#like I'm not doing anything with him he just exists and wanted to tell the 7 people who see my posts that he exists

[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.”

[acanvasofabillionsuns]

[ID: The first image is a movie poster for the Dreamworks movie Home, showing Oh, a Boov (a wide, short, purple creature), Tip, a black girl, and a calico cat. The rest of the images are screenshots of sections of The True Meaning of Smekday, by Adam Rex.

In a ridiculously short amount of time, the Boov determined that humans were unwilling to mix peacefully into their culture. They pointed out all the people who fled instead of welcoming their new neighbors, even those whose homes had been taken outright. Captain Smek himself appeared on television for an official speech to humankind. (He didn't call us humankind, of course. He called us Noble Savages of Earth. Apparently we were all still living on Earth at this point.) "Noble Savages of Earth," he said. "Long time have we tried to live together in peace." (It had been five months.) "Long time have the Boov suffered under the hostileness and intolerableness of you people. With sad hearts I now concede that Boov and humans will never to exist as one." I remember being really excited at this point. Could I possibly be hearing right? Were the Boov about to leave? I was so stupid. "And so now I generously grant you Human Preserves—gifts of land that will be for humans forever, never to be taken away again, now." I stared at the TV, mouth agape. "But we were here first," I said pathetically.

The tent was strung with white Christmas lights and packed with people, all facing a stage on one end. And on the stage stood a redheaded man in a wifebeater with a Viking tattooed on his chest. People were booing him. "Shut up!" the redhead was saying. "I have the stage! All I'm saying is, now that we've all had to leave our real homes, we got a chance to get America right! There can be a place for the Saxon Americans, and a place for the coloreds, and a place for—shut up!"

"So every place has some kind of leader?" I asked. It had all happened so fast. "Sure. Most of them are former state governors, or senators, or whatever. The president runs a little town called Rye." "Just a little town?" "Yes..." said Mitch. "He's not very popular anymore, because of the invasion. People assume it was his fault somehow. But we have to have leaders. We have to have government." "I guess," I said. "Daniel Landry's district is far south of here," he said, "on some former Indian land." "Indian land? Like a reservation?" "That's right." "Is this Dan guy an Indian?" "I don't think so, no. I'm pretty sure he's white. He wasn't a governor or anything before, but he's really rich, so I imagine he's a good leader." "Uh-huh. But he's white," I said. "The Indians elected a white guy?" "Well...I don't know. I imagine all the other people elected him. It's mostly white folks living on the reservation now." I frowned. "And the Indians are okay with this?" "What do you mean?" "Well...it was a reservation," I said. "It was land we promised to the Native Americans. Forever." Mitch looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. "But...we needed it," he said.

"Mr. Hinkel," said the Chief, jerking his head toward the sleeping man. "He thinks Indians like me ought to live somewhere else. Likes to tell me about it a lot." I didn't really want to talk about Mr. Hinkel. "Well, maybe they'll let him go soon." "Doubt it," said the Chief. "Got beat up pretty good by someone who thinks gay people like him ought to live somewhere else."

The last excerpt from the book is in comic format, divided into four main panels. The first is captioned, "2,000 (two thousand) years ago - Many schools closed by the HighBoov, because Money is Needed Elsewhere. Boov are told not to worry about learning unimportant things. Boov are told to learn one useful thing that may be done over and over again and give their life meaning. HighBoov devise clever tests to find which Boov should be taught more, and which Boov should not be taught because Money is Needed Elsewhere." Boov are shown doing things like guarding, serving food, and taking care of children.

The second panel is captioned, "1,150 (one thousand, one hundred and fifty) years ago - Certain Boov who were taught many things announce that industry is polluting the waters of Boovworld." Boov in uniforms point to a chart of their world and gesture to something outside a window, presenting this information to other Boov in fancy outfits. "These scientist predict that the oceans soon will no longer be able to sustain life, unless things are changed."

The third panel is captioned, "1,149 (one thousand, one hundred and forty-nine) years ago - HighBoov declare that these warnings of pollution cannot be proven, so therefore nothing should be changed. The scientist Boov who gave these warnings are declared evil-evil that they should call our God unclean. These Boov are named the Forgotten and sent onto land into exile forever. Some of them die of asphyxiation. Most don't." A line of Boov trudge out of water onto land.

The fourth panel is captioned, "1,003 (one thousand and three) years ago - God dies of asphyxiation." There are many skeletons with lots of darkness in the background.

Plain text: "1,003 years ago, God dies of asphyxiation" End ID]

like the most politically neutered movie of all time unironically

[yougavememyopia]

Crybaby yandere, whose teardrops you could collect in a big jar. He wasn't good at many things — styling his messy tangled hair, fixing his wrinkled and untidy clothes — he sucked at taking care of himself. Bawling his eyes out after failing to do a simple task.

He knew he was pathetic. A whiny useless mess. He was miserable enough, and then he had to fall in love with you. His attempts at wooing you always ended up a huge failure. Even before speaking about his feelings, he'd taste the salty droplets pouring down.

So he resorted to stalking you. His glistening eyes watching you throughout the day. He wasn't very subtle. You could hear his footsteps, his sniffling — he wasn't very good at being sneaky. It was obvious that he was following you around like a lost child.

He was quick to sob no matter what kind of reaction you showed him. A smile, a frown, a glare. No matter what you did, he'd still cried a river. You were confused. Confused what he was always blubbering about. Not understanding his incoherent sentences.

"I-I just... hic… y-you're all I have… hic… I-I c-can’t—hic… I’m so s-stupid!"

You'd tell him to slow down and breathe. Rubbing his back or petting his head. You had to hug him tightly, feeling his tears soaking your clothes as his shoulders slowly stopped shaking.

You wondered how a person like him could exist — so melancholic, in need of tender loving care. (And more importantly, if he was dehydrated or not. You were really concerned.)

You had to admit; you loved seeing his face after his crying died down. Puffy eyes. Quivering pout. Red nose. You had no idea what he was even crying about, but it felt nice to see his slight smile after when you hand him a chocolate bar.

He managed to eventually speak with you normally thanks to your kindness. He wanted to do better for you. He wanted to be better for you.

That didn't stop his creepy side from taking over. He'd steal your things. Anything that had a scent of you on them soothed him. A t-shirt of yours that he could wear to bed. A pillow with the smell of you lingering in it.

He was a weirdo. He knew that, and he felt so guilty for all he did. All those items he took without permission. Just to have small pieces of you with him that he took comfort in.

He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. He couldn't drink. He felt sick. Lovesick. He longed for your touch; your gentle arms wrapping around him and telling him everything was going to be okay.

He didn't stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. Blinking them to clear his sight; your house coming into view. He longed to see you. Craved to be with you. Not caring about how late it was.

He broke into your room. Legs wobbling and head spinning. Seeking the right room. You jolted awake, screaming at the touch of the unknown shadow looming over you.

“I d-didn’t mean to s-scare you… hic… I just wanted to s-see you. Please-please don't look at me like I'm a m-monster..”

You sighed in relief when you heard the familiar sob. His shaking body immediately falling onto yours. Arms snaked around your midriff, face buried deep in your neck. He panted hot breaths, your body shivering in response. His hands clutching your shirt with panic.

You shushed him, breathing in the shampoo from his hair. Slightly groggy after being awakened from a deep slumber, you managed to open your mouth to speak. "Don't cry... Mmh... Wait, how'd you know where I lived?"

"I can't- can't take it a-anymore! Hic… I need you to t-take, hic, care of me. I neeeed you to! I can't.. I can't live without you. Hic!"

He shifted to the other side of the bed. Wasting no time to bury his face in your chest instead. It belonged there. Right where he could hear your heartbeat. You felt him nuzzle into you — his cheek rubbing your side and his fingers grazing right under your ribs. He was whining and moaning about how useless and terrible he was.

"Please, t-take me. Love... hic, love me! I want to be yours! Please? Hic. I dunno know if- If I can do anything without you."

He was starting to be less hysteric — when enveloped by your warmth and scent, he felt safe. The last tears dripped down his chin into the fabric of your shirt. Your entangled fingers in his hair enough to make him go quiet.

Your hummed filled the silence. "I don't know what to say, this is all so sudden. I mean, there's so many things wrong with this situation."

"But-but... You let me latch onto you." He groaned as he looked up at you. "I wanna be next to you through whatever you do. Wanna be yours. Please? I'll try not to become a b-burden if that's what you're worried about."

You closed your eyes. His mind was set on convincing you that the two of you should be together already. He whimpered at the loss of your hand in his hair. "Are-are you mad at me? Do you hate... me?"

You could feel a new storm coming, so you quickly shushed him. "No, no. It's just really late." You used your free hand to cover your yawn. "Let's just sleep, yeah? Too sleepy to think."

"Oh. Mmhm, yeah." His chest warmed up at your suggestion. You turned to your side to hug him properly. A leg pressed on his hip and an arm around his upper torso. "G'night."

He stiffened at first but then relaxed as the realization sank in. You were holding him like a body pillow. He never felt more loved. Whispering "I love you" and "I'm yours" until he fell asleep with you.

[cepheusgalaxy]

We need more trans and gnc whumpees!

Trans whumpees that are post-everything before they are even captured, yes, but not just that!

Whumpee that didn't even realize she was trans and was captured as a "boy" and then after she was rescued and started to heal and feel safe after so long she started figuring out things about herself. Does she have a caretaker? Does she tell them? Does she not, in fear of their reaction? So many options!

Perhaps whumpee even figured themself out during captivity. Did they let whumper know? Did whumper care? Did whumper pretend to care?

Maybe whumpee isn't trans, but he is gnc. He always dressed fem and then he was captured and whumper used him as a dress up doll for the dresses and laces they wanted and that made whumpee sick. In recovery, is caretaker perhaps expecting whumpee to be a little more conforming after those experiences? What happens when instead, Whumpee goes back to their loved fem style or perhaps a new one altogether, but this time on their terms, way different than what whumper forced them into. Does whumpee perhaps even figure out he likes dressing fem in recovery after trying to find his style after enduring captivity

Or maybe slavery setting! Slave or bbu/pet whumpee who is transgender and as they realize that they have a moreso nice handler that lets them slowly transition. "Hey did you hear 20391 is a she now" "Dude idk that one is Dave's trainee but he knows what he's doing—have you seen his reviews? I'm not gonna be the one doubting his methods" and "Hey did you grow out your slave's hair" "Nah, found out they handed me a girl and thought it was a boy. She asked me to grow it out and it's pretty easy to yank now, ya know, why would I deny it" or something like that

Whumpees who had their "silly trans thoughts" beaten out of them in captivity and are afraid of being themselves during recovery!

Mad scientist who blackmails whumpee with affirming care as a way to ensure they'll stay in line?

Agender whumpee who's had a gender imposed onto it during its whole life and after a stranger, caretaker, rescues it, she doesn't want it to be anything and when they ask its gender at some point (it was not like she knew it before) it just sighs and asks if they can go back to pretend that thing didn’t exist, before caretaker got to ask. Caretaker chuckles and says it can be genderless, if it wants. So many possibilities!

Male whumpee dehumanized for a long time and after a while getting the guts to ask Caretaker—who's been so kind as to never call whumpee anything but a "he" or a "they" when they weren't sure—if they can start using it/its. Caretaker is confused, why would you want to go back to that? And whumpee's face is red with embarassment, but they feel a twitch in their gut everytime someone calls it sir, or lady, when it was confused by a girl at the grocery store once. It doesn't know why, it just—Caretaker doesn't understand, but they want whumpee to feel comfortable. They ignore the guilt on their tongue when they refer to whumpee by that, which instantly vanished the second they catch its surprised smile.

Anyways I just—TRANS AND GNC WHUMPEES YALL

[dronningreid]

Between the bitter reality and a sweet ending.

After Reid's visit to his mother and his conversation with Cat Adams, you notice how what seemed to be the best news of their lives receives a reality check.

Between letters: Part 1 (it is not necessary read the first part to understand this, but I recommend it)

who? Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

category: angst/fluff

warnings: pregnant reader, reid is again pessimistic, overthinking (poor thing) and isolates himself, mentions of alzheimer's and schizophrenia, mention of cat adams 💀 english is not my first language and this is a two-part story.

word count: 2.1K

a/n: Thanks to everyone who gave so much love to the first part of this, it really made my horrible days more beautiful. Well, I made this somewhat based on entropy (11x11) and christmas (it's soon!) because that episode always gave me a lot of that vibe. (Spoilers below) But I did this in particular because we talk enough about how Spencer would be the best dad in the UNIVERSE, but where is his fear that his children will have the mental illnesses that he so afraid of? we don't talk about that enough.

It is said that after the storm comes the calm. So what do you do when after the calm comes another storm? Much stronger, more devastating.

"Marry me." After kissing you he got on his knees.

You laughed nervously. "Nooo, yet."

He looked at you with those beautiful puppy eyes. "Please..." Reid leave a kiss on the back of your hand.

You caressed his cheek and he rubbed his face against your palm. "Happiness is what speaks. I don't want you proposing to me five minutes after finding out I'm pregnant with your baby."

"One hour?" You denied. "Two?" You denied again. "One day?" He tilted his head to the side.

"Get up, everyone is looking at us strangely." You insist.

He snort before obeying, he was a good boy. "Fine. But I'm still waiting for an answer, you have two options: yes or of course."

"I'm not going to marry you just because i'm pregnant." It hurt you to see his look of disappointment. "And of course I want to marry you, but not like that. I don't want you see this an obligation because it isn't."

"Men of the 19th century think differently." He did a small joke. "But this isn't an obligation for me, still I understand and I will wait... a year?"

"But I want a nice ring or I will say no." You decided to push his buttons a little.

He of course got your joke. "Anything for the mother of my baby." He gave you a kiss on the cheek.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

A couple of months passed, your belly was growing every day even though it still was small. Spencer was always there to praise and pamper you and his baby.

It was a heavenly, beautiful, perfect couple of months, proof that perfection can exist. But there is entropy, things break down, wear out and if they are ordered, sooner or later it return to their natural chaotic state.

You had only been without Spencer for a couple of days but you already missed him so badly, like you needed his presence to breathe easier. Sometimes you hated how much you needed him.

"I want to go with you."

He left his suitcase at the door just to go and leave a sweet kiss on your forehead. "I'm just going to check on my mum, it's better for you and the baby to stay here, safe."

Even when he was gone, you could still feel the sensation of his lips on your forehead. Like the ghost of a kiss...

When Spencer came back home there was something different on him. Something he wasn't telling you.

You were barely able to talk to him, as the team was very busy working on the strategy to end the network of online hitmen that threatened Garcia.

You were with Garcia when Reid came down the stairs, adjusting his tie.

You focus your attention on him. "I don't like you being the bait." Translation: I don't like you look so handsome for another woman, especially if she's a psychopath.

"I'm the closest in age." He explained again.

"I know, but that doesn't make me feel better." You helped him adjust his tie. "Especially if your alibi is wanting to pay to kill your pregnant wife."

He shifted his eyes to the small lump on your belly. "Is this some kind of revenge for me not agreeing to marry you?" You joked.

That didn't go at all the way you wanted, because both of you gained Penelope's attention and he didn't laugh, not even a smile. He just brought his hand to your belly before placing a kiss.

"I don't like my alibi either, but the point is to irritate her." He sounded so terrifyingly serious. Something was definitely wrong and you couldn't rest easy until you figured out what it was.

"Spencer-"

"I have something!" Penelope said as she typed something into the computer.

Reid simply walked past you and paid attention to what Penelope had discovered.

You didn't even hear what your friend had discovered, it was like it was just background noise. Well, all your attention was revolving around a single unknown, there was only one thing you wanted to discover.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

You wish that after dismantling a network of hitmen things would be better, but that was all it was: just a wish.

Everything that happened at Harry & Glenn's Grill and Bar tested your ability to not die of a heart attack. First the bomb, then that Cat Adams pointing a gun at your boyfriend. Luckily the BAU won, but it didn't quite feel like a complete victory, at least not for Reid so it doesn't feel like victory for you either.

It didn't help that Spencer had a mysterious conversation with Cat after he arrested her. If he was already acting weird with everyone (especially you) this new variable did not help your situation.

But at least now you had hope that everything would get better, it was Christmas Eve dinner. Everything was supposed to get better, right?

"Do you think anyone will make turkey? The baby wants turkey."

Reid opened the car door for you. "JJ maybe. Penelope definitely not and Rossi might make his famous pasta."

∗⋅✧⋅∗

The car ride was unpleasantly quiet. Usually you'd enjoy the silence with Spencer, it used to be comfortable. But now, now it was fucking torture.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You sounded more aggressive than you intended. Bad idea, because he looked away from the road to look at you with a frown.

"Excuse me?" His harsh tone was like a punch. He didn't usually talk to you like that, never.

You laughed nervously, he of course doesn't. "Sorry." You looked at your hands in your lap. You couldn't stand his gaze, it burned.

And this is where he would ask what you meant, using a calmer tone of course. But that didn't happen, he just left you with a lump in your throat and a headache.

The ride continued in silence, a deathly silence.

At least when you got to the Rossi house, sorry, Rossi mansion you were able to relax a little with the girls. Although there was definitely still that little thorn that didn't leave you in peace and it was called: what the hell is wrong with Spencer Reid?

It was almost Christmas, you didn't want things with him to be like this, complicated.

After going down the stairs you returned to the dining room where the others were. "Hey guys, has anyone seen Spence?"

Everyone looked at each other, but only one knew the answer. "I saw him go to the back garden." Morgan said.

You just nodded before putting on your coat and walking outside. Immediately a light gust of cold wind brushed your cheek.

You saw him there standing in front of the pool, just thinking. Something common with him, always, but at least before he used to share that throughs with you.

You approached, putting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "Morgan told me you were here."

"I just needed to get some air." He didn't even bother to look at you, because his gaze was lost in a place you couldn't reach.

Silence soon filled the air between you two, turning what was once warm into something frigid. You meditated on what would be the best thing to say, you searched for magic words that would make him speak. But there was nothing.

"I'm mad at you." That came out before you could stop the words.

At least this time you had his attention, but it hurt to see how his eyes betrayed the pain that his mouth could not express. Still he remained silent, waiting for you to say something more.

"I can forgive you, of course." You rushed to say something that would make the guilt in your chest go far away. "But it hurt how you first told a criminal what's happening with your mother. I guess that's what's been bothering you these days, but if there's anything else, Spencer, I need you to tell me."

He ran a hand over his face before sighing in frustration. "It's not like I told her because I wanted to." he said defensively.

"I know, I know or maybe you did because you needed to vent and tell someone. But I would have preferred that person to be me..." Your voice broke.

He was starting to feel like the biggest idiot in the world. Spencer immediately sought comfort in your hand and you didn't stop him.

"I hate it when you walk away and retreat into yourself, like you're the only person you can trust. And I say, I understand that you do that with others, but with me?" Every word that came out of your mouth began to weigh on his chest.

"I know I can trust you, but it's hard to just stop doing something I've been doing all my life." He brushed the back of your hand with his thumb.

You looked at his hand. "At least try..." You hated that that sounded like a plea. "Maybe if we share the load, it will be easier for you."

He nodded and took a deep breath, but it took him a few more minutes to speak again. "It's no secret that I'm afraid..." He took another deep breath and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze to encourage him to continue. "I'm afraid I might have schizophrenia like my mother, and when I turned thirty I thought I'd dodged a bullet. But now dementia and alzheimer's are on the list."

You stayed silent, waiting for him to continue telling you what had been hurting him lately.

"Anyway, if it's only about me I can live with that." It wasn't like that, it obviously affected him more than he wanted to admit. But then his gaze fell on your belly. "But I can't live with the idea that I've been selfish for so long...

You frowned. “Selfish?”

"Yes. Because I have wanted children for a long time without thinking that they could be like my mother or like me..." His voice broke. "And now it's too late, because I've already ruined everything, I've already got you pregnant and this baby could have schizophrenia, dementia, Alzheimer's or all three." Breathing began to become difficult. "And I feel like the worst father and boyfriend in the world, because it would only be my fault if the baby is like that and you would have to pay the price for my mistakes."

"Enough, enough." You placed your hands on either side of his face. "We don't even know if it will happen and even if it did, this is not your fault, Spencer."

He placed his hands on your wrists, holding you there. "And who is the blame?" That bad habit of always wanting to find someone to blame.

You forced yourself to shut your mouth, you didn't have an answer for that.

"I don't know..." The guilt in his eyes was hard to see. "I just know it's not your fault. And it's done, the baby could be like you, like your mother or like me and all those things are okay, because I know that I will love it no matter what and I know you'll love it too." You brushed his cheekbones with your thumbs.

"But I don't want the baby to hate me if it inherited some of that, its life will be difficult and I don't want that..." He whispered.

"The baby won't hate you for it and me neither." You gave him a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"You say that now." He swallowed. "But in a couple of years we may not have much time left and I won't be able to recognize you, the love of my life. I will not remember that I love you and then you will hate me." How could he say such beautiful words like the love of my life, I love you and still say the most devastating thing in the world?

"But that may not happen." You preferred to remain optimistic.

"But the odds-" Then you put a finger on his lips, you rarely wished he would shut up.

"I don't care about the odds, even if in a couple of years you don't know who I am, I will know who you are. And no mental illness in the world can ever change how much I love you." You continued to caress his cheek and that, combined with your words, made him feel calmer. "I will stay, until the end."

He immediately wrapped you tightly in his arms, burying his head in the crook of your neck. "I don't deserve you." He whispered against your skin.

You caressed his hair while your free hand caressed his back. "If you didn't, I wouldn't be here."

Only time would tell if Reid's fears would come true, but one thing was certain: He always have you by his side. That and the daughter you and him had together was enough for have his happy ending.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

How do you feel about aromantic idia

As a headcanon? I love (jokingly) bullying Idia for being a socially awkward and sexually repressed otaku, but personally I also like the idea of him being aromantic. He doesn't like attention focused on him and generally seems to prefer fictional characters (ie his waifus/j) to interacting with real people. However, I think it goes deeper than just that. There's many lines in his Suitor Suit card that hint at Idia being repulsed by romance (even if you remove the context of him being kidnapped and forced to wed a ghost):

"There's no reasoning with people who lose their minds over every little infatuation. Like, just keep your head down and focus on school!" (He prioritizes other things, such as school and dismisses things like crushes.)

"I could never swear my eternal love. There's no such thing, and I'm nothing if not honest." (Here, he denies the existence of "eternal love".)

"Love is just chemicals in your brain. And people call that fate? They're all nuts, if you ask me." (He describes the feeling of love in a cold, scientific manner when this isn't something most people would think that deeply about.)

"Don't leave me. Stay with me forever. ...Oof, these emo lines are killing me. I'm gonna steer clear of proposals for the rest of my life." (He makes fun of typical romantic lines and then outright states he doesn't ever want to propose to anyone.)

"Do whatever you want with me. Just get it over with!" (Idia conveys distress and wanting to quickly be done with the kiss/general romantic circumstances.)

"If you want to talk romance, I'm your guy. I'm familiar with all the popular fan ships in video games and manga. You might even call me an expert." (He diverts the topic of real-life romances to his hobbies; aromantics, contrary to popular belief, can still enjoy romantic media without being attracted to or having limited attraction to real people themselves.)

Beyond his Suitor Suit lines, Idia has expressed upset at romantic love being viewed differently than platonic love. In 6-76, during his post-OB flashback, Idia shows off Ortho to Styx researchers, who are appalled by what he has done. "Wait... You built your late brother?! But that's wrong, Mr. Shroud!" they tell him. To that, Idia says, "So it's romantic when a hero rescues his ladylove from the Underworld, but when I do the same for my brother it's wrong?" He's frustrated that the story about Hercules diving into the Underworld to save Megara is praised, but him going that same extreme distance to revive his loved one--an act of platonic love--is denounced.

Idia is also consistently a character that has been shown to enjoy optimization and efficiency. He doesn't like anything that overcomplicates what can easily be done or made easier by machines. For someone like him, who was raised in isolation and has to bear the guilt of potentially dooming a future partner to the Shroud family curse, I think he'd just say "fuck it" at some point and decide it's ultimately not worth that hassle. It could read like a justification for him if others ask why he never looked into finding a spouse, S/O, etc. Like he'd tell them it isn't worth his time or something to get them off his back.

Of course, this is just my personal headcanon and you're free to agree or disagree with me on it! (I support all you Idia yumes and shippers out there 😉) Let's remember that we're all here to have fun and to not take these things too seriously.

[respectthepetty]

Dear Petty! If you’ve been keeping up with the tea: what is your latest assessment of the Joong/Est drama? Twitter is saying that Joong is hyping the beef because both he and Est have shows airing at the same time. It seems that Est stans (… 🤨) are also claiming talent superiority. And Joong has this pinned to his Twitter timeline:

Do you have the latest dish download?

Turtles!!!! Fun fact! TMZ is known for delivering celebrity gossip; however, on the bias scale, they fall nicely in the middle because the company doesn't have a clear bias, and the news source is actually pretty reliable. The reason the source doesn't score higher in reliability is because the writers try to analyze what they see instead of solely reporting what has been seen. I offer this tidbit because in the weeks since those "JoongDunk Divorce Era" posts on Twitter and Reddit, these basic facts have emerged:

Joong DID block Est. They both unfollowed each other on Instagram and Twitter, but Joong blocked Est. I will not TMZ this up and try to analyze why he did that, but the fact is he did and the youths have verified it.

The "divorce era" JoongDunk posts came in November, but people noticed the Est and Joong drama way back in SEPTEMBER because even at the beginning of October, everyone and their mama went to the ATEEZ concert and Joong and Est did not interact even though they were both there in the same vicinity with various GMMTV people like Mint, Neo, and Arm.

Daou went on the defense about the "Est is wrecking the DaouOffroad home" and posted several times about him and Offroad being fine when people tried telling him he needed to spend more time with Offroad.

A person actually questioned Dunk (if my memory is correct) about the incident where he hung out with Pond and Est while Joong was out of town during a fan meet. I know the post exists of the actual piece of paper with the question, but I cannot find it now! (Chismosa 101, Lesson #1 - Always get the screenshots!)

Joong went on his little trip with First and Khaotung sans Dunk

Joong and Dunk have stated they had a disagreement not just once

BUT TWICE!

And Joong said only they could fix it.

JASP.ER was announced where Joong will be working with Dunk's bestie, Pond, who also was at the infamous dinner with Dunk and Est and who the people ship with Dunk

Then Est went on record and stated he has a very small circle of friends and he is currently single because it's really hard for him to talk to people

Finally, Joong made a cameo on Est's currently airing show, ThamePo, which as far as I'm aware, Joong strangely did not promote. However, I don't have a Twitter account, so I could have missed it.

So now I will put on my TMZ cap:

As much as I want the fictional and real gays to lie, I think that this is the tea — Joong and Est got beef hence why Est was blocked and they aren't interacting. Sides were picked, problems arose from the way people operated (*cough* Dunk *cough*), and instead of GMMTV learning anything from the Tay and Gun kiss, the ongoing Joss bullshit, or ANY incident prior to this, GMMTV somehow didn't go full Adele's management team and pull these boys' social media or give them social media training, so here I am as a Jaidee fan first, and a human second enjoying the hell out of The Heart Killers and praying for Dare You to Death to get filmed just in case the separation sticks and my troublesome tykes divorce before the first gay marriage actually even happens in Thailand.

So yeah . . .

That's that on that!

[ohcheezusitsevie]

Evie's Quacktacular Spectacular Celebration (A Competition for No Reason)

Ducks are beautiful(Tommy: Oh, dear God...). And I wanted to celebrate their existence. January 19th is National Duck Day and January 13th is National Rubber Ducky Day...which is bull shit! Everyday, under Evie, is duck day. Why? Because there is nothing greater than a duck and a slab of cheese...man, I love cheese, too. Cheese goes with everything. And ducks? Man's best friend(Tommy: That is a dog, Evie, a dog). IN EVIE LAND...ducks are a man's best friend......Anyway, let's look at 5 great things about ducks!

Any questions so far?! (Finn: What planet are you from?). Daddy! (Tommy: Finn, we know Evie is...different, but let's just get on with it, eh....). Okay, good...any questions about DUCKS? (John: they go well with a nice fig sauce. Arthur: I do like a nice roasted duck...). We don't eat ducks in Evie land! Anyway, seeing as we don't have a single intelligent thought among us about the slide show...I'm moving on......

To celebrate the beauty of ducks, I will host a competition. It is not a serious one, but just something silly for laughs. Anyone in the Peaky Blinders fandom can contribute, whether or not they follow my story. :) As long as you are 18 and over. None of the sections are overly strenuous or hard, but all three are incredibly silly. Please enjoy and there will be prizes! You can join all three, but you cannot submit more than one submission per a game. :) All entries must be submitted by Friday, January 3rd at 8:00pm EST. All winners will be announced Saturday, January 4th at 8:00pm EST. Some Rules: ---> You can enter all three games, but you can only submit once per a game. You can win a spot in all three, but you can't win #1 in more than one.

---> You don't have to follow Novashelby or ohcheezusitsevie, but all submissions have to be submitted to ohcheezusitsevie. You want to submit it through the ask box and you can't be on anon!

---> For the drawing, it has to be YOUR OWN. For the joke, you can use a previously published one, just tell me where you got it.

In game one, you will submit a little drawing that you did of a duck. You are probably wondering to yourself, I CAN'T DRAW. And guess what? You should still do it because it is funny and for fun. I am not judging on accuracy or artistic skills. I am judging solely on how much I smiled and giggled. :) This drawing doesn't have to take fancy art supplies or a lot of time. Just a pencil is fine! Prizes: -> There are 3 winners spots and so, there are 3 prices. ->1st Place: You will win a 1,000 word one-shot. Nova, my creator, will write anything of your choosing within the Peaky Blinders Fandom. It can be an OTP, smut, fluff, Y/N, and so on and so forth. ->2nd Place: You will win an 800 word one shot that abides by the same rules as above. -> 3rd Place: You will win a 500 word One Shot that abides by the same criteria as above!

This one is really silly! And kind of a lie because...there are no ugly ducks(Finn: Really? I can name one-OW!). Ignore him, he's insignificant. In this game, you will find the "ugliest" duck picture you find and submit it. The one that makes me snort my choccy milk out of my nose the hardest, wins. These pictures should be kind to the ducks...obviously nothing that shows abuse or neglect. We don't like that in Evie land. And no ducks with fig sauce on it, either....(John: ☹️). Prizes:

->There will be three winners, and so there will be three prizes.

-> 1st Place: You will win a Moodboard of your chosen theme, and Nova will surprise you with a 200 word drabble. ->2nd Place: You will win a Moodboard of your chosen theme, and Nova will surprise you with a 100 word drabble. -> 3rd Place: You will win a Moodboard with a 50 word drabble of your choice.

For this game, you can either send in an original joke or the funniest one you find. They have to be duck oriented, but no jokes about abuse or eating ducks. :( Only duck friendly jokes. If you get it from elsewhere, you should tell me where. :) And the joke that makes daddy laugh the most, wins. (Tommy: what?! Evie, you can't just subject people to things...I did not agree to this. Am I being compensated?). And that will be hard, considering Daddy hasn't laughed since 1914.....I'll give him some whiskey before...

Prizes:

-> There will be three winners and three prizes!

->1st Place: 350 word drabble of your chosen themes and characters. -> 2nd Place: 250 word drabble of the same criteria as above. ->3rd Place: 150 word drabble of the same criteria as above!

Well, that's it for now folks! I urge everyone to join whether or not they are familiar with me. :) It is all for silly laughs and fun, and Miss. Nova just wants people to have a good time. There is no need to follow or be following Nova or me. Remember, all submissions should be entered here at this blog, not Novashelby. If you have any questions, remember to ask them at this blog as well. :) Remember, adhere to the deadlines and rules.

Have fun my ducky friends!

[longlivedelusion]

Hii, I saw you were doing requests for Marauders era things... Would you be keen to do a jegulus fic? would love to see them with a neurodivergent reader or something 💞 thank you !!! Ok if not comfortable

Thank you for your patience anon, if you're still around! Inspiration finally struck as I'm currently working through my own processes with my neurodivergent & mental health things. So I felt like what better time than now to write some fic therapy? Hope you enjoy! 🤍

The Art of Trying

Warnings: some angst and miscommunication. Good ending tho. My own personal portrayal of how neurodivergency shows up for me 🤍 but I know it's a spectrum for everyone. I'm no expert, just a human existing and trying.

James knew your routine well. He'd even adjusted some of his own so it could match up with yours well, which luckily didn't take too much effort given you were both early risers. Regulus, however, was the night owl of the three of you. He only woke up well after James and you had finished your morning tasks, and would work around the house quietly at night. But despite this, you'd all found a peaceful compromise in your daily lives so that this relationship could be at its absolute best. Thriving, he would say.

That was until Regulus got a new job that required him to be out by 8am. Which meant, a change in how you all lived and did things.

For James, the change was easy. He thrived with more people around, and waking up at the same time as his other partner felt like heaven. But for you... He knew this was a lot harder on you than you were admitting.

It started off fine, you also enjoyed the extra kisses and cuddles the first day, the second even. But James could tell that as you settled down after the excitement, the reality must have set in because you stopped making eye contact with them on the third day. Avoided their touches on the fourth.

By the end of the week, your voice turned cold.

"Can I please have some room." You mumbled out with a bit of an edge. Your body sliding carefully by Regulus's but not touching him. Reggie was making breakfast, some sort of omelette situation, but that meant there was cutting boards and cheeses and utensils all around and no space.

James was sitting at the breakfast nook with his coffee, reading over the Daily Prophet when he perked up at the tone.

"Of course darling," Regulus said, wand out immediately as he tidied up. "Apologies for that. Would you like an omelette?"

You grabbed your usual bowl, your yogurt, not even looking up to answer. "No thanks." You grabbed your things, saying a quick have a good day before you left for the bedroom and closed the door shut.

Now Regulus had been aware you were having a hard time adjusting, they'd anticipated it even. So he tried his best to accommodate your needs, but at the same time he had his routines as well. And he struggled the same, if not differently from too many changed to his own routine. James could tell the cold and distant attitude was affecting Reggie now as well, despite how patient he tried to be.

"Reggie y'alright?"

"No, James. I am not alright." Reggie sighed. "I feel like as if walking on glass, and by the time I get to work my day feels ruined. They barely looks at me, barely talks. Anything I do I feel as if it's wrong and I cannot- I don't want to shut her out. I don't want to shut down." He took a shaky breath in.

James was up in a moment, wrapping Regulus up in his arms. "I know, I know." He paused, focusing on easing his partner while he thought. "Maybe it's time we talk about it again, yeah? I know we discussed the change before, but it's obviously affecting them and you both more than you expected."

Regulus sighed as he rested his head on James' chest. "I suppose your right. I miss them, James."

James' heart cracked, "I know baby, but we can fix it yeah? This is fixable."

James felt Reggie nod on his chest. "Yeah," he mumbled.

He pulled Regulus back by his arms, "Would you rather talk to them now or after work?"

Reggie paused before letting out a breath. "Now, please."

He nodded and took Reggie's hand into his own, making their way to your bedroom as James knocked on the door. "Lovely?"

"Yeah?" He heard you mumble from within.

"Can Reggie and I come in for a moment?"

There was a long pause, an obvious tell on your end that you were aware that there would be a conversation happening. He gave you space to mentally preparing, waiting until eventually you let out a soft "Sure."

As James opened the door, they found you with your bowl empty and your tea forgotten, instead your back sat straight against your bed while you twisted your fingers in the top sheet.

"What's up?" You said in a forced nonchalant tone. He noticed your gaze focus on their interlocked hands.

"We just wanted to check in for a bit. Mind if we sit?" James said.

You nodded and the boys moved to the space across from you as an awkward silence filled the air. Your hands kept twisting at the sheets nervously until you'd notice and stop. Then just started up again.

"We've noticed you've been shutting down more lately, and we're just wanting to see how you're feeling if that's alright." James started.

Your faced dropped into a mix of guilt and sadness. "I'm... Adjusting."

"We know these things take time, of course." James placated, noticing Reggie's own guilt and frustration reflecting back in his face now. He squeezed his hand. "But you haven't really talked to us much since the change in schedules, and it feels a bit like you're shutting us out is all. We're worried."

You chewed on your lip, eyes glancing about as you thought. Not once landing on them.

"I just- I'm having uh... Hard time with. The difference." You managed out.

James nodded. "How so?"

"The sounds, the space, it's... Just different. And I feel myself getting frustrated and I don't wanna get mad at you guys because it's my brain, not you. You're not doing anything wrong. So I stay as long as I can, but it's just getting harder and I-" you choked out as you crashed your head onto our palms. "I just don't wanna take it out on you, I'm sorry. I don't know how to deal with this yet."

Reggie spoke up then, his voice calmer as his hand reached out to touch the fabric in front of you. "Darling, look at me please."

You lookes up warily as Regulus scooted closer, leaving James' side. "May I?" He asked, his palm up.

You placed your hand in his.

"It's not easy, when it feels as if our brains are working against us." Reggie started. "It's as if we are not cut out for the world and the world was not made for us. We may not be able to control how our brain interprets or how our body reacts, but we can choose and train ourselves to do the best we can. To try."

Regulus's hand reached up slowly to touch your face, giving you time to pull away if you so chose. "I want to try. I don't want my own inside rules to stop me from loving you the way that I want. The way you deserve." He paused and took a deep breath in and out. "But I also need you to trust me. To talk to me. This morning, yesterday, I-"

James put a supportive hand on Regulus's shoulder. Regulus seemed to struggle with his words, so James gladly chimed in. "We just want to support you as best as we can, but we also need to make sure we're all good too. And the only way to do that is if we talk about it. Are you okay with that lovely?"

You nodded, but kept your gaze down. "I'm sorry, I know this is a lot and I genuinely wish I knew how to deal with this better. Communicate better. I'm not... I'm not gonna be perfect at it. It may come out wrong."

Regulus tilted your now tear stained face up. "It doesn't need to be perfect. Just try, okay? And I will too. I most definitely do not say the right things always, nor do I express myself very well. Yet you've always been patient and non judgmental of it. Can you trust me to be the same?"

You held his gaze, doubt blooming behind your eyes. "I trust you I just-"

"Have been hurt by plebians before who couldn't deal with honest communication," Regulus finished.

You looked down at that and nodded slightly.

"We don't want you to be perfect," James supplied. "We just want you. As you are, as youve always been. That's all we want."

You met his gaze and reached your hand out to James. It's like his body could finally relax, touching you. "I'm sorry I didn't talk to you guys about it. That I just shut you out."

"S'alright lovely. We get it." James said. "Maybe this is something to talk about with your therapist yeah?"

You nodded, "Yeah, I haven't seen her in a while. Probably should."

James couldn't help but smile at you, at how much he knew that phrase alone took you ages to get even comfortable saying. Going to a therapist and finding one you trusted. He couldn't help but feel himself fill with pride.

Regulus's voice suddenly broke the comfortable silence. "Well I also get it, but it wasn't alright. I've had to deal with work and life all without your cuddles and I've been quite remiss to be honest." James could swear a sort of pout apparated on Regulus's face as he spoke and then disappeared just as quickly.

James sees the slight amusement trace your lips, but you surprise him when you speak with such a deep sincerity and vulnerability instead. "I'm sorry Reggie. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Regulus nodded before you leaned in for a quick kiss. Then turned to place one on James as well.

"Well! I don't know about you but that just gave me all the energy I needed today," James said with the biggest smile on his face.

You laughed, a beautiful laugh, at the same time Reggie scoffed but didn't disagree. He even went to kiss you again.

James knew that things might come up again, that it's wasn't all solved. But you loved each other, trusted each other, and that was enough.

[thalia-vargas]

It's been four days since I've moved in, but I've not unpacked a single box. For the life of me, I can't figure out why.

A week ago, Forrest had offered his home to me. He said that if I lived here, I could save more money than I spend because he wouldn't be charging me anything, and that I'll be giving life to an otherwise empty LA home. But most importantly, it'll be a way for us to be closer, so that every time he's in town, we wouldn't be wasting precious time figuring out whose place to stay in.

It's most generous, really. He's been most generous. But after one night here, I'm not sure I can stay.

I mean, his apartment is nice. Really nice. It's no castle, but it's way better than anything I can afford on my own. Besides, I've never needed a castle. But to live here for free? I offered to pay for something, anything, because I would feel like I'd be taking advantage of his generosity if I didn't. He was adamant I didn't need to. Eventually, he conceded and agreed that I can pay for the utilities I use, but nothing more.

This arrangement, however, had not helped quell my shame. Days later, these four walls still don't feel like home. Even as I sit here, by his bed, wearing the very sweatshirt he gave me, just staring at my pathetic attempt to make things cosy — a fresh new plant I'd bought from the nursery downtown. None of it helps. At least, not really. The silence is too loud, and I don't feel any of the warmth I feel when I'm around him.

Then again, no other four walls have ever felt like home, except for the ones I left in Colombia.

I've briefly considered it, though. Going back. After all, I've not been home since my abuela passed almost two years ago. I know I should. To visit her resting place, at the very least. But the thought of going back there and finding it as empty as this apartment is right now makes me want to throw up what little is in my stomach.

So, what do I do? Where do I go? How can I be thankful for things that aren't really mine, and be merry and bright all on my own? I'm tired of crying, and of keeping it all in. I want to be able to find my own place in this world. I need to. For me.

But how? How do I get to a place that might not physically exist? And how do I tell him that I need him there, in my life, no matter what?

[nknoxe-n]

☆★☆★→ Call Me Back? ←☆★☆★

Synopsis: Reo doesn't love you, and you don't love him, right? But you're both liars to each other and to yourselves

Tags: [angst] [pre established friendship][shitty ending its comfort I just suck at endings][not a nice ending but not a bad one in terms of angst][You both being in denail][unknown mutual pining][miscommunication]

w.c 4.7k

a/n: I think this is the longest fic I have written so far and surprisingly it's for Reo.. basically saying the rest of my account is Shidou and Rin. It is NOT proofread and I do hate it but who doesn't like two friends that can't tell they love each other and also if you see this and like my writing, I'm doing a match up event for 100 followers starting on the 26th :D

It had always been so easy to be around Reo. No matter how different your worlds seemed, no matter the distance that existed between his wealth and your modest upbringing, there was a connection that felt natural, effortless. The laughter came easily, whether you were sharing snacks on lazy afternoons or getting caught up in competitive gaming sessions where the stakes were nothing more than pride.

You didn’t care about the lavish gifts he’d sometimes try to give you, the ones that were meant to impress. Expensive perfumes, designer clothes—it all felt like an attempt to buy your affection. But you’d never wanted those things. They never impressed you the way he thought they might. You’d much rather have a poorly written note that made him smile, one that carried his personality, than something shiny with a high price tag.

When you thought about the moments that meant the most, it was always the simple ones. The evenings spent binging on snacks that could only be described as “junk” food, yet they were filled with laughter and inside jokes. The way he would tease you for your competitive streak, then turn around and beg you for a rematch when you beat him. Or how, when you lost, he’d give you that grin of triumph, but it never felt like he was rubbing it in. It was just… fun. Simple. Real.

There were nights when you both stayed up talking, no agenda, just sharing pieces of yourselves. You knew about his pressures, the expectations that came with being Mikage Reo—the heir to a powerful family—and he knew about your dreams of independence. You had your whole life planned out. The university you were determined to attend abroad, the job you’d pursue once you finished school, the career that would give you the freedom you craved. No amount of wealth or grandeur could sway you from your path.

Sometimes, Reo would try to convince you to let him help, but you always politely declined. You weren’t interested in shortcuts. The hard work and grit that would get you to where you wanted to be was far more appealing than any easy way out.

“What’s wrong with a little help?” he’d tease, flashing a mischievous grin your way.

You’d roll your eyes playfully. “Because I can do it on my own. I don’t need anyone else to build my future for me.”

He would just shake his head with a chuckle. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

And that was the beauty of your friendship. It wasn’t about what you could offer each other in terms of money or status. It was about something deeper. The way he respected your independence, your drive. And how you never once asked for anything he could buy. You valued his company, his time, and the moments you spent together. You didn’t need anything else.

The bond between you two wasn’t built on pretense—it was built on shared understanding, laughter, and the kind of genuine moments people only experience when they’re not trying to impress anyone.

-

It was one of those nights when the air felt thicker than usual, the world outside humming quietly as you sat beside Reo on the balcony, the distant city lights twinkling like stars scattered on the earth. You were leaning against the rail, looking out over the view, and he was beside you, feet dangling off the edge of the low wall. For a moment, the silence between you both was comfortable, the kind that only happens when there’s no need for words. But there was an edge to it, something that had shifted recently—neither of you could place it, but it was there, hanging in the space between your breaths.

"How’s it been going?" you asked quietly, your voice gentle but carrying a weight of understanding.

Reo let out a slow sigh, running a hand through his hair. "The usual," he replied, but you could hear the tiredness in his voice, the subtle cracks that slipped through the mask he wore so well. "The pressure to be everything everyone expects me to be… it's exhausting. I can't even remember the last time I felt like I could just… relax. Be myself."

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you simply turned to face him, your gaze soft as you caught the faintest trace of vulnerability in his eyes. Reo Mikage was never one to let anyone see him like this, to share these moments of uncertainty, but somehow, with you, he always felt a little lighter. Still, he kept his distance, pushing himself to be the heir, to fit into that mold. It was as if he’d built a wall around himself, and you were the only one who seemed to see the cracks in it.

"I know it’s hard," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "But you’re allowed to be more than just the heir. You’re allowed to be you, Reo."

There was a quiet pause as your words hung in the air, and then he turned toward you. His expression softened, his lips curling slightly into a small smile. "You always know what to say."

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but inside, your heart was beating a little faster. There was something in his gaze, something that made you feel like he wasn’t just listening to your words, but he was seeing you in a way that was different from before.

And maybe that was why, when his fingers brushed against yours as he reached for the can of soda between you, the touch lingered a second too long. You couldn’t even call it an accident—it wasn’t, not with the way he hesitated, his hand barely leaving yours before he withdrew. The brush of his skin against yours felt like a spark, a tiny flame that started to flicker in the depths of your chest. It wasn’t anything monumental, but it felt… different. You couldn’t help but glance at him, only to find his eyes already on you, the faintest trace of something unreadable in them.

You didn’t pull away, though. It would’ve been too awkward, and somehow, in that moment, it felt like the right thing to do. Neither of you acknowledged it aloud, and yet, both of you were acutely aware of it, even if you didn’t say anything.

The rest of the night was quiet. But there were subtle things that began to shift. When you joked around, he’d laugh a little longer than usual, his gaze holding yours a second too long. And when you’d talk about your future—your plans to go abroad, to build your own life—he listened with a sort of intensity, the kind of focus he usually reserved for the most important matters.

Over time, your friendship with Reo began to shift in ways neither of you quite understood. The moments that once felt light and carefree started to carry a new weight. The way his hand brushed against yours as you passed the snacks or how he always seemed to linger a little longer than necessary when handing you something—those small, subtle gestures that had once been innocent started to stir something deeper.

It wasn’t anything overt at first. Just moments that seemed to stretch a little too long, a little too quietly. You noticed how he would sit closer than before during game nights, his knee occasionally brushing yours, and how, when you laughed too hard, his gaze lingered just a little longer than usual, like he was trying to capture the moment in his mind.

There were times when he would glance at you with something unreadable in his eyes, his lips curving into that smile of his—half-amused, half-wistful—and you found yourself wondering if there was something more to it. But you brushed it off, convincing yourself that it was just the comfort of your long-standing friendship. You were close. Maybe too close. But friendship was all it would ever be.

The more time you spent together, the more you realized how easy it was to slip into moments of closeness that didn’t seem to make sense. He would look at you after a silly joke, his eyes lighting up with that spark that made you smile back without thinking. You’d find yourself stealing glances at him when he wasn’t looking, your heart skipping a beat when your hands brushed in passing.

One evening, while watching a movie, you felt him shift closer to you. At first, you assumed it was because you’d both gotten too comfortable, but when his shoulder lightly pressed against yours, you froze. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he stayed there, his arm brushing yours once more. The proximity felt different. It was a closeness that wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, too. You tried to play it off, shifting awkwardly and pretending not to notice the way your heart was racing in your chest.

But you could feel his warmth beside you, and something in the air between you both shifted. There was no overt confession, no grand gesture. But in that moment, you both seemed to exist in a space where words weren’t necessary. The silence was enough.

Reo, as always, was the first to speak. But this time, his voice was softer than usual, almost hesitant. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said, his eyes still fixed on the screen, but his voice carrying an undertone of something more. Something that felt a little too intimate.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you just leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing. You both had been through so much—him with his family, you with your plans for the future—and yet, this simple act of being together, of sharing this quiet space, felt like it was everything.

“Me neither,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, even to yourself.

And maybe that was the issue. Maybe you both knew, deep down, that this was something more than just friendship. But neither of you dared to speak it out loud. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

-

Reo was acting strange. Well, stranger than usual. You noticed it a few days ago, but it wasn’t until now that you started to realize something was different. He was still his playful, affectionate self, but there were subtle changes. He’d call you more frequently, texting to check in on your day, asking about the little things, the details that he never cared much about before. He started showing up at your place unannounced, offering to drive you to class, waiting outside after work to grab coffee—small gestures that, at first, seemed like his usual friendly acts.

At first, you thought you were just reading too much into things. After all, Reo had always been affectionate—playful, a little too clingy sometimes—but it was just who he was. You didn’t think anything of it. You didn’t want to.

One evening, you both sat at his place, watching some random movie that neither of you were paying attention to. Your legs were tangled together on the couch, your head resting against his shoulder. His fingers lightly brushed through your hair as he casually turned the volume up.

It was the closeness you were used to, nothing new. But the tension in the air was undeniable. His hand, which had casually landed on your knee, now lingered there. You shifted, and Reo adjusted so his leg brushed against yours. The small, gentle touches, the unspoken connection—it all felt so natural. So… familiar. Yet, in the back of your mind, a small voice kept reminding you that things had been different lately.

Reo cleared his throat. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, his voice unusually soft.

You turned to him, a little surprised by his tone. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. You?”

He paused, his eyes flickering to yours before quickly looking away. “I’ve been thinking… about a lot of things.”

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t push him. “What kind of things?”

He hesitated, as if the words were caught somewhere between his chest and his mouth. Finally, he spoke, but it was quieter than usual, almost as if he was uncertain. “I don’t know. Just… about us. About how you always seem to know just what I need.”

You blinked, confusion flickering across your face. “Reo, we’ve been friends for so long. You know I’ve always got your back. You’re like family to me.”

Reo's expression faltered for just a moment. “Yeah, family. Right.” His voice trailed off as if he was trying to mask something deeper, something that wasn’t quite right. You didn’t catch it, though. To you, it was just another typical moment in your close friendship.

As the night went on, you both chatted and joked around, just like always. But your words stuck with him. Maybe it was his attempt at courting you—he wasn’t quite sure—but every time you responded with your usual platonic affection, it only reinforced his uncertainty. He didn’t know how to turn this friendship into something more, but he could feel that familiar warmth growing inside him every time you smiled at him. Every time you’d laugh, he felt that little spark. But when you called him “family,” it felt like a wall went up between you two.

The next day, you were hanging out at your favorite spot again, and Reo was acting more distant than usual. His phone buzzed, and he picked it up, reading something with a frown. He quickly stuffed it back in his pocket and shifted in his seat. You noticed, of course, but you didn’t mention it.

“What’s up?” you asked casually.

He glanced at you but then quickly looked away. “I’m fine. Just… thinking about a few things.”

“About what?”

Reo rubbed the back of his neck, looking more flustered than he usually did. “You know… maybe I’m just overthinking things. Forget it.”

It was as if a light bulb flickered above your head, and the pieces finally began to fall together. Reo was acting weird because he was interested in you. But the idea felt ridiculous, and it only made sense if you were misinterpreting his signals. You’d been friends for so long, and now suddenly, he was acting like he cared about you in a way that wasn’t just friendly. You shook your head, trying to push the thought away. No way.

You could feel the awkwardness stretching between you both now, as though there was some unspoken barrier that neither of you could cross. Reo’s attempts at deeper affection fell flat as you kept responding with the same ease, the same nonchalance. He was used to being loved and adored, used to being in control. But with you, it was different. It always had been.

That night, he finally said it—the thing that had been on the tip of his tongue all this time.

“I just… never mind.” His voice trailed off as he stood up, his frustration simmering. “Forget it, okay? I didn’t mean anything.” Only to immediately clam up, backtrack, regret.

You looked up at him, frowning. “What are you talking about, Reo?”

He didn’t respond at first. He just shook his head and muttered, “I’m sorry. I’m just… I don’t know anymore.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable, before he grabbed his jacket and walked out without another word.

Over the next few weeks, Reo threw himself into his work with Nagi, both of them pursuing their shared dream of becoming the best in soccer, and while it was mostly Reo's dream, it always has been, Nagi was his 'treasure' and key into the professional leagues. You noticed the subtle shift as he started spending more and more time with Nagi—long hours in practice, late-night strategy sessions. The calls and texts from Reo became less frequent, his absence more apparent. It left you with an uncomfortable emptiness you hadn’t expected.

At first, you were relieved. Maybe he’d gotten over whatever had been bothering him. But as the days wore on, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. And you couldn’t help but wonder if it was your fault. Maybe you had pushed him away without realizing it. Maybe his feelings had been more than you had given him credit for.

You began to notice how much you missed him—the laughter, the ease, the way he could brighten any room just by being in it. You missed his presence, his warmth. And it started to sink in that you might have missed your chance to admit that, perhaps, you felt the same.

But now, he was slipping away, and you were left wondering if it was too late.

-

The game had ended, and Reo was still riding the high of his win as you stood at the edge of the field, waiting for him. You had come to watch, not because you had to, but because you wanted to. You had always supported him, even when his focus was more on the game than on anything else. He always seemed to forget to acknowledge you at times like this, but you didn’t mind. That was just how he was.

When the game ended, you waited for him near the stands, feeling the cool evening air wrap around you. Reo found you quickly, as he always did, a smile on his face as he jogged up to you. “Hey, you came,” he said, a glint of surprise in his eyes.

“Of course I did. How else would I know if you’re any good?” you teased, smiling back.

“Of course, you know I’m the best,” he said with his usual cocky grin, but there was something behind his eyes. Something softer.

The walk home was quiet, an almost uncomfortable silence hanging in the air between you both. You’d gotten so used to the easy banter, the casual conversations, and now there was this strange distance. It wasn’t that you were upset with him—not entirely—but something was missing, something that had been there before. You glanced at him, watching as he kept his gaze straight ahead, hands tucked into his pockets, his face slightly tense as if he was trying to keep something from spilling out.

You couldn’t ignore the feeling that had been nagging at you for the past few days—the weight of the silence.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Reo,” you began, your voice hesitant, but your heart felt like it was already halfway out of your chest. “I… I got accepted into the university I’ve been working for. The one abroad.”

His stride faltered for just a second. He stopped walking for a moment, turning to look at you, his expression unreadable. “You got in?” He asked, a mix of surprise and something else, but you couldn’t quite place it.

“Yeah,” you nodded, trying to keep the pride out of your voice. “It’s been the plan for a while now. I’m… going soon.” Your chest tightened, a mix of excitement and sadness flooding through you as the words left your mouth. It was everything you had dreamed of, but now it felt so heavy.

You looked over at Reo, and his smile was a little too tight, his eyes almost shadowed. He opened his mouth, but no words came out immediately. Instead, he turned his face away and began walking again, his steps slower now, as if weighed down by something.

“I’m… proud of you,” he said quietly, still not looking at you. “You deserve it.”

The silence between you deepened, suffocating almost, until Reo finally broke it again. “I’ve… I’ve been scouted,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For a soccer program called Blue Lock. I’ll be leaving soon too.”

You froze in place, your breath catching in your throat. “Blue Lock?” you repeated, trying to make sense of his words you didn't know if that was good, but he always told you getting scouted by a big team or youth program was one big step towards his goal. “But… that’s huge, Reo. That’s amazing.” A part of you felt like your heart had just been ripped out, though you couldn’t understand why. Maybe it was the fact that you were both about to embark on separate paths—two dreams pulling you in opposite directions.

“I know…" he continued, his voice slightly strained. “I’ll be gone for a while. A long while. I don’t even know what’s going to happen after that. Things are just… changing, and…”

He trailed off, and for the first time in a while, you saw the cracks in his façade. It was the first time he didn’t seem sure of himself, didn’t have the answers.

Your stomach twisted painfully, and before you knew it, the words slipped out. “Reo, why didn’t you… why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He flinched, his eyes softening for a split second, before he looked away again. “I didn’t want to… I didn’t want you to think I was just… going to leave. I didn’t want things to change, but they already are, right?” He stopped walking again, turning to face you, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re going, and I’m… leaving too.”

It was then that everything seemed to crash down on both of you at once. You stood there, facing each other, caught in a whirlwind of feelings that neither of you had fully processed until now. You had both been avoiding the reality of it, pretending that things would stay the same, even when they couldn’t.

The words started to tumble out of you, overlapping and colliding with his own. “Reo, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now, with everything changing—”

“I don’t want to lose you, okay?” Reo blurted out, his voice raw and desperate dominating yours. “I never wanted things to be like this. I—I don’t even know how to do this. I don’t know how to… let you go.”

Your heart stopped, and you stood there, frozen. His words echoed in your mind, but there was something more beneath it, something unspoken, hanging between you two like a fragile thread.

“I don’t want to lose you either, Reo,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But we can’t keep pretending like things won’t change. They already are. We already are.”

You could see the hurt in his eyes, and for a brief moment, you thought he might say something more, something that would bridge the gap between you two. But the moment passed, and instead, he just let out a shaky breath, rubbing his face with his hand.

“I guess we’ve both been holding on to the wrong things,” he muttered, a bitter edge creeping into his voice.

And that was it. No more words. No more attempts at fixing things. The space between you had become too vast for easy fixes, and neither of you knew how to close the distance anymore.

Reo let out a breath and looked down, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I… I should go…. Call me later?”

You nodded, unable to find the words to stop him. The emptiness settled in quickly, and as Reo walked away, you felt something in your chest snap, even though you couldn’t quite say what it was.

It wasn’t just that he was leaving. It was that, for once, he was being honest with himself—about his feelings, about everything. But the timing, the way everything had come to light, made it too late.

-

The days after that evening with Reo felt like an endless stretch of time. You focused on your studies, your new life, and the overwhelming rush of excitement that came with your acceptance into the university abroad. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t perfect, but you were moving forward. Every day felt like a step toward independence, toward the life you had always planned, and you couldn’t afford to look back.

The first few days after your conversation with Reo were quiet. You couldn’t call him. You just couldn’t bring yourself to. Not when everything felt so raw, and not when his words, filled with uncertainty and bitterness, still echoed in your mind. You told yourself it wasn’t worth dwelling on. But still, it gnawed at you—why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he answered when you tried?

Eventually, the urge to reach out became too strong, and you grabbed your phone, fingers trembling as you dialed his number. The seconds stretched into minutes, but there was no answer.

You tried again. And again. Until the hours passed, your frustration growing with each failed attempt. Your chest tightened, and a bitter feeling pooled in your stomach. Was it something you said? Something you did? Had you been too abrupt when you told him about your future? Or maybe… maybe it was something else. His life was about to take a new direction too, wasn’t it?

You tried not to overthink it. You tried to tell yourself that it wasn’t your fault. That maybe, just maybe, Reo needed time to himself too. But even as you sat there, staring at the phone screen, the silence felt suffocating. Your mind spun in circles—why hadn’t he called back? You had been so close, you had been his constant, and now… now, he was gone. No word, no explanation. The uncertainty ate away at you.

And after that, you didn’t try again. Days turned into weeks, and then months. Your life was in full swing—uni life, dorm life, new friends, new experiences. It was all overwhelming and exhausting, but it was yours. And yet, every time you caught yourself thinking about Reo, you couldn’t remember why it had hurt so much back then. Maybe it had been the suddenness, the unfinished conversation, the realization that your paths were diverging.

But even as life carried on, you still found yourself replaying that moment—the last time you saw him. His words. The way he looked at you, like something had shifted, but neither of you had known how to face it.

That day, you were sitting on your dorm couch, textbook open in front of you, trying to study. You glanced up absentmindedly, the sound of the sports channel filling the background as white noise. It was just a game, something to pass the time while you tried to focus. But then the camera panned to the field.

Your heart skipped a beat.

There, on the screen, a match between the U-20 team and Blue Lock, the program he'd told you about, the feed was pre-recorded, this would have happened hours ago back in Japan but was only coming to you now. But there was no mistaking it. It was him. Your best friend.

You froze. Your heart thudded in your chest, the weight of emotions you had buried deep in your heart suddenly resurfacing, sharper than ever.

Without thinking, you grabbed your phone from the table beside you, fingers trembling as you flicked through your contacts. You stared at his name, sitting there on your screen, and the weight of the decision hit you harder than you expected.

You hadn’t called him in months. You hadn’t even thought about calling him after those first few failed attempts. But now, now you wanted to reach out.

You hesitated, then pressed the call button and let it ring.

Each second felt like an eternity. Your heartbeat matched the rhythm of the call, and just as you thought it would go to voicemail again, it clicked.

Reo’s voice, so familiar, so distant, crackled through the line. “Hello?”

What did you say now? 'Reo I love you and I know you haven't called me back since I left and we'd probably never see each other between my school life and your soccer career but I saw you on TV and almost balled my eyes out because I miss you so much? No.'

So you settled "Hey… It's me… You told me to call you back? But uh.. you never answered…" "...I miss you"

[prodixal]

"Alright Cersha, if it pleases you to get worked up over every minor inconvenience I shall not stand in your way." she was exhausting, truly. Her vigilance, and constant need to stay ahead of everything and everyone was tiresome to observe -- he could only imagine how much more tiresome it must've been to live. But at this point, Varyn supposed if his dear sister did not have anything to worry about, she would simply explode. Or implode. Collapse, cease to exist. "You resemble our lord father more every day. Perhaps if you were to truly impress your marriage prospect you ought to take a step back and assume some favourable traits of our late mother. You are far too cold and much too sharp -- I cannot imagine being stuck in a marriage with you and hoping it would bring up any sort of happiness."

Varyn wasn't trying to be cruel. In fact, he was trying to be helpful. With wine between his lips, smoothing out his throat, he reminded himself no one else would dare voice these opinions to her face.

"You are smarter than I, dear sister, we are both aware -- but I feel I must remind you that no matter how logical and favourable the arrangement of marriage might be, those who have souls -- and 'm speaking of Vaelora here, not you -- long for some sort of love and connection and intimacy, on a deeper, perhaps even a subconscious level." he is being brutally honest, the kind of honesty he only ever afforded his sister. Showing a side of himself, only she ever got to see. "You may know everything there is to know of Vaelora, and say all the right words. You may present yourself, our family, our gold, our usefulness to the crown in the most perfectly packaged manner. But, dear sister -- can you make her love you? Because that --" he taps the table beside him, eyes focused on hers. "That is where true power lies. If you can get them to love you, you can get them to do anything. To overlook anything."

It was a skill, like any other. Varyn knew a thing or two when it came to love. He knew how to inspire it, how to use his charisma, his charms, his words to get strings of other peoples hearts to attach to his own. He knew how to look a woman in the eye, and tell her whatever it is she wanted to hear. And he knew, above all else, how to stay detached. For love was only there for the taking. Giving it -- it was too great a risk. The kind of risk he was not willing to take. He would not fall prey to.

"I've never asked. But what is it you want Cer? Power, I understand. But that cannot be all, surely?"

When the topic switched back to him, he finished his cup and gestured to the chair beside him. She would need to be sat down for this. He poured himself another, and then let a sigh of anxiety he'd carried on for most of the day, lift off his shoulder. He slouched, almost, a rare sight to behold and with his thumb and index finger he quickly pinched the top of his nose before falling into his story.

"You have heard of my exploits in Dorne. I'm sure. Twice I caught your very own spiders in my way, ever watchful." he did not care that his sister had her eyes on him, no matter where he went. He always assumed it brought her ease, knowing his movements. But she did not know...everything. "When I was training, I became acquainted with one Lady Dayne. A southern beauty, just as I like them. Long dark hair, violet eyes, olive skin. I must say, she left me rather breathless." his brows raise and he will speed up the story knowing his sister will hold no patience for poetics. "She did not fall for my charms instantly. Suppose you could say I wore her down. One thing...then another and...well, we are both adults, you can assume how this story should end."

He gives up the cup now, and takes a hold of the bottle instead. "I was growing rather fond of her, so I decided to leave Dorne. I'm sure father would have orchestrated a marriage alliance instantly should he gotten a whiff of our affair, so I did not return home yet." there's a pause. "Then a raven came in the night. Informing me of Lady Daynes unfortunate new...condition." Cersha would understand. "I burnt it."

Leaning forward in the chair, he feels lighter after his admittance. "I put it out of my mind. I am not the first, nor the last lord to sire a noble bastard." it would have been nice if it all just ended there. "All that is to say, Lady Dayne is now here. As is the babe. And I have barely managed to avoid a scene in the gardens by lying to her face I held no knowledge of her...predicament. Needless to say she's bound to find the truth eventually, but until then I should hope to find a way to resolve this situation without sullying our precious name." He had purposefully avoided mentioning the inexplicable bond and connection he felt towards the child. "There. Feel free to scold me now, I should welcome it for once."

Finally, he will relax and switch back to Cershas pressing matter. "What did she say during your meeting? Must have been something to have you feeling so...out of depth?"

" THERE IS A SIGNIFICANT AMOUNT OF ISSUES TO WORRY OVER AT THE MOMENT , VARYN . i assure you i am not seeking them out , they are very clearly there ." cersha bites out in response . she refuses to answer his question however , mostly due to the fact that she'd rather chew off her own foot than acknowledge that her brother is right , especially aloud . so instead cersha merely huffs a frustrated, " but of course there are no issues to you . after all , you close your eyes to them ." sometimes cersha wishes she could do the same . what a pleasure it must be to live thoughtlessly . fools must experience so much peace . she would almost envy them if she didn't deeply pity them . cersha can't help but roll her eyes as her brother continues , a hand moving to smack him on the bicep with an annoyed cluck of her tongue . " and you ?" cersha asks with an arch of her brows . " there are equal parts great beauty and great intellect between telessa and i , and yet all you have is grand confidence and apparently abysmal taste to your name . it is a great wonder why your younger sister is betrothed before you with such qualities under your belt ." cersha makes a point of sighing deeply as she looks out into the distance before the stairs , tiredly adding, " whatever will we do with you ?" in all honesty , cersha doesn't mean any of it but that in itself is irrelevant . in a battle of wit with one's brother the best course of action is to go lower and strike harder , and cersha refuses to lose in that respect . she refuses to lose in any respect truly . and perhaps that is what found her in line to be queen , but it may also very well be what led to her being here , sitting in a stairwell with her brother fretting over factors that she cannot control . it is with quickness that her head sharply turns to varyn as he continues , her glare sharp with instant focus . it is with an efficient shift in her seat that she moves to stare him down , her voice lowering into another hiss as she says , " ... varyn . if you dare to bed any of the targaryen sisters whilst we are quite literally here to announce my betrothal to the eldest of their house i may truly have to consider wringing your neck ." cersha tilts her head to ensure their eyes meet , her gaze intense with warning . " do you hear me ? this is not a jest . i will kill you ."

while cersha may not know nearly as much about vaelora as they would like , she knows much still . whispers of their protectiveness of their siblings was amongst the information that she'd collected , and well , varyn of all people bedding one of them surely would be trigger for such protectiveness . for just an instant she pleads with the gods to spare her . but then varyn continues , and it is as if those same gods laugh in her face . perhaps , it is her own fault for leaving herself at another entity's mercy in the first place . " ... what is it ?" cersha's tone is bland in waiting , her expression already twisted into something strained in anticipation . there is so very little chance that whatever is about to come out of her brother's mouth is good news . as she follows him her mood only sours further . she can feel the beginnings of a headache building up , just at her temples . suddenly , just for an instant , she wishes she were an only child . how peaceful would that be . the thought is left behind with the door closing behind them , but cersha is sure it will return again before their conversation is over . " yes , well , i intend to have control of the latter for as long as it suits me ." cersha replies with a tight smile that quickly drops . after all , it was only useful to do so . there had to be things that vaelora wanted , things that they enjoyed . cersha was quite sure she was beginning to gather an understanding of that , and if she had to sheath herself in lamb skin for a few years or decades to achieve her goals , then so be it . after all , it wasn't like she hadn't already been doing so in some capacity for majority of her life . it truly wouldn't be too grand of a transition . but as varyn offers more cersha can only study him thoughtfully , her gaze considering before she's nodding almost gratefully . " ... let me know what you find ." cersha replies in lieu of a thank you . she moves to fill her own goblet of wine as she says, " thusfar , i have a more than a few whispers and telessa , who is quite close to them ." cersha takes a large enough gulp of wine to be impolite that she truly only allows herself due to the current company . it's only after she swallows that she adds , " however , i feel it is not nearly enough now that i've met them once again ."

[d1sc01nf3rn0]

I'm seeing a lot of people with neurodivergency, specially under the autism spectrum say that "Laios is annoying, never shuts up, is insensitive, and I can't stand him"; and the irony is not lost on me lmao.

[theguywholikesicecream]

Two posts in a row? WITH ACTUAL ART??? This game has broken me guys

Anyways have some Dandy

The one below is my first idea, that I immediately discarded cause it looked too much like my friend's and like Bob Velseb, so now he's a nerd looking guy (this man has not touched grass in his life he doesn't deserve the overalls)

And below this is my friend @spiritzee s Dandy and mine's existing and bonding! (Eddy's Dandy is a neat guy who wants to do good, mine is more of a tired jerk) (i drew the gay shit cause kissing meme funny)

Oh yeah and here's me doing a reference but it also might be some random guy who was trapped in the museum as a kid and has been there for like 20 years surviving off of candies, sodas and his Gardenview hyperfixation (I didn't want to make an individual post for this thing)

[unma]

Saw the Epilogue for Liar Satsuki just now and yeah no, I was coping when I thought it'd make things better. I still can't believe Akira and Satsuki didn't end up together. After EVERYTHING these two have been through together. Komachi is not even slightly as relevant for most of the manga, and you can say what you want about both their abilities tying them together thematically and what not, but frankly the entire manga set it up such that Akira x Satsuki was the obvious choice.

[cryolyst]

~