They say we chase dreams that don't exist.

Two Fics With Commentary (as chosen by my readers.)

Wed, 02 May 2007 08:27:18 GMT

Title: Pool of Gold
Author: yankeesdtr
Pairing: Mikey/Frank
Rating: PG-13 for naughty language.
POV: Third
Summary: Mikey realizes he's done wrong when Frank's eyes turn that color.
Disclaimer: I don't know/own/sleep with either of these men. They're both taken... much to my chagrin.
Dedication: For jluver444 for kicking my ass and inspiring me.
Author Note: This is for slash_100 Prompt 077: Betrayal. Oh, and I took a shitty situation and made it shittier. I don't want you to think that I'm making light of Mikey's situation. I was shocked when I heard about his depression and it broke my heart. Please, do not lynch me.

In the five years of their friendship and subsequent romance, Mikey had gotten to know nearly all of the different personalities of Frank's eyes. Quite often, Frank's eyes were a deep-rimmed honey color that clearly indicated he was up to no good. This color was a dead giveaway that there was more than likely a whoopee cushion on your chair or a filled bucket over your head. Frank's pranks were on an amateur level, but he always managed to get away with them because he was just so sweet-looking. Those pranks always managed to turn his eyes from honey to olive. The smooth green color was indicative of Frank's contentment with life. Mikey often found Frank in the back lounge of the bus, reading a new book or plucking out something Greg Ginn wrote, his eyes so smooth and serene that Mikey's every worry was massaged away with one look. And then that one moment could turn to kissing and groping and Mikey would look into those eyes and find them a clear amber. Passion. Mikey had sometimes seen that color while onstage, but, mostly, it was saved for when they were alone.

It was through some great irony that the most beautiful Mikey would ever see Frank’s eyes would be when they were that glittering polished gold. It was the color they turned when Frank realized he’d been deceived.

[I love Frank's eyes. I am completely in love with them. I think they are the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen in my whole life. It was only a matter of time before I took the time to sit down and study them and describe them in detail in my stories.]

“Frank! Fuck! Frank, get back here!” Mikey barked, tripping over his own feet in order to catch up to his retreating lover. In the loss of balance, Mikey fell, his knees and the heels of his hands scraping roughly against the gravel. It stung worse than any scrape he might have gotten as a child, but he stood up and continued chasing. Frank wasn’t supposed to know about this... not yet, anyway. What was worse than Frank actually knowing was how Frank had just flashed that bit of gold before turning around and calmly walking away. Frank could fight. He was tiny, but scrappy. The lack of angry brilliant green did not bode well for Mikey.

Mikey thanked whatever higher being for gifting him with long legs. It took little running to catch up with Frank.

“Look, Frank, what you saw-” Mikey stopped when Frank glanced up at him. Those eyes were still gold and the glittering Mikey thought was from the color was actually a flood of tears. They threatened to break the dams Frank built, but never once did they spill. Mikey’s voice softened when he saw those tears. “Frank...”

Frank shook his head before turning away again. Mikey almost let him walk away. He almost let Frank just do what he needed, but something deep inside of Mikey told him that if Frank walked away now, he’d never come back.

“Frank, please.”

“We were worried about you, Mikey,” Frank said quietly as he turned back to the other man. “We thought we would have to worry about you like we worried about Gerard. We thought you were doing drugs. We thought maybe you were going to kill yourself. I mean, you were even fashioning yourself into your brother.”

[One of the most horrifying things I've ever seen is the footage of Gerard drunk on the Life on the Murder Scene DVD because I had read about his depression and his battle to really overcome himself. When I read that Mikey had suffered similar ails during the recording of The Black Parade, I was instantly scared for him. I thought it would be important to express how deeply Frank worried about him during this time.]

“Frank-”

“And then...” Frank sighed, his head down, toes kicking at loose gravel. “And then we finished working on that new guitar part for ‘Disenchanted’. We were so excited because you loved that song so fucking much. They packed up the tape for me to bring to you. We wanted your opinion immediately.” Again their eyes locked and Mikey’s guilt ate him with that flash of gold. “Because we love you so fucking much.”

“Frank-”

It was quick and breathtaking, the way his eyes went ablaze like a phoenix’s rebirth. Gold went to amber then to a green so bright it lit up the night.

[I am insanely proud of that description. You have no idea.]

“And what do I find outside of the apartment you’ve holed yourself up in for the past month? You and some teenager separated by a bottle of Jack. And, you know, fuck whoever sees you, right, Mikey? ‘Cuz they’ll just think it’s another prank. Because far be it from you to keep illicit affairs behind closed doors the way you fucked me, right?”

[There was some confusion about the "teenager" bit. By this, I just meant someone younger but not necessarily underage. 18, 19, 20. Somewhere in there.]

“Ssh!” Mikey hissed, waving his arms drunkenly.

Frank cocked his head to the side the split second before his fist connected with Mikey’s nose. Mikey felt his newly obstruction-free eyes begin to blacken. Now he could add a curvature of his nose to the list of physical changes he’d undergone. The blood gushed freely, spilling into his mouth and down the front of the t-shirt he’d just bought that afternoon. He choked on the coppery taste and bent to splatter the pavement with blood and spit. When he stood upright again, Frank was a good thirty yards away and getting farther with every step.

[I am also insanely happy that I got to write about Frank punching someone. You have no idea.]

“Frank!” Mikey gurgled, running again to catch up with his band mate. “I didn’t mean for it to be like that! I really was depressed!”

Frank whirled around so fast, Mikey flinched in fear of another punch.

“Depressed?” Frank’s voice cracked. “Depression and boredom aren’t the same thing, Mikey! Depression is pills and drugs and passing out and wanting to kill yourself! Your brother should have shown you that. And now you have the balls to say you’re depressed, too? Fuck you!” Frank pushed him away, but didn’t move to continue his trek back to the rented car.

“You’re right, but fuck, Frankie! I was so fucking tired!”

“We’re all fucking tired! Or do you mean that some other way?” Mikey looked at him guiltily and Frank nodded, locking his jaw. “So, you’re tired of being some closeted homo, so you do what to fix it? You decide to start fucking teenagers in the street instead of saying, ‘You know what? Frank and I are fucking and fuck you if you don’t like it?’”

[I like the word fuck.]

“I couldn’t do that, Frank and you know it! You have your whole Jamia thing and I have the whole Alicia thing. If the fans found out we’d been lying to them-”

“As opposed to you lying to me, right? Because I can be replaced. Because there are thousands of me that just won’t care next time you lie to them, right?” Frank nodded again.

[Also proud of this argument. I am horrible at arguing my point, but me writing Frank? I totally win.]

“Frank, that’s not true.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Mikey.”

“I don’t want you to say anything. Frank, I lo-”

Frank stepped closer, his eyes still blazing green. “I swear to God, Mikey, if you say you love me, I will beat the shit out of you.”

[I would, too. I really, really would.]

Mikey looked down, thoroughly chastised.

“I’ll see you at the studio tomorrow,” Frank said quietly.

Mikey looked up just in time to catch himself reflected in a pool of gold before Frank turned away.

[All in all, I'd say this was one of my best My Chemical Romance standalones. It's also the shortest. I hardly ever write about the band as a band. I don't know why. I love fic that does. This one, though, I'm really happy I didn't make it AU.]

Title: "Before Midnight"
Author: yankeesdtr
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Rating: PG
POV: Third
Summary: Brendon was just forced to go. Surprise!
Disclaimer: I don't know/own/sleep with Brendon or Ryan, but that'd be nice, huh?
Dedication: For poisonarrows for picspamming all over the place. lol.
Author Note: Uh, New Year fic. Enjoy!

Apparently, the New Year deserved only Christmas’s leftover decorations. Brendon glared at the holly and pinecones that were tied with red velvet ribbon to the centerpieces of the table he sat at. How he’d gotten himself roped into coming to this ridiculous party, he’d never know. His father’s co-workers were all pompous asses—a fact that was brought to immediate attention by the extravagant (albeit past-relevance) decorations and five-course dinner. Spending his New Year’s Eve with these people in a suit instead of with his loud and improper friends made him loathe his parents that night.

[I decided to write this fic after going to my mother’s company Christmas party. It was, quite possibly, the most boring party I’ve ever been to. At first, this fic was going to be a Christmas story, but I thought that making it a New Year fic would make more sense as well as give me more time to work on it.]

To make matters worse, James was going to be at his friends’ party. James was tall and blond with muscular shoulders that Brendon had ached to run his hands across all through gym class in high school. Now they were older and wiser and Brendon was just as infatuated with James as he was then. College had been very nice to James and Brendon was determined to show James that college had been just as nice to him. Brendon could see those broad shoulders and blond hair. Hell, he swore he could smell that sweet scent of aftershave and see those beautiful cocoa brown eyes.

Wait. Brown?

Brendon was brought back to reality, confused. Standing over him was a man about his age, holding out his arm. Brendon looked from those dark eyes down to his attire and noticed that he was wearing the same black and white uniform as the rest of the wait staff.

“Excuse me, sir,” the waiter said quietly, reaching around Brendon’s head to grab his empty plate. Brendon moved his head over and took another glance at the waiter’s soft features and five o’clock shadow. With a wide smile accented with bright teeth and pink lips, the waiter was gone.

[There was also a really hot waiter at the Christmas party I went to. Like, Brendon Urie hot. Thus, the idea for this fic was born.]

Brendon turned back to face the table, his eyebrows furrowed. What had he been thinking about? Right, James. Brendon looked up to the entrance to the large ballroom, searching for the waiter. Another smile flashed out to him, halfway hidden by a heavy velvet curtain, but directed at him nonetheless.

“Your father tells me that you’ve been going to UNLV, Brendon.”

Brendon looked over at the man sitting to his left. He was every cliché of a rich man—fat with rings on every finger and a designer suit. The man, or Mr. Decamp as he was more commonly known, had been boring Brendon all night with inane facts about his days on the UCLA football team and his investment in a new, extravagant casino. He was no investment banker, but Brendon was sure the stories would bore even the best of them into a coma.

“Yes, sir,” he answered with a wide, fake smile.

“So, what are you studying there, my boy? Accounting no doubt, with a father like yours.”

“No, sir. Architecture,” Brendon lied. In a room filled with pretension as that one was, Brendon tended to tell people his minor when such a question was asked. For some reason, he found himself a great target of ridicule when he told people that he was studying music production.

[Never mind the fact that Brendon would have gone to beauty school if it hadn’t been for Panic! At the Disco.]

“Well, that’s certainly respectable,” Mr. Decamp said with a hearty laugh. “Some boys your age, they have fanciful dreams of being rock stars. With all of their heads in the clouds, it’s any wonder if we have any reputable young men in the future.”

Brendon, with a look at his father, bit his bottom lip until he thought he might break skin.

“Ah, the dessert,” Mr. Decamp said, rubbing his hands together in the very portrait of gluttony.

Again, Brendon’s nose was filled with the sweet musk of aftershave. He looked up at the waiter with a smile and a “thank you” this time, having found his tongue. The waiter returned his smile before serving Brendon’s mother and Brendon noticed the thin layer of eyeliner around his eyes. When all twelve people at their table were served and the waiter had gone, Mr. Decamp snorted.

“Makeup. He’s one of those boys…”
“Excuse me, Mr. Decamp,” Brendon said in his most nonchalant of voices, “but what exactly do you mean by ‘those boys’?”
“Surely you know, Brendon. Boys of the flesh. Queer boys.”

[I asked my friend Erik, a very loveable gay man, what he thought the funniest euphemism he’d ever heard in regards to his “condition”. “Boys of the flesh” was number one. “His condition” was number two.]

Brendon’s eyes snapped up and caught a glimpse of his father. The look on his father’s face begged Brendon to hold his tongue. It pleaded for good behavior. Brendon breathed and gave his fake smile once again.

“Yes, well… Will you excuse me for a moment?” Brendon got up from the table and headed for the door. He walked straight outside into the December night, too preoccupied with anger to grab his coat from the coatroom. The cold bit at his cheeks and lips while making his fingertips tingle and go numb. He leaned back against the brick building and slammed his fists back against it.

“Not a fan of the crème brulee?”

[My mother’s Christmas party would have been infinitely better had there been crème brulee.]

Brendon’s eyes popped open to the sight of one very amused brown-eyed waiter. He let out a breathy laugh and shook his head.

“No, that’s not it. The food’s good. Really.”

“You don’t have to praise the food,” he said, sitting down on the cold cement. “I didn’t cook it. I just bring it to you on a shiny piece of china.”

Brendon slid down the wall to sit next to him. “What are you doing out here?” he asked lamely.

“Cigarette break.”

“Oh.” No cigarettes made an appearance, so Brendon raised his eyebrow at the waiter. “Aren’t you going to have a cigarette?”

“What? Oh, god no. I hate cigarettes. I just take the break.” The waiter leaned closer with a smile. “But, shhh. I’d rather my boss didn’t know I don’t actually smoke.”

Brendon laughed. “What’s your name?”

“You may refer to me as ‘servant boy.’”

“No, seriously.”

The smile widened. “Ryan,” he said softly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ryan,” Brendon said, grasping Ryan’s long fingers in an awkward handshake that only made Ryan’s smile turn into a laugh. “I’m Brendon.”

“Well, Brendon, I was watching you in there.”

“Yeah?” Brendon could feel his cheeks warming in embarrassment.

Ryan nodded. “You’re a very good actor.” Brendon gave him a questioning look. “You act like you belong in that world. Only a well-trained eye could tell that you despise every person in that room.”

“They’re all bigots,” Brendon said with a shrug. “I hate when my parents make me come to these things. I always have to go home and strangle my pillows.”

“I would, too. If you hate it so much, why come? You’re what? 19? 20?” Brendon nodded. “Why not just say you don’t want to?”

Brendon shrugged noncommittally. “I feel bad if I stand my parents up. This whole corporation is all lawyers and investment bankers whereas my father is just an accountant. He’s kind of low on the food chain income-wise, so he tries to put on this front of sophistication so he appears to belong. It works a lot of the time. He has a lot of people that respect him, but part of that respect, unfortunately, is from his image. He likes to bring my mother and I along to play the part of the perfect American family. Little do they all know that he and the missus sleep in separate beds and their lovely son is a giant homo.” Brendon’s eyes widened and he clapped his hand over his mouth. “Shit! Sorry. I talk too much.”

[Because, really, I couldn’t help myself. Brendon would SO blurt that shit out everywhere if he were in this situation.]

Ryan laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Brendon’s cheeks reddened significantly. “I don’t usually blurt it out like that.”

“Everyone has secrets that are just begging to be let out,” Ryan said with a smile.

“I’m actually really discreet about it.”

“Ah, discretion is overrated,” Ryan said with a gentle push of the shoulder. With a quick glance at his watch, Ryan stood and stepped up the stairs. “Break time’s over. It was nice talking to you, Brendon.”

Brendon nodded and looked down at his black shoes.

“Hey, Brendon?” Brendon looked up to see Ryan standing in the doorway, looking back at him. “Just for clarification purposes, let’s say that your secret is my secret.” And with a wink, Ryan disappeared behind the ornate mahogany and gold door.

[I don’t know why I made Ryan so flirty. I mean, at the time it seemed accurate, but I don’t know. I don’t know if I still think he’d do it this way.]

Brendon smiled to himself before standing and walking back to the ballroom. He was relieved to see that his father was deep in conversation with Mr. Decamp. Brendon wasn’t quite sure he could politely dodge another uncomfortable exchange with someone that could possibly take away his father’s job. The less he talked to Mr. Decamp, the better. When he sat, his mother quickly grabbed his hand and squeezed it under the table. Between his parents, his mother was the one that was always soothing Brendon’s social wounds. He gave her a slight smile to let her know that he was fine and she patted his hand before rejoining the conversation.

As Brendon finished the crème brulee that had cooled in his absence, he searched the floor for Ryan.

“Excuse me, sir.”

Brendon looked up, his spoon hanging halfway from his mouth. There, behind him, was Ryan with a very amused expression on his face. Brendon scrambled to put his spoon on his dish so Ryan could take them away and succeeded in looking like a flustered idiot.

[Because Brendon would be.]

“Brendon, my boy, if you’re not done eating, you should tell the help not to take your dish,” Mr. Decamp said, looking over at Brendon’s reddened face.

Ryan retracted his hand and Brendon could have ripped Mr. Decamp’s silly moustache from his face.

“No, Mr. Decamp. I’m done.” Brendon moved over and Ryan took the dessert dish. “Thank you,” he said quietly to Ryan. Ryan nodded and moved on to the next table.

“Brendon, your mother and I are going to dance for a bit,” Brendon’s father informed him. Then, with a stern look he said, “Why don’t you go find yourself a nice girl to dance with?”

Brendon’s eyes narrowed at his father momentarily before he nodded. “Sure, dad. Excuse me.” With this, he stood up and walked back to the door, trying to look as if he was out for a dance partner that was of the female persuasion. Instead, he hid behind a velvet curtain and stared at Ryan as he collected the last of the dinner dishes. The waiter entranced Brendon. One conversation and he was spilling all of his secrets. What was more, he didn’t have to pretend around Ryan or work desperately hard for any sort of recognition the way he had to with James.

Ryan walked past Brendon’s hiding place on the way to the trolley that led the dishes out, not looking at the boy that was watching him so intently. Brendon breathed heavily as Ryan passed, then went back to his work of hiding from his father’s coworkers.
“You know, it’s not polite to stare at people.”

Brendon turned around, his eyes wide. Ryan laughed and Brendon let out his breath. “It’s not polite to scare the living hell out of people either. As you’ve done it four times tonight, I can only think that you’re a very rude person.”

“Are you crazy? I’m just a quiet walker.” Ryan’s smile was bright in the darkness that the velvet curtain provided. “Shouldn’t you be out there dancing with some investment banker’s daughter anyway?”

“I should, but will I? Not a chance.”

Ryan moved closer to peer out from Brendon’s hiding place. “Not looking forward to the merger of your family with that of an insipid little Las Vegas debutante?”

“I don’t believe in arranged marriages.”

[I thought this was incredibly funny when I wrote it.]

“Shame,” Ryan said, turning around. “There could be a pretty penny waiting for you if you did.”

Brendon smiled and looked up at Ryan in wonder. “How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“You sound older.”

“The product of reading too much, I assure you,” Ryan said with a shrug and a smile. Brendon gave him a small look and Ryan laughed. “I can practically feel your next question. ‘Why do you work here? Why aren’t you out doing something with that intelligence?’ You shouldn’t be so predictable, Brendon. It isn’t becoming.”

Brendon laughed at himself. “I’m sorry. It’s just… different. I’m going to UNLV and I’ve never encountered someone like you.”

“Well, that’s promising. I go to UNLV as well and I have to say that that is the biggest compliment I’ve ever received.”

Brendon looked out into the crowd and noticed his father searching the floor as he danced. He knew for sure that his parents were anxious to see what girl he’d chosen as his partner for the night. It was then that he got a brilliant and rather pleasant idea. He looked up at Ryan with a sly smile. “Well, I guess I’d better get out there and dance with someone.”

“Yes, I suppose you should.”

With another mischievous smile, Brendon held out his hand. “Care to dance?”

With a burst of laughter, Ryan shook his head. “I can’t. Thank you, though.”

“Oh, come on,” Brendon argued, grabbing Ryan’s hand. “Just one. The dessert course is over with, what more do you have to do?” Brendon began to pull and Ryan resisted, laughing.

“Brendon, you’re going to get me fired.”

Brendon stopped pulling and stepped close to Ryan. “If they fire you, I’ll just have to talk to your boss. I’ll tell him that you were doing your best to, ah, service the patrons.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’ll convince them,” Ryan quipped, but let himself be led out to the dance floor.

[This was, actually, the first scene I imagined when I got the idea for the story. I have this tendency to imagine myself in hyper-romantic situations and this was one. At this point, the story was still going to be a het fic because, sometimes, I just wanna write that Great American Novel. But then I got to thinking about it and I couldn’t help but make it into slash. I was just getting into Panic! Fic and I just wanted to use this storyline on Brendon/Ryan.]

The song that started up was slow and Brendon put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder so Ryan could take him around the middle. They moved to the slow tempo of the music and laughed as Brendon made silly faces and played at overdramatic sophistication.

“You know, you’d make a very good snob,” Ryan told him, pulling him closer. “I think you should go for it.”

“What ever are you talking about?” Brendon asked, holding his chin up higher and making Ryan laugh harder.

It was about this moment that people began to realize just what was dancing past them. Whispers rippled through the room like an atomic bomb. It wasn’t long until Brendon’s father was at his side, pulling his son’s arm.

“Time to go, Brendon.”

“After this dance!” Brendon said merrily.

“No. Now!” Brendon’s father turned to Ryan. “Don’t you have glasses to fill, young man?”

With a nod, Ryan left them. Brendon whirled on his father.

“What is the matter with you?”

His father was silent as he grabbed Brendon’s arm, squeezing tight. Brendon could feel the bruises begin to form underneath his shirt. He let go just as they got to the table.

“Going already, Patrick?” Mr. Decamp said, giving Brendon an odd look.

“Yes, sorry, Bill. Something’s come up.”

Brendon angrily stomped past his family and headed to the coatroom. As he passed, an arm reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him behind another velvet curtain. He wanted to argue, but he suddenly found his lips pleasantly preoccupied. He could smell Ryan’s aftershave and relaxed as he succumbed to the kiss. It was slow and soft up until that moment. When Brendon relaxed, he felt Ryan’s tongue gently brush his lips and he was more than willing to give Ryan entry.

“Brendon? Brendon, where are you?”

[Even I was angry at Brendon’s mother for interrupting.]

Ryan broke away with a gentle bite to Brendon’s bottom lip. With a smile, he turned away. It took a moment to realize that Ryan had pressed a piece of paper into his hand, but when he did, Brendon scrambled to open it. On it was scrawled a phone number and the words “Call me at midnight.”

The ride home was spent in silence, Brendon’s father far too angry even to yell. Brendon was glad. The last thing he wanted was a screaming match to ruin his night. He looked down at that piece of paper again and smiled. It took fifteen minutes to get home, leaving fifteen more minutes until midnight. Brendon immediately went up to his bedroom in a not-so-honest teenage fit, knowing that his parents would leave him alone for the rest of the night.

As the clock struck midnight, Brendon picked up his cell phone and dialed the numbers on the paper. The phone rang twice before being picked up.

“Happy New Year, Brendon.”

Brendon could hear the smile in Ryan’s voice and laughed at his confidence. “Happy New Year, Ryan.”

[I know it’s a little cliché, but I really needed cliché when I wrote this. I’m a huge romantic and this filled my quota for the month.]

Harry Potter Fics

Sun, 31 Dec 2006 06:09:20 GMT

Harry Potter Fics

Pairing: Draco/Hermione

"Scars of War"
Type: Chaptered
Status: Incomplete

Collide

Fri, 24 Mar 2006 09:29:04 GMT

"Collide" is finished. It's being read by a few people right now and I'm not sure when it'll be posted, but, rest assured, it's done.

Lots of love and brownies,
Fawna

slash_100 fics

Sun, 25 Dec 2005 07:08:47 GMT

slash_100 Fics
STATUS: INCOMPLETE

Pairing: Mikey Way/Frank Iero

As soon as I finish a fic on the table, the prompt word will become a link to the story.

001.	Beginnings.	002.	Middles.	003.	Ends.	004.	Firsts.	005.	Lasts.
006.	Hours.	007.	Days.	008.	Weeks.	009.	Months.	010.	Years.
011.	Friends.	012.	Enemies.	013.	Lovers.	014.	Strangers.	015.	Classmates.
016.	Family.	017.	Parents.	018.	Children.	019.	Him.	020.	Her.
021.	Birth.	022.	Death.	023.	Life.	024.	Choices.	025.	Accident.
026.	Smell.	027.	Sound.	028.	Touch.	029.	Taste.	030.	Sight.
031.	Sunrise.	032.	Sunset.	033.	Too Much.	034.	Not Enough.	035.	Mask.
036.	Breakfast.	037.	Lunch.	038.	Dinner.	039.	Food.	040.	Drink.
041.	Rain.	042.	Snow.	043.	Lightning.	044.	Thunder.	045.	Storm.
046.	Winter.	047.	Summer.	048.	Spring.	049.	Fall.	050.	Vacation.
051.	Humor.	052.	Angst.	053.	Fluff.	054.	And.	055.	If.
056.	Birthday.	057.	Christmas.	058.	Thanksgiving.	059.	Halloween.	060.	New Year.
061.	Broken.	062.	Shattered.	063.	Hurt.	064.	Agony.	065.	Healing.
066.	Anger.	067.	Love.	068.	Loss.	069.	Jealousy.	070.	Denial.
071.	Sex.	072.	Kink.	073.	Threesome.	074.	Seduction.	075.	Party.
076.	Secrets	077.	Betrayal	078.	Discovery	079.	Confession	080.	Redemption
081.	School	082.	Work	083.	Home	084.	High	085.	Low
086.	Circle.	087.	Heart.	088.	Lost.	089.	Found.	090.	Missing.
091.	Epiphany.	092.	Dream.	093.	Break-up.	094.	Make-up.	095.	Lies.
096.	Writer‘s Choice.	097.	Writer‘s Choice.	098.	Writer‘s Choice.	099.	Writer‘s Choice.	100.	Writer‘s Choice.

An Obligation to Remember

Sun, 25 Dec 2005 07:00:18 GMT

An Obligation to Remember
STATUS: INCOMPLETE (Ch. 3/?)

Pairing: Pierre Bouvier (Simple Plan)/Original Female Character

Rating: PG-13 (for now)

Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own Pierre Bouvier. But I DO own Shannon Jarrett. HAHAHAHA!

Summary: She lived in her past, and he strived to bring her to the present. Unfortunately, the rest of the world didn't have the same plan.

Dedication:To jluver444 for the best friend/co-author I could ask for. I don't know what I'd do without you. Je t'aime.

Author's Notes: This story interweaves with "All That You Can't Leave Behind" by jluver444. This story is her story and her story is mine. Almost. Read both and you will understand. Chapters are marked as "An Obligation to Remember" Chapter // "All That You Can't Leave Behind" Chapter

AOTR: Chapter One // ATYCLB: Chapter One
AOTR: Chapter Two // ATYCLB: Chapter Two
AOTR: Chapter Three // ATYCLB: Chapter Three

Searching For Familiar Faces

Sun, 25 Dec 2005 06:52:37 GMT

Searching For Familiar Faces
STATUS: COMPLETE!

Pairing: Pierre/David (Simple Plan)

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own Pierre or David. If I did, I wouldn't have time to write fics about them. I would be too busy using them in other, less than pure manners.

Summary: When you're all alone in a new country, trying to do the whole college thing, you develop dependency issues. Just ask Pierre.

Dedication:To jade_327 for coming up with this amazing idea and for being so darn sweet with her reviews! Also, to Miss jluver444 for getting me excited about writing again. I don't know what I'd do without you. Je t'aime.

Author's Notes: It's my first time writing AU. (I LOVE AU fics...) Should be interesting. Also, the college that Pierre and David attend's name is never mentioned, but it is based on the University of Wyoming campus (where I spent my freshman year in college.) Reviews are welcome.

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen

Concentrated Adrenaline

Sun, 25 Dec 2005 06:41:56 GMT

Concentrated Adrenaline
STATUS: COMPLETE!

Pairing: Pierre/David (Simple Plan)

Rating: It works its way up to NC-17 in chapter two, but it's mostly PG-13-ish...

Summary: Umm... Well, it's a series of crucial scenes in Pierre and David's relationship. It's hard to explain, really.

Disclaimer: I STILL don't know Pierre and David. Damn. If you find a way to make it happen, lemme know.

Dedication: Of course, the person that LOVED this story from the beginning jluver444 and everyone that reviewed. You have NO idea how happy your reviews have made me. Thank you.

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six