#prtygoth

[deadsetromance]

IN THE WEE SMALL HOURS OF THE MORNING

(not my gif!)

gerard way x gn!reader

summary: he's your roommate...but maybe he's more than that.

warnings: unedited writing, fluff, no use of [y/n]

note: so sorry i haven't posted in forever! i have a few requests and a few more half-complete drafts, so hopefully those should be up soon <3

you supposed there were worse roommates out there. actually, thinking about it, you realized how lucky you were.

you got along really well with your roommate, gerard. he’d been sharing an apartment for nearly two years now, and you were sure you knew him better than you knew yourself.

you know he forgets to take the coffee pods out of the keurig, and sometimes he leaves the heater running for too long.

you don’t think you’ve ever seen him sleep. sometimes you wonder if he’s a vampire or something, what with the scribbling coming from his room at all hours of the night.

to be fair… you’re hardly any better. you sleep little more than he does, when you do fall asleep it’s usually on the couch, and you leave the television on all the time.

you’re incredibly lucky, you realize. lucky that he’s as sweet as he is, bringing you coffee in the mornings, and stopping by your job on his commute. he’s even slipped a few drawings your way. some are drawings of you, others are silly little doodles he gives you when you’re having a bad day. sometimes, he’ll show you characters for the comics he’s working on, asking for your input.

you realize that you’re lucky that he’s so helpful, that he’s not a creep, that you both get along so well. you’re lucky that you’ve found a friend who will sit and watch television reruns with you when neither of you can fall asleep.

that’s why you slip a record under his door one night. you don’t know if he even likes sinatra, but you give it to him anyway. there’s no special occasion really, you just thought of him when you found in the wee small hours in the record store you visited. you don’t sign your name on the post it you stuck to it. all you write is “from one insomniac to another”. you feel embarrassed for some reason you can’t place, and something slithers in your stomach. maybe you shouldn’t have given it to him…maybe he doesn’t like sinatra. it’s too late now though, it’s already done.

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎

it’s late one night…or early, depending on how you look at it. you’re tired, whatever movie you were watching forgotten and on mute. you can hear gerard milling around in the kitchen, you can smell the coffee he’s brewing. you’re tired, but you can’t fall asleep.

“thanks for the record” gerard called from the kitchen. ���i really liked it”

you smile, one of those hazy tired smiles, the kind you do when you’re between being awake and asleep. “i didn’t know if you liked sinatra, i hope it’s ok”

you miss the way he grins at you, too busy yawning.

“it’s great i actually…” he walked off in the middle of his sentence, a habit you’d noticed he had, only to come back with the disk in his hands. “do you mind?”

it didn’t matter if you said no, he already turned to put it on, smiling back at you as he dropped the needle to the record.

“what are we watching?” he asked, sitting next to you on the couch. close enough to be touching you, but still far enough to give you space. it’s like a paradox, you think, but then you tell yourself to shut up. you’re too tired to know what you’re talking about.

“i dunno, i stopped paying attention.” your eyes flit to the movie playing on the television, watching the car chase for a moment before turning your attention back to him. “you’re going to keep yourself up all night drinking coffee this late.” you might have frowned at him if you weren’t too busy beaming.

he knew you were teasing, you could tell by the glint in his eye. “i just need a few finishing touches on my project and then i’m done.”

you didn’t say anything more for a while, taking a moment to take everything in. the record playing softly in the background as you curled closer to gerard. his head resting on yours as you listened to his breathing, memorizing the pace of his heart.

it’s quiet…intimate, and you’re tired. tired and happy.

“you tired?” he questions softly.

“a little,” you don’t know why you’re whispering.

“do you work tomorrow?”

“yeah, i open,” you groan, rubbing your eyes. you think you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head, but you don’t want to get your hopes up.

it’s quiet again, though this time it’s too quiet. you’re left with thoughts of gerard running through your head, and you wish that one of you would say something. you should be ashamed, you scold yourself, thinking of him the way you do when he’s sitting right next to you.

“what are you thinking about?” he prods gently. he’s soft with you, the way he always is, careful not to overstep with his questions.

“nothing really,” you lie, because you’d rather not risk what comfort you have now. “what are you thinking about?”

it seems like he didn’t expect the question to be turned back on him. he hesitates, and the silence is thick…too thick. his face is illuminated by the light from the tv, and he looks nervous. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look quite as terrified as he does now. the lighting shifts, and he’s blanketed in darkness again, but you notice something change in his eyes.

“i think i love you” he whispers against your ear.

you feel like you can’t breathe. you think you heard him wrong. you’re worried this is all a dream, a good dream, the kind that would leave you reeling when you wake up.

you want to hear him say it again.

you lean your head back against his shoulder, and he breathes out with a shudder. you watch the explosions on tv as your hand finds his. “i love you too.”

that’s it then, everything is out in the open. maybe you’re tired, but you sigh gently as he cups your face in his hands. thinking back, you can’t exactly pinpoint when your feelings for him changed, but you suppose it doesn’t matter now. he loves you and you love him. it’s surprisingly simple.

“can i…?” he doesn’t need to finish his question as you lean in closer to him. his breath is warm, and he smells like coffee and sleepless nights, and you’re waiting for him. your eyes are closed as you breathe him in, and they stay that way as he kisses you softly.

he’s…soft, softer than you imagine, and you can’t help but smile.

in the wee small hours of the morning, he is yours, and you are his.

[dutchwinter]

Life Is Not a Whisper, a zine about the band Circa Survive, is now available on Issuu! if you would like the pdf i can dm it to you on discord, just ask. this zine was made possible by everyone tagged under the cut <3 thank you

@kal-thas @actingappalled @openquotes @smallest-of-the-kids @blood-injections @b1ack-bat-belt-buckle @rememberthelaughtermp3 @bigenderanthony @prtygoth @ifeltfree @decimatethestars @tuckerrule @thorninyourpaw

[prtygoth]

tumblr user prtygoth be normal about anthony green challenge GO‼️

[prtygoth]

cmtryghoul -> prtygoth

[deadsetromance]

GRAVEHEAD

(not my gif!)

party poison x gn!reader

summary: while waking up to a group of hostile killjoys is scary, what’s even scarier is the fact that you have no idea where to go next

warnings: general violence, mentions of death, slightly ooc, language, non-edited writing.

note:  here’s part two! writers block was a bitch, but i think this is as good as it’s going to get, so i’m happy with it :) keep an eye out for the final part!

1 | 2 | 3

there was no code of honor in the zones, no honor amongst thieves. this meant that the man in front of you could shoot you if he really wanted to. you knew that some killjoys were trigger-happy, shooting before anyone could say a word. you hoped this wouldn’t end like that. 

the sound of your heart pumping in your ears made you dizzy. there weren’t many possible outcomes–you either lived or died–and the longer you waited for something to happen, the more you were sure you would be dead. 

you were more than surprised when he slowly, slowly, angled the blaster away from your face. it wasn’t set aside yet, and they kept it in their hand just in case, but it wasn’t as much of a threat. still, you didn’t dare move even the slightest bit, and you kept your focus trained on the gun.

his eyes were fiery as he questioned you. “what are you doing in here?”

maybe it was because you hadn’t been shot yet, or even the events of the night before that left you stunned.

“i asked you a question. what the hell are you doing here?” he jabbed the blaster in your direction as he repeated his question. his finger danced on the trigger, leaving you no choice but to answer. 

“i- i was looking for shelter, and i thought this place was empty…” you held your breath, waiting…“‘m not looking for trouble, honest.” 

the group was unreadable, their masks staring unblinkingly at you. what if they didn’t believe you? what if they didn’t care? what if…. your life balanced on a series of what-ifs. but all your worries couldn’t prepare you for what happened next. 

what if they let you go?

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ 

the one with the curly hair was the first to approach you. he passed you a can of power pup, a wet rag, and even offered to bandage your shoulder. you hadn’t realized you'd been shot. he treated you (and your wound) with a smile, before leaving you alone in a booth.

they had already started eating by the time you had cleaned yourself up, but they had left an empty seat for you at the table. whether they let you sit with them out of pity, or acceptance you weren’t sure. you sat with them anyway.

“where’s your crew?” the one with the tattoos asked, halfway through his can of power pup. you hadn’t touched yours yet.

“sorry?” you weren’t able to process the question before the group made hearty sounds of curious agreement.

“where’s your crew? d’they know where you are?” he was beaming with curiosity, and it made you feel sick. should you lie to him? make him think that you have somewhere to be?

“uh…they were dusted in a firefight. last night actually.” the table fell silent and you pushed your food around.

“oh..”

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ 

they didn’t talk to you much after you told them what had happened. they kept to themselves, shooting pitiful looks your way, and whispering amongst themselves. 

you sat on the counter, watching the curly one–who you learned was called jet star–flip through a magazine.  

“what zone am i…are we in?” you asked, looking up from the blaster in your lap.

“we're smack in the middle of zone six. ‘bout as safe as the zones can get, ‘cause dracs don’t bother to come all the way out here.” 

“six?…er, how far is route guano from here?” 

“’s about an hour's drive south from this place. it’ll take longer on foot though,” he said, turning to look at you with concerned eyes “why’d you ask?”

“don’t want to spend too much time in one place. plus i figure it’s best if i get out of your hair…”

“it’s getting late and it’s not an easy walk. you’d never make it before sundown, and walking at night is a death sentence.” you frowned at what he said, but you knew he was right. “kobra probably could've driven ya, but the cars busted.”

“oh…”

you were about to speak again when someone called for him. “hey jet, i gotta transmission for you from dr. d!”

“shit!” 

and so you were alone again.

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ 

the sunset was pretty, the sky painted brilliant shades of orange and red. you had a perfect view from your spot on the front steps of the diner. 

you heard someone walking up to the door, “hey…mind if i sit?” it was the redhead–party poison–standing in the doorway.

“go for it,” you smiled awkwardly, shuffling over to make room on the stairs.

“hey, i’m sorry for earlier. it’s just…strange when you come back from a supply run and a ‘joy you’ve never seen before is covered in blood, asleep in a booth.” 

“naw…it’s alright. no hard feelings or anything.” you knew you would have done the same thing if there was an unfamiliar killjoy in your hideout. that’s just how things worked.

“oh okay… ‘m sorry about what happened to your crew. do you-what happened?” his question seemed innocent, and you knew he was trying to help. but your mind flashed back to the swarm of dracs, laser beams, and the screams of your friends. it was too much for you to think about, and you looked down at the sand as your grief washed over you. 

“i can’t really remember… we pulled over to check out a satellite, and all of a sudden we were swarmed. few of ‘em made it to the car and got out, but they left me n’ the others. it’s really just a blur….”

you didn’t speak for a while after. instead, you both sat pressed up against each other listening to the sound of the wind whip against the sand. 

party poison spoke up again, as the last light began to fade from the sky. “jet told me that you were asking for directions to route guano?”   

“oh, uh yeah,” you didn’t think he’d ask, nor that jet star would have told him. wouldn’t they have wanted you to leave sooner? “i didn’t want to overstay my welcome. the sooner i leave you guys alone the better y’know?”

“hey, it’s no problem. i mean killjoys gotta help each other out,” they shrugged, acting almost like he offered his hospitality to every wayward killjoy he found. “and anyway, if…if you wanted to join our crew, you’re welcome to. i mean you lost your group and all.”

you were silent for a moment, not knowing what to say. he seemed genuine…but still, you knew your crew was out there. “i-i don’t want to be too much trouble. i think i’ll just stay for the night, and make a break for the highway tomorrow.”

“where will you go?”

shit. you hadn’t thought that far ahead. “i dunno. could try to hitch a ride from someone, and go on a ghost hunt lookin’ for the others. maybe i’ll ride solo for a little while.” 

the surprise on his face was evident. and you understood why. 

killjoys didn’t live long. they had a life expectancy of three years once they made it out of battery city. if they were lucky.

lone killjoys–those who were reckless enough to go it alone, or those who had given up–hardly made it for half of that. without a crew, a killjoy riding solo was as good as dead.

“be careful,” he said, pushing up off the stairs, and heading back inside the diner. 

“i’ll try.” with one last look over your shoulder, you followed him. 

you’d be gone by the morning.