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help i am so h how do i make the text pink

when i go to sleep i wish it were really you that i saw before me, but it never is. i always open my eyes and I’m back in my bedroom that’s betrayed me a thousand times before. and now i know it's not possible for a little while longer.  a few hours ago i thought it were only two days i had to wait. now i know how quickly things can change. i wish things got easier. it feels like they never do. all i want is one more day, frozen in time, where you're wearing my red glasses, and telling me how different the world seems, like i had never thought to take a look through them before (in my heart, i think i was wearing them too). and sometimes when i’m at work they’ll play a troye sivan song, and the lyrics always remind me of you.  i would give anything for a day where we can just be together again. it really feels dumb to say i miss you, especially knowing its been just over a week. but god, does it feel like a lifetime. especially with these thoughts i’ve been holding. I think about you every slow and unrelenting day. and you're always busy and im always busy but i'll always sneak the time in for you. always.

Holy fudge I can't believe I just convinced my VERY religious parents to let me buy an MCR sweatshirt omg. It took me like 19 minutes of panicking to finally get the courage to ask them buT thEy SAiD YeS. and then my dad looked up MCR and he was a little bit concerned that I was listening to satanic music because ofc the first pic to pop up had to be Gee holding a bible.. but I still convinced them :DDD

am i a she/they or a he/they or a they/them

idk man

we were looking for a movie to watch, but we couldnt pick one so we watched a few episodes of stanford and son, which is a really funny old show from the 70s. we looked at clothes today, and maggie bought me stuff :))) it really sweet of them, and they know how to make me look nice. the shirt maggie wanted me to get got here today and its really nice:) i dressed up, and wore jeans and my docs, and i looked really nice:) it makes me really happy when i look good and maggie like it too. they made me put a pillow under my bruins jersey so id look fat lol, and then they edited the pics and it was super funny. they sent me this beautiful picture of themselves and i couldnt stop staring at it. maggie is so gorgeous. they left for a bit, and then when they came back we played cod:) i got the drh gold:) maggie was getting mad cus tehy kept getting sh*t teams in ranked though :/ i wish i could play ranked w them cus i miss being on their team. 

i cant describe how much i LOVE skeltons. Their just so cool! i have skelton gloves like Frank but they they also go up my fore arm. I literally never take them off beacause i love them so much.

the snow really had to come at the worst time didnt it? it never snows here but now my garden is covered in snow. I JUST WANT MY MCR CDS TO COME GOD DAMN IT ;-;

So there's this girl.... and uhm.....   

finished a bottle ov vodka in 2 nites lol........last nite i cut myself n was 2 drunk & left my cigarettes in my moms car. i went out in thee snow at like 3am barefoot and was totally bloody. this morning she asked if i was bleeding cuz there was blood all over her car. i just told her yea. theres only 3 cuts but theyre preeeettty deep lol. part ov me doesnt rlly wanna get better. theres comfort in self annhiliation & sadness. i dont wanna kill myself. i just like cutting & feeling sumthing when disassociation is so constant. i barely feel real. its like im existing 3 feet in thee air & away from my body. i see everything but feel nothing. like im stuck in a constant absent seizure like wen i was a kid. just staring, breathing, existing, but not able 2 interact or talk or move until my mom says something abt thee ambulance and i get so scared so i just break down crying. i keep failing in thee grand ideal of being so thin i can feel my heart against my ribs. i just keep eating. i have no self control lol. 

finished a bottle ov vodka in 2 nites lol........last nite i cut myself n was 2 drunk & left my cigarettes in my moms car. i went out in thee snow at like 3am barefoot and was totally bloody. this morning she asked if i was bleeding cuz there was blood all over her car. i just told her yea. theres only 3 cuts but theyre preeeettty deep lol. part ov me doesnt rlly wanna get better. theres comfort in self annhiliation & sadness. i dont wanna kill myself. i just like cutting & feeling sumthing when disassociation is so constant. i barely feel real. its like im existing 3 feet in thee air & away from my body. i see everything but feel nothing. like im stuck in a constant absent seizure like wen i was a kid. just staring, breathing, existing, but not able 2 interact or talk or move until my mom says something abt thee ambulance and i get so scared so i just break down crying. i keep failing in thee grand ideal of being so thin i can feel my heart against my ribs. i just keep eating. i have no self control lol. 

CW: ABLEISM, BRO STRIDER, BULLYING  [ -- Soft, Safe - chapter 1 draft -- ] DAVE’S POV   As a kid, you always thought that Bro just didn't want to talk to you. Even if you had never, ever heard him speak to anyone. His constant silence drove you up a wall for so long during your childhood. Hearing how other kids' parents would talk to them about their day and communicate verbally. Your first years in school were spent being called stupid by your peers because you didn’t realize talking was a requirement. Teachers and councillors pulled you aside and asked invasive questions about your home life, seeming to believe that something was wrong at home that made you not speak. The incessant noise that was your peers talking made your head hurt, so you didn't see the point in adding to the headache.    Eventually though, by halfway through fifth grade, you started speaking. At first, it was shaky, doubting pronunciations but picking it up quickly from so many years of listening to others speak. It shocked your teacher, who had looked around to see if somebody else spoke but realized that it, in fact, was you. She had smiled that sickly sweet smile that you convinced yourself was fake, confirming whatever you had said was correct.    Maybe you would have found his silence less infuriating if he would have stopped waving his hands around like an idiot. But even then, something you learnt much later on, he wasn't just making meaningless gestures. He was trying to communicate with you, using whatever methods he could when he didn't have access to a phone or paper to write out what he had to say to you. Bro was always an oddity to you, and apparently everyone else as well. His silence, the fact you had not once heard him speak to you, or anyone for that matter-- was so annoying. Even then, though you denied it for years, you cared a lot about him, he was your guardian after all and he never once made an effort to harm you, unlike the stories you heard from peers about their parents. He was always trying his best to keep you out of harm's way. Sure, you still had strifes, but they were held with carefully laid out boundaries and he had always signed profuse apologies (a fact you only realized long after.) when he did hurt you once he had disinfected and bandaged your wounds, as slight as they may have been. He'd leave food in the fridge for you after those days, never too far away and sometimes when you'd return to your room you'd find a still sealed bottle of apple juice perched on your makeshift desk with a note that was just covered in light sketches of the characters of your comic.   His affection and words were shown through small gestures, a hair ruffle here, a firm pat on the shoulder there-- Bro never seemed to need verbal communication for you to read him. An open book, despite his near expressionlessness and careful posture. Emotions were easy to read with him, and though sometimes it got eerie to you that he seemed to never get mad at you when you were knowingly being a brat, you appreciated that you knew how he felt. He'd always strifed with you when you were stressed or mad after days at school, helping you regulate emotions that you never let truly show. You had always wanted to impress him, wanted to show him you could be expressionless as well.   When your peers started picking on you, he let you handle it, even when he saw you were distraught over what they had done. You had tried to toughen up, ignore their venomous words and keep your sh*t together, but it was hard. Words ebbed away at your tough shell and wormed their way through thin cracks into soft flesh underneath the barriers you put up.    They ate away at your heart like maggots in roadkill long since forgotten despite it's rancid smell, blending into the background as it just becomes normal, expected even. Everything started to feel dull after those thoughts, those feelings, began to show themselves to you. It wasn't all this sudden brick wall sh*t you hear about in books and movies where the protagonist is some unfortunate tween girl getting relentlessly picked on by her peers, no, no matter how much you subconsciously related to those girls, you weren't them. At least they had parents who f***ing spoke to them. His silence wasn't so bad in your younger years, it was easier for you then. But now? It's so annoying. God, all you wanted was for him to talk to you, so what if you’d never heard him speak to anyone at all, he had to be able to speak. Right?   Everything always felt so slow, the analog clock ticked endlessly on the wall as you stared off. Past the wall, past this plane of reality, even. Sometimes you caught yourself daydreaming, wondering what it would sound like if your bro were to speak to you. It was practically self-torture, having convinced yourself he just would never talk to you because you somehow weren’t good enough for him to talk to you. Thoughts like that were such bullsh*t but you didn’t have any other way of rationalizing it that your brain would let you have. He was too cool, too calm and collected for him to just be mute. Only (r-slur) people were. Your brother could never, no way. He can do anything, can’t he?    You just had to try harder, push yourself further. Prove yourself in the one place you had a real foot-hold in. Strifes. That was when you’d prove yourself to him, make him tell you he was proud of you. Yeah. That’s what you were gonna do, he’d have to notice then. Shove aside those dumb feelings, what’s the point in them at that point; you just need to be strong. He’d appreciate your efforts, right? It was always something he seemed to enjoy doing with you, so why wouldn’t he be proud if you took that seriously. Swordsmanship was always a skill of his, and getting to share any sort of interaction was better than the solid nothing you normally got from him. 

Sometimes I feel as though I have no identity at all, merely a disjointed sea of thoughts that occasionally swirl together into a semi coherent wave of opinion or idea. Only to break up on the metaphorical rocks and disburse back into the great pool of irrelevancy.

does his makeup / in his roomdouse himself / with cheap perfumeeyehole in a / paper baggreatest lay / i ever had

I would like anyone reading this to know I wrote this when I was nine and didn't feel like editing this sh*t. If I ever post more of this character's stories, know that a lot of stuff about all of the characters mentioned have changed in my cannonical universe, anyway, I hope you suffer reading this absolute garbage.~~Jaux~Jaux pulled the mask over his face. The pale skin, purple paint, and glitter a sure sign he wasn't playing a prince at this masquerade. He felt colorful, abstract in a way he couldn't quite describe, and well, different. It settled in his chest like a melting piece of chocolate. The court jester costume was nothing like his usual, more elegant attire. The black suit, dark violet tie, and black dress shoes had a tendency to make him look either intimidating or charming, or to a select few, both. Yet now, he looked in the mirror, at himself, as he were, adorned in the jester attire, he looked, silly. He looked downright ridiculous in a way he'd never been allowed to be. The hat had jingling bells and bright colors, his shoes looked like an elf's from a children's book. His mask had the same gold bells, as well as little music notes handpainted on the sides. He looked like an utter goof. A doofus. And he loved it. He remembered their blue eyes shining as they laughed at him, the way he felt when they called him funny. They weren't scared of him, and it gave him hope. That maybe one day, not everyone would scream when he crossed their paths, that maybe someday he might see a friendly face in the crowd. They gave him hope with how happy they were to see him, how they easily failed at saying such a simple name. Jester, they had called him instead. Somehow, it felt more like his name than his actual name did, resonating within his bones. He shook his head with a smile, opening the door and starting to the sound of classical music flooding out of the ballroom. You're late. A voice inside him whispered, and for once, he didn't run, instead opting to skip his way to the doors, bells jingling with every step and tilt of his head. The doors were ornate and far too large, but having done it so many times, it was easy to open them. He gazed into the colorful cacophany of voices and people, the sinking feeling in his chest ignored as he pushed his mask over his face. Ja-Jester joined the party.