Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > First of the Gang to Die
You're the One for Me, Fatty
7 reviewsYou're the one I really, really love, and I will stay.
5Ambiance
Hey hey lads!
Yeah, so...new chapter, yes yes! Hoping this one is decent and not just mindless goop that spindles out of my mind at a steadily rapid pace.
Also,I'm in like the worst mood ever because to torture myself I'm just listening to sad music on my iPod. Emo much? Yeah, so just bear that in mind whilst reading this. If it comes out shockingly shit, then you know my situation. To make matters worse and to add to my depression, Matthew Gray Gubler DID NOT APPEAR IN ANY OF THE CRIMINAL MIND EPISODES.
AND I WATCHED LIKE SEVENTEEN OF THEM.
I MEAN WHAT THE FUCK. YOU DO NOT JUST TAKE AWAY ONE OF THE MAIN CHARACTERS AND DEFINITELY THE BEST LOOKING CHARACTER ON THE GODDAMN SHOW AND THEN JUST SAY HE'S "ON VACATION". THAT IS SO BAD FROM A DIRECTING POINT OF VIEW, AND THAT SHIT WILL NOT FLY WITH FANGIRLS LIKE ME. YOU CAN EXPECT SEVERAL LETTERS OF COMPLAINT FROM ME IN THE NEAR FUTURE CONCERNING THE MATTER.
Sorry, it's just pissing me off. Why the fuck would you do that to me, Universal Channel? Bitches, taking away my Matthew...
Now I have to fucking Google him and just stare at him you bastards,
lorna
First of the Gang to Die
Tredici
You’re the One for Me, Fatty
Gerard sat at his desk, swirling the glass of whiskey around and around in his hand. A fat Cuban cigar smoldered between his middle and index fingers. He had smoked them since he was at teenager, thoroughly enjoying them a great deal more than cigarettes; cigars were delicious and delightfully aromatic. It was a slight disadvantage they did superb damage to his lungs.
For the last two hours he had locked himself inside his library, his only two accompaniments a now ever-decreasing bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a book detailing torture techniques of the Great War. Gerard liked to think himself quite a creative killer; he took pride and effort in his techniques and hardly ever slacked.
He was in the darkest corner of the room, a small pool of light spilling in from the lamp above him. The book had many different grotesque sections that would horrify the average reader, but Gerard Way certainly was not average in any light, and the book acted as an interesting aid to him, not quite a hobby but a comfortable abet. Occasionally the small font strained his already damaged vision and he would gaze pensively out the window.
The book, innocently titled Mort dans Guerre, had many chapters and indexes, each to a sufficient form of affliction. For instance, the one that most fascinated Gerard was one entitled Libération de le Sang-or the release of the blood from the body using a variety of instruments, ranging from scythes to guillotines. Other chapters included Agression Sexuel/Viol and Amputer. In the former there had been a great deal surrounding the common practice of below-knee amputation. Gerard's teeth had come down a lot harder on his cigar as he read that section.
A chapter dedicated to sexual abuse and rape had made Gerard almost gag on his cognac, hastily turning pages of explicit images of both men and women being violated from each and every angle imaginable. Young boys, frequently adopted as family servants during the nineteenth century in war-torn France were sometimes casted as 'pets' by the man of the house; usually an adoelescent boy required to fulfill his master's sexual desires. Pictures of these boys bing subjected to such acts reminded Gerard hopelessly of Frank, and his heart would ache at the thought.
Now he was on a particular page depicting a man whose lungs had been slashed open and their fluids drained slowly, trickling down his midriff. Gerard stared in horror, his eyes almost tripping over the words in order to read the rest, finally slightly impressed when he saw that the man had survived-in agony-for almost four days after the tormenting. It had taken place in Russian bunkers during the start of the War.
(wow,talking about war and torturing brothers,and now I'm listening to Breakeven by The Script?I might as well grab some size 0 black skinny's and write some un-rhyming poetry,I could not get more emo if I fucking tried.)
That was when he heard a soft tapping on the door, reminding him instantly of The Raven; (“but the fact is I was napping and so gently you came wrapping,and so faintly you came tapping,tapping at my chamber door,”)however, after glancing at the clock, he called, “yes?”
He wondered who would be wrapping on his chamber door at two o’ clock in the morning.
“Can I come in?”
Gerard smiled at the timid voice on the other side of the door, muscles tugging at the sides of his mouth, pulling him into a small smile.
“Yes, Frank.”
The large wooden door edged open slowly, Frank shuffling through nervously. Gerard’s smile widened considerably when the boy emerged in his pyjamas, boxer shorts and a plain t-shirt, and his hair sticking up in the back.
“Hello,” Gerard drawled, clinking the ice in the glass. “How are you?”
“Good,” Frank replied, hugging his elbows, “can I...sit with you for a while?”
“Of course,” the taller purred, laughing when Frank moved towards the chair opposite him.
“Don’t sit there, baby, that’s where everyone else sits.”
“What do you mean?”
(okay,so new Good Looking Guy Alert;lead singer from The Script.Except all their songs kinda sound the same and are a bit whiny,but they're good enough.His hotness accommodates their mediocrity.)
(oh,and anyone else just love Munch from SVU?I think hes just fucking rad,swear to God.)
Gerard laughed again, thinking that Frank would have gotten the message by now.
“Sit in my lap,” he offered, opening his legs further, dragging Frank to him.
Frank perched on Gerard’s knees awkwardly, with the older eventually pulling him into a straddle, stomach-to-stomach.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Gerard asked tenderly, nibbling on Frank’s earlobe, knowing that it would distract the boy.
“No,” Frank whispered, “I’m just nervous about tomorrow.”
“Why?” Gerard suckled on Frank’s neck lightly, making the boy mewl with pleasure and grasp Way’s collar, “you won’t get hurt. I’ll make sure of it.”
“I know that, I just...”Frank seemed to be struggling to find the words, “I just don’t want to see it. Or hear it.” Silence hung over the room, Gerard’s naturally polite mindset knowing Frank had not finished. “Is it gonna be worse than James?”
“Honey, James got it easy. Just a few nails pulled out and some punches thrown at him.”
Frank failed to see how ripping out nails and pistol-whipping qualified as 'easy', but accepted it nonetheless. He decided to change the subject.
“What were you reading?”
“War book,” Gerard answered nonchalantly, only for Frank to look at the picture in front of him, the man with the lung problem, his chest hanging open with his ribs dropping down, whose mouth was also stuffed with the guy’s own heart.
Frank shrieked and threw the book to the ground.
“What was that?”
“They call it l’aigle,” Gerard murmured into Frank’s ear, stroking his leg in order to calm him down, “I presume you don’t speak French?”
“No,” stammered Frank, still not looking at the manuscript.
“It means the eagle,” explained Gerard, “because afterwards they place the lungs on the person’s back, like the wings of a bird.”
“Are you going to do that to Michael?”
“I might. I have never done it before, and I’m rather fond of my own techniques. Old habits die hard and all that.”
Frank nodded, and then something occurred to him.
“I didn’t know you speak French.”
Gerard nodded proudly.
“French, Italian, Spanish, German, Chinese, Russian, Portuguese, Irish and a bit of Welsh.”
I’ve been to Wales a few times and it’s lovely but MY GOD THAT LANGUAGE IS FUCKING INSANE.
Then he smiled broadly. “Parlez-vous Francais?”
Frank blinked. “How do you know all those?”
“What, languages? You need to know at least three to be a Don, and the others I just learned at school.” His brow furrowed. “Didn’t you go to school?”
Frank blushed and shifted. “I dropped out when I was sixteen.”
“May I ask why?” Gerard looked concerned, his eyes deep with anxiety.
Frank bit his lip, utterly ashamed. The leader of the most bloodthirsty gang in Los Angeles was better educated than him.
“I...uh...met James.”
“Oh,” Gerard said softly, his eyes darkening slightly and his jaw tightening. Frank immediately began to regret what he had said.
“Is there...um...any...criteria that you have to follow?”
Gerard tilted Frank’s chin up. “For what?”
“Y’know...being the Don and stuff.”
Gerard nodded. “Height, weight, strength, stamina, mental state, intellectual ability, family background et cetera.”
“When did you become leader?”
“Six years ago,” was the definite answer. Then, a chuckle and: “I got the goddamn evidence to prove it.”
“They beat you?”
“Nah, first night on the job we invaded the Romano place, and your Jamie boy shot me up good.” He smiled at the distant memory. “One minute I was yelling “what the fuck do I do?!” and the next I was being strapped to a chair and shot nineteen times in the knee.” He let out a low whistle. “I remember looking down and not seeing my leg, just blood with a little bit of bone in the middle.”
Frank remained silent, pushing back a black lock behind Gerard’s ear.
“Got to hand it to your boy James,” Gerard laughed quietly, “he was one helluva goddamn boxer.” Then he sighed and rubbed Frank’s thigh soothingly. “Of course you’d know that, wouldn’t you, baby?”
(okay,so wrong time,I know,but if you want to know my favourite L&O characters,here you go:
MUNCH OH MY GOD ESYGFUGB
Finn/Ice-T/Guy From The 'Hood
Casey Novak/DA
Elliott
That's from SVU,not the others.In the original Sam Waterson is just the bom,b and I hate Criminal Intent,it's boring.
Frank decided to ask a question that had never occurred to him before.
"Were you always...um..."
"Gay?" Gerard offered,smiling.
Frank nodded quickly,but added:"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
"Yes,"answered Gerard dutifully,slipping a hand underneath the boy's shirt,trailing his golden rings lightly up and down Frank's bare back,making him sigh with the pleasure of metal bouncing off of his skin,"I came out when I was sixteen,and I met Evan a year later."
"Was he in this as well?"
"Pardon me?"
"In...the...gang?"Frank shrugged."Or company?"
"Company?"Laughed the elder."That's like calling a spade an implement used for digging!"
Frank nearly told what his former fiancee had referred to his particular line of work as,but held his tongue.
"But no,"Gerard said after finishing with humor,"Evan was a solicitor."
"Really?"
"Yes.Quite humorous given the circumstance."He smiled again,flashing his teeth,and applied a low voice."Hell mother,hello father,this is my husband,Gerard,he kills people for a living.Oh,and I see you're wearing blue today,how splendid."
Frank giggled.
(am I the only one who notices that Gerard has obscenely small teeth?I mean,they're grand,just really freaking small.I discussed it with my dad one day and he was like,"maybe it's from the smoking" and then I was like "but I smoke and my teeth are like freaking runways...")
(AAAARGH I JUST WALKED INTO THE KITCHEN TO GET A CAN OF CIDER AND MY DAD WAS DOING THE SINGLE LADIES DANCE BECAUSE IT WAS PLAYING ON THE RADIO,OH MY GOD SOMEONE POUR ACID INTO MY EYES I AM DYIIIIIIIIIIIIING
AND IT WAS AT THE BIT "if you don't,you'll be alone,and like a ghost I'll be gone" AND HOLY FUCK I NEED SOME AIR DAD I CAN NEVER LISTEN TO THAT SONG EVER AGAIN)
"So you met James when you were sixteen,"Gerard sussed,"so he was...twenty-two?"
"Yeah.We got engaged in 1930.Four years ago."
"Three years ago."
"What?"He thought again,and blushed furiously."Oh sorry,my maths is bad."He cussed under his breath,regretting his shunning of second-level education."So fucking stupid..."
(this is really a reflection of me,I can't count for my life,I'm hopeless at any sort of maths *faceplam*)
"Hey,don't say that,"Gerard muttered softly,"you just made a mistake,that's all."
(I realize now that I must seem weird with all the smoking/drinking/shitty mathematical skills,but no worries,I'm not eleven,I'm eighteen.)
"This sounds mean but I never..."Frank cleared his throat,"I didn't really think...you'd be...ya know..."
"Educated?"Gerard grinned the same way he had when Frank questioned his sexuality.
"Yeah.I'm sorry,"he gabbled awkwardly,"I mean,you're really smart,way smarter than me,and you talk really fancily..."
Gerard was laughing again."Does my accent irritate you?"
Frank bit his lip."Sorry?"
(so I know you're gonna be like "why are you making Frank all stupid?"one,it was quite common for poor people to drop out of school early, and two,this is mah storeh,I shall do with it whatever I please.)
(thought you should know,ladies(and possibly gents)that the Marathon of Really Fucking Depressing Songs That Make Me Consider Suicide is continuing,with Cancer by My Chem.How cheerful.)
(Pressed next,now it's Candle In The Wind-Elton John.Oh goody.)
"Annoying,"Gerard smiled quickly,"does it annoy you?"
"No,"Frank returned,grateful that Gerard had come up with a suitable synonym."I like it.It sounds nice."
"Good."Frank yawned and rubbed at his eyes and Gerard mocked opposition.
(AAAAHHH CAN'T TAKE MY EYES OFF YOU BY MUSE IS THE BEST SONG EVER CREATED EVER)
"You're tired,"he scolded playfully,tracing the puffed dark crescents under Frank's eyes,"you should go to bed."Frank pushed his bottom lip out into a small pout."Now."
(Matt Bellamy should just leave Kate Hudson and marry me.I mean,why the fuck not?)
"I don't want to,"Frank said,weakening slightly when Gerard squeezed his thigh,"the guards are gone and all the paintings in the hall freak me out."
"They're pretty tame now,Frank,in fairness."
"Say whatever you want,The Scream isn't a masterpiece,it's just creepy."
"Really?"Gerard laughed into Frank's neck,loving the feel of his soft creamy flesh under his teeth."You should have informed Munch of that."He thought again,and rephrased the sentence."You should have told the artist that."
"I'm sure he would have loved my opinion."
"Regarded it highly above any other extent,"he yawned himself,"fine.Let's go to bed to discuss your artistic talent."
Frank found himself slung over Gerard's shoulder,being carried up the three flights of stairs to their bedroom.
(Oh,Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol,that's fabulous.)
"I'm probably too heavy,"Frank protested,"don't strain yourself-"
"Frank,you're lighter than some guns I own,"Gerard laughed,slipping him out of his grip and onto the bed,beginning to strip of his suit,throwing it into the corner.
Frank felt his eyes sliding shut,forcing them open,trying to conceal his gaping yawns,until Gerard slid into the bed,carefully placing the cane bedside.
"Love you,"Frank muttered,half-asleep already,snoozing softly.
"Love you too,"Gerard returned,kissing his forehead and switching off the light,pluging the room into darkness.
Just looked over that,my God,half of that chapter was made up of author's notes X)
Yeah, so...new chapter, yes yes! Hoping this one is decent and not just mindless goop that spindles out of my mind at a steadily rapid pace.
Also,I'm in like the worst mood ever because to torture myself I'm just listening to sad music on my iPod. Emo much? Yeah, so just bear that in mind whilst reading this. If it comes out shockingly shit, then you know my situation. To make matters worse and to add to my depression, Matthew Gray Gubler DID NOT APPEAR IN ANY OF THE CRIMINAL MIND EPISODES.
AND I WATCHED LIKE SEVENTEEN OF THEM.
I MEAN WHAT THE FUCK. YOU DO NOT JUST TAKE AWAY ONE OF THE MAIN CHARACTERS AND DEFINITELY THE BEST LOOKING CHARACTER ON THE GODDAMN SHOW AND THEN JUST SAY HE'S "ON VACATION". THAT IS SO BAD FROM A DIRECTING POINT OF VIEW, AND THAT SHIT WILL NOT FLY WITH FANGIRLS LIKE ME. YOU CAN EXPECT SEVERAL LETTERS OF COMPLAINT FROM ME IN THE NEAR FUTURE CONCERNING THE MATTER.
Sorry, it's just pissing me off. Why the fuck would you do that to me, Universal Channel? Bitches, taking away my Matthew...
Now I have to fucking Google him and just stare at him you bastards,
lorna
First of the Gang to Die
Tredici
You’re the One for Me, Fatty
Gerard sat at his desk, swirling the glass of whiskey around and around in his hand. A fat Cuban cigar smoldered between his middle and index fingers. He had smoked them since he was at teenager, thoroughly enjoying them a great deal more than cigarettes; cigars were delicious and delightfully aromatic. It was a slight disadvantage they did superb damage to his lungs.
For the last two hours he had locked himself inside his library, his only two accompaniments a now ever-decreasing bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a book detailing torture techniques of the Great War. Gerard liked to think himself quite a creative killer; he took pride and effort in his techniques and hardly ever slacked.
He was in the darkest corner of the room, a small pool of light spilling in from the lamp above him. The book had many different grotesque sections that would horrify the average reader, but Gerard Way certainly was not average in any light, and the book acted as an interesting aid to him, not quite a hobby but a comfortable abet. Occasionally the small font strained his already damaged vision and he would gaze pensively out the window.
The book, innocently titled Mort dans Guerre, had many chapters and indexes, each to a sufficient form of affliction. For instance, the one that most fascinated Gerard was one entitled Libération de le Sang-or the release of the blood from the body using a variety of instruments, ranging from scythes to guillotines. Other chapters included Agression Sexuel/Viol and Amputer. In the former there had been a great deal surrounding the common practice of below-knee amputation. Gerard's teeth had come down a lot harder on his cigar as he read that section.
A chapter dedicated to sexual abuse and rape had made Gerard almost gag on his cognac, hastily turning pages of explicit images of both men and women being violated from each and every angle imaginable. Young boys, frequently adopted as family servants during the nineteenth century in war-torn France were sometimes casted as 'pets' by the man of the house; usually an adoelescent boy required to fulfill his master's sexual desires. Pictures of these boys bing subjected to such acts reminded Gerard hopelessly of Frank, and his heart would ache at the thought.
Now he was on a particular page depicting a man whose lungs had been slashed open and their fluids drained slowly, trickling down his midriff. Gerard stared in horror, his eyes almost tripping over the words in order to read the rest, finally slightly impressed when he saw that the man had survived-in agony-for almost four days after the tormenting. It had taken place in Russian bunkers during the start of the War.
(wow,talking about war and torturing brothers,and now I'm listening to Breakeven by The Script?I might as well grab some size 0 black skinny's and write some un-rhyming poetry,I could not get more emo if I fucking tried.)
That was when he heard a soft tapping on the door, reminding him instantly of The Raven; (“but the fact is I was napping and so gently you came wrapping,and so faintly you came tapping,tapping at my chamber door,”)however, after glancing at the clock, he called, “yes?”
He wondered who would be wrapping on his chamber door at two o’ clock in the morning.
“Can I come in?”
Gerard smiled at the timid voice on the other side of the door, muscles tugging at the sides of his mouth, pulling him into a small smile.
“Yes, Frank.”
The large wooden door edged open slowly, Frank shuffling through nervously. Gerard’s smile widened considerably when the boy emerged in his pyjamas, boxer shorts and a plain t-shirt, and his hair sticking up in the back.
“Hello,” Gerard drawled, clinking the ice in the glass. “How are you?”
“Good,” Frank replied, hugging his elbows, “can I...sit with you for a while?”
“Of course,” the taller purred, laughing when Frank moved towards the chair opposite him.
“Don’t sit there, baby, that’s where everyone else sits.”
“What do you mean?”
(okay,so new Good Looking Guy Alert;lead singer from The Script.Except all their songs kinda sound the same and are a bit whiny,but they're good enough.His hotness accommodates their mediocrity.)
(oh,and anyone else just love Munch from SVU?I think hes just fucking rad,swear to God.)
Gerard laughed again, thinking that Frank would have gotten the message by now.
“Sit in my lap,” he offered, opening his legs further, dragging Frank to him.
Frank perched on Gerard’s knees awkwardly, with the older eventually pulling him into a straddle, stomach-to-stomach.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Gerard asked tenderly, nibbling on Frank’s earlobe, knowing that it would distract the boy.
“No,” Frank whispered, “I’m just nervous about tomorrow.”
“Why?” Gerard suckled on Frank’s neck lightly, making the boy mewl with pleasure and grasp Way’s collar, “you won’t get hurt. I’ll make sure of it.”
“I know that, I just...”Frank seemed to be struggling to find the words, “I just don’t want to see it. Or hear it.” Silence hung over the room, Gerard’s naturally polite mindset knowing Frank had not finished. “Is it gonna be worse than James?”
“Honey, James got it easy. Just a few nails pulled out and some punches thrown at him.”
Frank failed to see how ripping out nails and pistol-whipping qualified as 'easy', but accepted it nonetheless. He decided to change the subject.
“What were you reading?”
“War book,” Gerard answered nonchalantly, only for Frank to look at the picture in front of him, the man with the lung problem, his chest hanging open with his ribs dropping down, whose mouth was also stuffed with the guy’s own heart.
Frank shrieked and threw the book to the ground.
“What was that?”
“They call it l’aigle,” Gerard murmured into Frank’s ear, stroking his leg in order to calm him down, “I presume you don’t speak French?”
“No,” stammered Frank, still not looking at the manuscript.
“It means the eagle,” explained Gerard, “because afterwards they place the lungs on the person’s back, like the wings of a bird.”
“Are you going to do that to Michael?”
“I might. I have never done it before, and I’m rather fond of my own techniques. Old habits die hard and all that.”
Frank nodded, and then something occurred to him.
“I didn’t know you speak French.”
Gerard nodded proudly.
“French, Italian, Spanish, German, Chinese, Russian, Portuguese, Irish and a bit of Welsh.”
I’ve been to Wales a few times and it’s lovely but MY GOD THAT LANGUAGE IS FUCKING INSANE.
Then he smiled broadly. “Parlez-vous Francais?”
Frank blinked. “How do you know all those?”
“What, languages? You need to know at least three to be a Don, and the others I just learned at school.” His brow furrowed. “Didn’t you go to school?”
Frank blushed and shifted. “I dropped out when I was sixteen.”
“May I ask why?” Gerard looked concerned, his eyes deep with anxiety.
Frank bit his lip, utterly ashamed. The leader of the most bloodthirsty gang in Los Angeles was better educated than him.
“I...uh...met James.”
“Oh,” Gerard said softly, his eyes darkening slightly and his jaw tightening. Frank immediately began to regret what he had said.
“Is there...um...any...criteria that you have to follow?”
Gerard tilted Frank’s chin up. “For what?”
“Y’know...being the Don and stuff.”
Gerard nodded. “Height, weight, strength, stamina, mental state, intellectual ability, family background et cetera.”
“When did you become leader?”
“Six years ago,” was the definite answer. Then, a chuckle and: “I got the goddamn evidence to prove it.”
“They beat you?”
“Nah, first night on the job we invaded the Romano place, and your Jamie boy shot me up good.” He smiled at the distant memory. “One minute I was yelling “what the fuck do I do?!” and the next I was being strapped to a chair and shot nineteen times in the knee.” He let out a low whistle. “I remember looking down and not seeing my leg, just blood with a little bit of bone in the middle.”
Frank remained silent, pushing back a black lock behind Gerard’s ear.
“Got to hand it to your boy James,” Gerard laughed quietly, “he was one helluva goddamn boxer.” Then he sighed and rubbed Frank’s thigh soothingly. “Of course you’d know that, wouldn’t you, baby?”
(okay,so wrong time,I know,but if you want to know my favourite L&O characters,here you go:
MUNCH OH MY GOD ESYGFUGB
Finn/Ice-T/Guy From The 'Hood
Casey Novak/DA
Elliott
That's from SVU,not the others.In the original Sam Waterson is just the bom,b and I hate Criminal Intent,it's boring.
Frank decided to ask a question that had never occurred to him before.
"Were you always...um..."
"Gay?" Gerard offered,smiling.
Frank nodded quickly,but added:"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
"Yes,"answered Gerard dutifully,slipping a hand underneath the boy's shirt,trailing his golden rings lightly up and down Frank's bare back,making him sigh with the pleasure of metal bouncing off of his skin,"I came out when I was sixteen,and I met Evan a year later."
"Was he in this as well?"
"Pardon me?"
"In...the...gang?"Frank shrugged."Or company?"
"Company?"Laughed the elder."That's like calling a spade an implement used for digging!"
Frank nearly told what his former fiancee had referred to his particular line of work as,but held his tongue.
"But no,"Gerard said after finishing with humor,"Evan was a solicitor."
"Really?"
"Yes.Quite humorous given the circumstance."He smiled again,flashing his teeth,and applied a low voice."Hell mother,hello father,this is my husband,Gerard,he kills people for a living.Oh,and I see you're wearing blue today,how splendid."
Frank giggled.
(am I the only one who notices that Gerard has obscenely small teeth?I mean,they're grand,just really freaking small.I discussed it with my dad one day and he was like,"maybe it's from the smoking" and then I was like "but I smoke and my teeth are like freaking runways...")
(AAAARGH I JUST WALKED INTO THE KITCHEN TO GET A CAN OF CIDER AND MY DAD WAS DOING THE SINGLE LADIES DANCE BECAUSE IT WAS PLAYING ON THE RADIO,OH MY GOD SOMEONE POUR ACID INTO MY EYES I AM DYIIIIIIIIIIIIING
AND IT WAS AT THE BIT "if you don't,you'll be alone,and like a ghost I'll be gone" AND HOLY FUCK I NEED SOME AIR DAD I CAN NEVER LISTEN TO THAT SONG EVER AGAIN)
"So you met James when you were sixteen,"Gerard sussed,"so he was...twenty-two?"
"Yeah.We got engaged in 1930.Four years ago."
"Three years ago."
"What?"He thought again,and blushed furiously."Oh sorry,my maths is bad."He cussed under his breath,regretting his shunning of second-level education."So fucking stupid..."
(this is really a reflection of me,I can't count for my life,I'm hopeless at any sort of maths *faceplam*)
"Hey,don't say that,"Gerard muttered softly,"you just made a mistake,that's all."
(I realize now that I must seem weird with all the smoking/drinking/shitty mathematical skills,but no worries,I'm not eleven,I'm eighteen.)
"This sounds mean but I never..."Frank cleared his throat,"I didn't really think...you'd be...ya know..."
"Educated?"Gerard grinned the same way he had when Frank questioned his sexuality.
"Yeah.I'm sorry,"he gabbled awkwardly,"I mean,you're really smart,way smarter than me,and you talk really fancily..."
Gerard was laughing again."Does my accent irritate you?"
Frank bit his lip."Sorry?"
(so I know you're gonna be like "why are you making Frank all stupid?"one,it was quite common for poor people to drop out of school early, and two,this is mah storeh,I shall do with it whatever I please.)
(thought you should know,ladies(and possibly gents)that the Marathon of Really Fucking Depressing Songs That Make Me Consider Suicide is continuing,with Cancer by My Chem.How cheerful.)
(Pressed next,now it's Candle In The Wind-Elton John.Oh goody.)
"Annoying,"Gerard smiled quickly,"does it annoy you?"
"No,"Frank returned,grateful that Gerard had come up with a suitable synonym."I like it.It sounds nice."
"Good."Frank yawned and rubbed at his eyes and Gerard mocked opposition.
(AAAAHHH CAN'T TAKE MY EYES OFF YOU BY MUSE IS THE BEST SONG EVER CREATED EVER)
"You're tired,"he scolded playfully,tracing the puffed dark crescents under Frank's eyes,"you should go to bed."Frank pushed his bottom lip out into a small pout."Now."
(Matt Bellamy should just leave Kate Hudson and marry me.I mean,why the fuck not?)
"I don't want to,"Frank said,weakening slightly when Gerard squeezed his thigh,"the guards are gone and all the paintings in the hall freak me out."
"They're pretty tame now,Frank,in fairness."
"Say whatever you want,The Scream isn't a masterpiece,it's just creepy."
"Really?"Gerard laughed into Frank's neck,loving the feel of his soft creamy flesh under his teeth."You should have informed Munch of that."He thought again,and rephrased the sentence."You should have told the artist that."
"I'm sure he would have loved my opinion."
"Regarded it highly above any other extent,"he yawned himself,"fine.Let's go to bed to discuss your artistic talent."
Frank found himself slung over Gerard's shoulder,being carried up the three flights of stairs to their bedroom.
(Oh,Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol,that's fabulous.)
"I'm probably too heavy,"Frank protested,"don't strain yourself-"
"Frank,you're lighter than some guns I own,"Gerard laughed,slipping him out of his grip and onto the bed,beginning to strip of his suit,throwing it into the corner.
Frank felt his eyes sliding shut,forcing them open,trying to conceal his gaping yawns,until Gerard slid into the bed,carefully placing the cane bedside.
"Love you,"Frank muttered,half-asleep already,snoozing softly.
"Love you too,"Gerard returned,kissing his forehead and switching off the light,pluging the room into darkness.
Just looked over that,my God,half of that chapter was made up of author's notes X)
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