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#and i mess with his music
swingingthehatchetnow · 3 months
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r/AITA
u/WigglyWigg • 3y
AITA for nuking Moscow?
This past Friday, I (M, ̶̨̡̢̧̨̘̫̫̻͙̣͕̺̟̽̃̀͋́̚̚͜ ̷̡̭̜̩͕̠̦̗̟̟̫̖͇͎̽̌̾̿̌̈́̓̄̏̌̇̚͜͜ ) was at home when the President of the United States (M, >35) deployed a nuclear bomby-wom with the intent to destroy me. I redirected the nuke for my own self preservation, and in the process, pushed it through a dimensional gateway into Moscow, obliterating it in the process. AITA?
⬆️ 1.4k | ⬇️ | 💬384
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TheBastardsBack • 3y
NTA. Your house, your rules, man.
… ↩️ Reply ⬆️ 1.1k ⬇️
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SingAlongPokotho • 3y
NTA. It was self defense. Also didn’t the President enter your home without a warrant? That’s mega sus. Def NTA
… ↩️ Reply ⬆️ 974 ⬇️
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WileySnake • 3y
NTA. See folks, this is what America has come to. What the world has come to. Ain’t it a shame.
… ↩️ Reply ⬆️ 950 ⬇️
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QueenB_itch • 3y
NTA. Good.
… ↩️ Reply ⬆️ 925 ⬇️
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Blink1nceBlink2wice • 3y
NTA. u/SingAlongPokey literally sent a meteor to a small town. Can’t be worse than that lmao
… ↩️ Reply ⬆️ 899 ⬇️
| SingAlongPokotho • 3y
| Didnt you literally try to tear a family apart
| at your personal amusement park?
… ↩️ ⬆️ -2 ⬇️
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Jaegerbomb • 3y
Ha ha ha NTA
… ↩️ Reply ⬆️ 782 ⬇️
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Mouthface • 3y
NTA it was really funny.
… ↩️ Reply ⬆️ 670 ⬇️
| Mouthface • 3y
| Tasty too tbh. Yum yum.
 … ↩️ ⬆️ 130⬇️
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MoreBadder • 3y
r/MURICA
… ↩️ Reply ⬆️ 669 ⬇️
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Idontlikemusicals • 3y
NTA. Fuck Moscow. Fuck ‘em straight to hell
… ↩️ Reply ⬆️ 602 ⬇️
| Shitlips • 3y
| Hey, at least they aren’t Cl*vesdale.
| Assholes
… ↩️ ⬆️ 1.9k ⬇️
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SpotlightOnMe • 3y
Wtf I literally predicted this exact scenario 20 years ago????
… ↩️ Reply ⬆️ 592 ⬇️
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X_Lee • 3y
u/notaPEIP are you seeing this?
… ↩️ Reply ⬆️ 577 ⬇️
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WitchlessWeb • 3y
YTA! That kills people!!
… ↩️ Reply ⬆️ -1.5k ⬇️
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luvit · 2 months
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this isn’t nsfw or anything, but imagine getting ready with the 141 in a singular bathroom. (let’s pretend the public showers don’t exist for a moment..)
imagine gaz taking a shower while soap is literally taking a piss in the toilet right next to it. price is brushing his teeth since he just woke up like 10 minutes ago, while the youngest member of the 141 is fighting with her hair as she tries to get it somewhat neat, and ghost is kneeling on the floor putting on his eyeblack while using the mirror someone stuck on the inside of the cabinet door with a piece of spearmint gum. oh and gaz is using a speaker he found to blast british rap that is echoing throughout the whole bathroom.
absolute chaos, would love to see your take on this
HAHA this is so funny
gaz unironically listens to london drill and is holding his own mini concert in the shower and doing little dance moves while soap sleepily dances along, one hand in the air, and wavin' around his piss everywhere bc he's swaying his hips. price is grumbling and winds up an old hand towel (these men severely NEED to do the laundry; ghost for some odd reason uses the white hand towel to rub off his black makeup) and slaps soap hard on the ass with it and tells him he's on bathroom cleaning duty rest of the week. i severely hc that because of this, ghost no longer does his routine with anyone around and has hidden a mirror in his room and gets ready in there while listening to anything abba. ghost is a floor girlie who spreads all the proper stuff out and applying it while criss-cross in front of the mirror while listening to waterloo and the chaos behind him
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ryllen · 5 months
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" ... as soft as talking to a new born, the voice you dream your children would hear during their bed time stories ... "
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hunsa-jars · 4 months
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HI I need ALL OF YOU to be normal about how Sun is acting in Help Wanted 2 and not jump to conclusions can you all do this for me can you please just think please even Cassie said she had a wonderful time at the Daycare he wouldn't do this to kids he's just being a petty bitch (affectionate) because you're a worker i beg you don't be pissy about it i swear
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flydinom · 6 months
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I just think these particular lyrics suit him.
(From the song 'Blood' - My Chemical Romance)
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hooked-on-elvis · 3 months
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Some of my favorite pictures of EP and two cute ballads. ♥
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vasito-de-leche · 3 months
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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.
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;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - "hands, fingers, scales"
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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.
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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!
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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.
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cometrose · 5 months
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one of my favorite things about zhongli is that he doesn’t shut up like i know we like to compare him to neuvillette and alhaitham but zhongli is like inverse of their signature traits. social awkwardness? quiet and reserved? zhongli does not care he will talk like he understands liyue’s social customs very well he just does what he wants. like yeah he’s calm and reserved but he’s not quiet and he enjoys socializing with humans like it’s one of his favorite things to do. the people of liyue describe as someone who is a little odd but very helpful and knowledgeable so he understands people and he seems pretty good at reading their intentions and behaviors so yeah he’s weird but he’s very popular cause he’s always doing shit
tldr zhongli is a yapper he will talk about anything and everything if you give him a chance he does not care if it’s weird or socially unconventional
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jestroer · 1 month
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I'm not usually a person to post on many serious matters not regarding fandom on here, but as someone who watched a lot of his stuff and posted about him in the past a bunch, I just wanted to say that I'm no longer am going to interacting with any of Wilbur's content and if you support Wilbur Soot then please don't follow my blog because you are not welcome here. All strength and love to Shubble in this ✊
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ohnoitspheo · 5 months
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✨Bless this Mess! ✨
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What flavor of Jon Mess are you today?
Edit: It was brought to my attention he was wearing a skirt in the Strawberry's Wake music video- so I fixed it!
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r0semultiverse · 7 months
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Is Ablrecht Entrati hopping through space-time to ensure he becomes The Man In The Wall?
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Making sure canon events happen ever since (or even before) 1999?
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swingingthehatchetnow · 4 months
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It’s 4:30 in the morning which means I’m thinking sad thoughts
Whatever you do, don’t imagine Pete lighting a menorah on Richie’s behalf, because it was something he, Richie, and Ruth used to do together.
Don’t imagine Richie as a ghost or in the afterlife watching Pete light a menorah alone. Not being able to do it with him each night.
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georgiedoesntfloat · 2 months
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Lev in 💀
I am sorry this took 10,000 years to finish Yon XD
But here's Lev glamored in Goth/metal head/ punk clothes. ( he would actually wear things like this while glamored so its fun to show that off since i haven't yet lol.)
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lansplaining · 2 years
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AU where Xichen is feeling a little more polite and doesn’t point out Wei Wuxian’s ‘error’ while playing Song of Clarity, and obviously neither does Wangji, and the whole mystery unravels and never gets solved because of Lan musical snobbery 
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note-boom · 4 months
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Something something a child and her immortal, all powerful eldritch being who only cares about her and listens to no one else
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sprinkledhole · 6 months
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It’s strange, but after watching episode 8, I think all three couples are going to end up together and happy at the end.
Before the series started I thought SandRay would be the only ones who ended up together (in a solid definite way) while BostonNick and TopMew would have more open ends. Now though, I think the series is focused on how young people are messy and make mistakes, but end up giving each other forgiveness as they grow.
The ending might be more fanciful and inline with the GMMTV cp status quo (as I’m not sure if they’re ready to separate two major cps yet) but I also think it’s okay to have a hopeful ending? That its okay to show that people are messes but also that they deserve happiness. That life is complicated and people are fucked up but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve a second chance. Or a third one.
There’s room for endings like that too.
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