C!tommy Died With His Discs Locked In His Enderchest. 

a lot of people remembered tommy as the hero, the one to kill dream, the one to put him in jail, the one who "did it all" and survived it all. so they built big statues of him after his death, commemorating how great he was. but that wasn't what he was at all. he was a kid. he was a kid that was beaten in a dark, hot cell. the statues seemed to be compensating for the death tommy actually had: a death without dignity or grace, a death painfully unfit for a hero. tommy was a kid, but only one of his graves reflected that. unsurprisingly, it was the grave built by tubbo, the other kid. that was the grave tommy deserved.

I just finished all the trigun manga in 2 days because of goddamn Bigolas Dickolas and I have So Many Thoughts I am going to die if I don't write them down somewhere.

it's the one year anniversary of the red festival and all i can think of is two minutes and forty six seconds.

that's how long c!techno stalled for.

two minutes and forty six seconds of him pretending schlatt wasn't asking him to kill tubbo, asking if he meant getting tubbo a coat when schlatt told him to 'take care of' him.

two minutes and forty six seconds of techno stuttering and turning ever so slightly towards his allies on the roof, not wanting to give up their position, knowing they couldn't do anything.

two minutes and forty six seconds of pretending that knowing if he tried to run or save tubbo, he'd likely die was 'mild peer pressure'.

and two minutes and forty six seconds of c!tubbo wondering what was going to happen, wondering if the ally he'd been promised wouldn't hurt him would do just that.

two minutes and forty six seconds that tubbo had to wait either to die or for his friends to try to save him, putting their lives at risk as well. two minutes and forty six seconds for his work as a spy to be over.

two minutes and forty six seconds for schlatt and this one event to drive a wedge between so many people, drive it in so firmly, that to this day the server is still feeling the effects.

in case it wasn’t clear i love the people of yemen with my whole heart. may allah protect them and grant them victory

(via RNN)

rest easy toriyama sensei

catharsis

Will is a little nervous, coming in this room. Again. It’s always a different mix of emotions, but some key ingredients are the same: thrill, anticipation, sadness. This time the cocktail is a true masterpiece: thrill, anticipation, conviction, confidence, only a drop of sadness. The only really new ingredient in all of this is fear, and it kind of ties it all together, adds the needed spice to the mix. Will lingers for a bit, analyzing the taste of the imaginary cocktail. There’s something else. Just… a dash of uncertainty. It’s not about the act, but it’s in the air, ruining his experience. What a shame.

“Will. What are you doing?”

Phil’s voice sounds so, so familiar. Maybe decades ago he said this exact phrase in this exact tone, when Will was stealing something from the kitchen. Weird how some things don’t change. 

Will is glad to hear his voice. It means that it all goes according to plan. It means that he won’t leave this room. The uncertainty is gone. 

Will is deafened by the sound of the explosion, his breath is heavy and uneven, partially because of excitement, partially because the air is filled with dust, but right there, right then, he has a moment of absolute clarity. It all makes sense to him, all of his questions have answers, he comes up with a name for his cocktail — “catharsis”. It has a wonderful sweet aftertaste of satisfaction. 

There’s only one more thing to do. Will has done it a thousand times before, especially when Phil would catch him doing something he “shouldn’t be doing”. Ask nicely. Phil is surprisingly bad at saying “no”.

Weird how some things don’t change.

the thing all sherlock holmes adaptations get wrong is making the guy an irredeemable asshole who treats everyone like shit . not only is it not reflective of the original stories they miss that “nice, smart, well mannered dude who snorts coke when he needs to think” is possibly the funniest character ever devised 

c!wilbur has spent so much time trying to be this grand figure, trying to prove his worth, trying to be worthy of anything, to prove that he's worth remembering and being loved!! he spiraled down so so far that he thought life wasn't worth living anymore! and in the end, after everything, he decided that the only thing he wanted was to go home! that's everything to me!

Wilbur doesn't know why he knows the steps. It feels like a dance you remember only in a hazy state. Walking beside a small kid, careful not to trip into her stride feels right. He feels like something overtakes him to speak in a gentler voice of reassurance. To sing her a song goodnight is instinct, not just as a musician but as something else. It feels so strange all of a sudden that he of all people is so careful with a child he's never met until that day. When he heard he was possibly a dad, he simply dismissed it like minor news. Akin to hearing you have a spider in your home or it's raining in 4 days, he'll get to it but it's nothing really.

But now he cares so much, he'd wreak havoc if anything happened to Tallulah. It feels like deja vu, like looking through a mirror to another world. A world where he has a special place surrounded by redwood trees and by the riverside. That other guy he's looking at, he's building everything up just for his own kid, with the same face of care and concerns as his own. He's singing some lullabies as him, matching the cadences and lyrics even if hushed and mumbled. He's teaching how to shoot a bow and arrow to his kid just like him, explaining the steps the same as him. He's leaving the kid soon just like the other, but at least he's trusting someone else to take care in his stead.

There's another kid, he realises. And that kid looks sad, in spite of the beautiful scenery. That kid is looking at walls, just like Tallulah. He's not living in much comfort or glamour, just like Tallulah. He's learning how to fend for himself with a bow and arrow, Tallulah will be like that soon. He's seen the dance, the rhythm of a deadbeat. And now its up to him to change the paces.

Will doesn't know why he pauses in faint recollection when a memory doesn't exist. It's merely a dream from a bygone night, but what's a memory but not a dream you've seen before. Yet when remembers walking through the forest and a flash of red fur snickering, he doesn't understand why a pang of burrowing feelings hits him.

And that feeling turns to drive, a desire to be at least the best dad he can be for now. For Tallulah and for that lonely kid he doesn't remember.