The MCR Zine (Extended Edition)

MCR

INTRODUCTION

BY CAN RICHARDS

Hi there! I’m Can, the curator of this zine project!

If you’re reading this, I just want to say thank you! I originally started working on this fanzine in July 2017, with a vague idea in mind of getting a bunch of talented content creators together to form a little zine project, which would be a tribute to the art, music, and aesthetics of MCR, and would help people discover new artists to enjoy, help artists find each other, and maybe, possibly, help people make some friends along the way! I was inspired by the fanzine culture of the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s (informal magazine-like books dedicated to literally anything, most commonly to punk rock bands and sci-fi fandoms), and how it’s been adapted to the modern age – some still in that raw, beautiful physical format of Cool Stuff Just Stuck Together On Paper, some adapting to the internet age to be equally beautiful collaborative works of wonder, with content from people all around the world!

The thing is, I never actually expected a lot of people would notice me making this project at all.

But before I knew it, 150+ people were signing up for the opportunity to contribute fan content for this zine, a bunch of lovely, talented people were coming together in droves and discovering each other’s work, artists I admired and was personally too intimidated to even speak to were joining this humble project, and (most importantly, I think), so many creators from across the globe, including myself, actually came together and made wonderful friendships with people they otherwise might not have started talking to.

Originally, this zine was just going to be a cutesy tribute to a band that wore really cool (really draw-able) costumes and helped kids who felt like outsiders to believe in themselves (cheesy but uhh,, yeah!!), and a little gift to the fandom, but dear heck, the contributors to this zine made it so much more than that.

To everyone reading the zine, I hope you enjoy the wonderful art and writing put together by this zine’s dear contributors! From desert-running Killjoys, to feather boa wearing vampires, to aesthetic aliens in space, weird superheroes, and just straightup rock ‘n roll, this project had no shortage of subject matter for good content. This zine is a gift from us to you!

Xoxo Can

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DISCLAIMERS All content in this zine is fan-content made purely for the enjoyment of the readers. No participant in this zine claims copyright to the identities, personas, and characters created by the Way Brothers, Mr Iero, Mr Toro, etc., nor are we officially endorsed by them at all. However, all artwork, photography, writing, and other such content in this zine is copyright of the respective Content Creators, and in downloading this free zine PDF, you (The Reader) hereby acknowledge that you will not use, reproduce, repost, sell, or otherwise distribute any content in this zine without the Content Creator’s express permission.

As this is a collaborative project of nearly 150 people, not all content in this zine is a reflection of the views, ideas, interests, tastes, etc. of The Curator, and each Content Creator is reflecting their own ideas and tastes in their work. All work included was screened by The Curator before publication, to deflect any defamatory content, including anything blatantly disrespecting any real person (living or dead), or any identity, gender, sexuality, race, mental or physical disability, etc., to the best of The Curator’s ability, including expressly banning content depicting harmful, defamatory, or distasteful concepts.

Trigger warnings are applied where necessary, and it is up to the Reader’s own discretion to avoid content that may harm them.

All art, prose writing, etc. in this zine should be taken as fiction, unless describing real confirmed events. Please do not, under any circumstances, use the contents of the zine to harass its Content Creators, nor to harass Messrs Way, Toro, Iero, or anyone else involved with the Original Content (musical or visual, including the music, videos, and comics). The Curator allowed a small amount of ship-based content involving real persons, regardless of the Curator’s views on the matter, and would like to remind Readers to not show anything in Section 7 of the zine (Ship Content) to the persons depicted, or to individuals or groups involved with the Original Content.

TL;DR: The views of the Content Creators don’t necessarily reflect those of the zine administrator, the content of this zine is owned by its respective creators, this is all fun with art and fiction, and don’t be a bully. Thank you.

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GENERAL SECTION ………………………………………………………………………………….pg6

BULLETS ERA …………………………………………………………………………………………..pg22 REVENGE ERA ………………………………………………………………………………………… pg30 THE BLACK PARADE ERA .…………………………………………………………………………pg80 DANGER DAYS ERA ………………………………………………………………………………….pg118 Killjoy Character SHIPS sub-section …………………………………………………………pg176 SOLO ERAS ………………………………………………………………………………………………pg206 SHIPPING CONTENT …………………………………………………………………………………pg226

AFTERWORD AND SPECIAL THANKS ………………………………………………………..pg244

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By Chinny Egbuna (@chinforthewin67 on Instagram)

By Gaia (@gha.sy on Instagram)

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By Alana (@alana.sabol / @cemeteryz on Instagram)

The Truth Frank was running. He was running faster than his 5'6 body possibly could ever handle once he stopped. His surroundings were a vivid darkness, the kind that you could easily hallucinate into. You could have hallucinated dark shapes coming out of the shadows – walls were trapping you, which could have made the hallucinations worse. But Frank wasn't paying attention to that, he was more focused on trying to breathe, and trying to maintain a grip on his feet, to maybe at least dodge a few things on the floor (which ranged from broken beer bottles to things he could only imagine were illegal) instead of stepping on all of them in his rush to just get somewhere. Anywhere that wasn't there, at least. Anywhere that wasn't there was enough to suffice. He would have stopped in the pitch-black alleyway, with dimly-lit street lights barely making a scratch to the deep ebony of the ground, if he knew that the other man wouldn't find him.

In his mind, Frank was being chased. He was being chased by the man, by the truth the gothic, theatrical, feminine man with dyed raven black hair that came down to just about his shoulders, the man with pale skin, made paler by the excessive makeup he used - the truth he would bring with him. Frank knew when that man found him: the truth, the truth he had tried to hide for so long, he knew it would be revealed. Gerard Way wouldn't stop asking Frank about it until the honest part of Frank – the part that told the truth, and only the truth – broke down and everything came rushing out. Gerard would look at him differently, and Frank would struggle under the light the man would put him under. So, Frank was running.

He was running away from the tightly wrapped lies he had made; he was running away from those tightly wrapped lies being unraveled by a beautiful man named Gerard, with dark eye makeup and tiny teeth and a flair for the dramatic. He was running away from said man, with an incredible vocal power and a creative side that astounded everyone. Frank was running. But his lungs began to burn, and his stomach began to hurt, and his brain began to spin.

He was never the most athletic person – Frank was energetic for sure, but his athletic skills were questionable to say the least. When a picture of him shirtless began to circulate, the first thing he noticed when people began to ask about it was his lack of muscles. His skinny stomach wasn't toned in the slightest, rather, it was lean and without any strength. His arms had some muscle from playing guitar, but it still wasn't to a muscular extent. His body type was clearly lean rather than athletic. He usually didn't hate that, but in this moment, when having strength was a godsend because it meant he would have enough energy to carry on, he hated it. He came to a hard stop, immediately hyperventilating to rescue some of the oxygen that had escaped from his body and had never entered again.

"For god's sake Frank; just carry on; you can do this. Don't let the truth come out - it can't come out. For god's sake Frank, move!" Frank began to yell into the echoing alleyway. He willed himself to move forward, to move away from the possible distance of Gerard. But as much as he shouted and screamed at himself - no matter how hard he tore off his crimson tie as he fell to the ground - he wasn't moving anywhere. Deep down, he knew that. His stomach pain proved as much.

It began to patter with drizzly, agonizing rain, the kind no one enjoys, even those who love the watered-down weather. It fell on both the chased and the chaser. Frank began to curl up into the tightest ball imaginable next to the hallucination-provoking wall, tears splashed down his facade as he began to break inside. He never wanted this to happen. Never. He wanted to go back to the old times: when Gerard was no closer to the truth than we are to each other. But Gerard knew the truth, and he was about to unravel it. Frank laughed bitterly in the coldness and the spit the rain brought with it. How disgusted would Gerard be with Frank now that he knew? He didn't care anymore that he knew. He didn't move a single inch, rather, he was quite content with the truth catching up to him.

And that is exactly what is happening.

Gerard runs along the low-lit street, rain rinsing off his powdered eyes. He's dashing frantically, to try to tell the other man that it's okay; the truth's okay. Gerard would still value Frank the same way as he did before he started to find the truth out. Before he saw the talented guitarist disappear to bed. Before he crept into the New Jersey's man's room and saw the truth in front of his very own hazel tinted eyes. Before the truth was always going to be at the forefront of his mind.

He passes multiple alleyways, checking each one for the energetic, but fairly introverted man. He has, unknowingly, only a few more alleys before he collides with Frank. Gerard's thoughts drift to what Frank could be doing right now. Gerard's mind curses him, and suddenly turns into a very dark and dangerous place. He begins to become terrified of what he could find if he did find Frank, but at the same time, he wishes that he could find Frank sooner to ensure that he isn't in any danger, and to protect him from it. The New York area could be sincerely unforgiving to the vulnerable at this time of night, which Gerard knew from going to art school here. Gerard hoped to God he would get to Frank before anyone else did.

He skims past many more alleyways as the thoughts race across his mind. He suddenly hears a sharp calling of his name.

"Gerard, I'm here!" Frank yells at the gothic man.

"Yeah, I can see that. Frank, why did you run away?" Gerard asks as the petite man comes within a mere meter of him. Even from here, Gerard can smell the smoke of cigarettes woven throughout his ebony clothes. He can spot a ribbon of scarlet on the ground further down the alley, and estimates it to be Frank's tie.

"I didn't run away, Gerard," He spoke, rolling the r's in spite, "I merely went on a walk for a bit. That's all." He raises his eyebrows and shoves his hands through his dyed hair, and then into his trouser pockets.

"Frank, you found out that I knew the truth at the end of a concert, and then you ran off the tour bus, freaking both Ray and Mikey out. Luckily for you, Bob was off getting stoned.

When you get back, people will be asking questions. That doesn't sound like a mere 'walk', does it?" Gerard almost demands. He feels angry at Frank, because he acts like this isn't anything, when to Gerard: Frank running away from him is the stuff of nightmares.

"No." Frank replies solemnly, with regret in his voice, looking down to the dirtied ground.

"You don't need to be ashamed of the truth Frank. Not anymore. I won't let you be."

Gerard's anger diminishes significantly, and is replaced by pure sympathy.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Frank replies gratuitously, and embraces the other man in a hug - a smile wraps around his face.

"How about we get back to the bus without escaping this time?" Gerard whispers to Frank, heat shared between the both of them.

By Can (@CanCan.jpg on Instagram, @CanCan_jpg on Twitter)

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Alice at The Parade

Fic By: Nick Prda (@vocondus on

Instagram, iamanaddictwithapen on Suddenly, dark faded into a grey light. It wasn't bright, but there was an absence of darkness. A Wattpad) skull-faced man wearing a black parade uniform opened the small door with a bow, and gestured Length: 1 page towards the doorway.

"What a strange place!", Alice remarked.

Trigger Warning: theme of death "Indeed. Welcome to the afterlife. Welcome to the Black Parade.", Said the man with a prance in his step, and a joyful, yet mischievous tone in his voice.

It was then that Alice took in the setting. The absence of trees was replaced with a multitude of IV stations, like the ones at hospitals.

"Curiouser and curiouser..." said Alice.

Old World War II fighter jets flew in the sky; some, oddly enough, missing their wings.

Dead flowers lined a meadow in the valley that met in the distance with an old New York style city.

Alice bent down and took a whiff of the flowers, but to her surprise, they smelled of smoke and death.

Even though this would usually cause someone to feel sick to their stomach, the scent almost came across as inviting, as her senses processed the odor.

In the distance, Alice started hearing what sounded like the drums of a military style parade.

The constant, "Bum. Bum bum bum bum. Bum bum bum bum. Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum".

Subconsciously, the pair started walking to the rhythm, the man seemingly waltzing to it, like an old couple dances to a song from their early years of marriage.

He gave off a sense of melancholy emotion, as the hollow wind blew upon the dead grass and the man's uniform softly.

The atmosphere was depressing, yet serene. Painful, yet comforting.

With each step, the drums became louder, until over the horizon, Alice could see hundreds or thousands of oddly dressed individuals marching to the tune of demise. A sweet, yet sorrowful tune that resonated in the air like the humidity of a damp, summer morn.

The man started humming a tune that later escalated into words. Almost out of nowhere, the sound of a quaint and familiar piano piece was heard in the air, echoing through the clouds.

The beautiful tune, starting with that solemn note.

The words were hard to make out at first, but then Alice heard the man say, "When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city to see a marching band...".

Suddenly, as if she already knew the song, she began to excitedly sing along, as though there were no cares in the world.

Honestly, she didn't care anymore. She had started to lose her sense of reality. This was reality now.

After all, it was only minutes ago that the young Alice had died in the hospital. Her parents weeping loudly watching their only daughter lose to a mere disease. Moments before, they had been listening to a Black Parade song as her last request before she would slip into the comforting silence. She was at peace.

Page 1 of 11

THE PARAMOUR Chapter 1 (Italics, when not used for emphasis, are the character’s thoughts/internal monologue/dreams.) -Kat Gerard’s POV I looked across to my brother in excitement. Today we had arrived at the great Paramour Mansion – the Paramour Mansion – to record our new album; it was like a dream come true for a horror nerd like me. ‘Scream 3’ had used the mansion as part of their filming, and now I got to record music here! Although, seeing Mikey… he did not look happy at all. He had been going through some really tough things in his life right now. I just hoped he was gonna be okay. I mean… this place was apparently supposed to be super haunted, with all the stories of weird shit happening here.

Fic By: Kat Fisk (@FandomsLife67 on Twitter) Edited and Adapted for the zine, by Can Length: 11 pages Plot: Hauntings! Nightmares! Tension!

Trigger Warnings: Violence, Conflict, Mentions of mental health problems, use of potentially ableist slurs, Mention of death, Mention of fire.

Disclaimer: The following is a Fictionalisation

Our manager unlocked the door and led all five of us inside. The moment I walked into the great mansion, I felt a burst of cold air hit my face. I looked around the big parlour, and was astonished to see that such a ‘haunted’ place was… frighteningly cheery. It looked like something straight out of old Hollywood. There were big, bright chandeliers, and every wall seemed to be painted a shockingly awful bright color. The other guys were looking around in awe. I couldn’t help but notice, though, that Mikey seemed like he was shivering. This is gonna be a long journey, but we have to make an album. It has to be better than the last one--no matter the sacrifices we make.

We walked into one of the bedrooms, and found an odd pile of crumpled paper; Bob started looking through the papers. “Hey, guys, there are numbers on these!” Bob kept shuffling the papers. “It looks like each paper has one number on it and they go from 1-5.”

Ray walked forward to look at the papers with Bob. “Well, there are five bedrooms in this place… so maybe that’s what the numbers mean?”

“I think you’re right,” said Mikey. “I remember our manager saying something about that. I think she said that the room in the basement is number 1, and that the rooms upstairs are numbered 2-5 from the front entrance to the back.”

We all looked at each other. This was kinda weird.

“Okay,” I said. “Who gets room #1?”

Bob looked defeated. “Well, I did pick up the first piece of paper and it had a one written on it. I guess I get the room downstairs.”

He grimaced, even though he was trying to be brave. I could tell Bob was scared, but I have to admit, I was glad that I didn’t have to sleep in the basement. We then each grabbed a piece of paper from the pile, and went looking for our own rooms.

Bob’s POV As I descended the stairs, all I thought was “Man, this is place is super fucked up.” It was really dark, and still oddly cold. I guess it’s just gonna be me and the ghosts down here. I entered my room and looked around. It was a weird purple color... but it did look kinda nice though. This place isn’t too bad, I guess. I’ll work with it.

I then made my way into the en suite bathroom. Oh, hell no. There was a creepy old clawfoot bathtub instead of a shower – I HATE baths. I leaned over to turn the tub on just to test it, and found that no water came out of the tap. Huh, that’s strange. I pulled out my cellphone and dialed our manager, but the call wouldn’t go through. That’s just great. Now, there’s no cell service out here and the tub doesn’t work. God, now what am I gonna do? I guess I’ll just have to use one of the other guys’ bathrooms. I’m not dealing with this shit. I walked out of the bathroom and started to make up my room.

Mikey’s POV I don’t know what we’re actually doing here. I don’t know why Gerard thought this was a good idea. This place gives me the creeps. It’s like a dark cloud, with no light. And it’s so, so cold.

I was in my room, seated on my bed, and all I could think about was how to get out of this place. I had been having some depressive issues lately, but I really wanted to stay strong for the guys. I really did. I just don’t know how I’m going to do that here. In this godforsaken place. It fuckin’ oozes death and decay. Whoever owned it before tried to mask the evil with bright wall paint, but I wasn’t buying it. This place was terrible through and through. I got up, took my meds, and then fell asleep.

Page 2 of 11

Chapter 2 Gerard’s POV It had only been a couple of days, and already there was a horrible tension in the mansion. None of the guys looked healthy. I was ripping myself open to make this record, and all they freaking did was walk around like zombies. Already Mikey was complaining, with his accusations about this place being actually haunted, like it was gonna fuck with his head. Did he want us to leave? We just got here! It’s not supposed to be pleasant, but we have to make an album! It HAS to be better than the last! He knew what he was signing up for; why was he throwing a fit now?! Listen, I love him, but that’s just weird.

I paced my room, trying to think of song lyrics, any song lyrics - they had to come from the deepest, darkest parts of my mind; this album has to be different from the rock of today’s world. We have to be different. It has to be about something other than relationships, other than some suburban white kid’s problems. It has to be about the biggest thing any of us ever face: life and death. I already had this idea about the record being a concept album, centering on this character called the Patient…

All of a sudden, I heard a crashing sound from beside me. I quickly looked and saw that my lamp had fallen over on my night stand. How did that happen? I was a little spooked, to say the least.

I slowly backed out of my room, and speed-walked down the hall. My mind was reeling as my feet carried me to wherever I was going. Did I just experience a ghost thing? Like… actual paranormal stuff? What was it trying to say? I looked up, and noticed that I’d ended up in in what we’d termed “the Heavy Room” – It was called that because it was a designated space of complete honesty… although it had become more of a place to yell at each other, a place to let our inner demons and frustrations out.

As I walked over to the center of the room, a weird wave of heat came over me. I saw flashes of macabre scenes play before my eyes. I saw people die in horrid ways. I saw marchers in black walk right past the dead bodies. I heard gunfire and smelled burning flesh. I felt like I couldn’t escape this hell. It felt like my end was coming. Right as a marcher looked right at me, I snapped out of the trance. I fell to the floor in a sweaty heap, with a throbbing headache. Looking at the cold wood of the floor next to my face, I saw a post-it note with my handwriting on it; reading, “ .” I had no idea what it all meant, and lay there staring at the note until my eyes hurt.

Frank’s POV I sat in one of the main living rooms playing my guitar. We had set this room up as a place to record; it was comforting, and the only area I felt at peace in this crazy place. We spent many nights recording in here until 3 or 4 a.m.

I strummed my guitar a bit, playing with some melodies, when I saw Gerard rush past the living room door. He looked absolutely batshit, like he’d seen a ghost or something. Since I wasn’t exactly willing to wait around and let him get up to some weird shit in this state, I put the instrument down and rushed after him. I had been worried about him even before we came to this mansion - in the weeks before we moved in here, G had become obsessed with death. He also made some crazy characters like the Patient and shit. I don’t know what had gotten into him, but… it didn’t look like he was gonna come out of this whole experience quite the same. I saw G’s floppy black hair fly out behind him, as he bounded through the corridor, before he flew through his bedroom doorway and slammed the door shut, the sound making me jump. What the fuck was wrong with him? I knocked on his door.

“Open, up! What’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost, man!” I yelled at him.

I heard some shuffling, and then G slowly opened the door. He leaned out and whispered, “We’re all just a black parade, Frank.

Don’t you get it? That’s who we are—The Black Parade.” He then slammed the door shut on me. I shook my head. I was becoming more increasingly scared for his sanity.

Ray’s POV A gust of cold wind blew through my room. I was trying to take a shower, but the mansion made that task so much harder by being absolutely freezing. I leaned over to turn the water on, when suddenly I heard a whisper in my right ear. I whipped around to face where I thought the sound came from, and saw no one. I shrugged it off and leaned forward again to test the heat of the water. It was perfect. I tried not to think about the weird whispering sound. Think happy thoughts, Raymond, happy thoughts.

After what felt like an eternity, I got out of the shower and got dressed.

I then set about trying to brush my teeth like a normal person, but as I was applying the toothpaste, I saw a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and making me almost miss my damn toothbrush. Slowly, I walked into my room to investigate, but just like with that weird whispering, I didn’t see anything.

God, I thought, this place is driving me to hallucinate now? I poked my head out into the hallway for good measure, just to check if it was just Frank playing some stupid joke on me, and that I wasn’t actually developing hallucinations… and that’s when I saw her.

Page 3 of 11 I was frozen at my doorway, unable to move or call for help, and my heart felt like it was throbbing in my throat. Right in front of me was a woman in an old-looking dress, wearing a terrifying gas mask. Despite her delicate historical garb… she sort of had the air of a soldier, like she had the respect of a regal army and was about to command them into battle… if that made sense?

She seemed to float down the hallway, and her entire being was a weird chalky white color, like an actual ghost stereotype; she was somehow both transparent and… not transparent. I was silently freaking out, trapped with fear in her presence, but I only saw her for a minute before she just… disappeared into thin air. When I’d regained my senses (and the use of my muscles), I slowly stumbled back to the bathroom, my mind reeling.

Bob’s POV Every morning, the guys and I had got into the habit of eating a family type breakfast together, and talking about the plan for the day – it was pretty much one of the only things in here that let us hold on to some sense of ‘normalcy’. It was a pretty good setup, but every family has its growing pains: Gerard had become more moody than usual, and Mikey was constantly drawn into himself – when he did talk, he sounded like a prisoner, droning monotonously, like the very movement of his jaw was gonna suck out his last drops of energy. He used to be our “cheer-up” guy, but… I guess not anymore. Frankie was okay. He was the only one who seemed somewhat normal in this hellhole. And, god, Ray. I mean, he’d become some sort of a musical perfectionist or something - he never just did one take anymore. One time, I swear he did his guitar piece 100 times before calling it good. It was freaky.

I went into the kitchen this morning, and didn’t see any of the guys. Huh. Where are they? I wandered further around the mansion, looking for them. I went to Ray’s room. He’d left his door open and it sounded like he was in the bathroom doing something. I peeked in and saw him brushing his teeth, which would have been a normal scene, if not for the fact that his face was as white as a sheet, and he was staring blankly at the mirror with eyes wide like saucers.

“What’s the matter, Ray? You feeling okay?”

He turned to look at me. “I-I don’t think so,” he stammered. “Do you believe in the paranormal? Like… as an actual thing outside of horror movies?”

“Uh…” “I -I’m about 100% percent sure I just saw the ghost of a dead woman,” he said bluntly, before he resumed brushing his teeth like he was some kind of machine. Whatever Ray had seen (or thought he’d seen) had shaken him to his core.

“That’s… cool. Um… well, I’m getting breakfast. Come to the kitchen when you’re ready.” I left the room, feeling creeped out. I really wasn’t sure what Ray experienced, or whether it was real, but as I walked down the hallway, I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure some crazy old ghost lady wasn’t gonna kill me anyway.

Chapter 3 Mikey’s POV A woman dressed in white glided towards me. Her hair was long and flowing, and a gas mask obscured her face. She – the cold aura she emitted from her very being – was the epitome of terrifying. She continued moving towards me, and I knew that I had to run, but I just couldn’t. I was frozen in place. Something about her, the air of panic she caused, kept me in place like a statue, right here… wherever here was. Wherever this hell-scape was. There were crying children and screaming women all over… All around me were burning piles of who-knows-what. I had a sneaky suspicion what they were… but I tried hard not to think about it.

The lady was soon upon me. She grabbed my legs and started dragging me in the dirt toward one of the burning piles.

Regaining the use of my body with the panicked adrenaline rush, I clawed frantically at the ground, trying to stop myself from getting any closer, but it was in vain. My hands started bleeding faster than a burn-wound should have formed, and the smoke from the bonfires filled my lungs. I started coughing. The smell was unlike anything I had ever smelled before – it was worse than the smell of death.

“Leave me alone!” I yelled with all my might. The lady laughed in reply.

“War stops for no one, young Michael. It especially won’t stop for you!” Out of nowhere, I was suddenly bound by coarse ropes.

They restricted my movement to the point where my ribs ached. The woman in white reappeared. She grabbed me by my waist and threw me into the fire.

All of a sudden, I felt someone shaking me. The image of the fire soon faded and I opened my eyes to see a freaked-out Gerard shaking me awake; we were in my room. It had all been a dream--no--a terrible nightmare. “Mikey, you gotta wake up!

Just wake up! Everything’s okay!”

“It’s fine, Gerard. I’m fine, I’m awake! You can stop yelling.”

He looked a bit apologetic, and put his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, but you were scaring me. You were screaming like you were being murdered or something, and god… you’re sweating like you have a fever!”

I felt my sheets. They were drenched. “I’m… I’m fine, I think. But I was having this horrible dream that… that some lady with a gas mask was trying to burn me alive!! I was terrified, Gerard. I thought I was going to die--” At that moment, all my emotions welled up, and I started sobbing, leaning to cover my face with my hands. Here I was in a haunted mansion all hopped up on antidepressants, and I had just had a vivid nightmare where I was being killed. It was overwhelming. Gerard started rubbing my shaking shoulder to soothe me.

“It’s okay, Mikey. It’s okay now. You can sleep over in my room with me, if that’d make you feel better.”

Page 4 of 11 I looked up from my hands, with tears streaming down my face. “Yeah, Gee. I’d like that very much.”

“Good, then it’s settled, Mikey. It’ll be just like when we were kids, yeah?” He smiled at me to make me feel a bit better. I weakly smiled back.

Gerard’s POV, The Next Morning We were assembled in the Heavy Room; Mikey wanted to tell everyone what he’d experienced.

“I swear guys, it was like I was really there! I was lucid! It felt like I was really dying!”

Ray looked perturbed. “I don’t know, Mikey. Are you sure it wasn’t your medications?”

Shocked, I looked at Ray. Why would he say that?

Mikey tensed up his fist. “Are you saying I’m fucking crazy, Ray?!” He looked like he was pretty ready to physically fight the other man.

“Woah woah woah, now calm down kids,” Frank hurriedly intervened, putting his tattooed arms out in between the two. “It’s a valid question, Mikey. You are taking medications that could possibly alter your perception of stuff. It’s normal.”

Bob finally glanced up from whatever deep thoughts he’d been lost in. “Ray, didn’t you say you saw a woman entirely in white in the hallway a while back? You basically said she was a real ghost.”

Ray swallowed hard, realizing he was being called out. “I mean… it could have been a figment of my imagination. I don’t know what I really saw!”

I could tell Ray was anxious. It was kind of jarring; he was typically the practical one out of the five of us.

“Calm down, everyone,” I interjected. “Whatever you guys saw was real to you. You can't deny that. Let's just get back to making the record; channel your emotion into it. Take out your frustrations about this ghost stuff if you want.”

My gaze lingered on Mikey for a bit, trying to discreetly check if he was still doing okay.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sticky note fall to the floor out of nowhere. My eyes widened: it was the note I had written a few days ago. Bob saw my eyes dart to the note, and he reached over to pick it up. He held it close to his eyes and read aloud, “We are all just a black parade.”

Frank snatched the note from Bob. “Hey, this is what Gerard was muttering about. We’re just a black parade. What does it mean?”

The guys all turned to me, and I could feel their eyes picking me apart. They waited for an answer, but I couldn’t possibly tell them what I’d seen. They’d never believe me! Wait! It makes total sense now! We’re all just a black parade. We, as in… me and the guys. We are the black parade. It’s dark and it’s what we feel inside. We march on in our own clouds, with our own demons, no matter what. We are the black parade.

I looked up to meet their eyes and simply said, “We are the Black Parade. Don’t you get it? That’s who we’ve become. It’s gotta be the title for the new album, instead of the working title we had.”

I saw Ray start nodding his head slowly in agreement. “Yeah, G’s right. It does kinda make sense. It’s a bit abstract, but… I like how it sounds. It’s very theatrical and unusual.”

Mikey seemed a bit happy to have the conversation topic moved entirely off of him. “I don’t think anyone’s done anything like it, so we’ll be original,” Mikey replied.

“It doesn’t matter if they have, because we’re gonna do it differently. We’re going to be the only Black Parade like this one,” I said, beaming with pride.

Bob’s POV Today was Friday, and after such an explosive conversation, I was ready to just freaking relax. I know Gerard wanted everyone to get to work writing lyrics and songs and stuff, but I was too exhausted. Ever since we arrived at the place, Gerard had been forcing us to work way too much, and way too hard, and everyone was acting fucking weird. I decided to call a friend over that wouldn’t try to put me to work; maybe we could eat pizza and watch some movies. I wandered out of my room.

As I walked up the stairs, the air temperature dropped, and I felt a hand grabbing my leg. I jerked my leg back and hit it against the staircase. Luckily, I didn’t fall, and was able to make a run for it up the stairs. Once I had reached the upstairs floor, I slammed the door shut. I don’t know how much more of this I can take! Now, my leg hurts like fuck. I think it’s gonna bruise.

I shook my head, and continued walking down the hallway, looking at my cell phone. No signal. Shit.

“How can I get cell service?” I wondered aloud.

I heard someone walk up behind me. “You could always go to the end of the driveway. That’s how I keep in contact with the real world.”

With the absolute shit thoroughly scared out of me, I spun around to see a smiling Frank. “Haha, very funny, Iero. Don’t creep up on people in haunted mansions!”

“Sorry, geez, but you have to admit: your face was priceless.” Frank started laughing. I glared at him.

“Whatever, man. I’m gonna go call Kaitlin. I’m done with all you weirdos.” With that, I stormed off toward the front entrance of the house.

Frank’s POV Music was all I had, my whole life. It was what kept me going. I mean… this band was my biggest dream. Now, it seems like it’s all going to hell. I don’t know what to do anymore. The fighting is getting worse, Gerard’s working us over time, and it’s not like we’re not even putting out any good music. We just have three songs already done, but they were completed earlier, while on tour for our previous album. I got up from my bed. I guess I should go find Mikey or somebody. I can’t stay cooped up here for much longer, or I’m gonna drive myself insane.

Page 5 of 11

Since Bob wasn’t available, I wandered through the hallway, peeked into Mikey’s room, and found an empty mess: his bed looked horrible, the sheets were thrown off it, and many blankets were lying on the floor. His clothes were also messily overflowing out of his suitcase making another pile of clothes on the floor. Yikes, man. I shook my head, and continued looking for one of my bandmates.

As I got closer to Ray’s room, I heard this really intense guitar. When I opened the door, I could have sworn I went deaf for a second – Ray was sitting on a chair in his room, with his amp turned all the way up, and he was playing his guitar like he wanted to destroy it. I couldn’t even tell what he was playing, he was moving so fast.

“Ray, what the hell are you doing?!” I yelled over the music.

He didn’t even look up. I honestly don’t think he even heard me. I walked forward and turned down his amp, causing his eyes to finally snap up at me, glaring daggers.

“What are you doing?! Don’t touch my stuff!” Ray moved forward and turned the amp back up.

“Woah, calm down, Incredible Hulk! I just wanted to talk to you!” I screamed into the music.

“Go away! Can’t you see I’m trying to practice?!” Ray yelled back without looking up.

How is it even a good idea for me to keep looking for anybody? Mikey isn’t in his room. Bob’s hanging out with Kat, and Ray’s being an antisocial ass. I should just go for walk. I immediately headed for the outdoors.

Chapter 4 Gerard’s POV *KNOCK-KNOCK* I awoke to the sound of a door being aggressively banged on. I jumped out of bed and hurried to open it, not even bothering to put my shoes on. By the time I got there, Ray had already answered, and he was deep in conversation with someone who sounded like our manager. I padded over to Ray and peeked out the door to check, and sure enough, our manager was standing out in the doorway. “Oh, good morning, Gerard. I’m glad you’re awake. I was just telling Ray that you guys have a gig at South

by Southwest. They really want you guys to play this coming week. I’ve been texting you guys and emailing you but I got no response, so I originally assumed you were just busy, but Ray over here says there’s actually no cell service.”

“I don’t know. I feel like we’re on the verge of a major breakthrough here. I don’t know if it’s really a good--” I started.

“No, I think we should do it,” Mikey interrupted from behind me.

I turned to look at him. He looked like hell. I don’t think he slept at all again. “I think the fresh air will be good for us. Get us out of this damn house.”

Ray started nodding his head. “I think Mikey’s right. Some time away might give us new ideas. Plus, it’ll give us a break. It’ll be fun.”

“Whatever, guys,” I sighed, before stalking off.

Mikey’s POV “Thank you so much for the opportunity! Good bye!” I finally called out, as cheerfully as possible, while our manager made his way down to his car.

I turned to Ray. “Let’s go tell the other guys and get ready, yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re right, Mikey. I’ll go find Bob. You go tell Frank.”

I finally found Frank in the Heavy Room. None of the lights were on; he was just sitting there quietly in the pitch darkness.

“Frank, you okay?”

“Huh,” Frank muttered and looked up. It appeared he had been meditating.

“Uh, our manager just told us that we have a show to play soon. We have to pick some songs. Sorry if I, uhh… bothered you.”

Frank rubbed his face with his hands and sighed. “No, it’s cool, Mikey. I was just thinking. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

“Okay. Well, meet up with us in the practice room when you’re ready.”

Frank’s POV When Mikey left, I felt beyond relieved. This place was finally starting to get to me. I don’t know what it was, but it seemed like the mansion just sapped the soul out of you. I was bored out of my mind, but I also wasn’t able to write anything. I didn’t have any passion. The Heavy Room was one of the only places where I could feel any emotion anymore, but here I felt sad and angry. I don’t know what it is about this room, but it’s got some majorly bad vibes. It’s fuckin’ cursed. I should probably go talk to the others. I don’t want them to start worrying about me. Thinking I’m going crazy… HAH! As if I’m the crazy one here.

Bob’s POV “Well, I think we should tease the new album,” I said, one we were gathered in the rehearsal room.

“Yeah, I agree. The song “Dead” is finished enough to play,” said Frank.

I looked over to Gerard, our fearless leader. He looked very distant and paler than usual. His arms were folded and he was biting his fingernails.

“Hey, Gerard, what’s wrong?” I asked sympathetically.

Page 6 of 11 That question seemed to ignite some hidden spark in him. He looked up angrily and shouted, “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you guys?!” He started pacing the room. “We came up here to write an album, and we have nothing to show for it, and now you want to go play a show?! Are we just giving up?”

“Woah, calm down, dude,” Frank said. “It’s not about that. Shows are a good way to get creativity flowing. If anything, this will help us write the album even more.”

Iero was right on this one.

“Plus, I’m not the only one who personally thinks we all do need a break from this place. It’s too much right now. Ray’s being turned into an angry diva who sees ghosts, you’ve got an absolute stick up your ass, and I’m seeing up to four doctors a week!” Mikey exclaimed. We all looked at him in shock. We knew he left a few times a week, but we had no idea where he was going. Man, that’s messed up.

Gerard looked defeated. “…fine. We’ll do the show, but it’s a bad idea. I can tell.” He muttered something under his breath, as he stormed out of the room.

Practice was brutal. Ever since we were told that SXSW wanted us to play, Ray had stepped up to the plate to make sure we were “ready.” He was doing all sorts of annoying shit, like making us practice an old song seven times. Seven times! We already knew the damn song! Ray was being especially harsh on Mikey since his call-out earlier.

“Come on, Mikey! I already told you not to miss the beat! You keep messing the whole thing up!” Ray bellowed at a dejected Mikey. Ray grabbed Mikey’s bass and showed him how ‘it was done.’ “See! Like that! You can’t get off beat again! It’s throwing everyone off!”

Frank looked at Ray, slightly disgusted. “No, it’s not, Toro! He’s not bothering me at all. I barely noticed anything off-key.”

“This is about doing it right! We can’t come back from a musical hiatus and play our own songs wrong! What will the people think?!” Ray was punctuating his words by sweeping his hands around like some possessed conductor.

“Just calm down, Ray. You’re making Mikey feel like shit,” I retaliated, seeing slight, carefully hidden tears forming in Mikey’s eyes.

“Whatever, I can’t deal with you all. Just practice yourselves. I’m going to go perfect my playing.” With that, Ray stormed off.

Gerard’s POV I could hear loud music coming from both ends of the mansion. Ray was playing like a maniac in his room, and the others were practicing smoothly in the rehearsal room. I was lying on my bed staring at the ceiling.

What is wrong with me? I’m such a failure. I can’t write any decent lyrics, and now everyone is leaning in different directions. No one really wants to write this album except me. Ray’s just having temper tantrums, and Mikey’s having a mental breakdown, and all they’re doing is blaming it on this place, like it’s possessing them or something!

I rolled over and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror near the bed. Fuck, is that what I really look like? I stood up and looked closer at my reflection. I had bags under my eyes, and my hair was practically sticking to my head. My hair and skin looked like a grease vat. When was the last time I showered? I look terrible. Maybe I should cut my hair. I mean… anything must be better than this. I leaned forward, and looked deep into my own eyes, looking at what kind of man I had become. I looked to see the man people supposedly loved. I only found a pathetic sad-sack who wasn’t worth anyone’s time. I think I need to take a walk… need to clear my mind.

It was getting close to dusk as I walked around the mansion grounds. It was a beautiful, clear night, but I couldn’t appreciate any of it. I was too wrapped up in my own insecurities and delusions. As I walked, I began to make up phrases, and softly sing to myself: “Now come one come all to this tragic affair./Wipe off that makeup, what's in is despair/So throw on the black dress, mix in with the lot./You might wake up and notice you're someone you're not./If you look in the mirror and don't like what you see/You can find out firsthand what it's like to be me.”

After I’d finished half-singing, half-whispering a song into the air, I felt some deep-seated pang of emotion like I hadn’t felt in a while… and then I began to softly smile. I had just written a new song--a good song, full of raw emotion. It was exactly what I had wanted all along. I started to make my way back inside to show the guys the thing we had to sing at the show.

Page 7 of 11 Chapter 5 Mikey’s POV At the show venue, my palms were sweating like mad, and my heart was pounding. I don’t think I can do this. I think I’m gonna throw up. We were back stage for the show, and everyone else was getting ready to go out on stage. The roar of the crowd was usually a welcoming thing to me, but now it terrified me. What if I mess up? Is Ray right? Am I really that bad of a bassist? Will I screw this up for everyone? Blasting through the loud speakers came a voice screeching: “Welcome to the stage, My Chemical Romance!” There was a flurry of movement, and the guys rushed past me to get on stage. I felt a hand touch my shoulder. Gerard gently pushed me forward and onto the stage. I immediately felt my whole body go numb, as it tried to go through the motions of grabbing my bass and starting the first song.

Gerard’s POV Backstage, after the show, the atmosphere was surprisingly tense. Ray – the weird, uncharacteristically angry Ray who’s only existed since we arrived at the Paramour – was seething.

“What’s the matter, dude?” I asked him.

“What’s the matter? What’s the fucking matter? Everything!” Ray shouted, going through a list of every one of us and what we’d done wrong, before arriving at Mikey. “He messed up again! He was off beat for one whole song, and he was out of tune for another! What’s wrong with him?”

Before I could say anything, Mikey suddenly started yelling back. “I’m done with this! I can’t take it anymore! I quit the band!

I’m through!”

He stormed toward the door, before turning around and looking at every one of us in the eye. “Oh, and don’t try to convince me to stay. I’m tired of all your bullshit. Look what that stupid place has done to you!!” Then he walked out of the door… and out of the band.

The Paramour Mansion, later that night Everyone was angry or upset at Mikey. However, I was furious. How could he leave the band when we’re so close to finishing this album?! I just wrote a new song! Plus, we were doing what he wanted anyway! We played the fucking show!

I was in the Heavy Room, ranting and raving in my own head. He’s putting us all in jeopardy. If we don’t have a bass player, then our band can’t carry on! Sure, we can write songs, but we won’t be able to play them live! I know we could get another bass player but when? How long will that put us off schedule? I grabbed the sticky notes and a pen from the floor. I started writing my thoughts.

Bob’s POV Frank and I were hanging out in the basement after the show. We were watching some movies to distract us from our problems. It was cool – just like old times.

“How do you think this one ends?” Frank asked, gesturing toward the screen. We were watching Jaws, for what seemed like the 100th time.

I pretended to think. “I don’t know. Hmmm....Maybe the shark becomes Superman!”

Frank started cackling, grabbing his own ribs. “Oh, god. Superman’s the worst fuckin’ superhero! Such a fuckin Mary Sue!” he somehow managed to say between laughs.

This stupid fun was nice. It broke the tension.

But then, when I turned back to the screen, I saw that the whole thing had gone to static.

“What the hell? Frank, check it out.”

Frank looked up at the screen. “What’s going on?”

“I… I dunno. Did you see it go like this?” I stammered in confusion. I got up to change channels, and found that the TV was unplugged. “Uh, Frank......It’s not plugged in.” I held up the cord while the TV’s static raged on.

Frank looked spooked. Right as he went to say something, we heard a loud bang come from out in the basement. I turned to meet Frank’s eyes. His face was as white as a sheet.

“What was that?!” Frank hissed anxiously, as he started slowly rising from the bed.

I put the cord down, and creeped toward the door. The stairs’ door was wide open, and light was pooling out. I saw a deformed shadow move in the light.

“Frank, I think someone’s in the on the stairs,” I whispered back to him.

“Huh?” Frank appeared at my side. He tried looking out the door. A loud bang reverberated throughout the basement and the light went out. It was followed by a door slamming shut. We both jumped, raced back into the basement room, nearly tripping, and shut my door, fumbling as we hurriedly locked it.

“What the HELL!?” Frank yelled.

“I have no fucking clue what’s going on, man!”

We both backed up into the room. Thankfully, the TV had shut off.

“Maybe we should go find Ray and Gerard?” I suggested.

“No, because then we’ll have to walk up the stairs,” Frank replied. “We should just stay in here for a few moments and see what happens.”

I went to say something, when I suddenly noticed water leaking out of my bathroom door. I opened the door, and saw water

Page 8 of 11 spilling out from underneath my bathtub.

“Ah shit! Hey, Frank, a little help in here?!”

“Geez, dude! What’s up with your fucking tub?!”

“It does this sometimes. I don’t understand why, because the damn thing doesn’t work anyway. Could you just help me clean it up? This place is spooky enough without mold starting to grow everywhere.”

Gerard’s POV I woke up to the sound of a bang. Huh? Where am I? I sat up, and found little pieces of paper falling off my lap. I must have wrote hundreds of notes, as they were all piled around me. I grabbed one from the pile. It read: “

.”

I quickly grabbed another one. It read: “

.” I shook my head.

This is nuts. I don’t even remember writing these! I stood up, and made my way out of the Heavy Room, feeling like I was in some kind of trance. As I walked through the hallways of the mansion, I remembered what had happened earlier that day.

Mikey. That motherfucker. I can’t believe he left the band. I was still worried about him, and hoped he was getting help, but god, I couldn’t help but be bitter.

I wandered aimlessly for a few minutes, until I found myself near Ray’s room. I could hear music leaking out from under his door. It sounded like an Ozzy song, but played way too fast. Instantly, I felt irate. First Mikey left, and now he wants to play someone else’s music?! I grabbed the doorknob and jerked open his door. There Ray was, playing his guitar like it might be his last chance, fingers moving so fast you almost couldn’t see them; I saw sweat pouring down his forehead. How long had he been playing at this incredible pace?! He looked exhausted! Yet, I instantly somehow understood what he felt. It just made sense. I looked around the room, and saw his other guitar leaning against his amp. I grabbed it, and started playing the heaviest sounding riff I could. Ray looked at me as if coming out of a trance, and changed his song to match mine. I then just began singing, more like shouting, whatever lyrics that came to mind: “Now I know/That I can't make you stay/But where's your heart?”

I put all my feelings about Mikey’s departure into those lyrics. I poured my heart out.

“And I know/There's nothing I can say/To change that part/So many bright lights that cast a shadow/But can I speak? /Well, is it hard understanding/I'm incomplete?

I stopped playing, and held the guitar in my lap. I then started smiling like an idiot. I noticed that Ray was too. We had just written THE song. The song that was going to define the record. It was our new anthem, our fighting song, and it would help us to find the strength to go on.

Frank’s POV I had not been able to sleep in that basement. Eventually, I just went for it, and raced up the stairs as fast as I could. My heart had been beating so fast, I thought I might have a heart attack. Thankfully, I didn’t, and made it to my room alive, but for the whole night after that, I felt restless and on edge. To make matters worse, Ray and Gerard were blasting music super loudly for hours. I sat up in bed and held my head. Man, I think I need a beer.

On my trip to the kitchen, I remembered how terrified Bob had been earlier that night. Maybe I should go check on him? See if he’s alright? As I descended the basement stairs, slowly, carefully, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I swear it got about 10 degrees colder than this place’s regular, freezing temperature. Keep it together, Frankie. You don’t want to go batshit like everyone else. Just keep your head straight. Think happy thoughts. I tip-toed quickly down the small hallway to Bob’s room.

HIs door was shut. Maybe that’s good? I knocked on the door, and heard Bob softly grunt, “Go, away. I’m tryn’a sleep.” I then heard him start snoring, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. He seemed like he was back to normal. I ran back the way to the upstairs without stopping once. In my half-panicked state, I could have sworn that I saw some figure under the stairs, but I didn’t stick around to check.

Gerard’s POV It was a new day. I awoke with a happiness I hadn’t felt since we arrived at the mansion. We wrote a song worth something. I smiled at the thought of the achievement. Oddly, I couldn’t wait to tell Mikey. In some weird way, his departure had broken me, broken my shell, to such a point that I was able to release all my anger and frustrations. I felt like he would understand that. I headed outside to call Mikey.

“Hey, what’s up, Mikey?”

I heard him sigh on the other end.

“Not much, Gee. Why are you calling me so early?”

“We… we wrote a song… and I wanted to show it to you. It’s actually kinda about you, but it’s a good thing.”

I played the shitty phone recording to him – I had taken a raw recording of the vocals after hanging out with Ray. “Holy shit, Gerard. It’s amazing!”

Page 9 of 11 “You think?”

There was an awkward silence.

“Hey, um.....I really am sorry for storming out on you guys. I just couldn’t handle that place anymore, and Ray was driving me crazy. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I hope you don’t hate me.”

“No, it’s totally cool, Mikey. We shouldn’t have pressured you to stay when you couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry for being a jerk. I was frustrated, and taking it out on you, and I shouldn’t have. And I’m sure Ray’s sorry too.”

We talked about it for a bit more, before the conversation drew to an end.

“Okay. Well, I’ll talk to you later, Gerard. I gotta go. Please keep me updated on the band… And tell the guys I said, ‘Hi.’” “I will. Bye, Mikey. See ya.”

I hung up the phone. It felt like all was right in the world, at least for now.

Mikey’s POV Luckily, my nightmares had stopped when I left the Paramour, and I already started feeling better. My mental health had improved significantly. I was staying with the band’s attorney in her apartment; she was nice enough. It was good for me, though, since she wasn’t there a lot due to her job. She was only home late at night, and then she spent most of her time on her laptop, working. It gave me time to think over my life – I was honestly glad that Gerard had been able to write a new song. It sounded good too, and I couldn’t wait for the album to come out... it would be sad not to be there to support them anymore, at least for now, but maybe they were better off without me.

Chapter 6 Gerard’s POV The past couple of weeks had been fantastic! We finished the song Ray and I had brainstormed, and I even wrote a new song that I was really proud of. I was sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee with the other guys. They all seemed happier as well.

Bob was acting a little odd lately, but there was nothing too out of the ordinary.

Ray was talking to Frank about the guitar riffs on this new song he was coming up with. I think he was calling it “Mama”. Kind of a rock-polka… I’m not too sure, but it sounded fucking awesome when Ray played it. Bob was staring absent-mindedly out the window, drinking his coffee. He looked strange, so I decided to go talk with him.

“Hey, Bob. What ya looking at?”

He turned slightly to me and glared. “Nothing, Gerard. Why do you have to fuckin’ ask?”

I looked at him confused.

“Just trying to be polite. You don’t have to get pissy with me.”

I made my way back over to Ray and Frank.

“I think there’s something wrong with Bob,” I whispered. “He seems moodier than usual.”

They both nodded their heads in agreement.

“Yeah. He’s been that way since a couple of weeks ago,” Frank whispered back. “We were both in the basement watching some movies when we heard this weird bang, so we tried to check it out, but didn’t see anything. Then his bathtub started leaking and shit, even though it doesn’t work. It was crazy, paranormal shit, man,” Frank explained casually, shrugging his shoulders.

“And you just decide to tell us this now?” Ray said, raising his voice, like the possessed Diva Ray was gonna come back.

“Shhh, come on he’s right there,” Frank hissed. “Do we have some kind of agreement where I have to tell you everything? When Gerard was majorly wigging out, I didn’t snitch on him every moment.”

“Whatever. Just keep an eye on him, guys,” I replied. “This is important, but the album just started getting close to finished. I don’t want anything to mess it up.

Later that Night I was wandering through a torn down city. There was debris everywhere. As I walked, I saw strange people… they didn’t look normal. I saw a featureless man, who was entirely black like oil, like onyx, and a girl who appeared to be his lover - she was like him, except entirely white, like chalk. They seemed to be having an intense conversation. I walked quickly past them.

I soon saw a hospital bed, just sitting out in the middle of the street, and it seemed to be holding a body. Curious, I walked up to it and found a decrepit young man lying on it.

“Why… why does he look familiar?” I asked myself.

I looked closer, and realized, to my astonishment, that this was not just any patient – it was The Patient.

“Hello?” I questioned.

“Ah, hello, Gerard,” wheezed The Patient, sounding so old, despite looking so young. How are you?”

“I’m… fine,” I choked out, astonished that through all this strangeness, we were making small-talk. “What are you doing in this place?”

The Patient let out a shallow laugh. “Gerard, you have so many things to learn. This place is in your head.”

I was shocked. “My head? But how can that be? It all seems so real! And you… you were supposed to be fictional! I’m not supposed to be able to talk to you!”

Page 10 of 11 The Patient turned to look at me better. “Oh, I am far from fake, Gerard. I may be in your head, but that doesn’t mean I’m not real.”

The air turned icy, and I shivered. A lady in white with a gas mask appeared next to The Patient, as if by magic. I instantly felt afraid in her presence… and infuriated. This was the lady Mikey described from his dream! She’d tried to fucking kill him all that time ago, and I hadn’t believed him!

“Hello, Gerard. How’s the younger Way doing?” she asked me.

“You leave him alone!” I shouted. “He is not some puppet you can play with! You hear me!” My hands were balled into fists.

“I hear you, Gerard. I really do. But honestly… what are you going to do about it? What army do you have?” At that moment, a whole parade of people marched out of the fog behind her.

“As you can see, Gerard, I am well equipped, but you are not. You have, what… four or three crew-mates now? I guess little Mikey doesn’t really count, as he ran off, deserted your army… right when we needed him to.” I looked around in shock.

“What is all of this about? I thought you guys were just figments of our imaginations. I thought I made The Patient up! You can’t gang up on me! I made you!”

The lady looked mockingly sad for a moment, and spoke in her most soothing voice. “Dear, Gerard, don’t you see? We need you as our way of escape. We live here in the darkness, and when The Patient caught sight of your suffering, he was able to latch on. He used you to make him into something tangible in your world. You helped him to bridge the gap between this world and your world, and now you’re going to help stabilize that bridge. You’re going to help me, the Mother of War, and my marchers. We are not evil. We know you want to discuss life and death, but how can you do that if you don’t have your own death? We’re all here to help you become the Black Parade. You can show the world what it’s like to be both living and dead. In the meantime, we’ll get to experience life just one… more… time. What do you say, Gerard? Do you like that idea?”

All her ‘marchers’ started nodding their heads in unison. I felt like I had no choice. All feeling rushed from my body, and I was powerless to say ‘no’, as if she held me in her psychic grip, controlled my every move, controlled whether I moved, like a puppet… I shook my head, trying to snap out of it, struggling to regain control of my own brain.

“No!” I finally shouted. “I will not be your bridge. I won’t let you!”

The Mother of War broke from her soothing, regal stance, as she shrieked in anger and lunged at me. I felt her put her fingers around my throat and start squeezing.

“It’s either you agree or you die, and become one of us! If that happens, we’ll just get Michael… or maybe even Robert Briar to fulfill the plan. As you may already know, one of my marchers has already infiltrated your poor drummer’s head. He was such a brave spirit… but he has such a weak mind.”

Her hands tightened around my throat. I could feel myself getting dizzy and starting to drift away. I grabbed at her hands weakly.

“What’s it going to be, Mr. Way? Will you let your baby brother and the rest of your tiny little four-man army suffer with or without you?”

I could feel my lungs start burning. I couldn’t let my friends suffer without me, if they had to suffer at all. Maybe I could try to keep these creatures at bay if I agreed. I made up my mind.

The Mother of War seemed to understand, and let go of my throat. I fell to my knees.

“Have you made your final decision?”

I coughed harshly, and forced out my answer. “Yes. I will help you.”

She came at me, and moved quickly through me.

I jumped awake, still tugging at my throat, drenched in sweat. I leaped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. On my neck were dark, red handprints.

It was all real.

I had hoped that some part of this would be fake. I saw my appearance in the mirror shift and distort, and in my place stood The Patient. My long, black hair was replaced with closely cropped white hair, and my face became paler and more skeletal. Behind me...I mean, behind him...stood Mother War. My reflection flashed back to normal, back to myself, standing alone. What the-A voice in my head whispered, “We kept our promise, Gerard. Now we’re here with you. You are now both Life and Death itself. Isn’t that exciting?”

My appearance in the mirror shifted once more to that of The Patient.

This time it didn’t switch back.

A Month later Ray’s POV We were finally leaving the Paramour Mansion. We weren’t supposed to leave this early, but Gerard had found some sudden crazy source of inspiration or something, became basically unstoppable, and had been able to finish the last few songs. He had been like a maniac. He didn’t act like himself and he kinda scared me, but he did make some killer songs.

Speaking of someone not acting like himself… I had no idea how I was gonna apologize to Mikey. I’d been acting like a total tool, and he took the brunt of it. And to be honest… most of my memories of those fights were really hazy, like they didn’t feel real at the time, like I wasn’t in control of my own head.

Page 11 of 11 We were currently packing up all our stuff. I grabbed my bags and headed for the van. As I passed Gerard’s room, I heard him muttering under his breath. He did that frequently now, but it still didn’t make it any more normal.

“Are you almost finished packing, Gee?” I asked.

He turned to look at me. The bags under his eyes were terrible. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he hadn’t slept in years. “I’m almost done, Ray. Just leave me be.” Then he slammed the door on me.

God, he’s getting worse. Hopefully some fresh air and studio time will help him. I walked outside, and found Frank putting his guitars in the van.

“Hey, how’re you doing, Frank?”

He looked at me and gave a cheery smile. “I’m doing good, buddy. I’m just really glad to finally get out of this shithole.”

I gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Me too. I’m worried about Bob and Gerard, though. They still don’t seem--” “Sane?” Frank cut me off. I nodded.

“Yeah. I’m just worried that maybe this whole experience kinda… broke them. I mean, even Mikey’s doing better.”

“I know what ya mean, Ray,” Frank said, as he slammed the van door as gently as possible, being careful with the precious cargo. “I talked to Mikey this morning. He’s even down with being back in the band.”

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Gerard said from behind me, walking down the front-door steps into the cheerful morning sunlight, like stepping from one world into another. “Now, what were you both talking about that’s so upsetting?”

I glanced at Frank. “Um, nothing,” I lied. “Just cool that Mikey’s coming back, that’s all.”

I quickly walked back inside to grab more stuff. We really need to get the hell out of here.

Bob’s POV I looked at my junk on the floor. I had packed it all, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The problem was that I’d had that same feeling the past few weeks. I kept hearing weird voices, and getting moments where I just didn’t feel like myself. I’d even been having weird dreams about Gerard’s ‘Black Parade’ characters being real. I shook my head. This place was fucking me up just like it did to the rest of them. It’ll be better when I’m outta here. Fuck this place.

I then grabbed my stuff and left as quickly as I could. But even as I rushed out… I couldn’t help but think that shadow I cast down on the basement stairs didn’t exactly seem like my own.

THE END… or is it?

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Face the Pain and Take It On He growled.

And he snarled, and he kicked, and he bit, and he screamed.

He spit, and he clawed, and he was filled with rage. Always.

But now he was silent.

He could remember how it felt to be abandoned.

He knew what it felt like to be discarded, tossed to the wolves, the sand, the scorching sun.

And it hurt. Like hell, did it hurt to know at such a young age, before you could even tie your own damn sand covered boots, that nobody wanted you.

Alone, for years, he was left to the elements. Damn his parents, if he could even call them that. Yes, he managed as well as he could for a while, but soon he became even more sickly and scrawny than he was before, and he thought it was over, until that day. That day when they found him and saved him. The day that he kicked and he screamed and he growled, but also the day that he found a family.

And after a while, things fell into place. He could put aside his childhood as a forgotten, feral stray, as he was suddenly surrounded by bright smiles and hesitant-but-open arms. Of course, he had his moments. They all did. But they took care of each other.

And he was so happy that he was there to do it all for her. Just a baby when she was given to the four teenagers. She grew to be beautiful, and kind, and so optimistic. From the day that the four first held her, they knew that they would give their lives in a heartbeat to protect her.

And of course Ghoul might not have been her favorite. He might not have been Kobra, who taught her karate, and let her wear his shades, and brought her home little lizards to keep as pets. He might not have been Party, who loved to play dress-up, and paint, and sing with her. And he definitely wasn't Jet. He wasn't the cautious, loving, caring one who did her hair and gave her piggyback rides, and made sure she was fed. He was Fun Ghoul, and the least he could do was keep his motorbaby safe.

But no.

No, no, no, he had to go and fuck it up, just like he always did. He had to turn his fucking back, he had to flip that stupid switch and go crazy on a Drac that came too close to Poison, and then she was gone.

She was gone and it was all hisGhoul let out a frustrated sigh, gripping his head in his shaking hands as he slid down the concrete wall of some abandoned building a mile or two away for where the rest of his the gang was anxiously going over the plans for tomorrow.

He stood up and looked out towards the horizon. He thought about the young girl, alone and confused, stuck in the cold, emotionless fog of that machine they called a city. He clenched his hands into fists.

Was she locked up in a cold cell? Did she feel abandoned? Did she now know what it was like to be failed by the people meant to protect her? Did she know that this was all Ghoul's fault and now she hated him forever what a fucking failu"STOP" The shout rang out over the empty highway. It took him a second to realize that it came from his own mouth. Tears streamed down his face and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Fuck all of this," he growled as he tilted his head back against the wall. He bit down hard on his knuckles, willing himself to calm down.

He couldn't do this to himself anymore. He'd spent every single day since the girl was whisked away wishing that he hadn't turned his back and let her go. He had it drilled into his head that he had failed her, just like his parents had failed him so many years ago.

But he was going to save her.

"We're going to save her," Ghoul whispered.

He wiped his eyes and stilled his shaking hands. Tomorrow was the day. Tomorrow he would go and he would get his baby girl back and it would be just like when Jet saved him.

And he wouldn't be a failure anymore.

By Carla Erasmus “This is Doctor Death Defying, coming to you live from zone to zone; so listen closely, Motorbabies, because today… marks a big point in history.”

The radio is turned up, and the entire diner falls quiet. Where the Killjoys had been singing, laughing and shouting, there was now a deathly silence. Every Killjoy in a mile radius could sense the change in Dr D’s voice. This wasn’t another casual broadcast.

“Today… we lost family. Those legends you whispered about around campfires, the faces you saw plastered all over any flat surface screaming high bounties, our victors, our hope… A rescue mission gone haywire. The Girl is safe. Party Poison, Fun Ghoul, JetStar and Kobra Kid have left the building.”

Dr D’s voice breaks and he pauses, trying to summon the strength to continue the broadcast. There’s sobbing and sniffing in the diner. Some who had met these heroes, and others who had only heard their names, all mourning together for the greatest people of the era. The largest shot at victory, ripped away from cold, leather-clad fingers.

“Even though they’re dusted, out here in the desert, their shadows live on. Now we fight with all we’ve got, together. It’s time to join forces and get out battle plans.

They knock us down, we punch back ten times harder.”

There’s a commotion heard in the background of the broadcast. An infiltration in the studio. Dr D raises his voice.

“Let’s fight for all the lives we’ve lost. Give it your all, Children. This is the uprising of the people. This is Dr Death Defying, signing off.”

There is a gunshot, and everything is static, before Dr D grunts the words that mark the beginning of the Revolution of the People: “Killjoys, Make Some Noise.”

Page 2 of 7

“Jake, Nicholas, stop your yapping and pack your bags.

We have to leave for Base #1 now, boys. No more fooling around!”

The 2 fourteen-year-olds start up a roar of protest.

“Hey, use our real names, woman! No one is allowed to know our identities,” my little brother Jake protests, scrambling up on the moth invested couch.

“Yeah - and we’re not boys! We’re men!” Jake’s best mate since diapers shouts along with him.

“First of all: there ain’t a living soul for miles, so even if people did care about your identities, they wouldn’t hear it. Secondly, I’m not calling you ‘The Jakinator’ and ‘Ghost Rider’, ‘cause those names are cringy. No, Nicholas, it’s not a clever play on your name, don’t even think it. And third of all, boys, you’ve barely even started puberty, so cool it. I’m leaving in 5 minutes, with or without you jerks.” I leave the remains of what used to be a sitting room and hear Jake yell after me.

“You’d never leave us behind! We’re your weakness!”

If only he weren’t so smart.

We used to live in a glamorous area of Battery City. Dad worked for the government, and Mom was a physicist who worked on converting people into Draculoids. My brother and the next door neighbour, Nicholas, were inseparable. Things were running smoothly, until everyone found out Dad was actually working against the government, and feeding intel to Rebel clans. I was busy babysitting Jake and Nicholas at the park, the day the house blew up. Destroyed our house and the neighbours’ on both sides. Suddenly orphaned and left on babysitting duty, I took the matters of caring for the boys into my own hands. I was 16 at the time, and barely knew how to drive a car, but I managed, getting us out into open grounds. I learnt to fight in order to keep my boys safe. Anyone who even tried to get near them got slaughtered. Thankfully my mom, being a Physicist, pushed me to take science at school, and taught me some tricks along the way. Bombing Draculoids and learning some handy tricks with Acid became my new Hobby.

I have no party in me, but damn, I know my way around a poison.

Page 3 of 7 “Korse, I believe that this broadcast will bring us no harm. The waywards are attempting another revolution because they are currently suspended in fear, like a headless reptilian creature. Their leaders have just been lost, and they are trying to salvage any hope they can find. There is no need to succumb to military plan X; we do not need to wipe out the entire population, merely reel them in one-by-one for conversion…yes Sir? … Thank you Sir, when have my plans ever let you down? No Sir, there is no need to worry, these waywards do not have the resources we do, they are too few in masses and-…Yes Sir…Oh thank you Sir, I’d be honoured to attend next week’s meeting with you. Farewell Korse.” I remove my earpiece after disconnecting, chuckling to myself.

Having the Government under your thumb is a simple task of flattery and praising their power. Mister Korse however, will not see me at next week’s meeting. If Dr Death Defying believes assembling all forces will work, then the Killjoys are bound to follow instructions, and this will indeed be the revolution that will level Better Living Industries to an equal playing ground with the Killjoys.

I might be a trusted member on the board, but they’ve misplaced their trust in a man who was forced to watch his entire family be turned into brain dead zombies. I’ve been working with the Killjoys ever since I saw the evil in this organisation. I’ve been gathering members to fight for the cause in secret, and delivering information on government plans to the rebels.

I’m leaving tonight for Base #1, leading rebel members of the ‘trusted society’ along with me.

I’ve always been a master of trickery and deception, playing anyone who stood in my way.

I live for the act. I fight for the side that I know deserves to win. After how the government hurt me, they’d be blessed if I didn’t rip them to shreds. Some people believe I’m a two-faced liar, a snake; but others call me a Ghoul… and I believe that has more of a nice ring to it.

Page 4 of 7 You know? I never get tired of killing you assholes, but man, am I tired of having to go hunting for a new partner every time you get rid of ‘em. This last guy was real nice, ya know? Always took the first shift at night. Now I’m stuck talking to Drac guts ‘cause I’ve gone solo… again. Going solo was way easier when it was all about the music, but now it’s all about survival, you know, and that’s darn difficult with no one watching your back.”

I kick a stray Drac head, and sigh in defeat “Stupid apocalypse.”

I walk to the Jeep I ‘commandeered’ around the start of my hunting spree, when my fans got attacked at my last concert. I knew it was dangerous, still running the show while we knew there was a mass wipe-out under way in the wastelands, but we believed there’d be even more publicity, that we’d seem courageous and shine a beacon of hope for the people. None of my band members survived, neither did most of my fans. I got out though, bashing in Drac heads with my favourite guitar and shooting them with their own fallen guns.

I can never forgive myself for putting all those people in danger. People who believed in me and risked their lives to come see the show, lost their lives. I no longer fight for the glory. I fight to honour the names of the people whose lives were lost because of me.

I seek revenge. I am not giving in until I’ve smashed in every Draculoid head with my lucky guitar. It’s funny how quickly one can go from being a famous musician to being on BL/ind’s most wanted list.

I pick up my Walkie Talkie as the Jeep rumbles to life. “Yo, it’s Electric. I had a Drac pack to deal with, sorry for the wait. Now, what were you saying about forming some elite force?”

Page 5 of 7

“No! Leave me alone you evil fiend,” I moan at the buzzing fly that keeps coming back no matter how hard I try to swat it away. The radio goes a bit fuzzy, and I sigh in frustration, pushing myself up and trying to find a more suitable position to hold the radio at for better signal. Today is extremely hot, and not even the tree I’m sitting in can save me from the humid air.

I eventually find a position comfortable enough, with perfect signal, causing me to drift into an almost instant sleep. In my dream, I’m in a place equally as hot as the reality I just left behind. My eyes take a while to adjust to the blazing sun, but when they do, I notice the house in front of me. Longing and a sense of contentment instantly take hold of me... I’m home. Or, at least, the place I once called home.

“Honey come in, lunch is ready.”

Only then, do I notice the beautiful woman at the entrance of the house. I try not to break down and cry on the spot. Instead I run towards my mom and give her a huge hug.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” she asks, bending down on one knee to hug me closer.

“Nothing mommy, I’m just really grateful for everything you do for me. I love you so much. You’re my best friend, mom. I just honestly lo-” I jump awake into the burning, empty reality of life.

“Hey Kid! Come along, at this rate we’ll reach Base #1 by nightfall!”

This is my reality. I am alone, ripped away from my parents when I was 9. My entire Family was turned into Draculoids. Not only did I lose my family, but I’ve lost my memories, certain things in my past that I can’t recall. I guess there is still hope in me that we could find a cure, to save them and return my memories; but at the end of the day, I know that my innocence and happiness was ripped away 4 years ago. I was thrown into this fight. I might not be strong, but I’m doing this for them, for my parents.

“Hold up, I’m coming”.

Page 6 of 7

“So you’re telling me these four people, one of which is a 13 year old kid, have what it takes to level us with Better Living Industries?” The man taps his fingers impatiently on the table, staring around at the walls of Base #1.

“No, I’m telling you that these people have the heart and commitment that will lead the Killjoys. These four have lost so much, and they’re prepared to risk their lives.

They have the power and control that could help lead us.” The Girl takes out the files Show Pony helped her put together, and puts the first file in front of the man across from her. “This girl lost her family. Dad was in the government, mom worked in Draculoid transformation. She knows her way around bombs and is prepared to do anything for the 2 boys left in her care. Our Poison.”

The Girl takes out the second file, hoping that what she’s trying to say is getting across to the man. “This man had a huge position in BLI. Knows his way around the facilities, and is a mastermind in trickery. He can get anyone to do his bidding. He lost his family to BL/ind and is out for revenge. He knows all their secrets. People have called him a Ghoul many times.”

The tension in the room has The Girl begging the universe for the courage to keep her calm. “I’m sure you know this girl. She used to be a very famous musician until her last show was attacked by Drac’s. She now lives in regret, and is on BL/ind’s most wanted list. She is an amazing fighter, probably the best there is. An amazing leader image, that can help encourage the crowds and give hope in this revolution. She’s a Star.”

The Girl breathes deeply before moving onto the next file, a girl with a story much like her own. “This girl, the 13 year old, lost her family. I know you don’t see why she should be in the frontlines, but she represents hope for all the other scared children.

She’s compassionate, has been a part of many rescue missions, and though this might mean nothing to you, there might be something that does. Four years ago, she was held captive. An experiment of BLI’s to create a perfect human, but she broke loose. This girl might not be aware of it, but she has a brilliance that no human can comprehend. It’s like there’s a computer in her head behind all the firewalls. Free her mind, and we have the ultimate weapon of intelligence. You’re right, she is only a Kid, but she’s a Kid who could win the revolution.”

The Girl searches the man’s eyes, seeing that he almost understands what she’s getting at, but not quite yet. “The Poison, The Ghoul, The Star and The Kid. We didn’t lose our heroes, they live on in us. We can keep them alive. This is our fight now. It’s time that we protect ourselves.”

And so, the Revolution of The People began.

Page 7 of 7

This isn’t the end… it’s only the beginning

References: 1. Inspired By Quentin Tarantino’s movie style, and Episode 12 of Season 12 of Supernatural {Stuck in the Middle (with you)} 2. This fic is set after the music video of Sing by My Chemical Romance 3. The Dr. Death Defying Listening Party video is used and quoted in the 1st scene 4. Images edited by Alexia Georgiou, @alexiacgeorgiou on Instagram

5. Models Featured in the Cosplay (Instagram Accounts): @beabritz @pippa.higgins @carl.2511 @micahyell @the_dank_wizard @carla_erasmus @riwan0411 @rhenen.va @gianm5623 @bugzee_cookie

1 The Drunken Night of the Fabulous Killjoys by The-Lonely-Penguin After almost two decades of fighting, we Fic By: Claude (the-lonely-penguin finally made it. I was covered in dust, blood and on Tumblr, FutureTurtlez on wounds that I knew would scar and stay for Wattpad) years to come. My friends, no, my family, were the same. We’ve been in this for so long; in this Length: 6 pages war we were forced into when most of us were Plot: The Killjoys have some fun the barely 5 (even worse in my little brother’s case, night before a big fight as he was not even 2 at the time). We’ve lost so Trigger Warning: recreational many that we cared about, but now finally we made it. alcohol consumption We made it to the BLI headquarters.

Night had fallen and we camped outside the building. Most of the organization were out celebrating at the Hyper-Thrust, and it was only my team and I that were left around the fire. There wasn’t any need to worry about the people inside of the building. They were outnumbered and they knew it. We had a night of rest before we would go in and take the building; forcing them to surrender, and finally ending the war.

“Hey, you excited, Party?” Ghoul asked me. “Tomorrow’s the big day.”

“Oh, god,” I exhaled. “I can’t believe it’s all gonna be over soon.”

“Damn,” Ghoul whistled. “You must be really serious if you mention ‘god.’”

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s just we’ve been on the run for so long. I can’t remember a time when things weren’t going all costa rica, when I didn’t have to worry about getting dusted by just going outside.”

“We’ll adjust,” Kobra said. “We’ll rebuild again. We know how.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right Kobra.”

“Hey,” Ghoul said suddenly. “I know this may sound a bit crazy, but I have an idea, so hear me out.”

“Yeah, yeah, skip the static,” Jet said.

“Okay. Why don’t we have some fun and go out and raise some hell? Get some Acid Rain while we’re out. It’s the night before the fight. We deserve some fun after all this time.”

“I say let’s do it,” Kobra agreed.

“I’m all in,” Jet said.

“What about you, Party?”

“Oh hell yeah,” I grinned as I got up from my rock and started making my way to the Trans AM. “Hey, there’s no way in the Zones that you are driving,” Ghoul scrambled over before I could get in the car. “Last time you drove we ended up in Costa Rica.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” I said as I sat in the front.

“Some dewdroppers had to save us,” he reminded me as he got in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, fine. Maybe it was that bad.”

“Eh, who cares anymore,” Jet said as he climbed into the back. “Let’s just get to the Hyper-Thrust already.”

“Actually, I was thinking we go to the Clusterfuck,” Ghoul said casually.

Kobra made a choking noise as he climbed into the car. “Ghoul, you’ve gotta be on some serious stuff to think about going to the Clusterfuck. That place is crawling with Bin Rats, and Pillpoppers.”

2 “I second that,” I said. “Ghoul, you can’t be serious.”

“Does a Crash Queen love speed?” He asked as he started the car and began driving.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Then that’s my answer.”

I buried my head in my hands. “Destroya, save me.”

“We’re gonna need the goddamned Phoenix Witch if we’re going to the Clusterfuck,” Kobra said.

“Hey, guys. Stop being a bunch of lawyers and loosen up so we can have some fun,” Ghoul said as he started speeding through the barren wasteland.

“Just for the record,” Jet said, “I regret doing this.”

Ghoul rolled his eyes as he started gaining more speed. ~ “I can’t believe you dragged us to this place!” Jet yelled over the loud music.

A sea of people crowded the large, circular stage in the centre of the place, drinking and throwing Carbons at the droids, who were dancing and wearing outfits that covered almost nothing, to the point they might as well have been naked. Near the entrance, there was a bar that served so many drinks of so many radioactive colours that I’ve never seen before. Black lounge seats were grouped all over the place, and most were occupied with people either almost-fucking each other, or just drugging themselves up.

“I hate you so much for this, Fun Ghoul,” Kobra shouted, but Ghoul didn’t hear it, as he just grabbed our hands and started dragging us to an unoccupied seat that had a great view of the stage.

We sat down on the chairs and watched the droids do their work. Ghoul stared openmouthed at them in their sparkly outfits. A waitress, who also wore a scandalous outfit, came by with a round of drinks. Each of the drinks were suited to our colours, which was a nice touch, and the waitress left before any of us could say a word.

“So, uh, does anyone trust these drinks?” I asked as I skeptically looked at them.

Kobra shrugged as he took his red and yellow drink. He tentatively took a sip before a smile formed on his face and he started taking large gulps. “Holy shit, that is good!”

Jet looked curiously at his blue drink. He took it and sipped it before he started drinking more of it. “Kobra, you’re right. These are good. Poison, give yours a try.”

I shrugged. I had nothing left to lose. I grabbed my drink and took a sip. They were right these were really good. It had a tangy taste, like nothing I have ever tasted before. I took more sips and nudged Ghoul.

“Hey, Ghoul, try yours out. If you don’t then I’m drinking it,” I said.

He grabbed his drink without looking at it. He was still staring at the droids on the stage. He absentmindedly drank it, looked down in surprise, and started drinking it more. We all finished our drinks fairly quickly, and before I put my glass down, the waitress came back with more different crazy coloured drinks.

We eagerly took the drinks and drank all of those ones too. Then the waitress just kept bringing more and more. Soon, we’ve had like, 15 drinks, maybe. I don’t remember, I’d lost count.

“Thanks for taking us here, Ghoul,” I slurred as I laid down on him. By now he stopped staring at the dancers, who were taking a break. “You need to eat more potatoes, y’know?”

He laughed. “Potatoes? I think you mean poh-tah-toes. And there hasn’t been any

3 potatoes in a long time.” He raised his eyebrows. “Unless you’ve been hiding potatoes. Are you a potato dealer?”

“I’ll never tell you,” I giggle-whispered.

He gasped. “Holy shit!”

We burst into laughter until we were clutching our stomachs and crying.

“Hey,” Ghoul gasped as he jerkily pointed a finger at the droids about to go on stage again. “I’m gonna get on stage.”

I was still laughing as I lightly slapped him. “No, you’re not. I don’t think you’d do it.”

“Fucking watch me,” he said as he got up. He walked up to one of the droids and whispered something in her ear. He swayed as she thought of an answer and nodded. He asked another question to the droid and she nodded and led him through a door I didn’t see before.

Holy fucking shit, he’s actually going to do it.

After moments of anticipation, Ghoul finally got out of the door wearing the most scandalous outfit I’ve ever seen him in. Clad in fishnets, a skirt, stilettos, and a green corset, came out the legendary Fun Ghoul.

I started cackling and clapping at him as he strutted onto the stage. He turned around and blew a kiss to me before accidentally tripping and almost falling, which just made me laugh even harder.

I whistled at him and cheered him on while he drunkenly danced. He was surprisingly amazing at it. He strutted, went up to the audience and gave the people in the audience teases, nothing too bad, though. Just mainly blowing kisses to the audience and did other insane fun-looking things.

Y’know, it did look really fun…….I’m going on the stage.

I stumble up and go the edge of the stage and start yelling at Ghoul.

“Get off the stage! I wanna have some fucking fun!”

He walked towards me, bent over and winked at me. Next thing I know I’m being pulled up on stage. I grinned widely and started dancing with Ghoul in a weirdly fast ballroom dance sort of thing. The ones you see in those old tapes from 1998.

Lights flashed everywhere. The sea of people below me roared their approval by throwing carbons at us, which Ghoul started stuffing down his corset. Adrenaline rushed through my veins as I danced faster and got sweatier. This was the best experience of my life. I didn’t care that I didn’t have a cool outfit like Ghoul-- actually, I did want a cool outfit like Ghoul, but, hey, I wasn’t going to complain.

It was way too soon when the song ended and Ghoul pushed me off the stage, before jumping down from it too. (More like he, jumped, fell on his face, and got up again.)

We went back to our couch, which somehow wasn’t occupied while we were gone, and slumped into it.

“That was fucking insane. Holy shit, that was fun!”

“Fuck yeah. Look at all these C’s I got.” Ghoul started digging into his corset and taking out handfuls of money.

“Holy shit! We’re rich!”

“Hell yeah! Let’s buy some more drinks!” He said as he started getting up. “The previous ones already wore off.”

“Yeah!” I got up quickly before getting really dizzy and collapsing back into my seat.

“Hey, where’d Jet and Kobra go?”

“I don’t fucking care,” he said as he disappeared into the crowd to get his drinks.

4 “Where the fuck did they head off to?” I said to myself, before getting up, slower this time, and wobbly looking for the missing ‘Joys. Eventually, in a corner of the room, I saw the familiar shape of an afro, and realized it was Jet Star. He was making out with some person up against the wall.

I whistled. “Yeah, Jet, get it!”

He responded by flipping me off.

“Aw, don’t be like that!” Ghoul said as he seemed to materialize out of nowhere and surprised me in the process. “Here, have a drink, Party.”

I took the drink and started going through the crowd back to the couch. That is, before I saw something stopping me in my tracks and making me drop my drink. Jet Star had moved a bit to reveal the person against the wall. The blond hair and the all too familiar red jacket gave it all away.

“Kobra!?” I choked out in surprise as Ghoul started laughing.

Kobra didn’t seem to notice me having an existential crisis while Ghoul seemed most likely to die from laughing too hard.

“Party, leave them to their fun,” Ghoul said when he was red in the face from laughing. Or from drinking. Probably both. He put a hand on my shoulder and started leading me away and yelling behind him, “Keep it your pants, you two!”

“What the fuck did I just witness?” I said in a state of shock.

“Romance in the making,” Ghoul said, taking a drink of his chemical-looking beverage. “‘Chemical romance’ more like,” I muttered.

He raised an eyebrow. “Hm?” “Your drink looks like a chemical in a bottle. And they’re only making out from drinking too much. Probably. So it’s a chemical romance, y’know?”

“You’re not making any fucking sense whatsoever.”

I shrugged. “I don’t give a fuck.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Fine.”

I stayed silent for a while. “So, are you gonna take your outfit anytime soon?”

He shook his head. “Nah. It makes me look cool.”

I shrugged and looked at the droids who started dancing again, then to the bar, and then to the people making out on the couches surrounding us. We already did all that we could do in this place. It must’ve already been late, and the others might have returned back to the base. I felt drained, and I don’t think any amount of drinks could’ve re-energized me.

Speaking of the drinks, they were good, ridiculously good, but wore off too quickly. I stopped seeing what more fun could come out of this place.

“I’m gonna leave,” I told Ghoul as I started getting up.

“Hey, I thought we were having fun,” he said as he put his drink down and got up too.

I shrugged. “Not having fun anymore. Gonna head back to base.”

“Okay. I’m coming with you. I’m the only one who can drive your ass back to camp.”

“What about Jet and Kobra?”

“Leave them to their fun. I’ll come back for them later.”

“Okay,” I said begrudgingly. I didn’t feel like leaving them behind. Too many things could happen while we were gone.

Ghoul and I wound our way through the crowd, passing by the two lovebirds, and we got out of the building. Ghoul quickly climbed into the car and I followed suit. Ghoul started speeding through the desert and quickly dropped me off at camp. He waved goodbye as he started driving back.

5 As I suspected, everyone returned from the Hyper-Thrust already.

“Hey, Party,” Gasoline Threat Angel greeted me.

“Hey. You redid your hair,” I noticed.

“Oh, yeah, I did! Like it?” She laughed as she twirled around.

Her hair was cut really short, shorter than Kobra’s technically, and dyed a light blonde. “Yeah, I love it.”

“Cool. Where’s the rest of your ‘Joys?” She asked as she looked behind me while standing on her toes as if they were hiding in my shadow.

“At the club. The Clusterfuck.”

“Wow,” she whistled. “Was this Ghoul’s idea. I bet it was his idea.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Well, I’m off. Gotta meet Silent Strike and Ghosted Disturbance in Zone 3.”

“Oh, well, good luck or whatever.”

She saluted me jokingly, before running to the nearest motorbike and taking off. I decided to go back to my tent and rest for a bit. I passed many other people, who greeted me before going back to what they were doing. I eventually reached my tent, before hesitantly going in. I was surprised that there was someone sleeping in my bed.

“Poison?” She groggily asked.

“Hey, it’s me,” I whispered as I moved to sit next to her. “Go back to sleep G. Don’t let me disturb you.”

The Girl didn’t listen as she sat up and stared up at me. “Where’d you go? I got worried after a while, but I slept eventually.”

“The team and I went to some place you should never go to until you’re 20.”

“Oh, so you went to the Clusterfuck?”

I gasped. “G!” “Fun Ghoul told me about it.”

“I’m gonna kill him as soon as he comes back,” I muttered. For fuck’s sake, she’s, like, 10! She shouldn’t know of that place already.

“Where’s he?”

“With Kobra and Jet at the club.”

“Oh,” she nodded. “Guess what I did?”

“What did you do?” I asked, my interest piqued.

“I got to be on the radio with Dr. D!” “That’s awesome! Maybe you can work with him from now on and keep him company.”

“I already keep him company, silly.”

“Well, silly me, I guess. Anyways, go back to sleep, G. I’m gonna go sleep too.”

She nodded and laid down again. Quickly, soft snores filled the tent and I looked fondly at her. I started making another bed for me to sleep on. I somehow scrounged some pillows and blankets and made a makeshift bed. I laid down and quickly went to sleep, dreaming about different things that went through like a blur. ~ Crackle. Crackle. Buzz. Whine.

I opened my eyes to the sound of the radio. Outside was dark and I heard only the sounds of the Zones. G also woke up to the sound and looked at the radio with anticipation. I looked over at the radio too as Dr. Death-Defying started speaking.

“Bad news from the zones, Tumbleweeds. It looks like the Jet Star, Kobra Kid, and Fun Ghoul had a clap in Zone 2 with a couple of rogue Dracs that went all costa rica.”

6 Dr. D paused and I was flooded with panic.

“Got themselves kidnapped by the undead, the only thing that remained was the green devils mask and a trail of blood. So keep your guns close and your masks on, it seems this fight isn’t over.”

Page 1 of 3

Hooked On a Feeling Party Poison was supposed to be above it all.

A shot of fire-red adrenaline flying like a comet through the desert, a splash of colour in this god's-armpit of a wasteland, a soldier of mayhem in a

Fic By: Can (Trashcan_inc on AO3, @cancan.jpg on Instagram) Length: 3 pages Plot: Party Poison isn’t afraid of much, except feelings.

Trigger Warning: mild sexual references

world that wanted order.

But he was not above this.

Running at breakneck speed from human emotions he was socially conditioned to think were abnormal, Poison would crawl into any pit to escape, to have Something To Do to keep him distracted. And sometimes those metaphorical 'pits' were beds.

From kissing boys in Batt City to escape the dullness of his adolescent life, to picking up other Killjoys at desert clubs just to feel like someone vaguely liked him, to feel needed.

It's not like he thought his friends hated him. It was irrational. It was just the anxiety talking. Kobra and The Girl looked up to him as a brother. Jet looked at him as a beloved friend. Ghoul liked him.

Ghoul.

It always came back to Fun fucking Ghoul.

Floppy hair hanging ridiculously in his face, that sideways smirk with pierced lips that always made it look like he knew some playful dark secret of yours.

They'd done things before. Been intimate. But they'd also done things with a lot of other people; it was a good pass-time for a bunch of hormonal young adults with too much free reign. Even Jet Star had briefly been intimate with both of them before (it didn't mean much beyond experimentation, for any of them. Sort of.). But for Poison, no one was quite like Ghoul.

And that scared the living shit out of him.

Page 2 of 3 They'd been inseparable since they first met as younger teens. Ghoul had been found in the desert, alone, sick; Poison would frequently be in the makeshift hospital room at Dr D's, watching over him, both fascinated and concerned. He was sometimes the only person who could stop the boy's frustrated screaming and yelling, calming him down and helping him realise when he was home and safe. Ghoul would often partner with him on resistance missions, and when they focused, they worked together like clockwork. They could sit on the rooftop of the diner and talk about everything and nothing under the sun, for hours.

Their first kiss felt like the most chaotic thing he'd ever done in his mayhemridden life. Or maybe it was the one moment of calm, the eye of the storm; fuck if Poison knew how to describe it. They'd been at a club and celebrating a victory, and it was dark, and they were high on the electrifying joy, and they inched closer to each other from across the room, neither of them really thinking much, and god his lips were fucking slobbery and he desperately needed to find chapstick in this hellhole, but Poison didn't give a shit because he was feeling something, his heart almost jumping out of his throat, his fingers in Ghoul's hair and Ghoul's fingers in his hair...

He'd never been with anyone as much as he'd been with Ghoul. Probably never liked it as much. And he knew Ghoul probably felt the same. Or similar. Or like an inch... Or maybe it's all a big joke and he was just-Stop.

That's just the anxiety talking.

Jesus Christ.

What was he supposed to do about it anyway? Show up with some shitty desert flowers and an ill-fitting tuxedo found in the garbage and say "hi Ghoul, we're lifelong companions and we've fucked a lot, and we clearly love each other, but I'm absolutely scared shitless of commitment! Run away with me? I love you??" and then elope and have some weird open wedding, bridal-carrying Ghoul's tiny ass?

He can't even say the word 'boyfriend' sometimes without giggling! At AGE FUCKING TWENTY! "Hey Jet, you sitting in a tree with your B-O-Y-F-R-I-E-N-D??"

He wasn't gonna confide to Jet Star about this; smarmy fucker would have ammo now.

Page 3 of 3 But he wanted to punch his own gut for how it felt when he saw Ghoul sitting in the booth at the diner, legs curled up on the couch, hazel-green eyes absolutely fucking lighting up as Poison entered, while he pushed back a few greasy strands of his own hair to see him better.

But maybe it was nice the way it was. Poison sitting on the sofa as close to Ghoul as he could get; Ghoul slinging an arm over him and giving his shoulder a squeeze. Poison looking him in the eyes.

"I picked up sodas from Chow Mein's."

"Party Poison, you're a fucking godsend."

Ghoul winked.

"We gonna finish these before your little brother gets to them. He practically inhales this shit" "You bet! Are we... are we meeting up at the warehouse club tonight?"

"You bet. I gotta show you this spot on the rooftop where--" And as Ghoul continued, Poison realised that this was nice. Incredible even.

Maybe he didn't need to be a cheesy fuck just to let Ghoul know he loved him.

Maybe this kind of thing was their I Love You.

By Fatin (@fatinieromustdie on Instagram)

Page 1 of 4

“Desert Rain” Ryder Stephens 2017 “Well, would you look at that?”

Jet Star was the first to point out the raindrops running down the glass of the Diner windows. The Girl had immediately run over and pressed her face up against it, smashing her nose and making ‘smush up’, as Fun Ghoul called it. She was fascinated with it. Water? Falling from the sky? What was it? Was this that ‘rain’ that Party Poison told her about? There was no possible way. But there it was, in front of her own eyes. Rain falling from the heavens above.

It was beautiful.

Fic By: Ryder (@ryderthesaint on Instagram, GerardWaysCat on Wattpad) Length: 4 pages Trigger Warning: very Brief Reference to past manipulation

“Can I go outside? I want to touch it.”

She was disappointed when Kobra Kid said no, because the raindrops had captured the radiation in the air and were nothing more than drops of hell on the skin. It would make you sick. The Fabulous Four knew that there were Killjoys out there who were dancing and celebrating the rainstorm. They wouldn’t be celebrating once they realized the truth about the radioactive rain falling on them and poisoning them. The Four had been there themselves, before Girl’s time. They had celebrated, ran into the rain and pulled off their jackets. It took a moment before it hit them and they were searching for shelter. It was a lesson learned, and a lesson they would pass down to the Girl, making sure she wouldn’t have to learn the hard way. Instead, they would marvel from the safety of inside, and leave the door open to feel the cool air and hear the sound of rain hitting sand, mixed with the sound of rain on the tin roof.

Poison stood before the doorway, looking out. Rain in the Zones was different from rain in Battery City. In the city, it was artificial and planned, since it wouldn’t rain enough if nature was left to its own accord. It was clean. It was efficient. It was quick and hard, coming in to clean the streets and leave. Poison, if he could, would have often times sneaked out of the apartment during these storms, to spend the 30 minutes outside. It felt like the water was washing away his imperfections and everything he had done wrong. He felt alive, unlike most in the city. Now, out in the desert, the rains would poison him and kill him. No longer were the rains a salvation. The desert rains were deadly.

“Starin’ at the rain, huh?”

Poison was interrupted from his thoughts, glancing over at Fun Ghoul, who had snuck up behind him. Kid, Jet, and the Girl had went with Dr. D to his broadcasting studio during a quick pause in the rain, to start a show and remind the Killjoys to stay away from the nuclear rainfall. Plus, as he had mentioned to the Girl, the rain sounded cool on the roof of his studio.

They had left Poison alone to his thoughts, forgetting Ghoul was still at the Diner, and hadn’t left like he said to barter with Tommy Chow Mein.

“Yeah,” Poison replied, nodding his head.

Page 2 of 4 “Is it different?” Ghoul asked. He hadn’t been to the city; he was desert-born throughand-through, and he took pride in his blood. Poison was a City-Born, but was never blinded by the illusion and drugged by Better Living Industries, due to his immunity to the pills. He was never wiped of free-thinking and emotions like everyone else. He saw through the cloud.

“It’s very different. I think I prefer it out here. It’s rare. It’s real. It’s unique to each storm. At home-” Poison stopped himself, pausing mid-sentence. He always slipped up like this. He’d go to speak about Battery City and would refer to it as ‘home’. He didn’t understand why. He certainly never belonged there, and definitely did not belong now. In fact, he often times felt as if Battery City wasn’t his home during his time there. But now that he was out in the Zones with his brother and living free, he still didn’t feel quite ‘at home’. Instead, he still retained that feeling of being out-of-place. It was funny. Anyone would expect that Kobra would be the one feeling out-of-place; after all, the drugs had worked on him, and he was quite content with living in the city. He was shaken up quite a bit after escaping to the Zones. But, surprisingly, he quickly adjusted to his new life of feeling and free thinking. He still kept quite stoic and calm, and preferred to avoid strong emotions and follow others’ thinking, but he had a sharp mind and good senses compared to other people who had ran from Battery City, especially considering he was born and raised there and was influenced by Better Living Industries before he was even born. Poison, on the other hand, didn’t quite adjust as well as he claimed he would. He was learning, though.

“In the city, the storms are programed. Every two weeks, on Wednesday, at 3:35, it rains for exactly 30 minutes. It’s clean and quick. It comes in, wipes the slate clean, and leaves. Clean. That’s the only word I can use to describe it. Clean. Pristine. Accurate.”

“You don’t talk much ‘bout the city. How come?”

Poison went quiet for a moment, holding his tongue. He could even hear the difference in the way he spoke. Ghoul spoke with a slur, sloppy and carefree. Curses and slang littered his speech, with a bit of Spanglish thrown in. Poison was the complete opposite.

No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t quite slip into the Killjoy style of speech, instead sounding forced and harsh. Only when he was in the heat of the moment, whether it was a firefight or an act of seduction, would it sound the most natural. Like, for a brief moment, he belonged in the desert. Like this was his home. Only when he was in the private seclusion of the diner, with his closest family and friends, would he speak in his own voice, free from judgement. The perfection in his English, how every word must be pronounced and enunciated perfectly.

“I don’t like to remember what happened in the city, if I’m going to be completely honest with you. I didn’t have the pills and medication to drown my mind in and no matter what I do, I can’t erase the memories. It doesn’t matter how much I drink, how much I smoke, whatever I take. I can’t forget about it all. It’s still there.”

“I’m no good at all this sorta mumbo-jumbo like Jet is, but howa ‘bout you talk ‘bout it?”

“I don’t even know where to start. Mik-Kobra and I grew up in the City. I was always put in special classes and on special medications and in therapy. My life was spent under constant surveillance. My parents were ashamed of me because of my immunity. They always preferred Kobra because he was clean. Normal. Unlike me.”

“Was there others? Ya mentioned there was others a while back.”

Page 3 of 4 “There were other people like me, yes. I remember two of them. A girl and a boy.

They didn’t know each other. Well, they knew each other. They didn’t like each other. One was named…her name started with an L. Everyone called her a witch and she fled to the Zones. I haven’t heard anything about her since. She just disappeared one night. Like a phantom. Some sort of magical creature. A bird. Her name was something Ann. Her middle name was Ann. L-something Ann. And the guy. I can’t remember his name either. Bert? I think. Bert. Both of them were so kind to me. L-Lindsey, her name was Lindsey. Lindsey ran.

Bert helped me run. He wanted to get me out of there. M-Kobra and I both. But he wouldn’t do it for free. He wanted something out of it. I didn’t have anything to give besides myself.”

Poison went quiet, holding his tongue and letting his thoughts recollect themselves and refocus. Ghoul watched his behavior, trying to pick up on non-verbal cues. He hated trying to read Poison. The way that he kept to himself and did everything in his power to hide his emotions and thoughts. His eyes were the only way to see in, those big hazel eyes that always seemed to be so light and innocent. But Poison wore his mask so often. He didn’t want to let people in. But Ghoul was a rat and he wanted in. He wanted to know everything about Poison and he wanted to break down every wall. He wanted in. But DESTROYA knew Poison wouldn’t let him in so easily.

“What happened?”

“We were young and we didn’t really understand. I think he did and I didn’t. I feel like I was taken advantage of and if I could go back, I wouldn’t do it. But I think that’s part of living. You make mistakes and they become part of your past and you learn from them.

Learn from your regrets. And even then, it isn’t like the outcome was bad. It got Mikey-shit, don’t tell him I told you his name.”

“Mikey? His name’s Mikey?”

“Yeah. I call him Mikey. His full name is Micheal. Don’t tell him I told you. He’ll kill me. He’ll hang my ass above the doorway to Dr. D’s studio. Rest in pieces, Poison, you won’t be missed. Died because he couldn’t keep his big mouth shut.”

“Hush. I’d miss ya, ya big ol’ dumbass.”

“Still,” Poison giggled, a smile creeping up on his lips, “Don’t tell him I said anything. He’d slaughter me. Ghost me. Roast me. Feed me to the hogs.”

“Better than m’name. Wasn’t always Ghoul, y’know.”

“I can’t see you as anything else but Ghoul. That’s crazy. Gravel Gertie gave you a name while you were in the orphanage?” “‘Fore I ran? Hell yeah. It was Frank. Frank. Can ya believe that? Frank!”

“Frank. Holy shit. Frank.” Poison went quiet, letting it sink it, “I mean, if you weren’t out here, I could see it. Frank. You could be a Frank.”

“Jet was raised in a neutral village as Ray. I mean, we all have normal names.” Ghoul couldn’t help but slowly slip into the same way Poison spoke. The formal. Full sentences and words. “We just choose not to use them. Ray, Mikey, Frank, and you.”

“Yeah. Me. I was Gerard. My name was Gerard. But everyone called me G.” “G. I like that. It suits you.”

Poison and Ghoul stood in silence, save for the rain falling outside. A feeling of peace blanketed over the two as Poison leant in towards Ghoul. Ghoul wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close.

“Think about some Dracs getting caught in this mess,” Poison joked.

“Ha ha. Serves ‘em right. Drown, chickens, drown.”

Page 4 of 4 “That’s a little mean. More like a light chemical burn. A gentle scalding from the sky above. A burning bath.”

“Get fucked.”

The two chuckled as a flash of light and the rolling call of thunder filled the desert landscape before them. Poison let out a loud squeal and jumped into Ghoul’s arms in response, his face pale with a deer-caught-in-headlights look. The two stared at each other for a moment before both losing themselves in a cascade of laughter, Poison hiding his face in Ghoul’s neck. Slowly, he climbed down from his new-found-perch.

“You’re like a cat, I swear. Just pouncin’ up whenever you get scared.”

“I wasn’t scared! It just caught me off guard! It’s not like it storms very often!”

Ghoul snorted, throwing some hair out of his face.

“Okay, ya lil’ pussycat.”

“Yeah, but I’m your little pussycat.”

Ghoul cupped Poison’s face in his hands and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. He made a surprised grunt, but quickly reciprocated. The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted the two lovebirds and they jumped and broke apart, Poison cursing as he slammed his head on the side of the doorway. Jet, Kobra, and the Girl took cover from the rain under a piece of plywood, waiting for the entrance to clear.

“We have a spare room, you know.”

“Hi, Jet.”

By Kayleigh (@thewinterangel on Instagram)

From the Earth to the Morgue // PoisonGhoul Soulmates.

A big word. Yes, possibly the biggest word. Not by the number of letters, not by a long shot, but by the meaning it holds.

It’s someone so perfect for you, their soul is intertwined with yours. Two sides of a coin, two pieces of a puzzle.

Now, this world is wonderful in many ways. This world is wonderful in its exhilaration, its beauty, its people.

This world is something rarely seen before; created by such a unique, broken mind, some say it seems straight out of a movie.

And they wouldn’t be wrong, because only in a movie can there be a world so magnificent, yet so cruel at the same time. Like a beautiful disaster, a thunderstorm in a desert, the anguished roar of the last lion.

Because this world has soulmates, and while this remains true, few will know theirs until it’s too late.

Because fate is a finicky thing, and no matter how hard you try to escape it, it will find you. It will always find you.

Because in this world, two hearts are meant to beat as one. And for a moment, for a fleeting moment, you are complete. If you’re lucky, this memory will be your last. Because having this bliss wrenched away is perhaps the most painful wound of all.

And today, we follow the story of a young renegade. A young man who has sworn to never fall into destiny’s traps. A young man that goes by Fun Ghoul.

But as I’ve said, fate is a finicky thing. ...

It was supposed to be a rescue mission.

They were confident.

It was supposed to be easy. Get in, get out. Right?

Wrong.

It wasn’t anything they hadn’t done before. They’ve done plenty of rescues. Plenty of missions worse than rescues. Ones that involved shooting, killing, eradicating. Wiping out a whole base. A whole town. A whole city.

Nothing this close to the capital, though.

Still, it was just supposed to be a rescue mission. Rescue missions were easy.

They were still chatting as they drove, the way friends do. The way partners do, partners in battle, partners for life. There were four of them, and they fit perfectly with each other. Perfect in rhythm, perfect in crime. They called themselves the Killjoys.

Party Poison was their leader. A man with fire red hair and a heart just as passionate. Brilliant, he was. Like a bonfire on Christmas night. Like the gunshot that starts the war.

Kobra Kid was his brother. He was the ocean to Poison’s flame. The calm before a storm; the hurricane afterwards. Silent as the night, brazen as day.

Jet Star was the first. He was warm, like sunny mornings in winter and the fireflies in summer. He was protective, like an armour of gold, shielding wings of an angel. He kept them together.

And Fun Ghoul- Fun Ghoul was their last. Recruited for his spirit, for his zest. For the blood on his hands and the loyalty underneath.

But there was something else they had in common - their wrists were empty.

And perhaps that’s lucky. Not having a soulmate. Never meeting your soulmate, so it’d be like you never had one in the first place. Never knowing bliss so you never have to suffer the pain of loss.

Because in this cruel world, you don’t get anything without having something else taken from you. Often, they’re different things. But in this case, in this one case that arguably matters the most, they’re the same.

For words brand you. Words tell a story; they always do. And the words that link you to your soulmate, that’s your story. The only problem is that they tell the ending. They tell the last words between you before one of you dies. You’d wish it were you. They appear on your wrist, like a scorch mark, like a brand, golden and glistening for the seconds before one of you leave this world for the better. Then they stay on your skin, black as ink, until you, too, eventually pass on. Some say these words help you find your soulmate in the afterlife. Others burn them off in an attempt to regain their lives as their own.

They started off as rebels without a cause, and gained one as they dug deeper, reached further. Now they’re vigilantes, for the people that are still alive. To take back what they can from this unforgiving world run by the powerful and merciless. To force feed the unjust the pain of the people, and to bring satisfaction to those wronged.

Hence their names. Hence the Killjoys. Kill, to bring joy.

Now, most people in the world would want to live long lives; to live out their lives with their soulmate, until nature or man take them away. Ghoul isn’t one of them. Every day, he knows he’s closer to his death. He knows he’ll never meet his soulmate. Never feel the breathlessness of knowing, just knowing, and the sickening, heavy dread of looking into each other’s eyes as the golden word on one of their wrists (the unlucky one, the one who has to live) begins to fade, seeing each other for the first time, for the last time. He knows this because he’s never tried. Never tried to date, never tried to meet anyone. To think of anyone as anything more than a friend, to remain in contact with anyone for more than a few months - save the Killjoys. He’s gone out of his way to prevent anything of the sort. Years ago, he’d gone the lengths of scarring his wrists, tearing the skin to ribbons, so nothing, if anything, would be seen when he left home.

“You can’t fight if you wince every time the wind blows,” Poison had told him, the day they accepted him. And just like that, Ghoul had stopped. Let the marred skin heal over into a web of fading scars. And it’s with Poison, with them that he plans to stay with until the end. His end.

Yes, Ghoul’s been running all his life. But if there’s one thing you can’t run away from, it’s the destiny of a bitter world.

And so the story continues.

They only start getting serious when Poison parks the car outside a cluster of featureless buildings. He steps out as their laughter die down, and Ghoul knows it’s mission mode.

“Remember, get in, get out. They know we’re coming,” says Poison.

“Got it. If I’m right, they’re right across the bridge,” says Star, pointing to a towering skyscraper in the distance.

A neon sign above it shouts BL in glowing blue, illuminating the hazy night sky.

“When we’re there, I’ll go in first. Kobra, cover me. I’ll grab her and the two of you try to fight them off. We’ve done this before, shouldn’t be too hard.” Poison nods at Kobra, and he nods back. Ghoul takes a deep breath, and then they’re off.

They trudge in silence across the bridge. It would have been somewhat of a heroic shot if they were doing anything bigger, anything more majestic. Like revoking the government, or saving the world. But they’re just saving one girl.

(One powerful girl. But they couldn’t have known that.)

The few stars blink lazily in the murky sky. City smog has ruined the clarity of night; as the clouds hang heavy with baited breath and the knowledge of what shall happen.

One by one, they appear, Draculoids in hideous masks with rapid fire rifles, and the Killjoys get in position, firing back just as viciously. They’re used to this. Ghoul’s used to this. The thrill of the kill, the adrenaline in the fight, the way his senses sharpen, minutely and impossibly.

It’s easy, practised. They take out the first wave of Dracs effortlessly, then the second, then the third. Always moving, always advancing. It’s not long before they enter the building; Poison first, then Kobra, then Star, then Ghoul to bring up the rear. Just like they’d discussed. Just like they’d planned.

In fact, everything happens like how they’d planned. Poison gets to their target easily, brings her out, one hand in hers, delicate, the other wrapped around a gun. Kobra fires like crazy on his other side.

It’s almost easy. Almost too easy. Almost like…

Out of the corner of his eye, Ghoul sees a clawed hand grab Poison’s arm, twisting it to an unnatural angle.

Poison winces and drops his gun, but Ghoul knows it’s nothing he can’t handle. He knees the Drac in its stomach, and lets go of the girl, using his now free hand to pull the horrendous mask right off the stumbling Drac’s face. Ghoul shoots the Drac before he has a chance to respond.

Poison takes a second to squint in disgust at the mask in his hand. Rubbery. Limp.

And it’s in that second that everything goes to shit.

Because it’s that second that the bald man, the only one without a mask, undoubtedly their leader, pushes Poison into the wall behind him. Poison reaches for his gun, but the man kicks it away just as he does. It slides across the concrete to the other side of the room. Warning bells go off in Ghoul’s head; he swallows a shout and shoots at the man, but two more Dracs leap in front of him and he’s forced to tackle them instead. He looks around, eyes wide and anxious. Kobra and Star are both preoccupied.

They can’t die like this, he thinks wildly. We can’t die like this. Poison can’t- can’t die like this. He’s got a vision.

A vision for a better world, built on the ashes of their chains. He’s got to fulfil that vision because nobody else will. Nobody else can. He can’t die like this.

It was only supposed to be a rescue mission.

Yet. Yet, the bald man, the leader of BLind, has a gun beneath Poison’s chin, cold metal pressed against pale flesh.

There’s a defiant look in Poison’s eyes and a haughty one in the man’s.

“You’ve come to the end of your run,” he says, and his voice is rough, mocking, like sandpaper against rust, like the bite of a snake in a sandstorm. Amidst the rattling gunshots, it rings like thunder in Ghoul’s ears. “Good night, little rebel.”

Quick as lightning, Poison’s hand snaps up, grabbing the man’s arm. And Poison is strong; but the man is stronger, and he doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t even move when Poison digs his knuckles into the man’s wrist. The gun at Poison’s throat is steady, unwavering.

And Ghoul starts to think, maybe. Maybe the man is something else. Maybe he isn’t human.

Not that it matters. Not right now.

Poison’s expression is blank, carefully so. He doesn’t let the man see the franticness in his heart, the fear in his mind. To him, and to everyone else besides the three of them, Poison is composed. He’s a symbol. A beacon of hope for revolution, for something else. He’s fast, vicious, powerful.

Still, he’s only human.

“Kill me,” he says. His voice is a cold monotone. His eyes stare directly into the man’s. The words ring in Ghoul’s head, loud as bells, loud as landmines. He decapitates the last Drac in front of him and looks up. He knows his eyes are wild, blazing, his breathing heavy, movements erratic. He could never master what Poison can; the calmness in the face of fear, of death itself. If Poison was flame beneath ice, venom in wine, cold cut silver, then Ghoul was wildfire, starfall, the violent spirits at midnight. Poison doesn’t look at him; keeps his eyes on his attacker. “But I’m coming back,” he says, and his voice is still ice, still calm. “I’m going to be back and when I do, you better watch out, because I’m gonna get my revenge.”

Revenge. Revenge. The word echoes in Ghoul’s head, echoes in the building. He feels a searing pain up his left arm, like the strike of lightning, like electricity and fire, like a suicide shot down his throat. He looks down and the flesh there is red, raw, but what really catches his eyes is the perfectly shaped word like a brand on his wrist. Revenge, it says, in liquid gold, like lava, like a part of the sun had lent itself to Ghoul’s wrist. He fails to suppress a gasp, eyes snapping up, and his gaze meets Poison’s. Poison’s irises are an unnatural, glowing amber, and Ghoul realises a beat too late that they match the word on his wrist.

He’s sure his own eyes are the same shade of molten gold.

A surge of something fills Ghoul’s heart, so much that he almost chokes on it. Bliss, but stronger… Spicier. Love, laced with the stinging numbness of poison ivy. Hot. Fast. The center of a dying star.

And a moment stretches to a thousand. A thousand moments, condensed into one, as their eyes lock on each other’s, and time stretches to infinity. Suddenly, Ghoul is hit with every time, every moment with Poison, every moment that seemed so inconsequential then but so much now, now that they. They know the truth.

Soulmates, Ghoul breathed, barely a whisper.

He’d been so certain, so adamant he’d never find his.

He’d never wanted to find his. Never wanted this.

His eyes never leave Poison’s, but he’s no longer looking at the messy bodies before him, the ashes, like snow, falling around him.

No. Instead, he’s looking at Poison the first time he found him, quite literally, and the first time Poison had saved him. Ghoul had been alone then. Alone and full of faux confidence, tied to a chair with dirty ropes and a pounding heart. He wore a sneer on his face and venom in his eyes, and before him was a man. From the government, he’d assumed, though till his day he hadn’t known the truth.

Didn’t really matter, then or now, he supposes, since his body would presumably still be rotting somewhere in the basement of that factory.

Of course, he hadn’t known it then. Hadn’t figured he’d die, so early, so quickly, either, but that didn’t stop him from being terrified. On the inside, of course. On the outside he was the textbook case of madness, smeared blood everywhere and a black eye. If he couldn’t master calm, he could at least drive them crazy. The man had come at him with a knife, glistening, not because it was clean but because it was bloody; dug it into the corner of his lip when he bared his teeth. Fresh blood oozed into his mouth, and he spit it in the man’s face.

Unrelenting.

And suddenly, like someone- like God had heard his desperate prayers (though now he knew there was no God, no one cruel enough to unleash this hell upon the world and have the audacity to demand to be called anything but the Devil), the door burst open and the man’s head hit the floor before he’d even turned around. The knife slipped from his hand, drawing an ugly line across Ghoul’s face. It remains as a scar to this day, a cruel reminder of their first meeting.

But then Poison had cradled Ghoul’s bleeding face in concern and brought him back to their camp, where Star had stitched him up and gotten him to heal.

From then on, it wasn’t long before Ghoul became a permanent fixture in their lives.

Wasn’t long before Ghoul had adopted a code name, like the rest of them.

We’ll stick together, alright? You’re one of us now, Poison had told him, one night, beside a blazing campfire and underneath the winter sky, until we die, and even so. From the earth, to the morgue.

Ghoul thinks about this from time to time. Reminds himself, at his lowest, that there’s people out there who need him. Who need him to be alive, kicking. You’re one of us now.

Yet to this day, Ghoul still doesn’t know their names. Doesn’t know Poison’s name.

How can you love someone whose name you don’t even know?

But Ghoul likes to think he does know Poison pretty well. He knows Poison’s jokes, Poison’s laugh, that special smile Poison has when his mind is far away from the matters at hand. It’s soft, fond. Ghoul always wanted to know what he was thinking of, but anytime he’d asked, Poison had returned to the stoic leader he’d been when Ghoul first met him.

And Ghoul knows Poison cares. Maybe more than any of them, more than anyone else out there. He sees the way Poison’s hands tighten on the wheel when they’re driving past explosions and screams. The hardness in his eyes when he walks away, helpless. Years, years in the business, and his heart doesn’t change. Maybe that’s what makes him such an effective leader. Such a powerful icon. That he cares.

And Poison knew him. He’d been there when Ghoul had cried, alone by a broken column, fingers curled tight around an old faded picture of a woman with dark hair, and him, aged eleven, when the sky was dark and the moon was high. He’d taken one look and understood, held him quietly as the soft material of his shirt muffled Ghoul’s sobs. And in Poison’s embrace, Ghoul had felt warm despite the coldness that’s settling in his heart. Safe despite the blood he’s prepared to spill. And secure, despite the home he’d just lost.

Ghoul blinks, over countless memories, endless moments, and his soul slams right back into his body. He takes a shuddering breath, eyes still trained on Poison’s, but his exhale comes out a choked laugh.

After all these years, he wants to say, it’s been you. It’s always been you.

Caught in the bliss of this overwhelming realisation, he almost forgets what comes next.

The man before Poison smiles cruelly. Slowly, he presses the gun into the upside of Poison’s jaw, enough to tilt his head painfully against the wall behind him. Ghoul’s eyes widen, and before he knows it he’s halfway across the room, faster than he’s ever been. ...but not fast enough.

Never fast enough.

Because the second he collides with the man’s side, he hears a deafening gunshot, too near, too loud. It spears into his mind like a dagger, cutting deep, deeper, leaving his ears ringing with phantom blood. He reels back, staggering, one hand pressed tight against his ear, the other reaching out for- for something. He’s not sure what.

He looks to Poison, to see him sliding down, back against the wall, gracelessly. The bullet hole is a bright crimson on the underside of his jaw.

Ghoul feels the exact second his heart splinters, shatters like glass. Like the rip of a bullet through it, the blade of a sword. Like he’d been shot too. He catches himself, incoherent shouts, shrieks filling his mind. He doesn’t realise he’s spitting them out until the man who killed Poison, killed and Ghoul can’t get used to the word because Poison has survived this long, Poison was their leader, his- more, he can’t be dead, stared at him with alarm across his face. ...and as Ghoul turned to catch Poison before his body hit the floor, he knows this tear will never heal.

Somewhere in his mind, he’s aware of the tears he’d sworn he’d never cry again, streaming down his face. He holds Poison with trembling hands, bruised fingers. Underneath him, Poison looks pristine. Pale, alive in the way his cheeks are still flushed, his forehead’s still damp with sweat. Like he’s asleep, dreaming, of something peaceful. His eyes are closed, and Ghoul is almost thankful for that, because he doesn’t know how he’d be able to handle Poison’s lifeless eyes, that once held so much life, so much passion and vigour in them. His eyelashes rest gently on his cheekbones. From afar, he’d look tranquil. Calm.

The only difference is that he’s not breathing.

In the distance, screams fill Ghoul’s ears, screams of pain, of anguish. He thinks, maybe they’re his own.

If this were a film, he’d hear soft piano melody drift in, overlaying the gunshots, the screams of agony. It’d be a peaceful moment. A serene moment. A moment to grief the fall of a hero. A legend; an icon holding the world together by threads. From this moment on, everything would change.

Or maybe, maybe, it would be a long running TV series. Where the hero, the protagonist never dies. Because Ghoul knows, and maybe he’s always known - he might be in this tale, but it was never his story.

So he waits.

And he waits.

And it never comes, the big plot twist, the resolution that leaves the audience gaping, amazed, grateful. Nobody resurrects Poison from the other side of the world. Nobody raises him from whichever dimension his soul is trapped in. Nothing.

Ghoul’s hands are cold against Poison’s skin. He’s still warm from the adrenaline. From the fight. From the struggle. Deep breath. Reality settles in his mind, like the crash of a wave, an avalanche.

And so, shaking, he gives himself three seconds. Three seconds to grieve. Three seconds before he gets back to the fight. Like Poison would want him to. Like Poison- like Poison would.

But he allows himself three seconds to be weak, to be the heartbroken man who never saw the truth, to cry and to hurt.

One. He buries his head in Poison’s chest, mixing tears with blood and warmth with emptiness. He sobs, and he lets the splinters of his heart rip him apart, bathes in the pain, the agony of loss.

Two. His fingers dig into Poison’s jacket, and he holds on tight. He pretends, just for a little bit, that everything was okay. That Poison was asleep and the war was won. That they were safe, and he’d wake up, and smile, and make them breakfast. His hands are slippery with blood.

Three. Ghoul vows, silent and sincere, somewhere deep in his mind, low in his heart, that he’ll fulfil Poison’s last words. Poison’s mission, so to speak. The black words etched now and forever onto his wrist, branding him to his mistakes, to his regrets. Revenge.

And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get it. So he stands up, stands up on shaky legs, and feels a surge of anger, an inane want, no, need, for justice. He lets it consume him whole, like a raging fire. Red hot and burning.

His hands are shaking when he pulls the trigger, once, then twice, then a countless number of times. Dracs around him fall like dominoes, but he doesn’t notice, too caught up in his own mind. Revenge. Justice. He needs revenge because he needs justice. Justice for all of them. Because… Because it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that they’re stuck with this world, that he’s been around Poison for so long, but has never seen the truth, the piece of fate set in stone. And it isn’t fair that he’s just expected to see that, to know that. It isn’t fair that it’s all he’d never wanted, all he’d ever avoided, yet it’s got to befall him, him of all people, then knock him on his ass like a punch to the stomach, a particularly cruel joke. Because in the end, that’s all it is. A joke. A joke the heavens seemed to have played on him.

And yet he’s got no one to blame but his own fucking dumb ass, for not seeing what was plainly ahead and right in front of him. Some people never meet their soulmates, but he’s got the audacity to meet his, to befriend his, to live with his for so many fucking years but never see, never see what Poison could have been, what they could have been. Never took his head out of his own self-absorbed, self-deprecating ass to look around him and feel, and live in the moment, and see the truth.

Even more so, he hates himself for taking this opportunity away from Poison. He hates himself for being Poison’s soulmate, because God knows Poison deserves - deserved - way better than him. Deserved a smart guy, or girl, who led alongside him, who was his anchor, his home. Who wasn’t caught up in this mess, whom he could love and go home to at the end of each day. Who would take care of him. Love him like he should be loved, make everything okay. Because God knows Ghoul can’t do that. Maybe, maybe he could have been there for Poison had he known earlier, but that’s just the catch, isn’t it? A cruel lesson for a cruel world, like a harsh slap to the face, leaving Ghoul gasping and breathless in the wake of realisation, hating himself for not seeing things earlier. For not appreciating things earlier. For barely catching on to the life he should have had, could have had, but having it ripped away from him so violently, so painfully.

And Ghoul is selfish. He knows he’s selfish because even now, even now, he’s thinking about himself, bemoaning his life, when he’s still alive and can do something about it. When Poison’s fucking dead (and a voice in his mind screams at him that it’s his fault, oh God, it’s his fault, but he ignores it, and turns his anger into strength, his heartbreak into adrenaline).

So he swings, his movements wide, reckless, the butt of his gun slamming into the man who’d killed Poison.

There’s an audible crack when the gun connects with his skull, and he crumples to the ground. Just like that.

Like another body, another head count to the list of victims killed in the crossfire.

In his peripheral vision he sees Kobra rush towards them, every bullet finding its way into a heart, a throat, a gut. Kobra’s always been a good shot, but his eyes are trained on Poison’s lifeless body. He shouts Poison’s name. Not the alias, but his real name. The name almost long forgotten, the name nobody uses anymore. The name Ghoul doesn’t even know. He chokes on it.

Yes, without Poison, it seems like they’ve fallen apart. Like a wolf pack without their alpha. And though their senses sharpened, their movements quickened, would even that be enough? Enough to take down everything on their own?

Was the death of their leader all it took to take them down too? ...

Minutes pass; perhaps seconds. Ghoul continues to fire, kick, punch. Red clouds his vision, blood pools on his knuckles. His or the Dracs’, he has no idea. Doesn’t matter.

Behind him, Kobra falls.

Ghoul feels it like a kick to his chest. When he looks down, Kobra’s eyes are wide. Lifeless. A hand grasping the bleeding, still bleeding wound on his chest, crimson blood matching the crimson of his jacket. Red on red.

His other hand is still wrapped around the trigger.

Ghoul gulps, dread swallowing him whole. Because just like that, he’s lost all the adrenaline, the rush from Poison. The courage he’s blessed him with. Because without Poison, they’d been broken. But they had a cause to fight for. To avenge. To avenge the death of a friend, a leader, a brother.

But without both him and Kobra; without the brothers, they have no chance of winning. Sure, Star was fast.

Strong. Sure, Ghoul’s brutal if nothing else. But between the two of them, there’s no chance they’d be able to take down every enemy here.

No chance.

Ghoul makes his mind up in a split second. Firing behind him, and heart thumping wild, he grabs the girl’s hand, leading her towards the huge glass entrances. He motions for Star to follow him, waits until they were both outside.

A moment before he executes the rest of his plan, Star knows. Ghoul knows he knows because Star extends an arm, to stop Ghoul, but then puts it down.

He nods.

A salute. A goodbye. Ghoul salutes back.

Because there’s nothing for him to live for if not this. If not to finish the mission. Because he knows, for this much protection, the girl has to be important - for a reason he’ll never know now, but important nonetheless.

And that’s all he has to know. That’s all he needs.

And maybe he won’t ever see the fruits of their labour. But maybe, just maybe, it’ll come to be. And when that time comes, he knows it’ll all be worth it.

He’ll be going down tonight - this fact lies heavy in his heart. He’ll be dying tonight.

He can’t say he’s not scared. No, scratch that, he’s fucking terrified. Pulse thumping wildly, palms sweaty. He prays that the Dracs can’t smell fear. ...fuck it. So what if they can. He’s dying tonight. But it’s something he needs to do.

Steadily, or as steadily as he manages with trembling hands, he closes the glass doors. He turns around. Deep breath. And he fires.

And he does well, too, for a couple of seconds, almost a full two minutes. Manages to hold his own against the seemingly never-ending onslaught of Dracs that fill the room wave after wave. He presses closer. Gingerly, and not without wincing, he picks up Poison’s gun from the cold concrete floor. He clenches his teeth to stop himself from gagging or crying. If he’s going to do this, and he has to, has to, he can’t let his feelings get in the way.

Thankfully, taking Poison’s gun appeared to be a good idea, however painful. It’s heavy in Ghoul’s left hand, an icy memory of Poison; matching the black on his wrist. His aim with his left hand is not nearly as good as is right, but as the number of advancing Dracs increase, almost every shot lands a target anyway.

Suddenly, and all at once, he feels a searing pain in his right shoulder, just below his collarbone. The pain knocks him back, and he drops his gun by instinct to grab at his shoulder. Warm blood oozes out of the wound, oozes onto the glass doors behind him. He bites his lip, hard, to stop himself from screaming out, and tastes the same warm blood in his mouth. It tastes like metal, like salt, like the barrel of a gun.

He continues shooting with Poison’s gun. Several more shots come his way, cracking the glass behind him. He hopes against hope that Star is long gone.

The second shot comes only seconds after, to his left knee, and his knees buckle, making him collapse onto the ground. Pain shoots up from where the bullet has penetrated his flesh, where the open wound met concrete.

Still, he continues firing.

He fires until a Drac seems to leap up right in front of him, wrenching the gun away by sheer force. Ghoul is momentarily surprised. Momentarily afraid, even. Until the Drac produces a dagger of some sort, a small knife maybe, and digs it between Ghoul’s shoulder blades; and all he can feel is pain. ...

Pain, Ghoul has discovered, is strangely similar to fire. Not the sensation of burning, not all the time, but the way the flames lick at you, the way they spread across anything and everything, engulfing them, scarring them.

It’s what Ghoul thinks about as he lies on the ground, bleeding out. Footsteps pass him, a dull white noise in his head.

Fire. Fire, and the colour red, and burning passion, and desire. A sadistic thought enters his head, bitter like the smell of smoke, the taste of ashes. At least they’d be dying together.

Together, Poison had said. From the earth, to the morgue.

Fire. Red. Passion. Desire.

And the world fades to white. .FIN. ((part 2 up on my ao3 – thewwinterangel – soon!))

Page 1 of 5

“Honor” Ryder Stephens 2017 The world turned and she bore witness to it. She stood as the passage between life and death. She was your guide. She was what you saw after you died and she had the choice to send you back where you came from or guide you the rest of the way. She was Death. She was the Reaper. She was the Phoenix Witch, mother of the desert.

Fic By: Ryder (@ryderthesaint on Instagram, GerardWaysCat on Wattpad) Length: 5 pages Trigger Warning: Death, very Brief reference to past manipulation

She had met many travelers during her time in the desert, and she watched over its inhabitants. She bore witness to the travesties and the miracles that the desert held. She knew every face and every name in the desert. Many fell into her hands. Some were angry and hateful.

Others were fearful and in pain. All were afraid of her. They feared Death. They feared the Witch. They did not want to see what she had in store for them. They bartered to keep on living. Some, she could send back. Others, the universe told her to take them. Their stories were planned and written from the day they were born. This was where it ended.

Hands cold and clammy, grasping desperately at any remaining sign of hope. He was unmoving in the sand, save for the twitching of fingers on an outstretched hand, inches from his gun. Death danced on his lips, little bits of his remaining oxygen slipping away into the pollution-filled of a nuclear atmosphere. He’d cry if he could, but he was too tired to even release the pent-up emotion coming from the realization that these were his final moments.

After this, he’d be released into the void, where the Phoenix Witch herself would great him and send him into the next world.

“How did you do it? How did you get this far?”

She floated above the sand, gazing down at him. Despite the steady emotionless stare of her mask, he could sense her emotions. She was surprised and a bit shocked at the events that had transpired during the last 48 hours. She was fascinated with his story, and was a bit jealous. And overall, she was sorry that this was how he was going out. In pain and suffering, instead of a quick and easy death like the universe intended. He was nothing short of a miracle.

She sighed, letting herself, for once, step on the ground. For someone like him, she was willing to make changes from her usual routine. It was supposed to be a quiet few days in the Zones, as news about the falling and passing of the Fabulous Four reached the ears of all the Killjoys. No one would ever know about this straggler, the only who somehow, despite being the first one shot and the one suffering from the worst injuries, made his way back to the Zones to die in the hands of the Phoenix Witch and not Better Living Industries. Did they know about him? Did they release him into the Zones on purpose as a symbol and a sign, knowing he’d only be found dead? How did a man as broken and feeble as Party Poison use the last bit of strength he had in a tired and dying body, to drag himself out of the frying pan and back into the fire?

Page 2 of 5 She never gave fanfare at a passing. It was the same process: collect the mask, throw it in the basket, and guide the dead to the mailbox, where they would pass to the other side.

For Party Poison, however, she decided he needed something more. He had died to bring a child back home and to save the life of the girl destined to bring down the government. He had sacrificed himself for the sake of others and for that, he deserved a little more. The leader of a revolution bigger than what he ever could have imagined deserved more than just a pat on the back and a “good luck in the next life”. He deserved the truth.

The Witch, for the first time since donning it, pulled her mask up and off of her face in respect, and instead let it hang on her head. She bowed her head, saying a small prayer to DESTROYA. Many worshipped her as a goddess and a deity, but she still saw herself as human. And thus, as a human she would welcome the fallen hero into the afterlife. She kneeled down next to Poison, wiping some of the sand, blood, and grime off his face and revealing the mess of a man underneath. He stirred and let out a pained groan at her touch.

“Quiet down. It’s alright now. You’re safe. Nobody can hurt you anymore,” she whispered, gently brushing his hair out of his face. She carefully pulled him into her lap. A small moan escaped Poison’s lips. “Breathe. It’ll be over soon.”

“Where…where are they?” Poison croaked out. He reached a hand out, grabbing at air. The tips of his fingers were nicotine-stained, fingernails chewed short and scarred from hard work. The Witch could only take his hand in hers, bringing it down to rest on his chest in silence.

“The Girl is safe. She’s out in the desert. She’s safe. Your brother and friends didn’t make it.”

“Who are you? What did you do to them? Where are they?” His voice rose and broke.

Poison’s panic was met with a calming hum.

“I’m the Witch. They’re safe on the other side. They’re free. They’re okay. They’re safe. You’ll be with them soon.”

“I don’t want to go. Where’s the Girl? Where’s Gra-” “She’s with Doctor Death Defying and Agent Cherri Cola, Party Poison. She’s safe.

They don’t have her anymore. You saved her. You can rest.”

“I need…to get back…to her…” He panted every few words. The Witch pressed a finger to his lips.

“Rest. Shut your eyes. You’re safe now.”

Poison looked up to her, his eyes trying to focus on her face. His hazel eyes watered, from fear and pain. They could only remind her of a frightened deer discovered on the side of the road. Every thought running through his head spoke through his eyes. He was dying and he knew it. He was just terrified to cross to the other side. He didn’t know what his future held, or if he even had a future. All he knew was that with every second, he could feel the dark calling him and drawing in closer. Despite this, deep down, he knew he’d be okay. The Witch was warm and caring. She knew the way and would guide him to safety. He’d be alright and she’d make sure of it, no matter what.

With every breath he took, each more shallow than the last, the world seemed to fade a little more. Memories were colourful flashes, each kissing him before fading into the abyss to be forgotten along with him. That had been a fear of his, being forgotten and left to become another nameless face in a grave. But in the end, he didn’t mind. He had made his mark and done his part. He had done everything he could have, and then some. There was no shame in death. Only peace.

Page 3 of 5 “I think I know you,” he mumbled, his words slurred, sloppy, and slow. “Your face.”

The Witch could only give him a sympathetic smile.

“Quiet. Sleep.”

And with that, Party Poison let out his last breath and let his eyes fall shut, slipping into a lifeless slumber. He looked young and innocent, as if at that very moment, every bit of history was erased. And she, the Witch, could only hold him in silence. She was used to the silence. It followed her wherever she went and had become a part of her. But this was a new silence. It hung heavy in the air and made it hard to breath. It wasn’t natural. It was as if something was missing and something was truly wrong with the universe. It was out of whack.

It was him.

She carried him, bridal style, like a soldier carrying her fallen commander. For a moment, the world could stop and pause. It would not bend to her, but to him. Even she, a socalled goddess, would bow to Party Poison and mourn him. Even she would take off her mask in honour. He deserved it much more than she did.

Their stories were quite different, but intertwined in such a way that they were inseparable. She knew he wouldn’t remember, but she remembered. Before she was a goddess, she was human. And, like most, she held her roots in Battery City. She knew him before he was Party Poison and he had known him before she was cursed as the Witch. Both had ran away during the course of the War, and while she had fled to a neutral village, he had dived headfirst into the rebellion force. She would admit, she was envious. She wondered why she had taken her path and he his. What if she had waited a little longer in the city?

What if she had joined the Killjoy resistance instead of hiding in a village with strangers?

Would she have become the Witch one way or another, destined to serve alongside DESTROYA as some strange deity? Or would she have stood beside Poison and bore her own emblem of a Killjoy? She would never have joined that neutral village. She would never have watched the slaughter by Better Living Industries and the genocide of the strangers who she called her people. Was she the only survivor or was she a cursed spirit? She could never be sure. She was just sure of how it went from there. She began to wander the desert as a nomad and spoke to the dead. They told her their stories and in return, she guided them to a mailbox, where she would toss their mask and they would pass to the other side. And other times, she knew it wasn’t their time. She’d look at the light in their eyes and their desperation. The Universe would speak in the back of her mind. “Toss them back.” So, she would. She’d hand them their mask and wave them on. That was how the desert found out about her. She didn’t name herself. Someone else called her the Phoenix Witch and it stuck.

Frankly, she felt honoured. She fell kin to the Killjoys. The same way how their names were gifted upon them, she felt her own name was gifted upon her. With that, she could forget about her real name and her past as the frightened City-Born-turned-neutral. She was just the Witch.

She knew Poison’s story just as well as her own. He had started out as a small City kid like she had. Both of them were immune to the meds. For her, that meant living in the Slums and running from Dracs. For him, that meant living in the Inner City with his privileged family, where he was treated as a black sheep, and spent every waking moment

Page 4 of 5 under constant surveillance. She had met him during a walk. Somehow, he had slipped away just long enough to enjoy the rain and he had wandered out into her part of the slums. That’s how they met. Two frightened teenagers who wanted to take on the world. She told him about the war waging just outside their doors, on the other side of the border. The Helium War. She told him how she wanted to escape and flee. She wanted to become a refugee and be free. She remembered how his face lit up at the thought of freedom and other people like him. People who saw through the mist and the cloud. She wished she could have taken him and his brother with her when she fled, or waited long enough so she could have ran with them.

Instead, she disappeared without a goodbye and left him. He fell into the hands of some other man who got them out, but with a cost. She hated that man, but she gave him mercy when he fell into her hands.

Poison quickly rose in the ranks. He brought a new stamina and force to the resistance. He was frontline, protecting his brother, his friends, his lover, and eventually, the Girl. When the Helium War ended and faded to a more sinister form of warfare, he still fought. Raids on enemy bases and leaving destruction in his wake. Runs in and out of Battery City. And the ending of his battle, breaking into BLI headquarters to save the Girl. His story was much more exciting than hers was. But his story would end here.

She kneeled before the great remains of DESTROYA, cradling his body close to her own. She wished she could give him a great Viking burial, with flamboyancy and celebration.

That’s what he deserved. To be honored and praised. But to lay in a final resting place with a god was close enough. She tucked him inside an open eye-socket, adjusting him so he could slumber peacefully without disturbance. Someday, the Girl would be here, and after that, a lost spirit of a droid. But, until that day arrived, he would rest and decay, going back to his home in the dirt.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“You deserve it. I’d make a shrine or somewhere where people could come worship you. I figured this would probably be more your style.”

The ghost stood behind her, letting out a deep sigh. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath. It didn’t quite make a difference, however. It wasn’t like he needed to breathe. It was more of a gesture of expression at this point.

“I don’t really deserve all of this. Just take me home.”

“You can’t pass over quite yet. I don’t have your mask.”

“What do you mean? Where’s my mask?”

“I’d say Cherri has it by this point. Maybe he gave it to the Girl. I’d have to check.”

“What am I supposed to do? When are you going to have it?”

“Couldn’t tell you. Because they need it more than you do. I’ll give you that much.”

He sighed again, stepping forward in the sand. He didn’t leave footsteps, a sound, or a shadow. Instead, he was a phantom almost hovering above the ground.

“Where do I go from here?”

“Anywhere, Party Poison. The world is your oyster. But I wouldn’t mind your company. It gets a little lonely.”

“I wouldn’t mind either.”

“Then that settles it.”

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The Witch brushed a few more hairs out of the corpse’s face, finally satisfied. She turned to look at the ghost and straightened up a bit. Her mask instantly fell back to her face, and she levitated above the sand and the discarded BLI-sanctioned body bags.

“Where’d you like to go first, Poison?”

“Well, I’d like to know about your story. Where do we start?”

“There’s an old settlement. It was destroyed years ago. I guess we can start there.”

By Can (@CanCan.jpg on Instagram, @CanCan_jpg on twitter)

By Wren (voidzoid on Tumblr, @wizzysp on Instagram)

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By Chelsea (@mischief_inks on Instagram and chelseamischief on Tumblr)

by @asm2019 on Instagram

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By Alana (@alana.sabol / @cemeteryz on Instagram)

By Fatin (@fatinieromustdie on instagram)

By Fatin (@fatinieromustdie on Instagram)

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HOOD Fic By: Anna (@frnkieromustpi on

Instagram, electricmillenia on AO3 and Wattpad) Length: 9 pages Plot: a historical au Trigger Warning: some violence and character death

The first permanent change in Gerard Way's life came the day his father's estate in Locksley and the title of Earl of Huntingdon was left to him. It had been a dreary, chilling morning; the rain had blown in over Sherwood with a cold vengeance, bringing the sea air to the sprawling grounds.

Gerard had been kneeling in the mud beside the stables, mending his bow and mumbling a prayer for his father's health under his breath, when the news arrived from the mouth of a pale faced messenger. His father had gone peacefully in his sleep, without any pain or terror. He was grateful for that, at least, and relieved that his father had finally found peace, though he felt a dull pain inside his chest.

Being the lord of Locksley was a blessing, both to himself and to the servants and artillery stationed on the estate. Gerard's father had never been cruel, but he was a penny-pincher, holding back every loose coin unless it was absolutely necessary to spend it; so he had grown up used to his father's servants traversing the grounds in threadbare, patched tunics and gowns. Once the new lord of Locksley saw his father's records and discovered how much money his father had shifted into his own fat purse, he immediately started channeling the cash towards different means, such as repairing the servants' quarters and barracks and ensuring that thick wool fabric was brought onto the estate to allow for the assembly of proper winter clothes for all who lived there. Within a month, news had traveled through word of mouth to all the nearby towns of the stunningly generous new lord of Locksley, drawing the attention of several officials who had not been previously aware of the estate's abounding wealth. Although Gerard didn't know it at the time, this would soon shake his entire world to its core.

Several weeks later, Gerard experienced the second permanent change in his life. He was hunting in Sherwood Forest, escaping from his civic duties and emotions for an afternoon, when he heard a whistle in the near distance. The sound was clear and high, and he followed it without hesitation, curious. Nearing the source of the whistle- now sounding out the tune of a folk melody- he stepped behind a tree and leaned his still strung bow against the rough bark, craning his neck to see who was whistling in the middle of the otherwise empty forest.

Gerard saw a young man garbed in a deep red tunic and dark leggings standing in the center of a clearing, his head tilted up towards the clouded sky. His hair was

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long and black, tumbling down in messy locks past his cheekbones, and his figure was slim and graceful, unconsciously wild and strong. Gerard liked him instantly.

His instinctive interest and approval deepened as the man- who appeared to be near his age, about nineteen winters- silenced his whistling and slunk between the trees toward some unseen goal, his feet silent on the loamy ground and every movement fluid, shrugging a hickory bow from his shoulder and stringing it with a practiced ease, drawing an arrow and nocking it to the bowstring within a split second before letting the arrow fly. Gerard caught a glance of the man's quick smile and sharp jaw before he loped after the arrow, slinging the bow back across his shoulders as he went.

He would've given anything to approach the boy and introduce himself, but he refrained, imagining his strong jaw tightening and his open expression faltering once he realized Gerard's intentions; intentions that most men would never understand.

How was he supposed to explain his attraction when the object of his attentions wasn't a lady? It just wasn't done; nobody expressed feelings like his.

He reluctantly turned and headed home, his thoughts running wild in his mind, imagining caressing the hunter's skin and pressing his lips to his sharp jawline. The images drove him to stop by the gates of his estate and ask a soldier who the boy was, feigning an unattached curiosity.

His name was Frank Iero; the eighteen year old son of a sickly nobleman who stayed within his slowly crumbling stone walls, withdrawing himself from the rest of the world. Frank took every opportunity to sneak through the doors and set off into the forest, only hunting when he needed the meat and other times simply resting and watching the animals come and go with the wind.

Gerard's interest only grew stronger with every word from the soldier's mouth, and he knew, despairingly, but without a doubt, that he wouldn't be able to keep himself from approaching Frank if he ever saw him again.

That opportunity arrived sooner than Gerard ever imagined. He had gone to Sherwood every day he could slip away for nearly a fortnight since then, aching to see Frank hunt again. So far he had been unsuccessful.

He leaned against the trunk of an oak tree, softly sighing and relaxing against the bark.

"I've seen you following me."

The voice came from behind Gerard and he nearly lost his balance, spinning to finally view Frank's amused expression staring into his own desperate one.

"I- I was just-" "I'll admit, I'm pretty flattered, but I'm also confused. Who are you?" Frank asked, his voice so much better than Gerard had expected, sending chills through his body.

"I- I'm Gerard Way, I'm the new, the new lord of Locksley?" He stammered, his usual ability to smoothly deliver words failing him. "I am not attempting to bother you, I've just been curious-" Frank gave a crooked smile and Gerard fell even further under his spell. "I'm not bothered, Gerard Way. My name's Frank Iero."

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"Frank, um, okay, I swear I never meant to stalk you or annoy you," Gerard mumbled, scuffing the leather of his boots against a fallen branch. His mouth decided briefly to run away again without his approval, and he opened it to say, "I heard you whistling and I needed to figure out who you were, because it was beautiful."

'You're beautiful,' he added silently, watching a faint pink blush appear on Frank's cheekbones.

"Come hunting with me tomorrow?" Frank queried, his smooth voice betraying a slight twinge of nerves. "It's been a long time since I've had a partner. Hunting partner."

"Of course," he agreed instantly, unable to refuse. "I'll meet you here tomorrow morning? If you'd like?"

"I'd love that," the man responded softly, his eyes flickering up to meet Gerard's. "It'll be good to get to know you, Gerard Way." Before Gerard could do more than flush scarlet, Frank turned and retreated into the trees, leaving him alone. He watched Frank disappear and then turned for home, nearly slack jawed in amazement, every thought occupied by the details of Frank's face and neck and torso, things he shouldn't even be noticing but he couldn't help obsessing over anyway.

And so days and fortnights went by, the two men quickly becoming fast friends as the forest was blanketed by snow. Gerard fell harder for him every time they met to hunt, his heart filled near to bursting and his hopes slowly dwindling. As the season wore away, so did their boundaries, leading up to a single day near midwinter.

They had gone hunting again that morning, meeting up beneath the gnarled evergreen at the edge of Sherwood, boots already covered with powdered snow.

Frank's cheeks were flushed a bright pink, his eyes bright and shining in the cold; Gerard had never seen anything prettier.

Frank immediately noticed his obvious and avid stare and he became exhausted of how Gerard was consistently afraid of opening himself fully. Without a warning he stepped forward to rest his chest against Gerard's, look up and meet his eyes, and wait for him to react.

Gerard's frozen breath caught in his lungs as he gazed down at Frank's chilled face, instantly taking in the bruised circles beneath his hazel eyes and the expectant hope circling in them. "Frankie, what-?" He asked weakly, slowly leaning closer to him, drawn by a force he didn't want to admit.

"Is it not obvious?" The shorter man said, his voice soft, as one of his arms slid around Gerard's waist. "I'm tired of pretending, Gerard. We both know how we feel, correct?"

Gerard's body took over for him, instinctively closing the distance between the two, pressing his lips to Frank's and breathing in his smoky scent as he kissed him like he'd never get another chance. Frank responded instantaneously by winding his fingers in Gerard's long hair and kissing him back passionately, pulling them together fully and pushing Gerard back against the rough bark of an evergreen.

Gerard finally broke away for air and rested his forehead against Frank's, gasping,

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"Frank Iero, would you- would you do me the honor of being mine forever? Come live with me and sleep in my bed, Frank. Marry me."

Frank nodded furiously and kissed him again.

The duo were unable to be united properly, in a chapel, but Gerard paid it no mind. He determined that Frank would leave his father in a physician's care and travel to Locksley a fortnight hence, where Gerard would've prepared a larger room for the two of them, further separated from the rest of his estate's inhabitants for a modicum of privacy.

He had never been so joyful; everything made him smile, and even the dreary rain and snow of early February couldn't dissuade him. His love was his own, forever, and nothing could stop them from sharing a long life together.

Or so he thought. Five days after his confession of adoration, fate arrived in the form of a notice nailed to his gates- a notice from Nottingham, the township roughly an hour's ride away- detailing the supposed tax fraud of his father and the money he owed the crown. More money than he had ever seen in his life.

He traveled to Nottingham immediately to demand the records of his father's fraud from the town mayor, only to have any records that might've existed refused.

Gerard was desperate and scared as he turned to his last hope; a small, mudthatched building near the center of town, containing the office and stores of the Sheriff of Nottingham himself.

The sheriff was a middle aged man with a childish face and scraggly hair, a vague and sardonic smirk ever present on his thick lips. "Tax fraud, you say? At Locksley? I never," he drawled in a thick Scottish brogue, his voice unpleasantly high. "I was the man who wrote that notice, Lord. Your late father had been avoiding his debts to the crown for far too long, and I'm simply unable to overlook it any further. You have five days."

Gerard's heart sank into his boots. "Five, five days? Sheriff, this is an impossible amount of money. My father never owned this much in his life, bless his soul. He couldn't possibly have avoided paying this much."

"Five days," the man responded, obviously enjoying himself. "Can you do it?"

"Can I- of course I can't!" Gerard sputtered, his fists clenching helplessly. "That's far too much!"

"That's a shame," he crooned sympathetically, his smile belying his tone. "The country of England reclaims your estate, effective tomorrow at sunfall. Thank you for your business, and may the lord have mercy on your soul."

And so Gerard's perfect world fell apart as he found himself penniless and alone in the snow, watching as the gates to the only home he had ever known were closed in front of his eyes. His home was gone, taken by a force he couldn't dream of fighting. He could never bring Frank home.

He left a letter by their meeting evergreen, too heartbroken and ashamed to bear facing his love with the news, and retreated deep into Sherwood, scraping the skin off his palms but building a temporary shelter and lighting a fire to keep himself warm.

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And so days and fortnights went by, Gerard only becoming lonelier and angrier as winter blossomed into spring. He started a small garden in the clearing by his newly built home in Sherwood Forest, although as he broke the ground with naught but a sharp rock and his bare hands, he imagined that every stroke was inflicted on the men who had stolen his life and his love from him and caused him to disappear.

Everything changed yet again a month later, when a caravan carting gold traveled through Sherwood, en route to Nottingham. Gerard seized his chance with a terrible vengeance, using his bow to quickly pick off the soldiers guarding the cart, and dragging the bags of gold coins into two equal piles. One pile would go to himself, in the hopes that someday he would pay his father's debt, and the other would go to the paupers he saw on the side of the road, hungry and even more alone than he was. He chopped the cart into small pieces and tossed them in a creek before burying the guards, hoping that nobody would ever discover what had happened. The coins he distributed the same day, leaving small sacks on doorsteps and window ledges for people to discover.

For the first time since he had left Locksley, Gerard felt hope again. He still had a purpose, and he'd never lose what good, albeit small, he had done. He robbed another cart the next week, and the next, and soon word spread of what he was doing, along with a rumor that the gold was going to the poor.

He became something of a local hero; the townspeople of Nottingham would watch for the cloaked and hooded figure slipping between houses. Because nobody knew his name, they started referring to him as the Robbing Hood.

And as time went by, others ventured into Sherwood to join him. The Robbing Hood built up a band of followers and started a village in the middle of the woods, slowly beginning to go on more dangerous missions. Rumors floated around about the sheriff, and how he was absolutely livid at the disappearances of his coins.

For a brief time, Gerard was happy. He had a good man named Raymond at his right hand and several dozen men willing to fight for him, and he was slowly building up the funds to return home. But he missed Frank so badly that he'd wake up late at night with his breath stealing from him, his body aching to curl around Frank's instead of his ragged blanket. His love never faded, instead growing sharper and more painful every day, like an arrow in his heart. Gerard missed him more than anything, but he knew that Frank deserved more than a life of crime in the forest. He deserved a warm home, all the jewels and furs money could buy, and Gerard's full adoration. Gerard would've waited on him hand and foot for the rest of his life and he never would've grown tired. The cold and empty forest was no place to bring your love, not for forever.

So Gerard wrote another letter to let Frank know why, though he had never stopped loving him and he never would, they couldn't be together, and brought it to their old evergreen, his cloak and hood pulled around him and his face masked with a scarf. He gently nailed it to the bark, his eyes welling up with tears. He missed Frank more than he missed his home and everything else in his life, but he refused to ask Frank to join him and place himself in danger.

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A slight sound behind Gerard alerted him to another presence and he whirled, pressing his hand to the hilt of the dirk he wore round his waist. A man dressed in a knight's garb stood there menacingly, a long dagger clutched in his armored hand.

"Step away from the tree," the knight ordered him in a low voice, his face hidden in the shadows of his helmet, making him look more dangerous than ever. Gerard slowly took a step away from the trunk, surreptitiously drawing his dirk from its sheath.

"What brings you to Sherwood?" Gerard asked in a smooth and deep voice, faking a Scottish lilt. "This isn't a safe place for men like you. Nobody wears the king's colors out here if they want to live."

"Nice words coming from a man with no defenses," the knight said, tilting his helmeted head sideways. "I doubt you could best me in a knife fight."

Gerard brandished his weapon, his expression slipping into a scowl. "Try me.

You'd be surprised."

Within a few moments their daggers had clashed, the two men locking hilts.

Gerard shoved the knight backwards, detangling his dirk and moving into a ready stance. The knight came at him for a second time, dagger swiping at the air inches from his face. Gerard retaliated with a sharply thrown kick to the man's knee, knocking him sideways only to have him come back with a vengeance and cut through Gerard's tunic sleeve, drawing a steady flow of blood from the split muscle.

The wound didn't dissuade him from locking their hilts for a second time to push roughly against the knight, taking advantage of his taller stature to knock the man off guard. The knight stumbled and fell, the dagger flying from his fingers as he landed violently on a protruding and gnarled root, struggling to breathe as the breath was knocked from his lungs.

Gerard hesitated to approach while he was on the ground, feeling it dishonest.

He instead took a tighter grip on his dirk and relaxed his stance, waiting for the knight to stand. "You aren't bad for a king's man," he said conversationally, fingering the tip of his blade. "I've fought many worse."

"I expected more from the famous Robbing Hood," the knight responded mockingly, slowly regaining his feet. A hint of desperation had crept into his tone, and he looked up at Gerard, his hazel eyes widened. "I don't want to fight you. Just let me have the letter on that tree and I'll be on my way."

Gerard's face twisted into an enraged glare. "My letter? You don't need to touch my letter."

"It can't be yours," the knight hissed, shaking his helmeted head violently. "I've been waiting for this letter for months. Step away or I will kill you."

He was unbelievably confused and angry by this point, risking a glance back at the innocuous envelope on the tree. "I wrote that letter."

The knight jerkily undid the straps of his helmet. "Who are you, Robbing Hood?

Show yourself to me."

"Why would I ever do that?" Gerard growled, tightening his grip on his dirk's hilt.

"You'd return to Nottingham to report me. It would be easier for me if I just finished you now."

The knight didn't seem to have a comeback to Gerard's bold words, his hands still frozen on the now undone straps of his helmet. With a single flurry of motion he

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flung the helmet into Gerard's face and connected his shoulder with Gerard's stomach, hurling him back into a thorny bush as the unmasked knight darted past to grab the letter from the tree, tearing it from the nail with reckless speed.

Gerard struggled to regain his breath as he sat up, feeling blood trickling down the back of his throat as his face throbbed. He grasped for the knight's ankle, tugging him to the ground and scrambling to regain his letter. He flipped the man over and raised his hand, fingers knitted into a fist, a wordless cry of rage spilling from his split lips. And then he diverted his fist, slamming it against the forest floor as his eyes met the knight's hazel eyes, filled with pain and fear. Eyes he knew.

Gerard scrambled backwards, horrified at what he had done. "Frank? Frankie, baby?"

And Frank, the knight, relaxed against the frozen loam at his words. Gerard ripped off his hood and scarf, letting them fall unheeded to his shoulders, and knelt beside him.

"My love, I'm so sorry," he crooned, hot tears spilling down his cheeks and mixing with the blood drying on his upper lip. "Please tell me you're okay, please be okay, I'm begging you."

"It's really you?" Frank asked him raggedly, moving to a seated position.

"Gerard?"

"It's me," Gerard confirmed, reaching out a trembling hand to caress Frank's face.

"Where were you? Why didn't you come back for me?"

The words sent bolts of pain through Gerard's chest. "Oh love, this was no life for you. I couldn't ask you to leave everything for me. Not when I was in a place like this, Frankie."

"You could've come to see me, at least?" Frank answered quietly. "Gerard, I've waited for you under our evergreen every day without fail for so long. I almost gave up."

Gerard held back a sob. "Darling, love, I couldn't see you. If I had come to see you I wouldn't have had the strength to stay away, and if I had been caught you would've been sentenced with me. I couldn't let them hurt you too. You're all I've ever wanted."

"You are an imbecile," Frank sniffed, blinking furiously. "Gerard, I've missed you so much. It's hurt so badly. No excuses you can possibly make will keep me away from you now, not after today. I'll marry you and live with you forever in the forest, if you'll still have me?"

"If I'll still have you?" Gerard breathed. "Nothing would make me happier, my treasure. My beautiful gem." He leaned forward to gently press his bruised lips against Frank's, his arms snaking around the smaller man's waist and drawing him closer. "I just wish I could give you the life that I had promised you before. I'm sorry, Frank. I'm so sorry."

"I'll accept your apology on one condition," Frank murmured. "Never leave me again, Gerard. I'd rather die with you than live without you. Don't leave me to keep me safe."

"I don't want you hurt because of me," Gerard said softly, his eyes never leaving Frank's. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, love."

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"So we live out our days together," he responded firmly, resting his forehead on Gerard's. "I don't care how many days we've got, I don't care if we only make it a fortnight, you're mine and I'm yours. Nothing will change that."

Gerard finally gave in, allowing himself to relax against Frank's warm body. "I'm yours," he repeated.

The duo were united in an unofficial woodland ceremony the next morning.

Gerard had protested at first, wanting to give him the opportunity to change his mind, but when Frank affectionately told him to close his mouth, he allowed the wedding to continue. They slept together under the stars that night after a day-long celebration, falling further in love with every glance and touch, never looking back.

Several months later, the conflict between Gerard and the Sheriff of Nottingham came to a head, when the sheriff marched into Sherwood with a platoon of foot soldiers, hell-bent on wiping the Robbing Hood and his band of men off English soil for good. Gerard was waiting for him, his men hiding behind trees or beneath dying vegetation, all with their bows drawn and their eyes sharp. They waited for the sheriff and his soldiers to unknowingly march into the center of their concealed circle before they all stepped into the open simultaneously, firing before the soldiers had a chance to react. The result was pandemonium; most of the soldiers fell where they stood, looks of surprised pain frozen on their faces. Others were crying out as they attempted to drag themselves away from the men who had shot them, many leaving trails of blood on the dirt as they grew steadily weaker. Only several had escaped injury all together, and they had hastily drawn their weapons and were darting their eyes around, searching for a weak spot in the circle of foresters. The sheriff was on the ground, although uninjured; he seemed to be trying to cover himself with leaves in a depressingly obvious attempt at hiding.

Gerard strode towards him slowly, coldly placing the tip of his boot on the sheriff's shoulder and pressing down roughly. "Coward."

"Let me leave and I'll give you anything you want," he whined in a wheedling tone, tears falling from his eyes for show. "Anything at all."

"You stole my life from me," Gerard whispered, pulling the hood from his face to expose his identity. "I lost everything."

The man's eyes widened in horror. "Gerard Way? I'll give your estate back to you, I'll publicly apologize, I'll do anything, please-" "I want you to resign," Gerard responded harshly. "Give me back my land and name me in your stead. You can take your savings and go anywhere you'd like, I don't care about you. I'll be a better sheriff than you ever were. The people of Nottingham will never be cheated again."

Gerard's return to Locksley was triumphant; he returned richer than he had ever been, with a new position and Frank by his side. He settled into the role of sheriff easily, the townspeople of Nottingham thrilled to have him. Gerard addressed the rumors floating around negatively, assuring everyone that he wasn't the Robbing Hood, although he continued to anonymously support his band of men who had stayed behind in Sherwood. His townspeople knew what he had been despite his best efforts, and he eventually just shot people a wink whenever they asked him who he was.

Page 9 of 9

The old sheriff was mysteriously ambushed on his way out of Nottingham, leading to tall tales of Sherwood Forest being haunted by the ghost of the Robbing Hood, finally taking his revenge on the evil official. Again, Gerard did little to deny it.

Frank stayed by his husband through thick and thin, the two taking in a beggar child from the streets and raising her as their own. Gerard fell more in love with Frank every day. The two lived well into their nineties and then died peacefully in their sleep on the same night, still curled close together when they were discovered the next morning, smiles on both their faces. Nottingham had become a far better place, and they were mourned terribly.

Their old evergreen bloomed with hazel flowers that summer, a sight that nobody had ever seen before. Their daughter, when she witnessed the blooms, simply smiled and stated, "Even the tree loved Frank's eyes like my father did."

1

Autumn Leaves He was sitting on the sofa, staring at the wall. No sound was heard, just the steady beating of his heart.

The house seemed empty and abandoned, dust covering everything from the kitchen table to the poor boy on the sofa, waiting for someone he was sure would never arrive. The clock was ticking, marking the time, the seconds between him and the breakdown that was about to come.

The glass that he was clutching in his elegant, pale hand was empty, no drops of any liquid running down the sides. Still, it was cold, freezing cold in his grip.

He wanted to cry, cry himself to sleep on that stupid sofa, wetting the cushion under his right arm, and to maybe wake up the next day to find the reason for all his crying, just lying next to him, watching him with those big bright hazel eyes which he fell for long time ago.

He could see his black hair shining in the sunlight of a May afternoon, his smaller figure running down the hill just because it was fun. No other reason, it was the funniest thing he could think of, and his crooked smile proved it.

Sometimes Frank acted like a small kid, enjoying life and not giving a fuck about the adult he was supposed to be. Gerard loved him, he really did. He found it easy, even when the light disappeared from the boy’s soul, leaving the dark haired young man like an empty shell, surrounded by all the insecurities and the awful fears that had always haunted him. No one could break into his private world to help him, it was impossible.

Gerard had tried many times, soothing him with loving words, while the latter was holding on for dear life to his bigger frame, shaking terribly, and not even able to say a word. His heart shattered when he heard his love crying at night, crying because of his incapacity to see what a beautiful mind and soul he had.

Frank was what you could define as an artist, a troubled one. Everything he touched, or anything that was near him, became the most amazing and perfect artwork ever created. No one knew his secret, but many had tried and failed to understand his mind, and what was under that mop of messy hair. If asked, Frank simply replied with an “I don’t know either”.

It looked like his imagination and his body were two different entities of the same person. Each part had its own life, and sometimes, sadly, they clashed and ruined everything. You could see how he looked at what he was creating and just despised it, deciding to chuck it to the side and lock himself away in his bedroom.

Same went for music. He would grab his guitar because he had that one riff he wanted to try, but, not making any conspicuous progress, he decided to stop trying. He felt like he was a failure, and his life even worse.

That was why, last Saturday, he decided to run away. He disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving his side of bed as cold as ice. Gerard noticed he was gone just the morning after, when he

2 woke up and saw his lover’s sketchbook on the bedside table.

He never left his sketchbook behind.

Inside, as he later found out, there was a note scrawled in messy, shaky handwriting, some letters smudged because of the tears that had fallen on the paper. It didn’t say much, just “I’m sorry, I love you xoxo”. Gerard had immediately checked every part of the house, fearing the worst, but fortunately he didn’t find what he was looking for. That didn’t mean Frank was safe and sound - anything could have happened between now and the time he’d left.

He had called everyone, just to be told the same thing: “I’m very sorry, but I haven’t seen him anywhere, I’ll keep on searching”.

Three days had passed, and still no news from the police, his friends or Frank himself. Gerard was still sitting on the sofa, heart sunk deep down in his stomach. He had given up, keep trying was useless. If his boyfriend wanted to show up again, then it was his choice.

The clock was about to strike midnight, when someone knocked at the door. Outside was storming, so Gerard assumed it was just some rock thrown at the door by the wind, even if when the doorbell rang he had to think about it again.

Who could have been so stupid to stand outside in the rain? Little did he know that the answer was so obvious, even a child would have guessed.

He opened the door, expecting to find the homeless man that lived at the end of the road, but when he looked up the words died in his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hel—“ “Do you remember when you asked me what my favourite season was?”

Frank, drenched from head to toes, was looking at him with wild eyes. His body was trembling and smelled awfully, and it wasn't hard to guess why.

In any other situation, Gerard would have kissed his lips without thinking twice about it; instead, this time, he let the glass go, sending it to shatter on the wooden floor, and shoved him forward. He didn’t hesitate. The love of his life was standing in front of him, that same person that made him suffer like shit for four whole days, disappearing from the face of the earth without a good reason.

That seemed the right thing to do.

“Do you have a single idea how worried I was?! I thought you were dead, for fucks sake!”

“I’m sorry baby, it will—” the boy was cut off by an annoyed groan from Gerard, who stepped outside to get closer to him.

“Don’t call me that. Not today. Not after you left me alone, with no explanation!

Frank started crying, and his voice refused to come out. If he hadn’t been wandering out in the rain all that time before coming home, he probably would have listened to what Gerard had to say, and waited for him to calm down a little before explaining what had really happened. Unfortunately, he was too tired, and his mind too clouded to focus on the scene before his very eyes, resulting in a knee-

3 jerk reaction.

“Please baby I’m sorry ... I’m sorry…” he was rambling, and Gerard, understanding that, chose to put aside his anger to help that poor human being that risked catching a cold if he stayed outside any longer.

“Listen… come inside and go take a shower. You smell like a fucking pub.”

“But…” “Just go! We’ll talk again in the morning, when you’ll finally be able to stand trial.”

Frank, still crying, stumbled inside and made his way up the stairs to the bathroom. The second he disappeared, Gerard let the tears fall.

He had refused to cry for three whole days, and now that his love was back, the relief was so much, the only way to express it was crying.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

He cried because Frank was still alive. He cried because, one way or another, he had unintentionally found the way back home. He cried because in the past days, his imagination had gone so wild that the nightmares had kept him awake at night.

After a good fifteen minutes, he decided it was indeed time to dry his eyes and go check on Frank to see if he was okay. The boy slowly walked up the stairs, the sound of the running water of the shower mashing into the rain’s one.

When he opened the bathroom door, he almost wanted to face-palm.

Frank was standing fully dressed under the stream of the water, staring absentmindedly at the tiles on the wall. His eyes were as red as Gerard's hair, but he couldn’t tell if that was because of whatever he had drank, or because of the crying.

“What ... What are you doing?”

Frank turned a bit into his direction.

“Do you remember when you asked me what my favourite season was?”

“Yes Frank, you told me you couldn’t choose because they all sucked.”

“Well that was a lie. My favourite season is fall.”

What he was saying made no sense at all, but Gerard was too nice to interrupt him, especially after not hearing his soft voice for what seemed an eternity.

“My favourite season is fall, not only because it’s my birthday, but also because drawing you in all those leaves, with your skin so light and you hair so similar to them, is one of the few things that make really happy. When you run in those soft hills of dead leaves because it reminds you of when you were little and your grandpa made them just for you, so that Little Gerard could destroy them

4 two seconds later.”

He made a pause to catch his breath.

“It’s fall because when my mother died, you were there for me, and you gave me that brown sketchbook with the oak tree on the front that didn’t make me feel better at all, but it was the first thing you ever gave me. You cared about me from the second our eyes met. It’s fall because, when we shared our first kiss, school had just started, and you had found me in the backyard crying because of people calling me a fag and other shit, and you didn’t give a fuck about my sexuality, and saw who I really was. It’s fall because if four days ago I hadn’t ran away, I would have asked you to marry me and ... and…” he couldn’t go on, because the emotions were too many, because of his regret and insecurity convincing him that Gerard didn’t want to be his Forever anymore.

Gerard was speechless. It was like when you have a very high fever and everything spins around you, the world is out of focus and you can’t really understand what’s happening to you. That was how he felt like when, stepping into the shower too, faced his beautiful boyfriend, whose tears were unrecognizable among the droplets of water on his face.

He hugged him tightly, listening to his uneven breath and fast heartbeat. Gerard eventually ended up getting drenched too, but that was the last thing he cared about when he had his world right in his arms.

Slowly, he began to undress him. Not in a sexual way – he had to do that because Frank was too weak to even lift his head from Gerard’s shoulder.

Every garment removed was replaced with a gentle stroke on his face, which was what he really needed in that exact moment.

From time to time Frank muttered something that vaguely sounded like an apology, but was immediately hushed by Gerard, who was still washing him with a sponge. That was one of the many times in which both really understood that they would never break up: they depended on one another.

When Gerard finally turned off the shower, the bathroom fell into silence. The two boys looked at each other for a long period of time, communicating with the eyes, one fully naked while the other one still dressed and soaked wet.

“Oh and do you remember the last reason why fall is your favourite season?”

Frank nodded, Gerard smiled a bit.

“I do.”

~1~

Them Gerard and Frank had known each other for a long time. Like… a long time. The two had known each other since they entered the same kindergarten class on the first day of school. Eighteen years later, and their relationship was strong as ever. When his music career started to kick off, it was no surprise when Gerard hired Frank to be his touring photographer.

Fic By: Alex (alexthepolarbear on tumblr) Length: 3 pages Disclaimers: The following is a fictionalisation.

Knowing each other for that long gave them the opportunity to learn the other’s personalities and quirks. They’d seen each other at their worsts, and stuck together when they each hit rock bottom.

There was always something special about Gerard. Not in a bad way per se – he was just different. That’s why, when his best friend started acting strangely, Frank didn’t bat an eye for the first few weeks. He knew how reclusive Gerard gets, and when he’s working on something – be it himself, art, new music, or otherwise – he starts to act oddly.

One week passed, and he hadn’t changed. The first week of any tour was stressful, and this was especially true for Gerard, so Frank paid no mind to it.

Week two started, and he acted the same. Frank started getting concerned, but didn’t act on it.

On the third week, Frank became even more concerned, and it soon consumed all his thoughts.

One night, after a particularly great show, Frank became lost in thought over his best friend.

Gerard brought him back to reality, startling him a little bit when the redhead came up to him.

They shared a smile, and Gerard motioned for him to move into the lounge area of the tour bus they’d spent the past few weeks on. Frank stretched before quickly following him. They sat opposite each other in silence for a long moment. Frank noticed the way Gerard shook slightly, fiddled with his tie, and fidgeted with his hands.

“I have--“ “So how--“ the two started simultaneously. They both muttered apologies, and Frank motioned for Gerard to continue.

“I-uh… have something- a few things, actually- that I need to tell you,” he started.

“Okay.”

~2~

“Do you ever get that feeling that... something is off- but it’s the kind of off where you’re not sure what’s wrong?”

Frank shrugged. “I guess. Are things getting… bad again?” He asked, referring to a darker time in G’s life.

“No- don’t worry, it’s not that. A different kind of off.”

Frank was confused at this point. “Like what?”

Gerard paused for a moment, thinking about what he’d meant himself. “The kind of off where you start to doubt how well you know yourself.”

“Sure,” Frank replied, becoming slightly concerned at G’s tone.

“How… how did you know you were bi?” the older brought up. The obscurity of the question confused Frank, and didn’t help him decipher what his friend was getting at.

“I just kind of... was. I never really looked at people differently. I just had crushes on people.

Their gender didn’t matter. Why?” “Did it take you a while to figure it out? Or find a label?” Gerard ignored his question.

“Once I found the label I just stuck with it. So not really.”

Frank could hear G’s breathing pick up its pace. Whenever he had a panic attack, his breathing was the first physical sign. Instinctively, Frank got up and moved in front of him. He held his hands and slowly rubbed his thumbs along the backs of them.

“I’m nonbinary and queer.” G said hurriedly. Frank tensed up for a moment and pulled his hands away from Gerard’s, instead placing them in his own lap.

“Okay.”

“Okay? You don’t… you don’t hate me or wanna try tell me there are only two genders?” Gee questioned, looking directly at Frank.

“Why would I? You’re my best friend. Gender and sexuality don't change that.” A smile quickly grew across his face as his eyes welled over with happy tears. “Do you want to be called a different name or pronouns?”

“Gee. And they/them.” Frank nodded and beamed with pride at Gee. “One more thing. I- and please please don’t hate me for this- I kinda… sorta… maybe have a major crush on you,” they blurted out.

“You like me like that?” The thought of anyone liking him confused him but especially his best friend. He stuttered for a moment.

~3~

“Yeah. For a while now,” Gee muttered. Their cheeks turned a deep pink, and they looked down at the ground to avoid Frank’s gaze. Instead of verbally reacting, Frank just got up and sat next to Gee, lifting their chin and pressing a soft kiss to their lips. They didn’t think it was possible, but Gee’s cheeks turned an even deeper shade when the two pulled away.

Frank giggled at Gee’s flustered expression, causing the other to bury their face in his shoulder.

“I was wondering which of us would say something first,” said Frank, smirking. Gee sat back up, confused by Frank’s statement. “You’re really bad at pretending like you don’t have a major crush on someone. It’s cute though.”

“Just shut up and kiss me again.”

“Gladly.”

And Acknowledgements Wowza! That’s the zine, folks!

I’m honestly so glad to have been part of this project! Seeing people give their hearts to create art is truly inspirational, and through this project, so many people made friends with each other!

I suppose what’s cool about this zine is that it’s not dedicated to one specific thing!

There’s music! There’s comics! There’s a whole associated fiction (many fictions, in fact) with concepts and aesthetics to explore, and characters to make AU’s of! Not to be Fake Deep™ or anything, but it’s neat how everyone can draw inspiration from it differently, from different aspects, and play with art!

I suppose at this point, I should be thanking people who made it possible!

(I may single people out here, but that doesn’t mean anyone meant any less to the zine) Special thanks to the band in general, of course, as well as the people involved with it! Without Shaun Simon and Becky Cloonan, we wouldn’t have the Killjoys we know and love! Without Gabriel Bá and Nick Derington, we wouldn’t have the same Umbrella Academy and Doom Patrol! David Debiak, James Dewees, all the members of The Hormones, The Patience, and so on, all contributed to inspiring this zine!

Thank you to Ink for encouraging me to go through with this zine when I came up with the idea in the first place! Thank you to Sovay for encouraging me and helping me to calm down whenever I got unreasonably stressed over zine work (calming pictures of sloths are truly a valuable resource). Thank you to Zero for inspiring many aspects of the zine layout with their own project, the Young Animal Zine!

Thank you for the entire Contributor Discord for being sweet and caring, excitedly sharing Killjoy headcanons and hyping up the project! Thank you to every single person who contributed art or writing: without you, the zine wouldn’t be what it is!

You each have your own special unique touch when it comes to your art, which nobody but you would be able to create! I truly wish every one of you will have success with all your future art endeavours, and I hope paging through the zine inspires people to support the contributing artists!

Lastly, thank you to everyone who showed interest in the zine at all, when it was announced, whether or not you contributed: your interest means the world to me and every artist in here, and without everyone’s enthusiasm, I doubt the zine would even have been made.

You’re all the real MVP’s, and I hope you enjoyed the final product of this zine!

Thank you.

xo Can

COVER, INTERIOR SECTION DIVIDER ART, LAYOUT, ORGANISATION AND CURATION BY CAN

GENERAL Chinny Egbuna (@chinforthewin67 on Instagram) Gaia (@gha.sy on Instagram) Zaira (@applezaira on Instagram and Twitter) J (@undeadchemicalzombie on Instagram) Koi (@_.koi._ on Instagram) Morty/Mary (@morticianmustdraw on Instagram, morticianmustdie on Tumblr) Eliza Bรกthory (@eliza___bathory on Instagram) Ida (@my_drawcraft on Instagram) Martu (@marttttttu on Instagram) Arroe (@spooky.arroe on Instagram, @spookyarroe on Twitter) Dasha (@dasha_kosch on Instagram) Giada Dapoz (@dapoz.giada on Instagram) Rebecca (@rebeccas_stuff on Instagram)

Zero/K (@ratwolv on Instagram and Twitter)

BULLETS Dasha (@dasha_kosch on Instagram) Can (@CanCan.jpg on Instagram, @CanCan_jpg on Twitter) Jasmine (@like_ghosts_in_the_snow on Instagram) Eve (@cemetery__art on Instagram) Olivia Vester (@oliviarvester / @twentyonetoomanybands on Instagram) Ari (@thisisthe4thalbum on Instagram)

REVENGE Eve (@cemetery__art on Instagram) Can (@CanCan.jpg on Instagram, @CanCan_jpg on Twitter) Kay (@ArielleKay on Instagram) Angela (@angela_patera on Instagram) Sovay (@SolarLiar on Twitter) Zero/K (@ratwolv on Instagram and Twitter) Arroe (@spooky.arroe on Instagram, @spookyarroe on Twitter) Olivia Vester (@oliviarvester / @twentyonetoomanybands on Instagram) Serena Bovo (@kerobovo on Instagram) Rebecca (@rebeccas_stuff on Instagram) Grace Emma (@_cancerous_p0ptarts on Instagram) Ari (@ariwilde on Instagram) Lillith (@lw_art369 on Instagram)

Lis Trams (@lisfiles / @lolaminusg on Instagram) Anna (chaotic-floral-arrangement on Tumblr) Ari (@thisisthe4thalbum on Instagram) Giada Dapoz (@dapoz.giada on Instagram) Montse (@montse_s_doodles on Instagram) Hannah F (@motivated_by_caffeine on Instagram) Kyli (@_kyote_ on Instagram) M. Gray (@bvrbank on Instagram) Alana (@alana.sabol / @cemeteryz on Instagram) Petra (Lstone27 on Wattpad)

THE BLACK PARADE Giada Dapoz (@dapoz.giada on Instagram) Humbug (@happy_humbug76 on Instagram) Wren (voidzoid on Tumblr, @wizzysp on Instagram) Blue (@blue58598 on Instagram and Twitter) Inuri (@sketchthief on Instagram) Ida (@my_drawcraft on Instagram) Franzii (@fairlyfranzii on Instagram) Flower (@flowerlikesdrawing on Instagram) Ari (@ariwilde on Instagram) Ari (@thisisthe4thalbum on Instagram) Lucy Moseley (@worldwillnevertakemyheart on Instagram) Rebecca (@rebeccas_stuff on Instagram) Zaira (@applezaira on Instagram and Twitter) Stairs (@inkstationzero on Instagram) Jasmine (@like_ghosts_in_the_snow on Instagram) Frankie Marlow (@faeriefrankie on Instagram) Jessa (@galaktike on Instagram) Alex (@bat.beltbuckle on Instagram, @bat-beltbuckle on Twitter) Kate (twentypilotsandthefalloutfellas on Tumblr) Nick Prda (@vocondus on Instagram, iamanaddictwithapen on Wattpad Kat Fisk (@FandomsLife67 on Twitter) Can (@CanCan.jpg on Instagram, @CanCan_jpg on Twitter)

DANGER DAYS Lily (@lilays_chips on Instagram) Lisa (@vesselester on Instagram) Humbug (@happy_humbug76 on Instagram) Sovay (@SolarLiar on Twitter) Can (@cancan.jpg on Instagram, @CanCan_jpg on Twitter) Zoe Pham (@punkvampz on Instagram) Ande (@draw.me.weird on Instagram) Monique (@mcartistic on Instagram) Hannah F (@ motivated_by_caffeine on Instagram)

Gaia (@gha.sy on Instagram) Sushi (@Plastic_Witch on Twitter) Ink (@_.invisible_ink_ on Instagram, @sxd_n_mxgicxl on AO3) Moya (@Quaavinterlude on Instagram) Cilla (@_radvampire_ on Instagram) Alana (@alana.sabol / @cemeteryz on Instagram) Luka (@theknightofvoid_ on Instagram) rebecca (@Rebeccas_stuff on Instagram) Angela (@angela_patera on Instagram) C (@totally.dun.with.you on Instagram) Giada Dapoz (@dapoz.giada on Instagram) Arroe (@spooky.arroe on Instagram, @spookyarroe on Twitter) Hannah (@lthrmouth on Instagram) Robby (@flowervamps on Instagram) Isi (@isiiiipisiiii on Instagram and Twitter) Jessa (@galaktike on Instagram) Olivia Vester (@oliviarvester / @twentyonetoomanybands on Instagram) Jem (rainydaymornings on Tumblr, @surrenderthnight on Instagram) Kyle (@pheonix.witch on Instagram) Carla (@carlaerasmus on Instagram) Claude (the-lonely-penguin on Tumblr, FutureTurtlez on Wattpad) Fatin (@fatinieromustdie on Instagram) Ryder (@ryderthesaint on Instagram, GerardWaysCat on Wattpad) Kayleigh (@thewinterangel on Instagram, thewwinterangel on AO3)

SOLO PROJECTS Can (@CanCan.jpg on Instagram, @CanCan_jpg on twitter) Wren (voidzoid on Tumblr, @wizzysp on Instagram) Dasha (@dasha_kosch on Instagram) Sushi (@Plastic_Witch on Twitter) J (@undeadchemicalzombie on Instagram) Sovay (@SolarLiar on Twitter) Chelsea (@mischief_inks on Instagram and chelseamischief on Tumblr) @asm2019 on Instagram Anna (@e1skr4lle_art on Instagram) Tyler (@p3ncey_pr3p on Instagram) Ari (@ariwilde on Instagram) Arroe (@spooky.arroe on Instagram, @spookyarroe on Twitter) Alana (@alana.sabol / @cemeteryz on Instagram) Fatin (@fatinieromustdie on instagram)

SHIPS Anna (@frnkieromustpi on Instagram, electricmillenia on AO3 and Wattpad) Kyle (@pheonix.witch on Instagram) Sam (@flvtchersmiles on Twitter, Shawnarms on Wattpad) Alex (alexthepolarbear on tumblr)