#fucking refuse to give money to anything that uses invasive advertising like that

[keylimepie]

Why the fuck is tumblr advertising Y2k? Can I go a day on this hellsite without some distracting garbage littering my dash? Has staff ever heard of being moderate?

[sushireads]

yoongi fic recs

this is a list of yoongi fics i’ve read and loved very much! enjoy. <3

ps. all fics with 🍙 are the ones i loved a little bit more.

“Where’s my kiss?” by @mintseesaw​

fluff | drabble | 1.6K words

A Wish Out of Water by @jimlingss​

🍙, fluff, humor, fantasy | two shots

A genie could solve all your problems. Though you wouldn’t even know exactly what to ask for - money, a warmer house, a better job, a better life? But Min Yoongi is no ordinary genie. He’s here to make your life a living hell. Too bad it was hell to begin with.

GENIE au

All I Want for Christmas by @hayjeon​

🍙 | one shot | 13K words

CEO, CHRISTMAS, SECRETARY, SINGLE DAD au

an out of bounds umbrella by @yoonsgiggle​

fluff | one shot | 10.2K words

you’re apologetic about almost blinding your university’s star point guard with the broken tip of your umbrella until you share a class with him and find out he’s a three star recruit but a four star dick or min yoongi doesn’t find your high school musical puns amusing.  

BASKETBALL PLAYER, COLLEGE, ENEMIES TO LOVERS au

aquiver by @floralseokjin​

🍙, fluff, angst, smut | series

Yoongi can’t remember the last time he was able to successfully bring himself to the point of orgasm, then Namjoon gives him a business card advertising ‘Healing Hands’, and that’s where he meets you; pretty and innocent looking, who gets paid to provide hand jobs for a living…

IDOL au

bad boys bring it to you by @yuengi

smut | one shot | 7.1K words

TATTOO ARTIST au

Black & White by @akinnie75

🍙, fluff, angst | one shot | 24.7K words

You finally confessed to Yoongi after he asked if you like him. His response is to give you a contract to sign. However, you soon realize that Yoongi manufactured your emotions and manipulated you to like him all for the sake of his senior project.

SLOW BURN au

Blackthorn Manor by @kpopfanfictrash 

one shot | 7.5K words

After becoming the assistant of professional recluse Min Yoongi, you begin to notice strange things. Noises which shouldn’t take place, shadows which shouldn’t move like they do. You’re almost convinced that you’re crazy - until something happens, something unbelievable to make you realize you’re not.

GOTH au

Blow by @inkofyoongi

smut, fluff | one shot | 5.5K words

Yoongi loves you, even if he’s never said it… but gestures sometimes speak louder than words.

BOYFRIEND au

budapest by @junghelioseok

smut | one shot | 11.1K words

over many years and across several dozen cities, you fell in love.

SECRET AGENT au

Clair De Lune by @yoonia

smut | one shot | 23K words

You were ready to leave a part of your life to move on to the next, and he is willing to give you a chance to end it glamorously. But at what cost? And will he be a part of the life you are leaving behind or will he be there for the next part of it?

—part of @bangtansmutcentral‘s In The Mood Project

ESCORT, MUSICIAN au

Cut Me Open by @hayjeon

angst, smut, fluff | two shots

—a spin-off from Cardio Palpitations

MARRIED COUPLE, SURGEON au

dancing with the devil by @minnpd

smut | one shot | 6.8K words

Easy Rebound by @ditzymax

smut, angst | one shot | 6.5K words

Yoongi is one of the star players on the college basketball team. You are the head of the cheerleading squad. The pair of you would make the most beautiful (if most cliché) couple on campus, except neither of you have ever wanted anything more than the frequent, casual fuck. Yet somehow Yoongi finds his emotions straying towards dangerous territory.

BASKETBALL PLAYER, CHEERLEADER, COLLEGE au

ego: hoe chronicles by @suga-kookiemonster

smut | one shot | 7.2K words

he was messing with you again. he was messing with you, trying to get a reaction out of you simply for his own amusement. but you refused to give it to him—refused to give him the satisfaction of playing right into his hands.

—an alternate universe of ego

COLLEGE, FRAT BOY, FUCK BOY au

eight by @cupofteaguk

🍙, fluff | one shot | 5K words

or, Eight times Min Yoongi tells you he loves you

IDOL au

First-Date BAIT! by @jimlingss

fluff | two shots

First dates are embarrassing. First dates are awkward. I’ve been through countless ones, sitting across from people who bored the living daylights out of me. It was less exciting than watching paint dry. Some dates were so utterly rude - I think you and I both know what it’s like to be on the receiving end on that. But now we both don’t have to waste our time anymore!

With First Date Bait they went out for me! Afterwards, they informed me if it was recommended to go out on a second date. It’s amazing with a 99.99% accuracy rate! That’s how I ended up meeting my husband!

First Date Bait.

Why waste your time with awkward first dates?

—part of the Service Series

Hades by @littlemisskookie

horror, smut, angst, fantasy | one shot | 9.4K words

You meet a rather dreamy- albeit annoying, new kid who sweeps you off your feet. Too bad it’s in the middle of a series of murders around town.

GREEK GOD au

heavy sugar by @kinktae

smut | one shot | 8K words

The Roaring Twenties were a time of great economic wealth and social change. But beneath the jazz music and colorful speakeasies were mafia led organized crimes and bloodstained cash. You knew this well, but try as you might, you just couldn’t ignore the dark and enigmatic gangster whose eyes lingered on you from across the room.

—part of the rewind series

1920s, GANGSTER, FLAPPER, MAFIA au

i’m not your daddy by @scriptaed

🍙, fluff | one shot | 2.5K words

learning that his daughter no longer wishes to wed him but rather his now-arch-enemy jungkook marks the most soul-crushing day your husband has ever had to endure. no one, and he means no one, is more deserving of his angel than daddy min himself, and he’s willing to do anything to earn his daughter’s heart back.

DAD, PARENT au

Ink Nemesis by @scriptaed

🍙, angst, fluff | series

As an aspiring writer drowning under the public’s radar, a click of the pen is all you need to accept your supervisor’s offer to co-write an article for the SS - Secrets Spilled, a regular section of your company’s weekly tabloid; but fabricated stories and invasive details aren’t all that you write when you discover Min Yoongi’s dirty little secret. 

FAKE DATING, IDOL, PAPARAZZI au

La Douleur Exquise by @cinnaminsvga

ON-GOING | fluff, angst, smut, fantasy | series

in which you accidentally summon an incubus in the middle of your shitty apartment and he won’t leave until you agree to have sex with him. until then, min yoongi, incubus extraordinaire, is now your sexually promiscuous and grumpy roommate. aka, the incubus au no one fucking asked for.

INCUBUS au

Melody companion by @prisczero

fluff | one shot | 3.6K words

“A soulmate story where Yoongi can hear everything that you listen to, but only if it is music.’’

IDOL, SOULMATE au

Miss Dial by @versigny 

ON-GOING | 🍙, smut | series

[11:31] You: okay so i’m texting you now like I promised instead of drunktexting yoongi and telling him how badly i want his cock tonight. Arent you proud?

[11:32] unknown number: this is yoongi, hi

FRAT au

Mixtape by @jungblue

🍙, smut, fluff, humor | one shot | 15.6K words

Two mystery students from your college run the podcast dubbed ‘mixtape.’ It’s become a sort of phenomenon around campus, listened to by almost everyone. In their most recent episode they discussed various study methods… One of them being oh so tempting.

COLLEGE, PODCAST PERSONALITY au

Next Door by @personasintro

smut, fluff | one shot | 10.3K words

Your neighbor doesn’t respect your complaints about him being loud, but you don’t let it slide so easily.

ENEMIES TO LOVERS, NEIGHBOURS au

petals by @yoonia

🍙, fluff | series

IDOL, PARENT au

see you soon by @cupofteaguk

fluff, angst | one shot | 7K words

In which you live in a world where one stroke of a pen against your skin is a signage of forever, and Min Yoongi just has really good timing 

SOULMATE au

She’s Testosterone by @jimlingss

🍙, crack, smut | series

Drop dead gorgeous, cute and sassy - you adore your best friend. But is there more beneath the surface? Who exactly is Min Yoonji?

YOONJI au

so i heard you like bad boys by @scriptaed​

fluff | one shot | 4.7K words

while others see min yoongi as the resident heartthrob of the school - quiet, resilient, and mysterious - you can’t see him as anything other than your dorky best friend since childhood; but what you don’t know is his long desire to be anything but that, even if it means becoming the bad boy in town… or at least try to.

COLLEGE, FRIENDS TO LOVERS au

stay high by @personasintro​

smut, angst | one shot | 16.5K words

You’ve to stay high to keep your ex out off your mind when he comes back into your life.

EXES au

Studio cuddle by @mintseesaw​

fluff | drabble | 1.8K words

Tired from work, you went straight to Genius Lab in the hopes of being able to cuddle with Yoongi. You did not hesitate to press the passcode of his studio, knowing he might get pissed off for interrupting him from his work.

IDOL, PRODUCER au

Sweeter than Sweet by @gimmesumsuga​

fluff, smut, angst | series

“You never would have expected someone like Park Jimin to notice you. As handsome and beguiling as he is deadly, you’re enthralled from the very moment you meet. Addicted to his kiss and his bite, Jimin opens up your eyes to a whole new world of love, lust and seduction.”

VAMPIRE au

the blue coat and cerruti 1881 (a flash fire) by @yuhdongsaeng​

angst, fluff, smut | two shots

that’s the thing about flash fires. they’re intense outbursts of flames that reach their maximum heat quickly and don’t last a long time. hell, they don’t even get to fade before they cease to exist. however, flash fires may be intense and short, but the floor beneath them is ruined forever.

IDOL au

The Truth Between Us by @jimlingss & @gukyi

🍙🍙🍙, fluff, angst, fantasy | series

a book deal should be the most exciting time of your life, but there seems to be a constant and omnipresent damper on your mood in the form of a certain min yoongi, who you would just cut out from your life, if he weren’t your editor. but then, the world shifts beneath your feet, and you begin to wonder if maybe you’ve always been looking at life from the wrong angle.

ENEMIES TO LOVERS and loads more aus— just stop what you’re doing and read this masterpiece!

want a taste by @suga-kookiemonster​

smut, humor | one shot | 18.3K words

pretzel pro. most skillful tongue in the food court world. allegedly. that’s what yoongi keeps telling you, anyway. of course, you’re reasonably skeptical of his claims—but if there’s one thing that motivates the notoriously-lethargic man, it’s proving skeptics wrong.

—part of the you never shop alone collaboration

FRIENDS TO LOVERS, SHOPPING MALL au

what you did last summer by @winetae​

smut | one shot | 33.8K words

Yoongi was fine with a lot of things—you maxing out his credit cards to buy ridiculously expensive items of clothing that you never wore more than once, you taking out his newest ride for a spin without permission, you spending an extra thirty minutes on your hair and makeup when he was running late for a dinner function.

What he was not okay with, however, was you sharing your pussy with barely-out-of-college boys who were incapable of going five seconds without creaming their pants.

No, that was where he drew the line.

↳ alternatively titled; How to Get Dick - an autobiography written by (you)

TROPHY WIFE au

back to navigation.

[katsitting]

Uhhhm hi can you pls write a tomarry drabble/one shot thingy where they try to keep each other warm while theres a storm outside or smth bc i just saw the textpost. Pls and thank you

It took me some time, but here you have it. You may find the fic posted here on AO3. I hope you enjoy my take on this trope. This is an 11k word fic ^^;.

Rating: M

Tags: Swearing, Violence, Uresolved Sexual Tension, Alternate Universe- Office, Workplace Harassment, Humor, Suggestiveness, and Tags Subject to Change.

“He’s staring again,” Ron whispered into Harry’s ear before stuffing a donut into his mouth, crumbs of sugar smearing on the corners of his upper lip. Harry grimaced, shifting his attention to the pretty red-headed server at the other end of the diner. “This marks the fifth time this week.”

A groan rumbled from Harry’s chest, appetite leaving him entirely now that Ron had pointed out that Riddle was, once again, sitting at the diner and staring at him.

Harry had been content with just ignoring it. He was more than aware of the fact that Riddle was there. It was difficult not to notice when he worked with the bloke, and Riddle had made it almost routine to head to the same diner Harry frequented after work. How the man knew Harry’s schedule was beyond him. After all, they had never spoken to one another outside of the office.

Ever.

Of course, they’d interacted one or twice at work, the niceties and all that rot were necessary as supervisors at the company. That, however, did not necessarily mean that they saw one another often—or had the opportunity to—in the first place. They ran in completely different circles.

Harry was head of an entirely different department at work while the creep ran another at the opposite end of the building. The creative department and accounting department hardly ever interacted.

Ron cast a glance behind Harry’s back, and Harry wanted to groan into his hands.

“Would you stop giving him attention? He’s going to notice that I’ve noticed. The last thing I need on my day off is for him to think that you looking at him is an invitation to sit down with us.”

This was supposed to be his time to sit back and relax after an awful week of dealing with executives and their stupid complaints. How those stuffy executives could complain about every single detail, particularly when Harry didn’t even deal with the sales of the products, was beyond him.

He just handled the graphic designers and the digital artists, not the math and figures. That was what accounting did. The creative department looked at viewers and their interests. They measured their receptiveness to a particular advertisement over another. They weren’t paid do the rest, and even if they offered to pay for such services, Harry refused to.

It would only give him another reason to leave the office.

Harry’s work wasn’t…exciting. It was a decent job while waiting for the processing at the police academy to go forward, but it would never be enjoyable. The company policies were absolute shite.

At least with the police department he would be doing something he liked while still dealing with the nonsense of the bureaucratic world.

He just needed to hold out for a little longer. He had met all the requirements, had done all of the physicals. All he needed to do was wait and then he could quit his job and dedicate himself to the force.

It killed him to wait, but it would be incredibly stupid to quit months before he’d even get approved. He needed to save as much money as he could before he was inevitably penniless for the next few years as a low-tier cop.

“I mean, you should just talk to him. It’s not like the bloke is going to bite your head off or something.” Ron said with his mouth full of donut, eyes still trained on Riddle even after Harry had asked him to stop giving the bastard attention.

“Ron, you don’t know Riddle. There’s just something off about him, you know? Don’t you ever get that feeling about someone—” Harry began, casting an exasperated glance at Ron when he didn’t immediately answer. “—like there’s more to a guy than what he lets on? He’s so…polite and charming at work. He’s practically got everyone wrapped around his finge—”

“Do I, Mr. Potter?”

Harry froze at the sound of a familiar, masculine drawl. Horror and recognition speared him, only just noticing that the reason Ron had stopped talking was not because he had shoved a whole donut into his mouth, but because Riddle had risen from his seat and had made his way over to where they were seated at the counter.

“I was not aware you had that kind of impression of me.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—

Harry swiveled around, almost toppling from his chair when the tip of his nose nearly collided with Tom’s chest.

Why was he so bloody close?

Harry pressed his side into the counter, uncomfortable with Riddle’s invasion of his personal space before leveling the man with an irritated glower. The fact that he looked ridiculous this way hardly registered to Harry.

“And you probably never would have had you minded your own bloody business.”

Shock spread over Riddle’s stupid handsome face, and sweet sweet vindication surged through Harry’s insides, a smirk stretching over his lips when Riddle did not immediately respond.

Good, it served him right.

“It’s a pity, then. Our company retreat at the end of this week will certainly be ripe with awkward tension.”

Harry’s smirk fell, shoulders tensing at Riddle’s mention of their forced retreat. He’d forgotten about it entirely. It was something the CEO of the company had been harping on for the past few months. Something about improving relationships between supervisors and executives, and all that rot.

It was absolute bullshite.

“Did it slip your mind? Oh, I understand if it did.”

Riddle’s expression twisted into one of pity, the glimmer in the man’s eyes far too bright for Harry to believe it was sincere.

Wanker.

“The holidays are right around the corner. I’m sure the executives are keeping you quite busy with the marketing.”

Harry slammed an open palm onto the counter, startling both Ron, who had yet to say a word since Riddle had graced them with his parasitic presence, and a couple sitting not too far behind Ron.

If looks could kill, Harry’s glare alone would have killed Tom fucking Riddle at least ten times. His pitying glance combined with the obvious heat to the man’s words had all but pushed Harry past his boiling point. There was only so much bullshite he could deal with in a single week, and Riddle’s was not the kind of bullshite he was being paid to handle.

“One more word, and I promise that after I’m through with you, no one in the office will ever call you handsome for the rest of your miserable life.”

Riddle blinked at him, the pitying expression slipping off his face like an oil slick. Then—

The man smiled.

All the blood in Harry’s veins froze at the sight, unable to comprehend what was happening before Riddle leaned down, pressing into his personal space until their noses were nearly touching.

“Kinky.”

It was one word. A simple, unobtrusive word.

But in that moment, it sounded anything but. Frankly, it was a word Harry knew from that moment forward would forever remain ingrained in his psyche until the end of his days. Harry didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to bloody do. He was flabbergasted, confused to his very core because Riddle’s voice had…changed. Sounded huskier and breathier, somehow.

Riddle’s smile widened, his eyes flashing with something Harry refused acknowledge, before Riddle pulled back and turned to leave.

Thank god.

“H-harry?” Ron whispered into Harry’s ear, but Harry wasn’t listening. His mouth was wide open with shock, an embarrassed heat coiling over his face that was definitely not a blush. It burned him from the inside out, his humiliation at being thrown by that word almost worse than the unmistakable heat in the man’s voice.

Don’t let it get to your head, Harry. It was him just fucking with you, is all.

“What happened just now?” Ron asked again, once Riddle pushed past the double doors of the exit.

Turning to Ron with the straightest face he could muster, Harry paused, unsure of how to even begin. He honestly didn’t know anymore than the Ron did, and he had been the one subject to Riddle’s unwanted attention.

“I—” Harry swallowed, unable to finish his response.

In the four years he’d been working at the company, this was the first time he shared more than five words with Riddle within a 24 hour period. And somehow, in the span of 15 minutes, Riddle had not only managed to get a rise out of him—something no one, except for his ex-boyfriend Draco had ever been able to accomplish—and embarrass him.

Pressing his hands into his eyes, careful to avoid crushing his glasses, Harry groaned aloud, casting Ron a tired look after he finished.

How he was going to survive the company retreat after this bloody spectacle was the million dollar question. If he’d nearly lost his patience after speaking to Riddle for 15 minutes, there was simply no telling what a weekend at some winter resort would do to his sanity.

“I don’t know, Ron. Your guess is as good as mine.”

To say that Harry was tired of this trip was the understatement of the century. Already, he was dreading the fact that he had to be stuffed in some cheap bus with Tom Riddle, the newest bane of his existence, for a whole fucking weekend. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this kind of treatment. Maybe, somehow, he’d pissed off the wrong deities while working as a supervisor and this entire trip was just a means for those aggrieved gods to acquire their retribution. Harry honestly wasn’t sure.

Either way, Harry was done with this day and it had only just started. An unsurprising fact considering Tom Riddle had decided to sit beside him on the bus. Harry was certain his angry expression had been obvious. He hadn’t been hiding his displeasure from the moment Tom Riddle entered the bus—fashionably late of course, but no one was going to ride his ass about that, now were they—and sauntered over in his direction.

Harry had made a calculated decision to sit in the back, knowing, of course, that Riddle being the straight-laced goody two shoes that he pretended to be, had always been one to sit in the front nearest to the conductor to ensure that nothing would go amiss. The supervisor for the accounting department of the firm was not required to do all that, but no one would dare say something to the contrary.

Tom Riddle had just about everyone wrapped around his bloody finger, and there was no telling just who might end up fired should they cross Riddle.

That was what had happened to the last intern that had come into the fray a few weeks back. They entered the accounting firm and simply never came back, disappearing into the ether to never be found again. Of course, no one thought it odd that the poor intern just hightailed it out of there, except for Harry, but nevertheless, that was how the company went.

Yet, somehow, in spite of Harry’s careful consideration of all these facts, Riddle still felt the need to follow him all the way to the back of the bus. The thought of flinging himself into oncoming traffic had crossed his mind once or twice since then.

“Hello, Harry.” Riddle purred next to his ear, his side pressing uncomfortably into Harry’s side. It was unsurprising that he of all people refused to abide by societal norms, such as personal space.

Personal space wasn’t a foreign fucking concept.

“It’s been too long. How are you?”

Harry grit his teeth, staring hard at the traffic moving away from the city. They were leaving his home, his place of sanity, and heading into an unknown small town in the middle of fucking nowhere at some “winter palace.” At least, that was how the brochure for the place had painted it, but Harry did not believe a word of it. It was a load of bullshite in his honest opinion. It was simply another way for his bosses up top to convince their over-caffeinated and exhausted employees to play nice and stick it out until they could find replacements that did their work with far more efficiency and less ambition.

“Are you looking forward to the trip? This might be your only time off after the holiday craze begins.”

Whipping around, Harry leveled Riddle with the most intense glare he could muster. He wanted Riddle to stop talking. Didn’t he understand that Harry wanted nothing to do with him? That after their fucking fiasco at the diner, Harry wanted to avoid him?

It was basically sexual harassment what had happened at the diner. He should have reported it to human resources instead of sucking it up and ignoring it, wanting to pretend that it never happened. But whatever, it was too late now. They were trapped on this bus with perhaps six other supervisors from the company that Harry hardly interacted with on a good day.

“I don’t know what gives you the impression that I want to talk to you, but I don’t. What you did at the diner was sexual harassment. Hell, you’ve been stalking me for bloody months now!”

Harry was breathing heavily by the end of his tirade, but Riddle was utterly unfazed. His eyes were taking him in from the wild curls atop his head, to the angry flush of his cheeks, and down to the collar of his thick coat.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a terrible temper, Harry? It’s quite unbecoming.”

What?

Harry blinked, disbelief draining all the anger he clutched into his chest.

Riddle was completely bent. An utter nutcase.

Harry had never felt more certain of this fact that in that moment, eyeing the thick green scarf wrapped around Tom’s throat, covering a portion of his mouth.

“Can’t you just leave me alone? Pretend I don’t exist? You’ve done a marvelous job of ignoring me at work functions, why stop now?” Harry asked, defeated. It wasn’t much to ask. He was going to leave his job anyway. It would be peaceful, a mercy in and of itself, for Riddle to let him go on with his business without incident.

But Riddle wasn’t a kind man. Clearly, Harry’s hunch about Riddle’s true personality had not been wrong, for in that moment, Riddle’s lips curved into a wicked smile. His eyes flashed with something downright cruel, and Harry’s stomach plummeted all the way to his ankles.

“Oh Harry, now what would be the fun in that?”

Sighing loudly, Harry turned his attention back to the window to watch the flurries of snow pass. There was no use answering that question. He’d be wasting his breath trying to convince Riddle to stop.

So, rather than argue with Riddle til his face turned blue, Harry instead watched the world pass through the window—the buildings growing smaller and smaller until there was nothing but countryside. An agricultural paradise that went on endlessly with only the occasional interruption of a car passing through, until those interruptions too, ceased.

If Riddle crowded closer to him on the bus, Harry didn’t say a word to acknowledge it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The words came unbidden, his genuine shock and frustration at what he was seeing impossible to hide.

The “winter palace” that the CEO had spent months harping about to his employees was no palace. It would be too generous of a statement to call it anything but a run down warehouse. When he saw it from his window, only several feet away from the driveway they turned into, Harry had hoped that this building would not be their stop.

But he had been wrong, resigned to his fate when the Greyhound bus stopped right at the iron entrance of the place.

“Clearly not.” Tom whispered into his ear, reminding Harry that Tom was sitting beside him and had, in fact, heard Harry’s curse. “It seems that our stay at the “Winter Palace” will not be a pleasant one.”

Harry pressed his face into his hands, wondering if it was too late to turn back. This was a literal shit-hole. The building looked like it hadn’t been renovated in at least twenty years. The iron gate they had driven through was rusted, the tell-tale red and brown patterning around the iron like the scales of a snake.

“Alright everyone.”

Harry was forced away from his thoughts, attention turning to one of the executives sitting at the front of the bus, who he vaguely knew as Mike. The man rose from his seat, his inky black hair and sallow skin gleaming unnaturally beneath the dim light trickling through the bus windows.

Here comes the bad news.

“We’ve divided you all into pairs. The rooms can only fit two at a time. We understand that you were all under the impression of sleeping in your own rooms, but autumn season was not a kind one to the company.”

Harry huffed, miffed that they would use such an excuse on them. They weren’t ignorant, lower-tier employees that didn’t know just how these things went. To say that the executives had planned to provide them with their own accomodations was a lie and a terrible one at that. They never intended to in the first place. Why would their boss bother to give them a wonderful room when he could be spending the company money as he saw fit? On other things that were of little to no importance to anyone but himself?

“Please try not to switch rooms. Management has made it clear that all parties staying in their hotel must remain in their rooms. It was this agreement that allowed us to receive the lower rates that we did.”

A snort nearly escaped him. Of course, Harry thought. It was all about the cheaper rates with these arseholes.

“If you have any issues or concerns with your accommodations, please notify the front desk. This trip is non-refundable, so unless you have good reason for needing to leave early, we will deduct the difference from your salary.”

Great.

There was no escaping this place. There was no way in hell he would pay for this disaster of a hotel. He’d sooner ask Riddle over for tea and biscuits before letting them take a cut of his salary.

“You look quite upset, Harry.”

Grinding the crown of his teeth, Harry turned his attention back to Riddle. He’d nearly forgotten the man was there, caught up with his own thoughts and frustrations concerning this stupid company. It shouldn’t have surprised him that they’d pull this kind of stunt after all the bullshite they’d flung in their general direction for years, but still. This was no reward for their hard work at the company, and certainly no gift, if the stakes of leaving before their stay was anything to go by.

It was punishment.

“As I should be. This place looks like a bloody death trap.” Harry hissed, his expression going sour when Riddle smiled, all teeth. It made every single hair on the back of Harry’s neck stand on end, the unsettling whisper of danger lurking in that face enough to make him press closer to the window and away from Tom. “Look at it. There’s cobwebs on the bloody windows and the front porch has uneven floorboards and chipped paint.”

Tom turned away from Harry to regard the hotel with a thoughtful expression, leaning further into Harry’s space. Harry tried not to let his impatience show when Tom took his sweet time to look at it, as if this were some kind of expensive art piece at a famous art gallery rather than some shite motel.

It was only after Harry began to shake his leg that Tom stopped and turned his attention back to him.

Then, just as Tom was about to speak, Harry’s attention was forced away from the dread of staying in this crappy place and his irritation with his bizarre co-worker.

“Alright then. We took the liberty of pairing you all off—” the man paused at the loud groans and complaints that erupted at that. Harry only pinched the bridge of his nose. “—it was not my idea. This was something the head personally cooked up. Don’t give me that look, John.”

Harry glanced at Mike, then followed his gaze to the supervisor he’d mentioned by name. He was tempted to flash him a smile and give him a thumbs up for expressing what everyone certainly felt at that moment. To be paired off with people from the company they did not even know was a pain in the arse. What if Harry hated them? What if they snored?

With his sleeping habits, he doubted he could sleep a solid night if his roommate was loud.

“Anyway,” Mike continued, ignoring the collective murmurs of displeasure from everyone on the bus. “I will call out the names of those that will be rooming together. So please, once you’ve been called, it’d be great if you would head to your rooms. Check-in is in about fifteen minutes and they have a strict check-in policy.

Of course they did, Harry thought, his mouth pursing into a thin line. They picked a fucking shitehole that hasn’t seen a customer in possibly years.

They’d tack on as many conditions to their stay as they could, if it could justify them keeping their security deposit and charging added fees.

“Robert Smith, you’re with Frederick Wilton.”

Harry didn’t recognize the names, and promptly after watching a portly, dark haired man storm out of the bus with a scowl on his face, Harry wondered if the partnership was a terrible one.

“It would be amusing if we ended up sharing the same suite.”

Harry jumped, smacking his leg against the bottom of the seat in front of him. Riddle had whispered into his ear, lips brushing against the shell. It had been too close, and Harry rounded on him in seconds, uncaring that he was nearly at his wits end and going to leave with a massive bruise on his shin.

“No,” Harry said vehemently, nostrils flaring. “It would be an absolute nightmare to be put in the same room as you. You have no fucking respect for personal space.”

Tom smiled at him, eyes twinkling with a mirth that had no business being on his stupid face. They were not friends, and would never be. The man was a creep, and it would be a crime against all of humanity—but most of all, a personal attack against Harry—to be put in the same room.

Lord knows, Tom might fucking watch him as he slept.

A shudder crawled up Harry’s spine at the thought.

“Harry, I hope you are aware that our transportation is rather small. I cannot help that I am a large man that takes up quite a bit of space.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Sure, the Greyhound bus wasn’t large by any means, but that did not excuse Riddle leaning into him and whispering inane things into his ear throughout the entire ride. It had been suffocating to have him breathing his same air, his hot breath and voice brushing along the shell of his ear whenever the bus so much as rocked—

“Yeah, but do you have to whisper into my bloody ear? It’s unnecessary. You could tell me all about the crap that crosses your mind without your mouth getting anywhere near me—”

“Is there something wrong with my mouth being near yours, Harry? My, that’s quite an inappropriate thought to have of a fellow employee.”

Sputtering, Harry tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t end with him punching Riddle in the face. When he couldn’t, Harry opted to level Riddle with a glare and say—

“Yes, there is something very wrong with it. It is precisely because you are my co-worker that I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

Tom leaned back into his seat, hand cupping his chin, his stupid smile still stretched along his lips. “And yet here you are. You simply could have moved to another seat if you were so offended by my presence.”

Harry blinked, frowning when he realized that Tom was right. He could have moved. Nothing was stopping him from leaving—there had still been space when he’d sat in the back in the hope that Tom would not follow.

Still, that didn’t answer the question of whether Tom would have let him leave in the first place. The man could have followed him to another seat and annoyed him there. Or worse, if Harry had sat beside someone else, have pulled his weight as one of the favorites at the office and gotten the poor bastard to move and let him slide in beside Harry.

Had Harry really had a choice? No, Harry thought with conviction, absolutely not.

“Oh, that’s rich. As if you wouldn’t follow me wherever I decided to sit. You were always following me to that diner, so how was I supposed to know you wouldn’t follow me to another bloody seat?” Harry demanded, watching how Tom’s shoulders tensed before smoothing out.

Victory surged inside him, a vicious smile stretching over his lips. Good, Tom should be annoyed.

However, rather than reacting as Harry had expected, Tom began to laugh. Harry was flabbergasted.

It was a deep and throaty sound, one that Harry had never heard before. An angry blush spread through his cheeks, irritation blooming inside him like the burn of an ulcer when Riddle didn’t stop for a solid minute.

Bastard.

The chatter of the other people on the bus was lost to the cacophony. Even Mike’s annoying voice calling out names had dissipated into nothing, the sound of his blood rushing to his ears and Riddle’s laughter too difficult to ignore.

Then, it abruptly stopped. Riddle’s expression sobered, and Harry’s breath hitched when Riddle pressed forward until their noses were touching, faces so close that Harry could count each individual lash framing his eyelids.

He tried to rear back, but there was nowhere to go. He had chosen the window seat, and was already pressed as far back as he could to the glass and the uncomfortable polyester chair he was sitting on.

“You’re right—” Riddle said, voice dropping to a low murmur that Harry strained to hear even with how close they sat. “—where else am I going to get my entertainment if not at your side?”

Harry froze at the flash of something predatory in Riddle’s eyes, like the kind of look Harry had seen Ron give his mother’s home-cooked meals after he’d spent months surviving off his own cooking. Throat suddenly dry, Harry tried not to shrink into himself when Riddle’s mouth parted and a hot breath fanned against his lips.

He didn’t want to think about what that meant, about the implications in the man’s words and the way he looked at him—

“Harry Potter.”

At the sound of his own name, the strange tension between them dissipated. Riddle pulled away from him in an instant, granting Harry the space to breathe and turn his attention back to Mike. The man looked just as exhausted as Harry felt.

The bus was nearly empty save for the two executives still seated at the front and a pair of supervisors seated just behind them. A bad feeling bloomed in his chest, realizing that if there were only seven people on that bus, and Riddle was still sitting beside him, then—

“You’re with Riddle.”

Shock spread through his insides, the sound of Riddle’s low laugh beside him drowned out by the horror that followed.

No.

“Don’t even try it, Potter. Unless you’re willing to pay 800 pounds for your room and the special amenities the company has provided, you best keep your mouth shut and take your things into the room.”

At Mike’s steely tone, Harry clamped his mouth closed and clenched his jaw. When he had opened it to complain, he didn’t know, but at that moment, Harry wished more than ever that he could give everyone a piece of his mind. This was a disaster. They had no idea what it was that they had done, pairing him off with Riddle as if Harry would be able to sleep comfortably with that creep breathing down his neck.

Harry didn’t bother to spare Riddle a glance, shooting up to his feet and pushing past the man’s legs to head to the front of the bus.

Anger fed his movements, his scowl turning lethal when Mike gave him a pitying glance as he passed. He didn’t bother to look back and see for himself if Riddle was following after him. He probably was right at his heels, his longer legs making it easy to dwarf any space Harry managed to put between them.

Bloody perfect.

When he finally emerged from the bus, its doors wide and letting in winter’s frigid breath, Harry turned to see that his things had already been taken down from the storage compartment.

It wasn’t much. Just a small carry-on bag and a hiking bag carrying the essentials necessary to survive the duration of his “vacation.” He had at least three different winter coats packed into the backpack, mindful that it was going to be in the negatives for the entire weekend, and it would be stupid of him to let himself go unprepared.

Grumbling, Harry scooped the bag and slung one strap over his shoulder. He pulled out the handle of his roller bag, and began walking toward the set of buildings further out from the driveway.

Upon closer inspection, Harry found that the building looked even more run-down than it did from a distance. There were cobwebs on the upper suites and cracks in the pillars, which held up its once opulent entrance.

Great.

It was a lonely walk. His footsteps and his own breaths the only sounds cutting into the silence that descended over the place. His colleagues were nowhere to be found. They had long since made their way to the hotel, perhaps an attempt to escape the hideousness of the building and the biting cold cutting through their coats. It was a good thing Harry had packed well, he would have joined them in their desperation to get inside, otherwise.

Then, just as Harry was reaching the unsteady cover of the porch, footsteps sounded behind him. Harry did not turn, knowing already who it had to be. There were five others left on the bus, so Mike would still be inside with the remaining passengers.

“In a hurry?” Tom said, the sound of his footsteps growing louder and louder, alerting Harry of the unpleasant reality that he was getting closer. “Our destination is one in the same. Why not enjoy the weather? There is still time before we have to check-in.”

Gritting his teeth, Harry did not turn back even when Tom finally caught up to him and mirrored Harry’s brusque pace to the main building. There were several edifices stretched on either side of this main one, all in varying degrees of ugly. He hoped the inside was nicer than the outside.

“No.” Harry finally said when Riddle followed him, his movements easily mirroring Harry’s own. It added to Harry’s annoyance. “I just want to head to my room and forget that I am stuck here for an entire weekend with you.”

Riddle did not speak after that. It was the closest to a reprieve Harry had gotten all evening. The man wasn’t known for his chattiness, but on the bus, the bloke just didn’t know when to quit. Talking and talking about his observations of each of the supervisors and his opinions on the debacle that was this entire trip.

He could not immediately recall Tom ever talking this much in the past. This was more words than Harry had exchanged with Tom in his entire time at the company, including the fated afternoon where Riddle approached him at the diner.

Perhaps, if Harry hadn’t been so creeped out and annoyed with Riddle, he might not have minded the chatter. Ron was not a quiet guy, and neither was Hermione when someone fired her up, but Riddle was a creep. An attractive-looking man, but a creep all the same that placed too much weight on his attractiveness to get him special treatment at the company.

“There are worse things than being in a room with me, Harry.”

At the sound of his name, Harry turned to Riddle, slowing down so that he didn’t end up eating dirt and snow. He hoped his skepticism at the comment was obvious. There was nothing he could think of that could possibly be worse.

“Yeah? What?” Harry asked, humoring him when Riddle looked entirely too serious with his scarf wrapped around his neck and two massive luggage bags gripped beneath his fingers.

“Being trapped with a monster hiding in plain sight.”

Unease bloomed low in his stomach when Riddle smiled a beatific smile. A shudder rippled through him that had nothing to do with the cold air cutting through his cheeks.

He didn’t say anything in response, turning back to look at the wooden doors of the hotel. There wasn’t anything he could say to that. It had sounded like a warning, an ominous promise that made all the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end.

Harry hoped Riddle had only been kidding and that there wasn’t some special meaning to what he’d said.

Harry had been right when he said that the hotel was a literal death trap.

At first, when they’d stopped by the receptionist desk to pick up their keys, the place had looked decent enough. It was marginally better than the exterior of the building, at least. Tasteful potted plants and landscape paintings lined the cream-colored walls, adding an air of sophistication that the outside lacked.

However, after checking in and learning that their suite was a great distance from the main entrance, Harry had grown immediately suspicious. After all, it was one thing to be within the same area as everyone else, but entirely another to be cut off from the rest of his co-workers.

They’d been assigned to Suite S, which turned out to be a separate building entirely. It was its own private space and there was only one room. A place, he found, that was better suited for couples wishing to escape noisy tourists rather than for jaded company employees.

Then, of course, just when Harry had thought the entire thing could not possibly get worse, when they opened the door, the interior of the room was a wreck. It looked like something straight out of some cheesy 90s porno. The couches were made of velvet. The bed was decorated with cheesy heart pillows and red satin sheets that looked to be stained with something he didn’t want to think too hard about.

There was an air conditioning unit and an electric hearth within centimeters of one another, pushed against the opposite wall facing the bed and the two white nightstands.

Apparently when his company had selected the rooms, they had, in their desperation to get a solid deal for the whole trip, had forgotten that this was meant to be a professional affair and not some shite attempt at matchmaking.

“Well, this is certainly interesting.” Tom chimed in, stepping past Harry and into the room with his luggage in tow.

Interesting was not the word Harry would use to describe this disaster.

“They must have made a mistake.” Harry said, stepping into the room and sighing in relief when there were at least two beds in the room rather than the one he had seen from the entrance.

Thank god.

“I doubt that they did. It seems that this room has all the trappings of a love motel, but the fact that they’d at least included a second bed and a kitchenette on the other end suggests otherwise.”

A flush stained his cheeks at the mention of love motels. God, Harry hoped that the room hadn’t been used as one for some time now and that the sheets were laundered well enough.

Harry didn’t think he could take many more surprises.

“Hopefully, they’ve recently renovated this room and washed the sheets.”

Harry did not dare dignify Tom’s comment with a response, kicking the door shut once he’d dragged his things inside.

The room was hideous, certainly, but the thought that this had once been a hotel where people slept with each other made him green with nausea. Sex wasn’t something he got too much of or pondered on, after his split with Ginny and his disastrous relationship with Draco. But to sleep in a bed where he knew others had fucked? That was too much even for him. At least, when the hotel didn’t having the history of a sex hotel, he could pretend no one had sex in those.

“I can’t sleep like this.” Harry said, trying to recall if he’d seen a laundry room somewhere in the building on his walk over to the suite. Management had mentioned that they did have a place to launder their clothes, free of charge, but where that was, was a mystery.

“Well, the sun is still out. There would be no need for you to rest until the sun at least sets.”

That was not the answer Harry had been hoping for, a loud groan escaping him when he sat on the bed, its springs creaking with his weight.

“This sucks.” Harry sighed, realizing then that there would be no way out of this. The laundry room was possibly on the other side of the place. He was sharing a room with Tom Riddle, who didn’t seem at all fazed by potentially sleeping on sex-drenched sheets, and this was a weekend long excursion with no escape until the length of their stay ended.

At the sound of rustling cloth, Harry turned his attention away from the carpeted floor and glanced at the source.

Harry wished he hadn’t. Riddle had removed his shirt, his bare chest pale white beneath the incandescent light of the suite. His trouser button was undone, a band of dark green poking from the slit where his trousers laid open.

Turning away immediately, Harry tried not to blush with his discomfort. “I swear to god, Riddle, couldn’t you have changed in the bathroom? You’re not in the privacy of your own damn flat.”

The rustling stopped and Harry barely kept himself from turning once again when the side of his bed dipped.

“I’m well aware that I am not alone.”

Riddle’s voice had come far too close for comfort, his breath fanning across the bare skin of Harry’s neck. “If you do not wish to see me, then avert your eyes. I am not forcing you to look at me.”

With that, Riddle pulled away.

Harry didn’t say anything else after that, the haunting memory of Riddle’s hot breath against his neck and the fact that he didn’t care that Harry was there with him, a poignant one.

God, Harry thought, pressing his hands into his face, this is going to be a fucking nightmare.

Thankfully, his rooming together with Riddle hadn’t ended in catastrophe. Despite realizing he was staying in a renovated love hotel and learning that Riddle honestly gave zero absolute shits about personal space, Harry acclimated rather quickly.

As long as Harry didn’t think too hard about what Riddle did in the room or about what people had done on the bed, it was bearable. Riddle, for the most part, left Harry to his own devices and didn’t demand any more than was necessary of his time. Most often, Riddle talked to him about inane things like the weather and the flaws of each employee currently staying at the place, but it wasn’t too bad. He could handle it.

However, things took a turn the second day of their forced cohabitation.

Apparently, the hotel had a partnership with one of the local resorts that offered discounted pricing on sledding and skiing equipment. The company had offered to pay for the whole thing, as a means of quieting the complaints of almost everyone. Apparently, their rooms were shite. Something about the air conditioning unit not working and the room being plagued by a bizarre odor—Harry wasn’t certain on the logistics.

So far, his room had a fully functional heater and his room did not smell of strange things. The smell of cheap detergent wasn’t ideal, but it was markedly better than the stench of sewage and garbage that his co-workers complained of from theirs.

Either way, after many complaints from the disgruntled supervisors, the company had relented in paying for their equipment for that afternoon. The resort itself wasn’t a “resort” by any means. It was more of a small shack with a bustling hearth and maybe one or two employees manning the whole place, but it seemed to pacify the others.

Except Harry.

He wasn’t fond of the idea, if he were being honest. The hotel had a terrible reputation and after looking up reviews on Yelp for the equipment rental store, Harry was even more convinced that borrowing anything, even when it was free, was a bad idea.

If only he had followed his instincts and not allowed Tom to badger him into coming along with everyone. He would have preferred to stay inside, warm and comfortable, rather than out in the snow with a man he disliked immensely and fellow co-workers he had no reason to talk to.

Harry sighed, sulking as he waited to go down the small mountain. They had been taking turns, the more seasoned skiers taking the lead while the other less experienced bunch watched on with terrified and intrigued eyes.

He’d skied before. Sirius had taken him out once when he’d been a teen and it had been fun. Watching Sirius eat snow more than once while Remus had watched on with a fond smile had been worth all the bruises he’d earned trying to learn.

However, this was nothing like those lazy winter afternoons. There was no Sirius or Remus here to poke humor at his expense. There was only Riddle and the other equally exhausted employees waiting to have a go before retiring for the day.

“Are you ready?” A voice whispered into Harry’s ear, rousing him from his thoughts.

He turned to the voice, frowning when, of course, it was Riddle who had spoken. He was the only that ever whispered so damned close to his ear.

“About as ready as I’ll ever be.”

He ignored the small smile that spread along Riddle’s face before turning back to the winding path before him. It was a long ways down, white with snow and littered with patches of evergreen.

“You don’t look very thrilled, Harry.” Tom pointed out, stepping forward to stand over the edge of the hill to Harry’s right. It looked like Riddle planned to go along with him. Why he wanted to do something like that beyond Harry. “Why don’t we make things a bit interesting. Start a bet of sorts?”

Harry paused, turning his attention back on Riddle. He was smiling still, his eyes bright and mischievous. It made something turn in his stomach, as if he’d already taken a dive down the mountain.

“A bet? What do you have in mind?” Harry hedged, humoring the bloke if only to satisfy his own curiosity. It wasn’t common for Riddle to gamble, especially when he was the one that ran the company’s accounting department. It was strange.

“The first one to reach the bottom of the mountain gets to ask for one favour of the other.”

A frown stretched across his face while Riddle’s smile remained in place. That didn’t sound like a good enough deal to him. What could he possibly want from Riddle?

A favor? There was nothing Riddle had that Harry wanted.

Harry was about to reject the offer and turn back to the mountain when Riddle’s hand clamped on his arm, smile gone. Something in his insides wrenched at the contact, the proximity between them reminding him of the bizarre event on the bus and the strange conversation on their walk to the front desk the previous day.

This couldn’t be good.

“If you win, you could ask me to never speak to you again.”

Oh.

Surprise made his mouth part in shock, his eyes growing wide at the fact that Riddle would volunteer that kind of favor. It was…tempting. Harry didn’t want anything to do with him, so perhaps asking him to leave him alone, well. That sounded almost too good to be true.

Harry narrowed his eyes, immediately suspicious.

“And why would you risk that? So far, you’ve shown little interest in honoring my personal autonomy.”

Riddle didn’t speak for a moment, his hand still grasping Harry’s forearm. It wasn’t a death grip by any means, but it definitely wasn’t a hold Harry could easily shake off without getting into a scuffle.

“Because it would be fun. What is the point of a bet if one of the parties is not interested in his prize?”

That was a good point, and Harry’s lips pursed at that. He wasn’t wrong. He wouldn’t agree to a bet if there was nothing in it for him.

Still, Harry thought, that still doesn’t answer the question of what Riddle could want.

“And you? Are you interested in your prize? Why would you want a favor from me?” Harry asked, unable to curb his own curiosity.

“I am interested, I wouldn’t be asking for a favor if there wasn’t something of worth to be gained.” Riddle offered, his fingers tightening on Harry’s arm minutely before releasing it entirely. The flesh ached where Riddle had gripped him. “I am only interested in the favor itself. One that I can cash in at a later date when necessary.”

Well…that did make some sense, Harry thought. He knew enough about people to know that sometimes they were just happy knowing that they had someone watching their back. He would be the first to say that he didn’t know Riddle, but he also knew that although he was odd and creepy, he wasn’t mass murderer. He said strange and cryptic things Harry didn’t always follow, but he wasn’t evil.

What was the worst that could happen? Riddle already followed him around like a debt collector, how bad would it be to owe him a favor?

“Alright, I’ll do it. Just don’t get any funny ideas, okay?”

Riddle tilted his head to one side, lips stretching into a thin smile that looked far more genuine than all the other expressions he’d seen Riddle wear, before outstretching his hand. Harry didn’t hesitate to take it, shaking on their agreement.

“Agreed.”

Nodding, Harry turned once again to the hill. His goggles were pressed against his forehead, and he grabbed the ski poles and readied himself. At his side, Harry took one quick glance to see Riddle do the same, gearing up for the race. He looked determined, strangely sober for a race that was allegedly meant to be purely for fun.

“Ready?” Harry asked, tugging on his goggles, ever so grateful that he’d opted for contacts that afternoon.

“Ready.” Riddle said.

“Then, on three.” Harry said, fingers clenching tightly around the ski poles, a bead of sweat gathering on the nape of his neck.

“One.”

Harry turned away from Riddle, watching the clouds obscure the sliver of light above them. Dark and oppressive, reminiscent of the shade of Riddle’s own eyes.

“Two.”

Harry’s heart was racing a mile a minute, euphoria and adrenaline close companions as he prepared himself for the race. It’d been a long time since he’d played games with high stakes.

It felt good.

“Three!”

They were off. The wind blowing against his face was relentless, the darkening sky and the sensation of his skis hitting the snow one that made his blood sing. He didn’t turn to look if Riddle was following him.

In that moment, it was Harry and the snow. The wind was all he could hear, the biting pressure of the air cutting through every layer of his coat and his thermal underwear. It was thrilling, and he couldn’t help the smile that stretched over his face when he pushed on, wading through the snow like a sea snake swam through a river.

A whoop tumbled from his lips, and he watched how the trees passed him in a blur of green and white, rocks and other debris easily avoided with a careful push of his ski poles. It was amazing—he’d forgotten just how much he enjoyed this feeling.

“Harry!” A voice cut through his excitement, loud and familiar. He almost turned toward it, befuddled that someone could be shouting his name when he was flying through the snow at a speed that was almost unreal.

“You have to turn back!” Frowning, Harry did turn his head at that, confusion coloring his face when up at the top of the mountain there was a crowd of onlookers that he couldn’t identify. They were too far for him to see their faces, but their screams rang through the sound of rushing snow and wind.

“There’s a storm brewing, you have to stop!”

A storm?

Trepidation bloomed in his stomach, recalling in that instant the darkened clouds that had begun to gather at the top of the sky, the sun nearly overcome when he’d been talking to Riddle earlier.

There had been no mention of a storm on his weather app, he had checked three hundred times to make sure. It was unprecedented that things could unravel so quickly.

“Watch out!”

At that loud cry, Harry had one split second to turn around and look forward before he smashed into a tree, his body careening out of control. He screamed, eyes falling shut as the snow and his own inertia forced him down the hill and further away from the screaming voices of his colleagues.

His body lifted mid-air, rolling through the ground in a heap of limbs. Harry had no time but to buckle down when his ankle smashed into a rock, an ear-splitting crack sounding in the air. A cry tore from his lungs, the pain making his eyes water when his body continued to roll further down until he could hear nothing but the sound of the blood rushing to his ears and his own whimpers each time he jostled his leg.

Help!

Harry couldn’t scream, mouth filling with snow as he continued to roll until finally, he smashed into what could only be another tree, halting his descent. Everything hurt. His fingers were wet and sticky with blood from when the rocks along the path had cut through his coat and into his skin.

There was no telling how long he laid that way. It could have easily been an eternity before he gathered the wherewithal to open his eyes.

Blinking, he tried to repress his tears when he tried to get up and unwittingly awakened a deep, pulsing pain concentrated on his ankle.

A swear tumbled from his mouth, then a whimper, his eyes blinking away the darkened spots of his vision to take note of his surroundings. He didn’t dare move as he took in the winding trees towering above him and the bloodied snow. No, he held perfectly still, afraid to jostle any other injuries.

Fuck, he should have been paying attention. It was a rookie mistake to turn one’s back, to lose one’s concentration while in the midst of a run.

“Hel-help, somebody,” Harry cried out, coughing when his lungs began to protest at his efforts. “R-riddle? Someone!” He didn’t know why he called for him, why he would bother, but he had to try. He couldn’t just lay there, helpless while a fucking storm rolled over the horizon.

There was no response. It was only him and trees around him. The sky, in the time that it took him to come to a stop after hitting every rock and fallen branch on the way down, growing darker. Purple and heavy, the threat of a storm thick in the black clouds that floated above the trees.

Perfect, just bloody perfect.

Harry laid there helpless, unable to do anything as he waited for someone come find him. He was certain he hadn’t rolled too far away from the main skiing camp. There was only so much inertia a person had before they stopped, and Harry doubted he could have gotten very far.

But when the minutes seemed to stretch out for what felt like an eternity, Harry’s confidence began to wane. Apprehension crept over his senses, the possibility of dying out here in the cold while he bled out, a heavy one that made his breaths come far too quickly.

So much for a wonderful vacation, Harry.

“Harry!”

At the sound of his name, Harry perked up, wincing when he jostled his arm, realizing that he’d probably broken it too when he tried to break his fall.

“I’m he-here!” He screamed. His voice echoed through the trees, and he prayed in that moment that whoever had followed him down there had heard him. He didn’t know how long he could last if he didn’t get some help.

He had already lost feeling in his extremities, the numbness more terrifying than the actual fall. When one started going numb, that was when fingers or limbs were lost. Eaten away by the frost, victim to winter’s cruel breath.

“Harry, where are you!?” That voice came again, closer this time. Harry tried to crawl toward it, teeth aching when his ankle began to pulse in time with his racing heartbeat. It was so fucked that Harry doubted he could put any weight on it—he’d need a doctor to fix it if he didn’t want a permanent limp. “Harry!”

“I’m here. I’m here!”

Harry was screaming bloody murder, crawling toward the voice. His nails dug into the snow, his fingertips, even with gloves, tingling with each mound of snow he dug through to push himself forward.

A shadow passed over him, lurking from somewhere inside the trees, and Harry opened his mouth to scream again.

“I’m here, please. I’m here—” His throat was aching fiercely by the end of it, scratchy and hoarse. He doubted he could keep shouting without losing his voice entirely.

The minutes trickled by, the shadow lingering in the trees for a long stretch of time, before the shadow broke through the trees and ran toward him. Harry couldn’t quite make out the person, his vision was coming in and out, blood loss and pain taking its toll on him after forcing himself to crawl that one meter he had.

“Harry…”

The person threw himself to the snow beside him, his hands, gentle and so warm, pulling him up to rest his head over his lap.

“You idiot,” the man said, fingers carding through the hair peeking from beneath his cap. It was a miracle it hadn’t fallen off, with how quickly he’d rolled down that mountain, but he was grateful for it. His insides were cold, his hands and feet had gone numb. “You could have gotten yourself killed. Why would you look back while skiing?”

Harry coughed, head lolling to one side. His head felt heavy, as if weighed down by stone. His vision was growing darker and darker as the minutes passed, and it was only at the stranger’s curse that he became aware that he was being scooped up, the pain in his arm and ankle yanking him out of the strange haze settling over him.

Whimpering, Harry tilted his head to regard the man that was now dragging him by his waist and shoulders toward, what he assumed, was the hotel.

It took him an embarrassing amount of time to recognize who this person was. The goggles, cap, and thick coat had obscured most, if not all, of the man’s features.

“R-Riddle?” Harry said, throat dry and aching as he was pulled along. “They sent you?”

Riddle fixed his gaze on him then, his dark eyes the only discernible feature on the man’s face. They were intense, a glimmer to them that made something nervous jolt in Harry’s stomach. It wasn’t a pleasant look. One might even say that Riddle looked upset. Harry didn’t get it.

“I sent myself.” Riddle replied, his eyes staring into Harry’s eyes. It almost hurt to look at him, the strain of his eyes making his head pound. “When I saw that you were nowhere to be found, I set off looking for you.”

That made sense. They had both pushed off the top at the same time. It would be odd not to find his competitor after they’d both made their gambles.

“The storm should be here soon. I did my best to find you before you became buried in it.” Riddle continued, his movements careful even though, in retrospect, Tom should be rushing to find cover somewhere. There was no time for him to be gentle with him. His ankle and arm were broken, but what did his limbs matter if he didn’t survive in the first place?

“Riddle, then you might want to hurry up. I-if we do have a storm coming, then you shouldn’t be this slo-slow.” Harry coughed, cheeks itchy with dried tears as he tried to compose himself through his hacking fits. Maintaining conversation was a strain, but he couldn’t just be quiet when their lives were at risk.

“We’ll be fine. There’s a cave not too far from here.”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and allowed Riddle to guide him to the cave. It was certainly no hospital, but he couldn’t afford to be picky. There was no time to make it back to the hotel and avoid the storm. A quick glance towards the sky revealed that it would be upon them at any moment. It had gone a sickly dark purple, the sun eaten entirely by the terrifying weather.

Heaviness swept through him, the same sensation of floating away making his head fall against Riddle’s chest. He was exhausted, eyes struggling to stay open when Riddle’s rocking movements lulled him to sleep. It didn’t help that his fear and adrenaline had gradually dissipated, Riddle’s words and presence serving as a comfort for the real danger he’d be in without it.

He didn’t want to die here. Not now when there was so much for him to do, when his life was only just beginning. How terrible would it be to die with his last memories being this shitty trip? No, he refused to die here.

Riddle did not speak for some time, the sound of his steps crushing snow and his own breathing the only thing to break the eerie silence that had settled between them. Harry tried to stay awake, shifting his head to look at Riddle, but the numbness was too much. Even Riddle’s heat, though welcomed in that moment, was not enough to drive away the chill still clinging to his limbs.

“Ar-are we almost there?” Harry said, eyelids falling shut and refusing to obey his desire to remain awake. It was dangerous to fall asleep, to give in to that strange sensation undulating beneath his skin. He’d heard stories, seen enough survival series to know that sleep was the last thing he wanted to have when he was losing blood and freezing his arse off.

“Harry—” Riddle said, but Harry could not make out his words. They faded in and out of his hearing, even when Harry’s cheek vibrated with the force of Riddle’s voice. There was something calling to him, something familiar.

Harry…

It was a soft voice. One that sounded an awful like his mother, singing for him to close his eyes and to dream. He recognized it, latching onto it desperately because it was his mother’s voice. It was unmistakable, the rich velvet of her tongue speaking his name could not be anything else.

Sleep, my darling, my son.

A smile crept over his face and the world became nothing. Haziness settled into his bones, over his fingertips until there was nothing but her.

Close your eyes and let yourself be free…

The lolling motions ceased, evaporating like a white mist.

Cover your ears, I’ll be here…

His mother had never come back. Her voice and the rich scent of her hair were the only memories he had of her—her face and her hair, a nebulous nothing that he couldn’t recall with detail. Not when it’d been years since she’d died, since his father had joined her in the afterlife, leaving him at the mercy of the Dursleys…

To battle the monsters reaching for your feet…

“Harry!”

His eyes snapped open to a sea of grey, his chest heaving with shallow breaths as he tried to make sense of where he was and why it was so damn bright…

“Don’t close your eyes. You must stay awake.”

He blinked repeatedly, trying to will away the black spots flickering over his vision.

“W-where—?” Harry coughed, unable to finish his phrase when the short puffs of air turned into heavy wheezing. His eyes burned, tears threatening to fall from the violence of his breathing. It was so terrible that it took him a while to notice the warmth stretching along his back, rubbing soothing circles against his clothed flesh.

There was no telling how long he remained that way, equal parts enjoying the warmth seeping into his back and hating the burn of his throat.

God.

“There, that’s it. Breathe in through your nose and let out slow breaths from your mouth.” A masculine voice whispered into his ear, a strange sensation blooming in his belly when lips grazed the shell of it. “Try to stay awake. You cannot fall asleep in your condition.”

Confusion spread through him, and then—

Harry glanced down after his coughing subsided to find that his ankle was bent in a way that he’d never seen his leg bend before. It was lying on the floor, his trousers smeared in blood and dirt, the cuff torn so as to reveal bruised and swollen flesh.

There was no pain despite its grim appearance.

Swallowing, Harry was just about to ask what had happened when all of his memories came at him at once. The bet, the cries of an oncoming storm, the loud crunch of his ankle and arm making impact with tree and rock, the sight of his blood on white snow—oh god, his blood—and the cold. A fierce, unwavering cold that spread through him as sickness cut through impoverished villages.

“O-oh god,” Harry stammered, the lack of feeling in his legs and fingers making panic choke on his spit. “I-I can’t feel my fingers, my feet—”

“You were out in the cold for some time. There’s no need to panic. I’ll try to get you warmed up as we wait for the storm to pass.” Riddle—yes, that was who this was—said into his ear before his arms wrapped around him.

Harry stiffened, unable to repress that reaction, before he inevitably sank into the embrace, unable to resist the heat Riddle emitted. It made his blood warm, his body tingle strangely to be pressed against his body after winter had nearly devoured him with her icy mouth. There was a strange sound beneath the background, not nearly as loud as the sound of Riddle’s voice or the heartbeat beneath the man’s chest, but it was there.

It was a constant thrum.

“Unfortunately, in the time it took me to bring you to the cave, I was not able to gather some dry wood to start a fire. We will have to make do with one another’s own body heat until the storm tapers off.”

Storm…? That had to be the source of the sound. It couldn’t be anything else.

Then, the reality of Riddle’s words finally registered. It was nearly enough to spring him from the brink of death.

Sharing body heat? If this had been any other situation, Harry might have balked at such a suggestion. But he was out of options, nearly having died for the second time that afternoon by sinking into hypothermia.

Had he been out that long that he’d nearly succumbed to it? Had he lost that much blood that he’d thought it a great idea to give in to the weakness in his body? There could be no other possibilities.

“H-how long did it take you to find me, out in the snow?” Harry asked, voice shaking.

“Three hours, possibly. I cannot be sure.”

Closing his eyes, Harry sank deeper into Riddle’s body. He couldn’t believe that he’d been out that long. Could he have passed out after his fall? Harry frowned, a gasp escaping him when he moved his arm and a searing pain shot past his elbow and up to his shoulder. It made his eyes water, reminding him once again that he was far more injured that he’d originally thought.

“Careful. Try not to move. You’ve broken your arm and ankle. It is also possible that you’ve sustained other injuries not easily seen.”

No shit, Harry wanted to say, but refrained from doing so. As much as Riddle annoyed him on a good day, the man was helping him. He’d come out to his rescue, had saved him not once, but twice, from death. Riddle had been nothing but helpful, his touches gentle and soothing even when they came from someone as strange as him.

It was uncharacteristic how such an unfeeling man in many ways managed to be understanding of his pain. Perhaps, Harry might have misjudged him? Had jumped too quickly to conclusions by convincing himself that Riddle was an unfeeling automaton?

Guilt cut through him, recalling some of the unwarranted insults he’d thrown in Riddle’s direction when the man had done nothing but make conversation. He supposed now was as good a time as any to apologize and thank him for his help. He would be dead if not for his intervention. It was the least he could do.

“Ri—”

A sharp intake of breath cut off whatever apology or amends Harry intended to convey. Hot air fanned against the back of his head before something hard poked it, a something that was unmistakably a nose—

“D-did you just bloody sniff me?” Harry said, eyes wide with disbelief when Riddle did not cease the gesture, breathing him in as if he’d been waiting years for this privilege. “Are you really doing this right now?”

Harry was too shocked to feel any anger. He was injured, exhausted, and trapped in some cave for an indeterminable amount of time. He didn’t have it in him.

“We are quite close. There isn’t much room for me to breathe elsewhere.” Riddle replied smoothly, almost too smoothly. Harry’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced, but didn’t push the issue. There was a time and a place for arguments.

Injured, trapped in a cave, while a storm was raging outside was clearly not the time nor place.

“Fine.” Harry said, giving into the warmth Riddle provided. He was still cold, fingers and feet still numb. As much as it pained him to have to rely on Riddle, he was the only source of heat available for the time being.

And if Riddle’s mouth trailed too close to his neck, or his fingers played with the hem of his winter coat? Harry would make no mention of it. Not when he huddled closer, basking in Riddle’s warm embrace.

Their bet and their tumultuous relationship, temporarily forgotten.

[shonikado]

Warning: Contains "Shonikado Does Tabletop: Episode 10"

Once again we're following the barbarian, the monk, and the flan

BUT BEFORE WE GO ANY FURTHER I want to establish something I forgot about last time - the time paladin deal. If you remember, during the session before the last one, the barbarian snuck into the time paladin's room with some Awakening Ale and made it into a mist that would theoretically interrupt the paladin's long rest and prevent him from regaining his time stop spell. While there the barbarian saw the paladin had two female elf courtesans with him, nbd

this was reported to the flan, who got suspicious because, during the various egregious privacy invasions performed to figure out how to get a leg up against his time paladin rival, he came across the well-kept fact that the time paladin's sex life has, at least so far, exclusively involved men. So the flan was a bit suspicious, especially since it already seemed out of character for the paladin to stay in the flan's hotel given their rivalry, but things got much more so when, in the middle of the night, the supposed time paladin -  having been presumably waken up by the mist but having thought it was just general sleeplessness - came up to the flan's penthouse freaking the fuck out about the fact that one of the courtesans seems to be unconscious, and asking the flan for help in helping her in a manner that keeps things quiet. Which, y'know, if you aren't trying to hide something you could just contact the orchestra, they've got plenty of clerics

so at this point the flan is pretty sure he's dealing with a doppleganger of some sort, likely hired to throw off sabotage attempts. He does go ahead and help with legit healers on staff, but also has some spies set up to follow the doppleganger, thinking they'll likely meet up with the real time paladin at some point and a proper sabotage can be done.

at any rate, the flan let the monk and barbarian know about these developments during the last session. The courtesan was still unconscious at this point in the timeline, and the healers dealing with here weren't sure what was going on, with it almost seeming like she's not unconscious so much as completely blank.

Further developments occurred during the session and I'll weave them in as they appear in the timeline

ANYWAY. ON TO STUFF THAT HAPPENED /THIS/ TIME.

when we last left off the flan had ejected from his mech screaming "I'LL BE BAAAACK", which was convenient because the flan's player was not present for most of the night anyway. He spent most of his time inside his secret lair, which was also where the courtesan was moved so that she wouldn't be found when the orchestra peeps inevitably went to his hotel to search the premises, since that could complicate things

meanwhile, the barbarian was back in the stands with her wounded displacer beast, who had been thankfully stabilized by a gnome in a pink robe. Also the dragonborn paladin, still armless and shieldless, made her way through the audience to heal the beast and glared at the barbarian in the process

meanwhile the monk was still standing in the middle of the arena with the flan's un-piloted mech, and stubbornly refused to get out of the arena until the orchestra figured out how to move it. Which they did, and he went back to his seat while the barbarian took her displacer beast and went back to the flan's hotel to mope about how her pet almost died and the giant is still very much alive. When she got there she found the orchestra swarming the place looking for the flan, since the giant had ordered his arrest but he seemed to be doing a good job of evading so far

anyway the fight happened - the dwarf and two orcs that the monk had tried poisoning through poison and vomit went up against five halflings stacked on top of each other strapped together with a leather harness. Which is a pretty embarrassing thing to lose to - and lose they did, because the orcs immediately were overcome with sickness the moment they started exerting themselves, leaving the dwarf alone to get bowled over before the orcs were quickly felled in their less-than-stellar state. The audience was like "well yeah that's what happens when you go drinking the day before your fight" and no one was the wiser

except after the fight, the dwarf and orcs - all with 1 hp and the orcs still sick - went up to the monk and were like "you drunk asshole, you made us sick" and clearly thought it was an accident, but, you know, still bad. And the monk was all calmly like "ive never met you" and the dwarf took out his axe and the monk immediately wrecked their shit, breaking the dwarf's axe arm in the process with a stomp. To which the dragonborn paladin, who was still in the seats, was like "mOTHER FUCKER" and ran over to heal them back to consciousness while the monk skedaddled

anyway, the barbarian went back to the contestant seating zone while the monk put on a cloak and hid in the audience, and they watched the goblin gel-cube mech wobble and sputter while the necromancer just made a bunch of skeletons, had them yank the hatch open, and quickly ended the fight. And everyone was like "well that's goblin tech for you" and were a bit sad about how anticlimactic, but understandable, the fights had been so far

shortly before the next fight, the barbarian was told that the fighters about to go up have a blink dog, and since displacer beasts and blink dogs are mortal enemies, she'd need to either leave her pet somewhere or not be in the audience. Opting to stay with her pet, she went outside, climbed up the arena walls and watched from the window. The fight was between a ragtag group of adventurers and they fought against the undertakers - except they weren't the undertakers, they were the actors the flan had hired, and they certainly gave the audience a show before going down. But they did, and at this point the flan had won the bets for all the fights they thought they'd properly sabotaged

between that fight and the next fight, down in the flan's secret lair, the deal with the "unconscious" courtesan got more complicated as her polymorphing magic wore off, revealing that she's actually a tiefling. Although that's not odd, tieflings are just another race, BUT specifically she's the tiefling who runs the brothel in the first place and has no known history of doing anything but managing. While that did make the situation more confusing, the flan was too busy converting his secret time-paladin-murder mech project into a soon-to-be-public giant-murder mech to be able to devote much attention to that matter. (This is one of the few plotlines I have not let the flan player in on and I'm not spoiling it for you either, I don't even know how it's going to resolve)

at this point, as the barbarian was heading back in to the stands, she ran into a one of the teams about to head in - three purple rock people, and their goliath coach. The barbarian recognizes the rockpeeps as probably the same race as the evil axe she fought a while back. Also they're freaking out because the goblin who sells potions isn't there and they were planning to buy potions before their fight, and only have enough money for the goblin's, not for the expensive legit potions inside. So they ask the barbarian if she'd be cool with buying for them, and they'd pay her back later when they got the money. In the process, the barbarian learned that these purple rockpeeps are called the warforged, and that turning into weapons is their whole deal, and that many warforged were chained - like the axe - after some sort of rebellion. Which explained the evil axe's deal - being sealed in weapon form for so long ended up fueling a massive murder-grudge, and also meant it was incredibly out of practice in terms of taking on humanoid form (because it was basically just a sorta people-ish blob).

ANYWAY. So the goliath was like "do your best!" to his team and the barbarian went and bought the potions and that was fine, went back to the audience, and it was made pretty clear that the time paladin didn't look tired at all - though they couldn't discern any physical differences between him and the one they tried sabotaging. At any rate, the fight started, and the three warforged threw their hands up and surrendered. Which was a weird sort of not-disappointment, because everyone was expecting the time paladin to just instantly win, which he did, but it was in a different way than usual, as he doesn't normally give people time to surrender. So that was kind of half-disappointing and half-fun

oh right, the ads! Because the grass in the arena gets planted with flowers to make ads. We saw four this time since four fights were witnessed The ad for the dwarf-and-orcs vs. halflings: expert leatherworkers, advertising harnesses specifically. Probably where the halflings got theirs For the gel cube/necromancer fight: not an ad, just the following: "Dear Dad, Fuck You. Sincerely, N.B." ragtag adventurers vs. undercover actors: jelly scalehearts, mentioning that half their proceeds will go towards the heroic dragonborn paladin (mentioned by name, but the party doesn't know her name, so they have no idea) warforged trio vs. time paladin: originally I'd said there was no ad (time paladin fights are short, and most people don't go to them since they're boring) but the flan's player said they'd probably offer it at a discount and SOMEONE would take it, so he proposed "liquid barspeed - cleans your weathered countertops even quicker than this fight!" and so there we go

anyway after the fights, the barbarian and the monk met up outside the arena, where they saw some orchestra members giving the warforged a bag (which turned out to be gold - they went up to the barbarian and paid her back, plus 15gp for her troubles) and talking to the goliath who seemed very irate, but then seemed to suddenly calm down and then got escorted away by orchestra members. Also present was a triton - who was definitely some sort of orchestra member, but with a special shoulder-cape that made it seem like she's probably important - and also the dwarf who had been doing the "giants are our allies, giants are our friends" chant. The triton went up to the duo and was like "hey so. im sure ur good peeps, but this is a fucking mess and we're trying to fix it, please dont make it worse" and was also nonchalantly waving her hand at the goliath the entire time which wasn't suspicious or anything. Anyway, she went to follow them and then the dwarf came up and was like "your hearts are in the right place im sure and i approve of doin whats good but stuffs bad! but hey monk, totally look into the giant hunters guild, if you survive tonight theyll totally want you" and also it was mentioned that he's like the second in command in the city

also the monk gets two orchestra guards to ensure he doesn't try to flee like the flan did

also the flan's spies report that the fake time paladin (who at this point has reverted back to her actual form, an orchestra wizard) and the real time paladin met up, discussed what the fuck was going on, and decided that the best course would be to go talk to the orchestra and get them involved, partially to investigate sabotage and partially to get better healers to help the courtesan

anyway, at this point the pair was approached by the hotel-manager-guy who is basically the flan's second in command, who is the only one able to contact the flan down in his secret lair. And the flan has decided that the halfling stack should be the winners of the next round for reasons the monk and barbarian don't know yet, but the flan does - his spies caught wind that the necromancer is going to be using the gel cube mech during his next fight (though the reasons why aren't super clear yet, will maybe come up next session) and the whole reason the gel cube mech was sabotaged in the first place was because the flan is upset other people are using mechs, so. The duo were tasked to go find the halflings and offer them to come to the flan's penthouse, where a more official offer would be made. So they went to track them down

in the middle of the tracking, we hit 2PM - I had created a thing I call "pedestrian watch" where I'd quickly go over what the state of the city is like, at each hour interval starting after the fights ended. Which I decided would be my way of handling something I didn't want to be boiled down to "make a perception roll", which maybe you'll catch onto. But anyway, at this point there were a lot of orchestra members patrolling about looking for the flan, also a gnome couple consulting a map, and a human with a pink flail holstered, but most importantly there was an elf bard with a lyre being guarded by an orchestra member. And at this point I fired up the link I'd prepared earlier https://onlinesequencer.net/405224 and let that play once while describing the scene, and how there was a full song attached but the party at least caught the chorus - and the moment the song looped I sang along to the first twelve seconds: "Giants are our allies / Giants are our friends / At eight tonight, we'll start the fight / Where [NAME OF THE FLAN] Ends" and it is unfortunate that I have a policy of censoring player character names, so,

anyway, the party ends up finding the halflings over at the Golden Fissure, which was the same bar they went to before but I only named it recently but that's a secret, shhh, but anyway they found them still in their colorful outfits but not in a stack (they left the harness outside because they wouldn't fit through the door and getting their drinks would be hard) who were busy drinking non-alcoholic beverages to celebrate because it'd be a bad idea to repeat the mistake everyone thought their opponents made. Anyway, it turns out that they're all super huge fans of the flan (their outfits are actually styled a bit after his) so they're super stoked to get invited to the penthouse. Also, they toast to the monk, who has been slowly accumulating the nickname "giant-blinder" throughout this session, given that he punched both of the giant's eyes last time

and then when at the penthouse the hotel-manager-guy reveals that the flan is offering to let them pilot some of his old mechs in their next fight. Which they're just. Floored by. So that's gonna happen, necromancer piloting gel cube mech (barbarian/monk still don't know) vs. five halflings in mechs. Hopefully they won't try to stack the mechs. Alternatively: hopefully they -do- stack the mechs.

AND THAT'S WHERE THAT SESSION ENDED. I've established a policy of keeping track of what happens to the party since right now it's VERY important to me that I don't let them get away with resetting between sessions - I have shit planned. At least two shits, one of which is the giant fight, obviously, and the other is Something Else Entirely

~DING~ SO WHAT WENT WRONG, WAIT, HOLD ON YOU SEEM TO WANT TO SAY SOMETHING REALLY QUICK

why do I always say “quick”

I've come to terms with the fact that brothels exist in my setting and want to talk a bit about that

see originally my stance was to stay as far away from everything related to sex as I could, with the exception of the mechanics of passing down traits, largely because I thought it'd be interesting if "human" meant "an indistinct mixture of all races" instead of their own thing, and also dragonborn can pass down elemental stuff, but like as far as actual sex-related stuff, I'm still very uncomfortable on dealing with that so I just wanted to leave it out.

but when talking about where the three supposed-undertakers were (who turned out to be the tieflings), the flan player mentioned three locations - a drughouse, a hotel, and a brothel. And my stance is to try my best to NEVER undo something a player says unless it contradicts something that I already knew to exist in my world. And that felt like a weird thing to veto, so, there we go.

But then on top of that there were elf courtesans with the time paladin and that irked me a little because it meant one of my characters, who I'd largely been just putting in the "not interested in sex" category along with everyone else, suddenly appeared to be straight as far as player-viewed canon was concerned. But I didn't want to say "no"

at this point I was already toying with the idea that the time paladin they sabotaged was a fake because I have plans for how to resolve the time paladin that I didn't want to have to abandon, and it seemed sensible he'd be paranoid about sabotage, and seemed not-sensible that he'd stay in the hotel of a rival, so that all fit together nicely. So, saying the flan knows the actual time paladin is gay seemed like a good way to tip off the fake paladin stuff (meaning I don't just bury a player contribution, and instead build on it) and also to quickly make the statement that, hey, my world is accepting of all kinds of sexual orientations. I'd rather the first char with a canon sexuality be gay to set a standard, there'll be plenty of straight characters later I'm sure

on top of that, the polymorphed wizard was a woman, which means she's at LEAST canonically gay. (dunno if I'll ever get the opportunity to show her as being bi, which I'm fine with. I don't like the idea of forcing this sort of thing at my players - for instance, the dragonborn paladin they fought is female, but I didn't correct players who thought she was male. I just made sure to make opportunities to use the correct pronoun and hoped they'd catch on. I forget if they did, but again, I don't mind. I did the same thing when talking about the polymorphing wizard - I structured the sentence talking about her to ensure I dropped at least one pronoun, and the flan's player noticed and made the connection on his own. This kind of thing isn't a stance limited to sexuality - I avoid mentioning character names unnecessarily or character descriptions, despite having them, but if I find a way to seed them in without detracting from the actual game, I go for it.)

doing a lot of self-explaining stuff right now again, this feels a lot like the thing I posted recently

back onto the thing this section is SUPPOSED to be for, reflecting on how things went!

I think this session was a shitton of cutscenes, which I'm unsure about regarding how I feel, because it seemed like there was a lot of fun had? Maybe I made things interactive enough - and on top of that, just generally social - that it worked out. I'm unsure. This one's hard to gauge because there's no glaring mistakes I can point at, like boring stealth segments or anticlimactic fights.

I do think that the over-designed nature of this particular campaign arc is going to cause problems down the line - like, I have a pretty extensive timeline covering what goes on during the day (split into "stuff that'll happen unless another big city-shaping event takes place", and "events that can come up at any point during the day I'll make attempts to feed into things naturally") with plenty of little branches for divergent content. Like, I now have this minor subplot involving a hobgoblin mercenary group called the Silent Legion that will ONLY come up if the players happen to notice one particular questline early and do it and leave open a gap to be filled. (I established the rules for pedestrian watch and intend to stick to them - and my goal is that no aspect of it should be a waste of time. Establish world details, provide an interesting roleplaying opportunity, hint at a quest, etc., but NOT "just a random thing that happens". I do think it's silly to try and make everything connected but I don't want anything disconnected either. Like, the worst thing I did was the gnomish couple - that was mostly a very tiny roleplaying instance and did a minor bit of worldbuilding/clarifying, if the players had interacted with them. In hindsight, I should have figured out where the couple was from so I could possibly have set up more world info...)

I'm rambling at this point, what's left to say?

I dunno

I'm feeling less confident sharing campaign info though. I feel like explaining my thought processes opens me up to kinds of criticism and negative feedback I normally work very hard to avoid. Like, I try to be careful and inclusive enough to avoid being called problematic, but to also be low-key about it to avoid people thinking I'm trying to push an agenda. I want to make an effort to do what makes me feel comfortable, in a way that doesn't bother anyone else

the big differences between doing the actual campaign and posting about it here is that I know my audience there, don't know it here. I am pretty aware of the kinds of standards expected at my table and feel I'm more than able to meet them, and can meet some of my own standards as well, but I dunno what the standards of everybody following me is and that's partially what triggers all of this self-explaining

I'm just gonna stop writing and post now and if anyone says something I can just deal with it then, it's getting exhausting to worry about it preemptively and I already wrote a much more focused post about it

D&D went great, I had a lot of fun, my players said they had a lot of fun, and it is probably my favorite thing in life right now even if it is consuming said life to a certain degree