to pieces, apart, torn, rent

. . . we always find something to give us the illusion we exist. . .

[sarchived]

                                                   DEAR DIARY.

[sarchived]

“ Wasn’t it a big belief in the turn   of the century that camera could   take your s o u l or whatever?   Maybe they’re just trying to protect   it by acting a little different. Confuse   the contraption. “

                                           Swear she’s joking.

[markcohxn]

    “that’s  one way to see it. . . “      a  pause.  “well,  i  guess  i      shouldn’t bother getting you      on camera now,” through a      playful smile -- “you already      know too much.”

[sarchived]

“ No way! I carry a diary around. Kind  of the same concept, right? Capture  the moment. Mine’s just a little slower.  I like that, though. I think it’s very you. “

[markcohxn]

    “so i’ve heard. you can put away      a diary, though. people change in      front of the camera. even if they      don’t know whether i’m filming.”

[connectivitty-blog]

cell phone headcanons

send me ”#” for cell phone headcanons about our muses including:                              - what your muse’s name is in mine’s phone                              - what your muse’s picture is in mine’s phone                              - what your muse’s ringtone is in mine’s phone                              - my muse’s last text to your muse

[markcohxn]

liickitup liked the starter call. fade in on . . .

    “i. . . don’t know, honestly. i guess      i started carrying the camera so i      could film my documentary, but. . .      i never broke the habit. i don’t like      leaving without it. is that W E I R D?”

[markcohxn]

starter call? starter call. like for a starter, etc etc.

[justanotherrpmeme]

Send "Don't you remember?" for my muse's reaction to waking up in hospital with no memory of your muse, themselves or their life

[markcohxn]

☯ + Will I

okay, i tend to get a little long-winded and surreal in drabbles and it just… went places this time… i dunno. probably not great or even relevant but this is what happened. woo

the city breathes, whispers, breathes. the people in it are restless. the people in it are all the same, maybe, when they’re in the dark, but nowhere else. bring it up and they’ll be upset. bring it up and they turn vicious again, bus exhaust and broken glass.

but this is it – this is you, alone and not alone at once, in a room full of people who are going to die before you, and moreso, who are here to talk about it. it’s baffling. it’s impossible. you can’t swallow the thought of life, let alone the end of it, but here they are, dead eyes amongst fiery ones, all brushing shoulders with the same cloak. all in shambles, frost-etched breath and what’s next, what’s next, what’s next… they’d scratch it into the windows if they could.

you wouldn’t pretend to understand, not if the ground would collapse beneath you for not knowing. this is an echo. this is preservation, this is do not forget. this is someone you know.

and suddenly it’s not a documentary about the city anymore.

[reblogkarma-blog]

meet the blogger;

[markcohxn]

basics:

name: ellie

nickname: wolf 

where do you live: tx

favourite colour: silver

hair color: dark brown

eye color: brown

siblings: a half brother

current profession: student

area of work/study: makeup work (beauty and stage)

do you live at home: yes

music genre: indie rock

movie genre: documentaries?

this or that: bold your answer…

are you: single or taken?

are you: short, average, or tall? 

are you: shy, loud, friendly, quiet, or avoidable?

are you: atheist , wiccan, christian, orthodox, satanic, catholic, jewish, muslim, mormon, agnostic, jehovah’s witness, spiritual, or not sure what you believe?

does your future profession have anything to do with: medicine, law, children, animals, or entertainment? 

do your fears include: commitment, heights, death, needles, the dark, or thunder?

do you: laugh or stutter when you’re nervous? 

do you: chew on pens, bite your nails, or shake your leg?

do you: want piercings or tattoos? 

do you: want to get married eventually, never want to get married, or not know if you want to get married? 

do you: want children eventually, never want children, or not know if you want children?

have you ever: kissed someone whose name begins with an e, t, l, j, m, or d?

have you ever: smoked a cigarette, smoked a cigar, or done hard drugs?

would you rather: live in the country or the city? 

personal:

ever dyed your hair: yes

are you in love: indeed

does someone like you: yeah

last time you really cried: ?? maybe yesterday idk

last person you texted: my dad

last call to your phone: unknown number

last text message sent to a friend: 'ok dont fall in’

have you kissed anyone in the last 31 days: nope

who can you go to with your problems: my s.o., my dad

ever cheated: no

do you like your body: we have a complicated relationship

favorite quote:  VLADIMIR: Did I ever leave you? ESTRAGON: You let me go. (samuel beckett’s waiting for godot)

[justanotherrpmeme]

bold which habits your muse has

nail biting | throat clearing | lying | interrupting | chewing the ends of pens | smoking | swearing | knuckle cracking | thumb sucking | muttering under their breath | talking to themselves | nose picking | binge drinking | oversleeping | snacking between meals | skipping meals | picking at skin | impulse buying | talking with their mouth full | humming/singing to themselves | chewing gum | leg jiggling | foot tapping | hair twirling | whistling | eye rolling | licking lips | sniffing | squinting | rubbing hands together | jaw clenching | gesturing while talking | putting feet up on tables | tucking hair behind ears | chewing lips | crossing arms over chest | putting hands on hips | rubbing the back of their neck | being late | procrastinating | doodling | shredding paper | peeling off bottle labels | forgetfulness | running hands through hair | overreacting | teeth grinding | nostril flaring | slouching | pacing | drumming fingers | fist clenching | pinching bridge of nose | rubbing temples | rolling shoulders

[constantquibbling-deactivated20]

Send me '☯ + a scene from my characters canon' and I will drabble it from my character's POV.

[emptylifc]

          the only light he’s allowing into the room filters through           the curtains of his bedroom window, but it’s just enough           to illuminate the notebook in his lap and the guitar at his           side. he couldn’t sleep so he might as well write. the best           ideas come in the late of night.                     a cigarette b u r n s between his fingers, the white smoke                     clouding the air but it’s comfortable. he’s comfortable.                     despite the lack of sleep, he feels good, stable. like maybe                     he can actually get this song done and even start another.                     he wishes he could be so lucky.           he’s scribbling down words about stars and brilliant eyes,           blond hair and a bright smile. he’s not going to scrap this           song. no, this is going to be a good one. he knows it is. at           least.. at least, he thinks he does. god, he can only hope. he           can only hope. hoping is the one thing roger knows he can           do, at the very least.                     it takes him several moments to realize it’s late and mark isn’t                     home. his brows furrow and he rises to his feet, slow, stretching                     his limbs and giving in to a threatening yawn. he shuffles out of                     his room and stands by the window behind the couch, staring at                     the sky in complete silence. like a young teenage girl, he begins                     counting the stars.           the familiar sound of a shutting door snaps him out of his dreaming           and he turns, a small smile playing at his lips. but it falters almost           immediately when he sees the state of his best friend. worry washes           over him, concern flowing through his veins. suddenly, he doesn’t           feel content and groggy anymore. he closes the distance between           him and mark, gentle hands taking his arm. “god, please don’t fall.           and please, don’t pass out.”

[markcohxn]

axial tilt, the world spins and then halts suddenly at contact -- idiot he is, he wasn't paying attention. idiot he is, he still can't focus. pale, fearful eyes dart up to meet roger's.  where's the excus e for  this? where's  the  part where he gets to say that shooting ran late and he didn't expect it either?  nausea  pulls at him from every direction.

                    he has to pull away from the contact. there are too many ideas                     and goals swimming in his  thoughts at once.  put the  camera                     down, calm down, clean himself up, BREATHE. . . mark tries                     to force himself steady,  all pale face and  scarf still in tact. he                     only lets  himself lean  on the wall  a few  seconds longer.  his                     voice  is  unfamiliar to him, weak,  uneven.  "i-i'm not going to                     pass out," thrown out and disregarded. best to leave the lie as                     plain as possible.

shaky steps  take him to the centre of the  room. a hand on the arm of the chair  before  he  loses his  footing, the other  gently (gently  --  for  his  camera,  when  he's  bleeding,  shuddering) laying   the  camera  on  the  table. it's   safe,  and  that's   what matters. everything else can and will heal. his messenger bag slips off his shoulder and hits the floor; he lets it.

                    maybe he realises the mistake in thinking he's alright when he                     feels the vertigo get the best of him and he slips to the  ground                     beside it, fingers  still gripping  the chair.  everything  feels  at                     once  far   away,  foggy,  but  alarmingly   clear.  contradictory,                     impossible.  he  tries  to steady his  breathing but instead only                     ends  up  coughing,  the  violence  of  the  action  making  him                     wince -- there is a pain in his ribs, a weakness he's so tired of.                     mark   slipped  up  again.  mark  pissed  someone  off,   mark                     wouldn't let go of his fucking camera, mark. . .

"oh, god --" hissed  through  the soreness and sting, hissed as shaky fingers  rise to his face and pull away bloodied. he's not the one who  comes home  like  this. he's not the one who gets worried about. "i'm sorry," words bastardized by their situation and breathed like the last of a storm. "i don't. . ."

[markcohxn]

- a dead crow (prp emptylifc​)

                             . . . nobody knows anyone. strangers come and violate you.                    strangers come and cut your heart out. strangers come and take your blood.                                                      good god, who were those men? . . .

the night is dark and littered with dirt, with glass, with scowling faces, just as it  always is.  cold air stretches  the city,  suffocates it.  hands shake.  breath   fogs. also note -- the  stairs to the  right  floor of their building are   everest. his  lungs  burn, vision   blurs, fingers  fumble desperately   for his keys. in his pocket,  please, god,  he didn't drop them. say he didn't drop them.

                    he  didn't. that's   probably the last of his  good luck   right there, no                     doubt. he catches himself leaning heavily on the wall as he unlocks                     the  door, catches  the  world spin   around him,  catches -- a lot of                     things. focus, mark. focus. there's this whine of a breath he doesn't                     realise he's letting out until he's inside and shutting the door behind                     him, shaking.

mark cohen, in short,  looks like shit. there's a cut on  his forehead that must not be too old,  because there's blood that's dripped down his face -- almost into one eye, notice his glasses  are gone -- and while his lip bleeds  considerably less, it's  definitely  bleeding. the idea of stepping inside without anything to lean on is an impossible one, so once the door is locked he has to steady himself against it a second.

                    there's a place where his  coat's bloodstained, just one  sleeve, but                     whatever it is is nearly obscured; he's  been clutching his  camera                     tightly like someone's going to tear it away. (there's a weakness in                     his knees, but he can't-shouldn't let himself sit down or fall.)

the violent trembling is accompanied by silence. he's hardly even looked  up   from  the   space  between  the  wall   and   the   floor. something's gone wrong. something's gone very wrong.

[markcohxn]

hello B))

send me “hello” and i’ll answer…

If we kissed:

[x] This wouldn’t happen. (so mark thinks)

[] Oh disgusting.

[] Again, again.

[x] Kiss you back.

[] Let’s take this to the bedroom.

[] Slap/Push you away.

[x] Be confused

If you asked me out I’d say:

[] Um no.

[] I’m taken-

[x] Sure.

[] HOLY ASDFGHJK YESSSSS.

Can we cuddle?:

[] No.

[] Ew.

[x] Sure.

[x] YES.

Sex?:

[] Let’s do it.

[] No. You can’t handle my d.

[] FUCK YES.

[] No.

[x] self-made “confused internal screaming” option

Should you reblog this?:

[] Yes. I want to send you one.

[] Yes.

[] No.

[rpaskboxmemes-deactivated202004]

Send me a HELLO and i'll answer...

If we kissed:

[] This wouldn’t happen.

[] Oh disgusting.

[] Again, again.

[] Kiss you back.

[] Let’s take this to the bedroom.

[] Slap/Push you away.

[] Be confused

If you asked me out I’d say:

[] Um no.

[] I’m taken-

[] Sure.

[] HOLY ASDFGHJK YESSSSS.

Can we cuddle?:

[] No.

[] Ew.

[] Sure.

[] YES.

Sex?:

[] Let’s do it.

[] No. You can’t handle my d.

[] FUCK YES.

[] No.

Should you reblog this?:

[] Yes. I want to send you one.

[] Yes.

[] No.

[emptylifc]

          there’s a tightness in his chest that he           wishes would just disappear. he rubs his           chest absentmindedly as if that’ll ease his           hurt, eyes focused on the window. he           decides to stretch out on the couch, head           resting against the arm as he continues to           look out the window. he can’t see much, but           it’s better than looking at mark. “go do your           thing. don’t die.”

[markcohxn]

    well, that’s one way for things to go.     funny how quickly moods change --     or really not funny at all, but who is     he to judge. “. . . right. yeah.”                 fantastic.            nice one, mark.

[edhelernil-a-deactivated2018020]

fifteen associations.

[markcohxn]

reblog and fill in the answers you most associate your character to with each question.

animal - a puppy. just a goddam golden retriever puppy colour(s) - blues, greys month - december song - boys dont cry (the cure), the letter (wayward daughter), sail it away (jonny gray), goodnight lover (songs: ohia) number - 21 day or night - day plant - rosemary i guess smell - coffee, rainwater, city gemstone - tigers eye, eliat stone season - winter place - new york, film sets, worn down studios, the subway food - ??? astrological sign - pisces sun, taurus moon, gemini rising elements - water drink - chai tea