#because they are imperfect creatures

[buttered-milky]

https://youtu.be/XqXZ0tJppok?si=kF5httv3agxyOzqe

Messmer can actually turns into a snake it's his original form, and he looks soo abused and neglected maybe because of the seal?

Eeeee okay so. The summon he uses a: appears to have more blood and/or burn wounds on it. and b: otherwise has most of its scales and doesn’t have the transparency effect I thought it had like the winged serpents!! Also there’s a bunch of eyeballs all over the place but we’ll get to those later.

Burn wounds are pretty straightforward and also interesting since they imply either the serpent fucked around and found out (Messmer burned it) or the serpent fucked around and found out (burned itself like an idiot, not surprising in the slightest for snakes since they miss prey strikes all the time and are, in my humble snake owner opinion, some of the dumbest creatures you’ll ever meet. Curious yes. But also. Idiots)

The snake Messmer turns into has much deeper wounds and scarring on it than just the summon of the abyssal serpent. This snake also appears to have a blind right eye (note for any reptile keepers who care: not the temporary blindness that comes with shedding). Its body is very misshapen and there are scales trying to protrude along the spine, and in several places where there don’t appear to be any wounds the scales are just…missing. This is as expected not good for snakes! They need those scales! I am honestly not quite sure how to interpret the overlapping layers of scales in some places. Like sometimes it looks like a shedding issue but also it seems like it’s the attempts of two souls trying to occupy one body? Also missing shed transparency effect! Idk what the hell was going on in my brain or if it was just lighting but I was sooooo fucking sure of the shed buildup. I was also really tired though and don’t care. The visual read was still fun. It can be a headcanon to me <3

So on those thoughts of it being two souls trying to occupy one body. What strikes me about this design is that some of the wounds look like bite scarring you’d see from live prey fighting your snake back. Again, this is a thing entirely avoidable with good husbandry (don’t live feed unless absolutely necessary). The scales to me still imply shedding has gone very wrong at some point. You’d expect to see shedding heal and scar over these wounds, but they’re all fresh. Very symbolic. You can’t heal violence by just pretending it doesn’t exist.

Ideally when a snake is wounded, you do routine care to help them with sheds and make sure the wound is clean. The scales will grow back and the wound will scar, but it will take several sheds and consistent work! You cannot, as Marika tried to do, just put a bandaid on it. You also can’t just lock a snake in a cage it will hurt itself trying to get out of (ie messmer himself) and expect that to go even remotely well.

Some of this feels like visual symbolism of self-hatred. Like I said, the base serpent looks like it’s gotten in a fight. With its host. Some of it also feels like visible neglect (ie the wounds not being healed, missing scales)

I’m gonna discuss the eyeballs bc I fuck w them immensely. First of all congrats Messmer on having an Eldritch Horror in ur body. Second of all, all these eyes appear to have lids. Actual snakes don’t. They have hard eye caps instead and cannot blink. Some of the eyes seem like they might not be able to blink, but the scales around them are still more closed than you’d expect? I fuck with it. Fits with Messmer’s blindness motif which maybe I’ll make a post on eventually. But in regards to the base serpent specifically, of course violence can afford to close its eyes and be blind to who it chooses to hurt. Violence is also something that, when committed, always seems to haunt you. Its gaze will always be there.

It’s interesting that Marika replaced Messmer’s eye to seal the serpent off, and so maybe it grew more eyes? That could be why the scales around them aren’t correct—they’re trying to protrude from the body. This occurs in both the summon and the physical snake form Messmer has. Repression of identity = Eldritch horrors? Sure I’ll take that fromsoft.

Final thing on the eyes. They’re red, not green. The winged serpents have green eyes, Elden Ring’s color of endurance. Super fitting! The abyssal serpent’s eyes are all red, the color of rot and death in this game. Red to me also feels primordial given its use in lightning by the dragons, but I digress. It’s pretty obvious why a base serpent would have base powers. This thing is old as fuck.

Okay. I’m sure you all thought the post was done but one last note on snake biology! So, snakes’ tongues retract into their mouth. When a snake opens their mouth you won’t see a forked tongue just curled up, hanging out. It’s in a little pocket for safe keeping :)

Neither of the base serpent’s forms appear to have the anatomy for this, since there are eyeballs replacing this anatomy. This is problematic for Messmer in a snake form specifically since he’s blind, and real snakes compensate for shitty vision by having an incredibly strong sense of smell. Messmer’s snake form also doesn’t have the heat pits that the abyssal serpent has. Heat pits are another part of snake anatomy, usually located below the nostrils, and are what they use to “see” heat and locate prey. In pythons (like the winged serpents) you’ll see multiple heat pits all in a row above the lip as opposed to the single very deep pit behind and below the nostrils in vipers. This single pit is what the base serpent (summon) has. Neither Messmer’s base serpent form nor his winged serpents have heat pits which is…interesting. It could be a modeling error but I don’t think so given base serpent has very clear heat pits.

My point is, Messmer is somehow even more blind than you’d expect from a snake. Maybe this makes sense given Messmer carries an internal fire, which would likely fuck with infrared? Still interesting nonetheless.

In summary: The base serpent alone (summon) seems overall in better shape than its other form (transformation). I think this is pretty straightforward symbolism—as a being on its own the serpent would probably be fine. It’s just that it uses Messmer as a host and this causes issues. Fuck around and find out I guess, base serpent.

And holy shit Messmer Cannot fucking see. Good luck with the seeing eye snakes babe because snakes notoriously have shit vision !

(Also just an aside both of the base serpent forms kind of have narrower faces than you’d see on a real snake? Like they’re more eel like to me. Anyways.)

[d8tl55c]

me: waiting for shoe(s) to drop

Personified Alan Becker YouTube Icon: oh... buddy...

[yanguazalie]

Angel-Devil art I’ve drawn in my leisure!

I mean- drawing IS my leisure but, y’know, that’s more reserved for another Horvath/Kim property. ANYWAY, since these dragons are isolated from the environment I normally draw them in, I’m giving them their own post.

[inorganicorgan]

"Professor Sylvia Maxis, one-one oh-one two-six-oh-nine. [Inhale]. It seems I'm not the world's greatest artist, based on yesterday's attempts to draw... [heavy sigh]. I'll be burning my attempts in the newly-discovered fireplace. The chimney is, unfortunately, too narrow to climb. I can't even feel the air from outside. I got a lot of use out of that fireplace before I found it, though, based on all the soot that I'm never getting out of my hair. I've also managed to unlock the bathroom, although some good showering will do me to get this gunk out. I'm finding more and more parts of this bunker lately, and they make me think it's mine. Which is a relief, because I'd hate to come across the body of the chump who was here before me or something! Haha! Haha. Hm. I'm still getting those odd number dreams, but I'll only start writing the numbers down if they keep happening.

...

What's really strange is that my drawings aren't... bad? Like, this isn't what bad art looks like. This is what you'd see if something had never seen another person in its life and tried to mimic one. This is what a person gone wrong looks like. It's like the Uncanny Valley effect. I'd do well as a horror artist, but this...

He's all wrong."

[nanstar200]

Guys..

“Oh that animal doesn’t LIKE you it just TOLERATES you” …..So? If that’s the most a non-social organism can feel towards you isn’t that just as special an honor as whatever it is you think affection means??

[fluffypurpleglitterdemon]

Hmm. Putting a pin in "The one coming to find you will die before your very eyes!"...

[aleksatia]

Don't know if you will accept this one because not everyone is comfortable with writing for pregnancy trope. But i will try. 😭

Imagine the reader is pregnant, and for some reason, she can't get to the hospital or opted for giving birth at home, and the labor starts with just the reader and the boys, how would they react? (Zayne would go well, I guess lol)

Anyway, I gotta say I am obsessed with your writing ✍️ 🤤🥰

It honestly took me forever to get this request done, but here it is—finally! I ended up splitting it into two parts, including a bit of my own experience with childbirth.

The main challenge was that, even when extreme, birth tends to follow a similar pattern. I didn’t want to lean into unnecessary drama, so I approached it differently: wrote one complete mini-fic and turned the rest into short drabble-style sketches, which I’ll be posting here.

You can read more about Xavier/MC’s story here. I chose him simply because I hadn’t written anything focused on him in a while—and it just flowed (from pen... well, keyboard) that way.

CT/WT: birth scene, childbirth, emergency birth, home birth, water birth, airplane birth, snowstorm birth, intense emotional content, partner support, soft!men, vulnerable!men, protective partner, found family, twins, hurt/comfort, emotional intimacy, fatherhood, new dad energy, birth fic, drabble collection, first-time dad, emotional whump, soft smutless intimacy, love confession, trauma comfort, birth complications, raw vulnerability, medical emergency, no smut just feelings, domestic intensity. Headcanon!!!

🖤 SYLUS — The Moment He Realizes It’s Up to Him (Home Birth, Unprepared Conditions)

The Second It Clicks: You gasp. Double over. He’s at your side in a heartbeat. “Is it time?” You nod. Pain. Panic. Wet warmth. His blood freezes — then boils. No hospital. No doctor. No help. Just him.

His First Thought? “Fuck. No. Not like this. You deserve better.” Not chaos. Not uncertainty. Not cold floors and towels that aren’t sterile. He’s Sylus — he controls everything. But this? This is the one thing he can’t delay, buy, or dominate. It’s coming. Now.

Terror?Not for himself. For you. For the pain in your eyes, the grip of your hand, the sheer fragility of the moment. His entire being rallies like a war horn blaring inside his chest. “If the universe put this in my hands, then it’s getting the best fucking performance of my life.”

What he does first:He lowers you carefully to the bed. Kisses your knuckles, even as he’s barking quiet orders into a phone no one picks up. His voice is deep, steady. But his heart is galloping. He never lets you see it. Never lets his fear break through. You deserve certainty, and he’ll give it to you — even if he’s unraveling at the seams.

What He Says:“Kitten. Look at me.” You do. Eyes wide. Brave. Terrified. “You trust me?” You nod. “Then breathe. I’ve got this. I’ve got you. I always have.”

What He Feels:You’re vulnerable. And you’re still the strongest creature he’s ever seen. He wishes he could take the pain. Rip it from you and carry it in his own bones. But this is your war. And all he can do is be the sword and the shield. “Don’t you dare break on me, baby. You’re almost there. We’re almost there.”

And when you cry out —Something inside him shatters. Not weakness. Not panic. Love. The kind that could burn cities. The kind that makes gods kneel. He wipes your brow with trembling fingers, and for the first time in years, he whispers: “Please. Just let me do this right.”

The First Push:Your nails dig into his forearm. Hard. He doesn't flinch. He leans in, forehead almost touching yours. “That’s it. Breathe through it. I’ve got you.” Your body trembles. He sees it — the pain, the fear, the fight. And God, he’s never loved you more than in this bloody, imperfect, holy moment.

The Next Contractions Hit:They're relentless. And so is he. He’s on his knees beside the bed now, sleeves rolled, jaw locked, hands steady but heart breaking. “You're doing so good, kitten. So fucking good. I'm right here. Ride it. Ride it out. You're the strongest thing I've ever seen.” He keeps talking because your cries are the sound of his soul ripping open. He wants to scream with you — but he doesn’t. He can’t. You need him iron-clad.

When the Baby Crowns:For a split second, he freezes. The sight undoes him. It's real. His voice catches. He swallows hard. Then acts. Fast. He speaks softly but firmly. “Almost there. Just one more, baby. Give me everything you’ve got.”And when you do — when you scream and bear down and sob his name — the world shifts.

The Birth:The baby slips into his hands. Warm. Fragile. Alive. He catches it like it’s made of light. For a moment, he just stares. His lips part, but no words come. This. This is his child. His hands are shaking now. Bloody, trembling. But when the baby cries? He lets out the most ragged breath of his life. “You did it,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. “You fucking did it.” He ties and cuts the cord. Precise. Careful. Reverent. Wraps the baby in a soft towel and places it in your arms. And then? He just watches. Like the world cracked open to show him something he never thought he was worthy of.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He doesn’t move from your side. Doesn’t let go of your hand. The men in white bark questions. He answers in clipped growls, still on alert. They try to move in too fast, and he snaps, “She’s fine. You move when she says so.” The room is full now — but all he sees is you.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again:He sits beside you, one hand on your leg, the other gently stroking the baby's tiny back. His shirt is soaked, his knuckles still stained, his eyes rimmed red. He doesn’t speak for a long time. Just breathes in the shape of you. Watches you like you might disappear.

And then he says it, raw and low:“I’ve killed for less than the pain you just went through.”“You scare me,” he adds, almost smiling. “Because I didn’t think I could love you more than I already did.”A pause. His voice softens. “Turns out, I was wrong.”

How He Is With You After: He won’t leave the room for the first 24 hours. Won’t sleep unless you sleep. Won’t speak unless it’s to you. Every time you shift, he’s there. Water. Blankets. Warm palms. He touches you like you’re made of fire and stardust. And maybe you are. You brought life into the world — and now he’s a man who’s seen a goddess bleed and survive.

What’s Changed? Everything. You’re no longer just the woman he worships. You’re the mother of his child. And he’s never been more dangerous, more devoted, or more in awe. And when he finally holds the baby in his arms, whispering something in a voice only the stars can hear, you catch the look on his face — as if the king of the underworld just met the one soul that could make him believe in heaven.

🎨 RAFAYEL — Water Birth Gone Off-Script (But You're Still His Masterpiece)

The Second It Clicks:You gasp. A real one. Water shifts behind the door. He hears it — not the splash, but the silence that follows. Brush mid-stroke, he freezes in the studio. Palette still in hand. Then he hears you call his name. Soft. Urgent. Different. His heart misses a beat. Oh. Oh, fuck. It’s time.

His First Thought?“Cutie, not yet — where’s the damn midwife?” This was supposed to be smooth. Music, candles, soft towels, help. He practiced. Took notes. Learned everything. But you’re contracting, you’re gripping his arm like a lifeline, and that carefully prepared plan just drowned.

Terror?Only for a split second. Then? It turns into motion. His version of war. No armor. Just bare skin, water, and wild love. He tears off his silk shirt, drops to his knees beside the tub, and cups your face. Eyes blazing. Smile trembling. “You’ve got this. I’ve got you. Let’s be legends, sweetheart.”

What He Does First:Lights dimmed. Calm playlist turned off. That’s not helping. He speaks instead. Constant stream of velvet and madness — anything to keep you in your body. He checks your breath, strokes your arms, pours warm water down your back. He holds your thighs when the cramping gets too much. “Breathe, Cutie. Moan if you need to. Scream. I’ll scream with you.”

What He Says:“You’re the most divine creature I’ve ever painted and you’re not even trying right now.” “Do you know what it does to me — to see you bring life into the world? I’m ruined.” “I love you. You’re terrifying. It’s magnificent.” “I’m not ready, but I’m so ready. Are you ready, sweetheart?” He laughs and cries all at once. Classic Raf.

What He Feels:Absolute awe. Like watching a volcano give birth to the moon. You’re in pain, and he’d trade his soul to take it away —

But you’re also gorgeous. Power and surrender. Fury and grace. He watches you like a living epic, memorizing every second. And somewhere deep down: terror. Because he’s about to meet a little soul that already feels like the most important thing he’s ever waited for.

And When You Cry Out —He flinches like someone hit his body. Then kisses your forehead. Then your shoulder. Then your fingers. “I know, I know, my love. You can hate me right now. But when it’s over, you’re going to be a fucking goddess in my arms again.”

The First Push:He holds you. Literally. Behind you in the tub, your back pressed to his chest. Whispers in your ear like poetry, nonsense, love confessions. His hands steady your belly. His cheek presses to yours. “Push. With me. Right now. Pretend the stars are watching.”

The Next Contractions Hit:You sob. Scream. Curse. He laughs through tears. “That’s my girl. Go feral, baby.” He doesn't pretend it's easy. He matches the chaos. You scream louder? He screams louder. You sob? He hums a lullaby in broken Lemurian. And when you break? He stitches you back together with every ridiculous, poetic, stupidly beautiful word.

When the Baby Crowns:He feels it before he sees it — the shift in your breath, the way your body tenses like a storm breaking. “Cutie — he’s here. He’s really here.” He helps you lean forward, moves behind and then lower, one arm steadying you as he shifts to kneel in the water. And then he sees it — the beginning of everything. His voice is gone. His hands shake. But he stays.

The Birth:The baby slides into the water. Raf catches him like he’s catching a star falling into the sea. He brings him up gently, lets him cry, and then stares — completely undone. He places the baby on your chest with reverence. Then breaks. Just breaks. Weeps silently as he holds you both.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He answers the door shirtless, soaked, with red-rimmed eyes and a feral look. “Too late,” he snaps. “She did it herself. I just got to be lucky enough to watch.” Then walks past them, back to the bathroom, because he’s not done looking at you.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again:You’re in bed. Baby asleep. Candles flickering low. Raf’s lying next to you, propped on an elbow, fingers lightly tracing invisible constellations on your arm. His voice is almost a whisper. “You made something I could never paint. Not with all the colors in the universe.”

Confession:“I used to think love was chaos. Fire. Tragedy.” He swallows. “But you — carrying him, birthing him — you made me believe in something bigger than all that. Something gentle.” Beat. “Still chaos. But now… now I want to live in it.”

How He Is With You After:He won’t stop touching you. Ever. Cheek pressed to your stomach. Hand around your ankle. Lips to your collarbone. He calls you his ocean, his cathedral, his everything. Gets jealous when the baby gets more attention, then sulks dramatically — only to melt the moment the baby yawns.

What’s Changed? He didn’t think he could love more than he already did. But now he’s ruined. Completely, gloriously yours. He paints you every day. He stares at the baby like a spell. And every night, he murmurs: “Cutie, I would live a thousand lifetimes just to land in this one with you.”

🛩️ CALEB — 35,000 Feet Up, When the World Falls Apart (And You’re the Only Thing That Matters)

The Second It Clicks:Your breath hitches. You shift. Then freeze. He knows your body too well — something is off. You whisper, "Caleb…" He looks at you. And in that one heartbeat, he knows. It’s happening. Here. Now. Too early.

His First Thought?“No.”Not like this. Not at cruising altitude. Not without equipment, backup, time. You were supposed to have two more weeks. He had a plan. A perfect one. And the baby just threw it out the emergency exit.

Terror?It brushes him. A ghost against the back of his mind. There’s a moment — sharp, almost blinding — where every instinct screams: get to the cockpit, take the controls, force the descent, get her to a hospital, make it stop. Not the birth — your pain. The helplessness. But Caleb is a fortress — fear doesn’t get through the walls. Not when you need him solid. Not when your breathing goes shallow and your fingers dig into his thigh. He shuts it out. Cold. Calculated. He stays. Right where you are. “Handle it.”

What He Does First: Turns to the nearest flight attendant — she’s pale, shaking. “Get blankets. Towels. Water. First aid kit. Everything. Now.”Then he takes your hand. Squeezes once. He shifts the cabin — clears seats, turns it into a command zone. Straps you in, kneels in front of you like you’re his entire mission.

What He Says:“Breathe.” “Look at me, not the chaos. Me.”“You're safe. I'm here. I’ll get you through this.”“No one’s going to touch you but me. You hear me?”Low, controlled. The voice of command — but laced with something raw. The kind of voice that means he’d rip this plane open and land it with his bare hands if he had to.

What He Feels:Failure. Because this wasn’t the plan. Because he let you on this plane, knowing the risks.  Because you’re in pain and there’s nothing he can shoot or order or carry to fix it.  But above that — something bigger. Something anchoring. You’re about to give him a child. His child. And he’s never been more terrified or more in love.

And When You Cry Out —He stops breathing. Just for a moment. Then grabs a wet cloth, wipes your forehead, presses his mouth to your knuckles. “It’s okay. I know. I know it hurts. Just hold on, love.” He doesn’t flinch when you scream. He braces for you. Becomes your wall.

The First Push: He helps you brace your legs. Talks you through it. Counts your breaths. His voice doesn’t shake. You’re gripping his shoulder like you want to break him — and if it helps, he wants you to. “Push. Right now. You can do it. I know you can.”

The Next Contractions Hit:They come fast. Brutal. You’re soaked in sweat, sobbing, slipping in and out of focus. He holds your gaze. Forces you to stay present. “Stay with me. Just me. Eyes on mine.” He’s not just commanding your body now. He’s anchoring your soul.

When the Baby Crowns:His jaw locks. There’s blood. Pain. A sound from you that breaks something in him forever. But then— “I see the head. One more. One big push, baby. Do it for me.”He’s never begged in his life. Until now.

The Birth:The baby slides into his hands — hot, wet, alive. He holds it like it’s a grenade and a prayer. He hesitates for a heartbeat, then moves on instinct drilled in from every medical video he obsessively watched in the weeks before. Wipes the face. Rubs the back. Hears that first cry. And his shoulders slump like he just survived a war. He lays the baby on your chest with military precision— But his hands are shaking. And his voice is gone.

When the Plane Lands:Paramedics are already waiting on the tarmac. The moment the wheels hit the ground, he’s on his feet, securing the baby, then lifting you into his arms — no hesitation, no discussion. Your body wrapped in his jacket, his grip unshakable. “She stays with me,” he tells them — low and final. He carries you down the stairs himself, eyes scanning every face like a soldier clearing a field. And when the medics move in, he doesn’t flinch — but he watches every hand. Every word. His eyes never leave you. He’s still on the battlefield.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again: The baby’s wrapped and asleep. You’re in a hospital bed now, monitors quiet, lights dim. Caleb sits beside you — still in his flight-worn clothes, hands resting on the edge of the mattress like he’s holding the line. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just watches you breathe. As if any second, the universe might try to take you again.

Confession:“I don’t know how to do this part.” Soft. Almost a whisper. “I know war. I know strategy. I know how to keep you alive.”A pause. “But you just gave me everything, thirty-five thousand feet above the world. And I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

How He Is With You After: Hypervigilant. Keeps you warm. Fed. Rested. Checks the baby’s breath every ten minutes. Doesn’t leave your side — not even to sleep. Carries you to the bathroom if he has to. Barely talks. Just does.

What’s Changed? He always thought his job was to protect you. Now he knows — you are the reason he fights. You made life, in midair, with nothing but pain and instinct. He’s seen you soft. He’s seen you in love. Now he’s seen you divine. And no enemy will ever get close again. Not even turbulence. And definitely not labor at 35,000 feet — because he’s never letting you board a plane pregnant again. He’s already planning the next birth. Controlled environment. Ground-level. Walls. Doctors. No sky. No chaos. Just you, safe — the way you were always supposed to be.

🧊 ZAYNE — Snowcrest Emergency (Twins, a Storm, and You in His Hands)

The Second It Clicks:You’re at the stove, stirring a pot of mulled wine, the scent of cloves and orange peel curling through the wooden walls of the chalet. Snow presses against the windows like a soft white fist. Then something shifts. You freeze. One hand goes to the edge of the counter, the other to your belly. Your breath catches — once. Twice. Too sharp. Zayne looks up from the hearth, where he was stacking firewood. Sees your face. Sees your hands. His mind clicks into motion before you can speak. Contractions. Strong. Rhythmic. A month early. Twins. It’s happening. Now.

His First Thought?“No hospital. No OR. No neonatal equipment. Two infants. High-risk environment.” His mind races: What’s missing? What can he improvise? What matters most? You. He recalibrates in milliseconds. The plan has changed. You’re the plan now.

Terror?He doesn’t let it register. But for the first time in a decade, he feels his pulse spike without choosing it. This is not a patient. Not a clinical environment. This is you. And his hands — hands that saved hundreds — suddenly feel too slow, too human.

What He Does First:Takes control. Quietly, precisely. “Lie down. Left side. Pillows under your knees.” Gets gloves. Clean cloths. Lantern light. Wipes the counter. Boils water. Checks your pupils, your breath rate, heart rate. Starts counting contractions. Voice — steady as marble. “Vitals are within threshold. We’ll manage.” He doesn’t say "I’m scared." He sets his jaw and becomes the machine you need.

What He Says:“Cut the noise. Focus on me.” “Deep breath in. Hold. Now exhale slowly.” “You’re safe. I have you. Nothing’s going wrong under my watch.” And softer, almost like it slips out against his control: “You’re not doing this alone. I’m here.”Then quieter still, barely audible over your breathing— “I don’t want you to be afraid. Not with me.”

What He Feels:A depth of protectiveness so massive it short-circuits logic. He can’t afford emotion — so it burns quietly behind his ribs. Every sound you make, every twitch of pain — he catalogs it, files it, calculates it. But somewhere behind the math, something whispers: “These are my children. And she’s the one I never deserved.”

And When You Cry Out—He doesn’t flinch. But his jaw locks, and he moves faster. More towels. More warmth. Calmer voice. He adjusts your position, murmurs into your hair: “I know. I know, love. It hurts. You’re strong. You’re going to get them here, and I’m going to catch them. I promise.”

The First Push:““Push with the contraction. Not before.”He watches your breath, cues your muscles, syncs with your rhythm like surgery. You scream. He doesn’t blink. Just steadies your knee, keeps his voice low and close. “You’re doing it. This is the part that ends it. The worst is behind you.”

The Next Contractions Hit:They come harder, closer. You’re shaking. Your body starts to give. Zayne grips your hands, brings your forehead to his. “You’re not breaking. You’re giving life. Do it. I’m right here.” He says it like a command. But his voice catches.

When the Baby Crowns:It’s fast. First twin is anterior. Textbook. Zayne’s gloves are slick, but his hold is perfect. The baby slips into his hands — screaming. He wraps, clears, breathes. Then glances up at you, and — for half a second — his breath stutters. One down. One more.

The Birth (Second Twin):This one’s trickier. Breech. Zayne’s hands move with silent grace, guiding you, shifting your hips, protecting you from the risk. It’s intense. It’s dangerous. But he handles it like a master. The second baby arrives blue. He doesn’t panic. Just acts. Clears airway. Stimulates. Waits — cry. Only then does his chest move again.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He meets them at the door. Calm. Precise. These are his colleagues — people he trusts. He listens to every reading, watches every movement. They confirm what he already knows: vitals are steady. No signs of immediate risk. He should transfer you. He planned to. But then you look at him — raw, pleading, exhausted. And he recalculates. “We’ll monitor here. Twelve-hour window. I’ll oversee everything myself.” He’s already wrapping you and the twins in fresh blankets, resetting the monitors. His voice is steady. His posture sure. But his hand doesn’t leave yours. He’s not just responsible. He’s personally invested. In this. In you. In all three lives now resting in his hands.

Confession:He speaks only when you touch his wrist. “I’ve never been this scared.” A beat. “And I didn’t let myself feel it. Until now.” Another pause. “You and them — you’re the only variables I can’t solve. And I think I’m okay with that.”

How He Is With You After: Meticulous. Attentive. Understated. Charts feed schedules. Tracks sleeping patterns. Never wakes you if he can help it. Takes night shifts. Warms bottles. Still quiet. Still reserved. But touches you more often now — almost absently. A thumb to your wrist. A hand at your back. Like he can’t not.

What’s Changed? Something in him has shifted — quietly, irreversibly. He was a man of logic. Now he’s a man of you. He doesn’t smile often — but when he looks at the twins, something in his eyes softens in a way he can’t quite explain. And every time you cry — from exhaustion, or joy, or pain — he presses a kiss to your temple and says, “Tell me what to fix.” Even if he knows he never could. Because he’ll try anyway. For as long as you’ll let him.

[sh1-n0bu]

I just saw elf bf post and id like to suggest for your consideration: elf bf learning what kink is and learning that he has some very unorthodox (for an elf) interests. Maybe he is intrigued by crossdressing, cuckolding, or exhibitionism/voyuerism because the idea is so taboo to an elf. Maybe he wants to try bondage or total power exchange because he’s always been told that partnerships are always equal (or that elves are better than humans) and submitting to a mortal partner makes him feel rebellious (but at the same time he feels safe because the person dominating him is his partner who he trusts). Maybe he has a praise kink because he doesn’t often get told “you’re a good boy and I’m proud of you.”

So many options! I wonder what you’ll do with them? 👀

ouuhhhhh anon this is such a big brain thing, lemme crawl inside ur skull

elves, by the standard of the world so far since nearly the beginning of time, has always been deemed as the ‘best’ race to ever walk the lands. tall, regal, elegant, fairest and wisest eternal beings who don’t even get sick. wounds heal quick unless they’re mortal, or of the broken heart. they don’t tire easily nor are they quick to fall. the perfect race

so what happens when said perfect race falls in love with the imperfect one? when an elf falls in love with a human? and said relationship is taken seriously between said lovers, bound for eternity together, blessed by the stars and the moon? well, you get something like you and your elf husband, a human and an elf, happily married

and extremely happy in the bedroom too

as the most perfect race, elves always had a certain amount of ego to themselves. it’s not so high and mighty to the point they could die if they fall from said ego’s height, but it’s always there. it’s like an instinctive feeling, akin to how humans are instinctively stubborn and passionate. too emotional. and due to their ‘perfection’, elves barely get any words of hostility aimed towards them unless it’s by a few passing dwarves or their kin who had been angered. praise has always been a normal thing to fall upon their pointy ears, so much so they count it as the norm

so for an elf to being into degraded, it is rare and frowned upon. why would the most perfect creatures require any words other than the highest form of acknowledgment? but your husband was into it. and you too, to certain extent. whispering filth into those cute, pointy twitching ears of how disgusting and vile he is to enjoy having human hands on him gets his cock hard in his pants within milliseconds. calling him a slut for moaning out loud when you simply grasp his hair has him rubbing his thighs together, feeling the familiar aching heat in his groin. and stars, have mercy on him when you lean in, strong arms caging him from behind between your warm body and the table as you spit out, “pointy eared whore” into the skin of his neck, hot breath sending shivers down his body. by that point, your elf husband’s all but clawing at your clothes, hopping onto the table all too eagerly as he spreads his legs for you

crossdressing is a mixed feeling for the elven race entirely for one, they are just such an eternally graceful beings to the point it becomes hard to tell the difference between some of their genders and two, their clothes share a lot of similar things. long, flowing clothes made of the finest materials any hands could ever touch

but your hubby loves it! the soft and frilly skirts, the smoothness of the dresses or even the breezy laces and provocative bras and thin underwear with straps to keep them up on the flesh of his hips. and don’t even get him started on his love for the ‘dancer’ outfit. the long loincloth like skirt, the golden chains at the sides to keep them perched on his waist and the tiniest bras possible paired with the mouth covering cloth. your elf husband is your private entertainer for the whole night, swaying his hips, twisting his hands and running them over the curves of his body as he gives you the most shit eating grin underneath the mouth cloth, makeup covered eyes narrowing hypnotically at you

it wouldn’t last too long on his lips when he’s being fucked in the very same outfit, being forced to keep the skirt to the side by his hands so you wouldn’t get it dirty for his next dance. not like it ever happens, your elf hubby’s a little crybaby, whining about how mean and rough you’re handling your dancer, sobbing fat tears about how your rough human hands were leaving bruises on his soft, creamy skin

owh lawddd the amount of times he pulled you to the side, into an empty room or behind some particularly huge tree when out on a walk so you could fuck him behind it has lost count. exhibitionism seems to be one of his favorites since he loves it so much, giggling about a quickie or “i promise, i’ll be silent this time” when you both know it’s not true at all

keep his one leg up with a hand hooked under his knee, pushing his chest flush against the cold marble walls or the bark of the tree for him to cling for stability while the filthy wet smacks of your cock constantly squeezing into his tight hole fills the area. just as loud as the whimpers of your pointy eared husband, whose ears twitch and droop so cutely. who bites down onto his hands and knuckles to shut himself up to no avail, always stuttering out “r-rough..! sho rough♡︎! can’t—can’t haaagh h-hold it i-eek hiigc! c-can’t hold it in ’nymoowr♡︎” as if he wasn’t the one who asked you to pound his pathetic hole until he was seeing stars. it’s as if he doesn’t care that someone could hear or even stars forbid, see them right now! doing such a dirty and private deed out in public place, where any elf with their sharp senses could hear, see or even smell the musky scent of sex

your elf husband’s boobs always jiggle so cutely whenever you fuck him, bouncing as you thrust the strap into his soppy hole. who even has a bit of a thing for feminization, whining out how you were fucking his womb, “y-nyur human d-dick is kissingg ma-agh my cerviiixx♥︎!!”, who rubs a hand over his slightly bloated belly with a dazed look in his eyes, slurring of “… got knocked up… by a human heheeh..♡︎” as if he could get pregnant. who has the cutest shrill squeals whenever you suckle on his nipples, biting around his areola to leave a mark as he weakly slaps at your back, speaking of how fucking animalistic and bestial you are

“s-so cruel… such a vile mortal—!”

elf husband who loves loves lovessssss bondage and sensory deprivation! an absolute rope bunny, he is! choosing the most finest and softest silk in the color he likes for special days, picking up the harsh and rough material ropes for the days when he wants to feel the sting, the pain, the adventure. who is into being tortured and overstimulated, forced to cum beyond what he is used to by your rough hands or hot mouth while his words turn to incoherent babbles as he tugs uselessly against his bindings. he’s just a weak, helpless little bunny in your lair, hungry wolf! please be gentle with your sharp fangs on his tender skin and smooth planes of muscle. such a sweet, innocent bunny like him could never handle the rough mating of days and nights a hungry wolf like you have planned for him♡︎

a bit of a masochistic elf husband who loves to have his senses deprived off of him. hands tied behind him, legs tied in a spread out manner and blindfolded with a dark cloth over his eyes. leave his ears free and make him try and guess what you would do to him. snap a belt or a riding crop onto your hand and watch as he flinches, jolting in place at the sound, wondering when and where it would land on his perfect body. his thighs? arms? chest? stomach? or perhaps even his cock and you would be mean enough to make him count how many hits it takes until he is cumming untouched, soiling his stomach as his blush spread all the way to his shoulders due to the whole shame. make him ponder, make him squeal at the unexpectedness, make him cry out in surprise, make him shake in the excitement of it all. he can take whatever pain and pleasure your human hands could dish out

and when he gets too loud, just shove something into his mouth. maybe a peace of cloth or even your own undergarments, whichever fits, whichever you want. he’ll be chewing on them and wetting it with his tears and saliva by the end of it

aiya yall are corrupting me. animals animals

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Man the world is so fucked up if youre autistic. Just accept that youll continually piss people off and youll never be able to learn the arbitrary stuff that decides which questions are okay and which arent because every person decides randomly on those. Great😭 i guess theres a reason its a disability

hey man I want to be so clear. running this risk of misstepping and fucking up and accidentally hurting someone's feelings or upsetting them isn't something that only happens to autistic people. like, I definitely understand that there are things about being autistic that can make it harder. but allistic people also do not have any perfect means of intuiting other people's boundaries. communication between people is inherently imperfect and messy; it comes free with the being human because none of us can read each other's minds. when I said you need to be willing to approach social interactions with a recognition that you might beef it and need to offer an apology that was absolutely a general "you," not any one person in particular; that's just a skill that literally everyone needs to have to be a social creature.

[polaritydisturbed]

Guys, guys, please—I can't do this. This episode isn't about painting UNIT as some flawless institution under unfair attack. It’s about a deeply flawed system. One that, on little to no evidence of an actual alien threat, invades a small town in full SWAT gear. That’s not meant to be a good thing.

It’s a story where the person in charge literally releases a dangerous creature to prove a point—and that same institution is being targeted by a misinformation campaign. And yet, despite those serious flaws, they do ultimately act to protect people. That’s the tension. That’s the point.

Let me be clear: this is an allegory for COVID and the online grifters and influencers who took advantage of the pandemic to spread hate and gain popularity—and who continue to do so now.

It’s about how institutions—even when compromised, bureaucratic, or short-sighted—still have the capacity to do good. They’re made of people, many of whom are trying to hold the line, trying to save lives, trying to do the right thing while the ground shifts under them.

But those imperfections? They make it easy for grifters to walk in and sell a fantasy. People like Conrad don’t actually want to protect anyone—they want control. And they know how to dress up that pursuit of power in the language of liberation. He says he’s standing up for you, for “truth,” for “the people,” but really he’s weaponizing frustration, anger, and distrust for his own gain.

Conrad always knew aliens were real. He wasn’t trying to expose lies. He was trying to punish UNIT for not recruiting him. That’s it. His whole crusade is built on a personal grudge. He rejects the Doctor’s reality not because it’s implausible, but because he wasn’t chosen.

That’s the core danger here: villains who tell you exactly what you want to hear. Who appeal to your cause, your values, your righteous anger. They frame themselves as underdogs, rebels, visionaries. But when you look closer, their plans are hollow. Destruction for destruction’s sake, dressed up in whatever narrative gets clicks and followers. People saw what they wanted to see in Conrad. Whatever oppressive system they hate, he claimed to be fighting it. He let you project your beliefs onto him—just like grifters do in real life. He made destruction feel like justice.

Ruby drank the vial, Conrad didn’t. That vial was the only thing that negated the Shreek’s vomit-based marking system, and by refusing to drink it, Conrad didn’t just risk his own life—he put everyone else in danger. Just like those that refused to take the vaccine.

And Kate, in releasing the monster, represents those who, during the pandemic, felt frustration and helplessness. She symbolizes the moment some threw up their hands and said, “If they won’t take the vaccine, let them die.” But that mindset didn’t solve the problem; it only escalated it. The monster had already shown it could mark more than one person, and there was no guarantee it wouldn’t strike again. The monster, like the virus, didn’t distinguish between those who made bad choices and those who couldn’t protect themselves. And she released it anyway.

By surrendering to that frustration, she was putting the vulnerable at greater risk, the very people who needed protection the most.

This mirrors the situation with COVID: surrendering to misinformation or personal pride jeopardizes the lives of the vulnerable, children, the immunocompromised, and those without the same choices or protections.

It was only because of Ruby that those consequences didn’t spiral out of control. Ruby didn’t just save lives—she prevented Kate’s breakdown in judgment from becoming a catastrophe.

So no, this isn’t “UNIT good, Conrad bad.” It’s a story about nuance. About how flawed systems can still serve the public good, and how those flaws are exploited by bad-faith actors who don’t care about truth or safety. It’s a warning: be careful who you believe, and why. Just because someone says what you’re thinking doesn’t mean they’re right. And just because a system needs fixing doesn’t mean you burn it all down.

The episode holds up a mirror to us and asks: what do you do when the systems meant to protect you fall short? Do you give up? Do you burn down the establishment, ignoring that it would put people at great danger? Or do you recognize that while the system is flawed, it still has the capacity to do good, and that dismantling it without a plan and without care for who gets caught in the fallout can cause more harm than reforming it ever would? It challenges us to sit with discomfort, to hold more than one truth at once.

Conrad had valid grievances, but his actions still endangered lives. UNIT made mistakes, but it still stood between humanity and annihilation. Rejecting nuance in favor of easy answers may feel righteous, but it often leaves the most vulnerable to pay the price.

That said, I do think the episode would’ve been stronger had the Shreek actually attacked or marked someone else during that final confrontation. Even just one more target could have underscored the point that the threat was indiscriminate—that Kate’s decision risked more than just Conrad. It would’ve made the stakes more immediate, and made Ruby’s choice feel even more necessary.

And yeah—I really hope we get an episode someday that digs into the tightrope UNIT has to walk. How do you hold them accountable without exposing the dangerous technology and classified knowledge they safeguard? But that's not what this episode was targeting.

[mothking-rising]

Got a rude response from someone I reblogged from so I'm making my own post about Ice Flight because um--

Hey Ice Flight can be pretty cool actually and be different from the rest of the flights, and this post is gonna be my two cents about it. I've seen people go around just summing it up as "cops" when just like every other Flight they can be so much more?

While first, I do agree that Ice’s aesthetic is kinda weak as is. Not a lot you can do with the same winter themes over and over with the occasional broken chain motif. I’d love to see people get creative to what they think Ice represents and how they contribute to Sornieth’s systems, cultures, and dragons as a whole.

I see ice flight specializing in stuff like collection and cataloguing as iirc before the map update it said those were things Ice Flight likes. I think where Earth is Uncovering What Was, Ice is about Preserving What Is.

They’re not entirely just cops (and even then stripping them to just the role of "cop" is a bad take). They’re also researchers of the things they fear, and of relics that need studying. In my head Ice would probably have the best museums, archives, and storage houses. What better way to preserve or trap something than in ice?

They’re a flight of Order, not so much in the sense of cops and law but a flight that bulks when there’s a sense of disorder or chaos, disorganization, and imperfection. If it’s uncategorized, unsorted, then it needs to be so in order to be learned. Where Lightning is stats and progression, Ice is pattern recognition (Tundra’s memory being linked to their smell may also reflect this) and tradition (Gaolers role system and lack of awareness about the state of Sornieth and not just the Ice Fields).

This can be extended then into interests, individual home cultures, businesses and what not. Why not start a collection of rocks? Or insects? They’d know best how to preserve it. Need something specific from the shop? Probably very easy to find if you know the qualities and traits you’re looking for. Need something preserved for safe keeping? They’ll do that, and they’ll do it awfully well. Perfectly. The systems have to be perfect. The line up has to be perfect and up-kept and looked after intensely— possibly so intense it’s evolving into passion. There can certainly be a sense of pride.

Combine with the lore that Ice is typically more hostile to outsiders due to their melting home I can see them being much more traditional and closed off. Not quite isolated, but having a more unique culture that’s a little more closed off from others and not quite as shared, trying to preserve what is left of their home and traditions.

What about urban legends and superstition? They’re guarding creatures and horrors in those prisons, surely the local resident dragons have folklore over that? What about fishing and hunting, two very popular ways to get food or supplies in climates like these? Where are the ice fisherman skins or hunters bound in furs? What about the fauna or flora found in the region we can probably make skins for that too.

Existential horror can also be fun; remember, relatively recently Gaolers learned that Sornieth has changed. Dragons of other flights have other magic not native to their elements and in addition the age old threat of Shade that seems to be making new problems for new times.

We have a flight literally dealing first hand with monsters and horrors existing already on the planet and in its own prisons and fighting against it, yet people relegate that to Arcane. 😔 Unlike Arcane, the unknown is already here in Ice.

You could easily take inspiration from the movie The Thing, too. It writes itself ngl.

Theres much to do and think about with Ice when you remember this is a region with its own people and culture and not just an aesthetic, and I’d like to see it dabbled in more. Even if it’s just headcanon, you can make it into a skin. That’s what people have done with Light with the whole angelic themes, so why not take creative spins on ice too?

Give ice some headcanon love like y’all do with Arcane and Light. Those flights aren’t about eldritch horror or angels but there’s endless skins for them about it. Give ice some of that same ole love too 💕

[silens-oro]

My Bitter Hands (pre-Well Enough Alone Companion Piece)

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk)

Animal Kingdom Masterlist Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist GirlDad!Pope Baby AU Masterlist

General Synopsis: Hawk has her first date Word Count: 3.1k Content Warning: typical animal kingdom warnings AN: I'm giving y'all a genuinely pre-WEA companion piece with this one 🤭 this was supposed to be posted earlier tonight, but I kept going back and doing edits. please comment & reblog :)

1992 “What the hell are you doing?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing, Barry?” Hawk waved the spade in her hand around before digging back into the patch of weeds in one of Smurf's raised beds she had along the fence of the back yard.

“Looks like you’re playing in the dirt.” 

“Then your eyes do work. Worm?” Hawk offered, squinting up at him while holding the wriggling creature up between two of her gloved fingers as an offering. 

“I’ll pass.” Baz grimaced. “Julia around?” Hawk put the worm in a metal coffee can full of dirt with a couple dozen others she had found that afternoon and kept weeding and pruning the various plants that Smurf had around the backyard.

“She was sleeping the last time I saw her.” Hawk said with a shrug, yanking out what didn't belong. “Wasn’t feeling good when I came home.” Baz made a humming sound, but stayed put. 

“Pope usually does all of this,” He waved his arm around to the yard.

“Pope hasn’t been around lately and it needs to be done. I also like doing it.” Baz made a face she didn't see.

“Since when?” He questioned.

“Since before my mom kicked the bucket. I did have hobbies that didn’t include general crime before I moved in here, you know that right?”

“Worms were your hobby?” Hawk sighed, glaring at Baz. 

“Unless you need something, I’m clearly busy, Baz. Julia’s inside -go bug her.” She grinned to herself at the unintended pun. Baz squatted down next to her, but Hawk kept weeding and pulling out worms to add to the can. Baz glanced over to the open bedroom window a few feet over where he knew Pope was watching and listening from. This was recon, after all. 

“I heard you’re going out with Pete McKay tomorrow night.” Baz cut right to the chase. Pete McKay was a junior along with Hawk and Baz. He was tall, with dark hair and warm brown eyes that Hawk occasionally found herself entranced by when they had more in-depth conversations. Pete's smile was imperfect, with the tiniest of gaps between his two front teeth, and Hawk was bewitched by it. His smile was genuine and it was one of the first things she noticed about him.

Pete was smart, kind, and he played baseball (he'd be on the varsity team this year, she had been told during one of their lunch conversations) during the season. He wasn't really a jock, not by the school's standards anyway, but he enjoyed the sport and was looking to get some kind of college scholarship with it when the time came.

“And who’d you hear that from?” Hawk wasn't trying to play dumb, but she also didn't want to have this conversation with Baz.

“Who do you think?” Blabbermouth Julia, Hawk sighed. Julia was the only person she told, and of course she was going to tell Baz about it. Baz happened to know that Pope was going to spiral when he found out, because if there was one person he knew inside and out, it was Pope -and Pope was infatuated with Hawk. 

And Baz, ever the shit stirrer, had planted that seed with Pope to get him to do something before he lost his chance with Hawk to goddamn Pete McKay of all people. He just needed to hear Hawk talk about it to give him the push he needed. 

Pete was the first guy at school to openly show interest in Hawk, and the first guy to have the courage to ask her out. They shared two periods together -chemistry and pre-calculus, and Pete was Hawk’s personal chatterbox for both. Hawk and her chemistry partner sat in front of Pete and his partner’s bench, and Pete liked to yap with anyone and everyone -Hawk most of all when he could.

He had been outwardly friendly to her when they started the year and Hawk had considered Pete a friend, and she genuinely thought he was funny and easy to be around. He called her by her actual name and Hawk was surprised to learn how much she missed hearing it when all she heard day in and day out was the atrocious nickname Baz gave her -it was baggage. Being around Pete was freeing in a way compared to the group she usually hung out with outside of school, that much was certain. 

When Pete grew the courage to ask her out when they were hanging in the quad during their free period the day before, Hawk said yes. Why wouldn’t she? There was a lingering shadow in the back of her mind that told her there was a reason to say no, but Hawk chose to defiantly push that thought further back into the recesses of her mind. Andy, the ever present shadow in question, was never going to see her the way she saw him and as much as she’d like to wait for him, she also knew it was a one sided crush on her best friend’s twin brother who barely gave her the time of day to begin with. 

Hawk felt like a creep whenever she was in the vicinity of Andy. Andy, because he allowed only her to call him that. It sounded different, felt different, coming from Hawk. He liked it, and Baz teased him mercilessly about it when it was just the two of them. 

Pete had been surprised, shocked even, when Hawk said yes, but he took the victory with a goofy smile and told her he’d pick her up that Friday. 

It was halfway through her junior year of high school and Hawk felt like she was finally getting some sense of normalcy that she always chased -even if it was going to be through an awkward date with an equally as awkward boy. It felt like a right of passage. 

Pete was cute by anyone’s standards and he had a good head on his shoulders. He came from a normal family and didn’t look down on her for her own bleak situation. Pete also knew Hawk was heavily associated with the Cody’s -Pope and Julia had been expelled the previous school year and Pope’s departure was the biggest thing to happen at school that semester. Julia slowly faded off until she just didn’t show up anymore and the only people who seemed to notice her absence were Baz and Hawk. 

Hawk did not associate with Baz at school for more than a few words here and there in passing when she had to, so when she didn’t have Julia and Pope (by extension), she was pretty much a loner aside from a few people she knew but didn't really know. High school -which was already a miserable experience- was made even more desolate once Julia and Pope were gone. Hawk was friendly, likeable, but poisoned to everyone else because of them and just because they were gone, that didn’t mean their influence wasn’t still there. 

“If you already know, then why are you asking me?” Hawk, to her credit, did try to keep the attitude out of her tone.

“Just trying to figure out what you’re doing.” He said with a grunt as he stood back up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hawk followed his lead, tossing her gloves off. She dusted her knees off and glared up at the gangly teenage boy who always seemed to get on her nerves just a little bit easier than any other person in the house. 

“Come on, Hawk. Pete McKay? The guy’s-”

“Nice? Funny? Cute? Interested?” He scoffed. 

“Soft.”

“And? There’s nothing wrong with that, Baz.” Hawk crossed her arms over her chest.

“You really see yourself with Pete McKay, Hawk? Out of everyone?”

“Everyone? You mean the line of nonexistent guys who are lined up to take me on a date?” She blinked up at Baz.

“I’m just saying, don’t settle.”

“Christ, I’m not marrying the guy, Baz! I’m going on one date. One. And if it goes well, then two. Might get crazy with it and actually make him my boyfriend! Who knows?!” 

“Boyfriend? Are you that desperate?” The laugh that bubbles out with his question immediately ticked Hawk off. 

“Fuck you, Baz.” Hawk glared at him as she brought the pile of weeds over to the trash barrel. “Maybe I want to be wanted, is that a fucking crime? I can’t spend my days locked away in here in the hopes that something happens. At least Pete McKay had the balls to ask me out. God forbid I take an opportunity when it’s given to me.”

“Pete McKay isn’t an opportunity, Hawk. He’s beneath you.”

“Beneath me?” She scoffed, her voice raising. “What are you talking about? He's a goddamn baseball player for Christ's sake!”

“He’s an outsider!” Baz matched her volume. 

“We’re outsiders, Baz, in case you forgot! We are not family.”

“Yes we are, Hawk.”

“Listen, outsider or not I’m going out with Pete tomorrow night, alright? I don’t know what your weird hang up with this is, but I don’t fucking like it.”

“I heard yelling. Is everything alright?” Julia stepped outside from the kitchen, eyeing Hawk and Baz. Hawk stormed her way back to the house, passing Julia before she yelled over her shoulder:

“Keep your shitbag boyfriend out of my business, Julia!”

Hawk’s legs were stretched out in front of her as she sat on the curb outside of the gate that effectively blocked out the rest of the world from the Cody residence. She couldn’t go inside -she wouldn’t. Hawk couldn’t bare to see the smug look Baz would give her because he was right. She waited…and waited, then waited some more before she realized Pete really wasn’t coming. 

Hawk couldn’t understand it. Just earlier that morning Pete was talking to her in between classes about how excited he was to take her out to the Valley drive-in, asking her what she’d rather go see. 

“Dracula?” Pete asked, giving Hawk a double take.

“We can see something else, like Army of Darkness if that’s more your speed.” Hawk shrugged. “Unless…” She trailed off coyly. 

“Unless what?” Pete narrowed his eyes playfully at her, leaning closer

“You’re squeamish,” She whispered with a grin. Pete blew a raspberry at her.

“I’m not squeamish…most of the time.” Hawk laughed, holding her binder and chem book to her chest as they walked across the quad to the science building. “If it’s what you want to see, I’ll give it a shot.” He smoothly took the items out of Hawk’s hands and held them for her in one arm before putting his other arm over her shoulders.

“That is very brave of you.” Hawk giggled, leaning into him as they walked.

"You can always hold me if it gets too scary, so it's a win either way for me." Hawk full on laughed, pushing Pete playfully to the side.  

Pete was supposed to pick her up two hours ago and he never showed. Hawk cried after the first hour passed, when her chest began to really sink in acceptance. The makeup she and Julia had applied was smeared down her cheeks and she wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground and never come out again. The gate started to open and headlights hit her as a car approached slowly before turning into the driveway. Andy’s 2 door Jeep Wrangler passed by her, but she looked in the opposite direction so he couldn’t see her face. 

“You alright?” Please just go inside, she begged mentally as Pope walked back down the driveway through the gate he left open. “What are you doing out here?” 

“I’m fine.” Hawk kept her head turned away from Andrew, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face. 

“Crying usually means you aren’t fine.” Andrew sat himself down next to her, looking down at his hands and the new split that decorated his middle knuckle. He hid his hand as nonchalantly as he could, glancing at Hawk from time to time. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, alright?” Hawk’s tone was clipped, and any other time she would’ve been smitten that Andy was talking to her, but this was not the time. 

“Pope?” Julia’s voice called out, looking around for her brother. “You were supposed to be back three goddamn hours ago! I told you that Smurf said I could have the car tonight!” 

“Out here!” He called back to her. The sound of Julia’s flip flops echoed off the cement as she came down with a full attitude, ready to ream her twin out, but stopped short when she noticed he wasn't alone.  

“Jesus, Hawk!” She exclaimed when she saw Hawk sitting on the curb. Pope stood when Julia came rushing down to console her friend. “What are you doing out here? I thought you were with Pete?” 

“He never showed.” Was all Hawk said as she quickly stood up and walked past Julia to flee into the house with her head down in embarrassment. 

“What do you mean he never showed?” Julia followed behind her, looking back at Pope who shrugged as he followed, but Julia knew her twin and she recognized the troublesome glint in his eyes. He knew something and she was going to find out what. 

“Whoa, Hawk-” Hawk ran into Baz as she stormed through the front door. His hands came out to steady her, but she just pushed him away.

“Get fucked, Barry!” Hawk snapped, rushing past him. He looked at Julia and Pope, and Julia narrowed her eyes at him. She waited for the slam of Hawk’s door before she pointed a finger at Baz. 

“What the hell did you do?” Julia kept her voice low. 

“I didn’t do anything.” Baz was genuinely confused as to what was happening.

“You were questioning her about Pete yesterday and now he doesn’t show up for their date? I call bullshit. He wouldn’t have ditched her. The guy practically worships the ground she walks on.” Julia noticed Pope bristle at what she was saying. Her eyes narrowed further to slits. “What did you do?” Baz shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shrugged sheepishly. Julia turned to her twin. “Andrew?” Pope looked at Baz then shrugged at Julia. 

“Maybe he just chickened out?” He offered, his fingers tapping on his thigh.  

“I swear to god if I find out you two had something to do with this, I’m murdering you both.” Julia growled before heading down the hall to do damage control. 

By the time Monday morning rolled around, dread had completely filled Hawk’s stomach. She wasn’t mad anymore, but she did want answers -she deserved them at the very least. Hawk searched high and low for Pete before the tardy bell, and with four minutes before it was set to ring, she found him at his locker with his back to her. The outdoor locker area was clearing out as students scurried to their respective classes, giving them a sense of privacy. 

“You know, if you didn’t want to go out you could’ve just said so, Pete.” Hawk confronted the taller teen. She saw his spine go rigid, but he didn’t turn to face her. “It was your idea anyway.” She scratched at her arm as her nerves settled in.

“I guess it was stupid to think you liked me, but I’m still a person and you hurt my goddamn feelings because I waited for you! I waited for you and I cried and I know it’s stupid because this whole thing is stupid, but you could’ve just said something instead of leaving me hanging. I thought you weren’t that kind of person, but I guess I was wrong.” Hawk sighed and nodded when he didn’t say anything. “I’ll uh...I'll see you around.” She said softly as she felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. Hawk turned to head towards the girls bathroom when she heard Pete call her name. She turned and gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth when she saw the mottled bruises that covered Pete’s left eye. “Jesus Christ, Pete.” Hawk breathed out, taking a step towards him, but he held his hand out to stop her. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t show up on Friday night. I really am, but I was kindly reminded that I’ve clearly overstepped my bounds when it came to you.” 

“What are you talking about? Who did this to you?” Pete looked at her as if to say ‘really?’.

“It doesn’t matter.” He brushed her off.

“Yes, it does matter. If someone thinks they can put their hands on you-” 

“-I like you. I really, really do, but maybe staying friends is the best way to go about this. For both of our sake.” Hawk didn't think she could feel worse than she did on Friday night, and yet, the bar somehow sunk even lower.

“Where is he?” Hawk stormed her way through the house, room by room, on the hunt for Baz. He had ditched classes that day and when Hawk figured he wasn’t showing up at all, she ditched too. “Baz!” She called out without getting an answer. 

“They’re outside, baby. Is something the matter?” Smurf asked from the kitchen where she was making lunch. 

“Yeah, there’s gonna be one less kid in the house in about two minutes, Smurf.” Hawk heard laughing coming from outside and her eyes zeroed in on Baz, who was lounging on one of the pool chairs with Julia laying between his legs. Pope was sitting on the chair closest to Hawk and he noticed her first before Baz and Julia did. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Hawk shouted before launching herself at him. Pope jumped in the middle and intercepted Hawk before she had a chance to swing. 

“What the hell did you do?” Julia immediately sided with Hawk. She turned her head to look up at Baz, who was sputtering in response. 

“Settle down,” Pope spoke softly into Hawk’s ear as he bear-hugged her by picking her up an inch or so off the ground and dragging her a few feet away from Baz. 

“He beat the shit out of Pete McKay, that’s what he did! That’s why Pete didn’t show up on Friday! He didn’t ditch me, he just got his ass kicked!” Hawk shouted over Pope’s shoulder, pointing accusingly at Baz. 

“Are you serious?” Julia asked him. 

“I didn’t do shit to Pete!” Baz defended himself, pulling Julia back to him when she tried to get up. “But I did tell you he was soft.” 

“God, you are the fucking worst, Baz! The fucking worst!” Hawk tried to pull herself away from Pope, but he just squeezed his arms around her tighter. “If you didn’t do it, then who gave him the black eye he came to school with this morning? Did that just magically appear on his face? Did he imagine the whole thing? You’re the only other person besides Julia who knew he was taking me out!” Pope swung them around so he could face Baz and Julia, and Julia’s eyes zeroed in on Pope’s healing knuckles that were on display as he held Hawk. 

“Did he say that I did it?” Baz was glaring at Pope, Pope was silently begging Julia to not say anything, and Julia wanted to kill both of the boys for Hawk’s sake. More importantly, she was going to kill Pope because she told him Hawk was off limits. She just shook her head at her brother, her eyes glaring at him as she stood. Baz let her go once he saw how serious she looked. 

“He didn’t have to! He was more or less told to back off after he got punched and I want to know why!” Hawk continued to shout and fight against Pope. He grunted, but kept his feet firmly on the ground. 

“I’m the wrong person you should be asking, Hawk.” Baz said earnestly as he also stood up from the lounger to stand next to Julia, who had her arms crossed and a very pissed off look on her face.  

“Let go of me!” Hawk pushed Andy away, her hands feeling like they were shocked when they touched his bare, sun kissed torso. He finally relented when he felt her go slack against him. Hawk’s chest was heaving as she tried to catch her breath. “I don’t know if you sick fucks get some kind of enjoyment out of seeing me miserable, but I’m tired of it! This can’t keep happening.” 

“Babe, I don’t think that’s what’s going on here,” Julia approached her with a grimace. Both Julia and Baz were looking directly at Pope, who was now standing behind Hawk. He looked between them anxiously and when Hawk turned to also look at him, he silently went over to the slider to his bedroom and locked himself inside. 

“Am I missing something here?” Julia closed her eyes and sighed while Baz dragged his hands down his face at Hawk’s question.  

the parallelllllllllllls the parallelllllllllls

pope stays not letting hawk beat baz's ass (granted, Baz did not deserve it this time around) 😂

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

srry if this is vague, but do u perhaps have any headcanons about the TWST worlsbuilding? like city capitals, gender norms, internet memes, etc.

DhsnwbkFaiqn The Twst world is so big that I don’t think I could feasibly compile all my personal headcanons about the various countries and cities in a single post. I’ll share some that I feel very strongly on, just keep in mind that this is by no means an exhaustive list ^^;;

It is said that a golden dragon (well, long) presides over marriage in the Land of Crimson Long. It’s not a “real” person, more like a spirit newly wed couples pray to for happiness in their married life.

It’s okay for merpeople to consume non-sentient sea creatures, but it’s considered immoral to consume one’s members of one’s own species, even if that species itself is cannibalistic. (For example, Azul eating octopus or the twins eating moray eels.) This is because merpeople have human sentience which induces disgust in eating their own kind.

Merpeople communities get “worse”/less safe the further down you go in the ocean.

The major cities in Pyroxene/the Shaftlands attract those annoying internet clout chasers and influencers. They’re kind of seen as a general nuisance by the locals, who turn their noses up at them.

There may have been a social divide or discrimination between more animalistic merpeople (Octavinelle) and more human merpeople (Atlantica Museum Guards) in the past. Modern day relations are better, but there’s still some areas in need of improvement and that’s an effort the current royal family are working on.

Environmental conservation efforts are taken very seriously, considering that many races (fae, merpeople) or countries (Sunset Savanna, Briar Valley, Scalding Sands) depend on and/or revere nature. It’s an important part of maintaining peace between the nations.

There is DEFINITELY cursed fanfiction out there. More specifically, the “my mom sold me to One Direction” kind, except replace One Direction with Vil Schoenheit or Neige Leblanche.

There’s also got to be fanfiction of the Great Seven and tons of other modern media inspired by their accomplishments (TV shows, documentaries, musicals, etc.); we already know that films inspired by them exist so why not go the full mile??

There are items in nature inspired by those depicted in Disney films. For example, a kind of flower called the Sundrop, or a gem called the Moonstone Opal (both from Tangled).

More products and brands inspired by Disney films!! Maybe a candy themed racing game like Sugar Rush, hair styling gel and lipstick that comes out of seashells like what Ursula uses, etc.

There are co-ed and all-girls magic schools.

Heartslabyul’s interiors have a mind of their own and sometimes shift for fun. Confuses the freshmen when they experience it for the first time, but they get used to navigating it over time.

Some animal languages require that you use body language and hand movements to supplement tone and word choice. For example, you’d have to curl your hands into paws when speaking Cat.

The pose one’s body assumes can alter spellcasting. For example, if your stance is stiff, it is harder to control the flow of magic and you lose precision.

Magical medicine isn’t a cure-all; I think of it as a field that specializes in treating magic-induced ailments (like blessings/curses) and/or they are trained to use magic for tests (like scans) and precise procedures (such as surgery). (Potions in Twst are already shown to be imperfect; you still need to rest after taking them and the potions still target specific symptoms rather than fix everything.)

Savanaclaw hazes new students by tossing them into the water pool in the lounge. Leona could stop it, but he lets it happen because he thinks it helps “toughen up the fresh meat.”

Post book 6, Ortho arranges gaming tournaments and anime screenings to encourage the Ignihyde students to socialize more. They weren’t that popular in the beginning, but now they attract a decent group.

NRC has several more clubs than the ones the NRC cast are involved in; this includes a Newspaper Club that reports on local news and on-campus activities. (Miss Raven is a contributor!)

[meo-eiru]

It's kinda sad tbh!! Knowing that Elian is literally nothing without his looks,, literally feeling unwelcomed or invalidated to anything if you aren't pretty enough it's literally everything to him I so agree w the person analyzing him !!! But what I am curious about though is his darling. What if darling were to be the same? Like also pretty co-dependent, self destructive, etc. Or what if they were to find joy in just.. Idk!! Sadist stuff , since he literally revolves around them. I think a darling who's also almost the exact same as him would be interesting, literally two people destroying each other what if one went away? Etc etc. I love angst ohmy. Or what if darling was the exact opposite? A good life, successful, basically everything he doesn't have. Would he be jealous or worship them?? What if darling just idk uses him as a trophy and stuff,, or basically neglects him, what if darling were to get angry easily? At him, maybe. Saying how useless he is and all. What if darling was bipolar?? Σ(゜゜) I love toxic relationships like how they turn out and how it effects the people in it especially YK the vampire yandere since it's literally just self destruction,, STOP THAT REMINDS ME WHAT IF VAMPIRE YANS DARLING WERE ALSO LIKE A PEOPLE PLEASER? giving all their blood to him with no complaint,, like very insistent yk, like almost the exact replica of him. Backflips away

Elias character analyses

Oh god all of these scenarios sound so delicious I don’t know where to start.

I love the idea of a darling who is similar to him nature. As obsessed with him as he is with them, being co-dependent together.

Elias loves being loved by you. Your affection is what makes him feel alive. He wants you to call him pretty and cherish him. Choose clothes for him and praise him like a doll who exists to be loved by you.

But he’s just so very insecure, he believes you could abandon him very easily so he experiences very aggressive jealousy fits. So a darling who’s equally obsessed with him sounds like it could balance things out. One that keeps their eye on him all the time, one that love bombs him constantly.

But as sweet as it sounds too much of anything is unhealthy. I’m afraid that co-dependance might break them both in the long run. Elias will probably want more and more no matter how much love you give him. Once he gets used to receiving your love he’ll probably start fearing that it’s some sort of momentary happiness and you could disappear at any moment. He’ll be paranoid. He might push you into quitting your job and staying with him inside the house 24/7 because any moment he’s not in contact with you makes him anxious.

But what if darling keeps pouring in love without getting tired? What if they are ok with giving up on everything just to spoil Elias? I think they will be happy. They will be very happy in fact. But I feel like they’ll be happy in the way drunk people are. It’s like a daze, an impossibly perfect dream. Elias might slowly start to lose the small amount of humanity he has and become completely doll like. Just a soulless, endless black hole of a creature that’ll take and take and take all the love you give him.

A sadistic (and probably rich) darling who uses him like some sort of trophy is also fun. He’s like a pretty accessory for them to carry around, like a handbag. I feel like for a long long time Elias would do everything in his power to please them. He would perfect his appearance to insane levels. He exists to be pretty for you, to elevate your standing, he can’t risk ever being imperfect in the public eye because it would damage you as well. And Elias wants you to be proud of him, he wants you to tell him you are proud of him and that he’s the most beautiful thing you own.

But maybe instead you put him down. You damage his ego to keep him where he is. Prevent him from trying to climb up to your level. Maybe you think he should stay the way he is, a thing that exists to make you look better. He’s beautiful and that’s all he should be.

But Elias is pretty crazy at the end of the day. He can only take it for so long. Elias is very petty and he wants you to love him.

At one point it infuriates him. You are so perfect. You are so successful in life, you are loved by people, you are beautiful, you are amazing, you are just so… perfect. And Elias doesn’t want that. The fact that you have everything he doesn’t, the fact that everyone else gets to see your perfectness, the way you put him down no matter how hard he tries.

Maybe you could love him if he pulled you down to his level.

He might start some gossips about you. He might lie about your business practices or some dating scandal. He might use his pretty face to act like a victim who was abused by you. And once you lose your money, your power, your status, your everything… Elias will welcome you back with open arms. You also have nothing now, just like him. Surely you can love him with all your heart now?

I forgive you but I don’t know if Elias will😔

[robin-evry]

I just finished rewatching ROR yesterday so I was wondering if I can l request Raun Mei (from HSR) reader being Poseidon's daughter. Also I love your writings.

AWWW thank you, I'm happy that you enjoy my writings 🤗🤗

𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐔𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐈!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 🧬🌸

A member of the Genius Society and an expert in life sciences. She teamed up with Herta and others to develop the Simulated Universe.

Credit towards the artist

Like father and daughter, both of them are very detached with their emotion Poseidon sees emotions as imperfections meanwhile the reader is detached from emotions literally they are unable to understand emotions due to them never experiencing it.

Poseidon isn't a good father or a bad father he acknowledged the reader as his child but that's just his child so he rarely spends time with them, he has an entire kingdom to rule leading the reader to have a lot of freedom.

All he expected is a daughter that does not stain his reputation and causes problems for him to fix, the reader rarely or never ever has gotten in trouble they are always in line.

Compared towards their father, the reader is more elegant and kind for those around them as well as very curious amongst the world they viewed the world differently they more focus on their studies of life.

They love to experiment and create many sea creatures and they would release them in the wild and they will populate in the sea, Poseidon doesn't mind it because he saw this as his daughters way of contribution towards the sea by giving more beautiful sea creatures as well as corals.

They are very elegant, gods and more who fears Poseidon sees the reader as an easier version and instead of bowing fully if their father they would give a small bow towards the reader and the reader would acknowledge by nodding.

Many would view their detachment over emotions creepy and see them as a doll but towards Poseidon he finds their detachment over emotions pleasing meaning they don't need constant attention as well not having the weakness as the other gods who let their emotions taken over them.

Ares is afraid of them because even tho the reader is just standing there, their presence is very terrifying because they don't Function normally as well the reader would predict every move he makes with ease, he could feel as if they're looking straight at him.

Meanwhile, Hermes both of them would hold conversation over politics and the latest Valhalla topic, ares felt like he could never speak because how Advance the topic is. For Apollo both of them enjoy the arts and would also held conversation about it.

During when Zeus, Poseidon and hades held a meeting ruan mei!reader and the others would have a tea party with each other.

The reader shares the love of dessert, even tho Valhalla had the most delicious sweets they are still curious about other desserts made by humans, so they disguise themselves to eat in sweet shops

Hades and Zeus immediately about their detachment towards emotions compared towards their cousin ruan mei!The reader never ever cry before and when they questioned this towards Poseidon he felt indifferent saying that his daughter does not have the limitations of emotion compared towards the other weak species. Adamas got reminded of when they were younger towards ruan mei!reader acts similar towards how Poseidon would react as a kid and he despise it

Poseidon has never seen anyone as his equal but there's an exception towards ruan mei!yuu, Poseidon sees them as an extension of himself or basically a part of him so he technically will view them as an equal.

Not many know about ruan mei!reader experiment, by far the only person that is willing to participate in committing an expirement is Beelzebub and saw through their facade of elegance, ruan mei!reader is elegant but a person without warmth doesn't understand emotions, Poseidon usually doesn't bother them so he never investigates as well many of the staff were too afraid to tell him.

Many tried to have their hand in marriage but none were brave enough to challenge Poseidon, ruan mei!reader is like a pearl admired and elegant but only those who are worthy are able to see them.

[llamagoddessofficial]

perhaps maybe some bad guy moth crumbs? Mayhaps? Maybe?

ok ok o kok ok jokojokjfokdsjfokjokJLFKDSLKFJDSKF i love you anon, good question. This also ties in very well to all the fae thoughts I've been having.

Horror has the wings of a great big ragged peacock moth. They're large, heavy, and thick with fur. They drag behind him like a cape when he walks. With the way the mass of fur around his neck clumps and curls, it gives him the appearance of a lumbering bear - if he can fly, he seems to prefer not to, instead stalking the ground and picking off anything that can't get away from him.

His wings are very matted, very dirty. They have been for a long time. He... he would really, really like it if you brushed him. He doesn't mind how long it takes. It's been so long since someone touched him with care. Just... please brush him.

Dust resembles a muslin moth. Smooth, silky, grey. Too smooth - too untouched. The air around him smells strange, when you touch him its hard to tell what's the usual fine powder moths shed and what's something else. The rest of Nightmare's men have cuts and scrapes and imperfections in their wings, tears from battles they lost. Dust has no such imperfections. Almost like... he just doesn't lose. In some lights, when he raises his wings to attack, it's like the edges glow red and cyan. He is not the creature he purports to be.

You're curious about his wings? Cute. Why don't you come closer, have a better look? Why don't you stand close enough for him to see your lovely face. Then you both get something you want.

Whatever Killer was before, it's hard to tell now. His wings have been stained completely black, the only colours are the vivid red of two perfect eyespots, one on either wing. There's probably another moth pattern under all that black. Who knows.

Moth monsters often tend to shed a kind of fine powder, but it's hardly visible and pretty easy to ignore. Killer? His powder is dark, like soot, it clings to anything he frequently touches. Everyone around you can tell that Killer likes you, because his affection comes with great big black marks across your clothes and body. It's his way of declaring ownership. If he thinks someone is getting too cosy he sneaks up on you and hugs you to stain you for the rest of the day.

The exterior of Nightmare's wings looks like a pipevine swallowtail, with a lovely black fading into an equally lovely dark blue. Regal and elegant enough already. He keeps them folded around himself, as a makeshift cloak, and frequently decorates them with silver chains and precious gems.

The interior of his wings sports large, cyan eyespots. If he wants to, he can open his wings and flare the eyespots, causing a sudden rush of uncontrollable terror in whoever witnesses it. It's his decision how the fear affects the victim. He might want to make someone so scared they blab the truth. He might want someone to flee his presence because he's sick of them.

... Or... he might want to stop someone he's interested in from leaving.