (Negotiable! But I’ll most likely turn these down)
Piss or scat of a sexual nature
Stuffing or emeto content
I am open to most ships, including rarepairs, but I reserve the right to decline any ship or subject matter I’m not comfortable with. You absolutely won’t bother me by checking, though!
If you’re interested, email your request to [email protected]. If your request is accepted, I’ll secure you a slot, and we can discuss payment and further story details from there! You can also contact this email for any general inquiries.
For the love of… pre-slash is not the same as pre-relationship! It’s specific to slash, a.k.a. m|m pairings!
Damian/Anya is not pre-slash unless you’ve made a very specific change to one of the characters! If you’re just writing pre-relationship, they’re so cute with their crushes, that’s pre-relationship. Hell, you can even label it pre-het if it’s important to you to be specific! But pre-slash it is not.
And another thing! If you’re writing ANY RELATIONSHIP that is NOTROMANTIC,the proper form is ____&____ or ______+______ NOT ____/_____! The forward slash is for romantic relationships and romantic relationships ONLY! People will not read whatever explanatory tag you add after. They see that /, they go straight to ‘romantic’ and your fic has been effectively blacklisted.
Erotic fic and porn can be a lot of fun! But if you aren’t being provided with adequate sex ed through other channels (comprehensive sexual education, frank and open discussions with trusted adults, etc.), turning to fanfic and porn for your understanding of sex is gonna leave some major blindspots and may leave you with some unrealistic expectations. While there’s nothing wrong with these kinds of erotica, they are fictional and tend to leave out a lot of the more realistic, human parts of sex - they serve a great purpose, but that purpose isn’t primarily educational. The following is an incomplete list of some things you should probably know about sex that a lot of fic and porn tends to leave out:
It isn’t always super hot or super sweet. Sometimes it’s super silly. Or sometimes it’s sort of mundane and you’re both simply scratching an itch. That’s fine too. (Hell, sometimes you’re talking about comic books while boning and your partner is laughing that you’re getting REALLY ANGRY about spider-man while they’re going to town on you.)
You will probably not climax at the same moment. It’s a sweet idea, but extremely hard to coordinate, and if all your concentration is going into coming at the exact same moment, you’re probably not enjoying yourselves as much as you might.
Sometimes bodies make weird, goofy noises. Squelching, slapping, air-escaping, un-sexy noises. It’s okay to laugh at this.
Hell, it’s okay to laugh during sex in general.
Sometimes you fart. Sometimes you fart while someone is going down on you and it is embarrassing as hell. This isn’t the end of the world. Embarrassing body things happen. Heck, sometimes, with anal, there’s a little poo. You get over it.
Sometimes sex is… kinda bad? This doesn’t mean it’s assault, or something traumatic – sometimes it’s consensual but just kinda bleh and not what you hoped for. The best thing to do (if you’re talking about sex with a partner and not just a hook up who you can not call back) is talk to them about it. Figure out what went wrong, what you enjoy and what you don’t, and communicate what techniques you do and don’t like. Also don’t be afraid to stop someone in the middle of the sex act you’re not enjoying and offer guidance on how to help make it good for you too. (Side tip: masturbation makes great research into what you personally do and don’t enjoy sexually)
You won’t enjoy every sex act. Not every body is wired to find every thing pleasurable. You might find anal does nothing for you. You may find g-spot stimulation just makes you really anxious that you’re about to pee. You may not enjoy giving or receiving oral. You’re not broken if you don’t like something that every pornstar or smutty fanfic protagonist seems to have earth-shattering orgasms from. Everyone’s got nerve endings in a range of places – it’s quite literally, different strokes for different folks.
On that note, not all orgasms are earth-shattering. Sometimes it just feels warm and nice. That’s fine too.
Sometimes, if you’re neutral on a sex act and your partner loves it, you can suck it up for them, and they’ll suck up something they’re not crazy about for your pleasure in return. But communicate preferences with each other! Know that when a partner does that thing you love that they don’t get much from, that it’s an act of care, and vice versa.
Falling asleep in each other’s arms right after wild passionate sex seems really romantic, but dried and crusty fluids are gonna be a bitch in the morning. Also, after sex, you should both (regardless of your equipment) go pee to clear out the urethra of any gunk or bacteria to reduce risk of a UTI.
Putting a towel down on the bed before sex means you don’t have to sleep on wet funky sheets. (it’s also verrrrrry useful for period sex if you or your partner menstruate.)
A lot of people don’t like dirty talk, or rough sex. Always ask first. (Fanfic on the whole does a better job than porn at showing communication, but a lot of it is still highly fictive on this point)
PROTECTION PROTECTION PROTECTION. Use condoms, dental dams, etc. not just to prevent pregnancy, but to reduce risk of STIs. (Yes, even couples with the same genitals who don’t need to worry about pregnancy).
Lube is great and very important, but random goopy things around you are not good lube. Random oils especially, since oil doesn’t flush out well and can trap bacteria inside the body – oil-based lubricant also degrades condoms. Use lube specifically designed for intimate purposes. Water-based and silicone-based lubes help sex feel really good!
Bigger isn’t necessarily better. A lot of people with vaginas don’t enjoy the feeling of being repeatedly punched in the cervix by a monster cock. Some people enjoy a larger size when being penetrated by an appendage or toy and some don’t.
Bodies are hairy. Genitals are hairy. You may get a pube stuck in your teeth at some point. If your partner is WAY fuzzier than porn ever led you to believe they’d be, well, that’s normal.
Not everyone loves the taste of ejaculate. Sometimes it’s nasty (flavor tends to vary from person to person depending on their diet, but sometimes you just really don’t like it no matter what. Some of us hate the taste of peanut butter. People don’t always like things). It’s okay not to swallow, or to request a penis-having partner warn you so they don’t ejaculate in your mouth (in fact, it’s polite for them to do the latter).
If you’re gonna have shower sex, get one of those rubbery mats for the shower floor that gives you traction, because otherwise it’s super embarrassing to call for an ambulance while dripping wet and naked because you slipped and accidentally broke something and your partner got a concussion while you were trying to bang in the shower.
Moaning and screaming wildly during sex is fun but it will make the neighbors in the apartments adjacent to you hate you. Make choices accordingly.
This is all excellent advice. I could throw in a couple more:
Muscle cramps happen. If you’re in a weird position, your body may decide to object. Pillows for support can be wonderful things.
Anyone who finds towels aren’t enough, they make waterproof pillowcases you can get for like $10. Fold a bath sheet in half, slide the pillowcase in between the layers.
Related,there is no such thing as too much lube. (I wish fanfic writers would depict using lube more often, and I am looking at myself in the mirror on this one.)
An absolute must read, ladies and gents!
On a related note for vagina-owning squirters: there are some super absorbent towels and pads you can get from a variety of different places and they are the best! Just make sure to rinse them if you’re not going to be doing laundry the next day to keep bacteria from growing.
The best thing about fanfic: if you’re not seeing something you’d like to read, lots of authors (myself included) are happy to try and accommodate requests or can refer you to authors who can.
For me, fanfic has been a really nice way to explore my own sexuality and sexual preferences through imagined circumstances (I have a very vivid and sense-based imagination, so this is possible for me). However, just because you like reading about or watching other people doing something doesn’t necessarily mean you would enjoy it with your partner. That’s okay! Some things live in fantasy and it’s a really special beautiful place, but it’s important to question what those things are for you.
If you’re looking for a style of fan fiction to suit your needs or curiositities, don’t be shy about reaching out! Someone’s bound to point you in the right direction. I focus on demisexual-friendly relationships in my work. Not everyone wants that, not everyone writes it. But not everyone on my feed has the same style, either.
Happy reading/viewing
This is all great!
Real life sex is so much more complicated (but fun). It takes communication. It’s messy. It can be funny and awkward and beautiful. It can be heated and mundane and comforting. It’s when you can let go of anxiety (which can take a lot!) and relax into it - it’s amazing!
Give yourself the gift of getting to know what works for you and let your partner know. Some may like deep eye contact, others soft butterfly kisses, while others desire a solid spanking. For some it depends on their mood!
Find out what your partner’s turns on are. It’s okay to have hard “no’s” - but I might suggest offering consideration to things that may initially may you cringe. Ask for a slow build up, and always have the options to say stop. There are many thing I love now, that my 20 year old self balked at. Thanks to good partners, and an open mind, my tastes have expanded immensely. But I always have the right to say “no”.
It’s individual. It’s unique for everyone. It’s not fanfic or porn. Although, those are fun too!
self care is reading smutty, fluffy, kinky, angsty fanfiction every night after a long day of not being able to read smutty, fluffy, kinky, angsty fanfiction
Arthur knew that this was the quiet life Sadie had once, and lost, and now probably appreciated all the more for the years and the pain that had come in between. As he had told Sadie last year, they’d been many people in their lives. The thing now was that this was who they’d chosen to be, rather than the people the world seemed to have forced them into by taking away everything and everyone, and leaving only a relentless, automatic purpose to give each day any sort of direction.
He’d left his shack behind easily enough. She’d left bounty hunting behind easily enough. They’d ridden over the border from North Elizabeth and gotten married in Catawissa, where nobody knew Arthur Bowen and Sadie Griffith-soon-to-be-Bowen, or knew who they’d been two weeks before, let alone nine years. They’d treated themselves to a fine dinner and posh hotel for their wedding night, because given he planned to only marry once in his life, he damn well intended that to be an occasion fit to treasure. And for her, he wanted this new start to be a sweet one.
Then Mr. and Mrs. Bowen had headed northwest, determined to look back as little as they could, to move forward rather than in endless circles. They’d taken the summer and built this cabin up on Deer Ridge, hunted and fished and chopped firewood all to lay in stock for the winter. Made plans for next year, and beyond, in a way that he marveled at, in a way that Arthur Morgan hadn’t and Arthur Lewis couldn’t.
That easy partnership they’d had years ago and back near Mercy seemed to continue. The shells they’d put up of the saint hermit and the bounty hunter kept eroding, but strangely he had no fear of it. She was here, and she’d chosen to be with him, and likewise him for her. They had each other’s backs then, seen each other’s raw and vulnerable spots. He could trust her with his heart and soul just the same.
One thing was about to change, though. She was pregnant. Hadn’t said anything yet, but something in him knew, some part of him that understood even if he couldn’t fully put his finger on the changes. She’d wanted children, mourned the loss of the chance with Jake. As for him, well, he’d told her about Isaac and Eliza. They hadn’t exactly planned this, but they hadn’t exactly taken any measures against it either. And from the smiles he’d seen from her when she was lost in thought, he knew she was happy. So was he.
He closed his eyes sometimes and tried to fight against the fear that he would lose another child, or fail them as he would Isaac. That there would be something that he couldn’t fight against, and he’d come home again someday to find them dead too. Just the same as Sadie woke in the night sometimes with a gasp, clinging tightly to him, at the fear of men breaking into the cabin intent on doing violence.
But they’d get by, day by day, week by week. The bleak worry sometimes might hang them over the edge of a cliff, the abyss of the past yawning dark and horrible below them, but he believed she would always, always hold onto him with all her might to keep him from falling. How could he do any less for her? That it was a happiness aware of sorrow and the fear of loss didn’t mean it wasn’t a wonderful sort of happiness all the same. How long had it been since he’d actually felt the spark of joy and anticipation within him? So long he couldn’t even recall directly. But here it was all the same. They weren’t too old or too damaged to have that for their own, and that notion never failed to make him grateful for it.
For now, he had time to come to terms with the mingled joy and grief. Whatever feelings she was having about lost chances with Jake and lost years, he would give her that time too. She would tell him when she was ready. And then they’d look forward to their son or daughter together.
i finally did it… i finally finished hardcover binding a fanfiction… sorry for the shitty pictures but BEHOLD, MY POWER!!!!! im so proud of myself lol. complacency’s gambit my beloved
massive shouts out to eyegnats, whose fics (complacency’s gambit and knight’s recompense) got to be my test run for printing signatures in the correct order. you can read em here archiveofourown.org/series/2008297
also massive shouts out to the renegade bindery discord server run by armoredsuperheavy, without which i would be way worse at bookbinding. yall rule!
Summary: Morgan interrupted Foyet in Hotch’s apartment and saw everything. Now Hotch is staying with Jessica, Morgan is trying to figure out how to save the day and Foyet is on the road.
Warnings: Foyet is a damn creepo and this whole chapter is from his POV so evil thoughts, murder, sicko talk…think about whether you want to be in Foyet’s head or not
Pairings: Hotch/Morgan
Words: 2.4k
Notes:Getting into Foyet’s head has been exceptionally hard for me the last few weeks, I couldn’t find the right evil and I’m so sorry it took ages to get to. The next chapter should finish it all up, might be a little on the long side but we’re almost there!
The drive to Chicago was long and boring. So long and so boring that even his recording hadn’t done it for him, and he’d resorted to talking to himself. Practicing accents, regional dialects, colloquialisms. Chicago, as it turned out, was ugly…nothing like the intimidating concrete jungle that was Manhattan with all of its brick and mortar and grime. Chicago was simply gray. He wasn’t any more interested in Chicago than he was in Derek, and he almost lost interest and turned around, wondering whether Aaron would still be in the hospital. Maybe step-down by now, maybe he’d signed himself out AMA…Foyet wouldn’t put it past him, the minute he had his wits about him. If he remembered his own name, anyway, there was the very real possibility that he’d lost too much blood, been unconscious for too long. He thought he’d seen a spark in those eyes, but maybe he was fooling himself.
No, he’d seen his heart rate leap. He’d seen it with his own eyes.
Derek’s mother was too easy to find. A quick peek in the phone book and there she was, Fran Morgan. Address, telephone, they might as well have offered him a map. He parked across the street and hunkered down, slipped himself over the console and between the front seats into the back where he’d be obscured by the tinted windows that were all the rage for teenagers who wanted a little privacy in mom and dad’s borrowed car. They were a little dark but he could see enough. Fran Morgan kept lacy curtains, not standing on privacy. She grabbed her mail right from her front porch, wandered around smiling and laughing on the phone, completely unaware of the camera snapping photo after photo mere feet away.
There was a little sister that dropped by, Foyet knew her name was Desiree and she was more his speed. He found his focus faltering, just a little, when she pressed the doorbell and waited there. A few photos just for himself, couldn’t hurt. He was only human after all. Truly, he was barely interested in Derek or his family but this could help him get at Hotch later, the guy would die for his stupid meat head boyfriend’s family before he’d die for his own. Fran Morgan would mean more to him than Sean, and he thought he could prove it with just a phone call. He’d put money on Jack calling Derek’s mother Grandma, or maybe Meemaw or Nana…possibly something worse. It made him ill.
The phone burned against his thigh and the minute that Desiree was inside, he knew it was time. Fran picked up on the third ring, the casual ring…the one that says I wasn’t waiting for a phone call, I almost missed you, not too eager. She was a pro. What was more, he could tell it was a land line. She was old fashioned, with her slippers and her lace curtains and her cordless phone.
“Mrs. Fran Morgan?” he asked, affecting a big city clip to his speech. “I’m with the Chicago Tribune, ma'am, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about your son Derek Morgan.”
“What about my son?” she asked, her voice shifting from warm and inviting to cold. He watched her pace and he tried to hide the smile from his voice as he asked if she knew anything about what her son was wrapped up in back in Virginia. “An attack?”
Something in her voice turned his stomach, she was lying to him. She did know. It was so quick the way she turned on him, too, he was impressed. If he was a betting man…oh yeah. She knew and Sean hadn’t, that was something.
“He hasn’t called me,” she said softly, trying to calm Desiree who was sitting and watching from the dining table. “He would have called me I’m sure of it.”
“Maybe he’s too busy. My sources tell me that Agent Hotchner is in critical condition, he may not make it.”
She remained silent, too smart to incriminate herself. But he heard Desiree speak behind her somewhere and then he could hear them, the tears. He wished he could taste them. “Mrs. Morgan? Are you and Agent Hotchner close?”
“He’s been,..he and my son are very close…anyone important to my son is important to me.” She tried not to give much, she was accustomed to reporters and questions being married to a police officer. She was trying to be so careful but her emotions were raw. “Excuse me. I need to start dinner.”
He watched her after the line went dead. She fell into the couch heavily, and soon Desiree was putting her arm around her mother’s shoulders…neither of them started dinner. He chastised her for lying to him and watched her pick up the phone again, wondering who she was calling. One of her daughters? Derek maybe? He hoped it was Derek.
He didn’t want to keep watching, she played right into his hand like the good mother she was. Derek, he knew, would come from a solid family. People who loved eachother and showed it. Foyet knew that because he watched (oh, he watched) Derek show that love to Hotch who seemed to have so much trouble reciprocating. He wondered as he threw his bag of tricks onto the cheap motel bed what would have happened if the roles were reversed, if he’d perched on top of Derek and slipped his knife through supple skin, through those Herculean muscles…what would Hotch have done? Would his eyes have been dead? Maybe not, maybe that would have elicited some show of love. Of tenderness. Maybe he’d test it out. See whether Hotch was capable of what he was not.
A paper map on the desk showed him the lay of the highways and with a smile he mapped out a nice quick route to his next destination…the Hotchner matriarch, dear old mommy. He really had to play this one close, she would (if she was any kind of a mother) call him right after, just like Derek’s mother had and then he’d know. He would definitely need to be in the wind before Hotch got hold of the knowledge that his oh so private life was this easy to get at.
(x)
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hotchner,” he said, extending his hand. She placed hers’ demurely in his and he smiled, of course, a southern lady through and through. He brought her knuckles to his lips, dusted a friendly kiss there and nodded. “My name is Roy Colson, we spoke on the phone. I’m so glad you’ll give me a few minutes of your time.”
“Come in, dear,” she said, opening the door wide and brushing in behind him. Automatically she was dashing toward the kitchen with offers of iced tea and cookies, apologizing for the state of her home and how unprepared she was to have visitors…neither of which rang true, she was clearly ready and her house was immaculate, but he had anticipated nothing less. It was simply what women like her did. While she busied herself in the kitchen, he poked around at the photos on the wall, on the mantel, cataloging it all for later. Once or twice he pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures…they’d be blurry at best but the feeling was all he needed. His mind was a powerful machine.
“You said you were writing an article about what happened to my son?” She breezed back into the room with a tray held before her, teetering carefully were tall glasses of iced tea and a crystal bowl filled with oatmeal raisin cookies. If she was the sort of mother he thought she was… “These cookies were always Aaron’s favorites. I suppose as soon as you said you wanted to talk about him, it was all I could think about. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, ma'am.” He hated raisins in cookies, but it made sense. Aaron did seem like a raisin kind of guy. No fun at all. Sean probably preferred chocolate chips, maybe nuts and m&ms too. He was a wild card. Foyet was getting to know the Hotchner family pretty well. “I’ve been studying The Reaper for a long time, but I prefer not to write about him…I’d rather humanize his victims, so I thought if I could talk with you, find out a little about him…”
“Of course, dear. What would you like to know?” She opened up like a fire hydrant in Hell’s Kitchen on a hot summer day. It was like she hadn’t had anyone to talk to in years, no one who would listen to her parade on and on about how wonderful her boys were, how idyllic life was in those days. Of course, Foyet could see through it, she wasn’t a very good liar. Sure, some of it was true, but it was like watching home movies through a lens smeared with Vaseline. Carefully blurred, photos cropped, stories with details smudged by time and willful refusal to admit anything could have been less than perfect. In the end, what she said meant very little, but what she didn’t say…that made him happier than a pig in shit.
“Mrs. Hotchner, would it be too much trouble to get a copy of that recipe? Those were some of the best cookies I’ve ever eaten.” Her willingness to share was almost comical, it was too easy. He thought perhaps at one time she was closed off, a shell of a woman, but her husband had been gone a long time and she no longer lived in his shadow. She was free to be herself, and for a moment Foyet thought he might be doing a favor if he just put a bullet between her eyes. Quick and painless. She was so lonely. If he wanted to stay the night, she’d be up preparing a room for him right away. Aaron’s old room, perhaps, with his dusty box of vinyl records piled up in a corner like some forgotten relic. She’d removed his clothing, his sheets, anything he didn’t take with him to university but those boxes of records she kept. The rest of the room was more or less used for storage, photo albums he’d been invited to peruse, medals and trophies, a living scrapbook of Aaron and Sean’s youths. The kind of things good mothers would keep, and she was convinced she was a Good Mother. Foyet thought otherwise, of course, but said nothing. Her loneliness was spellbinding. When she walked him to the door with a small Tupperware of the leftover cookies and a handwritten recipe on an adorable sheet of gingham print stationary, he felt the gun burn against his ankle, almost begging. One shot.
Not today. Another day, perhaps. When the song of those vinyl records and photo albums became too loud to ignore…but that wasn’t today.
“You send him my regards, yeah? I don’t wanna bug him while he’s healing but you let him know I’m thinking of him.”
“Of course, dear.”
Finding Derek living in Hotch’s apartment wasn’t exactly shocking but it was frustrating. He’d been hoping to find it empty, make himself at home a bit longer, but maybe he’d just been away too long. As anticipated, his key didn’t work. He dropped it into the storm drain on his way back to his vehicle, ready to do some more watching. More waiting.
Trailing Derek through the hardware store wasn’t necessary, but it was fun. Boo! Get Derek’s heart rate up so he didn’t have to worry about doing his cardio for the day, that’s what he figured. With a little hope he watched him leave the store, hoping he’d lead him to wherever Hotch was staying, but no luck. Right back to that stupid apartment. Once again, Derek with all that love and affection on full display, the poor sap was doing the work himself. Bandaids on his knuckles, gypsum and mud all over his jeans…the way he loved Hotch made Foyet sick. Hotch deserved better, Hotch deserved his knife.
Back in his stolen uniform (one of many he kept stashed in the trunk of his trusty car), he strolled into Hotch’s building like he belonged there. Like he owned the place. People lock themselves out all the time, he could be a regular fixture. Steve, good old Steve, walked toward him with a smile. He’d never get over that, being greeted like a friend…oh Steve, if you only knew the places my knife wanted to get to know you. He didn’t suppose he’d just stab Steve, though, he was a big guy. Gutting him would be fun. “Eh, Steve-o. You got a new key for 201? Guy livin’ there said he’s doin’ some work and changed the locks…”
It was too easy. Steve lead him right down the hallway to his own apartment, hunted for the new key right in front of him. He could have taken anything he wanted, but Foyet wasn’t greedy. Only what he needed, and what he needed was a new damn key to apartment 201 because Agent Morgan thought he was so clever. He probably bolted all of the windows too. Once this ruse was figured out, Steve would probably lose his job…might be doing the guy a favor if he gutted him now, really. Poor guy won’t be hired at any other buildings, not after this scandal, and he lived here too? He’d be out on the streets.
He called it a mercy kill, and did it with a smile.
It was amazing how easily the man’s body fit into the coat closet. Foyet didn’t bother cleaning up the trail of blood, but he did lock the apartment up anyway. Someone would come knocking for the Super, they’d find him…maybe when the smell got bad enough that one of the snooty old ladies down the hall started nosing around. By then it wouldn’t matter, Foyet knew he’d be dead too…he had no worries. Not a care in the world.
It was almost serene, the way he saw his own body on the floor in a pool of blood, his skull in pieces, beautiful brains everywhere. His brilliance splattered forever on Derek’s freshly painted walls. Mr. Handy couldn’t fix this one and he expected that Hotch wouldn’t move, even still. Something would keep him rooted there. Foyet hoped that he would lay in the same place he’d taken Hotch’s safety, his hope for peace. Hotch would never feel totally safe in any home again, he knew that for certain, and he relished it.
Now he waited and he watched. It was all he could do, and really, from his maintenance closet in the basement of the building with its exterior window that made coming and going so easy…he had all the time in the world.
Summary: Hotch is injured in an explosion while on overseas assignment, putting Derek in a difficult position both with the team and with Spencer who has spent the last few months inadvertently falling in love with him. (Set around 07x01 - It Takes a Village but canon divergent by a lot.)
Warnings: drug use, hospital, infection/emergency, drug theft
Words: 3.1k
Pairings:Hotch/Morgan established
Notes: This is for @tobias-hankel’ s Spencer Whump Challenge. My assigned prompts to do my evil with were Derek Morgan & Betrayal…we finally have some solid betrayal going on here! And some very very bad choices being made by a few people. I will be out of town for Little League tournaments all weekend so the next update will be Monday, most likely.
Hotch’s voice wavered, confusion made it sound watery and insubstantial. He didn’t trust his eye, not in the low light and red haze. The shadows had been playing tricks on his sleepy mind. Still, it was more than his eyes, he could smell his brother’s cologne, something musky and almost floral to mask the cigarette smoke in the fibers of his clothes. Sean was standing there or he’d reached a new level of hallucination. One seemed more likely than the other, especially with the vertigo he’d experienced on his way to the bathroom earlier that morning. Out of nowhere, legs made of jelly and a strange heat that surged from his hip to his knee. Over in a flash, not concerning enough to mention, he took his medication, relieved himself and hobbled back to bed without incident. Now his brother was staring at him, not just standing but looming, really, backpack slung over his shoulder like he was just leaving instead of just arriving. “What are you doing here?”
Sean smirked, as if to challenge Hotch’s mental acuity. Even with the long shadows cast over his features Hotch could tell he wasn’t going to take it easy. He never had. “Guess.”
“Jack told mom what happened,” Hotch started, flickering through a line of thought that was almost solid enough to grasp. “Mom called you. Probably bought you a bus ticket…how long are you staying?” He spoke slowly, carefully choosing each word, proud that he had managed to get through it without stumbling.
“Boss gave me a week.”.
With some great effort, Hotch talked Sean into helping him out of bed. He’d taken his pills on an empty stomach and it was starting to hurt. The dizzy feeling swelled in him, pounded from his eyebrows to his chest and he clutched Sean’s arm tight. He hadn’t intended to but it was just no use pretending he could do it on his own. The vertigo would pass. Blame the eye, he figured, he’d left it uncovered the last few days and it was messing with his equilibrium. Hell, it was messing with everything. Seeing the world through the red glare was like watching some old movie representation of Hell, minus the horns and pitchforks. “You good?”
Hotch nodded, he couldn’t focus on walking and talking at the same time but he could nod. The walk to the kitchen was slow, and he was dragging his leg more than stepping but the joint had slowly become a ball of flame and all he could think about was sitting down.
“Where’s Derek?”
“Work.” More of a grunt than a word as he sat, eased himself down into the chair leaning heavily on his good side. The ball of flame in his hip shattered and became shards of glass. “He’s going to a movie with Spencer later.” Sean didn’t seem to pay much attention to the way his face scrunched up in pain as he sat down, maybe he thought it was normal.
“Cool.” A break, Sean studying the cabinets one by one, inspecting their food selections and organization. He was a kitchen guy, it was what he did. “Alright, time to get you some lunch Skeletor.”
While he fumbled around for the items he wanted, the front door opened and slammed shut, followed by cheerfully loud voices. Jack and Spencer breezed through quickly, Jack stopping only to wave hello to his dad and paying no mind to his uncle at the toaster. Spencer said nothing, just walked right through to Jack’s bedroom and they heard the door slam shut behind the two friends. On the door was a handwritten sign with a hand drawn flag of Jack’s own invention and words that didn’t quite make sense, the spelling was just creative enough to be nonsense, but the basic idea was that Jack’s room was off limits to anyone that wasn’t he or Spencer.
“Not even a hello?”
“Spencer is teaching him how to play Risk. They’ve got a card table in there covered with it.”
“He’s a little young for world domination…”
“He’s good at it.” Not just good, great. He’d listened to Spencer over dinner the night before rattle on and on with information he could barely keep up with, but it all amounted to praise for Jack’s awareness and ruthlessness.
The conversation was halted by the dropping of a piece of toast slathered with orange marmalade and a glass of sweet tea in front of Hotch. Sean’s specialty. He was southern through and through. Hotch couldn’t help but smile. Sean’s after school snack, day after day. It was memories on a plate. There was a twinge in his hip and he shifted, pressing his thumb a little nervously into the joint.
In Jack’s room, they’d already set themselves down at the table and Jack was studying the board to make sure he remembered where everything was, what he’d wanted to do. He was little but he wasn’t stupid, he’d figured the game out now he just had to remember all of the mechanics. What his plans had been when their timer went off. Spencer was just glad Jack was trustworthy, everything was in exactly the same place as they’d left it though he was sure Jack had been faced with temptation more than once…just to make a little move, just one little thing. See if Spencer would notice, but he knew that he couldn’t fool Spencer. He’d win without cheating. Spencer rubbed at the ache in his temples and squeezed his eyes shut while Jack concentrated on the game, double checking that he remembered the rules.
“Your head hurts again?” Jack asked, huge brown eyes studying Spencer carefully. Spencer nodded, a little embarrassed that the kid had seen his discomfort.
“Yeah, it’s fine, kiddo. Not so bad today.” Jack ignored him, already on his feet and moving toward the door with a plan. He’d been thinking about it for the last few days, once his mind was set on something it was set. He’d talked to his dad and Derek already, really. If your friend has a hurt should you help them? A seemingly simple question with a very simple answer. If you can, yes. Even Jessica had elaborated enough to say that you should always try to help people, even when it’s hard. Even when they aren’t your friends. Well, that had settled it…he knew he could help Spencer.
Perched on the sink, his feet dangling over the edge, he rifled through the medicine cabinet. Top shelf, the daddy pills. Everything else was Band-Aids and tummy stuff, but Derek kept those yellow bottles that made daddy feel better up high. He didn’t know what any of the words on them meant but he’d figured out they all really did the same thing, daddy only had pills to make the hurt go away. He twisted and twisted at the little white caps but to no avail, they wouldn’t budge, they would just spin and spin. He could figure them out, he knew he could, but something told him just to take a bottle to Spencer and let him do it.
He hoped he wasn’t doing anything too wrong…his dad had so many and it seemed like Derek was always getting new bottles, he could spare just a little to help Spencer play the game with him. “Here you go! My dad takes these…they make his leg not hurt so bad…”
Spencer held in his hand a poisonous tube of sweet relief. He almost salivated, and still he wanted to push them back. Like it burned. Hadn’t he just been thinking the other day that he’d like to get his hands on something? Anything? Closing his eyes he saw the orchids, still fresh and beautiful and blood red on Derek’s desk. Blood red just like Hotch’s damned eye that wouldn’t seem to heal. It was creepy. He wore sunglasses, even in the house, just to hide it but Spencer saw the blood in there and imagined it sloshing around. “No, Jack I…these are your dad’s.”
“He has five bottles…I counted.” It was so innocent. Five bottles meant enough to share with a friend, Jack couldn’t see any reason not to. He got the impression from the look on Spencer’s face that maybe was doing something wrong and thought he might want to apologize. Spencer looked scared. He considered giving the bottle back, telling Jack to take it to the bathroom but what if he was caught? He didn’t want the kid to get in trouble, but he certainly couldn’t take it back…if he was caught with it, even as innocently as this, Hotch would think he was relapsing. As if he’d even cared the first time, really. Who was he kidding? Hotch was so blitzed out on a cocktail of these things right now that he probably wouldn’t notice. He shook the bottle, only a few left in there anyway, the prescription was probably ready to be refilled. Maybe they wouldn’t even notice.
“Five bottles?” Spencer asked, quietly. His voice raised an octave and that was hard to control. He was talking more to himself, but Jack nodded. “Thanks Jack.” He wasn’t confirming he’d take any of them, but he had decided that the kid was only trying to help. Slowly, reverently, he dropped them into the pocket of his vest when Jack looked back down at the board and decided he’d find a way to put them back in the bathroom before he left. No way he’d keep them. He couldn’t keep them.
He’d worked so hard to stay away. He’d survived being shot in the knee and healed just find without them…what was some annoying headache in comparison with that?
Except he was so excited about the movie he was going to with Derek later that he forgot all about them in his pocket. He and Jack played an hour of intense Risk and he all but ran out of the house and to the movie theater without considering that he’d now taken a disastrous and dangerous step toward relapse. By the time he realized they were there he was parking in the garage, the flashing lights of the theater inviting him in. He’d put the pills back tomorrow, he figured. Hotch had five bottles…four now…of whatever it was he was taking. Probably a hefty mix, all things considered. Besides, there were only three left in this one, he’d counted the little shadows. Three wouldn’t be missed for a while.
One day wouldn’t hurt.
(x)
Hotch started acting funny about halfway through his toast, after swallowing his sweet tea and Percocet. He’d been planning to ask Sean to pass him a cookie, one of the oatmeal raisin ones Penelope made for him in secret. Watching Sean pick his way through the Tupperware full on the counter was making his stomach grumble, but he couldn’t manage to slop the words together. His ears were ringing, his tinnitus back with a vengeance. Inside his skull was the entire percussion section of a 2nd grade band, complete with out of time triangles and tambourines. It wasn’t that he couldn’t think around it, more just that he couldn’t do anything but drown in the cacophony.
“Sean?” His voice was ragged and soft by the time he found it. “My hip feels…” Like fire? Like shards of glass on fire? Not for the first time that day, but certainly the worst and for the last fifteen minutes it hadn’t let up, it only seemed to increase. Afraid to touch it, to explore, he squirmed and felt the last remaining sutures pull. Where there had been so many, his entire side stitched up this way and that, only small places still remained and those places were the source of the flames. Breathing was getting hard. The heat was terrible, creeping like a forest fire over the surface of his skin. Sean came quickly and helped him stand, he was sure it was just the sitting down that was doing it but standing only served to make it worse.
“…lie down…” he mumbled almost incoherently as the vertigo came back with a vengeance and he faltered, slumping heavily into Sean’s side before the world went gray and he went headfirst into the fog.
On the couch, Sean put an ice pack on Hotch’s burning hip and called Derek who spared no time rushing home. He’d started running while he was on the phone, not bothering to shut his office down…he’d ask Penelope if she could later, it seemed unimportant now. By the time he rushed through the door, Hotch was awake but barely. Groggy and blinking slow, sweating beneath ice packs with Sean pacing behind him nervously.
“Sean,” Derek called, breaking his trance. “I’m sure you didn’t do anything. Help me please.” With Sean’s help, they shifted Hotch enough on the couch that Derek could see the incision, the site that now looked red and infected. The sutures, only four of them left, pulled taught around glistening pink skin. It was hot to the touch and Hotch flinched away from even the remotest sensation. Even the warmth of Derek’s cinnamon gum breath was too much. “Looks like an infection,” he said softly, pulling out his phone to call Jess and let her know.
Derek would take Hotch to the hospital while Sean stayed with Jack. It wasn’t exactly something Sean was comfortable with, he’d never been on his own around a kid before, especially not this kid who was so different from other kids. Jack who looked right into you, who spoke in words most six year olds wouldn’t use, Jack who knew too much about life.
Lifting Hotch into his arms, Derek grunted and struggled to secure him in place. Long legs, head lolling to the side and back exposing his throat until Sean tipped him forward, dropping his chin to his chest. It was Sean who guided him, held doors open, made sure he got to where he was going without slamming Hotch into walls and doorways in his hurry. Holding him was no problem, even at his heaviest he wouldn’t have given Derek any trouble, but those long legs…they seemed to go on forever and there was no good way to fold him up.
Derek was pacing the exam room while they poked Hotch’s already bruised and scarred arms with needles, placed IV tubing and dimmed the lights. They were going to admit him, already planned to without the results of the blood tests, they could see the signs of infection already in his growing fever and redness. It was just a waiting game now…can you guess his counts? How bad is the infection? How long had it been festering unnoticed? Derek couldn’t help it, he thought of Osmosis Jones, a movie he and Jack had watched more times than he could count. You ever try to blow dry your hair with a fart?It made him smile and would make for an easy way to help relay what was happening to Jack. Or maybe it would just keep his own spirits up.
Jessica sat with him. Paced with him. Conspired and whispered with him. They lost all track of time while doctors and nurses floated around them, in and out, adding and changing IV bags, checking vitals, poking at him.
At Derek’s house, Sean was doing everything he could think of to entertain Jack who seemed oddly okay with what was going on. A little worried look would flash over his features but it was so quick that Sean nearly missed it. He guessed it made sense, Hotch hadn’t been home long, he’d been away overseas, it was almost just like he hadn’t come back at all. “Wanna watch a movie?”
Jack always wanted to watch a movie. By the look of uncle Sean, he’d pick a good one…something his dad wouldn’t approve of, and he wouldn’t even ask if it was okay. He got in his pajamas without complaint, helped Sean clean up the house and make some snacks, anything he could do to ensure that they got to watch a good, good movie. Not a baby movie. Jack fell asleep with a chocolate milk mustache on Sean’s chest in a mess of popcorn to the dulcet sounds of Ripley blasting her way through aliens.
(x)
Spencer waited and paced the movie theater lobby, watching the clock tick away the time. He checked it against his own watch, and then his phone, to make sure. First Derek was just late but that could be traffic easily, he was working and sometimes things got jammed up pretty good this time of day. They had plenty of time until the movie started. And then Derek was even later, so he bought them their popcorn and sodas and found the best possible seats. No sense waiting in the lobby, Derek knew how to get into the auditorium. He left the ticket for Derek at the box office and settled in. When the movie started, the room went black, he was still alone. Sodas in the cup holders surrounding the seats he’d chosen, sitting on the outside so maybe Derek might use their shared arm rest and be closer to him…it had been planned out perfectly, except the seat remained empty. He set his popcorn there and fought back the tears. No text, no call, nothing from Derek except silence. Halfway through the intro credits, the music already agitating his now immense headache, he felt the bottle of pills in his pocket. Vicodin.
Just three. Still three. He could take one now, and put the bottle back with the last two when he brought Jack home from school the next day. He doubted they were inventorying them, that wouldn’t make any sense. They weren’t worried someone was eyeing the stash. Popping one into his mouth quickly, he slurped it down with a gulp of Pepsi and a handful of popcorn. His headache vanished quickly, but a lead ball settled in his belly. Guilt. A deeply upsetting feeling of stepping back in time…he knew damn well, the way his head swirled pleasantly with the soundtrack, that he wasn’t going to return the other two pills either. He’d already named them dinner and dessert. The thought amused him as he slipped further into the memory of this light feeling.
While I was still trying to decide what I was going to write about for only scars to you now for the @mdzs-mixtape this image came to me as if in a dream. And I subsequently found my new favorite brush set.
Anyone want to Beta read some Heartstopper fanfiction for me?
For clarity, this is NSFW, very triggering (ED, anxiety, suicide, self-harm, homophobia, underage sex, discussions about sexual assault, transphobia, small bits of violence, and some other pretty messy stuff)
I’ve got chapter 1 written, and an outline for the session, but would really love someone to read it and check the language and tone etc
