#horrible. sorry op

[sanjiaftersex]

thinking about how Ace was just a wounded soul with the weight of his father's sins and his mother's death upon his shoulders and this very burden had made him question his own worth from his childhood till the last moments of his life

[tw1nkee28]

Chat

Cold War has me back in its clutches

[moongothic]

So the Seraphim only take orders from certain people they've been programmed to follow (namely the Vegapunks and the Gorosei), but also they do take orders from individuals who possess an authority chip. Between that and the knowledge that the Seraphim are cyborgs, it makes me wonder...

Like, do they have somekinda control chip installed somewhere in their bodies (brain, spine?) that acts as the thing that forces them to follow orders and not act (too much) on their own will? 'Cause would the existence of an authority chip, a thing that essentially "sends out orders", not also imply the existence of something that recieves the order (like other than their brain) and forcibly puts it into motion? Something similar to whatever visual scanner+database combo Vegapunk installed into Kuma that allowed him to instantly recognize certain people and whether or not they were enemies or allies to him (at least as far as the WG thinks)

'Cause if so, like. I wonder. Could you remove that chip and basically free the Seraphim from being just borderline-mindless flesh robots?

In that scenario... what would they become?

Because, like, we don't know how much Free Will the Seraphim even have, how developed their minds are? Are/would they be fully functional human beings (if immature because they're still kids) who have just had half their mind essentially turned off so they don't think about anything else except following orders? If you freed them from the WG's control would they be able to live and function freely just like Stussy's clone can? But when being under that kind of control is all they've ever known, would they know how to function? Like what do you do, where do you go, who do you become? Who are you to begin with, does that even matter? What about your relation to the person you were cloned from, what does that mean? Are you doomed (🐊🦩🦇) or expected (🦈🐻🐍🦅) to become just like the person you were cloned from? Do you even want that? What will having that kind of freedom to do and become whatever you want even mean to someone who has never known what it means to even want something for themselves?

(But also, depending on who you were cloned from, would people even trust you enough to allow you go free and live your own life, or would you be deemed a threat by simply existing because you are the clone of a horrible, heinous person?) (Of course, we know existing is not a crime, and no one is born into this world a criminal. But we also know the World of One Piece does not always think this kindly)

[tinkaqueer]

Tw Rape Mention

Rape trauma does funny things to your psyche sometimes because I'm pretty sure my rape trauma is at least partially responsible for my obsessive incest kink but at the same time I don't think I'll ever be okay with receiving anal due to the exact same rape trauma.

[the-rat-is-back]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SANJI!

For the life of me, I couldn't change the background colour.

For now, you get a blinding one.

[pens-and-paperbacks]

Endeavor is almost a perfect allegory for what the society in the mha universe does to people who can't be heroes or use their quirks in a way to benefit society, which is cast them aside or pass them over without over giving them a second glance until uh-oh! Suddenly they're worth being noticed because they're a threat.

He apologizes to his family, which is good! If you're a bad person and did terrible things, the first step in your own transformation and atonement should be to acknowledge what you've done and to apologize to those you've wronged. Great!

Thing is, Endeavor set off a chain reaction with his abusive, neglectful and downright irresponsible choices that it damaged everyone in his family for life.

I don't think someone who causes one of their own children to literally go up in flames, crying because they're finally getting attention from their father and family in the very end, ever deserves to be forgiven.

[moltengoldveins]

That TCU post…that is truly one of, if not the greatest thing I’ve ever seen come out of this fandom. I tried my own hand a while back at writing “the dsmp but taken seriously”; gave it a name and a playlist but didn’t really write much before I went back to my other projects. If you ever have the motivation to do more with that outline I’d be honored to be a co-writer or help out in any way, or if you want you could just use my title as a name for the series: A Ballad of Broken Dreams.

holy crap op this is so sweet. Thank you so much. I’m… wow ok. That. Wow. Thank you. That’s legitimately so kind and I’m so glad you enjoyed it XD. Id also Love to see your playlist and your thoughts behind the songs if you’re down?! That sounds awesome :D

funnily enough, I’ve had a drafted outline for this heccin thing running around in my head since the Butcher Army arc. Right around when SAD-ist dropped her animatic, I simultaneously realized ‘oh wow, I Adore this concept’ and ‘oh wow, I Highly doubt the CCs are gonna manage to do this the way I’d want to see it’ and lo and behold: I was correct. So painfully correct. (There were also People Involved whom I had Really Bad Feelings About from very early on that, sure enough, turned out to be exactly what i thought they were, rip) So the Emduo prequels, Icarus heccin Dying, and the end of Axe of Peace have been around for Ages.

I’d honestly love to do more with this concept, (i am designing movie posters as we speak) but due to Chronic Illness Pog I’m in a rather unstable financial situation? And don’t have a ton of free time for art. Any big projects are gonna take a While, or id need to find a way to use it or something adjacent to fund, y’know, Rent. That being said, I’m definitely writing the emduo prequels, both as movie scripts and as novels, as those are the films focused on, yknow, My Bois. I also think it’d be hilarious to release the novels and then the scripts and watch people Loose Their Minds over the ‘inaccurate adaptation >>:(‘

I’d absolutely love to work with other people in the fandom on this stuff, though I’ve never been the best at directly co-writing (my writing method and style is painfully specific (ie needlessly poetic) and I’m very autistic: I don’t like it when people touch that Specific Thing) but literally anything else? Im open ears. I love collabs.

and finally, I adore your name for the series, (excellent word choice there /srs, it fits perfectly with the symbolism of the whole story) and I think it works really Really well for the actual DSMP, but if I’m entirely honest… I’m not sure it fits the TCU? Like genuinely I’m so grateful for the suggestion, I love when people offer ideas and bounce things around like that. But one of the main things I tried to do with this concept was work out how the story could actually end Well. A deep-seated belief in the good-but-fallen nature of man, the importance of hope, and the inevitability of redemption kinda comes part and parcel with the whole Being-A-Christian Thing (if it doesn’t, you’re missing the Whole Point Of The Bible) and while the actual DSMP may have ended in broken dreams… this doesn’t. That was my first thought when writing that outline: This Is Going To End Well. Not for wish-fulfillment reasons, not because I’m naive or I don’t like bad endings, but because fundamentally, everything sad is a lie, and if the story has ended in tragedy, it hasn’t ended yet.

If I had to pick a series name now, I’m not sure what I’d pick. A part of me balks at referencing anything popularized by Our Local Redacted, but ‘unfinished symphony’ wasn’t his in the first place, it was from Hamilton. “The Finished Symphony” has a cool ring to it? I dunno. If anyone else has ideas please feel free to toss them in here aight, I’m not settling on anything for a While.

Anyways, thanks for Ted talking with me, drink water 💜

[orbitfalls]

me when i see a stupid stupid post with a headache-inducingly terrible take so bad i have to take a deep breath and stop my fingers from picking a fight

[rotomblr-offmychest]

meow

D:

[asitrita]

There Were the Sad Boy 

And there was the sad boy. 

He didn’t recognized him at first. How could he? He looked nothing like the man he knew. 

Or maybe he did. Maybe he just didn’t know the man all that well. Maybe he never really cared to get to know him. Certainly not after what happened. 

He is a monster. Always has been. 

That was all he needed to know. 

That and that behind his glasses the man was always angry. 

But he wouldn’t say that the boy was angry, he was just sad. Well, sad, and maybe hungry, starving, and, sure, even a little bit angry too. 

But mostly sad.  

At first the boy seemed surprised, he looked at the place he was standing on as if expecting to find something - or maybe someone - else. 

He couldn't blame him, it wasn't as if he knew how he had ended up there either. One moment he was in his quarters and the next he was standing next to a wall – or rather, a colapsed wall - in what seemed to be the dirty slums of a godforsaken town. 

The boy's surprise soon turned to anger, he frowned, his thin blond eyebrows - almost invissible behind the dark glasses - arching and almost meting each other. The boy shot him a venenous glance, staring at him with murderous intentions. 

Too much rage for a child his age, he thought. 

He looked back at the boy in disbelief, resentment and animosity oozing from every pore of his skin, now that he knew who the boy was. 

The boy didn't back down. He stared at him, a too-bright a gleam in his hidden eyes, standing still, back straight and stiff, gritted teeth, clenched hands to his sides, bird-like arms tensed, as if he was about to throw a punch at him. His dirty and ragged cloths gave off an all-too-familiar odour.  

They smelled of rotten.  

They smelled of death.  

But he didn't care. 

He looked at the boy with desdain, in utter disgust. 

All he could think of while looking at the sorry almost pitiful creature before him was of the angel. His angel. Of how he fell. Of how he became lost to lead and ice that sorrowful night. 

And he thought about how he could avoid it. Avoid it all. 

All his pain. All his suffering. All his loss. 

Right here. Right now.  

But something kept him frozen in place, unable to act upon his determination. 

It was the feeble shadow of his hand, carefully ruffling his hair while he didn't even look up from the pages in front of him, too entertained and lost in the readings he regularly provided him with. He remembered the sleepy sensation after having his tummy full with food, something he once could have only dreamed of. He remembered how his chest swelled with pride everytime he praised him and the warm feeling that floaded him when he sat by his side, not afraid of his devine nature getting soiled, for he was the only one who cared enough to learn about his desease and knew it was not contagious. The warm, dizzying feeling poured all over his soul, making his brain feel like it was stuffed with cotton candy. Making him feel loved and cherished. Making him feel he was worth something in spite of his tragic and pathetic life. 

He almost never thought about those years, the memories blurry and long ago replaced by more pleasant and terrifying ones. But now, watching the lame, miserable creature before him trying to stand and face him despite his fear and obvious weakness, these memories hit him like a tsunami. 

Because there was the sad boy. 

He didn't remember him being sad, though now that he thought about it, he didn't remember him being angry either. Not at him, at least. Not till that happened. 

But then that happened.  

And many things happened afterwards. Things that couldn't be forgotten. Things that couldn't be attoned for. Broken toys slammed against a wall. 

This was his chance to amend it all. 

This was his chance to free them all. 

This was his chance to avange them all. 

This was the right thing to do. It was good. He was good. He wouldn't think of him as a monster too, would he? 

Of course not. He was saving them all, just like he had saved him so long ago. 

He trance-like moved his arm up, just an inch, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to do.  

This time he didn't need a knife. 

This time he wasn't a child, and he certainly wasn't the all powerful God he claimed to be.  

Not here, not now. 

A simple move of his fingers would suffice to tear off the beast's heart and crush the birdie’s foul throbbing thing in his hand with horrifying ease.  

His stomach dropped, the adrenaline and thrill he felt at the idea of such a heinous act disgusted him, terrified him.  

He ignored the uncomfortable feeling crawling under his skin and burning his insides, the sour taste in his mouth, the horrified voice screaming at the back of his head. 

He couldn’t back down now. 

He was so close to end it all for good. 

To end it all before it even began. 

The boy was still looking at him, fists still tight at his sides, trembling almost imperceptibly.  

He took a second too long to decide. 

And then the boy shout. 

Where's my brother? What did you do to him? 

Time froze one more time. One last time. 

He looked at the boy again, shaking, his breathing heavy and messy, as if he was drowning in air. Voice was demanding, worry and panic poorly concealed under a façade of strength, almost cracking in fear. And now he did see it. 

Anger at the world. Anger at the people who had abandoned them in this forsaken town he didn't even know the name of - though Hell, he thought, would be a suitable name for whatever wasteland this was. Anger at the rabbid animals who had beaten him and his brother to near death for no reason other than existing. Anger at his father for betraying them and dragging them through this martyrdoom. Anger at the man who had just took his brother's place in the only two seconds he had allowed himself to look away to find something else to put in their little mouths. Anger at himself for being so disgustingly weak. 

The boy didn't know any better, but he could tell. He could tell from just looking at his little body about to crumble on the dirty floor, forced to stand up in a sad attempt to look intimidating. He could tell from the look in the boy's eyes, even through the damaged glasses. He could tell from the way the boy gritted his teeth in defiace with unbowed will and determination, even if he looked like the smallest of sea breezes could sent his little frigile body flying away. He could feel the heat, the rage, the despair. And above all he could feel the sadness, the blind, deafening sadness. 

He did feel it. He did feel it because he once felt it too. 

And then he knew. 

He raised his arm higher to bring his hand closer to the boy's head. 

The boy reacted quicky, on instincs, his angry frown dissapearing for a fraction of second, replaced with an expression of fear and sudden panic. He put his head down and brought his skinny arm – ash-pale, as he had never seen it before - over his head, trying to protect his most vulnerable spots from further damage, even if his bones were so feeble one would think they would have broken with the first blow. 

He swallowed. Hard. Vomit crawling up his throat at the vision of the boy, this boy of all people, pathetically trying to protect himself. 

Something inside him broke at the sight of it. 

He couldn't bring himself to do it. 

No. He didn't want to do it.  

Not here, not now. 

Not yet. 

He slowly put his hand down, caressing the boy's head and rufflying the short soft locks just a little. 

He kneeled, covering the boys shoulders and back with his now shaking arms. He lowered his face - as if praying, as if attoning for a yet-to-be-commited sin – cheek softly pressing the top of the boy's head, golden locks stucking to his now damp skin. He pressed the kid to his chest. Tight. Maybe too tight. 

The boy didn't move. Too confused by the stranger's actions to even think of what to do next. Too scared at the thought of getting a new battery of blows raining down on him now that the man was so close. Too tired after so long holding on for dear life. Too sad to even try any more. 

He thought of the angel. 

He thought of kingdom of the flower fields. 

He thought of all those he could have saved but he ultimately decided not to. 

He thought of the monster and the sad boy. 

The boy stayed still. 

Law cried. 

[onemillionfurries]

some random post on my dash: yeah the way people act in the modern day is horrible and i wish people would treat each other better

me, finding a way to make it about how much social media sucks:

[iguinn]

person who called people "babyadults" for liking sugary coffee drinks is a transmisoginist? wow. that is not surprising at all of course the no fun twat is a transphobe.

[redactedresearch]

i wonder about the modern retellings of persephone's abduction and how it reflects society's (children of all ages) views of their mothers

[houseofwolvess]

hooo boy. trying not to egg people on in the replies of tumblr posts is hard

[aro-ortega]

milo: wants ortega to retire

vanya: doesnt want ortega to retire + enjoys fighting him in the moment, but doesn't like to/want to fight him

chuck: wants ortega to stop her

sasja: wants to kill ortega

[cursedchildofchaos]

Again, read at your own risk!

The brisk air makes the hair on my arms stand up. I fiddle with the zipper of my jacket. My hands fumble. With an exasperated sigh, I give up. My pocket watch tics. I take it out of the jacket to see; she's very, very, very late.

I turn to leave, but my eyes land upon a bloodied figure. Her eyes are tired. Her smile is worn, almost nonexistent…like the Mona Lisa.

But there is one big difference between this woman who stands before me and the Mona Lisa. Mona Lisa doesn't have a sword. Even so, she might as well be the Mona Lisa to me. Hell, she might as well be Venus herself. 

I feel my lips quirk up, betraying me and my rage.

"You're late," I try to say, menacingly.

"You don't mind. You never really do," she retorts. "Besides, aren't I worth it?"

I avert my gaze with a "Hmph."

"I'm sorry, but I had to fight against Tumblr Live. They're ruining the site," she explains.

"Tumblr Live?" I question, still not understanding it even though it's been on the news for weeks.

"Yeah, you have to make sure to turn it off. So, I did," she informs. 

That explains why her sword is stained red.

"Oh," I say with a nod. I still don't get it, but at this point, I'm too embarrassed to ask.

"Forgive me, OP?" she asks as she drops her sword and approaches me. 

My face heats up as she gets close. My heart pounds. She smells of potpourri. I melt. 

"Of course, I forgive you, my beautiful, Sword Lady. How could I not?" 

She takes my hand and drags me off, down the wintery streets. Every date with her feels like an adventure.