#e l l a || musings

[hismercytomyjustice]

OURAN HIGH SCHOOL REMAKE WHERE THEY DO THE WHOLE MANGA WHEN?????!!!!!!

[aerospectrum]

“a mirrored picture of my old man… god the kid looks so sad… i’m seventeen going under….”

[ratinshambles]

yall I am STRUGGLING with designs for Elijah in my au. I can't tell if I want him to be this super tall scrawny like he hasn't eaten a crumb in his whole life type of woods monster thing or if I want to make him chubbier and dirty and just gross because lord I can't help myself with chubby men that are just creepy freaks 😍

[scatterbrain-ink]

For while, it truly is only going to be shigaraki ~ I say as I have inspiration for some Toga ~ will be working on this WIP for a bit tho

[botanikos]

The official mockup of the print cover for Stolas's first book. I can't believe you've done this to me, Jude. Jude. I love you.

HELP, I CANNOT BREATHE I AM DIJFIJBKDOKSKV I'M SOBBING I CAN BATELY SEEM Y SCREEN

[general-kalani]

He's going to beat your to death

[vaedar]

Today I was doing these for the endless Vae gif edits so wanted to share but these are the last ones for a while, I promise.

[blackbirdffxiv]

.

Not me entertaining the idea of possibly opening my own little RP place in DT.

I originally tried to do something but after talking with a friend, realized my ideas probably never panned out because I tried to do way too much for a place I'd essentially be running by myself.

When in reality: I should be going simple, and doing something that I enjoy for FUN, versus for the perks of reputation that came from a "unique concept" which, tbh, now looking at it, is just a recipe for disasters because of the possibility of bad apples who don't like to follow rules.

So possibly in Dawntrail, once things calm down, depending on my spoons, I may or may not be opening a tiny bar in Ellie's house; nothing special, just a small place people can come and hang out with their friends in a calm, neutral setting.

No ERP services (though it may be 18+ only cuz I ain't babysitting anyone's kids), no gil or even in-game items traded, just focus solely on RP in a setting where folks can just chill.

TLDR:

Old itch for possibly starting my own RP place is coming back, might explore things post-dawntrail's release. It wouldn't even be weekly, more like bi-weekly for a couple hours. And hey, it'd be a good thing for Ellie to do now that she no longer has a murderous hungry voidsent rustling around in her body (and is now somewhat normal again) EDIT: I meant the FC house not my personal :dead:

[biitchcakes]

hit the ♡ for some memes !!

[hismercytomyjustice]

H E L P

Lol I told my husband about how I’m worried my psychiatrist is going to tell me tomorrow that the problem with the severity of my OCD lately isn’t my medication and is instead that I’m just not trying hard enough.

He looked me in the eye and just said, “I wonder what could be making you feel that way.”

I HAVE BEEN MURDERED.

╭( ๐_๐)╮

fuck he’s getting good at this

[aerospectrum]

this is purely rambling for a canon divergent headcanon for jamie’s backstory that I needed to set free but I’m trying to save the dash sanity with a readmore

semi-inspired by this

It’s a quarter past 10pm when Jamie gets up from his desk. He paces the oversized office, pausing at the window to stare out at the empty car stalls lining the street. This isn’t home; this isn’t even life and certainly not one he ever really wanted. 

He sets his permissions badge on the stack of files placed neatly on the corner of his desk. He stares at the half cold cup of coffee he brewed not twenty minutes earlier that ripples with every footstep he takes towards it. This isn’t what he wants. 

He doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life living under the thumb of a neglectful father who’s never shied away from announcing his disappointment in who he was or who he was becoming. He can’t stand under the weight of his failures and he doesn’t think he can survive knowing his younger sister’s words were never wrong; the more he became what John wanted the more John hated him. He can’t live with knowing she’s right. He can’t and he won’t. 

There’s a guilt that peels away at his reserve every chance it gets. Beth’s retaliation for his role in destroying her own chances at bringing life into the world eats away at him more than anything. Her constant threats to kill him; to annihilate him off the face of any map that he lingers on sit heavy on the side of things he can’t reconcile. There’s a damage he’s inflicted on her that no amount of regret will ever undo— they were teenagers, terrified of their father’s rage, but still… he didn’t tell her. He didn’t even warn her. He walked her into that clinic knowing they’d take her future from her. He hates himself everyday for it, but he’s never been able to let her know that. And even if she did know, it wouldn’t be enough and she’d spare the energy to beat it into him even deeper than it was: his self-loathing wasn’t enough. 

He feels stripped of his humanity within the Dutton household. He doesn’t belong and he knows in this moment that he never did. He wants to, he’s desperate to. It’s not even about whether he’s blood related or not- there’s something intrinsically wrong within him, he’s reached a brokenness that can’t be returned for a do-over. He doesn’t belong. This isn’t the life he imagined. It never was. 

Maybe it really is nature versus nurture. Maybe he was always going to be some sort of monster the way his biological father was. He should’ve told Kayce that it was his own father who set up the hit on everyone- sparing him for whatever reason, Jamie would never know. He wishes he’d told Kayce. He wishes he’d done everything differently. He wishes he could call him and say goodbye, but Kayce’s gentle understanding would be too harsh a punishment for what Jamie knows he deserves. So he leaves every part of himself behind in that office. 

For a long time he ponders over what John views him as, he tries to decipher what constitutes as cowardice and what counts as growth. He sets his suit jacket and tie down on the back of the chair and slowly unbuttons the collared shirt. sliding the expensive fabric off he throws it in a heap beside the dress pants and shoes. The exposure of cold air to his skin makes his arms bristle and the hair at the nape of his neck stands. He redresses slowly; contemplating leaving a note the entire time. He can’t bring himself to explain anything. He doesn’t want to. He wants to leave no trace of himself. 

He pulls the dark green shirt on, it’s scratchy and almost threadbare, then he slides the mixed shades of auburn plaid on top of it. His jeans are loose and sink against the abrupt curve of his hipbones and the work boots are worn to a comfortable bend, coated with dirt and earth that’s older than him. He sets his cell phones on the ID and permissions badges and stares at the blank screens. He had his numbers disconnected earlier in the day; he recalls the jovial tone he used with the agent; her laughter at his jokes at deciding to live off the grid that were actually real all along. Disappearing wasn’t a trick for the neglected, but rather a way of life.

Jamie takes the thick packet slapped with some fancy government seal and warning about how the unlawful theft of it was a punishable crime. He roughly stuffs it into the backpack and slings it over his shoulder. “All I’ve ever done is try to protect this family.” He says to the empty office space, lingering at the doorway he turns to look around, trying to engrave the memory of it all one last time. He clicks the switch to the lights off and heads out the back stairwell, where the hall at the end spits him out into the empty parking lot. 

There’s a haunting nostalgia that sweeps through his veins and makes his bones creak with an ache that he can’t shake. Each step takes him further than he’s ever thought to go. 

The roads are silent, the wind howls against him, whistling against the asphalt and matching up with his rhythmic inhaling and exhaling. It’s almost sunrise when a truck comes barreling down the dusty side road he’s been on for hours. 

“Where ya headed?” The friendly voice calls out. It’s warm and gruff and reminds him of his father for a split second. He has to think it over for a beat longer than he should’ve, the impatient tap of the man’s hands against his steering wheel pulls Jamie’s focus back to the moment. 

“Somewhere far… out of state.” He scrounges the answer up as best as he can; he feels like luck is on his side with how easily his identity slides under the radar. 

He traveled all across the states after the first ride. Each time he’d invent a new idea for himself. He grew his hair long, no longer needing to plaster it down to his head or keep it trimmed and under control for the office image or his families public presence. Sometimes he’d grow a beard and hide behind the disguise of dirt and little sleep. His missing status was difficult at the start; every once in a while a lone driver would offer him and ride and stare at him like he was a ghost. Then it would click and they’d begin to pry, asking him if he knew he was the missing AG or ask him if he needed help back to Montana. They were always well meaning, but he’d brush it off and insist he was nothing more than an intensely familiar doppelgänger. Or he’d lie through his teeth and create an elaborate backstory for why he was traveling. They’d eat it up and drop him off where he needed and he’d leave before they could contact any sort of law enforcement officials about his whereabouts. 

Nearly five years passed before people stopped recognizing him. His thick black hair had gotten long and taken on a salt and pepper hue, coupled with the facial hair he blended into his surroundings well enough that he’d started to put roots down. He even let himself come out of a metaphoric closet he’d been forced into as a young teen and for once, he was happy, genuinely happy.

He frequented a bar near the river and had become close friends with most of the bartenders there. Sometimes they’d try to work their way into his past, but he’d learned how to decipher their tricks and he cultivated a good enough backstory that they’d buy it and even seem willing to let it be the part of his past he didn’t want to talk about. They never tried to tempt him with any sort of bait and switch tactics; they’d just listen and offer advice. He was slowly finding his own identity and becoming someone he felt ok with being. 

It was early in the evening when his phone lit up on the tabletop, an unknown number. He laughs at something the bartender says to him and grabs the small device out of habit. His smile is warm and it finally reaches his eyes. It’s a type of happiness he only felt when he was a young teen and his mother would tell him he was the luckiest decision she got to make. Before she died. Before his father let it be known through his actions that the land was his true love. Before Beth and him became insufferable mortal enemies. Before, before, before…

He doesn’t know why he answered it. It’s probably an old muscle memory that rears up from his political law days. He slides the screen to answer followed by a grimace at his stupidity. “Hello?” He asks and his heart drops deep into his stomach when she speaks back. 

“You’re a hard one to find.” 

“How did you get this number?”

“I’m coming to get you… you’re coming back.”

“Goodbye, Beth.” He hangs up the phone and the bartender notices how his smile has fallen, replaced with a guilt she only ever sees hardened criminals and people running from a past they can’t escape swimming in. 

[whatevcr-us]

(x) @slumbrlcnd

Shoulda waited till the curtain was about to lift to make her quip. Not that it mattered, it went right out the other ear. Country boys!

Goldie doesn't turn all the face to face mr hot shot, her head simply jerks 'round at being adressed, and her poofed up hair whips with it. Hmph!

What's the point of bein' passive agressive if nobody picks up on it? But, she tries to quell her nerves. This is good. If he's this dense all the way through the show, he won't survive a week in the big city.

"Goldie Peasant," she haraumphs, hands on her hips, "anybody who reads the right columns knows that. You need to keep up if you're gonna survive Pinky."

[solivagantingrebel]

Listening to a writing tips video while trying to sleep was a horrible idea actually because I kept jolting awake and going "what if i infodumped the worldbuilding?!?!" and staring at the ceiling for a few minutes before checking my wip 💀

[general-kalani]

"Thank fuck I never said it didn't look good t'wear... Maybe on a floor somewhere would be better."

He isn't comprehending what he just said.

[ladyseidr]

@florietiae asked: ❝  i might need your help with this spell.  / sam @ jess! witchy power couple, witchy power couple ! ❞

"Sure thing. Two witches are better than one." A breath slipped past her lips, the hint of a laugh. "Imagine if I'd said that in front of Dean a couple of years ago. Do you remember the look on his face when I told him my grandmother was basically a witch?" A bit like Jessica had grown another head and one might need to come off. Not funny in the moment, but certainly in retrospect.

One last grind of mortar and pestle left the cedar ground fine, and Jess rose from her seat. She carried it over with a smile. "Here. Could always use the protection, right? So," she reached out to take Sam's hand, "everything's in place and cleansed. Do you just need my energy, or is this about to get complicated?"