Eternity, Bang Chan - 2024 // Eternity, Arthur Stace - 1932 to 1966.
In 1932, residents all over the city of Sydney started noticing something interesting, the word “Eternity” written on the pavement or wall, over and over again. The word was seemingly written by the same person each time, in a beautiful copperplate script. The mystifying and intriguing presence of graffiti before graffiti was commonplace had Sydney residents pondering who this "Eternity man" could be. In 1956, the mystery was solved- Arthur Stace, a former soldier and alcoholic, turned man of faith, had inscribed the word over Sydney's suburbs more than half a million times between 1932 and 1966. He chose to write the word in the early hours of the morning, when few people were around, managing to keep his identity a secret for over 20 years. Something about the word eternity, written in fleeting chalk on the ever-changing city streets, seemed to compel locals- Newspaper writers published account after account speculating on the identity of this unknown man and the occasional false confession helped to maintain the air of wonder and mystery that surrounded the anonymous "Eternity man". Even after his identity had been revealed, Mr. Eternity, as he came to be dubbed, continued writing his eponymous "Eternity" across the walkways and walls of Sydney for another decade, becoming a beloved character in the city until his passing at the age of 82, in 1967. Now, nearly 60 years after the final "Eternity" by Arthur Stace was written, his message of eternity still manages to permeate the minds of Sydneysiders- becoming a representative word of the city.
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I think that Guillermo, at the end of Laszlo's 'Roast' party in episode 7, will reveal his secret.
The party will most certainly devolve into a roast of him instead, because of course it will. Because Nandor won't be able to make clever jokes or get anyone to laugh and in order to save his ego he'll do what he always does in those situations and sacrifice Guillermo in its place. He'll say unnecessarily cruel things because he thinks no one person can be more important to him than the fear of his own weakness. He'll pile it on too. One thing after the other. Maybe the other vampires invited to the roast will laugh along because familiars are easy marks. And the heat will build. There's only so many lashes Guillermo can take on behalf of Nandor's pride. And Laszlo, Nadja, and Colin are starting to grimace and wince.
And that's when Guillermo will do it.
He will stand up, with the chair he was sitting in making a horrible noise across the wood floor like a record scratch. To let you know that the party has been violently cut short.
And Laszlo will do a panicked head shake, maybe try to salvage the situation from the precipice that Nandor has unknowingly brought them to. That Guillermo is about to jump off of. With all of them helplessly attached.
Guillermo was put in the audience on the other side of the room. Already segregated from the rest of the group. He's in a room filled with vampires who were just laughing at him but now look. Nandor's peers. The whole vampire community is here, watching him.
Guillermo's vampires sit across from him at a long table with a podium, like a panel of judges. Like he's a prisoner standing before the pulpit awaiting a verdict. He's got one last moment to either swallow the pride he just started to embrace on a float earlier that year and sit back down, let himself be ridiculed like always but live to see another day ... or burn it all down like it deserves to be, with his plea of guilt.
Holding a struck match, Guillermo will finally speak the truth to Nandor. To everyone. The real truth. The one he hasn't spoken out loud yet. The one nobody knows.
He will say, "I have a joke." And everyone will listen.
"I paid to have some barely-turned, low-rank, nothing of a vampire. Who hasn't even been one longer than I have been a familiar…to bite me. And turn me. In the back room of a gas station where he works. And he did it."
"I've been turned by a vampire that wasn't my master. That wasn't you."
Guillermo's jittered, bitchy energy tapers. He no longer fidgets or looks around at the faces slack-jawed at him. He's gone cold.
Like a killer, he delivers the next blow straight at his master's heart, sitting across the room at the podium, similarly frozen in place.
"But that's not the joke."
"The joke is, I may not have known how taboo it was…that it would be such a big deal to everyone else…but I did know…" (he licks his lips and despite his unshakable intent the uncontrollable emotion he always carries inside him threatens to undo his composure. Still, he keeps his voice loud and steady. Mostly. His attention is focused. His eyes start getting a little wet, but he hardly notices. He's going to follow through.)
"I didn't even really do it because I wanted to. Not then, or like that. (Not with him). Not for the same reason I had wanted to do it before. Or the reason I told Laszlo and Nadja I did it."
"See…the joke is…"
(His voice has become softer. It still carries across the room easily. There is no one else in the whole house but Guillermo and Nandor.)
"I did it because I knew how it would make you feel."
"I did it because I wanted to hurt you."
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in a turn of events that doesn’t surprise anyone im sure, @impishtubist has caused yet another scene to be stuck in my head until i wrote it down. so, have some sexy, greying sirius; a deeply thirsty, appreciative james who won’t let him dye it; and a very-fed-up-of-his-parents-antics harry for prongsfoot wednesday!
x
Harry entered the house with ‘I’m home!’ on his lips that died an instant death as soon as he registered what he was seeing.
“Er,” he hesitated. Does he really want to—? One more look at the scene in front of him and he decided to bite the bullet. Better to clear the air now than keep stewing on it later.
“Um. Is this a—kink? A fetish? Should I leave and never come back?”
In any other scenario, the way both his parents froze and looked at him with wide eyes would’ve been comical.
If only Dad wasn’t straddling his Papa on the ground, one of his hands holding both of Papa’s above him with disturbing ease.
“Er—“
“It’s not what it looks like, Haz!” Dad yelped, cutting across Papa who’s face and neck were turning a steady pink. “I swear.”
“Then why are you still—like that?” Harry asked, deciding to play it safe and look at the boring grey couch in the living room instead. Nothing scandalous going on there.
He could hear the scrambling of feet, a few thumps, and a mini-yelp, absently wondering about the amount of noise the simple act of getting up could produce.
“Right.” Dad cleared his throat. “So, Harry, would you please tell your Papa that he is, under no circumstances, allowed to dye his hair?”
Harry blinks, turning to his other, exasperated, father in silent question.
“Harry, will you please tell your Dad that this is my hair and I can do with it as I please?”
“Not when you promised yourself to me!” Dad yelps and Harry is hit with an intense wave of regret at instigating this.
“Promised—?”
“Yes! Our wedding, you said, and I quote, ‘I give myself to you, James Potter, mind, body and soul’, don’t tell me you forgot.”
“Of course I didn’t forget,” Papa throws his hands up in the air. “But c’mon James—this is not what I meant when I said body!”
“What, you think I only wanted you for that ars—“
“Dad!” Harry, yelps, mortified. He can feel his cheeks heating in a violent blush. He can feel a similar flush creeping up Papa’s neck. Sadly, his words don’t have the deterring effect he’d intended.
“I mean, it is spectacular, don’t get me wrong, but you’re more than just a beautiful body, Si!”
“James, please, have some mercy for our child, if not me,” Papa says. Thankfully, this seems to register as Dad’s eye widened, part horror and part apology. Harry waves it away tiredly; though he’s no less embarrassed every time it happens, growing up in the Potter household with two extremely affectionate parents has exposed him to much worse. He’s accepted it as his lot in life.
“Er—yeah, anyway,” he coughs, ruffling his hair, “Bottom line—Sirius isn’t allowed to dye his hair.”
“I literally never agreed to that.”
“Too bad because you will,” Dad says, slowly moving towards Papa with a look on his face that Harry is loath to describe as predatory. If only it wasn’t so true.
“Oh?” Papa’s left eyebrow rises extraordinarily high, as it tends to do quite often. He crosses his arms over his chest in challenge. The motion makes his Dad smile.
“Mhm.” The two of them are chest-to-chest by this point, staring into each other’s eyes. Harry could probably conduct a whole rave party right here, right then, and they wouldn’t even notice. That is when he decides it’s high time he should step in—not literally, Merlin, no—before they end up doing something that makes him try to run away (again).
“So I was right—it is a kink,” Harry says dryly, once again regretting starting this entire conversation in the first place. He should’ve just turned back around and gone to the Weasleys instead.
“Harry, no—“
x
Three years later, Harry—who’s almost blissfully forgotten about the entire incident—walks into his parents’ house to an almost identical scene, just with his Papa on top this time. This time, he makes the sensible choice he still regrets not making all those years ago, and walks right back out the door.
Let those two sort it out on their own. Merlin knows his intervention hadn’t helped a bit the last time around.
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consider - benoit blanc casually strolling into a top gun classroom and taking all of five minutes to expose everyone down to the bone so the can air out the laundry and become a team. maverick pulled rooster’s papers because his mom didn’t want him to fly. hangman and rooster are fucking again (ahem, “engaging in cardinal relations”) because they can’t be within twenty feet of each other without losing their goddamn minds. fanboy’s been stealing payback’s change for the vending machine. yale doesn’t actually care all that much about football he just pretends to to keep harvard happy. if anyone should lead the team it should be phoenix but the navy’s shot itself in the foot having her running foxtrot (of course, there is no offence intended bob.) and cyclone, oooooh mistah simpson. no amount of barked orders can hide the fact that you are not equipped to set the parameters of this mission, nor your jealousy of this fascinating little man and his esteem in the eyes of iceman.
anyway then he just saunters off with his gay little suit and necktie to get an iced tea or whatever and the squad are just sitting there like they’ve just been forcefully put through the spin cycle on a washing machine. i think that would be fun.
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Rant time but trying to farm BP with wesker is SO HARD. I suck at killer to begin with so I bring distressing and beast of prey to at try and max 20k but,,, I've actually been trying to hook and down people for points w the cakes but survivors are SUCH SHITS. I try to hook everyone twice and only down them after that since I usually only go friendly, but god forbid I hook someone!!!!
These fuckers kill themselves on hook then have the audacity to call me sweaty and a tryhard like??? You killed yourself????
I've had FOUR matches where 2 or 3 survivors dc on first hook or down then no one gets points at all.
I wouldn't care but the messages are so nasty?? Like bro I have social anxiety even on the Internet this is not enjoyable just be nice ffs
yeah this community is a bunch of shitheads honestly. even worse during the event.
“oh you didn’t bring a terrormisu? time to dc/tunnel you bc i’m a whiny ass bitch!!” like GOD SHUT UP GEGRGGRGRRGR
i feel like it’s way harder to farm now than ever. i haven’t played killer but the games where i befriend a wesker i always sacrifice myself for him not because it’s my code but also because i feel super bad since they usually don’t get more than a kill or a couple hooks 😭
doesn’t help that most people don’t even like going against wesker in the first place. it’s understandable but there’s really no reason to dc over it if you’re still getting points
sorry about the messages too :(( i’ve gotten the most negative messages from survivors so it does hurt receiving them. but survivors are also whiny bitches who sob when they don’t get a flawless escape.
killer is hard to play. not only because it can be hard if you don’t play it, but it can also be hard if you have that social anxiety. i still get anxiety to this day even thinking about playing killer. i understand it can be hard but i know it’ll get better :) people just fucking suck sometimes
if you are getting sick of killer or want to farm bps another way, don’t be afraid to ask to play with me. i’m actual shit but at least i’m using terrormisus now to level my feng and carlos :)
anyways i wish all non-bitch ass killer players have a wonderful day getting bps
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So, I'm trans. And several years ago, I was at my great grandfather's funeral. 17, newly on T, barely out to anyone other than my close friends and family. And I'm standing there at the refreshment's table, surrounded by strangers and members of my family's church, when George walks up to me.
This man is ancient, bent like a finger and frail. Tufts of white hair surround his wrinkled face. Like always, he's wearing thick glasses, massive hearing aids, and his veteran's hat. George was my first introduction to the concept of war, when he told me as a child why he was missing two fingers on his hand. He's been a fixture at church since I can remember. I've only ever seen him at there or in uniform at parades, the rest of his time spent in a nursing home somewhere. He picks up a deviled egg and says, in his quiet voice,
"You know, before your grandfather died, he told me that now he had 3 grandsons."
I'm frozen in place. I don't know what to say to that, if I should say anything at all. This is not a conversation I expected to have, especially not with this man. But he continues.
"I didn't know what he meant! So he explained it to me."
And I can imagine it. My great grandfather, uninformed and opinionated but supportive, explaining to his friend the news he barely understood himself over after-service coffee and cookies. His eldest grandchild was now a boy.
"And, you know, I didn't know what to think."
Here, George looks me up and down. This 90-something year old war veteran, who knew me mostly as the little girl playing in the church kitchen with his wife, processing what my great grandfather had really meant. It feels like a long pause, even thought it probably passed in a second.
"But you look good. So, eh!"
And then he smiled, shrugged, and walked away without another word. If I was fine, if I was happier, then that's all that mattered.
George passed away this week, at the age of 99. This memory has been bouncing around in my head for a while, but I wasn't sure if or how I should share it. It was a conversation that meant very little, but also meant the world. It was scary, and funny, and the moment when I realized that sometimes the people you least expect will accept you. Sometimes, even if they don't fully understand, even if they barely know you, someone will choose to support you. And that will always matter.
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