#I love a walking contradiction

[trashogram]

I do actually really like that gross, sleazy OG Beetlejuice is a romantic.

[ineffablesheets]

This man is so painstakingly human it hurts. What an actual walking contradiction. He's cruel and cynical yet actually cares so much it destroys him. That piano of his is the closest thing to self care EVEN THOUGH ITS ANOTHER FORM OF SELF PUNISHMENT- its a reminder of what life couldve been without the pain the addiction the self destruction, the music is touching but its so haunting- like its mocking him for everything he will never have. Its like the piano is his subconcious saying "look at what you couldve been". House is brilliant at the piano but the irony of it is that it brings him no peace its just another reminder to himself that hes locked into the life he's made and now I want to cry.

[grimalkinmessor]

Was thinking about Light Yagami—again, help—and thought "If Light Yagami wants something, then he's going to get it" but then I realized. No. No, that's not right. Because Light is also the type of guy to convince himself that he doesn't want things. So like,,,only in surges of destructive behavior does he insist on getting what he wants.

Someone spills wine on Light's shirt? Laugh it off but start up a thirty-two step plan to ruin their life.

Light wants some ice cream? No he doesn't. What are you talking about? He's never wanted any sort of dessert in his life because that would be childish and also selfish of him.

An uncle called him a 'sissy boy' for playing the piano? Uncover the drugs in his car and, if there aren't any, plant some. Make sure they're discovered at the largest family gathering possible in front of plenty of witnesses. He will spend seven years in jail.

Light likes a certain band and wants to listen to their music, go to a concert even? Nope. Never heard of them. Who? He doesn't need CDs and his father just bought him a computer for school so really a music player would be excess. Plus he's not one of those heathens that likes to study to music, obviously.

And thinking about that, I think L breaks him out of that mindset by teasing out Light's pettiness. L turns everything into a challenge, a game to win, so Light's more "foolish" wants are no longer childish—they're a victory. L turns Light's simplest desires into petty revenge, and so he'll chase them.

Light would never ask or even search for an expensive gourmet breakfast food on his own, but handcuff him to L and have him watch his every meal, then Light's damn well going to make sure he enjoys it. Light wants silk pajamas because the sheets are uncomfortable, Ryuzaki, really—it has nothing to do with the fact that you turned the thermostat down when Light said he was cold. Suddenly Light enjoys ice cream again but only when it comes from L's bowl when he's not looking.

[sticks-and-souls]

I really hope Din gets to Sundari and finds the evidence that Bo Katan was a fucking founding member of the resurgence of Death Watch and played a direct role in handing Mandalore over to Darth Maul, and I hope they call the episode The Mandalorian and the Audacity of This Bitch.

[luxurysystems]

I'll sell my soul for Irwin wearing pearls draped over his muscles and neck

He wasn't entirely sure why he always played along with the rich man's games and catered to his every impulse.

This isn't me, right? He wondered as he puckered his lips and applied the mascara on his lashes.

Surely, this isn't me! He begged as he choked, lipstick smeared, a black stream running down his face...

Maybe. Maybe not. Who is he to decide?

I accept apple pay and souls /j

[vasito-de-leche]

okay I read your analysis on Forget Me Not and I'm in tears now thank you. (No but really thank you, it's such a touching piece.) Can you PLEASE for salvation of our fans souls write anything to like,,, give him hope? Forget Me Not x reader but it doesn't have to be actually all-out with hugs and kisses. We may,,,,,,,, just show him a new hobby? Any hobby of your choosing or idk play an instrument together. Just to give him something else to focus on, to channel at least part of his energy from self-destructive activities to something less hurtful. I'd personally like to bandage his (not actually wounded but still) hands as if they were bleeding. Something of the kind. Sorry for mistakes writing is incredibly inconvenient cuz tears aaa.

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - "hands, fingers, scales"

Forget Me Not x Reader. 2.3k words. self-harm implied You've befriended Forget Me Not the same one befriends a rabid, beaten, old dog. And while he's much too busy fighting his inner demons, you're more worried about stopping these "pernicious habits" of his. A casual afternoon trying to make sure he's taking care of himself turns into something deeper.

thank you so much for the ask, nonnie!!

I got a little carried away with this request because thinking about how fucking insufferable and confusing FMN has to be just to indulge in HAND HOLDING and GETTING A FUCKING HOBBY made me so deranged and feral as if hes not fucking TOUCHSTARVED lmfao. this guy's love language is straight up worshipping, mf is not subtle about it

either way, hope you like it! here's the lil preview!

Sometimes, Forget Me Not understands the reason men and women kneel at the pew to worship and pray.

Devotion is something arcanists and humans share, whether honest or not. He's witnessed the rich and the poor, the pure and the depraved, and every binary that rules this world - all of them begging, pleading and praying at the end of their lives, casting away the pride they've held on for so long for the chance of salvation. Once stripped down to their core, there is nothing to do but hope God has enough love in His heart to look their way. 

And sometimes, Forget Me Not prays that you’ll find someone else - anyone but him - to fill the role of devotee.

The gentleness in your eyes whenever you look at him is enough to bring him to his knees, and Forget Me Not doesn't know what to do with himself but to worship and pray. Praying that you'll continue to look at him for a little longer, silently begging for your attention until you finally tire of him. Do you think yourself holy enough to replace the vitriol in his veins?

He does.

On good days, he even hopes that you can save him.

You never asked him to become your one and only believer, of course. You're not even aware of the space you take in his mind, nor the conflicting images he keeps conjuring of you at night, he's certain of this. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, holding his hands and inspecting them for any injuries. This role is one of the many self-imposed tragedies in his life.

Your thumbs knead and massage his palm, as if you could soothe the pain away, and yet you refrain from pressing down hard. He's at your mercy, why hesitate? What do you see that he cannot?

Something is bothering you. It's obvious in the way you touch him, like you're afraid of hurting him, as if you were the one with a body count between the two. Every so often, your movements come to a halt and you both sit in silence, until you return to your ministrations, filling the nothingness with your sighing and humming.

All he needs is to look up, right at your face, to know everything he wants to know - but he's too much of a coward for that. Instead, light grey eyes follow your index finger as it slides under the cuffs of his shirt. You trace over the bone of his wrist and continue upwards.

He can't tear his eyes away.

Normally, Forget Me Not wouldn't mind. There is an addictive thrill to witnessing the shock of anyone who dares get so close and personal, but he feels himself shrink when you brush against his scales and recoil away on instinct. That's when he raises his head and finds your eyes in the dimly lit staff room.

That expression on your face - surely, you were regretting every choice that led you to him. By now, you might've surely realized that there is nothing for you to salvage in this shipwreck he calls a life. All attempts to check on him were surely a façade for whatever ulterior motives you continued to withhold from him. He's stubborn, believing that he can read you like an open book, but now he's just as lost as you are. When he opens his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and he grows a little restless at your words.

"Sorry, sorry! Did I, uh, hurt you? Dumb question, you would've definitely told me if that were the case. Anyway, it looks like you're okay! I don't know why I was so worried, actually."

His silence prompts you to continue, and all Forget Me Not can focus on is the absence of your warmth.

You raise a hand to gesture dismissively at your behaviour, brush it off to ease your embarrassment, that much he understands - though it's painful to watch you fumble like that, to deny what he hides under his clothes. Forget Me Not thinks of filling the space between your fingers with his own, just to drag you back to that quiet, albeit suffocating, moment of peace. Instead of doing that, he retreats and places both hands neatly on his lap.

"Thanks for indulging me and, yeah uh, again - sorry about that? It just caught me off guard. I should've been more careful."

But you were never careful with his space or his rules, plunging in and out of his life and leaving him to figure out where he stood in his game of push and pull. Why were you being careful now?

"It's nothing, I understand," he lies. Everything you do means the world to him and he doesn't even understand why. "It cannot hurt to know what sort of things the person pouring your drinks might be hiding under their sleeves."

The word "hypocrite" lingers at the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out with as much venom as he can muster, but it stays lodged behind his teeth because he knows he's even worse: Forget Me Not prays that you'll stay with him, while also opening the door right out his life for you. As much as he wants to, he has no right of calling you out.

He's not used to receiving apologies and so he chooses not to think too hard on yours - though he's dreamed countless of times for the perfect situation in which he finally rips out one apology after another from the throats of those who wronged him, this one feels different. Undeserved, even.

His heart, that wretched lump in his chest, finally settles down and he prepares to end this interaction to save you the awkwardness of addressing his "deformities". But then you go and surprise him once more.

"Come on, I already told you..." You sigh and he inhales in tandem, but you're much too busy rolling your eyes to notice. "That whole thing you do, when you start scratching or, like, picking at your hand? You've been doing it more lately. It had me worried you might've been doing, I don't know - something."

Forget Me Not's eyes widen in surprise. The audacity to notice such things about him? And to put them on display without a warning? What else did you find out?

Part of him wants him to embrace his nature and scare you away, but that's the side of him that's been slowly losing this battle of attrition in his heart - you're a bad influence for him, after all. The other part... Well, it's still trying to sort itself out.

He settles for slowly undoing the buttons on his sleeve. It only takes a moment to roll up the fine fabric to his elbow, knowing you're staring right at him, through him maybe. The expression on his face is one of indifference, one he fights to maintain - this is the most vulnerable he's felt in decades.

That unsightly pattern begins exactly where his sleeves usually end, coiling around his forearm not unlike a snake and traveling upwards. The scales are dark, an iridescent black that reminds him of an oil spill in the middle of the ocean, and the ones at the edges fade away into lighter hues until they mix with the pale, sickly tone of his skin. He knows the sort of beauty he holds, one that can only be admired at a distance, turning into a grotesque imitation of a man when up close.

Forget Me Not presents himself to you and, with his free hand, gets ready to pluck one of the scales off.

"Wait, don't do that-!"

Seizing his arm and holding it close to your chest, you deprive him of the catharsis that comes with this level of self-mutilation. He knows you're connecting the dots, feeling the scattered, empty spaces from all the times you saw him pick himself apart and more. Your fingers brush against his bare skin looking for said spaces, counting them in your head, mourning their loss.

Some scales are in the process of regrowing like unwanted parasites, and he wishes he could feel anything at all just to be closer to you.

"God, what is wrong with you?! What was the point of that?"

Something compels him to laugh (perhaps it's your heartbeat reaching out to him loud and clear through your clothes, he feels it faintly) it comes across as sinister and condescending, the only way he knows how to express joy. Like he's making fun of your concern.

"Apologies," Forget Me Not begins to say, readjusting his glasses. The way you try to keep his own arm out of his reach doesn't go unnoticed. It's such a petty, childish gesture that makes his grin widen and your frown deepen. "I was under the impression you found this little oddity distasteful. There's no need to worry - they will return in a few days, they always do."

"Still, don't do that. It's not funny. It must...hurt a lot."

"Ah, but it doesn't. If else, I'd compare it to being pricked by a very small needle."

"You're just going to find something to nitpick and contradict everything I say, aren't you?" It's the least he can do to repay all the headaches you've given him, and for forgiving his transgressions too easily.

An intrusive thought makes itself known from the depths of his mind - would you forgive him just as readily if he were to kill someone in front of you? If he showed you just how destructive his arcane skills could be when given free reign? Where would you draw the line? And how much could he continue to push his luck before he lost you?

Before Forget Me Not realizes it, you've loosened your grip on his arm and returned to that previous moment of suffocating peace - the only difference is that you've gone from being deep in thought to troubled and miserable, one hair away from darting out the room and refusing to speak to him. At this, his pinky finger wraps around yours and neither of you mention it.

"Can't you... I don't know, do something else?"

"I could be doing my job, but alas, you're keeping me prisoner here." He says, like he's not delighted to be given your undivided attention. There are no complaints when you step on his foot with a huff, he deserved that one.

"I'm talking about the scales thing! You could wear gloves. If it happens when you get distracted then, I could hang around to make sure you stop in time." A pause, and then the sound of your voice becomes unsure and so very small. "Maybe if we covered them with bandages...? But that could be annoying. Band aids? No, no - too unprofessional. It would ruin the whole aesthetic you're going for."

You continue to trail off, coming up with many different ideas and solutions to a problem he caused. He doesn't understand why you'd even bother in the first place. For you to reciprocate the attention he gives you, to care about him? That's the hardest pill Forget Me Not has ever swallowed - it's something he twirls around with his tongue, as if deciding whether to poison himself with bliss or spit it out and continue latching on to his doubts and insecurities.

Outside, in front of everyone at The Walden, he's the one leading the crowd and talking for hours on end, commanding their attention and manipulating the flow of every conversation.

Behind closed doors, all he does is listen to every nonsensical thought, unnecessary opinion and strange anecdote you throw at him.

"...No, that won't work either." Absentmindedly, you fix and button his sleeve back into place.

You've grown used to his silence the same way you've adapted and grown used to his flaws.

"I mean, it worked on me - getting a little slap on the wrist whenever I started biting my nails, but..." Without even thinking, you rub circles with your thumb across his knuckles.

You might as well be the stupidest angel in heaven.

"Why don't you just get a hobby? That's good enough, right? It's been so long since I've heard you play piano, the one by the stage." And just like that, you're on your feet attempting to drag him outside for a demonstration. "You could teach me! That way, we get to do something fun and I get to keep an eye on you."

Forget Me Not knows he has nothing to offer to this world, but when his saint looks at him with such hope, he cannot refuse. The path to recovery seems almost doable when you bump your shoulder into his, challenging him to play the hardest song he knows.

The stars in your eyes whenever you recognize all the songs he plays becomes intoxicating, more so than the sweet, sweet revenge he's yearned for since he spiraled into decadence.

Some days, his patrons join with their own singing or humming, and he forgets that he hates each and every one of them for as long as his fingers dance across the keys - a momentary reprieve from the constant stream of negativity. It doesn't take long for his body to remember his training and soon, he's improvising.

A melody for gloomy, rainy days. A whimsical tune here and there for celebrations.

A song for you and himself - the first one he teaches you and the only one he plays in private, when he's all alone with nothing but his thoughts. Solitude has gone from a noose wrapped around his neck to the perfect time to compose and hone this long forgotten passion. For the first time in forever, he doesn't dread the silence of an empty room, the endless wait between his shifts at The Walden - not when he can simply fill them with more and more music.

And so, Forget Me Not plays, hoping that you'll continue to cheer him on. Hoping that this tiny spark you've ignited in him can truly become his salvation.

[leguin]

the big 'armand never tried to save louis' reveal did surprise me, but does explain san francisco so much more...like of course a guy whose entire relationship (and focus of his life) is based on a lie of him being a much more selfless and less cowardly person than he is is going to mindwipe fights from his partner's mind! armand's two options were to become a better person or hope louis never ever found out the truth (with the aid of his powers and a tragic amount of overconfidence), and he went with the latter. bad choice for him, but very consistent.

[stellerssong]

like fuck ME, man, the thing about Lucienne is that she can be kind of prickly and straitlaced and opaque and dryly sarcastic and chilly AND she can be capable of acts of incredible faith, generosity, good humor, care, and forgiveness, and neither of those things have to be mutually exclusive! it's called the fundamental dichotomy at the heart of human nature and we all have it in us! god DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!

[miss0atae]

I need to wait until tomorrow to watch Meet You at the Blossom and Century of Love because I'm not sure I can endure any pain today. 🥲 I prefer to have two episodes one after another. It may be stupid, but it gives me hope that the second one will have more happiness to the characters and me.

[todayisafridaynight]

Why not combine them? You could post about MineDai eating pasta! Does Mine bulk with pasta? Does Daigo have a favorite pasta dish? Do they cook it together for a date night? Does Daigo even know how to boil water?? (Genuinely if you have any interest in posting about this please do, would read)

mine could, in fact, be the one who makes daigo pasta with a lil olive oil and salt and parmesan youre right ......

[transnympho]

I apologize in advanced because I'm some flavor of asexual but if I see your nudes I'm more liable to want to squeeze you especially if you're soft as fuck rather than get off to you, it's nothing personal I PROMISE.

[roseofcards90]

Kotoko tell us who exactly is the “real you” BECAUSE YOU SURE AS HELL NEED IT RIGHT NOW 😭😭

[gravesung]

Do you think that any part of you is redeemable? (Geto)

THE ANSWER, were he in front of anyone who mattered, would be a resounding yes. the violence he inflicts upon the world is not without reason. it is unfortunate, what needs to be done for the cause — unfortunate for the sorcerers he is forced to harm, not for the animals that make up the rest of the population, blights upon the world that they are — but great change never occurs without sacrifice. he is a savior. to sorcerers, he lifts their souls from the muck and draws out their potential; he nurtures them, guides them, gives them a purpose.

it is redemption of a sort. the halo on a stained glass window, the way you fade into legend and become something bigger than you are.

but suguru geto? the mind and heart and soul and body? has he ever been redeemable?

his answer, after a moment of somber deliberation: ❝ i'm not sure anymore. it isn't lost on me that what i do, i do out of hatred. does it matter that the hatred is justified? does it matter what i destroy for a good cause? i don't know the answer to that. ❞

for most of his life, suguru has been numb. the filth and sickness that rots this planet was too big to fit inside of his body, and he ate it anyway. the first time he swallowed a curse, he nearly choked on it. the worst possible taste, the worst possible feeling. it was like a drug in his bloodstream. he felt the rage and pain of bullied children like it was his own — he felt the violence it created, this violence made manifest, inside of him, part of him, too real and too overwhelming to fully comprehend. he knelt, his little knees biting into waterlogged asphalt, and he threw up and cried and cried and cried. it was the first time he remembered feeling something so strongly. it was also the point where he stopped feeling everything else.

apathy. like the silence in an empty room. then, the slow bleed of self-disgust. how much rot had he taken in? how much does it take for you to become what you eat? he hates himself hates himself hates himself — some nights the disgust eats him alive; some nights he fantasizes about satoru finding him and ending him once and for all.

in recent years, suguru has begun to find himself again. satoru and his daughters gave him love; riko gave him grief, toji zen'in gave him rage. from then on, he was much more dangerous to the rest of the world, because now he had something to protect, and he wasn't going to fail again.

❝ well, there's no use worrying over something like that, anyway. it would only be a waste of energy. ❞

[downsteepy]

GOOD VIBES ANON HAS APPEARED ONCE AGAIN

GOOD VIBESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS COME GET YALL'S GOOD VIBESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS GOOD BIVES FOR UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU HELL YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE 🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠

I been noticing the selfship art u been doing with the chainsaw hand dude (i forgot his name im sorry 😭)

I remember a vague memory of him in the tv, he was covered in blood and fighting demons in a wood house or sum like that idk its been a FAT minute lol think it was like a parody isslkxkammslk

anyway if u dont mind sharing, do u got any selfship headcanons with him? or maybe give a good ramble about why he so cool

also pls remember to hydrate

that probably was him he's never allowed to leave that damn cabin

i don't really have any Headcanons per se its just this pic

i could also dedicate several paragraphs to each individual ash but i've always liked that despite everything he's still a loser and still gets scared sometimes. he's a hero from a prophecy and he's pissed about it and you know what. i would be too. AND he still works retail bro cannot catch a break

this is also strictly specific to the first movie but despite being a male protagonist, ash is rather .... reserved ?? he's very nervous and pathetic which is insanely funny when he's batshit crazy in the sequel and i guess more typically "masculine" from then on. still a massive loser however

it's like he's still cool while also still being a massive loser. his ass gets tossed around constantly and he's still stupid as all hell. his actor even said that he doesn't think of ash as a true "hero" type because unfortunately he is braindead. i love him so bad

like this is so fucking stupid. i hate him

[calamitys-child]

Flint is Highwayman by the Highwaymen and Madi is Highwomen by the Highwomen but unfortunately Silver is The Pilgrim by Kris Kristofferson

[gothicprep]

love how my wife is an endless well of knowledge in a lot of contexts, but sometimes says shit like, “chicago… that’s in ohio, right?”