#;self harm tw

[alacritysparked]

@warriordiscipline || from [x]

As soon as he’s brought close to the yellow chassis, small claws and sharp pedes are immediately latching on, instinct driving the kneading servos deeper into the mech’s plating as he curls close and chitters anxiously. Red optics dart around as the dark bitty’s plates ripple and tremble. He doesn’t know where he is, how he got here, where his caretaker is or why he would leave him; but the soothing pulse of a nearby spark—friendly, like the servo still cupped protectively around him—keeps the usually so agitated hatchling at ease. At least for now.

Some out of reach part of his mind is able to grab onto and process the words being spoken above him, but it isn’t until the word energon meets his audials that the bitty perks up, apprehension shrinking slightly at the prospect of fuel. Even as an old warning from his caretaker comes to mind—to never trust mechs he doesn’t know—he can’t help it. He feels so deprived of fuel, like he hasn’t had a drop of proper energon in… in he can’t comprehend how long, he doesn’t care who it is he gets it from, as long as he gets it.

Even if he doesn’t know who this mech is, the field around him is warm and comforting, the spark he’s clinging over carrying a strong and protective energy to it; and surely, if they would be willing to feed him, they couldn’t be that that bad. Right?

A soft hiss releases from his vents, his free servo clenching as chassis plating bends ever so slightly. He lets out an annoyed twitter - he’ll have to repaint that later - before heading towards the half-garage area. His digit traces the bitlet’s helm, soothing as best as he can. Once he knows he’s out of range of the other bots, he allows his EM field to uncoil, pulsing in time with his spark. “Easy, buddy,” he whispers, snatching one of their recovered laser scalpels from the workbench. “You’ve got a strong grip there. Really uncomfortable. You’re gonna have to loosen up if you want some energon.”

Carefully, he maneuvers onto the berth. Should be easier to feed the sparkling and he really needs both servos free if he’s gonna pull this off without accidentally killing himself. Once he’s sure the bitty rests comfortably on his chassis, he removes a servo.

Once he pushes back some of the armor on his left wrist, it’s just a quick flick from the scalpel before he has an energon line loose. He guides it towards the sparkling, sliding the little one in the right direction and letting the fluid drip over its intake. Within his HUD, he keeps an eye on his own levels. He’ll have to stop the sparkling at some point, preferably before he accidentally knocks himself into stasis with a not-quite-major energon leak.

“There you go, shhhh, it’s ok. Drink up, little guy. You’re gonna need it here.”

[deathinfeathers-a]

Remember that you are allowed to cut toxic people out of your life lute. You don't owe anybody anything.

She kills the cigarette she'd been smoking against the inside of her wrist, closing her fingers around the crumpled filter. It evaporates in a brief flash of blue flames.

[alacritysparked]

He patched what he could, though it wouldn’t hold for long. Soon, he’d have to find a medic or someone better equipped than he was. Sparks flew from his wrist joints, old damage decaying and growing worse.

“Recharge will make you feel better,” Kindle whispered into his audial. Somehow, Bumblebee made it to his berth with spraying too much energon everywhere. Armor back in place, nobody would ever see the damage underneath. Nobody would suspect a thing.

Now if only his spark stopped aching for a few seconds, everything would be perfect.

“You think that’s a good idea?” He asked, scratching at his chassis. His HUD notified him of an internal leak hours ago. Staying conscious to ingest the necessary energon was keeping him afloat. Kindle knew that. Kindle knew a lot of things.

“Your frame needs to heal.” Funny, he almost sounded sincere. “Once it does, we can work on what we started. You’re better alone, Bumblebee. When are you going to understand that?”

Was that really true? Well, maybe. Before Kindle came along, he hadn’t tried draining his innermost energon chamber on his own. Before, he’d let some friends over and exhausted himself trying to play host. Before, he’d have an almost weekly sleepover with Smokescreen and they’d talk well into the night and it made him feel happy.

When was the last time he felt happy?

“...Kindle, can I ask you a question?”

“Depends, what kind of question?”

“How did you get here? How did you find my suite?”

Something changed. Everything in Bumblebee’s processor told him to run, to get out and never look back and find a friend who could help him. The air became suffocating and reflexively, his EM field withdrew to his protoform. Before he could move, Kindle grabbed his pauldrons, strattling him on the berth.

“That shouldn’t matter. I’m here to help you become who you want to be.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t think I want this. I don’t think my friends want this. I...I’m allowed some happiness.”

“What friends?!” Kindle sneered, optics glowing red and grip growing stronger. “Don’t you get it? Nobody wants you. You’re a nuisance, a broken little child! Why do you think nobody from Team Prime’s reached out to you? Why is it that the Smokescreen you fell in love with isn’t even from the same universe? They all abandoned you because you are useless, replaceable, and unhinged. They don’t trust you. We’re all just counting down to when you snap. At least then the Council will have an excuse to lock you up or triple tap you.”

He thrashed, desperately trying to dislodge the larger mech. “Shut up! Don’t you think I know all that? I’m not going to sit around and listen to this scrap from you! You’re the one who ruined my life, why can’t you take solace in that and go away?!”

And that’s when it clicked together. It was all a big nightmare, one so personal that no one else could possibly make it real. He never told Kindle about being cut off from Team Prime or the rumors he recorded from around the Council’s Hall.

I guess I really am my own worst enemy.

He didn’t care anymore. A glorious numbness filled his spark. No fear, no anger, no hope, no sadness...just wonderful nothingness. He didn’t care what obsenities were being screeched at him or that he could see more bots out of the corner of his optic. It didn’t matter anymore. This couldn’t be real.

The fastest way to wake up in a dream was to die. That’s what Raf always said.

So he laid there, not hearing the vitriol and not caring for the energon slipping out of his chassis. It would all be over soon enough and maybe, he could be happy again.

[alacritysparked]

“Kindle, I’m having second thoughts.” The bot in question turned around, looking down at Bumblebee and huffing.

“It was your idea, not mine,” he reminded the former scout. “You’ve been saying for months that nobody can know about the Cybermatter. Just drain your chamber and stop worrying about it.”

Bee sighed, awkwardly playing with the energon blade in his servos. “A lot could go wrong though. I could nick an energon line or scratch my spark chamber more.” Looking down, his optics darted over the scratches already there. He tried to drown out the memories of that other Ratchet and the whine of a saw.

“We’re at an impasse here. You’ll either keep living with Cybermatter in your innermost energon chamber and keep worrying or you’ll drain the chamber and half the nightmares go away.” Kindle gave his pedes a kick. “I’m not listening to another night of you screaming about Optimus in your recharge cycle.”

“If I mess up, I could die.” It was the first comment with any bite in it for months. There was a reason he’d never made it this far before. His spark was weak, who’s to say the Cybermatter trapped inside of him was the only thing keeping him alive? What if he drained his chamber and the Cybermatter wound up in the wrong servos?

Suddenly, two very hot servos covered his own. He bit back a hiss, scrunching his optics closed as best he could.

“Bumblebee, look at me.” He couldn’t disobey. That tone promised something worse than blistered paint and minor circuit damage. Hesitantly, he met Kindle’s optics.

“You have to do this.” Kindle continued, grip slightly tightening on Bumblebee. “It causes you so much grief and fear. You know how to cut the right line, your servos are steady enough. You have no excuse not to do this. I mean, look at your spark. Nothing could ever help that thing look normal, healthy or beautiful. In fact, your entire spark system is frankly disgusting so even if you do mess up a little, no one could ever tell the difference.”

Kindle finally let go and Bee couldn’t hold back a relieved gasp. His servos shook, relays weren’t firing correctly, but he cared less and less. Clearing his vents, he poised the blade beside the tubing of his innermost energon chamber.

“That’s it,” Kindle praised. “A little pressure and it’ll all be over. I’ll let you recharge as long as you want and I’ll keep Skyquake away for a full megacycle.”

Bribery, Bumblebee noted. It was working.

Internally, he gave the command for gentle pressure on the line. He should’ve known better. His servos had been acting up for weeks. He should’ve known the blade would slip, known that he would slice a few lines open.

Kindle looked disappointed as Bumblebee struggled to recover from the damage. “You’re an idiot. A sad, broken idiot. You deserve this.”

And as Bumblebee looked at the scratches in his chassis, his spark frantically spinning and pulsing in fear, and the paint missing from his armor, he couldn’t help but agree.

[alacritysparked]

"It's not that...It's...I-" *she holds out her arms wich had bruises and few cuts on them* "I'm...Sorry...I'm wasn't strong enough"

Oh, oh little greyface, it’s ok. Y-You gotta try to stop that, ok? You’re gonna be alright, it’s not weakness. It’s a really bad habit and bad habits are hard to break…

Have you tried rubbing an ice cube instead? I-I think that helps? I don’t know, I’m sorry, human physiology isn’t my strength.

[irregardlessly-tish]

She was invited to a party tonight. She’s drinking and it’s already a bit drunk. I can’t even imagine how she’ll be after the party if she continues like this.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

What does she have to keep doing this?

She’s not doing therapy as she should be

And then she and my dad dare to tell me that THEY are suffering when they see me depressed. They tell me that if I love them I should not to cut my wrists because that hurts THEM

BUT SHE CAN BE A FUCKING DRUNK WHENEVER SHE WANTS

SHE CAN HURT ME WHENEVER SHE WANTS AND THAT’S ALRIGHT FOR THEM

I FUCKING HATE HER WHEN SHE DOES THIS

I FUCKING HATE THIS