terminalfids
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"I have never felt as alive as I did when I was killing him," Will admitted in a whisper, and it was true. His skin ached with it, felt like he might simply burst from it. It wasn't enough to contain him.
"Then you owe Randall Tier a debt," Dr. Lecter mused softly, still holding on to Will's hand as he cast a glance over the corpse before them. "How will you repay him?"
"I want to skin him," he said after a long moment, dragged out until he could feel Dr. Lecter's emotions swallow his own with anticipation. The man's feelings were bombastic. Loud and inescapable when he let them fly free on his face. It was easy to submerge himself in it, mirror it, until Will felt more of Dr. Lecter in his head than himself. Dr. Lecter wasn't a psychopath. He was more emotionally alive than anyone Will had ever met. He just also happened to be able to act as cruelly as though he felt nothing at all but cold curiosity at the simple flip of a switch. "I need the- the parts. I want to build him a monument. Do you know a place where I might do that?"
For the second time since his release from the BSHCI he thought that Dr. Lecter might kiss him. He told himself that he was relieved when he did not.
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The door closes against the early morning noise at the front of the bus and he is alone. Sheets, sticky-warm and crumpled underneath him rustle against the thin bunk mattress as he turns his face into them with a groan and a fervent wish that the day would only wait a few hours longer. He fishes around in them in search of his Sidekick, tugging it loose from where it's tangled under his ass with a grunt. The time gazes back at him, fucking merciless. 10:05 am. July 28th, 2007. They're in San Bernardino, California, and Frank already knows it's gonna be a hot one.
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AKA: the prorev kiss... and what (who) came after
Series
- Part 3 of weird fiction, real life
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Mikey got the call about his older brother on a Wednesday.
He was an artist, Frank knew. He was a cartoonist over in Manhattan for Cartoon Network. He'd gotten Mikey into the Misfits, the Smashing Pumpkins, Iron Maiden. Dude had taste in music. And that was how Mikey'd met Frank, in the Jersey punk scene last year when Frank was fresh out of high school. He was kind of a hermit apparently, and a huge nerd- if Mikey was to be believed. Which meant Frank was dubious about how much of a nerd he could really be, because this was Mikey talking. Mikey was such a nerd it blew Frank's mind, so his brother had to be like, so geeky. He was twenty-four- so not ancient- and he'd seen pictures so he at least knew what the guy looked like (cute, awkward, pale, with dark hair and really lovely eyes) but they'd never been in the same school and he never went out to the parties Frank and Mikey went to every weekend, so Frank had never met him. Now he never would.
Just forty-eight hours after he went missing, it was all over. Gerard Way was officially declared dead on September 26th, 2001.
or; how gerard died and learned to love frank like only the undead could
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“Dean, I’m going to raise a colony of bees. I miss the wild hive I used to watch here in town,” Cas said one day, apropos of nothing in particular. “Ever since they moved out of that old tree just down the road it hasn’t felt right around here without them.” He stared down at the ice ball rolling about a shallow amber sea in one of their little crystal tumblers pensively. “I think we’ve got enough space on the bunker roof for a small hive box, and maybe a few flower pots. It could be… discreet.”
Four months since the end. Four months since they killed God. Three months since his last hunt, and Dean is out. What’s a guy to do?
Buy a house with Cas and raise some bees, obviously.
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in the end (do you think i have forgotten about you?) by terminalfids
Fandoms: My Chemical Romance
17 Mar 2023
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In the electric, buzzing dark of the stage right wing of the Forum, Frank is frozen. His guitar is in his hands and his wife is kissing him on the cheek, but his feet have turned to lead in his sneakers. It's the last show. Five nights in LA and then there'll be nothing for months, until they strike out on an abbreviated tour leg in the Pacific next March. And after that, what will there be? Frank knows what he wants. He's just not convinced yet that any of it is even a possibility outside of his own head.
Draped in his own shadows across the stage, he sees him. Gerard sees him too and he smiles, bouncing in place and tugging unselfconsciously at his shirt, starting to summon that otherworldly whirlwind of energy within himself that he'll tear them all to shreds with onstage before he tenderly pieces them back together again.
Christ, but he's the same as he ever was. It could be their first show together, rather than nearly the thousandth. One thought loops around and around in his mind, piercingly urgent. Don't let this go.
Don't let go.
AKA: we all find our way back in the end
Series
- Part 6 of weird fiction, real life