Give a little something to my love life.
-watching a new episode of Criminal Minds; fuck me Matthew Gray Gubler is so good looking
-smoking; I know, I know, I'm killing myself slowly, whatever, spare me the sermon
-listening to Jay-Z's 99 Problems
-regarding how similar my cat resembles Bunny, which, to be perfectly honest,I am very proud of
Yeah, so, there you go. If I ever become famous you know what inspires me.
-hot geeky detectives
-mid 00's rap rock (anyone know the Numb/Encore mash up? That shit is wicked)
-Mikey Way's cat
Story of my life.
I'm from the hood stupid, what typa facts are those,
(btw, if you recognize where the first line is from, you are awesome and epic and I love you and we are best friends. I actually know that shit off by heart. L&O: my life.)
First Of The Gang To Die
My Love Life
"In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the police who investigate crime and the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders..."
Frank dragged his eyes away from the article he was reading and pushed the paper aside. The author of said column- "Ambush Carried Out At Romano Funeral, Fifty-Four Dead, LAPD Critisized For Late Response", Los Angeles Times, November Fourth ,1933 -had implied with a leering tone that the attack had been carried out by the Way family, and above the accusation had been a picture of Don Gerard Arthur Way, (inset, figure two) the gangmaster of the Way family.
The picture was old; that much was obvious. Gerard's eyes were perfected, his face unmarked and fresh, no metal cane in his grasp. He looked...lively. And young. And happy. Of course, that could have been a repercussion of the person next to the gangster.
He was very handsome. Due to the black and white photograph, Frank could not tell the details of the boy but his hair was fair (perhaps a light brown) and his eyes glistened similarly, leading Frank to think they were hazel. His smile was heart-breakingly beautiful, and his skin was flawless, gleaming a brilliant ivory. He was nudging his head into Gerard's arm and Frank's eyes dragged to see his fiance's hand on the hip of this boy.
Seeing the picture tugged at Frank's heart and choked up his throat. Though the photo was dated (1930 was printed beneath it) this creature standing next to Gerard was inhumanely beautiful, almost as amazing as the head man himself. It made him feel so inferior, so goddamn inadequate; how the fuck could he measure up to this person?
He tried to convince himself of what Gerard had said those nights ago- that they had had marital problems, that they had separated. This implied that they no longer loved each other and had not for quite a while. He also said that he loved Frank, not this Evan boy smiling up at Iero.
Every time he would force that thought into his head the mental image of his fiance hugging this dead man would snake it's way in, paralyzing Frank's thoughts and sending cold shots of sadness through his nerves. It left him with a feeling of childish jealousy and longing . He wanted to be the person Gerard was hugging, he wanted to be the boy publicly known as the husband of LA's most notorious gang-leader. Before he knew it, tears had welled up in his eyes and were slipping down his cheeks. The click of the office door and and the smart click of shoes down the corridor had therefore gone unnoticed.
"Frankie?" Gerard's voice rang through the house, Frank's eyes stinging as he blinked and gasped, dabbing with the collar of his white shirt. "Frankie, where are you? In the bedroom, babe?"
Frank made a small mewling noise that must have passed as positive as he could hear Gerard heading towards the bedroom. Fuck, he didn't even know why he was fucking crying, and yet he couldn't fucking stop. He sniffed loudly and wiped his nose, his eyes still leaking. His heart ached.
"Frank? What's wrong?" There was a sharp edge in his voice now; he had noticed the weak muffle in Frank's response.
"Nothing!" Frank answered too quickly, looking at himself in the mirror. He was crying so much the squeak in his voice was shrill and high-pitched like that of a girl's.
The door knob slowly twisted and turned until the click was audible, and Gerard stepped in. He looked like he normally did- the white shirt, the red tie, the flower, the black jacket. His hair bounced lightly on his shoulders and his cheeks looked pallid.
Gerard regarded Frank with a slightly confused demeanor, before finally sinking down next to him.
"Why are you crying, sweetheart?" He asked in a low tone, resting his hands on Frank's knees, rolling his thumb into his soft flesh of his knee. Frank rested his hand over his fiance's but said nothing. Gerard's nerves began to buzz.
"Frank?" He repeated softly but with more alarm in his voice now. "Frank, honey, tell me what's wrong. I hate seeing you cry, Frank."
Frank let out a small squeak of acknowledgement, and then mumbled:
"I saw a picture of you."
Gerard chuckled in bemusement, still retaining an element of seriousness. "Am I that dazzling?"
"And your..." he hicupped and his voice shrank. "...your ex-husband."
So that was it. Frank had finally sought out what had been in Gerard's somewhat mysterious past.
Gerard opened his mouth to say something and closed it again. He sighed, and his hold on Frank's slim leg tightened slightly.
"He was so handsome," Frank barely said, a weak whisper in the dark room. Gerard said nothing, ringed fingers resting on the boy's knee. "He had such pretty eyes."
Yes, Evan did have beautiful eyes. Gerard remembered when he was standing up on that altar, wearing his smartest suit half a decade before. He remembered staring into those honey-coloured orbs, taking Evan's hand in his. He had found it highly ironic how tranquil those eyes were, despite how argumentative the owner of those orbs could be...the amount of times Gerard has glared into those eyes and they had burned with contempt and malice...he wished with all his might he could convey Frank the message of his and Evan's tumultuous marriage.
"Yes," the gangster muttered instead. "His eyes were quite something."
Gerard, feeling slightly dazed, began to calmly rub the soft, fleshy under-skin of Frank's knee. Frank first tensed up, not sure how much conviction was behind the gesture, and then let out a small sigh of pleasure.
"Did that..." he cleared his throat. Seeing Frank looking so forlorn made him feel pain bullets could never match. "Did seeing that bother you, baby?"
Frank tried to mumble that Gerard shouldn't worry, but then he nodded slowly, almost dejectedly.
"I'm sorry," was the bona fide response. "The photograph must have been taken a long time ago. We separated in thirty two, pumpkin. I hadn't seen him in over a year when he died." Quietly: "I didn't attend his funeral, Frank."
The boy snuffled, nodding. "You were hugging him."
Gerard sighed and raised his peripheral vision to meet Frank's. He tenderly brushed his fiance's hair from his eyes.
"I'm sorry if seeing that upset you," he said softly, wiping away Iero's tears with the sides of his fingers. "But please, Frank, you must understand that I don't love him. I haven't loved him for several years. Our marriage was always unstable." He cleared his throat again, and took Frank's hand in his. "We broke up several times in five years and our relationship was extremely unhealthy. Please don't judge me too harshly on my last marriage. Please, do not feel threatened because of Evan either."
"But...the article said he graduated from UCLA, and in the picture he looked so pretty," whispered Frank, feeling more vulnerable and weak than ever. He felt pathetic, talking to his fiance about his deceased ex, but his insecure personality meant he felt utterly worthless next to Evan Ricci. And utterly worthless for Gerard Way.
"Why does that mean anything, sweetheart?"
Frank spoke up, barely audibly; a sizable lump was lodged in his oesophagus.
"Because...because I didn't even finish high school, Gee. And I don't understand any of the fancy words you use. And I know I speak stupidly but I can't h-help it, Gerard." He squealed with tears and found it near impossible to look his husband-to-be in the eye. "And James used to say...no other man would ever want me because I'm not as pretty as other boys..."
"That's bullshit, baby. Don't you ever think that...you know how beautiful you are, sweetness? Didn't anyone ever tell you that?" The boy shook his head. "Well, Frankie, you're one of the most beautiful boys I've ever seen." He smiled when Frank giggled in his tears. "Ever notice how everyone shuts up and stares when you walk in a room?"
"That's not true," Frank said. "Evan looked-"
"Pretty nice at first, but he turned out to be some heartless motherfucker who made me seem angelic." Gerard said suddenly. "He had nice eyes but he was ugly once you got to know him. So ugly, baby."
Frank didn't really know what to say to that. He wasn't sure if the statement had been directed toward him or if Gerard was simply reminding himself of it. Perhaps both.
"How old was he?"
Gerard rolled his eyes back to concentrate. "At his time of death....twenty-seven."
Frank decided not to further the conversation. While Way seemed polite at the time being, his tone did seem a little uninviting.
"Sorry," Frank stuttered. "I'm sorry, Gerard. If you don't wanna talk about it anymore we won't. I promise not to bring it up anymore."
"Stop apologizing for other people's shit," he repeated his familiar analogy. "You shouldn't do that, Frank. I don't want you feeling liable for my mistakes."
Frank was about to say "sorry" and then stopped himself just in time.
Gerard rose from his kneeling position and sat against the frame of the bed, leaving Frank sitting on the chair ,biting his lip and fretting like an old woman.
See what you did now? Should have just forgotten about it, you idiot.
Frank slipped off the chair and placed himself delicately outside of Gerard's outstretched legs. He gave a small squeak of surprise when Gerard pulled the boy into his lap, linking his hands beneath his ass. The boy, pressed against the gangster's chest, propped his hands on the gangster's broad shoulders.
"I couldn't hate that fucker more, baby," he murmured into his ear, "and I can't even express my feelings for you. I didn't mean to snap, darling. I love you." He nipped at Frank's ear and repeated: "I love you."
That had caused Frank's stomach to flutter, and his beam to widen. Gerard's shoulder-length hair brushed against his neck and he giggled.
"I love you so much. I just couldn't stand it if something ever happened to you." The words were clear, full of sincerity and honesty. Each syllable made his heart speed up. "I'd shoot myself before I ever hurt you."
"I love you too," Frank informed Gerard's shoulder, tears beginning to form again.
They stayed like that for some time, wrapped up in each other, breathing heavily, absorbed in thoughts. Frank rested his head in the crook of his gangster's neck.
Gerard finally broke the silence.
"I have a meeting tomorrow," he said, "if you want to come."
"Sure," Frank replied. "What's it about?"
"We think a certain member of the gang might be an informer. That means he tells the cops about all the stuff the Family are involved in. Gets us in real deep shit and makes other gangs suspicious, y'know? At the funeral, remember? Pigs came about five minutes after it was carried out. Sure sign of an informer."
"Who?" Frank asked, encircling Gerard's back with little fingers.