undinegeist

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Gonna get myself a fun little surprise I guess

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“No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness.”

— Aristoteles

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Can we go ahead and stop teaching corvids how to use tools, it's getting spooky

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This post is your reminder that you are not obligated to blog about current events.

Things are bad. Really bad. Do not let people guilt trip you into tormenting yourself even further over the fact that things are bad. Doomscrolling is not activism.

If you're just on tumblr to blorbopost or reblog pretty pictures, you are not harming people by inaction.

You are not a bad person for not dedicating every aspect of your life and leisure space to whatever disgusting mask-off attack on human life and dignity some government has decided to enact.

Take action where you can, but don't confuse doomscrolling and digital self harm for action.

If you need to lose yourself in blorboposting, go for it.

If you need to log off for the day, whether it's to take irl action or to protect what little sanity any of us have left over the past 7 years, then by all means, do.

Morale is important. Hope is important. Small joys keep us from burning out completely in times like this. Do not let any "if you don't reblog this I'm judging you" guilt trip convince you otherwise.

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"don't post that, what if an employer sees?" personally i think employers need to stay the fuck off their employees' social media lmao

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considering how many transmascs were legitimately way angrier BEFORE starting T and have since calmed down significantly have we perhaps considered that maybe the reason so many cis dudes are angry and aggressive isn't because of testosterone but maybe. like. personal issues. unmet needs. a social climate that teaches them that there are only like three acceptable social outlets for men max and one of them is being angry and shouting

[undinegeist]

This is a made-up MCR tour story in which Y/N is the guitarist for G Way's (fictional) wife's band.

- 1 - 2 -

a small but important disclaimer: I get why this storyline might suggest a connection to Lindsay but this is purely something that came out of my brain; I'm not here to comment on their relationship, and anything here that resonates with something in their real life is unintentional, even if this did start loosely based on Gerard Way's life as it's somewhat known publicly.

-xx- G -xx-

I don’t know what kind of coincidence this is, but I’m coming down the hallway when I see her…with a security guard and a backpack, Lana’s tour manager in tow.

I can’t tell if she’s moving in or out, they’re just standing in the hall; talking, clearly not a pleasant conversation, but I really don’t care.

“Hey.” Why do I always start like that?

“Oh, hey, Gee. I was just…Lana called, said she…uh, I shouldn’t…”

“I know what she told you. What’s going on?”

“I thought Y/N should switch floors until we find someone to take her place…just in case.”

“Right. Thank you.” Why am I dripping cynicism? This isn’t his fault.

He takes this as the dismissal it is, though, and then it’s just me and her; I’m scared to look at her, but I do it anyway.

“What did they really tell you?

“That Lana wants me off the band…as if I didn’t know that already.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Going back to LA, I guess.”

“You could stay.”

“And do what?”

“How good are you at backstage stuff?”

“Decent.”

“Then that’s it.”

“Why does this even matter to you?”

“I like you, I guess.”

I just want that look in her eyes to go away; we barely know each other, maybe this is weird, but she’s holding so still, so far away…it makes me nervous.

“Lana’s not in there, is she?” There’s a teasing note to her voice, something darker underneath.

“No, I always get a spare room, just in case things get weird.”

She nods, like she’s had that too…must have had, they’ve been together for weeks, and no one can be around Lana without at least one kind of tension for longer than four days.

“Smart of you. Does it suck that I wish she knew so she’d be pissed?”

I unlock the door, hold it open for her. “Maybe, but I think you’d be exempt from that, given the situation.”

-xx- Y/N -xx-

His room is already lived-in; there are books everywhere, sketches all over the bed, a bag thrown down on the floor, clothes spilling out of it…red, black, leather, rockstar stuff.

But he’s wearing a plain black shirt with a checkered open button-down on top…not the usual rockstar stuff.

“I’m sorry it’s such a mess…I can’t seem to keep from exploding.”

He shoves papers to the side, pulls the bag up to the bed, starts looking through it.

“I don’t mind…mine wasn’t much better.”

He sighs as he stands, but then he smirks. “How long did it take you?”

“Two seconds…couldn’t find my favorite pair of shorts so I threw everything off my backpack all over the floor, got pissed ‘cause it wasn’t there then just went the way I was…never put anything back, just shoved everything in the closet until tonight and had to find a way to shove everything back in sans folding.”

He laughs. “Put it down somewhere til you go…I hear you about the shorts, though. Can’t find chocolate…maybe I can get some from room service.”

He’s going for the phone, I’m leaving my backpack over the desk, the only place that doesn’t have paper, ironic as all hell, when there’s a knock on the door; I can tell he thinks it’s Lana by the way he starts, scaring me too, though I try not to show it.

He opens it anyway, though, and I relax when I see him sigh, pulling it open the rest of the way, to reveal a skinny blond kid whose hair could use some fucking up…he’s pretty enough that I’d do it, too, if I got the chance.

“Fuck, Mikey, you scared the crap out of me…”

“Thought I was Lana?” The voice holds a smirk, just like his lips.

“Yeah…she doesn’t know, does she?”

“Nah, I just know your fake hotel names too well, Gee. Heard about the stuff downstairs…thought I’d check on you.”

“I’m fine…this is Y/N, by the way.”

“Oh…hi. Are you the same Y/N Lana wants to kill?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool…she wants to kill me too.” I like him already.

“Mikey…” Gee sighs, but I can tell he’s not all that upset, by the flick up one side of his lips.

“You know she does…but whatever. What are we doing?”

“I think mom slipped cocoa powder off my stuff again. Why doesn’t she ever do that to you?”

“‘Cause she still thinks we’re kids, gets upset that Lana keeps you from seeing her as often as she’d like, overcompensates by trying to baby you. Why don’t we get out of here?”

“Isn’t it too late for that?”

“It’s never too late. Do you want to come with us?” This he says to me, all challenge, still smirking.

“Where are we going?”

“Some diner…I want waffles. Or pancakes. Gee…get something over your hair. Do you need to hide too?”

“No…not that famous, thank fuck.”

“Lucky…you’re the attention-getter, then. Did you pack your fingerless gloves?” He’s messing around Gee’s stuff, too, without even asking.

“I don’t really wear them anymore…”

“Maybe not, but they’re here. Mom knows better…want to wear them? They’ll go well with you.”

I take them when I realize he’s talking to me. “Wish I could fuck up your hair.”

“Me too, but it’s gotta stay hidden…trademark from hell. Let’s go?”

Gee’s wearing a similar kind of beanie, most of his hair tucked in. “Yeah, lead the way.”

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one of my favorite things about christianity is that jesus died to save people from their sins and then every christian kind of immediately forgot that he did that. theyll come up to you like "excuse me you know smoking is a sin" like yes maam i know. your boy already took care of it dont worry

[undinegeist]

social media has a way of inspiring dangerous thoughts, like, “maybe I personally have some useful nuance to add to one of the ugliest and most intractable conflicts in the world”

[undinegeist]

idk what this is, to be honest. I’ve had it written for a minute, got around to rereading and fixing today at random, thought it was decent enough to post. I suppose we can say it could be a series.

And now, a bit of background? This is (I guess) a made-up MCR tour in which Y/N is the guitarist for G Way’s (fictional) wife’s band.

- 1 - 2 -

a small but important disclaimer: I get why this storyline might suggest a connection to Lindsay but this is purely something that came out of my brain; I’m not here to comment on their relationship, and anything here that resonates with something in their real life is unintentional, even if this did start loosely based on Gerard Way’s life as it’s known publicly.

-xx- G -xx-

It starts with Lana and her band; I’m catching up to them in New Orleans.

They’re opening for us on the new tour; we left everything, our house, our kid, the relative sanity of staying in one place…I’m still not okay about it, but when she insisted we needed the money, I really couldn’t argue.

Lana wanted a new guitarist; after the mess with the last one, I’d hoped it’d be a girl. And it was.

They’d started the tour on their own; I’d had to stay home, looking for someone to babysit, eventually convincing my parents to come down and stay with Hayley, though Lana yelled at me for it, said it shouldn’t have been them, that we should have found someone else…I couldn’t tell her we couldn’t afford to.

The first time I saw Y/N was late one night when I slipped in to watch their show.

I’d been away so long, I hadn’t heard anything, hadn’t heard of the mess that had already been made, hadn’t realized anything was wrong.

She comes down from the stage sometime around the middle of the set, seething, hair all over her face, hiding her eyes, the only giveaway to her anger the way she flies off, down, almost tripping on the stairs.

I steady her, instinctively. “Are you okay?”

She’s still, for what feels like forever and no time at all, but then she’s gone without a sound, like she was never there, and I spend the rest of the set worrying about it.

-xx-

“Lan, what happened up there?” I know I shouldn’t ask her this the moment she’s coming off the stage, but I can’t stop thinking of that kid.

She sighs, rolls her eyes. “Nothing. Y/N’s just an annoying little bitch, can’t be normal to save her fucking life…”

“She’s just a kid. Don’t you remember what it was like?”

I’d wanted to run from the stage so many times; when I felt overwhelmed, when things went wrong, when the high took me down, made me feel like I was about to die, the lights so bright I could barely see, barely breathe…it was never easy.

“She’s not that deep, Gerard. She’s just trying to fuck with me because we had a fight last week. I should just fucking fire her…”

“Would you have liked me to fire you?” The words are out before I can think them through, sharper than I should be, inviting a fight; we’re still at the venue, why the fuck don’t I ever think?

Sometimes, I wish I’d fired her then; I try not to, hate that I still think that way, that everything is so hard even now, that I’m not better, even after all this time…that I’m probably never going to be better.

I do something I shouldn’t; turn and leave, realizing I don’t want to do this now, don’t have to do this now…knowing she can’t follow me, because she has to greet fans.

-xx-

I’ve already got my own room, separate from Lana’s, and that’s where I’m headed; blow off some steam before she gets back, to either torment me for the little scene back at the venue or drag me out to dinner…most likely, though? It’ll be both, and I’ll wish I hadn’t come…the rest of the guys are only joining us right before our first concert.

I see that girl then, still wearing the clothes from the show, lying on her back on a loveseat in the lobby, guitar on the floor, reading.

I know it’s a bad idea, but I turn and go her way, thinking I need to check on her, but also that I have no idea what happened tonight, and I should probably find out; Lana will never tell me now.

“Hey.”

She starts, sits up in a flash, dropping the book, but then recovers. “Hey.”

“Would you mind if I talked to you for a minute?”

She shakes her head, slides sideways to give me room; I pick up her book, look it over…a rockstar book.

I bite my lip on a smirk, thinking I get where her look comes from; I had that phase, where I wasn’t entirely sure what I was up to, so I borrowed and borrowed until it fit…to eventually become me.

“So…is this your favorite?”

She’s wary, but after a moment, she relaxes slightly. “One of. Why?”

“No reason, it’s just interesting. What else do you like?”

“Anything.”

“Really?”

“The more you know, the better.”

She straightens slightly, less on guard. “I’m sorry I didn’t…I’m sorry I ran away like that, earlier…I’m not all that good at being human.”

“I don’t think anyone really is. What happened, though?”

She sighs. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Last week somewhere, Lana did something and I went off, we had a fight, and then tonight, it just…I felt like I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t have left in the middle of the set either, but sometimes I just can’t control myself…”

I bite my tongue on the admission that Lana can’t do that, either. “It happens.”

She laughs, too bitter for someone so young. “Yeah, but so what? I’m not supposed to let my feelings get in the way.”

“Feelings are always in the way.”

This makes her look back at me, silent now, and I’m thinking I hope she doesn’t go, when all hell breaks lose…Lana, coming at the two of us, still dressed as she’d been at the venue, no discretion, despite my always telling her to not draw attention to herself between shows…about to do even more of that.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!”

“Lan, calm down.” I hold her back, though we’re too close already, people are staring, why doesn’t she ever think of what this looks like?

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down! This little bitch ruined my set, yet still has the gall to sit here talking to you…”

“I was sitting here talking to her…Lana, please, don’t do this.”

The last thing we need is a scandal a week before the tour.

“Don’t get in my way, Gerard! This isn’t any of your fucking business…”

I’m so distracted, she slips off me when Y/N goes for the elevators.

“Aren’t you going to apologize to me?”

They’re in each others’ faces, I might as well be invisible.

“For not playing along with your bullshit?”

“You’re a stupid little slut…you’re nothing.”

“At least that makes me not you.”

Lana doesn’t follow; everyone’s staring, some people with their phones out, filming every second…then Lana’s moving back to me, and I know she wants me on her side, but I can’t, won’t…not again.

I’ve done that too often, to my detriment, to hers too, because I give her too much.

“I don’t want her here, Gee. We need to…”

“We don’t need to anything. You said this wasn’t my problem, so it isn’t…deal with it yourself.”

“Where are you going?!”

“Nowhere.”

-xx-