#and that work is being done by people who signed up for it many of whom are ex-radicals themselves

[lizardho]

Being at BYU after my mission was weird. Like. Bad weird. Everybody was still acting like missionaries but they had nobody to teach so it all turned into the holier-than-thou bs that missions always degenerate into over time. Just the forced establishment of some weird social hierarchy where value is based on how devout you are, with people digging and scratching and clawing their way around humanity in order to become even more devout.

And this bullshit was actively killing me. The attempts to stay Good Enough were scraping the remnants of my humanity out of my husk like a spoon scraping the last bits of watermelon from a rind - I was doing what I had always done, be Mormon, do what Mormons do, be as good a Mormon as I could be, only it was breaking me. Instead of healing me, making me whole, taking away my burdens, it was pulling the life out of me in exchange for nothing. I was just being squeezed dry of everything I had to offer and being given back shame and isolation and rejection because I didn’t do it first, or fast enough, or with a willing enough heart, or whatever the hell they could come up with.

But despite myself, because most people smarter than me AND dumber than me would have left already, I found myself trying over and over and over again to make it work with no success.

One day, I snap. I’ve had enough. I need answers. I’ve looked everywhere and done everything I could by myself, and nothing had come of it, so I went to talk to a faculty member. A teacher at the school. He taught religion classes and his lessons were powerfully and inspiringly honest, earnest, and filled with raw humanity. I figured if I could get a straight (ha) answer from anyone, it would be that guy. He wasn’t involved in the Mormon rat race. He wasn’t playing the stupid “I’m Worthier Than You” games that were so pernicious on campus. He was being real and open and vulnerable and I needed that from someone.

So I go into his office and I lay my cards on the table. I figure if I’m gonna get helped, I need to be honest. I share with him my weird feelings about dad leaving the church on my mission. About my siblings leaving the church. About my own doubts and hurts. I tell him about how hard it is to be in limbo like this without knowing what to do or where to turn. I tell him I need answers.

And he listens. And then he starts with the usual Mormon apologetics bullshit. And I say “no” because I’m done with that. That doesn’t fly with me anymore. And he sees and hears me say no and he puts a hand on mine, makes direct eye contact, and says,

“You know, you don’t have to go to church, right?”

I, being a person who was hurting, interpreted that as “if you have questions that I can’t answer you should fuck off.” I got defensive immediately and he again listened, put his hand on mine, and said,

“Not what I meant. You can stay if you want, but I want you to know you can leave too. Take a break. Give yourself time to heal. This isn’t supposed to hurt this much, and if it hurts you can take a break and come back when it feels good.”

I’m actually getting choked up just writing that out. Nobody had ever said that to me before. When I talked about my dysphoria to my parents, they said teenagers are supposed to feel like that a little bit. When I talked to people about my difficulties at church they had always told me that it was a sign that church was working. That I was doing it right. That growth was supposed to hurt, that excising the Natural Man from me was supposed to be difficult, that I was supposed to be feeling this anxious and sad and scared. I had never ever ever been told that pain and suffering were signs things were going wrong. I had actually explicitly been told by many many many many many many many many people that it was good, that the hurt and the heartache and the constant feeling of never being good enough and never being able to fit into my own skin or love myself in any meaningful way was desirable. That it was something they envied.

It���s not supposed to hurt. Some things can, and should. My parents were right that some body concerns were normal (although we later found out my specific concerns were more abnormal lmao, I got that tgirl swag). My family and friends were right that challenging myself with difficult assignments and ambitious goals was supposed to feel uncomfortable.

And at the same time, THIS was not supposed to hurt. I was not meant to have this gaping throbbing aching hole in my Me that never let up. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. IT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HURT.

I don’t know when exactly I started crying, but I was crying the whole rest of the day. It was the first time in a while I had to actually take a Valium to clam down. It wasn’t supposed to hurt.

He also told me that if it ever stopped hurting I could always come back.

I think that was the day I really left. Others might say otherwise, I still tried to make it work for a few more months after that, but the idea that it wasn’t supposed to hurt really changed me.

If any of you are reading this - there are things that are supposed to be difficult. Things that are supposed to hurt. But if your faith or your beliefs about the world or yourself leave you feeling like you’ve been hollowed out at a minor mistake or setback, if your failures and setbacks leave you feeling raw and numb frequently, if the company you keep or the places you stay leave you feeling constantly inadequate with out hope or help, then I’ll tell you the same thing that professor told me:

You can go somewhere else. You can do something else. And you can always come back when you want.

But it’s not supposed to hurt.

[faerytreealtars]

[ Artwork used for piles are all by JosieWren ]

Pile One - Green Woman.

Cards - Queen of Cups, Strength & Five of Swords.

Spirit is saying loud and clear that the blessing they bring your way is something you may not notice physically, at least not at first because they are helping you, help yourself! Those who struggle with limiting thoughts, anxiety that keeps your mind racing all day and night or even feeling too much just for being yourself. Say goodbye to those struggles, take a breath, and allow your body to release. Treat your emotions like the messengers they are, be gentle and kind to yourself and give yourself some grace... You are only a little human living in a big chaotic world no one is asking for perfection except perhaps you, yourself. I see that spirit is blessing you with the recognition to realise your strength. Your strength has brought you here to this moment and you have done so well, worked so hard, Be proud of yourself and recognise your achievements. You can't attract more or rush more blessings if you're failing to notice the blessing of NOW. Spirit says to practice more breathwork as you carry on through this journey. So to finish off, the blessings that spirit is bringing your way is the freedom to be yourself and embrace the moment more often so you can live more happily and less anxiously. As the wise man Newt Scamander once said "Worrying means you suffer twice oh and before I sign off on your reading I just heard "If you have a dream, just do it, you can't strategize it for that is not the mysterious way that spirit provides"

Pile Two - Woman of Ferns Cards: Two of Cups, Ten of Pentacles & The Sun

Spirit is announcing an end to relationships and connections that are not authentic, true or aligning with your divine soul. I see new people coming into your life in the form of deep loving friendships and perhaps a few romances for those who are open to it. These new friends will help you attract more joyful moments and adventures into your life and share with them making loads of new memories to reflect upon fondly. For a tiny amount of you, I see that at least one of these new connections you make will allow you to have a dream come to life in the career sphere in a collaborative effort and create something that will provide long-lasting abundance to you and any future family that you may have. Now, before you run off in glee and excitement for these new connections Spirit has some advice they wish to share. Firstly remain open-minded you may find connection with the most unlikeliest of people, those who you may think you have nothing in common with based on first appearances. I'm seeing the image of Elphaba and Glinda from Wicked and hearing the song "What is this feeling?" so that's a BIG hint from spirit. Secondly, you need to make an effort too, not anything that feels forced off course but for those who are more introverted, quiet or shy (I'm in this gang too so don't worry I'm not judging but Spirit is kind of gently scolding me now too, so you're not alone!) don't be afraid to show your interest back and open up more, you can't attract your soul tribe if you aren't letting the world see your "vibes" and also I'm hearing don't procrastinate on joining in on clubs, causes or community lead projects out of fears of not fitting in. It's time make this the year you live with no regrets and try everything you feel called towards.

Pile Three - Moth Winged Faery Cards: The World, Five of Cups & Five of Wands

With the world and two court cards with the number 5 present I see your blessing involves a very big change, and one that may push you out of your comfort zone. This will be a divine transformation of self in so many ways. I feel some of you wish to travel or move away from your current location, to leave behind conflict with others and perhaps even yourself and you will, that is something spirit promises to help you bring in. They want to remind you to be patient with not only yourself but the world in general. Many great shifts are about to happen this year and though it may feel like everything is unravelling apart that is only the illusion of a limited mind, if you take the time to tune into your intuition you will see that in fact it is actually things coming together but first you must stop resisting and gripping on to those or that which must leave. The truth is we cannot move on to better places or times without making some sacrifices, it is those who are willing to sacrifice that which they believe is important (spoiler alert: it's not!) that can then be compensated by spirit with even better things. It is all so different for so many of you but trust in yourself and you will instinctively know what is meant to go.

My gratitude to those who stayed, spared their time and read these messages, I Know Spirit will put in the path of those who are meant to read it. I wish you luck and love wherever you may be. <3

[razorblade180]

Actor AU6

Ruby:You know what’s funny about filming a movie where you’re aged up? *steps aside*

Summer:*in DC costume* Sup.

Ruby:I wonder how many people are going to notice the difference.

Summer:They’ll know it’s me when the acting improves.

Ruby:Wow!

xxxxxxx

Blake:Excuse me ma’am. Where’s the bathroom?

Yang:Oh it’s just…*flexes bicep* That way to the left.

Blake:Haha, why thank you.

Yang:There’s also one to the…*flexes tricep* right over here.

Nora:Stop it before you pull something you dork.

xxxxxx

Interviewer: So, Yang Xiao Long, fans have noticed you got a few gains for this movie.

Yang:Yep! Never again haha!

Interviewer:What? Why not.

Weiss:She was such a baby off set.

Yang:Mad respect for personal trainers and gym enthusiasts. I like to feel a burn but I missed my arms not being sore. Adam would literally be nice enough to make me oatmeal and I’d just look at sadly because I don’t want to lift the spoon.

Interviewer:Was it as painful for the rest of you?

Blake:I actually think I like protein shakes now and that’s deeply upsetting.

Weiss:I’ve always lived the gym life. They wanted more squats so I gave them more squats.

xxxxxx

Ruby:*sitting sadly*

Superman:*sits beside her* It seems you have a lot on your mind?

Ruby:A lot has changed since we last met; big changes. Atlas fell, my sister and I got into a fight, now we’re here and…Jessica keeps asking about Jaune.

Superman:*tucks lips in* Mmhmm..

Ruby:Like…damn bitch, it was adventure. Let it go.

Crew laughing in the background

Ruby:I got dozens with this guy. Get in line!

xxxxxx

Ozpin:*swinging cane*

Ruby:*getting beaten*

Jessica:*off screen*…I’m actually the director on this episode.

Ruby:*having a panic attack*

Jessica:I wish I was joking. I needed the experience.

xxxxxx

Blake:Guys, I think I know where we are.

Beautiful wide panning shot

Blake:…I think we’re in Candy Land~

Weiss:Fuck ooooffff. *covers face* That was so random! Ahaha!

Yang:Honestly falling from your world into Candy Land sounds more terrifying than a place like Wonderland.

Bloop!

Blake:I think we’re in Wonderland.

Director Roman:Ever After…

Blake:*nods*…I said that so confidently to. Holy hell…

xxxxxx

Jaune:Today I met a little girl who was a RWBY fan. She asked me if there was any way to come back stage to pet Juniper. *bites muffin* I couldn’t tell her that Juniper was a prop.

Neo:So what did you say?

Jaune:I told her I actually don’t get to see him either. Now both of our days are ruined. This job is cruel.

xxxxxx

Pyrrha:Sup guys. It’s me, here to traumatize you again. *flips camera*

Penny:I’m here for the kill assist.

Pyrrha:You think we’ll be in final episode somehow?

Penny:Oh absolutely. I signed up for the role of “Ruby’s friend” and somehow landed “ghost of the narrative” by mistake.

Pyrrha:Saaame! Funny how that works out.

xxxxxx

Weiss:Where are Blake and Yang?

Jaune:Must’ve had bigger things to work out.

Meanwhile on storming bridge

Yang:Bl- what the!?

Adam:*draws sword* THIS ONE IS FOR ALL THE MARBLES!!

Blake:Sorry! The more I tried to not of the worst situation, the harder it got!

Yang:…*looks at camera* Can we keep this?

Roman:No.

Yang:But I want another cool fight!

xxxxxx

Oscar:*getting makeup done*

Penny:Ready to die on screen?

Oscar:Yeah. I took notes from the best.

Penny:So you’ve been looking at me?

Oscar:Whenever I can.

Penny:*giggles*

Coco:Hold still and stop flirting!

xxxxxx

Jabberwok:*crumbles into Neo*

Neo:*finger guns*…..*makes Adam*

Blake:Oh my gooood!

Yang:*grinning* THIS ONE IS FOR ALL THE MARBLES!

Adam:JUST WHAT I WANTED TO HEAR! FACE MEEEEE!

Ruby:At this point you should just put him at the tea party.

Nora:You don’t even canonically know him!

Ruby:But it would be hilarious!

Weiss:What kills me is an army of Adams would probably be more effective than the Jabberwoks.

xxxxx

Ruby:*in a bat suit* This is the secret life option the blacksmith didn’t want to reveal.

Weiss:Ruby calls on quits and chooses Gotham over Remnant.

Blake:Willingly going to Gotham City is crazy. Life is not that bad.

Ruby:I don’t wanna take this off.

[seafoamreadings]

week of january 12th, 2025

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: quite probably you're not at your most energetic with mars in retrograde in cancer. a little opposition from the sun will help slightly this week. but overall it's best to embrace a restful period.

taurus: nurture your connection with friends and acquaintances, and make new ones if you can. it should be fun and not a chore, so make sure they're people you actually like. this is the backbone of a healthy social group, which we need as social beings, however introverted we are.

gemini: this gentle week has mercury making some light but pleasant aspects to outer planets, helping you do good for the wider world while also using the macrocosm as a form of your own microcosmic introspection. as above so below. watch for the patterns.

cancerians: use this week's broadly supportive astrology to strengthen yourself, developing whatever facets of your life have deficiencies to correct. this could be anything from romance to academics to your literal muscles, but get to it!

leo: don't let yourself be shamed for seeking attention. obviously, respect the boundaries of others, but also remember at all times that attention is a fundamental human need, which it is all our birthright to have fulfilled. in that spirit, generously attend to those who need you, too.

virgo: the key to any interpersonal issues is to follow what makes you happy. relationships that aren't doing so need to be rectified fast, or wrapped up and properly mourned. relationships that do, are to be pursued and nourished.

libra: always a graceful one, this week has you looking more poised than ever even if you don't feel it internally. this can have people flocking to you, trying to get some of that equilibrium in their own lives. provide what you can/want, but don't let anyone drain your energy.

scorpio: while this week's sun-mars opposition can feel draining for many, it probably reinvigorates you at least a little bit. the emotional vulnerability other people are a bit nervous about gives you life, really.

sagittarius: this is another period for you to focus on your home life and your roots. you might unearth a family secret, discover an interesting ancestor, or just make your house particularly comfortable and beautiful.

capricorn: this particular sun-mars opposition is an awkward feeling for you due to the signs these objects are in and the retrograde of mars ongoing. so, not comfortable, but most likely no real harm is done.

aquarius: there is about to be a significant amount of uranian energy but this week is the calm before the storm. with that said, it will feel like a storm to many but it's the brand of chaos you actually thrive in. so for now, batten down any hatches in need of it and go about your business quietly.

pisces: you may find yourself getting a lot of attention this week or just being overall quite busy. all in all this will be a series of good and rewarding things, although it may feel chaotic and hectic at the same time. you are something of a creature of the void, though, so in many ways, this is a flow you can go with.

watch the transit posts in real time to have the best guide through your week. want a little more? have a look at my patreon or ko-fi.

check out my etsy for a private reading or fill out this form to set up a reading through venmo, cashapp, or paypal.

[mama-qwerty]

Innocence

Okay, this was meant as the first chapter of a story that follows Knuckles as he leaves his village and travels the galaxy, leading up to his arrival on the mushroom planet and into the second movie.

And, being me, I'm not sure it'll ever really get done, but the first chapter can fit the Innocence prompt for @year-of-the-echidna, so I'mma post it. I may work on more chapters, but we'll see.

~~~

Age 6

His tribe marched, eager to face the owl warrior who held the location of the Master Emerald. They would make it tell them where it was, and they would retrieve it, restoring the echidna their honor that was lost so long ago.

His father had left him behind, claiming today was not the day he would bring honor to their people. The boy had been disappointed, but had done as his father wished. He stayed in the village, with the few elders who were too old and frail to fight. Too sick to carry a spear.

The illness that had claimed his mother a few seasons ago now resided within their lungs. He heard that same rattle when they coughed. Saw how it sapped their strength. Their life. This sickness seemed to appear more often in recent years, claiming a few of the older and weaker members of the tribe each winter.

Some of the elders spoke of this illness as a curse, leveled upon them by the god Chaos for the behavior of their ancestors. It prevented eggs from growing properly, dramatically lowering the birthrate for the clan. He had been the only egg hatched in a long time, and his birth had heralded a celebration. A healthy puggle, finally. He had become the clan’s child, one who was cherished and cared for by all.

But his parents had loved him most. And this illness that had taken any possible playmates from him had also claimed his beloved mother.

Now, as he looked upon the fading elders, he was reminded of how his mother looked those last few weeks. Pale and hollow. Barely able to lift her hand to stroke his muzzle in the way he liked, the way that soothed his panicked heart.

His own hand rose to stroke it now.

It brought no comfort.

The village seemed so big without the warriors. Without his father. So empty. As the last puggle hatched in many years, he had no friends to play with to pass the time. No siblings. So he wandered into the forest near the village. He knew these trees like the back of his hand, where the very beginnings of his knuckle spurs were starting to grow. They itched sometimes, and he absently scratched now as he moved to the spot he and his mother had sat at many times before the gods called her home.

A small clearing among some towering trees. The grass, usually worn flat from their many excursions to this little haven, had begun to recover, and now stood almost knee high to him. The sight filled him with a newfound grief for his mother. It was if they had never been here. As if she had never been here. The signs of their time together, spent learning bird calls and the ways of nature, all but erased.

He tried not to think about it.

Turning to one tree to his left, he dug his claws in and scaled it in a few quick bounds. It was his favorite climbing tree, and it bore the scars of his claws from countless ascensions. Nestling into the crook of a branch, the wood worn smooth from the familiarity of the movement, he settled against the trunk, eyes flicking across the forest surrounding him. He could see in all directions from this vantage, and imagined himself fighting enemies like his father. Watching them approach to pounce on them from above, defeating them with ease.

One day. One day he would be a great warrior. The best the village had ever seen. The best the whole island had ever seen. No, the world. The whole universe.

He would make his father proud. He would bring honor to his tribe and his family.

The boy settled onto the branch, lacing his fingers together to rest his hands on his belly. He stared up through the canopy above him, the sun filtering softly through the breaks in the leaves. The day was warm, but the shadowed forest provided a cool respite.

His eyes grew heavy, and he soon fell into a light doze as he waited for his father to return victorious.

~X~X~X~

The boy opened his eyes. They burned from tears, his muzzle still soggy from the ones he’d shed before finally passing out from exhaustion.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, wiping his eyes with the heels of trembling hands. It was night, fairly late if he wasn’t mistaken. The remnants of a fire smoldered in the hearth of his home, the slowly dying embers a dark orange.

He wished it had been a nightmare. A bad dream he could push away, shake off like water after a swim.

A quick glance to his right told him otherwise.

One of the village elders sat slumped against the far wall. Soft, wet snores floated to him, and the old woman held his training spear in her hands. She had taken it from him when they’d received the news, and he had wanted to rush off to join the battle that had long been lost.

They were gone. The warriors.

His father.

He’d been asleep in his tree when he’d heard the yelling. Fearing he’d missed the victorious return of his tribe, he hurried back to the village, only to discover that what he had mistaken for celebratory cheers were instead pain filled cries of the few warriors who’d managed to return. They were battered and beaten, their wounds severe and fatal.

The elders had tried to steer him away, but he skirted their attempts and listened, eyes wide, as the fading warriors told of what happened.

It had been a slaughter.

The tribe had cornered the owl, who had sent a small blue hedgehog—obviously her apprentice—through a portal ring. They had tried to subdue her, get her to reveal the Master Emerald’s location, but she had refused. A battle ensued, one that was more fierce than the echidna were expecting. The owl seemed to have more fight left in her than anticipated.

One by one, the warriors fell. Every injury they inflicted upon the owl was returned two-fold. Even now, the warriors dying by her talons admitted she fought bravely. But she was one, and they were many, and by the time she’d taken out the last few, her own injuries proved too severe. She finally crumpled to the ground, and lay dead among the echidna she’d ended.

The boy stood motionless for a moment, not wanting to believe it.

No. No, his father was alive. Merely hurt, that’s all. Some big stupid owl couldn’t kill him, he was the greatest warrior their tribe had ever known!

As tears brimmed in his eyes, he’d ran back to his home, snatching up his mask and spear. He was going to help his father. It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be too late. He couldn’t be gone, he couldn’t be.

But the elder currently snoring in the corner of his home had stopped him, grabbing his arm with a surprising strength. He’d fought her, tried to escape, but couldn’t remove her hand. He yelled at her, ordered her to release him. Begged her to let him go. He had to help his father. His father needed him, couldn’t she see that?

Her grip did not loosen. Her eyes were kind. Pitying. Sorrowful.

That went straight into his chest, causing it to tighten to an almost painful degree. His struggles increased and he screamed at her to let him go. Please. Please. Let him go. He needed to see his father.

Her grip stayed firm.

And after a moment more of struggle, he let out a long, painful wail, and fell to his knees to cry.

He didn’t want to. Warriors didn’t cry. He was a warrior, like his father. His father wouldn’t cry.

Except that wasn’t true.

When his mother had passed, his father had cried. He had held his son, wiping the tears from the boy’s muzzle as his own trickled down. Had tried to soothe the boy’s aching heart, that had felt like a piece had been torn from it when his mother had taken her last breath.

His father had cried, then. His own heart breaking for his lost love.

And so the boy cried now. Because he wasn’t a warrior. Not yet. He was a child who’d just lost his only remaining parent. And his heart felt like it was torn in half.

The elder who’d stopped him had held him then, gathering him up into her arms and holding him tight. He released his grief, letting the tears roll down his muzzle, gripping her tunic in his fists. Great sobs shook his chest, and he hiccuped in stuttering, shaky breaths until his grief stole his energy, dragging him down into the restless sleep of mourning.

Now he stood, walking toward the door. He considered taking his spear back, but didn’t want to wake the old woman.

The night was cool, and he stood in the middle of his village, his face turned up to the moon. It was a crescent tonight, much like the white patch of fur on his chest. The elders had been excited when they’d seen that after his hatching, his father had told him. They believed it was a good omen from the gods.

His lip pulled in a little snarl at that. Good omen. It didn’t seem to offer him much luck. The only child born in nearly a decade, orphaned at six years old, and one of the few remaining echidna left in possibly the universe. They had not had any word from the other clans in a long time, and for all they knew, the Nuk’les clan was the last.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Tears burned his throat, and he swallowed them down. A knot lodged in his chest, the tight feeling making it hard to breathe. He lifted a hand to massage it, as though that may loosen the tension.

Gone. His father was gone. He would never learn to be a great warrior now. Never make his father proud. Never fight beside him in battle. Never earn his true name.

The boy gave a soft huff at that thought. Echidna weren’t given a name after they hatched. At least, not their final name. Instead they’re given a kind of nickname that stayed with them until they were old enough to earn a name that suited them, and reflected their importance and place in the tribe.

His father had been Chikuy’lotli, which meant ‘strong heart’. The boy’s current name was Teptsi’metli, meaning ‘little moon’, chosen because of the mark on his chest. He likely would have earned his true name after his first battle, when he had proven himself to his brothers-in-arms.

But that would never happen now. He was alone. No one to stand for him in their rituals. No one to mark him with his new name. There were so few of them left now, most of them old and injured.

The owls hadn’t just stolen the Master Emerald from them all those years ago. They’d also taken his entire family. His heritage. What was he supposed to do now?

The tears returned, slipping down his muzzle unnoticed.

~X~X~X~

A month had passed since that fateful battle.

The injured warriors had succumbed to their wounds two days later. He had helped the elders bury them, and done the tribe’s death ritual. They had honored the rest of the fallen as well, casting prayers and sacred blessings to guide their souls to the Great Battleground in the Sky. The elders sent up an extra prayer for the boy’s parents to watch over him, and help him be strong.

The boy swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears that stubbornly tried to escape.

After that day, he didn’t speak much. The elders watched over him, tried to care for him, but he distanced himself. He heard their coughs, how they became worse as the days went on.

And when the first elder died not long after, he helped with that death ritual as well.

Over that next month, the boy’s life became about death.

Three elders remained. He tended to them as well as he could, but he was a child, and struggling to care for himself. But he tried. He brought them food and water. Kept their fires burning at night. Made the medicinal potions his mother had taught him.

He cared for them, just as they had cared for him and the rest of the tribe.

And he buried them when they could no longer fight the illness that had taken root inside them.

And now, the boy stood in the middle of his village once more. He looked around himself, and the quiet weighed on him like a physical thing. There was no training. No singing. No chores being done, no cooking going on. No laughter, no chatting, no stories.

No life.

He was alone.

A six year old boy. The last of the echidna.

He wanted to cry. To just collapse to his knees and drop his face into his hands and weep. He missed them all so much. His parents. The other warriors, who had let him copy their moves as they trained, even though his father said he was too young. The women who’d let him help with the cooking and told him the stories of their people.

His tribe. His family.

Gone.

He wouldn’t let himself cry. He wouldn’t dishonor their memory in such a way. He was a warrior now, the only one left to carry on their ways. Their teachings.

He swallowed down the tears, trying to focus on what to do next.

The quest. His people’s quest, that had driven them for generations. It must be completed. The honor of his people must be restored.

And he was the only one left to do it.

Taking a deep breath, the boy let it out slowly as he focused only on what his next steps were. The owl was dead, and as far as he knew, all the owls were dead. So what did that leave? Who else knew about the Master Emerald’s location?

The hedgehog.

He needed to find where the owl had sent the hedgehog. If he found that blue hedgehog, then he could get it to talk. Tell him where the Emerald was, so he could get it and restore his people’s honor. He was the last. It was his destiny to finish the quest begun so long ago.

With a little nod, the boy began to gather a pack with food, water, and the tribe’s supply of rings. Donning his wooden mask, and with spear in hand, he took one last look at his village before turning and throwing a ring.

The portal opened with a woosh, and he stared at the window leading to another planet. He didn’t have anywhere specific in mind when he’d thrown it, just an idea of ‘somewhere else’.

The last child of the Nuk’les tribe took a deep breath, standing tall and pulling his shoulders back.

And then he stepped through the portal, leaving his empty village behind forever.

[svsssbestiaryzine]

SVSSS Bestiary Zine FAQ

The sign ups have been open for a week now, and here are some of the most common questions we’ve been asked! 

Can I be both a writer and an artist? 

In short, hopefully! As we receive more sign ups this project gets larger and a bit more complicated for us to manage so, going off of the previous post addressing this question- 

Everyone who signs up is committing to making at least one piece for the zine, we ask that you pick a role (writer, artist, or otherwise) based on what you feel most comfortable working with and are certain you will be able to complete. 

Once your main contribution is done you are free to ask a mod about changing your role to start on another piece!

However, please see the following question for more information about multiple pieces. 

Is there a limit to how many pieces we can contribute? 

Tentatively yes, but the exact number we are unsure of. With there being multiple things each role can do, we want to allow for creators to make what they want but ensure that everyone gets their time to shine with their work being shown in the zine. So artists can potentially do a bestiary page, bonus content piece, as well as fic art. Writers can potentially write both journal entries and a fic. 

However, in the start of the creating process you will be clarifying what your main contribution will be, and after that there will most likely be a period (after X check-in) where secondary or following pieces will then be allowed to be started. 

What is the process for picking the creatures for the bestiary? 

There will be a form for submitting ideas after everyone joins the discord server and is accounted for. There, you will determine your role and what your main contribution will be and which part of the zine you want that piece to be for (Main zine or Nsfw). 

For artists, there are two options-

In the next part there will be a section of the form where you will submit short descriptions of your creature idea. (ex. Name: Three winged cerulean tortoise. Details: tortoise based creature with wings that lives in deep water.) 

There will be 6 locations (human realm, demon realm-gen, demon realm-northern desert, demon realm-southern realm, borderlands, the endless abyss) you can submit one idea to each location, but are only required to do a minimum of three. Having a spread of locations helps us make sure that there is a good variety of creatures. 

After this form, the mods will be going through to make sure there isn’t too much overlap with other people’s monsters. Then to start the creation period the mods will be assigning participants one of their submitted ideas to work on. 

If you do not have ideas or would like to be surprised, you will have the option to be randomly paired with a writer that has ideas to prompt you. 

For writers, two options as well-

If you have ideas you will submit them like mentioned above for artists. 

If you do not have ideas or would like to be surprised, you will have the option to be randomly paired with an artist and their idea to write for. 

Because we know that a lot of people have ideas, we want to make sure that those can be shared, but we ask that creators for bestiary pages be open to doing other people’s ideas for pairing purposes.

 

How will artists and writers be paired? 

Pairing will be prioritized between people who have an idea + want to do someone else's idea. After we pair off writers and artists for the bestiary pages this way, we will see who is left over and ask if anyone with similar ideas wants to collaborate. If there are people left after that, then we will ask if the remaining creators would be willing to drop their idea for a secondary piece to be matched for a first piece. (This is also where pinch hitters could come into play.)

Can I create using original monsters from my previous works? 

As long as they are your original creations, yes of course! There will be a section of the form for you to submit the related works for us to double check. 

Can I create in mediums other than digital art? 

Of course! If you are planning to make something for a bestiary page entry you need to ensure you can edit it to be a clean png to be put on a bestiary page, otherwise you can talk with a mod about it being a bonus content piece. 

Can I sign up as a back-up or pinch hit creator? 

Yes! Leave a note at the end of your sign-up that you would like to pinch hit and select the role that matches your skillset (Or add an additional note with the pitch hit note if you would like to do both art or writing) then the mods can give you a pinch hit role in the discord server when it opens. 

[icewindandboringhorror]

It's always interesting to hear about people's weird/unexpected "alternate life paths". Like, something that you could have done with your life, a job you almost took, a school you almost went to, etc - that was still actually realistic enough that it could have happened, but NOW it seems to not suit your current personality.

Like for example, I currently hate advertising (how manipulative it is, brands trying to be 'relatable', social media amplifying it to an obnoxious extreme, etc.) so much that even seeing a little ad before a youtube video is grating to even witness, but there was a point in time where I was genuinely seriously considering going into marketing/making commercials as a career lol. Or like, I have a relative who was very inclined to be a pastor when they were younger, even though today they're a super strong atheist, etc. etc.

[faeriefully]

I believe I am beginning to realize something about myself… I do not know what a healthy amount of work is for a person

[inmirova]

In an ideal world, it would be a program for Deaf teachers, the government could even put it under vocational rehab if they wanted to! Unfortunately, even some Deaf schools don't employ many Deaf teachers and a lot of teaching jobs end up going to interpreters or just hearing & non-signing people instead. But you're right and I love what you said, we can hope 🩷

idk man. i just think itd be really cool if sign language classes were mandatory throughout primary school. yeah because it would make communication with deaf kids and autistic/nonverbal kids much easier. and those kids would be accessible to the others so they cold make friends and have healthy relationships. yeah. and kids would eat that shit up man. like their own little secret language? they love that.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Mattresses, unbeknownst to many, are a lot like cars. Every year new ones roll out, they’re always tweaking and innovating and you’ll never find the same one you loved decades ago when buying a new one.

Where I sold mattresses had a three month return or exchange program for this reason. New beds take a while to break in, and they’re a big expense. Your body is used to the old one. So we made sure people were loving it. If a bed got returned we’d take it back, sanitize and clean it, then sell it again on clearance.

To sell these we always had to disclose what clearance meant to customers, and they had to sign that they knew what they were getting. (FYI, not every company is as… forthright about the used bed situation)

In clearance we had beds that were floor models, we had returns, and more rarely we had old models whose line had been discontinued. These clearance beds were always final sale, so a bed could only be sold twice.

Now, the manager at the store I was working at had realized a vital fact. Clearance beds in the warehouse didn’t sell, especially old models that salespeople weren’t familiar with. And even more especially in odd sizes, like twin extra longs. So he set up a split king on the showroom floor to exhibit clearance beds, pulling all those forgotten twin extra longs out onto the showroom.

Almost all of these were brand new discontinued models. Beds I’d never learned in training were exhumed to be displayed. The manufacturers had moved on to new lines and they’d been left behind. Why would he take such in interest in selling old stock, you might wonder? Because we made double commission on the sales margin of clearance beds, and if we’d had a bed long enough they dropped the cost in the system so it was a fucking cash cow to sell these. Even with huge discounts the commissions were wonderful so it was a win win.

When I got started I was jazzed about this program, I was so on board to sell weird old brand new beds and make a ton of money. I had a wonderful older couple come in, looking for a split king adjustable set. This was a white whale sale.

The current clearance models on the floor were a latex mattress that was brand new despite being of an age to start first grade, and a tempurpedic floor model. The couple laid down and it was like magic. They each loved the bed they’d laid down on. They wanted to buy the whole shebang.

I. Was. Thrilled. I told them about the clearance program and what that meant, and they weren’t bothered in the least. I wrote up the sale then dashed into the back, fizzing with excitement to tell my manager what I’d done.

“You sold the death bed?!” He asked in delight.

I pulled up short, my smile freezing in place. “What…?”

“Didn’t you check the notes?”

I hesitated for a long beat then slowly shook my head. You see, dear reader, all beds had a personal history. Every clearance bed had logs written up by the person who took the return, as well as warehouse crew after sanitizing. It helped us know what to expect when selling them. “Wasn’t it just a floor model? You said it was a floor model…”

He slowly shook his head. I checked the notes.

It turned out, it had been sold as a floor model. The first time. But the company had made an exception and taken it back as a return two months later. Why? Because it’s owner had passed away.

I stared at the computer in horror and my manager shrugged. “They signed the clearance form. Technically it was a floor model.”

“We know for a fact that a man died in that bed!”

“What they don’t know can’t haunt them,” he said philosophically.

The man came back a week later for more sheets, utterly delighted to tell me how well they were sleeping. I clamped my teeth down around the secret of the deathbed, choosing to let them love their new bed without the stigma. Only one person would be haunted by that deathbed, and it was me.

[slogthor]

Re the rehabilitated alt right people thing- that’s the way it always is. I’m not trying to educate anyone on the subject I think you should look it up yourself but formerly radicalized people who are part of hate groups and remove themselves have like. Seems like fuckin lifelong struggles with not being racist. Self reported. Oops I had a wretched thought again my bad I relapsed on my racism addiction

[thoughtportal]

Opinion Here’s how to get free Paxlovid as many times as you need it

When the public health emergency around covid-19 ended, vaccines and treatments became commercial products, meaning companies could charge for them as they do other pharmaceuticals. Paxlovid, the highly effective antiviral pill that can prevent covid from becoming severe, now has a list price of nearly $1,400 for a five-day treatment course.

Thanks to an innovative agreement between the Biden administration and the drug’s manufacturer, Pfizer, Americans can still access the medication free or at very low cost through a program called Paxcess. The problem is that too few people — including pharmacists — are aware of it.

I learned of Paxcess only after readers wrote that pharmacies were charging them hundreds of dollars — or even the full list price — to fill their Paxlovid prescription. This shouldn’t be happening. A representative from Pfizer, which runs the program, explained to me that patients on Medicare and Medicaid or who are uninsured should get free Paxlovid. They need to sign up by going to paxlovid.iassist.com or by calling 877-219-7225. “We wanted to make enrollment as easy and as quick as possible,” the representative said.

Indeed, the process is straightforward. I clicked through the web form myself, and there are only three sets of information required. Patients first enter their name, date of birth and address. They then input their prescriber’s name and address and select their insurance type.

All this should take less than five minutes and can be done at home or at the pharmacy. A physician or pharmacist can fill it out on behalf of the patient, too. Importantly, this form does not ask for medical history, proof of a positive coronavirus test, income verification, citizenship status or other potentially sensitive and time-consuming information.

But there is one key requirement people need to be aware of: Patients must have a prescription for Paxlovid to start the enrollment process. It is not possible to pre-enroll. (Though, in a sense, people on Medicare or Medicaid are already pre-enrolled.)

Once the questionnaire is complete, the website generates a voucher within seconds. People can print it or email it themselves, and then they can exchange it for a free course of Paxlovid at most pharmacies.

Pfizer’s representative tells me that more than 57,000 pharmacies are contracted to participate in this program, including major chain drugstores such as CVS and Walgreens and large retail chains such as Walmart, Kroger and Costco. For those unable to go in person, a mail-order option is available, too.

The program works a little differently for patients with commercial insurance. Some insurance plans already cover Paxlovid without a co-pay. Anyone who is told there will be a charge should sign up for Paxcess, which would further bring down their co-pay and might even cover the entire cost.

Several readers have attested that Paxcess’s process was fast and seamless. I was also glad to learn that there is basically no limit to the number of times someone could use it. A person who contracts the coronavirus three times in a year could access Paxlovid free or at low cost each time.

Unfortunately, readers informed me of one major glitch: Though the Paxcess voucher is honored when presented, some pharmacies are not offering the program proactively. As a result, many patients are still being charged high co-pays even if they could have gotten the medication at no cost.

This is incredibly frustrating. However, after interviewing multiple people involved in the process, including representatives of major pharmacy chains and Biden administration officials, I believe everyone is sincere in trying to make things right. As we saw in the early days of the coronavirus vaccine rollout, it’s hard to get a new program off the ground. Policies that look good on paper run into multiple barriers during implementation.

Those involved are actively identifying and addressing these problems. For instance, a Walgreens representative explained to me that in addition to educating pharmacists and pharmacy techs about the program, the company learned it also had to make system changes to account for a different workflow. Normally, when pharmacists process a prescription, they inform patients of the co-pay and dispense the medication. But with Paxlovid, the system needs to stop them if there is a co-pay, so they can prompt patients to sign up for Paxcess.

Here is where patients and consumers must take a proactive role. That might not feel fair; after all, if someone is ill, people expect that the system will work to help them. But that’s not our reality. While pharmacies work to fix their system glitches, patients need to be their own best advocates. That means signing up for Paxcess as soon as they receive a Paxlovid prescription and helping spread the word so that others can get the antiviral at little or no cost, too.

{source}

[reignpage]

The Other Woman

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3

The doctors and psychologists said it’d be great for your husband’s well-being to be with friends and family. And for the most part, that’s proven true. 

Insisting on welcoming Satoru back properly, his students organised a party and invited anyone who had a remote connection with their teacher. Even Nanami had taken time off from work to be here and had given a polite pat on his shoulder and a genuine greeting. 

That brought a huge smile to the white-haired man who pounced on the poor guy without remorse, giggling about how he knew he ‘always liked him really’. It felt great to watch him be surrounded by and showered with so much love and support, the kind he deserves; you could tell it was bringing life back to him. After all, it must have been painful for him to have been cooped up in the house trying to reconcile his new reality with the one he remembers. 

You keep reminding yourself of that. 

Satoru needs this. 

He needs normalcy. The normal he remembers, the normal he went to sleep thinking about and not the one he had suddenly woken up to, years passing him by. 

Everyone knows this. He knows this. Just as you do. 

So why is every person in the party sneaking you pitying and concerned glances?

Sure, no one could possibly think this is easy for you, to be the stranger that Satoru still gets surprised to see in the morning. The one he hesitates to say goodnight to, unsure of the boundaries, the etiquette, the right thing to do. He sometimes forgets to text you if he’s going out, shocked and annoyed, you’re sure, to see the many missed calls and messages from you. And you know he studies the picture frames all over your house like a textbook that would give him all the answer he needs.

All he gets, you’re willing to bet, is the realisation that you’re both the tether he needs to keep grounded, that guides him through the sea of memories he cannot touch, and the leash that binds him to a role he doesn’t remember signing up for. 

Are they looking at you with worry because of the inevitable toll this sudden shift has taken on your mental health or because your husband is talking to his ex-girlfriend the way he used to talk to you?

It can’t be the latter, right?

Because there’s nothing to be worried about. 

Satoru is simply catching up, trying to stitch up the crater-sized hole in his memory with a familiar face. There’s no reason for your hand to shake as you sip your drink or for your eyes to keep darting back over to them, sat alone at a table like they’re the only people in here. 

He’s laughing, throwing his head back and making that obnoxious cackle you love to hear. Loved. Because this one isn’t for you. It’s for her. The woman he shouldn’t be near, the woman he shouldn’t even think about, shouldn’t let touch his arm. 

You’re the wife. 

You’ve got the ring to prove it. 

He’s wearing it. Just not on the hand attached to the arm strung over the back of her chair like he’s protecting her from the rest of the world. Hell, maybe he is. Maybe his infinity is on and covering her. But you don’t have it in you to throw something at them to find out. Either result would be just as humiliating as the other. 

There’s nothing to be done. 

You can’t interrupt. 

Because Satoru needs to know what he said goodbye to all those years ago to know what he says ‘hey, pretty lady’ and ‘good morning, gorgeous’ to now. Or used to say. Now, you’re lucky if he even looks at you without shuffling his feet. 

Eventually, the night draws to its natural end. 

People bid their farewells twice, once to him and her, and then to you. Each time breaks your heart even more until you feel it crumble inside, little shards falling to pieces he won’t pick up. She stands before you, a small, shy smile, like she knows what she’s done. And says it’s ‘lovely to meet you’, and of course you can’t say it back. 

Not when you had been introduced by your name, ‘my beautiful wife’ going nowhere near the tip of his tongue as if those words had never been uttered by your husband. And not when she had been introduced in a hastily withdrawn, stuttered freudian slip of hell. 

“This is my girlfr— Sorry, I mean, my friend. From high school. Yeah, high school.”

Satoru blushes, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he waves goodbye to her. And you can tell he finds the act lacklustre, an uninspired, unnatural way to say goodbye to the woman you woke up to and slept beside. 

“Did you have a good time?”

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lip as he casts his gaze across the room, sweeping by the empty hall like he can still see every single person that came. “It was nice to see everyone and catch up.”

You’re thankful he doesn’t ask if you enjoyed the evening because you can’t lie to him but you also can’t tell the truth, can’t burden him anymore with the reminder that he doesn’t fill the shoes of your husband, that he continues to stumble with every step, dragging you down with him. 

So, instead, you fill the silence with a question that is so harmless, so normal it slips out before you can even think to anticipate the devastating crack that goes through your very soul. 

“Ready to go home?”

Satoru nods.

But he’s looking at a seat in the back. 

A seat that’s probably still warm. A seat you could never fill because you aren’t the woman he thought, hoped, he would marry. 

You’re just the woman he did. 

[bumblebeerror]

Since people seem confused -

What Union Organized Protest Terms Mean and What You Should/Shouldn’t Do About Them

STRIKE:

Workers are in some way refusing to work all at once/in large numbers

Usually used to protest job conditions

Includes mass walk-out, showing up but refusing to do specific things, and showing up to picket the place of work

This tactic is used primarily to create pressure on corperations due to lost profits and damaged reputation - work not being done means consumers will refund orders, go elsewhere, or file complaints. Also raises awareness for the working conditions of the workplace, further damaging the company’s reputation.

It is also used to demonstrate the skill/value of said workers, as difficult to replace quickly enough to prevent losses.

Unless directed otherwise by the strike participants, you as a consumer carry on as normal, including buying from/business with the corporation, and responding accordingly (refunding your purchase, filing complaints) when the corporation fails to deliver due to the strike.

Your solidarity with the workers means listening to what their plan for the protest is and staying up to date, as those plans sometimes change.

BOYCOTT:

A call by unions/organized workers/political or social groups to avoid shopping/doing business with the corporation.

Can be done by many groups of people, is more often a CONSUMER based decision rather than one initiated by workers or unions

Usually in response to changes or policy the corporation makes that the group views as immoral ( supporting Israel, funding lobbyist groups for more lax business regulation, mistreating employees, opposing gay or trans people’s existence )

Is meant to show a corporation that their practices are costing them money and harming their reputation, and that their competition can and will scoop their consumer base up

If you agree with the group calling for the boycott, this signals that you should avoid shopping/doing business with said corporation.

SCAB:

A worker who is hired to replace a striking worker

Usually hired en masse once the strike is public, with very little vetting/interviewing/etc - getting bodies into workplaces.

Do not become a scab. A corporation may try to mislead you into believing your position is not a scab. They will not be up front. Be very wary of applying to jobs at corporations with active strikes

PICKET LINE:

A literal group of people, usually striking workers and sympathetic protesters, occupying the grounds around a business

Typically holding signs informing others of their grievances. Their aim is to turn you away from the business

If striking workers are involved, this is a strike that is calling for a boycott.

Don’t cross the picket line.

Listen to Organized Workers.

Strike =/= Boycott

[harmoonix]

Winter Observations ❄️

❄️ Saturn in late degrees or 3rd decan (20° to 29° degrees) is meant to finish a lesson in this lifetime. The lesson can be something unfinished from your past life

❄️ Capricorn Moons/10th house Moons have a hard time staying focused only on one thing. They want to do multiple things at once due to their multitasking power

❄️ Saturn in the 6th/8th or 12th house gets drained easily. Tiredness can be a problem for them. They need to maintain a balance between their work and some time for themselves

❄️ 2nd house placements may love to make gifts/spoil others with it. They also love to plan things for others like surprises, parties, etc

❄️ moon - jupiter aspects are gifted with wisdom and optimism. Somehow, it is hard for them to think badly upon a situation. Always keeping their heads up

❄️ Chiron in the 2nd house or Taurus may struggle with their worth/self - value. They can over criticize themselves. They may also struggle to love their bodies

❄️ Having Moon or Venus dominance in your chart shows that you're a very gentle and nice person. Also, don't let others take your nice personality in vain

❄️ a couple who shares the same chiron sign can share the same traumas/dark traits. Couple therapy can be a healing key for you

❄️ Sun in the 11th house can sometimes indicate being married multiple times during your lifetime. Kinda like J-LO reference (Mi gente latino💣)

❄️ Taylor Swift has both Moon and Chiron in Cancer, which can be a bit of a sign of 'making a song about every romantic experience you went through'

❄️ Those with Chiron x harsh Venus aspects have a hard time opening their feelings. Sometimes, these can indicate a fear of breakup or abandonment

❄️ Mercury in dark houses like 8th or 12th hosue can turn to be big snitches. Mercury tends to have a darker energy here, especially if also aspects Pluto

❄️ Aries in the 3rd/6th or 11th house can posses a violent nature when it comes to their talking. Basically, it tends to curse and talk dirty a lot

❄️ Virgo in the 8th or 12th house can be triggered by many things. Is like you live in permanent fear of something. They may also show lots of phobias

❄️ Someone with Virgo Chiron is definitely the therapist of their friends, family and even partner. People approach you so much when they need help

❄️ 1st house lord in the 4th or 6th houses have a very empathic/kind nature. They also tend to be quite nostalgic and very in tune with themselves

❄️ 10th hosue lord in the 11th house can becomes famous on internet before anything else. Is it like people will know you from social media

❄️ Aries Risings or Mars should find a career/job where they can take the leader position because it fits them so much. They can also work in fields where people may do lots of physical work

❄️ 3rd house placements, especially Venus/Mars/Moon, may have a passion for cars/motorcycles/bikes. Everything that has wheels

❄️ Leo Chrion is either a placement where the native seeks love and attention, either the placement where the native never got to experience these

❄️ Leo Jupiter has a lot of chances to become popular for their talents. It can be done in a creative field such as acting or drawing

❄️ Lots of ppl with Mercury in the 10th house tend to be remembered for their voices. It's like the voice you'll always remember, even after a long time

❄️ Venus in the 4th house can often get a spouse who can be the 'bread winner', basically a traditional family or a trad spouse as well

❄️ Venus and Moon in the 5th house can be good at flirting/taking the first step in a relationship. Head over heals energy

❄️ Mercury in the 6th house is a very active house for Mercury. Basically, communicating daily helps your mental health and mood. You may also worry a lot as a person

❄️ Idk why people romanticize possessive aspects in a relationship like pluto - venus/asc/mars. They're not okay unless you're in that situation..which I don't wish upon nobody

❄️ I wrote in the past about how I don't get along with cancer placements, I realized it was because most cancer people I knew were very controlling. Tbh with you, I never got the chance to meet good people with cancer placements

❄️ Lacking water placements in your chart can manifest in 2 ways:

Being hypersensitive, lacking the feeling of feeling love or closure

Being a cold person. Not showing your feelings to the world thinking that they see you as a weak/soft person

❄️ Pisces Risings always tell what's on their heart. They seem so genuine and nice even when you don't interact with them.

❄️ Moon in Scorpio or the 8th hosue can indicate intense inner feelings. Is hard for them to explain what they feel, and that's what can make them to be more private

❄️ Something that I observed within the moon in fire signs or fire houses 1st/5th/9th is that they get pissed off very easily. Is so easy for them to burst out and be angry/sad/moody

❄️ Jupiter in Cancer/Capricorn/Libra/Leo can experience a step family. Like step-dad, step-mom, step siblings, Jupiter can also give you things in excess ex: in Cancer/Leo, many family members

❄️ Jupiter in aspects with Lilith (all aspects), can indicate issues with hypersexuality. Like I said, Jupiter can give you things in excess. When aspecting Lilith, the desire for physical touch can be high

❄️🩵 Hope you all have a good winter season for the next 3 months!! Also early/late happy birthday for everyone born in the winter🙏🏼🥳

Harmoonix ❄️🩵🫶🏼 2024

[keferon]

My hands are shaky and my head is refusing to work properly! But! I made it!

The Blurr chapter for Mecha au >:D

Blurr's job is not to fight for humanity.

Blurr's job is to smile for the camera and take the applause of people who praise him for his bravery and sacrifice. Blurr's job is to sell his face, his voice and his skills to millions of viewers. He must impress investors, show off advanced technology and make a determined face saying that to save mankind he is ready for anything. And then get in a luxury car and drive off to some expensive place to burn a whole bunch of zeros out of his paycheck.

He's not someone who stays after work to help his coworkers. And he's not the one who spends his nights trying to save as many people as possible. He signs autographs, makes big statements, and promises people he'll protect them.

And people believe him.

And they love him.

Swerve is sick of this spectacle. Swerve is sick of this man.

Under the cut

————————————

Nobody likes Blurr.

Okay, if you think on a large scale, everyone loooves Blurr. His face is on every poster, his brand is in every possible store, his voice and is in every cool commercial. You literally can't exist without knowing who Blurr is, or at least seeing his face once. It's a “Luke I'm your father” level phenomenon. How massive a rock do you have to live under to miss something like that?

Everybody loves Blurr. You can go buy a t-shirt with his face on it. You can go listen to his interviews or purchase a tiny replica of his action figure. There are incredibly many ways a Blurr fan can blow a hole in their budget.

Swerve knows, because he's done it many times. And recently, it's stopped being something he's proud of. To be precise, it was exactly four days ago when Blurr first stepped into his office. Swerve had just finished his shift and was finishing his tea when his boss suddenly appeared in the doorway, with the best racer in the world right behind him.

The tea was instantly dropped, adrenaline was released, and the brain was turned off.

In that moment, Swerve thought that this is what it must look like. The moment when all your good karma comes together in one pile to reward you for all the times you dropped a sandwich butter side down or missed a deadline.

Both of which happened with annoying regularity. Swerve is unlucky. Sometimes things seem to fall through his hands.

It started out great.

Swindle, their boss, showed up in the office space one day looking simultaneously jubilant, nervous, and very inspired. Usually on such occasions, Swerve could almost see the dollar signs reflected in his boss's glasses.

“Attention everyone. We have an important guest arriving in an hour.”

Swindle expressively pushed his glasses down on his nose and looked around the room

“I promised him a tour and I expect you all to behave yourselves.”

He meticulously looks around the floor beneath his feet

“Send someone to clean up all the trash. This place is unbelievably filthy. The floors should be sparkling in twenty minutes! And, oh! Hey you, go buy some good drinks.”

Having finished inspecting the floor Swindle hurriedly runs off, probably to say the same thing to the neighboring department.

Swerve stretches his neck out curiously, listening in

“Is the president coming to see us?”

Walking by, Jazz shrugs

“When the president was coming Swindle said the floor was dirty and made him wear boot covers.”

It's not the president

Swindle gestures generously to the entire office at once and looks overall like a bird trying his best to primp up

“And here we have the engineering department offices. In the next building is the assembly plant, that's where the mechs are put on their feet so to speak. And this is where all the computing, design, and planning happens.”

Just over his shoulder stands and looks around at none other than

Oh, dear God.

Swerve's tea flies to the floor next to his thought processes.

He's seen Blurr countless times, but never in person. How can this guy look as good in person as he does in expensive retouched-until-squeaky-clean photos? Mystery.

Blurr's gaze slides lazily over the simple office setting and for those two seconds when it's directed at Swerve it feels like sheer madness. He tries to look normal. He's not sure he's succeeding, but he's making an effort.

Swindle waltzes through the office, heading for the next door

“Come on I'll show you the mech hangar.”

Blurr grins.

“A highlight of the show I suppose~”

His voice is like a needle bursting a ball of stunned silence. People begin to rise from their seats and scramble to say hello. Someone asks for an autograph, others ask for a bunch of selfies, a couple people in the corner hastily fix their hair, one of the employees just pulls out his phone and shamelessly starts filming.

Swindle looks at the this with an unchanging commercial smile, but his gaze promises all kinds of punishment.

Perhaps if it had been the president, the buffoonery would have been smaller.

______________

For the next few days, Blurr is the big news and the center of all discussion.

Officially? He's becoming one of the pilots in the Mecha program.

In fact? Swindle's greedy soul couldn't get enough of the idea that the Mech concept could be monetized.

The dust is blown off Blurr and his boots are licked. He doesn't go to general training, he doesn't participate in ordinary or overly dangerous missions. He's allowed everything and a little more. His job is to look pretty on camera, speak his lines, smile and wink. He's a walking advertisement and Swindle's incredibly powerful tool in negotiating with investors.

Swerve once saw him called to a negotiation in the middle of the night, and even sleep-deprived and exhausted after a full day of filming, Blurr had the strength to pull that charming expression on his face and flawlessly play along with Swindle wherever he needed to.

His mech was a work of art. And that's not even an exaggeration. Usually the main purpose of mechs is to be efficient and practical. Blurr's Mech was made separately and so many people worked on its design that it could have its own end credits. It's beautiful, sleek, shiny and show-offy. It's designed to be awe-inspiring, but not so decorated that it's ridiculous.

When Swerve looks at its specs, he almost feels sick. Maneuverability, mobility, everything is absolutely top-notch. But most importantly, speed.

The technology to accelerate Mechs to incredible speeds has been around for some time, but the average robot doesn't reach even half of the technically possible maximum. Because even the fastest machine can't outrun the human brain.

After a certain threshold, pilots are no longer capable of controlling their own Mech. Human reaction speed is simply not enough to maneuver without crashing into anything or losing their orientation in space. And. Well. Without losing consciousness.

This has led to Mech manufacturers sort of tacitly agreeing on a rough speed limit and tending to stick to it. Just to make the technology safer and more suitable for everyone.

Regardless. Everyone except Blurr apparently.

Because the numbers across from his Mech's speed specs are horrifying. Swerve looks at the blueprints and thinks it's either freaking awesome or absolute suicide. Maybe something in between. Can a human being have reflexes like that? What about this turning mechanism? The numbers tell him that these levels of g-force make a large percentage of pilots just pass out.

Is Blurr really going to pilot this death wagon??

To achieve that kind of speed and mobility, they'd have to cut off half the armor or make it very light. Which would almost be like inviting a dangerous injury.

But if the Mech is made primarily to flaunt rather than fight...well... it probably makes sense.

Swerve's inner fan is sliding down the wall.

Blurr is incredible. And what's even more incredible is that he's kind of sort of almost Swerve's coworker now.

It only takes him a couple days to realize.

Everyone loves Blurr.

But the one who loves Blurr the most is Blurr himself.

The rose-tinted glasses are breaking slowly but surely. On the first day, Sverve walks up on shaky legs to get introduced. He tells himself that this is definitely not an attempt to get an autograph. They're coworkers. He's just...uh...greeting a new employee.

Blurr looks slightly bored.

“You're from this department....uh.. What's its name, whatever.”

Swerve clutches his hands in front of him so he doesn't accidentally drop anything

“OH.Uh yeah. Swerve! Engineering Department. You were there on a tour the other day. I usually work in the assembly plant, making armor for Mechs, developing new alloys. But I design too! I, uh.

(Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. He'll think you're a crazy fan. Don't talk about Blurr.)

Blurr starts to get sidetracked by his phone.

Swerve swallows awkwardly.

“I'm uh. I'm a big fan of yours. Sir.”

(Good job...)

Blurr chuckles softly and offers out his hand

“Well, nice to meet you.”

Sverve's hand is shaking like crazy, he hopes he isn't squeezing too hard. Working in the assembly has made his hands rough. Blurr's narrow, soft palm is almost sinking in his grip.

“ 'Nice to meet you, yes. Nice to meet you sir! If you, ah, if you have any problems or questions or uh, well. You know, if you need help with your Mech or upgrades or or.”

Blurr chuckles.

“I'll be counting on you~”

Swerve feels like his soul is about to break away from his body.

The next, day when they cross paths in the hallway Blurr waves to him.

“Hey you. Whatever your name is. Can you tell me how to get to Block D?

Swerve stops awkwardly.

“Ah. Of course! I'm Swerve sir. Come, I'll show you.”

Blurr smiles a beautiful, ad-libbed smile and follows him in

“Thank you darling.”

From this point on, the entire program gradually learns a simple but unpleasant truth.

Blurr is an asshole.

And nobody likes him.

He always has everyone at his beck and call. You rarely get to see him on his own. There's always someone swirling around him with a guilty or annoyed face. A sort of serve-get-show-explain designated poor guy.

Swindle treats Blurr like a precious antique vase.

Blurr treats people like his servants.

The whole world is in love with the glittering cover, the image polished to a squeak. Until recently, Swerve was doing the same thing. Now it feels more like an embarrassing crush.

Blurr still doesn't remember his name. He actually remembers at most three to four people by name, and calls everyone else “hey you” or “ darling”. After Swerve reintroduced himself to him for the fourth time he just sort of...stopped trying.

On the field, Blurr is incredible. No one can deny that. The tremendous speed of his Mech leaves all the other pilots in the dust. Whoever said human reflexes weren't fast enough? HA. When Swerve sees his reports and results, he gets dizzy.

The combination of such incredible speeds and light armor means Blurr simply can't miss. If he hesitates, if he falters. If he gets confused. The whole metal thing will smash him to smithereens.

And yet Blurr comes back untouched time after time.

Swerve's no longer inclined to think it's just because of his mad skills. He knows that Swindle is paying Blurr a lot of money for his cooperation. No one would let Blurr fight on the front lines, no. It would be too dangerous. He has to do just enough so that Swindle can record a commercial and in it call Blurr a badass pilot without adding small print to that statement.

Blurr's job is not to fight for humanity.

Blurr's job is to smile for the camera and take the applause of people who praise him for his bravery and sacrifice. Blurr's job is to sell his face, his voice and his skills to millions of viewers. He must impress investors, show off advanced technology and make a determined face saying that to save mankind he is ready for anything. And then get in a luxury car and drive off to some expensive place to burn a whole bunch of zeros out of his paycheck.

He's not someone who stays after work to help his coworkers. And he's not the one who spends his nights trying to save as many people as possible. But he is the first person every citizen would name if asked to say something about the Mech program. He signs autographs, makes big statements, and promises people he'll protect them.

And people believe him.

And they love him.

A month later, he still can't remember anyone's names and sometimes calls people by the colors of their clothes, laughing as if they should take it as a cute joke.

Swerve is sick of this spectacle. Swerve is sick of this man.

That's okay.

It's not like fanboying over Blurr is Swerve's only passion.

He gets upset.

Then he gets mad and rips down all the posters.

Then he has no time to be angry because Swindle wants to launch Mechs into outer space and damn it, Jazz flies off the planet and doesn't fucking come back. The engineering department stays up nights trying to figure out where he's gone, but they can't.

Unlike Blurr, everybody loved Jazz.

Unlike Blurr, Jazz deserved every ounce of that love.

The ground beneath his feet is starting to shake.

At first, all that happens is panic. Everyone starts making a confused noise, someone assumes an earthquake.

A voice on the speakers says that everyone needs to evacuate immediately, but no one hears it because huge mechanical tentacles start coming through the windows and the whole building starts shaking, creaking and crumbling.

Sverve has seen the monsters humanity has to fight many times. But never this close. And their size leaves him absolutely terrified. These things are huge, they take up all visible space. And what's most damning is that they can break down the walls around Swerve like a fucking cookie.

He's gonna die. Oh god he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die here under this stupid rubble or get eaten or turned into one of the ugly bloody stains on the wall. His heart is doing a million beats a minute and his eyes are starting to sting. He tries to get to the emergency exit, but the door is blocked by one of the huge toothy creatures that is actively trying to get in.

Next to him, Swindle is shouting to someone on his comm, trying to sound louder than the rumble of the collapsing building and the hungry aliens.

The floor tilts at a very disturbing angle and Swerve grabs one of the interior doorways to stay in place. A second later, he reaches out and pulls Swindle, who has already slowly begun to slip toward the monster's huge hungry maw, to the same doorway.

Swindle grabs onto the frame of the door and Swerve at the same time. His glasses are cracked and his usually neat expensive coat is all dust and debris.

“It was a trap.”

Swerve can't hear a word over the grinding of breaking structures.

“What?”

Swindle almost slips and falls, but Swerve grabs him by the scruff of his coat and puts him back on his feet. Working in an assembly shop gives a man strong arms and right now he's very grateful for it.

Swindle makes a second, louder attempt

“It was a trap!!! All available pilots are now on the other side of the country! I've called for backup, but who knows how fast they'll get here.”

A smooth, silky voice comes from a walkie-talkie strapped to his coat.

“Ouch Swindle. So little faith in my professional skills?”

Swindle rounds his eyes

“Blurr??! Where are you!”

Blurr's voice sounds...not quite as it usually does. It's missing the habitual lazy note. The one that makes him sound like the whole world owes him money.

“Give me another minute and the answer will be 'here'.”

The building shakes again. Swindle swears so eloquently that Swerve can't help but admire it.

Swerve can't stand Blurr's smug face, but when he spots the first glimpse of blue metal in the window, joy floods his brain.

He usually associates Blurr with dumb nicknames, dismissive treatment, and commercials.

Now he watches the sleek, fast Mech lunge fearlessly at the monsters surrounding the building and thinks that. Fuck this. He's an asshole, but if he buys Swerve enough time to evacuate, he'll bring him a thank you card or something later. Though it's unlikely Blurr will care about that of course.

Swindle continues to shout instructions over the walkie-talkie. Swerve basically drags him outside by. He jumps up probably a full meter when very near him one of the monsters falls to the ground.

Blurr's Mech stands proudly on top of the fresh corpse and looks...actually really bad. Swerve knows that this particular robot was not built for rough, open confrontation. Its armor is too thin. Designed for speed and agility, not strength. He assembled it himself, after all.

Many of the plates are crumpled. Some are torn off. His legs are intact, but one of the joints sparks funny.

Blurr quickly looks around and Swerve unwittingly follows his example. The whole place is on fire. Office buildings are in ruins and a huge column of black smoke rises above the assembly plant.

Blurr's Mech drops to the ground and gets down on one knee. The plates on its chest are pulled aside and Blurr sticks his head out of the cockpit while simultaneously opening the visor on his helmet.

“Everyone okay?”

Swindle clutches the walkie-talkie

“The office areas are empty, but there still could be people left on the lower floors of the assembly plant. But we have no access there!”

Blurr drums his fingers quickly on the metal plate

“Fire?”

Swindle shrugs his dusty shoulders

“Something exploded at the bottom of the building. It's a real smelter down there.

Even if we send a Mech, it won't last more than a minute before it overheats. Or make the building collapse.”

Blurr's gaze becomes focused. Sharp. Swerve has seen that look many times on tough front line fighters like Jazz. On Blurr, never.

“'That's enough time for me.”

Swindle waves his hands

“Are you crazy?”

Blurr slaps his palm against the armor of his Mech

“This baby is light. Lighter than anything you've got! If anyone can do it without dropping the building, it's me. They make Mechs in the assembly hall, it's got high ceilings right?”

Swerve wants to snap. He wants to throw his hands up angrily and yell something along the lines of “you were literally there!”

Who else is down there on those lower floors??? Tailgate? Maybe Wheeljack? If something exploded, Wheeljack was definitely there. And probably closest to the explosion.

Swindle curses furiously, but retreats and runs off to give orders to someone else.

“”Be a hero if you want, but I'm not going in there. For all I know there could be melting metal in there instead of a floor! It's just not reasonable.”

Swerve's brain stumbles over that statement. Why...Swindle is acting like he's being forced to climb into that building too...?

Blurr looks nervous.

“You know what. Fine. I got it. Hey, you--”

And there it is. The good old namelesness.

Blurr pays no attention to Swerve's frowning face, nor his hands shaking with fear

“ You're familiar with those buildings. You know who was there and where to find them right? I need you to walk me through.”

Swerve feels the urge to snap again and this time doesn't hold it back

“If you cared about something other than yourself, you'd know this damn building and the people who work in it too and !”

“I don't fucking remember!” Blurr interrupts him.

Swerve doesn't have time to put anything in after that. Though a sarcastic comment is begging to be made.

Blurr quickly takes off his helmet and wipes the sweat off his forehead.

“I don't remember okay! This isn't a fad or posing or whatever else you think of me. This is what an accident can do to you if you miss a turn! I can't remember shit, okay?! Do you need a medical report?!”

Swerve just...stands there with his mouth open and probably looks like an idiot.

Blurr nervously tucks back his disheveled hair. The longer he talks, the faster he does it.

“Now. I know you don't want to die in a pit of fire. But I need your help to save them. Don't do anything, just take the map. I promise I won't let you die.”

He sounds determined. And holds out his hand to Swerve, silently inviting him to climb up onto the Mech.

His face is stained in sticky dust, his hair is an absolute mess, and his narrow palm is covered in streaks of soot. It's as if he's been dragged face down a muddy road.

He's. Very Handsome, Swerve thinks.

He takes his hand.

Blurr helps him up, pushes him into the space next to the pilot's seat, and closes the cockpit.

“Been inside a working Mech ever?”

Swerve clenches his hands nervously on the back of the seat

“No.”

The lights of the consoles around him come to life as Blurr puts on his helmet. The space around him hums. It's a strange noise. At once unsettling and calm.

Mech feels alive, he thinks. Then corrects himself. Blurr is mind-linked to this Mech. This Mech can technically be considered alive in a sense.

Blurr moves one of the monitors toward him and opens the map.

“Just mark the path here. Don't touch anything else. And hold on tight. I won't be going too fast anyway, but it'll be shaky.”

Swerve swallows nervously.

“Understood.”

After that, everything turns into motion. Watching the Mech work while being inside is mesmerizing.

Blurr doesn't say much, concentrating on the controls. His hands aren't shaking anymore, Swerve notices. Not even a little.

He steers the machine forward confidently and smoothly, dodging falling debris and avoiding the biggest pockets of fire without panic or hesitation.

He's also strictly following the path Swerve is laying out for him.

The air filtration system is doing well so far. Swerve can feel the smell of burning and the heat slowly creeping up, but it's bearable for now. For now.

They find a man on the nearside of the emergency exit.

Two more people a floor below. A small group stuck in the elevator.

Wheeljack's on the doorstep of his lab.

Blurr pulls them all out. Picks up the first group of people and carries them outside, goes back into the fiery furnace, finds more survivors, pulls them out, goes back, searches, rescues, goes back, searches, rescues.

The heat is coming up. Swerve can feel it. The plates around him are getting hot. The air smells like burnt wires.

Blurr’s Mech wasn't designed for this kind of thing.

His Mech was made to flash for the camera and accelerate to impossible speeds. To deceive and confuse the enemy. Its armor is thin and cools easily in the air, which usually helps it avoid overheating.

This also means that this Mech heats up very quickly as well.

Now, with the air around him feeling like a red-hot frying pan, Swerve regrets not saying anything back then. He regrets that he didn't make any changes to the blueprint.

More and more warnings pop up on the screens. The map stopped working correctly some time ago and Swerve is forced to give directions verbally.

He nervously grips the back of the pilot seat with one hand and, without noticing, Blurr's shoulder with the other.

Blurr carries two more people outside and hands them to the rescuers. Then turns back to the building again and. OH FUCK. Right in front of him, a huge crack begins to creep along the structure. This thing is on the verge of collapse. The roof is already starting to fold down in a very bad way.

Swerve clenches his grip fearfully and hears Blurr hiss through his teeth.

Suddenly, the cockpit opens. The fresh air of the street feels like a cold sledgehammer blow after the heat and stuffiness of the lower levels.

Swerve is about to ask something, but doesn't have time because Blurr uses Mech's hand to gently but quickly pull him outside and set him on the ground.

“You were going to mark another spot.”

Swerve nods hurriedly.

“Tailgate is still there.”

Blurr wrinkles his face.

Swerve corrects himself and clarifies

“Bright blue uniform. Short. Considering all the places we've been, I think he's in the staff quarters. It's...”

He chews his fingers, trying to remember numbers and directions without a map

“...two floors down, left, another floor down and straight ahead.”

As he speaks Blurr bends over the side of the open cockpit and spits...blood on the ground. His nose is bleeding, Swerve realizes. That's not good. It's a clear sign of a malfunctioning neural connection. Or damage to his respiratory system? Possibly both.

Blurr doesn't seem to notice his worried look

“Two down, left down then. Shit. Wait. Two down, left then down, straight ahead yeah?”

Swerve nods.

Blurr keeps repeating these directions like a mantra. A very fast and creepy mantra.

His gaze roams strangely and his breaths sound hoarse. His teeth and chin are covered in blood and his face is streaked with soot.

Swerve understands. He's about to do another go.

Two down, left, down, straight. Two down, left, down, straight. Two down, left, down, straight.

Alone. He's going, and he's going to fry himself alive in there for a stranger he doesn't even remember.

Swerve doesn't have time to say anything. What's he gonna say? Stop? But he wants to save Tailgate? Go on, I believe in you? But it's certain death.

Swerve rarely has nothing to say, but this time he can't find the right words.

Blurr wipes the blood with his sleeve, wrinkles his nose, and storms off, heading back into the flaming mess the plant has become.

Not twenty seconds later, the roof collapses, spewing a huge cloud of smoke, ash, and fire into the sky.

Swerve wrinkles his shirt nervously in his hands.

The walls are still in place, right? If the roof is gone but the walls are still standing it's... it's. It's.

Damn it. He's trying to remember the blueprints. It means the ejector will work. It means Blurr can still get out through the top. That--

Blurr's not getting out. As the small, bright blue escape pod appears above the falling walls of the building, Swerve feels his brain stop. Remember the blueprints, remember the damn blueprints. The Mech is light, the design is compact, the space in the pod is for only one person.

In the capsule lies an unconscious Tailgate.

Swindle grasps the radio

“Blurr? BLURR!”

Swerve looks at the smoke and ash and feels numb. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He has to know. He doesn't...

He feels weird. The same kind of weird as when objects fly seemingly through him. Everything just stops being real.

The thought comes out of nowhere. You don't have to obey the rules. You can see more. Just look.

He's not sure how or why he's doing it.

No one around him is paying much attention to him. Everyone's busy with survivors and damage assessment or just stunned by the chaos.

And him? He disappears.

And then he appears at the bottom. Under the rubble.

All around him is ugly, molten and red-hot chaos, but he doesn't care anymore. He feels like whatever is happening is about to end and he just has to be in time. Time for him to find out.

Blurr's Mech lies crushed by the fallen roof. Its cockpit is open. A gaping hole where his chest was, the place where the escape pod had undocked.

Wall debris has pinned him in a crooked, grotesque pose.

Blurr is here. His legs are wedged between crumpled metal plates inside the cockpit, leaving him hanging upside down. His suit is charred. Half of his face is destroyed. It looks like a horrible bloody and burned mess. It's ugly and gruesome.

Blurr opens his only working eye and gives Swerve a cloudy look.

“I must be seeing things...”

Swerve shrugs in daze. He knows he shouldn't be here.

Blurr spits up a mouthful of blood

“I'm sorry I hurt you uh...”

“Swerve.”

“Yes. Swerve. It's hard for me to remember things unless they're...akgh...hell... not in my face all the time.”

Swerve moves closer and frowns

“You know, that explains but doesn't excuse you.”

Blurr closes his eye and coughs. That sounds really bad.

“No...I guess not.”

He huffs off the blood again. The burned half of his face is oozing with it. The blood runs down his forehead, collecting in a small puddle on the floor.

“It was better than letting everyone know what's wrong with me. I can't even begin to think about the amount of messes I'd be dragged into.”

Swerve notes that the fire seems to be getting closer.

This whole bit of dialog is so unnatural. Who even talks about that kind of stuff before they die. On the other hand. Well. Character development?

“So you think it's better to have everyone assume you're a jerk than that you got your head screwed on?”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“ You're a very specific kind of ghost.”

Swerve shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away

“I needed to know. Before you die.”

“That's ...akghhh...ha....it's good to know. Can you tell me something Swerve? As..agh...

As a last wish?”

Swerve shrugs again. He stares at the dripping blood. At the ugly, bubbling burns. At the burst vessels in his eye and the paths of blood from his bleeding nose. He looks at the broken and scorched and dying bloody mess.

He looks at Blurr.

And he thinks, until today, he didn't really love Blurr. Not with the posters and figurines. Not with the disdain and dislike.

He loved an image. And hated an image.

He reaches out and tries to touch Blurr's hand, but goes through it.

“I'm sorry. But we're both not really here. And I have to go.”

He can feel the cold metal around him, which is strange because he's standing in the middle of smoking and burning ruins

“But if it makes you happy, I guess you're my favorite character after all.”

Blurr doesn't answer. Swerve isn't sure he even heard him.

The feeling of metal around him grows sharper.

Someone shines a flashlight in his face.

Swerve blinks stupidly and tries to move away.

The unknown Autobot medic standing over him smiles happily and puts the flashlight away

“Welcome back. You've been in a coma Primus knows how long.”

The other medic to the side frowns

“You have zero tact.”

Swerve blinks his optics puzzled, raises his servo and for a while just stares at it like some movie character. All around him is an Autobot medbay. Metal walls. Metal instruments. And him. Metal.

Yes. Seems so. That's the way he's always been. That's right.

“Doc, you won't believe what kind of weird dream I had.”

___________

Swerve feels like he's going crazy.

He's standing in the middle of a hallway on one of the Autobot ships, and he's staring. shamelessly.

There's Prowl standing at the end of the hallway. And on his shoulder is...

“ JAZZ????”

Both bot and human turn around abruptly at his scream. And both look equally puzzled.

Jazz waves his hand

“Do I know you?”

Swerve is definitely going crazy. It's Jazz. The same one. From his...dream??? But he's real and tangible??? Sitting on Prowl's shoulder, talking and breathing and being seen by everyone not only Swerve????

“You're...real...?”

Jazz raises his eyebrows

“I am. Yes. Really Mech, you sound very familiar.

But I can tell you for a fact that I have not been friends with any Cybertronians before...”

This can't be, this can't be, this isn't....

It was a dream. The spawn of his TV series-addled mind. A hallucination. It wasn't real. It wasn't, was it?

But Jazz is here. And he disappeared from Earth. And now he's here.

And.

What the..

Swerve blurts out something like “sorry-sorry-see-you-later-now-I've got to go” and runs off.

“HEY DOC????”

The autobot, already familiar to him, flinches

“Primus...Swerve? Is something wrong?”

Swerve realizes that everything is about to either make sense or lose it completely.

“Tell me...is it possible to project a holoform...like...very far away?”

The Doctor tilts his head.

“Depends on power consumption. If you channel all the energy available in a frame, you can go very far. But that would send you into a...coma...if you...tried...Swerve, is there anything you'd like to tell me?”

“Doc do you know where Earth is?”

“Wha...no?”

Swerve chuckles nervously and bites his knuckles.

“I don't either. But I think I've been there...”