My Chemical Fucking Romance. And Don't You Ever Forget It.
My Chemical Romance is a special band that means a lot to me, as you can tell. They’re the ones that told me, ‘it’s going to be okay, and if not, we’re here to suffer with you.’ They’re the ones who told me, 'it’s okay if not everyone likes you, it’s okay if life feels unfair. you get through it.’ They got me through arguments and Valentines Day and really tough fights and even seven months without earbuds I still listened to them.
Most importantly, though, MCR saved my life. In a lot of different ways. First, they went through a hell of a lot more than I have. Seeing Gerard’s addiction, depression, and everything else he and the guys went through, and it showed me how much I really can handle, even if I don’t think I can. Second, they help me make a connection that no one but Gerard Way could help me make. I don’t understand the emotional impact death has on people, since it really doesn’t affect me. However, shameful as it is, I really understand the feeling of 'I’m never going to see them again’ through the MCR breakup. I have the same analytical fascination with death that Gerard has, and he’s shown me that I’m not a psycho killer or something like that, and I can live with myself.
Really, though, they just mean so much to me and they make me feel so many things and their music won’t leave me. Ever.
Zinaida Serebriakova (1884-1967)
“Pierrot (Self portrait in the costume of Pierrot)” (1911)
Pierrot is a stock character of pantomime and Commedia dell'Arte whose origins are in the late seventeenth-century Italian troupe of players performing in Paris. His character in contemporary popular culture is that of the sad clown, pining for the love of Columbine, who usually breaks his heart and leaves him for Harlequin. The defining characteristic of Pierrot is his naïveté: he is seen as a fool, often the butt of pranks, yet nonetheless trusting.
I enjoy making jokes at your expense. It’s fun to see your reactions change in an instant the second the punchline gets across. I’ll make a few more. Remind me why that’s a bad idea.
I never dress overly conservative around you. I like how your eyes change. I enjoy teasing you with certain body parts or positions. Remind me why that is.
I always steal your spot on the couch. If you get up, that’s a neon, flashing invitation for me to move and get comfortable where you previously were. Remind me what happens when I misbehave.
I find it funny to hide some of your favorite things. TV remote, cell phone, game controller. Me, seen it? Nope. Me, TAKE IT? Never. Remind me where lying gets me.
I love using you as a human pillow. You’re just too cuddle-able and snuggly not to, honestly. My personal favorite is when I lie across your lap on my back, purposely keeping my arms up or behind my head. Remind me “who” I’m provoking.
I’m in a certain mood I just can’t seem to shake, but God forbid I come right out and say it. Yet you can tell by the look in my eye and the way I keep fidgeting, unable to stand still. All I can mutter is ‘please.’ Remind me what comes next.
I strive to initiate the chase. I want to push you right to the edge of tolerance and watch everything escalate from there. I need you to remind me why I do this, why I feel the way I do, why I just can’t sit still. Remind me how ticklish I am. Remind me how much I love it. Remind me how much I crave it. Remind me what it feels like when every nerve ending is on fire and all we can even perceive is the sound of my laughter and your words being spoken into my ear.
Hey, Ash! Thanks so much for shooting me an ask! I had so much fun writing it! I hope I get some more of these :3
“The first week is always the hardest. Just give it time, Vitya. He will come around, just be patient.”
This was the advice that Yakov had given Viktor when he had announced Yuuri was moving in after the Grand Prix Final. After Yuuri’s small victory at the finals, they agreed it would be best to stay with Viktor in Russia, so that they could perfect Yuuri’s routine. Not only that, Viktor would also benefit from Yuuri’s support when he was relearning his old skating regiment. As soon as the decision was final, Viktor had insisted that Yuuri move in right away. He couldn’t bare being away from Yuuri for so long. However, Yuuri wanted to spend some time with his family and close friends before he made such a big step in both of their lives. So, Viktor had waited patiently for weeks until the day Yuuri would move into his home. It was during this time that Yakov gave him the strange advice. Little did Viktor know, he would actually need it in the very near future.
It was one A.M. and Yuuri was up. Normally, having Yuuri awake wouldn’t bother Viktor. However, this was the fourth night in a row that Yuuri had been up in strange hours of the night. It was a sort of pattern really. Viktor would wake up early in the morning trying to get the most out of the day, Yuuri, on the other hand, had a strange sleeping schedule. Yuuri would fall asleep around four or five in the afternoon and get back up around midnight. It didn’t make any sense to Viktor, but he tried his best to be understanding.
A bright light filled Viktor’s vision and he opened his eyes only slightly. Outside his bedroom door, the hall light was on and Viktor could make out the distinct shadows of Yuuri tiptoeing down the hall. Although Viktor appreciated the courtesy, he couldn’t sleep like this. Viktor had spent the past few weeks sleeping with Yuuri cuddled with him. Now that he was by himself, he felt utterly naked and unnatural. It bothered him to no end!
He groaned and pushed himself up wrapping his blue colored blanket around his body. He was quite the sight. His usual combed and styled hair was now into an upheaved mess. His bangs clung to his forehead, and he had black bags under his eyes. If Yuuri only came to bed, he would be able to sleep.
He opened his bedroom door and squinted at the bright light of the television as his eyes adjusted. He looked over at the couch and saw Yuuri watching a video he must have taken from home. It was all in Japanese. Viktor could only pull out a few keywords from what looked like a romantic comedy. His beloved Makkachin was cuddled under Yuuri’s feet, snoring softly. Viktor never wanted to be a dog more in his life.
He took a step forward and tripped on a dog bone causing him to fall forward. Yuuri jumped and quickly turned towards the sound that surprised him. All he saw was an exhausted Viktor wrapped in a blanket like a child who had a bad dream. He gave Viktor a sorry look.
“Viktor, what are you doing up so late? ” He asked.
“I could ask you the same thing.” There was a moment of silence before Viktor chewed his lip. It was a nervous tic that Viktor had since he was a child. "Why don’t you sleep in bed with me? I’m sorry if I made you upset or hogged the blankets. I can make Makka sleep in the hall or-“
Yuuri smiled at him and grabbed his hands, interrupting Viktor’s long train of thought as of why Yuuri wasn’t sleeping with him. "You didn’t make me upset, Viktor. I just can’t sleep. If I would have known it affected you this much, I would have gone on my phone and let you sleep.” He scooted over on the couch and patted one of the cushions next to him. "Come here. You need to sleep.“
Viktor smiled tiredly and sat down next to Yuuri. He leaned into Yuuri’s open arms and nuzzled into Yuuri’s chest. He could hear Yuuri’s heartbeat in one ear and the soft hum of movie in the other. Makkachin’s soft snores slowly joined into the beautiful melody filling Viktor’s ears and lulling him to sleep. Yuuri’s arm tightened against his shoulder and a kiss was planted on his forehead with the softness of a butterfly’s wing. Viktor wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s chest and smiled. There was just something so domestic about the scene that made Viktor yearn for more. Eventually, he wanted to start a family with Yuuri. He would give anything, all the skating, all his medals, all the fame, just to settle down with Yuuri and spend the rest of his life with him by Viktor’s side. But, for now, Viktor wouldn’t change a thing. He burrowed his face in Yuuri’s chest.
“I thought you hated me. ” he murmured softly.
Yuuri chuckled. Viktor swore his voice was made of honey itself. It was so thick and sweet. "I don’t think I could hate you if I tried. “
“Then, why didn’t you sleep with me? ”
Yuuri gave him a surprised look and adjusted his glasses like he was embarrassed. “Viktor, you do know that there is a six hour time difference between Saint Petersburg and Kyushu, right? ”
Viktor could only smile like an idiot. He really had no idea.
I remember when I used to languish,
weigh the nomadic imbalance,
live the moments that felt most fleeting.
The mind was never so unburdened
as it was then,
shining and forming forgiveness
in the womb of fates soft departure.
You’d be surprised
how many hours I can fill
with thinking of you.
Thinking of inundating us both
again and again.
for minding the tragedy of my dossier.
where is thine dust of twilight hiding?
we keep resolving ourselves
to dreamscapes and ghosts
easily overlooking the intrinsic simplicity.
A scraped knee,
The most seemingly ordinary of things
have flattering engagements,
catalysts that satisfy one another
at vague turns.
A polarising insect
Unbeknownst of harmonics realised,
delicate detachment from sound,
suspended in amber fiction,
secrets of an understanding now mocked,
cooed in my campiest pirated cadence.
You wouldn’t find it unusual at all,
early morning banal thoughts,
clairaudient sighs through the stale walls,
lacking tawdry manifesto,
a sliver of windowless pink light blooming,
a wordless melody gone markedly cold.
A hand slams down on the analogue alarm clock next to the
full-sized bed. The hand retreats underneath the Shark’s comforter. The
afternoon air is still and quiet. Something shifts around the bed, A tuft of
black hair peeks out as a loud groan is admitted from somewhere within its
covers. The hand slips out again, reaching for the iPhone resting on the
nightstand. A bleary-eyed teen pokes his head out to check the time on the
4:35 pm the phones
“Shit,” the boy curses.
He jumps out of bed. He scrambles to slip on his ratty,
black converse. Hastily, he snatches his keys and slings his backpack over his
right shoulder. He rushes down the steps, ignoring his sister’s protests to slow
“I’m running late,” he shouts over his shoulder. He runs
through the garage, picking up his skateboard. He’ll hardly have time for his
pregame playlist. He sighs, fishing his earbuds from his backpack, selecting
the proper list on his phone before opening the garage door.
“Close behind me!” Chris hollers at his sister. He presses
play, slipping his phone in his back jeans pocket. With a foot on the board, he
peddles a few steps—allowing the steep hills of San Francisco to carry him all
the way to hockey practice. Fortunately, today was only a scrimmage.
“I hope they’re not busy night now,” he mumbles. Thinking of
his soulmate—out there somewhere—as he hums along, “the faster we’re falling,
we’re stopping and stalling…We’re running in circles again.”
Meanwhile, approximately three hundred miles south, a girls’
volleyball team is in the midst of a warm up for a regional qualifying game. A
tall brunette is in the middle of passing drills with her partner when a
familiar song floats into her head.
“Change,” she shouts at the team manager, a petite blond girl
in a faded polo and spandex.
“To what?” the manager shouts back.
“In Too Deep,” the girl shouts back.
The manager gives a thumbs up,
switching the song quickly. It was commonly accepted on their team that
soulmates could be distracting and it was easier to join along with them than
it was to counteract their songs with other music.
“Just as things we’re looking up,” she shouts. “You said it
wasn’t good enough.”
still we’re trying one more time,” her team chimes in, causing Caitlin to
Somewhere in Massachusetts, a prep
school hockey team is in the middle of the third period of a regular season
game. One of the defensemen hears a song crescendo in his mind. He chuckles to
“You always know how to make a game
more interesting,” Derek chirps his soulmate.
He rushes a winger as he sings, “maybe
we’re just trying too hard. When
really it’s closer than it is too far.”
In a small town in Maine, a high
school senior is amidst a typical party. He tries to ignore the music in his
mind. Forcing himself to enjoy the tedious conversation he’s having with
someone’s cousin who’s visiting from out of town. Unfortunately, the song has
gotten so loud he can hardly concentrate.
“Will you excuse me?” He says, not
bothering to hear the answer as he pushes away from the girl. He bolts out of
the basement, finding a quiet corner near the backyard door.
“You really suck sometimes,” Will
announces to whoever figured out how to make their music so blaringly loud. He
doesn’t have much option other than to join in, “cause I’m in too deep, and I’m
trying to keep. Up above in my
head, instead of going under.”
The song ends almost as quickly as
it starts. There’s a few punk songs that come up, and some Kesha that happens
at one point. Will has learned not to think too deeply about his soulmate’s
music taste. He’s realized that it’s too dynamic and varying to give a real
sense of who they are. He feels like he knows them, though. He’d love to know
how they get so incredibly fucking loud at the weirdest times, but there’s not
much he can do about that…yet. Yet, he keeps reminding himself. Soulmates meet each other eventually, his
mom reminds him constantly.
Considering he’s grown up around
the same small group of people, Will’s relived it’s not one of them. It means
that he won’t be stuck here his entire life. He’s going places. He’s going to
fall in love…someday.
The music stops after twenty
minutes. There’s a comfortable silence in which the music of the party he’s at
is quiet in comparison. It gives him time to decompress. Later, he’s sure he’ll
here some Queen or Pat Benatar. He’s pretty sure his soulmate is an athlete,
but the jury’s still out on that. It’s something they’ll bond over. He can feel