Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > You're Never Gonna Fit In Much, Kid.
Another Cog In The Murder Machine
0 reviewsSo what if Dria’s different? All she wants is to fit in. It’s easier, better that way, right? She's pretty sure that "being you" gets you nowhere but trouble. Until she meets Gerard Way, that is.
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Hey there, my lovely Ficwadians! PrettyOddOwl here. I’ve been hanging around here for a while, reading and fangirling and whatnot, and I finally decided to post something of mine. This here is “You’re Never Gonna Fit In Much, Kid”. It’s my first fic, so hopefully it turns out not-too-crappy. XD
The first three or so chapters are pretty short, and mainly just introduction-type stuff, so I’ll be posting those all at once, then after that I’ll probably update at least once or twice a week.
If you guys love it or hate it or have any criticism or advice or whatever, then please rate and review!
Oh, and by the way, I don't own Gerard Way or The Smashing Pumpkins or Green Day or any other band or singer-person mentioned in this story. If I did, I'd be busy tackle-glomping them, not to mention far too incoherent with fangirlishness to type out this disclaimer. XD
So, with that out of the way, here it is!
Rage and Love,
PrettyOddOwl
Ch. 1
“Another Cog In the Murder Machine”
I moaned contentedly as I awoke slowly on that Monday morning. Rubbing my eyes, I looked around my tiny, poster-covered room. The walls were bathed in gray shadows coming from the window, and as I looked over to it, I saw that it was raining outside.
Awesome, I thought to myself. I always thought there was a kind of dismal beauty to those rainy, dreary days that everyone else complains about. Not that I could say that anywhere but my own head, of course. I could already imagine the responses I would get:
“Ugh, you actually like rainy days? Why? They’re nasty! Your hair frizzes up and your makeup runs!”
I did my best songwriting on rainy days too, curled up on my window seat in my favorite hoodie, notebook in lap and pencil in hand, staring out the window at the bleak, messed-up world outside my little sanctuary.
Not that any of my “friends” would ever know that.
I rolled out of bed and walked over to my dresser, managed to dig out a Smashing Pumpkins shirt and some ripped skinnies, pulled them on, and zombie-walked into my bathroom. I looked in the mirror and yawned at my reflection; it felt way too early to be doing anything besides sleeping, much less attempting to make myself look presentable for the seven hour torture marathon that was high school. After about thirty seconds of waging war against it, I gave up and let my ridiculously curly hair do whatever it wanted, settling for just straightening my bangs and smudging some eyeliner around my storm-colored eyes. I pulled on my “ZERO” hoodie and laced up my combat boots.
As I went to grab my backpack, I turned to the Green Day poster on my wall. “Wish me luck, Billie.” I sighed. As usual, there was no reply.
The first three or so chapters are pretty short, and mainly just introduction-type stuff, so I’ll be posting those all at once, then after that I’ll probably update at least once or twice a week.
If you guys love it or hate it or have any criticism or advice or whatever, then please rate and review!
Oh, and by the way, I don't own Gerard Way or The Smashing Pumpkins or Green Day or any other band or singer-person mentioned in this story. If I did, I'd be busy tackle-glomping them, not to mention far too incoherent with fangirlishness to type out this disclaimer. XD
So, with that out of the way, here it is!
Rage and Love,
PrettyOddOwl
Ch. 1
“Another Cog In the Murder Machine”
I moaned contentedly as I awoke slowly on that Monday morning. Rubbing my eyes, I looked around my tiny, poster-covered room. The walls were bathed in gray shadows coming from the window, and as I looked over to it, I saw that it was raining outside.
Awesome, I thought to myself. I always thought there was a kind of dismal beauty to those rainy, dreary days that everyone else complains about. Not that I could say that anywhere but my own head, of course. I could already imagine the responses I would get:
“Ugh, you actually like rainy days? Why? They’re nasty! Your hair frizzes up and your makeup runs!”
I did my best songwriting on rainy days too, curled up on my window seat in my favorite hoodie, notebook in lap and pencil in hand, staring out the window at the bleak, messed-up world outside my little sanctuary.
Not that any of my “friends” would ever know that.
I rolled out of bed and walked over to my dresser, managed to dig out a Smashing Pumpkins shirt and some ripped skinnies, pulled them on, and zombie-walked into my bathroom. I looked in the mirror and yawned at my reflection; it felt way too early to be doing anything besides sleeping, much less attempting to make myself look presentable for the seven hour torture marathon that was high school. After about thirty seconds of waging war against it, I gave up and let my ridiculously curly hair do whatever it wanted, settling for just straightening my bangs and smudging some eyeliner around my storm-colored eyes. I pulled on my “ZERO” hoodie and laced up my combat boots.
As I went to grab my backpack, I turned to the Green Day poster on my wall. “Wish me luck, Billie.” I sighed. As usual, there was no reply.
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