Maybe they'll leave you alone,but not me.
I have gotten three questions this week, one anonymous and one not.
From someone called “batterygirl”:
“Where are you from? You talk about being Northern Irish but never specified exactly where in Belfast.”
I was born here (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Falls_Road,_Belfast) but currently live in Cork City, but my mother is from South Africa and my father is from Tallaght,Dublin. I consider myself Northern Irish but don’t care that much about the whole Irish/English thing. I have a weirdish accent, kinda Belfastish and kinda Irish. If you want to imagine what I speak like, I say ‘dark’ like ‘derek’ and I kinda go up on the end of sentences and call everyone ‘mate’
Okay so Lornaigh that would be Northern Irish
Anon question #1:
“would you ever post a picture of yourself?I have an image of you in my head but I’m sure it’s wrong.”
Well, probability is if you’ve never seen me it’s gonna be wrong.
Sorry, sorry, that was harsh. I may or I may not, I generally do not think I am attractive, and I look about fourteen because of my height and glasses and stuff. If I feel like it I might, but you’d probably die from the horrendousness of it all. I’m a fan fic writer, not a fucking model.
Anon question #2:
“how many concerts have you been to?”
Green Day (twice)
My Chemical Romance (twice)
Kings of Leon (three times)
Florence + the Machine
Fall Out Boy
Foo Fighters (twice)
Avenged Sevenfold, who I don’t really adore, but my best friend made me go see them and they were actually pretty good
Placebo (twice) who I absolutely love but Brian is kinda sucky live, in that he’s wasted off his face and stuff
All American Rejects before they got big
Radiohead (FIVE MOTHERFUCKING TIMES)
Does It Offend You Yeah?
Primal Scream (twice)
I can’t be bothered couting. But you get the idea. Over thirty. They were all very good.
The next chapter will be funny, promise. I want a little bit more of weirdness
First of the Gang to Die
The man with the black hair flinched and the glass he was holding fell to the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces. His father chuckled.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, turning to face the man upon which most if his life he had hated.
It was late April, in the early of the night, at around two in the morning. After several hours of vigorous, rampant sex, Gerard had emerged from his bedroom to get a drink. He may have exposed his feelings and his past in the graveyard two days ago but as far as the bedroom antics were concerned, he was certainly still in charge. He wasn’t harsh or hurtful, he just made sure he was the domineering, stronger lover, smirking in self satisfaction as the boy would moan and writhe beneath him. It brought him great pleasure that he was making his husband content-made him feel whole,a real achievement.He loved bring with Frank-he was soft and pure and innocent, perfect to be warped by Way’s wild sexual side, that frankly, wowed and pleased him beyond anything. Despite his shady past, the boy was very well behaved and very shy when it came to showing off his experience-he still blushed furiously and waited patiently as his lover would torture him with kisses and bites, caresses and touches. Needless to say, Gerard was now ecstatic beyond all belief, his muscles tight and taut, his lips swollen, his hair knotted. He had grinned happily to himself as he descended the stairs to his kitchen.
“Why the fuck are you in my kitchen?”
“Why the fuck are you naked?”
Way came to his senses and glanced down-ah yes. The slight inconvenience that he did not happen to be wearing any clothes, apart from his boxers.
"Not naked,"he muttered."Wearing boxers."
"Oh please,Gerard,as good as."
“Well I was sleeping,” he snapped, “and came down to get something only to find my father sitting at my table at one in the morning!”
“One fifty eight, by my watch, actually,” Donald smiled widely, his teeth gleaming in the darkness.
“I’m very sorry,” Gerard replied sarcastically, “now do you fucking plan on telling me why you’re here?”
His father tutted. “Such language.” His eyes dragged upward. “Sleeping,really? I heard a lot of bangs up there.Pretty heavy sleeping.”
“How long have you fucking been here?”
“Oh, just over an hour.” He smirked again. “You should exercise more, my son; I could hear you panting from upstairs. May I ask what you were doing?”
“What do you think I was doing, you ignat?”
He pulled on a face of fake shame. “You could have warned me.”
“What?!” This bastard was so fucking irritating. “As in, ‘oh father, just a brief informant that on the twenty sixth I will be making love to my husband in case you want to break in, I’m very sorry’?!”
He was laughing again. That stupid, low little guffaw that grinded at his son’s nerves.
“Let me put a proposition to you. I have not seen you work in five years.” His eyes were hungry; open. “You were less than great then.”
“I was ill prepared,” Gerard spat, sitting at his table, slamming one glass down. His father’s hand flittered toward it and the young one scoffed. “I was ill prepared and too young. You did not train me.” His chest heaved with rage. “You beat me.”
Donald shrugged uncomfortably.
“I made you bulletproof. You cannot deny that you are the most indestructible motherfucker in this shit.”
“I know that. It is because of my own effort.”
“You went to school, you were educated, and you have such a vocabulary.” The proposal would have to wait momentarily; first he would just fight with his ungrateful bastard of a son. “Most people would be grateful to their father for such a luxury.”
“I’m not most people,” Gerard said softly, draining the glass of whiskey.
Donald growled and brought his fist down on the wood.
“Pretentious little prick.”
Donald’s face flushed a violent shade of violet and his fist came crashing in on his son’s mouth. Gerard spluttered momentarily but regained his superiority, scowling at his father in the most accusing way. The old man actually felt bad as he failed to meet his offspring’s enraged glare.
“I am so sorry, Gerard,” he whispered. “I know how hard that must be for you-“
“No you don’t,” the twenty nine year old snarled. “Did you see your father beat your mother to death when you were six fucking years old?” He searched the glowing green eyes that he had inherited. “Well? Did you?”
“No,” he replied quietly. “No, I didn’t. But I want you to know-“
“Shut up. Just shut up.”
Gerard rubbed his temples and sighed heavily. Stupid fucking man. Interrupting his damn life all the damn time, randomly popping out of somewhere in his house like he owns the damn place.
The older cleared his throat.
“Your eye is damaged, I see,” he attempted at making a conversation, at cutting the tension. “It looks very agitated.”
“I’m half blind,” Gerard said in a low monotone. “Mancini stuck a Swiss Army knife in it about two weeks ago.”
“Half blind?” He looked a little grossed out as opposed to sympathetic. “Does it hurt?”
“My eye was fucking stabbed with a knife and I can’t see, of course it goddamn hurt!”
The awkward silence was back again. Donald attempted once more.
“I heard about what they did to Frank.” Gerard closed his eyes and frowned. “That was barbaric.”
The younger nodded.
“Is he any better?”
“Of course he’s better. I ain’t like that cunt Romano; I don’t beat him or rape him.” He tried to calm himself down. Just relax. “I treat him well. He’s everything to me and I don’t want him to be afraid.” He smiled. “He actually shot that cunt Mancini dead.”
“The guy who blinded you?”
“Yeah. He was great.” Then he flicked back to his parent and the smile was wiped off. “What is your little proposition?”
“There is a small sub-gang of the Romano’s down on fifty fourth that high-jack cars and such. They think they are going to beat the Way family.” He glowered. “I think you may change their minds.”
“How old are they?”
Gerard grinned. “I’ll get-“
“No. You should do it on your own. Grab some household weapon like a small knife or something, nothing fancy. You will scare the living the shit out of them.”
“You know where they are?”
“Alright.” He paused. “I want to go say goodnight to him, tell him where I’m going. I’ll be five minutes,” he said, grabbing something so quickly off the counter Donald didn’t have time to even see it.
“Getting dressed might be an idea, Gerard.”
He rolled his eyes as he walked up the stairs, shuffling down the corridor and pushing open the door, seeing his rabbit snoozling softly, arms thrown askew, mouth slightly open. He beamed when he did and chuckled to himself as he began dressing, a little sloppily, admittedly, in the dark. After he had put on a black shirt and trousers, he sat on the edge of the bed, stroking the boy's brown tufts before remembering he had a deadline.
“Sweetie? Sugar, wake up please.”
Frank mewled quietly as he woke, rubbing at his eyes until he could see who was shaking him gently.
“Hey gorgeous,” Way said, smiling at him before he kissed him lightly, “I need you to listen to me for a minute, okay?”
“Oh,Gee,” he mumbled sleepily, “is it morning time?”
“No, honey, it’s still late,” he replied, trailing his fingers on the boy’s bare chest, “but I’m going out for a little while and I just want to tell you.”
He could see Iero was a little saddened, maybe even frightened, but he just sucked on his bottom lip and sat up on his elbows.
“Will you be gone a long time?” He said in his inflicted lisp, Gerard’s stomach twisting with pity and love. “When will you be back? I’ll get scared.”
“I won’t be long, maybe an hour or two,” he cooed, tracing the full pout and part of his husband’s lips, “and I promise I’ll make it up to you later, sweetheart.”
Frank saw that Gerard was holding one of his hands behind his back. He tried to crane his neck to see but the gangster simply smirked.
“What are you holding?”
“Close your eyes.”
“No no. Close them.”
“Open your mouth.”
He didn’t know why he obeyed him, but he did. Then something was placed delicately on his tongue and his jaw was closed by Gerard.
“Now you chew, Frank.”
Frank bit down on the thing in his mouth only to discover it was an Oreo, crunchy and thick in his mouth. He gobbled it quickly and sucked on his lips to catch all of it.
“So adorable,” Gerard remarked to himself. “I put some of them up on the dresser for you later. But I have to go now, alright, sugar?”
“Oh...okay,” he said quietly as his husband kissed his forehead. “But...be careful, Gerard. Please?”
The vulnerability and sadness in his eyes nearly killed the twenty nine year old. But he couldn’t turn down the opportunity to shut down all other illegal organizations in the area.
“I will, baby.”
“I promise, bunny rabbit. See you later.”
He shut the door and returned downstairs.
“Evening gentlemen,” Gerard Way greeted grandly, puffing on his cigarette in front of the youths.
“It’s you,” one stuttered slightly, half out of horror and half in awe. “You...you’re always in the paper. And on the television. And the broadcasts.”
“Yes, well, I tend not to bother with modern media, it irritates me,” he replied, making his way towards them, his stick striking the ground each time sharply, ringing in the pavement. “May I ask what you are doing out at such a late hour?”
He knew exactly what was going on-he had heard the feminine shrieks and weeping two miles away, and now he was going to beat the shit out of these teenage fuckers who were corrupting his city. He had arrived in the Buick, with Kat and Ray in the back his only defenders. His father was also watching from the car, but he would not help if the situation turned ugly.He wasn’t wearing his holster, just a belt, and his hips felt considerably lighter. The teenagers saw that he had thrown his trench coat off and rolled his sleeves up to hug his muscular, veined arms. His finger was present in its absence, and he was more tanned than he was usually-mainly because he concealed his darker complexion in the public eye, due to the fact that golden brown did not go great with black and red. One eye was horribly disfigured and dark. The man walking toward them was terrifying.
“Well? Are you going to answer me or aren’t you?”He said a little louder, stamping the cigarette out with a twist of his heel.
He walked behind an automobile-a dark green Model T-and saw a girl on the ground, covered in blood, crying hopelessly underneath some little shit who was raping her brutally.(Rape-the signature act of the Romano men, young and old.) She was young, with mousey hair and olive skin. Her skirt was shoved down around her ankles and one pump was thrown across the alley they were currently in. The minute Gerard had stepped on the scene the boy had stopped grinding and humping, and now he was simply on top of her with his pants down. He expected to be applauded, to be congratulated, maybe Way would even join in.
He was wrong.
“Get the fuck off her,” he spat, kicking the teenager in the ass, “and pull your goddamn trousers up.”
He heard the scuff of shoes and turned around quick as a flash, shooting both of them in the legs, handicapping them. They screamed in pain and collapsed on the floor. Both boys, both couldn’t be older than eighteen. He mentally noted the faces of the other four, as well as the two who had been at the girl.
He shoved his Magnum back in his belt and then yanked the rapist up by his blond hair and threw him against a car, his head hitting the door window and crashing it, making him moan and hiss.
He approached the girl, shaking and crying. Her mascara was running down her face in rivers and her pantyhose were stained with blood and come.
“Please,” she begged quietly, sobs wracking her throat, “please don’t kill me. I’m not in a gang; I’m just at high school.” She dabbed her eyes with her sweater. “Please, sir, please.”
He held out his left hand, the one with the missing digit, which she looked at curiously, almost suspiciously.
“Here,” he said, “I’m not gonna hurt you. Just take my hand.”
He pulled her up easily and she shuffled to her feet, grabbing at her skirt.
“How old are you?” He asked, pointing his gun to the crotch of the rapist’s trousers.
“Um...”she stammered, hiccupping. “Seventeen.”
He snarled and shot the kid seventeen times in the balls. Each shot made him weaker and weaker until his screeches were just silent wails.
“Fucking pricks acting like they own the damn place,” he muttered, before pulling his gloves on and slapping the boy across the face. “How old are you? You look like a fucking twelve year old. Trying to hustle in on my fucking territory.”
He flicked open his pocket knife and dragged it across the teen’s throat, exposing his trachea, the windpipe spurting out stripes of red. The others around Gerard, now being detained by Ray and Katlyn, whimpered and looked away.
“That made you feel good, did it?” He whispered to the amateur. “Taking her virginity, taking her dignity, degrading her like that? You know her?”
“Yeah...Nancy...in my Home Ec class...”
“Fuck you,” Way petitioned articulately, “fuck you and your fucking friends. Go to hell.” He shoved the blade straight into his neck, grinding it so that he could hear it scraping against the boy’s spine. Some pussies behind him were snuffling and crying like kids.
“Fucking pansies,” he cussed, dropping the dead kid to the ground. “Don’t act like you haven’t done anything wrong. You act like criminals, you get treated like one.” He turned back to the girl. “Are you seriously injured? Do you need clinical medical attention?”
“Uh...not really badly,” she sniffed. “I just want to go home.”
“Where do you live?”
“Just two blocks away, on fifty seventh.”
“Fine. Katlyn!” He raised his voice, not shouting but not speaking. “Escort the girl home and destroy anyone who tries to harm either of you.” Back to Nancy. “If you are questioned by the authorities please inform them of some blood feuds within your school mates so that they will be wiped out. Los Angeles belongs to myself and the Romano family. No one should try and jeopardise that.”
“Okay,” she said shakily. “And...uh..thank you.”
He shrugged. “You’re welcome. But please do not tell people of my intervention in the situation or I will be forced to kill you.”
She nodded and went with Kat down the street. Then Way turned to the other six.
“Which of you is in charge here?”
The lankiest raised his hand like he was in his fucking Home Ec class. He was taller than Gerard by an inch or two, but skinny as a bean pole
What a strange phrase
And looked like he might snap.
“Really? What’s your name?” He demanded.
“I don’t have to tell you anything. I just-“
Gerard slapped him. Not even that hard, just a little blow to the face. His nose may or may not have cracked.
“I’d tell me.” He turned to another. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Y-yes,” he managed out. “Tell him,Dave.”
“David,” Gerard sounded out. “How old are you?”
“You never heard of manners, Dave?”
He kicked him in the shins. Hard.
“Ahhhh-I’m sorry, so sorry. Eighteen-sir-“
“How shitty to meet you, David. My name is Gerard Way,I am twenty nine years old.” He cocked his pistol and jabbed it to the temple of the teenager. “How long have you been involved in organized crime?”
“Just a few months-not long-“
The bullet ripped through his right foot and blood erupted from it like a volcano. Gerard dug it into his head once more.
“Strange, I have been involved since I was fifteen years of age. How smart are you, kid?” He shot two of the friends over by the wall in the head-they dropped, limp and lifeless, to the ground. Dave shrieked and nearly pissed himself.
“Aw, you scared?” He nodded. “Well tough shit, motherfucker!”
“You were so nice to her,” he panted, “you were nice to the girl!”
“To my knowledge, you were not raped, nor are you innocent.” He slammed him to the wall and his skull knocked against the brick like a glass jar of candy. “So don’t come crying to me when the going gets tough.”
“I have an IQ of eighty,” he said smugly, and rather ignorantly, “so go fuck yourself!”
“My intelligence quotient is one hundred and sixty three,” Gerard replied, “so you can go fornicate yourself with an iron implement.”
I love posh Gerard...
The boy was in too much pain to care when another bullet flew through his other foot. The questions continued.
“How good is your aim?” Way asked, “Can you even stab someone?”
Dave got his little jagged knife out and tried to jab at the attacking man, but he was so nervous and his hand was so sweaty it fell to the ground. Gerard actually laughed. He took out the sharp, shiny dagger that he had cut up the rapist with multiple moments ago and threw it across the alley, catching one boy between the eyebrows.
“Ten feet; not bad,” Gerard mused, before shooting the three dead on the spot. “Now you’re all alone. No one to protect you.”
“Please, please don’t kill me,” the boy began to sob, snorting through his sinuses, “I just-“
“You are a sub-set of the Romano gang,” Gerard said in a soft, deadly voice. “I am not going to kill you. But tonight you are going straight to your leader or to the authorities and showing them what I am about to do to you. Show them whose goddamn boss. Understood?”
“Wha-what are you-ARRGH-“
The boy began to scream and holler as Gerard carved the letters into his left forearm, blood streaming down his arms, dripping to the ground in a rain of red drops. He was near dead when the deed was done, slumped on the ground. He could barely hear the conversation taking place.
“Yo, old man!” Way shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. It was cold. So goddamned cold. Dave thought his arm would freeze off.
An elderly gentleman made his way to Gerard and the boy.
“Well. Very good, my boy-“
“Don’t fucking call me that. I am not your son. I am just your server.”
He stalked away, leaving his father to stare at the three letters gauged into the kid’s scrawny limb.
David died some minutes later. His body was discovered by police in the morning, who recognized the mark instantly.