#gerard is just one of those people whose hair you can do anything to and it will just make them look cooler

[lapinmiel]

Mirror, Mirror

Felix and OC (Female), 2,4K. (Part 2)

Phoebe’s life was never one of an adventure, even as a vampire — after being discovered by the Volturi for her talent, she finds herself running away from the world’s most powerful organization, and soon she finds herself in a complete lie and truth situation, with the anchor of her lover leading her to his side.

Part 1, Part 2

Saladin's jaw was clenched like a vise. Horror was evident in his eyes as if they were water droplets in a river as clear as glass, and the water droplets colliding with each other soon found Phoebe in all the confusion and fear. If her heart was alive, it would already have kept pace with the footsteps of approaching death, pounding madly — for she knew, the death was close now, like a shadow lurking around her neck.

"What are we gonna do?" asked Phoebe.

Both of their minds seemed to have stopped. Ideas did not flow with inherent ease. His thoughts, like an elephant trying to get through a door, and the instincts that were supposed to get them out of this trap, were silenced now.

“Should we take another plane and go?”

Phoebe frowned. “We are not close enough.” He looked back to where they had come from. She was right, they had proceeded on a straight street, quite far from the airport. It wouldn't have taken them a minute to come back, of course, but Phoebe wanted to fully understand the situation before she gave herself up to fear.

“I wonder where we are,” she said quietly. "Maybe we're not close to Volterra. Sicily?"

“This is not the time to think about it.” said Saladin, with clear determination in his voice. “Wherever we are, it takes minutes to get caught.”

Phoebe tried not to get caught up in the blinding energy of her afraid friend, but if a centuries-old vampire was so afraid of the Volturi, the intensity of emotion she had to feel must have been more than she could handle.

“Let’s go then.” she said.

Within seconds, they disappeared into the shadows and returned to the airport, waiting for the planes to take off. Unlike the first place they went, it was more secluded and the planes didn't take off as often. They waited for about ten minutes. Then, as an airplane started to move, they run, got into the wheels section as before, and waited for the take off. But nothing went the way they wanted, and it wouldn't for a long time.

Contrary to expectations, the plane made its way to the hangar, not the runway. Since Phoebe and Saladin could not see where the plane was going from where they were, they thought that the vehicle was proceeding normally, and during the minutes they spent on the ground, they thought that they were on the runway. Even the growing voices of humans didn't make them think something was wrong, as it was only the second time they had boarded a plane. They didn’t know what was normal and what was not. But within fifteen minutes of being there, they realized they weren’t going anywhere. This understanding brought a storm and a flood of fear that would be hard to stop.

"What are we gonna do?" asked Saladin.

Phoebe's brows were furrowed and her eyes were squinted like a fox's. She was trying to think. In addition to protecting himself, she also felt in her heart not to let down a vampire who had traveled the world for centuries but now needed her protection, and that responsibility felt like it would crush her if she didn't shed it quickly.

“Let's go on another plane,” she said. "If it doesn't take off, to another one."

Saladin's eyes were so innocent that Phoebe felt the emotion to protect him mix with compassion.

Then, all of a sudden, he was torn from where he was and crashed into the ground.

There was a loud thump, and a smashing sound — then Phoebe was pulled by someone by the shoulders with a speed that her eyes couldn't catch, and she found herself outside the plane, in the middle of the hangar.

She could see Saladin struggling with something unseen. He got punched with a left hook first, then a blow to the jaw; Then whatever was beating him somehow dropped him on his back, and then grabbed him by the neck and swung him in mid-air, hitting the ground. They couldn't see anything. Neither Saladin nor Phoebe knew who they were up against.

Phoebe was aware that someone big was holding her, for her neck had been pinched by one's arm, and both of her arms were held steady by another, as if with a chain. She couldn't see who it was, maybe she didn't want to see it, because the fear running through her told her to just close her eyes. It was as if all her senses were blinded.

She heard Saladin getting punched several more times. Then the voices stopped, and the steps made it clear that two people were approaching Phoebe.

"Use your shield," said a strange, weary voice, "Surround us all."

His body full of fissures trying to heal. Saladin did what he thought was the only way to avoid being killed, and focused, using his shield to envelop all four.

Then, at the other end of the hangar, two rushing footsteps were heard. The two owners of the steps approached the quartet and stopped.

"It was a tragic mistake to think you could escape from us."

A familiar voice. Phoebe opened her eyes, a wave of shock and fear hit her.

It was right in front of her. Jane. Next to her stood a woman with light brown hair, whom she had never seen before. She was considerably taller than Jane, and she had slightly smiling lips, in contrast to Jane's bloodless killer expression. These two women, clad in jet-black robes, gave Phoebe fears she had never felt before, and she felt her nonexistent blood burning in her veins.

Jane sighed lightly.

“Can you get past the shield?”

The woman beside her squinted slightly after Jane's question. She was trying to do something. But it didn’t work, because,"No." was her only reply.

“Then it should be something else, not a shield. A neutralizer, perhaps.”

Phoebe felt the sound waves emanating from her chest throughout her body as the giant holding her spoke. The voice was deep, rough, and judging by his accent, he was at least five hundred years old, and worst of all, he was close enough to kill Phoebe in one hit.

“Have we encountered such power before?” he asked.

“No.” the woman next to Jane said. Jane curled her lips slightly at this answer and smiled. “Aro once talked about a vampire that had a similar talent, he could stop anyone’s talent from working. But he died before Aro could invite him.” Her smile disappeared.

“Aro will like it. We're leaving." she said, giving Phoebe a cold look. Jane and the woman next to her disappeared in an instant. Then, Saladin and the little man holding him, who Phoebe could see now, left, leaving Phoebe and the person who had strangled her alone.

She was looking for something to hold onto and use. Maybe this person had a power, augmented strength, or something — she searched, tried to feel it in her mind, but found nothing. “I don't have any power for you to take me down,” the man said, when he finally realized that the girl's inactivity was due to her focusing on something else. “You can only defeat me with your body.”

Phoebe grit her teeth. Then she found herself being carried in his chest as he ran.

Soon after, she found herself in a hilly city. The man slowed when he got to the big doors, and when the doors opened he entered with the same pace. His grip on Phoebe must have looked funny to those who opened the door for him, as Phoebe heard a slight chuckle, but the giant man instantly turned around and gave the giggled man a stern look. So, Phoebe thought she did look weird, because even though she had been held by him for so long, she still couldn't see his face. It was possible that he was one of those who had come to catch her the day before, but she did not know how many giant vampires the Volturi had, and she certainly did not want to put him at a psychological advantage just because she had seen and feared him before. In the blink of an eye, she found himself walking through another set of doors and into a large, domed hall.

In front of her, on a platform, were three men sitting on thrones. She knew them from Saladin's stories: Caius, the blond and ruthless o e, the sickly-looking Marcus, and Aro in the middle, whose eyes were shining bright even from there.

Aro. The nakedness of the name left a strange taste in her mind. Sour, and also bitter.

The giant holding her slowly loosened his arms and dropped Phoebe to the ground, grabbing her softly by one shoulder and pushing her forward.

Aro slowly descended from the platform he was on, and joined his hands in front of him.

"Welcome." he said, raising his hands slightly to the sides. He had an innocent smile on his face, as if he wasn't the biggest mafia in the world.

She couldn't help her expression, Phoebe frowned while her lips tightened as if she were staring at something hideous. Saladin, on the other hand, was trying to collect himself.

“I heard that your talent is a rare one that no one has seen before.” said Aro, in his same calm voice. He quickly turned his eyes to someone else and looked back at Phoebe.

Then, Phoebe felt the same thing again: something was trying to seep into her skin. This time it wasn't harsh, it wasn't like fire either, it was more like a sneaking mist pouring through the windows. Cool and almost numb.

Phoebe invited him in. She then gathered the feeling up, turned it into a light, and reflected it like a mirror.

Startled, she saw the mind reader's eyes widen as he pulled back, and he audibly gasped. Then she saw the memories flooding into her mind. The brightest was the way she looked at herself through his eyes, then she saw simultaneously his devotion to Aro, and the man behind her. That was him, she thought, the man from that day.

He quickly turned to Aro, the mind reader, whose name she had learned was Gerard. When Phoebe looked at him the same way, she saw admiration in his blazing eyes. Fascination.

Aro folded his hands in front of him again. The smile on his face turned into a completely happy expression.

"Matchless." he said as he approached the girl. “Nobody like you has ever existed.”

He stopped one step ahead of her. He lifted his hand and brought it close to her face, but did not touch it. His hands were close enough to feel her warmth, but he didn't come any closer, realizing the damage a single touch could do to him. He wasn't going to touch her, ever.

He couldn't hide her admiration for her, but then pulled back, remembering his role. He made his way to the middle of the hall, and turned back to Phoebe. All the while, Felix, who was the name of the man behind her as she learned from the mind reader, was holding her softly on her shoulder. The heaviness was uncomfortable, but she knew it: releasing it would give her the upper hand.

“Join us,” said Aro. “Find yourself a place at the top of the world.”

Phoebe didn't answer.

Aro must have taken it upon himself to persuade her, so he continued speaking.

“Rise with us to the top of our clan. You are too important to be left alone, you were born to serve a higher purpose.”

“What I was born for is none of your business.” said Phoebe suddenly. He was surprised, too, but the words were out of his mouth once. She believed that she was made to live with Saladin after all, to spend his life with him while they looked for Zareen. Saladin had told her before that being erased from the minds of all vampires could be the only way to true freedom, and Phoebe was convinced that living as a ghost would serve her better.

Aro's smile faded slightly, but he wasn't going to give up.

"I'm offering you a week's trial," he said calmly. He was showing Phoebe the privilege he didn't show to others, he had to. He could not allow such a precious diamond to be lost in the hands of uncivilized savages. "Join us. If you want to go after a week, you will be free.”

Phoebe was thinking. Coming here and standing under the dome of this hall, seeing that the Volturi were not monsters with colorless skin, overgrown teeth, and elongated nails, had turned the cogs in her mind.

“We'll help you hone your skill,” Aro continued after a short pause. “We can help you understand exactly what you do, how you do it, and teach you to use it. Over the years, you will become one of our strongest.”

Phoebe saw a faint glint in the expressionless eyes of Marcus, who sat behind Aro. Then she had that feeling again. Her skin was tingling. It must be Marcus, she thought to herself. Saladin hadn't told her what Marcus' talent was, but Phoebe couldn't pass up the opportunity to get to know a new talent.

She let the feeling come into his and then used it. Suddenly she saw how everyone in the room felt about each other as clearly as day.

Caius had hidden his anger towards Aro in a black box and covered it with devotion. Jane could suffocate anyone in the room but her brother and without feeling any remorse, the light brown-haired woman next to Jane loved everyone, and everyone loved her, in a shaky way.

Phoebe saw everyone in the room. She couldn't understand what had happened when she saw a few gray bruises in the love bond between him and Saladin, but then she saw weak flower buds just beginning to sprout between herself and the man standing behind her.

She suddenly threw the skill she had used out of her mind. Marcus was beginning to suspect that she was using his talent, it was evident in his eyes. Aro was still in front of him with his smiling but frightening face.

Phoebe didn't know what to decide, what to say. The wheels in her mind began to turn again. They can't hurt me, she thought. Their powers are useless on me. I can fight. If they try to imprison me, I can escape.

It bothered Phoebe that the Volturi no longer looked like terrifying creatures, and that Saladin's feelings for her were not as innocent as she had expected. She felt a vague disappointment in her dead heart, and that disappointment was changing the course of her decisions.

I can escape.

It was the last straw. She mustered up her courage. She could at least stay here for a week. She could see what the Volturi were doing. Not only that, but she could find out if they were truly monstrous or simply maintaining order and secrecy. Most importantly, he could learn what he could do with her talent. And if things didn’t go her way, she would escape, and find Zareen herself.

She took a deep breath, even though the oxygen didn't do anything to her.

“Okay,” she said with a certain shakiness in her voice, “I'm staying.”

[robinrunsfiction]

Swing Life Away

Pairing: Gerard Way x Female Reader Rating: Teen Requested By: None Word Count: ~7,000 Author’s Note: This story is about about what can happen between two people whose lives aren’t turning out exactly how they planned and what happens when they turn to each other.  Inspired originally by the song “Hold On To Me” by Mayday Parade, there is a full playlist here of songs that inspired this story. TWs for mentions of substance abuse and depression. Post Bullets-era AU.

Gerard sighed as he pulled up in front of the convenience store. His well worn hoodie didn’t provide much relief against the New Jersey autumn air as he hurried inside. After checking the amount of cash he had in his pocket, he got a small coffee and headed to the counter. He rocked on his heels as he waited for the person being helped ahead of him to finish. Finally it was his turn.

“Anything else?” The girl behind the counter asked as she punched his coffee into the register, then she looked up. “Oh hey Gerard.”

Hearing her say his name, he looked up as well. “Oh, hey (YN), it’s been a while,” he smiled a little awkwardly.  “Umm, can I get a pack of cigarettes?”

“Yea, sure. How’ve you been? I haven’t seen any fliers for a My Chem show recently, are you guys not playing right now?”

Gerard’s eyes widened for a moment and his mouth went dry. He didn’t think he would be having this conversation today, but (YN) had been coming out to My Chem shows since the beginning and he knew she was a genuinely nice person who deserved to hear the truth. “Umm, I broke it up.”

(YN)’s jaw dropped and she started to blush. “Shit, I’m sorry, I hadn't heard, otherwise I wouldn’t have brought it up,” she replied, nervously tucking at her hair.

“It’s ok,” he shrugged, trying not to let on that he was still disappointed about the whole situation. “Ray and Frank already found other bands to play with and I got a job at the comic book store so I’m back to something else I enjoy, so it’s ok really.”

“What about Mikey?”

Gerard rubbed at the back of his neck. “That’s why I broke it up. He, umm, he's got some problems. He’s in rehab,” Gerard mumbled the last part, barely audible to (YN).

“Fuck,” she breathed, looking down at the counter in front of her.

“Yea, our parents blamed me for the whole thing and kicked me out. I’ve been couch surfing for a while, or just staying in my car,” Gerard nodded toward his beat up old car parked out front. “Sorry, I just kinda dumped that all on you.”

“No, I asked, and I understand. Shit, I’m really sorry about all that,” (YN) said as she took Gerard’s money for his purchase. “Hey, please don’t be afraid to say no because this is a crazy idea I just had, but my roommate moved in with her boyfriend because she got knocked up, and I’ve been looking for someone to split the rent with. If you’re looking for a place,” (YN) trailed off with a shrug.

“Really?” Gerard asked, eyebrows raised. He was surprised at the offer. None of his friends that he had been crashing with had offered to let him stay more than a couple days at a time.

“Yea, I mean, why not?” She shrugged. “Wanna come over and check it out tonight?”

“Sure, that sounds good, what time?”

“I get off at 6, so like 6:30?”

“Yea, I can do that,” he smiled and (YN) felt like a massive weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“Cool, here’s the address and my phone number for whatever,” she said as she scrawled the information on the back of his receipt.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said with a wave after pocketing the cigarettes. For once in a long time, Gerard finally had some hope that things were about to turn around.

~

When (YN)’s shift was over at 6, she rushed home to quickly straighten up before Gerard arrived. She desperately needed a roommate or she’d have to break her lease and be in the same situation Gerard currently found himself in, but she didn’t want to let any stranger move in. At least she knew Gerard a bit; he was always nice and fun to be around when they hung out after shows, plus he had a regular job, which was good enough for her. 

Shortly after 6:30 the doorbell rang and she rushed to answer it. “Hey Gerard, come on in.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, almost a little nervously. 

(YN) gave him the tour through the small house, showing him the open bedroom across the hall from her own, the kitchen, and bathroom. “As you can see, I don’t really have a lot of furniture,” she said when they got back to the empty living room. “My roommate had all that unfortunately, so I just kinda hang out in my room. I don’t have any weird rules or anything, and the neighborhood is safe, sooo yea. Rent would be $600 a month each plus utilities, if you’re interested after all that.”

Gerard looked around again. “Yea, I mean this would be great.”

(YN) let out a sigh of relief she didn’t realize she was holding. “Oh that’s awesome, thank you. I really didn’t wanna lose this place.”

“Oh yea, I understand,” he smiled his lopsided smile. “How soon can I move in?”

“Whenever you want. My old roommate had paid through the end of this month, so we’re ok there. I’ll let the landlord know and do the paperwork stuff.”

“Do you mind if I stay tonight? ‘Cause I don’t have,” he trailed off.

(YN) felt absolutely gutted when she realized he meant he'd be spending the night in his car, as temperatures dropped near freezing. “Oh, shit, yea, I can help carry stuff in if you want,” (YN) said quickly, grabbing her coat from the closet and following him out to his car.

Gerard didn’t have much with him, a few changes of clothes, a blanket, pillow, and a backpack full of cds and comics. He insisted that he was fine to sleep on the floor, but (YN) still gave him an extra pillow and a couple of blankets to make himself a bit more comfortable.

"Thanks again (YN) for letting me move in here and everything," Gerard said as (YN) turned to go. "I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate it."

"I think it's gonna work out well for both of us," she smiled as she closed the door behind her.

~

Gerard retrieved the rest of his belongings that weekend and got everything moved into his room. (YN) tried to give him space while he got settled, but eventually they started talking a bit more, getting to know each other as they got used to being around each other.

A few weeks later, (YN) was sitting on the counter next to the microwave when Gerard arrived home from work, the smell of fresh popcorn greeting him. “Hey, what are you doing tonight?” (YN) asked as Gerard walked into the kitchen.

“Umm, nothing, why?” Gerard asked.

“I was getting ready to watch a movie, if you wanna hang out.”

“Yea, sure,” he nodded. “What were you thinking?”

“I dunno, any of the classics that are easy to watch, like Star Wars or Back to the Future,” she shrugged.

Gerard’s eyes lit up. “I was thinking about Empire Strikes Back earlier today.”

“Well let’s watch that one then,” she nodded, hopping off the counter as the microwave beeped.

Gerard went back to his room and dropped his backpack on the bed. He opened it up and examined the bottle of alcohol he had purchased after work. He wasn’t sure why he did it, he had told Mikey that he’d get sober too, but he had been feeling so depressed lately, he thought it might help to take the edge off.

Instead, he stashed it under his desk and changed out of his work clothes and into some pajama pants and a comfortable t-shirt so he could relax. When he walked into (YN)’s room, he was reminded of the lack of places to sit other than with her on her bed. “I’ll go get my desk chair,” he said, turning to leave.

“Oh grow up, you can sit on my bed with me,” she laughed, patting the spot next to her.

“I didn’t wanna assume,” he said rolling his eyes as he sat down, the popcorn bowl between them. Gerard finally had a chance to really look around her room, and the first thing he noticed next to the modest tv was a bookshelf filled with movies. "Woah, I never noticed your movie collection before, how'd you get so many?"

"My cousin worked for Blockbuster up until a couple years ago. She got all those at a discount and when she moved to Chicago she decided she didn't want them anymore and gave them to me."

"That's cool," Gerard replied, continuing to look around. Against the amethyst walls white Christmas lights were hung, bathing the room in a warm glow. Taped to her wall above her bed were dozens of photos, that appeared to be mainly of friends, parties, concerts, and pink roses. "You have a lot of friends."

"I don't talk to most of them any more," she said, glancing up. "They all moved on with their lives and I stayed here."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Gerard replied. He had been one of those people, he had moved on with his life, until it got out of control and now he was here as well.

(YN) shrugged. “Sometimes I wonder if maybe I should try to move on too,” she said with a nod to the photos. “Stop living in the past or whatever. Anyway, what’s it like working at the comic book store?”

Gerard shrugged. “It’s pretty good. On slow days I can just read comics for my whole shift, and the people that come in are pretty cool to talk to.”

“Do you miss music?”

Gerard looked thoughtful for a moment. “Some days. But as long as I’m doing something I enjoy, I’m happy.”

(YN) glanced over at him and smiled. “That’s good.”

Later that night (YN) had gotten up to go to the bathroom when she noticed a sliver of light coming from Gerard's doorway. When she peeked in, she saw him at his desk, working intently.

“What are you working on?” Gerard heard (YN) ask from the doorway.

“Oh umm, just this comic idea I’ve been working on,” he replied. When he looked back at her, he spotted his clock, reading that it was nearly 4 AM. “It’s so late, did I wake you up?”

“No, I just got up to go to the bathroom and I saw your light on,” she said padding quietly into the room. “Can I see?”

“Sure,” he said, turning the paper toward her.

“That’s really really good. What’s it about?”

“They’re like an adopted family of superheroes. They all have different powers and their father is trying to train them to save the world,” he said looking up at her. To his surprise, she seemed to be genuinely interested.

“You’re really talented."

"It's not that great," he shrugged.

“Pfft, are you kidding? That girl is so pretty, and there aren’t even words yet and I can tell this guy is super mad at this other aloof guy.”

Gerard looked back up at her in awe. “I’ve been struggling all night because I didn’t think it conveyed that clearly enough.”

“Nah, it’s great, you’re doing great,” she replied. “Are you just doing it for fun, or are you gonna try to get it printed?”

“I’d love to get a comic printed, but I don’t know if I ever will.”

“Like I said, you’re really talented, I bet you could make it happen. I’ll even buy a copy and tell people that you were my roommate when you were working on it.”

Gerard laughed lightly. “I’ll dedicate it to you.”

“I can’t wait. G’night Gerard,” (YN) said before retreating back to her room.

~

It was a bitterly cold winter day when (YN) returned home from work to find another car in front of the house. When she came in, she heard another voice she thought she recognized.

“Hey (YN),” Gerard called as she walked into her room.

“Yea?” She called back, dropping her things.

“Mikey’s here.”

“Oh! Hey Mikey, how’s everything going?” (YN) asked, as she walked into Gerard’s room and found his brother sitting on the bed. 

“Good,” he nodded.

She nodded as well. “I'll get out of your hair, sorry to interrupt,” (YN) waved as she ducked back into her room. Gerard had been talking about how well Mikey had been doing since finishing his program, but as far as she was aware, this was the first they had seen each other since he had completed it.

A while later she was in the kitchen getting dinner when Gerard walked Mikey to the door,  exchanging a hug before he left. After the door was closed, Gerard let out a sigh.

“Mikey looked like he’s doing good,” (YN) said as Gerard trudged into the kitchen.

“Yea,” he replied, but the tone of his voice wasn’t happy. “But he doesn’t think he can stay clean here so he’s moving.”

“Really? Where?”

“California. We got some family out there that will keep him straightened out, and keep him away from the people who got him messed up in the first place, like me.”

"Did he say you specifically?"

"No, but-"

“Gerard,” (YN) interrupted sternly. “Just because you started the band doesn’t mean you’re to blame for what he chose to do.”

“I shoulda been looking out for him more. I was such a drunk shtihead I didn’t even know what was happening,” he said running his hands through his hair.

(YN) stepped forward grabbing his arms and pulling them down. “Gerard! I have spent months now listening to you talk about Mikey. You guys both learned some lessons the hard way, but he wouldn’t have kept calling you while he was in rehab and come to visit today if he blamed you. He could have cut you off, moved to California without a word, but he didn’t. That means something, right?”

Gerard looked like he was on the verge of tears but he nodded.

“You guys are both gonna be alright,” she said, letting go of his arms, and wrapping him in a hug.“Sorry, “ just felt like,” she said trailing off with a shake of her head when she pulled back.

“It’s fine, I needed that,” he smiled. “All of it, thank you.”

~

It didn’t seem like enough time had passed when in the late spring (YN) checked the mail and found a letter from their landlord with the paperwork to renew their lease. She sighed nervously as she made her way to Gerard’s room. Now it wasn't just that she didn’t want to have to find a new place to live, it was the fact that she liked living with Gerard. She liked hanging out with him and she had come to care for him as a real friend. She also recently realized that she had at some point developed more feelings for him, but she pushed those aside.

“Hey Gee?” She said knocking on his door.

“Yea?” She heard him call from the other side before she opened the door.

“We got the lease renewal paperwork today. Did you wanna extend the lease for a full year?”

“Yea, sure. I like it here,” Gerard replied with a smile.

(YN) let out a sigh of relief. “Good, I’m really glad to hear that. I’ll leave this with you, just bring it back when you get it signed at all the flagged spots.”

“Ok,” Gerard nodded as he flipped through the packet.

A while later (YN) looked up from the magazine she was reading when Gerard knocked on her door. “I got the lease thing signed,” he said, walking in and handing her the paperwork.

“Cool, I’ll drop this off tomorrow,” she nodded. “I’m really glad this has worked out.”

“Me too,” Gerard said. “Umm, I never mentioned it before, but I had been living in my car for a couple weeks when you offered me this place.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was that bad,” (YN) murmured.

“I was in a really low place, like I was almost at my breaking point ya know, but umm, when I say this turned everything around for me, I mean it. I was able to pick up more shifts at work and I could afford to go back to my therapist and get on my meds again. So thanks for saving my life,” he said with a nod before turning to leave.

“Gee wait,” she said getting up.

“Yea?”

“I… I don’t know what to say except I’m really glad that you’re here and you matter a lot to me, and,” she shrugged as her words failed her. She just wanted Gerard to know how important he was, not just as someone to share rent with, but as well as all the complicated feelings she kept bottled up inside.

Gerard stepped back across the room and wrapped his arms around her. They stood silently hugging for a while before he pulled back. “Hang on.” (YN) nodded as he hurried over to his room and then came back with a bottle of liquor. “Here, you can have it, or get rid of it, it doesn’t matter to me. I bought it months ago because… it doesn’t matter, but that night you invited me to hang out and that meant a lot. I started working on my comic again that night too.”

“I remember that,” she smiled, as she took the bottle from him. “You’re gonna do big things Gee. I’m glad I can cheer you on.”

~

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come along?” (YN) asked from the doorway of his room. She was heading out to a party with her friend, but to Gerard, she already seemed a little unsteady on her feet. 

“No thanks, I gotta work in the morning,” he replied. Just then, a car horn went off outside the house.

“That’s Eli. I’ll try to be quiet coming in,” (YN) waved before hurrying out to her waiting friend.

Gerard got so wrapped up in the page of his comic he was working on he completely lost track of time until his phone went off. "Hello?" Gerard answered his phone.

"Heeey, is this Gerard? (YN)'s roommate?" He heard a female voice slur from the other end.

"Yea, why?" He asked, panic striking through him. He glanced at his clock, it wasn't that late, why was someone calling him about (YN).

"Can you come get (YN)? She's like super drunk and I'm gonna go back to this guy's place but I don't wanna leave her here alone."

"Wait, is this Eli?"

"Yea, can you hurry up before she barfs or something, I can't deal with that."

"Yea, yea, text me the address, I'm on my way," Gerard replied, already slipping on his sneakers.

A while later Gerard was pulling up in front of the house where the party was happening. As he got out of his car, he saw (YN) sitting on the front lawn with a girl he'd never met before, he presumed it was Eli.

"Hey (YN), are you ok?" He asked as he approached. He could tell (YN) had been crying, despite how dark it was.

"Yea," she sniffled and got up unsteadily.

"I'll call you tomorrow, ok sweetie?" Eli said, already heading toward a guy who had been waiting in the distance.

(YN) waved her off as Gerard helped her to the car. Other than the radio playing an old Radiohead song, there was nothing but silence in the car.

"I've never seen you this drunk," Gerard suddenly blurted out. "Are you ok?"

(YN) sniffled again. "I haven't really eaten in a few days and then Eli wanted to do shots when we got to the party and now I'm stupid and wasted," she whined.

Gerard pulled up to a red light and looked over at (YN). She had her head against the window and was staring blankly ahead. "Why haven't you been eating much? Do you need money for groceries? I can kick in more."

"Because I wanna be skinnier so you'll think I'm pretty like the girl you drew in your comic" she said so softly it was almost a whisper.

Gerard's heart broke at her words. "(YN), I do think you're beautiful. You don't have to change for me at all," he said looking back at her just before the light turned green. (YN) turned her head to look out the window so he couldn't see her reaction.

A few blocks later pulled up in front of a convenience store. "What's your favorite gatorade?" Gerard asked.

"Red," (YN) mumbled.

"Ok, wait here a sec," he said as he got out.

Gerard hurried inside, grabbing a big bottle of the drink, as well as a couple burritos.

"Here you go," Gerard said as he handed her the bag. "At least try to eat one to settle your stomach."

"Thanks," she replied, staring into the bag. She was too embarrassed to look up at Gerard at that moment. She felt like an idiot for getting so drunk that he had to take care of her. If she ever had a shot with Gerard, she was sure she had blown it now. 

The rest of the drive was just as silent as it had started until they arrived back in the house. Gerard put his arm around (YN) and helped her inside. She was already feeling less dizzy as she sat down on the edge of her bed and pulled off her shoes. Gerard took the bottle of gatorade and set it on her bedside table, plugged her phone into the charger, and brought in the garbage can in case she had to be sick. 

"You'll probably feel terrible tomorrow," he said with a slightly sad smile as she pulled the blankets over herself, not even bothering to change out of her clothes.

"I deserve it," she mumbled as she turned her face into her soft, cool pillow.

Before she could fully register what was happening, she felt Gerard kiss her head. "No you don't," he said before turning out the light and shutting the door behind him.

(YN)'s thoughts were spinning like the world had been earlier until she eventually passed out.

~

The next day (YN)’s phone was vibrating on her bedside table, but the sound felt like a jackhammer vibrating through her skull. Groaning, she opened her eyes to find the offending device.

Hey girl! Call me when u get up so i know ur alive the text from Eli read.

(YN) looked at her clock, it was almost 1 in the afternoon. She dragged herself out of bed, discarding the clothes she had worn the night before, and into the shower, the cold water jolting her awake. Climbing back into bed, she picked up her phone to call her friend.

“You survived,” Eli cheered when she answered the call.

“Oh my god, please shut up,” (YN) winced.

“Oh, you’re really feeling it huh?”

“Yea, I think I got run over at some point last night.”

“No, I didn’t let you run across any roads this time. Maybe Gerard did after he picked you up. How'd that go?”

“I don’t remember,” (YN) groaned. “I remember he bought me food and gatorade,” she said, picking up the bottle of the now room temperature drink.

Eli hummed. “Well he seems like a good guy, he came right to get you no questions asked when I called.”

“Yea,” (YN) agreed, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I just feel so dumb for getting so wasted.”

“It happens. And at least he’s seen you at your worst now. Has he said anything?”

“He’s at work I think.”

“Ah, well at least you got some more time to recover before you have to face him.”

“Why do you have to say it that way?” (YN) groaned as Eli laughed.

The friends talked for a while longer until (YN) heard the front door open.

“Shit, he’s back,” (YN) whispered, her embarrassment flooding back.

“Ok talk to you later, and don’t worry about it!” Eli said brightly before hanging up.

(YN) glanced up and saw Gerard hovering awkwardly by her door. “Hey, how you feeling?” 

“Been better,” (YN) replied, tucking a piece of her half wet hair behind her ear awkwardly. “Umm, I don’t really remember a lot from last night, but thanks for coming to get me and everything.”

Gerard nodded. “It’s no problem.”

“I feel really stupid. I won’t be doing that again anytime soon, I promise,” (YN) laughed dryly.

Gerard laughed a little as well. He didn’t know if he should bring up anything that was said between them the night before since she had said she couldn’t remember much, but he couldn’t help but wonder what she did remember.

~

After a few days, (YN)’s embarrassment at her drunken night finally started to diminish and she and Gerard’s interactions went back to normal. A while later, (YN) was hanging out in Gerard’s room talking about a show they had been to the weekend before when her phone rang. 

"Hello? Oh hi," (YN) answered. "What?! Is he ok?" She jumped up and left the room, but Gerard could still hear her end of the conversation, causing him to grow more concerned. "No I didn't see anything, there wasn't anyone… Ok... Yea… Ok let me know."

The color was drained from her face when she walked back into the room.

"What's wrong?" Gerard asked, his brows knitted together.

"Right after my shift ended the store got robbed. My coworker John is in the hospital and they took all the cash. The store is gonna be closed for a couple days I guess."

"Fuck," Gerard replied, totally stunned.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed," she said blankly before turning back toward her room and Gerard heard the door close behind her.

A while later Gerard got up to go to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee, but when he stepped into the hall, he stopped in his tracks. It sounded like crying coming from (YN)’s room.

"(YN), are you ok?" He asked as he knocked on her door, but she didn't answer. Cautiously he opened the door and found (YN) was sitting on her bed, knees pulled up to her chest, sobbing. 

"Shit," Gerard whispered as he rushed over and pulled her against him, letting her cry on his shoulder.

"It coulda been me. I could be in the hospital or dead right now and no one would even notice or care! Just another loser with no direction in life dead. I've wasted everything, I've ruined my whole life!"

"You haven't," Gerard said, rubbing her back. "I'd care very much if anything happened to you. And you have plenty of time. I had a job at a tv network and gave it up to form the band, and now I'm trying to get into comics."

"But I'm not talented like you! I have no skills, I never went to college because I didn't know what I wanted to do and I still don't. I just don't want to be stuck here the rest of my life waiting to get held up at gunpoint," she sobbed. "I'm just too stupid to get out of my own way long enough to figure anything out."

“No you aren't stupid, sometimes it just takes more time to get it figured out."

Eventually (YN)’s sobs started to quiet and she pulled back. “Thanks Gee. You really didn’t need to do this.”

“Yea I did. I couldn’t just let you be alone when you feel like this.”

(YN) sighed. “Every time I close my eyes I just picture it happening to me. I’m so tired, but I don’t think I’m gonna be able to sleep tonight.”

“Hang on,” Gerard said, getting up. (YN) saw the light from his room shut off, and he came back. “Ok, come here, I’ll keep you safe,” he said as he settled in next to her.

(YN) felt like her heart was going to burst through her chest as she slid down next to him. She laid her head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

~

Something shifted in Gerard and (YN)’s relationship that night, although nothing was spoken of it. They started trading off whose bed they slept in, crawling into bed together just to be close to the other. When they watched a movie together, she rested her head against his shoulder. When (YN) was in the kitchen making coffee, Gerard would come in and wrap his arms around her and hold her close while she worked. The day after (YN) had a really bad shift at work, she came home and found a pink rose that looked like it had been trimmed from someone’s garden sitting on her bed.

It was a warm early fall evening when Gerard and (YN) showed up at a party held by a friend of a friend. (YN) had gone off to talk to Eli, and Gerard found himself watching her from across the yard. He wished he was by her side, his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close, that’s where he felt happiest.

"Why are you looking at your roommate like that?" Frank asked, appearing at Gerard's side.

“Jesus,” Gerard muttered under his breath, startled. “What are you talking about?”

“Like you wanna get out here and get on top-”

“Stop, no, it’s not like that,” Gerard shook his head.

“Oh, so you don’t care if I go ask her out then?”

“What? You can’t!” Gerard blurted out. “I mean, what about Jamia?”

Frank grinned and pointed a finger in Gerard's face. “Exactly! So what are you gonna do about it?”

“Everything is fine, we’re fine,” Gerard grumbled.

As the sun began to set more people showed up, filling up the backyard. Without warning there was a shout as two guys started pushing each other, and then punches began to fly. 

(YN) found herself too near the fight and tried to get away from the fray, but more people were rushing to watch or take part in it and she couldn’t get past. Suddenly she felt someone grab her hand, interlacing their fingers with hers. She was about to pull away when she looked up and realized it was Gerard.

“Come on,” he said, pulling her out of the crowd.

“Thanks for not leaving me behind,” (YN) said once they were a safe distance from the fracus. 

“I couldn’t ever leave you behind,” Gerard smiled back at her. 

At that moment she became conscious of how their hands were still intertwined and how closely they were standing. (YN) didn’t want to move and lose the moment, but police sirens started cutting through the shouts of the brawl. “Oh shit," (YN) started laughing. “Let’s get out of here!”

“Here we go again,” Gerard smirked as they took off running, hand in hand, through the backyards until they couldn’t hear any of the commotion any longer. When they finally came out on a side street, they were both out of breath, but laughing. The smell of rain hung in the air.

“I have no idea where we are now,” (YN) laughed.

“Me neither, but,” Gerard trailed off with a shrug as they started walking aimlessly down the street.

(YN) glanced down, not totally understanding why Gerard was still holding her hand, but she still wasn’t planning on letting go. Then she noticed Gerard glancing down as well.

“(YN),” he started.

“Sorry,” she said, starting to pull her hand away, but Gerard held tighter.

“No, it’s not that,” he said, stopping under the street light. A soft rain began to fall around them. "It's that I don't wanna change things between us, but I really want to," he hesitated then took a step closer to (YN). He raised his free hand and gently caressed her cheek before leaning in and pressing his lips against hers.

(YN)'s mind was spinning. She couldn't believe that this was really happening, that Gerard, her roommate, her friend, was now kissing her in the middle of a desolate street. She kissed him back, not knowing if this would happen again, and she wanted to make the most of this chance.

Gerard's hand moved from her cheek to run through her hair, now soaked from the steady rain. He dropped her hand that he was still holding, but only so he could wrap his arm around her and pull her closer against him as he deepened the kiss and she draped her arms over his shoulders.

When they finally pulled apart, the rain had them both soaked and they were laughing together again. “We should try to find our way home,” Gerard said glancing around.

“Let’s go this way,” (YN) suggested with a nod down the street.

Gerard nodded with a smile and wrapped his arm around her shoulder as they headed back to find the car.

~

The next morning (YN) woke up in her bed with Gerard holding her tight. She had hoped to spend all morning being lazy with him, but what had woken her up was her phone ringing on her bedside table.

“Hello?” She whispered.

“Hey (YN), I know you don’t work until this afternoon, but we got a call out, can you come in this morning and work a double?” (YN)’s manager asked.

(YN) let her face fall against her pillow and groaned softly. “Yea I guess so.”

“Great, see you as soon as you can get here.”

When (YN) glanced over at Gerard, he was just waking up. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to spend the morning with you here, but I got called in for a double shift,” (YN) pouted.

“Damn,” Gerard frowned. “But I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I know,” she sighed before leaning in and kissing him softly. She climbed out of bed and got ready for work. The day seemed to drag by because all she wanted was to go home to Gerard.

“I’m so glad that day is done!” (YN) announced when she burst through the door. She waited for Gerard to reply but didn’t hear anything. “Gee? Are you here?”

“Yea,” he replied forlornly, coming out of his room.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“I’m gonna go out to visit Mikey,” Gerard said.

“Oh cool!” (YN) smiled up at him and he felt like his heart was breaking.

“And when I’m out on the west coast, I’ve got a meeting with Dark Horse Comics about my project.”

“That’s awesome!” (YN) grinned. But when she didn’t see the same level of excitement in Gerard’s face, her own excitement faltered. “Isn’t it?”

“Yea, I guess. I’m just nervous about it. There are a few things they wanna discuss about developing it and stuff. But I might have to move out to the west coast if this all works out.”

“Oh,” (YN) said, surprised. She tried to keep her disappointment hidden. “That’s an incredible opportunity though.”

“I know, but we’ve only just-”

“Gerard, don't you think for even one second about not going because of me,” (YN) interrupted him. “I have wasted my entire life being so afraid that I’ll make the wrong choice, that I let every decent opportunity pass me by. I care about you too much to let you do the same.”

Gerard didn’t know how to respond, other than to take a step forward and wrap (YN) into a tight hug. "Thanks," he mumbled against her neck. 

They stood like that for a while, neither willing to let go. “Come on, let’s order something for dinner to celebrate,” she suggested once they pulled back.

~

The following week, Mikey picked Gerard up from the airport. They put together a list of places Mikey loved to check out the next day.

After stopping at the coffee shop down the street, the comic book store that always had what Mikey was looking for, and the record shop with the friendly owner they went to the beach to kill time before dinner. 

"You ok? Are you nervous about the meetings or something?" Mikey asked. He had noticed Gerard seemed distracted all day, but Gerard just shook his head. "Then what's wrong?" Mikey asked.

"I couldn't sleep last night," Gerard said with a glance at his brother.

"Is the bed uncomfortable?"

“No, it's not that," he paused. "It's that I can’t sleep without her,” Gerard said, looking down at his hands.

"(YN)?"

"Yea."

“How long have you been together?” Mikey asked.

“We haven’t officially, but it’s, I mean...” Gerard stammered, searching for the words to define something that had only just begun and had no definition.

“But you love her?” Mikey filled in the gaps, knowing Gerard better than Gerard knew himself.

Gerard listened to the waves crashing on the shore. He didn't even realize when he had fallen in love with (YN), because it wasn't like a lightning bolt from the sky. It grew out of lazy days talking for hours, nights sleeping in the other's bed just because they wanted to be that close to each other, the way her hair fell in her face, her laugh, her lips, her selflessness, the way she was always pushing him to do more and be better. And now there he was, missing her like crazy, ready to throw away his dream if she asked him to. But she hadn't, and she wouldn’t. She encouraged him to go across the country and chase it down, even if it meant leaving her behind.

“Yea,” he said with a soft smile and Mikey nodded.

Silence hung between the brothers for a while as the sun began to set. “It’s almost time to meet up with Kristin for dinner,” Mikey announced as he got up.

Gerard nodded and followed him back to the car. As they drove away from the beach, Gerard thought about how much he wanted to bring (YN) here. He knew she’d love it. It felt like there were so many possibilities, fresh starts for everyone. He just needed to get them out of New Jersey.

~

(YN) paced outside the arrivals gate, checking the screen with the times over and over. Gerard’s flight was on time, he should be arriving shortly. She had spent most of the day excited that he was coming back today, but now that she was at the airport waiting for him, she felt incredibly nervous.

Gerard hadn’t called since he let her know he had arrived safely. She had insisted that he spend his time with Mikey and getting ready for the meetings and not to worry about her, but that didn’t stop her from thinking about him all the time. The first night she tried to sleep in her own bed, but ended up crawling into his because his pillows smelled like him and it made her heart ache a little less. And it’s where she had spent the rest of the week.

That morning as she sat in his bed, knees pulled up to her chest as she sipped her coffee in the cool morning air, she looked around his space. They’d been living together almost a year now, and the room had become so uniquely his. The comics that were stacked up next to his bed, the drawings that littered his desk, the records in the crate he painted himself. All things that went into what added up to Gerard. She smiled softly as a realization dawned on her as she shivered.

“I love him,” (YN) admitted to herself softly. “I really, truly, love him.”

Now at the airport she glanced up at the screen and saw his flight had arrived. Her heart started hammering in her chest as she started to look around, not knowing how soon he’d appear. What felt like an eternity later, she finally spotted a mop of black hair.

“Gee!” She called as she rushed over to him. Gerard dropped his bag so he could wrap his arms around her in a big hug. He pulled her in for a kiss in the middle of the crowd of travelers.

“I missed you,” he murmured when they pulled back.

“Me too,” she smiled.

"Let's get out of here," he smiled as he took her hand and they went to find her car.

"So how was the trip? How was Mikey? And the meetings, tell me everything!" (YN) gushed as they finally arrived at her car.

"Mikey's doing really good. He has this girlfriend, Kristin, she's super sweet, you'll really like her," he said as he threw his bag in the trunk.

"Oh yea, maybe I’ll meet her one day," (YN) smiled.

“(YN), I wanted to wait until we were someplace nicer than the airport parking ramp, but I can't wait any longer. I got the job at Dark Horse so I’m gonna have to move out west,” he paused, reaching out and taking her hands. “But I can’t leave without you because I love you so much (YN). It’d be a new start for both of us, together. Please?”

It took (YN) a moment to fully process what Gerard said. "Yes!" She finally replied in awe.

Gerard grabbed her face between his hands and pulled her lips to his as tears spilled from behind her closed eyes. He held her close as he kissed her with everything he had. When they pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. 

“I love you too Gerard,” she murmured. “And thank you for not leaving me behind.”

“I couldn’t ever leave you behind.”

[withthehomiies]

( laura harrier, cis female, she/her, bisexual ) check it out, i totally just saw LOLA HEPBURN! some people say they remind them of LOLA (CONFESSIONS OF A TEENAGE DRAMA QUEEN), but that’s just hearsay. it could be because they are AMBITIOUS but can also be a bit DISHONEST on a bad day. either way i heard the TWENTY-FIVE year old is working at CRAVE ME COFFEE / as AN ASPIRING ACTRESS. if only they could stop playing SOMEONE IN THE CROWD (LA LA LAND) on repeat so they could actually focus, then their neighbors in HOLLYWOOD might get some sleep. all i know is that they remind of of OVERSIZED SUNGLASSES, TICKET STUBS SCATTERED ALL OVER A MESSY BEDROOM, ONE-OF-A-KIND HANDMADE JEWELRY and can be seen as THE DRAMA QUEEN.

         ❝ i don’t even know who this mary is. ❞

name: mary elizabeth lola cep hepburn. age: 25. date of birth: tba. hometown: new york city, new york. current location: hollywood, california. occupation: barista / aspiring actress.

pinterest: xx. playlist: coming soon !

→ 𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪.

☆ born mary elizabeth cep, lola always knew she was destined for great things. she grew up in new york city, the center of the universe. while some people could consider nyc a dangerous place to raise their kids, lola thrived. she lived with her finger on the cultural pulse of the universe. they lived in an old building on the upper west side. lola, karen ( her mom ), and calum ( her dad ).

☆ karen kapok and calum cep loved each other, truly, but they were largely incompatible. they got a divorce when lola was just a baby, so as to spare her the trauma of watching her parents split up. calum moved into an apartment in the east village. he illustrates children’s books and lives with his dog, negus.

☆ a few years later, when lola was 7, karen ( a potter ), met elk, a lawyer for greenpeace. they got married shortly after, and had twins — pam and paula. they were one big happy family for a short while. that is until elk went to a conference in england and never came back. he met a woman called margot and moved to california with her.

☆ lola always felt like an outsider in her family — according to her, they were all too ordinary. lola was an artist. her family was ordinary in comparison to her. she was independent, high spirited, outgoing. she knew from a young age that one day she would be a famous actress, and every moment of her life was a performance.

☆ tragedy struck just a few weeks before lola’s 16th birthday — karen decided they were moving to deadwood dellwood, new jersey. the twins were now 8, and karen wanted them to grow up in a normal town, not new york city ( which felt like a movie set, according to her ). lola begged her to let her stay in new york — she could live with her father. karen wouldn’t budge.

☆ lola hated the suburbs. she felt her soul begin to wither away the moment they crossed state lines. everyone was boring, there was grass everywhere, it felt dead. the silver lining was that it gave lola a chance to start fresh — she could be whoever she wanted to be. back in new york, the people she grew up with refused to call her lola — to them, she was still mary. here, she could be lola. in all her glory.

☆ she quickly struck up a friendship with ella gerard — a girl who dressed like a politician’s wife and always colored inside the lines, but who was incredibly kind and shared lola’s love for the band sidarthur. but just as she made a friend, lola made an enemy — carla santini. carla believed herself to be the center of the universe and couldn’t stand someone like lola, whose eccentricities frequently made her the center of attention.

☆ lots of things happened the year lola moved to deadwood dellwood. she went up against carla for the role of eliza doolittle in the school play ( lola got the part ). sidarthur split up and announced one final show in new york city. after a week of mourning, lola and ella managed to convince their parents to let them attend. they didn’t — lola left the money for the tickets on the train they took from new jersey.

☆ they did, however, find their way to stu wolff’s ( sidarthur’s lead singer, and, according to lola, the greatest poet since shakespeare ) manhattan loft, where the afterparty was taking place. they failed at sneaking in, but ran into stu. long story short, they partied at his place and now stu and lola’s dad are friends.

☆ after starring in eliza rocks ( the school’s modern — and musical — adaptation of pygmalion ), lola started dating sam creek. he was a sweet guy who’d been into lola from the moment she arrived. before then, lola had been convinced she would one day marry stu. things didn’t last very long, however. she broke up with him after their high school graduation, believing that her one true love would be waiting for her in los angeles — her new, real life was about to begin. she even changed her last name — cep wasn’t really a name you could picture on a marquee.

☆ she packed up her bags and moved out west — a surprising move for someone who loved new york city so much, but lola realized she wanted to be in films. she could go back to the theatre later. she studied acting at calarts, where she could really hone her craft.

☆ she graduated a few years ago, and has been working as a barista since then as a way to pay her bills while she waits for her career to take off. her father sends her a check once a month ( la real estate is expensive ), but she won’t let herself become dependent on him. when she’s not working, she’s going to auditions. anywhere her agent sends her. she’s booked a few things here and there, but she’s still waiting for that one, big role that will change her life forever.

→ 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪 , 𝕖𝕥𝕔.

zodiac sign: pisces ☼ / leo ☾ / gemini ↗. personality type: enfp — the campaigner. enneagram: type 4 — the individualist. temperament: choleric. moral alignment: chaotic neutral. element: water.

☆ she decided to change her name from mary to lola after watching damn yankees on tv.

☆ when she was 15, she got a nose piercing behind her mom’s back. that same year, she went through a joan of arc phase and chopped off her hair.

☆ she’s a vegan, and very eco-conscious. she rides her bike everywhere.

☆ she has a habit of lying to make herself seem more interesting. she doesn’t lie about the fundamentals, just the details. but she really lies about those to embellish her stories. sometimes, she can’t keep track of her lies and forgets what she’s told people. this often comes back to bite her.

☆ her resumé is extremely padded. most gigs listed on it are made up.

☆ she loves attention. she’ll do anything for attention. she’s not afraid of making a scene.

☆ she’s a talented actress, but gets frustrated very easily when things don’t go her way.

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Old Passages

Case: 0020406

Name: Harold Silvana Subject: Discoveries made during the renovation of the Reform Club, Pall Mall. Date: June 4th, 2002 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

I’m a builder. Sort of. I always find myself using the words ‘craftsman’ or ‘artisan’, but that’s mostly because of my client base. I specialise in renovation and alterations on listed buildings and those of historical or architectural significance. In simple terms it’s not much different to any other sort of construction work, except it takes about three times as long and costs ten times as much. That’s not to say I rip people off. You need to spend almost half the time just planning exactly how you’re going to tackle any given job, while preserving or recreating the original architecture as much as possible, and then you have to be incredibly careful when you’re doing the work. I’m quite serious when I say that if you’re not paying attention and keeping the alterations well-documented, you can get sued for millions over knocking out the wrong brick. Plus,the materials aren’t cheap. So yes, my services are expensive, but me and my team are worth every penny. And the sort of people I deal with, or should I say the sort of people whose personal assistants I deal with, can afford it.

I don’t have a company, per se. People hire me for me, and I have a small team I trust to help out with the work itself. They’re technically freelance contractors, but the pay’s good enough and, in London at least, there’s enough work that they’re happy to wait on my call.

I’ve found plenty of interesting things in this job. I suppose that’s not unexpected when you’re digging around old buildings. We got kicked off a job once when we found some bones under a very venerable country house that will remain nameless, as the owners contacted the British Museum, who couldn’t take over fast enough. There have also been a few jewellery pieces that found their way to other museums, and once we found a box of 17th century erotic poems that I think are currently languishing in the storerooms of the V&A museum. But I never found anything like what was under 100 Pall Mall. 

We’d been called in to do some work on the basement and ground floor of the Reform Club. It wasn’t anything major. Some upkeep on a few of the historic pieces, replace a few of the earlier renovations.

The amount of actual work involved was minimal, but it was a Grade I listed building, so the amount of care we had to take stretched it into a week-long job. It didn’t help that we had to schedule around the fact that it’s still a very active social venue, so we could only actually come out of the basement when it wasn’t full of people too important to see builders. Grade I listing is a significant payday, though, so I certainly wasn’t going to rock the boat.

It was about two in the morning when the kid showed up. It was just me and Rachael Turley, who does most of our marble work, though we were mostly just doing surveying at that point. Alfred Bartlett was out getting coffee, though god knows where from at that time of night. We were mostly just kicking our heels really, since he’s the plumber and we needed his expertise. Now Alf has been in the business for nearly 40 years, and there wasn’t a thing he didn’t know about water or sewage systems, but we often joke that it’s pushed everything else out of his head. I think he must have forgotten to lock the door when he headed out, and that’s how the kid got in. That said, this was still the first week in March and it was pretty cold, so I’m surprised we didn’t notice the draught.

In the end I suppose it doesn’t matter. The fact is that Rachel and me had been sat there chatting for maybe five minutes when we noticed we weren’t alone. In the doorway leading back to the stairwell stood a thin figure. He looked to be in his late teens, I’d guess. He was dressed all in black, with heavy looking boots and a T-shirt with the logo of some band emblazoned on it, Megadon or Mastodon, or something like that. His hair was long and greasy, almost down to his shoulders, and looked to be dyed almost the same black as his clothes. He did not look like he was supposed to be skulking round the Reform Club, but I’d encountered more than one member whose rich children were going through a ‘rebellious period’, so couldn’t be entirely sure. I decided to be gentle in my initial enquiries and asked him if he was lost, told him this part of the basement was off-limits due to renovations. 

The kid shook his head and asked if we’d found anything yet. Any of “Leitner’s pages”. Now this took me aback a bit. I wondered how long he’d been standing there, because Rachel and I had just been talking about the man. Jurgen Leitner was a businessman from Norway, I believe, who used to have offices in the ground floor of the building next to the Reform Club, 100 Pall Mall. I don’t know what his business was, but when I was first getting started, back in ‘87, we got a call from Mr. Leitner, requesting a consultation in his Pall Mall office. Back then it was just me and Rachel, and we mostly did stone restoration and alteration, so we assumed Mr. Leitner wanted our opinion on a property outside of London. Our reputation back then was not sufficient to get us access to any of the sort of Central London buildings we now work on.

When we first met Jurgen Leitner, he looked very much like I had imagined him. Portly, middle-aged, short blond hair in the middle of going grey, well-tailored business suit. His office surprised me, though, as it was almost completely bare, save for a desk and two chairs in front of it. There were no tables or bookshelves or filing cabinets or anything like that. He asked us to sit down, and though he spoke with a very faint accent, his English was perfect. We made small talk, but he seemed impatient, eager to talk about whatever it was he wanted us to do.

I asked him what the job was, and he stopped and looked at us closely. Then he said he simply wanted us to dig a hole. An unusual request, but not an unreasonable one, so I asked him where it whereabouts this was going to be. He rose, walked over to the corner and pointed at the floor. He said he needed a hole put through the floor. I thought there would have been a basement under there, and he said no, the building’s basement didn’t go under these rooms. He smiled an odd little smile as he said it, which put me a bit on edge.

Now, there was no way we could do a job like that without the building owner’s permission and I told Leitner this. He began to get shifty, then, and tried to tell us that he already had that permission. When we told him we’d need to confirm it with the commercial landlord, he got very defensive, told us that it was fine and he’d need to discuss it with some other contractors first. When we told him we’d just need to have a quick phone call with the owner, he started screaming that we didn’t understand what we were talking about, that he didn’t need to explain himself to the likes of us, and there were some things that were too important, too powerful to be owned. Then he just started yelling at us in Norwegian until we left. We didn’t bother contacting the owners of 100 Pall Mall in the end.

It was without a doubt the weirdest interview with a prospective client that we’d ever had, and being so close to the site of it had Rachel and I reminiscing when this teenage burnout turned up. I asked him if he’d been eavesdropping, and he shrugged, and again asked what we had found. I was just about done with this kid, and started to tell him that he was going to have to leave, when Rachel interrupted me and asked what there was to find. The kid laughed, as though he and Rachel were in on some private joke. “Can you smell it?” he said, and for a brief moment, I could smell something. Damp old stone and musty paper, just a faint whiff. It took me off guard, and I think that was why I just stood there as he walked past me and picked up the hammer. He strode over to one of the walls and, with a swing stronger than I would have thought possible from his age and skinny frame, he buried it into the wall. I heard a scream, high-pitched, but it definitely didn’t come from any of us.

This was enough to break me out of my stupor and I ran over and wrestled the hammer from the kid. He struggled and flailed, though he didn’t say anything. As I tried to calm him down, Rachel called over me, and I looked at where he’d hit the wall. In the centre of it was a neat hole; the other side was darkness. There shouldn’t have been anything behind the wall except foundation, but it didn’t look like this was a real basement wall. I let the kid go and walked over to get a closer look. Rachel started to examine it with her tools, before she confirmed what I’d already guessed – that it was a fake. It looked like someone had blocked off a passage, and then very carefully disguised it.

It was at this point Alf returned, and we had some considerable explaining to do. Through it all the kid, who said his name was Gerard, just sat their sullenly, listening to his CD player and waiting. When we asked him how he knew what was behind that wall he just shrugged, and told us that his mother knows all about this stuff. He didn’t elaborate as to what “this stuff” might have been.

We should have waited until morning and told the Reform Club staff what we’d found. We should have handed Gerard over to the police, but Alf was always too curious for his own good, and he suggested we have a look inside. Rachel and I half-heartedly tried to argue against it, but I think deep down we wanted to know just as much as he did. So in we went.

Knocking through the rest of the wall didn’t take long. It had been built to look like the rest of the basement, but hadn’t been constructed with the same skill. Ten minutes later our coffees lay forgotten on the floor and we stood before a passageway leading off into the musty darkness. A gentle breeze blew from this entrance, which didn’t make any sense at all. We had plenty of torches, as you often need them during night work, so we each took one large one and a smaller back-up in case the first had any problems. We tried to tell Gerard to stay outside, but I could see immediately that, short of tying him up, there was no way we were going to keep him out of there. Tying him up did feel like a step too far, so we settled for keeping a close eye on him as we went inside.

The passageway was cold, and the air thick with mildew, but the stone walls were in very good condition. Rachel said it looked to be from the mid-19th century, probably remains of the basement of the Carlton Club, which used to be located in what was now 100 Pall Mall. It was with a start I realised that she was right, based on where the corridor was going, we must have been underneath the building. Almost exactly where Jurgen Leitner had wanted us to dig almost fifteen years ago.

We walked for some time, longer than I would have expected, given how big I remembered the building above us being. Alf kept asking Rachel if the corridor was getting narrower, and every time, she would dutifully measure the width and inform him that, no, it was exactly five feet wide. I couldn’t blame him, really, I’ve never had any sort of claustrophobia, but I was finding it hard, at points to catch my breath, to dismiss the feeling that the walls were pressing on me. Gerard walked on ahead, seemingly unbothered by the place.

We came to crossroads. Or, more precisely, a star. The chamber was small, round and featureless, but there were doorways leading out in a circle. I counted thirteen, not including the one we had come in from. Looking down some of them made me feel oddly queasy. There was one that, for all the world, it felt like I was going to fall into it. Another was so dark that our torches didn’t seem to reach more than a few feet inside. In the centre, there was a datestone. It read: “Robert Smirke, 1835. Balance and fear”.

I don’t know how much you know about famous London architects, but Robert Smirke was one of the foremost proponents of the Gothic Revival in the early 19th century. His work was some of the first to use concrete and cast iron, and often described as ‘theatrical’, a description that makes a lot of sense when you look at the grand columns of the British Museum – his most famous building. Later, I would look up a list of his buildings and discover that he had indeed built the Carlton Club building in that exact spot. It had been destroyed in the Second World War, during the Blitz, and the club itself had moved premises, but it looked like the underground foundations, or whatever this place was, had not been damaged.

We stood there for some time as I explained this to the others. It took some time to do so as, with the exception of Gerard, I got the impression that none of us were in any hurry to go down the other tunnels. A deep apprehension  eemed to have settled itself in the pit of my stomach; everyone else also seemed to feel it. Then, without warning, Gerard started running full pelt into one of the passages. I’m not sure which one it was of the thirteen. I called for him to come back, but got no reply and Alf took off after him, running into the darkness and quickly turning a corner. Rachel and I looked at each other for a few seconds, but we both knew what we needed to be doing. I followed Alf into the passage, while she headed back down to the entrance to get help.

This tunnel wasn’t as dark as some of the others, but it was damper, and the walls seemed oddly slimy. After a few yards, the stone became so slick that I found it hard to keep my footing and I fell. I put my hand onto the floor to push myself up, and it came away faintly tinged with red. I heard Alf cry out from further down the corridor. He sounded utterly terrified, and I started on towards him again. I saw lights from up ahead, and was about to call out when Gerard came running back out of the darkness.

He was clutching a book in his hands, and clearly wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. He barrelled right into me, knocking me to the floor again. He was only a skinny kid, but he was so strong, and kept his footing, disappearing back into the darkness, towards the entrance. As he passed, I heard a small clattering sound, as though something were falling behind him. I reached out slowly, to try and raise myself off the ground, and felt something small and oddly smooth lying there. I shined my light on it, and saw a small bone. From a bird, I think, or maybe a rat. I looked around and there were a few more scattered about the corridor.

I’d fallen harder this time, and had managed to hurt my knee quite badly. I managed as just about able to limp to the end of the corridor, and there I found a small, round room. Against the walls were old bookshelves, decayed and empty, save for a few mouldering pages. They were stained and rotten, and one of them looked like it had a mummified hand laying on it. In front of it, in almost the centre of the room, lay Alf. He was dead. I couldn’t see any injuries on him. He didn’t even seem hurt. But looking at how still he lay there, the terrified, awful expression frozen on his face, there was no chance he was alive. On his motionless chest, and around the base of the bookshelf, I saw more of those tiny bones. 

That’s where my memory begins to blur. I know I made it back to the basement of the Reform Club, where Rachel was waiting with the police. But I think I got some of the wrong passageways first. I have the vaguest memories: flashes of a pile of paper, completely covered in cobweb; a figure stood in the darkness, a stranger I didn’t know but was sure meant me harm; my skin burning, hot, choking on smoke down there in the dark.

When I was out, I was questioned by the police, who followed Rachel in to retrieve Alf’s body and were successful, though they came back out pale and shaking. There was no sign of Gerard, nor had Rachel seen him. I was then questioned again by the staff of the Reform Club, who instructed us in no uncertain terms to rebuild the wall and finish our original job. We were given to understand that the police were handling the matter, and if we pursued it closer then we would not be getting any further work from members of the club. As this covers almost everybody who can afford our services, we complied. It makes me feel sick, though, like we’re just abandoning Alf, dishonouring his memory. It’s not even like he had any family to miss him, it just feels wrong. I guess, maybe, that’s why I’m talking to you. Do try to keep my name out of it if you follow it up though, okay?

Archivist Notes:

On the one hand, this statement represents a complete dead end, as no-one involved is both able and willing to talk to us. Over the last three months Sasha has attempted to contact Mr. Silvana, Rachel Turley, the management of the Reform Club and any of the police officers involved. All of them flatly deny any of this ever took place. Alfred Bartlett’s death was listed as a heart attack suffered during routine maintenance work, and none of the coroner’s reports provide any details out of the ordinary. The “kid”, who I think it is reasonable to assume is none other than Gerard Keay, remains just as impossible to contact as he ever was. From an evidence standpoint, this case is a complete bust.

However, too many of the names and features match with other statements for me to dismiss it, not to mention the fact that business records do list Jurgen Leitner as having hired out an office on the ground floor of 100 Pall Mall between 1985 and 1994. He was apparently one of the premier worldwide dealers in rare and antique books at the time, with items selling for the sort of sums where an office in Pall Mall doesn’t raise any eyebrows. If this strange basement is really there, then perhaps his choice of location was not simply a display of status. Clearly some of his books were there, and I can’t help but wonder whether that was where they were found, or just where they were stored.

The other major point of interest is the fact that this complex appears to have been designed by Robert Smirke. You should have seen Tim’s face when I told him. Architecture is one of his specialist areas, and he has always talked of Smirke as one that fascinates him. How did he phrase it? “A master of subtle stability.” From a professional standpoint, it also interests him that Smirke’s buildings have higher percentages of reported paranormal sightings than any other architect of similar profile. He hasn’t been able to find much out about the Carlton Club specifically, at least not anything relevant to this statement. In his later years, following Smirke’s official retirement in 1845, there were all sorts of rumours about his interests and religious preferences. If there was a scandalous sect or bizarre cult, his name would always be seen mentioned among those meeting with them. He also started putting his name forward to design churches, despite his claimed retirement. He was never taken up on these offers. Interesting, but fundamentally not that useful for the case in hand, especially since we have been unable to get permission to physically investigate whether this place even exists. It seems we’ve reached something of a dead end. No pun intended.

[End recor— Urgh! Goddamn it!

[SOUND OF METAL CANISTER BEING KNOCKED]

Martin!

[DOOR OPENS]

Martin, where did you put the rest of the extinguishers? Martin!

[SOUND DISAPPEARS INTO DISTANCE] [SILENCE, FOLLOWED BY HEAVY FOOTFALLS]

Martin: John, did you call fo—

Breekon: ‘scuse us.

Hope: Looking for the Archivist.

Martin: I’m sorry, are you two meant—

Breekon: Won’t take up your time.

Hope: Just got a delivery.

Martin: Look, you really can’t actually—

Breekon: Package for Jonathan Sims.

Hope: Says right here.

Martin: Well, I don’t really know where he—

Hope: We’ll just leave it with you.

Breekon: Be sure he gets it.

Martin: Okay, I will, but you really have to actually—

Breekon: ‘course. Much obliged.

Hope: Stay safe.

Martin: ...I’ll try?

Breekon: Your recorder’s on, by the way.

Hope: Might want to change that.

Martin: Oh... so it is. Thanks.

Breekon: No problem.

Hope: At all.

[HEAVY FOOTSTEPS RECEDE] ]

[serendipitioussurvival]

The Problem with Reality, Pt 2

<Prev> The Monologue of one Maczysz Stilinski/Hale

“They say that, when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Honestly though? That’s such a load of bullshit. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve almost died? Do you know how many of those incidents I’ve seen a play by play of my life? None, not even when I actually fucking died! I’ve been cheated out of a lot of shit in my life, a lot of good shit too, so I’m going to do the play by play! Ahem.

I was born Maczysz Angelika Stilinski to humans Claudia Stilinski and Jeorek ‘John’ Stilinski. I was an angelic kid no matter what anyone says. The first few years of my life were great, eating, sleeping, pooping and having someone else clean it up. That was nice, I guess, but then I got to be introduced to the wonderful world of education. Let me tell you - hell doesn’t even need to exist when you have fucking ADHD and a hyperactive imagination, okay? Not only that, but you put it in the body of a girl whose father was a Deputy and whose mother was a nurse. I was literally exposed to so much information - as much as I could get my hands on!

Believe me, by the time I was six I knew how to hide keys until my dad made copies or had to use the backup. I had a key for his filing cabinets, for the car, and for the front and back doors. I was never going to use them for evil though, maybe to do things I wasn’t supposed to, but never for evil. Anyway, getting off-topic. So, by six I was bilingual for Portuguese and English, a hell of a combination for a kid with ADHD who could barely form coherent sentences, let alone sentences with words that weren’t English. 

BUT - it was because of that multilingual gibberish that I landed my best friend, Scott McCall, who also knew Portuguese from his mother and bam! A friendship that lasts throughout multiple realities thank you very much. Then… then I lost my mom. I won’t go into that, I don’t want to, you already know the full situation in detail and it’s still painful. I - it’s my one regret, that little Mischief will have to go through that again, all because I couldn’t save her…

Uh, where - where was I? Oh, anyway, mom died. Dad started drinking. I hated it, had to learn to cook and do laundry. He never hit me or cursed me or anything, but he would - I dunno just give me these looks. Like he was looking for any trace of my mom in me, or he would look at anything but me. So, in true Max fashion, I shaved all my hair off. Scott thought it was punk as hell and told me we were totally brothers now. Hehe, it never bothered me that he saw me as a guy, made me really happy honestly since all my dad could see was my mom in me. So I started spending the night over at his more, studied with him, ate with him and Mel while she taught me how to cook certain dishes - she even let me help, the few times she was free to actually do that. 

Then dickhead Rafe - and no I don’t care that it isn’t his real name, he doesn’t deserve to be called anything but Rafe because he hates it so goddamn much - went and left because he chose to drink instead of fixing things with his family after Scottie got hurt. Suddenly we really were siblings, either staying the night over at his while my dad worked over night, or over at mine when Mel worked overnight. We slept in the same bed until we were thirteen - which other people still find weird. Let me tell you, we didn’t stop until he got his first morning wood at fifteen, and we celebrated it because, for the longest time, my poor Scottie thought his dick was broken.

Can I - can I even cuss here? Like, I’m not going to get smited, smote - whatever. I’m already here, fuck it.

Continuing on! At sixteen Scottie and I went all red riding hood into the woods and met the one, the only, Peter Hale. He was half-crazed and the other half of him was running on wolfy instincts, but it was Peter, and the prick decided that he liked my jacket on Scottie and bit him, turning him into a werewolf. 

Fast forward a couple more months of Scott trying to kill me, his first full moon where he made out with my crush and cemented the fact that I was definitely not lesbian, and then we get to the juicy bits where Peter killed Kate Argent - I hope that bitch is being burned to death, repeatedly, in hell. In fact - could I, like if I don’t get into Heaven or whatever comes after this, can I go to hell just to burn her? Like, that’d be my heaven. No..? Okay. 

Ahem, anyway, uh, Scott hit Peter with a Molotov, killing him, but Peter is crafty so he came back to life a little more sane but no less sassy, and decided to grace my doorstep every few nights with a letter on my window. They weren’t love notes, in fact, I’m pretty sure the first one was him telling me that he wished he had bitten me even though I said no just so his legacy wouldn’t ride on Scott’s shoulders. Looking back it’s funny, but back then I was furious. How dare this sociopathic nut job think my best friend lacks anything. 

Peter though, was different. Maybe death really does change you? I dunno, either way, he became more involved in the pack - or, well, he got more involved whenever I was involved. He gave me the research material he’d put together as his family’s bestiary and helped to figure out how to ‘cure’ Jackson’s reptile problem. 

Then he helped to deal with the Alpha pack and saved me from being tossed off the roof of the hospital by Ennis. Ah, there was also Scott betraying us, me, for the first time. That was fun, I think - honestly I think that was the first time that I actually touched Peter? Like he was always touching me and brushing against my arm, but I think that had been the first time I had touched him. 

It wasn’t anything special, but he stopped my panic attack somehow, and that was great. He was also really firm - ah, nevermind. That’s - that, I was seventeen for crying out loud. Okay? His body was hella nice and his smirk pissed me off and aroused me even when I wanted to kill him again. That night though, it was kind of the turning point. I no longer thought of immediately killing him whenever he annoyed me. 

Then the Alpha pack was dealt with, Scott was a ‘True Alpha’, and Deucalion was sent off - which I still don’t agree with, but whatever, I fixed that shit. Deuce gets to see his baby girl grow up now and Gerard is totally burning in hell next to Kate. Hehe, can - like I feel like I’m definitely gonna be sent to hell, so can you like, assign me to them? It’s gotta be their personal hell to see me again. No..? Gosh, I can’t tell what you’re thinking or feeling with that damned mask, whatever. Continuing on with my flashbacks. Ahem!

What was next? Oh yes, the Nogitsune.”

[gloss-glass-ash]

America’s Sweetheart

Request: Wow congratulations on 1k, could you do an imagine where y/n is an actress and you keep running into ash at different events till one event he comes up to you and introduces himself finally and you guys have a good time at an after party? Xx again congrats on 1k that’s so cool!

Summary: Everyone loves America’s Sweetheart, especially Ashton. 

Tags: @cal-pal-cuddles 

It started on a weekend in May. He was on tour, well, a break from tour, when he stepped off the elevator as she stepped on. Their shoulders brushed, apologies were mumbled, and that was that. Ashton adjusted his jacket as he met up with Calum whose expression was one of awe or perhaps lust.

"What?" Ashton looked back over his shoulder, eyes searching for something more.

"Dude, that was Y/N Y/L/N!" Calum reserved his excitement for specific moments and this was one of them. "She's supposed to win an Oscar this year, 'bout time she gets the credit she deserves."

"Damn it!" Ashton shrugged it off with a hearty laugh and went about his day. Up in a penthouse on the 25th floor, a young actress squealed as she recounted every second of their interaction in detail to her manager.

"Did he recognize you?"

"God, I hope so."

The next time they met was at a talk show. 5sos were performing, she was being interviewed. There wasn't a lot of time to interact, but by damn they were determined to. Ashton fiddled with his drum kit for longer than necessary. He noticed her noticing him. Fuck. You were wearing fishnets and leather and oh god she looked more punk rock than Hollywood glam. He was here for it.

"She's staring, mate." Michael settled on the stool. "You should stare back."

Ashton shook his head. "I'm not looking for anything right now."

"You went on a blind date last night, Ash." Luke piped up while tuning his guitar. "I know it didn't end well."  Ashton shook his head once more.

A curl fell from Ashton's slicked back quiff and Y/N almost died. His muscles were prominent under that glorious checkered button up. Wow. Musicians had always been her type but damn. Ashton Irwin was a whole new level of man.

The interview went as interviews go until the host decided, last minute, to bring the band on the couch. Y/N pressed herself as close to the edge to allow more room, her heart racing as Ashton took the spot beside her. It was a tight squeeze. She could feel the thickness of his thighs pressing against her hips.  

"Cozy." She chirped, causing the audience to laugh.

"We're big cuddlers." Luke interjected. "Especially Ash. Daddy gives the best cuddles."

Y/N wasn't sure how she finished the interview, but somehow she did. And somehow she ended up in their dressing room with rosy cheeks and innocent eyes. "You guys are amazing. I've been loving the new album, really missed you guys."

"You listen to us?" Michael couldn't really get that but wow. They were established rock stars now.

"If it weren't for music, I'm not sure I'd be here." She hadn't meant to say it, especially to them, but she did. Ashton pulled her into his chest for a moment and hummed before he left.

Management put together a plan after the interview. It wasn't going to be a stunt, but a preparedness kit. Both teams saw the potential for love there and they weren't going to be caught off guard. More mutual events popped up that made falling in love so much easier.

The boys were having a Golden Globes party with their friend group when it slipped. Ashton was cuddled into Calum, both boys sipping slowly on a beer watching the red carpet. Y/N was being interviewed. The camera panned up and down her body, irking Ashton. "Wish they wouldn't do that."

"Why?" Crystal smiled, peeking from Michael's chest. She could see, just as clear as anyone else that how taken Ashton was.

"It's so degrading. They're objectifying her and then gonna ask stupid questions. She's too smart for that shit."

Calum turned up the tv. Y/N was wearing a suit with sparkly boots. "What a queen."

Ashton hummed in agreement. "She's wearing a Time's Up pin on the lapel."

"Love that!" Luke and Sierra chirped.

The interview was friendly, Y/N said everything she needed to say for America to fall in love with her. America had a new sweetheart and she was Ashton's. "Are you excited to win tonight?"

"Me?" Her laugh was laced with doubt that Ashton knew, that Ashton could help her with. "I don't know if I'll win, my category is incredibly talented."

"Anyone that you're particularly excited to see?"

"Lady Gaga!" Y/N was so genuine about her interests, her craft. "She looks gorgeous tonight. Hopefully I can snag a selfie."

She did. Ashton liked it. Ashton watched every story that was posted and liked every photo. "DM her or turn off your phone! I'm tired of getting notifications!" Michael shouted, Crystal humming in agreement.

It was all over the news the next morning, not his Instagram activity (though the fans certainly noticed) that America had a new sweetheart. Everyone fell in love with Y/N's sincerity when she lost but hugged and kissed the winner. The girls photos from the restroom and quirky audience cut always had the nation eating out of her hand.

Invites poured in, events offered on the daily. Her management took some, ignored others. They took the ones Ashton would be at. The final time was in Hollywood. A party hosted by a friend of a friend and apparently Y/N was on Ashley's invite list. The theme was 2000s emo and 5sos were showing up.

Ashton was the life of the party, people just flocked to him. He was used to a swarm of people around him all wanting something. He noticed, then, when the crowd hushed as a new guest arrived. She was here. Gerard Way had nothing on her.

"Too much?" She squeaked, Calum shook his head in firm protest.

"I just, MCR, ya know?"

Ashton brought her under his arm, weaving in and around the party searching for a place to just be. Y/N was obsessed with his hair, he looked like Party Poison and teenage her had a lot of feelings about that.

"I like your hair, and the paint." She whispered in his ear, almost in his lap. Her hand slipped up the back of her neck.

"Is that all?" He purred, his nose brushing her cheek.

"No, I like much more about you." Y/N settled into his lap, head resting in his neck. "I like your smile and your eyes." She gave his cheek a poke. "I like your car and your band." Her hand slipped down to his chest clutching the hair that was exposed. "I like your heart and your mind, I like those a lot." The question hung in the air, do you like me?

Ashton laughed his wonderful belly laugh. "Oh, baby girl I like so much about you. You drive me wild." He adjusted her in his lap, careful of his crotch but not careful enough. "Wild in every single way. Physically, emotionally, hell there is something spiritual about ya doll and I want it all."

There, it was out in the open. The two emos stumbled out of the party, running to his car. Leather and lipstick were swapped on the way to his house. Hands moved feverishly as they rushed inside and up to his bedroom.

Both management teams knew before the night was over. Paps had photographed them leaving the party without a care in the world. The preparedness plan was in place, America had a couple of new sweethearts.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Bad Blood - Chapter 15

Read it here on AO3, or you can find the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

______________

The books in Gerard’s study have all been unpacked, and are standing in serried leather ranks on the painted white shelves. Stiles has always loved the books—he can spend hours lost in them if he’s given the chance—but he’s a soldier, not a researcher. The Argents are matrilineal, though both Gerard and Kate buck that trend a little because Gerard is without question the leader, whereas Kate, who should be directing strategies from behind the front lines, is a soldier first and foremost. The latitude doesn’t extend to Stiles, tough. He’s a soldier and, until he can raise the Stilinski name from the mud, that’s all he’ll ever be.

It’s just after dawn. Stiles didn’t sleep well. He cut a slit in his mattress protector and slid the photograph of him and his mother inside, and then lay there with his fingers curled over the place it was hidden. He thought of his mom and tried not to think of her at the same time, because it’s impossible to divorce his memories of her from his memories of his father, and thinking about his father, thinking about seeing his face again after all these years, is too much. It’s confusing, and chaotic, a brainstorm of conflicting emotions, and Stiles hateshim, but the little boy locked away in the back of his head still cries for his daddy.

“I love you, kiddo. Please remember that.”

Stiles wonders if those words were intentionally crafted to cut the way they did, sharper than a werewolf’s claws at his throat.

Stiles fixes his gaze on the spines of the books on the shelf, and waits for Gerard to speak. It’s a little past dawn, and Stiles is hungry. He hasn’t eaten since Victoria’splacki ziemniaczane last night, and his body’s been through hell since. He got fuck all sleep, so he at least needs fuel, but he knows better than to ask.

Gerard is seated behind his desk, tapping away at his laptop as he makes Stiles wait. Kate is leaning on the edge of the desk. She’s the picture of relaxation. Her arms are folded over her chest, and her boots are crossed at the ankle. Kate’s always had the knack of looking totally put together and in control, whatever the hell is being thrown at her. Stiles has always envied her that.

Gerard taps at his keyboard a moment longer, and then closes his laptop. He looks up, and Stiles can’t read his expression. That’s the thing with Gerard though. He wears that same half smile whether he’s about to praise Stiles for a job well done, or beat the living shit out of him.

“Stiles,” he says. “Last night. Talk me through it.”

Stiles resists the urge to press his fingers to his bandage on his beck. “One of them came at me. Slashed me. I got away.” He worries, the longer he talks, that Gerard doesn’t believe a damn word but is content to let him dig his own grave here. “I was bleeding pretty bad, and I flagged down a car and they took me to the hospital.”

“Did you give them your name?” Kate asks.

“At the hospital?” Stiles shakes his head. “I was bleeding enough that they saw me right away. I didn’t have to wait or sign anything. Then I said I needed to go to the bathroom, and I left before they could call the police.”

It’d be a textbook move, if it wasn’t a lie.

And Stiles still doesn’t know why he’s telling the lie, exactly. He’s scared, he thinks. Scared of how Gerard will react if he knows the werewolves let him go, and that his father was there. Stiles didn’t do anything wrong, but Gerard won’t see it that way. He’ll see betrayal. Of course he will, because right now Stiles is looking into his own heart and even he can’t tell what he sees there.

A thread of hot panic twists through his gut.

He’s lying. He’s lying to Gerard, and it benefits him, but what if it also benefits the Hales pack and his father? And it must, because otherwise why would Derek have told him to lie? There’s a wall of leather-bound books behind Gerard that contain monsters, and Stiles can’t allow himself to forget that. He can’t, and yet he’s already told the lie.

Gerard’s gaze slides over him. “Hmm.”

Stiles fights the urge to fidget.

Gerard grunts. “And how the hell did a dog get its claws on you in the first place?”

Stiles blinks. “I tripped.”

“You tripped?” Gerard asks archly, exchanging a glance with Kate like Stiles is some kind of pathetic joke.

It was dark, Stiles wants to tell him. It was dark, and he didn’t have his night vision, and he wasn’t wearing his proper boots, and they were surrounded by werewolves, and Gerard had yelled at them to get back to the car and Stiles hadn’t even known where the fucking car was since he’d come in on foot from the other direction. This isn’t his fuck up. But he knows better than to say that, or even let it show on his face.

“I tripped,” he repeats.

There’s a moment of tension in the air so thick that Stiles can feel it vibrating between them like a guitar string.

Stiles tries to remember how to breathe.  

And then Gerard barks out a laugh, and the tension shatters.

“Take him into the basement, Kate,” the old man says at last. “Don’t let him come up again until he’s proved to you he knows how to lift his feet.”

***

Stiles’s whole body is aching and his lungs are burning by the time Kate is finished with him. Kate’s a fucking tyrant with a jump rope, but she puts her hand on his lower back to keep him from stumbling as he climbs the basement stairs. He’s light-headed.

“Want some eggs, string bean?” Kate asks him as she ushers him into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, going to the sink to get some water. “You cooking them for me?”

“Oh, baby’s got sass!” Kate laughs, loud and brash.

Stiles wonders how that’s even possible. Was she the one who shot Scott McCall, or was it Gerard? Jesus. He has to stop thinking shit like this. He has to, or they’ll look at him and know he’s weak, and a liar, and maybe even a traitor like his father. And Stiles is a Stilinski, but he’s a better man than his father.

This is where he belongs, isn’t it?

“If I’m cooking, we’re having cereal,” he says, forcing a smile.

Kate laughs again.

She cooks the eggs.

***

Allison bursts into the house just before nine, distraught and tear-stained, and she pushes past Kate and goes straight for Stiles instead. Stiles hears a buzzing in his skull as Allison tearfully tells him the news she heard when she got to school—Scott McCall is dead.

Stiles hugs her, and stares at Kate over her shoulder.

There’s a warning in her gaze that he knows exactly how to read: say nothing. There’s shock as well, because Kate couldn’t have known whose heart she was breaking when she hunted Scott last night. Stiles hopes that Kate thinks she sees that same shock reflected in his face.

“Hey,” he says to Allison, his voice cracking. “Come on. Come upstairs.”

Kate flashes him an approving look, and Stiles is halfway up the stairs before he realises why: she thinks Stiles is taking Allison away so Kate has a chance to fill Gerard in on the werewolf’s true identity—and on the fact Allison knew him. Except Stiles isn’t doing this for Kate and Gerard. He’s doing this for Ally, and maybe—selfishly—for him. Maybe he’s afraid his mask will slip for real, and Kate will see him for who he really is. And she’ll remember the way he hesitated, remember the way he faltered when the werewolf’s face transformed into the goofy boy’s, and she’ll know, and then she’ll make him pay like he deserves.

He clutches Allison’s hand and leads her up the steps to his sparse bedroom.

“I don’t know what happened,” she says, her dark eyes swimming with tears. She’s caught between grief and outrage, her expression wavering uncertainly between them.  “How could someone do this?”

Stiles thinks of all the monsters in Gerard’s leather-bound books, and doesn’t know how to reconcile that with the boy who did the happy dance in the parking lot of the cinema.

“I don’t know,” he says, his voice hollow.

Allison grabs the comforter off his bed and wraps it around herself before sinking down onto the floor. Stiles follows her down onto his knees, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

She stares at Stiles from behind tendrils of her dark hair. “The only reason he was out last night was because I asked him to sneak over to my house!” She covers her mouth with her hands in a vain attempt to stop another sob from breaking free. “Why would anyone hurt him like that?”

Stiles shakes his head, his eyes burning. He tries to swallow, and it hurts.

Allison’s grief is like a storm that must be weathered, and if every squall rips into him anew then it’s Stiles duty to suffer it. Allison is hurting, so Stiles wants to hurt too.

“I’m sorry, Ally,” he whispers to her, his voice hoarse, and he tells himself that’s a thing that people say. He tells himself it’s a platitude, and that can’t be guilt, hot and slick, twisting in his gut and rising like bile in his throat.

Because if the monsters aren’t really monsters, then…

Stiles shudders, and squeezes his eyes shut. He thinks of the little boy in the photograph hidden in his mattress protector. That little boy untouched by fear and darkness and horror, and untroubled by anything just as long as he was safe in his mom’s arms. Stiles thinks that little boy was happy.

“I don’t understand,” Allison murmurs. “Stiles, I don’t understand how anyone could do this!”

If the monsters aren’t really monsters, Stiles thinks, then they’re a lot closer than he’s ever suspected.

“I don’t know,” he lies, smoothing a shaking hand over Allison’s hair. “I don’t know either.”  

He sits on the floor on his bedroom and stares at his reflection in the window. His reflection’s dark, hollow eyes stare back at him.

[nitewrighter]

How about some Gerard and Amélie meeting for the first time, or just some fluff in general

I like the concept of Gérard being kind of like a Jack Ryan figure in Overwatch–started out with a lot of desk work, but then some craziness ended up with him proving himself an incredible agent which made him ideal for the Anti-Talon task force.

—-

Gérard was straightening and re-straightening his tie in the bathroom mirror.

“Morceau de—” he muttered under his breath as the bathroom door swung open and Jack Morrison walked in

“Ease up,” said Morrison, walking past him over to the urinal.

“I’m at ease,” said Gérard, straightening his tie again and then fidgeting with his cufflinks.

“You look fine,” said Jack, relieving himself, “This is your night. You’re a hero.”

“I’m an analyst who got lucky,” said Gérard, picking a hair off of his lapel, then squinting at his own hairline. He should have gotten a haircut before all this. This was a disaster.

“And by ‘Getting lucky’ you saved 47 hostages and unmasked the current greatest threat to peace,” said Jack, zipping up his fly and walking over to the sink to wash his hands, “The hell kind of name is ‘Talon’ anyway?”

Gérard chuckled a little. “I just connected some dots and found out a name, I’m sorry it can’t be a better one.”

“Yes, truly the world is quaking in fear of Birdfinger,” said Jack, drying off his hands and examining his own face in the mirror, “Petras and I are already in talks of forming a new Task Force–I’ve put in a good word about who I want heading it… Please tell me my hairline’s not receding already,” he muttered.

“Task force…?” Gérard repeated but then caught himself. Had to focus. Had to ease up. Had to… somehow do both of those things. “You look fine too, Strike Commander,” said Gérard, before turning back to the mirror himself, “This isn’t my night–It’s a night so that the Paris elite can assure themselves they’re safe. Figuring out what Talon is and what its goals are is only the beginning of the fight.” 

“I know,” said Jack, “But…” he clapped a hand on Gérard’s shoulder, “With you on our side? I’m feeling pretty good about it. Now get out there, hero,” he said, walking out of the bathroom.

“Hero,” Gérard repeated with a slight eye-roll before sweeping his hair back and forcing himself away from the mirror. He was fixating. He knew he was doing that. He had to stop. He took a deep breath and pushed out of the bathroom into the halls of the museum. There were prime ministers and socialites and endless talking and toasts and speeches. Gérard wasn’t really used to this—his position in Overwatch before the Algiers Incident was pretty unassuming and suddenly he was in this world of high danger, intrigue, and powerful people. Gérard knew why he was here as well–Overwatch had a reputation to maintain–his story maintained Overwatch’s narrative of ‘Heroism’ which was an image that was getting harder and harder to keep up in an increasingly complicated world.

The Strike Commander said that maintaining support for Overwatch was just as serious a fight as the ones they had on missions, but at least on a mission there was a clearer idea of what to do, of who to trust. Here was a minefield. Lots of smiling. Lots of nodding. Lots of little quips and deflections. Lots of politicians trying to have their picture taken with him. He downed several flutes of champagne, learned to time his consumption of canapes to avoid questions. The night reached a point where he was letting his tired eyes scan across the different art pieces of the halls to avoid talking to people as he mindlessly plucked the fancy little hors d’oeuvres off of passing plates… And then he saw her. 

And he stopped mid-chew.

Her dark hair was swept off the back of her neck in a sort of half-bun half-ponytail, with the ponytail portion of it flowing over her shoulder. Her black dress cut a narrow figure and bared her back—strong, graceful. She wasn’t talking to anyone, simply holding a champagne flute and looking at a statue of a weeping girl. He watched as she fidgeted slightly with the bracelet around her wrist before turning her attention back to the statue. The muscles in her back shifted slightly and she turned her head. She looked at him.

And it was then that Gérard became acutely aware that his face was stuffed full of Foie Gras crostini, swallowed hard and broke eye contact before suddenly being sucked into a conversation with several French parliament members discussing exactly how much Overwatch interference in international affairs was appropriate. He broke his sight away from the dignitaries to look back at the statue, but the woman was gone.

More politicians. More generals. More decrepit socialites whose wealth miraculously survived the crisis. More questions he could maybe answer if he had three hours and two assistants running fact-checking and three agents in the field (and he did not currently have any of those things). Eventually he found himself using the statues dotting the halls as cover, using them to break up the lines of sight between himself and the various diplomats as Strike Commander Morrison and Commander Reyes rubbed elbows with the elites. They had been doing this longer than him, but he could see the exhaustion in their faces as well. He needed air. He grabbed one last champagne flute off of a passing tray and discreetly excused himself outside. It was a temperate night, and scent of the Seine hung in the air as he walked across a narrow path to a bench overlooking the river and slumped down onto it. A statue cast of Dea Sequana loomed next to it, a woman in a duck-shaped boat looking out at the water. He sipped at his champagne.

“A little much for you too?” a voice spoke next to him and he nearly spat out his champagne, and his head swiveled around to see the woman in the black dress from earlier, curled up at the feet of Dea Sequana, champagne flute in one hand and her shoes in the other.

“I’m pretty sure climbing on the statues is not allowed,” said Gérard.

“It’s not as though we’re in the museum. Are you going to tell Overwatch on me?” she said with a mischievous tilt of her head.

Gérard chuckled. “I am not going back in there–not right now, at least,” he said, gesturing back at the museum doors, “Why climb up there?”

“I wanted a better view,” said the woman, gesturing with her champagne glass out at the river and the city beyond it, “And I’m sure she doesn’t mind…” she gestured up at the goddess statue, “They only brought her in after the Crisis anyway… make the rebuilt areas of the retaining walls look more natural…” she trailed off and looked at him, “It’s you,” she said, as she scanned his face in the faint light of the streetlights and the light off the river, “The hero Gérard LaCroix, our guest of honor.”

“Are you going to tell Overwatch on me?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She snickered, “No,” she said, tossing her shoes down. They clattered on the pavement next to Gérard’s feet. “I’m sure this all seems terribly silly to an Overwatch agent,” she said, hoisting her skirt up to clamber over the boat.

“I’m barely an agent,” said Gérard, “I was an analyst on assignment in Algiers and then there was that attack and I–it’s… there was a lot.”

“’Barely an agent?’” the woman repeated, “So the 47 hostages was all just spin?”

“No I mean… I… I didn’t really count the hostages, I just…sort of panicked and then–”

“Catch,” she tossed her champagne flute down and he instinctively snatched it out of the air.

“You could have broken that,” he said, waving the empty champagne flute at her.

“‘Barely an agent,’ he says,” she said, over her shoulder at him as she pulled the skirts of her dress back down and he set both champagne flutes down on the bench.

“Do you need help with–?”

“I wouldn’t climb up somewhere I couldn’t get down from, don’t worry,” said the woman, sitting on the edge of the statue’s platform.

He extended a hand to her all the same. She smiled a little then took his hand, then pushed off the edge of the statue. He stumbled back as her weight fell against him, but managed not to fall on his ass as her bare feet padded against the cement and they both regained their footing.

“Um…” there was an awkward half beat where she was scanning the ground for her shoes, but still in his arms before she broke away.

“You’d be a terrible dancer,” she said, a laugh in her voice as she picked her shoes up.

“And you’re an expert on that?”

“I’d like to think I am, yes,” she said, sitting down on the bench and pulling her shoes back on.

“…I realized you have me at quite the disadvantage, Miss…”

“Guillard, Amélie Guillard,” said Amélie.

“The ballerina—you–Of course!” Gérard ran a hand through his hair, “It’s an honor to meet you, mademoiselle.”

“You don’t have to pretend you know who I am,” she said with an eye-roll.

“I saw your production of Coppélia a few years ago. You were brilliant,” said Gérard, “I didn’t recognize you when you weren’t moving like…” he made stiff jerking motions with his arms similar to the titular character. 

Amélie laughed again. “I hope I didn’t look like that,” she said with a smile.

“Well it was far better than anything I can hope to imitate,” said Gérard.

Amélie tucked a loose strand of hair back from her face, “I wouldn’t have taken an Overwatch agent for a connoisseur of the arts.”

“Well, you’re what we’re fighting for, aren’t you?” said Gérard.

Amélie blinked a bit confusedly and Gérard caught himself. “I mean you as in–the arts–” he stammered, “As in… we… need the arts and…” his tie felt too tight, he fidgeted with it,  “And–and we need… people… to be alive… to… make the arts. So Overwatch has to… stop bad people.. from hurting other people so… we can… have arts… and… please, please, Miss Guillard, please interrupt me because the more I talk the more I feel my life draining from my body.” 

“I understand,” said Amélie with a smile.

Gérard exhaled with relief.

Amélie looked over his shoulder back at the museum. “I suppose I can’t steal you away from your Overwatch superiors,” she said thoughtfully.

“As much as I’d like you to,” said Gérard with a smile. 

“I should probably be getting back as well,” she said, folding her arms. 

“Unfortunately,” said Gérard.

“We probably shouldn’t enter at the same time, people are insufferable gossips,” said Amélie.

“Insufferable,” Gérard agreed, “You should head in first. You were out longer.”

Amélie nodded and then moved to walk in, but then paused, and turned on her heel to look at him, “I still count myself lucky that I was able to catch the hero Gérard LaCroix,” she said with a grin. She paused and her smile shrank slightly.

“Are you all–” Gérard started but she reached forward and straightened his tie with a serious look on her face.

“There we are,” she said, smiling and patting his lapel, “Better.”

Gérard didn’t even have a mirror but it felt like the first time his tie felt right all night.

“I’ll see you inside, Monsieur LaCroix,” said Amélie, walking away from him back to the museum.

“Until then, Mademoiselle Guillard,” said Gérard, watching her walk off back to the museum. He picked up the two champagne fluted from the bench and looked out over the Seine. “The hero Gérard LaCroix,” he repeated to himself, “Hero…”

The title didn’t seem so bad now.

[mcrfanficsforall]

Historical Fic Rec

Frank/Gerard

Twelve

When Frank stopped coming to the fence, the bluebirds stopped singing. 

A Good Ocean Gone Wrong

Titanic AU - The Way's are one of the richest families in America and sometimes being an artist requires the need to travel. On the doomed maiden voyage of Titanic old friends are found, new love is formed and put to the test and the most luxurious crossing of the Atlantic ocean becomes a fight for survival.

Shadows Fall Behind

Just before the turn of the twentieth century, the Iero household experiences it’s second devastating loss. When Edward Iero, world renowned architect, replaces the recently deceased and much loved head of staff, Donald, with his eldest son, Gerard, no one knows if anything will work out.

Frank is a book loving recluse who rarely sees the outside of his study, but when Gerard enters his house and his life, he gets a love story all of his own.

Imitate the Sun

A BBC Merlin AU. The passing of the crown is never easy, but Gerard has the additional task of bringing Camelot out from the shadow of his late father's fear of magic. Meanwhile, Mikey's nightly visions are growing more ominous by the day, and Frank, a new arrival at court, is occupying more and more of Gerard's thoughts. Is Frank other than he appears at first glance? And how can Gerard, Ray and the rest of his knights protect Camelot from the dangers of the world when the threat may come from within? A tale of magic, betrayal, sacrifice and true love.

Hide and Dress

Sir Frank Iero is married to the man he loves, but nothing is perfect.

Ain't We Got Fun

Gerard's smile is slow and lazy, reflected in the mirror he's seated in front of as he fixes his hair and smudges kohl around his eyes. "Well, well, well," he says, his voice low and pleased. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" The year is 1927, and Frank Iero never did learn to look before he leaps.

This Tornado Loves You

1933. Frank's been on the run a long time and he's forced to stop in his old hometown. At first things are about what he expects - old friends, unpleasant memories, and a less-than-desirable home life. Everything changes one night when he stumbles on an old hedge maze hidden in the woods. It's not the hedge maze that intrigues him the most, though, but the secrets of the house hidden inside.

Nevermind About The Shape I’m In

The pirate nods. “Frank. I like it. I’m Gerard. I would shake your hand but, I’m afraid I can’t reach from here.” He tilts his head back to laugh and Frank can’t take his eyes off the line of Gerard’s throat. “So, Frank,” he starts, and Frank’s eyes snap up, unaware he’s been staring. “How would you feel about rescuing an innocent man?”

Variations on a Fugue

Frank Iero is a young nobleman currently living with his parents in the Lake District, where he plans on leading a quiet life away from London and its temptations. However, temptation moves into his neighbourhood in the face of one Gerard Way. (Early Edwardian AU.)

Deadly Masquerade

The year is 1792, and the mysterious Black Parade has become famous for saving people from the guillotine. Frank, an idealistic revolutionary, has been recruited by Korse to uncover the secret identities of the notorious Black Parade. What he discovers will change his life.

Pantomime (being here with wings on our feet)

Victorian era. Gerard is the son of a wealthy salesman and Frank is his chimney sweep. ‘Calming’ is an important word for Gerard, especially when his brain spends most minutes of the day in a blind and desperate panic about the rest of his life. But somehow, Frank manages to stop all of that.

A Lovely Apparition (or, The One Where Gerard's A Crossdresser in the 1790s)

Michael didn’t seem particularly shocked when Gerard approached him with the idea, but then, Gerard had never seen his younger brother look particularly shocked at anything. He merely looked at Gerard, blinked once or twice, and repeated in a flat tone, “You want me to help you dress up like a woman.”

“It’s the stays in particular I think I’ll need help with,” Gerard told him. “Well, and buttoning the dress, and perhaps the wig.”

Chimerical Romantics

It began with two boys, brothers, peculiar even in the peculiar place where they grew up.

Against the Wind

Frank is the tutor for the two young children of Michael and Alicia Way. He has always been sickly, but when he begins to fall seriously ill he tries to hide it from his employers, terrified he will lose his position and have nothing. When Michael’s older brother Gerard unexpectedly returns from the continent, however, his problems only grow.

I will bring a mirror

Written for prompt number five of the yobrothatssick challenge: One foggy, wet afternoon, a mysterious young man collapses on the doorstep of Lord Morrison's manor. He does not remember his name or how he came to be there, but he does not seem that unfamiliar to Gerard, Lord Morrison's ward...

Lived Those Nights Like We Were Dying

WWII AU

All the While You Hold the Key

Frank is in an arranged marriage and/or a mail-order bride type position (with Gerard), and is... secretly sick and hiding it!

A Sound of Far-Off Music

Prompt: 77 - Secret Garden-style AU where Frank is the sickly son of a reclusive Lord, hidden away from the world because his family believes he will never, ever get well. So he stays in his room with his guitars and his books, basically just waiting for the time when he gets so sick that he wastes completely away. Then Gerard comes to stay at his manor (bonus points if there is also Mikey and they are ORPHANS) and accidentally discovers him one night during a storm, and they become friends and bond over music, and Gerard basically out-stubborns Frank and forces him to believe he can get better. And he does! And then they make out!

Shook-Up World

Frank is just a kid when he discovers Gerard's secret, and it changes his life. When they meet again by chance years later, Frank's carrying around a few secrets of his own.

What Ships Are For

A ship is safe in a harbor, but that's not what ships are for. -William Shedd

Gerard is most concerned when he finds that, while away at university, his father has taken in a new ward of his own brother's age. But upon his return home, he finds the young man to be particularly enchanting; unfortunately, according to the High Society he lives in, not only is Frank entirely too poor to be considered, but they might as well be brothers.

Like a Horse and Carriage

Frank was raised wild, on a merchant vessel that sailed all around the world. When he returns home, an orphan, he is wed to a man with money and name that he has never met. A Victorian AU.

These Walls Are Built To Fall

Gerard falls in love with the stable boy.

Creep In Like a Whisper

Gerard and Mikey are wealthy land-owners, and Frank is a newly-attained slave with trust issues. They show him they're not like typical masters.

A World So Small

When Frank, a sickly young man, is advised by his doctors to leave London for the country, he makes arrangements to stay with his friend Michael, who just so happens to be in possession of a large, old, and somewhat creepy manor house. What Frank has no idea of at the time is that Michael has an older brother, whose presence in the house he conceals. Gerard is an eccentric recluse who spends most of his time hiding in the attic and avoiding any kind of interaction with people, but he finds himself fascinated with Frank, who in turn realizes that the house has secrets, and becomes determined to uncover them. When he finally does discover Gerard, their first meeting is only the beginning of their story.

King and Country

Today, they'd woken up and Gerard was King of Illyria. Frank hasn't really been a stable boy since he ended up in the archduke's bed, but now Gerard's exile is over and he's king. Frank has to survive court, politics, and scheming nobles to figure out exactly what he is now.

Can Never Wrong this Right

Written for the hc_bingo challenge, for the square of 'forced soul-bonding.'

It's 1949 and Dr. Way is a professor of Archeology and Frank is his constantly exasperated (and secretly pining) assistant. When their latest trek takes them to South America to locate the fabled Blood Stone, however, they both find more than they bargained for.

Frank/Mikey

Below the Trees, Which Are Below the Stars

In the mid-1920s, Gerard and Mikey moved to France - Gerard to pursue art, Mikey because he couldn't stay behind. Now, it's 1930, and Mikey's become an airmail pilot, flying the mail route to Dakar with his navigator Frank. For a long time, the only rough thing about Mikey's life was the strain on his and Gerard's soulbond when Mikey was away, but his growing feelings for Frank and the arrival of Frank's old friend Ray could change everything.

[helenamayhathaway]

the proposal (sandra bullock movie) ft. frerard

The fact of the matter was that Frank was quite possibly the worst boss imaginable. He was a tyrant among the workplace, and the mutterings of “witch” followed behind his every step. Among the leading instigators of this hateful tsunami was Gerard, the assistant of the very monster whose earned the mantle to be called as such. 

It’s clear to him that Frank sees him as nothing more than a very conveniently located servant, and not just an assistant. Gerard is expected not only to fetch coffees and run errands like he’s a mule to be ordered around but to be treated like dirt on the bottom of his shoe as well. To say he’s sick of being less than human would be an understatement.

Every single day, he daydreams about rage quitting his job and storming out, which is actually not an uncommon thing to behold in this office – it’s happened twice in the last six months – but Frank is a stepping stone on his way to the top. Frank Iero’s name is quite possibly the biggest one in the comic book publishing industry, and for Gerard to quite a job as good as this one would be a suicidal action for his career. 

So, instead, he just puts up with it. Puts up with the never-ending torment of seeing Frank’s dumb fucking face every morning.

***

Frank told him to interrupt the meeting with something aggrandized enough to pull him out of there, because Mr. Iero hates meeting with his bosses, probably because, as the senior editor, he considers himself to be all the boss he needs. Gerard is usually called upon to to interrupt these meetings for something or other, so he has a dedicated notebook filled with possible excuses. Surely, the higher ups have noticed this, but they haven’t said anything about it, and besides, it’s not Gerard’s fault that he does what he’s told. If he didn’t do what he was told to do, he wouldn’t have had this job for the past three years. The past three, grueling, overworked, and stupid years. 

Gerard rattles his hand against the conference room door, and pokes his head into it before awaiting a reply. This is a “pressing matter” after all, he mustn’t sit on his ass and wait until the meetings over when such a huge and important development has happened. 

“Mr. Iero, there’s a call for you on line 1, it sounds quite urgent, I think it’s something about the latest pages of-”

“Ah, yes, and here he is now,” Frank says, interrupting him, and then gesturing for Gerard to come over into the conference room. Gerard is normally never allowed in, he’s only ever allowed to stick his head in, and then leave. But Frank is giving him this evil eye that only Gerard is able to see which makes him think this must be over something important. 

“Yes…” Gerard says, “here I am?”

“So, you see, gentleman,” Frank says, addressing the only two men in the room, who Gerard knows to be the big honchos in this building, though few words have ever been exchanged between him and either of them. “I do understand this situation, and it’s, it’s unfortunate, but there is something I should have told you, and probably should have said a long time ago, but… I see now that this is when it’s most important.”

Frank inches nearer to Gerard who doesn’t know what the fuck is going on and he doesn’t know if he likes the tone in Frank’s voice, because Frank, of all people, Frank, has some amount of nerves and wariness in his voice, which for someone like him means trouble. 

Gerard stands still as a plank of wood while Frank just sort of pats him on the shoulder in a way he’s never even considered the man is capable of. It’s almost like it’s meant to be gentle or comforting but coming from his boss, and the asshole that his boss happens to be, it seems like it might actually be an alien bodysnatcher who does it. 

“We’re, uh, we’re getting married,” Frank says, and Gerard eyes just about pop out of his skull at it. If he had a drink, he’d spit it out in the most miraculous spit take the world has ever seen, but instead he just stands there, mouth open like a goldfish, and he says nothing. He does nothing.

In what world do those words make sense in a context like this? In what world? 

“Who- who is getting married?” Gerard says, and he’s sure he must look as pale as he feels when he says the words. 

“We are, you and I,” Frank says, and he blinks in Gerard’s direction as if this is meant to be some sort of explanation which it is not.

“Isn’t he your assistant?” one of the higher ups says, the one with the mustache who definitely went through a messy divorce at some point recently because he just has that look to him.

“Uh, executive assistant,” Frank says, but he nods, not denying it. “What can I say? I, uh, I know it’s not really, this is… well it’s a little unprofessional, and I’m sorry for that, it’s, well, it’s why we’ve kept this a secret for so long. The truth is, we’re just, we just, are two people who never should’ve fallen in love, but these things happen, of course, who among us hasn’t fallen for a secretary?” He chuckles nervously, which makes Gerard uncomfortable. 

Is this really just a joke? Why on earth would it be played on him. Frank doesn’t think he’s human, so why would he plan some ridiculous practical joke like this with him as the subject? But maybe this is something he is supposed to play along with so that he doesn’t get fired so he stays silent, hoping all will make sense soon. 

“I know it shouldn’t have happened. But all those long nights with deadlines, and god, all those comic conventions, well, it was bound to happen eventually, huh?” Frank says, voice not displaying any hint as to what any of this is about, so Gerard just sort of nods his head in agreement. Maybe if he just goes along with it, he’ll get a promotion out of it. He’s been here for too long to just give it up now, even over something as weird and out of character as this. 

“So is this, I mean, I know it’s not ideal, but is it okay?” Frank says, “Are we good, I mean, I can’t, I can’t apologize enough, but really, my love is… it’s just, it is too strong and I can’t, uh, I couldn’t stop loving him if I tried.”

“Frank,” the white haired one who still has his wedding ring on despite the fact that he’s been banging his own secretary for about half of the duration of his marriage. “It’s alright. Just make it official, alright?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Frank says, nodding vigorously, and Gerard does know this man well enough to know that something is going correctly, so he nods along with Frank, awkward fake smile on his face. “We will, we’ll head down to the immigration office right away then. Uh, don’t worry. It’ll, it’ll all work out.”

Immigration office? Oh lord. Oh fuck. Fucking hell. What has his boss dragged him into?

[thehalfworld]

Fanfic MST: Forbiden Fruit: The Tempation of Edward Cullen, a Twilight fanfic [part 8]

And here we are at the end. I hope you’ve all been enjoying the ride, because it’s about to get a whole lot weirder in this, the final chapter.

Warnings this time around: a whole lot of drug use, some underage drinking, DUI but it’s okay because Tiaa is a vampire, bestiality, and an attempted sexual assault. Also did I mention drug use? There’s a lot of drug use.

Recap: Tiaa met a panda bear named Snoofles on her way to school (please don’t think too hard about this) and learned that she can now talk to animals, among other abilities. Thanks to a vague new ability of hers, she accidentally made her mean classmate Lauren get struck by lightning while they were in a verbal spat. Edward finally decided to leave Bella for Tiaa and the two celebrated by having sex in the middle of the school. Bella walked in on them and got upset.

Chapter 1

Previous chapter

hey guys sory its been so long since an update, i hav been so busy latley. sooooo..i had a fight with my old beta but i have a new 1 now an she is helpin me byut she is on vacaton this wk and next so i promise i will sort the spellin mistaks out wen i can!

Did she refuse to beta your fic after you stole her poster of Gerard Way?

Chapter 8 - the Kidnap

I sat alone in the changes rooms, i was all most naked and looked awsome with my exotic lithely hair falling down over my face like a curtan of soft yellow cream with bits of purple in it but I didnt care how beautifull or eqxisite I was any more. 

Tiaa doesn’t care how beautiful she is, but she had to start the sentence off by reminding us all how beautiful she is. And that she looks awesome. And her hair is exotic.

Whatever that means.

Edward was gone. he had left to follow Bella to stop her from killin herself and i was SO mad. 

Wait, are you mad Edward is attempting to prevent Bella from committing suicide?

how coud he leave me like that after sayin bella was a cow and he didnt like her no more? 

That doesn’t mean he’s fine with letting her make attempts on her own life, Tiaa.

I was pissed! and the tears were falling down my face like a tepid summer rain of misery and woe. 

I love this goddamn sentence.

So i went home and skipped school and sat in my room in my black corset and leather panties and i smoked some drugs and started to weep. 

To be fair, this is a really solid stoner-goth aesthetic she has going.

…wait, hold up, leather panties? 

Leather panties?

dave came in and made a big smiley face.

He’s in a really good mood for someone whose brother was murdered hours ago.

"hi tiaa! I didnt no you were home! how was school today?" (he didnt notice i was smokin drugs he thougt my cigarete of pot was a chapstick)

Okay, for the sake of argument, I’ll buy that Dave visually mistook a spliff for chapstick… but can he not smell that she’s smoking weed?

"it sucks!my life sucks and i want to DIE!" i scremed and my eyes glitered with beauty.

Love how Tiaa is suicidal but still needs to make sure we know how pretty she is at all times. Reminds me of the bit in “My Immortal” where Enoby was flirting while sobbing.

"u teenagers and ur problems, LOL!" he said laughing a lot, and i knew he thougt i was just some silly kid wineing about homework and dumb boys and stuff. 

Well, replace “homework” with “getting raped by the relative of a caregiver, turning into a vampire, and accidentally seriously injuring a classmate” and Dave’s on the money.

he didnt no i had killed a man and lost the love off my life and had made lauren get hit by lighting and that all the kids at school thougt i was a freak becase my face and bodys were so diffrent from everyone elses.

Do I really need to tell this girl to stop humanizing her rapist? She killed him in self-defense! It was one hundred percent justified! C’mon, Tiaa, don’t be so hard on yourself.

Also, nobody cares about Lauren.

"dave your a good person but ur SO FUCKIN DUMB! YOU ASSHOLE!" i shouted at him and i threw my ashtray at his head WITHOUT TOUCHING IT (i could make stuff move when i was angry now...it was so weird! why did this have too happen to me!)

Well, yeah, that is weird, but I don’t get the woe-is-me attitude about it. Telekinesis is a really cool ability. Also, turns out Dave is literally so dumb that you can be an obvious nonhuman smoking weed in bed while screaming about wanting to die and he’ll take you for an ordinary teenage girl holding a tube of chapstick.

"haha, i guess your right" he laughed (he thougt i was joking, i wasnt spoiled or anythin) 

…so did the ashtray miss?

"its so nice havin you hear tiana, your so pretty. i swear your even prettier than before! 

I can’t help but feel that the amount Dave and Marie compliment Tiaa on her looks borders on inappropriate, considering she is sixteen and they are her foster parents. 

and i think your boobs hav grown!" 

Case in point.

"yeh i no they are like an E cup now" i said.

I guess it’s a good thing she’s a vampire, then, since I’m pretty sure vampires can’t get back problems.

Wait. Can vampires get high? Does being high feel different if you’re a vampire?

Dave smiled and patted me on the head and left.

That Dave!

I was so sick of bein treated like a kid and no one listenin to me that i got up and got dresed in a long black dress and took some pills (of drugs) and went out to the local nightclub which was called Pablo NIghtmare - it was a goth club were all the cool people went in forks. 

Listen, I don’t know Washington State, but in my neck of the woods small towns don’t have goth nightclubs. 

I love that she specified the pills were drugs, in case we thought they were sugar pills or something. 

bella probably had never even heard of it, LOL! 

If there is a goth nightclub in your small town, I guarantee you everyone has heard of it.

i met snoofles on the way and he came with me. 

You’re taking the panda out clubbing?

we went to the club and got drinks and started dancing to the heavy metal music. 

…I’m starting to get very confused about Snoofles. My initial impression was that he’s a regular panda bear, but Tiaa is able to communicate with him because she’s a vampire and can talk to all animals now. But I don’t think ordinary pandas go to clubs, get drinks, and dance to heavy metal music.

Although I’ve never met one, so I could be wrong.

ppl there stared at us cos i was so diffrerent looking and Snoofles was a panda, but we didnt care we were havin so much fun we were SO drunk and had taken a lot of drugs so my head was fuzzy like there was snow everywhere.

I adore the similes in this fic. No idea what Tiaa is on but I definitely know what the author means by feeling like there’s snow everywhere in your head.

"hi your called Tiana arent you? I am Jasper and I go to your school" said Jasper Cullen who was tall with blond curly hair like straw only soft and nice and not dry. 

So… not like straw, then.

he was tall. 

Yeah, you mentioned.

he was wearin a black pulover and red metal pointy shoes. (AN - haha, that descripton sounded beter in my head, OH WELL!)

No, it’s good, I dig it. Simple goth on top, bling on the bottom, may or may not be wearing pants? It’s a look.

"hey whatever" i said. "why arent you with that girl i all ways see you with?

"you mean my GF alice," he said and locked soddenly very sad and started to cry and bite down hard on his lips.

"what is wrong Jasper?" i said

"the problem is i dont love her like she loves me. i am gay, and thats wrong, and i feel so horible about it!" 

Of course he’s gay. Look at his outfit! Look at those shoes! I can’t even see him for real and my gaydar is going wild.

"theres nothing bad about bein gay u no" i said. 

"REALLY?" he sed, and looked chocked with his mouth open.

Good on Tiaa for being an ally. I love how Jasper reacts as though he’s never considered the possibility that his gayness might be alright. He’s a vampire too and has been alive for well over a century, so that’s a lot of internalized homophobia… but he’s also been around to witness the entire modern LGBT rights movement, so you’d think he might have gotten the “it’s okay to be gay” message before.

"yeah, its proper normal and Snoofles is gay and everything" i said and Snoofles waved and Jasper waves back. 

If you just got a bad feeling about what might happen next, trust your fucking instincts.

he smiled and we all stared dancing together and Jasper gave us some of his drugs.

I really wanna know what they’ve been taking, because even though Tiaa isn’t human I feel like anyone who can get high should have to worry about drug interactions. Weed and alcohol is fine, but aside from that I have no idea what the hell Tiaa is on except that she described it as “pills” and a lot of drugs that come in pill form do not play nice with alcohol. She probably isn’t going to fry her liver or anything like that given that she’s essentially undead, but I doubt she’s immune to having a bad trip.

we had a relay good time and jasper met another gay guy called Vince and we all got in Snoofleses car at the end of the night and i drove around while the others all had sex in the back of the car. 

A note: At this point in the story I quite literally had to stop the MST for a bit so I could pour myself a very stiff drink. 

The panda has a car. The panda is having a threesome with a vampire and a human in the back of his car while another vampire drives it. This is treated as normal because the panda and his two human(oid) sexual partners happen to all be gay.

Like, I’d normally feel pretty weird about the “promiscuous gay” stereotype being invoked, but I’m way too busy feeling weird that the author thinks it’s normal for gay guys to want to screw a panda because the panda happens to be gay too. Also, keep in mind Snoofles can only talk to Tiaa — the dudes he’s having sex with can’t understand him. I’m gonna say a panda who behaves like a human and owns a car is probably capable of consenting, but I still feel mighty weird about the idea that two dudes who perceive Snoofles as an ordinary, non-talking panda would want to have a threesome with him.

I guess the promiscuity aspect isn’t even bad considering how Tiaa and Edward have been acting with each other throughout the fic. The bestiality, though, I have trouble overlooking.

(i was drunk but cos i was a vampire it was ok to drive i had beter reflex than humans!)

Sure, but do you even know how to drive? In most states, it’s not legal to get a learner’s permit until you’re Tiaa’s age, so we’re not talking “experienced driver with superhuman reflexes,” we’re talking “superhuman reflexes, but on somebody who quite possibly has never sat in the driver’s seat of a car before.”

but soddenly somethin jumped into the road infront of us and i had to stop the car and get out. there was a man standin in the middle of the road he was tall and mussely and had black hair like the black feathers of a raven in the black darkness. 

But was his black hair like the black feathers of a black raven in the black darkness? I just want to be clear on the color.

he was good looking but he looked so angry i got out my samurai sword (i often have it with me!) but somone jammed up behind me and tore it from me, there were like ten people all grabbing my body in the darkness and they put a thing over my face so i coudnt see and they tied me up! 

Oh, of course, her samurai sword. Yep. Been with her the whole time.

Jasper Snoofles and Vince were too busy doing gay sex on each other to notice, i cud hear them grunting and humping and having orgasms on each other - it was so cute but now was SO not the time! 

She’s being attacked by a group of ten or more people, who have overpowered her, restrained her, and blindfolded her, in the middle of the road. Three people (well, a person, a vampire, and a panda) are present and they don’t notice this happening at all.

Like… I know they’re all intoxicated and, uh, otherwise occupied at the moment, but did they not at least pause to notice Tiaa slamming on the brakes to avoid colliding with a stranger in the road?

The men who had caught me took me away and somethin hit me over the head and i was unconshous.

when i awoken i found myself in a small dark room and the tall mussel man was in front of me. i was strip down to my underwear and i was chained to a chair with some metal chains and i coudnt move.

Tiaa has superhuman strength and reflexes. She has telekinetic abilities. She can affect objects and people by touching them. 

Yet she can’t get out of being chained to a chair?

I call BS.

"WHO ARE YOU YOU WANKY PERV!" i shoyted.

She sounds like Wheatley from “ITS MY LIFE!” now.

"I AM JACOB...THE WEREWOLF KING!" he yelled with his eyes rolling around in his face - he looked so mad and CRAZY!

Jacob’s a big dude who can turn into a wolf, but he’s also about fifteen and just learning about the whole werewolf thing, so I doubt he’d be “king” of anything. Also Tiaa could take him easy.

"NOOOOOOO!" I scremed and i try to broke myself free but i was under so many heavy chains so i looked into his wagging face insted.

I don’t know why she reacted so negatively to Jacob’s response. There is a longstanding vampire/werewolf feud in the Twilight universe, but Tiaa is very newly turned and shouldn’t know about any of that yet. Learning your kidnapper is a werewolf sucks, but if you’re already a vampire you’ve got an edge too.

"Watt do u want from me? why am i here?" i say and i started to cry.

"YOU MUST BE PUNISHED FOR WHAT YOU DID TO BELLA SWAN!" he shreeked and the drool was sloapping down his face just like rain only thick and foam-like. 

So… not like rain, then.

"YOU ARE A HALF-BREAD! 

I’ve got to change this blog’s name right away. I don’t know what I was thinking naming it “The Half-World” when I could have named it “The Half-Bread.”

Also, hold up — what did Tiaa do to Bella? Is this just about “stealing” Edward? Jacob and Edward aren’t exactly buddy-buddy, and if Bella’s single Jacob has a chance with her, so if anything I think he owes Tiaa a thank-you.

YOU SHOUD NEVER HAVE BEEN BORNE! YOUR FATHER WAS A VAMPIRE AND YOUR MOM WAS A WHITCH! ITS WEIRD AND WRONG AND NOW YOUVE BROKEN BELLAS HEART! HALF-BREAD! HALF-BREAD! HALF-BREAD!" 

Well, this really does speak for itself.

This dude was insane, he was so angery he was jumpin up and down. 

Sounds like my second-grade teacher. She was the daughter of a well-known Republican senator and she had to resign after she tied a kid to a chair with a jump rope. True story.

But something he said had caugt my attention .

Good job on the punctuation.

"What do u mean my mom was a whitch?" I said.

What do you think he meant, genius?

"MY FATHER USED TO NO HER! SHE LIVED HERE IN LA PUSH AND SHE WAS A WHITCH! SHE COUD MAKE FIRE COME FROM NOWERE AND CONTROLL THE WETHER AND TALK TO ANIMALS AND LOADS OF OTHER STUFF! SHE WAS A FREAK LIKE U!" 

I guess this does explain Tiaa’s extra powers, but, I have to say, I don’t think Jacob gets to criticize anyone else for being freaky when he can turn into a wolf.

Of corse! It all made sense now! 

It didn’t all make sense. There’s still an interspecies gay threesome that needs explaining.

I was so shocked I fainted,

and also got my periods and commas mixed up,

When i woke up Jacob was in front of me and he was NAKED! He was smilling in a proper creepy way and looked totaly weird like a greasy frog thing and his male genital item was not nice like edwards it was like a horible wet mushroom.

Honest to god I love these similes. 

he stroked my knee with it and i gapsed. whatt was he going to do to me! 

I think I have an idea, actually.

but sudenly before he coud come any closer the door of the room we were in burst open!

IT WAS EWDARD!

Here to save the day! And to end the fic, because this is it for “Forbiden Fruit”: BeckyMac666 left us all on a cliffhanger, so we’ll never know what happens.

I do genuinely love this fanfic. I love how it’s written, I love the similes, I love the purple prose and the melodramatic tone, and I love my girl Tiaa. It’s a truly fantastic badfic, and I’m happy I got to introduce others to it, too.

[frankensteindotpdf]

All of them (bc why not)

HOLY CRAP HERE WE GO

Harry Potter: How do you want to be remembered?

As someone who made a difference; someone who was kind, sweet, funny, and loving. 

Hermione Granger: If you could meet anyone, living or dead, who would you meet?

Daniel Handler/Lemony Snicket- This man is amazing. He’s my favourite author and I couldn’t even begin to express how much I love him.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle- Another one of my favourite authors. He was insanely intelligent and just sounds like an awesome guy.

J.K. Rowling- Obviously.

Gerard Way- His songs mean so much to me, and his art is amazing…I just love him so much

Dan and Phil- (including them as one fite me) They’re so smart and funny and sweet and I just really really want to meet them.

(that’s just the first few to come to my head)

Ron Weasley: What ice-cream flavours do you love/hate?

Mint Chip is one of my favourites (fun fact! for a while I only said it was my favourite because it was my favourite character’s favourite flavour). I also L O V E cookie dough and cotton candy. I cant hate ice cream broski

Hagrid: If you could breed two totally different animals together, what new animal would you create?

A turtle and a sloth. No specific reason why.

Dumbledore: What is your most treasured possession?

My books, probably. (This includes my sketchbooks)

Voldemort: On the first day of ruling the world, what would you do?

Remove all laws against things people can’t control or that don’t harm others (being gay, bathroom bans, religions, etc.). After that I’d order the wealth of the world to be spread more evenly, as well as the food.

Fred Weasley: If you were told you only had one week left to live, what would you do?

Cry? Then I’d probably read, try to do something impactful, start a fundraiser (people love to donate to dying teens) so the funds could go somewhere important like disaster relief.

George Weasley: If you could read minds, whose would you want to read?

Authors mostly. Also my friends, see how they really feel about me.

Draco Malfoy: Do you like yourself?

I’m working on it? I know I don’t hate everything about myself (even though it feels like it sometimes), and I’m trying to be more positive.

Ginny Weasley: What’s your favorite indoor/outdoor activity?

Drawing and listening to music.

Neville Longbottom: What’s your fondest memory?  

(Oh it sounds so pathetic) Going to Universal? Honestly I was shaking it was literally like stepping right into the movies I’ve been watching since I was 2. I really love the peaceful happy moments spent with friends and my cousins (they live like 10 hours away). Singing and feeling genuinely happy.

Luna Lovegood: What are your favorite lyrics?

Oh there are SO many I’ll just go with the ones I can think of first

“I never let them see the worst of me. ‘Cause what if everyone saw? What if everyone knew? Would they like what they saw? Or would they hate it too?” Words Fail, DEH

“I cry tears you’ll never see. So fuck you, you can go cry me an ocean, and leave me be.” Save Rock And Roll, FOB

“Oh how stupid to think that I could compare to the pretty girl with the butterscotch hair. And I won’t hate you but oh, it stings. How does it feel to be adored by him?” Adored By Him, Dodie Clark

All of Waving Through A Window

And wow that was depressing how about a nice one

“Take my jumper. Wear it, you’ll need it on the train home. And everyone will know that I’ve been loved tonight; a permanent hug from you.” Permanent Hug From You, Dodie Clark

Severus Snape: Of all your pet-peeves, which is the strangest?

Wow there’s a lot…incorrect grammar, being able to hear people chewing, clicking noises with no rythm or beat, people being too physically close…

Remus Lupin: What is your greatest fear?

Being alone.

James Potter: If you were reincarnated as an animal/drink/ice cream flavor, what would it be?

Honestly I have no idea…I have yet to decide on a favourite animal, drinkwise maybe one of those punches with pop and ice cream, and ice cream flavour…uhh is music a flavour?

Lily Potter: Who or what, if anything, would you die for (or otherwise go to extremes for)?

Anyone? People in general, I don’t really see myself as a person anymore, or at least worthy of the same respect and treatment so I’d do a lot for other people and yes, if it came to it, probably die for them too.

Sirius Black: What are your views on sex?

Personally I think it looks like a great thing to be shared with the right person. I think everyone has a right to their own bodies and their own decisions but I personally would have to be with someone for a while first.

Tonks: if you could be anyone else for a day, fictional or non-fictional who would you be any why?

Oh man idek that’s so difficult…..maybe Tonks? Honestly she’s so sweet and fun and CONFIDENT I could totally learn from that. Plus the metamorphagus powers would be awesome. and of course she’s married to remus

McGonagall: What do you believe I am thinking right now?

I think you’re doing the Jared Kleinman Laugh TM because of all the work you’re making me do.

Bellatrix: three words would others probably use to describe you?

annoying, irritating, stupid hopefully sweet, kind and funny

Lucius Malfoy: Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict?

I love debating, but actual arguements happen VERY rarely…I never stand up for myself so the only time I’ll argue with someone is if they’re hurting one of my friends.

Molly Weasley: What do you define as a family?

A group of people who love each other, feel comfortable around each other, and support and bring out the best in each other.

Arthur Weasley: If you could have any career possible, what would it be?

FULL TIME LIBRARIAN, PART TIME TATTOO ARTIST

Peter Pettigrew: If you had to change your first name, what would you change it to?

If I had to, I would put much more thought and research into it but atm probably Beatrice or Elizabeth or something gender neutral

Umbridge: If you could choose, how would you want to die?

I WANT TO BE HIT BY AN AMBULANCE, AND HAVE JUST ENOUGH CONCIOUSNESS TO SAY “SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE”

Colin Creevey: Who inspires you?

Youtubers like Dan and Phil, Thomas Sanders, and Dodie, as well as the members of MCR and authors and artists in general.

Dean Thomas: Are you generally organised or messy?

It’s a mix. I want to be organised, and some places of my life are organised (my closet is organised in rainbow order as well as type of clothing) but others are horrible (my room is a dump).

Seamus Finnigan: What makes you laugh?

Youtube, memes….everything tbh

Dudley Dursley: Who is the person you despise the most, and why?

Not gonna say the name but there’s a person I know who basically destroyed my mental state. They insisted they were a friend while shredding any self-esteem I had to bits. They made it nearly impossible for me to talk, telling me “no one cares” “shut up” or “you have no friends” anytime I opened my mouth, which of course echoed in my head when they weren’t around. They terrify me, because I know they can rip down the self-confidence I’m working so hard to build back up with a sentence. And I have to see them every day again. And they’re acting just like they used to.

Vernon Dursley: Who is the most important person in your life, and why?

Gosh this is tough. I don’t really…have a best friend. I used to, years ago. And last year, another person. But at the moment…no one. So that makes it really hard to choose someone. I know it doesn’t have to be a best friend but there isn’t really anyone else, either so…no…one?

Petunia Dursley: How close are you to your family?

Fairly? I feel like I hide a lot though.

Victor Krum: What is your favorite form of exercise?

none probably hiking on a nice cool day in the forest. Or sit-ups. Those aren’t too hard, so I don’t mind them.

Dobby: Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to have a plan?

(FINALLY LAST ONE) For most things, I very much need a plan. Otherwise I panic. If it’s just hanging out with friends, though, I do enjoy just wandering around shopping at festivals or downtown (but there has to be a set plan to get there ha)

[skelenyxx]

Chapter 3 - Nothing Left ~ IDOV

"If we wait, it may be too late. We'll make everybody cry. We wouldn't even have to try. If we stay, we may overstay our allotted time, and it just wouldn't feel right." ~ Weighted

************

For a second, it felt like my heart had stopped beating with his. I felt dead. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move.

My body reacted before I had the chance to analyze the thoughts running through my suddenly active mind. It were as though someone had injected me with a massive shot of adrenaline as my mind raced and my body reacted with speed and agility. I wasn't even sure what I was doing at first, but I was doing something, and something was better than nothing.

I placed both of my hands over Frank's heart and pushed down, rhythmically applying pressure with my upper body weight.

Thirty compressions.

Then, my mouth was on his, using my lungs to force oxygen into his own. Then I pulled away and pushed on his chest again.

Thirty compressions.

Two breaths.

Thirty compressions.

Two breaths.

I was performing CPR in a desperate attempt to bring him back. Tears streamed down my face, making my lips salty as I breathed air into his lungs, my hair falling in my face and clinging to my wet cheeks. I knew the chances of this working were slim, but I had to try. I wasn't going to let him go without a fight. Not today, not ever.

Most people only go about six or seven rounds before they "call it." I had done ten. No change. With every round, my hope crumbled more. This wasn't going to work.

I was in the middle of round twelve when my focus was broken by a sudden gasp for breath. It was him. I checked his pulse to find it beating nearly regularly.

Relief washed over me as I tried to formulate a coherent sentence. "He... I..."

Gerard grabbed me into a tight embrace as tears of relief pricked my eyes. He was alive. And hopefully, he would stay that way.

************

Two days had passed since Frank's heart had stopped. We were still stuck out in the middle of the desert and there was no sign of civilization. The smoke in the distance was still rising, although it was significantly smaller. But it had traveled and now the sky was hazy and the air smelled of chemical smoke.

Our food supplies were dwindling as well. We had been eating so little in order to preserve our food that we had no energy and our stomachs were always hurting. We spent the days lying in the shade of the rocks and watching for cars. I had cut the pant legs of my flannel pajama bottoms into shorts and was thankful that I was wearing a tank top. The guys had cut their shirts as well. We were dirty, hungry, and scared shitless.

On the upside, Frank's condition had improved. Color was slowly returning to his skin and his heart and breathing were normal. And even the bruising around his abdomen was fading. But he was still unconscious. We took shifts at night keeping an eye on him and looking for cars.

At night, I barely slept, regardless of whether it was my shift or not. Mostly, it was because of the nightmares. They were always the same. Sometimes, I was watching Frank die again, only this time, I couldn't bring him back. Sometimes, he was dead and his ghost was yelling at me, telling me I was useless and that I should've done more to save him, telling me it was my fault. And sometimes, it was the same dream from the night of the crash, the one with the strange guns and the men in white suits, with Frank dying in my arms. But they were always the same and they always involved Frank.

The sun was barely rising on the morning of the fourth day when someone shook me from one of these dreams. I was gasping for breath as I tried to steady my heartbeat. I looked to my side and spotted the person who had woken me. It was Gerard, his messy red hair falling in his face as he looked at me with concern.

"Are you okay?" He asked me. I nodded my head, still breathing heavily. "I was just coming over to wake you when I saw you were practically having a panic attack in your sleep. Bad dream?" I nodded again as I pushed myself into a sitting position.

"Wait, why were you coming to wake me?" I asked in concern.

His lips curled into a smirk as he moved to the side, revealing the figure of a man whose dark hair fell over his shocking hazel eyes. He gave me a small smile.

"Frank!" I exclaimed.

He chuckled. "Hey Sky." He wrapped me in a hug and I wrapped my arms around his neck, never wanting to let him go. I held onto him like my life depended on it because I felt like any second he would evaporate before my eyes. I felt like he would disappear and I would lose him again.

"Don't you ever, ever, do that to me again," I said.

"I won't," He replied quietly in my ear. "I promise."

We were quiet briefly as we continued to hold onto each other. I was acutely aware of Gerard watching us, but he was no stranger to our unusual friendship. He understood.

"Gee told me everything that happened," Frank said as he pulled away and looked me in the eyes. "Thank you." He spoke with so much sincerity that my breath caught in my chest. "I owe you my life, Sky. Thank you." He grabbed my hands gently and smiled at me.

"You would've done the same if it had been me," I said. We both knew it was true. I pulled my hands from his and grabbed a granola bar from my bag and handed it to him. "How are you feeling?" I asked as he began to eat it.

He shrugged. "Honestly, I feel like shit and I'm tired as fuck." I nodded.

"I figured you would be."

After he had finished eating, we woke the others. We discussed everything that was happening and our concerns. We decided that we needed to head back towards LA and figure out was happening. We were going to wait a couple of days for Frank's condition to get better, but he refused.

"I'll be fine. We're going to run out of food if we don't move now. I can handle myself," He had said.

After much debate, we decided we would set out that evening. That way, it wouldn't be as hot out and Frank could have a little more time to recover. I was worried about making him move so soon after waking up, but he was right, we didn't have much of a choice.

As we left our "camp" that evening, we passed the bus on our way to the road. I shuddered remembering that night. Ray put a comforting arm over my shoulders, noticing my expression. I smiled sadly at him, meeting his brown eyes.

'Are you okay?' He mouthed to me.

I nodded my head and continued walking down Route Guano towards LA.

We had walked for about two hours, mostly in silence. The only sound was the thud of our shoes on the black top and the crickets and other various night animals in the desert. It had long since become dark out, our only light being the moon and stars. The stars were so pretty in the desert, despite the haziness from the smoke in the air. I'd always loved looking at the stars, but since moving to LA, the lights from the city drowned them out in light pollution.

Frank was looking notably worse with each step he took. I voiced my thoughts, but he only shrugged it off, saying he was fine and that I didn't have to worry.

I listened to the sounds of the night, hearing the soft howl of a coyote in the distance. I smiled a little at the sound. At least were weren't the only things alive out here. The lack of civilization left me wondering.

The night air left me regretting cutting my pant legs into shorts. It was getting cold rapidly. Our movement was keeping me semi-warm, but not much. I wrapped my arms around myself in a weak attempt to block out the cold. The only good thing about it was it was somewhat numbing the throbbing pain in my leg. It was healing well, but it still hurt and walking on it was not helping it.

I glanced at Frank, who was walking beside me as we trailed the back of our group. He had a faraway look on his face, his eyes reflecting the light of the moon and stars. The light made his skin look almost ghostly, like he wasn't a part of this reality. He glanced at me, catching my gaze, noticing I had been watching him.

"What are you thinking about, Sky?" He asked.

"I was actually wondering what you were thinking," I replied honestly.

He shrugged. "Just wondering. Thinking about what's going on I guess." He looked out at the night desert. "I just can't seem to figure out what's going on or why no one is around. People don't just up and disappear."

I nodded. "I know. I get the feeling something really bad happened."

"Yeah."

We didn't speak again for a while, losing ourselves in our own thoughts once more. I was gazing off into the distance, just able to make out the faint outline of the buildings of LA in the distance.

I was so lost in my thoughts, my mind consuming itself, that I nearly didn't notice the steady hum coming from behind us. It wasn't until it began to get louder that I turned around to try to see what it was making the sound. I froze in my spot, a deer caught in headlights.

Literally.

Because what I saw coming down Route Guano was two headlights barreling straight towards us.

"Is that...?" Mikey began, staring in the direction of the headlights.

We didn't have anything to say, we just stood there, watching as the headlights of what appeared to be a van drove closer to us. Each second passed was a second closer to returning to civilization. I never thought I could miss society, as fucked up as it was, as much as I had those past four days. But I was nothing but ready to get back to the world and see cars and trains and lights and buildings and people.

The white van pulled to a stop beside us on the road. I glanced at Gerard who gave me a reassuring smile as he stood beside me and flicked his hair from his face. I took a deep breath as the passenger side window of the van rolled down, revealing the face of a man with shoulder length dark hair and a bushy mustache and goatee/beard of the same color. He reminded me of a guy from one of those outlaw biker gangs.

"What are you five doing wandering out here in the middle of the night?" The man asked in a strong voice. The man in the driver seat said something I couldn't catch and the biker man spoke again before we could reply. "Wait, were you guys in that bus back there?" He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the way we came.

"Yeah," Mikey replied with his ultra-calm poker face. "We've been out here for four days waiting for help, but no one came. We finally decided to set out on our own."

The biker man whistled appreciatively. "I'm damn surprised that you guys survived that crash. It rolled quite a ways." I glanced at Frank, briefly remembering that he almost didn't survive. The look on his face told me that he was remembering this fact as well.

"Wait, so you guys don't know what's been going on, do you?" Biker man asked pointedly.

I gave the guys a nervous side glance as I shook my head. The way the guy said that made it sound like something bad had happened.

The man sighed. "Get in. I'll explain on the way back to the diner." A wave of nervousness shot through me as my mind began to race with worst case scenarios. We didn't know this man or where he would be taking us. The man seemed to have read my mind because next he said, "Don't worry, we're not some creepy pedophile guys who are gonna kidnap you."

We all shared a look that seemed to say 'It's the only shot we've got at finding answers.' We climbed in the back, finding it to be dimly lit by an interior light.

Biker man twisted in his seat so he faced us. "I'm Steve, by the way. This," he jabbed his thumb at the driver, "is Dan." Dan waved at us in the rear view mirror, but I couldn't really see what he looked like in the lighting. "What are your names?"

"I'm Gerard," Gerard answered. "And this is my brother Mikey and my friends Ray, Frank, and Skylar." He pointed to each of us in turn. "And, uh, where are we headed?"

"Back to my diner. It's a little old truck stop out here. It used to belong to my parents, but it got passed down to me after I retired from the military. Dan and I live there and it seems to be the only place untouched by this whole damn thing."

"What exactly has been going on?" I asked.

"Well, we're not one hundred percent sure. All we know is that everything within a fifty mile radius has been blasted or burned off the map. We can't go very far out due to radiation. You five are the first survivors we've found since it all started four nights ago."

All five of our mouths hung open.

"Wh- what happened?" I asked, barely able to form a coherent sentence.

"Well, it looks as though we were bombed," Steve stated matter-of-factly. I took a sharp intake of breath as I processed this information. We were bombed?!

"Who bombed us?" Frank asked.

"Wish I knew."

"Where's the military and government in all of this?" Ray questioned.

"I wish I knew."

I ran a hand through my disheveled hair, cursing under my breath as I realized how dirty it was. We sat in a shocked silence, each of us processing this new information at our own speed.

Frank broke the silence after a few minutes. "So all those people... they're just... dead?"

"It seems that way," Dan, the driver, replied solemnly. "Every town, every city, it's all gone. Even LA is practically leveled. There's a few buildings still standing, but they're nothing but burnt skeletons. We've found signs of what used to be life, mostly bodies, but nothing actually living. But we haven't been able to do a complete search because there's massive points of radiation, especially around the cities."

"How do you know there's radiation?" I asked skeptically.

Steve waved a small device in the air. "This baby right here. It's a Dosimeter. It reads radiation levels."

"Why do you have one of those?" I asked.

"Well, I wouldn't necessarily call myself a Doomsday preparer, but I have been preparing for a long time just in case of something like this. It's not that I thought this would happen, but I just wanted to be prepared in case it did. Make sense?" We nodded. "We have plenty of food and medical supplies to last us months out here plus some gadgets I picked up along the way that I thought might be handy."

"At least you're prepared," Ray said.

Steve nodded. "So what about you guys? What did you guys do for a living?" I cringed at the word did. Did signified the past, and I wasn't willing to accept that it was over, not yet.

"I was attending UCLA as a Science Major and EMT student," I replied quietly, staring at my folded hands in the dim yellow light.

"Nice," Dan replied. "Steve here has some EMT training, too." I looked at Steve and he shrugged, facing forward in his seat.

"Military stuff," He said nonchalantly. "What about you four?" He asked the guys.

"Well we were, um, in a band," Gerard said, looking at the floor, his bright hair falling in front of his face.

"What band?"

"My Chemical Romance," Frank replied with a sigh.

"Oh, I've heard of you guys. You guys were pretty big, weren't you?"

Gerard just shrugged, obviously not liking the topic of conversation too much. Normally, he loved to talk about the band, but the shock of everything happening and the idea that it was over was obviously taking a toll on him.

"I was actually working on setting up a little radio station out here before all this shit happened, so I made it my business to know the music industry." He obviously didn't notice the guys' discomfort with the topic of conversation. I changed the subject, gripping tightly to my seat as we bounced from the bumps in the road.

"How do you two know each other?" I asked, gesturing to Dan and Steve.

"Family friends," Steve replied. "He needed a place to stay a while back, I offered. It's just been like that since."

"You said you were putting together a radio station?" Gerard asked, suddenly curious and switching back to the previous conversation.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Could we use the radio to try and contact others? Like maybe the military or other survivors?"

"Yeah... Yeah, actually, we could." Steve seemed to perk up at the idea.

I nearly fell out of my seat as the van grinded to a halt in front of a small, worn down building I assumed was the diner. It was difficult to see what it looked like in the dark light of the night sky, but it had a homey look to it, in an old, abandoned kind of way.

We filed out of the van and back into the chilling night air. I watched Frank cautiously because he still wasn't looking too good. His golden eyes met mine and for a moment, showed an emotion I couldn't place before it was masked by a smile. I smiled in return, masking my worry. Oh, the irony.

Dan had come around the van and was helping Steve out. At first, I couldn't figure out why. That was, of course, until I saw him clambering into a wheelchair. Steve saw my questioning glances. "Busted my leg pretty bad while I was in the military," He said to me. "Been in this thing since."

I nodded in understanding. Steve rolled his wheelchair in the direction of the diner and we followed. He rolled through the front door, maneuvering expertly through the turns between the old booths and leading us to a hall in the back of the building. There were several doors along the hall and he lead us to the one at the very back, pushing it open with ease.

The room was medium size, a twin sized bed in the corner with the dark sheets unkempt and a large desk with complicated looking equipment strewn all across it. A mic sat on the center of the desk. The equipment also had a record player and CD player hooked up to it and an old computer terminal.

Steve wheeled himself around to the desk and began fiddling with dials. The radio roared to life, but with nothing but static and a faint feedback squeal playing through. The static changed pitches as Steve turned the dials, trying to find a connection. We gathered behind him, with Mikey standing next to Gerard, myself standing between Gerard and Frank, and then Ray on Frank's other side. Dan busied himself on the other side of the desk, checking wires and dials as Steve tuned the radio.

Nobody said a word as we listened intently to the static playing through the speakers. And then, suddenly, a voice broke through the deafening noise, startling us all. Steve immediately began focusing on the voice as no words could be made out. The voice faded in and out as Steve attempted to tune it in. Then, the voice spoke loud and clear and Steve stopped messing with the dials, listening intently to the authoritarian voice speaking through the radio.

"-out there? I repeat, is anyone out there? Please respond, over."

Steve picked up the mic and pressed a button, speaking into it with a firm voice. "I hear you loud and clear. This is Steve, coming to you from the California desert. What is your position? Over."

There was momentary static before the voice replied. "This is Lieutenant James coming to you from the Northern California Air Force Base. Over."

"Good evening to you, Lieutenant. Do you have any information as to what the hell is going on? Over."

"Everything's gone," The Lieutenant replied with a shaky voice. "We were bombed by an unknown force. Not just California, but the whole United States. The - the government has collapsed. The military was wiped out. There's no civilization left. O - over."

My hand moved to cover my mouth as I listened to the Lieutenant's words. This wasn't real. This was a fucked up dream and I would wake up any minute now, in my apartment or in a hospital, with the world still normal and everything still happy. But this wasn't a dream.

This was reality.

"And what of survivors? Over."

"There have been none found as of yet. You are the first I've been able to make contact with. I'm the last one left up here. Everyone here is... is dead. The bombs and fires hit every city and town, wiping out everything. And if the bombs and fires didn't do the trick, then the radiation sure as fuck will. We can't even leave California or move down to Southern California because there's a thick layer of radiation surrounding us. Over."

Steve sighed in agitation. "And are any nations coming to our aid? Over."

"No sir. They've turned their backs on us." A sadistic chuckle could be heard. "I guess we weren't as loved as liked to imagine. Over."

"What do you suggest we do? Over."

"Stay alive. Try to gather survivors. And don't try to leave California. Over."

I glanced at Gerard by my side. His face was pale, shell shocked. He almost appeared to be shaking, from what I couldn't be sure of. I gently grabbed his hand. When we were younger, it was something we had done quite often as a sign of comfort. And that's what it was now. Comfort. A sign that we weren't alone. He squeezed my hand gently as we listened to the end of the conversation.

"Well, Godspeed, Lieutenant. Steve signing off."

"Godspeed."

And with that, the static returned to the radio and Steve clicked it off, the silence deafening. Nobody knew what to say. We stood there in shocked silence, no sound but the crickets outside.

"Frank?" Someone cried out in surprise as the man beside me began to collapse. I released my hold on Gerard's hand as I help Ray catch Frank before he hit the ground. Frank was still conscious, but he couldn't support his weight any longer. I knew it had been a bad idea to move him. Damn his thick head.

"Move him over here," Steve said urgently, gesturing to the bed. Ray and I helped Frank over to the bed and set him down. I crouched in front of him, gently pressing my fore and middle fingers to his wrist to feel his pulse. His eyes locked with mine, the golden flecks dancing in the dim light of the room. When I removed my fingers, his hand grasped mine, his palm warm against my cold hand. My hands were always cold.

He looked scared, almost. I wasn't sure if it was because of him almost collapsing or because of the news we'd just received. Steve rolled in front of him.

"Look at me, Frank," He directed. Frank looked up from my eyes to look at Steve. Steve flashed a small light in Frank's eyes. He then told Frank to follow his finger as he moved it around in front of his face. He sighed when he finished. "It's just a minor concussion and, by the looks of it, exhaustion." He turned to look at me. "Did you five sustain any injuries from that crash?"

I nodded and briefly explained the extent of each of our injuries, going into slightly more detail with Frank's because he was the one whose health was in question.

"And you did all of that with minor EMT training?" Dan asked.

I blushed, my face heating up. "I improvised."

"Well, for improv, you did a damn good job," Steve said. "Frank just needs to rest. You five are welcome to stay for the night in the spare rooms. We don't have any mattresses in them, though, so you're welcome to sleep in the booths as well."

We nodded in appreciation. We helped Frank into one of the rooms, him grumbling the whole time about how he didn't like everybody fussing over him. Dan came in and gave us each some food which tasted unbelievably good considering how hungry we were. We decided we would all stay in the same room that night, mostly because we didn't feel comfortable splitting up.

We were seated in a tight circle in the center of the room, discussing everything.

"I can't believe this," I said, brushing my hair out of my face. "How could the rest of the world just turn their back on us? There are people still out here. We are still out here. And they're just going to let us waste away out here?"

"I can't believe it either. This whole thing is just fucked up," Gerard said beside me, angrily flicking his hair from his eyes.

"And all those people... Men, women, kids, all of them were just murdered," Ray added sadly.

Tears began to well in my eyes as I thought about my parents in New Jersey. I hadn't spoken to them in years. We had had an argument and I had been refusing to talk to them. But I still loved them, and now, I'd never get that chance to say that and to apologize. They were probably dead.

I spoke my thoughts. "What about our families?"

Nobody spoke for several seconds. "We can't dwell on the unknown," Mikey said. "We have to accept that we'll never know and just hope they're in a better place." Mikey's voice broke at the end of the sentence, his poker face crumbling as tears fell from his eyes. My tears fell as well, a tear for every drop of despair welled up in my small body. I felt like I was ready to explode. Too much had happened in such a short amount of time. I didn't know how to handle it.

Frank placed a comforting hand on my knee as I let the tears out. I didn't make a sound, I just let the tears fall. I stared at the hardwood floor and memorized the swirling wood patterns in the dim orange light. I looked up again when the tears stopped, looking at each of my friends sat in front of me. And that's when I realized.

"We'll be okay," I said. They all looked at me, their own form of despair contorting their faces. I grabbed Gerard and Frank's hands, who were sitting next to me. "We have each other. We can get through this. It'll be hard, but we can do it. Whenever one of us falls, the other four will be there to pull us back up. We've got something still left to live for." I smiled a little. "Everything happen for a reason, so let's find out why."

With that, we pulled in for a large hug, our arms wrapping comfortingly around one another, reminding us what we still had. As long as they were here, I would keep living. They were worth living for.

[flauntpage]

One Thing the NHL Award Voters Didn't Screw Up Was Taylor Hall as MVP

The 2018 NHL Awards show may have felt like it lasted five hours but it only ran [checks watch] two hours and 15 minutes? Holy shit, that can't be right, can it? I've seen Greg Maddux pitch quicker baseball games than that. How did giving out a handful of sports trophies become such a bloated event?

Watch how quickly I can whittle this show down to 90 minutes:

CUT OUT THE LADY BYNG AWARD — Nobody cares and voting (more below) shows voters don't really care, either. Give it away before the show the way the Academy Awards give out the best foreign language animated documentary editing awards weeks earlier in the basement of a Dave & Busters.

NO MORE MAGIC SHOWS — Did we really watch a seven-minute "is this your card" trick? Is this because the show is in Vegas? Let those oiled up dancing guys present an award if you want some Vegas flavor. Stopping the show for a rejected set piece from the Now You See Me 3 script isn't something anyone wants.

NO MORE VIDEO GAME COVER REVEALS — This is very much me being old and shaking my fist at a cloud, but sell your video game during commercial breaks, assholes.

NO MORE JACOB TREMBLAY INTERVIEWS — A trained child actor can't make uncomfortable hockey players fun. Just let the kid host next year.

Listen to the latest episode of Biscuits, VICE Sports' hockey podcast

NO MORE SAP STAT THINGIES — Nothing says excitement and pageantry and fun like some dorky-ass facts and figures about some dude's stats. Again: SELL YOUR PRODUCT DURING COMMERCIAL BREAKS.

I think if you give me enough time I can trim this show to an action-packed hour but we need to move on to the awards and discuss who won, who should have won, and which voters made us laugh the hardest.

NORRIS TROPHY

Winner: Victor Hedman, Tampa Bay Lightning Runners-up: PK Subban, Nashville Predators; Drew Doughty, Los Angeles Kings

Did they get it right? Yes. Hedman, however, is lucky the PHWA gave Doughty his lifetime achievement Norris Trophy a few years ago because his numbers were good enough this season to warrant the sympathy trophy.

What was the funniest vote? There are a lot of worthy choices (Jaccob Slavin was fifth on a ballot!) but this space is dedicated to the PHWA voter who thought Dougie Hamilton was the second-best defenseman in the NHL this season. Hamilton was named on just three of 164 ballots—he was voted fifth on the two others—so either one renegade voter saw something no one else did or a local Calgary media member got too close to the situation.

CALDER TROPHY

Winner: Mat Barzal, New York Islanders Runners-up: Brock Boeser, Vancouver Canucks; Clayton Keller, Arizona Coyotes

Did they get it right? Yes. And by "they" I mean the PHWA voters and not Lou Lamoriello, whose archaic hair rules left Barzal with a much shorter haircut than what he could have had on a special night.

What was the funniest vote? There was nothing too egregious but I'd like to say hi to the Boston voter who felt Jake DeBrusk was the fifth-best rookie in the NHL.

LADY BYNG TROPHY

Winner: William Karlsson, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Ryan O'Reilly, Buffalo Sabres; Aleksander Barkov, Florida Panthers

Did they get it right? Sure. Who knows? Karlsson seems nice. I'm sure he says "sir" and "madam" and knows which one is the salad fork at the royal castle. I have no idea why this award exists.

What was the funniest vote? This award is dumb but the criteria is very clear — be gentlemanly. So most voters just look for guys with a lot of points and few penalty minutes. The problem with that is it leaves a blind spot that leads to Auston Matthews finishing eighth in voting (with six first-place votes) and Connor McDavid finishing 10th (with two first-place votes). Why is this funny?

McDavid was hit with an abuse of officials penalty in January and Matthews mocked a referee a few days earlier by pointing at the net after scoring a goal because an earlier goal was disallowed. Were those two things fantastic? You bet. Would I like to see more of this? Oh yeah.

But it should disqualify them from getting any votes for "gentlemanly" play during that season. You may as well have a Tallest Player Award and give it to Mats Zuccarello.

SELKE TROPHY

Winner: Anze Kopitar, Los Angeles Kings Runners-up: Sean Couturier, Philadelphia Flyers; Patrice Bergeron, Boston Bruins

Did they get it right? No. I mean, I guess not. I don't know. Why is there a best defensive forward award but not a best offensive defenseman award? More sports need extremely narrow awards for specific positions. Baseball can adopt a best infielder base runner. Football can honor the best tight end route runners. But apparently Kopitar wasn't as good this year as he has been in the past. They should just give it to Bergeron every year until he decides it's time to give it to Brad Marchand.

What was the funniest vote? Nobody voted for a defenseman or goaltender so this vote is devoid of humor.

JACK ADAMS AWARD

Winner: Gerard Gallant, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Jared Bednar, Colorado Avalanche; Bruce Cassidy, Boston Bruins

Did they get it right? Yes. In any other season, Bednar runs away with this and there's a case to be made he deserved it more than Gallant, but guiding an expansion team to a 100-point season made this automatic. They survived two months during the first half without Marc-Andre Fleury and still cruised to a playoff spot.

What was the funniest vote? I'd like to meet the two people who felt Randy Carlyle of the Anaheim Ducks was the second-best coach, which means they felt Carlyle did a better job than either Gallant or Bednar. I'm putting my money on one of those votes coming from Steve Simmons.

VEZINA TROPHY

Winner: Pekka Rinne, Nashville Predators Runners-up: Andrei Vasilevskiy, Tampa Bay Lightning; Connor Hellebuyck, Winnipeg Jets

Did they get it right? Yeah, but who did John Gibson piss off among the general managers who voted for this award? Somehow he finished sixth behind Frederik Andersen, who somehow finished fourth with a first-place vote despite a pedestrian .918 save percentage. Apparently the Hockey Men can be just as bad at voting as people who Never Played The Game.

What was the funniest vote? Easily, it's the guy who felt Andersen was the best goaltender in the NHL this season. We likely will never figure out which GM cast this vote, but my guess is Marc Bergevin. Why? Because Andersen went 3-0 with a .950 save percentage against the Canadiens this season, and that's the sort of dumbass shit Bergevin would do. If this ever gets confirmed, please tweet a screenshot of this paragraph with the link to the story, because clicks are always nice.

GENERAL MANAGER OF THE YEAR

Winner: George McPhee, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Kevin Cheveldayoff, Winnipeg Jets; Steve Yzerman, Tampa Bay Lightning

Did they get it right? No! Here's the thing—we give the Jack Adams to the coach of the team we all thought would be crap before the season that turned out to be awesome. The reason we think a team is crap is how the GM builds it. So how can Gallant be the best coach if he's simply coaching the team assembled by the best GM? You can't have both! This is also a flawed award because Cheveldayoff (he should have won!) slowly built the team over many years. McPhee did some nice things in the expansion draft but tricking Dale Tallon into giving you two studs for nothing isn't a big deal when Tallon probably still falls for the "got your nose" trick.

What was the funniest vote? This award is chosen by a swath of front-office and media types, so please let me meet the person who decided Ron Hextall was GM of the Year so I can take an Amtrak down to Philadelphia and have a Yuengling with this local.

HART TROPHY

Winner: Taylor Hall, New Jersey Devils Runners-up: Nathan MacKinnon, Colorado Avalanche; Anze Kopitar, Los Angeles Kings

Did they get it right? Yes! Surprisingly! And the vote was close—Hall edged MacKinnon by 70 points and held a 72-60 advantage in first-place votes. Hall had a slightly better MVP case and he won by a margin that presented that case. I went through all the ballots, looked very closely, and it turns out nobody casted a Hart vote for Adam Larsson.

What was the funniest vote? There wasn't anything all that "what an idiot" funny but a very "huh, that's funny" vote was Sidney Crosby getting just one fifth-place vote and nothing else. He had 89 points in 82 games, finished 10th in scoring but found himself tied in voting with Eric Staal and behind Artemi Panarin. It feels a little like the end of an era but also a little like taking Crosby for granted. Maybe it's both.

This article originally appeared on VICE Sports CA.

One Thing the NHL Award Voters Didn't Screw Up Was Taylor Hall as MVP published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

One Thing the NHL Award Voters Didn’t Screw Up Was Taylor Hall as MVP

The 2018 NHL Awards show may have felt like it lasted five hours but it only ran [checks watch] two hours and 15 minutes? Holy shit, that can’t be right, can it? I’ve seen Greg Maddux pitch quicker baseball games than that. How did giving out a handful of sports trophies become such a bloated event?

Watch how quickly I can whittle this show down to 90 minutes:

CUT OUT THE LADY BYNG AWARD — Nobody cares and voting (more below) shows voters don’t really care, either. Give it away before the show the way the Academy Awards give out the best foreign language animated documentary editing awards weeks earlier in the basement of a Dave & Busters.

NO MORE MAGIC SHOWS — Did we really watch a seven-minute “is this your card” trick? Is this because the show is in Vegas? Let those oiled up dancing guys present an award if you want some Vegas flavor. Stopping the show for a rejected set piece from the Now You See Me 3 script isn’t something anyone wants.

NO MORE VIDEO GAME COVER REVEALS — This is very much me being old and shaking my fist at a cloud, but sell your video game during commercial breaks, assholes.

NO MORE JACOB TREMBLAY INTERVIEWS — A trained child actor can’t make uncomfortable hockey players fun. Just let the kid host next year.

Listen to the latest episode of Biscuits, VICE Sports’ hockey podcast

NO MORE SAP STAT THINGIES — Nothing says excitement and pageantry and fun like some dorky-ass facts and figures about some dude’s stats. Again: SELL YOUR PRODUCT DURING COMMERCIAL BREAKS.

I think if you give me enough time I can trim this show to an action-packed hour but we need to move on to the awards and discuss who won, who should have won, and which voters made us laugh the hardest.

NORRIS TROPHY

Winner: Victor Hedman, Tampa Bay Lightning Runners-up: PK Subban, Nashville Predators; Drew Doughty, Los Angeles Kings

Did they get it right? Yes. Hedman, however, is lucky the PHWA gave Doughty his lifetime achievement Norris Trophy a few years ago because his numbers were good enough this season to warrant the sympathy trophy.

What was the funniest vote? There are a lot of worthy choices (Jaccob Slavin was fifth on a ballot!) but this space is dedicated to the PHWA voter who thought Dougie Hamilton was the second-best defenseman in the NHL this season. Hamilton was named on just three of 164 ballots—he was voted fifth on the two others—so either one renegade voter saw something no one else did or a local Calgary media member got too close to the situation.

CALDER TROPHY

Winner: Mat Barzal, New York Islanders Runners-up: Brock Boeser, Vancouver Canucks; Clayton Keller, Arizona Coyotes

Did they get it right? Yes. And by “they” I mean the PHWA voters and not Lou Lamoriello, whose archaic hair rules left Barzal with a much shorter haircut than what he could have had on a special night.

What was the funniest vote? There was nothing too egregious but I’d like to say hi to the Boston voter who felt Jake DeBrusk was the fifth-best rookie in the NHL.

LADY BYNG TROPHY

Winner: William Karlsson, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Ryan O’Reilly, Buffalo Sabres; Aleksander Barkov, Florida Panthers

Did they get it right? Sure. Who knows? Karlsson seems nice. I’m sure he says “sir” and “madam” and knows which one is the salad fork at the royal castle. I have no idea why this award exists.

What was the funniest vote? This award is dumb but the criteria is very clear — be gentlemanly. So most voters just look for guys with a lot of points and few penalty minutes. The problem with that is it leaves a blind spot that leads to Auston Matthews finishing eighth in voting (with six first-place votes) and Connor McDavid finishing 10th (with two first-place votes). Why is this funny?

McDavid was hit with an abuse of officials penalty in January and Matthews mocked a referee a few days earlier by pointing at the net after scoring a goal because an earlier goal was disallowed. Were those two things fantastic? You bet. Would I like to see more of this? Oh yeah.

But it should disqualify them from getting any votes for “gentlemanly” play during that season. You may as well have a Tallest Player Award and give it to Mats Zuccarello.

SELKE TROPHY

Winner: Anze Kopitar, Los Angeles Kings Runners-up: Sean Couturier, Philadelphia Flyers; Patrice Bergeron, Boston Bruins

https://sports.vice.com/en_ca/embed/article/gyk8z3/washington-capitals-alex-ovechkin-destroyed-his-critics-with-stanley-cup-win-over-vegas-golden-knights?utm_source=stylizedembed_sports.vice.com&utm_campaign=evk93a&site=sports

Did they get it right? No. I mean, I guess not. I don’t know. Why is there a best defensive forward award but not a best offensive defenseman award? More sports need extremely narrow awards for specific positions. Baseball can adopt a best infielder base runner. Football can honor the best tight end route runners. But apparently Kopitar wasn’t as good this year as he has been in the past. They should just give it to Bergeron every year until he decides it’s time to give it to Brad Marchand.

What was the funniest vote? Nobody voted for a defenseman or goaltender so this vote is devoid of humor.

JACK ADAMS AWARD

Winner: Gerard Gallant, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Jared Bednar, Colorado Avalanche; Bruce Cassidy, Boston Bruins

Did they get it right? Yes. In any other season, Bednar runs away with this and there’s a case to be made he deserved it more than Gallant, but guiding an expansion team to a 100-point season made this automatic. They survived two months during the first half without Marc-Andre Fleury and still cruised to a playoff spot.

What was the funniest vote? I’d like to meet the two people who felt Randy Carlyle of the Anaheim Ducks was the second-best coach, which means they felt Carlyle did a better job than either Gallant or Bednar. I’m putting my money on one of those votes coming from Steve Simmons.

VEZINA TROPHY

Winner: Pekka Rinne, Nashville Predators Runners-up: Andrei Vasilevskiy, Tampa Bay Lightning; Connor Hellebuyck, Winnipeg Jets

https://sports.vice.com/en_ca/embed/article/nek53q/the-ottawa-senators-need-to-relocate-if-eugene-melnyk-doesnt-sell-the-team?utm_source=stylizedembed_sports.vice.com&utm_campaign=evk93a&site=sports

Did they get it right? Yeah, but who did John Gibson piss off among the general managers who voted for this award? Somehow he finished sixth behind Frederik Andersen, who somehow finished fourth with a first-place vote despite a pedestrian .918 save percentage. Apparently the Hockey Men can be just as bad at voting as people who Never Played The Game.

What was the funniest vote? Easily, it’s the guy who felt Andersen was the best goaltender in the NHL this season. We likely will never figure out which GM cast this vote, but my guess is Marc Bergevin. Why? Because Andersen went 3-0 with a .950 save percentage against the Canadiens this season, and that’s the sort of dumbass shit Bergevin would do. If this ever gets confirmed, please tweet a screenshot of this paragraph with the link to the story, because clicks are always nice.

GENERAL MANAGER OF THE YEAR

Winner: George McPhee, Vegas Golden Knights Runners-up: Kevin Cheveldayoff, Winnipeg Jets; Steve Yzerman, Tampa Bay Lightning

Did they get it right? No! Here’s the thing—we give the Jack Adams to the coach of the team we all thought would be crap before the season that turned out to be awesome. The reason we think a team is crap is how the GM builds it. So how can Gallant be the best coach if he’s simply coaching the team assembled by the best GM? You can’t have both! This is also a flawed award because Cheveldayoff (he should have won!) slowly built the team over many years. McPhee did some nice things in the expansion draft but tricking Dale Tallon into giving you two studs for nothing isn’t a big deal when Tallon probably still falls for the “got your nose” trick.

What was the funniest vote? This award is chosen by a swath of front-office and media types, so please let me meet the person who decided Ron Hextall was GM of the Year so I can take an Amtrak down to Philadelphia and have a Yuengling with this local.

HART TROPHY

Winner: Taylor Hall, New Jersey Devils Runners-up: Nathan MacKinnon, Colorado Avalanche; Anze Kopitar, Los Angeles Kings

Did they get it right? Yes! Surprisingly! And the vote was close—Hall edged MacKinnon by 70 points and held a 72-60 advantage in first-place votes. Hall had a slightly better MVP case and he won by a margin that presented that case. I went through all the ballots, looked very closely, and it turns out nobody casted a Hart vote for Adam Larsson.

What was the funniest vote? There wasn’t anything all that “what an idiot” funny but a very “huh, that’s funny” vote was Sidney Crosby getting just one fifth-place vote and nothing else. He had 89 points in 82 games, finished 10th in scoring but found himself tied in voting with Eric Staal and behind Artemi Panarin. It feels a little like the end of an era but also a little like taking Crosby for granted. Maybe it’s both.

This article originally appeared on VICE Sports CA.

One Thing the NHL Award Voters Didn’t Screw Up Was Taylor Hall as MVP syndicated from https://australiahoverboards.wordpress.com

[kentuckertv]

twin peaks review showtime lynch

Twin Peaks Review: ‘Is It Future Or Is It Past?’ Beautiful and puzzling, funny and exciting, Twin Peaks marked its return last night with the first two of its 18-episode season airing on Showtime. The pair of episodes played like a two-hour feature film, which is in keeping with co-creator and director David Lynch’s goal—he’s said he thinks of what is officially titled Twin Peaks: The Return as one, 18-hour film. If he sustains the mysteries and revelations he unfurled on Sunday, this project will have no trouble in being viewed, when completed, as a creation likely to be Lynch’s longest sustained work. WARNING: SPOILERS FOLLOW FOR THE FIRST TWO EPISODES OF TWIN PEAKS.

Given Lynch’s tendency to move off into deliberately confounding directions, it was a surprise how narratively straightforward so much of this initial dose of Peaks was. Right off the bat, we were treated to Kyle MacLachlan’s Agent Cooper—two versions of him. One is the Cooper we know, the straight-arrow FBI agent, back in the red room of the Black Lodge. There, as anyone who’s seen even a little of the original Twin Peaks knows, time is a variable and figures that may or may not be human speak in oblique phrases or riddles. So it was on Sunday night, as a placid giant bade Cooper to “remember 430” and “Richard and Linda.” Why that number? Who are those two people? Sorry, no explanation. (My only guess was that this is a reference to the singer-songwriters Richard and Linda Thompson, whose song “Shoot Out the Lights” would sound great on a Lynch soundtrack, but I doubt that’s who Lynch and co-creator and co-writer Mark Frost are referring to.)

The other Cooper was one we’ve never seen before: A long-haired, tanned vigilante, almost super-powered in his violence. This Cooper, bare-handed, over-powers as armed guard. He’s ruthless and remorseless; he murders easily. He says, “I don’t need anything—I want.” This Cooper could be “our” Cooper’s evil twin, an alternative-timeline Cooper… or the Cooper whose soul was, a quarter-century ago, invaded by the horror-figure BOB. (As the other Cooper is told by the one-armed man, Gerard/Mike: “Is it future or is it past?”)

There were a couple of plot-lines that seemed, initially, to exist on separate, parallel tracks. In one, set in New York City, a young man is assigned to keep watch on a large glass box, one wall of which opens out into the sky. Small cameras are recording everything in the box from a variety of angles. The young man is supposed to watch and report if he sees anything appear, but, like so many Lynch-ian men, he gets distracted by a young woman. They are (his phrase) “making out,” shucking off their clothes, when—uh oh!—some sort of spirit breaks through the glass box and comes for the naked boy and girl.

Another sub-plot, set in South Dakota, was a murder mystery, a thing of real, ugly beauty. The police are summoned to a woman’s apartment; entering her bedroom, they find her dead. And not just dead: decapitated, the rest of her body missing, replaced by the decapitated body of a corpulent man. Whodunnit?

It’s Cooper who, by the end of the two episodes, ties these plots together. And it’s Cooper in the red room whose presence lures the central figure of the entire Twin Peaks enterprise—Sheryl Lee’s Laura Palmer—back onto our TV screens. “I am dead, yet I live,” she says. The seconds when Laura moves close to Cooper, their faces almost touching as they’re about to kiss, and both of them cannot help but break into ecstatic grins: it’s one of the most gorgeous moments of pure pleasure Lynch has ever shown us.

Lynch has already achieved and surpassed certain goals with this new production. He’s admitted his lack of involvement in season-two of original Twin Peaks resulted in muddled, often mediocre television. By contrast, new-Twin Peaks is tightly constructed. Sure, it has scenes of baffling anarchy: Say hello, for instance, to the “evolution of the arm,” a round glob of talking, viscous gunk stuck on a waving tree branch. But more often, these introductory hours set up a couple of intriguing thriller stories. As we learned from watching the 1992 feature film Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me, it can be a mistake to assume Lynch will follow through with coherent resolutions to such plots, but you don’t go to Lynch for coherence anyway. You watch his work because you want to experience his open-air id, his uncorked subconscious, working through a dream-logic that requires a viewer to let go and groove on whatever Lynch throws at you.

There were new characters with familiar faces (Ashley Judd, Jennifer Jason Leigh, The Bridge’s Matthew Lillard as the high school principal Bill Hastings, accused of a murder that he may have committed unwillingly.) Numerous familiar Peaks faces popped up, perhaps the most striking being The Log Lady, now called Margaret, who reappeared to give some cryptic pieces of advice such as “Something is missing.” (The weakened state in which the character appeared may have been due to the real-life cancer suffered by the actor, Catherine E. Coulson, who died in 2015.) The most surprising “new” face was that of Cornelia Guest, the once-famous New York socialite and professional debutante, here doing a superb job of playing Phyllis, Bill Hastings’ cruel, unfaithful wife.

This Peaks looks great. Its images are sharp and clear, suggesting, perhaps, a bigger budget than the one Lynch had for his most recent theatrical film, the grainy-looking and excellent Inland Empire (2006). At the end of two hours—the final moments of which were set in The Bang Bang Bar and were packed with familiar faces such as Madchen Amick’s Shelly and James Marshall’s James—I was ready to watch more. (And you can now: The next two episodes are available on Showtime’s streaming and on-demand platforms.) That reaction bodes well for a show that could easily have proved an irritating nostalgia-trip. Turns out, just the opposite is true, at least in these opening moments.

Twin Peaks airs Sundays at 9 p.m. on Showtime.