#;out of ruins (OOC)

[ash-and-starlight]

modern au and esen’s honkers are haunting the instagram feed

[aiza-luna]

Watch Dogs Fandom Council... Send help.

I was on my way to write a mf fanfic, and I ended up giving Aiden kids... BIOLOGICAL KIDS.

I MADE OUR FOX DILF A LITERAL DAD, WHAT HAVE I DONE?! 😭

I'LL HAVE TO DEVELOP HIM AS A DAD??? AT THEM SAME TIME I LOVE THIS IDEA I FEAR I'LL RUIN HIS CHARACTER-

SEND HELP, I'M-

[demonwebs]

lolth as a concept is so funny bc you cannot please her and you know you cannot please her and it still drives vhaal abs bonkers every time he rediscovers this fact during their monthly 'trance' meetings

[ruindgod]

an eros muse ....

[demonsfate]

like the whole point of jin's creation was that he's supposed to be a foil to kazuya, not the same. like kazuya was supposed to look at jin and see everything he could've been. jin was NOT supposed to look at kazuya and see himself because they've both hurt people. no, that ruins the entire point. that ruins the point that jin was raised with love, that jin knew what compassion was and kazuya didn't, that jin is what kazuya could've been had kazuya been given the same nurturing as a child.

the fact that tk8 had the whole jin looking at kazuya and sees himself, remembering the war, actually does ruin his character and everything he was supposed to be, and it's always mind boggling to me that a lotta ppl can't see that or some ppl legit believe that tk6 "improved" jin's character.

love him or hate him in the earlier tekken games, but it's objective that tk6 ruined everything jin was. what was once something original and different was made into something repetitive and frustratingly inconsistent.

[talentforlying]

thinking about john's multitude of short-lived, often quickly-abandoned apartments for some reason, so a couple details:

although you might expect to find a very wizard-y interior to any place he's currently living at — you know, grimoires, skulls, dust, clutter, etc. — his flats actually tend to be fairly spartan in terms of decor; they've even been accused of looking modern, here and there. he just moves too frequently to really settle in & accrue Things, and has so often had to simply up & leave everything he currently owned behind (with very little chance of getting any of it back) that he no longer attaches much meaning to household objects.

besides the consistent presence of at least one bookshelf with at least 12 books on it, and a sad sprig of garden sage that miraculously hasn't died yet, the one exception to his lack of personal touch is his extensive collection of records + tapes, all of which he has repeatedly & methodically tracked down and bought / bid / traded / stolen / threatened for / blackmailed for / simply taken back whenever an enterprising landlord or new tenant left him the opportunity to do so. his record player itself has never needed to be taken back, since it has always mysteriously vanished from whatever flat he's leaving and mysteriously appeared wherever he's staying; it's convenient like that. his 10th anniversary walkman, however, frequently goes missing, only to turn up again later in a place he KNOWS he checked when he's least expecting it.

lack of home decor isn't to say he doesn't own much, mind: the bulk of his personal possessions — assorted occult paraphernalia, blackmail documentation, miscellaneous crap from his mucous membrane days, and anything he is able to take with him from past flats — are usually stored off-site, in a secure location that can't easily be tied back to him. this guy's been accused of being a satanic killer on multiple occasions, he knows better than to keep all the real shit out where anyone can just swan in and see it.

currently, this storage location (which i lovingly call occult shit central) is an abandoned inner london storefront + adjoining flat that was formerly his old friend ray monde's shop and home, called brick-a-brac antiques. it's decidedly cozier than the last place, (in that there are chairs, plural,) and has fewer bear traps laid out in anticipation of unlucky thieves; in fact, if a person were to visit without already knowing where constantine actually lives, it'd be easy to mistake it as his expectedly-wizardy flat. it's not an ideal location for an occult shit central, too close to the heart of the city and too close to people to avoid drumming up suspicion should constantine attempt any sort of ritual inside, but until chas finally quits ducking the paperwork and signs over his storage lot (which he may or may not be dragging his feet on out of pure resentment for having to do it at all) ray's place is the best option there is.

constantine's previous (and future) storage location was a lock-up in streatham that chas had been letting him use (see: all but surrendered to him entirely) since he got out of ravenscar, but after constantine's sister died, john decided he was done with magic and, in a spontaneous fit of rage, burnt the place down with everything but a few necessities still inside. he regretted this later, when he inevitably returned to the occult scene after just over a year away, and spent a lot of time calling in favors / hypnotizing arson inspectors to try and put together an inventory of everything he'd lost.

in the nearly 20 years since the fire, he's managed to replace or find substitutes for about 2/3 of what he had (occult-wise), and gather enough fresh dirt / do enough favors / orchestrate enough compromising situations to accumulate a little over 1/4 of the political / interpersonal power he once maintained. ( the lack of success in the latter being, in part, because people now in power aren't as familiar with his name & reputation as they once were; in part because people just don't believe in magic as much as they used to, or were otherwise bought by hell / heaven / other parties a LONG time ago; and in part because he's come to absolutely fucking despise most politicians / people in power more than he is willing to work with them, or more than he is able to plausibly believe they won't try to drop him at the first opportunity. )

you would be hard-pressed to find a landlady/landlord that speaks kindly of this man. if he wasn't kicked out for suspicious smells / disturbing noises / sudden infestations / suspected satanic activity, then it's likely that he abruptly up and disappeared in the middle of the night, with no warning and no rent. (on a few occasions, this vanishing act also coincided conspicuously with a gruesome death on the premises, sometimes of the landlady/landlord themselves, although no one's ever been able to prove anything.) frankly it's . . . magic, that people still rent to him.

due to these aforementioned bad ends, he's incredibly lucky if he gets enough time or leeway to take any sort of furniture with him from one place to the next. however, there is one incredibly comfy, wing-backed, sapphire-blue armchair that's miraculously managed to survive every move in the last ten or so years without being reported stolen — even though it has survived every move because it has, in fact, been stolen in the dead of night nearly every single time, by john and at least one of his buddies.

[stillsolo]

so disney cancelled lando's spinoff show and i gotta say, after four years of silence and enduring movie rumors floating about for like 2 seconds, i'm just glad they outright confirmed the cancellation of the series. ... and yet here i am a week later, still gloomy as hell about it lol i mean, han's beloved lando (@charley!!) moved on from the swrpc years ago, but man. kinda sad i haven't seen an indie / dedicated lando blog in years??

[sangcreole]

.

[cherry-treelane]

everytime i feel bad and stressed about my life i remember that i might be in a troubling situation and having a bad time but im not season 4 fiona gallagher in the clink after leaving crack on the counter which my 3 year old baby brother happened to ingest resulting in a fatal near-death experience thats wracked me with never-ending guilt and forever altered my life

[twicecut]

Alright, but the facial journey Klaus goes through when Lila threatens him out of talking to Diego... The sass in his little lip smack, the little head bobble before "yeah, sure"... If I knew how to gif from Netflix, I would. Screenshots don't do it justice.

Klaus, babe, the sassy "bitch, please" is so loud. Just say it. You are being threatened. Just. Speak your mind. Penny for your thoughts. I'm begging you to stop going along to get along all the time. You look like you're about to bite someone.

[annyankers]

I’m once again irrationally mad about how people complain about the magic metaphors in buffy work (the whole dark magic=addiction, wicca = gay shit thing).

Like I cannot express how frustrating it is to see people bitching about how things like Dark Willow “don’t make sense” because “magic/Wicca was a originally metaphor for queerness“ or whatever as tho the first two major episodes in the series where magic was used (1x3 “Witch” and 2x8 “Dark Ages” ) weren’t all about the dark/inappropriate/destructive/abusive use of magic.

People loooooooveeeeee Giles’ past as Ripper and delight over things like “Band Candy” where we see him go Full Ripper but cannot for the life of them seem to remember that we first even LEARNED ABOUT THAT PART OF HIM IN DARK AGES WHERE HE TALKED ABOUT BASICALLY MAGICALLY PARTYING SO HARD HIS FRIEND DIED. THIS IS OUR FIRST MAJOR CHARACTER EPISODE THAT’S GOT MAGIC AS A MAIN FOCAL ELEMENT! THIS IS THE ORIGINAL METAPHOR!

The queerness is still kinda baked in there because of the Ethan Of It All but it’s first and foremost a metaphor about like, all the shit that classically leads to substance abuse and the worst outcomes that can come from it. Willow and Tara are an example of the “good” side of magic ( I’ll say Jenny is also in this section but they do so fucking little w/ her technopagan-ness so). They’re also pretty explicitly said to be “Wiccans” which I also have some issues with because of how Wicca is portrayed/talked about in the show (the Silver RavenWolf energy of it all is so galling). But like, that’s literally a whole fucking different subsection/practice of witchcraft/magic. This is like getting mad at water polo for muddling the metaphor of jet skiing. Like yes, they both are water sports but I think you’ll that they’re not the same fucking one and work completely differently.

Magic is not just 1 set of spells and rituals, it’s a multifaceted, multilayered, multi-pathed thing. With Giles we see how it can go Very Wrong and with Willow and Tara in S4-5 we see how it can go Very Right (and how it can be used to help get the Gay in the show around the Fox Censors). Willow increasingly having issues with magic/substance abuse is NOT a mixed metaphor/bad writing/ruining the gay metaphor and implying gays are bad. It’s USING THE OTHER ALREADY ESTABLISHED MAGIC METAPHOR AS PART OF HER CHARACTER ARC. WILLOW CAN BE QUEER AND ALSO HAVE A SUBSTANCE ABUSE ISSUE! GILES ARGUABLY DID IT FIRST ANYWAY (again, the Ethan Of It All)!

Willow has ALWAYS been insecure, a lil bit of a control freak, someone who wants to be HER REAL SELF and also someone TOTALLY DIFFERENT. Like she wants to be Willow but only if it’s a Willow who’s better/cooler/stronger/prettier etc. Someone who’s not the “pathetic loser” she still sees herself as even in season 6 and hasn’t totally shaken in season 7. These desires both to feel more In Control/Better and Not Yourself are classic reasons people will turn to substance abuse. For Willow is it MUCH easier to do a wizard spell to “fix” a problem than it is to like, fucking confront her issues of self-loathing and self-worth and like.... go to therapy. And that’s what gets her in trouble just like it has for so many others before her. Like in many ways Dark/Addict Willow is like seeing Giles’ Ripper Era live and on screen plus maybe a lil bit on steroids.

Magic can be used as part of more than 1 metaphor and the substance abuse metaphor came first. Stop pretending like it never existed in the show until season 6.

[pvremichigan]

Whoopsie time

[h0ll0w-gr0v3]

*The familiar smell of cinnamon wafts through the park*

~CHA0TICALLY, DISC0RD/🕕

God dammit-

[ Coughing again ]

[sansloii]

Every time Andris opens his mouth, it's like I black out. When I come to, he's either said something mildly weird, passive-aggressive, or obsessive.

And if he hasn't said it, he's behaving in that way. If not that, then he's thinking about doing so

[bxtonpxss]

.

[sinshckled]

★ |  * ⋆      -   -  - –  INBOX !  *  ﹡                  ﹡     ✧ * ☇  ( @nocentis ! )

Suddenly, the walls feel like they’re [ closing ] on him – and Jellal is suddenly much, much too aware of the GRIDS OF METAL that surround him - them. He feels trapped. Not by any binding, nor by any cuffs - but by an all too familiar gaze of hazel. .

Ever since his identity had been ( accidentally ) revealed, the children’s behavior toward him changed drastically - and UNDERSTANDABLY. His disguise was one of their jailers’, but his face is the one of a friend ; ( regardless of how the years had changed it. ) And while his heart fills with fondness at the way Millianna and Sho run to hug his leg & at the awe in Erza’s eyes, it is not enough to dissipate his apprehension. Looking at his younger self has been harder ever since. Jellal knows the child has questions – can SEE IT in his body language, FEEL IT in the weight of his stare, and HEAR IT in his voice. && To these inquiries, he has no wish to answer.

But the ghosts of the past have never failed to catch up to him.               WHY WOULD THIS TIME BE ANY DIFFERENT ?

.

He gets cornered at the end of his “mission”, once the dust has settled back down. When the threat is no more, and they can all breathe a little easier. While checking up on the wounded - taking advantage of the first aid supplies he always carries and knows are scarce within these walls - 

He feels a shy tug at his cloak, and turns around to cobalt strands, a familiar marking, and a [ request to talk ].

Right there and then, he knows he cannot run from this anymore.

Alas, even though the Heavenly Body mage had started preparing, as much as he could have, for this discussion to occur  - this was him, this had been him, he should know better than anyone what he could ask . . . and yet, 

                              he still finds himself at a LOSS FOR WORDS.

                " �� "

     What is he supposed to say ?

     He swallows thickly. His tongue feels HEAVY in his mouth, burdened with the knowledge of the last decades. He knows that child is DOOMED ; from the peek he had gotten in the office, it was only a matter of weeks… days even, perhaps. 

     These eyes – HEAVENS, he was so small; pale skin upon frail bones, muscles built from years of labor and stolen childhood. He looks so fragile, but his eyes, despite it all, burn alight with a ferocious SPARK ; one that has not shone in his own gaze for a very, very long time.

     His fingers crackle with starlight. He tastes an anger the likes of which is foreign to him – old, bygone. He feels an urge to defy the flow of time - to let the stars bring JUDGMENT upon this wretched island, sending this ATROCITY of a R-system crumbling to the ground, and take him - take them, all these poor innocent children, so so very far away from here. & yet he cannot ; 

       Why here ? Why now ? Why him ?             What is he doing here ?

     Memories of this time are nothing more than movie sequences in his head now, decades later ; so far away, so distant. This part of him has been laid to rest alongside the WICKEDNESS of his teenage years, and both only ever come back to haunt him as a form of torture. As a result, this child was no more than an ACQUAINTANCE, a figure erased by time, wrath, grief and BLOOD.

     But being there, quite literally face to face with his past - it all comes back to him. Flashes triggered by the long-gone architecture of these walls, by the stench of rot sitting heavily across the perimeter, by the crackles of electricity, the whirring of heavy machinery & the haunting sound of children sobbing a few cells further - quietly, by fear of being whipped into silence –      He now remembers being that boy. Forcing a smile every single day of his life, for the sake of the young who looked up to him. He would tell stories upon stories, wiping tears while holding his own grief tight on a leash. ( because those stories had been his brother’s, and his mother’s, and the village elder’s, && they had starred his cousin, his neighbor, the shop clerk and the fishermen – and all these people were DEAD, by now BONES buried underneath stone and charred wood and ash. )

       ... What was HE doing here ?

     He thinks he’s struck by all five stages of grief simultaneously.The thoughts crossing his head are a blur. He feels dizzy, knees one gust of wind away from buckling.

Blaming yourself for your own weaknesses is easier when you don’t have the 11 years old version of yourself standing before you.

Looking into your eyes with – one last sliver of hope.

––– How could he ever put the blame of his anger upon him?

HE WAS A CHILD. He was a child.

            ( It hits him all at once. )

.

He knows the intricacies of time travel. He knows he doesn’t remember going through this. He knows his younger self will not walk away with an answer, nor with a solution. This is Fiorean history – and it is set in stone.

That doesn’t mean he wants to LIE to him.

( Not when he’s been standing wordlessly for this long. Not when he has let silence stretch so far. Not when the tiny, fragile version of himself is catching on to what it means. Perhaps, if he’d been quicker, it could have been an option. ) 

.

     And so Jellal does the only thing that, amongst all the possibilities offered to him, feels undoubtedly, irrevocably right. 

     He closes the distance between them with a few steps and crouches down to meet himself at eye-level. Looks – really looks at him, commits every detail to memory. From the slope of his nose to the tangled, soiled strands of blue decorating from his head ; from to the fainter scars he still sports to the swirls of angry red framing his eyes, pools of sage & amber in his irises. And then he reaches out, wraps his arms around the scrawny frame and gathers him slowly, carefully, in a hug. 

     He hides him in the crook of his shoulder; gives him a shelter, an adult, where the hastily-built foundations of his mask of strength can crack, if he so wishes. 

He lets him be a child once again.

     ――――― Just for a moment.

.

━━━ ━━ ━ ╸╺ . * ✰

“ is all this countless suffering for my own good? ”

.

Later on, shortly after finding his way back in the present, Jellal will ponder this further. The Heavenly Body mage will stand on a beach, amongst speckles of sand, and watch the sun gradually DISAPPEAR beyond the vast sea that once held him [ hostage ] ― painting the sky in shades akin to the burning fire that took everything away from him. 

He will think of his younger self - so far away in time, yet now so close in memory. 

He will close his eyes, push open the door to his history, rush past the whispers and shadows crawling its walls, and find that child still within him. He will dig him out from the grave he was buried within, and he will give him his SIGHT - his HEARING - his TASTE - his EVERYTHING.

He will let himself feel breeze upon his skin, breathe in the smell of sea salt, taste the freedom of a boundless life.

     And when his eyes open again, he will gaze upon that landscape, && he will find it beautiful.

.

✔ ― ACCEPTING