#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.

[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.

[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

[l0vergirlatheart]

Idk if ur requests are open, but hear me out XD. A creator!reader who descends on Teyvat meets all the Archons and such. Then up and leaves by changing their appearance in order to explore their creation and how it has changed. Every once in a while Creator will make themselves obvious by performing acts only the Creator could. Once they are found out they just up and leave again only to resurface after another Divine act. TLDR: Creator playing cat and mouse with Teyvat

oh my GOD creator is just TORTURING then atp

small ramble because i still have massive writers block [cries] also ignore how late this is pls ok mwamwa thnx

c.w // yan. chars

song : Best Friend - Rex Orange County

SAGAU INCOMING : YAN CHARS.

okay so you decided 'hey man, what if i wasn't worshipped the moment i stepped outside'

so you just said fuck it and shifted

(it's been a while since you've done so, it kind of felt weird and hurt a tiny bit)

walking around teyvat in an odd, different form. completely different hair, height, clothes, you get the gist

the only things you couldnt change however were three things:

your blood (still gold, but you didn't plan on bleeding infront of anyone)

your aura (still comforting, caring, and even alluring)

your voice (why? zero clue.)

escaping the throne room you've oh so sadly been bound to!! having fun while doing it!!

(the only real reason you managed to escape is bc you managed to get the archons out and actually tend to their nations, as per your request order)

messing around while escaping fr!! people passing by wondering why this random person they've never seen is (not very) sneakily running away from the creator's palace/temple

but eventually shrugging it off, albeit reluctantly

messing around in mondstat, playing with the npc children more than you could usually, giving them the time of their life!!

this is where you use your first creator powers >:3

some poor kid scraped his knee real hard on the bridge, let's say timmie (hes so sweet he just wants to defend his birds pls b nice to him!!)

you, being the belovent god you are, use your divine powers to heal him

whether you do it with the hc of having to use your own gold blood or just having special healing powers only creator has, you do it

however, your dumbass mind hadn't thought of the fact that Venti may have been watching this

new outlander person with a mysterious aura

and now he quickly learns its you :0!!

the archons had no clue you could shapeshift!! why wasnt this in the ancient scrolls??? did they just lose the ones that mentioned it???

venti immediately finds some weird wind way to tell the other archons

fucking loud mouth

speaking of which, ei is freaking. out.

she came back to just check on you in your throne room and youre just.

not there??

panics, almost goes to zhongli before she gets venti's message and calms down slightly

atp you've realize you've outed yourself

so after making sure timmie is find you quickly run off into the forest before venti can come after you and smother you (both physically and with questions)

forest reached, new mission : new form needed

this basically keeps happening, and it's a needed breath of fresh air for you

running to liyue looking like a normal person until you magically form a special medicine that was unheard of from your hand for an elder, sickly lady

running from liyue to sumeru and shifting into!! an animal!! a fox!! cat!! tiger!! dog!! bird!! any of the sort!!

only getting outed from sumeru after you accidentally spoke while in animal form and having to go over to inazuma as an unknown, traveling sailor!!

getting outed after that for your extremely familiar aura and voice (inazuma people are scarily observant towards strangers) and eventually getting shoved escorted back to your palace/temple

funny stories to tell

however, the archons wont be leaving your room for quite a while..

oh well, who says you don't have other stunts to pull?

[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.

[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]

[love-and-deepspace-fanfic]

Rafayel Fanfic - Echos in Crimson Wine

I’m writing this delulu in honor of my bestie fishie Selene. Hope you have fun with my delulu so far!

Imagine if your first encounter with Rafayel is at the bar…

Echo in Crimson Wine

Selene swirled the amber liquid in her glass, the dim bar lights deepening the crimson hues of the wine and mirroring the melancholic mood that clung to her like a shroud. Today had been a relentless assault on her spirit. From her boss's lecherous ogling to her backstabbing colleague's envy, her days at the small company felt like an unending cycle of frustration. She'd naively believed it would foster independence, but the company's hierarchy was a viper's nest, leaving those like her, stuck in the middle, with nowhere to turn. Advancement wasn't based on merit; it was a ruthless game of nepotism and sycophancy, a game she refused to play.

Though raised in an orphanage, her adoptive grandmother had instilled in her the value of self-reliance. Yet, sometimes, her strong will was no match for the physical and emotional toll of the day. Now, she found herself drowning in a sea of self-doubt.

Perhaps the source of her melancholy wasn't solely work-related. Her beloved grandmother's recent words echoed in her mind, fueled by the neighborhood gossipmongers. At 26, with her looks and personality, they'd whispered that her success reeked of manipulation, a notion that worried her grandmother and prompted the suggestion to find a partner.

Selene didn't scoff at love. In fact, she craved a passionate, all-consuming connection. But settling for just anyone because of societal expectations was anathema to her. She yearned for a soulmate, someone who mirrored her mind and spirit, someone who knew what he wanted, and in that wanting, included her. That was the kind of love she sought. But a strange hollowness gnawed at her. There was a gap in her past, a time before her grandmother, a missing piece she couldn't grasp. It felt shrouded in mist, a forgotten memory just out of reach. These feelings often manifested in dreams – strange, interwoven tapestries where she'd walk underwater one moment and traverse a scorching desert the next. The dreams felt real, and within them, a constant presence: a figure that sometimes observed silently and sometimes walked beside her, a companion on a long, arduous journey. But whenever she woke, the figure remained a hazy silhouette.

Closing her eyes, she let the alcohol numb the turmoil within. A sudden prickle of awareness sent shivers down her spine. The feeling was so familiar, it felt like an extension of her dreams. She looked up, her vision blurred. The bar was quiet, save for the bartender. A lone figure sat a few stools away, his form shadowed by the darkness, only his eyes glowing with an intensity that both captivated and unnerved her.

Fueled by the liquor's boldness, she slurred, "Excuse me... mister, is your hobby... hic... watching pretty women at bars?"

Though she couldn't see him clearly, a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. Could her day be so miserable that even a stranger felt compelled to mock her? The alcohol muddled her thoughts, leaving a bitter taste of resentment. She pushed herself up from the stool and swayed towards him, her eyes straining to pierce the dimness. As she drew closer, she realized he was even taller and more handsome than she'd imagined. His sharp features were framed by neatly styled hair, and his eyes seemed to shift between the cerulean blue of the ocean and the fiery red of burning embers, adding an air of mystery to his already captivating presence.

A hint of something unreadable played on his lips as he spoke, his voice a deep, captivating rumble. "Good evening miss, my name is Rafayel. And watching pretty women is certainly not the only reason I'm here."

Intrigued, Selene raised an eyebrow. "Then what brings you here?"

Rafayel took a measured sip of his drink, his gaze locking with hers. "I came here," he said, his voice a low caress, "to meet you."

Selene's breath hitched. What did he mean? Did he know her?

A knowing smile graced Rafayel's lips. "Don't you remember me, Selene? We've met before."

She strained to recall, but her memories yielded nothing. The man before her was a complete stranger, yet a strange sense of familiarity tugged at the edges of her mind. With a face like his, surely she would remember. But her past remained frustratingly opaque. Despite the mystery surrounding him, there was a curious sense of security in his presence, a feeling of coming home, a feeling that echoed from her dreams. Wait, why was she feeling this way about a complete stranger? Who was he?

Confusion warred with curiosity, furrowing her brow.

The inebriation weighed heavily on her, slowing her thoughts and reactions. Before she could voice her question, Rafayel's arm shot out, catching her as she began to lose her balance. His gaze held a depth that seemed to speak volumes, a swirling mix of intensity and a hidden fire, as if harboring secrets locked away for years.

Leaning in close, he murmured something cryptic in her ear, his voice a husky whisper, "It seems not all is lost."

His words washed over her like a wave, strangely calming despite their enigmatic nature. A sense of peace settled over her, as if she were submerging herself in the cool embrace of the ocean. Letting out a soft sigh, she leaned into his touch, her eyelids fluttering closed. The intoxicating scent of his cologne, mingled with a faint hint of sea water, filled her senses. A strange sense of contentment washed over her, chasing away the anxieties of the day. The alcohol finally claimed her, pulling her into a slumber, safe and secure in the arms of this enigmatic stranger.

Rafayel gently stroked her hair, his touch feather-light. Scooping her up effortlessly, he carried her towards the exit, the barkeep offering a respectful bow in his wake. Longing coursed through him, a fierce possessiveness threatening to consume him. He yearned to hold her close, to whisper the words that had been locked away for so long,

“I’ve finally found you, Selene. And this time, there will be no escape."

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

hi! i’ve been wondering, do gallifreyans have menstrual cycles? if so, how is it similar/different to what humans experience?

Do Gallifreyans have menstrual cycles?

There's really not that much on Gallifreyan reproductive systems to start working from, but we can make some really good assumptions based on what we know about Gallifreyans and humans.

🌍👽 Humans vs. Gallifreyans: A Comparative Study

Let's face it, speaking from an evolutionary and biological viewpoint, human menstruation is stupid. As if it wasn't weird enough that your fertilisation windows and ova are limited in a body whose only real evolutionary purpose is to procreate until you die, you've also gotta brook the burden of bleeding everywhere to make the perfect trail for predators. Add on top of that a shift in cognitive and emotional processing with severe pain alongside the risk of anaemia, and you've got a really badly designed system.

Gallifreyans, on the other hand, have a more mechanical relationship with their reproductive systems. It's suggested that they transitioned from natural reproduction to "looming" their offspring due to various reasons, including a sterility curse and/or societal changes and/or eugenics. In more recent times, with the "curse" lifted (or never actually in effect), Gallifreyans have shown the ability to reproduce naturally, even with humans. This means that they have sort-of the same organs in sort-of the same places doing sort-of the same jobs.

🌺 Alternative Solutions to Menstruation

Given the advanced nature of Gallifreyan physiology, it's plausible they've developed more efficient reproductive mechanisms that avoid menstruation, or at least make it 'invisible'.

Leading Theory: Selective Ovum Production Gallifreyans have a lot of control over their bodies, including hormone regulation. It's entirely possible that ova are only created when they actually tell their bodies to do it. This bypasses the need for any form of menstrual cycle.

Sub-theory 1: Feline-Like Induced Ovulation Taking a cue from feline species, Gallifreyans might have induced ovulation, where the ovum is only released in response to specific stimuli, such as sex or maybe a telepathic connection. This method again would eliminate the need for a regular menstrual cycle, with ovulation occurring only when physically or mentally intimate.

Sub-theory 3: Permanent Ovum Retention In an alternative approach, the ovum could remain perpetually in the womb, never shedding unless fertilisation occurs. This would eliminate not only the need for menstruation but also the cyclical preparation and degradation of the endometrial lining, streamlining the reproductive process to an 'on-demand' system.

Followed By ... Tissue Reabsorption Why shed the lining when you can reabsorb it? Gallifreyans might have the capability to reabsorb the endometrial tissue back into the body. This process would be seamless, with no physical manifestation akin to menstruation, ensuring that the reproductive system remains prepared without cyclic shedding.

🌟The Perks of Being Gallifreyan

These speculated mechanisms would offer several advantages:

Efficiency: By eliminating the menstrual cycle, Gallifreyans conserve energy and resources that would otherwise be expended monthly.

Control: Induced ovulation and tissue reabsorption allow for greater control over the reproductive process, enabling Gallifreyans to decide if and when reproduction occurs.

Convenience: Without the physical and emotional discomforts associated with menstruation, Gallifreyans can maintain their activities without interruption.

🏫 So ...

We can't be entirely sure until some info comes along that goes to great lengths to explain more about Gallifreyan reproductive organs, but we can say that Gallifreyans, with their penchant for efficiency and control, have likely refined their reproductive systems to a level of sophistication that renders menstruation unnecessary or invisible.

Related:

What would a Human/Gallifreyan pregnancy look like?: Details on the possible gestational aspects of a hybrid pregnancy.

How do natural Gallifreyan pregnancies work?: Details on the possible gestational aspects of a Gallifreyan+Gallifreyan pregnancy.

Factoid: Can Gallifreyans have interspecies children?

Hope that helped! 😃

More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[nrdmssgs]

Since you made shifters AU - the crowd (me) asks for more. HCs maybe?

Hi, love! Sorry, it took forever. I wasn't sure, anyone would even notice my little shifters. Anyway, here how it started, and let's check, how it's going.

Ground rules

So when creating shifters AU, I made a few rules, that would help me personally in a world building. These rules are valid ONLY in my AU, so don't worry, it's not a must.

Shifting process is long and painful. While the body may change its form relatively fast - it is the shifter's mind that needs time to adapt. The shifter needs some time to remember, who are they and what is happening. The first minutes after the shifting - it is just a scared animal in terrible physical pain, so it can harm even its beloved ones.

Cat shifters are the most feral of all mammal shifters. You don't want to be in the same room with a freshly shifted lynx or lion - their mind needs much more time to come back to 'normal'.

The closer your 'second face' to your human body (in terms of measurements and body funktions) - the easier your shifting process is. Shifting to a mouse is much more complicated than shifting into a bear (because of size differences). Insect/bird/fish shifters are fucked rare and they are doomed to have much more complicated shifting process.

Wolf-shifters are the most common type in my world, because they learn and adapt faster than any others. Also they are very welcome in military because of that. Everybody wants a fellow wolf in their squad.

Shifting process can be trained in time. The more times you shifted - the faster your body and mind adapts. So the fact that cat shifter Nikolai didn't try to harm his beloved is due to his enormous experience.

Second faces

Second face is simply their animal form. One shifter has only one form. I dont make any segregation in my AU and shifters may work alongside non-shifters just fine. Nevertheless, 141 is a shifter party 100%

Captain John Price

I wouldn't dare to NOT make this man a bear. Because c`mon, it's John Price. He has his timing, his fair share of violence, he's highly territorial, he's absolutely gorgeous. If you're not on his team, "Bravo six going second face" is your death sentence. He can chase his prey for miles, he crosses ice-cold rivers and climbs peaky mountains like it's nothing. There is practically no place, where you could hide from him.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

As intimidating, his angry roar can seem to you - your real problems start when you don't see him. Because Kyle is a lynx. He won't let you know, he's around, until you believe, he lost your tracks. You won't hear his feather step behind your back, won't feel his hot breath right above your head as he climbs that tree. He's just a shadow caught in the corner of your eyesight. A trick of light.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish

Now Johnny is a wolfboy. Wildly talented, loyal to the end, restless. Harm his beloved ones, threaten his comrades and his piercing amber eyes will hunt you down in your nightmares. You would await him being just a hot headed pup, but when you realize, how skillfully his hunt is planned - you will finally notice unmistakable intelligence and wisdom in every his move. As he will corner you - you will notice that his movements are not just those of a predator, but of a creature with an innate understanding of the world around it.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Ok, this might have me canceled, but hear me out. Ghost is not a wolf shifter in my AU. And there is a reason, why almost nobody even in 141 ever saw his second place. There is a reason, why Simon relies only on his human form, trains like there is no tomorrow, fights, like there is no plan B. This ideal soldier, the legendary war machine was 'blessed' with one of the rarest shifter forms, which can be utilized only on a very special occasions. Ghost has no problems with fighting armies in his human form. But god forbid you meeting him on open waters. It will be oh so quiet after he falls into the darkening abyss under your boat. Only waves licking plastic boat sides and a few birds screaming somewhere far. You would calm yourself down, convince yourself, Ghost is no more around. Drown. Dead and silenced finally. This would be when the dark abyss beneath will shift and move. Your boat would twirl and crash as a paper ship, sacrificed to the wild waters. Your men will disappear beneath the dark waves one by one, and you will have nobody to call for a help around. It's then when you will notice a jet black fin appearing and hiding between waves. He will let you see his second face before he drags you deeper to meet your end. An enormous beast, a deepwater demon with black skin shielding him from the sun and white belly masking him from anyone looking up. The last thing, you'll notice, before his jaws clench around you - will be a strange white pattern on his face. Now that you look at it - it doesn't resemble average orcas white spots. It reminds you of his skull mask.

[gay-artificer]

Perhaps my most controversial take is that Saint might not be a slugcat.

If we consider Survivor (and to a lesser extent Monk and even Hunter) as the quintessential example of a slugcat, we have the basis for what actually counts as one. From there we have to look at the deviants from basic form and determine how severe they deviate- which I think all others but Saint don't go to far. Spearmaster- Modified organism using a slugcat base. Stretching the definition of a normal slugcat here maybe, but more or less still resembles the rest of the group minus the obvious. Definitely not considered a member of the same species though. Artificer- Minus the weird explosion bacteria, it is a normal slugcat in terms of form Gourmand- Literally just fat and strong. Perfectly normal fella. Rivulet- Okay this is where we get interesting. Rivulet is both the first to deviate notably from the basic slugcat in terms of readable physical traits, and is also set further in the timeline. An evolutionary split from what a 'slugcat' is fully possible. However, their actual traits are rather minute. Rivulets main trait is the presence of external gills, suggesting an aquatic adaption. However in real world examples of external gills they are mostly a development of species that already had gills in some form in either their lifecycle or biology. The most obvious inspiration for rivulet's design is likely the axolotl, which is a salamander that has neotenic (juvenile) traits due to never metamorphosing. If you force metamorphosis, an axolotl looks like a normal salamander

Gills or gill-like structures can also be internal or land-modified- Spiders for example have book lungs, which are likely evolved from book gills (whereas in human evolution our gills did not evolve into lungs, and gills instead 'turned into' parts of our skull and ears) you can also have lungs and gills, as seen with certain species of lungfish. It seems perfectly reasonable to guess that the slugcat- either currently or historically- made use of a gill or gill-like system- which would set rivulet up for either a reemergence of the trait or as an alternative evolutionary path. I could easily see the rivulet 'type' of slugcat existing alongside the normal species, just isolated to coastal and other floodzones- or as one of several independent cases of the external gill trait emerging. Complicating things further- Sea slugs make use of gills in several forms, while (most) land slugs have lost their gills and created a simple lung out a hollow cavity. There is also at least one slug that completely lacks both lungs and gills and breathes entirely through their skin. Lots of variety there within a group. What we can confirm though is that at minimum- slugcats do have a nose. However the presence of the nostrils alone doesn't tell us the fine details; Frogs also have nostrils and make heavy use of them for the vast majority of their breathing, but also have permeable skin that also allows for oxygen exchange (particularly while under water). So its complicated. All this is a very complicated way of say that there's no real indication that rivulet is all that particularly unique compared to the basic slugcat, minus the gills- which are something that could be a perfectly normal trait to develop without getting too far from the traits that make a slugcat a slugcat. It would be, at minimum, its own species though. Genus you could argue about. And then we get to Saint. Saint is ages forward in the timeline for our 'basic' slugcat, to the point where even lizards have heavily shifted their evolutionary patterns and there have been notable extinctions within the window the game provides. Saint itself has a very notable deviation: Very obvious long fur (or at least, something convincingly playing the role of fur). While furry slugcats (whether that be more cat-like or fine fur like a seal) is popular in fanon works, official art has an obvious smoothness to it more indicative of bare skin (Although the quality of this skin, such as if its more mammalian or amphibian, etc- is unknown)

While the type of skin could heavily change how big of a deal this is (it would be a lot easier to develop and lose fur with the structure of mammalian skin than amphibian skin; and if we are being technical mammals are the only thing that can truly develop fur/hair) It does at least mark the development of a trait that seemingly took several generations to acquire, at least on par with the development of a fur or fur-like trait in all surviving species of 'lizards' It does seem to intend to mirror, to a degree, the evolution of mammals. Which begs the question... can you really call Saint a slugcat? When you think about what survivor is, and how removed Saint is from them in both physical features and time period... would the term be appropriate? And to be specific, its technically incorrect to say things evolve "into" other things- they split and grow into distinct things (and sometimes all but one dies off in the process). Evolutionary history is difficult to chart for a number or reasons, and its extremely complicated- but when we say something like "snakes evolved from lizards" what it really means is that at some point there was a group of something we agreed were lizards, and then something within that group began to change into something with its own distinct features and traits until we gave it a new name. In the lizard and snakes example, snakes are technically lizards. Just lizards with very specific traits we don't consider lizard traits. But you also have examples like mantodea (Mantises) and Blattodea (Roaches and Termites).

A some point there was something that was neither mantis nor roach (the roachoids, which despite being more roach-like than mantis-like we don't consider them proper roaches), that split into things that would go on to form the basis of those groups (and then termites would split from there, making termites technically a type of roach). And for the rest of history humans would argue constantly about what to do with this mess So really the question is what do we consider a slugcat, and is Saint part of an evolutionary lineage that 'slugcat' applies fully across, or does Saint mark a split into something else, that would technically go alongside "true" slugcats under a wider net. Slugcat definitely isn't a singular species and I lean towards genus but could see an argument for family or order. Lets do DNA analysis on pixels and find out they are actually a type of lantern mouse

[ghostsghoulsandhatboxes]

hattie box head canons go

died at 37 due to decapitation (duh), he looks older than he is due to stress in life and postmortem decomposition

mortal name was horace hatford, but he exclusively goes by hatty/hatbox (or simply h. hatford) now

ezra's younger brother, their parents had a habit of jokingly picking on hatty a lot which did not help his self esteem issues

autism creature. sensitive to loud noises especially

hes just. he has a lot of mental issues. depression and social anxiety king

selectively mute, mostly just laughs. even if youre a good friend of his he doesn't talk very much

real voice isn't as deep as it sounds in the ride, he imitates ghost host's manner of speaking for performances

loves sewing, started out making clothes (worked as a tailor in life) but also does plush toys and embroidery

more under the cut. theres a lot

favorite movie genre is sci-fi horror, but his least favorites are slasher and supernatural horror films; slashers tend to trigger trauma surrounding his and his loved ones' deaths, and supernatural horror hits different when you're a ghost (mainly the annoying amount of misconceptions and inaccuracies)

his least favorite horror movies are hereditary and pet sematary for similar reasons; he can't stand it when kids die in movies (and the decapitation scene in hereditary is especially triggering to him)

bi and demisexual but mostly just calls himself queer. he's happy being with emily so sexuality labels don't really matter to him

genderfluid, doesnt rly care about what pronouns other people use for him but mostly prefers he/him, she/her, or it/its.

has a glowing heart like emily's, which is usually hidden under his clothes

used to be a notorious prankster around the mansion, which is actually part of why he got kicked out; aside from his signature trick not being up to par at first, he liked to mess with cast members who were trying to set things up by spooking them, stealing tools, etc until they got fed up and had him booted

(based on his animatronic's b mode) had some stage fright when he came back to the mansion back in 2015; he panicked and froze up all day and felt really bad afterwards bc he didn’t want to mess up and get booted again. the ghost host was pretty understanding of this but hatty's still nervous that if he screws up badly enough he could get kicked out again

can growl like an animal for some reason. nobody knows how or why he learned to do it but he mainly just uses it to fuck with people (constance, mostly). can also "purr", it's more like a rattling wheeze. a bit unnerving but emily thinks it's cute though

spent his years away from the mansion exploring haunted places all over the world, and knows a lot about the history of said places (special interest)

can teleport his head anywhere within a 5 foot radius of himself; it can be physically carried up to 15 feet away from him, but it's tethered to his body by a sort of invisible "thread" and cannot go further than that

mild telekinesis abilities, learned from leota

has back and wrist issues carried over from when he was alive, hence the cane and shaky hands. floats most of the time bc he can't walk very fast

he gets frequent hand pains, if he does manual work like writing or sewing for long periods of time he has to take a break for a while since his hands will start hurting too badly to do anything

collects every piece of disney merch with him on it

pale asf as a mortal but does have some hispanic/latin ancestry from one of his grandparents

also bonus emily hcs

died at 23 from being stabbed in the heart

was originally engaged to dorian gracey, who was constance's nephew

loves painting, sometimes touches up the haunted portraits in the mansion at their owners' requests

adhd haver, will often fixate on a project to the point where she won't leave the same spot for days

can transform from shadowy to corpse-like to her usual mortal-esque form; her shadowy version is covered in a sort of liquid darkness that can shift in coverage, which is typically concentrated on her face and hands

was kicked out of the mansion's tour route by constance and now just stays behind the scenes. she's pretty bitter about this and regularly argues with connie about nearly anything

her heartbeat increases in volume and speed when excited, scared, or when experiencing other strong emotions

favorite movie genre is psychological horror, is also a fan of found footage horror

bi and demisexual as well

and for both of them :]

hatty likes to rest his head against emily's chest to listen to her heartbeat, they often fall asleep like this

emily is much taller than hatbox, being 6' while hatty is only 5'4"; she can lift him up pretty easily

hatbox sometimes borrows emily's shirts to sleep in

they have movie nights together at least once a week, they mostly watch classic horror and disney animated films. sometimes they get distracted and just start making out and stuff

hatbox doesn't really like being touched by anyone, especially strangers, but is very physically affectionate towards his wife

often each of them think about what their lives would've been like had they lived longer (eg them having a happy ending, getting married and spending the rest of their mortal lives together, maybe starting a family, etc), makes em both really sad though but they're happy being together in death

hatty is always more relaxed around emily, though usually he can seem a bit grouchy and antisocial to most other people

[midwinterwings]

Happy deitykin euphoria moments :D this is the first time I feel comfortable in my body holy crap. Here's some nerding and yay maybe this blog will be positive instead of having repeated mental breakdowns...yay

*deep breath*

I have COOL WINGS now! (Bodily) I still love them, I hope they stay. My wings are more conceptual as they shift, theyre kind of like shadows, because they more represent flying/realm crossing than my 'true form''s wings. So they kind of flicker like shadows but they are sort of corporeal in that I can feel them somewhat. Nontheless, I love feeling them and stretching them so they fill up my entire room. It feels great. I can even sort of control them now, for example stretching them, or flapping them, whereas before I couldn't really control them. Although now I feel weird lying on my back because owchie even though my wings are made of shadows I can't really banish them at will. It's more of a spiritual ouch than a physical ouch but still, it feels so weird.

2. My talons also moved to the physical realm too and it feels great! They took root where my hands would have been. Theyre sharp.

3. I can finally read mythology without having a breakdown! Yay...my sense of identity is extremely strong these days. I do have self doubt at times but it dosent consume me and cause a meltdown cuz yea reading the myths would trigger me bad as the self doubt spiral would start.

4. I moved most of me into the physical realm and stretched myself out to fill the body with me so now it's mine. And I feel great. I'm able to fly and vibe as myself even in the physical realm (no not in a physical manner obviously, its sorta like.-)

Imagine the body is an empty rubber toy. I have brought me out of just incorporeal realm and 'base realm' and stretched me out from the inside and filling the rubber toy so bodily I'm most of what im like in base realm - not in a literal way but I'm able to express me completely in some aspects with the limited material I have to work with, something I never thought I'd be able to do. Admittedly I piggybacked on my raven form which is already firmly in the body, my deity form (which is another expression of my raven form) isnt quite done figuring out where everything goes but it's got a good template. Holy shit you have no idea how many years it took to learn how to exist and feel normal.

5. I figured out who I am which is...*flops on ground* I've gotten beaten up so many damn times it was fucking hard, because we kept finding more and more Stuff to unravel like plurality and all the while existence is painful...and jarring, as it is, while the body's 'family and friends' think its the anxiety and adhd that are the reason they had no idea we'd been trying to learn how to make us gain a physical form in different realms lol and learn how to 'shut off' or dull other ones because HEY its HARD to live in so many ok?? Meds helped. Now I can only feel 3, 4 max. Could probably feel more if I wanted but...no thanks. I just wanna exist here man I have better senses and there's good food like pizza and stuff even if I can't fly ok.

The relief and being able to just..exist..without encountering pitfall after jarring pitfall is Hecking rad. I need to rest. At the same time I'm so excited and relieved, it's the first time I feel real, present in this realm, whereas before it was like staring at the physical realm through a pane of thick half opaque glass, unable to interact, to just watch.

But interact I shall, and interact I will. *puffs out chest and flies into a window*

[duskyashe]

NaNoWriMo Day #18

[masterlist] [part two]

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If there was one thing Danny wasn't expecting when he ascended the ghostly throne, it was having to worry about a freaking line of succession. For one thing, he was under the impression the only reason he was the new ghost king at all was because he'd defeated Pariah Dark in single combat. For another, what did they expect him to do, find a nice ghost girl and settle down? He was fifteen, no way was he ready for that kind of commitment! Nevermind the fact none of us even know if being a halfa effects the ability to have kids, Danny thought grimly.

He'd brought all those points up with his advisors before, but the only one with any real advice he could actually use was Pandora. "You need an heir, but it doesn't have to be the same being the entire time. Be warned, however. Some obsessions fare better in royal positions than others do. Those with freedom related obsessions like your Ellie's would be driven mad within short order." Much more useful than Clockwork's cryptic words of, "Time is the wise King's friend."

After some deliberation and careful study of the Infinite Realms' bylaws and charters, he'd made Jazz his heir with Ellie the "spare" in case Jazz wasn't in a position to succeed Danny. This sort of solution was a stopgap one at best, but it would at least give him a few years, a decade at most, to figure out a more permanent solution. If Jazz's inherent liminality wasn't enough to satisfy the bylaws for more than a few years, then they'd switch Jazz with Ellie and have Ember take up "spare" status, but again, no one knew anything about this kind of situation, it was so new territory. Jazz might be able to give Danny ten years to figure out a more appropriate heir, or she won't be able to give him more than a few months. The variables were different enough from the norm in this situation that no one was happy with how things were at that point in time.

He really needed a better solution, though, and soon, because Ember's obsession wasn't any less freedom based than Ellie's was...

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Nearly five years after Danny's ascension to kinghood, the foundations of the Infinite Realms shifted ever so slightly, almost as though a mostly unstoppable force had tried its hand against an almost immovable object. Six months after that, Danny suddenly nearly collapsed in his applied physics class as he felt the creation of a new halfa. It was sudden, it was painful, and it was familiar. But the cry of a newly formed core, so perfectly in sync with his own, being brutalized nearly made his eyes flare green. Instantly, he knew exactly where this newborn halfa was (—halfway across the world—?), he knew exactly what was happening to them (—they're hitting him with tasers—!), and he knew that if he didn't get there as soon as possible, he'd lose something precious (—they'll ruin him, his obsession, his core—!). It was a good thing Jazz had been his emergency contact on file ever since she turned eighteen, she'd understand what he didn't say, what he couldn't say, over the phone.

Danny was excused from the rest of his classes for the day and his sister picked him up from his physics teacher's office.

"What do you need?" No nonsense, straight to the point. Jazz had grown a lot since his accident, since he became the king of an entire dimension.

Danny released an anxious breath. "I need the Infinity Map." Another breath. "And Frostbite. There's a new halfa, and he's being tortured as we speak." Just keep breathing. "His core cried out to my own, Jazz. From halfway across the world." Jazz's breath hitched at that, and he almost snorted. Exactly. Later. First, he had to save the kid, get him treatment, and deal with the idiots who dared play with things they didn't understand. Then he could deal with the fallout of him hearing the newborn halfa's cry. Deep breaths. That's it, just keep breathing.

"Do you have any more information than his location and current situation?" His sister was a blessing, truly.

"I have a name," he offered. Deep breaths, stay calm, just keep breathing. "Jason Todd." His core sang with protective fury, his obsession crying for blood. That was one of his that those assassins were trying to break. His son, that was his son.

Over my half dead body.

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So. What happens when you're so into a fanfic that you lose all track of time? Well, I end up frantically trying to write a ficlet in two hours that makes sense and doesn't leave too much hanging (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞdid I succeed?

I was originally going to use this prompt to continue one of my previous ficlets, but I also really wanted to write something new, so my muse fought me tooth and nail until I finally gave in (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠) that's part of the reason why I'm writing ficlets instead of a full story this month lol I knew my muse was going to be fickle and wouldn't let me stick with one, or even two storylines lol it's happened before (⁠^⁠_⁠^⁠メ⁠)

Y'all rock, honestly. Like, I know I say that every day, but I genuinely mean it every day (^⁠‿⁠^⁠)

Have a good morning/day/night!

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Pain & Panic - Fireworks Edition

Warnings: triggered PTSD, mentions of war

There was a loud BOOM outside, followed by a bunch of little crackling sounds, and Thomas noticed Shadow jump the tiniest bit, almost imperceptibly, as muted panic briefly filled her eyes.

"Those are fireworks," Thomas explained, seeing her alarm. "They're basically colorful explosives humans set off for fun during events like the fourth of July."

"How on earth can anyone consider that racket 'fun'?" Shadow muttered angrily, then raised her voice so he could hear her better. "Thanks... I guess. I just needed confirmation that it wasn't live gunfire... I'm fine now." Her tone was dry and bitter, and even though she said she was fine, she didn't look fine. Thomas could see the feathers on her wings still bristling apprehensively, and Shadow's anxious fingers kept subconsciously twitching toward her best dagger, as if it would bring her some form of reassurance.

Why is she so spooked? He wondered. Oh... maybe it's her heightened senses. Those fireworks must sound like literal bombs to her sensitive ears.

But he still wasn't convinced that was entirely the reason for her skittish reaction. She had completely stopped the task she had been working on -- sharpening a small blade with a whetstone -- to walk out of the room, looking stiff and tense.

A little worried, he trailed after her at a distance to see where she was going, before she suddenly turned on him with an annoyed sigh.

"And why are you following me oh-so-subtly?" she grouched, folding her arms over her chest expectantly.

"I-I just... wanted to make sure you were okay, that's all," Thomas stammered an answer.

"I already told you... I'm fine," she said gruffly.

But he could read the slight uneasiness in her expression as she kept nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot. He had to admit, it was a new look for Shadow. The bold, confident, stoic, always-composed warrior bird-woman unsettled by a few small fireworks.

"...I think you're not as fine as you say you are," Thomas declared boldly. She narrowed her eyes at him, but to his surprise, she didn't immediately deny the accusation.

"Look, kid... even if I wasn't fine, there's nothing you can do about it. So I'm going to politely ask you once more to buzz off and mind your own business." Shadow turned and started walking off again, but Thomas ran around to stop her.

"Why don't you ever want to talk about it when something's bothering you?" He snapped, and it came out sharper than he intended it too.

"--Because I'm used to dealing with it all on my own!" Shadow snarled, then snapped her mouth shut, looking startled by her own answer.

"Finally, some honesty! See how easy that was?" Thomas sighed dramatically, and she glared daggers at him. "Like it or not, you have friends now, so you're going to have to get used to people checking in on you every now and again. So suck it up, stop moping, and let me help you."

"Excuse you?" Shadow sputtered, totally caught off guard by his brusqueness, especially from someone so typically shy. "What did you do with the real Thomas?"

"I'm not finished yet. I have a gut feeling I know the real reason why you don't like the fireworks." He raised his eyebrows expectantly, and Shadow groaned inwardly, knowing there was no dodging the question. She scrunched her eyes as if it physically pained her to answer.

"To put it in kid-friendly words... Let's just say that I don't have the best history with things that go 'boom' and spontaneously combust. There. Happy?"

"Very," Thomas said smugly, which earned him another poisonous glare from her. Then his expression grew serious and genuine. "I, uh, might have a way to help you see that the fireworks aren't as dangerous as they sound...?" He trailed off, waiting for her response to his open-ended offer.

She sighed heavily, shrugging in defeat. "Something tells me that 'no' isn't a choice here."

Thomas nodded, offering her a reassuring smile. "Follow me." He headed off with a reluctant Shadow sulking behind him the entire way as he navigated to the balcony. Shadow hesitated at the glass door, only briefly, before coming to stand at the railing next to him.

More crackles and bangs went off in the distance, and the discomfort was plain on Shadow's face, unhidden for once. Then a firework went off much closer, and she winced in surprise, grip tightening on the railing, before staring up in amazement at the bright colors that lit up the sky for a heartbeat. "So this is what you humans like to spend your time doing?"

"Yup. The most fireworks usually go off on the fourth of July specifically because it's a national holiday." Thomas bit his lip, a nagging question at the back of his mind. "Is... is it all right if I ask why you don't like things that go 'boom'? I'm pretty sure I already know the answer, but I'd like to hear your story."

Shadow turned to him, looking slightly confused. "Why would you care about my history? It's not relevant to any present-time events."

"Because it's a thing friends do! They talk about their... feelings... and stuff."

Shadow's face wrinkled with horror, and Thomas couldn't help bursting out laughing. "Oh, come on! It's not that bad! It's supposed to make you feel better! When you get to talk all your angst out!"

"That sounds more like a 'therapy' thing than a 'friends' thing," Shadow said, eyeing him suspiciously. "I get the feeling you're just trying to pry into my deep, dark secrets to satisfy your own curiosity."

"Even if that's true, will you at least humor me?"

"Hmm..." She hummed to herself thoughtfully, contemplating, as more fireworks went off in the far distance. "Fine. I'll play your... 'feelings'... game. But only if you promise to stop nagging me about it."

"I promise!" Thomas leaned against the railing beside her, sensing that she was letting him in on a rare bit of vulnerability.

Shadow let out a sharp inhale, her eyes going distant, lost in a memory. "The truth is... I maaaaay have a bit of PTSD. And who wouldn't, after everything I've been through? Traumatized by war at a young age... watching everyone you ever cared about die right in front of you one at a time in bloody, painful ways... knowing you can do nothing to stop it all. That you will always be seen as a monster by anyone outside of your own species, hunted to near-extinction. That most people run when they see you or try to kill you because they're afraid of what you can do."

She turned to face Thomas, and he could see the depth of the pain in her eyes, and for once, she wasn't trying to hide it. The years of tragedy and loss she'd endured. "You want to know why I don't like fireworks? Because they dredge up the worst moments in my life that I have tried for so long to bury and forget about. It's something you'll never understand... and I hope you never do." She shook her head grimly as another ball of bright color lit up the night sky.

"You're too innocent to understand what I've been through, and I'm too broken to understand what 'peace' is..."

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba

@lumpofsand

@isikedmyself878