#This is where I watched my parents died

[thecupsmith]

[laurapetrie]

The wedding, when it came, had a fairy-tale quality, in this very remote church, with no electricity, and it happened after dark. It felt quite otherworldly, very dreamlike. - John Perry Barlow

Carolyn was stunning and very stark — as if the few lights were just for her, with the rest of us in darkness and her betrothed's face leaning into her halo. When John fumbled with the ring, Carolyn gently put her hand on his shoulder and laughed. The moment that she put her hand on his shoulder to reassure him that everything was okay, that was quite a loving subtlety. But that was her. - Billy Noonan

It was an incredibly magical moment. I saw it as it was unfolding, almost in silhouette. It was virtually dark outside. John reached for the hand of Carolyn; she was caught off guard. I'm walking backwards in the light rain at dusk, and John does this amazing gesture, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. It was lovely, the spontaneity of that gesture. - Denis Reggie

[ratatatastic]

[sage-nebula]

I've decided to make my own post because I am not an idiot, but full disclosure that this post is 50% based on thoughts I was having while I was driving home from the auto repair shop yesterday and 50% a response to a post I saw just now that conflated "redemption arcs" (things fictional characters go through in fictional stories) with "community support" (things real life people offer to other real life people in real life) and how this relates to "fixing people" (making someone who mistreats or abuses themself or others not mistreat or abuse themself or others anymore).

Read my words very carefully.

In fiction, it is more than okay to like whatever type of toxic or fantastical relationship you want. If you like to read stories about toxic, codependent people who are absolutely horrible to one another and will never, ever change, you read those stories. If you like to read stories about a tortured man who just needs The Right Person to teach him to be better, and then he is, sometimes exclusively only to them though, then you read those stories. Sometimes you want to read stories where the main character says "I can fix him" and fails spectacularly, and sometimes you want to read stories where the main character says "I can fix him" and succeeds spectacularly, and either way, you read whatever stories you want, whatever makes you happy, I'm sure it's somewhere in this vast Archive that we call Our Own.

However, in real life?

First of all, "arcs" aren't things real life people have. An arc is something that has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Real life people don't have those, because our stories don't end until we die. Unlike a character, whose life presumably continues even after their story ends (except in circumstances where they die at the end but you know what I mean), we have to keep living day by day, with all the rises and falls that come with it. Now, this does not mean that a person cannot change, or that a person can't get better and learn from their mistakes; but it DOES mean that we can't have a "redemption arc" where we complete a checklist of story beats and then suddenly we're a better person who has experienced the necessary growth to be forgiven. First off, no amount of growth or change ever requires any victims to forgive. And second, that's just not how life works. That's not how change works. Change and growth are baby steps taken each day, and sometimes you go backwards, and you get angry with yourself, but then you pick yourself up and you try again the next day, and the next, and the next. It's an ongoing journey that does not end until you die. That's life.

But second and more importantly, the real idea that I think the original post was trying to get at, but missing the mark on was . . . okay.

So, the original OP of the post (and the person who replied to OP) got angry at the idea that the strawman they had invented (the person who had theoretically said "you can't fix him!") would deny support to someone who needs that help to grow and change as a person. The person who had replied in support of OP added that the strawman clearly believed in punitive justice over rehabilitative justice as well. On the surface, I can see where they are coming from. After all, on the whole humans are a social species and do need support networks in order to not only thrive, but survive. People such as drug addicts need support and assistance in order to get into better places in their lives, and the prison system has been proven to be far less effective at preventing repeated offenses than rehabilitative programs. This is all true.

However.

The reason why "you can't fix them" is still true, and needs to be said and understood particularly by those who are susceptible to falling into abusive relationships (e.g. people who have been abused before, particularly in childhood or adolescence) is because of free will. Specifically, the free will that each of us has, but specifically the other person. Person A can want so, so, so badly to "fix" Person B so that they stop being an abusive alcoholic 75% of the time. But if Person B doesn't actually want to stop being an abusive alcoholic (even if they say they do during the 25% of the time they aren't smacking Person A around), and refuses to put in the work that it takes to become sober and be a better person, then guess what? Nothing Person A does will ever make them be a sober, non-abusive partner. They will be unable to fix Person B. It doesn't matter how much time, energy, money, or commitment they pour into that person. It doesn't matter how much they genuinely, honestly, earnestly love them. Because unless Person B wants to change, and will put the work into doing so, then they will not change, and Person A, for their own health, safety, and sanity, needs to exit that relationship.

Now, does that mean that if, ten years down the line, Person B decides they are ready to put in the work to get their alcoholism under control, no one should help them? Of course not! They should absolutely be put in touch with sober counselors, support groups, medical professionals, friends and family who can help them. Person A could potentially forgive them, if Person A chooses. But that willingness to change and put in the work has to come from within Person B first.

I've been in the position where I've seen people in awful situations just tanking their lives, people I loved and cared about, people I begged to just listen to me and get help, only for them to not . . . and ultimately I had to accept that I couldn't fix them. I could be there to offer support when they were ready to fix themselves, but the core work that needed to be done had to come from within themselves. I couldn't provide that. Not because I was inadequate, not because I didn't love them, but because I couldn't force them to do anything they didn't want, or weren't ready, to do.

So at the end of the day, "you can't fix them" isn't about not giving support. It's about recognizing your limitations as a human being. It's about knowing that:

You cannot force someone to do something they do not want to do.

You cannot force someone to do something they are not ready to do.

Not being able to help or save someone is not a moral failing of yours.

Not being able to help or save someone does not mean you do not love or care about them.

Providing support should never come at risk of your own health and safety, physical or otherwise.

When you love someone, it can be really hard to accept this. You think, "I know I can make them want to try. I know I can inspire them to want to change. I know they love me, so if I just love them a little harder, they will want to change." Nine times out of ten, though, that is just not true. And if someone is abusing you, it is not worth the literal risk to your life to keep trying. You are worth more than that. You are more than just someone else's band-aid.

Keep yourselves safe in 2024.

[mue-x0]

COWABUMMBER FT. THE LAST RONIN & 87 TMNT

I had to do it.

[one-in-a-million-fishsticks-blog]

Help!!!! I got distracted from working on my animatic!!!! 😭

*Sigh*....

Anyways, a few weeks ago I came across a Tumblr post which stated that at some point, somewhere, there used to be a game-relevant Belmont family tree for Castlevania which listed Richter as having two unnamed siblings.

I loved this idea, but unfortunately the wiki was entirely unhelpful with finding out more in regards to the topic.

I was hit with a strike of inspiration, however, so I decided to sketch up a few concept blurbs based on what I think Richter's siblings might look like had they existed in Nocturne.

✨ Violat ✨

Timotei Belmont - The oldest son of Julia Belmont. When naming him, I used the Romanian form of Timothy. As a child he was trained to use whips in combat with his family's ancestral fighting style, but as an adult he deviated from tradition and now fights with a combat style which he himself developed. For close combat, he relies on a specially made shield with sharpened edges of consecrated silver. For reach, he uses a bow with silver-tipped arrows. He is an accomplished archer and blacksmith who takes moreso after his mother (and ancestor Trevor) in appearance.

Aalis Belmont - The youngest child and only daughter of Julia Belmont. When naming her, I used the mideval French form of Alice. Growing up she received the same training as both of her brothers, but never really took to whips or showed any aptitude for magic as a defense. Aalis ultimately developed into a close-combat fighter, favoring the short sword as a primary weapon. She often duel-wields a pair of twin blades, sometimes substituting for throwing knives when long-range attacks become absolutely necessary. Her twin swords are called Current and Cleanse. Appearance-wise, she looks a bit more like Richter, with a few slightly more obvious traits from Julia and her ancestor Sypha thrown in.

[dreamingkelz]

Damn.  When Foolish leaves, he’s all happy and joking with Leo.  Just going for a short bathroom break, will be back soon.

When he comes back, she’s dead.

I think that’s just like, the scariest fucking thing. 

[mediumsizedpidegon]

i think yuzu deserves a little murder. as a treat.

[artekai]

Guess what movie I watched

[cherrysnax]

ugh I hate how many games I love are tainted with memories of disgusting people

[irisseireth]

My sister has taken it upon herself to find out what exactly happened to our great-uncle, who died in prison in 1937 in the first year of the Spanish Civil War and gosh... every document she finds is heartbreaking

[axellis-archv-2]

unrelated however in my envisioned overhalliday lore im recognizing some ...hmm..shall we say some interactions w him && baptiste

[theskyexists]

Watched the first 2 episodes of house of Usher and as my brother says I'm cursed with knowing what will happen before it happens and having literally too much empathetic imagination

Like. They didn't deserve that.

That was absolutely horrid. Horrid.

I guess they started on Prospero because he didn't deserve that. All the misdeeds and horrors that were done to others, the pure poison that his family is responsible for, raining down on him.

Wish they'd shown more of that, the deaths they've CAUSED, because then i might have had some defense (anger) against the horror of these people's terrible deaths

[fozmeadows]

the older I get, the more the technological changes I've lived through as a millennial feel bizarre to me. we had computers in my primary school classroom; I first learned to type on a typewriter. I had a cellphone as a teenager, but still needed a physical train timetable. my parents listened to LP records when I was growing up; meanwhile, my childhood cassette tape collection became a CD collection, until I started downloading mp3s on kazaa over our 56k modem internet connection to play in winamp on my desktop computer, and now my laptop doesn't even have a disc tray. I used to save my word documents on floppy discs. I grew up using the rotary phone at my grandparents' house and our wall-connected landline; my mother's first cellphone was so big, we called it The Brick. I once took my desktop computer - monitor, tower and all - on the train to attend a LAN party at a friend's house where we had to connect to the internet with physical cables to play together, and where one friend's massive CRT monitor wouldn't fit on any available table. as kids, we used to make concertina caterpillars in class with the punctured and perforated paper strips that were left over whenever anything was printed on the room's dot matrix printer, which was outdated by the time I was in high school. VHS tapes became DVDs, and you could still rent both at the local video store when I was first married, but those shops all died out within the next six years. my facebook account predates the iphone camera - I used to carry around a separate digital camera and manually upload photos to the computer in order to post them; there are rolls of undeveloped film from my childhood still in envelopes from the chemist's in my childhood photo albums. I have a photo album from my wedding, but no physical albums of my child; by then, we were all posting online, and now that's a decade's worth of pictures I'd have to sort through manually in order to create one. there are video games I tell my son about but can't ever show him because the consoles they used to run on are all obsolete and the games were never remastered for the new ones that don't have the requisite backwards compatibility. I used to have a walkman for car trips as a kid; then I had a discman and a plastic hardshell case of CDs to carry around as a teenager; later, a friend gave my husband and I engraved matching ipods as a wedding present, and we used them both until they stopped working; now they're obsolete. today I texted my mother, who was born in 1950, a tiktok upload of an instructional video for girls from 1956 on how to look after their hair and nails and fold their clothes. my father was born four years after the invention of colour televison; he worked in radio and print journalism, and in the years before his health declined, even though he logically understood that newspapers existed online, he would clip out articles from the physical paper, put them in an envelope and mail them to me overseas if he wanted me to read them. and now I hold the world in a glass-faced rectangle, and I have access to everything and ownership of nothing, and everything I write online can potentially be wiped out at the drop of a hat by the ego of an idiot manchild billionaire. as a child, I wore a watch, but like most of my generation, I stopped when cellphones started telling us the time and they became redundant. now, my son wears a smartwatch so we can call him home from playing in the neighbourhood park, and there's a tanline on his wrist ike the one I haven't had since the age of fifteen. and I wonder: what will 2030 look like?

[zylev-blog]

Batman opened the door, catching the falling body that had come out of the tube. Glowing green Lazarus water flowed around his feet, but he didn’t care. He gently laid the boy onto the ground, listening for breathing sounds. But he wasn’t even sure if his species could breathe. The boy was no older than Tim, with stark-white hair, and pale green skin. The boy wasn’t human, that was for sure, but as to what species he was, Batman had no clue. The teenager hadn’t even opened his eyes since being removed from the tube.

The Lazarus water didn’t smell quite like the pits he was used to. The water smelled cleaner, stronger. Less like battery acid and more like a strong-scented cleaner that he couldn’t give a name to.

He grasped the boy by the shoulders as he picked him up bridal style. He needed to take the boy to the cave, and figure out if he was even alive. A regular hospital wouldn’t be able to do anything for him.

“Batman, we’ve apprehended the last of the men in white suits.” Red Robin said over the comms.

“Good,” His voice was gruff, “Make sure they don’t escape before police arrive.”

Tim didn’t bother saying anything else to him. Neither of them were in the mood for jokes. Not after what they had seen tonight. They had stumbled across a lab in Gotham in an abandoned warehouse. They had thought that it was a Joker hideout when they first arrived, but they had quickly found out that wasn’t the case. After they had began to investigate, they had found corpses of many people that had been thrown into a pit. The bodies had evidence of vivisection, torture, and experimentation. The bodies had ranged from children to adults, but the results were all the same. They were all dead.

They had found tubes like the ones used at Cadmus. They held a few humanoid-species, but most of them looked like they were in varying stages of death. The only tube that looked like it held someone living had been the teenage boy he now held in his arms.

The worst thing about all of this were that they had no idea what this place was, what they were doing, or why they were in Gotham. They had stumbled in by mistake.

He had a lot of work to do.

“No survivors.” Nightwing’s voice sounded. Not even Dick was in a good mood anymore, and he had been joking around for the last few hours.

Batman looked down at the boy in his arms. The boy hadn’t stirred once, hadn’t moved, and hadn’t breathed. He might be carrying a corpse for all he knew.

“And the files?” He prompted.

“Downloading.” Red Robin’s voice was grim. “You’re not going to like it.”

He didn’t like anything about this situation already. How could it get any worse?

“From what I can tell from skimming through the files,” Red Robin continued, “They were experimenting with people’s souls. They killed all of these people because they wanted to catch their ghost.”

“Hrrn.” He looked away from the teenager in his arms. Maybe he didn’t have a corpse in his arms—but a ghost. A ghost of a teenager he failed to save.

What if it had been Tim lying in his arms? Dick? Jason? Damian? Did this teenager have parents before he died, or were his parents in the pit?

The boy stirred, whipping Bruce’s attention back to him. The boy moaned in pain, starting to writhe in his arms.

“You’re safe now.” He said to the boy. “You’re saved.”

“Nnnngh.” The boy opened Lazarus green eyes to look at him. The eyes were hazy, as if exhaustion plagued them. “Batman?”

“They won’t hurt you ever again.” He promised.

“Where is my sister?” The boy asked. “They took her.”

Dick’s words played on repeat in his mind. No survivors. But the boy didn’t need to know that. Not yet.

“We’re still searching the base. She’ll be here somewhere.” He lied.

The boy closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. But even with Bruce watching him, the boy did not breathe. Maybe he didn’t need to anymore. Tears leaked down the boy’s cheeks, as if he knew Bruce’s lie.

[rowanhoney]

O man certain documentaries break my heart