you can blame it on this southern weather.

Bandom 100 table.

2007-08-01T20:34:29Z

Bandom 100

001.	Blue	002.	Red	003.	Black	004.	White	005.	Green
006.	Grey	007.	Orange	008.	Khaki	009.	Bronze	010.	Gold
011.	Silver	012.	Thunder	013.	Rain	014.	Snow	015.	Fire
016.	Water	017.	Air	018.	Earth	019.	Summer	020.	Spring
021.	Winter	022.	Fall	023.	Birthday	024.	Anniversary	025.	Wedding
026.	Party	027.	Children	028.	Death	029.	Hate	030.	Love
031.	Broken	032.	Passion	033.	Magic	034.	Fixed	035.	Family
036.	Friends	037.	Food	038.	Drink	039.	Schol	040.	Work
041.	Home	042.	Holiday	043.	Alcohol	044.	Drugs	045.	Doctor
046.	Sick	047.	Trust	048.	Bed	049.	Write	050.	Draw
051.	Lust	052.	Envy	053.	Humour	054.	Angst	055.	Pain
056.	Health	057.	Excited	058.	Peaceful	059.	Tired	060.	Naughty
061.	Nervous	062.	Gloomy	063.	Thoughtful	064.	Calm	065.	Romantic
066.	Rainbow	067.	Song	068.	Music	069.	Drama	070.	Jealous
071.	Boys	072.	Girls	073.	Old	074.	Young	075.	New
076.	Meetings	077.	Animals	078.	Pets	079.	Muppets	080.	Cartoons
081.	Hands	082.	Eyes	083.	Mouth	084.	Nose	085.	Ears
086.	Wings	087.	Horns	088.	Flowers	089.	Play	090.	Dance
091.	Professional	092.	Agent	093.	Headphones	094.	Handicap	095.	Pictures
096.	Writer‘s Choice.	097.	Writer‘s Choice.	098.	Writer‘s Choice.	099.	Writer‘s Choice.	100.	Writer‘s Choice.

Pages Stuck Together.

2007-07-19T04:49:55Z

Title: Pages Stuck Together. Standalone.
Author: bluexxyellow_
Pairing: Gerard Way/Frank Iero. Frank Iero/Jamia Nestor
Rating: PG-13.
POV: First, Frank's.
Summary: Gerard and Frank are in love, hiding it, even though Jamia's known all along.
Disclaimer: fakefakefake. Not mine, don't own, don't sue.
Author Notes: Written for slashypunkboys drabble contest something sliver & reading.
Beta: not on LJ.
Warnings: Het. Sorry. Deception.

"You so look like a hooker." Gerard says from behind me. I hear the familiar click of his lighter.

"Gerard, hookers can't read." I tell him, putting my fingers between the pages and turning around to look at him. He's sitting on an ugly green thing behind me. He's got a cigarette to his lips.

"How would you know?" He asks, getting up with a smirk, "are you keeping a secret from me?" He stalks towards me inhaling another breath of smoke.

"No, I asked your mom." I tell him, opening my book back up. The light from the street lamp is dim, but I have eyes like a bat.

He snakes his arm around me and takes the book, resting his head on my shoulder. His chin digs into the fabric of my hood, and it itches. I'd take off my hood but the bite marks are there and it's Jamia coming to get us this time. He knows how she is about the two of us hanging out. According to her, I should never have any male friends that I spent more time with than her. Thus, she took away my keys.

"Kiss me." Gerard whispers into my jacket. "Before you have to go. When is the next time I'll even see you?"

"Next week. It's Ray's birthday. We'll hang out, then, and we'll be together." I reassure him, turning around and giving him a kiss, full on the lips. I let him put his hands on my hips, just this once, and I let his tongue slip into my mouth, one last time.

The honk of the car horn scares me, I drop the book and let the pages snap shut. I turn around and see my car, Jamia driving, looking like she's seen her worst nightmare. I forget to lean down and grab my book, I'm in a rush of emotions as I bound from Gerard's embrace and into the passengers side of my own car. The car I bought but haven't driven by myself in months.

We're barely out of the mall when my cellphone rings in my hoodie pocket. She hasn't said a word to me, but as Asleep by The Smiths starts to play in the car, over the radio, her voice cracks. "That's him, isn't it?"

I give her no answer but pick up the phone.

"You forgot your book." Is all Gerard says.

"Bring it next week. I'll see you then." I say, hanging up the phone before anyone thinks more into it. She knows about Ray's party and she also knows that no one invited her. Frank Iero plus guest was changed to Frank Iero. She'll never even know I asked Ray to do it.

"I wish you'd at least try to hide it." She says, but it sounds farther away than the length of two seats.

"I wish we'd all come to terms with what God has given us." I tell her back, not bothering to turn my head her way.

"Do you even love me, anymore? Do you only love him and the way you feel when he touches you?" Her voice etches a thousand cuts into my flesh.

"I love the way he feels when he touches me." My comeback silences her the entire ride.

It's already been a week and Jamia and I are still crawling around our house trying to act like this is still a marriage and we're still going to make it. Granted, I don't try enough, but that's because I love someone else. I almost wish that she'd find someone else, too, so that she didn't feel so alone all the time.

When I walk into Ray's house carrying his present (a silver Halo key chain for his keyring & a box of Cheez-it's) the entire band is gathered around the living room television, watching home movies. The one on now is of Gerard, Mikey, and I playing this ridiculous game of Uno that last over an hour. I hear Mikey's cheers, on screen and off, before I see anyone.

Gerard hands me my book when he greets me at the door and gives me a kiss.

For the next few hours my life is how it's supposed to be. My cellphone turned off, the caller I'm waiting for sitting to my left. My keys in my pocket. My life in it's place. Jamia off somewhere finding happiness. When this is all said and done, anyone will make her feel more worthy than I ever did.

I hope Gerard didn't read any of my book. He'd mock me for it.

starshine.

2007-07-03T00:05:28Z

Title: starshine. Standalone.
Author: bluexxyellow_ aka Ray.
Pairing: Frank Iero/Synyster Gates
Rating: PG
POV: First.
Summary: Frank and Syn are in the backyard talking about life.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the sentences you read. These people aren't mine.
Author Notes: for slashypunkboys drabble contest rubber duck, distrust, whistle.
Warnings: None.

It's a lot like dying your hair bright orange, bright blue, or mildew green. It is even more like that one time I was afraid of getting cancer, when I thought I had a disease that no one would ever cure because of the way my parents were, the choices they had made. What do you think it's like? Right here, right now, we're standing outside on the back porch, watching the moon and the stars. Do you think that I'm just crazy?

“Where are we now?” You ask, taking a long glance out of the corner of your brown eyes at me.

“You ask more than you understand,” I respond, running a few fingers through my own hair. “You know where we are.”

“You talk more than you listen,” you come back with. “But I've never taken you out by it.”

“Of course not, no, because we'd go somewhere with that.” I say back, snickering. On the wet grass lies two rubber ducks we bought for our kids. One is yellow and orange, the one you bought for baby Joel, and the other is red and pink, the one that I bought for Tangerine. That isn't her name, her name is actually Marina, but we call her Tangerine because she wanted to paint her room bright orange.

“Where were we before, if that's where we are now, Frank?” You're turning towards the sliding glass door, looking into the house we share at the fake lights. I wish your voice had a little less despair and a little more understanding.

“Brian, we're everywhere. We're back three years ago before we had kids, four years ago before we bought our first place together, six years ago when that first time we met on Warped Tour because of Matt and Mikey.” My voice is full of reason and you turn back around. When you turn back around you start to whistle.

The overhead light switches on and your pupils shrink. The pajama pants you're wearing are simple, your bare chest is covered in ink like mine, but your hair isn't a mess. Every hair is put into place, and it's perfect. I wish you didn't wear that stupid hat all the time. Your lips are puckered and the whistle falling from lips is simple. You are spiting me because I can't whistle.

“Why did you come out here?” You ask me, crossing your arms across your chest. “It's the middle of the night.”

“I wanted to see if you'd follow me,” I frown. My lips feel full, heavy, my body feels so weak. I'm wavering on my own feet.

“Distrust.” Your voice is low, quiet, but all the meaning in your word hits me at a thousand tons. “You frown too much when you don't trust me.”

“I trust you, you came.” I reply, like I believe it. “If I didn't trust you we would have never made it this far. Brian, we have children, three years old and one, but you still think I don't trust you. Nights like tonight are little tests from God, telling me to prove your worth.” I believe it now.

“I will always follow you.” Your voice is perfectly pitched, not low and not high. I believe in you for the first time since we got Joel. “I will follow you from now on, Frank.”

“Don't lie to me.” I call out, as you turn back to the door.

I can't hear what you say back, inside Tangerine screams from her bedroom. Another nightmare. I'd ask you to repeat it, but you've already gone back inside.

Where are we now, you asked? We are where everyone else wishes they were. We're at the end of our lives.

Asleep.

2007-06-15T03:40:10Z

Title: Asleep.
Author: bluexxyellow_
Pairing: Frank Iero/Jeph Howard, Mikey Way/Synyster Gates
Rating:NC-17
POV:Third.
Summary:It's Jeph's birthday, Frank isn't talking to him, but Mikey is throwing a party.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue. Title to The Smiths
Author Notes: Dedicated to xxcornchipxx because I promised her this. Not what I normally write.
Beta: [Unknown LJ tag]</lj>
Warnings: Broken bones, blow-jobs, rough sex in a bathroom, The Smiths.

It's the fifteenth time this song has played. He doesn't want to change it. He wants to drown in the words that are filling the living room. He doesn't ever want to get off the living room floor. Laying here there is no world. He and Jeph are all that exist.

"Change it." Jeph's voice overpowers the soft singing of Morrissey and Frank turns his head to listen.

"No." Frank's voice isn't loud, threatening or anything like that in any way. He's got the voice, almost of a teenager but he's a grown man. Jeph doesn't say anything but he gets up. His footsteps create a hollowed sound across the tile floor as he goes into the kitchen.

Over the music Frank hears pots banging around. Today is Jeph's birthday. There's no excitement anywhere in the room. God, Frank can't even find happiness. It's lost itself in a pool of apathy and disbelief. At best.

"Don't forget we have to get to Mikey and Syn's place tonight for the party their throwing for me. Since it is my birthday after all." Jeph's suddenly standing in front of the stereo, turning down The Smiths that much more.

"I know it's your birthday." Frank pleads. "Happy birthday." Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep."

"Coming from you it's so bitter fucking sweet." Jeph sighs.

Mikey Way loves to throw parties. Any kind of party, birthday, anniversary, even that time his cat died, he threw a party. Synyster kind of got used to that when the two got together the Warped Tour of '05. And especially now that's it's been two years and they're living in an apartment in Brooklyn, Syn is just used to throwing parties.

"You know that Frank and Jeph are having problems." Mikey says, running his hand through Syn's black hair.

"You know I don't want to hear about them when I'm trying to get off." Syn says, detaching his lips from Mikey's white neck. "Way to be a buzzkill."

"Fuck, fine." Mikey caves, "but use less tongue and more teeth. This needs to be quick."

"Got it." Syn says, clamping his teeth on Mikey's neck. Mikey arches his back off the wall and makes an animal type sound in the bottom of his throat. Syn bites and nips and Mikey's neck until Mikey's hands push his head to his chest and then start undoing his pants.

It's a quick swap of blow jobs, teeth and tongue followed by screams and moans just to get the job done. Mikey comes with his fist in Syn's hair, pulling it as hard as he can, and then he pushes Syn to the carpet of their living room floor and undoes his jeans. Mikey's style is more irrational, it's about doing nothing the same twice to make the orgasm a little more heightened. He bites and then he stops, he sucks and then he literally blows. It's an unknown pattern but it gets Syn to come every fucking time. No pun intended.

By the time they're done they have half an hour to get the starting food out and be dressed. Mikey gives Syn one last kiss and then laughs, "we're getting faster. Last time Gerard got here when we were still fucking."

"Even brotherly love has it's boundaries." Syn calls after Mikey, who raced off to put on clean clothes and brush his hair.

Thirty five minutes later Gerard and Eliza are the first ones to show up. Eliza is pregnant, six months, bulging at the belly and absolutely miserable. Syn gets a real kick out of picturing a little Gerard running around, especially after that time Donna showed him Gerard and Mikey's baby pictures. Gerard came in carrying a cake and balloons, while Eliza came in bitching about having to take the stairs.

It's forty minutes later when Ray, Krista, Bob and Steven Smith make it in, all together, in the middle of a conversation about what they got Jeph for his birthday and who's is the best.

"You're full of shit, a hundred and fifty dollars for a new tattoo is the best." Steven says, taking Bob's coat off as Ray shuts the door behind Krista.

"Are you kidding me?" Ray says, gawking, "a free lunch and dinner at that sushi restaurant downtown so wins!"

Krista gives Eliza, Syn and Mikey kisses on the cheek, a hug to Gerard, and leaves the men to argue.

"When are Frank and Jepha going to get here?" Eliza asks, nibbling on a carrot stick.

"Forty minutes ago." Syn says.

"Somethings going on between them." Mikey says with a sigh, running his hand over Eliza's stomach, "and I wish they could solve it soon. It's Jeph's birthday after all."

"Coming from you it sounds like a fucking national holiday," Syn remarks with a grin.

"You know that we're almost an hour late and it's right across the city, right?" Jeph says, stepping out of the shower. He spent half an hour standing in the shower, under the stream, thinking about his birthday and how he and Frank can't even hold a conversation. It could be the obvious disdain in Frank's fading voice, it could be the ever present urge that Jeph has to break Frank's heart at any given chance.

"I'm sorry." Frank says, from where he sits on the living room floor, still, listening to that same The Smiths song and still wishing Morrissey's words would just come true. He wishes he didn't feel like this, not today, because today is Jeph's birthday and he deserves the best day of his life just for the mere fact he's still alive. Still being with Frank is worth a plethora of bonus points.

"I know," Jeph says, walking out the door. Inside the apartment Frank stumbles to his feet and calls out something about really being sorry for living like this, but Jeph's too far gone to hear it.

It's an hour later when Frank and Jepha finally arrive, both sporting the same wrinkled shirt, dirty jeans look. Frank looks like he just fell out of a gutter, or rolled off the living room floor, and Jeph looks like he spent the last hour standing in the shower under a stream of cold water.

"Sorry we're late Mikey, there was an-" Jeph's eyes dart to Frank standing on his right and he swallows. "8 car pile-up on the beeline."

Mikey's instinct kicks in and he knows that Jeph's lying. Frank and Jeph are so strained right now, everyone can feel it, but they do this from time to time. Sometimes they just break, and it takes a night of talking to get them back on track. It just really sucks for Jeph that this it's around his birthday.

"It's alright, Happy Birthday."

Frank sits down on the couch and doesn't really say anything. Eventually, the entire groups shimmies into the living room and Jeph sits next to Frank. "Meet me in the bathroom." he whispers in Frank's ear, low, before pealing himself off the couch and into Mikey's bathroom. Frank gets up with a polite "excuse me" and Jeph's sitting on the bathroom counter.

The bathroom door has barely had time to shut as Frank is pushed against the sink of Mikey and Syn's small bathroom, his ribs colliding with the counter harshly. Jeph's behind him so close that it's pushing Frank's near broken ribs into the counter top more.

"We're fucking ending this now." Jeph spits, pushing his back into Jeph's chest, reaching behind him for something of Jeph's to grab onto. "I want you to beg for it," Jeph says under his breath, roughly swatting Frank's hand away and shoving him harder into the counter. "beg for being so cold to me on my fucking birthday." he reaches his hand over and starts to pull at Frank's shirt, tearing it off, throwing it to the floor in a flurry. "beg."

"please, oh God, please Jeph. Fuck me. I'm sorry about your birthday." Frank is withering underneath the touch of Jeph's rough hands on his jeans. "Fucking hurt me." It's a moment of cold rushing wind when Jeph takes his hand back to undo his own jeans, throwing them also to the floor and sliding his boxers off. He presses himself, bare, into the rough fabric of Frank's dirty jeans and moans. He pushes himself again, rocking his hips, the rough fabric pulling at his cock hard but it's a good feeling.

"You know you're a whore." Jeph says, finally pulling himself back and undoing the button of Frank's jeans. He's rough as he takes them off, pulling them over Frank's erection so roughly Frank sucks in air in pure pain. "Fucking whore sometimes for treating me like you do."

"I know." Frank is breathless, completely breathless but he's so turned on. "Just do it."

Jeph does. No warning, no preparing, he thrusts himself through Frank's opening, no pre-stretching. He just pushes his length into Frank and back out again, taking out all the anger he's felt at Frank for the last week. Frank's been ignoring him, slam, calling him an asshole and not letting Jeph anywhere near him, slam, well, Jeph's going to give Frank what he deserves. "How does it fucking feel, Frankie?"

Frank's mumbling, withering in pain and pleasure, his ribs cracked if not broken from being slammed into the bathroom counter over and over again, slammed harder each time. "fucking hurt me." Jeph does, pulls all the way out and slams even harder into Frank. The skin inside of Frank is broken, he's bleeding, the fingernails Jeph is dragging down his back are just making it that much worse. "pull my fucking hair."

Jeph takes one hand and pulls Frank's hair so hard his head snaps back, his neck exposed. Jeph meets Frank's eyes in the mirror for a second and then slams himself in Frank again and their eye contact breaks.

Ten minutes later, Frank is in so much pain there are tears falling from his eyes and Jeph's so close to coming it's hurting him. One more tug of Frank's hair and a moan from Frank's lips does it, Jeph comes deep inside of Frank. He doesn't bother finishing off Frank, Frank still doesn't deserve it,but he slides back into his clothes and leave Frank slumped over the counter.

"wait," Frank says, as Jeph puts his hands on the doorknob, "happy birthday."

"thanks." Jeph responds, and then leaves Frank in the bathroom, naked against the counter.

Every year Jeph's birthday is the same it seems. When he walks back out into Mikey's living room, no one says a word. Bob shakes his head but Steven takes Bob's hand, as a way to tell him not to mention it. When Frank makes it out about ten minutes later, he looks like hell, his face is flushed red and his breathing is labored.

"Mikey, can you take me to the hospital?" his voice is raspy and hard to hear over the chattering of Eliza and Krista. "I can't breathe. I think my ribs are broken."

Another birthday spent at a hospital waiting room.

I made a personal journal.

2007-06-08T15:47:28Z

I made a personal journal.
asleepordeadxxx
add me there to talk abot normal things.
bluexxyellow_ is just going to be my writing journal from now on.

bluexxyellow_ @ 2007-05-15T18:40:00

2007-05-15T22:43:00Z

CHAPTERED:

Call Back When I'm Honest:NEWEST

Pairing: Frank Iero/William Beckett. Past: William Beckett/Ryan Ross

call back when I'm honest chpt. I
call back when I'm honest chpt. II
call back when I'm honest chpt. III
call back when I'm honest chpt. IV

The Black Parade Series:

Pairing:Frank Iero//Gerard Way && Bert McCracken//Gerard Way

[The Black Parade Chapter I – Disenchanted. Part I/II
The Black Parade Chapter I – Disenchanted. Part II/II]
[The Black Parade Chapter II – The Sharpest Lives. Part I/III
The Black Parade Chapter II – The Sharpest Lives. Part II/III
The Black Parade Chapter II – The Sharpest Lives. Part III/III]
[The Black Parade Chapter III – Dead. Part I/II
The Black Parade Chapter III – Dead. Part II/II]
[The Black Parade Chapter IV – I Don't Love You. Part I/I]
[The Black Parade Chapter V – Famous Last Words. Part I/III
The Black Parade Chapter V – Famous Last Words. Part II/III
The Black Parade Chapter V – Famous Last Words. Part III/III

Friendly Fries: (unfinished)

Pairing:Frank Iero//William Beckett[My Chemical Romance//The Academy Is...] Hinted:Gerard Way//Frank Iero

Chpt. I
Chpt. II
Chpt. III

Hello, Dear Friend:

Pairing:Frank Iero//Jepha Howard.

Chpt. I//Chpt. II

Chasing Cars:

Pairing: Frank Iero//Mikey Way. Frank Iero//Adam Lazzara.

[Chasing Cars Chpt. One.]
[Chasing Cars Chpt. Two.]
[Chasing Cars Chpt. Three.]
[Chasing Cars Chpt. Four.]

When Your Heart Stops Beating:(Sequel to Chasing Cars)

Pairing: Frank Iero//Mikey Way. Adam Lazzara//Gerard Way.
[When Your Heart Stops Beating Chpt. One.]
[When Your Heart Stops Beating Chpt. Two.]
[When Your Heart Stops Beating Chpt. Three.]
[When Your Heart Stops Beating Chpt. Four.]

Until There's Nothing Left Of Us:

Pairing:. Brian Schechter//Frank Iero. Gerard Way//Mikey Way Past Gerard Way//Frank Iero.
Until There's Nothing Left Of Us. Chpt. One
Until There's Nothing Left Of Us. Chpt. Two
Until There's Nothing Left Of Us. Chpt. Three
Until There's Nothing Left Of Us. Chpt. Four
Until There's Nothing Left Of Us. Chpt. Five

Oh, this Chemistry:(Sequel to Until There's...)

Pairing:. Brian Schechter//Frank Iero.
oh, the chemistry between us...

STANDALONES TO BE ADDED

call back when I'm honest. chapter I.

2007-04-25T19:24:39Z

Title: call back when I'm honest. chapter I.
Author: bluexxyellow_ aka Ray.
Pairing: Frank Iero/William Beckett.
Rating: PG - 13
POV: Third, William center this time. It'll alternate.
Summary: William Beckett is almost nineteen living with his parents in Orlando, Florida. He finally gets to meet My Chemical Romance and their "hot rhythm guitarist." Numbers exchange and no one approves.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the sentences you read. These people aren't mine.
Author Notes: AU. Eh, Beckett may seem a little fan girly but he isn't, I promise, there's a plot and drama to this, after all, it's just starting. Also, I know there's like a six or seven year age difference and William doesn't live in Orlando. But, I do.
Warnings: None. Swearing, I guess.

And it's tonight. Anyone that walks into William Beckett's bedroom can just fucking taste his excitement in the air. It's like humidity suffocating everyone inside. Mike Carden has the same thought process when he walks to the back of the house William shares with his parents and laughs at Will spread across the bedroom floor. William's just about jumping out of his fucking skin at the mere thought of tonight being his My Chem show. Except you can't see it because he's laying on the floor picking at a bandage on his thumb.

"Billiam, you're on the floor again." Mike says, leaning over William's face. William looks up and smiles, although Mike can't see it very well through all the hair on his face.

"I can't stand." William tells Mike like it's normal. You have to understand William Beckett to understand the smooth tone of his voice when he's speaking something that would be odd to other people. William Beckett is almost nineteen years old, he lives in Orlando, Florida with his parents while he goes to college for business executives or something. No one really knows. He wants to produce music because that is his passion. Right now, he works at Universal Studios with stupid people all day. Then goes to school. Then comes home and deals with his parents who basically hate him.

My Chemical Romance is just about his favorite band. Not in that stupid teenage fan girl way, not in the My Chem saved his life way, he just really, really likes them and their hot rhythm guitarist. Normally he wouldn't be so excited, he goes to a lot of shows all the time, but this time he's getting backstage. And he hasn't been out since that thing with that boy Ryan fell to pieces. After that he was almost a hermit locked up in his room or in class. Or work. Ryan was a bad, bad man that broke William like a bedside lamp, it's taken all these months for him to catch another show. The fact that it's a My Chemical Romance show makes it feel like destiny.

"What'd you do to your finger?" Mike asks, laying next to William. The room has one small desk lamp illuminating it, near the bed, and clothes everywhere. The large window is covered in black sheets and black curtains to keep the light out. All the ways are littered with pages torn from Alternative Press magazines and posters, all of William's ticket stubs and pictures. Underneath the walls are a dark blue and white, but you can't even see that anymore.

"Which one?" William answers. His thumb is bandaged and his knuckle on his index finger is bleeding. The bandage is pink with various safari animals on it. There is nothing plain and routine about William Beckett. Even when it comes to his health and safety.

"Both, I guess." Mike laughs. Mike Carden gets that William has an explanation for almost everything. And that most people need to hear every one of them.

"The knuckle is a burn from my mother fucking, bitch ass hair straightener," William hisses, "And the bandage is covering a slice I got from some random ass blade when I reached for the scale in my parents bedroom." The room falls silent. "I bet it was karma's way of telling me to move out."

"Yes, that is so it." Mike humors William and then stares at the black fan on the ceiling that only has one speed and broken lights. He's trying to remember how long ago it was that it actually worked. Seven years, maybe? "What time are we leaving to get to Hard Rock?" He asks.

"Seeing as how it's a whole, five minute drive, and it's almost 5..." William pauses to do the math in his head. "About twenty minutes."

"When is the show?" Mike knew but William talked about so much yesterday he's blanking.

"Seven." William clicks his tongue against his teeth. "Can we go get Taco Bell?"

"Really?" Mike sighs but it's a calm, satisfied with his life right here, right now kind of sigh. "I swear, sometimes you're just a pmsing fifteen year old girl."

"I'm hungry." William whines. "And I want Mexican food to set the mood for tonight."

"And that's not dirty at all." Mike laughs. "But, yeah, lets go to Taco Bell." The both get off the floor and Mike waits while Will throws clothes across the room trying to find his other Etnies sneaker. Eventually, under a pair of pajama pants William uncovers it and they make their way to Taco Bell.

William begs until Mike agrees to go through the drive-thru, which Mike never does because they always fuck his orders up. Not this time, his crunch wrap and Will's taco salad are perfect.

"This way", William negotiates, "we can eat at the venue."

"Whatever, man," Mike says, pulling out of the parking lot, "as long as you're out of the house again."

The car's silent while they wait at the red light. William's sucking on his straw to help him think of an answer.

"Thanks for getting me out of the house." He decides. "I needed that push. You're an amazing friend."

"I know," Mike says with a smile, "it's about time someone else recognized it too, though." He laughs and so does William, "nice to see you laugh."

"I know, I'm over it." William's voice takes a deeper tone, "Ryan was a fucking mabumba."

Mike breaks out in an infectious laughter, he hasn't heard William use 'mabumba' in almost a year. "But, I thought mabumba's had penises? We called him vagina boy for a reason." If there had been any soda in either of their mouths it'd be covering the dashboard of Mike's old car.

"Man, you know that mabumba is a confused, gender-wise, beast like thing." William reminds Mike. They pull into the long parking lines for the parking garage at Universal and wait. William's laughing so hard his face is red. "You know, like that girl you went out with last year."

"She was not a man!" Mikey defends, smacking his hands on the steering wheel. "She was nice!"

William sneers as he flashes his work ID at the guy in the small booth. "Ugly people are told being nice is enough."

"You're so fucking vain sometimes." Mike tells William.

"You say it like I care." William trails his bandage along the cold plastic of his cup.

"It's going to be a long fucking night." Mike observes. They search the garage for a decent spot and it takes awhile to find one.

"I have the feeling tonight is going to be an amazing night." William says, doe-eyed and full of hope.

Mike shuts the car off. He has the same feeling.

stop it. come on.

2007-03-28T18:45:09Z

Title: stop it. come on.
Author: bluexxyellow_ aka Rachel.
Pairing: Gerard Way (My Chemical Romance)//Synyster Gates (Avenged Sevenfold)
Rating: R
POV: Second. You and I.
Summary: I'd scratch them to spite you but my hands are numb.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the sentences you read. These people aren't mine. Just the ideas.
Author Notes: I wrote this in Algebra. It's not very long, choppy, but I'm really proud of it.
Warnings: Swearing, violence.

I'd tell you to stop staring at me but you wouldn't. Not going to waste the breathe I can't even catch. You can see the blood on my face more than I can feel it, but you stay silent. The room's too fucking cold and we're too far gone.

I twitch and wipe my face with the back of my left hand. Scratch. You sniffle. It sounds so far away. Is this all we'll be anymore? I don't speak out loud but you shrug an answer. Okay.

You're face looks jaded. But your eyes don't. They remind me of the bark on the trees back where I grew up. Up North. I fell off one once and scraped both my elbows bare. There's the blood.

You're opening and closing your mouth. Your hand. Your fist looks like a thousand rocks. So does the look in your eyes as you ghost them over my arms. Stop it. Come on. You can't look at me like that. I didn't do this.

They burn. They itch. I'd scratch them hard to spite you but my hands are numb. I'm having another panic attack. I can't breathe. My lungs are on fucking fire. I'm on fucking fire. The house is burning right down.

I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not. You look intense but you still don't speak. I could sing a fucking symphony but you can't say a word. I could dance a thousand dances but I'd still be numb. Fire. What's your excuse? The joke's on you.

We're spinning. Not literally, but figuratively. What's red, black, and white all over? I chuckle. Us as we fall to the ground. Figuratively but not literally, that is.

Is it over us or over you? You. You, it's all on you. I'm still not sorry but, oh, you look it. It's been an hour's time. The blood has dried cold. You try to touch me.

I scream. You jump. We're both quiet again. But this silence if ever deafening. I'll never, no we'll never, be the same again. My stare screaming the words I can't speak. Speak. It screams at you to go away. To tell you what you really think will come out of all this mess. I close my eyes. My mind is quiet again.

You cough. Your throat must be dry. Your tongue must be severed. We can't live life like this much longer.

If we die shall it be tonight. I won't speak when we're gone. I'll make you tell the angels our story so you can feel like I always have.

I reach out and hit you back. Across the bridge of your nose. You snarl and clutch the tender skin.
I smile and the blood on my cheeks crack. I feel sadistic. Good.

If we die shall it be tonight. Whose hand gets to hold all the weight? Tonight.

Stop it. Come on. You know I can't help it.

The Art Of Being - Chapter I

2007-02-06T11:29:23Z

Title: The Art Of Being - Chapter I
Author: bluexxyellow_
Pairing: Frank Iero//Jeph Howard&& Adam Lazzara//Gerard Way && Mikey Way//Gerard Way
Rating: PG -16
POV: Third
Summary: All Adam did was watch as Gerard grabbed his suitcase and hailed a cab. He was going to Mikey's place and then it made since as to why he wouldn't let Gerard come on tour.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue, don't steal, nah nah nah...
Author Notes: I'm so ready for this one. This is the way I usually write. Give me time, I'm still working the plot line out in my head.
Warnings: Incest, and I say fuck a lot.

They don't know when it started, when it began to grow and flourish into this monster. Maybe it was during the newest record. Or, maybe the first or second. Sometimes they think it was years before. Or at least Jeph does.

What they do know is no one saw it coming. Rather, they didn't notice all the signs along the path until it was there, in their faces, and they had to face it. It must have started when everyone was caught up being someone new and something better, between dyed hair and eternally broken glasses.

- -

Gerard wants to think it started the day he caved. When it had been a full two, almost three, years since he'd last hit the bottle. Almost to the end of touring for their third album. Mikey and that girl were over, that girl from the small town, which Gerard knew was going to happen. Mikey called Gerard late, the time difference didn't matter, and Mikey was sobbing. Telling Gerard he just couldn't take it, she was too controlling and he didn't have the energy to fight her off anymore. He told Gerard that she threw the ring at him and told him he was just like his brother. And Mikey pleaded with her that his brother was a saint, You're a saint to me, Gee and that she was wrong. Mikey's voice was tearing Gerard apart when he was repeating over and over that he just wanted to be there, with him and the other guys on the bus and not here alone in Brooklyn.

After he had hung up, Gerard walked through the bunks and past Adam, sleeping in Gerard's bunk, and went to the fridge. For an hour, almost, he stood and stared with a blue can in his hand, deciding if it would be worth it. It was worth it, and he did it for his little broken brother. For Mikey with that voice that didn't grew up nearly as fast as Mikey himself did.

It was worth every last drop when Adam pushed him away and spit the taste of used alcohol from his lips.

- -

Frank thinks it began years before that. During the second record, when Gerard fell of stage playing "Thank You For The Venom." They were playing a show in Orlando, Florida. Playing the first Taste Of Chaos tour and Gerard tripped over a wire. He fell forward into all the fans and landed hard on the concrete. He fell and wouldn't let anyone but Mikey touch him. They carried him backstage, telling the crowd they'd try and be on again later, and laid Gerard on the couch. Frank remembers vividly how hurt Adam Lazzara had looked when Gerard told him to fuck off, go get Mikey.

Adam pulled Frank to the side and told him he couldn't stand here and watch this, let's go play, me and Matt will replaced those two. Frank agreed but couldn't help but feel the way Adam was trying to cover up the pain. Frank and Adam both glanced at the brothers again, watching Mikey dab the blood from Gerard's head and smiling. They were both smiling and laughing, Mikey leaning in closer and closer until Adam had to pull Frank away before he shed the tears in his eyes.

When they were done with the set Mikey had taken Gerard to the bus and Frank did everything he could to get Adam to stay away from it. They went to Ihop.

- -

Adam thinks it was the day he and Gerard fought for the first time. Right as they left for touring on the Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge record. Adam wanted to go with them, to tour with them and help out. Adam only ever wanted to help Gerard. That's what attracted him in the first place, Gerard was fucked up and you never knew what he would do tomorrow. Adam wanted to be his support, to help even and balance him out. Not like charity, like love. And Adam could see that Gerard was getting worse again, he'd found the cocaine in his suitcase and wanted to go to protect him.

Gerard made so many excuses. I've got the other guys, and How will we explain just you being there with us? But Adam knew Gerard was planning something. Gerard made excuses and scratched his temple when he was lying. They argued for an hour about it, until Gerard told Adam he wasn't a child, I can watch my own fucking back, Mother, he didn't need Adam anymore.

All Adam did was watch as Gerard grabbed his suitcase and hailed a cab. He was going to Mikey's place and then it made since as to why he wouldn't let Gerard come on tour.

Adam wishes now he never went.

- -

Jeph told Quinn it was during the first record, before anyone even knew them. Then Frank walked in and they asked him questions about how they acted when they were recording I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love. Frank gave Jeph all the answers he needed to prove himself right.

Who helped Gerard at the hospital that one time?" When Frank said Mikey, Jeph knew it was bigger than any of them could control.

- -

Mikey knows when it happened. The exact day.

December 12th, 1995. Gerard's senior year and he was so ready to get out of the house. To go to that art college that accepted him in New York. I'm getting the fuck out of Jersey. Gerard came home from school with a black eye and Mikey listened to every word he said that night. He listened when Gerard started to sob, They called me names and they usually don't hurt. But this time they talked about me and you.

Mikey tried to listen at least. He was really watching the way Gerard's lips moved with the words, the flawless pale skin he had with black hair falling into his eyes. He watched Gerard's eyes change between honey and green, his teeth sneer and all the ways he made himself look beautiful.

It wasn't like it had been when they were younger, when Mom made them play and take baths together. Now they were both old enough to know what was going on, to know they couldn't feel like this and they couldn't tell anymore. They weren't good at hiding it, sometimes it didn't feel so wrong, but they always knew it was. Mikey wanted to tell Frank desperately, Frank was his best friend now, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words. His throat felt choked with broken glass anytime Frank was around because Mikey knew he had to tell him soon.

I'm in love with my brother.

The Black Parade Chapter IIII – I Don't Love You. Part I/I

2007-02-05T10:47:44Z

Title:The Black Parade Chapter IIII – I Don't Love You. Part I/I
Author: bluexxyellow_ Rachel.
Pairing:Frank Iero//Gerard Way && Bert McCracken//Gerard Way
Rating:R. Dirrty Language.
POV:1st, Gerard's.
Summary:"Frank. You can't ignore this until it goes away." I say, uncrossing my legs.
Disclaimer:Fake.
Author Note:If it confuses you, the living room/house is based on mine. I can show a picture if it'll help. Sorry it's taken so long, I haven't had the urge to write it in days.

[The Black Parade Chapter I – Disenchanted. Part I/II//The Black Parade Chapter I – Disenchanted. Part II/II]

[The Black Parade Chapter II – The Sharpest Lives. Part I/III//The Black Parade Chapter II – The Sharpest Lives. Part II/III//The Black Parade Chapter II – The Sharpest Lives. Part III/III]

[The Black Parade Chapter III – Dead. Part I/II//The Black Parade Chapter III – Dead. Part II/II]

"GERARD! YOU NEED TO DO MY LAUNDRY!" Frank yells from the garage, banging around random objects.

"So you're that useless?" I mutter, unaware if Frank overheard me or not. I put down my plate of spaghetti and walk the few steps to the garage door.

Frank is bent over the washing machine, pawing around inside of it for something. He victoriously pulls out a quarter and hands it to me. "Look, I even paid you."

"Fuck you," I say, moving into the garage next to him, "Go get whatever it is you need washed." He takes the first part as a joke but that isn't how I mean it.

"I love you," he says with a grin, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek before scurrying away.

It's been three months since we all moved back home. Mikey and Bob didn't move home, here to Jersey, but into a shitty apartment in Brooklyn. As long as their happy, though. Ray is living with his girlfriend in the city, they're going to get married and Ray couldn't be happier. Since we've been back he's been more like he used to, I love that man, I think he just needed to get off that fucking bus. Frank is living with me in the house Helena left to me. It's alright, he's a good fuck and we don't have to pay any mortgage. I know now that I will never love him as he loves me, I'm going to always love Bert but I don't have the heart to tell him.

The basket of clothes he carries from the back of the house is bigger than him, I swear to God. I'm standing at the machine when he drops it at his feet.

"Are you okay?" He's sincere, he always is.

"No. Well, I don't know." I admit, leaning against the white machine.

"What's wrong? Is it us?" He asks.

"I think we moved too quick." I say.

"Me too," he agrees, "let's slow down."

"We live together, how do we slow down?" I ask him back, giving him a weird look.

"What if I moved out? I could go live with Mikey and Bob." He proposes.

"I don't want to throw you out like that, Frank." I say, sincerely. He's trying to guilt me into this.

"Don't worry about it, I'll give them a call." Frank says with a smile, turning around. "but still wash my clothes."

He moved out the next day.

"You what now?" Frank asks, laying his bags on the floor.

"I don't love you." I repeat, still clutching the shirt to my chest.

"What the fuck?" He asks once more, leaning against the open door frame.

"I'm not fucking saying it again." I snap, laying down the shirt.

"What the hell is all this?" He asks, ignoring what I said. He shuts the door and grabs his bags like I didn't tell him I don't love him.

"Frank. You can't ignore this until it goes away." I say, uncrossing my legs.

"Says who?" He challenges me, putting the bags down in the kitchen.

"ME! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME LOVE YOU!" I scream at him, getting to my feet.

"LIKE HELL I CAN'T!" He screams back, slamming his fist into the counter top, "I CAN MAKE YOU LOVE ME!"

"NO YOU CAN'T! YOU AREN'T JESUS!" I yell back at him, watching him stalk into the living room.

"YOU CAN'T LOVE A DEAD GUY, GERARD! HE'S NOT GOING TO LOVE YOU BACK!" Frank yells, stopping a few feet away from me at the edge of the rug.

"I can love anyone I want to." I say matter-of-factly, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Then what am I?" He asks.

"Nobody that I want to love." I tell him truthfully.

"You're just holding on to him because you can." He says, striding towards me. He's right in front of me, his foot on the letter and notebooks from Bert's box like he doesn't see them there. "He never loved you."

My hand collides with Frank's face before I know what I'm doing. He's clutching his nose and looks up at me with burning hazel eyes.

"You hated Bert, I get it. I don't love you and I want you out of my house." I spit, pushing him out of my way to go into the kitchen. I need a cup of coffee.

"But Gerard, I didn't mean that." He recovers, following behind me. "I don't care if you don't love me. At least I love you."

"No you don't," I say to him, spinning around. He's hunched over a bit, blood running from his nose and he's trying to look like he's still got the upper hand.

"I do love you..." He says, trailing off.

"You love me because I'm easy to fuck with and I was vulnerable at the right time for you. You don't love me like he did. Now get the fuck out of my house."

Bert is looking up at me and smiling.

The Black Parade Chapter III – Dead Part I/II

2007-02-05T10:41:58Z

Title:The Black Parade Chapter III – Dead Part I/II
Author: bluexxyellow_ Rachel.
Pairing:Frank Iero//Gerard Way && Bert McCracken//Gerard Way && Mikey Way//Bob Bryar && Jeph Howard//Quinn Allman
Rating:R. Dirrty Language.
POV:3rd for the flashback, the rest is1st, Gerard's.
Summary:It's been four months. It's April, April second, and I turn another year older in a week. But I don't want to grow any older anytime soon without Bert. I've realized this spending my days sitting around the house. Frank is just someone who seems to be there all the time.
Disclaimer:Fake.
Author Note:This has two parts. I tried to make one but it was too long. Then there's an 'I Don't Love You' based on and finally 'Famous Last Words', I think.

[The Black Parade Chapter I – Disenchanted. Part I/II//The Black Parade Chapter I – Disenchanted. Part II/II]

[The Black Parade Chapter I – The Sharpest Lives. Part I/III//The Black Parade Chapter I – The Sharpest Lives. Part II/III//The Black Parade Chapter I – The Sharpest Lives. Part III/III]

"Do you think he misses him?" Mikey asks Bob, flipping a bubbling pancake in the pan.

"Mhmm. He told me he did." Bob informs Mikey, leaning his elbows against the counter top.

Bob and Mikey are in the small, compacted kitchen of the tour bus they're traveling on. It's been a week since they left San Diego and a week since anyone has mentioned Bert's name in the still air. The name of the city they're traveling to neither Bob or Mikey can name off the top of their heads. Mikey is only wearing a pair of Batman pajama pants that Gerard got him for his birthday. He's standing in front of the stove, a spatula in hand, making pancakes. Bob is to his left, propped against the counter watching Mikey with quizzical eyes. He's dressed, because Bob Bryar is always dressed. Except after he and Mikey go to bed, and they're both spent laying in each others arms. But Bob is always different with Mikey or with Gerard.

Both of the men can hear "Different Names For The Same Thing" flooding out from the back room where Gerard is probably asleep, writing, or smoke to get over this. The song is peaceful enough, both Bob and Mikey don't mind Death Cab, and Ray's sleeping through it. Bob has no idea where the fuck Frank is, probably in his bunk doing something, like reading Harry Potter. Mikey's making pancakes the way his mom used to make them, with chocolate chips and a little bit of honey, hoping he can try and cheer Gerard up.

"I feel bad, you know? He needs someone." Mikey says, turning the pancake onto the plate with the seven others. He makes extra because Frank and Ray will want some. "Especially now."

"Someone like I have you?" Bob asks with a grin, leaning over and snaking an arm around Mikey's bare waist.

"Dude, I am so cooking," Mikey balks, turning around to look up at Bob. He wrinkles his nose and scrunches up his face in a fake disgust as Bob places a kiss on his forehead.

In the back room the song skips ahead to "Someday You Will Be Loved," and during the pause on music Bob and Mikey hear a banging sound. Like Gerard dropped a shoe or the remote onto the floor.

"He will find someone, right?" Mikey asks, turning back around to pour more batter into the pan.

"He has someone," Bob mutters, "It will always be Bert for him. I think he knows that."

"I know he knows that," Mikey admits quietly. "What do you think about him and Frank?" Mikey secretly knows that Frank really cares about Gerard. Frank has told him with tears locked in his hazel eyes just how much it hurts him to see Bert and the way he treats Gerard sometimes. Mikey doesn't like the hidden look in Frank's eyes when he tells him so. Bob doesn't like the way Frank watches Gerard like he's his fucking master. Frank takes control of open situations.

"Frank, is an asshole." Bob says bluntly, watching Mikey start cooking a ninth pancake.

"That is just because he screwed you over..." Mikey says, trailing off.

The two men are silent until Mikey finishes his tenth pancake. Mikey makes ten so it's an even number. Mikey does little things like that, things that make Bob fall a little more in love with him. He cares so much about Gerard, Mikey does, and so does Bob.

"Frank will just make Gerard worse," Bob says finally, completely ignoring what Mikey said. He moves out of the way as Mikey takes the plate full of food and looks around for the coffee mug he poured Gerard.

When Mikey takes a step towards the back room he has no idea what he'll see.

It wasn't Gerard's shoe that fell. It was Frank's heavy studded belt.

Since Frank came back and has been lounging around my house things has started to happen. Mostly I keep loosing stuff. It reminds me of putting a pair of socks in the dryer, and only one coming back out. My sketchbook is missing, the "Mummy" shirt Bert got me for our last Christmas together, and my hairbrush. I keep finding things in the weirdest places, a pair of boxers I had gotten from Mikey showed up in my kitchen, on top of the fridge. I found a shoe behind my toilet. A shoe I haven't seen since I moved back home.

It's been four months. It's April, April second, and I turn another year older in a week. But I don't want to grow any older anytime soon without Bert. I've realized this spending my days sitting around the house. Frank is just someone who seems to be there all the time.

Now-a-days no matter what it feels like outside it's cold in my house. It doesn't seem to matter how much wood I pile into the fireplace, or how close Frank holds me, I'm still chilled to the bone. This house is just too damn big and moving would be so much of a hassle. Too much bullshit for me when getting out of bed is a stretch still.

"Gerard!" Frank yells from the front of the house. "The phone is for you!"

I reach over and pick up the phone on the desk next to me. "Hello?" I ask into the receiver, pausing my song on the screen. "Brothers On A Hotel Bed" pauses and fills the room with silence.

"Hello?" I ask politely, poising the phone on my shoulder and leaning the chair back.

"Gerard Way?" The caller asks.

"Mhmm. Speaking." I say formally. I always try to be formal, Bert taught me that.

"This is Jepha. Jepha Howard." He says. Like we've never met before, or something.

"I know who you are." I tell him, sounding like a fifteen year old girl.

"How are you?" He asks sincerely, I assume. He and Quinn Allman were a pew ahead of me at the funeral, holding each other. Quinn was sobbing almost as loud as Bert's mother was. The three of them formed a tight locked group, but it strikes me weird I didn't see either of them at the hospital.

"It's been four months," I remind him half heartedly, "I'm getting out of bed again."

"The reason I called is Quinn and I found something we think you should have." Jeph says. I cross my legs in the chair and he goes on, "It was at Bert's apartment. Can Quinn and I bring it by later?"

It takes me a minute or so to give a reply. "Um.. that's fine."

"Then, I will see you soon Gerard." He says nicely and hangs up. It makes me wonder what exactly they could have found in that apartment that involves any contact with me. Quinn doesn't even like me very much after Bert and I split. If you want to call it splitting.

I spend the next hour floating around the house with Frank. It feels like a cut scene in a movie, the way my feet don't seem to touch the ground as I walk around trying to get ready. Throwing loose objects into containers, putting on clean clothes. No one but Bob, Mikey, Frank, Ray and his girlfriend have been over since the death. I hate calling it that. "The death," but it was more than just the death of Bert.

Something else bigger than our control died along side him.

Chemistry.

2007-02-01T22:07:43Z

This was inspired by The Wasteland by T.S Elliot.
I wrote it in Algebra today.
It's not slash
but, a poem.
I'm a poet before a slash writer.

It's from the chemist,
with no color in his features
it was he who gave me all these pretty pills.
Created with liquid pearls of
priceless Queens.
I can't feel a thing;
but the wind and rain
blowing
on my worn face.
He laughs when I have taken
them all down at once.
He told me it would make me better
a sunset in my veins.
But, the sun is ever setting
and I can feel only pain
again.
Those pink pills are filled with pure love,
the reds with all your ruby
blood.
Jewelry of discovered wealth
love of a broken heart
poison blood from poisoned veins.
They can't make me feel a thing..
His white is glowing,
like fresh snow on a new morning,
as I feel the pills explode.
Now I'm filled with all these things
taken from every where I've been before,
and I can't remember feeling any better-
or any worse.
Better, than these pills make me feel right now
watching the sun set over my blood-
my life
and the moon rise from the pits of Hell.
Thank you, Mr. Chemist.

My current slash is almost over.

The Black Parade Chapter V – Famous Last Words. Part I/?

2007-01-31T11:15:30Z

Title:The Black Parade Chapter V – Famous Last Words. Part I/?
Author: bluexxyellow_ Rachel.
Pairing:Frank Iero//Gerard Way && Bert McCracken//Gerard Way && Mikey Way//Bob Bryar
Rating:R. Dirrty Language.
POV:1st, Gerard's.
Summary: I pull out the card and read it out loud. "You being sad really burns my ass. Cheer up Pattyface." I laugh and toss it back in the flowers, "no one else says either of those things to me. And I'm not sad!"
Disclaimer:Fake. Don't claim as your own, don't sue. Nah nah nah...
Author Note:Ray is in this one!! Filler, && this should be the last chapter (song) unless I get another ridiculously random idea. I feel like I'm stretching this story out, so I'm trying to end it in a good way.

I.[The Black Parade Chapter I – Disenchanted. Part I/II//The Black Parade Chapter I – Disenchanted. Part II/II]
II.[The Black Parade Chapter II – The Sharpest Lives. Part I/III//The Black Parade Chapter II – The Sharpest Lives. Part II/III//The Black Parade Chapter II – The Sharpest Lives. Part III/III]
III.[The Black Parade Chapter III – Dead. Part I/II//The Black Parade Chapter III – Dead. Part II/II]
IV.[The Black Parade Chapter IV – I Don't Love You. Part I/I]

"Mikey, you can't leave the band." I say, holding him a little closer in my arms. "You're the best fucking bassist ever."

Frank laughs and Bob smacks him. "Not fucked bassist, asshole." He adds in a whisper. Bob really doesn't like Frank. No one seems to like Frank when he makes immature jokes like that.

"I'm not leaving it, I'll come back when I can actually help the band out." Mikey restates, his voice muffled by the skin on my neck.

"You're totally sure?" Ray asks from behind us, reaching out and putting a hand on Mikey's shoulder.

"I'm positive, I just need some time." Mikey says, lifting his head from the crook of my neck. "Then I'll be alright again. I have Bob." He gives Bob a smile.

"Then, we'll see you soon?" I ask.

"You'll see me soon." Mikey reassures. He and Bob lock hands and leave the small hotel room where we had all accumulated in; I hear him take the elevator and I feel instantly empty again. I slowly sit on the bed and look over at Ray and Frank. Frank looks apathetic, like his best friend didn't just almost leave our band. I'll never understand the way he conveys his emotions.

"He's going to be fine," Ray says, "he's just caught up in everything."

"I know," I say, with tears in my eyes, "but it sucks that he's my little brother and I can't help him."

Ray sits next to me on the bed, "You can always help him by letting him do this."

Frank doesn't move to sit next to me. He moves to leave the room and Ray sees my face fall. "Fuck him." He adds with a grin, "you don't need anyone. Especially Frank AssholeFace."

Despite the tears I break out in a laugh, "You did not just call him AssholeFace."

"Damn straight I did." Ray brags with a huge smile. "Did it help?"

"Of course it did." I tell him, giving him a hug. "But I think I need to sleep some."

"Understandable." Ray nods, "see you for breakfast in the morning? If we go early enough we can catch that one legged waitress at Ihop." His eyes light up. That poor women gets harassed by us every time we're in Orlando.

I shake my head and watch him get up, "I should've never told you that joke."

"There are a lot of things you shouldn't do, Gerard. But that's never stopped you before." he says with another nod. He opens the door, "Goodnight."

When he's back in his room I pull out a sheet of paper and begin to write.

"Now I know
That I can't make you stay
But where's your heart?"

"Bob, seriously, I'm fine." I tell into the phone, "call off the pity party and stop sending me gifts.."

"This is not pity!" Bob balks, "It is love!" I move the phone to cradle on my shoulder.

I open the front door where the UPS man stands. Can't they make the fat men wear longer shorts? I try not to stare at the hair on his legs as I sign off for the huge vase full of roses. But I do stare at the way his legs jiggle when he walks away. "I don't need roses, Bob!"

"How do you know they're from me?" he asks. He knows that I know, though.

I pull out the card and read it out loud. "You being sad really burns my ass. Cheer up Pattyface." I laugh and toss it back in the flowers, "no one else says either of those things to me. And I'm not sad!"

"So and yes you are!" Bob comes back with. I place the flowers on my coffee table and look around. My house is clean. I'm clean, dressed and it's not even one in the afternoon yet.

"I'll see you in twenty minutes." I say, and hang up. I put the phone on the cat shelf hanging off the window. The room is warm, even though it's November. The fire is burning low and the sky is a few different hues of blue. I've got a smile on my face and plans with my best friends and my brother.

Today marks the day Bert died a year later and I've never felt better.

The Black Parade Chapter I – Disenchanted. Part II/II

2007-01-22T23:41:42Z

Title:The Black Parade Chapter I – Disenchanted. Part II/II
Author: bluexxyellow_ Rachel.
Pairing:Frank Iero//Gerard Way PAST: Bert McCracken//Gerard Way
Rating:R. Dirrty Language.
POV:1st, Gerard's.
Summary:"I'm leaving now," he says sternly, but for some reason I think he's lying to me again. He standing in the doorway, his back to the door, trying to tell me one last time.
Disclaimer:Fake.
Author Note:This one isn't very long. Started with just this "chapter" and it's expanded. And for some reason, I seem to have this thing towards Bert where he's dying, hospitalized, in my stories. It's a curse.

The Black Parade Chapter I – Disenchanted. Part I/II

"No one ever quite got it, you know? If you weren't doing it me trying to explain it had a snowballs chance in hell to make it through. When I took the drugs my head didn't hurt, I wasn't constantly thinking about everything that was going wrong, was I thinking about dying and dying was like bliss for me. All the thoughts in my head that were screaming at the top of their lungs to do this and do that just shut the fuck up. Dying meant it was forever." I finish, rubbing my eyes with the backs of my hands and taking a deep breathe, talking about being clean hurts.

The interviewer, who's name I don't care to know, nods. "What was it like? Do you miss it?"

"No, well, maybe a little." I admit. "Because next to being on stage drugs have the best euphoria I ever found. When I'm singing on stage the lights are ten times brighter, all the sounds are ten times louder. Like someone found the intensity knob on my life and spin it until it popped off. Things spin and twist together, like you're in a constant nightclub, dancing and spinning and singing along. But on stage it's so much better to sing, because you've got people right there with you, singing back. Those kids are right fucking there with you." I stop there, because talking about this could go on and on forever.

The interviewer says something about thanking me for my time but I'm not listening. He gets up and leaves, the room empty except for me and Bert, lounging in the corner on a couch. He looks at me with a glazed look in his eyes, because he's high, a trip of painkillers or cocaine or anything else that can pulse through him veins and make him feel alive.

"There is nothing better than being high, Gerard," he tells me like he knows, getting up and walking to the couch I'm at. He sits next to me, where the interviewer was just a few seconds ago.

"Singing is. You don't feel it because you're already fucked up on God only knows what, but it's so much better. Those kids are right there and they fucking know what you're singing about. Plus the lights, guitars riffs, drumbeats, are just as intense and exhilarating as having cocaine in you." I preach, looking into his eyes. His eyes are blue, a crystal colored blue that when glazed like this look like diamonds, shimmering diamonds that are four different blues thrown together under a white light, to create this one shade you really can't even name.

"Is it really like that?" He asks, reaching out and touching my cheek with the lightest hand.

I nod, "Absolutely."

And we kept talking, Bert and I, for hours on end. Our voices as low as whispers, sharing secrets, fears, outlooks on life that seemed so sacred at the time even God couldn't compare. The words so low it was like our hearts spilling from our lips slowly, to make sure every second counted. Nothing was wrong and nothing was right, we were just two boys who fell in love talking about life in a dressing room at some unknown venue in Southeast U.S.A.

Dreaming about life until the drugs wore off one last time.

"Gerard," Frank is calling "Gerard Way look at me."

The room spins back into focus. The plain white walls surrounding the white sheeted bed where Bert is laying wearing a white gown, asleep or dead to cover the whites of his eyes. White is such a haunting color.

I look up from my hands, the tears still rimmed in my eyes. They've been there four the last twenty four hours, just as long as I have been sitting in this hard chair next to Bert's hospital bed. With his hand held tight in mine, trying to will him awake from this comatose he's placed himself in like I always warned him about. "Yes, Frank?" I ask, using my free hand to push my hair from my eyes and the tears from my cheeks.

"I'm leaving now," he says sternly, but for some reason I think he's lying to me again. He standing in the doorway, his back to the door, trying to tell me one last time.

"Then fucking go," I say, waving towards the door, "I'll just see you later."

"I'm not coming back," He says. I don't get up to stop him as he unburied his hands from his pockets and turns his back to me. The door creaks lightly as he opens it and I don't do a damn thing to stop him. As he steps from the door one last thing fills the room, "And neither is Bert."

You're just a sad song with nothing to say
About a life long wait for a hospital stay
And if you think that I'm wrong,
This never meant nothing to you .

The Black Parade Chapter II – The Sharpest Lives. Part III/III

2007-01-22T20:37:16Z

Title:The Black Parade Chapter II – The Sharpest Lives. Part III/III
Author: bluexxyellow_ Rachel.
Pairing:Frank Iero//Gerard Way && Bert McCracken//Gerard Way
Rating:R. Dirrty Language.
POV:1st, Gerard's.
Summary:"Gerard? It's Frank." The answering machine beeps and keeps going, "I was just calling to see.. you know, how you've been. I'm going to stop by around three later, to.. um.. check up on you."
Disclaimer:Fake.
Author Note:1614 words. Damn it's long. Frank is in it!! I think I figured out the whole fic, it's only going to have two more chapters. I'm thinking Dead and Famous Last Words. Unless some other idea comes to me in the middle of something else. I'm going to post a Waycest slash I wrote in Latin class today, later.

[The Black Parade Chapter I – Disenchanted. Part I/II//The Black Parade Chapter I – Disenchanted. Part II/II]
[The Black Parade Chapter I – The Sharpest Lives. Part I/III//The Black Parade Chapter I – The Sharpest Lives. Part II/III]

"Bert! Did you hear what I said?!" I ask, pulling on the sleeve of his red shirt. He's standing next to me, hunched over the table doing a line or two of cocaine to keep his post-show high going strong.

We're in a dressing room lost in the catacombs behind the San Diego venue of Warped Tour. Bert and I have spent the last few weeks hiding and sneaking around; since it seems Brian and Craig have shit silver spoons. We've spent this last month rushed to be together and be in love. Always in the fear someone is going to walk in.

"I fucking heard you, Gerard, now lower your voice three octaves and be a man." Bert says. He laughs at his joke and stands up straight again. He kisses me, overlapping my mouth with his in a gross, sloppy way.

I push him back with the palms of my hands and shake my head. "No, I am more of a man than you. Four months ago I found my manhood. Where the fuck is yours?"

"We're really going to do this?" He says, sounding spent already, "And you really believe that?"

"Yes, we're going to do this," I snap at him, narrowing my eyes. I avoid staring into his eyes, because they make me want to forgive him. "I believe that you are too much for me. And that we can't live like this, wondering if any second someone is going to walk in." I tell him, but I'm not sure he's listening. I turn away, "I can't be with you because it makes me want to get high."

"Then do it." He urges, putting his mouth to my ear. His breath is always so hot, and it's making me want to give in and just do it. "I won't tell and everyone watching will think you're still as squeaky clean and sober as Jesus." He kisses me neck and puts his hands on my hips.
"I can not believe you said that," I balk, pushing him away again. I start to leave, walking towards the door. With my hand on the doorknob I stop, "I love you, but we can't do this until you learn to grow the fuck up."

"Gerard." He calls, and I hear him step towards me, "I love you, too. I can change this time, for real."

"No, Bert," I say, with tears in my eyes. I turn around and look at him one last time. His hair is a mess, falling over his shoulders like black cascades of a waterfall. The blue of his eyes is as intense has ever, burning holes through me and everything around. The way he's got tears in his eyes, too, makes me think that this time he means it. This time he can actually change. But I can't wait for him to change, waiting for him to change is the same as waiting for this world to change. No one is ever going to be what they tell me they are and now is the time I realize it. "I have to go."

He opens his mouth and I don't hear what he says, because I've shut the door and started on without him.

But I still love him so.

"Gerard? It's Frank." The answering machine beeps and keeps going, "I was just calling to see.. you know, how you've been. I'm going to stop by around three later, to.. um.. check up on you."

I look up at the clock, and it says 2:45. Fuck, I think, this is why you should get out of bed before two in the afternoon. Normally I'd bother to put on some pants, maybe a clean shirt, and brush my hair but I have lost the will to give a damn. And it's just Frank. He's not one on talking very much.

When three rolls around I have my feet kicked up on my coffee table and I'm sleeping. The doorbell shakes me awake and Frank doesn't even wait to come in. He pushes my feet off the table to get my attention.

"I fucking love how you barge into my damn house," I say with a small smile.

"I fucking love how you don't bother with getting dressed for me." He says back, sitting on the table, facing me. He's wearing a different jacket, a Black Flag one, and a red shirt I can see underneath. His scarf is red this time, and his hair is falling into his eyes. He looks like he's been doing just fine. I'm jealous.

"Never used to bother you before," I remind him, my smile growing.

"How are you holding up, Gee?" He asks me seriously, touching my leg.

"I'm alright." I lie again, pulling my leg away from him.

Frank and I never make any conversation just a conversation. It ends in fucking or fighting and I don't have the energy for him.

"You're so lying." He says with a smug look.

"I know," I sigh, moving to sit up straight. "Why are you even here?"

"Because.. hmm.." He trails off and I make a scuffle type laugh.

"Typical Frank," I mumble. I pull my feet over and lay back down, resting my head against the arm of the couch and closing my eyes. No need to look at him when I can't even see two feet in front of me.

"I missed you." He says bluntly.

I'm taken aback by the way he's being so blunt with me. Frank Iero isn't exactly a direct kind of person. He doesn't say what's on his mind, he says what he thinks is on his mind and expects you to just get it. Like you can fucking read his mind when he can't. I don't answer him, I don't know what I am supposed to say. I just keep my eyes closed and take a deep breath.

"Did you hear me?" He asks. This time he places his hand gently on my arm, but I don't have the heart to pull away.

"Yes, I did." I tell him. "What do you expect me to say back?"

"You missed me too?" He proposes.

"You're the one that walked out on me," I remind him, opening my eyes but not turning my head. I stare at the water stain on the ceiling Bert and I used to make into shapes and animals.

"I know that. But I just couldn't stand seeing you with him," Frank says. He sneers at the word 'him', like Bert was a walking HIV virus.

"He has a name," I remark.

"Bert, okay? I hated seeing you upset by another stupid thing he did. He was always so stupid and so bad for you. You could do so much better." Frank's voice sounds short, as though he's already sick of talking to me. He's that kind of person that bails as soon as a little water hits his feet. Serious, direct conversations come one in a million with this boy.

"In what, you?" I make a sarcastic laugh. "Sometimes I think you were never any better than him. Sometimes I think you are worse."

"Why?" He asks.

I open peer out the corner of my eye at him and see the frown on his lips. "Because at least Bert always made damn sure that everyone knew he loved me. Damn sure that I knew he loved me with every breath."

"I know," Frank says with a sigh that seems to drain his entire body, "I'm getting better at that. I'm trying."

"I am SO SICK of hearing that!" I yell, sitting up again. "I am so sick of people telling me they'll change when they never do!"

I stop yelling and tears spring to my eyes. I always thought that Frank would be that one guy, different than Bert, that would be everything I needed. That he and I would fall in love, settle down, grow up and just be. I was wrong, it seems. Frank is never going to grow up.

"You have to trust me," Frank says. He's told me those five words more times than I can remember, but every fucking time I start to trust him an old secret comes out or he does something so stupid I can't even believe he thought of it.

"I can't trust you!" I tell him, even though I know he already knows.

"Why not?" He asks.

"Because you fucking lie. You promise me you'll change and you don't. And that makes it worse because now I don't have Bert and I don't have you but God, oh God I need someone." I feel like I am reciting lyrics to him.

"Let me be that someone." Frank urges, barely above a whisper.

"Frank, I don't know if I even still love you." I admit to him, looking down.

"That's okay," he says softly, sliding across the table closer to me. "We'll just start over."

"It's going to be so hard," I warn him, "I don't know if I can do that."

"I know, you're a mess," He says with a smile.

"I feel like I can't get any better," I whisper.

"Mikey, Bob, and I are here and you're going to be fine." Frank reassures me.

"I-" I begin to say, but Frank leans forward and kisses me softly. Nothing major but it's just enough to shut me up.

"I get it, it'll be hard." He says after he's pulled back, "Now lets go get Starbucks."

I don't know who I love. Bert or Frank.

Or the memory of both.

bluexxyellow_ @ 2007-01-21T21:18:00

2007-01-22T02:20:38Z

Title:This record makes it echo.
Author: bluexxyellow_ Rachel.
Pairing:Frank Iero//Jeph Howard ( that gives it away. =[ )
Rating:R. Frank swears a bunch.
POV:3rd.
Summary: "He disappears from the world for months "recording" with his band and then this song comes out and I know Bert didn't write this shit." Frank says to Mikey, matter-of-factly ,calming down a bit. "Bert can't even write his own damn name."
Disclaimer:Fake.
Author Note:Random, spur of the moment standalone to vent. I'm still going to write my "The Black Parade" series, don't worry.

"I think he's fucking ridiculous," Frank tells Mikey, throwing his hands in the air, "there is no way I can still be talking about this." He adds, burying his face in his hands and trying to disappear.

"But yet you are," Mikey mumbles, twirling a spoon in his fingers.

"Alright, Mikey, how about you go and be a whore somewhere?" Frank snaps, looking up with red eyes. "You're bullshit doesn't makes his any less bullshitty-er."

"Calm down, Anthony," Mikey says, pushing his hands to the table. "I'm just being a smart ass."

"WELL I DON'T NEED THAT!" Frank screams, pushing back from the table. The small oak chair falls down to the floor with a clanking sound and he starts to pace in front of the table. "OKAY, MIKEY? I DON'T NEED ANYONE!"

"Sure as hell seems like you need someone." Mikey says smartly, staying seated. He's still calm and collected, spinning that spoon still.

"I just," Frank sits on the floor as he slowly starts to cry, "I told myself I didn't love him over and over again. I stopped answering his calls and messages, I stopped writing every song and every poem about him, I stopped trying to care, and then all of a sudden he shows us one new song and I can't take it anymore."

Mikey slowly gets to his feet and comes to sit next to Frank, "It's going to take time, and you're going to be okay." Mikey puts his hand on Frank's back to comfort him.

"How can you say that?!" Frank snaps at him again, looking over at him with harsh eyes, "he fucked you over, too."

"But, I got over it," Mikey reminds Frank with a smug ass smile on his face.

"He disappears from the world for months "recording" with his band and then this song comes out and I know Bert didn't write this shit." Frank says to Mikey, matter-of-factly calming down a bit. "Bert can't even write his own damn name."

"Breathe, ieroface, you have to get over him," Mikey tells him for the fifth time in the last forty-five minutes, "He's not worth your tears."

"He's worth every fucking one of them!" Frank protests, smacking his hands on the tiled floor. "And that's what makes it worse."

"I.. I don't know what to say." Mikey admits, looking at him with soft eyes. Frank realizes how much he misses Mikey's glasses just then.

"I KNOW!" Frank yells again, jumping to his feet. "AND NO ONE DOES! Fuck, Mikey, I don't know what to say!" He calls back from the kitchen. He only makes it three steps towards the fridge and collapse back on the floor, all the strength from his legs falling out from underneath him.

"What if you talked to him?" Mikey suggests, ignoring the fact Frank fell to the floor and slowly getting to his feet.

"I don't even think I could stand saying hello to him." Frank says sadly, giving up on getting to his feet.

"You'd have to give it a try," Mikey says, "And I think you know that."

"I think I know lots of shit," Frank says with a small smile, "doesn't mean I do a damn thing about it."

"It's about time you do," Mikey tells Frank, pulling him up to his feet, "you'll never know unless you try."

"But I'm so scared, Mikey, he and I are so different and I don't think it'll ever work out." Frank admits, holding on to the counter.

"I don't think it will either," Mikey admits too, "But if it's killing you like this you've got to give it a try."

"He's too much," Frank says, turning around to look at Mikey again.

"And so are you. You can't leave this just hanging in the air between you two." Mikey says.

"I know," Frank sighs, "But I really want to. I don't know if I love him anymore, but I think I might. He makes me never want to move on, never want to love again. He makes me want to just stay right here, caught between loving him and being miserable without him."

"You have to try," Mikey repeats, "even if I am totally against it."

"That's because you're straight," Frank says with a small laugh, "Even though I claim Alicia is a man."

"Shut the fuck up Frank," Mikey jokes back, "What are you going to do?"

"Never fall in love again." Frank spits.

"Calling him, then?" Mikey assumes.

"Eventually." Frank admits.

"Then I'm going to go to bed, good-night, you're still welcome to the couch." Mikey says, turning on his heel to head for his bedroom. As he shuts the bathroom door he hears Frank start to cry again.

"Happy Jeph?" He asks out loud, as he pulls a small voice recorder from his pocket. He pressed the end button and tosses it on the dresser to his right.