#it's like. i see a layout that winter might like and then i see that the person who requested it

[linabirb]

searching for layouts for your mafuyu introject's side blog sure is an experience because while doing so you find out just how many mafuyu kinnies, people who identify as her, mafuyu fictives, etc are out there

[writersdrug]

Ghost x Reader x Konig: I Don't Need You (Ch. 10)

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Summary: Thankfully, things have been resolved between you and Konig. You start to settle in more with your team, and Roze shares a few thoughts with you over a smoke. The memories are still there, but just like the winter around you, they're cold and unwelcoming. You and Konig open up to each other a bit more, more than you had ever opened up to anyone.

WARNINGS: implications of masturbation, cursing, angst (if you squint?), plot building, graphic depictions of animal torture and death (PLEASE CONSIDER ALL WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME thank you kindly)

Notes: Yes! Hello! I exist!! I've been in a slump, and I really do apologize for that. Many of you have been very patient with me and I love and appreciate you all for it! I had to intake as much CoD literature as I could in the past few weeks to get me motivated, which helped a LOT (not to mention I discovered no fewer than ten works that currently have a hold on my heart). But it's here! I forced myself to write over half of the following chapter so that it would be less daunting to finish up. I also plan to make a wip post for yall, just to share will everyone what goes on in my rat brain.

This was edited at 3 am (god it's 4 am now, i just saw that), so if there are any grammatical or spelling errors you have my full consent to call me out on it! Please enjoy!

(sidenote, I completely didn't research how old you need to be to become a navy SEAL, so reader's age is a bit inaccurate in regards to that. pls ignore lol)

(last sidenote then you can read, does anyone have tips for customizing the layout of their fics? I see so many cool ways to style the font and cute banners and errything but I have no idea how nor what to do)

- - - -

The sky hung low with a blanket of gray. It looked like it was about to snow, although the threat was soon dismissed when noon came around and there wasn’t a single flake. The air was cold and dry, forcing me to zip my jacket up all the way and tuck my nose into the collar. I blew steady, warm breaths into my jacket and tried to soak up the heat into my bones.

It was as if the incident had never happened.

Konig and I ended up driving to the liquor store, which was a blessing, since I had run out of Yeungling (and I didn’t understand enough Turkish to converse with the clerk, nor did I have any of the appropriate money – Konig was graced with both of those necessities). We talked like there had never been a week and a half of silence between us. He talked about how he had nearly forced Ridgeback to drag me out of my room and into the common area, “… but it would have been too early for that.” He commented. That, and I would have rather died.

So life went on as normal: dreary, aside from shooting people and getting shot at. Nonetheless, it was normal, and there was a peace to be found in that.

I leaned against the building to the training room, with Roze to my left. I had intended to come out and soak up whatever natural light I could – when I saw her standing there, possibly trying to do the same, I felt the instinct to play it off as if I was just leaving the building. But she cocked her head in a greeting, and a part of me took an interest in her worry-free aura. Out of everyone, she always seemed to be the least-stressed person in the room, even in the middle of a warzone. It was the balm to my anxious mind that I never knew I needed, but gratefully stood by.

We remained together in a comfortable silence (one I would most definitely would not have been comfortable with a while ago), staring ahead, watching the indecisiveness of the brooding clouds above. I wondered what the rest of the world was doing – if they might have been as calm and carefree as us, or if they were in some kind of peril, and the horrors of it were blocked out by the clouds.

I was drawn back to the present when I heard the click click click of Roze’s lighter. I turned my head and watched as she shielded the weak flame from the wind, lighting the cigarette that hung loosely from her lips.

“You smoke?” I asked.

“Sure do.” She replied nonchalantly. “Want one?” she extended her pack of cigarettes towards me.

I glanced at the box, feeling a sour taste in my mouth.

I lay on my stomach, my muscles still twitching and shaking as I tried to even out my breaths. Ghost had tossed a thin blanket over my lower half. I hadn’t even moved from the position he had ruthlessly fucked me in – my body ached too much to even try, and my mind was still recovering from the past hour.

I watch Ghost as he reclined next to me, pushing the bottom of his mask up to place a cigarette between his lips. It was the first time I had seen any part of his face all day. He grabbed his lighter from the pocket of his pants that were discarded on the floor, lighting the end of the cigarette and inhaling. He tossed the lighter back down to the floor as he tilted his head back, exhaling a long stream of smoke. I watched it swirl in the lamplight, settling in a cloud around us. He continued puffing, staring at the wall across from the bed as I lay beside him, although I felt worlds away from him.

He'd started off the night with a mountain of stress from a mission gone sideways. Instead of the usual slow build, where he would run his hands under my shirt and kiss my lips slowly and tenderly – he had walked in and immediately demanded I remove my clothes while he began stripping out of his. I had assumed tonight was going to be a passionate one, until he threw me onto my stomach and shoved my face into the pillows. It wasn’t the first time he’d been rough with me, but it wasn’t just rough – it felt dehumanizing. An hour of constant, merciless thrusts, and a hand around my neck that restricted both my blood flow and my oxygen, and I had fallen into a state of shock.

But, in the end, I was happy to be caged in by him again.

I was happy.

He turned his eyes towards me, seeming to sense that something was off. He exhaled another puff of smoke. “Everythin’ alright?” he asked, completely void of any genuine concern.

I met his eyes with my own. I felt like I shouldn’t have to answer the question, and it stirred up a bitterness in me. But I didn’t feel like arguing with him, and I certainly didn’t want him to leave – so I nodded my head, slowly blinking my eyes. “Just tired.”

He hummed and faced the wall again. He brought one of his knees up and rested his arm against it. “Want a smoke?” he asked, still looking away.

I shook my head as much as the pillow beneath me would allow. “No.” I replied.

He sighed disappointedly. Apparently, my lack of enthusiasm after being used like an old fucktoy was irking him.

To be fair, I never spoke up about how I felt.

He grunted and rose from his position, snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray by my bed, and picking up his clothes and pulling them on. My heart ached slightly as I watched him slide his shirt over his torso. I felt the threat of tears sting in my eyes as I wished his hands were holding me instead, keeping me warm and grounded. He pulled his jeans on and fastened them, buckling his belt rather quickly; and all while he faced away from me.

“Well, I know you probably need some alone time.” He muttered, sliding the skull attachment over his mask. “So I’ll get going. I’ll see you around.”

He grabbed his tactical vest and jacket and slung them over his shoulder. He paused by the door. “Thanks for tonight.” He mumbled, before finally leaving the room and softly closing the door behind him.

My eyes lingered on the ashtray with the half-smoked cigarette. A thin trail of smoke plumed into the air – I wanted to throw the tray across the room and shatter it. But it was Ghost’s, so I couldn’t; I couldn’t regardless, because it was a piece of him that remained with me, even when he left.

That, and the smell of smoke.

“Nah, I’m good.” I replied, facing the cold, empty base ahead of me.

“Good.” She said, pinching the cigarette and blowing a stream of smoke. “Stay that way. Did you know these bastards give you cancer?”

I chuckled into the collar of my jacket. “Do they, now?”

She hummed affirmatively, sucking another breath in through the cancerous bastard. “Who would’ve thought…”

We fell back into silence. I continued watching the stillness of the base, trying to see if the sky would follow through with its promise to fall. Now that my free time wasn’t spent holed up in my room, it somehow felt like there were fewer ways to spend it. With another mission on the horizon – a simple recon, yet dauntingly close to a heavily-guarded compound – no one was out and about when they usually were. Finding Roze outside and seemingly not worried was usual, however, and a warm sight, compared to how the rest of the team was on edge. Even Askel seemed grumpier than most days.

I hadn’t been seeking out someone to spend time with, no… that I would never do (or admit). But talking to a familiar face provided a comfort I had grown to need over the past couple of months. And, frankly, I felt like Konig might be getting tired of how much I ran to him when I craved social interaction. Though he had never said anything about it, I felt like I needed to branch out to other team members than just my Colonel. One might think I was trying to kiss his ass (I knew the accusation had already crossed Juno’s mind, but the young soldier was good at holding his tongue – when Konig was around, at least).

“You ever think about how ‘little girl’ you would react to this?” Roze asked, and I turned to face her. She had her nose scrunched, and a tinge of pink dusted over her cold cheeks. “Guns, war, no playdates or days at the beach…”

I sighed. “Probably would have cried.” I replied, allowing my freezing nose to poke over the collar of my jacket. “Especially if I had known that being a princess now adays meant spending more time worrying about becoming a hostage than anything else.”

Roze chuckled. “It’s a good thing we didn’t know then.” Her face was mostly blank, but I thought I noticed a hint of bitterness in the way her gaze landed on the ground. I watched her flick her cigarette with a bit more aggression than usual. “I would’ve tried to convince my entire family to run away to Scotland, live in hiding and pretend the rest of the world was a dream.”

“Scotland?” I asked. Soap’s cocky grin and heavy Scottish accent stirred in my mind, but it felt like nothing more than a small cloud of dust.

“Yeah – heard it’s fucking gorgeous over there.” She waved her cigarette in no particular direction. “Now, I don’t know how peaceful it is in terms of politics and war, but it’s pretty spacious. Simple, too. I feel like if I talked about throwing all my shit away and becoming a fisherman for a living, I wouldn’t get people trying to talk me out of it like I would in the States.” She took another drag, and laughed out the smoke.

“Fisherman?”

“Yeah.” She chuckled, a hardened smile gracing her lips. “I don’t know why it sounds so appealing… it just does.”

I hummed and looked back out at the compound. I wondered about Roze’s past; she had never said or done anything to indicate that it was particularly rough, as it was for the majority of us (us – I still wasn’t used to including myself, but it was becoming more of a habit each time), but the weariness in her eyes when she spoke about her younger self made me question what that girl had been through. Maybe it was just nostalgia. A yen for simpler times. Roze seemed to appreciate the simple things in life.

“You know Askel goes ice fishing?” she said suddenly.

I smiled underneath my jacket. “Seems like something he would do.”

“Every winter.” She continued. She dropped her cigarette to the floor and crushed it into the gravel. “He takes about three weeks of leave, if we’re lucky enough to get it, and goes to Norway. Sits on a frozen lake for hours a day, just waiting for a fish.”

“You make it sound like he’s never caught one.” I point out, my eyes lingering on the cigarette.

She shrugged her shoulders. “So does he. Every time I ask him what he caught, he just laughs. Says he’s never expects to get a bite.”

I closed my eyes and hummed in response. It was easy to picture the scene – Askel, sitting on a thick layer of ice, nursing the hoppy beers that he and Konig loved so much and waiting for a fish to bite. I wondered if he even bothered to reel the line in when he did catch something. Or if he even went fishing at all. Maybe he just went out there to get a sense of peace, to pretend that war and death didn’t exist.

The motion of thick, heavy snowflakes falling from the sky caught my attention. They landed on the skin of my nose, resisting the warmth for a few moments, before they eventually melted into trickles of water. A sudden gust of wind blew a flurry of them towards us, making the both of us flinch.

Maybe fishing doesn’t sound too bad.

- - - -

The shooting range was mostly silent, save for the occasional conversation between me and Konig. The lights were low, easily illuminating the gunpowder and dust swirling in the air. Konig and I stared at the paper target as we analyzed my shots. A few hit dead center, although most of them were clustered around the lower left of the bullseye. My lips were pursed into a scowl as I glared at my sub-par aim – it wasn’t typically so awful, but of course it was while Konig had been watching.

“Eh, are you sure you didn’t lie on your paperwork about being a sniper?” Konig asked as he stood behind my left shoulder, taking the target from my hands and looking at it closely. “You weren’t even ten yards from it. This is very poor marksmanship.”

I scowled in embarrassment, taking my pistol to the counter and pulling out the mag. “Rough day.” I answered bluntly as I started packing more bullets into the small compartment. It wasn’t a lie – I had barely gotten any sleep the night before. I was in the middle of a rather interesting dream involving me and Ghost, until my alarm woke me up before anything of importance happened.

“Very bad…” he mumbled to himself. I clicked my tongue in annoyance.

“Y’know…” I grumbled, loading the mag back into the gun and shoving it in my holster, “I don’t like stereotyping, but the boot really does fit you.” I walked past him and out into the hallway, not waiting for him to follow.

“Hmm?” he made an indignant noise, momentarily stuck in his spot, before he came jogging after me. “What does that mean? What stereotype?”

I chuckled. “Haven’t you ever how Germans are extremely blunt?” I asked.

“Austrian.” He retorted. “Do I need to brand that onto my face for you?”

“Wouldn’t do me much good, with the mask ‘n all.” I replied.

He laughed – rather snorted, as usual – “Ah, you’re right. Maybe I am blunt – just as much as you are defensive.”

I stopped at the end of the hall, right in front of the exit. “Defe-“ I turned on my heel to scowl at him. “I am not defensive! Where did you get that idea?!”

He stopped behind me, his eyes widening. He gestured an open palm in my direction. “This.”

I huffed, turning back around to punch the door open. The snow from earlier that day had ceased, blanketing the base in a thin layer of white. The moon seemed that much brighter against the crystalized ground, and the yellow lights scattered across the compound made parts of the snow look like sandy dunes. My nose tingled from the nip of the chilly air, and I pulled my jacket tighter around my body as the door fell shut behind me and Konig.

“Well, what am I supposed to say when you call me defensive?”

“You could agree.”

“But I don’t.”

“Which proves my point.”

I huffed in frustration, despite the smirk curling on the edges of my lips. “So, either I have to agree with you, whether I really do or don’t, or you’ve corralled me into a paradox.”

I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “A what?”

“A paradox, like a – y’know, never mind. It’s too difficult to explain.” I let him fall in step next to me, although he was the one who needed to slow down to match my pace. “We can just agree to disagree, how’s that?”

“Agreed.” He nodded, and I chuckled. “It won’t change the fact that I’m right, you know.” He added.

I bit my lip and tried to keep my smile from growing ridiculously larger. I looked up at him and patted his shoulder – he looked down at me, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled back. A stray, reddish-brown curl poked through the side of his balaclava, and I found the miniscule detail warming my heart through the cold air. He felt real, and in this moment, too human for this kind of life.

“Why did you choose the military?” I asked, turning back to look at the ground as we walked.

He hummed. “Isn’t that every boy’s dream?”

“Well, yes – but most of the time, it never becomes more than that.” I responded.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, mimicking my own position. “I’m not really sure what made me push so much for it. I almost didn’t make it, for obvious reasons.”

I chuckled. “Size does matter, huh?”

He looked down at me with a deadpan gaze, one that I refused to meet. “It almost did, in a bad way. And I almost backed out before they could be the ones to turn me away. But, of course, they knew they would find some use for my size – so they took me in.”

“And what did they do with you?” I asked, looking back at him.

“A ‘human battering ram,’ as my superiors had so nicely called it.” He framed the description with his hands in the air, as if it had been written on a plaque. I laughed and looked back down at my feet.

“Seriously?” I asked. “So they just had you breaking down doors, and then what?”

Konig laughed with me. “Well, I still had a gun, so I was able to shoot, thank goodness. And I had a bit more gear so I wouldn’t break my bones against the doors – I still dislocated my shoulder a few times, however…” he rolled his left shoulder, as if there was still a lingering pain from how often he had thrown himself at doors. “It was actually during a period of recovery when I proved that I could still be a sniper. My shoulder was still healing, so I had to give up being a battering ram for a while. I was sat with Horangi on the side of the mountain to give him cover. Of course, he was ambushed – he had to fight the Arschgiege right when we were given the order to shoot, so I had to take position behind the gun.” I noticed that his chest was puffed out a bit from pride. “That really knocked their pants off.”

I chuckled, choosing to ignore the inaccuracy of his phrase. “Did it now?”

“It did.” He replied, then looked at the ground. “For a moment. I got a good earful for overstepping boundaries that day, but it’s what ultimately landed me here – so I’m grateful for it.”

I nodded and hummed. “What was Horangi picked for?”

Konig shrugged, his hands now back in his pockets. “He never said what he and Commander had spoken about in his office. But, even if he wasn’t chosen – I like to think we come as a package. If I go, he goes, if he doesn’t, I don’t.”

I felt my heart warm at his words. The memory of how Juno had described Konig couldn’t be farther from my mind. It almost felt like I was talking to someone I briefly crossed paths with in my youth – not a war criminal, not the bloody and stiff soldier who had stepped onto the heli after our first mission. I envied his ability to separate his work stress from the time he had in between missions.

“Why did you decide to join?” He asked, catching me off guard.

It was only fair that I opened up to him, since he was so willing to do the same. Always the one to go first, too. But I had to be careful. I didn’t want this to turn into a pity party, and I didn’t want to dig anything up that I had worked so hard to bury deep beneath my subconscious.

“I was… a weird kid. Like you.” I said, making Konig scoff and roll his eyes. “Looking back now, I hate my younger self. I was so sensitive to what people thought about me, and I just wanted to be independent and strong. I wanted to be a ‘different girl.’” I gritted out the words that left a sour taste in my mouth. “I think I just wanted attention at first – of course, when I heard how everyone said they hated how annoying teenage girls were, and how gullible and weak they were, it just – it made me change. I wanted to prove everyone wrong, it wasn’t just about being different anymore. So, as soon as I turned old enough, I enlisted. Didn’t get to Navy SEAL right away, of course… but I joined every program I was allowed in until I could submit my application.”

I sighed, then chuckled. “Thought my family would say they were proud, that I was successful, that I was doing a good job… they were just angry. Said I was throwing my life away for business that didn’t involve our country.” I opened my mouth to say more, but I ended up scoffing and closing it once again. I felt like I had shared enough.

I looked at Konig, expecting him to acknowledge what I said. “That’s how the story goes…” he would say. But, when I met his gaze, I only saw concern. His brow was creased with what I imagined was pity, and my stomach churned. It was the exact opposite of the reaction I had hoped for. I only wanted to share stories with him, and now it was… this.

“I think you made the right choices.” He said, and I looked away.

“You don’t need to make me feel better, Konig. I appreciate it, but-“

“I’m not just trying to make you feel better.” He said, his accent slightly thicker from his exasperation. “You’re good at what you do. Your parents are just probably worried for you, and they don’t know how to show it.”

I bit down on my tongue, my eyes settling on the building in front of us with a hard expression. If only.

“Maybe that’s it.” I muttered, hoping he would drop the subject. He seemed to understand, and turned to look ahead with a disappointed sigh. My heart sank the tiniest bit at the sound, and I internally scolded myself. Still a people-pleaser, apparently.

We continued walking in silence, the buzz of the lights above us mimicking the static of a communication system that had been severed in a time where it was needed most. The edge of the barracks appeared into our view, just around the corner of the arsenal sheds that stood between us and our destination. I continued to stare at the ground, pretending to watch my steps and try to not slip on the snowy asphalt. My heart twisted with each second of silence that sat thickly between us. It wasn’t technically a fight, but somehow, it felt worse. It felt like the first time I had pissed him off, the first time we had spoken to each other – and god, did I already hate myself for the way I had acted towards him during those first few weeks. I didn’t want to drive another wedge between us, not after the ones that had already been worked back out.

I exhaled heavily through my nose. “Sorry.” I mumbled quietly, but loud enough that I knew it reached his ears. “Sensitive topics.”

He flitted his eyes in my direction, but didn’t bother to move his head. He sighed, and I nearly jolted when I felt his wide hand on my upper back. It rubbed back and forth, and it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that he was comforting me. Or, trying to, at least.

“I know.” He said, and his hand rested on my shoulder. “I’m sorry for pushing you.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I was stuck on the feeling of the roughness of his palm, which I could gleam through the fabric of my jacket. How his fingers squeezed gently and released twice. There was no hidden meaning, no forced contact or any kind of attempt to put context into the touch. It was… natural. Warm, comforting, and it spoke a thousand words that I wouldn’t have been able to stomach if he had said them. It broke past my self-hatred and walls of ‘don’t be weak’ that I would have used as my defense if he had tried to verbally convey any sort of consolation. It was the first time I didn’t feel awkward about being so close to him, let alone when he was touching me. I wondered if he did this on purpose, or if he had no idea what he was doing at all.

I let myself stand nearer to him, almost tucked under his arm. I looked up and smiled as genuinely as I could – not that it was hard for me, but because I wanted to make sure that he really knew how much I appreciated the gesture. Although, if he knew that this simple act of comfort would pierce through my outer shell, was it really necessary?

“Thank you, Konig.” I said.

He looked down at me and smiled. That damn smile. I wondered how much more refreshing it would be when he wasn’t wearing his mask. It was already too much for my soul to bear when it was just the crinkling in his eyes that I could see.

“Anytime, Bonnie.” He replied, patting my shoulder before tucking his hand back into his pocket. I grieved minimally at the loss of the touch, but I was happy for what it was. “And I mean it. Anytime you need to talk – or not talk, and do that empty staring that you do – just come find me.”

I quirked an eyebrow in his direction. “Anytime?” I asked amusedly.

“Mhm!” Konig replied, his eyes on the ground as he watched his steps. Then, the realization hit him, and his eyes went wide with panic. “Oh- well, eh- I guess, not anytime-“

“You gonna tell me when?” I joked, and he laughed. “You need an open/closed sign on your door.” I jogged ahead, trying to reach the door to the barracks before he did.

“How about this?” he called out, and I could hear the grin behind his mask. “I’ll nail a chalkboard to my door, and if I’m busy, I’ll draw a stick guy jerking off in his bed!”

My cheeks burned after I heard him. “No!” I shrieked, laughing nervously. “You’ll traumatize Juno!” I quickly tried to pin this on someone other than me.

“Juno, hah?” Konig teased, and I had half a mind to run into the building and leave him on the quad. “I don’t care about him. Kid needs to be traumatized.”

I laughed and threw my head back, turning the corner around the arsenal shed. “That’s not very-“

Immediately, my heart leapt into my throat, and I gasped. Konig nearly ran into my back as he skidded to a halt.

Sick, sick, what the fuck, I feel sick-

“Stimmt etwas nicht?” he asked, concerned. “What- oh, scheisse-“

We both stared at the bird on the ground. A crow from the looks of it, though it was hard to even decipher that it was a bird in the first place, due to the state it was in. Its belly had been cut open, entrails and bloody bits pulled from the abdomen and strewn to either side of the bird. Its wings were stretched to their full capacity and most likely beyond it, crushed and missing a large number of feathers. Both of the legs appeared to have been ripped off and tossed to the left of the crow. Its beak was the worst of it all: pried open, the jaw probably broken from how wide it was spread. A haunting look of terror in the crow’s red, glossy eyes made a violent shiver run up my spine.

I exhaled shakily, my eyes still glued to the horror. “Holy shit – what the-“

Konig quickly walked around me and knelt in front of the crow. I shifted to look over his shoulder, still fearfully curious, but he held a hand out behind him, urging me to stay in place. With his other hand, he pulled at one of the bird’s wings, stiff and heavy. Whether it was frozen from the cold, or this was the effects from rigor mortis, I couldn’t tell.

“How – did a fucking fox do that?!” I asked. Are there even foxes in this area? How the hell did one get on base?

“Nein.” Konig replied, still looking at the corpse. His gaze fell upon it with a sense of… familiarity, maybe? “Not a fox, no.”

“Then what? It – whatever it was didn’t even eat-“

“I’ll take care of this.” Was all Konig said. He stood up and marched past me – I was barely able to catch a glimpse of his furious expression. His eyes were hard and narrow, and as he walked away, I noticed that his shoulders were tense and his hands were balled into fists. I didn’t dare say anything to him; he almost looked the same way he did after our first mission together, except this time, his anger seemed to be directed at something, instead of just a post-mission adrenaline high.

“I’ll see you later.” He said over his shoulder. There was an obvious fury to his words, and although I knew it wasn’t intended towards me, it still made me freeze where I stood – almost as if I might anger him more simply by taking a step after him.

Whatever it is… I thought, watching him disappear into the compound, he’s sorting it out. I can take care of myself. Although, with such an abrupt and tense departure, I was at a loss on what to do next. I looked back at the bird; its terrified eyes locked onto the sky above it, frozen in its last wish to fly away from whatever horror it endured.

A shiver ran up my spine, prompting me to look away.

- - - -

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[ronearoundblindly]

The Root Of All Ransom (Finale)

Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader (see previous or series)

Summary: Ransom figures out how to undo his disinheritance.

Warnings for language (I'm never kidding about how many f-bombs this boy drops), smut (blowjob, p in v sex that is consensually unprotected, general smuttery), vague contemplations of murder but we ain't going the canon route. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY. There is plenty else for you to read on my Light Masterlist. This is not your story!

I have somehow managed to put Ransom Drysdale deep in his feels. This is only OOC if you haven't read up to this point, but we do end on a soft!Ransom note. WC 6954 (oh my fucking wat???)

Ransom huffs out a foggy breath in the night air, cold in more ways than one. All the windows glow from the mansion, yet it looks completely different in light of what Harlan’s done.

Thrombey Manor is his birthright. He doesn’t love the architecture or the eccentric layout. He hates the furniture. He’s never really enjoyed anything about the place. It’s the polar opposite of his own house, but it was his in a way, part of his status, part of his baseline of existence. He’s not prepared for any other eventuality. Ransom built his life on a perfectly stable bridge that some idiot just blew up with C4.

No, no, not some idiot. His own family. The only member of his family he would think could never do this to him. Fuck Harlan.

Ran’s been flying high on a lie, and the magic money carpet’s been ripped away.

He has one lifeline, one option he’s grasping onto.

If he can manage this, nothing will change. He won’t lose the allowance. He won’t lose you. You’ll never know how unworthy he is. He can just have everything and never speak of this again.

Harlan. Marta. Inheritance. Killing two birds with one liquid stone.

Ran could do it. He will do it, but you cannot know. He can’t have you around. He has to push, to start giving you a safe distance, to leave you plausible deniability. If you suspect, you’ll leave him anyway. 

If he succeeds, worst case? He’s rich and alone. If he does nothing? He’ll be poor and alone.

One of those scenarios used to be acceptable, but not now, not anymore.

Pushing you away tonight might be the last time you ever look at him without pity, and he’s not ready for how heavy that sits in his roiling gut. He has to though. He has to make you leave, if only for the rest of the night—but it might be forever, his brain reminds him. Fucker. It’s not like Ran’s pleasant to be around. Getting away from him shouldn’t be a hard sell.

When you emerge from the house, however, what he hoped would sound sharp and dismissive sounds oddly open-ended.

“You could just walk from here,” he tries wishfully.

True to form, beautiful, pissed-off you sidesteps his expectations.

You take his coat, your coat, and the Birkin to the passenger’s side with a ferocious look.

“Get in the car,” you manage through tight lips.

Fuck. He misses you already. He hasn’t given up. He won’t, but his center of gravity is gone. He’s reeling from this.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale revolves around money.

His whole life he has stretched wide and greedy limbs to capture numbered, green rays of meaning. He hasn’t only lost the light of his sun now. No. Nuclear winter has just stripped him bare and knocked him on his ass. Ran cannot articulate all the reasons he’s so upset.

He values you and him together for relatively selfish reasons. From all he’s seen, you don’t need any more people in your life that exist so far below you. You don’t need ‘help.’ You need an equal, a free and independent equal. Ran isn’t even fucking close anymore.

With a stroke of a pen, he’s now dependent. It’s pathetic. If he stays without even the means to be your not-quite-equal, then he’s everything he hates. He’ll be clingy. He’ll be needy. He’ll be in the way. He’ll finally do it; he will annoy you.

He will bore you.

What a fucking world.

You snap him out of his dashboard stare.

“Do you want to talk about it now or at home?”

“Neither,” he quips easily. “I’ll drop you at the Carlyle’s.”

His eye twitches at his faux pas. You don’t have to correct him. He knows it’s your place, your name, your property, and your right to claim. He doesn’t need reminding.

His key twists in the ignition just as your hand comes up to his shoulder.

He can’t even glare at you properly because a tap rings off his window pane. Both of you jump in alarm because night fell hours ago. Who sneaks up on a car in the fucking dark?

Ran’s father is fucking who. Of course. The window peels down, and Ransom feels as if the last seconds of his life are draining away after the plug’s been pulled.

“Trouble in paradise, you two?” Dick asks with cheeky concern.

“No, Mister Drysdale,” you say politely, no hint of insincerity in your smile.

“Richard, please, honey. You’re practically family.”

Smug asshole, do NOT call her ‘honey.’

“Eat shit,” Ransom mutters overly loud again, but your sudden slow grip on his kneecap tells him to behave. Ol’ Dick has no right to call you ‘honey’ though. Ran’s not even sure what he’s allowed to call you, and he’s pissed, sure. He’s…something else, too; he’s obedient beneath your hand.

Richard ignores Ran’s attitude. “Listen, son, I just wanted you to know that whatever happens, your mother and I will always love you. In case…ya know, in case you ever doubted, and…well, we’re family. We stick together.” He even gives Ran a squeeze on the shoulder for emphasis.

Ransom has no fucking clue what his father intends with that entirely useless statement but doesn’t fucking care. “You know what?” He’s about to lunge out the window to choke that fucking prick. “Definitely eat shit.”

Your grip tightens, and Ran’s insides clench, knowing he toes a line.

“We should really go,” you add with a now painful, strained civility.

“Okay, you crazy kids,” Richard pats his heavy hand on the door frame. “Thanks for coming to the party and we’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Of course, Richard.”

Ransom rolls the window back up without looking at you. That sure as shit was not his father’s reaction to Harlan throwing millions at Marta fucking Candelabra. He can’t be near these people anymore, so Ran slams his foot on the gas, peeling out of the driveway, and scattering gravel in his wake.

Your sigh releases with the pressure on his knee. “I suspect it’s about his affair.”

As if that narrows it down. “Which one?”

“The first one as far as your grandpa knows,” you snort, “which hopefully Linda buys too from the way you’ve talked about it. Jesus, really? Slow down!”

Ran doesn’t want to slow down. The car is finally catching up to his racing thoughts and a plan coalescing. If Harlan knows about Richard’s affair, then his mother will absolutely divorce him, leaving Dick with nothing—and if you know that Harlan knows about it then—

“Hugh—” the hand has slid from his knee to his crotch, the heel of your palm gently digging into the stiff fabric of his jeans “—we should have taken care of you before…”

Fuck, that feels good.

You’re right, of course. Ran really should have planned a few minutes of privacy for you both to get off after the airport. Not that it’d have to be private for him (parking lot, terminal, or tarmac—he wouldn’t fucking care), but the thought flashes in his mind like the bright spots behind his eyelids that he might not get to fuck you again. That’s profoundly upsetting, and your grip on the outline of his swelling cock is profoundly distracting.

He swats at your arm, blood rushing to his tension-white knuckles only for a second, but you simply swivel in the seat to change hands, dragging down his zipper.

“Sweetheart“ slips out. Is he allowed to say that anymore? He should still act normal, right? Except he’s been a raging mess for a quarter-hour already and oh fuck. “What are you…”

Ran’s been wrong this whole time: you are a road head bitch.

He’s so taken aback by your spit-slicked lips cooly brushing the head of him that he nearly elbows your spine. The car swerves slightly as he strains to collect himself, to think of just one other thing instead of your fucking tongue sliding down his length to tease at his still-covered balls and—

Mother of fucking mercy, he has to pull over.

Only by some miracle, some blessed (or horrible) gap in his distraction, is he able to consciously choose parking off the lane just beyond the menagerie elephant statue because, otherwise, that pervy-ass groundskeeper could relive his long-forgotten past of grainy porn. Because that’s what this is turning into. Pornographic is the only way to describe the choked grunt Ran finally lets out as he slams on the brake and you snap the car into park just to get the gear shift out of your way.

“I’m only here three days,” you say around a mouthful of cock, bobbing a few more times before switching to your hand. “I’m not letting you ruin it by being fucking baby.”

“I’m not—fuck—“ he’s not expecting you to climb over him in the cramped car “—you don’t understand.”

“So you don’t want me right now?”

He shakes his head furiously, half in hope of collecting genuine thought, half in desperation for you to continue.

Space is so limited between Ran’s body and the steering column that your bent knees pin his arms to the door and the console. It should hurt but fuck if he’s gonna say anything while he watches you peel your panties to the side and line yourself up. 

“Gah, you just—“ he pants as his heart rate spikes. Instead of putting him in you, Ran’s paralyzed to stop two of your fingers from sinking into your soaked pussy. You’re drooling for him, mouth and cunt, and goddamn, he is so torn between pounding you into next week or tossing you out of the car to get on with his plan.

It’s about an 80/20 split in favor of fucking you.

And then he thinks…yeah, he could definitely get off and get you to the Carlyle’s—your place—in time to sneak back. So he just lets go, shoving his face forward to capture your lips, enjoying the wet sounds as you prep for him, and eating up your moans and curses. He knows you’re purposefully dragging your knuckles against his dick as you bring them out with each stroke. Why are you so fucking hot? Why can’t he just have this without Harlan’s help? 

He’s dependent.

Ran realizes he always was, but he fucking hates it.

Removing your fingers makes the bunched-up dress pool over your hips and graze his raging erection. Great, now your spit and his precum are smeared all over your clothes. Normally, that wouldn’t bother him. Normally, that would be even hotter. Now, Ran wonders how much that damn thing costs because he never even looked; he just knew it suited you.

A steady grip at his base and suddenly Ran can’t wonder about any fucking thing under the sun. Your walls welcome him inch by inch like he’s goddamn worthy of that silky squeeze, but he can’t say shit. All he can manage is craning his neck forward to mouth over your nearest breast, arms still pinned. Fuck it. More fluids on the dress. If you don’t care, he doesn’t care. Maybe. Maybe he’ll just care later. Maybe he’ll learn to look at the cost of things. Maybe he won’t have to when he succeeds at fixing this dumpster fire of a situation.

His teeth graze against a barely felt but hard-peaked nipple, and you gasp out another moan. You have to shift to wedge your leg down by his side and repeat with the other one. One of his forearms is tingling, asleep, so he switches his mouth around and uses the functioning arm to play.

You’re moving so slow, too slow.

“You fucking love to mess with me,” Ran growls, all but biting through the layers before yanking at the neckline, savoring the plush skin he exposes. “Love fucking me,” he mutters again.

“Yeah, baby, why do you think that is?” You use the name so condescendingly and roll your hips so deliberately that Ransom bites back a ‘fuck you,’ instead forcing out a strangled whine. You just drag yourself up and down until he answers, pushing his t-shirt and an errant tail of his cardigan out of the way. Your fingers gently scratch the flat plain of his abs.

“Say it.”

He knows the answer. He’s known for a while, but that’s not something Ran’s ever gonna be ready for. It’s just already the truth.

It’s as soft as a hum against your skin.

“Say it, Hugh. Tell me why.”

He can tell by how you’re getting sloppier with your movement, by how hard you grind forward against him, that you’re close.

“Because you love me.” Ran winces at how desperate he sounds. It’s almost a cry, but he can’t really resist repeating it. “You love me.”

Your hands bury in his hair, and he’s literally covered in you while trapped in this fucking steam room of a car. He can’t control anything he’s doing.

“You love me,” he says again.

“Yes.”

“You love me.”

“Fuck, yes, baby.”

You’re fluttering around his cock like a dream, shouting encouragement, and it just slips out.

“I love you.”

He has no idea if you even hear him because you come so hard that your back bends, slamming you against the steering wheel.

The horn blares in the quiet woods.

You wait for him to yank you forward and erupt into sated giggles while Ran is a whole different kind of paralyzed, hiding his face in your chest for as long as you’re simmering without care.

Your fingers card through sweaty hair, your heartbeat slowing more than his does.

“Think you need this,” you say in a breathy whisper. You pull away to cradle his face.

He’s terrified you’re gonna ask. You’re gonna want him to say it again, he thinks, and Ran’s not sure he can with your eyes boring into his, knowing what he knows, being what he is until the will is void.

“I want you to come, Hugh.” Your thumb traces across his bottom lip, gaze following before it flickers back up.

You sound so fucking innocent while your slick is smeared all over his low belly and seeping through his underwear. His boxers are kinda in the way but kinda immovable while in such cramped quarters. Pushed aside, they hinder only as much as your bunched-up panties do. Easy enough to live with.

You keep staring expectantly.

“Do you want me to stop—“ fuck NO “—or will you give me what I want?”

Ran’s whole chest clenches, and it’s only because he slams his mouth to yours that you can’t see his eyes roll in fucking ecstasy. Perfect. You’re goddamn perfect. He couldn’t deny you anything much less this, and he knows that if this is the last time, he has to take advantage.

Sliding down slightly on the seat (because everything operates in centimeters at most this close), he takes two giant handfuls of your ass and spreads you, lifting so he can thrust his hips up at a brutal pace. He doesn’t fucking care if his knees bang against unyielding metal. He doesn’t care that a vein in his neck might snap from strain. He just needs this one thing, and then he’ll let it go. He’ll be ready for whatever outcome Harlan’s death triggers.

Because Ransom needs money. He had money long before he had you. It’s what he needs the most in life. He loves money.

If losing you is what it takes to keep the money…

That’s the thought he can’t finish as control of the urge to come slips from his bruising fingers. His desire for his status quo is faltering. His equilibrium’s changed.

He does love money. He does.

Now, to Ran's surprise, he loves you, and he has no fucking clue how to love both. He doesn’t know if he can keep both.

But friction is friction. He’s surrounded by the feel and sound and smell of sex. It’s familiar and more than a little haunting to him if this is the last time, but Ran crests that mountain before any coherent thoughts form. He can’t trust himself to speak. He might repeat what he never should have said aloud.

The groan when he empties himself inside you is almost pained, swallowed immediately by your adoring and hungry kiss. He’s sweat straight through his t-shirt and his jeans are a fucking mess. Your dress is damp, stained, and wrinkled. You’re practically bonded to the leather seat, but he just absently runs the back of his fingers up and down your thighs while he comes down.

When you release his mouth, your arms settle across his shoulders, and he buries his face in your chest again, hiding, relishing, stalling.

Shit, he’s gonna miss this.

After a minute, you rest your forehead against his and lift your hips until his limp dick slides out of you. Through half-closed eyes Ran watches you bite your bottom lip, gnaw on it like he wants to, like he moves to—

“Is this about the will?”

Ran freezes.

“Did—Harlan told you, didn’t he?”

“WHAT THE SHIT.” Ran’s rage explodes, heaving you off of him and into the passenger’s seat. “YOU FUCKING KNEW?!”

He shoves himself back in his pants and scrambles for the damn zipper.

“Ransom, it’s fine. He just—“

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you warn me? Jesus FUCK.” He’s unlatched and kicked the door open before you even get a word out.

“Harlan is my friend and—“

But he slams it shut, leaving your words muffled while Ran fumes in damp fucking clothes in the frigid air.

His fists almost—almost—pound on the hood of his car as he bites out, “I could have killed him.” 

Ran’s pacing toward the tree line when you finally shuffle from the beamer, pulling your dress back into place.

“Harlan’s my friend and he asked me in confidence if it made sense.”

“I’m sorry, he asked you? As in, my grandfather might not have done this if you hadn’t thrown me under the bus.”

“It wasn’t just about you.”

“It makes sense to leave me destitute? And you knew! You lying bitch,” he growls, immediately wishing the word hadn’t popped out, clawing at his scalp in a punishing attempt to think. “You watched me throw all that fucking money away and didn’t think I deserved to know?!“

“I’ve met you. Why would you listen to me about how to spend your money? That isn’t something you do, Ransom.”

“That’s not the point!” And stop calling me fucking ‘Ransom.’ “I can handle myself.”

“Then I guess your answer is ‘that’s how you spent the money,’ by choice.”

“I wasn’t given a choice. You lied to me. You’re the one who didn’t trust me.”

Your stalk forward in the dry leaves, stopping just outside of arm’s length away. “What the hell did I just say in there, huh? I love you. I said I love you, then you go and call me a bitch, so who’s the liar between us, huh? Who’s got trust issues?”

Ran’s face scrunches in distain. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Guess,” you spit back easily. 

Well, he isn’t fucking saying it now. Fuck you. Fuck this. This is the worst-case scenario: poor and alone because if you know, he can never get away with his plan.

“Why do you always do that?” he growls with a venom that poisons no one but himself. “Why the fuck are you here then?” Why are you with him?

“I’m here to support my piece of shit boyfriend at a piece of shit family event because Hugh asked me to.”

Nope. The right name is wrong. It sounds much worse than he expected.

Ran doesn’t know what to do with all this sick energy churning in his gut except burn through it. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He doesn’t know what to do with his life.

“There it is. There’s the truth,” he yells, leaning into your face. “I know it. You know it. This isn’t going to work. We’re not the fucking same. We’re not even close—“

“I don’t want someone the same as me.”

“I’m a useless—”

“Ran.” Your hands fly to gently land on his face.

“—talentless—“

“Seriously, please.”

“—sack of shit and you—“

“HUGH!” The grip at his jaw slips as he jerks back.

Ran tenses, shoving his chilled fingers into his jean pockets, pushing the wet material in front away from his crotch. He goes awkwardly quiet.

Yelling. He remembers the yelling. He’s been comfortable with yelling for longer than he’s been comfortable with affection.

“For fuck’s sake, just shut up.” You cross your arms over you chest and shiver. “This. This bullshit is why I didn’t tell you, but so what? You don’t have your own money. How do you think Harlan and I started out?”

He gives a look that shouts back everything he can’t put into words.

“You’re not useless or talentless. You’re entitled. That’s all, and you can change that state of being pretty fucking easily.”

“How? What am I supposed to do? Be a houseboy who eats you out once a week?”

“A week? Well, I hope I pay better than that.”

“Oh, what the fuck,” he grouches.

You giggle. You fucking giggle at that. “You started these jokes!”

“You don’t have to rub it in—”

“—just rub it out, huh?”

He doesn’t want to laugh. It’s not funny. His fate isn’t a laughing matter, but like everything else tonight, he fucking fails. A smile twitches at his lips.

“Ok, asshole, you want to be useful? How ‘bout driving us home? I’m freezing.”

He starts to protest but is cut off by a flinging arm.

“If you don’t get in this damn car, you will be helping me balance to pee in those woods.”

“Fucking gross,” Ran whines.

“Yeah, well, your ability to self-access is appalling too,” you jovially clap back, “but we’re working with what we’ve got.”

Fair.

Savage but fair.

He frowns and follows you into the car.

You talk his ear off on the way to his house, but he isn’t in the least bit annoyed. He’s engrossed. It’s all a type of flattery Ransom can hardly fathom: honest praise.

“I was miserably alone before you.”

He wouldn’t have pegged that based on how he saw you at all those events, but now that he considers how you’ve opened up about your frustrations and the exhaustion of being the center of attention, it makes sense. Ransom takes attention away from you. He loves that shit. He doesn’t even care if it’s negative attention. Hide behind his broad back and shine that spotlight on him; he’s game.

“You know what people you pay to be around you—people who want something from you don’t do? Argue. No one has a real conversation. No one has an opinion contradictory to yours. No one calls you out on your shit. It’s so…”

“Boring,” he whispers without thinking.

There’s a long pause until you continue softly.

“No one calls me out on my shit except you, only you.“ 

Your hand finds his. Though your skin is cold, he’s warmed by the touch. 

“So no, I don’t think my money will change anything. If money—mine or yours—were going to change you, it would have done it by now. I mean, sure, you could stand to be less of a dick sometimes, but you don’t have to. I already…”

Your voice trails off, and Ran knows. That’s just it. You love him and he’s a dick, the poor asshole who understands what the feeling is, the one who can’t say it, not on purpose, not yet. The tectonic shift in his life’s framework leaves him uneasy. As wonderful as you are, as perfect as this has been, he has to start over.

He has to build himself up from scratch. He’s been transplanted to an alien planet that he doesn’t have the means to make hospitable. Money was his means to everything. Money provided for him. Money protected him. Money separated him from others.

He never had space for two in his now-demolished castle of selfishness.

“I thought I’d be with someone so different from you,” you laugh without heart. “I’m…glad I was wrong.”

All he can manage is a squeeze of your hand.

“But Hugh, you’re proud of my success, not fucking threatened by it. You let me work, but you also know when I need a break and won’t take one. You’re devoted without being smothering because you have your own damn life, things you want to do. You aren’t intimidated by all this shit in my stupid world or the money. You don’t give a fuck what other people say.”

That’s true.

“You make me laugh,” you say quietly, and though he can’t see your face in the dark of the road leading to his neighborhood, he hears your smile. “You asshole.”

As he turns into the driveway, he glances over and winks. “I try my best, sweetheart.”

He watches that throwaway statement melt you, and then he realizes why.

Ransom trying to do absolutely fucking anything is a big fucking deal, and he has tried. He simply has no idea where to go from here.

He turns off the beamer and makes no move to get out.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Your hand releases his to glide up his arm and lace through his hair, lightly rubbing the base of his neck. “Help me,” you breathe.

“How the fuck would I help you?”

“Hugh,” you cock your head to the side, retracting both arms to brush your palms down the fabric of your (ruined) skirt, “you know damn well you’d like to control my whole wardrobe. You would do far better dressing me for all those functions than I do…and undressing me.”

He knows what you’re doing, but instead of smiling or laughing, he tightens his jaw and huffs. “Can I burn some of your—“ he does half air-quotes “—'wardrobe?'”

It’s so hideous. That one black dress you keep fucking wearing? No amount of dry cleaning will make that look new again. That’s getting flambéed.

You purse your lips. “Donate, but yes. I would consider that a huge help.”

“You’re serious.” Ran’s not sure whether he means it as a question or a statement.

“Yes. I am. Thank you for noticing.” You swivel to open the door. “Now, you can also help get my bag in while I use the restroom.”

The dance of readying for bed becomes you pointing out things you have now that you did not have before him. Taste being one of them, Ran thinks to himself. The important thing is he could say that to your face, but he’s strategically not pushing his luck tonight.

It’s true. Nearly every article of clothing and every toiletry now links back to his insistence that you have nice things that are for you, not just for life in general. You come before the rest of the world; you come before your work. That’s his gift. That’s what he’s good at, and you make it clear: you need him for that talent.

All of these nice things, all these reasons he seems good to you, and all this need for him have Ran feeling some sorta way when you crawl into his bed naked and reach to turn off the light.

He grabs your hand before you make it to the switch, forcing it back to the mattress, keeping you facedown. His heated breath and heavy body roll over you, teeth grazing your shoulder and moving slowly to your earlobe.

“You know what else I’m good for?”

His free hand slips between your thighs and finds what slick you couldn’t clean up. The knowledge that some of it is his cum still inside you makes Ran shudder. How would he ever have lived without this?

You sigh, your mouth falling open at the intrusion, and your eyelids flutter closed.

“Fuck,” you moan, high and quiet.

“That’s right, baby,” he hisses, mimicking your condescension from the car. Oh yeah, he’s gonna ruin more than that goddamn dress tonight.

He takes time to torture you with his fingers, his weight rendering you immobile. Ran sweeps falling hair out of your face with free reign to pepper open-mouthed kisses across the stretch of skin he’s claimed since that very first fuck.

You always knew what you wanted. He never thought you’d truly want him, certainly not for more than a day. After tonight, it’s inconceivable you want him still, yet here you are, burying your face in the sheets to muffle little cries as he humps your ass cheek to get harder and harder.

Good god, why do you want him? He fucked around, he yelled at you, he called you horrible names, he left you for weeks at a time in a foreign country alone, and yet you are here.

Then your words spring to mind. He argues with you. He has opinions. He makes you laugh. He treats you like the independent person you are. He treats you like your money doesn’t matter.

Because it didn’t to him.

Ransom realizes now that you treat him as if his money didn’t matter because it doesn’t to you. Nothing changed when you knew he wouldn’t have it anymore. Not a single thing. Somewhere over the last months, Harlan told you his plan, and the only perceptible difference to Ran was you falling in love with him.

Because you love him. He is so grateful he’s almost angry. You could do better. He can give you better.

By the time you come on Ran’s fingers, he’s completely feral thinking about all those little ways you showed your feelings, all the ways you showed him kind touch is not weakness. You also showed him that touch doesn’t have to be weak to be kind. He can be rough with his feelings for you, intense as they are. He can sink his cock into you, practically screaming that he loves you, too, but the words aren’t spoken.

He presses a thick forearm across your back to keep you pinned. He spreads his legs to widen yours. He thrusts in possessive and messy movements. No words escape. His range of motion is limited this way, but he gets all of your glorious noises. They’ve become his favorite sleep track. It’s hard for him to rest without hearing your happy, panicked pleasure beforehand.

You make desperate fists in the sheets and arch your ass up higher. He sees the unnatural strain in your body, all for him, all so he can have just that fucking tiny bit more of you.

He can’t stay in this position forever though. You’ll never come again like this, and he wants to see your face. The car was dark, but the lamp is still on. He can watch you fall apart with him deep inside.

“Turn,” he orders, enjoying how dazed and shaky you are as you struggle to control your muscles.

You’re a sight. Erratic breaths hardly settle your gasps. Pliable and ruined. Torn to whimpering pieces and stitched back together only to be split apart again.

He drinks in his handiwork, climbing slowly between your legs, delicately helping to cross your heels at his ass, and sinking back into your heat slowly, so slowly, like your teasing in the car.

“Hugh,” you mutter, and fuck, he has never heard you beg.

Ransom has always loved sex, but this is different. He meets your glazed eyes with floundering blue depths and wonders why he can’t just enjoy it as basic sex anymore.

He’s always loved money, too, and although he doesn’t want to take it from you, Ran feels the weight of your charity. Money was his sun, his whole world, but it was not enough. You provide more, warmth that lets him spread out in contentment, light that keeps him from withering.

Money doesn’t need his love; it’s indifferent.

You, on the other hand, you are fucking radiant, glowing and hot with his arm tucked beneath your shoulders to grab at your hairline. He makes you look at him. Your fingernails scratch at his back while your hips grind together.

“So beautiful,” he rumbles, nose almost touching yours. “Come on, sweetheart—“ Ran drops to lave kisses down your bared throat “—one more for me.”

This time, you have no words, only grunting uh and hng as he speeds up. Your noises get higher. Ran gets rougher, a brutal rhythm for a brutal realization.

He can’t hold back when he sees you like this; he’s gonna say it.

He gets close, so very close to breaking, but you fall first.

“Please—ah.”

You fucking writhe beneath him, your whole body spasming like your silky pussy ripples over the sensitive skin of his cock.

“That’s it,” he coos in your ear. “That’s right. Good girl.”

He has to chance meeting your eyes because he wants to see you unravel again. Ran always does whatever he wants.

He slows his hips to intermittent thrusts that sizzle your nerves over and over, pulling his arm out from under you to lift your chin. You’re open for him in every sense of the word, and he is fucked in every possible way.

He’s an amoeba of a man staring evolution in the face.

You’re his. It’s clear in the light that he owns you. He’s earned you, or at least, he’s trying to. That’s a big deal for Ransom Drysdale.

Quivering, your mouth hanging open, his thumb rolling over your swollen bottom lip, he gets one word.

“Daddy.”

Barely a whisper, partly a question, but mostly an invitation. He slides his thumb up into your mouth, only letting you suck on it for a moment before it drags out.

Ran never thought you’d ever say that. He never imagined you’d beg either. You’ve always known what you want and taken it. You have never needed anything from him.

“Please,” you say again, holding your mouth wider still.

Shit. He throbs at the prospect, and he’s too far gone to deny you this. He plants one small peck on your jaw before pulling out and clambering over your hips and chest.

“Ah fuck,” he moans when you suck on one of his balls, stroking him with a smooth and firm grip. “Love y—love your mouth…so much.”

Ran leans against his headboard, hand clamped over his trap in a desperate attempt not to blabber, but you continue. You’re in tune with when he’s ready, when you’ve taken the teasing far enough and he needs to come. His hips stutter to shove himself just a little farther down your throat. He collects his wits only enough not to choke you, muffling a cry.

You’re gentle with him as he loses his absolute shit trying to keep it together, thighs shaking, breath hindered, biting the fuck out of his hand.

“Sorry, I…” he tries.

“I…I—“ he tries again.

He just can’t fucking do it.

Ran digs his palms so hard into his eyes he sees stars. His chest is tight like it’ll explode any second. The relief of orgasm has evaporated instantly, and he just really fucking can’t.

“Hey, hey,” you soothe, shifting up onto your kneels behind him, “it’s okay.” Your warm arms encircle his chest, over one shoulder and under the other, and you pull his own pliable and ruined body toward you.

He collapses back on his heels, leaning against you.

“Hugh, it’s alright.” Your whisper makes his eyes sting. “I know.”

Ran raises his arms to hold your wrists. His head drops to kiss the back of your hand. He still stays silent.

“I know…”

Your bare legs stretch across his lap, and Ransom lets the hand warmed by his mug grasp your ankle gently. You’re off in your own mind, staring out the window of his living room, worrying your bottom lip. He watches while you don’t notice.

Ran never particularly liked the unknown, and after Harlan’s shit last night, he’s off surprises for a fucking lifetime. This, however, this with you, sitting in comfortable quiet, makes him feel perfectly at ease with an unsure future.

For someone so fascinating to him, you’re so normal.

Sure, you’re beauty trumps the view outside, you’re dedicated to your work, and you’re smart enough to run circles around anyone, but…

You’re just you, sitting with a hot drink on his couch in the morning, wearing one of his sweaters again. Could be a sixty-dollar sweater from a thrift shop—or six cents for all Ran knows about secondhand sales—or the six-hundred-dollar one that he stoopidly bought three weeks ago; it doesn’t matter to you. The only thing that matters to him now is who wears it. That garment means nothing without you in it.

You sip at your tea, and he follows, staring at you staring at the world.

You two spoke more about it last night in the dark about everything but that one little phrase that’s eating him alive, a tangled mess of yourselves and the sheets. Nothing has to change except where the money comes from. Ran gets what he’s wanted all along: control over your wardrobe and, essentially, your entire presentation to that world you’re staring out into. He is not, however, permitted to burn your favorite Little Black Dress, but for fuck’s sake he’ll get all of its seams checked and the damn thing refitted. He’s hoping if he makes enough fuss, you’ll choose to toss it just to shut him up.

Fucking rules. Ran hates rules. If you kept standards on par with your New Money maybe he’d follow your rules. He’ll get you in the good stuff: the good house with good furniture, the good clothing with good lingerie beneath, right down to the good wash and lotion.

You can keep your perfume. He likes your perfume.

Yes, he’ll get you into what he wants, when he wants, where he wants, and all that implies. Ransom always gets what he wants…because you let him.

It’s remarkable what you let him fucking do, too.

He slides his hand from your ankle to your knee, knocking you out of your reverie just in time for his phone to buzz.

He holds your legs to him while sneaking a glance at the screen. Linda. Fuck no, he’s not answering that. It’s not Sunday and he’s not ditching anything. Fucking wait. Fucking choke for all he cares.

Ran instead sets his nearly empty mug down beside your two phones on the coffee table and curls up in your corner of couch. You open your arms to tuck him into your chest, and sure, it’s cutesy and gross in a way that should make Ran want to gag, but who fucking cares when he’s this comfortable. He plants a kiss right on your nipple through the knit for fun, feeling you shiver, then listens to your heart.

His phone vibrates again, dancing closer to the stoneware he just put down.

His mother’s persistence is as admirable as it is annoying. Predictably, Ran’s bored by her usual shit and ignores it again.

Instead of pushing up his sweater to wrap an arm around your waist though, he shoves his now chilly fingers between your hot thighs and sighs. His ear rings with the airy sound of your laugh through flesh.

Then your phone dings, and he just fucking knows it’s her. His groaned protest goes unheeded as you swap your mug for the device and bring it to you.

Ran snorts, and you smooth your free hand over his hair.

“Hello—“ there are harsh but restrained mumbles but he can’t make out the words “—Linda, why on Earth would I be with a man the night he yelled at me like that?”

Because you love him, Ran thinks, but he hears garbled disappointment from the other end.

“And after how your brother and his wife acted—” more rushed excuses “—I don’t have time to go around looking for your adult baby. I have work to do and a plane to catch.” There’s obvious desperation in Linda’s tone, but you don’t care. “Goodbye.”

You let your phone drop to the rug, carding fingers through his hair before finishing with little scratches. Your nonchalance is still pure honesty. You wouldn’t waste time on him, not if you didn’t want him, and you did not let him speak to you that way for more than three sentences because you knew exactly how to shut him up.

“Vicious little bitch,” you mutter.

And…in all your perfect, honest, niceness, you called his mother a bitch—not to her face but you’ll get there, Ran’s sure.

He fucking loves you. He is really so fucking in love with you that it’s fucking gross. He’s disgusted and doesn’t fucking care.

After a big sigh, your hand finds his between your legs and moves it to cup your sex. “Where were we?”

Ransom shifts up over you at the same time as you slide beneath him on the buttery leather cushions. His wildly true and blue eyes meet yours with stern sincerity.

He’s looking at everything he ever wanted, and it’s not money. There are all sorts of things he can use to survive, loads of things he can replace, an infinite amount to take, but only one you, only one complete package. Not a thing. Not replaceable. Finite. Earned. New. Fascinating. Teasing. Messy. Sexy. A total hardass badass with a great ass.

Ran lays his hand heavier on that thin layer of silk, possession laced in the caress, and the words just flow right out.

“Marry me.”

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

Oh my god, gang, I can't believe I fucking did it. Truly, this fic has been one of the craziest things I've ever attempted, and honestly, I'm so damn proud. I'm proud that I wrote it, I'm proud that it's over, and I'm proud of whatever reception it gets. I murdered my soul for this and am delighted. Thank you all so much for reading!

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[mistiell]

Strange Love Pt.2

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Healer! Reader

Summary: Your first day at the little palace goes relatively well. Until the General tells you that if you don’t take his offer to become an Oprichnik, you’ll be tried for treason.

Warnings: None as far as I’m aware

Word count: 2.3k

Part 1 < current > Part 3

The sun is just barely peeking through the window of your bedroom when you wake from a fitful sleep. The room is cold, the crisp chill of the steadily approaching Ravkan winter seeping through the glass panes of your window, forcing you further into your cocoon of blankets. After a nice long shower and some much needed dinner the night before, you'd returned to your room and passed out the moment your head had come into contact with your pillow.

With a sigh, you roll yourself onto your back, an arm thrown over your eyes to block out the annoying sliver of light that just so happens to be angled directly at your face. It can’t be later than six bells in the morning, breakfast won’t be served for at least another hour. You decide you might as well spend some time exploring. Getting to know the layout of the palace should aid you in escaping.

You roam the halls until breakfast, eating quickly before scurrying out of the dining hall. As confident as you are in your abilities, you feel it would be best to avoid Zoya for as long as possible. You’re halfway around a corner when you bump into someone, knocking you off balance.

When you regain your footing and open your mouth to apologise, you see the person you’ve just run into is none other than the heartrender you had rendered unconscious. He’s got a bandage on his forehead that you assume is because of you, “Oh, um… Hi.”

You offer him a nervous smile and he returns it, though his is a lot brighter than yours, “Hi. I’m Fedyor.”

Oh, so this is Fedyor. Great.

“Oh, Saints. Sorry for, uhm,” You point weakly at your own forehead to mirror where the bandage sits on his and he chuckles.

“It’s alright. I would have done the same.” His smile is contagious, but you still can’t help but feel bad.

“I can heal it for you, if you’d like.” He shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it. I was actually going to head to the infirmary right after I fetched you for the General.”

“General Kirigan wants to see me?” You ask, stomach twisting up in a knot.

“During lunch, yes.” He states, sensing your hesitance, “It’s nothing bad. I think.”

That does nothing to quell your nerves, but you force a smile nonetheless, “Alright. Thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course. Anyway, I’m off to the infirmary. I’ll see you later?” His words fill you with a pleasant warmth, briefly wondering if you’d made a friend.

The feeling is quickly squashed when you remember you don’t plan on staying.

“Yeah.” Your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, “Later.”

The hours after your encounter with Fedyor fly by. Practice in the anatomy room goes relatively smoothly. It seems your abilities are almost up to par with the others despite your lack of training, which is a pleasant surprise. Before you know it, lunch has rolled around and you find yourself standing outside of the war room.

You knock on the dark wooden doors, noting the carvings that mimic the ones to the dormitories, though this one bares a moon in eclipse. Your heart is thudding rapidly against your ribs when you hear the sound of his ‘Come in!’. You push them open and step through the doorway.

As you close the door behind you, your gaze roams over the room. There’s a large circular table in the centre of the room with what looks like well thought out plans scattered about the surface. Books and maps line the walls and the desk pressed against the far wall. It’s there that you spot the General sat looking over an important looking piece of parchment.

“General Kirigan.” He turns to you with a tiny smile that has you glancing over his shoulder to avoid eye contact, “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, I did.” He states, gesturing towards a chair he’d pulled up beside his desk, “Please, sit.”

You make your way over and sit down wordlessly, picking at the grey embroidery on your kefta.

“I want to discuss your place here.”

“I thought you didn’t owe me an explanation?” You smirk and he huffs a soft laugh.

“I don’t, but I didn’t think it would be fair to leave you in the dark.” He states, gaze shifting to be a little more serious, “Do you know how I choose my oprichniki?” You shake your head, “Skill is an important factor. Ivan and Fedyor are two of the most capable heartrenders I know. They’ve trained for years, honing and perfecting their skills. What I want to know is,” He stares at you as if you were a puzzle, trying to put you together while missing half the pieces, “How did you manage to overpower him so easily?”

You’re silent for a moment. Should you tell him? What could he really do with the information if you gave it to him?

“I sped up my heart rate while he was slowing it. It wasn’t exactly easy, but I managed it.” His brows raise ever so slightly. He hums, and you think he almost looks impressed. You feel an odd sense of pride swell in your chest and can’t help the cocky little smile that creeps up on your lips. “That’s why you want to make me an oprichnik, isn’t it? I impressed you.”

He hums again, this one sounding a little more apprehensive as he narrows his eyes at you. There’s still a slight curl to the corners of his mouth that tells you you haven’t crossed a line, “Something like that. Speaking of, that brings me to my next point. The second quality I look for is loyalty, which is arguably more important than the first.” The humour slips from his face, his gaze turning intense, “Before I can place you in this position, I have to make sure you don’t have any intention of leaking any…important information, to outside sources.”

“What makes you so sure I want to be placed in this position?” He looks back down at the papers on his desk and sighs.

“If you don’t accept the position, you’ll likely be tried for treason.”

“Treason?!” You exclaim before clearing your throat in an attempt to compose yourself, “I haven’t done anything to justify being tried for treason.”

“Helping Grisha flee the country means less soldiers in the King’s army, which hurts our chance at winning the war,” When he looks at you, there’s something akin to sympathy swirling in those dark eyes, “No matter how pure your intentions were, they won’t see it that way.”

Anxiety prickles under your skin at the thought, but you furrow your brows stubbornly, “I told you. I run a clinic. Wherever they end up after they leave my home has nothing to do with me.”

He realizes that whether you’re trying to stretch the truth or not, technically, you wouldn’t be lying. You really wouldn’t know where exactly your patients end up after they leave. Still, he doubts you’d win against the king, “Would you like to take your chances?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then you huff frustratedly, “No.”

“Then I suggest you do your best to prove yourself.”

You have to stop yourself from scoffing. You’ve never been one that likes to be given orders, something he picks up on when he sees the way your jaw works and the way you glare over his shoulder for a split second, “What exactly do I need to do to achieve that, sir?”

If he picks up on the passive aggressiveness of your tone, he doesn’t say anything, “Well for one, you’ll continue your training with the other Corporalki.”

Alright, that’s doable.

“You’ll also be helping me with some of my paperwork.”

“What?” You frown, confused, “Didn’t you just say you have to make sure I won’t leak anything?”

“I did, and I will.” He states. It’s infuriatingly vague, but you don’t press him. Instead, you sigh.

“When should I start?” He smiles a little, grateful for your cooperation.

“You’ll report here after dinner every evening starting tonight. As for how long you stay, that’s entirely up to you.”

You nod, “Is that all?”

He thinks for a moment before nodding back, “That’s all.”

You leave without another word.

—

That evening after dinner, you find yourself outside the War Room once more. This time when you enter, the general is not sitting at his desk, nor is he standing at the war table. In fact, you’re unsure of whether or not you’ve got the time right—you swear it’s just after six bells in the evening—seeing as he doesn’t appear to be here at all.

You venture a little further into the room, hovering near his desk to skim some of the papers resting there. There’s a half finished letter sitting in the centre and you take a moment to admire the penmanship. His writing is rushed but admittedly very pretty as far as handwriting goes, the letters slender and slanted ever so slightly to the right.

There’s a distant thud to your right that sounds like a drawer closing and it’s then that you notice another door, one you hadn’t noticed when you’d been here earlier. It’s cracked open enough that when you lean forward over the desk to get a better look, you can see the corner of a bed and the edge of a dark wooden dresser. You lean a little further, placing a hand on the desk to brace yourself, and see someone standing in front of it. Someone who appears to be in the middle of getting dressed.

Your face flushes and you immediately right yourself as you realise that you’ve just seen none other than General Kirigan bare from the waist up. Granted, you only caught a glimpse of his back and shoulders, but it was enough to set your cheeks aflame and let loose a swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

You back away from his desk and glance down at the papers again, finding a couple of the letters smudged a bit. A little panicked now, you look at your hands and find several backwards letters printed on your fingertips.

“Y/n.” You practically jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice, going completely rigid as you clasp your wrist behind your back and attempt to wipe the ink off on your kefta. He’s dressed now, donning a black robe that leaves a sliver of his collarbone visible. When you catch yourself staring, your gaze slides back up to his face and you find an amused smirk hung on his lips.

“Gen-,” Your voice cracks up an octave and you clear your throat, “General Kirigan.”

“I apologise for leaving you waiting. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” He comes closer and you back up to let him pull out his chair and sit down. There’s an awkward pause where you simply stand there rocking back and forth on your heels until he gestures to the armchair, smiling at you, “You can sit down.”

“Oh, right.” You curse yourself for being so flustered as you settle into the chair, “So, what am I helping you with?”

“You’ll be reading over and summarising some documents for me.” He sets a fair sized stack of papers to the side of his desk closest to you and hands you a large notepad and a pen. He clears off a little space next to the papers for you and looks up at you apologetically, “I hope you don’t mind sharing a desk.”

You shrug your shoulders and shake your head, taking the pen and scooting the chair closer to the desk. The documents he has you reading over don’t seem to be incredibly important, and summarising them proves to be a relatively easy task.

As you sit there writing away, the general can’t help but glance at you out of the corner of his eye. Your brows are slanted downward ever so slightly in concentration, pen scratching against the parchment fast as you scrawl letters across the surface. He shakes his head subtly, turning his attention back to his own work.

Maybe two hours later, you sit back in your chair with a subtle huff and attempt to roll the stiffness out of your wrist.

“Perhaps we should take a break.” When you look up, you find the general leaned back in his own chair.

“That might be best.”

You take a few moments to look around the room once more, gaze landing on the nearest bookshelf and as you try to make out the titles from where you sit.

“Did you grow up in Duva?” He asks suddenly and you turn to him a little confused.

“Yes, why?” You answer hesitantly, unsure of his sudden interest in your life.

“Just curious.” He pauses, gaze flitting over your face, “I’d like to get to know you better.”

You pause and he notices the apprehensive look on your face. Still, you shrug, “What do you want to know?”

“What was it like living there?”

“It was just my mother and I and she rarely ever let me accompany her into town, so there really isn’t much to tell.” You state and he frowns.

“Why wouldn’t she let you go?” He asks and you shrug again.

“She said it was something about keeping me safe. Didn’t stop me from sneaking out when I was older, though.” You huff a soft laugh and he smiles at you before his brows furrow in confusion.

“You were alone when Zoya and the others found you.” He watches you tense and immediately regrets his words. A pained look flashes across your face before you will it to remain neutral.

You glance over his shoulder and swallow, “I was.”

There’s a moment of silence before the realisation dawns on him and a pang of sad understanding blooms in his chest, “I see.”

When you nod curtly and wordlessly return to your work, he takes it as a sign to stop talking and return to what he was doing. You only stay another hour before bidding him a rushed goodnight.

[lightwise]

TBB S3 E13 Reaction

- Ooooh, Tantiss has light on it again for the first time since the beginning of the season 👀 that is hopeful. Omega’s presence is bringing light back to this desolate place

- We haven’t seen male scientists before have we?

- Scrunchy nose and scowly eyebrows. Baby girl is in full blown revenge mode 😎

- I have to point out that every time a tv show has characters be given perfectly fitting outfits in a new environment (especially something like a prison) it cracks me up to no end. There’s no way Omega and Bayrn sized prison jumpsuits were just laying around somewhere.

- Omega has grown SO MUCH 😭 physically, emotionally, rationally. At the start of this season she made that doll to keep herself sane and now she knows that she doesn’t even need to mention that fact to Eva. She is so confident and focused in her mission and in showing up as a leader and example for these kids. I’m so freaking proud of her

- And to juxtapose that with Bora Vio, where Omega was captured by Cad Bane and confronted by Fennec about her fears of becoming an experiment in a test tube—AND where she got herself out and where the boys could pick her up. Chefs kiss

- Echo!! I love their brotherly handshakes

- Hunter and Echo are not playing around sassing Rampart around lol.

- This shuttle looks very similar to the one Crosshair and Omega escaped in at the beginning of the season

- Why does Crosshair’s “yes” sound like someone screwed up on the sound mixing side? It’s so weirdly quiet and whispery

- The little tappy taps on the uniform and “I can’t wear this” “you’ve been demoted” I’m DYING 💀

- The grid layout of these prison cells reminds me of the Box episodes in TCW where Obi-Wan becomes Rako Hardeen

- Scalder is definitely trouble

- Yeah Emerie stand up for yourself and the kids!

- These kids voices 😭

- And Omega’s voice 😏 allll her training is paying off

- They stripped their armor 😭😭😭😭 all of their individuality and expressiveness gone. I do not like this

- Alright, I can see why the hair and beard trim is driving everyone wild, but it’s still not for me 😆. The bitchiness is endlessly entertaining though

- Okay this is now infinitely nerve-wracking

- Hunter putting his hand on Rampart’s shoulder and him immediately wiping it off is so hilarious 🤣. I think there is a modicum of respect that is established here though. Hunter is warning him but also giving him the clone sign of respect with the shoulder grasp. Rampart is still fastidious with his uniform but begrudgingly admits that he’s in on this mission even if it’s because he has no other choice, letting them know that he will handle himself properly.

- It’s interesting that many of the imperials this season have had beards. Last season most of them were blond and clean shaven, and now they’re dark haired and bearded. Coincidence? Trying to reuse facial models? An extra cold winter and Tarkin didn’t get his hands on the dress code protocols? 🤷🏻‍♀️

- I LOVE when the Empire is just flaunting one’s rank and bring an asshole to get things done. It works every time

- “I’ve missed this” 🤣 honestly it’s too bad Rampart isn’t willingly on the right side bc he would be steadily becoming hotter if he was

- Surely Echo appreciated the regulation drop 😅

- Ruh roh. Does no imperial ever see the “invite you into the ship and then hit you in the back of the head” thing coming??

- Echo’s always “working on” encryptions

- They’re going to have to go straight there?? 😱

- I have to say, I do feel for Rampart here. He genuinely didn’t sign up for this. Neither did the rest of them really but they don’t have a choice.

- “Wonderful. We’re all going to die” pls no 😭😭

- At no point did I ever worry that Rampart was going to give them up though. He might be pissed but he knows he’ll be sent directly back to prison if anyone in the empire recognizes him. He was sentenced by Palpatine himself. There’s no coming back from that. Whatever he chooses to do going forward, I think he knows it will have to be something he carves out himself, and trying to betray the Batch won’t help him at all in that process. Hopefully this remains true for the rest of the episodes.

- These overhead shots are insanely beautiful

- Bayrn is just a baby 🥺

- The perfect amount of suspense 😱 and Omega knows how to sound perfectly innocent

- Dr. Scalder is feeling like Nurse Ratched right now 👀

- “Our way out” “One way out” aghhhh let’s go!!

- And we get another “Echo is the baddest badass ARC Trooper ever” sequence and I LOVE it

- The droid chute lowers for the little mouse droid 🤣 adorable

- Echo 🤝 Omega doing what they need to do in the nick of time

- Wrecker wearing the tiny hat I can’t 😂😂😂

- Cue the hyperventilating

- This is so nerve-wracking

- Omg if Echo had gone out that way 😭

- “Negative” SIR 🥵 🥵 🥵

- In the last possible second!! The very warranted trust they have in Echo after all they’ve been through! Rampart’s quite reasonable fears and yet their crazy plan working as the Bad Batch does! And Crosshair catching Rampart so he doesn’t fall even though he doesn’t have to!

- I was officially white-knuckled by the end of this episode 😱💀

- Can we take a minute to appreciate Hunter’s leadership and piloting skills here? His choice to make this jump is insanely brave, his ability to fly has been proven to be capable and daring when needed, and his calm, proactive decision making that has largely been missing since their military days is back in full force. He’s on a mission and he’s not stopping until he gets his girl back for good.

[cantsomeoneelsedoit]

Ch 55: Use Your Rules

Oh fun! An old-fashioned human+monster 2-on-2!

I'm not sure what this kind of mixed-doubles fight genre is called, but it's different than regular summoning where the humans just sit back and watch--Otherwise I would've filled this page with tokusatsu gifs like I really wanted to

The chapter title "Use Your Rules" already reminded me of this meme and then Tozuka had to go and give Spoil that face, so this happened...

I am so sorry everyone the doctors say my brain is spoiled

Poor Spoil. He's really going through it!

Juiz tells him that even if she eliminated him, another rule would compensate for his loss. That's an interesting idea in UU and it explains why they had a concept of "years" even though they didn't have Revolution in place.

The idea that the world will "fill in the gaps" if a rule goes missing raises the question of what is considered a necessary or sufficient aspect of the world. In Ch 14, Spoil claimed to be a necessary rule ⬇️

Maybe he just has an inflated ego and he's not actually necessary. Or is Juiz just bluffing when she says that he's replaceable? He might just be jabbering, though. He was in a very different situation when he was bragging to Fuuko!

Wow, Juiz is scary!

She immediately informs him that he's at a disadvantage-- it's crazy how many steps ahead she's already planned for. She knew Billy's plan, his goal, his weapon, etc, and she knew how their Pokemon would match up.

Spoil's such a brat! I love him! He's not even looking at Burn when he shoots; he's looking at Juiz because he's about to say, "See? I told you!"

But he gets socked in the jaw by Burn instead.

Poor lil feller

Billy tells Tella to stay back and that he'll handle the situation. Is he really planning to kill Juiz?!

It looks like Billy might be thinking the same thing Tella's saying.

Juiz's focus and speed with her saber is ridiculous!

My love for Mihawk knows no bounds, but Juiz did that with a smaller sword and at a shorter distance, j/s. Then again, he's lazy and she's a go-getter, so it makes sense.

I love the layout on the next page.

Unfortunately, that's kind of true for Juiz as far as Union leadership, as well. Because Juiz is so honest to her own sense of right and wrong, her actions can be predictable.

She uses Unjustice on Burn, who GRRR?s back at her. Can Burn not speak at all?

Acting against his sense of Justice, Burn blocks Billy's bullet from hitting Juiz, revealing that Burn really is on Billy's side, and not just a hostage. Spoil can't resist trolling.

"Mr. Stubble!" I'm glad someone acknowledged it! Billy's been out here in the wild for a while now...

What's the favor that Burn is paying back to Billy?

Concept-types seem to be more overarching and multifaceted compared to phenomenon-types. Winter has more going on than just being cold, for example.

Is this why Spoil has a chip on his shoulder? Does he have a bit of an inferiority complex caused by God's favoritism and phenomenon-types being snobby to him? Or maybe he's just kind of a SPOILed brat and so he likes to complain about others-- it won't be clearer until we meet more UMAs that show inter-UMA dynamics lol.

To illustrate his point, Burn shines a bright light into the sky. It seems the favor he owes Billy is that Billy has given him a chance to meet his "maker."

Interestingly, Spoil can understand Burn! I wonder if Billy also had a way to talk to Burn and negotiate their partnership. Could he have used a version of Tella's equipment to allow Burn to speak?

The "childhood memories" line cracks me up. It hadn't even occurred to me that UMA would have life stages.

Use your rules to make humans suffer? WTF, God? Because it seems like some of these rules could be used to help humans under the right circumstances, like Burn providing warmth or Clothy making clothes. So if there's a specific directive to be malicious about it, then it means that God really is only interested in making the humans miserable to force them to try to overcome their circumstances.

Billy assumed that Spoil was aiming at him, but the beam actually hit the ground. From the way Spoil thinks aloud, ("So I can start shooting once he uses Unstoppable, was that it?") it's obvious that Juiz has instructed him on what to do here, and he's surprisingly obedient.

Her plan worked, and Billy gets hit with the Spoil beam. Tella is AGHAST. Billy had told him he'd take care of everything, and Tella never doubted him. Even so, he doesn't rush forward to get involved--he stays back and follows orders.

We know that Billy can use Unjustice because he used it on Tatiana. So why won't he use it on Juiz? He claims that her mindset is predictable and easy to read, so it's probably safe to assume what her vision of justice is, yet he still doesn't try to negate it.

If Billy is holding back, it could be that he simply doesn't want to kill the person who has the most information about the way this world works. Juiz's tears are sincere, but Billy's still hiding something...

Masterpost

[colossal-red]

Crafty Fox

TW: A smidgen of fear, overall tame I believe

WC: 670-ish maybe

—————————————————————

Day #1

Date: November 16th

Charlie told me before leaving the last house that making something called a ‘Journal’ might be a good distraction for me as I move onto my next house… personally I don’t see the appeal but I don’t have much else to do in between staying alive. He gave me this leather-bound book that had some pretty good craftsmanship, never would have expected that of the joker.

Anyway... today was a new day, for a new start.

After a treacherous journey of stowing away in a human car, as they call it, I eventually found myself in a new house… it seems simple enough, one bedroom, kitchen, living room, two bathrooms, and an attic that didn’t seem very lived in… perhaps this human had moved in recently, it doesn’t matter to me…

I need to be careful this time… if I’m seen I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it too a new home. I’ve been working on something that might allow me to traverse the house with ease… but that’s a pretty big might hehe…

I’d stick around and write more, imaginary audience… but I really need to get a layout of the house.

Til later, I guess.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shit shit shit shit.

The human came back suddenly, they’d left the house earlier presumably to do some shopping and now they’re here… I’ve huddled down in a cabinet… but I haven’t a clue how long this hiding spot will last…

He seems to be busy thankfully… not checking this cabinet… sadly there wasn’t anything good in this place. Only a strangely sugary cube thing… it’s soft and squishy, maybe it’d make a good pillow of some kind… if it doesn’t get too sticky…

Fuck it got a sticky mess in my fur, great.

Update once I think it’s safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alright I’ve settled down again.

I’m back in the attic, these vents are surprisingly easy to navigate through… I’ve found myself a nice cardboard box I could set up in, and have taken the sticky cube back up… I’ve seen a few of these before but they’re hard to get, they don’t exactly get left out.

Anyway, the kitchen… it’s a basic kitchen, a fridge set up next to three counters with an Island in the middle; Not to mention the microwave resting on the counter farthest from the fridge and the stove beside that on the other wall.

Below I’ll draw a picture for… myself, jeez you’d think I was going crazy with thinking anyone other than myself would read this.

Tomorrow I’m going to check out the humans bedroom… I don’t think I’ll be spending that much time there but it’s still important. Maybe I can borrow some of the fabric from that sweater of his to make a blanket… I get the feeling this winter is going to be cold as fuck.

Besides with how bright that yellow is he kinda deserves to get a hole in it y’know?

It’s hard to keep my eyes open… so I’m going to end this off with a checklist for tomorrow, good night Fundy.

P.S. oddly comforting to read my own name being spoken good night too… anyway.

———————————————————————

Authors Note: Andddd Cut!

Heya everyone!

Colossal-Red here, it’s… been a while to say the least XD

I’m sorry for having been on hiatus recently, and I know y’all have probably been wanting new content for my au’s…

Sadly I still don’t have all that much time to write, I really really really wanted to write something though so I mustered up the time to write this short journal entry :3

However with the lil amount of time I might have to continue this series… I won’t be able to complete or continue any of the other au’s, such as SRBF, TinyHunt, Tubbee, The Mark, Etc…

I do hope to return to those au’s at some point… but as of now it’d be impossible.

So… I can only hope this post will satisfy y’all’s hunger for some of my writing if anyone missed me xd

Until tomorrow… maybe.

Also- @kayla-crazy-stuffs @poprockpanda @brick-a-doodle-do tell the rest of the family like Squishy as well cuz I can’t find their @ xd

[leaderoffestivals]

Poltergeist Chapter 4

Natsume: Mikejima-senpai. Your first task of the day is heRE. There’s some mop-headed trash on the ground over theRE—Bag it up immediately and get rid of iT.  Madara: Aye, aye, sir~ ♪ Tsumugi: Hey, wait—! You’re joking, right!? 

Scenario Writer: Akira Season: Winter Characters: Mikejima Madara, Sakasaki Natsume, Aoba Tsumugi, Narukami Arashi

<About an hour later…> 

Natsume: ——That’s iT. And with thAT, your orientation of this place should be compleTE.

Madara: Umu. I’ve more or less got the layout of this facility memorised nowww. It reeeally isn't that big of a place at all. In fact, it’s practically the size of a bean if you compare it to Seisoukan!

Natsume: That is a monument to entirely needless extravaganCE. I can only wonder at whose nouveau riche tastes it aims to satisFY, thouGH.  

AnywAY, this facility is equipped with all the essential amenities needed for the children to live comfortabLY. There are enough rooms for each child to have their own roOM, and for every staff member as weLL.

Madara: Hmm. Are the staff who work here expected to live on site, too?

Natsume: YeS, but for uS, we’re in a position where it’s okay for us to commuTE. 

It might be the end-of-year and New Year holiday period nOW, but we're still pretty popular idols after aLL—we still have work to dO.

Madara: I see. That’s why you won’t be able to stay on site 24/7, huh. On the other hand, I’m reeeally free now, so I’m fine with staying over!

Natsume: WeLL, that’s entirely up to yOU. If you wish to stay oN, just fill out the paperwork and go through the proceduRES, and a private room will be assigned to yOU . 

There’re plenty of vacant rooms availabLE, so it shouldn’t pose much of an inconvenience to anyone if you were to stAY.

Madara: You’re right about that. It might be small in comparison to Seisoukan, but it’s still quite a sizable facility. I’d say it could easily accommodate a hundred people at least.

However, there’re only thirty children living here, and if you factor in the staff, the total population here most likely wouldn't exceed fifty. There must be plenty of vacant rooms in this facility. 

This place doesn’t seem to be particularly popular, huh~? The building itself is remarkably well-maintained; everything's so shiny, it almost looks brand new!

Natsume: YeS, this building seems to have been recently construcTED. It is likely only a few years oLD. 

Madara: Hmmm~… … I wonder if there was a fire here, and they had the building rebuilt? 

Come to think of it, there was a considerable amount of burnt debris scattered around near the facility… …  

Natsume: FuFU. WeLL, I will gradually explain all of that to you in due tiME. 

Apart from the roOMS, the facility also boasts a large communal baTH, a dining haLL, and a small convenience store where one can purchase essential itEMS. 

I believe there won't be any significant shortages or inconveniences for the children to lead a regular life heRE.

Madara: I don’t know if I should say it’s unexpected or not, but this is shaping up to be a pretty normal orphanage after aaall. 

In contrast to an elder-care facility, which might have specialised amenities like accessible baths, there doesn’t seem to be any special facilities here. In fact, it looks just like an ordinary pension or hotel.

Natsume: You would be wrong to say there are no special facilities heRE, thouGH. As you can sEE, there are soundproofed rooms situated throughout the faciliTY, much like “lesson rooms”. 

This facility is primarily focused on providing an idol-like education and entertainmENT. 

The children who reside here sing and dance every dAY, in accordance with the curriculum offered by the faciliTY. 

This Dancing Cranes Home is a facility dedicated to the nurturing of idol taleNTS, you sEE. 

Madara: Haha! I think I’ve heard of something like this before. In a word, this place is a scaled-down version of ES or Yumenosaki—is that it?

Natsume: I don’t think it’s as ambitious as all thAT. I’ve only heard about this through rumoURS, but it seems this facility was established by some big shot in the idol industRY. 

Madara: Haaa... ... I don’t have a good impression of anyone with the title of “big shot in the idol industry” at aaall.

Natsume: AhahA. TruE, it does stink of fishy busineSS, doesn’t iT?

Madara: Well, I guess that would mean this facility was chosen for this project, precisely because of its strong connection with idols—but that’s just my speculation, though!  

Natsume: That's riGHT. It could present quite a challenge for uS, outsiders that we aRE, to interact with typical childrEN, but if the children here are aspiring idol taleNTS, there might be areas where we can offer mentorsHIP. 

HahA, it really brings back memorIES. I, toO, attended a small idol training school back in the day when I was a chiLD. 

Tsumugi: Yes, yes! Aa~h, those were the days when Natsume-kun was still going by “Natsume-chan”, right? I really miss those days. ♪

Natsume: Mikejima-senpai. Your first task of the day is heRE. There’s some mop-headed trash on the ground over theRE—Bag it up immediately and get rid of iT. 

Madara: Aye, aye, sir~ ♪

Tsumugi: Hey, wait—! You’re joking, right!? 

I may indeed be a trash-like human, but there's no trash lying around here! And that's because we’ve already cleaned this place up properly!

Arashi: That’s right~. Both of you, do be sure to get along… … okay?

Fuuu... I’ve never been interested in household chores, and am totally unused to any of this. I’m really exhausted now!

Tsumugi: Fufu. Thank you for your hard work, Narukami-kun! 

—————-To be continued——————-

Chapter 3 / Chapter 5

Translator's Notes:

This chapter hasn't been proofed, so. if you have any feedback, please DM me.

[anonymouspuzzler]

Yay Yipee I Finally Remembered I Should Update Folks On Things That Are Happening

because hey whoops as some of you might remember Supposedly I Stream Sometimes! That Uhhhh Hasn't Happened In A While Has It! so I should probably let folks know what's goin' on!! the long and the short of it is

Around late November/early December I started having issues where Discord would crash and restart anytime I tried to screenshare my capture software with my friends who I stream with. This put console game streams (so 2/3 of the games we were streaming) on the backburner till I could troubleshoot and solve that issue

On top of that it was Fucking Finals Season for me at my Graduate School so at a certain point I had to be responsible and focus on getting my final projects & essays done, which meant sacrificing stream time till my break (where I would hopefully have time to troubleshoot and then do a ton of streaming to make up for lost time)

Except THEN literally the second I went home for the holidays my hard drive abruptly and completely died. It is very possible that this contributed to the aforementioned tech issues

I was able to replace the drive and get my computer working again but because I have a Fucking Curse a lot of tech-side things were lost or started experiencing issues due to the new drive, namely A) I haven't been able to get my capture software working yet and B) whoops my entire OBS layout is just gone now I guess

This whole saga, on top of juggling other life shit and work and the like, effectively ate up my entire winter break

so tl;dr! I have a computer curse and because of it streams are gonna have to wait till I can get both OBS and my capture software working again. I'm hoping to work on that this weekend so I can be back to streaming next week, but given my school & job workload I'm guessing it'll more likely be two or three weeks. On top of that, I won't be streaming most of March due to reason of "my partner is visiting then". all of this sucks cause I want to be streaming, both for reason of "i like spending time with my good friends doing this" and "haha whoops I'm not earning money now and oh boy there sure are a lot of expenses flying at my head like rocks huh".

I've already rambled a bit more than I'd like to now so here's da main points:

Streams will (HOPEFULLY) be back in February. When they are, they'll be Monday & Tuesday nights, 5:30pst/8:30est, for as long as my friends remain available at those times (we're all adults having to look for or maintain Day Jobs so availability could change. y'all know how it is). I may also do occasional one-off streams on weekends as my energy 'n schedule permits, most likely art streams

I'll continue to be around on Holly's streams Fri/Sat/Sun as her schedule permits, because I don't have to rebuild OBS from the ground up for that

There is a 99.99% chance I'll be totally absent stream-wise during March

Even though streams are facing The Troubles I am still taking art commissions! Those haven't been affected!! You can submit an interest form here and I'll reach out to confirm prices as soon as I'm ready to start work on yours

If, out of the kindness of your heart, you would like to toss some support my way during The Troubles (which would be much appreciated; as said I've got a lot of expenses coming my way and unfortunately my day job covers my rent and nothing more), here are some other ways you can do so: -- Tip me on Ko-Fi; if you pay $9 or more you can request a doodle that I'll do for you and post on here & twitter (and might stream the process of drawing once that's up and running again). Here's an example of some Ko-Fi doodles I did previously -- You can also tip through my stream page if you want but I probably won't see those till I start streaming again. Still appreciated!!! -- I have a Throne Wishlist that's mostly stuff like kitchenware, household goods, stuff for my kitty, etc. There's also a few Fun Things though, like vinyls and a billy big bass Jay insisted I add. Either way, if you wanna contribute to something on there it means a lot. You can also suggest items to make me laugh

an' above all: thank you for reading and for bein' around!!

[fandomsideworks]

I am consumed with thoughts of the Aesthetics(TM) that Supermassive is doing with its horror game environments

Until Dawn is a winter/cabin in the winter woods

The Quarry is a summer-camp theme

Man of Medan is the ocean/nautical

Little Hope is abandoned town/spooky woods

House of Ashes has caves/ancient temples

The Devil in Me is a luxurious hotel

Directive 8020 is going to be space-themed

Until Dawn and the Quarry are both similar in that they take place in the isolated woods, but the change of seasons makes a big difference in how everything looks.

Little Hope is very woodsy, but it also leans heavily on the fact that it takes place in a small town so it’s not like The Quarry or Until Dawn because you see more buildings and signs of previous inhabitants. It also, iirc, takes place in the Fall.

Man of Medan and The Devil in Me both primarily take place in one structure (The Ourang Medan, the Hotel) but as a ship and a building respectively they are very different in layout.

House of Ashes is obviously the first to take place primarily underground/in ancient infrastructure (UD came close with the mines), and Directive 8020 is obviously the first to take place in futuristic/space settings.

What I’m saying is that Supermassive is really nailing their set-ups with these games. They’re giving us new environments in every game, and they’re leaning into the aesthetic to make a greater distinction between any that might otherwise be similar.

I’m already excited for potential other monsters and mythology we’ll see in future games, but I’m also really excited to see what other places the games will bring us to and what other aesthetics we might see- cities, deserts, high schools, farmlands, jungles, hospitals, etc. There’s so much to take advantage of.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

Summary: Din gives you a brief layout of his home.

A/N: Hello lovelies,

Another week, another chapter. It's funny as I'm editing, the story keeps getting longer. Lol.

Just want to remind everyone that the Razor Crest story is going to be a series of short stories dealing with the life of the Razor Crest Ranch, Ann's past and their future.

Once one series is done, there will be a two to three week break before the next series is posted. I hope that made sense.

Love oo.

Due to the past history of the OC there will be discussions alluding to past domestic abuse, please note that as it could be a trigger for some.

Warning: feelings of safety, discussions of comm connections, mentions of protection, family endangerment, feelings of mistrust, I think that's it. If I miss anything please let me know.

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THE RAZOR CREST SEVEN

CHAPTER SIX

The way she looked around the room, made Din pause for a brief second. He couldn’t help wonder what exactly had she gone through. Yet, at the same time he had no right to inquire, it wasn’t any of his business to know about her past. 

He pushed the thought aside, as his mind focused back on showing the room.

“There’s a closet right here,” Din motioned to the door to his left, “it’s not very big. There’s some extra blankets and pillows if you need in the bedroom bench” he opened the end-of-bed bench as he spoke, showing off the various blankets and their varying thickness. 

Camilla was an avid blanket aficionado and adamant when it came to blankets, stating over and over again whenever she walked into the house with a newly purchased one, they were a necessity. Each blanket was unique and served a different purpose, just because you might use one in winter, doesn’t mean you would use the same one in spring, and having just one blanket for each season was never enough.  

As I stood in the room, this feeling of complete safety washed over me. I finally felt safe. I’m not sure if it was because of the remote location, or due to the man I met not even an hour ago who was willing to take the chance on me, or because I had an escape route with Cobb and Fenn if I needed. 

For the first time in a long time, I finally was able to let out a breath of relief, tears were welling up in my eyes as a lump formed in my throat, which I quickly tried to swallow down. I didn’t want to cry.

Din watched her not quite able to understand what she was thinking or feeling. There was just a blank expression on her face as she glanced around the room, he couldn’t tell if she was upset or pleased with the room, however, he figured it was better to play it safe and assumed the former, “I’m sorry it’s not more, but feel free to make it your own after you complete your three months.”

“No” I shook my head, turning to look out the window as I discreetly wiped a tear, “No, it’s great. Cozy.” I cursed myself as my voice trembled. I took in a deep breath turning to look at Din, “Thank you. It’s quite lovely.”

The expression on her face stunned him for a second, her face bloomed with joy, the only way he could describe the radiance she seemed to have was that she finally found hope. It made her look enchanting, he glanced around the room focusing his attention elsewhere.  

“I’m glad you like it,” he nodded. 

“Oh, before I forget,” he continued, “personal comms sometimes have a hard time working out here. We have internet which technically should be harder to get out here, but nope that’s easy to access.” He shrugged as she tilted her head at him as to ask why, when he held up his hand, “Don’t bother asking why one and not the other. I have spent a lot of time trying to fix it, so my personal comm could work, but I’ve finally given up. I think it has something to do with the minerals in the mountains that are at my door step. Anyway, there’s a landline in the kitchen, in the bedrooms, as you can see from the one in your room” he motioned with his head to the non-portable comm, “There’s also one in the study, living room and barn. If you ever need to use the phone, you can use one of those, just not the one in my bedroom. After three months, we can talk about getting you a private line, if you wish.”

I nodded in agreement, but really who was I going to call. I couldn’t call any of my friends or family or it would put them in danger, learned that after the first time I tried to leave. It was better not to make deeper connections with anyone, yet Cobb and Fennec both said that now things were different. They’d be able to watch out for me, and provide me a layer of protection I didn’t have before, there was a hope things would be getting better. I still wouldn’t be able to reach out to my family, at least not until they’d be able to set up some way to contact them discreetly, the sheer idea of having that option weighed heavily on my heart. However, it wasn’t important to focus on that, especially since that was not a guaranteed possibility. Instead, what I needed to focus on was the here and now. 

“Appreciate it. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t be entering your room unless it’s to clean or grab the laundry.”

Din simply shook his head, “Not even then.” There was a quizzical expression on her face, ion response to his statement. 

“You don’t have to clean my room, I’ll do it. You can simply leave the fresh bedding on the chair in front of the door to my room. Anyway, laundry room is off the back entrance, and I have a laundry shoot that goes directly into that room. You may find on occasion some dirty clothes or towels in the mud room which is beside the kitchen and in front of the laundry room. We have a storm cellar, filled with essentials for the occasional tornadoes, the entrance is in the kitchen. There’s a faux pantry door, which leads you down there, I’ll show you when you’re ready. It’s also where I keep the wine and liquor.”

“How long could someone stay down there for?”

“Depends on the amount of people, but if it’s two or three people, I would say about four to six months. If there’s more, we’ll go through our rations a lot faster.”

My eyes widened in shock, “How … how big is it?”

“Big enough to house, two bedrooms, washroom, living room, kitchen, study, rec room/work out room and storage room.” Din chewed on the inside of his cheek wondering if maybe he made a mistake revealing too much too soon. 

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@littlemisspascal@sprout-fics@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24 @spicymcnuggies @lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @tortor-mcgee @sarcasmismyonlydefense24 @chiyo13

[calextheneko]

Mario Maker 2 Self Promotion: Super World and Sky Tower Saga

So getting back into Mario Maker 2 and for those who don't know I freaking love Mario Maker. I currently have 80 levels uploaded in the second and forgot how many I have uploaded in the first. Never as many cause I never got enough likes to expand my upload pool in that one. Glad 2 through that mechanic in the trash.

Anyway, this post is just to blow my horn and talk about some of my favorite levels I've made. I'm far from the best or most popular level designer but I do put my heart into them! If any strike your fancy it means the world to me if you play them! So let's go on.

First off if you want to find me and pull up all my levels

Creator ID: GKP-1RT-HNG

Can use that to pull up my profile. If you see the name Calex and my little guy wearing the cat suit you got the right one!

So first up, my Super World found on my profile.

This follows basic 8 world progression, made in the Super Mario world style. I did my best to make it feel like a Mario game while adding in some unique twists. Worlds 1-6 have four stages including a boss stage, and world 7 and 8 have 5 levels including boss stages. I try to stay true to form with fighting the Koopalings and progressing but giving them unique mechanics or battlefields to fight on to freshen the fights up.

The levels start on the super easy side as I've attempted to scale the difficulty up as you progress through the worlds. I'd say world 7 is where you notice a big bump up.

I recently redid the final level of it 8-5: Seat of the King. Mainly, while I liked the original version the boss fight with Bowser took way too long. I wish they had a way to adjust his HP. So I updated it so Bowser will get damaged much, MUCH more quickly, as well as adding in a couple secrets that can let you skip round 1 with him. It's not nearly as hard, but I'll take fun over difficult any day of the week.

Most of the levels I'm proud of are later in the games as I made them more complex as part of turning the difficulty up. 7-1: Blast Off! might be my favorite of the set. As for hardest, for me personally I think 8-4: The Koopaling's Last Dance! As it contains rematches with each Koopaling that you fought throughout the game and then a fight with Bowser Jr. I put two checkpoint flags right on either side of a pipe for this one so you can reactivate them any time you want to save your progress in this level.

I could gush about each level but there are 40 of them total in the Superworld so going to move on so we're not here all day.

Sky Tower Saga

Sky Tower Saga is a series of levels I made back before the game had Super Worlds using the Mario 3 layout. Sky Tower Saga contains much more and often difficult twists on its boss fights and each of the levels has its own boss.

Sky Tower Saga is a five level collection that basically tells the story of Mario's journey to Sky Tower after it mysteriously appears in well, the sky, and his effort to stop Bowser from seizing the tower's strange powers for himself.

Sky Tower Saga Part 1: Journey

Course ID: 402-DQ9-LSG

Journey has you start in a winter themed level, as you platform your way along before reaching the Tower's entrance. Once inside you climb the first few floors before facing Boom Boom. This level is the only completely normal boss fight in the series, as it serves as a warmup level before you enter the tower proper. So Boom Boom has no mechanics. There is sadly a Soft Lock in it, there's an area you can go down under after hitting a P Switch and find a 1-up. But if you don't have the Super Leaf then it's not possible to get back up and eventually you die once the P-Switch runs out.

Sky Tower Saga Part 2: Ascent

Course ID: 1DT-J87-6RF

Ascent where the series starts using vertical levels as you climb higher and higher into the Tower. This level also has far more secrets in it than the first, including eight key coins that if you gather you can unlock a special bonus door right before the boss fight. You can also use the key to skip the boss fight if you want, but kind of ruins the fun. Up to you if you want to get through faster or if you want to fight it! Whatever you feel like! But the fact the boss can be skipped is why I later stopped using red coins in boss stages to prevent that. I just like putting in secrets for people to find. XD I feel it makes things more fun.

Anyway, this time the boss fight is against a Flying Boom Boom but now we start to have new mechanics introduced. This fight has a time limit beyond the actual course timer. As the fight continues one of the walls will closely close in giving you less and less room to move around in. You need to defeat Boom Boom and unlock the exit door before the wall closes in completely and squashes you flat. I left the timer very generous.

I designed it by using a Bill Blaster as the wall. It doesn't shoot anything, but I put it on a conveyor belt that tries to carry it right. However there are switch blocks in the way blocking its progress. Below it is a shell that is fired onto a conveyor belt that tries to carry it right but the shell is shot left making it travel very slowly. At the end of it is a Switch Block. So each time it hits the block the Bill Blaster is released from a switch block and moves right. Meanwhile the shell is quickly delivered back to where it started before bouncing and slowly moving towards the switch again. During the fight you can see it moving so you can see exactly how much time you have before the wall moves again.

Sky Tower Saga Part 3 Secret

Course ID: K47-5M0-5RG

Sky Tower stretches so high into the sky you start to leave the atmosphere. As a result any time you are physically climbing the outside of the tower there will be less gravity. Thankfully it seems the Mushroom Kingdom invented artificial gravity so inside you're fine.

Once again we have red coins to unlock a secret room as you travel up. And once again it can be used to skip the boss fight if wanted. But surprise twist! There are two boss fights! More on that in a second.

Secret introduces something important in the form of the three Fire Orbs with wings that will be seen again. These are used to represent an entity called Tower Soul who will be a problem in a later stage, but for this one you just get a glimpse of them. Meanwhile, the challenge takes in the form of scaling the place while managing the lowered gravity. There is also a snake block to ride, but don't worry there's a two-way pipe right before it so you can exit and re-enter if you fall off and need to respawn it.

As for the fights. It's Bowser Jr with a round 1 and a round 2 against him. The first round is simple, some Throwmps slam down activating an on and off switch which drops Bowser Jr and two red Bill Blasters into the room. You have to hit Bowser three times while dodging homing Bullet Bills and you're done. But round 2 things kick up a bit. Bowser Jr is now protected in the safety of the Tower and you must fight him while dealing with the Tower's defenses. Your only platform is a seesaw that goes up and down but this is to your benefit once you realize what you need to do. You need to jump on Koopa Troopas and then shoot their shell into a small hole where they'll travel down and hit Bowser Jr. If you stand on the left side of the seesaw it will form a perfect ramp that you can slide the shell along right into the hole instead of having to jump into the air and fire it. While you continue to fight the tower will release other defenses including buzz saws so watch yourself as you take it down. This fight is good training for a future fight that's a much bigger problem.

Sky Tower Part 4: Apex

Course ID: W7B-R7W-XKG

Finally you reach the apex of the tower. But as you reach the top, you will find none other waiting for you than Bowser! Charged up with the Tower Soul the entire Tower is now at his command as he attempts to destroy you!

Once again, up in space so low gravity when climbing the exterior of the tower, but most of the platforming takes place in the interior as you climb up the last few floors. Beware of Bullet Bills as they'll be a constant threat when you climb. When you have to charge forward towards a Bill Blaster remember to look for holes in the area you can jump or duck in to dodge the bullets. Also, as you navigate flying beetles and other surprises there might be a chance to grab an unintended upgrade along the way.

Apex is where the red coins stop as I realized I was undermining the levels, as well as this is where you face a much bigger threat for the boss. Bowser himself is the boss fight this time. When you finally make your way up to him, the arena will look familiar. You fight Bowser in the same was as you did in Mario 3, but with a slightly simplified arena. Naturally a you can guess from the previous fight this is just a warmup for the real fight.

Grab the Fire Flower after round 1, it will make your life much easier, I promise. For fight 2, you'll be facing Bowser in a Fire Car, but you have a Fire Car of your own. If you grabbed the Fire Flower you shoot three fireballs instead of one which will make things much easier. Dodge Bowser's attacks and take him out with your own fireballs to proceed forward! However, Bowser is probably the smallest worry you'll have at the moment. The Tower Soul will be seen flying around the map damaging you if it impacts you, as well as there are tons of cannon balls being fired. Navigate the maze of obstacles carefully as you fight Bowser and finally finish off the fight... Except, not quite. At the end of the level you'll see though Bowser is gone, Tower Soul remains.

Sky Tower Saga Finale: Soul

Course ID: 5S2-81B-XGF

It's the final level. With Bowser defeated Tower Soul has gone berserk. If the tower is left unchecked its destruction power will spread to the Mushroom Kingdom. Are you ready to fight an entire freaking tower? Cause you're fighting an entire tower. Or at least the heart of it.

This is a boss stage, no platforming to get here. Instead, you get some power ups and then are instantly thrown into a battle with Tower Soul. That's right, the final boss is a completely original thing instead of being Bowser again! I know it turns out I am capable of originality at times!

Now then...This is what the Bowser Jr fight earlier was practice for. You will see the Tower Soul inside a huge contraptions once you step into the heart of the tower. The ticket is once again to kick shells into a small opening so that it can damage the tower. But it's going to be much harder this time. There's no ramp you can shoot it up through. Now you'll need to either throw the shells from the air, jump up to the hole or time it perfectly off a moving platform to get a hit in. Each time you land a successful hit you'll see the tower start to fall apart as bricks fall from overheard.

This fight took a long time to design and went through a lot of versions. First I had to get it to actually work so that you could get a key for defeating a thing the game doesn't regard as an actual entity. I hit an enemy that's never visible on screen but is killed right after you land your final hit on Tower Soul. That enemy holds the key so that's how I made it look like defeating Tower Soul gives you the key. After I got this working though the fight was too insanely hard. So believe it or not this is the tuned down version of it. Keep aware of the threats around you and practice your timing with shells until you earn victory.

But the level isn't over yet. The Tower Soul flees as the entire tower begins to collapse. It's time for a Metroid this place is gonna explode escape sequence with some fun music. But, how do you escape Sky Tower? Well... You'll see when you get there. Defeating Tower Soul is the hard part the rest of the level is super easy and I don't want to spoil the fun of what's happening.

Anyway that's stuff about my Super World and Sky Tower. I may post more of these with other levels I worked on and their course IDs as it goes on. We'll see how it goes. Will also be trying to come up with some new level ideas cause the itch to make levels is bugging me like crazy now. Thanks for taking the time to listen to me rant, and super special thanks to anyone who plays any of the levels too!

[ratg0r3]

Thinking..since u said u could go on about p1… 👀👀 I wanna hear ANY OR ALL the hcs u have of him!!! 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 even the 😳 ones if u wanna share..

Okay okay okay

Bro is just a soft boy,

with slightly fucked up teeth (his incisors point out a lil bit),

he wears his hair up when doing chores n things and also when hes feeling less shy and more open (but he doesnt realize that he does)

When in lines he gets v paranoid and nervous but if hes w his s/o he almost wants to hide under their arms like a child (tho hes fukin massive at 6'8) and it helps calm him down enough to not make a scene

When shopping he makes sure that its organic or whatever cause hes scared of the pesticides, and he likes to get on avg 3 cans of food fr his stockpile (cause he be almost a doomsday prepper w all the cans he got)

His leather trenchcoat is well taken care of cause it has some sort of sentimental value from before, (idk what it might be) and its also a comfort item for when hes rlly upset

His weapons in his house are like semi organized but are just leaning against a wall in his living room, and in the corner theres a pile of explosives cause hes not good at relizing how of a safety risk that is (i also have a v specific layout of his house in my head)

When its warmer out he likes to wear a light grey hoodie and when its colder not only does he have his red sweater vest, he has a whole collection of neat ones (its a lil hobbie collecting cute sweater vests)

He likes to cuddle, a lot, hes one of those ppl that follow his partner around like a lost puppy and hugs them a lot or holds their hand

Hes hesitant on letting his partner touch his hair but once hes okay with it he likes his hair braided, and also lowkey being pet (give this mf chin scritches NOW)

Not only does he write in his journal, he does lil sketches (think author morgans journal but his sketches are a bit more shitty but still impressive)

When he gets excited (ie: sees smthn he really likes when shopping) hed go mute but smile a lot n you know the drill

He likes The Edgar Winter Group and anything funky (like free ride) and Queensryche and any similar bands to them

He takes rlly good care of his boots n trenchcoat and treats the leather n whatnot himself, he also shops at the army surplus cause its cheeper and can find more reliable items (thats where he got his gloves, they the woolen inserts)

He has a passion fr cooking and if he has the ingredients hed make you the best damn food you ever ate

<><><><><>

Thats all i can think of right now, also honorary mention, he likes hair pulling, thats like my only spicy take lol

[yellowhollyhock]

it's in my head now, ain't going away so here it is

Woody and Angel are passing a quiet morning sorting donations, cleaning and re-boxing clothes and toys. This is the time Mikey and Donnie would usually come around, early morning. Do you think they will come around anymore? Haven't seen them since Leo got back. Yeah, heard from Casey. Mm, yeah it was on the news, there haven't been any Monster Sightings since reports of strange lights at Winter Corp a few weeks ago. Well yeah of course I think that had something to do with them, April worked with Max Winters.

Donnie wanders in. Unusual for him to be alone. Even more unusual for him to be puffy-eyed and listless. Hey buddy, what's going on? You wanna take a look at the pantry? You guys haven't been by to get food in a while (Woody's been so worried)

"Mikey's gone."

Angel's calling Casey while Woody tries to coax the whole story out of Don. He's really frazzled, they've never seen him like this.

"Didn't know where else to come--they've been yelling all night--"

Woody finds out that Mikey's been missing for about a week; why didn't they tell someone sooner? Nevermind, not important--do you know where he might have gone?

We saw him last night. He's with--it's hard to explain.

Angel's yelling. Casey and April are with Splinter and the other turtles. Donnie had said he was stepping out to pick up some food, they hadn't been worried about him before Angel's call. Leo is not thrilled that he went to a bunch of humans (Leo hasn't met them, deep trust issues from his time alone) without consulting the team first.

It's been like this all night, Donnie admits in a small voice. Blaming each other, bringing up stuff from the past..

April's disapproval of Raph's behavior while Leo was gone. Casey's frustration over April's absence while she was working with Winters. Raph lashing out almost at random, confused and devastated. Who was supposed to be watching him? Shut up shut up it doesn't matter how old he is, don't you get it, we're mutants, people want us dead. We're all each other has and we should've been with him.

But nothing like Leo yelling at Splinter. Yeah, it's done the team so much good that I'm so much stronger. Nothing to make a better team leader like being separated from the team. What were you thinking, why didn't you take better care of them while I was gone, why did you send me away? they needed me here. What's gonna happen to Mikey now, huh? you chose to tear this family apart, and I just don't understand why

We know where he is, Donnie tells Woody. He's with Karai--I think he felt bad for her, after she helped us with Winters.

Karai--who's that? Is he safe with her?

I don't know I don't know I don't know. Organization called the Foot, gang once led by the Shredder, tried to kill us, she's talking about bringing him back, I'm afraid she's grooming him to be a ritualistic sacrifice--

Angel's called in the crew, but they can't meet here. The rest of Donnie's family is headed to April's place. Me and Woody gotta stay here, we'll meet up with you guys tonight to help look for him

And then the Professor arrives. Clocks immediately that Donnie is distressed and Mikey, who would normally be with him, absent.

"It's good to see you my friend! Where is Michelangelo?"

"He's a little lost at the moment, sir."

"I see. Easy to get lost in a city like this. I have a friend who knows the layout very well, perhaps he can help us find him."

Oh I don't know if that's a good idea, we don't want to get too many people involved--

People? Who said anything about people?

He pulls out some freaking. bird seed and does a pigeon call. Pigeon lands in from of him.

"Hello, Pete. How are you?"

"Great, just stole a fantastic hot dog. Any theories today, Professor?"

"A problem, instead, that I was hoping for your help with. Have you seen this turtle?"

Cocks his little pigeon head at Donnie. Ruffles his wings thoughtfully. "He got brothers? I think I've seen turtles around, but not this one and not too often. They mostly stick to the shadows."

"A brother is missing, the one in orange. Can you help us find him?"

"Course I will, I owe you more than a few favors. I'll tell the whole crew; mutants gotta stick together, you know."

Winks at Donnie, flies away, yes that's right Pigeon Pete is bringing in the Mutanimals to help save Mikey from--

wait.

Did you say Mikey left on purpose to join the Foot?

(btw Angel has firsthand experience being a kid frustrated with a system that isn't built for her wellbeing, feeling out of place at home, looking for a group to belong to, falling in with the wrong crowd)

[prettyiwa]

(part I) | (part II) Relationship: Yuuki Tetsuya x F!Reader Content Tags: Pro-MLB!Yuuki Tetsuya, Growing Affection & Attraction, Moving from Strangers to Friends (to Eventual Lovers), Not Quite Love at First Sight, Fluff Summary: Near-weekly visits to your bookshop have become a surprisingly important part of Tetsu's schedule when home in San Francisco. It's not lost on him why that is. Word Count: 950

The first time returning to the city after finishing the season, he feels as though something’s amiss.

Despite the dreary weather outside promising a storm, despite the persistent cold that bites at his nose and the shades of greys that paint the world outside, your presence alone exudes warmth akin to that of a summer’s day. He gravitates toward you, patiently waiting for the chance to talk with you, to steal away your attention for as long as he can get away with it, and he swears that each step brings him closer to summer.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite customer,” you greet, looking up from your bookseller's clipboard when you take notice of his presence.

The corners of your lips quirk when you glance up again, aware of his proximity, and it’s not until now that he feels like he’s truly returned, like he’s almost home. Though you’re aware of his excuse for visiting at least once a week if he can—when games and practices don’t have him away from the city—he wonders whether you’re aware of the true reason for his frequent visits.

It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy your shop—on the contrary, even without your presence here, it lends an air of intimacy he’s yet to find replicated anywhere else. That being said, this shop exists entirely out of the way, nowhere close to his apartment or practice facilities. Even if it has a good variety of books that pique his interest or that you and the other managers are more than happy to fulfill any special order request he has, there’s only one reason he stops by as much as he does.

“Thank you for waiting,” you say with an easy smile, stepping forward when you’re done. “I’m assuming you’re here to pick up the books you ordered?”

No, that’s not why he’s here, but he’ll take them since you’ve held onto them for weeks. “Yes. Thank you again for keeping them for me.”

Smile widening, you move away, beckoning him toward the back room. “It’s no problem. You always come back, regardless.”

Excusing yourself to the office, he glances around the room and realizes he’s never come to this part of the shop. The layout is different, more spacious with benches in the center to offset the lack of seating elsewhere. Unlike the entrance, this back area relies heavily on natural lighting, making the atmosphere feel cooler, somehow softer. Against the windows facing the side street are two chess tables that catch his attention.

Once he approaches, he finds them worn by years of play by an untold number of players. It’s obvious they’ve been cared for, that you guys have done all you can to maintain their condition. He’s instantly struck by the desire to play shogi, to be challenged with a proper board rather than the virtual sessions he has with Masashi.

He hears a soft hum and turns to find you watching him contemplatively, books in hand. Your eyes flicker to the boards as you offer him his books before asking, “Do you play?”

“Chess? No. These boards made me miss playing shogi,” he answers simply as he takes them from you, fingers brushing against yours as he does.

“Ah, that’s another strategy game, right? Did you play often?”

“Yes, with my brother and an old teammate. I’ll be able to play again when I return home in the winter.”

“That’s not too far off, then. My roommate might know of a club nearby if you’re interested. I know she plays with a friend of hers on occasion.”

Excitement bubbles in his chest at the prospect and you must feel it roll off him because you laugh before he can answer. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can find out. Um, do you mind if I ask for your number?”

His heart hiccups a bit in his chest, at not only being given the opportunity to play here but at the possibility that you might want to get to know him, too. He realizes he’s been staring a bit too long, smile still etched across his lips, when you falter, rushing to explain your train of thought.

“I’m sorry, it’s just—it might be easier if I can text you when I find something. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”

“You can have my number.”

You visibly swallow and there’s still hesitation behind your eyes and your smile isn’t as wide, but you offer it nonetheless, fishing your phone from your jacket pocket. Tapping his number into your phone, he hesitates to call himself, though he can hear Jun’s frustrated words ring in the back of his mind before he does. His phone rings in his pocket and you raise a brow before your smile returns, hesitation quickly vanishing.

“Do you mind if I ask for something?” His throat feels tight and he’s not certain whether his words will come out, but he has to try because nothing will happen if he doesn’t act. You only nod, encouraging him to make his request, though the words stick in his throat. “Would it be alright if I message you?”

Despite the rain that’s steadily falling outside, despite the wind that pushes through the streets, despite the way either directly impacts the atmosphere in the room, your smile makes it all meaningless. Happiness emanates from you, as does your natural warmth and charm, electrifying the atoms in the air until it’s entirely palpable. Everything seems a bit brighter and his chest feels a little lighter and he thinks that maybe he didn’t need to see the sun reflected in your eyes that first day.

“Yes, I would enjoy that.”

Daiya no Ace Masterlist

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 5: What They Call a Family

Summary: Something about watching Shifty in Clinchco makes Zenie look at him differently. It’s strange, to mix the two worlds. Personally, she doesn’t mind it.

A/N: Whelp, we survived the holiday weekend and tumblr finally allowed me to upload my moodboard. I hope y'all had a good holiday, and if yours was difficult, then I am once again sending you virtual hugs 💕For the curious, the title of this chapter is a reference to the opening line of Santa Fe in the original Newsies movie :)

Warnings: guns, racism, period-typical language in regards to race, mentions of improper chest binding

Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @lieutenant-speirs

December, 1942

Despite the distance between the two, Clinchco is not much different from Zenie’s hometown. It’s got a different layout and more diversity. It’s in a different state. The town had a similar experience with the Depression in the thirties. The main source of income for most of the locals is the mining company that the town is named after instead of agriculture like at home. But nothing about it feels foreign. She’s a stranger here and is relying on the hospitality of her friend, and yet, she really does feel as if she’s coming home.

“That’s where I went to school,” Shifty explains as he tours her through the town. “Here’s the church my family goes to – Baptist, like most everyone else around here. I used to shine shoes on this corner. Best business, see, on Saturday afternoons.” Through it all, he saves the best for last. “And that is where I spent most of my free time.”

Clinchco’s woods are beautiful, deep, and cool, just like the ones back home. Even in winter, when most of the trees stand unclothed, their skeletal arms raised toward Heaven in worship, the steady heartbeat of life thrums through the place, giving it a different kind of beauty than the buds and flowers of the warmer months.

Shifty is in his element as he leads her through them, rifle slung over his shoulder and eyes on the branches above them, looking for any squirrels that might come scampering along. He tells her about the things his daddy taught him about listening and being prepared. It shouldn’t come as any sort of shock to Zenie that her friend grew up getting the same education from his father that she got from her grandmother as they foraged in the woods back in North Carolina. But somehow it still brings a kind of comfort – different from any that she’s felt before – to know that someone so similar to her exists, and that they’ve found each other.

Frying Pan really does have the best view, just like Shifty told her it would. Jacket collars pulled up to protect them against the winter wind, they stand at the top and survey the sprawl of mountains and hills and town from the precipice.

“Used to love comin’ up here with my daddy. Just to stand here and listen and try and use what he taught me.” He laughs, shakes his head. “And to flip coins in the air and shoot at ‘em. That way no one could complain, you know, about wasting money.”

“Probably a good thing you did it, though. The coins and the time with your dad, I mean. You’ll be more prepared than any of us when we get into combat.”

Shifty nods, forehead scrunched, just like it always does when he’s really thinking about something. “Kinda worries you, huh? Realizin’ that not everyone grew up learnin’ how to survive. Some of those guys never even held a gun before joinin’ up.”

“Well, if anyone is gonna survive, it’s you. I might know how to walk quietly and find food, but you’ve got eyes like a hawk and hearing to match.”

He laughs at first. Then he takes a step closer to her. “Close your eyes.”

“What?” He’s far too observant not to notice the way the breath hitches in her throat.

“Somethin’ my daddy taught me. Close your eyes.” When she does, she feels his gentle hands come up to cover them – no peeking allowed. A beat of silence passes, then another. Finally, he whispers, “What do you hear?”

Besides their quiet breathing, there isn’t much. A birdsong nearby that she doesn’t recognize. The gentle whistle and wheeze of the wind as it glides over the bare trees and rustles the leaves around their feet. If she really concentrates, she thinks she can hear the distant babbling and bubbling of a creek. She tells Shifty as much.

He’s smiling when he uncovers her eyes. “See, you’re good at this too, Tommy. Observation is a skill. One ya gotta keep sharp, or else you might get outta practice.” His voice holds a tone that she doesn’t recognize on the last sentence.

He stares out across the valley, so she does the same. She feels him glance at her. He opens his mouth, and she thinks that he might say something. Instead, he only lets out a breath, readjusts his rifle, and starts to walk back the way that they came.

“Mama is makin’ pie for dessert tonight. We don’t wanna be late for that.”

There’s probably some sort of rule or commandment or something that Zenie breaks every time that she thinks ill of her own family. She’s never liked her father, and she harbors some sort of disappointment towards her siblings, and those feelings never fail to make her feel downright bad. Sure, lots of people probably wish for a different family or a different life at some point – but watching Shifty and his family, she can’t help but feel downright jealous.

The Powers’ household is filled to the brim with love. A warm household is something so foreign that Zenie feels like she needs to tread carefully or risk shattering it. But the love is strong, and even if she does trip, it doesn’t seem like it would shatter or cause any serious damage.

Shifty’s two youngest siblings are like him in that they’re good natured and kindhearted. Frankie, his youngest brother, asks them lots of questions about the Airborne and talks about how he can’t wait to be old enough to join up. Gaynell, his sister catches them up on the small-town goings-on and ribs Shifty good naturedly. In turn he’ll tug at her hair as she passes by, but there’s no malice in any of it – just the way that siblings can tease each other about small things without anybody getting their feelings hurt.

Then there are his parents. His mama is a beautiful woman of Scotch-Irish and Cherokee descent who is positively tickled that Shifty managed to befriend someone like himself so far from home. She’s so excited that Zenie, Shifty, and Earl McClung have all become friendly with each other that Zenie finds herself hoping that they can all three return someday after the war just to visit her.

She also wants to know all about where Zenie is from. Zenie hates lying to Shifty, and she finds that she hates using half-truths on his mama even more.

“What’s your town like, Tommy?” she’s keen to know. “Is it a lot like here?”

Zenie can’t bring herself to tell her that Clinchco, even though she’s been here all of a few days, seems friendlier and more homelike than, well, home. She doesn’t tell Mrs. Powers about how Shifty and Earl – besides her own sister, obviously – are the only other part-Indians that she’s ever really gotten to know – the only people whose experiences she feels like she can relate to in some way. She doesn’t tell her about how the kids at her school would war-whoop at her and run from her on the playground, begging her not to scalp them if she caught them during tag. She doesn’t tell her that she ran away because she felt like the walls of her own home were suffocating her and she couldn’t stand the sight of the streets and buildings that she had known all her life.

Instead she smiles and says, “Yes ma’am, but I think Clinchco is a lot nicer” and accepts the slice of chocolate pie that she’s offered after dinner. Mrs. Powers makes the best pie in the entire world; if she lived in Zenie’s town, she would have put the diner out of business a long time ago.  

Shifty’s daddy is everything that a father should be – which is everything that Zenie’s own father is not. Mr. Powers is reserved, yet kind, and he has the same shy looking smile that Shifty does. He asks them lots of questions about their training and quietly tells them stories about fighting in the Great War long after everyone else has gone to bed. His laugh is loud and jolly, but he never raises his voice.

Something about watching Shifty in Clinchco makes Zenie look at him differently. It’s strange, to mix the two worlds. Personally, she doesn’t mind it.

Back in the woods, Shifty’s words about observation being a skill were right. Of course he meant being observant while on the hunt or in combat, but Zenie can’t help but use the skill on him. Because she’s always known that he’s reserved and kind, but she never realized that he was humble or a prankster until she saw him with his parents and siblings.

“How are you with a gun, Thomas?” Mr. Powers asks during dinner on one of their last nights in Virginia. “Darrel said in one of his letters that most of the men in your company had never used a gun before.”

“Well, I’m nothing compared to Shifty. None of us are.”

Shifty’s cheeks take on a pink hue, like a soft sunset. “Lots of the men are fine shots. Thomas is one of ‘em.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t make expert marksman, like somebody did.”

Mrs. Powers’ face lights up. “Expert marksman?”

“Only two men in the whole company earned that title, and he’s one of them.” If he won’t brag about himself, then Zenie is happy to do it for him. It’s a hell of an achievement, and he and his family all deserve to be proud of it.

“You never mentioned that in your letters,” his daddy beams. “Congratulations, son!” He claps Shifty on the shoulder, and although the expert marksman in question shakes his head, he can’t stop smiling. When his family is done hugging him and mussing up his hair, he shoots Zenie a wink as his mama insists on everyone taking a helping of banana pudding as part of the celebration, and she feels herself break into a grin almost as big as his.

They let Zenie have her own bedroom. It belonged to one of Shifty’s brothers before he joined up, and after all her time in the barracks with the rest of the company, lying alone in a bed is a welcome reprieve. She can relax, take off her bandages like Doc – or Gene, as he promises she can call him –  insists, and listen to the sounds of nature outside without fear of being found out every second.

It’s peaceful. A kind of peace that she’s never known, not even back in her own home in her own town. It would be nice, after the war, to return to Clinchco and enjoy it all again.

It’s in this peace that her mind wanders a little too far. If she had grown up here, or if Shifty was from her town, she wonders if they would have become friends. Of course then he would know her as Zenie instead of Tommy, but maybe that wouldn’t matter to him. Either way, they would have gone to school together, and he might have come to the diner after playing basketball with his friends and they could have palled around.

Granny would have loved him. They would have gotten along well. Shifty would have been welcome in their house while Granny was living with them. She would have smiled and looked the other way if he brought Zenie home late from wherever they’d been, and pretended not to notice if Shifty gave her a kiss goodbye at the door –

The thought is so sudden that she sits up in the bed. Besides the pale winter moonlight streaming into the room from the window, she’s alone. Yet somehow, she feels like she’s just been caught doing something completely and utterly wrong.

Why had she thought about Shifty kissing her? He’s her friend, just like Toye or Bill or Gene . . . None of those friends makes her feel giddy whenever they walk into a room, though. And even though she smiles at Luz and Bill when they make stupid jokes, she doesn’t smile in spite of herself if she catches one of them glancing at her like she does with Shifty.

All the feelings that she’s been ignoring or writing off wash over her then like a flood that’s trying to drown her. She’s only felt this way about a boy once. Elijah Woodard, back home before the war. He had not reciprocated, and Zenie found it hard to consider romance with any boy since then.

But now those feelings are back. Now they’re about one of the men that she’s become closest to since joining the Airborne.

And there’s nothing that she can do about them.