Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > "Be My Detonator."

Chapter Thirteen

by CosmicZombie 34 reviews

The importance of baby-making bits, banana skin thongs, and gigantic, gigantic surprises....

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama,Humor,Romance - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way,Mikey Way,Ray Toro - Published: 2011-11-30 - Updated: 2011-12-09 - 3674 words

A/N: Heey guys!! Thank you all so freaking much for your epic and awesome reviews…they really made me smile like a crazy person. Sorry I haven’t had time to reply to all of them, but I will asap. Hope you like this chapter…I haven’t got time to check for typos yet, but will do that tomorrow- wanted to get this up as soon as I could. Oh, if you haven’t could you please check out my new story? I’m gunna hopefully update it in the next few days (: And if you like this one, you should like my new oneshot to…wanna give it a read?
Anyways, on with the chapter- enjoy!

Chapter Thirteen

I blink.

Ray carries on licking at his ice cream as if he hasn’t just uttered a heart-stopping statement that’s knocked all my fuzzy little brain cells out stone cold in shock.

“Wh-what?!” I stammer, feeling slightly dizzy.

“He wants your dick, fuckface,” Ray rolls his eyes, swallowing another mouthful of raspberry ripple ice cream.

Okay, my heart actually has stopped.

Even all my retarded little excuses for brain cells have finally shut the fuck up, which perhaps has something to do with the fact they’re unconscious or dying.

“What?!” I repeat in utter disbelief, blinking rapidly in dazed shock. Clearly I’ve actually finally lost the plot, and have started hearing my brain cells’ deepest desires and dreams spouting from my best friend’s mouth.

“Y’know,” Ray rolls his eyes at me again, licking his spoon clean of ice cream. “Your baby making bits.”

“I KNOW what a dick is, you idiot!” I exclaim indignantly.


I refrain myself from the extremely tempting possibility of removing my own head with my little green plastic ice cream spoon.

“Well, it does help having one!” I say sardonically.

“You have one?”

“Of course I do, you mentally ignorant puff head!”

“Just checking…”

“And what the actual fuck did you say about Frank?”

“That he wants your baby making bits.”

“Who the actual meesefuck calls them that?!”

“My Mom does.”

I violently snort cookie dough ice cream across the table, and am extremely grateful that Frank is over at the ice cream van with my evil younger sibling, and not here to witness that extremely graceful spatter of half licked ice cream and Gerard saliva that would almost certainly have showered him had he still been sitting opposite me.

“Don’t you fucking laugh at me, freakface,” Ray growls, flicking the remains of his raspberry ripple ice cream at me. “I’M not the one who sent a guy to casualty on holiday last year, I’M not the moron who sucked off the captain of the football team last Christmas, I’M not the one who can’t walk across a flat surface without finding something to catapult myself over, and I’M not the one who has a pathetically hopeless crush on my stepsister’s boyfriend!”

“But you are the one who snogs your own cat.”

Ray throws his ice cream tub at my face like the lovely, cat-snogging friend he is.

“And you’re the one who calls a dick by the same name your MOM does,” I add, removing the ice cream tub from my face and flicking it across the dappled wood of the picnic table at Ray.

He scowls. “Fuck you.”

“Anytime, baby,” I grin as Ray blanches, looking ready to regurgitate his ice cream all over the grass beside us at the mere idea.

“Joke,” I clarify, before he actually starts retching, which has happened before, and is not pretty or something I can say I want to see again.

Ray looks relieved. “Thank god. You scared me shitless for a moment there, Gee.”

“Sorry,” I shrug innocently. “But what was it you were saying about Frank before you started chucking ice cream tubs at me and nearly vomiting?”

“He wants your dick, Gee.”

“Huh?” my brain once again ceases to function in dizzying, fuzzy shock, Ray’s simple sentence knocking out my remaining utterly delirious brain cells.

“Okay, seeing as you’re totally and utterly retarded, let me put it simply for you,” Ray says, rolling his eyes at me. “Your stepsister’s boyfriend for some reason seems to find you adorably awkward; he wants your manly parts; you’ve stupidly agreed to help him dye his hair later; he’s coming over to yours tonight, and you are going to die.”

Well I guess that’s one way of summing things up.


By the time I’m sitting at home in the warm, sun-soaked peace of the kitchen just under an hour later, free of puff-headed best friends, guys so insanely hot they make my ice cream (not to mention my knees) melt at a disturbing rate, and revenge-seeking younger brothers, I’m clutching a steaming mug of coffee and running the events of the day over in my deranged brain.

And suddenly, Ray’s oh-so-positive little statement in the park about my life seems to contain a disturbing amount of truth.

Apart from the bit about Frank liking me, obviously.

I mean, seriously, there is no way in a billion years that would ever happen, especially as he can be with someone as pretty as Jamie- even if she is descended from Satan and tortures small innocent children as a hobby, although I hate to admit it, she is kind of pretty in a satanic-barbie-doll way.

There’s also one slight flaw in the fact that I’m a guy. Actually, after my brain cells reactions to the god that just happens to be dating my sadistic stepsister, I might have to check I haven’t sprouted breasts and a vagina.

But assuming I haven’t, Frank is not gay. And even if he was, he wouldn’t be attracted to co-ordinationally challenged fuckfaces like me.

In fact, to him, I’m probably about as attractive as a piece of unicorn shit.

Okay, so that bit about the god of sexiness wanting my baby-making bits is obviously total bullshit, but he is coming over this evening for me to dye his hair, and I am definitely going to die in some horrifically embarrassing way. I mean; an hour sitting very close to the most gorgeous guy in existence, stroking toxic chemical matter into his hair with trembling hands, hormonally crazed brain cells while being possibly the most un-coordinated teenager in existence doesn’t really sound like something that’s going to end well. At all.

Oh god, I really am going to die.

I take a gulp of coffee and groan into the deserted kitchen, wondering if a bread knife would have the strength top saw my head off and save me from further mortification.

Actually, after we left the park this afternoon, I seemed to suffer from a disturbingly minimal amount of humiliation. I didn’t catapult myself under a bus. I didn’t have any nasty mishaps with the pavement. I didn’t even accidentally fling myself at Frank squealing ‘I’m yours!’, which would have been pretty mortifying, even by my standards.

I hardly did anything stupid, clumsy or humiliating at all, even although Mikey (the little fuckhead) insisted on walking both Ray and Frank home, which was extremely bad in the fact that my Frank-crazed little fucked up brain cells now know where their obsession lives.

But despite the fact I had to walk beside Frank for twenty whole minutes, I hardly seemed to do anything particularly embarrassing.

In fact, such a lack of mortification is suspicious- I’m pretty sure the universe and my conspiring little brain cells are just waiting to do something fatally embarrassing tonight like the evil geniuses they are.

At least I can become re-incarnated as a slimy little snail that can’t trip over anything or obsess over sex gods then.

Mikey and I arrived back from the town about half an hour ago; Ray had to go home to get ready for his mysterious (and probably feline) date, and Frank had a guitar lesson, although, sadly a lesson which will be finishing in plenty of time for him to go out and buy a packet of red hair dye and come over here in just under three hours.

Why? Why does he have to be so god damn alluring? Why does he have to make my brain cells combust with deranged hormones? And why does he have to bee dating the female Satan?!

Thank motherfuckingmeese my evil stepsister will be going out tonight; if she’d been here and knowing my luck, she’d have walked in on me dying Frank’s hair and I’d have accidentally knocked Frank over at the exact same moment she walked in so it would look as if I was raping him, and things would have got extremely sticky.

Okay, that’s not a good word for my easily excited little brain cells.

Hehehe. Sticky.

Oh shut up, you little morons.

Why do I have to put up with so many insane nitwits living inside my head? Fuck-

Uh oh. Fuck isn’t a good word for my squealy little brain cells either.

Especially as they now know where he lives.

And neither is remembering what Ray said to me this afternoon in the park. In fact, that was the least helpful thing of all- seriously, mentioning my dick and Frank in the same sentence was never going to end well. It also seems to have given all the little fuckfaces that live and constantly bicker inside my head some utterly stupid notion of hope.

I mean, seriously- there’s more chance of Mikey riding a unicorn than there even being the teeniest tiniest shred of hope involving the deepest desires of my deranged little pink-knicker wearing brain cells and the 5’4 amount of pure perfection that is Frank Iero.

And who I will be sitting extremely close to in the bathroom in a disturbingly short amount of time. Stroking his hair.

Oh jeez, the universe really does want me dead.

I choke on my coffee as I look at the clock and realise I only have two hours and fifty three minutes left until my demise caused by the sex-crazed lunacy of my brain cells, my severe lack of co-ordination, and just the entire universe which seems to be plotting against me. I wish it would just get all this torture over with and kill me already.

I wonder how easy it would be to drown yourself in half a mug of coffee…


I jump and look up to see my evil, skinny little straightnerfucker of a sibling standing, smirking in the kitchen doorway.

“What?” I groan, bashing my head down on the table beside my coffee mug.

“Looking forward to tonight?” Mikey grins evilly.

I give him the finger without raising my head.

“I thought you would be,” Mikey chuckles, going over to the fruit bowl on the bench.

“Can’t you dye his hair instead?!” I plead desperately from my dejected slump on the kitchen table, watching Mikey chose a piece of fruit. “I’ll buy you some new straightners! Please?!”

“Sorry Gerard- I’m going out with Tilly, remember. Plus it was specifically you Frank wanted,” Mikey grins his evil grin and sits down beside me at the table, biting into an apple.

“I doubt that,” I sigh, chugging the remains of my coffee after deciding death in a pink ‘Drama Queen’ mug wouldn’t be for the best. “Who’d want me?”

“Search me,” Mikey shrugs, swallowing.

“Thanks,” I scowl.

Mikey smiles innocently. “You’re welcome. But for some reason, I do think Frank likes you.”

“He does not!”

“Is that why he licked your nose this afternoon?” Mikey raises a sceptical eyebrow at me.

“I don’t know!” I protest, trying to ignore all my brain cells melting and my knees going fuzzy at the memory of Frank’s warm, soft tongue on my flesh.

“Well, do you go around liking the noses of your enemies?” Mikey asks.

“Not really,” I admit.

“And what else did he do?”

“He… kissed my nose,” I admit reluctantly, feeling my cheeks flush.

“Ray’s right, he totally wants your cock,” Mikey says casually. “And he has some freaky kind of nose fetish.”

Seconds later, my younger sibling is violently showered and spattered as my last gulp of coffee is spewed from my mouth as I splutter and choke for air due to the fact my brain cells are (most unhelpfully) very vividly picturing things that would definitely make Jamie slaughter me with her baby pink curling tongs with for once, good reason. Seriously, how did my little brain cells become so sick-minded?

“He doesn’t, stop saying that!” I choke, massaging my throat as Mikey wipes his face clean of sibling saliva and lukewarm coffee. “And stop plotting against me with my best friend! Frank doesn’t want my dick, okay?!”

“He so does, Gee,” Mikey grins, chewing his mouthful of apple.

“He does not!” I yelp.


“No he doesn’t!”

“Seriously, fuckface, he so does.”

“He does NOT!”



“Someone actually wants Gerard’s dick?” A soft, venomous voice drifts over from the doorway and Mikey and I both jump and look up to see Satan, Hitler and my stepsister Jamie all rolled into one evil being sneering sickeningly at us from the doorway.

Seriously, it’s not pretty. It’s orange and fake and smeared in pink lip-gloss and it makes me want to puke up my insides.

Yuck. I seriously do not get how people want to go out with that…thing.

“Um,” I say intelligently, while Mikey splutters with hysterical laughter.

“Someone does,” He grins at Jamie. “But I’ve got to go and get ready for seeing Tilly, so I’ll leave you guys to it.”

And with that, he gets up and slouches towards the door, abandoning me and leaving me to be murdered like the betraying, evil, straightner-obsessive he is.

“Why is the universe trying to kill me?!” I wail despairingly, flailing my arms about.

“You’re loosing it, Gee,” Mikey rolls his hazel eyes at me before slouching down the hallway and leaving me alone with the devil.

I gulp.

Jamie rolls her icy eyes at me. “Who wants your dick? I didn’t think you had one,”

“No one,” I mumble, tracing the rings on the tabletop.

“That figures,” Jamie sneers spitefully.

I stay silent, trying to ignore the familiar prickles of hurt and not looking up at her venomous glare.

“Well, I’m off out…” Jamie sighs after a moment, applying yet another coat of sickening pink gloss to her already smothered lips. “Do I look okay?”

I look up reluctantly; she’s wearing a disturbingly short pink mini-skirt that shows off a scary amount of her orange-tinted legs, scarlet stilettos, and a disgustingly lacy, low cut top that makes her look like her boobs are making a bid for freedom. Mind you, if I was her boobs, I would be too- who’d want to be stuck to that bitch?

“You look just like you are,” I smile sweetly, only just managing not to add; “A fake-tanned, satanic, ugly bitch who will become reincarnated as the mouldy lettuce I’ll vomit in my next life as an innocent little snail.”

I suddenly remember; today is Friday; the day I overheard Jamie was meant to be meeting that guy she’s cheating on Frank with. I still can’t even comprehend how anyone, even someone as cold and heartless and Voldemort-descended as Jamie could actually cheat on that guy- he’s just so goddamn nice. Not to mention he does things to your hormones that should be made illegal. And he has the nicest ass like, ever. And amazing eyes. And he wears those wonderfully tight jeans and-

Shut the fuck up, you retarded piece of moose poop.

“Bye, freak!” Jamie sniggers at me, cutting through my perverted nitwit brain cells’ daydreams of one of her, apparently multiple, boyfriends.

“Bye,” I say dully to my disgusting, cheating, slutty stepsister.

“Bitch,” I mutter darkly as she saunters out into the hallway.

When I’m reincarnated as a snail, I will choke her with my slime and force-feed her mouldy lettuce, and she will die. I might even send my herd of bloodthirsty meese after her. Or a flock of ferocious unicorns, so she can die and go to hell as she deserves.

But I suppose to her, going to hell would just be going home.


One teeny, tiny little glance into my bedroom mirror brings me to the conclusion that I seriously need a shower before Frank arrives. And a whole new wardrobe. Not to mention a whole new face and personality.

I wonder how cheap plastic surgeons are…maybe I could buy Jamie a new face for Christmas too.

But right now, I really need to concentrate on the fact that I need to look presentable, halfway human and alluring by the time Frank gets here.

And I only have two hours and thirty nine minutes left.

Two hours to pull of an utterly impossible feat.

This really isn’t good.

My crisis is not helped by the fact my idiotically infuriating, Frank-crazed little brain cells keep interrupting my train of thought with the most inappropriate suggestions of what I could wear to seduce Frank, including a banana skin thong or a pink feather boa and nothing else.

The thought of removing my own head is seriously getting more tempting by the minute. And whoever I inherited these little idiots from that call themselves brain cells, but actually spend the whole day drooling over and fantasising about unattainable guys, wearing pink knickers, and making me suicidal, I am going to dispatch of with something sharp and fatal.

After several minutes of frantic searching in vain through my wardrobe in search of something that might actually make me look in some way appealing and less pathetically gay and albino-like, my little brain cells suggest something so unsuitable that I fling down the pair of pink skinnies and the black ‘Come to the dark side, we have coffee’ t-shirt in frustration, grab my iPod from my unmade bed and storm downstairs.

Of course, my dramatic exit is slightly marred by the fact I collide with my bedroom door.

But only slightly. Okay, a little more than slightly. But whatever. No one needs to know.

Once I’m finally down the stairs without any further mishaps, I yank on my scruffy black converse from beside the front door, and without bothering to say bye to Mikey, I slam my way out of the front door.

I narrowly avoid tripping down the steps, but manage to storm down the street unscathed, headphones on, iPod up full blast and letting The Misfits blast into my ears, drowning out the excitable, perverted, squealy little voices of my mentally incompetent brain cells.

I’ve had enough of mouthwateringly hot and unattainable guys.

I’ve had enough of sneering stepsisters and revenge-seeking brothers.

I’ve had enough of cat-snogging best friends.

And, quite frankly, I’ve had enough of my own brain.

In fact, I’m seriously considering getting a bus straight to the nearest mental institute and signing myself up for intensive shock therapy. That ought to kill off the little fuck-ups that are slowly driving me crazy.

I turn the volume of my iPod up further, trying not to think about the fact Frank Iero, god of all sexy sexiness and sex, not to mention my slutty stepsister’s latest victim, will be wanting me to rub red goo into his head in just over an hour and I look like an insane, drunken albino rat who’s been playing with Black Veil Bride’s make up.

You are insane.

Clearly. I have voices inside my head.

The volume of my iPod is now up so loud I’m pretty sure my hearing will cease to function, but what the hell, it means I can’t hear my own thoughts of insanity and my brain reminding me that I only have seventy three minutes of life left.

Instead of being slowly driven insane by my perverted little brain cells, I try and concentrate on the outside world; it’s sunset; a warm, golden glowing sky and a peaceful, balmy breeze that sweeps through me like a soothing sigh. The streets are calm and quiet; my shadow long and shimmery on the parched pavement as I wend my way through the sun-soaked streets towards the park.

I’m just admiring the lush, green leafiness of the park, about to go through the gate to lounge in peace under the dappled shade of one of the oak trees when I spot something that makes me stop dead.

My mouth falls open in utter shock and disbelief.

All my brain cells have actually stopped talking and are gawping across the park with open mouths and wide eyes.

Oh. My. Meese. Puke.

It’s Jamie.

And her date.

But I’d never, ever in a million years of moose crap and snail slime have guessed who her date was.

Just…oh my motherfucking baby-making bits and moose poopings.

Oh my god.

A/N: Oooh, cliffhanger! xD I have a feeling you guys will enjoy the next chapter…I’m looking forward to writing it! hope this chapter wasn’t too rushed…what did you think of it? I’m feeling kinda sorry for Gerard right now :L hope it was okay…please R&R and tell me which bits you liked (if you liked any) the more R&Rs I get, the sooner I’ll post the next chapter. Thanks for reading…love you all!!

CosmicZombie xo
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