ur lowkey a sex with gerard way poser if you're only talking about hitting during that tiny window of their life where they were skinny and young and had the short black hair and guyliner. there are whole other worlds out there with 10x the sex appeal if ur serious abt fucking an art chick
Realizing the depression is not seasonal is like: Wow! What a beautiful flower! The birds are singing! I sure do love spring! I think I am fundamentally unlovable as a person.
50,000 rhinestones later, stood in the pit for 12 hours, got approximately zero photos, lost all sense of time, and had the time of my life seeing my favorite band 🖤🦇
The Danger Days announcement the day before def didn't help my emotional stability.
The church steps were damp and salted, the smell of resin seeped through the door making a half-decent attempt to drag every sinner to the pews.
That's why Frank felt it was his responsibility- no his duty, to balance the scales.
Ray just tagged along in case someone needed to pull the choir boy act.
They could have left, ended up in a basement near a cracked window instead of freezing their balls off in the middle of winter while their moms sang hymns and ate wafers.
But pulling the damp box of Marlboro’s they went half on always made Frank feel more at home than anywhere else.
“Dude you should've heard this guy, couldn't even hold his sticks right,” Ray barked to Frank as they cracked open a new pack of smokes.
“Don't know how I let you drag me out–I was supposed to in a galaxy far, far away with the space cadet,”
“Gee know you call him that?”
Frank shrugged, “Called him worse and she smiled…”
They both pretended to not catch the slip. Happened too much to keep calling it an accident.
A cloud of smoke escaped with a laugh as Ray tossed a lighter his way, “What does that even mean?”
Before Frank could answer his voice was snatched up by a shriek.
Fuck you, fuckin asshole motherfucker!
They both turned sharp, the wind taking more of the smoke than they were…
But where else could they look?
“Check it, that chick's going psycho…”
“Looks like Cousin It's bitchy sister,”
A mess of black hair and a faded leopard print jacket holding shoes Frank hadn't seen since his 18th birthday when he and Ray thought they had too much freedom and too many singles.
Frank noticed all of this in approximately the same second he noticed she was mid-argument with some poor asshole he didn't recognize, but seen enough to know Never to let close enough to the four sisters he had— one he didn't need to worry about.
“How much you wanna bet she cries her way outta this one?”
“Nah,” Ray shook out, “too much makeup, I bet she's gonna make him chase her up the sidewalk.”
They watched with their weekly fifty cent bet on the thinnest line as the girl got closer to the guy.
The shove was the ammunition, she nearly lost her balance when he did it, so Frank decided the cigarette was done.
But before he could go over and earn what she'd be throwing at him after she found her footing, took a step back, and swung the bright red leather shoes at the guy's face.
Well, Frank couldn't really blame the guy for backing off. Even he felt it somewhere in his ribcage.
The guy grabbed his face. Said something Frank couldn't hear over the noise of the sound of his own chest pounding
Kat said something back — *fucking asshole* carried over everything else — and walked off without looking to see if it landed.
Frank followed before he'd decided to.
---
She'd slowed down by the time he caught up, sitting on the curb with her bag in her lap and one shoe back on, working on the second.
"Hey," he said.
She looked up. More annoyed than surprised, like she made the connection the second he did.
“You gonna let me bum one of those or just stare at me with Andre the Giant over there?”
He followed her eyes down–he forgot to drop the barely lit piece of salvation in his hand.
The twisted mouth threw him off, “What? My spit good enough for an alley, but I got cooties out in the real world?”
She looked at him blankly. Like he hadn't rocked her world without even losing the belt.
"We hooked up," Frank offered as a memory jab, “Geoff’s place…bathroom door…’
Kat blinked at him slowly, "You weren't the only one that hooked up that night—you heard the set…." She went back to her shoe, “besides, swapping spit and taking you into my lungs are two different things, gimmie a fresh one?"
Frank laughed and handed over the damp box before he could stop himself, "Don't tell me you're banging Geoff."
She shrugged, "Someone had to let him know it was fuckin' A, don't know what hole he pulled that out of but shit."
Frank fixed the cigarette between his lips, "You know I'm in a band too."
She looked him up and down,"Oh yeah? Which one?"
Pause.
They still hadn't picked a name. He'd brought it up twice. Gerard kept saying *something'll come to us* and then going back to his sketchbook.
"You might've caught my last one," Frank reached far up his ass to pull out, "Pencey Prep. Played almost every shit basement in the county."
Kat tilted her head like she was flipping through a mental catalog. "Caught some of those shitty dorm parties." She considered, "Rhythm guitar was trash."
"He's still learning, what about me?"
She turned away covering a laugh while trying to protect a windy cigarette.
He spread his hands, *Well?*
She looked him up and down the way someone looked at a car they were thinking about buying, “Thought you could do better than a bassist who thought he was van halen."
Frank sat down next to her on the curb, ass nearly freezing off. Wondered how she survived in fishnets and leather.
She barely looked bothered.
"Frank," he said.
She smiled at the middle distance, "You know my name."
"You sure about that?"
"Yeah." She was already digging through the big black purse next to her, "Otherwise you wouldn't have ran over here like I owed you money."
She trailed off, digging deeper.
"Fuck."
"What, Trojans run too free?"
"Please, " She didn't look up, "I'm on the pill. That asshole stole my bus card."
And there it was: his opening
"Lucky for you my dad's got the wagon parked around the corner. Plenty of room on my lap."
Kat looked at him then. Really looked. At the over gelled hair and the metal in his lip that his tongue couldn't leave alone—but she never could say no to hazel eyes, "You want me to meet your folks."
"We'll tell 'em you're my new girlfriend."
"They meet the last one?"
"Loved her."
Kat was quiet for a second. Doing the math again, Frank thought.
"Should I tell 'em you knocked me up? Soften the blow?"
"Not unless you want to leave with a bag full of primo baby clothes."
She yanked the cigarette from his lips.
"Lead the way."
Mrs.Iero had gotten used to meeting strange faces. Seemed like every other month her baby boy brought a new one to the dinner table and each time she tried her best to remember the golden rule.
Every muscle in her face had memorized it.
None of them seemed to remember it when a wet haired girl showing off too much of what the good Lord forgot to give her in front of the whole perish, stood with bare feet on salted ice.
“Ma, want you to meet somebody, this is-”
“Katherine,” The barefoot girl interrupted,
Frank smirked, respect cost more than a few letters.
But the look on his mother's face was priceless. Sometimes Frank caught himself wondering exactly how long she could hold the Catholic smile.
“Look at that face, “ she smiled, “you hungry? I made cutlets.”
“Fuck yeah— I mean…yes ma'am,”
Frank stifled a laugh knowing he wasn't too old to catch a spoon to the knuckles.
They all climbed in to the wagon.
The girls asking too many questions to the new accessory on their brother's lap.
Kat glared from the corner of her eye, couldn't wait to end this fucking ride.
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