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ieattaperecorders · 4 years ago

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Notes on Causality - Chapter 4: Gerry

A favor for an old friend.

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As he fell away for the final time, he felt that all-consuming fear, and his only thought was to cry out for his mother. But with the last vestige of his stubborn will, he refused. She would not claim his last moment. He was silent.

And so Gerard Keay ended. But there would be no rest for him.

The recitation came to an end, the agony of being pulled through his own demise faded into dull awareness. He remembered himself, the negative space where a person had once been. Gerard had never liked ghost stories. He liked them less now that he was one of them.

The man holding the book was a stranger. He was old, though probably not as old as Trevor. His hair had been black once but was far more salt than pepper now, and his face was creased around the forehead and mouth. A pattern of scars on his face and neck made Gerard think instinctively of filth, and of burrowing things.

So. Either this was someone who’d taken the book from the Van Helsings, or more likely someone they’d threatened into using it so they didn’t have to look at him directly. Pricks.

“. . . Are they dead?” he asked tiredly.

“You mean the hunters?” the man shook his head. “No, I sincerely doubt I would have been able to manage that. But I took pains to cover my tracks.”

“You stole the book from them?"

“Well, it was stolen to begin with, wasn’t it?”

“Hmm,” Gerard tilted his head, smirking grimly. “Condolences to your family, then. Aren’t many in the world who can cover their tracks enough for those two.”

“I’m well aware,” the man sighed. “I’ve done what I can, nothing left but to wait and see now.”

They were in a small bedroom, inside what was probably a cabin. Gerard saw dark wood walls, oil lamps, and a tattered rug that bore some kitschy pattern he couldn’t be bothered to identify. Any view there might have been through the window was obscured by white-out snowfall. There was a fire in the fireplace, not that he could feel it.

“Who’re you, then?”

“My name’s Jon. I used to be the Archivist, until I took your father’s way out.”

He gestured towards his face, and Gerard finally noticed the scars crossing over his eyes -- false ones, probably. The implications sank in.

“Hard to tell how much time’s passing in here,” he said. An echo of an emotion, something that was almost sadness. “But unless you’re a hell of a lot older than you look, I don’t think you’re Gertrude’s predecessor.”

“No. No . . . I was her successor.”

“So she’s dead?”

“I’m afraid so,” Jon said. “She died holding a can of petrol, daring a man to shoot her.”

The thought warmed something in the absence of Gerard, and he smiled. “. . . Good.”

For a moment, he pictured Gertrude standing on a chair to disable the alarm in his hospital room so that he could light the cigarette she’d snuck in. A phantom ache came from where the IV had been in his arm. The hole was still there, still unhealed. It would never have the chance to be otherwise.

He took another look at Jon, tired resignation coming over him.

“So . . . ‘used-to-be-Archivist,’” he sighed. “You went to the trouble of getting the skin book from a pair of homicidal maniacs. I’m guessing you have questions.”

“Not really. I assume you want me to burn your page, I suppose I just wanted to talk to you first. Tell you what’s coming, and confirm that it’s what you want.”

“. . . It is,” he said adamantly. “Being like this hurts , there’s no real life in it. Whatever else there is, even if it’s nothing? I’ll take it.”

“I understand.” Jon paused. “I . . . if you want, I can let you go. Get it done right away.”

To his surprise, Gerard hesitated. He didn’t know what made him do so. Maybe it was fear, the thought of facing a second end, one that would hopefully be final. Maybe it was reluctance that he sensed in Jon, what was left of him reflecting the emotions of the living like the moon to sunlight. Or, hell, maybe now that he knew it would all be over soon he just wanted to linger a bit longer. He didn’t know, and he supposed it didn’t matter.

“Nah. I’ll stay a while. Got all eternity to not exist, right?” he shrugged. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a cigarette . . .”

“Sorry. Quit some time ago. And you couldn’t smoke it anyway, could you?”

“Guess not.” Something occurred to him, and he frowned. “Hey, how’d you read it?”

“What?”

“My page. You said you took my dad’s way out, right? He had to blind himself, and the book’s not exactly in Braille. How’d you read the page?”

“Oh! That’s uh . . . sort of a long story, actually.”

There was a pause, during which it became clear that he wasn’t going to follow that with anything.

“Well, summarize then,” Gerard said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“All right . . . I’ve actually met you before. I lived through a, hmm ---” he sighed, looking annoyed. “Well, Melanie insists on referring to it as an alternate timeline, which I really don’t care for. But I have to admit it’s a useful way to conceptualize it, so . . . .”

“Right, right,” Gerard waved a hand. “The whole ‘it’s not really this but we’re calling it this’ thing, I got it.”

“I was trying to continue Gertrude’s work of stopping rituals, which is how I met you originally. I burned your page that time as well . . . which, incidentally, did not go well for me. They did notice it was missing.”

There was a snippy edge to Jon’s tone, and Gerard smirked, unable to shake the feeling that he was on the receiving end of a cross-timeline ‘I told you so.’

“Better luck this time. Maybe the Van Helsings have gone soft,” he said without conviction.

“Oh yes, clearly they’re winding down to retirement,” Jon’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Regardless, things got pretty bad in those years. And, um . . . the world ended.”

“. . . Fucking hell.”

“More or less, yes.”

“Was it as bad as we thought it’d be?”

“Worse. Whatever you imagined, it was worse,” he said grimly. “Eventually, I found a way to pass my own memories onto my past self, and with that knowledge I’ve changed the course of events so that none of it ever happened.”

“Hence the world still being here.”

“For the time being. It took a long time to find the Hunters, even longer to put a plan together to get the book from them without leaving a trail. By the time we’d worked out what we’d be doing they’d moved on and we had to find them again, and so on,” he waved his hand. “But eventually . . . well, here we are.”

“Huh.” Gerard paused. He ran all that over in his head again. “Didn’t really answer my question, did you?”

“Oh, right,” Jon laughed softly. “Well. As it turns out, holding the book and reciting from memory is good enough. If that hadn’t worked, I’d have had to call my husband in here.”

“. . . Where is here, anyway?” Gerard looked around at the small room. “It feels strange. Couldn’t quite tell at first, but this place isn’t normal, is it?”

“It’s not, no. We found an artifact of the Vast, a snow globe that traps you inside if you look at it too long. Time passes at a different rate here . . . minutes become decades, hours multiple centuries. You don’t age or die, but you feel the passage of time, and you’re only released if the globe is broken. By then if there’s anything left of you you’ll return to a world you barely remember, a blip in your memories that are now eons long.”

“Right. And you’re here on purpose?”

“A friend of ours was holding it when we went in, she’ll have let it go the instant we disappeared. A few milliseconds for reaction time, then a second or two of freefall before it hits the concrete floor. Time enough to erase any trail that the Hunters might follow.”

Gerard frowned. “How does that work? Won’t it be just a second for them too?”

“Well, yes. But whether they find us has more to do with us than with them? You know how these things are.”

“Inside-out dream logic, yeah.”

“While we’re here we’re not running, and we’re in the grasp of another power that will greedily consume any fear we feel. If our theory's correct, when we return our tracks will be obliterated, and any breadcrumbs eaten by birds.”

“Yeah, I get it. What d’you think it is about the Hunt that makes everyone go for the fairy tale metaphors, anyway?”

“Couldn’t say. We should be here a few months, maybe close to a year if it doesn’t break immediately and Tim needs to use the baseball bat,” he smiled wryly. “We brought quite a few board games.”

“Sounds like a cozy holiday.”

“Yes! We’re trying to think of it that way,” he smiled, perking. “It’ll still be rough near the end, I’m sure. These things don’t come without consequences, you can’t throw yourself into something touched by the Vast without a taste of the horrors of eternity. But we’re good at keeping each other grounded. And I consider this worth it.”

“Unless something goes wrong and you’re trapped for all eternity.”

“True. It would definitely not be worth that. No offense.”

“None taken. Eternity’s a long time.”

Gerard tried to think of the last time someone had done something for him, with nothing to gain for themselves. Then he started to wonder if it had ever happened.

Something in him became still, then. Quiet, and cold.

“I . . . think I’m ready to go.”

". . . All right,” Jon hesitated, as if he might say something else, then nodded. “All right, then. Goodbye, Gerry. I dismiss you.”

Something flickered in him, and then he felt himself fade. The room slipped away, and he was once again nowhere and nothing.

He felt himself being torn from the book, felt leather split, waxed linen strain and snap as he was pulled from the binding that held him. There was a moment of breath, there was relief, and then there was only the fire.

It was nothing like being burned alive, and he would know. The pain was more insult than injury. What he felt instead was a frightening dissolution. Whatever was left of him – his thoughts, his memories, his feelings – he felt them disappear as he was being burned away.

The fear of his own end, the terror he had been bound in for so long threatened to return and drag him into oblivion screaming. But as the last vestiges of what had once been Gerard Keay were consumed, his mind drifted away from itself. He thought instead about Jon, about the last person he would ever speak to.

He didn’t think much, really. Just wondered if his plan would work, if he and his husband would escape the trap they’d put themselves into voluntarily. If they did this sort of thing all the time – burning Leitners and making enemies of Hunters – or if it was even remotely possible that they’d done it all for him.

Then Gerard Keay was gone. For good, this time.

---

Martin dropped the quartered logs in a pile next to the door, pausing to stomp the snow off him, take off his boots and brush the worst of it off his clothes. The endless snowstorm being what it was, he supposed there wouldn’t be much wandering around outside. Cabin fever was the whole point of this place.

The sounds of muffled conversation from behind the bedroom door had stopped just before he went out to the woodshed, and they hadn’t started up again. He decided to give the door a knock.

“Come in,” Jon’s voice came from beyond. “I’m . . . it’s done.”

Opening the door, Martin was greeted with the sight of Jon knelt in front of the fireplace, wrapped up in the soft flannel blanket from the bed. The book sat on the floor beside him, and he was shifting the logs with a long, metal poker. He turned in Martin’s direction and smiled. Lit by warm firelight, nestled in the blanket and one of Martin’s old jumpers, he made for a remarkably homey sight considering where they were.

“How’d it go?” Martin asked, coming to sit beside him.

“I think . . . Well. I hope that he got some peace, in the end.” Jon reached a blanket-swaddled arm across Martin’s back, pulling himself closer and drawing the warmth around him. “Thank you for doing this. It . . . means a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” Martin kissed the top of his head. “But it’s not just for you, you know. It’s a good thing we’re doing, setting them free. It’s the right thing to do.”

Jon nodded, nestling into him. "Did you take a look at the other pages?"

"Yeah. There's only a couple in English, so I figure we'Ll do them first, then I'll start breaking out the books and tapes we brought. If reciting it from memory worked, I might not even have to properly learn Sanskrit if I can pronounce it. Could be fun to try anyway, though."

"I'm still doubtful there'll be anyone who wouldn't rather have their page burned."

"Maybe, maybe not. Seems rude not to ask. And it's not as if we're on a tight schedule here."

"True enough," Jon smiled. "Time is something we'll have lots of. And . . . you're right to want to give them a choice. Even if they choose staying bound to a skin book for eternity."

"Mmm," Martin tried not to think too much about what the pages were made of, knowing he'd need to be handling them. "Anyway . . . looked around the place a bit while you were having your reunion. Whole cellar full of canned goods downstairs, easily a year's worth."

"I doubt they'll ever run out . . . fear of starvation would just distract from the dreadful creep of the endless aeons, after all."

"Mmm. Can always count on you to dispense these little nuggets of sunshine."

"Sorry. Too grim?"

"S'fine."

"We won't be here that long. A few months, a year at most. The others will get us out."

Martin looked into the fire. Any trace of the page thrown into it was long gone now. He hoped that whatever came next for Gerard Keay, it was kinder than what he'd been through.

"Well, if they don’t," he said, wrapping an arm around Jon. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather slowly go mad with than you."

"Nor can I."

#tma fanfic #tma #final update in this big honkin story!#because I always wonder about loose ends like these

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rpf-bat · 4 years ago

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Have You Heard The News That You’re Dead?

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: Drama, Horror

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drums?” Leilani repeated curiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Saw who?” Leilani frowned.

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

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

“B-but…,” you protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mean, the afterlife,” you guessed.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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that-one-girl-behind-you · 5 years ago

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Illicio 4/?

Part 3

Trigger warning for some very lightly mentioned domestic abuse and sexual assault (molesting of a minor). During the first POV.

“Come on now, don’t go picking fights with any more entities.” Gerry gives his shoulder a little push as the bus rolls to a stop. Jon complies, but he turns to face Gerry as soon as he hops on the street with him.

“Excuse me? I don’t pick fights with-” Jon’s massive lie fades off into indignant blustering when Gerry wraps a hand around his right wrist and brings his hand up to eye level, giving it a little shake with a raised eyebrow. “W- well that’s different, have you met Jude Perry?”

Nighttime at Jon’s flat is a strange ritual.

The first variable is whether or not Gerry will be staying, which has been happening more often lately. On those nights, Jon usually grabs the first thing that catches his attention from his bookshelf and sits on the coffee table or the carpeted floor -all of Gerry’s teasing about his ‘old lady sofa’ doesn’t stop him from hogging it for himself- to read aloud.

“I thought you didn’t sleep anymore,” he says whenever he looks up from the pages and finds Gerry stretching out mid-yawn.

“I don’t need it.” Gerry’s voice gets hoarser and more relaxed after these naps. “But the experience is still nice.” Which must also apply to the many times Jon’s seen him picking at a bag of crisps or sipping a cup of coffee.

Jon doesn’t mind. He enjoys his reading, and it’s nice to see Gerry at ease; Jon doubts he had many chances to just sit back and take a nap before, and it’s… it’s nice to feel like he’s a safe space for someone.

“If you’re going to doze off anyways, we could move to-” Jon stops himself a moment before finishing the thought, after catching the arched eyebrow and the amused glint in Gerry’s eyes. “Nevermind.”

“No no, by all means ask me to your bed, Jonathan.”

Jon sighs, “I don’t know why I even bother, Gerard.” Gerry scrunches his nose at the name and Jon rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. It never feels like Gerry’s making fun of him, and it makes him miss Tim -the Tim from before, when Jon hadn’t ruined everything yet- a little less.

On the days Gerry’s not around, though, Jon has to find other ways to keep himself distracted from the hunger.

It took him a while to notice, probably because the statements were all he needed for a while. The warehouse worker had been an anomaly, something Jon tried not to think about. He’d been out purchasing some groceries, compelled another random shopper on accident, and it had been just his rotten luck that the man had a story to tell.

Then, the day after Melanie’s… impromptu surgery. Jon had read statement after statement trying to relieve the ache of the wound on his shoulders, but each had brought only the feeling of a cool breeze on a burn; enough to lighten the pain but not doing anything to heal him.

He’d thought the stroll would clear his head and it had almost done so, until he’d seen her. Long brown hair falling over her shoulders in loose ringlets, a wrinkle of worry on her brow and a birthday card signed by all her co-workers wishing her a great day tomorrow.

The scalpel wound had been covered in new skin by the time he’d gone back to the institute, and Jon knew he’d be seeing Zaida Mossen in his dreams.

Sometimes he watches TV, picks a documentary and tries not to Know the next piece of information before the narrator says it on screen. One time he tried looking at old photos on Facebook, but he ended up Knowing his primary school best friend is now trapped with three kids and a woman that beats him every other night, and that his secondary school teacher got away on a technicality after he was found molesting a student. He closed the app before he could come across a picture with Georgie or Tim in it.

Overall, he avoids sleep.

The nightmares were just that, before the Unknowing. He could focus on the fact that he didn’t want the visions and he’d wake up soon enough, to try and drown out Naomi Hernes’ screams. To ignore the resigned, sad gaze of Karolina Gorka when she lay down next to the old man crushed by the chair. He can’t do that anymore.

Tonight Jon is tired after days of Knowing little details unwillingly, and sustaining himself only on old, stale statements. He sits on the edge of his bed and looks through the window to wait for the sky to lighten outside, because he knows if he lays down he will sleep, and if he sleeps he will See.

Dr. Elliot’s fear tastes of desperation. He’d been respected, an expert on his field, he’d only taken the class as a favor. Now he holds out an apple spilling endless teeth around him, begging for someone to take it. He knows they all think he’s mad.

Helen Richardson -the real one, one of Jon’s biggest screwups- has an aftertaste of madness, which makes sense considering the entity that claimed her. She’d been so scared of losing her grip on her mind, because she’d always been so sharp, so… consistent. Sometimes she looks at him over her shoulder before she opens the yellow door.

Tessa Winters has a flavor Jon recognizes well. She regrets clicking the link and downloading the file, and she’s scared she started something without an end, something that will keep tormenting her forever. She has never watched the video again in real life, but every night she tries to turn off a screen in which Sergey Ushanka’s gums bleed around the chewed up glass.

They know he’s watching them. The new ones scream at him for help, the older ones have given up. Both reactions bring Jon a feeling of bliss before he looks up at his patron and the cycle starts again.

“Hey,” comes Gerry’s voice as Jon’s bedroom door creaks open. “Ready to- oh. Didn’t know you were sleeping, I- are you alright?”

Jon blinks up at the ceiling, confused. The pillow is soft below his head, he feels replenished, and he Knows of at least three other people between here and the Institute that he could hunt down and add to his archive.

The edge of the bed sinks beside him, and a curtain of Gerry’s hair shields Jon’s face from the rising sun as he leans over him.

“Jon?”

“I’m- it’s alright.” Jon’s voice is hoarse from sleep too, but where Gerry’s is pleasant and calming, his sounds like he’s been gargling on gravel. “Just nightmares, is all.”

The corner of Gerry’s lips twitches into a side smile, but his eyes are sympathetic.

“That’s our bread and butter, isn’t it?” he asks. The punishing sunlight hits against Jon’s eyes when he stands up, the bed bouncing back a little at the lack of pressure. “Let’s get you to the Institute, some statements will make you feel better.”

The bedroom door closes behind him, and a long, tired sigh blows past Jon’s lips.

————————————————————————————————————————

Gerry counts seven members of the Church of the Divine Host on their way to the Institute. Funnily enough they stand out like sore thumbs in daylight, even without him using his Sight. The closed eye pendant makes something in his stomach coil with irritation, but he ignores it. He knows perfectly well by now that this is the Beholding rearing up at the perceived slight. For larger than life beings of cosmic horror, the entities are pretty much just angry cats swatting at each other very ineffectively.

Jon gives off a little grunt; he’s much more ensnared in than Gerry, so he supposes it makes sense.

“Yeah, and she gets along fairly well with other avatars. Even Gertrude never went around looking like she stuck her hand in a deep fryer and Perry hated her guts.” The burn scars on Jon’s hands are silky smooth when Gerry runs his thumb along the skin. They feel like his own. “If she did this to you, I’m going to go out on a limb and say-”

“I did not compel her,” Jon interrupts him with the most pompous, offended voice. Gerry gives his wrist a little squeeze, grinning. Jon sniffs, and Gerry can see the corner of his lips twitching. “But I did try a whole lot.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” Gerry cackles, letting go of his hand. “But you’re right about the Dark. They’re growing bolder, I think we’re going to get a visit sooner rather than later.”

Jon gives him a side look with a curved eyebrow.

“We?”

“Well yes, who else is going to lull me to sleep with his dulcet tones and extremely specific facts about the Russian Revolution?” Gerry rolls his eyes. “If the Dark comes for you, they come for me.”

Jon doesn’t say anything to that, but he looks extremely pleased for the rest of the walk to the Institute. It’s very endearing, Gerry thinks with a smile as he watches him descend the stairs into the Archives.

“Oh my God.” Gerry turns at the sound of the voice, and finds Melanie shaking her head at him.

“What?” Gerry figures if anyone here is going to get offended at his lack of manners, it’s definitely not going to be the woman that was a death away from becoming a physical incarnation of violence.

Melanie rolls her eyes. “Nothing. You’re going out?”

“Yeah?”

“Okay. I’m going with you, you’re going to explain some things.” She doesn’t wait for an answer, moving towards the front doors instead. Gerry blinks a couple times, trying to process the turn of events, before he follows after Melanie.

They end up at a little park a good way away from the Institute, and Gerry can’t help but notice that with every step Melanie takes away from the building her posture relaxes, and so does the ever-present frown at her brow.

“So… What is it that you wanted me to explain?” Gerry asks after they’ve sat down against a tree trunk, away from any passersby. They must make a terribly stereotypical sight, a cute little couple out on a date instead of a woman on a mission and her hostage.

Melanie looks up at him, her dark eyes especially striking behind her brightly colored bangs.

“What am I?” She asks. Then, like the thought just occurred to her, “I’m not like him am I? I mean, I didn’t- I can’t heal from statements or make people tell me things or-”

Gerry shakes his head. “That’s an Archivist thing, and there’s only one of those.”

“So I’m what? The Assistant? Because that’s a pretty lame title and I don’t care for it.” Melanie gives him an unimpressed stare, and Gerry chuckles under his breath. Either she’s very likable, or he just has a soft spot for blunt people.

“Nah. If anything, you were going to become an avatar of the Slaughter,” he says, gesturing at the bandaged spot that he knows is under her trousers. “I call them wielders, but the Beholding is really the only one that has titles for its avatars. I think that’s why no one likes them, too presumptuous.”

“Them?” Melanie asks, “aren’t you one too?”

“Not really,” says Gerry, feeling a shudder run down his spine. No thanks. “But I’m marked by the Watcher, just like you.”

Melanie takes a deep breath, clearly trying to keep her patience. “Didn’t you just say I was an avatar of the Slaught-” she gives him a furious glare, when Gerry slaps a hand over her mouth.

He pulls it back before she can decide to bite a few fingers off. “Don’t go proclaiming that stuff. These things take that seriously and Jon didn’t almost get himself killed so you could invite the Slaughter in again.”

Melanie rolls her eyes. “Fine. What does ‘being marked’ mean then?”

“Well, just that really. It’s when an entity had a grip on you at some point, usually because you ran into an avatar or a monster,” Gerry shrugs, twirling one of his rings around his finger just to have something to do with his hands. He doesn’t like talking about these things too much; too many years playing database for the hunters has left him very wary of people who want his knowledge. “Some marked people get abilities, like me. Some grow into full avatars, some don’t. It really depends on the person, and whether or not the entity thinks they’re a good fit.”

“And the Eye doesn’t think you are?”

“I don’t really care about knowledge as much as I care about using what I know to help people. I’m also marked by the End, but again, not a match.” He gives her a disappointed pout, and her mouth twitches. “There’s really no limit to how many entities can mark you, other than your bad luck I guess. Jon has like ten marks on him.”

“Ten?” Melanie arches her eyebrows. “Why so many?”

“A week ago he only had nine,” Gerry gives her a pointed look. Sure, she wasn’t herself back then, but he still remembers the small, exhausted grunts of pain as he helped Jon peel the blood soaked shirt off.

Melanie looks forward and her lips purse in a way that could be either sheepishness, or an attempt at holding a smile back. Knowing Melanie, he doubts it’s the first one.

“Well, I couldn’t eat solids for two days after,” she says in the end, and Gerry rolls his eyes.

“You were going to kill him. For real.” He hadn’t even thought before throwing the punch, because the only thing in his mind had been getting her away from Jon.

“Okay, okay,” Melanie waves a hand as if trying to bat the topic away. “I’m sorry for stabbing your boyfriend.”

Gerry doesn’t bother correcting her, just like he didn’t that night at the break room. As long as they don’t figure out his relationship with Jon is truly parasitic, they can think whatever they want.

There is, however, a lie he will call out. On principle. “No you’re not.”

Now Melanie smiles for real, even letting out a little huff of amusement.

“No, but I know I should be sorry. That has to count for something, right?”

————————————————————————————————————————

Basira hates a lot of things about the Institute.

For example, how she can feel herself changing with every word she reads on the damned books she can’t put down to save her life. How she’s trapped inside the building, and the only time she really braves the outside is when she goes and outruns whatever monster of the week is waiting for her because she feels Elias has something to tell her. How the building seems to have been designed with the sole goal of making its inhabitants as unnerved as possible.

She hates every corner and every brick, every dark room where the light switch is placed just out of reach when you first walk in, and how it always feels like someone is watching-

“You were there,” says a rough accented voice, and Basira freezes on her spot. The light switch is three more steps to the right, she knows this room, she can-

A large hand wraps itself around her neck and pulls her away from the door. The door closes behind her, and Basira no longer knows how far it is to the light switch. She’s never been in this room- is this a room?

“You’re not doing that. We’re friends, you and I. We don’t need to see each other.” The voice evokes a sense of familiarity within Basira, but something inside her is screaming at her, a primal urge to fight or flee. “Don’t you remember me?”

“I do not know you,” Basira says dryly, and the voice laughs in delight. A man, she’s pretty sure it’s a man… unless it isn’t? Maybe it’s a woman. Or neither. She should- she knows this person.

But didn’t she just say the opposite?

There’s some steps behind the door, so there must be a door. If there is a door, and there are steps… Then there has to be other people. People she knows. People who are real. Is she not real? If she knows this person, and they’re not real, then maybe she isn’t either.

But… but no. She has to be real, because she opened the door. Doors are real. They go to real places -most of them at least- and that must mean this is a place, and it’s real. If it’s a place, then she can… Basira frowns, feeling like she’s at the edge of something, if she could just…“This is a plac-”

“Don’t say a word.” The hand tightens around her throat. It doesn’t feel like any human hand Basira has touched before, only Basira suddenly isn’t so convinced she has touched any human before. Or perhaps she has and they all feel like this. Does she not feel like this because she’s not human?

The door opens, and the tenuous light that makes its way into the room is enough to chase away the shadow of uncertainty in Basira’s mind.

This is the Institute, she’s Basira Hussain, and she’s in danger. That’s all she needs to get to work.

“Jon, don’t turn the light on,” she orders, her voice calm and steady. “Go and find Melanie, quick.”

It isn’t until she gives the order that she remembers Melanie no longer has the bullet, and Elias’s stupid voice comes to haunt her. You lost Melanie.

“It’s alright Basira. I know he’s here.” Jon’s voice is like she’s never heard it before. No warmth, no hesitation, no sign of the man that measures his every word to try to not hurt anyone, and ends up doing so anyways. She can barely see his silhouette where he’s profiled by the light behind him, but she can see his eyes emit the eerie green glow they had that night by Melanie’s bed.

“So what are you doing?” she asks.

Three steps. Click.

Jon looks at some point behind and above Basira’s shoulder.

“I imagine he’s here to deliver something.” Jon’s words are punctuated by a low thrumming static. “Let her go.” Basira can feel each word vibrate with power, and the hand around her throat starts trembling as the creature fights the compulsion

It’s enough for her to twist out of its grasp. She doesn’t go stand by Jon, but moves in his general direction until she’s closer to him than she is to the… thing.

It looks like a man. It has all the parts. Skin, face, hands. It is not a man.

“Is- the deliverymen,” she blurts out the realization as soon as it comes.

“Deliveryman,” Jon says by her side. Once again she’s taken aback by the coldness of his voice, and the way his eyes are fixed on the being. “Which one are you?” he asks, and the glow from his eyes pulsates once as the static rises.

“ ’m Breekon,” the thing says immediately, then takes a step backwards. Jon takes a step forward and vaguely in Basira’s direction, and she realizes he plans on stepping between them.

“And where’s Hope?” The static in his voice remains, and the thing squirms a little more, clearly uncomfortable.

“Hope’s gone,” says the monster.

'Tell me about it,’ thinks Basira, before she takes a deep breath.

“And what? Are you here for revenge?” Hope turns to face her as she speaks, and stays silent. Jon gives a tired sigh, and repeats the question. It takes a few more seconds, like the fact that Breekon isn’t holding eye contact -if it even has eyes- delays the compulsion. It’s not enough to stop it.

“Yes. Like when we- when I put the mutt in the pit,” it says, and gives something at his feet a little kick. It’s only then that Basira sees the rough wooden coffin with its rusted chain and the scratched warning on top. “It knew where it was going, I think. It was scared of it. Never seen a hunter scream like that.”

Breekon gives a dark chuckle, and Basira feels molten hot rage spilling from her stomach, prickling at her eyes. Of course Daisy was scared of the fucking thing, she saw it in her dreams every other night, Basira would know. Her hand itches for her gun, but Jon’s voice comes before she can even begin reaching for it.

“Easy, Basira.” It’s not compulsion per se, and his voice does get softer when he spares her the quickest glance, but Basira still bristles at the words. What right does he have to ask her to hold back and be reasonable, when he’s been trying to corral Martin into talking to him whenever he’ll stand still for long enough?

“Daisy’s in there?” She asks instead, just to confirm. She cannot go into the coffin, her mind’s clear enough to push the desperate thought away but… but she needs to know.

The monster turns to her again, and huffs in what she guesses is amusement.

“Answer her,” says Jon calmly, businesslike. Breekon shudders.

“Nikola should’ve killed you faster,” it says, and Basira gets the feeling he’s trying to stall for time. Probably just to get on their nerves, because what is there to hide when he’s already told them? “Sure. Whatever’s left of it at least. Go find it for all I care.”

“Why are you here?” Jon asks again, taking another step between Basira and the deliveryman.

“Hm. Dunno. ’S not much to do without Hope around,” the monster shrugs. Out the corner of her eye Basira sees Jon stiffen. She remembers Daisy doing the same at times, freezing like a hunting dog with prey in its sights. “We’ve always been together.”

“…Jon?” Basira reaches out to touch his shoulder, but he doesn’t react. The glow in his eyes is brighter now, and Basira’s pretty sure he’s stopped breathing. The static in the room gets louder, and she snaps her head towards Breekon, her hand now firmly on her gun. “Get out.”

“Make me.”

“Stop.” Jon’s voice reverberates all the way through Basiras’ bones, and she and Breekon freeze.

“Jon, what are you doing?” Basira doesn’t try to touch him again. His form appears too sharp somehow, like those pictures that are so high quality they seem unreal, and his eyes look glassy and green as Breekon squirms under his gaze.

“Wh- stop. Stop it.” Breekon moves strangely, like he’s trying to take a step back but he’s stuck to the floor. Basira has a flashback to the butterflies and moths pinned to cork boards at her secondary school, their wings spread wide and their bodies exposed for everyone to look. She shudders. “Stop looking at me!”

“No.” Jon’s voice echoes inside Basira’s head, and her vision goes white. She has the briefest sense of satisfaction as she hears Breekon scream and gasp, and she’s aware only part of it is bitterness over Daisy. The other is some sort of instinctive pleasure; she guided Jon here, the Archivist needed this information and she found Breekon for him to See, she- she scowls. That’s not her.

That’s not her at all.

The room reforms around her piece by piece as she shakes her head and her vision clears. She sees Breekon’s heel disappear behind the door, before Jon is stumbling towards the closest desk.

“Get me-” he starts to ask, but Basira’s already offering a pen with movements that aren’t entirely her own either. His eyes are back to normal, but Basira only stays for long enough to see him start scribbling on a notebook page, before it becomes too much.

She makes sure not to turn her back to him as she leaves.

————————————————————————————————————————

The thought is almost too weird for her, but Melanie finds herself enjoying the little excursion. She does wonder why no one -nothing- has targeted them yet, but she doesn’t get attacked when she’s out with Helen either, so maybe the monsters are just opportunistic bastards and don’t like to risk it when the odds aren’t in their favor.

Gerard is very easy to like, for someone so infuriatingly fond of Jon. Melanie finds herself thinking they could’ve been friends, if they’d met under different circumstances.

As things are now, she’s far too aware of the way his eyes keep drifting towards the Institute, even though they’ve walked far enough that the building is well out of sight and behind several twists and turns.

“Are you feeling him?” she asks when they finally climb to their feet after a few hours of fear talk. The question is somewhat awkward in her mouth; she doesn’t like Jon, but Gerard does, and she’s decided she likes him enough to not want to offend him. The desire to not hurt still feels foreign in her mind.

“Mm? Oh. Not really,” Gerard shrugs, looking down at her. “I don’t know? I just know where he is. Like the general direction.”

“Hm. That would’ve been useful last year, he got kidnapped like three times.” Melanie pats the back of her shorts to get rid of any dirt and grass that decided to come up with her.

“Did he now?” And yeah, the urge to maim someone is back with the fond little smile on Gerard’s face. “And he has the gall to say he doesn’t get into trouble.”

“Well, he does. What now?” she asks, opting to only bump his shoulder with hers instead of punching his arm. This guy can be as infatuated with a supernatural disaster as he wants, and she won’t feel any strong way about it. No violence here, no siree, Slaughter who?

“Well… we go back, I think? Unless you have more questions.” Gerard looks at her as he shoves his hands into his pockets. Melanie deflates a bit; it is a nice day, and she gets very few chances to leave the Institute.

They do end up going back, but Melanie makes a point of stopping for ice cream on the way back. Gerard gives in suspiciously quickly, and Melanie finds herself liking the guy more and more.

Her phone buzzing with an incoming text from Georgie as she’s handed her double caramel scoop only makes this an even better day.

“That’s a big smile,” Gerard comments as she taps away at the keys. She looks up at him disbelievingly, but there’s no indication he realizes how much of a hypocrite he’s being as he calmly sucks on his cherry ice lolly.

“The nerve.” Melanie rolls her eyes. “It’s my- a friend.”

Gerard bites off a chunk of the ice lolly, and it does more to convince Melanie that he’s not human than the fact that he walked back from the dead.

“Sounds complicated.”

“I’m trapped at Spook Central because of her ex boyfriend, it is complicated,” Melanie mumbles. Georgie’s one of the few good things left in her life, and she’s determined to keep her away from this horrible, horrible circus. “Besides, not all of us get wingmanned by an eldritch entity.”

“She’s Jon’s ex?” Gerard arches an eyebrow as he leans forward to try and peek at Melanie’s phone.

“Do you have selective hearing or something?! Get back!” She punches and shoves at his shoulder until he retreats with an amused smile. The act doesn’t leave a taste of metal in her tongue, she’s surprised to find. Or a craving for more, harsher action. It only feels… companionable. Almost playful.

Melanie had forgotten what it felt like to be friendly with someone.

She’d never say it aloud, but if she counts Georgie and this guy -and even Martin whenever he’s not being a bitch and a half because he’s on a Secret Mission- Jon doesn’t have terrible taste in people.

There’s a man coming out of the Institute, and Gerard’s arm shoots in front of her chest to stop her just as she realizes it’s not a man at all.

“Is that-”

Gerard nods. His frown melts away after he looks at the building again, head tilted as if hearing a sound Melanie can’t register.

“Fuck,” Melanie mutters under her breath. Of course this would happen now, after the bullet is gone and on the one day she decides to go out. “There’s another entrance at the back, let’s-”

“They’re alright.” Gerard sounds thoughtful as he watches the creature stumble its way into a side street. “Beholding marks don’t suit the Stranger well, it seems.”

She looks up, and the smile on his face looks dangerous, somehow.

“Jon?”

“Did a right number on it.” There’s a hint of dark pride to his voice, a polar opposite to the ridiculously soft demeanor he usually adopts when it comes to Jon, and Melanie finds it that she much prefers the absurd fondness to whatever this is. Basira’s words from a few weeks back play through her mind, and she remembers she still doesn’t know what Gerard is. Or why the Eye brought him to Jon. “Go check on them, I’ll finish it off.”

“I’ll come with you,” she decides in a split second. “I can still do it.”

Gerard turns to look down at her, and whatever it was that made her stomach knot in worry is gone so fast Melanie wonders if she imagined it in the first place. There’s a dubious frown on his brow, and his mouth, still dyed red by the stupid lolly, is pressed in a tight line.

“I don’t doubt you could,” he says after a moment. “But I don’t want you to. Don’t invite it back in, remember?”

She does, but she also doesn’t trust the shadow that passed over him not a minute ago.

“Then I won’t do it. But I- I need to watch,” she tries again. “Or I won’t be convinced it’s gone.”

Another long moment of Gerard measuring her up, before he finally nods.

“If you need it,” he says, leading the way into the side street the monster took. Melanie follows with careful steps.

She likes Gerard, but she’s not naive enough to forget she’s been wrong before.

————————————————————————————————————————

When Basira walks into the windowless room, Elias is reading a celebrity gossip magazine, and she wants to rip his eyes out

“Good evening, Det-”

“Drop it,” Basira interrupts, and Elias’ thin lips curl into a smile. Her hands curl into fists, to keep from wrapping around his neck. “Breekon came to see us yesterday. He brought-”

“The coffin, yes.” Elias nods. “I must admit it was quite pleasing to see you work with Jon so seamlessly, Basira. But I suspect you’re not here for my praise, are you?”

Basira advances on him until she’s looming over his sitting form, and she bristles at the calm look he aims at her.

“I hope you’re not so surprised to know Miss Tonner is alive?” He arches a carefully shaped eyebrow. Of course this bastard uses jail to catch up with his beauty routine. “Surely you know by now that the Eye rewards those who are loyal.”

So that confirms that.

“That’s what Keay is then? A reward for Jon?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” Elias tsks in disappointment, shaking his head. “One would’ve thought he’d learned to be honest to his team by now.” His poison green eyes focus on Basira’s face again. “Well, I guess it can’t be fixed�� Despite my best efforts, you never did bond.”

“Shut up!” Basira snaps finally. Bond. Like they’re a cute little group of misfits in a TV show instead of an armload of hostages. Her right hand digs into Elias’ hair, grabbing a fistful and tightening as she pulls back until his neck is twisted at a very awkward angle. “How do I bring her back?” Elias smirks again. She tightens her grip until she feels a few hair strands snap. “I am not in the mood for your games.”

“Always so direct,” he says in the end. “But as I said, the Eye rewards its own. Let me give you some leads, Detective.”

#jongerrymartin #j/g/m #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #vit writes #illicio

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svveetrevenge · 7 years ago

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hi delaney! is there like, one fic that stands out that youre passionate about??

oh GOD ive read about a billion and 12 but here are some of my favorites (links w the author’s description provided):

ok also sorry im sure this is more than you wanted but i couldnt give you just one?? theyre all bottom frank btw because im not evil and theyre all pretty long. maybe ill make a legit fic list in the future if some people are interested

When We’re Both Thirty - LOVE LOVE FAVE EVER

Frank and Gerard were childhood friends. And then they were enemies. Finally, they became strangers. They’d been friends though, and maybe they’d been a little too affectionate, because everyone thought the two of them would get married someday. Before they became enemies, they had even agreed to use each other as a backup plan. If, by the time they both reached their thirtieth year, they hadn’t found someone to marry, they’d marry each other.They have thirty three days left.

Reaching Through the Mirror - totally weird but so?? good??

The one where Party Poison and Basement!Gerard have sex.

James Cameron Got it Wrong - part 2 ^^

In which 2005!Frank and Fun Ghoul get it on. Then Frank accidentally winds up in 2019.

Catholic!Frank and Artist!Gerard Not!Fic - w a url like mine, u had to expect at least one Catholic Frank fic on this list

I’m working on another story where teenage Frank is like, “Man, fuck the Catholic church for telling me I’m not supposed to like cock.” And while writing it, I got this image in my head of a different Frank, a Frank who, like, really had faith in God and who was struggling to be the kind of person the church would approve of.I tried writing it, but quickly realized that it was just way too big for me. Like, if I actually tried to do it justice it would take me years, and I don’t really have that sort of work ethic. So it became a not!fic. Yay?

Ain’t Nobody Gonna Love You Like The Devil Do - lol another one

Frank is a good, God-fearing Catholic boy, and then Gerard happens. Gerard is the most interesting person he’s ever met, arriving in Frank’s small town with late nights and illicit booze and odd, disturbing nightmares trailing in his wake, and before long, Frank finds himself questioning the things he thought he knew.

Against the Works of the Flesh - *dj khaled voice* anotha one

Frank Iero is the gay teenager who, after coming out to his Catholic family, faces trouble in finding himself and fitting in. He will find himself, though, through Father Way.

The Chasing of Moons - same author as the first one i listed

The biggest dilemma in all of this is that Frank slept with his future husband. Now Frank’s just got to make sure that the future with him stays intact, but it’s not so easy when present day Gerard seems to hate his guts.

Can Never Wrong this Right - i dont have words to explain how amazing this fic is

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.

Fuck and Run - the most recent fic i read, SHOOK the whole time

Meaningless hookups are easier than dating when you’re a werewolf. That is, until your brother sets you up on a blind date with someone you’ve already *ahem* ‘seen’ before.

Public Enemy - these ones set in the past are so cool cant lie

In 1932, Gerard Way has been making a name for himself robbing banks up and down New Jersey. Frank Iero, analyst for J. Edgar Hoover’s Division of Investigation, is determined to catch him.

A Case of Unknown Identity - another one by the author of the first one

Frank is a teenager with only a few friends, one of whom is a charismatic guy who is just like Frank. He might even be falling for the guy, but the only problem is that he’s just a username on a website without a face or a name. The guy goes by ‘Watchman’ and he’s perfect in Frank’s eyes, he doesn’t even need to meet him to know he’s amazing. Frank also deals with bullies which makes it hard for him to hold onto friends, but things start to become better after he befriends the antisocial kid Mikey, and realizes that Watchman might just go to his school. Watchman might also know a little more about Frank than he’s letting on.

#asks #attentionreader #long post //#fics

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dskid · 7 years ago

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memeghan answer me every single question from the overwatch thing

YES it’s all under the cut!

1. Who is your defense main?

junkrat! my sweet baby boy

2. Who is your support main?

lucio

3. Who is your offense main?

reaper

4. Who is your tank main?

d.va

5. Who is you MAIN main?

junkrat RIP

6. Which character have you played the least?

mei or ana,,, i never play them if i can help it tbh

7. Which character do you want to learn how to play?

MCCREE, genji, hanzo, widow, tracer

8. Which character do you dislike the most?

HANZO I HATE HANZO SM as a character… but hes fun to play and im >:- (

9. Which character’s background story do you like the most?

genji, reaper, or mccree definitely!!

10. Which character’s background story do you like the least?

idk really, just the bland ones :’- )

11. Which map is your favorite?

i love hanamura and it’s not just because genji….. i just. really love hanamura

12. Which map is your least favorite?

lijiang tower >:- ( it sucks and i hate it

13. What Arcade game type is your favorite?

mystery heroes or honestly 3v3′s !!

14. What Arcade game type is your least favorite?

total mayhem is Terrible tbh

15. Do you prefer quick play, competitive, arcade mode, or custom games?

i love quick play the most! it’s fun and u can dick around without consequence (though i prefer winning to. Not winning)

16. Which map type is your favorite? Assault, escort, assault & escort, control, or arena?

assault or control maps are my favs !! escort is fine but control? good shit dude

17. Which map type is your least favorite? Assault, escort, assault & escort, control, or arena?

assault and escort are :- / but u know

18. Which event map was your favorite?

idk if it counts as an event map since it’s still here but i love all the new elimination maps!

19. Which event map reskin was your favorite?

winter wonderland!

20. Which event was your favorite?

i didnt get to play it but junkenstein’s revenge? or the uprising event bc BLACKWATCH REYES’S VOICE I NUT

21. Which event legendary skin was your favorite?

i nut for all of the blackwatch skins

22. Which event was your least favorite?

cant say!

23. Which event legendary skin was your least favorite?

ROADHOG’S YEAR OF THE ROOSTER SKIN SUCKS and it scares me

24. Which event non-legendary skin was your favorite?

genji’s sparrow skin makes me NUT

25. Which event non-legendary skin was your least favorite?

all of the piss yellow skins

26. Which event item do you most regret not getting?

genji’s and mccree’s dance emotes :’- ( i want them so bad

27. Did you beat the Uprising event on Normal, Hard, Expert, and Legendary?

couldnt play it aaaahahaha

28. Do you have Sombra’s “Power Outage” achievement?

NOPE

29. Do you have Widowmaker’s “Smooth as Silk” achievement?

nope

30. Do you have Lucio’s “The Floor is Lava” achievement?

nope :’- )

31. Do you have Zenyatta’s “Rapid Discord” achievement?

n o pe,

32. What was the first achievement you got?

i think it was the one u get for getting a quad kill with junkrat’s rip tyre

33. Did you get the “Not A Scratch,” achievement on Junkenstein’s Revenge?

34. What has been the hardest achievement to get for you?

any of the ones for the pixel sprays bc the pixel sprays make me nut

35. What’s your current SR score in Competitive Mode?

i dont play comp

36. What the highest you’ve been in Competitive?

37. What’s the most amount of placement matches you’ve won?

38. How many gold guns do you have?

0 aha but i want junkrat’s so people know im annoying

39. Which was the first gold gun you got?

NONE

40. Whose gold gun do you currently want?

junkrat’s!

41. What role do you usually play in Competitive?

JDAFSDLK

42. If you don’t play Competitive, why not?

too intense? and im honestly not that good at ovw so my team would carry me the whole time and it would be :- (

43. What kind of theme event would you like to see in the future?

i just want to play junkenstein’s revenge dude

44. What type of character would you like to see in the future?

A NEW HEALER

45. Who needs more (or better) skins in the future?

REAPER and basically all my faves except genji cause hes good

46. What country would you like a new character to come from?

i dont really care,,,,,,

47. Favorite voice line?

“hear me baby?” - torbjorn

48. Favorite player icon?

GOLDEN PACHIMARI but i have goldrat rn

49. Favorite emote?

all of the dance emotes but roadhog’s and junkrat’s are my faves cause they HIGH FIVE

50. Favorite spray?

THE ONE WHERE THE KID? IS PUNCHING? AND HE LOOKS RLY UNCOMFORTABLE

51.Favorite victory pose?

uhh idk! i love basically all of them tbh but reaper’s shrug probably? i love reaper

52. Favorite highlight intro?

D.VA’S SELFIE INTRO

53. Characters you ship the most?

mcgenji and roadrat 8- )

54. Characters you ship the least?

aside from bad ships™, meihem and mercyhog are both Rly Bad in my opinion, along with gency and mercykill (both very bad)

55. Characters you wish had more in-game interactions?

FUCKign…. mccree and genji…… and if reaper and doomfist dont have a lot of interactions those two also

56. Character you wish had a comic about?

i want hanzo and genji to have their own individual comics or one together about their childhood

57. Favorite comic released?

the junkers going legit comic

58. Favorite short released?

DRAGONS cause im a ho for genji

59. Favorite new character released?

doomfist

60. Overwatch, Blackwatch, or Talon?

BLACKWATCH I LOVE MY BOYS

61. Pro-Omnic or anti-Omnic?

pro-omnic but only for zenyatta…… im love him

62. Favorite character that isn’t a playable one? (Ex: Emily, Brigitte, Gerard, Efi, etc.)

gerard or efi probably? theyre both v good

63. Character change (nerf, boost, work around) that you liked the most?

roadhog going faster and having more bullets

64. Character change (nerf, boost, work around) you liked the least?

i cant fuckign hook anyone anymore

65. Best ultimate?

i love d.va’s nerf this but i can never position it right,,,, and i love rip tyre

66. Worst ultimate?

widow’s is the most useless tbh

67. Most kills in game?

never enough :’- ) 41 tho

68. Most heals in game?

10,520

69. What character do you think needs a nerf?

SYMMETRA i hate playing against her >:- ( her beam takes no skill to use and also winston’s beam needs to heck off

70. What character do you think needs a buff?

reinhardt… give the man a range…..

71. Have you ever rage quit in the middle of a game?

nope i only leave games early if i have to do something else irl or if my internet goes out

72. What’s the fastest you’ve won a game?

like……… 1:10

73. What’s the fastest you’ve lost a game?

i forget it probably wasnt too far off from 1:00 - 1:20 tho

74. Your best Overwatch-related story?

UMM idk ! all the skirmishes where the enemy team dances with me and stuff r lit and when people have the low grav parties with me on horizon lunar colony it’s also lit

75. Weirdest thing that happened to you on Overwatch?

nothing weird really happens to me in ovw tbh…

76. Platform you play on?

PC!

77. Do you stream?

nope

78. Do you normally play solo or with friends?

i try to play with friends more than i do solo but i will solo sometimes

79. Have you made any friends because of Overwatch?

MADDY!! and u and kelly and rose!

80. Have you cosplayed a character from Overwatch?

no but i really want to cosplay young / sparrow genji really fuckgin bad

81. Have you ever wrote fan fiction about Overwatch?

im in… the process……

82. What’s the lowest you’ve been in Competitive?

i dont play comp

83. In “All Brawls,” if you get “Charge!” do you play Reinhardt or do you pick the Lucio role?

i missed these

84. In “All Brawls,” if you get “One Shot, One Kill,” do you play Ana, Hanzo, or Widowmaker?

i missed these

85. In “All Brawls,” if you get “This is Ilios,” do you pick Lucio or Roadhog?

i missed these

86. Team Genji or Team Hanzo?

GENJI HANZO DESERVES NOTHING AND HE SUCKS

87. Be honest! Do you usually get on the payload?

yes! im always the one calling for people to get on it tbh

88. Does your team?

not usually :’- )

89. What’s the longest session of Overwatch you’ve played?

when i first got it…… ive played it for a solid 6 hours in a row with no breaks bc i suck

90. No Limits, Mystery Heroes, or Total Mayhem?

mystery heroes definitely

91.Most cosmetics you have for one character?

i think i have the most for mercy but i cant remember?

92. Least cosmetics you have for one character?

symmetra

93. Have you ever made your own custom game?

only to practice playing genji

94. Best D.Va skin?

CRUISER, junebug, or carbon fiber

95. Best Mercy skin?

the witch one

96. Best Tracer skin?

roses

97. Zarya’s Industrial and Cybergoth skins: yes, no, or HELL NO?

eeh

98. Do you want more animal character, robot characters, or human characters?

human characters (theyre easier to draw and im a Weenie when it comes to drawing mechs / robots)

99. Is there are character you’d get rid of completely?

hanzo bc i hate him or sym bc i cant play against her no matter how hard i try

100. What do you think Sombra’s real name is?

something really pretty………. idk what exactly………….. but something just Real Good

#pm5k #overwatch #answered #shut up meghan #meghan.txt

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ssv-raven · 8 years ago

Text

Do you want to feel? Part II

Eh going to try and continue this. Widowmaker learns of Lena’s relationship with Emily and remembering what was done to Amelie resolves to keep Emily safe from Talon.

Part I Part III Part IV

Widowmaker walked through the halls of one of Talon's many bases. She had just completed another battery of psychological examinations. It seemed that they were being administered with a greater frequency than usual but she dismissed this as paranoia. If Talon thought that their grip over her was slipping they could easily bring her in and wipe her mind again. Besides, she had a purpose for being at this particular Talon facility. She was here to ask a favor.

Turning a corner Widowmaker became apprehensive. This favor could have severe reprecussions late on. But what choice did she have? She would not allow Talon to repeat what was done to Amelie Lacroix. Never again. Arriving at her destination Widowmaker took a deep breath and opened the door in front of her.

Walking into the darkened room Widowmaker saw who she was looking for, Sombra. Perhaps the greatest hacker on the planet, Sombra was incredibly dangerous and Widowmaker knew better than to underestimate her. She also knew that Sombra was not really loyal to Talon and was unsure about where the hacker's loyalties really lay. The uncertainty made Widowmaker nervous.

Looking up from half dozen purple holographic screens Sombra smiled. "My favorite spider! What brings you here?"

Widowmaker blinked, what had she been thinking? Talon already held her by a leash and she was about to put on a second and hand it right to Sombra.

"Hey Azul you doing all right?"

"Oui. Sombra I... I need to ask -"

Sombra raised a hand stopping Widowmaker from continuing. She brought up an additional three screens tapping away for a moment. Finishing she looked back to Widowmaker "Lo siento amiga Talon has a habit of eavesdropping on personal conversations."

Widowmaker nodded in thanks. This was certainly one conversation she did not want Talon to know about.

"This about the psych and other tests you're doing araña? You looking to fool their equipment and records?"

Widowmaker let out a short bitter laugh at that. Of course Sombra had noticed the influence that Amelie was having. "Non. But my emotions are a part of this. I... I need a favor." At this Sombra perked up. She had the look of a predator that had just found the perfect prey. Well information is her weapon, Widowmaker thought. "You are aware of how I was made?"

The predatory look in Sombra's eyes vanished, replaced with something that almost looked like fear. "The process itself? Sí. Beyond that? I have not looked into it."

Widowmaker nodded. "Not a pleasant experience. But the process is not exactly why I am here." She started pacing. When had that become a habit? She wasn't sure. "The person that underwent the initial procedure was a woman named Amelie Lacroix. She was chosen because she was married to Gerard Lacroix, a large thorn in Talon's side. The pair themselves were careless, spending large amounts of their time together in public. That was how Talon found her." Widowmaker paused, worried about what Sombra might demand of her in exchange for what she was preparing to ask. "Now you of course know of my... fixation with Tracer yes?"

Sombra snorted "Amiga you are very lucky that most of the people at Talon are idiots. Yes I am aware of how you toy with her when you fight." She grinned "The spider looking for a date?"

Shaking her head Widowmaker gave Sombra a sad smile. "I do not think that she is available at the moment." Why was she sad about this? Tracer was important to Amelie but why? Widowmaker couldn't remember. "No I am not currently interested in her but her companion."

Sombra raised an eyebrow "I don't judge araña but what are you asking for?"

Widowmaker looked down. She could feel her emotions rising. She tried to concentrate but her mind was being filled with memories of Amelie's transformation into Widowmaker. "I can't let... me happen again." she said bitterly.

Realizing what Widowmaker was saying Sombra looked away from her. When the sniper had started discussing her creation Sombra had thought she was going to ask for the names of those responsible for the procedures. And that she might learn that Sombra herself had had a role in what happened to Amelie. But instead it looked as if Widowmaker was being eaten by fear at the prospect of someone else undergoing the same procedures. This was completely unexpected. "So," Sombra began slowly "you are asking me to hide this girl from Talon? Make sure that she never appears on surveillance footage, pictures and any other electronics that Talon can access?"

Swallowing, Widowmaker nodded. "I know that you deal primarily in information and blackmail. I am afraid that I have little to offer you besides the skills that Talon gave me." Her mind was filling with the memories of Talon's tortures. Not now Amelie, please. "You could always use the threat of having Talon wipe me again to keep me doing favors for you." Widowmaker's voice was hollow, she could almost visualize herself handing Sombra a leash. "Just please I ask that you do what you can to keep the girl safe."

Completely unexpected. Sombra had rarely seen Widowmaker vulnerable, she was usually so cold and composed. Had Sombra not been present she would have had difficulty believing that the conversation occurring was real. What was also surprising and hurt a little was that the sniper seemed to view Sombra as being like Talon, a powerful actor that was only interested in exploiting Widowmaker.

Sombra looked at Widowmaker and felt guilty. She had wanted to work with Talon in order to gain access to their technology and resources. Her first job had been finding information about an Overwatch agent, Gerard Lacroix. Sombra had discovered the existence of Amelie Lacroix and informed Talon that their best chance of reaching Gerard would be through his wife. That job resulted in the woman in front of her being constantly used and abused by people in power. It should not have bothered the hacker. But seeing Widowmaker day in and day out constantly afraid of being wiped again by Talon and knowing that it was because of her actions had made Sombra care.

The least that Sombra could do after so thoroughly ruining Widowmaker's life was this favor. Widowmaker also deserved at least a small explanation with a reassurance that Sombra would not exploit her in the way that Talon does.

"Araña you are not a power broker. You do not control the way the world turns. Sure you might kill a certain person and influence events but that isn't for your own benefit." Sombra sighed "You might hate to hear it but in all of this you are a victim. The powerful have used and shaped you for your whole life. I will do this for you but I will not exploit you as they have."

Widowmaker stood there in stunned silence. She did not know what she was expecting but it wasn't this. She had been so sure that Sombra would keep all of this information. That it would be used to extract service after service from Widowmaker indefinitely. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief. "Merci Sombra."

Several weeks had passed before Widowmaker could return to London. Sombra had been incredibly helpful in finding and keeping all digital evidence of Tracer and Emily, they learned her name was, from Talon's reach. But how was Widowmaker going to convince Emily that she needed to be more careful when with Tracer? How would she convince Tracer that she had to be more careful with Emily? Being a world class sniper and assassin didn't exactly equip her to discuss such things with people that were supposed to be her enemies.

Widowmaker had hoped that Amelie's voice might have given her some insight as to what to do but she had remained silent. The only hint of her that Widowmaker could identify was a slightly amused feeling. You're a big help, she thought annoyed.

On her way she had concluded that Emily had to be taught some form of self defense specifically tailored to defending against Talon. Widowmaker could not watch over her all the time and any other means of keeping Emily safe would involve telling other people about her. That would just increase the likelihood of Talon discovering her existence. So self defense training would have to do. Such training would not be able to stop a competent Talon agent but it would give the girl time to get away and inform Overwatch.

Amelie's buried personality had seemed to approve of this plan. Widowmaker had gathered that Amelie believed teaching someone and watching them successfully learn would give her a sense of pride. Widowmaker had her doubts but Amelie seemed to know what would cause a pleasant emotional response even with Talon's muting.

Arriving at the address that she had seen Tracer and Emily return to, and Sombra confirmed, Widowmaker took a deep breath. This is not going to go well, she thought to herself. Slipping into the building had been easy enough but actually entering the flat without causing a commotion with its current occupant?

Reaching the door she wanted Widowmaker sighed. The things I do to feel. She knocked on the door and waited.

The door opened to reveal the same red haired girl Widowmaker had seen Tracer with. She froze in the doorway clearly recognizing who Widowmaker was.

"Bonjour" Widowmaker said awkwardly.

Emily spun on her heels sprinting back into the flat and towards her phone.

Merde. I hope you are happy about this, Widowmaker thought darkly. The only response from Amelie was that same sensation of amusement.

Quickly following the girl Widowmaker stopped her from reaching the phone. Emily began to struggle as Widowmaker tried to calm her down.

"Please, please stop this" she said lamely at a complete loss of what to do. Care to offer any advice? But Amelie's voice stayed silent. Wonderful.

Emily had opened her mouth to scream. Widowmaker sighed and reached up to cover the girl's mouth. Emily's eyes went wide as her scream was stopped before it could begin.

"Emily" Widowmaker said firmly, forcing the girl look her in the eyes. "I am not here to harm you. Do you understand?"

Emily didn't move and just stared back into the purple assassin's eyes, clearly afraid.

Sighing again Widowmaker spoke as gently as she could "Listen I am going to let you go so that we can talk. But you have to keep quiet, understood?"

Eyes still wide, Emily nodded slowly.

"Bien"

Walking over to a chair Widowmaker motioned for Emily to sit across from her on the couch. While still nervous Emily seemed to calm down slightly at being released. Sitting down her nervous expression changed to one of defiance. "If you're after Lena I won't ever help you find her"

A small pang of pity and sadness rose past Talon's muting and into Widowmaker's mind. Of course the first thing the girl would say is exactly the reasoning behind Amelie being taken by Talon and what Widowmaker wanted to prevent from happening again.

Widowmaker gave a hollow chuckle "Believe it or not that is precisely what I hope to avoid."

Emily frowned not understanding or believing what she had heard.

"Are you familiar with a woman by the name of Amelie Lacroix?" Widowmaker asked.

Emily seemed to be debating giving any answer at all but eventually responded "I've heard of a Gerard Lacroix before." She gave Widowmaker a smug grin "Heard he managed to really make life difficult for the people that you work for."

The corner of Widowmaker's mouth twitched into a small smile. The attempt to get under her skin reminded her of how Tracer was constantly talking and spouting small insults during their fights. "Yes he was a well respected and decorated Overwatch agent. Amelie Lacroix was his wife. They lived very happily together much like you and Tracer seem to."

"You've been watching us?" Emily asked her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Yes I have." Widowmaker's eyes also narrowed but with anger not suspicion "And the two of you have been incredibly foolish." Emily faltered slightly under Widowmaker's glare but remained defiant. "Do you know what happened to Gerard and Amelie Lacroix?"

Emily shook her head no.

"They're both dead. As you said, Gerard was a real thorn in Talon's side. He survived attempt after attempt Talon made on his life. So do you know what was done to get to him?"

Again Emily shook her head.

"Talon decided to focus on his wife instead. They learned about her because, like you, they spent far too much time together out in public where anyone could see them." Widowmaker paused and could feel the same anger she felt when first spotting the couple begin to rise again. Amelie had been close to Lena. The least that cheerful annoyance could do was learn from what happened to Amelie.

Emily was still staring at Widowmaker but her expression had changed to one of curiosity. She had heard Lena speak of the Talon sniper before. Widowmaker was perhaps the greatest sniper and assassin in the world. But apparently she had a slight soft spot for Lena. At least Lena had said that when they fought it was always more of a game than anything. Emily was still scared of the assassin who was obviously dangerous but was becoming increasingly curious about her motives for showing up.

Widowmaker stood up and began to pace. This is becoming a bad habit, she thought to herself. "Amelie Lacroix was taken by Talon and subjected to torture and brainwashing. She was eventually recovered by Overwatch but the damage had already been done. Within a few weeks Talon's brainwashing caused her to kill Gerard, her own husband." Widowmaker turned to face Emily. "That is what I am hoping to prevent from happening again."

"And why would you want to do that?" Curiosity was really getting to Emily. Was Widowmaker saying that she was here to try and protect Emily from Talon?

Widowmaker stopped pacing thinking for a moment. "It is... a very personal matter. What was done to Amelie Lacroix was... extreme. And I do not approve of what occurred." Memories of the tortures done to Amelie began to fill Widowmaker's mind. Not now. She began rubbing her temples. I don't want to remember that now.

Emily began to get up unsure of what to do. "Um... Widowmaker? Are... are you all right?"

Widowmaker's shoulders seemed to drop slightly. "I am functional." she replied mechanically. She was confused. Why did this girl care? Did normal people always care how others were doing? "It is unimportant. You obviously do not have any self defense training whatsoever." Emily blushed at this. "That must be fixed."

"Uh hold on" Emily didn't really like where this was going. "What do you mean by that needing to be fixed?"

"It means that I will teach you basic self defense designed to counter Talon training."

"That isn't really necessary is it?"

The look that Widowmaker made was the closest to exasperated that she could manage. But her expression quickly changed. Emily thought it looked like she was in pain. "You need to understand that Talon is ruthless, Emily. They find and exploit weaknesses. Tracer is the face of Overwatch. She is a symbol. Talon will eventually target her because of that. And if they cannot reach her directly they will try to get to her through you."

"I understand it's just that..." the idea of learning self defense from the infamous Widowmaker was uncomfortable at best. She also didn't trust Widowmaker.

Widowmaker turned to Emily and fixed the girl with her complete attention. Emily shuddered, it was terrifying to be under the sniper's intense scrutiny. "I apologize, I do not approve of taking away a person's ability to choose, but you need to be more careful and that begins with learning to defend yourself. I have taken other precautions but this is something you need to do if you want to avoid what happened to Amelie and Gerard Lacroix."

The next thing Emily knew she was being pinned to the ground by Widowmaker. After Widowmaker stopped her from letting out a scream Emily was given explanations on how to counter and escape such a situation.

Hours later Emily flopped down on her bed, her body sore and completely exhausted. Widowmaker had only just left after telling Emily to practice what they had gone over. Emily muttered curses into her bed thinking of how hard Widowmaker had made her work. But her annoyance was quickly replaced by confusion as she realized that the world's deadliest assassin had just been in her home and left her unharmed. Well mostly unharmed, Emily thought as her muscles screamed.

Thinking back to everything Widowmaker had said, Emily shuddered. She was curious but also scared about what Talon must have done to Amelie Lacroix to cause Widowmaker to come and try to protect Emily. Groaning as her muscles burned Emily decided to ask Lena about Amelie Lacroix. Maybe Lena could shed some light on why Widowmaker was so concerned with what happened to the Lacroixs.

#amelie lacroix #widowmaker #sombra #widowtracily #widowtracer #implied lena and amelie were close anyway #lemon tea #the cavalry's queer #lena oxton #tracer #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #emily #lenily

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