#how weird it is that a good 80% of the Pretentious Tumblr Crowd has made hating teenagers into a personality trait

[marklikely]

functionally zero difference between dudebros who get angry at a teenage girl for wearing a nirvana t shirt and tumblrinas having a meltdown that an extremely popular kate bush song was used in a tv show

[bitegore]

It's way too hot in your room, probably because it's August, but you're not one to judge. With an inexplicable groan, you open the window and lay on your side, listening to the sounds of whatever creature frequents your home. They're loud - these bugs - a raccoon scurrying through a pile of leaves - or another appropriate figure, obviously taunting you. You could be sleeping, but instead, you're here, 1:30 in the morning, hopelessly exhausted with no motivation to sleep. (1/2)

Hesitantly, you reach for whatever device is most convenient to you and log into your Tumblr account. Ah, the hellish website where you are free to discuss your outlandish interests to your hearts content. It’s as if David Karp is whispering in your ear, telling you that you’re home. For some reason you squint at the screen, feeling a certain disturbance. It isn’t hot at all. You’re actually fairly comfortable. If someone were writing about you, it’d be great for them to do some research. 

Nevermind the Swerve level fourth wall break. You’re going to sleep, if it kills you, and if your mutual knows anything about you, it will. You hit yourself in the face, realizing that Red, on caffeine, though necessary and unavoidable is a bad idea whenever you need sleep. Breathing in and out, you finally close your eyes. Any normal person dreams of so-called sugar plum fairies dancing. You think of alien robots, picking you up in their servos, and embracing you. That’s the dream. 

It’d be so nice if you could quench your thirst through means of something realistic, but Cybertron seems so far away. These characters, these figures, mean so much to you. Believe it or not you recognize more humanity in them than a lot of people in your life. That’s so pretentious but you honestly can’t shake the thought that all you want to do is frag someone 15 feet taller than you are, or cuddle, or just gaze longingly at and eventually get stepped on. You have no protective shell! 

You’re frustrated. Your meme-filled brain can’t take anymore. You’re going to pull an all nighter, per the usual. Instead of feeling lonely for a fictional planet, you’ll put those frustrations to good use – maybe draw or write something better than this bullshit meta bomb spiel. Somehow, someway, you quietly manage to make a cup of very strong black coffee. You return to your bedroom, and collapse, laying on your stomach and yelling into a pillow that clearly didn’t deserve this. 

Then it happens. You’re struck with the realization that if you were being written into a bullshit attempt at an x reader fanfiction, it would have to be re-written, after a proper question and answer session. Yeah, that’d be nice, and make more sense. Part of you wants to just sleep, so that this can end, and you can actually experience something that makes sense, but you feel footsteps, not normal, light ones, loud, booming footsteps. Could this be the moment things get interesting? 

You glance out your window to find a disgruntled, blue cassette player-like figure who shoots you a deadpan expression. You can’t tell exactly, because of a fiendishly 80s design and a face-plate. 

“Continue observation: human has been activated." 

You press your face against the window, blinking. If this is a hallucination, at least it’s a neat one. 

"I’m not a robot!” You shout, curiously rubbing your eyes. “I can’t be activated, or deactivated, though sometimes I wish I could be." 

"Are you functional?” He asks, a certain gentleness in his Welker-esque, Cylon-like, robotic voice. 

“That’s debatable,” you respond, rolling your eyes. “On one hand, I’m talking to a giant alien robot, who isn’t real. On the other, I feel like I’m in the midst of a bad fanfiction that was supposed to go one direction but has taken a turn for the worst, but isn’t that just life, Soundy?" 

The question is rhetorical, as your friend reaches out a hand. "For you,” he offers, his voice quiet.

“You’re a man of a few words. I like that about you." 

He gently lifts you up and places you on his shoulder. Then, morally ambiguous Soundwave begins to walk forward, either not caring, or disregarding the fact that alien robots are generally frowned upon. You feel a chill come over you, most likely because your room is always at the very comfortable temperature of 90 degrees under those blankets. 

"Listen, I like this as much as the next guy, but you think you can fit me in that little compartment of yours? The one with all of the mini cassettes?" 

"It is too crowded.” He responds simply. “Ravage does not like the company.”

 "Isn’t he -“ You shiver once more, wrapping your arms around you. "I-it’s cold up here. I keep my room - err - hab suite really warm and I don’t mean to be high maintenance, mister soundwave, sir, but it’s cold as balls." 

"Be patient, Red." 

"Holy shit, you know my name." 

"Of course I do." 

"Right, I forgot about the whole ‘telepathy’ thing." 

"It isn’t that simple. I will explain momentarily, but I need you to be patient." 

"I think I liked you better when you were all one liners or telling Optimus Prime that you were superior in Prime. That was cool." 

He lets out a sigh, and you take that as reason to be quiet. For some reason, you’re willing to trust the former outlier. He’s kind to you, and you know that there is a method to his so-called alien madness. He can tell. Soundwave eases up and continues. 

"Close your eyes." He requests. You aren’t about to disobey, or risk being stepped upon. With that, he continues. 

Finally, he stops. He holds you in front of him - AND OH GOD IS HE GOING TO KILL YOU, WHAT A WAY TO GO - and puts you in his lap. He shuffles and lays down. "Open." 

You do as he asks and are welcomed to a sea of stars. He still has a pair of arms wrapped around you, and you glance up, smiling. 

"I know I’m probably beating a dead Ravage by asking,” It doesn’t work, because he’s not a horse. “but why did you bring me here?" 

"To prove something to you,” he assures, ignoring the horrendous commentary about his weird robo-cat. 

“Listen, Soundwave, I’m totally for proving dumbasses like me wrong, but I’m missing the point here." You swear the windows error noise just played in your head. 

Your Cybertronian friend groans, and you let out a sigh, relaxing against his chest plate. 

"Fine, fine, I’ll be quiet." 

"Do you see those stars?” He asks. 

“Yeah, they’re a bunch'a neat lil explosions!" 

 "They have always served their purpose for your species. They have helped lead your ships’ captains in times of turmoil, and have created a permanent backdrop forcing you to think, to dream even." 

"I love stars as much as the next guy, but I’m not following, here, Soundy." 

"My point is, they have taught you that you are not alone." 

You pause and glance up at his face plate curiously, as he points to the sky. "If there were a Cybertron in your universe, that is where it would be.”

“So?” You dare ask. 

“Whenever you feel alone, remember that I am out there watching, that all of us are. I created a commune in hopes of creating a home for my fellow displaced Cybertronians, Decepticon, and Autobot. I taught Cosmos and so many others that they are not alone, and that’s what I aim to do for you." 

"You don’t have to worry about me.” You laugh, brushing it off. 

“You don’t know the impact you make on others, Red, how many lives you have changed." 

"With all due respect…I’m a senior in high school. I don’t need this kind of wisdom. I’m literally nothing." 

"And that’s where you’re wrong. My reasoning behind pointing out Cybertron and Sanctuary Station is we’re all -” He pauses, attempting to find the right word, “rooting for you. As long as we are real to you, we will never be far away. We’re here to help you recognize your own talents. You’re an artist. No matter what it is, it’s beautiful, and it blows us away. Your writing is well-spoken, intricate. Everything you do is beautiful, and reminds us, even us, of our own self worth, of our own importance. It’s time you start seeing all that we see in you." 

You swear you can hear his own spark pulsate or convulse, whatever the appropriate word is, and it’s as beautiful, as beautiful as his own words. You don’t know if you’re ready to believe him, but you swear he’s being honest. The former Decepticon is known for his loyalty and intellect, he isn’t deceitful like a certain seeker is made out to be. 

"Do you really mean that?” You ask hesitantly. “-that I’m important to even Cybertron?" 

"Of course I do. I don’t have to have telepathic abilities or be an Outlier to understand your importance. Keep focusing on your craft, and know, that someday soon, you will recognize these things in yourself and that you will be wonderful. Never forget who’s watching over you, and who’s rooting for you." 

You yawn and drift into sleep in the mech’s arms, your eyes closing to the feeling of his chestplate expanding and retracting. 

The next morning, you awake, knowing that someone who believes in you is looking out for you. You are wonderfully talented in every way shape and form. Never forget this as you finish your senior year of high school. You are going to change the world, I promise.

the only words i have are:holy shit i am literally crying