Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Masters of the Wicket
Please note I cannot update as much as both you and I would like me to. I have serious exams at the moment and I need to study for them. I'm very sorry, but uploading Lornaigh's fanfiction has to come second to that. I have been getting so many emails saying like 'Y U NO UPDATE VIVA HATE/OMERTA/KARMA POLICE' whatever. Sorry guys, but I'm swamped at the moment and a very good friend of mine is going through some shit at the mo. I'd be very grateful if y'all could calm your tits just a little bit.
Jane Ni Ionnrachtaigh.
Hello my lovelies :D
This is my newest fic set in my hometown, Northern Ireland, which, if your geography is crap, is actually indeed north of Ireland. It's a bit random or whatever but yeah. In this Gerard, Mikey, Ray and Bob are Catholic and Frank is Protestant, as well as our beloved Bert. Enjoy my mind vomit, sometimes known as writing. This chapter is pretty boring, but it does pick up.
Just so you know, Northern Ireland is totally fine now (come visit here, you can bunk with me and we can be creepy fan fiction fangirls together) but back then this is how NI worked. There were curfews, restrictions and denying of huuman rights. It was a pretty shit time in my country's history.
As regards to the chracters, they, like FOTG, will be pretty different from their real personas. In this:
-Frank is innocent and shit (wow Lornaigh that is so damn surprising), and a huge nerd
-Ray is smart and sarcastic
-Mikey is a complete tool. I can't even be subtle about it, guys.
-Gerard is an old-fashioned punk, i.e. mohawk and leather shit, I thought it would be rather funny to make him look so different from how he is, like all nerdy and polite and whenever I play Dungeons & Dragons I think of like a sixteen-year-old Gerard in a Poison t-shirt (AOL interview, anyone?)
-Bob is awesome. But Bob is generally awesome anyway
So basically when I write on FicWad I always have to tell myself not to write like I talk, because it'd be fucked up, likesay. If you have ever read 'Trainspotting' by Irvine Welsh (the guy who wrote 'Ecstacy: Three Tales of Chemical Romance') yep, that's how I speak.
'Host No Thrills' comes from Muse's song Screenager, from the album Origin of Symmetry, released in 2001.
xo lorna
1968
East Belfast
Northern Ireland
"Way!" The tall boy with the wild hair called irritably down the halls. Jesus, that brown-haired motherfucker was gonna get it one of these damn days, if it was the last thing Ray ever did....kid was so fecking irritating. "For fuck's sake, slow down, will you? My God, it's like trying to catch a goddamn train."
Mikey did in fact slow down, clutching his heart and panting, his cheeks bright purple. Ray casually caught up to him, sighing, slinging his coat over his shoulder. It was only April but so far the weather in Northern Ireland had been one of surprise and shock over the past few weeks; it was actually sunny and warm. The heat, all inhabitants knew, would be short-lived but most were taking advantage of the weather; Ray rolled up his shirt sleeves, the white fabric pushing up his thin arms. He brushed a hand by his brow and felt sweat residing there. He was just about to step outside the large chamber door entering the school, the lock hanging off, wood covered in grafitti, when Mikey decided to try and beat the world sprinting record.
"WAY!" Toro growled as the younger boy ran for sheer life across the school grounds, schoolbag thumping against his back with each step he took. Ray sighed angrily and fuddled around with all the gear he was toting; his schoolbag, laden with homework, his guitar which he had brought in for his music practical, and Gerard's bag. Ray didn't actually quite know why he was carrying the last one; he and Gerard had been walking out of the last class of the day, Religious Education (also known as Let's Suck Jesus's Dick class) when the older Way had thrown the bag into his chest and grunted something about forgetting a book in his locker. Ray knew that was bullshit; Gerard Way would not give a rat's ass about forgetting a book. Ray doubted he had done a scrap of homework this whole year.
"SLOW DOWN, YOU LITTLE SHITE!" Ray roared now, exhausted. It was nearing four thirty five in the afternoon, and all students from Saint Joseph's Secondary School in Ravenhill, Belfast. All other kids had evacuated the premises by now, having school end at four, but having Mikey Way as a friend meant Ray had to wait around for a fucking half hour while Mikey fished in his locker for his books. Now, as a result, Toro would get given out shit to by his mother for not getting the bus in time. "Sweet Jesus, Mikey, where do you get your energy levels from? I'm near fucking dead at this point."
"I eat a big lunch," Mikey panted back, and Ray was finally in reaching distance of him. He grabbed the fifteen-year-old by the collar of his school shirt and dragged him back. "Sorry-just-need to get home-"
"Oh my God, that's why you're running eighty miles a fucking hour?" Toro asked, incredulous. "Mikes, you live three and a half minutes away from here. There is seriously no need for you to fucking kill yourself in the process of walking down the street." Ray whipped around and shielded his eyes against the harsh sunlight. Typical; it was ten million degrees outside and he was baricaded in the world's most insulated school uniform. "God, do you know where your brother is? He abandoned us like twenty minutes ago and his bag is heavy as shit."
"Dunno," Mikey answered, shrugging as they walked side-by-side now. "Art shit?"
"No."
"Comic book shit? Coffee shit? Something like that anyway," Mikey shrugged, and Ray had to admit that once devoid of all caffeine, the older Way brother was pretty much dead. "Probably doesn't matter." He cocked his head and wore a thoughtful expression. "What do you think I'm having for dinner tonight?"
"How in God's name am I meant to know, Michael?" Ray snapped, irritated. "Christ, am I your personal chef as well as your babysitter?" They turned the corner off of the school grounds, down the narrow cobbled alley that lead to the main road, leading up to the nearest rugy stadium. Being Catholic and generally of the working class, Ray had never been to a rugby game before, but judging from the screeches and shouts emitting from the stadia, it was enjoyable to watch. "Anyway, I doubt it's unimportant if he's staying behind in school. Gerard's a nice enough guy, but Einstein he ain't."
Mikey quirked an eyebrow and peered at Ray wearily. "Who?"
Ray would have questioned Mikey's sheer lack of knowledge unless he heard Gerard shouting behind them. Several disgruntled men and women on the main street threw their heads angrily in the direction of the noisy teenager. Ray, having been friends with Gerard for nearly ten years at this stage -time flies, don't it?- had gotten used to how the oldest Way boy looked, but found it acceptable when Gerard was stared at whilst popping down to the corner shop for milk.
Ray didn't even have to listen what Gerard was saying; he could hear the clink of the chains and the thud of the boots, and Gerard's tuneless hums in between the screeches, probably that new Undertones song. He stopped and stepped inside a driveway, pulling Mikey in with him. The fifteen year old waved like a seal when he saw his older brother.
"Hi Gee!" Mikey yelled, and Ray clapped a hand to his forehead. Gerard fucking hated being referenced by the first letter of his Christian name. This new Gerard, anyway, who stored away in his basement bedroom and practiced guitar fervently and constantly covered his visible limbs in words like 'SOCIETY WHORE' and 'CUNT'. Up until recently he had been relatively normal. Now he was flunking school, head set on starting a rock band, and generally just a weird guy.
But Ray still liked him nonetheless. And Mikey, even though the kid sometimes acted like a three year old.
"You'll never fucking guess what's going on," Gerard said to them in a hushed, urgent tone when he caught up to them. Ray threw Gerard's bag to the original owner but Gerard shoved it into Mikey's chest, who seemed all too happy to tote his older brother's schoolbag for him. "I couldn't fucking believe it. Unfuckingbelievable."
"Is it neccesary to swear all the time?"
"Yes. Seriously, Ray, you'll never guess," he said quickly, getting so het up he was positively bouncing along the battered footpath. Toro had to hand it to him; Gerard certainly did brighten up the dreary Belfast background with his jeans so tight he could tell how many kids the guy was gonna have, the black spiked hair with red tips and the black shite across his face. It looked like eyeshadow had vomited all over Gerard's pale skin. "Seriously. It's fucked up shit. I mean, I couldn't fucking believe it-"
"MIKEY!" Ray yelled as the younger Way child nearly walked straight into peak hour traffic. He yanked Mikey back by the collar and apologized to an angry looking commuter. He then glared at Gerard, still babbling on about something or the other. "Can you fucking watch your own brother?!" Ray snarled at the punk nattering away. "That kid could make a knife out of a goddamn cat, I swear."
"We have a cat at home his name is Kevin-"
"Can you actually fucking believe it, Ray?!" Gerard said, jumping up and down, the metal hanging from his belt clinking. Toro growled again as Mikey nearly walked into a wall. "I mean, seriously, can yuo fucking get that? I don't even know if I'll survive the day because I can't even-"
"WHAT," Ray screeched. "WHAT IS SO FUCKING UNBELIEVABLE, GERARD."
"This, guys!" Mikey yelped as he stood on his tip-toes, thick glasses sliding down his nose, surveying a sheet tacked on a nearby wall very closely. "Come have a look at this."
Ray, irritated beyond fucking reason, stormed over to where the younger one was pointing. He shoved Mikey out of the way and scanned his eyes through:
ON FRIDAY 19TH APRIL
ALL STUDENTS FROM
SAINT JOSEPH'S SECONDARY SCHOOL
&
PRESUMPTA COLLEGE OF BELFAST
WILL BE ENGAGING IN PRACTICE FOR FIRST ANNUAL NORTHERN IRISH CRICKET TOURNAMENT
AVAILABLE FOR ALL BOYS AGED 14+ AND IS VOLUNTARY
AND BY 'VOLUNTARY' WE MEAN BE THERE OR WE'LL BREAK YOUR NECKS
PRACTICE WILL COMMENCE AT FOUR AT RAVENHILL STADIUM AND CONCUR AT SIX
- DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION, NORTHERN IRELAND
Ray could scarecely believe it. He was so taken aback he didn't even notice that someone had applied a black marker to write the words 'sucks cock' after the word 'Education.'
The Protestants and the Catholics never mingled, never became mutual allies, never even shopped at the same grocery store. Ray didn't think he'd ever even seen a Protestant; he'd heard grisly tales from his idiotic classmates that all Protestants were evil and raped their wives and beat their kids, but Toro was sure this was tradition-induced paranoid propaganda. He turned slowly to Gerard, who was gaping at him for a reaction. Ray was equally astounded.
"Holy shit," he muttered, peering in closer. On the wall surrounding the page were brash statements; among them: 'FUCK THE POLICE', 'KATHY IS A LEZ' and even 'I LIKE CATS, DEAL WITH IT, CUNTS'. Ray found the taste of Northern Irish grafitti artists to be...eclectic, to say the least. "Oh my God, Gerard. This is...this is insane."
"What if they're in the VF?" Way questioned ever so quietly as the trio turned a corner and progressed down a dimly-lit alleyway. It was different down here; the bricks were falling lamely from the poorly constructed grey walls, there were empty beer bottles and stubbed out cigarette ends lay strewn on the dull ground. Gerard pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit up, hands shaking a little as he did. "Or if they're total fucking snobby twats? I don't wanna fucking meet my end at a fucking cricket match, fro man." Ray was so overwhelmed he didn't even register the nickname Gerard had referenced him by. His electric gree bulbs locked contact with Ray's warm chocolate orbs. Gerard looked...scared, if Ray's judgement was correct. "I'm scared, mate. I'm fucking scared. What if something happens, dude?" He shivered and pulled his black ripped shirt tighter to his slim frame. "I'm freaking out, man. This is insane."
Ray was choking back tears as he walked with Gerard. Mikey, meanwhile, giggled and laughed and chattered unassumingly, unaware of the troubles surrounding him.
Next chapter: we meet our doting couple, Bert and Frank. Also note, like FOTG, chapters will gradually get longer. Hope it's okay so far, guys! R&R would be appreciated, loves.
Jane Ni Ionnrachtaigh.
Hello my lovelies :D
This is my newest fic set in my hometown, Northern Ireland, which, if your geography is crap, is actually indeed north of Ireland. It's a bit random or whatever but yeah. In this Gerard, Mikey, Ray and Bob are Catholic and Frank is Protestant, as well as our beloved Bert. Enjoy my mind vomit, sometimes known as writing. This chapter is pretty boring, but it does pick up.
Just so you know, Northern Ireland is totally fine now (come visit here, you can bunk with me and we can be creepy fan fiction fangirls together) but back then this is how NI worked. There were curfews, restrictions and denying of huuman rights. It was a pretty shit time in my country's history.
As regards to the chracters, they, like FOTG, will be pretty different from their real personas. In this:
-Frank is innocent and shit (wow Lornaigh that is so damn surprising), and a huge nerd
-Ray is smart and sarcastic
-Mikey is a complete tool. I can't even be subtle about it, guys.
-Gerard is an old-fashioned punk, i.e. mohawk and leather shit, I thought it would be rather funny to make him look so different from how he is, like all nerdy and polite and whenever I play Dungeons & Dragons I think of like a sixteen-year-old Gerard in a Poison t-shirt (AOL interview, anyone?)
-Bob is awesome. But Bob is generally awesome anyway
So basically when I write on FicWad I always have to tell myself not to write like I talk, because it'd be fucked up, likesay. If you have ever read 'Trainspotting' by Irvine Welsh (the guy who wrote 'Ecstacy: Three Tales of Chemical Romance') yep, that's how I speak.
'Host No Thrills' comes from Muse's song Screenager, from the album Origin of Symmetry, released in 2001.
xo lorna
1968
East Belfast
Northern Ireland
"Way!" The tall boy with the wild hair called irritably down the halls. Jesus, that brown-haired motherfucker was gonna get it one of these damn days, if it was the last thing Ray ever did....kid was so fecking irritating. "For fuck's sake, slow down, will you? My God, it's like trying to catch a goddamn train."
Mikey did in fact slow down, clutching his heart and panting, his cheeks bright purple. Ray casually caught up to him, sighing, slinging his coat over his shoulder. It was only April but so far the weather in Northern Ireland had been one of surprise and shock over the past few weeks; it was actually sunny and warm. The heat, all inhabitants knew, would be short-lived but most were taking advantage of the weather; Ray rolled up his shirt sleeves, the white fabric pushing up his thin arms. He brushed a hand by his brow and felt sweat residing there. He was just about to step outside the large chamber door entering the school, the lock hanging off, wood covered in grafitti, when Mikey decided to try and beat the world sprinting record.
"WAY!" Toro growled as the younger boy ran for sheer life across the school grounds, schoolbag thumping against his back with each step he took. Ray sighed angrily and fuddled around with all the gear he was toting; his schoolbag, laden with homework, his guitar which he had brought in for his music practical, and Gerard's bag. Ray didn't actually quite know why he was carrying the last one; he and Gerard had been walking out of the last class of the day, Religious Education (also known as Let's Suck Jesus's Dick class) when the older Way had thrown the bag into his chest and grunted something about forgetting a book in his locker. Ray knew that was bullshit; Gerard Way would not give a rat's ass about forgetting a book. Ray doubted he had done a scrap of homework this whole year.
"SLOW DOWN, YOU LITTLE SHITE!" Ray roared now, exhausted. It was nearing four thirty five in the afternoon, and all students from Saint Joseph's Secondary School in Ravenhill, Belfast. All other kids had evacuated the premises by now, having school end at four, but having Mikey Way as a friend meant Ray had to wait around for a fucking half hour while Mikey fished in his locker for his books. Now, as a result, Toro would get given out shit to by his mother for not getting the bus in time. "Sweet Jesus, Mikey, where do you get your energy levels from? I'm near fucking dead at this point."
"I eat a big lunch," Mikey panted back, and Ray was finally in reaching distance of him. He grabbed the fifteen-year-old by the collar of his school shirt and dragged him back. "Sorry-just-need to get home-"
"Oh my God, that's why you're running eighty miles a fucking hour?" Toro asked, incredulous. "Mikes, you live three and a half minutes away from here. There is seriously no need for you to fucking kill yourself in the process of walking down the street." Ray whipped around and shielded his eyes against the harsh sunlight. Typical; it was ten million degrees outside and he was baricaded in the world's most insulated school uniform. "God, do you know where your brother is? He abandoned us like twenty minutes ago and his bag is heavy as shit."
"Dunno," Mikey answered, shrugging as they walked side-by-side now. "Art shit?"
"No."
"Comic book shit? Coffee shit? Something like that anyway," Mikey shrugged, and Ray had to admit that once devoid of all caffeine, the older Way brother was pretty much dead. "Probably doesn't matter." He cocked his head and wore a thoughtful expression. "What do you think I'm having for dinner tonight?"
"How in God's name am I meant to know, Michael?" Ray snapped, irritated. "Christ, am I your personal chef as well as your babysitter?" They turned the corner off of the school grounds, down the narrow cobbled alley that lead to the main road, leading up to the nearest rugy stadium. Being Catholic and generally of the working class, Ray had never been to a rugby game before, but judging from the screeches and shouts emitting from the stadia, it was enjoyable to watch. "Anyway, I doubt it's unimportant if he's staying behind in school. Gerard's a nice enough guy, but Einstein he ain't."
Mikey quirked an eyebrow and peered at Ray wearily. "Who?"
Ray would have questioned Mikey's sheer lack of knowledge unless he heard Gerard shouting behind them. Several disgruntled men and women on the main street threw their heads angrily in the direction of the noisy teenager. Ray, having been friends with Gerard for nearly ten years at this stage -time flies, don't it?- had gotten used to how the oldest Way boy looked, but found it acceptable when Gerard was stared at whilst popping down to the corner shop for milk.
Ray didn't even have to listen what Gerard was saying; he could hear the clink of the chains and the thud of the boots, and Gerard's tuneless hums in between the screeches, probably that new Undertones song. He stopped and stepped inside a driveway, pulling Mikey in with him. The fifteen year old waved like a seal when he saw his older brother.
"Hi Gee!" Mikey yelled, and Ray clapped a hand to his forehead. Gerard fucking hated being referenced by the first letter of his Christian name. This new Gerard, anyway, who stored away in his basement bedroom and practiced guitar fervently and constantly covered his visible limbs in words like 'SOCIETY WHORE' and 'CUNT'. Up until recently he had been relatively normal. Now he was flunking school, head set on starting a rock band, and generally just a weird guy.
But Ray still liked him nonetheless. And Mikey, even though the kid sometimes acted like a three year old.
"You'll never fucking guess what's going on," Gerard said to them in a hushed, urgent tone when he caught up to them. Ray threw Gerard's bag to the original owner but Gerard shoved it into Mikey's chest, who seemed all too happy to tote his older brother's schoolbag for him. "I couldn't fucking believe it. Unfuckingbelievable."
"Is it neccesary to swear all the time?"
"Yes. Seriously, Ray, you'll never guess," he said quickly, getting so het up he was positively bouncing along the battered footpath. Toro had to hand it to him; Gerard certainly did brighten up the dreary Belfast background with his jeans so tight he could tell how many kids the guy was gonna have, the black spiked hair with red tips and the black shite across his face. It looked like eyeshadow had vomited all over Gerard's pale skin. "Seriously. It's fucked up shit. I mean, I couldn't fucking believe it-"
"MIKEY!" Ray yelled as the younger Way child nearly walked straight into peak hour traffic. He yanked Mikey back by the collar and apologized to an angry looking commuter. He then glared at Gerard, still babbling on about something or the other. "Can you fucking watch your own brother?!" Ray snarled at the punk nattering away. "That kid could make a knife out of a goddamn cat, I swear."
"We have a cat at home his name is Kevin-"
"Can you actually fucking believe it, Ray?!" Gerard said, jumping up and down, the metal hanging from his belt clinking. Toro growled again as Mikey nearly walked into a wall. "I mean, seriously, can yuo fucking get that? I don't even know if I'll survive the day because I can't even-"
"WHAT," Ray screeched. "WHAT IS SO FUCKING UNBELIEVABLE, GERARD."
"This, guys!" Mikey yelped as he stood on his tip-toes, thick glasses sliding down his nose, surveying a sheet tacked on a nearby wall very closely. "Come have a look at this."
Ray, irritated beyond fucking reason, stormed over to where the younger one was pointing. He shoved Mikey out of the way and scanned his eyes through:
ON FRIDAY 19TH APRIL
ALL STUDENTS FROM
SAINT JOSEPH'S SECONDARY SCHOOL
&
PRESUMPTA COLLEGE OF BELFAST
WILL BE ENGAGING IN PRACTICE FOR FIRST ANNUAL NORTHERN IRISH CRICKET TOURNAMENT
AVAILABLE FOR ALL BOYS AGED 14+ AND IS VOLUNTARY
AND BY 'VOLUNTARY' WE MEAN BE THERE OR WE'LL BREAK YOUR NECKS
PRACTICE WILL COMMENCE AT FOUR AT RAVENHILL STADIUM AND CONCUR AT SIX
- DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION, NORTHERN IRELAND
Ray could scarecely believe it. He was so taken aback he didn't even notice that someone had applied a black marker to write the words 'sucks cock' after the word 'Education.'
The Protestants and the Catholics never mingled, never became mutual allies, never even shopped at the same grocery store. Ray didn't think he'd ever even seen a Protestant; he'd heard grisly tales from his idiotic classmates that all Protestants were evil and raped their wives and beat their kids, but Toro was sure this was tradition-induced paranoid propaganda. He turned slowly to Gerard, who was gaping at him for a reaction. Ray was equally astounded.
"Holy shit," he muttered, peering in closer. On the wall surrounding the page were brash statements; among them: 'FUCK THE POLICE', 'KATHY IS A LEZ' and even 'I LIKE CATS, DEAL WITH IT, CUNTS'. Ray found the taste of Northern Irish grafitti artists to be...eclectic, to say the least. "Oh my God, Gerard. This is...this is insane."
"What if they're in the VF?" Way questioned ever so quietly as the trio turned a corner and progressed down a dimly-lit alleyway. It was different down here; the bricks were falling lamely from the poorly constructed grey walls, there were empty beer bottles and stubbed out cigarette ends lay strewn on the dull ground. Gerard pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit up, hands shaking a little as he did. "Or if they're total fucking snobby twats? I don't wanna fucking meet my end at a fucking cricket match, fro man." Ray was so overwhelmed he didn't even register the nickname Gerard had referenced him by. His electric gree bulbs locked contact with Ray's warm chocolate orbs. Gerard looked...scared, if Ray's judgement was correct. "I'm scared, mate. I'm fucking scared. What if something happens, dude?" He shivered and pulled his black ripped shirt tighter to his slim frame. "I'm freaking out, man. This is insane."
Ray was choking back tears as he walked with Gerard. Mikey, meanwhile, giggled and laughed and chattered unassumingly, unaware of the troubles surrounding him.
Next chapter: we meet our doting couple, Bert and Frank. Also note, like FOTG, chapters will gradually get longer. Hope it's okay so far, guys! R&R would be appreciated, loves.
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