Pm Game Night - Fuck Marry Kill Edition

My brain: You know the myth, why do you want to make it more sad reading that book?

Me, opening " The song of Achilles": C'mon, reading it knowing how it will end will surely make it not too sad.

Me, crying after finishing it: Why? Why?

Kanej and Wesper's kids would be competing to see who could burn down Ketterdam first and then Helnik's kids would just be chilling at home gorging themselves on waffles.

REBLOG IF YOU ARE AGAINST TRUMP AND PROJECT 2025

REBLOG IF YOUR BLOG IS A SAFE SPACE FOR PEOPLE WHO NO LONGER HAVE ONE IRL

I'm pretty sure he would use a gun.

And then Verlaine find Atsushi in a random alley and decides to adopt him too

Hear me out: Verlaine and Rimbaud living happily in a ranch house in the French countryside with Chuuya who they adopted (read: stole). They live happily away from the control of any of their governments who want to use them.

And then a few years later, a group of kids, two of whom are currently younger than Chuuya, show up at their door asking for a place to stay for the night.

Verlaine does some digging and convinces Rimbaud to take them in.

And now Verlaine, who claims to be so far detached from humanity, is raising a bunch of kids.

Just like cute domestic moments with them too.

Teruko aging Chuuya up and him not getting any taller and getting upset

Tachihara tripping and scratching his nose and Verlaine cleans it and puts a bandaid on

Rimbaud using his ability when Jouno gets overwhelmed by things like thunderstorms

Tecchou eating his silly food combos and Verlaine, assuming this is normal people diet, joining in

They’re very careful about keeping them hidden because Rimbaud is worried the Japanese government will look for them (Verlaine and Chuuya both claim they would kick their asses causing Rimbaud to roll his eyes and kiss Verlaine and Chuuya to gag)

But eventually as time goes by, they calm down a bit

So we get Verlaine, Rimbaud, and their small army of government science projects at the amusement park and doing happy family activities and things like that

IT'S DONE This was actually one of the very first ideas I wanted to draw for skk, because (as someone rightly pointed out in the tags) they are just so in synchro when they work together, I can't help but think that would translate for dancing as well

Wise words my brother said about the new chapter:

"Atsushi, stop hallucinating and save the emo vampire from the yapper rat"

Probably the summary of the last three chapters.

One piece AU where the devil fruits users can see the pasts users.

So Sabo, eating the mera-mera, start to have the Ace ghost annoying him 24/7.

I don't think blackbeard is having a great time.

On Christmas Day of 2018, I received a paperback copy of George Orwell's 1984. I was 12 years old.

I remember the adults - aunts and uncles, parents, grandparents, looking at me cautiously, as if they had handed me a live bomb rather than a book. "That's a very intense book, okay?" my father told me. "If you want, we can talk about it after you read it." 12-year-old me, with only a dim idea of what fascism actually was and an insatiable appetite for books, only nodded.

While my younger cousins and sister played with their new toys, I sat on the couch and read the book in one sitting. When I finished, I looked up to see the adults staring at me with a strange sort of fascination. "Do you want to talk about it?" my father asked.

"No." I shrugged and turned away.

The truth was, I had been expecting a happy ending. Winston Smith was the good guy, wasn't he? Why didn't he win? Evil governments always lost in the end, didn't they? How could Winston have been brainwashed into believing such an evil, awful dictatorship was truly great? After all, when my middle school history teachers talked about dictatorships, those of Hitler and Stalin, it was obvious that they were the worst of the worst. No one actually agreed with them, did they?

Then I remembered my fourth grade class talking about the upcoming election, laughing about how obviously stupid Trump's wall idea was, and how strange it felt to hear someone say Clinton was worse. I don't remember his reasoning, but I distinctly remember thinking it was dumb because what could be dumber than a giant wall around Mexico? I remembered my grandmother arguing against vaccinating children, and I remembered flat Earthers I had seen online. That day was the first time it clicked for me: people believe what they want to believe.

The years passed. I read 1984 again, and again, and again. I watched as Trump shut down the government for sake of a temper tantrum, as he was impeached, as he told Americans to object bleach, as he politicized a pandemic and let thousands die. I didn't know about his SA scandals. I didn't know he had called Mexicans "thieves and rapists." I just knew he could not be allowed to be president again.

Yet, when 2020 rolled around, I was only 14 years old and could not vote. I settled for watching anxiously as the votes came in - I didn't know much about Joe Biden, but he was clearly a better alternative. He actually believed the COVID-19 pandemic was real, for one. So I sighed in relief as the results came through four days later: Joe Biden had been elected president of the United States.

I kept watching. I watched as Trump incited insurrection, as terrorists stormed the Capitol. I stared in horror at the TV. How could this have happened? How were so many people so delusional?

In December 2021, for my sophomore year English class, I read 1984 again. I thought of January 6th.

My classmates thought it boring, confusing, stupid. It didn't make sense. What did it matter? Who cared whether or not we knew the significance of the character of O'Brien?

I kept watching. The summer before my junior year of high school, just before I entered a relationship with my now-partner, Roe v. Wade was overturned, and I felt a sinking pit in my stomach. Six months later, a friend of mine read 1984 for that same English class, and he loved it - we had a few intense study hall discussions about the nature of doublespeak, of totalitarianism, of a surveillance state. My partner agreed, reading it with a terrified fascination.

I kept watching. I realized I was nonbinary, and I watched in horror as the Republican Party made their creeping advances to eradicate trans rights. Idly, I reread 1984. What the right wanted did seem a lot like Oceania's government, didn't it? I wondered if I'd ever be able to marry my partner, who, despite also being trans, was still the same sex as me. If Trump ran again, he'd probably win, and then what would we do?

Then, 2024. Trump won the primaries in a landslide. I turned 18 and registered to vote. In the meantime, I skimmed Project 2025's bits about banning pornography and thought of 1984 and its carefully curated sexless society, created to achieve perfect complacency. I went off to college and voted absentee, carefully bubbling in the circle next to Vice President Kamala Harris's name. I woke up on Wednesday, November 6th to see Trump had won the presidency.

It has been one week. Again, I watch as Trump proposes a Department of Government Efficiency, which sounds euphemistically horrific. I watch as he suggests Musk to head it, a man known for being as inefficient as possible. I think of the Ministry of Truth and how its entire purpose was to disseminate lies. I watch as people celebrate, mocking me and many others who had desperately voted against a fascist, a rapist, a convicted criminal, a man who would kill us and spit on our graves if he was elected to office. I think of Parsons and duckspeak, the practice of simply spitting out the "correct" propaganda the same way a duck quacked. People really did believe what they wanted to believe, didn't they? I realize Trump won because, deep down, people hated minorities more than they loved democracy.

I hope my loved ones and I will survive another Trump presidency. I hope those in Gaza and Ukraine will survive it too, along with so many others - Jews, POC, immigrants, students, disabled, Muslims. At the very least, I hope to live long enough to watch as the bigots are forced to eat their own words and come to terms with the fact they gleefully voted in their own downfall.

At the end of the day, 1984 taught me something I could not have comprehended at age 12, 14, 15, or 16, but can understand now: democracy dies not with a bang, but with a whimper.