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nasa · 2 years ago

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Astronomers used three of NASA's Great Observatories to capture this multiwavelength image showing galaxy cluster IDCS J1426.5+3508. It includes X-rays recorded by the Chandra X-ray Observatory in blue, visible light observed by the Hubble Space Telescope in green, and infrared light from the Spitzer Space Telescope in red. This rare galaxy cluster has important implications for understanding how these megastructures formed and evolved early in the universe.

How Astronomers Time Travel

Let’s add another item to your travel bucket list: the early universe! You don’t need the type of time machine you see in sci-fi movies, and you don’t have to worry about getting trapped in the past. You don’t even need to leave the comfort of your home! All you need is a powerful space-based telescope.

But let’s start small and work our way up to the farthest reaches of space. We’ll explain how it all works along the way.

This animation illustrates how fast light travels between Earth and the Moon. The farther light has to travel, the more noticeable its speed limit becomes.

The speed of light is superfast, but it isn’t infinite. It travels at about 186,000 miles (300 million meters) per second. That means that it takes time for the light from any object to reach our eyes. The farther it is, the more time it takes.

You can see nearby things basically in real time because the light travel time isn’t long enough to make a difference. Even if an object is 100 miles (161 kilometers) away, it takes just 0.0005 seconds for light to travel that far. But on astronomical scales, the effects become noticeable.

This infographic shows how long it takes light to travel to different planets in our solar system.

Within our solar system, light’s speed limit means it can take a while to communicate back and forth between spacecraft and ground stations on Earth. We see the Moon, Sun, and planets as they were slightly in the past, but it's not usually far enough back to be scientifically interesting.

As we peer farther out into our galaxy, we use light-years to talk about distances. Smaller units like miles or kilometers would be too overwhelming and we’d lose a sense of their meaning. One light-year – the distance light travels in a year – is nearly 6 trillion miles (9.5 trillion kilometers). And that’s just a tiny baby step into the cosmos.

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The Sun’s closest neighboring star, Proxima Centauri, is 4.2 light-years away. That means we see it as it was about four years ago. Betelgeuse, a more distant (and more volatile) stellar neighbor, is around 700 light-years away. Because of light’s lag time, astronomers don’t know for sure whether this supergiant star is still there! It may have already blasted itself apart in a supernova explosion – but it probably has another 10,000 years or more to go.

What looks much like craggy mountains on a moonlit evening is actually the edge of a nearby, young, star-forming region NGC 3324 in the Carina Nebula. Captured in infrared light by the Near-Infrared Camera (NIRCam) on NASA’s James Webb Space Telescope, this image reveals previously obscured areas of star birth.

The Carina Nebula clocks in at 7,500 light-years away, which means the light we receive from it today began its journey about 3,000 years before the pyramids of Giza in Egypt were built! Many new stars there have undoubtedly been born by now, but their light may not reach Earth for thousands of years.

An artist’s concept of our Milky Way galaxy, with rough locations for the Sun and Carina nebula marked.

If we zoom way out, you can see that 7,500 light-years away is still pretty much within our neighborhood. Let’s look further back in time…

This stunning image by the NASA/ESA Hubble Space Telescope features the spiral galaxy NGC 5643. Looking this good isn’t easy; 30 different exposures, for a total of nine hours of observation time, together with Hubble’s high resolution and clarity, were needed to produce an image of such exquisite detail and beauty.

Peering outside our Milky Way galaxy transports us much further into the past. The Andromeda galaxy, our nearest large galactic neighbor, is about 2.5 million light-years away. And that’s still pretty close, as far as the universe goes. The image above shows the spiral galaxy NGC 5643, which is about 60 million light-years away! That means we see it as it was about 60 million years ago.

As telescopes look deeper into the universe, they capture snapshots in time from different cosmic eras. Astronomers can stitch those snapshots together to unravel things like galaxy evolution. The closest ones are more mature; we see them nearly as they truly are in the present day because their light doesn’t have to travel as far to reach us. We can’t rewind those galaxies (or our own), but we can get clues about how they likely developed. Looking at galaxies that are farther and farther away means seeing these star cities in ever earlier stages of development.

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The farthest galaxies we can see are both old and young. They’re billions of years old now, and the light we receive from them is ancient since it took so long to traverse the cosmos. But since their light was emitted when the galaxies were young, it gives us a view of their infancy.

This animation is an artist’s concept of the big bang, with representations of the early universe and its expansion.

Comparing how fast objects at different distances are moving away opened up the biggest mystery in modern astronomy: cosmic acceleration. The universe was already expanding as a result of the big bang, but astronomers expected it to slow down over time. Instead, it’s speeding up!

The universe’s expansion makes it tricky to talk about the distances of the farthest objects. We often use lookback time, which is the amount of time it took for an object’s light to reach us. That’s simpler than using a literal distance, because an object that was 10 billion light-years away when it emitted the light we received from it would actually be more than 16 billion light-years away right now, due to the expansion of space. We can even see objects that are presently over 30 billion light-years from Earth, even though the universe is only about 14 billion years old.

This James Webb Space Telescope image shines with the light from galaxies that are more than 13.4 billion years old, dating back to less than 400 million years after the big bang.

Our James Webb Space Telescope has helped us time travel back more than 13.4 billion years, to when the universe was less than 400 million years old. When our Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope launches in a few years, astronomers will pair its vast view of space with Webb’s zooming capabilities to study the early universe in better ways than ever before. And don’t worry – these telescopes will make plenty of pit stops along the way at other exciting cosmic destinations across space and time.

Learn more about the exciting science Roman will investigate on X and Facebook.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#NASA #astronomy #telescope #Roman Space Telescope #dark energy #galaxies #cosmology #astrophysics #stars #galaxy #Hubble #Webb #Chandra #Spitzer #space images #Youtube

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love-lilacs · 1 month ago

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this version of you | frank langdon x reader

Frank hasn’t let go of your hand, but his eyes flicker between them and the sidewalk in front of you, uncertainty threading through them. You feel the pulse of it—the space between what has always been “friends” and the new possibility of something more.

His thumb brushes the back of your hand, just once, but it’s enough to send a shiver up your spine. You try to ignore it, but the tension is too much to ignore now. It’s there in the way his glance flits to you.

warnings: angst angst and more angst. i finished the pitt and this is what came of it. frank and his wife are divorced and have been separated for some time. drinking. feewings.

word count: 3.0k

Day shift was finally ending.

“You alright?” you ask Frank, nudging his shoulder with your own. Truthfully, you wouldn’t be able to move him if you tried. You’re not dainty by any means—four years of Emergency Nursing have ensured that you can hold your own—but Frank is his own beast. He’s sturdy; you know he likes to lift and run at least three times a week, working off adrenaline from long stints in the emergency room.

He shrugs, pulling his old crimson Harvard hoodie over his head. “Oh, yeah, stellar. My ex-wife has my son, and after a stressful shift of saving lives, I get to go home to an empty apartment.” His tone is dry, sarcastic, and beneath it all, you know something inside him is bitterly hurt by the turn his life has taken.

You close your locker—albeit a bit more loudly than probably necessary. “Come on. Me, Mel, Santos, and Robby are going to grab drinks. Your attendance is mandatory.”

He glances sideways at you, shouldering his backpack. “Mandatory, huh? Sounds like I don’t have a choice.”

“You don’t.” You smirk, mirroring his action and slinging your own bag over your shoulder. “You’re broodier than normal, and Robby said if you get any grumpier, he’s going to send you to gastro for an ulcer check.”

“I’m not brooding.” He scoffs. You don’t answer, only peering at him out of the corner of your eyes, a smirk tugging at the side of your lips.

The two of you exit into the fluorescent-lit hallway and towards the cool night air. Behind and around you, the E.R. hums, a never-ending blur of motion and crisis. Just another Thursday.

“You know,” You say carefully. “you don’t have to pretend like everything is fine all the time.”

Frank stays quiet for a beat, gaze fixed ahead. “I deal with it. That’s enough.”

That silences you. You’ve seen the storm that brews at Frank’s edges. That passion and drive within him. The storm brewing beneath the surface is relentless and all-consuming. It’s what makes him an excellent doctor. It’s what made you soft for him all those years ago, when you had gotten your first job out of college and he started his residency. You both were young, and those late nights and long hours built a bond between you. But Frank had Abby, so you shoved your heart’s desires down to your core, settling for an easy friendship instead.

Frank stops in front of the exit doors, pulling it open for you. “Let’s go. I’ll even buy your first round.”

The grin that splits your face is easy, unforced. “Now you’re talking.”

As you step into the dark Pittsburgh night, cool air greets your skin, a springtime promise of green and flowers coming soon.

The bar is one of those low-lit neighborhood places— wood-paneled walls, baseball and Stanley Cup Playoffs playing on the T.V., the smell of overly sweet liquor and smoke clinging to the air so tightly you’re sure no air freshener could possibly rid the scent. The crew has claimed their regular sticky booth in the corner: Santos is already halfway through a beer, Mel’s nursing something bright pink and looking around as though she’s late for something, and Robby’s telling a story that involves far too many hand gestures.

You slide into the booth across from them. The day’s stress lifting off of your shoulders as you settle next to your friends. Mel immediately brightens. “Long time no see!”

“We see way too much of each other for people that don’t live together.” You tease, settling down. Abbott grumbles something incoherent from Robby’s side.

“And you love us anyways.” Whittaker smiles; the boldest he’ll get.

Frank sits unceremoniously next to you, placing your usual bottle of Angry Orchard Cider in front of you.

“Hey, he lives!” Santos snarks, a Cheshire Cat smile splitting her face. “Didn’t think Langdon ever left the hospital unless he was dragged out.”

Frank lifts his bottle in a mock toast, “Guess I make exceptions.”

Mel eyes him, skeptical. “You good?”

Frank shrugs, takes a sip. “Define good.”

The table quiets for just a moment, just long enough for the silence to get a little heavy—before Robby jumps in.

“Alright, enough feelings. Did I tell you about the guy who came in and tried to convince us that he “fell” on his Batman figurine?”

Laughter bubbles up around the table, the prior conversation slipping away and into the din of the bustling bar. Even Frank manages a smile as you tilt your head ever so slightly so that your cheek brushes his shoulder. When he looks down, he can see the way your lips pucker at the bottle opening and your eyelashes flutter contentedly. Something warm and fluttery settles in his core. Something he hasn’t felt before.

—

“You don’t have to be ‘on’ with us, you know,” you say quietly.

You and Frank have drifted away from the others. The buzz of background chatter fills the space, but neither of you have been talking for a while. He nurses his third beer, watching the bartender cut limes with surgical precision. The two of you have the sides of your legs pressed together despite the large amount of space the bartop offers. Frank is unbelievably warm and you can smell the last bits of cologne and laundry detergent that cling to him.

He doesn’t look at you. “Saying it out loud won’t change anything.”

You lean against the bar, facing him. “No, but maybe it stops it from eating you alive.”

Frank scoffs. “I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” you say. “But for how long?”

That lands. He doesn’t answer. Just stares at the glass in his hand like it might solve something.

Then, finally: “You’re not wrong. But I don’t know what to do with ‘right’ anymore.”

It’s the most you’ve gotten from him in weeks. Perhaps stupidly, you push it. “It’s not a crime to feel things.”

"Yeah, well... feelings don’t really fix much, do they?"

Frank glances at you briefly, then looks back down at his drink, voice growing lower.

"But I guess everyone has their moments."

Frank shifts, elbows resting on the counter, his gaze flicking to the door, then the window. Outside, it’s started to rain, tapping lightly on the glass, like the world itself is breathing. You find comfort in it as the bar behind the two of you begins to empty. Mel wraps you in a hug, Santos squeezing your arm, and Robby wishing you and Frank a good night as they brave the rain.

You don’t want to break the moment, but you can’t help it. "You ever think you could just—stop?" you ask, the question hanging there between you both.

Frank doesn’t answer right away, his thumb running absentmindedly along the lip of his bottle. His jaw tightens for a moment, like he’s weighing the words, but when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than before, almost hesitant.

"Sometimes," he says, his eyes not quite meeting yours. "But I don’t know what to do if I did. I don’t know how to breathe without it all."

His words feel raw, more honest than he’s been in a long time. The air between you thickens, and it’s hard to ignore the way his shoulders seem to slump just slightly, like he's giving you a glimpse of the side of him that’s usually hidden.

You lean in a little closer, your voice low, careful. "You don’t have to be that person. The one who keeps everything running."

Frank finally looks up at you, his gaze intense—searching, maybe—like he’s seeing you for the first time. His blue eyes soften for just a second before the walls harden back into place.

"You think I have a choice?" he asks, voice a little rougher now. “It’s what I’ve always been and I just- I don’t have that anymore.”

You hesitate, feeling the weight of the question in the pit of your stomach. You want to reach out, to close the distance between you both, but the moment feels fragile. It’s too soon. This version of Frank isn’t yours. Instead, you settle for a quiet, honest answer.

"I think you do," you say softly, eyes holding his. "But it’s okay if you don’t want to. Not yet."

Frank’s breath catches, and for a long moment, the two of you are locked in that quiet space, neither of you speaking, but both of you feeling everything in the silence. It’s as if everything that’s unsaid is hanging between you, suddenly too real to ignore, too important to push aside.

Finally, Frank shifts, a chair behind him scraping softly against the floor as he leans in slightly—closer than he’s ever been, closer than you expected. His eyes flick to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your gaze again. Your lips part, breath catching.

"You’re something else," he mutters, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It's the first real smile you’ve seen tonight, and it hits you like lightning, hot, white energy reaching down to your toes

Your heart skips a beat. You want to say something—anything—to keep this moment from slipping away, but the words catch in your throat. Instead, you simply let the quiet between you deepen.

Too soon, he pulls away, leaving you a flushed mess in front of him. “Let me walk you home.”

You nod, finishing off the last of your drink as if it could possibly make your forget exactly what just transpired between the two of you.

And then, without thinking, you reach out, just a little, your hand brushing against his. It’s a small gesture, but the contact feels electric. He doesn’t pull away, and when you look up, his eyes have softened again, something unspoken passing between you.

His voice drops lower. "Don’t do that. You know what happens when you do."

You can feel the tension, the unacknowledged weight of what’s been building up between you both for so long. But tonight, the words are no longer necessary. Instead, it’s in the way your fingers linger on his, the way his breath seems to hitch just slightly when he looks at you again—closer, too close to be just casual.

For a moment, the world outside doesn’t matter. Not the patients, not the work, not the endless chaos. Just the feeling of being here—together, in this quiet space you’ve created, where everything else can wait.

Frank squeezes your hand once. “Ready to go?” It’s not a question. He knows you are. But he still checks, ensuring you know exactly what he’s going to do next.

The air between you both feels thicker now on the walk, charged with something unspoken. Frank hasn’t let go of your hand, but his eyes flicker between them and the sidewalk in front of you, a nervous uncertainty threading through them. You feel the pulse of it—the space between what has always been “friends” and the new possibility of something more.

The rain has slowed now, small drops that hit your clothes, but not enough to leave a wet mark. They dry before the next one hits.

Frank’s voice comes out quietly, hoarse, like he’s fighting something, pushing it down. "You don’t know what you’re doing to me, do you?"

You swallow hard, the words getting stuck in your throat. But you don’t pull away. Instead, you press your fingers against his, just enough to show you’re still here. “Maybe I do.”

His gaze sharpens, like a challenge in his eyes. His fingers twitch against yours, but he holds back, still caught somewhere between wanting to pull you closer and keeping his distance. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, the space between you so close you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you lean just a fraction closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. Your heart beats a little faster now, conflict pulsing in your core. Years of yearning finally culminating in this moment. It’s all been a dull drone, a bruise that only hurts when you press at the right angle.

You shift on your feet, your face so close to his now that you can count the tiny flecks of gold in his stormy eyes. The quiet between you is heavy, pulsing with every breath. Your fingers move, brushing against his again, and this time, there’s nothing tentative about it. He raises his other hand, brushing his fingers over your cheek bone with a butterfly touch.

It’s a fairytale moment. Years of wanting him, loving him, for all he’s truly been. Not the charade he puts on for everyone, not the excruciating effort he felt he always to put in for Abby just so she might feel even a fraction of love for him. It’s every damn daydream you’ve had finally coming true. It’s real, it’s warm, and as his lips finally finally brush against yours-

It’s not right.

Because this version of Frank doesn’t belong to you. This version of Frank is aching and lonely, looking for whatever comfort anyone can provide him. You can’t be the one to warm his bed tonight, hoping he’ll be there when you wake up. You don’t think your heart could take it if he wasn’t.

Despite every alight nerve in your body begging you to stay, your eyes flutter open.

You pull away, just a fraction, just enough to break the spell. Frank blinks like he’s waking up from something he didn’t mean to fall into. His hand is still on your cheek. Yours is still wrapped around his.

“I can’t.” You breathe, heart shattering as the words leave your lips. “This version of you doesn’t belong to me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

Frank doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. “What the hell does that mean?”

You step back, forcing space. The air feels colder immediately, no longer comforting. “It means this—whatever this is—you’re not here because you want me. You’re here because you’re tired. Because you’re lonely. Because you’re drowning and I just happen to be here.”

He flinches. The words sting, even if he knows they’re true.

“That’s not what this is,” he says firmly, but it’s too defensive, the same tone he uses when advocating for a stubborn patient.

You meet his eyes. “Isn’t it?” You ask weakly.

Frank takes a breath like he’s about to argue, but nothing comes out. Instead, he just scrubs a hand down his face, tense and restless. “So what, you want me to pretend I don’t feel better when I’m around you? That I can’t finally fucking breathe when I’m around you, even just sitting there, not talking?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you reply, tears welling in your eyes. “I know you’re carrying a lot. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. But you can’t dump it all at my feet and then kiss me like it doesn’t mean something, like it’s just another release valve.”

Frank steps forward. Just one step. Close again. His eyes are dark, unreadable. “And if it does mean something?”

Your breath catches. “Then maybe figure out what that something is before you ask me to jump with you. I can’t do it. I’ve- I’ve wanted you for too long.”

The silence between you stretches, taut and heavy. Neither of you blink. Neither of you breathe. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize your face, like he's afraid it’ll disappear if he turns away too fast or says something too quickly.

“I didn’t plan this,” he mutters. “You know that, right?” He says it like a vow, and you know, you just know, that it’s true.

“I know,” you say. “But that doesn’t make it fair.”

He looks down, thumb absently rubbing at a scar near his knuckle. You’ve seen him do it in the E.R. when things get tense. You’ve never told him you noticed. You’re not sure he could handle being seen like that right now.

“You think I’m using you.”

You hesitate, a lump rising in your throat. “I think you’re using this—the quiet, the closeness, the way it feels easier when you’re with me. And maybe that’s not the same as using me, but it’s just not something I can do.”

Frank nods once. Slow. Measured. And then he lets out a laugh, low and bitter. “You’re probably smarter than me.”

“That’s not the point.”

“No,” he says, stepping back this time. “But it explains why you’re the one walking away.”

“I’m not walking away.” You snap, clenching your fists.

“Aren’t you? When was the last time you took a risk? You’re so scared to get hurt that you won’t do anything that could possibly lead to something you want.” He says it factually, sharply. You’ve hurt him, you know that, and he’s reaching for whatever he can to make you feel how he does.

You blink, stunned by his words. In all your time together, he’s never said anything so cruel to you.

“Whatever.” His eyes are still locked on yours. His shoulders are still hunched. “I wanted you. As you were then, as you are now.”

You almost stop him. You almost say something—anything—to soften it. But you don’t. Because this needs to hurt, or it won’t mean anything later.

He turns toward the street, pausing under the glow of the flickering streetlamp. His hands are in his pockets, his shoulders hunched forward like they’ve finally caved.

Something breaks inside you, realizing he truly is leaving. “Frank-”

“I’ll see you around,” he calls without turning.

And then he’s gone.

You don’t go inside right away. You stand frozen on the stoop, feeling the place where his hand had just been, the warmth fading from your skin as the tears finally fall.

#frank langdon #frank langdon x reader #dr langdon #the pitt #my writing

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pleasantsublimeobservation · 6 days ago

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Edit: Link updated, urgent support needed

Please read to the end - Updated May 31, 2025

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aquamarixx · 4 months ago

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the homeowner effect

Niko Ikki never knew owning a house could be such an icebreaker—until his blind date’s flustered, accidental comment leaves him wondering if this might be his best date yet. pairing niko ikki x reader tags post manga timeskip, aged up characters, fluff, happy birthday niko! navigation

Your friend, Otoya, sets you up with someone he knows. According to him, his friend is a “nice guy”—a term that usually makes you suspicious. Otoya isn’t exactly known for being a stellar matchmaker, after all. But so far, the guy in question, Niko Ikki, is polite, attentive, and surprisingly easy to talk to.

He likes anime and manga. He has pretty good taste in music, too. He seems too good to be true, and you can’t help but test the waters a little to get him a little bit better.

“So, where do you live?” you ask, stabbing the carrot cake you’ve ordered to share.

He casually name-drops a notoriously expensive and quiet neighborhood. “It’s nice and peaceful there,” he says.

You nearly choke on your drink. “Wait, seriously? You live there?”

He nods as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Yeah.”

Curiosity gets the better of you. “So… do you share the rent with someone? Like a roommate or…?”

He blinks, looking slightly confused, as if the thought hasn’t even occurred to him. “No. I, uh… I own the place.”

Your fork clatters onto your plate, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables. You don’t care. “You own it?”

“Yeah,” he admits softly, the tips of his ears turning red. “I bought it last year.”

“You bought it last year?” you repeat, dumbfounded.

He tilts his head slightly, as though he can’t quite understand why you look so shocked. “Yes.”

“Wait, you’re 27, right?”

“Yeah, 27,” he confirms, taking a sip of his drink.

You stare at him in disbelief, the pieces of information refusing to settle in your brain. “Okay, so… you own your place in one of the priciest neighborhoods in the city. How? I mean—are you, like, a trust fund baby or something? What do you do?”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “No, no trust fund. I just… work hard and save. I play sports.”

“Like professionally?” you ask, your voice laced with amazement.

“Kind of,” he says with a small shrug. “It’s for a local team.” Well, technically, the Japan National Team is a local team, Niko thinks.

Your gaze drifts over him, noticing for the first time how well-built he is. He catches you looking, and you quickly cough, averting your eyes. But your thoughts linger on the bigger revelation: he owns his place.

And you’re impressed. Stunned, really. Here you are at 25, living in a shared house with your best friend and still making payments on a car loan your parents had practically forced you to buy. And meanwhile, Niko—calm, humble, and ridiculously cute Niko—is out here playing sports for a living and owning a house in this economy.

“You own your own house,” you repeat, almost in disbelief.

“Yes,” he says again, his voice steady but his ears now bright red under your scrutiny.

Before you can stop yourself, you mutter, “Wow, that’s hot.”

Niko freezes mid-sip, his eyes snapping to yours. His cheeks turn a deep pink, and his lips part as if he’s not sure he’s heard you right. “H-Hot?”

You groan, slapping a hand over your face. “Oh my god, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

He looks down at his glass, his fingers brushing the edge nervously. But then, a soft smile tugs at his lips, and he lets out a quiet laugh. “I mean… thanks?”

Peeking at him through your fingers, you find his shy but amused expression making your heart flutter. It’s not fair. Not only is he financially stable and smart, but he also has this quiet, unassuming charm that makes you want to know more.

“So, uh,” you say awkwardly, trying to recover, “what else are you hiding? Do you, like, run your own company on the side or something?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. I’m just a regular guy who likes anime, gaming, and reading manga. And plays sports for a living.” He pauses, his gaze meeting yours, and his tone softens. “And I think this is the first time anyone’s ever called me ‘hot’ because of where I live.”

“Well,” you say with a shrug, trying to act cool despite the warmth creeping up your neck, “there’s a first time for everything.”

He laughs again, the sound warm and genuine, and you feel yourself relax. This date isn’t just going well. It’s easily the best one he's had in a long time.

amari's notes: happy birthday to one of my faves and fellow aquarius baby, niko! i am going all out celebrating his birthday. made a fanfic, made a cake and commissioned an art! there are some niko merch i managed to get and hopefully i get more!

taglist: @inu1gf

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #niko ikki #niko ikki x reader #i love this fluffy otaku boy

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lets-try-some-writing · 1 year ago

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yo what if instead of less armor/softer protoform, sparklings had a Ton of kibble and armor to later grow into and spiky bits for protection

imagine baby drift with the same size finials. just. Huge finials on that lil bud

and on earth, cybertronians are /enamoured/ by echidna, armadillos, and porcupines

That would be hilarious, but would also make a lot of sense survival wise. All these sparklings popping out of the Well and from Hotspots really need the protection. I can imagine that the spiker looking they are, the less likely animals are to attack. So baby Drift with giant finials is sitting comfortably in the 'do not attack' category.

I can imagine that since these sparklings emerge with a crap ton of extra armor, their first ever alt mode is quite literally, a ball or some variation of one. Even the fliers start life as balls and roll for their lives when chased until they turn into SPIKY balls.

Just, packs of sparklings who've just begun to grow in their rather pointy kibble roaming Cybertron and tearing up the ground wherever they go. Small bundles of terror in the form of minicons and cassette carrier sparklings causing problems as a group. Dog sized sparklings so prickly and covered in spikes that they can and will get onto roads and stare down mecha who drive at them with a promise of pain in their optics. Fliers and future speedsters skidding over the landscape as apocalypses in their attempts to get from point A to point B as fast as physically possible while also tearing up everything with all their kibble.

These small creatures might as well be resident plows with how well they shred the ground in their attempts to get around. It's only made worse because they all have the inbuilt desire to get to the biggest collection of Cybertronians in range, so they can and will damage roads, housing, and everything in between in they are not caught before they can roam. A sparkling that gets rolling is very unlikely to stop until they get hungry, and even then, they are so spiky by that point that trying to grab one is the same as drop kicking oneself into a pack of cyber-hounds.

I can imagine whole agencies being devoted to collecting the balls of mayhem. Every speedster across Cybertron has to spend at least a few stellar cycles helping the Well Guardians rush after sparklings who roll away too quickly to be caught after their emergence. Every speedster carries at least a few scars from a prickly pack of sparklings getting a bit too excited to be near people or rather upset at the idea of behind captured.

Even after the terror tornados are brought into civilization, I can see these spikey creatures still causing trouble. They can't get alt-modes until they are older, so until then, rolling ball of destruction it is. Much of the tax money gathered for repair work is devoted to repairing roads that were obliterated by a rogue sparkling having a field day on some unsuspecting neighborhood.

Some are feral. Some are clingy and cute.

All are wheel puncturing menaces to society.

#transformers #maccadam #cybertronian worldbuilding #tranformers sparklings #cybertronian biology #transformers headcanon

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angel-of-the-moons · 5 months ago

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Agsfgs

He's a god of fertility, among other things

Imagine if Y/N prayed to Khonshu for their own fertility and just

Khonshu appears, offers them help with fertility, he gives them a few options. Just the regular magic method of helping or he physically helps them get pregnant... with his child, of course

Like, hot, but also can you imagine praying to a god, they show up and basically say "okay I can help you the normal way, or we can do this the fun way and make a baby together"

Obviously Y/N agreed to have a kid with him cuz like. C'mon. Look at him

He's of course a very attentive father and partner afterward. He's not blind to the struggle new life brings along with the joy

Okay, okay, I know this isn't exactly what you were picturing but--

Wings of A Prayer

Khonshu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Infertility problems, mentions of miscarriages, self-doubt, depression, suicidal thoughts, sort of alcoholism, fluff, hinted at sexy times but nothing is pictured, Marc and the boys learn that there's more to the pissy old bird than meets the eye! (Naturally canon-fudging and merging with the comics again) And a major time skip! My personal headcanon that Khonshu looks like Oded Fehr rears its head once more!

A/N: Whew... this one is long! Surprisingly, no smut in this one. But I realized I am sorely lacking on Khonshu fluff since y'all are almost always just as horny for him as I am. I also did some research and... Wow. Some scary stuff. I'm sorry if this strikes a painful chord with some of you. I had to stop writing this a few times and take a break because it was making me tear up.

It had been... horrible, to say the least. Your life had been one giant trainwreck so far. Your heart had been wanting for something for so long, and... Well...

Your apartment was a gray, flat... hollow living space to you. It was lacking in... something. And that something was a giggly, chubby, cuddly little person. You thought about getting a pet, but... there was an itching inside of you. And itching for something--someone--of your own.

You had been living on your own since cutting off contact with your parents; and dating had been an absolutely dog shit experience since your teen years. But as you got older, and your friends all went their separate ways, living their own lives and starting their own families, you realized... You wanted that. To be the home you never really had growing up, a source of unconditional love and understanding.

You weren't stupid--you did your research beforehand, looked into every legal document you could. Instead of getting pregnant, you'd looked into fostering or adoption.

But you just... you couldn't afford it. The cost of adopting would have bankrupt you, and your increasing financial instability as the economy fluctuated was an obvious deterrent for most agencies. The same was for fostering--you simply worked too much to bre as present as they wanted you to be for a foster placement. And it didn't help that your particular neighborhood wasn't... stellar or "perfect" for a growing child.

The worst insult, perhaps, was when you looked into IVF after adoption and fostering were out of the question. It sounded like the best option, and so you went to your doctor. As uncomfortable and relatively invasive as the pelvic exam and tests were, your doctor assured you a pregnancy was easy enough to accomplish with the fertility treatments if you were able to get into a program.

Only... you hadn't. Your insurance wouldn't even cover half of the procedures, and your heart was sinking at the thought of going bankrupt and not being able to afford the child you so desperately wanted.

That was a low blow, but, you knew you still had options. You could get pregnant naturally. The real trick was finding a man who was willing, healthy, and responsible enough to agree to father your child.

As distasteful as sleeping with someone relatively strange to you was, you made the decision to be tactful. You made a profile on a dating website with the clear intentions that you wished to find a partner that was clean of any STIs, drug or alcohol addictions, and wouldn't cause problems for you if the impregnation was successful.

And of course, you assured that should they not wish it, you wouldn't put them on a birth certificate or come after them for child support. It would be difficult, surely, but you knew you could manage. There was always well-fare and WIC to help out with needs, as well as a few charities you could apply to. Your elderly neighbors even agreed to watch over your baby when it was born because they didn't have any grandchildren of their own; and the presence of a baby would brighten up their droll days when you needed the occasional break.

When you found a partner who was ready and willing to commit to your "requirements"--especially the STI tests with you present to be sure they were not lying--you both agreed to meet several times a week at his apartment to get down to business.

You planned your meetings carefully around your ovulatory and menstrual cycles, drank and ate anything that supposedly "boosted fertility"; and took every vitamin under the sun to help ensure it.

And then, you got the most wonderful news. You had been late on your period for nearly two months. Missing the first month wasn't a cause for alarm; after all, you had relatively irregular periods--which your doctor assured were because of stress and diet problems--and you weren't insistent upon a pregnancy test until you began to get sick during random times of the day or night and your body began to ache in places it hadn't before, such as your breasts.

You got your blood tested at your doctor's office and sure enough... you were pregnant! You reached out to the father when you got home, and after some arrangements, he agreed to send an unofficial check to you for the baby at the start of every month, but he wasn't sure if he could promise to be present for their childhood; which worked fine with you. It was more than you expected, anyways.

You immediately began to budget, alongside with the financial aid of the father of your baby, and began to prep your bedroom into a shared nursery for your impending arrival.

And as you were settling into your new routine and adjusted workload, you awoke during one night with intense vomiting. As you perched over your toilet bowl, pain began to radiate from your abdomen and deep into your body and pelvis, like sharp, pulsing, searing pain from inside of you.

It wasn't until you stood up to wash your face and brush your teeth that you realized you were bleeding. Your sleep shorts stained a disturbing shade of red. You immediately panicked; and simply ignoring the cost of an ambulance, you called 911, and phoned the father of your baby as dread began to soak into every pore.

It wasn't for several hours after all the tests and exams that the doctor from the ER finally came in with a sad, pitiful look on her face as she delivered the news.

You lost your baby.

It felt like the world opened up beneath you and you were swallowed by a void. You didn't even know you screamed until your vision went black around the edges; prompting you to take a much-needed breath. The father of your baby was sympathetic, he talked calmly to you, rubbing your back and speaking with the doctors for you while you struggled to cope.

They kept you for another day (after giving you some pill) to make sure you... passed the remains of the fetus so you didn't get sick from retained products of the conception.

You fell into a deep depression after that.

Weeks afterwards, you were a drone. You woke up, ate, worked, showered, slept, and performed the same duties again and again as if you were on autopilot. The father of your baby, Alain, checked in on you now and again, and at some point even introduced you to his new girlfriend (who was confused by the awkward situation at first, but in seeing what had gone wrong in your life, felt more pity towards you than anything).

Your elderly neighbors cried for you, made you food when you felt the absence of the want to cook or eat; and said they would offer up prayers for you.

You began to hide how... rotten you felt on the inside, after that. You feigned your old, "normal" behavior if not to just get everyone to stop treating you like some... Faberge egg that needed delicate handling. A doll so fragile from trauma and abuse you had to be put on a pedestal to avoid getting any more broken.

But deep inside you, that raw, twisted, pained feeling festered like a bad wound. It worsened when you discovered that your doctor had been horribly, profoundly wrong.

Your reproductive organs weren't in "perfect, healthy" shape. You had uterine scarring that appeared to line up with what was called Asherman's Syndrome. Your uterine cavity, as such, had a buildup of scar tissue and caused it to shrink, and the resulting damage is what likely triggered your miscarriage.

The doctor that had diagnosed your condition became suspicious, and called for an investigation into your primary doctor.

Turns out, he was responsible for many, many misdiagnoses on over a dozen patients. Many of which required some women to have hysterectomies done to save them; or have to be rushed into cancer treatments immediately. One had unfortunately lost her life due to a misdiagnosis and a fallopian torsion that wasn't treated in time. She left behind a husband and three little children who had to grow up without their mother.

The resulting lawsuits caused a media circus; and once again your life was thrown into disarray when you decided to be a part of it, having to recite the trauma of losing your poor, little baby to a bunch of strangers.

Your heart festered with rage. If you had known that your body was incapable of the one fucking thing it should have been able to do naturally, that you were one different decision away from the heartbreak you now suffered--you would never had tried to get pregnant. But like many of his patients, you took his word for it because he seemed so trustworthy. And if you couldn't trust the person your health was so reliant upon... who could you trust?

The doctor lost his license, and went to jail for the wrongful death, medical negligence and manslaughter of the woman he failed to properly diagnose and failed to treat.

The settlements were of little comfort to you all; those who suffered now-lifelong health problems, the family mourning a beloved wife and mother... and you, who mourned the life of the baby you never even got to feel kick, let alone name.

Your neighbors, Ebony and Malcolm Harris; Alain and his now-fiance, Amelia, had formed a bit of a cushion around you. Having an explanation for your misfortune, and then the financial boost from the punishment of the one responsible aided the pain somewhat... But it still hurt you so, so much.

Part of the settlement included paid-for counseling for those affected, and you took it. As dry and sour as it felt to yet again revisit the pain, you went through it.

But it still didn't help you when you looked at the toys, the unused clothes and set-up crib still sitting in your room, never to be used.

You spent a lot of time on the roof of your apartment building, contemplating... something. You wouldn't take the pills the doctor gave you. All they did was make you feel groggy and... numb. That felt worse than the guilt and grief, it didn't help.

You weren't sure anything would. You just wanted the pain to stop. You wanted to feel something, again.

You just wanted to be a mother.

"Oh, she's so... she's so..." Ebony sniffed, wiping at her eyes with her handkerchief. Malcolm sat next to her, rubbing her shoulders and sniffling himself. They loved you like their own child. They had none to speak of, since their son died overseas almost 20 years ago. You were the first person whom they felt a familial connection with--who didn't treat them as pitiful, childless old folks who were one bad day away from a nursing home.

"We're so scared for her," Malcolm whispered, pursing his lips. Just like his wife, he loved you like a daughter, too. And seeing you so consumed with pain and want hurt him badly. "She's hurting so badly."

"She wanted to be a mama so badly!" Ebony warbled, her wrinkled hands trembling as her husband held her. "That poor baby just wanted her own baby! She was so excited! Showed us everything, talked about it--I even started knitting a blanket!"

Malcom's own nearly-withered features twisted in sympathetic agony, "Please... is there something--anything--you can do for her? Help her, somehow? Like you helped us?"

The man sitting behind the desk kept his hands linked together as he peered over them at the couple. It was true. He had helped them.

When Ebony grew ill and eventually required dialysis, her body had been becoming increasingly weak and fragile; they were left without options. They tried prayers with pastors and in churches--but it didn't exactly do much with an absent god ignoring another desperate worshipper.

They were nearing the end of their rope when they heard through some whispers about him--the enigmatic "Dr. Moon".

They had only seen his face once, and that was after Ebony was miraculously cured following his strange "treatments", her kidneys back to functioning better than they had in her early 30s. After that, they attended private prayer sessions with him, the second high priest, after Marc Spector, whom he had only really interacted with a handful of times... And did not like how often he went against their god, Khonshu's word.

Begrudgingly, "Dr. Moon", later known to be one Yehya Badr, had started what would be known as the "Midnight Mission" with Spector. In his constant absence, the two agreed that it would work better if Yehya saw to the Mission while Marc traveled to hunt the cult of Ammit, and Khonshu's former high priest, Arthur Harrow.

And, while watching over the Mission and the innocent people... Yehya used his healing abilities and decided to open a free clinic from within the holy place. Many were hesitant to accept treatment from a religious institution, but soon patients and potential followers alike began to trickle in from the streets. People like Ebony and Malcolm.

Yehya felt for the couple and the story they now told him, his brow creasing beneath his white mask, mouth twisting into a pained frown. You sounded on the brink--ready to take one last hurdle into the beyond for the sake of the child you never got to hold.

"Healing something like that..." Yehya sighed sadly, standing up from his chair. The wheels squeaked softly as he pushed it back, and walked to the window that overlooked the street below. "...it won't be easy. I may not be able to do it alone, like when I treated you, Ebony."

"Can't you--can't you call on Him, again? Like you did before?" Malcolm pleaded earnestly. The love these two elders had for you touched him, made his own heart squeeze in his chest.

"Please... if--if His power can come from love, just--just take ours and give it all to her... please!" Ebony sniffled, burying her face in her hands.

Yehya swallowed the lump in his throat and slowly pulled his mask away from his face, walking over to take their hands in each of his. He could feel their heartache through their frail and gentle grip.

"I will see what I can do. Your faith--and love--might help this young woman you two adore so much. But I cannot predict how Khonshu will help her, should he choose to directly get involved."

Another repetitive day. You managed to force yourself to eat some takeout you had leftover from last night and microwaved that for dinner, eating alone in front of your TV as it droned on with some boring reality show you weren't really paying attention to anymore.

For the eighth time that week you contemplated packing away and donating all the baby items in your apartment. But every time you touched them you just broke down into a sobbing fit; your heart rending itself from the reality of what had gone wrong with you.

You couldn't even bring yourself to go into your bedroom, anymore. Everything was in there.

So, you'd taken to sleeping on your couch for the past few months. You only went into your room long enough to get things you needed, clothes and the like (the former just sitting in clothes hampers unfolded after laundry days) before fleeing in the bland space that was your meager living room.

After you finished eating, you sipped at the hard lemonade in your hand. Drinking to cope was bad, but something inside of you kept you from relying on it too heavily. And you never drank to get drunk; only enough to fuzz your senses enough to let you sleep on some nights.

And tonight was one of those nights.

You were on your fourth lemonade when the lights began to flicker in your apartment; your TV freezing frames when it began. Maybe your landlord was fiddling with the power to the building again? Had a fuse blown to the building? Whatever...

"I don't need this right now..." You grunted, taking a deep swig; one mouthful closer to the bottom of the bottle.

"Wasteful." A disembodied voice rumbled, making a chill creep up your spine.

"I... What--" Your head whipped around as you tried to figure out where it had come from--your TV was still frozen, so it couldn't have been that--you were still relatively sober so it couldn't have possibly been drunken hallucinations.

Suddenly, you jumped and yelled in surprise when the bottle went flying from your hand and smashed to bits on the wall, the drink within running down the drywall in rivulets from the impact.

"What the f--"

"My priest told me of you," The voice hummed. It felt as if something unseen was circling you like a predator does with its prey. "And of the pain you have endured, little one. There are those close to you who pleaded for my aid to help you, to heal you."

You felt the presence stop behind you, crowding you in and making your blood still within you; but you just couldn't bring yourself to turn around. The lights flickered weakly once more before going dead, as did your TV, swallowing you in darkness.

As your eyes adjusted to the inky darkness, this voice's words sunk in. "Heal you". "Help you".

"Who are you?" You swallowed.

"I am the god, Khonshu. I protect the innocent, I bring justice. I heal those that ask for it."

Yeah, no. You must have slipped and hit your head. You remembered Ebony and Malcolm saying they'd pray for you--but this was... this was impossible! But... some aching, gnawing, painful part of your heart begged for you to hear the voice out.

"How could you..." You cleared your throat, trying not to sound as scared as you felt. "How could you help me?"

"That remains to be seen." The voice replied with a thoughtful tone. "How do you wish for me to help you? I was told but precious little of your story--only from those around you. Not from you. What is it you wish my aid for?"

Your eyes slowly move to where you instinctively knew your bedroom door was. Even in the dark, you could feel the depressing aura clinging to the space call out to you like a siren in the black sea. The voice seemed to be able to "see" what you were looking at, as well.

Somehow--this Khonshu knew immediately what you were too scared to voice.

"I see." He told you, his voice growing soft and somber, if a touch sympathetic. His presence leaned away from you.

"You wish for me to heal the damage done inside of you?" He mused gently, "To enable you the ability to bear a child? It is easily enough done; but I sense something else bothering you."

Your hands knotted in the hem of your shirt; your stomach twisting itself into a nasty ball of writhing, anxious snakes.

"I... I can't go through it all, again." You croaked, your voice coming out hoarse. "The stress of finding... I just... I can't. It just... I don't want to--to risk it happening all over again, even if..."

"I see..." He murmurs again, giving you your space to breathe, "Then there may be another option--a guaranteed method--to ensure a healthy pregnancy and a healthy child..."

The way your heart hopefully leapt within your ribcage almost hurt--your stomach dropping into a pit. Sure, you may be going crazy and this could be a hallucination... But would it be so bad to give in, to live in some fantasy to alleviate the pain and grief you've been suffering with for nearly over a year?

"So you... you're... offering to... what, be the father of my baby?" You whispered.

A feather-light touch brushed your arm, the feeling warm and gentle on your skin, "Only if you wish it. I can help you, but only if you want me to. I can heal you, but only if it was what you truly want. When a child is produced, I will ensure there will be no struggles for you and the babe."

"You... promise? That it'll work?"

"I swear it."

You swallowed. Thinking hard.

But some part of you had already made a decision--and that part of you spoke: "Okay."

"Very well, then..." Khonshu murmured.

In the span of a breath, you felt large, warm arms wrap around your waist, tugging you close. And then, the next thing you knew... you were laying on your back, in your bed, with him hovering above your in the dark.

Even with the dim lights in the streets below barely filtering in through your blackout curtains, you couldn't clearly make out his appearance. The shadows that were being cast merely gave you an image that couldn't possibly have been true.

"Can I see you?" You whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Only if you wish it." He reminded you softly, his hand caressing your hip, beginning a slow, sweet trek up beneath your shirt.

"I do."

The dim light of the candle at your bedside table flickered to life--the sweet scent of lavender and vanilla filling your senses.

You finally got to see him. And you weren't afraid.

Marc felt uneasy as soon as they got off the plane, and Layla soothed him with a touch as she linked her fingers with his. He didn't like being here--the city was teeming with cruelty and injustice... and he knew Khonshu wouldn't let him rest long. Him, Steven, or Jake.

"Marc, just breathe." Layla said to him as she adjusted the strap of her travel bag with one hand, her other squeezing his. "It'll be fine. If Khonshu has a problem with you taking it easy--"

Layla scoffed, blowing a puff of air from out of her cheeks as they walked out of the terminal, Marc hauling their suitcases behind him, their wheels squeaking sadly beneath the weight. Some of their less... legal belongings were being smuggled in and would be delivered to their destination later in the night.

"Well, the old bastard can deal with it. I'm here, and I'll pick up the slack if I gotta." She assured him.

Marc's shoulders sag; he can feel Jake plucking at the edges of his mind, giving him gentle reassurances and his oath that if anything happened; he would be the one to bear the brunt of Khonshu's work in his stead. Even Steven spoke up to voice his assurances that all would be well--after all, they had Layla with them!

"Yeah," He sighed, smiling at her and bringing her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles, "You're right. It's also just..."

"Just..?" She led on, quirking a brow at him.

"The last time Badr and I spoke, it kinda ended in a fist fight." He smiled warily.

"Oh, gods, of course it did..." She snorted.

"I mean, I shattered his nose and he broke one of my knees, so... Yeah. Bad." Marc grinned, earning an elbow to the ribs from his lovely wife.

"Can it, Spector. Don't make me worry about you even more!" She laughed with him.

"Ouch!" A man holding a dry erase board laughed; the writing on his sign clearly stating "SPECTOR" in bold black letters on it. He stood in front of a pristine white car. It was Marc's. Or, well... apparently it was Jake's... A purchase he'd made without Marc's knowledge at some point... like the limo back in London.

Jake would apparently make spare cash when he would take over while Marc slept and Steven lay buried. All without their knowledge, of course...

"Hitting you with the Spectorrrr, is she?" Jean-Paul grinned, his thin, pointed mustache quirking like a fidgety caterpillar. "So cruel!"

"Well, he deserves it." Layla grinned, leaning in to hug him, "Frenchy! So good to see you! How've you been? How's Rob?"

"Happy as a clam in some nice clean water! And my physical therapy has almost concluded." Jean-Paul smiled, kissing each of Layla's cheeks in an affectionate greeting when she asked about his lover.

He lifted his eyes to spot Marc, bringing him in with a closed fist to give a shoulder-hug, "I'm glad you've gotten yourself sorted, Marc. Rob and I were worried about you!"

"As sorted as a guy with two other guys living inside his head that's in service to a pissy god can be, anyways..."

"Ahhh... Right. Right." Jean-Paul said, clicking his teeth as he popped the trunk to the car so Layla and Marc could load their things up. He opened up the back door for them to climb into the backseat."

"Hey, I can always drive us, Duchamp." Marc smirked at him, the corners of his eyes creasing in humor, "After all... it is technically my car."

"No, no--" Jean-Paul grinned, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Let me do it, c'mon. It gives me something to do, today!"

Layla nudged Marc with a giggle and he relented, climbing in behind her.

Marc sighed as Jean-Paul helped them unload their bags, his eyes following Marc and Layla's to the building in front of them; the doors decorated with carved crescent moons in the frosted glass.

He had been to the Midnight Mission only a handful of times--and every one of those times was to assist Marc as his pilot during intense missions for Khonshu. And he of course met Yehya Badr, the two men had a respectful relationship. He himself had conducted a few healing rituals to help with the phantom pains Jean-Paul occasionally felt in his legs.

But he knew that Badr and Marc didn't always get along; Yehya being a die-hard and devout follower of Khonshu and Marc being a bit of a renegade who tended to go against his word and do things his own way. And he knew it had been a few years since the two parted on... well--rather bad terms.

"Well, better get the torture and inevitable lecture over with..." Marc grunted, shouldering one of the duffels. Layla helps gather the rest, letting Jean-Paul close the door and trunk.

As they crossed the threshold, Jean-Paul winced, "Oh, right! There's something you should know about, by the way..."

Marc looked at him over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Well, Yehya isn't the only one who lives in the Mission anymore." Jean-Paul grinned as their floors squeaked on the waxed marble floors.

"Okay, and...?"

He rubbed his mustache with his index finger, smiling a little bashfully as he looked away. "Well, er... it's kinda... Uh, awkward... Well, I mean, that is--"

"Spit it out, Frenchy." Layla smiled, rolling her eyes.

A door could be heard swinging open from somewhere down the hall as they leave the foyer, and Jean-Paul laughed, grinning from ear to ear as a small, rambunctious human suddenly appeared, colliding with Marc's legs and wrapping her arms around his legs and giggling.

"Daddy!" She giggled excitedly, rubbing her face on his jeans.

Marc on the other hand, began to immediately panic--his eyes going wide as he looked to Layla, whom in turn looked at Marc with her eyebrows risen the highest on her brow Marc has ever seen--awaiting an explanation.

Marc began to sweat, "Baby, I swear to God I didn't--"

The child looked up at him, and frowned. Her little brows creased and she pouted, her bottom lip poking out as she studied Marc. "...Oh." She said dejectedly, sighing deeply. "You're not my Daddy."

Marc's heart felt like it was gonna explode--Jake and Steven had come to co-front to see what all the fuss and anxiety was about. Steven immediately began to go on about how darling the girl was, her shiny and clear her eyes were--how smart and at the same time seemingly ancient they looked. Like polished obsidian stones, a dazzling array of lights shimmering from somewhere deep within.

Jean-Paul laughed and clapped his hands, his face turning red from the force of his laughter. The child brightened up and rushed towards him, allowing him to scooped her up and swing her in a circle, "Hello, petit gâteau!" He crooned, kissing the girl's cheeks.

"Uncle Frenchy!" She giggled as he swung her around one last time before setting her down.

"Yes, yes, it's been a while! A whole week!" He grinned down at her, letting her hang off of his hand. She swung from it for a moment, studying Marc and Layla curiously, the fabric of her dress flowing almost like water as she did so.

"This is--well, I guess this could technically be your... er..." Jean-Paul smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your big brother Marc? And Layla, his wife."

Marc and Layla's jaws dropped, their confusion and curiosity only growing more and more.

(Oh, this'll be good...) Jake snickered, rubbing his chin. Through their reflections in a nearby portrait, Marc could see Steven elbow him.

'Ay, lay off! We can be curious without bein' rude about it, yeah?' The Brit huffed.

Jean-Paul was about to explain, but...

"Savah!" You sighed in relief, running out to see them. You knew Jean-Paul, from his healing sessions with Yehya and how he loved to babysit your daughter. He was apparently a trusted friend and ally of "Moon Knight's" so you knew he was harmless.

"I... agh. I'm so sorry if she jumped you..." You smiled apologetically at them as you scooped her up, bouncing the tot on your hip as she giggled into her hands. "We were playing hide and seek--and she must have slipped out when I wasn't paying attention!"

Steven couldn't help but squee at how adorable the girl was, Jake had to concede that, yes... she was stinkin' adorable. Even Marc was having a hard time arguing the point, and he was very, very awkward with kids.

"Savah, it's one thing to go up and hug your Uncle Frenchy, but it's another to go up to strangers you don't know." You say, gently scolding her. Her little grin falters, and she frowns cutely.

"I felt it... I thought it was Daddy..." She mumbled, plucking at one of the buttons in your blouse.

"Felt" it?" You asked, raising an eyebrow and looking back at Marc and Layla.

"Right! That brings us to the introductions, eh?" Jean-Paul spoke up, rubbing his hands together. "This is Layla el Faouly--er, well, actually Spector now, ain't it?--and Marc Spector, her husband. He's the Moon Knight."

Marc jumped, his eyes going wide at how casually Jean-Paul had introduced him with his mystical alter-ego, barely even registering it when he introduced you by name; "And this lovely little bon bon, is Savah, her daughter."

"Ohhhh..." You said, your posture relaxing, "That's why she got her "funny" feeling! Sorry, she thought you were her dad."

"I, uh... No harm no foul, but..." Marc laughed nervously, smoothing his hair back, "I could've lived without the heart attack of me possibly blacking out and oops'ing a baby with somebody at some point in time..."

Layla actually laughed, "Oh, please... like you have game with anyone but me, Marc."

He looked at Layla and deadpanned; "Yeah, well, you'd be surprised at how many people swoon for Jake's "Spanish charm"."

You blinked, looking at Jean-Paul for an explanation, and he gestured to continue down the hall, "Ah... let's go and... get some tea, hm? Explain a little bit."

"Right, right, I've never actually met this one." You reply, nodding.

"Mhmm, and he definitely doesn't know about you."

Basic introductions happened over warm cups of tea in one of the furnished rooms off the foyer. Badr had shaken hands with Marc, surprisingly polite and almost friendly before he briefly turned his attention to little Savah, helping fix her doll she had accidentally popped the leg off of when she got too rough, and ruffled her hair before leaving once more.

However... Jean-Paul had yet to fully introduce the two of you to the couple. He mostly let Marc and Layla explain who they were, and what they had been doing. Since obviously, you were so trusted as to even know about Yehya's identity as Hunter's Moon; they trusted to tell you about hunting Ammit, and ultimately defeating her.

It was less than an half an hour after that, that Savah suddenly perked up again, hopping up and down into place, her eyes sparkling even brighter. The glimmering lights in her dark depths caught Marc's attention, stopping him dead in the middle of his sentence, "Uh..."

"Oh... look's like he's home after all... wonder what he was waiting for?" You muse, smiling at your daughter happily, watching her as she ran to the door when it began to open.

A man with tanned skin, graying black hair, and a short beard walked in; his white suit crisp and immaculate. His hazel eyes were stern, his chiseled features only softening as Savah rushed up to him, holding her arms up expectantly until he picked her up and cradled her body gently against his, kissing her forehead gently.

"Daddy!" She squealed, giggling as she tried to wrap her tiny arms around him. It was now pointedly obvious this man was indeed to be her father--especially because of how many of his facial aspects she had. She had your skin tone and hair color, but certainly had his looks...

You rose from your cushioned seat and walked over to them, brushing your nose affectionately against his with a smile as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

"See? See?" Savah said excitedly, grinning like mad. "I told you I felt Daddy! I always do!"

"Yeah, you do, munchkin. Yeah, you do." You snorted, shaking your head.

Jean-Paul cleared his throat and awkwardly stepped around the three of you; "Well... I guess I don't have to do the rest of the introductions after all... I'll see you two later!"

"Bye bye!" Savah called out to him as the door shut with a faint click behind him.

Savah's father looked at Marc with a rather bored expression, almost... annoyed, really. Gave Layla the same look, as well. Marc rolled his shoulder stiffly, suddenly very uncomfortable under his unflinching gaze.

"It took the both of you long enough to get here." He said in almost a sneer; his voice unmistakably, painfully familiar.

Layla and Marc shot to their feet, almost falling over themselves as the realization dawned on them. Jake and Steven were in an uproar within Marc's mind.

"Khonshu?!" They both cried.

His brow quirked upward in an unimpressed gesture, "Gah. How can you two be so perceptive when hunting artifacts and evildoers, but cannot pick up on this? I am disappointed in you, Marc. You should have figured it out, first."

"Th-that's why her... her eyes--?!" He sputtered.

Finally, the corner of Khonshu's mouth tilts upwards in a cocky smirk; his eyes flashed an almost blinding white. And when Savah looked at the both of them, they could see the lights in her eyes swirl and shine even brighter and in tune with Khonshu's, shifting and dancing until they briefly solidified in an unmistakable crescent-shape before parting in a fractured dance, again.

"Yes, this is my daughter." He stated proudly, his arm tightening around you a fraction, "And my wife."

"Wife, huh? When did that happen?" You snorted, giving him a snarky look.

"I assumed it happened sometime after Savah was born." He hummed, his snark matching your own, "After all, you live under my roof, mother my child, sleep in our bed..."

You rolled your eyes and elbowed him, "Smartass."

You looked at the couple across the room and smiled awkwardly, "I never did get to explain much... But, since that's outta the way... mind explaining to me why there's such a weird vibe in the room, right now?"

Marc and Layla merely blinked at you, before once again exclaiming in unison:

"You had Khonshu's god-baby?!"

#🌙 answered #moon knight #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant #layla el faouly #khonshu #khonshu x reader #Khonshu x you

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shelbycragg · 10 months ago

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Golden sun on bright flowers, or shared smiles in the dark. Two moods, one listing! The choice is yours. The brass-and-enamel charms have been UV lacquered by Brian to keep them shiny, and sensitive-skin safe! Rainbow steel chain makes these necklaces variable in length from around 18-21 inches.

Limited in stock, so get them while you can! Only at your local Stellar Neighborhood! ⭐

#stellar neighborhood #signal boosts are appreciated love y'all!

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blufblucake · 2 days ago

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I don't know if you have any stories planned for Thundercracker, but I'd love to see something soft between him and a librarian. I just think it would be really cute.

⋆˙⟡𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

ᴘᴀʀɪɴɢ: Thundercracker x GN!Human!Reader

ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇ: Love at first sight

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: After millennia of war, Thundercracker feels exhausted and begins to question everything he once believed in. Now on Earth, the planet, with its rich culture and unexpected beauty, becomes an unforeseen refuge. You are a librarian who’s deeply passionate about your work and walk the neighborhood dogs to earn some extra cash. Your lives begin to shift when a chance encounter in a park sparks something unexpected. The seeker falls for you instantly, compelled to learn more about you and to explore this unfamiliar feeling growing inside him.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: This story will eventually contain sexual scenes, so MDNI. Potential sensitive topics addressed in the story will include a trigger warning before the chapter.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1,4k

next chapter

❝ This night is flawless, don't you let it go I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone I'll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you ❞

Author’s Notes: Thundercracker is my Decepticon husband and I’m so happy to finally write about him. My idea is to have all three of my seeker fics connected, so Wildest Dreams and Under Your Spell take place in the same timeline as Enchanted. When I read that ask, I knew the idea of the reader being a librarian would fit perfectly with what I was planning. Anyway, enjoy the chapter! :)

⋆˙⟡𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

Thundercracker was genuinely tired of fighting. At first, his sense of justice urged him to take a side in the war. He firmly believed in Megatron’s words and held onto the hope that they could rebuild a fairer, more equal Cybertron. That had always been his deepest desire. When he joined the Decepticons alongside his trine brothers, he was completely certain they could achieve their goals — that the war wouldn’t last long. But as cycles turned into stellar cycles, and stellar cycles into vorns, it became clear just how wrong he had been.

Little by little, the conflict stopped being about justice and started being about power. Megatron's speeches, once revolutionary and inspiring, had become shallow and incongruent, full of hatred and resentment. Thundercracker knew many had joined the cause not out of a noble desire to change the harsh reality most lived in, but because they were drawn to the opportunity to harm and spill energon. Drawn to savagery, to the twisted pleasure of spreading pain and chaos. And that gnawed at his processor, made him question how far his faction was from the truth, how far his leader was from being worthy of loyalty and obedience.

Thundercracker knew his brother, Starscream, was one of the most affected by all of it. The seeker had grown increasingly resentful of Megatron's constant abuse, becoming more and more obsessed with the idea of overthrowing him and taking command of the Decepticons. Thundercracker was aware of his brother’s qualities, but worried about how hatred was slowly blinding him, consuming his spark.

And where had it all led them? They had destroyed their own planet, reducing it to smoke and ashes. There was no hope of ever returning home, and they were walking straight toward the extinction of their species. Yet, Thundercracker remained loyal, despite the turmoil inside him. He doubted Megatron’s judgment, but he didn’t believe the Autobots’ words either. To him, the rival faction was just as guilty, but hypocritical. They acted like noble heroes, knowing full well their servos were soaked in energon too. In the end, to the seeker, Decepticons and Autobots were two sides of the same coin, with the only difference being that at least they didn’t sell a false image of perfection.

Since arriving on this planet, Thundercracker had been watching its inhabitants from afar, curious. He understood they couldn’t compare to Cybertronians in any way — that his kind was vastly superior — but unlike his comrades, he didn’t look at those little creatures with disgust or disdain. It was interesting how they dealt with their problems and, he had to admit, they could be quite creative in their media and literature.

The mech became increasingly fascinated with human books and films, browsing the internet to learn more and exploring countless genres, from action to romance. But the more interested he became, the less satisfied he felt with simply watching. He didn’t just want to observe, he wanted to feel. To live.

Which brought him to the present. He had spent a long time constructing the perfect holomatter avatar, creating a convincingly human appearance that still carried traces of himself. He worked hard for perfect control over the projection, wanting to experience every sense as if it were his own body, even knowing how much energy it would consume. It had taken time, but that morning, Thundercracker walked among humans, fascinated by the colors, textures, and sounds.

He wandered through a park surrounded by greenery. Tall trees with thick trunks and lush canopies, shrubs blooming with all sorts of colorful flowers. Some humans were selling beautifully painted canvases reflecting the exuberant natural landscape, while others, farther away, played instruments quite different from Cybertronian ones, but equally enchanting. Human sparklings ran joyfully, laughing freely or blowing iridescent bubbles through plastic straws, watched from a distance by their sires and carriers. He saw families and groups of young humans scattered across the grass, sitting on blankets while consuming their fuel or simply chatting. Everyone was enjoying the beautiful day, clear skies and a shining sun. It was fascinating to finally witness so much life after so much destruction.

“Hold him!” A voice pulled Thundercracker from his thoughts. When he turned, he saw a relatively large four-legged creature running straight toward him. A dog. Without thinking, the mech leaned forward and caught the animal’s front paws as it jumped on him. The dog was covered in long, soft black fur, with some white and brown patches. Its sticky tongue hung to the side of its open mouth as it panted, dark shiny eyes looking up at the seeker with curiosity and excitement. “Oh my God, thank you so much. You saved my life!”

Thundercracker’s gaze shifted from the dog to the source of the voice, and the moment his avatar’s eyes met yours, it felt as if someone had stopped the Earth’s rotation. Everything fell silent, the world around him darkened, and it was as if a spotlight illuminated just the two of you. He had never felt that before, he was completely entranced. Every detail, he observed intently. Your beautiful eyes sparkled like stars, your lips — so soft-looking — wore the most dazzling smile he had ever seen. Every freckle, spot, scar, things that might go unnoticed by other humans, he saw them all, and considered each one endlessly perfect. Whatever deity had created you must have been utterly inspired, sculpting every part of you with meticulous care.

He realized he’d been staring for too long when you cleared your throat and extended a hand in polite greeting. The mech blinked several times before letting go of the dog and straightening up, mirroring your gesture and taking your hand. Your soft skin was unlike the rigid plating he was used to. A subtle handshake was exchanged, and he almost protested when you let go, already missing the contact.

Upon closer inspection, Thundercracker noticed you were holding several leather straps in your other hand, all attached to chains connected to more dogs of various sizes. “They're all sweethearts, but Bowie here likes a bit of action,” you said with a small laugh, pointing at the dog now lying on the ground with its head resting on the avatar’s foot. “I noticed…” he replied, grinning like an idiot as he stared at you.

Shyly, you crouched to gather Bowie’s leash with the others. There was a short silence between you before you broke it. “You’re new around here, aren’t you? I walk through this park every day, and the town’s not that big. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” Thundercracker processed your words quickly and rushed to answer. “I… yeah, I’m new. Just moved here recently, still getting to know the place.”

He let out an awkward chuckle, scratching the back of his neck timidly. You looked him up and down, smiling at the sweet, unassuming demeanor of the man. The mech wanted to keep talking, ask questions, get closer — but he felt stuck, too cowardly to act. “Well, I should get going. I have to return these guys to their humans before they start calling me. It was a pleasure…” your expression turned questioning, and he realized you were silently waiting for a name. Thundercracker glanced around, searching for something to inspire him, until he noticed a distant sign surrounded by human sparklings, displaying two illustrated Earth animals. He quickly blurted out the name he’d just read: “…Tom!”

You repeated it, flashing a wide smile as you began to walk off with the dogs. “See you around, Tom. Thanks for catching Bowie for me!” He kept grinning like a fool as he watched you wave one last time and walk away. His expression shifted when he realized he hadn’t asked for your name. “Wait, you didn’t tell me your name…” he tried to call out, but you were already too far to hear.

Slowly, your silhouette faded into the crowd moving through the park. Thundercracker felt euphoric, the same feeling he experienced when flying freely through the night skies, but he could say this was even better. He had never felt anything so intense, such a deep desire to know someone. Who were you? He had to find out.

Author’s Note: It’s me again, haha! I’m really sorry for not updating the other stories as often as I’d like. I’m in the middle of final exams at college, and it’s been taking up a lot of my time. I’ll try to post a few more things this week! ♡

#transformers #transformers thundercracker #transformers x reader #thundercracker x reader #maccadam

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phoneuserhana333 · 2 years ago

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.°˖✧ neighbor!doctor!abby / neighbor!producer!reader headcanons .°˖✧

tags: enemies to friends to lovers, cocky!yn/annoyed!abby, mutual pining, dumb lesbians, unresolved tension, more to be added.

PART2 — PART3 — NSFWHC — N(SFW)HC

• after finishing med school, abby got a job at her dad’s private clinic outside of new york, which she quit after working there for a year

• during college, she was a victim of horrible gossip; everybody thought that she had it easy because of her dad being one of the best doctors in new york (to be fair, she was more privileged than other students because of this, but she would never admit it)

• and because of the desire to prove herself, she quit her “safe” job to go to work at the ER in the city to prove that she isn’t just somebody’s spoiled daughter who happened to be in the medical field

• she moved out closer to manhattan because of her new job, renting out a small brick red townhouse in a row of other copy-pasted houses, filling the shelves with books and the kitchen with spices. it was truly her home, which was something she took pride in.

• abby’s first interaction with her neighborhood critters went stellar; she met margaret, an old lady who lived across the street with her tortoiseshell cats clara and mima. margaret and abby grew close and she would go over to her house to have tea every saturday.

• abby’s second interaction with her neighbors however… didn’t go that as well as she thought it would

• she had some sense of what her next door neighbor was like- or at least she thought she did

• music would be blasting every night, approximately from 9pm to 6am- when she left for work. abby concluded that her neighbor was either a musician, a nepotism baby (pot calling the kettle black) or just insane.

• some days, her neighbor would be playing piano, guitar or banging on drums. on tuesdays, abby could hear her sing (“she’s screeching like a banshee manny, it’s like- 2:35am! wha- no, she doesn’t sound good, you’re just hearing things!”, she would complain to her friends) and on fridays, her mysterious musician neighbor held parties

• abby tired to be patient, but her abundant patience lasted her maybe one and a half month, before she found herself banging on her neighbor’s front door, dressed in a muscle tee with her hair falling out of her fishtail braid

• abby looked at her watch- 1244 steps, 4:22am, friday. she groaned and rubbed her face, realizing that she was about to meet her (probably very drunk) noisy neighbor, but to abby’s surprise- the door didn’t open

• she could hear the music turn down and a few girlish giggles behind the door, confusing her further

• right as the blonde started knocking again, the lights turned off and she could hear a familiar voice yell- “nobody’s home! go away!”, followed by muffled laughter

• this pushed abby over the edge- countless nights of sleeplessness, an irregular meal schedule and long day shifts at the ER finally caught up to her, and her annoying neighbor was about to be on the receiving end of her wraith

• “you’re troublesome, you know that?! always being so loud during the night, while some of us have work in the morning! get out here right fucking now and turn that god-awful music down!”

• abby let out a shaky, frustrated breath, suddenly being met with a tense silence, she took a step away from the door, thinking she finally got her neighbor to quiet down for once, before she hear that same agitating voice retort-

• “… whatever, grandma!”, followed by the music turning back on, laughter and chatter continuing into the night.

• by this point, abby’s chest and face were cherry red and she was stomping back to her house, trying to ignore the pang of embarrassment and frustration in her belly

• dr. anderson fell asleep with her earbuds in and woke up with a horrendous headache, only to have to get ready for her 7am shift at the hospital

• soon enough, abby was locking the door to her townhouse, double checking the contents of her lunch bag and briefcase (a gift from her dad, duh), when she noticed it, noticed her

• dressed in a kitsch black coat with fluffy white fur around the sleeves, donning gloves and a matching baby blue scarf in the middle of god forsaken october, was her favorite next door neighbor, blissfully unaware of the death stare she was receiving

• abby felt her eye twitch when she noticed her bare legs leaning against the railing that lead to her front door- the irony

• “hey! you!” abby made her way over to her neighbor’s staircase, nearly tripping over her bags and coat, before she stopped at the bottom, staring up at her with tired bloodshot eyes and a red, scrunched up face

• “um… hi? do i know you?”

• “don’t act all sweet now, you need to be put in your place. what the hell is wrong with you-“

• on the other hand, you lazily smiled, and continued staring at her. must be my lucky day, you thought, eyeing abby’s buff body and biting your lower lip, eyes sticking to her arms which were flailing around as she yelled at you for- oh, she’s the woman from last night!

• “y’know, you could’ve just joined us, right? i don’t bite”, you replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

• abby, who despite being caught off guard by your borderline flirty statement, was about to keep going off on you, suddenly got interrupted by her apple watch alarm, warning her that she’ll be late for work

• she looked back at you with storms in her eyes, her glare making you straighten up and cross your arms defensively; your neighbor wasn’t only hot, but also intimidating

• “i do. this isn’t over, you better be home later. we need to talk.”, and with that abby walked away, leaving you with the sight of her towering form disappearing in the streets of new york, prompting you to dramatically fan yourself as your body heated up from the sight

• oh, you were definitely feeling inspired now.

#abby anderson #abby #abby anderson x reader #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou x y/n #abby anderson x y/n #abby angst #ellie williams #joel miller #wlw #sapphic

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thatlittleviolin · 8 months ago

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//A little ramblig about eddie dear bc i cant stop thinking about him

Im not joking when i say this whole post was inspired after seen @//purple-raspberries “the mailman” drawing because O MY STARS WHAT IS THAT DRAWINgGGGGGG /pos

Okay so anyway, whats up with Eddie Dear? As, like, an active character of Welcome Home?

Something rubs me in the wrong way when it comes to him as a whole, not that I dislike him, pretty… much the opposite (thats why I'm making this post) actually, but I feel he is more relevant to the lore than what ppl give him credit for.

Even way before the past-year (2023) Halloween and Homewarming updates, I felt that he must simply be more than what is presented to us about him:

- He is the only character who sees all the rest of the neighbours every day due to his work

- He is one of the few if not the only one who is confirmed to be from outside of Home

- He brings one of the TWO functional clocks in all of Home (which could well be due to the nature of his work, but it doesn't take away from the fact that it's curious)

And I know, ik, this is not a lot. In fact, I believe this is not crucial info, but I want to mention it because it gives, in some way, a certain statement: Eddie Dear is not like everyone else. It differentiates him from the others.

There's simply something intriguing about him; and I constantly think about how, again, he's the resident who interacts most with his neighbors, the most helpful and willing to do anything, and despite that, he's the one who gets the most hits?

Hes always in a rush because he likes helping others, he's clumsy and yet he does his job in a stellar way and yet he goes the more underappreciated by his neighbors and its the first one to get to have his own personal breakdown during the Homewarming

Keep in mind, I don't mean that the other characters are bad or smth, we all know that inside they care for each other and are a pretty nice neighborhood-

But yea, starting with the most obvious, Howdy and Sally are downright condescending, bordering on rude to him. Howdy ignores him or pays half attention when he goes to deliver merchandise to the Bugdega and tries to start a conversation, and despite this, we can see that Howdy asks him for help to deliver things to someone else.

More specifically, during a hidden audio, we can hear that he uses Eddie to deliver an order of bowling balls to Julie DESPITE Howdy having a home delivery system and probably being able to better handle the weight of the merchandise, being at least two heads taller than Eddie, right when Eddie had just told him he had a very tiring day (of course he didn't hear that)

Sally, on her side, is condescending to him to the degree that when we hear them interacting, at least until now, it's mostly her giving him orders. Heck, Sally has a "long name" for every resident EXCEPT Eddie, whom she usually just calls "Mailman" for everything.

Julie and Frank tend to be more passive about it, but it doesn't take away from the fact that they also end up... taking advantage a bit? Or leaving him a bit aside. I know, I know, we all ship FranklyDear here, but it still bothers me how during "Eddie's big lift" (+ another hidden audio) we're shown how Julie tends to involve him in her games without much consideration as to whether Eddie even understands them to begin with, and Frank, despite acknowledging that he works hard and often overworks for everyone, leaves him lying on the ground. They don't even wait for him to get up to say goodbye properly, they just leave him there and go home. It's a bit sad to hear how Eddie talks to himself while getting up and dusting himself off.

And finally, one that I understand is a joke but serves as a transition to my next point: Barnaby and his constant gag of chasing Eddie around the neighborhood as soon as he sees him making his deliveries, or insisting that Eddie lifts him up because “he's just a puppy”. I won't delve into this (not now) because I know that overall that's Barnaby's way of joking; Eddie is not his only victim, but when you mix it with everything said above, it gives off some weird vibes.

It's as if Eddie was the typical "punching bag" character of the show's creators; you know, the one created so that the fun we get from him is at his expense, and sadly, somehow that fact makes sense to me as to why he's the first to have a "breakdown" during Homewarming and said breakdown has to do with, what else? his isolation and probable sadness.

During Sally's history and Poppy's confinement in her own house, there were two predominant themes: what happens when we're in the dark, what lurks in the shadows and whatnot, and isolation: Sally talks about this but Poppy experiences it first hand; shes alone and in the dark, house bricked to the top. However, Eddie gets overwhelmed despite being surrounded by everyone and, clearly, in a lit environment.

My opinion? Said loneliness and darkness don't necessarily need to be tangible, and in Eddie's case, they come from a mental place. My dear doesn't seem to have too much appreciation for himself, constantly letting people get the help they want (need, of course) from him at the cost of his own well-being. Eddie Dear is not happy, in fact, I feel he puts himself down a bit, which equates to darkness, and when he can distract himself from this fact again, Home reminds him; and his loneliness comes in a literal-but-not way. Eddie is never alone, that's evident, but again, in the Homewarming video we're not only emphasized that he's upset and confused because no one has asked him for help, but because he DOESN'T KNOW how to handle his own activities outside of work. Anything that doesn't have to do with the post office but is more personal overwhelms him because he's not used to thinking outside of how he should help others because that's his "only" way of interacting with them. Eddie needs to be needed in order to be closer to others, and when that's not the case, it frustrates him so much that it even seems like anger.

Heck, it's even sad how Sally mentions that nobody bothered him with the usual tasks they would require him for to give him a day off, and then downright nobody interacted with him. Not even Julie called him to play. When Sally finds him under Home's tree, she asks him to escort her to Home for the Homewarming and it's narrated that they're the last to arrive, but if Eddie hadn't left his house then... what? Would he have stayed there? (Lowkey I theorize that he wouldn't have, because of the fact that Sally and Frank seem to have more awareness than the others, I feel like she was actually waiting for him)

Personally, I consider that when it comes to a case like Eddie's, it's even worse, because you don't need to be actively in a closed and dark place, isolated (in what voluntary situation would someone have to be like that?) for your head to go completely to shit. Think about it, you make Home angry and he doesn't need the rest of the neighbors to build a wall around you. It does what you already do well: it locks you up with your thoughts and leaves you there.

So,,, uh, yeah, I don't know how to end this.

I just wanted to talk about my fav man.

somebody help him PLAEASSE

#welcome home update #welcome home #welcome home speculation #welcome home spoilers #welcome home eddie #this may be a bit of a strech #but idk it kinda makes sense in my head #This considering the theory that Home is responsible/makes the characters have these crises as a kind of revenge or way to control them.#Also the theory that Sally and Frank know what's going on or have a better understanding #im gonna smooch the mailman #𓆩 OffRol

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