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kehlana-wolhamonao3 · 4 months

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Cissy's sister!

This one is quite an AU of Blue Castle!

Basically, I wanted to explore how different would Valancy be if she was born as Roaring Abel's daughter and how it would influence her relationship with Barney. I like her involvement with the Stirlings too much though to give it up, so I made up a Roberta Stirling who eloped with Abel, had a short, tempestuous marriage with him and died giving birth to Valancy. He hires a wet nurse for her, married her soon after and she in turn gives birth to Cissy, so while they are half-sisters, only Valancy is related to the Stirlings.

Here is a very rough draft of the beginning:

The fact whether Valancy herself should be accepted as part of the Stirling clan had remained a hotly debated issue since the day she was born and her mother, Roberta Gay nee Stirling, died in childbirth. Roberta, ever a rebel among the staid and utterly respectable Stirlings, fell passionately and disastrously for the handsome, wild Abel Gay, a carpenter, blasphemer and a shameless town drunk, and eloped with him to the horror of her family. Their marriage, filled with volatile quarrels mixed with passionate reconciliations, lasted little above a year before it met its tragic end. During that time, Roberta had been considered dead by her relations, but her actual death while leaving behind a baby complicated the matter. Should the Stirlings recognise little Valancy?

“She’s a daughter of that sinner Abel Gay,” pointed Isobel Wallace nee Stirling distastefully. “Can it be expected that she’ll grow up into anybody we want to have associated with our family?”

“It’s extremely doubtful,” agreed gravely James Stirling who, at thirty, was already reputed to be very clever and was therefore the clan oracle—brains being none too plentiful in the Stirling connection. “Especially considering how easily her mother abandoned all decency in marrying him.”

“Roberta made her own bed,” Benjamin threw in his own agreement. “She should have expected that no child of such union could ever be recognised by us as kin. Roaring Abel’s daughter!”

“But Roberta is dead,” interceded Frederick, always the most soft hearted of the siblings, as was well known. Amelia, his bride of not yet a year, sent him an exasperated look. She had no pity for Roberta, whose scandalous elopement completely overshadowed her own marriage into the Stirling family which took place two weeks later. Nobody talked about a boring union between Amelia Wansbarra, determinedly respectable in face of her own father’s eccentricities, and the second youngest son of Jacob Stirling, when they could gossip about the elopement of the groom’s sister instead. Amelia didn’t forgive Roberta for it yet and she didn’t think she ever would. “The child is blameless, whatever her parents are guilty of. And as for her upbringing, do we really intend to leave the poor newborn baby to be brought up by Abel Gay? Surely people would talk about that.”

That hit a string with his family, as he predicted. The Stirlings feared and hated nothing more than a scandal – the main reason for their immediate cutting off Roberta – and the thought of being talked about as heartless and neglectful for refusing to take care of Roberta’s orphaned child didn’t sit well with them.

“She is our niece, whoever her father is,” acknowledged Herbert reluctantly. While he wasn’t as soft as Frederick, he was known for his abhorrence of conflict, a rare trait in the connection. “And Abel hardly has the means to take care of her properly.”

“The baby probably won’t last long anyway,” sniffled Mary, Wellington’s new wife. “I’ve heard she looks sickly.”

“Poor little lamb,” said Cousin Georgiana softly. Widely considered a hopeless old maid at thirty four, her opinions never carried much weight within the clan, but everyone was used to having her around. “Motherless from the day she was born!”

The Stirlings shifted uncomfortably. It was all well and proper to cut off the fruit of sin, but it was a bit harder when reminded that this fruit was at present a days old baby.

“We can’t ignore the child’s existence,” announced Jacob Stirling, the patriarch of the clan, ending the discussion. “It would be different if Roberta was alive – she made her own bed, as Benjamin rightly said – but her death changed things. This baby is half Stirling and she will be regarded as such. We can’t allow her to grow up in poverty and squalor unbecoming of the family. We would fail in our Christian duty.”

“But who is going to take her in?” asked Isobel with a frown. “I can’t – I have my boys to think of.”

“Well, it can’t be me,” said Herbert matter-of-factly. “I’m a bachelor.”

He had his sights set on Alberta Monroe, the most beautiful girl in the province, but since he was still working on climbing the ladder in the timber company he’d started to work for recently and his chosen bride was just sixteen, he did not expect to marry any time soon.

“Of course nobody considers you,” said his mother with an eyeroll. She was a thin, strong woman, with a long wrinkled face and sharp grey eyes which were still able to scare any of her seven remaining children into submission, even self-important James and vicious Isabel. Roberta was the only one who dared to rebel against her, but Roberta was dead now. “It’s obvious that the care of the child should go to a married couple.”

The married among her children – James, Benjamin, Isabel, Wellington and Frederick – looked at her in apprehension of hearing her verdict.

“I and your father can’t be expected to take such a responsibility so late in life,” stated Ruth Stirling firmly. “Especially since Mildred is still under our care. Isabel, as she just said, has two young children of her own; it would be hardly kind to burden her with another baby, especially a sickly one as this one is rumoured to be. I don’t think Benjamin’s father-in-law would welcome Roaring Abel’s child under his roof and we don’t want to spoil your relationship with him, Benjamin.”

Benjamin, who was a clerk in Mr Frost’s general store and, after marrying his boss’s only daughter, had reasonable expectations of buying into the business and inheriting it in its entirety one day, nodded sagely at that.

“Neither would it be wise to upset dear Mary’s father or indeed dear Mary herself mere weeks after her wedding,” continued Mrs Stirling. Marrying Mary Elliot was undoubtedly Wellington’s biggest achievement – Mary’s family was the richest this side of Port Lawrence – and making things difficult in his marriage was the last thing anybody in the Stirling clan intended to do. “Which leaves us with James or Frederick.”

James grimaced. The thought of taking in a baby – an offspring of his wild sister and the notorious Abel Gay no less! – didn’t sit well with him. He might have caved in for the reputation of generosity and benevolence it would give him though if his wife, a timid, pretty little thing, didn’t interject on the matter.

“Oh, let us take her, James!” she pleaded, her blue eyes imploring. “I’d love nothing more than to take care of a baby and since God hasn’t blessed us with one yet…”

She trailed off, seeing the clear refusal in her husband’s face even before he spoke.

“We can’t possibly do that, my dear,” said James condescendingly. “You have to think about your health first. It’s too delicate – much too delicate – to handle such a huge burden as a baby.”

Alice looked like she wanted to protest, but she didn’t, of course. He trained her better than that. James barely restrained a pleased smile at her deferring to his wisdom.

Nobody tried to quarrel with James or defend Alice; this was not how things were done in the Stirling clan. All eyes turned to Frederick and Amelia instead. They’ve been married for a year already, but didn’t have children of their own yet. Amelia was the only daughter of Amos Wansbarra who was neither rich nor completely respectable; there was no need to take into account neither her own nor her family’s opinions. And everybody knew that soft hearted Frederick could be talked into it.

As it turned out, they didn’t even have to talk him into it – to the horror of his wife, he volunteered.

“Of course Amelia and I will take her,” he announced cheerfully. “We have enough space and I dare say that Amelia would welcome something to do while I’m at work.”

Amelia stiffened at the implication that she didn’t have enough to keep her busy even without taking in the baby of a woman she disliked and a man whom she abhorred, but she didn’t dare to quarrel in the presence of the whole clan. Her position in it was still too tentative for her to risk it. She forced herself to smile.

“Of course,” she said with much less convincing enthusiasm. “We’ll do our best to bring up this girl as a good, obedient Christian.”

Everything agreed upon, the only thing which remained was to communicate the matter to Abel Gay, which they promptly did after Roberta’s funeral.

Abel laughed in their faces.

#the blue castle fanfic #the blue castle fanfiction #the blue castle #the blue castle book club #valancy stirling

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shion-yu · 2 months

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False Alarm

Sometimes, it’s just not meant to be. An early Cliff and Theo/Al story, mostly fluffy banter and then some angst. 2,810 words, no TWs but CWs low intensity hospital setting, transplant talk, mention of internalized homophobia.

Cliff wasn't sure what to make of Theo, the lawyer he was doing his summer internship with before he started his first semester at NYU. When Cliff thought about what a lawyer should look like, he had certain expectations. A lawyer was extremely formal, never smiled or laughed, never asked questions, and always wore a suit. The only one of these qualities that Theo possessed was the suit wearing, and even then he could occasionally be caught wearing khakis and a button down.

The craziest thing about Theo though, was that he was openly gay and no one seemed to care. It floored Cliff. His mom had always looked down on gay couples they saw in public. She looked down on everyone, but especially people who "chose" to stand out. Yet here Theo was, with a big office overlooking the financial district and an incredible case record under his belt and nobody ever seemed to disrespect him. He even had a picture of his partner on his desk where anybody could see, including the clients who came for consultations and business partners whose opinions really mattered. Cliff didn't understand how Theo got away with it, but he did. It definitely left an impression.

This particular day though, Theo seemed frazzled and distracted. Cliff was sitting across from him in Theo's office just having his weekly check-in with the lawyer. Theo usually seemed very put together and focused, but today he kept checking his personal cell phone on his desk like he was waiting for something. "So Cliff," Theo said, "Still think you'd like to go to law school after your first month here?"

"I think so," Cliff said. He tried not to watch as Theo glanced at his phone yet again. "I like the research. And I like going to court."

"You've certainly got the brains for it," Theo said. "When you're at NYU, take lots of diverse classes. Everything can always tie back into law and make you better at practicing it."

"Thanks," Cliff said.

"No problem," Theo said casually, but he was immediately distracted when his phone buzzed with a call. He looked at the caller ID and nearly jumped out of his seat. "Sorry Cliff, I've got to take this," Theo said hurriedly. "You're fine here, just, hey, pour yourself a coffee or something." Theo motioned to the full coffee pot on one of his other desks and then stopped paying attention to Cliff.

Cliff tried not to be nosy and listen, but it was hard not to when they were in the same room. He made himself a cup of coffee even though he preferred tea and sipped awkwardly. He hoped it gave the impression he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation Theo was having that clearly was not about work. "Are you sure that's all it is?” Theo was saying, his voice concerned. “Tomorrow? What time? Does he need to stay overnight? NPO after midnight? Okay. Yes, of course. Thank you Doctor."

Theo set his phone down, took a deep breath and then sat back in his office chair. "Sorry Cliff," he said. "You can come back now."

Cliff awkwardly returned to his seat a cross from Theo, placing the steaming cup of coffee on a coaster at the edge of Theo's desk. "That was my partner's doctor, I've been waiting for that call, sorry to be so distracted," Theo said. "He's going to the hospital for a minor procedure tomorrow, so I probably won't see you for the rest of the week."

"Oh," Cliff said. What else was he supposed to say? "I hope he's okay."

"He's fine, thank you," Theo said. "He's got a port, I don't know if you're familiar, it's like an IV in his chest. Anyways, it got infected so they're replacing it with a new one." Cliff honestly had no idea what Theo was talking about, but it sounded serious. It seemed Cliff wasn't very good at hiding his expression, because Theo added, "He's got a disease called cystic fibrosis, so he's in and out of the hospital a lot. I don't want to say it's not a big deal, but well, it's not an emergency. Don't worry."

"Okay," Cliff said. He nodded to the framed photo on Theo's desk. In it, a slightly younger Theo had one arm slung over the shoulders over a guy with curly dark hair, thick glasses and dimples. "That's him, right?"

"Yup," Theo confirmed. "His name's Al. He's a good guy." The way Theo was smiling as he said this was different from the way Theo usually smiled at everybody else. Cliff didn't know how to define it - fond, perhaps? "Next time he comes around I'll let you meet him. You'd like him." Now Theo had a weirdly knowing look on his face, as if he understood something Cliff didn't.

"Sure," Cliff said. He was so confused.

His confusion didn't abate even when he did meet Al about three weeks later. Al was shorter than Theo and wore very casual clothing that stuck out in the law firm. His cheeks were pink compared to the rest of his olive skin, which Cliff soon realized was from coughing. Al coughed the entire time he was in the office to drop off a lunch for Theo, and he dragged a metal cylinder on wheels behind him that connected to clear oxygen tubing in his nose. Cliff was startled; the oxygen hadn't been in the picture, nor had he expected Al to sound quite so sick. But everybody else in the office seemed to know Al well and think nothing of it. Al himself seemed energetic and cheerful, which was not how Cliff pictured somebody sick in his head.

Still, Cliff wasn't used to sick people, even if Al was apparently not contagious. He was sort of hoping Theo had forgotten about his promise to let him meet Al, but Cliff had no such luck. "Al, this is my intern, Cliff Barrows," Theo said as he led Al right to Cliff's desk.

Obviously unable to hide when his boss stood right in front of him, Cliff stood up and forced a polite smile. "Nice to meet you," Cliff said, sticking his hand out to shake.

"Nice to meet you too! I finally meet the famous Cliff," Al grinned, shaking Cliff's hand. His grip was firm and sure, not weak at all.

"Famous in a good way," Theo reassured Cliff. "I told him all about what a good kid you are."

"Uh, thanks," Cliff said, trying to keep a questioning tone from creeping into his voice. He felt awkward standing right there in front of the two of them under scrutiny. "Um... I'm just gonna get back to work then," he said, sitting at his desk and typing something nonsensical into an open word document until he was sure the pair was no longer looking at him.

Cliff tried to look subtle as the two men walked away. Theo led Al towards his office with one hand around Al's back, Al coughing as they went, but he was also laughing. Cliff had no idea how he could seem so happy. Cliff had googled cystic fibrosis when Theo had mentioned it and it didn't really sound like a laughing matter to him. It sounded incurable and painful. Then again, Cliff supposed they couldn't be gloomy all the time. Or maybe even most of the time, since Al and Theo seemed to be normal unlike Cliff who could indeed go around with a perpetually serious look on his face.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Al sat heavily in the chair on the client side of Theo's desk, coughing until Theo handed him a glass of water to sip on. "Thanks," he croaked, smiling up at his partner gratefully.

Theo sat across the desk from Al in his chair. Although Al got to see Theo in his formal attire every day before and after work, seeing him wear it at work always felt different. Theo carried himself so confidentially and spoke with such a professional tone, it honestly made Al want to grab his tie and kiss him right there in the office. Theo's desk had definitely seen some action after hours before.

"Stop looking at me like that," Theo said, opening up the salad Al had brought him.

"Like what? I don't know what you're talking about," Al said innocently.

Theo mixed a packet of dressing up with his salad. "Like I'm a piece of meat."

"Aren't you?"

Theo shook his head with a smirk. "You're so damn predictable," he said. "You keep your hands to yourself mister, I've got court later today. Thanks for the food."

"You're welcome," Al said. "By the way, you were so right about that Cliff kid."

"Right?" Theo said around a mouthful of lettuce. "He's definitely gay."

"So gay," Al agreed. "And adorably awkward.”

“He’s actually a better speaker than you might think,” Theo said thoughtfully. “When it comes to work stuff anyways,” he added, seeing Al’s incredulous look of doubt.

“He gave me the ‘wow, you must be dying’ look,” Al said. “You should probably tell him I’m fine. And that his face is an open book."

Theo shrugged. “I don’t know how reassuring ‘My partner’s fine, just waiting for a double lung transplant’ is, but sure, I’ll tell him.”

Al rolled his eyes. “Thanks a lot,” he said sarcastically. “Anyways, I’m heading home. What do you want to eat tonight?”

“Anything. Shake Shack. Anything."

"So... Shake Shack," Al said.

"How did you know?" Theo grinned. "Okay, be careful on your way home baby. Wear your mask on the train."

"Ugh, Theo, it's July," Al whined, but Theo knew he would behave. Al was usually great about taking care of himself, but especially now when he couldn't risk any illnesses lest it ruin his chances of being on the transplant list. It was also why he tried not to leave the house much these days, but he'd had a doctors appointment a few blocks away so had taken the opportunity of already being out to visit Theo.

Theo kissed Al goodbye and watched his partner walk down the street from the windows in his office, dragging the wheeled oxygen tank behind him. He shook his head, wishing Al would just take a cab, but Al hated wasting money if he could do it the cheaper way and Theo suspected it was far more about independence than cost at this point in their lives.

They'd been together about five years now and had lived with each other since day one, having met as roommates. Theo had been in his last year of law school while Al was struggling after the death of his husband. At first they were just friends and that was enough. Right person, wrong time Theo thought, because it didn't seem like Al was ready for anything more. But then Al had gotten really sick and although he insisted Theo didn't need to worry about it, it was impossible. Theo spent every day studying at the hospital so that Al wouldn’t be alone until feelings became inevitable and Al made the first move. The rest was history.

Theo smiled to himself thinking about Al, absently eating his salad until he was interrupted by his phone ringing. It was Al, which was odd because Al had only just left his office. "Babe? You okay?" Theo answered.

"Meet me at the hospital," Al said in a breathless rush. "I’ve got lungs."

Theo was speechless. This was the moment they'd dreamed of for months, and it was happening now. Right now. "Theo?" Theo realized he hadn’t said anything in response.

"Holy shit. Holy shit, I love you so much. Yeah, okay, I'm coming."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

False alarms for this sort of thing should be illegal, Theo thought to himself angrily. The doctor had just left the room and explained he was so sorry, but the lungs weren't a perfect match after all. They were going to someone else - someone who wasn't Albert. Al had been congenial about it, nodding as if it didn't bother him. But Theo was livid and could barely contain his anger as the doctor closed the door.

The silence in the room was heavy. Al had been changed into a gown, given CHG bath and gotten labs done, and had his port hooked up to fluids. He sat there in the hospital bed where they'd waited with excitement for the past two hours, now lost for words.

"It's not fair," Theo said finally. His hands were balled into fists, which were shaking. "How can they do this?" Al was quiet. He looked out the window with a calmness that Theo didn't understand. "You're not mad?"

"No," Al said softly. "I'm not mad. Can we go home though?" He was already going for his clothes, unbuttoning his gown. "Hey, if you hurry you can still make it to court this afternoon."

Theo shook his head. "I don't care about court. I already told work I didn't know when I'd be back. They're going to be more surprised when I say nevermind."

"Sorry," Al said, as if he’d ruined a casual date and not lost the opportunity of a lifetime after it was crudely dangled in front of him.

"Don't apologize," Theo said. "If anything, this place should be apologizing to you. How are you so calm?"

Al shrugged. "Someone else is getting lungs. Someone who needs them. I'm not going to be mad about that."

Theo sighed. "You're right, but I'm still pissed. Can I be pissed for you?"

Al seemed to consider it for several seconds and then nodded. "Yeah. You can be pissed for both of us, okay?"

"I gotcha, baby," Theo said. He forced a tight smile at Al, who gave a tired smile back.

Al was discharged and they arrived home around dinner time. Theo was starving, but Al said he didn't feel like eating. Theo didn’t feel like seeing anybody else for the rest of the day, even a delivery driver, and ended up throwing a frozen pizza in the oven. He called Al to the table when it was ready, hoping the smell would entice him. "You should eat just a little," Theo said.

"I'm really not hungry," Al said quietly. "I just want to go to bed and have this day be over."

Theo felt a pang of pity and sighed. "I know. Just a few bites?"

Al finished half a slice and then shuffled off to bed. Theo ate the rest of the pizza alone, letting all the negative thoughts he was having get to him for just a few minutes. He chewed the pizza like it had personally done something offensive to him and then scrubbed the dishes clean, his stomach aching from eating too much. Then, he took a shower and forced himself to let all the tension leave him. He imagined it swirling down the drain with the soapy water, leaving him exhausted but calm. As upset as Theo was, Al was the one these things were happening to. He had to be strong for Al.

Theo went to the bathroom, now in fresh pajamas and ready to be there for his partner. Al was lying on his side but not asleep and peeked over his shoulder at Theo. Theo sat next to him on bed and rested a hand on Al's arm. "Should we talk about it?" He asked.

"Nah. What is there to talk about?" Al said in his usual gentle tone. If Theo didn't know any better, he'd think Al didn't care, or was totally fine. But he also knew that wasn't possible and Al hid his feelings well.

"What happened today was kind of crazy," Theo said carefully. "Crazy and honestly... not okay. It was like the biggest news of your life and then the biggest let down. It's a lot to take in."

Al sat up and looked at Theo. His green eyes were always so forbearing. "It is a lot," he said. "But ya know, I'm not as upset as I thought I'd be. Coz when I got the call, I didn't think, 'I'm going to live.' All I could think was, if I die, I'm not ready. So... Maybe today just wasn't the right time."

Theo hadn't expected Al to say anything like that. He swallowed down the lump that had risen in his throat and took Al's hands in his own. "You're right. It wasn't meant to be, and maybe it was for the better."

Al nodded in agreement, leaning forward to press his forehead against Theo's. "I love you, Theo," he said. "Thanks for being there for me."

"I love you too," Theo said, taking Al’s hands in his own and squeezing them. "And next time you get the call, it's going to be the right match."

#shionwrites #still working on p3 of a safe place but here #here’s SOMETHING my brain let me have #and also it's always a good time for some cute al/Theo right?#plus it's sort of prequel-y #oc: albert #oc: theo #oc: cliff #whump #emotional whump #medical whump #oc sickfic #angst #hurt/comfort #sickfic #chronic illness whump #hospital setting #cystic fibrosis in fiction #illness whump

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themetalvirus · 8 months

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AAARGHHHH how do i solve my self esteem and self image so i dont feel like a dumb idiot when i talk about egghog shadow doing jeff the killings. i just dont like myself much and it uh. you've picked up on that probably if you've been here for more than a picosecond, i feel like that's pretty obvious. anyway i have no idea what to do about it or how to manage it except for being like dawww maaan i just posted cringe and im gonna lose subscriber. literally no matter what the response is its my own shit idiot brain fungus that makes me feel like a walking piece of shit idiot brain fungus for (checks notes) talking about shadow the hedgehog shooting people with realistic guns and feeling complex feelings about it. which i KNOW that people whose opinions i dont even respect would think is EMBARRASSING. nobody has even actually said that to me its just something i made up but it feels so True. my shit idiot brain fungus. this is oversharing. dipshit

#exoticbutterstxt

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askthevoidking · 1 year

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”Whose to say he wouldn’t become evil anyways”? Have you been to a single other dimension where Lunar existed, Moon? Because this, the one where you treated him like shit, is one of the only ones where he even tried to get the Star, and Lord Night is the only one who intentionally destroyed reality or tried to hurt you.

Even most of the other ones from similar dimensions where you isolated, took advantage of, and abused him even worse than Eclipse did didn’t try to hurt you. Most of them moved into new dimensions, found family in versions of you who actually like him, and lived happily ever after with nobody suffering or being tormented.

None of us are going to take your side, Moon. Because we’ve seen the other possibilities. We know how different things could’ve gone. We know that you did this to yourself.

Did you know, Moon, that this was a suicide attempt? When he got the Star, he was trying to destroy everything, including himself. He wasn’t evil, he was depressed and bitter.

Oh Moon... You fucking idiot. Please keep in mind that no one should ever actually say these things about someone who attempted to commit suicide no matter how much they hate them. Suicide is a serious issue and it is never alright to condone someone attempting it. Just putting it out there because I know the opinions Moon is displaying here could be harmful if internalized and want to clarify 100% that while he has these opinions about Lord Night that they aren't right and that I do not condone these opinions.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated.

#sams au #trapped forever au #ask blog #tw suicide #tw suicide mention

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pb-dot · 8 months

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Last Voyage Of The Demeter

It's honestly a bit of a wonder that nobody has done something like this before. The doomed voyage of The Demeter is a small piece of the overall story, but it is very much a story within the story, and even though the ending is a bummer and kind of a given, there are enough turns there to make a decent horror movie and at least one very memorable character in the form of The Demeter's captain whose final middle finger to his Transylvanian passenger is pretty iconic

Anyway, I was pretty excited to watch this movie, partially because I'm re-experiencing Dracula along with the rest of the world through Dracula Daily and partially because the director is Andre Øverdal, whose career I've been gleefully paying attention to since Troll Hunter in 2010 and, perhaps more salient to this movie, the locked room chiller The Autopsy of Jane Doe.

As for the results, it was certainly a decent attempt. From an adaptation standpoint, it was a mixed bag. While some choices were unexpected but decidedly sensical, like the decision to use less of the Debonaire and Devilish Dracula and more of the Fucked Up Man-Bat Dracula, others I didn't love but understood, like doing the "vampires and thralls burn like hell at the slightest brush of sunlight" thing. Some choices, however, did feel like they were motivated by a series of studio notes. One such presumably noteborn idea is having the landlubber characters of Mr. Clemens and Anna taking the lead on the whole thing, one presumes to not spend too much time with salty sailors in this salty sailors having a bad time movie.

Other decisions still seem more like Øverdal seeing what he could get away with, like including a child in this doomed journey for no other apparent reason than to tell the moviegoing public he isn't afraid to put some child murder on screen. As far as transgressiveness goes it's not paradigm-shatteringly huge, but he'll get some point for having me wonder if he's actually going through with this child peril business.

In general, the horror in this movie works decently, although I do feel we're given too much of Dracula's gnarly ass too early. I know references to the shark basically not being in 75% of Jaws are practically a cliche at this point, but it keeps being harped on because it works and so many horror movies forget that no matter how good your FX is, it's nothing to the power of growing paranoia. Granted, Drac has a few tricks up his fleshy sleeves to save for the finale, and seeing those tricks unfurl it's pretty rad, but I would be happy with sacrificing some screentime from the feature character for some tension-building.

From a cinematography standpoint, the movie works fine. Some of the day-for-night-looking business in the third act does strain the suspension of disbelief a tad, but I appreciate the effort put into a movie that is for the most part perceivable to the eye in a generation where more and more horror movie ADs seemingly go "It's dark, because dark is scary, right?" without thinking much on the people who try to watch the thing.

When we are talking aesthetics though, I would say Demeter's biggest sin is choosing to give the Count's blood draining the most comically overstated Glugg Glugg-noise I have heard outside of depictions of thirsty Looney Tunes drinking water. Like, I get using sounds the audience might be familiar with as a base, but when I expect your very scary horror villain to eventually tilt his head back and go "Ahhhh" then it might be time to reconsider.

So in short, I wouldn't call Last Voyage of The Demeter an instant classic or anything, but it's entertainingly pulpy gorefest of the kind late summer is made for in my opinion. I could have done with more gore actually, but it could be that the two new Evil Dead movies have desensitized me somewhat. Also, you know what they say, Waste Not, Want Not.

#last voyage of the demeter #movie review #film review #peebs reviews #dracula

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mynameisbuckyandimaniceguy · 2 years

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Please Read and Reblog!! This Is Very Important!!

TW for mention of child abuse and sexual content.

Platforms that have age restrictions are always going to have underage users. It’s common knowledge to everyone.

Encanto proship creators thrive on twitter. It is our responsibility as not only creators, but as the adults, to protect minors from viewing harmful content.

When you are posting content on your public account that is in direct violation of the guidelines of the platform, you are putting these children at risk. Proships say that they want to protect the minors, but they make very half assed attempts to do so.

Proshippers get on your ass when you call them out and they say; ‘How do you think this makes me feel?’ or ‘Think about what you’re doing to my mental health.’

Think about the victims of CSA and inc*st that have the misfortune of stumbling upon your post. CSA and inc*st are extremely traumating, and you don’t seem to care for their mental health. Its certainly far more traumatizing than some rando’s on the internet telling you sexualizing children is wrong.

When you publicly post content you are welcoming the opinions and comments from anyone who can see it. That means anyone can see it.

You are (intentionally or not) exposing young people, or otherwise traumatized people, to sexual content that they didn’t consent to seeing.

‘Well it’s posted on my bio that I have nsfw content!’ Do you know how many recommended posts I get of explicit content, just because my twitter knows that I like Encanto? It shows it to me anyway.

‘Just block the tags!’ Not all of you tag your work. So much of it is untagged! Whose to say that your public, untagged post won’t make it onto a minors feed on accident?

The blames not entire on proshippers when it comes to hostility. It is absolutely unacceptable for Encanto fans to harass proships and tell them to kts. That being said, proships also love to flood comments with degrading and hostile intent.

You should never wish harm on another, no matter how tempting it is. Trust me I get it. But when you attack with hostility, you will rightfully get hostility in return. Show them that you are the bigger person. Don’t feed into their backlash. If you see an account posting inappropriate content that violates guidelines - block and report them. It doesn’t make you the bigger person to sit and argue because they simply don’t care. In their minds, they are justified. We all know that that’s not the truth.

Please, if you are on twitter and you see a proship account - block and report. Do NOT engage with them unless you can hold a civil and respectful conversation. Be responsible when they aren’t able to be. Be respectful when they refuse to be.

If you are unaware of the rules and regulations of twitter I will list them below. Most, if not all, proshippers are in violation of these rules and you are rightfully encouraged to report their content.

We have the ability to remove their content from public spaces. Staying silent is exactly what they want from you, and it’s part of the reason they’ve grown so big in the community.

I love this community ❤️ It’s so sad to see so many corrupt people posting child sexual content with no repercussions. Be safe.

Edit: I know a lot of us are sick and tired of hearing about them. You don’t want to acknowledge them, and you don’t want to agitate them. This is feeding exactly into what they want. They know that you aren’t going to change their mind, they’re far too self righteous, so they belittle and intimidate until you leave. Doesn’t help that they pretty much travel in packs - which is why I discourage interaction unless you know you can handle the heat. Trust me I know from experience. If you upset one of them - 15 more are going to come for you.

This. Is why. They’re still here. Because nobody wants to deal with their harassment. And as long as we ignore them, the more they will continue to grow.

I recently posted a list on my twitter account of public profiles that people should avoid, block, and report. They absolutely swarmed me. Claimed that I was harassing them. They are not the victims in this situation - don’t let them lead you into believing that.

Some of them aren’t going to fight you, they’re going to try to calmly reason with you. Don’t let that dissuade you, because at the end of the day - no matter how polite they sound - they are still promoting pedophilia.

Don’t let them intimidate you, because in the end you are doing the right thing. Don’t seek validation from pedophiles. You don’t need shit from them.

#encanto #bruno madrigal #mirabel madrigal #pepa madrigal #julieta madrigal #felix madrigal #agustin madrigal #antonio madrigal #dolores madrigal #isabela madrigal #luisa madrigal #camilo madrigal #alma madrigal

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alittleghostwhoeatsbread · 7 months

Text

As Safe As Houses

Like that of footsteps on foot soldier leaves felled from trees during the annual orange war, the arm rustled as it was drawn back, but there was no sound at all as it was thrown, soaring in a flat arc with the gay grey grace of a pigeon before deciding that it wouldn’t be silenced and letting out a ping! as it bounced harmlessly off my breastplate, the it of it being a pebble- or small stone depending how large loose rock has to be for you to promote it from pebble to small stone- and so doing only a ping! amount of damage. Through my visor, I watched the mouth attached to the throwing arm get maniacal as its owner, a boy with sausage roll type thumbs, bent and picked up another hunk of rock, one which nobody, no matter what their opinion in the pebble/stone debate, would not consider a STONE- capitalized for the danger its sharp mineral edges posed- hurling that at me too with a further rustling like that of a packet of crisps being domestically abused, this STONE not soaring with any gayness or grace but zipping, almost invisibly, with the speed of a rock whose life motto was its ore or nothing, colliding with my breastplate with a clang!

“Why are you standing there? Here?” the sausage roll thumb boy asked as quick as lickety once did the splits, another STONE already in hand ready to let fly. “You should be at a castle or something. Are you a weirdo? Something else?”

I was about to spin a yarn so tight around him he’d know for sure that I wasn’t a weirdo but very normal and that my armour was also normal and merely a precaution, like the inflatable suits those who’ve been hit by cars wear to prevent any other damn car intending to hit them from hurting them again, and that he shouldn’t throw rocks at me because that really devalued my precaution, but just then Beth came out of the coffee shop with our drinks, saw the patch of dirt the STONE had left on my breastplate, and made the boy leave me alone by doing what Beth did so well, which was toss her temper in some easily lost in woods in such a spectacular way that she didn’t have to say anything to make people deeply regret doing the something that'd made her temper be tossed, her face going as red as the belly of the beast who’d forgot their sun cream, her body contorting, wiggling like a slab of heated butter being struck with a tenderiser. At seeing such a sight, the sausage roll thumb boy fled into the day, leaving me with already spun yarn to swallow and gratitude to express as Beth, satisfied but still red faced, smiled and handed me my coffee specially equipped with a twisty visor accessible straw, grabbing my free gauntlet before I could express anything and dragging me towards the park and the point in the park we went every Sunday, Intervention Point, a point living beneath a fat, rather squat, tree that's trunk had been so shrouded by its own overhanging branches it resembled an upside down mop we entered by pushing said overhanging branches apart and revealing a circular space invisible from the outside, filled with logs and other such woodenry for Beth and me to sit on.

“It’s been four years today, Delroy. Do you or do you don’t think you’re finally ready to step out of that armour, feel the air?”

“Beth, not today or possibly ever, I'm not ready, and it's because I just don't need to feel that. I can feel the air, it runs through my joints sometimes and is oh-so rejuvenating when it does, and most importantly, I feel safe.”

“But being clad from head to toe, still, it's just unnecessary. Isn't it?"

“True... if I take the un from unnecessary and toss it in a blender to make the word I think you know it makes but which I’ll say anyway. Necessary. Look at this dirt on my breastplate, Beth. If I hadn’t been cladded from at least torso to toe, I could have been mildly hurt, mildly!”

“But you wouldn’t have had rocks tossed at you if you hadn’t been wearing armour!” Beth gripped some of the hanging branches that hung into the space of Intervention Point, wrapping them gently around her fist and rubbing the green leaves on her cheek, clearly preparing to say what she was always going to say, all the while knowing that what she was preparing to say would exasperate me to no ends. “It’s the solution to the problem it causes.”

“Don’t get therapeutic on me. You know I hate it when you get therapeutic. You’re supposed to be my friend and support me, not give me know-it-all advice with no thought for how I would advise if I wanted to advise myself. The armour isn’t a problem and most of the time I forget I’m in it at all.”

“Don’t get defensive, Delroy. Remember, you’re not a coconut tree so stop dropping spiky balls on me. Also, don’t pretend that I don’t also know what it’s like to be in armour. I was more than half clad in metal myself when we met.”

I put my helmet in hand and sighed, looking around at the fragments of yellowish light that filtered in through the Intervention Point tree’s dense leaves and lived as butterflies- swirling hand in hand with smaller fragments of dust when young and bright before abruptly discarding childish things such as swirling and being hand in hand, settling down in patches on the same leaves Beth had rubbed up on her face and fading to black-enjoying how said light, while swirling at least, glinted off the armour I’d conditioned in the bath that very morning so it would act like a prize poodle and shine for this meeting with Beth. I fingered the patch of metal residing directly above the space below where my bellybutton resided with my other free hand as I looked, my bellybutton below that was mottled, puckered, and wholly unlike a normal bellybutton because when Beth and I had met I’d still been with I-Won’t-Say-Their-Name-Because-They’re-An-Asshole and not wearing armour, and Beth, who was not only wearing armour at the time but also going by the name of Arbalist and carrying round a crossbow to keep people at bay, had let loose a bolt in my belly.

“I know you remember,” Beth continued. “With that mottle that used to be a bellybutton you don’t certainly need reminding. But you do seem to need reminding that I used to say, insist even, that I often forgot I was wearing armour or shooting bolts at people. So, I know it isn’t true. I also know what you will know today if today is the day, and that is that it was a load removed when I finally did just that.”

No armour is complete without a weapon and mine was a sword, tucked as snug as a bug in a leather sheaf on my side, unused against other swords or weaponry in the five years I’d carried it- my instinct in any situation that might have required weaponry or sword swinging, which without a doubt was a situation that lay way past the last chance saloon, being to flee as soon as any situation approached I’m-getting-close-to-getting-angry mountain- but used whenever Beth milled my nerves, drawing it from its sheaf and raising it in the air with a ‘Hiyaaaa!’, swinging it aimlessly at any straggler hanging branches that didn’t have the function of hiding us beneath the Intervention Point tree but had the function of getting in the way whenever we tried to walk around.

“Delroy, every week with the slicing and hiyaaas. Stop slicing. Stop Hiyaaing. Look at me. This situation is getting silly enough for the others in town who know you like I know you to think that it’s been way too long now since it happened with I-Won’t-Say-Their-Name-But-They’re-An-Asshole to justify you still wearing armour without it being weird.”

“... others are thinking that?”

"Others are talking about that."

"Are you thinking and talking about that with them?”

“I’ve talked of course, it would've been strange if I’d been around and hadn’t. But what I’ve talked about is beside the point. What the point is really is that more often than not the others who don’t really know you but have seen you around join the others who do really know you when the others who do really know you are talking and comparing you to weird persons such as Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House.”

Obscuredly I dropped my jaw but visibly I swung my sword, not at branches or leaves, but in a general circle, my armour making the cartoonish sound of chattering teeth as the many times I’d partook in the talking and making of not very nice comments about Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House, usually when Mary had been in hearing distance and just buying a coffee or sandwich to take back under her bridge, ran through my head alongside the still but familiar image of Mary- who’d forsaken clothes along with her beautiful house and so stood naked and exposed to the world because, as she shrugged answeringly when questioned, ‘What have you got to hide under a bridge?’- smiling at all the talking and not very nice comments and tipping an imaginary bowler hat to those of us that had made them, her body language clearly signalling the start of a sauntering off that would certainly be done with the fantabulous energy of a potato that knows the pot is a waiting but also that it has at least five damn minutes left to live like a potato with nothing to lose. I knew I wouldn't be able to take the hearing of any not very nice comments quite as in my stride- which even before the armour had been the self-conscious stride of a newly legged trout- as she, and that my armour would soon resemble a flaky painting of a muddy sunset from all the salty tears I would shed within it, salty tears that would be shed regardless even of hearing as just knowing comments were being made was scary enough to induce moisture, that knowing made doubly scary- you know double scariness? That feeling when you’re in an old easily broken down car on a dark night in a dark wood and that car has done its dues and broken down just when a fog as thick as a curious French brie is settling on the surrounding dark trees and just when a shadow darker than the rest of the shadowy darkness moves in the same surrounding trees in a lurching manner so that not only does the frightful fog settling afear you but the lurching shadow does as well- by also knowing that to stop the comments I’d have to cast my precaution to the wind and invite all the hurt and pain of all the hurt and pain varieties to have free rein over my fragile body.

“I’m nothing like Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House,” I cried as Mary crawled beneath my general sword swing to grab my gauntlets and stop them sword swinging in general. “I don’t live under a bridge though I have a delightful converted four-bed warehouse home to go to or go about laughing at those who want some protection with her exposed belly and shoulders which by being exposed say me? Need protection? Pishaw that stuffs for wimps. She doesn’t and has never engaged in the making of not very nice comments or talking, but I have and do! I engage with talking and commenting whenever I’m allowed or around. I’m completely normal if you do what I do and forget I’m wearing armour.”

“It isn’t just engaging with talking and the making of comments that make you normal, Delroy, it’s being like the rest of us and you can’t be like the rest of us because you don’t look like the rest of us. You’re a walking talking suit of armour and nobody, not even you so don’t lie, can forget that.” Beth paused here before saying something further with the out-of-the-side-of-the-mouth whispering of a war photographer perpetually puffing on their wartime smoking pipe and asking photographic permission without wanting the asking of photographic permission to be heard. “Sometimes when all the others are talking and commenting not very nice things and I’m there too Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House isn’t even mentioned, sometimes she’s skipped over and they go straight to comparing you to Mark-Who-Believes-He’s-A-Nuclear-Bomb-And-That-Only-By-Kissing-The-Most-Handsome-Men-On-The-Mouths-In-A-Surprise-Kiss-Attack-Will-He-Save-The-World-By-Not-Going-Off.”

Mark-Who-Believes-He’s-A-Nuclear-Bomb-And-That-Only-By-Kissing-The-Most-Handsome-Men-On-The-Mouths-In-A-Surprise-Kiss-Attack-Will-He-Save-The-World-By-Not-Going-Off was the worst person to be compared to if you wanted to wear armour but for everyone to treat you normally- him being the epitome of social avoidance, there often being town meetings that I often went to all about how we could convince him there was nobody left to prevent him going off, plans such as all of us collectively leaving the town for several days, leaving him having to wander so far in search of handsome men to sneak kisses on that he would eventually wander right into a different town or city- and, upon hearing the comparison had been done, I did what life calls everybody who wears armour to do at some point after being cornered by those wishing them to take it off, become defensive and attack those doing the cornering, pulling my gauntlets from the grasp to point a finger at Beth’s face.

“You were wearing armour and shooting bolts for over two years at least after being hurt and not once were you compared Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House or Mark-Who-Believes-He’s-A-Nuclear-Bomb-And-That-Only-By-Kissing-The-Most-Handsome-Men-On-The-Mouths-In-A-Surprise-Kiss-Attack-Will-He-Save-The-World-By-Not-Going-Off. Not once. So I’m starting that maybe nobody in town is saying this. I’m starting to think that maybe I should start thinking that it's maybe just you who’s saying this and that you’re simply saying it because you want me to take it off so you can steal it for yourself.”

My attacking voice, which had been used barely once a year since I was four and which had certainly never been used on my friend, made Beth flinch like a love-lorn leviathan coming upon their love entangled with another and reach almost instinctively for her handbag- which like most bags, or personal objects of concealment in the town, held a small portion of armour for those moments in life when protection really is required, her small piece being in fact not that small and in fact being the quite large crossbow from her Arbalist days- her face turning tomato as her temper, which as mentioned before was a large angry dog held in the garden only by a threadbare lead that could be snapped at the dropping of a hat if the hat that dropped happened to drop on that lead, was let loose. Beth, who had always taken great care in not losing her temper with me because she was a sweetheart and knew that even before my armour I could only take so much shouting and that after I’d donned it could take even less, forgot her care, barked while slobbering like an Igor impersonating a dog, and jumped on my breastplate, denting the plate covering my breast and pushing me backwards so that I fell, also backwards, and rolled on the floor with the elegance of a mechanical elephant whose trunk has taken it upon itself to both trip it and lasso its legs together midfall- that is with a great clanging and a Damn-I-Have-A-Tripwire/Lasso-Rather-Than-A-Trunk type roar, picture a metal bin making love to waste compressor and you’ll get the sound- right out of Intervention Point and back into the park, but not stopping there, going further with the roll, Beth still on top of me and rolling too to make it so we were both a part of the most aggressive roly-poly the world had ever seen.

We roly-polypunched right into the Fighting Point- earmarked as that by Beth and I years before with it’ll-never-happen-but-just-in-case deep bellied chuckles- that, rather than a peaceful circular space hidden beneath a tree, was a deep dark pit resembling the bear fighting pits of bygone years when pits were still dug to accommodate such things as bear fights, so close to the edge of the park you could, if you were inclined, theoretically say that where the pit sat wasn’t park at all but the town and was only still considered park because some trees shaded it, though a large clothing store did too, and because it had a dirt floor that was not soft but hard enough to take both Beth’s and my own breath away. So that for several moments after we roly-polypunched alllllllllll the way down to the bottom of it, we were entirely breathless, held close by the dirt that'd taken our breath and desperately sought more, its soughting being unfruitful for the several moments we lay in its arms, gasping with the quiet desperation of mushrooms with mouths but no respiratory system, these several moments prefacing further several moments during which all members of the town in seeable and hearable distance came to look down into the pit and watch us abruptly evolve into mushrooms with lungs, air flooding back as Beth and I crawled away each other and stood, me drawing my sword on my friend and her drawing her crossbow on hers.

“Look, it’s Delroy. Urgh, and still armoured from head to toe…” the town members said while gathered as they were around the lip of the pit, their voices loud and echoing down to my ears. “…he’s definitely more unusual then Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House now… equal I’d say to Mark-Who-Believes-He’s-A-Nuclear-Bomb-And-That-Only-By-Kissing-The-Most-Handsome-Men-On-The-Mouths-In-A-Surprise-Kiss-Attack-Will-He-Save-The-World-By-Not-Going-Off…worse? No that’s too much… could get there… definitely getting there… I for one say he's arrived at his destination... look at all that protection… how obscene and strange… been way too long since it happened… it makes me feel like the small piece I carry for just in case isn’t enough… a small piece is more than enough… it’s Delroy who's overprepared… he's not a knight.... weirdo… freak… GET HIM BETH.”

Hearing that talk and not very nice comments really were being made about me not having removed my protection or yet got over the solidified ball of acidic pain slowly corroding my heart that I-Won’t-Say-Their-Name-But-They’re-An-Asshole had planted made my anger towards Beth fade but seemingly did the opposite to her as she let out a shriek and a bolt as soon as the suggestion she get me was given, so quickly that I barely parried the zooming bolt away, leaving it stuck, quivering, in the dirt side of the pit. You’d think it was but it wasn’t the loosening of the bolt that brightened my anger again, rather it was the appearance, sudden and as light as the light of the Lord when they said with a snapping that light should be let, of I-Won’t-Say-Their-Name-But-They’re-An-Asshole leaning with the other town-folk over the lip of the pit, looking with the satisfaction of a serial whistler doing their serial duty at my armour, and shouting, ‘YEAH, GET HIM BETH,’ that made that anger rise right back up and make me return something for the loosening of the bolt- that return being a short sprint followed by a short swing.

“Five years of my life, Delroy, five of them,” Beth, who just managed to dodge that short swing with the agility of a particularly dexterous dolphin or someone not wearing full metal body armour, snarled. “1, 2, 3, 4, 5. All of them spent being your friend, interventioning, only occasionally when I really wanted to do it more joining in with the talking and not very nice comment making about you, and you accuse me of simply wanting your armour? J’accuse! Auf der hut!”

Here Beth did a fashionable roll I suspected was just for the watchers, who supportively let out a cheer to let her know they still were, while simultaneously re-loading, sending another bolt my way as soon as she rightened in such a smooth combative transition that I failed to notice a bolt had been loaded and released until that released bolt went clean through my armour, missing my flesh by somehow finding a gap between my shoulder and the shoulder of my casing but causing a hole that curious air swiftly flowed through to explore nonetheless.

“Look at you, Beth, clutching a crossbow, AKA a piece of armour. Oh hypocrisy, come and lap from my frigid breast for your mother lies milkless before me!”

“Look up and then also look around, Delroy. Look at the people, your township, they’re all, ALL, clutching pieces of armour. Ipso facto there’s nothing wrong with a little clutch every now and then, to feel safe.”

“But if there’s nothing wrong with a clutch now and then, why is there something wrong with a clad?”

“Because no one else is clad! Why should you be that safe? No one else is, no one else even wants to be except for directly and then for a reasonable amount of time after being severely hurt. Being that safe this long after being hurt is weird, not to mention unhealthy.”

Here my temper- which had already flared up by the sight and sound of I-Won’t-Say-Their-Name-But-They’re-An-Asshole looking smug and cheering Beth on, and been made worse by the amount of air flowing into my armour through the hole, which was too much air to merely be rejuvenating and was actually rather exposing- flared even more and aided my speed of attack to no end, so that with a dart and a dash I burst toward Beth, the sound effects of SHING! And TING! being the ones my blade let out as I blocked two bolts somehow sent my dashing way before a KACHING! rollicked out as my sword, which had been falling with an executioner's precision towards the crook of Beth’s ostrich neck, came in contact instead with the side of her crossbow, raised just in time to block me.

‘PHUT, PFFT,’ were the bullish snorts falling with white puffs of hot air down into the Fighting Point, echoing around to make things feel Caligulian as Beth and I freely traded blows, the sun, which didn’t dare shine into the pit though it illuminated the town in a picturesque glow metres away, illuminated also the folk doing the snorting, highlighting the moment Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House, breasts and chin thrust proudly up to the sky in her pride at not needing protection at all, oil and other living-under-a-bridge liquids smeared on her flesh, joined them along with Mark-Who-Believes-He’s-A-Nuclear-Bomb-And-That-Only-By-Kissing-The-Most-Handsome-Men-On-The-Mouths-In-A-Surprise-Kiss-Attack-Will-He-Save-The-World-By-Not-Going-Off- slyly kissing all the men he could on their mouths as he crept along- neither of them joining in with the cheering but watching all the same, Beth tipping her invisible hat at the sky as if saying she’d never cared about the not very nice comments being made about her but that my word was it nice to stand in a big ol’ crowd and not have them be about her.

“Be a good girl and hit him harder, Beth,” howled the familiar voice of my mother, who had never approved of my armour even when it’d only been a week after what happened with I-Won’t-Say-Their-Name-But-They’re-An-Asshole, and who shoved her way to the very lip of the pit to wave her walking stick in the air in the erratic fashion of a conductor conducting not a symphony but a mass spanking of not just the ass but the whole body of me. “Hit that bleedin’ armour right off him.”

The sound of my mom’s voice, familiar and oh so supportive, spurred Beth on, and with a duck only the truly supported can manage, she lowered her knees and dodged my next swing completely, the weight of said swing not encountering any opposition at all dragging me in a half circle that got my boots tangled tantalisingly, for Beth anyway, and left me wide open for the bolt that suddenly entered my armour at thigh height, going through it and said thigh with the cleanliness of a dentist’s dogs dentures and making me fall, arms jellyfish wiggling as I did so that quite by accident my blade nicked the knee of Beth, the tip digging in and then digging out a portion of flesh, eliciting a swearing from her as she also fell that would make a kakologophobic kooky.

“Shit, shit, shit, twat, my fucking knee, Delroy, you cunt. You’ve taken a fucking chunk out of it.”

“Ohh,” I moaned, my voice doing a breaking, a snapping, like that of a twig person in gloom, loud enough for the watchers high above to all hear, letting me know they'd heard by laughing loudly, and for Beth, much closer, to hear as well, her eyes widening. “Ohhhhhh I'm hurt. I'm not safe, I'm hurt.”

It happened as my arms wrapped around my leg, as if by swaddling it I could revert it to its unhurt childhood, and as I began to rock back and forth on the hard dirt below, tears dripping from my eyes and making the soft cymbal sounds of gentle rain on a tin roof as the droplets formed arms and drummed on and pooled in my helmet, in a flash it happened, the end of the fight. Because while Beth lost her temper easily, a fact that could easily be carved into the side of the town’s little mount rushmore if the town had such a thing and not be disputed by anyone or anything who knew her, it was also a fact that Beth found her temper in whatever enclave or grove it’d been tossed in just as soon as tears of any kind made their way into a situation, those watery incentives quickly drowning her anger in a puddle of themselves before making it bob to the surface as a severely sorry corpse. At the sight of my tears and the hearing of my broken voice, Beth did as she did, calmed, and crawled, as well as someone with a chunk missing from their knee could, to me, stroking the beak of my helmet- which I don’t think I’ve mentioned was of the armet variety and so had a pointy metal growth stretching out from where my nose was, and which was what Beth often affectionately, but usually mockingly, called a beak. The sight of the stroking of me, a weirdo, by a Beth, who was still considered one of them and normal, did not please the watching town folk, who jostled with anger as they watched, at all, as they knew that if one of them was willing to do a stroking, all of them would have to be willing and to prevent having to be willing to do that, the watchers instead began considering that maybe it wasn’t just me who was weird and not one of them but maybe Beth as well, because let’s not forget, they murmured loudly from above, she’d also worn full armour after being hurt, for two years as well, which wasn't that long but was still a period of time that passed in which armour was worn and that maybe two years was just long enough for the wearer to be considered weird even if the armour was no longer around, and that, maybe, if they formed a hoard and spilt over the lip of the pit towards Beth and me, they could, maybe, make the Fighting Point worth its name again, and even rename it, if they could, as Victorious-Point-Where-The-Armour-Was-Finally-Removed-And-Delroy-And-Maybe-Beth-Too-Were-Made-To-Realise-How-Weird-They-Are-And-Banished-From-Town.

“Beth, we hate to say it, but we’re starting to think that maybe you’re an oddball and a weirdo too. We’re starting to think that you don’t really belong with the rest of us and so should be treated like Delroy,” was the prevailing thought process of the town, who had the kindness to also chant it out loud so I'd know it, and once knowing it could disagree completely with the way they were turning on someone who’d interventioned me every Sunday just to get me back in with them and who’d warned me of their growing lack of patience with me and my armour.

“Beth,” I whispered, tapping her shoulder. “Get off me, get away. You aren't a weirdo, you're lovely and don't deserve that label. Go up to them, I'll stay down here. Maybe they'll leave me alone then. Surely they can't be mad about my armour if I also live in a pit.”

Beth didn't say anything in reply, simply stopped stroking my beak to look at me, balls meeting slit, those balls moistening as she assuredly felt what I felt in that moment, which was the feeling of being a baby goose being cradled in the warm crotch of a friendly giant who took goose babies in and loved them endlessly, our mouths suddenly revving the throttle and playing the roles in a major motion picture of two siblings coming together after struggling out of heaven and hell respectively to meet each other in the middle, apologies spilling out simultaneously so it was as if our voices were trains racing to get through a single tunnel.

“I should never have cut a chunk from your knee.”

“I should never have joined in with comparing you to Mary-Who-Lives-Under-The-Bridge-Even-Though-She-Has-A-Beautiful-House.”

“I should never have called you hypocrisy’s mother.”

“I also should never have told you about the Mark-Who-Believes-He’s-A-Nuclear-Bomb-And-That-Only-By-Kissing-The-Most-Handsome-Men-On-The-Mouths-In-A-Surprise-Kiss-Attack-Will-He-Save-The-World-By-Not-Going-Off comparison.”

“I should never have let us roly-polypunch into the Fighting Point and more should be able to say I-Won’t-Say-Their-Name-But-They’re-An-Asshole’s name and you should be able to too. They don’t deserve us not saying their name.”

“They deserve more. They deserve for their name to be legally changed to Asshole-Who-Hurts-People-Enough-To-Not-Be Called-Anything-Other-Than-Asshole. Just Asshole for short.”

The town folk who’d been ready to form a hoard, had all frozen in their forming at the outburst of our emotion and hadn't yet unfrozen by the time we got to the point in the major motion picture when the two siblings collide in the middle, sparks and flashes abound, the familiar smell of their mother's vegetable patties filling the air, reminding them of their childhood and causing them to fall into each other's arms and hug away all the mistakes they'd made to have gone to a different afterlife than the other, hugging the paradise and the torture from each other's bodies, the force of Beth's flesh on my armour as we enacted this giving me the courage to do something I hadn't dared to do in four years, pointing up over her shoulder.

“Hey, Asshole”, I called, receiving the recipient of my call’s eyes on my visor at the calling, their eyes that were no longer smug but sightly averted, shamed- the eyes of a hurricane with barely any wind left revisiting a place it had ruthlessly hurricaned in the days of when it’d been full of wind. “Yeah, Asshole. You look, that’s your name now, and don’t you forget it. If I hear you say differently, remember I have a sword.”

#absurdism #fiction #funny #humour #literary magazine #short story #surreal #fitzcarraldo editions #scratch books #writeblr #original story #story #reading #long reads #books

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karlmarxmaybe · 11 months

Text

ASKING FOR ADVICE TO HELP AN ABUSED CHILD

I know of a trans Canadian child whose parents are transphobic and abusive. He's at high risk of self-harm. I don't know much info about him (name, specific region of Canada he lives in) bc I only know him from his youtube channel. If you know how I can help him, please answer or message me. Details about the situation below.

TW: child abuse, neglect, transphobia, CSA, suicide attempt

Hello. I recently found a very tiny youtube channel that posts gameplays, tiktoks and clips of animated shows. It is run by a teenager (I don't know his age for sure) who makes community posts talking about his terrible life situation. He is a trans boy and his parents are very transphobic, they actively gaslight him and tell him nobody cares about him, they forbid him from talking to people and are actively infringing his rights. He also talks about being repeatedly sexually assaulted and abused by classmates at his school, in 4th grade. His mother's husband installed a camera in the living room and it makes him feel unsafe. He shows signs of PTSD and has attempted suicide various times. He needs immediate help.

I tried calling Canadian child servicies but they need to know for which region of Canada I'm calling and I don't know which region he lives in (I only know he's located in Canada from his youtube info). I am trying the Canadian trans helpline but it's always occupied. I don't know what else to do.

Please, someone who knows how I can help respond or message me. If you don't know how to help reblog so it can get to someone who knows. Please, we have to help him.

I have transcribed some of his posts below so you have more info. Again, trigger warnings for child abuse, neglect, transphobia, CSA and suicide attempt.

Post from a year ago:

I always thought that no matter how bad things got at home i would still have school and i wouldn't really get hurt or touched but not anymore | guess. So last Wednesday a boy classmate of mine kneed me on the butt and when another classmate confronted him he just played it off as a joke then today durning second recess a girl in the other __th grade class came up to me randomly and slapped me on the butt and when | told her to stop and leave me alone the boy from last Wednesday came and kicked me on the butt then the girl came and slapped me on the butt a second time and then ran. When | tried to tell a teacher that was on duty she told the girl that she's not in trouble and to just talk it out with me. Worst part of it is | thought of her as a friend and multiple people were telling the girl to leave me alone.

Post from 10 months ago:

Just found out my parents secretly his acamera in the living room and now | feel,unsafe? Now, idk if unsafe is the right wordbut once | saw it | started getting anxiousalmost immediately. | know it's just a camera and it's in the living room instead of a bedroom or bathroom but still, there shouldn't BE a camera anywhere anyways.

Post from 9 months ago:

My mom and her husband keep acting sexual with each other, which isn't unexpected, they're two adults who are married to each other but what | mean by this is they'll act sexual almost anywhere but alone in their room, mostly in the kitchen. So lately whenever | go into the kitchen whether it be because they called me or both my siblings name making me think they want me or because I'm hungry, and when | see them being sexual with each other, my mom blames me because "| should know better" then tells me about doing explicit stuff with her husband then gets mad at me for being upset

Think of what | said like a AITA reddit post, I basically just want an opinion on the situation

Post from 3months ago:

does anyone else feel like they're going insane due to their parents? turns out that a shit ton of the stuff my mother has taught me is just all bullshit lies that have ruined my life in so many ways, and my stepdad constently tells me that he's going to kill my cat and if i had blue eyes then my mother would love me. and that's not even mentioning the phsyical abuse or anything i've repressed. it all feels like torture but i have to deal with it because everyone has it worse then me and what if i tell another adult? they'll have to get CAS involed then i'll get taken away and put into a worse home and i'll ruin my siblings lives and the entire family all because i was selfish. but what if that was just another one of my mothers lies and it's none of that willhappen??? but what about all those damn documentaries and shows my mother would make me watch of other children that had been put into terrible foster homes?? that means it can happen to me if i don't keep my mouth shut but i feel like i'm slowly going insane and i don't know what to do, there's nothing i can do! do i deserve this because i'm a bad child? or was a bad child? was i bound to live like this? did i do something wrong again and i just can't remember it again??? what do i do??? what have i done??? i don't know anymore and i want this to all stop but the only way to stop it is death but that'll be selfish because what if someone finds my dead body??? what if there's still people that care about me??? then it'll be cruel to end myself when people still care about me because i'll make them sad. i've already ruined so many people's lives while alive i shouldn't continue it while being dead. or is that also not true? is none of it true? is everyone but my parents the ones that are actually correct? i really can't tell anymore and that hurts the most

Post from 3 months ago:

what do I do with transphobic parents?yesterday i had to be with my parents for about 8 hours as my mother screamed at me and told me a bunch of terrible things because she found out i want to be a boy and she refuses to see me as one. some of the things she said is that wanting to be the opposite gender is a mental illness, how she feels like i killed her daughter. she straight told me that she will never accept me and that no matter how much i care about someone nobody really cares about me and everyone will just forget about me in a few years and how the ONLY people that care about me is my mother and step-father. she also forbids me from talking to anyone but i luckily have a secret computer that I've been using to talk to a friend. do i just have to accept all of this? is there anything i can do? i'm not old enough to move out and there's no one outside my household that i can stay with, even if there was my mother would just put up a huge fight having me go back anyways. | don't know what to do, i mean as long as i'm not getting physically hurt then I should just accept basically being mentally tortured, right? | just have to survive 4 more years then i can move far away but i just wantto die more and more everyday, and i was getting better when everyone at school was being accepting but yesterday my mother destroyed all of it. honestly I'll be surprised if I'm still alive in 2 years, and I'm really trying to continue living for my 2 best friends and my cat but if my mom's correct and they don't actually care about me then what the hell's the point. i don't know anymore, please can anyone give me a sliver of advice on how to deal with any of this

Post from 1 month ago:

Sometimes I wonder if both my parents loved me and treated me like human being, raised me with human decency, just like they treat everyone else.

How different would I be? Surely I'd be better, right? Hypothetically? It doesn't matter anyways, | want to die so much I've already tried three times this week and when | tried to ask my mom for a therapist she said | don't need one, she literally signed me up for some sort of waiting list thing and when | finally told her | got a voicemail to call back she told me that | don't need one and started to guilt trip me. | fucking need it, if lanyards didn't snap open easily then | would be dead. The only reason I'm still alive is because the lanyard snaps open whenever | try to hang myself with it and I'm too tires to go searching for something better. | fucking hate this, I'll try to kill myself one night then go to school the next day as if I wouldn't be dead if it weren't for a stupid lanyard. It's stupid and I'm just making people concerned whenever I'm acting "off". Nobody would be concerned about me ever again if | was dead. How many things can | YELL before they finally listen to me? How many things do | have to do before they notice or know? And those statements, or questions, go for everyone in my life. It doesn't matter how much | ask for help or simply show are yell about how I'm not alright everyone just keeps doing what their doing and won't listen until about an hour later of me trying to show I'm upset someone finally notices and | say that | was literally yelling at them and they still didn't even notice me, when that happens they feel bad and start to apologize. For SOME people it now just feels like empty apologizes, while for others | know they have a hard time paying attention especially when someone already has their attention so they get a pass because it's not they mean it. But still. At this point does it really matter? | have a job, a purpose if you will, and that is to protect and care for everyone. But some people | don't want to take care of. | don't want to keep taking care of grown adults who hardly take care of me, but | still have to because | know them. If | die I'll only feel bad for my cat and my 2 best friends. I've lost everything else that made me want to live. My little cousin's, my grandpa, | hardly see my Nana and my mom's cousin/ my "aunt” anymore. | promised to myself that | would protect my cousin's and now they're god knows where and everyone else is some other reason, the worst part might be that they're not dead, they're still alive, | can cope with death much easier than abandonment.But it's whatever. It's life. You lose people and eventually you die. So what's the point anymore? | could kill myself during summer break and nobody but my family would know. At least my friends wouldn't be worried and sorrowful

Post from 3 weeks ago:

My parents took away my mattress, my bedframe is bars, | have no where to sleep buton a broken couch that someone has masturbated on SEVERAL times

Post from 4 days ago:

| hate remembering stuff so much, I've taught myself to forget all the bad memories, so much so that I'm quick to forget even the good memories. But now lately whenever | try to use my method to forget stuff | just remember more. | don't want to remember more. | hate it so much. | don't want to remember all the time's I've been SAd at school. Why the fuck do | have to remember that. | hate remembering what happened each time. | hate remembering being surrounded by several people and all they did was STAND THERE AND FUCKING AS | CRIED AND SCREAMED AT THEM TO STOP. | FUCKING HATE THAT | HAVE TO REMEMBER IT. THEN BEING BLAMED FOR CAUSING A SCENE OR TOLD THAT IT WAS JUST AN ACCIDENT, A MISTAKE. IT WASN'T A FUCKING ACCIDENT. THEY WERE TOLD TO LEAVE ME ALONE BEFORE HAND. THEN WHEN THEY ACTUALLY STARTED SLAPPING MY ASS AND | SCREAMED AT THEM TO STOP THEY FUCKING DIDN'T ALL THEY DID WASLAUGH. so it wasn't a fucking mistake. Infact they would've kept going and it would'vegotten worse if | wasn't saved by the bell. The people | was hanging out with just stared and watched. Out of all the time's I've been SA'd at school only ONE person has even tried to help me, Olivia told D to leave me alone beforehand because she knows | would never want that, especially unexpected and by someone who | hardly knew, even when D and M wouldn't leave me alone Olivia was trying to also scream at them to leave me alone and when the bell rang she ran over to me, put her hand on my back and led me over to our doors, led me up the stairs and helped me to find the French teacher because | trusted her. That was the only time someone tried to help. Not any of the times in 4th grade, and that shit went one everyday for 3 months! And at no point did anyone help me on track and field day, despite being surrounded by so many people all they did was watch or look the other way when | was pinned to the ground and being touched inappropriately by TWO people. So of course | had to fight to get back to standing. And when a teacher finally came over because | was screaming and crying,despite telling them what had just happened they just gave me trouble for causing a scene. | fucking hate all the people that touched me the way they did. | hate that people just stood there and did fucking nothing. And | fucking hate the teachers that just waved me off and said it was fine. | fucking hate remembering shit that | want to desperately forget

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