why do ppl think its ok to waste my time
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The Stonewall Inn
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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

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@limblost-blog
why do ppl think its ok to waste my time
you know what i haven’t thought about that much ?? camden’s response to not being able to fly anymore. she’s always been in sort of a bad head space but after the accident she plummets from the cliff she was gripping on so tightly. before, flying was a means of escape, she wasn’t passionate about, she wouldn’t wax poetic or anything like that, she just felt, better, when she was up there. up in the air she had a mission and that’s all she had to focus on, all she needed to worry about, but the minute her feet touched land all her problems were her’s again. waking up the the med-bay with still numb with shock, i don’t think she would of had a reaction right away, the right side of her body was partially dead, still functional but barely, she had just recently cut off her own arm to get out of the burning heap of wreckage that was her fighter, not being able to fly barely crossed her mind. but later, maybe a day or two, it hit her and all the anger bubbling beneath her skin breaks the surface and she ends up breaking her wrist and damaging one of the med-droids. she hates herself after the accident, more than she did before, because it was her fault, she didn’t have anyone to blame, not even the tie fighters that shot her down, she should have been prepared and she wasn’t.
so i’m probably not getting anything done today, i wanted to get those starters out but being sick just isn’t help my slowness. anyways! i really want to plot stuff on here so you should totally hmu on ims if you’re interested ( i have a skype but i don’t really have a habit of checking it )
OOC. tbd so quick ,, but i havent posted a selfie or taken one in almost a year ??
OOC. if u ever need a sad/angsty song listen to this
starter call ??
( @stealstime + sc )
bird-boned girl hiding a wolf within eburnean flesh. fingers twist ‘round the metallic digits, ivory cloth imbrued with harsh obsidian, as is the hand that holds it. a tedious chore; back and forth, the clock on the far wall ticks loudly, the sound echoing between her ears. ❛ we meet before or, do you just got one a those faces ? ❜
OOC. all i want from this blog is for camden to get a friend so that they can call her figgy
( @rapierone + sc )
a pariah. a girl born of sheep but made feral. iron clings to her lungs akin to the stardust that litters the veins of others, each breath burns against her throat, like acid pouring against her skin. prosthesis lays across her lap, flesh fingers prod at issued rations. ❛ i know this ain’t on purpose ― whata ya wan’ dameron ?? ❜
starter call ??
ben-solo-trash:
Tag yourself, I’m gary
britneyspearschan:
friendly reminder that if i have ever befriended you and have not spoken to you in a while it’s nothing you’ve done wrong it’s just because i’m a piece of shit at keeping in contact with people and i still love you okay good
words claw from my throat. sharp corners and curves, bloody and raw. they never quite make it past my lips. tangle into one another, consumed. this wild calls the wolves, and darling, i am so hungry. more than words, i will devour. ★
if your muse has trust & abandonment issues clap your hands