Little white lies

I’d Rather Know

2008-05-17T17:38:04Z

Title: I’d Rather Know
Author: dragonflykissez/burn_the_road
Rating: PG-13 [mentions of death]
Characters: Mentions of past R/S, Remus-centric.
Word Count: 998
Summary: What’s left after the first defeat of Voldemort isn’t all that much.
Disclaimer: I make no claim to own the characters, they belong to JK Rowling.
Author’s Notes: Very heavy on the angst. It’s a songfic, because the song just fit so well with the mood. You can listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sy3lJIxyZ60 (Blindsided by Bon Iver), the artist is simply amazing. Cut-text is a quote from John Le Carré. Unbeta’d, concrit is welcome!

Remus is left with the draughty little cottage by the shore, bequeathed to him in his father’s will. After it all, after he has lost three friends to another, this is all he’s got. He can’t even find another place for the winter, he just watches the ice creep across the little lagoons made on the shoreline. The water doesn’t even make that quiet lapping noise Remus had loved as a child. He tries to shrug the weight off his shoulders, but it hasn’t anywhere else to go.

Bike down, down to the downtown
Down to the lockdown, boards, nails lie around

He decides he will ride his bike down the road to the little town. He moves slowly past the shabby shed he uses during full moons. The boards are thin, but he hardly has the energy to do his groceries most days, so home repair is probably out of the question. He bikes through the snow, he doesn’t mind, because there is no one here to see him fall. Of course, it means that when the banks become too high and the tires stop moving and he falls down, there is no one to pick him up again either.

I crouch like a crow
Contrasting the snow
For the agony I'd rather know
'Cause blinded, I am blindsided

Remus sits. He’s just fallen off his bicycle, the seat of his trousers is started to soak through and all he can do is sit, his cloak making a dark outline against the snow. He wants answers, he wants some explanations. And at the very same moment he begins to think, he turns his thoughts away. He focuses on the cold, wet feeling of the snow. On the bike chain digging into his ankle. It’s so much easier, Remus has found, to focus on little things. In the time between James and Lily’s death and now, in the time between…well. He’s had far too long to consider the value of teacups and papercuts. Every time he even attempts to figure out what happened that night, he can’t help but feel off balance, like a trolley he hadn’t seen has just run him straight over. And even though he’s been sitting in the snow for quite some time, he suddenly feels as if his breath has been knocked out of him. He hadn’t seen it coming.

I cup the window
I'm crippled and slow
For the agony I'd rather know
'Cause blinded, I am blindsided

After the number of full moons he’s spent alone during the summers at school, he expected things to be bad, but bearable. Except that it’s different now; they aren’t coming back. Any of them, ever. Or he doesn’t want them back. The pain of Sirius’ betrayal (of James, of Lily, of Harry, of Peter, of him. Of them) is too much for him to understand in wolf form. He only understands the irrational anger, the loss of his pack, and Remus wakes with the worst pains he’s had for a long time.

He curls up to the glass of his window, a blanket wrapped around his thin frame. Winters are the worst season for Remus after a transformation; he can feel the cold in his stretched and aching muscles, it stops his bones from moving about smoothly. Remus feels crippled by the winter, by the loss of everything he thought he’d known. He just, he comments to the empty room, doesn’t understand. Things had been, if not good, at least predictable. He would come home after a day of work that he couldn’t talk about. Sirius would be there already, cooking some supper, and watch quietly as Remus put his things away, and they would eat in silence. He knew Sirius suspected him, knew every action and word was being weighed against the doubts. There was sex still, sometimes. Rougher than before, and quieter, like everything else. But more often than not, they avoided touching each other at all. Never, never had he really thought Sirius could betray James. And to leave Remus with not even an inkling, not even those suspicions that had so seemed to plague Sirius himself? It was unfair, and he hadn’t been ready for the fallout.

Taught line, down to the shoreline

In the spring, Remus walks to the village most days. He needs that connection, that predictability again, or he thinks he may simply fall under the melting sheets of ice. He peers in the windows and watches the senior citizens hobble down the street. He likes that he sees no one who will give him a look of pity. He wishes he didn’t deserve anyone’s pity in the first place. After dark, Remus walks the length of the shore in front of the cottage. By the light of the moon he follows the paths that he wishes would take him back in time. He buries his love and his pain a little more, casts them into the ocean. They come back, of course, but they’ve been worn down by the waves and are a little less raw.

The end of a blood line, the moon is a cold light

Remus knows that there is still Harry to think about. He can see it in Dumbledore’s eyes, the pity again, but with the reminder to think about his almost-godson. That’s all there is to do. There isn’t anyone left. There isn’t anything left. The end of the Marauders, all in one big bang. He doesn’t feel like a Marauder anymore. I’m the only one left, he screams into the wind. Remus doesn’t even know where to go from this point on, only that he’ll likely never shake the feeling of being blindsided. Blinded by love and illusions of normalcy, he’d been knocked off his feet when it all came crashing down. Remus feels hollowed out and, if he’s honest, like Sirius’ betrayal is killing him slowly. Killing him too.

The end of the Marauders, all in one.

Google

2008-04-18T03:03:06Z

Title: Google
Author: dragonflykissez
Theme: Badass Boys in a Badass Band
Rating: PG
Word Count: 196
Warnings/Disclaimer: The people in this story are not mine. And not at all badass.
Author's Notes: Third place winner at mcr_100 Badass Boys in a Badass Band challenge!

Mikey’s shirt is one of his favourites. As a rule he follows its advice, thanks mainly to some disturbing theories about him and Gerard. Yet here he is, alone on the tour bus, happily typing his name into Google. Image Search this time.

Mikey skims down the page, seeing himself with his eyes closed more times than he’d like to count. Actually, more times than he probably could count if he tried.

“Oh man,” he groans aloud, “I look like such a pansy.”

When Frank steps onto the bus later that day, Mikey is ready. He has the camera, the location (in front of that portrait of himself that Gerard once drew), and the outfit. He shoves the camera into Frank’s hands, shouts, “Take the picture, quick!” and strikes his pose. Waiting for the flash to come, Mikey notices Frank’s amusement.

“Uh, Mikey? What’s all this about, man?”

“I can’t believe I’ve always looked so stupid, Frank. I need to look more badass. I need to show the world that I can be more badass!” Mikey throws up some gangster sign or another, and waits once again.

"Okay, if you say so."

Frank grins, and clicks.

In The Bravest Moments

2008-02-28T06:13:54Z

Title: In The Bravest Moments
Author: burn_the_road
Rating: PG
POV: Third
Summary: Post-Hogwarts, Sirius watches Remus.
Disclaimer: I make no claim to own the characters, they belong to JK Rowling.
Author’s Notes: The title/cut-text are from the song Skyway Bridge by Melissa McClelland. My first attempt at this pairing, so I'd appreciate any feedback and/or constructive criticism!

The air is filled with morning light, warmth that spills in through the opened windows and spreads to every dip and hole in the flat. This is one thing that’s completely different from life at 12 Grimmauld Place - where everything was stuffy and dark and cold. Sirius revels in this new warmth.

He rolls over slightly, and Remus’ nose buries further into his neck, breath puffing lightly against his chest. Sirius runs his fingers through his bed-mate’s hair, watching the way his body curls slightly into his own, traces the path of Remus’ scars with his eyes. Thinks that he will never see anything as beautiful as this.

Another thing that’s different. Now that they have both come to their senses, and shouted and groaned and whispered their love too many times to count, Remus lives here, in Sirius’ new house. Sirius could not have lived here on his own anyway, would have ached for this too constantly to call the flat home. It’s rather the feel of Remus’ hands, the way their legs tangle together, their matched breathing, that makes Sirius return here every night.

Watching Remus, Sirius tries to commit every last detail of him to memory, so that he will always remember this, no matter what the war brings. Remus stirs, nuzzling closer to the hand stroking his hair. He lazily blinks his eyes open against the light that is still seeping into the room, focusing on Sirius’ face, beside his own. He watches Sirius watch him, and doesn’t say a word, just kisses his shoulder, and waits for Sirius to speak first.

“Morning,” Sirius whispers, a small smile quirking his lips up at the corner. He doesn’t take his eyes off Remus.

“Morning,” Remus replies. He reaches a hand out to brush against Sirius’ cheek.

This is all that matters.

Silence

2008-02-28T06:13:28Z

Title: Silence
Author: burn_the_road
Rating: PG-13 for slight, slight gore
Characters: It can be anyone. I pictured it as Frank for some reason though, so *shrug*
POV: Third
Summary: Silence is all that he wants.
Disclaimer: All situations in this story are fictional, and I don’t claim to own the characters.
Word Count: 368
Prompt Used: Needles
Beta Love: x_sagittaria_x :) still love ya, chicky, no worries.
Author’s Notes: Urm, yes, I have ze skills, and am submitting this about 1 hour before the deadline, woop! Please comment if you like it, concrit would also be appreciated, thank you!

The scene flashes before him for a moment; the colours inverting. The snow turns black. He’s not sure what it means. He moves into the forest in front of him, deeper into the silence. The soft bed of dead pine needles against his bare feet makes him feel free. He can’t remember how he got here, or why he isn’t frozen. He just knows that walking like this, through the trees and wild things, makes him feel better. Better, if a little uneasy because there aren’t any birds. No birds, no animals to make noises he’d recognize. No whispers of the wind. He strains his ears but can’t hear his own footsteps.

When the bright flash of sunlight off the snow is no longer visible behind him, he stops and looks around. There is nothing special about this place, no reason for him to have come here. He takes another step and shrieks in agony. The pine needles, those which had given his feet a soft surface to walk upon, are glinting now. They aren’t natural anymore, they aren’t normal, they aren’t safe. The pain in his feet causes him to fall to his knees. The needles, so many, littering the forest floor, puncture his skin. He can feel their tiny pricks everywhere that his body meets the ground, and he can’t get away from them all. He is screaming now, screaming, and screaming, and screaming because there is no way he will ever get out of here.

He screams himself to oblivion, back into the silence and darkness that he is comfortable with. But then there is a vaguely familiar hand reaching, pulling him away from his peaceful obscurity.

The first thing he notices; the awful, glaring white. The brightness makes his eyes water. The second thing he notices is the unending stream of noise. A face swims before him; he can’t quite place it. Everything is so wrong here, he just wants to get back to the safety and the quiet.

“No more. No more sound, it hurts. No,” screaming as he fades once more.

As he is drifting away, he hears a voice, hollow and tinny sounding,

“Do you think he’ll ever be okay again?”

The Colour Boy

2008-02-28T06:13:04Z

Title: The Colour Boy
Author: burn_the_road
Rating: PG-13 for slight gore
Characters: Mikey and Gerard [not Waycest]
POV: Third, omniscient. Mikey-centric
Summary: All he wants is to feel colourful.
Disclaimer: All situations in this story are fictional, and I don’t claim to own the characters.
Word Count: 1, 000 on the dot!
Prompt Used: Needles
Author’s Notes: Partially inspired by Death Cab For Cutie’s, “A Lack Of Color”. This is my first time ever writing something like this, please comment! Beta Love: x_sagittaria_x

In the basement, sewing up his freshly torn shirt, he wonders if there is any meaning to it. After a few stitches, he decides that it isn’t possible. The tear is nowhere symbolic, and the tear doesn’t make him feel anything different. It just is. When he realizes that a piece of fabric has been ripped off, and that the hole will be too large to fix by itself, he decides a patch is in order. He sticks the needle into the bunched up fabric, and moves up the stairs. He knows there is a box of old fabric somewhere in the house; his mother used it to fix worn out clothes when he was younger. Before the band, and this tour. Before there was this anger and tiredness, and before everything was so slow.

He finds the box after not too long. He almost doesn’t care enough to do anything about the shirt, but he’s bored out of his mind, and this helps a bit. Traipsing back into the basement with the box of fabrics, he is enthralled by their colours. They don’t exactly go well together, nor are they particularly stylish. But their sheer energy get to him somehow, like nothing else has recently. He stands in the middle of the floor, just staring at the fabrics that shouldn’t be affecting him so much. His mind screams at him that this box, these colours, are the only things that matter. They stand out amongst everything that floats aimlessly in his life, they feel real. They quicken his heartbeat, his thoughts, which feel like they may be able to catch up to the real world if only he could hold onto them tightly enough. He wishes there were colours like these under his own skin, bursting through the husk of who he thinks he is and making him so much more. He wants to be these colours more than he has wanted anything else.

The sewing needle works through the fabric of his shirt, tying the colours down onto it. He pulls the shirt over his head, but even as he does so, he feels that this is not right. Not quite. He wants to be inside the colours, wants them to be inside of him, and wearing this shirt covered in them isn’t the same. He removes the shirt, pulls the stitches out methodically. Slowly, because that is the way he does everything, even if no one else notices.

Once all the pieces are back in the box, what he does next is almost automatic. He needs these fluttering bits of something-nothings so close that they pervade his very self, that he becomes them, because they are so very beautiful.

The needle doesn’t hurt, not really. By this time, he is so far removed from everything that he barely even feels the tug of the thread as he tightens the stitches. Almost from another plane of existence it seems, he watches as the pieces become a part of him, one by one. Their edges are dotted with stains of red, but the different colours make the red look different colours too. He keeps moving the needle, in and out, in and out, until he’s used up every piece of colour there is. He thinks it’s strange that he can’t feel the prick each time, because he knows he should. But things are different for him, he knows, and it is okay, this time, to be different. How else would he be able to understand the beauty that he is slowly becoming?

He lies on the bed that once was his, his head hanging off the edge, seeing the world upside-down. He closes his eyes and lets the colours seep. Lets himself feel them in every way possible, lets himself become them.

When Gerard calls his brother, and Mikey doesn’t answer, he softly pads down into the basement that used to be Mikey’s old bedroom. A few steps into the room, Gerard yelps loudly; he has stepped on a sewing needle. He reaches down to pick it out of the carpet, noticing that there are many more scattered throughout the room, he can see them shining from within the shelter of the old shag.

“Mikey?” Gerard moves forward, careful not to stand on any more needles. He finds Mikey lying on his bed and begins to smile.

“Gerard,” Mikey breathes, “Everything’s getting better, Gerard. I can feel it. Everything’s alive again. Do you see it?”

Gerard’s smile dies on his lips, there is something in Mikey’s eyes that tells him something is so, so wrong here. His eyes move over Mikey’s body now, and he almost gags with the realization of what Mikey has done. He can see the blood even from where he stands, can see the fabric almost covering it up, can see that his brother doesn’t even care.

Mikey stands up leisurely, moves towards his brother, who is staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at Mikey. Mikey knows it is because Gerard wants to feel the colours too, to know what it feels like to be a part of something like this. He bends, takes a needle between his fingers, and picks at the frayed edges of the fabric he has sheathed himself in.

“Gerard? I can share with you, you know. It doesn’t hurt. I can fix you too, I can make you everything you want to be. It’s real easy,”

Mikey ambles closer to Gerard, the thread and dried blood making it harder to move quickly. He holds the needle up, the weak lighting making it more menacing. Gerard bolts. He thuds up the stairs, and shuts the door behind him with a snap. He knows that he should be able to take Mikey in a fight any day, but his brother is so utterly fucked up, he isn’t sure that normal rules apply.

Until he can find someone to help, Gerard flicks the lock, trapping the boy who wants to be made of colours downstairs.

A Plan

2008-02-28T06:12:37Z

Title: A Plan
Author: burn_the_road
Rating: PG
Characters: Frank/Gerard
POV: Third, Gerard-centric
Summary: This is going to be one horrible birthday.
Disclaimer: All situations in this story are fictional, and I don’t claim to own the characters.
Word Count: 1, 382
Prompt Used: Universal Monsters
Author’s Notes: Halloween fluff. I’m not telling you the monster because that would spoil it. And oh, I know the title sucks, but I could think of nothing better.
Beta Love: x_sagittaria_x, despite Word being a jerk.

“Yeah…you got the cake…uh huh…no, he should be back any-”

Gerard quickly snapped his cell phone shut as Frank bounced cheerily in the door.

“Who were you talking to Gerard?” Frank asked him, a curious smile quirking his lips, as he moved past Gerard into the bus’ kitchenette.

“Nobody important.”

“Then why did you hang up so suddenly?”

“They were done talking,” Gerard said, the lilt at the end of his statement making it sound more like a question.

Frank glanced back at Gerard, one eyebrow raised, then shook his head and went back to rooting through the cupboards.

Gerard put the cell phone down on the fold-out table and moved into the kitchen with Frank.

“Dude, looking for anything special or just being a complete freak?”

Frank poked his head around the cupboard door to glare at Gerard.

“I was actually looking for some green food colouring.”

“Oh, because that’s completely un-freak-like of you.”

“Loser, it’s for my Halloween costume, I’m going trick-or-treating tonight.”

“No you aren’t, we have an interview to go to, remember?”

Frank climbed down from his perch on the counter where he had been desperately stretching his small frame in order to reach the highest shelves. Once he had both feet back on the ground, he turned to Gerard and stared him down for a few moments.

“But Gerard, it’s Halloween! I don’t want to go to some stupid interview when there’s candy out there, begging to be eaten!” Frank whined. “And besides that, it’s my birthday! What a great present: ‘Here Frank, answer some generic questions about the new album.’ Just what I always wanted.”

Gerard found it incredibly difficult not to give in to Frank, he sounded so upset that he wouldn’t be able to out tonight, but he ultimately had to stay responsible and make sure things happened the way they were supposed to.

“Yeah, I know this sucks, but it’s for the fans. It’s part of what we do, you know that. The guys and I will make it up to you soon, we’ll stay at a hotel for the next concert, do some clubbing or something. That sound good?”

“Yeah, Gerard, that’s fine,” Frank sighed, “But I’m still wearing this costume tonight. I didn’t spend all this time making it just to let it go to waste!”

“If you must,” Gerard conceded, though he admittedly wasn’t trying very hard to talk Frank out of it. In fact, he’d been counting on Frank’s stubborn streak for this part of his plan. As long as Frank wore his costume to the ‘interview’, and thought it was his own idea, things were okay, Gerard figured.

Reminding himself that while he knew what Frank’s costume would be, he didn’t want Frank to catch on to that. To keep up his ruse of innocence, he asked,

“So anyways, Frank, what are you dressing up as this Halloween?”

“Frankenstein’s Monster,” he replied, a smug grin plastered on his face.

“Oh you’re very creative, aren’t you?” Gerard rolled his eyes at Frank’s predictability, but truthfully, it had been incredibly helpful while Gerard had been deciding on his own costume for the night.

“Frank, you better start getting ready, because we’ll be there in half an hour, if the bus is leaving now,” Gerard shouted back towards the kitchen as he walked into the bunk area, grabbing his cell as he went. He needed to collect his thoughts before he and Frank reached their destination.

After listening to various grunts and groans coming from the front of the bus for a few minutes, Gerard finally asked,

“Frank, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

“What were those noises I heard?”

“Oh sorry, I was practising. Monster noises are hard to master, you know.”

Gerard chuckled, thoroughly amused by Frank’s exuberance when it came to Halloween. Startled by the sudden vibration of his phone, Gerard’s head nearly hit the roof of his bunk.

“Hello? Oh hey Mikey,” Gerard practically shouted, ensuring that Frank could hear him. “How’s Alicia? That’s good, good. Yeah, we have an interview to go to, as a matter of fact we should probably be there by now. Yeah alright, I’ll phone you back when we’re done. Bye Mikes.”

Done with the signal call, Gerard hung up and threw the phone to the end of his mattress. He poked his head around the curtain of his bunk, turning to watch Frank lumber around the kitchen area in full monster getup.

“Frank, you do realise you look ridiculous, right?” Gerard teased.

Laughing, he pushed himself out of his bunk and down the bus’ steps, since it had stopped right outside the industrial looking building, which was where they were supposed to be. Frank followed him out the door and up the path towards the entrance of the building. Just as they got to the front door, Gerard pretended to have to tie his shoe, and ushered Frank inside. As soon as Frank opened the door, a booming cheer of, “Surprise!” came wildly from within. Gerard stood up to watch as Frankenstein was hugged and patted on the back by monsters, ghouls and frightening creatures of all kinds. The music started almost right away, the costumed guests moving towards the dance floor and alcohol as one. Once the area in front of the door cleared, the other members of the band came up, Mikey in his old Zorro costume, Ray pretending to be a zombie, and Bob, a cat, and an unwilling cat judging by the look on his face.

Handshakes and hugs were exchanged between all of them.

“Thanks, you guys, really. You actually had me convinced that this was going to be a shitty birthday, what with the interview and no Halloween,” Frank smiled around at all of his close friends, “Cruel, but effective.”

“Aren’t we always?” Ray sniggered, “Nice costume, Frankenstein, very original.”

“Oh yeah, zombie-boy, you’re one to talk,” Frank retaliated, “All of you, actually. Hahaha, Mikey, that costume is so old I’m surprised it isn’t see-through. And…Bob?”

“Don’t ask. A bet was…lost. Tragically,” Bob said, a sombre shake of his head closing off any further discussion on the subject.

“And Gerard, you aren’t even dressed up!”

“Well, I couldn’t really have gotten all ready for Halloween just for an ‘interview’ now could I? That’s your job, Frank,” Gerard poked Frank’s green face.

“You’re sure that stupid hat you’ve been wearing all day isn’t your costume?” asked Frank.

Gerard patted his hat, “Naw, my costume’s here already, I just have to go change. I’ll be right back.”

Gerard pushed his way past the party-goers that filled the place. Once he reached the bathroom where his clothes had been safely stored, he got started on preparing his costume. He was nervous about what Frank would say, and how corny he would ultimately sound, but figured he could always make it seem like a joke, if he needed to. He opened the door of the bathroom, and stepped out into the mass of people once more, his dress swirling ever so slightly around him.

Finally making his way over to Frank who was now talking to Brian and some other friends, Gerard tapped him on his costume-broadened shoulder. Frank turned around and after spluttering on his drink for a moment could say nothing more than,

“Gerard, your hair!”

“Hahaha, yeah, well, I had left over bleach from The Patient,” Gerard grinned.

“And you’re wearing a dress.”

“Yes, Frank, I am wearing a dress, you’re a quick wit, you are!”

“And so you’re supposed to be…?”

“The…er…The Bride of Frankenstein,” Gerard said tentatively, almost asking.

“Well, that’s moving a little quick, don’t you think?”

“Well, yeah, I know, but I mean, it wasn’t, I mean, I’m not…”

“How about The Date of Frankenstein, for tonight?” Frank grinned at Gerard, who in turn gave a lopsided smile back. Frank grabbed Gerard’s hand and pulled him out towards where most of the people had gathered and started dancing wildly around, trying to seem as much like a dancing reanimated corpse as possible, while Gerard danced around him, almost tripping on his long dress several times.

By the end of the night Frank and Gerard were a mess of melted makeup and sweaty clothes, but they kept dancing; a monster and his date.

Um, oh hai, I got bored. For visual reference:

The Price

2008-02-28T06:12:01Z

Title: The Price
Author: burn_the_road
Rating: Pg-13
Sin/Virtue): Kindness
Word Count: 469
Characters: Ray
Summary: Something’s gotta give.
Any warning/notes: Self harm
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not meant to imply or condone anything it contains.
Author Notes: This one’s unbeta’d, so any mistakes on my part, please feel free to point out. Darn Canada Day weekend is giving me time constraints. Please comment if you like/don’t like, concrit is welcome. Thanks :)

Everyone came first. It was always that way, and would always be that way. Kindness is the most important thing in this world, Ray’s mother had taught him, amongst all the carnage, crime and sin, it was kindness that let people retain their humanity. And what else would Ray himself have, if it weren’t for being nice? It’s what made him who he was, it’s what people always mentioned when they talked about him; Ray’s compassion, Ray’s empathy, Ray’s good spirit. If they knew what he really thought about some of them…

But no, no, he shouldn’t think like that. It was wrong of him, to have those thoughts about other people. Sometimes Ray wished he could just tell someone when they made him angry, when he didn’t like something, but that wouldn’t be nice of him, and then where would he be? No, it was better just to squash those thoughts as soon as possible, send them away.

They never really went away though, not truly. They wedged themselves and festered inside Ray’s brain, but he wouldn’t acknowledge them. Soon enough, though, they couldn’t be contained anymore, and he could feel them all rushing at him, overloading his brain, but it was bad, so bad to want to hurt someone else, and he hated himself for ever thinking this maliciously. The hate just bubbled over, and there was nothing else he could do but let it out. It surrounded him, it suffocated him, and he just wanted to hurt so bad, because he deserved it, for thinking like that. A safety pin, the closest thing that looked like it would do the most damage was grabbed, unhooked. The sting as Ray pulled it as hard as he could across his skin, calmed him. He just kept going, lines upon lines across his flesh, until eventually his anger with himself puttered out, and he stopped. He wiped up the blood, covered the scratches with Band-Aids and then just sat.

It was easier this way. It was better for everyone if he just let this happen when it needed to, and it needed to. Every once in a while things just built up, came to head and he had to stop it before it exploded visibly. This, this pain, the pain that their band so avidly spoke out against, was the only thing that worked, so he used it. And no one knew. No one knew, and he wanted it that way. Kept it that way. But soon enough these little cuts that he didn’t talk about came to be everything to him, and he forgot about kindness, and why it all began. What started as a crack in his armour spread, ripping apart the façade that everyone thought they knew, and letting them see the price of kindness.

Pixy Stix Bitch

2008-02-28T06:11:23Z

Title: Pixy Stix Bitch
Author: burn_the_road
Rating: NC-17 [language and scenes of a sexual nature]
Pairing (if applicable): Frank/Bob
Word Count: 1068
Disclaimer: I do not own the people mentioned in this story, nor do I have any rights to Pixy Stix and their sugary delight.
Summary: Frank has strange eating habits, but Bob’s not complaining.
Beta MUCH Love: x_sagittaria_x
Any notes/warnings: Frank’s habits are based off of Allison Reynolds’ in The Breakfast Club. Um, first sex scene anyone? Concrit is welcome, comments are appreciated!

Fingers moving with blinding speed, Bob tackled his newest Guitar Hero challenge with a vengeance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frank walking around the kitchen and could hear the various opening and closing of cabinets that invariably meant Frank was on a food hunt.

“Bob?”

“Yeah?”

“Do we have any fucking bread on this bus?”

“Probably in the corner cabinet behind the Nutella. I'm about to fail this song, so don’t ask me why.”

“Why?”

“ARRRRGH!" Bob's fingers raced in an attempt to keep up with the music. It was hard enough of a song to finish without Frank bothering him about bread. "Bitch!"

“Only for you, baby.”

Bob laughed lightly, but didn’t say anything in return; partially because whatever he was going to say would involve some dirty words and suggestive phrases that would most likely end in embarrassment, and partially because trying to hold a conversation and play Guitar Hero at the same time was proving to be difficult.

Finally finished the song, Bob threw the controller onto the couch and got up to investigate why Frank had so urgently required bread. Leaning on the door frame of the entrance to the kitchen, Bob watched as Frank poured the last of his Pixy Stix sugar onto a slice of bread, slapped another on top, and shoved it halfway into his mouth.

“Uh, Frank…I’m pretty sure that’s not the way you’re supposed to eat those things.”

“Yeah, well, it’s just candy. You can eat it however you want to.”

“Yeah I guess. But I’m also pretty sure that Pixy Stix don’t count as a type of sandwich-filler.”

“Who cares, Bob?”

“Well sor-ry. I can't really help but question your strange eating habits.”

“Putting flavoured sugar on everything before you eat it isn’t a strange eating habit! A strange eating habit is like...eating toe-jam on toast every morning or something.”

“Urgh, um, thanks for that. Now, I do believe you mentioned something about being my bitch, what-” Bob glanced at his watch, “not five minutes ago? I think that statement requires a little further explanation, Frankie.”

“Oh, does it now?” Frank asked, a flirtatious smirk tugging at his lips. He set his sandwich down on the counter and took a few steps backwards. Bob moved forwards until Frank had been backed against the edge of the sink.

Frank tugged on Bob’s t-shirt and asked, “So, as your bitch, what exactly am I supposed to do, Mr. Bryar?”

Bob leaned in close to Frank’s body, breathing hot against his neck and hesitating for a moment before whispering into his ear, “Mmmph, suck me off.”

Frank attacked Bob’s mouth fervently; tongue sliding against his lips, asking for entry and quickly getting it. Deepening the kiss until neither one could breathe, Frank finally pulled away slightly, and began to nip gently at Bob’s jaw, kissing and lapping at his earlobe, down his neck, over the exposed skin above his shirt. With a quick glance at his blissful face, Frank trailed his hands down the front of Bob’s shirt, and dropped to his knees before him. As Frank tugged Bob’s belt open, he made sure to graze his knuckles against the bulge in his jeans, eliciting a low groan from the man above him. With a chuckle Frank pulled Bob’s jeans down to his ankles, allowing his cock to spring free, and at the first touch of his hand, Bob’s hips were straining forward, asking for more. Frank slowly moved his mouth over the head, tonguing the slit, but pulled away after only a few moments. Bob grunted.

“Don’t stop. Why are you stopping?”

“Something isn’t right. I don’t know.”

“Wh…what? Did I do something - ?"

“No, shut up. Hang on for a second and let me think.”

Bob braced his hands more firmly against the counter-top above Frank’s head and sighed heavily. After a minute of contemplative silence, Frank finally shouted,

“Aha! I know what it was. I can’t eat anything without Pixy Stix sugar. You know that!”

“What? No! Dude, no!”

“No? Well, if you insist,” Frank started to push himself up off the floor by Bob’s feet, but Bob’s hand firmly held his head down.

“Fine. Fine, if you must, do it. Just…don’t leave me hanging.”

Frank grinned maniacally and pulled out a paper coated stick of sugary goodness from one of his back pockets. Pulling Bob closer to him by his hips, he stroked his cock quickly a few times, before opening the package of sugar and glancing up at Bob’s face, which was full of amused pleasure. With concentration Frank poured some of the sugar-candy onto the base, then on his own tongue. He lapped at the underside of Bob’s cock first, then worked his mouth over the head and moved farther down, until he reached the sugar. Bob was grunting and moaning above him, his hand clawing hard at the counter in pleasure. Frank continued his ministrations, alternately working Bob’s cock and pouring Pixy Stix on his tongue or Bob’s body. The initial grittiness of the candy on Bob’s sensitive skin gave way to sticky heat as it melted in Frank’s mouth. Bob’s cries grew louder and Frank knew he was close to coming, so he poured the rest of the package onto his tongue quickly before moving his mouth down to the head and swallowing Bob’s release.

Frank wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up in front of the drummer, Bob’s arms coming around him as a way to support himself after his orgasm had left him drained. Frank sought Bob’s lips in another long and sensuous kiss, pulling away and grinning after a little while. He looked down at Bob’s pants, which were pooled around his ankles, let out a breath in a silent laugh and then extricated himself from Bob’s embrace, sauntering in the direction of his own bunk, presumably to finish himself off.

Later, after the kitchen had been cleaned and the rest of the band had returned from wherever it was they had been, they were all sitting on the small couch watching Home Improvement, except for Bob, who had just gone into the bathroom.

Through the bathroom door came Bob’s angered voice,

“Fuck! Frank, my dick is green!”

Mikey laughed shortly, looking at the rest of the band with a raised eyebrow,

“Well that can’t be good, now can it?”

More Than Words Can Say

2008-02-28T06:10:28Z

Title: More Than Words Can Say
Author: burn_the_road
Pairing: Gerard/Mikey [brotherly, not waycest]
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1, 225
Summary: Gerard sends his brother a care package.
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any of the songs, candies, or persons depicted in this work of fiction.
Author Notes: This contains my interpretation of the reasons Gerard wrote Famous Last Words, and is slightly angsty. The cut text is from Walking By, by Something Corporate.
Beta Love: x_sagittaria_x who helped me with the idea, and batmanboxers who’s very much ftw.

Gerard was sitting with his back propped up against the hotel bed, candy of all sorts scattered around him haphazardly. A box sat on his outstretched knees, and Gerard had been slowly filling it with the sweets he had carefully selected from the variety store down the street. The soft sounds of the radio filled the room, keeping him company, a voice to distract him. Gerard traced his fingers around the stamped and labelled top of the package, the third care package he’d have sent to Mikey so far. Gerard dropped in the Skittles that Mikey loved so much, and a Milky Way, because the resemblance to Mikey’s name was too obvious and they were damn good chocolate bars. He stuffed sour gummy things into the corners and placed some rock candy where it wouldn’t be crushed; it was Mikey’s favourite candy. Gerard packed the box until it was full to bursting; he wanted Mikey to remember that even though he’d left the band for a while, left Gerard for a while, Gerard was thinking about him. He knew it was for the best, really. Mikey needed this time to feel better, to get back to himself.

It wasn’t long before Gerard was able to pick out the tune of the band’s own music being played on the radio - the song he’d written about his brother, among other things. How fitting that it should be played now. The lyrics came to him, played through his mind again, and all the emotions and thoughts that had gone into writing them rolled over him like a wave.

I am not afraid to walk this world alone.

The truth was, Gerard had lied to everyone, and he knew it. The lyrics that inspired hope in so many were a bald-faced lie; he was afraid. Terrified to go on without his brother by his side, to know what it meant to be truly alone where he never had been before. Mikey had always been there, when Gerard was the loser who was bullied at school, when the band was just beginning, before they were famous, through the darkest moments of Gerard’s life, Mikey had been there. He had seen every side of Gerard and still he stayed, and his presence meant Gerard would never be without a net to fall back on. But now…now he hadn’t seen Mikey in months, and the sheer terror of treading through all of this shallow fame with no brother to catch him should he fall, was exhausting.

Honey if you stay, I’ll be forgiven.

Did Mikey really understand what Gerard’s words meant, what he’d said to the world but never to his brother, though that’s who they were meant for? The Paramour, when Mikey was getting closer and closer to the edge, when Gerard realized he was going to leave the studio. Mikey had just sunk farther and farther into the depths of his mind, so quietly that no one had noticed - not even Gerard - until it had been too late. Gerard would never forgive himself for being so distracted by his problems that he could have left his brother to struggle silently with his own. He tried to make Mikey feel like he could stay at the Paramour, so that maybe Gerard wasn’t so bad, maybe Mikey could forgive him for not helping him when he had needed it. But…

Nothing you can say can stop me going home.

Mikey had been so, so close to just losing himself to the Paramour completely, and staying with Gerard hadn’t been a real option. He had left and Gerard had watched him go in a haze of regret that tore at his insides. He hadn’t been able to see it coming.

Gerard toyed with the idea of writing Mikey a letter and sending it along with the candy, but couldn’t conceive how he would get all of these thoughts down coherently. He wasn’t certain he wouldn’t mess Mikey up more. He’d just have to hope that these candies – remnants of happier times and years past – would tell Mikey all the things that he couldn’t.

The words floated back to him once again.

I see you lying next to me, with words I though I’d never speak.

The image of Mikey curled into a ball on Gerard’s bedroom floor during recording flashed across Gerard’s mind. Mikey had snuck in every night, fearful of his room and unable to deal on his own. It hurt to have to watch him lying there like a child, it actually ached. Gerard wished that he could help his brother somehow, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t help Mikey, a thought he’d never have believed as the older brother, the protector, until that moment. It was something he still didn’t like to admit, because it was frustratingly painful.

Gerard clenched his fists on the sides of the box, eyes watering and breathing shallow. He reminded himself of all the things he should have done to keep Mikey safe, happy, healthy, and all the things he didn’t do. The things he’d been too drunk to do, or else too busy. He wanted so badly for Mikey to be okay again, to be here with him and the band. Gerard’s shoulders began to shake slightly, as he sobbed silently.

Awake and unafraid, asleep or dead.

How many times had Gerard lain in bed, watching his brother as sleep smoothed his worried expression? And he had given his bed to Mikey and slept on the floor himself, a small sacrifice in light of all the other times Gerard had neglected his brother’s needs. Gerard sat awake for hours, not nearly as affected by the Paramour as his brother. Mikey had lain quietly, so quietly he may have been dead. Gerard had to get up to check on him more than once, just to make sure. He could remember one night, Mikey had raised his head and stared at Gerard through the darkness,

“I think it would be easier to be dead,”

Gerard had been so shocked he hadn’t said anything at first. That his brother was able to feel that way, that there was nothing he could say to a statement like that, hit him like a punch to the stomach. He’d merely crawled over to the bed and held Mikey close as he fell asleep once more.

Gerard touched the wrappers and packages of the candy in the box, little moments of happiness from their childhood: Mikey with a blue tongue, hiding Sour Patch Kids in a floorboard in the basement together, the melted chocolates in the van during early touring days. He hoped Mikey would remember. He’d grabbed some paper and a pen, intending to now tell Mikey all the things he never had, to insist he feel better and come back soon, but he hadn’t got farther than putting the pen to the page. In the end he wrote simply,

I love you little brother, I hope you know.

-Gerard

He placed the folded paper atop the rock candy, and closed the flaps of the box, reaching under the bed for the tape to seal it up. He’d take it to the post office tomorrow morning. For now he’d call Mikey and chat with him about nothing in particular. Some things were just better said with care packages and candy.