#we've had it every years for decades guys you're so late

[crazykuroneko]

call me heartless, but seeing all those videos of NYC getting flooded, the only thing that came up in my mind is: (finally) WELCOME TO THE CLUB! 🫂

[vincentbriggs]

Good sir, I am hoping to pick your brain. I’m making an 18-century (“pirate”) shirt as a gift to my friend. He wants tie closures on the neck and cuffs instead of buttons. Might you have any insight or resources for this? I’ve seen the ties in at least one of the extant shirts I’ve viewed online. I’m still pretty new to the sewing gig and I’d like to minimize inventing metaphorical wheel as much as possible. Thanks in advance!

It's very unusual, but do know of one example! (Not that extant one though)

But first - Link to my most thorough shirt construction blog post. (It's a few years old and I've improved a few little things in my technique since then, and I mean to finish writing a new and better one before the year is over.)

Ok, ties on shirts! I'm assuming this is the extant one you're talking about? Tbh I'd discount this one entirely if you're looking for information on 18th century men's shirts because I don't think it is one.

Besides the attached ties, the sleeves are extremely weird. They're cut off and have no wristbands!! This would make it quite impossible to wear under a coat, the wristbands are an absolutely essential part of an 18th century shirt. I also don't see any reason to believe this is actually 18th century when it could just as easily be 19th century, and considering how short the slit is I think that more likely.

(Lots of auction sellers like to say "late 18th century" about things that are like... yeahh maaaaybe that's plausibly from a very fashion forward guy in the late 1790's but it's much more likely early 19th century. And with court dress they sometimes just straight up date it several decades too early. Look at lots of examples and always question everything, because museums don't always date things correctly either.)

I think I remember seeing someone mention once that it was a 19th century workman's garment of some sort, but I can't remember where, and all we've got to go on are a few pictures and a brief caption from a seller who doesn't know what they're talking about. It does look like it could have been worn over another layer though, and the fabric is very coarse. It could also have been altered at a later date for theatrical costume, which is something the Victorians did to A LOT of 18th century garments.

So just ignore that shirt!

The vast majority of 18th century mens shirts close with 2 or 3 buttons on the collar, but there is a style that uses ribbons. It appears to have been fairly common in the late 17th and early 18th century, and then slowly dwindles as the century goes on. I have a section for it on my shirts pinterest board with 64 examples. Ooh, wait, 65, just found a new one.

The collar is made with little to no overlap and one buttonhole on each end, and a ribbon is threaded through them.

Portrait of Carl Gustaf Tessin, 1728.

Sir Charles Howard, 1738.

I actually made one of these last year!

The collar doesn't sit as well with the ribbon as it does with 2 buttons, but once you put a stock over it it's fine.

Nearly every single depiction of an 18th century shirt I've ever seen (and I've spent a LOT of time looking) uses sleeve links on the wristbands. (Which I have a tutorial for! They're really easy to make!) I do sleeve links on most of my everyday shirts because I like them better than sewn on buttons. When the wristband is this narrow, sewn on buttons don't sit very nicely.

But! If your friend wants ties on the wrist in a historical way, I do know of one single example, and it's this guy!

Giovanni Maria delle Piane, Portrait of a nobleman. No date given, but if I had to guess I'd say 1680's or 90's. Very late 17th century looking fellow.

We can't see his collar closure, but I think it's very possible that he has a matching red ribbon holding that closed.

Personally I wouldn't want to try these, because they look like an absolute nightmare to tie by yourself one handed. But the good news is that you could make just regular wristband that take sleeve links and they'd work for this too, since both just have a buttonhole at each end! I aim for a finished wristband length that's 10-14mm longer than my wrist measurement, with the buttonhole being about 4 or 5mm in from the edge, which gives me enough ease to wear them comfortably with sleeve links, so if you do that then he'll be able to wear them both ways.

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

you KNOW i'm coming back in with the DMC crew for the bingo card!

hey hello finally answering this a mere two weeks late lmao

DANTE

okay so wayyyy back in the day when I first got into DMC I was admittedly far more interested in Vergil (look it was the mid-2000s and he was a cold-hearted bad boy, what do you want me to say) BUT over the years my Dante appreciation has grown exponentially

I am sobbing wailing screaming etc. I just want him to be happy. I want him to acknowledge his found family. I want Nero to drag him to Fortuna for a family dinner and have Kyrie make him eat a real meal. I want Dante to take Nero back to Redgrave to visit Eva's grave and tell him about both Eva and Sparda - the people, the parents, not the legend and his sweet wife

(I have. a lot. of Eva feelings. we'll get to that later.)

VERGIL

BINGO. God I just I can't I can't sum up my Vergil feelings just like Vergil cannot acknowledge his own feelings because his entire life had been so wrapped up in the scant hard cold comfort of unbending pride because if you don't admit you're hurting, that's almost as good as not hurting in the first place, and he's a DEMON okay, he's a DEMON, a DEVIL, not some weak flimsy human!!!! A DEMON!!! He's a big tough strong cunning evil powerful monster!!!!

Vergil is an open wound that has been festering for decades, a body and soul stretched literally to breaking point by cruelties beyond imagining. He's been a slave, a torture victim, his mind and decisions taken from him to be a meat puppet for his father's greatest enemy, cursed by the blood of Sparda so fully and thoroughly that the only way he can deal with it is to pretend it's the human in him that's cursed. Because he can never pretend he isn't part-devil, but maybe he can quash the humanity in him and pretend he's all devil.

How far is Vergil responsible and/or culpable for his crimes? What are his crimes? How many (if any) died when he raised Temen-ni-Gru? Were those deaths forgivable in pursuit of a greater good, or was it entirely selfish? Did Vergil feel the weight of Sparda's unfulfilled promise fall on his shoulders and this way the only way he could avoid buckling under the expectations of his bloodline?

And what about the Qliopoth? Did he cause it to sprout in Redgrave, or did he just take advantage of it? Can Vergil the person be held responsible for what his demonic half did after the separation? If so, is that balanced out by the heroic actions of V as his humanity?

I just!!!!!! god. I love him so much. I want to wrap him in the softest blanket and kiss his forehead like the world's angriest little kitten. I want to send him to therapy so badly. I want him to come back for DMC 6 on the good guys team but wearing a Bad Man shirt.

(come on I can't be the only one who sees the resemblance)

EVA

"but beth, eva was only in the game for like five seconds before she got ganked--"

shhh. shhhhhhhh. that's the only part of DMC 5 that will never be canon in my heart.

okay so many many moons ago I read an amazing Eva origin story called Rapture on ff.net and forever after it informed my headcanons about Eva - to whit, she was a devil hunter, had overcome tragedy in her past, and was every bit fierce and furious enough to go toe-to-toe with the Devil Knight Sparda

so you will never get me to believe that Eva did not go down all guns blazing, fighting to the last drop of blood in her veins and the last gasp of breath in her lungs to protect her boys

even if you don't subscribe to that theory, you can't get away from the fact that Eva must have been a truly spectacular individual to attract Sparda's attention - especially since we've never had any indication that Sparda had any other lovers, or at least never had any children with them - and I just can't make myself believe it was all down to ~sweetness~ or ~purity~ or ~beauty~

my Eva grew up in rural Appalachia; grew up hunting, shooting, riding, and idolising her older brother in all of his dyed-black-hair, poetry-loving, stick-and-poke tattooed, skinny goth glory

(because, after all, it only makes sense that Vergil's humanity drew upon his human roots for form and face and so many other things that Vergil never really let himself acknowledge)

and life is good, right up until the day demons attack their homestead and Eva is the only one who gets out alive -- because her beloved older brother throws her on a horse and stays behind to shoot down the horde until he goes down

I don't wanna just stuff ten thousand words about my hc Eva backstory into this meme lmao but suffice to say she's tough as nails, a tightly-coiled spring trap of badly-suppressed trauma, conflating isolationism with strength and guilt with duty. When asked why she takes up devil hunting, she will only say -- if not me, then who? When she first hears of Sparda, she thinks he's a fairytale; then, later, she's willing to believe he was once real, but has long since faded into history... and, anyway, shouldn't it be down to humans to protect themselves rather than always relying on the benediction, the protection, of a higher power?

because Eva's family were good, stern Methodist folk, and God didn't stop the demons coming. Sparda? Eva has no faith in Sparda.

and when she relocates to Redgrave City and figures out there's a powerful demon stalking the streets of the city?

she'll damn well take care of it herself-

[evermetnotforgotten]

Set in the far future.

In many ways, Graham's relationship with his parents was quite simple. Firstly, be kicked out at sixteen because you were a delinquent little shithead who was well on the path to either being shot up on a street corner, or thrown in prison for being the one doing the shooting. Spend twenty-odd years in the wind. Then call dear old mum and dad up on a whim one day asking whether they're free for a coffee and a slice of cake—their choice, your shout.

They’d picked the key lime pie.

Most of their questions, surprisingly, had been in line with that of a normal suburban family. Less about his decades-long absence—the lie about getting out and into a job driving diplomats around seemed to inspire the desired amount of polite disinterest—and much, much more about ‘wait, you're telling us our long lost son is now married to a man?’ In their first few reconnecting dinners Graham had already located and defused the bomb of ‘we'd actually hoped and dreamed of our only son telling us he was only a gay teen instead of in a teenage gang,’ and done similar to the IED of ‘good thing we've changed churches since you were little or blessed Father Derrick would have simply had a stroke between the pews’—along with the total landmine, dear Lord in heaven the nuclear fucking blast of ‘but so… if you're married, doesn't that mean you're Gay now?’

But they were willing, and forthcoming. And surprisingly relaxed about his sudden reappearance in their lives.

All that had been left was for them to finally meet him—his sweet and kind husband, the infamous Lev. Which, apparently, called for dinner at Pete and Cressida's spacious suburban home.

"Topoff, my boy?" A question from Pete to Lev that Graham only moderately tenses up at, for more than one reason. Would rather not have to explain them all.

"Do you have any more of that sparkling, actually?"

"For you? Course we do. Would you pass the apple juice, hun?”

The first impression had nearly ended in disaster. Trust his old man and lady to blow through his first two cardinal requests immediately—he'd been firm to the point of militant on the topic of touching Lev without asking first, then witnessed in horror as his mother completely lost her mind and initiated a crushing hug. Then was the wine, though on that Lev had reassured they were in the green. Couldn’t drink on the meds anyway.

Now, outside overlooking the garden, wooden bannister flickering with light from the ceramic potted citronella candles, the wine flowing and barbecue cooling… things were actually starting to feel good. Calm. He's not checking his watch every minute, and his husband seems to be at relative ease while keeping deft pace with the conversation. Lev presses the kitchen knife down past the crust of the chocolate tart he’d insisted on bringing, listening to Cressida explain of the accreditation process of an arts therapist.

As the conversation dwindles, his mother twists her blond hair at the back of her head and spears it with a pin. The look brewing on her face is one of an imminent interrogation, but Graham recognises it far too late to cut her off at the pass.

"So you're… gay, Lev? Is that right, is that what you prefer?"

"Ma," Graham scowls, warning low and short. 

Just as Cressida's eyes flash with equal challenge, gearing up to meet her son’s protest with one of her own, Lev responds with an easy smile, a raised hand. "It's okay—I'm actually bisexual."

"Oh! So you're the same then. That must keep things simple."

Peter, whose cheeks are drawing closer to the tint of his chequered shirt with each fresh glass of wine, chimes in. "So you've been with both. Women, men… lucky guy, lucky guy…"

“Christ. Dad…”

"Yes, that is what the ‘bi’ part means, Pete. Oh, I know the loveliest lesbian couple whose daughter is a bisexual. Can you imagine that? All that diversity under the one roof."

Though Graham wants so, so badly to cup his hands over his face and screech into the miniature void there forever, Lev’s chime of a laugh rings above the abject horror roiling in his gut. “We do tend to flock, I’ll give you that.”

Seeming impressed with the response, Peter reaches for the bottle on the table and sets about refilling glasses again, even though most are still half-full. Graham reaches across to steady his mother's glass as the red comes dangerously close to sloshing up and over the other side. One of two teeny little dogs—rat-sized morsels that Daisy would have eaten for breakfast and barfed up before lunch—scurries around to their side of the table, interpreting the sudden movement as a potential signal of pending table scraps.

"Well," Peter says, "our son must have done at least one thing right in his life to have won you over. It's all a downright comfort, if you ask us. Isn't it, honey?"

He doesn't know quite why that's the part, out of everything, that gets him. Something slimy and misshapen rears its head within Graham’s chest, writhing through the holes of his ribcage where it's installed itself into the gaps and expanded like some sort of horrible, living caulk. He's done fuck all to deserve a man as good as Lev, right hand to God. Still feels as though he's long-conning him into staying, most days. But when his partner responds by taking Graham's hand under the table, giving a reassuring squeeze, the dial of all that noise is turned down low. The domesticity just a little less cloying.

"I feel lucky to have him, actually." A wink only meant for him. “He’s put up with me so far.”

"Ha! Just wait until you've been together forty years and he's still leaving dishes by the sink—"

"Or when it becomes impossible to go to on a fifteen minute shopping trip that doesn't turn into a forty-five minute catch-up with a playgroup friend—"

"I'm really glad that you two haven't changed. Just so glad.” Though Graham says it in exasperation, the fondness is hard to ignore. He brings his husband’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

"So Lev, Graham tells us you're working on a coffee table, is that right?"

-

“So… verdict?” He’s almost scared to ask, but needs to know his partner is okay after… all that. 

"They're nice! Really nice.”

“But…?”

A sigh from the passenger seat. “But it was… difficult. I guess."

Graham winces, blows air out through his cheeks. Should have known it would always be a little bit trial-by-fire. "Yeah, sorry. Thought they'd gotten all of the, uh, sexuality talk out of their system. Apparently not.”

Lev turns, giving him a curious look. "Oh, no, not that part. That was fine. Though I'm really glad they didn't want more details than they did," and a laugh tinged with the specific kind of glee of knowing exactly how terribly that could have gone. "I just… it's hard when I don't like how they treated you."

Graham frowns. He hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary in the course of the evening. "What do you mean?"

"Throwing your sixteen year old kid out of the house when he's clearly in it deep, and cutting off all contact." Lev shakes his head, looking out the windscreen at the blur of pines whizzing past. “Your dad said they were praying for you to come back… but how would they have known if you’d needed to?”

Graham hears his old man’s farewell of the night. Don’t be a stranger, hey kiddo? We’ve missed you. “I… used to rob 7-Elevens with that crew. In gorilla masks.”

Not a beat missed. “We’ve all been sixteen.”

Spotting a tiny smile out of the corner of his eye at his own bark of a laugh, Graham reaches over the handbrake to place his hand on Lev’s thigh. As always, it’s covered by a smaller, warmer one.

Now just as ever, Graham feels like he could be in awe of the indestructible core of his partner until the day that he dies. Though Lev would be the first to deny and the last to admit it, there's a grain of diamond at the very centre of him. 

Behind a fortress or surrounded by ash and rubble—it's still beautiful. Still incredible.

“I’d still… like to stay in touch with them.” Graham clears his throat. “If that’s alright. You wouldn’t have to come, though, if you don't want to.”

“Ah, wasn’t at all saying that we shouldn’t.” A gentle apology squeeze. “Would really love to go to that gallery.”

“Doesn’t have to be any time soon.”

“‘Course. But I want to. Let’s do it.”

[wrestlingisfake]

Starting to see the discourse on whether Sting should have lost his retirement match.

I know the whole idea is that you're supposed to pass the torch on your way out. But that concept comes from a time when nobody would have imagined a man headlining big show three weeks before his 65th birthday. Realistically, the time for Sting to do the honors and give the rub to the next generation was ten years ago, when he still had something left to give. And he did that--on his way out of TNA, he put over Nick Aldis and EC3, and then in WWE he put over Triple H and Seth Rollins. His career was supposed to be done at that point--everything since then has just been a victory lap.

Look at the end of Undertaker's career. He went out in 2020 on a win, and the last decade of his run saw very few defeats. But in 2010, his final year as a full-time(-ish) guy, he put over Kane repeatedly, and his 2014 loss to Brock Lesnar was at the tail end of when "beating the Undertaker" really meant anything. Same thing with Hulk Hogan--I think he only lost one match (to Sting in 2011) after 2003, but by that point he was just a goofy old man doing a nostalgia act. It's hard to say he didn't "do the honors," though, when you look at the key losses he took in 2002--which is probably the last time he was truly relevant.

It might be nice if every pro wrestler finished up like Jushin Thunder Liger did--you're 54 years old, you can still go, but you can't keep up with the next generation, so you announce a retirement tour and end it by losing a good match to a key guy. But in the West, there's too much money in propping up the old guys until they literally can't walk. So you're going to keep seeing big names pass the torch in their late 40s/early 50s and then circle back for a "nobody's paying to see me job" farewell tour. We've already seen Steve Austin start do to it, and it's only a matter of time before the Rock, Adam Copeland, and John Cena go through the same pattern.

Is this good or bad for wrestling? We'll see. But anybody old-school enough to complain that Sting should have lost his final match would have already been complaining since 2020 that AEW is "killing the business" by letting top young stars sell Sting's offense. You're not going to convince me that any of those guys would be appeased if Sting put over the tag team that turned "killing the business" into a catchphrase.

[daryfromthefuture]

“Safety” for Mixed Bag One-Word Prompts!

thank you for the request! as per your wish, i shall do doc (and some marty) for this one :)

"Another day, another downpour." Emmett commented as he adjusted his goggles and took another look at the repair instructions his older self had left him in the mine. The schematics appeared more complicated on the paper than they actually were. Or maybe he simply perceived it that way - those drawings did come from himself, after all.

Marty, who was sitting on the workbench, sighed as he watched the raindrops race each other down the little window. "Yeah. It's getting boring, watching the gray sky every day."

Doc lay aside his screwdriver and wiped some sweat and dirt from his brow. All this mechanical work, though easy, still was a bit of a challenge - Emmett was more of a theoretical guy; he loved to think about science and sketch plans and schemes. God knows how many unused blueprints he had piling up in his drawers.

Well, he'd have to construct the DeLorean in the next 30 years anyway. Might as well prepare himself.

"At least the work isn't all too difficult," Doc said with a smile, taking a proper look at Marty now that he could afford to take a break from building the contraption that was meant to replace the fried time circuits.

Marty just gave him a thumbs-up. "You're the doc, Doc."

The scientist had to laugh. "I guess I am, huh?"

He cleaned his oily hands with his lab coat and sat down next to the boy. The duo stared into the distance for a moment, the roar of the thunder outiside well audible due to the brief silence.

"Are you hungry? I apologize, I got so caught up in fixing the car that I forgot about lunch," Doc asked, beraking the quietness.

But Marty shook his head. "Nah, don't worry about it. I'm not hungry. Can't say that about Copernicus, though." A small grin appeared on Marty's face as the mention of Copernicus' name caused the dog to whine from the other end of the room.

"Oh, thank you for reminding me." Doc got up and went to a shelf where he stored some dog food - in case he didn't have the time to go up to the house and feed his pet during his work. He opened a can and poured it into the small dog bowl right beneath the shelf. Copernicus wasted no second in throwing himself at the food.

Emmett smiled. "For such a small dog, you sure are hungry." He pat his dog on the back before making his way to Marty, who was now once again staring outside, his head in his hands.

"You had quite a bit going on lately, haven't you?", Emmett asked with sympathy in his voice. He had have no idea that he had the ability to be this gentle with someone, let alone a frightened child.

He had always seen himself as rather unable to comfort others.

But with Marty, it seemed to work just fine.

"Yeah, it's- I won't get into the details, but some shit happened and- well, you're stuck in 1885 now - as you know," Marty said, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

Doc hesitantly raised a hand to place on Marty's shoulder. He gave it a friendly squeeze. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure you'll get this sorted out. We'll get this sorted out."

Marty chuckled. "I don't have any doubt about that. I trust you."

A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, and a wind howled through a tilted window in the back of the lab.

"Whoop! I didn't know that was open!" The inventor hurried across the room and quickly shut the window.

Marty followed Doc with his eyes and relaxed a little. This all seemed very familiar to him. Sometimes, these moments even made him forget that he was in 1955. Doc was Doc, and this was Doc's lab - a place he knew was one where he'd never be harmed - in whatever decade.

Not even a minute later, Emmett was back at the teenager's side. His hand moved back to sit on Marty's shoulder, well aware that Marty appreciated the gesture.

"Alright, how about I make us some nice, warm tea, and then we can resume our work after we've taken a short break?", Doc suggested.

Marty took in the atmosphere. The cold November storm outside, from which the lab shielded him. Doc, always the guiding presence, caring about him even though he'd only known him for a week. Copernicus curled up on the floor, making a happy expression in his sleep.

In a way, this was home.

Marty looked up at Doc. "You know what? I'd like that."

[biblicallyaccuratepigeons]

Longpost that summarizes an old rant I saved a while back.

[context: i was watching a yt video released last June about pride and the issues with it (particularly that year) and had been thinking lately about the US school system. the following is an edited version of the comment i typed out, decided not to post because it was too long, and saved on a document to collect dust]

I think, if someone gets their personal validation from a tshirt or a series of colors, there must be some issue there other than "that the person isn't the same as everyone else."

An issue that I see a lot in the queer community, at least the younger part of it in (particularly northern) America, is that they're so busy putting on a show and "living their truth" that they've forgotten what it means to have to truly suffer for that truth (i.e. the mother crying in public and online because people moved the location of what she considered was her child's gender identity, which was most likely impermanent anyway, when just decades ago, and even still today, American children were sorely beaten and/or thrown out of the house for being queer in any way; just decades ago, the word "queer" was a hateful slur, and still today, there are people who are genuinely afraid of me just for being subtly queer). I think both wings, left and right, are keeping us like babies, doing everything they can to divert our attention from real issues, and keep us from maturing enough to see how wrong they are regarding these issues--and desperate people who don't know where else to turn, or how, are eating it up like the slop it is.

My thoughts always return to the US education system, and how much the media is allowed to overcome what little we're taught in the way of critical thinking and ethics. We're stuffed into a place we don't want to be, with adults who think it's their jobs to parent us however they like, teaching us things that don’t fit into a long enough timeframe or in ways that aren't flexible enough for everyone to learn, until either our 13 years are up or we quit. We're assured that we'll make nothing of our lives if we don't finish, and then when we do we're assured the same if we don't fork over thousands of dollars for some piece of paper no one looks at anyway and 2+ years of wasted time.

In what could possibly turn out to be 21 years of our lives (if we don't fail a year or two), we learn very little about actual life skills and critical, abstract thinking--unless we're already "gifted" enough to already be thinking critically and abstractly anyways. Those of us who have already figured that out then get bogged down with work, burn out early, and hate ourselves for an undetermined amount of time while our "less intelligent" friends (whom we know to be wonderful and equal) go to college, get married, have kids, and build careers. We know we could be better; it's what we've been told all our lives. That whispering shadow follows us around, saying things like, "It should've been you," "Why aren't you like that?" and "You're such a failure."

And for the kids who don't figure it out, well fuck them I guess, it just means more sheep who will follow every sentimental word the media says. Why bother teaching people who don't care to learn, even though the reason they don't care is because the adults didn't first? Conflict is good actually, division is good actually, arguing is good actually, war is good actually. Why? Because, uh, wait, nope, we're only allowed to teach that reason to the Gifted kids. Shoulda studied harder! Have some food stamps.

I know a lot of right-wing bigots compare the lives we live with the ones presented in George Orwell's book, 1984. That's why I always encourage people to read it for themselves. These guys might be overexaggerating some things, but, like everyone involved in this whole debate about what we're going to do next, they have a point. The manner in which the government is raising our children, the way kids often hate their loving parents for no reason other than "it's what I'm supposed to be doing at this age," or "because it's cool." Our hearts being directed by outside forces towards the wrong things, like patriotism or cheap Pride merch. The many who don't know better. The few who do being too exhausted or busied to do anything real about it.

The worst part for me is knowing that no matter how much I think about it, no matter how much I talk about it, I can't put a dent in the zeitgeist. And thinking and talking is all that I, a cherished Gifted kid, ever learned how to do, so what now? All the work ethic, all the valuing of human life and rights, mean nothing if I can’t do anything.

They teach the Gifted how to think, and the "normal" people learn how to do things on their own because they have no choice. 

If only I’d been born into an abusive home, I catch myself thinking. If only I’d never known how smart I am. Then, maybe, I would be able to do something. Maybe I’d have been able to make myself move on my own, proactively instead of reactively. Maybe I’d’ve taught myself taxes, and how to stay at a sucky job. Maybe I’d’ve proactively used a knife instead of my fingernails. Maybe I’d’ve stabbed instead of slashed. Maybe I’d’ve done heroin. Maybe I’d’ve walked into traffic. Maybe I’d’ve tied myself to a bag of heavy rocks and jumped into the river, to finally feel that cool, delicious, watery peace. Maybe I’d have a knife kink instead of a rope one. Blood instead of burn. Death instead of imprisonment. Yandere instead of tsundere. Hate instead of lust.

And I would be no better off than the normal kids.

[bluewhispersandabsinth]

still not a multi-fandom blog but I finished watching Good Omens 2 and I have thoughts and I want to ramble about them.

But since it's not the main theme of this blog, I don't plan to write GO fanfic again any time soon, and it's rambling about the ending, thus, spoilers, I put it under the cut.

I like that the ending of season 2 was in many ways an enhanced interaction of what happened in episode 3, season 1, including the "Come with me!" and "I forgive you." In a way, it was almost more dramatic given that Crowley didn't just want to go to one of their headquarters and stay involved with Earth and the humans together with his partner, but to elope to a different galaxy.

The speech wasn't that much different, just a bit more self-aware (important, sweet, but they still had similar conversations about "let's be on our side!" before many times, even in the BC times, and if compared, while a similar gist, it has slowly become more and more self-aware over time already, but never was full there before), it really just lacked the kiss and many of us suspected if it weren't for keeping the material a bit more mainstream appropriate when it was written, there would have been a kiss. I wonder actually if that's the reason why the scenes are so similar. To finally do what should have been done a long time before.

Anway, what I'm getting at -

"Let's do [radical thing] together!" - "No!" - "But...!" - "I forgive you." - One storms off (statistically, mostly Crowley) - one gets in trouble (statistically, mostly Aziraphale but then it's not gets but "gets") - dramatic reunion

seems to be a pattern throughout their friendship, including the emotional bond growing and escalating a bit further every time (yeah, it feels dramatic now, that we see it, but it's all happening and building up over 6000 years, sometimes with decades or centuries between "breakup" and reunion.)

I wonder if we'll get the full story of the 1793 prison scene. So far we've learned: Aziraphale knows that Crowely loves saving him and doesn't mind acting a little helpless/putting himself in danger and he did the "You're right, I am wrong dance" the same year. Combined with the smugness and "Oh, you!" from both sides, and Aziraphale's rather lame reasons why he ended up there and why he unfortunately, unfortunately can neither miracle nor charm himself out of jail? Yeah, that's a story that smells of a dramatic previous setup. Like a "breakup" over sides, for example.

I bet one wild fan theory that what looks extremely dramatic to us is the same song and dance they've been through countless times in 6k years and, if anyone remembers the manga and how it ended, we're steering toward a Ranma 1/2-esque resolution, maybe with more open and blunt handholding but all in all, nothing really changed aside from Crowley finally saying what Aziraphale already knew or at least expected (our angel guy doesn't seem very surprised by the confession and more pained by the timing and context than anything else).

All in all, ep6s2 feels more like the midpoint or late third of a whole season, especially if compared to the pacing and beats of the first season. And now, the second coming?

Sounds like the hint at a future conflict based on the same premise as the main arc of season 1, just from the other perspective (wouldn't be surprised if it included the concept of "The Rapture" in one form or the other, would be funny if Crowley turned out to be behind the belief in The Rapture but not to please Hell but to annoy Aziraphale with paperwork).

Anyway, it's good that things are how they're now. Aziraphale gets to step out of their routine and to experience one of his big "What ifs..." that he'd have wondered about until eternity if he hadn't been given the chance to be a proper angel in Heaven again.

And now, Crowley has to share Earth with Gabriel, Beelzebub, and Muriel, three immortal beings like him, with very different personalities from him and Aziraphale.

Choosing someone as your forever-person over others and lifechoices is only a true choice when you experience options.

If they end up together after another season and choose to stay together on Earth, independent from their backgrounds, it'll be because they truly choose to, and not brought together by proximity loneliness for being two of a kind.

I really hope that's an angle they'll go with in the future.

[animeraider]

I get a lot of flack from anti-vaxxers, anti-maskers, and other fuckwits about my words on the COVID-19 Pandemic and in particular the response to it in the US. I pull no punches about it, I believe firmly that the previous administration and ANYONE who enables them and their policies are complicit in the deaths of all of these people. They belong in prison.

I'm not going to fucking apologize for believing that. The fault for all of this belongs directly in the laps of the Republican Party. If you believe otherwise, you're WRONG. I can bring the receipts.

I've been pretty isolated during all of this. I went into lockdown on March 11, 2020 and I'm technically still there. I now work from home, and even though I've been fully vaccinated for two months now I still go out masked. I may never eat at a buffet again. Sorry Sizzler, but I've learned how to make your cheese bread.

I ripped a tendon in my left knee in May of 2020. I had to go to the hospital, but I was out in a few hours with crutches. I would joke with people that I'm now out of hinged joints to break.

But in July my cough returned with an attitude, and I picked up an infection. Not Covid, but it all made me pretty sick. So that you understand, I have what's called "Chronic Cough Syndrome". I've had it since I was 8. No one knows the cause or the cure. Believe me, we've looked. I just start coughing, and after a few months, I stop. It can be treated but I just have to live with it until someone comes up with something we haven't tried before.

Doctors have gotten into fistfights over whether or not I have Asthma. I don't, but sometimes Asthma medications work for a bit. To be honest, I've had this for so long that sometimes I don't even notice when I cough. It's just part of the wonder of being me.

I took the Pandemic seriously. I stayed home, I socially distanced, I got real familiar with teams, bluejeans, and zoom. I did a LOT of cooking. Started making bread. Watched the country fall apart at the seams and commented on it from my own little pocket of safety. I contributed a new song to a fund-raising effort for nurses. I did my part to stay safe, but my cough had other ideas.

Anyway, this time my coughing got pretty severe and I finally agreed to go to the hospital. As stated above, turns out I had picked up an infection. Combine that with my cough and I showed all of the symptoms of a severe case of COVID-19.

I'd been careful, but the hospital staff were all very cross with me. If I had COVID, I just exposed all of them, and the main nurse who tended to me had already been quarantined that same month for a different exposure. When the test came back negative the tension in the emergency ward calmed down immensely and everyone treated me kindly and professionally - I was a patient with something they knew what to do with and didn't bring plague into their house.

I spent 4 days in the hospital but the worst part, scariest part, was the wait to move from the Emergency Room to a private room. I came to the hospital in the late afternoon. I finally got my bed nearly 12 hours later, a good 8 hours after my test for COVID had come back negative.

I needed to be hospitalized, and needed a bed, and there weren't any. I had to wait for someone to either be discharged or to die.

I got my bed at 4 in the morning. Someone had died. Musical chairs was played and I was finally moved out of the Emergency Room.

It's really hard to understand how sobering that is without experiencing it. Many years ago, before we even knew about AIDS, I had the honor of donating blood and seeing it get used in a surgery mere minutes later. I became a regular blood donor at that moment - I felt so happy and alive that my blood had been used to save a life mere minutes after I had donated it (I'm O Negative) that I became a life-long believer. I donated every time I was eligible from that moment forward until a blood infection disqualified me from ever donating again 20 years later.

This was just the opposite. The guy with a cough and a treatable infection had to wait for someone on a ventilator to stop breathing. Someone with COVID died so that I could get a bed. They never knew this had happened, and I never learned who they were. Some random person died so that I could get better.

Try sleeping after that realization hits you. I couldn't. I barely slept the entire time I was there.

Despite the fact that I wasn't in the "COVID Ward" I got to see the effects first-hand. The newly disinfected bed and room I had was previously occupied by someone moved up to the Covid Ward. They in turn had moved up there after a ventilator was taken away from a patient who died. Staff rotated through different wards on different shifts. My first nurse was rotated into the Covid Ward. My next day nurse had just rotated out. I have never in my life seen a group of people look so haunted by their day to day lives.

A well-liked member of their staff was on a ventilator. So was a priest who worked in the hospital. I had never seen in person a "Code Blue". There were six of them my first day. There is also a "Code Black". It's much worse.

My wife and daughters weren't allowed to visit me. When your daily soundtrack is nothing but medical staff talking about the good and the bad, terrible television and the moaning/screaming of your new neighbors getting that visit from family is a huge stress relief. It wasn't available this time. I didn't see my family again until I was discharged. There was no outside world.

I admit that being in hospital during all of this, even though I myself didn't have COVID, shook me. When you're in hospital mostly what you deal with is yourself and your own condition, and getting the hell out of there as soon as you can. This time I was not only aware of the people around me, their conditions, their suffering and their recoveries, but I was also aware that a whole section of the building was dedicated to people who were going to die, and that the people who were treating me were also treating them.

This was as close as I got to the Pandemic. When I got home I fucking STAYED THERE. I went to the grocery store and the pharmacy and that was it. That was life for MONTHS.

Our grocery store was fantastic - they enforced social distancing and masks with gusto. They cleaned EVERYTHING. It had been a 24 hour store but converted to shorter hours so that the down time could be spent cleaning. Aisles were made one-way.

The first time I saw someone in the parking lot without a mask I have to admit that I lost it. I screamed at them (a white couple about my age), "PUT YOUR FUCKING MASKS ON YOU FUCKING MORONS!" Understand, I'm a fairly large man with a deep voice and have been a professional singer for decades and have played sax even longer. I'm loud and imposing. Everyone within 50 feet turned and stared at the couple. Okay, me first then the couple.

It's possible they didn't speak English. They exchanged a few words in Russian to each other and then masked up.

I've been known to let my temper show. I try not to because I know it's there and I know it's terrible. I've worked for decades to keep it in check and I just let it all out, screaming at a couple of rando Karens 20 feet away from anyone else who hadn't put their masks on yet. I had to acknowledge that this affected me profoundly. I'm dealing with that.

I've lost friends to COVID. One of my neighbors spent almost 3 months on a ventilator and survived it. Some of my friends have lost family. It hurts. It all hurts. It has changed me.

Some of you have noticed that I've been pretty productive in 2021 in terms of music, after not releasing material for over a decade. This whole experience has changed me, changed my perspective. I was already an angry liberal but I'm far angrier and much more liberal now than I was. The album I worked on forever essentially no longer exists. The person I am now couldn't make that album. I am excising demons and allowing the new to come in and take its place.

And you know what, so far, I'm okay. I'm still here. I intend to stay. In fact, what I intend to be the first song from my next album in its own way deals with the fact that I don't understand depression - I've never experienced it.

But I have to admit that I'm grateful to have family and friends in my life who accept me as I am, who provide unconditional love and support and I hope I do for them. I have the occasional doubt that I'm as good a friend/family member as I can be. I can be an ass sometimes.

(A couple of my long-time friends have just done spit-takes. "Sometimes????")

Because the scariest thing about what we've all been through - what I've been through - is that we have changed so much that I'm not sure that the people who know me best would be my friends if they met me as the person I am now. I am changed.

And the odds are pretty good that you have too. This is something we're all going to need to deal with, or we're lost.

Please, don't be lost.

And because it still needs doing, because the pandemic is still going strong as ever among the anti-vaxxers, the science deniers and the Republicans, please support our nurses. Here's the album I'm on that is still to this day, long after falling off the charts, raising money for them: