#and they have no real reason to shift into their physical form (where they could be infected)

[snailpebbles]

Simple Misunderstanding- OP81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Best Friend! reader

Summary: You couldn't both be this stupid right..? Oscar is telling you you're dating, but he never even asked you out.

Pure fluff, absolute idiots in love <3

⋅˚₊‧𐙚‧₊🍊˚ 🧡୨♡୧ ⋅🔸˚₊‧꒰ა🟠໒꒱ 🍊‧₊˚

You and Oscar have been best friends since highschool when he (not surprisingly) was on the verge of failing Physics from missing so many tests. Since those tutoring sessions you've been inseparable.

You've always had a thing for him, which you would deny until your death that hopefully takes place beside him, Bicentennial Man style. The problem is.. he's a world famous Formula One driver and you're what? Still studying for your degree? No, you could never deserve this sweetheart of a man. Even if you style his hair most days and he rubs your back to help you fall asleep. Just friendly things.

Now we're brought to your current predicament.

"What're you doing..?" Oscar mumbles out in confusion as you begin to lift your head from where it rested on his chest. You freeze on the spot, peering up at him from below his chin.

"Uhm.. getting up?" You whisper for no real reason, suddenly feeling like a caught child. Oscars eyebrows furrow and he pushes your head back down while muttering a quiet yet firm 'no'.

"Wha- what do you mean 'no'?" You scoff, feeling more akin to an annoyed teen now. You go to lift yourself up properly but now his arms, previously wrapped around your waist and rubbing your back, are anchoring you down.

"Stay." He simply says, his eyes closing as he plans to return to his half asleep state. Those plans are interrupted as your hands wiggle down to tickle his sides. He yelps and releases you on instinct, which you take as a chance to launch out of bed.

"What are you doing??" Oscar groans, groggily sitting up now with a petulant pout. You return the question, hands on your hips as you stare at his sleepy form.

"I'm trying to cuddle my girlfriend." Oscar huffs, crossing his very muscular arms. Silence stretches between the two of you, making Oscar actually open his eyes fully to take in your extremely shocked expression.

"What's that look for?" He asks, reaching for your right hand in a need to hold some part of you. You let him as you're still trying to understand what exactly he just said and if he's on drugs.

"Girlfriend?" You choke out, your mind going a million miles per hour as you sputter, matching your racing heart. Oscar raises his eyebrow at you like you're an idiot.

".. Yes. You're my girlfriend? For quite some time now?" He chuckles, standing up now. His arms wrap back around your waist as he smiles fondly at you, you. Are you dreaming? Maybe your heart is giving out.

"Since uh, since when am I your girlfriend?" You stammer in disbelief, his expression shifting to mirror yours. His head tilts in confusion, squinting at you.

"Did you hit your head or something?" He murmurs, lifting a hand to jokingly check your scalp for any bumps. By this point you must be burning up with how warm you feel.

"We're not dating." You manage to get out finally, Oscars hand pausing mid caress. It slides down to cup your cheek, his mouth now downturned.

"Yeah we are- we've been together for months now." Oscar shrugs, squishing your face in his hands. He shakes your head side to side and you laugh, placing your hands over his as you ask what he's doing.

"Trying to shake those screws back into place." He teases, rolling his eyes.

"I think I should be doing that to you. You've never asked me out before, so where did this come from?" You chuckle, not able to feel that stressed in his presence and especially not when he's cradling you like you're a precious diamond. (Which to him, you are). Oscar laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

".. I have to ask??" He mumbles, making you snort in laughter. Your head drops, forehead pressed to his shoulder as your own shake in silent giggles. Oscars face, neck, and ears are bright red at this point as he stammers, trying to save face.

"Yes! You have to ask! How did you even think otherwise?" You snicker, rolling your eyes affectionately at your oblivious boy. Oscar smiles in embarrassment, looking off to the side. Though it isn't long before his eyes are drawn back to the irresistible sight in front of him. You're practically glowing with an unrealized joy, your subconscious recognizing your returned feelings.

"I just assumed cause you- well-" He sighs, groaning at his own stupidity. A grin spreads across your face and you tap his cheek, bringing his focus out of his head.

".. I don't know." He finally admits, pout returning full force. It's a beautiful sight to see the typically stoic or calm Oscar looking so flustered, just for you. It sends a thrill down your spine that you're quickly becoming addicted to.

"We've never kissed or had sex, or honestly anything besides cuddling!" You exclaim, very glad to have such fantastic teasing and blackmail material that will last you years to come. Just wait until Lando finds out.

"I thought you wanted to take it slow, so I never initiated anything." Oscar explains, his cheeks a delicious shade of red. You have to take a moment to appreciate the sight and snap out of the daze it puts you in.

"Well how about you ask me out then now, hm?" You smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek that short circuits his brain and yours. The goofiest grin spreads across his face and he drops to one knee, grasping your hand in his.

"Will you, my dearest love, do the honor of allowing me to be your boyfriend?" Oscar asks dramatically, taking a moment to swoon. Seeing him at such an angle, regardless of his stupidity, you still need to drink in the sight of the brunette boy on his knees. For you. Asking you out after years of pining.

God it is beautiful.

"Hmm.. yeah, sure." You shrug, feigning nonchalance even though you're internally squealing. Oscar stands up, putting his hands on his hips in a sassy display. He grins, a mischievous grin which you quickly realize is not something you wanna see.

"Oscar no-" Your sentence barely gets out before you're tackled on the bed, face being peppered by soft kisses. It tickles, giggles erupting from your lips as he murmurs incoherently against your skin. You're a mess of limbs, your leg is already going numb, and you've never been happier as your hands inch up to play with his hair.

"You're missing." You manage to say in between giggles and over the top kissing noises from the boy on top of you. He finally relents, holding himself up on his forearm beside your head.

"Oh really? Wanna show me where to go?" Oscar murmurs, his breath fanning across your awaiting lips. You mumble some teasing jab about boys always needing directions, making him tickle your sides to shut you up.

"Okay, okay I give up!" You laugh, pushing at his hand. He stops tickling you and as soon as you've caught your breath, his lips are on yours. They're warm, slightly chapped, and oh so perfect. He kisses like you're the finest food on Earth and it's his last meal. Both of your heads feel fuzzy as you pull away for some air, noses bumping and mutual giggles filling the silence.

"So.. wanna go back to sleep?" You suggest, the very short yet aggressive emotional rollercoaster exhausting you once more. Oscar nods eagerly, head collapsing to rest in your neck where he occasionally kisses the skin his lips can reach. A warm feeling spreads over you as you tug the blanket across your tangled bodies, dozing off into the most restful sleep of your life.

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror.............a series

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (Letha) (named, but not visually described besides hair length)

[Completed]

[ Part I ] [ Part II ] [ Part III ] [ Part IV ] [ Part V ] [ Part VI ] [ Part VII ] [ Part VIII ] [ Part IX ] [ Part X ] [ Part XI ] [ Part XII ] [ Part XIII ] [ Part XIV ] [ Part XV ]

Macrinus has plans. Layers and layers of plans. He thinks he's found his perfect instrument in the form of Letha and recruits her to his cause. She has reason enough to bring vengeance upon the twin Emperors of Rome, but once she falls under the ever-watchful gaze of Emperor Geta, her will folds. Foiling an assassination attempt, Letha becomes Geta's new fixation. Still, Macrinus's aspirations are halted for no one. Can Letha weather the wrath of Macrinus? And what would happen if Geta knew the truth of her role in this dangerous game?

Or so it might say on the blurb on the back if you picked it up off the shelf. Born of the way I couldn't stop thinking about Geta after seeing GII. Also, I'm a sucker for Denzel Washington so Macrinus is definitely around. I hope this is halfway decent, I've spent a lot of time on it. If only for myself, I suppose.

This is a series, tentatively 13 parts? 14 parts? 15 Parts. It could be longer if I can't rein myself in. Some parts are much longer than others because I didn't want to divide it up. Mostly from our character's POV, but occasionally we slip into Geta's mind. Even Macrinus's, where necessary. I try to make it as clear as possible when perspective shifts.

Letha is our character. She has an "origin" but I was careful to not specify what region she originates from. You can choose for yourself. I have gone out of my way to avoid describing her physically besides the fact that she has long hair and female body features/anatomy. If I missed something, please let me know. Hopefully she feels accessible to most. I just couldn't do the (y/n) thing for a series like this, or avoid using a name. It flows better. Thanks for understanding.

This is heavily modified from the movie. I really just pulled out the entire Acacius/Lucilla/Lucius main plot and went with the super interesting (to me) sub plot of the twin emperors and the man who wants to tear Rome down. Plus Letha, of course.

Historical inaccuracies abound, I'm sure. I did my best but for certain things I couldn't find sources that weren't paywalled peer-reviewed journals or I didn't know how to begin to look for information about. Still, I tried to keep it within reason. I apologize in advance.

I have my own read on the twins and it might be different from yours, but I hope you like it just the same. Besides enjoying the arena and wishing their enemies death, I didn't get the vibe that they were particularly violent, at least not in the five? days we see them. Well, they just deserved better. I don't know that I'm going to give them that here, but I'm gonna try.

Anyways, thanks for reading all this. Hope you like it.

(Moodboard by moi. I spent a long time on it for no real reason, I'm only using it here. It's just fun. I also have a playlist, but I don't think the songs necessarily obviously inspired anything. It's hard to relate them to Ancient Rome. But if you want to know what it was, I'd be more than happy to share it.)

[itadores]

there's a physical weight to your gaze. heavy, but not necessarily oppressing. uncomfortable, most definitely. a deep valley has formed between your brows, set in rigid concentration. your eyes have glossed over, gaining a glass-like sheen. sakura shifts in his seat as you continue staring holes into him. there feels like there's no end in sight.

"what are you looking at?" sakura finally says, buckling under the pressure. you blink, snapped out of your reverie. sakura exhales a sigh of relief, thankful to no longer be on the receiving end of your unending gaze.

"your lips are chapped."

sakura immediately goes on the defensive. his hand comes up to cover his mouth, the pads of his fingers running over his lips. "no, they're not," he denies.

(they most definitely are.)

he lowers his hand and crosses his arms over his chest, looking off to the side. "and so what if they are?" he grumbles. he can't believe that's the reason why you were staring at him. wait, does that mean this whole time you've been staring at his lips? the realization makes the tips of his ears warm.

"relax, it's not a bad thing." you roll your eyes, but your tone is still gentle. soothing in a way that has sakura unfolding his arms. the tension loosening from his shoulders. "i was just going to ask if you wanted some chapstick. i have some on me."

"what?" sakura blusters. heat unfurls from below his collar, sprawling up his neck. won't that basically be like an indirect kiss?

sakura opens his mouth, ready to shut you down, but the words die on the tip of his tongue. you look so sincere that sakura finds it difficult to reject your offer.

"fine," he ends up saying, unable to say no.

your eyes light up, and a beaming smile stretches across your cheeks. sakura looks away for a moment, your brightness blinding him. he's unsure how his agreement could bring you such joy, but he doesn't comment on it. there are some things that he knows he simply won't understand.

"come closer, so i can give it to you."

sakura moves his chair forward until his chest hits the side of the table. something flashes in your eyes, but it's gone as fast as it comes. sakura holds his palm up over the table, ready to receive the tube of chapstick you have.

he doesn't expect you to place your hand in his and lean across the table to press your lips to his. the kiss is fast and fleeting, but it makes sakura's head spin. his brain is having a hard time comprehending what just happened but the sound of your giggles brings him back.

"why'd you do that?" he sputters before pressing his lips tight together, smearing balm across them.

"you said you wanted some chapstick," you innocently say. the grin on your lips say otherwise.

"i thought you meant that you had a tube of chapstick with you," he says exasperatedly.

you prop your elbows onto the table, dropping your face into your open palms. "yeah, i do, but where's the fun in that?"

sakura just groans, unable to come up with a real response. he was so busy trying to prepare himself for an indirect kiss that he was blindsided by you actually kissing him. he subconsciously wets his lips with his tongue.

you taste like strawberries.

[cursed-cube]

So a common headcanon/theory I’ve seen floating around is that when Okarun shifts into his yokai form, the personality shift he undergoes is representative of a “truer” inner self. I can see the line of logic that led to this, but the more thought I’ve put into it, the less I’ve agreed with the premise. And I’ve put so much thought into it at this point that it’s had to become its own whole post separated from the analysis it was originally a part of, so strap in.

Disclaimer: if this is your personal headcanon, I’m not here to try to prove you wrong or make you change your mind, I’m more so discussing this from the theory side of things and what I think will happen as the manga continues. Also slight manga spoilers for up to chapter 172 !!

So as the theory goes, the personality that comes out when Okarun’s transformed is a more genuine version of himself, where his yokai form removes his anxieties and allows him to act more confidently and openly show the depression and pessimism that’s lived in him the whole time. On a surface level this tracks, as being in this form does make him more confident, blunt, and he completely drops the formal way he speaks to people, going so far as to adopt a cute nickname for Momo.

I don’t think this fully makes sense for a number of reasons, though. Firstly is that throughout all 175 chapters that are currently out, I can’t recall any moments where Okarun ever acts in a way that would hint at his real inner workings reflecting the personality and behavior that come out when he is transformed. I could have missed something, of course, but when so much of Momo and Okarun’s relationship is built on them being their genuine selves around the other (more on that in this great video I saw), I’m inclined to believe that there isn’t going to be another shoe to drop nearly 200 chapters in.

To explain my other reasoning, I’m going to have to go into a little bit of a side tangent about Aira, and first I want to establish why I think comparing Okarun to her in this instance makes sense. So up until the cursed diorama arc, the only character that really has comparable yokai related powers to Okarun is Aira. They acquire these powers in different ways, and Seiko says Okarun has Turbo Granny’s “spiritual power”, whereas Acro-Silky says she gave Aira her “aura.” Given the contexts of the scenes these are said in I would assume they are meant to be two different concepts, however it’s not ever explicitly stated or shown how the difference there affects them or their yokai abilities, so I am treating them as functionally the same thing for this analysis. Regardless, the similarity between them seems to be that in one way or another, they have been left with the spiritual energy of their respective yokai, which allows them to transform in very similar ways. Their transformations affect them both physically in making them taller and stronger, as well as their personalities, with Okraun becoming less formal overall, and Aira becoming more formal in the way she addresses people.

Even though they are affected by their transformations in very similar ways, I haven’t seen any kind of headcanon or theory that the way Aira behaves while transformed is how she truly is or feels, which makes perfect sense considering her first character arc. From when she’s introduced, she’s shown to have a dynamic with Momo, Okarun, and her other peers at school, where even before she’s able to use Acro-Silky’s abilities, she’s pretty two faced. In chapter 51, Momo even says, “There’s our Aira!” when she and Okarun pull Aira away from her class and she immediately shifts to her more snarky attitude towards Momo. The manga makes it quite clear that the way she acts at school, and on occasion towards Okarun, is an act, and that her genuine personality is a little nasty and rude (which she is loved for! By other characters and audience members of taste). And with that established, of course no one put that much emphasis on how her behavior changes when she’s using Acro-Silky’s powers. She’s still the same person, her mannerisms and the way she speaks are just altered slightly, which is also pretty much how I feel about Okarun’s yokai form.

That being said, I don’t want to fully dismiss that the shifted personality could mean something, and in fact I wouldn’t be surprised if Okarun did still have some repressed feelings and pessimism from his time growing up without any friends, but at the current point in the story I’m not sure if I could see that being shown explicitly tied to his yokai form. As of chapter 165, Okarun gets his final ball back, and as per his end of the deal, he returned Turbo Granny’s spiritual power to her, and she left with them and hasn’t made an appearance since. Okarun no longer has access to his yokai form, but at this point he’s surrounded by friends, he’s confessed his feelings to Momo, and he’s even grown physically strong enough to hold his own in a fight without any powers. As far as what we’ve been shown, Okarun has developed and his life has changed so much that he doesn’t really have any of those reasons to be a pessimistic downer that he had before the events of the series. Not to say he has no reasons to be sad, of course, we still haven’t been given even a hint of what his family and home life is like, and I expect something will happen with that eventually. But with where the story has gone so far, I don’t see this theory being true or narratively compelling.

TLDR: There’s not much evidence going for this theory, and several things against it, so I personally don’t see it going anywhere in the canon series. The way Okarun acts and the feelings he expresses in his yokai form could still potentially mean something, so I won't completely dismiss it, but with where the story is currently I don’t think this theory being true would add much or be a compelling element of the plot.

[butchsophiewalten]

So i’m sure your planning on making a post about the minisode later, but I wanted to ask anyways if there was any spaces or FJW.com tidbits that like, offer some info on why or how “bon” can just shift between his special form and animatronic form:

(concerning the doorway scene)

I know FJW had some old pages which went over the nature of spirits and ghosts, but can’t for the life of me remember them alluding to this freak being able to like, teleport and shapeshift? (This could totally just be a cool one off cinematic moment with no real explanation, but was just curious if you had anything on this.)

This is such an incredibly interesting question and I'm so glad you're asking me this since it's something I've put a lot of thought into since watching Hotline for the first time, and I do have a specific answer that makes a lot of sense to me. Though I think the 'truest' answer is probably closer to it being a one-off cinematic moment, as you point out.

The first thing that honestly stands out to me with Bon in Hotline is that he's seemingly quite far into his physical transformation due to post-extensive object possession, despite the short taking place in 1977, and thus being only three years after 1974, where he presumably had only recently begun inhabiting the Bon animatronic, as the vessel's appearance was not yet impacted so much by Bon's presence.

He's already quite tattered and dysfunctional, and he has a slash above his eye that emulates the one present on Bon as a white specter.

The reason I point this out is because I think it exemplifies just how deeply Bon and his vessel have enmeshed at this point, despite the relatively little time he's spent within it. (Though, to be fair, the possessed doll described in the Findjackwalten page about post-extensive object possession took only two months before it was able to weep and feel pain, and three years before it could speak.)

This is pretty tangential but it does make me wonder to what extent Bon is even able to separate from his vessel in this depicted point in the timeline. I sort of like the idea that he can't really separate from the animatronic much anymore, but I sort of doubt that would be the concrete canon, and I'm not married to either particular answer. It makes sense to me that he'd be much more thoroughly tied to his vessel after years, but I also think all the subtle imagery and blink-and-you'll-miss-it appearances of ghostly specter Bon would be sorely missed if it became impossible for him to separate from the animatronic completely.

Back to the actual question you're asking me. The most important thing of note to me about this jumpscare scene is that Bon very quickly flickers between appearing as the animatronic, then as the white specter, then the animatronic, and then he's a ghost again.

To me it certainly doesn't appear as if Bon is literally 'exiting' the animatronic and leaving the empty vessel behind. It's as you say, he appears to be "shapeshifting".

My honest explanation is something like this: Many of The Walten Files' visuals are intrinsically filtered through the perspective of its characters and of its narrative forces. Think of Stanley Kubrick's The Shining (Self-admittedly one of Martin's favorite movies, and quite a significant influence/inspiration behind his work): The film depicts many scenes that are intense, dramatic, and horrifying; yet some are impossible. A significant contention of analysis of the film concerns how many of the scenes are "real", and how many are delusions created within the minds of its characters. This exact concept is meditated on in virtually all horror media, or even media in general. What is reality? What makes it different from the way that we view it?

Plenty of things in The Walten Files, I believe, are not meant to be interpreted literally, at least in the case of thinking 'such and such irrefutably happened, exactly as it was depicted here.' This is especially true as it concerns ghosts: how they view the world, and how they are viewed by people.

And this really connects back to a Bon Idea I've been brewing in my head for a while. Wherein I like the thought that, even without anything about the animatronic vessel necessarily changing, Bon's real feelings and intentions can be paranormally communicated to an observer though the animatronic. Like how in the real world, a supposedly haunted object can be described as emanating feelings like malice or fear, even as the object itself remains ordinary.

David is afraid. He's perhaps not thinking rationally. And when he looks at Bon, he sees something scary, because this is what Bon is hoping he'll see. The tension in this scene, as a piece of fiction, is accentuated by the drama of Bon struggling to squeeze through the door, and then flying through it in a sudden, shocking moment. But perhaps in a purely objective, "real" version of the scene, as would be viewed by an unbiased observer, Bon's physical struggle through the door would be much less, and in actuality he only ducked through it-- with David's heightened animal fear exaggerating the reality of what he saw.

To me, I like this answer quite a lot, as I'm sure you can tell with how wordy and flowery I've been with describing it. Maybe it's not that satisfying to say "I'm not so sure this actually happened," but I LOVE thinking about the way The Walten Files plays with perspective and interpretation, especially in how it dwells on ideas as perspective-driven as guilt and grief now and into its future. It's fun!! It's unreliable narration the whole way down!!!

[ajmasch]

@here4hualian kissmas day 20: kisses that leave marks

Xie Lian stared at Hua Cheng’s back. A set of raised lines stared back at him: Hua Cheng’s death scars from the arrows that had killed him when he was in the army. His true form was covered in scars, remnants from a childhood that hadn’t treated him well. Xie Lian’s own body was comparatively blank. His childhood had been much kinder to him than his husband’s, and once he ascended any injuries he received healed completely, without a trace.

In a way, Xie Lian envied him. At least with a physical mark you could be sure that it happened. When nothing was permanent, it was hard to know what was real. Xie Lian still had trouble sometimes determining what had actually happened and what was just his mind creating a new blend of horrors to torment him with.

Still, he wished Hua Cheng hadn’t had to suffer so much. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against one of the scars.

“Gege?” Hua Cheng mumbled sleepily.

“Sorry to bother you, San Lang.”

“If my scars are upsetting you, then–”

“No,” Xie Lian was quick to deny that train of thought. “I love San Lang’s scars. They show that he’s strong, that he’s still here no matter what life threw his way. I just…”

“What is it, Gege?”

Xie Lian sighed. “I was just thinking, it’s a shame that the only marks that stay on our bodies permanently are ones caused by pain.”

Hua Cheng was silent for a moment, thinking that over. Then, “Kiss it again, Gege.”

Confused, Xie Lian did as he was asked, pressing a kiss against the scar. When he pulled away, a glowing imprint of his lips remained where his touch had been. Fascinated, he dropped another kiss against a spot higher up and saw the same result. Hua Cheng shifted so he could look back at Xie Lian.

“Gege’s love has left a permanent mark on me, even if it isn’t immediately visible. Gege’s kindness saved my life, gave me hope, gave me a reason to remain and build everything I have today.”

Overwhelmed, Xie Lian dropped his head and kissed Hua Cheng’s shoulder just to watch another glowing mark bloom there as his husband continued talking.

“Pain doesn’t last forever, as much as it tries to make us believe it does. And if my husband ever needs help remembering that, then I am happy to show him.”

“San Lang…” Xie Lian couldn’t take it anymore and rolled Hua Cheng over to kiss him properly, laughing when his lips glowed a bright gold after. For the rest of the night he took his time kissing over every inch of his husband’s skin, replacing every sign of pain with a beautiful mark of love.

[wynnshxfts]

ֺ ۪ 　　𝜗𝜚⠀　and give me just one more chance, one more glance ..

━ a reupload of an old storytime !

Let me start by saying I didn't have a set dr in mind when I shifted. I absolutely hate scripting. Cannot sit through it. I go where the wind takes me lol. So keeping this in mind, I go to a lot of unscripted dr's - random places. Random times.

Now that I've got that out of the way, let's begin.

ֺ ۪ The students all lived in dorms. These dorms spanned on for a while, as it was suited for the entire school rather than just the hero course. You could choose to live in them - or not. This takes place after the war, so living in dorms was no longer mandatory.

ֺ ۪ Students were chatting in the common area. I shared a dorm (Yes, joint dorms) with a gen ed student who very much did .. not like me. I will not blame them tbh, they had their reasons. But that is for another storytime.

ֺ ۪ The campus was huge, not even exaggerating. The school was not only tall, but wider. It looked intimidating, tbh. I'm not too sure on how the schedules worked now since my memory is off, but I know by the time I got there it was about time to go to class 2-A.

ֺ ۪ I was actually so embarrassing. I was walking through the halls and saw Bakugou with a student. Foolishly, I waved my arms around and drew attention to myself while I called for him and said hey.

ֺ ۪ He was not a fan, and continued to actively ignore me while he continued to talk to this student - who will be mentioned later.

ֺ ۪ When we got to the ,, wtf are they called?? Training Fields?? Anyways when we got to our little activity - Aizawa explained that someone would be joining us and using a classmate of his to use his quirk on! The rules were that the chosen person wasn't allowed to use their quirk while chosen - having to rely on what they were given - and everyone else had to find a way to immobilize the chosen one. Simple enough!

ֺ ۪ QUIRK : TITAN ... This user has the ability to shift between a 'titan' form, sort of similar to Mt. Lady and her gigantification. Of course, they could turn others into a titan as well. Drawbacks are that this quirk can be pretty hard to use - you can unintentionally hurt people, and cause a lot of property damage. Adding onto this for later that this worked very similarly to the Titan power from AOT, if it wasn't blaringly obvious enough. To disable someone's titan form, you have to slice a chunk from their neck or somehow free them from the back of the neck area. Due to the titan form being more of a puppet than them, they don't get any physical injuries on their real body. Oh, and about the student - he really hates the hero course. Of course, this may be because he didn't get in.

ֺ ۪ ...Did I say simple? Yeah, anyways.. imagine our horror when he chose Bakugou (putting the pieces together - they plotted this when I ran into them in the hall)

ֺ ۪ We all did our best to immobilize or even just .. get him to stop moving for a second - but he was so HUGE. We didn't wanna get crushed or anything. Also the added fact that no one knew about the neck thing that disables the titan form. Thanks, Aizawa.

ֺ ۪ At this point, people were giving up. Aizawa was watching from a high building, most likely as annoyed as everyone else. People were joining him up there, admitting defeat.. except for Midoriya.

ֺ ۪ Did I mention this is after the events of the manga? Midoriya didn't have a quirk, and here he was - running laps around Bakugou. We (Me, Sato, Sero.. some others) tried to get Shinso to restrain him before he could hurt himself, but Shinso went on to explain to us on what he was doing:

ֺ ۪ He was trying to get Bakugou to trip! It's so hard to explain without visuals, so hopefully words are enough. Bakugou was still trying to get him even so. Midoriya was working with a student from class 2-B as well (did I say this was a joint activity?) Their quirk? cement. I know someone already has that quirk. Don't ask me anything, I'm as confused as you are.

ֺ ۪ The cement student was building a path for Midoriya to run along as he spiraled around Bakugou. At one point, the walls could no longer reach the height he was at. They started to crumble the higher he got.

ֺ ۪ Before you ask where Aizawa was - this all happened very fast.

ֺ ۪ Midoriya tripped off the rocky path. In what I assume was worry, Bakugou reached out to catch him. As he did, the walls around him caused him to fall. They started falling together.

ֺ ۪ Everyone got knocked out from Bakugou's impact. All those who tried to help were covered in rubble, on the floor - hurt.

ֺ ۪ At this point, teacher's and medical assistance had stepped in. Midoriya kept going, crawling from Bakugou's hand to his neck. He tore at it with the last of his strength, and in the end? Won. He got Bakugou out.

ֺ ۪ After that I knocked the hell out. The story time WOULD end here.. but I recently shifted back for closure. Midoriya had gotten in trouble and explained that he saw Bakugou wasn't safe in that state, as he had analyzed this quirk and it often caused others to act reckless, like they couldn't think properly. The student had apparently kept that part of their quirk to themselves. The media also went crazy on the situation because someone snitched about what happened. UA got a lot of backlash. It also wasn't Aizawa's idea. I actually have no clue on who thought of that exercise.

ֺ ۪ That's the end :) my final thoughts are just.. wow. Midoriya reallyh is the worlds greatest hero. He's so smart, kind. Determined and strong even without his quirk. He doesn't let anything stop him. Personally, I always think about this story. Missing him.

That's all! For anyone who read this far, I hope you have a good day or night!

[scrunglepaws]

I hope you like worldbuilding. 83 If you mostly just want to know about his personality, you can skip to the second part (though some bits will be confusing without context of part one).

== Part One: Oshi's Origin ============

Oshi and his sister, Starfish, are a pair of Kit x Tails kids, but they also aren't. Because they weren't made with a particular version of Kit and Tails in mind (they have no AU) they technically were never born. They were just spawned as concepts with no purpose and thus went to the dimension where all unused concepts go. This place, called Mwezi, is a chaotic metaphysical plane. Over time it has become more stable as the concepts that formed it wove themselves into something more tangible. Its laws of physics are basically the same, but not quite. And unfortunately, the laws of nature generally ended up being overall horrible and inhospitable for sapient creatures to live there. From the shifting environment to the monstrous inhabitants, most everything there is trying to kill you. Thus, it's generally a place that one would want to escape from, if possible.

Most entities that make up Mwezi aren't sapient, as it tends to get filled with a lot of concepts and ideas. But for those that are, ie scrapped character ideas… Crackship pairing kids that will never actually come to fruition… There are certain innate rules embedded in their consciousness upon arrival. It's kind of like a video game. You spawn in at level 0, age 0. Every time you die, you gain one year of age and one level. Once you get to level 100, it's game over and you cease to exist entirely. As you go up in age and level, more information is inately and automatically understood regardless of lived experience. Things like how to walk, how to talk, ect. Like any living thing, people also gain knowledge from living and learning in the environment. They can also age normally via just existing.

So… What's there to do on Mwezi? The main thing is essentially survival, but there are also quests to guide the inhabitants towards various goals. Generally, noncanon kids have the same main quest: to make themselves canon. To be canon would mean to exist, which would mean escape from Mwezi! But how could a concept, existing on a different plane of existence possibly affect reality? Like a video game, hints as to where to go next naturally spawn for the person. As they travel about Mwezi, they discover various things that tell them about who they are, who they could have been irl, and about their should-be parents. Sometimes there are windows that quite literally give them glimpses of the real world, where they can see thier parents in the past, present, or future. With this information, the noncanon kid is further equipped to try to make their ship canon. To get their parents to get together. By completing quests and uncovering secrets, they can create little nudges and effects that pop through in the real world to try to accomplish this goal. Typically, it's fruitless and unobtainable before the person reaches level 100. But the drive to complete them- the drive to escape and be complete… It's basically all these people have going for them.

With Oshi and Stafish, they obviously can't affect the real canon, though. They're just fancharacters. However, this is almost better, because they have more options: endless fanmade AUs! Lots of Kits and Tailses to try to nudge into being their dads. But it can also be a bad thing- with too many options, how do you pick which direction to go in? That's where fan events come in- external events outside of the creator's (in this case, my) control that give a reason for the kids to interact with the world. Gives them a gateway to actually temporarily leave Mwezi and directly interact with other peoples' worlds! But oh, it's a tournament where they're supposed to be fighting a bunch of other kids? Not really an opportunity to fulfill their quest? Well, beggars can't be choosers. Any chance to pop into the real world is a chance to gather further information. Despite the premise, perhaps allies can be made? At the very least, it's a nice repreive from the hellscape that is Mwezi. Fighting some other kids? Pshawww! Did you hear where this kid just came from? Despite his cheerful and mostly clueless demeanor, he has a few tricks up his sleeve.

After the event passes and Oshi no longer have a reason to be highlighted, back to the pit he goes… Unless he somehow is able to complete their quest during this event? Find some dads to have them? Unlikely, but you never know. Either way, Oshi gets to have fun being a real boy for a while.

Did this all sound like a garbled mess of nonsense? Well, it kind of is. A bunch of weird rules for a weird place between existence and nonexistence. Mwezi was created as a consequence for all the joke crackship babies my friends and I made between our ocs back in the day. And since I never completely throw away ideas, it persists to this day. Because I'm an author, and therefore inherently evil, this is just how it is. Now all must suffer. Including this adorable orbular fox that never did anything wrong in his life (or did he?!). Enjoy. :3

== Part Two: Character Bio ============

For the most part, Oshi is your typical energetic, curious, and friendly little eight year old. He lives with his older sister, Starfish, in the Mwezi wastelands. They're always on the move, on their quest to escape the inhospitable land. He mostly just listens to what Starfish tells him to do because she's very smart and makes sure he stays safe. He loves her very much! But he also likes to tease her, calling her stinky and a werewolf (she has a very pronounced snout). Little does he know she actually freaking loves werewolves, but pretends to be insulted so he won't come up with worse "insults."

His attention span is small, but his love for making arts and crafts is huge! It's about the only thing he can focus on for any length of time. He finds various bits and bobs throughout his travels in the Mwezi wastelands to craft with. He particularly likes making jewelry because he can stick it on his body instead of having to store it away in his backpack. He oftentimes gives his crafts away to nonviolent creatures they encounter, pretending to "make friends" with them since they rarely encounter other people. Unfortunately, there are very few nonviolent creatures and Oshi often gets himself in a pickle, presenting gifts to things that actually want to eat him. Starfish has her work cut out for her looking after this small idiot.

Oshi has a spark of Kit and Tails' ingenuity, but at the same time is mostly an airhead. He might be able to think of creative solutions to problems in the moment, but he's not good at storing that information away for later use. See above: him constantly trying to "befriend" things despite it going badly more often than not. It's quite miraculous that he hasn't died more often. In a way, it's almost like he's just lucky.

Despite all his shortcomings, he's reasonably self-sufficient for his age. His agility and small size aid him in getting out of tricky situations. He is physically weak and not skilled with any sort of short range weapons (blunt objects, knives, his fists, ect). However, he has an inexplicable knack for efficiently using ranged weapons, specifically firearms. And bombs. Gee, wonder where he got that from? Such weaponry (and resupply of ammunition) doesn't turn up all that often in Mwezi, though. His most reliable weapon is his trusty slingshot.

It may seem odd that he has such a sweet and innocent personality when he spends half his time fighting to survive, but… He's eight. He doesn't really comprehend what's going on around him. Dying and respawning is traumatic, but it's also his norm. Once he gets older, all the horrible things will have a chance to sink in and probably mess him up terribly. But for now, he's pretty much oblivious and carefree.

@sonic-fankid-showdown

[heartfullofleeches]

Antique shop yandere that’s just a spirit with a physical body made of all the trinkets in the shop, maybe darling is shopkeeping as a part time job? I imagine just yan being kinda annoying and teasing maybe even speaking in riddles like a poet, and darling is probably just like the ff darling

-blahaj anon🦈🤍

Yan Spirit + Shop Worker Darling

-

Another drop off.

Better than the alternative of having to pick up everything yourself. A family a few streets down from your place of work generously donated the left over trinkets from their yard sale - agreeing to leave everything at the back door on their way out of town. Most of the boxes had already been taken in - a fact you knew thanks to the sticky note taped to the top of the container.

"Morning, Love. ♡ Carried in most of the boxes myself. Could you kindly bring this one in? It's a little too heavy for me.

See you this afternoon! - Auntie"

You slip the paper into your pocket, making a mental note to check up on your boss before then. She wasn't your real aunt, but she acted as much. Probably pays you a bit more than she should with her always trying to take your job off your hands and let you rest. Her kindness is one of few reasons you can't up and leave this place.

Lifting the box off the ground, you kick the ajar door open with your foot - balancing the heavy box in your arms as you slip through. You walk through the back office up to the front front desk. You search the cubby beneath the table for a box cutter, nails latching onto the rubber handle as you stretch your arm to the far back. You stand up - only to find that the box appears to have been torn open by something. The entire top looks to have been ripped off and tossed across the room.

Sighing, you brace yourself for what's to come - wishing you had had just a few more minutes to yourself. You place the box cutter back where it came from to prevent yourself from causing anymore damage to the merchandise.

"Hello....Dear...."

Static hisses from the worn out speakers of the device your tormentor uses - overlaying the awful amalgamation of voices its stolen from customers. Being unable to communicate due to the limitations of their vessels it had to find some other way to speak to you. That alternative wind up being a soundboard someone brought in a few weeks into your employment. Everyday since you berate yourself for not taking that damn thing out back and smashing it..... Or just purchasing it yourself and taking it off the property.

"I've been waiting for you......all night. New.... treasures for us?

A hand reaches over your shoulder and begins to shift through the box - the creaky moan of its joints reverbing from the wooden shell encircling them. The mannequin had proved to be the spirit's favorite body. Near identical to a human form despite the lack of a face, the ability to speak, and one of its arms after a guests insisted on paying for the singular pair. It made due with items it found around the shop. The sound board, an old Halloween mask to disguise its blank fact, a limb from another figure in the shop though it wasn't as articulated as the previous.

The spirit tosses items it finds no interest in at the floor - your skin jumping as glass shatters in the distance. Halfway through the box its sporadic movements hault - the springs in its neck screaming out as its head falls to its shoulder. Using the flat palm of their other hand as a perch, the mannequin pulls out a ring box. It opens the box, a pearl ring housed inside. You were expecting - and praying for it to be empty. You meet the mannequin's sightless gaze over your shoulder.

"No."

Its fingers rapidly tap at its soundboard - slamming down on every sweet name in arsenal.

"Darling....."

"Angel..."

"Sweetheart."

"Love?"

"I'm not letting you put that on me."

The mannequin slams its hand on the counter- repeatedly jabbing a single button.

"Love? Love? Love?"

"Knock it off!"

You make a grab for the board, but the damned thing is quicker. It holds the device over its head out of reach - twirling the ring around its pinky finger. There was only one thing you could do to buy it compliance.

You hold up your left hand, sticking out your ring finger. "Just get it over with."

The mannequin sets the soundboard on the counter - clapping its hands together as it kneels. It takes your hand, pressing the mouth of its mask to your knuckles before slipping the ring onto your finger. Surprisingly enough, it's almost a perfect fit. A little wiggle room, but not so much that it would fall off from you moving around. The mannequin bounces back to its feet, throwing its arms around you.

Your dating life was hard already - it'll be pretty difficult to find anyone what with you now being spiritually married to a sentient mannequin possessed by the ghost of someone likely as old as this building.

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  Running from your past doesn’t work anymore now that you’ve been directly involved in the Vendetta. Between violence, threats and schemes, you understand that you will only retrieve your peaceful haven with Arthur if you get out of this war with blood under your nails. featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 7.5k

TW: alteration of canon events, canonical violence, graphic depiction of murder, SMUT +18, hint at gunplay, cockwarming, piv, non-protected , obsessive love, extreme co-dependent relationship. They are sincerely deranged, sorry about that. No proofreading, we die like men.

Notes:

✞ This is the last quiet chapter of Act II, shit will start to get real in the next part. Also, the smut is just a part of the chapter, not the entire thing.

✞ This is chapter 14 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alone but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The crackling symphony of burning wood whispered to the stillness, each pop and hiss forming the melody of a sorrowful farewell to John Shelby. Amidst the flickering glow you emerged, your white hair cascading like a waterfall of moonlight around your shoulders to the small of your back. The firelight waltzed upon your features, bringing up the mesmerizing interplay of diamond dust and frost that composed you.

How many more?

The question flashed in your thoughts, leaving a trail of caustic soda that scorched your skull from the inside. How many more of your loved ones should you see burn, their flesh eaten by a voracious fire, until God decided He had enough fun tormenting you? Two faint dimples appeared on your cheeks as you gritted your teeth, the cold winter wind blowing at the black veils of your long and seductive black dress that floated elegantly behind you like the sinister drapes of the Reaper's cloak. In utter silence, Arthur lowkey shifted his focus from the vardo to you with concern and, taking notice of the destructive sparkle in your eyes, pulled you closer. The sensation might have been comforting but your body didn’t answer to his affection, remaining limp and disconnected. To be completely honest, you were feeling so physically and emotionally cold that you would have believed you were made of frost if his coat, which was resting over your shoulders, and his comforting hand, that was on your lower back, weren't there to offer you a bit of warmth.

As the scent of Arthur's reassuring cologne kept you anchored to reality, you finally woke up from your gluey negativity and instinctively nestled against your husband, who placed a discreet and tender kiss on the corner of your lips. The familiar ticking of his facial hairs on your skin sent a wave of comfort through your soul and reminded you that, despite everything that had been going on between the two of you lately, he had been, still was, and will always be your only saving grace. You wondered if, maybe, it was time for you to go back home. Not that his betrayal had been forgotten or forgiven, but you needed him more than ever. For a shit ton of reasons.

“You’re frozen, angel. You sure you wanna stay hm?” He whispered, the tender gravel in his voice clearing your morbid contemplation of the burning vardo, which brought to your mind the sickening memories of your mother and little sister burning at the stake. A long exhale escaped from your fleshy lips as you tried to keep the demons of your past on a leash — and ignore a sudden wave of nausea.

“I’m not going anywhere. If John is burning I might as well freeze.” Your reply was a bit blunter than intended, but Arthur got it. The way you watched the flames climb higher and higher left no doubt about the devastating anger raging inside. They will pay, you silently swore to John, convinced he could hear you from where he was. If bringing him back was out of your abilities, at least you could avenge him by bringing upon every single man who plotted his death a demise worse than death. Just like Thomas Shelby, they would soon know how much pain you could inflict with your tiny and delicate hands, the holiness of your appearance being nothing more than a facade to mask the methodical killer you were. To hell with the promise of not killing again, having blood on your hands seemed to be the price to pay for Arthur and his love. While you lost yourself in the meanders of your thoughts, the cacophonic detonations of gunshots roared in the quiet meadow.

You had barely heard them when, with movements nimble and quick, you pushed Arthur to the ground and stood still to protect him in a reflex you couldn’t fight. The booming sounds might have been loud, they didn’t made you flinch. Quite the contrary, your aquamarine eyes stared at the horizon in search of the slightest threat, just in case the shots fired hadn’t come from the Gold. For a very short while you had been the only one standing, all the Shelby clan on the ground with hands covering their head. Even Tommy, who had schemed the attack, played the safety card and remained covered just the time to make sure the shootings came from their side.

"For fuck's sake, Heaven." Arthur barked at you as he stood up on his long legs, ignoring Tommy in the background who was keeping everyone under his control by yelling. The lanky gangster's hand grabbed your fragile wrist firmly and pulled you closer to him again, steel blue eyes glowing with disapproval at your reckless behavior.

"That was Thomas’ plan right?” You simply replied, your reliable source of information being Aberama and Bonnie themselves -- it was a part of the many perks of living with them in the nearby woods.

“Come on, Angel! A plan ain't going to be always working ay. It could have been the Ital—“ The oldest Shelby brother, with his thick brows furrowed, could not finish his sentence for you hushed him by cupping his face with your freezing little hands. Falling silent, the wolf turned into a lamb as you gently pressed his cheeks, forcing him to look at you.

"Chéri." You started, the pink tip of your tongue moistening your enchanting lips. Each of your movements seemed to bewitch him, to the extent that he almost forgot why he had been that irked, the inferno of his rage instantly cooling down, "I am fine see?” Despite the softness of your voice, he could sense a bit of impatience in your steady tone. Without leaving any time for questions or protests, you laid a small kiss on his cold lips, "We are fine." The melody of your voice was merely a whisper that vanished in the howling wind when your winter lips met his a second time for a deeper kiss. Soft and glossy flesh against rough one. A wild storm of happiness coursed through Arthur at the sensation of this long-awaited mark of affection tingling on his skin, and electrifying his heart. A rapture so strong that the world blurred around him for a moment — he would have probably slipped his tongue in your mouth if the moment wasn't inappropriate. When you pulled back from him, your lips curled in a faint but sincere smile before you squished his scruffy cheeks and released his face from your cold grip. After three years together, it was only at this very moment that Arthur understood that he wasn’t the true guardian and fellow protector of the couple. You were.

Fiercer. Crazier. And certainly far more dangerous.

"Put us out there on purpose... To use John's funeral fire as a fucking beacon!" Aunt Polly's outraged and trembling voice erupted from behind, her words stabbing Tommy like red-hot daggers. If they hurt, he didn’t let it show though. Forced to part from you before his brother and aunt went for each other’s throat, Arthur intervened.

"We were never in any danger, Polly."

"You set a trap. You set a trap with us as fucking bait." She blurted out, standing from her chair and walking to Tommy with steps so furious you were pretty sure she was going to plow into him. Indignation was radiating off her, her dark eyes wishing they had the power to kill. If it had been the case little King Shelby would have been already lying in a pool of his own blood, "Who's dead?!"

After his younger brother had tried to explain to the old harpy that the victims were two Italians, Arthur went on, "We got word to them about the funeral, the where, the when… Told them where to stand for the best shot."

"And Aberama Gold will do the rest." Tommy completed his brother's sentence as if he was an extension of himself — which was the case, you reckoned, when he wasn't busy criticizing you for breathing. From then, the voices only escalated, trying to overcome one another and win the argument by screaming louder than the other until someone eventually gave up. Which was a miracle that would never happen since we were talking about Tommy and Polly. Both of them were two equally stubborn mutts fighting for the same bone and how this argument ended had been predictable: The fierce aunt left, Hell shaking under her heels.

Now was the perfect opportunity to talk.

"Arthur," Your divine voice hailing him, resounding in the meadow like a haunting siren’s song, its unsettling melody sending shivers down Ada's spine. She glanced at you and, for a quick second, the memory of you covered with blood flashed in her mind. Years had passed since you murdered Father’s Hughes accomplice with a pair of scissors but she still couldn't forget what happened back then. She wouldn’t admit it but her trust in you had never been the same from this moment.

Snatched from his thoughts, Arthur turned around, frowning. The family argument had soured his mood.

"Hm?"

"Now I wanna leave." You stated, your seraphic tone as sharp as the razor blades in your man’s cap. This hostility wasn’t aimed at him though, but at Tommy for you had pronounced these four words while glaring at him, indescribable hatred burning in your frozen iris. You might have been aware of the plan, it didn’t mean you agreed with it: the idea of using John’s funeral still infuriated you but your mourning soul hadn’t the strength to fight it. "I'm going home.” Arthur's heart missed a beat, afraid of seeing you disappear again in the depths of the woods. It had been one hell of a harsh week without you and while he — hardly — understood that you needed space, his patience was growing thin, worn out by jealousy and overwhelming dependence. After all, if Aberama was a thief, why wouldn’t he steal his most precious treasure? Or worse, he’s son. Younger, healthier and so much more handsome than him, he thought with gritted teeth and hateful eyes.

"Oh yeah? " Coming closer, Arthur tried his best not to let his murderous jealousy talk and, instead, took a long black key from the pocket of his dark duffle coat "Home ain't with the Gold. Home's—"

"57 Watery Lane. I go there, lock the door and wait for my husband. S'that what you wanted to say?" You suggested, one eyebrow raised and your pale eyes staring at him like two fathomless and cursed jewels. Arthur swallowed nervously, the intense eye contact feeling like an eternity. Besides immediate regrets, the reason for his silence was that he was convinced he messed up again, judging by your sudden cold demeanor. So, afraid you’d lash out at him for his sudden jealousy, all he did was nod and try to keep his composure in front of everyone to pretend he was the one in charge. But you knew him too well not to recognize the sadness in his beautiful but vacant steel-blue eyes. You knew exactly what was going on in his head: he was expecting you to reject him in front of everyone, just like Linda used to do. “Alright” You articulated, and yet your reaction was the strict opposite of what he thought you’d do. Bringing your hand to his, you gave it a gentle squeeze before taking the key, "That’s the home I was talking about, love." You added, your glossy lips curling in a faint but oh-so-reassuring smile that made him swoon with indescribable fascination. Punctuating your sentence with a little wink, you finally turned your heels and left the meadow, your walk as elegant and confident as a fearsome lioness coming back from the hunt.

A predatory and frightful confidence that disappeared as soon as you reached your house. You had barely heard the sound of the door closing when, sick in the stomach, you rushed to the toilets and dropped on your knees to throw up.

"Fuck..." The curse escaped from your trembling lips as you quickly wiped them with a towel, tears beading at the corner of your aquamarine eyes. Polly was right: you did know when to pick your moment. As strong as you were, you had trouble coping with the news of your unexpected pregnancy. So much trouble that you couldn’t rejoice and that lack of enthusiasm only added a layer of guilt to your restless mind. “Fuck!” You snarled, teeth bared. Fuck you, them, all, and everything.

The sound of your platform boots' sharp heels echoed in the sanitized corridors of the hospital as you headed towards Michael's bedroom, your hips elegantly swinging to the rhythm of the silent savage drums of your heart. Tommy had called another lengthy and boring meeting to discuss both the Shelby Company Limited's new installments and the Vendetta, and as well as you dreaded his presence you had to be a part of it now that you were a Shelby. Moreover, the whole mess got even more problematic since Luca Changretta had managed to find a way to break into the Shelby factory and directly talk to his turquoise-eyed opponent for the sole pleasure of seeing a sparkle of panic in his eyes when he threatened to kill the rest of his family.

Surprising as it may sound considering your deep resentment for Tommy's long speeches and the man himself, you arrived pretty early. Not for him, but for Polly Gray. By coming earlier, you knew you'd have a bit of time to talk privately with her about the baby, for she had been the one discovering your secret pregnancy. “Hey Pol’!" You cheered, a wicker basket filled with pastries dangling at your wrist, "I've brought some croissants and éclairs. Thought it could help put up with today's meeting." The bright smile you bore soon vanished from your plumped lips when your winter eyes met with the dark silhouette of your brother-in-law, standing in front of you with his calloused hands in his pockets and his cold gaze staring at your angelic complexions with an unfathomable look. Turning into ice again, your small hand immediately reached for the door handle.

"Stay. We have to talk." He stated, his tone cool and composed. As much as he wanted his sentence not to sound like an order, he ultimately failed. As he talked, all the muscles in your body tense and you felt already irked by his presence.

"Don't." You snarled, your crystalline eyes squinting when they shot him a lethal glare, "Don't fucking come any closer." The sour and threatening expression on your face had been enough to stop Tommy. He was now clenching his perfectly carved jaw. Admittedly, he had never particularly cared about your personal space, invading it on every occasion he could just to push you to your limits and make you feel cornered, but since he had a taste of the ghastly and inhumane gift you had he'd rather be cautious.

"Alright," He said, pinching the bridge of his nose before rolling his eyes and moistening his lips in a surprisingly effusive pout. "No need to be that aggressive eh. Please have a sit." He instructed then, indicating a chair with a brief gesture of the hand.

"I ain't gonna sit. Polly tricked me.” You gritted through your teeth, spiteful at the thought of her betrayal. Your voice echoed through the room like sharp shards of frost falling from a winter sky. "You both knew that I didn't want to be left alone in a room with you anymore and still you schemed this twisted little plan." The cadence of your speech, though measured, carried an Arctic chill that made Tommy shiver. Even with the short distance that separated you, he could almost feel the ice you were made of burning his skin through the many layers of his expensive three-piece suit. In fact, you might be calm but Tommy could still feel the rumble of the storm hidden in that soft and enchanting lilt of yours.

"No one tricked you, and yes, indeed, I knew it. That's why Polly will be here with us. She's coming in any minute. Feel better now? Can you fucking sit?" Your only reply was a mocking snort that was quick to stir anger in Tommy's heart despite the placid expression etched on his face. But no matter how fine and cold the marble he was carved from was, you could see the tumultuous current beneath it. Maybe that was one of the main reasons why he hated you: no matter how hard he tried, you always managed to get under his skin and make him falter.

Silent fell in the hospital room, the two of you staring stonily at each other as you both attempted to decipher the opponent's intentions. "Seriously," Tommy was the first to move, coming nearer despite your warning — part of him did it only to prove to himself that he wasn't afraid of you. As he approached, your sharp sense heard the faint sound of his heart beating slightly quicker than usual and his breath struggling to keep quiet. Closer he came, until he stood only inches away from you, the warmth of his body brushing your skin without even touching it, and the musky scents of his cologne ticking your nostrils. " I meant it you know ay. I meant it when I said we have to end this war between us," You remained motionless, eyes staring at him, "Shut the door on it". In the hushed ambiance of the bedroom, he started to move around you with a gait that mirrored the stealthy elegance of a beast navigating its territory. His steps were a silent predatory waltz, a calculated and deliberate one that could have been dizzying if he wasn't walking around you this slowly, "At least temporarily." The air seemed to ripple with a subtle tension as he circled you like a panther, hiding his fear of you behind an aura of primal confidence, "I'm sure we could both benefit from it, ain't that the truth." You slowly exhaled as he talked, realizing you've been holding your breath for a while.

"What about backing off me and shutting your mouth until Polly comes?" You whispered, your aquamarine eyes carefully following every step he took. Admittedly, there was an undeniable magnetism in the way he moved, almost too smoothly and captivating to be human. In a primal reflex, your lips curled and you showed your pearly teeth. Beneath the shared expanse of your untamed wilderness, a silent battle waged within, as his large and strong hand delicately found rest upon your arm. The skin-to-skin contact sent an unpleasant thrill through your body. Tommy was like a big cat facing another one, testing the waters and carefully studying the line he shouldn't cross for you to snap. All in all, it was a contest whose goal was not to be the first to shy away. His fingers ghosted over your arms, trailing down your skin with an unsettling tenderness. Unwilling to cause another scandal or murder him, you gathered all your willpower not to react even when he leaned above you, looking down at your seraphic traits with curiosity gleaming in his turquoise eyes, "How did it feel when we kissed?" His words, like tempestuous whispers, stirred a sudden symphony of panic and indignation within. "Because you've... Felt."

"I did." You finally admitted, tearing through the silence you've been walling yourself in. All the ice melted in a few seconds, and your face relaxed a little bit. Two hopeful details that ignited both Tommy's gaze and ego -- of course you did, he thought.

"Look at me." His voice turned a bit softer as you slowly raised your gaze to his face.

"Do you really need me to say it out loud, Tom?" As you inched dangerously closer to him, he heard the ambient sounds of the crowded hospital fade into a distant murmur

"I do." The drumming of his heart fastened as a faint smile toyed on your lips. The proximity of your mouth, bewitchingly close yet not quite touching, was killing him. Let alone the brush of your skin under his fingertips and the shared warmth of your breaths mingling in the same intimate airspace. How beautiful you would be together. How fierce. How... Unstoppable. That was all he could think of.

"Disgust." It fell from your mouth with the softness of a chainsaw blade cutting through his guts. Tommy's eyes widened, his ego crashing on the ground and shattering like a broken mirror. He didn't react at first, confused by your harsh words, which contrasted with your angelic smile, "I felt disgusted." You tilted your head to the side, your face turning into winter again, "Now you better move from the way if you don’t want me to crush your lungs."

Tommy was about to back off in terror when he saw you moving your fingers in that peculiar way he was too familiar with.

"Sorry for being late." Polly's voice erupted in the room, saving you from spending another minute alone with Tommy. God blessed her.

"Let me help you with that." He finally said, trying his best to keep his composure at the realization that he would never be able to predict you. Never be able to control nor to own you. His fingers closed on the basket’s handle, right above your reddened wrist, and they lifted it to relieve your frail arm from the pain before he quickly stepped away from you.

"Alright, glad to see the two of you didn't butcher each other in my absence. What a wonderful improvement."

"An improvement that is." Tommy replied, pressing his palms against the table now that he had put the basket on its wooden surface.

" I was talking with the doctor about Michael's health. We have a very short time left: he's almost done with him, and both Ada and Lizzie are coming. Heaven, dear, what about Arthur?" Polly inquired, her black eyes meeting yours.

"He's still in his office at the Shelby factory. But I must admit I thought that it would be only you and me." You stated resentfully.

"I know, love and I'm sorry about it but you wouldn't have come if I told you that Tommy was here." Her cold and sly hand gently squeezed your arm in a gentle gesture, so soft and full of motherly love that you couldn't really blame her anymore. Taking a quick look at the clock on the wall, you sighed and took place on a chair just like Polly did.

"Hurry up. Tell me what's about."

"Ain't going to keep you waiting,” Tom started and went straight to the point, motivated by the desire to see you leave this room as soon as possible, “ I want you to meet Luca Changretta."

"Thomas!" You exclaimed.

"No. You listen to me now," The gangster replied, pointing at you with his index finger, "As you know I've encountered him in the meeting room of the Shelby Company factory. We came to an agreement that stipulates that women and children shouldn't be included in the Vendetta. With that, we can guarantee a certain safety for you, Polly, Ada, Finn, and the kids."

"How... Quaint." You stated, pursing your lips in a bratty pout, "And what's the link between your deal and me potentially meeting the man who wants to see my husband dead?"

"Considering this, one of the women of this family can approach him. The idea was that Polly could meet with him and ask him to spare the family, especially Michael. In return, she would lure me into a specific place and at a specific time so that this bastard can set an ambush and kill me." As Tommy explained the original plan, you side-eyed Polly who nodded at each sentence in an attempt to reassure you.

"The problem is Luca knows the strong bond I have with my nephews. Even if I use the role of the mother ready to do everything to save her son, I fear it won't be enough to convince him. But you..." She left her sentence hanging, Tommy's raspy voice completing it. Shelbys, you swore. Sometimes you wondered if they had some telepathic shit going on between them.

"You despise me as much as Luca does but still bore the name Shelby. You'd be perfect." His gaze almost burnt you.

"Makes sense." You replied, fingers playing nervously with your dress' fabric under the table as you swallowed all the information just heard. Against all odds, his idea was impressively clever — Tommy might have a plethora of flaws but stupidity wasn’t one of them.

"Polly will help you arrange a meeting with him in a club. You talk with him, explain how you do this to save your husband, and if he asks more questions proceed with talking about our relationship." Now that they had finished revealing their plan, Tommy and his aunt were both staring at you, impatiently waiting for your answer.

"Well, I've heard enough." You simply said, getting up from your chair and making your way to the bedroom's door under the two pairs of confused eyes. Once you reached it, you grabbed the handle and watched them from above your shoulder, an amused but sharp grin dancing on your lips. "When Apocalypse comes, it seems like even Thomas Shelby wants the Devil on his team." You teased, entertained by the situation. No matter his neutral demeanor, he needed you. And that was a satisfying feeling. "That's fine with me." Your quick agreement was certainly not something Tommy and Polly expected, judging by the way they looked at you, and then at each other to make sure they heard well. But as illogical as it seemed, the reasons behind your will to get involved in the Vendetta were a matter of course: You were sick of playing the nice and fragile wife who nervously waited for her husband. You didn't come all the way back to Birmingham to be a quiet and patient little thing. You came to make them all shatter and shake at your fingertips. All you wished was to protect your man and show the world that they better fear Arthur Shelby's wife as much as him if it isn't more.

Polly followed on your heels when you opened the door, grabbing your arm and leading you outside.

"The hell you're doing?" You inquired, surprised by her sudden strength.

"One last thing. I need you to keep Arthur busy and to make him come too late for the meeting." The fierce aunt's grip closed a bit firmer around your wrist, making you wince.

"Why that ay? He has every right to attend it. He's the vice president deputy of that company as well as the oldest brother." If there was one thing Polly expected, it was you defending your husband tooth and nail. And yet she had many tricks in her sleeve.

"We don't want him to pull the trigger anymore. It's time for him to delegate and stay out of the battlefield. We didn't climb the social ladder this high to keep dirtying our hands."

Polly's speech made you blink, astonished one could scheme behind a family member's back. "Hey, that's freaking unfair for Art. You have to discuss the matter with him, it's his job we're talking. Ouch!" You whimpered when she squeezed you harder, her eyes begging you to listen.

"Think about the baby! It will need its father! We don't want him in danger any longer so please, please keep him busy just like we, women, know how to do. It's the modern approach, White Devil."

"Modern approach. Of course.”

"Oh, Angel." Arthur said, his gravel voice underlined with a light surprise when he saw you entering his office. He was putting on his long black coat, ready to leave for the family meeting. As soon as his piercing blue eyes landed on your delicate frame he walked towards you, "Why you here? You alright? " He immediately inquired, his protective nature had grown far bigger since you'd joined him in this cursed city. The soft glow of affection shone in your eyes as you looked at him, your glossy and plump lips greeting him with a bestowed smile so sweet and radiant with love that the hurricane of worries in Arthur's skull hushed down.

"Everything's alright!" You hung your coat on a hook.

"Ain't it good news, ay." He cheered despite being in a hurry, before putting his large and rough hands on your forearms with an adorable bluntness so specific to him and rubbing them to warm your skin up, "Well look, lovely to see you but I'm late for a meeting."

"Just five minutes." You asked, coming closer until your breasts flattened against his chest, "Five teeny-tiny minutes, please?" The way your eyebrows raised and your mouth pouted enlightened your angelic face with an irresistible bratty look that never failed to get him on his knees. Arthur quickly moistened his lips while weighing the pros and cons, but it didn't take long for him to make up his mind. Especially when gazing upon that woman-child face of yours.

"Alright, alright." His raspy voice blurted out. Arthur brought his fingers in your hair to slip one of your long white locks behind your ear with an indescribable tenderness. "Needy little thing already missed her husband eh?" He cooed with amusement, his strict facial traits melting as he talked to you, tamed by your presence.

"I did.” You purred with a quick but oh-so-sincere smile, “But I also need to talk to you. Sit, please?” You suggested, the amusement of your tone brightening up his dull day. Joining motion to speech, you gently pushed him back with your two index fingers pressed on his chest. Arthur followed your movements, a bewitched smirk etched on his mouth. Just like your own reflection, each time you took a step forth he took one back until the back of his knees bumped against the desk chair. Enthralled and with lust-dilated pupils, his eyes spoke a love that transcended words. Arthur’s body finally dropped on the chair, and if he was already focused on nothing else but you, the whole universe faded into utter insignificance when you sat on his lap, straddling him. The contact between your two hips ignited a vivid desire within, which spread through his bones like wildfire and got a satisfied “hum” from him.

“What it is ye want to say?” Arthur asked, the hoarseness of his voice carrying a softness no one suspected him to hide. Despite everything you’ve been through lately, including the indescribable disappointment due to his drug relapse, you had allowed your relationship to slowly heal. You had been crystal clear, now the ball was in his court. Arthur was obviously still on trial, well aware that he needed to outperform himself to gain your precious trust back but at least you came home right after John’s funeral, and that was all that mattered.

A very short but comfortable silence floated over the room at his question, your reply taking the form of your fingers losing themselves in his slicked-back hair, massaging his head.

“Are you really in a rush?” Your voice, a delicate dance of enchantment and teasing, wove through the air and left Arthur even more captivated than he already was while you relished on every little adorable of his face — his myriad freckles were surely one of your favorite features of him. Finally, a long exhale escaped from your nostrils. How much you would have loved to stay locked up here with him forever, just you, him, and the baby, far away from this cruel world… “Peu importe ce qui se passe tu sais que je serai toujours à tes côtés, n'est-ce pas?” (translation: No matter what happens you know I'll always stand by your side, don't you?)

"I know." He replied in English. The sensation of your fingertips applying the perfect pressure on his head combined with your haunting French got him definitely wrapped around your finger. The lanky gangster was at the very edge of purring, his eyes half-closed and his piercing and intoxicated iris looking at you through his dark lashes.

As he enjoyed your massage, Arthur made the most of your proximity and let his palms wander on your dainty body, unable to keep them off you. In truth, it was nearly impossible for him not to become all handsy when you were around, no matter the where and the when. His rough hands roamed all over your being, invading every part of you. He was everywhere, softly kneading your small breasts, then trailing down your ribs to finally end his exploration on your hips he seized more firmly, almost bruising them in the process “I must say ya one hell of a cruel witch, love. You come here all hot and bratty.” He cooed, the gravel in his voice rumbling. It was so low, so powerful that it didn’t even sound like a voice but a feeling. His peculiar tone was an inextinguishable fire that enveloped your body, scorched your core, and wrapped your tired mind in a comforting haze. “Makes me feel bad to leave without taking care of ya like a good husband would do, right here on me desk…” You replied with an adorable giggle and Arthur slightly bucked his hips to press himself more against you, just for the sole pleasure of feeling his body colliding with yours. It’s not enough, he thought. It was never enough. There was always too much fabric, too much space, too much of everything between you except when he was buried deep inside of your core, both of you making one as you were meant to be. Another wave of excitement coursed through you, and you had to fight against the irresistible haze he stirred within. Delicate as a feather, you put your two tiny hands on his cheeks and raised his face for your eyes to meet — flaring steel sinking in lethal frost. “But tell me, what's that important hm?”

“First you have to promise me to stay calm. Will you?” You asked, batting your eyelashes like an untamable child about to tell her dad she had just destroyed the expensive family vase. The kind of look that drove Arthur crazy. Sometimes he still found himself astounded by how your face could go from terrifyingly cold to adorably childish. Saying that your words didn’t awaken a bit of worry inside of him would be a lie, but one sole glace at your angelic traits was enough to keep his rage leashed.

“Gonna try me best for ya, hm.” His dark blue irises were enraptured by the movements of your lips each time you spoke — your words were blurring, and his attention was turning into obsession: He missed you. Body, heart, and soul. “Hev…” He sighed in delight as your small hands abandoned his face to strip him from his vest, unbutton his shirt, and then paw at his chest.

“You won’t interrupt?” You mused, nuzzling your nose in the crook of his neck and mouthing against his warm skin. Your thumbs were now tracing circles on his chest, smoothing his hairs. 

“Told ya, angel. Your Arthur will try to be a good boy.”

“Well… I went to the hospital to keep company to Polly. I thought we would discuss trivial things but then she asked me to keep you busy.” You finally admitted, “She and Thomas wanted you to miss today’s meeting.” As painful words melt with the delightful sensations of your caresses, the sky in Arthur’s eyes darkened with black and stormy clouds. His body stiffened under yours.

“What the fuck that’s s’posed to mean?”  He growled, anger already boiling in his veins like a dangerous geyser about to burst. Fortunately enough, your calming presence helped him contain his violent temper — such was your almost supernatural effect on him. Different and yet so similar, Arthur Shelby was made of destructive fire that burnt the people around him as much as him. And yet, his fire never really intended to hurt: quite the contrary, it sought to stay warm and inviting, like a low fire dancing in a hearth. When it blazed out of control, even he couldn't prevent the damage done. You, on the other hand, were made of water. Just like a dangerously cold ocean, you were terrifying, infinite, and relentless, your calm prone to silent but always deadly tempests. “Why the fuck would they do that?!” He cursed louder this time. Feeling your man’s temper wearing thin, you gave a gentle lick on his neck to snatch his attention from his corrosive emotions. Your flat tongue trailed up his sharp jaw to his earlobe — the wet and hot caress on his skin sent thrills of arousal all over him and allowed his mind to focus on something more pleasant than this cruel betrayal.

“Because they want you to stop pulling the trigger.” You explained as quietly as you could, gently rubbing your cheek against his like a cat looking for both affection and attention. It seemed to do the trick: his face was still distorted with latent rage, the thick vein in his temple pumping, but at least he wasn’t turning the office over with his fists nor was he yelling so, overall, it was still a win.  “Modern approach they call it.” You added, using Polly's exact words to the difference that you peppered his lips with small pecs, talking between each pair of smooches to make the pill easier to swallow, “You become a general and Aberama takes care of Changretta… That’s their plan.”  

Breathing loudly through his nose, the gangster pressed his lips together until they formed a very thin line, “Modern approach ay?” Anger coiled like a snake amids the hurricane of his resentment, its hiss echoing through Arthur’s skull.  “They just wanna take me job away.” He stated, more for himself than anyone else, still digesting the news. “And they want to use ya against me? Bloody pricks.” Overpowered by an immense feeling of injustice, Arthur didn’t realize that he was digging his fingers in your thighs a bit more painfully than intended, but his roughness only fanned the flames of your own wickedness. Your skillful fingers explored him, nails brushing his ribs, then palms caressing his slim abs as if seeking to defuse the ticking bomb he was.

“I wanted to tell you everything because nothing in this fucking world will make me stand against you... I may agree with the idea of keeping you safe from harm but not at the expense of your trust.” You confessed,  finally pulling your face from his neck and wrapping him in a relieving hug with your frail arms. If he hadn’t kept his eyes open, he would have sworn that it wasn’t your arms that were surrounding him but two soft and protective feathery wings. His rough hands, which hadn't moved, spread your thighs further to feel your warmth through the thin fabric of your lace thong. Fireworks exploded in you at the hard bulge that was pressing between your legs, making you bite your fleshy lip. Arthur finally let out a long sigh and shook his head, wanting the only thing that could wash away the rage that was eating him up — one of his hands left your flesh only for his fingers to slip between your parted thighs and shift your undergarment to the side.

"C'm'here," He ordered, his breathing increasingly louder and faster.

"Love, you should really go to this meeting." You advised, shivering at the feeling of his long fingers fondling your slit.

"To hell with their meeting, they don't even want me here eh. Need ye right now." With skillful movements, he unzipped his fly and lowered his trousers just enough to free his half-hardened cock and slid it between your sensitive folds, the pleasure and anticipation crashing against you like a rogue wave against the shore. "I feel me bloody mind drift again... And I know I'mma butcher someone if yer lovely lil' cunt doesn't keep me warm." The ghost of a little smirk danced on his lips, mustache lifting on the right side of his mouth when he noticed that his words had the effect he wished for: More of your wetness trickled along his shaft and you had started to grind against him, low key moaning. “I don't fucking know what I'll do without ya..." Without waiting another minute, the gangster lined up with your begging entrance and slowly pushed his swollen tip inside.

"Yes, f-fuck them." You sighed, your nails digging into his back and your legs quivering at the overwhelming feeling of him stretching you. Usually, Arthur wasn't the patient kind and, as it was the case at this very moment, all he wanted to slam his far-too-big cock in you in one forceful thrust to have you whimper and wiggle above him, and yet, he wished to keep it languid for now. It wasn't a rough fuck he wanted, at least for now, but sexual and emotional comfort. The first sweet fantasy that plagued his mind wasn't to cum, but rather to enjoy the blissful and addictive sensation of his thick length opening your throbbing walls inch by inch and filling you entirely.

"There, I know ye can take it all." He gently bumped your cheek with his nose while his smirk turned into a sharp-toothed grin pitching half between the remnant of his anger and satisfaction.

“S’too big…” You stuttered, eyes shut and the telltale of a blush painting across your doll face. With toes curling in your high heels and your arms around his neck, you rolled your eyes in the back of your head as he pushed further. It never seemed to end, and yet it always ended up fitting despite your size difference.

“Bloody Hell, how are ya so tight after years of me ruining ya?" His words were spoken with animal growls — The truth was he had always loved the fact you were too small for him in every sense of the term. Despite the pain, a frail whimper escaped from your mouth, soon accompanied by your legs naturally parting more, instinctively submitting to him and his needs. With a meaner thrust, Arthur had no other choice but to force the way one last time to fill you completely, and when it was finally done, he let out a loud moan at the way your tight walls hugged him. "Shh, shh, that's okay." His strong hands seized your hips stronger to keep you from wiggling and pulling them back in reflex, "A good girl ye are hmm?" You nodded. It was only when his length hit your deepest spot that Arthur stopped, buried inside of you, hard and unmoving, your bodies entirely connected. Another whine escaped from your mouth, a little protesting sound that drove him mad with lust and almost made him forget that his initial desire was just to keep you sitting nice and quiet on his cock. “C’mon love, t’wasnt that hard. Ye should be used to it.” The only reply he got was you rolling your hips to adjust to his size for a comfortable cockwarming session — the most effective thing you had found to tame his wicked tantrums or his adrenaline-fueled passions. The first time had been hell for him, who seemed to be unable not to pound you once he penetrated you — and yet he had learned to love every little thing of it: The intimacy, the constant but manageable pleasure, the cock-drunk and appeased look on your face…

"Missed you, Art'...'" You breathed and hummed, barely rolling your hips but still slightly moving on his cock to enjoy it massaging your velvety walls, "Aren't you angry anymore?" You asked a bit too sheepishly to be true, laying a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Nah, not anymore 'cause yer a nice angel for your husband,” He grabbed your ass firmly, long fingers adorned with cold rings spreading on your cheeks to have a wider grip “Making him find peace between your legs ay?” The stretch had become comfortable by now, and you were both fully enjoying each other, him completely high by your warmth and wetness. “Making him pray God with your holy pussy.” 

“God…” You sighed, throwing your head back, feeling perfectly full — maybe a bit too much even though pain blurred with exquisite ecstasy. “B-But think about it, Arthur. What about letting Aberama do the job? We would stay locked up in the house and do nothing but fuck until the whole Vendetta is over and we go back home?” You suggested, flush burning your porcelain cheeks and giving them a rosy color. The melody of your words — along with how good he felt deep inside of you —snatched a low moan from him. Yet, as much as he yearned for your offer, his conscience needed blood. 

“Got no choice, love.” His two hands left your body shortly to grab each side of your lace dress and take it out, throwing the garment somewhere in his office to have you exposed and vulnerable while he was still fully dressed. Once naked, he cupped your small breasts and started kneading them with blunt caresses that made you squeal: you were already sensitive due to your hidden pregnancy. “John wants me to do it.”

"Fuck!" You cursed when he moved along with you, your hips dancing together and intensifying the burning arousal that was saturating your senses. Soon, splitting you open and having you moaning on his cock wasn't enough anymore. His arms suddenly wrapped you possessively, pulling your two bodies even closer. So close the cold gold of his cross necklace on your skin sent thrills of pleasure down your spine. "He wouldn't want you to risk your life."

“It was me who shot the old man.” Arthur’s mouth, eager to find yours, crashed against your lips in a kiss so passionate that it took your breath away. One of them rough hands stroked your back in an overwhelming cocktail of caresses and scratches, waltzing on every inch of your skin while the other pinched one of your nipples. A second kiss captured your mouth, his tongue making its way into your parted lips to seek yours, not minding the thin trickle of saliva at the corner of them. “John is dead because of me,” He breathed between two savage kisses, “And I’m gonna make it right.” His voice was merely a low whisper combined with ragged breaths and low, gravelly moans.

"S'that was you want?" You managed to ask, losing your fingers in his hair and your mind in a fog of carnal delight. Forehead pressed against forehead, you reopened your frozen eyes and dived into his, words becoming more and more useless as a tornado of raw emotions and sincerity swirled in the blue of his iris: His need to avenge John was visceral and you understood that his mind wouldn't be able to find rest if he couldn't kill Luca Changretta, hence putting an end to the vicious cycle of vengeance. And you definitely hadn't the heart to deny him this unhealthy yet efficient way of exorcising both his guilt and his baby brother's death. “So be it.” You finally granted, endless love shining in your eyes. After all, if there was something you could understand it was vengeance. Torturing and butchering five men didn’t bring your family back, but the pleasure of watching life slipping away from them had nonetheless helped you put up with that excruciating wound, "But when you’ll kill that bastard put two bullets through his head. One for you, and one for me.” You concluded, shifting your body slightly to take the gun that was on his desk before wrapping his neck with your two arms again. And then the mask of the lamb fell, shattering on the ground and revealing the wolf you were. A wolf that was smiling and moaning, its thumb softly caressing the weapon’s metal.

"I'll do that, little one." A smile beamed on his face as you allowed him to carry on his personal vendetta — or as he felt the sensation of the gun resting against his back, his joy finding a delicious echo in his body. The circular movements of his hips turned into deep and full-length thrusts that had you throwing your head back and chanting his name.

“Mr. Shelby! “

“I’m fookin’ busy!” Arthur’s booming voice roared in the office as he slammed the door right at the man’s face. The access to the room might have been forbidden to him, but the cacophony of savage fucking and the noise of the office’s blinds being shaken left no doubt on what was happening. He finally gave up, well aware that nothing would make his boss come. It was only when he told him that two intruders had been spotted in the factory that Arthur stormed out of the room, disheveled, shirt quickly buttoned u,p and with a hammer in one hand. A bloodbath was coming and since nothing could be done to prevent it, Ben went back to work and tried to ignore the upcoming mess. With a bit of luck, they would manage to put down the rabid beast Arthur Shelby was. Soon after his departure, the white-haired girl left, snuggled up in her white fur coat and walking as elegantly as always, even if she was slightly staggering on her heels after what the gangster did to her.

“Poor girl.” Barney — another worker recently hired — stated, glancing at you as you passed by. “She’s nice. Y’know she brings us treats and pastries sometimes… What a shame that young lady had been forced to elope with this bastard.”

“Poor girl?” Ben replied to his colleague, almost choking. “Forced wedding? You’re really new here, mate. Can’t believe the doll blinded you. Something’s off with her. And forced wedding… All you have to do is pay attention to the way they look at each other and then you’ll understand. And it will frighten you.”

“Ya really talking about sweet lamb Heaven?”

Ben scoffed, “A lamb… When your eyes meet Heaven Shelby’s nobody can’t tell if she wanna braid your hair or eat your heart. Lamb she’s not. Don’t get fooled by the dresses and heels, she’s not playing doll. She only makes violence look better.”

Barney became silent at his friend’s sordid statement, the far away sound of Arthur yelling, bones breaking and agonizing screams resounded in the depths of the factory along with the machines’ roars. Amidst the smells of hot metal, sweat, and paint, lingered the spring-like fragrances of your perfume, which confused him even more.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick@kxnnxy @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd

[lets-try-some-writing]

Dumb Ways to Die Snippet

I've been working on this in my free time when no other Au or fic feels like functioning. It is goofy and will turn serious later. For now though, enjoy a tired Reaper Ratchet as he is forced to deal with one very clumsy Orion Pax.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Reaper.” The Primes sat upon their lofty thrones, their gazes chilly and without emotion. Ratchet knelt before them, his helm bowed respectfully. He abhorred having to lower himself, but there was no denying the superiority of the creatures that watched him with optics so alien that it was hard to believe they were once living beings at all.

“Primus’s chosen has been forged in the living realm. He cannot be allowed to perish until his duty is complete.” Ratchet sighed as the unspoken order registered. This was one of his duties, regardless of whether or not he liked it. As a Reaper, he was not only to collect the dead and guide them home, but he was also obliged to watch over specific sparks that had divine plans that involved them.

He hadn’t actually had to deal with such a thing before. A few other Reapers had been assigned to mecha of importance, but Ratchet was new. He had only joined the ranks of the Reapers shortly after the Quintessons were driven from Cybertron’s surface. A bitter part of his mind reminded him that the reason he was probably receiving this assignment was because of his ranking amongst the Reapers. The pricks higher up on the chain had most likely seen fit to throw the work on him so they didn’t have to bother watching out for a fragile mortal for millennia on end.

Those slaggers. 

“You will watch over him and ensure his continued functioning until you are recalled.” One Prime spoke. Ratchet didn’t dare look up to see who. It was not his place.

“You are permitted to restore him regardless of his injuries so long as there is a rational reason that the order may use to make the repairs real.” Another’s voice rang out, powerful and commanding. If Ratchet were still living, he was sure his plating would be flaring in instinctual fear. At that moment, he was more than thankful for his lack of physical frame as he nodded in understanding.

“Watch over him, Reaper. He is a kind spark.” A firm but definitely feminine voice echoed. He knew her voice. She was the one who chose new Reapers to add to the order. She was the one who stood beside his dying frame and soothed him, promising him a chance to continue living in another form.

“I trust that you out of all our Reapers will tend to him faithfully.” He risked looking up so that he could see Solus Prime smile. Viewing the trust in her expression had all the anger in his spark dissipating like smoke. If it was her order that had him in his new station, then he could accept it. Surely the one she had chosen him to watch over couldn’t be too difficult to keep alive, right?

━━━━━━

“This is the third time this stellar cycle, mortal.” Ratchet wanted to bang his helm against a wall as he greeted his target yet again. Orion Pax was, once more, dying of a shattered spine after falling down the stairs in the Archives. 

“I apologize, Reaper. I promise I did in fact watch where my pedes were going this time. But unfortunately-” 

“You lost hold of your datapad and scrambled to grab it, leading to your tumble of doom.” Ratchet finished for him. Orion shuffled in the void, his expression the embodiment of embarrassment. This was not the first time they met, nor would it be the last at this rate.

Ratchet hadn’t been assigned to the Archivist for a full vorn yet, and Orion had somehow managed to die in over twenty ways in less than twelve deca-cycles. It was honestly quite spectacular. How he managed to last so long prior to Ratchet’s arrival was a complete and total mystery to him at this point.

“Forgive me. I shall do my best to improve and pay closer attention to my surroundings.” Orion bowed his helm slightly, his wispy form shifting as Ratchet rubbed the soft metal beneath his optics and prepared to do what he always did. 

“I’ve heard that enough times already. Don’t bother making a promise you can’t keep.” Sighing, Ratchet stepped forward and grasped at Orion’s spark. His ghostly form disappeared in an instant, and Ratchet exercised what control he had to build himself an avatar. It was as easy as venting for him, in large part due to the frequency of which he was forced to revive his target, but also due to his relative youth amongst the Reapers. He remembered what it was like to live, and that made entering the living realm easier.

“Slag, you really messed yourself up.” Looking down, Ratchet almost wanted to gag. He had been a medic prior to his death. He’d seen more than enough corpses to be largely unphased. And yet somehow, Orion Pax always managed to kill himself in both the most ridiculous and unsettling ways possible.

“Let’s get this over with.” Wishing he could be anywhere else, Ratchet knelt before the shattered corpse of Orion Pax and slowly eased the Archivist’s spark back into his frame. Mangled limbs straightened with painful sounding cracks, shattered spinal struts clicked into place while popping like bubble wrap. Before long, the Archivist gasped and coughed as his systems came back online. He lived again.

[samagii]

⁺🎸◞ samuels labyrinth

disclaimer: this is not roleplay, fictionkin, or delusion, but those who are roleplaying, fictionkin, and/or delusional are allowed to follow and interact. please do not call me delusional, as this can trigger my paranoia and cause me to spiral into not believing my own experiences / reality, which could send me into psychosis.

🂭 ,,, hello ! my name is samuel, i use he/it, im 16, an im an irl magical boy !!

my concept is puella magi madoka magica, and i contracted with Madokami on 6/13/25 :D

i have been practicing chaos magick on and off for a few years now, and while i am not new to the concept of pop culture magick / pop culture paganism, i am new to the practice of it. same thing w/ astral projection as well. im also a shifter ! i knew about and was a shifter back in 2020, but forgot about shifting until recently, where i got back into it.

im the host of a did system, am nonhuman (mentally + physically), queer, trans (genderqueer + ftm), and am physically and mentally disabled.

my main / biggest kin is grey wolf (though i do have others), and this aspect of who i am impacts me greatly. tldr; beware of wolf posting

i am also an incarnate of both fire and chaos. i dont consider these kins for personal reasons, but element / concept kins are very much allowed to interact !

i worship both "traditional" gods and pce/d's. i currently worship Loki, Gaia / Mother Earth, and Madokami / the Law Of Cycles.

🂭 ,,, dni / dnf

bigots, right wing / maga, queer exclus, anti endo, harass ppl, anti shifter, anti irl magical heroes, anti pop culture paganism, anti chaos magick, against self dx, fakeclaim ppl, ableist, reality check ppl w/o their consent, force recovery on those who aren't ready / dont want to recover, think fiction ALWAYS or NEVER affects reality (theres nuance !!!), think fiction can make someone into a pedo / zoo / etc, equate fictional stories and drawings of characters that dont exist to the real harm of real people (esp equating that fictional content to the harm of real children, as a survivor of grooming, csa, csem, and underage... work, its insanely offensive to say a drawing is just as bad as the photos of child me that are still out there), terf / radfem, zionists / pro israel, supports a two state solution, "cluster b abuse" believers and similar ideas of mental illness specific abuse

🂭 ,,, tags

#𝄞 maybe its a dream - maybe nothing else is real .. // this tag is for all posts related to irl magical hero stuff !!

#𖤐 even though i was born from a colored star .. // this tag is for all posts related to pcp, chaos magick, astral projection, shifting, manifestation, and general paganism / magick as well !

#✞ misfortune is a gift - really - like a bouquet of splendid flowers .. // this tag is for all vent posts !!!

#☆ it feels like somethings gonna happen ; a premonition .. // this tag is for informational posts about pcp, paganism, chaos magick, witchcraft, astral projection, and irl magical hero topics !

#✘ long pointed wings with scars run beneath the skin .. // this tag is for any asks i answer !!!

#𖦹 dig deep beneath your filling - theres an animal waiting that must come out .. // this tag is for journal entries !!

#❤︎ a large queue was formed at it - where everyone continues on with a smile .. // this tag is for queued posts !!!

#꒰੭ i wake up to a call - put my frilly outfit on now .. // this tag is for reblogs !

#✦ my ribs opened up - made room for beating hearts .. // this tag is for my questions about irl magical heroing, pop culture paganism and magick, chaos magick, astral projection, shifting, manifestation, general paganism / magick, etc etc. !!!

#ꔫ are you going to curse the blue sky - and wish for stormy weather ? .. // this tag is for my witch logs !

#🃜 if i were any older i would act my age .. // this tag is on all of my posts !!

[bluemoon1331]

Lol, guess whose overworked ass has come up with another au idea? This one has some big, imposing, playful fae boys~

You are in way over your head. Not that that's anything new.

A once-promising witch capable of free form shape-shifting, your snooping lands you in hot water. Cursed and on a countdown towards doom, you make a desperate, idiotic bid for time: Making a deal with the fae lords, Solis and Lunaris.

Granted an access to the mortal plane they've not had in eons, they each take from you one thing: Solis, the energy of your daydreams and imagination, and Lunaris, the restfulness of your slumber.

In return, their lent power allows you to stave off your creeping downfall, which you are very cautious to ensure they do not learn of. The less they know and have to hold over you, the better.

Meanwhile, the fae become more and more intrigued by you and your mysteries. They tease and prod at you, Lunaris especially, seeking to understand their contractor. As time wears on, they secretly and silently agree to a new motive: getting you to eat their food and seal your fate to them in the fae wilds for good.

However, when your problems finally track you down and bring themselves to light, it suddenly becomes much less a game and more a true race for your survival, and potentially theirs, as the curse begins its real backlash, weakening you by the day as unexpected forces seek to hide a deal that should never have been made.

Desperate to keep your fading soul alive, the brothers begin a mission to bring justice, even if it means going places they aren't meant to, and breaking truces long since forged. They have become far too attached to care, and you quickly come to these realizations, and more, as you grapple with your trust, freedom, and life.

_________________

You initially think they only care about the energy you provide them (which was true for a few weeks). Even when you soften a bit and your curse comes to life, you still believe the reason they're so invested is cause it might affect them to an extent. Once you witness what risks they're taking, though, it dawns on you that they might actually care, which leads to your own mess of emotions (this takes a minute cause they, rather poorly, try to play it off, but you're not stupid or blind). Holy shit, they're actually not fucking with you, NOT part of your plan, whoopsie daisy.

Your curse slowly entangles you from the inside out, leisurely trapping you in karmic vines, a type of mystical plant that takes your soul and body and feeds it back into the universe, entering you into an eternal slumber and transporting you to the gardens of reincarnation. It is often considered a form of justice against beings whom have done much harm in their lives, and are hence put on the shelf, essentially, to help foster the newer generation of souls until they are completely gone, turning into branches of the Tree of Life. Which is why it's a big deal that it's happening to you, cause, by all rights, you're innocent, and the ones responsible know they'll be in deep shit if their actions are discovered, hence a nasty cover up.

The fae lords could suffer a form of backlash to themselves due to their presence in the physical world being tied to yours. Still, once it becomes prevalent what's going on, they try to keep their feedings to a minimum so as to avoid worsening your condition, even if it leaves them hanging in the end.

The deal you witnessed was between a small group of beings from different planes. They sought to bring back a child's soul from the land of enlightenment, an ultimate taboo, dragging a soul from where they've chosen to rest forevermore after their final death. Evos was the youngest child of a daemon elder, Aphren, and his wife, the celestial maiden Balatrix. When his son proved quite sickly and weak, Aphren did everything in his power to keep his son's condition, and subsequently Evos, hidden. When he did eventually pass, it was like he never existed to anyone outside the family. Despite Evos' assurances that he was at peace as he died, Aphren became obsessed with bringing him back, no matter the cost. Using their connections as powerful deities, Aphren and Balatrix persuaded a handful of their allies to help (either those who were unhinged from the get go, and maybe a little blackmail in other cases).

It was at their attempt to bring Evos back that you accidentally saw and overheard everything, and one of them noticed you a little too late, which caused the ritual to backfire, an angry Aphren cursing you as you fled.

Fun side plot that Balatrix and Aphren figure out when they still attempt another summons: Evos' spirit DID come back, but it rebounded, and is now stuck deep inside you. Now Aphren REALLY wants to get his hands on you, especially with the realization that his stupid ass just essentially cursed his son to the same fate as you.

Battle Royale! Who can get the fading witch from their powerful protectors first?!

[courtkossai]

some thoughts on discernment - is this shift , or crisis ?

this is not and never will be full guide to every possible medical reason , but , want to share some of discernment practises and questions for those who might have less experience .

as well , kossai write this as guide for one to evaluate self - not as tool for others to armchair diagnose . please do not harass strangers with these questions .

for any shift type .

think about what possibly trigger . maybe that is very clear , or maybe need to retrace steps . is this trigger consistent ? keep log if necessary . if there is no consistent trigger despite reoccurrence , or only ever come on once , please treat this as yellow flag . 

second , how much is this experience comfort , and how much is this experience stressful ? if stress equal or outweigh comfort , why is this ? sometimes experiences can be stressful for outside factors , like worry of others witness in mental shift , but other times that stress is directly from experience . 

mental shifts .

do this state of mind bring total emotional crash at any time before , during , or after ? 

if this state of mind cloud judgment and/or impulse control , how severe is this ? if potentially fatal impulses enter mind , how high is chance of follow through ?

if ever experience loss of language or comprehension during state of mind , what is chance this was some form of stroke ? some strokes can be fairly silent , but still leave with big problems .

stroke risk or not , big red flag if come out of experience with new cognitive difficulties , especially without recovery or improvement .

is there any yellow or red flags in family medical history , such as bipolar disorder , schizophrenia , or anything which impede blood flow and function ?

is there any yellow or red flags in personal medical history , such as brain injuries , or anything in previous point ?

phantom shifts in general .

where and what is this phantom sensation ? how real do this sensation feel ?

what is impact of this phantom sensation ? is this comfort ? why or why not ? 

is there any visual component to this sensation ? what type , and how strong ? some folks do go through visualisation work , but if this come without prior experience in visualisation , consider this yellow to red flag .

phantom shifts with pain .

how strong is this pain ? often phantom shift is not source of pain , but may seem to explain by coincidence - especially true if this pain is strong .

do this pain correspond with current medical diagnoses or known family history ? for example , phantom wings , back pains , and family history of scoliosis . 

sometimes pain is ambiguous in origin , or refer in other places entirely - organs especially can be hard , since there is no way to see these . is any of this pain coincidentally around organs , or refer in ways organ pains might ?

sensory / perception shifts . 

these shifts do not necessarily mean literal change in sensory ability - rather could be another form of mental shift , changes in how mind categorise and react . for example here , scent shift is not literal super smell , but rather mind seek out and tune into scents that might normally gloss over . 

still , sometimes there is ambiguity , or difficulty rather than apparent gain . in these cases , would say treat any changes in sensory ability as yellow to red flag . this means any new difficulties in ability to see , hear , smell , taste , or feel physical sensations . tragedies like brain tumours do not play around , even if this is least likely of causes . 

to bring this all around with example …

kossai have periods of " low human filter " , which might consider cousin term to mental shift . kossai can purposefully induce this , and help to release stress . still hold onto judgment and impulse control during these , bar some minor social impulses , and slightly more wacky artistic endeavours . there is no crash at any point , and experiences relieve rather than bring stress - so overall , this is pretty safe . 

someone who feel distress during or after experiences , though , might want to look into triggers more carefully and find ways to manage . especially true if these experiences bring feelings of inability to hurt or to die , lack of appetite , impair vital judgment or impulse control , or otherwise feel likely at risk of injury or death without management . 

finally , please note .

some of these questions come from roots in mental health , others come from physical problems , and some even can be either or . kossai is not doctor of any sort and can not say what best management is , not even if give full details of personal experience . still , if nothing else , please reach out to friends and communities and get more opinions . 

as for fellow community members , if someone reach out with experience that is potentially of concern , for either physical or mental health , please treat with kindness - and once again , do not use these questions to harass others . hostility and refusal of autonomy still will not help . 

[mywitchyblog]

A lot of the people who are so against race changing make no sense. I saw this one that said that “If you shift for empathy reasons, you have low empathy.” And then five seconds later said “you can’t understand because you’re not a poc!” what is it? Do you want me to have empathy, or am I suddenly not allowed to because apparently according to you only black people have experienced oppression and can understand that feeling?

Do they not realize that there are people who qualify as white and still face racial discrimination? People who are German, Ukrainian, Polish, Russian, Iranian and Egyptian, and many more?

The hypocrisy and double standards are annoying and it makes no sense.

Fundamentally, race is a social construct with no scientific or biological basis. To legitimate something we often see in society: that there is only one race, the human race, and the so-called other "races" are just a sign of a superiority complex that has festered far too long in humanity, bringing us nothing but strife and pain. To claim that some individuals who engage in race changing during reality shifting lack empathy is not only hypocritical but fundamentally flawed.

The idea that race-changing is a sign of lack of empathy or moral failing is untrue. It's clear to see that the condemnation of race changers often blurs the context of oppression and suffering, which exists in countless forms over a very wide spectrum.

It is always important to remember that oppression does not form one solid experience solely for any one group; it takes place in many different contexts, and yet all are based on prejudice of physical appearance or place of origin.

Although the following examples do not reveal racial oppression in its classic sense, they certainly can be viewed as forms of marginalization that rely on superficial factors, such as how a person looks, comes across, or where they are from. It needs to be taken into consideration by anyone that while the experience of oppression varies widely for many, there is a shared foundation of discrimination.

The race-changing controversy in the reality shifting community shows a mirror to this hypocrisy and double standard around most of these arguments, especially people who shift into "fictional" races. Many people will shift into races that are clearly meant to be allegories for real-world POC populations, such as the Na'vi in "Avatar," whether in white or BIPOC spaces.

Why is it then that shifting into a fictional race, oftentimes one that serves as an allegory for the struggles of real-world oppressed groups, is considered acceptable, while shifting into a different human ethnicity is considered to be taboo?

A prime example is the Na'vi from "Avatar."

I have seen white people and BIPOC shift into this race, completely unconcerned, because it is "fictional." But, well, of course this race is basically an allegory for Indigenous peoples: fighting colonization, preserving their culture. Shifting into a Na'vi could be described as shifting into the experience of being Native American with some blue paint on top of it.

But when someone is asked what urges them to become Na'vi, most people reply that they want to "discover the culture," "understand what it feels like to resist oppression," or "experience the beauty of their world." But it is because the Na'vi are considered fictional that they don't receive the same attention as the human ethnic group. This is the core of the hypocrisy: those who bash one for shifting to a different human ethnicity are doing the same, only it is in a supposed "safer" context—around fiction.

They overlook the fact that both types of shifting are fueled by similar, often innocent and pure-hearted intentions, only to explore, understand, and relate with experiences other than the ones outside of one's original identity.

By holding such double standards, critics ignore the broader implications of their arguments and reveal more about their own comfort with real-world racial issues than about any supposed moral failing on the part of those who engage in race changing.

Engage in all discussions here, with consistency and empathy; understand that reality shifting—whether it be into a fictional or human race—can serve profoundly in your tool of personal growth, empathy development, and deeper cultural understanding.

[thenightfolknetwork]

Hi. I have a bit of a problem regarding my appearance.

You see, for a long time I was a vessel for a greater deity. But, recently, that deity has left me. Usually, this isn’t supposed to happen. But, The Great One will do as She desires, so I was left behind.

The problem is, while She was inhabiting me, She made a few adjustments to my appearance. Horns, ear piercings, tattoos, etc.

When She left, the horns and scales disappeared. But the piercings and tattoos stayed. Honestly, I don’t mind them. I find them very stylish and have grown accustomed to them.

But it’s not exactly my call. You see, I am Sapio. Without The Great One using my form, I’m about the most average Sapio out there. But the markings and piercings adorning my body are symbolic of the devine-folk genetically related to The Great One. Which I am not. So, naturally, me having these markings is seen as incredibly appropriative.

So, what do I do? I can’t remove them, they’ve been divinely protected beyond belief. I can’t cover them either, they’re everywhere, and bundling up in the middle of Arizona summer isn’t exactly a wise choice for me.

So, how do I get people to realize that I’m not trying to be offensive? Or at least, how do I stop being offensive?

Unfortunately, reader, there's nothing you can do to ensure people don't misinterpret your physical appearance. It would make life a great deal easier if we could transmit our good intentions and mitigating contexts into the minds of others at a whim.

But even if we could, that's no guarantee others would take the time to actually listen before forming an opinion – or even that, after hearing our reasoned defences, that they would agree with us.

I think it's important to emphasise that you aren't actually being offensive here. Cultural appropriation is a very real issue, but you haven't appropriated anything. You were fully and sincerely part of the culture to which these adornments and markings belong.

In fact, I would strongly argue that you have every right still to identify with this culture, if you so wished. 'The most average sapio out there' has never been a vessel for a great deity. That experience doesn't stop being part of your story just because it is now in the past tense rather than the present.

However, you may still wish to avoid the stares and snap judgements your appearance might draw. In practical terms, you might consider using a glamour to subtly alter your appearance, or at least to draw attention away from your more controversial features.

Any reputable, licensed practitioner should be able to supply you with such workings, and many offer discounts if you're buying bulk. Glamours can be expensive though, so you'll likely want to reserve them for situations where they'll be most effective.

If you're just popping to the shops or taking a walk round the park, your best defence is a shift in mind-set. You don't need strangers to understand you. You know who you are, and you can share that with people who take the time to actually engage with you.

Otherwise, keep your head high, and concentrate on the opinions that matter – your own, and those of the people who love you.

Alternatively, you might consider getting some custom t-shirts made. 'I Was A Vessel To An Elder God And All I Got Were These Lousy Piercings' has a certain ring to it.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]