(no subject)
Title Boys Don't Cry
Author Blood_Theory
Rating PG13 for this chapter (swearing); R overall
Summary The words What did he do to you? are a recurring theme in Gerard Way's life.
Prologue&Chapter One
Frank Iero hates his stepfather.
His stepfather the businessman, who earns twice as much a week as his real father does in a year. His stepfather the saint, who tries far too fucking hard to replace his real father. His stepfather the thief, who stole his mother and his sister and his dog and his whole fucking LIFE in the City.
The rest of Frank's family love him. His mother, of course, why else would she have married him? And his sister thinks he's amazing. Even his dad. "You'll be better off with him, Tony." Those were his exact words.
"You'll be better off with him."
Frank's not so sure.
Well, one good thing's come of this whole damned marriage: his new bedroom. He gets the basement of the house that his mother and supposed "father figure" brought about a month before they got married. The house is one of those two-story "family" houses with white-washed picket fences and a large back yard, plonked right in the middle of suburbia. It's nice enough, but it looks exactly like the houses on either side of it, and right down the street (Oak Road, which leads onto Elm Street and Pine Boulevard). But the basement - woah.
Frank has only been here for a couple of hours, but already the basement is turning into a shrine for punk rock music. He's put up almost half of his posters, so that one wall of the room is plastered with Black Flag, Misfits and Sex Pistols. Most of his music is still in the box, but his vintage record player is out and Green Day's Slappy E.P. is blasting from it. Jersey is in the corner with her amp, and a couple of boxes of clothes and Kerrang!s and action figures that he's embarrassed to own but loves too much to throw away and all that kind of shit are stacked beside them.
Two tiny windows at the top of opposite walls let tiny streams of light into the room, crossing halfway across the floor and merging into a single puddle of sun on the stone. Four concrete columns form a line across the center of the room, almost too thick for Frank to put his arms around, and he's covered those in posters too. The bare bed frame has been put on a sort of platform at the back of his bedroom that he had been planning to use as a practice stage if he managed to get a band together in this town.
Frank sits down on the platform at the foot of the bed. "Frank! Are you putting your stuff away?" He sighs, putting his head in his hands. Trust his mother to know exactly when he's working and exactly when he's not.
His mom appears at the top of the stairs. "Frank?"
"Yes, mom, I'm just having a break."
Lisa Iero smirks. "I'm not that old, I do remember being a teenager."
"Yes, but you were never a fifteen year old MALE, were you?" Frank retorts, then immediately slaps his hand over his mouth.
Lisa laughs at her son's MALE, which sounded like a cross between a chicken and Napoleon Dinamite. "I'm going to the local WalMart, you need anything?"
Frank shakes his head.
"You want to come?"
Frank shakes his head again.
"Okay, then. But by the time I get back you better have this room looking lived in."
Frank nods frantically.
"And no late night, you start school tomorrow."
Frank rolls his eyes, and nods.
Too short again *_* And this chapter was all Frank... oh well, till next time :D
Author Blood_Theory
Rating PG13 for this chapter (swearing); R overall
Summary The words What did he do to you? are a recurring theme in Gerard Way's life.
Prologue&Chapter One
Frank Iero hates his stepfather.
His stepfather the businessman, who earns twice as much a week as his real father does in a year. His stepfather the saint, who tries far too fucking hard to replace his real father. His stepfather the thief, who stole his mother and his sister and his dog and his whole fucking LIFE in the City.
The rest of Frank's family love him. His mother, of course, why else would she have married him? And his sister thinks he's amazing. Even his dad. "You'll be better off with him, Tony." Those were his exact words.
"You'll be better off with him."
Frank's not so sure.
Well, one good thing's come of this whole damned marriage: his new bedroom. He gets the basement of the house that his mother and supposed "father figure" brought about a month before they got married. The house is one of those two-story "family" houses with white-washed picket fences and a large back yard, plonked right in the middle of suburbia. It's nice enough, but it looks exactly like the houses on either side of it, and right down the street (Oak Road, which leads onto Elm Street and Pine Boulevard). But the basement - woah.
Frank has only been here for a couple of hours, but already the basement is turning into a shrine for punk rock music. He's put up almost half of his posters, so that one wall of the room is plastered with Black Flag, Misfits and Sex Pistols. Most of his music is still in the box, but his vintage record player is out and Green Day's Slappy E.P. is blasting from it. Jersey is in the corner with her amp, and a couple of boxes of clothes and Kerrang!s and action figures that he's embarrassed to own but loves too much to throw away and all that kind of shit are stacked beside them.
Two tiny windows at the top of opposite walls let tiny streams of light into the room, crossing halfway across the floor and merging into a single puddle of sun on the stone. Four concrete columns form a line across the center of the room, almost too thick for Frank to put his arms around, and he's covered those in posters too. The bare bed frame has been put on a sort of platform at the back of his bedroom that he had been planning to use as a practice stage if he managed to get a band together in this town.
Frank sits down on the platform at the foot of the bed. "Frank! Are you putting your stuff away?" He sighs, putting his head in his hands. Trust his mother to know exactly when he's working and exactly when he's not.
His mom appears at the top of the stairs. "Frank?"
"Yes, mom, I'm just having a break."
Lisa Iero smirks. "I'm not that old, I do remember being a teenager."
"Yes, but you were never a fifteen year old MALE, were you?" Frank retorts, then immediately slaps his hand over his mouth.
Lisa laughs at her son's MALE, which sounded like a cross between a chicken and Napoleon Dinamite. "I'm going to the local WalMart, you need anything?"
Frank shakes his head.
"You want to come?"
Frank shakes his head again.
"Okay, then. But by the time I get back you better have this room looking lived in."
Frank nods frantically.
"And no late night, you start school tomorrow."
Frank rolls his eyes, and nods.
Too short again *_* And this chapter was all Frank... oh well, till next time :D