#nightmare: the birth of horror

[finalproblem]

Sherlockian Wednesday Watchalongs: Spoopy Holmes III: Spoop Dreams

It’s October again, so you know what we've gotta do! 🕵️‍♂️🪦⚰️😱🐺📺🎃

All Wednesday watchalong gatherings start at 8:30 pm US Eastern time. (Convert to your local time here.)

Wednesday, October 4 Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson: The Deadly Prophecy & The Deadly Tower (1979–1980 TV episodes) A Deadly double feature! 🪦🪦  

Wednesday, October 11 Sherlock Holmes: The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax (1965 TV episode) A different kind of deadly double feature. ⚰️  

Wednesday, October 18 Nightmare: The Birth of Horror—The Hound of the Baskervilles (1997 TV episode) It's a BBC documentary! Edumacational spoops! 😱  

Wednesday, October 25 BBC Sherlock: The Hounds of Baskerville (2012 TV episode) 🍬 Bring your Halloween candy and your questionable judgment! It's time to play our annual THOB Sugar Rush Watchalong game! 🍫

Here’s the deal: Like Sherlock Holmes? You’re welcome to join us in The Giant Chat of Sumatra’s #giantchat text channel to watch and discuss with us. Just find a copy of the episode or movie we’re watching, and come make some goofy internet friends.

Keep an eye on my #the giant chat of sumatra tag and the calendar for updates on future chat events.

[death-rebirth-senshi]

I think a lot of bloodborne content takes the moniker of "god" too seriously and literally, ignoring what feels to me like a core point: "God" is a human word and a human projection onto the Great Ones.

Ultimately we don't know much about them; the ability to interact with the great ones is limited, and the results of trying to seems ultimately ruinous.

We the player of course can only ever interact with great ones to slay them, though notably both Rom and Ebrietas are initially nonhostile and killing them is *our* perogative.

Not that I don't think the theme of killing god and transcending aren't there - in Rom's case, we have to kill it because it blocks human insight - but I also think it's relevant that we supposedly "transcend" the flesh and the human condition with the same logic by which one becomes a beast: we kill and imbibe blood and we sacrifice until we kill the right thing and something miraculous happens.

Also feels relevant to me that the specific phrase "hunt the great ones" is used; the Choir and School of Mensis both look up to the great ones as gods and humans as stupid and inferior, but you the player meet them as creatures, and what plays out is mundane creature on creature violence.

[wittyworm]

oh god, learning about the origins of tobacco, or tabako, and the spirit that is being used and abused in these massive tobacco companies is actually breaking my heart.... my taino great grandmother died from a lung disease because of years of habitual tobacco smoking........ god i wish i could talk to her now

[highraccoon]

i will never psychologically recover from yellowjackets s2ep6

[bluetimeombre]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ And I wouldn't marry me, either.

You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.

[this is long. i'm talking 5k words long so i've split it into two parts. anyway, azriel is the best bat boy and no i won't hear anyone out. i'm so excited to write for him and hope you enjoy. it's very angsty but that's what i love. i hope i can write more for him and maybe other characters if you like. it's been a while since i've actually read the series so if any information is wrong, do let me know. also it was my first time using the term y/n and yes, i cringed NOT PROOF READ... enjoy]

warnings: references to sexual assault and references to suicide. nothing explicit but please don't read if this is sensitive to you.

Part 2 soon…

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The first, was the worst...

You were Rhys's half sister, the bastard daughter of his father. But when your mother had died giving birth to you, Rhysand's mother took you in and raised you with your brother and sister. You were so little and adorable that your sister loved you at once. Rhys did to, at some point of your life, you were sure he actually cared about you.

But when his mother and sister had died, his eyes shifted, he started to look at you with contempt. After all, you were only his half-sister. The worst half. He only kept you around because it's what his mother would have wanted.

And because there was no way Cassian and Azriel would ever let anything happen to you.

Besides, Rhysand knew when to use you.

Although Azriel was his spymaster, you were pretty good at staying swift-footed too. And you were frankly, very terrifying when you wanted to be.

You tread with power through the war camps, all of them looking at you as you went. All of their gazes wrecked with a predatory gaze. They either wanted to have their way with you, or kill you. Or both.

Rhys had said you could handle it, it was only supposed to be a check in. Cassian hadn't liked it, neither had Mor but it was Azriel who had almost- and for the first time- disobeyed his high lord to accompany you. But no, your brother wanted you to do this alone, so alone you would.

Just to show him you could.

'I can come with you,' Azriel had said, standing in your room as you tied your boots up. 'I won't even have to be seen.' At that, his shadows wrapped up your calf.

You smiled at them, as if they were his own pet. 'I'll manage just fine. Besides, i'm sure that's what Rhys wants, me needing a man.'

It had done nothing to calm your friend. The worry was still stuck between his brows, marring his handsome features. You'd held his cheeks, your wings hiding the two of you. His large ones (enough to swallow the both of you) over-lapped yours.

It was the last time you'd feel your wings.

The war camp wasn't as easy as you'd hoped. It was terror and horror in a place. You'd been to the court of nightmares, you'd gone to the slaughter of the spring court after they killed your family. But this, this was hell of another kind.

You had no idea how many days you'd been locked up, wrists bound in chains and hanging from the cell roof above you. Blood rolled down your arms from the force you'd tried to use to get them out. Your eye was swollen shut and your body trembled in pain.

All because they wanted to know your brothers secrets, and you wouldn't budge.

Your check was only supposed to be a day, but you were sure it had been longer. Days of endless pain and torture. Your uniform hung in rags of stripped material, your hair matted with blood and hiding your face.

You'd used the last of your energy to keep your walls up. You weren't anyone's mate, you didn't have anyone on the other end trying to feel what you felt. But should Rhys come looking (though you doubted it) you didn't want him to feel it. You didn't want anyone in your mind.

The gates opened with a sickening clash.

One of the Illyrian's knelt in front of you, his wings hiding those coming in behind you. 'Listen sweetheart. I don't want to make this any harder than it's about to get. All you have to do is tell us your brother's hide outs.'

You grit your teeth, staring down at the ground.

'So loyal, to a man who doesn't care if you live or die.'

Suddenly, your wings twitched as hands grasped them. Brute hands, the sort you wouldn't want touching any part of you.

Fear spiked in you, horror twisting your gut. 'What are you doing?'

'I told you I didn't want to get things messier, darling.'

You whipped your head from side to side, trying and failing to get a look at the assailants behind you. Your wings were being held apart, no matter how hard you tried to bat them away. You knew the sort of people they were, and what they did to girls like you.

That's when the begging started. 'No, no please. Anything. I'll do anything! Beat me, kill me, rape me, not my wings, please!'

'Anything?' the bastard asked, tongue poking out from his lips. 'Then tell me where your lord's hideouts are?'

You should betray him, you thought. He would never lose his wings for you. Perhaps it was stubbornness that kept you from, or maybe you were clinging to the last bit of love you want from him.

The bastard scoffed, 'anything, she says. Your brother has his own bitch wrapped around his finger.'

That's when they started hacking at your wings.

Your screams tore through your throat, blood spitting and dripping down your chin. Tears soon joined when they hacked away at the bone, the membrane, the flesh of it all. The three of them worked through your screams and your tears and your pain, tearing and cutting at it like it was nothing more than paper.

Not your whole life.

Let them hear you. You hoped your brother heard you, you hoped all and every court heard the pain.

Eventually, even you couldn't keep screaming. The only sound was the hacking away at your wings and the drops of blood.

'Now look at these beauties. I've got a perfect spot on my wall for these.'

They left you after that. There wasn't much more damage they could do. It already felt like they'd destroyed your life. You had never really thought about your wings, they were just part of you, as much as your wit or hair was. But they'd took it and now, you felt empty. Never would you fly with Azriel again, or use your wings to smack Cassian over the head.

Rhys, your dear brother, had took that from you.

The days blended in together after that. You were pooled in your own tears and blood, vomiting up anything they forced down your throat. No, they'd made it very clear they didn't want you dead. They just took pride in making it feel like you were.

At some point, you'd stopped reacting to the gate opening. You let them do whatever they wanted with you. Your wrists were still chained, arms still hanging up, your clothes hanging on your thin body in strips of dirt.

'No...' you heard a mumble. 'What have they done to you?'

Suddenly, the chains gave way and you lurched forward, with no strength to catch you. Luckily, you didn't have to, as strong and warm arms pulled you into his chest.

'Hey, wake up, look at me, dammit.'

Azriel.

You'd know the voice in the darkest days, in the pit of your worst nightmare you'd know.

You try to speak but your head's heavy, your lips are stone and your arms can't lift to hold onto him. You're exhausted, you're dying. The only thing you could do use all your strength to try to open your eyes.

'Please, please, look at me. You have to look at me,'

You were trying, you wanted to tell hm, snap at him, but you couldn't.

You felt Azriel shake, or maybe you were. Then, there was wet drops landing on your cheeks- you flinched.

'I'm sorry, i'm sorry. Rhys! Rhys! hurry up, please!' he was screaming. You'd never heard him scream before.

You heard the rush of feet at the cell doors, you knew it was your brother. You knew it from the presence of him, from the shuffling of feet and chocked sob. Your brother didn't cry, least of all for you.

'Her wings, oh mother, her wings,' said Azriel, his voice barley above that of a whisper.

Your wings. You didn't need reminding. They were gone, long and far gone. You were without a part of you, the very part of your soul that loved to be free. Never would you watch the stars up close or fly over everyone. Never race Cassian or make jokes with Az.

No, this would destroy you.

'y/n,' your half-brother called. 'No, y/n. Can you hear me?'

Your lips parted, mumbling. 'Hurts.'

Azriel's grip on you tightened. 'I know, we're gonna get you out of here, just hold on for me.'

You wanted to tell him you would hold on, you'd always need to hold on to him. That, no matter what he asks, you'd do it. To kill, to live, to breathe, to die.

And that's when it clicked. Amongst all the pain and the doubt. In your blood soaked clothes. In the fear you wouldn't make it, there was a tug. Weak and one-sided, but there. You knew you'd be safe with Azriel, knew you would always be with him.

Mate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The pain subsided to a dull ache, there and beating but not excruciating. You were warm and covered in a soft material. Nothing like the cell you'd been kept in. Your fingertips sunk into something soft- a bed. Your bed. It was familiar in its lavender scent to you and the silk wrapped around you gave you some semblance of warmth.

Your wings.

Even coming to consciousness was difficult. You were exhausted but light, without the weight of wings holding you down. You'd never realised how much you needed to feel that weight, to feel pulled down in order to be free.

Gone, all gone.

Your hand twitches around something cold, a shadow holding your hand, creeping up your side.

'You're awake, thank the couldron.'

It wasn't Azriel, master of the shadows. It wasn't your mate. Mate. The word replayed like a terrible song in your mind.

How dare the mother do this to Az. How dare he- nothing but loyal and kind- get stuck with a person made in darkness, who bled shadows, who's heart was so full of hate there wasn't room for love. They'd cursed Az, with you.

But luckily it wasn't him, it was Rhysand.

'It really happened,' you whispered, voice hurting from the screams.

He sighed. 'I'm sorry, i'm so sorry. We-we thought you weren't going to make it, you'd lost so much blood.'

In spite of the pain in your shoulders, you made a shift, turning from him as he ranted on about your condition.

'y/n... sister, please,' he said. He'd never called you sister before. He'd always been content to treat you just like you worked for him.

'Leave me alone.' you couldn't bare to look at him, couldn't bare to face him. The shadows at your hand grew heavier, as if more were piling on. You stretched your fingers away from them, trying to get them off you.

'Are you in any pain?' asked Rhys.

'Get out,' you mumbled.

The end of your bed dipped where Rhys settled, hand splayed on the covers, begging for your hand. 'y/n.'

'Get out!' you snapped, body tense and straining. You felt your wounds open up, blood wetting the bandage around you. But you didn't care. You'd happily bleed if you couldn't fly. A part of you, sick part of you wanted to be left there. It would be better than false sympathy.

Be better than your mate being disgusted.

'Get out!' you yelled again, voice tearing through an aching throat.

'I just want to help you! please, let me help you!' said Rhys, standing from your bed and walking around, trying to face you.

'I don't want your help!' you screamed. You reached for the closest thing you could, a jug of water and chucked it toward him. You aim was terrible, marred with pain and exhaustion. 'Get out!'

Though hesitant, Rhysand slowly started walking back to your door. He did it all looking at you, his hands out to show he wasn't gonna hurt you, but you didn't care. You went for the glasses next and chucked them but they landed against the door which he disappeared through.

Before it slid close you caught sight of Cassian , Mor and Azriel. All crowded, all waiting to see you.

You'd be happy if you never let them see you again.

'Can we see her?' you hear Mor ask.

'Give her time,' said Rhys.

The shadows at your hand grew heavier, darker, tighter.

'Go away!' you yelled at them. To anyone else, you probably looked crazy, screaming to darkness. But the shadows understood. They departed, slithering away and under the crack of your door where you could see the shadows of feet.

Tumbling from bed, you stumbled over and locked the door, leaning on it to and catching your breath. Your nightgown was starting to get sticky with blood all over again. When you closed your eyes, you pictured the cell, the rough hands holding you down, the chain keeping you up.

And the pain, it all washed over you. The hacking at your back, the sting of a slap. It hit you like a tone of bricks as you slid to the floor.

There was a knock, rattling the door.

'y/n,' Cassian. 'Please let us in.'

Us. You felt him on the other side. Your mate, his presence lingering. His shadows under the door, wanting to come in but keeping their distance.

He didn't know. It hadn't snapped for him, you could tell. It was one tug on your end, a chord in your heart. At least he couldn't feel what you did. At least you could shoulder it alone.

'Please.' his voice was almost your un-doing. He sounded so sad, so desperate. It hurt you just to think you were hurting him.

Tears streamed down your face as your curled your fingers into a tight fist. You assumed Mor had left with Rhys, leaving you there with the males.

Cass was always like a brother to you. Granted- a brother you had slept with once or twice- but he was your best friend. You'd always been close to him. But you'd always been good, a happy person.

You couldn't be that for them now, perhaps ever again.

It lasted like that for hours. Cassian and Az begging to come in, you curling into a ball with tears down your cheeks and blood down your back.

Eventually, they gave up. You couldn't hear them anymore and the shadows of their boots had disappeared.

Except Azriel's shadows that still lingered under your door. Maybe he'd ordered them to be there while they left you.

Eventually, you managed to find your footing on shaking legs. Your room was large, one of the largest. It was just as much a mess as it was when you'd left for you mission, clothes thrown over the place, books propped open on the pages you'd left them on. Everything was the same but could never be again.

It took you longer than you'd care to admit to get to your windows and throw the curtains close. Candles light at your request, the house looking after you as it had since you were a child.

You caught sight of yourself in the full length mirror. It seemed smaller, everything in the room felt too large and you too small, as if you were being swallowed by the expanse of it.

Your frame was small in the mirror, your hair disarrayed. Your eyes were red and shutting of their own accord from the tears that had drained you. The starving in the cells had made you look weak, made you feel weak.

And your back. There was no more looming black figures there, no more fluttering. There was just nothing. In spite of the ache as you lifted your arm, you felt around your back, feeling the hitch there, the lump from where they'd been torn from you.

You cry. You sob. You scream.

The scars were long and the nightdress was sticking to you by the blood you'd shed. All you could do, was hold yourself up as your body wracked with tears.

A breeze came from your windows, shadows tugging at the curtains.

You felt him before you saw him. You wanted to tell him to leave you but you couldn't talk without chocking. Without feeling like you couldn't breath.

Azriel had you in your arms before your knees could hit the ground. He fell with you, softening your body on the floor. His arms held you into his chest, his legs caging you into his body. His head rested on yours as he held you. He didn't try to talk, he didn't try to help. It was just him, you and his shadows.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Azriel remembered dozing off with you, his head on yours. His arms holding you into him, as if it was up to him to keep the sadness away and take it for you.

Afterall, you were his best friend. He should have been there for you, and he'd failed terribly by letting you get hurt and your wings stolen from you. He could hate himself every day for it, for letting you down. But it would never amount to what you felt for yourself and that killed him.

He could see it in the way you cried, in the way you were already keeping everyone out. He'd rather die than let you go through all the pain alone.

When his hands had been scarred by his brothers, you'd help heal him, tell him about everything he still was and all the power he still held in his hands. In the worst days, when he didn't let anyone touch him, he let you.

It was always you.

Azriel wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, or how deep. He was sure he was still with you, still in your bed.

His shadows crept up on him, engulfing him slowly and whispering to him. Your name, just your name on repeat. It was enough to lull him back into sleep, to keep him calm.

Gone. Missing. y'n. Roof.

He shot up and ran fastest than he ever had in his life. It was as if he'd never been asleep but had been fighting a battle with the way he raced over.

He burst through the doors, the cold hight air hitting him.

You stood facing the stars, your bloody back to him. It wasn't as much blood as when he'd found you, but it was still enough to put a lump in his throat.

Immediately his shadows fell to you, cascading down your body and wrapping around your waist. There was a breeze in the air, pushing your hair back and exposing more signs of the pain and torture you must have gone through.

'I'm not gonna jump, if that's what you're thinking,' you said. You didn't even have to turn to him. The shadows probably told you enough.

'Why are you up here?' he asked, walking to you slowly and with careful steps. As if every step closer could you push you away from him.

'I'll never feel the win properly again,' you answered.

Azriel gulped down his own pain. You’d never sounded so small. ‘Can you get away from the ledge?’

'I'm not on the ledge.'

'You're too close for my liking.'

'Leave if you don't like it.'

'Don't do this,' he said.

'Do what?' you asked, folding your arms over your chest. You were cold, out in the hight but you wanted to see the stars. Needed to see them.

'Make me leave. Make everyone leave you. I know that's what you're doing. It's what you do every time,' you could feel him dawning closer. His shadows were all around you, almost drowning you.

‘Every time,’ you scoff, stepping down and turning on him. ‘It’s not every day you lose your wings Azriel! But don’t let me stop you from leaving, flap them and go!’ You yelled, unable to stop yourself, no matter how hard you tried. You didn’t want to hurt him, you just wanted to be alone.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

'You jump and I’ll catch you,' he said. He was a step away, he could just reach out and touch, just a gentle caress. 'I swear it, whatever you do, I’ll follow. I’m not letting you get away.’

He watched your back shudder as he reached out, brushing knuckles against your shoulder blade. He heard your sharp inhale follow.

'Don’t think I won’t follow, y/n.'

Finally, you turned around in his shadows. You couldn’t meet his eyes but at least you could face his chest.

His hands were gentle on your shoulder as he rubbed it gently. 'Can I get Madja to clean you up?' He asked.

You nodded as he led you away. You truly did not deserve your mate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Fifty-two years later...

When Amarantha had trapped the high lords of Prythian under the mountain, it hadn't be a conscious choice to follow your half-brother down. How Amarantha had allowed it, you weren't sure, but perhaps she wanted to use you just like her brother, or she thought it would bring more pain for him to see you suffer under there too.

You and Rhysand had barley spoke the last two years.

It had took you almost two months to heal fully enough to leave your room, another few months to face your family again. But even then, everyone knew something had changed in you. You didn't laugh as loud or smile as wide.

Rhysand was careful to ever let you out on a mission. Mor tried to take you out every night. Cassian spent all day every day with you and Azriel- he'd healed you better than any nurse.

Still, you had not told him he was your mate.

Still, you thought he wouldn't want it.

Still, you cared for your brother enough to not want him to go alone.

But being under the mountain, you could avoid your mate. At a painful price.

Until her. Rhys's mate. He hadn't shut up about her since he first met her, much to your dismay as you had to sit around and listen- having absolutely nothing better to do. And it only got worse when she turned up under the mountain. She was declaring her love for Tamlin- again, annoying your brother, and throwing Lucien into danger- which rather angered you. You had nothing against the ginger.

Rhysand had once sent you to find the girl to summon her as part of a bargain he'd made. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to look too forceful. You'd been lucky enough to find the two tangled up in each other against a cold wall, clothes ripped and hips moving together.

'Well, well well,' you'd intterupted.

Tamlin all but growled at you, but feyre was looking over you- evidently confused. She had no idea who you were. You, in your skimpy outfit that Amarantha kept you in (they all dipped low at your back, showing off your scars) and your eyes that were like a night sky.

'Amarantha's looking for her pet and Rhysand is looking for his. Honestly, i'd be a bit more worried if I were you. You know, considering Lucien still has an eye to lose.'

The two parted with your words as you sent Tamlin back to his master, the high lord glaring at you as you went. While Feyre tried to fix herself.

'Rhysand is over there, better not keep him waiting.' That was the first time you met her, having no idea how much trouble she'd be worth. The family that she'd become.

But Rhysand made sure you knew it all. From when the bond snapped in him and he'd stumbled. He ranted and ranted as they climbed out.

If only you were so talkative about Azriel. If only you could talk about him with your brother. But you'd tried not to painfully think about him. Climbing out of the mountain. It was all you could think of.

Maybe he'd have forgotten you? it had been fifty years. He'd probably realised how happy he could be without having to take care of you.

Rhys was allowed out of the mountain, he'd felt the breeze in his hair but you hadn't in fifty long years. You stood there a moment, bathing in the warmth as everyone left, as everyone ran off for their families and courts and the war that was inevitable. Eventually, Rhys offered you his arm. 'Shall we go home?'

He winnowed you there, on the balcony of your home. In a cloud of black smoke, the two of you appeared.

He went first, slipping through the doors slowly- like it could all be taken from them any minute.

You were hesitant, taking a moment to glance at the landscape behind you. It hadn't changed, not at all. The mountains were still there, everyone was still alive. Your home. In the last years it hadn't felt like home, but how could anywhere ever feel so close in your heart.

When you could find your feat again, you managed to slip through the doors. You were suddenly aware of how little clothing you were wearing, just enough to cover your chest and run down your legs. A chill settled down your back, your scars would be on show. What a way to great them all after fifty years.

Mor had her arms around Rhys's shoulders, crying into his shoulder.

Behind them you caught Amren, with something like tears in her eyes. You were just about to tease her before a body barrelled into yours in a blur of red syphons and your feet were lifted from the ground.

'Cassian.'

His arms tightened around you. You shoulder started to dampen with tears, his tears. The last time you'd seen him cry around you was when he'd seen a dog with only three legs. 'I'm keeping you on a leash from now on, stupid idiot.'

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, a smile gracing your lips. 'Is that a promise?'

He held you longer, tighter, not daring to let you go but at least settling you on the ground. He sighed against your head, controlling himself. 'He's missed you, you know,' he said. He was the only one you'd told, about your mate. 'Now that you're back, tell him. He deserves to know.'

Cassian slowly pulled away, holding you at arms length and smiling at you. He kissed your cheeks and then your forehead before parting to Rhysand.

Mor approached you next, slapping you in the arm.

'Ow!'

'Why would you follow him?' she snapped.

You blinked at her before she took you by the arm she'd slapped and embraced you, like a sister would. You dared not looking over her shoulder to find the one who hadn't come to you. Maybe Cass had got it wrong...

Mor pulled away, wiping at her eyes.

Azriel was as beautiful as the day you left him. His hair was the same length, he was the same height. He was just as you left him. It was hard to tell fifty years had passed on him.

And inside of you, tugging in your soul and heart you felt the familiar string of gold throbbing. But you still didn't feel that tug. You'd hoped it would have faded from you after half a year separated. Or at least have snapped for him. But no such relief.

He approached you, slowly. As if he was scared of scaring you away. But you just stood there.

His arms were delicate and soft around you as he brought you into his chest. He still smelled the same, cedar wood and shadows. Shadows that wrapped around you, shielding you from the rest of the room. They caressed you, head to two.

You held onto each other for what could have been another fifty years, but this time, it wasn't so painful.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Although nobody wanted to part after yours and Rhysand's return, you were exhausted. A trip to Rita's could wait another night or two. The only thing you wanted to do was hide in your room.

Strangely, your room looked lived in. As if somebody had moved in since you'd left. A moment of anger replaced grief. Had they brought someone else and given them your room? but then you smelt it, Az.

Lying in bed that night, exhausted, you couldn't find sleep. You closed your eyes and pictured Amarantha. You'd never been afraid of her, you weren't afraid of anything. But you re-played the horrors. Watching servants beat Feyre, watching Amarantha use your brother and on the occasion, even you. How she flaunted. How the most powerful lords were weak.

Under your door, shadows seeped in, rushing across the room to you. You smiled, watching your hand disappear in their darkness.

'Azriel?' you called.

There was shifting on the other side of the door before he slipped in, clicking it shut behind him.

You sat up in bed, shadows moving with you. 'Couldn't sleep?'

He wondered in, looking around your room. 'Sleeping's been... hard.'

You rolled over, opening the blanket and nodding your head. You couldn't think about the bond, not yet. Not while he looked so.... ruined. Beautiful- the most beautiful person in the world, but sad. As he climbed in next to you, you could see the dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped and his wings too.

His eyes scanned over you. You were in a thin and silk night dress that only brushed your knees, but the way he looked at you, mother you could've been naked. 'Fifty years,' his voice sounded barley controlled. 'Fifty years. You followed your brother down for fifty years? Why would you do that?'

You gulp. 'I would've done it for any of you. Except maybe Amren, she'd probably enjoy the peace for fifty years.'

You go to brush your hair back but Azriel seizes your wrist. He was angry. That's why his voice was rough and his chest rising and falling with barley controlled emotions. Could he feel it? your nerves, your lying?

'You left. You should've stayed, y/n, you know Rhysand didn't want you under there with him,' he said. 'For fifty years I haven't been able to sleep through a night thinking about the pain you must have been going through. After I swore to keep you safe, after I promised to catch you every time!'

'You couldn't have stopped me. You didn't promise, Az.'

His grip grew tighter. 'It went without saying.'

You looked around his eyes, seeing the pain and grief there also. Slowly, you brought your other hand up. He flinched as you took his cheek but eventually settled as your thumb ran over his cheekbone. 'I won't leave again, ok? I promise.'

He gulped, letting go of your wrist and looking down. 'I slept here,' he mumbled, but just loud enough to hear you. 'I couldn't sleep in my room. This was the only place I could rest.'

Your heart stuttered. Your hand dropped from his cheek. This man was your mate. Your mate. Your only love, whether or not the cauldron deemed it.

Azriel took your hesitation. 'I-i'm sorry, you probably didn't want to hear that. I've probably ruined your one place of peace-'

'Stay,' you said, before you could think of what you were asking. 'Sleeping wasn't exactly easy under the mountain either. I just trust I won't have to put a wall of cushions between us.' as if you wanted that. As if you haven't thought about his calloused hands all over you.

Azriel smiled and stayed the night.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The third time he almost lost you, broke him...

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[gaza-giving-tree]

Imagine the heartbreak of explaining to your young daughter why her beloved toys are hanging from a ceiling, cruelly arranged in a grotesque mockery of innocence.

@kholoodgaza

@kholoodpals

Story written by @rumiandroses

Now imagine trying to explain to her why the soldiers who are destroying your entire world are not only causing unimaginable devastation but also taking their monstrous cruelty further—ransacking bombed and abandoned homes, mocking their victims by posting vile acts on social media, playing with women’s intimate belongings [LINK], and hanging dolls in the bedrooms of displaced children [LINK].

Can you fathom trying to make sense of such hatred to your 2-year-old daughter?

This is not a scene from a nightmare or a work of fiction—it’s the chilling, heartbreaking reality faced by 29-year-old Khlood Smeer and her family in Gaza.

Stripped of their home and belongings just two weeks before the birth of their son, Khlood, her husband Khaled, and their two-year-old daughter Amira have been forced into a daily battle for survival amidst the horrors of war.

Khlood and Khaled, both professionals—a physiotherapist and a paramedic—are now navigating the unimaginable: raising their newborn son and toddler in a war zone where basic necessities are nearly unattainable. Inflation has made food and medical care almost impossible to afford, leaving them reliant on the kindness of strangers to provide their children with even the bare minimum.

Now, consider this: as they endure these hardships, they are met with psychological torment from acts like the ones described above. These images, shared widely, are not just haunting remnants; they represent a cruel reality, designed to strip survivors of their dignity and hope.

Yet, Khlood and Khaled fight on—for their children, for their survival, and for a future that doesn’t feel like a waking nightmare.

Your contribution, no matter how small, could be the difference between despair and hope for this family. Every dollar helps Khlood secure food, shelter, and safety for her children.

Let’s ensure that Amira grows up, not haunted by memories of the cruelty of soldiers, but inspired by the generosity of the kind-hearted strangers who chose to stand with her family in their darkest hour.

Please consider donating to Kholood's GoFundMe, [HERE].

Kholood's campaign has been vetted by @gazavetters, and is (#337) on the list.

UPDATE: 12/23/24

Please, help this precious family survive. 🙏💔

Their GoFundMe has been stuck at $544 out of $5,000 for several days now.

Imagine the desperation of watching and waiting, hoping for someone to donate so you can buy food and baby supplies for your children. If you can’t donate, please share their story—it could make all the difference.

[snail-day]

Hush Now, Sweet Lamb

Sum: When the spankings won't stop unruly darling lambs, perhaps a lobotomy will.

Yandere! Geto x Reader

WC: 3.9k

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Lobotomy, Body Horror, Non-consensual medical procedure, Gore, Non-con/dub-con, Drool, Vore/Cannibalism (idk he licks the needle), Mental Regression, Death, Unreliable Narrator, ANGST, No happy ending, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. MDNI

a/n: Hugggeee shout out to @pink-cakes-and-treats for hearing me ramble about this for like what seems like months. Thank you for being my buddy and yapping with me about horrific ideas <3

“I love you.” The words managed to scrape from your throat as if broken glass, torn from the depths of you, raw and trembling, drowned beneath sobs that had started as fragile whispers - please don’t do this. Please. But pleading never worked with him. Not anymore. Not now that he believed in something greater than mercy.

I love you.

Three little words, simple on the surface. But words like that, they grow claws in the wrong hands. Those are words that dig deep. They change shape. Once, they meant comfort. Now, they meant surrender.

A slow blink of your eyes, vision awash with salt and candlelight, and tried to look at him clearly.

Geto Suguru.

The man who stood before you cradled your face like a lover - not the monster delivering your demise. Those violet eyes, once soft and bright with life, were now eclipsed by the sermon room’s dim, flickering glow, like stained glass in a cathedral set aflame. Somewhere within those depths, buried beneath devotion and delirium, was a love that hadn’t died. Instead, the love had festered.

You wanted to close your eyes. But even the darkness behind your lids pulsed with memories of him. The boy next door with pink, sun-kissed cheeks and chubby fingers that always curled around yours. The boy who kissed your scraped knees after washing them clumsily with water that was always too cold. Who made a whole ceremony out of applying Doraemon band-aids, pressing the softest kiss on top of the bandage, despite your complaints about cooties.

He used to say, “I’ll protect you.” You had, foolish and small at the time, believed him.

You remembered your mother’s fingers ruffling his inky, silken hair, laughter spilling from her lips like sunshine on a summer's day - He’s so strong, isn’t he? Like a little guardian angel.

But angels don’t whisper in tongues only curses understand.

Angels don’t weave bindings made of curses around the people they claim to love.

Angels don’t press needles into soft, trembling skin and call it mercy.

The curses - grotesque, sinewy things born from nightmares and grief - curdled in the air around you like sour smoke. They slithered closer, tighter, their slick, obsidian tendrils humming with quiet, predatory malice as they coiled around your limbs, your throat, your wrists. They weren’t angry. No. They purred. Like obedient beasts, eager to serve. And their master, well, he wanted you still as a sacrificial lamb. Fitting for his little nickname for you. His little lamb.

Suguru - who had always moved with the effortless grace of a man both adored and feared - looked almost divine in the candlelight. A priest cloaked in ritual and reverence, lit from below like a god born of scripture and shadows. Or perhaps a martyr - beaten holy by his own devotion. His shadow stretched across the altar like a veil of ink, falling over you where you lay: trembling, meek, and bare as birth, reduced to little more than breath and bone.

Not a woman. Not even a body.

Just a vessel. Just a lamb. Who had become soft. Submissive. Shorn of will. A beloved offering, cradled in ritual, smothered in grace. Something holy only to him. You tried to run in your mind as he stepped closer, tried to fold yourself into some memory where he was still safe to love.

You remembered the summer festivals, when fireworks lit the sky and he bought you watermelon-flavored ice you could barely finish. You remembered sitting on his porch, legs kicking in sync, cicadas screaming so loud it almost drowned out the silence between your hearts. You remembered the way he used to almost hold your hand. Always almost. Until he didn’t.

You remembered that day at the train station - he was leaving for that strange religious school. His shoulders had grown broader. His smile softened. “I love you. Stay safe,” you had said, like you knew something was already being lost.

He stared at you through the closing doors, lips parted in surprise. And then his hand rose, maybe to hide a blush. Maybe to keep from reaching out.

You blocked him after that. His messages grew too much. The words were too insistent. Desperate of sorts. You didn’t know why. You only knew your body was warning you, whispering in every nerve: This love will consume you.

And now - here you are. On the altar. Bound and beautiful in his eyes. A sacrament. He still reaches for you with that same tenderness from your childhood; the same hands that once held juice boxes and glow sticks now steadied a needle. The metal glinted as he lifted it gently, reverently. Not like a tool. Like a gift.

Like he was about to free you from something as a chilling smile curled upon his lips. Soft. Adoring in more ways than one. That left an unshakable unease rippling through your skin.

“Don’t cry,” Suguru whispered, brushing a tear from your cheek with the roughened pad of his thumb. “You’ll feel so much better soon. I promise. Then you won’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Your gaze flickered to the ceiling. Candles flickered like stars. The kind you used to wish on together.

It's funny how you used to think monsters lived under the bed. But the real ones? They grow up beside you. They kiss your wounds. They fall in love with you. When they finally snap, they smile as they make you forget everything you ever were.

You didn’t scream, just a shallow gasp. Not because it didn’t hurt, but because screaming no longer belonged to you. Nothing did. Not your voice, not your body, not your memories. Not even your pain.

It all belonged to him now.

The first prick of the needle behind your eye slid in with a sickening certainty - too precise to be mercy, too gentle to be anything but intimate. You felt it bloom inside your skull like a flower made of splinters. It slipped past flesh like it was always meant to find you there. As if your body had been made for this moment. As if your skull had been carved to cradle his madness.

And in that stillness, something warm trickled down your temple.

He wiped it gently with his thumb, kissed the damp skin with trembling lips. “Shhh, my sweet little lamb,” he whispered, low and soft, as if you were a child crying over a scraped knee. “I know. I know it’s frightening. But I promise you - it’s all for your own good.”

His voice trembled not with guilt but with awe. Like he couldn’t believe he was finally holding you like this. Like he was performing communion - your blood, his wine. Your silence, his scripture. You wanted to move. To recoil. To bite. But your limbs were tangled in a lattice of cursed tendrils, slithering just beneath your skin now - stroking you, soothing you, restraining you. They purred when he touched you. They loved you because he did.

You blinked. Or tried to. The world fuzzed, then snapped. The light was far too bright. Or maybe it was inside your head now, blooming behind your eyes like rot disguised as sunrise. He hummed under his breath, some soft, low hymn that no god ever asked for. And you thought or at least did your best:

This is the boy I loved. The one who carried your schoolbag when it rained. Who tucked tissue in his sleeve just in case your nose ran in the cold. The boy who picked you flowers with dirty hands and whispered, One day, I’ll marry you.

You remembered the shape of his laugh. The way his cheeks would puff when he was sulking. How he used to stand too close, hoping you’d notice. You remembered the way his hands used to shake the first time they touched yours.

They weren’t shaking now.

His hands were steady as death as he adjusted the needle, guiding it deeper with the devotion of a priest performing holy rites. You felt it slip - inside.

Your vision shuttered. The pain was distant now. But the wrongness, that had the luxury of staying and growing in the pits of your stomach.

“You were too soft for this world,” Suguru murmured, pressing his cheek to yours. “Too delicate. That’s why I had to take you. The world would’ve broken you. Used you up. But I kept you safe. I preserved you.” He smelled like incense and iron. Like sweat and sanctity. You could feel his smile against your skin, stretched wide, trembling with overwhelming joy.

“And now… now you’ll finally be perfect. Pure. Still. A lamb in the arms of her shepherd.” Your lips parted, but no words came. Your tongue felt thick. Like it didn’t remember language. Something fizzled - snapped. You twitched again. He caught your jaw in his hand and steadied you, looking into your eyes like he was watching the stars flicker out one by one.

“I used to wonder,” he said softly, “why you kept trying to run. Even after I gave you the twins. Even after I gave you a purpose. A family.”

He tilted your head back. A trickle of blood slipped down your nose. He didn’t wipe it away this time. He watched it.

“You were just scared, weren’t you?” he whispered, nearly too soft compared to the ringing of bells in your ears. “Still clinging to the old world. But that world is gone, my love. I burned it down - for you.”

You remembered the smell of it. The fire. The smoke. The wet, coppery heat of your mother’s blood soaking into the hem of your pajamas.

You remembered him cradling your body as your knees buckled, stroking your back as you retched. Whispering into your ear like a lullaby, “Don’t cry, little lamb. They were wicked. They would’ve turned you against me.”

And then he had carried you through the carnage like a bride.

He took you into the cult’s sanctum and gave you a bed, a brush for your hair, and two scared children who clung to you like reeds in a storm. Girls whose names you didn’t even know until they started calling you mama.

He carved a home from your prison - a gilded cage lined with velvet and rot. Kissed you goodnight like a good husband would.

He called you blessed. In front of his followers, he praised your existence like a miracle, declaring it a divine mercy that a non-sorcerer like you still drew breath within his arms.

As if your survival was a gift. As if your captivity was sacred.

Every time you fled, every time you clawed your way toward freedom, gasping for air outside the pretty cage he built - he found you. Forgave you after he had the luxury of breaking you.

With the kind of love that tasted like blood in your mouth. The kind that turned screams into moans as he dragged you to the dirt, pinning you down on cold, splintered floors in whatever half-lit corner you thought might hide you.

With chains that bit deep into your wrists as he forced your legs apart, lapping at you like a beast in heat - obsessive, starving, single-minded - until your cries melted into gutted whimpers, soaked in shame and submission.

With arms that clamped around you as he rutted into your limp, trembling body, whispering filth like worship against your throat. He liked to hold you close while he took you. Said that’s what good husbands do. Said it made him feel close to your soul.

“I could’ve punished you,” he whispered now, nose brushing yours, dragging you from your thoughts. “I could’ve let them tear you apart. But I didn’t. I saved you. And now, I’m saving you again.”

The needle pushed deeper. A strange warmth bloomed through your skull - thick, slow, unnatural. Then cold. Then silence.

Something vital inside you didn't have the grace of death, instead, the fight in you burned out. It gave up as you tried to gasp outwards. Your chest rose, then failed. Your throat strained, but no sound came, just a trembling echo of what used to be a voice.

The motion hitched halfway through your lungs and collapsed in on itself like wet fabric. Your throat made a sound, but it didn’t belong to you. Not anymore. It dragged out garbled and raw, something caught between a sob and a death rattle. Like your body had already started mourning itself.

“There now,” Suguru sighed, almost dreamily. He sounded like a man slipping into silk sheets, not someone pressing steel into brain tissue. “It’s working.” You felt his breath against your cheek, humid and reverent, as though your suffering was a sacred thing to be exhaled over. His fingers moved through your hair with that same obscene gentleness he used on the twins when they cried. Like he believed he was comforting you. Like this wasn’t desecration.

“You won’t need memories where we’re going,” he whispered, fingers sticky with whatever he’d pulled out of you. “You won’t need thoughts. Or fear. Or doubt.”

You blinked, at least, you think you did. Your eyes were open. Or partly. But the light fractured, soft, too gold, too much. The world stuttered and blurred around him like a fever dream unraveling into a nightmare.

His voice curved into a smile. “You’ll only need me.”

You weren’t sure when it happened. When your eyes dulled. When your breath fell into someone else's rhythm. When the needle slid out, smooth and glistening, red and glinting like something freshly birthed.

You didn’t feel it. But you heard it. A soft, wet pop - like something precious giving way inside your skull. A balloon rupturing in thick fluid. He hushed you as your body spasmed, more out of instinct than resistance.

“Don’t move, little lamb,” he murmured. “Don’t scramble what’s left.”

You couldn’t have moved if you tried. Your limbs had forgotten themselves. Your muscles were pudding beneath your skin, twitching without coordination. Your mouth hung open uselessly.

That was when the drool began. Thick, ropy strings of it, tinged pink and metallic, sliding down your chin in slow, shameful drips. It clung to your lips like it didn’t want to leave. Slid over your teeth. Fell in beads to your collarbone.

You tasted it as the saliva filled your mouth - thick and warm, crawling slow over your tongue like something alive. Copper. Meat. Rot. And something else. Something wrong. Something slick and electric, like licking the edge of a live wire soaked in acid. Your mouth tasted like what you used to be. Like memory liquefied. Like identity spoiled into nectar.

And Suguru… watched. Watched like he was witnessing a miracle unravel. Like your unraveling was the miracle. His gaze devoured you, eyes wide, glassy, rapt. Worshipping the mess of you. The way your lips hung open. How your drool pooled like syrup along your chin. The way your body, even now, still gave. His fingers trailed adoringly along your jaw, collecting the viscous spill of drool-blood-spit that clung there like a sacrament. He brought it to his mouth.

There was no hesitation as he licked the obscene liquid from his knuckles slowly - slowly - as though savoring something rare and precious. Letting the fluid coat his tongue. Letting your essence melt into the heat of his mouth like the candy he used to feed you.

He swirled it across the roof of his mouth like wine, eyes fluttering closed, lashes trembling. Releasing a soft, breathless sound close to ecstasy from his lips as his gaze flicked to the needle. The needle was still warm and glistening, still wet with the remnants of your mind. With a reverence that bordered on religious delirium, he leaned in and dragged his tongue along its length, slow, unhurried, adoring.

Suguru licked it clean the way one might lick honey from a spoon. Red. Silver. Viscera-smudged. He moaned, quiet, breathless. A sound that would be beautiful, if he wasn't such an insane bastard. Oh, how he moaned, like the taste of you, your thoughts and ruin, was from one of his holy sermons. As if your suffering was something sweet.

He lifted the object of demise like it was precious. Sacred. Like it belonged in a reliquary, not his hand. But Suguru never did worship like the others did. No, he needed to taste divinity. To consume it. To consume the fight you're leaving behind.

So he brought it to his lips.

Opened his mouth.

And lowered his head.

His throat welcomed the steel like it was communion. The glinting metal disappeared inch by inch, his lips stretching, jaw relaxing as he swallowed it down. Past tongue. Past teeth. Down, down, until the hilt kissed his lips, and his throat bobbed around it. Pretty, violet eyes that rolled back, lashes fluttering, a soft groan slipping from deep in his chest.

It wasn’t pain.

It was rapture.

He held it there for a moment - the instrument of your undoing lodged in his throat like a holy relic, his breath trembling around it. Then he pulled it back out - slow, glistening, wet. No longer coated with your blood, but his saliva.

Suguru looked back at you with something like ecstasy, and everything inside you screamed to recoil. But your body didn’t move. Couldn’t. You could only watch him watching you. His teeth, once pearly white, were now stained a soft pink as he spoke.

“I’ll always love that little fight in you,” he said, crouching beside your slack, drooling face. His thumb dragged your lip down slightly, just to watch it bounce back up uselessly. He smiled. “But in my new world…”

His voice lowered, thick with affection.

“…pets like you don’t need to fight.”

He cupped your face between his palms, cradling it like a fragile fruit, kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips - smeared in drool and blood, the flavor of your mind still on his tongue.

And then he kissed you deeper.

Your jaw didn’t move. Your lips didn’t purse. It didn’t matter. He kissed you like you were kissing him back.  Like your silence was consent. When he pulled away, strings of spit - your spit - clung between your mouths like a web. He licked them away. Didn’t waste a drop of the sweetest nectar known to man. 

-----

The air was warm today.

Cherry blossoms fluttered like slow snowfall across the temple courtyard, sticking to your hair, your lashes, the white fabric of your dress. The wind teased them loose from the trees, scattering them like blessings. You didn’t move when they landed on you. Didn’t blink when one brushed across your cheek and stayed there.

You just sat on the stone steps, knees tucked to your chest, head tilted toward the sun. A trickle of drool slid from the corner of your mouth, glistening in the light like nectar.

And you were smiling.

Suguru stood just behind you for a while, watching. Breathing. Listening to the soft rustle of petals and the small, wet click of your throat when you swallowed.

You looked so content. So quiet.

So loved.

He approached slowly, letting his sandals scuff against the stone so you’d hear him. Not that it mattered. You no longer startled when he moved. You no longer stiffened under his gaze.

When he knelt beside you, your head turned - just slightly, slow as honey dripping from a spoon. Your eyes fluttered toward him, soft and unfocused.

And then you smiled again.

That was the worst part. The best part. The part that made something in his chest crumple and swell at once.

You smiled like you loved him.

“Hello, my sweet little lamb,” he murmured, brushing a blossom from your hair. You didn’t react, but you leaned ever so slightly into his palm as it cradled your cheek. The skin beneath his hand was warm. Damp with sweat. Or maybe just the sun.

Your lips parted. “Sun…” you said, voice slow and syrup-thick, your tongue barely moving. “...pretty.”

It nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Yes,” Suguru whispered. “So very pretty. Almost as much as you.”

He sat beside you and wrapped his arm around your waist. You didn’t lean in. You just… folded. Like your body recognized the weight and allowed it, welcomed it out of some primal muscle memory. Like an animal curling into its pen. He pressed a kiss to your temple. The scar was healing. Still red. Still swollen. Still a reminder.

Of what he’d done. What he’d chosen.

Sometimes, he dreamed of the needle. Of how your body twitched when it pierced the soft tissue behind your eye. Of how the drool began, slow at first, then steady. Of how your voice choked itself trying to say his name one last time.

And sometimes, in the rare moments when guilt crept in - when he remembered the way you screamed and kicked and begged him not to - he would look at you now.

Look at this.

The sun glowing on your skin. The way you tilted your face toward the warmth. The way your hand twitched faintly, as if reaching for him. The way you smiled when he touched you.

And the guilt would go quiet.

How could it be wrong, when you were so peaceful now? When you smiled at him like he was everything?

He whispered into your hair, “You’re happy, aren’t you?”

You blinked slowly. Your head lolled toward him. Another strand of drool slipped down your chin, caught on your collarbone. A blossom landed there. You didn’t notice.

“Pretty…” you murmured again, eyes glassy. “Suguru…”

His heart hammered once, twice. Pounding against his chest. The sound of his name - spoken like a lullaby. Like a sacred word. Not with fear. Not with rage. Just soft devotion. He swallowed thickly. His hands trembled as he pulled you closer. Pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much it aches. I’d do it all again, you know that?”

You stared past him.

“I had to,” he said, his voice cracking, guilt peeking through like weeds beneath stone. “You would’ve left me. You did. Again and again. I couldn’t let you. You understand that now, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. But your hand - slow, clumsy - found the edge of his sleeve. Your fingers curled around the fabric and stayed there.

His breath hitched. That touch, that tiny act of agency, undid him. It didn’t matter that you no longer understood who you were, who he was. That you barely spoke, barely moved without prompting.

What mattered was this: you reached for him.

“You love me now,” he whispered, and it sounded like confession. “Even if you don’t know it. Even if you can’t say it. I made it true.”

A breeze passed. More petals fell. Your dress fluttered gently against his leg, and your head dropped against his shoulder.

Suguru held you tighter. As the twins ran around the garden barefoot and full of giggles, collecting flowers for their mama's flower crown. A mama that will no longer run away. You smiled as you watched, and Suguru believed - truly, deeply - that you were happy with this makeshift family.

"I love you," He whispered, pressing another lingering kiss to your temple. Three little words that made his heart swell for his little lamb.

[finalproblem]

Sherlockian Wednesday Watchalongs: Spoopy Holmes III

Nightmare: The Birth of Horror—The Hound of the Baskervilles (1997 TV episode)

It’s a BBC documentary! Edumacational spoops! 😱

We’ll watch and chat live at 8:30 pm US Eastern time (click for your local date/time).

Anyone is welcome to join us, even if you've randomly discovered this post. See you in The Giant Chat of Sumatra’s #giantchat Discord channel!

[playstation-dreamcast]

Hi, I'm like drowning in Resident Evil brainrot, so like:

Have Some Random Headcanons About Resident Evil Men~

I can't explain most of these, we're just going purely based on vibes. We're serving Albert Wesker, Chris Redfield, Leon Kennedy, and Carlos Oliviera. Kinda X Reader? Idk bro

ALBERT WESKER:

Starting off Strong and controversial with this one. I think Wesker has a major sweet tooth. I think he likes creamer with a dash of coffee, and keeps hard candy in his desk. My man was deprived of sweets as a kid, now that he can have em he's kinda obsessed

I also think he gets frequent headaches. He tends to just "push through" them until they evolve into full on migraines, and even then he keeps going until he physically can't

I think he likes to pebble. He leaves small gifts at your desk and when you ask him about it he acts completely oblivious. But, ya both know

I think he's a major David Bowie fan. I think The Man Who Sold The World is his all time favorite song, and I also think the irony about that is lost on him

I think he's PDA adverse and incredibly touchstarved. This weird dichotomy has led to him being honestly really cold in public, and a straight up velcro boyfriend in private

I think secretly, deep deep down, he wants a family. He wants to build thr family he never had and get a taste of the domesticity he has been locked out of since birth.

That being said, he's never gonna do that shit. He's a busy man, with ambitions far greater than the suburbs. There's no room for white picket fences in his future. But, they'll always have a spot in his daydreams

His love language is words of affirmation. Both giving and receiving

He sleeps light as hell. A spider skittering just a little too fast could wake him up. Not just wake him up, but jolt him fully awake and in fight mode. He's a man with far too many enemies to get a deep sleep

He has himself convinced that he only keeps you around for "creature comforts" if you catch my drift. And he makes that clear, he's not trying to lead anyone on. That being said, literally every single one of his worst nightmares are about losing you. And he keeps you close as often as he can. And you're the only person other than him thats spent the night in his bed! But, ya know, it's casual

He's never been casual about anything in his entire god damn life

I think that he's panromantic, but more on the gray ace/demisexual side of things when it comes to all of that. Sex is far far to vulnerable for him to do with just anyone, he's gotta trust you to get naked in front of you babes

CHRIS REDFIELD:

Okay so I feel like when we talk about Chris, we tend to forget the les paul that he had just chillin' at work

That being said, I think Chris was in a band when he was in highschool. And they were not NEARLY as good as they thought they were. Three Arm Sally didn't go anywhere for good reason

I also think he was a running back in highschool, but that's not what we're talking about right now

I think Chris would make you mix tapes to show he cares. And once mix tapes died, he started making you playlist. He's not the most in touch with his emotions, this is part of how he understands them

I think while he used to genuinely be a really good guitar player- he's since fallen out of practice. He's not as good as he once was, but he'll still strum a little to try and calm himself down on particularly rough nights. 60% of the time it works 100% of the time

He has genuinely the worst caffeine addiction you've ever seen. It's damn near tragic dude. We're at the point where it might be better for his health for him to just pick up a coke habit. He's on his 4th monster and it's 9 am

That being said, he and his bed are currently not on speaking terms. Sleep? He doesn't know that bitch. This is how he avoids The Horrors™️

Chris is more of a cat guy than a dog guy and I'm tired of pretending like he's not. He appreciates how independent cats can be

I think Chris started smoking when he turned 16, but stopped around 2004 when he started hitting the gym seriously. He needed the lung capacity. That being said- he lit up a cigarette the moment the credits rolled after RE5. He picked that habit right back up

He will never ever say this out loud, but he loves to be held and to cuddle. Intimacy/emotional vulnerability (or, at least the safety to be emotionally vulnerable) is incredibly important to him with a long term partner. He's got a lot of soft parts still healing, he's gotta know you're going to take care of him if he takes off the armor protecting them

It's also incredibly important to him that any SO he has gets along with Claire. You don't have to be best friends or anything, but she's his only family- so she has to approve. Thankfully, Claire thinks you're a delight

Dispite what the memes may tell you, Chris has NO DESIRE to continue the Redfield bloodline. He can't bring himself to bring a child into a world so dark and unforgiving. And like, beyond that he's like- 67% sure that whatever gunk is going on in his head isn't just from trauma, and he's not risking passing that on to his offspring

LEON S KENNEDY:

He's a recovering Emo Kid before emo kids were even a thing. MCR is one of his favorite bands. He sings the line "Fuck Like A Kennedy!" With his entire chest when he's singing Na Na Na

Movie buff! His favorite movie is Fight Club, purely for the critique of how society conditions men to believe violence is the only way to show masculinity, and for the gay allegory. It is NOT because he wants to be Tyler Durden. Please, you have to understand, he knows the optics of liking this movie, but he's not like that he swears, PLEASE-

I think he's bisexual. Now, we all basically agree on that. But I also think he's incredibly suave and charismatic completely on accident. It all falls apart when he actually tries to flirt. Doesn't matter the gender, he's going to fumble the bag 70 percent of the time, and the other 30 are people who are there inspite of how awkward he is

He needs something to do with his hands, especially in important meetings. He's a chronic doodler as a result. You remember those girls in middle school who drew hyper realistic eyes instead of taking notes in their notebooks? He was one of them

My man is so, so jumpy. And by jumpy, I mean punchy. Make yourself known before you get too close. You have been warned

He struggles with communicating and emotions like the others, yes. But after the events of Vendetta he realized he was at rock bottom, and finally took Hunnigans advice and got some therapy. So, he's much more open and willing to talk about his feelings to try and figure them out. He ain't the best at it but by God he's trying

He's a bottle blonde. Argue with the wall about it, I know im right. You can reliably track his mental health by the state of his roots

I think he kept in contact with Ashley after the events of RE4. I think she slowly got over her crush on him, realizing that was probably more the suspension bridge effect than genuine attraction. And as such, they developed a sibling like bond that's very important to him

Leon is the most oblivious dude at the function. People have flirted with him just for him to completely miss it until hours later more times than he can count. Once at the club, a woman casually dropped to him that she was a sub. He asked her what subject she taught.

As such, he doesn't have much experience with long term relationships. At least not healthy ones. He's awkward, and he has more than a few red flags, but again- refer to point 6, he's in therapy babes. He's working on it- bear with him

Carlos Oliveira:

He likes to act like he's a "big scary manly man" but dude is a total softie. He's a walking teddy bear dude

He's the type of guy to randomly buy you flowers because they "reminded him of you." He's a romantic by nature

Now, he Can be charming and smooth. It's his natural state actually. He Chooses to be cheesy and lame. It's a way of life for him. He's doing this for pure love of the game

It's incredibly important to him that you can protect yourself. It's why he bought you this gun. And you can bet your ass he's going to show you how to use it

I know a gamer boy when I see one. We can smell our own. I think it's his favorite hobby. His favorite thing when he comes home is to sit you on his lap and have you guys play games together. Couch co-op, his beloved

I think he was raised Catholic. Again, we can smell our own. That being said, he definitely doesn't consider himself to be of the faith anymore. Though, he does still catch himself crossing himself from time to time

His guilty pleasure is Anime. That's right, you heard me, Carlos Oliveira is a huge fukin nerd! His toxic trait is being a "Goku bodies every fight" truther. God help him

He's had big dogs all his life, his home just doesn't feel like his home without one. Don't worry though reader, he's also incredibly talented when it comes to training them. They're not going to maul you unless he tells them too

The man absolutely "hates" reality TV. Hates it sooo much. He's just standing in the living room for no reason. No, it's not to watch the TV! Can a man not stand in his own livingroom?!...But uhh, anyways, so what's going on with Clara and her man?

His love language is of course quality time. He just wants to be near you. It doesn't matter if your quietly reading a book while he plays a game, as long as you're in the room with him, he’s happy

Well, uhhh anyways. All that being said, if you liked these, requests are open!!

[akajustmerry]

It's crazy how what Helena Eagan did with innie!mark is some elaborate form of sexual assault. Innies are basically like children with no real knowledge or understanding of intimacy or interpersonal relationships the way their outies have. so, even if they can consent to intimacy between one another as innies, the power imbalance between an outie and an innie is too pronounced for consent to be meaningful. Yes innies have adult brains that may understand sex as a learned skill in the same way that innies can drive, read, etc. But they can't possibly understand it as an outie does. Helena Eagan quite literally exploited innie!mark's lack of contextual knowledge about intimacy to have sex with him. She used her special special Eagan privileges to impersonate someone so she could have sex with a guy who works for her without him realising who she was or what that interaction really means. Ultimately, she's the one with all the power in that interaction which is why the "theories" that Helena is pregnant from having sex with Mark don't hold water to me because when it comes to sexually exploitative relationships between upper management and workers, it's the workers who bear the consequences almost every time. Just google how many kids Elon Musk has with women who used to work for him. Do you honestly think, knowing that severance has already resulted in non-consensual pregnancy, that someone like Helena Eagan would undergo severance without precautions like birth control? The last thing someone like her would want is pregnancy to an innie. That's a PR nightmare for Lumon that would hardly endear her to her father. The prevalence of the Helena is pregnant theory really shows how much people view markhelena as some sort of twisted romance rather than a horror of workplace exploitation. which is crazy because this is the Horror Of Workplace Exploitation Show

[mylovesstuffs]

m — Mature Content!; also please always check content warnings before proceeding

💖 — personal fav

OT13 reaction to your, “Lets breakup” text prank m

OT13 and their Adaptive (healthy) coping mechanism

OT13 and their Maladaptive (unhealthy) coping mechanism

OT13 reaction to, "When we break up,_______," text prank m 💖

OT13 reaction to their s/o being scared of wisdom tooth removal

OT13 reaction to their s/o falling asleep on their shoulder

OT13 reaction to someone flirting with their s/o at an award show

OT13 reactions to getting drunken, flirty texts from their s/o m

OT13 when their s/o bakes them a cake that turns out as a disaster 💖

OT13 and their s/o—angry sex m

OT13 reaction to coming home feeling horny, only to find their s/o asleep m

How OT13 would handle free-use with their s/o m

OT13 with a low-maintenance s/o

OT13 aftercare after angry sex

OT13 reaction to their s/o who loves smiles but feels insecure about showing their teeth 💖

OT13 reaction to their s/o cutely asking for kiss

OT13 reaction to their s/o using their safe word

OT13 reaction to their s/o hiding their sickness 💖

OT13 types of sex they might be into

OT13 reacting to their s/o falling asleep with assignments scattered on their desk

OT13 reacting to their s/o giving birth 💖

Ot13 and what scares them about love 💖

OT13 approaching intimacy with their pregnant s/o

OT13 reaction to catching you masturbating m

OT13 almost out their relationship because they're just that whipped 💖

OT13 reaction to their s/o suggesting going raw for the first time m

OT13—terms of endearment for their s/o

OT13 reaction to their s/o yelling at the kids out of frustration

OT13 reaction to the idea of a threesome with another member

What OT13 wear when sleeping

OT13 reaction to their s/o stuttering while explaining something

OT13 reaction to their streamer s/o who is always playing horror games

OT13 reaction to their s/o struggling with skin picking

OT13 reaction to their s/o watching true crime before bed

OT13 reaction to having a blue-collar s/o

OT13 reacting to their s/o wearing their hoodie/clothes

OT13 reacting to their pregnant s/o asking them to shave your, "down there"

OT13 reacting to their s/o getting fired & doubting herself

Habits OT13 picked up from being with their s/o

OT13 when your dress won’t come off quickly

How OT13 feel about their s/o being a surgeon

OT13 reacting to their s/o having a period mishap

OT13 reacting to their s/o stealing kisses randomly

OT13 reacting to their s/o being midsize/chubby

OT13 with a short s/o

OT13 finding out their s/o is pregnant

OT13 reacting to their s/o being very artistic

OT13 reacting to their s/o financially struggling behind them

OT13 when their s/o having a nightmare

OT13 when their s/o have a panic attack

OT13 reacting to their s/o having curly hair

OT13 comforting their s/o after a family fight/argument 💖

OT13 reacting to their s/o using drinking as a coping mechanism

OT13 reacting to their s/o calling them saying they feel sick after a fight + if/how the fight gets resolved:

OT13 reaction to their sleepy, clingy best friend who they lowkey have a crush on

OT13 reacting to their s/o smoking again after stopping & hiding it from them

OT13 reassuring you after a disappointing test result

OT13 reacting to their s/o telling them they’re feeling lonely and lost

OT13 reacting to their s/o flashing them mid-argument to shut them up m 💖

OT13 reaction to you being sore the morning after they went hard 💖

OT13 reacting if their s/o who's struggling with eating properly and worrying about their weight 💖

OT13 reaction to their s/o getting easily overstimulated by loud noises

OT13 reacting to having a younger s/o 💖

OT13 reaction to their s/o spreading their arms out for them

OT13 reacting to their idol s/o’s Calvin Klein photoshoot 💖

OT13 reaction to a masc-presenting s/o who's soft and feminine deep down

OT13 with high maintenance s/o

OT13 reacting to their s/o wrongly accusing them 💖

OT13 reacting to their s/o watching disney movies

OT13 when you have actual daddy issues

OT13 reaction to their s/o hyperthyroidism

when you’re into photography

when your colleague is passive aggressive

[t-a-a-1]

CW: pregnancy and complications talks about below.

I can’t help but think Optimus wouldn’t fully understand the true horrors/pain that human pregnancy entails.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s not an idiot. He’d do his research. He’d prepare to the best of his ability. But there’s a massive difference between learning and experiencing. He knows this and thinks he’s mentally prepared for everything.

But complications during labor? (Which, if your a human pregnant with a cybertronian….). Idk how he’d handle it.

I’d imagine that Optimus would try to remain calm. Collected. But easily break apart. This poor Prime is one loss from a total break down.

Anything could go wrong. Emergency C-sections? Total nightmare for him. The idea of you needing to be cut open terrifies him more than he’s willing to admit.

Too weak to continue with labor? He’ll panic. Honestly I actually see him blaming HIMSELF for the ordeal you go through. I mean HE put that sparkling inside of you. Yet YOU have to suffer. He’d want to take away the pain. The sickness. The weakness.

He won’t even entertain the idea of losing you or your sparkling. I feel like the very idea of it happening would break something inside his processor.

Idk, I love your writing with pregnant reader and Optimus. I especially love the “code” aspect of Optimus acting out. That poor confused boy.

You are so smart for this dear Anon! 

I think you are totally right, Optimus would totally freak out especially since he still can’t fully capture the whole pregnancy concept nor how humans’ bodies are capable of creating life. He has a sort of fascination towards the idea and also fear since he can’t understand it. 

I think when it comes to this, Pregnant Reader! Would be the one to explain to him the process (Although Reader is also very scared, being the first human to give birth to a human-alien hybrid) but you reassured him that the best doctors and nurses would be there to tend to you if anything happens.

Then you start explaining to him the possibilities. 

Optimus: What if you are in pain? 

Reader: Well, they will pierce my skin with a needle and inject me with some liquid to try and relieve the pain. 

Optimus: faints 

And if you tell him about a possible C-section? He would start having a panic attack. And when the doctors tell Optimus (to just in case, Primus forbid)  to start preparing for the worst possible outcome? His processor can’t even fully understand that. What is worse than being cut open? Then you tell him that childbirth can be fatal in certain cases. 

His processor’s codes would absolutely go insane. 

“Sparkmate In Danger. Ensure Safety. In Case Of Loss, Activate Spark-Exchange Codes.” 

I would like to think that Cybertronians only have one ‘mate’ their whole lives. But in case of death, they are able to give their own spark to their Sparkmate, ensuring a second chance in life. 

But poor Optimus, you are not Cybertronian so he can’t give you his Spark and that mentally destroys him. The possibility that you can die (because HE made you pregnant) and that he can’t even give his life to you makes him feel like he has failed you as a partner. Like in his eyes, he can’t even do the bare minimum and feels unworthy. 

He will try to keep quiet about how he feels so as to not make you worry but then the day comes and he breaks down, he can’t do it. He can’t fathom you in pain or the mere thought of losing you. His servos tremble. 

But you can tell right away that something is off. And when you ask him ‘What’s wrong?’ he starts breaking down and tells you how he feels. And of course, you comfort him immediately, being the only one who Optimus can let his guard down. Not feeling the need to hide his feelings, worries, nor tears any longer. 

[abz-j-harding]

My variant cover for Boom!Studio's BE NOT AFRIAD by Writer Jude Ellison S. Doyle and Illustrated by Artist Lisandro Estherren

"Cora Reims lived the isolated life of a simple farm girl until one fateful summer day, prophetic visions brought her a visitor made of pure light... an angel. In the aftermath, Cora gave birth to a child, a Nephilim: the offspring of an angel and a human woman, seemingly imbued with evil itself.

17 years later, that child's cherubic appearance can no longer hide his monstrous nature. Frogs boil in their skins as he passes. Crops rot. The townspeople live in fear, knowing that atrocities follow closely behind him.

Now, on the eve of his 18th birthday, Cora receives a new vision... Heaven itself has called upon her to destroy the abomination born of her own flesh and blood.

Be Not Afraid is a breathtaking new series from visionary writer Jude Ellison S. Doyle (Maw, Hello Darkness) and acclaimed artist Lisandro Estherren (Nightmare Country, Redneck).

Equal parts feminist rage and folk horror, this descent into Hell itself is fueled by the mythological underpinnings of American Evangelical tradition, presenting brutal cosmic horror through the lens of Southern Gothic; a truly otherworldly journey that can not be missed."

[hee0soo]

Sleepless Nights

Pairing — Husband!Kim Hongjoong x afabWife!Reader

Summary — You gladly sacrifice anything for your kids and with a Husband like Hongjoong you couldn't feel happier if you tried....

Genre — fluff

AU/Trope Info — Idol!Au, SliceofLifeAu

Wordcount — 0.7k

Warnings — none

Rating — sfw

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©hee0soo on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!

Before you had your children you had been a heavy sleeper. You were sure that a bomb could have exploded right next to you and you wouldn’t have woken up.

It had helped when Hongjoong was still actively promoting, sneaking in and out of your bedroom at the most atrocious of times without you so much as stirring buried underneath your blankets.

Now though, with a 3 and 1 year old in the house, even the spider spinning her web in the corner of the room could probably wake you!

And so it was no surprised that even the slightest noise leaving your sons mouth in the middle of the night had you sitting upright and ready to get up if your husbands hand on your hand hadn’t stopped you before you could.

“Go back to sleep, I’ll check on him.” Hongjoongs rough from sleep voice cut through the darkness. You felt the mattress shift when he got up and rested back against your pillows, not quite ready to go back to sleep before you weren’t sure that Ha-joon was safely back in slumberland.

Tethering on the border to fall asleep while waiting, you thought about those past few years. From the moment you proposed to Hongjoong, because doing it the normal way was boring, to Hongjoong holding your hand while waiting for the pregnancy test result and promising you th whatever would happen, you would do it together and the birth of your babies.

Joon-hee’s bright personality that Hongjoong had joked was more like her uncle Woo’s then his own and Ha-joon who was showing signs of starting to walk already while babbling happily to everyone who would hear it and entertain him. The fact that Hongjoong had immediately put his career on hold all those years ago to be with his family, making him able to experience every up and down with you caused your heart to soar.

“Is he okay?” you mumbled when you heard the door open again.

“Just lost his paci for the moment. However, I also found this little lady wandering the halls.”

You opened an eye and saw the shadow of your husband with a clingy Joon-hee attached to his front.

The little girl reached her small arms out to you, crawling into your open arms upon being sat down on the mattress before Hongjoong crawled back in bed.

“Mama…” The girl whined and hid her face in your sleepshirt.

“What’s wrong baby? Why aren’t you sleeping for mama?” you hummed into the soft curls on her head.

Hongjoong, a gentle smile on his face that you couldn’t see in the dark of the night, listened attentively.

“Bad dreamies! The sockie mons’er came and wanna eat my feetsies!”

Ah yes, the unfailable fantasy of your oldest baby that even came to hunt her dreams. Joon-hee was a dreamer, always in her head, living out the wildest storys when not whirling around like a fire cracker and it was no surprise by now that sometimes nightmares were full of that too.

“Oh, we can’t have that, don’t we ladybug? Gonna save the feetsies from the evil sock monster with mama and appa!” Hongjoong gasped out and tickled her sides to make her laugh and forget the horror of her dream. The girl reacted instantly, giggling at her fathers antics before settling down between you both.

“Mama ‘n appa protec’ me?” she asked with a sleepy pout and received 2 kisses from you and him to each chubby cheek.

“Always, ladybug.” Hongjoong promised her.

“N’ Ha-Joonie?”

“And Ha-Joonie too!”

Joon-hee nodded, eyes growing heavier by the second.

“Wan’ protec’ Ha-joonie too…”

You knew immediately that she was out like a light when she trailed off smuggled against you with soft puffs of air hitting the skin on Hongjoong’s neck after she turned to her father.

Silence settled over the room. You felt his fingers reach over your daughter to trail them down your face.

“Thank you,” He whispered into the dark which only caused a stir and sigh from you, already back asleep like Joon-hee. “for making me the happiest I’ve ever been…”

[talafamily]

My name is Doaa, and I carry the weight of a family trapped in the crucible of war in Gaza. With me are my husband, Wissam, and our three beloved children: 9-year-old Tala, 7-year-old Sajid, and our youngest, 18-month-old Sanad. Our tale is one of endurance, displacement, and the relentless pursuit of safety amidst the chaos of conflict.

The Prelude to War:

Before the storm of October 7th, our lives in Gaza were a tenuous balance between hope and despair. But with the outbreak of war, our world crumbled beneath the onslaught of bombs and gunfire. For 220 days, we lived in constant fear as the violence engulfed our city, leaving behind a trail of destruction and death.

A Perilous Journey:

Our journey began In the heart of Gaza City, where we fled our home In search of safety. Seeking refuge, we found ourselves at Al-Rantisi Hospital, where the threat of attack loomed large. When the hospital became a target, we fled once more, seeking shelter in another hospital, where fear and illness afflicted our bodies and those of our children.

The Trek to Khan Yunis:

With nowhere left to turn, we embarked on a treacherous journey on foot to Khan Yunis. With bombs raining down around us and no food, water, or medicine to sustain us, each step felt like a gamble with our lives. The 7-kilometer trek was a test of endurance, as we braved the dangers of the road in search of sanctuary.

Displacement and Desperation:

Upon reaching Khan Yunis, we found ourselves thrust into a new nightmare. The danger intensified, driving us to flee once more, this time to Rafah. Here, amidst the biting cold, we found shelter in a tent, our only protection from the elements. But even here, the threat of war looms large, casting a shadow over our fragile existence.

A Daughter's Struggle

Adding to our burdens, my daughter Tala has been suffering from hypothyroidism since birth. Her condition weighs heavily on my heart, a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the need for urgent medical care.

The Price of Freedom:

In Rafah, the specter of war still haunts us, threatening to unravel the fragile threads of hope we cling to. The cost of leaving Gaza through the Egyptian Rafah crossing stands at $5,000 per person, an insurmountable barrier to our journey to safety.

A Cry for Help:

We are a family on the brink, teetering between despair and hope as we navigate the tumult of war. We plead for assistance, for a chance to break free from the cycle of violence and rebuild our lives in peace. With your support, we can overcome the trials that have befallen us and emerge stronger on the other side.

Conclusion:

Our journey is far from over, and the road ahead is fraught with uncertainty. But with your compassion and generosity, we can rewrite the ending of our story. Together, we can pave a path to safety and stability for Tala, Sajid, Sanad, Wissam, and me, ensuring that the horrors of war remain nothing more than a distant memory.

@buttercuparry @appsa @schoolhater @sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @brokenbackmountain @tamarrud @4ft10tvlandfangirl

@queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2

@skatezophrenic

@awetistic-things @camgirlsurvivalguide

@baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi @sunfortune

@junglejim4322 @heritageposts @heritageposts

@palipunk @dlxxv-vetted-donations

@illuminated-runas

#free palestine #palestine #free gaza

#gaza strip #donations #gazaunderattack

#gofundme #important #...

[boytumms]

guy with a size kink gets knocked up by a size shifter. all through his pregnancy, his baby has growth and shrinking spurts the way other babies would kick. it's disorienting and painful. one minute he'll be fine, then his baby will knock him on his ass by deciding to grow as big as a foal, then his bump disappears when the baby shrinks to the size of a peanut. he has no predictability for any of this, and it's made his pregnancy a confusing nightmare. he didn't know this would happen, the dad didn't warn him, and he had to furiously look up sizeshifter pregnancy after an embarrassing growth spurt in the grocery store his first trimester, when baby decided to make him look ready to pop and tore apart his favorite shirt. clothes have been out of the question for months now. his belly skin is so red and stretched out and agitated with the constant inflation and deflation, the baby just getting more active near the end of the pregnancy. he worries about the birth. what if his baby has a growth spurt that makes it impossible to push out? or godforbid, one while he's actively crowning?

Having the baby shift sizes while he's giving birth would be so good, it keeps growing and shrinking rapidly while he's trying to push it out, making his labor so much longer and more painful than normal.

It's constantly changing shape, stretching him wider than his body was ever meant to stretch and getting stuck when it shifts into something huge. He screams and cries, thrashing in pain as he bucks his hips wildly in an attempt to dislodge the massive head, trembling under his towering belly and begging his baby to shrink before it breaks him. When it finally does shrink, he pushes frantically, not even waiting for contractions because he desperately needs to make as much progress as he can while the baby is small enough to be pushed out.

His labor drags on for hours, constantly bouncing back between non stop pushing when it's small and feeling like its about to split him in half and getting stuck when it's too big. He never knows how long each phase will be, he could have only minutes to push and hours of torture stretching around a creature with the head the size of a watermelon, or vice versa. His labor could last days if the baby decides to shift too big too much, leaving him exhausted and barely conscious by the time he manages to get it out.

He feels it slip out with one last push and collapses back in relief, thinking he's finally done, but suddenly his tummy jumps up, swelling right back up until he's even bigger than he started. He screams in pain, watching his belly in horror as it squirms and bounces with movement. It turns out that because shape shifting babies are always changing and shifting sizes, it's nearly impossible to figure out how many there really are. What he though was one baby constantly shrinking and growing could have actually been twins, triplets, or more.

After hours and hours of giving birth to just one baby, he realizes he has to do it all over again, and without knowing how many babies he's actually carrying, he may have to push out many more after that...