electrical audio while autumn fell

Monsters

inkyskies — Mon, 29 Dec 2008 03:10:47 GMT

TITLE: Monsters
AUTHOR: emmawatson, formerly scared_of_this
PAIRING: Frank/Gerard
RATING: R
POV: both
SUMMARY: Based off the show "Reaper," my favorite. Gerard is a bounty hunter for the devil and Frank is a demon...
NOTE: I've been writing this for a long time, but it's not finished yet. Let me know if you like it.

PART I

Empire City

inkyskies — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 05:37:21 GMT

Title: Empire City (AKA vertical miles in the sky anchored into the degenerating earth that mysteriously ruins your life without even trying – or maybe by trying too hard.)
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating:PG13-R
Summary: It's the year 2099. Most of the earth has been swallowed by water and destroyed, and people are contained in vertical miles in the sky. The government isn't being completely honest.
Note: This is a very long story that I haven't finished yet, but almost. I decided to post it in parts.

PART I
PART II

My Favorite Hobby is the Garden.

inkyskies — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 01:55:53 GMT

Title: My Favorite Hobby is the Garden.
Author: emmawatson
Rating: R
Pairing: Frank/Mikey
Summary: Mikey doesn't appreciate his new neighbor.
A/N: prompt: garden

My Favorite Hobby is the Garden.

Again new

inkyskies — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 01:44:06 GMT

Title: Again
Author: emmawatson
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
POV: Frank; past-tense
Rating: PG
Summary: Followed the prompt "falling in love again."

Again

Red Umbrella new

inkyskies — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 01:41:49 GMT

Title: Red Umbrella
Author: emmawatson
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Frank lives a simple, lonely life. He's painfully awkward and unaware, but a rainy day can change things, if slowly.

Red Umbrella

Excitation & Emission

inkyskies — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 21:10:49 GMT

TITLE: Excitation & Emission
AUTHOR: emmawatson, formerly scared_of_this
PAIRING: Frank/Mikey, Frank/Adam Lazzara
RATING: R
SUMMARY: Focuses on Frank's homosexuality as he moves through life and relationships.
NOTES: One of the first stories I have written - originally from 8/2005, but revised since then.

1 - Rayleigh Scattering
2 - Fluorescence
3 - Quantum Yield
4 - Optical Brighteners
5 - Ultra-Violet
6 - The Excitation & Emission Spectrum

Or follow the links at the end of each chapter.

Chloroformity - Chapters 1 - 9

inkyskies — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 04:58:47 GMT

TITLE: Chloroformity
AUTHOR: emmawatson, formerly scared_of_this
PAIRINGS: Mikey/Frank; Mikey/Gerard
RATING: very NC-17 - beware incest
SUMMARY: My version of a hot slutty Mikeyway. Love triangles to ensure. Great story for impulsive and frequent sex.
NOTES: Revised and edited in June 2008, originally from Sept. 2005.

CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE - THE END

Or you can follow the links at the end of each chapter.

When the truth hurts.

inkyskies — Sat, 15 Jul 2006 02:48:43 GMT

Short piece - Alicia/Gerard/Mikey

~

You step inside, one foot at a time, into your dress, black and smooth, until you cry out for Mikey to come zip you up.

"Mikey's still in the shower," Gerard says, quietly stepping into the bedroom.

"Oh," you breathe, suddenly feeling warm.

"Can I help you with that?"

"Yeah, sure," you reply, pulling your dark hair over your shoulder while trying to keep your dress close to your body.

Gerard steps behind you, his dress shoes echoing on the wood floor, and he takes hold of the zipper, pulling it up slowly at first, until you blush again, realizing you need to suck in a just tiny bit for him to continue.

"You look nice tonight," he says, still standing close behind you.

You finally look into the mirror in front of you, his reflection so close by, and it's there in his eyes, it's swallow and wide, ripples across a murky lake - but oh, is it ever there.

You turn around, breathless and unexpectedly shy, intimidated by his poise, his seniority, those eyes and lips, his heart so strong and his body, different, but definitely so, so close.

Gerard puts his forefinger on your wrist as you two stand there, stunned and wondering, and the feeling is mutual, the feeling to place your lips so delicately upon his own, then to hungrily grab his face, his hair, to be warmed by his arms placed around your waist. You two just stand there, his hand slowly creeping further into your own, you just stand there. Gerard...

"Hey, get out man," Mikey yells, walking into the room, and you try not to let your face (your spine, and breathing aching veins) betray you.

"I have to get dressed Gerard, move, but you can stay here, babe," Mikey continues, giving you a peck on the cheek before he leans down to grab the dress shirt on the bed.

Gerard turns around, walks out of the room without a word, and you continue to get ready for your engagement party.

~

Insecure

inkyskies — Sun, 14 May 2006 06:15:05 GMT

“You don’t think my nose is too big, do you?”

     You roll your eyes at Sonny, and use your hips to sidle him over to make room for you in the front of the mirror so you can put on your make-up too. You’re utterly used to moments like these – sharing a hotel room with the boy (you’re the only one he will half with) and listening to him unceasingly question his looks.

     The saddening part is how beautiful the boy really is, how all these doubts and unnecessary worries stem from people that don’t even know him, people that only care about things that they are criticizing. Sometimes you think of tearing his computer right out of his small hands and throwing it against the wall, cursing and spitting wildly at people sitting easy somewhere across the world.

     But most of the time, sometimes, you just feel the need to hold him and soothe his tears with the sigh of your breathe against his cheek or the movement of your hand along his overgrown locks. And then, there’s all of the time, when you sit and ponder (you can almost feel it so) what it would be like to have his lips upon your own, to have him grip you back and pull you dearly, to have him whisper words of tenderness into your hair. The thought never leaves you and it only grows stronger.

     Because, really, he is just a boy, so small and insecure (you hate to tell him it’s something that you’ll never really grow out of), and he’s been forced to be someone, something, to so many people before he has ever had the chance to just be…Sonny. And that is why your unbroken love for him will remain inside your chest, and in your marrow, and in your hands. For you couldn’t bring yourself to put another pressure on him, to bring him into a situation that will constrict him into growing up just a little bit more (too fast, so fast), to make him feel that’s there just another person on his already long list that he needs to be perfect for.

     For now, you’ll just be content, and wait this awkward growth period out, wait until he’s a little more sure of himself, and a little less concerned with everyone else. Because your love won’t end for him, no, you are his rock, it’s simply that he doesn’t know how deeply embedded you truly are.

Asleep, standalone

inkyskies — Sun, 14 May 2006 05:59:11 GMT

- Title: Asleep
- Author: emmawatson
- Pairing: Frank/Gerard
- Rating: R
- Summary: Frank hasn't slept in over a year and a half...
- POV: Gerard's
- Disclaimer: Total fiction.
- A/N: Let me know about any errors and such. Note some creative license used. Please, please, please listen to godspeed you! black emperor while reading, particularly the song Moya. It's the music to this whole thing and it's on their myspace.

You watch him from behind, slumped on the couch, the controller perched between his fingers. The cat stretches her back out, and settles on the opposite side of him.

“Frank, come to bed.”

You don’t know why you bother, it’s not like he’s been to sleep in...sometimes you come out into the living room and sit with him on the sofa, keep him company, and you pretend to stay awake as your head rests in his lap. He doesn’t try to talk to you, but sometimes, before you fall asleep, you'll tell him stories and listen to him grunt as he nods his head from left to right.

It’s better than nothing.

Most nights you stay inside your bed, and leave him be, leave him to silently suffer on his own as his mind evaporates and his body pleads for rest.

---

“That’s the wrong foot, darling.”

“Hmm?”

“Wrong foot, or wrong shoe,” you reply, leaning over his back as he sits on the bed.

“Oh, right.”

You can almost hear his teeth grinding as he stands up in front of the mirror, running a hand through the grease of his hair and sighing at the mess of bones that he has become. He runs a delicate finger along the shallows of his eyes, and he begins to put on the cover-up he asked you to get for him over a month ago. It doesn’t help.

Skin and bones. You muse that the hardest part of all of this for him is that his tattoos just don’t look quite right anymore. You giggle at how they may just lift right off of his flesh (despite their reputation otherwise) and how that alone might cause him to die (even though...).

You step up behind him and slink your arms around his frame, pressing your lips to his cheek. He grumbles, pushing you away, and you grab your keys off of the nightstand so you can drive him to work.

You won’t pretend you wished your relationship would go back to what it was like when he goddamn slept, no, it was just as bad then too.

---

Your fingers wind deeper into his curls as you push him down further on you, your orgasm ticking away. Ray does what needs to be done for you, and that’s just how it is. You pretend it’s him, but sometimes you can barely remember his whimpers, the smell of his sweat, the strength of his thighs – this makes you sad that it’s all disappearing (that he is dissolving...).

The important part is that Ray doesn’t mind when you call out Frank’s name. The important part is that Frank doesn’t ever know there is a Ray.

---

“Ow, fuck!”

You walk into the kitchen to see Frank standing by the counter, blood dripping from his finger on top of his sandwich.

“What happened?”

“I was just making lunch, my hands were shaking, and fuck, it stings!”

You grab some paper towels from across the room, and put pressure on his wound, kind of scared he might pass out from this.

“Frank, I’ll make your meals from now on.”

“What? Fuck you, I can feed myself,” he shrieks, turning his body away from you and pressing too lightly on his cut.

You didn’t mean for it to sound like it did, but it’s true, you would feed him by hand if it meant no more sloppy incidents (or, perhaps, that his body would actually exist...).

Fuck you Frank, you’re just trying to help.

---

You shoot up in your bed, startled and sleepy, but his voice is ringing clear – it’s screaming.

“Frank, Frank, what’s wrong?” you ask, running into the living room to see his body slumped on the floor, his voice filled with strife, desperate and slow, elongated.

“Dear god, save me, save me, please, oh god,” he’s whispering now, rocking back and forth (somewhere the cat is hissing in response).

You stand back and watch him. His tears dripping delicately onto the carpet, the heave of his chest, the knife in his hand.

You always knew the breakdown would be ugly. You always knew he would die too soon.

---

“So tell me why you’re still with him?” Mikey asks.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” you reply, hugging your coffee mug in one hand as the other twirls a piece of your black hair.

“What? He’s like this zombie that needs to be watched over to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself, or god forbid, that he falls asleep behind the wheel, or whatever. It’s weird, that’s all,” he says, folding his napkin into a tiny square.

“I love him.”

“I fail to see your point,” Mikey drawls, eyes peaking out of the hair hanging over his face.

“When did you become so fucking pessimistic?” you ask, unbelievably uncomfortable,” you know you need to stop the drugs, you’re starting to act weird yourself.”

“Weird? I only realized that no one ever gets their ass fucking saved anymore, it’s all over, over over.”

---

You curl up behind him and hold him close. Frank only sighs and that’s a good sign. You begin to rub his stomach, his hips, and you know he enjoys it because it’s hard to carry these bones around with no help from the muscles.

Your tongue slips slightly out of your mouth and lands on his neck to tickle and he doesn’t say anything, so you know it’s all right, that tonight is one of those rare nights when touching is allowed.

You begin to unbuckle his belt and you ease his pants down around his knees the best you can from behind him. He doesn’t stop or encourage you, but that’s just fine with you. You miss his body, and these moments are exceptional, so you’ll take what you can get (whatever it is, it’s worth it).

You grab your stuff from the nightstand and get yourself ready to finally push inside of him from behind. He doesn’t flinch and he’s quiet, but you rock inside of him like he cares, like he loves you. The silence is becoming stifling, so let out a whimper, his name, but he only continues to stare forward and wait for you to finish.

Oh god, just to hear him cry, to breath, anything that is remotely a response – it angers you that he can just lay there, you know he’s weak, but fucking Christ – Frank, fuck, fuck fuck, why doesn’t he love your touch like you do for his?

Whatever, you can’t do anything about it now except come inside him, pushing his limp body over and running out of the room.

--

“You want Chinese food tonight?”

“Whatever,” he whispers, picking at his gum, his fingernail gnawing incessantly at the red flesh, pricks of blood seeping from his gum line.

“Stop picking at it.”

“Fuck off.”

“I hate you.”

He rolls his eyes and curls up in a ball, his eyes staring blankly at the screen before him. You think about what you read today, how chronic insomnia can be caused from some underlying mental chaos. It can be caused by heart failure as well, and if only that could be the case...well, life would be easier.

You know what his problem is, what four guys can do to another man, what could make him snap and afraid to ever shut his goddamn eyes for fear of seeing their faces again in the black of day and the dawn of night – you know he’s fucked, been fucked, been striped bare, shreds of skin cut so neatly from the bone, skin pulled back, the sound of tendons and sinews being ripped from the bone dancing through the air –

Sometimes you giggle when you look at scans of the brain – sleep-deprived brains, frontal lobes and neocortexes – all the stupid fucking names for the gray sticky matter they know nothing about – they make you laugh when you think of Frank’s brain. You can’t help but imagine it helplessly shrinking and withering as a kid holds a large looming magnifying glass over it in the sun, help me, I’m melting, I’m melting...

You chuckle out loud and Frank kicks his foot at you. It’s kind of sick of you, you know, really do know, but you laughed loudest when you read the part about the death – ha ha, you’re going to die, Frank, fucking die.

That’s when you get up and crawl to the bathroom, you don’t have guts to puke up, so instead you vomit your last meal. Shaking, you pour out his sleeping pills, and you chop them up with the expired credit card you leave in there.

You leave the room, wiping your nose on your favorite black sleeve and fall next to him on the couch, snuggling your head next to his bones.

“I love you Frank.”

“I thought you hated me,” he replies, and shifts his skin.

“No, I love you, that’s what I said. I said I love you. I said I love you.”

“I love you too, Gerard. Go to sleep.”

Go to die.

---

“You want me to get rid of him?”

“Geez, Bob, have you been talking to Mikey lately?”

“Maybe, but seriously, it would be so easy.”

“No, I love him and that’s fucked up,” you reply, suddenly shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

“Whatever, man, it’s up to you.”

“Seriously, you don’t think that it’s fucked up dude?”

“Eh, I’ve done worse,” Bob shrugs, “besides he’s almost gone anyway.”

“I can’t talk about this Bob,” you whisper, pulling a cigarette out and lighting its tip,
”he’s perfectly fine, he’ll fall asleep any day now, and he’ll get better and we’ll be fine, fucking fine and maybe we’ll get a house and a dog, fine, Bob, you hear that?” you squeal, your voice raising in tenor, your hands shaking in fear.

“Okay, okay, I get it, you’ll be fine. Just tell me this, you’ve thought about it haven’t you, thought about sticking a pillow over his face or snapping one of his boney little arms? You have, right?”

“Why are you pushing this Bob? Just quit it,” you yell, your cigarette burning your lip, your hair falling into your eyes.

“Oh, you have, I can tell, you want to, want to just kick his teeth in so you never have to drive him to work again or dress him like a two year old. Just admit it Gerard, you can tell me.”

“I hate you,” you say, teeth gritted,” fucking stop.”

“No, not until you admit it,” Bob replies, standing up, “just fucking say it, life would be easier with him gone, Gerard, it’s just simple truth, he’s a fucking walking sack of bones that can remember where he left his keys and that doesn’t love you anymore.”

“What? He does love me,” you retort, nervous, standing up to match Bob’s height, kicking your chair away and looking at the clock so you know if it’s time to pick Frank up or not.

“He doesn’t love you, you’re just all he has Gerard, you’re his fucking little nanny and you eat his shit up like gold, you’re just a babysitter, you’re nothing,” Bob spits, throwing his empty beer bottle into your trashcan.

“He loves me, that’s not true, take that back, he loves me, loves me, loves me,” you scream, “loves me, loves me, loves me, loves me!”

“You’re gone, man, fucking gone, you’re just as crazy as him,” Bob gives, shaking his head, “fucking gone.”

You jerk your head to his face, loves me still slipping from your breath, and the blood in your brain is set on its heels, your body leaning over the table.

“Fine, I want him dead, is that what you want to hear? That at night I sleep next to him and think about clawing his cheeks with my nails and I imagine that I was there that night, fucking tearing into him like those guys, that I was them, just to leave him fucking squealing on the ground, not having me to cry out for. That I fucking think of ripping his eyes out with the tip of the knife so he can close his eyes for fucking once,” you exhale, the breath from your lungs moist like blood.

“Yes, I want him dead Bob, if he can’t love me, I want him dead.”

---

“Frank, I’m home, are you here?” you call out, setting your bags down on the kitchen table.

You quickly check inside the refrigerator for something to drink, but shut it when you find nothing. You hear chatter coming from the other room and you wonder who Frank would be on the phone with. Walking towards your bedroom, you stop still and peak in the door, the phone still in its receiver.

“I know, I liked that, but just tell me,” Frank says, his back turned from the door, the surrounding room empty.

“Please? Just say it, come on,” Frank pleads with...no one.

You stand back, confused and so interested in this conversation, the way Frank’s standing and moving his arms; the reality of it is so close.

“Whatever, tell me later then, okay? I need to see if Gerard is getting here soon.”

You jump in your place when he turns around and looks at you like nothing happened, like he wasn’t just pleading with air.

“You’re home. I’ll make dinner.”

---

“Frank, who were you talking to earlier?”

“What? When?”

“When I came home from work, you were talking to someone in the bedroom, but no one was there.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Gerard.”

“Oh, okay. Never mind then,” you recede and sink into the couch.

“Why don’t you get closer,” he asks, “and hold me?”

You scoot over on the couch, and lace his body into your arms. His flesh is chilly and his eyes are large, his head nudging into you like a desperate little cat. You rub your hands up and down his arm and he kisses you on your cheek.

Something about this is weird, offset and outweighed – but you’re drowsy with his heart this close, with his eyes set on the motion of your hand, maybe this is it, the end, and you’ll all die happy. Maybe he’s covering up for that fact that you caught him.

You think you’ll make a doctor’s appointment for him on Monday (not that he’ll go, hasn’t gone in months, at least you’ll know you had tried). Maybe you’ll tell the doctor that he’s beginning to imagine things, or maybe you’ll rest with his body in your arms and his fingers on your chest.

Whatever you do, well, you don’t, it’s kind of blurry right now, this love, god, Frank’s love, it’s like scan lines through the screen, dark, outspoken, this kind of love burns. Frank’s love, he loves you, his lips on your neck, your nails through his locks and on his shirt and touching his sleeve, Frank’s love, this is new, the cat won’t stop scratching, this is grim and euphoric, colossal, loves you, loves you, loves you, you don’t even notice Frank murmuring over your back, it’s funny, because he loves you.

---

You roll over onto your side, icy and sad, the sheets barely covering your back. Ray puts his arm around you from behind and you flinch at his touch, and he sighs.

“Want to go to a movie later?” Ray asks.

“What? I go to the movies with Frank, you know that,” you reply, irritated that Ray would dare ask you to do something beyond his bounds.

“Oh, fucking right, whatever Gerard, you can fuck me senseless, but god forbid we do something normal – you do know this is cheating too, if that’s what you're so worried about,” Ray asserts, turning away from you and lighting a cigarette.

You listen to him heave the smoke out from his lungs, not caring if you’re ridiculous, even wrong, Ray serves a purpose, and that’s all it takes.

“Why don’t you just dump him Gerard? You can live here with me, he can take care of himself, this isn’t good for either of you,” Ray says only above a whisper, an ugly seriousness to his voice, your backs facing towards one another.

“No, end of story Ray, don’t push it,” you respond, slowing standing up and looking for your pants.

“This is fucked up Gerard, I want a fucking normal relationship with you, and if you can’t do that for me, then I can’t keep being strung along,” he screams, standing up, ”Frank is fucking dead and gone, your relationship doesn’t exist with him – do you know you cry in your sleep? Toss and fucking turn, pleading for someone to love you, do you know that? That you talk in your sleep?”

“So what, god Ray, it doesn’t mean I want you to be that person to love me, Frank loves me, but he’s tired and I’m just a normal guy, okay? I just need someone to touch because he’s sick, okay? That person is you,“ you reply, looking away, ashamed, cheeks not red, but paler.

“Gerard, I just want to be with you, you’re leading me on.”

“I’m not, I’m fucking not,” you scream, pulling at your hair and falling into the corner, ”I’m not Ray, fucking not.”

Ray leans down and slings his arms around you, liquid salt rolling off of your cheeks, the pain of being weighed down by just another reason...Ray kisses your forehead, and you look blearily at his face, the affection...it kills.

Frank isn’t Ray.

---

“Yeah, that sounds good, but you know what else I was thinking?”

“No, shut up, just let me say it, I was thinking that it would be a better plan to –“

“Frank, who are you talking to?”

“What? Are you spying on me? Leave me alone,” Frank screams, running out of the bedroom.

“Spying? What the fuck, this is our fucking home - now who the fuck are you talking to because I sure as fuck don’t see anyone, Frank.” You follow him around the house as he walks around avoiding the furniture and all the junk on the floor.

“God, I wasn’t talking to anyone Gerard, no one, okay?” he spits at you, his fingers pulling on his t-shirt.

“I’m calling the doctor’s office and you’re going now.”

Frank rushes past you, screaming as he locks himself in the bathroom as you fall back into the wall.

“I don’t need you to take care of me, fuck off Gerard,” he shouts through the door as you tug on the knob desperately for it to open. Objects begin hitting the door as your tugging turns into banging, open up Frank.

You hear him talking, muttering and cursing, and you just know it’s not all at you. You could have sworn that when a mind deteriorated, well, it wouldn’t create two in its fucking place.

---

“Um, I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“I’m just trying to help you Frank, you know that?”

“Yeah, just, um...I don’t, I feel better today, no more talking out loud, Gerard, I was just saying things out loud, that’s all,” he replies, a lump in his throat, and it kills you, seeing him like this, so you’ll let it pass, you know it’s not true, but you’ll pretend it is, just let it pass.

“Do you want to go out tonight or something? The movies, your brother’s house?”

“Um, Mikey’s is a bad idea, let’s go to the movies.”

The car ride is silent, he’s smoking and looking at you, you can’t read his eyes. You’re relieved when the road finally becomes more interesting than your face and you take this moment to look at him. He’s not the Frank you fell in love with, but who ever stays that person anyway? This one is small and pitiful, nothing at all like the pretentious and eager person you knew, no, this Frank’s flaws are different, less booming and ear splitting. This time, this moment, they’re more threatening and worrying, quiet and sober. You don’t know how you feel about that, not at all.

The theater is empty but that’s fine, two guys are more welcoming in the dark. Frank loops his hand into your own, and you tremble, the air on your neck is tickling. This feels good for once, your life, as you sit down together in the dark and your arm is thrown around his tired little body. Frank rests his head on your shoulder, and suddenly there’s not a second where you ever look up at the screen.

---

You slap your hand at the alarm to stop its buzzing and rolling over you face an empty bed. Frank was there last night, staying by you as your eyes drifted shut with the aid of his pills, kissing your neck as your face flushed with heat and love and probably overdoses. Things feel good, or maybe just better, better than last week, or the other day. It won’t last, you know that, and you see it as soon as you enter the kitchen.

“What the fuck did you do?” you scream, terrified at the sight, at his face.

“I don’t know, I don’t remember doing it,” Frank yells, shivering without a shirt on.

You run your fingers over the carved lines made in the table, on the glass of the broken window and you kick the now dull utensil with your toe. Suddenly you’re furious and you hate him, pain coursing through your veins that leaves you no choice but to take it out on him.

“Frank, you fucking piece of shit, I’m going to kill you before I take you to the doctors, then he’ll fucking for sure know what’s fucking wrong with you,” you scream, your fingers itching around his neck as he backs up into the glass shards on the counter.

“I don’t fucking remember Gerard, I swear,” he chokes out.

It doesn’t matter, your hands are too big for his neck at this point and you turn around to leave. Let’s just add absentmindedly destroying the things you worked hard for on top of the list of things to watch out for with Frank. Whatever, you mutter, it’s just a fucking table.

---

You wake up to voices coming from the living room and you’re terrified that Frank has finally turned into the other person he keeps seeing, but when you slowly walk out there with a blanket tied around your waist you see your brother sitting on the couch.

“Mikey? What are you doing?”

“Oh, Frank and I are just having a little talk. What are you doing Gerard?” he replies, and you shiver at the coldness of the room.

“Um, nothing, I need to take Frank to work,” you answer, sleep still clouding your thoughts, but there’s tension there as well.

“That’s okay, I can drive myself today, I’ll be fine I promise, I feel kind of good today, alert even,” Frank chimes in, and you look at him closely as if that will determine whether he has any perception left in him to drive with.

“That settles it, I need to talk to you anyway Gerard. Why don’t you go put on some clothes?” Mikey says, apparently answering for you.

“I, um, I guess so, my keys are on the dresser.”

Frank runs into the other room and comes out with his coat on and your keys in his hand. He walks right out the door without a goodbye and you shuffle into your room to get dressed. When you come out of your bedroom, Mikey is sitting at your now destroyed kitchen table and is cutting up lines of powder on the edge.

“Isn’t it a little bit early for that?”

“An upper for the morning? I think not. Besides, you know you want some, take the edge off those sleeping pills you snort,” Mikey quips, setting his glasses aside and leaning down to his pen tube.

Mikey leaves three lines on the table as he gets up and takes the last bottle of beer out of your refrigerator. You take his seat, snort the lines and immediately regret it, kind of, mostly in part that you have to see your fucked up table so close up.

“So I was talking to Bob and he thinks it would be so easy,” Mikey tells you.

“Don’t fucking start, all you people do is nag me about the most fucked up shit in the world, you’re fucking sick, both of you, just fucked up junkies,” you spat.

“He’s going to fucking die anyway, it’s not fucked up, it’s just helping to end the misery – and your misery too, you could just leave him and be with Ray, but apparently you’re too stupid for that.”

“How do you know about Ray?”

“I’m your bother, I know these things,” Mikey replies, taking out more of his stash.

“Don’t give me that shit,” you growl, grabbing the bottle from his side of the table.

“Fine, Frank told me,” he answers, ”I’m dead serious, he knows Gerard, that’s why you should just end it because it’s clear he’s just with you so he has someone to take care of him and has some place to live.”

“That’s not true, he doesn’t know, you don’t know –“

“No one loves somebody after they’ve been cheated on Gerard.”

You stand up and your hands are shaking, tiny pieces of glass stuck in their tips and you don’t know what else to do but run them under cold water. You stand there shivering, disoriented, as Mikey gets up and places his chin on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry Gerard, but I’ve been telling you,” he coos into your ear, “let’s go to my place for awhile, okay?”

---

You listen to the message on your phone over again, but you’re terrified to ring back the police with all the drugs in your system. Mikey is driving you back to your place as you sit on the edge of his cushioned seat, rocking back, rocking forth. He peels out of the driveway as soon as you step out of the car and you pound forward into the house.

“Frank, where the fuck are you!” you scream as you make your way through the dark house.

“I know you’re fucking here! Why did the police tell me they found my car crashed and empty? You little fuck -”

You reach your bedroom and struggle to find the light switch. Stumbling inside, you hear his voice.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut –“

You walk over to the corner and grab his bloodied body that is huddled on the floor; startling him, you pull him up.

“What the fuck is going on Frank? Things are getting weird, you have to go see the doctor, I’m taking you there now,” you weep, suddenly becoming tired.

“No, I’m fine, I’m fine, I just need to sleep,” Frank replies, blood spilling down his lip.

“I know, that’s why you’re going to the hospital and getting fucking locked up until they figure out what the hell is wrong with you, you need to talk about what happened Frank,” you say, kind of shaking his limp figure.

“Talk about what happened? Like how you cheat on me every week or snort my sleeping pills?” he screams. You let his body fall to the ground and you turn around, slightly deranged and guilty, ashamed.

“I love you Frank, I really do, he means nothing,” you answer, your back towards his figure.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, I love you so much, this is so painful,” you answer, turning around and kneeling down towards him. You look into his eyes, wide, feral, but distant, the blood on his face is drying now and you reach out to wipe his brow.

“Well I never loved you Gerard,” he whispers, pushing your hand away,” you were nothing but convenient.”

“What?” you ask incredulously, your hair falling over his face.

“I don’t love you Gerard, I never did,” he repeats, the scorpion on his neck twitching.

“No, no, no, you’re lying, I didn’t mean to hurt you, no, Frank, no,” you scream, shaking his face,” take that fucking back, no, no, no, oh god,” you cry, your nails seeping into his skin.

Frank wearily stands, pushing your weeping figure out of his way as you grab onto his ankle, but he shakes your withering hands right off.

“No, he loves me,” you whisper,” no, no, loves me, loves me, loves me.”

---

“Bob, can we meet up later?”

“Sure, what about?” he replies, and you can hear the smoke pouring out of his nose.

“I changed my mind, you’re right. About Frank. I just need you to tell me what to do, this is for me.”

“Sure thing, I had a feeling things might turn around,” Bob laughs,” sure thing.”

---

Bob tried to help you feel comfortable, but only the alcohol is any consolation besides Frank’s words. You haven’t seen him in two days while hiding out at Mikey’s place and you didn’t miss him as Mikey force-fed you his own special little concoctions.

It’s simple really, some rope, some chemicals, maybe some suffocation to be quick about it, but fuck, what’s really simple is he doesn’t love you, and you shiver at this thought, stumbling between the bushes in front of your home.

But you love Frank.

You’ll run off with Ray, maybe, but it will always be Frank. If only he could sleep – well, it’s too late to ask for that night to be replayed, or for Frank to get some help, no, that window of opportunity has passed, faded, been washed away...things could have been different if he curled up with you every night, worn out and disheveled, dozing and dreaming together, soft vowels and urgent cries that escape each of your tongues. Maybe you’re reading too much into this, placing blame on what’s easiest...

He just hasn’t loved you at all, that’s it, things really are so definite and loud. That’s reason enough for you, for Frank, to be killed, just unorthodoxly put to sleep. You hate him for his inability to love you, you hate him for going crazy, you hate him for never touching you back, your name never a tickle along his lips, your advice never heeded, his eyes never closed or crying out for relief. If this will make things better, if it will set you free, free from his attacks and hostility, his reliance on just a person and not a soul – not your fucking soul – lord help this so, you will goddamn pull the cord and all that’s attached to it.

That’s when you unlock your front door, slipping inside to a dimly lit living room. There’s his body on the couch, eyes closed and he’s out.

“My god, he’s asleep,” you cry, astounded and relieved, so released.

You step up to his body, kneeling down and you place a palm on his cheek, it’s so warm and settled, you love this face and this heart and maybe, oh fuck, maybe things can change, maybe a good long nap is all he needs and twenty years later it’s all different, he’ll see that he was wrong, he loves you, loves you, loves you...you hate yourself for ever thinking...things can change, he will change his mind.

“I love you Frank, I truly, truly do – guah, huu, huuh, huuhh,” you gasp, the knife in your back causing strain.

You feel the warmth of seeping blood as Frank pulls it out and slides it back in, this time closer to your tiny little heart. Your vision is becoming cloudy, but you can hear Frank just fine, he’s talking out loud, only not to you...

Your listless body gets dragged into the other room, and then carefully placed into the now empty refrigerator. It’s safe now, you won’t hurt Frank, you won’t love Frank. No, Frank will be all right, he’ll just sit and rock, he has friends and they’ll be there for him, even if no one can see them, no one can see...

Here it begins...

inkyskies — Sun, 26 Feb 2006 23:12:13 GMT

The Levee
Frank Iero/Mikey Way, Frank/Jamia
Standalone
Rating: PG-13
02/2006

It's hard to sit back and watch the perfect couple. It's hard to breath with his lips so close. The start of it all is slow, but the downfall is blinding.

Composition
Patrick Stumph/Pete Wentz
Standalone
Rating: PG-13
01/2006

Pete tries to figure out who Patrick is, but it's harder than he'll ever know.

Enhancers & Silencers
Frank/Mikey
Seven chapters (follow the link at the end of each chapter to get to the next)
Rating: NC-17
12/2005

Michael is going through a mid-life crisis, but Frankie just might be his solution or his hell.

Paint by Numbers
Mikey/Gerard Way
Standalone
Rating: R
11/2005

Painting a relationship through numbers - it's not a pretty picture.

Error Operator
Gerard/Frank
Standalone
Rating: R
09/2005

AU based loosely on a French film. Frank meets Gerard on vacation in Italy, but it's never what you thought. This is one of my favorites.

Chariots on Fire
Gerard/Mikey
Standalone
Rating: PG-13
09/2005

Short abstract piece on Gerard and Mikey's ever doomed relationship.

What if
Non-fandom
Standalone
Rating: PG-13
01/2006

Abstract piece delving into my crazy, crazy mind.

Don't Push Your Love Away
Mikey/Gerard, Mikey/Adam, Frank/Adam
Introduction, plus five chapters
Rated: R
07/2005

This is a kind of thick read with various intertwined relationships. It's kind of cliché, but Adam makes it all better. I wrote it while driving from Florida to Boston. It doesn't have an offical ending, but where I left it kind of works. A few parts reflect myself.

Set It Off
Frank/Gerard
Standalone
Rated: PG-13
06/2005

Gerard does something drastic for Frank. It's fluff, so I don't really like it. The premise behind it is cool.

Do you want a chance?
Mikey/Frank
Standalone, four parts
Rated: PG-13
05/2005

This is the first story I have ever, ever written in my life. I edited recently for grammatical errors, and forgetting what I had written, I fell deeply in love with the imagery and the words. It has a lot of myself in it.