#i’m sorry but gerard has to be dying here

[frnkiebby]

happy valentine’s day~🎃

#i’m sorry but gerard has to be dying here #franks small but you know he’s fucking solid #like deceptively hefty #how on earth did he keep singing #poor bby probably WHEEZED #gerard #gerard way #gee way #gerard way wednesday #ft mikey + ray #frnkiebby #frank iero #mcr #frnkiero #frnkie #mcrmy #mcr5 #my chemical romance #my chem #ilhsm

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 102 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: putting up a new fence

ELIAS: "But you have a job to do, and I cannot fight your battles for you." JON: "As far as I can tell, the only battles I’ve been fighting have been yours and Gertrude’s." Yeah, that's basically what I said last episode when Michael said it wants revenge. That was not Jon's battle. As well as Jude. Or the gorilla skin. Or Prentiss!

ELIAS: "I should have thought preventing the horrific transformation of our world is not solely my concern!" Unfortunately Elias has a point there (to some degree...).

I said in MAG 92 that I wasn't completely convinced Elias is the big bad on my first listen because I didn’t know his motivations yet. Wasn't convinced at this point either and that sounded like he did have some beneficial motivations to humankind. I mean, Michael said something about not wanting the Archives to win either but, ehhhhh??

ELIAS: "There is a possibility some of them were misfiled." What? Gertrude misfiling statements? No!

JON: "How do we – How do I stop it?" Still the lone wolf. Still trying to fight this war alone. Still trying to keep the others safe by not having them around him. Still thinking the fate of the world is his responsibility to bear alone. (I mean... it kinda is... But not in the way he thinks of it.)

JON: "Is there anyone else who might know what it is, or, or where? Aside from Leitner, or Gerard?" ELIAS: "Sorry, Gerard Keay?" Yes, Jon, or Jared Hopworth? The way you pronounce it nobody knows! XD

ELIAS: [Sighs] "Melanie is on her way up here with a knife. Could you talk to her for me?" Meaning, could you please let yourself get stabbed by Melanie so I can cross off that Slaughter mark on my trauma-to-do list for you?

MELANIE: "No! But the way I see it, the police seem really keen not to investigate crimes committed here." ELIAS: "That’s actually fair." JON: "Shut up!" I mean, comedic relief and all, but in canon also provoking Melanie even more?

I admire everyone who can read French as a second language because I am utterly lost when it comes to French pronunciation.

Excuse me, is the statement giver roasting all everyone over the age of forty working at a bar just because he thinks of it as an dishonorable job?

"I am deeply grateful it was rare that we had children in Le Papillon, as the one time they came in while he was on shift with him, he vanished for almost twenty minutes and, when he returned, it was clear he’d been crying." And that, my dear readers, is the reason why you never ask people about their family planning. You never know what the other one has been going through or had to deal with.

"something to the smell itself, some memory of a childhood spent in the country around Lyon, of wandering out in the damp heat after a summer rain, of turning over logs slick with moisture, to reveal the crawling underbelly beneath them." Is it weird to say that this description fills me with nostalgia and I wish it was a rainy, but bright day so I could to exactly that?

"At the time I thought he was your son. His French was significantly better than yours, and it took some time and some difficulty translating before I could fully explain to you what had happened." I'm guessing this refers to Gertrude and Gerry making their intentions known, as understanding the statement giver was no problem for Gertrude I assume.

"I should have been more suspicious of this man, too old for his poorly dyed hair," This statement giver and their presumptuous views of how people have to be when reaching a certain age really pisses me off.

JON: "Statement ends." From the tone of his voice is looks like he still said it under the influence of the statement. He only starts to stutter after this, like blinking awake after a trance.

JON: "Did he know already? That his life was ending?" Did Gertrude know about Gerry’s tumor? And if yes, did Gertrude choose him because of the fact, that he wouldn't live much longer anyway? A life that would end one way or another in just a short time and conveniently also holds a connection to the Eye.

JON: "In the meantime I… I have a new flat." Wait what? How much time is there between Jon popping up in Elias' office and him finish reading this statement?? I always thought Elias might have given it to him and he read it asap? But that would leave no time to find a new flat I guess? Or maybe did Elias organize a new flat?

MARTIN: "Look I’m, I’m so sorry, John, I – Elias didn’t even tell any of us that you’d been kidnapped. I didn’t know – No-one else was telling me – And there wasn’t any –" JON: "Oh. Hey. Hey, hey, hey… It’s alright, it’s alright." THIS interaction was such an unexpected punch to the gut for me. It's so raw and honest, of both of them. I think this might be my favorite non-canon-ship-yet interaction of them.

MARTIN: "But I’m sure that if you could have been, you would have." Always putting good faith in him.

MARTIN: "Are you alright? They didn’t hurt you?" JON: "No. No, no, I’m… I’m okay. Just – I mean my skin’s in better condition than… ever. Is that a weird thing to say?" Gallows humor to deal with a traumatic event. Classic!

JON: "Does the rest of the Institute know what’s going on down here? I mean, I never really paid attention, but…" MARTIN: "N-Not really? I think?" Mary mentions this in MAG 62. Some kind of dream logic that always happens around the Fears, making others blind to what's going on?

MARTIN: "I mean, they can quit." This kind of implies, that they are not tied to the Institute (and Elias) in the same way as the Archive staff is. Which will kind of come up by the end of S4 again.

JON: "E-Elias mentioned… he said you’d been… reading statements?" MARTIN: "Oh… uh… yeah. Um… He thought it might help." JON: "Right. I-I-I mean, they’re not… They haven’t… You’ve been okay?" MARTIN: "B-B… Yeah. I mean, i-it wasn’t fun, but… I mean, if it, if it helps then I –" JON: "Okay. If you’re sure, just… Make sure the others help you, alright? Statements can be… If you’re not used to them it can… be a bit weird." MARTIN: "Er… Sure." Oh come on, that whole conversation is just as much fan service as it is meant to show character development (on Jon's side, obviously. Martin's always been flustered when Jon showed him compassion and care).

JON: "I’m, I’m sorry, Martin. We haven’t… I know we haven’t talked much since… Sasha and everything." Taking this as further... substrate (does this make sense in this regard?) to rest my headcanon of S2 Martin and Jon spending more time together (lunch breaks) upon.

MARTIN: "Well, I mean it’s not too late, y’know. Unless the world ends." [LAUGHS NERVOUSLY] JON: "Yeah." ・_・ (I mean... he'll come around before the world ends?)

@a-mag-a-day

#a-mag-a-day #mag 102 #tma #tma spoilers

[madasrabbits]

hey!!! anon that asked for mcr recommendations and advice on getting past the “missing out” feeling, back again!! first of all i wanted to say thank you sm for writing such a big response and giving me so many helpful recommendations!!!! all of this really means a lot to me and is extremely reassuring, so thank you <33 and i 100% agree that despite my regret of not getting into the band earlier this is definitely the best time to be an mcr fan based off of everything that’s been going on!!!! it is unbelievably heart-warming to see how happy and healthy everybody in the band is right now!! and seeing mcr tumblr go completely off the walls over cheergate recently was such a fun time and god did it make me Feel. i just remember going through an abundance of posts that night from trans/nonbinary people talking abt how much it meant to them and how happy they were for gerard, and for the same reasons it meant a lot to me as well. ALSO omg three cheers for revenge enjoyer hello!!!!! i literally found a three cheers shirt the other day and immediately impulse-bought it bc i knew i’d be dedicating myself to mcr’s discography very soon and that album cover is one of my favourites ever!!!! the album cover of all time (real). not to mention three cheers has the ghost of you on there my babygirl my sweet cheese my rotten soldier <33 oh and i listened to sleep for the first time recently as well????? mass casualties. i think sleep, mama and the ghost of you are my current faves pre-full-discography dive!! and on that note i’m so curious to know what ur fav mcr songs are!!!! AND ur fav three cheers song!!

ANON IM SO HAPPY UR BACK AND GETTING INTO THEM … peace and love on planet earth. its always a good time to be an mcr fan but we are thriving right now. theres a certain contagious joy in their happiness that spreads to us i think and its so beautiful to witness .also im so glad that u are a sleep enjoyer because shes my special girl <3333 love of my life ….

also ur so right abt three cheers album art truly iconic and we will always love . Always

ALSOENEURIUUUGFH okay i feel like my faves shift a lot because my taste changes and also because i truly do not believe they have a single bad song . BUT i do have like a loose top ten, with my top two being boy division & prison (sorry for being gay) and then everything falling into a nonspecific order after that : sharpest lives / jetset life / ftwww / vampire money / honey, this mirror / sleep / our lady of sorrows & either bury me in black or hang em high. i think. i dont know i have brain damage and i could write individual theses about every song they’ve ever made. im dying here . its so hard to be a bulletsrevengeblackparadedangerdaysconventionalweapons girl in this economy

and prison stands as my fav three cheers song but i usually stick jetset life as ALMOST tied with it but also its such a good album like truly no skips. every single song makes me go batshit fucking crazy everytime.

#jerseyclowns 99 theses on mcr discography #asks

[limeflavoredlobotomizer]

PART THREE HERE WE GO

8) Party Poison

this one opens with someone talking in Japanese and it translates to (according to genius lyrics) “everyone, this car has a full tank so we’re packing the explosives in a suitcase. life is short and there are many dangers on the roads we travel, so let’s dance” which again more parallels to like. enjoying life and fighting to keep living even when the world is a nightmare

the song mostly repeats itself about partying and dying and gerard being cocky (as is their right) but I don’t have too much else to say so moving on

9) Save Yourself, I’ll Hold Them Back

I love this one too, it opens with “are you all ready where you are?” a few times and then has some na na na na and THEN

not allowing yourself to be the victim in a world that wants to victimize you I guess? and the continued fight for what’s right and the overarching WILL TO LIVE that comes even when you’re full of hate.

and that motif continues here

like. spite as fuel for your desire to stay alive. so true bestie

and just the TITLE of this song. save yourself I’ll hold them back. the solidarity of being oppressed?

and THEN

10) S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W

this one is sort of haunting and also. have you ever read the book Small Spaces because BOYY this song reminds me of that book.

“make a wish when your childhood dies” okay so we’ve moved away from children now and we’ve grown up fighting to live in a world that hates us cool cool.

“he burns my skin, never mind about the shape I’m in” cough cough police brutality maybe??

“leave a dream where the fallout lies, watch it grow where the tear stain dries” first of all OUCH second of all yeah.

and THEN

“LOVE WONT STOP THIS BOMB”

which OKAY

lmao this is a lot shfjjdjgkfhdgkfhdhg sorry💀

Ooh. OOH. ‘Save yourself I’ll hold the back’ that shit’s some POETRY. ‘Who gives a damn if we lose the war? Let the walls come down, let the engines roar’ Oh, I LIKE that. That is good, that is banger, that works very well with my ocs.

#leave a dream where the fallout lies watch it grow while the tear stain dries? #hello there #it’s not me #…of course not #asks #mutuals #finleycannotdraw #MCR #danger days #stfu kor

[1987vampire]

A Good Something? | Judd Birch

Fandom: Big Mouth Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: a hurt racoon, the f slur, just a lot of cussing.  Request: None! A/N: This isn’t established Judd x reader, this is meeting him for the first time so if I write more fics for him, I have something I can refer y’all back to :) If y’all want to see more Judd, an ACTUAL judd x reader, I can give y’all that ALSO the reader has dyed hair in this - not blue - it’s not super important but there’s a line in here that references it.  Extra: 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” your words were stressed as you slammed on the breaks. The rain made it hard to see; it wasn’t your fault that the animal had run into the middle of the road. You weren’t even going that fast, they should have been able to hear you.

You flung your door open harsher than you meant to, but you had to move quickly in case someone came speeding down the road, and you ended up bleeding out right next to whatever you had hit. The road was slick underneath your feet. You almost slipped and fell as you skidded to a stop in front of them. It was a racoon, a fat one at that, and it was staring up at you with big doe eyes. His leg was twisted, and he was letting out small grunts of pain.

“Oh, I’m sorry, little buddy,” You cried. “Can I pick you up? I’ll find somewhere to take care of you, I promise.” You hadn’t really expected an answer- it was an animal after all – but he nodded up at you, reaching his little paws out in hopes that you would help. You paused for a moment, taking in the situation and trying to figure out how to pick him up without hurting him.

You reached an arm under his butt and the other under his neck so you wouldn’t jostle his leg too much. He made little chirping sounds as you steadily walked over to your car, using your head as a shield so he wouldn’t get rain in his eyes. You let out a quiet stream of ‘I’m sorry’s as you did so. You made it into your car just in time to close the door as someone sped down, narrowly missing you as they went.

The little racoon shivered in the passenger seat, but you covered him in blankets and spare clothes you kept in the back, turning the heat in your car on high, trying to dry him and heat him up at the same time. He stared up at you thankfully as you put the car in gear, driving home even slower than before, never going over twenty-five-miles-an-hour.

Once you had reached your apartment, you had to sneak him in in hopes that your shitty landlord wouldn’t notice. He had a strict no animals policy, but this was a bit more important. Fortunately, you could sneak past his office by telling the raccoon to be quiet, since he seemed to be good at listening to directions somehow, and hiding him underneath the pile of clothes, passing him off as laundry.

Finally, inside the comforts of your apartment, you laid him down on the couch and set to researching what to do. After a few calls to a few vet offices and a lot of google searches, you were able to give him a makeshift cast and lay him in a way that would be best for his recovery. He was still talking in his little racoon language as you went. It really looked like he was trying to tell you something, but unfortunately, you were human and could not understand him.

That was until he held your hand in his little paws and pulled them to his neck. How had you not noticed the skinny collar he was wearing? His thick fur had almost completely covered it. Really, it wasn’t even a collar but a thick piece of cord with a circle nameplate in the middle.

You fiddled with it, reading the information attached. ‘Contact Judd. 555-4200’ was engraved onto it in someone’s personal handwriting instead of with a machine. “You know it’s illegal for someone to own a racoon around here, right,” you told him. The racoon made a noise of disapproval and fiddled with the collar again. “Do you want me to take it off?” He hissed in displeasure, making you stop abruptly. “Call him?” He nodded enthusiastically. “You’re a strange little guy, you know that, right?”

You pulled out your phone and dialed the number, tapping your foot against the floor anxiously. It took a few rings, and you were sure he wouldn’t pick up, when a deep voice answered the phone.

“Do you know what fucking time it is, right now?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned towards the first clock you could find—three o’clock in the morning. “I- I’m sorry. I can call back in the morning if you want. I just have this racoon with me, and his ankle is twisted because I accidentally hit him, and he had your number on his neck, and I- I-“

“Racoon?” His voice cut you off, and you could tell that he was waking up at the information. “You hit one of my fucking racoons?”

“He ran out into the middle of the road when I was driving. It was raining, so I could barely see, and I couldn’t swerve to miss him because there was a car on one side of the road and trees on the other. I wrapped his leg, and he’s resting, but he wanted me to call you, so here we are.”

He let out a few grumbles, and my fingers instinctively rose to my face so I could bite at my nails. “Fucking hell. Why was he in the middle of the road?” It was a rhetorical question, but you had almost wanted to respond even though you didn’t have an answer. “Does he have any distinctive marks on him? A missing toe, clipped ear, maybe he has uneven stripes.” Your eyes fell on the racoon again. He looked pretty normal besides the leg.

Almost like he knew what you were talking about, the racoon pulled one of his hands up to his forehead. After you pushed some of his fur to the side, you knew what he was pointing at. “He’s showing me that he has a scar on his forehead - like he split his forehead or something.”

“Of course it’s fucking Gerard – the fat fuck.”

You frowned at the statement. “He’s not that fat.”

“I mean the sentence in the most loving hatred filled way I can mean it. He knows I don’t mean it. Can you give the phone to him?”

This was the weirdest fucking situation you had ever been in. “Oh yeah, I guess.” you placed the phone in the racoon’s hand, and he made a chirp as a hello. You could hear Judd’s voice lowly in the speaker as he talked to him, the racoon making noises of acknowledgement as he went. You could make out very little besides him asking if you were taking care of him and then berating him for being stupid. The racoon – well, Gerard – kept trying to talk to him, but Judd refused to let up, barely giving him a moment to speak even if he did understand him.

After a few minutes, Gerard pushed the phone towards me, and I took it back. “So, what do you want me to do with him. Like, I can take him to yours, since I guess he belongs to you, or-“

“Fuck off. What are you – the feds? Give me your address, I’m not letting you see my shit.”

“Well, usually people ask me on a date before seeing my place, but-“ the words had slipped from my mouth before I thought about what I was saying, and my eyes immediately widened with embarrassment. “Oh my god- I’m sorry-“

He laughed loudly and pulled the phone away from his ear. “Well, we can think about that after I get the fat fucking faggot in your house.”

Your arms crossed. “You better part of that community if you’re using their slurs, fuckface.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mused. “Give me your address. I’m getting in my car.”

After giving him the information, you hung up, itching at your arm as you stared at Gerard. “He isn’t very nice, huh,” you told him. He chirped and shook his head as if defending him. “Is he really mean or is it a front?” He chirped at the second part, and I smiled. “Well, he’ll be here soon.”

And soon it was. It only took him about ten minutes before you heard a loud knocking on your door, banging more like. You jumped from sitting beside Gerard to the door, peeking out into the dark hallway, the latch still connected. “Judd?”

On the other side of the door was a decently tall man with black and blue hair, his sides shaved til it was only stubble. He was clad in a gray hoodie and black jeans, gray converse on his feet. His face was set in a glare as he stared at you. “Who the fuck else would it be?”

You shut the door and unlatched it, opening it wider so he could come in. “You knock like my landlord.”

“Landlord?” He pushed into your apartment, his sights set on the racoon lounging on your cheap couch. “You don’t look old enough to have a landlord.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m nineteen. This is my apartment.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder. “And you let some strange man in? Pretty stupid if you ask me.”

You frowned and pursed your lips. “I can kick you out- keep your racoon if you don’t start acting nice.”

“You could definitely try.” He picked up Gerard’s leg, inspecting it. “You did a good job with this. Almost as good as my work.”

“He was a good patient.”

Judd scoffed, sticking his hands underneath Gerard to pick him up just as you had earlier that night. “He was probably just basking in a pretty girl’s attention.”

Pretty? A smile was climbing onto your face. He was pretty, too, if he didn’t have such a sour attitude.

His eyes fell onto yours as he turned. “I like your hair by the way. The color suits you.” You ran your hand through your dyed hair, suddenly very conscious of how you looked. “You should try blue next time.” Gerard made a loud noise in his arms and reached out to you. Judd frowned down at him. “You had your fun, dumbass, but you’ve got to go home now. I’m sure the others are worried about you.”

“Others?”

Judd looked back at you. “Yeah, I was – uh – training a battalion of racoons to kill my younger brother.” He groaned quietly. “Now they’re good for catering and attacking intruders, but they refused to hurt him. Got a few scars because of it.”

You chuckled quietly and shook your head. “You sure are something, alright.”

His lips upturned the slightest bit into a tiny smile. “Is that a good something?”

“Sure, we can say that.”

You opened the door for him as he started taking strides towards it. He paused right past the entryway, something sitting on his tongue. “Try not to hit any more racoons, alright?”

Your fingers drummed along the door, and you laughed. “I’ll be sure to call you if I do. Just in case.”

He was already walking away when he responded. “You have my number.”

You hesitated on shutting the door right away, choosing to listen to him begin to berate the racoon as he walked down the hall, something along the lines of, ‘you make me come out in the middle of the night, scared shitless. You could have died, you fucking cunt.” He continued as he disappeared out of sight, but you didn’t even have the heart to ask him to cover the racoon as he left, preferring to just deal with your landlords berating the next day.

#judd birch #judd birch x reader #judd big mouth #judd big mouth x reader #big mouth #big mouth x reader

[fuckthisshitimin]

Borrowed Time, Chapter 5: Do not go gentle (into that good night)

Chapter 1: Are you afraid of death, Jon?

Chapter 2: Take my Picture (I want to last longer)

Chapter 3: I don't know.

Chapter 4: About the life of Gertrude Robinson

read on ao3

September 30th, last autumn of Gerard Keay

7:15PM

“It is a well-known poem. Maybe even an overused one under such circumstances.”

It is the smallest memorial room Oliver has. So it doesn’t look so empty, with just the nine of them here. It’s a ridicule audience.

“Gertrude Robinson will be missed next week for the opening of The Montague Institute she founded.” Gertrude would hate the ceremonious tone this is taking. “In the last months she published a book and three articles, last year she traveled to China, the United States, Egypt, France and Norway to harass research institutes into letting her access and copy their archives.” The talking about her. If she could rise from her casket and tell everyone to just bury her already and be done with it, she would. But she can’t. “She was 81. So this poem might be overused, but I don’t think it fits anyone better than it does Gertrude.”

She can’t, and unlike all those times she achieved the impossible, she won’t.

“Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of light.”

5:08AM

“Jon? Jon, Oh thank god.”

“Martin.”

Jon lets out a tired sigh. Relieved, too. He didn’t know he needed to hear his voice so much. “Jon, where are you? Are you okay?”

“I… Yes. I, ah, sorry I lied. I had to.”

“You— what? Jon?”

“Don’t— Martin, are you okay?”

His breathing is fast on the other end of the line, maybe too fast, he must be just awake, he shouldn’t be breathing so fast yet. “If I am okay? Are you seriously asking this? I can’t… I can’t believe you. You! Jon. Where. Goddammit, Jon!”

“Martin? Breathe with me okay. I am so sorry. I am. I sent a text.”

“You… Okay. Okay.”

They breathe together, one inhale at a time. When Martin’s breath is even enough, he chuckles, the way he does when things are wrong, and his voice is screeching just a bit. “Sorry I will not be there when you wake up, I am not sure I will have service, do not worry. Jon? Do you hear how worrying that sounds?”

“It says not to worry.”

“I can’t—”

“Martin? Are you crying?”

“No. No I am not, but I should be, really.” A snicker, a scoff, “Will you tell me where you are?”

“I am… keeping Gertrude’s body.”

“You… Oh, Jon. You were there all night?”

“Yes. I, um. I didn’t—”

“I get it. I am still mad at you, but I get it. You could have… I would have come with you.”

“I know. Which is why I had to lie.”

“You didn’t have to lie.”

“I did.”

“No! No, you didn’t. You had a choice to lie to me or to fight me so I would sleep, and you chose to go behind my back and have me wake up with you gone.”

Jon winces. It hurts to hear. It hurts that Martin is right. It hurts that it hurts Martin. “I am sorry.”

“Next time… Jon, I am serious. Next time you do something knowing you will be sorry about it… don’t.”

“I—”

“Promise me.”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can promise me. And later, you can break that promise, but if you do, then, I’ll know you will have thought about that conversation, I know you will have decided that— that lying to me, or, or keeping secrets, that— hurting me because you know better and I can’t understand is worth it.”

“Martin, this isn’t what—”

“This isn’t what this is about? Not for you, no. For me, Jon.”

“… fine.”

“Fine?”

“I promise. I promise next time I… think about doing something I know I’ll apologize for, I will talk to you first.”

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay. I, I have to go to work. I can… maybe I can try to call—”

“Ah, no, no, don’t— I’ll be fine. The ceremony is at seven, and I’ll… I’ll come home after that. If you… If you’re asleep I’ll… we will… talk in the morning, then? I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. I… Send me the address. I’ll come after work.”

“You have a—”

“I know, Jon. I know I have to rest, I know I will be exhausted, and I know you don’t want me to be, but I want to be here for you. With you. Okay?”

“I’ll… Okay. Yes, okay, I will… text you the address, and, I will, um, can I— I don’t know.”

“Look, I am running late. I will call you when I am on break. Don’t— keep your phone on silent, please? If you get sleep I don’t want to wake you.”

“But I—”

“Jon, if you don’t keep your phone on silent I won’t call at all.”

“You will, though.” Another snicker, like earlier, but it’s lighter, and Jon think Martin can hear him smile, too. “But yes. I will put my phone on silent.”

“Good. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They share a silence like they would share a kiss, and Jon is alone with Gertrude’s body again.

8:30PM

Jon clicks his tongue, muttering between his teeth against the flint he’ll have to change. All because Tim wanted to show a trick he ‘learnt during his wildest years’. Well Jon will stay dubious about this. He doesn’t even know where he put his spare flints. He hasn’t had to change it since the last time he tried quitting, so that would be… oh, he will probably just buy new ones.

“Need a light?”

A flame flickers, close to his face and he jumps. It comes from a golden zippo. The eyes engraved on its metal look like Gerry’s tattoos. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

He shakes his head, pocketing his own lighter and leaning into the flame, grateful for the smoke filling his mouth soon. “It’s me. I am… tired. Very tired.”

“I can tell.”

He snickers, leaning into the wall. Through the window, he can see the inside of the pub, faces distorted by the glass. Sasha is laughing with her whole body, and Tim would be, too, if Martin’s head wasn’t resting on his shoulder. A gush of wind throws Gerry’s hair swirling, brushing against Jon’s cheek, and he turns to look at them. “How… are you taking this?”

“Dunno. It’s hard to imagine she’s gone, I guess. Hard to not make this about me, too.”

Jon nods. A phrase, Martin said, Martin had heard, from his therapist, and had told him, too, shared that, “What you feel is about you.”

“And you?”

“I was never close to Gertrude.”

“You kept watch.”

It’s almost a full blown laughter, then, and Jon can feel Gerry’s eyes scrutinizing his face while he does so. What else? What could he do but keep watch, keep watching? He coughs, shakes away his laughter, gestures in the air in front of him, cigarette leaving a smoke trail that diffuses immediately.

“I did.”

With his other hand, he searches for Gerry’s. To hold it again. Here they are. Long fingers, the smooth texture of nail polish, and when his thumb brushes over her knuckles, he imagines he can feel the ink, too. A puff of smoke, a shoulder leaning against his, “My grandmother died during my finals.” His heart tightens at the thought. He didn’t mean to say that. It’s not… What you feel is about you, he said, right? A squeeze. He remembers Georgie doing that too.

Holding his hand, and he took all the love she gave so helplessly, wondering what he could give to make up for it, resolutely quiet when she asked if he wanted her to come home with him. He was an idiot. He still is, really. He takes a quick breath, it stumbles on his first words, “She was dead for a couple of days when they found her. Thanks to the cat— and she, the cat, she’s fine. She died soon after, but, she, she didn’t starve, and the neighbors took her in— um. I, ah, I was called, as I was her only next of kin, here. I knew she didn’t want to be embalmed, and college… those aren’t excuses. She was buried the very day they called me, before sundown.”

He closes his eyes for a second, breathes in and out to calm the wave of tears that rumbles at the back of his lungs. A shift in the weight on his side. Silence, listening, waiting, he could change the subject, Gerry would let him, would go along with it probably. Would they tell him, if they didn’t want to hear it? He opens his eyes again, stares at the cigarette thinking maybe it could burn him alive, now. It scares him.

“I… We had a funeral ten days later. A ceremony without her body. My— my aunt flew all the way from India to attend. I don’t… I don’t remember telling her that I wasn’t there. My grandmother, she gave everything she had to her family. To me. She wasn’t particularly… enthusiastic about it, but she did.”

He does his best to keep his eyes open, staring at the pavement, because when he closes them it’s on his eyelids. His grandmother’s garden he wasn’t allowed to come close to if she wasn’t there, the sound of the vacuum cleaner waking him up on Sunday mornings in high school, the piles of books she left on the living room table if she needed to go out before he was up.

“And I wasn’t there when she died, wasn’t there just before, I wasn’t even there after she died. I don’t think I told my aunt that, but she knew. She knew.” There is a knot in his throat, still, and the puddle on the road seems to shine with anger against him, and shame takes his shoulders, weighing them down, he stumbles on a thought, he wants to search for Martin, but he doesn’t have the right, does he? He doesn’t deserve— he tightens his jaw. Aunt Noor hadn’t said anything. He’d like to think he projected the disappointment in her tone.

“She knew that I left her mother go alone, and we both— This is not, ah, this is not what she would have wanted. It’s not an assumption. My grandmother— when my parents died, she did everything so they would go right. Arranged it so there was always someone with them, went through her contacts, she… she had, I don’t even know how she pulled that off, but she had Chany, a— a local singer, she sang at the Ramsden's, and my parents liked her a lot, come and help with cleaning and…”

He doesn’t remember this so well. His grandmother didn’t talk about it a lot, and he isn’t sure how he learnt all this. The imam mentioned it, he thinks. But he wasn’t so close to him, either. It is, simply, something he knows. He does remember, what the bodies smelled like. The perfumes. The hand of his grandmother guiding his. Showing him how to do it right. She taught him, she taught him and still. He bites back a sob.

“She wouldn’t have wanted to go this way. This, what I did, this is the opposite of— I, ah, I didn’t, didn’t handle things very well, after that. I, I guess you could say I… acted out. Um. And I, to be honest, this, these memories aren’t, aren’t so clear, but I know Elias brought me to his office and I— I can’t remember how he got me to, to say all this? To, explain, I mean, I was risking my scholarship, and he— he needed explanations and I said too much, overshared, ah. He told me, told me I could have asked for arrangements, for my finals, that those were exceptional circumstances, and.”

He stops there, for a second, and he hopes if he keeps his eyes open wide enough, the tears won’t come, but they blur his vision slowly, dampening his voice.

“What’s the point? I don’t understand.” A tiny laugh escapes his lips, as he remembers Elias’s gentle tone, his eyes almost warm, trying to deflect Jon’s anger with soft whispers and a box of tissues at the ready. You could have been there. He just had to ask. “What is the point of telling me this, telling me I could have made things right, and not be the worst grandson in history, could have been there, with her, if I had just tried, after it is done? I should have been there. And I could have been, too. But I wasn’t.”

It’s the end of the story, and the conclusion is bitter and unsatisfying, the way he can’t even say this without choking on his breath, without his shoulders shaking, and he thinks he’d fall if it wasn’t for Gerry’s weight, for the arm that wraps around him. It holds him tight and he can just think he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve it, but he needs it.

What else can he do? What can he do with the care thrown his way, with the love that surrounds his every step, when every step trembles with the fear he’ll fail them in an unforgivable, definitive way?

1:23PM

Steps approaching the door, that aren’t Gerry’s. Sasha frowns, eyes looking up to the clock. Oh, right. She adjusts Gertrude’s dress. She didn’t see the time pass. She brushes her fingers over the tight hairdo, uselessly so. It’s perfect like that. The door opens behind her, and she nods at her work, she’ll see it again later.

“You are not Oliver.”

The voice surprises her, still. Oh, she should have known. Oliver told her someone would come, to stay by the body until the ceremony, and that she was to let him in, and she had wondered who it could be, who Gertrude still had, to this day, outside of Gerry, Michael and her. If not then, she should have known when she heard the cane supporting his steps down the stairs.

“I sure hope I am not. I realize you needed to make up for the lack of mortician friends in your life when I left, but I must say your friend is quite dull.”

She turns around, and for sure, Jon’s expression is nothing if not dramatic when he says her name, when he walks to her and offers a cup of tea he had brought for Oliver, and something that is almost an apology for never calling her back. His speech is fast and erratic, and she notices he’s wearing one of Martin’s sweaters, falling almost to his knees, holding him loosely, and she’s glad they are, at least, doing fine.

Small talk is hard to maintain when Jon is in this kind of mood, and they jump from subject to subject faster than her sleep-deprived can really follow, and it’s not until he mumbles against cold tea for the third time that his energy comes to a halt, he stops mid-sentence, falls silent.

His eyes are wide, and he never fails to remind her of a deer in the headlights of a car. “Oh, you were waiting for me to get here to take a break. I didn’t mean to… you can leave, sorry I took so much of your time.”

“I wasn’t, no worry. Gerry went out to get lunch. I can ask them to grab something for you, too?”

“Gerry?”

“Oh, right, I forget you two never actually met. They were Gertrude’s assistant before me, remember, we used their research?”

Jon’s face pales in an instant, and she stills, wondering if he’ll faint, but he gets up suddenly, wincing and putting down his cup of tea. “You do mean Gerard Keay, then.”

“Yes?”

If his face paled a second ago, it is bright again, and he grumbles furiously as he smooths imaginary pleats on his sweater. Oh. She remembers, he did have a specific interest for Gerry’s notes. And their career, she thinks. He might have overquoted their research in his papers, too. “Is there a problem with that, Jonathan Sims?”

“No. No problem at all.”

“You are so lucky Tim isn’t here yet.”

“Oh, when will he be? If he is attending at all. I, ah, haven’t seen him in quite a while, either.”

She snickers, shoots a quick text to Gerry. “He’ll be there. I think. I… haven’t told him I was here yet.”

“Oh, Sasha.”

#tma #mikhail writes #the magnus archives #jongerry #jongerrymartin #jonmartin #jgm fic #jgm #the magnus pod #gertrude robinson #sasha james #tma fic #jongerry fic #jongerrymartin fic #jonmartin fic

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 9

Chapters: 9/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

On a Tuesday in the middle of November, not long after Gerry's 28th birthday, the three of them eat dinner at Gerry's flat, as they often do these days. Jon cooks for them and after, Martin and Gerry wash the dishes and debate the book they both just finished reading.

Jon has been twitchy all evening, so they leave him to read his own book in peace.

He wanders in at one point, leaning against the counter. "Gerry, do you know what day it is?"

Gerry looks over at him in such a way as to indicate that he really doesn't.

"Our six-month anniversary?" He tries.

"No," Martin pipes up, "That's not for weeks yet."

Jon and Gerry both look at him askance. "What? Your boyfriend starts dating another man, you remember the date. I can't believe you two don't know." Martin says as if that about covers it.

"Nevermind that." Jon snaps, and even with his previous moodiness, the others are taken aback at his blunt words and even harsher tone.

"Something wrong, Jon?" Gerry asks quietly, leaning against the opposite counter to Jon and crossing his arms. His tone suggests what he actually wanted to say was 'Do we have a problem here, bitch?' but he manages to reign the actual words in.

"I want to know why you left without saying goodbye." Jon's words are filled with a multitude of frustrations, none of which are actually conveyed in his limited words.

"Yesterday?" Gerry asks, incredulous. "You were asleep!"

"No! Not yesterday." Jon snaps back. "When we were younger. It's been ten years today since you disappeared off the face of the planet."

"Oh," Gerry responds quietly, his defensive posture dropping. He leans his hands back on the table behind him, bringing his shoulders up around his ears. It’s a rare display of confident, edgy Gerry trying to shrink himself.

"I thought we were, you know. Together. Then one day you were just gone! As if you had never existed. Your mother wouldn't tell me anything at all, just sat there smirking at me, said that you were gone and she didn't know when you were coming back, or if you were ever coming back. Which you never did, actually." Jon has been pacing, his voice rising with each new word until the final words are shouted accusatorily into the space between them.

Gerry knew Jon had wanted to talk about this since the day he walked in the library and back into his life. He had waited, been patient, and Gerry had put it off in the hopes that he would never have to choke the words out. Now, that patience was obviously over, and he knew he owed Jon this explanation.

"We were together Jon. I loved you."

"So why? What did I do so wrong, that I got to wake up one day and find you gone ?" Jon's voice has become desperate, and they can all hear the tears that he is trying to hold back.

"Don't say that. You didn't do anything wrong. We weren't perfect, but we were always so good together. I... I had to get out of there. And I couldn't leave any clues behind, so I couldn't tell you anything, because it wouldn't have been safe for either of us." Gerry reaches towards Jon to soothe him, but he flinches away and Gerry doesn't pursue him.

"I don't understand." The tears have come, and Gerry desperately tries to hold back his own when he sees them.

Martin had up until that point been standing resolutely in the corner, trying not to interfere in their pre-Martin argument. At the advent of tears, Martin moves to stand at Jon's back, gripping his shoulder for comfort. Gerry looks bereft and Martin holds out a hand to get him to come closer as well. They huddle all together, both Jon and Gerry taking comfort in Martin's steadiness.

Gerry leans into Jon, sliding his hand around his neck and pressing their foreheads together. "I'm so sorry, love. I've never forgiven myself for just disappearing on you. I thought about you every day."

"I love you," Jon whispers as Martin rocks them both gently. "But I need to know."

"I love you too." Gerry shuts his eyes and wishes more than ever to erase his shitty legacy of pain and blood.

*

Martin drags them to bed and offers to leave them alone to their talk.

"Please stay," Gerry says, grasping his hand. "You both need to know, and I don't want to have to talk through this twice."

So they all pile into Gerry's bed together, sitting in a vague circle like teenagers at a slumber party.

As Gerry starts to talk, Martin drags him over toward him and begins braiding his dark blue hair. It's both an offer of physical comfort and affection (easily Gerry's main love language) and a simple way of letting him off the hook for eye contact.

With Jon staring at him quite intently, Martin doesn't think he needs any further pressure.

"Jon, you-" He starts and then halts abruptly. Jon reaches over and grasps his hand, attempting to further ground him. "You remember my mother. I know you saw how, how just off she was. Manipulative and controlling. By turns demanding and completely uninterested in me. One day I would be free to run wild for weeks at a time, the next she would have a meltdown if I wasn't exactly where she wanted me, every second of the day and night." Gerry blows a breath out, shuddering at the memory of a particularly bad incident with a vase that had left him needing several stitches over his left eye.

"Well, she wasn't always like that. I remember her being a pretty good mom when I was young, if distant. She was always far more interested in being a wife than a mother, and she loved the way my father adored her.

“When I was 7, my father was blinded in an accident at work. I remember the day the phone call came. She spoke very calmly to the hospital, before hanging up the phone and shattering every picture frame in the house." Martin is finished with Gerry's hair and simply leans into him, offering silent comfort. "He coped okay with his new disability actually, and I liked helping him learn the world again with no sight. My mother never recovered from her initial breakdown though. She was angry and petulant that she needed to help and support him for the first time in their entire relationship and became more and more unhinged over the course of a year.

"One day I came home from school to find a puddle of blood soaked into the floor of the living room. She said there had been an accident and my father wasn't coming back. She hit me for the first time when I cried. She told me that I was a man now, and tears were for useless girls and disgusting… Well, you get the picture."

Gerry pauses and glances between them. A few tears have started to run down his face, but he doesn't seem to even notice them.

"We moved a few days later, and that was all I ever knew about my father's death until I was eighteen, almost ten years later. I'll spare you the horrid details, but as I'm sure you've already guessed, she murdered him. She explained very, very graphically what she had done with the body, and that she would never be caught, no one would ever think to blame her, even if anyone could ever prove that he was dead at all."

The words hang heavy in the air between the three of them. Gerry feels the comfort of their touches, but can hardly stand the affection anymore. He gets up off the bed and goes to look out the bedroom window, arms crossed and posture hard.

"Then she looked me right in the eye. And she told me that was exactly what would happen to Jon if she ever caught me with him again."

Dead, cold silence fills the room.

Gerry turns back around to find them both watching him. "So, I packed whatever I could fit into my duffle bag, and I got the hell out of dodge. I ran. I ran because I couldn't close my eyes at night with seeing your face white and cold and covered in blood and," he breaks off and takes a shuddering breath, covering his eyes and sinking to his knees. "And I couldn't stand that she would hurt you because of me. That all your light and potential would be ripped away from you in blood and pain and nothing I felt for you could make even the risk of that worthwhile."

He lifts his head to look up at them, where they’ve moved to the side of the bed towards him. “And do you want to know what the worst part is, actually? I can’t get over the idea that even though I haven’t seen Mary Keay in 10 years, the ghost of her demons lives inside of me. That I'm really just… Her. That one day my mind will snap and I'll be a danger to you both and I'll be the one hurting you, just like she hurt him. And then I'll just be the same monster who has always haunted my dreams."

Martin and Jon exchange a heavy look. They can scarcely believe that Gerry had endured so much and yet is still… Gerry. Happy, flirtatious, loving Gerry. Gerry, who fills their lives with colour and spontaneity, always showing up when they least expected him, pushing himself into their gravity and asking for space in their lives.

Despite the rather violent nature of Gerry's confession, it doesn't change anything for either of them. Things are not yet settled between them, but they curl around Gerry on the floor and they cry together over shattered innocence and sacrificed futures, and Jon promises himself that he will never let Mary Keay come between him and Gerry ever again.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

[teenwolffan-with-nolife]

The Witch and The Wolf Pt.18

Word Count: 2,002

Characters: Derek Hale, Isaac Lahey, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Allison Argent, Lydia Martin (mentioned), Reader

Pairings: Derek Hale x Witch!Reader

Warnings: angst

A/N: ---

Masterlist         Series Masterlist

---

You drove up to Scott’s house, honking the steering wheel twice to let them know you were here.

“(Y/N),” you heard Melissa’s voice.

“Melissa, hey! Long time no see,” you got out of your car, smiling at her.

“How have you been?” she wrapped her arms around you.

“It’s been busy. How are you?” you replied.

“Good… honey you’re looking a little pale, are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, scanning you carefully.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just haven’t been getting enough sleep lately,” you gave her a soft smile.

“You should get some rest,” she said.

“Yeah. We gotta get to school now,” you replied.

“Of course,” she pressed a kiss to your forehead before you sat back in your car, Stiles, and Scott already inside.

You saw your phone ring, getting a call from Isaac.

“One second,” you answered your phone.

“Hey, Isaac. What’s up?” you asked.

“Isaac? Seriously?!” Stiles groaned.

You mouthed at him to shut up.

“I’m coming back to school!” he exclaimed.

“What? How?” you put the phone on speaker.

“Jackson talked to Stilinski. See you there,” he said.

“Yeah, bye,” you hung up the call, looking at Stiles, who was frowning.

“What?” you asked.

“What did Jackson say? And how did Isaac make him say that? And also, I hate Isaac,” Stiles blurted out.

“Me too,” Scott agreed.

You looked back at Scott, giving him a look.

“First of all, Isaac’s my friend so the two of you, shut it,” you started.

“I still don’t get why you’re friends with that asshole,” Scott sighed.

“You know, he says the same about you two,” you glared.

Scott rolled his eyes, sitting back in the seat as you started driving.

“Okay, but onto more pressing matters, what are we gonna do about this kanima? Does anyone besides Derek know anything about them?” Scott asked.

Your eyes went wide, pressing the brakes hard.

“Geez (Y/N)!” Stiles gasped, hitting the front.

“That’s what you get for not wearing your belt. What do you mean kanima?” you asked, turning to Scott.

“The kanima? The big evil thingy with the tail that killed Isaac’s dad? Paralyzed Stiles and Derek? Trapped them in a pool?” Scott frowned.

“Well, no one told me about any of this! Kanimas are, well annoying for starters,” you groaned.

“You know what a kanima is?” Stiles asked.

“Sort of. I know my mom hunted one years ago, and also they have that venom that paralyzed people,” you recalled what your mom said.

“Well, can you like… do a spell or something to find out who it is?” Stiles suggested.

“Well...that’s kinda what I had to tell you guys about,” you felt your face drop, remembering the events from the previous nights.

---

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” you heard Stiles yell as he ran down the hall, pulling your arm.

“Ow! Easy Stiles! Getting shot in the arm hurts you know!” you hissed, pulling away from him.

“Right, sorry! But Derek thinks Lydia is the kanima!” Stiles yelled.

“What? How? What?” you exclaimed. You could feel slight anger in your chest, Derek never told you any of this.

“I don’t know, but Jackson overhead Isaac saying something, they're gonna test Lydia and,” Stiles looked at you nervously.

“Okay, just take a breath. I’ll go talk to Isaac,” you nodded.

“I just… if anything happens to her,” Stiles began.

“I know, and nothing will. Don’t worry about it. I know how much you care about her,” you gave him a small smile as he nodded.

“Good, now I’ll go find Isaac,” you said, walking away from him.

---

“(Y/N)?” Isaac gasped as you grabbed his ear, pulling him with you.

“Ow, ow, ow! (Y/N)!” he exclaimed.

“Why are you trying to kill Lydia?!” you yelled, pulling him into an empty classroom.

“Oh,” he said softly.

“Tell me what’s happening. Right now,” you crossed your arms.

“Derek’s gonna kill me,” he muttered.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t tell me. Derek’s going to get what’s coming to him too. Now speak,” you said.

“Last night, we tested Jackson… to see if he was the Kanima. And he passed the test. We tested everyone, the only person we didn't test is Lydia,” Isaac explained.

“So, Derek thinks it’s Lydia? Yeah, right,” you scoffed.

“He does. So we have to test her,” he said.

“How do you plan on doing that?” you asked.

He went silent for a moment as you glared at him.

“Okay, we’re going to test her during Chemistry, okay?” he said.

“Good. And Isaac, be smarter than that,” you rolled your eyes.

He looked away from you as you walked out.

---

“Lydia failed the test,” Scott ran to you, his eyes wide.

“What? So she’s the kanima?” you asked.

You, Scott, Stiles, and Allison walked into a room.

“Yes. No. I don't know,” he shook his head.

“Okay, well, even if she’s not, Derek thinks she is. He wants to kill her,” Stiles paced around the room.

“Okay, just calm down. Look, you three take Lydia and go to someplace safe. I’ll go talk to him, okay?” you asked them.

They all nodded.

“What happens if you can’t change his mind?” Allison asked.

“Just pray that doesn't happen,” you inhaled deeply.

“Holy crap, your shoulder!” Scott exclaimed, seeing your shirt pull down, uncovering your wound

“It’s not a big deal,” you said, standing up from against the table.

“What happened?” Allison asked you.

You paused before answering.

“Someone shot me,” you shrugged.

“What? Who?” she gasped.

You saw Stiles and Scott look at you.

“I don’t know, some hunter. But it doesn't matter right now,” you lied.

“Okay... so we have a plan?” Allison asked.

“Just take her somewhere safe, I’ll deal with Derek.” 

---

“Derek,” you called out to him, seeing him standing on the lacrosse field.

“(Y/N),” he replied.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked softly.

“Look,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No, you listen to me. First, keeping all of this from me? Why? Why are you trying to hide this? The kanima? And now, you’re trying to kill Lydia? Are you serious right now?” you started, pacing around.

“She’s the kanima. She’s killed people, multiple people. I can’t just let her get away with that,” he crossed his arms.

“You’ve killed multiple people too,” you raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not a homicidal maniac, (Y/N), I can control this. She can’t.”

“So why don’t you help her instead? She doesn't know what she’s doing, even if it is her,” you replied.

“What do you mean ‘if’? She failed the test (Y/N). It’s her,” Derek said.

“What if she’s immune?” you asked.

“Are you serious? It’s impossible,” he rolled his eyes.

“No, it's not. It's 100 percent possible. Think about it. Peter bit her, she’s fine. She lived,” you said.

“That’s what made the kanima in the first place,” he groaned.

“What about Jackson? You saw how he reacted to the bite, and he’s fine. He’s immune,” you remembered.

“He’s not fine, he’s dying!” Derek exclaimed.

“Derek, if the bite was killing him, he would’ve been dead by now,” you raised an eyebrow.

“He passed the test. Lydia didn’t,” you saw Derek clench his jaw.

Before either one of you could continue speaking, you noticed Gerard walking out of the school.

“Shit,” you quickly pulled Derek, taking him to your car.

“You’re not killing Lydia, you’re not killing anyone,” you said.

Derek looked at you quietly, closing his eyes, nodding softly.

“Good, let’s go.”

---

“Tell Isaac, Boyd, and Erica to leave Scott’s house. You’re not killing Lydia,” you said for the 100th time.

“You don’t understand (Y/N). She’s dangerous,” Derek scoffed.

“So what? So was I. So are you, so is every freaking creature in the world! That doesn't mean you have to kill her,” you exclaimed.

“(Y/N), in all our years of living, have you ever heard of a good kanima? Or a kanima that could control themselves? It doesn't exist. There’s no way to save them or help them! The only way to do it is to kill them,” Derek said, walking in front of you.

“Well, there’s a first for everything. Who has ever tried to help a kanima? Look, all this old research from this group of hunters, conducted tests on kanimas. We have our answer on how to help her. If she’s the kanima, then she’s alone, and she’s scared. We need to help her. There’s always an option to help her,” you sighed.

Derek looked down at you, stroking your cheek softly, resting his hand on the back of your head.

“So we can help her?” you looked up at him.

He paused as he took a deep breath.

“No,” he said softly.

“Derek-”

His grip on your head tightened as you tensed, trying to pull away from him. 

“Derek,” you grunted.

He held you tightly, forcing your mouth open as he poured a small vial of liquid into you.

You pushed away from him, coughing as you stumbled back.

“What the hell was that?!” you yelled, your voice shaking.

“(Y/N),” he put his hand on your shoulder. 

You looked down, seeing your hands shaking, as you felt them go numb.

Kanima venom 

Your eyes watered as you looked up at him, feeling your heart aching as your body went numb. The rest of your body went limp as he put his arms around you, holding you.

“What the fuck,” you spat.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” he said softly.

“You son of a bitch!” you yelled, tears falling down your cheek.

“I know, but I can’t let her live. I’m sorry,” he carried you, placing you on your bed.

“Derek, stop this!” you yelled, your voice breaking.

He looked at you, giving you a sorrowful look before putting a pair of handcuffs around your wrist, tying it to the bed frame.

“Derek! You dick! Stop!” you screamed.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. He started walking out, ignoring your cries and screams.

“I hate you!” you screamed.

You saw him pause, as you cried softly.

“I know,” he replied, walking out of your apartment, locking the door behind him.

---

After the kanima venom wore off, and your tears dried, you grabbed a bobby pin, picking the lock on the chain. After successfully taking it off, you took a shaky breath, rubbing your now bruised wrist.

Your eyes watered once more, out of anger. After everything, he would do that to you.

You ran out of your apartment, running straight to the subway.

---

“Derek!” you shouted, running in.

“(Y/N),” you heard Isaac’s voice.

“Where is he?!” you screamed.

“(Y/N),” you heard his voice from behind you.

“You-”, you turned to him, making a fist as you swung at his face.

He stumbled back a few steps.

“You asshole! You bitch!” you screamed, hitting him again.

“(Y/N),” he started.

“I hate you!” you yelled.

He fell to the ground, as you got on top of him, hitting him again, as the anger overpowered you.

“You couldn’t fucking listen to me! What the fuck is wrong with you?! You betrayed me!” 

“I won’t hurt you,” he said softly.

“You already hurt me!” you cried.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry,” he apologized. You could see the blood dripping from his face as Isaac put his hand on your shoulder

“I hate you,” you cried as Isaac pulled you off of him.

You felt a surge of power and energy go through you as you gasped, your eyes glowing purple.

“(Y/N)?” Isaac’s eyes went wide, looking at you.

You let out a shaky breath, holding back your sobs as Isaac reached for your hand, pulling you up. He kept a grip on you, as Derek stood up in front of you.

“I hate you,” you spat. You could see the pained expression on his face, your heart racing as you pushed Isaac’s hand off of your shoulder, running out of the subway.

#teen wolf #teen wolf text #teen wolf fic #teen wolf angst #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf fics #Derek #derek hale #Derek Hale Angst #derek hale imagine #derek hale imagines #derek hale fluff #derek hale x reader #derek hale x you #derek hale x reader fluff #Derek hale x y/n #derek hale x reader angst #derek hale x witch!reader #isaac lahey #isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey imagines #allison argent #allison argent imagine #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagine #scott mcall #scott mcall imagine

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Cast your mutuals but it’s only Lottie because it’s her birthday 🥳🎂

I just want to say that I see you, I hear you, and I’ll deliver (even tho I’m lazy and I could never do this if it wasn’t for you)

Cast your mutual ( @imdreamingwiththestars ) as...

Marvel Man — Ant Man, Scott Lang

Wait before you get mad hear me out! SCOTT LANG IS THE SEXIEST AVENGER! First off he’s fucking hilarious without even trying. Like HILARIOUS. Everything he says has me in stitches. Second, he’s a great fucking father— literally the best fucking father. Kinda like how you’re always telling me to drink water and to go to bed. Third, he’s adaptable! He can switch between superhero, commendable dad, friend, awkward, sexy— this man is everything and you are everything. Fourth, he’s a dork. And you can’t get mad at me for that because it’s not a jab— it’s the reason we’re friends. The scene in Ant Man and the wasp where he’s doing a thousand things while bored at home just screams Lottie and the way one moment you’re sending pictures of the bracelet you made and then the next your doing something entirely different. Finally he’s sexy— he’s hot as fuck and anyone who doesn’t think Paul Rudd— America’s true golden boy— is sexy then I don’t want to know you. He’s sexy not only because he’s just plain sexy with no substance (which he’s not and neither are you) but because of all the things I said before saying that he’s hot. This fucking DILF makes me want to be a MILF.

Marvel Woman — Scarlet Witch, Wanda Maximoff

Chaos Queen bisexual witch with nerd boyfriend— sounds about right to me! No— you don’t have nerd boyfriend but he’s out there (and maybe his name is SCOTT LANG). She loves fiercely when it comes to family and feels like she’s dying when those she loves are hurt. Family relationships get rocky at times but would do absolutely anything for her found family. She has meltdowns that rock entire towns and then, in the next second, is fine. Maladaptive daydreamer who creates the realities she would rather be in and adds the extra creative flare that the rest of the people around her are missing. That town was suffering before she showed up and gave it the ol’ razzle dazzle. Like please, take over my mind anyday. Deals with my Agatha Harkness level drama with grace. Like oh shit I kidnap you and force you to relive trauma and you don’t kill me? Wow a queen. 100/10 would bang and, yes, that needed to be added because it’s an important attribute. Also when I picture Lottie’s marvel costuming I see red and I see corsets and that’s enough for me 😌

TVD Man — Kai Parker

No, you aren’t a sociopath but neither was Kai Parker!! He was a kid who’s family fucked him over in every way because he was different and then— when he lashed out after years of straight abuse— got locked up. He’s not crazy— he’s hurt and no one’s fucking listening. He’s made mistakes but everyone would rather say shit about him instead of looking at their own lives. At the end of the day no one was better than Kai Parker despite how much they would like to think they are. He appreciates the little things— snowflakes and good food and sharp knives. He’s charming and has a voice that makes me melt— I can picture him going for walks and sending me videos about his coffee and what he bought at target. He needs a hug and a vacation and an I’m sorry.

TVD Woman — Bonnie Bennet

Is it telling that I picked another witch? Possibly. Am I gonna do it again? Definitely. Bonnie Bennet is a badass despite the fact that literally everything goes against her. She isn’t a badass because it’s easy, she’s a badass because it’s in her fucking DNA. No one wants her to be a badass— even her grandma at some points hates her— but she can’t turn it off so she doesn’t. She shouldn’t turn it off. She’s level headed but oh boy when she gets angry fucking watch out. She’s ride or die for her friends but will put them in her place when she needs to. She’s the most powerful one but no one treats her like it?? Creative problem solver with a penchant to let her powers kinda slip from time to time until a building or two is on fire. Falls for the hottest people but also might fall for your brother. She is the hottest one— full sexy— and again, yes, that’s important.

TO Man — Marcel Gerard

It was a toss up between him and Vincent Griffith but I have made my choice. Marcel is the poster boy for found family but also for knowing when it’s right to separate and do his own thing. The true king of NOLA who has exquisite taste in music. He was kinda evil at the beginning but it really only made him sexy so?? He thought he was protecting his city and vamp fam and I think that’s reasonable. Cares deeply, is beyond loyal, and would kill for those he loves. Saves a dorky awkward gay from death and that goes without saying hey thank you ma’am dorky gay here thankful for you’re consistent messages in her inbox I would be dead on here without you. Accidentally acquires a child but becomes one of the best dads ever despite her temper and unpredictable powers. Has an on off relationship with an equally sexy blonde. Himbo CEO vibes and I think that’s lovely— like you. You are lovely.

TO Woman — Hayley Marshall

Fierce, sexy, hybrid who loves two men even though they makes her so damn angry. Family drama 100%, found family drama 200%. Wolf queen who appreciates the downtime of chilling in nature with a cold drink and good people. Would die for her family but before it even gets to that point she would kill anyone who got in between her and them. Would go to unknown lengths to do the literal impossible like bring her family back from the dead. Impeccable mother— impeccable friend— impeccable leader. IS SO FUCKING SEXY. Also kinda angsty lol.

A Favourite Song — Drops of Jupiter | Train

Despite what it may seem like, I didn’t choose this because I know it’s one of your faves. I chose it because when I think about you I think about little things. Dunkin donuts and bikini tops and mugs and pink purple blue bracelets and late night talks about nothing. The verses of this song talks about all the little things she does that makes him love her and that’s how I feel about you. I love you because you don’t say hi, you say things akin to “Finn Mikaelson deserves to feel sexy like the rest of his brothers” and I think this song has that energy.

A Favourite Movie — Treasure Planet

“You’re gonna’ rattle the stars, you are.”

A coming of age adventure story with an angsty main character and a happy ending— it’s perfect. Sometimes to find yourself you need to find a golden map, get your moms rich friend to fun your pirate ship, hire a sexy cat captain, and befriend a father figure whose also a villain. Sometimes you also have to let him get away at the end. It touches on themes of discovery, forgiveness, trauma, and self love. Jim is a capable sarcastic smart kid and his best friend is an awkward robot who talks too much— wow, it’s us. Please bring me to space school when you get accepted 😌

I hope this makes you smile on your birthday! I love you most 💕

#dizzy loves Lottie #dizzy loves lottie so fucking much #literally just me obsessing over this woman #because WOW #I LOVE HER #and she’s awesome #and pretty #and AHHHHHHH

[robinrunsfiction]

The Moment I Knew

Pairing: Gerard Way x Female Reader Rating: Teen (mentions of violence) Requested By: None Word Count: ~1,700 Author’s Note: Part two of my Taylor Swift inspiration series. This has a hefty dose of angst, but I hope it’s enjoyable. Also the ending is weak, I know it, but I want to post this and I’m not sure what else I can do with it. Oh and this is set in 2005.

(YN) glanced around the room again, wondering if she’d missed him coming in. The room was full of people she liked, but she didn't even want a big birthday party this year. She just wanted to spend the night with a few of her favorite people, but her friend Christine had decided otherwise, opting instead to throw her a party in the back room of their favorite restaurant. And now the one person she most wanted to spend the night with was very late.

“Happy birthday (YN)!” a familiar voice said behind her.

“Hey Mikey, thank you,” she smiled when she turned around, but her smile faltered when she saw he was alone. “Oh, Gerard isn’t with you?”

“No, he said he’d meet me here. He's not here yet?”

(YN) shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen or heard from him.” A thought nagged at the back of her mind, a thought she didn’t want to verbalize to anyone, but especially not to her boyfriend’s brother.

“I’m sure he’ll get here soon,” Mikey shrugged.

“Yea, I’m sure,” she nodded as Mikey made his way over to get himself a drink.

(YN) sat down by herself at a table where she could watch the door for when Gerard finally arrived. The way her friends were mingling and having a wonderful time at her party was in stark contrast to how she felt; sitting alone, her heart breaking more and more each moment that passed without him there. “He said he’d be here,” (YN) murmured to herself as she checked the time again.

From across the room, cheers went up and she jumped to her feet, wondering what the commotion was all about. That’s when she saw Christine walking in carrying a birthday cake, glowing with candles and sparklers. Everyone followed her across the room to (YN), singing Happy Birthday along the way. (YN) forced a smile, looking around at all the happy faces wishing her well, but they had no idea how her world was crumbling. 

As she blew out the candles, she wished silently 'I just want to know if he still loves me.'

The cake was cut and passed out to all the guests. Once the attention of the crowd was off her again, (YN) rushed to the bathroom.

“(YN), (YN) wait!” She heard Christine calling after her, but she didn’t slow down her stride, she couldn’t or else she’d be breaking down within earshot of all her guests. “(YN) what’s going on?”

“Gerard said he’d be here, and he isn’t!” (YN) sobbed as her friend pulled her into a hug.

“Maybe he got busy with something?”

“Something more important than me on my birthday?! Maybe he’s got some other girl he’d rather be with! Or maybe he’s drinking, or using again, and couldn’t get himself together to be here!”

Christine stepped back, looking at her friend horrified. “(YN), why would you say that?”

“I don’t know!” (YN) exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “My brain goes to these worst case scenarios because he’s been acting strange lately. Maybe this is him saying ‘I don’t love you’ ya know? Like he wants me to break up with him?”

“Do you want to break up with Gee?”

“No! I just wanna know why he couldn’t make it to my birthday party when he said he’d be here,” (YN) answered before breaking down again.

Christine let her cry on her shoulder for a while before stepping out to tell the guests that were still there that (YN) wasn’t feeling well and the party was basically over. When (YN) finally emerged from the bathroom, she had to let go of the last shred of hope that Gerard would be there.

~

Frank and Christine gave her a ride home, and asked if she wanted them to stick around, or to try to get a hold of Gerard for her, but (YN) insisted she didn’t need anyone to come up with her. She just wanted to go to bed and be as alone as she felt. 

Walking into her cold, dark apartment, she tossed her bag on the table. She glanced at the answering machine and saw no new messages. Shaking her head, she trudged into her room and was just about to unzip her party dress when her phone rang. 

"Hello?" She sighed.

"(YN) you gotta get down here to St Joseph's," Mikey answered in a panicked voice.

"Mikey? Do you mean the hospital? Wha-what's going on?"

"Gee, he was mugged, he's in surgery," Mikey replied, clearly on the verge of tears.

"Oh my god, yea, I'm on my way!"

When she burst through the entrance to the emergency department, she saw Mikey pacing, looking scared.

"Mikey! What happened? Is he ok?"

"I haven't heard anything more since I called you," he shook his head, pulling off glasses and wiping his eyes. "I’d left your party and was on my way to my girlfriend’s house when the police called me, someone found him on the street, they think he got mugged and the robber stabbed him."

(YN) sank into a chair, stunned as tears began to roll down her cheeks silently. It felt like all she'd done that night was cry. Mikey sat down next to her, putting an arm around her comfortingly.

"Michael Way?"

Both of them lifted their heads to look at the doctor that had walked in. "Yea, that's me," Mikey said, getting up and (YN) followed.

"Gerard is out of surgery. He lost a lot of blood, but he is expected to make a full recovery."

(YN) started crying all over again, this time tears of relief. “Oh my god,” she murmured, a shaking hand covering her mouth.

"If you want to go back and see him you can, family only."

"I'm his girlfriend," you whimpered.

"Then you'll have to wait," the doctor said sternly.

"I'll tell him you’re here, he’ll be glad to know you came," Mikey nodded.

(YN) conceded and retreated back to her seat. As she picked at the hem of her party dress every thought she had over course of the evening came rushing back. She thought he hadn't come to her birthday  because he had started drinking again or worse. She been worried he had been cheating. And all the while he was almost dying on a street. She felt so guilty for doubting him for a second. (YN) felt someone watching her and she glanced up. A nurse was looking at her with pity in her eyes.

“I like your dress,” the nurse said.

“Thanks. It’s my birthday,” she sighed. “And my boyfriend almost died.”

The nurse shook her head sadly and turned back to her work.

~

(YN) didn't even feel herself fall asleep until she was woken up by Mikey shaking her shoulder gently. "They said you can go back now."

(YN) nodded and followed him back. She felt foggy, exhausted both emotionally and physically, and suddenly very anxious. 

"I'm gonna run and get some things from his place since they think it will be a few days before they release him," Mikey said. She nodded again and cautiously opened the door.

"Hey," Gerard said weakly as she walked in. His black hair stark against the white pillows, he looked so pale.

"Gee," (YN) whispered as she slowly crossed the room.

"Sorry I missed your birthday, sugar."

She shook her head hard, tears welling up in her eyes again. "Nooo, no don't say that, don't feel sorry. Oh my god Gee."

"Come 'ere," he patted the space next to him. She sat down carefully, afraid she might break him.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry.”

"You don't have anything to be sorry 'bout," he smiled softly.

She shook her head. Now wasn't the time to tell him all the doubts she had when he wasn't there. All that mattered now was he was alive. "What happened?"

"I stopped to get some cigarettes and when I left the store, some asshole held me up. He grabbed my wallet, but shanked me anyway," Gerard grumbled.

"Where?"

"Here," he motioned to his lower abdomen. 

"Oh my god.”

"All I could think of was how bad I wanted to see you, and tell you how much you mean to me, and give you your present."

"No, don’t worry about that, it can wait until you're better," (YN) shook her head.

"But I don't wanna wait anymore (YN). I know the last few years have been crazy, but the fact that you stayed by my side, even during my lowest point with the alcohol and drugs,” he shook his head. “I know I broke your trust before, but the fact that you never gave up on us means more to me than you'll ever know and I just hope I can repay that to you somehow. I love you so much," he said before reaching under his pillow. "And I'm really glad the mugger didn't go for my jacket pocket," he laughed lightly as he pulled out a small box.

(YN)’s eyes went wide. "Gerard," she gasped as he opened it.

"I'm sorry I can't get down on one knee, but will you marry me?"

She was rendered speechless. The whole night had been such an emotional roller coaster she could barely process what he had said. "Yes!" she finally squeaked out, nodding emphatically. 

Gerard grinned and pulled her down to kiss him. "You aren't just saying that cause I almost died, right?" He laughed when they pulled back.

"No, no no, I- oh my god, I would say yes if you asked me anywhere, anytime!"

Gerard finally took the ring out and placed it on her finger before she leaned in again, kissing him hard.

When Mikey returned a few hours later, he found (YN) and Gerard asleep, curled up together on the hospital bed. He spotted the ring on (YN)’s finger and smiled, quietly taking out his phone and snapping a photo of the pair.

"Welcome to the family," he whispered as he set down Gerard's things and exiting the room quietly.

#gerard way x reader #gerard way fan fic #gerard way fan fiction #gerard way imagine #my chemical romance fan fic #my chemical romance fan fiction #gerard way angst

[rpf-bat]

Have You Heard The News That You’re Dead?

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: Drama, Horror

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 23.  Prompt: “Afterlife”. 

You’re a cancer patient. You’ve travelled to Hawaii, for an operation, that you hope will save your life. But, while you’re in the hospital, your nurse tells you the story of the Night Marchers. Legend has it, that anyone who sees their parade, will die. When you begin hearing phantom marching-band sounds at night, you start to wonder if the legend could be true. 

It had been a year now, since you were first diagnosed with stage three leukemia. Chemotherapy alone had not slowed the disease down. So, you had travelled to a hospital in Honolulu, for a transplant procedure, that you hoped would save your life. You’d been receiving radiation conditioning for a week now, to prepare your body, to receive the donor’s stem cells. 

Today, your favorite nurse was on duty. Her name was Leilani. 

“Aloha, Miss Y/N,” Leilani smiled, as she entered the hospital room, to bring you your daily dose of busulfan. “How are you feeling today?” 

“Tired,” you said sleepily. “The drums kept me awake last night.”

“Drums?” Leilani repeated curiously. 

“Yeah, I could hear music, outside my window, all night,” you explained. “Was there a concert, or a luau, going on in town, or something?” 

“Maybe the sound that you heard was the Night Marchers,” Leilani said mysteriously. 

“What are the Night Marchers?” you asked, eyes wide. 

“Oh, it’s an old Kanaka Maoli legend,” Leilani chuckled. “There were these warriors, who served the chief, in ancient times. They say that after sunset, they rise from their graves, and march through the streets, towards the site of the battle they once fought.” 

“Ghost warriors?” you blinked. “Now, that would be interesting to see.”

“Oh, no, Miss Y/N,” Leilani shook her head. “You do not want to see them. Legend says, that anyone who watches the Night Marchers, parading through town, will die.” 

“I...I would die?” you gulped. Just for looking at a ghost?

“That’s how the story goes, anyway,” Leilani shrugged. “They say the only way to survive an encounter with the Marchers, is to lay down on the ground, and avert your eyes. But, it’s only a folktale, so don’t worry about it. Give me your hand, and take this pill, okay?” 

“....Okay,” you frowned. Something about this folktale, made you very nervous. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

That night, you tried your best to fall asleep. You knew you needed your rest, but the hospital bed was so uncomfortable. What was worse, your illness had left you in severe pain. Leilani had gone home for the night, and you didn’t feel like calling the other nurse, for a dose of painkillers. You tossed and turned, trying to just be still. 

Then, you heard the sound again, in the distance. A drumbeat, outside your window. 

Could it really be a parade of ghosts? you wondered, staring up at the ceiling. No way - it’s probably just some street performer. 

The bed creaked, as you turned away from the window. The drums grew louder, and, if you were not mistaken, you could hear trumpets joining them. Seriously - what the hell was that?

Your curiosity overwhelmed you, and you gingerly stood up from the bed. You padded over to the window, and peered through the blinds. You gasped at what you saw. 

It really was a parade. But, these were no grass-skirted warriors. They looked like a high school marching band. From the second story window, you could just barely make out their black and silver jackets. The leader, in front, had short-cropped white hair. You were too high up, to see his facial features. Who the hell was he?

You watched, fascinated, as the band marched past a stop sign. Your blood froze, as the parade leader phased, intangibly, right through the sign post.

“A...a ghost?!” you gasped. Were these really the Night Marchers, after all?

A wave of dizziness suddenly hit you, and you felt faint. Your vision faded to black. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You woke up the next morning, in your hospital bed. Leilani was standing at your bedside, adjusting your IV bag. 

“Leilani!” you gasped. “I saw them last night!” 

“Saw who?” Leilani frowned. 

“The Night Marchers!” you shuddered. “They’re real!” 

“You must have had a bad dream, Miss Y/N,” Leilani shook her head. “I’m sorry that my stories frightened you.” 

“B-but…,” you protested. 

“Ssh,” Leilani interrupted. “You have bigger things to concern yourself with, right, Miss Y/N? Your transplant surgery is today.”

“That’s right,” you realized. Today, you would finally be infused with the bone marrow, that would hopefully send your cancer into remission. You were lucky that a donor had been found for you. You knew that many people succumbed to the disease, without ever making it to the top of the waitlist. 

“The doctors here at Hawaii Cancer Care are very skilled, Miss Y/N,” Leilani assured you. “I’ve watched their surgeries save many lives.” 

“You think that the surgery will be successful?” you gulped. The truth was, that you were still nervous. 

“I’m sure of it,” Leilani said positively. “You have nothing to worry about.”

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

That night, after the surgery, you once again found yourself struggling to sleep. Your time in the hospital was not yet at its end. The doctors needed to observe you, a little longer, to make sure the procedure had done what they hoped. And your body, of course, still ached. 

Suddenly, you heard a noise. This time, it was not coming from outside your window. The music sounded like it was emanating from the hallway, outside your door. But, the military-ish drumbeat was unmistakable. It was the ghostly marching band again. 

You stood up, leaning on your IV pole for support. You felt unsteady on your feet. You knew it was unwise, to be moving around, so soon after your procedure. But, you couldn’t shake the compulsion to look. 

You shuffled over to the edge of the room, and hesitantly opened the door. You poked your head out, and that was when you saw them. 

A whole parade of specters was marching through the hospital corridor! There were phantoms in masks, at the back. But, the five men at the front, caught your attention. Their faces were uncovered, and they were playing instruments, as they stepped forward in time. 

The one in front, with the pale, white hair, clearly seemed to be the leader. He raised his baton in the air. The phantoms followed him. 

Was this real? you wondered, shaking. Or, were you dreaming? 

Your IV pole rolled away from you, as you accidentally released it from your grip. The wheels made a skittering sound, on the linoleum floor. 

The marching band leader’s head snapped up, and he turned around, seeking the direction of the sound. 

You dropped to the floor, remembering Leilani’s warning: “They say the only way to survive an encounter with the Marchers, is to lay down on the ground, and avert your eyes.”

You trembled with fear, as you covered your eyes with your hands. 

Don’t see me, you pleaded, heart pounding, as you lay as still as possible in the doorway. Don’t see me…..please don’t see me…..

“Miss Y/N!” gasped a familiar voice. “What are you doing out of bed?”

You opened your eyes. The parade of ghosts was gone. There was only Leilani, looking down at you with a concerned expression. 

Am I going crazy? you wondered, eyes wide. Did I hallucinate that whole thing?

This didn’t seem possible. The blonde man’s piercing gaze had felt all too real. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You opened your eyes, hours later, and saw someone standing at the foot of your hospital bed. It wasn’t Leilani. It wasn’t any of your nurses. It was the blonde man, who had appeared to you in the night. 

You screamed. 

“It’s alright, Y/N,” the man whispered. 

“H-how do you know my name?” you gasped. “Who are you?!”

“I’m Gerard,” the man introduced himself. 

“I mean, what are you?” you demanded. “Are you a Night Marcher?”

“No,” Gerard shook his head. “I am the captain of the Black Parade.”

“What do you want with me?!” you asked, shaking. 

“We’ve come to guide you to the afterlife,” Gerard explained. 

“What?” your eyes widened. “You’re saying….I’m dying?” 

“Yes,” Gerard nodded. “I’m afraid that you’re fated to die of a stroke tonight.”

“There’s no way that I’m going to have a stroke!” you denied. 

“I’m afraid that you’re already having one right now, in your sleep,” Gerard revealed.

“No!” you cried. “If this is a dream, then, I have to wake up right now!” 

“You won’t,” Gerard said calmly. “It is your time.” 

“But...that doesn’t make any sense!” you argued. “I just had a bone marrow transplant! It’s supposed to cure my cancer!” 

“You’ve developed what’s called graft versus host disease,” Gerard explained. “The donor’s cells see your body’s tissues as something foreign. They’re attacking them.”

“So…..you’re some sort of Grim Reaper?” you realized. “Where’s your scythe? Aren’t you supposed to look like a skeleton?” 

“I took this form, in hopes that I would not frighten you, Y/N,” Gerard explained. “Do you not find it comely?”

The truth was, you found the phantom’s appearance, extremely handsome. You could see his strong-looking arms beneath his black jacket. Above the jacket’s high collar, he had a beautiful, almost angelic-looking face. 

But, he’s an angel of death, you reminded yourself grimly. You wanted to cry. 

“I...I can’t die yet,” you stammered, tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m still so young. There’s so many things I haven’t done yet. I’ve never even fallen in love.”

“A surprise, and a tragedy,” Gerard said softly, gently stroking your cheek with this thumb, and wiping away your tears. “For such a beautiful woman.”

“You...you think I’m beautiful?” you sniffled. 

“I do,” Gerard confessed. “I’m sorry, that the powers that be, have given you such a short time on this earth. It is not for me to decide. My job is simply to walk with you, to your destination.”

“You mean, the afterlife,” you guessed. 

“Yes.” 

“What’s going to happen?” you wondered, feeling scared. “Are you just going to drop me off in some limbo, a-and leave me there?”

“No,” Gerard promised, wrapping you in a comforting embrace. “Y/N, I will stay by your side, as long as you need me.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” you sobbed. You found yourself clinging to the specter, holding onto him tightly and sobbing into his chest.

He stroked your hair gently. “Sssh,” he consoled you. “It’s alright. You’re not alone. My marching band is waiting for you, just outside this room. We’ll all walk with you, to the Other Side. You will have as many friends there, as you wish.” 

“You want to be my friend?” you asked, staring up at him, with wide eyes. 

“I want a great many things from you, Y/N,” Gerard confessed.  Suddenly, he grabbed the collar of your hospital gown, and pulled you into a kiss. His lips were warm, and soft, like a living person’s. There was no coldness of the grave, in his touch. 

You kissed him back, soothed that, at least, someone was by your side, until the very end. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The heart monitors screamed, as Leilani ran into the room. The flatline on the screen, told her that her favorite patient was gone. Tears welled up in her eyes, as she stared down, at the woman’s terribly still form. 

“A-Aloha, Miss Y/N,” Leilani sobbed. A word that could mean both hello, and goodbye. 

There was one small comfort, as she pulled the sheet over Y/N’s head. Her final expression was a smile of bliss, as if she’d just received a pleasant surprise.

#gerard way imagine #gerard way x reader #gothtober #it's very fitting that I posted this on the 14th anniversary of Black Parade being released #if you enjoyed today's story - please consider donating to Be The Match #they're a very cool charity that helps leukemia patients find bone marrow donors

[urlikeacankersore]

Seeing Color

(gerard Way x Reader)

Requested: dunno if this is your vibe but uh- could you possibly write a gerard x female reader, where theyre soulmates? if you do this request you can choose what ties them together, whether it be a pain tie, a physical tie or something like a mark where they first touched? aaaa sorry this is long ill go now

Reader: female

Paring: Gerard x reader

A/n: i really hope you like it anon! I also kind of based this off of Ethan Nestor's song When I Met You because it just has that soulmate vibe <3

I’ve only been able to see color for about six months now, in fact I’m happily in love with my soulmate, Gerard Way.

~~~~flash back~~~~

“Frank I know I said I would come to your show, but I think I just don’t feel up for it tonight,” I say looking at the short punk standing in front of me.

“(Y/n), you’ve said that every time and this time I’m not taking no for an answer, the guys are literally dying to meet you!” the man replies with sass.

“Fine but when you get shitfaced afterwards don’t expect me to take care of you,” I say standing up and walking to my closet to grab a sweat shirt and jeans.

“Yes! Oh my god I’m so excited!” Frank replies standing up as well.

~~~~

“Sorry we’re running late guys, It took a little convincing to get little miss (Y/n) to actually come,” Frank says, dragging me by my arm.

“Oh my gosh, that’s her?” Mikey asks, looking at me from his amp.

“Yes, now shut up and let's hurry and get on stage!” Frank says.

~~~~

“So you’re (Y/n)?” Gerard asks, looking at me after they get done playing their show.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I say laughing slightly.

“So I know that this is kind of a rude question and we’re not really supposed to ask, but can you see color?” He asks shyly.

“Um, no, no I can’t see any color. I hear it’s great though,” I say with a weak smile.

“I can’t either if that makes you feel any better, I am so excited to meet my soulmate and explore the world full of color with them,” He says looking at me. He slowly starts reaching his hand towards mine that's folded over my knee and other hand. Suddenly he gets called away by Ray before he can actually touch me, making me let out a small sigh I didn’t even know I was holding in.

~~~~

“Frank, look I think maybe you should let my drive you home,” I say looking at my clearly drunk friend.

“Nah, I’m perfectly good. We’ve only been here for thirty minutes,” He replies. He’s very far off, we’ve been here for nearly four hours.

“Well then maybe you should just cool it on the beer slightly,” I say putting my hand on his shoulder.

“No (Y/n) I think you just need more to drink,” He says, sloppily spilling whatever was in the cup he was drinking all over the floor before walking away muttering something about needing to piss.

“Frank! Frank! No wait come back,” I say as I quickly try and walk after him, only slipping on the liquid he spilt.

“Hey are you-” Gerard starts to say, catching me from hitting the floor. Suddenly I can see all the colors of the shitty bar, the colors are still dark, but they’re colors.

“Oh my god, it’s you! It’s actually you! Holy shit!” Gerard says excitedly quickly pulling me into a kiss in the heat of the moment.

#gerard way #gerard way x reader #soulmate au #gee way #mcr gerard #my chemical gee #my chemical gerard #my chemical romance

[thehollowprince]

Derek being midly inconvenienced // I wouldn’t really call Scott violating a rape victim’s boundaries, bodily autonomy and consent and using Derek as his own personal murder weapon against Derek’s will a “mild inconvenience”. And Scott didn’t save anyone’s life, since he failed to kill a geriatric psychopath who’s already dying and the only thing he achieved with his dumb plan was to prompt a very much alive Gerard to order the Kanima to slaughter everyone in the warehouse – including Scott 🤷🏿

Oh, my God, you fuckin' child, get a dame life!

I am sorry that you're life is so damn pathetic that you spend your days harassing people on the internet to feel some semblance of meaning. I'm sorry that your comprehension skills never passed the first grade level and you can't look at something and think about it passed face value. More than anything else, I feel pity for you, because you being in my inbox, day after day after fucking day is not something to be proud of. I honestly wish I had as much free time as you seem to have.

You can trot out the word rape to your heart's content, but it doesn't change the fact that A: Scott didn't know that and B: Scott didn't owe him shit. Where is this faux concern when Derek broke into Scott's house, broke his arm, beat him within an inch of his life and pressed a boot to his neck? Where was this concern for Scott, a victim of domestic abuse? Hmm?

@princeescaluswords has said it multiple times in a much nicer and more eloquent way than I can, but you're "argument" about the events of Master Plan is complete and utter bullshit. I know it. You know it. I know that you know it. And you hate that I know it. This bad faith posturing is beyond childish, and if I didn't know any better, I'd swear you're a thirteen-year-old. But the sad truth is that I do know better and that makes this all the more aggravating, that a grown ass adult is on here, harassing people because they liked the main character of a TV show and not the made-up uwu versions of the side characters that you fixated on.

That's sad. I am sad for you.

None of the violence in Master Plan came about because id Scott. That was a combination of Gerard and Derek. If Scott had just stayed out of it and let the two of them duke it out, the outcome would have been vastly different. For starters, Derek would probably be dead and we'd have another crazed Alpha werewolf running around killing people for fun. And if that had come to pass you'd still blame Scott.

We've discussed this as nauseum. It doesn't matter what Scott does, you blame him for everything (if he had killed Gerard, he would have been called a murderer, we all know this) and nothing I (or anyone else) say is going to change your mind on that, no matter what canon evidence we provide.

So it begs the question: why the fuck are you here? What is lacking in your life that has you harassing me?

#asshole anon #scott mccall defense squad #teen wolf fandom problems

[jaysworlds]

Whumptober Day Thirty One (Halloween Special :)

Breaking into an abandoned (and supposedly haunted) building on Halloween probably isn’t the brightest idea Gerry’s every had, but honestly he’s in a bad mood, and at least if his mother asks he can lie and tell her that he thought maybe the rumours came from one of her stupid books.

Honestly, though, he just wants to do something vaguely spooky for tonight, even if it’s by himself.

Halloween is overrated, really, especially since he knows there are real monsters out there, but a small, childish part of him wants to dress up in a bad vampire costume and … carve a pumpkin or something stupid like that.

It’s not that he’d even want to do something like that under ordinary circumstances, but it’s the fact that he’s not allowed that really pisses him off.

It’s a waste of time, Gerard, his mother tells him, every year, I won’t have this ridiculous paraphernalia in my house.

And that’s been it. Every year. No trick-or-treating, no pumpkins, no Halloween parties, and now he’s eighteen he feels like he’s probably a bit old to ever go back and try to catch up on all the things that he missed out on.

Which is what brings him here. It’s not exactly a traditional celebration, but he’s not exactly a traditional person, and at least it’s something, right?

He’d thought there would be more people out here tonight, but maybe it’s too early, everyone else out at parties and the like, and when he climbs over the barbed wire fence and into the condemned area there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around.

He tells himself he’s not disappointed.

Still, it’s a cool autumn evening and it’s rather nice as he heads across the crunchy leaves and towards the sagging building.

He’s been in a lot of condemned and collapsing buildings before, but never just for the fun of it. He doesn’t have a deadline, or a monster chasing him through the hallways. It’s just him and the wind whistling through the broken windows.

It’s nice.

Some of the anger he’d been feeling earlier in the evening has seeped out of him, and he finds himself humming as he climbs through an already-smashed window and into the building.

There’s graffiti on the wall opposite, so he’s clearly not the first person in here, but he’d never expected to be. He leaves the room and starts walking down the first hallway he sees, deeper into the abandoned building.

He doesn’t trust the stairs, when he finds them. They look as though they’re only a few minutes from collapsing, and the last thing he wants is to end tonight in A&E because he fell through the floor and broke his leg. That would really suck ass.

So he ignores the stairs and stays on the ground floor, where there’s less chance of him falling through the floor.

‘Less chance,’ as it turns out, doesn’t mean ‘no chance,’ a fact that Gerry discovers very unexpectedly when the seemingly solid floor beneath him gives out, sending him tumbling down into a basement which he hadn’t even known was there.

It’s not exactly ideal, but he doesn’t injure himself, past a few scrapes and bruised pride, so he just stands up and brushes himself off, looking around.

It’s very dark, which isn’t exactly unexpected, given as it’s a basement, but it does mean that Gerry has to pull out the torch that he hadn’t needed to use in the first floor of the house.

The beam lights up a small, dirty room and a heavy metal door that’s pushed a little ajar. Gerry tips the torch up for a moment, looking up at the hole he fell through, but there’s no chance of him getting out of there, so he heads towards the door instead. Hopefully the staircase won’t be too far away.

The corridor beyond the door is far longer than he’d expected, and for a moment he hesitates, wondering if it would be easier to try and build some sort of scaffolding to get out of the hole.

No. It wouldn’t be.

He starts walking, shining the beam at each of the doors he walks past. Most of them are heavy metal, and the ones he tries seem to be locked. Those which aren’t just lead into small, dusty rooms, empty of anything apart from decaying furniture. No stairs, no apparent way out.

What he’s really looking for is some sort of signposting, perhaps pointing him towards an exit.

As he walks he slowly begins to realise that something’s off. Something just doesn’t feel right.

It takes him a full five minutes to realise what it is.

Up in the main part of the building there had been graffiti on every wall, the floor littered with cigarette ends, but down here there’s none of that. Like no one else has been down here before.

The floor is covered with a thick layer of dust, too, and his footprints are the only ones down here. It seems as though this place has been closed off for a very, very long time.

That doesn’t bode well for him finding a staircase, but it’s only been a few minutes, and he’s still hopeful.

When he does finally find a staircase he starts to worry, because it’s leading down instead of up, and he really doesn’t want to go down there, but what other option does he have? It seems to be the only way to go.

On further inspection there does seem to be a staircase leading up, or what remains of one, but it’s been blocked off with a huge slab of concrete, and Gerry has absolutely no way of getting through there.

Down it is, then.

The stairs seem solid as he starts down them, hewn out of stone, but that doesn’t mean he trusts them. They’re too narrow, and he nearly falls on more than one occasion.

The hallway he finds at the bottom of the staircase seems more like a cave or a mineshaft than a real hallway. It’s too uneven, and he’s walking over stone, not concrete.

This may have been a mistake, but something in him is curious, almost excited, and he keeps pressing forward, into the darkness.

It’s dark, but for now he’s not really worried about it. There are none of the tell-tale signs of the Dark, and his torch is still bright. Besides, the fears need people to fear them, and its unlikely that any of them would set up shop in these clearly abandoned tunnels. The only thing he’s really in danger from is getting lost and dying of starvation.

Which won’t be pleasant either, but at least he has plenty of time before that happens.

The tunnels seem to be sloping down, which really doesn’t bode well for there being a convenient exit down here, but he keeps walking, because why not? Maybe he’ll at least find something interesting before he’s forced to turn back and try and get out of here the way he came in.

There doesn’t seem to be anything. Just seemingly endless tunnels, hewn out of the rock, and the occasional empty room.

And then a door, heavy iron, almost like a prison cell.

Gerry isn’t a stupid man, and he’s seen a lot of monsters in his eighteen years. He knows that a door this heavy, in tunnels this deep, will have nothing good behind it.

But he’s also a teenager, and sometimes curiosity wins out over common sense.

The door isn’t locked, but it has a heavy deadbolt across it, and Gerry slowly pulls it open. It’s very rusty, and takes some tugging, but eventually it slides back and he can pull the door open to see what’s behind it.

It’s not an exit, but he hadn’t really expected it to be.

He doesn’t realise exactly what it is that the beam of his torch has caught upon until it moves, and he finds himself staring into yellow eyes.

It’s a person, or something almost like a person. Maybe if Gerry hadn’t met so many monsters he would think it was a person.

There’s a silence while they stare at each other, and then its lips curl upwards into a smile.

“Hello.”

Gerry swallows, eyeing its teeth. “Hello.”

It pulls itself to its feet, and Gerry realises that it’s a good few inches taller than him, and he’s really not comfortable with that. It looks dangerous, although there’s something in its eyes that stops Gerry from backing out and locking the door again.

“What are you?” he asks, instead.

It tips its head almost thoughtfully. “I’m not sure.”

Its voice is grating, as though it’s been a long time since it’s spoken, and Gerry feels almost sorry for it.

“A failed experiment, perhaps.”

“Do you have a name?” Gerry asks, watching as it tries to stretch up to its full height and hits its head on the ceiling.

“I had one,” it says, face twisting into something like confusion. “Once.”

“What was it?”

“Michael.”

Gerry thinks about that for a moment, fingers tapping against his leg. “Can I call you that?”

“I suppose. Do you have a name?”

“Yes. I’m Gerry.”

It’s not his full name, but its what he generally calls himself, and what he would like his friend to call him. If he had friends.

This … person isn’t exactly a friend, but Gerry doesn’t think it’s an enemy either.

Maybe it’s an oversight on his part, and it’s going to get him killed, but he doesn’t think so.

“Gerry,” Michael says, thoughtfully, and Gerry can’t deny the little thrill it sends down his back. “I suppose I should thank you. I’ve been here an awfully long time, you know.”

“How long?”

Michael shrugs. The movement looks odd on its too-long, somewhat mismatched limbs, but it’s oddly endearing.

“Right,” Gerry says, not sure what to do now. “I suppose you want to get out?”

Michael smiles, almost wistfully. “That would be nice. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the moon.”

Something about the way it says it pulls at Gerry’s heart a little more than it should.

“Come on,” he says, pushing the door further open and gesturing for it to follow him. “I suppose you can help me get out of here.”

Michael laughs softly, and Gerry watches it duck through the doorway. “We’re both trapped down here, then?”

“I know the way out,” Gerry says. “I just can’t get out on my own.”

“It’s a good thing you found me,” Michael says, and Gerry nods, though he has no idea if Michael can see him with the torch trained in front of him, on the passage he came down.

It feels like getting out takes a lot less time than getting in did, though perhaps that’s just because Gerry’s so distracted with Michael’s careful footsteps following him down the tunnel and up the hewn stairs.

The roof is probably too low for it to stand comfortably, but there’s nothing Gerry can do about that right now. It will just have to wait until they get back to the room Gerry fell into.

“This is how I got in,” Gerry tells it, when they’re finally back, and watches, fascinated, as it unravels itself to stand up to its full height, head almost at the level of the hole.

It’s not listening to him, tipping its head up to look out at the building instead, and Gerry wonders if it can see the sky from the angle it’s standing at.

“Michael?” he says, softly, and it turns to look at him. Its eyes are bright, almost joyful.

“Thank you,” it murmurs, smiling.

Gerry nods, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “Thank me by getting us out of here,” he suggests, looking away and up at the edge of the hole instead.

“Of course,” it says, suddenly amused, and he watches as it pulls itself out like a spider, all long limbs and pale skin. It doesn’t move like a human, but it seems so graceful.

It stops once it’s at the top and extends a hand down to Gerry. He eyes it for a moment, a little hesitant.

“Not sure how you’re planning on getting me out,” he says. “I’m heavier than I look.”

Michael laughs softly. “I can do it.”

It’s a little harder than Gerry suspects Michael thought it would be, but between them they manage to get Gerry out of the hole and back onto the solid floor of the building.

Michael’s skin is very cold, almost corpse-like, but its softer than Gerry had been expecting, and he finds himself not wanting to let go, as if he could somehow warm it up.

Still, he does let go, flicking his torch off. The moon is full, and there’s more than enough light to see pouring in through the windows.

“Come on, Michael,” he says, smiling a little. “Let’s go outside.”

“Yes,” Michael says, eyes lighting up, and Gerry leads it out of the building, into the pale light of the moon.

It’s cold out here, and Gerry finds himself standing a little closer to Michael than he was before. It doesn’t give off any heat, of course, but the principal is the same.

Michael seems so amazed, staring up at the stars, and Gerry wonders how long its been trapped in the dark. Probably too long.

It sits on the ground and stares upwards, and Gerry sits next to it, watching curiously. “You like the stars?”

“Yes,” it breathes and for a moment it glances down at him.

Gerry doesn’t say anything, just hums quietly and looks up as well, feeling oddly content.

This Halloween hasn’t exactly gone as planned, but he thinks he’s pleased with the direction it’s taken. Especially since his mother wouldn’t be, if she knew.

Some small part of him feels like he should be a little more panicked over the whole thing, but he ignores that part. He’s not scared of Michael, not really, and Halloween seems like as good a time as any for something so … out of the ordinary to happen.

And this is out of the ordinary, even for him, who’s ordinary isn’t exactly, well, ordinary.

He still has questions, of course, but they can wait. For now he just sits with Michael and watches the stars.

It’s a lovely evening.

#gerry keay #michael distortion #tma #gerrymichael #whumptober2020 #no.31 #experiment #fandom #fic #tw: slight body horror #okay this one. isn't really whump #maybe if you squint #but whatever its halloween and i can do what i want #and what i wanted was to write a little smidge of monster michael #and some gerrymichael fluff #for bonus points spot me projecting really hard onto gerry in the first 200 words or so #(so maybe i have some halloween related issues) #(its not a big thing)

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 10/?

Part 9

Bit of a content warning for the first section because Martin's Lonely thoughts are starting to feel a little like suicidal ideation, just in case.

"What part of 'don't antagonize Martin' translated into 'go and lie to his landlady to break into his house' to you?" Jon asks that evening. The bus is nearly empty, and Gerry's arm is a comforting weight across his shoulders, a nice contrast against the hard plastic seat.

"I knew he'd tattle," Gerry rolls his eyes. "Go figure, pull a guy out of the Lonely with a nice cup of tea and some good conversation, and the first thing he does is go tell on you with his crush. 

Martin bundles himself a little tighter in his coat, as he waits for the kettle to boil. The worst thing about the Lonely is definitely the bone-deep chill that follows wherever you go, no matter how many layers you wear, or how high you crank up the heater. The cold is inside you, and Martin is starting to run out of ways to chase it out.

The kitchenette attached to Peter's office is smaller than the one at the Archives' break room, but also much better equipped; it has a high end coffeemaker and all sorts of coffee and tea sorted in delicately crafted tins. Martin has the thought that he would've been excited to try them all before, but now he just cracks the tin open and pulls out a bag at random. This is just... something else he's supposed to do, like eating, like breathing. It doesn't matter that they don't bring any satisfaction, because nothing really does anymore, when he's like this.

He goes to pour the hot water into a single mug, and drops the bag inside, watching it sink and bob with a curious sense of detachment. It smells like nothing, and it tastes like nothing when he takes a sip. His hands barely even register the warmth of the cup, and Martin places it back at the countertop. He'd expected it would make him feel something, but there goes that hope.

The only spark of emotion comes when he finally listens to the prickle of unease in his chest, and goes to close the small room's exit where it connects with Peter's office. Standing alone behind two locked doors, he almost feels at ease. Nobody can find him here- or they wouldn't, if anyone was looking for him of course. Jon hasn't come to him since the last time they met before the coffin, and Gerard seems to have a supernatural sense to know when Martin just finished an Extinction statement to come pester it out of him.

It's a bit pathetic, that Jon's- that Gerard is the only one who seeks him out, and even then it's only out of necessity. The Lonely likes it, and it likes even more that Martin doesn't feel any special way about it.

Outside, someone walks past the door to Peter's office, and Martin's stomach clenches. The room around him loses a little more color. Maybe… maybe he'll go home early today. Peter won't care; he would probably encourage it, now that Martin thinks about it. Just... it'll be easier there. More quiet. Calmer.

Martin leans his head back, and the room around him begins to dissolve.

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

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Gerry asks with a smile, and Melanie nods, entranced.

"We should find another," she declares. The Flesh book -aptly titled just 'Guts'- burns nicely in a metallic garbage bin between the two of them.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you." Gerry snorts. "I've been hearing some rumours about the Desolation. Some weird fires around the city; might be worth taking a look at."

Melanie squirts some more lighter fluid onto the book, delighting when the fire roars and flares up.

"How is it different?" she asks, the question popping suddenly into her mind.

"Sorry?" Gerry arches an eyebrow.

"I know the Desolation is destruction, and Slaughter is violence." It's odd, to talk so freely about the entity that would've claimed her soul; like mentioning someone you knew in passing, one of those who were impossibly important once, but now are just a memory you're not sure how you feel about. "But I wanted to destroy too, when I was- you know."

"I know." Gerry lets out a careful huff, running a hand through his hair. "They tend to bleed into each other, some more than others. Some care about the end result only, like the Desolation, some care about the process, like the Slaughter or the Hunt. Smirke had a good idea with the list, but sometimes I think he oversimplified."

"So what's your take on it?"

"Colors," Gerry shrugs, then adds with a small smile, "if colors hated you."

Melanie has no idea what that's supposed to mean, but his tone makes it fairly clear that it's got something to do with Jon, and she rolls her eyes. Ridiculous, but apparently something she'll have to get used to, considering the sneak peeks she's gotten through the Institute's windows in the past week.

"How's Georgie?" Gerry asks after a moment, once the flames have started dying down. "You've been going out more lately, right?"

"Yes. I'm-" Melanie feels her body tense, and takes a deep breath, until it relaxes again. This- she can tell Gerry this. It's not a big deal. They're- they might be friends, now. "She takes me to therapy. I've been feeling- I added an extra day. I feel like it's working."

Gerry gives her a quick look and a quicker smile, before focusing on the remnants of the burning book again. "That's good. I tried therapy once, but it turns out there is just no way to work 'my mother accidentally framed me for her gruesome murder and then came back to life and continued to stalk me until I handed her over to an old woman to be destroyed' into a credible lie. Not that you would know the difference, of course," he adds with a wink over his shoulder.

"I'll have you know my therapist doesn't suspect a thing, so I'm clearly not as bad of a liar as you think." Melanie rolls her eyes, smiling. There's a certain giddiness to her chest, a kind of light-heartedness she'd almost forgotten.

"Mmmm nah, you're very bad." Gerry reaches a hand towards her, and she passes him the bottle of lighter fluid. He squirts the rest of it in the trash can, unflinching when the flames roar up again, before he turns back to look at Melanie. "But I'm glad it's helping. I'm guessing the after-session dates with your girlfriend are nothing to scoff at either, are they?"

"They help," Melanie's smile turns a little smug. It may be sappy, but she's allowed a bit of happiness, thank you very much.

"I can imagine," Gerry rests his closed fist against her shoulder and gives her a little shove. Melanie kicks at his boot, rolling her eyes.

This is... comfortable. Life is far from perfect, and the number of things that make Melanie happy are still in the single digits but this- this might be one of them.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something..." Melanie starts after the fire has died down again and the relaxed silence has stretched for a few minutes, making her voice as casual as possible. "Remember when you told us that you fed on Jon's voice? Recharging a battery, kind of?"

"I... do?" Gerry looks down at her with an arched eyebrow.

"Okay. And remember that other time you told me there was nothing going on with Jon, but you let me believe that so I didn't find out you were leeching on him to survive?"

"Ah." Gerry averts his eyes, and the line of his shoulders stiffens. Melanie frowns, puzzled; it's been a while since she's had any friends to joke with, but this is most definitely not the mood she was trying to set up. "I didn't want any trouble, Melanie. You and Basira were very on board with killing me that first day because you thought I wasn't human, and I was just- well, I knew if you got actual confirmation of that, then-"

"Oh- oh no, that's not what I'm talking about," Melanie shakes her head, rolling her eyes. "I get why you did that. You were right, too, I would've killed you," she shrugs.

Gerry turns to look at her again, amused and confused in equal measure. "Okay? So what's this about then?"

"I just wanted to ask," Melanie struggles a little to keep her face blank now that she's put them back on track. "Do you also feed on holding hands with Jon, or is that just so he doesn't get lost into another entity when you're on your way from the bus stop?"

Gerry freezes when her words register in his mind, his face a carefully blank mask whose only emotion lies in the slight panic brewing behind his eyes.

"I-"

"Yes?" Melanie lifts her eyebrows, nodding along with pursed lips. The flush starting to darken his cheekbones is fascinating to watch, a much deeper hue than would correspond to his skin tone, probably on account of the ink that runs through his veins.

"Have you been- listen, we have- the fires." Gerry turns abruptly to start walking away from the smoldering can, and Melanie smirks. "We should look into it, could be a new avatar."

"Mhm. Alright. Just a little question I had, don't let it keep you up at night." Melanie follows, not even angry that she has to trot to keep up with him.

"I won't."

"Good, good."

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

"You're far too early. Nothing to find today?" Jon looks up when the door to his office is pushed open, a smile already on his lips. Gerry shrugs, taking his jacket off. Jon's gaze trails over the burn-smooth skin of Gerry's arms, the tattooed eyes at his elbows seeming to almost look at him when Gerry's muscles contract and stretch as he moves to hang the jacket by Jon's coat.

"Hello there?" Gerry asks, and Jon's eyes snap up his face. He's got an amused smile and a raised eyebrow, and Jon whips his burning face back down to his statement. "Melanie's busy today, so I did some recon by myself, but there's nothing tangible asides from Rayner's freaks."

"This is- yes, alright." He's not terribly worried about the Church of the Divine Host, he thinks, his fist clenching tightly around the pen he's using to make annotations on the statement; they cannot come into his Archives, because they won't risk being Seen. It still irks him that they dare come this close to the Institute, like a taunt to-

"What are you working on?" Gerry's long, black hair curtains down by the side of Jon's face, and all thoughts of Seeing the Darkness into oblivion evaporate from his mind.

"I just- I'm going over old statements," Jon clears his throat. "I'm trying to find anything that feels like the Extinction."

"I see... Found anything yet?" Gerry leans closer to look at the paper on the desk, and Jon freezes at the warmth at his back.

"I don't-" this is where Jon admits he hasn't been able to focus for the past three hours, isn't it? "Martin left early yesterday. And he didn't come to work today."

"Ah," Gerry sighs, before retreating to go sit across the desk. His eyes are soft and sympathetic, because it's just Jon's luck to be surrounded by good, caring people that he doesn't deserve. "How did you-"

"I just Knew it. I think- I think it was too much today." Jon averts his gaze again; Gerry's gentle concern is too much to deal with, what with everything that's been tumbling around in his head. "Which is why I'm looking into this, but the Watcher doesn't seem to be too interested in the new competitor." Jon scowls down at his desk. No helpful tidbits from the Eye either when picking out statements to revisit, or when going over things he already knew.

"Hey." Gerry slides a warm, heavy hand on top of Jon's, and Jon, because he's a selfish coward, doesn't move away. "You're doing what you can. We all are, Martin too."

Jon nods slowly, after a moment. Martin is- Martin knows what he's doing. He's far from stupid or weak, Jon knows that now. Even though he's still human, Martin moves through this world of fears with a sense of cunning and determination that Jon couldn't even begin to emulate, despite being a key player himself.

"I must admit, I... it's nice that you have changed your mind about him." Gerry hasn't told him what brought on the change, but Jon finds that he doesn't care. It's just one less thing to be worried about.

Gerry shrugs, giving his hand a squeeze. "Turns out we have a few things in common."

"You do." Jon nods; that much has been clear to him for a while. A fatal flaw that bears his name and his face.

Gerry's gaze is heavy on him, far from the usual playfulness in their interactions, and Jon feels his heartbeat start racing.

"Jon, we-"

"Jon?" the door opens again, and Daisy pokes her head through. "Oh. Sorry."

"No, it's- do you need anything, Daisy?" Jon asks, extricating his hand from Gerry's in the softest movement he can manage.

"I can come back later," Daisy shrugs.

"Actually, let's trade." Gerry pushes off his chair, and onto his feet. "You stay here. I'll see you when it's time to go home." He doesn't seek Jon's eyes when he says this, moving instead to grab his jacket and shove his arms through the sleeves.

"Careful," Jon mutters quietly.

Gerry stops at the door, his shoulders dropping in what might be a sigh, and he turns to look at him over his shoulder, his eyes softening just the slightest amount. "...Yeah. Yeah, you too."

And he's gone.

Daisy comes in once the sound of Gerry's boots stomping against the Institute's polished floors fades from earshot. "That was very dramatic."

Jon crosses his arms over his chest. "No, it wasn't."

Daisy rolls her eyes. "You're making this too big of a deal, just like the monster thing."

"I- excuse me?" Jon's face goes slack in disbelief, but Daisy merely leans a hip against his desk, looking down at him with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Poor, poor Jon, with these two men who lo-"

"Daisy! We don't- there's no-" Jon sputters, as it becomes increasingly clear he doesn't have anything to say, and just wanted to stop her from finishing the thought. "What did you need?"

Daisy shrugs. "Basira went to see Elias, and Melanie's out too."

"I see..." Jon sighs; the only reasons he's able to brave being alone are both the fact that recording statements keeps the walls from closing in, and the terrifying knowledge that Gerry would stay in the office just to keep him company if he asked. "Well I- it's good that you came. I need your opinion on something."

As soon as it becomes clear that she's wanted here, Daisy's entire body relaxes; Jon smiles to himself as she goes to take the seat Gerry left. Daisy deserves some kindness, she's just... another victim. He's the only one who chose this.

"Sure, what is it?"

"Did yo- have you seen Martin lately?" Jon reaches into a desk drawer for a tape recorder that wasn't there a minute ago. This one, he Knows, will contain Martin's recording on the Extinction.

"Not really. Where is he?" Daisy frowns.

Jon's eyes fall to the recorder in his hand. He doesn't know if he feels guiltier for Knowing about Martin, or for not going to him after what he found out.

"Taking a break from all of this, hopefully."

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

"-tin Blackwood? Yes, he lives here. We haven't seen him in a few weeks, though." The woman's eyes narrow in suspicion. "Did he die?"

Gerry snorts. God forbid landlords have any tact. He thinks back at one of the many things he learned about Martin while trying to Know the address to his flat.

"No, he's fine. But he had to go out of town for a while, because his mother passed away." He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to look solemn. "I'm going to go stay with him for a few days, but he wanted me to pick up his phone and some other things for him."

"I see... and who are you again?" The woman asks; the mistrust is a fair response, honestly, considering what Gerry's here to do.

"Well, you know..." he gives her a little smile and a non-committal gesture, pointing at himself and an imaginary Martin by his side. Whatever, it worked with Melanie and Basira, it'll fool a random landlady.

"Ah. Huh." The woman runs her eyes over him, evaluating him under the light of the new revelation; Gerry probably -hopefully- doesn't look anything like a self deprecating mop that specializes in giving off mixed signals and avoiding necessary conversations, but this woman clearly doesn't know Martin enough to know his tastes, because she just shrugs. "Then don't you have a key already?"

"Oh yes, I have one,' Gerry hurries to say. "He just wanted me to tell you that he's, you know, coming back and-" and here he crosses a leg over the other, bringing a knee up against the desk with enough force that the landlady's mug topples over the edge and spills its contents on her lap. "Oh shit, I'm sorry! Did you-"

"I'm alright," the woman says through gritted teeth, her skirt dripping lukewarm coffee on the carpeted floor when she climbs to her feet.

"I'm really sorry," Gerry apologizes again, but the woman is already heading towards the door without sparing him a glance. Good.

He Knows she keeps the spare keys in the bottom left drawer of the desk, and it only takes him a couple seconds lto find the one labeled with the number to Martin's flat, before unhooking it from the ring and pushing the drawer closed again.

By the time the woman comes back, patting at her damp lap with a towel, Gerry's already sitting back on his chair, sporting his best apprehensive look. "Did you need anything else?" she snaps.

"No, I'm just-"

"Sorry, yes. Thank you, could you leave?" the landlady's lips are pursed into a tense line. "I need to change."

"Yes! Sorry, I'll just-" he hops to his feet, crossing the office hurriedly. "Sorry!" Gerry apologises again before she closes the office door in his face, and he smiles. That's one less thing to worry about.

Martin's door opens easily enough with the key, and fog spills out like some sort of cheap haunted house trick. Not great, Gerry decides. The interior is freezing cold, and he bundles a bit tighter in his jacket, before closing the door behind him. There's a picture of a woman on a small table by the door, right behind the key bowl, and Gerry remembers the tape he listened to, with Elias' cruel, mocking voice and Martin's pained, choked back sobs.

It's a little selfish, but it's nice to know that Gerry's not the only one who can't bring himself to get rid of the memory of a mother who never loved him.

"Martin?" he calls out, bundling himself tighter in his clothes. "Are you-"

"What are you doing in my flat?!" Martin says by his side, where Gerry's pretty sure he wasn't a second ago. "How did you get in here?"

"It was open," Gerry shrugs. Martin looks... gray. His eyes, his hair, even his skin seems desaturated, blending in against the muted hues of his lightless flat.

"No it wasn't." Martin says firmly, and a bit of green starts seeping back into his eyes. Gerry lets out a relieved exhale. He's not too far gone, yet. "In fact, I made sure it was locked, because I've been being stalked lately."

"That sounds terrible," Gerry says, and because it seems like Martin is gaining more and more color the more exasperated he grows, he walks past him into what turns out to be the kitchen. "Want me to beat them up for you? I'll do it, just point me at 'em. Do you have coffee here? I'm not much for tea."

"I don't- why are you here?!" Martin sputters angrily, closing the cupboard doors Gerry purposefully leaves open as he moves down the room. "I'm not exactly going to record Extinction statements at home!"

"Well, I'm not here for that." Gerry gives him another look. He looks mostly solid now, enough that it might be a good time to let him know. "Jon was worried about you, so I came to check how you were."

"...Oh." Martin's flustered face goes slack at the news, and Gerry snorts. These two are the freaking same. "I- does he know?"

"That you're trying to save the world?" Gerry arches an eyebrow. "Or that you're doing it for him?" that has Martin's face regaining the color it was lacking.

"Both, I guess," Martin mutters, bringing a hand to rub at his arm nervously. "...I think I do have coffee, but it's- I don't drink it, I just had it for when Sasha- for when friends came over. I don't know if it's any good."

"I've probably had worse." Gerry knows what it's like to be alone. He's been that way for most of his life, but it's... he chose to live like that, it was never a burden for him. Here, as Martin talks of friends ripped from him by a world that feeds on despair, he feels a pang of sadness for this man who clearly didn't. "I have an hour before I have to go get Jon."

"Alright," Martin lets out a noise between a sigh and a groa, before he finally moves towards the cupboards again, and starts pulling out mugs and tins and spoons. "But you have to tell me how you got in."

"I'll let you guess," Gerry smirks as he sits at the breakfast table.

"How is he?" comes Martin's voice amidst the clinking of metal and porcelain. There's a careful quality to it, like he thinks he's not allowed to ask, and Gerry sighs.

"He's alright. Very defensive when we talk about his rib-related choices."

The sound of a mug dropped on the countertop, and Martin spins around. "Excuse me, his what?"

Gerry arches an eyebrow. "I hadn't told you? Could've sworn I mentioned it when we spoke about the marks." He wipes a hand under his nose, but it comes away ink-free. Edging around the topic is okay then, good to know.

"I don't- you didn't mention any ribs," Martin's voice is this close to a groan, Gerry notes with a smile. "What did he do now?"

"You better finish making that tea, you're going to need it."

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

The door to the cell slams shut, and Elias rolls his eyes. Frankly... he'd known Peter wasn't in the best of moods, but this is childish.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to either calm down or leave."

"How are you doing it?" Peter lands heavily on the chair across the table, blue eyes stormy with badly concealed rage and a muscle twitching on his jaw. Elias tries, he really does, but he can't hold back a snort. "Elias!"

"I'm sorry, sorry," Elias chuckles. "It's just amusing, really, that you seem to think I have the power to stop your puppeteering from in here. You mistake me for the Web's own, Peter."

He gives him the smile he knows Peter despises, just the slightest curve to his lips, and a single arched eyebrow.

"Don't play coy with me, Elias. Martin was progressing incredibly well, and all of a sudden he's stuck? Don't pretend you had nothing to do with it."

"Oh, but I didn't!" Elias reaches over to pull out the scotch bottle and the two tumblers, and Peter's hand closes around his wrist with bruising strength. "I'm afraid I did warn you the Watcher wouldn't let its own go so easily."

"How?" Peter's eyes narrow as his grip tightens even more. "I will not ask again, Elias."

Elias laughs, amused. Peter is awfully easy to rile up- if you know how to play him, and Elias has had decades to learn.

"Tell me something Peter... what do you know of Gertrude's last ill-fated assistant?"

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

There's a person standing across the street from the Institute. They're wearing dark clothes, and over their chest rests a pendant fashioned to look like a closed eye. It's a ridiculous notion, to come to the tower of the Ceaseless Watcher, and believe their god will protect them here.

Jon comes to a stop before the Institute's doors, the taste of Markus Burnett's encounter with the End still fresh in his mind, and considers crossing the street towards them. It would certainly send a message to the rest of-

"Jon?" the voice is puzzled and soft, and it feels like a curtain is lifted from Jon's mind, as he sees the person scurry away; he turns to find Martin looking down at him in concern. "Are you alright? Oh- your... your eyes."

"Ah- yes I just- it's-" Jon gestures vaguely towards the spot where his would-be victim was just standing.

"Oh. That's- that's not good, is it?" Martin frowns. "It's probably good you didn't-"

"I wasn't going to. Or- I hope I wasn't," Jon scowls as well. He definitely wanted to. He can still feel Martin's eyes on him, but for all that he's fantasized about this encounter, he can't think of anything to say. "You look better."

"I guess." Martin's frown melts into a mask of dry resignation. "Gerard broke into my flat two days ago. He won't tell me how he did it."

Of course, the Eye chooses that moment to let him Know exactly how Gerry got a key to Martin's flat, and Jon feels his face grow warm. It's a bit of a whiplash mood, to go from preparing to Behold a person to thinking about- yes, okay.

"I- yes. He does that," Jon clears his throat, "keep him away from your sofa."

"I'll keep that in mind. Just-" Martin gives a nervous look around, and Jon frowns.

"He's not around." Jon says, the static rising in his ears as he Sees both what Martin wants, and the answer to it. It still feels odd to use his powers willingly, but he'll do it for Martin anytime. "He's on his way back from meeting Elias."

"Oh- okay?" Martin blinks. "Thanks. I- he can't do that, Jon."

"Peter-?"

"Gerard." Martin's face grows pained, serious. "Peter is- he's happy I'm going along with his plan. If Gerard keeps trying to meddle in... I made a deal, and I have to keep it. Please tell him to leave me alone."

"Martin, you don't have to-"

"But I am," Martin sighs. "You said you'd respect that."

And he does, he really does respect the sacrifice Martin is making, but- but watching him hurt himself is just too much. This is the first time Martin has looked like himself in months, and Jon is suddenly confronted with just how much he's missed him.

"I'll talk to him." Jon says, before anything else can get out. "I'm- I'm sorry, Martin."

Martin nods wordlessly, before turning back to walk into the Institute. Jon watches him go, a million things he should've said running across his mind now that they're utterly, completely useless.

I dreamt of you in the Buried. Thank you for the tapes. You don't have to be strong all the time, please let me help you. I miss you so much it scares me, but it's a kind of fear I want to feel, the kind of fear I'd dedicate my life to.

None of it matters, because by the time Jon walks in after him, all that's left of Martin are a couple wisps of fog.

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

"What part of 'don't antagonize Martin' translated into 'go and lie to his landlady to break into his house' to you?" Jon asks that evening. The bus is nearly empty, and Gerry's arm is a comforting weight across his shoulders, a nice contrast against the hard plastic seat.

"I knew he'd tattle," Gerry rolls his eyes. "Go figure, pull a guy out of the Lonely with a nice cup of tea and some good conversation, and the first thing he does is go tell on you with his crush. You didn't tell him I had the key, did you? I don't want him to change the locks."

"I did not." Jon rolls his eyes. "But you can't- Gerry, I promised I'd leave him alone."

"And you did. Very respectful of his boundaries."

"And you should do so too. We're- we agreed we'd investigate about the Extinction so he didn't have to do everything on his own, not that we'd intrude on his plan."

"It's not a great plan, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask." Jon slaps lightly at Gerry's thigh with the back of his hand. "Listen, I trust Martin-"

"And I trust him too, sure. But I'm not going to- I can't just leave it alone, Jon." Gerry turns to look at him, and Jon -as he often does- finds himself distracted by the lights of the street outside gleaming off the metallic rings and beads on his face. "I'm not going to let them win. Not if I can help it, especially with someone they seem as hell-bent on getting as Martin."

Jon sighs. Of course he won't; Gerry's far too stubborn, far too-

"Just- Martin knows what he's doing."

"And I know what I'm doing too." Gerry shrugs, his shoulders set and his brow furrowed. "I'm not- I can't exactly stop him from aligning with the Lonely if that's what he wants. I'm just slowing it down. Getting us more time."

"And what happens when Peter Lukas finds out you're breaking into his flat to sit him down for tea?"

"Well, he doesn't have to find out," Gerry says, smirking. The gesture leaves the ring on his lower lip just the slightest bit off-center, Jon realizes. He runs his tongue over his own bottom lip, that feels too dry all of a sudde. "As far as anyone knows, it was just a very considerate man looking out for his partner."

"You can't possibly believe that was anywhere close to a good lie," Jon hisses, trying his best to ignore the fact that he doesn't know if he's annoyed or just embarrassed by the ruse.

"It's not unbelievable. Anyone could be my boyfriend," Gerry shrugs. "Martin could have good taste."

"I very much think he doesn't." Jon grumbles.

"I think he does, actually," Gerry's arm gives his shoulders a squeeze that has Jon's face burning, "besides, the position is open."

Jon coughs. "This is our stop," he says, ignoring the way Gerry rolls his eyes before climbing to his feet.

The conversation is pretty much over after that, but Jon finds -as he usually does, lately- that he has to let go of Gerry's hand to pull the keys out of his pocket.

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

"Did you do your exercises today?"

Daisy exhales slowly, her hands on her stomach and her gaze nailed to the ceiling. The cot she shares with Basira feels small at the best of times, but now under her too-heavy stare, it's like laying on a coffin, waiting for the lid to be slammed down again.

"They won't work."

"What?" Basira doesn't come closer, doesn't sit by the edge of the cot, and Daisy feels more and more like a disgusting, wasted carcass of her old self.

"The exercises. I- it's not going to work." The truth of her words weighs on her, the call of her blood begging her to follow, to lose herself again. "The only way I'm going to get better is if I hunt again, and I don't- I'm not doing that."

In the long silence that follows, Daisy darts a quick look at Basira. She's standing by the door, her white-knuckled hand shaking around the crumpled edge of a bag of Daisy's favorite takeout.

"There has to be another way," she says in the end. "What are we supposed to do, just wait for you to die?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask Elias?" Daisy shrugs. There's a dark pang of delight in her stomach when Basira stiffens, and she sighs. Not exactly a chase, but the Hunt will feed wherever it can. "I'm sorry."

"Do you think I haven't?" Basira's voice is tense and hurt. "Do you think I haven't spent every waking moment since you came out trying to find a way to make you-"

"Back to how I was?" Daisy says quietly, and the way it's enough to stop Basira's rising tirade really says a lot.

"That is not what I want," Basira forces through gritted teeth.

"But it's what you need, isn't it?" After a moment's hesitation, Daisy pushes up into a sitting position, and turns to face Basira. "You were there when I needed you, and now I can't do that for you."

"This is not- I don't keep a tally, Daisy." Basira finally takes a firm step forward and then another and another, until she's standing so close Daisy could reach her if she stretched her arm. She doesn't. "I don't have- I'm just trying to keep everyone from dying, or-"

Basira's voice breaks, and Daisy flinches, eyes wide. In their years working together, she can count on one hand the times she's seen her lose control.

"You were gone," she snaps, "you were dead, I mourned you. I had to- there was no one else. Everyone was dead, Melanie was more and more unstable, and Martin was doing his secretive bullshit. What was I supposed to do? I was the only one. If I gave up, then it was like letting Elias win, and I was not going to let that happen."

"Basira-"

"Of course I wanted you back. As soon as that lying worm told me there might be a way to pull you out, I-"

"I heard your voice in the Buried."

Basira freezes. She looks- Daisy has been her partner for years, and the thing with her is, Basira always knows what to do. Even when she doesn't, she knows what should be done next. Never a second guess or a moment of doubt, or anything less than cold, hard certainty. Now Basira looks lost, and Daisy can only wonder what that means for her, who's always depended on Basira's solidity to ground herself.

"I'm- I want to be here for you. I want to help, Basira, but I can't- I don't want to go back to the Hunt. Or rather, I want it too much, and I know I won't-" Daisy groans. She's never been good with words, one would think spending an eternity with the Archivist would've helped, but apparently it's too much to wish for. "I just want to be myself, for however long I can. I'm- sorry it's not what you-"

Basira crashes against her, and Daisy feels her breath leave her all at once, as they topple over onto the cot, the crumpled falafel bag landing on the floor to be forgotten.

"I'll figure something out," Basira's breath is hot against her shoulder. Daisy can smell her coconut shampoo through her headscarf, and it's all she can do to hold her tighter, because they live in a world in which these moments are fleeting and fragile, and all the more precious for it. "For this. For you."

Daisy nods furiously, her eyes shut tight and her blood singing an entirely different song.

"Basira," she says, the only word she knows, the only word that matters.

Basira nods like she understands, and Daisy can't bring herself to care about anything else.

#jongerrymartin #vit writes #illicio

[voidstilesplease]

agape

steo + the types of love

Theo follows Monroe out of the car. They've caught Scott's pack - him, Malia, Lydia, Peter, and Deucalion - off-guard, so they take cover behind concrete columns and steel barriers as the "new hunters" pour out of the vehicles and storm the supernaturals with shots.

Theo is one of them, but his gun is only loaded to fire on one of them. He squeezes the trigger immediately as his sight lands on the monster: Deucalion. The first bullet burrows into his skin, and the next one, and the next, until there's nothing to discharge.

But then other allies arrive. Stiles's jeep mows down one of the hunters, and Derek Hale leaps to attack. The distraction gives the others a chance to retaliate as well, so the hunters retreat to their vehicles to flee.

But only after Theo finds Stiles's eyes amidst the chaos. It's not anger or disgust that he discovers in the blues when they trail from Deucalion's predisposed figure to Theo's hoisted weapon, but acceptance of his choice - of his judgment.

As they drive away, Gerard's voice comes into the radio. He's not speaking to the hunters, but Scott and the pack.

"Blood and destruction shall be so in use,

And dreadful objects so familiar,

That mothers shall but smile when they behold

Their infants quartered with the hands of war;

All pity choked with custom of fell deeds:

And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge,

With Ate by his side come hot from hell,

Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice-"

"Cry 'Havoc!,' and let slip the dogs of war," another voice finishes before the hunter can utter them.

"Ah," Gerard sounds amused and leering. "Welcome back, Derek Hale. I see you came home after all. Are you happy, Scott? I orchestrated your reunion."

A casual, but rigid voice replies with, "Join us so I can thank you personally."

Gerard revels at the tightness he hears from Scott's voice. "Oh, but I have other visitors from London here, Scott."

A pained cry follows Gerard's statement. There's a cussing, and then a hissed voice speaking from the background. "I'm going to shove that taser up your old man's ass." Gerard only chuckles and proceeds to declare that contrary to his army's strategic positioning, Scott's is spread thin.

Gerard's final words before cutting off are,

"The dogs of war are coming for you all."

***

Eventually, the scales weigh to Gerard's favor.

Jordan Parrish, the hellhound, is trapped in Eichen House. The hunters lock up Agent McCall of the FBI during an interception. Liam, Scott's beta, Corey, and Mason are all stranded in the hospital with hunters surrounding them. The visitors from London that Gerard mentions, Jackson Whittemore and his werewolf beau, are unsuccessfully rescued by Lydia and Stiles. Now, instead of two, there are four of them inside Gerard's secret prison.

He refuses to share with Theo why it's so concealed. He finds out anyway, and what he sees almost steals all the air from him.

A half dozen stocky hunters guard it, but Theo manages to disarm and knock them out. Theo quivers with fury at Gerard's blatant display of mistrust on him when he's supposed to be his protege, but he can't blame the man for it, either. After all, he struck his people to access Gerard's forbidden room.

There's a number combination needed to open the steel door, but Theo only peeks from the small, rectangular, glass viewing pane to know why Theo's not allowed into it.

It's a supernatural trap - but mostly, a werewolf trap. Lydia seems well but visibly weary, while the three werewolves with her are in much worse condition. They're beaten up, bloody and grimy, with no opportunity to heal. There's the lethal yellow wolfsbane contaminating their open wounds. They're deteriorating rapidly.

Stiles is dying inside.

But it's not only Stiles that prompts him to his decision. It's also Brett, Lori, the unnamed innocent boy in BHHS, Scott whom he thinks is still naive, the brave composure of Lydia, and even Derek Hale with electric eyes that flash similarly as Stiles's. 

Theo has had enough with Deucalion, his overwhelming guilt, and this needless war.

***

It takes a while, but he finds the combination to open the door to the room that's also known as Gerard's supernatural torture chamber.

The three shapeshifters are unconscious by the time the steel door hisses open. Lydia is weakly swatting at the choker around her neck, barring her voice. 

Theo does quick work in untying them. They're groggy but finally responsive to Theo's harried urging for them to get themselves together again. He reaches Stiles, and the boy's lips are purpling, barely breathing.

Theo's heart drops to his feet and seals his resolve.

As he gives instructions to the others for the flight, Stiles blearily opens his eyes.

"Theo," Stiles rasps out, barely audible. His head lolls to the sides as Jackson and Ethan hold him upright for their escape. "Gerard's not - he's not gonna forgive you."

Despite himself - the turmoil, their predicament - Theo steps toward him and takes his face gently between his hands. For a moment, everything else didn't matter; his world shrinks down to the palm of his hands.

He peers up to Stiles's eyes through his long eyelashes and tells him with an honesty that jars even himself. All of what used to fear Theo concludes to a single statement. 

"I'm not sorry,"

***

And even when there's a loud ringing in his ears following a shot that squares him down - when Stiles and all others are long gone - he's not sorry.

~•~

sefless love: is the highest level of love to offer. It’s given without any expectations of receiving anything in return. Offering Agape is a decision to spread love in any circumstances — including destructive situations. (catalyst: spirit)

#steo #steo au #steo fic #steo ficlet #types of love au #part 7 #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #teen wolf #fics tag