#I think more people should be able to if they want to of course

[keferon]

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head is all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Part one

Holy shit I actually managed to finish it…..Oh. My god.

Under the cut⤵️

Is it stupid to miss someone who doesn't even exist?

Probably yes, but hey, Swerve already has several degrees, might as well get another one. A degree in Stupidity or something. Who cares?

For the first few days after waking up from his coma, he feels like he's going crazy. Everybody has realistic dreams, right? The ones where you can scrutinize every angle, memorize every face and smell and sound. The ones that make you lie still for a while after waking up, grasping at every thing you can. Trying to memorize everyone you meet, imprint them in your head.

Because apart from your mind, they don't exist anywhere else. So that's your only way to keep them.

It never works. Obviously. Details slip away. Impressions fade. Just a couple days, and you won't be able to recall anything but the main events from memory.

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

His life is a weird, pathetic, fantastical circus. Earth term. Heh. There are no circuses on Cybertron, haha!

But Swerve remembers. And the word circus, and the smell of asphalt, and rains that were made of water not acid. Remembers the English language. Can speak it fluently, even if you wake him up in the middle of the night.

Remembers his work schedule and remembers which company makes the best details. And Tailgate with his bright blue uniform and Wheeljack with his endless experiments and Swindle with his expensive coat and of course...yeah, no, don't think of Blurr, don't think of Blurr, don't. Don't.

He'd heard about it. Read about it, too. Mechs waking up from comas and doing wild things. Some forgot how to speak at all, some gained a new skill, some lived a whole life while they slept.

Articles tell Swerve, don't worry, what you've experienced isn't unique. The doctor tells Swerve that the same thing has happened to others before you, it will be okay, it will pass.

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

He's been in a coma for who knows how long. The medic said it was caused by an internal trauma that decided to suddenly get worse. One minute he's recharging , the next he's gone. Internal injuries are insidious.

So it turns out. One day he just disappeared from the world because he was busy slowly dying in his room and no one noticed until a thief tried to sneak in. The only one who came to him was a Mech who wanted to steal his stuff. Huh.

That feels revolting. Swerve liked to think he had enough friends. Or at least enough good connections. Enough those who should have noticed his absence, right?

Apparently not. His shifts at work were reassigned, his contacts never texted him first, his...

His small persona wasn't important enough for anyone to notice his disappearance.

Would his human coworkers notice? Would Tailgate have noticed? Or Jazz? Swindle?

Jazz would have noticed, he was always surprisingly attentive when it came to his friends. And he was friends with just about everybody.

Swindle would probably get upset about the money he'd lost.

It's amazing how much his brain-- wait, no, his processor. How much his processor could create to entertain him. It's a more elaborate world than the most complex series Swerve has ever known. And that scrap had forty-six seasons and fifteen encyclopedias!

People, Earth, a bunch of new languages and rules and all for the sake of the end being like, OOPS! ...it was all a dream. Hilarious. Worst plot twist ever. Swerve hates it when stories go in this direction even more than when they kill off their characters.

In his humble opinion, death is better than the revelation that none of the experiences made sense or had any value. In terms of writing scripts obviously. Haha.

He's busy roaming haphazardly through his own memory. He's looking, comparing, trying to find inconsistencies or things that don't make sense. All the stuff that usually gives away the fact that what happened was a dream.

Most of his memories are occupied by--No. Frag.

Don't think about Blurr, don't think about Blurr, don't think..

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

In the time he spent just looking at him, you could hand-build an entire Mech. Maybe even three. Swerve remembers picking up every bit of merch he could reach with his paycheck. Watching hundreds of videos and buying every new themed drink even if it was a flavor he didn't like.

Then spent a surprising amount of time resenting Blurr for not living up to his fantasies.

Blurr's behavior hadn't helped either, of course, but now, looking back at the past himself Swerve thinks that.. Oh wow. You weren't just annoyed at him. You blamed him for ruining your beautiful fantasy. You were having so much fun entertaining yourself with thoughts of this marvelous image, and he came along and corrupted it. Poisoned the well you drank joy from.

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

Blurr was more complicated than that. But exactly how, he'll never know. All he has are his memories, and those memories are cut short at the most interesting point.

Swerve knows this plot twist. The asshole character that no one loves at the last second turns out to not be what everyone thought, but it's too late.

Oh no, he's not an evil jerk, he's actually traumatized. Oh no, he wasn't bad, he was actually secretly helping everyone. You thought he was awful? Well now you're going to feel awful reading fanfics.

Serevus Spayne didn't actually betray the main character's dad, no no, he was in love with him! Bam. Drama.

Swerve isn't a big fan of this stuff. He likes his characters developed properly. But he can't deny the appeal of a character leaving behind a bunch of questions you thought you knew the answer to.

Uggh.

The doctor was wrong. These thoughts don't go away. These memories don't dull.

Swerve just boils in them, constantly getting stuck in his own head. Sometimes he puts English words into his speech and everyone looks at him strangely. Sometimes he reflexively says some inside joke and no one gets it and he's left standing there with an awkward smile. Because. Guys, you don't understand, if my coworkers were here they'd think it's hilarious. I promise, in my fantasy world, it's funny.

When he gets a job on one of the Autobot ships, he accepts it thinking it might be a good distraction from his thoughts.

When he happens to see Prowl with a tiny human on his shoulder in the corridor of that ship, he thinks he's lost his mind.

The whole thing. The whole load-bearing structure on which his picture of the world has been held suddenly gives a lurch. Living your life in a super realistic dream is wild, but meeting a character from your dream in real life??

Freaking cursed.

Jazz looks puzzled by his reaction, but all Swerve can think about are two things.

One, if Jazz is here, does that mean everything else was real, too???

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

It never occurred to him. But he didn't really know what size humans were. Well, sure, he could measure it in numbers. But he was among humans himself. And about the same size. He was generally even shorter than most of them.

If Jazz is so small, he can't imagine how tiny Tailgate would be. Or--

He can feel his spark freeze. In fact, he can almost hear the sound of a string breaking in his processor. Does that mean Blurr is real too? Real and just as tiny and currently dead? Because Swerve was there but was too convinced it was all just a dream to help?

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

Swerve taps his fingers nervously on the countertop. Come on. You're good at talking. Talking is your greatest skill. All you have to do is tell someone else about your comatose hallucinations and hope they don't think you're crazy.

They're sitting at a table at the bar. More specifically Swerve and Prowl are sitting at the table, and Jazz is sitting right on the table. (God he's so small).

“So uh. I got injured a while back and...uh...well, it got worse, turned out important systems were affected and I kind of. I was in a coma. For a really long time.”

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He speaks in a mildly wonky Common, Swerve notes to himself. He waves his servo a little too cheerfully in response.

“'Ay it's no big deal really. I saw a whole other world while I was asleep and like. See, I thought it was just my fantasies, but it seemed very real and...”

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

“And it was about this planet called Earth and about people who were building their own inanimate huge robots to fight huge aliens and their boss wanted to launch Mechs into space, so he picked the best of the pilots named Jazz and sent him on this test mission and...”

Jazz looks at him with huge eyes before switching to English in surprise.

“Mech, what the hell?”

“...And we lost him...” finishes Swerve with a sad smile.

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

“I'm going to show you a trick I can do.”

And then projects his holoform onto the table in front of him.

This. It's weird. Not in a way that would tilt it in the direction of unnatural. More like walking around in his comfy indoor pajamas right in the middle of the street. Being human is familiar to him, but being human amongst huge Cybertronians? Strange. And a little creepy.

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

Swerve doesn't even manage to respond, only to smile in relief before Jazz rakes him into his arms. In his holoform, Jazz feels right again. He's taller than Swerve and oh boy, he's alive and unharmed. To think everyone thought he was dead, staying up nights trying to find what was left of him, and he was on the other side of the universe the whole time?

Swerve chuckles into Jazz's shoulder. Then picks him up and spins him around a couple times just because he needs something to get his energy out. Man, it's nice to hug people. Warm and soft, eight out of ten.

Jazz pulls away but still stays standing very close. Swerve can literally see the happy stars in his eyes.

“Dude, I'm not complaining but what...how???? You just kinda..."

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

“I still speak English, you don't have to torture yourself with Common.”

“Oh thank fuck.” Jazz throws his hands up dramatically ���you're my favorite person right now.”

There is a polite click of the vocalizer resetting above their heads.

“I” Prowl says “very glad you two are happy but I'd like some explanation”

Swerve presses his head into his shoulders guiltily. Prowl has the unique ability to always sound like you've done something wrong in front of him.

Although Jazz doesn't seem to feel the same way?

“Short version - I sleepwalked my holoform to another planet.”

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

“It's a holographic avatar that I can project using a holomatter generator. Sort of like a remote controlled game character.”

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

“Have you been able to do that all this time too?“

Prowl hums

“I can create an avatar, but it takes a lot of practice to make it at least believable. And to fully perceive the world through it takes even more. It's a whole new technology. What Swerve does is essentially an art form. Sophisticated and impressively detailed may I add.”

Swerve shrugs shyly. He's still using the holoform to stand on the table next to Jazz. Looking up to speak to Prowl isn't exactly comfortable, but Jazz definitely looks like he's been missing the human presence. Swerve isn't human, but he might as well be.

“Thank you. Yes! Uh. Anyway, it seems while I was in a coma my processor projected my avatar onto Earth and I...let's just say I lived there for a while.”

Jazz laughs

“Dude. So you're telling me you were basically sleepwalking the whole time?”

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

“But the range limit of the holomatter generator is only four hundred miles...”

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

“You learned a whole other language! Got an ID!. You had a job!!!”

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

Jazz scratches the back of his head, still looking very amused

“How many degrees did you get? Haha wait no, I have a better question, did you pass your driver's license?”

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

“Dude you are literally a car without a driver's license!” collapses Jazz on the table with laughter.

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

“Says you who retook the physical several times. You couldn't pass the "being human" exam.”

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

“Don't worry, that's him getting excited. So...where have I been...”

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

“...Do either of you two know where Earth is?”

Prowl twitches his door wings

“No. Since Jazz was teleported we don't have much clues.”

Swerve grimaces. Scrap. Of course nothing's going to be that easy. He's also been, like,....teleported.

He stands there for a couple minutes and just feels fifteen different emotions rise up in his head at once. A crooked, unsteady smile creeps across his face.

He's thinking.

Oh hell, yeah! I knew it wasn't a dream!

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

“Ah frag..” Swerve says weakly ”it wasn't a dream.”

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

Swerve remembers his friends. Remembers the Mecha program. Remembers fire and smoke and screams and rumbling and crackling flames. Ashes flying through the air and the smell of burnt wires. He remembers blood and debris and...

“It's...complicated.”

This wasn't just a stupid plot twist he'd dreamed up because he'd watched too many shows. This wasn't a hallucination or a disembodied fantasy that just happened to linger in his head. This was real. His friends exist out there somewhere. His work and his collections and his little apartment...

And Blurr. Was real. Or still is? Swerve doesn't know. Blurr wasn't a product of his imagination. He was real and what he did was real and Swerve left him there alone, bleeding and trapped in rubble and tiny and...

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

He doesn't like this plot. It's too much. Too much to handle, too complicated, too ambiguous.

It's also probably too late.

But he can't leave it like this, right? Blurr went into the damn burning building just because of the possibility that there might be someone alive in there.

And Swerve doesn't even have to go through the flames. He has to look. He has to try at least.

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

Or maybe more accurately an idiot, but with several degrees.

He's well aware that finding Earth in space with only a description of it is impossible. Which leaves him with two options.

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

The first sounds like death. The second like coma. Swerve has exquisite enough taste to know which is better.

He just needs to do some preliminary reserch.....

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

“You're not going to die suddenly and for no reason, are you?”

Swerve laughs.

“Pfffff what, no of course not, would I kill myself hah. No no, look I'll just put myself in stasis for a bit. Send myself to Earth. And try to figure out where it is from there. Get the coordinates. If I'm lucky, I can see what Space Bridge the local Quintessons use. All you'll have to do is wake me up after a while.”

“It's not harmful?”

Swerve makes an uncertain gesture with his hand...servo.

“If I have enough fuel. And an additional connection to an external generator.”

Jazz tilts his head

“ Why are you so eager to get to Earth? Don't get me wrong, I miss it too and want to go back, but.”

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

Swerve tries to think about Earth. And not to think about the fact that he doesn't know where it is. If he's already been there once, he might as well go there again yes? In theory? Perhaps?

Except for the possibility that his sleepwalking just takes him to random planets. That would be very inconvenient. It would be a whole new level of lost

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

What's he even gonna do when he gets there? How far away is it? Swerve is very talented with his holomatter generator, but if it's really far away... maybe he should reset some settings.

He mentally starts going through his options. Does he need tangibility? Probably not. Come to think of it, it would only make him more vulnerable and take a lot of energy. Yeah, the tangibility has to go. What else? Touch, too. Sight and hearing should stay, that's not even a question, but colors and textures are not really necessary.

The amount of detail and picture quality can be reduced as well. His holoform will become colorless and grainy and will probably ripple with static, but he'll survive it.

After he finishes making changes to his holoform he thinks about his old stuff left in his house. Then about the posters. Then reminds himself that he needs to focus on the goal or he'll never find Blurr and...oh FUCK his phone! Where was his phone when he disappeared? Was it found?? There were so many personal things on that phone, he's hoping the phone was burned under the rubble. Either that or the arriving investigators will find his browser history and he'll go into another coma from pure embarrassment.

He blinks dazedly when he realizes he has loads of rocks in front of his eyes. Oh..Did he screw up? Did he end up on the wrong planet? Is it a cave or--

Then he notices the odd shape of the “rocks” and. Oh, no. It's not a cave. It's charred concrete debris.

This is the place where he was last.

He hastily looks around. Anxiety creeps up the back of his neck, makes him feel like something slippery and cold is crawling over his skin. There is nothing but ruins all around.

Blurr is not here. The place where his Mech was lying is empty.

Which means he was at least found and dragged out. Dead or alive.

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

He's trying to stay out of sight. Which isn't hard, considering he's just a hologram. At first, he just sneaks around in the quiet areas. Then proceeds to do a facepalm and start teleporting. Think, Swerve. Did you read all those comic books for nothing? Superheroes who couldn't really use their superpowers creatively always annoyed him. And he does, in fact, have a superpower. Gotta get creative, right?

He stops and looks at himself again. His holoform is going static and is a dull white color. He thinks for a bit, and then shrinks himself. Thinks some more, and makes himself almost transparent. There's no way he could pass as a normal human right now, so he'd better just do his best to avoid being seen by anyone.

He looks around thoughtfully. Hmm. Even if he's going to be absolutely tiny, he needs to make sure no one sees him, otherwise the whole base will think the Quintessons are now spying on them through holograms or something.

Breaking the rules feels...it's exciting.

All his ..human life here he hadn't thought about it, but if he threw away the rules he was used to about what people could or couldn't do...

He looks up in a sudden rush of sly genius. All people look under their feet when they walk, but how many look up? And how many of them notice the barely visible tiny holoform hiding just behind the blinding lamps?

The answer is probably none.

Swerve projects himself onto the ceiling and mentally pats himself on the shoulder for his impressive intellectual accomplishments. A creativity degree should definitely be a thing.

A degree in spying on the Quintessons' ships wouldn't hurt him either.

Fortunately sneaking onto their ship turns out not to be that difficult. Swerve makes himself absurdly tiny and hides in the darkest corners that no one would ever think to look into. Why hasn't anyone thought of using holoforms for spying before? Could he be the first to think of it? He doesn't know, but he mentally decides to patent the idea.

Finding the Space Bridge is surprisingly easy. The local Quintesson fleet is clearly used to being the dominant force in space. And that's generally logical. Even if humanity collects a mountain of money from somewhere to throw a dozen Mechs into space - there will be thousands of monsters waiting for them. In such a situation, you don't have to hide, the guards are enough.

Well done, well done, don't hide, Swerve thinks, copying the coordinates and address of the space bridge to himself. You have absolutely nothing to fear here, he thinks, so stay where you are and don't move. Please and thank you.

Once the coordinates are obtained, he... has some freedom to explore. And he uses it for probably the most boring-sounding thing in the world. He returns to his usual workplace.

It’s simple. As damning as the Mecha program was, Swerve loved his job in it. He loved his position in the assembly shop. And he missed his friends.

He quickly teleports through several rooms, continuing to hide close to the lamps. Tailgate is here. Alive and unharmed. Wheeljack is too, though his face has some scars added to it. It's great to see them again, even if he can't talk to them right now. No one will probably react well to a grainy unexplainable hologram. He's just glad to know they're okay and honestly, the last thing he needs is paranoid Onslaught installing extra signal jammers.

It takes time to find Blurr. Partly because Swerve is terrified of what he might find if he started looking. So he goes to check the death lists first, and only after flipping through and re-reading them three times does he finally exhale in relief.

Blurr's name isn't there.

So his smug, shiny ass must be around here somewhere.

He checks the hangar. Flips through the Mech launch logs and feels an uncomfortable knot begin to form in his chest. Blurr's Mech has never been repaired or launched even once since the incident. Its plating has been replaced with new, well polished, and put in a prominent place where anyone who wants to can take a picture of it. But all the internal systems are destroyed. This machine hasn't been used for anything other than being a beautiful exhibit.

That's...something's wrong.

He checks offices and schedules as well as eavesdropping on a few conversations and ends up secretly following Swindle, who is arguing loudly with someone on the phone. He says something about deals and how he doesn't need anyone meddling in his business. Then he talks about how he's got everything under control and the person on the phone is “a dumbass who's making drama out of nothing” and that “he doesn't need anyone's handouts". Then he sighs and says, “you know how celebs are. Dumb and dramatic. You can't take their words literally.”

Then drops the call and for a couple seconds looks like he's just had a large bill taken right out of his hand. Curses again, but in a quieter voice. Leafs through his contacts and stops at the one signed 'free ice'.

“Blurr? Where are you? Wha...ah, no wait. No, the advertising agency called. No, liste...Can you shut up for one second?Where are you?

Uh-huh....... Uh-huh.Okay.

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

He shrinks himself further and teleports under the collar of Swindle's coat.

He wants to take a look. Just. Just a peek. Make sure everything's all right. Then he can go about his original mission in peace. He watches Swindle get in his car and drive off somewhere. Swerve doesn't recognize this part of town. The houses here are much nicer than where he lived. The streets are cleaner.

He tucks himself further under the coat collar. He's not going to be a stalker or anything, but he's worried and he doesn't have time to wait for Blurr himself to show up for work. Just one little look and that's it.

Swindle's car stops outside a beautiful, shiny hospital. Swerve nervously tries to bite his knuckles, but remembers he's disabled touch in his holoform. Shit? Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

Okay, not really. His left side that faces the door to the hospital room looks like a mangled corpse and that's the first thing that catches Swerve's eye when he's inside.

Blurr is pale and thin and his hands are covered in bandages. The left side of his face has been turned into an absolute ugly nightmare. A piece of his ear is missing. In the place of the left eye is a creepy empty hole.

Suddenly Swerve realizes why Blurr didn't show up for work. You can't even show him to his coworkers like that, not just to the public.

Blurr turns his head and the spell breaks. His lips stretch into a cocky smile.

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

Swindle doesn't show the slightest emotion at the gruesome sight. He casually pulls a chair over to the hospital bed and sits down.

“Shockwave is trying to sneak a new project into the program. And he's slowly swaying investors to his side, using you as an excuse. Tells everyone you're a poor martyr he can save if only he's given the green light from above.”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“Not that he's wrong. The doctors say I need to pick a new career because with this...” he jerks his head to the left implying his damaged half, ” neither racing nor piloting is an option for me anymore. I'm out of your project.”

Then he stops talking for a few seconds and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“You wouldn't have come here in person just to say that. Why are you really here?”

Swindle adjusts his glasses

“Have I ever told you why I made the contract with you?”

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Fair point. But money wasn't my only priority.”

He pauses for a second. Gets up. Draws the curtains in the room. Checks to make sure no one is outside the door.

Goes back to his seat.

“You didn't see what the Mecha project was like before. Brutality and absolute disregard for human rights multiplied by a thousand. People were desperate and no one cared to maintain any decency.”

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

“No no, listen to me. If you think things are bad now, you're right. But it used to be much. Much, much worse.”

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

“Vortex was taken as a boy. He wasn't even out of high school when they shoved him into the lab. Me and Onslaught were pulled right out of the college exams. The others were no better, although they were usually a little older. My point is that it was allowed. It's what the superiors could do and no one told them no.”

Blurr tilts his head and gets a little all turned around to see Swindle better with his right eye.

“But you... found a way to change that, didn't you?

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

“I have no power over my own superiors. But Onslaught and I have come up with a plan. Look. I'll put it in simple terms for you. Above me is my boss, and above him is another boss, and so on but at the very end of that chain are people from the government. The investors. So we figured out a way to cut through the chain of command and influence them directly. Make them worry about us. It's a kind of social shield. Onslaught is a genius.”

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

Swindle takes off his hat and just. Crumples it in his hands. The back of his head shows numerous scars and the glint of tiny metal implants barely visible behind his hair.

“You're that shield right now, Blurr. You can't leave.”

Blurr's eye widens

“Is that why you insisted on ‘befriending’ me with all those bullshitters?”

“I needed to make sure that in their minds we weren't just a military unit. To keep them thinking that we're as human as they are. So I gave Project Mecha a face.” He tugs on the hat again, “Your face.”

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

“Shockwave can't do whatever he wants cause...because of me his efforts would risk going public and people wouldn't like it and it would ruin the reputation of our investors-and-they'd-cut-off-his-funding.”

Swindle puts his hat back on.

“Exactly.’ That's why he's being so persistent right now. He knows you're vulnerable and he wants to capitalize on the opportunity. Make you part of his new project and tell the world about it. Make publicity his weapon, too.”

The lamp above them flickers faintly. Blurr takes a breath. Long and tired and exhausted and. a bit doomed.

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Don't leave. At least not now. And don't let Shockwave get to you. That would open the way for him to get to the rest of the pilots you represent.”

They just. Sit in silence for a while. Blurr quickly taps a finger on his knee. A rapid tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Swindle moves his hand away and gets up from his chair.

“There's a press conference coming up. I need you to be there. I've told everyone who needs to know that the problem is exaggerated and you're fine but they need to see you.”

Blurr smiles sourly.

“My lawyer is going to charge you such a handsome sum for that stunt.”

Swindle laughs, but his cardboard advertising smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“We’ll see about that. Seriously though. I need you there.”

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

Swerve...doesn't know what to think of that.

Blurr shows up for the press conference. Late, but he makes it. Just as Shockwave is presenting his new project in his amazingly well-pitched voice. Blurr swings the door open and waltzes lazily inside, skillfully pretending not to notice the many cameras and eyes instantly directed at him.

Swerve, whose memory is still fresh thinks for a second that no, no this can't be the same person. Past Blurr looked like a wreck. Past Blurr was tense and tired and hunched over. Present Blurr couldn't look more alive. His shoulders are squared proudly, there's that cheerful springiness and grace in his stride. He moves with ease and confidence. Smoothly.

The left side of his face is neatly covered with fresh white bandages. Carefully, without leaving the even the slightest gap through which his injury could be seen. His hands are hidden under a fancy jacket. He smiles wide and bright and squints playfully toward the table.

The very embodiment of nonchalance. The few pilots sitting in the audience roll their eyes.

Swindle breathes out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Swerve, once again using Swindle's collar as a tactical cover, can't help but let out a silent triumphant laugh. Maybe slightly more nervous than he is supposed to be.

Blurr sends Swindle a sly, sharp smile and even knowing it wasn't meant for him, Swerve feels his cheeks heat up.

Ah, damn it.

Swerve breaks the rules. He tells himself that peeking is fraught with consequences when it comes to military organizations, but he can't stop himself from being curious. And from worry, too.

And now that he knows where to look, he sees things he'd rather not see.

Blurr ... is crumbling.

Swerve doesn't know all the details and consequences, but that incident did leave a mark.

But every time Swindle calls him and says “I need you at some place in two hours” he gets up and assembles himself into a human being. Like a goddamn puzzle. Tapes and covers the burned half of his face. Covers up the bruises and hides the stitches. Fixes his hair and sets off on shaky legs to pretend he's fine.

He smiles so bright and carefree, laughs so sweet and beautiful that no one would ever think that even standing up sometimes hurts.

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

The only difference is that this time Swerve mentally gives him the presumption of innocence before he starts judging.

Blurr does a lot of things that seem rude. He also does a lot of things that are actually rude and figuring them out without resorting to alien superpowers would be nearly impossible.

When the pilots see Blurr sitting right on the table while negotiating with investors, they roll their eyes and make comments about his terrible manners. Or when he stops showing up for even the most basic, rudimentary training.

Or when he develops that stupid habit of leaning his elbows on people standing next to him.

It's the model behavior of a rich, spoiled brat.

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

Employees say “that dumbass has never heard of personal space.”

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

Blurr leans on Swindle's shoulder and through a charming smile says “Don't move or I'm gonna fall.”

Swindle also keeping up the smile discreetly holds him back, pretending it's a friendly half hug.

Swerve feels like yelling at both of them, but he's not sure what for exactly. For one thing, Blurr in his condition is very VERY VERY contraindicated to even get out of bed, let alone participate in social activities.

On the other hand, without Blurr, everything is going down the pit.

Without Blurr, all the government sees are dry reports and spreadsheets. Without him, all the high command has is numbers and a sense of impunity. Swerve is sickened by how easily people tend to forget that numbers represent other people.

Most pilots are able to draw a parallel between deteriorating working conditions and Blurr's sudden fondness for staying home instead of working. But they think the rich jerk got scared and ran away. Considering the way Blurr has always behaved at work - Swerve can't even judge them too much for it. They assume Shockwave getting more freedom is the cause of Blurr's absence, not the result.

Blurr's influence only becomes noticeable when it slowly starts to fade away. It's like switching from expensive tea to a cheaper one. The awful flavor only becomes noticeable in contrast.

Blurr doesn't lead the development of new technologies or go out to fight in the field. He doesn't make plans and reports, he doesn't participate in drills, he doesn't cover anyone's back in battle.

But he's the one who puts his hand on the government's shoulders when they're about to sign the next piece of paper. He's the one they have to look in the eye before they have a pen in their hands and a document authorizing Shockwave to stick more needles in people's brains.

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

It turns a disembodied imaginary “combat units” into a tangible person.

From “do you want to accelerate the combat training of new soldiers” to “are you willing to tell the living, breathing guy standing in front of you that shoving poison under his skin is an idea you approve of.”

More importantly (And Swerve actually admires Swindle for this) Will you be able to explain anything to your families later on, when this same guy is on TV all over the country saying that's what you did to him?

There have been two fronts here all this time, Swerve realizes.

While the pilots were protecting people from monsters wearing teeth and armor, Blurr was protecting the pilots themselves from monsters wearing ties and lab coats.

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

“Thanks darling~ Sorry I interrupted you. Your speech sounded like something important, but I don't really know much about nerd stuff.”

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

Shockwave doesn't move. Doesn't give any indication at all if he's offended or upset or whatever.

“It must have been hard getting here with your injuries.”

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

“It's just a few bruises here and there. Not the end of the world.”

Shockwave nods slowly. His voice and posture and all, Swerve thinks, looking very uncomfortable.

“Of course it isn't. But hardly good for your career.”

Blurr freezes.

No, Swerve thinks. Shit. No, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't listen to him, don't

“Your brilliant achievements have always been a source of admiration to me” continues Shockwave “it would be a pity to lose them.”

Blurr makes an indifferent face and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Like I said. Not the end of the world.”

Swerve imagines choking Shockwave. Dropping a lamp on his head. Maybe jumping on top of him himself. Shut up, he thinks. Shut up, shut up, stop fucking talking.

Shockwave with a nice, slow gesture pulls out a notebook from somewhere and flips a couple pages.

“Multiple burns, cracked ribs, poisoning from carbon monoxide and combustion products of toxic chemicals...”

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

“...loss of vision on one side...” Shockwave continues reading, ”and partial hearing loss. Finally, the impact of neural link malfunctions. And this, if I'm not mistaken, is on top of the already existing memory problems?”

Shockwave takes a step closer. Not fast enough to make it look threatening, but enough to hover.

“It may not be the end of the world, but it is the end of you.”

He writes a set of numbers on the same page, tears it off, and hands it to Blurr.

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

“That fixing would involve giving you consent to mess around with my head, wouldn't it? It's brave of you to think I'd go for that.”

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

“I can assure you, neither I nor anyone else is interested in your brain. I just want to give you back what you're truly valued for.”

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

“ If you say so,” Shockwave agrees easily. Nods, slowly and smoothly. Then starts to walk away “But you do need your fame.”

...

“By the way, you might want to wipe the blood off.”

Blurr waits until Shockwave's back disappears around the corner, then quickly pulls a tissue from his pocket and brings it up to his nose.

____________________________

Swerve wakes up looking up at the ceiling of his room. The high, metal ceiling, of a metal room on a metal spaceship.

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

“Are you alive? You've been gone for like quite a while...Did it work?”

“Hey Jazz” frowns Swerve “what do you know about Blurr?”

Jazz laughs

“What are you fanboying over him again? Still??? Dude's smug and arrogant. Good boss though. I was hired to perform at his parties before I became a pilot.”

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

“Wha...ah! Yes! Yes, it worked! I managed to get the number and codes from the space bridge the Quints used on you. We just need to find another space bridge and we'll have a pretty much direct route to Earth...well. Or rather, to the Quint ship that's located near Earth. You get the idea.”

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

Swerve jumps to the floor and heads to grab an energon cube. Man, these holoform exercises are burning energy like crazy.

He stares at his metal hands like an idiot for a couple minutes. Just...Contemplates how non-human they are.

He has eight fingers again instead of the human ten. Huh.

Prowl downloads the information he's gotten and immediately runs off to plan a route to the nearest working space bridge and for a while Swerve is just.

Left to himself.

He tries not to think about Blurr. What would he even say to him? Hey, look, I'm sorry I accidentally set you up, see, I'm actually an alien who was sleepwalking and thought you were fictional, surely this won't affect our non-existent strictly professional working relationship? Nah, screw that. If he's going to sound crazy, he needs to at least come up with a good presentation for his insanity.

....

Is it weird to think humans are beautiful if you're not human? If you're kind of human, but only in your soul and only half human?

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

“Right now, yes. But we got on each other's nerves quite a bit when we first met.”

Swerve looks up at Jazz's chattering legs from his height and thinks. This is working somehow.

On the other hand, Jazz is the exception rather than the rule. He's friendly with everyone, he's easy to get along with, he's the soul of any company and most importantly, he was a little too much into robots before he discovered they could be alive. If anyone could find common ground with the Cybertronians, it would definitely be Jazz.

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

Swerve shrieks in fear and gets covered in static. He hadn't planned on talking. He hadn't planned on being noticed at all. Blurr was supposed to be asleep! And Swerve just wanted to close the curtains and leave, because there's some noisy party going on outside and bright illuminations are very bad for a patient already suffering from neural connection withdrawal.

He freezes in place like that dude from Jurassic Park. Like if he's still enough, he won't be noticed. Oh, or was that from another movie?

“I'm just uh” he awkwardly reaches up and closes the curtains “Lights. Bad for...you...now.”

Blurr chuckles. It sounds suspiciously joyful. His whole posture and facial expression. He looks very relaxed for someone who had a ghost materialize into the room out of thin air.

Swerve traces the line of the IV with his gaze. Oops, that looks like painkillers.

“Yes I am. Uh. A ghost watching the curtains. And now the curtains are fine, so I guess I'd better go?”

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

“Uh, I can teleport into the next room?”

He backs up his words by making himself disappear and reappear in another corner of the room.

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

Swerve is involuntarily infected by his mood and makes a couple dramatic bows as if he were some kind of magician.

“ Show me more?”

“Hehehe okay eh” Swerve spreads his arms like he's presenting something and then makes himself the size of a soda bottle and teleports to the edge of Blurr's bed “Ta daaaa~”

“Wooooo look at you, you're like an action figure~”

Blurr immediately makes an attempt to touch him, but fails to reach and drops his hand back on the blanket.

Swerve chuckles and steps closer. It's funny to see the usually incredibly agile Blurr struggling with something so simple and ridiculous.

“They really drugged you huh?”

“It's not the drugs” snorts Blurr ”...it's my eye.”

He raises his hand once more and hesitantly pulls it towards Swerve until it bumps into his hair

“... depths Per…percen.. ah, shit. I can't tell how far away things are.”

Swerve just. Lets Blurr fidget at himself, while starting to feel really bad at the same time.

"If you can't tell how far things are, how are you going to drive?

Race???”

He must have a plan right? Something? Let’s-prove-Shockwave-wrong tactic???

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

He freezes when the all too close fireworks rumble outside the window. Then points to his head.

“With this. I can't drive, I can barely walk at all, and I look like horror movie material. Pathetic heeh.”

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

“If I had died, it would have been epic. You know? Dharm...dramatic! It would be big news and everyone would be talking about what a hero I was or...or something...”

“...”

“Swindle would be so angry, but he'd figure out a way to make money out of it. He'd make a commercial about how people should be heroes. I'd be remn..remembered for being cool and brave and stuff.”

Fireworks can be heard from the street again. Swerve notices that there is a thin slit between the closed curtains through which a slim, flickering strip of multicolored light streams into the room.

Blurr frowns and leans back against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

“I've turned into a boring wreck. My records will be beaten, my career forgotten , and all the guys from work will remember me as a brat. In a--in a--in a way, it's worse than death. Shockwave's right.”

Swerve isn't sure what exactly would be an acceptable gesture of comfort, so he kind of just. Places his hand on the blanket covering Blurr's lap.

“Hey, don't say that. I think what you're doing is great.”

“Liar” smiles Blurr crookedly ”You hated me. I saw your posters collection.”

Oh shit. The ones he ripped off the walls and destroyed in a fit of fan frustration? He didn't even hide them, just shoved them in the back corner. Aw, man...

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

“I can be mad at you and think you're cool at the same time. I'm a multitasker.”

“You're a very specific kind of ghost.” says Blurr. Then, apparently inspired by the painkillers, decides to drop the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb on Swerve's head “You died because of me?”

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

“You know.” he makes a gesture with his hand that's ..unclear what it's supposed to mean. “You were working there with everyone else, and then there was that fire and I was sure I saw you down there under the rubble.”

He's silent for a couple seconds before he hesitantly continues

“And then no one could find you so most assumed you either burned or ran away. And now you're here with all your weird ghost stuff, so you must be dead.”

Swerve has.No idea what to think about it. And what to say? He's been so busy blaming himself for Blurr getting hurt that it hasn't occurred to him to think about what it looks like from Blurr's own perspective.

“Actually” says Swerve ”I'm an alien.”

“Heh” giggles Blurr ”sorry, my head’s all cloudy, I thought you said you were an alien.”

Swerve wants to run around and bang his head against the wall.

Instead, he gets up from the hospital bed. Carefully.

“You're high. I'm not going to explain things to you while you're high, you won't understand or remember them. Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night.”

“You'll tell me later?”

Swerve hums quietly and pulls the curtains all the way closed.

“If future, sober Blurr would want my company.”

---------------

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

“Are you going to tell me who this mystery person you keep coming back to Earth for?”

Swerve snorts.

“What makes you think it's anyone in particular?”

“You're right, you're right~” raises his hands in surrender Jazz “So are you going to tell your friend the whole thing?”

Swerve crosses his ..metal arms over his metal chest.

“Is it that big of a deal? He thinks I'm a ghost or something.”

Being a ghost...somehow better, he thinks. If you're a ghost, it kind of automatically implies you're human. Or was a human.

“Sooner or later, he'll put the facts together~” says Jazz in a chant.

Swerve laughs.

“That's unlikely. He's got a pretty bad memory.”

_______________

His plans to stay out of anyone's sight combust with a dramatic pop the next time he projects himself to Earth. He doesn't plan to interfere, he doesn't even plan to linger. He just wants to see what's going on.

He actually just quietly sneaks into the hospital to make sure nothing's happened to Blurr since last time, but when he finally finds him then...oh shit, is that Pharma in the same room with him??? This can't be good.

They don't speak, but Pharma has clearly locked his eyes on Blurr and starts making his way towards him with the relentlessness of a industrial metal press.

Swerve does some rough math in his head. If he briefly gives his holoform back its detail and voice, will that be enough to fry his processor? He's not sure.

Pharma gives a believable impression of a shark getting close. The staff, as if sensing something untoward is about to happen, leaves the room in a hurry.

Blurr looks indifferent, but Swerve's attention is drawn to the way he squints tensely. Man, the lamps are too bright in here.

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

Swerve's mental processes fly out the window. Oh no no. Not Pharma. Not in his fucking fanfic. He quickly changes his work clothes into a slightly more business-like looking shirt. Thinks for just a moment and adds a cap to his head to blend in more strongly with the attendants and hide his face to an extent. And then projects himself around the nearest unoccupied corner and runs out of behind it looking as anxious as he feels.

“Blurr!!! Sir, there you are!!! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Pharma wants to say something, but Swerve doesn't even let him start. He stands in front of Blurr separating him and Farma expressively waves his hands trying to keep his head down.

“The guys you were talking about didn't bring the new hydraulics! It's a disaster, we'll have to use the one on the old models!”

Blurr, to his surprise, backs up his act almost instantly

“Really? But I thought there was nothing to take from the old models?”

“That's exactly the point! I got the paperwork this morning and...oh those assholes are going to screw it up if you don't step in as soon as possible!”

Pharma tilts his head

“Can it wait? We were actually talking here!”

Oh no, thinks Swerve I'll show you who's talking.

“Sir, no offense but this is a matter of extreme urgency. Are you implying that the safety of your patients is not important?”

“What do you mea...”

“Old faulty hydraulics, that's what you want?” raises an eyebrow in horror Blurr.

“No I'm just...”

“I had a better opinion of you, to be honest.”

“I...” opens his mouth Pharma “...WHAT...?”

Swerve shakes his head.

“And I thought his profession was to help people, can you imagine?”

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

“Any idiot can get an important position these days.”

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

Pharma looks like he's about to start pulling the hair out of his head.

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

“Sir, I understand you're a bit detached from reality spending so much time in your department, but you need to take better care of your reputation.”

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

“Wouldn't want the rumors about you to turn out to be true. You know what I mean?”

Pharma doesn't even answer anymore. Pharma just looks like a discarded fish.

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

“Of course” shrugs Swerve ”Ask Norman, he usually knows everything about everyone. And about your interesting tricks with safety, too.”

He leans in conspiratorially, effectively pulling all of Farma's attention to himself

“So if I were you, I'd stay out of any more things you don't understand.”

Pharma wants to say something. Swerve can tell by the look in his eyes. Pharma tries to come up with a witty and context-appropriate response, but this whole conversation has no more context than a typical episode of Teletubbies.

“Where does this Norman guy work?” finally finds the ground beneath his feet Pharma

Swerve shrugs.

“Block C, if he hasn't been transferred yet. He's already been fined several times for spreading harmful information you know? The guy can't keep a secret.”

Pharma throws his hands up angrily and storms away. Probably looking for context. Or revenge.

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

“So. Should I be worried about Norman's health?”

Swerve feels the hair on the back of his neck shiver and slowly turns to face Blurr while still looking somewhere on the floor.

“Uh...only if you're concerned about the fate of fictional characters. I made up Norman's wife, she'll be upset if he gets fired for gossiping.”

Blurr chuckles. Then goes silent. Then, after a couple seconds, starts laughing again. That's a good look for him, Swerve thinks. It's not like Blurr's usual velvet-smooth laugh that he uses at social events. It's more like a quick, jerky giggle, and in Swerve's subjective opinion, it's pretty damn cute. He can't help but grin.

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

Swerve reaches back, expecting a handshake, but Blurr ignores his hand and instead goes for his cap and lifts it by the brim.

Swerve, not expecting this, freezes with his hand outstretched.

Blurr freezes as well, still holding the cap in his hand and looking...like he's rethinking his life. A little.

Ugh, and how to explain it all to him....

“Uh...you...uh...probably don't remember me. I...it's...”

Blurr shifts his gaze from Swerve to the cap in his hand. Then back to Swerve.

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

“Ah not.., not really. Do you know why Pharma was looking for you in the first place? He doesn't work with patients anymore, he's been reassigned to the research department, right?”

Blurr shrugs.

“Last time I saw him, he said I might have implant rejection in the third ..uh..what? stage? or something? I think he's trying to get me in for a checkup.”

Swerve twitches.

“Third??? How are you still standing???”

He then quickly reaches up with both hands to Blurr's head and tilts it so he can see his face better. Using one thumb, he pulls his lower eyelid slightly and mentally catalogs. Temperature normal, pupil normal, eyes are steady, no darkening or trace of blood on the eyelid. Implants? He puts both palms up and gently feels the places behind Blurr's ears. No signs of rejection or malfunction.

“No no no” sighs Swerve ”You're fine, it's only stage two. I mean, second sucks too, migraines and all, but you just need to rest and no bright lights and...” he finally notices his hands are still on Blurr's head and pulls them back as fast as if he's been burned ”I MEAN I'm uh...sorry, I didn't mean to, I...”

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

He wakes up in his quarters and can feel his face burning.

When he goes out to get the energon, Jazz throws him a look.

“Is something wrong? You're all kinda...shaky.”

“Hhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuu” imitates signs of life Swerve “Say, doesn't it bother you that Prowl isn't human?”

Jazz smiles

“ Oh, I went crazy when I found out. But we figured it out.”

“Like...on a scale from ‘bad grade in school’ to ‘an asteroid is coming to Earth’ how crazy was it?”

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

“Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff. Whatnooooo, no of course not. I'd be worried if I planned on telling them at all.”

Jazz frowns

“No offense, but keeping secrets isn't your strong suit.”

“Haha” Swerve waves his servo “ Watch me.”

[meichenxi]

12 hyper-specific actionable neurodivergent-friendly goal suggestions for the New Year!

If you are considering writing goals / intentions / focus points that are more ADHD and/or autism friendly and not overly focused on career or relationships but rather on feeling at home in your body, here are 12 very specific, very actionable tiny steps that have made my life actively better in the last year. Feel free to reblog with similarly actionable points!

(Obligatory disclaimer: these are what have helped me – hence why ‘hyperspecific’! They might be completely the opposite of what you need, or irrelevant to your situation. And all of them, of course, are funds-dependent. But I hope you can find something to inspire you to think about more actionable goals for the coming year.)

1) Get a recipe box

This is number one for a reason. In the past, I have lived for three years on sandwiches (!). I cannot cook or reliably feed myself, and have been beating myself up about it for years. At its best it is humiliating, and at its worst I have gotten various illnesses from malnutrition. I find cooking a sensory hell, as well as triggering past ED thoughts, and shopping and deciding every day what to eat is an executive dysfunction nightmare.

‘You should be able to cook’ – okay, but you can’t. If you can afford it, what’s more important – that you eat well, or that you fail again and again at doing what you ‘should’ be able to do? I think of it as part of my autism accommodations, and just one of the ways that existing as a disabled person is more expensive. Please take the shame away from it, and use it if you need.

I pay for Gousto – it’s the best for vegans, and costs about £35 a week. This is a huge part of my budget for the month, but I find it worth it a million times over. It delivers the recipes and packaged foods in correct amounts to my house every week, and I always choose the quickest recipes to cook. They are done in about fifteen minutes. This forces me to be in the kitchen every day, which has the added benefit of making it very clean, because I can’t stand to cook when the kitchen is very dirty.

2) Go to the gym for ten minutes a day

- (If you don’t want to go to the gym but do other exercise instead, swap the location out for your preferred place!)

- Most traditional advice around exercise revolves around not doing too much – so for most beginners that means 3-4 times a week, at the maximum. The problem is that for AuDHD and other neurodivergent people that habits may be much harder, if not impossible, to form. This means that the executive function required to remember to go to the gym if it’s only 3 times a week, conversely, is actually significantly higher than if you do it every day.

- The ‘ten minutes a day’ thing, for me, means that my goal is not to do X amount of exercise or overwhelm myself. My goal is only to get there. Once I’m there, I can do whatever I want. This formulation of the goal in my mind removes the demand-avoidance and executive dysfunction barriers because if I really don’t want to exercise, I can just walk on the treadmill for a bit and then leave. Knowing this means that I almost always do more exercise than I otherwise would if I were forced to follow a difficult and tiring exercise regime.

- The key to this is that you actually have to mean it. Don’t beat yourself up if after ten minutes, you go home. That’s okay. Your goal was ten minutes – your goal is to make going to the gym a habit, not necessarily the actual exercise you do. That comes next.

3) Use a weighted neck-wrap, cushion or plushie

- For a disorganised sensory system, as many autistic people in particular have, proprioceptive input (that tells your body where it is in space – so weight, pressure, compression etc) can be hugely regulating and calming. A weighted neck wrap is small enough to go under your clothes or can go over your chest as you sleep. I already use a weighted blanket, but this means I can have a little bit of calming proprioceptive input as I work at my desk as well.

4) Get a smoothie box

- This is a similar point to the recipe box. I frequently have health problems because I absolutely hate the texture of fruit and vegetables, and just don’t ever eat them. Rather than forcing myself, as I have done for the past several years, to just try – I’ve leant into my difficulties and worked around them. Smoothies work for me. A smoothie box that comes every month averages out to about £2 per smoothie, which is less than the cost of a bottle in a supermarket. You don’t have to chop anything, just put it in the blender with water or oat or coconut milk.

- Most smoothies have 3 of your 5 a day at least, and some even have 5! If you are struggling nutritionally, it might be something to think about. It’s helped me hugely, and I now consider it an essential part of my budget.

- If it’s too expensive, consider buying frozen fruit by yourself if you have the spoons for that.

5) How can you look the most ‘put together’ without doing anything at all?

- I don’t mean showering. I mean infrequent practices like haircuts! I hate wearing makeup for sensory reasons, but I have a good haircut, one that makes me feel like myself and sharp and confident – I feel so much better, and it’s something I only have to do once. I now make it a deliberate choice to put a haircut in my calendar for every two months.

- Consider a ‘no style’ haircut that will look smart whatever you do! My haircut is a short French bob. You need essentially no styling, it works curly or wavy or straight (though if you have curly or coily hair, you should go to someone who can work with your texture – if you don’t thin it out properly, it’ll give you a horrible triangle shape!). I feel SO put-together with this haircut – it elevates even pyjamas, and I have to do absolutely nothing.

- I bite my nails to the point of bleeding – getting professional gel paint on my nails (no extensions) is the only thing that works to stop me, because the smooth round tips meant I could stim with those instead of biting. For ages, I didn’t because it was a ‘waste of money’. This year I realised: if I’m not going to stop stimming, I need to give myself something to stim with that doesn’t hurt me. Accept your neurodivergence and work around it. I now book a nails appointment every 6 weeks or so, for £20-£25. I find it again more than worth it.

- Similarly, I have just got a nose piercing, and I am considering tattoos for next year. For me piercings and tattoos do the same thing as the above two: they make me look more put together without actually ever having to think about wearing temporary jewellery or makeup (which I can’t for sensory reasons). What might work for you?

6) Dress for Sensory Good

- I have found a noticeable difference in my self-confidence with my appearance once I a) accepted that I have sensory differences, and b) bought clothes that accommodated those differences without making me look like a slob. For example, I hate feeling constricted around my thighs as I like to jump and stim and dance, but I don’t want to live in tracksuit bottoms because that leads to Depression Soup – so I have started buying formal, ‘monk-style’ trousers with a wrap-around belt and flowy legs. I like the feeling of pressure around my waist that a tight top provides, but I hate it around my shoulders (don’t ask me why…), so I have started wearing tops with huge baggy sleeves and a wrap-belt around the waist. So many of these tiny adjustments, and for the first time in my life I feel both comfortable and beautiful in my wardrobe.

- Do you like heavy things? Soft textures? Scratchy wool? Lots of badges to play with? Tight compression? Flowing fabrics? And how does this work with your lifestyle? When I am overwhelmed, I often want to cover the lower half of my face and neck – it feels comforting to me. So I have started wearing light scarves that I can wrap around my face like an old lady (!) which both block out the world, provide that comfort, and also look...normal? It lets me stim without visibly outing myself as autistic, which I don’t always feel safe doing.

- Other things to consider that might help: compression clothing, weighted jackets, heavy boots, ankle and wrist weights (there are some that are very minimalist and look like bracelets), wrap trousers, tight belts, cloaks with hoods, cowl necklines, activewear, Merino wool (if you sweat a lot or can’t shower / do laundry often), complete light-blocking sunglasses (you can buy these from a ski shop), stretchy fabric, etc. Whatever works for you – find it!

7) Use a sippy bottle with a straw

- I can’t stay hydrated. If it’s left up to me, I drink less than a glass of water every single day. I have constantly bleeding cracked lips and skin from lack of hydration. The only thing that has worked so far – and it has been a game-changer! – is to buy a huge 1.2 litre / 40 oz water-bottle with a built-in straw that I can take around everywhere. I can stim with it, the straw feels nice, I much prefer drinking from a straw because I hate accidentally wetting my chin / sleeves - and all I have to do is remember to fill it up twice a day. That’s way less mental effort than remembering eight glasses!

8) Get noise-cancelling headphones and Loops

- I assume everyone who is autistic has these. If you don’t – they will change your life. I only got them last year and suddenly so many places have become accessible to me that I would have just avoided before. I also tell people very honestly that I often wear them, so please don’t be alarmed if I do – if you want to start this, I’ve found it less intimidating to do it with strangers first, and then moving up to friends / family. Now everyone is used to it, and I get way less overwhelmed.

9) Use an audiobook service

- For a long time I thought that I had lost the ability to read. I now know that’s directly correlated to my levels of overwhelm (which makes my ADHD traits worse), but even so, my short-term memory is so poor that I have basically never been able to read non-fiction – it goes in one ear and out the other. Now that I use an audiobook service, however – I am listening to lecture series about so many things I’m passionate about and actually remembering things for the first time in my life!

- Knowing that I can listen to things I love whilst I clean or tidy my room or pack or whatever helps me so much. I also enjoy lying down in the dark under my weighted blanket listening to audiobooks as I wake up and go to sleep – it has completely replaced scrolling on my phone as the first / last thing to do in a day. When I’m overwhelmed I often can’t look at a physical book as it hurts my eyes, so an audiobook is far better.

10) Get Huel / Pleny / other meal-replacement drinks

- Because sometimes even with a recipe box, you won’t be able to cook. You’ll have forgotten to go shopping. You’ll be so sensory-weird that the thought of eating food is awful and makes you want to vomit. This doesn’t work for my partner, who hates the texture of Huel, but for me I can bear it and often enjoy the same-ness of knowing exactly what to expect. On days when I can’t cook or go out or sort out a meal, Huel is a life-saver.

11) Add active rest time to your calendar

- I don’t mean necessarily an actual calendar, but about how you think about time and your day. I make it a habit now to automatically add the same amount of time as the activity took as recovery time afterwards. So if I schedule a date for 2pm to 4pm, then I know that after I get home I will need two hours to recover before I can do something else.

- This has helped me be both more deliberate about my rest time (I don’t scroll or watch anything – I deliberately ‘go in’, as I call it, using my weighted blanket, other weighted things on my chest, a blindfold, brown noise, pitch black room etc), and also be realistic about how much I can do in my life. I know that if I have to rest for two hours after a two-hour event, it’s very unlikely that I can do more than one social engagement in a day. This expands to longer periods: if I go and visit my family for four days, I will likely need four days doing not much afterwards, and certainly no cognitively demanding tasks or socialising. This is a reality check which helps me say no to certain things that are not crucial.

12) Try compression clothes

- These provide a subtle and constant proprioceptive input which can calm the nervous system – as I have said above, proprioceptive input (knowing where your body is in space, pressure etc) is hugely regulating to AuDHD nervous systems. It also massively affects the other sensory systems if it is dysregulated – so if you aren’t meeting your sensory needs for proprioception, it’s likely that visual or auditory will be even harder. You don’t need to buy ones specifically for autism – UnderArmour or shapewear or activewear works just as well.

---

I hope these help! I have many more suggestions, but will leave that to another post :)

[deafeningfanlight23]

SH*T I DIDN'T READ NUANCE PROPERLY IT JUST PASSED OVER MY HEAD, I CLICKED ON "YES" 🙏😭

Of course it has nuance, but GENERALLY speaking, the act of taking someone's life is morally very grey, bad, and shouldn’t be allowed in any way, shape or form. Repercussions for this type of crime should be ABSOLUTELY necessary. But as said, there is A LOT of nuance which translates into many factors that play into this, so we got to delve deeper!

Example, WHY did the person act upon the urge of killing another human being – Because they were in a fit of rage and couldn’t control themselves, because they experienced an overwhelming sense of betrayal, because they wanted revenge and return the favor, because they sought urgently for a source of relief from their distress and their sense of powerlessness, or because they have trauma or underlying mental health issues that caused them to not think thoroughly and immediately act upon their emotions and/or desires? By the way, mental health issues DON’T correlate to immediately being a dangerous, murderous criminal who is close from snapping any moment and, I don’t know, stab someone! Just wanting to throw it out here. Anyway, human beings are complex, and the external environment and influences can affect a person heavily. Especially in childhood where the human is still in an EARLY stage of development, external factors such as their upbringing and the stability of their environment can have severe long-term effects on how it can shape them as a person and their mental state! That's why criminologists exist to find out about criminal behavior, their cause, and how to prevent it! With that, let’s address some ways on how it can be prevented. For example, by a) making therapy WAY more accessible for all people and ESPECIALLY normalize and destigmatize therapy, because as long as it is seen as something for the weak or for "psychopaths" [A VERY outdated label btw just like "sociopath" and especially used by media to portray a "dangerous, scary mentally ill person", so ASPD would be a preferable option], many might be discouraged to go to therapy even if they might want to or have problems that urgently need to be addressed by someone experienced and professional! And it can be prevented through another option, b) getting more educated about mental health so you can, for example, notice the warning signs of people around you earlier or maybe even yourself!

IN CONCLUSION ✨: The act in itself, to take someone's life forcibly, is UNFORGIVABLE and should always be taken into account. However, the person is able to redeem themselves but ONLY through A LOT of hard work, including therapy, recognizing and feeling guilt over their action, and working on themselves. That's just my view though!

Sorry for the rant, I just LOVE psychology, especially psychopathology ^^'

is murder unforgivable?

[uplandthropps]

Christmas at Shiz

The bustling halls of Shiz University were quieter than usual as Christmas break approached. The students, eager to return home to their families for the holiday, packed their bags and filled the port, leaving behind the campus, which would soon be shrouded in a blanket of snow. Yet, Elphaba Thropp remained in her dorm room, the only sign of life in the otherwise empty corridor.

She sat at her desk, her green hand resting over the pages of a thick book, but her mind wasn’t on the text. Instead, her thoughts drifted to her family—her father, who hadn’t even sent a letter this year, her mother, who had long passed, and Nessarose who’d fought tooth and nail to get her to join the family to no avail. The holidays had always been a bitter reminder of how alone she was. Her father’s disdain for her… her difference. She wasn’t welcome in their home, not for Christmas, not for anything.

As she stared out the window, watching the first snowflakes of the season descend softly upon the grounds, she knew there was no reason to go home. No one would miss her except Nessa— who’d soon forget at the sight of the many gifts she’d surely receive. The thought of spending the holidays alone didn’t faze her as much as it probably should. She had always been used to it, after all.

It was then that there was a knock on her door.

“Elphie? Are you in there?” came a familiar, cheery voice that always, without fail, sent a chill down her spine.

It was Glinda, her best friend, her roommate, and possibly the only person who ever seemed to truly care about her outside of her studies, unless you count Dr. Dillamond, but even he’d have more interesting counterparts to interact with. Elphaba sighed and remained at her desk.

“I thought you were going home for the holidays,” Elphaba mumbled, flipping the page of her book with a frown. Of course it was nice to see her friend, but it was the holiday season, one in which she knew Glinda Upland had be eagerly awaiting as she’d sang every Christmas song she knew. Every. Day.

“I was… but I received notice that Momsie and Popsicle were caught by a rip in the sails if you can believe it! It is most heartbreaking that they won’t be able to see my face for the first day of the Upland Christmas festivities. Alas, they will be here tomorrow.” Glinda replied with slight frown, her brown eyes now riddled with concern. “But Elphie, what on Oz sake are you doing here?”

Elphaba tensed at the question, her teeth gnawing at the insides of her cheeks as she debated whether it was worth it or not to send her feather hearted friend into a frenzy, however, she knew that the girl would only pry more and more until she got to the truth. And damn it did she always get to the truth.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Elphaba said quietly. “Besides, my family.. They don’t want me there.”

Glinda’s expression softened. Hesitant, she stepped closer to Elphaba, her blonde curls swaying as she moved. “That’s not fair,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and genuine sympathy. “You should be with someone— people who cares about you, Elphie. And I do. So I’ve decided.. I’m going to stay here with you! We’re going to have the best Christmas ever!” Glinda’s sugary voice sang as she clapped in approval of her own decision.

Elphaba blinked, unsure of how to respond. “But… why would you want to spend Christmas here, with me? Shouldn’t you be with your family?”

Glinda shrugged nonchalantly. “I suppose my parents will be fine without me for one holiday. I’ve already sent them my gifts, personalized photos of me in these great Shiz halls. And besides, it’s important to me that you’re not alone—“ The blonde daughter herself, “because how else would you feel the Christmas magic?!” She flashed a smile, unsure if her quick thinking covered her pathetic pining. “So, what do you say? Will you let me stay?”

A smile tugged at Elphaba’s lips. She wasn’t used to such kindness, not from anyone, let alone someone like Glinda. “I… I guess so,” she said, her voice quiet but filled with gratitude.

“Great! Now, let’s get you into the Christmas spirit!” Glinda said, clapping her hands together excitedly. “We’ll decorate the whole place, bake some cookies, maybe even build a snowman. You’re going to experience your first real Christmas, Elphie!”

Elphaba groaned, already wondering if she’d made the right decision of letting her best friend stay just at the sound of all of the extravagant activities.

—————

The next few days passed in a whirlwind of activity. Glinda was, as always, a force of nature when it came to organizing and decorating. She had managed to find an old Christmas tree in the campus storage room, which, despite being a bit scraggly, had a certain charm to it. The tree’s branches were sparse in places, but Glinda didn’t seem to mind in the least. It was still a tree, and that was all that mattered.

Elphaba watched from her spot on the floor, arms crossed, as Glinda eagerly strung lights around the tree, her movements quick and precise, almost as though she’d been born for this. Elphaba couldn’t help but be captivated by the way Glinda worked. There was something about the way she moved—so graceful, so full of energy—that made everything seem brighter, even on a dreary winter afternoon. The cheerful clink of ornaments being hung on the tree and the occasional giggle from Glinda only added to the warmth that filled the room.

Elphaba, who had never done anything like this before, felt a mixture of awe and discomfort. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made an effort to do something for her. The idea of having a tree in her room, something so festive and joyful, felt almost alien to her.

“Okay, Elphie! Now it’s your turn.” Glinda sang, handing Elphaba a green ornament to place amongst the rest of the sparkling bulbs and tinsel.

“I’ve never done this before,” Elphaba admitted as she cautiously placed the single ornament on the tree. “This whole thing… I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”

Glinda paused her decorating and turned to her with a soft smile. “It’s okay. You don’t have to know what to feel. You’re here with me, and I’m going to show you how wonderful Christmas can be. No expectations, no pressure. Just… us.”

Elphaba couldn’t help but feel a warmth in her chest at the sincerity in Glinda’s voice. It was such a simple promise, but it meant more to her than she could articulate.

“I’ve never had a real Christmas,” Elphaba murmured, her fingers tracing the edge of a green ornament. “Not like this. I don’t even remember the last time I had someone to spend the holidays with that didn’t do it out of proximity.”

“Well, now you have me,” Glinda said, grinning. “And I’m not going anywhere. So… let’s make the most of it.”

Elphaba’s heart gave an unexpected flutter at the words, though she quickly brushed it off. Glinda didn’t mean anything by it. She was just being her usual bubbly self. Still, the sentiment lingered in the air like a spark.

When Glinda finally stepped back, her hands on her hips, she surveyed the tree with a proud smile. “Perfect! Now for the star!” she exclaimed, holding up a shimmering gold star, its edges delicately curved. The short woman stood on the tips of her toes to try and place the star but failed to reach the top. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Mr. tree could you be kind and bend to me so I mustn’t struggle so much?”

“Do you want me to help?” Elphaba asked, her voice betraying a hint of hesitation.

Glinda’s eyes lit up. “Of course! I suppose that is best since my wand is still broken, which I need to talk to Morrible about that.”

Elphaba let out a soft chuckle, avoiding Glinda’s gaze as she stepped toward the tree and place a soft touch to either side of Glinda’s slender waist, helping her stretch to place the star on the very top branch. For a second, Elphaba’s hands lingered a little longer than they should’ve on Glinda, and a jolt of warmth surged through their bodies. The proximity was both comforting and overwhelming.

When the star was finally settled atop the tree, they both stood back, their gazes lingering on the shimmering gold decoration.

“It’s perfect,” Glinda said, her voice soft and full of admiration. She turned to Elphaba, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, both of them blushing slightly, the unexpected intimacy of the moment still hanging between them like a delicate thread.

Elphaba cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “It’s… it’s nice,” she said quietly, trying to ignore the rush of emotions stirring in her chest. “Thank you. For letting me help.”

“Thank you for not fighting me on this,” Glinda said with a bright, almost mischievous smile as she stepped back. “Now it’s time for the next part of our Christmas festivities—cookies and hot chocolate!”

Elphaba nodded, relieved for the distraction. She still wasn’t sure what had just passed between them, but for now, she could at least try to focus on something else. As she followed Glinda to the kitchen, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder at the tree—at the star, shining so brightly at the top, as though it were a symbol of something new beginning.

And for the first time in a long while, Elphaba didn’t feel quite so alone.

For the rest of the day, they laughed, sang Christmas carols (even if Elphaba’s voice was a bit off-key), and indulged in Glinda’s latest holiday obsession—baking. Glinda was a disaster in the kitchen, spilling flour everywhere, but it didn’t seem to bother her in the least. Elphaba couldn’t help but be amused by Glinda’s infectious energy, even if she kept accidentally burning the cookies.

As the evening drew near, they sat down on the floor, sipping hot chocolate that Glinda had somehow managed to make without burning the milk. The tree glittered in the corner, the lights twinkling softly in the dim room.

“I’ve never had hot chocolate before,” Elphaba confessed before cautiously taking a sip of the hot liquid, her eyes widening at the taste. “This is… good.”

“See? I knew you’d like it!” Glinda exclaimed. “It’s a Christmas classic! Next up, we’ll do some caroling—just you wait.”

Elphaba chuckled softly. “I’m not much of a singer.”

“You don’t have to be,” Glinda replied with a grin. “It’s all about having fun. Just wait until we get to the mistletoe part.”

“Mistletoe?” Elphaba raised an eyebrow.

Glinda’s grin wiped from her face as she realized she’d said that out loud. “Oh, Oz. I-it’s nothing. You’ll see!” She squeaked, taking another sip of her sweet, chocolately excuse to not talk.

—————

The next morning, Glinda had many thoughts that paced through her mind as she watched her emerald companion get ready for the day they had in store. Swallowing hard, she finally mustered up enough courage to stand. She tip toed over to the other side of the suite and handed Elphaba a small, neatly wrapped box. “Here,” she said, her tone suddenly quieter than usual. “This is for you. It’s not much, but… I wanted to give you something.”

Elphaba stared at the gift for a moment, unsure how to react. She gently unwrapped the paper and opened the box to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, etched with a small ‘G + E’.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Elphaba whispered, her voice tight with emotion.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Glinda replied softly, boldly taking Elphaba’s hand in hers. “It’s just something I wanted you to have.. As a reminder when you’re outside of these here Shiz walls that I, Glinda Upland of the Upper Uplands, am your best.. friend.” The word friend had taken a bit more effort to say than she’d liked, but her friend was still too shocked to notice.

Elphaba’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. She hadn’t realized how much she had longed for such an acknowledgment, such a gesture, until this moment. Her fingers brushed over the smooth surface of the bracelet, and for a moment, everything else in the world seemed to fade away.

“Thank you,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Glinda smiled, her gaze warm but hesitant. “You’re welcome. Um.. Elphie, actually I.. well I was thinking about how you haven’t had the full Christmas experience, and as your.. friend.. it’s my job to make sure you have absolutely every magical Christmas experience, is it not?” The golden haired girl rambled, her light feet pacing across their room.

Elphaba raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Glinda bit down on her perfectly glossed lips, glancing toward the doorway, where a sprig of mistletoe was hanging just above the entrance. “I.. I mean. I know we’re just friends and you can totally say no if you want to, but I mean it’s a tradition and.. well you should experience all the traditions. Right? I hope I’m not confusifying you.”

Elphaba had never thought much of the traditions surrounding Christmas. She’d always seen them as frivolous, unnecessary. But in this moment, as she glanced at the mistletoe with Glinda underneath, she couldn’t deny the magic of it all.

Elphaba’s eyes were soft as she stepped closer, her breath warm against Glinda’s skin. “I mean.. it is tradition.” Elphaba cooed.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Glinda said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. “But… if you do, I’d like it. A lot. For you to get the experience, that is..”

Elphaba’s heart was racing. She had always been so guarded, so protective of herself. She had never allowed anyone to get too close. But Glinda… Glinda had a way of way of chipping away at her walls, even when she’d first arrived at Shiz it was Glinda who got under her green skin and made a home. Now her mind was filled with much more than just the cruel darkness of the past, but the warmth of the woman just inches away from her.

“Elphaba?” Glinda’s voice was a whisper now, almost too soft to hear.

Elphaba swallowed hard, her gaze meeting Glinda’s. There was something new in her eyes, an uncertainty that she’d never seen before. One that she’d recognized so many times in her own gaze.

Stepping closer, Elphaba closed the small gap that somehow was still too wide between them, allowing Glinda to feel her heart beating against her chest as she gently cupped her soft, blushing cheek in her hand and kissed her like the delicate flower she was.

The kiss was gentle, tentative at first, as if they were both testing the waters. But as their lips met again, and again, and again, the world seemed to fall away. For the first time in years, Elphaba felt… home. The warmth of Glinda’s presence, the tenderness of her touch, completed something inside of her that she didn’t know was unfinished. “So this is the Christmas magic you were talking about? I quite like it, Glinda Upland. Now.. remind me, with Mistletoe am I allowed to kiss more than just your lips?”

Glinda’s eyes widened and she quickly ran to her bed to pull out a handful of mistletoe from her bedside table. “Shall we find out?” Her swollen lips curled into a smirk.

The two enjoyed the rest of their Holiday at Shiz just like that, filled with warmth and wrapped in each other, eagerly awaiting their next school break.

——

I hope you all enjoy!! :)

[chromatic-lamina]

Law couldn't kill his biological parents

Because the government had done it for him. 👇

Doflamingo, on the other hand— ☝️

Law did, however, inadvertently enclose his sibling in a death trap 👇

But, like Cora, he didn't pull the trigger.

(but also, like Doflamingo, he didn't die).

Doflamingo, like Law was not responsible for the loss of his and Rosi's childhood protection and innocence 👇

And Homing seemed to be more ineffectual (at least in the anime) than Law's Dad, although he was up against a LOT, but obviously underprepared. Guess the slaves did all the fighting and defending in Marie Geoise. I don't think it's reason enough to get your brains blown out.

Conversely, Law's dad was proactive and there seemed to be little reason for Law to despise him. His individual actions also hadn't brought on the ire of angry mobs over sustained periods of time, but Law did experience this once h'ed lost everything.

And the people of Flevance were collectively targeted for who they were. Both fathers were generally targeted for what they represented rather than who they were. Likewise, Law, and the Donquixote brothers were targeted in similar ways. All three carried a hereditary affliction, depending on which way you look at it.

BUT I believe that Law deeply wanted to believe both Doflamingo's words about blood ties, and Cora's words about Doflamingo not going to shoot him because he was his brother (despite Cora also saying two chapters previously that Doflamingo would expect Cora to die for him if he consumed the Ope-Ope no Mi, because Doflamingo would expect Cora to perform the eternal youth operation).

I believe that Law wants to believe the words of the brothers, because there was nothing more shocking in the world for him (up to the point of Cora's death) than to have his sister and mother and father (and classmates and teacher) die in front of him. And as said in another meta:

He had stayed behind to look after Lami: An action which ironically saved him from perishing with his classmates, but which might have sealed Lami's fate. I don't think he could imagine deliberately harming his family. Of course, he is 13 on Minion Island, and is not Doflamingo's 28 years of age. (And 10 year old Doflamingo definitely protected Rosi, before he killed their father).

Law did, nonetheless, show that at a young age he was able to inflict harm on fairly random strangers when he shanked Cora, not without provocation (but he paid Buffalo off in ice cream, so the child or the psychopath were both perhaps evident in Law. Seeing as we know canon events, my cash is on the former. Without intervention, though, who knows?) Provocation might have been wearing the name genocide.

But, back to family. Considering how upset Law was with the loss of his family, and understandably how traumatic it is to have a loved one, loved ones, one's whole town, slaughtered in front of you, especially at the age of eight or slightly older (yes, when Doflamingo shot Homing, he was the age that Law was when Flevance fell (10 years), then...

...then I really don't blame Cora for not being head-over-heels in love with his brother. I find claims that Doffy's actions "weren't that bad" puzzling. I think there are some things and states of being that you can just never return to. Violation is violation, and at the age that Cora was (eight-years-old) the effects run deep (but, c'mon, you're in the same room as a killer who happens to be your brother; you're being held by your father, and then you're covered in your father's blood, brains and bone shards? Did his dying body fall on you? And your brother's still holding the gun? And you're eight? Even as an adult, I don't think I'd recover).

Homing should have fought and protected Rosi, though, in this instance, and stepped up as much as he could have, and maybe he did. And, yeah, Doflamingo was seemingly influenced and manipulated by his much older (bar Vergo) executives, but he's the dude holding the smoking gun in the end! I'm not saying he's not a ten-year old victim too, but he's a scary one, especially due to his youth. Others (protagonists) in the One Piece world have escaped ineffective or cruel parenting with far less bloodshed to others or their kin (antagonists, not so much).

I love Doflamingo. He's a fabulous villain with a tragic back story. He's complex, layered and fun to write. And the nature/nurture argument rages hugely with him, and yeah, his pragmatics do make some things good for some people some of the time. But that man knows how to move goal posts, and the posts are booby-trapped.

Anyhoo, maybe this is another dive into the parallels between Law and Doflamingo that veer off into very different paths. And that I love a bat-shit-crazy Donquixote Family AU as much as the next person, BUT I think that Cora was rightly very wary of his brother and that he has/had good reason to be. In canon-verse, if he hadn't died (so AU canon-verse!) I can't see him returning happily back to the Family. True, though. You mess with fire, you get burnt, but Doffy is far from a saint, and I think Cora's aware of that at an intrinsic and self-preserving level.

[one-green-frog]

Hello! May I request Kanto Mikey with a boyfriend who is very self sacrificial even though he’s not in a gang and one day Mikey’s bf wounds up in the hospital after saving someone from a life threatening incident?

Unspoken Sacrifices

Mikey's normally indifferent manner was shattered as he paced back and forth in the hospital hallway, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Every second that went by made the knot in his stomach tighten and twist. He hated hospitals—the sterile smell, the quiet hum of machinery, the way time seemed to drag. But today, he hated it even more.

He had never wanted you to get involved. You weren’t like him, weren’t part of his world. That was one of the things he loved about you, your kindness, your warmth, the way you saw the best in people even when they didn’t deserve it. But that same selflessness was what had landed you here, behind the hospital doors that separated him from you.

It had been a normal day, for Mikey at least. You were supposed to meet him for lunch, your treat of course. But then he got the call. A shaky voice hardly explained what had happened before Mikey was already out the door andhe sped toward the hospital on his bike

You’d saved a stranger. That much was clear. You shoved a young child out of the way when a reckless driver lost control of his vehicle as he was about to cross a busy street. You weren't quick enough, even if you saved the child. As those watching shouted for help the car collided with you full force, sending you flying across the pavement with blood pooling beneath you.

Mikey slammed a fist against the wall, the dull thud reverberating down the empty corridor. He should’ve been there. He should’ve stopped it, somehow, should have helped in some way. The idea of you lying on the cold pavement, hurt and bleeding, surrounded by strangers, was enough to make his stomach churn. He wasn’t used to this kind of fear, this helplessness. In his world, when there was a problem, he fought his way through it. But this wasn’t something his fists could fix.

The door creaked open, and a nurse stepped out. Mikey immediately straightened, his piercing gaze locking onto her. “Is he... is he okay?” he asked, his voice low and tense.

The nurse offered a small, timid smile. “He’s stable. The injuries were serious, but the doctors were able to stop the bleeding and set the fractures. He’ll need time to recover, but he’s out of danger for now.”

Mikey exhaled sharply, relief flooding through him so fast he almost felt dizzy. “Can I see him?”

The nurse nodded, stepping aside to let him in.

The sight of you hit him harder than he’d expected. You were lying there, pale and fragile against the stark white sheets, an oxygen mask over your face and thick bandages wrapped around your head. Your arm was in a cast, and bruises bloomed across your skin, cruel reminders of the incident. Mikey’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t move.

He pulled a chair up beside your bed, lowering himself into it with more care than he usually showed. His hand hovered over yours, unsure if he should touch you, if he might hurt you somehow. Finally, he rested his hand on top of yours, his fingers trembling slightly.

“You’re an idiot,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Why... why did you have to do that? Why couldn’t you just stay out of it?”

His words were harsh, but his tone was anything but. There was no anger in it, only raw pain and fear. He looked at you, his expression softening as he took in the rise and fall of your chest, the small signs that you were still here, still breathing.

“You don’t even... you don’t even get how much you mean to me, do you?” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve lost so many people, and I’ve been fine with it. I had to be. But you... I don’t think I could live on without you"

He let out a shaky laugh, dragging a hand through his messy blond hair. “You’re not even in a gang, and yet you’re the one in the hospital. That’s just... that’s just you, huh? Always putting everyone else first. Even when it puts you in danger.”

Mikey sat there for a long time, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. He thought about all the times you’d scolded him for being reckless, for taking unnecessary risks. And yet here you were, throwing yourself in harms way

When your eyes finally fluttered open, Mikey shot up, his face lighting up with a mix of relief and concern. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning over you. “Don’t try to move. Just... just rest, okay?”

You smiled weakly, your voice barely audible. “I’m fine, Mikey. Don’t... don’t look so worried...”

He shook his head “You scared the hell out of me,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “just... don’t ever do that again. Please.”

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, your eyes meeting his. “I’m sorry,” you murmured. “But... the child...I couldn’t just stand there.”

Mikey's shoulders were shaking as he put his face against your hand. "I understand," he muttered. “That’s why I love you. But please, for me... just be more careful. I can’t lose you.”

The two of you stayed like that, the weight of what had happened hanging in the air. But for Mikey, all that mattered was that you were still here, still alive. And he silently vowed to do whatever it took to keep it that way.

[starfieldcanvas]

the reason i oppose them is that it's basically a legal mandate that legislators aren't allowed to actually be in office long enough to figure out what the fuck is going on and how shit actually works; when you can't accumulate older experienced legislators to mentor the freshmen (think bernie & aoc) instead what ends up happening is the lobbyists become the ones who know the system best and legislators get led around by the lobbyists when they aren't being led around by their staffers. this is very funny when it happens to the alt-right freshmen legislators refusing to be mentored by their own party, because they look like dumbasses, but it's not actually good to kick everybody out of office just when they start to hit their stride 3 or 4 terms in. depending on which house, of course—2 terms in the senate is 12 years—but think about your own job and how much better at it you were after a decade. yeah people eventually decline in their abilities due to age, but it's not like they start out at 100% and decline, either!

tl;dr: though it's been years since i last looked into the specifics, iirc there isn't any particular reason to think that term limits would lessen corruption/incompetence in the legislature, and considerable evidence to suggest they would worsen it.

the other thing is that term limits are anti-democratic. if people want to vote for someone they like, they should be able to do that. if the problem is that people keep voting for the Old Guard, or that they keep voting for incumbents despite the incumbent being corrupt or senile, then we have a problem of low-information voters, but preventing people from running more than 3 terms or whatever is not going to solve the problem of low-information voters.

my little pet dream is that there would be a battery of tests on how the legislature works that doubled as a cognitive screen and that every legislator and would-be legislator had to take it live on camera. wrong answers wouldn't be disqualifying, just available for your opponents to use against you during election season. make it a cultural event where people do YouTube compilations of the worst and best answers, you know?

when we're trying to solve our problems by giving up on democracy, we need to look pretty hard at ourselves and our impulse toward taking choice away instead of trying to help people make better choices.

I am still strongly opposed to legislative term limits but the events of the last year or so are slowly convincing me of the need for maximum age limits

[reywaffle]

Generational String

Pairing: Harry x Draco, James x Regulus

Description: Harry Potter is desperately into Draco Malfoy, but he has no clue about it. He finds himself going through some old stuff in Sirius’ attic. He finds an old notebook that used to be his dad’s. Harry discovers that his dad was not only with his mom, but also dated Regulus Black during his time at Hogwarts. He reads through the flashbacks which help him to process his own feelings for Draco.

Word count: 1.7k

Author’s note: This is the first chapter of my first ever fic, so please be kind. I wanted to do this cause I enjoy fanfiction and wanted to practice my creative writing skills. If you do like it then give it a like or comment and feel free to follow if you want more updates. The next chapter should be posted later today. Thanks for reading!🫶

Playlist I listened to while writing

Chapter 1: Pages of a Secret Story

20 October, 1995

Harry James Potter loathed Draco Lucius Malfoy. At least, that’s what he thinks. His friends know differently. Ron and Hermione knew that Harry had a massive crush on Draco. It was so obvious that his whole house could know as well. The only person that didn’t know was Harry himself. He was completely oblivious to his own feelings.

Right now, Harry is making his way toward 12 Grimmauld Place to visit his godfather, Sirius Black. He’s staying there for the weekend to spend some time with the only living man he considered family. He was a bit nervous; he didn’t really know what he could do there. He supposes he will find out in about a minute. He stared at the flat, almost afraid to walk in. He hadn’t really gotten to know Sirius that much since he had to stay in hiding after escaping Azkaban in Harry’s 3rd year. This was the first time he’d ever spent any elongated time with him. Harry made his way to the door, hesitating slightly. He knocked. He waits a moment and hears a pair of footsteps getting louder, making their way to the door. He watches the door handle quickly turn. He looks up to see the kind face of Sirius Black looking him right in the center of his bright green eyes. “Harry! Welcome!” Sirius exclaimed.

“Yeah, thank you for inviting me over Sirius.”

“Of course, my dear boy! Please come on in. I’d hate to be seen.” Sirius rushed Harry inside. The place looked exactly as he remembered it when he first came to join The Order. It still had that cold and regretful feeling to it. Almost as if there was a ghost haunting the place. A ghost with a lot of regret that is. “Please make yourself at home this weekend. I made Kreature clean all the rooms, so you’d be able to choose which one you’d want to sleep in. They’re just down that hall if you want to take your bag down.” Sirius told Harry, with an almost equally as nervous tone as Harry felt on the inside whilst gesturing toward a stairwell. “Alright. Thank you.”

“Of course. And down there is the kitchen and sitting room if you want to hang around down here.” He said now gesturing towards the corner that led to the kitchen. Harry nodded and started to make his way up the stairs. It was quite a dark and harrowing hallway. It made Harry feel as if the walls were closing in on him. It was a bit different last time he was here because there were also about 13 other people there to make it a bit more comfier. Now it was completely silent aside from the faint sound of Kreatcher cooking dinner all the way downstairs.

He made his way down the hallway and decided to stop at a room that said “Regulus” on the door. Harry knew that name. It belonged to Sirius’ estranged younger brother. For some reason, Harry felt drawn to the room. As if fate were telling him to open the door. He stared at the golden door knob for a moment before reaching toward it. He slowly turned the knob and when he opened the door he saw a room no different than a teenage boys would be. It had peeling blue wallpaper that had decaying Slytherin quidditch posters tacked to it. There was a piano in the corner, as well as a desk and dresser on the other wall. They were all the same shade of brown, but the dresser had a dirty mirror on top of it. The bed was quite wide which left little walking room through the bedroom. Though Harry didn’t mind too much, considering he lived in a cupboard for 10 years of his life, this room was like a mansion. The sheets were a reddish color and the comforter was blue. They were the only things in the room that looked new. Everything else seemed to have been sitting there and rotting for 30 years- “well I suppose it had.” Thought Harry.

He set his stuff down and sat on the bed. He was tempted to look through the desk, as he was a bit nosey sometimes. He started toward it and sat down at the chair. It almost gave out at Harry’s weight the second he plopped down on it. He stared at it for a while and pulled on the golden handle that opened the bottom drawer. Inside was only some old parchment and quill. There was also an empty bottle of ink that Harry assumed was either used up or dried out over time. It all was quite boring, so Harry decided to wander around a bit. He set his jacket down on the bed and set back off for the unlit hallway.

As Harry stood in the hallway he contemplated where he should go. He looked around and then up. He stopped and noticed that there was an attic door opening with a string hanging to pull down the ladder. He slowly walked toward it cause he didn’t want to be too loud incase he wasn’t allowed to be up there. He did stop for a second and consider whether or not it was a good idea to go into the attic. Dinner was almost ready and he wasn’t sure if he was allowed up there. After sort of careful consideration though, he still made his way up the rickety ladder.

The attic had a dusty smell to it. Harry could feel the 30 plus layers of dust traveling up his nose and down to his lungs. He coughed into his shirt sleeve, trying to conceal that he was upstairs. The attic was cold as well, but not in a temperature way. More of a lonely way, like no one had been up there in years. The attic was practically filled to the brim with boxes of stuff. He looked around a bit, but nothing caught his attention. That is, until he saw a small box labeled James sitting in the corner of the room. He made his way to it, eager to find out what things of his fathers Sirius still has. He picked up the box and sat on the attic floor in its place. It wasn’t very heavy and it was also untaped. He set the box on his lap and began to open it. Inside he saw only 3 things, including a quidditch trophy from 1974, a few Spider-Man comics from the 70’s, and a journal. Harry had to admit he was a little hesitant to open the journal. Last time he found a journal it turned out to be the ghost of Tom Riddle and he was going around petrifying people with a basilisk. He even forced Ginny Weasly to do his dirty work for him. Thinking about that time during his second year surprisingly reassured Harry that nothing can be as bad as that.

He opened the journal and saw that there were entries all throughout. Turns out it was a diary from his dads time at Hogwarts. The first entry was from 4 October, 1975. Almost exactly 10 years ago. Harry started to read in hopes to find a connection with his dad. The only other time he felt that way was when he played quidditch, and he desperately craved a way to know his family better. He never got the chance to know either of his parents personally. He only heard the same things from everyone else; His mother was bright and his father was a prankster.

4 October , 1975

Today was the first day of quidditch practice for this year's season. I saw Regulus in the air practicing as well. He looked so beautiful from that angle. Like he was an angel. Or perhaps a demon sent to tempt me. Unfortunately, it was working a little too well. Everytime I see him, it’ s like my heart swells up and might just burst. I feel a little bad for Lily, even though we never dated or anything, I still told her I liked her for 4 years. I’m just glad she never felt the same. I also feel bad for Sirius. I mean what kind of best friend falls for his best friend's baby brother. I mean it’ s not like I’d act on these feelings anyway. Not unless I got Sirius’ blessing which I know he would never give. That kinda sucks doesn’ t it? I suppose I ought to go to bed. I have more practice in the morning. At least I can watch from a distance right?

Harry’s jaw had dropped and his eyes had completely bugged out. He could not believe what he just read. His head and heart started to pound in synchronization as the words lightly uttered out of his mouth. “My dad and Sirius’ little brother?” Harry had a fear behind his voice. Almost as if he was scared of his own thoughts about this. While he had no problem with homosexuals, he never really knew any, and he certainly didn’t think his father would be one. About a million thoughts raced through Harry’s brain. However, the one that stuck out the most was “Does this mean my dad never loved my mom?” This thought terrified him. If it were true that would mean everything he had ever been told was a lie.

“Harry? Would you like to come down for dinner?” Sirius faintly shouted from the bottom of the stairs. Harry forced himself out of his trance to answer him back. “Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Alright.” Harry heard back. He quickly stood and set the box back in its spot. He kept the diary and swiftly climbed back down the ladder to shut the door on the ceiling. He went into his room and shoved the diary in his jacket’s inner pocket. He made his way downstairs trying to remain calm and get through this dinner as fast as he could because oddly enough, Harry found himself wanting to read more.

Links to more chapters(will add as I continue to write)

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

[sophieinwonderland]

Four Essential Features Of a Headmate

What is this for?

The goal here is to create an objective criteria for what is or isn't a headmate. This criteria can be useful for questioning systems, for plural media analysis, for studying plural groups that don't identify by the label, for differentiating between different types of entities within a system, and for tulpamancers wanting to better judge when a tulpa goes from a proto-headmate to a full headmate.

Nobody is forced to use these criteria if they don't think it fits for their system.

It's important to note that each feature here needs to be somewhat present, but these features don't need to be strong.

If you rated an entity on a scale of 0 to 10 on each of these and it gets all 1s, it's a headmate. Conversely, if it gets all 10s but has a single 0, it doesn't fit the criteria. Essentially, the degree that these qualities are present does not matter for determining if it's a headmate.

Autonomy

An entity is autonomous when it can think for itself and make its own decisions. An autonomous entity will not feel like you're controlling it. This entity thinks for itself and makes its own decisions, and feels emotions that seem real.

If an autonomous entity is sad, for example, you can't simply fix it by imagining it being happy again.

Autonomous entities may sometimes do things that surprise you or act in ways you can't predict.

If they're very strong willed, you may come to arguments with each other. But arguments aren't required to demonstrate autonomy and expecting arguments to prove an entity can think for itself can lead to toxic dynamics. Any level of autonomy is sufficient to fulfill this criteria.

Importance: Being able to imagine conversations with someone and to direct those conversations is a pretty common skill possessed by most singlets. Additionally, imaginary friends of children can come in different varieties. Some are autonomous, being able to control their own actions, while others are not, being fully controlled by the host child.

Perspective

A headmate must have its own perspective it can think from. This does not mean necessarily "seeing" in 1st person in the inner world or something of that nature, but pertains more to how it relates to others in the system.

A headmate with its own perspective can acknowledge itself as its own self in some form. It might say something to another member like "I think you should listen to me more often." Statements like this acknowledge itself as something separate from the other members.

While all that's necessary is to have that base level of perspective, for those who want to develop a headmate more, an advanced version of this that should be encouraged is introspection. This is a headmate thinking about themselves and their own nature, and can be fostered by asking them questions about themselves.

Importance: It's common for singlets to feel internal conflict and to think about this through an internal monologue. This might looks something like this: "I really want to take this cookie from the cookie jar. I'm trying to watch me weight. But I worked hard today so I deserve a treat."

When a singlet describes a sense of "part of me wants X but another part of me wants Y," this is the type of conflict they're generally referring to. The thing about these parts is that they often don't feel like separate people because they lack dissociation between them.

This criteria is to help distinguish between dissociative and non-dissociative parts.

Note: sometimes, even a denial can end up implying perspective. Even just saying, "I'm just part of you" carries an implication that there is an "I" and a "you."

Memory

Specifically, autobiographical memory of in-system experiences

A headmate should be able to recall past interactions that they've had. Recall of course does not need to be perfect. Even most singlets don't have perfect recall of their lives, and dissociative barriers can complicate matters. One of the core features of dissociative identity disorder is amnesia, after all.

The bare minimum is at least one memory of an event you experienced from a different day. Also, because amnesia can be episodic and be worse at times, this does not need to be constant. Having an episode where you can't remember anything about your past doesn't retroactively make you less of a headmate. (Although I suppose that if you are able to remember that you used to remember things, that itself is a memory about yourself. 🤷‍♀️)

I cannot reiterate enough that the memories can be very basic and do not need to be in vivid detail. They do not even need to be visual. As long as you have a sense of "I did this, I thought this before, I felt this way," or anything of that sort, it is enough of a memory to qualify.

Importance:

This is to help distinguish from temporary entities. In other posts, I have called these temporary headmates ephemerals. An ephemeral is an entity that exists for only a short time. It does not maintain memory or a consistent sense of self outside of memories assigned to it. For example, there is a popular practice writers may use where they will interview a character in their head. These characters may seem to have their own perspective and they may seem autonomous at the time. But they only exist briefly for the length of the interview. When the interview is over, the character is gone.

If you imagine a scene with that character again, the character in the scene will not remember you. If you interview them again, it will be like the first time you've ever spoken. Ephemerals are not headmates. They are temporary and not built to last. And there is no moral obligation to continue interacting with them.

A very common example of an ephemeral is a dream character. Dream characters are contained within their dream and when the dream ends, will disappear. Being able to create these types of temporary simulations of people is an innate human ability and these sorts of temporary entities aren't really part of the system.

Gnosis

I have previously referred to this as meta-awareness. But I am using gnosis here because I'm sticking with the one word theme for these qualities. There isn't really a word that exists that completely describes this so I will be using my own definition.

Gnosis means knowledge. In gnosticism, this was a specific type of knowledge that would allow one to ascend to a higher level of existence.

So in relation to plurality, this is knowledge of the existence of the external reality beyond the inner world or the fiction that the character originates from. You do not need to identify as a headmate for this to be true. You don't even need to feel like a part of the system. But you need to have the KNOWLEDGE that the body exists in an external reality outside of the inner world.

Importance: this is to help differentiate hadmates from other types of daydream characters or writing characters. A normal daydream character only operates in the daydream. They should not be aware of a real world outside of that daydream. Likewise, a writing character has no knowledge of the writers or the external world, and only exists within its own narrative.

A writing character may appear to have their own perspective and be somewhat autonomous when imagining scenes with them. But if a writing character becomes a headmate, the character may start to talk to the writer about the book. They may complain about the way the writer is writing them within the fiction. This is a writing character that has undergone gnosis. They have ascended beyond their fiction and developed awareness of the external reality.

The checklist

Autonomy: Does the entity have some level of independence where you are not consciously controlling them?

Perspective: Does the entity possess its own perspective with some level of awareness of itself as being its own thing separate to some degree from other entities within the system?

Memory: is the entity the same being in different times and places? If you had a conversation with it one day, could you ask it again about that conversation another day and have it remember?

Gnosis: Does the entity possess knowledge of the external world, the body, and its life?

If the answer is yes to all these questions, then you have a headmate on your hands.

And just because something isn't currently a headmate, doesn't mean that the potential isn't there. In the next section I want to discuss some techniques to help a headmate develop these features.

Tulpa Tips

Having gotten the basics out of the way, let's discuss on how to build these traits. This is a brief guide for developing full headmates from entities that are only lacking in one of the above traits.

Autonomy: if there is a character that you have imagined a lot but it feels like you are controlling them and you want this character to become a full headmate, just try letting go of the reins. Ask the character questions, and wait for a response. Do not try to dictate the response, and when the response comes, accept it. If the response is weird, ask them for further elaboration. But don't try to correct it or rewind or otherwise control the proto-headmate. You want to train your brain to produce the headmate's thoughts without any conscious input from yourself. See: Overcoming Parrotnoia for advice on conquering the fear you may be unconsciously controlling your headmate.

After enough time training autonomy, you are likely to find that you can't control them even when actively trying. But do not test this while you are training autonomy. Do not try to control the headmate during this period because these tests can set back or interfere with your progress.

Perspective: if you have a non-headmate part that you want to become a headmate, try to identify features of that part and when it influences you. Reframe the part as its own entity in your head, ask it what it wants to be called so that you can give a name to it.

These sorts of parts, in theory, should already have autonomy and should be able to respond when questioned. You are not making something new, you are just helping something that is already there differentiate itself more from you.

While just treating it like its own separate person is enough to achieve the bare minimum, I would advise continuing to ask it introspective questions to encourage it to think of itself as its own person. Especially things that are unrelated to its original role, whatever that was. And try to expose it to new experiences where you can.

Memory: The key to memory is making sure that you are interacting with the same instance of the character every time. If this is something that you are struggling with, my advice would be to end every session that you interact with your proto-headmate by asking them what they want to do the next time you interact with them. This will signal to the brain that this isn't done yet and that it needs to "save" this particular instance of the entity rather than creating a new one the next time. Then when you interact with them again, try to start off by asking them questions about the previous times that you have interacted with them in order to ensure that the memories have stuck. (These types of questions also encourage introspection.)

Gnosis: Of all of these qualities, this one is actually the easiest to reliably induce. You can trigger a gnosis event simply by telling a character with the other qualities about the outside world. Ideally, you should try to show them mental images and memories as well. You can also try imposing them externally so that they can see the outside world for themselves and walk around the space the body occupies.

As a warning, be aware that a well-developed entity discovering that the world that it knew was created from someone's head can sometimes trigger an existential crisis. While this is the easiest quality to attain, it also carries a risk if it's not attained before the other qualities. On the other hand, some headmates may enjoy the revelation and the new option that give them. Especially since they can now theoretically shape the inner world to their desires. Just be ready to catch them in case they fall when revealing this.

Conclusion

Thank you so much for reading! 😁

If you enjoyed this post and my categorizations, you may also enjoy my posts on headmate Foundations and Manifestations, and the Dimensions of Fronting.

[blackjack-15]

This final scene was so beautiful to watch but when Rupert said he couldn’t breathe without her I was like??? We did not see him longing, yearning for her and suffering being away from her. This man had a relationship with another woman, we saw him throw eyes at her 3/4 times but other than that there is no real yearning from his part (unlike taggie). I think they should have kept it for the s2

see i'm always a slut for yearning and even though Rupert doesn't do a lot of dialogue about yearning for Taggie -- he's pretty private, despite the fact that we start with his ass on screen -- i felt like he was pretty obvious about the yearning, you just have to watch him a little closer than Taggie

like he's yearning at the party when she's still (rightfully) pissed as all hell at him, especially when he's helping her clean up and setting her in bed, but that part's more subtle and we're more focused on Taggie's POV, understandably

but it's more his actions that show him Yearning and Suffering -- he forms Venturer solely because she doesn't want to leave the Priory (and b/c he wants to keep her close to him, even though he's 'given up' b/c of Declan telling him to stay away), the faberge egg while he's on his business trip, him thinking Immediately of Taggie when his friend in Spain brings up marriage -- not just love, marriage -- and the Constant gazing across the room. i know gazes etc aren't enough for a lot of people, but with the amount of time Rupert and Taggie spend just staring at each other, i feel like it counts

plus the valentine, the awkward Avoiding her because he likes her So Much (that even Bas notices), the changing his handwriting because of her (takes a bit of research to figure out what she'll be able to read easily, and this is pre-internet), the constant cuts to Rupert's reactions when Taggie's on screen

it might be an Unpopular opinion, but i feel like it's pretty clear that the whole and complete reason he's in a relationship with Cameron is to keep Declan (aka Taggie) in the area.

Rupert is many, many things, but he's, at his core, someone comfortable selling himself in order to get the thing that he deems most important. his relationship with Cameron is very much him honeypotting himself -- he knows they need Cameron in order for Venturer to win, and he thinks that all he can offer is himself. we see this with Venturer in general -- he gives his money, his name, his position, pretty much everything, because at the base of himself he thinks the only part of him that has value is in the things he can give away to others. his "you've got all my money, what else do you want?" to Declan is his frustration that after everything he's still Not Enough for him, for Venturer, for, at its core, Taggie

so yes he has a relationship with another woman, but while respects Cameron (and enjoys having sex with her, of course), that relationship is all about Taggie, it's all about his feelings surrounding Taggie, it's all about keeping Taggie near, even if he believes that she deserves better (nonsense, of course, as love doesn't work like that and Taggie is able to choose whoever she wants to be with, but bless him, Rupert's inclined towards martyrdom just as much as Taggie is, just in different ways), because he needs her around. because he can't breathe without her

anyway. i'm joining the war on yearning on the side of yearning, and Rupert spends all but really the first two eps yearning the hell outta this

[hesparksmyspunk]

@ofhastyinsight

Merlin's Beard, Potter, you really need to get your knickers out of a bunch! I was not hovering over you, nor was I treating you like you were some kind of invalid. If that's the perception you conjured up over me asking to pour you some pumpkin juice, then you have some concerning trust issues to work through. Let me be clear, Potter... I am not out to be your caretaker. I have no intentions of putting a bib on you or feeding you or anything mucked up bollocks along those lines. That's absolutely preposterous and absurd. I was simply trying to make an act of kindness to you like I would for anyone I cared about. It's what mates do, Potter. {My head shaking. Feeling myself becoming more miffed with him by the second} What will the next argument be? The next thing you can blame it on once your arm is no longer mucked up and in a cast? After all, that's how it feels... You are so knackered over someone showing any sense of care for you that you use any little setback as a reason to push me away... Before it was your course grades and now it's your arm... What will you blame it on next because everything I do is perceived as fussing. You say you want open communication between us, and that you want us both to be able to be ourselves, but so far, it's me who is allegedly mucking up your hopes and expectations. I am not going to change, Potter. I like showing the people with whom I care about that I care about them. That's how I show my adoration toward others, but it's certainly not because I deem them as helpless or needy. That's bollocks. There is a heaping difference between being a caretaker and fussing over someone, and being a true and caring mate to someone esteemed. {I paused in my words... Biting down gently on my bottom lip before I calmly added} Something tells me you don't want that, though. You don't want someone to show care toward you... That sort of thing opens the door to commitments, emotions, feelings, and letting built up walls come down. Perhaps you like the idea of us getting to know each other and spending time with each other in theory, but when it comes down to the reality of it, I think you push me away because you're used to being independent, on your own, and in the lead. I understand that, Potter... Should that be the case, we can just gradually get to know each other as friends and classmates, and see where it may or may not lead over time.

@ofhastyinsight 

{I was clearly just playing around with my comments to James. Ensuring that he understood that fact, both in my playful tone, as well as the smile dressing my lips too. James and I had come, nearly full circle, today during my visit with him in his hospital room, and yet now it was starting to feel like we had made no progress at all. I suppose I should have expected this, given that all eyes were nosily on us currently here in The Great Hall. In spite of James playing it calm, cool, and collected, deep down I knew he would be ashamed to be seen with me. A deduction that was seemingly being proven now with his snappy and rude retorts} Don’t get your knickers in a bunch, Potter. I was only joking. {I murmured out through a slight roll of my eyes, as my eyes shifted back down toward my plate of food. As he continued speaking though, I could feel hurt filling me, initially, before I became outright miffed upon hearing his brash retort about me showing up at the hospital without invitation from him. Of course he didn’t word it just like that, but his point was made crystal clear, regardless. At that, I expressed a light breath; taking a final sip of my pumpkin juice, and then setting it down onto the table in front of my before my eyes shifted to him once more} To be clear, I am, in no way implying that you can’t take care of yourself, Potter. I am well aware that you neither want, nor require my assistance. I had simply offered as a means of being kind. I see now though that this was a mistake, on my part, so consider this a lesson learned for me. Additionally, I am also more than aware that you did not ask me to visit you at the hospital wing. I had learned you were injured, and on my own accord, as well as out of concern for you, I left Potions class and went directly to the hospital, to ensure that you were okay. My sincerest apologies that my visit interfered with your rest. That was not my intent, by any means. Again though, I sincerely apologize and this is, yet another, lesson learned for me. {At that, I slid the plate of corn bread into James’s reach, so he could take as much as he wanted. After removing my cloth napkin from my lap, I placed it down onto the table beside my plate, and then shifted up onto my feet} As far as the Yule Ball goes, I’m sure there is someone else you would prefer attending with, so consider yourself off the hook with that too. After all, the last thing I want to do is to impose or overstep. {I murmured out. The hurt evident in my voice as I spoke} Enjoy your evening, Potter. {Without another word, I turned to leave the table. The way I saw it, James made it obvious that he was only tolerable about having me around when nobody else was around, but the second his friends were nearby, all of that changed. I suppose James will always be ashamed of being near me whenever anybody else was around. That thought stung, but at least now I know the reality of the situation. I silently justified as I briskly left the dining hall, and then made route straight toward Gryffindor; figuring once I reach the commons room, I would head directly to my dorm room, so I could work on some homework I was currently falling behind on}

[aquanutart]

She is offering water to any lost travelers! However, it's so hot that the water has become tea, so she's adjusted accordingly!

[icewindandboringhorror]

sometimes looking at like Self Help Strategies lists for the symptoms I'm having is always just like:

thing that I already do

thing I have tried 10 times

thing I already do

thing that I don't have the money to do

thing I already do

thing I've been doing since I was 10yrs old to no avail

thing that is impossible given my situation

thing that doesn't apply to me

thing that I already do

thing I have already tried

hrmm, oh wait, maybe finally- OH, yeah.. okay. thing that I already do but it was just phrased slightly differently

thing I have already done

[irrelephant-elephant]

jfc I know there’s so many bigger things to worry about rn but also am I wrong to get fucked off that all the girliesTM think pink pony club is ‘girlhood’ ??? Seeing tiktoks of brides dancing with all their bridesmaids dancing to it captioned This IS the Pink Pony Club 💅👰‍♀️ #bridetok as if that’s what the song is about. Sure, call it ✨girlhood✨ or whatever, but only if your definition can comfortably include the original artist who performs on stage wearing a strap harness.

[flimsy-roost]

This captures everything I love about being online

[kn11ves]

>find poc creator talking about issues regarding their comminity

>not part of it but find it interesting topic so watch lots of their videos about it and trends

>find her personality to be good and her stances fair and respectful

>put channel to oldest content to put interesting videos in a watch later

"THE TRANSES ARE INDOCTRINATING YOUR CHILDREN" "TIRED OF RESPECTING PRONOUNS" "TRIGGERED FEMINISTS" "PARENTS OF TRANS KIDS HAVE NO BACKBONES" "WOMEN WANT TO BE TRADWIFES"

>