No idea if it's the actual intention of the line, or if that even matters in the realm of the interpretive nature of song lyrics, but when I hear "let the flesh submit itself to gravity" I hear someone begging you to imagine the idea of growing old. Like I know so many mcr fans, myself included, always assumed we wouldn't live long enough to reach old age and are now struggling to put our lives together cause we didn't plan for this. This coupled with the line saying "you must fix your heart" I just feel like this song is the embodiment of getting a second wind. Like "hey we're still here and there's still things worth fighting for/against, so let's get to work but this time with the intention of seeing it through" which is itself an interesting counterbalance to their usual lament of "everybody wants to change the world, but no one wants to die"
I have seen a bunch of explanations in the tags on my post about how Dracula keeps his cloak from floomping down over his head when he’s moving downwards with considerable speed, just as a lizard moves along a wall. These ranged from wrist loops, to magnets, to just going really really fast, to invisible thread tied to his boots, to some kind of garter system... but my very favourite was the person who suggested that he tucks it into his pants.
Patton is the rich aristocrat who decides to give up his life of leisure and become a pirate captain. Loves adventure, fancy outfits and being the dad to his very confused crew.
Roman is Pattons scribe who wildly embellishes their actual adventures to make them more ~dramatic~ when not helping Patton with his relationship woes he can be found avoiding actual pirate work and sketching all the cute sailors
Vigil is a legendary pirate who is board of his own reputation as a blood thirsty bad guy and is weirdly drawn to (/immediately hopelessly besotted with) Patton and his insane but wholesome way of doing things.
Logan is Virgil’s right hand man who is the only one who seems to actually know how to sail a boat and can’t understand WHY Virgil has suddenly lost his mind and is acting completely illogical. Short and filled with rage.
I can give you a sneak peek at a WIP with buddie having a relationship (of sorts) in the past. It’s actually an au that I’m pretty excited about.
TW for all things murder investigation. I’ve been binge-watching Criminal Minds lately, so that’s where my head is at right now.
I have many, many complicated/messy/angry feelings about religion and how people use it all to justify their bullshit. I feel like that’s an appropriate warning to put up here because I am not subtle about how I use all of that in this fic.
It’s bad enough that the call came in the middle of the night, and that he’s right in the middle of what was supposed to be several worry-free days off. The tension hanging thick and heavy in the air is palpable and Eddie can’t help the dread that settles in his chest as he steps from his car into the cool night air.
A misty rain clings to his skin and wets the wild strands of his hair that he didn’t bother to fix between scrambling into a wrinkled suit and apologizing again and again to an exhausted, less than happy Pepa.
The flashing lights all around do nothing to help the budding headache behind his eyes. He can see a tent set up over the scene, an attempt to protect any and all evidence from the thick, foreboding clouds covering up any trace of stars overhead.
And a part of Eddie already knows what he’ll see when he ducks around the yellow tape.
Athena wouldn’t call him in on a scheduled weekend off unless it was absolutely necessary. The grave look on her face as he draws nearer only confirms his suspicions.
“I’ve got a couple of rookies getting coffee,” she says by way of greeting, resting her hands on the thick belt at her waist.
Eddie gives her a grateful nod but it doesn’t make him feel much better. Coffee this soon can only mean that they’re in for a long night. His eyes catch on Hen crouched low to the ground as he scans the alley, a feat made easier by the floodlights aimed directly at the body laid out right in the center of it all.
One look is enough to confirm his silent fear.
Athena hums in agreement, falling into step with him as he draws nearer to the perfectly posed form of a nude young man. His arms are crossed over his chest and his face is almost serene in death. If it weren’t for the single clean stab wound through the heart that’s nearly hidden by his arms, one could almost fool themselves into thinking he’s sleeping.
Just like all the others, he’s clean of all blood.
And if they were to turn him over, Eddie knows what they would find on his back. Two crudely cut yet neatly stitched vertical wounds on either side of his spine, level with his shoulder blades.
And as if that’s not enough evidence of exactly what they’re dealing with, Eddie seeks out and easily finds the last piece of the puzzle that he needs. The painted words on the wall, spelling out the same verse he’s read time and time again.
IN THE SAME WAY, I TELL YOU, THERE IS REJOICING IN THE PRESENCE OF THE ANGELS OF GOD OVER ONE SINNER WHO REPENTS
“It’s him, right?” he hears one beat cop say to another as he approaches the body. “It’s the Angelmaker?”
Eddie sees Athena tense up in the corner of his eye and he knows that he won’t have to be the one to lay down the law about using that fucking name that the media delighted in repeating over and over again, becoming more and more frenzied with each body that appeared.
The coverage slowly trickled away into nothing when the killings stopped and an entire city began to breathe again, daring to hope that whoever did it all was gone for good.
Eddie knew better.
This exact moment was inevitable.
“Any good news for me?” he asks.
Hen heaves out a sigh before looking up at him with a dim expression that didn’t fit her at all. But he understands. Anyone who was around for the first string of murders understands.
“Everything fits,” Hen says, lowering her gaze down to the body. “But this is new.”
She reaches out and gently tugs at the silver chain around the man’s neck with gloved fingers, letting them see the simple cross pendant. Hen is right. They haven’t seen a necklace like this on any of the bodies before. It might mean that they’re dealing with a copycat, except that the words on the wall were the one thing that they managed to keep out of the media.
“His back?” Eddie asks.
Hen gives him another quick glance just to nod her head.
“I really hoped he was dead,” she mutters, and only Eddie and Athena are close enough to hear the barely restrained fury in her words.
Eddie slips his hands into the pockets of his pants to hide how they curl into fists.
“You know what you have to do,” Athena says.
He’s been trying his best not think about it, but he knows.
“He needs to know that this son of a bitch is back,” Athena continues, as if she has to convince him.
As if he hasn’t been working himself up to it from the second he got that phone call.
“I can do it,” Hen says, rising to her feet.
Her eyes are fixed on Eddie, wide and concerned behind her glasses. As much as he appreciates the offer, he knows that he can’t accept.
“It should be me,” Eddie says with a shake of his head, already pulling his phone out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
Athena gives him an approving look. It would be just as easy for her to call. It’s impossible to forget that she is still deeply entangled in the lives of the 118 while his single connection was severed a long time ago.
Turning away from the scene, Eddie focuses on scrolling through his contacts as he makes his way back out of the alley. He hesitates when he finds what he’s looking for, his thumb hovering over the contact button for nearly a minute as his mind spins with all of the ways he can break this news to someone he hasn’t spoken to in well over a year.
Knowing that this will be a hellish conversation no matter how much he tries to plan it out, Eddie selects the number and watches his phone light up with Evan Buckley’s name.
Holding his breath, he brings the phone up to his ear and listens to it ring and ring and ring. Eddie prepares himself for what he might say if he’s sent to voicemail, even though he knows damn well that Buck never checks it. He’s so distracted by the possibility that he almost doesn’t notice when the ringing cuts off.
He hears a familiar, trembling exhale on the other end of the phone.
It's so weird to me that like. someone who literally blew up lmanburg twice and promised to do it again got to retire or whatever but the kid who got traumatized severely and people literally watched his abuser almost kill his best friend still went "yeah he's the evil one that we'll use as a scapegoat". in some world techno could be a scapegoat, and that his underdog moment but alas
hey who remembers that time I laid out the fact that dream manipulated techno the entire time he's been on the server, but techno has never noticed because it's never actually impacted him negatively [Link]
I've said it before, but emeralduo fans would level up in fan content the moment they realized that the character best in the position to farm angst is dream.
he's the one whose Actually at the center of the power structure on the server, having been in control for years. he's the one whose had the revival book that he's Completely Willing To Use to torment and bribe people with (when he'd made it Completely Clear that he'd be willing to torture and kill phil on repeat in order to test it, and when both phil and techno are already down to one life). he’s the one that’s not only a physical match for techno, but who has other strong people that he’d be able to manipulate into fighting with him (punz, bad, and ant in the present and a host of other people further back in the timeline).
and dream is serial killing mass murdering manipulating abuser with a god complex who sees every single member of the server as his property that he’s free to use however he wants.
if techno is ever going to be the underdog in any situation it’s going to be with dream, and the angst potential Of it is Something Else.
because technoblade thinks he’s safe from dream, he thinks dream has some level of respect for him. and he does, in the sense that he sees technoblade as a weapon to point at the people that he wants to hurt.
as long as dream Doesn’t have absolute power technoblade is convenient because he can use technoblade as a means to an ends. but he doesn’t Care about technoblade. and not only does he not care about him, he’s an Obstacle. because technoblade is an actual challenge to his authority. he’s an actual match to his strength and his wealth and, more recently, to his connections.
which means that any reality where dream makes a bid for total control over the server is going to have to include “dealing with” techno one way or another.
if technoblade and dream had been allowed to go into conflict after dream’s escape, when technoblade openly refused a partnership with him, then season four would’ve been good.
(or it at least would’ve had Any Overarching Conflict At All)
[image description: a mini comic of zuko spread over three panels.
1. a full body drawing of zuko and katara sitting across from eachother in grey-blue parkas with fur along the hood and the cuffs. kataras' has purple and blue detailing and she's talking with her eyes closed, gloved hands reaching up to braid part of zuko's hair. her own hair is pulled back in a braid that disappears inside her parka, and her hair loopies have been braided as well. she has freckles.
zuko's parka has red and blue detailing, and he's kneeling with his hands on his thighs. his hair is cut to his jaw and his head is facing forwards but his eyes have moved to the side as his attention has been grabbed by a speech bubble behind him. sokka's name is attached and it's saying "hey zuko!" in all caps.
2. three drawings of zuko drawn from the shoulders up. in the first he is looking over his shoulder so you can see his face, a small question drawn next to his head. katara's gloves are still in frame, still mid-braid and there are two small exclamation points beside her. a snowball is shooting towards zuko.
the next shows zuko being nailed in the face by the snowball, his hair flying around his head while his shoulder comes up as he's presumably knocked off balance by the blow. katara is no longer in frame.
the last shows zuko glaring over his shoulder, face red as he melts the snow off of his face. his hair is dripping and steam is curling up and away from him. a small speech bubble from the same direction as the last one is saying "oh no".
3. a full body drawing of zuko sitting on sokka's back and shoving his face into the snow. sokka's kicking his legs and batting at zuko's arm with one glove while the other attempts to push himself up with the other. his parka has a white triangular pattern going down the forearm. there is a speech bubble coming from sokka with the line broken up by the word 'muffled' indicating his voice is muffled by the snow. he's saying "I yield!"
zuko is grinning evilly. there is snow spraying around them.
i call this piece "the gaang are still children when the war ends so they should still be allowed to be children, meaning zuko should not have to rule a nation until he's at least 18."
or, the shorter version: zuko and sokka have a snow fight.
soooooo this drawing took me three days technically but the actual time spent on the drawing was maybe... 7? 8? hours, and yknow what? worth it.
Still very behind on blogging, but I finished a post on the Werther's Wrapper waistcoat. (For anyone who missed it, yes they're real wrappers fused to the fabric. Please never do that, it's a terrible idea.) While I was filming it I forgot to take many photos, and the blog post doesn't have as much information as the video I made about it.
Drabbles from a fic that may or may not ever be written
In which Tim and Jason stumble upon a plot convenient device that transports the user into a different dimension/universe. Except it’s broken and they don’t know how to work it yet so after they accidentally trigger it they’re pretty much just tripping through the multiverse in the hopes that maybe they’ll eventually end up back in their universe
Jason, after killing his 28th Joker and saving baby Robin Jason for the eleventh time: You know, this isn’t too bad
In a universe currently experiencing a zombie apocalypse
Tim: Hey look, it’s your people
Jason: You’ll be one too if you don’t shut up
Tim, horrified: I can’t believe I just punched Batman.
Jason: *cackles louder*
Tim: He’s so YOUNG right now.
Batman who’s been doing this for like three weeks: Hey! I’m above legal drinking age!
Jason, practically wheezing: Oh my gosh you punched baby batman
Jason: How many times have we stopped a world ending scenario by getting rid of a big red button?
Jason: Some people have no creativity.
Tim: What are you waiting for, a big blue button?
Jason: Well I’m just saying it’d be nice…
Tim: This is so weird.
Jason: It’s unnatural is what it is.
Tim: This is Gotham! There’s not supposed to be *sunshine* here.
Jason: So let me get this straight. You are… Ratman?
Bruce, dressed in a large rat costume: Rats are terrible.
Jason: Uh-Huh. So how’s that working out for you so far?
Tim: Just please tell me your secret base isn’t in a sewer or something.
Tim: This is the worst timeline.
Damian: You mean to tell me that in your universe I have SIBLINGS?!?
Jason: Uh, yeah? There’s like fifty of us on any given day. Are you seriously an only child?
Damian: FATHER! You must rectify this immediately!
Tim: Is this a greener grass situation or is he plotting our murders?
Damian: Two more children will not kill you!
Jason: I’m thinking the first.
Damian: I AM NOT THAT BAD!
Tim: Can we record this to show Damian later?
Tim: Did we do it? Are we back?
*Batman flies into the sky and punches an alien who lands about a mile and a half away*
Jason: Yeah, I’m gonna go with no.
Tim, fiddling with the dimension device: Dangnabit.
Jason, looking at a nineteen year old Bruce Wayne: Oh, I’m regretting all my life’s decisions up to this point.
Bruce: So does that mean you’ll train me?
Tim: Where’s the computer?
Bruce: The what?
Tim: *now five seconds away from a breakdown*
Jason: You’ll send this to the Justice League when we get back, right?
Tim, filming Batman using a glorified pogo stick and a slingshot: Obviously.
*Barbara and Bruce together*
Tim: I will never be able to unsee that.
Jason: I think I may need to gouge my eyes out now.
Jason: Oh, oh, this is somehow worse.
Tim, watching other Tim and Barbara on a date: Why is the multiverse so weird?
*sees a dinosaur batman*
Jason: I am suddenly filled with such a morbid curiosity…
In a no capes universe
Tim: So this is what it’d be like if we all got therapy.
the mortifying ordeal of admitting you do want to be loved vs the mortifying ordeal of not wanting ppl to pity you or feel bad for u vs the mortifying ordeal of wanting to reciprocate affection but being useless vs the mortifying ordeal of being careless with others and actually feeling bad vs the mortifying ordeal of being perceived as vulnerable at all.