And Yet, Some Will Still Claim: “The Protests Are Antisemitic!”

not to DSMP on main my mostly hermit-adjacent sideblog but seriously. techno’s red festival stream was the first stream I watched live, back when I didn’t even properly know what DSMP was yet (I was just there because I’d recently gotten into techno) and it’s still VERY memorable to me.

anyway instead of talking about literally any of the lore implications that had, a few of my favorite really stupid moments that made me laugh:

- the entire bit with techno, fundy, and the dunk tank. “hold on I need to take a break from drowning to get a glass of water” “WHYYYY”

- techno asking basically every other festival attendant “so, got any vital state secrets you want to talk about?”

- techno hearing wilbur complain about how he couldn’t find an important button, looking in his inventory to see like six wooden buttons he’d picked up somehow, and going “UHHH WHOOPS” (note: these were probably from the docks not The Button but)

- techno’s chat spamming “JFK” at every opportunity

- techno scrolling through the approximately twelve “subscribe to technoblade” death messages and laughing incredulously because even he didn’t know he could do that

- after techno gave his dramatic “the only universal language is violence” speech and ended with a dark little chuckle there was a moment of silence and then tommy, loudly, to break the tension: “SO PINK SUS”

yes the festival was dramatic and angsty but also. so many funny moments I remember felt like talking about those again because they were FUN.

Modern Sherlock Holmes but he’s a 27 year old, drinks energy drinks only, is astonishing polite and has no idea how the solar system works because it was never relevant to a case but can name every every person involved in making Super Mario Bros because he did need that for a case once.

Watson is continuously appalled about his eating habits and makes vague posts on Twitter that ends in threads like

Watson: “My roommate noticed only today that he can label his email inboxs but took apart his entire bloody laptop two weeks ago.”

Person: “This reminds me of the post about the roommate who couldn’t turn on the coffee machine but remembers like 500 numbers of pi”

Watson: “I’ll be delighted to inform you that this is the very same roommate.”

forgot to share this my bad- ^^; anyways the guys ever !!

Quino (1932–2020)

Foto: Reuters

okay im gonna be aggressive about this actually wil doesn't get to show up after two weeks of phil being the second best dad on the entire fucking server (after roier) and start throwing implications about phil being a terrible father and the fandom eating it up

like wil is Objectively Incorrect that phil shouldn't be raising his kids as warriors. tallulah Will die if she doesn't at least get armor and a sword for self defense. phil's house seems paranoid but chayanne would be dead now if not for it.

qsmp phil is a good dad actually no matter how much wil wants to give his own character some angst at phil's expense

I think something I never really stopped to think too much about in One Piece is the sounds.

I grew up surrounded by nature. I grew up listening to the sounds the woods by my house made, the fields of crops down the road, of the river and creeks at my grandparents, and storms rolling over miles of empty plains in the fall.

I could tell you everything you need to know about those things. I didn't fear the dark because I knew it well. I could run those trails in the dead of night and I could have walked the land around my home blindfolded. I knew every branch that scraped, every bird nest full of singing life, every hole waiting for an ankle, every thorn tree that dropped terrible gifts to the earth. I knew it all.

Now I'm learning the sounds of the city. And everything is so loud. You forgot how quiet the world is when it's just you, and our world is full of loud things. Trains, cars, planes, electricity humming, pipes creaking, etc.

I believe I've made mentions of it before in my posts but I'm just really interested in how the One Piece world sounds.

Do the waves make different sounds than our own? Do sea kings sound more like tigers or gorillas when they roar? Are storms still ear shattering when they call out with thunder? Does the wind howl in your ear, or does it sing?

What does it sound like when Marco flies with massive wings right next to you? Does it sound like a regular bird but magnificent? Or does it pop your ears like a plane? Does he make different noises because of his devil fruit? Are his vocal cords different than someone else's?

What about when Buggy separates? The human body makes a variety of sound when it's sperated in different ways, does he sound like thighs stuck together with sweat in the summer or an injury like the loss of a limb? Does it pop like part of a toy, or maybe a click like a lock and key? Does it make a sound like pulling meat apart?

Does Luffy squeak when he moves all the time? Does he sounds like new shoes on marble or the high pitched screech of bare skin on gym floors?

Did Ace make the wooshing sound of dry wood or maybe the soft pops of low embers? Was he more like a forest fire taking off or a candle flickering in the window?

Does Kidd sound like a a car crash? Like metal bending and reforming itself into something messy and new? Does he clang like dropped silverware or is it heavy like metal gates closing? Maybe he sounds like the hammer of a blacksmith on burning metal?

Does Chopper have a way of talking that's distinctive? Like an accent or a lisp? Surely there would be something that would remind people that vocal cords change with each species and suddenly being able to make the noises of the human language would be a learning curve?

Does Robin sound like skin sliding against skin? Like rubbing your arms when you're cold or the dry sound that comes sometimes when you shake someones hand? Maybe she sounds like the wind in a garden or pulling petals off a flower?

Does Crocodile sound like a sandstorm? Does the sand he controls sound like screaming, like howling? Or maybe it sounds like a mudslide, something powerful and earthly?

Does Doflomingo make the the twang of tight threads being pulled and snapped back into place? Maybe the snap of elastic bands or the zzzz of string being pulled of the roll too quick?

Just so many fun things to consider 💭

Might do one of these about some of the other senses too.

Tommy is dead. The server reacts.

(word count: 1,732)

—————

“What have you done?”

His voice is a reedy whisper, thin with horror and the realization that he is too little, too late. He doesn’t expect the sound to carry over the lava, but a response comes soon enough.

“He wouldn’t stop talking. And he killed the cat.”

Dream’s voice is even, calm, almost a bit defensive, as if he truly believes that he is justified in his actions. Sam swallows down his mounting nausea, places his trident against the floor to steady himself. The lava crackles, hisses, bubbles, orange and glowing, and he can’t cross it. Not now. Not when the security threat remains unresolved. Not when any wrong move on his part could very well mean Dream’s escape.

But he’s already made the wrong move, hasn’t he? Made the wrong move, and Tommy has paid for it. Has been paying for it, this whole last week. He kept him in there, kept him locked in a box with Dream even though he knows very well how it would effect him, kept him locked in with the reasoning that it was temporary, that he would let him out as soon as he could, that he couldn’t risk Dream’s release for anyone, even for Tommy.

But it’s not temporary.

Tommy was sixteen and loud-mouthed and bright-eyed when Sam last saw him, when he said that this would be the last time, that he was going to put his past behind him and look to a new start. Tommy will always be sixteen and loud-mouthed and bright-eyed, and locked in a box. There will be no new start. No seventeenth birthday. No triumphant return, no shining hotel. No tricks, no scams, no pranks.

Seguir leyendo

Like yes we know cphil is cwilbur dad but. What if the cphil on the dsmp isn’t really cwilburs dad. Just that universe’s version of him. What if Phil is waiting for Wilbur, hoping he’ll come home. Wondering at first why he never came home from the shitty gas station. Was he kept late? Was he hurt somewhere? Did he crash his car? Did he get murdered and Phil would never see him again?

It kills Phil. His wife has been dead since Wilbur was born. He puts up fliers at first and coordinates the search effort. He keeps searching even as it peeters out and everyone thinks he’s crazy to continue. He can’t loose his baby boy. but after 2 years he knows it’s in vain.

Phil hopes he’s happy at least, wherever he is.

Until one day, when Wilbur shows up on his doorstep. A white streak in his hair, wearing a trench coat. He has new scars and wrinkles. His eyes are sad but his smile wide. His son is home. All is well. Phil hugs him and he cries and cries. Wilbur is confused, but hugs back. Wilbur will not tell him what happened in those two years no matter how hard he presses. Wilbur is colder, more distant. Phil doesn’t know why.

Wilbur goes back to work at the gas station.

"You smoke?"

Tommy looked over at Schlatt. He was shaking a cigarette out of a pack and into his hand. Where he'd gotten it, Tommy didn't know. It was the afterlife; he didn't expect drugs to be in the afterlife.

"Fuckin'... no, I don't smoke," He huffed back, "What do you fuckin'..."

Schlatt shrugged, brought the cigarette to his lips, produced a lighter, and lit up. "Your loss."

Wilbur had warned Tommy that occasionally they'd fade in and out. The afterlife wasn't a concrete plane to be in, he'd said, so Tommy should prepare for him to pop in and out occasionally.

Tommy had thought he was ready. He was not.

He'd clung to the man ever since he'd died. He was the only person he had left who cared. At least, the only person he had left who cared and he could still talk to. And even if Wilbur was only going to be gone for a little bit (though time worked so strangely here, who really knew?), Tommy wasn't ready for that separation.

And he sure as hell wasn't ready to be left alone with Jschlatt.

He didn't like kids, that much was obvious. Or anyone, really.

Apparently he and Wilbur had talked quite a bit before Tommy's arrival, which Tommy couldn't blame him for; Wilbur had to talk to somebody, and until now the afterlife didn't have any options except for the previous tyrant. But the moment Schlatt had seen Tommy, palpable disgust had formed on his face and he had fled the scene.

That was fine by Tommy. He didn't like Tommy, and Tommy didn't like him.

But now that Wilbur was gone for a while, being around Schlatt was better than being alone.

Schlatt coughed after a drag. Tommy eyed him uneasily.

Schlatt didn't have scars, Tommy was noticing. Wilbur did. He had a big ugly one in his chest from where Phil had stabbed him, gaping and hard to ignore. Schlatt, having not died to something so physical, had no such thing. But his eyes looked vacant, tired, and bloodshot, and drool seemed to constantly drip down his chin. Disgusting motherfucker, Tommy thought.

It did get him thinking, though. He hadn't seen himself once since his death. When he'd asked Wilbur about his gash, Wilbur had confessed that all the injuries they'd received subsequent to their death would probably remain and hurt forever. Tommy himself had aches all over his body; Dream had done a number on him. He was left with a head that pounded almost constantly and a body that throbbed with every movement.

He wondered how he looked.

He cleared his throat and called, "Oi, bitch."

Schlatt looked to him, unimpressed. "Hm?"

"Ey, uh... so we're all a bit ghost-y now, yeah?"

"Sure."

"You gots your little... red... devil horns, 'n Wilbur's got his scar..." Tommy crossed his arms, "... What do I look like?"

Schlatt took pause, pulling the cigarette from his mouth. His lips fell to a frown as he scanned Tommy up and down, his eyes filling up with something that was almost, almost pity. Tommy's stomach sank; that didn't bode well.

Schlatt tore his eyes away from him and shook his head, gaze cast down.

Tommy swallowed nervously. "Well?"

The only thing Schlatt said after a long pause was, "Stay away from mirrors, kid."