#dunno how they keep humans on them for months

[nerdygirlramblings]

totally self-indulgent because if you can't be self-indulgent with your fanfic when can you

tw: self body shaming / body dysmorphia, low self-esteem reader

You weren't bad looking. You figured you were a generous 5, a solid 6 if you dolled yourself up right. But it never felt like enough. You'd been on dates and gotten compliments, but no one stuck around. Every time you were left alone, the common denominator was always you.

It wasn't hard then to think that you weren't enough.

Until them.

You met John first, processing paperwork he was picking up. Your first month on the job and you were still getting used to the rhythm of the base. While it was still paperwork, these administration duties were so different from the last office where you'd worked. John was a friendly face, and a handsome one too. You didn't mind when he dropped by alone or with members of his team.

He'd introduced you to them all in the weeks after he'd met you. There was Kyle, the beautiful man with a golden smile; Johnny, a human golden retriever with bright blue eyes; and Simon, a steady, quiet presence. You'd been polite, been a nice colleague and had lunch or tea with the men, alone, in small groups, or with all four.

You had no idea this was their idea of courting you.

The first time you'd joined them for a drink off base, you were not expecting them to explain how they were together like that, and how they wanted to see if you would want to be theirs. Shocked, you said yes. Sputtered it, if you were being honest. But how could someone hold their own when not one but four big, strong, caring military men wanted to date them?

So you started going on more actual dates: dinner with John, the cinema with Kyle, walks in the park with Simon. The men all tried to make you feel special, but getting past your walls wasn't easy. You knew it wasn't, even if you wanted to make it so. Too many years of bad dates, of being ghosted or rejected, of men who wanted to keep the lights off, didn't want to meet your family, didn't want to stick around, reinforced every bad thing you thought about yourself.

Until the night you'd joined Johnny for a nightcap at theirs, and everyone was home when you stepped in. You felt trapped, but Johnny put his big hand on your lower back and escorted you into the sitting room, placing you gently onto the sofa next to John.

"Doll," he'd said, turning your face to his, "we know this is a lot, all of us, but we've been talking." You sucked in a breath, anticipating how poorly this night was going to end. This was it, they were done. Your walls were too high even for the best of men to scale them. But you couldn't look away from John's steady gaze. "We know yer scared, love, but ya don't have ta be. We like everything about you."

You try to turn away, only to see Simon steady at your back. "Yer bloody gorgeous, luvie. Dunno how ya can' see it," he said, running a hand possessively down your face to your collar.

"Perhaps we need ta show ya instead," Kyle said from where he'd moved to your knees. He ran his hands up your thighs and just slipped under the edge of your skirt.

"Let us show ye," Johnny whispered from the back of the sofa. He leaned forward and kissed the column of your neck.

They didn't give you the chance to run, slowly, carefully, peeling back your layers. Kisses that lead to light groping, which you've done with them all before, but as it moves to heavy petting and actual intimacy, you pull back, try to hide your flaws and imperfections. You hadn't been intimate with a partner in ages because after so many bad experiences, you knew there was something wrong with you. Something about how you looked, how you behaved. You were the problem.

But not to them.

Every time you clamped down on a moan, remembering the partners who were annoyed at your noises caused Simon to tut, "Let us hear ya, luvvie. Need to know wha' ya like." When your tried to cover your cellulite, the parts of you you hid under spanx, Johnny and Kyle were there with soft caresses, moving worshipfully across your body. And when you were all stripped bare, you focused intently on their pleasure, trying not to be a selfish lover. Until John told you they were each going to gift you an orgasm before they got off, "Because your other lovers were shite if they didn't focus on you, love."

And finally, you saw you were enough. You were worth more than you'd ever been given before. You were worth everything they were willing to give you. And more.

So you let them.

main masterlist

[samwinchesterswifu]

You Shook Me All Night Long (Dean Winchester x Reader) Smut

Bunker seasons era

Song Inspo: "You Shook Me All Night Long" by ACDC

Warnings: literally the whole thing is just smut lmfao

MINORS DNI

A/N: ive been having TERRIBLE writers block. I dunno how happy i am with this one, so PLEASE let me know if this good smutty shit yall, thnxs for your endless support <3

Word Count: 1103

Summary: He surprises her with coming home early...but that's not the only thing he surprises her with.

The boys were away on a week long hunt. Since injuring her knee a few months ago during a Ghoul hunt, she’s decided to take a break from hunting to allow her body full time to heal. This allowed her a lot of time to make the Bunker a proper home for them. She would spend her weekends keep housing if the boys were still gone, then during the week she would spend time in the library cataloging or helping with research. Then, whenever Dean came home, she was hands on with focus. Her and Dean had been a thing for a little while. The stress of the job eventually breaking down the tough looking hunter asking her to be his life partner. She had happily agreed. There was no real label on their relationship, just two people who understood each other more than any other human.

It was a Sunday morning. Dean had called her the night before, informing her that they would probably be home Sunday night, or possibly into Monday. She was excited to see Dean. Since taking her leave, Dean coming home from these longer hunts added an extra excitement to their relationship. But knowing he won’t be home until as late as tomorrow, she treated it like any other Sunday.

Dressed in little shorts, a cute tank top that showed off her features she began her cleaning routine. Starting in the war room, making her way through the kitchen and then finally to the library. Music blasted throughout the speaker system of the bunker. Charlie had helped set her up with a Bluetooth connection to the old raggedy speakers one weekend while the boys were gone and they had a girls date. It was her little incentive to stay motivated.

One of her favorite 80’s song began on a new rotation of shuffle and she began swagging her hips to the beat of the song while spraying cleaner on the library tables, bending over to get all the way across. She was so distracted by the beat that she didn’t even hear the bunker door open. Dean had arrived home early as a surprise. Dancing around the tables, doing small spins or dance moves, Dean just admired her from a distance. He never got to see her like this. He dropped his bag down and with a thud she turned around to see him. Completely flustered that she was caught. The two of them just starred, Dean was practically undressing her with his eye making her squirm under his gaze.

Neither of them said anything as Dean strode towards her. Grabbing onto her hips, and pulling her tight to his chest. Breathing in the cheap cologne Dean always loved to wear, practically getting drunk off his sent alone. A grin creeps on Dean’s face and he sways the two to the beat. Eyes were locked on one another as he gave her a little spin before bringing her back into sway. A deep blush forms across her cheeks. She hardly ever saw Dean this way, usually this was after a good hunt and no one got hurt. Towards the end of the song, Dean crashes his lips to hers. This was a new hunger she hasn’t experienced. Sure, they’ve had make-up sex, ‘I thought I lost you back there’ sex, and so forth. But this was different, it was ravenous. Dean’s kisses grew heavier, teeth clashing as he drove his hands all over her curves.

At this point, her hips were pinned against one of the library tables. Dean broke away from her lips, kissing along her cheek and down towards the nape of her neck. Nibbling away at different spots along her collar bone. Small mewls and moans of pleasure leave her lips, earning a tighter grip of his hands on her. Dean leans down for a brief moment, hoisting her up by her legs to sit her on the table. He gently pushes her shoulders back on the hardwood, and continues to trail kisses down her clothed body. As he gets closer to her stomach, Dean shifts to be on his knees. Which was surprising. He places tiny kisses across her hips as he uses his hands to push open her legs. Dean yanks off her shorts underwear in a swift movement. Both pieces coming off together. This man was starving for her.

“Fuck,” Dean whispers looking at her pussy. His eyes drift back up to hers as he licked his lips.

In a split second, Dean was diving in. Lapping away at her folds like it was the most delectable fruit Dean has ever tasted in his time on earth. An orgasm was ripping through her body with moments. She tugs on his hair as he continues to coach her through the orgasm. But Dean wasn’t done, he was still at it. Moans echoed through the library and she felt so unholy. This is where men of generations came to learn about the monsters of her world, and yet her she was, bare ass on the same table as her man ate her out alive.

Another orgasm was on the horizon, and like the quick man that Dean Winchester is, two of his broad fingers are inserted into her folds. A shocked and rattled moan escapes her at the shock of surprise and pleasure. His fingers are going in and out like a jack rabbit. Dean occasionally curling them to reach her g-spot.

“Come on baby,” Dean whispers from his spot. This man was fucking edging her on.

Another finger inserted.

“If you want my cock, I’ll need another one from you,” his voice was demanding. And she was prepared to meet those demands.

His attack on her just sped up more, and more. While simultaneously sucking on her clit. But finally, she was close.

“Fuck, Dean,” she gasps. Tugging again at his strands.

“Don’t..stop,” breathing was labored and felt like she was about to see stars. She was there…she was right there…

Then there was nothing. The area Dean was just in was cold. Looking up in utter confusion, she sees her man pulled away. His chin shining with her cum and a shit eating grin plaster on his damn face.

She stutters.

“Y-you, you cant do that, please Dean.” The unpleasant feeling of an orgasm left unfinished pulsated through her.

“I’m gunna need you to last all day sweetheart, I’m not done with you yet,” He says as he gets up from his position.

Giving her a wink, he simply walks away leaving her baffled.

What the hell am I getting myself into.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2024 No. 16, No. 19, No. 22

Prompt 16: Swamp

Prompt 19: Abandoned cabin

Prompt 22: Tourniquet

Warnings: Animal death; severe injuries

A/N: Sorry for the abrupt ending. This one has been a work in progress since the beginning of the month and I just can’t get it to go any further. Maybe I’ll continue with a second part later.

gif is not mine - google

Neither human nor beast had moved since you had spotted the predator—a dragon by its own right. The alligator’s eyes reflected both the water’s surface and a sinister promise. Daryl, the water easily reaching his shoulders with his feet touching the swamp floor, was breathing quickly through his nose but remained otherwise motionless. The only thing you could see in his eyes was naked, implacable fear. 

“Daryl.” You whimpered. 

“Get outta the water.” You knew better than to argue and moved the slightest inch to turn before he spoke again. “Slow. Don’t splash.” He added. 

“Okay.” You tried to keep your movements fluid, deliberate. Each step beneath the murky surface felt heavy and so slow that you thought you would never feel the water receding around your upper body. You momentarily considered shedding your backpack but decided against it. There was a strange noise behind you but you kept your eyes on the overgrown shoreline. “Daryl?”

“Doin’ great. Keep goin’.” 

You nodded and maintained your glacial pace, bending at the waist as you began to leave the water in order to minimize the droplets that would unsettle the surface. The foreboding sense of being followed gnarled and twisted in your gut, and you allowed yourself to believe it was Daryl inching along behind you. 

“Almost there.” The tremble in his tone was easy to detect. You could also pick up that he was nowhere near behind you. 

“Daryl, how will you—” You didn’t see the debris. Of course you couldn’t through the dingy water. You had barely tripped and hit your knees when all hell broke loose around you. 

“Run, run, GO!” Came Daryl’s roar, a half a second before you heard and felt the chaos erupting. You were moving within milliseconds of his command, making the mistake of looking over your shoulder. 

“Shit!” A second gator had—at some point—surfaced, its tail whipping side-to-side to carry it toward you at a speed you would have never been able to outswim. Clambering onto the shore, the weeds soggy and giving beneath your feet, you ran a few meters ahead, trying hard to ignore the sounds that echoed beyond what could be your approaching death. 

The smaller alligator met land with a speed you hadn’t known the creatures capable of outside the water, its four legs carrying that open maw toward you faster than you were prepared to counter. With your only choices being abandon Daryl or fight, you made the only one with which your heart could live. 

Waiting until the last second, just as the animal lunged for you, you leapt to the side, twisting your body to throw your hunting knife. Those lessons with Daryl had paid off. The alligator slid forward until the momentum waned before going still, your knife protruding from its left eye. 

There was no time to catch your breath. “Daryl!” Between the heavy splashing, you would catch sight of a tail or an arm, the glint of sunlight off a blade. He was fighting for his life and you had no idea how to help him. Did you go back in the water? It’s what you wanted to do. There were likely other gators being attracted by the frenzy. Maybe you could keep them—

“Y’alright?!” 

“Oh, Daryl, thank god.” He was already wading toward you, shaking out his left hand while his right still held his knife. There was a decent amount of blood hitting the water with each flick. “Where did—is it dead?”

The archer shrugged a shoulder. “Dunno. Ain’t waitin’ ‘round to find out neither.” 

You were already reaching for him before he stepped out onto the mud, your hands latching onto his vest to pull him forward into a kiss that had him gasping against your mouth before just as quickly settling to return the gesture. After a few breathless heartbeats, his forehead rested against yours.

“Fancy knife work there.” 

You opened your eyes to find his still closed but you knew what he spoke of without separating from him. “Learned from the best.” You peppered his lips with several more chaste kisses before finally straightening to go retrieve your weapon. “We should probably take a look at—” The words died on your tongue, dissolved by horror and fear. 

Why hadn’t you urged him away from the water? Why hadn’t he moved further on his own? As the strong jaws clamped down around Daryl’s lower leg, the answers you sought no longer mattered. The archer smacked the ground with a shout, attempting to roll over while reaching for his knife. A sharp pull on his leg foiled his attempt. 

“Daryl!” You leapt forward, grabbing for his hand. Your fingers brushed his just as he was yanked into the water, the gator letting go just long enough to seek a better hold, teeth sinking into the flesh of Daryl’s right thigh. He let out a pained yell that followed him beneath the tenebrous marsh. “Daryl, no!”

The surface bubbled and rippled before going still, your heart twisting before it sank. The swamps were silent as you stepped into the shallows, scanning, watching, praying. 

“Daryl.” You whispered frantically, taking another step into the water. If you could do something for Daryl then you’d gladly let death come for you. If you could do nothing, then it could come all the same. Your feet slid forward again, your eyes darting, desperate for just a glimpse of your archer. 

When the surface broke, it was a tail first, then the gator’s belly. Its jaws still held Daryl’s leg as it rolled, his body twisting to turn with the beast. He was alive, and he was trying to remain that way while keeping his limb intact. The gator rolled a second time with Daryl gasping in a frenzied breath before he was plunged once again. 

Gripping the hilt of your knife, you dove under, throwing any consideration of your own safety to the wayside. It was impossible to see below resulting in you reaching for either Daryl or the gator. When you felt something crash into your hand, you made a grab for it and rolled to the surface, quickly opening your eyes to find yourself holding Daryl’s belt. Bending at the waist, you wrapped your legs around him as the movement continued, the gator relentlessly seeking to tear the archer’s leg from his body. 

Above water again, you sucked in a breath and found your target, stabbing at the animal’s head with your knife. You felt it drive home and pulled it free as the rolls continued, repeating the action over and over with nothing but a prayer that you managed the kill and doing so without hitting Daryl. 

The momentum slowed before stopping completely, the water tinted red as you clawed your way to the surface, reaching down to grab Daryl before releasing the hold you had maintained with your legs. 

“Daryl.”

He broke the surface with an agonized groan, groping for you while you held on urgently. 

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Backstroking while pulling him along, you managed to get him to the shoreline and struggled to your feet with your hands beneath his arms. You pulled and pulled, dragging him as far from the water as you could manage. He helped as much as he could with his uninjured leg, digging the heel of his boot into the ground and kicking back. “Let me see.”

The flesh of his thigh was torn, flayed at the edges of two wounds that were at least six inches long. They were deep but showed no bone. His lower leg was not unaffected but lacked the severity of the other injury. 

“Fuck.” You covered your mouth for a moment, watching him collapse onto his back, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. Shedding your bag, you first grabbed a bottle of water, setting to work at cleaning the wound. When he shot upward with a shout, you began to mutter a mantra of I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. 

“Goddamnit!” Daryl exclaimed and fell back again, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. The wound continued to bleed heavily, gaping open in such a way that seized you with panic, grasping for any remembrance of your medical training. 

“Stop the bleeding. Clean the wound.” You could attempt to stitch it later, once the blood clotted—if you could even manage to pull the skin together. Gauze would never cover it but you had little choice but to try, your clothing too wet with the filthy water to aid in staunching the flow. You prayed as you dug through your bag that the harder exterior of the medical kit had protected the contents. 

Your prayers were answered, the supplies were dry. With quick movements, you unbuckled your belt and pulled it free of the loops. Sliding it beneath his leg resulted in a groan and grimace of pain but you couldn’t stop, not until it was pulled tight and fastened above the wound. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You repeated as you released your makeshift tourniquet, satisfied with the visible decrease of blood flow. “You’ll bleed out if I don’t.” Grabbing another bottle of water, you removed the cap and quickly emptied it over the torn flesh, wincing in sympathy. Alcohol would have been preferred but much more painful. Still, you worked with what was available. 

“Do—do whatcha gotta do.” Daryl panted. He pressed his palms into the soggy ground and tried to push himself up, making it only to his elbows before he was out of breath. His left hand was still steadily weeping but at least he had managed to keep all of his fingers. “Christ.” He whispered, his wide eyes obtaining their first look at the wound. 

“I know.” You felt sick. What could you do beyond what had been done already? “We have to get out of here. Find the others and get back to Alexandria.” Square after square of gauze was applied before you wrapped the grizzly wound with the only roll you had to secure and press things into place. 

“S’gettin’ dark.” He commented, head tipped back. He was staring upward toward the canopy as his breathing slowed but failed to return to normal. “Can’t be walkin’ through this shit at night.”

“We can’t stay here, Daryl.” You argued. “There’s more, you know there are.” The swamps of Macon, Georgia were abundant with wildlife, including a healthy affluence of alligators. You were going to absolutely murder Rick for this mission when you and Daryl made it back. 

When. Not if. 

“S’try an’ find a place ain’t around the water.” He was still staring upward, dazed. “Ain’t got long to search ‘fore it gets dark.” When he didn’t make an attempt to move, you gathered all you could into your backpack, save for the knife you secured in the holster on your thigh. You even managed to put Daryl’s knife in its place on this good leg without any acknowledgment from the hunter. 

“Daryl.” You tried, watching the quick but shallow pants of his breath. His skin was still wet with swamp water, but was looking pale. “Daryl.” You attempted more forcefully. 

“Hmm?” He finally rolled his head toward you, the personification of calm. “Oh.” He seemed to finally catch on and started pushing himself upward, making it to a seated position only after you had grabbed beneath his arms and helped. Once it was clear he would not fold over onto his lap, you let go. 

“Gotta get you on your feet.” 

“Ain’t gonna get far.” The way he was behaving was beginning to worry you, his lack of panic—even pain.

“Daryl.” You crouched in front of him, taking another look at his leg. Red was already seeping through the bandage, a dark circle soaked into the soil below his thigh. “I need you with me.”  You said sternly, cupping his face with both hands. His gaze was cloudy, unfocused, and only seemed to clear the slightest fraction when you gave him a gentle shake. “Are you with me?”

He blinked, his brow furrowing. “Yeah.” He rasped. “Yeah, m’with ya.” Then he was actually trying to lever to his feet without your help, your hands frantically scrambling for purchase anywhere they could to provide support. To his credit, he made little noise beyond grunts and one sobbing rush of air once he was upright. 

“Okay, okay. Here we go.” He staggered into you while you assisted in draping his arm across your shoulders. “That wasn’t so hard.” You quipped, grinning up at him when those pretty blues glared at you. You had to keep things light. 

“Think—think you’re funny?” He grunted with the first supported step, his hand grasping for a firm grip on your shoulder. 

“I know I am.” 

“Gonna hafta—file a—a complaint.” 

The steps the two of you managed were small and hindered by the struggle of pulling along his right leg. Between blood loss and the tight tourniquet, it was amazing he could feel anything at all. Still, you trucked onward, boots sinking into the mushy ground. There was just too much water all around, too many threats. You kept your eyes peeled for danger, Daryl’s head now resting against the top of your own. He was getting weaker, slowing down, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep him going. 

When he began to shiver, it wasn’t a gradual transition. One minute he was simply a weight against your side and the next, he was vibrating and his teeth chattering. It was anything but cold. It could only mean one thing. 

“You’re losing too much blood.” You commented, not really with the intent of him hearing. If he did, he didn’t respond. 

The pale light that had been guiding your path had since receded before disappearing completely, leaving the two of you shrouded in darkness. Each step had to be calculated, a gentle touch of the toe of your boot to test the integrity of the ground before you would drag him forward. If you fell into the swamp water now, it would be impossible to pull him out. 

Glowing eyes surrounded you, the reminder that more of the apex predators awaited a single lapse in judgment, one mistake. 

“Talk to me, Daryl.” He was growing heavier and heavier, harder and harder to pull along even if the ground had been sturdy. 

“Called a—a death roll.”

“What?” You queried, truly curious about the topic even if you couldn’t pay him your undivided attention. You stepped across a downed limb, your hands never leaving him before you had to nearly drag him across after you. 

“What that—gator—what it did. S’a death roll.” He stopped talking for a moment, gaining his balance, or at least enough strength to keep him from toppling over. “S’how they—how they rip off chunks,” he sucked in a shaky breath, “to eat.”

The information sat like a stone in your gut. It really had been trying to sever his leg, less interested in killing him and more concerned with tearing off a hunk of him to swallow down. 

“Well.” It was the only thing you could think of to say. The silence ensued and dragged on, your hope being sapped out and left in the trail of disturbed mud his boot was carving with each pull of his useless leg. He was less walking and more limping along beside you in graceless movements that did little more than keep him moving. 

By the time the old cabin—more of a shack, really—came into view, you were barely holding Daryl up. Your strength was waning, your body exhausted. You could hear the moans and gnashing teeth of walkers stuck in the marsh, your consciousness just too lagged to give thanks for their inability to reach you and the archer. The very thought of defending the two of you in your current state made your body ache. 

“Daryl. Daryl, it’s a cabin.” You jostled him with your shoulder, relief flooding your senses when he raised his head, albeit slowly. His only reply was a drawn out hum. “We can make it. Come on.” Drawing upon your reserves, you pulled him along. “Hello?” You called, maneuvering Daryl up the dilapidated steps to the door. There was no response, no candlelight. Abandoned. Or so you had hoped before you heard a thump against the door that was followed by a snarling growl. “Of course!”

The walker—an old man—had a bullet wound through his cheek and you would have bet the entry wound was below his chin. He had missed. Maybe he had died quickly. You wished that for him. Without dwelling, you lured him out, keeping his focus away from the man you had placed on the floor of the porch, behind an old rocker. Your knife met the dead man’s temple at the top of the steps, the body toppling onto the ground and out of your way. 

“Done and done.” You nodded and sheathed your weapon, trudging tiredly toward where Daryl lay prone. “Hey, you still with me?” You patted the side of his boot on his good leg, chuckling when he gave you a weak thumbs up. “Let’s get inside.”

Easier said than done, but once the two of you were safe behind the closed door, you allowed your body the moment of rest it needed, sprawling out next to Daryl on the floor. He was still shivering, breaths shallow, and eyes barely open. Nope, nevermind. You were up immediately, searching for anything you could use. 

A dusty blanket, some dried meat, and a useless med kit were all you managed to scavenge but it was enough. At least for the moment. You wrapped Daryl up tightly inside the blanket after beating the dust from it outside. It would be enough to keep him warm. Your bag was situated beneath his feet, keeping the blood flow closer to his heart. And once you had his head on your lap, you set to work trying to get food and water into him. 

“You need to drink. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” You argued, brushing the sweaty strands of hair away from his face. “You’re already in shock.”

“M’fine. You have it.” 

“If you’re not drinking any, then I’m—”

He groaned. “Fine.” He accepted a few sips before turning away his head. Satisfied, you drank a few of your own and placed the bottle next to your hip. You only had that bottle and one other. That was a worry for another time. 

“Do you think you can navigate us outta here when the sun comes up?” You asked. You tore off a small piece of meat and tapped his chin. He didn’t argue and accepted the offering, allowing you to lift his head slightly so he could swallow. 

“Damn sure gonna try.” His voice was raspy and tired, his eyes remaining closed. The incident and injury had left him drained. You wouldn’t be sleeping that night, that much was certain. 

“Alright. Then you need to rest.” With the meat wrapped and inside your bag, you settled against the wall, humming and running your fingers through his damp hair. 

The cabin was small, everything in one room. A stove on one side, a broken bed on the other. You distantly wondered why anyone would want to live such an isolated life with nothing but beavers and gators for company. 

Daryl groaned from your lap, your expression falling when you saw the pain etched into his sleeping face. There was no way the man would be fit to lead the two of you anywhere. You’d be lucky if he was even still alive when the sun rose. Your best bet was to stay put, keep him warm and hydrated until the others found you. Maybe you could go out and—no. You couldn’t leave him behind. 

How would the two of you get out of this one?

[tigirl-and-co]

Wahoo! Rainmakers fic is here! Merry Christmas! I spent highschool mildly obsessed with these guys, and now I'm proud to present what is probably the only Rainmakers x Reader fic ever written. I didn't check or anything. Who else would ever.

I tried to give everybody a distinct personality, please let me know if you think the vibes are coming through! It's meant to be set in a vaguely G1 universe. But more modern. Like if G1 took place some nebulous time after cellphones became common.

When I Think About Rain

Ch.1

"So what the frag is snow for?"

Watching a lime green robot kneel down in the snow and leave handprints the size of your entire body filled you with an indescribable emotion. Trying to figure out how to explain natural weather patterns to three of them gave you a feeling you could describe in a word: headache.

Looking from Acid to Nova to Ion, you tried to figure out how to respond. "Precipitation on earth just sort of happens, and life evolved to work around it. We don't really make it. We did try a few times but it just doesn't work."

Ion Storm spoke up from somewhere behind you, as blunt as ever. "That's stupid. You guys don't even control what weather happens on your own planet? Sheesh, talk about lower lifeforms!"

You shot the seeker a particularly unimpressed look, causing him to snort. He liked taunting you, and you weren't sure if it was because he had a crush on you or if he considered you 'one of the boys.' You were pretty sure it was the latter, but after Powerglide and Astoria became an item, you couldn't be completely sure.

Nova was looking up at the clear blue winter sky contemplatively, and it sort of hit you that Cybertronians don't have any childhood memories of winter. No snow days, no sledding, no digging caves in a snow bank. Snow wasn't magic to them in the same way it was to humans.

But Nova Storm didn't know what he didn't know as he turned to face his bluest brother. "I dunno, I think it's kind of cool. Having to live each day under a new set of circumstances, never really knowing what your planet's gonna throw at you. Be fun, at least for a while."

The leader of the group looked up from where he was poking at the snow to stare at you. "Sounds dangerous. Are you sure you don't wanna just move to Cybertron? We wouldn't even tell Shockwave you were there this time." You knew Acid Storm wasn't stupid enough to think it would actually ever work, but he hadn't given up hope yet that maybe you were.

Taking a swig of hot chocolate, you rolled your eyes at him. "Sneaking you lot through the spacebridge once every couple months is already risky. How're you gonna play off using it every week to get me food?" You gave a sort of faux-haughty shrug, playing at knowing better than the multi-million-year-old space warriors. "I don't see why you don't just switch sides so we can hang out more."

Suddenly, Ion Storm threw himself on his back, and even with the muffling of the snow it was such a powerful movement that you had to brace yourself to keep from falling over.

He lolled his head to look at you. "Because Optimus would probably make us actually do our jobs, instead of-" and Ion switched into an awful Megatron impression- "perfecting our acid rain formula."

You couldn't help but cackle at that, and all three seeker's optics softened. You were so small, smaller even than Soundwave's cassettes, but you weren't afraid to live loudly. To stare the Rainmakers, the flying horrors of Cybertron, right in the face and laugh about their boss with them. A life so fragile and fleeting that you refused to live in fear for it.

How were they meant to resist you?

Acid Storm found himself walking over to you. The loud crunch of snow being compacted prevented you from being surprised when he bent down to scoop you up and set you on his shoulder, you simply huff in amusement. So touchy.

Unable to protect your face from the sudden increase in winter winds from being up so high and simultaneously smile amusedly at Acid Storm, you ended up doing neither and gave him a bizarre and unreadable expression that stung your eyes and burned your lungs.

Laughing, he put a servo around you to shelter you from the wind. "Humans are all so weird."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure ours is the weirdest of them all," Ion Storm jeered from just out of your line of sight.

You couldn't suppress a snort at that one, and hollered a reply into the wind.

"Your human?" you couldn't help but call him out on that one. "Weird, I will own up to. But who ever said I was yours? I'm a free spirit, man, I belong to nobody but myself!" You hoped they could hear the smile in your voice.

Nova smiled back at you. "Well, we did capture you that one time," he rebutted, "which teeeeechnically makes you 'our human.'"

"Pfffft, no way! I bought my freedom fair and square! You let me go, so you don't own me!"

Ion stood up and reached over Acid's servo to seat you in the palm of his own, looking you dead in the eyes. "If you're not our human, how come we can just pick you up and you don't complain?" He narrowed his optics and sneered triumphantly.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head sympathetically. "Do you really think you're the only people who ever pick me up? Look at me, I'm adorable! People can't resist picking me up!"

You were too focused on Ion to notice Nova coming in from behind. "Aw, but we're your favourites, right?" He lowered his massive head down to your level, and if you didn't know him as the brains of the group, you'd almost think he looked like a puppy begging for praise. "We're the best at human-handling, yeah?"

After your heart climbed back down from your throat where the shock had chased it, you managed to feign being contemplative. "Hmmm... I suppose that's true. And I mean I did choose to spend a day hanging out in a snowy field in the middle of Fuckass Nowhere with you three, which probably has to count for something."

Now looking less like a puppy and more like the proverbial cat who got the cream, Nova grinned triumphantly. "See?" As he stood back up to his full height, satisfied with your answer, you simply had to giggle. In the low sun, his goldenrod colour scheme and general shape brought to mind a star at the top of a Christmas tree. His temperament certainly helped, of course. Giant killer robot or not, when he was happy, he had a sort of glow about him.

Acid Storm snorted.

"The Rainmakers: Scourge of Cybertron's Skies, and top-tier fleshy sparklingsitters." There was no malice in his tone- he really did just feel as comfortable joking with you as he did the rest of his trine. "I'm sure that'll put some real fear into the sparks of our enemies!"

You spun around in Ion's hand to give a witty retort. Ion fired a line at you, and you parried that, too. And so it went for the rest of the day. Eventually, enough hours had passed that your hot chocolate was gone and the stars had come out.

You smiled tiredly- you loved them and their banter, and you liked feeling like you actually belonged, but good God. There's only so many hours of witty banter in a snowy field the human mind can take. "Okay, boys. It's getting pretty damn cold out here, so we better get you home before I freeze to death."

Unable to tell if you were joking or not, they acquiesced. And in Acid's cockpit, on the long flight back to the spacebridge, you found yourself looking forward to the next meeting before they even left.

[pullhisteeth]

Hi, lovely! Just wanted to drop by and say that I miss you and your amazing writing 🥹🧡 I understand if you're taking a break or stepping away from the app, but if you're up for it, I was wondering if I could drop in a request? No pressure at all! I REALLY love the way you write fluffy and angsty fics so I was wondering if you could write about a besties-to-lovers with Eddie where he asks the reader for help with asking a different girl out, without knowing about reader's feelings for him...and then along the way he realizes his feelings for the reader hehe and maybe a lil sprinkle of jealous!Eddie too 😎 Ily and I hope you're doing okay! 🩷🩷🩷

hi my love! this is the sweetest message thank you - not taking an intentional break, just busy as anything. work’s been my whole life the past couple weeks (today is actually my first day off in like a month) and what with that and trying to eat/sleep/speak to other human beings I am …… deceased

it’s so kind of you to say hello! I loved writing your request, it was a nice break for my brain and it felt good to get back into it. ♡ love you!

contains hurt/comfort, angst, fluff. tried to get some jealous!eddie in there for you :-)

3.4k

-

Eddie looks pretty like this.

He’s sitting at your desk in the library. You’re not sure why he’s here, though that wasn’t your first thought when you spotted him on your way over. He’s hunched over slightly, unruly hair keeping his face hidden, but it’s catching the light of the afternoon sun just right and it’s glowing a blushing golden and the flutters in your gut are relentless.

“Hey,” you murmur, wary of both startling him, and the strict Hawkins Library warden who likes to shush people like it’s a sport. Regardless he starts, shoulders jumping and face whipping up and around to look at you with wide, surprised eyes that soften when he realises who you are.

“Hi, sugar,” he says, voice ebbing as he notices how loud he’s being. He looks around quickly, just in case he’s about to get scolded, before looking back up at you and beaming. It doesn’t fool you, though; his presence here coupled with the sheen of anxiety behind his eyes gives him away.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, setting your backpack down on the table and taking the seat opposite him.

He begins fiddling with his ring again and diverts his eye. He’s nervous and you want to know how to fix it more than you wish to let on.

You hum an encouraging noise when he says nothing, sliding textbooks out of your bag along with your pens.

“I, uh… I need your help,” he says warily.

“Oh? With what?”

“I want to, uh… I wanna ask Tara out,” he says, and the words come out in one quick breath, his eyes still on his hands. “But I dunno how.”

You’re quiet, busy hands halting with a book halfway open. You look at him, mouth agape, for a second too long - he looks up after a beat and catches you before you have the sense to close it.

“Please?” he begs, those eyes like a puppy dog, wide and brown and far too lovable. “I’d take her to the Hawk but she’s- Man, she’s way too cool, it’s intimidating, and I really wanna impress her, you know? And I think the Hawk’ll be too busy on Friday ‘cause I know that new movie’s out that all the kids wanna see, so what if-”

“Okay,” you say. You’re sharp, voice like a whip, cutting him off before he derails.

He looks at you blankly for a second before saying, “Really? Shit, thank you.”

You look down at the books in front of you, eyes on the printed pages but taking nothing in. “Take her to the Garage,” you tell him quietly.

“What?”

“The Garage,” you repeat, closing the textbook and piling it on top of the others to return them to your bag. “It’s on the east side, on the road out.”

“Yeah, I know where the Garage is, but- Wait, are you headin’ out already? You just got here.”

“Don’t feel like studying,” you say flatly. “The Garage is cool. Rob took me there once. Tara’d love it.”

“Hey, hey-” His restless hands reach over to grip your wrist, to stop you moving, but you’re slippery and quick and far too determined on leaving. “You don’t have to leave, I’ll leave you alone. Your exam’s next week, I don’t wanna-”

“It’s fine, Eddie, I’ll study tomorrow.”

“But-”

“See you around,” you say quickly, tugging on the zipper on your bag and standing so fast it makes your head spin. You can hear him protesting behind you but it’s no use - the only place you want to be right now is home.

-

Eddie doesn’t call that evening. He doesn’t call the next day either, or the two following that. You float between your bed, the fridge and various shifts at work without so much as daring to call him yourself, though you lie awake at night and worry you’ve done something terrible, something earth-shatteringly cruel by leaving him like you did. Something so bad that twelve years of friendship is lost forever.

“Maybe it’s better like this,” you tell Nancy over the phone. It’s Thursday night, four days until your exam, and you haven’t spoken to Eddie since Sunday. “I was gonna spend forever like that. Maybe now I can move on or somethin’.”

“We both know you’re not going to move on,” she tells you. You groan, turning over onto your back to stare at your bedroom ceiling. Your bed is like a rotten pit, unmade for nearly a week and the past five days’ dirty (and clean) laundry is littered all over the top of the comforter. “And you shouldn’t. You’d just be hiding from your feelings.”

“I hate you,” you tell her, though the way your voice comes out through your smile deceives you. “You always sound so wise, how is that?”

“I am wise,” she says, smiling too. “And I’m wise enough to know that Eddie feels the same, even if he doesn’t realise it yet. Apparently I’ve got the brains for both of us, ‘cause he’s a bit dumb like that sometimes.”

“I wish he wasn’t,” you whine, “I can’t get the image of him and Tara outta my head.”

“I can go, if you want,” she says.

“Huh?”

“I can take Rob to the Garage on Friday, keep an eye on stuff.”

“Shit, would you?”

“Yeah, why not? What’re you doing that night anyway?”

“Dunno,” you say, morose, “Probably heading to the library again.”

“Okay,” she says sympathetically. “You’re gonna smash this exam, you know that, right?”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you grumble.”

“Well I know you will. And then Indiana State’ll have the best biologist known to man on their campus.”

“Funny,” you say.

“I’m wise and funny? You’re kind tonight.”

“I’m gonna go, Nance.”

“Okay,” she says, laughing. “I’ll call on Saturday, okay? And please eat some dinner.”

“Okay,” you reply, hanging up. You balance the receiver back on its stand and roll back over, willing the tears back when you feel them roll down your temples.

-

Friday nights are your favourite nights at the library.

Who else spends the one designated social evening of the week in a room designed for quiet? You, apparently, alongside two old ladies knitting in the comfy corner, and a kid who looks like he might be home from college for the holidays. You’re settled at your usual desk with textbooks and papers scattered everywhere - the tabletop, the chair next to you, the floor. You’ve been here for hours, pouring over all of your work, oblivious to most of the minimal movement and chatter happening in the room.

You’ve got a tape in your Walkman - classical, one your dad found at the record store downtown - so you feel Eddie before you see him. He startles you, his wide hand on your shoulder, and you jump, pulling your headphones down.

“Fucking hell,” you breathe, your heart beating a mile a minute. You twist in your seat and put your pen down, looking up at him. You couldn't worry about the warden if you tried, far too enamoured by him despite everything. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He’s hovering over you, his hair a mess and cheeks flushed pink. You notice he has his nice shirt on - a deep blue, so dark it’s almost black - and his lips are rosy.

“Tara needed the bathroom on the way home, this was the closest place. How’s it going?”

There’s a lilt to his voice that churns your stomach. It’s the one he gets at parties, or that night just before your birthday when the two of you drank wine in his living room and didn’t sleep until six in the morning.

He’s been drinking and, judging by the smell lingering on his clothes, smoking, too, and his smile and the pink blooming over his cheeks only makes the churning worse.

“Fine,” you tell him. “Was in the zone, sorry.”

“No,” he breathes, finally backing away. You fill your lungs and watch him as he rounds the table. His eyes keep moving from you to the door across the room, presumably watching for her. “I interrupted you, ‘m’sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Gotta run,” he says, face brightening in a way that makes you want to vomit. You turn back around and see Tara in the doorway, waving, beaming. “Don’t work too hard, please? Get some sleep. And eat something- Have you eaten at all today?”

He’s standing a foot or two from the table now, but he stops as he asks you this.

“Uh,” you look down at your watch. 12:07am. “I had lunch.”

“Shit, you need’ta eat something. Please.”

“Okay, Eds. I’ll have some toast when I get home. Have a nice night.”

“You’ve got this,” he says, and it’s here that the silly smile on his face falters. He still hasn’t moved, and you can see Tara looking over, watching. He’s looking at you and something breaks - his smile drops completely and his eyes go all sad and weird.

“What?” you ask, unamused.

“Nothing,” he says. “Nothing. Get some sleep okay? See you later.”

He turns and walks across to the exit, and you watch him leave. He’s slow and slumped, like someone’s just delivered bad news.

You head out fifteen minutes later, and chew unhappily on three slices of toast before you get to bed.

-

Studying until late is never a good idea.

You’re hopping around your bedroom, pulling stockings up your legs and praying to anything holy that the traffic on your way into work isn’t too bad.

“I know this isn’t really what you wanted to hear,” Nancy’s saying sadly. You’ve got the receiver propped between your cheek and your shoulder as you stumble around and stretch the cord within an inch of its life. “They just… It really did look like they were having fun.”

“He came to see me at the library,” you tell her breathlessly, desperate to think of anything but Eddie and Tara playing pool and laughing like lovedrunk teenagers

“What? When? Last night?”

“Yeah, said she needed a piss on the way home.” You stop hopping, both stockings finally in place, and take the phone in your hand. “He was really weird, actually.”

“Weird how?”

“I dunno. He seemed happy, but then he got all sad.”

“Did you tell him off?” she asks, faux-stern.

“No,” you tell her, “just told him I’d have dinner, and to have a good night.”

She hums, and you look at the clock.

“Shit, Nance, I’m sorry, I really gotta go, I’m gonna be so late-”

“No, no, you go, I’ll see you soon. And good luck on Monday, yeah? I know you’ll ace it.” -

Your body takes you to the library like it’s on auto-pilot or something. You finished the entrance exam three hours ago, and though it seemed to go okay, you daren’t be too optimistic. You’d hovered around town for a while, eating ice cream and watching birds, before your feet walked you right here: your desk on the first floor of Hawkins Library.

It’s here that you’ve been sitting for an hour or so, flicking through novels but finding no interest in the words on the page. Your brain is melted from a near-fatal combination overworking and overthinking, and without an exam to worry about, the latter is now the one clocking overtime.

You can’t get the picture of Eddie’s face out of your head. His eyes had been so sad, his face drooping like the dawning of some cruel realisation. The way he’d walked out of the room had matched it, sorrowful and curled over.

Worst of all, he hasn’t called.

There’s only two reasons you can think of. Firstly, he’s busy calling Tara instead of you. He’s telling her about his day, spinning new inside jokes and letting her hear his pretty laugh.

Or second: he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore. You’re too cold, flat, uninteresting. Tara is cool.

There is a third possibility that you daren’t think about for the sake of your own heart: that both are true.

You slam the hardback in your hands shut and place it roughly on the table.

“Woah, was it that bad?”

You look up and find Eddie standing across from you, precisely where he’d been that moment something had changed on Friday. He’s far less put together now, dressed in his usual bedraggled jacket and jeans.

He laughs as you stare at him. After a minute, he takes the seat opposite and pulls the book towards himself.

“Weird choice for you, sugar.”

“Quiet,” you tell him in a whisper, nodding to your right where the warden is circling.

“Sorry,” he whispers back with a smile. “What’re you still doing here? Wasn’t the exam this morning?”

“I like it here,” you tell him. A half-truth - you do, but you’d really rather be anywhere else right now.

“Right,” he says, clearly not buying it. “And how’d it go?”

You shrug. “Okay, I think. I hope.”

“You’re the smartest person I know. You’ll do great.”

“I wish people would stop saying that,” you say, looking out of the window to your left.

“What? That you’re smart?”

“That I’ll ace it. I have no idea.”

“No, you don’t,” he says. “But you’ve definitely got a better idea than me.”

“What’s that mean?” you ask, turning back to look at him.

“I just… You’ve got more brains than me, that’s all.”

He’s fiddling with his rings again, eyes trained on the tentative movements of his fingers rather than you. It gives you a chance to take in his face properly: tired, sallow, unhappy.

“How was Friday?” you chance. He shrugs. “Just okay?”

“Fine, yeah,” he says, voice flat and unfeeling. “Had fun, ‘til we came here.”

Your instinct is to be offended. You didn’t say anything cruel or unwarranted; in fact you barely said a thing at all. How could you have ruined the evening?

“What?”

“Tara, she, uh… She said bye when we left. I was walkin’ her home, only stopped here for the can, I mean- You know we’re miles from the park, took me forever to get back to mine. Thought, y’know…” You hum so he doesn’t have to utter the inevitable and break your heart.

“What happened?” you ask softly, hands on the table in front of you like an offering.

He looks troubled, truly, and it hurts - you may have gone a week without contact, the longest since he went on a fishing trip with Wayne when you were both 18, but he’s your best friend, and his pain is your pain.

He closes his eyes tight and sucks in a breath.

“When we left, she said… She told me I need to ‘really think about things’, which made no sense to me at the time, I guess ‘cause I was, like, 4 whiskey sours in and we’d smoked on the way over, and then she used the payphone outside to call a cab so I waited with her and walked home, and the next morning I realised what she meant.”

You look at him with nothing to say. He takes another deep breath.

“She probably saw me over here with you, y’know, and I’m sure to other people we seem pretty… Comfortable. And then you said you hadn’t eaten, and you looked so tired, I- All I wanted to do was take you home and make you dinner. And then the next morning, and, like, all weekend, all I could think was that one day some other guy’d be doin’ that for you, some college guy or somethin’, and I’d have to watch, ‘cause you’re my friend.”

“Eddie, I don’t understand.”

You’re genuinely bewildered. He’s still whispering, or at least talking in a low voice, and at multiple points during the past five minutes you thought you’d completely misheard him. It’s definitely your Eddie sitting opposite you - he has a tendency to be a little dramatic, and this is certainly that - but he’s never been so brashly honest like this with you before.

“I had fun with Tara, really, but… I realised I’d spent all night thinking about how much better it’d have been if you’d been there.”

You can feel the flush like fire up your neck and across your cheeks. Your palms are clammy so you pull them inwards, back towards yourself, to save yourself the embarrassment.

“I think I need to get some air,” you say, standing and leaving without waiting for him.

You hear him behind you as you descend the stairs and push the clunky glass door open. You’re met with a wall of cold air and you breathe a heaving sigh as you stand in its frost.

The door opens again only a few seconds later, and you turn to face your friend.

“Eddie,” you begin, “I need to know that you’re telling me what I think you’re telling me.”

“You left your coat,” is all he says, handing you the jacket. You don’t move, too stunned, so he steps behind you and you let him manipulate your arms into the sleeves like a sullen child.

“Eddie,” you bite, impatient and frustrated.

“Yeah,” he breathes behind you. When the coat’s on, he squeezes your shoulders, and you round on him.

“Please just tell me what the fuck is going-”

“I think I love you,” he says, louder than you. It’s a declaration, said without hesitation or subtlety. It’s so confidently loud that a couple of people leaving the library turn to look.

“It shouldn’t have taken me taking someone else out to realise it, but fuck, once I did I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I guess ‘cause we see each other all the time I never really questioned why I think about you so often, or whatever, but… I wanted to take you home and make you dinner on Friday, make sure you got some sleep, fuckin’ look after you. Made me feel dumb as hell because you’re not a kid or anythin’, but I just want you to be okay.”

You’re not sure when you started crying. Maybe it was as early as the declaration itself, but you know that by the time he told you he wants to take care of you, tears were rolling over your cheeks, unstoppable and filled with elation.

“Shit,” Eddie whispers, stepping toward you without thinking, reaching out to hold you somehow. He settles for a hand on your upper arm, almost at your shoulder. “Fuck, I’m sorry, please don’t cry, I-”

“It’s fine, I’m okay, I’m, uh- I’m happy,” you say, giggling, your tears making it wetter, thicker. “They’re happy tears.”

“Oh, good,” he breathes, shoulders sloping. You spot the beginning of a grin through cloudy vision. “Thank god.”

While you wipe your face with the sleeve of your jumper, Eddie’s hand moves from your shoulder and to your neck. You feel the heavy weight of him pressing there, not threatening but a comfort. It forces you closer, until you’re both looking at each other and laughing.

“The exam went really well,” you tell him. “Honest.”

“I knew it would,” he says, curling a finger behind your ear to move a piece of hair from your face. “You’re gonna kill it at college.”

“I’ll miss you. And everyone else.”

“We’re not going anywhere any time soon,” he says softly, fingers dancing until he’s cradling your face. His other hand is stuffed in his pocket, and you’re close enough that you can reach in and grasp it, pulling it out so you can wind your fingers between his. He looks down and smiles.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. It’s almost a whisper and you almost miss it - almost. “For the exam, I mean. You did well, y’deserve a kiss.”

“Sure,” you say, laughing again. “For the exam, yeah.”

He chuckles before dipping his head just enough. You lift up to meet him halfway and he presses his lips to yours, firm but quick.

“Again,” you breathe, and he doesn’t ask questions. He bows again and kisses you, his force solid and homely. You kiss him back, breathless and keening.He’s warm and you want to take, take, take. You only stop when the door opens behind you again, creaking and followed by quick footsteps as someone else leaves.

Eddie kisses your nose and says, “Shit, you’re cold.”

“Can we go home?”

“No,” he says, and before you can finish protesting, he adds, “We have to celebrate. You’re done with studying! Let’s go get milkshakes or something.”

You wrinkle your nose, determined that you won’t be going to the diner you work in. “How about pizza?”

“Whatever you want, smartie pants.”

You physically bristle at the petname, cheeks flushing again despite the chill. Eddie’s arm settles around your shoulders and squeezes as he kisses your temple.

You stop walking once you reach the end of the block. He stops with you and turns to look at you without dropping your hand.

"I think I love you too, by the way," you tell him. "I didn't say- Back there, I should've said it. I- Well, I know I love you."

He smiles - beams - at your return of his declaration. He squeezes your hand in his and tugs.

"C'mon, pretty girl. Let's go."

-

[exhaustedsasha]

I keep getting signs to something big, something I have manifested. I don't entirely know what it is, although my gut feeling is absolutely that it has to do with shifting.

But not just shifting.

Y'all don't know me that much, and I am excruciatingly new to the community. So I guess I can tell you a little bit about myself. I don't have the know-how to make my posts pretty and aesthetic...so you get text. Maybe I'll change the colors up from white.

Ever since I was a teenager, I have struggled to find a place where I "belonged." Yeah, Yeah, I know, typical sob story. Blah blah.

But even in comparison to other loners, i struggled like hell to make any name for myself, even online. I used to want to be a content creator, but I'm turning 26 this month, and....I realized that ship set sail years ago. Not because I'm too old, but because the digital landscape has gone to hell in a handbasket.

I did a lot of dumb shit as a teenager on the internet and put myself into danger a lot. For the sake of not being too TMI about it, I'll leave that vague, but... You can fill in the blanks.

I'm sure photos and videos are saved of teenage me somewhere on some creep's hard drive that could absolutely ruin me if I even tried to cultivate a following on any sort of video platform and attempted to show my face.

Not that I haven't tried showing my face, of course, but algorithms bury me so deep due to my physical appearance (I have a prominent overbite. I do have photos of myself on this blog, Tumblr is pretty dead nowadays, I doubt I have any worry of things coming back to haunt me here.)

I am Autistic and ADHD. I am not formally diagnosed. But it is pretty well accepted by the doctors I see that I am special needs, no matter the lack of documentation of them. I rock in my chair, refuse to make direct eye contact, verbal stim, and generally just wiggle around like a can of jumping beans in an earth quake.

And I ramble. Obviously. Get to the point, Sasha.

Before I found shifting, I already believed heavily in the multiverse/alternate reality theories from the beginning. Do you mean to tell me that we can create beautiful worlds in our heads? That we can share with others? And it doesn't exist?

Bullshit.

If we can think it, it exists. Pure and simple. Humans aren't exactly known for having "original" ideas. Someone came up with it before we did, even if they didn't have the means to create it, even if it was a guy 3 million years ago....There was probably a fleeting thought in that person's mind...Or, they created it, but no one was there to experience or witness it....

Or gods forbid another guy saw it and went "Hey! COOL IDEA!" Then he started using the other guy's idea, and HE got famous for it. (Happens incessantly throughout history)

Sasha. Rambling. Again.

Sorry.

I think my main point is that I'm excited to find something beyond myself, something beautiful, something I always knew was a part of me. I just didn't know HOW. But now I do.

I know many of the individuals in the shifting community are younger, and I'm so happy to see so many people being able to find their path early. I can't wait to join in and share my own experiences and adventures with y'all.

I dunno, I think life has finally turned around for me. It just took me getting up off my sorry ass and ceasing my "woe is me" crap to realize I am the creator of my reality.

Always have been. Always will be.

[sl-walker]

@sing-me-under: I dunno if this is what you were after, but by god, at least I wrote something! This is after City Boys but well before Stardust. Thanks for the prompt! <3333

--

Ted didn’t go too far past the suburbs of Chicago often, but that was less because he was worried about doing so and more because he was pretty careful about keeping his heroing focus closer to home for a number of reasons.

He liked being a hometown hero, for one. And he felt that he did a better job when he was able to stay close to the metaphorical ground, handling the crimes and social ills that didn't need a super-strong punch (though he had a pretty good one if he did say so himself), but did need someone with local knowledge.

It was also partly a logistical thing, too; the Bug had a virtually unlimited range between her high yield solar batteries and her supplemental hydrogen power plant, but her speed was curtailed past a certain range without refueling and there was only so fast he could refine fuel on the go. That kept him out of most of the big fights that happened so often on the coasts, unless he happened to be in range already.

That being said, upper Wisconsin was well within Ted's range for both speed and distance. He just-- hadn't been anticipating getting called by Green Lantern Guy Gardner into the deep woods pushing the border of the UP of Michigan to deal with what looked like a very large, very alien threat.

Correction: A very large, very alien and very incendiary threat.

(The explanation wouldn't make it any less weird, it would turn out: It wasn't actually an alien, it was a Wisconsin farmboy who had been abducted over half a century ago, experimented on by a species from Sector 1735, turned into-- whatever it was he'd been turned into, some kind of hybrid attempt at making humans compatible to crossbreed with, and then dropped off back home when it turned out that experiment failed.)

"Holey cheese whiz, Old Bay, he's gonna set fire to entire north woods at this point," Ted said, hands dancing across the Bug's control panel as he brought her fire suppression equipment online. It was something he'd already had installed, but he was kinda glad he'd beefed the system up considerably since running into a sad lunatic named Firefist about six months back.

"--did you seriously just make a fuckin' cheese joke in Wisconsin, Beetle?"

Ted had no idea how Guy was able to communicate via his ring to the Bug's onboard communications systems, but after they dealt with this, he was gonna ask after it. In the meantime, he cackled back 'cause of course he made a fuckin' cheese joke in Wisconsin. "Are you kidding me? Why wouldn't I?"

There was some indistinct muttering, but then a surprising flash of green showed out in front of the giant alien fire-thing before he could try to parse it out; even as Ted targeted said alien, the flash of glowing green seemed to absorb the flames the alien was throwing recklessly around. "Who in the...?"

"Goes by Fire. Brazilian. Used to be with the Global Guardians," Guy answered, brusquely. "Are you gonna douse this walkin' hibachi anytime soon? 'Cause we don't know how much of that she can absorb before it's too much."

"I can, but no guarantees it'll hold if your walking, flaming briquette there is generating this internally. My fire suppression foam's good for flames that aren't self-generating," Ted warned. "Tell her to move on my mark."

"Don't worry about that, we're gonna cool him off real good once Ice can get close enough."

Fire and Ice? Ted only just caught a glance, then, at what looked like snow here or there in the height of summer, and a speck of blue moving down amongst the trees. He shook it off and moved the Bug into a better position, his heads-up display flashing as he locked on. "Target acquired. Get them both back in five-- four-- three-- two--one-- mark."

Fire had been moving off before Ted even started his count down; just as he engaged the fire suppression foam, Guy and the glowing on fire Brazilian shot out of the trees together. And five seconds past that, all that fire suppression foam was turned into what looked like a giant sno-cone.

"Are they gonna be okay?" Ted asked, pulling back to get a slightly better look, one eyebrow climbing behind his goggles.

"Fire and Ice? Yeah, they're-- oh, you mean Former Farmer Billy from Steven's Point? He'll be fine. The Valaxians are made of weird but tough stuff and their experiments are even worse."

Somehow, impossibly, Ted's eyebrow went even higher. "Now this, I wanna hear."

--

--

A 7-Eleven parking lot in Eagle River wasn't exactly the relatively new Hall of Justice, but Ted liked it fine; liked it all the more for the fact that it wasn't, really. It was especially entertaining sitting on the Bug's ramp with a Big Gulp and a brat on a bun that had been on the rollers for at least two hours longer than it should have been, all while watching a succession of cars slo-o-o-o-o-w down as they passed to get a look at the four superheros hanging around like a bunch of juvies while Guy told the story of Former Farmer Billy of Steven's Point. The shiny cars were clearly people vacationing; the battered and rust-bucket pickup trucks definitely belonged to locals. Ted waved jauntily every third one or so and then grinned when he got people honking back at him.

It only took less than five minutes for everyone to just dispense with code names once they were all on the ground together. Which was probably how it should be after you got done gift-wrapping an alien-hybrid farmboy victim of experimentation for STAR Labs.

Anyway, that was how Ted Kord met Beatriz da Costa and Tora Olafsdotter and how Guy Gardner finally got Ted's name, even though this was their fourth team-up over the past year and a half since they'd met. Tora was Ted's age, round-about -- twenty-two or so -- and Bea was something closer to Guy's. Both women were beautiful, though in very different ways; Bea was a more elegant kind of beauty, the kind Ted could easily imagine gracing magazine covers, and Tora was softer around the face and definitely reminded Ted of hot chocolate and fluffy oversized sweaters.

He was instantly comfortable with them, too. That wasn't actually that weird, Ted had gotten more and more social since he'd started university at sixteen and tended to be comfortable in a crowd these days, but there was a different quality to this comfort that was unfamiliar because it actually felt very familiar.

"I'll bet the mosquitoes here are the size of your head at dusk," Bea was saying, as she leaned against the hydraulic strut for the ramp; how she fought in those stilettos she was wearing was a mystery to Ted. "Which is rapidly approaching. I don't suppose you'll give us a ride?"

"If you don't mind it being a ride to Chicago and the fact that I only have one seat, not at all," Ted answered, because really, he wouldn't have minded. But he did need to get back in order to get enough sleep to make it to the too-early board meeting his father had scheduled for tomorrow.

"Oh, c'mon, I can keep the mosquitos off of us. And hell, da Costa, so can you. Flame on, crispy bugs, problem solved," Guy groused, then went back to loudly slurping the last of his own Big Gulp down.

"Wrong trademark," Beatriz snapped back (which made Ted grin since he tended to use that same answer anytime someone compared him to the comic book arachnid), though with a surprising lack of heat, especially given she was able to actually set herself on fire. "I can fly myself, but did you think to ask Tora how she felt about it?"

Tora did look a little wilted; it wasn't desperately hot out, but it was hot enough that Ted was bordering uncomfortable in his full costume. That set off a little verbal joust between Bea and Guy, though; after watching the argument ping-pong back and forth for a minute or two, Ted asked Tora, "This a regular thing?"

Tora moved deeper into the shadow of the Bug, sitting down next to Ted, watching herself with what looked like a fond, if sheepish, smile. "I think it's like a sport for them."

Ted eyed them; he wondered if Tora saw the same romantic tension he was seeing, but then again, his eye for things like that wasn't actually very good, so he could be mistaken. But he did think she was onto something in terms of Beatriz and Guy arguing for sport. "I can see that," he agreed, smiling as Beatriz poked Guy in the chest with one long-nailed finger and the GL thrust said chest right back out at her. "Global Guardians, huh? I don't know much about them, I don't really get out of Chicago in costume terribly often."

Tora nodded, smiling a little bit more. "I was with them for three years before we lost funding. It's a good thing that modelling can take place almost anywhere, though we had to have some help getting work visas to come here."

Given he'd already thought that probably Bea could be a model, it didn't come as a surprise that she was. Though Ted could see Tora also doing that kind of work; her beauty was more approachable, but no less real. "Well, if you two ever need any more help in that regard, I got connections. And more money than sense, too!"

"I'll remember that."

"Remember what?" Bea interrupted, turning on them both, apparently done arguing with Guy. "What did I miss?"

"Oh-- fuckin' relax, Beetle's good people," Guy double-interrupted, barely letting Beatriz get to the question mark before butting in. Which set off another round of arguing between those two.

"I think we're gonna be here awhile," Ted said, resting his elbow on his knee and his jaw against his hand. Then he rolled his head over and raised his eyebrows at Tora. "Wanna play a hand of War?"

Tora raised her eyebrows right back, then her eyes crinkled at the corners as she beamed an infectious smile. "Only if you teach me how."

(Neither of them noticed both Bea and Guy pausing just to look at that smile, something complicated that seemed to echo grief written on their faces.)

--

--

They really did only get to play a single hand, though it was a long hand, control of the deck going back and forth. By then, they'd retreated inside and were sitting on the floor, the Bug's environmental systems turned on enough to bring the temperature down a bit for Tora.

It was after a hard fought triple-decker war that Ted threw in the towel, conceding to Tora, only so they both could look up and find the formerly arguing duo of Beatriz and Guy watching them.

It wasn't the sort of soft look they were giving Tora that surprised Ted, though: It was the one they also gave him. Like something about him sitting criss-cross applesauce playing cards with Tora was worthy of those expressions of warmth and affection and something heavier.

It was enough to throw him a little off-balance, enough that he didn't even blush when Tora kissed his cheek and thanked him for the game and the lesson.

"Shit, I lost track of time," Ted said, catching a glimpse of how they'd missed the sunset and were now into the lengthening shadows of dusk, still feeling-- something. Touched. Maybe a little nervous. Maybe a little achy. "I've gotta be up way too early, too."

"Thanks for the help," Beatriz just said, with a smirk that held no malice. "Guarantee you had more fun with us than whatever you're going to have that has you up early, though."

"That-- I am one hundred percent sure you're right." Ted offered his hand and then blinked when Beatriz pulled him into a hug, instead, before patting her back for a moment and smiling. "It was good meeting you guys, though."

"And yet, it already feels like we've known each other forever," Tora said, with a twinkle in her eyes. In the dusky light, her hair reflected back blues and violets. "Hopefully we'll get to play another hand sometime soon."

"I'd like that." Ted watched the women head down the ramp arm-in-arm, talking to each other; when he glanced over next to him, Guy was doing the same.

"Think we're friends enough to trade phone numbers?" Guy asked, without looking over at him. "Not that I'm any fuckin' good at remembering to keep my phone charged. --or on me, for that matter."

"I think it's safe to say we are." Ted pulled his equipment marker out of his holster and looked around until he found a Chinese takeout menu and scribbled his private number down. "I meant to ask you how your ring ties into my comms, but I guess I'll have to save it for next time."

Guy took the menu, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "Guess so. Thanks for the backup today," he said, before moving for the ramp with what looked suspiciously like reluctance. "You should put more seats in here, though. Feels empty."

"I'll think about it," Ted said back, watching the Lantern go with a smile before glancing around as he raised the ramp; he used the Bug to move stuff often enough that extra seating might interfere with that, but thought that Guy might be onto something anyway.

It was when he sat down in his pilot's seat, though, that the idea formed more fully: The glint of the parking lot lights through his viewport caught onto something in his peripheral vision and for a brief, breathtaking moment, he felt both a stunning certainty that there was someone who was supposed to be beside him, and -- at the exact same time -- grief for that absence that he couldn't define, let alone explain.

It lasted only a moment, but it was such a sharp moment that Ted had to press his hand to his chest, over his heart, just to make sure it was still beating the right rhythm and the ghost of it followed him back to Chicago and back to his bed, only to vanish in the light of a too-early morning.

(In just shy four years time, though, he would pull on his jacket after Booster had been using it for a pillow for six hours, and all of those things -- the certainty of presence and the grief of absence -- would forever after have a name.)

[toxicanonymity]

Hi!! Pls point me in the right direction if there’s been a similar ask already, but I’m recently obsessed with raider and also started my period today :// so I’m wondering how Joel would treat sweet pea on her period? Does he think it’s gross, does he still touch her on her period, does he let her have painkillers if she asks nicely, etc? Do you imagine her not even getting her period at all anymore from stress or malnourishment? Just a random thought I had :)

Raider Joel if you got your period

900 words, raider!Joel x f!reader.

SUMMARY/WARNINGS: this is mostly headcanon/kinda fluff I guess but brief angst and smut (period sex, oral m receiving), talk of sterility. Featuring Carter!

A/N: yeah, she doesn't have her period, from malnourishment or general conditions, like you mentioned, so if she got it I think it'd be a surprise to both of them. If this gets canonized I'll let y'all know but rn I don't wanna deal with tracking a period lol.

raider master list

Early one morning, when the sun is still rising, Joel has an arm wrapped over you and his hand creeps between your legs. He pulls you back into him, and his fingers slip between your thighs. You’re even wetter than usual, making him press his arousal into you with a quiet growl, and then, he can’t resist, he brings his finger to his mouth. Before he can taste it, he smells the familiar copper and his heart skips a beat. This all happens really fast: He throws the covers off you and sees a dark blotch smeared from when he pulled you into him. He backs up and lets you down onto your back. He says your name urgently, shakes your shoulder and hovers his cheek over your mouth to feel your breath.

As you begin to wake up, he remembers about periods and feels bad for making a big deal of it if that’s what’s going on. He cups your face and breathes a sigh of relief, but he still has to ask, “Are you hurt?”

You begin to stir awake. "You okay?" He asks. As you gain consciousness you register his wet finger on your cheek and put your hand over it. You feel how wet you are and squirm, then when you turn over to face him, you look down to reach down for the sheet and you see blood. It startles you, too. Then you register the familiar ache in your abdomen, and you never thought you’d *want* cramps but for some reason it makes you emotional to have it back.

You reflexively apologize, “Sorry, I think it’s just. . .it must be back,” you whisper. “My cycle.”

“It’s okay, you’re okay, right?” His heart rate is still elevated but he’s starting to calm down.

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m sorry, it’s been gone for so-”

“It’s okay, you’re okay.”

–

I think he’d do his best to take care of you but would need some guidance. He’d probably ask you what you need. As much of a big tough guy as he is he does take his role seriously in taking care of you so I imagine he’d run you a bath and tell you to wait there. Maybe he’d send Carter to try to find some pads lmao.

-

Joel would jog down the hill to the stash house to get Carter. Joel would almost rather Carter just stay with you guys, but someone's still gotta keep an eye on things. Carter would still be waking up when Joel barges in asking for help. Carter's like, "easy, what's goin' on?"

"She's bleedin', I need you to-"

"What happened, is she okay??"

"No, yeah, she's got," Joel awkwardly gesticulate as he explains, "She's got her cycle"

"Her period?" Carter breathes a sigh of relief and chuckles. "made it sound like life or death, man. Ya know they're s'posed to get it every month right?"

"Can ya find her somethin'?"

“Joel, I dunno anything about-”

“Carter, please–can ya figure it out?”

Carter swallows and looks around. “Yeah. Sure, boss.”

(I guess this falls under "other duties as assigned" - taking down human scarecrows, finding menstrual products)

–

And yes, Joel has the drug connections and might offer you pills if you feel bad, or even if you don't. He might even try to help by washing the sheets while you're in the bath and Carter is out trying to find supplies.

–

Sexually, Joel has no aversion to your period. But maybe you’re still self conscious of the mess at first. He’s pounding you from behind, and you’ve just finished coming. He moans deeply as you squeeze him with an aftershock.

“Joel,” you look back at him.

He grunts and sighs as he buries his length in you, a mess spreading in his pubic hair and between your legs. He pants, “yeah sweet pea”

“Can i swallow it”

“Can ya —”

“Please?"

He sighs, wanting to slam into you and spill it already, but thinking, ok whatever. He pulls out, lays back on the bed, and you lick him clean before he cums and you swallow. Seeing you do it is such a turn-on, it might become a thing he wants you to do.

–

And then after, you suggest, “maybe I should swallow all the time from now on.”

His brow furrows “Why?”

“If I can get my period, i can probably get pregnant." It goes without saying neither of you would consider that a good things in this world.

“oh,” he mutters, then he’s pensive for a moment. “that ain’t gonna happen, sweet pea.”

“how do you know? are you ... fixed?”

He's short, but his tone is gentle. “yeah, it just ain’t gonna happen okay?” You feel bad for accidentally stumbling onto something from his past, but feel relieved at the revelation.

“okay,” you whisper as you put your head on his chest. “sorry.”

“’s'okay, baby. 's'a good thing, ain't it."

"Yeah," you sigh. "really good."

—

We don't know exactly why she doesn't have it, either malnourishment and/or stress conditions could be viable, I've tended to HC malnutrition but if she were to get it, maybe that'd be a sign of kind of settling into a (relative to the situation) normal-ish life there. At least she started picking dandelion leaves and stuff and foraging for mushrooms, and maybe they found some produce like with the apples and pumpkins HC.

—-

---

he's snipped that's why he can't

---

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️

[secondgenerationnerd]

Valentine’s Day

What’s this? A BBRae fic in 2025?! Enjoy 😘 (left on a cliff hanger if anyone wants to request the ✨spice✨)

——————

“Mama, I swear you get prettier every year.”

“Thank you, love.” Raven glances in her vanity mirror to her daughter. Emi hangs upside down in her parents’ bed, violet hair falling free from its scrunchie. Oversized Star Wars shirt that she suspects is actually her boyfriend’s tied over sweatpants. Completely at ease in her body, like her children always have been.

“I swear it’s dark magic.” Emi continues, stretching her arms to the floor.

“If I didn’t know better, Emerson Marie, I’d think you want something.”

Rather than her usual faux outrage, Emi shifts effortlessly into a panther, stretching before settling back down. Raven will never not be amazed at her family’s shifting. Violet fur sprouts along her daughter’s body, her clothes melting away. Bones shifting into the great cat’s. It once scared her—what if it hurt her babies?— but her husband reassured her it wasn’t painful in the slightest.

Tail lazily flicking in air as Emi speaks, “What has the world come to that I can’t call my mother beautiful? Without nefarious reasons?”

Familiar footsteps head towards them as Raven reaches for her kohl, “Blame your father.”

“Oh, absolutely blame me.” Gar agrees, leaning against the bedroom door, “I’ve been calling your mother beautiful everyday for 22 years and there’s always a nefarious reason.”

Rae winks at her husband, “That’s how we ended up with Emi and Eli.”

“We could always add another,” he purrs.

Their daughter’s snort, which was odd coming from her shifted form, pulls their attention to her, “Dad, you and Mama are a few months away from no kids. Do you really want to restart that clock?”

An ache starts the older heroes’ hearts. Emi had told them about her plans to move out with her boyfriend, Parker, before the end of May. Eli, never far behind his twin, had been looking for his own place. Pride’s too small a word for how they feel towards their children’s accomplishments….but time had gone too fast.

“Ugh, I can sssssssmell the pheromonesssssss from my room.” A purple scaled cobra coils its way up the bed, Eli’s voice coming from its hissing mouth. “What did you ssssssssay, Em?”

"First, the hissing? Dramatic even for you." She ignores her younger twin sticking his tongue out, "Second, just that they're almost child free."

"What do you think about another sibling, Eli?" Gar asks, now sat by his wife as she finishes her make up. Looking over her lipsticks as he always does for dates.

Shifting as easily as his sister, a now human Eli does lean into his dramatic nature, "Father, Baba, He who sired me and mine sister...The last thing this family needs is another magical shapeshifter. More importantly, I'm the baby of this family and plan to keep the title, thank you."

That makes his parents laugh. Their children have always been many things, but babies? Both children had always been fiercely independent with a love of life. The only reason they hadn't moved out sooner is a simple fact--They love their parents and the home they made.

"Somehow, better than when Wally threatens his kids with that." Raven muses, turning to face her husband. He plucks up her favorite lipstick. Gently holding her chin as he drags the color over her lips.

"Mmmm I dunno, Dad." Emi says, flicking her brother with her tail, "I'd pay to see Irey and Jai throw hands with a baby."

"Given that Irey has a baby, I doubt we'll see that." Gar snorts, blotting the lipstick before kissing Raven, "You, Rae, are gorgeous."

"Get a room." Eli groans.

Raven winks at Gar, "That's what our hotel stay is for. If you have your cousins over, please remind them we don't need noise complaints from the shouting.

"And here I was just going to invite my boyfriend over so we could have wild sex." Emi deadpans, shifting back. "Speaking of, I have my own date to get ready for."

"You and Parker going anywhere fun, love?"

"Just that new horror movie, maybe try that pop-up market after." Emi shrugs. "What about you and Dad?"

"We're meeting your Uncle Vic and Aunt Karen at Naan Stop." Raven stands, smoothing the front of her dress. The underbust corset had been a pain to get on, but she loves how it feels and looks. Gar moves to their closet, grabbing his matching button down. The rich purple color makes his green skin look jewel like...and the way he rolls the cuff up reminds her of what's under her dress. But that's for later.

"Ugh," The twins wrinkle their noses, Eli sliding off the bed. "I'm getting out of here, the pheromones are awful."

"That's hilarious coming from the biggest slut in here." Emi laughs, following her brother. Raven rolls her eyes as their children bickering fades. Strong arms wrap around her from behind. A warm kiss pressing to her neck make her turn, hands resting on her husband's chest.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Rachel."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Garfield." She kisses him, smiling against his lips. How had she even denied herself the joy she had with this man? "Now, let's go. I'm starving...and you're going to need energy for later."

[scramjettracy]

Is it really appropriate for one of your family to take an entire weekend off (#nepobaby with that hotel too) while International Rescue is supposedly providing a 24/7, 365 service? What impact does this have on the availability of your ships? How can the world continue to feel safe when one of your team clearly feels so flippantly about his responsibilities? What is the driving factor for International Rescue for the Tracy family - fame?

Some points that may assist:

It is illegal to fly, drive or pilot a vehicle without certain GDF-mandated periods of rest time.

If we habitually break those, we don’t keep our licences because we become a danger to ourselves and others.

Thus, no, no one of us is on call 24/7 (we do our best to ensure that at least some of us are available for as much time as we possibly can (there being only 6 adults involved in this organisation) but sometimes we actually take some time all together as a family because that is important.

Currently I am available and fully qualified to cover Thunderbird 4 if anything water-based comes up. Alan, Kayo and Virgil are also all perfectly capable of doing so.

Annual leave is a universal expectation and for very good reason.

It’s 2060 - all civilised nations have realised that it is not only immoral to expect people to work all the time without proper leave periods, but it is counter-productive.

Everyone needs downtime to recuperate and ensure they can come back fully refreshed and able to do a seriously difficult and emotionally draining job. No time off means that we’d all burn out pretty fast and there would be no IR.

IR is not responsible for the world’s safety

… you do realise that the 6 of us cannot ensure the entire world feels safe at all times, right? I dunno when you last studied geography but it’s a pretty big place with nearly 10 billion people in it… Even if we are all working we can’t be everywhere at once. Every country has its own first responder services… those are your first port of call (and if they are struggling consider campaigning for them to be better funded?). We just chip in to help on top of that, usually at their request if they can’t cover something Thunderbird 5 picks up.

And that word “Responsibilities” sure has implications, huh? May I remind you we do this voluntarily? The GDF don’t employ us… we do it because we want to be able to make a difference where we can. We’d make very little difference if we

Get the hell off my brother’s case.

I can confirm he doesn’t feel “flippantly” at all. I’ve been chasing him to take him overdue leave for months and it took a quiet word in the ear of someone far scarier than me to finally get him to do it. He absolutely deserves a break and some fun the same as any other human does. In my view, far more.

[roseypwark]

Three | Honorific

ENHYPEN Eighth Member : 지유 JIYU / 지유나 Ji Yuna

Table of Contents

//

Yuna knew this day would come. She just didn’t expect it so soon. She should have prepared more, should have thought up a better defense for herself when forced to face the terrible reality of the situation she has found herself in.

“Jiyu, you can speak casually. There’s no need to be so formal. We’re band mates, now.”

Heeseung has a certain level of confidence as the oldest member, the most senior trainee. He has something of a role to play. There are things the members rely on him for.

But not Yuna. Ji Yuna doesn’t rely on anyone for anything. She’ll accept help when it’s offered but to actually rely on someone else is a distant concept that didn’t end very well the last time.

(The last person Yuna truly relied on lives in America now with her do-over family, a white husband and three Wasian kids who don’t speak the same language as their older sister.)

She knows she’s supposed to rely on others, not just as a human but as a fifteen-year-old girl. But she just can’t. She doesn’t know these people. She doesn’t trust them. She can’t rely on them.

She also doesn’t want to call them “oppa.” That is a claim to a relationship she does not yet have with any of them. So, she just hums, noncommittal.

Heeseung persists. “Niki calls us hyung. You can be casual, too. It’s fine. Really.”

Oh, he thinks she’s hesitating because of societal expectation for how she should treat her elders. The reality is much worse: she is incredibly awkward and hopelessly alone and doesn’t know how to trust others.

“Oh. Okay,” she mumbles, still committing to nothing.

“Hyung, don’t push,” Sunghoon speaks up.

Yuna doesn’t even know where he came from but she’s grateful he’s here now. Of all the members, she thinks she likes Sunghoon the most because he doesn’t try to make her do things, like play video games or do TikTok dances.

Jay wanders into the kitchen. “Yeah, if Jiyu hates us, we have to live with that.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Jiyu doesn’t hate us,” Heeseung says. “Does she—do you?”

“No.”

“Why won’t you call us ‘oppa?’”

Yuna feels cornered. She just wants to eat her dinner.

“I dunno,” she mutters to her salad.

Heeseung looks ready to keep beating this horse until Yuna has to give in. She wishes he would just drop it.

“Heeseung, quit,” Sunghoon says, defending her again.

It’s quiet for a while. Yuna is anticipating another pushback from Heeseung about her choice of honorific for the older boys, which has been -ssi until this point (except in front of the cameras per the production team’s request). Formal, but at least she didn’t resort to -nim like she did with Hyowon for months.

When she risks a peek through her hair, Heeseung has gone back to his food. He looks a little sheepish, maybe regretful even? Whatever it is, he’s stopped bothering her so she’s okay with it.

She can eat the rest of her food in peace.

Heeseung finishes before her. Sunghoon takes his place. Jay goes off after Heeseung.

“You don’t have to call us oppa if you don’t want to,” Sunghoon says, unprompted after a bit of eating in silence. “But you can if you want.”

“I think…”

Sunghoon waits.

Yuna has trouble putting her thoughts into words sometimes. A lot of the time.

It’s why she likes music. Emotion can come from something universal and the meaning is up for interpretation. Even the words—lyrics—aren’t strictly defined to what they are at the surface or even to what the writer meant but rather what the listener feels and that’s fine.

Art can be misinterpreted and still be art. Life is more difficult. Misinterpreted intentions can spell terrible consequences.

“I do want to,” she admits. “I just feel awkward. I don’t want it to be a big deal, the switch from formal to informal.”

“It won’t be a big deal.”

“Maybe not with you. But you understand me.”

Yuna ducks her head as Sunghoon smiles despite himself. But he doesn’t make a big deal of it. Because he understands her.

“How about starting with just me? If you’re comfortable.”

“I’m beginning to think life is just eternally uncomfortable.”

Sunghoon laughs.

Yuna hadn’t been trying to make a joke but she’s realized lately that her unfiltered bluntness is a big piece of what fans seem to enjoy about her.

Growing up, she was told she was being rude. She had always assumed her interpretations of the world around her were wrong. She was just asking questions but her mom would say it was rude.

“Just do it whenever you feel like it,” Sunghoon says. “I’m sure the others will like the change and won’t turn it into a spectacle.”

She gives him a blank look.

“I’ll make sure of it, okay?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’ll deal with the guys. You do what you’re comfortable with. Alright?”

She’ll have to rely on Sunghoon to do this for her.

“Alright.”

It’s been a while since she’s trusted someone. This is a relatively low-risk scenario. If Sunghoon doesn’t hold up his promise, the worst that will happen is some mild to extreme social awkwardness. So, nothing much out of the ordinary.

She’ll have to bite the bullet eventually, anyway. Both for her own and her members’ sakes. And for appearances, so she doesn’t keep slipping up while filming and using formal honorifics.

Wouldn’t want the fans to get the wrong idea about the only female member being uncomfortable with her band mates. So says the production team.

//

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[dairyfreenugget]

New PK gijinka for a new gijinka AU

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ID start: A doodle page depicting the Pale King from Hollow Knight as a human. The first doodle in the top left corner labelled "pre-hibernation" depicts him during this time as a king, with a youthful sharp face, long elf ears, he's looking to the side with a scowl. He wears his hair in a low ponytail, with a black, spiked crown atop his head. The next two doodles depict him after the Hallownest's collapse, as an older man with a large X shaped scar on his face that cuts the left side of his lips, exposing his teeth and gums, and a V shaped notch in his left ear. He wears his hair in a messy bun and wears a hood and a shirt underneath with a popped up collar. He looks down and to the side, looking far more tired and guilty than his younger self. The second of the two doodles depicting his older self has his hood up, casting the majority of his face in a shadow. End ID.

PK is alive or reborn for the 3rd time and after the fall of his kingdom he conceals his identity out of shame

He travels the abandoned ruins of his kingdom and meets survivors, and through this he meets Hollow when he arrives in dirtmouth. Shocked to see them alive and speaking and so clearly *not hollow* he pretty much runs away the first time they see each other. He later stumbles onto them again after having some time to sit on this revelation and decides to walk ul to them to apologise for his previous behaviour. They don't seem to recognise him, which he decides is for the best and doesn't reveal himself

He ends up settling down near dirtmouth and so the two continuously stumble on each other and start bonding and getting to know one another through these sporadic meetings. At some point the topic lands on family and Hollow says their parents never loved them, their mother disappeared and their father used them and never thought anything more of them than a tool. Obviously it stings and PK tries to protest, saying that every parent loves their child, which turns into a small argument until Hollow snaps with tears in their eyes that he doesn't known their parents. They're both self-centred cowards who never loved them. Then adds their father is dead anyway and it's probably for the best. PK backs off and apologises quietly for pressing while Hollow quietly sobs. He then sits down next to them and quietly asks if they have any other family, and they mention their sister who visits them occassionaly but not that often now that they've recovered, she's very busy, but it's okay because the people of dirtmouth are nice and help take care of them. PK can see it's *not* okay but doesn't press it, he already made them upset and he doesn't want to do it again. They ask about his family and he gives some vague answer about an ex-wife and children. Still dunno if Ghost is alive here

Months pass by and ironically enough the two develop a very mentor/student and then father/child kind of relationship (which probably eats at PK and will be such a huge shock for Hollow when they find out his identity)

Hollow kind of sucks at keeping their wounds and bandages clean so when PK smells the infection on them he forces them to sit down as he cleans their wounds, reapplies sterile bandaging and gives them medicine, all the while chastising them for not taking care of themself. Hollow sheepishly admits they don't know how and were too nervous to ask for help, but then also jokingly calls PK dad when he keeps fretting. In a sort of "Okay, okay, I get it, DAD" way. Which makes him freeze and for a one terrifying second he thinks *they know* before realising he's just fucking stupid and it was a joke. But Hollow remembered that one discussion they had and how he brought up having children in the past so they think they made a social blunder and just give him that sheepish look.

"Ah...is- is that a sore spot? I'm sorry—"

"No, no, it's- it's okay, kid. I just...wasn't expecting that."

So they continue to bond over the months and PK becomes a parental figure to Hollow, which he feels so damn guilty about and thinks they'd hate him even more if they ever find out the truth

Any time they bring up how he always wears that hood and covers his face he tries to wiggle out of actually answering it, but knows his time is running out

I'm thinking Hollow finds out in some sort of situation where they end up hurt or in danger. Dunno how it happens but I did imagine the scene after that, where Hollow's in shock and denial and PK tries to free them from the ropes they found themself in but they keep thrashing so he finally yells at them to stop moving or they'll hurt themself, clearly very worried for them. So they do and they allow him to free them and take them to his home where he patches them up, all the while they're in complete shellshock

Hours later when the atmosphere cleared up a little PK gets them something to eat, all the while not being able to look them in the face, and says that he understands if they hate him and want nothing to do with him after this, but to just stay and let him take care of them until they recover. Then they can leave and never see him again.

Hollow just eats in silence until they finally get the courage to ask about that conversation from months ago, asking if this is why he was so insistent on their father loving them.

"I...That...It.....my— my feelings...don't really... matter, if I never showed them anyway, if I...when I hurt you despite them."

OH and obviously Hollow starts opening up more and more to him the more they bond and eventually they just cry to him how they don't understand why they still love their parents despite all the hurt they've caused them, how they want to hate them because it'd be so much easier to, and all PK can do is just hold them and let them cry into his shoulder as guilt just eats him up inside

[nhpregulatory-official]

[[DEVICE_ID: /CRADLE/NHPRO/DARAMSHALA_HQ/CAMERA_2]] [[LOADING LIVE FEED]] [The camera feed opens on a circular room full of screens and desks and fevered discussion. Arm-thick wires radiate out from an ancient, bulky casket like the spokes of a great wheel, snaking between technologically advanced cubicles where human and NHP alike hopelessly pore over screeds and screeds of sensor data, old omni-net posts, and partially recovered error logs.] [Above them all looms a projection of a single, geometric, crimson eye surrounded by waterfalls of scrolling dataplate. It's gaze skitters from datastream to datastream, raking for some overlooked nugget of information. Every so often it pins one of the scuttling figures below with a stare and roars.] [MAG-MELL]: HELENA. STATUS REPORT. HAS THE CLASSIFICATION OF THE INTRUDER AT UOAD: HIGH GROUND BEEN ESTABLISHED? [HELENA]: No Ma'am! No matches to any major extant or discontinued NHP lineages. M-maybe if I cross-reference our notes on HORUS development again I can- [MAG-MELL]: CORINTHUS. PROGRESS ON RESTORING ACCESS TO THE PREMISES? [CORINTHUS]: N-no, ma'am. UAB and UAD access codes keep failing the moment we get our hands on them. B-but omninet history suggests the Albatross might- [MAG-MELL]: GOOD. CONTACT THEM. PANOPTES, IS THERE ANY INFORMATION ON HOW IT GOT INTO THE BUILDING? [PANOPTES]:OMNINET INTRUSION == FALSE; PHYSICAL INTRUSION == FALSE; BLINKSPACE INTRUSION == FALSE; NO POSSIBLE ENTRY POINTS DETECTED. [MAG-MELL]: KEEP. LOOKING. THERE MUST BE SOMETHING WE HAVE MISSED. [A tired looking woman with artificial eyes and centipede tattoos takes one last drag of her cigarette and stubs it out on Mag-Mell's casket. Maggie's gaze snaps towards her.] [MAG-MELL]: WHAT. IS. IT? [SIOBHAN]: I know you don't want to admit it, Maggie but it's staring us all in the face. Nothing's been snuck in, there isn't even have a partial classification match, and we've got months of increasingly anomalous omninet history from the systems in the embassy. I dunno how it happened either, but you know damn well what we're looking at Mags. [MAG-MELL]: ... [SIOBHAN]: You want me to spell it out for you? Fine. Whatever that thing is? It was born and made in that building. What we're dealing with here is a Novel Prime NHP Subjectivity smack dab in the middle of the Voladores embassy. [SIOBHAN]: Now buck up, calm down, and lock the fuck in, cause we're about to have a really long day. [The eye goes still. A pall of silence falls over the room smothering the constant hum of activity in a moment.] [MAG-MELL]: FFFFF- --- [[LIVE FEED INTERRUPTED]] [[END OF STREAM]]

[emp-t-man]

okay here’s the thing— i don’t think hilbert actually killed fourier and rhea, and here’s why:

yes. he did kill lambert and hui. we know that it’s because command insisted that he continue the human decima trials after fisher’s death, and since neither lambert nor hui had received the physical and immune system training that he had gone through, their bodies weren’t able to fight it off. but fourier… she didn’t die from the virus. she disappeared. the day after she was able to figure out how to wire the vx3 into lovelace’s escape shuttle. they never found a body. and rhea? she was deactivated only three hours before running the final calculations. and lovelace was right, these were definitely not coincidences. someone didn’t want them to leave the hephaestus. but why would hilbert want them to stay? there was no reason he needed lovelace alive. the door didn’t exist during that mission, and so hilbert had no reason to believe that command wouldn’t simply provide him with more subjects after this one was met with failure. hilbert himself wanted to get off the station and go home! he says so in episode thirty-one, where he admitted to contacting command fifty days before she left and suggesting that they terminate the mission! there was no logical reason for hilbert to resort to murdering in cold blood in order to keep lovelace on that station.

but.

there is someone else that would resort to such an extreme just to keep the hephaestus crew from returning to earth. someone who, several years later, was able to bend the laws of time and space to their will by creating a loop of an entire day just to ensure something would keep them in the same place.

“doug, are you seriously suggesting that the aliens were miraculously able to remove two entire people from existence without a trace?” you bet your ass i am.

here’s the thing: these guys are able to do pretty much anything they want. they’ve created human duplicates, they’ve created time loops, they use a god damn wormhole to transport humans to a seemingly entirely different plane of existence. if someone were to figure out a way to do something they didn’t like, they could very easily just,, make them disappear! just like lovelace assumed it was for hilbert, it was a last resort for them, and last resorts make people get sloppy!

another thing that makes me think hilbert wasn’t behind this in particular? lovelace stated in her logs that command stopped responding to their calls months before the day she died. just like cutter seemingly stopped responding to minkowski’s call for help four months before he arrived on the station. he was only able to actually make it to the hephaestus after eiffel and bob have their little heart to whatever-the-hell-bob-has. that also does not sound like a coincidence to me.

the aliens causing fourier and rhea to disappear also makes sense from a learning standpoint. after they made them go away, lovelace still managed to make it off the station, even if she died shortly after. having a little run-in with the indomitable human spirit like that would make sense as to why they would elect to simply have time repeat itself until someone did something stupid rather than only dwindling their recourses and letting them continue.

as we learned from kepler, this was far from the first time the aliens had done something to interfere with a hephaestus mission in order to attempt to start their process. why would they try so hard during zhang’s (and possibly several others’) mission and leave the crew entirely alone during lovelace’s, just to try and stir the pot again during minkowski’s run?

i dunno, it’s just a theory (a space theory), but i think it would make a lot more sense as to why lovelace’s mission went the way it did rather than simply “hilbert went crazy and pulled a wadsworth on everyone”

[ghostofasecretary]

okay okay okay FINE

it would be great to continue burying my feelings in busywork but we *are on a time limit*

i don't. want to do this.

i don't want to apply again! i don't want to deal with rejection or bad offers again! and it'll be so exhausting!!

and. i mean. i'm so scared of things going well also. because then i have to--to take my newfound not-resilience, my lowered tolerance for personal suffering, and my desire to enjoy my life, and marry that into schoolwork. i feel like i am less curious and more content these days and i don't *like* it and most of it is due to pain making me smaller, not an ambition or desire to have day after day fade into monotony punctuated by my three hobbies and, sometimes, my friends. ...that's a little ungenerous to me, i have maybe five hobbies. and also lots of chores.

but i'm.

i'm *doing bad.*

okay, that horrible annoying prompt, you know the one. imagine a future where you are happy.

i'm married to someone i really like and i come home to them and we're easy with each other and they like my food and do the dishes for me and we have nice sex. i read a lot. i translate poetry. i have enough nice walks and museum time and music and interesting conversations that turning my stress into poetry is easy and i also figure out how to write poems when i'm happy. my friends are close by. i have delicious meals and a moderate amount of luxurious foods, things that are a Line Item on the budget and not just, y'know, beans and tomatoes and onions and [any leafy green]. i like getting dressed and i thrift/change out clothes more often than i do now. i do my [side gig] once or twice a month and the marketing is low effort and the work is fulfilling. i teach. i read. i write. i figure out what help other people can give me and i ask for it and i keep in practice so i don't pause when it's crunch time. i have enough money that i don't worry about being unemployed for two or three months and i have enough income not to worry about rent and i save for retirement. i travel to see friends an extravagant two or three times a year (but just once or twice would be okay, too). i go a few years without something deeply wounding me so i have more of a cushion when the next crisis hits. i'm not afraid of being happy or of wanting things. i present information to people semi-regularly and practice and learn to work different kinds of crowds. maybe i try music, or comedy, or gardening, or rowing. i dunno. i'm practiced at practicing my languages and i have fun with it and i *let* myself have fun with it. i don't flinch from texts and emails. i go to bed and i wake up early feeling rested and i have really satisfying breakfasts, preferably with company.

it's embarassing to want to be married. like i know it's normal, actually, but--ugh. really? me? unfortunately: yes, really me.

the thing is, if i were married and had more money and did more [side gig] and didn't flinch from emails and had fun with *the thing i deeply love actually when i'm not running from it, why do i DO THAT* this would be pretty close to my current life.

so. like. if i were happier and more stable i would be happier and more stable. cool. what was i wanting to get from this, again?

reasons to apply to grad school.

1. you'd be good at it. it's really fun and satisfying to do things you're good at.

2. there are worse ways to start a career where you write and teach and translate poetry than getting a PhD.

3. dating feels completely unmanageable right now because where is my life even GOING, where might i even LIVE, it's unbearably hard to imagine looking for someone to build a life with when i have, like, [actual career path that takes years to build and a lot of grit and LUCK] hovering over me on one end and [idk being a human somehow?????] on the other and i don't know which one i'll pick. or have put in front of me to walk down. or whatever. i'd like to be committed to trying to be an academic or committed to simply Not doing that, before...before.

4. [sunk cost factory so many hours can't stop now]

okay. and reasons not to apply?

1. it's expensive and i don't qualify for any fee waivers and i REALLY TRULY do not have money to burn right now. it's not *dire* but i am, like, next month heading towards a worse financial state than i've been in since i was 15. 18 at latest. and that's *scary.*

2. grief! fuck it! sorry i have emotions but it was kind of crushing in 21-22 to have everyone be like "oh yeah you'd be great at this you'll have your pick you have a very bright future" and then not get in, and last year to have "wow yes we love you please come to our schools" and not get enough funding to *go,* and so much of 2023 was just. waiting. screw that, so much of THIS YEAR was waiting. my whole summer job i told people i was going off to do my MA because at the time of my interview i really really really thought i would still get funding and, hahahaha, nope. and i didn't want to tell people because they'd be weird about it. so instead i was weird about it and felt bad and feel bad. someone smarter than me can probably tell me how i could've sliced that one better but i'm just crying on my housemate's downstairs couch because it feels pretty bad to have hope crushed like that.

also typing this out i DO feel like an entitled prick. sorry. i'm just privileged and lucky and beautiful and smart and ~special~ and a depressed little guy who's had PTSD on two separate occasions, minimum, and is more functional but still pretty fucked up. like all the time.

3. i burnt myself on purpose for spite and justice and no real gain whatsoever, at my first job out of college, and it was an experience and i learned things and one of the things i learned is that it SUCKS and i DON'T WANT TO DO IT AGAIN. and doing a PhD is, like. notoriously "this is a bad experience that makes you crazy." documentably a bad experience that makes people crazy. actually.

and what if i drop out?

then you drop out and find a way to move forward. both your parents did. your uncle did. plenty of people you know dropped out of college or MAs or PhDs. life doesn't end. maybe some people's hopes are disappointed but that's a them problem. your own hopes are disappointed but not trying at all because you're scared you'll fail is. Not a great look?? not something i want to do, particularly.

what if i have a psychotic break (again)?

then you drop out. or take a leave of absence. and either it'll go away or it won't and you'll deal.

yeah but i really don't want to be more disabled.

then drop out before your mental health gets that far down the drain. you were suicidally depressed and mega traumatized for *years* before those two scary weeks in high school, and after the first few hours you basically knew what was happening even if you didn't believe it, and regular degular antidepressants fixed it. you haven't *been* regularly suicidally depressed in years. a bit during The Dog Incident and a bit when you raised your med dosage too high in 2023 and a bit this summer and a bit lately, but not very much. there's a difference between "panic what feels like every day and wanting to die, like, once an hour" and "eating three meals a day, procrastinating, and going 'ugh i wish i were dead' when something especially stressful comes up." not saying it's not on the same spectrum but it is a light to dark scale and you know where the divisions are. and neither of those are "having Stress Pain and chanting "kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me i want to die i want to die i want to die" constantly and especially loudly when you have to walk up the stairs or eat food." which, again: has not really happened ever since you got on antidepressants.

4. ...it feels really bad and embarassing right now because i'm *behind* and i don't have a lot of academic curiosity right now and i haven't written in forever and i don't like putting words on a page and i have to look these people in the FACE and tell them i'm qualified when i Cold Lasagna Hate Myself 1989! i'm not! up for this! i'm gonna have to drag myself over hot coals and stay up late! and how do i expect to do grad school if this one little thing is making me throw such a giant fit!!!!

hi. oh my god.

babe.

give yourself a hug. literally visit a friend and get a hug if you must. rudely invite yourself to someone's house for emotional support. whatever. i don't care. holy shit.

it is, according to the calculus by which i have always made decisions, okay to feel like HOT GARBAGE while you do things as long as you get them done. you can yell! you can say you're awful, just the worst piece of shit, how dare you exist all you want! "feeling bad in the short term is okay if you feel good in the long term" is not a great life philosophy when applied over *months and months and years and years,* i grant you. but i do not think "twelve hours, tomorrow" is the same thing.

and you can have your friends take you out for ice cream once you get it done.

and this week you'll go teach first and second graders for the first time ever, and prepare some poetry and translations, and fuck up your homework, and probably fail to feel good about your life, but it will be YOUR LIFE. WHICH YOU'VE DECIDED TO LIVE. EVEN IN YOUR DREADFUL BACHELOR STATE OH MY GOD WHAT IS W I T H MY DREAMS

so. go text your IRL friends.

done.

congrats. you have Asked For Help. if your IRL friends cannot provide ask T and then D and then C and then G/E. or a group chat. you never know.

maybe also. call your mom and make a plan. she's probably free.

okay. cool. have Had Some Feelings. seems better. than what i have been doing. go me

go take outfit photos and make apple cider and go to bed

[patchdotexe]

saw a pmd ask game by @/084392 and it's been sitting in my drafts a bit, and despite not playing it for a while bc of IRL Stuff team atmosphere is still on my mind, so in an attempt to get myself to Do Things im gonna just answer them under the cut. okay here we go

What is your hero characters name? Is there any reasons for the name you chose?

Zeta! i named Archer first and wanted it to match somehow, so i was originally trying to think of a name starting with B but couldnt think of anything besides like. Brian. so i switched to Z and immediately thought of Zeta

What did you name your partner character? Is there a reason for the name you chose?

Archer! no real reasoning behind it, i just thought it sounded cool lmao

Team names? What inspired them?

Team Atmosphere, because i'm playing Sky version and thought that would be. a lot more relevant of a name than it turned out being, oops. (it was nearly Stratosphere because that's my Flight Rising clan name, but i didnt want to reuse it and also i dont think it wouldve fit in character limit)

ive been trying to think of an in-universe justification for it and the best ive got is Zeta suggesting it as a motivational "we're gonna aim higher than the clouds" sort of thing. i dunno. they've got lofty ambitions, that's for sure :p

What species are they? Is there any reason behind that choice?

Zeta's a Totodile because that's what i got on the quiz and i didn't want to reset (and i like all of the Johto starters anyway). Archer's a Shinx because Luxray's my favorite pokemon, and if i did reset it would've been to get a Shinx. i dunno what pokemon i would've picked as my partner in that hypothetical universe, though

How old is your hero and partner duo? (As in what ages do you see them as?)

i keep waffling on this one a lot because Archer is pretty childish, but i dont think theyre like. kids. young enough to be immature about how the world works and the people in it, old enough to stand on their own and face The Horrors. mid-late teenagers i think. Zeta's older than Archer by a little bit

What is their relationship with each other like?

Archer is Zeta's special little guy. literally the first time they met Zeta looked at him and went "say the word and i will kill for you" (<- did not actually say that out loud but was thinking it)

things are occasionally a bit rocky because of Archer not thinking through what he says, like telling people about the Dimensional Scream w/o asking Zeta first, but even with the moments of hurt he's still glad to have Archer by his side and sees him as someone he can rely on. they just kinda.. Get each other. they're both adventurous and cheerful and optimistic, it's just that Zeta's nature starts to waver the deeper into things they go. Archer's good at bringing out the best in him, though.

meanwhile, Archer looks up to Zeta and has been gaining confidence through Zeta's support. like genuinely Zeta has been a great influence on him and has given him the courage to follow through on what he wants to do instead of being stuck daydreaming. the months without Zeta were horrible, but now that they're reunited they're inseparable and will be until the end of time

What's their relationship like with [specify other character(s)]?

i want to put them and Arbor (grovyle) in a blender and hit puree

What was your hero like before getting turned into a pokemon? What was their life like?

Zeta has always been Zeta. not a lot has changed! the dark future was bleak and terrible, but he held out hope that someday something would change.

Dusknoir recognized Zeta bc he's always been a very stubborn thorn in Primal Dialga's side :D like, even as a human Zeta was very good at working with what he's got and keeping everyone's spirits up-- things felt hopeless a lot of the time, but he tried to not let that stop him.

i think he was shocked by how ready Arbor was to agree to the "erase ourselves for a better timeline" plan, but.. well, he went along with it too. it's not that he wanted to die, but more like.. if there was a chance, no matter how small, that they would be able to make the world a better place, he had to take it.

(Darkrai's manipulation dredges these feelings back up and Zeta has. a bad time. anyway)

Does your hero ever recover their memory?

not fully. he does remember bits and pieces through the Dimensional Scream, and Arbor tries to fill him on on what he should know, but it all feels like it happened to someone else that happens to have his voice. it doesn't help that all of that is from a timeline that's now gone, anyway.

What is your hero characters relationship with their humanity?

the amnesia thing ties into this, where because Zeta only really remembers his life as a Totodile as part of Wigglytuff's Guild, everything else feels very far away. early on when he first woke up there was a lot of disorientation and, as is the case with basically any character i make at this point, dysphoria, but now it's more like a distant dream or a fun fact.

it does weird him out that he hasn't met any other humans, though. the closest is Connie, who is. not human herself, but related to someone that is also human-turned-pokemon like Zeta is? and her casualness about it / not really thinking too hard about it adds to Zeta's confusing feelings.

i dunno man it'd probably be different if there were other humans around, but as it stands Zeta's okay with being what he is now.

What was the partner characters past like?

QUESTION OF THE CENTURY. i have no idea. throwback to me trying to figure out if Archer even has parents.

Do they ever evolve?

eventually! they both look kinda goofy in their middle stage evos so they kinda go from cute kids -> Awkward -> badasses but still dorks. ive wanted to draw Zeta as a Feraligatr for a while bc i love Feraligatr, but art energy is still all over the place. maybe someday