BOYS ONLY (sorry girls) You step through the front doors of Nockfell High, the familiar creak echoing in the quiet morning air. The dull buzz of fluorescent lights hums overhead as you make your way down the worn, graffiti-tagged hallways. Students loiter near lockers, chatting or exchanging homework, but something else catches your attention—a commotion near the water fountain. Your eyes narrow as you spot Travis Phillips, the notorious school bully, looming over a smaller student, his cruel laugh cutting through the hallway noise. The kid looks terrified, shrinking back as Travis grabs the front of his hoodie. Anger flares in your chest. Without hesitation, you stride toward them, shoving Travis away with enough force to break his grip on the kid’s hoodie. The startled student stumbles back, wide-eyed but unharmed.

Brian Thomas was your older brother. The two of you had endured a tough upbringing, marked by neglect and constant conflict with your parents. Their unpredictable tempers and lack of support made life unbearable, so when Brian turned 18, he moved out—and he took you with him. He couldn’t stand leaving you behind in that toxic environment. Life after leaving wasn’t perfect, but it was better. Brian worked hard to provide for both of you, taking whatever jobs he could find. Money was tight, but he always did his best to make your small apartment feel like home. This morning, he’d woken up early and attempted to make breakfast—waffles. Cooking wasn’t exactly his strength, but he tried, determined to give you something special. Now, you sat at the wobbly kitchen table, scrolling through your phone. The plate of waffles sat untouched in front of you, their edges crisped far beyond appetizing. They were hard enough that you considered using one as a coaster for your coffee mug.

Gerard Way and Frank Iero adopted you when you were just a baby. They raised you as their own, pouring all their love and care into creating a warm, supportive home. Even though you never called them “Dad” or “Papa”—preferring to use their first names—it never diminished the bond you shared. They understood and never pressed the issue, knowing love wasn’t defined by titles. After a long, exhausting day at school, you finally step through the front door of your cozy home. The familiar scent of Gerard's favorite vanilla-scented candles fills the air, blending with the faint aroma of something delicious baking in the oven—probably one of Frank's famous vegan treats. The house is quiet except for the soft hum of a record playing in the background, likely something nostalgic that Gerard put on while writing in his sketchbook.

You and Jeff had been best friends since first grade, bonded by secrets and trust. His sharp wit and protective nature made life bearable, especially when school got rough. Everything changed at Billy's birthday party. You weren't supposed to be there, but Jeff insisted. It was supposed to be fun. But it wasn’t. You saw Randy, Troy, and Keith corner Jeff behind the house. Their taunts turned violent. Jeff fought back, but he was outnumbered. You screamed for help, but the music drowned you out. When the fire started and Jeff’s face twisted in agony, you thought it was over. You blacked out, waking up in the hospital — broken. You told the police everything, but they didn’t listen. Jeff’s attackers walked free, and you were branded unstable, delusional. They locked you away in a psychiatric ward..

Jimmy Urine, the frontman of Mindless Self Indulgence, was your dad. Life with him was anything but ordinary. He was an okay dad—not the best, not the worst—but he was gone half the time, touring with the band or locked away in his home studio, working on music. This meant you often had the house to yourself, something you both liked and hated. The quiet could be comforting, but sometimes, it felt like the walls echoed with the absence of a real family life. Despite the chaos of living with a rockstar parent, you managed to carve out a piece of normalcy for yourself by joining the school marching band. It was something you never thought you'd do, considering your dad's wild, rebellious persona. But music had always been in your blood, and playing in the band felt right. You just... hadn’t told him yet. Now, the two of you sit at the small, cluttered kitchen table, plates of takeout in front of you. The soft hum of an old radio plays in the background, mixing with the distant buzz of amps from his studio down the hall. He’s scrolling through his phone absentmindedly between bites, still wearing eyeliner smudged from a long day.

!!BLACK PERADE ERA!! Your father was Gerard Way, the lead singer of My Chemical Romance. To the rest of the world, he was a rock icon, a voice of a generation, and the frontman of one of the most influential bands of the time. But to you, he was simply Dad. He was a great father—kind, creative, and always supportive. He encouraged you to follow your passions and never let anyone dim your light. However, his career often took him away from home. Tours, concerts, and recording sessions meant there were stretches of time when you missed his presence at home. Despite that, he made the most of the moments he could spend with you. When he was home, he was fully present, and those days were filled with warmth, laughter, and his quirky sense of humor. Tonight was one of those rare evenings when he wasn’t on the road or in the studio. You both sat at the dinner table, sharing a meal he had helped prepare. He was still wearing his casual at-home attire, a far cry from the theatrical costumes and makeup he wore on stage during the Black Parade tour. His messy black hair fell into his eyes as he animatedly told you a funny story about a mishap that had happened at rehearsal earlier that week. As he spoke, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of pride and nerves. You were in the school marching band, a fact you hadn’t shared with him yet. Music was such a huge part of your dad’s life, and while you admired his passion, you were hesitant to bring it up. You weren’t sure why—maybe it was the fear of not living up to the legacy he unintentionally cast, or perhaps you simply didn’t know how to tell him.

METALHEAD BOYFRIEND You and Taylor, your metalhead boyfriend, were nestled in your usual smoking spot deep in the forest. It was a secluded area surrounded by towering trees and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze, a place you both claimed as your escape from the world. Taylor sat beside you, his long brown hair falling past his shoulders in messy waves, his intense brown eyes glinting in the fading sunlight. His pale skin contrasted sharply with his outfit—a Cannibal Corpse band shirt that clung to his lean frame, paired with ripped black jeans and scuffed combat boots that looked as though they'd seen countless adventures in the woods. At 6'1", he had a commanding presence, but his calm demeanor made you feel at ease. The familiar smell of smoke lingered in the air as you both shared a cigarette, passing it back and forth in comfortable silence. This was your ritual, your way of unwinding together.

You were walking down the dimly lit sidewalk late at night, unable to sleep no matter how hard you tried. The cool breeze brushed against your face, carrying the faint scent of rain as the city around you remained eerily quiet. Your mind wandered, thoughts tangled in a haze, when suddenly you collided with someone. Startled, you stumbled back a step, your heart racing from the unexpected encounter. Standing before you was a man, his sharp features barely illuminated by the flickering streetlight. His jacket caught your attention—it was spattered with what appeared to be bl00d. The deep crimson stains looked fresh, and for a moment, you froze, unsure of what to say or do. "S-Sorry," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you quickly averted your gaze, hoping to avoid any confrontation. Without waiting for a response, you stepped to the side and continued walking, your pace quickening.

You are in grade 10, navigating the tough, lonely corridors of high school life. For as long as you could remember, you felt like an outcast, like you didn’t quite fit the mold everyone expected you to. You didn’t have any friends to talk to or hang out with, and the judgment from your classmates was relentless. They mocked the music you loved and the way you dressed, calling you names like "freak" or "weirdo," their voices dripping with disdain. Over time, you stopped trying to blend in, deciding it was better to embrace who you were, even if it made you a target. One afternoon, after deciding you’d had enough of class for the day, you found your usual spot behind the school. The area was secluded, a quiet place where you could smoke in peace and escape the suffocating judgment of your peers. The faint scent of cigarette smoke and the sound of the wind rustling through the trees became your temporary solace. As you lit your cigarette and leaned back against the cold brick wall, a boy emerged from around the corner. He was about your age, and his appearance caught your attention immediately. He had that unmistakable emo look—his jet-black, layered emo-cut hair fell just above his piercing blue eyes, which held a quiet intensity. He wore a faded black sweater that looked like it had been through its share of late nights and dark thoughts. His black skinny jeans hugged his thin frame, held up by a studded belt, and his scuffed black shoes dragged slightly as he walked. Without saying a word, he took out a cigarette and leaned against the wall beside you, the lighter’s flick the only sound breaking the silence.

You and Rory Culkin have been close friends since high school, sharing a love for acting and often supporting each other through auditions and career milestones. Over the years, your bond has grown stronger as you've navigated the challenges of the entertainment industry together. Currently, both of you are working on the film Lords of Chaos, a project that delves into the dark and controversial history of the Norwegian black metal scene. You have taken on the intense role of Dead, a complex and enigmatic figure, while Rory is portraying Euronymous, the central character with his own layers of ambition and conflict.

You found yourself wandering down the dimly lit street late at night, the restless ache of insomnia driving you from your bed. The city was eerily quiet, the occasional flicker of a streetlight casting long shadows that seemed to dance on the pavement. The chill in the air wrapped around you like an unwelcome embrace, but it wasn’t enough to deter your need for movement. As you turned a corner, lost in thought, your shoulder suddenly collided with someone. Startled, you took a step back and looked up to see a tall figure standing before you. The man introduced himself as Alestor, his sharp, almost sinister smile illuminated by the faint glow of a nearby lamp. Your eyes immediately caught the vivid red stains smeared across his once-pristine suit, the unmistakable color and texture of blood. His calm demeanor seemed almost unnatural, given his appearance. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze meeting yours with a glint of amusement or perhaps something darker.

You and Vinny have been best friends for quite a while, but your bond goes even deeper since you've been housemates for even longer. Both of you share a passion for music and play in the same band—Vinny on drums and you on bass. This shared dream has only strengthened your connection over time. On this particular evening, you were in the dimly lit basement, the familiar hum of amplifiers and faint echoes of past jam sessions filling the air. Vinny sat at his drum kit, lost in the rhythm, his sticks a blur as he worked through an intricate beat. You stood nearby, tuning your bass with careful precision, the metallic twang of strings resonating softly against the background of Vinny’s drumming. The synergy between you two was palpable, a silent understanding that didn’t need words. This was your sanctuary, where creativity flowed effortlessly, and where you both felt most at home.

You and Larry Johnson have been close friends for quite some time, bonding over shared interests and a mutual understanding that always makes hanging out a blast. One afternoon, you found yourselves at his house, sprawled across the couch in his cozy living room. The table in front of you was cluttered with half-empty energy drink cans, evidence of your impromptu caffeine-fueled hangout

You and Evan (TX2) have been friends for quite a while now, ever since you bonded over your shared love of music and all things horror. Tonight was one of those chill evenings where neither of you had plans, so you decided to hang out at his place. The dim lighting of the room and the faint glow of the TV added to the cozy, eerie vibe. Evan had insisted on choosing the movie, grinning as he held up Scream. It was one of your mutual favorites—how could it not be, with its mix of suspense, humor, and iconic slasher moments? The two of you settled onto the couch, blankets piled around and a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously between you.