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A Love Story

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Are you gonna update any of your fics at all, totally fine if not!

Nothing for the time being. Thank you for asking.

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I still love you

I still love you.

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POV characters: aGoT

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[ACoK]

[ASoS]

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one piece spoiler culture has reached such unprecedented levels of unhinged so powerful it could transmogrify into a cosmic omniscient hivemind that can leak the chapter before oda even puts pen to paper.

[jyuanka]

So I've been packing my stuff and I found my diary from my 14-15 year old self. Wonderful accounts of horny teen nonsense, juvenile insights into the human condition, melodramatic declarations of unending love, but the one thing that stopped me was how I chose to write about my parents' divorce: seems I didn't think the whole affair warranted an entry of its own (rightfully so), instead it's one sentence in a page otherwise dedicated to describing, in graphic detail, a steamy make out session I had with my then boyfriend. Verbatim: "I got in a fight with dad, and mom will break up with him. I think it will be a little awkward for us, but we'll get used to it."

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“How did you find me? I’m usually the one who looks for you.”

“Gut instinct.”

Mermay: Minakushi edition

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the minato one shot is... good??

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i decided to seek out some d-tier shonen manga. i'm curious about the stories that seem to survive quietly on the margins of the magazine; not the stuff of the basement's basement but the middling ones, the mediocre shit.

so i started reading hell's paradise.

just finished chapter 1. i came at it in good faith but everything, from the panel layout to the character designs feels sooo run of the mill.

we start with the protagonist, whose name has been said like 7 times and i still can't remember it. he has white hair, because of course he does. now the funniest shit of all is discovering he's married and i just can't take it seriously because he looks 12.

his wife, who also looks 12, remains nameless throughout the whole chapter. she's this guy's sole reason for living. she's the love interest AND the goal, but we don't know her fucking name. okay. funnier is that she's drawn faceless too until she's like "you're not devoid of feeling if you can gaze upon this ugly face". pan immediately to the cutest anime girl you can imagine with a burn scar over her eye that makes her look more badass than anything.

this is the facial disfigurement so grotesque, so unsightly, horrible enough to excommunicate her from society? really? i wouldn't mind it so much if it wasn't made explicit that her maniacal moustache twirling father burned her face so she "won't be able to live like a normal person". i know the author is on her side, but he's still like "we can't make her too unseemly, otherwise teenage boys won't sympathize with protag-kun's desire to return to her." the underwhelming face reveal ends up cheapening the mangaka's choice to hide it in the first place, making the wife even more of a non-person.

i can practically hear the villagers rallying with their pitchforks to kill this ugly monster right this second.

[jyuanka]

JUST FINISHED THE A HISTORY UPDATE… Incredible as always…

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Catch a glimpse of never before seen photo’s from SOUL KING’s youth in this exclusive special edition issue of the World Economics News Paper

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The Romanticism of One Piece

I’m always amazed by how Oda has managed to stay thematically consistent for more than two decades while writing a thousand plus chapter epic about silly pirates having fun chasing their dreams. One Piece, at its core, is about the dawn of a romantic adventure, and its been that way since volume one, chapter one.

But romance is one of those terms whose meaning as shifted over the years and is drastically misunderstood. So what is literary romance, and how does One Piece fit within its framework?

Well buckle up, folks. This is gonna be a long one.

Keep reading

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becoming comfortable with your own irrelevance is a difficult and delicate art

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Muhammad Reda Don't Tell the Man of Shirts

Don't tell the distant man in the phone speaker that you're alone don't tell the young men of the neighborhood that you, too, have a body you hide in park soil to notice, listless the wetness residing within it and a callousness that will come one evening. Don't tell the river that won't remember your name about the many fish sleeping in it dreaming slowly of a coldness blameless for its wavering there's no orphanhood in the blueness it carries to the banks. Don't tell the fish about the river that will wane tomorrow not because it didn't remember your name and the feel of your feet wading into it from another side fearful and quivering like one who's watering the roof of his house with old bread to disperse his sadness with contrived crowding and the flutter of a wing but because the affection in the river currents towards the scales of who depart to it is much bigger than a death coming to cut the journeys of fish and their dreams. Don't tell the man of shirts that you still love him because you're going to wake up every morning with a body, whole because every morning you will learn how to be a man how to observe the movements of men in the street how to see the many piercings they plant in their bodies how to welcome many men in your home to feed them this flesh that only reveals sites of desire. Don't tell the man of shirts that you still love him because the man in you will grow up little by little in scorching days and because no shirts will be enough later to kill a softness steadily guarding itself in the body of that stranger leave him for a bit because one day he will understand how tender this meat was how good these lips were for the gasp between two meeting tongues how open this body was in front of the timid folly and the innocence of those practicing life. Don't tell the man or the river or the fish that you have a strange man waiting on you in the phone speaker and water waiting on you to cross it so it could dry up and fish scales hiding themselves for you to carry their death to new nations. Don't tell the man or the river or the fish that you will die with the plentifulness of the voiceless like a brave man who one day thought that drowning in the river would return to him his blueness.

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the marvelous misadventures of flapjack is a great work of misanthropic art. you don't wait for character development in episodic shows like these, but there's also never core ideals to uphold or a valuable lesson to learn. bad deeds and good deeds alike are punished, nothing good ever lasts, dreams don't come true and never will, the world is populated by lying cheating swindling bastards, and the status quo involves everyone being the worst possible version of themselves. in season 2 ep 11, flapjack goes to a birthday party (with a fake invitation penned by his whale mom, who's hoping he can make some friends his age) only to discover that he, his weirdo found family of a sea mammal and a washed up sugar addict are seen as essentially cryptids. the children he meets at the party are horrible pieces of shit who hate everything flapjack loves, and the episode ends not with the assertion that you should stay true to yourself and find friends who will love you for who you are, but that its perfectly fine to never go outside or have friends at all.

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when oda isnt vacationing with his family somewhere exotic or donating to his hometown, he's spending his obscene wealth on giant goofy animal statues and extremely tacky dragon-shaped showerheads. he doesnt even care about the minimalist beigefied aesthetics of modern wealth. i've seen few clips of his house. a total eyesore, just like every one piece panel these days. i love it. he's a manchild staying true to one of the universal joys of childhood--the blissful freedom of bad taste.

[jyuanka]

back from the dead to draw more frobin