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Kisses.

When I was six, I first heard Welcome to the Black Parade on the radio. It was usually followed by Teenagers or Famous Last Words. A rush of joy flowed through me when I heard it. 5 years later, I heard SING. Instantly, I fell in love. Now you could say I'm one of those fake Danger Days fans, but I can truthfully tell you, after I looked them up and listened to their songs, my soul felt complete and my heart grew three sizes (Grinch ftw!) What I regret most is the fact that I didn't know who they were earlier. I guess you can say, I've missed my chance. Oh, my feels!
All my favorite fandoms

When your friend lists the band members...

Today, my friend Ghalia tried to name all the guys in My Chemical Romance... It didn't go well. As far as I know, there is no Gerald, Mickey, Inky or Roger in MCR... Gerald, Mickey and Roger, I would understand why she wouldn't remember, but INKY?!?!?! @#!$%*!

The broken, the beaten and the damned. Part one.

Gerard's P.O.V.
I finally had some good news for Ivy. After being so depressed for such a long time, she'll be thrilled to hear that we're going back to our home city, New Jersey. I open her hotel room, and walk in. The curtains were shut, her bed was a mess and her clothes were strewn about. Ivy's violin case lay, open and upside down, on the floor, under a crack in the wall. Hoping it wasn't broken, as we still had two concerts to go, I knelt down, and turned over the case. Her white, electric violin was in pieces. Shit, I thought.

Can't find my way home. Part UNO

I'm awake, but my eyes are closed. I stay like this for a while, not thinking, not doing anything at all. The sun's first light shines through the ripped curtains on my broken window. The cold breeze blew my hair across my face. I open my eyes, to welcome the new day, hoping it will be better than any day of the last seven years of running and hiding. I sigh as I get up from my mattress as it's springs, clearly visible through the sheet, shake.

Can't find my way home. Part UNO

I'm awake, but my eyes are closed. I stay like this for a while, not thinking, not doing anything at all. The sun's first light shines through the ripped curtains on my broken window. The cold breeze blew my hair across my face. I open my eyes, to welcome the new day, hoping it will be better than any day of the last seven years of running and hiding. I sigh as I get up from my mattress as it's springs, clearly visible through the sheet, shake.

New drawing

I'm starting a new drawing! It's a girl on fire, surrounded by the ghosts of her past. I have no idea how, but I was inspired by "Heaven Help Us".

ASSSK

http://ask.fm/PaulinaHanzel
I'm bored and I have no friends, so I'm asking to strangers to ask me random questions. Oh yeahhhh, like the Koolaid man!

What's your favorite color, punk? IX

Warning: Gruesome

Florence's P.O.V.

I walk beside Fun Ghoul as he carries Jet Star. When we reach our pick up, he sets him down in the back, like Poison did for Kobra. He starts to tend to Jet Star, and I move towards Kobra Kid. I feel Poison's shaky breath on my neck as I unzip Kobra's jacket. On his chest were two wounds, one on his shoulder and one on his side, that pierced his shirt, drenching it in blood. I look at Party Poison. His face was even paler that it was, almost yellow. I reach into the first aid kit that I brought out, and pull out a pair of small scissors.

What's your favorite color, punk? VIII

Trash Mouth's P.O.V.

The two men were laying motionless in the dirt. One of them, Jet Star, had blood streaming down the side of his face. Kobra Kid's jacket was singed and bloody from the wound underneath. An engine revved in the distance. In the distance, I saw a muddy Trans Am approaching. Automatically, I whip my gun out, my hand gripping the handle tight. The car stopped right in front of my feet. Two figures get out of the car, both bearing concerned looks on their faces. They don't acknowledge us in any way, and walk towards Jet Star and Kobra Kid.
"Oh no..." I hear one of them murmur.

What's your favorite color, punk? VII

Oliver's P.O.V.

Trash Mouth. I could see joy in her eyes. She didn't need our approval. She was herself. No pills, just her. I hint of familiarity gleamed in her gray eyes, as if she recognized this feeling.

"We can't stay here long," said Nathan. Let's go, before BL/ind starts patrolling again. He puts his arm around the panting Trash Mouth, as we make our way to the car. Florence drives, and I called shotgun, so Nathan and Trash Mouth sit in the back of the pickup. We're not looking for anything, or anyone, so we just drive on.

Time passed, I look to the back seat.

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