DEAR DIARY.
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Keni
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pixel skylines
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oozey mess
sheepfilms
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KIROKAZE

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Andulka

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Origami Around

@theartofmadeline
One Nice Bug Per Day
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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Game of Thrones Daily
Peter Solarz
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@markcohxn
DEAR DIARY.
“ 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.
“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.”
“ 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. “
“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.”
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
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?”
starter call? starter call. like for a starter, etc etc.
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
☯ + 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.
meet the blogger;
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)
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
Send me '☯ + a scene from my characters canon' and I will drabble it from my character's POV.
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.”
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. . ."
- 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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
fifteen associations.
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