Hey. I saw your cagebird art and was wondering if I should pick up the book. I read the first two and I’m kinda scared of being disappointed by the third. But then I saw ur art and you’re the greatest so I just wanted to ask ur opinion

oof i have a love/hate relationship with cagebird. my biggest reason for loving it is because the MC is a gay russian, and i dont know if i would have enjoyed it as much if there wasnt that personal connection. it runs vaguely around the same timeframe as warchild, but in the POV of someone who didnt have the chance to escape Falcone. so, im sure you can make the connections for why i hate it. the only thing that made the gross parts tolerable was knowing how warchild ends, but it was still rough.

having said that, cagebird is a lot more interesting than burndive. burndive felt like a colossal waste of time. cagebird definitely has an interesting plot and a good MC. so, tldr; cagebird comes with a grocery list of content warnings and stuff i'd rather forget, but i loved the protagonist.

Prompt: Dee and Kenny get into a lively and impassioned debate over whether boobs or butts are superior.

Set Before NKS 01

Readmore in consideration to dash-clogging

[Sent, 10:22] so[Sent, 10:22] t or a?

Kenny was bored. It was the last week of summer vacation, with the first day of Middle School fast approaching. Orientation was tomorrow, his class schedule would be arriving in the mail soon, and the period of sleepovers whenever and not getting his sorry ass up until noon would be replaced with the daily pattern of the bus stop and classes.

The rest of the guys were wrapped up in some end of summer bullshit with Eric, trying to cram their last week of freedom with as much adolescent crazy as possible. Kenny had been right there with them for a chunk of it, but things had escalated, as they do, and he’d ended up with an iron rod through the eye. 

At least brain damage blocks out some of the pain in the last few seconds. Take out a chunk of the frontal lobe, suddenly I don’t give a fuck about anything anymore. 

He’d flipped on a local radio show to keep abreast of what the fuck was happening in town, just in case things got bad crazy for his friends… but for now, he was content staying in his room, idly texting one of his other buddies who had listened to Eric’s last ditch summer fun plan and walked the fuck out, and browsing the web for a new bikini babe to put on his phone’s home screen. 

[Received, 10:23] Ass. Ass until the day I die. 

Dee’s response briefly sat atop his screen, making his eyebrows raise up beneath his tightly drawn hood. The fall chill was coming, but it wasn’t cold enough for his parents to turn the heat on just yet. They’d wait for as long as possible to save money on the energy bill, and only heat the house enough to keep pipes from freezing. He shuffled his shoulders up inside his coat, curling up a little tighter on his bed beneath his Sports Illustrated (swimsuit edition) posters. 

[Sent, 10:23] rly dude? i get that ur buttlord an all b cmon[Sent, 10:23] titties[Sent, 10:23] soft round bouncy boobies with perky pink nipples[Sent, 10:24] ud take an ass over that?

This wasn’t the first casual debate he’d had with the effectively mute kid over text. Granted, they usually argued over tactics in their partnered work as Buttlord and Mysterion… arguments Kenny soundly won nearly every time. Dee was a lot of things. A strategic thinker? Not one of them. 

[Received, 10:25] Everyone has a butt. Asses can be soft like boobies but have a little muscle underneath, so it’s always a firm handful for grabbing, and they’re a lot less likely to have surprise surgery scars.[Received, 10:26] Also its on the backside, less chance getting caught staring[Received, 10:26] Asses forever, boob boi

The barrage of ‘evidence’ from Dee got him to stop scrolling on his web browser, switching wholesale to the messenger app and staring more and more seriously at the words on the screen. 

[Sent, 10:27] well evryne has titties 2, technicly[Sent, 10:27] if u got nipples u got titties[Sent, 10:28] and all titties r good titties[Sent, 10:28] even if you cant stick ur weiner btween them[Sent, 10:29] and nipples give u a thing to focus on[Sent, 10:29] boobies = best

[Received, 10:30] HAHA[Received, 10:30] he spends 2 minutes describing perfect playboy breasts[Received, 10:31] and then back peddles to make the ‘inclusive’ argument[Received, 10:31] meanwhile u can stick ur dick between any set of butt cheeks AND REACH AROUND TO MASSAGE THE BOOBIES AT THE SAME TIME[Received, 10:32] Buttz win bitch

A sure sign that Dee was getting into an argument; he dropped his capitalization and spelling habits. 

[Sent, 10:33] dude if i start with the inclusive argument asshats start screaming UR GAY[Sent, 10:34] screw a dude for habits, nipples r cute and u’ll never change my mind

He smirked, and decided now was a good time for eggplant spam. 

[Received, 10:36] You done?

Nope. Eggplant for days.

[Received, 10:39] I’m just gonna wait until you’re done.

Then you’re gonna be waiting a fucking long time, ain’t ya? I ate a used tampon to get unlimited texting on this phone, motherfucker, and now you shall face my purple wrath. 

[Received, 10:41] K, gonna go get my workout in, BBL

Oh, shit.

[Sent, 10:41] No no no[Sent, 10:41] ur the only one active rn[Sent, 10:42] do not condemn me to the boredom[Sent, 10:42] fite me Assmaster

[Received, 10:43] Asses are beautiful and fun to grab[Received, 10:44] And a firm ass is a good indicator that a person gets a healthy amount of exercise[Received, 10:44] Big titties are a good sign that someone either got work done or has back issues[Received, 10:45] I’ll take healthy over painful, thx

[Sent, 10:46] BLASPHEMY 

Kenny didn’t even realize he was grinning, certain the utterly hyperbolic argument was about to start back up… but he didn’t get a response right away. His all-caps cry remained as the newest message for a full five minutes; a time in which he started off mildly annoyed… and then concerned. 

[Sent, 10:53] dude u ok?[Sent, 10:54] i didnt mean it truce alright?

Still no answer. It was weird; Dee usually announced when he was dropping out of a one-on-one text conversation. It was a courtesy Kenny had gotten used to, even if it was kinda weird for a guy friend to observe the social niceties over text. 

A sense of dread grabbed the bottom of his spine, making him sit up a little straighter in bed as a vague anxiety worked it way between vertebrae like the many tiny legs of a centipede. Each individual tip prickled his skin along the way. 

Finally, there was an answer. 

[Received, 11:02] Text Wendy. We have a situation.

Creeping dread was shed off with a heavy exhale, but the next inhale brought in a more serious sense. Dee’s situations were a regular issue… and when the kid suddenly stopped answering, Kenny had been well and truly worried that one of those situations had gotten to him before they could do something about it. 

They weren’t just partners. They were friends. He cared about the guy. Cared enough to put his immortal ass in front of government agents and take the occasional bullet for the fucker. Sudden radio silence was shit that made him paranoid, but now that tension could turn to something a bit more proactive. 

[Sent, 11:03] on it

What Are Friends For?

~~~~

Dick manages to send Wally a weak smile before the speedster is gathering the younger man up in his arms in a tight hug.

“Hey…”

Dick melts into Wally’s touch, letting out a deep sigh against his shoulder and curling both arms around his waist. “Hi…”

“You okay?”

“Not really.”

“You want a burrito?”

~~~~

Fluffy little fic about Dick and Wally being the weird, cuddly best friends that should really figure out that they're in love.

read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14860538

dickhead: dude u awake

kid idiot: yeah man

kid idiot: why tf are you tho

dickhead: who r u talking to rn

Wally rolls his eyes, tossing the controller down beside him on the bedsheets and rolling over onto his back to pay better attention to his phone. It’s after midnight in Palo Alto, but it’s a Friday night and he finished his lecture notes earlier. He’s half expecting his best friend to roast him not going out on a Friday, but midterms just finished, and he’s wiped. All Wally wants to do is sleep, but dammit he’s been doing nothing but writing papers and taking exams for the last three weeks, he’s gonna stay up late and play some video games if he wants to.

kid idiot: true

kid idiot: still man, what time is there rn

dickhead: 4:36

Wally sighs, frowning up at the bright screen. If Dick’s sleep schedule didn’t kill him, Wally would just for staying up this late. The poor guy needs rest more than most people.

kid idiot: dude go to BED

dickhead: cant sleep

dickhead: can u come over

He blinks, the question throwing him for a second. Then he’s on his feet. Usually when Dick asks for Wally’s company like this, without beating around the bush, he’s having a bad time. The fact that it’s 4am in Gotham and Dick isn’t on patrol probably means it’s worse than usual.

He’s halfway through tugging on a pair of jeans over his boxers when his phone buzzes again.

dickhead: can i come over****

dickhead: sorry

dickhead: its ok if ur busy

Wally bites his lip, taking in a deep breath through the nose. His chest hurts with worry and all he wants to do is run over to Gotham and hug his best friend. But Dick probably wants the time it’ll take to use the Zeta beam to compose himself. Which is dumb because Wally could be there in two minutes and has seen him like this a million times before. But he knows that Dick needs the time.

Sometimes Wally wishes he didn’t know his best friend so well.

kid idiot: dude of course you can

kid idiot: nothing to be sorry for. meet you at the zeta in ten?

dickhead: ok

Wally tugs on the rest of his clothes in a few seconds, tripping over an untied shoelace as he slips out of his room into the dark hallway. The apartment he shares with a few other students is quiet, most of them either asleep or out partying. Dick chose a good night to visit.

He’s pacing in front of the seemingly-decrepit phonebooth for about eight minutes before the light of the zeta beam signals Dick’s arrival and the 18-year-old is stepping out. Wally’s heart sinks when he takes in the sight of his friend.

Dick’s hair is rumpled, which isn’t all to unfamiliar when he’s Robin - no, Nightwing now – but as Dick Grayson it can be an odd sight to see if you aren’t used to it. He’s usually the picture of composure. Tonight, however, Wally can see the dark circles under his eyes, even in the fading light of the streetlamps. His duffle bag is slung over a slumped shoulder, one hand in his jacket pocket.

Dick manages to send Wally a weak smile before the speedster is gathering the younger man up in his arms in a tight hug.

“Hey…”

Dick melts into Wally’s touch, letting out a deep sigh against his shoulder and curling both arms around his waist. “Hi…”

“You okay?”

“Not really.”

“You want a burrito?”

Dick chokes out a laugh, and Wally smiles at the sensation of Dick’s rumbling chest against his own.

“Do you ever stop thinking about food?”

“Hey, I’m thinking about you! Burritos always make me feel better when I’m down, I thought you might be hungry.”

Dick pushes away from Wally, shaking his head but unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “You’re an idiot.”

Wally grins. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

Rolling his eyes, Dick shrugs his duffle bag more securely onto his shoulder. “I guess I could go for some pizza?”

“Pizza it is!” Wally slings an arm around Dick’s shoulder again and guides him out of the alley into the main street ahead; if he knows anything about Dick Grayson, it’s that the best treatment option is always constant physical contact. “You wait, Palo Alto has the best pizza.”

Dick snorts, poking Wally in the ribs, but very obviously not objecting to the arm still around him. “Liar. You’ve had Chicago pizza, you know that’s not true.”

Wally wags his index finger in front of Dick’s face. “No-no, my friend, this city has changed my pizza opinions. Seriously, just wait.”

Dick chuckles quietly but doesn’t object. Which isn’t the best sign. No banter is a bad sign.

The two find their way to a 24-hour pizzeria around the corner from Wally’s apartment, Dick ordering a slice of pepperoni and Wally taking the last three-quarters of a deluxe. It’s not long until they’re tip-toeing back into Wally’s building, creeping through the apartment until they’re back in his room.

“Alright, that’s pretty good pizza.” Dick finally admits, polishing off the last piece of crust and sucking some tomato sauce off his thumb.

“Right?” Wally gestures vaguely, speaking through a mouthful of his own last slice.

Dick looks a little brighter, having just eaten some fantastic pizza and settled comfortably against his best friend’s side, but he’s still not the bouncing ball of energy that Wally is accustomed to being around. So, it’s time to get to the bottom of this.

Wally finishes the last few bites of his pizza, then slings an arm back around Dick’ shoulders. Dick tucks his head in against Wally’s collarbone, who then rests his cheek against soft black hair as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“So, what’s goin’ on, little bird?”

Dick huffs at the nickname but doesn’t comment. He’s quiet for a while, probably trying to pull his thoughts together into something coherent, so Wally just waits. Their legs are tangled together on the bedsheets, barely any space between them, and Wally can feel the tension in every one of Dick’s muscles. The guy is wound like a clock, always ready to spring into action. Not that Wally doesn’t know what that feels like, but he hadn’t grown up with the World’s Greatest Paranoid.

As if on cue, Dick takes a deep breath. “Bruce and I had a fight.”

Wally closes his eyes in frustration and tries not to have a bodily reaction to the admission, but he knows he’s failed when Dick slumps against him even more. “…again?”

“Yeah.”

“What was it about this time?”

“Um.” He fidgets against Wally’s side, clamping his lips together for a moment until- “You.”

Wally blinks. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh… Why?”

“He doesn’t…” Dick pauses, letting out a sigh of frustration, bringing his hands up to rub the heels of his palms into his eyes. “He doesn’t understand why I… need you around…”

Wally looks up at the ceiling in confusion, as if the peeling paint could answer the questions banging around in his head. “Wait, what do you mean?”

Dick huffs out another sigh, then sits up abruptly, detangling himself from Wally and moving to face him in a cross-legged position. “I don’t know! He just said something about having too much dependency on you and how that can compromise my ‘emotional integrity’ and I need to have ‘distance’ and all this other bullshit.”

He spits out the last word with so much venom that Wally’s taken aback. Dick never talks about Bruce like this, no matter how angry he’s been with him. He’s always had some modicum of respect for his mentor, but it sounds like Bruce really hit a nerve with this one.

“He’s just… so fucking frustrating these days. It’s like talking to a brick wall.” Dick’s running his hands through his hair in distress. “I mean, it used to be like talking to a very sturdy door with like seven different locks, but at least that had some give to it. Now it’s like… he’s just… he’s different, since Jason.”

They both go silent for a moment, the room suddenly filled with such poignant presence it’s almost like the boy is in there with them. Wally slings his leg over Dick’s own crossed legs, and Dick lays a grateful hand on his knee in response.

“I just… I don’t think he understands how different we are as people.” Dick’s shoulders slump again, all self-righteous anger rushing out of him in one swift motion. “He’s never needed people, even with me and Alfred, and even Jason around. He’s never wanted to need people, he doesn’t get what its like…”

Wally purses his lips. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Dick blinks, looking at his friend in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Wally sighs, sitting up a little straighter against the headboard, crossing his legs underneath him. “I mean, I don’t think it’s true that he doesn’t need people. I don’t know Bruce was well as you do, Dick, but… I mean, you don’t see the way he looks at you.”

There’s more silence after that. Dick is contemplating. Wally just waits.

“How… what do you mean?”

“Dick… Bruce loves you.” Wally shakes his head and reaches out, taking Dick’s hand in his. “He’s… he’s your dad. He needs you just as much as you need him. Sometimes he’ll look at you and it’s like… like you’re made of porcelain or something. It’s never when you’re looking, because he knows you’d hate it. I think… I think he’s just afraid of losing you.”

Dick leans forward and rests his forehead against Wally’s chest. “Then why is he being like this?”

“Maybe it’s easier for him to push you away?”

“Easier than what?”

“Than you not needing him anymore.”

Wally can feel Dick screwing up his face, like he’s trying to hold back tears. “I’m always gonna need him, Walls…”

“I know that. But does he?”

It’s a while before Dick even moves, let alone continues the conversation. After a minute of silence, Wally lifts a hand to start rubbing small circles into his lower back. Dick relaxes into the touch but doesn’t respond in any other way. He just sits there, his head against Wally’s chest. He’s crossed-legged and bent forward in a really weird way, but that stopped bothering Wally a long time ago.

Finally, Dick sits up and away from Wally. He’s quiet for another minute, and Wally is prepared for a few more moments of silence, until Dick lifts his head. With the slight amount of moonlight shining in through the window, Wally can just about make out the tear tracks running down his cheeks.

“Dick…”

Wally doesn’t even think about it. It’s just instinct to reach out and wipe a thumb along the edge of his friend’s jaw, to catch the stray bit of wetness still lingering there. His skin is soft, even covered in tears, and Wally doesn’t think anything of it. They’re always touchy, always have been. It’s just the way they’ve always needed to be.

He barely notices the change in Dick’s expression: the look in his eyes that’s desperate and needy and just a little bit wild, before a sudden pair of soft, salty, tear-stained lips are pressed against his own and he’s being kissed by his best friend.

Wally doesn’t react. Sort of. His body just kind of freezes and his eyes go wide and his hands raise up (god knows why), but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t think his body knows how to.

The kiss doesn’t last long. Maybe five seconds, tops, until Dick seems to realize what he’s doing and moves away very quickly. He slaps his hand over his mouth, either in shock or just from the feeling, and then they’re just staring at each other in confusion. No disgust or anger, just mild confusion. And a strange dawning sensation.

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s…”

“…new.”

“Mhm.”

Wally realizes his arms are still in the air, so he drops them back down onto his knees. Still staring at Dick, though, who’s looking back at him like a deer in headlights at this point. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. He’s just… confused… and now Dick is biting his lower lip and Wally can’t do anything but stare at that and that’s weird cuz he’s never done that before and whyishestaringatDick’slipsthatsaweirdthingtodobutsoiskissing yourbestfriendandDickjustdidthatsomaybehe’stheweirdoneinthissituationbutitwasn’tthatweirdsowhyishefreakingoutrightnowheshouldn’tbefreakingoutit’sjustDickandDickisDicksoitshouldn’tbeweirdbutisitevenweirdorjustdifferent-

“-lly… Wally!”

Wally blinks, and suddenly Dick’s face is really close to his and the guy’s hands are on his shoulders and wow he’s like a furnace, when did he get so hot? Not like that hot, like warm hot, ‘cause Dick’s always been hot hot, and whoa where did that come from?

“Are you okay?”

“Um.”

Dick sighs. His big blue eyes are wide and concerned and looking directly into Wally’s and jesus when did they get so blue?  “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I don’t know what came over me.”

“Dude…”

“No, I know you’re not… I was just emotional and you’re my best friend and I think I just had a weird… need… I shouldn’t have just-“

“Dude.”

“-done that without your permission, I’m sorry, I won’t-“

“DICK!” Wally grabs Dick by the shoulders, the same way his friend is holding him, and shakes him just a little to stop the rambling.

Dick sucks in a gasp of air and bites down on his lower lip again. He’s looking up at Wally like he did the night he told him about his family, about Bruce, about his whole life. Like he’s scared. Like he’s expecting Wally to bolt and wouldn’t blame him if he did.

Wally just stares down at his lips again, still not understanding what’s so damn fascinating about them, until he’s reaching up and watching his own thumb pull Dick’s lower lip out from under his teeth and gently run along the chapped skin.

And then it’s clear.

Dick lets out the softest puff of air and Wally can feel it on his fingers and then he’s looking into those big baby blue’s with a question that only Dick could ever know he’s asking. Then those baby blue’s are disappearing behind fluttering closed eyelids and he’s kissing his best friend.

And… it’s magic.

That’s the only way he can describe it. It’s like it just… fits. Like this was always where they were going, and they were idiots to think they were just friends. Best friends. Touchy, handsy, lovey-dovey, emotionally-secure Best Friends.

Fuck, they were so stupid.

Dick’s hands are still on his shoulders, but Wally’s have moved to gently cup Dick’s face and pull him a bit closer. Their mouths are closed. It’s barely a brush of the lips, both of them just a little too scared to push it any further. But it’s still like fireworks and Wally thinks his heart is about to burst out of his chest, but that’s too cliché, so instead he just starts to fucking vibrate.

Dick breaks the kiss with a laugh, his eyes opening to look up at Wally in a mixture of amusement and adoration that’s just about giddying, so Wally starts to giggle in response, because everything is ridiculous and still manages to make sense, because it’s Dick and it always has been.

Suddenly they’re tumbling over sideways in a tangle of limbs and laughter, and it’s the most natural thing in the world. They’ve got both arms around each other now and whether they’re breathless from the kiss or the laughter, neither of them will ever know, but it’s wonderful.

“Well, that’s certainly one way to cheer a guy up.”

Wally’s still chuckling, but the comment makes him snort out a few more giggles, his abdomen aching in the best way from the exertion. “You can say that again.”

Dick rolls onto his side in Wally’s arms, resting his cheek on his shoulder. Wally turns his head to look at him, knowing Dick would just stare at the side of his face until he did. “So…”

“So…?”

“So, what now?”

Wally purses his lips, looking down at his friend – wait, could he still say that? – in mild amusement. “I dunno, man, this was your idea.”

Dick’s jaw drops, and Wally does his best not to break down into giggles again. “It was not! You’re the one who touched my face!”

“I’m always touching your face, you’re the one who decided to get all up into mine.”

“I was not! It just happened!”

“’It just happened.’ ”

“It did! Don’t mock me, you jerk, where do you ge-”

In a split-second Wally leans over to kiss Dick again, just to see if it shuts him up, and when he pulls away he discovers that it does.

“Like that?”

Dick blinks, his mouth a little open in shock from the kiss and Wally realizes that his mouth had been open when he kissed him. Well, that’s even newer.

“…yeah.”

They’re quiet again for a bit. Wally lifts a hand to brush a few stray hairs out of Dick’s eyes. He’s done it a million times before, but now it feels different. Everything feels different. In a matter of minutes everything between him and his best friend had changed.

Except, it hadn’t.

And now Wally’s not really sure where he stands.

“Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re my best friend.”

“You’re mine, too, Walls.”

“This doesn’t… this doesn’t change that, right?”

Dick looks up at him, and this time his gaze is calculating. Like he’s trying to solve a problem. “Not unless you want it to.”

Wally shakes his head immediately, then reconsiders. “I mean… You’re always gonna be my best friend, no matter what.”

“Same here, man.”

“But… we can still be best friends and… do that, right? ‘Cause…. ‘cause I think I wanna do that more.”

Dick smiles. “Kiss?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, we can do that.”

“And still be best friends?”

“Dude, yes. Of course. Those are the best kinds of best friends.”

Wally smiles back now, pressing his forehead against Dick’s. “Okay.”

His best friend in the world curls an arm around his waist, like he’s done so many times before, and pulls him closer. “We don’t have to talk about this right now, Wally. We can just… enjoy it. We can figure everything else out later.”

“That sounds good.”

Dick chuckles and closes his eyes, relaxing against Wally’s chest in a way that’s both familiar and entirely new. It’s nice.

Wally grabs the blanket that been bunched up behind him and yanks it over top of them both, snuggling in for a good night’s rest that he figures neither of them have had for a while. Then he remembers the reason they were here in the first place.

“Hey Dick?”

“…hm?”

He’s falling asleep already.

“You feeling better?”

Dick blinks his eyes open, lids heavy, then nods with a tired smile.

“I think so. Thanks, Walls.”

Wally smiles in return, snuggling lower into the blankets and nudging his nose gently against Dick’s.

“Hey, what are best friends for?”

I Can’t Help But Care (ch 2)

Genre: Trans!AU, domestic fluff, mild hurt/comfort Rated: K+ Characters: Yosuke Hanamura, Souji Seta (Yu Narukami), mentions of Izanagi/Shadow!Souji, mentions of Naoto Shirogane Warnings: minor mentions of dysphoria and self-hatred Status: twoshot, complete

<- previous chapter

“No, you—Don’t apologize, man.” Yosuke places his hand over the one Souji’s using to fish for his discarded shirt and gives it a squeeze. He groans behind his teeth. “I’m the one that should be sorry; this is the first time you’ve ever had your shirt off around me and all I’ve done so far is act like an ass.”

Chapter 2: I Just Complicate it When I Say Too Much

 The shower is running by the time Yosuke makes it back upstairs. It had taken him all of thirty seconds after paying to decide that he really didn’t want to bother setting up in the living room, so, food in hand, he plunks down on the floor in front of Souji’s coffee table. Originally he’d planned on letting Souji shower first while they were waiting; Souji’s showers never take very long, so the food probably would have arrived right as Yosuke was finishing up his own. He likes it when they eat together, since it’s almost like a stay-in date when the setting is right.

Now, though, for obvious reasons, that particular plan has been ever so slightly derailed. He could wait; he’s hit the point of exhaustion where he doesn’t really feel the hunger he knows is there. However, if he waits on Souji, then Souji will wait on him, and Yosuke doesn’t much like the idea of making his boyfriend wait any longer than necessary.

So he starts in on his food and waits for his partner to get out of the shower.

Souji reappears not long after, still shirtless, but dressed in his pajama pants with his sleep shirt tucked into the crook of his elbow as he scruffs a towel over his hair. He carefully seats himself beside Yosuke and offers him a quirk of his lips – a tired, fond smile.

“All yours,” he murmurs, mimicking Yosuke’s earlier words. He reaches out to snag his own bowl of takeout and pull it closer.

Up close, Yosuke can see the binder marks along Souji’s skin. They’re fainter now, still red but not as angry as they were before. A lot of the lesser chafing has all but faded, leaving only pink patches here and there in between the heavier outlines.

Yosuke must take too long to respond, because Souji looks over and catches him staring. He glances away, down at his own torso, and seems to curl inwards out of habit. “Sorry,” he says. He gropes around for the shirt he’d let fall beneath the table and starts to tug it closer.

“No, you—Don’t apologize, man.” Yosuke places his hand over the one Souji’s using to fish for his discarded shirt and gives it a squeeze. He groans behind his teeth. “I’m the one that should be sorry; this is the first time you’ve ever had your shirt off around me and all I’ve done so far is act like an ass.”

Souji huffs a laugh. He turns his hand over in Yosuke’s and folds their fingers together, giving a squeeze in return. “A protective ass,” he murmurs, voice teasing. “But I kind of sprung it on you, too.” He sneaks a glance back up at Yosuke from the corner of his eyes. His hand on the table fiddles nervously with his unbroken chopsticks. “Does it bother you?” he whispers. There is a thread of sadness in his tone now, of worry, like he’s still convinced that Yosuke will suddenly find him disgusting. He gestures at the irritation along his shoulder with his free hand, using a chopstick like a pointer. “They’re still tender; the water helped but I’m afraid if I put my shirt on they’ll stick to it.”

Yosuke doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he slowly leans forward until he’s able to properly catch Souji’s eyes. Gently, he raises their clasped hands and brings Souji’s fingers to his lips, brushing them over each one before pressing a quiet kiss to the back of Souji’s hand. “Nothing about you bothers me,” he whispers against his boyfriend’s skin. He watches Souji watching him and lets a soft smile stretch over his features where Souji can see. “I know I’m not doing a great job of showing it, but I’m really glad you took your shirt off.”

Souji looks at him with an expression full of affection and awe, so warm that Yosuke can feel it in his chest like sunlight. Souji is like a sun, but shyer – a guiding star in the darkness – and Yosuke wonders if it’s possible to fall in love with someone he’s already fallen for a hundred times over.

And then, suddenly, that warm expression becomes one of mischief as Souji snerks. It isn’t really a snort, much like all of Souji’s other laughter is never really laughter in the conventional sense; it’s a light, gravely sound in the back of his throat that grows into his usual breathy huff through the hint of his exposed teeth.

“Are you now?” he asks, somehow managing to keep his voice level despite his sniggering. His eyes gleam in a way they haven’t since before the two of them left the tv world, mirthful and happy and it makes Yosuke’s stomach swoop.

Even if he’s being teased for his unintentional innuendo.

He lets out a noise of exasperation – not the first one of the night – and rolls his eyes so hard his head drops back to rest on the couch seat behind him. “Oh ha ha, dude, and here I was feeling all sappy ‘cuz you’re actually comfortable around me.”

Souji ‘snerks’ again and clings to Yosuke’s hand when Yosuke tries to pretend he’s done enough to pull it away. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding it at all. “Couldn’t help it.” He sighs happily and tugs on the hand on his own until Yosuke relents and leans sideways.

Souji rests his head on Yosuke’s shoulder and hums. His breath is warm on Yosuke’s skin, even through the fabric of his shirt. Souji is warm, solid, real; how did Yosuke ever get so lucky? He tilts his head and brushes his lips over Souji’s forehead, earning him another hum in response.

“I knew what you meant, though.”

“Yeah?” Yosuke shifts just enough to be able to search for Souji’s eyes beyond that silvery shimmer of his still-damp hair.

“Yeah.”

They stay that way for a few minutes, taking comfort in each other’s presence. Eventually, though, Yosuke feels Souji’s breathing start to grow shallower and he nudges his boyfriend gently with his shoulder. “Hey, man,” he murmurs, and soft grey slowly blinks up at him through moon-colored lashes. (God, Yosuke is so weak for him.) “You still need to eat and I’m pretty sure I smell like a gym bag, so…”

Souji sits up. He winces slightly as his skin moves, but he makes no outward protest to being disturbed from his spot on Yosuke’s shoulder. Instead, he just rolls his shoulders back – or, at least he tries, but it doesn’t seem to do him much good since he’s obviously trying not to jostle his ribs too much. “Mm,” he agrees, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

He releases Yosuke’s hand and scoots closer to the coffee table, sitting up straighter as he locates both of his forgotten chopsticks.

Yosuke pushes to his feet, legs reminding him that that he, too, had spent several hours fighting shadows. He takes a second to press a kiss to the crown of Souji’s head before picking his way over to his bag to retrieve his sleep clothes. He pauses again just before he steps into the hallway and looks back over to where his boyfriend has finally started poking at his dinner. “You gonna be okay?”

Souji smiles sleepily around the end of his chopsticks and nods.

---

Yosuke: hey got a ?4u

Yosuke: u evr get binder rash?

Naoto S: THAT IS A VERY SPECIFIC QUESTION. I ASSUME UR ASKING FOR SOUJI-SENPAI?

Yosuke: yea. he left his binder on 2 long & now hes got red marks

Naoto S: HOW LONG DID HE WEAR IT 4?

Yosuke: all day

Yosuke: & n the tv

Yosuke: Naoto he fights n it

Naoto S: HE WHAT???

Naoto S: NO THAT IS TERRIBLE HE SHOULD NVR DO THAT

Yosuke: ikr?

Yosuke: hes got mad chafing. messed his ribs up 2

Naoto S: DO U NEED ME 2 SCOLD HIM?

Yosuke: nah i alrdy did

Yosuke: maybe 2moro tho

Yosuke: cant hurt

Yosuke: how do i help him 2nite?

Naoto S: 4 THE IRRITATION TREAT IT LIKE A SUNBURN OR SKINNED KNEE

Naoto S: USE ANTI-BAC MED ON BROKEN SKIN. LOTION ON REST

Naoto S: RIBS R TRICKY. HOW BAD?

Yosuke: idk? he can move ok just seems sore

Yosuke: he took a shwr. think hot watr helped

Naoto S: GOOD. MOBILITY IS GOOD

Naoto S: IF NOT 2 BAD THEN BACK RUBS CAN HELP

Yosuke: ty!! ur the best!!!

Naoto S: I AM AWARE

---

Yosuke takes his time rubbing the water out of his hair, standing in the bathroom in his pajamas with a towel in one hand and his phone in the other. Honestly, Naoto was a godsend – they’d been endlessly helpful after Souji’s dungeon, when Yosuke desperately wanted to learn but was afraid of bombarding Souji while he was still recovering. Naoto was patient, too, which was a bonus when dealing with someone like Yosuke who didn’t mean to be an asshole but was so out of touch he might as well have glued his foot directly to his mouth and called it a day.

He really would have to find a way to thank them somehow. Preferably in the near future.

Tucking the phone into his pocket, Yosuke glances around the bathroom. Lotion will be easy to get his hands on; Souji has a bottle of it over on his desk, probably for situations just like this. (Yosuke frowns at that thought but tucks it away because now is not the time.) Antibacterial medicine is the thing he actually has to go looking for, and despite how awkward he feels poking around in Dojima’s stuff, it’s for a good cause. Squashing that awkwardness, Yosuke digs through the medicine cabinet before finally locating a tube of gel.

He does his best to put everything back the way it was, before finally stepping out of the bathroom and heading back to where his boyfriends waits.

Souji looks up as he enters, giving him a slow upturning of his lips. He sits with his arms crossed over the top of the coffee table, like he’d been resting his head on them before Yosuke walked in. His shirt is still on the floor where Souji left it earlier, the irritation on his skin so faded now that other than the fiercest of the red lines his torso looks almost normal again.

“Hi,” he says sleepily. “I put the leftovers in the fridge already.”

Such a Souji thing to do, Yosuke thinks, returning the smile.

He steps over to the desk and snags the little bottle of lotion before plopping down beside his boyfriend. He presses a gentle kiss to the crest of Souji’s shoulder, earning a happy little hum in return. “How ya feeling?” he murmurs, eyeing the chafe lines closest to him.

Souji shifts. “Better. It’s starting to pull, though.”

“Ribs?”

A quiet huff. “Well I can breathe.” He looks over at Yosuke with fond eyes. “Just feels like I slept wrong now.”

Yosuke sets the tube of antibacterial gel and the bottle of lotion on the table in front of him. “Can I do something?” he asks quietly, pulling back enough so he can watch Souji’s expression.

Souji quirks a brow at the items on the table but doesn’t answer.

Yosuke scratches absently at his cheek. It’s one thing for Souji to be comfortable being shirtless around him; if Souji doesn’t want Yosuke actually touching his skin then that’s a roadblock Yosuke will have to respect. Even if it’s technically for medical purposes.

“I mean,” he tries, searching for a way to ask without being weird. “Are you okay with me touching you? Not—! Not in like, a sexual way, I just…” He gestures helplessly between Souji’s reddened skin and the stuff on the table, hoping it will be clearer than his failed attempt at words.

Luckily, Souji seems to understand, because he slowly nods after a moment of silent deliberation.

Yosuke lets out an exhale of sheer relief. He could probably have coerced Souji into letting him rub gel onto his shoulders but he’s not terribly keen on doing that. Souji’s trust is important to him; he doesn’t even want to chance bending it, let alone break it.

Taking up the gel first, he angles himself so that he’s facing Souji more completely. He unscrews the cap and squeezes a bit onto his finger, rubbing it between them to warm it up a little. “Can I?” he asks softly. He’s already been given permission, technically, but there’s no harm in double-checking.

Souji nods again. He shifts a bit, getting closer and leaning his shoulder in for Yosuke to start with.

Yosuke takes a moment to look at the chafing up close. It’s not as bad as it had initially looked – thank god – and most of the surrounding redness has faded out. All that remains, of note, at least, are the places where the edges of the binder had rubbed Souji’s skin raw to the point of breaking it. Yosuke doesn’t see any actual blood, though, which means that most if not all of the damage is surface-level. Okay. He can handle that. With all the weight of a feather, Yosuke touches his gel-covered fingertips to his partner’s battered skin, just outside the worst of if.

Gingerly, hesitantly, he starts to pat his way along the outline. He keeps his focus on his work but spares a glance upwards now and then to check and see how Souji is doing. Neither of them speaks for the next few minutes; the only sounds are the soft ‘plip plip plip’ of the gel as he carefully works it into Souji’s wounds and the occasional hiss of discomfort in response. When Yosuke finishes with the side he can reach – Souji’s shoulder and back being the worst of it, with only one spot beneath his underarm where the first layer of skin has peeled away – he heaves himself up and moves around to get at Souji’s left.

The left side of Souji’s body is marginally better than his right had been. The marks under his arm are just barely red, thankfully unbroken, and his shoulder has far fewer patches of broken skin than Yosuke had been expecting. The only place that looks as bad as before is along the curve of Souji’s shoulder blade where the binder scraped as Souji pulled his arm across himself to wield his katana. Yosuke bends down and brushes his lips over the unmarked expanse of Souji’s spine. His boyfriend makes a stilted, muffled sound low in his throat.

“Why do you wear it in the tv?” he whispers into his partner’s vertebrae. “Why don’t you just do what Naoto does?” He squeezes another heavy bead of gel onto his fingers and starts the process all over again.

Souji hums. It’s not his usual hum; it’s lower, like an audible frown, and Yosuke can picture the way his boyfriend’s brows draw together “I can’t,” he murmurs after a pause. “The binder’s the only thing I have.”

Yosuke stills. He looks up from the outline he’s been working on and tries to peer around the side of Souji’s face to catch his eyes. “Wait, so… Nothing else?”

Souji’s lips press into a thin, straight line. He stares ahead of him, eyes fixed somewhere on the far wall, and slowly shakes his head.

Yosuke sits back, hands falling away from his partner’s back to rest palms-up on his folded knees. He blinks stupidly at the back of Souji’s head. “Not even like a sports bra or…?”

“No.”

“Do you just not own any?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Yosuke bites down on his lower lip and chews it, nervous. It’s clear he’s hitting on a sore spot here, and he wants to press harder because this is something affecting Souji’s health, but he also recognizes the tightness in his leader’s voice. There isn’t a wall between them yet, but the cinderblocks sit ready, just in case.

He takes a deep breath, then takes the leap. “Why?”

Souji’s body goes rigid – the lines of his back sharpening as he tenses. But then he’s sighing, louder than he usually is, and slumping back down as the tension ebbs away. When he speaks his voice is tired, small, and Yosuke has to lean in a bit to hear him.

“I had a panic attack the last time I tried to go shopping for one.”

Oh. Oh fuck. Yosuke feels his face burning with awkward guilt as everything hits him with crystal clarity. Of course Souji wouldn’t own one; the poor guy couldn’t have just casually gone wandering through the women’s underwear department without getting the worst kind of stares, and even if he could his anxiety would have made it impossible to ask for a fitting room.

He wouldn’t have anyone to buy them for him, either, since it’s not like his parents would ever have bothered to buy him anything, especially clothes. The only other options would have been to come out to a stranger in order to ask for help, or to go shopping dressed as a girl, which… No. No, absolutely not. Yosuke clamps down on that thought before he makes himself sick.

He remembers how pale and empty-eyed Souji had been when Izanagi had revealed himself, remembers how violently Souji had been shaking as his shadow-self descended the stairs with long silver hair and a short uniform skirt.

Never again.

Yosuke sets aside the tube of gel and eases his arms around Souji’s middle, well below the chafing and the aching ribcage. He leans forward and rests his head between his boyfriend’s shoulder blades, careful to avoid any reddened skin or still-drying gel. Before he closes his arms, he whispers, “Is this okay?”

Souji’s reply is to lean back into Yosuke’s embrace and drape one of his own arms over the ones around his waist. “You’re always okay.”

Yosuke laughs softly. “I’m still gonna ask, though.” He gently squeezes his arms – more a twitch than anything – and nuzzles against Souji’s back.

Pressed together like this, Yosuke can feel the vibrations in his partner’s body as Souji hums; they spread through Yosuke’s chest and feel like home.

“It’s appreciated,” Souji says.

Yosuke could stay like this all night. He kind of wants to, but with his face pressed so close to Souji’s damaged skin he can feel that faint traces of heat still lingering in the chafe lines and he knows he still has just a little bit left to do. “Speaking of,” he starts. He waits for Souji to tilt his head back in Yosuke’s direction. “Would it be okay if I gave you a backrub? Or are your ribs too sore for that?”

Souji thinks a moment, gauging. Yosuke can feel the way Souji stretches and tests just how much his torso will let him move. He grunts, just once, and catches on a movement when he tenses too much on one side, but makes no other outward show of pain as he assesses his body. “They’re… tender,” he finally says, voice thoughtful. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much.” As if to further clarify his permission, Souji sits back up and leans across the table once more, leaving Yosuke to miss the feeling of warmth against his chest.

To compensate, and to make everything easier on the both of them, Yosuke tucks a leg up underneath himself and shifts so that he’s directly behind his boyfriend, with Souji positioned between his legs once Yosuke gets settled. It’s so domestic and intimate that Yosuke has to take a moment to remember what he’s doing and not just wrap his arms around Souji’s waist again and press their bodies back together.

He shakes his head to clear it before Souji can start to wonder if something’s up, and reaches past the other boy’s shoulder to snag the lotion bottle off the coffee table. There will be time for cuddling later. A whole lifetime’s worth, if Yosuke has anything to say about it. For now though, back to work.

Just as carefully as he had with the medicine, Yosuke takes a small amount of lotion, warmed between his hands, and starts to swipe it over the parts of Souji’s back that need it most. It’s nothing special, just something to help keep chapped skin from cracking open, but Naoto had said to treat it like a sunburn and Yosuke’s had enough sunburns in his life to know that dry skin peels in horrible ways. Granted, he’s never had the kind of chafing that Souji is dealing with, but he trusts Naoto’s advice.

It doesn’t take long for him to finish up with Souji’s back and sides, gently soothing the lotion into his partner’s skin. He hesitates when he gets to Souji’s front, which he would try to avoid but there’s a bit of irritation on Souji’s collarbones and Yosuke is certain the skin further down is probably in need of attention, too. Luckily, Souji is as observant as ever and holds his hand out wordlessly for the bottle. Yosuke presses a kiss to Souji’s neck in silent thanks and lets his boyfriend tend to his chest on his own.

While Souji is busy with his chest, Yosuke devotes his attention to Souji’s ribs. Slowly, pressing as lightly as he can to start, he uses his lotion-slick hands to smooth across the planes of his partner’s body. He digs his fingertips in when it seems he isn’t causing Souji any pain, pushes in with the heels of his palms when he can feel Souji stiffen under his touch. He doesn’t knead, nor try and undo any knots – there aren’t any, really, not around Souji’s torso – just gently works his hands over aching bones to try and alleviate the worst of it.

At one point he works up the courage to slip his hands around to the place just below the high points of his partner’s chest. He stills, asking for permission with his pause, and Souji gives it in the form of a nod and contented sigh. Yosuke keeps his fingers on safe places; he won’t go further up until Souji is ready.

When he finally moves back up to Souji’s shoulders, that’s when Yosuke finds the knots of stress at their worst. He’s always wondered how much his partner – their leader – really carries on his shoulders, both physical and metaphorical. He’s seen Souji roll his neck in battle and sometimes it seems less of a way to loosen up before a fight and more like a bid to keep his body from locking. The worst is when they’ve been under a time crunch, back before, when their friends and team members had been trapped in their own personal hells with only a few days to save them before the next blanket of choking fog.

Yosuke presses his thumb into a spot just between Souji’s shoulder blades and feels something shift that makes the other boy groan in appreciation.

All that pressure that Souji works under, the weight he carries, and all of it on top of being in an article of clothing that he should never be fighting in, should never wear as long as he does each and every day. Yosuke feels something in his heart twist at the thought of his boyfriend being in physical discomfort, or even pain nearly constantly because of this. And yet Souji has never once complained. Instead, he bottles everything up and lets it sink like a stone until he’s drowning. No wonder Izanagi had seemed so exhausted between his bouts of mania.

And that just leads to another thought that leaves a bitter taste in Yosuke’s mouth. Does Souji even get to relax at home? He’s too polite, too worried about other people’s comfort; it wouldn’t surprise Yosuke if Souji wore his binder right up until it was time to head upstairs for the night so that he didn’t have to be around his family with nothing on under his shirt.

Yosuke is finally pulled from his thoughts by the sound of shallow, even breathing. He blinks, bringing himself back to the present, back to Souji’s bedroom with his boyfriend nestled comfortably between his legs. The sight before him makes his heart stutter in the best of ways.

At some point while Yosuke was absorbed in his musings, hands methodically running patterns along his boyfriend’s back, Souji had slumped forward across the coffee table and laid his head in the crook of his own elbow. His eyes are closed now, and from his spot behind him Yosuke can see the delicate way Souji’s pale eyelashes rest against his cheek, the way the long day has melted from the lines on his face. Souji looks so peaceful in sleep – it’s not something Yosuke gets to see often, but is forever grateful that he’s the one that gets to see it when it does happen. Not all of Souji’s dreams are good, he knows, but for tonight it looks like his partner is somewhere safe inside his head.

Yosuke sighs. He hates to wake his boyfriend up when he looks so serene, but bent over a coffee table is not a good way to sleep; if Souji’s back wasn’t already sore, it sure as hell would be after a night spent like that.

Yosuke carefully hoists himself up – trying to let Souji have a few more minutes of peace before he wakes him – and moves as quietly as possible while getting everything squared away. He pulls the futon out and fluffs up the squashed pillows, plugs in both his and Souji’s phones, switches off the lights. In the morning, he’ll text Rise and Naoto and ask them if they’d please take his partner shopping, since Naoto will know what to look for and Rise can be their foil in case the boy and the gender fluid detective get any strange looks while looking at sports bras. They’ll take care of Souji; Yosuke doesn’t know if there��s anyone he trusts more than their friends.

For now, though, it’s late. There’s no school tomorrow, no work, no tv world. When they wake up they’ll have the house to themselves. There’s nothing to rush them or keep them from sleeping in.

When Yosuke finally manages to wake his sleeping boyfriend and usher him into bed – shirt still in a heap in the floor – Souji is dead asleep again the moment his head hits the pillow. Yosuke, however, keeps his eyes open for a while longer, watching the easy rise and fall of Souji’s chest as he breathes. He slips his arms around Souji’s waist and presses them as close together as he can, so that it’s nearly impossible to tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

He drifts away like this, wrapped protectively around the person his heart has decided to call home, with Souji’s shoulder beneath his lips and a silent promise to help heal him echoing in Yosuke’s head.

He wakes in the morning to the sight of Souji’s smile.

Red vs Blue: Universe Collision, Chapter 6

AO3 || Verse tag

In another universe, Allison lives. A few years down the line, her Alpha squad crash-lands in the universe where she didn’t.

*Crashes through the window with a two-month-late update* HAPPY PI DAY

When Wash arrives at the training ground, he already has a headache from another night with almost no sleep. The sight of the squad of New Republic soldiers deep in gossip doesn’t do much to help.

“This doesn’t look like you’re ready for a training session,” Wash announces, letting his voice carry.

They all jump guiltily, turning en masse to look at him.

“Sorry, sir, it’s just…” the cadet, a Private Campos, trails off as Wash stares at him.

“Is it really true that Captain Caboose is from another dimension?” another private bursts out.

Wash takes a very deep breath and gives the same explanation he’s been giving for the past four days. “No. No, it’s not. As we already knew, the visitors are from a parallel universe almost identical to our own. They have counterparts here. One of their members is the counterpart to Captain Caboose’s sister. They’re not actually related.”

“Unless she’s from this dimension,” someone whispers. Wash is too tired to try and figure out who.

“If you have the energy to gossip, you have the energy to run laps. Let’s move it.”

They groan, but start running. Wash takes another very deep breath and a moment to regret the life choices that had led to him saying the words “parallel universe” in all seriousness.

After putting the soldiers through their paces, Wash has to go looking for Tucker, and comes out near the motor pool. Caboose is standing over to the side, talking quietly to Freckles. For the first time Wash has seen in the past couple of days, he’s alone, and Wash detours to talk to him.

“Caboose!”

Caboose looks up, and then hunches his shoulders. “Oh. Hello, agent Washingtub.”

Wash feels like he just got a bucket of water dumped on his head. “Caboose?”

“I am glad to see you are not still mad at me.” Caboose still won’t look up at him.

“Caboose, why would you think I was mad at you?”

“When you are mad at people, you do not like to talk to them. And you have not talked to me at all lately. So you are mad at me.”

“Caboose…” Wash takes a moment to sigh. “Caboose, I’m not mad at you.”

“See, but that is what you would say even if you were mad at me. Because you are bad at feelings but you still don’t like to hurt mine.”

“Caboose, I’m not mad at you, I promise.”

“But you are mad at Freckles.”

“What?” Wash is genuinely flabbergasted. “I’m not mad at your…dog.”

“Not this Freckles, first Freckles.”

“Oh, you mean…Niner. I’m…not mad at her.” Wash pauses. “Caboose—you do know that she’s not actually your sister, right?”

“You mean she is adopted?”

“No, it’s—you know there’s another one of Carolina, and of…me. She’s another version of your sister. The real Freckles isn’t here.”

“I know that she isn’t from here, Wash. She is still my sister.”

“Oh.” Wash keeps feeling knocked off-balance by this conversation. “Well…as long as you know that.”

“So you will stop avoiding us now?”

“I’ll stop avoiding you, Caboose.”

“Okay, but that is not—”

“I have to go find Tucker now, I’ll see you at dinner.” Wash starts for the other side of the motor pool.

“Look out!”

Wash turns just in time to see a Warthog come barreling through the entryway.

He knows he tries to dodge, he knows he fails because he feels it slam into him, and then he knows nothing at all for a good few minutes.

“Washington? Washington!”

Caboose shouting at him is a familiar enough sound that it takes Wash a few moments to register it as something important.

“Caboose, if you set the base on fire again…” he groans, hauling himself awake.

Wait a minute. Did he fall asleep in his armor again?

“Agent Washington! Oh thank goodness you are okay. There was a car. Tucker did it.”

The second part of that is probably a lie, but Wash is ready to believe there was a car. He hurts all over—he doesn’t think any bones are broken, but he’s definitely going to have a nice set of bruises. Not to mention that his head hurts like hell.

“You are okay, right?” Caboose asks.

“I—” Wash tries to rub his forehead and hits his helmet with his gauntlets. “I’m fine. I just need to go to the infirmary.”

“I will come with you!”

Wash winces at the volume of the voice. “No—no, that’s all right, really. I can make it. You should go…” He waves a hand. “Do things.”

“If you are sure,” the blue soldier says, worried. “Because you do not look very good, Agent Washington—”

“I’m fine. Go.”

He goes, and Wash turns and starts his trek for the infirmary.

Wash’s head is still kind of sore, but the doctor said he was healed enough to leave by now. A few days in a hospital bed can be really boring, it turns out, especially when most of his team is off doing other things.

He pulls on his helmet first and sends off a message to all the Freelancers. <Doc says I’m healed, but won’t let me leave alone. Some1 come get me?>

 York and the twins are heading for the edge of camp to start patrol when they get Wash’s message. They’re close enough to the infirmary to detour without losing too much ground, and when they get within sight there’s Wash, standing outside. He’s looking around at the trees, but he must not see them, because he turns around and starts to head back inside.

“Hey, Wash!” York turns up his mic, letting his voice carry. “You ready to get out of here?”

Wash turns around and sees them, pulling himself up a little bit straighter. “I—” He shakes his head slowly. “Yup. Let’s go.”

Now that the ship’s been stripped, Maine doesn’t have any big task that needs doing. He can’t collect information like Connie can, sneaking around, or just by conversation like the rest can, because the cadets still keep whispering at him. He’s taken to hiding out in the darker corners of the motor pool, running his invisibility unit at short intervals whenever someone walks past so he doesn’t have to answer any awkward questions.

The patrol assignment, when it comes down, is a relief. He and Wyoming meet up at the motor pool to wait for the signal from Florida and Connie that they can come meet them without fear of blowing their cover too close to the pirates.

Wash’s message comes in right before that.

“Shall we collect our wayward friend, then?” Wyoming asks.

Maine agrees by the simple expedient of walking off in the direction of the infirmary and letting Wyoming catch up.

He lets Wyoming stay out and keep an eye on the doors while he goes in to fetch Wash.

Conveniently, Wash is standing just inside the door, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

When he sees Maine, he draws up very straight.

“Ready?”

“Yup. Let’s go.”

“Agent Washington!” The doctor in white and purple armor who Maine remembers checked over Wash when they first arrived comes running up, and she stops when she gets to Maine. “Ooh, you’re big. I take it you’re going to be responsible for him?”

“Regrettably.”

“Hey!”

“Well, he hasn’t had quite as much head trauma as the Washington I know, but you should still keep an eye on him for the next couple of days. Make sure he gets plenty of fluids and sleep and doesn’t take any more whacks to the noggin. And if he starts bleeding from the eyeballs…well, let me know.”

“Wait, what?”

Wash is screeching again. He should be fine.

“Will do.”

“Well. Have a lovely day, both of you.”

As they head out, Maine types up a message and sends it out to York, Carolina, and Connie. <Got WA, heading out.>

They get twenty feet before York sends back a message that makes Maine’s stomach flip.

<u cant have wash we hsve wash>

Crap.

“Wash.” Maine drops a hand onto Wash’s shoulder. “Take off your helmet.”

“Seriously? I’m fine—”

“Now.”

Wash doesn’t make him repeat himself, just reaches up and undoes the seal. He looks exactly like Maine has always known him to look, blond hair sticking up around a brand-new bump and freckles sprinkled across his face.

“Not bleeding out the eyeballs, see?”

Maine snaps a picture and sends it to York, because this is definitely their Wash. Which means York and the twins definitely have a problem.

“So, what are we doing out here?” Wash asks as they’re tramping along.

“Just a regular perimeter check. Trying to get to know the terrain, make sure there aren’t going to be any nasty surprises sneaking up on us.” York answers with half his brain, the other half busy scanning the trees.

“Why this planet, though?”

Right, missed the briefing because of the checkup. “Don’t let the concussion pull you too far down, Wash. It’s the alien tech or something.”

“Oh.” Wash prods a vine on a nearby log with his rifle. “So where is it?”

“You’re hilarious,” South mutters.

“So how far out from camp are we going?” North calls from where he’s monitoring their position.

York just barely catches Wash’s mutter of “camp?” as he does some quick calculations. “Just a klik. Florida and Connie are starting on the other side of the camp, closer to the pirates. Maine and Wyoming are going to go join them after they’re past the really dangerous area, and we’ll meet them at the rendezvous. Which is about five kliks from here.”

“Pirates?” And that’s Wash’s screechy voice. York had missed that screechy voice. “What’s going on with this planet?”

“Couldn’t tell you if I tried, buddy.”

South slings an arm over Wash’s shoulder and starts giving him a creative spiel, with North interjecting at key points for realism. York’s figuring out a good contribution when his helmet pings with a message from Maine.

<Got WA, heading out.>

York stops in his tracks for a second, causing South to crash into him and cuss him out. He mutters some apology, trying to scramble ahead and type at the same time.

<u cant have wash we hsve wash.>

Maine’s reply is a picture. That’s their Wash, alright—freckles and blond hair and a bump on his head, caught right before he put his helmet on.

Shit. They have the wrong Wash.

“Hold up,” York blurts out, raising a fist. “Quiet for a sec.”

They all stop and shut up and he opens up a private channel to the twins. “Maine and Wyoming just caught Wash coming out of the medbay.”

“But isn’t that where we found—” North suddenly falls silent.

“Fuckberries.”

“Yup. We need to head back. Try to act like everything’s normal, don’t let him realize, if he takes off out here he might actually get lost for good.”

“Well? Do you hear anything?” Wash asks, impatient.

“Got a message from Carolina,” York lies. “We have to head back now.”

“Seriously? We just got out here!” Wash complains.

“Hey, you can be the one to argue with her, alright? Let’s just go back to camp.”

They turn around, heading back, and York thinks they might actually get back with no problems when a Warthog bursts through the trees, that crazy mechanic kid Niner’s probably going to adopt driving. Niner herself is clinging for dear life to the seat.

“Sorry!” the kid yells, careening back into the trees. Niner yells something about “hell of a pilot”—what a terrifying thought—and then they’re gone.

“Well, I think we can check “near-death experience” off the day’s to-do list,” York offers, trying not to let his voice shake.

“Shut—”

“Niner?” Wash’s mutter cuts off South’s tirade before it can start, and they all turn to stare as he brings a hand up to his head. “With—Jensen?” He notices them, and stares like he’s seeing them for the first time.

“How are you doing, Wash?” North offers, sounding totally normal, like if he just acts calm and composed he can keep Wash from freaking out

And for an impossible moment, York thinks it’ll work, because Wash doesn’t do anything—

and then Wash drops his hand and stares up at the sky. “I’d like to wake up now,” he says, not looking at any of them.

“Wash?” York tries.

“I said I want to wake up now. Go away.”

“You can’t wake up, Wash, seriously. Stop being so creepy.”

Wash doesn’t seem to hear her, scrabbling for his gloves and then helmet catches, pulling them off.

And if any of them are doubting which Wash they have at this point, those doubts are gone. This Wash, from this universe, looks so old and so tired, the bags under his eyes enormous and his face eternally drawn. There’s a scar across the bridge of his nose that looks old and worn, and as he frantically spins around, scanning the trees for something, there are ugly scars visible on the back of his neck.

York trades looks with North and South, reopening the channel. “How do you want to play this?”

“No. No. No. I can’t—Grey wouldn’t—I won’t go back there.” Wash slams his fist into a tree, and ouch, that’s bound to hurt without armor. “I won’t!” he yells at the sky. “Do you hear me? Wake up!”

“Call one of the troopers,” York says, and closes the channel, approaching Wash carefully. “Hey, Wash? You need to calm down. You’re not dreaming, I promise, this is just—”

Before he can go any further, Wash tackles him to the ground and grabs at his helmet, undoing the latches and yanking it up. York is too stunned to do more than stare up at Wash as his face goes from shocked to vicious.

“Nice try,” Wash says, voice cold and dangerous. “But York only had one eye.”

And wow, York would love some time to process that, but South grabs Wash off of him.

“Get a grip, Washington!” she yells, throwing him to the ground before York can warn her that might be a bad idea.

“South’s dead,” Wash snarls at her. “I killed her myself. You want to pull one over on me, do your goddamned research.”

“The fuck?!” South freezes in place, and North starts to come forward, but York cuts him off.

“Wash, stop!” he yells, stepping between the twins and Wash. “This isn’t a trick, it’s not a trap, you’re on—”

“Oh yeah, York?” And the way Wash says his name, York knows he doesn’t believe him. “Then tell me, what’s the first thing Delta ever said to me?”

“Who?” And now York’s just plain confused. “Delta? Is he like Epsilon?”

Wash’s eyes go wide and dark and scary. “I’m not telling you anything,” he snarls, and then pulls out his gun.

Which is about the time another Warthog crashes through the trees, this one with Grif and Sarge on board.

“Agent Washington! What the hell are you doing? Weapons should never be pointed at your fellow soldiers! Unless they’re pointed at Grif!”

Something in Wash’s face and body language jerks, and the weapon drops from his hands as Grif drives the Warthog in between him and the Freelancers.

“I don’t—” York can’t see his face anymore, but Wash’s voice just sounds weak now. “What…what did I—” A pause. “Oh, no…”

“Hey, mustache universe guys! Did Wash shoot anyone?”

“He killed me, is what he fucking—”

“No!” York yells, miming shut up at South.

“Great. Get in, asshole.”

“Not-a-captain Grif! Clearly your false promotion has addled your brain and made you believe you’re capable of giving orders. This will have to be corrected! In the meantime, Washington, get in!”

“I can’t—”

“Don’t you fucking dare leave me alone in this car with Sarge.”

York grabs Wash’s helmet and gloves, which wound up on their side of the Warthog, and hands them up to Sarge.

He takes them, and then lightning-quick, grabs one of York’s wrists.

“Now you just stay right here, son,” he says, quiet and brimming with the potential for danger. “You just stay right here.”

The Warthog drives away, Wash on board, leaving the three of them behind.

York walks over to his helmet, picks it up, and puts it back on.

“What the fuck,” South growls, and then walks away to beat the shit out of some trees.

York can’t blame her.

Mar 15 Blurr’s Horror Stream - A Monster Calls

Prowl continued to lack a verbal filter.

Welcome to the 'speedxstealer' room. The chat room has been cleared by the moderator. B l u r r: / he is present. Dragging himself in with a thermal over him. / ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave trudges in and makes himself comfortable on his couch, lights dimming a bit as he exercises his right to slightly improper posture.* Shockbox: *He's here, he's queer, and ready for human fear.* ItsyBitsySpyers: ((PFFFFF)) Shockbox: *In other words, he arrives on time as usual and heads to his seat.* B l u r r: (( omfg )) ItsyBitsySpyers: *Plays a waving animation on his screen. Hello to those already here and just walking in.* B l u r r: / burrows on his couch with his thermal. Is a lump of thermal / B l u r r: / with maybe a helm fin sticking out / Shockbox: *He nods back on his way to his seat. Upon observation of the others, it seems all of them are a little worse for wear.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *He sees someone drowning in warmth. Probably Blurr. That's as it should be. Warmth for everyone. Defy the cold ship air.* B l u r r: / sticks claw out to wave to everyone / FakeProwl: *GUESS WHO'S STILL INJURED. it's this guy.* FakeProwl: *at least he's in the right avatar this week.* Whirl: *trots in and clambers into his hammock, as is customary* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Pings Prowl hello and repeats the waving animation for Whirl.* B l u r r: / tugs thermal down so he can see his screen better / boomtank: -is here now- Drift: *for the first time in like... ten years. he arrives.* B l u r r: / not that he's reading it. Hes more or less just staring at it. / FakeProwl: Hello. *sits with Soundwave* Whirl: *bob his head to Soundwave, and then to Blurr* B l u r r: / flicks left finial. Give him a delayed thirty seconds / B l u r r: ... / waves at whirl / Shockbox: *Ah, a shame, the predacon skin was more interesting, in Shockwave's opinion.* B l u r r: / another delayed thirty seconds. Wiggles claws a little sloppily at Drift / ItsyBitsySpyers: *More pings and lazy screen waves to all. A big crowd tonight. He'll have to make sure none of them run Prowl onto unwelcome topics.* Drift: Hey! *flops down next to Blurr and wraps an arm around him.* Drift: What've I missed. B l u r r: .... / opens mouth and just closes it. Just has a very 8I face / Drift: ... A lot, huh. B l u r r: ... Mm. Drift: I'm sorry I haven't been around. We've been registering new crewmates and preparing to take off again. B l u r r: Mm... /shakes helm / B l u r r: / holds up a digit and pulls himself under his thermal. He's rummaging around for something / B l u r r: / tugs thermal off his helm and hands Drift the equivalent of a dictionary, but it's a popup book / boomtank: -sits somewhere he can- Drift: *what is this* B l u r r: / it's the history of the last like month / ItsyBitsySpyers: *Amused.* B l u r r: [[ LS, not today. ]] Drift: *how many words are in this holy slag* B l u r r: / there aren't many words. Just pop ups / B l u r r: / hums and settles again/ That should about cover it. B l u r r: [[ lemme know when yall are ready ]] Drift: *okay then, he's gonna read* Whirl: ((I am ready!) B l u r r: / spoiler alert, the fight is the first thing ur gonna reaD / ItsyBitsySpyers: ((ready)) Shockbox: (( Quite ready.)) Drift: *WHICH fight* Drift: ((ready!)) B l u r r: / the JT one / B l u r r: [[ okiiie. We start ! ]] Drift: *does it say why he had the fight* B l u r r: / Not high key. Maybe low key. / B l u r r: / low key as in : I did something wrong says Blurr. / B l u r r: / not u / Drift: ... What. Drift: *skips forward like fifty pages* B l u r r: [[ omfg DRIFT ]] boomtank: ready)) B l u r r: [[ U CANT SKIP PAGES ]] Drift: *HE NEEDS TO KNOW BLURR'S GONNA BE OKAY* ItsyBitsySpyers: *...BLURR'S RIGHT THERE* Whirl: I can give you a super-abridhed Whirl Perspective on what's been goin on with Teach. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[If Drift doesn't want it, he does.]] Drift: I'll take it! B l u r r: / I AM ALIVE / Drift: *he'll read the details after he gets the summary* Whirl: Ahem, B l u r r: / makes a face / Whirl: Blurr met a very dashing Wrecker from another universe, did some pretty damn heroic stuff, like, we're talking BIG HERO STUFF, on Earth--and I know 'cause I was there, saw it with my own eye. Whirl: We had a good time blowing stuff up, Blurr rescued some guys, and, if I'm not mistaken, hit it off with that aforementioned charming Wrecker of his. Shockbox: *Well. This is an eventful start.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Not wasting any time, this movie.* Whirl: And then he did... something, killed some pirates? And got that THING you see on his back. *gestures to the upgrade* And then went into a sort of almost-coma and wouldn't wake up for weeks. Whirl: But he's better now. I still say he should get rid of the thing, though. B l u r r: I was not in a coma. Whirl: It was practically a coma. B l u r r: It was not a /coma/ ItsyBitsySpyers: *Ohhhh, what a voice.* B l u r r: / looks at drift/ I was not in a coma. B l u r r: I just don't remember three weeks out of the month. Drift: YOU WERE IN A COMA?! B l u r r: It was not a COMA FakeProwl: Don't shout. It's painful. Drift: Why were you in a coma?! B l u r r: I wasn't- /vents/ my processor didn't want to... function. B l u r r: here. B l u r r: In the... present. Drift: You were in a depression coma?! Why were you in a depression coma! B l u r r: ... you skipped half the book. B l u r r: Why are you asking me questions that are answered in the book- oh for pit sake. B l u r r: I got into a fight. Whirl: Yeah, when your processor stops working, what do we call that? A COMA. Drift: *goes back to the beginning* Whirl: And nobody will LISTEN to me, but I'm pretty sure it's cos of that mod he's got. Overburderdening his processor. B l u r r: Yes, but a coma... oh , fine. Call it a coma. Whirl: ...*overburdening Whirl: ((good job me)) FakeProwl: Either a coma or brain death. FakeProwl: It depends on the extent. B l u r r: It was near brain death, according to Axis. Drift: Why did your brain nearly die!! Drift: Is it fixed? Is it going to happen again? B l u r r: / rubs temples / I don't... know. B l u r r: No, it's not fixed... it can't be fixed. Whirl: *points! Emphatically! At the speed booster!!!* Whirl: THAT. B l u r r: As for it happening again, I don't know. Drift: Why can't it be fixed?! Just take the thing off! B l u r r: It's not the mod! Shockbox: *Could the boy have not bitten the bully's hand?* Drift: How do you know?! B l u r r: Because it was happening before it! Whirl: Well... I'm sure the mod isn't helping. But also, this is the first I'VE heard of that. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Oh, early human movie devices. He sits up a little.* B l u r r: / chin claws and looks at the screen / FakeProwl: ... I've just realized I'm not paying attention to the movie. FakeProwl: I should start paying attention to the movie. Whirl: That's generally the best way to enjoy a movie. Audencies and critic alike agree. B l u r r: / rolls optic / ItsyBitsySpyers: (txt): Summary needed? FakeProwl: Yes, I think it's the best way to enjoy a movie too. B l u r r: / monster!! / FakeProwl: ... Oh. That was probably sarcasm. Whirl: I mean... not REALLY. I'm telling the truth. Whirl: Think of it more as "wry commentary tempered with amusement." Shockbox: *Very intrigued by this monster.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *HAS to show this to Wheeljack.* Shockbox: */His/ turn to sit up straighter.* FakeProwl: I did not catch the wryness or the amusement. FakeProwl: Thank you for the description of your tone. B l u r r: / tugs thermal down more so he can see better / Whirl: *shrugs* I've gotten PRETTY good at modulating, but sometimes I guess the ol' vocalizer goes flat. FakeProwl: I don't know. I just can't hear tone well. Whirl: Lord, between my sub-par vocalizer and youre crappy hearing, it's a wonder we get ANYTHING done. Shockbox: *The creature rates a 6.5/10 on his personal monster scale.* FakeProwl: Do we get anything done? Whirl: I mean as far as understanding each other. FakeProwl: Do we understand each other? Whirl: You tend to make yourself pretty clear, most of the time. *swivels his helm around to fix Prowl with a deadpan, half-lidded optic* So I think I understand you. Whirl: I'm sure you think you understand me, like most folks. B l u r r: Anyway /half mumbling/ If you have any other questions... /nudges Drift / Let me know. B l u r r: Though, I made the book fairly simple. Drift: *what was that? he's reading in terror right now* B l u r r: / oh my god. / FakeProwl: Oh. Good. I'm usually not sure people understand me. Especially when it's people like you who tend to ignore whatever I'm saying. FakeProwl: It's hard to tell whether I'm being ignored or being misunderstood. Whirl: Probably mostly ignored. FakeProwl: That's disheartening. And depressing. If I'm being misunderstood I have the hope of correcting the misconception. There's little that can be done about being ignored. Whirl: Don't take it personal, mech, I ignore a lot of people. B l u r r: [[ lemme know if it drops a lot btw ]] Whirl: *Whirl's gotta agree with Soundwave on the voice, really* FakeProwl: I know you do. And a lot of people ignore me. The fact that it isn't meant personally doesn't mean it doesn't have a personal impact on me. Whirl: If it makes you feel any better, it's not likely to personally affect you, since we're not exactly part of the same chain of command anymore. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Should he interrupt this conversation? ... Maybe it's something others should hear. He's not sure. Will keep an audial on it.* FakeProwl: Every time I try to communicate with somebody and they flat out ignore what I'm trying to communicate, it has a personal effect on me. FakeProwl: *he probably would have liked to be interrupted about fifteen minutes ago* FakeProwl: *he would still like to be interrupted* Whirl: That only counts if you actually care about the other person in the transaction. Whirl: And we both know that's not the case here. *snort* FakeProwl: That isn't true. FakeProwl: I would not attempt communication with a person if it did not matter to me that they hear what I'm saying. ItsyBitsySpyers: *...Maybe he should. This could change his reputation. Does Prowl want that reputation? No, no. Wrong question. Does he need that reputation? Probably.* Whirl: So, what exactly is it, then, that you think is so important for me to hear? What could you have to say to me that would really matter, Prowl? ItsyBitsySpyers: (txt): Prowl has heard this tale before? FakeProwl: Right now? Nothing. I don't think I've said anything I actually meant to say since I got a pipe in my head. Whirl: You should get that looked at. FakeProwl: *focuses on Soundwave* No. It's unfamiliar. Why? Whirl: @P: Because, you see, mech, the only things you've been saying to me laately are how stupid and useless I am--so forgive me if I ignore 'em. ItsyBitsySpyers: (txt): Then perhaps Prowl should focus, listen. Vital to film story. B l u r r: /paying close attention to the story tbh / FakeProwl: I'm trying to. It's hard. I'm being talked to. ItsyBitsySpyers: @P: (txt): Prowl cannot filter audio input? B l u r r: ... /wow this shiit is deep / Whirl: That was a long and fancy way of saying, "life's unfair." B l u r r: Some people need long and fancy to get it through their thick heads. FakeProwl: It's hard right now. Drift: WHAT?!?! Drift: *he finished the book* B l u r r: / flicks finial. Geez that was right next to him / FakeProwl: ... And people keep shouting. B l u r r: / reaches over. Pats Drift / Drift: Are you okay?! ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Please contain your voices.]] Whirl: I'd think most of us would've learned it when life was kicking us in the teeth. Whirl: *now looks to Drift curiously* B l u r r: / tilts helm. Thinking / Drift: *attempts to contain.* Are you joining Optimus? Are you dating Roadbuster? Are you moving to that universe?? B l u r r: / makes a face / What- slow down. Pits. B l u r r: No, I'm not... I don't know about Optimus Prime of Tyran. He's ideal, but he's not... No, I'm not his type of Autobot. Whirl: He is totally dating Roadbuster. I can confirm this. B l u r r: I'm not moving anywhere, I live on The Emperor. Shockbox: (( Sounds pretty gay.)) FakeProwl: I dislike shouting. Why were we given the option to shout? Whirl: It's fun. FakeProwl: It's not fun, it's painful. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[So that others may hear us over other nosies in emergencies.]] ItsyBitsySpyers: noises not nosies omg)) FakeProwl: Wait. You enjoy enducing pain. FakeProwl: We could use comms for that. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[And if they are damaged?]] Whirl: It's not always painful. Does it--*now looks back to Prowl, curious again* You audials ARE really messed up. B l u r r: / makes a slight face/ And Roadbuster and I are... sort of... working on. Something. B l u r r: / they're 100% dating tbh / FakeProwl: It's not my audials. FakeProwl: ... I am going to focus on Soundwave's comment before you ask follow up questions. ItsyBitsySpyers: *A wise idea.* Whirl: Knock yourself out, mech. FakeProwl: If they are damaged, louder volume is a viable option. Whirl: *shrugs and returns to the movie* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Then that is one good reason why we have it.]] Whirl: *for the record Whirl is still totally unclear on what Prowl's exact deal is; he just knows he's being weird* Whirl: *and that he has a pipe in his head* ItsyBitsySpyers: *...This is a dream, isn't it.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *It's too happy for this setting.* FakeProwl: It shouldn't be used outside of emergencies, then. FakeProwl: I don't use my sirens outside of emergencies. B l u r r: [ is it dropping? ]] FakeProwl: ((fine here)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((nope)) Whirl: ((runnin fione!)) B l u r r: anyway... /vents/ I'm fine. / the usual response / Drift: In all the time I've known you, you've never been fine once. B l u r r: / sheepish shrug / Whirl: *SNORTS* Whirl: He speaks the truth, Teach. Drift: *pets Blurr's head* But, you're... not as bad as you've been. B l u r r: / makes a face /What's what mean? Drift: Well, you're not in a coma right now. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave considers this claim a moment. The answer's going to be public. He has to word this carefully.* Drift: And you're not actively dying, as far as I know. Whirl: That IS a big improvement over the usual. B l u r r: Not at the moment, no. Whirl: ...is this kid gonna throw a tantrum and break that clock. B l u r r: Most of my wounds from Thundertron are healed up. Drift: ... I'm—sorry, that I missed all that. That I wasn't here, when you were... B l u r r: And the damage from ... well. the first fight is done. FakeProwl: He is probably going to destroy the clock. FakeProwl: The clock is innocent. He shouldn't. Whirl: That little piece of sh it. ItsyBitsySpyers: @Prowl: (txt): Some enjoy hearing berth partner voice raised in satisfaction. That, second reason. B l u r r: / looks at drift. Shakes helm / You said you were busy. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Ahh, another story. He splits a little more focus toward the movie again.* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[He believes this qualifies as breaking the 'touching something' rule.]] FakeProwl: If people have loud voices for emergency situations, then they can use those voices in the berth for partners who enjoy hearing it. That's no reason to shout in public. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[You didn't specify public. You simply asked why we have the option.]] Whirl: I still maintain that shouting can be fun. FakeProwl: ... I did. Fair. FakeProwl: Why? Does Windchill like hearing it? Whirl: Hm. I dunno, we rarely yell at each other. Usually we sing at each other. Whirl: It's just enjoyable to yell. B l u r r: ...Well, he's right. It's satisfying. B l u r r: Very much so... B l u r r: / oh god its all so satisfying / Whirl: I hate him. Drift: *likes the moral of this story. it's... vindicating.* B l u r r: That's what my room looks like. /snort / B l u r r: / it's not funny but it's funny / Whirl: So we're, what, supposed to feel sorry for this kid? After he destroyed her house? B l u r r: who cares about her house? Whirl: It's not like she's going through the trauma of watching her DAUGHTER die, or anything. FakeProwl: Why do you hate him? He's destroying things in a senseless rage. Isn't that right up your alley? Whirl: Hey, all of my rages are entirely sensible. FakeProwl: So is his, from his perspective. B l u r r: Sometimes you can't control where your anger goes. /mumbling/ FakeProwl: Why do you hate him? Whirl: Well first of all, he destroyed a clock. That's practically a crime. Whirl: Second of all, he's useless and pathetic. B l u r r: Why's that? FakeProwl: ... Destroying someone else's property IS a crime. Whirl: I dunno, it'd be different, maybe, if he was even the least bit likeable. But he's a sniveling little wimp. FakeProwl: You're... protective of clocks? I didn't know that. Whirl: Won't even hit back when someone picks on him. B l u r r: / shrugs / Whirl: There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Prowl. FakeProwl: I know. B l u r r: sometimes it's harder to do that. Whirl: The only time it's hard is when you can't get to them, really. I mean, if they get away or something. B l u r r: / crosses arms and shifts / Or you can't beat them. Whirl: Pfft. Wouldn't know what THAT feels like. *preens* B l u r r: Sometimes it hurts so bad, you just take it out on the first thing you find. Like a room full of mostly junkish things... B l u r r: Or a cargo ship... B l u r r: / spacing out/ Or a pirate fleet... Whirl: *or a corpse. ...he's not saying that out loud* B l u r r: / staring off into the sky / FakeProwl: I don't take it out on the first thing I find. I save it to take it out on something that won't feel or inflict pain. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Listening to all of this and thinking to himself.* B l u r r: That takes too long. Whirl: *he's not even gonna comment, lest he say something incriminating* B l u r r: / flickering optic. Right, he has company / It's better to get rid of it fast. Whirl: Also, that's a dumb moral. Whirl: Believing doesn't get you anything. FakeProwl: No it's not. Getting rid of it fast hurts people that don't deserve the hurt. B l u r r: They can't hurt if they're dead. FakeProwl: Death is a near-infinite hurt. B l u r r: /shrugs shoulder / B l u r r: There are all types of infinite hurt. FakeProwl: There are. Death is one. B l u r r: Not always. FakeProwl: Always. B l u r r: If you let them go, yes. FakeProwl: ... Whose hurt are you talking about? I'm talking about the hurt of the person who dies. B l u r r: If they're dead, how do they hurt? B l u r r: Is their ghost going to come tell me how much it hurt? FakeProwl: It's the negation of every opportunity they could ever have in the future to be content or happy. B l u r r: You don't need to die to lose that in a future. FakeProwl: I never said you do. FakeProwl: Just that death is one way. B l u r r: / shrugs / Maybe where you're from. B l u r r: Where I'm from, once you die, you die. You get taken apart and they make someone different. FakeProwl: Are you suggesting that where your from, dying DOESN'T rob you of all future opportunities to be content or happy? FakeProwl: Are you claiming that you are capable of being content or happy after your death? B l u r r: You can't be- you're DEAD. FakeProwl: Exactly. Therefore, it's the same wehre you are. B l u r r: Once you die where I'm from, you cease existing at all. FakeProwl: Exactly. B l u r r: So how are you supposed to feel remorse when you're DEAD and CAN'T? FakeProwl: Who said anything about remorse? B l u r r: Oh for pit sake. FakeProwl: I don't know where remorse came from. B l u r r: You can't feel something if you're dead. B l u r r: nothing. Not a single thing. Not even pain. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Life is always in the eyes. Not the first time he's heard that. It makes him glad he covers his.* B l u r r: You can feel pain while /dying/. FakeProwl: I never said you could. B l u r r: I've been there plenty of times. B l u r r: then how is death near-infinite pain if you can't feel pain when you're dead? Whirl: *that is a phrase Whirl believes in, too* FakeProwl: I never said pain. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[It is near-infinite pain for those who knew them.]] B l u r r: / scoffs/ FakeProwl: Hurt. Hurt is not necessarily the presence of a negative. As I am using it, it is the absolute absence of any positive. B l u r r: Yes, hurt and I are practically attached at the hip. B l u r r: I know what hurt is. Whirl: Well, that depends, Soundwave. FakeProwl: Then why are you arguing? Whirl: Some people would celebrate if I killed, say, Tarn. Whirl: I can't imagine anyone would mourn HIM. FakeProwl: The DJD would mourn him. B l u r r: I'm saying that the cargo ship I slaughtered  helped ease my hurt more than it caused theirs. B l u r r: Nothing else was helping. THAT helped. FakeProwl: I don't mind if the DJD mourns. Whirl: That's based on the assumption that they actually CARE about one another. Whirl: Which is a pretty big leap. FakeProwl: They do. Whirl: Why? You got the inside scoop or something? ItsyBitsySpyers: *Negative, negative, abort.* B l u r r: / hums / Kill him, kid. FakeProwl: Yes. Spies work for me. Whirl: Oh. Well. ...asked and answered. Whirl: Either way, then, I just consider their distress a bonus. Whirl: My only regret will be that I won't be able to watch them mourn. B l u r r: There you go. Whirl: FINALLY. Whirl: He's finally done something to make him almost likeable. FakeProwl: ... He wants to be punished. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Of course he does.]] FakeProwl: If he isn't punished, he doesn't matter. He doesn't exist. FakeProwl: Not being punished tells him that he makes no impact upon the world. Whirl: Hm. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[There is a sense of failure as well.]] B l u r r: / ugh his buried feelings hurt / ItsyBitsySpyers: *They do indeed.* B l u r r: / flex claws. / B l u r r: / hhhh she reminds him of someone/ B l u r r: / yanks thermal over his helm / FakeProwl: This is a bad moral. Whirl: Agreed. FakeProwl: Don't break things that belong to other people. FakeProwl: Only break your own things. Whirl: It's just dumb. FakeProwl: ... Unless the other people deserve to have broken things. But those are rare cases. Whirl: *shakes his head; the film is not reachig him emotionally* FakeProwl: The DJD deserves to have broken things. If their things are broken, they can't kill as many people. Whirl: I'd rather break THEM. FakeProwl: Yes. Even better. Shockbox: *Not a fan of all this yelling, to be earnest.* Drift: *okay maybe it didn't touch whirl, but drift is feeling touched* Drift: *slowly clings to blurr* B l u r r: / tugs thermal down. Okay. He's good./ B l u r r: / pats Drift / Drift: *clings tighter* Whirl: Lord, just. Whirl: END THE SCENE. B l u r r: / is being clinged to / Whirl: Finally, sheesh. B l u r r: / pats Drift / Shockbox: *He and Whirl agree on something, for once.* ItsyBitsySpyers: ((NO IT DROPPED)) Whirl: ((whop.... it gone)) Drift: ((IT'S BLACK)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((AAAAAAH)) B l u r r: [[ i already paused it ]] B l u r r: [[lemme know when it's back. it reset ]] Drift: ((offline right now)) B l u r r: [[ well it WAS back. ]] B l u r r: [[ anyway it's paused, so. we can wait til LS gets its shiit together ]] Whirl: *steeetches in his hammock* B l u r r: / scrubs faceplate / Whirl: What were we even talking about? B l u r r: Pits, I don't know. B l u r r: I spaced out again. Whirl: *eyes him dubiously* You spaced out or you SPACED out? FakeProwl: This is the danger of giving people the ability to raise their volume so that they can use it during emergencies. B l u r r: What's the difference? FakeProwl: This was obviously an emergency but his shouting was useless. FakeProwl: And painful. Whirl: Like, normal spacing out or "your broken brain is messing up" spacing out? ItsyBitsySpyers: [[We do not know that it was useless. We have not seen the end.]] B l u r r: ... Dodge and Velocity were taking my attention over for the moment. Whirl: Oh, gotcha. Normal spacing out. FakeProwl: He did not summon help or give her necessary instructions to save herself. B l u r r: I spent all day with them yesterday, I don't know why they're being so demanding. Whirl: And, Prowl--sometimes, when you're feeling a lot of emotion, you just yell. Drift: Tell Velocity to shut up. Whirl: When your exhilarated, for instance. Whirl: *you're B l u r r: ... Ah. /twitches finials and looks at Drift / FakeProwl: That's why yelling is a bad skill to have. Whirl: It just bursts out. FakeProwl: It's too easy to abuse. B l u r r: I forgot to mention... /shrugs / Velocity is prominent right now. Whirl: It's not a skill, it's a reaction. B l u r r: He and Dodge both catch my attention much easier since I woke up. FakeProwl: If people have to have it in case of emergency, it should be something that can only manually be turned on. Whirl: Like flinching, or how you people sneeze, and stuff. B l u r r: Axis says it's an effect of my semi-long term catatonic state. B l u r r: [[ is it back ?? ]] Whirl: ((not yet)) Drift: ((nop)) Drift: Comas give you Velocity? Drift: Blurr, you're never allowed to have a coma again. B l u r r: No... Whirl: I'm glad *mine* didn't. B l u r r: The situation before all of that. B l u r r: That gave me Velocity. Drift: What's the new Optimus's number? I'm going to comm him and tell him to order you to never have a coma again. Whirl: I'd have to rip my brain module out of my head. B l u r r: [[ I reset it. So, idk if it's working ]] Whirl: ((THERE WE GO)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((aha!)) B l u r r: ... Don't. He's not my boss. Drift: Would it work? Drift: ((there it go)) Whirl: ...*sly look* Drift. B l u r r: ... I don't know. Drift: Yeah? Whirl: You should him Blurr needs a good stepping-on. B l u r r: [[ okay is it back for everyone ?? ]] Drift: ... *sly grin* B l u r r: ... / scrubs faceplate / FakeProwl: I think Blurr should be stepped on. Whirl: *snickers* FakeProwl: In a fatal way. B l u r r: Me too. Whirl: Well, I don't. FakeProwl: He believes that curing his own pain is more important than other people's lives. That's terrible. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Was going to protest that being said out loud, but Blurr just agreed, so...* B l u r r: ... /snort / B l u r r: I never said I was a good person. B l u r r: [[ soo... can we go now? ]] Drift: ((ye)) Whirl: ((yes)) ItsyBitsySpyers: ((yep)) Drift: Maybe not, Blurr. But you are... a hero. B l u r r: ... Stop. B l u r r: / crosses arms/ I did a few people a few favors. B l u r r: That's it. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[You are entitled to think these things about shouting. Mind that you do not say them to Frenzy.]] Whirl: You saved a lot of Autobots' lives. FakeProwl: Frenzy can't help himself. Whirl: Hero. *points* B l u r r: Not a hero. /huffs / Whirl: Yep. B l u r r: The point is, I don't work for that Prime. B l u r r: / yet. / Drift: ... Would you if he stepped on you? B l u r r: I'd be ecstatic if he stepped on me. Whirl: *snickers* B l u r r: But, I don't work for him, or with him. We don't even talk. FakeProwl: That is a good moral. FakeProwl: Thoughts and beliefs do not matter. Only actions. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Small nod.* Whirl: *considers this* Whirl: *yeah he'd have to agree. But he' Whirl: s not going to say it out loud* FakeProwl: *rude. prowl's been baring his soul over here tonight and whirl won't even agree with him when he's right.* FakeProwl: *admittedly, prowl hasn't been WILLINGLY baring his soul, but.* Whirl: *it absolutely IS rude, but Whirl dislikes Prowl for the moment* B l u r r: ... / oh for pit sake his insides hurt / B l u r r: / makes a noise / FakeProwl: *"for the moment"* Whirl: *anything is possible* Whirl: *he's still carrying a grudge from that last meeting* B l u r r: / hhhhh. his insides are hurting more / FakeProwl: This is sad. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Soundwave's spark has joined Blurr's insides in aching. This is ridiculous. He should not be affected or reminded of these things by organics. They barely live a blink.* FakeProwl: He should say "I love you." Whirl: To be honest, I figured that would be the "simplest truth" the monster was talking about. FakeProwl: That's what most people regret not saying to someone who's going to die that they love. He hasn't said that. B l u r r: / oh shiit it hurts / FakeProwl: I figured that too. B l u r r: / tugs thermal over his helm / B l u r r: / he doesn't like stories about letting go / FakeProwl: Good. I'm not the only one that figured that. B l u r r: / ohhh no no no he's buried under here / FakeProwl: Maybe the hug was a symbolic "I love you"? Drift: *SQUEEZES* Whirl: *shrugs* The answer to cheesy lines like that is usually "love." Whirl: Movies love to do that. B l u r r: / muffled noise / Whirl: ...heh. B l u r r: / is squeezed / FakeProwl: It's not a bad thing to say to someone who is dying. Whirl: I guess not. FakeProwl: ... I mean, unless the person who is dying isn't somebody you love, of course. But provided that they are. B l u r r: / this mass of thermal is moving closer to Drift / Drift: *good. easier to squeeze.* B l u r r: / his processor is running too many miles a minute / Shockbox: ((Ahem. I left to shower right after the stream broke. What happened?)) FakeProwl: ((the kid confessed that on some level he actually wanted his mom to die so he could stop waiting for it to happen)) FakeProwl: ((even though he'd miss her.)) FakeProwl: ((then grandma came and took him to the hospital and he and grandma and the monster watched mom die.)) FakeProwl: ((they had a hug and he told mom he didn't want her to go.)) B l u r r: / noiSEs / Shockbox: ((Sounds legit.)) Whirl: Passable, not nothing remarkable. Whirl: *waves a claw at the screen* Shockbox: Did you intend to make a double negative? Whirl: ...nope. Whirl: I meant to say but. Whirl: *someone made a typing error oops* Shockbox: Ah. Whirl: I mean, to be perfectly honest, though, I don't care much about grammar, so I might as well have said it. B l u r r: / yanks thermal down off his helm/ Wait, does that mean the monster was a decent monster? Whirl: It definitely wasn't the villain. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[He suspects whether or not it is remarkable to someone depends on what they have experienced.]] Drift: Yeah. He helped the kid work through his emotional issues. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[It seems like the kind of tale that would.]] Drift: The monster was... a hero. B l u r r: Oh for pit sake... B l u r r: I'm not a hero. Drift: I'm just talking about the monster, Blurr. He was definitely a hero. Don't you think so, Whirl? B l u r r: / rolls optic and scrubs faceplate / Whirl: I guess the movie would connect with you more if you could... get on it slevel, yeah. *shrugs* But I didn't think it was very well put together. Whirl: *to Drift* Oh, yes. Of course. Whirl: ((SLEVEL. WOW MY TYPING IS SO GOOD)) Shockbox: *Welp. That was all the time he had for interacting. He takes leave* B l u r r: Well... at least /he/ got to say goodbye in his own way. /grumbling to vacant air / Shockbox: ((G'night.)) ItsyBitsySpyers: *A farewell nod to Shockwave* B l u r r: (( ni ni ! )) ItsyBitsySpyers: [[To each their own.]] FakeProwl: I'm not going to judge the movie structure because I don't know anything about art. B l u r r: / shifts and looks over at Drift / Well, either way. Heroic monsters aren't so bad. Less violent. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[You do not need to know. You experienced it. You are allowed to have a feeling about your experience.]] FakeProwl: I'm not qualified to have an opinion about experiences I'm ill-equipped to understand. Drift: He was pretty violent. B l u r r: I guess so. Drift: Knocked down a guy's house for no real reason. B l u r r: He had a reason. Whirl: Oh, of course. *waves a claw* I mean, one person's word isn't the say-all, be-all about just about any art. Drift: Was kind of a vague on. B l u r r: In any case, it makes my insides hurt. Drift: ... No taking out parts of yourself. B l u r r: ... Well, we're a little late on that. Whirl: Though there are SOME arts that I will say are more objective than subjective--film isn't really one of em. Drift: Dammit, Blurr. B l u r r: I didn't do it right now. Drift: No taking out MORE parts. Show me your hands. B l u r r: I'm missing a lot of parts. B l u r r: / holds out claws. Empty / Drift: *takes them.* B l u r r: / wiggles digits / Drift: *wiggles fingers* B l u r r: See? Nothing. B l u r r: But, when I fought Thundertron, I was missing a lot of parts. Drift: Good. I'm keeping it that way. *hand is hold.* B l u r r: That was... a little after the whole thing with JT. B l u r r: / oh. Hold hands is nice / Whirl: *watches Blurr and Drift for a moment. Deep down, it still makes Whirl a little bit jealous, but for once, he's going to be happy for someone else; nobody makes Blurr perk up like Drift does* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Not sure how to respond to that. Surely Prowl has the right to say what the movie made him feel? Unless he doesn't know how he feels. Maybe that's the pipe talking.* Whirl: *the rare moment of almost-but-not-quite selflessness passes as quickly as a shooting star; if you blink, you'll miss it* B l u r r: In other news, I gained a fleet. An entire fleet. All with my flag on their airships. Drift: ... *squeezes hands tighter.* B l u r r: Though, I don't... remember the three weeks after I got them. /snort / Drift: *is like... 85% sure that BLURR wasn't the one who caused the fight with JT* B l u r r: / he waS / B l u r r: / flexes claws / Drift: Yeah? A fleet's cool. Drift: How many ships? B l u r r: er... I haven't counted. Drift: Gimme an estimate. B l u r r: ... /wrinkles nasal ridge / Fifty? B l u r r: / he's probably very wrong / Whirl: Damn, Teach, movin on up. B l u r r: / hums / Think so? B l u r r: / shifts/ You know... /nods at Whirl/ it's thanks to you I woke up at all, says Axis. So. If you ever want anything- well, I would have given it before. B l u r r: But, you know. Thanks. /flicks finials/ Dodge says so, too. Whirl: *tilts his head, then nods* If there's anything I know I'm good at, it's disturbing someone else's peaceful rest. Anytime, Teach. Drift: Wow, that's not bad. Most ships I've ever commanded at one time was ten. B l u r r: / snort/ ... / looks back at Drift / It's very hard. Drift: ... You helped him out, Whirl? B l u r r: Apparently Whirl manhandled Dart and NOS to get to me. /snort / Whirl: Because I couldn't trust those chumps to LEVEL with me. Whirl: They hid the whole "coma" thing for me for a whole night. Made an idiout out of me. They're lucky I didn't do something WORSE. B l u r r: It wasn't a coma. /vents / Drift: I guess that makes you... a hero. B l u r r: ..... Whirl: *LAUGHS* Whirl: *AND KEEPS ON LAUGHING* B l u r r: / snort / Whirl: *LAUGHS SO HARD HIS CRAPPY VOCALIZER STARTS GLITCHING OUT AND MAKING WEIRD DIAL-UP NOISES* Drift: Don't hurt yourself. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Startled back to the present. What is -- oh, Whirl. All right.* B l u r r: Yes, that wouldn't be ideal. Whirl: *wheezes* FakeProwl: ... That's painful too. FakeProwl: Are there more painful noises than usual or am I more sensitive than usual? ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Both.]] Whirl: *with a modulated trill and a pop, his vocalizer resets* I get where you're going with that one, Drift, but I'm way too far in the red for that. Drift: Nobody's too far in the red for an act of heroism. B l u r r: I mean, look at me. B l u r r: You mechs keep calling ME a hero. Whirl: You're a lot younger than me. Whirl: I've had way more time to rack up terrible, terrible acts. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Has little else to say about the film in public, but may have something to say afterward. He is undecided.* Whirl: And, well, sorry Prowl, but that was involuntary. B l u r r: I don't know. I'm pretty fast on my pedes. I'm sure I've got a long record. ItsyBitsySpyers: *For now, he pings Prowl to alert him to incoming contact and traps his hand in a silent request for him to stay behind longer than the others - if possible. Health comes first.* Whirl: No helping you with that. You just gotta be sure never to make me laugh. ...which shouldn't be hard. B l u r r: In any case, that almost made me laugh. /snort / FakeProwl: My comment was involuntary too. B l u r r: / he doesn't laugh too often anymore at the moment / FakeProwl: Everything I've said for the past two movie nights has been completely involuntary. Whirl: *swivels his helm to stare at Prowl* FakeProwl: Except for any instances of "please," "thank you," "excuse me," "I'm sorry," or any other such etiquete phrases. Whirl: WHAT kinda DRUGS do they have you on? I thought you were acting kind of weird. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[The kinds of drugs you would expect for a mech with such an injury.]] FakeProwl: I told you, I'm not on anything. I turned off my pain receptors, I don't need anything. FakeProwl: I just have a pipe in my head. It is literally pushing my brain module. FakeProwl: Well. Not literally. It is literally pushing against my right optic, which is pushing my brain module. Whirl: I don't know what those kinds of drugs are. Do I look like a medic? *or someone who would be responsible enough to let a medic get their hands on him after an injury?* B l u r r: It's probably going to cause a few different changes. Depends on what it's pushing. Whirl: Oh. Whirl: ...wait. So, you're--like. This is brain damage talking? Right now? B l u r r: / taps his helm / If it's the frontal part or the left or right temporal areas. /vents/ Though , your processors are probably different. FakeProwl: Yes. Whirl: That. Explains a lot. FakeProwl: Did you think I was talking about my weaknesses and insecurities in a mixed crowd willingly? Whirl: I didn't know what your deal was, Prowl. FakeProwl: We founded a club together. You should at least notice when I'm acting blatantly and wildly out of character. Whirl: Maybe you're reinventing yourself. How'm I supposed to know? FakeProwl: ... Then again, nobody noticed when I had a Decepticon in my head, so why am I surprised. Whirl: I don't psychoanalyze everyone I meet. I'm not YOU. FakeProwl: The past few years have taught me that I'm far more mysterious then I've spent the past five million years of my life thinking I am. FakeProwl: I suppose that's a good thing, except for the fact that I learned this in the most depressing ways possible. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Had a--* Whirl: Well. ...hard lesson: learned, then, right? B l u r r: A lesson learned is a lesson learned all the same. FakeProwl: Yes. Hard lesson learned. Whirl: But if you don't wanna walk around compulsively just... telling the truth, all the time, maybe ask them to knock you out. Whirl: That's what I'd do, probably. FakeProwl: I can't do that. I have a pipe in my head. It might make the damage worse. B l u r r: What's so bad about telling the truth, anyway? B l u r r: I tell the truth all the time. FakeProwl: I have a lot of secrets. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[There are some things that should not be spoken aloud.]] B l u r r: So do I. Whirl: Maybe pump the brakes there, Prowl. B l u r r: I have a few skeletons in my closet . So what? Whirl: Before you go into that subject. *snorts* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Which is why he suggests moving on to other subjects.]] B l u r r: / hahaaa see what he did there? FakeProwl: Long Haul has started sitting next to my berth and putting a hand over my mouth before I say things he thinks I don't want to say. But he's not here. B l u r r: So pretend he is. FakeProwl: Blurr, we know about the skeletons in your closet. You threw a birthday party for one. They're not secrets. Whirl: ...would putting a hand on your mouth even stop a holoform from talking? B l u r r: Who said I only had one? FakeProwl: I said skeletons plural. B l u r r: And Dodge deserved that party. B l u r r: He's been a great support. Whirl: And, ey, you do you, Teach. If you wanna share your whole... deal with the world, have at it. B l u r r: /I/ don't tell people /anything/ anymore. Whirl: I, personally, just wanna save myself some embarrssment. No big secrets here. *WHAT A WHOPPER* B l u r r: Which is why I am in the situation I'm in. Whirl: *BUT ONE DELIVERED with an utterly straight face. ...well, "face."* FakeProwl: You have secrets. B l u r r: Everyone has secrets. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Everyone does.]] B l u r r: / finger guns at soundwave / B l u r r: / that's his form of a wink tbh / Whirl: I said "big" secrets. Whirl: I mean, yeah, I've got stuff I like to keep personal, of course I do. B l u r r: Look, everyone has one big secret they don't tell anyone. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Just one?]] B l u r r: / shrugs/ I have a lt. B l u r r: *lot. Whirl: Despite what you might have been told, *dryly* I am slightly more complicated that "a pair of guns attached to some legs." ItsyBitsySpyers: [[In his experience, most people have many more than that.]] Whirl: Nope. My sins have been laid bare. Mostly. FakeProwl: We're talking about everyone's one big secrets. This is dangerous because I'm going to start thinking about mine and then I'm going to say it. I'm leaving. Goodbye. FakeProwl: *he leaves. goodbye.* Whirl: ...oops. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Oh DAMN it. He should have known better. That's -- all right.* Whirl: That one wasn't my fault, for the record. B l u r r: /shrugs / B l u r r: The subject was brought up? FakeProwl: *AND FOR THE FIRST TIME. HE MANAGED TO SELF-CENSOR. BY REMOVING HIMSELF ENTIRELY.* Whirl: *YOU DID IT PROWL* B l u r r: / good job prowl! / B l u r r: / vents and shifts and stands to stretch. SAY HELLO TO SCARS AND NEW MODS / ItsyBitsySpyers: *He'll ping Prowl a 'well done'. And then an apology. Because he didn't quite think about that new subject.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Records those scars and mods, if they're visible.* Whirl: *watches Blurr for a bit and then pings Drift* @D: Hey. You know how Blurr is. Look after him, yeah? You're the only person he really trusts. B l u r r: / most of them are / Whirl: @D: And I'm not convinced that whatever took him down isn't over. B l u r r: / his mod is on his back so. here it is. Everyone check out the speed disc / Drift: @W «Sounds like you've been doing a pretty good job of looking after him lately.» B l u r r: / go speED RACER / Drift: @W «I mean—of course I'm going to look after him too, but... I'm trying to say thanks, basically.» Whirl: @D: As much as he'll let me, but there's a limit to that. Like it or not, you're responsible for this hot mess. Drift: Hey. *lightly smacks new mod.* So this is the big treasure, huh? B l u r r: / turns helm and spins around / Yep. B l u r r: Increases my speed ten fold. Whirl: *he doesn't look startled, or suspicious; he simply inclines his head in Drift's direction* @D: No sweat. Drift: Nice. How much damage does it do, though? Did Axis say it was safe? B l u r r: [[ everytime you @ Drift, I see a worried D: face and im like OH NO ]] Whirl: ((PFFT)) B l u r r: Axis already cleared me for using it. B l u r r: It wasn't the mod that broke my processor. Whirl: ((Drift's actual face when he finds out something bad happened to Blurr)) B l u r r: It didn't help, but... it wasn't that. FakeProwl: *prowl doesn't answer soundwave's ping because now he IS thinking about his secrets and talking about them to the constructicons.* FakeProwl: *so. yknow. better not call anyone else.* Drift: Even if it isn't, I wanna make sure it isn't gonna hurt anything else, you know? B l u r r: It won't. I think. B l u r r: All of this started with Tyran. I meddled... and I became friends with mechs I shouldn't have. B l u r r: And then HE came over and started spewing nonsense and /I/ was worried. Drift: More friends is always good. B l u r r: More friends, yes, sure. Maybe. B l u r r: But I don't think Roadbuster wants to be friends. Whirl: *streetches* All right,losers. I'm out. See you guys. B l u r r: In fact, I know he doesn't. B l u r r: ... /waves at Whirl / B l u r r: thanks... again. Whirl: *bobs his head at Blurr and Drift and Soundwave* Whirl: *...so, everyone left really* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Nods.* Drift: *waves* Drift: *and then rECLAIMS BLURR'S HANDS* B l u r r: / omg / B l u r r: / flickers optic / ... Hi. Whirl: Anytime, Teach! *and he is gone* Drift: Hi. :) B l u r r: ... /tilts helm / You're worrying about nothing, you know. Everything is fine. Drift: That's never true with you, Blurr. B l u r r: ... /long vent / All right, I'm not fine. But... I mean, I'm not dead? Drift: That's good. Stay that way. B l u r r: ... I can try. B l u r r: I made you the book because I didn't know how to explain... all of that. Drift: ... I think hanging out with the other Autobots might be good for you. Even if it's not your own Optimus. B l u r r: /makes a face / It's hard to do that... Drift: Yeah. Thanks. It helped. B l u r r: But, Roadbuster and Topspin visit sometimes. And Optimus seems to talk to me on a level that's more... the same level. B l u r r: Some human likes me. Drift: That's good. They're visiting you, they're talking to you... B l u r r: When they can. I guess they're busy with their whole... problem. Drift: ... You could go help them. B l u r r: .. no. B l u r r: I can't... that's how I got into this whole mess. Drift: I don't think it's a mess. You've met people who like hanging out with you.

Missed some.

B l u r r: ….. Whirl: *LAUGHS* Whirl: *AND KEEPS ON LAUGHING* B l u r r: / snort / Whirl: *LAUGHS SO HARD HIS CRAPPY VOCALIZER STARTS GLITCHING OUT AND MAKING WEIRD DIAL-UP NOISES* Drift: Don’t hurt yourself. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Startled back to the present. What is – oh, Whirl. All right.* B l u r r: Yes, that wouldn’t be ideal. Whirl: *wheezes* FakeProwl: … That’s painful too. FakeProwl: Are there more painful noises than usual or am I more sensitive than usual? ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Both.]] Whirl: *with a modulated trill and a pop, his vocalizer resets* I get where you’re going with that one, Drift, but I’m way too far in the red for that. Drift: Nobody’s too far in the red for an act of heroism. B l u r r: I mean, look at me. B l u r r: You mechs keep calling ME a hero. Whirl: You’re a lot younger than me. Whirl: I’ve had way more time to rack up terrible, terrible acts. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Has little else to say about the film in public, but may have something to say afterward. He is undecided.* Whirl: And, well, sorry Prowl, but that was involuntary. B l u r r: I don’t know. I’m pretty fast on my pedes. I’m sure I’ve got a long record. ItsyBitsySpyers: *For now, he pings Prowl to alert him to incoming contact and traps his hand in a silent request for him to stay behind longer than the others - if possible. Health comes first.* Whirl: No helping you with that. You just gotta be sure never to make me laugh. …which shouldn’t be hard. B l u r r: In any case, that almost made me laugh. /snort / FakeProwl: My comment was involuntary too. B l u r r: / he doesn’t laugh too often anymore at the moment / FakeProwl: Everything I’ve said for the past two movie nights has been completely involuntary. Whirl: *swivels his helm to stare at Prowl* FakeProwl: Except for any instances of “please,” “thank you,” “excuse me,” “I’m sorry,” or any other such etiquete phrases. Whirl: WHAT kinda DRUGS do they have you on? I thought you were acting kind of weird. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[The kinds of drugs you would expect for a mech with such an injury.]] FakeProwl: I told you, I’m not on anything. I turned off my pain receptors, I don’t need anything. FakeProwl: I just have a pipe in my head. It is literally pushing my brain module. FakeProwl: Well. Not literally. It is literally pushing against my right optic, which is pushing my brain module. Whirl: I don’t know what those kinds of drugs are. Do I look like a medic? *or someone who would be responsible enough to let a medic get their hands on him after an injury?* B l u r r: It’s probably going to cause a few different changes. Depends on what it’s pushing. Whirl: Oh. Whirl: …wait. So, you’re–like. This is brain damage talking? Right now? B l u r r: / taps his helm / If it’s the frontal part or the left or right temporal areas. /vents/ Though , your processors are probably different. FakeProwl: Yes. Whirl: That. Explains a lot. FakeProwl: Did you think I was talking about my weaknesses and insecurities in a mixed crowd willingly? Whirl: I didn’t know what your deal was, Prowl. FakeProwl: We founded a club together. You should at least notice when I’m acting blatantly and wildly out of character. Whirl: Maybe you’re reinventing yourself. How’m I supposed to know? FakeProwl: … Then again, nobody noticed when I had a Decepticon in my head, so why am I surprised. Whirl: I don’t psychoanalyze everyone I meet. I’m not YOU. FakeProwl: The past few years have taught me that I’m far more mysterious then I’ve spent the past five million years of my life thinking I am. FakeProwl: I suppose that’s a good thing, except for the fact that I learned this in the most depressing ways possible. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Had a–* Whirl: Well. …hard lesson: learned, then, right? B l u r r: A lesson learned is a lesson learned all the same. FakeProwl: Yes. Hard lesson learned. Whirl: But if you don’t wanna walk around compulsively just… telling the truth, all the time, maybe ask them to knock you out. Whirl: That’s what I’d do, probably. FakeProwl: I can’t do that. I have a pipe in my head. It might make the damage worse. B l u r r: What’s so bad about telling the truth, anyway? B l u r r: I tell the truth all the time. FakeProwl: I have a lot of secrets. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[There are some things that should not be spoken aloud.]] B l u r r: So do I. Whirl: Maybe pump the brakes there, Prowl. B l u r r: I have a few skeletons in my closet . So what? Whirl: Before you go into that subject. *snorts* ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Which is why he suggests moving on to other subjects.]] B l u r r: / hahaaa see what he did there? FakeProwl: Long Haul has started sitting next to my berth and putting a hand over my mouth before I say things he thinks I don’t want to say. But he’s not here. B l u r r: So pretend he is. FakeProwl: Blurr, we know about the skeletons in your closet. You threw a birthday party for one. They’re not secrets. Whirl: …would putting a hand on your mouth even stop a holoform from talking? B l u r r: Who said I only had one? FakeProwl: I said skeletons plural. B l u r r: And Dodge deserved that party. B l u r r: He’s been a great support. Whirl: And, ey, you do you, Teach. If you wanna share your whole… deal with the world, have at it. B l u r r: /I/ don’t tell people /anything/ anymore. Whirl: I, personally, just wanna save myself some embarrssment. No big secrets here. *WHAT A WHOPPER* B l u r r: Which is why I am in the situation I’m in. Whirl: *BUT ONE DELIVERED with an utterly straight face. …well, “face.”* FakeProwl: You have secrets. B l u r r: Everyone has secrets. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Everyone does.]] B l u r r: / finger guns at soundwave / B l u r r: / that’s his form of a wink tbh / Whirl: I said “big” secrets. Whirl: I mean, yeah, I’ve got stuff I like to keep personal, of course I do. B l u r r: Look, everyone has one big secret they don’t tell anyone. ItsyBitsySpyers: [[Just one?]] B l u r r: / shrugs/ I have a lt. B l u r r: *lot. Whirl: Despite what you might have been told, *dryly* I am slightly more complicated that “a pair of guns attached to some legs.” ItsyBitsySpyers: [[In his experience, most people have many more than that.]] Whirl: Nope. My sins have been laid bare. Mostly. FakeProwl: We’re talking about everyone’s one big secrets. This is dangerous because I’m going to start thinking about mine and then I’m going to say it. I’m leaving. Goodbye. FakeProwl: *he leaves. goodbye.* Whirl: …oops. ItsyBitsySpyers: *Oh DAMN it. He should have known better. That’s – all right.* Whirl: That one wasn’t my fault, for the record. B l u r r: /shrugs / B l u r r: The subject was brought up? FakeProwl: *AND FOR THE FIRST TIME. HE MANAGED TO SELF-CENSOR. BY REMOVING HIMSELF ENTIRELY.* Whirl: *YOU DID IT PROWL* B l u r r: / good job prowl! / B l u r r: / vents and shifts and stands to stretch. SAY HELLO TO SCARS AND NEW MODS / ItsyBitsySpyers: *He’ll ping Prowl a ‘well done’. And then an apology. Because he didn’t quite think about that new subject.* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Records those scars and mods, if they’re visible.* Whirl: *watches Blurr for a bit and then pings Drift* @D: Hey. You know how Blurr is. Look after him, yeah? You’re the only person he really trusts. B l u r r: / most of them are / Whirl: @D: And I’m not convinced that whatever took him down isn’t over. B l u r r: / his mod is on his back so. here it is. Everyone check out the speed disc / Drift: @W «Sounds like you’ve been doing a pretty good job of looking after him lately.» B l u r r: / go speED RACER / Drift: @W «I mean—of course I’m going to look after him too, but… I’m trying to say thanks, basically.» Whirl: @D: As much as he’ll let me, but there’s a limit to that. Like it or not, you’re responsible for this hot mess. Drift: Hey. *lightly smacks new mod.* So this is the big treasure, huh? B l u r r: / turns helm and spins around / Yep. B l u r r: Increases my speed ten fold. Whirl: *he doesn’t look startled, or suspicious; he simply inclines his head in Drift’s direction* @D: No sweat. Drift: Nice. How much damage does it do, though? Did Axis say it was safe? B l u r r: [[ everytime you @ Drift, I see a worried D: face and im like OH NO ]] Whirl: ((PFFT)) B l u r r: Axis already cleared me for using it. B l u r r: It wasn’t the mod that broke my processor. Whirl: ((Drift’s actual face when he finds out something bad happened to Blurr)) B l u r r: It didn’t help, but… it wasn’t that. FakeProwl: *prowl doesn’t answer soundwave’s ping because now he IS thinking about his secrets and talking about them to the constructicons.* FakeProwl: *so. yknow. better not call anyone else.* Drift: Even if it isn’t, I wanna make sure it isn’t gonna hurt anything else, you know? B l u r r: It won’t. I think. B l u r r: All of this started with Tyran. I meddled… and I became friends with mechs I shouldn’t have. B l u r r: And then HE came over and started spewing nonsense and /I/ was worried. Drift: More friends is always good. B l u r r: More friends, yes, sure. Maybe. B l u r r: But I don’t think Roadbuster wants to be friends. Whirl: *streetches* All right,losers. I’m out. See you guys. B l u r r: In fact, I know he doesn’t. B l u r r: … /waves at Whirl / B l u r r: thanks… again. Whirl: *bobs his head at Blurr and Drift and Soundwave* Whirl: *…so, everyone left really* ItsyBitsySpyers: *Nods.* Drift: *waves* Drift: *and then rECLAIMS BLURR’S HANDS* B l u r r: / omg / B l u r r: / flickers optic / … Hi. Whirl: Anytime, Teach! *and he is gone* Drift: Hi. :) B l u r r: … /tilts helm / You’re worrying about nothing, you know. Everything is fine. Drift: That’s never true with you, Blurr. B l u r r: … /long vent / All right, I’m not fine. But… I mean, I’m not dead? Drift: That’s good. Stay that way. B l u r r: … I can try. B l u r r: I made you the book because I didn’t know how to explain… all of that. Drift: … I think hanging out with the other Autobots might be good for you. Even if it’s not your own Optimus. B l u r r: /makes a face / It’s hard to do that… Drift: Yeah. Thanks. It helped. B l u r r: But, Roadbuster and Topspin visit sometimes. And Optimus seems to talk to me on a level that’s more… the same level. B l u r r: Some human likes me. Drift: That’s good. They’re visiting you, they’re talking to you… B l u r r: When they can. I guess they’re busy with their whole… problem. Drift: … You could go help them. B l u r r: .. no. B l u r r: I can’t… that’s how I got into this whole mess. Drift: I don’t think it’s a mess. You’ve met people who like hanging out with you. B l u r r: That’s not the mess, Drift. Drift: What’s the mess, then? B l u r r: / makes a face/ Roadbuster… he and I weren’t supposed to… Drift: … I don’t think that’s a mess, either. B l u r r: What if I’m just attaching onto him because I miss mine? B l u r r: Without knowing it. Drift: So what if you are? Drift: He’s got the same traits you liked in the first one. B l u r r: I don’t replace people. Everyone is unique. B l u r r: What if I’m with him for the wrong reasons ? Drift: What’s wrong with being with him because you’re attracted to him for the same reasons you were attracted to his alternate? B l u r r: … Because I don’t want to forget my Wrecker. B l u r r: And then there’s JT… B l u r r: / makes a slight noise. Something between a gag and a whine. It’s odd. / Drift: You’ll never forget your Wrecker. I promise. Drift: *yeah. JT. grimaces.* Drift: … I’m sorry. B l u r r: …What for? /flicks finials/ B l u r r: Don’t. It was my fault. Drift: *vague shrug. can’t say for messing that up because Blurr hasn’t admitted it was Drift’s fault.* B l u r r: [[ IT WAS BOTH OUR FAULTS ]] Drift: Just—sorry. That’s all. B l u r r: … Well. There in lies the problem. B l u r r: He came back. Drift: … He did? Drift: Wait. So, does he wanna—? B l u r r: / vents/ When I left… he chased me off his ship. B l u r r: Said he never wanted to see me again. B l u r r: So, imagine my surprise when he’s knocking on my door… B l u r r: A month later. Drift: … That’s a good sign. B l u r r: A month after being stuck with Velocity. B l u r r: Does a lot of damage, honestly. B l u r r: But, from the beginning, I didn’t say anything to anybody. After that whole fight with JT, I figured it was over. B l u r r: / shrugs shoulders/ What can I say? I lost it.