#dearling answers

[ohdearlingwhathappened]

Hiiiii! I read your cozy Starscream comfort fic on Ao3 and have followed you here :3

You mentioned being open to writing prompt requests; if this one strikes your fancy, I have one for you!

Prompt:

Something comforting about a Human!Reader who lately feels overlooked because they are inclined to be quiet in a group, and their shyness means they don't speak up or assert themselves unless something is really, really important. They listen far more than they speak. And even when they do speak up in a group... it's like no one hears them often times, and they get talked over.

Starscream, Soundwave, Optimus, or Mirage, if either of those four 'bots stir your muse?

Ahhh! Thank you for your request, and I’m sorry for the wait. I haven’t had the opportunity to write for Soundwave, OP, or Mirage so I’ll do blurbs for all four, but you mentioned Screamer is one of your favorites, so I made his a little longer! I hope you enjoy!

Soundwave (G1) WC: 608

The Decepticon site of operations is lively in the face of the most recent win against the Autobots, meaning high grade is being passed around like no one’s business. As the resident human, on site to assist the Decepticons with tasks that only small hands can manage- even smaller than the minis and the cassettes can manage. Only problem is- with how tiny and squishy you are, it is important that the cons watch their step- a task they frequently forget to do, even the Leader of the Decepticons himself, who made the declaration. 

With the high grade flowing and inhibitions lowering, the pedes around you hold no caution, making it obvious your… friends(?) have forgotten your existence… again. Having had enough of nearly becoming a smear on the floor, you make your way to the side of the room and press yourself to the wall as you scooch your way to the doorway. As soon as you make your escape from the room, you slam into someone’s shin and fall back on your rear.

“Inquiry: Why are you distressed?”

Looking up, the one and only Soundwave looking down at you with his helm tilted, a reminder that you’re so small and often forgotten surges through you and forces your eyes to well up with tears. It was such an odd feeling, crying at the pedes of one of the high command officers, who you can only imagine is staring blankly at you through his visor. Instead of waiting for any answer, the mech lifts you with his thumb and index digit and carries you away from the scene. It’s hard to keep track of where he’s taking you, your blurred vision keeping you from mapping his walking patterns.

After a few moments, your tears have slowed enough for you to wipe them away, just in time to see Soundwave briefly stop before a door and have him open it with a couple of buttons on the wall. Walking in, you notice Frenzy and Rumble in a halfhearted argument, Lazerbeak perched on the edge of the rather large berth, and Ravage curled up in the middle who, upon hearing Soundwave’s return, lifts his head to regard him. The Commander approaches his berth, Ravage moving temporarily before curling up in his master’s lap, once he made sure you were comfortable. Rumble and Frenzy grinning, their previous conversation dropped at the prospect of a recharge of a new entertainment source, run and climb their way onto the berth on either side of Soundwave, and on his shoulder, Lazerbeak finds his new perch.

“Ooo, is the human going to tell us about human stuff?” Frenzy’s grin doesn’t waver as he leans in toward you. Normally, the cassettes are much too wrapped up in either infighting or Soundwave’s orders, so they don’t really talk to you much, unless you’re needed for something.

“They will speak if they want. Or they can recharge.” Soundwave, as per usual, speaks plainly- it would be easy to misunderstand his tone for uncaring curtness, if you didn’t know him and the care for his cassettes better. 

Rumble and Frenzy both look to you, hopeful, and even Ravage, with his head in your lap, looks up to you in mild interest. It was a nice change of pace in comparison to the giants who would often forget you were even there. It briefly occurred to you to thank Soundwave later for not only helping you get away from the so-called party, but giving you some well-needed attention. You smile gently to the cons looking to you and clear your throat,

“Um… well, what would you like to know?”

Optimus (TFP) Gender-neutral reader WC: 692

“I’m not sure if that’ll work, Ratchet.” Arcee peeks around the medic’s frame, looking at the plans for intercepting a possible shipment of energon the Decepticons were planning on transporting, if their movement patterns indicated anything. You look at the computer from your spot on the raised platform, trying to make sense of the plan Ratchet had input.

“Maybe if-” You spoke up, albeit softly, trying to find a compromise, though you’re promptly cut off by the previously mentioned mech.

“And I’m not sure when I asked for your opinion, Arcee. Shouldn’t you be looking over your ward?” Ratchet snaps back, tired and obviously agitated by the state of the Autobot’s own energon storage. 

“Ratchet, that seems a little-” You try again.

“I’m just saying. It’s not like you’re on the field much- there are better ways to plan an interception of Decepticon forces.” The blue and pink femme argues, tensions rising as her optical ridges furrow and a servo finds its way to her hip. 

“Don’t forget who-”

You don’t stay around long enough to hear whatever snide comment the older bot was going to spit at Arcee, tired of feeling ignored and make your way down the hall, wanting to be anywhere other than the main silo of the base. Passing by Optimus, you don’t say anything, not wanting the feeling of anyone else not acknowledging your existence to sting you yet again today.

“My friend, you seem disheartened.” Optimus’ deep voice reverberates through the hall, less of a question and more of a statement, not giving you the chance to pretend you didn’t hear him. You turn around and grant him a half smile, before it drops and you avert your gaze.

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, Optimus. You might want to lend Ratchet and Arcee a servo- they’re caught up in a bit of a feud about the next mission.” Tapering off at the end, Optimus briefly glances towards the main part of the Autobot headquarters, where he can faintly hear the aforementioned pair squabbling about details he would hear about and consider later.

“Those two have been fighting this war for many stellar cycles and will come to a solution. For now, I believe I have something much more pressing to focus on.” Taking a knee, the leader of the Autobots holds down a servo for you to step onto. Once you have taken a seat and braced yourself against one of his digits, Optimus stands and holds you close to his chassis for further stability and begins walking back to his habsuite. “You do not have to tell me what is troubling you, but you are free to do so.”

It takes you a moment- you feel silly singing your woes to someone who has been fighting in a civil war for longer than you can conceive, but the feelings simply bubble up, “I feel small… smaller than I am, I mean. I can’t imagine the stress and exhaustion everyone faces from fighting for so long, but it feels like no one sees me. And if they do, they can’t bring themselves to care.” You curl up in Optimus’ hand and take a shaky breath through your welling tears, “I must sound so selfish- you all have so much more important things to do than worry about the feelings of some human.”

“One of our human friends.” Optimus chimes in, drawing your eyes away from boring holes into your knees to his optics, “It is true that we are anxious for the end of this war, but know this, you are our friend, and we care so deeply for you. You matter just as much as any other autobot, Cybertronian or human. I can assure you, I am not the only one who holds this belief.”

Before you say anything, the mech stops in front of his door, punching in his code and sitting you on a desk that must have been built for his size and he sits himself on his berth. He gives you a rare, gentle smile that fills so many with hope.

“Would you like to tell me about your day?”

Mirage (ROTB) Gender-neutral reader    WC: 533

“Woah, woah, woah! What’s got you down in the dumps?” Mirage looks through your apartment window, forcing a yelp from your throat. You leap up from your bed and rush to the window, motioning for him to get down. 

“What are you doing?! Get down before someone sees you!”

It’s pitch black out, wherever the street light doesn’t touch, but you still worry about the possibility of Mirage being seen, like he was when you met him as he was standing outside of Noah’s apartment- which then basically sucked you into this crazy adventure of saving the world from other space robots. You had stayed behind with Bumblebee to watch over him until a sudden surge in the energon brought him back, so you unfortunately missed all of the action of the final battle.

“Nice try, but no avoiding the question. Besides, no one’s walkin’ around at like… 2:50 am.” Despite his counter, Mirage lets go of the fires escape’s railing, his new frame rattling and resulting in a resounding thud and more than a couple of cracks in the pavement below. One of his servos comes into view for you to jump on, “Come on, small fry, I wanna go for a ride while the streets are as empty as they’ll get.”

“Why not get Noah to go with you? He too busy?” Your questioning would lead the bot to believe you wouldn’t be joining him for a spin, if he didn’t feel you carefully climb aboard. He lowers you to his eye level and shoots you one of his contagious smiles.

“Naaah. I felt like a you and me kind of night. I want to hear about what you’re up to, now that I’m not locked up in that garage anymore.” For further emphasis, he stretches his arms out wide and groans in relief. It had been a few months since Peru, and while you had visited Mirage while Noah had been fixing him up, it definitely wasn’t the same as him being out and in his element.

He doesn’t wait for any further response and transforms, quickly making his way down the road, no particular destination in mind, knowing him. The city passes you by quickly, Mirage not giving a second thought to any speed limit signs he sees, remembering he considers them suggestions, not law. Snapping you out of your thoughts, Mirage clears his throat, “Well? The tread on my tires isn’t getting any thicker- what’s my favorite human been up to?”

“Your favorite, huh?” Whether or not he really meant it, the thought brings a smile to your face. 

“Well, duh. I got out of that garage, and the first thing I did was come see you, so spill the oil- gimme drama.”

“...You won’t believe what Elena told me happened at the museum the other day-”

The rest of the evening was spent driving the backroads outside of the city, telling Mirage anything and everything. Mirage listens aptly, responding when needed, and takes pleasure in knowing he’s distracted you from whatever was dragging you down. You’re part of his home team, and he’s not just going to stand by while you fall victim to your thoughts.

Starscream (TFP) Gender-neutral   WC:1431

“Starscream! I have something to-” Running towards the seeker, his back plate remains facing you as he keeps his focus on Megatron. He normally turns to you, happy to see what his little human has to tell him. Your smile faltering after recognizing he has no plans to turn toward you, “Starscream? Are you ok?”

Megatron glances briefly towards you, but doesn’t say anything to neither you nor his second in command, likely due to the fact that they were waiting for Soundwave to return with more information before choosing any action, so your presence isn’t much of an interruption. Trying to hold onto the hope he just has yet to hear or notice you, you give his heel strut a tap, remembering how he had once told you he keeps special attention to that area for you. You furrow your brow at the confirmation of him ignoring you, your voice lowering in volume, “Starscream, what’s going on?”

“Starscream, I suggest you see to your… pet, before it becomes too much of a distraction.” Megatron growls at him, not bothering to glance back down at you.

“Of course, Lord Megatron. It was just leaving.” He still didn’t look down to you, keeping his optics glued to his leader.

It?

Without further ado, you quickly leave the room, not having any desire to stay where you are not wanted. Storming down the hall, you aren’t sure where you’re heading, but the plan was getting out, even if just for a few hours. There was no leaving the Decepticons- especially not with everything you’ve overheard, been told, and seen- you’d be hunted down in less than a day. 

“Woah-ho-ho! Where are you headed off to?” Breakdown, despite standing to the side to allow you to pass without the possibility of disaster occurring. The blue mech and his partner have been a nice comfort and support system ever since Starscream first brought you onto The Nemesis, often shielding you from Megatron’s ire when Starscream wasn’t around. 

“I’m finding a way off this ship, since I’ve obviously worn out my novelty.” You sniffle, refusing to shed a tear over someone you thought cared about you. 

“...How about I take you to the lab, so you can tell Knockout and me about what happened.” Breakdown smiled down at you, letting it grow when you nod and allow him to lift you up and onto his shoulder. And before long, you were sitting in front of Knockout and Breakdown explaining what happened on the bridge. 

“-and then he goes, ‘it was just leaving’. He called me an it.” Whispering, you were sitting on one of the medical tables while both mechs lean against a parallel table. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, finally looking up to gauge their reactions. There stood Knockout with his mouth slightly agape, and Breakdown’s frown was deeply set in his faceplate.

“That slimy, scrawny-”

“Now now, Breakdown. I think there’s a lesson we can teach our superior.” Knockout, being broken out of his aghast stupor, rested a servo on his partner’s shoulder and smirks. He returns his attention to you and raises an optical ridge, “How does that sound?”

“Depends on what you mean, I guess.”

“Well, I deduced that you likely ran from the room after you were disrespected, am I right?” As you nod, he continues, “Right, so the last time Starscream saw you, you were in quite the distressed state. My idea is to let him believe that you left and let the slagger squirm in a panic.”

“He won’t. He didn’t even look at me earlier. Why would he care now?” The hem that you’ve been playing with during this conversation now scrunched in your fingers, hating the thought you’ve been discarded with so little thought.

A digit lifts your chin, forcing you to face the medic and his assistant, who smile down at you, “Trust me, dear. Starscream will care, he’s just an aft.

*        *        *        *        *        *

“Starscream, sir.” Breakdown hastily walks onto the bridge, mentally noting the lack of Megatron. 

“Breakdown… what is it?” Starscream turns to face the destructive warrior, face obviously in no mood for foolishness.

“The human-”

“What’s happened?” Starscream’s optics widen, panic already setting in.

“They’re gone, sir.”

“What do you mean, they’re gone?! They are to remain on this ship at all times, unless they are accompanied by myself!” Starscream grabs Breakdown by the edge of his chassis plating and pulls him forward to better snarl in his face. 

“They said something about being done with their stay here and made their way to one of the storage bays with the airlocks.” Breakdown shrugs, not showing any care for the mech who is beginning to dig his talons into his frame. Knockout wouldn’t be happy about his partner’s scratched paint and plating, but that would be a problem to deal with later. 

“Why would you not stop them, you incompetent-” Starscream pauses, unlatching himself from the larger mech. His optics narrow and he sneers, “They haven’t left this ship, and I’m willing to bet my next share of energon that they’re in that lab. Get out of my way!”

Shoving his way past Breakdown, he passes through the doorway and changes to his alt mode to faster get to the doctor’s lab, Breakdown quickly following behind him. Reaching the lab in record time, Starscream slams his fisted servo into the doorframe as the metal door swishes open, revealing Knockout gently speaking with you about how everything is going to get worked out one way or the other.

“What is the meaning behind trying to fool me into believing my star has left this ship?!” 

“I don’t know, screamer. Why do you make your star feel ignored and unwelcome?” Knockout stands to his full height and crosses his arms.

“Know your place, doctor.” His voice is low and holds promise for consequences, if your friend continues to display disrespect.

“I know my place, Starscream. Do you?”

“Why you-”

“Would you both stop it?!” You yell, startling everyone in the room. It isn’t common for you to raise your voice, always preferring to stand down, listen, and stay calm. But this was just all too much. 

The room was quiet, everyone not knowing what quite to do next, all mechs looking between themselves, then turning their optics to you. Another moment passes and Starscream turns to Knockout, much more calmly than before, “Knockout, I would like some time alone with them… please.”

The flashy Decepticon makes sure you’re ok before taking his leave, with Breakdown close behind.

“My star-”

“I’m not your anything. I am not some object or a pet, as Megatron so quaintly put it.” You snip, putting on the show of having no desire to hear what he has to say, despite wanting nothing more for him to give you a good reason for his behavior earlier and for him to apologize. “And you didn’t- … you - do I really matter so little to you?”

“Of course not. My star, you are the most important being in my life. But it is becoming increasingly difficult as Megatron’s fury and impatience grows. He anticipates my betrayal at every turn and has, on more than one occasion, threatened your life because of this.” Starscream gently scoops your figure up and presses his derma to the crown of your head, “I am sorry I have hurt you in my attempts to protect you, but I cannot fathom surviving this torturous world without you. Please… forgive me, my brightest star.”

“You’re such an idiot, Starlight.” You bring your arms up to cling to his face plate and lightly cry into his chin. You didn’t expect the weight that was lifted off your shoulders at his confession, but you were so grateful for the fact that it was just Starscream making a foolish decision.

“I would have to agree with you in this instance.” Starscream’s small, airy chuckle blows past your hair, and he presses yet another kiss to your forehead. “Will you forgive me, my dear?”

“I’ll forgive you just this once, but don’t ever make such a decision without telling me again.”

“You have my word. Now, why were you so excited earlier?”

“Well I…”

You spent the next few cycles regaling him about what the vehicons were up to and how silly Steve was behaving, knowing their idea wasn’t going to work. You love being able to talk to Starscream, knowing you were one of the only people he would give his full attention to. You love your mech. Your silly, silly mech.

[wardog-of-whimsy]

Lavender and red!!

lavender literally one of the loveliest people in existence wtf

BOOK BOOK!

red o- i feel like we could just hang comfortably in silence

I am so ready!

[jazzymarie1006]

Logan and Ororo in the two parter episode "One Man's Worth" are still so very great!

Warning: Long post is LONG!

First there's this gem of a scene. Not sure which is better. Logan believing that Ororo called him beautiful, Ororo telling Logan he's beautiful in his own way, or the implication that they've had more than one picnic (with or without Charles).

The apple scene was great. Ororo knowing that Hawk would make a "Garden of Eden" parallel is too great.

When the Timeline is being absolutely DESTROYED, Logan and Ororo run into each other's arms as Charles disappeared from existence.

Which brings us HERE! A timeline where Magneto is leading the mutants in a war against machines and super humans. And Logan and Ororo are married! Also Logan took Ororo's last name, that's the only right answer.

The close-up on the the rings was great! But it had me thinking... how were they even married in the first place sense Mutants clearly aren't treated as people? Did Morph turn into the Justice of the Peace again?

Logan catching Ororo and making sure she's safe is great! Love to see it.

Absolutely LOVE how Logan puts the claws away when Ororo says she believes Bishop and Shard. The fact that they weren't together in the main timeline had Logan so upset. You know he was just looking thoroughly through what Bishop and Shard were showing them!

Ororo: My Dearling... would you condemned the whole world just to keep our love.

Logan: You bet I would. Why would I care about anything else?

This man didn't even hesitate! The kiss Ororo gave him was brief, but it of course shows that she’s also going to miss their marriage.

Of course Logan was gonna go if Ororo was going. That's a no brainer!

Later we get one of the BEST scenes in the show! Logan and Ororo are snitched on for being an interracial couple in the 1950s. And Logan immediately jumps into action when Ororo's insulted!

Ororo is also the only person able to stop him. She couldn’t even stay mad at Logan!

Logan coming in the save again! Ororo can NOT be in any form of danger around this man!

After the mission to save Charles fails, Wolverine's ready to go back to where he and Ororo were before (this man said fighting a war alongside Magneto wasn't so bad!). Of course Ororo knew Logan wasn't going let Bishop and Shard down and he knew too!

These two weren't apart from each other for few seconds while in the bad future!

Logan really pretended to pass out JUST TO STEAL A KISS!

How he wiped her tears!! I can't with them!!

Just gonna get this outta the way... Charles fainting when Logan threatened him was hilarious! He regarded it immediately! He does NOT like it when Ororo's upset with him!

After Charles reads their mind, he quickly reveals that someone (Logan) doesn't want the mission to succeed! Of course this has Bishop ready to start blasting. Which gives us this line (which Charles most likely remembers later on).

Logan: I feel the way I feel bub. That don't mean I'd turn traitor!

Watching this now should NOT have still been able to make me tear up!!

After Logan says "Don't you leave me", the two kiss and the timeline is restored. The two are even seen hugging!

The bit of flirting near the end!! The writers KNEW what they were doing!!

Then Charles pulls up, reveals to us that he remembers what happened with the Alternate Duo and watches them briefly before leaving them alone. He knows that these two are willing to give up happiness with each other to do the right thing for the world!

I love all of this so very much!

[iomadachd]

-gasp- What's this, dearlings? Cal is still alive? Astonishing, I know, but I'm here. It's just been busy with work and real life, and so most of my energy has gone to just getting through all that with some minimal time on Discord.

I don't foresee that changing up much, but I'm still going to keep up with my blog as best as I can. It's just easier to find me on Discord <3

I am working on a couple replies today and trying to answer some things in my inbox. Love you all!

Find me on disco at midnight3613

[predacon-carrion]

Your supposed curiosity means nothing to me. Even if my answer about how we're treated were to change, what would be my insurance that you wouldn't go telling that creepy mech that controls the portal. You're a larger threat than Carri is to myself and the others.

-dearling

Hearing Dearling defend him and the other humans so passionately makes Carrion’s old spark warm… he can’t help the little smile that turns up the corners of his lips. He’d have to thank Dearling later. Frog, too.

@tripleglitchwriting

[invocari]

That's a wrap for tonight, dearlings. I got four replies in the queue, and got an ask answered. It wasn't much, but I'm chipping away as much as I can. I'm only a week behind on the oldest replies now so I'm not worried, and I hope you're not as well!

Stats:

Inbox: 7

Likes: 20

Queue: 230 (through July 22nd, includes 4 replies)

Threads Owed: 12 (oldest 5/19)

Threads Tracked: 23

[elletromil]

#5 for the 50 dialogue prompts

#5  “Why are you helping me?”

--

They’re having dinner when Eggsy finally asks what he’s been meaning to ask all day.

“So, why are you helping me?”

Roxy raises an eyebrow and makes a show of looking at the other candidates. Thankfully, they’ve mostly been ignoring them so far, even if Charlie has had a few snide comment for them throughout the day. Not that Eggsy mind and it hasn’t seem to bother Roxy either.

“No I mean. I get you hanging out with me when your only other choices are these dickheads. But you could do that without helping me.”

Because she has been helping him. It’s small stuff, simple stuff, but already it makes all the difference. He remembers his training with the marines. Remembers how miserable he had been because he hadn’t been able to connect with anyone, not really. But already, Roxy has proven she’ll stick by him. And, don’t get him wrong, he’s gonna do the same, unconditionally.

But he’s still bloody curious as to what she really gets out of it. She’s obviously super smart. She’s got to have an angle.

“I could do that yes. But then you might be sent home early. Not that I’m saying you can’t cut it without help, just that it could make all the difference.” She stops to look how he’s taking it, but Eggsy just nods to urge her along. He might not be the smartest of the bunch, but he’s not dumb either. And considering where he comes from, of course he knows that outside help can change everything. “And really, you’re the only one I don’t feel like stabbing in the nuts.”

“Really?” It’s not that he isn’t pleased to hear it, it’s just that well, he’s under no illusion he’s probably not the kind of guy Roxy hangs out with normally.

“Yes really. Which is why I don’t want you to leave. If I am to lose to anyone, I’d rather it be to you. Not that I plan on losing.”

It’s a tease, but it’s obvious that she totally means it. And while Eggsy doesn’t plan on losing either, can’t afford to lose, he thinks he could live with it if Roxy was the one beating him.

“So alliance until we’re the last two and than all bets are off?” He holds out his hand, feeling more solemn then he’s ever been in his life before.

Roxy grins, but there’s a fire in her eyes when she takes his hand and shake it. “Deal.”

[wordpress-blaze-169939984]

What is a narcissist?

What characterizes a narcissist? I've encountered this term frequently, not because my friends or colleagues have applied it to me, but rather due to my older sister's frequent use of it. She appears to believe that I fit this description. To diagnose someone with Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), five out of the nine criteria from the DSM-IV-TR are necessary. Some of the traits associated with NPD include a heightened sense of self-importance, preoccupation with fantasies of power, wealth, success, and love, a constant need for admiration, a belief in one's uniqueness, a lack of empathy, arrogance, entitlement, a preference for associating only with important or special individuals, and a tendency to exploit others for personal gain.

It's crucial to distinguish between narcissism and narcissistic personality disorder. Narcissism refers to certain exhibited traits in a person, where they don't meet enough criteria to be categorized as having NPD.

Allow me to elaborate on the fact that most of us possess elements of personality disorders to some degree. For instance, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) is one of the most commonly discussed ones. Each of us experiences varying levels of OCD tendencies. Similarly, anxiety and periods of depression are universal; the key lies in the extent to which these disorders disrupt our daily functioning.

This principle applies to both narcissism and NPD. Celebrating our achievements occasionally and taking pride in reaching goals are healthy behaviors. There's no issue with that. Therefore, if someone labels you as a narcissist or suggests you have OCD, don't be overly concerned. More often than not, they might be projecting their own emotions onto you. Give them space to express themselves, and eventually, the genuine truth will emerge.

Examples and Anecdotes: Imagine a coworker who consistently seeks praise for their achievements and often downplays the accomplishments of others. While this behavior might seem narcissistic, it doesn't necessarily meet the criteria for NPD. On the other hand, someone with NPD might manipulate their colleagues into doing their work for them, exploiting their desire to please for personal gain.

Treatment and Coping Strategies: For those dealing with narcissism or NPD, seeking professional help from therapists or counselors is a crucial step. Cognitive-behavioral therapy and other therapeutic approaches can be effective in addressing the underlying issues and promoting healthier behaviors. Developing empathy, self-awareness, and coping strategies are integral parts of the recovery process. For friends and family, setting boundaries and encouraging open communication can help manage interactions with individuals exhibiting narcissistic traits. Remember that change takes time and dedication, but it's possible with the right support and commitment.

Source: What is a narcissist?

[ohdearlingwhathappened]

HAII! It's me again, the anon who stumbled across your blog, aaand I got a teeny weeny question. If you could choose to be ANY transformers character for a day, who would you choose to be?

Personally I would say Breakdown, mostly because I'm literally him and he's literally me. But also because I want to experience working with knockout 💔 (I'm still going through the 5 stages of denial with breakdowns death, my friends are tired of hearing about it)

When I tell you I've been thinking about this question for the past couple of days, I'm not kidding, but I think I've finally come to a conclusion.

Ok, so if we're talking about TFP specifically,

Decepticon: Soundwave. He attacks from afar and primarily let's his enemies screw themselves up rather than get his own servos dirty, is incredibly intelligent, a collector of knowledge (and the queen of gossip), and loyal to a fault. He's an absolute delight, and I would end up using the day as SW to learn as much as I can about Cybertronian history and battle tactics.

Autobot: Wheeljack. I actually surprised myself with this answer. I may be loyal, but I do love the renegade and independent lifestyle WJ has, while still staying true to the Autobot cause. I genuinely would love having the ability to travel as I please, like Jackie does- going wherever he wants throughout space.

If we're not restricted to TFP,

Decepticon: my answer stays pretty much the same, except I might prefer G1 Soundwave. I love the relationship he has with his mini cassettes on top of everything else I mentioned above.

Autobot: either IDW Rung or Swerve. I do plan on entering the psychiatry field as my career in approximately 5 years time, and I would love to see his notes and observations, though I'm sure there are differences between cybertronian and human counseling services 🤭🤭. On a similar front, I would love being Swerve for a day and serve people engex while listening to their tales about the day and whatever else they may want to share.

And concerning Breakdown, I so completely understand. He's one of my favorite decepticons and he deserved so much better.

[maple-the-awesome]

Be Her Guard || Epilogue

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Words: 1,387

Masterlist

Snow isn't all too frequent of an occurrence in London, therefore, it's always a pleasant surprise to see the streets blanketed in a thick white layer of frozen crystals especially in time for the holidays. Typically, when the once grey sky turns to a frosty white, the city slows as locals try to remember how they're supposed to travel in such slick conditions. As for this day, travel seems to be an important requirement given the fact that most 'sane' people must attend family gatherings.

Sherlock stares out the frosted window of his shared flat, drawing the bow delicately across each string of his violin which lets off a smooth humming melody matching some Christmas song he doesn't see the appeal with; however, it had gotten stuck in his head after Mrs. Hudson had requested he play it at least a four times throughout the evening.

His attention is only broken from the song when you walk to his side, reaching up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He's quick to turn his head, catching your lips against his with a smile. The evening has been eventful, not that either of you've minded.

While Sherlock isn't usually one to enjoy decorating for the holidays, he could never say no to you especially when you continue to insist that this Christmas is the most important one of all. Although he'll never admit it out loud, he actually finds himself tolerating that extra twinkle brought to the flat by the Christmas lights draped over the mantle of the fireplace as well as the small Christmas tree tucked away in the corner, dressed in a mix of colored orbs, science-y tools, and police tape (guess which Sherlock put on).

Of course, neither of you spend the holiday alone. Earlier, you had been joined for Christmas dinner by Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and the Watsons with their little daughter, Rosie. Even Sherlock's parents came by for a visit while Mycroft had simply called to wish you and his brother well for the holiday. Needless to say, the evening had been filled with plenty of laughter and joy, a wonderful fit for such a special Christmas.

"...Sherlock?" He hums in acknowledgment, too entranced by the feeling of your arms around his waist with your body pressed against his back to actually open his eyes and look at you," don't you want to open your present yet?"

He had completely forgotten about that. When you first set the little blue box under the tree exactly five days ago, informing him it's a present for him when he questioned, he insisted he didn't need any material things as he's simply happy being able to call you his wife for the holidays. Of course, you can be as stubborn as your husband when you want to be, arguing that you've already spent the time carefully wrapping it, thus it's officially his present.

Once again, the present had been brought up by John who noticed it still under the tree when everyone began exchanging presents. Surprisingly, despite your previously expressed excitement for Sherlock to open the box, you dismissed John's concern right away, announcing that it's a special present for Sherlock to open on his own. Worried it might be something to do with your, well, 'intimate’ time together based on your way of wording, no one else asked any further questions and you had failed to mention the topic again yourself until now as you gaze up at the back of Sherlock's head expectantly, chewing on your lower lip while awaiting his answer.

At last, he agrees, setting down his instrument while you happily retrieve the box from under the tree and hand it to him just as he finds his seat in his chair. His fingertips brush against the white ribbon, his eyes moving to you as you quite literally sit on the edge of your seat in front of him, your lip still caught in-between your teeth. Your eyes glow yet your body language shows that you're nervous, although, he can't guess why. He may be blunt and not the easiest person to shop for, but he loves you dearly and will no doubt treasure anything you gift him with.

Your behavior has admittedly gotten him curious, leading him to waste no more time removing the ribbon and wrapping paper which reveals a plain shoebox, however, judging on the weight of it, there aren't shoes inside. Lifting the lid, Sherlock is left staring down at the only content lying amount a thin layer of navy-blue tissue.

Tapping your fingers against your leg, you sit straighter with your eyes directing to the floor," I...I know we haven't really gotten the chance to discuss it much aside from little comments here and there, but...well, I personally think this is something good and I, um, I'm just hoping you’ll agree. That’s why I waited until now to have you open it. I didn't want to make a scene in front of everyone else, j...just in case you aren't happy with it-"

You don't get to continue much further with your rambling, the words being muffled by Sherlock's lips against yours. It's a long kiss, one that makes you almost forget all about the worries you've been dwelling on for the last two weeks now.

Sherlock's the one who pulls away, his hands rested against your legs as he kneels in front of you, his eyes twinkling with a noticeable uplift to his voice," not happy? I'm overjoyed with it! How could I not be? I’ve been dying waiting for you to finally tell me."

"Finally tell...? Sherlock Holmes, did you already know?" You blink once getting over your daze from the kiss, your eyebrow raised with mocked annoyance which makes him roll his eyes.

"I deduced it a week and a half ago after noticing your recent case of nausea, fatigue, missed menstruation cycle, and swollen bre-" He goes to list, but you cut him off with a finger to his lips.

"-Yes, I know the common signs of pregnancy, after all, I’m going through it all firsthand…but if you knew so soon, why didn't you say anything?"

He becomes a bit bashful at your question, taking your hand in his so that his thumb can rub against your soft skin," while I'm not normally wrong on my deductions, I especially didn't want to be wrong about this one. I figured it would be best to simply keep my hopes down until you confirm it yourself..."

"Oh Sherlock..." you smile, moving your free hand to his cheek. He immediately leans into your touch," over three years of being together and I still forget you’re a master deducer. If I would’ve guessed you might already know, I would've told you sooner."

"Firstly, deducer isn't a word, love, and second," you roll your eyes at his comment, but smile nonetheless especially when his lips reach yours again, his hand now pressed lightly to your stomach," I think you telling me now is a perfect gift for our first Christmas together as husband and wife."

When he moves away from the kiss, he takes both of your hands in his, leading you to stand up where his arms can wrap around your waist. Knowing the movement all too well, you drape your arms over his shoulders, pecking his lips every once and a while as he sways you around, humming the melody he had been playing on his violin earlier.

It's always a lovely sight to have a young couple dancing in their flat late on Christmas Eve, not a worry in the world as they only wish to remain in each other's arms which is perfect shelter from the cold. It's a type of love that words can only do so much to describe, although, one look is usually enough to understand.

Sherlock Holmes absolutely adores you, his precious Mrs. Holmes, with such a feeling having already expanded to his unborn child that you bare, making you all the more valuable to him. That alone is excellent proof that the great detective does, in fact, have a heart that can easily be burned so long as far more careful steps are taken next time around, ones more reliable than entrusting some ordinary lovesick idiot as a client. It really is a lovely sight to watch indeed.

~Fin~

[trekkiepirate]

I posted 317 times in 2022

49 posts created (15%)

268 posts reblogged (85%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@soundsfaebutokay

@wren-of-the-woods

@ruffboijuliaburnsides

@intheseautumnhands

@a-kind-of-merry-war

I tagged 262 of my posts in 2022

Only 17% of my posts had no tags

#joey batey - 67 posts

#the witcher - 45 posts

#jaskier - 26 posts

#the amazing devil - 23 posts

#yennefer - 17 posts

#madeleine hyland - 14 posts

#billy the kid - 11 posts

#other people's damn fine art - 7 posts

#adorable abby - 7 posts

#anya chalotra - 7 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#and i also just assume neil gaiman summoned dream and very politely and with due deference asked him if he wanted to play himself in a show

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Okay but this time next week I will be IN LONDON!!!

I have been wanting to go to England and London literally all my life. I do not remember when I first wanted to go because I always have. And I am FINALLY GOING!

20 notes - Posted May 25, 2022

#4

BETH. Beth Beth Beth. Joey Batey's soft, sad face and his soft, gentle voice will be my undoing. I am trying to watch Billy the Kid but I keep stopping to poke around at other things because he makes me wanna scream and it's midnight and I would wake the whole neighborhood. It's been an hour, Beth, and I'm only halfway through. Why am I like this. WHY IS *HE* LIKE THIS. I blame him for everything.

Oh my dearling, I am here for when you get to the end of the episode because if you are emotionally compromised NOW just wait until he's wrapped in a blankie and talking to his son about stars and crying I HAVE NOT RECOVERED YET and I watched it like a month ago!

20 notes - Posted April 28, 2022

#3

🪄!

A LYRIC I AM NOT NORMAL ABOUT

Surprising no one, it's The Amazing Devil, SPECIFICALLY

Though some would harm you/ none not one no none/ would raise to you/a hand nor thumb/ not while by you/ I stand and hum

First of all, how dare Joey Batey. Second of all, the way the words flow just hits all the happiest places in my brain for sound. Thirdly, the context is just so damn sweet.

23 notes - Posted November 7, 2022

#2

Bethhhhhhh you were right you were right in your predictions. Joey is Billy the Kid's dad. Have you seen this trailer yet? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Cw8v1CP9W0

I KNEW IT I BLOODY KNEW IT I SHALL CROW FOR THE REST OF TIME! (and bless you darling, I hadn’t seen it yet)

Also yep, hence the beard and also EXCUSE ME SIR IRISH ACCENT and I mean, I know his dad dies (and Joey’s only in the first episode) but also HOW DARE THEY KILL OFF MY BEST BELOVED JAIL JAIL FOR THE WILD WEST FOR 1000 YEARS

26 notes - Posted February 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Heath Ledger was fine too.

On his multimillion dollar set with all the cast and crew around him.

Good to know that the world hasn't changed. People still think showing concern for mens' mental health and wellbeing is "infantilizing".

Thanks for showing how little the fandom cares beyond making Jaskier fuck Geralt.

I wasn't going to answer because your tone is very dismissive and very rude, truly I wasn't. But you hit a sore spot.

I AM concerned for Joey's mental health, broadly. He has admitted to (and wrote even a song about) being socially Anxious and I think he may also deal with Depression. So I am worried for him because I know how those conditions can badly affect people, particularly men who are seen as lesser for having and admitting to mental illness(es). If I even vaguely SUSPECTED he was hurt or mistreated on set I'd be at the forefront of the Anger Riot, believe me. But I do not know him personally, so I cannot speak to how things affect him on a day to day level. And Nonny, neither can you. We are fans. We are not his friends or his caretakers. We are outsiders to his life and should take HIS word for how he is treated.

But I also believe Joey was NOT mistreated nor was his mental health irrevocably damaged from filming this scene. Was he shaken because being tied up is strenuous and playing someone being tortured is a mental mind fuck? Yes, of course, he admits that. But he is an amazing actor and yes, it can take time to return from the dark places one's mind can go, especially for a scene like that. But he came back. He came back and moved on and did his next scenes and finished filming and moved on to further projects and is probably preparing for season 3 as we speak. And moreover, he's DONE IT BEFORE. Yes, he's new to a recurring role on large scale shows like The Witcher but Joey has been working at a decent clip since before he left Cambridge, both on stage and screen.

He has a torture scene in Wolf Hall/Bring Up The Bodies, the play he did right out of drama school (and where the gods saw fit to introduce him to Madeleine Hyland and thus brighten not only their own lives but all ours). I have heard it, he SCREAMS. He cries, he sounds very very NOT OKAY. But y'know what? He was. Joey has done death scenes and stunts and has played characters in very dark mental places. So doing a physically and mentally and emotionally demanding scene is not new to him. And he did it on a set full of people that Joey specifically mentions multiple times in multiple interviews as being supportive of him, looking after him. He mentioned having panic/anxiety attacks (I believe anxiety but cannot recall exactly which rn) and that his friends and colleagues on The Witcher were incredibly supportive and kind to him. I place his own words about his experience as closer to the truth of the matter than people who are misconstruing what sounds like a scary situation to them, out of context. That's why I made the post, to give context to how these sorts of things usually go.

Are there still sets where an experience like this was probably the worst of an actor’s life? Yes, of course, we know this. But it is not the majority and I cannot believe that was the case here.

I cannot speak to Heath Ledger's experience, I wasn't engaged enough to read all his interviews the way I do Joey's. Though I was shocked and utterly heartbroken when he died. As I was with Robin Williams. As I was when I learned how River Phoenix and Jonathan Brandis died, after the fact. I think caring about men's mental health is GREAT and necessary and bloody important and that more people SHOULD care. But I think creating issues where there were none is not the way to go about it.

Lastly, honestly at this point I'm more on the Yennskier train. I can separate what I WANT from what the show GIVES because that's the point of fandom and fic. Going "Okay but WHAT IF these characters DID kiss?" But this isn't about shipping. It's not about pitting characters or ships or actors or people against each other. This is about how people are overly worrying about Joey's mental health and not Anya's. Or Freya's even. Both had dark mental places to go this season (and last season), both had physically taxing scenes. Anya was also restrained in a torture scene this season, but no one drew a comparison even though it is easy to make. No one asked if she was okay. No one worried she was mistreated they way some folks have claimed Joey was.

I think it boils down to some people want to hate the show and the people who make it, but not hate Joey. So if they can say Joey was mistreated (and I truly, TRULY believe he was not) on set or by the show then they can justify being a fan of his while hating on a show he SPECIFICALLY calls the best job he's ever had. Where he mentions again and again that he was supported by everyone: cast, crew and creatives.

So, I do think it is infantilizing to dismiss His Own Words because they don't fit the idea some folks have formed of who he is or how he is treated on set. I would highly recommend reading this interview: https://boysbygirls.co.uk/conversations/joey-batey (done AFTER FILMING) as it is a very in-depth and revealing one about who Joey really is and how he operates in the world and how he finds his equilibrium when it's thrown off, whether by work or life in general. He has a good support system, Madeleine of course and he mentions his sisters. He has good coping mechanisms, creating music and writing and building furniture apparently that was a new one. :) I think he has one of the healthiest perspectives on life I have ever heard and I think it has taken him years and support and work to get there for himself. And I am very glad he seems to be doing so well in his life. Because I want him to be happy and healthy.

Joey was and is fine. Your concern about him is good! Caring about him is good! Your misplaced anger is not good.

61 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[iomadachd]

Goodnight, my dearlings! I am still working on things that are easier to answer and throwing them in the queue. I've also started picking at the inbox to whittle at that as well.

Stats:

Inbox: 16

Likes: 0 (none actionable)

Queue: 40 (thru 4/15, includes 3 replies)

Threads Owed: 9 (oldest 3/13)

Threads Tracked: 40

[kuripon]

sweet life continues

Geraskier | PG | 1290 words | cw: established relationship, they cute

------

The breeze is surprisingly cool for this time of year. It may have been because they traveled further north than they usually did, it may have been because it was a windy day and they were sitting at the lake side. Either way, Jaskier is enjoying this rare moment of peace.

He's laying on a warm spot of sand by the lake, his eyes closed as he basks in the sunlight. He can hear Ciri playing in the water, shrieking in giggles as she chases whatever water creature has caught her attention. He's thankful that she's chosen to act her age, instead of that of the more mature Cirilla that the world demands of her. He gives a soft sigh and folds his arms under his head.

"Jaskier!" He hears. He peeks an eye open and spots a dripping Ciri standing nearly over him. When she sees his eye open, she roars at him, her arms raised high above her head, hands in claws.

"Move over a bit, dear, you're blocking the sunlight," Jaskier says, teasingly nudging her over with his foot, refusing to respond to her 'threat'. "You're so cruel to me," Ciri whines at him, dropping to sit next to him. Jaskier laughs and gives her his full attention. "What is it, dearling? You seemed to be having so much fun." He watches as her face takes on a worried cast, her mouth falling into a soft frown.

"Don't frown so, darling. You'll get lines faster that way." He smiles as she laughs in response, hoping that he's distracted her from her worries.

"It's just... Geralt said that he'd be back already. It's been three days." Cirilla sighed and shifted to lay next to Jaskier. "Well, like you said, it's been three days. And he told us it'd be three days, four at most," Jaskier reasons out. "He's sure to be back soon."

"You think he's okay, then?" Ciri asks, now on her side, facing him. "Yes. I'm sure. If you can't trust Geralt, then at least trust in my trust of Geralt." Jaskier leans over to push her hair back behind her ear. He smiles at her, hoping that his words will put her at ease. He then reaches for his lute resting nearby, and sits up. He starts tuning the strings.

"Shall I sing for you?"

Geralt had directed the trio north about two weeks ago, giving no explanation for the change in direction. Jaskier, easygoing and trusting as he was, ran with it. They stopped at almost every town and village along the way, keeping their stays short and making the most of each stop, ordering two rooms every time in order to give Cirilla, and themselves, the privacy they needed. Jaskier plied his trade in the local inns and taverns and Geralt took on the easiest of contracts, those that didn't require much preparation. They made sure one of them was always with Cirilla, as there was still rumor of Nilfgaard searching for her.

Jaskier thought of asking for the reason for heading north, but he wasn't too concerned. His trust in Geralt was that absolute.

Jaskier sings to Cirilla. He cycles through a classic epic, shifting quickly into an old Cintran lullaby when he sees that Cirilla seems to be falling asleep. After another lullaby or two, he hums along to a few songs. His eyes close as his fingers play from memory, his humming falling silent.

Just above the lute, he can hear the sounds of nature surrounding them. The wind rushes through the trees, leaving a susurration of leaves in its wake. The water of the lake laps up against the shore, whispering of cool comfort for those who need it. The birds sing their songs, singing solos and duets and in choirs that keep in harmony with the world.

Soon he hears the steady trod of a horse coming through the forest. He stills the strings of his lute. He's not scared. There is only one person it could possibly be. Jaskier knows it in the very depths of his soul.

"Geralt."

Jaskier smiles as Geralt breaks through the tree line. He stands and walks to meet him, too impatient to wait for Geralt to come to them. "My love, you're back."

Geralt dismounts from Roach, sparing her a thankful pat on her neck. Jaskier watches as Geralt takes his pack from Roach's bags, curious as to the bulk that seems to be inside of it. "I said I would be," Geralt murmurs, walking over to Jaskier. He leans in for a kiss, lips soft and gentle. Geralt cups Jaskier's cheek, his thumb soothing the skin under his eye. Jaskier reaches up to take a hold of his wrist, clutching to the long missed physical presence of his lover.

Jaskier thinks to himself he shouldn't be this clingy after only three days of not seeing Geralt, but he tosses that thought out immediately.

"Was it a good trip? Did everything you needed to do?" Jaskier's hand tightens on Geralt's wrist, leaning into the caress of his cheek. "Mm. Yeah." Geralt pulls his hand away from Jaskier's grasp, seemingly reluctant. He turns slightly from Jaskier and reaches into his bag, pulling something from it. Jaskier is eager to see what it is, what could have been enough cause to change their usual path.

What could've been enough for Geralt to leave them at the base of the Blue Mountains for three days.

Geralt takes a big sigh, squares his shoulders, and then turns back to Jaskier.

Jaskier's eyes widen as he takes in what Geralt is holding out to him, a gasp escaping. A single flower, a rose Jaskier has never before seen in his life. Its petals are as luscious and pink as the ripest apricot plucked at the height of the season, open to reveal a cluster of blooms at the center.

"It's-" Geralt clears his throat, his cheeks brushed with pink, almost matching the flower. "This rose blooms once every fifteen years. And I knew I had to give it to you. Vesemir let me know they were blooming soon."

Jaskier thinks back to a missive Geralt had received a couple of weeks ago, which he had immediately hid. Jaskier had been of a mind to ask him what it was, but it was quickly forgotten when he realized they had to be moving sooner than later.

"In the past, I would see these pop up around the keep every other decade... it wasn't until I was in my third decade on the path that I was told what these were for." Geralt's blush extended to his ears, tipping them in a delicate pink. "And what were they for, Geralt?" Jaskier asks, eager to know the answer, but is equally aware that it would take time for his love to put the words together. Jaskier holds Geralt's gaze, nodding encouragingly.

"Hand-fasting." Geralt's voice is quiet. Jaskier is only able to hear because of how close they stand. "Between two witchers. The culmination of a courting ritual that sometimes took a decade to complete."

A loud squeal shoots into the air besides them, startling Jaskier. Geralt looks at Ciri, the source of the high-pitched shriek.

"Are you getting married!?" Ciri yells, scaring a flock of birds from the nearby trees.

Jaskier laughs, wrapping an arm around Geralt's waist, his other hand taking the flower from his grasp.

"Let me ask Geralt." Jaskier winks at Ciri. "Are we getting married?" Jaskier asks Geralt, his eyes bright with joy. Geralt nods, his entire face now a bright red.

"Oh, my love." Jaskier laughs again, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. "I look forward to the rest of our lives together."

[predacon-carrion]

Dearling sneers at him over the ear piece.

Nor did you answer mine, truthfully, scrap head. Carri treats us just fine- better than anyone else on this ship would. If I don't hear something to prove to me Compy is ok, I swear to whatever fucked up God-

She cuts herself off and takes a deep, calming breath.

It's none of your business how we're treated in Carrion's care. I'll ask again- why are you asking?

-dearling

Carrion’s brows furrow deeper as Dearling’s anger rises.

How he wishes to snap at Knockout in her place. Spare her the wasted emotions.

@tripleglitchwriting

[englass]

Number 2 from dark prompts?

Ahh, thank you for sending this in hun!!

I'll admit, this gave me problems; a lot of problems. And I'm not to sure how I feel about it, but it just felt right to end it where I did. Hopefully it's okay at the least... Also, this is definitely more yandere than I was intending it to be, but I wasn’t sure how else to tackle it. Still kinda soft though, despite the circumstances...

2. “They were getting in the way of your happiness! And I can’t allow that.”

- - -

There’s a heavy silence that blankets the scene, smothers it like a pillow pressed oppressively to a person’s face. Cuts off all breath, all hope of reasonable thought as diluted instincts rear up with the screeching whinny of a panicked beast. The urge to flee such an aggressive thought that the mind lags and stutters and holds onto it for far longer than is wise; overthinking a dangerous pastime when the crawl of time provokes the draw of danger.

Ensnared in that cloying grip you choke, lost and adrift, being tugged in different directions of thought that leave you vibrating in the worst way possible. Unable to see anything other than the visual that will forever stain your once innocent eyes, you don’t see the way the only other living person in the room turns to you, don’t register the way they gasp your name in a tone of dreaded elation. So buried beneath your own whirling thoughts, incomprehensive and elusive, you hardly feel the way they grab you, turn and shield you with a wall of familiar blue taking up your vision; but only in the way that it glazes the dark scene painted onto your retinas with a tinted frost.

You flinch violently at the feeling of something touching your cheek, a terrified whimper spilling free as the world snaps back into focus. Finally registering the man in front of you, concerned azure eyes meeting your own, you physically shrink under their openness. Attempt to retreat with a step back as the tears fall, caught by a mockery of a caring touch as his thumb swipes the moisture from your cheeks, barred in by his free hand, wrapped around your waist as it holds you protectively against his chest.

“Shh, it’s okay, my dear,” he murmurs soothingly, “it’s alright, you’re alright. I’ve got you, sweet thing. Shh, there’s no need to be so scared. You’re safe with me. They asked for it.”

There is a harshness within his last words that makes you tense, that makes you shakily reach forward to grab at the hem of his waistcoat. You’re not too sure what you’re doing with such an act, especially after all of this, but regardless John appears to soften at the silent gesture. His hold on you loosening just a bit as he lays a gentle kiss to your forehead, uttering quiet reassurances against your skin that you feel with every brush of his lips.

Gratefully, John is able to ease you away from the treacherous labyrinth of your thoughts. Calm you enough so that your breath doesn’t catch as aggressively within your lungs as it did a moment ago, only hitches on every odd breath as you breathe him in; something woody with the faintest twang of iron, musky and so distinctly John. But with the calm comes the cohesion, the caging clarity, and with that a deceptively simple question; the only one you have the strength and courage to ask--

“Why?”

Internally you cringe at how fragile you sound, as if you were one wrong word away from falling apart. The brief thought that John would be there to catch you when you did was terribly bittersweet.

“Because they were holding you back,” he answers easily, an impassioned fire in his words. “Because that filth was not worthy of you, of your care or even your ‘friendship’. They didn’t appreciate you and what you’ve done for them. And, perhaps most egregiously, they were getting in the way of your happiness! In the way of us; and I can’t allow that. I couldn't allow that.”

His hold on you tightens, constricts your breath into a small and unintentional stutter. Your words are hesitant as you say, “but, they were-- you didn’t have to… you didn’t have to do that to them... “

“That was a mercy, dearling.” Running his hand through your hair he carefully tucks you into the crook of his neck, the ocean of his eyes dark with the hunger of an unsatisfied sin. “It may have taken some… gentle persuasion, but they agreed to go through the Atonement all the same; regardless of how sudden and unorthodox it was. It’s hardly my fault if they couldn’t handle the weight of it…”

[astriefer]

Let Me Kiss Your Bleedings Goodbye / Look Around And See How Much You Are Loved

Summary: Alastair just wants to listen to music in his room, but the world won't have it.

Word count: 5718

Warnings: alcohol, implied mental abuse, manipulation, toxic relationships, cursing, mentioned alcoholism, neglect, negative thoughts.

@littlx-songbxrd that one is for your birthday! You chose angst the other day so I just rolled with it-

Happy birthday!! You're an amazing, creative,talented and such a special friend! I'm glad I got to meet you ^-^

All Alastair asked for was to listen to music on his phone and mind his own business. But of course, the fates weren't happy unless Alastair has had a shitty day.

Cordelia knocked on his door politely. "Alastair?"

It was Saturday, so she had no reason to bother him. Lunch had already been served, and she was about to go out with her friends. So why come bother him now?

He made no move to unlock the door, and his annoying little sister repeated, "Alastair!" 

She started to slam her fists at the door like some sort of a madwoman, and Alastair groaned and tore himself from his bed. "What?" he hissed as his bedroom door flew wide open.

"Mâmân wants you downstairs," Cordelia answered, backing away slightly. If she heeded Alastairs's pissed mood, good. She interrupted in the middle of his favorite song. The call of reason would say it was because they were almost nose to nose, and she was repulsed of his closeness as any other sibling would, but he liked the first option better.

"And that you couldn't tell me through the door because?" he snarled, and Cordelia rolled her eyes. He glanced at her and noticed what she wore - one of her favorites clothes Lucie picked up for her a few months ago. He arched a perfect eyebrow at his sister."Is there some special occasion?"

Cordelia's cheeks flushed red, and she decisively didn't meet his eyes. "It's nothing. Just going out with some-- That's none of your business. You're so irking. Oof."

She exchanged to the annoyed-sibling-defense-system mid-sentence. It was Alastair's turn to roll his eyes so he didn't waste it. "Whatever. Go play dolls with Lucie." Closing the door behind him, he ambled down the staircase to the ground floor, ignoring his sister's protest. 

He entered the drawing-room, which he found deserted. All that laid there were a few magazines Cordelia left on the table and an empty cup of coffee. He didn't stall to wonder who besides him drank coffee in the house since his mother was pregnant - and it was unhealthy for the baby - and Cordelia didn't like it. He headed to the dining room, finding his mother seated on one of the dinner table's seats. In front of her, seemingly a pristine-white unopened letter.

"Dearling," Sona smiled at her son, the light not reaching her eyes. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," he answered. He perched on the chair next to hers and took one of the pastries Risa brought the previous day that laid in a basket. She would occasionally check on Sona and them. Their aunt had assisted them in any possible way was able to in the past few months. And even before that, she volunteered to do things Alastair wished she wouldn't. She once contacted James Herondale, Cordelia's boyfriend, to give him  the talk . It was hilarious as much as it was terrifying because while Risa picked fundamental English words, she had him by the arm to help her translate. And Holly Lord in the sky, he couldn't look James in the face for a month.

Sona just studied him for a few moments, before her features softened. "You always so self-reliant." she shook her head. "I'm sorry. You don't need your mother to nag you."

Alastair inclined toward her, squinting. "Mom, I never said that."

"You seem peeved at me," she adjusted her deep green roosari - it matched the wide yellow and green dress she wore - before resting her eyes on the letter. "I would think it has something to do with puberty if I didn't have a second teenager in the house."

"I'm not angry at you." Alastair scoffed.

"Alright," Sona said.

"Are Cordelia and I in a competition of who is the worst teenager? Well - at least I'm on the lead. Cordelia should level up her game."

"Dear, it's not it," Sona lifted both her hands, like in a plea, before she dropped them on the table again. Alastair noted her eyes wandered around the room - deviated from how she usually behaved - and suspected he was going to be apprised of some news.

Brows furrowed, he asked, "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Well-" she rubbed at her eyes, and Alastair noticed - not for the first time - the dark circles around his mother's eyes. Does he keep you awake at night? He wished to ask in worse days, to see if it hurt her as much as it hurt him. Or is he haunting you with nightmares?

Alastair long knew the figure Elias is in Cordelia and Sona's dreams is of some immaculate hero. One with kind eyes, a guiding beacon, a loving man. In their dreams, he would outstretch a comforting hand and still be young and caring. He's the best version of himself, a father and a husband that loves them. He is also the man that dwelled in his most horrifying nightmares  - A drunk, nothing more. He was swigging vodka by the bar, with cold eyes and tousled white hair. This version of his father, he knew, would call him a brat, would complain about his mother pestering him to visit rehab. His father would hug his bottle and glance at him as if he was a nuisance to get rid of,  and he would close his eyes and wish to be elsewhere. But he's small again, and just wants his father to leave the bottle to hug him goodnight, tucked safely under the blankets. But his father wouldn't come.

Was it foolish his heart still stung whenever he came across this truth?

She cut the pleasantries and readied herself. "Your father's lawyer declared he wouldn't waive the trial," Sona conceded, her shoulders sagged. His mother laid a protective hand on her belly, where Alastair's sibling has been growing in her womb for the past few months. "A letter was dispatched."

It was all it had to take to ruin his day. He barely had the restraint to not leap on feet and scream at the cursed photo of his father, hung on one of the walls. Before it was all revealed, before it exploded in their face, and far before Cordelia became aware of their father's afflict, they used to do it often. To talk about what they would do next. How to protect Cordelia, how to help Elias, how to hide the appalling secret of their family their best. Now they did it for an entirely different reason.

Up to a few months ago, they were still a picture of a family in a broken frame. When the court exonerated Elias from any blame, they reunited and returned to posture like they always had been. Act, because that is all they could do. However, upon Elias's trial, Cordelia discovered the truth. Alastair was so exhausted from hiding it, he didn't perceive it until he let the lie collapse. He had blamed himself, he still did, but it changed nothing from the fact Cordelia knew about their father now.

She knew, and she was livid. At Alastair, at their mother and father, at the world. After all, she lived a lie. Who could have blamed her?

It was that day he confessed to her in a shaken voice the utter truth and let the wall between them succumb and burn to ashes. When he looked her in the eyes then, he saw the light in her eyes dimming, reality striking, the way he desires it never would. All those years he kept her safe from Elias were in vain. Although he received his sister back into his life, there was little Alastair could do but blame himself for shattering the delicate reality they threaded around her, the needless pain he caused her. She needed to comprehend, he told himself, what was behind the mask her father put in front of the world. 

But if he never wanted to tell her, did it still count?

And his mother. She looked stiff, if not a bit tired. She held herself straight and proud, yet it was useless. Because what could she do? What either of them could do?

"He accuses me of Parental Alienation," Sona went on, caressing her belly delicately. She peeked at the letter again, and Alastair did as well. Now he realized the sign on the letter, and the fact it seemed unopened but in fact was. "The court is checking out at his claims."

Alastair exhaled through the nose, rocking his leg in rage. "That's nonsense. He's irresponsible alcoholism that can't take care of himself. He was tipsy on the day of the trial! Any feeling we have toward him, it's his own making." Throughout the very beginning of sending the Divorce Complaint to court, Elias had refused to accept he was divorcing. Alastair was awfully aware his father wanted custody over them, and he fought with all his unmighty power to prevent it. When he imagined his younger siblings suffering a fraction of his father's attitude, his nerves set on fire. He was aware his mother fought teeth and nails to proceed in this divorce even without this additional claim.

And Alastair was even more aware they barely had had the money to pay for this. 

"What does he want?" Alastair growled. "He knows we don't have that money! He doesn't have the money to pay for this prosecution either!" His father, being put in jail, fired from his job, and wasting their money on wine, probably couldn't even provide Child Support.

"I thought it was going so well," Sona returned his stare, kind and calm. The giving sign she was upset was that rustling sound her roosari made when she fixed it restlessly.

"And Cordelia?" he made to quiet himself on the spot. He spoke in something similar to a whisper. "Bloody hell, she's upstairs. How can we tell her?"

"Language," she warned, then reached and rested her hand on his comfortingly. "She already knows."

He whipped his head in her direction. His mother didn't bat an eyelash. He managed only to let a strangled "What?" escape his mouth. He couldn't wound his mind around it. The father Cordelia looked up to betrayed her, over and over again.

His mother closed her eyes. Maybe she couldn't look at his desperate, fumed face any longer. "She was the one to fetch the letter from the post." Alastair held himself from swearing again and rose to his feet. It's good his mother didn't look at him - he wasn't sure he could look at her either. He was trembling with agitation, his vision red.

"He can't do that. He can't- get to win. Not after all the pain we've been through because of him. That's not fair. That's not fair." He was breathing hard.

"He wouldn't. Alastair, dear, look at me."

Her words were veracious, so was her voice. He couldn't manage himself to do as she said.

"Joonam-"

"I'm going for a walk." He declared strongly, hastily. "I need to chill out. Go and rest, Mother. You shouldn't work yourself out."

And with that, he took his leave. He ignored his mother calling him from behind. He brought no chattel but himself and whatever he bore that instant as he closed the door behind him and rushed down the street to disappear among the many passersby of London. Before even thinking about it, his phone was out, and he typed feverishly and pressed send without waiting to reread his text. He tucked his phone back into his trouser's pocket and took a deep breath.

His father wouldn't desist from haunting him, no matter how much he prayed it to come to an end. When his mother announced she wants a divorce, he - not lacking guilt - felt glad. Each day home was a misery. His mother was confined to bed, his father trailed the streets as if he didn't return from rehab just a month before. And this life was a cage he longed to escape, to set free from the crushing weight on his heart. 

His father-

He came to a halt in the middle of the street, letting his head fall all the way back with closed eyes. He wanted to punch a wall or lash out at someone. When he talked with Jem the other day, his cousin told him bottling things inside would only result in a breakdown. He recommended he contact a person he trusted when it all felt too much for Alastair to bear.

Perhaps he should...

No. he shook as head, trying to toss this idea into an imaginary dump bin. There's no need. A nice, solitary stroll is a splendid solution. Alastair needn't anyone to look at his back worriedly like some ailing lost kitten. He didn't need it. He can be fine if he simply composed himself.

He let his legs carry him mindlessly, losing himself in his thoughts. He walked, and walked, and walked. It was a great aid to clear his mind. Even in a crowded London street in the afternoon, he felt the tight cloud of thoughts loosening around his mind. Not for long, however. 

He walked near a club - a club he knew very well, but not because of his father. And in the entrance stood a freckled figure, with silken ginger hair and piercing green eyes.

The sight of his ex-boyfriend was enough to startle Alastair out of his thought. They locked eyes, and Alastair nearly lost his footing. Charles blurted something to whomever he was talking to and advanced toward the dark-haired boy. Alastair felt himself go stiff as if he prepared for a hit.  Swiftly, he considered turning around and flee, and just as he was about to put this thought into effect, he felt a hand seizing his forearm. While Collecting his confidence, he turned to give Charles a blank glare.  

"Alastair." greeted the older boy. "What are you doing here?"

"None of your business," Why did his voice sound hoarse? "Let go of me," Alastair demanded.

Charles's grip on his dark skin did not weaken. It felt warm even though there had been a layer of cloth between them. Alastair attempted to break free, however Charles pressed his hand harder, not enabling Alastair to move. "Come."

And so Alastair was led by his redhead ex-partner to an alley, hidden from any of Charles's companions. Alastair had the sudden urge to laugh - still so furtive. Still so abashed. Charles shoved him into the alley, blocking his way out with his body. "Alastair. I haven't seen you in a long time."

However mad he felt, his voice came out calm. Cold. Indifferent. Like he practiced in front of a mirror when he was small. "That was the point of breaking up with you," he retorted evenly.

Charles ignored his remark. "You haven't answered any of my texts, nor my calls. I ought to speak with you."

A lump rose in his throat. "I can't fathom anything to be said to matter."

He dug his nails in his palm, then understood he'd been doing it and forced himself to relax. Charles had no authority over him. He couldn't reach him now. Yet, it felt far away when Charles studied him like a very interesting political certificate. He hesitated before lifting his hand to touch Alastair's cheek tenderly. Alastair, in turn, backed away. Which was a difficult talk considering Charles still held his hand around his forearm.

"Unhand me," Alastair almost spat. He felt his own shield build up. "Do you want any of your colleagues to see you so close to a man?" The dark-eyed boy knew it would work. Charles always aspired to appear pivotal, even when it was clearly pretentious of his side. Charles's grip loosened him and Alastair hastily put distance between them. Charles gave him a look - one Alastair could only describe as wistful.

"Had I known what I did wrong to make you stop caring for me, I would have made sure to keep you closer to me," Charles said softly.

At first, it sounded almost sweet. Almost. Rather rapidly it turned disgusting as the words sank. Keep you closer, toughen the chains, tell lies to a love-famished soul.

He felt fire spreading in his stomach. Not the good sort of fire - but the kind that consumes everything it touches, that destroys and demolishes and injures.  "You didn't know?" Alastair's voice quivered as he spoke, barely tamed anger in every syllable. "Shucks, so what could tell? What could tell you did something wrong when I told you I was upset you were with Ariadne? And later on, when you went and pushed your tongue into Grace's mouth in front of my eyes to make everyone believe you're straight? Or perhaps that whenever I expressed any feeling that wasn't gratitude you grace me with your presence, you said I'm overreacting? "

Charles straightened. "I wasn't bad to you. I tried to give you everything I could."

"Damnit, Charles, not today," Alastair whirled in his place, his words hot and sharp. "That's not on you to decide if you were bad or good to me! You have no right to decide for me. You gave me what you thought would be enough so I won't talk, and I was a boy desperate to be loved." He exhaled slowly. "So no, Charles. You weren't good for me at all."  

"You wanted me to out myself for you when I wasn't ready?"

He was never going to be ready, Alastair thought. "If you think I was upset with you because you weren't out, you don't know me at all." A mirthless laugh slipped Alastair's lips. Did Charles even listen to him? 

"Don't say that." Charles objected. "I know you better than anyone else. You know that too." he huffed and loosened his tie. "No, that's not it. Do you not love me anymore?"

It was ridiculous. "No, Charles, I don't." The smell hit his nostrils, and the realization dawned on him. Charles's mouth stank from Alcohol, despite not smelling it on his clothes at all.

Ah.

"You're drunk," Alastair condemned.  It was almost an accusation, spoke so offhandedly. But he truly didn't care enough for it to be an accusation.

"I drank only a drink or two." Charles dismissed, and he looked so ugly at that moment, Alastair wanted to flee from his presence. "If you didn't want me, don't blame me for why this relationship broke apart. I try to make things right."

It was comedic to watch Charles exculpate himself and put the blame on Alastair, had it been another day. Now, it only pissed Alastair furthermore.

"Stay away from me," his words sounded like acid in his ears. "I am not fond of drunks. Or ex-boyfriends. And you seem to be both."

Charles made a comical face, one in another day Alasair might laugh at. Distantly, he realized now why Cordelia and Sona were so reluctant to break him the news. When it came to this case, and to his father, Alastair was always on his toes. He is still too easily riled by the words and deeds of others sometimes. When he had to tell the court about his deeds revolving around his father - the late-night walks outside to pubs, the frequent help; the fear someone would find out - he poured all of his being to try and help his family. Defend them from Elias. But seemingly it had no use, and all Alastair was left with is his contempt with nowhere to pour it into. It slipped from the cracks of his armor like Lava.

He passed Charles, who no longer blocked the alley, and Charles perked up and said, "We haven't finished talking."

His phone buzzed repeatedly, signaling Kamala had received his previous message. "We are done," Alastair growled, loud. These green eyes widened, and he opened his mouth. To shush him, most probably. However, blood boiled in his ears and his words demanded to be heard. "Unassuming, quiet, dark," Alastair snapped. "A bloody puppet, that's what you want. And I refuse to be your puppet any longer. What is in my words unclear to you? Stay. Away. Should I spell it for you?"

Charles glanced at the sides nervously, looking for leery eyes even though there were none. Alastair couldn't believe it. Charles still tried to subdue him. It made him smirk ruthlessly at the older boy. "But you can't take no for an answer, do you? You think you deserve everything."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," The redhead scoffed, squinting at him. "If you're angry at something, don't take it on me."

"Oh, I will do whatever I want to do," His grin widened viciously." All I do is tell you exactly what I think of you. Does it hurt your white-man-superiority complex?" he mocked with a false sad nod. "Too bad."

His phone started to ring, and he could already tell it was Kamala, worried about what he told her. She was straightforward when she told him once to never hesitate to call her if her help is required. In some of his worst days, it was his best friend that contributed to preventing him from knocking his head in a wall. Moreover, Alastair told Kamala everything about the lawsuit and what they'd been through - the Carstairs saw her like family - and she was nothing but understanding. It took every gram of control in Alastair's body to clasp his phone and say, "I must go."

He didn't wait for an answer.

His phone went quiet in his hand. He pressed a few buttons and gripped the phone close to his ear.

After the fourth ring, someone picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Our place," Alastair's voice was strained. It felt like it came out from far, far away. "Now."

With adrenaline still driving through his system, he headed to his hideout. When life would be too much, he used to wander around town or find his escape in the calm of nature. And if this meant hunkering down next to a fence in Hyde Park, that's his business alone.

His phone raged up, and he felt stable enough to answer. The first thing Kamala said over the call was, "Love, I'm so sorry."

"Yes," Alastair mumbled darkly. "Me too."

Eventually, they hung up, and he sat on the ground, so his legs were against his chest and his arms surrounding them. For however long it'd been, he rested his head on the fence and let his overloaded mind take a break. When it didn't work and his head still throbbed, Alastair kicked at the ground in frustration, raising a cloud of dust. Then he sounded the low noise of feet against the sand, and a long figure climbed the fence he leaned on.

He stared at what Thomas was securing at his hands before he made a noise of annoyance. "Hell with this," he reached his hand, "Bring it over."

He grasped the can of beer, opening it with a loud pssh-pop! The can was cold in his hand, as if fresh from the store, and he took a sip. Then he lowered the can, revealing again the image of Thomas in a hoodie and pajama pants. He looked like he put random combination clothes and went outside, which probably wasn't far from the truth. Alastair didn't have the power to hum appreciatively.

"You sounded like you were crashed by a motorcycle, and then was chewed by the cats and dogs of the neighborhood," Thomas offered. "Thought you might need it."

"No shit," Alastair mumbled. "Thanks." He cradled it to his chest and looked away. Thomas looked a bit worried, but he said no words. As silence as a cat - no, Thomas was better described as a tiger - he went and sat next to Alastair. He opened his own beer can, gulping the drink in big sips.

Alastair had not opened his mouth, and Thomas didn't pressure him. For long moments that stretched even longer than they should, none of them uttered a word. They set together, side by side, surrounded by trees and leaves and the sun sinking from the west. With a big 'Ugh', Alastair dipped his head and slipped into Thomas's arms. 

"I don't want you embroiled in this," Alastair murmured, not moving as Thomas started tracing circles on his arm.

Thomas sighed softly, resting his chin on top of Alastair's head, not before he planted a kiss on the line of his hair. "Alright. But you know you can tell me whatever you want, yes?"

"I do," Alastair fell silent for a few seconds. His cheek was against Thomas's pulse point, where he found himself calming down with its steady beat. "I met Charles today."

"Charles?" at this sole word Thomas went rigid, ultimately relaxing as Alastair captured the hand on his arm and intertwined their fingers. "What has happened?"

"Nothing," Alastair answered and he knew without looking Thomas had his adorable face twisted in bewilderment. Therefore he added, reluctantly, "The usual."

Thomas moved to eye him suspiciously, but Alastair's head was still tucked under Thomas's chin. "I wouldn't think you call me if it was nothing."

"I call you for all sort of things. It doesn't have to be because my toxic ex is a dipshit."

"It feels like a low bar."

Alastair chuckled. "It really is."

Silence ensued and the presence of his boyfriend made everything brighter. Later at night, he would wonder how one man could make it so much better, yet now he just felt blessed to have Thomas by his side. A few minutes passed with Alastair closing his eyes and melting into Thomas's hug, while Thomas stroked his back comfortingly.

"Alastair?"

"Mhh."

"Alastair. "

He dug his fingers at the cool ground, taking a deep breath in an attempt to regain his composure. "What?"

He pushed Alastair back gently, and the short boy complied so they were face to face. "Are you alright?"

His dark eyes refused to meet with Thomas's hazel ones. There had been a quiet, "I'm not sure."

Thomas picked at a loose string of his hoodie, and Alastair made a mental note to steal his boyfriend's hoodie and sew it. He sat next to Thomas and reached for the beer, gulping the content of the can. He turned to Thomas, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He furrowed his brows when his boyfriend looked at him oddly, but it soon disappeared from Thomas's face. 

Alastair fiddled with the hem of his shirt, and his eyes were yet low on the ground. He sounded rustling by his side and glanced at his boyfriend as he took off his hoodie. Alastair cocked his eyebrow, and Thomas huffed at him with flushed cheeks. He handed him the hoodie. "You - might be cold. It's rather late, and you wear nothing but a T-shirt."

He scanned Thomas's underneath jumper and deemed it not much warming. "And you?"

"I am big, I make a lot of heat. Cellular respiration and all that."

Alastair snorted, shaking his head. "You daft med student."

He found solace in the warm hug of his boyfriend. And wearing his hoodie was almost the same, although he missed the heat. Yet, it was soft and familiar and all Thomas. His smell was enticing to Alastair, and he put it on and sniffed it -indistinguishably - even if Thomas was just a few inches away. 

As the sun set, it tinted the forest around them orange.

"You're doing the thing," Alastair commented, causing Thomas to blink.

"The what?" the tall boy asked.

"The thing. That you do." he poked Thomas's side. "You get all pensive and thoughtful and furrows your brows in that adorable way of yours. You caress your rose compass tattoo."

Thomas gave him a slight smile. "Genie has been ecstatic ever since Kamala agreed to join our family trip. I'm afraid my father is going to ask you himself if I won't."

"Ah."

"It's a bad timing, though," Thomas cackled nervously. "Sorry, never mind."

"That's fine, I don't care," Alastair said. "What family trip?"

"We thought to visit mom's country last year, but this year we want to visit some rural parts of England. Uncle Will keeps telling us how visiting North Wells, where his family lived. Eugenia keeps threatening to steal my sweets." 

"She certainly would still all your snacks," Alastair speculated. He flapped mindlessly the sleeves of Thomas's hoodie to himself, which were too long for him. Thomas sent him a soft side smile.

"She will," agreed Thomas in false despair, resting his head on the fetch they leaned on. "She's like some sort of sweets monster. The only way to calm her down is to sacrifice our food." 

"I know," was Alastair's response. "She's my friend. My very own short chaotic, havoc-causing, maniac goblin friend." It startled a laugh out of Thomas, and he went to rest his hand on Alastair's knee.

"Dad keeps joking he will cancel the trip if not all of the honorary lightwoods join as well. But honestly, I'm not sure he's joking any longer."

"Honorary Lightwoods?"

"He adopted y'all the moment you steeped a foot into our house. You know that." Thomas's voice sounded almost longing. He added, with a good laugh, "I think he favors you over his own children."

Alastair didn't know why he had to be this way, but it caught him off guard. It made a weird pang in his heart to think Gideon Lightwood would consider him his son. Even more so, when he knew his own father would prefer to engage in a foreign bar than to eat with him. Alastair's throat felt thick all of a sudden, and it was hard to breathe. He made a shaky inhale, as soft and thin as paper. Thomas captured that, of course.

"Baby," Thomas whispered. He acted cautiously, like he was afraid to scare Alastair away. 

"No," Alastair chocked out. He hid his face in his elbow, struggling to take another breath. "Nope."

It was silent for at least a minute before Thomas piped out, "Alastair joon."

Abruptly, Alastair lifted his head and turned to his boyfriend, a spike of anger ignited."I should be stronger," Alastair burst out, heat in his words, like flames. "It shouldn't - why does it affect me like this? This isn't - nothing has happened, so why-" he cut himself off, watching Thomas's countenance. He was the epitome of calm, deep understanding eyes and soft around the corners. His lips were pressed, and he was utterly handsome. Ridiculous. 

Thomas swooped him into a hug, and Alastair didn't accept it. He fought to break loose and jumped on his feet. Raving fear and outrage and agony all mixed together on the tip of his tongue. He felt angry at himself for reacting this way, at Thomas for having such a perfect family, at the world because there was no one to blame for his situation. "A few months ago I still searched for my father in pubs to return him home safely. Now I look for my father from the other side of the courtroom and watch him try to take away my sibling. And my mother - she wouldn't admit it but I know she's stressed. She probably can't even sleep at night without my ass of a father to haunt her! And Charles wouldn't even realize he's in the wrong, because as always, it's just my fault it all broke apart. Mine. Mine alone."

"And Charles is still a jerk, and Mâmân is still unwell, and my goddam father is the worst father of the year," Alastair gritted his teeth. "And I feel so useless. Utterly useless.  because I can't do anything about it. The court will prefer my father's white ass to my brown skin. They would think he's a better fit to take care of the child, even it's crystal clear he isn't. He wasn't for us, he will never be. And this poor child - it deserves a real family. And my drunken father is nothing of what it deserves. So how can he try to get custody over it, Thomas? How can they let him? " 

"Alastair," his name sang on his boyfriend's tongue was like thick syrup. "You are not useless."

The shorter man flashed at him with a growl. "I couldn't help my father with his problem. I can't help my mom in court. I can't even be a good sibling to Cordelia, so how could I be a good one to the baby-?"

He was shuddering, he perceived, even though the night wasn't very cold. Was he sobbing? he couldn't tell. It was like he felt everything detached from afar. He felt bulky arms close around him, and he didn't protest this time. He tried to catch his breath, albeit it kept escaping him.

"None of this is your fault, Azizam. Life can be unfair to fair people. But you mustn't question yourself because of it." Thomas grazed a big, warm hand on Alastair's cheek, sweeping his tears. "And your love is so profound, it can build bridges. It's so selfless and raw and pure, can't you see it? It's all your heart, all of you, aching because you want those you love to be well. And they will be well, Alastair. They can move mountains because it's you on their side. They are lucky to have you." His voice lowered to a whisper.

"This is just too much," Alastair shook his head. "I just- want to be out of my racing mind. I want some quiet."

Thomas gave him a sad look. "I can't tell you it will pass soon. But you're not alone, Alastair. You have many people to hold you when you feel you're about to fall. All you have to do is look."

They set there in their hideout, and Thomas leaned in and left a gentle kiss on Alastair's lips. A promise.

Alastair tilted his head and closed his eyes. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"If anything, it's the opposite. You're spectacular," Thomas leaned in again, so their foreheads and noses touch. It startled a bubbled giggle out of Alastair, and Thomas smirked. He repeated it again and again and again. Until Alastair started to believe his words.

[sidespromptblog]

What to Do?: Chapter 6

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten

Warnings: Angst, Remus Accurate Thoughts, and Hurt/Comfort.

Summary: Logan realizing that his first mistake was seeing the other sides as anything other than coworkers. They weren't a family. They didn't even like each other. How had he not realized sooner?

Word Count: 1,880

There was a moment where the silence felt like a ticking clock between the two of them, and then...

The moment of weakness was over in a second.

Virgil hastily jerked his shoulder away from Remus’ very touch so hard that the other side was sure that he nearly dislocated it with such a move, it didn’t stop Remus from raising an eyebrow at Virgil as the anxious side snarled at him. As if he wasn’t just weeping his eyes out moments ago, and as if Virgil hadn’t just looked at him like he was hoping that Remus held all the answers to his problems the moment he had appeared. 

“What do you want?!” The anxious side spat out, had he fur Remus was sure that it would have been bristling like a cat’s. “Why are you here? Didn’t you ruin enough?” 

Ouch.

That shouldn’t have hurt the way that it did, and yet… somehow coming from Virgil of all people, it stung in a way that dish soap could not. It was like… peroxide on a fresh scrape. Like it was bubbling and destroying each cell in its wake, not caring if it was bacteria or any normal cell trying to help. 

That’s what this pain felt like.  

For a second there was nothing to be said, not as he felt Virgil’s scorching heated glare that told him just how much the anxious side hated him in this moment. Although, for the life of him, he couldn’t tell if it was because he had seen Virgil in his moment of weakness, or… if Virgil was secretly grateful that he had come along when he did. Either way he could only blatantly stare at the other side for a moment, taking in how Virgil was holding himself, and just how he seemed to clutch at the papers Logan had given him like a lifeline so that he wouldn’t fall apart even more. 

Speaking of Logan though…

“I wanted to see this all for myself, and to see if Janus was right.” Remus didn’t know it was possible for Virgil to bristle even more at Janus’ name. “To be honest… It’s kind of weird to see that he’s right, I mean.. I didn’t think Janus was lying when he told me about it. But I was sure that he was exaggerating in how Logan treated him.” It perturbed him, which he hated, because nothing was supposed to perturb him. He wasn’t somebody who got perturbed by anything! He was Remus Sanders, he was the one who usually did the perturbing, so this.. this wasn’t at all fair. “With dearl old Logic like this it's very unsettling... even for someone like me.” 

For him it was almost impossible to not draw parallels to when it was him, Janus, and Virgil. And just like them, this felt all too similar to how Virgil was acting right before he left them, and as much as he liked to deny any sort of squishy feelings for the anxious side…

It was kind of hard for him to see it happening to Virgil in real time.

But be that as it may, “When it was you…” Virgil flinched, and even so Remus carried on. “There were plenty of warning signs that me and Janus missed and by the time that the point came around it was already too late to get you back.” 

Virgil glowered darkly at Remus, having a feeling that the creative side was trying to point him in some kind of way that he couldn’t exactly see just yet. He didn’t like the kind of game that Remus was attempting to play with him, he already didn’t have a lot of patience when it came to this side, and now with everything involving Logan he had even less of it now. A part of him just wanted to hear it straight up, without any kind of nostalgic twangs in Remus’ voice. But another part of him… Well the other part of him couldn’t help but to agree, he had given Janus and Remus plenty of signs that he was starting to grow tired and that he wanted out of what they were doing. And when they had missed them at every turn, as well as the light sides as well... 

He had simply decided to duck out, and save everyone the hassle of dealing with him in person. 

That little reminder did little to ease his ire though, “Just what are you trying to say?” He growled sharply, not liking this one little bit.

Virgil felt his stomach drop as soon as the smile curved onto Remus’ face like a knife.

“Simple,” The creative side said with a bout of fake cheer, “That you all had plenty of chances to help Logan before it got to this point. And just like me and Janus, you all failed miserably at doing anything worthwhile.” 

In an instant, Virgil rounded on Remus, his hands clenched into fists as a burning rage flooded his stomach and crawled up his throat. In that moment right then and there, he could have strangled Remus with his own stupid sash and he wouldn’t have felt bad for about it for a single second. His teeth bared themselves into a snarl, and without even thinking he took a step forward, almost talking himself into acting on the dark urge that made his hands want to move. 

Virgil was a little more than pissed, “What would you know about any of that?!” The words he had wanted to spit out, he ended up shouting instead. “What the hell would you know about helping someone?! What would you know about making things better?!” His voice shook the pictures on the wall, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that the others could hear him, and he didn’t care about the weird look of guilt on Remus’ dumb face. The only thing he cared about was pounding his frustrations through Remus’ stupidly thick skull until he finally understood and got it for once. 

Since when had Remus ever cared about helping other people? Since when did he ever extend a thought that just wasn’t about himself, or making someone else’s day even worse? Since when did he care about anything that went beyond tormenting others with his weird thoughts, and the nightmares that he regularly gave to Thomas? Since when did Remus actually have single solitary thought that wasn’t going to hurt them in some kind of way?

As if reading his mind Remus extended his hand in an uncharacteristically placating manner, “Plenty.” He merely says, “Plenty…” Remus says, with a surprising amount of calmness. “I have regretted it every day of my life,” Here Virgil went still, the momentous amount of seriousness in Remus’ voice deserved that much at least. “I have always regretted that I didn’t do a single thing to stop you from leaving and even more that I didn’t help when you needed me to.” For a second he hesitated, delaying and deliberating on what he knew he was going to have to say next to Virgil. “And… I feel that this is also somewhat my doing too…” 

It wasn’t that he was scared, far from it. 

It was that… if he told Virgil what he knew and what he had done, that would be owning up to all of this. And that in some way all of the others could pin this on him, and not the fact that they too could have helped Logan not make the choices that he had made. 

“How?” Virgil tiredly asked, “How could it possibly be your fault? You just said that we didn’t pay enough attention to his warning signs. I know that you were a dick to him recently, but I don’t understand how this is your fault…” 

Remus’ fleshy insides softened at Virgil’s words, and at how much the anxious side seemed to want to absolve him of any kind of guilt. It was sickeningly sweet in his eyes, like Virgil knew he couldn’t absolve himself, so he could in the very least do it to Remus. 

But it needed to come out.  

He had to tell someone. 

So, taking in a steadying breath he went on. 

“I gave him the nudge,” He finally blurted out, he had never been one to keep secrets. So the truth had been pressing inside of him, like a stuffed animal full of too much stuffing. And upon seeing equally Virgil’s bewildered and shocked stare, and clearly not understanding what he was talking about. He went on before neither he or Virgil could stop himself from elaborating. “He was in the imagination after the fiasco of my plans had fucked everything up, he was angry, and sad, and just upset. I could tell that he was feeling a lot of things because clearly no one was listening to him, I.. I had ensured it when I ruined his schedule. And I had thought that he would just shrug the thought I gave him off, or he’d know that it was me…” Remus floundered for a moment, the taste of guilt strange on his tongue, “ I had only suggested that things couldn’t continue like they were, nothing else. But he…” 

But Logan had gone with it, and hadn’t stopped for a single second.

Then everything else had happened. 

He had not meant for the idea he had given Logan to get so out of hand, he was impressed, sure, that Logan was actually taken to it and was making the changes he wanted to see happen. And he was definitely impressed that he had broken under the weight of Virgil’s and the others’ woes certainly… but seeing Janus go numb on him, and seeing Virgil absolutely bawling his eyes out…

Seeing how Logan had reacted to Virgil of all people had made him so obviously apparent to the major flaw in what he had wanted to happen, he had thought, and hoped, that the others would apologize, change, and that Logan would go back to normal. 

He had thought that just once he had helped, but… 

“I don’t think that he’s going to stop anytime soon…” 

It was a lot harder than he had thought that it would be, and it was even harder to see it happening to people that he knew and cared about. 

Looking down at the anxious side he feared for just a moment that Virgil was going to explode on him again. That this time he’d actually lunge forward and wrap his hands around Remus’ throat, and choke the daylights out of him for causing all of this. He knew that Virgil had thought about it, hell every time he talked and caused trouble he could tell that it was something Virgil wanted to do to him.   

But Virgil had gone dead silent, the look on his face unreadable by Remus.  

“Help me fix this,” Virgil finally whispered, his body finally loosening as his fists unclenched, no longer full of murderous rage. “If you want so badly to help… then help me fix this.” After a second finally adding, “Please.”

That was something at least, no even more than that…

It was a start. 

A better start than he deserved.