#but on the other side they have very good reasons as to why they are acting like that

[somerandomcockroach]

PLEASE WHEEEEEEEEZEEEEEEE

*DYING BIRD SOUNDS*

YES. YES IT'S SWERVE GODDAM I CAN DIE PEACEFULLY

I am dead. I am so dead.

I LITERALLY CAN'T EXPLAIN THE LEVELS OF JOY THIS WHOLE THING IS GIVING ME RIGHT NOW

YES. YES THIS NERD IS VERY GOOD AT IT PRAISE HIM Had a whole new full life on the other planet - "I got carried away"

PLEASE HE RIGHT AWAY KNEW WHAT TO ASK PFFFHT. Get all transformers to pass exams. I bet 60/40 not pass

WHEEEEEEEEEZEEEE OH MY GOD I LITERALLY. THEY. IT'S. THEY WORTH EACH OTHER WHEEEEZEEE

PLEASE SWERVE. TRUE HUMAN IS HORRIFIED AT THE IDEA OF THEIR BROWSER HISTORY, YOU PASSED THE TEST PFFHTTT .... OF COURSE AHHASGAH UM. HE IS ALIVE! I'M HAPPY HE IS AT LEAST ALIVE! *Nods* Onslaught is a genius indeed AH here comes plot

I continues reaching new levels of dead

Please it's.... how the hell... why... he almost burned to death, he needs a rest or at least to properly look after his skin... not this....

*looks in the distance* Pilots need a fricking tiktok or whatever to show their life to become a new group face

*inhale-exhale* THIS GUY OVER HERE ISN'T A SPOILER BRAT AT ALL. AT ALL. I DON'T KNOW FROM WHICH SIDE SPOILED BRAT WOULD DO IT ALL.

*Looks at Jazz* You need to talk Next phrase is him talking to Prowl and Jazz *Sitting back*

*incoherent sounds*

*EVEN WORSE INCOHERENT SOUNDS*

*goes out of the room*IT'S TOO GORGEOUS TO NOT POINT IT OUT BUT ALSO SO HORRIBLE Blurr... my sweet... ahh I love people under painkillers but I have a feeling the same would happen anyway pfffht. Imagine all of problems and now the thoughts of someone dying because of you ahah... great.... P[OFPGOFPIGOIPSEIES JAZZ YOU ARE TOO FRICKING GOOD AT READING PEOPLE, I'm sure he didn't change the mind about Swerve's reason of absence XDDD

DANG IT. DANG. DANGG. FEHJGEDWJHGBJMCW I'M 'BOUT TO PULL YOUR "GHOST" ASS IN FRONT OF HIS FACE FOREVER BEFORE HE ACCIDENTALLY DIES OR SOMETHING. FOR THE GOD'S SAKE *ROLLS ON THE FLOOR FLORRS WALLS LIKE A ROTATED 980 DEGREE SPIDER* HE SAVES HIM, HE GOT OUT TO SAVE HIM HERE. TAKE IT. TALK HIM DOWN. SHOW WHO IS THE TALKY BOSS HERE WITH THE LIBRARY OF A NERD

HMEWDBNBMCHMNBCHMHMHDSHSSHS *SLAMS ON THE KEYBOARD WITH THE HEAD* NO DON'T SHUT UP, BLABBERS, NEVER SHUT UP HELPA DHJGA Don't you love it when two characters blend it and play a bullshit game of no context to get attention out? You better love it because personally I am dying for one more reason It's so IRONIC even to use NORMAN name *BREAKS THE TABLE* HE IS REAL!!!! YEAH!!! MY NERD KNOW MORE ABOUT HUMANS THAN HUMANS DO. PHARMA, GET OUT OF HERE, BLURR HAS A PERSONAL DOCTOR ....Wellllll I mean TECHNICALLY you already failed at keeping all possible secrets, Swerve.....

I'M SORRY I JUST KEFERON, KISSING YOU IN EVERY POSSIBLE KISSABLE PLACE I NEVER THOUGHT I CAN GO THAT CRAZY OVER THIS SPECIFIC PART GOING ON AND HOW THE HELL ARE YOU SO GOOD AT ALL THIS I AM IN SHAMBLES AND SHAKING I LOVE IT TO DEATH AND WANNA PRINT IT

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

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

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

Part one

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

Under the cut⤵️

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

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

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

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

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

Uggh.

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

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

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

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

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

Freaking cursed.

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

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

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

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

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

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

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

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

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

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

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

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

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

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

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

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

“Mech, what the hell?”

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

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

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

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

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

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

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

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

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

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

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

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

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

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

Prowl hums

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

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

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

Jazz laughs

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

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

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

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

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

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

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

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

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

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

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

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

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

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

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

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

Prowl twitches his door wings

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

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

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

He's thinking.

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

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

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

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

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

“It's...complicated.”

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

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

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

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

It's also probably too late.

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

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

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

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

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

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

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

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

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

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

Swerve laughs.

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

“It's not harmful?”

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

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

Jazz tilts his head

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

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

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

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

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the place where he was last.

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

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

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

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

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

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

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

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

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

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

The answer is probably none.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blurr's name isn't there.

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

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

That's...something's wrong.

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

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

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

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

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

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

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

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

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

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

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

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

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

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

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

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

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

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

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

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

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

Swindle adjusts his glasses

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

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

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

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

Goes back to his seat.

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

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

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

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

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

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

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

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

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

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

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

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

Blurr's eye widens

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

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

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

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

Swindle puts his hat back on.

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

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

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

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

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

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

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

Blurr smiles sourly.

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

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

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

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, damn it.

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

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

Blurr ... is crumbling.

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

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

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

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

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

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

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

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

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

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

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

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

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

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

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

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

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

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

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

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

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

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

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

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

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

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

Blurr freezes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

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

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

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

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

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

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

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

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

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

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

...

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

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

____________________________

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

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

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

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

Jazz laughs

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

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

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

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

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

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

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

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

Left to himself.

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

....

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

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

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

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

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

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

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

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

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

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

“ Show me more?”

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

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

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

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

“They really drugged you huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

Race???”

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

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

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

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

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

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

“...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

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

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

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You'll tell me later?”

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

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

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

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

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

Swerve snorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve laughs.

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

_______________

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pharma tilts his head

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

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

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

“What do you mea...”

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

“No I'm just...”

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

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

Swerve shakes his head.

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

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

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

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

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

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

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

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

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

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

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve shrugs.

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

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

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

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

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

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

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

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

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

Blurr shrugs.

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

Swerve twitches.

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

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

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

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

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

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

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

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

Jazz smiles

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

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

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

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

Jazz frowns

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

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

[tanadrin]

There's this big gripe I have with a lot of television shows that are dramas, which is that they take the formal elements of modern prestige television--very good cast, high-quality cinematography, terrific music, often even a pretty interesting premise--and just fall completely flat-footed on the execution, because the plot has the structure of a floppy spaghetti noodle.

Plot can be just one damn thing after another, but in general this is not a satisfying way to approach plot. Satisfying plots usually have some kind of structure, build logically to some kind of climax (or even series of climaxes, in serial formats like television), often leveraging diverse dramatic techniques so that even if the plot temporarily veers off into some cul-de-sac or subplot, you feel like the overall momentum of the story is moving forward, is coming to some conclusion. In short, you feel like there is a reason for you to be watching this story in particular, that it has some weight or consequence for its characters, that each sub-element of the overall plot, each chapter or episode or what have you, is in retrospect a necessary element in the story the creator wants to tell, and the audience wants to watch.

(Obviously, for more episodic structures, which a lot of perfectly great TV shows have, the rules are different, because the plot of each episode is partially or wholly discrete; but a key element of modern prestige TV is a serial and not episodic format. I don't know why this is exactly, but I assume it has something to do with the long shadow of The Sopranos and the notion that episodic formats are for cheesy sitcoms or cheap science fiction.)

But almost every prestige drama and quite a few other shows I have tried to watch in like the past--I dunno. Ten years? Maybe not that long, but it sure feels that long--has the floppy spaghetti plot problem. The plot really is just One Damn Thing After Another, usually fuelled by characters having to hand off the Emotional Idiot Ball to one another to generate conflict. Hell, one reason Game of Thrones stood out was that it wasn't this: for all I have ragged on George R.R. Martin, I think he has some notion of structure, and though in a long-running book series you can let that structure expand and breathe, the parts of the show that followed the plot he laid out in advance benefitted strongly from having that structure to guide them. Most showrunners these days seem to think only as far ahead as the next episode, and boy, it shows!

I'm not saying all writers need to be J. Michael Straczynski, and plot their shows out five seasons in advance with multiple escape hatches for various characters in case their actor has to leave the show, but I do think I haven't seen a well-structured serial drama television show since around the time of The Wire. And this lack-of-structure problem has even infected a lot of episodic, decidedly non-prestige TV shows that have tried to incorporate overarching plots into their seasons, which I think is in part due to the idea that serial storytelling is somehow, I dunno... like More Serious Television? Anyway, I wish it would stop. I wish writers and showrunners would care more about structure!

(There's also a related problem where a show will start out with some interesting premise or concept, and abandon it like three episodes in to focus on side plots, despite the premise being the whole draw of the show.)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Sometimes I wonder how Eric Venue would react when he finds what happened to Vil. His son has overblot, got kidnapped not so long after his overblot, got involved in fighting another overblot, and he got old. How is he going to think about all of this?

Based on what we've seen and heard of Eric, he generally presents as very charismatic and easy to talk to. I'm sure a lot of that comes from his career as a celebrity--he has to have good camera presence and communicate well with those in his industry + fans. However, Vil tells us that while Eric is usually amicable, he can be a very different person when it comes to work and business. We the players never get to view this serious side to Vil's dad; it's only ever alluded to or mentioned in passing. I'd imagine that this is the side of Eric that comes out when he learns that his precious son, the apple of his eye, went through so many grueling experiences.

As a father, Eric must know how hard Vil works for his beauty and his career. I don't see him as the type of person to go and blame others for Vil overblotting; I think he would always have had that worry in the back of his mind. That's why he actively tries to make time for his son, even with both of their busy schedules--because otherwise, Vil might not have those reminders to take time for himself. Learning that those fears have become a reality would have Eric worry even more. Anger and upset would be secondary to that; I genuinely don't see Eric as a belligerent/vengeful person or someone who would blame others for something ultimately Vil (and his spiraling emotions) did. (Yes, Vil is the result of people labeling him as something he's not, but you cannot truly blame a system or reasonably be mad at a vaguely defined group of people/the public.) I feel like he would be more upset that whoever's in power (probably Crowley, lol) didn't take more preventative measures or didn't intervene sooner. Maybe Eric would be sitting in a meeting with Crowley and demanding to know what steps the headmaster intends to take next to keep his son safe. Like, not shouting at Crowley but moreso directing a very cold, stern anger toward him. I don't believe Eric would do something scummy (such as threatening to leak this to the media) in order to make Crowley take action. Such a thing would be disastrous for Vil's reputation, and I believe Eric would want to respect his son's boundaries and not act in overprotective ways that encroach on those boundaries.

Everything that happens to Vil in book 6 would still cause Eric to worry, but I think this time there would be a more positive spin on the events. Yeah, he is still very concerned about Vil being kidnapped, fighting an OB, and then losing his youth in the process. However, I do think that Eric would be less upset about the kidnapping since no harm really came of it and Vil did consent to being studied. Ultimately, Eric would be proud of his son for surviving those ordeals and especially for being so heroic that he was willing to throw himself into literal Tartarus to save a classmate. I just see Eric smiling from ear to ear as he embraces his son, welcoming Vil back and telling him that he truly is the fairest of them all, both inside and out.

[mpregandproud]

Santa Claus has come early this year

“Did we have to wait until the last minute to leave for a trip to my parents' house?”, I asked Trevor from the back seat of his car. I was nervous about seeing my family again for the first time in four years. And if you add to that the fact that I'm going to introduce my boyfriend, it's even stronger. But it doesn't stop there, because, surprise surprise, I'm about to give birth to twins, and at home they don't know it.

“My love, I haven't been able to take a vacation from work before. Remember, we need this job now that we are going to be four at home”, Trevor answered me with a smile, the one that made me fall in love with him years ago.

“Sure, if you hadn't insisted on fucking me without a condom the night of our graduation I wouldn't be like this now…and you know it”, I replied as a new contraction twisted me in pain. They've been happening with increasing frequency for a couple of hours now, but they say it's normal to have contractions the last few weeks of pregnancy.

“I don't remember you putting up much resistance. In fact, you had been insisting for months to fuck without condom, that nothing would happen”, again he was right.

The pain was returning, and it had only been a few seconds since the previous contraction. This didn't look good at all, for whatever reason, it seemed that my body was preparing to give birth immediately. I lifted up my shirt so I could touch my belly directly and somehow ease the pain. “Not now, my loves, wait a few days we have to get to Grandma and Grandpa's house and enjoy Christmas,” I whispered so quietly so Trevor wouldn't hear me and not alarm him.

“Scott, I know that in addition to your nerves about coming home after all this time you've been having contractions for hours. I've seen you looking sore and holding your belly with your hands non-stop since we've left our home. Are you sure you don't want us to turn around and go to the hospital?” he said very sweetly. Trevor doesn't miss a thing, as usual for him. He has always been very observant, especially when it comes to me. I've tried to hide it as best I can, but it's clear that with him I'm not going to be able to fool him that easily.

“No, I'm ok", I lied. "Let's keep going, we are no far from my parents house. The braxton hicks contractions are getting stronger than I thought they were going to be, but I'm ok, dear”, I replied.

The night before Trevor and I fucked so intensely that I guess it has accelerated labor. It was our way of taking out our physical needs for a few days. At my parents' house it won't be easy to fuck having them in the next room, let alone when my mother sees that I'm about to give birth. As a doctor she is sure to recommend absolute rest, and no sex. I gently stroked the huge belly I've been sporting for months now. It will be impossible for her to let us do dirty things when she sees me this fat because of the pregnancy. I look like a beach ball.

I had always been a skinny boy, until I started playing rugby at the age of 16 and my physique changed. In a few months I grew 20 centimeters, put on weight and gained muscle. I went from being the ugly duckling in class to a swan. In my village, which was very small, hardly anyone knew I was gay, not even my own parents, but in high school a few did. Actually, it was hard to hide it when half my class met me in the locker room during my senior year for post-game. You know what I mean.

Still, I went to college without my parents knowing anything about my private life. It's hard to come out as gay when you have very traditional parents and fulfill the alpha male prototype who is good at sports and attracts a lot of girls. The comments about why I didn't have a girlfriend or when I was going to bring a girl home were constant. I couldn't stand it, so as soon as I had the chance I chose a college far away, on the other side of the country, to get out of that environment and live my life freely.

It was the first summer after college, when I went back for vacation, that I told my parents everything. At that time I had a boyfriend, who was not Trevor, who I would have liked to take with me on vacation to the village and have them meet my family and friends, but it was not possible. I wish to introduce them, perhaps, at Christmas, so I plucked up the courage and told them I was gay and had a boyfriend. The conversation was very tense, and while they didn't kick me out of their house, it was a horrible summer, full of tension. My relationship with my parents worsened, so much so that I haven't seen them in person for four years.

My little sister did understand, she has always loved me very much and she has been the reason why I have regained contact with mom and dad in the last year. She has made it possible for them to understand that I am different and that is not a bad thing, that I have not failed them as a son. So it was only a matter of time before we saw each other again, and what better than a Christmas meeting to reconnect with the family.

The pain is already becoming unbearable. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH, FUCK,” I screamed. I was sweating. My whole body was already covered in sweat, my face looked like a tomato in red in reflection of the rear view mirror. So the inevitable happened, my water broke right there, in the back seat of Trevor's car, in the middle of a monumental traffic jam, just 10 kilometers from getting home. Everything that could go wrong was going wrong. I was in labor, far from a hospital, with two children in an immense hurry to come into the world and with the only company of my boyfriend Trevor, the babies' father. And no, Trevor is not a doctor, he works in marketing, which I highly doubt is a career that prepares you to deliver a baby.

As expected, Trevor stopped the car dead in the middle of the road. Dense, slow-moving traffic honked at him. Drivers honked as Trevor put the warning signal on the car and got out of the driver's position to come around back to lend a hand. He didn't care about anything else, his only concern was me and our kids. In all the pain I am feeling and the anguish of having to give birth in a car and without an epidural, I know I can't be in better hands, in the hands of the man who loves and cares for me the most.

I have told my parents about Trevor. I have told them how much we love each other and that we have been together for three years. My sister has taken it upon herself to show them pictures of us traveling around the country, going for a morning run together or cooking at home. We are like those ideal couples in the movies. All our friends tell us that we're made for each other, and even my sister, who hasn't seen us in person all this time, says she's in love with our relationship.

I met Trevor after I broke up with Ian, my first boyfriend in college. I was heartbroken after my first major heartbreak. Ian was very important to me in building up my courage and opening up to my family, even if it didn't quite work out, but he played a key role in my life. That breakup left me devastated and I became more lonely. I stopped partying, I became very lonely. That's when Trevor came into my life to change everything.

Trevor is what we can call a nerd. A very studious and hardworking guy. A person who doesn't quite fit into the world, although when you see him you don't quite understand why, because there is no more handsome and kind man on earth. His glasses, his brown hair and his green eyes made me fall in love with him, not to mention his perfect smile, my weakness. He came as Superman to save me, in fact he looks a bit like a superhero.

We met studying in the library, and then we started to meet in all kinds of places: in the cafeteria, at the college, walking around the campus… We decided to leave the coincidences aside and start meeting seriously. And from there we went from 0 to everything in the blink of an eye. I felt sparks, an awesome chemistry from the first moment, and so did he. It's like dating my best friend. The person who best understands me and complements me, a man who cares about me and helps me, who wants the best of me and loves me deeply. He has managed to make me settle down. I didn't see myself having children, sharing a house or living as a couple yet. I felt that all those things were things that older people did much later in life, but at 25 years old I am living a dream that I don't want to wake up from.

What I didn't tell my parents about was the babies. Trevor, my sister and I thought it was best to surprise them at the time. Coming out to them again as an openly gay man and in a stable relationship was already complex, so to add the babies factor to them was to complicate matters even more. We agreed that coming home with a huge pregnant belly wasn't going to be much easier either, but we trusted that the Christmas spirit would do its job.

Perhaps that spirit has done its job too well, as Santa has gone ahead to bring the Christmas present, their first two grandchildren are about to arrive in the world.

“Scott, lie down better like this and put your legs over my shoulders”, between pains I obeyed Trevor. Thank goodness he has attended childbirth preparation classes. I do as he asks with difficulty, resting my left arm on my belly to accompany the movement. I'm panting from exhaustion, and I haven't pushed a baby out yet. Trevor examines me and utters the words I was most afraid to hear, “he's here, I see his head, he's coming out. It's coming, baby”.

He put one hand on my belly to help me, and with the other he held my free hand, to convey his strength to me. “Take advantage of the contractions, Scott, very good. Push, now!” he said softly, encouraging me. The pain, immense from the contractions, came to nothing with the sensation of seeing that my body could be split in two by a huge baby that was coming out from between my legs. If that wasn't enough, for some reason, my penis became erect and a feeling of excitement ran through my body as well. I had already been warned that when we men give birth these things happen, but I never thought that the most terrible and the most pleasurable sensation could be experienced at the same time.

It took me five minutes to give birth to Ron, our first son. He looked like his father. A beautiful baby boy that Trevor wrapped in one of the t-shirts he carried in his suitcase. After I breastfed him a little he put the baby in the front seat. “I'm sorry to cut this moment short, but his baby brother is coming. My love, it's time to do it all over again. You've done great so far. A few last pushes and it will all be over,” he encouraged me.

I was already exhausted, exhausted from all the effort I had made. I wanted to stop, to end it all, to stop pushing and go back to cuddling my son. But I knew I had no choice. I couldn't delay that moment any longer. Ever since that night Trevor got me pregnant I knew this moment would come, though I didn't know I would have to experience it twice.

Nine months ago we graduated. Trevor in Marketing and Advertising and me in Literature. After four years of college we were going out into the world. Our colleges were next door to each other, so our graduating classes already knew each other, so it was no surprise when the two classes got together and decided to celebrate at the same time. For Trevor and me it was the best plan in the world, to be able to experience such a special moment for both of us hand in hand.

After the party we went back to our apartment together and we celebrated together, as we were supposed to. Trevor is right, I had been wanting to make love to him without protection for a long time, despite the risk of getting pregnant. I'll never admit it to him, but there was something about the risk of getting pregnant that really turned me on. Something inside me was screaming for it to happen. I was turned on by the thought that my boyfriend could plant his seed inside me and it would grow in the form of a baby. Without much thought we did it. It was one of the best nights of my life. Trevor was especially tender and affectionate with me, and he had never fucked me like he did that night. An electric current ran through my body, I felt more alive than ever and it was all thanks to this man I want to share the rest of my life with.

We found out I was pregnant just two weeks later. We had both just started working, he at a prestigious marketing agency and I at an independent book publisher that is in the process of expanding across the country. The news caught us by surprise. Despite everything, it was clear to both of us that we wanted to move forward with the process and have our little ones. We moved to a bigger apartment with the help of Trevor's parents and in the past few months we have been preparing everything for the arrival of these two children.

It hasn't been easy going from being a twink to a strapping guy and now looking like a beached whale. The two boys have grown a huge amount, not surprising considering both Trevor and I are both big men. The anxiety of planning to reunite with my family hasn't helped either. Food has been a way to overcome this life anxiety. The last two months I put on a lot more weight than is normal for this type of twin pregnancy. My doctor has conveyed his concern about the weight gain, although Trevor, on the other hand, has assured me that my pregnant self is the sexiest he has ever seen me in his life.

Maybe it's true that I make Trevor really horny when I'm this huge. During these nine months we haven't stopped fucking. Fortunately, my boyfriend is not one of those men who are afraid of hurting babies while their partner is pregnant, which never happens. Last night, knowing that we will spend the next few days at my parents' house, so it will be more difficult to make love there, Trevor proposed to me to repeat step by step that encounter in the early morning that led me to be pregnant nine months ago. I couldn't tell if I enjoyed more the night I got pregnant or the night that ultimately hastened my delivery. I think I'll go with the latter. Pregnancy hormones multiplied by 100 all the feelings. It was like being transported to another reality, living something totally new.

If he had asked me to have more babies at that moment, I would have said yes without hesitation. Now that I'm in the middle of labor and the pain is excruciating, I'm not so sure I was going to say yes to another pregnancy. But I don't want to fool anyone, it will be very hard for me to say no to this man. He will decide if he wants us to be a large family.

Although it looked like the second child was coming quickly, he is dragging his feet. He doesn't seem to want to move forward, so the pain is being terrible. “Trevor, I can't take it anymore, I'm not going to be able to,” I tell him sobbing from the pain and anguish. He caresses my face and encourages me to keep going, but my strength is getting weaker and weaker. I see his face and I know he is thinking of some way to speed up the delivery.

Trevor kissed me on the mouth, and then took advantage of the fact that I still had an erect penis to give me a blowjob. I rolled my eyes as my hands roamed my belly. I cum like I never had before, and everything started up again. “I read that this could help speed it up even more,” he told me washing his mouth with another of his T-shirts. “Ready to give birth a second time?” he asked, grabbing my hand again and placing the other on my belly, already smaller than before.

It took me five minutes to deliver Henry, our second child. Henry looked more like me. Trevor wrapped him in one more t-shirt, good thing this man packs a lot of clothes, and handed me both little ones to breastfeed. Already lying down and with both babies resting on my still swollen belly I breastfed them.

Trevor and I burst into tears looking at each other. We kissed. It was the happiest moment of my life. We had created life together, my boyfriend and me. Ron and Henry were the fruit of our love, two beautiful babies drinking from my breasts.

“Thank you Trevor for giving me the greatest gift of my life,” I said before kissing the father of my children again. “Anytime you want to repeat... I want a big family together with you, my love,” he said before kissing me again. “Let's wait a little while for me to recover and the little ones to grow up a bit to give them more little brothers, but we are in this together, we are going to build a huge and precious family together”, I told him. We stood hugging the four of us together, our first family moment together. The happiest moment of my life, even if it was in the back of a car, freezing cold outside and in the middle of a traffic jam. All the excitement of giving birth had made me forget about the nerves of being reunited with my family.

A new car horn brought us out of the dream we were living. Trevor sat up, sat in the driver's seat and started up again. “Do you want us to go ahead with the plan and go to your parents' house or would you rather go to the hospital to get looked at?” he asked me. “Let's go on, I'm feeling fine, and it's already Christmas Eve. I want to introduce my three boys to my parents. Besides, my mother is a doctor, if I need attention no one better than her”, I added without even looking at him, I only had eyes for little Ron and Henry.

It took about twenty more minutes to get to my parents' house. By then the two little ones were asleep and I had spruced up my appearance a bit. Trevor helped me out of the car and we both picked up one of the little ones in our arms. “Ready?”, Trevor asked me. I nodded, and grabbed his hand as the four of us headed home together. I was still walking sore and slowly, having just finished giving birth to two huge twins half an hour ago.

We rang the doorbell and my parents and my sister opened the door at the same time. My mother excitedly ran to hug us both and shower us with kisses. My father froze, but he looked thrilled to see us and greeted Trevor warmly, welcoming him to the family.

It was my sister who noticed the detail that Trevor and I were carrying with us in our arms. “When did this happen?”, she asked, breaking the dream my parents were living. When they noticed they both put their hands to their mouths in surprise and tears of emotion welled up in their eyes. “Half an hour ago, I gave birth in the car. This is Ron and Henry. Dad, Mom, congratulations, you're grandparents.” They ran to grab the little ones.

My mother was so excited, she was a whirlwind of words. She immediately started making plans to buy baby clothes, she was going to give her a crib, lots of toys and clothes. She immediately embraced her role as grandmother. My father, who has always been more serious, left little Henry to my little sister, and hugged Trevor and me at the same time. “Thank you for making me a grandfather. When you came out I thought I would never live this down. I had already made up my mind that I wouldn't have grandchildren from you”, he was crying with emotion like I had never seen him before.

“This is the best gift we could have this Christmas, my son. Santa Claus has come early to our home”, said mom and dad at the same time. My sister, who has always had great timing, capped off the moment with a joke. “With that belly of yours, little brother, you definitely look like Santa Claus”, she winked at me, and we all burst out laughing.

I took my hands to my rounded swollen belly that was still showing and that I had forgotten about a bit since I gave birth to Henry. This curve left no doubt that I had been pregnant, it even looked like I was about five months pregnant. When Trevor saw me bring my hands to my belly he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. He loves seeing me like this, and I'm starting to think I don't look so bad with this pregnant look. After all this is the price to pay for being as happy as I am right now. A price I'm happy to pay, and hopefully I'll have to pay it again soon.

I didn't believe in the Christmas spirit, but this year it has come into my family stronger than ever.

[mclarengf]

thinking about… trying to bake with daniel ricciardo

note: if danny ricc has a million fans, i am one of them. if danny ricc has ten fans, i am one of them. if danny ricc has only one fan, then that one fan is me. if danny ricc has no fans, then that means i am no longer on this earth. if the world is against danny ricc, then i am against the world. (happy holidays!!)

—

it’s christmas eve and daniel has instigated a food fight. you’re supposed to be making a pavlova to bring to his parents’ house tomorrow, but daniel’s seemingly decided that flicking meringue onto your face three times in a row is a good idea.

he looks away every time, whistling as if he’s done nothing wrong. you narrow your eyes at the back of his head, waiting for him to crack.

“what’s wrong, love?” he turns back and questions why you’ve stopped mixing the meringue batter, though his mouth twitches when he sees your expression.

this time, you stay silent, glaring at him.

finally, he laughs, eyes crinkling as he throws his head back. you wait for him to finish, crossing your arms and frowning.

daniel hiccups another laugh out and steps toward you, hands up.

“it was funny, you gotta admit,” he tries defending himself.

“i hate you sometimes,” you retort.

his face drops and he clutches his hands over his heart, “ouch, love!”

“oh, shut up, danny,” you sneer at him as you turn your attention back to the meringues, mumbling a, “cunt,” under your breath.

you can feel when he comes up behind you, warmth radiating off his body even in the summer. he wraps his arms around your shoulders, dropping his head down too.

“i love you~” he sings, trying to get back on your good side.

you say nothing.

you can practically hear him pout in your ear, disappointed in the fact that his actions have consequences.

“c’mon babe, it was just a joke! it’s christmas eve, you can’t be mad at me! i’m sorry!”

when you still don’t respond, daniel takes his arms off you and resigns himself to keep cutting up the fruit.

when he’s settled back into a rhythm of doing that, you scoop some of the mix onto your finger, reach over, and smear it onto his cheek before running to the other side of the kitchen so he can’t catch you.

“aw, you-“ he grins again, bright as anything, and lunges at you, chasing you around the island and through the living room as you giggle.

he finally tackles you into the couch. the smudge is still on his cheek.

“you’re silly,” you scrunch your nose up at him as you catch your breath.

daniel just smiles, admiring you beneath him.

“i love you,” he tries again.

“i love you too, dummy.”

he then collapses on top of you, holding you tight in his embrace. it’s nice; it’s like a weighted blanket which walks and talks and happens to be very annoying sometimes. you melt into his arms, and reach around to hug him back.

daniel’s always been your safe space, and you’re able to be that for him too now, with him being home a lot more than he had been in september, for some strange reason.

you don’t want to let his mind drift back to his career predicament with too much silence, though, so you nudge him and tell him to clean off his cheek.

instead of grabbing a washcloth, or a paper towel, or something sensible, daniel just runs his finger through the meringue and sticks it in his mouth.

you make a face at him, expressing your disgust. you can see the bits he’s missed still sticking to his skin.

“that tastes so good, baby. it’s gonna bang tomorrow night.” he looks at you in awe of your baking skills before dropping back down onto your shoulder. he’s obviously content with staying like this.

fine, you can cuddle for a while, you guess. the pavlova’s not going anywhere.

wait- the pavlova.

“fuck, danny, the meringue’s gonna go flat!”

you scramble off the couch and back to the kitchen so you don’t ruin joe and grace’s christmas.

when daniel comments on how the pavlova looks kind of funny at dinner the next night, you just kick him under the table and say he must be imagining things.

[pureastrologywisdom]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔏𝔦𝔟𝔯𝔞

Given this is a very dramatic title ~ apologies to all my lovely Libras out there ~ I will be talking about the struggles that people wit libra placements go through.

Let's start off with the perception of libra. These people are often viewed as being more superficial, however this is often due to people taking them at face value. They barely see what is beneath the surface. I put this down to Venus being the ruler of Libra. People often project their own relationship withy vanity onto them.

I will say this goes to all libra placements, but this is especially an issue for Libra rising, as this dictates how they are bering perceived.

Libra's are represented by the scales, this is because they are here to bring balance to the human experience. They are incredible mediators. They Like to consider everything before making decisions, perhaps they don't take on as extreme views as other because they can see both sides of an argument. This often gives them an unfair reputation of being indecisive or 'wishy washy'. In reality these people value being fair.

They can have a very altruistic nature about them, though once again they get a rep for being self absorbed. Not to say some undeveloped Libras aren't however. They want to create harmony around them, you can see how Venus comes into play here, and to have harmony you need balance ~ the scales.

Libras are air signs, however they dot get as much credit as the other sings that share their element, Aquarius and Gemini, for their intellect. I have seen this is because they are sometimes less forthcoming about what they know. Especially until they decide the right way to explain it. They want to present it right and well in a concise order/ with good reasoning.

Often Libras can become a wolf in's sheep's clothing, choosing to allow others to underestimate them.

Going back to the Libra being represented at the scales, I want to write on this is more of an esoteric sense. Libra as a sign is the balance between the material and the spiritual plane.

Stay with me... lets look at the signs each side of Libra...

You have virgo before ~ which is all about analysing the details of information that is in front of them. They look at a situation and break it down into little pieces. Virgo is also an earth sign, meaning they are very connected to they physicality of things, also making them incredibly grounded individuals.

Then you have scorpio afterwards ~ Scorpio is all about digging beneath the surface of things. Going much deeper, looking sag what is behind the things we can see with out eyes. It's all about intuition, noticing the unseen, unheard, unsaid. Remember Scorpio is opposite taurus which rules over the senses - scorpio is the 6th sense.

Going back to Libra - it's the balance between, considering both sides. Finding a balance between the physical and the spiritual. The logical and the intuitive. They are coming from both sides. This is often where their intellect differs from that of Gemini or Aquarius. This also helps us see why they prefer to be in their own heads figuring things out. There is so much going on up there we don't see and they don't share.

Thank you for reading everyone, I would love to hear your experience with these things if you have any libra placements.

Love from,

Pureastrowisdom x

[gatitties]

My hero academia gang reacts to a new student male!reader who has an unusual quirk of being extremely lucky. They can still fight and have insane strength of their own but their quirk when activated makes enemies stumble, their attacks weaker, get blown up by their own moves and perfect his own abilities. Not only does it affect them on the battlefield but outside in their daily life too. Everything seems to go their way without even trying. Perfect in school, perfect on the field, many lovestruck admirers, and a perfect hero in the making.

But in the reader’s eyes it’s more of a curse than a blessing. They try to minimize their quirk to the point it doesn’t have such a direct effect on their life. Reader comes from an insanely rich well renowned family who is thought highly of by society thanks to that lucky quirk. Also the reader is considered a pretty boy by everyone so he’s quite popular and a quickly growing fan favorite by the public. Everyone wants to be his friend. This actually makes them uncomfortable and insecure because they believe it’s just the quirk that’s making it all happen. Thats it’s not him that they want.

First meeting reader seems like the most perfect guy in the world who has it all. Confident, charming, and a model student. Everything goes right for him. But then people notice that he seems distant and avoids people some may see this as being stuck up but he’s actually afraid of making friends because he thinks it’s the quirk they’re really drawn to. But underneath he’s really an energetic, giddy, nerd with a lot of heart just wanting to break free of his family’s shadow and prove that he can make it on his own.

─MHA x male!reader

─Summary: Your family and your quirk don't help you trust others, but you try to make a change, step by step.

─Warnings: none

Sorry if this is too general and not focused on just one group more :(

─ When you start the hero course everything goes as you thought, your parents' position and old reputation at school only made you stand out like a sore thumb among the other teens, you were a correct, polite, patient, good student… a perfect model of the best version of a student.

─ Practically all the departments and teachers knew about you for one reason or another, of course, your influence and power made you be in class 1-A, where you found those who admired your quirk and others not so much.

─ It was more than nice, although strange, to be rejected by Bakugo without having really done anything, that guy just hates everyone by the looks of it, but since you had never been rejected, it made you feel that he was really sincere about his thoughts about you.

─ That didn't mean you stopped paying attention to others, the class itself was quite welcoming, there was that determination that characterizes all heroes, although the first few weeks you only leaned towards small interactions due to your insecurities.

─ Your ability was very useful and certainly something out of the ordinary, where you can find mutations or alterations of space, you are simply lucky and depend on your own body, many people find it incredible, and many people only approach you because of that same ability, if you think about it, you can have everything you want if you have luck on your side!

─ You hate it, that's why it takes you a long time to really be friends with anyone, no matter how friendly Izuku's group is, in your eyes they are not being sincere, on the contrary, Bakugo's group along with some other students from class B will think that you are conceited, that you think you are better than others and that is why you don't want to spend some time with them.

─ The fact that you minimized the use of your ability is what made you develop that good layer of muscles, since if you don't want to depend on your quirk, it's better to have your body and mind well trained, being in good shape also ruined your mood a bit, it made you more popular among some people.

─ The teachers are the only ones who know why you are like this, maybe they have received some warning from your parents, they know how hard it is for you to make friends and they didn't want you to close yourself off.

─ Sometimes they are the cause of this, you carry the whole family lineage and many hopes on you make you feel unsure if you will be as good as all of them, unintentionally they put those expectations on you, although you won't let them know.

─ Aizawa pairs you with Uraraka, Mina, Denki or Kirishima, since they are the ones who are most open to talking to anyone naturally, probably one of them will be your first friend.

─ All Might will leave you in Izuku's hands, he knows what his boy is like and this broccoli is willing to make you feel much better, although he doesn't understand why sometimes you still prefer Bakugo's company.

─ When small bonds of friendship begin to blossom, you decides that you should make friends on your own, since it had been the class itself who had taken the trouble to make you come out of your mental hiding place, this time you should be the one to initiate the interactions, you thought it would be a step forward to put aside your insecurity.

─ It wasn't easy, Monoma didn't like you very much (he just doesn't like anyone from 1-A), still, just like with the explosive blonde in your class, you were glad it was like that, you knew he was totally sincere, although if he went too far making comments here and there that could be hurtful, Kendo would take care of giving him a good punch.

─ Kendo, Tetsutetsu and Ibara are pretty easy going, so you consider it a personal achievement to have made friends with them on your own, when you tell your group of friends from 1-A they are happy that you have managed to leave behind the prejudices about your quirk and make more friends on your own.

─ As for Todoroki and Hitoshi (who you coincided with a lot because of Aizawa) they were the hardest to relate to, they also distanced themselves from people, like you at first, although they did not hide a personality as bubbly as yours once you move around in a more comfortable environment.

─ Quite nice once you manage to get past their walls, like you, they thought they did not need anyone to move forward, that company would be useless or interest moved people, but many people have shown you that those thoughts are false.

─ You also took the time to talk to your family, all the burden that came with being the son of a big company or two well-known figures, you wanted to have more room to make mistakes in practice, to experiment without having an accusing eye for your stumbles being part of the family, to demonstrate your worth without the need for your last name.

─ Almost everyone loves the new change (Bakugo is not yet in his redemption arc), before you looked good, but your gaze was lost and dull, now your smile is sincere, your eyes have a new light and you take the time to chat at length with every person who stops you in the hallways.

[connor-123-idk]

Can you talk more about the concept behind RSA!Rook?

I wanted to post chapter 2 today, but I have another family meeting, so I shall just yap

What's up with this guy, and what is his concept

So, it was not easy to came out with this idea in the first place. Snow White itself doesn't have many of characters, especially when it comes to bad characters. The fact that i made RSA!Vil a Snow White should say that a lot, because for him I had to switch between Neige and Vil (lazyyyyy)

I was trying to came out with alternative of sort for Rook, but then I thought the other way. Instead of important character I should do something else important

The concept of ,,beauty" is one of important concepts in Snow White and Seven Dwarfs, but so is ,,revenge" and ,,death"

When you take a look at source, Evil Queen was trying to kill Snow White 3 times, one of them was with the corset OR a ribbon, depends which version we read. That's why RSA!Rook has a very tight corset, that looks like he's almost suffocating

The other way was poisoned comb, which on the other hand I gave to RSA!Vil design

(Its there, you just gotta look closer)

And the last was poisoned apple, which can be seen on Rook's hairpins

Thats why Rook has 3 pins on one side but what about other pin?

Its death of Evil Queen. Where in original she died dancing in hot shoes and lost a lot of blood in process

I made the design mostly thinking about Doctor Plague, but also such characters like Nanno from ,,The Girl From Nowhere", and the black hands are inspired by Arlecchino from ,,Genshin Impact".

Due to RSA!Rook being based on the concept I had a lot of artistic freedom with him. Some fans even influenced his design and character. His first version didn't have a make up back then, until one of fans commented that he would look better in it. I made some research about goth make ups, and put it on Rook, which looks way better in my opinion

Also some fans compared him to Wednesday, which gave me a good reason to why he doesn't wear dorm uniform (cough cough color allergy)

What role will he play in the Main Story? I honestly dont know myself since I planned only Book 1 - Book 3, so I wont say much in that matter

Anyway. I think I yapped enough 🥲

[omnium-gatherums]

My apologies for being incapable of having short responses, ha.

For one, this post is mainly addressing a common sentiment I've been seeing throughout the years online with regards to DID about people seeming to think that seeing alters, say, have their own names and Tumblr side blogs and pronouns and profiles as a bad thing.

A lot of people see alters expressing themselves online and will fake-claim that system, will claim that this is "glorifying" DID or "romanticizing" it.

I see this CONSTANTLY! I see this on Tumblr, I see it on Reddit, I'm certain it's on plenty of other websites I don't use.

Because these types of people have a grave misunderstanding of what DID is, how it works, what and who alters even ARE. They see alters as the side thing that just happens to DID, when the person with DID is always an alter. These people will sit here and act like the mere act of, say, me expressing and introducing myself online as a specific alter and they'll look at that and fake-claim and act like it's romanticizing or glorifying DID and, pray tell, I just have to ask these people what part of me am I allowed to express? Do you see DID as "the host, and then the alters" and you think I'm a host right now, and it's acceptable to express myself because you think I'm a host, as if "host" is "the main/actual/real person" and not just another alter? What part of me is acceptable to express? What part of me is allowed to be expressed, online or not, and which parts of me aren't?

I never brought up anything about covert or overt, and that's actually for a very specific reason (the tags mentioned covert/overt, but that was that person specifically, not us). We haven't said a single thing about overt or covert in this entire post, and this is actually partially why - what I'm saying and what I'm talking about is being incorrectly conflated with meaning "Being Overt" or "being separate, distinct People" when that isn't what I was saying or implying. Being covert or overt has nothing to do with this.

I'm talking about alters expressing themselves, and I think this is incorrectly being conflated to meaning overt or meaning "distinct, separate people" when that's not what it means.

Let's take away the DID and alter stuff for a moment:

Humans express themselves through many ways - we express ourselves with our names and having our own hobbies and interests, yes, but we also express ourselves just in terms of, like. Talking to a friend about the stress we're going through.

When you, as a person with DID, are expressing yourself - by talking about your trauma to your therapist; by communicating with the different parts in your system; by allowing parts to simply BE who they are instead of suppressing them and trying to hide them - it is alters expressing themself.

That means nothing about whether or not those parts exist with a separate name, separate hobbies, or just generally are their own "distinct person."

Remember my example with my part 'Tea' - I came into therapy one day, very excitable, energetic. I felt embarrassed for Being The Way I Was in that moment and my brain switched to someone else almost immediately, because of that embarrassment.

Months later (or even a year later, I don't even know anymore lmfao), I came into therapy pretty energetic and excitable again. But this time, I felt safer and more comfortable. We didn't switch to another part out of embarrassment, I felt safe to be myself in that moment.

This is what I mean.

Overt/covert has nothing to do with it.

What self-expression means to me is going to be different from other people, and what self-expression means to them is going to be different from me. For us, it means allowing ourselves to exist as we are and not trying to force us into a closed-off box of "Being One Person." For you, maybe it means simply ripping up paper to express anger (i.e. a specific part in your system ripping up paper to express the anger they feel). And that's still self-expression, and that's GOOD!

I will clarify, though, that my second addition/reblog was more talking about my personal thing about our own journey, just as an added ramble-conversation to do with what the tags said. It was not meant to be applied to other people - I did feel that that person's tags were important, but it's not meant to be a generalized Rule of "everybody with DID must be like this to heal." I did not feel the need to put disclaimers about "just to be clear, this isn't about covertness or overtness, and being covert or overt has nothing to do with this" because it didn't feel necessary, but to clarify:

Being "overt" does NOT mean "lower dissociative barriers"

Being "covert" does NOT mean "higher dissociative barriers"

Alters expressing themselves does NOT mean "overt"

Having lowered dissociative barriers simply means communication between parts has improved, amnesia has been lowered, etc.

Whether or not a system is "covert" or "overt" is less to do with dissociative barriers, although it CAN play a role, whether or not a system is "covert" or "overt" is actually more dependent on that specific person - their life, the trauma they went through, the environments they were raised in.

Nearly every single ""OVERT"" system I have known have had very specific life experiences that have lead them to develop this presentation. When you hear about these systems and they explain things about their life, how they were raised, their trauma, it becomes clear that the presentation their DID took the form of had way more to do with their personal, specific life experiences and less to do with anything about how high or low their dissociative barriers were. Although, yes, again, that CAN play a role, but not as big of a role as you might assume - MANY, MANY "overt" systems have very high dissociative barriers.

To be a bit more clearer: alters expressing themselves can give an idea of whether or not a system is "overt" or "covert" (I think this terms are shaky and muddy and blurry anyways and ultimately don't think they're very helpful, but that's a discussion for another day), but alters expressing themselves doesn't mean anything about being overt. It just means expressing themselves, and that can be in "big" ways (having your own name, pronouns, and personal hobbies and interests) or "small" ways (allowing yourself to express your anger in a healthy way; talking to your therapist about trauma and finally feeling safe enough to do so, etc.).

It took awhile to write this post, and I hope this helps.

"DID is most often hidden and unnoticeable" as in "MANY symptoms of DID, including the symptom of switching from one alter to another, are easily passed off as something else more 'normal' and not readily understood as switching from one alter to another" but you people seem to think that it means "alters don't really have differences actually and if you're allowing yourselves as different alters to know yourselves and express yourselves, you're lying/faking/wrongly self-diagnosed/glorifying DID/romanticizing DID-"

What part of dissociative IDENTITY disorder don't you understand?

You see someone with DID simply existing as themselves (alters existing as themselves) and see someone faking or roleplaying DID or wrongly self-diagnosing or "making DID their whole identity" when really it is literally no different from somebody expressing a side of themself to a friend that they otherwise feel scared to express. It is literally just self-expression.

Tea is an alter in my system who is extremely hyperactive, energetic, exciteable. She stands out. And one of the first times she was fronting in therapy, when I was noticing how different I was and how hyperactive I was, I felt embarrassed and switched immediately. And then many months later, the next time Tea was fronting, and me and our therapist realized it was her who was fronting, we didn't switch! We/she, felt safe and okay enough to behave the ways she does. I didn't switch in order to not behave in those "weird" ways, and I didn't try to suppress the ways I wanted to behave and just Be.

This is huge! It was a huge thing for us in that therapy session. And we've only been continuing our journey with finding ourselves, finding out who we are, and allowing myself to "be" "different."

Alters expressing themselves differently is merely allowing yourself the right to self-expression. It is allowing yourself to truly "be cringe." It is allowing yourself to know yourself. To know who you really are. It is an important and huge aspect of recovery with DID.

Alters are not Nothing, that is an entire aspect of this brain's identity that could not integrate into the rest of the brain's identity.

You people continue to see DID as "the actual person versus the alters that just influence that Real person" when it is more like "all of us are That Real Person. That Real Person is different alters sometimes" like people will say these things about DID being treated like an "identity quirk" just because you see an alter expressing themself when in reality what you are doing is not that different from someone making fun of some kid because they're pretending to be a cat.

You are seeing somebody with DID merely expressing an aspect of their identity, merely expressing themself, and that's bad to you because you continue to incorrectly view DID as "the actual, real person and their alters" when those alters ARE "the real person", just dissociated into its own box.

You continue to see "The actual person, the Host, who is actually a person, oh they can express themselves! :)" but it's suddenly bad when it's not what you think is "the host/the Real/Actual Person" because, again, you people are continuing to incorrectly view alters as these Side things that just pop up and they can't self-express or have their own names or have hobbies and interests or Tumblr side blogs and act like that's bad and it means someone is "roleplaying DID" or faking or "romanticizing" when it is LITERALLY, and I mean this SO literally. It is LITERALLY just expressing another side of yourself.

[tommykinard217]

Saw a lot of tags on a post saying that Buck and Eddie's friendship feels so one sided sometimes and they're RIGHT!!

Like looking back at their friendship, it really is so true. And I think that's yet another reason why I can't get behind them as a ship (other than the narrative straight up telling us that they aren't interested in each other like that, would not make good partners for each other, AND the fact that Oliver and Ryan have very little chemistry in general (imo)) and it's because if they are supposed to be friends to lovers, they don't even really achieve the friends part

[ladykailitha]

Howlin' For You Part 2

I love how that rhymes! What can I say I'm a dork!

Ah yes the little ficlet that got away from me. The first part is here. The main story is here.

I actually just love this verse in general. It's just a fun little world to play in.

Tomorrow there will be no WIP Wednesday due to the holiday. But I will be back next week with maybe a new fic for you to request. We'll see how far I get.

Sunday is also the beginning of my hiatus. Every once in awhile, I take a break from posting to relax, spend time with my family and fluff back up my backlog. I'm just not sure who long it's going to take. I said two weeks last time and I was ready to get back at it after a week. But we'll see.

~

Steve thought he looked ridiculous, like he stepped off the covers of some Harlequin romance. All he needed was a busty blonde trying to rip his clothes. Which he honestly didn’t know any. He was too well-bred to tug at his cravat even though he wanted to.

Not that it was too tight. It was impeccably tailored. That was the upside to having friends in every avenue of the supernatural community is that clothes were always made by the best tailors and seamstresses in the world. Saville Row in London wished they had the talent of the elves that made his attire tonight.

His outfit was based on the military attire of the period he was representing tonight. All of his pack were dressed similarly. Even his female alpha wore the white slacks and red coat, though hers was less resplendent then his. Her words, not his. But they cut the dashing pair.

Next to him, Chrissy was wearing a classic ballgown all in black and trimmed with red lace. But only a fool would think either of them weak.

There was no softness in her features. If Steve looked like he walked off the covers of a Harlequin romance, Chrissy looked like she walked off the cover of a gothic horror romance novel. Her eyes were cold and calculating. Though, her cover would absolutely have a pretty young woman in her clutches.

He looked up as Eddie and Wayne were announced and smiled. Now he knew why Robin was insistent on their looks. Now, Eddie and Steve would match. God, he loved his best friend.

Next to him, Chrissy bristled when Eddie’s friends came up to him as soon as he entered. Steve put his hand over hers.

“Now, now,” he murmured. “The silkie, sirens, and gwyllgi don’t owe the vampires any deference and don’t know Eddie and Wayne are supposed to greet you first. And they will. Just wait.”

Chrissy took a deep breath. “You’re right. My apologies. I’m not used to interacting with the supernatural community at large. Vampires tend to be very insular by nature. Comes with the whole needing to drink blood to survive.”

Steve nodded. Werewolves were the same. But that was the reason for this ball in the first place. To foster those connections with the supernatural beings they went to school with, worked with, lived along side of.

After the showdown that left the coven in tatters and the werewolf pack in chaos, both Chrissy and he thought this would be a good idea to have an occasion to celebrate the community that came together to rid this town of evil.

Halloween and New Year’s Eve had been floated around, but Steve thought the best night to have it would be the winter solstice. It wouldn’t be on the same day of the year and full moon excluded, it held a great significance for many members of the supernatural beings that made up their small town.

And so the Yuletide Ball was born.

It was going great so far. Well, mostly. There was that one incident...but no one was hurt and everything was fine. It was!

~

Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off Steve and Chrissy. They exuded power in a way that drove him wild. Wayne had that from years of experience, but these two were born to it. Eddie was so glad one was his best friend and the other was his boyfriend.

He was about to go over to them to greet them like he was supposed to, when Gareth and Brian came up to him with their dates. Barb looked stunning in a dress that looked like waves out on the water in various shades of green, while Brian was in a tux and feathered short cape. Gareth wore traditional hunter’s garb with a black fur cloak. His date was another gwyllgi from his pack, a young man named Darren, who was blushing next to Gareth.

“Hey!” Eddie said with a big grin. “You all look great!”

They chatted for a moment before Eddie finally made his way to the center of this and every universe, Steve.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greeted with a kiss and then bowed to Chrissy. “Your Dominus.”

“Eddie,” Chrissy said as they kissed cheeks. “I’m so nervous right now. A fight almost broke out between Jonathan Byers and Darren Driscoll.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “What happened?”

“Apparently werewolf greeting and gwyllgi greeting are two separate things,” Steve said with a wince. “Only no one was told, so when Darren wouldn’t bare the back of his neck as per werewolf greeting, Jonathan got his hackles up thinking Darren was trying to slight him.”

Eddie blinked at them for a moment. “Oh shit. Yeah, gwyllgi only scent each other if they hadn’t been introduced first.”

“Yup,” Steve said pursing his lips and rocking back on his heels. “Thankfully Gareth dashed between them and explained things before either of them transformed.”

“Thank god for Gareth’s quick thinking, then,” Wayne said, coming up behind Eddie. “We should get Nancy to interview and catelogue all the different set of manners from everyone to avoid that next year.”

Steve smiled. His former female alpha had found herself at loose ends after Robin replaced her and this would help with that. “I think she’d like that a lot.”

Wayne bowed his head to Chrissy. “Your Dominus.”

“Your suggestion is elegant,” Chrissy said in lieu of a greeting. “Would you wish to inform her of it?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Wayne said with a smile. “I’ll go to see to it now.” He bowed his head again and then was gone.

“My apologies, Eddie dear,” Chrissy said, “but I don’t know how Billy tolerated your in his territory for as long as he did. That man is simply too powerful.”

Eddie smirked. “Because it’s not Billy who did the toleratin’, and by extension you. He tolerates you in his territory. He’s been here since the town was seventy settlers, nine vampires, and sixteen werewolves. And I think it’s best you remember that fact.”

Chrissy opened her mouth to protest but found that she couldn’t. She stared at Eddie in shock and then bowed her head.

“Whoever sired your uncle must have been powerful indeed,” she murmured.

Eddie licked his lips slowly and the look on his face sent a shiver down Steve’s spine. Eddie, of course new who his grandsire was. But whoever it was, the young, newly turned vampire wasn’t saying.

Eddie bowed and then turned to Steve. “May I have this dance?”

Steve nodded and let him take him by the hand to lead him out to the dance floor. Unlike the vampires here, he didn’t need to afford Chrissy any deference as he was her equal. They glided together as they moved across the dance floor.

“Is your pack still pressuring you to take a mate?” Eddie murmured into Steve’s ear.

“No,” Steve said fondly, “after the events with Murray and Billy they aren’t keen to see me reproduce. Too afraid that I would imprint my forward thinking views on the new pups.”

“Baby,” Eddie said morosely. “That’s not a good thing. They should be respecting you, instead of this backtalk again. Didn’t they learn anything?”

Steve snorted. “I guess not. I thought that having Robin as my female alpha would help, but it someways I think it’s made it worse. The two outsiders running things.” He shook his head ruefully.

“Especially after you had to expel Tommy from the pack as Keeper,” Eddie murmured. “Thankfully no one had the ill sense to take his side, especially since he went willingly. But the fact that a Keeper hated the alpha so much he turned traitor? Yeah, that’s not a good look.”

Steve pressed his cheek to Eddie and breathed, “They don’t like that I’m dancing with you, either. But somehow Lucas and Max are perfectly fine to be pressed cheek to cheek as they glitter like stars on the dance floor.”

“That’s because I was born to ruffle feathers, darlin’,” Eddie said with a sigh. “Or in their case fur. But you’ll have a long and prosperous reign as alpha and they will either change with the times or leave.”

“I wish I could follow through with my threat and make you my mate,” Steve murmured, “werewolf law be damned.”

“Um...” a voice said timidly behind them, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but there’s no law that says your mate has to be a werewolf.”

Eddie and Steve stopped dancing and turned around. Standing there was a spunky blonde girl with actual fucking ringlets.

“Who are you?”

The girl beamed up at him. “Hi! I’m Suzie Bingham! Dustin invited me.”

Eddie and Steve shared a look of surprise. Dustin had been sent to a science and math camp for werewolves the last part of the summer and had come back with a supposed girlfriend. A girlfriend no one thought existed.

Until now.

“Hello,” Steve murmured. “You’re from the Provo pack, correct?”

“You remembered!” Suzie said brightly. “But about the whole mate needed to be another werewolf is bull crap.”

“And how do you figure that?” Eddie asked eyeing her curiously.

“Mormon werewolves get a bad rap because of the whole polygamy thing,” she said with a wince, “but we’re really good at keeping records.”

Steve rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And what do your records say?”

She beamed up at him. “That the most famous pack in the Midwest had silkie for a mate in the 1840s.”

“Okay,” he hedged nodding with pursed lips. “But I doubt the silkie was male. The point of the alpha is to breed.”

Suzie wrinkled her face in disgust, pulling her chin down to her chest. “Gross. And I thought our family values were messed up.”

“Listen, Suzie was it?” Eddie asked with a feral smile. She nodded, her sunny attitude never dimming for a moment. “Would you please get to the point? Please!”

“Oh!” she said, eyes wide. “Shoot! Right. So the purpose of an alpha male isn’t to breed with the alpha female or any of the women of the pack to breed more werewolves. The point of the alpha is turn people into werewolves to prevent inbreeding. Which brings me to my point. The point of the alpha’s mate isn’t to bring pups into the world but to stand as his second in command.”

“But isn’t that the point of the female alpha?” Steve said, tilting his head in confusion.

Suzie shook her head. “The point of a female alpha is so that the women of the pack have someone to go about problems inherent in being...well female I guess.”

Eddie and Steve stared at her in shock and then glanced at each other.

“I don’t even know where the notion that the female alpha was supposed to be the second in command came from,” she continued to ramble. “Maybe someone looking at wolf packs would be my guess. But werewolves and wolves aren’t the same thing. Even the wolves we turn into tend to be bigger than any beast found in nature. I’m hoping my dad will let me study them so I can compare the two cultures.”

“And would you be willing to tell everyone that?” Steve asked innocently.

“Oh I already have been,” she said with a grin that belied the cute exterior. “Since I got here yesterday, in fact. But you’ve been so busy planning this wonderful party, that I haven’t gotten the chance to tell you that.”

Steve smiled at her. “And will you be joining us for the full moon celebrations on Monday?”

Suzie batted her big blue eyes up at him and smiled so sweet and innocently. “It would be my honor.”

She curtsied and then was off again, probably back to Dustin. Steve watched her go with growing fondness. He looked over at Eddie who was grinning at him.

“What?”

“Are you going to adopt every teenager you meet or just the werewolf ones?” Eddie asked sweetly, leaning into his space.

Steve’s jaw dropped and he nudged him out of his space with his elbow. “Excuse you! Mr. I-Must-Adopt-Every-Lost-Sheep-in-High-School!”

Eddie batted his eyelashes. “Darlin’ I don’t believe I implied that I wouldn’t co-parent with you, I was just wondering how big our brood was going to get is all.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed. It was Eddie’s favorite laugh. Eyes screwed up tight, mouth open and wide, his shoulders shaking with genuine mirth.

“Not all of them,” he said when he could catch his breath. “Just that one. Because she’s right, vampires tend to be insular because they have to be, but werewolves shouldn’t be. By their very nature they have to be social.”

Eddie nodded, his lips pressed in a firm line. “And thanks to the former pack going to crazy with the whole killing humans and all and the aftermath of that, for the last fifteen years the former Harrington, now Roane pack have been isolated from other packs.”

“Thanks to Murray,” Steve said rubbing his chin. “But how to convince them that everything they know was fed to them by fucking Wormtongue.”

Eddie kissed him firmly on the lips in the most searing kiss.

“Wow,” Steve said blinking in shock. “What did I do to deserve that?”

“You talked nerdy to me,” Eddie growled. “You said Wormtongue and you got it right. That was so hot.”

Steve blushed.

Eddie tapped Steve’s forehead. “But enough about the pack and all that bullshit. I shouldn’t have brought it up, we’re here to party and not play politics.”

And then as if the musicians Chrissy hired had heard him, the music changed from a minuet to something more upbeat.

Suddenly the floor was flooded with people and they were dancing. Eddie twirled Steve around and Steve laughed as he gracelessly stumbled around in a circle. Even Chrissy and Wayne were out on the floor cutting loose. They made for an odd couple, but they were clearly having fun.

Then Steve spotted him. He was hiding in a corner, sipping on mulled wine and trying to look inconspicuous. Which probably would have worked on every other member of the party, but not Steve.

He whispered in Eddie’s ear that he’d be right back. He beelined it straight for the pillar he was hiding behind.

“Dr. Sam Owens,” he said smoothly, “I was starting to wonder if my invitation had gone awry.”

Sam choked on his wine and started coughing. Steve slapped him on the back until he got his breath back. He looked up at Steve with watery eyes and a half-hearted attempt at a glare.

“I forgot my magic doesn’t work on you.”

Steve chuckled. “Being a Van Helsing really does have its perks. Now why are you hiding here instead of dancing with Wayne instead of Chrissy?”

“I’m not immortal like he is,” Sam muttered, “and if he tried to turn me it would kill us both.”

“Ah.”

Because yeah, Steve got it. As werewolf, he would live a couple hundred years, but Eddie? Eddie would live forever unless someone killed him or he took his own life.

“And quitting the VHS won’t help?”

“No,” Sam said, his glare more effective this time now that he was no longer choking on his wine. “Because if we lost our protections when we left, that would leave us vulnerable to attacks from people who didn’t like us sticking our noses in their business.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Fair enough. But from one hopeless romantic to another, it doesn’t matter how long you have, share it with him. After all nothing is promised.”

Sam nodded.

Steve gave his shoulder a squeeze. “And maybe make a grand entrance, yeah?”

Sam barked out a surprised laugh. “Yeah okay.”

Steve went back to dancing with Eddie, promising him to tell him later what all that was about. They laughed, danced, ate, and drank their way through the night until about halfway through when Sam suddenly appeared at the top of the grand staircase, resplendent in silver and blue. A perfect complement to Wayne’s outfit.

Eddie pointed up at the stairs to Wayne, whose smile took over his face. He walked over to the stairs and reached the base just as Sam did.

“Sam...” Wayne breathed. “You’re here.”

“For you,” Sam murmured, leaning over and kissing Wayne’s knuckles. “May I have this dance?”

And the music changed again to something softer, more tender and dear.

“I’d be honored.”

Steve took Eddie into his arms and sighed happily. “I think this is going to be the best Christmas I’ve had in my life.”

“Yeah baby, how’s that?” Eddie murmured, pressing his cheek against Steve’s.

“Suzie will help straighten out the pack so I can be with you,” he said softly, “Sam and Wayne are back together. Nancy will be writing that supernatural manners book. And the other members of the supernatural community in Hawkins no longer feel like second class to the werewolves and vampires. Really what more could I ask for?”

“That does sound like an amazing Christmas present, baby,” Eddie purred. “Happy Yuletide and Merry Christmas, Stevie.”

“Merry, Christmas, Eds.”

~

Tag List: COMPLETED

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2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

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8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[deusvervewrites]

I imagine it goes back to how people consume MHA through fanfics only and then base their knowledge off of that.

I can’t think of any other reasoning because if you read even just the first couple of volumes, you know Midoriya isn’t like that at all. He curses in fights, he blushes at girls (specifically Uraraka) in skintight suits or in his personal space, and he is willing to call people out on their shit (case in point, Endeavor).

Midoriya is a good and nice guy, but he isn’t some completely innocent kid.

I think it's because he's empathic. It's not a trait classically seen with shonen protagonists, who are usually kind and devoted to friends, but having main characters to empathize with the antagonists, especially the antagonists who never change sides, is fairly new. And that's something I've seen fans struggle to get their heads around. It's the same as the people who fail to understand why Midoriya would act the way he does towards Villains despite his stated motivation from the very beginning being, "I just want to help people."

[tklpilled]

atlantis

merry christmas, @stopiteatpopcorn ! i was your squealing santa this year! enjoy <3

—

“fight me,” says tartaglia, slamming a hand down on wriothesley’s desk, the other resting on his hip.

wriothesley cocks an eyebrow at him. “sorry?”

“fight me,” tartaglia repeats, staring straight into wriothesley’s eyes. “you’re strong, yeah? come on.”

“no,” wriothesley says simply, leaning back in his seat.

“wha—why not?!”

“you’re a prisoner here.” there’s something like a smile on wriothesley’s face. “i don’t fight prisoners.”

so, yeah, tartaglia is a prisoner. it’s really annoying; he knows he’s innocent, and he knows that damn iudex knows it too. but here he is, stuck underwater with nothing but endless tasks and shitty meals.

at least there’s the pankration ring.

he becomes something of a god to them, the group that hangs around down there. he wins every fight he’s in, no sweat. maybe some sweat, actually, because he’ll admit a few of his opponents are tough, but they’re still not enough to match a harbinger.

his whole fascination with the duke sparked the moment they met. he had just been brought to his room when he was visited by a tall, muscular man, heavily scarred but not much older than tartaglia himself. he looked strong.

“a fatui harbinger in my fortress?” wriothesley had said, wearing an irritatingly lazy smirk. “this must be my lucky day.”

tartaglia knew, at that very moment, he would not be able to rest until he kicked this guy’s ass.

the main issue is that getting the chance to fight him is harder than he’d thought. and, hey, he loves an opponent that’s hard to get! it makes the victory all the more satisfying! but wriothesley is really starting to piss him off. tartaglia thinks he wouldn’t be so annoyed if wriothesley didn’t fight him at all.

because he does fight, sort of. they spar in the pankration ring sometimes, but every time, it’s so obvious that he’s not putting in his full effort. it’s not satisfying tartaglia’s itch to fight at all!

he complains to the fortress’s nurse one time while she’s patching him up.

“your duke. why won’t he fight me?”

sigewinne’s small hands press an ice pack to his side. “why do you want to fight him so badly?”

tartaglia opens and closes his fist, staring at it. “does he not think i’m strong enough? he’s not that full of himself, is he?”

“please stop moving,” she tells him. “i know you don’t want me to, but it’s my job to tend to all the inmates.”

tartaglia doesn’t listen. “how do i fight him?”

sigewinne hands him a cup full of some…concoction. “he doesn’t fight inmates,” she says, confirming the man’s own words.

it hits tartaglia, then, that there’s an easy solution.

escape.

his golden opportunity comes just days later, when he spots a few new heads in the fortress while on his way to work. he recognises them as the knave’s (favourite) kids; he’s never met them personally, but from what he’s heard, the twins are pretty popular in fontaine. tartaglia doesn’t know who the smaller one is, but he’s sticking to the other two, so they must be close.

arlecchino isn’t particularly fond of him, but he doubts she’d just leave him here if he asked for help. she knows this nation better than he does, anyway. she’s the best chance he has at getting out of here.

but, of course, it’s too good to be true.

the eldest of the trio, lyney, scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “we don’t have any way of contacting father,” he says, as tartaglia’s shoulders slump in defeat. “we’re prisoners here too, you see.”

tartaglia is too disappointed to question why.

when the entire thing is over, when he’s slept enough to last the rest of his life and his wounds are mostly healed, he returns to fontaine. there are a few reasons; the traveler is still there, and he’d like to talk to them before they disappear into archons know where. he supposes they’re not called the traveler for nothing, but they don’t have to be so difficult to get in contact with.

the second reason is fatui duties, or more specifically, arlecchino. he has to discuss business with her—the gnosis, the prophecy, how to continue after everything. fontaine doesn’t have an archon anymore, and that might cause some problems for the tsaritsa. he eventually finds the knave by the water, looking as though she’d just lost someone important. he asks her about it. she doesn’t give him an answer.

the final reason is for his own self-indulgence. he still hasn’t battled with those champion duelists, and he’s practically bursting with excitement at the idea. natlan is the nation of war, but it seems like he has many more sparring opportunities in fontaine.

and, of course, fucking wriothesley.

he visits the duke’s office, slamming both hands on the desk similarly to how he’d done a couple weeks before.

“fight me,” tartaglia demands. his chances are infinitely better this time; he’s officially a free man, and he’d been single-handedly fighting off the primordial narwhal for the sake of their nation. the least anyone can do is give him a good battle.

wriothesley stares at him for a moment before he laughs, standing from his chair and walking around the desk. “you’re stubborn. alright, i suppose i can grant you this one thing, as thanks.”

tartaglia’s eyes widen, lighting up with excitement for all of two seconds before wriothesley’s hand meets his stomach.

he should be feeling pain. it should hurt, should make him stumble back in shock and agony.

it should not tickle like this.

tartaglia barks out a laugh, stepping backwards but being met with nowhere to go. wriothesley’s grip on him is strong, and while normally tartaglia wouldn’t have a problem breaking out, he’s not exactly in the best state to do so.

“h-hehey, wahahait!” he protests, voice almost a whine. “thihis—yohohou—!”

wriothesley grins, squeezing at his sides and stomach with experienced fingers, like he was born with the knowledge of how to tickle tartaglia to pieces. “you didn’t specify what kind of fight, comrade,” he teases. the bastard. “are you already giving up? disappointing. i expected more from you.”

tartaglia lets out embarrassing peals of laughter as wriothesley tickles up to his ribs. curse him for finding this loophole. curse him for everything, actually. and while he’s at it, curse that little melusine sigewinne, because she’s definitely the one who told wriothesley that he’s ticklish in the first place. she kept poking around his sides, okay, he couldn’t help it!

“y-yohou bastard!” tartaglia squeaks out (squeaks! he doesn’t squeak!). he tries to reach for wriothesley, but the man dodges him expertly while still not letting up on his assault.

wriothesley’s smug smile is evident in his tone. “hey, come on. it’s not every day i get this chance.”

as tartaglia’s laughter echoes in the chamber, he decides that if this doesn’t end soon, he’s going to be charged for homicide again.

[stellabk]

FVRY OF THE FIRE

Part VI

Author’s Note - this one is a lil short with Christmas around the corner and I also may not be able to post Wednesday since the restaurant I work at is still open Christmas Day T^T after that though I will post a longer part than normal

Summary - Deia takes her new friend’s advice and becomes the thorn in her husband’s side

Warning(s) - didn’t really see many; let me know if you see missed warnings or grammatical errors let me know!

”Do not fret, I can get my own door.”

Deia pushed the door so hard it hit the walls, an echoing boom to resonate within. All chatter died, and everyone stood to stare at the door. The empress bowed to her friend before walking inside. Peoples’ eyes followed her as she made her way through, hushed whispers of people talking about the audacity of the empress, and that the emperor and she were very alike. While one older woman whispered, Deianira snatched the chalice of wine from her hand bowing as she took a sip from it and continued her trek toward the emperor's thrones. She saw her sister perched on the lap of Caracalla, running fingers over the monkey that sat against the armrest.

”Emperor Caracalla,” she bowed deeply, turning to Geta. “Husband,” she sipped from the wine, staring down at him as she stood straight and unmoving.

“I see you are getting more used to being in the palace, sister.” Caracalla smirked as he watched his in-law perch herself on the armrest of Geta’s throne. “You’ve turned out to be untamable, despite my brother’s beliefs upon meeting you.”

Geta scoffed from behind Deia, making her turn. “Does your brother’s statement amuse you?”

“Indeed it does. All horse trainers know when breaking a stallion, you need the proper time, which I have not yet been given.”

“Am I a steed now? I thought I was a snake.”

“Then I shall become the snake charmer for you, dearest,” he smiled up at her, noticing her thumb running over something nervously in her palm. Hw stayed silent as he stalked her motions, asking a servant to refill her wine, downing half of the chalice’s contents in one sip. He ripped the trinket from her hand, turning it over in his own, holding it out of her reach when she made a dash to retrieve back what she had lost.

“I see you enjoy my gift. Quite the odd little trinket, I must say.”

“If you think it so odd,” she snatched it back, holding it to her chest, “then why snatch it from me? Better yet, why purchase something like this for me? You’re not falling for me, are you, emperor?”

“You would enjoy it too much if I had, dear wife,” he shifted, trying to regain composure, not going unnoticed by the three others sitting around him.

“No, I am sure that must be the case. After all, you went out of your way to ruin perfectly good linens when we have never once laid witch one another.”

His face dropped slightly, his signature smirk gone and his posture became almost physically rigid. “Where have you heard this?”

”Ah, so I do possess the ability to get under your skin. And why tell you when you will slaughter the one who conveyed the message? I have no reason to dispose of such a kind hearted soul.”

He gripped her face with his fingers, squishing her cheeks together and pulled her closer to him. “You will tell me or my brother will bed your sister, make her beg for her own release, just to throw her in the Coliseum as a prize.”

”If you do anything to my sister, you will watch my knife plunge into your chest and rip your heart from it. You shall be the one begging for release.”

The stare down between the two was deadly. Caracalla watched amusedly while sipping from his cup while Publia held back tears. The silence was broken by Geta’s laugh and his smirk was back on his face. “Ah, wife, how I love our little spats. You shall keep me on my toes until our last breaths.”

Geta picked her up by the hips to sit her back on the armrest, then stood, walking from the room.

Deia stood to follow, not far behind him as she jogged after him out the door. Once she was in the hall, she saw his back walking several feet in front of her toward his bedchamber.

“Why me?” She shouted after him, still walking closer as if walking toward a carnivore.

He turned slowly to look at her, moonlight hitting his pale features and making him appear as if he were glowing.

“I do not understand why it had to be me you chose to marry, so I ask you this, hoping your answer can relieve the pain of not knowing: why me?”

”I tire of concealing the truth from you, even though I have fought against your stubbornness to try and tell you… do you know what your father did? He sold both of you to my brother and I. That woman you slaughtered for in front of the temple? She has been a runaway from the monarchy for over a decade. You may think I am the villain, but your father is who you should look upon with the disgust you give me!” He shouted bitterly, stepping so he was directly in her face.

Deianira froze, eyes wide and brimming with tears though she refused to let them spill. “No, he would never do that. He loved us. I-I mean… he loved my sister, but he would never have sold her off. It cannot be.”

For the first time since meeting Emperor Geta, his eyes showed that he was sympathetic. He motioned for her to follow, and once she was beside him, he linked arms with her stroking the back of her hand.

They walked in silence for what felt like the whole night, even if it was only a few short minutes. He let go of her arm and she immediately missed the warmth. He beckoned her inside, placing his hand on the small of her back as she entered. The office was dimly lit by the moonlight and a few oil lanterns that he had lit after entering.

“These letters are those that I exchanged with your father prior to your retrieval. He promised both of you in exchange for the safety of your village.”

Deianira looked at the notes and pacing around the room, reading over them and confirming all of what the emperor said was true: your father had traded you like livestock, giving a dowry as well, to protect your village and receive a good portion of soldiers to expand in the name of Rome. The notes included that Deia would never go willingly and there would have to be some kind of ultimate purpose for her travels.

The whole rebellion was a sham.

Deia had her back to Geta as she finished reading the several notes, completely still.

”Little snake?”

She couldn’t speak. The words were caught in her throat and she tried to force back those tears.

”Deia. Look at me.”

She turned slowly, forcing her head up as if it weighed 100 pounds. She finally looked him in the eyes, the tears she fought against with every fiber of herself snapping once she saw his eyes.

He rushed to her, embracing her tightly as his hands snaked and hugged at her lower back, one cradling the back of her head. She didn’t want to fight him… she didn’t have the energy to right now. She curled her arms around his neck and buried her face into his chest.

”Must you pity me, Emperor? Must you make me feel as if I am nothing once again?”

”My darling, I do not pity you to make you feel like nothing. I wish to give you back the power you felt prior to knowing what you do now.”

She pulled away from his chest, looking up into his eyes. “Simply because you are emperor, does not mean that you may give my spirit the relief it desires.”

”Because I am emperor, I have the power to give you anything that you and your sister could ever want, even the intangible.” He stroked the tears away from her cheeks with the rough edge of his thumb. “Is it vengeance you want?”

”Would it matter? You have vowed to protect the village.”

There was a comforting quiet as Geta mulled over what he could do in his conniving way. His eyes sparked and his smirk danced on his peach colored lips. “You are right, little snake… but I never vowed to protect him.”

[saltsongwc]

thistleclaw is very involved with both of their original stories … how is he related to them in this rewrite?

@mrcow101 (sorry for not answering separetly but together fits better)

No art here, don't know what to put sorry

Okay so, tw for mentions of grooming, I gotta mention Spottedleaf's Heart because a lot of the divergences from the au would directly take place in the timeline of the book, TLDR if you don't want to read my "This is why Spottedleaf's Heart fails as an expansion of her charcter in a satisfying way, this is the trope and why it's in use both in the book and in the au, this is what happens, this is what I would change, this is why 'Thistleclaw is a horrible person even without Spottedleaf's Heart', and this is the end" yap: Spottedpaw is not groomed by Thistleclaw in the mate sense, he does groom her into his idiology of "Thunderclan above the rest" much like he did Tigerpaw, there is no Dark Forest training, and Tigerfoot kills him because Thistleclaw tried to kill him as revenge.

Yap session below

If Thistleclaw did the same thing he did to Spottedleaf in canon to Spottedstem in this au, then I would've have her kill Thistleclaw, my script teacher would say "that's not positive and shouldn't be good" but justice is not given to the characters in warriors they gotta take it for themselves.

The thing is how warrior's treated Spottedleaf's story is that it pushed her into the trope of Taking the Veil, there are historical reasons related to this trope (often used as a way for women to escape from the oppressive world by one, maybe as oppressive but in sisterhood than alone), Warrior's does not escape from tropes, especially not this one (the whole medicine cats not having mate or kits is an enforcement of this).

Tangent: Tropes are not necesseraly negative, depends on how they're written

The way I see it, Tigerfoot in this case also falls into this trope, the subvertion is that he, male, decides to take refuge into what the universe of Warriors classifies as a very feminine leaning job, the healer and the priest, both in fantasy to be read as very 'un-masculine', in his build and in his appearance he looks warrior like, and yet he chose otherwise for the same reasons Spotted did in Spottedleaf's Heart, it's ironic.

However the Spottedleaf in arc 1 and in Bluestar's Prophecy did not choose to become a healer just to escape from the world, rather to embrace another side to it, medicine cats in warrior's work best when they are treated not as a separation and an exclusion from the clan but as a crucial part of it that must work in tandemn. At the same time, I love putting medicine cats as "messangers of the eldritch being that is probably Starclan", so the separation makes sense. And I'm basing this au on the latter so yeah-

WITH WHY SPOTTEDLEAF'S HEART IS NOT GOOD OUT OF THE WAY-

Thistleclaw in this is au was Tigerpaw's mentor much like in canon, and planned to become leader to bring Thunderclan into war with the other clans, he wanted Thunderclan to control the forest, all under his rule, he was charismatic to many, and tried to push this ideology of violence to his clan mates, which during the time when they lived in (of constant battles and famine for short periods of time), was very appealing.

He was very liked among apprentices because he was the "Cool mentor" that let us eat what we caught whenever he was in charge of training, Tigerpaw was very proud of being his apprentice up until one of these "chest out, Thunderclan rocks" outings caused him to miss Leopardfoot's passing, he wasn't the same after that, and instead of being the stable supportive figure one should think a child should have he pushed Tigerpaw further into anger, taking his anger out on others, Tiny (ask about what pushed Tigerpaw into being a medcat here).

When his apprentice began giving him the cold shoulder, and it became unlikely Tiger would return to his duties, he turn his focus in other places, Spottedpaw was just beginning her training, and despite trying to beg Sunstar to give him another apprentice, as Tiger had not technically resigned by that point the leader was reluctant. It didn't stop Thistleclaw from butting into lessons as he was still, technically, a mentor. Spottedpaw was thinking of becoming a medicine cat apprentice (by her intial desires as a kit) before Tigerpaw took it from her.

Thistleclaw enters the picture, both very pissed at losing his shot of being leader, and now apprenticeless, that he decides that if he can't force his way of thinking into the clan, he should take a shot at the next generation, Spottedpaw.

So Thistleclaw is the dark mentor, the one that pushes out your worst qualities and makes you believe that they are your best, the one that has always been objectlively wrong in his way of thinking and is not a victim of poor wife syndrome, he is evil because he in canon wanted everyone but Thunderclan dead, and anyone who doesn't agree with it dead. He does not view other clans the same as Thunderclan, rather lesser.

This is bad. There is no other interpretation and there is no other excuse, he is bad both by his intetions and who he trained others to be.

One day, while escorting Tigerfoot, he planned to murder the medicine cat and make it look like an accident, he monologued about his plan, about the revenge, about in the cusp of victory how he would force the clans to his will.

So he did the clan a favour.

[dancing-dawn]

*cracks knuckles over keyboard*

All The Memories Of You_collectingblues, 111k words

100% canon material and you can't convince me otherwise. I think about this daily even a month after reading, I'm not exaggerating. It broke my standards for fanfiction to a point that any time I read something of lower quality I just can't help but compare to this and mourn lol. Plot mainly revolves around the events of the 6-month deal, with Aku and Atsushi slowly developing their relationship through many hardships and realizations. So many powerful moments here live rent-free in my mind, from the fights, terrors and living nightmares to the domestic wholesomeness, gentle care and careless laughter and everything in between.

waiting room_srxlee, 96k words

Not to be dramatic but if I could meet the author I would fall to my knees and kiss their feet. it. is. that. good. Left me absolutely heartbroken (and it has a happy ending ffs), this is the most poetic writing I've ever read in my life, could be a whole ass best-seller novel. Centers around Akutagawa's sickness in modern AU and the growth of his relationship with Atsushi, both before and after he finds out (and angst ensues). I would sell my soul just to the style of writing alone, trust me, not to mention the plot and the pure unrivaled emotion behind every line.

at the curtains close_GhouliGhost, kitkatfics (miniekooki), 165 k words

*takes a deep breath* I speedran this in 3 days and still cannot recover from the emotional damage. In the beginning I was like "haha that's hilarious wtf am I getting into" and then watch me just a few chapters later sobbing my eyes out, clutching my heart and reflecting on my life. Probably the most realistic portrayal of a relationship I've ever read. Come see how two teachers, one being a rich asexual science nerd and the other a theatre-loving cam-boy, struggling in the depths of hell (aka financing debt) become dear friends, companions in life and lovers.

A Story Unfinished_SpiderLilyRed, 14k words

I have a soft spot for writers AU (cuz of obvious reasons) and this managed to make me smile, laugh, broke my heart and then glued the pieces. Very cute concept of Aku being a writer that is forced to write romance and your local cutie bookshop employee Atsushi turns out to be just the expert you need (to wonder why hmmm)!

enshroud me_lostdimension, 6k words

Not sure if E-rated is up your alley, but recommending just in case because it's my all-time favourite. Incredibly gorgeous and poetic writing, this is love, okay, just pure and unconditional love. Incredibly soft and vulnerable, with hurt and comfort on the side because angst is the perfect catalyst of emotion, isn't it.

a hope to return_auroraheart, 11k words

Akutagawa dies and it's fucking beautiful, I need say no more. Just be in a very masochistic mood to read :3 It has a lot of wholesomeness and fun too!! (totally not to trick you into a false sense of security nu nu)

foolish_ringingmaybelles, 13k words

Restaurant AU sickfic! I remember I enjoyed it a lot at the time, it has well-written characters (as with everything I rec here), lot of caretaking and cute little crushes. Also Gin has a pretty important cameo and as an Aku-stan, Gin by default has my heart <3 This author in general has the best sickfics so I advice to check them out if you're in the mood!

dying by design_halfbloom (diphylleias), 5k words

And a shortie for dessert! Imagine this as a missing scene somewhere in the canon material, it does not disappoint in the slightest. It's just them talking on a rooftop, but the characterization is so on point that my jaw was to the floor the whole time, idk how they wrote it so perfectly canonical.

(aaand that's the best of of the best I've found and devoured since the start of my bsd obsession 2 or so months ago. I'm very passionate about sskk and those fics in particular and I selfishly hope this doesn't get lost in the void, happy reading my peeps!) (i definitely have more but trying to have some self-restriction here lol)

I NEED SSKK FICS RECOMMANDATION SOBS

GIMMZ THE SILLIIES

[Any fic works pls I just need something to read 😭]