#skywarpfictive

I miss my trine. I don’t need them to live, necessarily… but god would it be nice to have them around. I’m fucking lonely and I hate how… empty my processor feels without them, without their presence crowding mine.

It is getting unbearable so I& am sending a canoncall on both mine& and Skywarp's behalf

The funny thing about having three skywarps in a system is that all three have extremely different opinions about Starscream but they’re all wildly unhealthily attached to the mech anyways.

Days Skywarp has gone without crying or otherwise having a breakdown about missing his trine: 3 Zero, as of right fucking now. TC. Thundercracker. My beautiful, handsome mech. Built so big and strong, all to protect us. Star, oh Starscream. My ingenious, silvertongued Trineleader. My beloveds. I miss you both more than my spark can bear. It tears me apart inside. I miss you both so badly. I need you both. It’s… pathetic, how little I’m able to function without your voices in my audials and your gentle nudges in my processor guiding me along. I wish you were here. I know you would hate to see me in this state, but I so badly wish you were here. If only for the comfort your presences would provide.

staring at the wall realizing my TC was the youngest of the trine. baby. loud ass baby. thunderbaby. babycracker. actually no that last one sounds wrong. but like. oh my god. no wonder he still had a functioning moral compass.

I’m so tired of missing you. I hate that it feels like I need permission to let go of you. Like I’m waiting for you to order me away, waiting for you to cut my tether. I hate knowing that even if you told me to move on, I don’t know if I could.

Canon Clothes: well… it’s more,, nailpolish. Purple, Metallic and Sparkly. Catches the light with a brilliant shine. It reminds me of the Decepticon insignia, a bit. or maybe my own Paintjob? But either way it’s a comfort, to look at our hands and feel that they’re mine.

You used to call me desperate for your attention, in the fondest tone your vocalizer could muster. Your servo would cup my cheek, tilting my helm ever so slightly up so that I would look you right in the optics and see the [love/care/possessiveness] burning in your gaze. Your talons would dig into my face just the slightest bit; leaving the faintest scratches. I kept them, hidden away under my mask; as a mark of your love.