Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Im(pulse).
7 reviewsFRERARD! Love was sharp; the blood running through his veins, supplying life, yet slicing, ripping, hacking it apart at the same time. [For Music and Words, 'Blood is Sharp'...Pretty Please Read an...
5Ambiance
Hi guys! Okay, so this was written for Music and Words, 'Blood is Sharp'. I know this idea isn't exactly original, but it just sort of flowed out with the song- I don't think I've ever written something so purely inspired by a piece of music. so...yeah...I'd love to know what you think! Enjoy reading :D
Im(pulse).
The rain always made him feel lonely, but he still liked to sit and watch it rolling, ashen and sorrowful, down the onyx glass when the rest of the world was lost to sleep. There was something oddly comforting about watching a world that had skinned him alive cry; cry as if it would never run out of remorse- but watching the thin grey scars spatter the black windowpane came at a price.
It made him feel alive.
Feeling alive meant feeling empty, so empty, feeling alive reminded him that love was sharp; the blood running through his veins, supplying life, yet slicing, ripping, hacking it apart at the same time. It had become such a skilled blade over time that it knew exactly the rawest, most vulnerable places to cut. And cut it had- it had cut and cut and cut, until gradually, there was nothing left to gouge out.
Not even his pulse.
Watching the iced-midnight rain made his normally impassive, reserved silence want to scream out how much it hurt, how much it fucking, fucking hurt. But he never did. It was so much simpler to slowly be eaten alive by your own emotions than offer someone your vulnerable, beating soul.
But as Gerard thought of the rain howling and battering outside, he couldn’t help but think of him, think of Frank- think of Frank with the rain trickling down his ivory cheekbones and clinging in shy dew-droplets to every crimped, dark eyelash framing those sinless, pure-golden eyes, and suddenly, something snapped and tore and exploded inside of Gerard’s hollow being. It tore through all the dead-vein cemeteries, flooding him, drowning him and all his composed, self suffering-silence in raw, untamed emotion. And all of a sudden, Gerard was flinging himself across the room, tearing at his posters and thundering his books to the floor, breaking and crashing and shattering, upending his desk so as schoolbooks and art pencils and drawings and drawings and drawings of that one, beautiful person, spattered the floor like the blood he was suddenly bleeding, so dark and red and so alive.
He stalled for half a scream, breathing heavily amidst the ruins of his room, one, sole thing blatantly clear in the turbulence. He wanted- he needed- to break free of this silent skin and bubble-wrapped soul and scream everything out, regardless of consequence. He needed Frank’s unobliterated eyes and flawless skin and lopsided smile and soft hair and minty smell like he’d never needed anything before, and it fuelled the impulsion that was suddenly drowning him, as potent as watching the rain sluicing his tears down the raven glass. Gerard stared at this rain for a second, heart shrieking and pummelling his soul.
Then, on a lifetime whim, he was grabbing his leather jacket from the debris of his detonation, kicking through the devastation of his room as he flew out the door, feet finding their way easily down the familiar, darkened staircase and to the back door. He unbolted the cold lock with fumbling fingers, and stumbled wildly out into the cold, dark night that rained so starlessly down on him, all bleak and black and broken.
The feeling gushing a torrent more tempestuous than the wild, frayed velvet night inside of him was so raw; all elated and angry and fiery and beautiful, and he ran like he’d never run before, heart beating so hotly and heavily it felt like the underlying, dark, deep urgency of a bass’ rhythm, while his feet, suddenly so light and powered like charred black feathers, pounded the slick, wet pavement that glistened greasily in the dim yellow in the oozing of the spineless streetlamps.
Adrenaline only took him five minutes to sprint through the flickering streetlamps and torn-up, pouring night before he’d reached a small, shadowed-windowed house at the other end of the suburban estate. Without stopping to dredge thoughts up, he stumbled recklessly through the side gate to the property, the hem of his shirt snagging on the splintering, wet wood.
He slid as easily as the shadows along the back-lane of dusky brambles and overgrown grass and mud and puddles that his sneakers splattered feverishly through without hesitation, just powered by the raw, sharp blood in his veins, until he was in the back garden, and the crepuscular verdant light of the overgrown, night-dewed garden soaked his body along with the falling sheen of black rain. His black hair was streaked to his ghostly cheeks like black oil-paint.
The second floor window was black, but Gerard was undeterred.
“Frank!” He called, feverishly elated, forging his way further through the overgrown, midnight-tinted grass and hearing the soaked rush of its disturbance. He was nearly under the window now, heart so fast and hot and frantic it made up for the liquid ice seeping into his bones from the darkness.
“Frankie!” He called out again up at the sleeping black window. The leaves above his head rustled moistly above his head, shaking droplets of black water to his damp hair and making him shiver. “FRANK!”
He waited, only his dark-red, pumping heartbeat and the unending exhale of ebony rain soaking into the muddy, suburban-rebelling grass scribing the silence. After a moment, however, soft, golden light illuminated the darkened room, and a shadowy silhouette approached the window. Gerard felt his heart jolt bloodily against his ribs, and suddenly, he couldn’t breathe anything but constricting adrenaline.
The shadow fumbled with the latch, and then a familiar, Jersey-husked voice that made Gerard’s heart sear appealed out into the bitter, hissing night, all uncertain and foggy with sleep. “…Who’s there?”
“It’s me!” Gerard breathed, the rain gushing down onto his skin as he turned his head upward, addressing the voice, blinking back the rain that spat at his eyes.
“…Gee?” The smaller voice squeaked in surprise, sounding half-thrilled, half-confused. “What are you doing here? It’s so late!”
“Please, Frank, come down here!” Gerard called breathlessly.
“Why?”
“Please, just do. Trust me.”
There was a split second of silence, then the window was pulled shut, resounding in the blackness that was left to silence, until, several fevered-red heartbeats later, the back door swung open, spilling golden light out into the beautifully black, torn-silken night, illuminating the pouring, dusty rain and the raw impulsivity in Gerard’s startlingly emerald, almond shaped eyes. They glowed as Frank’s small form stepped tentatively out into the overgrown back garden, a tattered black hoodie wrapped around his pyjamas.
“Gee…?” he whispered, shutting the door behind him, eyes lighting up hopefully. “I haven’t seen you for so long, I thought you hated me, I thought-”
Gerard didn’t give Frank a chance to finish; before the latter had even finished his stammering sentence that sounded alarmingly loud in the night, Gerard snaked his shaking hand out to find Frankie’s in the dark. His long, pale fingertips brushed soft, warm skin, and a jolt sparked up his spine, fiery hot in the numbing rain. Shivering, he entangled their fingers; the warm and the ice cold; the innocent and the agonised; and before Frank could protest, he was pulling them both towards the spill of greasy yellow light on the slick, damp pavement, stumbling through the back-lane of thorns and long, sodden grey grass and squelchy, salty ground, until they were both standing, panting, on the pavement, drenched and breathless.
“What are you-why-how-what’s-” Frank stuttered, staring wide-eyed up at Gerard in the dull lamplight, their hands still linked unbreakably together, warm with soft blood, cold with sharp rain.
“I needed to see you, to tell you,” Gerard said breathlessly, sweeping his soaking black hair out of his eyes so as he could drink in the intoxicating presence of the beautiful, rain-drenched boy standing before him in the middle of the night where it rained so desperately it was as if someone had grated the sky’s raven canopy, and the stars were leaking out brilliantly, purely through the wounds.
“Need to tell me what?” Frank breathed, eyes all wide and innocent and so, so agonisingly beautiful in the gliding sheen of rain; brilliantine, breathtakingly intelligent golden empathy, rimmed with rain-curled dark lashes that fanned out across his wet, ivory skin when he blinked. His skin was almost luminous in the soft, ebbing glow of the streetlamp, and his hand, soft, so soft, round Gerard’s fiercely trembling one.
Gerard looked at Frank for half a tempestuous heartbeat, feeling the other boy’s raw, pure beauty snag on his soul and the rain falling between them.
“…Tell me… what?” Frank repeated, but it was just a soft, scared whisper this time.
The rain spiralled down, all black and bleeding and cold, as Gerard reached out with warm, trembling hands to cup Frank’s rain-washed jaw, and then slowly, desperately, impulsively pressed his lips to Frank’s hot, silken ones, heartbeat rocketing with scared strength at what he was finally doing here and now, in the dark and the rain, while the pulse he thought he’d destroyed started to flutter in ruby, tugging hope.
At the contact, Frank had let out a small, muffled squeak, which had almost instantly melted into a sigh as he tentatively slid his hands up to mirror Gerard’s cupping of his jaw, and for a long time, they both just stood there, Gerard feeling the adrenaline pounding frantically beneath his skin as he slowly, sweetly, tremblingly started to move his lips, letting them get lost in all these shattered wishes that had finally been pieced together.
Frank’s lips were perfect, all sweet and soft with red-hot blood pumping underneath, tasting of rainwater and mints and shock as they melted shyly into Gerard’s, and Gerard shivered ecstatically, hardly able to comprehend the wondrous truth of the moment. He wrapped his arms tentatively round the smaller’s slim waist, still trembling, crushing their rain-dampened bodies together longingly and feeling the bump of Frank’s hoodie zip and the way the pulsing warmth of being alive seeped through the sopping, icy cold material of their clothes after a few moments, binding them together in the icy night flooded with someone else’s tears and the grimy glow of the streetlamp.
The rain fell harder still, but all Gerard could feel was the wonderful soft, sweet warmth of Frank’s lips tangled with his, creating a wonderful, glowing warmth to ebb out from his chest as he kissed desperately, longingly, lovingly, forgetting about the night and the rain and his emptiness, because he wasn’t empty any more.
He was alive again.
The hot, silken pressure of Frank’s warm, innocent lips was so, utterly perfect, making his blood hot and sharp in his veins against the bitter black cold howling round their intertwined souls- only this sharp was different from before.
This sharp wasn’t raw, empty agony. This sharp was beautiful, gleaming, beating, searing dark-red beauty.
This sharp was the smile,
Of a resurrected pulse.
......
Um. Did that make any sense? I really hope it was okay- it was inspired completely by the song, from the lyrics to the beat- it was basically just pure emotion...hopefully it had more of a...pulse...instead of a plot? I don't know :L I know it was sort of intense and a bit lacking in explanation, but it was kinda meant to be like that. Did the bold and italics work okay? I'd really love it if you guys could give me some feedback, because I'm really lacking in confidence at the moment, and I kinda want to know if this made any sense. Thanks so much for reading! Don't worry, if it's completely terrible, I'll just delete it tomorrow.
Lucy X_O
P.S. Sorry if there were any mistakes- I had to post this super quick, so I might edit it a little tomorrow.
Im(pulse).
The rain always made him feel lonely, but he still liked to sit and watch it rolling, ashen and sorrowful, down the onyx glass when the rest of the world was lost to sleep. There was something oddly comforting about watching a world that had skinned him alive cry; cry as if it would never run out of remorse- but watching the thin grey scars spatter the black windowpane came at a price.
It made him feel alive.
Feeling alive meant feeling empty, so empty, feeling alive reminded him that love was sharp; the blood running through his veins, supplying life, yet slicing, ripping, hacking it apart at the same time. It had become such a skilled blade over time that it knew exactly the rawest, most vulnerable places to cut. And cut it had- it had cut and cut and cut, until gradually, there was nothing left to gouge out.
Not even his pulse.
Watching the iced-midnight rain made his normally impassive, reserved silence want to scream out how much it hurt, how much it fucking, fucking hurt. But he never did. It was so much simpler to slowly be eaten alive by your own emotions than offer someone your vulnerable, beating soul.
But as Gerard thought of the rain howling and battering outside, he couldn’t help but think of him, think of Frank- think of Frank with the rain trickling down his ivory cheekbones and clinging in shy dew-droplets to every crimped, dark eyelash framing those sinless, pure-golden eyes, and suddenly, something snapped and tore and exploded inside of Gerard’s hollow being. It tore through all the dead-vein cemeteries, flooding him, drowning him and all his composed, self suffering-silence in raw, untamed emotion. And all of a sudden, Gerard was flinging himself across the room, tearing at his posters and thundering his books to the floor, breaking and crashing and shattering, upending his desk so as schoolbooks and art pencils and drawings and drawings and drawings of that one, beautiful person, spattered the floor like the blood he was suddenly bleeding, so dark and red and so alive.
He stalled for half a scream, breathing heavily amidst the ruins of his room, one, sole thing blatantly clear in the turbulence. He wanted- he needed- to break free of this silent skin and bubble-wrapped soul and scream everything out, regardless of consequence. He needed Frank’s unobliterated eyes and flawless skin and lopsided smile and soft hair and minty smell like he’d never needed anything before, and it fuelled the impulsion that was suddenly drowning him, as potent as watching the rain sluicing his tears down the raven glass. Gerard stared at this rain for a second, heart shrieking and pummelling his soul.
Then, on a lifetime whim, he was grabbing his leather jacket from the debris of his detonation, kicking through the devastation of his room as he flew out the door, feet finding their way easily down the familiar, darkened staircase and to the back door. He unbolted the cold lock with fumbling fingers, and stumbled wildly out into the cold, dark night that rained so starlessly down on him, all bleak and black and broken.
The feeling gushing a torrent more tempestuous than the wild, frayed velvet night inside of him was so raw; all elated and angry and fiery and beautiful, and he ran like he’d never run before, heart beating so hotly and heavily it felt like the underlying, dark, deep urgency of a bass’ rhythm, while his feet, suddenly so light and powered like charred black feathers, pounded the slick, wet pavement that glistened greasily in the dim yellow in the oozing of the spineless streetlamps.
Adrenaline only took him five minutes to sprint through the flickering streetlamps and torn-up, pouring night before he’d reached a small, shadowed-windowed house at the other end of the suburban estate. Without stopping to dredge thoughts up, he stumbled recklessly through the side gate to the property, the hem of his shirt snagging on the splintering, wet wood.
He slid as easily as the shadows along the back-lane of dusky brambles and overgrown grass and mud and puddles that his sneakers splattered feverishly through without hesitation, just powered by the raw, sharp blood in his veins, until he was in the back garden, and the crepuscular verdant light of the overgrown, night-dewed garden soaked his body along with the falling sheen of black rain. His black hair was streaked to his ghostly cheeks like black oil-paint.
The second floor window was black, but Gerard was undeterred.
“Frank!” He called, feverishly elated, forging his way further through the overgrown, midnight-tinted grass and hearing the soaked rush of its disturbance. He was nearly under the window now, heart so fast and hot and frantic it made up for the liquid ice seeping into his bones from the darkness.
“Frankie!” He called out again up at the sleeping black window. The leaves above his head rustled moistly above his head, shaking droplets of black water to his damp hair and making him shiver. “FRANK!”
He waited, only his dark-red, pumping heartbeat and the unending exhale of ebony rain soaking into the muddy, suburban-rebelling grass scribing the silence. After a moment, however, soft, golden light illuminated the darkened room, and a shadowy silhouette approached the window. Gerard felt his heart jolt bloodily against his ribs, and suddenly, he couldn’t breathe anything but constricting adrenaline.
The shadow fumbled with the latch, and then a familiar, Jersey-husked voice that made Gerard’s heart sear appealed out into the bitter, hissing night, all uncertain and foggy with sleep. “…Who’s there?”
“It’s me!” Gerard breathed, the rain gushing down onto his skin as he turned his head upward, addressing the voice, blinking back the rain that spat at his eyes.
“…Gee?” The smaller voice squeaked in surprise, sounding half-thrilled, half-confused. “What are you doing here? It’s so late!”
“Please, Frank, come down here!” Gerard called breathlessly.
“Why?”
“Please, just do. Trust me.”
There was a split second of silence, then the window was pulled shut, resounding in the blackness that was left to silence, until, several fevered-red heartbeats later, the back door swung open, spilling golden light out into the beautifully black, torn-silken night, illuminating the pouring, dusty rain and the raw impulsivity in Gerard’s startlingly emerald, almond shaped eyes. They glowed as Frank’s small form stepped tentatively out into the overgrown back garden, a tattered black hoodie wrapped around his pyjamas.
“Gee…?” he whispered, shutting the door behind him, eyes lighting up hopefully. “I haven’t seen you for so long, I thought you hated me, I thought-”
Gerard didn’t give Frank a chance to finish; before the latter had even finished his stammering sentence that sounded alarmingly loud in the night, Gerard snaked his shaking hand out to find Frankie’s in the dark. His long, pale fingertips brushed soft, warm skin, and a jolt sparked up his spine, fiery hot in the numbing rain. Shivering, he entangled their fingers; the warm and the ice cold; the innocent and the agonised; and before Frank could protest, he was pulling them both towards the spill of greasy yellow light on the slick, damp pavement, stumbling through the back-lane of thorns and long, sodden grey grass and squelchy, salty ground, until they were both standing, panting, on the pavement, drenched and breathless.
“What are you-why-how-what’s-” Frank stuttered, staring wide-eyed up at Gerard in the dull lamplight, their hands still linked unbreakably together, warm with soft blood, cold with sharp rain.
“I needed to see you, to tell you,” Gerard said breathlessly, sweeping his soaking black hair out of his eyes so as he could drink in the intoxicating presence of the beautiful, rain-drenched boy standing before him in the middle of the night where it rained so desperately it was as if someone had grated the sky’s raven canopy, and the stars were leaking out brilliantly, purely through the wounds.
“Need to tell me what?” Frank breathed, eyes all wide and innocent and so, so agonisingly beautiful in the gliding sheen of rain; brilliantine, breathtakingly intelligent golden empathy, rimmed with rain-curled dark lashes that fanned out across his wet, ivory skin when he blinked. His skin was almost luminous in the soft, ebbing glow of the streetlamp, and his hand, soft, so soft, round Gerard’s fiercely trembling one.
Gerard looked at Frank for half a tempestuous heartbeat, feeling the other boy’s raw, pure beauty snag on his soul and the rain falling between them.
“…Tell me… what?” Frank repeated, but it was just a soft, scared whisper this time.
The rain spiralled down, all black and bleeding and cold, as Gerard reached out with warm, trembling hands to cup Frank’s rain-washed jaw, and then slowly, desperately, impulsively pressed his lips to Frank’s hot, silken ones, heartbeat rocketing with scared strength at what he was finally doing here and now, in the dark and the rain, while the pulse he thought he’d destroyed started to flutter in ruby, tugging hope.
At the contact, Frank had let out a small, muffled squeak, which had almost instantly melted into a sigh as he tentatively slid his hands up to mirror Gerard’s cupping of his jaw, and for a long time, they both just stood there, Gerard feeling the adrenaline pounding frantically beneath his skin as he slowly, sweetly, tremblingly started to move his lips, letting them get lost in all these shattered wishes that had finally been pieced together.
Frank’s lips were perfect, all sweet and soft with red-hot blood pumping underneath, tasting of rainwater and mints and shock as they melted shyly into Gerard’s, and Gerard shivered ecstatically, hardly able to comprehend the wondrous truth of the moment. He wrapped his arms tentatively round the smaller’s slim waist, still trembling, crushing their rain-dampened bodies together longingly and feeling the bump of Frank’s hoodie zip and the way the pulsing warmth of being alive seeped through the sopping, icy cold material of their clothes after a few moments, binding them together in the icy night flooded with someone else’s tears and the grimy glow of the streetlamp.
The rain fell harder still, but all Gerard could feel was the wonderful soft, sweet warmth of Frank’s lips tangled with his, creating a wonderful, glowing warmth to ebb out from his chest as he kissed desperately, longingly, lovingly, forgetting about the night and the rain and his emptiness, because he wasn’t empty any more.
He was alive again.
The hot, silken pressure of Frank’s warm, innocent lips was so, utterly perfect, making his blood hot and sharp in his veins against the bitter black cold howling round their intertwined souls- only this sharp was different from before.
This sharp wasn’t raw, empty agony. This sharp was beautiful, gleaming, beating, searing dark-red beauty.
This sharp was the smile,
Of a resurrected pulse.
......
Um. Did that make any sense? I really hope it was okay- it was inspired completely by the song, from the lyrics to the beat- it was basically just pure emotion...hopefully it had more of a...pulse...instead of a plot? I don't know :L I know it was sort of intense and a bit lacking in explanation, but it was kinda meant to be like that. Did the bold and italics work okay? I'd really love it if you guys could give me some feedback, because I'm really lacking in confidence at the moment, and I kinda want to know if this made any sense. Thanks so much for reading! Don't worry, if it's completely terrible, I'll just delete it tomorrow.
Lucy X_O
P.S. Sorry if there were any mistakes- I had to post this super quick, so I might edit it a little tomorrow.
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