i have at least 15 muses i need to make icons for so imma be mia on this blog until i finish that up.

roma★
hello vonnie
occasionally subtle
Cosimo Galluzzi
NASA
One Nice Bug Per Day
taylor price
Three Goblin Art
d e v o n
Game of Thrones Daily
noise dept.

★
Keni

Discoholic 🪩

PR's Tumblrdome
Show & Tell

Andulka

#extradirty

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Misplaced Lens Cap
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
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seen from South Korea
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from France
seen from Germany

seen from Singapore

seen from United Kingdom
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seen from Bangladesh
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@entragedy
i have at least 15 muses i need to make icons for so imma be mia on this blog until i finish that up.

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imma go ahead and make icons here and change the layout / add and take off muses
i love mike hanlon but yall will never catch me reading it
𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐀 ♡ 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒
some lyrics slightly modified.
“ it’s just another day to pretend. ” “ emotions are too much for me. ” “ every single day, i fight another war. ” “ i lead my life within a lie. ” “ i’m not ill, i’m just driven. ” “ underneath it all, we’re all human beings. ” “ don’t fuck with me, hoe. ” “ every single night, i feel more powerful. ” “ the less you feel, the more you know. ” “ i’m human, too. ” “ you should never be ashamed to have it all. ” “ i’m not here for love tonight. ” “ you’ve come a long way. ” “ come on, talk to me. ” “ your bullshit ain’t fooling me. ” “ i didn’t even leave my house last week. ” “ i see you watching me. ” “ i’m doing this for myself only. ” “ you’re so forgettable. ” “ i know i can do better than them. ” “ nobody’s gonna shine like you & me. ” “ they think that i’m crazy. ” “ burn bright, don’t burn out. ” “ i never would have guessed that we’d be friends. ” “ what if it all went away today? ” “ i’m just like you. ” “ i know what you did last night. ” “ what’s another life out of seven billion? ” “ i got a hundred tabs open in my mind. ”
@entragedy said : ❛ why do you always answer a question with a question? ❜
❝ WHY DON’T YOU ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS AT ALL ? ❞ he’s done it again, a question with a question, though no time is lost debating the irony of that. words fall out in one sharp line, punctuated with a snort – as if the words themselves were not enough. he knows at some level that he’s being unfair, that this frustration is not all todd’s to hold, and yet he can’t seem to stop. ( a crack in the wall that is formed from false smiles. a break in that welton boy perfection. ) and all because of what? a question touched too close to home? eyes fall to the floor, and for a moment he is silent and still, a statue of a boy.
❝ it’s stupid. ❞ composure regained, momentary lapse over as he moves to the window, pressing close to the glass. ❝ let’s just stop with the question and answer time. ❞
❝ 𝙽𝙴𝙸𝙻 . . . ❞ exhaustion clings to him and grabs him by the scruff of his neck, there’s nothing more he wants to do than to curl into bed and forget the day ; what could be the point in talking in circles with no remedy? he’s certain neil doesn’t have the answer to that. a timer sits on the desk adjacent of todd, ticking gingerly, a thrumming noise that aligns with todd’s pulse — it hammers away 'side the cave of his ribs, unsettled nerves are tangible in the sparse space ‘tween them, todd meets his eyes for the first time since the timer began. ❝ i asked first, ❞ says todd, querulous, he sounds whiny even to his own ears, ❝ you always do this. you always throw it back in my face. ❞
his fingers burrow into dull, umber strands ‘fore pressing anxiously into the knot forming unto his nape, todd feels too wound - up to be simply tossed to the side. jaw fixes tight, persistent lour. ❝ you can’t do that. you’re the one who wanted to do it. you have to answer, neil. ❞

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𝖎. ⋆ ☻ , @ENTRAGEDY ╸ danny torrance : ❝ it’s not just you. ❞
⭑ IT’S HARD TO LOOK AT HIM FOR TOO LONG. i look at him in small doses with infrequent glimpses of his leathery face. he reminds me too much of my dad , but without the militaristic rigidness that he had engrained within him; dan is more bleary around the edges. it makes my stomach go sour if i think about it for too long. * i scrap with my own cynicism, wanting to separate myself from it , to leave comfort or hope in its place so that believing what he tells me will be easier. i know i’ll lose and it’ll bring me to my knees , one i’ll walk away from all emotionally bruised , but isn’t it worth trying anyway ? i mean , he’s right — it’s not only me; I’M NOT ALONE , and i’m fortunate enough to know now that there’s other people like me , that i’m not some monstrous anomaly in the way that i initially thought. i kind of wish that i’d known sooner to save myself from so much misery. maybe my father would still alive. maybe brad would be , too. but it’s hard to come to terms with.
❝ … I GET THAT NOW. ❞ my voice is more delicate than i’d like it to be when i say this. i try hard to keep everything i feel at bay , beating my emotions to a pulp and diminishing them until they’re nothing. sometimes he process is swift , easier to swallow. other times , it feels more like labor , depleting all of my energy and time. * i’ve made a habit of staring down the good things that occur in my life and scrutinizing it all until it’s made in the image of my pessimistic imagination. i’m hoping this time will be different. i hadn’t begun to unravel the disquiet that had imploded within me and my quavering voice gives it away , ❝ hard to get used to , i guess … ❞
𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻𝚂 𝙽𝙰𝚂𝙴𝙾𝚄𝚂, plighted by the sinking stir in his gut. she’s all wire - sharp, abra would be far better suited to deal with something like this, he thinks. communicating meticulously was never danny’s strong - suit ( NOBODY WANTS TO SHINE! NOBODY. MIGHT AS WELL POUR OUT A CAN OF GAS AND LIGHT A MATCH. ). looking into her head is something torn from the past, a page or a photograph, smoldering and fragmented loathing burns at the very core. clammy palms knead restlessly ‘pon denim jeans, worn at the knees, holey and frayed ends — he looks like shit. and not the kind of guy who gives advice, much less takes his own. mouth full of rot, stuffed with words that should come effortlessly but never do, he’s still a forty - something - year - old cage for a boy that resides and festers in the past.
HE STILL DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY.
❝ yeah, ❞ danny clears his throat once, forces past whatever wants to seal his voice. ❝ yeah, no. i get it. i do. i want — i want to help you. ❞ ( DON’T LOOK AT HER EYES! ) ❝ i don’t get to meet a lot of people like us. and when i do, they don’t even realize, y’know? real easy to block out shit that you don’t really want to see. ❞ he goes through the usual motions : shifts his weight so he can pull the pulp - of - a - box cigarettes out of his pocket and fumble for his lighter. ❝ want one? ❞
EWAN MCGREGOR as Dan Torrance in Doctor Sleep (2019)
fisthrust.
hands move with surgeon’s precision , knuckles already showing their yearly cracks, despite how much abra had warred against it. he was always less careful with himself than she was. that care was saved for others, saved for herself abra. and now lavished on silver, who it seems almost wasted on. all dents and bent metal. ( story of neglect written into the bike’s very bones. ) and yet he treats it almost like one an infant, fingers oh - so careful as they fit new bike chain into place . . . until dan’s voice cuts through his concentration, sharp as a knife . hands falter in their movement, chain slipping off to clatter against the pavement. lips purse, breath escaping in one irritable exhale.
hands fumble with the chain once more, their movements less careful this time around. ( words echo : you’re, uh, doing it wrong, kid ) but he doesn’t care. for all he wishes is to escape back inside, away from the cold and away from the awkward small talk that seems to punctuate dan’s every visit. ❝ wh - what are y - you dd - doing here ? ❞
❝ WAS IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD, ❞ says dan with a placid gesticulation of one hand, which soon burrows into his coat pocket, mindful of the piling snowflakes ‘gainst weather - beaten skin. he aches, where his knees bend and his back curves, age is a gift when it comes to the two of them, dan has realized with time. despite the sharp edge of bill’s voice, he scuffles closer, bowed close to where he works — memories flourish with items held dear to the owner’s heart, silver would be of no difference ( HI - YO, SILVER! AWAY! ). ❝ i could do it for you. y’ probably can’t feel your fingers. where’s your gloves anyway? ❞ without the go - ahead, dan is already shouldering into the work himself, squat and huddled at the lip of the denbrough’s driveway, he takes the lock into his hands, despite the demure stare bill has leveled unto him.
❝ you’re as bad as my niece : always needing help but never asking for it. don’t you get tired of doing things on your own? here, like this — ❞ he feels ignoble in a way, before a possession that bill treats as sacred as a ritual, dan can’t recall the last time he’d considered anything physical as a necessity, he grasps for words that taste bitter ( SOMETHING A FATHER WOULD SAY ), and instead settles for cynical derision. ❝ did you get this thing cheap? pretty banged up, if you ask me. ❞
* @borispavsky / i shouldn’t have yelled at you.
HIS HEART IS IN HIS THROAT. frustration lies deep, in the planes of his face, inside of the cavern in his chest, he ferments in his animus. a granite face where one wouldn’t expect the concealed trepidation, AN EXPRESSION HE RESERVES ESPECIALLY FOR HIS MOTHER, sealed lips and callous eyes. from the home, where partygoers reside, there’s music, vaguely familiar ; it feels as warm as the season, summer - sweat cakes his face and seeps into the costly fabric of his t - shirt, the neck soused. military - brat swallows, all sour - mouthed. ❝ i don’t give a shit what you do. ❞
fraser feels forced into boris’ company, caught in a snare where he can’t free himself — it’s getting tighter. ❝ . . . no. you shouldn’t have, but you did. ❞ says fraser, timbre of his voice just over a whisper, submersed by the blaring chords just inside, ❝ i was just — i was just trying to c - check on you and you blow up on me for no reason! ❞
* @gohldfinch / leave my mother out of this.
❝ COME NOW, THEO. ❞ in spite of himself, andrew has a unfavorable time discerning boundaries. considering theodore a true confidant, he assumes intimacy extends as the years, heedless and imprudent — he cannot meet theodore’s eyes, blithe fusain in a moon - pale face, ❝ i didn’t mean it that way. ❞ a pert sort of love - language is all he knows, his emotions lay bare yet impalpable to others around him, perhaps even theodore could be counted for the monotonous number. ( HOW DO YOU MOURN FOR THE DEAD? )
subdued, andrew’s head inclines down, back to where his school - work spreads ‘neath him in a glut of disarray, tucked orderly into a stack heap with practiced care. abrupt change of subject, similar to the way his attention drifts from companion and to the dreary backdrop just beyond the aperture. ❝ how’s your head? ❞

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WAR OF THE FOXES BY RICHARD SIKEN SENTENCE MEMES
so what’s there to be faithful to?
i have my body and you have yours.
some people don’t understand anything.
it should be enough to make something beautiful.
let’s kill something.
what do you do with a man like that?
you’d break your heart to make it bigger, so why not crack your skull?
i prefer to blame others, it’s easier.
i wish it were true.
can we love nature for what it really is: predatory?
when you have nothing to say, set something on fire.
i saw them hiding in the yellow field.
i gave shape to my fears and made excuses.
something’s not right about what i’m doing but i’m still doing it.
the enormity of my desire disgusts me.
take a body, dump it, drive.
take only what you need.
if you were walking away, keep walking.
everyone needs a place.
the fear: that nothing survives. the greater fear: that something does.
you will die in your sleep and leave everything unfinished.
i owe myself nothing.
there’s not enough room for us to be ourselves.
people like to think war means something.
let’s admit, without apology, what we do to each other.
we know who our enemies are.
even when i look away, i’m still looking.
was i discovered or invented?
feels like i’ve always been here.
everything is a target, no matter where you look.
your body told me in a dream it’s never been afraid of anything.
is this your sadness?
you want to solve something? get out of your own way.
this is a very old story.
there is no other version of this story.
someone has to leave first.
i stayed as long as i could.
@entragedy said : i’m not trying to scare you . . . / from dan
❝ i’m nn - not sc - scared . ❞ big bill : strong and true, a hero from an old movie. fearless knight, no fear in his heart. facing down the dragon and saving the princess, a happy ending . . . a lie. eyes raise to meet dan’s, a crack in the center of heroic facade. eyes not of king arthur, but of a helpless child. eyes that seem to beg. ( oh god uncle dan, please help me ! oh god, oh shit ! ) mouth falls open and shut, words lost somewhere in the miles long expanse that seems to link brain and throat.
what finally forms is not words at all, but an image. man coated head to toe in flies , all swarming and crawling. one thousand, two thousand, so many that the room seems to shift with their every moment, every square inch alive. more and more and more – until all light is blotted out . . . leaving behind nothing but their terrible buzzing. leaving nothing but the boy in their wake, all over - wide eyes and tensed muscles, a thousand fears packed into his very stance .
❝ h - hh - h . . . h - how ll - long ? ❞
HE NEARLY FLINCHES FROM BILL’S PSYCHE. the image is gone, but still there --- compared perhaps to a dream, fragmented and blurred from another’s perspective, but enough to provoke a reaction, one where dan is impulsively nauseated ( JESUS, KID, WHAT’S GOING ON IN THAT HEAD OF YOURS? ). the flies nestle into every nook and cranny, feasting ‘til there’s nothing left, there is no face ‘neath the swarm ; bill’s father is a walking and talking dead man. a sense of deja - vu sweeps ‘side the repulsion, one hand brandishes ‘cross his face, a futile attempt to stop the words before they croak forcibly from his mouth : ❝ YOU - YOU CAN’T STOP IT. ❞ sandpaper tongue is clenched by his teeth, it’s glaringly obvious but something that should be left unsaid, even now, he’s nothing but skin and bones and large, youthful eyes in front of dan. hasn’t lived a life, barely living one now. ( HE’S YOU, YOU’RE STARING YOURSELF IN THE FACE! ).
❝ i mean, it’s fate. you can’t change fate, bill. sometimes, the flies come and go, nothing is ever certain but --- no, i mean . . . ❞ gooseflesh dews onto him, all over, bill will catch him in his lie before it’s even out his mouth, scrutiny tightens the lines of his eyes and mouth, and the question clouds the space in ‘tween them with a loathly and weighted silence. ❝ did abra tell you how many were there? were they hanging off him or sticking? can you see them? ❞
* @bckley / the managers a vampire. he wanted me to join his legion of the undead.
❝ OH, SHUT UP, ❞ the last place he wants to be on a friday is stuck here ( get your shit together, work out a better schedule or get more employees ), listening to robin’s smart - ass comments. detached timbre, lackluster penny - brown curls shroud his features, forcefully tugged from his face with gaunt fingers, he glowers from his own aisle. stuck ‘tween the romance and sci - fi section, keith is up to his neck in clutter, WESTWORLD in one hand and ZARDOZ in the other --- phlegm strenuously swallowed when he scoffs, chapped lips pressed tight, chagrin and vexation in one singular look.
❝ if you have time to sit around and talk shit with customers, ❞ ungracefully, one gangling limb extends to gesticulate towards blameless patron, where they lend an ear to robin’s tenacious droning. ❝ then you can help me clean up. grab the broom, will you? ❞
* @stohnefox / dance.
OTHERWORLDLY WOULD BE A GOOD WAY TO DESCRIBE HER. golden - halo of hair, .lux almost glows ‘neath the ocherous sunlight that expands over her back and shoulders. late midday winds are warm enough that his nape is damp with sweat, he bows over his bass guitar as one would with the good book, reverent in his longing for pulse - based chords and melodies. HE PLAYS AND SHE LISTENS, there’s nothing quite like the virtuous glee that spreads unto her face when he plays.
there’s a familiar song that plays from the radio, perched near the unlatched window, a kind of romantic tune --- something about a girl with a redwood mane, smelling of fresh pine and lemongrass, and it draws lux from her seat. she is luminous as she beckons him to stand, mischievous crinkle of her cornflower blue eyes, entwined fingers once he reaches out. a clumsy half - step, graceless as eamon’s hands find hers. ❝ you know i can’t dance. please do not make me. ❞
* @subterraenean / smile.
MISTER GOLDEN - BOY HAS A THOUSAND WATT SMILE. among the cluster of peers, zoe finds charlie’s eyes that have now strayed from his friend, neil perry ( he stands above the others, his tale a siren’s song to half - starved sailors, classmates lean in and hold onto every word, charlie is no different ), half - curled smile swells, secret just ‘tween the two of them. HE’S A FLIRT, his heartbeat paces on whichever vibrant rosebud of a girl he sets his sight on. a dear friend overall, but his kisses are bittersweet, and she’s held at arms’ length.
her posture shifts, shoulders back and chin lifted, befreckled cheek is a pliant and warm weight unto her palm, she’s staring flagrantly, ❝ what, something in my hair? ❞ summer - amber delicately furls ‘round one finger, she even rests a ringlet over the pucker of her lips, just ‘neath her nose in a faux - moustache.

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* @redheid / cover.
IT’S A QUIET SORT OF NIGHT. where she basks in the sanctum of her bedroom, cloistered from the rest of the murphy home, as enveloped in amicable undertone as it is. zoe is where she’s supposed to be, at her desk, homework neatly spread ‘pon the surface --- warm bronze curls spill over the delicate shroud of her shoulder, in her fingers where the pencil is poised, loungewear just as opulent as the rest of her wardrobe. the only thing out of place would be him, he occupies the sparse expanse of her loveseat, his presence is a warm and silent reminder in the brumal evening. meticulously, scribbling cursive fills the page, even as feathered - lashes flutter with languor.
heavy and suspended, zoe balances ‘tween sentience and torpor as she bows heavier over her work ; she startles upright when warmth seeps from behind, almost heavy - like, the quilt nearly slides from her shoulders. soft pull of her mouth is given, earnestly pouting, and still, she pulls the blanket ‘round tighter in thanks. ❝ . . . were you about to leave? don’t go yet, i’m almost done. ❞
* @fisthrust / random starter.
WINTER SEEMS TO GO ON FOR FOREVER. carmine - flush is an angry smear ‘cross his face ; this is right around the time, IN THE BEFORE, where he would settle with whiskey and wish for the day to end quietly, without the burning shroud of nausea, and his own voice to keep him company. BUT THIS IS THE NOW, and he finds himself near the denbrough dwelling, where bill keeps himself immersed, crouched over his silver two - wheeler. silent white - blue snow rests onto his shoulders, hunched in from the cold, unprotected pink nose and cheeks, and tips of his ears that disappear ‘neath ginger strands ( there are flickers of memories that aren’t his own, shared by his niece, and most times dan can see william through her eyes, unabashed and youthful, a stark difference to the boy that lours up at him when he catches his eye ). dan nearly slips onto the icy asphalt, fumbles and promptly inserts his foot into his mouth in less than ten seconds : ❝ working hard there or hardly working, bill? ❞
obvious polite inquiry isn’t taken lightly, deliberate casualness is only met with a sharpened stare from bill, dan feels even more out of place than his approach --- now left to rock to and fro on his boots, hesitating ‘fore he gesticulates towards bill’s handiwork. ❝ you’re, uh, doing it wrong, kid. ❞