#so you can deliberately let your friends get killed just before time runs out and then heal them afterwards. :)

[my-current-obsession]

I’ve discovered something new and potentially helpful (and kind of amusing, if nothing else) about the early-mid game of Rune Factory 4 - if your human companions are knocked out when it hits 19:00 (which is when they will leave unless you have LV 7 affinity or higher), then even after they’re healed or you move to a new location, they still won’t leave. It seems the game only checks to see if they should leave exactly once, at 19:00, and instead of automatically waking up to leave or just leaving immediately once they’re back up, if they happen to be down when the check happens, then they’ll stay with you however long you want.

If you plan things right you can bypass them leaving and spend several extra hours training/exploring with whoever you want, which is really helpful!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lonely Souls Club 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as stalking, loneliness, noncon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Two lost souls cross, but not all those are lost, want to be found.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: he back.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Bucky

Bucky sits on the bench, head hanging as his knees splay wide, the thick soles of his boots planted on the metal floor. The jet whirs loudly as it cuts through the air.

Sam lets out another unceremonious belch and covers his mouth as he clutches his stomach. He shakes it off as the other man curls his fingers before slowly unfurling them, watching the deliberate movements as if hypnotised.

"How in the hell do you get air sick?" Bucky snorts.

"The wings are... nicer," Sam shrugs, "whatever, I just had some bad street meat."

"I told you not to go to that place."

"Yeah well, some of us like to enjoy ourselves," Sam retorts. "What's gotten into you anyway? You're crustier than usual."

Bucky grumbles but doesn't say anything. He's impatient for this thing to be over. It wasn't enough to land in Luxembourg and Berlin, now they gotta head over to Prague. This wasn't in the briefing.

"Seriously, dude, I know brooding is your whole thing but you need to lighten up. Shit's getting dark," Sam reprimands.

"I'm not brooding," Bucky sits up, rolling his shoulders.

"Sure," the scoff is thick and dismissive. Sam is quiet as he checks the bulky watch on his wrist; it's really more than that, it's his command center. "Wait, what about that girl?"

"What girl?" Bucky's heart throbs as the tendon in his neck pulses.

"The one you were asking advice about. Is that it? You blew it, didn't you?" Sam snickers, "Buck, dames ain't what they used ta be," the old-timey accent has Bucky's fist closing again.

"Shut up," he snarls, "it's not a girl."

A cluck as Sam sits back and smirks, "sure, dude, I totally believe you."

"Stop."

"At least tell me what you did wrong? You know, girls don't like going to the woods with strange men, I said that before."

"Sam."

"James," Sam taunts.

"Don't," a vibranium finger comes within inches of the grinning lips, "I told you... enough." Bucky sits back and retracts his hand, crossing his arms as he grits his teeth, "I didn't blow it."

"Not yet," he partner and only friend chirps, "we'll see."

Bucky sighs and looks away. His stomach pits as he tries to hide his anxiety. He's barely been able to check in with Sam in his face and all this running around. It's been almost a week and it's killing him to be so far away. What if something happens and he's not there? He'd never forgive himself and neither could she.

"Hey," Sam taps him with his knuckles lightly, "I'm teasing. Really, I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset," Bucky protests, "I'm tired as fuck. Just wanna get this done with."

Reader

The birds nesting above your front window wake you up. The sun slats in brightly between the curtains as you roll over with effort, setting your hips straight with a grunt. You brace your pelvis as you try to stretch out what can't be stretched out. You whimper and bend your legs, one at a time, and raise your arms above your head. You don't want to get up but it's shopping day and you want to beat the rush.

It takes a while for you to get ready for the day. You don't go very far, just to the shop down the block. Their selection is limited but so is your budget.

You get your purse and strap it across your torso. As you near the door, you falter, a pang nearly sending you to your knees. You grasp the door frame and whine, taking the weight off your left leg. You're starting to think you might need to talk to the doctor about that cane. You didn't want to give in that easily but being stubborn isn't making it any better.

You lean on the wall and pull the door inward, unlocking the outer iron grate and pushing through. As you do, something clatters behind you, drawing a gaspy squeak from your lips. You turn to look down at the object as your keys dangle from your grip. You focus on locking both doors first.

You turn and stare down at the thing... you're not quite sure what it is at first. You strain as you bend to pick it up and rest it against the brick. It's some sort of shopping bag.

The handle extends up as it connects to four wheels. You unfold the metal cage lined with patterned fabric and let it stand on its own. You touch the handle, wrapped with some sort of protective rubber. How did it get there?

As you examine the misplaced cart, you see a small ribbon around the handle, dangling just inside the corner of the basket. You tug it up and find a tag on it. There, written by hand, is your name, and a short message.

'To make things a bit easier.'

You blink. Who would do this? You can only think your neighbours might have donated it but you never really talked to them. The mother was always too busy yelling at her children and her husband never said a word. There's nothing on the back, no sign-off, no name...

You wonder if you should accept it. It feels strange. You already live off of a government stipend, you shouldn't be taking handouts from strangers. Still, it's very helpful.

Your hip aches again, and you shudder. You turn the cart and grasp the handle, testing the stability. You don't know if you can make it back with your usual hot, as meagre as it may be. You're talking yourself into this, but it doesn't take much. Whoever left it, you'll have to thank them somehow.

Bucky

He watches her examine the cart. She's skeptical as she unfolds it and hesitates to do more than that. Is it too much? He thought it was such a good idea when he saw it at the store, and it's not very much at all, is it?

He lets out his breath as she twists the cart around and gives it a small nudge. She rolls it cautiously towards the alley and he puts the phone away. He waits across the street as she emerges from the alley and veers in the opposite direction. He doesn't move right away. She'll be on alert now. Little steps, not all at once.

He follows her, staying on the other side of the street, slinking like a cat as he watches her lean on the cart so that she nearly tips it. She rights herself and continues on, taking the next corner. Her gait is slow and uneven but he's patient. It means he gets to spend more time with her.

She hits the button for the automatic door and enters the small grocer. He waits five minutes before he trails in after her. He takes a basket, trying to blend in as he strolls through the bread section. It's desolate as only staff members scatter through the aisles, stocking shelves in their down time.

He grabs a loaf of rye; he'd wanted grilled cheese the other day but he was all out of bread. And cheese for that matter. He held off shopping so that they could go together.

He finds her by the canned soups. There's a four-for-three special. Given the quality, it's not a very good sale. She shouldn't be eating that acidic garbage. One day, he'll make sure, she doesn't have to. He just needs to wait.

He stays at the far end of the aisle as she picks four flavours. He peeks down at the labels; ham and pea, minestrone, Italian wedding, and classic chicken noodle. Noted.

She carries on but he lingers, fighting himself. He just wants to watch her every move, he wants to be right there beside her, going down a list as they plan their days together. 'Don't worry, doll, I'll cook tonight.'

He shakes off the fantasy and steps out of the aisle, only for something to rattle into him. He catches the basket of the rolling cart and his mouth falls open as he faces her. He didn't expect her to come back this way. Oh god.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she utters squeakily, "I didn't see you--"

"No, it's... okay," he's almost breathless as he pulls his gloved grip from the cart, "I wasn't looking."

He sidesteps her, heart racing, and quickly strides past her. He can hear her own pulse running wild. She doesn't move right away and he worries. The cart hit him hard, had it hurt her?

She rolls on and stops at the endcap, browsing the boxes of instant oats on sale. She searches and looks up, reaching for the cheaper options. A small bag which could last two weeks with a bit of rationing. She slips flat back on her soles and catches herself on the shelf. She can't reach.

He looks down and rubs his neck. He shouldn't but he has too. He crosses to her and reaches for the bag she wants. He takes it and offers it to her. She sputters out a mousy thanks. Her fingers brush his as she accepts it.

"No problem," he mutters and backs away, almost as if scalded.

He feels her looking at him, just for a moment, then she continues on to the discounted stack of tuna cans. His blood is like fire, boiling inside of him as he curses the damned gloves. He wish he could've felt her touch for real.

He has to get out of there. He rushes up to the cashier and puts his basket on the belt. He doesn't even care about it all. He just knows if he stays, he won't be able to keep his cool. He pays without thinking as the clerk packs his things in a paper bag. The crinkle makes him flinch as he picks it up. It's too noisy for him to follow her.

So he won't. He'll wait for her at her place. Just to make sure she gets back safe.

💔

When she comes down the alley, he's there, watching. The cart rattles announcing her approach and he holds his breath until she's in sight. She's limping worse than before, using the metal frame as support.

She struggles with her keys, jingling them loudly as he aims them at the slot on the iron grate. As she pulls it open, she loses her grip and it clangs violently. She's hurting, he can tell.

She tries again, this time getting between the doors to unlock the next. She turns to drag the cart inside. The inner door is left ajar as the iron one falls shut behind her.

There's a lull and he pulls out his phone to see what she's doing. She rolls the cart to the kitchen and shuffles around in a drawer. She pauses to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. Is she crying?

She takes out a small paper pad and a pen. She scratches the nib until ink comes out then writes across it. He's confused.

She finishes and tears away the top page. She turns to hobble through the house and comes back outside. She passes through the iron door and peers around. She grips the ragged brick and bends, placing the folded paper where he'd left the cart.

She retreats inside, the door slamming louder than before. The inside door locks and he sees her on his phone screen collapse against the other side. His chest rents as he longs to burst in and scoop her up.

He can't. She's not ready. He heard it in her heartbeat. Like him, she's been alone so long, that the idea of change is scary. No, he needs to make her see that he can help her. He can take care of her.

He'll wait until he's sure she's not listening. Then he'll go see what she wrote.

[hwashotcheeto]

𝑩𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑭𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅'𝒔 𝑴𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 (3)

Best Friend's Mother Masterlist

Chapter: Three

Milf!Park Seonghwa X gn!reader

Summary: After the previous night with Seonghwa, you try to chalk it up as a one night stand and ignore the possibility of more. One way to get it off your mind is to help your friend vent about his childhood.

WC: 3k

CW: Angst, Woo talks about his childhood, talks of a narcissistic parent, crying, fluff, comfort, hugs

AN: After lots of edits, deliberation, and burn out, it's here. This is mostly fleshing out more of Woo's character and not a lot of milf content. It's still there, just not that much.

A little bit too much of myself came out in this one (specifically with Woo talking about his bio mom), but I think it'll be okay. I hope you enjoy. 💜

Tag List (Anyone can still join at any time, but I think the method I prefer now is through the ask box. Please use that now!):

@hyunjinsjeans @malldreamprincess @unlikelysublimekryptonite @becauseilovedyou @kittkat44 @babyxhoiz @asleepylilcat @mxnsxngie @rxnexxi @mommahwa1117 @acciocriativity @anxiousskylar

Golden sunlight streamed in through the window and laid across the floor, illuminating the discarded clothes that were forgotten about hours earlier. Neither of you had bothered to get redressed after your secret escapade last night.

So there Seonghwa was, holding you against his chest, rubbing your back, looking at your and his clothes scattered across his bedroom floor. Even though he’d comforted you the night before, and reassured you that the world wasn’t about to end because you two had sex, he was feeling guilty as well.

Seonghwa’s son comes home from college, having not seen him since before the semester started, and the first night, Seonghwa seduces his friend and steals them for the night.

It looked quite selfish, didn’t it? And a bit predatory. He cringed at that word. “Predator.”

As he was trying to stifle the thought, you shifted and opened your eyes. He looked down at you and smiled warmly. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Hi,” you replied quietly, your voice low and full of sleep. You rubbed your eyes as your brain turned on and started to remember everything, still halfway in dreamland.

“Did you sleep well?” Seonghwa brushed your hair out of your face and smoothed it back with his hand. The gentle touch makes shivers run down your back. You just nodded, yawning. “Then I guess you’re not a morning person.”

“No, not at all.” You never had been. Or maybe you’re just not a “waking up” person. No matter the time you woke up, it was difficult for you.

“Well, some food would probably wake you up,” Seonghwa offered, pulling away from you to sit up. You sat up as well, and you almost reached out to grab his arm and hug him again, but stopped yourself as he got up from the bed.

He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t a potential boyfriend. He was your best friend’s mother. This wasn’t anything more than a hookup.

And yet, your heart ached as you told yourself that.

“Come on, dear,” Seonghwa called, pulling you out of your thoughts. He was looking at you expectantly, waiting by the door, and he knocked the wind out of you all over again.

He was dressed in a black robe that went down past his knees, with a cinched waist and fur around the sleeves, and he left the robe open for a tasteful amount of cleavage. He tied up his hair in a messy ponytail, and you could see in his eyes that he still wasn’t completely awake.

Utterly gorgeous.

“Here you go, sweetie,” Seonghwa said as he put a plate of breakfast in front of you. You smiled and let out a little “thank you” before you started to eat. “Of course.” And he pressed a kiss to the top of your head before he went back to the stove. You caught yourself watching him as he walked away.

You stared at him as he was making another plate of food. The view of him from the back was just as appetizing as the front, with curves that women would kill for. Your eyes landed on his small waist that you began to fantasize about grabbing onto-

“What are you doing up so early?”

Wooyoung’s voice made you jump so high, you dropped your fork. Seonghwa turned his head to look at his son, who was standing in the archway of the kitchen, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed thirty seconds ago. Because he did.

“Good morning, nae sarang,” Seonghwa said as he turned back to the stove. Wooyoung mumbled “morning, eomma” back as he walked over to sit next to you at the table.

You forced yourself to seem tired and bored, propping your head up on one hand with your eyes half closed, slowly eating your food. It was all a lie to cover up how fast your heart was pounding.

You weren’t about to tell Wooyoung that you fucked Seonghwa the night you met. Despite Seonghwa initiating the moment, you’d still said yes. The power was all yours, and you chose to go through with it.

All Wooyoung had said the day prior was “if you fuck, just don’t tell me about it.” And you weren’t going to, one to respect his wishes, and two, you didn’t want your best friend to know that you were that much of a slut for parental people.

But it haunted you all throughout breakfast. How wrong it was to have sex with the mother of your best friend. How wrong it was to want to date your best friend’s mother. Especially when you were still in college and hardly had any life experience.

What would he get out of your arrangement? What were you to him?

As you looked at Seonghwa, who put down a plate of food for Wooyoung and kissed his head before he went back to the stove, your heart split in two.

An ideal man that you couldn’t have.

You finished breakfast quickly and, like the night before, rinsed off your dishes and put them in the sink. You started for the stairs, but Wooyoung stopped you. You stopped in the archway and looked at him.

“I wanted to take you out and show you around the city.” He smiled proudly, having thought of all the destinations and routes in his head the night before. You smiled and nodded.

“That sounds great.”

“Of course it does.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Meet me in the living room when you’re done getting ready.”

“Sounds good.”

Anything to get you away from the man you couldn’t have.

You and Wooyoung cackled at the movie you were watching, discarded snack wrappers strewn around Wooyoung’s bed and floor. Both of you each held a pint of ice cream in your hand, which were already half gone even though you’d gotten them from the freezer maybe ten minutes prior.

Your tour around Wooyoung’s home city was amazing, and perfectly Wooyoung. You visited the parks he went to, his favorite stores, his high school, and spots he said he used when he wanted to hide from Seonghwa.

To end the day off, you two went to the gas station and bought tons of snacks, agreeing to stay up late and eat, watch movies, anything you two could think of. You wanted to have a night that college hadn’t allowed you to have in months.

So here you were, eating ice cream while watching the movie, trying to keep quiet to wake up Seonghwa.

Seonghwa. You’d mostly kept him out of your thoughts during the day, but the moment you stepped back into the house, it came back to you. You still tried to keep all those thoughts stifled to enjoy your time with Wooyoung, but he was always there in the back of your mind.

Memories of the night before. How his hands felt on your body. The way his lips brushed against your skin.

His smile, the way his eyes lit up, his gentleness, the kiss he gave you when he made you breakfast. Your stomach fluttered when he called you “sweetie” and “dear.”

“Hey,” Wooyoung called, waving his hand in front of your face. You blinked and looked over at him. “What were you thinking about?”

You obviously couldn’t tell him the truth. Even after the blow out that morning, you didn’t want to tell him that your mind was flooded with thoughts of his mom fucking your brains out and wishing you could hug him again.

“Nothing,” you lied. “Just spaced for a bit.” Wooyoung clearly didn’t believe you. You could see it in the way he slowly pulled his spoon out of his mouth and stabbed it back into his ice cream.

“If you say so.”

“I do say so, thank you.”

And you both devolved into giggles again. Well, you giggled, Wooyoung cackled. You tried to shush him, but he waved you off.

“I don’t wanna wake Seonghwa,” you argued, but Wooyoung rolled his eyes.

“He won’t care, he sleeps pretty heavy anyway. And even if he did come in here, he wouldn’t be mean about it. He never was when I was younger.”

“No?” You turned more towards Wooyoung, more interested in him than the movie. Wooyoung bit the inside of his cheek before he spoke again.

“No, never. He’d just ask me to be quiet. Sometimes he’d sit with me and figure out why I wasn’t tired so he could help me wind down.”

You scoffed and took another bite of ice cream. “Way better than my parents,” you said, annoyed. Why couldn’t you have parents like that? Matter of fact, why couldn’t everyone have parents like that?

Wooyoung nodded, taking a bite of his ice cream too. “Better than my bio mom.”

You perked up at that. “You never talk about your bio mom,” you remarked. Wooyoung snorted and nodded again.

“Yeah, I don’t.”

And you knew you shouldn’t push. The entirety of your friendship with Wooyoung, he refused to talk about his childhood. He never talked about either of his parents, especially his bio mom. You left it up to him to decide if he wanted to tell you about it or not.

You shouldn’t push. You said you never would. But in his eyes, you could see the pent up, raging fire in them. The anger he harbored from who knows what his bio mom did. You watched him drive his spoon into his ice cream and shovel it past his lips, his eyes glued to the TV.

Just one time, you would push. Just this once.

“Why?”

And at first, Wooyoung didn’t move. You could see him thinking, like you could peek inside his head and see him turning the question over in his head, weighing if he really wanted to answer or not. Then he sighed and shifted, putting his ice cream on the nightstand next to him. You did the same.

“Because she wasn’t a good parent. That’s the short answer.” He paused for a second and chewed on his lip. “The long answer might take a while.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” you offered. “You don’t have to say anything-”

“No, you asked.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to.”

Wooyoung looked up at you, and the fire was gone. His eyes were heavy. His whole body looked heavy. His shoulders sagged, he was hunched over. He needed to.

“Okay,” you said softly. Wooyoung took a breath, and he started talking.

“She and Eomma divorced when I was really young. For my entire childhood, I only saw her on weekends, breaks, days off, and maybe during the week for school events. And for the most part, things were great. She was sweet, nice, present, and we did a lot of fun things together.”

He paused. And you knew there was a “but” coming before he said it.

“But when it was bad, it was really bad.”

There it was.

“Any time I stayed up late, she’d yell at me. Fuck, I don’t even remember half of what she said, I just remember her screaming. She used the ‘I’ll give you something to cry about’ line when I started crying. Honestly, almost any time I cried, she’d say that.”

A part of your heart stirred. Something in you resonated with him. A feeling of understanding. Moments of your childhood flashed in your mind for a moment.

“The older I got, the more I preferred Eomma. I liked my bio mom better as a kid because-the way I saw it-she was fun. We went out and did things, she bought me things. One time, after she yelled at me the night before, she took me out to breakfast, then bought me a ton of candy before we went home.” He paused, and his throat bobbed as he gulped. “It took me a while to realize it was because she never wanted to apologize.”

“Sounds like a narcissist I know all too well,” you mused softly. Wooyoung scoffed and nodded.

“Didn’t realize it until I was too late.”

And you didn’t see Wooyoung anymore. You saw a scared little kid. A little boy who was scared to make a peep. Loud ass Wooyoung had gone quiet.

You crawled across the bed and sat next to him. He looked up at you as you put your arms around him and hugged him tight. He hugged you back.

You didn’t have to say anything. The two of you could’ve just sat in silence, and that would’ve been enough.

But you wanted to. You wanted to say something. Anything. Even a small comfort.

So you did.

“You’re safe. She won’t yell at you again.”

And Wooyoung burst into tears.

Wooyoung cried all his pent up tears out. Everything he’d stifled, everything he never told you, he cried it onto your shirt.

He’d been there for you for the years you’d known him. You’d always told him you’d be there for him too. Now you could prove it.

You both were silent now. Nothing except the forgotten sounds of the movie, and Wooyoung’s sobs. But that was okay. You didn’t need to say anything. Your presence was enough to comfort Wooyoung.

And it brought you some comfort, knowing you were helpful. That you could comfort him. That he saw a safe place in you as you saw in him. And knowing that his bio mom was similar to yours. Not in the same ways, but your heart cried out in solidarity.

Hearing Wooyoung recount his childhood reminded you of your own. And why you didn’t talk to your parents anymore. Maybe soon, at some point, you’d tell Wooyoung why you cut contact with them. You had a feeling you would.

But right now, all that existed in the world was you two. Holding each other, and knowing that you two would never, ever be alone again.

You woke up in Wooyoung’s bed with your arms still around him, his head on your chest. Neither of you bothered to change your clothes or move after Wooyoung had his moment to cry. You both were exhausted after the day you had, and the emotional conversation took what little you had left out of you both.

You reached over to the nightstand for your phone, trying not to wake up Wooyoung. But once you realized it was past noon, you shook him awake. He groaned as you did.

“Don’t wanna,” he whined as he hugged you tighter.

“Woo, it’s past noon,” you argued, and Wooyoung shook his head. “Okay, then let me get up.”

“No, cuddles.” And he nuzzled against your chest. If he were anyone else, this situation would’ve been entirely different. But because it was Wooyoung, you sighed and laid back on the bed.

“Okay, we can stay for a little while longer.”

“A little while” turned into roughly an hour later, but who’s counting?

When you two finally got up and made yourselves somewhat presentable, you made your way downstairs and met Seonghwa in the living room. He looked up and smiled at you both, his gaze lingering on you for a few extra seconds.

“I was wondering when you two would-Oh-” Seonghwa started to speak, but he was cut off when Wooyoung sat next to him on the couch and hugged him tightly, cuddling up to him, making himself look small.

Seonghwa froze for a few seconds before he put his arm around his son, leaning close and talking softly in Korean. You looked away, trying not to intrude, knowing the conversation wasn’t for you. Your stomach growled, giving you the perfect out.

You made your way into the kitchen to get a drink before you started thinking about food. You felt a little awkward, because it wasn’t your home and you didn’t want to interfere with anything.

Also because you suddenly felt like a stranger in a home that wasn’t yours, and not sure what to do now that Wooyoung needed Seonghwa, and it wasn’t an issue you were equipped or qualified to deal with.

Seonghwa came into the kitchen not long later. He smiled at you, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Is Wooyoung okay?” Came out of your mouth in a more worried tone than you imagined. Which felt like a stupid question after hearing it, because you knew he wasn’t okay.

Seonghwa sighed. “Yeah, he will be. He just needs some time.” You nodded, and you both went silent. The two of you hadn’t been alone in over twenty-four hours, and you’d made sure of it. This wasn’t the way you wanted to end up together again.

Seonghwa thankfully broke the tension. “I’m going to make lunch, are you hungry too?”

“Oh, yes, I am.”

“Okay, then I’ll make some for you too.” This time, the smile was genuine, and it made your stomach fill with butterflies. “I’ll call you both when it’s ready.”

You nodded before you left, finding Wooyoung with a game controller in his hands, sitting on the couch where he was before.

“Oh, I was just about to start. Do you wanna play too?”

You had no idea what you were getting into, or if you’d even enjoy whatever game you’d be playing with Wooyoung, but you agreed and grabbed a controller to play with him, sitting to his right. Wooyoung started up the game, and as the game was loading, he looked at you.

“Thanks for letting me talk last night.” He looked away for a second, then back up and met your eyes. “I needed it. More than I thought I did.”

“You’re welcome.” You put your hand on his shoulder and smiled. “It’s what friends do, right?” Wooyoung smiled too and nodded.

“Of course.”

The game loaded, and you two were off.

In the kitchen, Seonghwa couldn’t help but smile as he listened to the two of you play the game. Most parents naturally complained about how loud children were, and how the house never seemed to quiet down.

But you get so used to the noise that silence becomes deafening. And you start to miss it.

So even if it was for a month, Seonghwa was glad the house was full of noise again.

And that it wasn’t just Wooyoung who was filling it.

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed! 💜

This is a work of fiction written by me. This does not represent the idol(s) in any way. Any re-upload is not allowed and will be reported.

[dreamsclock]

“So let me get this straight,” Techno deadpans, face perfectly straight, “you’re layin’ eggs.”

( HAPPY VERY BELATED CHRISTMAS @kenjo-arts !!! you wanted emeraldduo and dream interactions or one of your aus so i combined both ^_^ i Hope You like it AND THANK YOU FOR BEING SO PATIENT. I LOVE U <333)

(THANK YOU @the-final-sif FOR RUNNING YHIS :])

Dream scowls. Under the glare and the shadow of his mask, his face is flushed. “Look,” he says, “I’m not— I didn’t even want to tell you. But–”

“But you did,” Philza jumps in, bemused, “I don’t really get why, though.”

If looks could kill, both members of the Syndicate would be dead thrice over. Instead, they remain unaffected as Dream’s cheeks turn warm enough to fry an egg – bad choice of words, Techno thinks, all things considered. He sure hopes Dream doesn’t actually fry his eggs: he really doesn’t want to get into the logistics of egg-infanticide with his dubious ally-turned-bestie.

Said bestie, however, is pulling out a clutch of eggs he holds protectively to his chest as if he expects Techno and Philza to snatch them away and begin jumping on them in malicious glee. When Philza moves closer in curiosity, Dream has a sword out before either of them can blink, unwavering and firm.

Philza raises his hands in surrender and lets out a little clucking noise. Techno thinks it’s supposed to be soothing. It sort of just sounds like a chicken. “Easy, mate,” he reassures, “I’m just looking. They’re pretty.”

“Obviously,” Dream says, half-preening, “they're mine.”

And they are pretty, Techno supposes, not that he cares much about eggs. They’re pale green and freckled with darker shades, five of them huddled in Dream’s arms. It’s impossible to tell what will hatch from them, though he sure isn’t thinking too hard about it. He’ll find out in due time, probably: one of them already has feather-light cracks speckling its side, while the others are pristine, unmoving.

…He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dream so proud and protective over something of his before. He can’t decide if this is positive character development or not.

“I… wanted you guys to… like, hold onto them for me. For now.” Dream looks uncertain, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. In the pale light of the snow, his face is pale and drawn. “I will… come and get them. After tomorrow is over.”

“You mean the shit you’re pulling with Tommy.” Philza surmises, his expression flattening and tightening just slightly. He’s not forgotten the state Tommy had come to them in after exile: neither has Techno, who notices the way Dream’s shoulders straighten and his face grows deliberately impassive, when Philza’s anger makes itself known in the shape of one ruffling wing. “That’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“...Yeah, it is.” Dream allows, and says nothing more about his plans or his thoughts on the matter. Instead, he very gently and very carefully wraps the eggs in a blanket, swaddling the five of them so that only the tips of them are visible, before handing them over to Techno. His expression tightens into one of wistful yearning for a fraction of a second, before it disappears entirely behind that white porcelain mask. “I can’t take them with me, and… I don’t have any other allies. So. You know. We’re not exactly friends, but… I can pay you for it.”

Techno wants, for a wild moment, to pry the mask from his face and unearth Dream’s feelings about the eggs. His kids, he supposes.

He doesn’t do anything so lame or uncharacteristic. Rather than that, he accepts the bundle of eggs, handling them carefully, and– oh god, he cringes when one of them wiggles inquisitively. They’re warmer than he’d thought, thrumming with a quiet energy he faintly recognizes from the deepest, most inner parts of the server: which makes sense, considering they’re eggs from the admin of the SMP. Expecting anything less than slightly magical is dumb.

The aforementioned admin of the SMP shifts from foot to foot. He looks like he might grab the eggs back and make a run for it.

Taking pity on him, Techno clasps the bundle a little more securely, and offers his ally a firm nod and shrug. “Ehh, don’t worry about paying,” he says easily, “I just re-retired. I could do with somethin’ occupying my time. Even if it is five eggs.”

Philza squawks a laugh. “Never took you for a babysitter,” he teases, even as Dream relaxes fractionally, “what a career change. Never would’ve expected it.”

Techno shoots his friend a mock-glare. “I’ll have you know I have the credentials,” he says, haughtily, “you should’ve seen me before the Empire, Phil. You should’ve seen me. I was the pinnacle of babysitting, man. The pinnacle.”

“I bet.”

Dream whispers to you: so you’ll look after them for me??

When he turns to Dream, the man isn’t looking at him. He’s toying with the edge of his cloak, gloved fingers thin and shallow, and that’s when Techno realizes with a terrible clarity that Dream doesn’t plan on coming back for a long, long time.

His grip on the eggs tighten.

He’s hardly paternal, but he is loyal, to a fault.

You whisper to Dream: you have my word

And when Dream pearls away, leaving Techno with five eggs and a wonkily hand-stitched blanket, he knows it’s the last time they’ll see each other like this.

***

“Do you still have them?” Dream croaks in prison, throat slick with blood and voice hoarse from screaming. Techno wonders how long it’ll last before it gives out completely. Wonders if Dream’s voice might disappear entirely overnight. He barely uses it anymore.

“The eggs?” Techno asks, and his lips press when Dream nods. “I mean, not— not with me, Dream. Listen, I’m no Dad Of The Year, but I know not to bring five hatching eggs into a prison, alright. Jeez.”

Dream misses the rest of his ramble. His eyes light up for the first time when Techno speaks. “Hatching?” He repeats, as if he hardly believes his own words. “Like— You mean hatching hatching. Actually hatching.”

“No, no, the fake hatching.” Techno can’t keep the amused grin off his face despite his sarcasm. “I mean, they were pretty cracked when I left for here. They’re not about to start dancin’ around, but there’s not long now. Probably.”

The expression on Dream’s face is one he’s never seen before. It’s strange, wild. Hopeful.

“Okay,” his ally-turned-friend says, “okay. My eggs are hatching. So we’ve gotta get out of here.”

The firm tone is a switch from the hollow desperation he’d yelled at him before. (You were my only way out of here!) There’s determination, now, there’s reason to escape: reason, Techno knows now, for Dream to fight.

So he pushes an empty book across the scorch-marked obsidian to Dream, and offers a nod and an instruction. “Write down everything you can about this prison, Dream. I’m gonna need it if we’re breakin’ out of here.”

Dream flashes him an almost-grin, and it’s thin and exhausted and bright, and Techno watches him pick up the pen, and start to write.

***

“So.”

Dream doesn’t even look up from his dead-eyed staring contest with the wall. He just flips his middle finger in Techno’s vague direction, a silent shut up, before letting his arm fall limply at his side again.

“Soooo.”

Dream’s eye twitches. “So what?”

“I feel like we should discuss naming rights.”

“We— what?”

“Well,” Techno reasons, “it’s kind of joint custody of the eggs at this point. Sure, you birthed them—”

“That’s not how—”

“You birthed them, but I stopped Steve from eatin’ them. And believe me, that was a hard task, Dream. Almost impossible. Steve put up a valiant fight. He almost had them.”

That gets Dream’s attention. Eyes narrowing, mouth thinning into an annoyed scowl, he shuffles closer to Techno. Techno gets the impression he’s supposed to feel intimidated by Dream’s pout. “You let my eggs near a polar bear?” He demands, horror in his voice. “Techno. Seriously.”

“You remembered,” Techno beams, “you remembered Steve. Listen, you say we’re not friends, but this feels pretty friendly. I dunno. I’m just saying.”

“This— That’s not the point!”

“But no, I didn’t.Like I said, I won the battle. Steve fought hard, but I won. Good thing I’d been trainin’ so much recently. Any less and I think the eggs would’ve been breakfast.”

Dream’s eye twitches. “I don’t know why I even trusted you with them,” he mutters, antsy, “anything could happen to them.”

Techno scoffs, and offers Dream a trustworthy, reassuring look. “Dream, do I look like the kind of guy to let anything bad happen to your children?”

Dream stares dubiously back. “Yeah,” he says, “you do.”

…That doesn’t hurt his feelings, nope, not at all. He shoots his friend a pensive look. “When I get home, I’m gonna give your eggs to Philza,” he threatens, “he’ll put them in his nest. Don’t push me.”

“…You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Pass me another potato, nerd.”

The potato Dream throws at him bounces against his arm and clatters on the floor next to a splatter of blood. Techno wrinkles his nose. “Dude,” he says, “prison is lame.”

“Keep the eggs far away from Philza’s nests,” Dream warns, “or prison will get worse for you.”

***

You whisper to Philza: btw where are the eggs right now

Philza whispers to you: Why

You whisper to Philza: just answer the question phil

You whisper to Philza: where are the eggs right now

Philza whispers to you: They’re not in my fucking nest

You whisper to Philza: phil

Philza whispers to you: I’m taking them out of my nest and putting them back

Techno breathes a sigh of relief, and glances over at a fitfully sleeping Dream. “Crisis averted,” he mutters out loud, and then, “Chat, don’t be snitches. What Dream doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.”

***

And Techno’s not hurt when the eggs are the first thing Dream checks when he gets to the Syndicate. Pft, why would he be? It’s not like he’s the one that helped free him or anything, nah, course not.

“All I’m saying,” he grumbles to a cackling Philza, “is that the eggs didn’t sit in prison for three months with him. I’m not jealous, Phil. I’m not jealous. That would be crazy. They’re eggs. Not even that cool. But—”

“For fuck’s sake,” his friend laughs at him, “go inside and show him where his eggs are. He’ll be tearing the house apart looking for them.”

And Philza’s right. Dream is already pulling the chests apart searching for his eggs, as if Techno hadn’t stored them somewhere safer the very moment he’d escaped Pandora’s Vault the first time.

“Where are they?” Dream demands.

Techno nods to the wall. “I’ve been callin’ it the Baby Backrooms.” He says, proudly. “Though it’s kind of more of a Baby Hideout. Doesn’t sound as cool, though.”

A couple of swift strokes with his pickaxes tears open the wall, and reveals four large eggs, cracked but safe, huddled together in the corner of a light blue room. Dream’s gaze softens when he sees them, and steps inside, narrowly missing the bedtime story Techno’s been reading them most nights. Sun Tzu isn’t light reading, but hey, Techno’s determined to make incredible battle strategists of them yet. One of the eggs likes it the most: it wriggles whenever he pulls the book out, and he hates playing favourites, but he has to say, he’s got the most faith in that one.

“I’m back,” Dream breaks the silence to say to his eggs, kneeling down beside them and gently tracing the thick fractures along the curve of the darkest green one, “hey, hi, hi! Did you miss me?”

Techno doesn’t point out that eggs can’t talk for two reasons. The first is that he thinks Dream might actually murder someone if his moment with the eggs is disturbed. The second, slightly more alarming reason is that one of the eggs are missing.

When he’d left the room before, there had been five eggs in that room. The four now aren’t exactly inspiring him with confidence. Dream is really going to kill him if he’s lost a whole egg in the space of, like, four hours.

Dream scoops up the eggs, and turns to face Techno. There’s a look of relief on his face that’s so raw and unfiltered that it takes Techno a moment to recognise what he’s seeing. It’s like a part of Dream that had been missing during prison has been returned to him: Techno realizes with a pang that that’s exactly the case.

“I have a question,” Niki chimes in from behind them, “I have lots of questions.”

When Techno turns, she’s holding a tiny miniature version of… Dream himself.

“Mama,” it squeaks, reaching out to Dream, “Mama.”

Dream melts, right there and then.

***

“So… you laid this.”

Even someone blessed with the patience of a saint would have snapped by now. Dream, who is neither blessed nor patient, seems to be on the verge of murder someone: specifically, Tommy, who hasn’t stopped asking questions since he’d appeared at Techno’s door with questions. Four months had been enough time to solve the conflict between the server (…mostly), but it seems like Tommy’s boundaries don’t include tiny little green blobs like Dream’s newly hatched eggs running about the SMP.

“I already told you,” Dream says, “I didn’t lay them. They just appeared as eggs.”

“So you… make eggs,” Tommy says, “and then you like, you black out, and then you like wake up and find the eggs. Egg amnesia. Egg-nesia.”

Dream very visibly counts to ten in his head. Techno can’t stop himself from smirking and joining in.

“Yeah, Dream, I’m not gettin’ the science behind this whole thing,” he drawls, “can you explain it again?”

“You—” Dream splutters. A tiny version of himself with a green cloak travels by on one of the dogs, and throws himself into Dream’s arms. Dream cradles him absentmindedly. “We live in a world with a revive book and a randomly implemented three life system, and you’re confused about eggs?”

“I get it,” Tubbo says wisely, “sometimes every man reaches an age where he must lay an egg.”

“…That’s… actually not true,” Dream says, “most people don’t produce eggs randomly from thin air.”

“Who did you produce them with?” Tommy asks. “Was it George Not Found? Oh, that’s so weird. You’ve made it weird, Dream.”

“How have I made it weird? I—” Cutting himself off, Dream’s head perks up. “Hang on,” he says, “Philza’s trying to take one of my new eggs.”

Tommy’s face drops into total stupefaction. “It happened again?!” He demands. “When will the horror end?”

“What is wrong with you?” Dream groans, pushing himself to his feet and very carefully handing over his baby to Techno. “Look after Ray for me. I swear to God, if Philza is building a nest around my eggs again…”

He doesn’t finish his threat. Nevertheless, his warnings of violence are clear. Techno silently wishes Philza luck, and shifts his hold so that he’s juggling both the baby and the book in his other hand.

“I still think we should think about naming one of your eggs after me,” he says, “I was such a great babysitter. That’s why they turned out so great.”

Dream, halfway out the room, turns slowly, and gives him a very incredulous look.

“You think you were a good babysitter? So you think letting my babies play with Steve was a good idea?”

“They didn’t die,” Techno protests. “They were fine.”

“There comes a time where every man must fight a polar bear.” Tubbo says solemnly

“Tubs,” Tommy tells him, “that’s just not true. Wilbur just told you that because I wanted to see you be mauled horrifically by a bear.”

“Oh.”

“You could call one baby Blade,” Techno calls over Tubbo and Tommy. Dream laughs. “It’s not very creative, and a little hurtful, but hey, it sounds pretty cool, alright, it sounds pretty awesome. Or— Tech. I’d be fine with Tech.”

“I’m not naming a baby after you.”

Dream rolls his eyes as he walks out, but there’s a grin on his face.

You whisper to Dream: can i at least be godfather

Dream whispers to you: only if you gaslight tommy into thinking he was an egg once

You whisper to Dream: you drive a hard bargain

You whisper to Dream: it’s a deal

“Hey Tommy,” Techno calls out, “you remember being an egg? I still have pictures of you somewhere from before you were hatched.“

The look of absolute horror on Tommy’s face is priceless, and the knowledge of the title godfather makes him grin all the brighter.

[mistressoftheelderitchwhorehouse]

Affection = 1

A/N: Someone pointed out how Chuuya has had little to none positive affection that wasn't transactional, or didn't result in violence. So here's a drabble series about it.

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Pairing: Chuuya x Reader

___________________________

Chuuya didn't date.

He would fuck when he had the time, might even have the occasional friend with benefits if it was a slow month. All the sex he had was spit, and blood, and hastily discarded condoms. The girls typically didn't look at him twice after, and if they did it was to ask about his bank account.

Dazai had told him once that he wasn't made for relationships, that he would push away the first person that tried to allow him the space to be vulnerable.

Dazai ended up with a broken nose that day.

And yet Dazai's syrupy words clogged his ears and poisoned his heart as he watched you idly play with his ungloved fingers.

It wasn't deliberate like after sex. When your fingers squeezed his to keep your mind from floating away while you came down from your high. Nor was it the more annoying poking you did when you wanted him to get up to get the remote.

No, here it was soft, and almost lackadaisical. Starting between his thumb and pointer, you made looping patterns up along his knuckles, down the length of his middle finger, and back up to his knuckles.

You couldn't have needed anything. The movie playing was your choice, he had whipped you both up a quick meal, and he'd let you pick the wine this time despite knowing it would be something overly sweet.

He continued racking his brains for whatever needed fixing. You had things, you weren't initiating sex... Wait, did you need comfort?

His gaze shifted from your hands to your body. The movie wasn't emotionally taxing. Just a romance that had a happy ending, according to you. You also didn't appear injured. The dark skin peeking out from your night dress didn't display any marks he hadn't been previously aware of-

"Red, you good?"

He blinked and looked up at your face. Despite trying to focus, he could still feel your hand on his own, your movements halted.

"Yeah. 'm fine."

You raised an eyebrow. "We can switch the movie. I know you like ones with a bit more atmosphere."

You removed your hand from his, and he let out a soft breath, hand finally relaxing.

"Are we doing animated or live action?"

"Look. Sweetheart." You paused, hand on the remote. "Can we… Is it okay if we do a serious talk?"

And then Chuuya realized why he was willing to try the whole relationship thing. You set the remote aside after muting the TV, and turned to face him completely. "What’s up, Chuuya?"

He killed people for a living.

Watched them get their fingers broken after pulling off the nails. Setting buildings on fire with people still inside. Ripping people out of their beds while their families watched…

And yet facing you to ask such a basic question…

He scratched the back of his head, gaze pointedly fixed on his hands.

"I didn't get why you're messing with my hand."

"Hm?"

He clicked his tongue, but did his best to keep the anger out of his voice. "You were messing with my fingers, and…"

"You can just tell me to stop, Chuuya. I won't get upset."

"That's not it. I just don't get why." Frustration creeped into his tone, and yet you didn't even flinch. "I know my body runs warm, and I know I got rough hands. Can't see the reason for it if you don't want something."

You stared at him for a long moment, before you tilted your head to the side. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No."

"Does it feel bad or annoying?"

"No."

Well, honesty time..."

He raised an eyebrow when you began twisting your own fingers. "I gotta do a lot of things at once. Blame the ADHD. And, you know, I like you so… I wanted to just show that."

He could pratically hear Dazai laughing at the confusion running through his head. He'd need to break that idiot's nose again...

You crawled closer to Chuuya, and grasped one of his hands in both of yours.

"It's like when you tuck me in. You don't have to. It's pratically auto pilot, right?" When he nodded you smiled. "but it shows you love me. This is how I wanna show you that I love you. I guess showing that I desire you for you. Ya know?"

He looked away sharply, his mouth twitching with a smile. He knew even with his shock of hair, you could see how red his face and neck were getting.

"I think I get it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He heard the couch shift, before he felt warm lips against his cheek. "Thank you for asking me about this. I'm very proud of you for handling this conversation so well."

"Yeah, yeah. We're adults. Gotta talk about shit when it happens."

"Exactly!"

He placed his hand on your lap, and you laced your fingers with his.

Fuck. What did he do to deserve you?

[brbsoulnomming]

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | AO3

-----

Around the fourth of July, when Eddie's finally resigned himself to a third senior year at high school - his last one, his last chance, because he knows damn well they're going to stop letting him stubbornly try again at some point - he gets a series of lies that fill him with more dread than even the bit about the hospital.

I don't know, I don't know anything!

There's nobody else out there, swear to God!

My delivery didn't come, and my friend and I, we thought that it was left at the loading dock, so we went in the room.

But I swear to God, nobody knows about us, nobody saw us.

And I'm not gonna tell anybody about this, okay?

Come on, I told you everything I know!

Eddie panics.

He knows what an interrogation looks like, and it's pretty damn clear that his soulmate is lying to protect someone - multiple someones? His organization? Shit, is his soulmate like actually a spy, or is he just a dumb kid who stumbled into the back of a mafia run organization or something?

Whatever it is, Eddie doesn't want to leave him alone to it, but - Uncle Wayne already left for his shift, and he can't call him at work, and on top of that, Eddie's a little afraid that whatever he says will get picked up by the interrogators or throw his soulmate off.

So he waits, tense and on edge and every moment cracking him open wider and wider.

And then, after hours of nothing that leave Eddie checking over and over again to make sure the words on his skin are still stark and bold, that they haven't gone all faded the way they do when your soulmate dies -

I'm fine, they're hurt worse than me, they need it more.

He lets out a shaky, relieved sigh, even though he's beyond furious at his stupid soulmate who keeps getting himself hurt, and there's a pit at the bottom of his stomach that makes him wonder what the hell his soulmate has gotten himself involved with.

This time, he's not going to let him get away with insisting he doesn't need medical attention. Uncle Wayne may still be at work, but he's got other options.

Eddie calls Jeff.

"I think you have to go to the hospital," he says when Jeff answers, slow and deliberate and sincere.

There's a few moments of confused silence, then Jeff asks, "What the fuck, dude?"

Eddie waits for just a little bit longer before saying, "When you see what I've got for this next campaign, I think you're going to have to go to the hospital."

Jeff laughs, and they talk for a little bit about what the campaign's going to be like, what character Jeff's thinking about for it, what he'd like to do with his character and how it can fit with some of the stuff Eddie's working up, how Eddie better not kill this one damn it.

"You know all I care about is you and your safety," Eddie says before they hang up, once again making it as genuine as possible so it'll get picked up as a lie.

Jeff laughs at him again and hangs up on him, leaving Eddie all alone and jittery.

He doesn't know if his soulmate will even see it any time soon, let alone respond, but - at least he did it, at least he said something.

So he's a little surprised when he feels the sting of a new lie getting written on his shoulder later that night, so late that it's already almost morning.

I went to the hospital, but I didn't get medical attention, it says. I'm not safe now.

The last of the panic he'd felt drains out of him, and he's reluctantly but fiercely grateful that his soulmate decided to break their silence to reassure him. He's not expecting anything else, but a few minutes later he feels something else being written on the inside of his thigh.

I don't care about my soulmate, too, and I won't do anything to keep them safe. That isn't why we can't talk again yet.

Oh.

Eddie kind of wants to be stubborn, and insist on talking to him again anyway, but -

But his soulmate said them, not her, like he's open to the possibility that Eddie might be a guy. But his soulmate said yet, not never. But his soulmate said he'd do anything to keep Eddie safe, and Eddie's pretty sure he just got a little glimpse into what anything might be, and he -

Things have changed. His soulmate's probably graduated, Eddie realizes, and he's clearly found at least one person who's a different kind of friend, considering the lies he just said are no longer stilted and obscured, and all that's aside from whatever he's gotten involved with that might mean Eddie isn't safe if they talk again.

So for now, he'll listen.

—

Later that month, Eddie's in the back of Hawkins' one and only comic-slash-games shop, crouched down and hunting through their meager supply of miniatures. He's so focused on his search for one that he a, hasn't used a lot, and b, can modify enough to suit his latest campaign, that he doesn't notice someone's come up and is standing by him until he hears the rustling and clack of merchandise on the shelf above him.

He rocks back on his heels, looking over and up to who's joined him - and nearly falls over when he sees Steve Harrington standing there.

"Seriously?" he demands, because Jesus Christ, they're coming to find him in his own territory now? Then, in almost the same breath as the state of Hawkins High's recently graduated golden boy hits him, "Wait, what the hell happened to you?"

Harrington squints down at him, looking incredibly unimpressed. Eddie's not actually sure how someone can pull off looking that irritated when one eye can only barely open, but somehow, he manages it.

"I was captured by Russians who didn't like my attitude," he responds, dry and sarcastic.

Fuck him then, Eddie decides, turning to glare back at his miniatures. "Right, heaven forbid the peasantry rise above their station and show concern to the royalty."

There's an awkward silence, but Harrington doesn't leave, and when Eddie glances back up, he looks - softer, somehow. It makes his injuries look even worse, and Eddie swallows roughly.

"I was at Starcourt," Harrington says, as if that should explain it all, which -

Actually, yeah, it should. It's not like Eddie's unaware of the fact that the mall kind of spectacularly burned to the ground. It's all that's been in the papers for the last few weeks. He hasn't read many of them himself, but he couldn't avoid remembering some of the headlines - Hero Cop Dies Saving Children and Scoop Slinging Teens Save Lives and Hawkins Mourns Loss of Promising Teen Couple.

He'd been irritated at seeing Harrington and Hargrove's faces everywhere, in a strange, gut clenching way that he doesn't really want to look too closely at, considering one of them is now dead and the other apparently saves lives. In retrospect, he should have put it together, but Harrington's picture had always been him in his varsity jacket, or his tux and crown at prom, or once in the sailor outfit of his summer job. Never of his injuries, and even now, looking at him, it looks so much more like he got in another fight than he was injured in a fire.

"Is it true, then?" Eddie asks, because he can feel the most recent lies from his soulmate burning as though they're being written all over, and he still really doesn't want this asshole to be it. "Little sailor boy saving lives?"

Harrington makes a face that has to hurt, but apparently looking bitchy is more important than physical comfort. Then he shrugs one shoulder. "Yeah, I guess, I helped. But it wasn't just me. I wasn't even the MVP."

Eddie snorts. "False modesty doesn't become you."

Harrington just mutters, "Whatever, man, you asked," and goes back to looking at the shelves like Eddie isn't even there.

Which tracks, really, with how Harrington had treated almost everyone in high school, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

"What are you even doing here?" he asks.

Harrington looks back down at him. "The Hopper-Byers are moving to California."

"Did not know that." Eddie's kind of surprised that Harrington does, actually, unless he's been keeping tabs on his ex's current boyfriend, just waiting to swoop in. Sucks for the Byers, though - baby Byers will be okay, he thinks, but he knows Jonathan's heading into his senior year, and that's a rough time to - "Wait, Hopper-Byers?"

"Yeah." Harrington's expression has gone all closed off, now, like he'd rather be anywhere but here talking to Eddie.

Feeling's fucking mutual, Eddie decides.

"El - Hop's adopted daughter - she's going with the Byers."

Eddie didn't know Hopper had an adopted daughter. But then, with Harrington's parents, he's not surprised the guy's cozy enough with the chief of police to have a dumb little nickname for him and be friends with his adopted daughter.

Former chief of police, and that makes Eddie feel just a little bit guilty. Not enough to stop poking at Harrington, though.

"And that brought you here because…."

"There's a going away party, and I'm not showing up empty handed." Harrington gestures at the shelves. "Will likes all this weird shit."

Goddamn. Even when Harrington is doing something nice for someone, he's still a huge dick about it. Eddie wonders if it's hurting what counts for a brain under all that hair to be this thoughtful about an obligatory going away present for some nerd.

Harrington lets out a frustrated huff of air, pushing his fingers through his hair. "Help a guy out, man? He's leaving his party behind, so I don't want to get him something for, you know, game play or whatever, but maybe something to remember it?"

If Eddie was feeling charitable, he might think it was sweet, how much the guy was thinking about this. But, well.

It's Steve Harrington, and even if Eddie's never really interacted with the guy before, he knows enough to know he's exactly the kind of rich, popular jackass that makes life for people like Eddie miserable.

So Eddie snorts, thinks that of fucking course the guy is trying to outsource gift buying onto him, that he can't even put in the effort to pick it out himself and instead is just trying to find someone else to do it for him.

Still, he doesn't want Byers the younger to end up with a crappy gift. He might not be coming into freshman year at Hawkins High with the rest of his apparently D&D playing friends, but Eddie can still look out for him a little.

"There's some t-shirts and posters next aisle over. Couple of choose your own adventure comic books, some art books towards the back," Eddie offers.

Harrington makes a face. "Yeah, definitely not getting him a t-shirt, hopefully he can at least have a chance at his new high school."

Oh, fuck this guy and his judgemental, holier-than-thou attitude.

"He's an artist, though, his stuff is really good," Harrington continues. "I already got him a sketchbook and some paints, so maybe the art books? I'll take a look."

Harrington is moving before Eddie can get a word in edgewise, pausing only to clasp his shoulder and give it a squeeze.

"Thanks, Munson," he says, easy as anything, and then he's gone.

I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone whose commented/reblogged/liked this - I'm a little bit blown away by the response, and I'm so so glad people are enjoying this!! We'll be heading into season 4 with the next part, and they're probably going to start getting longer because this is turning into such a monster. I'm having so much fun writing these dumb boys!

-----

Part 6

Taglist (if I missed you please let me know, and always happy to add more!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @affablevixen @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n

[doyouremem8erme]

Heyy this is @agalychnisspranneusroseus I saw your tags on that storyboard of the sashanne divorce swordfight and YES it's striking how Sasha doesn't attack ONCE. At least during those first shots, iirc she did swing her sword once or twice later but that fight as a whole is Anne attacking and Sasha always on the defense trying to stop her without hurting her. See how she grabs both her swords with one hand and uses the other to grab Anne, keeping the weapons away from her face. WHICH REMINDS ME -> Anne has always been much more brutal with Sasha than Sasha's been with her in their swordfights. Like in both cases it's understandable lmao but I still can't stop thinking about how Anne left Sasha with a very noticeable scar on her face and Sasha deliberately kept her swords away from her face as to not hurt her. Because she loves her. Because she doesn't want to scar her 😭 Anne is trying to actually kill her out of pure rage and she's just thinking about how to stop her without hurting her.

honestly tho theres such a difference between their two swordfights bc in reunion anne is really on the defensive almost the whole time

sasha makes the first move and anne only raises her sword to protect sprig

like especially in the first parts of it sure shes pissed off as hell at sasha but shes mostly like. hold on are we seriously doing this gladiator style.

like look at her face when grime annouces the trial by combat. she doesnt want to fight her!

and meanwhile sasha is the one who makes the first move and runs at her and anne is like oh SHIT i gotta not get stabbed to death that isnt supposed happen to anyone until next season finale!

like you can tell just from their stances here. anne is just trying to defend herself and the frogs but sasha has been living this toad life for months now and has gotten wayyy into the warlord teen lifestyle. even tho shes super pissed in some of these scenes every time sasha tries to land an actual hit shes super shocked and betrayed looking.

this is her bestie who she was so excited to reunite with! how did things go so wrong?

but sasha being so so willing to resort to violence against anne and the plantars is too much for anne and shes like ok fine. were doing this. and she pushes sasha back and disarms her but scars her in doing so.

i wouldnt say anne is more brutal overall in this fight because like. sasha was the one trying to kill her frog family and actively trying to win this literal battle with literal swords this whole time! and sasha almost won but anne stood up to her at that last moment.

honestly they shouldve both been hurt in this fight but a disney show isnt gonna show cuts and scars unless theyre plot relevant. matt braly had to FIGHT for darcy to get the cut on its face in all in and made the blood green as a compromise. i see it as more symbolic than anything i guess? like any of those other moves couldve left scars--annes aiming for sashas weapons anyways and slashes her face at the same time bc of the angle--and it serves as a reminder of who sasha is now and what happened between them.

true colors though. true colors is where things are different.

anne has finally given up on sasha being her friend. she gave her a second chance and she still betrayed her. just like last time shes been put in a situation of sashas making where the only way out seems to be violence. theres something to be said abt what happens when you put these kids in a war environment and give them swords and then tell them to work out their feelings. the soldiers surround you and you both have sharp deadly weapons...what choice do you have? every sign is pointing towards doing what you need to survive.

and so sasha tries to talk things out and anne just wont hear any of it. the toad army is already on their way! sasha betrayed her sasha is causing all of this she cannot let sasha get in her way

and for once! sasha is actually in the RIGHT! before sasha was doing some really terrible things and anne absolutely needed to stand up to her. but sasha wants to talk things out peacefully so they can work together to take down the king! she loves anne but also she doesnt NEED violence to win this. at least she SHOULDNT. she wants anne to be on her side! on the RIGHT side! she doesnt need her swords to do that!

but anne is in a place where she will not listen to anything sasha has to say because what reason does she have to trust her? shes proven time and again that shes a ruthlessly manipulative backstabber and will use that to get what she wants. shes put this entire kingdom at risk--full of newts she met and befriended and her own friends and allies in the castle--and she needs to be stopped at any cost.

man i dont even know where to finish all this with partly bc i cant fully get into anne and sashas heads there and also because i cant get true colors to load to get screenshots lol. its just such a moment from that episode that often gets overlooked for the calamity powers and stab scenes during the battle in the castle but... yeah i believe the storyboard artist actually confirmed that anne was intended to be actively going for sashas vitals there like damn

[queen-scribbles]

18. Compromise (WotR; Rethelion/Ulbrig)

Rethelion had done her share of negotiating in her time. She'd never thought there would be a need to do so with someone she was sweet on. However, Ulbrig had been... not avoiding her, but seeming reluctant for conversation since that one night at camp. She suspected it had something to do with fearing awkwardness over his rebuff of her... intentions.

That wouldn't do; she wanted friends and comrades and his company even more than she wanted to pursue him. So, one night, as they camped in a rocky ravine just north of Leper's Smile, Rethelion plunked herself down next to him without waiting for an invitation. She rested her curve blade across her knees and smiled cheerfully as she pulled out her whetstone.

Ulbrig shot her a bemused look. "Need something, warchief?"

"Yes, I need to talk to you," Rethelion said, skimming the whetstone along the blade. Focus on the task rather than how the firelight deepened the red of his hair. "It feels like we haven't gotten to do that much."

He snorted and fidgeted with one of the beaded bands hanging off his belt. "What's there t' talk about? Killing oglins, losing friends and makin' more, having a drink... We're all doing the same damned things."

She nodded agreement of a sort with his point, silent for a few more strokes of stone against steel. "How are you doing with regard to your clan?"

"Startin' to wrap my head around it, but it's still hard to grasp that kin I knew as lads and lasses are grown and gone, even if the oglins didn't get 'em."

Rethelion cocked her head. "It is hard, even when you watch it happen. Can't imagine what a shock it is to wake up and find so much time has passed." She balanced the blade and reached over to give his knee a solitary pat before withdrawing. "As I've said, I'm always happy to listen if you want to talk."

Ulbrig still flinched at the brief touch. "We've been over this, warchief." He raked one hand through his hair, briefly holding the ginger mess at bay and letting her see the conflict in his eyes. "Relic like me's not what you want."

"First off, I was offering a listening ear as a friend, nothing more. I can do that regardless of... anything else." She set aside the blade and leaned forward, forearms braced against her knees. "Second, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I have a deal for you, Ulbrig of clan Olesk; I won't make any further overtures without some sign of reciprocation from you. My intentions and interest are clear, and I don't want to make you uncomfortable." She did want to run her hand over his well-muscled arms, up to rasp against his beard and... but she shook those thoughts away as counterproductive. "You know where I stand, take as long as you need to figure where you do."

Something like amusement colored Ulbrig's eyes as he cocked his head at her, hair falling in waves over his shoulder. She wanted to run her fingers through that hair so bad. No. Focus, Rethelion. "And my end of this bargain, Commander?"

"Very simple: you remember my heritage" --a gesture toward her sharply pointed ears as the clearest example-- "and the fact I have two and a half centuries under my belt." She snorted a laugh. "I'm far more a relic than you; old enough to have met your grandparents when they were youngins. I'm familiar with loss and know what I'm getting myself into. Keep that in mind as you figure out where you stand. If you have other reasons to object and don't wish to pursue anything, fine. But if that was the only issue, maybe take things into consideration."

His eyes gleamed in the firelight, and he gave a firm, deliberate nod. "Your terms are acceptable."

He held out a hand to shake, and Rethelion had to fight the urge to linger when she took it. But that wouldn't be keeping her end of the deal. So she let go and enjoyed the persistent warmth, hoping he felt the same.

[phoenixradiant]

OC Interview Tag Game: Anesaru and Sizen

My thanks to @thewritingautisticat for the tag! I'm well into the cast of side characters at this point (and I probably have one of these in the bottomless backlog too), so let's do Anesaru and Sizen. This'll be fun.

Were you named after anyone?

Anesaru: "With a name like this I'd have to be. Four syllables? Unfortunately I can't remember for the life of me who it was."

Sizen: "Pretty sure it was your cousin twenty-one times removed. Said to have found a cure for Ram's Blight that singlehandedly wiped the disease off Amkarea."

Anesaru: "You knew that?"

Sizen: "This is only the fourth time you've forgotten since Chiodan. Besides, I'm named after her Dragon."

Anesaru: "You are?"

Sizen: "Lady Saru, believe me when I say you have a mind for everything except family history, but you do not have a mind for family history."

When was the last time you cried?

Anesaru: "When Sizen opened the Len-cursed door. I'm afraid my eyes aren't what they used to be. I suppose you mean really cried, though, and that was when I... I..."

Sizen: "Saru? Let's not talk about it. I'm afraid that means I can't answer either. Er, would you mind letting me hear future questions before you ask them?" *gets the whispered list* "We're not answering some of these."

Sizen has decided to strike the next question.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Anesaru: "I didn't used to, thought it was deceptive, didn't much like it. Now though, I like the thought it takes. It keeps the mind busy."

Sizen: "Picked up a bit in the army, but generally no."

What is the first thing you notice about people?

Anesaru: "How much light they let in. The ones who really care, when they come in, they open the door just a crack and slip through and close it again."

Sizen: "I do my best to tell them to keep the light down on their way in but most of them don't seem to listen. As for me... Curious, I don't know that I've ever really thought about it. I suppose if they have any weapons on them. You can tell a lot about a man by the weapons he chooses."

After deliberation, Sizen has decided to strike the next question.

Scary movies or happy endings?

Anesaru: "I don't suppose I hear much of either, these days. Just news. News is either good or bad, but it's rarely 'scary' or 'happy'. Except when the herbalist girl sent me a vial of that salve. I use it sparingly, but... Arknne... There's not a more wonderful feeling in the world. Now we know it works, Rel tells me she's working on more."

Sizen: "That's what we've heard. We're a bit busy with the other tasks you have for us to fetch it by wyvern, but some of her friends, caravan workers, have been entrusted with keeping the shipments constant."

Anesaru: "And what about you, Sizen? What kind of stories do you like?"

Sizen: "I try to stay away from that stuff. Haven't been to a play in over a year."

Anesaru: "Sizen! Don't deprive yourself of that over me!"

Sizen: "I only ever went because you were going anyway! I like doing things, not watching people pretend to do things!"

Anesaru: "Sizen Ul-Kuren, don't you lie to me! If I find out you're not living a life outside of worrying about me, I will grope my way to a window and throw myself out!"

Sizen: "That wouldn't even kill you, Saru. It would just hurt. A lot."

Anesaru: "That was my intention. That'll show you."

Any special talents?

Anesaru: "I used to be able to juggle. Last time I tried I ended up with a knife through my hand. I wasn't even juggling knives!"

Sizen: "A bit of magic here and there. Nothing that really improves society, just a few combat spells."

Anesaru: "You can literally throw lightning out of your body."

Sizen: "So can a lot of other people! It's hard, true, but it's hardly unique."

Anesaru: "You gave your father lightning burns when you were three."

Sizen: "And he caused a weird scar on my grandfather's hand. It runs in the family!"

Sizen has decided to strike the next question two questions

What sort of sports do you play?

Anesaru: "I used to be good at running. Ria, if it weren't so bright outside I'd probably still be good at running."

Sizen: "Combat sports, mostly."

How tall are you?

Anesaru: "Last I checked I'm a few hairs shy of my bodyguard. Hardly a good look, a monarch being shorter than those standing beside her."

Sizen: "So I got used to walking around barefoot. It works, she doesn't need much more height. Objectively I'd say a little over three ozrins" [call it 5' 10'']

What was your favourite subject in school?

Anesaru: "It wasn't Len-cursed family history. Probably mathematics."

Sizen: "Teare family history. One of us had to do it."

What is your dream job?

Anesaru: "To be honest I wish I'd never left the Guard. Didn't have much choice in the matter, but..."

Sizen: "If I'm honest, I don't much like honest work. Too repetitive. Too mind-numbing. Too purposeless. If I weren't looking after the queen I don't know what I'd do."

Anesaru: "I hardly see how that's not repetitive, these days."

Sizen: "But you're nice to talk to and it's far from purposeless. So here I'll stay. As long as you need me."

...

Hahahaha they're both emotionally wrecked in different ways. Welp, time for the tagging:

NP tagging @somethingclevermahogony, @aesthetic-writer18, and @pluppsauthor!

[diyabloko]

idk if someone do that like this, but i want to share my goldrose drabbles here. considering the fact that I still can't get used to ao3.

this one is hurt/comfort and there's the joe×kate side line also. and little tip before start: sorry my mistakes if there's any.

Joe leans against the wall and feels his eyelids flutter. Nervous, tired, or sad - who knows, but it's getting hard. Everything is pressing and it's hard to move on at times like this. Even when your life is tightly intertwined with someone else, it can be terribly lonely, and even realizing how stupid it is at his age and experience, it doesn't get any easier. He turns the key over in his hands, but he can barely overcome his doubts.

When it seems that a person is incapable of leaving you, they will soon do so. Just like mother did. For example. So, reflecting on the relationship with his girlfriend, Goldberg catches a nagging thought for a moment: "Even though it seems different, everything is unstable". Kate is helding close by nothing but a promise - she can lose her morals and leave, leave him to drown in lies and blood whenever she wants. All he has to do is make a wrong move, step on her territory of identity, and he'd lose her trust and specialness in her eyes. And it's easy. She's stubborn.

His face is gently taken in slightly stiff palms. This person hesitate for a moment, and then kiss him gently, forcing him to hug their shoulders. Joe stubbornly pushes his thoughts away. He is afraid that everyone might leave him again. He might not be enough again. He could be a lost boy again, with his life in danger, even if he has a new name and hairstyle, even if he has his own money and home. He can be abandoned again, and it is painful enough, so for some moment he even wants to grab Kate and hold her by force, as if she were in a glass cage that he is moving from city to city. In fear. In hatred. But close.

"I'm always here, Joe".

Words ease the burden. Thoughts still rage, but they're getting easier to control. For some reason, that kiss makes him want to kill. To kill someone so that he can share heavy secret with Kate, to keep her at least in this way, in the faint hope that shared lies will bind them together more than shared mornings.

But he is always there. And this realization does help to forget everything for a moment. Rhys runs his fingers from his ear to his chin, looks with his cold eyes, and smiles slightly. He is always here, although at the same time he is never there.

"One day you will learn to answer instead of being silent in response. Maybe then it will be easier to be alone with you."

"Rhys."

"That's already something. Go on, keep talking," he smoothly plunges into the hug, as if deliberately wrapping Joe in his arms so that he does not get out on his own. Thanks to Rhys's waywardness, Goldberg hardly ever feels pathetic for having to comfort himself. It's as if Rhys was never fictional, he was never contained within the comfortable confines of an imaginary friend. Or something like that. He always walked on the edge of reality, but always hugged outside of it.

"The peace is pressing on me. And I'm afraid to be alone in it."

"Let's go for a run. Just say the word, and I'll remind you who to kick in the ass. And the peace is gone."

"I can't kill every time I'm sad."

"And who came up with this?" He runs his fingers through Joe's hair, as if forgetting that it's not as long as it was in London. He continues to play with it, making a mess. But it works. The mess he makes has always helped Joe to put his thoughts in order - surprisingly, this contradiction is not the first wierd thing that makes sense to Joe in this relationship. "You're not alone now."

"«Now» - since when?"

"Since you separated me. Since you started dividing your actions into "your own" and "forced" ones. Since you started dividing yourself into the person you are and the person you had to become. And you know the answers to these questions very well. As well as everything I tell you."

"Yes, I do. But I don't understand. Just like I don't understand why you're still here. Why, even after accepting you, you're still... Not a part of me?"

"I am a part of you, dummy. And we still have a long way to go," he doesn't let Joe slip out of his arms again, as if he's really trying to join someone else's body in this way. But it doesn't work either, it only gets hotter in some places from the close contact. "Now I don't want to be just a thought. Now I have a form, I have a direct influence, I have a voice and actions, even if now only for your attention. It's much easier to be constrained by the boundaries of an imaginary personality than to be one of the options."

"How sad do you think it is if a part of me is comforting me?"

"I think it's more joyful than if someone else did it instead. And that's what I'm getting at. No one can take me away unless they kill both of us. I am always with you, and my thoughts remain the most important for your attention, because you can't get away from them. And our love will not disappear. And this is what you always needed - to lock someone inside you and live with them. Because everyone else was leaving and dying, and I won't leave and I won't die, because we are one, and this is the happiness we deserve by the fact of being."

Time was losing weight in conversations with Rhys. Because all this could happen in a few seconds of thought, or it could last for hours of tears. After living together became routine, counting time in particular became a silly idea. It's not always a good thing, but it's always amazing, as if mental disorders have opened the door to superpowers.

"Joe. You will not be alone. You will be miserable, but not alone. And I will always be here to remind you of that."

[featherlouise]

Do you have any more funfacts about mothfriend, his relationship with Hollow, their kids or maybe the childhood friends AU? 👀 I am very normal about all of them (lies)

Okok so I kinda have a habit of centring all my characters’ lives around the main character. So!! I’ve been thinking about mothfriend’s childhood, how he came to live in the middle of nowhere, etc

So!!

The day the Radiance is consumed by the void, her dying screams echo across the lands. It’s a sound no mortal has heard in millennia, but every living being intrinsically knows the meaning of: the death of a god.

As the child of the Seer, he was expected to have a deeper connection to the dream realm than most, and as such was raised with. A lot. Of pressure put onto him. On top of that, his mother believed that if she were to offer her child to the Radiance as a vessel, her connection to Her would deepen, and she would forever be known as the one who broke the chains cast upon their goddess by the pale usurper.

When the Radiance dies, however, mothfriend ceases to be of any use. His magical abilities are lacklustre, to say the least, and with Her gone, he just becomes another mouth to feed.

I’ve not really worked the specifics, but long story short, mothfriend takes the commotion caused by Her death to make a break for it. He runs out into the middle of a blizzard and doesn’t look back. He runs until he can’t and then runs even further. Because if he knows one thing, it’s that he cannot stay in this kingdom. Not with how deep the Order has sunk their teeth into it.

Eventually, he reaches the edge of the kingdom (the capital is p near the border, so this takes maybe an hour or two) and he knows that if he doesn’t find shelter soon, he’s a dead man walking.

(I’ve not figured out how, bc I don’t want him to just find it by chance but!!) eventually, he stumbles across a cabin, and figures if there are any owners, they won’t begrudge him for taking shelter in their barn, and manages to fall into a fitful sleep.

When he wakes up, there’s a blanket thrown over him. (Again, not worked out the details (this is a very new idea lmao))

Turns out!! This cabin is owned by a blind old lady, and while she can get by pretty well on her own, manual labour jobs her wife used to do have been getting more and more difficult. Mothfriend, with nowhere else to go, takes up her offer of lodging in return for work.

I’ve been thinking about mothfriend’s character a little, and have decided that his kind, mild, generally teddy bear like demeanour?? It’s VERY deliberate. Mothfriend is VERY hot headed, and for the first few months of his stay with the lady, whenever he starts getting angry, she sends him outside to chop wood to let out his frustration.

When he’s done, he’ll bring whatever’s usable (aka whatever hasn’t been chopped to pieces) into the house, puts it into the basket next to the fireplace, and sits down at the dining table with the lady, who made a warm drink for the both of them while she waited (sometimes it’s tea, other times it’s hot chocolate, or coffee, she’s surprisingly good at figuring out just what mothfriend needs in these moments).

While they drink, they talk. And, through these chats, he learns that the lady (“Call me Gran, dear.”) had a wife and child, the former of which passed away peacefully in her sleep almost a decade ago. Her child on the other hand?? Was captured and presumably killed by “religious fanatics” when he was young. Almost half a century later she still has no idea what happened to him.

He decides not to tell her about the Order.

One day, a couple of months into his stay, she tells him to help her clean out the spare room in the cottage, since he “may as well have somewhere proper to sleep, can’t have your back giving out before mine!! That couch does you no good.”

It’s at this point mothfriend begins to worry about possibly trying to replace Gran’s lost child, and when he brings it up during one of their post wood chopping conversations, she just laughs, and tells him,

“Dear, just because I’m letting more people into my life, it doesn’t mean I’ve gotta kick anyone else out!! This ain’t a hotel, hon. My heart’s got unlimited space. Once you’re in here,” she pats herself on the chest, “Y’ain’t leavin’.”

After a few years, Gran’s health starts to deteriorate. A few years after that, she passes away, bedridden, with Mothfriend holding onto her hand.

Before she goes, she tells him, “I’m glad you escaped those evil sons a’ bitches dear. Never woulda’ met my favourite grandson otherwise.”

He never finds out how she knew, and surprisingly, it doesn’t bother him.

A year later, an injured god (though he doesn’t know that) shows up on his doorstep

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

All For One & One For All

Gallery II Taglist Application II Symbol Guide

Summary: In trying to tear them apart, Captain Sobel just accidentally brought them closer. A/N: Just a lil friendship flashback blurb thing that came to me while I was working on Chapter 11 & I figured I'd put it out there lol bc platonic friendships are important!! Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @wwhatev3r @mccall-muffin

6 Months Earlier: March 18th, 1944. Aldbourne, England.

“I’m gonna kill myself,” Don muttered, hauling what felt like the millionth pile of dirt over his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna kill him myself,” Alix replied out of the corner of her mouth, digging her shovel violently into the Earth with renewed vigor, as though spearing Sobel straight through the heart.

“Not if I do it first,” Skip mumbled back to her with a roll of his eyes. “Can you believe this is our fucking Saturday?"

“I don’t remember giving you three permission to speak!” Sobel bellowed from the outside of the ditch, pacing from one end to the other like a caged animal. 

“Sir,” Skip half-panted, in a tone of forced diplomacy. “We’ve been at this since dawn and it’s almost ten now. When can-”

“You will be digging these damn ditches until I tell you to stop, Sergeant Muck!” Sobel interrupted, nostrils flaring.

"Your times from yesterday morning's run were so pathetic that you should be grateful I didn't make you run beforehand!”

Well what did you fucking expect, Alix wanted to retort.

Don was sick as a dog, and both she and Skip were nursing hangovers on zero sleep, having spent most of Thursday night taking care of Malarkey after they returned from the pub.

What the hell did Sobel expect them to be after all that, Olympic fucking medalists?

Digging pointless ditches only to fill them back in was one of Sobel's favorite punishments and the three of them seemed to always be first on his shit-list: Alix for insubordination and her smart mouth, Skip for lateness, and Don seemingly just for existing. 

Don stopped digging to let out another hacking cough into his elbow and Sobel’s nose crinkled disdainfully.

Keeping his head tilted down, Skip still managed to exchange worried glances with Alix. 

Don's flu had only been getting worse under the constant training in the English rain, and his best friends both wondered silently how long Don could remain working before he collapsed.

Finally, the agent resolved to say something.

She couldn't let this asshole Sobel endanger her friend, even if it meant taking on more punishments herself.

“Sir, Mal can barely stand!" Alix protested, pausing from her work momentarily to wipe away the sweat trickling down her forehead.

She was trying her best to remain civil but it was a Herculean effort.

"Punish me and Skip all you'd like but Don is too fucking sick to be here. He needs rest and a doctor before he gets any worse!"

 

Sobel glared down at her for a moment and Alix could see the cogs turning in his mind before he spoke. 

"It's Martinelli, isn't it?" he asked finally, eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her. "Our Sparrow-in-Training." 

You have my file; you know damn well who I am, Alix wanted to snap, but she managed a "Yes sir" from between gritted teeth.

“Well Martinelli," he spat as though her name was a curse word.

"You don't give the orders around here. I do. And since you three had the worst times yesterday, you will be digging ditches until I tell you otherwise. Is that clear?" 

"Then let me dig Don's section," Alix pushed. "So he doesn't have to." 

"I can help!" Skip volunteered but Sobel ignored them, continuing on his tirade.

"Director Donovan and the OSS might see something special in you, Martinelli, but d’you want to know what I see?” 

Not particularly but I know you're going to tell me, Alix thought dryly but outwardly she held her tongue, glaring down at her shovel as she dug up another round of soil and threw it over her shoulder. 

He was deliberately trying to rankle her by ignoring her concerns about Don's health, framing it as though she were trying to give orders above her station. 

What a piece of shit. 

“I see a spoiled brat who thinks she’s too good to be here because Daddy paid her way into the OSS."

Alix set her jaw but Sobel was just getting started. 

"You may be Donovan's little princess back at HQ," he sneered. "But as long as you are positioned with Easy for your cover, you are under my command and I will not be allowing this type of insubordination to go unpunished. Get out of the ditch." 

Alix's brows knit. 

"Sir?" 

"Get. Out. Of. The. Ditch." he repeated, overenunciating his words as though she were a child. 

Once she'd climbed out, Sobel, who towered over her at 6 foot 1, regarded her as though she were an ant beneath his boots. 

"Count yourself fortunate that I can't kick you out, Martinelli," he all but snarled at her.

"Because I wouldn't hesitate. You're not cut out for the Airborne." 

"Good thing I didn't sign up for it then, sir." 

Shit. 

Alix's mouth moved faster than her brain sometimes. 

Most times, she thought ruefully. 

A snicker escaped Skip's mouth before he could stop it and Sobel's head whipped around, descending on him like a hawk.

"Do you think insubordination is funny, Sergeant?"

 "N-No sir," Skip choked out, trying to disguise his laughter as coughs. "Not funny at all, sir."  

Sobel was wearing a sanguine smirk, pacing in front of Skip and Alix's section of the ditch as though he were deciding what method of torture would be most appropriate for each of them.

The sadistic bastard was enjoying this. 

"Agent Martinelli," he announced, turning back to lock eyes with Alix. She could see a vein pulsing in his forehead but she kept her eyes focused, squinting in the morning sun. 

She would not be the first to blink.

"Since you seem to enjoy assuming a leadership role when it has not been assigned to you, you will be running the officers' course: 5 miles at full-speed and you will be timed. Your handler ran it in 35 minutes. Since you seem to think you rank even higher, let's see if you can run it in 25." 

Alix drew her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from yelling, biting down so hard that she tasted blood. 

He's insane, she thought to herself. He's officially fucking lost it. 

Another impossible task, and all because she had been a little tired during the morning run.

She could've screamed, especially when she saw the gloating look on Sobel's face.

"I may not be able to kick you out, Martinelli, but by the end of today, you will wish that I had."

"We'll see, sir."

"Muck, Malarkey" Sobel barked, turning his attention to her other friends. "Get out of the ditch." 

Skip exhaled sharply through his nose, as though he was releasing any hope of having a good day, but he too clambered out of the ditch before reaching down to help Don as well.

"Since I would hate to break up the Three fucking Musketeers--"

Sobel's voice was dripping with so much sarcasm that it left Alix seriously considered how much it would cost her to accidentally poison the man's coffee some fine morning.

"You two will be accompanying Agent Martinelli on the Officers' Course. But this is not a playdate, you three. You will be competing. The one with the slowest time will be filling in this unfinished ditch all by themself."

Alix cocked an eyebrow.

She knew the game he was playing. It was the same game that the headmistress played at St. Mary's: trying to pit friends against each other.

Sobel got a real kick out of being divisive and Alix suspected that whatever else was going on in his life, he wanted everyone else to suffer for it too.

Well, tough shit.

She might've actually felt sorry for him if he wasn't such a jackass.

But Sobel was the sort of man who would probably kick puppies for fun.

He was clearly banking on the fact that if they were busy fighting with each other, they'd be less effective against him so he was trying his damnedest to sow some discord between them.

But he didn't know Warren Muck, not like they did.

Skip was the glue that held everything together, the ever-patient mediator.

Don and Alix may have been quick to anger but never him.

Infinitely good-natured, the Skipper wasn't one to hold a grudge and he as well as anyone knew what Sobel's modus operandi was. It would take more than a stupid punishment from Sobel to make him truly angry at either her or Don.

"What are you waiting for?" Sobel shouted, seemingly morbidly overjoyed to watch them struggle through the course. "Get a move on! You're wasting daylight."

"Yes sir," Alix spit with as much venom as she had in her as the three headed off.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

"That man is the Devil in jump boots, I swear," Skip remarked from her right side at his usual bounding pace "I'd stake my life on it."

"You're not wrong, Skipper," Don wheezed through another loud cough, his speed starting to lag. "I'm pretty sure he's tryna kill me."

"Sure seems like it," Alix panted in reply, slowing down to match Don's pace. "Sorry I got you guys smoked too though. I would've rather it've just been me."

"No sweat," Skip chirped cheerfully, still practically skipping, true to his name. "Beats digging more stupid ditches!"

Don managed a small grin.

The bounce in Skip's step never seemed to fade, no matter how dark the day.

"And besides," Skip continued. "At least we're all getting smoked together, right? Builds character."

"Well by the time we're done in Aldbourne, we'll probably have the most fucking character of anyone in the damn whole company," Don joked.

"You're welcome," Alix snarked, the heavy footfalls of her boots sending clouds of dirt up like a small stampede.

"Guys, did he really call us the Three fucking Musketeers as an insult," Don laughed, which quickly turned into a sneeze.

"Or was that just a product of my flu-addled imagination?"

"No, it was real," Alix commented with a grin. "Not a bad book either, Les Trois Mousquetaires. I read it at St. Mary's."

"Hey, no kidding!" Skip's face lit up from beside her. "I read it in school too!"

"Weren't they also called--" Don broke off due to another coughing fit and Skip finished for him.

"The Three Inseparables, yep!"

"'We are never seen one without the others...Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, the Three Inseparables.'" Alix recited from memory.

"And D'Artagnan, the extra," Don added. "But he doesn't really count, does he?"

"I know Sobel meant it as an insult but is it terrible that I actually kinda like it?" Skip asked. "'S pretty fitting, I think."

Alix shook her head.

"It's definitely fitting," she piped up in agreement. "Plus, anything that Sobel hates is pretty much automatically my new favorite thing."

"Agreed," Don replied. "But now we need to figure out what're we gonna do about this stupid fucking competition. We'll be at the end soon."

Malarkey was right, Alix mused, trying to ignore the ever-increasing burning of her muscles as they ran.

They were nearing the end of the course and Sobel would soon be expecting two winners and a loser.

Since Malarkey was sick, most likely, Sobel was betting on him finishing last so that he could be forced to fill in the ditch, but neither Skip nor Alix were going to let that happen.

"Well, the answer's right there, isn't it?" Alix commented and both Skip and Don cocked their heads.

"Care to elaborate?" Skip asked at the same time Don managed to choke out "Share" in between a string of thunderous sneezes.

"'Tous pour un, un pour tous!'"

Skip shook his head.

"Sorry, no dice. Translation please?"

"'All for one and one for all,'" Alix answered brightly.

"We finish the race at the same time, together, that way Sobel can't make any one of us fill the ditch in alone. The work'll go much faster between the three of us!"

"'All for one and one for all,'" Skip repeated, a grin spreading across his face. "I love it. You in, Mal?"

"Of course I'm in!" Malarkey piped up. "Man, I can't wait to see the pissed off look on his face when he realizes we won't play his stupid fucking games!"

And Malarkey was right.

The sense of pure triumph and satisfaction that Alix felt watching Sobel's face turn red with fury as the three of them crossed the finish line arm-in-arm was enough to get her sore muscles through even the most strenuous parts of refilling the ditch afterwards.

[kuschelkissen]

I has question to ask, if Hiro were to ever still be alive what do you think he would do when he has free time to visit his brother? Or what do you think Furuya Rei's Reaction to being the reason why Hiro Killed himself?

Thanks for the question!

The first part is kinda hard to come up with an idea, as these brothers are very different in personality. I could see them go to a museum for example, or theater. Or maybe go for a nice dinner? I wonder if Hiro likes pasta...? I could see Hiro drag him into a zoo. I think once he's gotten over all the loud kids running around, Taka'aki might enjoy that.

(Though tbh I can see him enjoy everything Hiro suggests, as long as he can talk to him. They haven't seen each other in a long time)

As for the second ask? I think his reaction will be painful. Incredible guilt rushing through his veins, crushing him with the knowledge that he is the reason his best friend is dead.

idk, in my head it would damage him a lot. Hiro has been his best friend since they were 7 or 8, if my best friend died because of me, I'd be devastated.

Adding to that the knowledge that not only did he wrongfully blame (and try to murder Akai in revenge), that bastard also simply let him do that! Even after he knew that Rei, too, was a NOC.

So my thought would be, at first Rei is crushed by the guilt, maybe bad enough to actually think about ending his life (depending on where in the storyline we are. Past BO takedown? There's probably not much left holding him in life then), and once his head clears just enough to realise Akai has lied to him all these years, anger will take over.

It's good because the anger will keep him from trying to end it. He'll probably try to get his hands on Akai to ask him what in the world he had been thinking.

And then they can make up and out lol

I really wonder if we will get to see a scene like that...

ANYWAY, under the cut have a tiny oneshot of Hiro returning home after having to fake his death in the BO~!

Almost nervously, Hiromitsu shifted from one leg to the other. It had been years since he had last talked to his brother and even longer since they had last met.

But after taking down the organisation, he was finally allowed to emerge from hiding after he had had to fake his death, and it was a great feeling. It felt deliberating not having to look over your shoulder every waking second and only sleeping with one eye still open.

It had been an unnerving, stressful time, but it was over now and finally he could go back to the people he loved.

He took a deep breath and raised his hand to ring the doorbell, but he froze before he could do so.

Would he be angry with him? Disappointed for keeping the truth from him? Taka'aki was smart, smarter than anyone he knew, even without anyone outright telling him, he must've assumed that he died...!

Suddenly he felt like turning around and running away again.

But before he could do that, voices could be heard from inside.

"'kay, see ya at work tomorrow."

There was a shuffling sound, then the door opened and for a moment, Hiromitsu had to fight every instinct he had picked up in years of undercover work to not attack the person that now stared at him from one surprised eye.

Yamato Kansuke stared in surprise and almost like Hiromitsu had caught him with his hand in the cookie glass. Then he narrowed his eye - Hiromitsu tried not to stare at the X-shaped scar that covered the other one - and leant a bit closer.

"Holy shit, are you kidding me?" he then blurted out, leaning back again with shocked expression. "I thought you were dead!"

"I-"

"Kansuke-kun what is the matt-"

Hiromitsu froze once again when Taka'aki stepped forward and stared at him with wide eyes.

"Hiro... Hiromitsu?" His voice, that was usually strong and deep now was trembling and barely more than a whisper. "Hiromitsu!"

Hiromitsu had no chance to react, when his brother walked past Kansuke with wide steps and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

"You're alive!"

Hiromitsu could feel his brother's shoulders tremble and helplessly embraced him. "Yeah... I... sorry."

"No. No, don't apologise. You're here! I thought...!" Taka'aki sighed in relief. "You are here."

"I guess I'm gonna leave you two alone," Kansuke said, trying to sound casual. "You probably have a lot to talk about."

Taka'aki just nodded slightly, reaching out for him as he passed them, to gently touch his shoulder in return for a soft smile. He then leant back and Hiromitsu bit his lips as he saw the tears glistening in his eyes.

"Niisan..."

"Come in, yes? I'll make some tea and... and then we talk."

"Okay." Hiromitsu smiled. "I missed you, Niisan."

They'd have a lot to talk about.

[leam1983]

I'm usually in the opposite situation. My two best IRL friends play shockingly regular Fighters and Rogues. They're not blank, but they're not as outlandish as you can get in the context of D&D. Seeing this, I opted to give my DM and friend a friendly middle-finger and designed what's possibly the most neurotic, comically self-obsessed Illithid rogue who really wishes he were an Alhoon, and I heavily lean into the "so evil it's actually funny" side of playing a character whose alignment is diametrically opposed to everyone else's.

I deliberately set up Krool, my Level 14 Illithid Rogue, so he has an uncanny knack at being offensive in public settings, and have him behave like a Vulcan who thinks complimenting surface-dwellers on the "appetizing qualities of their intellect" is totally acceptable.

Gunther the Human Fighter: "Thanks for the info, barkeep."

Krool the Illithid: "Yes, thank you - I'd offer to sample your intellect, but we're unfortunately short on time. I do hope you realize what a tremendous honor this is; I tend to find intellectual sustenance among the local rabble, in normal circumstances..."

If I can creep out NPCs or turn a simple snatch-and-grab into "snatch, grab and run from the local pitchfork-toting mob", I absolutely will. I'll have Krool grab kindergarteners by the ankles and just lean forward slightly, one hand behind his back, like he's trying to study them or to figure out what makes kids tick by shaking them until their pockets are empty. I'll have him come across as an unrepentant Lothario, only to make it obvious that he'd planned his apparent tryst with a local noblewoman to a) expose her weapons-trafficking operation and b) snack on some suitably Evil-aligned brains.

My DM: "So all your points dumped into Charisma..."

Me, in-character: "All part of the ruse, dear sir. Lady Cristabella wasn't even bothering with encapsulation of her resources; what makes you think I had any intentions of eloping with a common thief with delusions of aristocratic standing?! I strung her along to lower her defenses, purely and simply."

Gunther's player: "So when you mentioned you were starting to... understand human emotions thanks to her; were you...?"

Me, in-character, failing to mention that Krool has his fingers crossed behind his back: "A necessary deception, my dear sellsword. Let's not dawdle, I'd like to, er, borrow a few spells from the local wizards' academy before the day ends."

My DM: "Are you going to kill our questgiver, Grem?"

Me, still IC: "Why, you insult me with such base suppositions! I will do no such thing, sir; I've my standards as a purveyor of services! Now, once all business has been transacted..."

My DM: *groans, realizing he'll have to bullshit himself a stat block he hadn't planned on*

CT, have you ever played D&D? and what class do you play/think you would play?

I enjoy D&D. I play human fighters.

[notyetjae]

Yooo hope your having a good day 😎, can I request a headcanon with the arcane gals with an s/o who's a bounty hunter? Thank you! And don't forget to drink water 💧💧

Arcane girls with a bounty hunter s/o

Includes: Jinx, Vi, Sevika x gn!reader

Warnings: Violence, readers a bounty hunter expect some death and torture, suggestive themes for Sevika's part

a/n: Had so much fun writing this, sorry it took a while, had some irl stuff ^-^

Jinx

Silco hired you occasionally for quick jobs, so you'd rarely spent time in office unless you were picking up your payment or getting details on a hit.

But after he permanently brought onto his team, you'd spend a few good hours listening to his boring plans and business rants, you're eyes wandered the room, eventually spotting a girl around your age laying on a support beam, shortly after that you become friends and then more than friends

She was completely captivated with your job, in her mind you were like some god-like ninja that got paid for blowing stuff up and killing people

When you pointed out that you had the same job as Sevika her jaw went slack and she let out a very dramatic gasp,

"No, no! But you're like cool!"

She always begged to go on jobs with you, claiming that her bombs would get it done way faster, you rarely let her come with you and if you did you had to shake her down for any explosives.

Once the two of you became closer and began staying at each other's houses, swapping clothes, sleeping in the same bed, typical couple stuff, Jinx would frequently steal your knife or gun holsters to decorate them, covering the dark stained leather in bright splotches of color and her signature.

If you have a rough day she tries her best to cheer you up, bringing you something new she's working on or stealing a bag of candy so you can snack on it while the two of you chat, she thought she wasn't the best at comforting people but her presence is comforting enough.

Vi

Vi has done her fair share of crimes, she knows what it's like on the streets, how dangerous and relentless people can be, she often worried about your safety, even though you weren't working under anyone she couldn't shake the thought of someone forcing you to kill

Nonetheless she always supported you, once a month she'd run a bath before you got home from work and made your favorite meal, it was something you looked forward to and gave you a reason to keep fighting

You trained together a ton, after you moved into an apartment together you turned the guest bedroom into a home gym.

Vi matched your skill level so training fight either went on for 30 minutes or ended in a bloody nose,

"You keep doin' that and I'm gonna turn into a masochist" "You ARE a masochist."

When it came to safer missions, like retrieving items or kidnapping people, you'd bring Vi along, mostly just so you could let blow off some steam by punching assholes in the face.

Sevika

wifey time

She was the one that suggested you'd join her profession, she knew your skills and how tired you were of staying home reading the same books over and over again

She kept her eye on you for the first few months, coincidentally she always managed to be on the same mission on you, she definitely told silco to hook her up

She knew how emotionally tolling the job could be on you, especially since you were new to it all, she's not the best at comforting people but she'll be by your side with her human arm over your shoulder, her presence more comforting than any words could ever be.

Sevika LOVES teaching you tips and tricks, at first it caught you off guard that she was talking casually about such morbid topics, but then you found yourself arguing about the quickest and cleanest way to kill someone.

"Jesus did you shove your hand in a blender?" "Nope, just punch hard." "You ever considered uh I dunno, a weapon?"

Similarly with Vi, Sevika will train with you all the time, it's never a fair fight with that arm of hers, and she TOTALLY doesn't deliberately pin you to the floor or a wall just to see you squirm and whimper.

Torturing people together <3

Knife collections for Christmas, patching each other up on new years day.

another a/n: finishing this at 8am in my country call that the daily grind 💀💀

[theworldbrewery]

ever done a mini-campaign?

When most of us think of a ttrpg campaign, it’s fair to say that long-form campaigns are the prototype. Playing with the same group of players in the same world, following multiple plotlines for a very. long. time. The iconic examples of The Adventure Zone Balance, Critical Role, and Rusty Quill Gaming span out-of-game years in the making. And plenty of folks hold those up as the ideal way to play the game.

Have you ever considered...not doing that?

A short-form ttrpg game might be for you and your friends if your schedules are tight; playing a one-off, single-session game may work better when you never know when you’ll have the chance to play again. Some ttrpgs are also simply designed for shorter gameplay, with natural breaks built in where you can end a campaign.

But at times, you still want the character arc, the delight of building character relationships, and the sense of growing tension across multiple “episodes.” Or maybe you prefer the D&D or Pathfinder system and don’t want to learn to play games that have shorter timelines built in.

Enter: the mini-campaign. Spanning anywhere from five to twenty sessions, it can last as long as you and your GM want. Examples include Dimension 20′s games, as well as the Exandria Unlimited series by Critical Role.

To run a mini-campaign, all the GM needs is a few simple elements.

A contained setting.

A problem endemic to the setting.

An antagonist involved in making the problem worse or better.

A defined end-point that will occur in the near-ish future.

For the first, just come up with a specific setting as normal, then have a pretext to keep the party from leaving for too long.

A simple setting could be a single town, sizable enough that the PCs don’t know literally everyone, and the pretext could be the PCs lack the resources to pay for travel. Or they have homes and family ties in town that they don’t want to leave behind.

More complicated settings could be a snowy mountain range where the PCs are stranded after a zeppelin crash, a tropical island resort where they are on vacation, or a polar research station. The world is truly your oyster here, and the more wildly specific your setting, the more wild the storyline can become.

For the second element, a problem endemic to the setting simply means that this place has a problem that is unique in some way. If I leave the tropical resort, the problem likely will not follow me. For example, the tropical island could have issues with their power grid that lead to frequent blackouts, ruining countless vacations. It’s important to understand that the problem doesn’t have to be this major, systemic issue like speciesism or climate change.

The third element, an antagonist involved somehow, means that either the antagonist wants to deliberately make the problem worse for their own gain, or who thinks they’re solving the problem but it has extremely bad consequences in another way.

In a polar research station setting where the problem is that they’ve lost contact with the outside world, one researcher might be trying to kill their coworkers, having accidentally made contact with a chthonic being from the Fantasy Arctic. The researcher thinks they’re saving the world by preventing the group from drilling any deeper and freeing the being--but it’s only chthonic madness encouraging the violence. In reality, the survivors are the world’s best chance at keeping the entity from rising.

In our tropical resort setting, perhaps a scheming tourist is trying to take advantage of the outages to revenge himself upon his annoying in-laws, frame the PCs for the murders, and sue the resort for emotional damages.

The fourth element makes this into a mini-campaign. The story has a win condition and a lose condition, and the campaign ends with one of those two options. In the tropical resort, catching the murderous tourist and clearing the PCs’ names is the end of the story--or failing to do so, and being arrested or murdered themselves. In the polar research station, either the PCs stop the rise of a chthonic entity or they don’t. Win and Lose.

Essentially, the whole campaign has a ticking clock attached to it. Waiting too long to act means the bomb goes off. Failing means the bomb goes off. And you can’t drag the story out for too long, because one way or another, that bomb has to be dealt with.

Final Notes:

A mini-campaign is best run at lower levels--anywhere from 3rd to 9th, in my opinion. Any higher and the PCs have too much power. Any lower and they’re functional disasters. I encourage a loose level-up structure based on milestone leveling rather than XP, since mini-campaigns don’t have the structure for several high-XP boss battles.

You can add additional plot threads and antagonists as much as you like, but keep in mind they will make your campaign longer accordingly.

Let the campaign be silly, or break out of the usual genre of swords-and-sorcery. Having a secondary genre, like a murder mystery or cosmic horror, can really make a mini-campaign stand out to your players.

You must run a session zero. This is nonnegotiable. The reason? You will need to establish the relationships between PCs before starting, or they will spend too long in the “getting to know you” phase. It’s also just more fun for your players to have established grudges, inside jokes, and so on. Additionally, since you will not be running a sandbox campaign here, you will need to be sure your PCs are buying in to the setting’s premise.

What I mean by that is, if the party is at a tropical resort, they most likely are there because they like tropical vacations (or got dragged along by someone who does). A PC who isn’t built for a world where they take tropical vacations, or who has no vested interest in enjoying their vacation, is unlikely to care about someone else ruining their vacation. Some things need to be established pre-game to make sure everyone is on the same page. I recommend you also discuss the genre: if it’s going to be a murder mystery, the players shouldn’t act like it’s a slash-and-burn total war environment, or what’s the entire point? Good players will respect the genre they’re told they’re playing in, and avoid being too genre-savvy or too genre-stupid.