#Gerard Way this is mostly (all) your fault

[sixteenthtry]

Getting into My Chemical Romance accidentally Pavlov dogged me into having a smoking kink. I swear to God you can't make this shit up, I need to be put down for real this time.

[theconstantsidekick]

Lit Cigarettes (Part 2)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x BestFriend!Reader, Damon Salvatore x Stefan Salvatore x Sister!Reader (these are the main ones, there are too many others to tag) Genre: Fluffy angst

Summary: While Sam berates Dean for his choice of very pathetic reply, Y/n tells her brothers about said pathetic reply.

(Set after the events of Supernatural season 4 and yes, Y/n's dated a bunch of TVD characters.)

a/n: The two conversations are happening parallel-y, hope that makes sense?

Warnings: Smoking, mentions of smoking, more romanticisation of smoking, a lot of that yes, sorry. Don't smoke kids. Semi-explicit content? IDK, there's kissing.

Part 1 is here.

It’s only when they’ve crossed the Mystic Falls border does the silence in the Impala break.

“You’re an idiot,” Sam tells him. 

The car stops abruptly. “How long have you been awake?” Dean asks, taken completely off guard.

“Long enough to call you an idiot,” Sam answers before he opens the door to the back seat, exiting the vehicle. Dean takes a second to realize that Sam’s making the walk towards the passenger seat. 

Dean pokes his head out of the window just to be petulant and screams, “THAT WAS A PRIVATE CONVERSATION, you sneaky son of a bitch!”

Rolling his eyes, Sam opens the passenger seat door and gets inside., “You really think I didn’t know about it?.”

“Know about what?” Dean asks as the dumbest dumb person to ever exist as he starts the car back up again.

Sam looks towards him, and his eyes are louder than any words can ever be. His eyes are screaming at him, calling him the dumbest guy to have ever walked the earth. But then he says, “She’s been in love with you for 15 years, and I’ve been her best friend for 14 of them. You really think I’d need to eavesdrop on your conversation to figure it out?”

Dean opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it and instead asks, “14?” He’s facing the road now, too embarrassed to face his brother.

“The first year was rough, we got off on the wrong foot,” Sam explains. “I think I was mostly just pissed at her for fawning over you like you hung the moon. Not the point. The point is, I don’t need to overhear a conversation to know that she loves you. Everyone and their mother knows that she’s in love with you.”

Dean stays silent for a second, because he doesn’t know what to say. What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? He… He doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“It was still rude, bitch,” Dean says lamely, because like he said, he doesn’t know what the fuck else to say.

Sam just laughs, without any humor but all the passive aggression in the world. “What was rude was saying—”

“He’ll pick you up on tuesday!?” Damon yells, mouth agape, hands covered in flour and sugar. 

“And what did you say to that?!” Stefan asks from where he sits on the kitchen counter, watching his brother and his adopted sister try (and fail) baking a cake for his birthday. 

“I said I’ll see him Tuesday,” Y/n answers with a magnificent amount of shame. She can see both her brothers are about to launch into an all out assault of questions, but she is categorically not in the mood. She cuts them off before they can even start. “He didn’t really give me a chance to say anything else, he just got in the car and drove off, okay?”

“Honestly, I don’t even think I can blame him,” Damon retorts, urging a cocked eyebrow from the other two Salvatores. “I blame you,” he says pointing his goop drenched whisk at her. “It’s your fault for falling in love with a NSYC reject.”

She just rolls her eyes and goes back to cleaning up the mess Damon’s creating at every step of his cake making process. “Do you really think you should be saying that? When you look like you could enter a Gerard Way Look-Alike Contest and win?”

While Damon makes the most absurd voices known to mankind (and vampire kind), Stefan just lets out a soft chuckle. “Okay, okay,” Stefan tries to calm them down. “Let’s just go over the events of the night again, shall we?”

“Can we please not?” She pleads.

Stefan carries on unfettered. “So you told Dean Winchester, the man of your dreams that you love him and he said he’ll see you Tuesday?”

She exhales audibly, “Yes… more or less. Yes. That’s how it went.”

“The fucker doesn’t deserve an announcement of love, if you ask me,” Damon counters, hands back at work, mixing the goopy and frankly probably unsalvagable cake mixture.

“That’s probably why no one asked you!” She throws back, throwing away the paper towel in the dustbin. “AAH! I just needed to say it, okay? Fifteen years is a very fucking long time to keep something like this to yourself. I needed him to know.”

“But you’d told him already, didn’t you?” Stefan counters. “Before he got dragged to hell?” She flinches at the mention of the incident—the memories are far from pleasant—but nods in agreement. “What did he say back then?”

“I know,” she tells them.

“You know what?” Damon asks, face souring at the sludge in his hands. Then he sneakily (not sneakily at all) grabs a bottle of Bourbon and empties almost half of it into the cake batter, mixing in the liquid.

“No, he said that,” she replies.

“Said what?” Stefan questions.

“He said, ‘I know’!” 

A look passes between Stefan and Damon and then Damon does the honors, “If nothing else, you gotta hand it to that Timberlake-wannabe, he’s got a great track record of having the shittiest responses to someone professing their love to him.”

“What the fuck else was I supposed to say?! I was about to be dragged to Hell!” Dean defends. “It’s not like I had the ability to focus on anything else.” He’s a fucking liar—his focus was definitely not on being dragged to hell when she said what she did. But Sam doesn’t have to know that.

“Anything, man! Literally anything else!” Sam countered, frustration evident in every single inch of his movement. And it’s always times like these, when Dean begins to think if Sam would side with him if he were to actually have a fight with her. Would Sam keep hunting with him if she decided to part way? “You are such a fucking dick!” Sam remarks. So no, probably not. He’d pick her over his brother for sure.

Dean can’t help but cower a bit at the strength of Sam’s annoyance. “I wasn’t trying to be,” he tries. “I just thought… when in doubt, Han Solo that shit, you know?”

And that apparently is the worst thing to say. “What is wrong with you, Dean? You know, you really are Dad’s son! ‘Cause my God. There’s only one other man who is so incapable of handling their emotions, and somehow, you’re even worse than him.”

Dean doesn’t appreciate the insult to their father but he lets it slide on account of Sam being really fucking angry. “Fine! If you’re so great at this chick-flick shit then tell me what should I say to her. You tell me and I’ll say it to her on Tuesday?”

“Tues—seriously?!” Sam’s veins are about to pop out, Dean thinks. The man is so fucking angry with Dean right now that he’s genuinely worried that he;s about to bust the vein on his temple. 

“What?” Dean throws back, cause actually he has no other fucking response.

“You know, I don’t even get what she sees in you. She’s crazy smart, and talented and funny. She’s so freakin’ funny!” Sam says, and Dean has to agree with all that. She really is. “There’s so many amazing people who’re just dying to get even one shot with her, and yet, she’s stuck on you!”

Dean’s jaw clenches. “Then why doesn’t she go after one of those amazing people?” 

“I don’t have a single clue,” Sam answers.

“What do you mean? She did give it a shot with one of them, didn’t she? Derek What's His Face?” Hale. Derek Hale. Dean knows his name by heart.

“Derek Hale. Yeah, Derek was pretty great,” Sam agrees, leaning back on his seat.

“Then what happened?” Dean is trying not to sound too curious about it. And if his grip tightens on the wheel, enough for his knuckles to go white, no one has to know about it.

“I’m not sure. I thought it was going great with him but she broke it off with him when we were at Stanford,” Sam tells him, eyes out on the barren road, looking so puzzled, you’d think he was talking about the mysterious phenomenon of raining toads. 

“When she dragged you to Stanford,” Dean corrects him, because as much as he'd like to know, the topic is so not his favorite. Neither is this one but it’s… It’s older and the wounds have since healed, become scars.

At his words, Sam’s confusion is gone in an instant. He sits up straighter—as straight as a giant can in a ‘67 chevy Impala. He turns to Dean with something like defense burning in his eyes. “She didn’t drag me to Stanford, Dean!”

“Yeah, right,” Dean brushes it off. “You and I both know, that’s some horseshit. She went there and you wanted to follow her, like you always did.”

“No. Dean,” Sam calls his name in a way that urges him to turn. Once he does, Sam continues, “I didn’t follow her to Stanford. I—I didn’t go to Stanford for her, she went to Stanford for me!”

“What?”

“Dude, she was the valedictorian. She got into 20 different Pre-Med programs, and at least 12 of them were better than Stanford. She just went there cause she knew I wanted to go,” Sam word hit Dean like a tonne of bricks. “And well,” Sam turns back to look at the road again. “She also kinda went there for you.”

“For me?” The fuck is that supposed to mean?

Sam sighs before he says, “She thought that maybe if she were there it would be easier on you cause you’d know that she was there to look out for me.” He smiles then, a small sweet thing. “She went there for you.” What the actual fucking fuck?

Sam turns to him again, and somehow “Don’t get me wrong, she went there for me, but she went there for you too. Everything she does, she does for you.”

“That is—and I say this with all the love I have ‘cause you’re the only Salvatore left other than that dick over there—that is the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard,” Damon comments. 

She pushes a buttered up cake tin towards him and says, “Must be a genetic trait then, passed down from generations. Seeing as the only other Salvatores I know are still, to this day, hopelessly chasing after a girl who looks exactly like one Katherine Pierce.”

“ELENA IS NOTHING LIKE KATHERINE!” Both her brothers shout out in unison.

She has to smile at that. “Not even the—” she points at her own face as a demonstration.

Both of them just pass her a look filled with ire. She smiles wider. 

“At least we have hope,” Damon defends, pouring the ungodly mixture into the cake tin. “What’s your fucking excuse?” 

“I don’t have one!” She really doesn’t. “I just—I just feel the way I do, I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Move on!” Damon tells her.

“For once I agree with him,” Stefan says from the counter behind them. His words are softer than Damon’s, they always are. Stefan’s always understood her dilemma just a little bit better than Damon. She thinks it might just be because Stefan understands the feeling of helplessness a little bit better than their brother ever can. “You really should move on.”

“I want to,” she tells him, with all honesty. “I really, really want to. Don’t you think I’ve tried? I tried! With Derek, with Alaric… and it was working. It really was, until he rejected me.”

“Rejected you?” Damon mocks. “I think it was barely 4 months ago that Alaric died in your arms confessing his undying love for you.”

“Damon,” Stefan reprimands. 

“What?” Damon counters, clearly annoyed as he turns to look at Stefan. Stefan, however, just shakes his head, telling him in his small gesture to stop it. The wound is still too fresh, don’t touch it yet. And that’s exactly why despite being fond of Damon a little bit more, Stefan will always be her favorite brother.

“I am not ready to touch that topic with a ten-foot pole so I’ll side step that and tell you that I have tried, extremely hard to move on, and if I could do it. I would. It’s not like any of this is fun for me,” she tries to make them understand.

“It’s not as hard as you make it out to be either,” Damon comments and his voice is somehow softer than before because this isn’t a jab. This is more wishful thinking, she thinks. Damon, for all his nonchalance, hates seeing her pining for Dean. Not just because he doesn’t like Dean but also because he’s seen the most of it. He has always been her drinking companion on endless  nights. Pouring her one drink after the other, knowing no other way to sooth the pain on her features. He loves her differently than Stefan does. He would’ve killed Dean by now if he thought that could be a legitimate solution. He’s way more violent in his protection of her than anyone else.

Taking the cake tin from Damon, she opens the oven and shoves it in. She sighs audibly before she says, “Look, I have made my distaste for the Elena situation quite clear already—”

“And it’s still fucking unreasonable,” Damon retorts.

“You’re making me agree with him twice on the night before my birthday, now you’re just being rude,” Stefan chides, smiling.

“She pulls you both in opposite directions, which leaves me in the middle where I’m stuck and neglected!” She can see that both the boys are ready to fight her off on the matter all night but she doesn’t want to. “BUT that’s not the point I’m trying to make here. What I am trying to say is that, with Elena, you both feel what you feel. It’s undeniable and inescapable. You could let go of it even if you tried. You both know what it feels like to be hopelessly in love with someone with your entire being.” When both men stay silent, she knows they agree. So she continues, “Can you at least both do me the courtesy to try to understand that that’s how I feel about Dean? That maybe—”

“—She doesn’t know how not to be in love with you, you know?” Sam says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like he isn’t breaking Dean’s world apart in half. “I mean, it’s definitely not easy for her.”

“Watching him flirt with a girl at the bar while I sit in a shady corner, drowning myself in Bourbon,” she says.

“Watching you come back to the motel, covered in hickeys, and sometimes watching you not come back at all,” Sam says with so much pain, Dean thinks maybe he sat with her on those nights. And then it clicks for Dean why he’d see his brother with bags under his eyes in the mornings after.

Her jaw clenches, she fidgets with the “It's always someone else. Either it’s a cheerleader or—”

“—A receptionist at a motel or anything with a pulse at a bar,” Sam says.

“It’s always someone else and it’s never me,” she notes solemnly.

“And it is so fucking painful to watch,” Sam notes.

“It feels like someone’s tearing my heart out and stabbing it in front of me with a fork just to play with it.” She can’t help but smile sadly at the accuracy of that description. “He smiles those smiles that charms the pants off of everyone. And I have to see it, because try as I might, I can never look away. I can never look away from the way he touches them because I can’t help but imagine how it would feel like to be touched like that… touched like that by him. I can never look away when he smiles like that. Which just ends up hurting a little bit more.”

“I’ve had to watch it over and over again for a decade and if it hurts me this much I can’t even imagine how much it hurts her,” Sam tsks so simply. As if he isn’t burning Dean from the inside out. 

“I just wish he—”

“Weren’t so loud about it. If you weren’t so loud about it I think it would be easier maybe?” Sam muses. “But then again, maybe it wouldn’t be. Not that she’d ask that of you, she knows it’s not fair to you so she would never ask you to be any other way than you…” And then he sits up again, facing Dean, and Dean has to try his best to keep his poker face intact, “But I can! So, I’ll do it for her—Dean, please can you be just a little less loud about it?” Dean turns to Sam at that and somehow the action is mistaken by Sam as an offended one. “I’m not asking you to change, just… I don’t know, just don’t do it in front of her. Don’t flirt with the cheerleaders while she’s sitting right next to you, you know?”

And man, Dean might be the one whose vein is about to pop now. “What is up with this cheerleader bullshit? She said it too? I wasn’t that fucking back in high-school!”

Sam just sighs in annoyance, “You ignored her Dean.” Dean’s about to protest, but Sam cuts him off. “And I don’t think it was intentional on your part. It was the first time you weren’t an outcast and it was so much fun to fit in, I felt that way too. But she… She was two years ahead of people her age. And that really doesn’t fly well in a small town like Mystic Falls, you know that. I mean, you were in her class, man! You know that the only person who ever talked to her was you but then you got so lost in the high-school of it all that you just ignored her.” Sam shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault, you were young but it really wasn’t fun to watch either.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Dean defends very very lamely. “I never meant to hurt her, ever.”

“That’s what sucks about all of this. I know he never does any of it to hurt me, but…”

“But it still hurts anyway?” Damon provides, comforting and gentle. 

She nods with a sad broken smile as she says, "To be in love—”

“—And to be hurt, is to be made perfect,” Sam quotes.

“Shakespear, As You Like It,” Dean notes, to Sam’s utter surprise. Which, wow! He reads! And besides, it’s… it’s Y/n’s favorite of the Shakespear plays. Of course, he knows what it’s from.

“Sucks that it has to be this way,” Sam notes calmly, now looking out the window at the passing trees. “I know it’s not your fault, I really do. I also know you really care about her. I know that too. But I just wish I didn’t have to watch my best friend be in love with someone who doesn’t love her back.”

Dean’s had enough. He sees red. “WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT?”

“What?” Sam almost balks at Dean’s sudden outburst.

“You and Y/n keep saying that, again and again, and for all that is un-fucking-holy, I can’t fucking figure out who the fuck said that? Who in the name of fuck told you that?”

“Dean—Dude! What are you talking about?” Sam’s eyes are wide and confused.

Goddamn it, Dean thinks. “Who the fuck told you, EITHER OF YOU, that I don’t feel the same way?”

There is silence then.

It stretches on for a minute but it feels like an hour to Dean.

“Are—are you serious?” Sam finally questions.

Dean clenches his jaw. “You don’t think I have better things to lie about than this?” He’s being snarky but he can’t help it. It’s been a long fucking drive.

“Then—” Suddenly Sam’s excitement level shoot the fuck up. “THEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE DOING DRIVING AWAY FROM MYSTIC FALLS?”

There are reasons. Dean knows that there are. There was a solid reason why Dean decided to drive away after dropping her off without saying a (meaningful) word. But try as he might, Dean Winchester, cannot for the life of him remember what the fuck it was. 

He clicks his tongue, “Good question,” Dean comments before his hand finds the gear shift, and he swerves the car around.

“I am just saying that you cannot ignore it. It’s not a fictional concept. There have been countless tests on the subject matter,” Y/n argues. They’re at the Salvatore Boarding House and the party is in full swing. She’s got a glass of Bourbon in one hand and an unlit cigarette on the other.

“On rats,” Bonnie throws back, smiling.

“Dogs too,” Matt adds from behind her. She smiles at him for the support.

“That doesn’t mean it works on humans,” Tyler cuts in from the couch.

“Of course it does. It’s not a baseless theory. It’s the core facet of every training, ever. You do something good, you’re rewarded, you do something bad, you’re punished,” she explains. “Some people even go as far as to call it parenting.”

Everyone lets out a soft laugh. 

“But it doesn’t stick, not always at least,” Caroline counters.

Y/n nods, “Fair enough, it doesn’t. But doesn’t negate the fact that the pavlovian response is quite a real phenomenon. I mean, it’s well known. It’s quite literally used in conversion camps—mind you I do not approve of the abhorrent abuse of it—but that’s what they do. They show you something very straight, that according to their disturbing homophobic beliefs should make you feel aroused and don’t shock you. Then they show you something very gay, that makes you feel aroused and then they shock you. It tells your brain that somehow feeling aroused at this particular thing is dangerous. Then they do it again and again and eventually the entire process just trains your brain to be scared shitless of even thinking of being aroused, because well if you do, you’ll get—”

“Electrocuted,” Elena finishes.

Y/n clicks her finger and points at her. “Doesn’t work though,” she states, as someone plucks the cigarette out of her hand but her point is almost at the end of being made. “Doesn’t stop you from being queer, nothing ever can stop you from being queer.” The cigarette is placed back into her hands. “Queer is who you are, and queer is who you fucking should be.”

She takes a drag.

“Amen.”

Y/n turns instantly at the sound of that voice. 

“Dean,” she breathes out.

Dean Winchester and her lit fucking cigarettes.

It’ll be the death of her. 

“I thought you had a quota of like 5 cuss words a day,” Dean says with a smirk. Somewhere behind him she can see Sam but her world doesn’t really know how to focus on anyone else when Dean is standing so close to her—barely a couple inches between the two. “I thought you would’ve used them all up… after the conversation in the car.”

“It’s past 12,” she tells him dumbly. She can’t be blamed. WHY IS DEAN BACK HERE? It’s not Tuesday, is it?

There’s a few seconds there, which are just silent. He’s looking at her and she’s looking at him and it’s just silent. Sure, there must be a party in the background but she doesn’t really remember it. His eyes are so beautifully green, she can’t think of anything but The Great Gatsby. She can’t think of anything but the green light at the end of Daisy Buchanan's dock across the bay from Gatsby's mansion. The green light which represented Gatsby's hopes and dreams, particularly his longing for a future with Daisy.

“What are you—” she begins at the same time as he says, “I wanted to—”

Their words get jumbled up.

“You go first,” Dean suggests.

She gulps, quite noticeably apparently because Dean follows the motion of her throat with his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles then, unabashed and wide. “I should have gone first. Would have saved us time. I was gonna say that I wanted to talk to you…” he answers her question. 

“Oh,” is all she can muster.

“Can we do that somewhere… not here?” He nods over to the audience they have gathered.

She wants to look at what he’s motioning towards but she can’t really pull her eyes off of him right now. Instead she just says, “Yes… The courtyard.”

Dean nods and looks at her waiting.

What’s he waiting for? 

Until Dean just raises his brows with a soft smile and then she remembers. 

“Oh yes, courtyard, let’s go,” she says. And she’s about to grab his arm to drag him off but realizes that both of them are full. She looks from the cigarette to the beer. Thinks for a second—decision made, she downs the beer and places the bottle on the closest flat surface.

“What are you doing here?” She asks again once they’re at the courtyard. They are face to face again, but she has actively decided to put a couple of steps worth of distance between herself and the man of her dreams. For precaution.

“I had to see you,” Dean replies.

“Thought you were gonna see me Tuesday,” she chastises with very little heat, taking a drag of her cigarette.

But apparently Dean takes it to heart. “That—yes! That’s what I am here for. That is the stupidest thing I have ever said. Actually, no scratch that, that’s the second dumbest thing I’ve ever said, ‘I know’ is first.” Confused, she scrunches her forehead. So he explains, “When I was being dragged to hell?”

“Oh,” makes sense, she muses. She shrugs then another puff before she says, “When in doubt, go with Han Solo.”

Dean shakes his head but he’s wearing a smile which she can’t really place. “Yes but it—it was dumb, and I’m sorry.”

“No, no, Dean. No. I am sorry. I put you in a very weird position at a very, very wrong time. It was my fault,” she tells him, and she means it. “Even today, I dropped a whole freakin’ bomb on you without any preamble. Your response made sense considering the condition. I’m sorry to have put you in that position to begin with.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean says and his words carry so much determination it makes her shiver.

She waves it off or well, tries to. She has to take a couple steps back, pulling her arms across her chest, she leans on the steps just behind her. She takes a long drag before she asks, “Is that what you were here to do? Say sorry for your response?”

Dean nods. “Yes, and to ask you,” he takes a few steps towards her, “I had to ask you…”

“Ask me?” She urges.

“Did you mean it?”

And she has to roll her eyes at that, drawing on her cigarette again. “What kinda question is that?” 

“A serious one,” Dean says evenly.

“Fine, yes. Of course, I meant it.”

“You don’t regret it?” Dean questions.

“What?! No!” The idea seems so silly to her she can’t even come up with a sarcastic remark for it.

“And you still feel that way?” Dean asks, with a hint of… is that fear in his voice? “Do you still…?”

The night is quite forgiving to them. The moon is out but not in full force, otherwise there would be one less party guest and one extra dog in the boarding house. Her birthday party fell on a full moon night, sadly the patent group werewolf, Tyler, had to skip that one. 

But tonight’s not a full moon, it’s a crescent moon. Shining quite bright, bathing Dean in its light. That along with the warm yellow of the garden lights makes him look ethereal, she thinks.

“15 years I’ve loved you, you think I’ll be able to get over it in three hours?” She throws back.

“A yes or no would do,” Dean rebukes.

“Yes,” she says, sighing. “I still feel that way… but…”

“But?”

“But I think… I think I’ll try to move on…” she acquiesces, a long inhale of smoke, a shorter exhale of the same.

“Why?” Dean bites.

She pulls back a bit before answering, “I understand that the position I put you in isn’t entirely fair. And well, it isn’t great for me either, is it? It would be better for both of us if I just tried to move on… for good this time.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t move on, damn it!”

And that just pisses her off, she throws the cigarette on the ground, butts it with all her fury. “What? Is this some sort of fucking ego trip for you? Look at the hopeless girl in love with me?”

“2 out of 5 cuss words already used. The day’s barely started and you’re left with only 3,” Dean comments with a smile that makes her want to punch his lights out.

“Quit it!” She yells. “You just making fun of me now? That’s just fucking cruel, Dean.”

“2 left,” Dean states but at her glare he takes another step towards her. “I don’t want you to move on.”

“Why the fuck not?!” She’ll probably punch this guy very soon.

“Cause I don’t want you to.”

“Why not? You just want me to stay madly in love with you, keep watching you chase after girls at bars and keep letting my heart break? You want me to keep dying bit by bit, is that it?” Her voice breaks a little at the end.

“No. Of course not! But if you moved on, it would kill me, so I can’t let you do that, Y/n. I can’t.” Dean tells her. 

She doesn’t understand any of this. What even is happening.

“I think you’ve finally lost your mind. Hell has clearly gotten to you. You’ve gone mad! What do you want me to do, keep falling deeper and deeper in love with you, torment myself day in and day out when I know that you will never love me back. What is wrong with you, Dean? What the f—”

“Listen to me,” he cuts her off. “You really need to listen to me cause you’ve got just one cuss word left for the day and what I’m gonna say you might need it for that.” He breathes in, slow and deep. “I never said that.”

“Never said what?”

“I never said that I didn’t love you back.”

She… What?

Wait what?

“What do you mea—?”

He cuts her off again. “I saw you 15 minutes before you saw me.” She’s so confused she thinks she might just cry. And it’s all made worse because Dean takes a few steps closer to her. The gap is nowhere near as secure as it was when this conversation began. “I was getting out of the car and you were…” He smiles, so beautifully that her heart aches. “You were smoking, of all things. At the ripe old age of 13, by the way.”

“My parents had just died like, 6 months ago,” she defends like it matters at all.

Dean smiles all the same. “Smoking your first cigarette. That’s how I saw you, and you were—you were smoking that like a champ, honestly. I think you took four drags, before you decided it was too much and then butt the entire thing. You then began your mission to hide it like they were porno mags under your bed that Stefan and Damon could discover any moment.”

“Porno mags would’ve caused less trouble,” she comments absentmindedly.

He smiles wider then. “Fair enough.” He nods almost to himself. “But yeah. I saw you 15 minutes before you ever saw me. So, I’ve been in love with you 15 minutes longer than your 15 years.”

She doesn’t think she remembers how breathing works.

“I have been in love with you since the moment I saw you. And every single day I wake up and I think I could not love you more but then something happens, you laugh at some joke or you talk about how democracy is a concept built on the idea of inequality, or you sing karaoke at some bar or you just are, you just be and I just… I fall harder in love with you. Every moment I spend with you, is another moment where I find out that I can love you more than I already did.” Dean laughs then. “I was stupid, I was so stupid. I kept thinking that I couldn’t have you. I kept thinking that I shouldn’t even try because what would be the point? I was never gonna quit hunting and this life—it’s filled with so much shit. I thought there was something really bad around the corner, so how could I drag you into that mess with me? So I just—I never thought that I could have you but then I died! I fucking died, Y/n. And now apparently there is a goddamn apocalypse around the corner so clearly bad things will happen no matter what! Then why the fuck should I have to go through all of that alone? Why should I have to go through that without you? I can’t do it. I don’t fucking want to.”

He doesn’t want to.

She’s dreaming, isn’t she?

“I didn’t know, though,” Dean says sheepishly, with apologies all over his face. “I never fucking knew how you felt. Of course I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have—All the girls, all the bars, they were just—I didn’t think I could have you, I didn’t think you’d ever want someone like me so I wanted to numb the pain, I never thought I was hurting you in return. I wouldn’t have—”

She takes a step towards him. They are now standing too close, chest pressed into chest. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Dean argues, still feeling so guilty that it’s almost painful to watch.

“It’s okay now,” she clarifies. “Do I get to have you now?”

“Obviously! Of course! I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, Y/n. Only yours—”

She cuts him off by pressing her lips on his. It’s a small, tentative thing, mostly to try it out, but also to shut him up. And shut up, he does. 

She pulls away, not too far, never too far, just enough to look up at him. 

Then Dean Winchester smiles. Wide, and cocky, and flirty and beautiful.

He pulls her back in, hands on caressing her jaw so gently that a part of her thinks maybe she was made of porcelain all along and everyone forgot to inform her. Because he is being so soft with her, his lips on hers are tender but there is so much love in every movement that she can taste it. 

Her hands find his hair, and she plays with the soft spikes, pulling him closer, and perhaps it’s her hunger for him or maybe his for her, but tenderness gives way to passion. They are all hands and lips and desperation. He’s grabbing onto her for dear life, pulling her closer and closer as he wants her whole and maybe he does. She understands though, because she’s holding onto his leather jacket like if she lets go he’ll vanish and urging him closer too. It’s mindless and mindful at once.

Lips slotted together seaking out all that they’d been wanting for, for the last 15 years.

Dean’s hand travels down to her thighs and instinctively she knows to jump up. He grabs her easily as she wraps her legs around him. It’s hungry now, they are so very hungry now. It makes her moan, Dean, ever the man of opportunity, takes that moment to slip his tongue in. Their tongues dance together in a heated embrace. She can’t help herself, she’s seeking some release from the tension building inside her, so she grinds against him, only for both of them to pull away, moaning in sickening pleasure.

And she can’t help it, she laughs. “Fuck.”

Dean laughs too. Pressing his forehead to hers. “That’s all of them, sweetheart. You’re out of cuss words for today.”

“That might be a problem considering the state you’re in,” she grinds against him again, to tease him, to feel him, to have him, cause she can now. 

Dean groans before smiling again. “Fuck me, sweetheart. I can cuss all I want, you’re the one who’ll be in trouble.”

“Maybe I want that?” She smiles.

Dean laughs again. “God, I love you so fucking much.”

She kisses him again, it’s a sweet, loving little thing. “I love you too, Dean.

Find Part 1 here.

[the-sympathetic-villain]

Hello! I just saw your post about wanting remus prompts? Obvs no pressure but I cant get this out of my mind of the rat man..... BAKING

Yes... I need the rat man baking. This took me a bit because I’m really bad at writing short prompts but I like how it turned out! Originally, this was meant to be straight fluff but I couldn’t seem to get away from my personal headcanon that Remus stress bakes lol but its still mostly fluff with a little bit of vulnerability from the rat man <3

Cookies and Coping Mechanisms

Description: After SvSR, Remus knows that everyone is upset by the outcome of episode. His solution? Dragging a reluctant Virgil into the kitchen to make cookies.

Word Count: 1747

Characters: Remus, Virgil (Platonic Dukexiety)

Warnings: Remus-Type Content (Sexual innuendo, Allusions to Drugs, References to gore, etc.), Flirting, Swearing

---

    “Come on, Virgie. This'll be fun.”

    “Last time I heard that, you ended up on fire, Remus.” Virgil muttered as he shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets, cast a cautious glance at the bouncing creative side.

    “You can't spell fun without fire!” Remus chirped happily.

     Virgil stopped in his tracks, looking up in disbelief. “Yes, you can—”

     “Not if you actually want to have fun, Gerard Gay.” Remus threw out over his shoulder as he continued his manic dive into the cupboards. Metal pans flew up to the countertop as Remus swung around to throw open another drawer with a loud clang.

    Virgil growled. His eyes darkened with exasperation as Remus tossed a bag of flour on the counter and a puff of white haze shot up into the air. “I'm so glad that Logan soundproofed the kitchen so you can as be as loud as you want.”

     “Hey, that was Roman's fault." Remus stopped digging through the fridge to point at Virgil. “He brought the firecrackers—”

     “You lit them!” Virgil threw his hands up in a gesture to the large scorch marks in front of the stove.

     “Irrelevant.” Remus purred with a playful grin. “Now preheat the oven for me, emo boy.”

    “To what?” Virgil muttered as he stalked toward the oven.

    “350 degrees, baby!”

    “Don’t call me baby.” Virgil sighed, barely looking up at the mess Remus was making as he danced around the kitchen. “I don't even know why we're doing this. Cookies can’t fix what happened.”

    “Well, it sure as hell can't hurt, Donnie Darko,” Remus winked, shooting finger guns at Virgil. “especially since we’re catering to each of them personally. Everyone can hate each other and all, but they can't hate cookies.”

    Virgil paused in confusion.  “You said we were making one batch of cookies, Remus. I didn't sign up for a whole day with—”

    “I never said we weren't. Just one batch is all we need.” Remus grinned with a teasing smile, taunting him to continue.

    “How can one batch of cookies cater to all of them?” Virgil wondered. “I mean I get Patton, but the others are a little harder to please.”

    “Don't you worry. I'll spill the beans,” Remus paused with a suggestive grin. “but first I need you to strip, Frightmare before Christmas.”

    Virgil let out an exaggerated sigh as he ducked his head to hide the redness in his cheeks. “Whatever fantasy your trying to get me play out, I won't—”

     “Lose the hoodie, Virge. Everything else is optional.” Remus interrupted, grinning suggestively as Virgil tipped his head up. “Unless—"

    “No.”

    “Fine,” Remus giggled as he gave in to Virgil. Before he walked away, he slipped a piece of paper across the table as Virgil slipped his jacket off and laid it off to the side. “It’s to get nice and toasty in here and I don’t need you looking like you just got off a sweet bender covered in a suspicious white powder when we go to deliver the goods.”

    “Okay—Okay! It’s off now.” Virgil through his hands up in exasperation as Remus wiggled his eyebrow up at him. “You can stop tormenting me.”

    “Great.” Remus cheered with a flourish of his hands as he tossed the flour at Virgil. He giggled as the bag erupted into a white puff all over Virgil, leaning into his friend’s scowl before returning to hopping about the kitchen. “Mix the dry ingredients and I'll start on the wet stuff.”

    “Great.” Virgil huffed, rolling his eyes as he straightened out his black tee and brushed the flour off himself. Reluctantly, he picked up the flour to begin as he looked up at Remus for explanation. “Now, tell me why you think this is going to make everything better.”

    “Well, Pattycake obviously loves homemade gifts—"

     “Patton is the easiest to please.” Virgil muttered as he measured the flour. “That's not an accomplishment.”

   “Yeah, well. All Roman wants is attention. The fact that we were thinking of him is enough to brighten his spirits,” Remus grinned as he started to whisk together his ingredients. “and the snake boy has a sweet tooth. He hates to admit it, but sugar is Janus’ comfort food.”

    Virgil paused. His eyes narrowed on Remus with skepticism in his eyes. “And what about Logan?”

     Remus’ grin widened as he swiped Virgil’s bowl and began combining the ingredients. “Well, we're making thumbprint cookies and—”

    “—and thumbprint cookies require jam.” Virgil deadpanned as Remus nodded. He stared blankly as the creative side finished the dough and reached below the counter.

     “Bingo, bad boy.” Remus chirped as he slid a jar of Crofter's across the table.

    Virgil eyed the jam suspiciously as he bit his lip. “Where exactly did you pull that from—”

    “Not relevant.” Remus cheered brightly as he handed Virgil a spoon and started forming the cookies. “Start scooping and don't skimp on the jam. I don't want to offend the nerdy professor.”

    “Re, this is—” Virgil stared as he followed behind Remus, dropping jam into the indents of the cookies. “—surprisingly thoughtful.”

    “So, what?” Remus grinned, raising an eyebrow at Virgil. “Can't a guy do a nice thing every once in a while?”

     Virgil blinked, trying to stifle his own shock. “You try to convince Thomas to jump out of moving cars or eat dirt at least daily. Nice things just aren’t what you’re about. Are they?”

     “Maybe, I don’t like being predictable.” Remus chuckled as he took the tray from Virgil and slipped it in the oven.

    “Holy shit,” Virgil’s mouth dropped open as Remus set the timer. “You actually care about how the others are feeling right now?”

    “What?” Remus mused, raising an eyebrow at Virgil. “Did you think I was here for my own amusement, stormy night?”

    “I mean, kinda.” Virgil dropped his hands to his side, tugging at the hem of his tee. “I didn’t know that you were capable of—"”

    “Of course, you wouldn't think so.” Remus interrupted with a bored tone, sounding exasperated.

     Virgil paused as Remus dropped his voice. The uncharacteristic serious in his friend's muted tone stopped him in his tracks and he turned back to see Remus leaned on his elbows, staring at the countertop.

    “After this last video without us, everyone's thoughts about themselves are turning to crap and I feel them spiraling just the way you do, emo boy.” Remus smirked as Virgil stared back at him with shock in his eyes. “So, yeah. I used to make Thomas repeat this recipe over and over in his head until he memorized the damn thing.”

    “You did that so you could bake for the others if they had a bad day?” Virgil blinked, shocked at the sudden change from Remus’ usual boisterous behavior.

    Remus let out a long sigh as he fidgeted with a wooden spoon in his hand, twirling it between his fingers. “You might be his anxiety, but your not the only one carrying that gnawing dread that nothing's gonna work out, Dr. Doom. If it's grating and repetitive, it shows up on my radar too.”

    “I had no idea." Virgil muttered, unsure of what else to say.

    “You can thank Janus for that one, Virgie baby.” Remus chirped, a little more upbeat as the time chimed off. “You didn’t want to know and the snake's been keeping you safe and snug as long as you been kicking.”

    “But what about you, Ree?” Virgil wondered out loud as Remus started to drop the hot cookies onto plates to cool. “Who keeps you safe?”

    “Eh, who cares?” Remus’ voice cracked slightly as he rolled his eyes. “Point is that I’ll feel icky and this’ll make that go away.”

    “Remus, that’s not—”

    “What? Healthy?” Remus purred, as he wrapped an arm around Virgil’s shoulder and jostling him. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but I'm not Tommy-boy’s good coping mechanisms.”

    “No, but that's why Thomas works on them.” Virgil muttered as Remus released him. “I'm not exactly what Thomas wants all the time either, but he work through his issues so that I can focus on protecting him.”

   “Here’s the thing though,” Remus flashed Virgil a sharp-toothed grin as he chuckled. “My purpose ain’t quite so handy as yours, so its not worth that—”

    “You’re wrong, Remus.”

    Remus looked up in surprise at Virgil’s abrupt response. He stared for a moment at the concern in Virgil’s eyes before straightening up. “Oh?”

    “You keep Thomas grounded in reality.” Virgil shrugged as Remus looked up at him with skepticism in his eyes. “If Thomas lived his life looking Princey's rose-colored glasses, he'd be ignoring all the complex and difficult things that give life meaning.”

    Remus raised an eyebrow at him with a playful glimmer in his eyes. “So, there is creative value in ‘juicy butth—”

    “Stop,” Virgil held up a hand with a chuckle. “You know what I mean. Not everything is sunshine and sparkles. Thomas can’t ignore things just because he doesn’t like them. He needs the ability to face those things and you give him that, Remus.”

     Remus giggled, flashing a knowing smirk at Virgil. “You better be careful, Virgie. If you’re not, I might start to think you give a shit.”

    “I do.” Virgil dipped his head to hide the redness in his cheeks as Remus smirked at him. “I do, okay? Now, just shut up so we can deliver some cookies.”

    “Oh, gag me, emo boy.” Remus chuckled, barely concealing his smile as he made an over-exaggerated expression of disgust. “I didn't know you were capable of being so tooth-rottingly sweet—”

    “Just shut up." Virgil muttered half-heartedly as he smiled and took the plate Remus held out for him.

    Remus chuckled, nodding to the exit with a smirk. “Fine. How about we just deliver these top-notch sweets to our favorite depressed bitches then?”

    “Fine—” Virgil nodded reluctantly, hesitating as he followed Remus. “—and then maybe we could watch a movie or something after?”

   Remus nodded, perking up as he bounced along the hallway. “Something gory?”

    Virgil snorted as he staggered down the hallway. “Might as well. None of the other sides will watch scary movies with me anyway.”

    “It's a date then, stormy night.” Remus grinned, feeling lighter as they walked down the hall together. “You wore me down.”

    Virgil rolled his eyes, smiling as he followed the bouncing man ahead of him. “Good.”

---

General Taglist:

@justanotherhumanstuff​ @im-an-anxious-wreck

[iceeckos12]

ouch oof i am sad

remember the scene that @pitviperofdoom was talking about in this post? well this was something she mentioned in the discord server and because i am always a sucker for a good angst, i wrote an entire Thing for it. content warnings under the cut

basically: assistant archivist au where gerry did die. mentions of past character death

Jon’s quiet as Julia explains how to pull Gerard Keay from the page. This is not unusual in and of itself. Jon is not the type of person to fill spaces with endless chatter, or to make small talk for the sake of it. Martin and Jon’s friendship has been characterized by long, comfortable silences and the conversation they make between each one.

This is different, though. Martin can’t tell if it’s because of his connection with the Beholding that he knows, or if he’s just gotten better at reading Jon, but this is - wrong. The last conversation that they had, if you could call it a conversation at all, was Jon quietly asking if they could stop by Pittsburgh to visit the hospital where Gerard Keay died. Since then, he’s been mostly lost in thought.

Martin knows that Jon and Gerard worked together with Gertrude. He’s inferred that they were friends, because Martin has learned to read the quiet grief that crosses Jon’s face whenever Gerard is mentioned. Now he’s wondering if they were closer than he realized.

He doesn’t dare ask though, not in front of Julia. And he’s not even sure that Jon would tell him if he did ask. So he sets aside his worry, turns to the Hunter, and says, “Thank you, Julia.”

Her smile is full of teeth. “Give the door a knock when you’re done.”

Martin watches her go, unwilling to take his eyes off of her for more than a moment. When the door finally clicks shut, he lets out a quiet sigh of relief and looks down to find Jon holding the book in his hands, staring at it, perfectly still.

“...Jon?”

Jon jumps and looks up, his lips pressed into a thin, bitten line, his eyes slightly wild.

Martin knows how to handle Jon when he’s scared, when he’s cruel. He knows how to handle Jon when he’s simmering with anger, when he’s exhausted and frayed about the edges. This is completely new, and he shifts at the unwelcome, familiar feeling of uncertainty. “Do you...want me to do it?”

Jon immediately shakes his head, so quick it looks painful. “No. No, I should…” he takes a deep breath, scrubs his hand through his hair. He takes a few quick steps forward, then turns around, the book pressed to his stomach. “I’ll do it.”

Martin opens his mouth to question the wisdom of that idea, but then Jon is flipping open the book to the last page. He clears his throat once, twice, and then, “His consciousness faded in and out like the tide.”

Jon’s voice breaks on the last word, and he stops.

“...Jon?”

Martin watches the gentle bob of Jon’s throat as he swallows. Then he shakes his head and says in a voice much stronger and clearer than before, “His consciousness faded in and out like the tide. He tried to refuse their drugs…”

He continues talking, his voice rising and falling with every word, like he’s reading just another statement. He slows as he reaches the last few sentences.

“...And his only thought was to cry out for the one he loved. He could feel small, familiar hands gripping his, the soft rise and fall of a voice, hushed like a prayer. The name fell from his lips, but he couldn’t be sure whether or not he had been heard. He hoped that he had been heard. And so Gerard Keay ended.”

Gerard Keay stands in the center of the room. He’s wearing all black, which Martin had expected. Black trench coat, black trousers, black boots, eyes made sharp with makeup. He looks like he just raided the shelves of a Hot Topic, only he makes it work.

Gerard’s gaze flickers from Martin to Jon, and for a moment there is no recognition, no comprehension. He opens his mouth - and then he stills, his eyebrows coming together in vague confusion. His jaw slackens, and his eyes widen, and his expression is cracked open like an egg, revealing the vulnerable yolk beneath.

Jon makes a sound. Martin could not characterize that sound even if he wanted to. It sounds like - like all of Jon’s insides have been scooped out of him, like he’s surrounded by air but he can’t get a breath, like - grief. It sounds like pure, mortal grief.

Just like that, Martin understands.

“Jon,” Gerard Keay says.

And then Jon bursts into tears.

“Gerry,” Jon gasps, but when he reaches out his hand goes right through Gerry’s sleeve. “Gerry, I - “

“Jon,” Gerry steps in close, his hands framing Jon’s face, staring at him the way a drowning man stares at a life raft.

“I’m sorry,” Jon manages. “Gerry I’m so - I promise, I didn’t know, I - “

“It’s okay,” Gerry reaches for Jon’s hair reflexively, but freezes when his fingertips disappear into Jon’s forehead. His expression crumples. “It’s fine, I know. I know. Jon, Jon - ”

And then they’re both crying, tears dripping down. Jon’s face is buried in his hands, and he’s weeping, keening, and Gerry keeps reaching for him, but there’s no way to connect, no way to touch. There’s no relief. It’s just shared grief, endless and pervasive and shattering.

Martin turns away and frantically scrubs his hands across his face. Oh, God. He feels so guilty, but he doesn’t want to be here right now. There is a Shakespearean tragedy playing out before his eyes, the kind that’s brimming with heartache and things left unsaid, and he is powerless against it.

Finally, mercifully, the sound of crying dies away into exhausted silence, except for thick, heavy breathing. Martin keeps his back to them, wanting to give them some semblance of privacy for a conversation that they obviously need to have.

“...so where is she?”

Jon huffs out a quiet laugh, lacking humor, edged with hurt. “Dead. Shot to the chest.”

“Figures.” A meaningful pause. “So are you...”

“Oh, no. No, it’s...oh. Martin?”

Martin sniffs hard and drags his hands over his cheeks before turning around, forcing a smile on his face. Jon and Gerry are standing as close to each other as they can without touching, twin tracks of silver tears on their cheeks.  “Hi, sorry. Just...wanted to give you two a bit of privacy. Martin Blackwood, Head Archivist.”

Gerry dips his chin in acknowledgement, before turning his confused gaze back to Jon. “I thought…?”

“He knows,” Jon says quickly. “I’m...well. It’s complicated. Gertrude hid a lot more from us than we knew.” There’s still a raw hurt in Jon’s voice when he says that, mixed with a lingering sort of nostalgia.

Gerry grimaces. “Did she know about…”

Martin doesn’t realize what he’s asking about until he gestures toward his head, a helpless, reluctant sort of gesture.

“I - maybe?” Jon shakes his head, for the first time turning out of Gerry’s orbit, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’d like to think not, but...it doesn’t matter now. She’s gone. We’ll never know.”

There is a moment of silence. Martin bites his lip, then forces himself to stop when he realizes that he’s already chewed it bloody. It’s hard to watch Jon draw back into himself, put the pain where it can only hurt himself.

“Hey,” Gerry reaches for Jon’s chin, frowns when his hand sinks into the skin. He shakes his head and walks around so he can insert himself into Jon’s field of vision. “Stop. I can feel you blaming yourself, okay? Just...stop. It’s not your fault.”

“...but I should’ve -”

“I am not letting you use this as another stick you beat yourself with,” Gerry interrupts firmly. “You read my page, didn’t you? I didn’t die alone. I’m sorry that you had to go through that, but you don’t understand how much I -”

He breaks off. Jon’s breath rattles dangerously again.

“I always thought that I was going to die alone,” Gerry finishes.

There’s another moment of silence. Jon puts his head in his hands again, and Martin aches at the way Gerry’s face crumples with the desire to reach out, to comfort. They’re in the same room, but there’s a yawning, uncrossable distance between them.

Then Jon lowers his hands. There’s a spark in his eyes that Martin recognizes: the scarce moments before an inferno, before manic determination sets Jon’s whole being ablaze. “Gerry, I’m getting you out of here. I can - you and me, we can figure it out. We can -”

“No.”

Jon pauses. The spark jolts, catches on the cool wave of his confusion. “...what?”

“I’m dead, Jon,” Gerry reaches out for Jon again, then stops. Lets his arm fall to his side, clenches his fists. “I can’t live like this.”

Breathless hurt snatches across Jon’s face. “No, Gerry. I can’t - not when I’ve just found you, I -”

“It hurts, Jon,” Gerry interrupts, and he does not seem like the type to beg, but his voice dips at the end with a desperate plea. “It...it hurts, all the time, and...I just want to rest. Please, just let me rest.”

Jon swallows once. Twice, and his face crumples with sympathy, with empathy, with that awful exhaustion that they’ve all been wearing since what feels like forever. After a moment, he nods.

Gerry lets out a low, quiet sigh of relief, tension draining from his broad shoulders. He smiles faintly, ghosting his knuckles against Jon’s cheek. Jon leans into the touch even though he must not be able to feel it, his eyes fluttering shut, mouth drawn.

“I wish you were here,” Jon whispers.

“Yeah,” Gerry steps back, hiding his expression behind his long curtain of black hair. “Me too.”

There’s a moment of silence. A rearranging of expressions, a folding of hurt and pain back where it can no longer be seen. Jon is once again himself, his expression distant, and Gerry is wry and so very, very dead.

Gerry turns to Martin and smiles. “I wish we had met under better circumstances, Martin.”

Martin swallows, trying to unearth his voice. “Yeah. Me too.”

Then Gerry turns back to Jon. “You know what to do.”

Jon nods again, sharp and short. “I...I dismiss you.”

Gerry closes his eyes, and the whole room sighs as he dissipates into nothing.

Jon stands alone in the middle of the room, spine so straight there may as well be an iron rod put up the back of it. Martin doesn’t even know what the hell he is supposed to say. There is nothing he can do to make this better. How the hell is he supposed to make this better?

The moment passes. Jon’s shoulders slump, and when he turns back to Martin, his eyes are empty.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says monotonously.

Martin cannot do this. Martin cannot just stand there while Jon apologizes and looks at him like that, and -

“Don’t apologize,” he steps forward. “Can I hug you? Please?”

Jon thinks about that for a moment. When he eventually nods, Martin crosses the short distance between them and folds Jon into his arms, trying to ease the sharpness of the pain he surely must be feeling. He can’t make it better, but he can make sure that Jon knows that he isn’t alone. He can do this.

Jon doesn’t move for a moment, his face pressed into Martin’s shoulder, his arms loose at his sides. But just when Martin is about to pull away, he slowly reaches up, curls his hands in the fabric of Martin’s shirt. Lowers his head so he is half-buried in Martin’s embrace. He was already small, but he tries to make himself smaller, like he’s trying to hide himself in the folds of Martin’s pullover.

Eventually, he lets go. Eventually he steps back, letting his bangs hide his eyes, and goes to pick up the book. Martin watches his painful, slow movements, as though he’s filled with bruises from the inside out. He’s so distracted that Jon’s voice almost makes him jump.

“You should…you should do it.”

Martin shakes himself. “Sorry?”

“Burn his page,” Jon elaborates, holding the book out to Martin.

Martin gapes at him, stunned, because - “Um. No? Jon, why -”

“I can’t be the only person who’s ever done right by him.”

Oh. Well, when he puts it like that.

Martin swallows and takes the book gingerly, like he’s holding something precious. He flips to the last page and carefully tears it out, ignoring the way Jon’s breath catches at the soft ripping sound. Then he folds the page and puts it into his pocket, trying not to let on how nervous he is about having this precious page on his person. Trying not to let on how nervous Jon’s complete and utter trust makes him.

He is painfully aware of how many times that trust has been broken.

“Are you ready?” Martin asks.

Jon finally looks away from Martin’s pocket. “Yes. Let’s go.”

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 11

Chapters: 11/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

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

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

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

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

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Jon has a terrible, sinking feeling about what he considers their new Mary Keay problem.

He knows Gerry feels more confident that he can deal with her now, as an adult with his own resources and a solid foundation, but Jon doesn't want her ever walking into their lives again.

He feels the threat of her existence hanging over their hard-won peace like an anvil on a lace string.

"I think we should try to find her," Jon tells Martin one evening when they’re alone in bed. Gerry is downstairs painting, and even though he almost certainly can't hear them, Jon whispers it like a dirty secret.

"You think-" Martin looks up from his book with an almost comically incredulous look on his face. "You think we should look for a murder who threatened your life?"

Utterly uninterested in secrets between the three of them, Martin does not attempt to speak quietly.

"Well, when you put it like that," Jon grumbles, returning his attention to his book and pretending to drop it.

The next day at work, he puts his researching skills to the test. It doesn't even take very long, and in less than an hour, he has an address in Morden, where she apparently owns a bookstore of all things.

The information available is fairly spartan, updated more than a year ago, but Jon can see enough. He can see that she lives less than an hour from Gerry, and it itches at him.

He knows he shouldn't go. Knows that Martin and Gerry will be furious if they ever find out that he snooped, nevermind if he goes there and unsettles old ghosts..

But still, he takes a half-day off from work and gets on a bus to Morden.

*

When Jon arrives and finds the storefront boarded up, he is half reassured, half perturbed. He had felt almost relieved when he had a concrete lead to follow, but now all he has is more questions.

"She's dead."

Jon startles at being unexpectedly spoken to and turns towards a teen girl sitting in the storefront doorway next door.

"She died, like a while ago? Apparently she lost her shit and cut herself up with a piece of glass. Bleed to death on the floor." She inclines her head towards the dilapidated bookstore. She seems quite taken with the gossip, as if it's the most interesting thing to ever intercept with her boring life. It probably is, Jon thinks, uncharitably.

"When did it happen?" He prods, hoping for as many details as possible.

"Oh, like two years ago?" She nods at herself in confirmation. "You can go in if you want. It's haunted. People are always going in to see if they can find Mary's ghost."

Jon shudders, feeling that Mary's ghost is already plenty present enough in his life. He asks how to get in anyway.

Jon doesn't find any obvious ghosts inside, only a lot of dust, a few vandalised books, and a trashed building.

There's a staircase leading upwards and he stares up at the upper landing for a moment, weighing his options. Might as well , he thinks, and proceeds up it carefully.

There's literally nothing but more dust, and Jon descends into a sneezing fit just as he is deciding to cut his losses, feeling slightly dizzy.

The sneezing turns into coughing, and Jon takes a step back to lean against a wall.

But the wall isn't there, and he falls.

And falls.

And falls.

*

Jon calls Martin from the hospital. He’s down in Brighton, meeting with a business supplier, and Jon assumes this makes it a safe bet he'll arrive without Gerry. He assumes wrong.

Gerry arrives, alone, in half the time it would take Martin to make the trip, looking flustered and scared.

"How did you get here so fast?" Jon demands incredulously, made short by his shame and physical discomfort.

"How did I-" Gerry pauses and takes a deep breath, but his next words are still slightly shrill. "I took a fucking Uber, Jonathan. How did you get here?"

Jon opens his mouth, but Gerry cuts him off as he goes on.

"You went looking for Mary, didn't you?" Jon's guilty face must tip him off, because he simply goes on, pacing angrily. "Christ, Jon! What the hell were you expecting to find? And you know what, Martin didn't even sound surprised when he called me to tell me you were here. You know, I can understand this uncommunicative bullshit from you, but not Martin."

"That's not very nice," Jon grouses.

"And do you think it was nice for me to hear from Martin that you were hurt? I'm glad to know he was your one and only phone call from an ambulance."

"Gerry-"

"Don't fucking Gerry me."

"I'm sorry," Jon says, looking down at his hands.

"Are you, Jon? Because you don't even know the worst part yet. If you had asked me, I could have told you Mary was dead, and then we wouldn't be in this mess at all."

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew! I was her next of kin!"

Gerry stops, pressing his fingers into his eyes and blowing a hard breath out. He takes several more breaths, heart-pounding, anxiety through the roof.

"Jon, how hurt are you?" Gerry asks quietly, coming closer to gently take a hand.

"Just a few bruises." Gerry raises an eyebrow in disbelief. "A mild concussion." And the other. "Maybe a few broken ribs."

"Oh, my sweet, sweet idiot. How loving you makes me want to climb the walls sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" Jon fills his voice with false levity, although it comes out rather shaky.

Gerry grunts, but leans down to kiss his forehead very gently. It's a minuscule point of contact, but Jon knows Gerry and can feel the tremble of fear (fear for him, who would have thought), and the tension of his frustration.

"I'm going to go talk to the doctor, okay? Just- just take it easy. Everything will be fine, love."

Jon doesn't believe him, not really, but he lets Gerry go. There's a lot of noise and movement after that, and Jon's head spins through most of it. Gerry is there, talking to doctors, querying the tests they want to run, and just generally making his opinion in regards to his partner's care very clear.

*

Martin knows it's bad when he arrives at the hospital and finds Gerry chain-smoking in the parking lot. His expression mostly just looks exhausted, but in his favorite black trench coat, and most intimidating combat boots, he looks ready to burn something down.

"That bad, huh?" Martin tries, but Gerry simply waves him towards the entrance, not making eye contact.

Martin almost cuts his losses, wanting to deal with one idiot at a time, but doesn't want to leave Gerry to sulk.

"How is he?" Martin asks.

"He's in one piece. They asked me to leave so they could do the x-rays. Apparently, he fell over a banister."

"A banister? How?"

"Your guess is as good as mine until we can interrogate him." Gerry takes a long, contemplative drag of his cigarette. "But apparently it's not all that bad and as long as the x-rays look clear, we can take him home in a couple of hours."

"He couldn't have chosen a worse time."

Gerry grunts in agreement. "He's going to tell us he wants to go back to his own flat, but that's only because he thinks I'm angry at him."

"And why would he think that?" Martin questions.

Gerry takes another long drag of his cigarette as if testing Martin's attention span, or patience, or both. Martin just waits, still and easy.

Gerry explains what he knows, his earlier outburst, Jon's guilty, stupid face.

When the cigarette is smoked and put out, Martin finally approaches Gerry all the way, and Gerry sinks into his arms gratefully.

"Everything will be fine."

"Hardly. This is my fault to begin with, and I yelled at him. In a hospital bed!"

"It's as good a place as any other, love. Come on, let's go get him so we can take him home."

Martin kisses him gently, before taking his hand and dragging him off to find Jon.

*

"Your partner is very loud." The blonde nurse with the buzzcut tells Jon as she wheels him to imaging.

"In his defense, I'm an idiot." He sighs, causing his battered ribs to ache.

She laughs heartily, wheeling him into an elevator. "Almost everyone I meet as an A&E nurse is. At least you seem like an interesting idiot."

Jon actually smiles, somehow pleased with the observation. "I'm Jon."

"Daisy Tonner." She offers a hand, which Jon shakes as firmly as he can manage. "You seem a bit old for trespassing in haunted houses, Jon."

The elevator dings and she wheels him out into the imaging wing. "I was looking for the woman who died there." Daisy gives him a skeptical look and he sighs dramatically. "I didn't know she was dead."

Daisy nods her understanding. "I remember when she died actually. They brought her here that night. Never seen someone with so much blood loss be so… Erratic. We had to strap her down." Daisy looks contemplative as she recalls the memory.

"She was a crazy bitch to the very end, then?" Jon asks, bitterness creeping through his tone at the woman who caused Gerry (still causes Gerry,) so much pain. Jon doesn't allow himself, yet, to dwell on the heartache of the years of Gerry she took from him.

"For sure," Daisy tells him. "What do you do for a living then?"

"I'm a librarian?" Jon tells her, but it goes up a bit at the end, like a question.

"Really?" Daisy asks wryly, "You don't sound very sure."

Jon considers laughing but remembers his ribs in time to settle on a tired smile. "I do work in a library but to be frank, most of the time I just feel like my boss's busy boy. Always running here and there and doing everything but what I thought I was supposed to be doing."

"Most professions aren't what we think they are when we sign up for them," Daisy observes. She parks his wheelchair outside a door and leans around to let them know a patient is waiting.

"Do you like being a nurse?" Jon asks her when she settles against the wall beside him, looking rather more intimidating than one would expect from the average health care worker.

"Most of the time. Sometimes it can be just exhausting and draining." She shrugs, contemplative. "Sometimes I get a patient that makes all the shit worthwhile. Mostly I just want to deck someone, though."

She cracks up at that and looks down at Jon to give him a feral grin. "Your boyfriend seems like a worthwhile candidate. Very punchable face."

"Careful, he might enjoy it," Jon warns her, deadpan.

They exchange a pointed look for a moment, before bursting into laughter. It pains Jon significantly, but he considers it worthwhile to enjoy the moment with a strange new friend.

*

By the time Daisy returns Jon to his room, both Martin and Gerry are there. Daisy looks pointedly between blue-haired, pierced, goth Gerry, and pink-haired, jumper clad, soft Martin and then eyes up 'born an 85-year old man' Jon for good measure.

Jon just shrugs at her and she nods in acknowledgment, before helping Jon into his hospital bed.

"As soon as the imaging comes through, it'll be checked by the surgeon on duty," Daisy informs them briskly, "then they'll come through and let you know what's happening. You'd best settle in for a bit of a wait. Buzz if you need me."

With a curt nod and a small smile for Jon, Daisy is off.

Martin comes over and pulls Jon into his comfortable arms, pressing his lips to Jon's forehead. He sighs out in relief to have solid reassurance that Jon is alright, alive, and relatively unscathed.

Gerry also moves over from his perch on the windowsill, and folds himself onto the bed, cross-legged in front of his errant partner.

They settle all together, Martin beside Jon, one unwavering arm around his shoulders, Gerry in front of Jon, both of his hands holding both of Jon's.

Jon opens his mouth to apologize.

"I'll go first," Gerry tells him, gently. "I am sorry that I was so upset earlier and that I raised my voice. I was fucking scared and I took it out on you when you needed me to be soft and steady. I'm also sorry that I didn't tell you Mary was dead before."

Jon tries to interrupt now, but Martin silences him with a squeeze.

"I meant to tell you, but it was all very messed up and over-wrought and I honestly forgot." Gerry looks chastised, a rare blush staining his cheeks. "I hope that we can get better at talking these things out so that this doesn't happen again."

He pauses, considering. "And I hope that if I have made you think that you can't talk to me by avoiding telling you things in the past, that you can forgive me and I will do what I need to be better."

Jon is truly floored, and utterly speechless. The words themselves had been a little bit halting and slightly awkward, as Gerry struggled to express himself, but the earnestness proves to Jon just how much Gerry loves him.

"I- I'm sorry too." Jon stutters out. "I'm an idiot but I love you. I hope we can get better at this together."

His words feel downright juvenile after Gerry's acknowledgement, but it's all he's got, pounding head and trapped emotions preventing similar declarations (oh and his total lack of social skills). Gerry beams at him regardless and he leans forwards to kiss Jon sweetly on the forehead.

Martin grabs Gerry's hand and places a kiss on his palm, sending him a significant look. It feels like approval to Jon, and he can't help but appreciate their bond just as much as his own with each of them.

They settle to wait, and they take turns reading from Martin's book to pass the time, each of their voices having a few moments to fill the air and weave around them.

Dr. Basira Hussain eventually comes in, assuring them that Jon's concussion is mild, his ribs are only bruised, and that he should make a full recovery (if he rests), in just a few weeks. They thank her profusely and she leaves them with Daisy to check out.

Gerry goes off to take care of the paperwork and in a few minutes, they're saying goodbye and walking out of the hospital together. Martin and Gerry flank Jon carefully, there to support him if he stumbles.

He also sits between them in the taxi, head on Martin's shoulder and one hand grasped between both of Gerry's. He feels exhausted and floaty from painkillers, and every jolt of the car makes it difficult to breathe.

He smiles, rather unexpectedly. Despite his current predicament, he's glad enough to know that Mary Keay is dead and that chapter of their lives is definitely closed. He does wish he had just asked Gerry, but he hopes that the strained feelings and injuries will blow over and she will finally be out of their lives for good, nothing but a sad, angry memory. A shade living only in the memories of those that didn't know her.

[voidstilesplease]

philautia

steo + the types of love

“All friendly feelings for others are an extension of a man’s feelings for himself.” - Aristotle

~•~

Gerard wages war against the supernaturals of Beacon Hills.

"Everything's a lesson, every moment with me. And if there's one thing you learn today, it's this: the best way to build an army is through fear."

He's taken new hunters, civilians of the town, and trains them, gives them weapons, and encourages them to attack. 

They left town shortly after the case against the Beast of Gevaudan, and Theo went willingly. In his anger, it was easy to convince him to cut off communication from anybody in Beacon Hills, even Chris, but most especially Stiles.

It was as good as a break-up, Theo leaving with not a single word or intention to leave one. All he knew was, they'd somehow pardoned Deucalion. Theo would never do so in his lifetime.

So he helped Gerard gather Argent hunters that still believed in him, seek their assistance to get supplies and ammunition, and trained himself for the day he would fight Deucalion.

Theo had missed a lot in their absence. Gerard had kept pieces of information to himself mostly, but on particular subjects, he elected to share. Like when the omen of the Hellhound did come to pass - the Wild Hunt - and almost eradicated Beacon Hills from reality. They'd managed to derail the Hunt with minimal casualties, but still, Gerard had laughed in mockery as he narrated.

Prom also happened, and graduation after that.

Stiles left for a pre-FBI program in Quantico, Virginia. And then he assisted in a field operation to save Derek Hale. 

And they hadn't talked since the night he left.

But then, Gerard called it time to come home and reclaim Beacon Hills. His newest protege, Tamora Monroe, is a BHHS guidance counselor and a victim of the Beast fiasco, making her an effortless convert.

More and more joined them - scared civilians, who wanted to drive the supernaturals away from their town and safety; until it was more extermination than banishment. 

They killed Brett and Lori. Theo knew these people, and they weren't the friendliest, but he knew they were far from dangerous.

"I don't know what we're doing anymore," Theo complains to the old hunter when he learns about another supernatural death: a student from the high school who's never hurt a fly once. "I want to hunt down one werewolf who's responsible for the massacre of many. Not some teenager who hasn't done anything but be!"

"And that's the point," Gerard drawls, not looking away from the handgun he's polishing. "They shouldn't exist."

Theo grits his teeth, "We have a code. And it doesn't say destroy everyone, but those who have taken advantage of their enhancements. Monsters like Deucalion."

"You forget," his eyes only flicker up for a brief moment. "Your sister's murderer is now a friend of Scott."

"Scott's stupid, not dangerous."

At this, Gerard lifts his eyes and levels him with a disappointed stare. "You know what's more dangerous than a smart person choosing an ally? A dumb one, choosing an ally. They often trust the wrong, deadly ones."

He opens his mouth to respond, but Monroe cuts him off. She's been eavesdropping, and it makes Theo hate her even more. "Make up your mind, Theo," she says, leaning against a table and regarding him with distaste. "It's either you're with us, or you're not. Soft ones don't have a place in here."

He's vibrating inside with rage at her implication, "I want revenge," he intones with weight in his words, because he does. He wants to see Deucalion dead. 

"Then get revenge," Monroe curls her lips. "Whatever it takes. It is not a selective program, boy, it's all or nothing."

***

Since the day Gerard took him in, the hunter's code had imbued to his brain like a brand: Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent. He had promised to learn all that he needed to and be what a hunter should be. So that one day, he'd come face-to-face with the one werewolf he'd give the world to kill and attain that vengeance he coveted. Gerard promised him that.

But what they're doing right now is not standing by that code anymore. Killing innocents - they're no better than the monsters.

But he can't give up his chance of retribution. He owes Tara this.

***

It doesn't go to voicemail as he expects. The familiar voice of Stiles picks up from the other side, and Theo gets tongue-tied.

They haven't spoken in months. Theo doesn't even know what to say. He has assumed Stiles has changed his number or won't even take the call at all. But now, they're here, suspended in this moment of uncertainty.

"Theo," Stiles's tone is not hostile but surprised. He can't blame him. Even Theo is surprised with himself for braving the call.

"Stiles," he doesn't mean to croak, but his voice breaks just a little for even having this chance of familiarity again.

Neither of them speaks for a while, just listening to each other's breathing. At least, that's what Theo's doing. Stiles could be with his pack, tracking the call right now, but he doesn't care.

Finally, Stiles inhales and exhales in loud puffs, "Theo, what's happening?" his voice strains with disappointment. "Why are you doing this?"

"I haven't killed anybody,"

"No," he sighs tiredly. "You - the hunters. What do you hope to achieve by getting rid of us? Beacon Hills is still a beacon of supernaturals, and they will keep coming and will intend to inflict pain. We're not the enemy here, Theo."

"Stiles, I don't even know anymore," Theo rubs his face with his free hand, weariness infusing in his voice. "Deucalion is with you, and he's an enemy."

Stiles doesn't answer that. He only breathes unevenly on the line. 

Theo hesitates, doesn't want to speak out loud of the memories haunting him for years. But this is Stiles. If there's one person who can urge the words out of him, it's Stiles. Whether he's the bubbly, happy-go-lucky human boy or the tainted-soul werewolf he is now.

"Tara got turned," the words whoosh out of him, puncturing his chest as they go. "She voluntarily got bitten and became a member of a pack. She told me, but I was powerless to stop her. She wanted the power that came with it. And then Deucalion waltzed in with his pack of alphas. Tara told me they were dangerous because they mean harm and that her alpha was worried. It was for a good reason because not even a week later, they massacred her entire pack. They removed my sister's heart from her chest and dropped it on our doorstep."

There's silence for a period, then Stiles says. "I killed Allison. That's why my eyes are blue."

Theo doesn't expect the confession. He's stunned.

"Everyone tells me," his voice hitches, then he swallows. "That it's an accident. Even Allison looked at me in the eyes before dying and told me it was not my fault. Maybe it wasn't, but I bore the guilt all the same. It took something away from me."

Theo closes his eyes, "So, you understand why I have to do this."

"I understand that you think this is your obligation to Tara," Stiles carefully says. "But this is genocide, not justice."

Theo huffed out shakily, forcing back the frustration wetting in his eyes. 

"Theo," Stiles says again, much softer this time. "Your sister's death took something away from you, too. But you can gradually gain it back by doing what your heart knows is right."

"I don't even know where to begin," Theo laughs without humor.

"Maybe by forgiving yourself,"

After a long while, Theo finally asks in a small, doubtful voice. "Did you love me?"

Stiles doesn't reply immediately, but when he does, it's with honesty. "I would've,"

Despite the truth, Theo feels better as he ends the call.

***

He dreams of Tara, but she's not trying to claw his heart out from his chest any longer. She's trying to give him one.

~•~

self-love: a healthy form of love where you recognize your self-worth and don’t ignore your personal needs. It begins with acknowledging your responsibility for your well-being. (catalyst: soul)

[asterekmess]

1-4 What the fuck is a true alpha? A recurring joke? A convenient plot armor? A desperate attempt to make an irrelevant character look ‘relevant’ despite canon showing otherwise? Scott/Posey Stans think that Scott McCall has a right to command and dictate everyone’s life because he is a tWuE aLpAhA; Scott has a right to play judge, jury & executioner with his “inferior” friends, and he has a right to determine what is wrong or right based on his own benefit and bigoted black and white mentality.

2-4 If you think that this sounds an awful lot like the Divine Right of Kings, you are absolutely right. An unearned (and undeserved) mystical superiority or blessing, a fabricated sense of purity, goes a long way in ameliorating Scott McCall’s Failures and Fuck-ups. And like kings who rule by Divine Right, he can do as he likes. Which is why Scott can patronize and lie to Allison and Kira to control them, assault Isaac and Jackson due to his own pathological jealousy and possessiveness,

3-4 use Hayden (Liam’s girlfriend) as bait against the Dread Doctors without her consent to play the hero, dehumanize Stiles and accuse Stiles of being a violent, dangerous, inhuman monster and serial killer for daring to accidentally kill his abuser in self-defense, sell Derek and his Pack to the hunters, refuse to tell his girlfriend Allison the truth about her mother’s death to look ‘good’ in her eyes,

4-4 plot/conspire with Gerard Argent and Deaton behind everyone’s back to violate Derek Hale’s boundaries, bodily autonomy and consent for his own benefit, claim that the Argents had a reason to slaughter the Hales (including HUMANS and CHILDREN) in front of Derek Hale and of his comatose uncle – and then Scott/Posey Stans will consider everyone kicking Scott’s whiny, toxic excuse of an ass to the curb and not giving an utter crap when Scott died in Season 5 as an act equivalent of treason

I put all your asks together so I didn’t get confused (which is v likely to happen) and I thank you for numbering them for me. <3

The concept of a true alpha...sigh. Look, I see the intention, okay? I see the goal, the idea that you don’t have to kill someone to become an Alpha. That there can be “Good” Alphas who haven’t killed anyone. But I also think it’s lazy writing. This is one the few instances where TW hadn’t actually shot themselves in the foot yet. They gave us so little information on werewolves that they never actually said that the only way to become an Alpha was by killing another Alpha. They could very easily have said “Also, you can become an Alpha this other way” (Be it by passing the Alpha spark down to children willingly, or being beaten in a special kind of combat, or through a ritual of some kind)

But they didn’t just want another way to be the Alpha. They wanted a way that didn’t take any effort. It would be too hard to introduce another Alpha that would give up their spark to Scott, or to have him put in the effort to do a ritual. They needed a way to make Scott an Alpha without any additional effort. Part of me honestly wonders if they did it because they knew they’d lost a lot of Scott fans by the end of Season 2, what with all of his betrayals and lies and what he did to Derek. They needed a way to reaffirm that Scott was the good guy, so they made up the True Alpha thing and said “Look! He’s so pure and goodhearted and he has so much good will, that he can’t even help but become an Alpha”

They demonized werewolves by reducing them to murderers who had to kill for power (In Derek’s case it was survival, and i’ll fight for him.) and then held Scott up as a saint because he managed it without killing.

Except that he had killed. Or at least tried to kill. How could he be this pure person they claimed if he spent weeks poisoning a cancer patient, lying to everyone around him, and he took Pleasure in it. He was Proud of himself for his lies and his tricks and for getting back at Derek by hurting him. That’s the kind of behavior we expect from Stiles, who is established as a morally gray character. You cannot have Scott do something like that and then make the claim that he is morally pure.

Once Scott finds out from Morrell that killing someone will take away his True Alpha status, he goes out of his way to avoid killing people even when it puts others at risk. This ISN’T an Avatar moment, okay? He doesn’t summon the power of his ancestors and render the villains completely incapable of harm. He just fucking lets them go! Deucalion gets his fucking eyesight back for fuck’s sake. He was MORE dangerous than before and they let him go! (I know Derek was part of that, but I’m pretty sure Derek was possessed by a pod person by that point)

He never said he’d behave. No one checked on him or watched to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone. They just let him leave. He could’ve just rebuilt a new Alpha pack. Could’ve killed dozens more people.

Jennifer would have too, had Peter not killed her.

Even better, he brings Ethan and Aiden into his pack. They walked right up to him and told him “Everyone is hunting for us because we killed a ton of people” and he just took them in? Gave them protection from the families of the people they’d slaughtered? All because they followed him around for a bit and said “We’ll only kill for you from now on.”

And this is why I get so frustrated about the blue eyes. The concept of ‘taking an innocent life’ is so fucking vague? Scott is indirectly responsible for countless deaths throughout the show. Whether by inaction or because the people doing the killing were acting on his orders, or whatever the fuck else I can’t think of at the moment. It doesn’t matter if he hasn’t intended to kill anyone. He should not still have his True Alpha status. Period. But he does, so apparently Scott can kill as many people as he wants, actually, so long as he doesn’t do it with his own claws and teeth. Or maybe he just can’t kill a human who hasn’t killed anyone else? Who the fuck knows.

I’ll say it again. If The Alpha spark can be used to heal someone, why didn’t Scott use it to save Allison? She wasn’t cursed. She was stabbed. He could’ve done the same thing Derek did. Peter even said that it can be done on accident. All it requires is that he do the pain drain and not stop when it starts to hurt.

To be quite honest, I don’t blame Scott’s True Alpha eyes for his entitlement and his belief that he can do no wrong. He held that same notion way before his eyes ever turned red. The eyes are to blame for no one else calling him out for his actions. You’re told by the only fucking person who seems to know what’s going on in the supernatural world that this kid’s eyes turned red all on their own because he is meant to be an Alpha. That it’s because he is good and pure and it’s a sign of his worthiness. He literally was just gifted extra power, apparently because he’s the only one worthy of it. How the fuck are you supposed to deal with that? Are you supposed to be the one person who tells fucking Werewolf Jesus (technically Derek is Actual werewolf jesus what with the evolution thing, but before that Scott’s as close as it gets cus’ Peter’s just a zombie.) that he doesn’t know best? That he’s doing something wrong? If the Powers that Be made Scott an Alpha, what will they do to the one who tells him he fucked up? Everyone is just supposed to trust that Scott must be in the right. That his reasons are good enough. That he knows what’s best. Because if he doesn’t, then why the sudden Alpha eyes? Peter questions Scott often and happily, mostly because he doesn’t care if he gets struck by lightning or something. It’ll always be worth it to get that last quip in. Eventually Stiles starts to argue too, because he’s reached the point where he doesn’t care if he dies so long as everyone else important to him stops getting hurt. That’s when Scott starts cutting him out. When he stops believing Scott knows best.

And honestly, it’s like the first post I made that sparked this whole ranting binge. Scott cheats. He cheats and he uses his abilities to his advantage without ever thinking of what it does to other people. Except this time he’s not cheating at lacrosse. He’s not taking credit for bowling six strikes in a row. For some reason his eyes turned red, and everyone else is taking it as a sign that he must know better and he should be in charge, and he never disagrees.

Sure, he complains. “Why me? Why does it have to be my responsibility?”

Guess what buddy? It fucking doesn’t. If you stopped fucking ordering people around and admitted you don’t know what you’re doing to someone besides your MOM and you want someone else to take the lead? THEY WOULD. But because he will not admit any kind of weakness or that he isn’t sure what to do, he puts the weight on himself. He blames everyone else for the lead weights he tied around his waist. He doesn’t want to have to do the work, but he hates the idea of someone else being in charge. Of not being important. We’re told right off the bat that Scott wants to be important. He wants to be on first line not because he loves the game, but because he wants to be popular. He wants Allison to go out with him. This is just another way he wants to be important, and he won’t ever let go of it. He gives orders and makes calls on who gets to know what and who is worthy and won’t take responsibility for the failures, but happily takes credit for the successes. When he fucks up by not talking to people or by lying to them or making a bad call, he doesn’t admit it. He doesn’t tell anyone. He lets them think that he’s blameless so that when he actually says shit like “I lost them” someone will say “They’ll come back because you’re their leader” No. He’s not. He lost them because he pushed them away. It was his fault.

Whatever. I’m salty. *pouts* Anyway. True Alpha is dumb, and I’ve read a couple theories about how Deaton made it up, and tbh, I’d follow that logic. If you’re curious, I think I tagged it ‘true alpha’ or ‘deaton’ on my blog.

[lonesparkthefriendlykraken]

@amariemelody asked about Christine x Erik for the ship ask

For the most part I don’t ship it, which turns out to be a VERY unpopular opinion. PotO fandom spaces are the only fandom spaces I’ve ever been in that aren’t queer-centered and... feels bad, man. No one’s fault at all, cis ladies and whoever else let out your wild, dark fantasies! I’ll just be over here petting the queer ships and mostly ID’ing with Erik but also wanting to smack him.

I like canon, mostly. And in book canon especially, but also in the musical and many other adaptations, Erik reads as very queer, and Christine feels queerish too, in some ways. And Erik or maybe both of them potentially aspec, too. Which is to say my OTP is and always will be Pharoga, I like Megstine a lot, I’ll ship anything queer, but I also love most Christines with most Raouls.

My two fav versions that I’ve read so far were in beloved works where the main ships were Pharoga and (eventual) R/C. 

I do think Christine and Erik will always be drawn to each other as kinda musical soulmates, and will always love each other, but I don’t think that is or should be necessarily romantic and/or sexual connection (outside of music. inside it’s... complicated...)

The exception is in the 1990 mini-series, because Cherik is such a soft Phantom, and there’s no decent Raoul character who deserves Christine. Still not sure their relationship would look like any kind of typical het romance, but there I think they could team up for love and making Gerard pay.

If there is E/C, it needs to be secondary to Erik’s relationship with the Daroga character, and versions without him in it make me sad. I love what @shinyfire-0 is doing with “Tercet,” showing older, post “Pour Like The Rain” Erik’s relationships to the most important people in his universe, where he can be crazy excited about the musical connection with Christine, but still grounded thru years of love with Nadir.

[thenextstepthoughts]

Songs That Suit Season 7 Characters in TNS

How I’ve made this is that I haven’t based my song choices out of what I think the character would listen to. It’s more based on how the song fits with their season seven storyline or even just one scene with the character that has been in season 7. Warning: Some of these songs have mature themes/swearing in them so if you’re uncomfortable with that, don’t listen. I will be marking them in this post with a (*). Mature themes will have 1 (*) and songs with swearing will have 2 (**). I also don’t have all the characters from season 7 on this list. Most of B-Troupe isn’t on it. I just thought I should focus on the characters that have had the most screen time since I’m focusing on season 7 stories. 

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1rzNDgwoXQJ47aFrW2jGuN

Note: Safe and Sound isn’t available on Spotify so it’s not on the playlist: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsDCAxAXCTg

Nick - Daydream In Blue - I Monster *

Daydream In Blue makes me think of Nick in the offseason where he is cleaning the chandelier. Since the song mentions a chandelier it now makes me think of Nick. Since Myles Dobson uses feather duster and chandelier emotes/emojis on his discord/twitch, I will always think of Nick when I see a chandelier. 

Amy - I like (The Idea Of) You - Tessa Violet 

Gimmie Gimmie Gimmie (A Man After Midnight) - ABBA

Amy is definitely a love interest type character in TNS based on the last few seasons she’s been in so I feel like these two songs about desiring a relationship from someone suit her character. 

Emily - Should I Stay or Should I Go? - The Clash

I picked Should I Stay or Should I Go because I feel like that sums up Emily’s season 7B dilemma of whether or not she should stay at TNS and be a partner with Nick or if she should go and work on a tour with Michelle.

Kenzie - Pencil Full Of Lead - Paolo Nutini 

I picked Pencil Full Of Lead mostly because it’s an unproblematic song. Kenzie hasn’t really had much of a storyline in season 7. I just felt like this song suited her. 

Finn - The Wanderer - Dion 

TOOTIMETOOTIMETOOTIME - 1975

I picked both of these songs because Finn is a cheater and he cheated on Amy. They both have very different sounds but the core messages of both songs do relate to season 7 Finn. 

Piper - I hate u, I love u - gnash**

I think this song fits Piper in season 7A. She is trying to avoid her feelings for Finn due to him dating Amy. She discovers her feelings for Finn but she doesn’t want them so, this fits her story. 

Jude - Birds - Terrence Williams Jr and Thomas Sanders

Birds is a calming song about birdwatching and while Jude hasn’t had a birdwatching storyline, I feel like her character is very calm and level headed and that the song matches her character. 

Henry - Amsterdam - Nothing But Thieves**

I picked this song for Henry purely for the line “I really need that feeling back”. I feel like this sums up his relationship with Amy. He had feelings for her in season 6 and then they end up returning in the latter half of season 7 resulting in them having a relationship.

Richelle - Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger by Daft Punk

Safe and Sound - Kyosuke Himuro featuring Gerard Way

Harder Better Faster Stronger is a song about working hard and improving and honestly, I feel like that perfectly embodies Richelle’s character throughout season 7. She wants to be the best she can be. I feel like Safe and Sound suits her for the same reason.

Cleo - Emperor's New Clothes by Panic! At The Disco

I picked this song for Cleo purely for the line “Finders Keepers”. Since A-Troupe threw the idea of going to Nationals away in turn for going to Dancemania at the start of the season, Cleo found this as an opportunity for B-Troupe to compete at Nationals, therefore, Finders Keepers.

Summer - Drown - Bring Me The Horizon 

Boulevard Of Broken Dreams - Green Day**

Summer went through a lot of rejection during this season. She wasn’t great at being dance captain, she got rejected as a soloist from Dancemania, her choreo didn’t get a single vote, she didn’t get a chance to re audition as a soloist for Dancemania too. I know a lot of these were her own fault but that is a lot of rejection in a short space of time and that is why I feel like these songs would suit her. She hasn’t really been a team member to A-Troupe or B-Troupe. She’s just been trying to figure out what path she needs to be on alone.

Ozzy - What’s My Age Again? - Blink-182 **

I honestly picked this song for Ozzy due to him being quite childish. The song’s core theme is the idea of being quite childish and I think that suits Ozzy’s character fairly well. 

Heathcliff - Run Boy Run - Woodkid

I feel like Run Boy Run suits Heath because of his scenes with Izzy. I do think of the apocalypse when I hear this song and I think that suits Heath and Izzy’s friendship well due to their little survival kits. 

Kingston - Jenny - WALK THE MOON

I feel like Kingston would change the name Jenny to Lily. The song is about chasing after this girl and wanting her to chase after you back and I feel like an argument could be made that this related to Kingston’s relationship with Lily. 

Lily - Hot Girl Bummer - Blackbear **

I feel like Lily would relate to this song during the times that Kingstily has broken up. Ozzy and Henry are fairly annoyed when Kingstily keeps breaking up so I feel like the line “I hate your friends and they hate me too” could easily relate to Lily.

[jamlocked]

C, J, U, V and X :))

C -  A ship you have never liked and probably never will.

Ohhhh, boy. I could go three ways on this really...or maybe two, idk. I feel like my answer will be taken as problematic - - and I’m going for it anyway, because it’s just my opinion. 

The ship I dislike the most is Sherlolly. It’s not because I don’t like Molly - I do, a lot. It’s not because that would make Sherlock straight or bi - the whole argument that used to fly about that Sherlolly = homophobic is fucking gross. It’s just not a ship that does anything for me. I used to think that I just found it boring (and this is NOT me saying that Molly is boring, or het romance is boring, or any of that), but I’ve come to realise it’s mostly because it vibes with the part of Sherlock’s narrative I like the least. The whole, ‘Sherlock was weird and abnormal with no friends, but now we’re going to turn him into a complete human being’, thing. Which, VOMIT. 

Again, I’m not saying that het romance is too ‘normal’ to fit here. Sherlock could have a massive thing with Irene, and that would have a vibe I like far more. The issue I have with Sherlolly is that Sherlock has always been an extreme type of character in whatever canon. Molly, in BBC canon, is this wonderful character Sherlock came to find a great friend in. The notion that he could ‘learn to be normal/complete’ seems to be the arc of the four seasons, complete with the whole ‘I love you’ scene in TFP, where they full dangled the possibility of future!canon!Sherlolly by at least making Sherlock think about it seriously. It seems to equate with ‘the more we teach Sherlock to fit into ‘normal’ society, the more chance he has of having a ‘normal’ relationship, with someone...’ - okay, I’m not going to hold Molly up as a bastion of normality, given she falls for sociopaths and does autopsies, but even if you take that into consideration, it’s still the most ‘normal’ relationship the writers could put him into. A casual viewer would go, ‘he’s got a girlfriend now, he behaves better, he gets on with his family, he’s straight/white/upper middle-class = totally a character I’m easy with’. 

And that’s just not what interests me when it comes to relationships I want to watch. Now, if we’re talking about dark!Molly who’s into Glee and cats, but also runs a black market organ business and wants Sherlock to help sort out the competition - I’m totally here for that. If Molly likes her knitted cardigans and secretly wants to kill Sherlock, while he likes his suits and is madly in love her but also wants to use her to get to her criminal mother who harvests dead bodies and practices necromancy? I’m all ears. 

But ‘Sherlock gets a girlfriend, solves crimes, learns manners and is never obnoxious again, and OH LOOK WE FIXED HIM’ - fuck, no.  ...that was a lot of words, and I didn’t explain it very clearly, but I’ma stop now. 

J -    Name a fandom you didn’t think about until you saw it all over Tumblr. (You don’t have to care about it or follow it; it just has to be something that Tumblr made you aware of.)

Tumblr has made me aware of BTS, The Witcher (although I had seen adverts for that on Amazon, but idk anything about it), Hamilton, Moomin, MASH, The Mentalist, Kyo Dir en Grey, Elementary ...oh man, there must be more, but I forget. I’ve been here a few years now. I’d heard of most of these shows/people before Tumblr, of course, but didn’t know much about them. And still don’t on some of them, but am definitely aware of them now. 

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

Jim Moriarty, obviously. HE IS SO FUN. And there is such pain under the smirk, and THOSE SUITS, BABY. I am the biggest sucker in the world for obsession, and ...well, see my answer to X in a minute. There’s nothing about him I don’t ove. So much scope to play with in fic as well. 

An old fandom of mine - Les Mis. My fave character is Javert, because of course I love the most awful dick of them all. Again, with him, see X below. And also again, so much to write about. I literally nearly based a PhD proposal around him, and his representation, his place in 19th century France, his attitudes and where they came from. Did you know the character of Sam Gerard in The Fugitive is based on him? He’s relentless, he’s unforgiving, and he collapses at the end in the most spectacular way possible. Total prick, and I fucking love him. :D

I’m really trying to think of character I love who isn’t a total douche, just for the sake of variety. But I can’t, so lets go with Gene Hunt from Life on Mars. 

I expect most people won’t have heard of/seen this show (but omg they might be making a new series, sa;ldfkjsalfksj I CANNOT :D), but if you can watch it, you should. Gene Hunt is awful - a 70s cop with all the faults of the time. Corrupt, mostly alcoholic, sexist, violent, homophobic, racist...but also hilarious, and there’s a really big heart under there. You learn that he might do nothing but call people the worst names in the world, but he always ends up doing his job in. If you watch this four minute video, you’ll get the gist. If you’re a fan of the Discworld series and you like Sam Vimes, you’ll recognise Gene. He’s the arshetype of Copper, and he goes on this great arc from being the stereotypical bad copper of the 70s, to being something quite different. And he really is hilarious, with insane charisma. He and Sam Tyler are the perfect double act. :D

V - Which character do you relate to most?

Jim Moriarty. I may not be a criminal mastermind, but only because I’m not that smart. And don’t have his level of swag, because c’mon. Who does?

X - A trope which you are almost certain to love in any fandom.

AHAHA. My bulletproof trope is ‘two sides of the same coin’. Sherlock/Moriarty. Javert/Jean Valjean - who, incidentally, were two characters based off one man; Vidocq. (A man who more films should be made about, incidentally.) These two are literally two sides of one man. Even Gene Hunt represents part of Sam’s psyche in Life on Mars, as well as the more obvious old vs new, forensic vs gut instinct. 

But yeah, in literally any fandom, you show me a protagonist and an antagonist that are more or less the same person, and I’m there. Cannot get enough of it. 

[littleladymab]

tiny cracks of light - chapter seven

(masterpost)

Prelude- She can hear the softest tread a few rows over, and figures that someone from the main Institute arrived while she was busy. Tim is the only one that seeks her out, and the others she only has a passing knowledge of.

But when the hands close over her eyes, Sasha can't help the startled squeak and she drops the book that she's holding.

"Guess who," a voice says, the tone pitched low and ominous to disguise who it might actually be.

She purses her lips and starts to lift her hands to guess by feel, but the person says, "Uh-uhhhh! That’s cheating."

"I would think that just Knowing it would be cheating."

"Then consider this practice."

There's very few options of who it could be, but she falls still and stretches her senses out anyway — the way Gertrude taught her, plucking and pulling on the threads binding the Eye's vision just so so she can let an image take shape.

The person covering her eyes has strong ties, sharp and reluctant, but there. He also was supposed to be back several days ago.

"Gerard Keay, are you slacking off on your work?" Sasha finally says, and he laughs as he lets her go. She spins around to face him.

"If a man enjoys what he does, he never works a day in his life!" he intones in the same dramatic voice. When she smacks his arm, he laughs again and holds up his hands to defend himself.

"Then what does that make you?"

He considers the question as Sasha stoops to pick up her dropped book. "A slacker?"

She opens her mouth to make another quip when she spots the smear of red poking up from just beneath his collar. "You're hurt."

Gerry adjusts his coat and brushes his hair over his shoulder to hide the mark. "It's nothing. It's mostly healed."

Sasha bats his hands away and tugs at the collar of his shirt to get a better look. "You should be resting!" She herds him over to one of the reading tables and forces him down into a chair. "What happened?"

"Run-in with a friend of the Slaughter. It's fine. I took care of it." He bites out the sentences without any emotion. "I got the report Gertrude needed and that's the important thing."

She sighs and clicks her tongue, tugging at his coat to get him to take it off. "The important thing is that you're safe," she says and braids his hair back. "Now, I know you carry emergency medical supplies for situations like these. Get it out, and let me take a look."

Gerry gives a long-suffering sigh, but there is the hint of a fond smile as he pulls the bandages and a flask of strong alcohol out of the pouches at his sides. "You care too much for a place like this, Sash," he says softly, but tilts his head and subjects himself to her help.

"Okay, hold on. Go back to the part where you just met the Avatar of the End? And he told you that there's a bit of Jon in the lake?" Tim paces in a tight line on the shore, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "That doesn't make sense." 

Melanie snorts. "It makes perfect sense." 

"It's as I said: I saw Jon in trouble in my dream, and so Melanie and I set out to head to the Archives. On our way there, we met Oliver and he told us to come here instead." Georgie glances to Melanie. "He's doing what he can, but even he is not completely powerful enough to stop what happened." 

Daisy's voice, when she speaks, is a low and dangerous growl. "And what did happen?"

This time, Georgie spares a glance at Sasha, but Sasha picks absently at a loose thread on the hem of her skirts. "I believe he was attempting to perform a ritual of some kind with the Eye. But then… I interrupted it." 

"So it's your fault?" Daisy summarizes. She seems completely unfazed by Melanie's snarl of warning. 

"In a sense, I suppose. But I don't know the point of what Jon was attempting. He… He didn't tell me, when last we spoke." Georgie rubs the top of her dragon's head as he butts up against her thigh. "But I know that we are the only ones capable of saving him, and for that we need Sasha." 

Everyone turns to look at her then — everyone but Melanie, who keeps her face angled towards the fire that they started at their makeshift camp. 

Tim rounds on Basira. "Did you know? Is that why you went to go bring her back, because you needed her to just be another tool for Jon?" 

"No," Basira replies. "No, I didn't…" She trails off, thinking about this before shaking her head. 

"It's fine, Tim." Sasha pushes herself to her feet and dusts off her skirts. Four pairs of eyes follow her movements, and Melanie just snorts again. "Next to the Archivist and the Watcher, I have the strongest connection to the Eye. Even after my dismissal. Sometimes the only way to be helpful is to be useful, and right now, I'm the only one who can find Jon." 

She forces herself to hold Tim's gaze, watch the frustration and anger play out over his face as he struggles to keep himself in check. "It was my choice to come back. I knew what it would mean, to some extent." 

Georgie stands as well, shifting the Admiral onto Melanie's shoulders. "The sooner we get to work, the sooner we can bring him back. Do you know what you have to do?" 

"I have an idea." Sasha removes her belts and pouches and lays them out next to her boots. She ties her hair back in a quick braid, then heads down the shore to the lake. 

Georgie follows without saying anything. 

They come to a stop in the middle of the lake, far enough away that the others will not be able to hear their conversations. The water only comes up to her waist, and it is as cold as she remembers from her vision. 

Sasha tilts her head back and gazes up at the clear sky above. "There's still enough daylight." 

Georgie looks as well, then breathes in deep. "I hope you are right." 

With a breath of her own, Sasha kicks out her legs and tilts back, allowing the water to keep her afloat. The ripples of her movement send little waves against her ears and forehead, and she swims in and out of a muffled silence. "I need you to be a tether to Jon, and that line between life and death. Can you do that?" 

She takes Sasha's hand in one of her own, and the other smooths over Sasha's brow. "Hold on tight," Georgie says before covering Sasha's eyes with her hand. 

The effect is instantaneous. 

The darkness of Georgie's palm is replaced by the starless night sky, and the thing made entirely of eyes has its hands on her breastbone and on her forehead and it shoves. 

Sasha only has a moment to inhale one desperate breath before she's plunging down into the water. 

She doesn't fall. The water has too strong a grip on her limbs. It lowers her down slowly, almost gently, if it wasn't so suffocating. 

When she sees the first of the thick, black tendrils, Sasha grabs it with both hands and uses it to propel herself further on. The only thing she can hear is the bubbles streaming from her nose and lips and the thudding heartbeat, and she thinks that she might run out of air before she hits the bottom — unsure of what that means, how real this is, what would happen if she tries— 

She tumbles suddenly into free-fall, passing through water and silt like the time the floorboards of an abandoned house gave out beneath her and she fell down a story. 

The last of the air is knocked from her lungs as someone catches her, and she gasps. 

"Careful," the person says, and at that single word her heart stops. That voice. These hands. It shouldn't be. "I've got you, Sash."

Slowly, afraid of what she'll find, Sasha lifts her gaze to see the face of the man who caught her, and Gerry gives a crooked grin.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he says, and she gives a shuddering, wrenching sob before throwing her arms around his neck. "Alright, alright. I've got you," he repeats, his hand against her back to keep her upright. 

"Your jokes are always the worst," she says into his chest. "What are you doing here?" 

"Well, you know… realm of the dead… me being dead. It all makes sense, if you think about it." Gerry sets her down and she takes a moment to try and regain her composure. "I think the more important question is what are you doing here? You're not… Are you?"

She wipes at the lingering tears clinging to her eyelashes. "No. It's… the Archivist." 

His expression flickers before settling on understanding. "Ah. So that's what this is about. I was worried this would have been a social visit."

"I was told that a piece of him would be here." 

"Yes…" Gerry draws out the word awkwardly and rubs the back of his head. "In a manner of speaking." 

"I need it." She waits for a beat, and when he doesn't immediately pass something over to her, she holds out her hand. "Please." 

He gives her a pleading look before taking her hand in both of his own. "It's not a physical item. It will be a mark on you." 

Sasha hesitates, lifting her free hand to press against her chest. The thing inside of her is unusually silent. "I already bear the mark of the Stranger. I will take the mark of the End if it means saving Jonathan."

Gerry's sigh is pained and he runs a hand over his face. "I always told you you cared too much for the Archives, Sasha." 

"So did you, in your own way." She presses her palm to his cheek, then pulls him in for another hug. "I miss you." 

"That place was never for me, and it didn't even have the audacity to be the thing to kill me in the end." He laughs and hugs her back. "But as good as it is to see you, let's not keep you here any longer." 

Gerry's fingers, cool and calloused, just as familiar as they've always been even in death, press against the pulse point on both of her wrists. He closes his eyes and focuses. A second, then two, and then a shock of ice cold pain pierces through her skin. 

She swears that her heart stops for a moment, but as soon as the pain fades, she can feel it rabbit-quick beneath his grip. "Oh, is that all?" she jokes, breathless. "You should have seen the Stranger—"

Something wraps around her forearm and gives a ferocious tug — sending her off balance and almost ripping her from Gerry's grasp. 

He lashes out, the knife already in his hand even if she didn't see him reach for it, and a black tendril falls away to dissolve into an oil slick at their feet. 

"What is happening?" she asks, slapping away another that reaches for her hips. 

"Where is your body?" 

"In — in a lake. Floating in the lake where Jon disappeared—" 

Gerry grips her shoulders and gives her a firm shake until her eyes focus on him. The black tendrils are crawling up her ankles now, though they seem to avoid Gerry. "Do you have a tether? Something to pull you back?"

She thinks of Georgie and nods. 

"You have to go," he says, and clasps the side of her neck with one hand. He leans his forehead against hers, and she can feel the spark and prickle of the Eye. "Sasha, don't let me find you here again unless you have a very good excuse." 

"I promise," she manages before the water swallows her whole and she's drowning.

Interlude- (The scene you see is thus:

On the shore, Tim struggles against Melanie's grip, screaming for a name you know is your own. There's real fear there, and you know its taste — can remember it from when he saw you before. That utter, horrifying fear because he knows what it could mean for you.

Basira drags Georgie away, both women ashen and terrified, but Georgie is an easier charge than Tim. She goes limply, but willingly. 

And there, thrashing in the middle of the lake, the Hunter pins down the thing that wears your skin. You feel its scream in your throat, clawing and hungry for air. But the Hunter doesn’t flinch. She just holds you under.)

[mychemicalficrecs]

Have any good killjoy fics? Thanx :)

Hi Nonny!

So the truth is: I don't read a lot of Killjoys fic.However. Going through the tags, I saw familiar names here and there. So this is a list of long-ish, finished Killjoy fics by authors I've enjoyed!

Killjoys Fics

we are not afraid (and we are not ashamed) by Trojie, Frank/Ray/Gerard/Mikey, 27k, Explicit. An ordinary skirmish in the desert with dracs leads to Frank taking the brunt of a new weapon - and ends with him pregnant, furious, and freaking out. When the shit hits the fan and he gets kidnapped and taken back for interrogation by Korse, and forced to listen to the contents of the Traffic Report, something in him snaps. This fucking dystopia has gone on too long.

Time Travel 'verse by ladyfoxxx, Frank/Gerard, Ray/Mikey, 79k, Explicit, General Audiences. In which 2005!Frank and Fun Ghoul get it on. Then Frank accidentally winds up in 2019.

Born to Motorbabies by jjtaylor, Frank/Gerard, 12k, Mature. Here's the thing with having a crush on a mysterious DJ; it's kind of an inconvenient place to hang your affections.

Kiss Me, You Animal by dear_monday, Frank/Gerard, 5k, Explicit. It totally wasn't his fault, okay? Frank would like that on record. Because it wasn't. An exploration of the complex dynamic between... oh, sod it. This is SHAMELESS KILLJOY PORN. \o/

Hold Your Heart Into This Darkness by tuesdaysgone, Korse/Gerard, Frank/Gerard, Ray/Mikey, 90k, Explicit. A Danger Days: True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys AU

Keep Running by silentdescant, Frank/Gerard, 25k, Explicit. The Killjoys love doing as much damage to BL/ind as they can, and until now, they've been lucky enough to avoid getting caught by Korse and his draculoid followers. But Korse's mission isn't to just kill them, it's to hurt them—hurt Gerard. And to do that, he uses Frank. After a traumatic, death-defying escape, Frank sets out with the guys to get revenge. In between the car chases and the gunfights, Frank has to let himself heal and figure how to return Gerard's feelings.

Ghost and Dust by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), Bob/Gerard, 28k, Explicit, General Audiences. Bob Bryar - also known as Spit Fire, the fifth Killjoy - should've died in the desert after Korse shot him in the head. But death isn't permanent in the zones, and rescue's nearly as ugly. When the fate of the resistance rides on Bob's shoulders, can Bob stop the mysterious enemies who anticipate his every move and cope with the mess Better Living Industries made of his life?

The Ballad of the Kobra Kid by romanticalgirl, Gabe & Mikey, 16k, Mature. You might be gone, but out here in the desert, your shadow lives on without you.

Empty Spaces by Ischa, Show Pony/Hayley Williams, Show Pony/Party Poison, 9k, General Audiences. Roughly five years in Show Pony's life. From his first love at 14, over his vow to never fall in love again to meeting Party Poison and then some more. “So, I hear you like words?” Poison asks out of the blue. Pony gives D a betrayed look. D has to fucking know that Pony isn't keen on being friends with Poison. He isn't even keen on pretending to be civil for god's sake!

Killjoys by greedy_dancer, Frank/Gerard, 7k, Teen And Up Audiences, Explicit. Gerard hasn't looked at himself properly in a while.

Bright white noise by Ischa, Party Poison/OFC, Party Poison/Pete, 12k, Explicit. Young Party Poison trying to find out who he wants to be. Ditching his fourteen year old brother, hooking up with dangerous women and catching rides with strangers. This is NOT a how Gerard became Party Poison fic. He knows that he's being a dick to her, but he feels restless and no one heard from Doctor D in weeks. It's not unusual, but Poison worries. Fuck, he thinks, he didn't worry when he was on the road and shooting at Dracs, letting Pischer fuck him and slept curled up in the backseat of her car. He misses the smell of the desert. This here isn't the desert. This is domesticated desert. It's not the same as being out there in the zones that could kill you just because you dared to step on the sand.

The Edges of This Map Have Been Burned by snarkydame, Frank/Gerard, 10k, Mature. The Killjoys took to the oceans, instead of the desert, and raid the BL/ind supply lines with only tenuous contact with the Zone Runners on land. When Gerard is lost, and taken by S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W's top captain, Korse, the crew of the Neon Angel have to get him back. Whether or not they'll get him back whole. . .

Keep The Car Running by inlovewithnight, Gabe/Mikey, 27k, Mature. Disaster Boy and the Kobra Kid: a love story.

A Spark Set to Flame by turps, Gen, 15k, Teen And Up Audiences. Gerard may be free, but he's discovered freedom costs. He's holed himself up in a room that's falling apart, he's lost the man he loves, and his brother is slipping away.Now Gerard's on the verge of losing himself, unless he can somehow find the strength to fight back.

War by akamine_chan, Korse/Gerard, 7k, Explicit. Korse doesn't usually see a need to go out into the field himself, he has his Draculoids and the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W teams for that. But sometimes there's no way to avoid it.

Better Now Than How It Used to Be by Sena, Fun Ghoul/Kobra Kid, 9k, Mature. Kobra's life is mostly stimulants and science projects -- radios and water filtration systems being the two most important. He's got his projects and his pills, has his brother and the woman whose bed his brother warms, and that's more than enough for him. He doesn't even notice the way he makes room for Fun Ghoul until it's done, until there's a spot just for him that would be cold and empty if Ghoul ever walked away.

descend!verse by corruptedkid, Fun Ghoul/Party Poison, 133k, Teen And Up Audiences. Better Living didn't keep Party Poison alive as a kindness. "Rehabilitation," they called it. Slowly eating away at his identity, removing all the pieces they didn't like, then filling in the gaps until he was a normal, healthy citizen. But while they could silence his mind, there would always be music in his heart. There would always be a spirit that couldn't be crushed by pills or empty words. Even if Poison wasn't Poison anymore, he couldn't stop fighting if he tried.

Lost & Searching by wakingup, Lindsey/Laura Jane Grace, 10k, Not Rated. The Zonerunner pushed up into a sitting position, long legs bent in front of them. She couldn’t see their face because of their motorcycle helmet—a red anatomical skull painted on the side of it—all she could see was long brown hair spilling over their shoulders. Over the mouth of the helmet was painted “DEVOUR” in the same bright red. Lindsey felt goosebumps rise along her spine.

[stone-stars]

[ID: A black and white comic of Gerard and Elody's conversation from episode 14 of Neverafter. As they talk, they are drawn on the left (Gerard) and the right (Elody), and their text is mostly aligned to their respective sides.

The first series of panels shows three pairs of illustrations of them as they speak, separated into individual boxes. They are first in the present, a mostly-frog prince and a battle-scarred princess; then a mostly human prince with a frog's eyes and an adult princess; then a pair of young kids, with Gerard clearly dirty and weathered from living in a swamp. They are looking at each other, brows furrowed and lips slightly parted, their expressions echoing back through time. The background of the first pair is white, the middle light grey, and the youngest one a darker grey. The gap between their boxes gets bigger as it goes back in time-- it is almost touching in the first and much wider in the third. Under each pair of illustrations are parts of their conversation. First: - Gerard: Um, I, I just, ... I'm sorry. - Elody: I can't blame you, Gerard. Second: - Gerard: I know that you've been dealing with this for much longer than I've been, and I'm, I'm sorry I made you do that alone. - Elody: Maybe you were just aware that no matter what you did, the story people would tell about you was that there was a period of years you were a frog. Third: - Gerard: And that my desire to... keep our, our happy ending meant that I was pretending that the bad times weren't here, - Elody: And I never faulted you for believing that it had ended. And I think I carry a lot of anger, because the way I was brought up led me to believe that at the end of extraordinary and unprecedented things, you just, float.

Elody's next line is centered: "Like a lily pad on a pond." - Elody continues: But it never really stopped. And all of the things they don't tell stories about, were infinitely harder. And... I assumed you would come with me, and I had a lot of anger and resentment that you weren't. - Gerard: and that meant that I wasn't there for you, in the bad times.

The next pair of panels shows them no longer looking at each other. The background is the darkest grey, and the gap between them is the widest. Gerard is a human prince, looking down with a furrowed brow. Elody is bloodstained and in her armor, blood on her cheek in the same place as her scar in the present. She looks weary and saddened. - Elody: But when I saw your body in Elegy, I don't know. - Gerard: So I, I don't expect anything of you, and, ... I'm, I'm rambling, - Elody: A lot of that anger left. - Gerard: but I just wanted to say I'm sorry. - Elody: So I appreciate you saying what you needed to say.

The two of them are shown, at a distance this time. Gerard is still a human prince, and he looks down across the page at Elody, who is kneeling and holding a bloodied body with a glass shard sticking out of it; Gerard's. They are colored in the same dark grey.

The present Elody, shaded white with light grey as if her face is illuminated, asks: "If you had never found me, if I hadn't been able to come here, what would you be doing now." The panel crosses the page, and the text is on the left, where Gerard's has been.

Gerard, still a human prince, but with the same light shading, responds: "...If I could be honest, Elody, if I didn't know you were out there, fighting, I wouldn't have done it. I wouldn't have done anything." A closeup of his eyes shows him looking up, as if at something he admires. "But you inspire me." His text is on the right, where Elody's has been.

Only the lower half of Elody's face is seen in the next two panels. The first she is shaded light grey, her mouth slightly open as if she is struck by his comment. The second she is shaded a darker grey, and closes her lips in a tight frown.

She says "I'm going to... I just need a minute." She is seen from behind on the right, still shaded mostly dark grey, as she leaves Gerard behind. On the left, Gerard is mostly a frog again as he watches her leave sadly.He looks down, centered in frame, and realizes he is sitting like a frog.

Throughout the next panels, he starts on the left and slowly moves across the page to the right with each illustration. A closeup shows his stricken expression as he looks down, and then him with the same expression as a small, no longer humanoid, frog. His shading turns to a dark grey. A stark black heron looms over him as he crouches on some lily pads, the heron's beak open as if to eat him. In grey text to his right are Elody's words: "A condition was met that never should have been met and you should have been swallowed by a heron in a lake outside the castle." A panel, shaded entirely in dark grey, shows human Gerard looking down with the same expression as the frog.

The final drawing shows Gerard from behind, still crouched in a frog pose. He is slightly right of center, and mostly white again, though there are grey shadows in front of him. He says: "... Concerning."]

a reunion

[vivifrage]

Pardon Jaxx Doing a Ramble About Hollow Knight and MCR

(spoilers ahoy!)

OKAY BUT

Seriously, y’all. Mama is such a perfect fit for The Hollow Knight in particular, and the Vessels as a whole? The entire theme about someone who’s been through hell but going unappreciated, losing everyone around them in the process? Hoooooo boy!

I’m gonna put this bad boy under the cut because we are doing a lyrical breakdown, friendos!

Mama, we all go to hell Mama, we all go to hell I'm writing this letter and wishing you well Mama, we all go to hell Oh, well, now Mama, we're all gonna die Mama, we're all gonna die Stop asking me questions, I'd hate to see you cry Mama, we're all gonna die

This part could go two directions. It could be about the Pale King drowning the eggs in the Abyss or whatever, and it could be about The Hollow Knight being imprisoned.

“We’re all going to die,” could be the many, many Vessels, or it could be THK admitting that they’re not hollow and pure. By being imprisoned, they doomed Hallownest; they would never be able to protect it adequately.

“Stop asking me questions,” leans more towards imprisonment, methinks. Poke THK’s facade too much, and it falls apart. Which means all The Pale King’s work is for naught, one definite reason to cry. Now, would that mean Hallownest is, again, doomed, or that PK is going to have to kill more of his children in an attempt to get the ‘right’ one? And no matter what, it would mean PK and WL have been depriving their thinking, willful, ‘living’ child of an actual childhood.

And when we go don't blame us, yeah We'll let the fire just bathe us, yeah You made us, oh, so famous We'll never let you go And when you go don't return to me my love 

This strikes me more as the imprisonment. We’ve got them leaving (deployment as far as I can tell in the song’s original context, THK being sealed here), and fire. Which, the Radiance is associated with light/the sun; she’s not the most fire-related, but hey, she and the Nightmare Heart appear to be related anyways! Plus, it’s a trial, it’s the Infection, all contained in them. Plus, you could argue when you release them and fight them, the Infection sure does bathe the battlefield from how much there is.

Now, Lemm mentions there’s really nothing speaking of The Hollow Knight, but they have a statue in the middle of the city, and bugs apparently come to worship at the Black Egg Temple. Now, who do they worship? Radiance, THK, even the Dreamers? Who knows! Could be any. But whatever happened there, PK seems to have made some effort into letting his child be known. Plus, you know, THK is one of the final bosses, the first character to appear on-screen at all...

“We’ll never let you go,” could also go two ways. It could be THK’s adoration of their father - the two could not let each other go and thus THK was no longer pure, if they were pure in the first place. It could also be about the siblings; they’re attracted to you when you go to the Abyss, and the Void definitely left a stain on PK’s mindspace, judging by his throne room, if it didn’t outright kill him.

And, of course, “When you go don’t return to me my love,” is the imprisonment. They’re never supposed to be free. The funny thing here is, the Godseeker endings imply they have the strength to leave the temple, even tangled in their chains. But, for some reason (gameplay-wise an obvious reason but we’re talking story here), they don’t leave otherwise. Their will to keep The Radiance as contained as possible?

Another fun bit: the chorus gets backing vocals, which could well be the other Vessels piping up.

Mama, we're all full of lies Mama, we're meant for the flies And right now they're building a coffin your size Mama, we're all full of lies 

THK’s impurity and the fall of Hallownest. They’ve been ‘deceiving’ Hallownest up until they’re sealed, dooming it - the ‘meant for the flies’ and ‘building a coffin your size.’

Well, Mother, what the war did to my legs and to my tongue 

THK sure did get real mangled. An arm instead of legs, yes, but also note the tongue; they were not allowed a voice. Even during the Pure Vessel fight, when they try to scream, there’s no sound coming from it, only the soundtrack.

These lines also involve a sort of toadlike, goblin-y voice. The Radiance?

You should've raised a baby girl I should've been a better son 

Now, I don’t like gendering THK. But it can be hard to avoid. In this particular instance, I could see the first line going two ways - are they talking about Hornet, the baby girl who the White Lady and Pale King would have been left to raise after Herrah was sealed away, or is THK talking about themself, and how they should have been left out of the Void and raised as a normal god-baby? The implication they’d be a girl for the latter one is interesting; I know I saw someone posit that Myla’s song, when she sings about the (feminine) knight, she could mean a folklore version of THK. Also everyone defaults to calling them a boy when they gender them so I find it fun to shake that up.

“I should’ve been a better son,” gets back to the purity issue. They could try and try and try, but they would never be good enough. They would never be what they needed to be. Baby has anxiety and impostor syndrome, huh? The goblin voice/Radiance also returns here; possibly her taunting them with their shortcomings?

If you could coddle the infection They can amputate at once You should've been I could have been a better son 

Again, the first bit ties to how mangled they are when we find them. They did coddle the Infection! And it sure did take their arm! But also, and I think this is part of the original context, too, it’s about emotionally cutting off from the child in question. Which, again, could be THK alone, could be the Vessels as a whole.

We also get more lovely guilt from THK at the end there, but what’s the “You should’ve been?” Are they accusing their parents of something? That they should have noticed THK wasn’t pure? Whatever it is, they cut themself off and reiterate the entire thing as their fault.

And the goblin/Radiance comes back for the amputation and ‘better son’ line. Which, considering what she did to them...

She said, "You ain't no son of mine For what you've done. They're gonna find A place for you And just you mind your manners when you go And when you go, don't return to me, my love." That's right 

Well, the first line is just a bullseye on the dartboard, isn’t it? The White Lady seemed to be more detached from the Vessels than her husband was; she will claim you as her spawn, eventually, but only in a factual matter in that she helped conceive the Vessels. Those ghost babies aren’t her children any more.

‘A place for you’ and ‘Mind your manners?’ The Black Egg Temple returns! And we also get a peek at all the royalty and nobility The Hollow Knight was raised around. They were a knight, of course they would learn to behave properly, and their parents would be concerned with propriety.

Mama, we all go to hell Mama, we all go to hell It's really quite pleasant Except for the smell Mama, we all go to hell

Oh, there’s some Abyss right there. Possibly the Black Egg Temple again, too. THK did go from one to another, after all, with a brief bout of the Palace/Hallownest in between. Which could get at the two lines in the middle. “It’s really quite pleasant,” well, the Abyss is the Vessels’ birthplace/home. As for “the smell,” I imagine the Infection doesn’t smell like roses. Sunshine, maybe. But mostly disease. The two lines don’t go together as much, unless it’s THK trying to put on a brave face in the temple.

2 - 3 - 4 Mama! Mama! Mama! Oh! Mama! Mama! Mama! Ma... 

This one starts a little angry, a little taunting, but it still sounds like a child calling for their mother. And especially at the end, where it turns to one long scream. They’re really just a kid who, despite everything that’s been done to them, wants their parents.

And if you would call me your sweetheart I'd maybe then sing you a song 

This switches to “Mama’s” voice. Is it the White Lady and the Pale King loving their child, deep down, and if they had said something their parents would have taken them in as a child/heir and given them the affection, attention, and validation they sought? Or is it more taunting? There is some doubt, there, with the “maybe then;” THK cannot guarantee their parents would love them for who they are.

But there's shit that I've done with this fuck of a gun You would cry out your eyes all along 

And we’re back to Gerard. The first line’s not that easy to work with; what did The Hollow Knight do themself that could get that sort of statement? Work with the Knights/PK? Something with the Radiance?

The second, though, normal bugs infected with Void appear to leave black tear stains on their faces. The broken masks in the Abyss display this, Godseeker has Void leak out her eyes, and the lighthouse keeper seems to meet the same fate. So... shoutout to that!

We're damned after all Through fortune and flame we fall And if you can stay then I'll show you the way To return from the ashes you call

And here’s where we get a whole chorus of voices. The Vessels have something to say! Damned to die in the Abyss, coming back as little ghosts (”returning from the ashes”), falling from what could have been life as nobility. And, of course, those siblings sure love to latch onto you whenever you come visit. Don’t know what they mean to show the way to, though.

We all carry on (We all carry on) When our brothers in arms are gone (When our brothers in arms are gone) So raise your glass high For tomorrow we die And return from the ashes you call

The Vessel chorus continues. Which, considering Ghost/the Knight, they certainly carried on after all the other Vessels died, and THK failed in their duty. They will continue. They will do what must be done, because that’s how they can be put to rest again. In Dream No More, all the siblings, Ghost and THK and all the ones in the Abyss, gang up on the Radiance and, once that’s done, they sink into the Abyss again. Their duty is over. They don’t have to linger any more, children that could never grow up.

Which, in the end, they seem to celebrate their deaths, perhaps bitterly but it’s something so clear to them. Are they angry at their parents for killing them and raising them again, only to leave them as restless spirits? Are they cheering Ghost on with their mission and looking forward to the Radiance’s end? Both?

And, at the very end, there’s no lyrics for it, but we hear “Mama” crying. Which, is she the Pale King here? The White Lady? Could very well be both. Both seem to show great regret over what happened; the White Lady bound herself up over it, and the Pale King stole the entire freaking palace away into the dream realm, and you find him dead, the throne room stained, with Void bubbles floating around, and I interpret his dream nail line as being very bitter and regretful.

Mama sent her baby away and now gets to live with regret filling the hole in her heart where they once lived.

[scattered-shadows]

Love, Loss, and an Inability to Leave

Part 1/?  Summary: Maj. Jean Moriarty-Dupont struggles with her grief when her husband commits suicide in another unit. She has all the reason to leave Korea, but she finds a way to cope in the midst of the war.  A/N: this is mainly self-indulgent so please be nice if you read this. Anyway, this all takes place starting season 6. It’s mostly friendship, with the lead falling in love with another OC in the end (as I’ve envisioned. I would’ve thought of BJ, but we all know he’s happily taken haha). Obviously may contain inaccuracies in terms of authenticity and all that stuff. 

Present:

Sidney Freedman gives Jean a look of sympathy and understanding. She’s in his office in Seoul, undergoing grief counseling as recommended by Col. Sherman Potter. Jean knows she needs to be there, however, she can’t seem to find the words to describe how she feels about being there. It seems that Sidney doesn’t know what to say either. He understands what she’s going through, seen so many people experience a loss of this kind.

“You don’t need to overcome your grief right away,” He manages to say. “It’s a process that takes time.”

Jean nods. She doesn’t know what else to do. Her eyes are puffy, her face is pale, her body tired, and her mind somewhere else. Their session ends there, and Sidney recommends her to spend a few more days in the clinic until she’s ready to return. She quietly gets up and takes a walk outside, noticing her fellow soldiers also trying to take it easy from the mental and psychological stress the war has taken on them.

She knows her parents may be writing to her right away after being informed of the news. She knows his parents will be just as devastated as she is. His parents. Her in-laws.

John’s parents.

The gravity of it all hits her again and she feels the tears start to come in. She wipes her cheeks quickly and looks out on the open sea, the waters currently being troubled by war, helicopter crashes and various shells dropping from the enemy and their side. Even the war seems to look peaceful in her eyes.

She isn’t going to move on from this. Not now, and perhaps not ever. Even after the war, she will always be stricken with grief from losing the love of her life. The man she loved more than anything. John.

One Week Earlier:

“Major Dupont?” Radar O’Reilly knocks on the door of her tent at the 4077th MASH unit. Jean finishes getting dressed and answers the door. He’s holding a big package.

“Good morning, Radar, mail call?” Jean takes the package from him in a hurry and she looks at the label. “Ah, from my parents. Another one of their care packages” she immediately explains to him.

“Gee, your parents sure send you a lot of stuff over here, sir” Radar smiles at her. He goes back to looking through a thick wad of letters that he’s holding.

Jean shrugs. “They’re parents. They worry about me. They kept insisting I do a desk job in Paris, and they still require proof that I’m alright and doing fine over here” she chuckles. “If you’re finished giving those letters out, call the Colonel, the Father, Klinger, and Hot Lips, we’ll be having a feast over at the Swamp” she suggests.

“Yes sir” Radar replies with a renewed enthusiasm and nearly skips off towards the other tents. Jean goes ahead to the swamp, where she sees the towering figures of Captains Hawkeye Pierce and BJ Hunnicutt standing in front of their martini distiller, with her fellow Major, Charles Emerson Winchester III seated by the window, reading a Perrault novel.

“Hello hello, I come bearing gifts” Jean announces as she closes the door behind her. The box immediately catches the attention of the three men and she finds a spot to sit on before opening the box.

“Thank god you’re here” Hawkeye quickly points out, and she just smiles in return. “So, what are we having? Another tin of caviar? Hotdogs? Maybe we should get Klinger to have some stuff sent in from Toledo, that way we don’t need to throw up what we eat every time we set foot in the Mess tent” he says.

Jean looks over at the label on the box. “Ah, these are from my in-laws too. Our parents just love sending me stuff. It’s probably just some cured ham, smoked salmon with foie gras or something, and perhaps some booze” she unties the box and almost tears it open. There’s a picnic basket inside, and as she expected, tins of caviar and smoked salmon, along with crackers, biscotti, sliced bread and various spreads.

Hawkeye, BJ, and Charles let out low groans as they inch closer to her when she sets down the picnic basket.  “Yes, yes, yes, a taste of civilization at a place that’s far from civilized. You madam, are a godsend” Charles says.

“Oh if you weren’t married, I’d kiss you. Then again, even if you are married I’d still kiss you” Hawkeye winks at her. He doesn’t do it, and instead just gives her shoulder a thankful squeeze.

The door opens and the other five arrive, looking a little confused, but their expressions soon change when they see the spread they created. “Major, send my regards to your parents” Potter tells her in his usual fatherly voice as they all sit down and help themselves to the food.

Jean looks back into the box and sees three bottles. “Oh, it seems that there’s more,” She puts down her crostini and takes out the three bottles. “Champagne, red wine, and limoncello. From the family vineyard in Italy” she looks at the labels.

“If she eats this comfortably, I wonder what you have at home” Klinger comments, biting into a peanut butter sandwich he made. “Imagine that, having a family vineyard? In Italy too?”

Jean just smiles. She moves a little to make more room when Father Mulcahy decides to sit near her, quietly enjoying the crostini with mint jelly. Hawkeye, BJ, and Charles take it upon themselves to open the bottles and pass around glasses full of each. “My parents have the vineyard, not me. They go there from time to time, not me” she points out. “All this is from them, really”

“I already look forward to what they plan on sending for Christmas. They may plan on giving you Christmas ham” Hawkeye says.

“Or turkey for Thanksgiving” BJ adds, taking a drink of the limoncello. He closes his eyes for a moment and smiles. “That certainly hits the spot.”

“Why doesn’t Donald send me stuff like this? He’s the one in Tokyo” Margaret frowns but continues eating and drinking.

“What do you want him to give you? Sushi?” Hawkeye jokes.

“Well, maybe, but at least something. It’s hard being married to someone who’s in another unit” Margaret sulks. “But you’d totally know, Jean”

“I do. He’s probably receiving the same thing” Jean explains. “They always send in two packages. One for me, and one for John. He shares his stuff, so do I,” she says. “Even at our days in England, John would get a package while he was in Cambridge, I would get one while I was at Oxford”

“You two are Cambridge and Oxford educated? Quite a couple” Charles looks impressed.

“Oh you and John are incredibly lucky” Margaret says. Jean just smiles. She does feel lucky.

“Oh yeah, there’s a letter that I forgot to give you, I left it in your tent. It’s from I-Corps” Radar suddenly mentions.

“It must be important” Jean nods and stands up, moving through the rest of her colleagues to the door. “Just continue eating without me. Save me some of that wine” she says to them before stepping out. She breaks into a jog towards her tent, wondering what they have to say to her. She closes the door behind her to find the letter on her bed.

Sitting down, she rips open the envelope.

Dear Mrs. Jean Moriarty-Dupont,

        It is with great sadness that we report to you that your husband, Maj. John Gerard Dupont, has committed suicide in the early hours of the morning through asphyxiation. He locked himself inside his tent as he did it, dying a slow and quiet death by the time his colleagues found him. John was a good man, perhaps too good to a fault, and he always put others first before himself. I may not have personally known him, but I saw his dedication to the military and to helping other people. We join you and your families in grieving for his untimely death. We will send in his posthumous Purple Heart, for his services to the army. More details to follow regarding the details of his internment.

Our deepest condolences and sympathies,

General Jack Archer

Jean stared at the letter, the piece of paper slipping through her fingers. Never have the tears streamed down her face as fast at this. She could hear and feel her heart breaking into a million pieces at the news. The words resounding in her head as if rubbing it in her face. John was gone, and he had taken his own life.

Jean howls as she paces back and forth and falls to her knees in front of her bed, crying over her mattress. One moment she was enjoying a nice meal with the officers, and the next moment, she’s crying like she’s never cried before. Jean howled and cried in her tent, unable to return to the swamp and finish her meal.

She continues crying until nightfall, unable to move even when there were wounded soldiers and civilians entering the unit. Nothing seemed to matter. The war no longer mattered. She lost the man she loved.

Jean can’t bring herself to show up to the mess tent and get something to eat. Even the food seemed more appetizing than the news she had to take. There was a knock on the door, and she doesn’t bother answering, instead burying her face in her knees, the tear-stained letter in her fist.

“Jean? You okay?” BJ was outside. “You haven’t showed up since you left. What’s going on?” he asked.

“Jean?” Hawkeye was with him, as she expected. “Jean, if you’re going to keep yourself cooped up in there, you may as well get us with you. We could use a break from all the operating” he manages to joke. If only they knew, she thinks. “Jean?”

“It’s open” She tries to say and the door opens.

“Moriarty, you-“The two of them stop at the sight of her. Hawkeye and BJ sit down on either side. “Jean, what happened?” Hawkeye says quietly.

Jean’s eyes well with tears and she breaks out into a sob again. All she can do is hold up the letter. BJ takes the letter and reads it aloud, his expression falling. Hawkeye also frowns at the news, and both of them look at her, feeling just as saddened, but not as much as her. “I’m so sorry” BJ says in his usual, comforting voice. She howls in his shoulder, while Hawkeye rubs her back soothingly. Nothing else could be said. One moment, she was a happily married woman, the next, she became a widow.

[boojersey]

VIC DO ALL THE ASKS BC I LOVE U AND WANT U TO HAVE FUN

*SWEATS* AYE AYE CAPN

cw for like some common lgbt+ topics such as dysphoria violence discrimination etc just. tread carefully if u get triggered easily by bad lgbt experiences

What do you identify as and what are your pronouns? -im a gay trans man and my pronouns are he/him but they/them is also acceptable!

How did you discover your sexuality, tell your story?-oh wow i originally thought i was a lesbian because i didnt even know what transgender was i just thought wishing i was a man meant i was butch and then i met my friend donnie in eighth grade who told me he was trans and it was kinda a huge slap in the face but with a sack of gay bricks? and i found out i dont like women through actually having sex with cis women and finally realizing it. really wasnt for me so now im just a gay man as opposed to queer as an umbrella term but i periodically refer to myself as such

Have you experienced being misgendered? What happened and how did you overcome it?-oh yea i literally was misgendered today i just kinda brush it off but it can be hard sometimes especially when people know im trans and do it

Who was the first person you told, how did they react?-i first told donnie about my gender, it was a thing where i went to bed the night i met him and was like  .. wait holy fuck and then the next day i was like BRO HOLY FUCK but sexuality? i dont really know???? it was so long ago it was honestly probably my group of friends on kik that i had in 2013 (u were included in that mister!!!!)

Describe what it was like coming out, what did you feel?-im not actually fully out but the first time someone who was an adult knew about my trans-ness was what really set in for me the fact that i could come out one day; my friends mom referred to me as seance (and like. obviously she respected my gender she has a trans kid) but it was just super jarring bc no adult had known yet abt my identity in any way and as a result i was rlly glad it was nighttime in that car bc i cried almost immediately; the first time i came out on my Own was to my cousin and he laughed in my face so that was pretty damn awful and its kinda funny cuz the bastard is bi so u would think hed have been accepting but n0pe!

If you’re out, how did your parents/guardians/friends react?-im out to my friends now ! and the reception was generally positive bc i think i do an ok job at picking ppl to be around in terms of morals so there was little bad reception

What is one question you hate people asking about your sexuality?-i hate when ppl ask if im gay as in for men or gay as in for women because im trans, i am a man so when i say im gay i feel like that should be easy enough to put 2 and 2 together but when they ask that i feel as if they still view me as a woman

Describe the style of clothing that you most often wear.-emo of the gods themselves it is absolute scene and emo vomit and i love it; its seriously hard for me to wear dresses and skirts without dysphoria and just general discomfort but i own a couple anyway bc theyre cute i just. never wear them

Who are your favourite lgbt+ ships?-my main thing at the moment is gerard/frank/grant morrison bc i love poly fics very dearly and gerard/bert because bert mccracken deserved better than gerawrds internalized homophobia lol

What does makeup mean to you? Do you wear any?-makeup to me is an androgynous thing so i wear eyeshadow a lot and lipstick sometimes, eyeshadow is easier on my eyes than eyeliner bc im allergic to a lot of makeup thats on the heavier side so if i put on eyeliner my eyes will water and burn throughout the day but with eyeshadow im mostly ok; other opinion is that makeup on Anyone can be sexy as hell if they do it for fun and wear literally what they truly want and not just what they think is accepted or what they Should wear

Do you experience dysphoria? If so, how does that affect you?-oh yeah my dysphoria is pretty debilitating if im gonna be honest; i used to have very little problems with it because my hold on reality was loose at best (before i was medicated to clarify) but now that i am almost completely Here my dysphoria is pretty bad and even just like. the knowledge that i have breasts is pretty awful; a few weeks ago i put on an outfit that i have to wear a victorias secret bra to fit properly in and just one look in the mirror had me sobbing and i had to change my clothes before i could leave the house and i havent worn a bra since because just the thought of showing off my chest makes this stark fuckin dread shoot through my veins but i also have dysphoria in regards to my voice that i discussed at my last trans therapy group meeting actually ; my voice has a tendency to bounce around my octave range so sometimes ill be like. excited then hear what i sound like. and ruin it for myself immediately u kno? im not even gonna talk about my dicksphoria bc thats just. awful. 

What is the stupidest thing you’ve heard said about the lgbt+ community?-ohhhhhhhh my god u know what? ive heard..so much .. that im gonna instead take this opportunity to mention my mother genuinely thinks dnd is satanic

What’s your favourite thing about the lgbt+ community?-the fact that were so strong. we are so fucking strong we deal with violence and opposition constantly and at staggering rates yet we stay strong and we continue loving through all of it, whether its in dark corners in secret or loudly in the streets we continue loving and do so with all of our beings because we know its our own truth and well gladly go to hell if it means we got to love on earth (not that everyone believes in hell or the idea that us gays go to hell but my point stands)

What’s your least favourite thing about the lgbt+ community?-we have this audacity to create divide (to the fault of mostly cis white gay men thank u very much) when what we need to do is love each other because we are different but at the end of the day we all need to remain in tandem and as a family or we will never get to where we need to in terms of acceptance and that means being uplifting and protecting our trans sisters of color, our disabled lgbt members, our autistic lgbt members, our anything past cis white gay man because we all need recognition, we all need love, and to exclude any letters of lgbt is to tear ourselves down and set ourselves on fire

Have you ever been to your cities pride event? Why or why not?-no :((( no one would drive me in the past and i dont think ill have a way to get there this year either

Who is your favourite lgbt+ Icon/Advocate/Celebrity?-brian molko! my bisexual, androgynistically-inclined father who birthed me at the tender age of 16 when i found placebo

Have you been in a relationship and how did you meet?-ya theres been a few and i dont rlly like to talk abt my relationships with anyone unless theyre online relationships so im just gonna leave it at that

What is your favourite lgbt+ book?-pantomime by laura lam! its one of if not my favorite book to this day

Have you ever faced discrimination? What happened?-y a every damn day bitch ! example is when i was deadnamed by my psychiatrist while she knows full well what my name is the other day; another is the countless times i get called a lesbian ???? and when strict lesbians ask me out i get a very bad taste in my mouth (i understand full well that sexuality is fluid, these are lesbians that spit the ‘penis is gross blegh’ rhetoric)

Your Favorite lgbt+ movie or show?-uh im just gonna say preacher bc its my favorite show altogether n cass is bi/pan/something similar

Who are some of your favourite lgbt+ bloggers?-@ble3dmagic is my boyfriend in crime (not rlly thats a joke) and @musicalsense​ is my sunburnt Brother

Which lgbt+ slur do you want to reclaim?-queer! i also use f*ggot a lot when talking about myself and my friends that are ok with it

Have you ever gone to a gay bar, or a drag show, how was it?-i went to a drag show and it was so amazing and one of the first times i felt accepted in my own community that i cried

How do you self-identify your gender, and what does that mean to you?-well i identify as a man with no leaning towards womanhood or nonbinaryhood in any way, its just . man . but in terms of Expression i am quite androgynous bc i can rlly appreciate femininity (NOT the same as womanhood) and being a man to me means just that ive always wanted to grow up with that “gender role” like i always wish i was raised as a stereotypical parent would raise a son and ive always been more interested in stereotypically masculine things and people since i can even remember and i feel like puberty was just this unpreventable spiral into something i didnt want. i didnt want it at all . this is tmi but when i got my first period i cried my eyes out bc the idea of being called a Woman repulsed me so much and since i didnt even know that being trans was a concept i was just this scared puppy full of confusion and fear aimed at myself because all the stuff i heard i was supposed to be proud of the change but i wasnt i was so ashamed of it and the idea of being called a woman made me sick to my stomach and i just wish i could go back in time and hold myself and tell me itll be alright 

Are you interested in having children? Why or why not?-absoLutely not i hate kids (and by that i mean i hate being around them and the culture that surrounds having children; i do not treat kids like shit and i do not act like hating children is a personality trait; i get migraines and usually the second a child starts screaming or crying i am on the floor of my brain writhing in dire pain and i have absolutely no desire to support another human life when frankly i cant even support myself; its also just not a lifestyle i want to live)

What identity advice would you give your younger self?-god so fucking much. so fucking much. so many things i wish i could say to myself

What do you think of gender roles in relationships?-i think if someone wants to adhere to them then hell yea go ahead just dont expect others to do it or try to tell other people its a Norm or something; theyre for the most part christian in nature so i dont have any desire to follow them myself, i want a relationship (if any) thats more of a coexistence if that makes sense, like. roommates plus dick

Anything else you want to share about your experience with gender?-i always used to anxiously chew on the idea that my chest dysphoria is just me holding disdain for the shape and size of my breasts but let me tell you. the second i put on my binder for the first time i immediately started crying because i was so overwhelmed by the fact that i was looking at something one step closer to myself and i know full well i am never going to have that doubt again. this week has been exponentially cathartic and therapeutic for me

What is something you wish people know about being lgbt+?-i want the cisheteros to know that nothing they learn about us is new. everything about us has been around for so so long but has been silenced and erased to the point where a lot of us dont even know many things about our rich and beautiful history

Why are proud to be lgbt+?-honestly? its hard for me to not just straight up say im not proud of my identity. its taken me years to stamp down the plain grieving toward my identity and wishing i could have the easier path but frankly? the fact that i am choosing this path of hardship and hell on earth just to be who i truly am i think speaks volumes of my pride in my identity at this point; further back in my archive by a few years my posts are littered with sentiments of bitterness wherein i stated that i hate being trans and not just cis but i like to think ive finished hating myself for my identity. i like to think im proud now. to ask me why is to ask too much of me, all i know now is that i am proud and thats enough for me right now.