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HOW DO YOU NEED TO BE TOUCHED?
gently.
you need to be held as though you're going to break. you need someone to trace your scars like cracks in a wall, crumbling. their touch is almost painful; you've been without it for too long, without someone to hold you. but, you cannot bring yourself to pull away.
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⚡️ Would you really and truly kill Pizzahead if you had the chance?
send “⚡️” and a question and my muse will be forced to answer honestly.
" ... what you want me to say? that i think his life is worth something? that i think he got good in his heart, deep down?
i will only hesitate because if i kill him, i don't get the satisfaction of doing it more than one time. "
answered ask,
John Mulaney Sentence Starters (accepting) ❝ Ah…numbers. The letters of math. ❞ ~Twilight @universalcarnival
“But, Twilight... aren’t there letters in math, too?”
Letters and numbers mashed together in equations confused the daylights out of her. Algebra back in her school days was enough to make her shudder.
Oh, how she admired Twilight’s intellect and her, well... Twilightiness.
15, 35!
THE BE HONEST MEME.
15. How has rp changed you personally? Uh. There are probely less than three people that knew me when I started. I was really in a mentally bad place, and dealt with someone that emotionally fucked with my headspace for years, I mean literal years. I actually wanted to die back when I was around sixteen / seventeen. Someone I wrote with actually talked me out of an attempt, I still owe them to this day because it was really important that they did that. It’s also given me the best non-adoptive sibling. I have a really close friend on here that has known me for years, that I went and saw and she’s been a lifeline for many years for me and I’ve gotten her mental health better also, and it’s really important that friendships can help heal you and make you want to get better, even with fights and all. I also owe a lot to @affcgato @adversitybloomed @huckleberrytm @postguilt @daniwrit @dissolvedshadows for giving me a lot over these last few years. You guys have seen me at my worst moments and gotten me through some pretty bad times, and really I’ve grown a lot for it. Much love to you all. 35. Do you read other people’s threads or do you only read your own? Lmfao. Man, I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t read my dash, people like @omniphrenia @daniwrit @ryuhart @valkyrel @bigaoneun @uchikatsu @countrywestern @outdraws @viragod @adversitybloomed like i support other writers, i love seeing how people write, it’s how you grow as one reading other people’s stuff and i love understanding how they write their muses tbh. love u all.
💬
Lennox is no medic; he is no mechanic.
He never has been, never wanted to be, before he got into the Army. But when his squad took fire, before or after NEST was established, he was always there, jumping into action- holding a soldier’s wound closed and screaming for a medic, murmuring soft comforts into a soldier’s ear even as he screamed for his mother, for water, for mercy.
So after NEST is established, it’s immediately natural that he dives for a bot when he sees a large splash of energon, hears him hit the ground. Silver plating- not Ironhide, which he hates brings comfort to his chest, the same comfort when it’s not Epps- is wet under his hands, and he hasn’t got a mechanic’s kit, hasn’t got anything to block off that line-
He grabs the ruptured line with his hands, holds it together, even as his voice raises in a sharp cry for Ratchet, his comms broadcasting his shout and pinging back Ratchet’s affirmative. His hands are there, clutching that line for dear life, and he huddles down, against Sideswipe’s frame to avoid gunfire, promising the silver mech that he’ll be okay, that Ratchet will be there soon, and the bot grumbles, something about how he doesn’t need some squishy reassuring him.
Lennox has been around the bots enough to know that when they’re scared, their plating fluffs up, and like a human, their fuel pump rate increases. He hears Sideswipe’s denial, feels his truth under his hands in the speed of hot lifeblood.
Ratchet arrives, as he always does, and he’s not too gentle as he moves Lennox aside, into the arms of a human medic. Her eyes are wide with alarm- he wonders, for a moment, if this is her first assignment, though a scar through her lip says otherwise, dancing as she speaks- “Major- your hands.”
Usually, the humans didn’t touch Energon. The engineers working with the Autobots were always so careful, and he’d never considered the damage that their lifeblood could do to organic material. He assumes, then, that he’d managed to catch his hand on some sharp edge on Sideswipe’s armor, but as his gaze follows the medic’s, all he can do is stare at the welts, raised and angry, from where Energon had splashed through the hole he’d been forcing shut.
“Oh,” he says. What else can he say? The medic pulls him down, to the ground, and pulls a bottle of water from her pack. The wound is rinsed, first, and tightly wrapped with gauze, but when he reaches for his gun, a sharp snarl of his title stops him, the medic’s hand firm on his shoulder. “They need me,” a protest, a statement, as she grips him, pulls him back towards command.
Her reply is tense, sharp. “You need medical attention.” The tone invites no debate, so Lennox brings none, lets her pull him up, and offers a terse nod to Epps. A quick nod in response, and he’s shouting orders.
He finds out later that these were chemical burns; a few months of treatment, and they fade from welts to scabs to scars, as burns tend to do. The doctors lecture him on the dangers of Energon, on why he should avoid holding lines closed without protective gear- Epps does, too, even as he knows, deep down inside, that Lennox won’t listen.
The scars layer and multiply.
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things you said when it ended
* things said meme
He was your sunlight. Your fingers curl around an old bottle. Whiskey. An old bottle that has long been forgotten in the days that were golden. The happy days. The golden eves as your uncle called it. His fingers curl around the bottle, steady. One hand squeezes between the bridge of his nose, he’s stifling emotions. There’s evidence here of a fight that much is shown. It was never physical violence with the pair of them, but the words exchanged. There’s nothing left, not a bone in his body that doesn’t feel like it’s been torn apart. He lets the bottle rest on his knee. Eyes vacant as he stares at the photo: their wedding photo on the dresser. He can see their smiling faces and it leaves him bitter. He wonders how they got to this point, how everything fell apart. How he wasn’t worth enough? How he didn’t do enough. Hoe he wasn’t healthy enough to cradle him in his fingertips and never let go. It leaves a taste in your mouth when you are the reason someone leaves you. His cat is out of their apartment. Baast had been taken with Kal, and Upa hadn’t even expected for the white cat to be gone. The emotional support he had is shattered further by the fact that cat always clung to him in times that he was shaking or vividly upset like now. Upa closes his eyes shaking. “How many times are you going to do this to yourself? You agree that you’d be honest. Upast I can’t keep living like this. You agreed you’d fix yourself. I can’t be the one to keep saving you.” -- The silence in the room hangs, until Upa leans over a grabs an old music device that’s wireless to let connect to the radio in the room. He lets himself fall backwards onto the bed: he can still smell the sunlight. He can still smell him in the sheets even though it’s been a few days. He closes his eyes, lets the bottle rest on the bed beside him. “How many times have you promised me?-” He can remember the sharp look in his eyes. The heat that had come from him, the searing that had hit against the meat of his thigh when Kal had recoiled from a gentle touch. How he hadn’t reacted to the burn. How the patch of skin was gone and it had just been so simple. It had just been a fight gone bad. How it had just been a burn- “I can’t do this to you. You don’t. You didn’t even react, Upa.” Upa vaguely hears the radio playing and the sound coming from it when he uncorks the bottle of whiskey. Takes a sip, it burns but not as sharply as some of the mead he drinks at times. He feels the heat when it hits the back of his throat. - “I love you but I can’t hurt you like this, not when you don’t even react. You need to get better. I can’t fix this, I can’t fix you. You need someone to help you.-- He drains the bottle and by the morning he’s gone out of the apartment and stepped through a portal into the deserts of new Mexico, his burn still stinging harshly on his thigh. Maybe this time, he’ll get better.
Introit, Domine jesu christe, Libera me
introit - if your muse could revive one person from the dead, who would it be and why?
He’s torn, for this one, between Yoketron and Ultra Magnus. His dads The bots he looked up to most are both gone, and that doesn’t even mention Prowl.
domine jesu christe - write about the last time your muse was tempted
Tyran’s currently being seduced to the Wreckers with promises of actual tears if he dies so-
libera me - write a small drabble about why your muse is awake at 2 am.
“Hurts...” He’s curled in a ball, servos tight over his chest. Scars, from torture long past, litter his spark chamber- marks from attempts to get him to talk of his mods, from attempts to reverse-engineer them. On his spark itself, a dark mark- it had been described, once, like a sunspot; he wonders if stars hurt so much. Once, he would have pinged Ratchet for assistance, but for tonight, he’ll wait.
@x-blood-bound-chronicles-x sent:
“reprogrammed”
Send “reprogrammed” for a starter where my muse has amnesia and has been tricked into thinking that they work for the villain(s).
When Rin had woken up, he’d been picked up by an unfamiliar face, someone who’d leaned of his condition, the amnesia he’d suffered from the fight he’d gotten into. He hadn’t been aware of their malicious intentions in them taking him. Were he not injured, having the memories knocked loose, he would have known that they hadn’t been an ally.
When approached by the...unfamiliar person, Rin frowns, defensive. “You stay back.”
