#determined to increase the number of fics about them to two (2)

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time

Day 4: Vocal (Voice Kink)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Sniper x Fem!Reader

Summary: Yet another one with no summary. This was the first Sniper fic I ever wrote

Tags: Voice kink, begging

Word Count: 1.6k

The Masterlist

There were many things that you loved about Sniper. There was the professionalism with which he handled his job, and his drop dead accuracy on the battlefield, both of which had initially attracted you to him. Eventually you learned to love more intimate aspects of him, the scars that decorated his body, the way he growled low in his throat when he was on top of you, the gentle touch of calloused hands as the two of you basked in the afterglow while he soothed you with soft spoken praise in that deep, whispery tone.

If you had to pick a favorite thing about Sniper, it would probably be that; his voice. There was no denying that Sniper’s voice was, to put it bluntly, very attractive. God knows how many difficult situations he had managed to charm his way out of with words alone. You imagined the number was pretty high. It wasn’t even just the accent. It was the confidence, the volume, the words he chose- it all came together to create something incredibly erotic.

But there was one other aspect of that voice. One that only you were privy to, and as such, it was the one you valued most of all.

That was what you were after tonight, with the two of you safe in the privacy of Sniper’s van. You stroked his cock nice and slow, teasing him by refusing to pick up the pace. He whined before catching himself, clenching his jaw tightly to keep his noises at bay, but you still noticed.

“Does it feel good?” You asked with a chuckle, hoping to hear more lewd sounds from that alluring voice.

“Damn, love. I know what you’re trying to do to me,” he said through clenched teeth, determined not to give you the satisfaction of hearing him moan.

“Can you blame me? I love hearing those noises you make. After all, I’m the only one who gets to hear them,” you whispered as you leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, letting out a small laugh as his stubble tickled your face.

Sniper looked as if he was about to retort, but cut himself off with a sudden moan as you ran your thumb over the head of his cock. Before he could clamp his mouth shut again, you sped up your strokes. The torrent of groans and soft curses was music to your ears.

“Yeah, just like that,” you sighed, admiring the sight. You stopped, receiving a frustrated groan and a sour expression in response. That look didn’t last long, quickly shifting to one of eagerness as you moved downward, licking your lips as you took in the sight of Sniper’s cock, precum beading at the tip and threatening to spill down his length.

You grinned, knowing that this was bound to draw some good sounds from him. You began by running your tongue along the underside before taking him fully into your warm mouth. Your hands rested on his thighs, and you felt him tremble with the effort it took not to thrust into your throat.

That pattern of trembling and moaning continued, increasing in intensity until you felt Sniper’s hand weave through your hair, tugging it softly. You got the message, immediately pulling back and looking up at him in confusion.

“Darling, stop. I don’t want to come yet,” he said, breathing hard as he tried to regain his composure. You pouted at him in mock disappointment.

“But you sound so damn good when you do,” you groaned, moving up to press a quick kiss to his lips. You saw the flush in his cheeks as you did so and grinned, knowing that it was in response to what you had just said.

You continued to press your lips against his, and it wasn’t long before the kisses turned rough. For a few moments, everything was a blur. The passage of time had escaped you, and at some point Sniper had managed to pin you beneath him, taking advantage of your gasps to slip his tongue into your mouth. You finally pulled away with a moan when you felt him slip a hand into your pants, the tips of his fingers teasing you below.

“See that, doll? You make some wonderful sounds yourself,” he said, the smirk he displayed making you feel weak, but not in a bad way. With a blush, you pushed your pants and undergarments down, getting them out of the way and allowing him full access to you.

Sniper hummed in appreciation and began to tease your entrance, rubbing circles around it and getting you nice and wet before finally pushing a finger in. You moaned as he thrust the single digit into you, and it wasn’t long before you were ready for a second. His fingers were long and he reached your g-spot with relative ease. You nearly screamed as he pressed more firmly, pulsing his fingers against the sensitive area repeatedly.

“You’re so bloody gorgeous, riding on my fingers like that,” Sniper growled, making a point to move close to your ear before speaking. You moaned at the dominant tone and the way he began to nip at your neck, decorating the skin with small bruises as he laid claim to you.

“You don’t just love hearing me moan and whine, do you love? You like hearing my praise too. I see the way you shudder and whimper when you hear it,” he said, continuing to read you like an open book and making you feel deliciously vulnerable as he did so.

You didn’t even get a chance to respond. Your attention was brought elsewhere when Sniper suddenly removed his fingers, earning a whine which quickly turned into a startled gasp when he flipped you over onto your stomach. You practically felt him looming over you, leaning in close to your ear.

“And I know you love it when I whisper in your ear like this, feeling my breath against your neck,” he said, running his fingers down your back. You felt a shiver run through your whole body.

You brought yourself up onto your hands and knees, feeling Sniper’s cock press up against your ass, still just as hard as before. Arousal continued to build between your legs as you thought about how needy he must still be.

“Please,” you whispered, moving your ass against his crotch to entice him further. “Fuck me!”

“Ah, there’s another sound I love to hear from you,” Sniper said. You could practically hear the self-confident smirk in his voice. “The sound of you begging for me .”

He entered you quickly. You were aroused enough that there was no discomfort. He wasted no time, immediately pounding into you at a rapid speed. He leaned over you, fucking you like an animal while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. The experience sent your head spinning.

“God, you feel so bloody good,” Sniper groaned, practically leaning on you as he tried to maintain his breakneck pace. “You’re so gorgeous under me like this, taking my cock so well.”

You bucked back to meet his thrusts, feeling your orgasm approaching surprisingly quick as you listened to him heap praise onto you. His moans began to dip into that familiar half growl that you loved. It made the whole ordeal seem more feral and much more intense.

“Sniper, I’m close,” you said, your hands balling into fists as you felt yourself losing control. That was until Sniper’s pace slowed.

“Beg.”

“What?” You asked with a whine, trying to crane your neck to look back at Sniper, but it was no use when he was topping you from behind like this. You couldn’t see his expression, and it made his commands all the more intimidating.

“You heard me, doll. Beg,” he growled, sounding somewhat annoyed at having to repeat himself. “ I want to hear that pretty voice of yours plead for release.”

You shivered. To think, at the beginning of this whole ordeal, it was Sniper who was being teased, whining and moaning at your hands and tongue. You couldn’t help but admire the versatility it must take to go from that to this perfect picture of a rough, demanding lover.

“Fuck, Sniper-” A hard thrust to your g-spot made you stammer incoherently for a moment until you finally got your bearings again. “Mundy, please! Please let me come!”

“God, you’re irresistible. Such a good girl, fuck yes-” Sniper’s words trailed off into unintelligible curses and moans, his hips moving unevenly as he felt his own climax threatening to overtake him. “I’m close too, love. Go on and come. I want to hear you scream for me.”

You did just that, moaning shakily as you let your orgasm finally overwhelm you, riding it out to the sound of Sniper growling in your ear. He continued to moan in an almost feral manner as he finished as well. You listened intently, taking in every sound he made as he came.

It wasn’t long before the adrenaline began to wear off, and you found yourself trembling beneath Sniper as you began to lose strength. The two of you were left exhausted, and you collapsed atop of each other. The two of you laid there, entwined with each other, a tangle of limbs, chests rising and falling with labored breaths. Sniper had practically fallen on top of you but you were too spent to care. The weight was actually comforting in a way. It made you feel safe. Your eyes were just beginning to drift shut when you heard Sniper speak.

“Don’t go falling asleep on me, sheila. In a few minutes I’ll be up and ready to go again.”

“Oh really?” You said, tired, but also interested. You forced yourself to open your eyes, seeing his sly, grinning face looking down at you.

“I ain’t done yet, not by a long shot” he whispered, leaning down to press his lips against your ear, taking full advantage of how much you loved that voice of his.

[friends-to-lovers-tournament]

♡ FRIENDS TO LOVERS TOURNAMENT ♡

Are you a fan of the classic friends-to-lovers trope? Do you live for the moment of “Oh. Oh.” in fics? Do you scream at every instance of pining? If so, then this is the tournament for you! This tournament is brought to you by two mods, Mod Deli (she/her; 18+) and Mod Soba (she/they; 18+) , and we hope you enjoy your time here! ♡

Rules & Guidelines:

As the name implies, they have to be FRIENDS to lovers. The ship does NOT have to be canon; headcanons are perfectly fine. Edit: You can submit OCs, but there's no guarantee they will be shortlisted. It will be tough competing with canon characters so you'll want to make your propaganda super convincing to increase their chances of being shortlisted

“How about enemies to friends to lovers?” That’s a fantastic trope which deserves a tournament of its own. As such, we won’t be allowing any enemies to friends to lovers ships (same with rivals to friends to lovers). However, strangers to friends to lovers are acceptable. If your ship has any unique variations of this ‘friends to lovers’ pipeline, please send an ask and we’ll use our best discretion to determine if your ship meets the criteria

Polycules are welcome!

Be respectful at ALL times, to us and to others. If we see any hate or ship bashing, we’ll block you on sight, no questions asked. TERFs, racists, sexists, ableists, and other breeds of bigots stay the fuck away. Our tournament, our rules.

No Harry Potter or Youtubers/Vtubers/other real-life public figures who are still alive. We’ll only consider real-life sources if they are funny enough

Please keep to an appropriate age difference between your blorbos. As a rule of thumb, no one under 18 with anyone over 18 (though if your blorbos are very close to 18 by +/- 1–2 years we would consider them)

You’re allowed to submit multiple ships from the same fandom; just start a new form if you want to submit a different ship. However, please only submit ONE ship each time

Propaganda and info-dumping is welcome and encouraged!

Shortlisting criteria: We’re looking for at least 3 submissions for a ship and/or very convincing propaganda, so show your passion for your lovebirds! That said, we’re also humans with our own blorbos so we may give ships from fandoms we’re in favourable consideration, but we’ll also try to be as fair as possible to everyone

Between the two of us we know a fair number of fandoms but we don’t know EVERY piece of media out there. We’ll do our best to do background checks, but things might still slip by us. As such, if you see any ship you think is problematic, please politely let us know and explain your reasoning in an ask (no DMs because this is a shared sideblog, but you can request for us to answer your ask privately as long as you turn off anon)

Submissions ARE CLOSED NOW will be closed on 30 June 2023, 6am PST or when we have enough submissions (we're looking at maybe 64 right now but that's subject to change)

Tagging other tournament blogs that inspired this one @obscuremilfoff @greenhairandpronouns-tournament @weirdass-shiptournament @a3playshipbattleroyale @pinkhairswagtourney @retirement-home-rumble

Reblogs are appreciated! ♡

[k-s-morgan]

Hi!

I love your WHGTB so much! I just finished it and it's awesome! You are awesome!!! :3

At the beginning of the fic, you said you decided to write WHGTB because all the "Harry raises Tom" type fics you like are unfinished.

What inspired your new fic?

How long will it last in general? I can't wait to read your new TomHarry!

Please, stay safe.

Hello! Thank you so much, I'm so happy you enjoyed WHGTB and that you are excited about the new story!

When it comes to Tomarry, I always loved two tropes: Harry raising Tom & Harry and Tom studying at Hogwarts together. Since the latter is much more common and there are more completed stories with this plot, I was interested in exploring the Harry-raising-Tom scenario first. Now that I'm done with it, I can move on toward my other favorite idea!

What inspired me in general:

1) The grand and gloomy atmosphere of Hogwarts of Tom Riddle's time, where he is still a brilliant, intelligent wizard slowly building his empire. His canon school years always intrigued me because they are wrapped in mystery while being arguably the darkest and the most complex period in HP history. They unfolded during the time of two large wars, giving birth to the greatest and darkest wizard of all. The politics, the knowledge, the blood that must have accompanied this process - it's fascinating. For some reason, those years give me a feeling of dark romanticism, something I don't feel in Harry's Hogwarts days.

2) The idea of Tom, with his already-shaped vicious, elitist views, becoming infatuated with the worst possible person who threatens everything he has managed to build and who's destined to possibly kill him. Choosing Harry above his more powerful, more influential followers; being obsessed and protective of him even though they represent two opposite sides and killing Harry would be the smartest choice. I love the idea of enemies-to-lovers-to-enemies-who-are-in-love-with-each-other :D

3) The thought of Tom's frustration and resentment over having to return to the orphanage year after year, being forcibly torn from the world where he feels like a king, thrown into the circumstances most of his fellow Slytherins cannot imagine - an aspect he has in common with Harry that will unite them further. The horror of the bombing of London Tom likely experienced at least partly, something that's never elaborated upon in the books but which I always felt strongly about. The way it could have fuelled Tom's hatred toward anything related to Muggles even more, building a contrast with how Harry might react in the same circumstances.

4) The endless manipulations and machinations Tom can come up with to get what he wants, countered by Harry's stubborn determination to oppose him. The power plays and the constantly shifting power dynamics, the equal dance of obsession - since Harry and Tom are of the same age, they'll be on a more equal ground, and their conflicts will reflect it. The increasing number of Tom's allies and worshippers put against Harry's contempt and criticism, which will frustrate Tom into losing his fake composure and make him succumb to his more natural temper.

5) The shaky foundation of the wizarding world of that time that canon Tom could have conquered if he made smarter choices. The society was terrified and uncertain, and I love imagining what Tom's large-scale confrontations with Harry could do to it.

In short, I'm inspired by the idea of Harry and Tom growing to be powerful young leaders who are in love and obsessed with each other, but who refuse to compromise their principles and are prepared to fight to achieve their goals. Who will duel each other in the afternoon, destroy their followers, and then lose themselves in each other in the evening. WHGTB Tom was a variation of a child Tom who was raised by Harry, which affected his views and values; this is the CoS Tom who already has one Horcrux, whose views are set in stone, and who doesn't plan on loving anyone. The idea of world dominion is rooted in his mind and Harry is the last thing he expects.

I love the moral ambiguity of this scenario. After all the development, Tom would rather kill any follower who disrespects or harms Harry as opposed to eliminating Harry himself, despite knowing he is the biggest threat to his rule. Harry, in turn, would rather risk people who trusted him than execute any plan that could result in Tom's destruction. What their obsession and possessiveness will push them to is fascinating to consider - there are so many potential arcs in this plot.

This is approximately how I imagine their relationship to have gone in canon if Harry ended up travelling to CoS Tom's time. That version of Tom would not be easily swayed - neither would Harry. They would clash violently, they would hate each other, but they would also be inevitably drawn together because of everything they have in common and everything they see in each other.

The expected count is 23 chapters for now, but it can change in both directions since the size of my updates is always unpredictable! My characters don't like listening to me :D

[apotatomashedbybts]

2022 End of Year Writing Recap

Rules: post the top 5 works you’re most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular), your top 4 current WIPs that you’re excited to release in the new year, your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year, your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year, and your number 1 favorite line you’ve written this year!

Thank you for this tag Shay @egocypher 💜🌼 I needed this. I am so sorry for doing this so late! It's already halfway January! I have so many of your writings to read! I am hoping and looking forward to read all your beautiful works!

top 5 works you’re most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular)

I actually posted only 5 works in 2022 sadly and two of them were actually revamped versions of my old fics. My muse is not very generous (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ ... Anyways, they are -

But You Do (chapter three) :- this one is a very personal piece even though it started as a part of a writing project. And I wrote the third chapter two years after the second chapter was posted.

Under The Cherry Blossoms:- this one is a revamped one and very close to my heart. I love Namjin. And this story made me super soft after I finished writing it :')

The Pages You Left Behind :- idk what's it with Joon but I always seem to write the softest and emo stuff for him. But let's face it, it's NAMJOON we are talking about here! He is the embodiment of love.

Kissing In The Moonlight :- this one too is a revamped one and also my very first smut! I remember writing such a generic and 'for-the-sake-of-it' smut for it initially. Then I got a few comments on it and I went 'beast' mode and wrote THIS! Like what did I do omg!

The Exit :- loops have always scared me and I wanted to write about it. I had a little time to write this but I am looking forward to expand this one into a second part!

your top 4 current WIPs that you’re excited to release in the new year

Oh Lord! I have, like, 40 freaking wips! (⁠-̩̩̩⁠-̩̩̩⁠-̩̩̩⁠-̩̩̩⁠-̩̩̩⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠-̩̩̩⁠-̩̩̩⁠-̩̩̩⁠-̩̩̩⁠-̩̩̩⁠)

All Tints Of You & Me [Min Yoongi × reader] :- THIS ONE! I just want to write it so much! I have been thinking about it all year. I have so much expectations and I want to test my limit with it!

Subtle [Kim Seokjin × reader] :- ugh! I am mad at myself for being such a bad writer(⁠ʘ⁠言⁠ʘ⁠╬⁠) I wanted to finish this last year... But I'll try to finish it this year.

I'll Be Your Knight [Park Jimin × reader ft. ot7] :- this was my very first series and it have been put on hold for so many years! But I am determined (or so I am telling myself) to bring this back. It's just so close to me. Like all my teen fantasies put into a written form!

We Went On A Date [Kim Namjoon × reader] :- I almost feel bad for this one. I was so excited to write about it and then it fell off... ರ⁠╭⁠╮⁠ರ Joonie you ARE GOING ON THIS DATE THIS YEAR!

your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year

Honestly, more than myself my readers would be able to tell more precisely... But I'll try.

The actions and feelings are more elaborate.

Use of metaphors or imagery have increased.

My writing feels more poetic now.

your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year

I want to write more emotionally.

I want to write more.

your number 1 favorite line you’ve written this year!

Ahhhhh!! This one is really difficult!! I have so MANY! Ok... This one is from But You Do chapter three...

"She was perhaps going to blurt out another unsolicited statement about how she didn't mean it, like an automated and false response but he was smiling now and the colour of his face was back which made her think that perhaps it wasn't that bad to lose self-control once in a while."

Tagging my sweethearts: @sweetieguk @missgeniality @sugarwithtea @meirkive @moccahobi and anyone who wants to do it!

[nostalgia-tblr]

internal thoughts: julian/lauren is a great and undeservedly neglected pairing because they both suffered so differently for the same original parental sin, and she's in Literal Horny-Jail when she's not the one we repeatedly saw acting like a bunch of red flags wrapped in skin, and she's sassy enough that she might actually say that and so the potential for perspective is delicious, and also they're both pretty but obviously that's just a minor aspect of the appeal, and they can like sit with their faces pressed together communicating scarily clever thoughts at not-quite-human speeds, and look someone needs to bust her out of horny-jail and go on a road-trip with her across at least one continent and they lose the map on the first day but it's okay because brain-twins and they don't need no map when they have each other <3

external expression of these thoughts: MY PRECIOUS SPACE-WHORES 😭

[almosttenaciousmoon]

By the way, she’s safe with me

AN: So this is my first ever fic / oneshot so it may not be the best but I wrote half of this at 2:00am and than finished it first thing in the morning. It’s unedited so just ignore the mistakes. I hope it’s a ok. 

Also ‘cinta ku’ translates to ‘my love’ in Indonesian.

Summary: Gwyn wakes up from a nightmare but Azriel is there to comfort her.

Tagging @daevastanner for encouraging me to write down my head-cannons

Soft moonlight filters through the floor to ceiling windows illuminating the graphite room. As wisps of shadows adorned the walls rising and falling seemingly in time with every breathe the room’s occupants took.

The shadowsinger lay awake staring down at the strands of silky copper hair threaded through his fingers. Sprawled across his chest, Gwyn’s soft snores breath against his chest as he admired his resting mate. Her steady heartbeat and even breathing were indicators that she was finally resting having recovered from her nightmare not a half-hour ago.

Azriel had awoken from his admittedly light slumber to the raged breading and heavy panting from his valkyrie. Feeling the loss of her weight and hearing the rustle of sheets as she got up, he sat up wings spread against the headboard as he rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. 

“Cinta ku, are you ok?” Azriel asked, voice a little rougher than usual as he recovers from what little sleep he had left. “Yes.” A yawn escaped her. “Just a dream. You can go back to sleep Az. You need rest for the mission tomorrow.” Gwyn argues as she sits at the edge of the bed reaching for a cup of water on the nightstand. 

“ You need rest as much as I do.” He argues because tomorrow he and Gwyn along with Cassian and Nesta would be flying up to Windhaven to meet up with Emerie and assist her in training the Illyrian females. It seams that after the valkyries success in the blood rite, more and more females have taken to training and fighting over the recent years. Some trained as part of the Illyrian army. While others chose to join the increasing number of Valkyrie recruits, helping to build up their ranks.

“Even so, you’d be the one flying us up.” Gwyn countered disposing of the cup and crawling her way up to his lap. Now nestled comfortably on his lap with her head resting on the crook of his neck, Gwyn wrapped her arms around his middle. “Wanna talk about it?” The shadowsinger offers as he tucks the crown of molten copper beneath his chin, content in idly tracing shapes against the silk of her nightgown. His stubborn yet clearly distorted mate shook her head.

While he knew that sometimes it was good to talk about the demons that plague your sleep, he also knew that sometimes you need time to process it all and other times it’s just too much and all you need is to simply be held. To have someone to hold you and anchor you back to reality as your mind becomes a maelstrom of doubt and fears. As streams of insecurities threaten to drown you.

After some minutes Gwyn pulled away tilting her head up in order to look at him. Soft hazel orbs met slightly glazed teal and one look and he could see all to guilt and grief stifled with self-loathing he felt down their mating bond. At that, the shadowsinger’s hold tightened on her waist.

“I-I needed to process what happened first. To figure out what part of the dream was real and what my ever creative mind has contorted for me tonight.” She whispers more light-heartedly towards the end as she tries to lighten the mood. “Tonight I dreamt of Catrin.” She says, tilting her head up, she was meet with pulls dusty brown swirled in with moss and warmed by an inner gold. His hazel gaze shone with quiet encouragement silently willing her to share her dream. 

With that, the valkyrie continued.”The difference tonight being that the dream started off as a happy memory. I sat upon the boulders next to our lake in Sangravah. I lie down, content in enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun as I read about two lovers dancing through a spring shower. Catrin’s swimming in the lake. Her head underwater blowing bubbles to show me where she is. I hear her swimming closer to me. Her laugh so care free, is suddenly cut short by a stifling scream.” Her chest once again starts to heave. The shadowsinger continued his southing stokes on her back the scent of her growing anxiety drenches the room. Dread coils low and deep in his stomach as she looked up at him, eyes dull with resignation.

That look sends him spiralling as he questions what cruel dreams have played in her head tonight? Reaching a hand to cup her face, he pushed away those thoughts, determined to keep that calming presence there for her. A deep breath as she returned her head to rest on his shoulder. “Something must have grabbed at her feet, slowly dragging her down. Drowning her” She murmurs against his skin. “Catrin kept streaming out to me. Hopelessly thrashing against the water. I tried to reach out to her, but it was as if invisible hands held me down. Restraining me.” He feels the silent tears as they slide down his back.” It felt just like Sangravah. I couldn’t save her than and I failed her again. Even in my dreams, I’m always powerless to save her.” Gwyn ads through heaping sobs. 

Two fingers slowly lift her chin. Hazel eyes trained to her face. Shining with reverence. He knew. He knew how it felt to feel powerless in saving someone you loved. He knew how it felt to wake up feeling like your back at square one. With that understanding, swallowing the emotion in his voice. The shadowsinger assured her.

“ You didn’t fail her.”  

You never have, and never cold dear sister. The shadowsinger could have sworn the room’s temperature dropped,if only for a second. He could have sworn there was another presence in the room.

She looked ready to argue but a finger pressed against her lips assuring her he wasn’t finished. “ You said it yourself, you fought against those restraints it order to get to her. You fought, objecting to whatever held you from her. Your love for your sister is shown by that simple thought you had. To get to her. To save her.” He looked at her with an intensity charged by reassurance. Reassurance for her. From his words. 

“I know sometimes that grief and self doubt can threaten to pull you under. That even as everything seams to get better, It claws it’s way into your mind and sneaks up on you when you least expect it to.” He tells her.” But with that, also remember to acknowledge the progress you make. Admittedly, it’s easier said than done but I want you to promise me that every time those insecurities come chasing. That you turn to me and ask of a reminder. A reminder of an achievement. It doesn’t have to be a big one. Even something as mundane as being abel to go back to sleep after a nightmare.” And he’s looking at her again. With that unrelenting love that she’s still working to believe she deserves.

“I know that sometimes, it’s hard to remember something positive when all your mind seems to recall is the failures. That’s when you turn to me. You don’t need to do it all alone. Just because we’re immortal, doesn’t mean we’re invincible. I can only hope that one day you can see a glimpse of the Gwyn I see.” Az tells her.

“And what do you see?” She retorts. A small smile graces her perfect face.

“I see a warrior. A survivor. An unrelenting fighter who even when the world owed her nothing, she demanded something of it anyways.” He smiled, tucking her smaller frame to his chest as he brought them back to the bed.

With Gwyn now resting on his chest. Head tucked under his chin. Wings gently wrapped around her, He looks out the window and at the shining stars. “I hope you know she’s safe with me.” The shadowsinger whispered to his mates sister. Knowing that she was smiling, from wherever she stud. 

She smiles from the reassurance that her sister is once agin safe with a new family to hold her.

I’ll meet you in the next life. She promisees to the mated pair. 

[spiderling-space]

Could I please request MC as that conspiracy guy with the hidden mickey’s? I saw it on your prompts list and I am still laughing at the possibilities!

Thank you Rell for asking this when the inbox was open and finally igniting green light for me <33<33

I decided that this idea is too crack to only apply to numbered characters so this is going to be a mini-series and crossposted on AO3. This mini-series is based on this prompt I have.

There will be 9 chapters in total including prologue and epilogue. I can’t promise any update schedule, I go with the flow. A meme to summarize the fic.

Special thanks to @serenitystarrie for allowing me to utilize their perfectly organized Hidden Mickey Mouse locations.

The Prologue's Locations #1 and #2. Spoiler yourselves on your own risk.

Italics indicate thoughts

Everywhere I Go, I See His Sign

Prologue

No one could blame (Y/N) for occupying themselves with something else to stay awake during Trein’s class. It wasn’t their fault at all, there was just something in Trein’s voice that made people want to sleep. So they just tried to focus on everything but Trein and to be the only one who managed to stay awake in their friend group. At first, (Y/N) just stared outside through the window get got bored and started to count the bricks on the wall but there weren’t much to begin with and their endeavor ended quickly. Their eyes flicked to the bookshelf, it was impossible to read the titles from where they were sitting, hence that didn’t hold their attention for long.

Maybe I should start listening to what Trein is saying, I might learn something.

Not a minute later, (Y/N) was yawning. So much for trying… They decided listening to the professor wasn’t going to work out, in order to stay awake, they continued where they left off. On the top of the bookshelf, there was a purple globe and golden signs on the surface, curved lines and a couple of dots. I bet there are more than 10 dots on it. 1…2…3…4… (Y/N) stopped counting when they noticed an abnormality on the globe. There was a shape that didn’t follow the pattern, two small circles were connected to a bigger one. That’s strange… Everything is in perfect condition in the NRC… Maybe they didn’t notice something as small as that. Either way, there was no point of thinking about something as trivial as that. Though, it was way more entertaining than the history class.

(Y/N) poked Ace, “Shhhht, how many minutes left until the class is over?”

Ace opened his one eye and glared at them for waking him up. He took a peek at his phone told them that 13 minutes left then he went back to sleep.

13 more minutes… It seemed like they started the class hours ago and it still had 13 more minutes. As (Y/N) waited the time to pass, they kept glancing at the globe above the shelf as if the abnormal mark on it was calling for them.

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

Finally, the class was over and it was lunchtime. The gang went to the cafeteria and was waiting in the line, chatting about the assignments Trein gave after he saw people sleeping. (Y/N) was having fun at their expense because they didn’t get an assignment for being awake during the class. Ace, Deuce and Grimm were complaining about the amount of pages they were going to write, which was making (Y/N) crack. They turned their head to the side to conceal their chuckle. While they were turning back, a shape on the wall caught their eyes. There on the wall between the torch and the column stood the 2 small circles being connected to the bigger circle, just like the one they saw during the class. This one was bigger since it could have been seen from distance.

Before (Y/N) could dwell on the shape anymore, the line moved and it was their turn to grab the food. They dismissed the thoughts about the shape, thinking that they saw wrong. It was food time and there was no need to think about anything else.

After getting their lunch, the gang went over to sit at their usual table. “I think you should have gotten an assignment too, (Y/N).” Ace talked before taking a bite out of his meal. “You weren’t sleeping but you weren’t paying attention either. Right, Deuce?”

Deuce was in the middle of chewing his meal when Ace tried to include him in the discussion. He answered after gulping, “They managed to stay awake. I think that deserves an award.”

Ace���s face cringed, “Traitor.” He then turned to Grimm tp get his support. “C’mon~ You must agree with me.” Unfortunately for him, Grimm was too busy chunking the food down his throat, completely ignoring Ace who finally shut up after getting no support.

“I’ll help you pick up the books since I’m a supportive friend.” (Y/N) said cheekily, chuckling afterward. They really needed to go the library too. Grimm needed the books to finish the assignment and he wasn’t capable of carrying them with his tiny paw-paws.

Their stomach grumbled, reminding them to eat sustenance. After (Y/N) finished eating, they pushed their tray further onto the table so they could have space to put their hands on while they waited others to be done with their food as well. There, on the table, was another symbol, the 3 circles one looking almost identical to the others they saw. They openly stared at the symbol, tracing the outline with their fingers. Am I imaging things? The one on the globe could be a stain and the one on the wall could be the deformation of the brick. And this one… Maybe a mistake of the carpenter. Though, it is strange to see mistakes such as this in the NRC.

They must have zoned out too much because Deuce was tapping them on the shoulder. “Our next class is about the start.”

“If you want, we can leave you alone with the table. Seems like you are falling in love with it.” Ace quipped as he took his tray from the table and started walking to the trash.

“Jerk…” (Y/N) mumbled under their breath.

“Hey, henchperson!” Grimm was pulling their sleeve. “Carry me!” It was annoying that Grimm was giving them comment but he was small and cute so they didn’t mind carrying him occasionally. They allowed Grimm to climb on their shoulder and took both his and their trays to throw away the trash and put them to where the dirty trays are collected.

After putting the trays, they exited the cafeteria, then changed into the sports uniform in the locker room. The moment the bell rang, Vargas told everyone to start doing warm-ups, followed by 10 laps around the field and 30 pushups. (Y/N) held themselves back from groaning, not wanting to increase the number of laps or pushups.

(Y/N) was only human and not the most athletic person in the world and they doubted even the most athletic person could run 10 laps without stopping for a moment to take a breath. They sat on the grass, trying to adjust their breathing as they were looking around. They had to admit the sports field had a perfectly splendid sight with all the shades of green.

They were about to get up and continue on the track when they spotted a sign on one of the bushes. 3 circles again? It was dark green colored, standing out on the bushes. Was it always there or is my brain playing tricks on me and making me see things? They decided to check the sign from a closer distance to make sure it is real.

“(Y/N)! 2 more laps for trying to sneak away!” (Y/N) startled as Vargas’ voice boomed on the field. Damn it! They just got punished because the sign distracted them. “You will have two more if you keep standing there!”

(Y/N) knew there was no point in arguing against Vargas unless they wanted to add more laps as punishment so they ignored the sign and went back on the track. I will take a closer look after the class.

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

Unfortunately for (Y/N), they were too exhausted to move a finger, let alone have the energy to examine the weird symbol after the class ended. They just wanted to get back to Ramshackle, take shower, eat junk food and never get up from the bed but they still had one more stop to make, the library. Because of Grimm’s actions, they needed to walk more. God damn it… I can’t feel my legs.

Finally, they reached the library and began browsing for the book. Grimm started looking at the book on the computer and find which aisle it was located, meanwhile (Y/N) sat on one of the seats as they waited for him. Yeet, I hope we don’t need to get one of those floating books. What is even their purpose? Students would spend extra effort to see the title of the book and waste time. Or are they here for aesthetics? They sighed, lowering their head. What an unnecessary way of using magic… They had to admit the library was impressive, having all those books while looking at the endless corridor of the library. As Grimm was still looking for the book, they turned their attention to the other objects of the library. None of the lamps were in the same shape and the columns had different designs. One of them had frequent dots while the other more scattered dots. Their attention turned to the other column between Aisle I and II which had larger dots than the others.

Wait for a second… Is that? (Y/N) got up from their seat and stepped towards that column, crouching to see the sign better. Are you kidding me? Here too? Nope! This is just some random symbol, there is no way, it is the same one I saw in other places. Besides, all other columns have dots. Coincidentally, this one had two circles connected to a bigger one. (Y/N) was determined to just forget about it since they knew it would be a ridiculous idea for these signs to have a pattern.

“Hey Henchperson, I found the name of the book now bring me it.” Grimm ordered them as usual. Normally, (Y/N) would teach him some manner but they were too tired to care so they asked which aisle the book was in so they can grab it and go back to Ramshackle.

As soon as Grimm told them the number of the aisle and the book and the color of the book as well, (Y/N) didn’t wait for Grimm and just went to grab it. They were looking at the shelf numbers in that disorganized aisle. Libraries are supposed to be tidy and organized. Why is everything in this school so chaotic? And who even color codes the books?! This should be a crime!

“Alright green color and number 4…” They whispered faintly, looking at all the shades of green and number 4 then checking the title. After checking a couple of books, their attention turned to 3rd shelf. “Ah there you are, The Developments in the Last 100 years. Finally, I can go to my bed.” Whilst they were reaching for the book, the red book with golden marks caught their attention. The book wasn’t titled, having only shapes on it, that 3 circles shape was one of them. Maybe the book is about the meaning of this symbol. I’ll check it out after resting. They grabbed both Grimm’s book and the red colored one and walked towards Grimm. Together, they checked out the books from the librarian and head over to Ramshackle.

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

(Y/N) couldn’t wait to get read the strange book so that they would know they aren’t seeing unordinary things. As soon as they entered their dorm, Grimm dashed to the kitchen saying that sports class and the library made him hungry. They were also hungry and would never say no to some snacks. They put the books on the coffee table in the lounge before joining Grimm.

Grimm and (Y/N) brought their snacks to the lounge and sat on the couch, chatting while eating their respective food though Grimm tried to take what’s on their plate 5 times at least. After finishing their food, (Y/N) leaned back on the couch and stretched themselves out. Then they just looked around the lounge. It looked way more different than the first night they stayed there. Now everything was tidy and organized. Dare they said, it was cozy and the fireplace just increased the coziness of Ramshackle.

Hold up… The clock on the fireplace caught their eye and they got up to see it better. This age-old clock has that symbol too. I can understand the others since they are fairly new but this dorm hasn’t been occupied for decades. They wondered if there are more signs in the lounge so they turned around, their eyes scanning the room quickly. There was another mark in the lounge, on the painting hanging above the door. Hmmm, that could be the painter’s signature or something.

“Why are you acting weird?” Grimm asked after burping. Ew!

“Nothing nothing… I’ll just go take shower then nap. You do Trein’s assignment. I’m not going to lower my score because of you.” (Y/N) wasn’t going to tell Grimm about the symbols before they were certain that there was a pattern with it. Now they were going to search upstairs if there were more signs while Grimm was busy downstairs then took shower because the smell of sweat was killing their nostrils. “And don’t even think about slacking off or you won’t sleep on the bed tonight.”

With that, (Y/N) took the red book and headed towards their bedroom, putting the book on the small table near the armchair. Then they took off their shoes to not make noise as they searched the rooms for that damned sign.

Here I go…

[donttouchmeimwriting]

Argo ch. 2

Friday the 13th - Friendship/Romance - Jason Voorhees/OC M/M ship

2084 words, 3rd person POV

I love to hear feedback on my fics so please don't be shy! You can also tell me your thoughts on anon if you don't want your name on your comments!

Cross-posting on FFN under PyroTheWereCat

...

Meeting Lijah face to face threw off Jason's rhythm for the rest of the day, and for the entire day after. He had no idea what to do with himself. He could go home, but his mother would want progress by now and he did not want to try to explain how he let Lijah go when even he didn't know exactly why he did it. He could start planning the killings of the other counselors, but he couldn't focus long enough to think about that. His mind was stuck on Lijah, and he determined the only way to get unstuck was to see him again. He had to know why he wasn't afraid and treated him so kindly. There had to be some sort of motive.

Darkness fell over the camp that Friday night, and Jason patrolled the outskirts until every last fire went out and all noise had subsided. His blood was on fire, and he could not rest until his curiosity was sated. He quietly crept to the counselor cabins, searching for number five. Would Lijah be alone? Was this a good idea to come here at all? Jason berated himself internally for his interest in this person. This was stupid. Why was he here? He could easily just kill them all and return to his mother as usual. What was different this time?

There, a little distance from the other cabins, Jason saw a large number 5 painted on the side of the building. The lights were off, save for one room where the soft yellow glow spilled out into the woods where Jason stood. He steeled himself, prepared to fight if an ambush awaited him. Not quite ready, but ready enough, he approached the window and peered inside.

Lijah's bedroom was relatively tidy, minus the small heap of dirty clothes in one corner, and some posters with ragged edges and some tears that were taped to the walls. A dresser stood on the right side of the room next to the door, a small radio and some books resting atop it. Above the dresser hung a simple mirror, and it reflected Lijah's slim legs as he lay on the bed on the opposite end of the room. Jason turned his gaze to the left, seeing Lijah in a thin t-shirt and boxer briefs, reading a book on his bed. Was there ever a time he did not look so at peace?

Jason contemplated simply letting himself in, but he felt compelled to avoid scaring Lijah as long as he could. He sighed heavily and knocked on the window, hoping this wasn't the worst decision he could possibly make. Lijah gave a small start at the sound and turned to see who had made it. To Jason's surprise, Lijah's eyes lit up and he smiled as he set the book down and hopped off of the mattress. He lifted the window open and stepped aside for Jason to climb through.

"Hey!" Lijah greeted cheerfully, "I was hoping I'd get to see you again!"

Jason awkwardly clambered into the room, his size proving troublesome for the space provided by the window. He grunted as he heaved himself through, but he managed without Lijah's offered assistance. He closed the window behind him and turned back to Lijah, the closeness of the walls and ceiling emphasizing just how much of a height and width difference there was between them.

"Have a seat!" Lijah insisted, patting the bed, "Make yourself at home. I was just reading a few chapters to make myself tired enough to sleep, but I can stay up to hang out with you."

Jason sank into the mattress, watching Lijah the entire time. Was something wrong with him that he didn't perceive a threat from Jason? Or maybe he was just leading him on and tricking him into trusting him, and then he would turn against him later. Lijah stepped over to his dresser to retrieve one of the books. Jason saw that it was a spiral bound notebook with a pencil jammed in the binding. Lijah brought the notebook to the bed and climbed up to sit next to him, folding his legs underneath himself.

"I figured since you don't talk, this might help if you want to tell me something about yourself or ask me questions," Lijah explained, "Are you comfortable with writing?"

Jason shrugged. It had been a long time since he had written anything, not counting his own name in the dirt yesterday. He was able to read, but he wasn't confident in his spelling or handwriting. He accepted the notebook anyway, having some questions for Lijah that he could not express through body language.

"cant rite good. ELijah college?" he wrote, needing to spell the full name and crossing out the 'E' to get it right.

"Do I go to college?" Lijah checked, and upon Jason's nod, he elaborated, "Yup, I'm on break right now, but I'm going back in the fall for my senior year. I'm studying psychology and sociology. I'm hoping I can get into social work or therapy or something and help a lot of people."

Jason's frustration increased at this declaration. There was no way he was this good. There had to be some dark side to him somewhere.

"What about you?" Lijah asked, "Do you live around here? And, I don't mean to be rude, but how old are you?"

Jason nodded and returned to the notebook.

"live with Mother by camp. im 23."

"Oh, nice, you're only two years older than me!" Lijah commented, "Do you get along well with your mom?"

Jason nodded and pointed to Lijah as a means to ask him the same question.

"I don't live with my parents anymore," Lijah answered, his tone changing very slightly to hint at some discomfort, "They're good people, but I couldn't live in that environment anymore once I started college. I've pretty much been living either at school or at summer camps for the past few years, but I'm looking into apartments for myself so I can have a place to live after I graduate."

There was the lead. Something must have been wrong with Lijah's family life to force him out on his own, and the implication that he didn't have friends to stay with made the mystery all the more enticing. He remembered the female counselor from the day before who had asked to go with Lijah before he and Jason had met.

"frends?" Jason wrote, "girl frend?"

Lijah laughed, and Jason felt a shiver at the sound for some reason.

"I get along with everybody, but I don't really have any close friends," he said, "I haven't dated anyone for a while now either. I've been focusing on myself and getting through school, though also the people I tend to date are...not the best for me."

From what Jason had seen of Lijah from afar, he seemed like he had lots of friends and was close with many people, but now it seemed he was just as alone as Jason himself. He stared at Lijah for a moment, trying to figure him out. It was then that he noticed some tiny details about Lijah's face that he hadn't seen in the woods yesterday.

Lijah had freckles on his nose, and his eyelashes were long. His eyes were a greenish hazel, and crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His usually fluffy brown hair was somewhat damp looking, possibly from a recent shower. Jason couldn't explain it, but Lijah was rather pleasant to look at.

"So you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but I'm a little curious," Lijah prompted, snapping Jason back to reality, "Why do you wear a hockey mask? Is it good for keeping bugs out of your face?"

Jason tensed. He didn't want Lijah to see his face under the mask. That would surely scare him and make him hate him like everyone else. Jason shook his head and tried to think of an excuse to write down, but all he could think of was,

"i like it."

Lijah nodded upon reading this.

"That's a good, solid reason for anything," he agreed, "I should start living by that a little more, honestly."

Jason relaxed at this, relieved that Lijah accepted that answer. He wasn't sure why, but he was beginning to want Lijah to like him. It was almost like when he was a child and wanted to be friends with the other kids at camp, but this felt different somehow. Lijah didn't have friends of his own either, so they would only have each other if this worked.

Jason did not even think about possibly killing Lijah at this point. He was far too invested in who he was as a person, as well as excited at the possibility of having a real friend, to remember what his mission was. Mother wasn't expecting him back until August. It should be fine.

"Alright, Jason, I'm gonna tell you something and I don't want you to get upset," Lijah began, scratching the back of his head, "But I figure if you wanted to, you could have easily killed me a few times by now, so I think I'm safe. I honestly thought you were gonna kill me yesterday in the woods - we've all heard the stories of the Killer of Crystal Lake or whatever; they warned me of the history of this place when I was hired - but I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt and treat everyone the way I'd want to be treated. I figured if I died, I would die putting my best foot forward, and, wouldn't you know it, I did that literally."

Jason blinked. Was that really all he'd needed to not kill people? Someone being nice to him?

"For the record, and I'm sure you know this already, but I'm not scared of you now. People don't have to look a certain way to be good or bad. And, hey, if you helped me out and came to visit me like this, you can't be all bad, can you?"

Either Lijah was too naive for his own good or he was very good in the field he was studying. Perhaps both? Jason wasn't sure. He picked up the pencil again to write,

"can i see u more?"

Lijah read this and nodded.

"I'd love that!" he enthused, "Please, come see me this time of night any night you want. I've got lots of books to read, I've got food in the fridge, you can shower here if you want to...I'm the only one who uses this cabin, so really, I don't mind you being here and making yourself comfortable."

Jason wasn't an expert at body language or understanding people in general, but it was clear to him that Lijah desperately wanted a friend. He felt a twitch at the corners of his mouth, a small smile breaking through. Whatever this was between them, they both wanted it, needed it, and Jason looked forward to exploring an actual friendship with someone his own age. Maybe he could bring Lijah back to Mother and show her that there was someone special in the outside world, someone who cared about everyone.

It was a nice thought, but nice thoughts never lasted long.

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

Jason and Lijah spent several hours that night getting to know each other. Jason could not believe how easy it was to communicate with him and even more so how easy it was to let his guard down. He found himself having fun, something he couldn't remember the last time it happened. Lijah did grow quite tired after midnight, however, so Jason excused himself through the window to allow Lijah to sleep.

He returned to his temporary campsite in the woods to get some rest as well, wanting to have plenty of energy tomorrow to spend more time with Lijah. He wondered if he had tried to approach the counselors he'd killed differently, if he had a more approachable mask and cleaned up the rest of his appearance, would he have been able to befriend them too? He doubted that notion the instant it materialized in his mind; those counselors weren't like Lijah and would have been afraid of him either way. Lijah was special...Jason could feel it deep within him. Just a few hours with him made Jason reconsider killing anyone this summer.

He hoped Mother would approve.

[actualbird]

nobody asked but here i analysed polygon’s “unraveled” and bon appetit test kitchen’s “gourmet makes” and i think they are similar and use three key story elements to their success | a 1.9k word long analysis by an unhinged creative writing fresh grad trying desperately to use their degree to connect two dots

If you asked me who my favorite internet celebrities are, I would not hesitate for a second to answer. Brian David Gilbert from Polygon and Claire Saffitz from Bon Appetit Test Kitchen. They’re awesome! They both host popular YouTube webshows about video games and cooking respectively, two things I am terrible at and don’t do very often. And yet I am enraptured by every episode of their shows. Why? How?

My thesis is this: Polygon’s “Unraveled” and Bon Appetit Test Kitchen’s “Gourmet Makes”, while wildly different shows on many levels, are extremely similar in how they use three key story elements very, very, well.

These three story elements are 1) Plot, 2) Character, and 3) FAWWIEOT (it’s an acronym, I’ll explain it later, I promise)

Let me start with the first and most basic story element these two shows wield amazingly: Plot.

Plot is, in simplest terms, what “happens” in a thing. This is what you’ll find on a movie’s Wikipedia page summary, the details of what went down, the events that took place, the things that occurred. There are many different types of plots because there are many different types of stories, but one of the most basic kinds of plots is very clearly illustrated by something called Freytag’s Pyramid.

Freytag’s Pyramid is a very simple plot that is moved forward by a non-negotiable in many, many stories: conflict. All is well, the line is straight, then a challenge arises and things start to escalate. At the climax, a decision or a group of decisions are made that leads to a de-escalation of the conflict, bringing things down until we are back at a flat line and the conflict has been resolved.

Every single episode of Gourmet Makes can be plotted onto Freytag’s Pyramid

Nearly every single episode of Unraveled can be plotted onto Freytag’s Pyramid too (with the exception of some, like a number of the categorization episodes, the Kojima name generator)

I know what you’re thinking. “So what if Gourmet Makes and Unraveled fit on some funky pyramid? What does that mean?” Well, dear reader, it reveals to us just one of three reasons why these shows are so enjoyable.

Freytag’s Pyramid is basic as shit, and yet it is one of the first plot structures taught to fictionists because people, up to this day, like it. Why? Because Freytag’s Pyramid fulfills two very important desires that we, as humans, love. 1) The desire for there to be a problem and 2) the desire for that problem to be resolved. It scratches our eternal itch to want to watch shit go down but doesn’t leave us up on a cliffhanger, it gives us our catharsis.

Gourmet Makes gives you the entertainment of watching Claire struggle with her task. Then Gourmet Makes shows you Claire slowly and surely rising above the challenge (notable in literally every episode of Gourmet Makes). Unraveled makes you watch BDG work himself up into a frenzy trying to do something stupid, but then Unraveled shows the payoff of...of watching BDG do something stupid, but this time towards some kind of resolution (very notable in the latest Unraveled “How to increase your stamina with terrible video game tactics”).

It is clear to me that Gourmet Makes and Unraveled both use plot in a way that gives viewers satisfaction. But what keeps them coming back for more?

Well that leads us to the second story element: Character.

People love Claire Saffitz and BDG.

Don’t believe me? Look through the tags of literally any gifset of either of them. Here, I did it for you. Here’s some tags for Claire:

And here’s some tags for BDG:

It’s pretty obvious to see that these two are well loved, but why? It’s not just because they’re both good looking, it’s because Claire Saffitz and BDG, with how they are presented in their shows, are good characters.

Claire Saffitz in Gourmet Makes isn’t scripted. She brings her own human frustration, determined hard work, and joyous glee to the show and it makes watching the show all the more enjoyable. BDG in Unraveled, however, is scripted, but he brings to the table his chaotic performance and ‘off the shits’ lecturer energy that brings the viewers in. Regardless of their differences, Gourmet Makes and Unraveled are similar when it comes to character because of one thing: they actually have characters.

What am I talking about? Well, for a period of time on the internet, people in the cooking media sphere and the video game media sphere settled for video content that was divorced from who was presenting the information. Videos like the ones from Tasty where everything was filmed top down and you only saw two hands perfectly putting ingredients into a bowl. Videos like the myriad of video game walkthroughs or video essays that are presented only by a disembodied voice who also seems allergic to actually having fun. This is content that hinges on the fact that people like seeing cooking or video games and that the presenter will mostly just be a background thing.

Bon Appetit Test Kitchen and Polygon both did not want to succumb to this style of presenting information. They both made the decision to bring their presenters into their video content, highlighting their respective presenters’ personalities, quirks, and styles. This is evident in all of Bon Appetit Test Kitchen and Polygon’s video content, not just Gourmet Makes and Unraveled. Do I watch Bon Appetit's show It's Alive because I want to actually make foccacia? No, it's because I love how Brad Leone  mispronounces words and makes me laugh. Did I watch "Fixing Anthem’s boring mech’s with ballsy design" because I actually give a shit about video games? No it's because I love how Pat Gill jokes about fake testicles and also I think he's hot.

The fact that there are actually characters for us on screen to see, makes Gourmet Makes and Unraveled good shit. We’ve got a plot with clear conflict, but that means nothing if there are no personas for us to root for. Gourmet Makes and Unraveled gives us these personas. They give us Claire Saffitz whom we want so desperately to see smile and succeed. They give us Brian David Gilbert whom we want so desperately to see go a little bit crazy. They give us people to connect to, and that often bridges the gap to viewers who honestly don’t give a shit about cooking or video games. Viewers like me who just keep coming back to Gourmet Makes and Unraveled because of the fact that these are characters I care about, these are characters who I want to see smile after finally nailing the recipe or slowly take off their suit as they tell me shit about Zelda I don’t understand.

Gourmet Makes and Unraveled utilize plot in a way that makes these webshows satisfying, and they use character in a way that makes these webshows accessible and keeps people invested.

But they go further.

This brings us to our last story element, not exactly a common or rudimentary one, but an important one nonetheless: Fucking Around With What Is Expected Of Them.

(I know there’s probably a legitimate literary term for this, but sue me, quarantine has kept me stuck in my house since March, so I may have forgotten the exact words I learned in class. FAWWIEOT will have to suffice.)

The gist of FAWWIEOT is that stories have been around for fuckin ever, and because of that, there are clear patterns and tropes that stories follow. FAWWIEOT is the recognition of those patterns and tropes, using them, but finding a different outcome or flair to make themselves special, to make themselves stick out. Kinda like when you’ve got a fic on AO3 tagged with ‘friends to lovers’ but also tagged with like, I dunno, something completely random like ‘character is also a dragon’. Use the tropes, but do something different. Give the audience something they already know, then throw in something new to make them remember your content specifically.

Gourmet Makes and Unraveled FAWWIEOT (I’m using the acronym like a verb now, this is my post, I’m allowed to) very purposefully using an important technique: Flaws.

The standard trope of a cooking show is the chef easily talking to the camera as they perfectly put the ingredients together. All the food comes out perfect on the first try and everything is heavenly and wonderful. Classic cooking shows like Barefoot Contessa (hosted by Ina Garten) and Everyday Italian (hosted by Giada de Laurentiis) followed this pattern, and it made for good television.

But who fucking watches television these days? Everything is online now, and the internet is vicious. If you aren’t interesting, the internet will throw you out to the gutter. So how did Gourmet Makes set themselves apart?

By showing you that things aren’t perfect after all. Gourmet Makes shows you every trial that Claire tries, they show you her successes, but also her failures. They show you when she gets tired and hopeless, they show you when she bounces back and tries again. Gourmet Makes made a cooking show that was flawed, and people loved it.

And what about Unraveled? The design of Unraveled, from BDG’s suit and mug to his presenting style, key us in to the fact that we are watching some sort of lecture. Some kind of educational performance. Personally, this makes me think that Unraveled is FAWWIEOT-ing academia and basically any other media where an “expert” talks at you.

The standard pattern of experts talking to you are basically like TedTalks. You have somebody very well versed in the topic trying to explain to you something, showing you their hypothesis, their process, and their findings.

Unraveled FAWWIEOTs expertise by making BDG research the most crazy shit like OSHA regulations or the Geneva Convention, make the wildest hypotheses like ‘Monster Energy in the morning will be a good idea’ or ‘Sonic is blasphemous’, and then, ultimately, completely unravel himself. The expert in Unraveled isn’t an all knowing being who is always right, he is flawed (and loses his marbles, more often than not.) And we love it.

FAWWIEOT-ing is key because of how it gives us a pattern we know, and then does something new. Novelty is important on the internet, and Gourmet Makes and Unraveled have made a name for themselves on the unique way they Fucked Around With What Was Expected Of Them.

Gourmet Makes and Unraveled are two of my favorite webshows on the internet as of now, and there are many reasons why, many reasons I didn’t include in this post. What I wanted to do here is to highlight how these shows use story elements to be good content because at the core of these videos, even if they aren’t literary fiction, they are good stories. Good stories with a plot that satisfies us, with characters we can see and love, with new twists that keep us on the edge of our seats.

Good stories make for good content, and Bon Appetit Test Kitchen and Polygon have me as a subscriber for as long as they continue on this road.

Thanks for reading!

(Read my other Polygon-adjacent analysis essays at actualbird.tumblr.com/tagged/nobody-asked-but

If you have any suggestions or ideas for more Polygon-adjacent analysis essays I can write, send me an ask!)

[xyliane]

AUgust 7: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS 12 YEAR OLD

PROMPT THE SEVENTH: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS wait how can you childhood friends au killugon, I asked myself, forgetting that I had a whole-ass idea in my drafts already. this one’s a proper fic, too (minus editing cuz l o l it’s an AU writing challenge, not editing challenge). T, aged-up killugon, modern day au. ft ambiguous descriptions of social media, alluka, kalluto, and leorio in killua’s corner, and zushi and spinner in gon’s, brief discussion of getting plastered and dealing with a hangover. 5000 words.

0o0o0o0o0

The first sign that today is going to be an absolutely terrible day, is when Killua wakes up with a hangover.

This does not happen. Killua can count on one hand the number of times he’s gotten so drunk he’s had a hangover, and most of them are the fault of his little siblings. Little siblings who are now living together, whose couch he is currently painfully existing upon, half too hot and his toes way too cold. And the couch is too soft, an old secondhand thing he’d helped Alluka grapple up the stairs months ago after they found it outside an old dorm. He makes a notch in his very sore brain to blame the current situation on them. Kalluto might be kind enough to let a drunk big brother crash with them, but Alluka has a devious streak a mile wide.

Yeah. This is definitely their fault.

One eye slowly creaks open, surveying his surroundings through blurry vision. Nothing out of the ordinary here. He’s in the pajamas he’s left with Alluka forever ago, curled up under an old blanket he gave her for Nanika’s birthday. It’s covered in the Matrix code, all green letters on black wool. It barely covers him from chest to knees, which explains the cold toes.

Sunlight flickers through the curtains, cheerful and bright, and Killua pulls the blanket over his face. He’ll take cold toes over being blinded by his headache.

The second sign that today is going to be an absolutely terrible day, is when a noise like a chainsaw burrowing through a marshmallow erupts from his phone buzzing on the coffee table, just barely out of reach.

Killua attempts to bury himself under the blanket. He’s not dealing with work today.

And then he remembers: He doesn’t have work. Work can’t bother him today. Not just because it’s a weekend—work never respected the sanctity of weekends, no matter that he was at least partially in charge and used to have a fancy degree hanging on his wall. He doesn’t have work anymore. Killua quit.

Which, well. That explains the hangover.

He’s still blaming his siblings.

His phone buzzes loud enough to break the sound barrier, and Killua decides, fuck it. He doesn’t have anything to lose. If it’s the-place-formerly-known-as-work, he can delete everything. If it’s Mom or Father, he can definitely delete everything. And maybe it’s a friendly person, congratulating him on giving up a job that for anyone else would have been an absolute money-making dream. He’ll delete those too.

It takes a few tries to unlock his phone, and it unfortunately involves opening his eyes, squinting against the glaring light of the screen. But once he does, he frowns. Maybe he’s seeing double. Or a hundredfold. Because he should not have this many notifications.

awwww cute, i hope u 2 find each other! the top one says. It has several hundred likes. Why is it in his notifications?

Scrolling down reveals that it’s not an anomaly.

wtf man how can you find a TWELVE YEAR OLD from FIFTEEN YEARS AGO.

Me and my mom went on a cruise around there once, it was really pretty!

this is so sweet T__T maybe this is him?

And then another hundred photos of brown-skinned men with varying degrees of shirt-wearing, all black haired and most of them buff in very appealing ways and all of them beaming at Killua.

“What the fuck,” Killua croaks as he scrolls through all of the images and messages. Maybe this is a dream. A really weird, hangover-induced dream about how little of a social life he has, that his phone is possessed by someone else’s. A warning of sorts, that he should never have installed any social media on his phone ever, not even for hookups.

The reason for all the notifications lies at the top of his own page. Just a few sentences, all-caps, with an image of an old crinkled photo of two boys on a tropical beach, grinning at the camera. Killua sees himself, white curly hair flying in all directions and pale skin sunburned and ruddy with the briny wind, happier than Killua can ever remember being. Next to him, one arm slung around his shoulders and the other holding a bucket full of seashells, is a brown-skinned boy with freckles dancing across his nose and the tops of his shoulders, brown eyes wide and laughing and black hair thick and spiked from some mix of wind and seawater and natural gravity defiance.

He didn’t know he still had this photo. It had followed him from childhood all the way through grad school, a carefully guarded keepsake hidden away from the watchful eyes of his parents and Illumi, before ending up in a box or a bag at some point in the last few years. Part of Killua thought he’d lost it in the move. He barely remembers much about being twelve, about the cruise he’d been forcibly dragged on. But he remembers…

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? yells the caption. WE WERE BEST FRIENDS FOR A WEEK WHEN I GOT DRAGGED ON A CRUISE BY MY ASSHOLE PARENTS. HE WAS 12 ON WHALE ISLAND 15 YEARS AGO. IF FOUND, DM IMMEDIATELY.

“Gon,” Killua breathes.

He gathers himself, wrapping the blanket around his head in a feeble protection against the morning, and lurches over to Alluka’s room.

He gets to bang on her door three times, confused spite winning out over his own pounding headache, before Kalluto appears out of their room, blinking blearily at Killua. “Shut up.”

Killua kicks Alluka’s door for good measure, and brandishes his phone in front of him like a weapon. “Not until you explain what the hell this is doing on the internet.”

Kalluto pales, then flushes, then pales again. “Oh. Um.”

At that, Alluka creaks her door open, guilty blue eyes far too awake for how close to noon it is. Killua kind of wants to kill her on principle alone. If he has to be hungover, so does everyone else.

“Explain,” he grinds out through his teeth.

The third and final sign that today is going to be an absolutely terrible day, is when Alluka puts on her most winning smile, the kind she uses to ward off angry customers and idiotic faux-academics on the internet. “Congratulations, Brother! I might have made you go viral.”

Killua throws his phone at her.

—————

Today’s going to be a good day, Gon decides. He’s been in the forests of East Gorteau for the better part of a month, which normally isn’t so bad. But this group has been…They’re nice enough, when Gon’s not spending half of his time explaining that, no, that species of plant does not make a good stew, and no, that species is endangered please don’t hunt them, and yes Gon is sure he doesn’t date his clients even after the hike, and no the reason the tent fell over again is because it wasn’t properly set up in the first place—

All of Aunt Mito’s complaints about tourists on Whale Island make so much more sense, now that Gon’s leading backwoods hikes.

But last night had been fun! Spinner had met the group at a pre-set campsite not far from their pickup so Gon hadn’t had to work the whole night, and he could relax with his friend over good food, more alcohol than he probably should have drunk, and not having to explain to Mrs. Yuldvin the difference between marijuana, buckeye, and poison oak again. Spinner had even taken care of the fire, although she had left him to rescue the Podomos siblings from the ruins of their tent with nothing more than a smirk and a wave. Nevertheless, Gon smiled through his headache all morning, because soon he’ll be home, and he can sleep.

Zushi is waiting in the parking lot once Gon’s done packing up the last of the gear and saying goodbye to Spinner, jeep idling while he flicks through his phone, thick eyebrows drawn together in increasing concern. He doesn’t even look up until Gon drops his pack onto the hood of the car, and he jolts so badly in surprise that he tosses his phone in the air.

“Are you okay?” Gon asks, and tries to peek at the screen.

Zushi pulls it up and away, a frantic look in his eyes. It won’t really keep Gon from seeing what’s happening, not if he wants to, but Zushi’s height is enough of a deterrent to make it hard. “You were gone way too long,” he says.

Gon leans against the hot metal of Zushi’s car. It wasn’t an unusual length for a trip, not really—this backcountry needs the length to be able to see and understand the region. Not to mention the Small Billed Swan preservation society keeping the whole place locked down except to authorized guides and trekkers. Zushi knows this. They’ve been roommates long enough that this isn’t even the longest time Gon’s been gone.

“You knew I’d be gone til today,” Gon says.

“Yeah, but…” Zushi’s eyebrows descend even further, scrunching his whole face up in worry. “You haven’t checked your phone, right?”

“No?” Even if he did have cell service, Gon never brings his own phone. He borrows Kite’s satellite phone, because it is more reliable and doesn’t need to be charged constantly.

“Okay. Well.” Zushi takes a deep breath, then another, one of Wing’s old meditation techniques. Despite his exhaustion and single-minded determination to sink into a real bed and sleep for a week, Gon feels a minor pang of worry. On breath three, he unlocks his phone and turns it towards Gon. “You’re a meme.”

On Zushi’s screen is a photo Gon can’t ever forget about. Backed by Whale Island’s sunbleached white beaches and the humid brilliant colors of summer, Gon sees himself—twelve, smiling from ear to ear, hair a mess from swimming and his shirt practically covered in sand from digging up all the seashells in his bucket. He’s got an arm around another boy, who’s caught mid-laugh so his blue eyes burn the same color as the sky, white curls even messier than Gon’s hair. They look like they’ve known each other their whole lives, like they’d still be best friends even if they haven’t seen or spoken to each other since the photo was taken.

Gon hopes Killua thinks so, too.

He cradles the phone in his hand, carefully zooming in on their faces and the errant crinkles visible through the photo. His own faded copy is in a drawer, having survived a whole trip around the world and countless apartment jumps. This one looks just as well cared for, in its own way.

“That…is you, right?” Zushi asks carefully. “Because Wing was asking, and half of Kite’s guide company is yelling about it on your social media page that you don’t even use, and now people are messaging me, and they’re saying the weirdest things, and the post is from last week, so—”

“It’s Killua,” Gon says. A smile spreads across his face, a mirror to the one he’d had when he was twelve. “That’s Killua!”

“Who?” the others ask, but Gon isn’t listening.

He spins, frantically searching his pockets for his phone. “Spinner, can you do me a favor?”

She narrows her eyes suspiciously.

Gon knew today was going to be a good day.

—————

It’s been a week, and Killua has quit all social media forever.

The steady buzz of his phone informing the apartment of his notifications is not his problem. Alluka’s the one who decided to hack into his phone and post something to his old public account, the one he mostly uses for photos of cats and complaining about terrible business precedents. He hasn’t posted much since school, and if anything, it should have simply vanished into the void of the internet.

He finds the culprit fairly quickly, and for once it’s not his sister’s moderate but dedicated video following.

“Old man, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Leorio lounges in Alluka and Kalluto’s living room, freshly out of his scrubs and looking pleased as all hell. “I just reblogged a fun post from my friend,” he says somewhat defensively. “You were a cute kid, Killua. What happened?”

Killua feels a growl creep up his throat. “You can’t just do that,” he snaps.

“It’s not my fault the people like my well-coiffed but rugged appearance and dedication to social justice in medicine.”

“You have 500,000 followers because you made a joke post two years ago, and some authorized user reblogged it five times. It has nothing to do with your ugly mug.” If Killua squints and plugs his ears, he can even see why people think Leorio’s attractive or whatever: tan skin, lean but strong as hell, actually takes care of his hair, not to mention a damn good doctor with one of the most prestigious institutions in Yorknew who spends most of his free time running health clinics in impoverished neighborhoods. That’s all swell. But then he starts talking, and Killua has no idea where the off button is.

Leorio spreads a hand out, gesturing vaguely with the glass of iced tea that he’d helped himself to out of Alluka’s stash. “It has everything to do with my ‘ugly mug,’” he says. “Which is why I used my powers for good and spread your post. Don’t you want to find him?”

“Not like this!”

“You were not going to find him at all,” Kalluto’s quiet voice pipes up from the kitchen. They have night classes tonight, but Killua has a feeling that even if they were supposed to be attending their Yorknew Uni lectures, they would still be here making Killua’s life worse. “You’ve had that picture for years, and you did not even try to look.”

Leorio gives him a judgmental look over the tops of his stupid tiny glasses. “You haven’t?”

It would be a losing game to bury his burning face in one of the throw pillows, so Killua does his best to cross his arms over his chest and glower instead. “I…tried.”

“And?”

“I don’t even know his last name!” Killua splutters. “I didn’t have his number or where he was from, other than his mom worked on the ship. And that cruiseline went bankrupt and liquidated everything before I could get out of the house, so I couldn’t even look that up.”

Kalluto crosses over from the kitchen and perches like a sweatshirt-wearing crow on the coffee table, their blue eyes carefully neutral under straight black bangs. “Alluka and Nanika would have helped. Or even Milluki, if you had explained the situation.”

“I was eighteen, okay? I just left home, and our parents were still being…shit, themselves, I guess.” He hadn’t even considered asking for help. Then again, he’d tried the moment he could, that first summer of undergrad where he didn’t have to come home and Illumi couldn’t spend half his time breathing down the back of Killua’s neck. He had a general idea of where they’d gone, maps of islands scurried away in the closet with the old photo and a bag full of seashells Gon had given him as a going-away present.

They’d been friends for a week, in the whirlwind way that only kids can be. The cruise ship was massive, and Killua’s parents were in meetings half the time and playing nice with the other rich people on board the other half. Killua had been bored witless, and Gon was everything he couldn’t have possibly imagined: encouraging Killua to go exploring, to stealing food from the kitchens, making him help clean up the decks, playing cards with the deckhands. Sneaking off the boat to visit an island without Killua’s parents while the ship was docked, scrambling over the burning hot sands and dashing through the jungle, diving into the waves fully clothed and competing to see who could find the biggest prettiest shells. Gon’d been Killua’s first friend, his first crush, his first…a lot of firsts.

Then the cruise had ended, and Killua forgot to give Gon his phone number. His address. Anything. They’d been so swept up in being friends, being best friends, it had seemed impossible that they would never see each other again.

Does Gon even remember? Why should he, when Killua hasn’t contacted him? Would they even be friends anymore?

Maybe he hadn’t searched hard enough. But part of Killua thinks he shouldn’t have tried at all.

The phone buzzes loudly, and Killua tries not to flinch.

“Hey, Killua. It’s okay.” Leorio leans forward, hands clasped over his too-long limbs and expression gentle. “If you want me to delete it, I will. Not sure I can help with the viral part of things, except maybe go through your messages and delete the gross ones, or at least find the weirdest ones for you to laugh at later.”

“Alluka and I have been doing this already,” Kalluto says, their posture a little too protective for Killua’s raw nerves at this point. “But perhaps you have some suggestions for what to do next, Dr. Paladiknight?”

Leorio smiles sympathetically. “Don’t read the comments? That said, most of your comments have been much more positive than anything I usually post. The masses seem to be genuinely rooting for you, kid.”

“I have only had to delete a dozen lewd messages for you this morning,” Kalluto adds, not mentioning the hundred or so that Alluka took care of yesterday.

Killua’s traitorous phone buzzes again, and that’s it. Time to bury himself in a pillow. Killua flops onto the couch, narrowly missing Leorio, and does his best to burrow into the cushions. “That’s just great,” he says into the fabric.

A comforting hand rubs against his hair, messing up the curls for a moment, and Killua refuses to admit that it’s nice, that he has friends like Leorio who even bother to care. “It could be worse. You could be dealing with this while still working a soul-sucking job making more money than most of us will see in our lifetimes, in exchange for giving up all of your morals.”

Killua groans loudly. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“You’re gonna need to do something, Killua! And hey, I might be able to set something up with my—”

“I already told you, no.”

“But it’s what you’re good at. And you wouldn’t be fucking people over to do it.”

“No.”

“Just listen for one—”

Killua lifts his head enough to glare as murderously as he can at Leorio. It must work at least a little, because the doctor shuts up.

Meanwhile, Kalluto is scrolling through Killua’s phone, poking at the screen occasionally. In the awkward silence, their sharp gasp is loud enough to shatter a window, and they hurriedly shove the phone in the pocket of their oversized sweatshirt.

Leorio raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

Kalluto squeezes their eyes shut for a moment, then carefully places the phone on the coffee table, screen pointed innocently at the ceiling. “You will want to look at this one, Brother.”

“This isn’t another erotic sandcastle is it?” he says.

Kalluto shakes their head, and Killua’s stomach lurches up his throat. Alluka has been the one excited about this whole thing. But Kalluto, as reserved as they are, is a massive romantic. The whole thing might be Alluka’s fault, but Killua knows it’s Kalluto who almost lets themselves believe it’ll work. Despite all of the false positives, the people who send messages that don’t sound right or photos that have the wrong smile.

Killua doesn’t want to hope. It can’t possibly be Gon. But his hands shake nonetheless as he unlocks his phone and finds a new message in his DMs.

It’s not from Gon.

Instead, someone with the icon of a small-billed white swan in a soft small-billed hat and a handle of @flymypretties has sent a photo of a brown-skinned man with spiky black hair absolutely covered in dirt and grime. He’s waving at the camera, a backpacking bag propped against his shoulder and the widest smile Killua has ever seen beaming straight through the screen and into his chest. Next to him and half out of frame, a tall tanned man with massive black eyebrows and a tank top showing off an impressive amount of muscle has his head in his hands. Killua feels a sharp stab of sympathy, somewhere buried beneath the racing of his heart.

look im sorry about this but this idiot can’t find his phone and we r kind of in the middle of nowhere so reception’s shit. he wants to know if you admit he found the biggest seashell on the beach, whatever that means.

For a long, long moment—seconds? minutes maybe?—Killua can do nothing but stare at the screen of his phone. Leorio and Kalluto both look at him with a mix of curiosity and worry, Kalluto starting to slowly reach for the phone.

In a completely childish protective moment, Killua grabs it against his chest, like the image will vanish if he doesn’t keep it close.

“Is it…?” Leorio asks.

Killua swallows heavily, trying to think around the roaring of the ocean in his ears. “I think so,” he says faintly.

Kalluto’s eyes widen, and they spin on their heels towards their room. “I’m calling Alluka!”

—————

“Has he responded?”

“No!”

“…what about now?”

Spinner throws her hands in the air so violently that her hat falls off. “For god’s sake, Gon, it’s been an hour, you don’t even have your phone, and you still need to go home.”

Gon huffs and pouts. They’re still in the parking lot over an hour after the rest of the trekking group has left, and all the exhaustion that had settled into Gon’s body from the tour has been turned into a jittery energy that keeps trying to leak out from under his skin. He wants to go home immediately and dig out his copy of the photo, rub out the old fingerprints he and Aunt Mito have left on it over the years. He wants to find his phone and message Killua directly. He wants to wait right here until Killua responds, no matter how long it takes.

He knows it’s childish, to be this selfish. Spinner has work to do, work that she already put on hold to help with the last day of the tour. Kite probably will want to know what’s happening, or at least why his lead guide and his chief guide organizer have been stuck in a parking lot. And Gon can practically feel Zushi’s obsessive scrolling through social media, frantically trying to navigate Gon’s feeds without actually having access.

Gon needs to find his phone.

“Spinner, what if—”

It’s not that Spinner’s a large woman. Out of the three people standing in the parking lot, Zushi’s far and away the strongest, even if he is about as threatening as a large, muscular teddy bear. And Gon has only packed on weight and muscle over his years of backpacking around the wilderness, no matter that he’s not super tall. But Spinner goes for longer, harder treks on her own than anyone but Kite, and she packs in her own climbing gear on top of that, so when she tosses Gon into the back of Zushi’s jeep, he flies.

“Zushi,” she says in a low exhausted snarl, and he jumps right off the hood of his car. Gon probably would have felt bad for him, if everything wasn’t spinning. “If you do not take your roommate home, I am not responsible for the consequences.”

“What if you hear back?” Gon groans around the aches in his side.

Spinner rolls her eyes, and Gon knows she’s just tired. “I’ll let you know.”

“But what if my phone’s gone? What will I do if someone stole it, or if I can’t—”

“I’ll call you go home already,” she says, and slams the door shut on his face.

For a long moment, the only sound is Spinner storming away, boots thudding heavily in the dirt until her car door slams.

The jeep shifts slightly as Zushi quietly lowers himself into the driver’s seat and puts the key into the ignition. Gon wants to tell him to follow Spinner, so she can yell out the window as soon as Killua gets back to her. But Zushi looks about ready to bolt. So Gon slumps back in the seat, the rumble of tires crunching through gravel making his already jittery nerves shake.

A small voice that sounds a lot like Kite tells Gon that it’s better to wait, that it will be easier to have a conversation and determine if this really is Killua after a rest and a shower.

Gon doesn’t want that, though. He wants…

It’s been a long time since he was on Whale Island. Longer still since he saw Killua. That doesn’t mean he stopped thinking about either of them, during the quiet moments out under the stars. They’re part of him, like his lungs are part of him—essential and irreplaceable, buried so far inside that removing them would change him irrevocably.

What is Killua like now? Is Gon just as important to him as he is to Gon? He has to be. Right?

They make it home without saying anything else. Gon floats in and out between bone-deep weariness and electric sparks of nervous joy, and Zushi flinches every time Gon jolts himself from one to the other.

“Hey, are you…I mean, maybe not okay, but.”

Gon lifts his chin up sharply at the sound of his roommate’s voice, and notices the familiar apartment complex in front of him. Oh, they’re home. “I’m good,” he says, and grins.

“Sure,” Zushi says like he doesn’t believe Gon.

A dubious silence stretches out between them as they gather the rest of the gear, dropping it in a heap on the sidewalk. “You were kids, though,” Zushi finally says.

Gon shrugs and slams the door shut hard enough to make the vehicle rattle. “I didn’t forget. So I don’t think Killua would, either.”

Zushi’s eyebrows wrinkle on each other, like they can’t decide whether to go up or down and settle on some combination of the two. “What if he did?”

“He didn’t,” Gon says, more sure of that than anything else in his life.

Zushi’s eyebrows dance again, but he doesn’t say anything else.

Between Gon’s camping gear and Zushi’s leftover practice pads, it takes longer than Gon’s excitement can take to get everything settled enough to look for his phone. Well, Gon would have liked to look for his phone, but Zushi makes a pointed look at the shower. There are only so many places the phone could be in the whole apartment, after all.

Gon’s just drying off when Zushi knocks on the door. “I found it, but it’s dead,” he says, voice muffled.

“Then charge it!” Gon shouts. After a moment, he adds, quieter and less snappishly, “Please?”

A faint laugh echoes through the apartment.

By the time Gon can make himself a very early dinner of whatever he could grab out of the cabinets without thinking, the phone is charged enough to turn on. Sure enough, there are a wide variety of messages, mostly from Kite’s groupchat asking about the viral post. A few are from former hikers, people who Gon liked enough to share contact info, offering to see if they can get in touch. There are even a few—okay, how did they get ahold of his old social media page? It’s practically defunct, since Gon’s never had a phone capable of more than the most basic apps. And those are…

It’s flattering in a way, but Gon’s not really into that. Or them.

Zushi catches sight of the grimace, and takes one look over Gon’s shoulder before turning beet red.

By the time he’s gone through and deleted the vast majority of what had been filling up his phone, there’s still no message from Spinner, and nothing at all from Killua. Gon sighs and lies his head down on the table with a heavy thunk.

The other chair scrapes heavily along the tiles as Zushi sits, a mug of coffee in his hands. “What will you do? When he messages you, I mean.”

When, not if, an unexpected certainty coming from Zushi. Gon has the best friends in the world. “Talk to him,” Gon says. “It’s only been fifteen years, right? We promised we’d be friends forever.”

“A lot changes in fifteen years,” Zushi says.

“Not that.”

“Then why didn’t you look for him?”

Gon frowns. It had taken a long, long time, but Aunt Mito managed to track down the cruise captain the last time they were in port, tracing through old charters until the right names came up. But when she’d called them up, she’d been met with stonewall after stonewall, pleasant-sounding voices insisting in no uncertain terms that she would never speak with a member of Killua’s family, let alone let her son speak to his friend. By the time Gon was old enough to look himself, he found nothing but a mansion full of people whose eyes matched Killua’s in everything except for his warmth, who refused to even acknowledge Gon’s presence except to throw him out.

That had been years ago. It’s not that Gon stopped looking. Not exactly.

“I did, but I—” Gon starts to say, but his phone buzzes violently against the table, and they both jump out of their chairs.

“Is it—?” Zushi asks, breath in his throat.

It’s a message from Spinner. you owe me big time, kid, she says, followed by a phone number.

Gon rips his phone off the cable, a wide smile spreading across his face. “It is,” he says, and dials Killua.

—————

bzz bzz—

bzz bzz—

bzz b—

“H-hello?”

“Killua! Hi!”

“…Gon? Is that—It’s really…?”

“Killua, it’s you, I thought I’d never—”

“I did find the biggest seashell, and you know it.”

A breath, sharp and astonished. “The blue and white one, with green lines.”

“I found it, and I gave it to you.”

“I still have it.”

A snort of amusement, slightly damp. “I know. You promised you’d keep it.”

“I did. And I promised—”

“That we’d be friends forever.”

A laugh, delighted and teary at the same time. “I knew you remembered.”

“I did promise you that I would.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

(AUgust prompts)

[rigelmejo]

Comprehension Levels

I did the actual words-known/words-on-page to find out my comprehension % of chinese (so characters known/characters on page to make things simple to count). i wanted to see how close I am to reading at that 98% sweet spot they tell people to read. so here’s my comprehension % of some novels of mine, as of 7/20/21:

撒野: 98.9% comprehension (I should just extensively read it, I could speed read the page I glanced at and guess the unknown words once I saw them)

SVSSS: 97.9% (pretty much at a comfortable reading level, the unknown hanzi were mostly parts of multi-character description words I could roughly guess the meaning of, but I was marking every unknown character)

小王子: 96.8% (again, this is as of today, I flipped to a random page so I wouldn’t have myself remembering the plot to affect how much I ‘knew’)

DMBJ 1: 96%

Peach Blossom Debt: 96% if I count name characters as unknown, 97% comprehension if I ignore character names. (I imagine part of the difficulty is my lack of xianxia reading vocab, so if I intensively read a few beginning chapters I could probably fix that).

Guardian: 95.7% understood (I picked the last page of the first print volume, as I figured if I picked the first chapter which I’ve studied and reread my comprehension level would be higher than if it was a part of the novel I haven’t read)

Update: the current fanfic I am reading 夜半衣寒，I tested my comprehension of the new chapter 16 I started. Out of 705 characters, I didn’t know 9, 695/705=0.987 so I have 98.7% comprehension! This is interesting to me, because I would guess (since I didn’t actually measure at the time), that I did not have above 98% comprehension when I started reading it (of course I’ve read like 34k+ characters of it now so I’d hope I’m more familiar with its vocab now). So this is just info for me, that if something starts out as ‘hard’ as this fic to start, if I intensively read for a while (and I’d guess probably the first few chapters since that’s where author’s own specific language is the most new and their setup/genre words hopefully get introduced), I might be able to learn enough words to put it into a more comfortable regular comprehension level for myself. I do think, at least now that I’m into the flow of this story, I’m reading it a bit faster (still on the slower end since I look up every unknown or ‘fuzzy’ word to double check the pronunciation). To be fair to me? These chapters are 20 pleco pages, which used to take me 1-1.5 hours ToT. Now they take 30-40 minutes, since I slow down to look up things and listen to certain sections, but considering they’d take 15-20 minutes to follow along to someone narrating out loud, I’m getting closer to a normal reading speed. If I sped read/extensively read these chapters instead of intensively looking things up, I may well be at 20-30 minutes a chapter. 

Last night I read 4496 characters, chapter 1 of ���尔摩斯  血字的研究. I used the click-dictionary for new words, and there was definitely a lot of new vocab (though mostly places and names confused me). All of the experiment related new vocab it was nice to see though and learn, since I like reading mysteries I’m sure those words will come up again in other stuff I read. 

Some things I find interesting about this information: I read 小王子 extensively months ago so presumably when I comprehended a bit less than the current amount (since I learned a lot of new words from context or from glancing at the english translation for some words). So whatever my personal ‘minimum’ level of comprehension I can personally tolerate when reading extensively is, it’s below 96% comprehension. 

Listening Reading Method and other activities I’ve been doing has helped my comprehension a LOT. I did NOT expect the comprehensions of all these to be as close to 98% as they are. Particularly Guardian, being at 95% - that isn’t very far from the comfortable reading material level of ‘98%’ I’m aiming for. I’m not sure how fast I can boost up my comprehension just a BIT more, but wow is it close to the goal...

On a related note, that explains why Guardian and Silent Reading have felt relatively easier for me to ‘extensively read’ when I feel like it lately. While I still have some difficulty, since I have familiarity with the general story (Guardian) or have read the english translation (Silent Reading), the new words are not super hard to guess and therefore following the main idea is not an issue. Guardian is above the 95% comprehension level for me now, and its likely I extensively read a novel I had NO prior knowledge about -  小王子 - also at 95% comprehension or less.

I looked up the comprehension level I had because I just read this article about how to pick reading material when learning a new language, and it made me curious how far Below that 98% comprehension level I usually try to read.

For comparisons, I’m curious how my personal comprehension compares to the general-vocab-difficulty tool and results I got from that (which can be viewed in this post more in depth). 

This was the novel’s ranking, from easiest to harder, based on that tool (lower number = more difficult):

小王子 2.004

DMBJ 1 1.992

撒野 1.98

SVSSS 1.9

Guardian 1.9

Peach Blossom Debt  1.858

I am guessing the difference in order of difficulty compared to my personal comprehension levels, might have to do with the materials I learn from? Or may have to do with the fact the tool sorts by full words, not characters, so 2-4 character words/phrases that are unknown would only count as one unit. Whereas when I calculated my comprehension I counted by character (since I was physically counting on paper it was easier to just go by character when counting unknown versus amount-of-content on the page). Also, the tool took a bigger sample of 2,000 words for each novel, whereas I used 300-500 characters per page samples.

It’s also possible, because of the small amount of characters in my comprehension % samples - Guardian overall may have more unknown words and put it lower than 95% overall, and stuff like DMBJ may well have a lot more words I know and potentially be more comprehensible than 96% overall. 

For the most part I had 4-15 unknown characters per page. Which could realistically affect my reading more or less depending on what role they served in the sentence. Characters in descriptions I can figure out the rough meaning of easier when reading because they’re often part of 2-4 character words and phrases where I know the rest of the characters, or they’re an emotion/mood description another word I know on the page will also re-state, but unknown characters for critical verbs or nouns affect story comprehension a lot more. Xiao wang zi is a good example of my overall actual reading level, since some unknown hanzi were in descriptions and I could ‘guess’ well enough to follow just ine, but some of the unknown hanzi on the page were verbs and nouns which makes those sections harder to comprehend. 

Some promising notes from articles!

From FluentU: https://www.fluentu.com/blog/reading-in-a-second-language/

So I am at the spot for most novels I want to read right now 95%+, where if I read with a dictionary it probably feels okay and I will learn a lot, but it will feel challenging at times.

And for a few (at least SaYe) I can really just extensive read the way its supposed to feel. 

Reading Rockets: https://www.readingrockets.org/article/fluency-introduction

This article puts 95% as the minimum comprehension level for a person to read to improve reading fluency.

This https://readingmatrix.com/articles/september_2011/prichard_matsumoto.pdf

is an interesting paper, and puts 95% as the minimum for comprehension to read unassisted, but also mentions it could be a spectrum rather than all-or-nothing. Readers who use strategies to comprehend more can improve their comprehension a bit, and readers who have background knowledge on the subject can improve their ability to comprehend the reading material a bit. 

This part was also fascinating: “ Hu and Nation (2000) sought to examine the lexical threshold more deeply. They tested the comprehension of a narrative text by 66 advanced learners, adapting the text to include frequent words estimated to be known by all the subjects. They replaced uncommon words with nonsense words in order to set coverage levels to 80%, 90%, 95%, and 100%. Comprehension of the various versions of the passages was measured by a multiple-choice comprehension test and a recall measure. Subjects at the 95% level had a mean score of 10.2 points out of 14 on the multiple-choice text, while the readers with 90% coverage averaged only slightly lower at 9.5 points. There were a wide range of scores at these two coverage levels with 7 of 16 subjects at the 90% level getting a higher score than the mean score of the 95% coverage group. The results were similar on the recall measure. Overall, while there was a clear and strong correlation between coverage and comprehension, the existence of the 95% lexical threshold was not supported by Hu and Nation. They estimate that if there was a comprehension threshold at all, it may have been between 80 and 90% since all the readers with 80% coverage had difficulty comprehending the text. Hu and Nation state that learners at the 90% were able to reach comprehension through reading skills and background knowledge. They also hypothesize that 98% may be the coverage required at which most learners can comprehend the text adequately. The mark they set to determine this was about 85% comprehension, which was much higher than that used by Laufer (1989, 1992). “

“ Lower threshold: A percentage at which comprehension becomes possible; a percentage at which few learners below have any significant comprehension of the text (referred to by Hu & Nation, 2000, as potentially being between 80 and 90%). 211 

Significant increase threshold: A coverage point above which learners’ mean comprehension increases significantly (95%, based on Laufer, 1989). 

Adequate comprehension threshold: A percentage at which most learners achieve “adequate comprehension” (suggested as 95% in Laufer, based on 55% comprehension; hypothesized as 98% coverage in Hu & Nation based on 85% comprehension). 

Upper threshold: A point above which an increase in coverage does not lead to improved comprehension (Laufer, 1992). If it exists, it is likely 98-99%.

That study may explain why some people with lower vocab knowledge ‘feel’ more ok with reading at lower comprehensions (that’d be me lol ToT). When I was learning french, I started reading extensively at a somewhat low vocab level, and in english I knew in elementary school I’d pick up novels for adults and read some sometimes, and by end of elementary I had a college reading level, so mm.

[bard-llama]

WiP Wednesday: 2 snips

I totally did not forget today was Wednesday, nope, not at all. So anyway, I made up a list of specifically my WiPs that have no parts published that are various set ups to get Iorveth and Roche into a relationship. If anyone’s interested, I’ll stick that under a cut. 

For now, 2 snips were requested on discord, so first:

Ceartas Minus Truas (means Justice Minus Compassion) (aka Gaunter curses Roche and drops him off for the Scoia'tael to find. Then Roche offends them all by speaking Elder because Gaunter took "I want to understand Iorveth" literally.)

Gaunter O’Dimm enjoyed traveling. It kept life interesting – wherever one went, there was always someone in need of a little helping hand. And in possession of some sort of interesting reward, of course. Sometimes it was merely their soul, and that was all well and good – but more often, Gaunter preferred to add a little extra something to his contracts.

After all, prey was so much more fun to play with before they died. 

What he did not enjoy about traveling were all the busybodies who thought an innocent merchant of mirrors would be an ideal target. They were wrong, of course, and Gaunter did enjoy showing them just how wrong, but he had a schedule to keep and he so hated running late.

Someone would simply have to pay for his irritation. It wouldn’t be long before Gaunter came upon someone who deserved punishing. Humans, elves, dwarves, halfings – they held themselves apart in such silly little ways, but at heart, there were always cruel people deserving of punishment.

Like the approaching human, who exuded the air of having a Very Serious Conundrum. Just the kind of thing a helpful mirror merchant might prove helpful for.

Gaunter tilted his head, considering the man approaching down the road. On the surface, the only notable thing about the man was the way his armor proudly displayed the Temerian emblem while being entirely non-standard. Definitely not army issue. 

But Gaunter wasn’t as limited as these creatures that only saw the surface. In addition, he could see through this man, down to the core of him: the things he’d done, the decisions he’d made, the impact his actions had had. 

Another snip under the cut

Trust: More Precious Than Gold (aka Post-W2 AU where Roche and Iorveth team up to take down a slavery ring by having Iorveth pretend to be Roche's slave)

And so, even though Iorveth had been the one triumphant in the last battle between them, for the purposes of this investigation, Vernon Roche had officially captured the most wanted elf in the north.

And was now using him as a pleasure slave. Or so Roche was claiming. In reality, if Roche actually tried something, Iorveth would cut his balls off. 

But for the safety of his people, he could pretend. Even if it meant wearing a dark blue (Temerian blue) collar with a fucking silver lily charm that hung right at the base of his throat.

In all honesty, Iorveth was more than a little concerned that this wasn’t as much of a farce as it should have been. When Roche had pulled out the collar, flushing red and stuttering but still meeting his gaze directly, Iorveth had felt… something. Something it was best not to explore. Something that should have always remained buried under the memories of their fights.

Something that found it a little too pleasing to be wearing Roche’s collar. Especially when Roche tucked his finger underneath it and pulled him forward, even if it was only to whisper intel in his ear. 

This was far from the first time he’d posed as someone’s captive – the two times with Gwynbleidd in Flotsam stood out in his memory – but he’d never found it so intriguing before.

He’d also, Iorveth realized, never trusted anyone as much as he was trusting Roche by letting the dh’oine put him in this situation. Not that he wasn’t armed – there was no one he trusted enough for that – but one elf versus an unknown number of humans? His odds of getting out of this alive significantly increased as long as he trusted Roche enough to play their little game.

“Remember,” Roche had whispered, “you’ve been captured and presumably broken. You can be defiant – I can’t imagine you’re capable of not being so – but don’t push it too far or we won’t be believable.”

The reaction when they walked in the room confirmed Roche’s words. The dh’oine stared at him and talked about him, but no one bothered addressing him directly and Iorveth tried not to let it irritate him too much. They all thought that he had broken. Him. 

As if.

But their determination to treat him as part of the decor meant that it was surprisingly easy to eavesdrop on them. And what he heard was… interesting.

WiP List (specifically of WiPs that have NO parts published and are specifically about/featuring Iorveth and Roche getting together. yes, I have enough WiPs that we need to clarify this)

Post-W3 Roche rescues Iorveth from slavers and ends up stuck with him

Gaunter curses Roche and drops him off for the Scoia'tael to find. Then Roche offends them all by speaking Elder because Gaunter took "I want to understand Iorveth" literally.

Post-W3 Iorveth sneaks into Roche's room in the palace (during his bath) to suggest they team up and murder war criminals together

Pre-W2 AU Iorveth is the elven ambassador in Foltest's court and Triss makes Roche be friendly.

Roche comes upon Iorveth in an empty Scoia'tael camp and saves him from dying from a curse with true love, not that they admit it. Then they team up to go save the rest of the Scoia'tael

Roche runs into Iorveth while trying to investigate a case of awol Temerian soliders and ends up pretending to be married so they can get into the couple's resort

Iorveth becoming obsessed with Roche's sweaty clothes and breaking into his house to steal some

The fic with Queenie where Iorveth takes a camp that had belonged to Foltest and a tied-up Roche was left behind.

Post-W3 Iorveth runs into Roche at a bar. An exhibitionist couple lead to Roche challenging him to see if he can be quiet thru a blowjob. he is not successful

Roche's mama takes him to a wedding where Iorveth happens to be a guest. They have a truce, get drunk, and have curious exploratory sex in a boat

Post-W3 at Corvo Bianco Iorveth and Geralt obsess over Roche's hands and then he overhears them talking about his hands while having sex

Pre-W2 AU where Foltest signs a treaty with the elves and both are stuck attending a weeklong banquet as representatives.

Post-W3 Iorveth comes to a solstice feast the emperor throws and runs into Roche

During W2, Geralt and Iorveth stumble upon Roche's sex dream of them, then wanna make it come true

During W3, Iorveth helps them murder Radovid and Ves and co tell them to get a room. They do.

Post-W2 AU where Roche and Iorveth team up to take down a slavery ring by having Iorveth pretend to be Roche's slave

Iorveth watches Roche sleep and then Roche wakes up and wants a kiss and they both don't really believe it's real

Post-W2 in Vergen, Roche gets caught in a cave in in the mines and is thought dead for a while. When he gets rescued, Iorveth has to make sure he's all right and finally kisses him

Post-W3 Roche is offered as tribute to elves for a ceremony where they gangbang him. Iorveth watches out for him

During W2, Iorveth has a crush on Roche and gets mad at him wearing Foltest's symbol

Thank fuck we all love the “getting together” trope... right?

[sodone-withlife]

gnossienne

Criminal Minds Fic Part Two

| PART 1 |  PART 2 |

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: implied (canonical & non-canonical) character death, canon-typical violence, implied/referenced sexual abuse, implied/reference child abuse

Notes: I really don’t know where these ideas come from. I love agent as unsub stories, but I decided to twist it and this fic is the result. This starts a few weeks after “100” and involves an AU origin story for Hotch.

gnossienne: n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand. (The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)

Morgan and Prentiss slumped against the elevator wall, heads tilting back against the wall in exhaustion. “How are you doing?” Prentiss asked, turning her head to look at her fellow profiler.

He raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “Well, considering that my boss seems to be the subject of an obsessive serial killer’s desire, I’d say I’m surprising myself with how calm I am,” he said, matter of fact. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, forcing herself to stand straight as the elevator doors opened.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but there’s just something so… off about this whole situation,” Prentiss confessed without expecting an answer. They both were fully aware that she wasn’t just referring to the case. The sudden reassignment had remained a constant topic of conversation over the past months (always away from Rossi, of course, but they were under no illusions that the senior profiler didn’t know what they were talking about).

The two agents walked out of the elevator in contemplative silence. Morgan scanned the room, noting Reid and JJ deep in discussion and marking places on the map of Lower Manhattan they had up. A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye. He turned to look, only to stop in his tracks when he saw that Rossi, who was walking in through another door, wasn’t alone.

“Isn’t that—” Prentiss began in an undertone before getting cut off by Morgan.

“—Charles Fredericks, head of the New York field office?” He finished, “Yep.”

“What’s he doing here?” Prentiss asked under her breath as she and Morgan walked over to Reid, who was also watching the senior agent and the director in open curiosity.

“As I’m sure you know, this is Agent Fredericks, head of this field office,” Rossi introduced. The agents nodded in greeting, only for their carefully blank expressions to turn into one of surprise at his next words. “It seems like our case is connected to an active investigation into a local offshoot of a weakening transnational criminal enterprise.”

Before any of the Quantico agents could ask, Fredericks raised a reassuring hand. “Don’t worry, you are not being sent away,” he said, but the team remained tense, sensing a caveat. “I do have to ask that, even if you have an opportunity to do so, you do not go after the unsub.”

“What?” Prentiss stepped forward, catching the agent’s attention.

The director didn’t reply; he only exchanged a look with Rossi and motioned for the team to follow him as he turned and began to walk away. The profilers shook themselves out of their shocked stupor and followed, exchanging loaded glances with each other and quietly speculating as to what could be going on.

~~~

Reid closed the door behind him before moving to sit at the table in one of the secured conference rooms. Each agent, sans Rossi, had a file and pen in front of them and was directing their focus at Fredericks, who sat at the head of the table with a stack of thinner files next to him and trying not to show his discomfort under the sharp eyes of the profilers.

“I don’t believe I will have to introduce the protocol regarding active undercover operations?” Fredericks checked. Despite their rising confusion, the profilers voiced their affirmation as he stood up, file in hand.

“As Dave alluded to earlier, your investigation has led you to a man deeply entrenched in a local branch of a transnational criminal enterprise, one that the bureau and other agencies have been tracking and working on eliminating for decades,” he motioned towards the files on the table. The profilers took the invitation and began to flip through, taking in the basic rundown of the branch’s activities that were listed inside—all involving rather brutal, but rather forensically clean crime scenes.

“Richards?” Reid said out loud, musingly, “no first name?” Fredericks didn’t answer, remaining unwaveringly silent.

“He started as a standard low-level member and eventually got to taking care of the dirty work the people at the top didn’t want to do,” Prentiss said, brow furrowed. She looked up, “He was in a good position, so why did he go rogue and start killing?”

“Seven months ago, the head of the enterprise died, likely of cardiac arrest. Soon after, his son,” no one missed how Fredericks shot a quick glance at Rossi, “who dropped off our radar twenty-two years ago, resurfaced and took over. Since then, it seems like the new head’s been completely restructuring the enterprise, particularly its membership and structure. This whole affair” The agent dipped his head at the profilers, “seems to be Richards basically throwing a deadly juvenile tantrum because he went from being a feared enforcer to being disregarded by the highest echelons of this local enterprise.”

“And you know all this… how?” Morgan asked in disbelief, though not about the unsub’s motives: they’ve all come across this type (and stranger) before. “There’s no way your undercovers could be in positions that make them privy to this information, not even if they’ve been under for a decade.”

To the team’s increasing suspicion, the agent shot another glance at Rossi, who met his gaze with an indecipherable stare.

“That I cannot tell you at the moment.”

“There’s the resemblance to our boss, SSA Hotchner, and you said seven months?” Morgan pressed. “Is this what Hotch has been working on?”

Fredericks’s stare didn’t waver, though they all didn’t miss how he shifted in his seat as he dodged the questions. “What I can say, and with complete certainty, is that it will be quiet tonight. Richards will not murder anyone tonight—”

“With all due respect,” Reid cut in, “it’s impossible to know anything for certain. Statistically, there’s always going to be some—” he turned faintly pink as he was cut off by a poorly-suppressed cough from JJ. “How can you be so sure?” he asked, keeping it short.

This time, Rossi answered. “While you guys were out visiting the clubs and the victims’ neighborhoods, I was meeting with Charles,” he acknowledged the agent with a look in his direction, “and the agent heading the field ops. And yes,” he said, sensing the questions his colleagues were about to bombard him with, “I promise I will explain, but right now is really not the best time for that.”

Despite hating that they weren’t being told everything, the profilers recognized the need for efficiency and kept silent to Rossi’s approving nod, settling with speculating within their own minds.

“I explained the fuller details of the case to them,” he continued, “and it was decided that we would send the case file and our notes to one of the lucky undercovers who managed to get to a position that made them privy to helpful information. They got back to us with their input within an hour, and after surprisingly little discussion, it was determined that you would be briefed on the situation as it is,” he finished.

Fredericks took over, meeting each team member’s critical eye. “Your technical analyst, Ms. Garcia, has been briefed a short time ago and has started working with our other techs in digging into the members of this enterprise. You would be acting as backup in a field operation,” he didn’t mention his expectation that the firepower they’d provide would end up being unnecessary, “and, in the future, we may request some consults.”

“How so?” Morgan asked.

“In a few hours,” Fredericks began, distributing the thinner folders that had been stacked in front of his seat, “there will be three ‘business meetings’ across Lower Manhattan and one date.” He ignored the strange looks that his phrasing earned him.

“These ‘business meetings’ are when three high-level members—‘enforcers,’ basically—check in on the mid-level members and their activities. There is a ten minute time interval during which these meetings are most vulnerable,” Fredericks watched the profilers rifle through the newest folder, “and in previous raids, that is when we moved in. This time, however, we’re moving in as soon as we get confirmation that the members are all present.”  

“What’s so different about this time?” JJ asked cautiously.

“Assuming that it goes as expected, this will be the last raid that bureau agents will be involved in,” the agent explained. “Over the past few months, we’ve been able to catch a number of members and shut down quite a few operations. From here on out, NYPD will be tying up the loose ends and we will be only peripherally involved.”

Rossi, who was only now learning this much about the investigation, looked up from his perusing, a strange glint in his eye, “You said a date?”

Fredericks’s reaction—an amused snort—surprised them. “Truthfully, ‘date’ is the last word I’d use to describe it, but that’s what he insisted on calling it,” he pointedly ignored the curiosity he could feel pouring off the profilers. He let out a pained half-smile, “There wasn’t a strong reason to say no, especially given his history.” Rossi nodded in understanding, also ignoring the insatiable interest of the profilers.

The director refocused on the team, sensing their curiosity. “While not normal protocol, we have someone in deep cover at the top of the local branch who has a history with your unsub.” Here he hesitated, and the profilers immediately picked up on his discomfort, quickly realizing that they would not like what the agent was holding back. They watched as Fredericks inhaled deeply, bracing himself.

“He also happens to be the object of your unsub’s attention.”

The room was dead silent as the profiling team took in the statement. Three seconds ticked away before the room exploded with noise.

“Hotch?” “How the hell is Hotch involved?” “Hotch’s here?”

“Rossi, did you know?” At Reid’s question, the team went silent, turning their focus onto Rossi. Normally able to maintain his composure while having numerous sets of eyes staring at him, he couldn’t help but shift under the angry focus of the people he’s grown to be so fond of.

“Yes,” he confessed, then raised his voice to be heard over the indignant reactions. “But only that he would be deep undercover as part of an active investigation into a criminal enterprise here in Manhattan.”

That did nothing to lessen their anger. “You looked like you knew what the director was talking about when he talked about the Hotch’s history with the unsub,” JJ pointed out. “What else do you know that we don’t?” she asked.

“We have anticipated the possibility of having this team join the investigation the moment we heard of the developments seven months ago, ”Fredericks intervened on Rossi’s behalf, relieving him from the heated stares he was getting from the team. “However, there is information that you have not yet been cleared to know, and it is Agent Hotchner’s decision and his prerogative to tell you, should he wish to do so.”

“I get that you’re angry, believe me, I do,” Rossi spoke emphatically, “but I ask that you respect Hotch’s decisions. This assignment…” he sighed, feeling a pang in his heart for the man he took under his wing and brought over from Seattle all those years ago. He looked around at the profilers, watching as they softened, the angry light in their eyes still present but dimming, hoping that all would turn out well.

“He knew this assignment would dredge up painful memories, but this was also an opportunity for him to permanently get rid of some of the demons that have dogged his step since he was fifteen.”

~~~

“Do we know what to expect here?” Morgan asked Rossi quietly. The profiling team was in the backroom of the rooftop bar watching the footage captured by the surveillance cameras—which were also being monitored by Garcia down in Quantico, ensuring their functionality—while JJ was outside playing the nervous bartender to the lone customer: a visibly tense, professionally-dressed man in his mid-fifties with a gun poorly hidden under his suit jacket.

Rossi shook his head, allowing uncertainty to creep into his expression. “I doubt Fredericks knows, either, but he probably has a better guess given that he’s been overseeing the investigation and only sent us in for this one.” When asked about SWAT support, the agent had only given them a loaded look and shook his head.

“Guys, movement on camera 3,” Garcia’s voice filtered through their earpieces, directing their attention to the said camera, which had a clear view of the elevators and lobby area.

“Is that Hotch?” They watched in stunned silence as a tall, lean, dark-haired man walked out from an elevator and into the lobby. They noticed a scar running up the left side of his face, one that was at least partially hidden by a thick scarf that covered the bottom half of his face. Like the other customer, he was dressed professionally, wearing a black on black suit under a long overcoat.

Having not seen him in over six months, they didn’t try to suppress the instinct to profile the man who, despite the noticeable changes, they easily recognized as their boss. Six pairs of eyes followed Hotch’s movements: four from the back room, one in her office two-hundred and sixty miles south of Manhattan, and the other from the bar, trying to act as if she’s never seen him.

There was a new darkness in his gaze, even as they briefly lit up in surprised recognition when they landed on the blonde before reverting to the hard impassiveness when he took the seat next to the other customer—Richards, the unsub. Hotch carefully placed his hand just over Richards’s, who tensed even more, though now in anticipation.

“What can I get for you today, sir?” JJ asked, her surprisingly steady voice cutting through the silence of the rooftop bar above the city.

Hotch rearranged his scarf, the dim lighting of the bar putting the whole of the jagged scar on his face on full display. JJ couldn’t help but stare, her mind immediately jumped to the worst possibilities as she wondered how he got that scar.

“A vodka martini, extra dry and two olives, please,” he requested smoothly, bringing her back into the present. She froze as the weight of his stare suddenly landed on her and he pointedly sent a look towards the back room before refocusing his heavy gaze on the unsub.

“I’m sorry. I—I don’t think there are olives ready here at the moment,” she made up on the spot, getting his message. “I’ll, um,” she motioned towards the back room, allowing some of her nervousness to show, “go get them from the back,” she finished. Fleetingly glancing at Hotch as she made to walk to the back, she was relieved to see him give her a barely perceptible nod of approval.

Shutting the door behind her, JJ allowed herself a second to let go of the tension within her after having remained wound up while watching the unsub who, in his obsessive desire, had assaulted and stabbed five people. She shot a fleeting smile towards Reid, who had noticed her hidden agitation and was looking at her in concern, before taking off her blazer and moving to pull on a kevlar vest over her button up.

“He’s changed,” JJ said quietly, moving to watch the two men at the bar sit in silence on the screens. “Colder,” she elaborated when the profilers looked at her in question.

“Knowing what we’ve been told about the people involved in this group?” Reid murmured. “Spending even a month with them is bound to change anyone, and Hotch has been under for over half a year.”

They lapsed into silence when Hotch stood up and turned to casually lean backward on the bar, deftly reaching under the left side of unsub’s suit jacket. The unsub didn’t tense, didn’t move, as Hotch pulled back with a gun in his hand.

“I paid the hotel to open up their seasonal rooftop bar for you, and you bring a gun,” Hotch’s amused, almost offended baritone was picked up by the hidden microphones and came through their earpieces as he smoothly unloaded the gun on camera. “Should I be worried?”

“What can I say, Adrian,” Adrian; the agents’ minds whirled with possibilities. “I’ve been waiting for so long, I don’t want anything ruining this,” the team watched as the unsub finally looked up and moved closer to Hotch, unable to hide the greed with which he took in the taller man’s form.

“It’s impressive, Elijah,” Hotch offered, impassive as ever, though the unsub— Elijah Richards, apparently—didn’t look disappointed at the lack of any emotional reaction. “Last time I had a direct conversation with you was what, when I was fifteen and you were twenty-two, right? The day before I found out that my mother was dying of lung cancer.”

Elijah nodded vigorously, exceedingly happy to hear that he was remembered. “Yes, yes, yes. Twenty-two years ago, over your winter break. You remember that night in your room, our first time?” he asked eagerly.

The team listened with increasing horror and steady, boiling anger. Rossi, trying his hardest to not run out there and shoot the bastard in the face there and then, focused on Hotch, who remained impressively stoic—apart from the eyes that darkened even more—in the face of the delusions coming out Elijah’s mouth.

Out of nowhere, his affect smoothly shifted towards a suggestiveness the team had never seen before. “I do, I remember very well,” he hesitated as if he was nervous about what he was about to say.

“You should know, I came back to take over because of you,” he said quietly like he was confessing a secret. “But my father left behind such a mess, and I had to clean everything up,” Hotch shifted closer to the other man, allowing his voice to soften as he brushed the other’s arm, “I really am sorry I haven’t been able to talk to you sooner.”

In the backroom, the profilers were filled with silent disgust as they watched Elijah’s expression light up with dreamy delight.

Hotch kept the act for a few moments—which, to the high strung profilers, felt like hours—before he suddenly shifted again, dropping all pretenses and letting his expression contort with cold rage within seconds.

“I remember you so vividly. You started out ingratiating yourself with prepubescent boys, seeing yourself as their protector—probably a remnant of your childhood, am I right?” Dark eyes carefully took in the other’s every expression and microexpression, “Your father probably did the same thing to you when you were a child.”

Elijah’s dreamy expression slowly turned lucid as he listened to Hotch dissect his psyche, word by word. “You probably would have gone on sticking with grooming your younger brother and his friends,” the agent continued, “but then my dearest father decided it was time to bring in his eldest. And suddenly, you had a young boy put under your tutelage, one you decided to groom and take advantage of.”

Moving closer to the man, Hotch allowed some seething rage to bleed into his voice. “You assaulted me, physically and sexually, for seven years straight under the pretense of ‘training’ me because you wanted to ‘take care’ of me,” Garcia let out a soft, tearful sound as the others listened, frozen in horror.

“Fine. That, I could have taken care of alone. But,” Hotch’s voice was frigid, colder than the profilers have ever heard it be, “you started beating my little brother to the point of unconsciousness in front of me, year after year until he finally fell into a coma after one of your assaults when he was eight and woke up months later an amnesiac.”

Elijah’s dreamy expression slowly shifted into one of dark, manic anger as he listened to Hotch pull apart his fantasy with every word that came out of his mouth. Reaching his breaking point, he suddenly turned in his seat and lunged at the other man, prompting the team to leap up and rush out into the bar, guns drawn and prepared to fire if it became necessary as the two men crashed onto the ground.

They couldn’t do anything, however, even as the unsub managed to pull a knife from somewhere and slashed at Hotch, who had also pulled out a knife and was fighting back with equal fervor. Neither of them paid any attention to the other agents—Elijah because he didn’t notice them, and Hotch because he knew them and the protocol well enough to know that they wouldn’t be physically interfering. The once-quiet bar became filled with grunts and hisses of pain as the two men landed hits and slashes onto the other.

Though protocol dictates that they should be attempting to de-escalate the situation, none of the profilers could find it within themselves to try and do so—not only because they were admittedly very drawn into the fight, which consisted of an amalgamation of dirty tactics and well-trained strikes, but also because they knew there was no chance of the situation de-escalating, no matter how many different negotiation tactics they could try. The chances that interrupting a fight between a very devolved suspect and a laser-focused agent with a personal vendetta would have even not negative results were basically nil.

The profilers, tensed and ready, watched as Hotch was knocked to the ground and lost his grip on his knife but managed to disarm his opponent in the process. Elijah was in too deep to care, as he nevertheless lunged forward with deadly intent. The profilers quickly brought their guns up and aimed at him, shouts to stop just on the tip of their tongues, when the sound of a suppressed gunshot ripped through the air.

Elijah jerked and managed to stumble a few steps backward before his legs gave out, a sudden feeling of numbness spreading out from his upper abdomen. He reflexively placed a hand over where it felt like it starting from, only to bring it back in front of his eyes when he felt something wet and warm touch his fingers. Elijah looked blankly at the blood on his hand and then at Hotch who was getting up from the ground, gun still in his hand and aimed towards the injured man.

“You know, I was content with letting things play out, letting the feds take care of you and send you to rot in prison,” Hotch knelt down, kicking the knives near them even further away. Somewhere, in the back of Elijah’s mind, he wondered in betrayed confusion as to what was going on.

(—why did you do this to me? I did everything for you—)

“But then I found out about all of the other people you just had to assault and murder over the years in an attempt to play out your disgusting fantasies, and now in a desperate attempt to get the slightest amount of my attention.” His sight blurred, his surroundings darkening as he began to lose the fight against the tantalizing nothingness that threatened to engulf him.

“Well,” the dark baritone whispered into his ear, “you’ve gotten it.”

~~~

He leaned back, uncaring of the blood that was surely staining his suit, which had already been ruined by the knife fight just minutes before. Slowly, methodically, he placed two fingers at the neck, feeling for a pulse that wasn’t there. His gaze didn’t waver from the slowly cooling body that was slumped in front of him, blood pooling on the ground surrounding the torso, not even as he registered the sound of guns being put away and of multiple footsteps slowly walking in his direction.

“Hotch?” He looked behind him at the men and women slowly approaching him as if he were a dangerous animal, their expressions a strange amalgamation of wariness, worry, and relief. He remained silent, his ever-keen eyes roving across the people he hadn’t communicated with or seen in over half a year, picking out the subtle details and changes that have accumulated in his absence.

Somewhere, deep in the dark recesses of his mind, he felt something slowly pushing its way out from behind the barriers he had erected and continuously reinforced after that meeting seven months ago. No, he thought, not right now. He pushed it down for what felt like the millionth time since he first heard that the BAU had been officially brought in on this case and turned away, standing up and looking out over the lights of the city.

The darkness that had been at the edge of his sight for seven months straight didn’t recede, even as Rossi carefully moved to place his hand on his shoulder. He had to suppress an instinctual urge to melt into the warm touch he had been craving for so long, remaining still and meeting the senior agent’s gaze—in which he saw no judgment, no fear—with his own flat one.

“He’s the last one,” the dark undertone his voice had gained during the seven months of deep-cover was still present. “With the raids that have probably just happened, he’s the last one.” There was a barely discernible shake in his tone, one that Rossi, with his history with the younger man, immediately identified along with the blank look in his eyes that indicates the start of a retreat deep into his mind.

Making a quick decision, the senior agent carefully moved to wrap his arm around the younger’s torso and began to gently guide him towards the exit, motioning for the other stupefied agents to stay behind. On the way to the elevators, the duo passed the crime scene techs that came at Morgan’s all clear and were hurrying to the body behind them.

The two agents rode the elevator down in silence, the senior keeping a careful eye on the younger, who was trying to regain some semblance of outward stability before leaving the premises of the hotel. By the time the elevator dinged on the ground floor, the raging storm inside him had been once again suppressed.

As the elevator door slid open in the underground hotel parking garage, Rossi was both relieved and worried to see that Hotch didn’t make a move to shake off Rossi’s arm or to protest his presence. He let the younger man lead the way to a black Mercedes parked near the wall of the garage but forced him into the passenger’s seat before the senior agent entered on the driver’s side and put on his own seatbelt.

“Where to?” Rossi asked softly, gently, once in the car. The younger man shook himself from his near dissociative state and quietly rattled off an address which the older man input in the GPS. The car ride was spent in heavy silence, Rossi still sending Hotch discerning looks while he weaved through New York traffic.

~~~

“Adrian Roan Hendrickson.”

“What?” Prentiss looked at Hotch, confused. “Who’s that?”

“That’s your real name, isn’t it?” Rossi answered in a question directed at the unit chief, who nodded in affirmation. It had been a few weeks since New York; they had spent that time in a strange sort of limbo, wanting to interrogate Hotch but also wanting to respect his privacy.

“Much of everything else you know about my history is still true,” he said quietly, not looking at any of the other profilers in the jet. “But as far as I’m concerned, Adrian Hendrickson died three weeks ago.”

[anotherbeingsworld]

The day we met.

Pairing: Bryce Lahela  X F!MC (Casey Valentine) 

Rating: G 

Word count: 1440 

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, it all belongs to Pixelberry. 

Author’s note: Hi, this is my first time writing in a while and i have the courage of posting this! So, this is sort of a different version for when MC and Bryce meet. I love their first meet up in the first book, but this is kinda like an alternate timeline-ish! Its full of fluff since i’m a sucker for fluffiness hehe! Also, I want to say thank you to @annekebbphotography​ for her advice that she has given to me before, it really helped! Also, i want to say thank you to @maria-soederberg​ for reading it and helping me with this story! She had helped me a lot and THANK YOU to you both! Go check out their stories tooo! Also, to all the fic writers on tumblr for inspiring me to post this! You guys are awesome for putting your work out there! <3 

______________________________________________________________

It is a beautiful day in Boston, the sun is shining, the birds are singing on this wonderful afternoon. The park was packed with people who was interested in relaxing time. There were those who are walking their dogs, families who are having a picnic and even a group of kids playing on the playground.

And then there’s Casey Valentine, doctor at Edenbrook Hospital, smiling widely at the prospect of the day. She and her friends are on their day-off from the hospital, and their daily routine such as work, and the sound of distress.

She was playing Frisbee with her roommates Sienna, Jackie, Elijah, and including Elijah’s girlfriend Phoebe. They had a rough start, since none of them are professionals. But, after a long tutorial on all social media platforms which approximately took an hour before all of them to got the idea of how to play Frisbee. The more they play, the better they get.

‘Casey, go long!’ Sienna shout as she released the Frisbee in her way. Casey was determined to catch it, but eventually ended up falling and bumping into someone.

‘Ouch!’ She squealed as her body crashes into the person opposite her. The mystery person stood up, and picks up the Frisbee which had flown a few steps away ahead of her.

He offered his arm to help Casey up, as an apology for running into her. Casey took his hand, and ended up frozen on the spot. His brown eyes, hypnotizing her for a moment that felt like an eternity, his hair was a bold choice, which she didn’t mind at all and his body was something that should be framed into a museum or even being placed into an art gallery.

After it felt like an eternity, Casey was pulled back into reality as her friends ran to check on her. Sienna immediately placed her hand on her wrist to check her pulse, along with the stranger who is looking at her in a concern demeanour.

‘Casey! Are you alright?’ Sienna asked her.

She rubbed her elbow, and nod to her. Casey accept his offer, and gets up with the help of Bryce after being in a wild imagination about this attractive man in front of her.

‘I’m going to say sorry, but now I am not sorry because it led me to the presence of a beautiful girl.’ The man said whilst flirting with her.

She felt her cheeks burn at his comment, she gazes towards Sienna and Jackie who are giggling at the whole scene. She felt her blush increasing as Sienna whispered something into Jackie’s ear that made them both smile. You could compare the smile with children who got free passes to Disneyland. There would be no difference.

‘My name’s Bryce and I think, I should let you go back to the game.’ He flashed a smile and was about to leave when Sienna called.

‘Bryce, let’s play Frisbee together! We’re dividing into teams of two, you should join us.’ Sienna said to him, making him instantly nod at the suggestion.

‘Good, now Casey c’mon!’ Sienna dragged her arm as they made their way back to Elijah and Phoebe who are in a deep conversation with each other.

‘We’re doing this two versus two; Me and Sienna, Elijah and Phoebe, Bryce and Casey! No questions!’ Jackie announced as they get into position.

Casey nervously made her way to Bryce who’s grinning at her presence, she smiled back but cannot contain her blush to appear when she is around him. Soon, the game commence and the teams play furiously. Jackie’s new profound focus, along with Elijah’s intellect skills caused Casey to feel a bit nervous. Bryce seems to notice and immediately placed his hands into hers, giving her a piece of comfort to ease her nerves. And it helped Casey to play perfectly with Bryce which lead to the fact that they won many games.

Both Bryce and Casey cheered for their victory, and Casey immediately pulled Bryce into a tight hug without realizing what she has done. When the adrenaline ebbs away they suddenly realise in what situation they are and instantly pull away with blushes on their cheeks. Sienna and Jackie both giggle at the ‘incident’ which causes Casey to hide her face in her hands.

 After a dozen of rematches, the sun is finally settling down. Which makes them end the game with the winners being Elijah and Phoebe. They decided to celebrate the victory with a date that was due for a long time. Sienna and Jackie said their goodbyes to Bryce as they headed back to the apartment leaving Casey and Bryce alone at the park as the sun is setting down.

‘You wanna stay for a while, I have a sweet spot to watch the sunset.’ He offered. She didn’t hesitate and nods, not wanting her day with Bryce to end yet. They took a small hike to a secluded hilltop which is a few miles away from the park.

After a few minutes of hiking, they arrived at the top of the hill and Casey is speechless. The view is amazing, they can see everything from up here. They even arrived on time to see the beautiful sunset, letting the sky changes its colours. 

 Both of them sat quietly with each other, admiring  the beauty of nature. Casey suddenly felt exhausted and her head started to feel heavy, so without her really noticing, her head falls onto his shoulder. But then she quickly stood up, and apologized. Bryce just shook his head, pulled her back next to her and offered his shoulder as they sit and watch the beautiful sunset. They both collecting back their energy after the game of Frisbee.

 The night became darker every second, as Bryce walked her home. They stop in front of the apartment and nobody moved. A voice inside of her screamed to not let him go yet, but she’ll be selfish wouldn’t she?

Casey took a deep breath as she stared into Bryce’s eyes as his eyes wanders over her body. Both of them knew that they don’t want it to end, but some things have to end somehow.

‘I guess this is it’

‘Unfortunately’ she muttered under her breath.

‘Hey, I had a lot of fun today. I never knew bumping into someone would turn this day into an adventure.’ Bryce said happily.

Casey smiled at his comment, ‘I had fun too, and thank you for showing me the spot. It’s truly a wonder.’

‘I’d like to do that again sometime, if you want. If you insist-‘ Bryce was stopped by Casey placing a sweet kiss on his cheek

He smiled and they decided to trade numbers with each other, and another sneaky kiss from Bryce before they parted ways. Casey is now laying on her bed, smiling at the events that occurred today. Little did she know, Bryce was doing the same thing.

The next day, she woke up bright and early to get to her shift at the hospital. A walk to the hospital was a breeze as Casey spared all the details to Sienna about her ‘date’ with Bryce the other day.

The day was filled with a busy shift for all the senior residents, interns and surgeons. An accident at the Grand Bridge occurred causing the hospital to be busier than usual but the good news, they were no deaths involved. Casey stepped out of the busy ER, and decided to get to her lunch break. She was distracted by thinking about the cure for Mr Razier’s disease, which ended up making her bump into someone once again.

She immediately apologize for her clumsiness, but instead she froze. It was him, Bryce. He was making his way to her direction as he bumped into her. He was wearing a pair of green scrubs. He looks different in his working attire but in a good way. Casey immediately stood up offering her arm to Bryce as he took it.

‘I wished for this moment to a shooting star last night, and I cant believe it vame true’ Bryce said as he winked at her.

She blushed and said, ‘I didn’t know you work here, and we always happen to be bumping into each other.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t mind seeing your beautiful face once more.’ As he said that, she felt her spine shiver at those words. She took a deep breath, and faces him.

‘I’m having lunch, you want to join me?’ 

‘Well, never say no to free stuff right? Loser buys the other one lunch!’ Bryce said before sprinting forward leaving Casey to catch up from behind.

‘I’m coming for you Bryce!’ She let out a giggle before catching up to him. 

Maybe this year is gonna be fun after all.  

THE END.

 Authors note #2: I hope you all enjoy it! Its been a while since I write, I apologize for any language mistakes since English is not my first language. Dont forget to like and reblog, it helps with to ease the nerves (*insert monkey covering its eyes emoji*), and thank you for reading! <3 

[nitholites]

(this is just me ranting about a lack of an au, ignore if ya wanna)

Where are the Miraculous Ladybug/ Persona 5 fics??

Do people just... Not find inspiration from this crossover? Think there's nothing to do? Have no thoughts on the possibilities?

I, generally, am a petty person. I like seeing karma take the reigns, and I like seeing horrible people get what they deserve (probably why I like persona 5 so much, tbh). And if I had half as much creative genius as the writers on this site, I'd do it myself.

But just imagine...

The Thieves reign for, like, two years

Bcause cops can't catch em, Shido ain't gonna get promoted for a while (or decides to lay low a bit for whatever reason), and Akechi hasn't made the connection yet.

Or, after their first 2 Paris Palaces, they go on like in Canon with Parisian teammates, and the Palace they do before Sae's is Hawkmoth, with Akechi joining them because "this can't take long- Hawkmoth needs to be brought down ASAP and we should be strong enough now"

Poor Akechi's like "????? THE PARIS TERRORIST???? HOW THE HELL-"

"Later, Akechi, but your Almighty attacks are gonna help a lot while we figure out the Shadow's weaknesses"

Then it's Sae's Palace and things go as in canon

Anyway, the Thieves meet The Class on the Hawaii trip

Sees how this sweet, kind, compassionate girl's treated by people around her

They're furious

It brings up horrible memories of their own pasts and beginnings

So they form/join the Mari Protection Squad (MPS for short)

And it's ridiculous how fast the group bonds, and how fast The Class realizes not to mess with Mari with the Thieves (and Shujin kids in general) around

The other high schoolers join cuz with the crap from Kamoshida, they've all grown a backbone

Plus the Thieves are on their side here (now all they gotta do is send a request on the Phan-site... Maybe the Thieves can do something about the Parisian)

(Tikki feels the Thieves' power- and is wary. She'd never felt something like this before- humans wielding the power of their other selves so efficiently)

And Lila, feeling the spotlight slip, makes one grave error...

Showing her true colors to the leader of the Phantom Thieves

But the Thieves know going international isn't something they wanna do- it'll cause a ton of trouble

But when Mari video calls one night and shows the Nav- they realize

Either they take action, or Mari's gonna be sucked into the Metaverse randomly (like Kasumi)

Better take her with them and explain in a controlled setting than get her killed in someone's heart

And, surprise surprise, Lila has a Palace

Like, the distortion is on par with Shido's (which the Thieves will encounter eventually)

Any place she'd been before was part of her cognitive empire

When'd she visit Japan???

And Futaba digs up some major dirt on Lila

Driving victims (who's situations eerily match Mari's) to suicide, forcing victims from the county on major charges, assault, thievery, arson- you name it she's either done it or made everyone believe her victim did

Why hadn't anyone pulled the truth from her yet? The short answer- Yaldaboath

The oversized cup finds her acts entertaining

So they gotta take her treasure now

And Mari, newly realizing she deserves better and beginning to increase her self-esteem, awakens to a Persona

(I dunno who, but having a character have Filibus as a Persona sounds kinda cool)

So she joins the Thieves in Mementos to train and get stronger

And once the Thieves take Rossi's heart, their popularity skyrockets, so they go deeper and deeper into Mementos

Because now, it's like, "Oh shite, these Japanese urban legends targeted a minor are they working with Hawkmoth??"

Cuz when Lila confesses, you bet your sweet bippy there's gonna be a Hero's Day pt 2

And the Thieves come with help from Kaalki because Chat hasn't been a partner in years and Ladybug alone with Kobra can't take them on

Morgana tails Catalyst (Akumatized Natalie) to the Agreste Manor and finds out Hawkmoth's identity

But Adrien catches him

So we get Spy!Morgana, stuck with the Agrestes until the change of heart at the latest

And Mona slips into Gabriel's Palace to scope it out and

Holy hecc, those are tough Shadows (think like in Maruki's Palace) and why is this woman everywhere???

It's a Roman temple, with statues of the same woman everywhere

Like why

And the puzzles are so confusing he can't explore the whole thing

And he eventually makes it back to the Thieves- specifically Mari who freaks when he randomly shows up

Cuz everyone's been looking high and low

And the news he brings isn't happy at all

So their next target can't be Hawkmoth, but they set it as their goal (their second-to-last heist)

In the meantime, Caline Bustier's Palace needs raiding

This woman Shouldn't Be In Charge™, Period.

Her Palace is at the school, and it looks like her definition of 'paradise'- a garden maze

Her childhood friends, co-workers, students- everyone's chilling and getting along

At least while her Shadow is watching

Wherever she isn't, the cognitive beings are at war

It's bright with rainbows and glitter, and it's nauseously obvious Bustier chooses to ignore the world around her to keep the illusion alive

The kicker is, when the Thieves first enter, they see a giant 'painting', constantly shifting and moving to match what happens in the Palace

It's sickening- her poor students

Her Shadow doesn't put up a fight, instead expressing how 'dissappointed' she is in them, how the Thieves need to 'set an example', how they're 'disrupting everyone with this silly rebellion'

They waste no time in taking her Treasure

Adrien's Palace is Agreste Manor as a prison decorated as a mansion

A maze where Shadow Adrien constantly attempts escape, so there's thousands of secret passegeways, rooms, and supplies

The windows, when looked through, show what he thinks the world is like- no war, starvation, illness, sadness.

But, when broken, they show the truth in a million fragments, only to be repaired the next time Adrien's Shadow passes by them

It's a good way to keep tabs on the Shadow

A black blur, who talks and interacts with the world at a minimum, joins the Thieves, explaining what some of the more hidden images mean

At this point, the Thieves know who Ladybug and Chat Noir are, and they're doing all they can to help

Then Okumera happens and Haru joins the group

It's bittersweet, but Haru's more than determined enough to continue being a Thief

Things go on in canon until the time the Thieves would have been in Sae's Palace

She's still a target, but they have a much more pressing deadline

Hawkmoth's been upping the stakes, the difficulty, and the number of Akuma. Paris is in real danger, and they need to stop him

Plus, it'd be hard to pin it all on him without a confession, because Gabriel is an international business

(possible Akechi redemption, as he changes sides after spending longer with the Thieves and seeing the good they can do first-hand)

Might make more later, depending on how this does

[heronwritingx]

chapter 2

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I did not expect so many people to like this little heathney fic, I've read some of the tags from people who reblogged and omg thank you!!! here is chapter 2, I hope you all like it!! 

Heather and Courtney sat across from one another in a small café booth, they didn’t want to be seen together at school to discuss the upcoming downfall of their newest rival – Noah. His rise in popularity as the student council president was only increasing and the two were getting left in the dust. Heather sat on her phone while Courtney ordered them both a coffee, it was Courtney’s idea to meet and Heather refused to go unless Courtney paid. She wasn’t going to have any of her time wasted.

“Let me cut right to the chase,” Courtney said, crossing one leg over the other and folding her arms, “as it is right now, we can’t beat Noah.”

“I’m aware.” Heather retorted.

“But, if we put our votes together though, we’re beating Noah.” Courtney continued.

“So, what you’re saying is…” Heather’s eyes widened, was Courtney really about to suggest what she thought?

“We need to work together to beat Noah. As president and vice president.” Courtney told her.

Heather was interested, she was curious to see what Courtney was thinking. She leaned closer and rested her chin to her hand and her elbow on the table. She raised her eyebrows in curiosity and prompted Courtney to continue speaking.

“Noah’s popular with the…quieter demographic of our school—”

“Losers.” Heather interjected, “Noah’s popular with losers because they think they have a voice through him.”

“I won’t call them that,” Courtney rolled her eyes, “But yes, he’s giving them a voice and there’s so many of them. We don’t stand a chance If we don’t work together.”

“So then, if we do this, if we work together,” Heather leaned back once more and narrowed her eyes, “How do we decide just who gets to be president?”

Courtney only smiled and pulled out a pack of cards, placing the packet down on the table. She was prepared and not only that, she was ready to win. Heather wouldn’t deny it, Courtney wanted president more than she did. She just wasn’t willing to hand it over so easily. Heather pursed her lips and waited for Courtney to say something, just what was the girl’s plan?

“We’ll play a game - Memory. The winner gets to be president.” Courtney said.

“How do I know you won’t cheat?” Heather questioned.

“We’ll have the waitress place the cards down so that neither of us can cheat.” Courtney responded, a smile still on her lips, “the card pack is unopened, I haven’t tampered with it. You can even check it.”

Heather picked up the packet and observed it for a moment, she was right. The packet was sealed. Courtney was usually a fair player, so Heather didn’t have a reason to not trust her. Heather just wasn’t trustworthy.

“Fine, we’ll play a game on Memory.” Heather rolled her eyes.

Courtney grinned excitedly and Heather’s eyes widened, it was…almost cute. She shook her head to get focused and push that thought as far away as possible. Courtney waved the waitress over and she placed the card out face down for them to play. Heather wasn’t exactly ecstatic that they were playing a card game in the middle of a café, but she did like the idea of beating Courtney at one more thing. Courtney however had a determined look in her eye like no other. She wanted to win. She wanted to be president. She wasn’t going to let Heather take that away from her.

Courtney went first – she flipped over one card, an Eight of Hearts. She then flipped her second card, an Ace of Spades. Heather smirked a little as the girl huffed and flipped them back over, while Heather began her turn. She flipped the Eight of Diamonds and very quickly found the Eight of Hearts. It was the first round and she was already in the lead.

“Hm, easy.” Heather flashed a smirk.

“Just take your second go.” Courtney retorted through gritted teeth.

Heather did so, this time finding the King of Clubs and a Seven of Diamonds. Courtney began her turn, finding the Queen of Hearts and the Four of Hearts. The turns continued, one finding a pair and getting a streak, before losing and handing that streak over to the opposition.

Heather was surprised at how intense the game got all of a sudden. She had eleven pairs to her name and Courtney was behind by one – with ten cards left on the table. Heather leaned close as she lifted her next card up with just her nails, flipping it to reveal the King of Diamonds. Heather hesitated for a moment before picking a card and flipping it over – the Jack of Spades.

Courtney almost lunged forward, she had a competitive drive Heather had never seen before. She looked determined but every time it was Heathers’ go, she was all of a sudden very nervous. Heather knew Courtney wanted to be president but the effort she was exerting just to win a silly card game was ridiculous. Courtney flipped her two cards over and grabbed a match, the Ace of Diamonds and the Ace of Hearts, evening the playing field. Courtney then took her second go, finding another match and for the first time, taking the lead in the game. Heather’s eyes widened as Courtney almost bounced off her seat with joy, yet she fell back in disheartenment when she didn’t complete the next match. There were only three pairs left now – someone had to win.

“Before I take my next turn,” Heather said, lifting her coffee to her lips and taking a sip, “Why do you want to be president so badly?”

Courtney lifted her head and her eyes met Heather’s, the Asian girl noticing that Courtney’s eyes for the very first time. They were big and a dark brown, but there were these flecks of light brown that the sun hit in that very moment that made them look as if they were sparkling.

“College.” Courtney answered simply, tapping her foot impatiently.

“It can’t just be college, Court, don’t bullshit me. Noah wants it for college, you, you want it for more than that.” Heather snapped, holding a card hostage in her hand.

Courtney frowned but obliged, Heather wasn’t going to continue until she got the answer she was after. Heather had determined eyes and she was more competitive than anyone Courtney had ever met; she wasn’t going to give in until she got the answer she wanted.

“My brother and sister were both student council president and so were my parents. If I’m not, then I’m a disappointment.” Courtney told her, her voice softening for a moment.

Heather’s eyes widened, she didn’t know if Courtney was faking the story to get her way or if she was speaking the genuine truth, but something panged at Heather’s heart that usually wouldn’t. It was something she’d noticed; it was something that only Courtney did to her. She flipped the card she had in her hand and placed it down, revealing it to Courtney.

“The Queen of Diamonds.” Heather said.

Courtney had flipped the Queen of Hearts more than once earlier in the game – she knew where it was, and her eyes were even telling Heather that. The truth was, Heather knew where it was too. Her fingers glided over the card and she pursed her lips, before lifting the card beside it.

“Damn, the Three of Spades.” Heather sighed, returning the cards to their upside-down position.

Courtney hesitated for a moment. Did…Heather just lose on purpose? Courtney flipped the Queen of Diamonds back over and took a deep breath, Heather’s eyes following her fingers as she gently touched the card that would seal this game.  

She had won, fourteen to eleven. She jumped onto her toes and clapped her hands, she won! She won! She actually won! Courtney was running for president!

“I won! I won!” Courtney cheered, grabbing the attention of the other customers in the café, “I actually won!”

“Jeez, sit down, you’re so embarrassing…” Heather muttered, glancing away as her cheeks flushed a little red.

It was…cute. It was really cute how excited she was, and Heather hated that she thought it was cute. She couldn’t even look at Courtney without that pang in her heart making its way to the forefront of her mind.

“So, it’s settled, I’ll be running for president against Noah.” Courtney said triumphantly, sitting back down and folding her arms.

She was unable to hide her smile– she was thrilled to have won. Heather was almost beginning to regret letting her win though.

“So then, what’s your grand plan?” Heather questioned.

“First, we need to get our campaign ready. Posters, badges, the whole thing! That’s what we’re doing this weekend. On Monday, we’ll announce we’re running together.” Courtney told her, “It’ll be worth it just to the look on Noah’s face. He’s convinced we’re going to tear each other down and he’s going to win that way. He won’t see this coming!”

Heather nodded along until she realised what Courtney meant. She had to spend her weekend alone with Courtney making posters. She had to be paid money to even do that! Courtney just expected her to rock up and make posters for a whole weekend? Heather had a life!

“Seriously? You’re going to make me spend my whole weekend stuck with you?” Heather snapped, crossing her arms.

“If we don’t start with a bang, we’ll never beat Noah.” Courtney retorted, “I don’t want to spend the time with you either, you know.”

“Fine, fine,” Heather muttered, a sigh slipping through her lips.

Courtney couldn’t stop smiling though and Heather forced the grimace to stay on her face. She then held out her hand, her eyes staring directly into Courtney’s.

“Give me your phone.” Heather said in a demanding tone.

“What?” Courtney asked.

“Give me your phone so we can exchange numbers, obviously.” Heather scoffed.

This time Courtney obliged but not without dropping a snarky demand about Heather being unable to send her harsh messages whenever she felt like it. Heather sighed and entered her number into the girl’s phone, before Courtney added herself to Heather’s phone.

“Then that’s it?” Heather asked.

“That’s it,” Courtney nodded, “Come over to my house at ten am on Saturday. I’ll text you the address.”

Heather just agreed and let out an annoyed sigh, she could not even begin to imagine just what would happen that weekend.