#the first alien is important for the story

[hornedmonsters]

"A'thaen" Yautja Oc x Reader - Mate - nsfw - Part 2

Warnings: nsfw, size difference, exophilia, teratophilia, monster x human, alien sex, breeding, angst, sex in the snow

Synopsis: Your life with A'thaen he started, but you've already loved every second of it. But something seemed to be bothering the Yautja.

Word Count: 3,2k

Jezus… this GIF… damn…

I managed to translate this story after all. Thanks Handy!

Two months have passed since A'thaen made you his life partner and mated with you. You haven't regretted a second of your life that he just stormed into your life and fucked you. Literally. You no longer felt so lonely in your little house and the nights weren't so cold either.

Because he fucked you almost every night, either deep inside your bed mattress, on the sofa or anywhere else. He found a place everywhere where he could breed you. And he often destroyed your bed in the process, because it was simply not designed for the brute strength of a gigantic alien with a high breeding instinct.

Of course you had never worried about getting pregnant, because what are the chances of getting pregnant by an alien, a different species that has a different DNA and life line than you?So you let him do it because you enjoyed the way he treated you like you were his queen. He adored you more than anything.You moaned as he pushed his thick cock deeper into you and pressed your face into the mattress. Your skin was covered in a film of sweat and his shadow towered over you. He had totally changed since your first mating. He was reserved at first, but now you were his.

"A'thaen..." you gasped, your legs trembling. You had no strength left and were exhausted. The Yautja growled in apology and shortly after, he came inside you, deep rumbling.

He watched you attentively as you let your body sink into the bathtub and let out a pleasant sigh. You were tired and he felt it, a touch of his conscience made him restless. He sometimes forgot that you were a human and not a Yautja female. You were more sensitive and he had to try to respect that and be more careful with you, he didn't want to break you and hurt you.Gently he laid you in bed and pulled you against his chest. You were exhausted and your eyelids were heavy.

"Don't forget... that my sister is coming tomorrow," you said in a whisper and the Yautja listened up, his eyes looking down at you. You saw the question mark on his face.

"She won't be staying, she's just bringing her child over in the meantime because she has something important to do and she wants me to look after her daughter.

"A'thaen tensed as the thought of hiding came to mind, as no one was to know he was here. The child might betray him and that would only cause trouble, even if it was questionable to believe a child.

"She's half a year old, A'thaen. You don't have to hide," you breathed, straightening up. Gently, you pressed your forehead against his cheek and breathed in his scent. He calmed you down.He clicked, apparently not much in the mood to talk right now. His claws were still firmly on your curves and you felt him pull you closer.A'thaen had often had the thought of what if you were pregnant by him. Yautja children were different from human babies and the birth could mean your death if you were pregnant. That would be the next thing

Since you've been together, you've mated a lot... a whole lot. But you didn't get pregnant. But the Yautja had hope, a lot of hope. His gaze rested on your sleeping form and he felt warmth in his heart.This feeling became even stronger when you held your sister's child in your arms and it triggered all kinds of feelings in him. Excitement, sadness, hope and warmth. It was a chaos of emotions.

The little girl squawked and squeaked. You smiled and looked at Yautja, who was standing a few meters away from you, watching the scenario.

"Here, take her," you suggested and his mandibles twitched. His look was skeptical, but in reality he was afraid of hurting the baby. It was so tiny. But before he could react, you pressed the little creature into his arms and he was mesmerized as the girl's saucer eyes gazed at him watchfully.

The longer you looked at what was happening, the more it hurt you. You couldn't give him what he wanted so much and that was bitter in your stomach.A'thaen sensed the change and his eyes looked at you with concern and questioning.

Sometimes you forget that he was a deadly hunter and a good hunter. He had killed many people, he had told you shortly after your mating. But it didn't affect you, you still wanted him. It was just a part of him.

But you put on a smile, took the child and put her to bed. The little girl was tired and it was really late. Somewhat reluctantly, the Yautja gave up the baby, there was still something strange in his gaze.

During the night, you lay with your back turned to him and stared into space. At some point, you noticed how he slowly and quietly got up and left the room. After that, he never showed his face again.

On the second day, your sister picked up her daughter again, but there was no sign of A'thaen and you started to worry. Then you remembered that he still had his spaceship. You remembered where it was, but it had disappeared. The place was empty and his spaceship wasn't exactly small.You panicked. Had he just left you? Had you done something wrong to him? You became restless and at night you couldn't sleep a wink.

Tears gathered in your eyes as you looked out of the window. It was storming heavily, but you didn't see an oversized spaceship or an oversized alien man. You walked through the rain. You needed a walk to clear your head. You were a mixture of emotions and you found it hard to breathe. Had you really managed to scare off an alien?

Trembling, you leaned against a gigantic tree and exhaled deeply. Slowly you slid down and tears ran down your cheeks as you felt the exhaustion of the last few days. When you went back home, you went to bed. You couldn't sleep until you were simply too exhausted and your body gave way. You quickly drifted off into the darkness of sleep.

A few more weeks passed until one day you suddenly heard a loud noise outside. You jumped up from the sofa and looked towards the door. Your heart pounded with false hope and at the same time you were afraid that it was something completely different. You swallowed and got up.It was cold outside, winter was approaching and your hut was losing its warmth too. You carefully pushed the doorbell down and opened the door a crack. You immediately felt the cold and shivered. Wistfully, you grabbed your jacket and a flashlight.

Maybe it was a family of raccoons. They were probably looking for food before the harsh winter came. You crept out of the door and followed the sounds. The sky was cloudy and somehow you had a queasy feeling walking through the darkness to the back of the house. What if it was a bear? But what if it was A'thaen? What if he was injured.

Suddenly you saw something in the darkness. It was a shadow in the shadow of darkness. Gigantic. Your eyes widened and the next moment a bright light came on. You quickly closed your eyes and tried to get used to the bright light.

You put your hand in front of your eyes and slowly opened your eyelids. Slowly, the first snowflakes fell from the sky and you realized that it was a spaceship. A'thaen's.

Your mouth went dry and tears gathered in your eyes as you took heavy steps away, but couldn't see anyone.

"A'thaen...," your voice was a whisper and you suddenly felt someone gently take your hand and pull it down. A soft growl was heard, then the Yautja appeared in front of you and you were completely overwhelmed with the feelings you had. With your mouth open and your body trembling, you looked at him. More and more snowflakes fell gently on your skin and got caught in your hair.

You just stared at each other. Your hand still in his and it was as if time stood still for a moment. Your heart was beating so hard against your chest that it hurt. You felt sick and had an inner conflict. A'thaen sensed this and hesitated before making a wrong move. He knew he was long gone and he also knew that he had just left you standing there.

It wasn't his intention, it just came over him. He almost flinched when he suddenly felt your arms around his hips.

He then gently put his strong arms around your small, trembling figure. But the next moment you hit him on the chest. Over and over again. You sobbed as you did so. The Yautja simply stood still and took it. Maybe it didn't hurt him physically, but he could feel so clearly how he had hurt you.

"You left me alone..." you shivered and a clicking sound came from his mouth.

"I'm sorry", he whispers into Yautja and gently pushed you away from him so you could look into his eyes. His gaze was sincere and open. You licked your dry lips and gently he brushed your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. Oh if you only knew why he left. He hoped so much that you would like his gift.

"Was... On my... Planet," he started to explain and your brows drew together in confusion. What was he doing there? He reached for the bag he had strapped to his thigh and pulled out a glass jar filled with green liquid. Your eyes widened. Was that his blood? Your head was in chaos.

"I went to see one of our healers. I wanted to know more about pregnancy and the mating between humans and Yautja. You know I love you so much, more than anything else in this universe. I would kill anything and everything for you, just to protect you. But when I saw you with that child..., I told you I would love you too, even if we couldn't have children and I still do. But I saw the look in your eyes and I know you want children. I wanted to know if there wasn't a way and there is," his voice was excited and you didn't know him like that. He held the green liquid in front of your face. "This is our possibility. This is my blood and it would be possible for you to inject yourself with it. Your body would remain human, but there would be a few Yautja extras. Also that you react to my seed and become fertile for it." Then he hesitated when he saw your wide eyes and spoke in your language again: "Only... if you... want to." His heart pounded hard against his chest. He was nervous about your answer.

But no matter what you decided, he would continue to love you unconditionally and stay by your side. You were one. And no one would ever be able to change that.

You gently took the glass from his hands and looked at it. Is that why he had left? To surprise you that he had found a way to make your family bigger. All the pain that had accumulated over the weeks disappeared and was replaced by love and amazement.

"Let's try it," you breathed and A'thaen's eyes looked at you wide. It wasn't long before he had carried you, on his hands, back to your hut. You were excited when he gave you the first injection of his blood test and you were curious to see how long it would take for your body to respond.

Finally, your hut filled with warmth again. A'thaen enveloped you with his presence and adored you. You had missed it so much. This Yautja man was balm for your soul. He cuddled with you a lot, stroked you or even squeezed himself into the much too small bathtub with you. So that you could sleep on his chest while he caressed you. You were injected with his blood about twice a week, because you had to get used to it slowly.

It wasn't long before everything outside was white. Winter had officially begun and you were desperate to get out. Of course, your partner had to come with you. A'thaen looked at the snow a little skeptically, but when he saw your shining eyes, he almost gave in with a sigh. He watched you playing in the snow. You were building a snowman and he watched you curiously. He found it fascinating what you could do with this white, cold stuff.

Suddenly it landed right in his face and he clicked indignantly when he heard you laughing. You threw a snowball at him.

Quickly you ran away from him, but it wasn't long before the Yautja reached you and grabbed you. He pushed you against the nearest wide tree and his eyes literally glowed at you.

"Cheeky..., Hooman," his words made you tremble and you could feel something else in his voice. He'd barely touched you since he'd been back and you hadn't had sex. He only wanted to win your trust again after he had unfortunately broken it. But now you were both overcome with desire and passion.

You could hardly react when he tore your clothes off and the icy cold touched your skin. You gasped and sucked in the air sharply. Your nipples hardened and the only thing you were still wearing were your shoes. Thankfully.

A'thaen watched your body react to the cold and stroked your chest tenderly, causing you to inhale deeply. You didn't have time to think as he laid you down in the cold snow and an "Oh God!" escaped your lips. It was freezing cold and you could feel the snow stinging your skin and numbing it.

But at the same time, you could feel yourself getting wet again. A'thaen's tail throbbed under his protection as he saw you lying there helplessly on the ground. Your body and the snow made a magical contrast and it drove him wild to see you like this. The desire to breed you overcame him again and the idea that you were swollen with his child made him growl.

You whispered his name softly and the next moment he was stroking your clitoris, making you moan. He could smell you so intensely.

"Let's see if the injections have any effect," he growled into Yautja and his claws carefully went between your labia to see how wet you were. You were more than ready to take him deep and he clicked open delightedly. He didn't take his time and immediately thrust into you gently. As excited as he was, he still had to make sure you were well prepared despite his size.

You rolled your eyes and threw your head back on your neck as you felt the heavenly stretching you had missed for so long. A moan escaped your mouth and you tried to move your pelvis. You wanted more, he didn't have to prepare you. You wanted him so badly.

"A'thaen, damn it! Move..., please!" you begged him as you continued to move your hips. The Yautja looked at you with amusement and the next moment he was thrusting hard into you. You both moaned and you almost saw stars. It was so much at once. You clung to him, to the warmth he radiated and your gasps fogged his senses as he continued to thrust. He held you tightly in his arms, but still managed to stroke your clit, making you whimper.

It wasn't long before your body tensed and you felt your orgasm building. A'thaen's movements on your clit quickened and your fingers clawed fiercely into his skin, making him hiss. You tightened around him, milking him well as you both came. He pumped a huge load of his warm cum into your womb and you greedily took in every drop. You knew that he would start fucking you again every day. But rightly so, you had some catching up to do and you had a certain goal you wanted to achieve.

The warm water splashed down your body as you leaned against the wall of the shower, moaning and looking down at the Yautja beneath you with your eyelids lowered. Your legs rested on his shoulder with ease and his forked tongue licked your entrance. You held onto his dreadlock-like pigtails and gasped as he licked over your sensitive bud.

Your legs were trembling, the last orgasm was still in your bones and you could feel his cum flowing out of your sweet pussy. A'thaen insisted on licking you clean, of course also because he knew that he could give you pleasure again.His name came out of your mouth like a prayer and the Yautja growled in pleasure when he realized how good you felt in his clutches.

Suddenly you arched your back and pressed your pelvis harder against his face. He understood immediately and continued to lick greedily until you came moaning over his tongue.

He licked your labia and clitoris once more as he helped you up afterwards. You hung exhausted from his neck and your legs were weak. He gently carried you out of the shower and placed a towel over your naked body. You stroked his chest gratefully and leaned your head against him. Your eyes closed in exhaustion and slowly you actually fell asleep.

The Yautja looked at you curiously. As so often, he admired your beauty and gently stroked a wet hair out of your face before taking you to your bed. His eyes fell shut after a short time.When he woke up and turned to you, you weren't there. He immediately sat up and panic spread through him, but when the smell of bacon hit his nose, he calmed down. You've made breakfast.

"Good morning, A'thaen," you smiled gently when you saw him and immediately placed a large plate full of bacon, eggs and pancakes in front of him. Thanking him, he chirped at you and you joined him with your own plate. You ate in silence for a short while, but it was a pleasant silence.

Until you suddenly felt unwell. You felt nauseous and ran to the toilet as fast as you could and threw up. Trembling, you held on to the toilet when you suddenly felt a gentle touch on your shoulder.A'thaen looked at you worriedly. Were you ill? Had he been too rough with you and overworked your body? His mind was working and you smiled gently at him.

"I think I'm pregnant."

tag:

@sweatymusictree

[werspinna]

Two Aliens: There are two Asgardians who have roles in Wolfs story. Around 1600 BC a Asgardian scientist crash-landed in nowdays Italy and his ship was burried under what is in Wolfs time one of the many green hills surrounding Pisa. Huginns crashlanding also caused the Minoan eruption in Wolfs world. Huginn, after all a Asgardian so time is not especially important for him, upon realizing that he could not free himself out of his ship, set up a distress signal and sat down to wait. Disorted by the earth above him, Huginns distress signal is not caught by Baldur in Asgard, but the signal is caught by the people living in the area around the ship. And like Huginns name (=thought) the signal starts to influence the thoughts and also actions of the people around the ship. There is a inherent urge to "seek out", "move" "help", and "find", which is obviously just in the nature of the scientists and merchants in a greatly flourishing trading-city, but for the people in Pisa it becomes in some extreme cases even a madness (Although it is always up to the individuum what they would consider "help" or what to "seek out"). This might be the cause for some of the especially unhinged Alchemists or it is just a excuse they would use to justify their science without morals. Even if it is not, the technology the alchemists have discovered and use are all pieces from Huginns ship that the scientists experiment with which also allowes some of them to create the flesh-constructs in which different animals are molten together. It is a plotpoint (or the final of Wolf storyline with the alchemists) that the peoples urge to "seek out, "find", "help", "move" causes a small group of the alchemisst to dig into the earth and dig up Huginns ship eventually because they think that they would find something like a holy grail of knowledge when in truth its just a random asgardian who indeed is a scientist, but has no interests in actually teaching any of the earthlings and just really wants to get out into the sun after over 2000 years stuck under the earth, bored playing tetris, without any other person . In Animal Fables the Raven is named "Pflückbeutel" and his features are: Beeing a know-it-all, beeing arrogant (occasionally arrogant until stupidity) and being thievish. Beeing a know-it-all and arrogant are features that do fit Huginn as a raven-person in this story.

The other Asgardian has not a big role and is simpy a pun= Wolfs paternal grandmother (Her world original Karven the Hunter who had died before the story started when fighting a lion in egypt) is Ulfa Frekisdottir (Because the current women taking Kraven the Hunters Place both carry the matronym Ulfasdottir as her daughters and Wolfs father Wolfgang has Ulfasson). Ulfa is just a name based on the world Ulf (Wolf),so Ulfa is a name meaning She-Wolf. Freki (with the dottir showing that Freki was Ulfas father) is the name of one of Wotans Wolfs and means 'The voracious'. So Ulfa Frekisdottir is just a stupid pun: Wolf Wolfsdaughter (Or Wolf Ravenous-wolf-daughter, if one wants to go word by word). Accordingly Freki, probably a Wolf themed Asgardian, visited earth specifically Haitabu on earth for some beer, rolled around in the hay and then returned to Asgard after having a nice weekend and now has no idea or interest in the fact that he is the greatgrandfather or the medieval spiderman. He fucked himself into the story and he fucked himself out, literally, without leaving anything behind but a pun of a familyname. It has of course a historical background for Haitabu had been destroyed in 1066 by the Westslavs and the Tradingcentrum had been put on the other side of the Schlei which is nowdays the town Schleswig. The destruction of Haitabu is noted as the end of the "Vikingtime". So roughly around 100 years later (around 1150) Freki visited what he probably remembered as Haitabu, only to find that he is as a immortal literally 100 years too late to the party (only a blink of an eye in his time) and the settlement is given up on, so he went on the other side of the bay and looked if he could have fun in the new settlement that is and would be Schleswig. Which he obviously had.

[rebouks]

Brynn: You are much more silent than usual today-.. are you going to miss me?

Wyatt was going to miss Brynn a great deal, but telling her that seemed harder than it ought to be, so he said naught instead.

Brynn: You are not comfortable being happy?

Wyatt squinted, something Brynn had learnt he tended to do when she was on the right track.

Brynn: Maybe you should not fight yourself.

Wyatt: Maybe you only know I feel that way because you’re the same.

And as she tended to do when he was right, Brynn dodged Wyatt’s comment.

Brynn: Do you think I stay, if you asked me to?

Wyatt: I don’t think you want me to ask that.

Brynn: No, I don’t…

Wyatt: Do you want to stay though..?

Brynn: I not sure it’s a good idea to leave home-.. not for a man I spend only a few weeks with.

Wyatt’s brow creased, though he quickly rearranged his face; she had a point, whether he liked it or not.

Brynn: Does that hurt your feelings?

Wyatt: No…

Brynn hummed and tugged on Wyatt’s hand, forcing him to stop and face her. It was obvious he was lying. He wanted to know whether this was just a holiday fling to her, or something more, but every time he even thought about doing so it felt like someone had rammed cotton wool down his throat. He’d promised himself he’d be more honest, but it wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped…

Wyatt: What exactly would you be leaving behind? I doubt you’ve exactly made anything for yourself there-.. not with Gael’s arm to cling to.

Wyatt instantly regretted being so blunt as Brynn frowned slightly, a flash of sadness darting across her features.

Brynn: That is a cruel thing to say, no?

Wyatt: Maybe-.. though I’ve a feeling I’m right, so I’m not taking it back.

Brynn narrowed her eyes, he was right, of course. She had nothing of her own in San Myshuno. Everything she owned, down to the clothes on her back, had been paid for by Gael. She’d never thought about leaving before, she had everything she ever needed, technically-.. but spending time with someone who wasn’t afraid to interrogate her about such matters finally made her question her innermost protests, rather than burying them.

She didn’t like Gael, she didn’t like his friends or his apartment, she didn’t want him to propose, didn’t want to marry him, didn’t want to carry his children. It wasn’t ever supposed to be permanent; she wanted a life of her own…

Wyatt: Well?

Brynn: I not argue with you on my last day here.

Wyatt: We’re not arguing, are we?

Brynn: Exactly!

Wyatt ran his hand through his hair and sighed, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He needed more. He was desperate to know how she felt before she left, desperate to know how she’d gotten herself into this situation, whether she wanted out or not. He thought she did, but for once, he wasn’t sure of himself.

Wyatt: I just meant-…

He huffed as Brynn leapt on his back with a chuckle, that was the end of that then. He’d never realised until now how socially inept he was with women-.. no, intimacy; but Brynn didn’t seem to mind, maybe she could relate. He was willing to bet she knew what he was struggling with. It almost seemed as though she were goading him into being honest, like he craved to be.

Brynn: Let’s find somewhere nice-.. if you tell me what you meant, maybe I tell you a story.

He shook his head and snorted, amused; that was definitely what she was doing, wasn’t it?

Wyatt had done a lot of terrible things over the years. Amongst countless other felonies he’d taken more than a few lives - some with his bare hands - but no crime he’d committed had ever caused his heart to beat as erratically as it did now. Against his “better” judgement and despite his pounding chest, he’d held Brynn close and told her how he felt.

He told her how much he’d enjoyed spending time with her, how pleased he’d be if she stayed, and how curious he was about her situation back in San Myshuno. Brynn had softened upon hearing his words, appreciative of his honesty; and in return, she’d told him how she and Gael met…

Brynn hadn’t left Del Sol to begin with, choosing instead to remain employed by Varius, which had eventually been taken over by new management. Never embroiled in Ashton’s more nefarious business ventures, the casino and its franchise hadn’t suffered much, remaining completely operational as a result.

Gael was in town for family and work, hauled to the top floor by some of his rather more enthusiastic associates. Clearly uncomfortable, she’d taken him aside and entertained him in a different manner-.. she’d clocked him eyeing a handsome waiter surreptitiously, felt him recoil from her touch; he might’ve fooled his colleagues, but he hadn’t fooled her. Enjoying an easy night full of free drinks and cheesy jokes, she’d thought nothing of his proposition to attend an upcoming event with him the following weekend.

The event Gael had invited her to was a wedding – his brother’s wedding – and Brynn had suddenly found herself referred to as his girlfriend. She’d thought it quite funny at the time, what an odd man, paying an erotic dancer to pose as one’s partner. The money was good though, and it was much more enjoyable than working in some stuffy club, even one as fancy as Varius.

But as things do, one thing led to another and before Brynn could second guess herself, she’d agreed to move to San Myshuno and stay with Gael permanently. Genesis had seen her arse about Brynn’s newfound source of income, her friends Ace and Robert had moved away, Del Sol was smoggy and garish, held memories she’d rather forget; why wouldn’t she move back to San My? She’d have her own room in a spacious apartment, she wouldn’t have to work, Gael said he’d pay for her to finish school; it seemed like a good idea at the time, like she could have whatever she wanted.

Except she couldn’t. Gael was a controlling - albeit kind - man, terrified of being discovered by his peers. He told her where to go and when, what to wear, what to say, and how to act. He’d take her phone from her if she’d get distracted at one of his precious galas, force her to attend wellness retreats with his colleagues’ insipid girlfriends and wives whilst he and his friends smacked tiny balls with silly sticks, drag her on family vacations to hot countries where she’d get accosted by mosquitoes and prickly heat.

He’d bemoan her lack of enthusiasm when she wasn’t her usual self, but it’d been so many years that Brynn didn’t even know who she was anymore. He’d felt guilty then, promising she could pick their next destination; that it’d be just the two of them, no pretending.

Brynn had never imagined bumping into Wyatt again, but she’d often thought of him, wondering what he’d done after that fateful phone call. She’d almost felt proud of him, in a way-.. it wasn’t easy to turn against your upbringing like that, against your friends, against yourself. She’d given him the benefit of the doubt and he hadn’t taken it for granted, which was more than could be said for a lot of men she’d trusted in the past.

Having landed herself in hot water more times than she could count over the years, Brynn had learnt to be wary of her gut, but she couldn’t deny being drawn to Wyatt; she admired the change in him, despite the fact he seemed unaware of it himself. It was freeing to spend time with someone who didn’t expect her to act a certain way, someone who knew where she’d come from and what she’d been through, yet didn’t appear to judge her poorly for it. He’d done terrible things and so had she; it was nice, being on an even playing field for once.

Brynn had subsequently returned home more disheartened than ever, completely uninterested in her so-called life with Gael. She’d hoped Wyatt would call, hoped she’d get a taste of that freedom in her self-imposed cage, hoped something would magically change. But it hadn’t.

Wyatt: So, you’re not happy anymore?

Brynn: I am very happy here, with you-.. but that scares me.

Wyatt: Why?

Brynn: Because it means I have to confront the fact that I am not happy at home, and that is something I have never done before. I always find someone to take me in, but is always with conditions, I am never free-.. never happy.

Wyatt: Are you safe at least..?

Brynn: It is painfully boring, sharing a home with Gael, but he is not exactly aggressive.

Wyatt scowled; not exactly? That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, he ought to strangle-..

Brynn: I not want you to get involved, I think I would like to do something on my own for once.

Wyat: Okay…

Brynn: I put my foot down and leave, even if it means I have nothing. I not want to run to anyone else, including you.

Wyatt: That’s why you don’t want to stay?

Brynn nodded, it would’ve been easier to tell Gael to stuff it and stay here, but that was what she always did; fall into someone else’s hands. Being with Wyatt was different though, it made her want to choose him because she wanted to, because she could, not because she needed to. If that meant she had to throw everything away and strike out on her own first – even though she had no idea how to – then so be it.

Though he was glad to know the truth, Wyatt was less than thrilled with Brynn’s plan; but she craved true freedom, and after everything she’d endured – in part due to his own transgressions – he figured he owed her as much.

Wyatt: I won’t stop you then…

Brynn: This is why I love you-.. you help set me free in the end, like I to you.

Wyatt: You love me?

Brynn: You love me too, no?

Wyatt dipped his head in agreement. He wasn’t sure how it’d happened so quickly, but there wasn’t much point denying it any longer.

Brynn: Say it…

Wyatt: I love you too.

Brynn: Is not so hard, right?

Wyatt scoffed quietly and shook his head.

Wyatt: I don’t know-.. I’m sweating.

Brynn: [laughs] Ew-.. me too though.

Previous // Next

[psychomusic]

meet doctor leptis ferrer, also known as fixer nine!

he collaborated with cipher thirteen on a few crucial missions, but his most important aspect is his research.

his backstory before becoming a fixer + some worldbuilding of his home planet under the cut!

he was born on niamos, that, at the time, was shifting from being a planet with its people inhabiting it to the Space Beach™ we know from andor. amidst this changing environment, little leptis was born.

niamos was divided into three main groups of people. the natives; the tourists, who were growing in number, but only stayed temporarily; and the offworlders who settled down and started to run mainly tourism-centered business. the niamos people, called avile, still ruled over the planet, having their own political organizations that excluded the newcomers. aviles allowed the offworlders to settle down in their certain parts of their lands only because that generated profit through taxes, but they weren't allowed to fully integrate in their society nor leave the permitted areas under any circumstances.

actually, the aviles allowed these settlements rather recently, after a series of revolts in the lower classes. in theory, their system was a democracy - in practice, only rich enough people could afford to become politicians, because there was no retribution for it. so, they decided to allow newcomers to settle in, with a tax, that would be used for the retribution of political positions. the more people started moving to niamos, the more new positions could get paid.

(quick colored sketch of a part of their territory - pardon the ugly af buildings but i hate drawing them)

when the initial wave of new politicians from the lower classes got into the system, they started turning the system into a full, direct democracy, reform by reform. most roles were assigned by casual drawing from a list of volunteers, and no one could keep their chair longer than a year in every position. but, after the initial wave of openness and inclusion, things changed.

initially, there weren't any laws on citizenship or access to politics. it wasn't explicitly said that offworlders couldn't partake in politics, so when they began taking interest in it, with political programs that addressed their needs and problems, the natives started to fear that their flourishing tourism business would change the political balance they had reached. many feared that, in the span of a few generations, the niamos would be governed by the interests of the tourist business, that attracted visitors (and their money) from many star systems.

so, they started to legislate. to be a niamos citizen, one had to be born in a family of niamos people, quite obviously. at first, children born of mixed parents weren't allowed citizenship, and weren't even really a thing. but as the offworlders areas grew larger, and more offworlders settled on niamos, some protests arose.

then, they had to change the legislation. they were a people with a strong and deeply felt culture - they decided to use it as a base to legislate further. the niamos had many rites and trials, and a complex language, called caile. one would become citizen only by successfully passing all the trials, partaking in all the rites, and fully learning the language.

the first trial was a long pilgrimage with a wooden boat (and an animal) to an island. this allowed the child (around 6-7 y.o.) to go to school, where they could learn the language. this first trial was easy for any "full" avilec child to pass, as they traveled around the various islands of their world on a daily basis. offworlders, however, were still confined into one section of a bigger island. this allowed only children who spent enough time sailing with their avilec parent to pass the test.

then, they would be allowed into a school that would teach them how to read and write. the school, though, only taught in avilec language - so, the children already had to speak caile at home, to be able to pass the tests at the end of the year. after that, it mostly got easier - one would study the niamos history, and was asked to partake in every smaller rite that tightened the community and better integrated the new members.

around 18, though, to become a legal adult, there was another trial (here, it granted access to vote and independence. then, as one got older, they'd have to pass a trial to be able to volunteer and be elected for each position - the age grew with the importance of the role, but the difficulty of the trials only decreased). it was a relatively simple trial: it was a boat pilgrimage around every island in the archipelago - something anyone could do.

but leptis failed it.

when he was around 14 years old, he went on a boat pilgrimage with his family to reach a sacred island in front of the offworlders' sector. there, a young sea monster who had lost its way attacked him. he clenched his big jaw on his body - the monster's mouth was big enough to cover his entire torso and get a good grip anyway. as his family panicked, from the shore, some tourists saw the scene and called for help, and help arrived in the form of medics on a speeder and an offworlder with a gun, who shot the beast, who immediately lost its grip on leptis.

the offworlders' hospitals, with special legislation, were open to everyone. it was the only thing the niamos paid a tax for, as they recognized that the offworlders' medicine was better than theirs for some things. they did mostly go to their old medics, but when that failed, they relied on those hospitals as well. knowing that no niamos medic could save their son, his parents allowed him to be taken away with the speeder.

in his parents' eyes, his survival was a miracle, and they accepted it without questions. instead, little leptis began wanting to know how he was saved. so he began studying medicine. he devoted himself to the subject. even as he ruined his connection to the rest of the community (he stopped partaking to the rites - he wasn't forced to go, as both his parents were aviles, and nobody thought a niamos would stop partaking in the rites, so there weren't any rules on that) he kept on studying.

when he turned 18, he had to leave his studies to complete the trial. he was doing well, as everyone always did, until he reached the spot where he was attacked. he never went back there since the incident. suddenly, he relived all of it again, and couldn't move anymore. he was paralyzed by the flashback, and trembled heavily as he realized that there was a wound the doctors hadn't healed. unable to continue, he failed the trial.

no avile had ever failed the trial, but the law seemed clear - he couldn't have access to politics, and wouldn't become an adult. he became an outcast - his peers continued their lives while he was forced out of it, forced to depend on his parents, forever. but mostly, he started to have trouble dealing with the incident like he never had. he was distressed and tense, and couldn't sleep properly. he went back to the medics, and they told him he had ptsd - and that they couldn't do much about it. that shocked him - they saved his organs from failing and stitched his broken body back together in ways that would seem impossible to comprehend, but they couldn't do nothing to heal his hurt brain?

so that became his research interest.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

rewatching 13s era for me is not so much diminishing returns as it is something opposite and eviler...............increasing losses? increasing losses

[louderfade]

[ruvviks]

having yancey and stevie from my original story the diner thoughts 💭💭💭

from all the characters of the diner i feel like these two are the most like two puzzle pieces instantly clicking together. just in general the story is very focused on starting over far away from the life you used to know and carrying knowledge with you that you'll never speak about for a variety of reasons (and will remain unspoken of throughout the whole story because you'll never know everything there is to know about a person even if you do end up growing very close to them; this is one of the main themes of the story) but especially yancey and stevie understand this like no one else and that's why they work together so well

from the moment they meet and through the first handful of interactions between them it becomes very clear that they're already very comfortable with each other; they skip the small talk, share cigarettes together in their break behind the diner, know that the other went through some heavy shit and they just kind of immediately offer the other their friendship; a judgment-free zone where they can both be their unfiltered and unmasked selves, no need to keep up appearances because they KNOW they both feel like fucking shit and they allow the other to feel like shit with them

but at the same time they know they can't help each other. which is why all their issues remain untalked about until the end of the story; they can't offer the other the comfort they need and deserve because if they'd try, they know they'd start making mistakes. i've thought briefly about letting them have a romantic relationship instead of yancey ending up with rafiq and teddy, but quickly realized it wouldn't add anything else to the story other than the same cycle of mistakes yancey went through with his ex girlfriend which is specifically the situation he's moving away from. so having a redo of all that with stevie wouldn't tell anything new. they'd make each other worse and end up having to get out of there AGAIN, when the whole point of the story is supposed to be that blightwood crossing ends up as their new home because they MADE it into a home

so instead their friendship is both profoundly strong because of the mutual understanding about each other's issues without even having explained anything about it to the other, as well as kind of stuck on becoming closer than they are on account of how they'll never be able to talk about any of it. they won't ever know about each other's past, they'll never learn what the other was like when they were younger, and when either of them needs to talk about something they know they can't go to the other for it because that's just not possible. but what they CAN do is sit with the other and for a while just be miserable in peace, and they know that no matter how bad it gets they WILL always have each other

something something their misery remains forever their own but no matter how ugly it gets the other will still be there at the end of the day

[moonshine-nightlight]

(the following is not a request, complaint or criticism at ALL. this is just me crying like a cat behind a locked door and should be disregarded as such)

I was really enjoying Snapped. Now I miss it

(lol thanks for clarifying, i do appreciate it)

i was too! i hav been trying to finish it - i literally have the Snapped file open right now along with Dale and there's 2k and 600 words for part 3 and 4 respectively

its definitely fully on my radar and was honestly supposed to be finished in may, alas life occured

Rest assured i miss it too (and i read a couple sci-fi books to get back into that vibe on my trip specifically) and hopefully those final parts will get posted in this month

[cipheramnesia]

I would like to read it.

All I'm saying is Ridley Scott went out and hired the giant mutant genitals artist to design the Alien, and H.R. Giger delivered a monster with a giant penis head, a vulva-outline space ship, a birthing egg with an opening made of two crossed vaginas, a facefucking vagina monster fertilizer and a lil baby dick form that kills the host - the man 100% delivered on his artistic principles.

And because of this, it is just a little bit funny how the penis and vagina designs are enshrined in pop culture, forever being passed between creators who seem to less and less think for a minute that they're working with genital monsters and it turns most of the movie franchise and comics into an exercise in unintentional absurdity where a character can be fleeing from a rolling vulva like the boulder from Indiana Jones without a single shred of awareness or subtext.

[keferon]

Chapter 2 of Blurr storyline >:D

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

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

Part one

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

Under the cut⤵️

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, hell, not days. Cycles.

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve isn't sure he wants it to pass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's thinking about Blurr. A lot.

Blurr occupies a surprisingly important role in his comatose dreams.

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

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

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

But that's not quite true, Swerve thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

Uggh.

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

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

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

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

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

Freaking cursed.

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

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

Two - holy shit, Jazz is tiny.

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

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

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

He's going to get sick.

He needs to talk to Jazz right now.

____________

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

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

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

Jazz frowns

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

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

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

Swerve mentally crosses his fingers.

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

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

“Mech, what the hell?”

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

Before thinking for a bit, and adding.

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

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

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

Prowl looks confused.

Jazz looks absolutely frantic.

“SWERVE????”

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

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

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

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

Swerve laughs and twitches his eyebrows playfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pauses dramatically.

“The long version is...”

Jazz raises his hand

“What's a holoform?”

Swerve sighs.

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

Jazz whistles impressed. And then immediately turns back to Prowl

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

Prowl hums

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

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

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

Jazz laughs

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

“ I was.”

Prowl frowns.

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

“.... I had a lot of practice...”

Jazz claps his hands.

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

“I got carried away,” Swerve admits.

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

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

“Two. And I failed my driver's exam.”

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

Swerve blows the hair out of his face

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

Jazz just wheezes incoherently in response. Prowl looks alarmed.

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

Swerve nervously shoves his hands into his pockets

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

Prowl twitches his door wings

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

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

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

He's thinking.

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

Then he remembers the mess he left behind.

Oh, no, it wasn't a dream.

Jazz puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Swer... Swerve? Dude, are you okay?”

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

Jazz looks...puzzled.

“Is that bad?”

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

“It's...complicated.”

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

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

Hahahahah oh fUCK.

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

It's also probably too late.

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

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

Jazz glares at him with a worried look on his face

“ That expression you have...”

Swerve puts the smile back on his face.

“I need to get to Earth.”

___________________

Swerve is not an idiot.

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

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

Ask the Quintessons. Or look for it himself.

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

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

Jazz, now back inside his Mech looks doubtful.

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

Swerve laughs.

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

“It's not harmful?”

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

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

Jazz tilts his head

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

Swerve bites his knuckles.

“ I have some unfinished business?”

“Pshhhh you sound like a ghost.”

Swerve only laughs in response.

_______________

Concentration is tricky.

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

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

Shit. No. Earth. Think Earth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the place where he was last.

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

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

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

Swerve's bites his knuckles. Okay.

All right.

He's got things to do.

_______________

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

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

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

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

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

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

The answer is probably none.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blurr's name isn't there.

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

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

That's...something's wrong.

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

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

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

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

Give me half an hour...okay, yeah.”

This is it, Swerve thinks.

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

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

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

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

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shi

Blurr looks like a mangled corpse.

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

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

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

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

“'Got bored without me Swindle?”

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

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

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

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

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

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

Swindle adjusts his glasses

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

“Because you like money” Blurr says without hesitation.

Swindle lets out a quiet chuckle.

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

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

Goes back to his seat.

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

He raises his hand when Blurr rushes to say something.

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

Swindle sighs and adjusts his glasses again

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

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

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

Swindle rubs the bridge of his nose

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

Blurr blinks.

“Why are you telling me all this.”

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

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

Blurr's eye widens

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

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

Blurr runs his fingers through his hair

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

Swindle puts his hat back on.

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

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

Swindle puts a hand on his shoulder.

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

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

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

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

Blurr smiles sourly.

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

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

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

Blurr bites his lip.

“I..don’t know...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, damn it.

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

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

Blurr ... is crumbling.

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

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

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

And continues to act like a jerk of course.

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

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

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

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

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

It's also an inconspicuous way to stay upright.

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

Investors say, “I think he likes me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes a difference. Small one. But still.

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

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

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

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

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

After another conference, Shockwave stops Blurr in the hallway.

“Good show.”

Blurr laughs. Soundly and proudly.

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

Swerve, hiding on the ceiling again, snorts.

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

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

Blurr shrugs and lazily turns his head around distracted.

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

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

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

Blurr freezes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blurr visibly shivers and looks away.

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

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

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

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

“You are broken. I can fix you.”

Blurr frowns, but takes the piece of paper.

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

Shockwave tucks the notepad into his pocket.

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

Blurr flinches.

“I don't need your help.”

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

...

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

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

____________________________

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

Holy shit...

Jazz pokes him gently on the forearm

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

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

Jazz laughs

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

Swerve sits up and rubs the back of his head.

“Ah...”

“So it worked?”

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

Jazz rubs his hands together happily.

“I'll take it.”

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

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

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

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

Left to himself.

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

....

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

He looks at Jazz and Prowl.

“You two get along really well.”

Jazz chuckles, sitting on Prowl's shoulder.

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

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

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

_____________________

”Are you a ghost?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blurr squints amusedly.

“You can walk through walls?”

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

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

“Cool!” says Blurr cheerfully.

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

“ Show me more?”

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

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

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

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

“They really drugged you huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

Race???”

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

Blurr drops his hands back on the blanket

“I won't.”

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

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

Swerve sits down quietly cross-legged on the blanket.

“Well...at least you're alive....”

Blurr shakes his head.

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

“...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve folds his arms awkwardly across his chest.

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

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

Swerve stiffens.

“I...Wwhat?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You'll tell me later?”

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

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

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

Jazz looks at him. Very intensely.

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

Swerve snorts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve laughs.

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

_______________

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pharma smiles sweetly and reaches out for a handshake

“Mind some company?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pharma tilts his head

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

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

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

“What do you mea...”

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

“No I'm just...”

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

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

Swerve shakes his head.

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

“Wh..”

Blurr rolls his eye.

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

“Wait..”

“Tell me about it. Especially doctors.”

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

“Can at least one of you shut up??”

Swerve adjusts his cap in a businesslike manner

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

He raises his eyebrows knowingly

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

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

“…..Wha....there's rumors?”

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

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

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

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

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

Swerve shrugs.

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

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

A quiet cough sounds behind Swerve's back.

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

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

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

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

Blurr snorts one last time, cutting off the laughter.

Then he reaches out his hand to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're real???”

Swerve awkwardly waves his hands in front of him

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

Blurr shrugs.

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

Swerve twitches.

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

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

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

Blurr laughs quietly.

“I'm glad you're back.”

_____________________

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

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

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

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

Jazz smiles

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

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

“Worried about what your human friends will think?”

Swerve swings back and forth on his heels

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

Jazz frowns

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

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

[nellasbookplanet]

'Enjoy it despite its flaws' is one thing, but Mass Effect somehow invented its own category: 'simultaneously one of the most flawed and the most well-crafted sci-fi stories I've ever experienced'. These games are incredible. They’re the worst. All the women are sexualized. All the women have deeply flawed and complex personalities without being either demonized or romanticized. The first available f/f ship seems to be written along the guidelines of 'what would a straight man find hot'. As the games go on, they effortlessly include multiple same sex romance options given just as much care and development as the the opposite sex ones. You can play as a xenophobic murderhobo asshole. You can play as someone genuinely caring but also harsh, who inspires growth and co-operation wherever you go but who makes hard choices when you have to. You can kill civilians and punch reporters and commit genocide. You can stop a generational war and mediate peace and save several species from extinction. The robots are stereotypically evil cannon fodder. The robots are deeply complex with a tragic history. Your team mates are assholes with xenophobic opinions or justifications for police brutality and genocide, or they just want excuses to Do Murder. You team mates are deeply flawed and can be urged to grow alongside you. The most important aliens are all humanoids. There are plant aliens and jellyfish aliens and insect aliens and elephant aliens and aliens who can’t share an atmosphere with us. You have to drive around countless identically boring planets with little to show for it. You get to discover hidden secrets and civilisations millions of years old and live through some of the most emotionally harrowing scenes in storytelling history. I am going absolutely insane about it.

[drchucktingle]

my masks

hey there buckaroos. due to all of the attention the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION situation has gotten i am going to take a minute to talk about my personal way as an autistic buckaroo. im going to tell you about my masks.

im doing this for a few reasons, some are good FUN reasons full of love and some are not so great. 

lets start with the GOOD STUFF. first of all, i am talking about this because speaking on my way can help other buckaroo feel more comfortable speaking on there own way, ESPECIALLY if they are good at ‘passing’ for neurotypical like chuck is. 

unfortunately the NOT SO GREAT reasons im talking about all this dang stuff are two fold. reason one: i have been put into a position of having to explain and justify my needs and boundaries by the TXLA. this is not something that i WANT to be taking up all of my time, but when large organizations do not make space for those who they have pledged to support, it puts us smaller buckaroos into position where were have to defend our existence. it is not plesent but it is necessary.

the second NOT SO GREAT reason is that ‘passing’ bisexual and autistic people like myself are ALWAYS just seconds from being gatekept from folks both outside and inside these communities. there will probably be a day on chucks deathbed where i take off my mask and say hello to this timeline (mostly so you can all see how handsome i am under here but I DIGRESS). i KNOW with absolute certainty (the same way other bi and autistic buckaroos are probably nodding along right now) that when that day comes i will STILL be accused of ‘not being real’ and ‘faking’ because i ‘dont look autistic’ and i have a beautiful ladybuck partner in sweet barbara.

ALL THAT IS TO SAY, i am taking a moment today to talk FOR THE RECORD about my neurodigence and my particular needs. hopefully i will not have to keep diving this deep every time an organization takes a discrimantory action against me, but i will also say this: at least it is a good fight on an important battlefield

anyway buds, here is the story of my way on the spectrum

when i was a young buckaroo i knew that my thought process was different. i could socialize easily, which is unique in contrast to many autistic buds (it is a spectrum after all), but my social ease was for an interesting reason. I ALWAYS KNEW WHAT OTHERS WERE ABOUT TO SAY. it was like a strange ‘human game’ where someone would say one thing and i would think ‘well you actually mean something else’ in a sort of logical way (this is why i later related to DATA from star trek so dang much). at first i remember thinking ‘well i am just NOT going to play along with this human game’. i quickly learned neurotypical buckaroos do not like this, that there is a BOB AND WEAVE to social interactions that must be learned. 

later i realized ‘actually if i WANT to make friends and prove love is real then i can do this like an expert because i can SEE the game where most cant’. this got chuck many buds and took me on many adventures. please understand, i am not saying these connections are not important to me, they are just different. they are full of love, but i express this in my own unique way.

HOWEVER, while growing up i felt disconnected from this timeline in other ways, like an alien or a reverse twin trotting along in a world that is not quite my own. i did not feel emotions the same way my buds did. they would get upset over the ‘human game’ interactions and i would not be moved at all, HOWEVER i could see the way sunlight hit a window and start crying my dang eyes out over the beauty. so my emotion was still there and VERY STRONG, i just felt it in more existential ways (like hearing the call of the lonesome train). these days that feeling has progressed to where i am pretty much in a constant blissed out state of cosmic emotional connection (make of that last sentence what you will, but it is the truth). when i make existential posts online i am not just FIRING OFF SOME CONTENT, i really mean every word. this is really my trot.

anyway as a young buckaroo these feelings made me worry sometimes. i thought about various mental health dianosises and marked the parts and pieces that matched with myself. am i this? am i that? sometimes, instead of just being’ different’ i worried i might actually be ‘wrong’. 

when i saw david byrne on letterman in my younger days i immediately recognized something connected to myself. i thought ‘wow this is the mystery being solved before my very eyes.’ i could hear it in the music of talking heads too. i started doing research and realized that i might be on autism spectrum, something that was later confirmed by a therapist (back then the diagnosis was called asperger's). it was a glorious and fulfilling moment. i was SO EXCITED TO BE AUTISTIC LIKE MY HERO. i felt very cool because of it, and i still feel very cool because of it.

one of the big reasons i talk so much about being autistic these days is because i want to make sure OTHER buckaroos can have that same moment that i did. they can see chuck and think ‘wow i really like this autistic artist, maybe being autistic is cool’

so what does an average day WITHOUT wearing the pink bag look like for me?

my thought process is exactly like ROSE from CAMP DAMASCUS, which is part of why i wrote the book. we have the same stim (complex order of finger taps), we prepare for social interactions the same way, we analyze things in the same logical trot that neurotypical people might think feels ‘detached’ but for me feels natural (certain reviews of camp damascus are very funny to me in this way. you can tell when a reader is just very confused by existing in an autistic brain for 250 pages.)

from the outside you would not be able to tell that i am on the spectrum. in fact you would probably find me very socially adept. 

the problem is, all of that masking can take its toll. i spent years trotting in and out the emergency room, talking to confused doctors who could not figure out the chronic phantom tension and pain that radiated through my body. i eventually accepted the fact that i would either live a life constantly on heavy painkillers or just stop living altogether.

eventually, however, i started noticing a correlation between the way that i felt, and the space that i allowed for chuck and the pink mask. i was exercising that tension, allowing my mental mask of neurotypical existence to take a rest. i started practicing physical therapy and this time THE RESULTS STUCK because i was approaching from two sides, MIND AND BODY. after a while, i got my pain down to about 5 percent of what it once was. i still have flare ups in times of stress, but the healing has been very real and life changing.

lets get VERY specific now. if i attended the TXLA confrence without a mask and gave my talk i can tell you this: i would do a dang good job. i can work the heck out of a crowd and (not to reveal too much about my secret way) I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO DO THIS ON OCCASION VERY WELL. however, going home from this event i would very likely be in pain. i would likely need to do physical therapy. i would likely need to stim for a while. i would NOT be emotionally fullfilled in the same way. in other words, without my pink mask i can charm the heck out of buckaroos, but THE SPACE OF CHUCK TINGLE IS NOT THE SPACE FOR THAT. the pink bag is a place for me to not have to put up with that tension. it is a place for me to unmask mentally by masking physically.

this pink bag space SAVED MY LIFE and i am not going to risk blurring these lines. if and when that ever happens it will be MY decision, not someone elses. that is my boundary. the part of me that neurotypically masks could handle a library conference in a purely technical sense, but the part of me that chuck represents absolutely cannot and should not be asked to do that without the pink bag. unfortunately, the complexity of this point makes it even MORE difficult for me to think about and takes up even more of my time, because it forces me to START QUESTIONING MYSELF and my own needs. to be honest, that is the most insidious part of other people questioning your identify and refusing to accept your accommodation needs without ‘proof’.

the thing is, while all of this discussion of disability and accessibility is important, i have a much larger point to make by writing these words.

a conference should not uninvite someone with an unusual physical presentation or a strange way of speaking REGARDLESS of it being classified as a disability. it does not matter WHY i look the way that i look and wear what i wear. i should not have to spend all day writing this post instead of writing my next book, just because my sensibilities are unique and my presentation is unusual. 

fortunately the solution is very simple: let other people be themselves. its not hurting you to simply accept and nod at the buckaroos you think look strange. let us exist

[roanofarcc]

FUNNY BUSINESS

pairing. tyler owens x boone’s sister!reader

summary. boone was a laid-back guy who only really had one, long-standing rule: his sister was off-limits to the wranglers. But tyler had a bad habit of rule-breaking.

 warnings. a curse or two, fem!reader, mentions of drinking/being drunk (not reader), suggestive jokes, bed-sharing.

word count. 4k || masterlist

“You’re the worst, you know that?” Dani said, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the side of the rig alongside Tyler and Boone. She and Tyler had their sights set on you as you concentrated on the options of the vending machine, oblivious to their attention. 

Boone furrowed his brows, having just been focused on the camera in his hands. “Who?” 

“You,” Dani answered. “You brought your hot sister all of the way out here to help us, and then tell us she’s off-limits. It’s cruel and unusual punishment, if ‘ya ask me.” 

A laugh bubbled up from Tyler’s throat, earning him a glare from Boone. “It’s not my fault none of you assholes can keep it in your pants.” 

It was Tyler’s turn to glare, playfully. “I’m a gentleman, Boone. Is it a crime to get to know her, you know, considering she’s a part of the team now?” 

With a sigh, Boone shook his head. “Just no funny business.” 

Tyler mock saluted. “Scouts honor.” 

Tyler was a gentleman; his momma had raised him as such. And despite his teasing, he did want to respect Boone’s words. But at the same time, you were the newest member of the Wranglers, and Tyler did want to get to know you since you’d be hanging around for at least that season. 

Boone had suggested to bring you on to help with the charity aspect of their storm-chasing. The t-shirt and other sales they made from their online audience went mostly to help victims of the storms they chased, and the rest went back into making the merchandise to sell. Boone said you’d be a good addition to help out with the business side of things, and he’d been right from what Tyler had seen so far. You were smart and quick, and were able to keep up with the rest of Wranglers as if you’d been a part of the team since the start. Tyler was impressed. 

But what really impressed him, was how caring you were. It was the first time you’d come along with them to help out a neighborhood that was hit hard by a tornado. Houses were leveled and the devastation was thick in the air from the moment they arrived. 

The Wrangler quickly got to work. Lily and Dexter started making sandwiches. Dani started walking around and passing out water bottles. Boone helped the injured to the ambulances that arrived. Tyler started making rounds, helping families find their missing pets or important objects in the rubble. But as he did so, he couldn’t help but watch you interact with the victims as well. 

A couple of kids from the neighborhood sat together in a clear patch of grass while their parents tried to salvage some of their belongings and figure out what to do next. They all looked teary-eyed, and faces pulled in frowns as they sat quietly, clutching stuffed animals or picking at the wet grass to distract themselves. You approached them, sitting down in the little circle they formed. 

Tyler couldn’t hear what you were saying to them, but your started to look more and more animated and the kids cracked small smiles. After a couple more moments, the kids’ moods looked to shift into something lighter despite the devastation around them. The somber air slowly became filled with giggles and kids’ voices overlapping excitedly. 

Tyler found himself smiling softly at the sight before he ventured over. “How’s it going over here?” he asked, earning your attention. 

“David here is telling us a very interesting story about a space alien,” you said, earning an enthusiastic nod from one of the younger boys in the circle. “You guys keep telling stories and I’m gonna go make sure no one else needs help, okay?” 

The kids all shared a series of ‘okays’ and ‘thank yous’ before you moved to stand up. Tyler outstretched his hand toward you, and you took it with a smile, letting him help you to your feet. Once you stood directly in front of him, he felt himself clam up slightly. He and Dani had made jokes in hopes of irritating Boone in regards to how attractive you were, but seeing you that close, in the after-storm sunlight, Tyler’s breath hitched in his throat. 

“Thanks,” you said, dropping your hand back at your side and gazing around at what else there was to be done in the neighborhood. 

He cleared his throat. “That was smart, keepin’ their minds off of…” he vaguely gestured around them, feeling a knot in his gut of pity for the poor families affected. 

You smiled sadly. “My parents used to do that with Boone and I. When we’d have to wait in the cellar, we’d all tell stories until the storm passed. The more outrageous the better,” you explained. 

“It seemed to work,” Tyler said, glancing at the circle of kids all sharing outrageous stories with laughter and smiles instead of the frowns they held a couple minutes ago. 

“Yeah, at least a little bit,” you said. There was a beat where Tyler didn’t know what else to say. Something over his shoulder caught your eye before you looked back to him and said, “I’m gonna go help Boone.” You sidestepped Tyler and left him in a slight daze. 

He whispered a string of curses under his breath once he was out of earshot of the kids, and hurried back to the camper where the Wranglers were handing out food. 

“I’ve got a problem,” he muttered to his friends. 

Lily handed out another sandwich before eyeing him oddly. “A problem-problem or a you-problem?” 

“A me-problem.” 

“Ah,” she said. “Shoot, cowboy.” 

“It’s Boone’s sister,” he whispered, ensuring that only Lily, Dexter, and Dani heard him. “She’s…”

“Attractive? Yeah, I thought we already established that?” Dani said, opening another case of water. 

Tyler rubbed his forehead, an odd feeling twisting around inside his stomach. “It’s not just that,” he said. “She’s pretty, sure, but-” 

Lily cut him off with slightly wide eyes. “Oh no,” she said. 

Dexter furrowed his brows. “Oh no? Oh no, what?” 

“Tyler only, and I mean only, calls women ‘pretty’ when he has a crush on them. Some ole’ woman at a bar that’s makin’ eyes at him, he’ll call her ‘attractive’ or ‘easy on the eyes’ never ‘pretty.’ Pretty he saves for the ones he’s got a big fat school-boy crush on. And normally that’s all fine and dandy, but this is Boone’s sister we’re talking about, Tyler.” 

He hated how well Lily knew him. She read him like a book. 

Dexter whistled lowly. “That’s unfortunate.” 

“What’s unfortunate?” Boone said, approaching the group with you beside him. All of the Wranglers, aside from you two, looked at Tyler, which was anything but helpful. 

Boone was one of Tyler’s best friends, and he knew it was the right thing to listen to him. Besides, Tyler hadn’t known you long so maybe his ‘school-boy crush,’ as Lily had put it, would fade once he got used to having you around. 

Clearing his throat, Tyler shook his head. “Nothin’ important,” he said. “Let’s pass the rest of this food out before we head out for the night.” 

You adored your brother’s friends more than you thought you would. You’d watch the Wranglers’ livestreams, but it was different being around them in person. Their passion for storm chasing was admirable and how they helped those affected by the very storms they were in awe of was amazing. 

When Boone asked you to help out, you jumped at the opportunity. You certainly didn’t regret your decision, but you greatly underestimated the charm of Tyler Owens. You’d read the comments online, all ogling at the storm chaser, but it wasn’t just his looks that made him incredibly attractive. Tyler’s charm entered everything he did and said, but it was especially enticing when he talked about storms. When he got particularly excited, he spoke with his hands, lips pulled in a grin that was ridiculously mesmerizing. You could have listened to him talk about the weather forever, which was a problem. 

It felt foolish on your part; not only was Tyler one of your brother’s best friends, but you thought he was miles out of your league. He had people practically drooling over him in the comments of his videos and making eyes the second he stepped into a building. He was a personality, wild and loud, but with a sweet side to make him even more likable. You told yourself the little crush would pass, but you worried that if Tyler kept being so damn nice to you, it’d be years before that happened. 

“So, this is how storm chasers spend their off time?” you said, propping your elbows up on the bar before something sticky touched your skin. You recoiled in a grimace. 

A chuckle sounded from Tyler as he handed you a napkin. “Here,” he said. “And yeah, it’s the perfect way to unwind. Though, word of caution, don’t drink too much. Storm chasing hung-over is a different kind of hell.” 

You wiped someone’s spilled drink from your elbows and nodded. “Noted.” There was still a lot you had to learn about the ins and outs of storm chasing, but you were excited to learn. A silence passed between you two, the space filled with the bar chatter. The place was busy for it being in the middle of nowhere; the Wranglers said it was because most people were either dedicated locals or fellow storm chasers looking to relax a little. 

Your brother and the rest of the team were at the old-timey jukebox, picking out songs that they then danced to, loud and rowdy as ever. But Tyler didn’t join them. Instead, he sat at the bar nursing a beer. Before you arrived, he was talking to an old man on the other side of him, cracking jokes like he’d known the stranger for years. 

It was like each minute you were there with them, you uncovered something else about Tyler. And maybe it was a couple of sips of alcohol that were already affecting your system but felt like he should know that. 

“You know, you’re a little different than I thought you’d be,” you admitted. 

He studied for a moment with a gaze that made you nervous, but not in a bad way. “Oh yeah? How’d you think I was gonna be?” 

You shrugged. “I watch the lives, mostly to make sure Boone is okay, but online you seemed…” You weren’t sure of what the right word to use was. You settled on, “More intense, I guess.” 

A smirk crept across his lips. “And I am not intense enough for ‘ya?” 

Your face felt hot, and the busy bar wasn’t helping. You adverted your eyes down to your drink and tried to laugh off your fluster. “I just mean, I thought you’d be like all of the time. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to keep up and you’d all think I wasn’t a good fit.” 

The smirk fell from Tyler’s face and was replaced with a furrow of his brows. “Are you crazy?” he said. “We needed someone like you on our team. I know you just started, but I think you’re the best fit we could’ve picked.” 

“Careful,” you teased. “Too many compliments like that might go to my head.” Even though you were pretty sure he was just trying to make you feel better, there was something in his tone that was convincing. 

“What are y’all doin’?” Boone’s voice filled your ears and suddenly his arm was slung around both your and Tyler’s shoulders, forcing you two to lean in a little bit closer to one another, but with Boone sandwiched in the middle. Your brother’s breath smelled like beer and there was that goofy smile on his face he always got when he had one too many. “The party’s on the dance floor!” 

You glanced over at the ‘dance floor’ which was a little space the Wranglers had carved out in front of the jukebox. A couple others joined them, but it wasn’t anything too wild. 

Tyler shook his head and finished his beer. “Your ass is gonna be sorry tomorrow, Boone. I told you we’re leaving bright and early.” 

Boone patted Tyler’s cheek. “I’ll be just fine.” 

Boone was not ‘just fine’ the next morning. What he was a pain in Tyler’s ass, which resulted in him being demoted to the backseat and you prompted to the passenger seat. Maybe that wasn’t the best move for Tyler because while he was driving, he found himself slightly distracted by you. 

You sat with your attention fixed out the window, watching the plains roll by with admiration. Every so often you fiddled with the radio per Lily’s request, but other than that you were quiet, observing. 

“Can we take a pit stop?” Boone moaned. Tyler glanced at in the rearview mirror, face paled and eyes squeezed shut. 

Tyler sighed. “I swear, if you throw up in my truck, Boone…” Tyler muttered, straining his eyes down the road for any sign of a gas station, but there didn’t look to be anything close. 

“There’s not another stop for half an hour tops,” you said, searching on your phone. 

“Great, cool, yeah,” Boone said. “Then you may wanna pull over or else everyone’s about to have a real bad time in here.” 

Tyler quickly pulled off to the side of the road and Boone scrambled out, across the road to empty his stomach. 

“I don’t know how many times I’ve got to tell him,” Tyler sighed. 

“He won’t listen,” Lily said, unbuckling and sticking her face between you and Tyler. “I’ll make sure he’s all right. You two keep an eye on the weather.” She hopped out, leaving you and Tyler alone. 

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, wracking his brain for something to say to you. Normally he had no issue talking to people, but he found himself second-guessing his words when it came to you. But you beat him to the punch. 

“He’s never been too good at holding his alcohol,” you said. “I can’t tell you how many times I had to pick him up because he got sick at some friend’s bonfire back in high school. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone get hangovers so badly.” 

“All a part of his charm, I guess,” Tyler joked. “Does it run in the family?” 

You shook your head. “No, neither charm nor hangovers. Boone’s one of a kind, that’s for sure.” 

Tyler steadied himself a little, finding that thread of confidence in the back of his mind. He gazed at you, taking in the pretty features of your face. “I think you’re wrong on the charming bit.” 

You looked surprised, eyes a little wider. “Me? Charming?” You scoffed. “No way.” 

“Charming, smart, pretty…” Tyler trailed off, waiting for a reaction from you to let him know if he had swung and missed. You looked down, averting your eyes and clearing your throat. Out the windshield, he saw two figures moving in his peripheral vision and before you got the chance to say anything back, Boone and Lily reentered the car. 

“That’s my bad, you guys,” Boone said. 

You turned your head over your shoulder to look at your brother. “Feel better?” 

“Oh, yeah. Ready to chase this son of a bitch!” And you all were off again. Tyler wished Boone and Lily had held out for one more minute. He wanted some kind of response from you, even if it was one telling him he had no chance. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, and one he felt bad about having, but he couldn’t help it. You were something new, a little unknown, and unpredictable. If there was one thing Tyler was good at, it was chasing through his apprehension. But instead of a tornado, you had quickly become the storm occupying his mind. 

You knocked for the fifth time on Boone’s door and tried calling him again, but one thing about your brother was that he was one of the heaviest sleepers of anyone you’ve ever met. That paired with his hangover from the night prior left him not answering you. You cursed under your breath, ready to set up camp in one of the rickety pool lounge chairs. 

There was an unpleasant pair of cockroaches in your motel room and the thought of sleeping with them scurrying about was out of the question. Since none of the other Wranglers had left their rooms, you wondered if you were the only one to notice them or the only one who had them. Whatever the case was, you couldn’t sleep in your room and apparently, you couldn’t sleep in Boone’s either because he was fast asleep. You couldn’t remember where Dani and Lily's rooms were to ask to bunk them. 

It seemed like you were out of luck until the door next to Boone’s opened and a groggy Tyler stepped out. “What’s goin’ on?” he yawned, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. 

You hugged your arms closer to your body. “Sorry, did I wake you up?” 

“Sorta,” he answered and you felt immediately guilty. “But it’s all right. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay out here. What’re you doin’ up anyway? It’s the middle of the night.” 

“There are cockroaches in my room,” you sighed. “I was trying to see if I could crash with Boone, but he sleeps like the dead.” 

Tyler chuckled. “That he does.” There was a beat and silent contemplation. You were about to tell him you’d crash in the camper or the truck, but he nodded his head back toward his room. “Come on,” he said. 

You stood, confused for a moment. “You can crash with me. I don’t think my room has cockroaches but for both our peace of mind, I wouldn’t look around too hard.” 

You weren't sure if you were elated or embarrassed. Overall, you were tired, exhausted even, and any thought of declining fled your mind the second Tyler turned to walk back inside, assuming you were following. So, you did. 

Tyler patted the edge of the bed. “It’s all yours,” he said, gathering one of the pillows in his arms. 

“What’re you doing?” 

He tossed the pillow onto the floor. “Praying for no cockroaches for the next couple of hours.” 

“No, wait,” you rushed out. “You can’t sleep on the floor.” 

“It’s all good-” he started, but you cut him off. 

“No way. I’m not kicking you out of your bed in your room.” You glanced at the bed, feeling your face grow hot at the thought of what you were about to suggest, but you couldn’t let him spend the night on the floor. “We can just…share.” 

Tyler stared at you for a moment, like he didn’t know what to say. He shifted his gaze between the pillow on the floor and the bed before landing back on you. “Are you sure? Because I really don’t mind.” 

“I’m sure.” 

Hesitantly, you sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off your shoes, trying to ignore the shift of weight on the mattress as sat down opposite of you. It wasn’t as big of a deal as your mind was trying to tell you it was. It was just two co-workers, borderline friends, sharing a bed so no one had to face any cockroaches. That was all it was. But even in the darkness of the motel room, you couldn’t help the quick beat of your heart as you crawled under the covers, with your back facing Tyler. He did the same and before you could convince yourself what you were doing was not a big deal at all, Tyler’s soft snores filled the room. It was oddly reassuring. You fell asleep not long after him, a clear space between you but something in the air that wanted to draw you two closer. 

For a moment, when he woke up, Tyler thought the exchange he had with you in the middle of the night had been a dream. But when he rolled over to find your sleeping face inches away from his, he realized it was very much real. Your eyes were softly closed and your lips slightly parted as you slept. He found himself admiring you for just a moment, until there was a loud knock on his door, forcing him to get up. 

He threw it open without thinking much about it. Boone greeted him with a slightly worried expression pulled on his face. “Hey, man what’s-” 

“Have you seen my sister? She called me last night a bunch of times, but I didn’t hear it. And when I went to her room no one answered,” Boone said, quickly cutting Tyler off. 

“Boone?” Your voice sounded from behind Tyler and as soon as he saw the several emotions flicker across Boone’s face, he realized he may have made a mistake. 

Boone’s gaze flickered between you sleepily sitting up in Tyler’s bed and Tyler. “Dude!” he exclaimed. “What the hell is going on here?” 

It must have registered with you too how the situation looked. You hurried out of bed and stood at Tyler’s side. “Wait, hold on-” 

“What the hell are you doing?” he said to you. “I said no funny business,” he then said to Tyler. 

“It’s not like that,” Tyler rushed out. “I know that it looks like that, but it’s not. I swear.” 

“He’s right,” you added. “It’s not. I needed a place to crash because there were bugs in my room, and you wouldn’t answer your phone. Tyler offered to let me stay in his. That’s all.” 

Boone didn’t look too convinced. He crossed his arms over his chest, blowing air from his cheeks. “You two have been making googly eyes at each other since you arrived,” Boone said. Both you and Tyler tried to defend yourself, even if Tyler hadn’t been super subtle about his ‘googly’ eyes. But Boone cut you both off with a wave of his hand. “Save it. I know both of you. You,” he pointed to Tyler. “Are the least subtle person I know. And you,” he pointed at you. “Have been talking about him since I started chasing with him.” 

Your eyes widened almost comically as you sputtered over your response. “I-I have not!” 

“Look,” Boone started, taking a deep breath. “You’re both adults. But if you’re gonna get into any funny business, for the love of the Lord himself, do not do it around me. Got it?” 

“Okay,” you answered, catching Tyler off guard. He expected you to brush your brother off and force Tyler to face the reality that you had no interest in him, but you didn’t. 

Boone looked to him for his answer. “Y-Yeah.” 

“Good,” Boone said. “We’re leavin’ in fifteen.” He turned on his heel and left the two of you in the doorway. Once he was out of earshot, a laugh sounded from your lips, a sweet sound he wasn’t expecting. 

“God, that was embarrassing,” you said, still laughing at the situation. 

Tyler couldn’t help but laugh too, closing the door and leaving the two of you alone in his motel room once more. “Is that true? You talk about me?” 

You hung your head, sheepishly and shrugged. “Maybe.” The idea of you talking about him made him feel on top of the world. “Is what he said about you true? Are you really not that subtle?” 

“I did invite you to sleep with me,” he joked, taking a step closer to you. You didn’t move away but instead closed the distance between you two even more. He searched your eyes for a sign that you were thinking the same thing he was, and when your gaze flickered to his lips for only a second, he got his confirmation. 

Tyler hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head upwards just slightly as he leaned in. He kissed you slowly, sweetly as you hung your arms around his shoulders to bring him in even closer, the two of you pressed chest to chest. He felt you smile against his lips, a blissful feeling he didn’t to end.

[dailymanners]

I feel as though in the past few years it's becoming more common for me to be interrupted while I'm speaking, and I can't help but wonder if more people are losing a sense of conversational rhythm due to communicating more and more digitally and less and less in person.

When you communicate digitally you don't have to worry about finding the natural rhythm of the conversation, you're not taking away someone else's ability to finish their thought or make their point if you send a message to them while they're still typing. I'm not here to scare monger about the kids and their phones, but it's important that you don't let your skill of finding a conversational rhythm, if you have that skill, atrophy, lest you speak over someone and take away their ability to complete their thought and make their point.

But I also realize that it's really important to specify what I mean by interrupting someone.

When someone says that interrupting is really normal and not considered rude in their community or culture, what they're actually talking about is what's known in linguistics as "cooperative overlap", that or simultaneous talking. Here's an example of cooperative overlap and/or simultaneous talking that you might see in a culture where this is normal and acceptable:

Person A: So guess where I went today? I went to the -

Person B: Oh let me take a wild guess! You went to the shoe store again didn't you?

Person A: That's right, and I got a -

Person C: Oh come on, don't tell you got another pair!

Person A: You know it baby!

Now let's compare that to a different style of interruption, what I like to call "steamrolling"

Person A: So guess where I went today? I went to the -

Person B: UGH did you guys catch the game last night?

Person C: Yeah the refs sucked!

Now, what differences can you see between the first example, aka "cooperative overlapping" vs the second "steamrolling" example?

For one, in the first example Person A is still allowed to make their point, tell their story, and finish their thought. They're not being silenced or completely derailed, and most importantly their conversation partners still seem interested and engaged in what they have to say. In the second example, Person A is being completely derailed and stripped of their chance to finish their thought and make their point, which is unfair to Person A, which is what makes "steamrolling" disrespectful even in many cultures and communities where "cooperative overlapping" would be acceptable.

Now, conversational overlap isn't for everyone, and that's okay, but it makes it awkward and tricky when someone from a community or culture that uses conversational overlap talks to someone who is from a culture that doesn't. For example:

Person A: So the other day I went to -

Person B: Oh my god did you go to that one store?

Person A: Um, no, I went to the movies, and I saw -

Person B: OH did you see that new creepy movie about the aliens?

Person A: No, can I please just finish my story?

Person B: Oh, uh, sorry

Neither person will probably feel great after this conversation. And I'm not here to condemn either conversational styles. I understand why some people see cooperative overlap as a more engaging and exciting conversational style, but I also understand why some people find it frustrating. My mother's family has a cultural background big on conversational overlap, but my father's side of the family ehhh not so much, so I personally grew up seeing these two conversational styles clash a lot.

If you're person A in the above conversation who doesn't like conversational overlap, that's totally fine, I'm personally not a big fan of it either only because I have a terrible memory, so when someone disrupts my flow I usually end up completely forgetting what I want to say. Just try to recognize the difference between cooperative overlap vs steamrolling. If someone is just trying to cooperatively overlap with you, patiently and politely tell them something along the lines of "sorry I have a terrible memory so if I don't finish I'll forget what I'm trying to say". But it's generally a good idea to be more patient and understanding with conversational overlap than steamrolling.

If you're someone who cooperatively overlaps and you encounter someone who isn't a fan of it, try not to take it personally, maybe like me they have a horrible memory and will forget what they're trying to say if they get side tracked.

But what I meant earlier about conversational rhythm is that too often a lot of interrupting comes from not realizing the other person wasn't finished speaking.

For example, personal A wants to say "so the other day I went hiking, and I saw a fox" some people might not recognize when person A is actually finished speaking, typically they assume as soon as they've heard a complete clause that means the thought is finished, so the conversation goes like

Person A: So the other day I went hiking -

Person B: OH I went hiking a few weeks ago with my girlfriend but it was so slippery out!

Person C: Oh how is your girlfriend doing by the way?

Person B: She's doing great! How's your partner doing?

Do you see how this style of interruption, unlike cooperative overlap, also derails Person A and deprives Person A of a chance to finish what they want to say? It's not quite steamrolling, and often just comes from a lack of rhythm or understanding. As a general rule, if you want to avoid interrupting someone, pause for a few seconds after you think they're finished in case they aren't actually finished. This way you avoid accidentally depriving someone of the chance to finish what they want to say and completing their thought.

We should never be too eager to assume someone has finished making their point because you never know what someone might actually be trying to say, and if you cut someone off before they make their point you can miss important context. For example:

Person A: I don't think I see stray cats here -

Person B: AHA BULL FUCKING SHIT! I totally saw a stray cat the other day!

Person A: I was going to say as much as in other places if you had let me finish?

Or:

Person A: I hate when it's hot out. When I was a kid it was usually around 25 or 30 degrees Celsius in the summers -

Person B: OH come one don't be such a wimpy little baby! 25-30 degrees isn't even that warm! I've totally seen WAY hotter summers than that!

Person A: Uh, that's what I was going to say if you'd let me finish, the summers were pretty mild when I was a kid, but they're a lot hotter now . .

Do you see how in both conversations Person B was too eager to assume Person A had finished making their point and ended up missing important context? If person B had only paused and waited for Person A to finish making their point, they wouldn't have ended up making an ass of themselves to put it frankly. This style of interruption can make you come across as eager to dominate and "one up" other people, which frankly a lot of people find obnoxious and exhausting. This is different than cooperative overlapping because it comes from a place of wanting to correct or one-up your conversation partner, rather than play and/or build into what they're saying, which is why I'd argue it's closer to steamrolling.

Good conversational rhythm ideally means everyone is allowed to finish their thought and make their point, whether or not that includes overlapping or even simultaneous talking. If you're not sure someone has finished their thought, pause a few seconds to make sure they've had the chance to complete their thought, less you miss important context. OR, if you do interject, it should be about building/playing into what they're saying rather than derailing/steamrolling them.

What's important to keep in mind is that it's often a matter of power and respect when someone is or isn't allowed to finish their thought and make their point. If someone is unable to finish their thought or make their point before getting steamrolled, they're going to feel like their input to the conversation isn't valued or important, and that's never a good feeling.

[soniaknox]

How To Write A Plot Twist

1. Lay the Groundwork (Set Up the Twist)

• Plant clues: Leave subtle hints that seem insignificant at first but gain importance in hindsight. These are “breadcrumbs” for the audience.

• Establish expectations: Lead the audience down a path of assumptions. Use misdirection to make the twist feel unexpected but not out of nowhere.

• Avoid obvious tropes: Be aware of overused twists (e.g., “It was all a dream”) and either subvert them or build upon them uniquely.

2. Build the Tension

• Create stakes: Make the audience care deeply about the characters or the situation. When the twist comes, it should feel like a significant shift in those stakes.

• Add foreshadowing: Subtle hints or recurring motifs make the twist feel earned. For example, if a character turns out to be a villain, tiny actions or dialogue could subtly reflect their true nature.

• Play with timing: A twist often works best at a moment of high tension, where it either resolves or exacerbates the conflict.

3. Deliver the Twist

• Surprise and clarity: The twist should shock the audience but also make them say, “Of course, that makes sense!” upon reflection.

• Keep it believable: Even if surprising, the twist must fit within the story’s internal logic. If it feels random, it risks alienating readers.

• Reveal it organically: Use character actions, dialogue, or key events to unveil the twist naturally rather than outright explaining it.

4. Deepen the Story

• Shift the stakes: A great twist doesn’t just shock—it recontextualizes everything that came before it. It might make readers see previous events in a new light.

• Challenge characters: Show how the twist changes their motivations, relationships, or trajectory.

• Keep momentum: The story shouldn’t lose energy after the twist. Instead, it should propel the narrative into a new and exciting direction.

Types of Plot Twists

1. Identity Reveal: A character isn’t who they seem (e.g., a friend is the villain).

2. False Assumptions: The audience and/or characters misunderstood an event or situation.

3. Reversal of Fortune: Something unexpected dramatically alters the protagonist’s circumstances.

4. Unreliable Narrator: The perspective we’ve trusted turns out to be false or misleading.

5. Hidden Connections: Two seemingly unrelated elements turn out to be connected.

6. Misdirection: A red herring diverts attention away from the true twist.

Examples of Great Plot Twists

1. The Sixth Sense (Identity reveal): The protagonist is dead the whole time.

2. Gone Girl (False assumptions): The missing wife orchestrated her own disappearance.

3. Fight Club (Unreliable narrator): The protagonist and his enemy are the same person.

4. The Others (Reversal of fortune): The protagonists are ghosts, not the haunted.

5. Shutter Island (Hidden connections): The protagonist is a patient in the asylum he’s investigating.

Pitfalls to Avoid

• Predictability: If the twist is too obvious, it loses impact.

• Lack of setup: A twist without groundwork feels unearned.

• Twist for twist’s sake: Don’t add a twist just to shock; it must serve the story.

[supersoakerfullofblood]

Point of View: the Biggest Thing You're Missing!

Point of view is one of the most important elements of narrative fiction, especially in our modern writing climate, but you rarely hear it seriously discussed unless you go to school for writing; rarely do help blogs or channels hit on it, and when they do, it's never as in-depth as it should be. This is my intro to POV: what you're probably missing out on right now and why it matters. There are three essential parts of POV that we'll discuss.

Person: This is the easiest part to understand and the part you probably know already. You can write in first person (I/me), second (You), and third person (He/she/they). You might hear people talk about how first person brings the reader closer to the central character, and third person keeps them further away, but this isn't true (and will be talked about in the third part of this post!) You can keep the reader at an intimate or alien distance to a character regardless of which person you write in. The only difference--and this is arguable--is that first person necessitates this intimacy where third person doesn't, but you still can create this intimacy in third person just as easily. In general, third person was the dominant (and really the only) tense until the late 19th century, and first person grew in popularity with the advent of modernism, and nowadays, many children's/YA/NA books are written in first person (though this of course doesn't mean you can't or shouldn't write those genres in the third person). Second person is the bastard child. Don't touch it, even if you think you're clever, for anything the length of a novel. Shorter experimental pieces can use it well, but for anything long, its sounds more like a gimmick than a genuine stylistic choice.

Viewpoint Character: This is a simple idea that's difficult in practice. Ask yourself who is telling your story. This is typically the main character, but it needn't be. Books like The Book Thief, The Great Gatsby, Rebecca, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and the Sherlock series are told from the perspective of a side character who isn't of chief importance to the narrative. Your viewpoint character is this side character, the character the reader is seeing the world through, so the main character has to be described through them. This isn't a super popular narrative choice because authors usually like to write from the perspective of their most interesting character, but if you think this choice could fit your story, go for it! You can also swap viewpoint characters throughout a story! A word of warning on that: only change your viewpoint character during a scene/chapter break. Switching mid-scene without alerting the reader (and even when you do alert the reader) will cause confusion. I guarantee it.

Means of Perception; or, the Camera: This part ties the first two together. If you've ever heard people talk about an omniscient, limited, etc. narrator, this is what they mean. This part also includes the level of intimacy the reader has with the viewpoint character: are we in their heads, reading their thoughts, or are we so far away that we can only see their actions? If your story is in a limited means of perception, you only have access to your character's head, eyes, and interpretations, where an omniscient narrator sees through all characters' heads at once. (This doesn't eliminate the viewpoint character--most of your writing will still be in that character's head, but you're allowed to reach into other characters' thoughts when needed. You could also be Virginia Woolf, who does fluidly move through everyone's perspectives without a solid viewpoint character, but I would advise against this unless you really are a master of the craft.) Older novels skew towards third person omniscient narration, where contemporary novels skew towards first person limited. You also have a spectrum of "distant" and "close." If omniscient and limited are a spectrum of where the camera can swivel to, distant and close is a spectrum of how much the camera can zoom in and out. Distant only has access to the physical realities of the world and can come off as cold, and close accesses your character's (or characters', if omniscient) thoughts. Notice how I said narration. Your means of perception dramatically effects how your story can be told! Here's a scene from one of my stories rewritten in third-person distant omniscient. The scene is a high school football game:

“Sometimes,” he said. “Not much anymore.” “It’s not better, then?” She shivered; the wind blew in. “A little.” His tone lifted. “I don’t know if it’ll ever be better, though.” She placed a hand on his arm, stuttered there, and slipped her arm around his waist. “Did it help to be on your own?” He raised an eyebrow. “You were there.” “Yes and no.” “And the guys, the leaders.” “Come on,” she heckled. “Okay, okay.” Carmen sighed. “Yeah, it helped. I don’t think—I don’t know—I’d be me if they’d fixed it all.” She grinned. “And who might you be?” “Oh, you know. Scared, lonely.” He fired them haphazardly, and a bout of laughter possessed him which Piper mirrored. “Impatient.” “And that’s a good thing?” “No.” He sat straight. “Gosh, no. But I don’t want to be like him, either.” He pointed to the field; Devon recovered a fumbled ball. “He’s never been hurt in his life.” She met his eyes, which he pulled away. “You don’t mean that," Piper said. “Maybe not. He’s too confident, though.” The cloth of Carmen's uniform caved and expanded under Piper's fingers.

With distant-omniscient, we only get the bare actions of the scene: the wind blows in, Piper shivers, the cloth rises and falls, Carmen points, etc. But you can tell there's some emotional and romantic tension in the scene, so let's highlight that with a first person limited close POV:

“Sometimes,” he said. “Not much anymore.” “It’s not better, then?” Frost spread up from her legs and filled her as if she were perforated rock, froze and expanded against herself so that any motion would disturb a world far greater than her, would drop needles through the mind’s fabric. A misplaced word would shatter her, shatter him. “A little.” His tone lifted. “I don’t know if it’ll ever be better, though.” She placed a hand on his arm, thought better, and slipped her arm around his waist. “Did it help to be on your own?” He raised an eyebrow. “You were there.” “Yes and no.” “And the guys, the leaders.” “Come on,” she heckled. “Okay, okay.” Carmen sighed. “Yeah, it helped. I don’t think—I don’t know—I’d be me if they’d fixed it all.” She grinned. “And who might you be?” “Oh, you know. Scared, lonely.” He fired them haphazardly, and a bout of laughter possessed him which Piper mirrored. “Impatient.” “And that’s a good thing?” “No.” He sat straight. “Gosh, no. But I don’t want to be like him, either.” He pointed to the field; Devon recovered a fumbled ball. “He’s never been hurt in his life.” “You don’t mean that.” She spoke like a jaded mother, spoke with some level of implied authority, and reminded herself again to stop. “Maybe not. He’s too confident, though.” Piper felt the cloth of his waist cave and expand under her fingers and thought: is this not confidence?

Here, we get into Piper's thoughts and physical sensations: how the frost rises up her, and how this sensation of cold is really her body expressing her nervous fears; how she "thought better" and put her arm around his waist; her thought "is this not confidence?"; and how she reminds herself not to talk like a mother. Since I was writing from the close, limited perspective of a nervous high schooler, I wrote like one. If I was writing from the same perspective but with a child or an older person, I would write like them. If you're writing from those perspectives in distant narration, however, you don't need to write with those tones but with the authorial tone of "the narrator."

This is a lot of info, so let's synthesize this into easy bullet points to remember.

Limited vs. Omniscient. Are you stuck to one character's perspective per scene or many?

Close vs. Distant. Can you read your characters' thoughts or only their external worlds? Remember: if you can read your character's thoughts, you also need to write like you are that character experiencing the story. If child, write like child; if teen, write like teen; etc.

Here's another way to look at it!

This is a confusing and complex topics, so if you have any questions, hit up my ask box, and I'll answer as best I can. The long and short of it is to understand which POV you're writing from and to ruthlessly stick to it. If you're writing in limited close, under no circumstances should you describe how a character other than your viewpoint character is feeling. Maintaining a solid POV is necessary to keeping the dream in the reader's head. Don't make them stumble by tripping up on POV!