stardustonsable | (no subject)

I kind of...fail at 100 words only. Two drabbles from my lovely table that only I can see.

Beginnings
Frank/Gerard, Mikey
293 words

“Hey,” the kid said, wrapping his scarf, seriously a scar, around his fingers. He didn’t seem to realize that there might be something odd about wearing a scarf. “You’re Mr. Iero, right?”

Frank snorted. “It’s Mr. Way now actually.”

The kids eyes widened and Frank could see him forcing himself not to glance over to Mikey.

“Um, ok. You should probably write that on the board or something when class starts. I’m Ryan.”He gave a little wave and walked over to three other boys. Frank was pretty sure at least two of them had on girl jeans. He shook his head a little, amused.

“What?” Mikey asked sitting on his desk.

“Remembering that I need to do laundry. Shouldn’t you be in your classroom preparing or something? It’s probably bad luck to be late to your own class the first day of school.”

Mikey shrugged. “The kids will be fine. All the chemicals are still locked up. You haven’t gotten Gerard to start doing laundry yet?”

The bell rang, drowning out Frank’s laughter. “No, Mikeyway, I’m not that kind of miracleworker. Now go to class. I have young minds to open up to the wonders of literature.”

Mikey stood. “I’m sure. Try to make it at least until lunch without cursing?”

Frank shook his head again and got up to sit on top of his desk instead of behind it. “Hey guys, I’m Frank Way, yeah its new ignore what your rosters say, no I’m not married to the other Mr. Way, he has a brother, and he bets that I can’t last until lunch without cursing. Fuck him, I say. Now, roll. I’m going to screw your names up, just throw something at me until I get it right, preferably something nonlethal.”

and

Ends
Pete/Patrick
317 words

Patrick touched the cover of the glossy magazine, the dark colors incongruent with the brightly colored blips from other stories. They didn’t even have the loyalty to give him an entire front page, even if he’d given this magazine, and a hundred other gossip rags, their best selling stories. From weddings to babies to divorces to running for a political office and winning to getting taken out by some drunk kid while coming home from his kid's play, a million and one stories, and they were all gone now.

“You sure you wanna do this, Pete?”

Silence. Just the rustling of the machines that were supposed to be keeping him alive.

“You’re an asshole for making me do this. For giving me this decision. Why not Ashlee? Or Joe or Andy? Give me the satisfaction of finally killing you or something?”

Silence. No response but slow beeps.

Patrick turned to him. Pete stared back, his eyes tired, and decorated with bags.

“I’m tired, Patrick. And you know this is the only way.” He sighed. His voice was thin, exhausted.

“No one told you to become the leader of the free world.”

Pete huffed a laugh. “Since when do you dream bigger than me? C’mon Patrick. Be my Wendy.”

Patrick rolled his eyes and tapped the buttons that would kill the life support connected to Pete.

There was a moment, then the beeping stopped.

“Time of death,” a female computer voice said, “11:11. January 4, 2028.”

Patrick rolled his eyes and Pete pulled the IV out of his arm, making a face.

“To our carriage, milady.” Pete said and slid out of bed, Patrick’s arms and his own determination keeping him upright.

“Fuck you, I’m the guy in this. We’re calling Andy and Joe as soon as we get to the island. Faking your own death, honestly, Pete. Remind me to never think you’ve actually calmed down.

Pete just smiled as they hobbled towards the chute that would take them to Patrick’s car.