#i don't even remember where this memory came from

[keferon]

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

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

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

Part one

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

Under the cut⤵️

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

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

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

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

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

Uggh.

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

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

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

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

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

Freaking cursed.

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

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

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

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

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

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

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

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

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

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

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

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

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

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

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

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

“Mech, what the hell?”

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

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

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

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

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

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

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

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

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

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

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

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

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

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

Prowl hums

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

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

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

Jazz laughs

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

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

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

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

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

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

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

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

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

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

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

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

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

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

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

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

Prowl twitches his door wings

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

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

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

He's thinking.

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

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

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

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

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

“It's...complicated.”

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

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

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

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

It's also probably too late.

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

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

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

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

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

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

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

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

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

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

Swerve laughs.

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

“It's not harmful?”

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

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

Jazz tilts his head

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

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

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

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

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the place where he was last.

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

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

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

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

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

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

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

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

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

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

The answer is probably none.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blurr's name isn't there.

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

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

That's...something's wrong.

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

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

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

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

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

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

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

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

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

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

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

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

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

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

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

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

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

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

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

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

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

Swindle adjusts his glasses

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

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

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

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

Goes back to his seat.

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

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

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

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

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

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

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

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

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

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

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

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

Blurr's eye widens

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

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

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

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

Swindle puts his hat back on.

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

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

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

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

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

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

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

Blurr smiles sourly.

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

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

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

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, damn it.

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

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

Blurr ... is crumbling.

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

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

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

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

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

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

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

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

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

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

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

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

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

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

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

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

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

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

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

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

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

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

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

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

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

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

Blurr freezes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

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

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

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

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

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

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

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

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

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

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

...

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

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

____________________________

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

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

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

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

Jazz laughs

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

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

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

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

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

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

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

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

Left to himself.

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

....

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

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

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

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

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

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

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

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

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

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

“ Show me more?”

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

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

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

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

“They really drugged you huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

Race???”

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

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

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

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

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

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

“...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

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

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

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You'll tell me later?”

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

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

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

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

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

Swerve snorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve laughs.

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

_______________

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pharma tilts his head

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

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

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

“What do you mea...”

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

“No I'm just...”

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

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

Swerve shakes his head.

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

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

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

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

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

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

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

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

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

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

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve shrugs.

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

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

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

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

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

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

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

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

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

Blurr shrugs.

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

Swerve twitches.

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

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

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

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

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

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

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

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

Jazz smiles

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

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

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

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

Jazz frowns

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

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

[thewistlingbadger]

Adding onto this. Silco is probably THE definition of "it's not always about the money spiderman." I hate the take that he's only doing things for his own self interest because it so violently goes against what we're told about him. If Silco was truly in it for the personal power, money, influence, etc, he could and WOULD have stopped a long time ago. If it's just about ego then he doesn't need Zaun to become independent. If he only cared about zaun independence for his own glory and not for his own people then he'd be no better than the chem barons, and we see how Silco views them as parasites who are beneath Silco. Silco loves Zaun for what it is, which is why his vision of a better Zaun is not a Zaun with peace, it's a Zaun with freedom. Silco sees nothing wrong with the under city's chaos and violence, which is why he perpetuates both and doesn't try to stop either. This contrasts Vi, who as a child viewed Zaun as being inferior to Piltover. This contrasts Ekko, who actively tries to improve upon the Undercity. Silco is devoted to his nation not in spite of its flaws but because of its flaws. To him, it's perfect as is, the only problem is that they're oppressed. Silco already views Zaun and Piltover as equals even though they don't have equal power or influence or ability. To him, Zaun is just as good and potentially better than Piltover. All they need is a chance to excel, the opportunity to rise above the hardships that they wouldn't have if not for Piltover. Silco's okay with putting down and harming individual zaunites if it means the collective group will be better off. It's why he sees no problem with shimmer, because even though it's actively destroying the community, it's boosting their economy and furthering themselves from Piltover.

Silco's hatred for topside really can't be understated. It's important to remember that his generation grew up in a much worse zaun. Of course he's willing to use any means necessary to be free from those assholes, especially after all he's sacrificed and the sacrifices of others he's witnessed. Silco seems to really admire his generation for all the shit they had to put up with. He tells Finn before zaun became an enterprise all they had was the loyalty of zaunite brothers and sisters helping each other. "And now I'm forced to share the air with parasites like you who leech off their memory." Personally, in light of season 2, this line makes extra sense because of Felicia. Felicia was one of Silco's closest friends and she laid down her life fighting for the cause ("so you'll die for a cause, but you won't fight for one?!" Now this line makes more sense too), she's the perfect example of a true Zaunite. Silco also used the gray against the chem barons to not only highlight his superiority to them but also to once again differentiate between his generation and the newer generation.

"Oh, you don't recognize it? Have you forgotten where we came from? The mines they had us in? Air so thick it clogged your throat, stuck in your eyes? I pulled you all from the depths and offered you a taste of topside and fresh air. I gave you life. Purpose. But now you've grown fat and complacent. Too much time in the sun. We came from a world where there was never enough to go around, Finn. That is why we fight."

Yes silco does have his own ego and he is doing things for his own selfish interests but he's not doing things ONLY for himself. His own selfishness is truly not his priority, it's the nation of zaun. "I'm doing this for us, Jinx. For the sons and daughters of Zaun."

I don't see Silco as someone who "lost his way" bc there's no evidence to suggest that this wasn't always his way. We know that he wasn't once always this fucked up and evil but from my perspective he's always been the radicalist. He's always been the one behind the Nation of Zaun, the one that's always been willing to do anything to get his goal. Not even the death of Felicia stopped him or even gave him any pause from pursuing his goal. And of course it didn't, Felicia is the one that told him "I don't care if you have to carve it out of the bedrock covered in blisters." Additionally, silco does just see himself as better than the chem barons, he sees himself as better than most zaunites too. Silco has literally gone through hell and back and is now the most powerful man in the undercity. If he can do that, then what's other people's excuse? Of course he's toying with the drug addicts, to him they're the weakest link in the zaunite societal chain. He's literally standing above them as they're at his feet. The fact that some of these drug addicts where Vander supporters also plays into I think (we know at least Huck had a past with Vander). Another reason why I think he sees himself as superior is because he's basically the only person actively trying to get independence. When Vander was their leader, all he cared about was maintaining the status quo. We know some maybe most of Silco's supporters initially joined him because of his promises of Independence and rebellion but we see after the time skip most of them become washed up and no longer care for the goal. The Firelights also don't seem to care about zaun independence either. They're anti silco and anti Piltover and their main goal is rehabilitating the community.

When Silco died, so did the nation of zaun- that idea, that ideology. NO ONE tries to achieve independence after his death. The zaunites start to rally against piltover because of the new oppressive conditions they're being subjected to, not because they're trying to achieve independence. The Firelights I've been trying to get rid of him since day one and what do they do when he's actually gone? Nothing, they don't make a single play for power in the Undercity. The fact that sevika ends up becoming a council member implies that Zaun is still a state under piltover and not its own nation.

Oh yeah I forgot that there's this opinion that Silco "was blindsided by power and wealth" and "lost his way" and "he only did what he did to benefit himself all along" etc etc. Uh. Where- where did you get that from? I'm not even being sarcastic or something, I'm genuinely curious how you can come to this conclusion.

He operates from a crappy office in The Last Drop and the only attributes of wealth he has are cigars and whiskey(?). My man had one pair of pants for 10+ years and only got a fancy coat to look more intimidating. Besides, when chembarons proposed to give back the gemstone to Piltover so their sales don't drop even harder Silco refused. Also he was ready to give up his power when Jayce made imprisoning Jinx a requirement for Zaun to gain independence. Sure, he IS motivated to keep his daughter safe, but it would also mean that his goal will finally be achieved, so there's nothing left for him to do. Both wealth and power are only means to achieve a goal to him. He also doesn't really display that he gets the kick out of it, unlike councilors in Piltover.

"Well yes he wants Zaun to be independent, but only as he personally sees it" when did he EVER say that??😭😭😭😭 Every time he speaks on the topic he only mentions how he wants Zaunites to have opportunities, respect, "more than (Piltover's) runoff". Like- that's literally everything he ever said about this. All that matters to him is independence, he couldn't care less about everything else.

As to "losing his way"...idk I think this can only be attributed to pre-drowning Silco. Because after it he pretty much decided to stick to what he now believed in forever, and at no point except the finale he went south from his beliefs.

Silco isn't "misguided" or "corrupt" or any other similar definition. He's a character who chose to become a monster to bring change to his people. And as s2 didn't do anything about resolving this conflict, he was never really proven wrong.

[oqwomyo]

Butler's wedding party. Haures' card translation.

Part 1.

- Devil's Palace Garden -

- A Few Days After the Party -

*Step step step*

Haures: Tomorrow is finally the day I can spend time alone with Master...

Haures: Fufu... This will be fun. Being alone with Master after a wedding-style party...

Haures: In a way, it's like a vacation with family...

Haures: ...Oh my god, what am I saying... Phew... I'm excited.

Haures: I'm a butler... Moreover, I'm a leader who should set an example for other butlers.

Haures: I should always try to act like a butler.

Haures: Alright. After that, I need to check the plans for tomorrow again.

Haures: I need to make careful preparations so I can have a great time with Master. In the morning, we'll head to town by carriage...

Haures: ...Huh? This is...

***

When I was walking in the garden... I noticed Haures crouched down, looking at the flowers. He seemed lost in thought. Even when I approached him, he didn't seem to notice.

You: Haures, what is it?

Haures: Eh...? Ah, Master...

Haures: My apologies. I didn't notice you...

You: You were looking at the flowers.

Haures: Yes... It looks like Ammon planted some new varieties.

Haures: These flowers seemed familiar to me... I couldn't help but stare at them.

You: What kind of flowers are these?

Haures: No... In fact, I don't even know their names...

Haures: When my sister was little... I distinctly remember her giving me a flower just like this.

You: Lady Tricia...

Haures: Yes. It happened when she was very little.

Haures: Oops... Sorry. I talk too much about myself...

Haures: Master. Tomorrow is the day we'll spend time together.

Haures: If you don't mind, I'd like to show you around the city using the plan I prepared.

Haures: Do you have any requests, Master?

You: As long as we're together, I'm fine.

- I'll leave it up to Haures.

Haures: Heh... Okay.

Haures: As Master's butler... I'll do my best to make sure you enjoy this day.

Haures: Well then, Master. I have some preparations to make, so please excuse me.

You: Uh-huh, I'll be looking forward to it.

Haures: Thank you. Then...

Haures bowed to me, and then... He left after looking at the flowers once more.

That night... I was planning to go to bed early to prepare for tomorrow... Suddenly, Haures came to my room.

Haures: My apologies, Master. Forgive me for visiting so late.

You: What happened? Haures.

Haures: Yeah, to be honest... We were planning to go to the city tomorrow, but...

Haures: The plans have changed a bit. Could you please spend some time with me at the mansion?

As long as I can spend time with Haures, I don't care where I am, but...

You: Okay, but what happened?

The reason why he changed his mind... It was bothering me.

Haures: Uh... To be honest...

Haures: Looking at the flowers during the day... I mentioned that I remembered a moment from the past.

You: It was about Tricia.

Haures: Yeah. Actually, these memories...

Haures: This flower is from my sister... I remembered her asking me to marry her.

You: M-marry..?

Haures: Yes. Of course, Tricia was just a baby then...

Haures: She didn't really understand the meaning of that word... I think she was just imitating what she saw in a picture book.

Haures: ...Still, she loved me as an older brother... She made that clear...

Haures: It was so touching to see her express her love so sincerely... I was happy.

Haures: Remembering how I felt back then... I thought about it.

Haures: Sometimes, in order to make the other person happy... It's important to express your feelings...

You: To be honest about your feelings...

Haures: Yes... When I was thinking about it... I decided to change the plan.

Haures: That's all I can say for now. This story will continue tomorrow...

Haures: Well then, Master, I apologize. Have a good rest today.

You: O-Okay...

After Haures left... I repeated his words in my head many times. "To make another person happy, it may be important to honestly express your feelings." While I was thinking about these words... I didn't notice how I fell asleep.

Part 2.

- Devil's Palace Room -

The next morning... I was in my room, waiting for Haures to come get me.

Haures: Master. I've come.

You: Come in.

Haures: Good afternoon, Master.

Haures: Sorry for the wait. It took me longer than I expected to prepare.

You: Don't worry.

Haures: I see... Thank you for understanding.

Haures: Then, Master. As I said yesterday...

Haures: I'd like you to spend time with me in the mansion today. And what we... will be doing...

Haures: Master. Is it okay if we go to the garden?

You: The garden?

Haures: Yes. There's something... That I'd like to give to Master.

When Haures said that... His eyes were as serious as yesterday. When I looked at those eyes... Without asking why, I would follow him to the garden.

You: Okay, Haures.

Haures: Thank you.

Haures: Then... Let's go.

Being a little nervous... I went to the garden with Haures.

- Devil's Palace Garden -

- A few minutes later -

After we arrived at the garden... Haures asked me to wait. He said that he would bring what he wanted to give me. I glanced at the flowers that Haures was looking at yesterday. The flowers that brought back memories to Haures... The pale petals leave a beautiful impression.

You: Beautiful flowers...

When I thought about it... I heard a voice behind me.

???: Heh... Does Master think so too?

When I stood up and looked around... Haures was standing there holding a bouquet of flowers. The one tied with a ribbon... They were the same flowers we saw. Although I was confused... I couldn't help but sigh at the beauty of the bouquet.

You: How beautiful...

Haures: Fufu... Thank you, Master.

Haures: It seems Master liked it... I feel relieved.

Haures: It's just a bouquet of wildflowers, so it may not be as colorful as the flowers that are used for gifts, but...

Haures: In order to convey the feelings of the precious Master... I thought these flowers would be perfect.

Haures raised his head... And turned to me with a serious expression.

Haures: This may not be the appropriate choice of words for a butler, but... Please allow me to say it this way.

Haures: ...I love you, Master.

Haures: You have a kind and beautiful heart... The fact that I serve you...

Haures: I will always be proud of it.

You: Haures...

If you look... Haures' eyes were serious.

Haures: Master. If you can, I beg you...

Haures: This bouquet of flowers contains my feelings... Could you accept it?

Haures: To me, you are... Such an important person.

Haures: If Master wishes, I will...

Haures: Forever and ever... I promise to always be with you.

Haures handed me the bouquet. His eyes showed his incredible sincerity... I could feel his trust in me. When I received the bouquet of flowers he gave me... I took a step closer to him.

You: Likewise, take care of me from now on.

- I promise, Haures.

Haures: Master...

When I answered... Haures finally relaxed his face. His expression was completely different from before, with a calm smile on his face... And a feeling of comfort spread across my chest. Looking at me... Haures also narrowed his eyes happily.

- Devil's Palace Room -

- Later -

To decorate the room with a bouquet of flowers... Haures and I returned to the mansion.

Haures: Master. I'll bring a vase.

Haures: I'm thinking of decorating the room with the flowers I gave you earlier... Is that okay?

You: Sure.

Haures: Okay. Then I'll do it.

After saying that... Haures untied the ribbon and took off the wrapping of the bouquet. And the untied bow... Haures looked at it as if he wanted to say something.

You: Is there something wrong with the bow?

Haures: Ah... No, nothing.

Haures: But, um... The bouquet took so long to wrap...

Haures: However, it can be unwrapped in an instant... I was thinking about that.

You: Maybe this bouquet...

- Has Haures wrapped it?

Haures: Yeah... Honestly, that's it.

Haures: I'm not very good with my hands... I wanted to ask Ammon to wrap this bouquet, but...

Haures: In the end... Although I failed many times, I wrapped it myself.

Haures: Wrapping the flowers with someone else's hands to convey my feelings to the master... It felt wrong.

You: Is that so...

Haures: Yeah. I'm just ashamed of how clumsy I am.

You: That's not true.

- Thank you for doing this for me.

Haures: Master... Thank you.

Hearing my words... Haures smiled happily. But that smile... As Haures began to arrange the flowers in the vase, his expression gradually began to darken.

Haures: Um... Trimming the stems a bit to fit the vase...

He was having a hard time handling the flowers... I could tell he was taking it seriously. His awkward sincerity... I felt so happy.

You: ...Hey, Haures.

Haures: Yes. Master, what is it?

I took one of the flowers he gave me... I extended both my hands to him.

You: I love you too.

- Haures is important to me too.

Haures: ...!

Haures closed his eyes, and then... He blushed a little.

Haures: Fufu... Thank you, Master.

Haures: I got to meet such a wonderful person... I'm happy.

Haures: And, this... I feel a little embarrassed to say this myself, but...

Haures: I... I'm happy that Master thinks of me as someone important.

Haures looked at me... He narrowed his eyes in a friendly manner.

Haures: Um, Master... My plans for today...

Haures: When we drink tea together... Can we rest together?

Haures: I want to calm down and talk about various things with Master.

Haures: Like talking about memories...

You: What about the future?

Haures: Fufu, yeah. I think it would be fun to talk about it.

Haures: Master, please... Let's continue to be together forever.

Haures: Master is more important than anyone... I will make you happy like no one else...

After saying that... Haures carefully took the flower I offered him. This flower in his hands... It became bright and delicate.

[aishangotome]

[Silvio] A Love Tailored To You Part 2

Credit to @shatcey for providing the video upload.

When I asked him about last night's events, Carlo thought for a moment and then––

Carlo: You were very drunk.

Carlo: Tanzanite liquor really doesn't agree with some people.

Emma: It seems like I'm one of those people...

Emma: By the way, what happened after the party?

Carlo: Prince Silvio took you back with him.

Emma: Was I... different then? Like a different person?

Carlo: Hmm, well, you were certainly more affectionate with Prince Silvio than usual.

Carlo: But I don't know about being like a different person.

Emma: Is that so...?

(So Silvio took me back to my room after that. I'm sure that's where...)

Silvio: You don't remember? You were incredibly erotic and bold, like a different person.

(Ugh, how embarrassing...)

Carlo: Ah, speaking of which, last night Prince Silvio was unusually––

???: Asking other people about yer drunken antics, huh? You've got interesting hobbies.

Emma: !

Just as I heard a jingling sound from the end of the hallway, Silvio came striding towards us.

Silvio: Chattin' in the hallway, huh? Looks like you have too much free time, Carlo. If you're saying you don't have enough work, I can give ya more.

Carlo: No, it's fine! I'll get back to work. Excuse me!

Carlo bowed and then dashed off like a rabbit.

Silvio: So, did you find out what you wanted to know?

He put his arm around my waist as if to say he wouldn't let me escape, and gave me a mischievous smile.

It felt like he was peering into the depths of my mind, trying to access the memories of last night that seemed to be sealed away, and my heart skipped a beat.

Emma: I learned that I was very drunk last night.

Silvio: Anything else?

Emma: I heard that you took me back to my room.

Emma: Thank you.

Silvio: Well, if I had left a drunkard at the venue, it would have been troublesome.

Silvio: But thanks to that, I got to see you make a fool of yourself. So we're even.

Silvio gave me a satisfied smile and placed a light kiss on my temple.

(Somehow, he seems to be in a better mood than usual.)

(Is it because last night was so amazing? Does that mean he's usually not satisfied?)

Anxiety sparked in my chest, and at the same time, the uneasy feeling from last night returned.

Even when I saw Silvio being approached by women at the party, I didn't feel particularly jealous.

Rather, I even felt envious.

I thought, if I could be like that, alluring and confident, Silvio would surely be thrilled by a different side of me––

(Maybe that drink made it possible.)

(A bolder, more sensual me that would make Silvio happy...)

(.........)

Silvio: You don't remember anything else?

Emma: Huh?

Silvio's voice brought me back to reality with a start.

Emma: No, I don't remember anything after that.

Silvio: Good.

(.........?)

I felt like Silvio had an expression of slight relief.

(Could it be that there's something inconvenient for Silvio if I remember last night?)

(Like, maybe he was overwhelmed by my boldness and showed a different side of himself...?)

Silvio: What are ya staring at?

Emma: Nothing.

Even as I shook my head, I was making a certain resolution.

-

That night---

I visited Silvio's room, wearing a more seductive negligee than usual, hidden under a gown.

––I masked my embarrassment with strong alcohol.

Silvio: It's unusual for you to come to my room dressed like that. Are you drunk again today?

Emma: Yes. My body aches, and I want you now...

I gently took the glass from Silvio's hand as he sat drinking by the window, placed it on the table, and led him to the bed.

(I won't blush or be shy. Today, I'm a very bold and seductive woman...)

As I told myself this, I pushed Silvio down and tried to take off his clothes, but---

Silvio: You're not that drunk, are you?

(Huh?)

Emma: I-I'm drunk.

I unbuttoned Silvio's shirt and showered his neck with kisses.

His hand slipped into my negligee, moving from my thigh to my buttock, but I managed to keep my expression unchanged.

Silvio: If you're saying you're the same as last night, then of course you can undress yourself, right?

Emma: I can. This is just a hindrance to making love with you.

Still straddling Silvio, I crossed my arms and took off my negligee.

(This is so embarrassing...! But if I back down now, it'll be the same as always.)

With my breasts exposed, I placed both hands beside Silvio's face and leaned over him.

Silvio: So, what are you going to do next? You're not satisfied with just taking it off, are you?

Emma: Of course not.

I took Silvio's hand, placed it on my breast, and kissed him.

Emma: Mmm...

I slipped my tongue between his lips, entwining them, and felt a heat building deep within my core.

Emma: Mm... ah...

As I kissed him hungrily, the hand I had placed on his chest brushed against his nipple.

(Normally I would pull my hand away, but...)

I pressed my hand more firmly against his chest, and as if in reward, his fingertips teased a sensitive spot.

Emma: Ahh... oh...

After a while, our lips parted with a soft sigh.

Silvio: It might be better to take this off too, before it gets soaked.

He lowered my underwear slightly, and I felt the dammed-up honey threatening to spill over.

(Silvio seems completely unfazed. I'm trying to be bold, but...)

I pulled down my underwear along with Silvio's fingers.

Now completely naked, I tried to take off Silvio's pants, but then---

Emma: Whoa!

Silvio sat up and pushed me back down.

He lifted my legs and pressed my knees up near my face, exposing my most private parts.

Emma: W-wait a minute, this position is too embarrassing!

Silvio: You really aren't drunk, are you?

When I flailed my legs, Silvio let go of them with a mischievous laugh.

(Was I really bold enough to accept this position last night...?!)

I hurriedly covered myself between my legs with my hands, the air feeling slightly cool against my skin.

Silvio: Seems like you didn't have enough to drink.

Silvio: Now, move yer hands. Your turn is over.

Emma: Ah...!

He moved my hands away, and his fingertips sank into my thoroughly wet center with a soft sound.

As he stirred inside me, even my resolve to "be bold" melted away––

(As I thought, just being a little drunk isn't enough.)

(That drink I had last night... I need something that will make me lose myself completely.)

After that, I was thoroughly loved by Silvio as usual, and drifted off into a sweet slumber.

-

-- The next day.

Shopkeeper: I do have what you're looking for––but are you the one drinking it, young lady?

I was visiting the tavern that was said to have the largest selection in town, my appearance modestly concealed.

Emma: Yes.

Shopkeeper: I think you should reconsider. Well, you have enough money, so...

Shopkeeper: Here you go, the strongest Tanzanite liquor I have.

.

.

.

.

Part 1 | Part 3

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[6rookie-writer0110]

Falling Again

Harry Potter x Male Reader

Request - Harry Potter x male reader? 😍

You and Harry have been living together for a while now. You and Harry are madly in love with each other, but he is hiding a huge secret. You and Harry went out to buy Christmas decorations for the apartment. He helped you take off your scarf and you did the same, then you hung up the jackets on the wall. You follow your boyfriend to the living room, then you and Harry take out the items from the bags.

“Harry, are you okay?” You asked

“I’m fine. Why are you asking?” Harry said.

“You have been acting strange all day. Is something bothering you? We can talk about it” You said.

“Y/N, I’m fine I promise. Let's eat dinner then we can decorate the living room later” Harry said.

You know he is lying but you don't ask again. You and Harry head to the kitchen and you heat up the take-out food. Harry feels bad for lying to you, he is scared of how you will react to his secret. He sighed and his mind was all over the place. You don't know that he has magic and you have been dating him for three years now. Harry lives in the muggle world for you, but you know never met his parents they live far from you and Harry. They know about the relationship and that his boyfriend is a muggle.

Later, after dinner you and Harry started to decorate the living room. Harry already knows what he will buy you for Christmas, he can't wait for you to see it. Harry wants to use his magic to decorate the tree faster, but he doesn't. He wants to tell you but his mind won't let him say the words out loud.

“Y/N, looks is snowing,” Harry said.

You and Harry stand by the window and watch the snow. He put his arm around your waist. You turn around then he kisses you on the lips. Then Harry helped you put lights on the window.

“Later, we should watch a Christmas movie?” Harry asked.

“We can watch the new Christmas movies we bought two days ago,” You said.

“Oh, yeah I forgot we bought new movies. Sure, we can watch it together” Harry said.

A bit later, you and Harry changed into pajamas then he picked the movie. You grabbed the snacks then you and Harry started watching the movie.

✫ ✬ ✫ ✬

Harry is home alone and he tries to wrap the gifts, but it's coming out horrible. He stopped and sighed heavily, he started to think. He went to grab his wand from the closet which is hidden in a box. You arrived home and Harry didn't hear the door open, so you walked inside. Before you can say a word you watch him use magic to wrap the gifts.

“You, have magic!?” You asked in shock.

“Y/N!… when… when did you arrive?” Harry asked.

“That's not important, Harry. Was that magic!? Don't deny it. I saw you use a stick and magic came out” You asked.

“Y/N, I can explain everything,” Harry said.

“Explain everything,” You said.

“Y/N, I’m a wizard. I was born with magic and I used to go to a school called Hogwarts. That's where I learned magic good and bad. When I met you and we started dating, I didn't know how to tell you. I tried but I just couldn't do it” Harry said.

“I really don't know what to say. We have been dating for three years and… wow, Harry” You said.

“Do you hate me for not telling you? I'm sorry that I lied” Harry said.

You didn't know what to say next and he waited for you to say something.

“I don't hate you. I’m mad you didn't tell me before. Are you going to erase my memory?” You said.

“Why would I do that?” Harry asked.

“I don't know. I saw it in a movie once, the person finds out something then a wizard erases his memory. But i don't remember the name of the movie” You said.

“I’m not going to do that. Do you want me to?” Harry said.

“No. I don't want you to keep hiding another part of you. I won't tell anyone” You said.

Harry felt relieved and he couldn't help to smile. He kissed you on the lips and you started to kiss him back.

“Can I ask you questions about magic?” You asked.

“Of course” Harry smiled.

You started to ask him so many questions before he even can get to answer one question.

————

You and Harry are in the living room. He starts to use his wand to show you how he would use magic. He made the gifts levitate and made the Santa figurine move on the other of the table. You couldn't stop smiling and you asked him questions about magic again.

[heliosthegriffin]

Hmm? *Raises eye-brow* Give me a minute.

-----

Home. Is where he wished he was going to die. One last grace for a lifetime, no, many lifetimes of servitude to the greatness of the Imperium, even in regards to the near-immortal life of an Astarte. A grace he would not receive, as he lay dying on the quickly decaying steps of this Temple of heresy and death on some forgotten moon in the depths of uncharted space.

His last adversary in this life, a horror that would drive lesser men to madness, a mixture of flesh, metal, and warp-energies aiming to pull an entire sector of the Imperium into it's own personal realm of Peace and Torment, had already passed from this realm, his blade lodged to the pommel in it's skull, it's enormous body having crushed it's temple in it's death throes, and Jaunes as well.

His eyes were growing weaker and dimmer by the moment, his slow death spanning hours, as his limbs growing weaker, colder, number, and one of his hearts crushed, and its backup organ only barely managing to delay his passing in cold agony. It was in those moments that Jaune reflected, looking around the dead realm around him.

His eyes transcribing into his mind the lost souls that had fought with him in this suicide mission, he tried his best to remember them, to have someone keep their memory alive, till he passed.

A flame lit in his dying eyes, and he forced his broken body up, his master-crafted armor sparking and groaning in it's death-throes, yet meeting his demands, as he walked to the last remaining uncorrupted stone on this world that slowly died with him as it's masters influence that kept it together disappeared.

Pulling out his combat knife, he gouged the stone, not harshly like some of his cousins might have, but with all the grace and skill being a Son of the Great Angel demanded, and Jaune was amongst his oldest sons left alive. Putting each name that followed him here to stone and story, nothing left unsaid about them, if abridged. But, managing to put all but one name onto the stone before he collapsed, a smile on his face, he had enough written about him, let the real heroes be remembered.

His eyes barely saw outside the dark, as he felt the air hum so briefly and quickly were he a less experience marine, he'd have never known it happened at all. A golden giant was next to him, peering down at him and his last work, dwarfing even the largest astartes he had met.

With a bleeding smile, Jaune decided he had earned a bit of coyness. "You wouldn't happen to be the Emperor would you?"

The figure shook his head, then looked at his work again. "I've always admired that about the Blood Angels and their successors, your art would have made your progenitor proud."

"Thank you for a comforting this dying old man," Jaune felt his vision leave him. "I suppose you came to verify my death? Or to clean up what might be left?" His hands didn't respond anymore. His auspex systems stopped working. He was alone in the darkness, but he was not deaf at the least, nor mute. His brothers always had said he talked too much, the ones that became astartes that same time as him. "If it wouldn't be too much of a bother, could you give me a clean death, and bring this with you? If my story ends at the hand of a Custodes of the Emperor, rather than a slow death, I'd feel more honorable about it." Jaune wanted to mention the sword, his sword, but it had never worked for anyone else like it did for him, better it die with him, than get a Brother killed trying to use it. "If not, please just take this epitaph with you, let our work be remembered, don't let them die in anonymity, they have earned their place." His words grew weaker, and he barely heard the Custodes chilling response, and felt his touch on his armor.

"Cousin, your work is not over, the Emperor has need of you." Then there was a pull, and Jaune felt darkness and terror overtake him.

-----

Darkness.

Calm, cold darkness. Peace, a lonely, quiet peace. No one to disturb him, just him and his rest. Was this death?

He stirred.

No. He was not so blessed.

For the Emperor was a cruel master.

His peace was removed, as simultus was forced through fiber connections straight into his nervous system, reactivating ancient neural pathways. Eyes connected into arcane advanced technology that let him see through artifical eyes. The Black Carapace was connected into this hulking machine, letting him control cold metal limbs like he had been born with him.

The Emperor protects.

But, at what cost?

The Emperor damns.

The Venerable Chapter Master Jaune moved and saw light in his new metal frame. Spying the Custodes responsible, the urge to swat him like a bug was barely resistible. "Greetings Honored Cousin."

"Greetings to you as well, Venerable Chapter Master, I see you are adjusting well to your new body."

"Indeed." His voice through the Dreadnought frame was metallic and bass, yet still him. "My work is not done yet,"

"Yes," There was a trace of respect, and knowing in his voice. "Your Brothers await you."

Jaune examined the room, and spied two things. One his blade, resized for his new form, and two, his last work made with hands of flesh.

Taking the blade, he called to the Custode. "I thought this would be impossible to remove," Metal wires mixed with warp-fire he thought had fused it into the fiends skull. Peering at it's blade, he for a moment, he thought, no, he knew, he saw the being staring at him from within.

The Custode merely gave him a glance. "If any Astartes is worthy of being its warden, it must be you, Cousin."

"I see," One more for link to the chains that binded him. He turned and examined his carved stone, and he realized they were in his quarters. He'd leave it here, a reminder. Then with no small amount of tiredness, Jaune followed the Custode to meet his Brothers once again, and to fight once again, until he had nothing left he could sacrifice, until he was nothing. Only then, if he was so blessed, would the Emperor release him.

Jaune arc blogs are either depressed or poly amorous and usually both.

[azaracyy]

a lesson on good karma digimon survive week 2024 day 4: supporting characters

[piningpercussionist]

Nonsense idea:

Scott's memories being altered by Gideon, but Gideon accidentally gives Scott preemptive knowledge of someone's transition.

[zukkaoru]

whenever i say "i want to write more lighthearted fics" that is apparently actually a warning that i'm about to take a character and squeeze them in my fist until they break

[safire-was-a-person]

I have a memory,

or maybe it was a dream

of an island like the last photography,

a patch of trees at the edge of a frost covered field.

Everything was tinted softly in blue

maybe because that colour's my favourite,

maybe because it reminds me of you.

Islands

Mindaugas Buivydas

edited by me

[corbinite]

watched through steven universe future for the first time almost two weeks ago and I still feel kinda messed up about it

[eggmeralda]

late spring true love by sadness is genuinely the song ever in all of history. ik I say that about every song I like but there is something about this one...

[writterings]

gravity falls is so funny through robbie's pov

>be me, 15 year old emo in a bumfucknowhere town

>lives in a funeral home. my parents embalm bodies twenty feet and an entire wall away from where we cook dinner

>have a friend i want to be my girlfriend

>she starts hanging out with her boss' (???) twin niece and nephew outside of work hours even though they're like in elementary school

>friend becomes your girlfriend

>weird shit happens around these twins. conscience store ghosts, a weirdly pixelated adult man beating you up, your dirt bike gets stolen, your girlfriend's boss and his nephew make your gf break up with you???

>gets memories erased at some point

>suddenly in love with only other female friend, like instantly in love and it's like this came out of nowhere but she's so perfect and you loooooove her it's so great don't question why there's a part of you that doesn't remember ever actually falling in love with her. also those fucking twins had something to do with this again.

>apocalypse happens

>mfw im apparently part of a secret key of people that can save the world by holding hands but it gets fucked up last minute by your ex's boss fighting with his twin over grammar (did he always have a twin?? why are there so many twins??)

>the ritual you were a part of failed. you were supposed to be a special person and part of saving the world but nope. that failed.

>get turned into a statue

>apocalypse ends and you have no clue how or why

>things like immediately go back to normal

>still with girl you don't remember falling in love with

>the twins just fucking. leave the town. and now there's two of your ex girlfriend's bosses around. no one ever explains how or why any of this has happened. you still live in a funeral home.

[anniflamma]

"Waiting, waiting... Ooooh!"

Here comes a proper concept illustration of Odysseus’ wifey!

Since Penelope is very underdeveloped in Epic, it’s hard to pin down what her personality is in the musical, so I’ve drawn a lot of inspiration from the original Odyssey and added some of my own ideas. Initially, I liked the idea of portraying her as a graceful queen, someone who always smiles despite how rudely the suitors treat her. But then I realized I really liked using visual language to show how Odysseus remembers Penelope from his sweetest memories.

Because of all the trauma he experiences on his journey, Penelope becomes more of an "end destination" for him, a symbol of hope. To Odysseus, once he gets back to Penelope, everything will be fine. In his visions or memories, Penelope with a warm smile, little bit soft on the edges. But the real her, the one we meet in The Challenge, looks tired and constantly angry, except, of course, when she thinks about Odysseus. This contrast helps the audience see that she has changed as well, both in how she looks and how she acts, compared to how Odysseus idealizes her.

I also really like the idea that the reason Penelope didn’t kick out the suitors wasn’t out of respect for some tradition that puts her in a position of servitude and compromise. Instead, it’s because Zeus himself came down and told her that if she kicked them out, he would smite Odysseus or Telemachus. That interpretation does fit how Epic the musical portrays Zeus so.....

This puts her in a position where she endures all of this to protect the ones she loves, rather than just following a tradition that don't even respect her due to she is a woman.

Also, funny thing, my first drawing of her was that reveal shot from the Thunder Bringer animatic!

And of course, she gets a veil! Similar to Hera and Circe! This choice is rooted in the tradition where married women wore veils, or at least something to cover their hair, when male guests entered their home. If Penelope walked around without a head covering in front of the suitors, it would signal that she was available, which is literally the opposite of what she wanted, don’t you think?

That said, I think I’ll design her veil a little differently. The one I drew here is kind of just a test.

[moonlight-prose]

THE GRAVE OF LUST

a/n: this is a very random idea i had of logan not necessarily being able to go at it as he used to. which like yes i love the thought of getting my back snapped by a more energetic logan. this version of him has my heart in ways i'll never be able to explain. it's short but enjoy! divider by the lovely @saradika-graphics.

summary: when his body doesn't work as it used to and the weary bones that poison his soul begin to ache, you take the lead in a dance you know well.

OR giving old man logan sloppy head that he'll think about in the grave and after.

word count: 2k

pairing: old man!logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, weary old man logan, domestic vibes, oral (m receiving), spit kink, cumplay, dirty talk, he may be older but he's filthier, unedited + not betad but we live and die by the fucking pen.

He doesn't touch you quickly anymore. His hands don't shove clothes off your curves and grasp your flesh with a growl of impatience. No, he no longer holds the stamina of a younger him who could spend hours between your thighs. His bones are weary, old phantom wounds ache where they shouldn't, and he feels himself step closer to his grave with each day that passes.

His hands move at a steady pace, tugging the fabric of your nightgown up inch by inch. Sleep lingers at the edge of his mind. The knowledge that he'll have to get up early with the sun still hidden from the sky. Yet you'll be here asleep—dreaming of his calloused palms on your soft skin. How he burned himself into your ribs with a kiss.

"C'mere," he mumbled, eyes narrowed and lips parted with a deep withered breath. "Let me touch you."

Denial would be a false tale on your tongue. Depriving yourself of him wasn't an option anymore. When times like this were found few and far between and his touch became a lingering memory in the back of your mind.

You couldn't remember the last time you tasted him. The last time he sunk into your wet heat with a solid groan—the muscles of his back screaming as he held his body above yours.

Age was cruel to a man who used to be so virile. He could recall the hours he took to worship your body—mold you beneath the warmth of his palms. But doing that more often wasn't something he was capable of. He still longed for you. The sounds you made, the way your face twisted in pleasure as you came on his cock, fingers, face. He craved it some nights. He felt it eat him alive.

Tonight was no different.

"How?" you breathed, eyes wide and pleading.

You were so fucking sweet he didn't even have to convince you of this. So ready to let him bring you to that peak of bliss. He could smell the heady scent of your pussy—the way it called to him with shouts of need. And if he was a younger man...he'd have you pinned beneath him. He'd hammer his hips into yours until bruises formed beneath the skin—down into the very muscles of your legs.

His graying hair and weathered face did nothing to stop the lust that poured into your face. Your eyes still drooped, mouth open and chest heaving. And Logan was a fortunate fucking man that you were still here.

So unlike his younger self, he let you take the lead.

"Can I touch you?" you asked so nicely. He groaned at the sound of it, jutting his chin down in a nod as you grasped the button of his jeans.

Any other night you'd let him take you. Give into his languid touches until you came wherever he wanted you to come. This was a rarity the longer you spent bound together by the strings of fate.

Logan fucking loved it. He ached for it on days spent away from you—time he'd never get back. But when he'd find his way home and curl his body around yours, he found that sleep was a better option. You'd heartily agree. If it wasn't for the pounding ache between your thighs each time you caught his eye. Each chance you got to see the thick arms and sun kissed skin that lay beneath his white button downs.

"Been dreamin' about this." His voice echoed with a rasp you'd grown to love. One that screamed exhaustion, yet licked a line of heat up your spine. "Such pretty fuckin' lips."

His thumb dug into the curve of your bottom lip, pulling at it until your mouth popped open. Allowing his finger to press against your tongue—saliva building at the thought of getting him in your mouth. Of him using your throat to get himself off.

You didn't even care if you finished. You just wanted to feel him.

"You're my good girl right?" A moan spilled past your spread lips, eyes fluttering when his pants slipped down and cock came free. "Yeah you are."

"Logan," you sighed. He dragged your spit across your cheek; thumb and forefinger gripped your chin to tilt your head close enough to kiss him. Only to hold you there.

"Keep 'em open baby."

The feel of his length throbbing so close to your chest—precum dotting the tip—drove you mad. You wanted him closer. Wanted to feel the bruising ache at the back of your throat as he pushed too far. Your fingers wrapped around him gently, causing him to hiss at your cold touch. The reminder to take it slow, savor him, rang in your ears. Yet the way he looked at you with a feral hunger you felt in your heart shoved those thoughts to the side.

Within his life there's only been a handful of moments he wished he could go back to. Nearly all of them were with you on nights such as this. When the moon hung low in the sky and dawn felt eons away. If he was lucky he wouldn't have to wake up tomorrow, he'd get to wake up naked by your side and bury himself in your pretty cunt.

Logan was rarely lucky.

His spit landed on your tongue, splattering against the corner of your mouth. He led your mouth down with a firm grip until you hovered directly over his cock. The dark red at the tip made you clench around nothing—the ache spreading to the base of your stomach. Screaming for you to take it. Put your mouth on him and make him finish down your throat.

"There we go," he murmured, watching his spit and yours fall from your mouth—landing directly on his twitching cock. "Pretty ain't it."

"Yeah," you gasped, nails digging into the v of his hips. "Can I taste you? Please."

The deep echo of his laugh shot through your body like a bullet. You could feel it burrow deep within, spreading across each nerve ending and vein. Being so close to what you wanted felt like torture, but with Logan you knew it would be worth it in the end. He never left you wanting.

"'Course honey." His hand cupped the back of your neck, leading you with a soft touch. "It's yours."

Yours. Yours. Yours.

With a moan, you wrapped your lips around the head of him—tongue sliding through the slit. A ragged groan tore from his chest, his eyes boring a hole into the side of your face. The knowledge that he was so far gone for you left a pleasant thrill of warmth to grow in your stomach. This strong, capable man would bend at his knees simply to see you smile.

He was your devotee and you'd become his goddess.

"Fuckin' perfect." His words were a spit of need, fingers digging down into your skin with each flick of your tongue.

You merely held him there. In your mouth with spit coating the hand wrapped around the base of him. His taste flooded your mouth, each drop a nectar you would never have enough of. And he let you have your fill. He lay still on the bed, his breaths coupled with moans as you took your time.

Slipping him a bit deeper, you felt his thighs shift beneath you—a shuddered sigh echoing the small bedroom. You'd barely begun and yet he felt the high of dizziness begin to pull at his mind. Effectively killing whatever sleep called out to him.

"Take a little more for me." He sounded gone. Your lips spread into a smile, bobbing your head and swallowing a bit more with each small thrust. "Fuck yeah. Just like that."

He pushed at the back of your throat, your jaw strained under the width of him. Tears spilled from the corner of your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. And he caught them with his thumb, mixing the salt with what spit of his still remained along your skin. Tilting your head slightly, you felt him slip down your throat—your nose finding the graying curls at his base.

The loud growl that ripped through his body was all the reward you needed. He was on the fucking edge. Barely hanging on by the skin of his teeth. And he knew you could tell. His thighs jolted—stomach tensing—and when your hand slipped down to tug at his balls, thumb finding the spot between, he lost it.

Snarling your name, he thrust his hips up into your mouth and felt you choke on him. Your throat constricted perfectly with each cant of his hips down into you. He gave you the opportunity to push him off—get some air down your lungs. You let him keep going—eyes fixed on the way his face screwed up in pleasure. His teeth bared and throat extended.

Another push of your thumb sent him flying over the edge with a shout. The salty tang of him filled your mouth, spilling down your throat with rope after rope of cum. And you swallowed it all despite the searing burn that spread along your esophagus. You took every fucking drop of him and allowed some to remain on your tongue.

To prove that you could take whatever he wanted to give.

"I fuckin' love you," he breathed, cupping your jaw and grinning when you stuck out your tongue—a pool of his spend dripping down your chin.

His fingers scooped it out of your mouth before you could swallow. "Up." He slapped your ass, moving you up and into his lap. "Your turn."

"I’m okay."

The glare he gave you burned its way to your lungs. "Good girls get rewarded." His fingers dipped down beneath your nightgown—pleased to find you bare—and spread his cum along the lips of your pussy. "Don't you want your reward bub?"

"Yes," you whimpered, gripping at his hair. "I do."

"Then take it."

Refusing was no longer an option when the bliss you'd been searching for finally flared to life in your body. His fingers plunged into you, curling and seeking the spot he always found with ease. And with a sharp gasp—your hand yanking at his hair—he knew he'd found it. He smiled at the sight of you. Head back and eyes shut as you fucked yourself on his hand.

"Tell me," he said. Gripping your chin, his lips met yours in a messy kiss of teeth and tongues. He could taste himself in your mouth. His chest rumbled with a soft sigh.

"I love you." The base of his hand ground into your clit, fingers pounding up quicker—faster. And your words pitched high with each thrust.

"I know you do." He kissed your throat, the heat of your body rubbing against his made his cock twitch in interest again. "Love you too baby."

"Fuck!" The coil in your stomach began to unravel rapidly, your body shattering into pieces you'd never find again. And he clutched you tightly to his chest. He watched in rapture at the sight of you shaking, hips bucking against his hand in quick thrusts. "Logan."

Pride bloomed in his chest. "You're perfect."

You collapsed onto his bare chest, spent and exhausted. The final tendrils of pleasure began to ebb out of your body, suddenly replaced by the comfort of him there. You pressed your lips to the center of his chest, teeth dragging along the scarred skin. And he basked in your attention—his hand trailing down your spine to knead the flesh of your ass.

"We should do that more often," you teased, lips finding his in a soft kiss.

He huffed, his eyes falling shut. "I'm too old for that."

"Believe it or not, but you're sexier older."

"Yeah?" He stirred against your stomach. "You like me old and gray?"

"Absolutely."

He smirked, pushing you up his body with slow movements. "Prove it."

[tazmiilly]

I've always found the end of Journal 3 a bit strange, but one of the specific things is ford throwing his journals into the bottomless pit. It's kinda cool as a concept, but it really doesn't make a whole lot of sense.

The bottomless pit basically makes it so the fate is unknown of whatever goes in. it could come back, it could end up somewhere else, or it could continue falling for eternity.

ford has attempted to hide his journals before, but they were all found. Gideon even dug up the 2nd one and used it to terrorize the town and even ford's own family.

so I don't think ford would be blind to these outcomes, its happened before why wouldn't it happen again? I think the thought of the journals falling through the pit and wounding up in the hands of someone more powerful than an 8 year old would be enough to keep him up at night. the forever uncertainty would kill him.

then I think, well maybe he would burn them with everything else?

however, I think it's important to remember how much these journals meant to him. despite the memories they carry now, they were once his sole confidant in six years of solitude.

even if ford felt any sort of connection to them now, he probably felt like he had to get rid of them.

he probably felt that his work was a burden to those he cared about. that he would have to make the sacrifice to part with them.

I think it would be a great dilemma for him. So I believe he gave them to someone. I think a lot of people would assume it would be Dipper, but to me what it comes down to is that it would have to be someone ford could fully trust.

it would be someone who could see the value in his work despite his mistakes. someone who could fully understand where his passion came from at the very start.

so i believe he gave them to fiddleford

I think fiddleford has had an interest in Ford's old journals ever since his memory started to recover. he remembers something new each time he reads them. fiddleford would be able to keep them safe, keeping ford's mind at ease knowing someone was keeping an eye on them.

and I think that would be enough for him