#i hate that title so much

[golyadkin]

it's because i wouldn't let you kill the bounty hunter isn't it

[roberrtphilip]

If happiness was a tangible thing, it would be you.

[dollya-robinprotector]

Dress me up, make it tight, I'm your dolly You're my doll, rock'n'roll, feel the glamour in pink Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky panky~

Inspired from This post of @just-dol-headshots and this ask from @hakusins. Don't worry I'm still aiming for your ass Haku-Dean :) References and something under the cut

We all have to agree Bully Robin should have some softer and caring sides. When there's only them two and no one else is around to judge, he can let loose and slip back into that kinda of "Original Robin" we know and I love. I mean, that's what JDOLH made that got me into these swap messes from the beginning jsjkhskjhd you knowww the HUG!!

Reference: Barbie Girl (Aqua) and this cute ecchi Clamp Chobit piece

All in all I'm a pink bietch and Dollya won't be losing her V-card anytime soon that I can promise so hang in there okay mr.Bully.

edit: OMG THIS IS MY 1000TH POST TTOTT)) JKSDJLASKJKDLA

SELF-INDULGENT HERE WE GO

[saint-oleander]

The English title of “Questo mondo non mi renderà cattivo” misunderstands fundamentally the core theme of the series.

There, I said it.

Now a step back.

Italian comic book author Zerocalcare’s second series after “Strappare lungo i bordi” ( “Tear along the dotted line” ) is now streaming on netflix and, while I can’t swear by the translation for I haven’t seen it in English, you should go watch it.

Both of the series are funny and heartbreaking in equal measure, and exist as tales from Zerocalcare’s life as a jumping point to explore more existential topics.

Now, if you haven’t seen them yet, go and do so for spoilers await you under the cut.

The English title netlix chose for the series is “This world can’t tear me down”.

I get that they wanted to draw a connection to the first series (Tear along the dotted line), but the choice is so fundamentally at odds with the message of the series that I’m going to scream into the void about it.

See, a way more actual translation of the title could be “This world won’t make me cruel”.

You’re going to ask yourself how nitpicky can I possibly be. They are close enough, aren’t they? WRONG. And the problem is optimism.

If you’ve seen the series you’ll know that the setting is this: an old friend of Zero comes back after twenty years in rehab. Zero is forced to try and re-acquaint Cesare to the world despite his (perceived) inadequacy. Meanwhile, a neonazi movement is pushing to get a recently opened refugee center closed, and Zero is shocked when he discovers that Cesare has fallen with that crowd.

Sure of the fact that they preyed on his alienation after his many years in rehab, Zero confronts Cesare, who tells him that since he has it all (especially a job) Zero has no right to tell him how he should behave in his desperate situation.

And Zero does believe him, and becomes doubtful of his right to point out what someone in a worse situation should do.

If the point were about resisting in the face of an evil world then the title would fit. But it’s not.

The point, the actual point, is that in the face of evil we don’t have to become evil too. That no one has a monopoly on what’s right and wrong. That the line we must draw is that even in the face of hardship is that we don’t get to kick down who has it worse than us, just to stand a little bit taller than someone.

That’s why “this world won’t make [us] cruel”. It’s not because we are in a righteous fight, withstanding the elements. It’s because we must have a last shred of dignity and courage, to help who has it worse. It won’t be an easy fight, and perhaps not even a successful one.

To believe that the world won’t tear us down is irrealistic, and far to optimistic.

"The world won’t tear me down” is the story of someone’s lonely and rightful stand.

“The world won’t make me cruel”, instead, reminds us that we don’t live in a vacuum, that we are not alone. And that we can’t be right and be cruel to those who are more vulnerable than us.

Even when everything is out to hurt us, we still have to resist the temptation to be cruel.

Mi hanno spezzato le ossa, hanno brindato, e sono vivo.

Questo mondo non mi renderà cattivo

“Questo mondo non mi renderà cattivo” - Path

[akimojo]

i just saw someone call ffxiii overrated like? what?? it's literally one of the most hated games in the franchise wym "overrated" 😭

[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.

[dollypopup]

sorry, just had to get this off my chest but like

colin, a young and attractive guy, supposedly having a threesome and watching a sex show performed by professionals whom he pays for their service when he is single and exploring what he does and doesn't like is bad for penelope, somehow

but debling a 30+ year old man feeling all up on her waist in public when she is a teenager and he has power and privilege over her and has known her for a grand total of like a week and a half is good, somehow

like this fandom has legit called Colin, a 22 year old man with like. . .2 UNCONFIRMED sexual interactions in the past a groomer for getting with Penelope and maybe introducing her to his interests (after spending YEARS listening to her and cherishing her and thinking she's fantastic) but will root on the actual 30+ year old man with an enormous power imbalance over her via his money and title to have his way with her in a backroom somewhere after knowing her for like a month

make it make sense please

[lynnbutlertron]

^^ might be getting a job at a cute little ice cream shop on the beach in my town GRAGGHHH. i have a trial shift tomorrow i hope i dont cock it up

[apollokyler]

🌞ЛУЧЕЗАРНОЕ СОЛНЦЕ🌞 в твоей власти согреть меня, спалить дотла, либо, отвернувшись, превратить в лёд.

aquarius sun imagery and would you also see? crossing the sky in might and glory, the Sun lits up the earth, and It sees everything, and It guides, and It judges; it's bright when It faces you, and it's warm when It stretches Its arms towards you, and it burns when It strikes you, and it's cold when It turns away, and it's dark when It disappears, but It is there even when It's out of sight, and even then It proves Its presence with the solar wind embracing the night

posting it when it's dark already and i miss the sun… i love the sun and i also love aquarius camus and it just so happens- anyway my statement is that i think camus is supposed to be sun symbolism. both his red and teal hair colors are just like aurora borealis, referenced in his attack, which is the sun wind itself. then aurora is the roman goddess of the dawn, her greek counterpart being eos, for which you can sometimes see an iconography of her holding vases pouring out the morning dew… it's rare and i need to research it more… aside from that the solar wind spreads over the sky like wine the aquarius pours… and is so beautifully like proof that the sun is around… don't you also think it's a powermove hyoga learns it because *starts crying* this is only one aspect of it though... i will think about it more… stay tuned

[ganondoodle]

im kinda glad i was a tiny child when windwaker came out and i only played it years later without having internet access for the longest time bc i would have NOT survived the hatred i know ww got when it first came out bc it wasnt what most people expected (ww is my fav zelda)

loving botw but not liking totk and seeing the vast majority praise the latter like its the holy grail while alot also discrediting and needlessly hating on botw for it is already making it hard to stay calm about :U

[skunkes]

original colors

[gods-favorite-autistic]

Hey yall im back with Fig and the Cig Figs professionally produced Freshman year album (formally known as Detention) track list:

Detention

Bad Kid

Dragonslayer

Sk8er Gurl (yes it is basically just a fantasy version of Sk8er Boy by Avril Lavigne)

Burn Towns Get Money

Pit Fiend

Corn Cuties

Disguise Self

Closed Book

Infodump

Seven Maidens

Every Album Needs A Bonus Track (yes that is the name of the song)

Here’s the Junior Year Track List in case you wanna see it!

[sleepy-bear-tm]

The lone swordsman of Fraldarius

[fredtheengels]

i’m not here to do discourse but king wilhelm truthers are the funniest people how do you misread a show that badly

[snowangeldotmp3]

in 2024 im challenging myself to get more familar with writing screenplays/more screenplay ideas. so. here's that. all dialogue is taken from the black widow comics (i can't remember the exact issue) and briefly i thought about switching it to yelena instead of natasha.

[foxsartdump]

the moment i type tottmnt instead or rottmnt is gonna be my downfall (gay and too lazy to correct)

(mini-rant in tags if youre curious </3)