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deathmetalunicorn1 · 11 months

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Hello it's me again! I just wanna say I am in love with your ror x child reader story because there so cuteeee

Anyway can I request a ror gods (Zeus, Poseidon, hades, Hermes, ares, Aphrodite, Heracles and Beelzebub) x child female reader

Basically the reader has a train station (she's basically the owner) that leads to Valhalla or helhaim and also the reader is the goddess of stars and travel

And she's often called the 'guiding light' because she guides people to where they go either alive or dead

But the other gods don't know what the reader looks like due to the reader not really leaving the station

But one day the gods needed the reader's help because there was a problem at Valhalla

How would they react that a child solved their problem?

The reader is very cheerful and happy-go-lucky but can also be serious and deadly

(Also can you maybe base the reader's clothes like the pic)

-Guiding Light Train Station is where everyone first arrives at following their death. It’s brightly lit, warm feeling, and runs very smoothly and quickly, with one of several trains running every ten minutes, keeping the station as empty as possible.

-The Goddess of Stars, who was also known as the goddess of travel, or the guiding light, is the station master, but looking at her, many would not believe her words to be true.

-You looked like a child, wearing a train station uniform that was way too big for you, adorable, bright and bubbly, you didn’t look like someone who would handle an operation like this for the newly dead.

-But it was true, Station Master Y/N wasn’t as well known as other gods, but while passengers were at her station, she did what she could to help them.

-Every person would go to the ticket counter, where a super advanced algorithm system would print the tickets of where someone was going to go, Valhalla, Helheim, or to a special place where souls were immediately reincarnated into new bodies. Occasionally you would have people who have tickets to Tartarus, in the pits of Helheim, but that was only for people who committed terrible things in their lives, their souls doomed forever be locked away.

-You helped the newest passengers board the correct train and disciplined the ones who tried to board other trains, like those who aren’t happy to go to Helheim try to board the Valhalla train.

-You were tiny but you sure were mighty, your strength didn’t match your petite frame as you dragged the offenders by their ears to their correct train.

-Usually, when most arrived at their destination, they forgot about you, now faced with their new destinations, and not many gods knew what you looked like, other than you were female, because you never left your station as there were always people arriving.

-You were patrolling around your station, skipping while humming before an alarm sounded and you turned instantly, looking up before running through the station, your arms out to the side before leaping up and landing in the arms of a Valhalla guard who oversaw the station with you.

-He had seen you leaping over the crowd and quickly lifted his arms to catch you before setting you down in front of the Valhalla train, which was still stationed, as it should have left several minutes ago.

-The guard saluted you and spoke, “Reports show from the travel map that the other train is still at the station in Valhalla, there is a disturbance with the track. Lord Zeus himself has sent a distress signal here for assistance.”

-You nodded, not looking at all worried, as this happened every now and then before turning, “Keep the other trains running on schedule.” He saluted you before picking you up so you were sitting on his shoulders so you could see the crowd waiting to go to Valhalla, which is the second busiest train, “Attention all passengers bound for Valhalla! We are experience technical difficulties at the Valhalla Station. Please be patient and you will be on your way soon!”

-Most weren’t bothered by having to wait, as the other trains to Helheim and Tartarus were now working double time to keep the station as low as possible.

-Your assistant set you down and you leapt down onto the track and straightened your hat, “I’ll be back!” and like a bolt of glittering lightning, you were gone, racing down the track to the Valhalla station.

-Several gods were at the Valhalla Station, as they had been called to a disturbance, a fight had broken out and had actually knocked the train off the tracks.

-Hercules and Ares had tried to put it back on the tracks, but without much luck, as it was on a magic track that they couldn’t figure out, they even called Beelzebub and Odin for their help but only Beelzebub was available, as Odin was dealing with those who had caused the fight.

-A crack of lightning interrupted any conversations as you appeared, leaping up from the track before landing in front of the other gods, “Have no fear- Station Master Y/N is here!”

-They all blinked in unison, they had no idea that you were only a child as you turned, looking at the train off the tracks, squatting on the platform next to it, “What happened?”

-Hermes spoke, being the first to shake off his shock, “A fight broke out, one that was big enough that we gods had to come down and handle it, but during the fight the train got knocked off the tracks.”

-You nodded softly before turning around, “I can fix it!” your hands were on your hips and a big grin was on your lips as you went to the front of the train, where it was against the bumpers.

-Hercules and Ares, worried for your safety, approached, not wanting you to fall, Ares speaking, “Y/N, are you sure you can fix it, Hercules and I tried but we didn’t have much luck?”

-You nodded softly while reaching out to touch the train and it instantly vanished before reappearing back on the tracks, good as new, like nothing ever happened!

-Jaws dropped all around and Aphrodite spoke, “Oh my- how did you do that?” Hercules picked you up from the bumper that you were standing on and sat you back down, “These trains are created from my magic, being the Goddess of Travel. All trains, tracks, and stations are under my control.”

-Zeus chuckled warmly, reaching down to ruffle your hair gently as your hat was in your hands now, “My-my~ it’s nice to see someone so young working so hard.”

-Your cheeks puffed up in annoyance, hands coming to your hips, “I’m not that young! I’m just small because I’m travel sized!” Ares thought you were adorable, smiling fondly down at you before Beelzebub approached, asking about your magic and how it worked.

-You spoke with a smile on your lips, “It’s domain control to put it simply, everything to do with these stations are part of my domain, and I can control them at will, I can make the trains bigger or smaller, and the same with the stations. If I will it, it will happen.”

-Hades then spoke, reaching down to pat the top of your head gently, “So you’re the one who sends all of those new souls to Helheim and the various parts of the underworld.”

-You shrugged like it was no big deal, “Well there’s humans dying all the time and they need some place to go. I keep my stations working smoothly so no accidents happen and so my station is kept clear of troublemakers, like someone coming here to Valhalla who was supposed to go to Helheim or Tartarus.”

-This made sense and you beamed brightly up at them, hurting all of their hearts, “Come by my station if you want to take a scenic train ride. I have some available for gods or those who are here in Valhalla to go sight-seeing!”

-They all thanked you, some still in shock that you were able to fix the problem so easily, and you were a child on top of it before you hopped onto the train and crawled into a seat, sitting on your knees, waving at them and Hercules, Ares, Hermes, Zeus, and Aphrodite waved at you.

-They wanted to see you again, they had no idea that there was a child goddess who was working so hard.

-Zeus turned around, looking a bit confused, “Where’s Poseidon?” they all looked around as well, finding him missing.

-You sat back on your seat and flinched as you had gotten spooked by Poseidon sitting next to you, “What kind of scenic train routes are there? I need a break from my office.”

-You beamed, kicking your legs like a child, listing off the different ones available, all of them on Earth which he originally wasn’t keen on until you pulled out your phone and showed him pictures of the different areas.

-Many were stunned to meet Poseidon as the train arrived safely back at your station and your assistant was quickly loading up the next one, getting the station emptied out again as you showed Poseidon around, showing the different platforms as you led him upstairs to where a beautiful ruby red train was waiting with large windows on both sides, allowing panoramic views of the scenery, as well as private cars.

-Poseidon wanted to go to the Swiss Alps, wanting something different than the ocean and you hooked him up by giving him a beautiful private lounge complete with a fancy three-course meal and wines of his choosing.

-He was impressed, actually thanking you before taking a seat and you tipped your hat to him, “I will see you when you arrive back, Lord Poseidon. Enjoy your excursion!”

-He heard your voice once outside, “All aboard!!” and within moments the train took off and Poseidon leaned back, a deep sigh leaving him as he relaxed, ignoring his text messages from Zeus who said he was unfair for getting to your station first.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror poseidon #ror hades #ror heracles #ror ares #ror aphrodite #ror beelzebub #ror hermes

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wolfytoothy · 5 months

Text

venom

summery: you got a simbio, aka venom. Yiu were missing for 2 weeks, and that's how you got him. But when you escaped, and that's when Miles found. Well the prowler but you know. But now you guys went on a date, till the friend came after you while you were leaving the date. Then he was reviled

........

You had venom for a full week now. And lord can he be annoying. When you first met him lord was it chaos. When you were escaping, you had no idea what the hell was wrong with you.

‘Oh shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Okay maybe if I-’

Don’t move

A voice said you followed instructions and luckily you were clear. All of a sudden some of the guards found you. “HEY.STOP RIGHT THERE” some one yelled.Then those big body’s started shooting at you. You then started run.

“Ah fuck, fuck, fuck” you yelled. That’s when you got shot in the leg. You stummbed down and held your thigh in pain. One of the men came up to you, he watched as you rolled on the floor in agony. “I got eyes on the experiment. Taking her in right now” he said into the radio.

As soon as he was about to grab you, a black gooey type thing ejected from her hand. The thing grab the guard by the neck lifting him into the air as venom took over. Then but his head off.

Time skip:

after everyone was dead and severely injured He retracted back into your body. “EWW, ew, ew,ew,ew,ew. Did I- we just-, did YOU JUST BIT ALL THERE HEADS OFF” you screamed.

Yes, and if you wanna make it out alive and not get caught, i suggest we go. Now.

“Who-who are you” you asked as you started running.

I am venom

And from that day on, he had been stuck with you. Its been a good 2 weeks now and it’s… been something.

You were walking down the street to get venom some chocolate, after he’s been bugging you for the past few days.

“ you see you can’t just eat people, theres bad, an theres good, but theres very very bad people that don’t deserve a chance you know” you whispered as you said high to a person that was looking at you weird.

So only eat the bad guys?

“Yes,yes only them, you will never and I mean NEVER eat the good guys” you said as you entered the convenience store. “Hi miss lee” you greeted. “Hey n/n”. You went to the back of the store and grabbed a bunch of chocolate bars.

We need a hero name. A cap, oh or maybe-

“Wow, wow huh”

We are the lethal protectors

“...I- okay bud”

Wait, really

“Yea, you can do whatever, as long as it doesn't necessarily interfere with my school life you know and my work life cuz those are very important” you whispered as you but another box of chocolate in the basket.

Hmm, sure.

“Good” you nodded as you made your way to the counter, and paid for it all. “Thank you, Miss Lee” you said.

How bout we go have some fun, like weee, go eat some heads.

“Bud I literally just bout you a fucking loads of chocholet, what more do you want” you complained. You opened the door of your home and went up to your room as you listened to venom whin. You zoned out as you ‘listened’ to him rant on. Till your phone rang.

Who is that?

“Its my boyfriend”

Can i eat him?

“ NO” you yelled as you answered the phone

The phone call:

You:Hey Miles

M: sup ma, you ready?

You:r-ready, for what, were we goin’

M: remember our date… you forget huh

You:what. No, I have no idea what you on about fr hehe

M: just say you forgot

You:yea i forgot, sorry. But ima get ready

M: better grt ready quick, I’m out side

Time skip:

You got dressed and made your way outside to see Miles leaning on his car on his phone.

Ooo, he is handsome… can i eat him“If you eat him, I will expose you” you whispered, making Miles' heads perk up and smile. “ hey ma” he greeted, kissing your cheek. Another

time skip:

You and Miles went on a little date, you guys went to a little cool cafe. It was nice. Then you guys went to the ghetto to pick up something.“Boy why you bring me to the ghetto” you complained. “relaxe, This is part of the date mami” Miles reassured as he pulled up to, what looks like an abandoned warehouse. “Oh hell no, nigga I’m black, you know black people always die first” you joked. “And besides If anything happens you know I’ll protect you”

And me

“Whatever you say fr” you sighed. You opened the door till Miles shut it again. “Wow,wow,wow. What you doin’ “ he said. “Getting outta the car what it looks like” you sassed. “How bout we drop that attitude and try again”.

Oooo. now can I eat him

You rolled your eyes as Venom's words and bit back a strong ‘NO’ from coming out of your mouth.

“ I’m comin’ with”, “no your not. This is prowler work—” You completely zoned out on what he was saying as venom started talking.

Isn’t the Prowler one of the bad guys… I’m bout to start munching.

Right as he said that a black tentacle ascended from your back. You slam you back against the car door making venom recoil.

OW!

“I-... the hell was that about, you good?”You gulped and nodded. “Yea I’m straight" you nodded. "But I'm comin with regardless" you said stepping out of the car.

"Listen it's a long story, I'll explain when we're alone or sum. Just, lay low ight' " you whispered as Miles came up behind you in his prowler suit.

"What the-, how did you change so quickly" you asked. "Skill. Here, take this. If your gonna come with me, I don't need them knowing who you are" he explained.

You took the purple mask and put it on. "Okay... do you just keep mask on you" You chuckled. "Sometimes" he chuckled.

"Stay close ight baby" he said kissing your forehead before letting his mask cover his face.

"Okay-oooo a voice changer thingy" you chirped.

You both then started climbing the fire escape. There were a lot of stories. It was high.

"I swear if I fall, I will haunt you for the rest of your life" you warned as you looked down. "Don't worry I got you ma"

If he does not then I got us

You guys climbed up 9 more levels before reaching the top.

Miles pulled you up and you quickly got away from the edge. You looked up to see multiple guys standing there with guns.

"Oh shit" you muttered.

"Ah, prowler" the guy greeted. "Mr. Hawthorn", Miles, prowler replied. Then all eyes were on you. You gulped as the very big man approached you, staring you down.

Oh shit, quick act cool or something

"And who might you be" the man asked. Prowler grabbed you waist pulling you closer to him. "She's-", "no. I wanna here it from her" he ordered stopping your lovely boyfriend from helping you.

You gulped hard.

Make it seem like your dangerous. Make it seem like you blow up children for fun, say something. Call your self star glazer, NO. Call your self venom

You played it off and placed a sly smirk on your face, but it showed threw your eyes.

"I am venom,and you are..." You asked shaking his hand. "I'm scarface, nice to meet you Doll" he flirted as he kissed your hand. You could feel the jealousy radiating from Miles.

"Oh, well hello scarface,"

More like butt face, he looks like if DJ kalida and drake had a baby

You bit back a laugh as you grimace at the fact he was touching you.

"So we're are you from, what do you do? You have very pretty eyes Doll. Can I call you Doll" he asked looking at you. Lord did you wanna throw up.

Uhh, he does know your only 17...right.

"Hehe, thank you,and no you can not" you sassed taking your hand back and whiping it on your pants. "And Don't look for any redeeming qualities, I have nun" you said. Making him laugh.

Wow, this guy is really stupid, can he not take the hint?

"Yea,yea, hey what's your name again doll" he said holding out his hand.

"I am venom" you repeated. This time, a flash of white flashed in your eyes, making scarface snatch his hand back.

"Right, uh, let's go" he stammered as he began walking.

You two followed along.

"Okay,bad ass" Mile's chuckled. You rolled you eyes and went on with it.

Time skip:

You found your way back to them and waited to leave.They men walked you and Miles back outside. “Pleasure doing business with you, Prowler” Scarface said shake his hand. Scar face looked at you and held out his hand for you to shake. “Venom” he bowed his head slightly. You retired the gesture not shaking his hand. “Pleasure meeting you” you said.

It really wasn’t he’s annoying

You rolled your eyes at his words but agreed silently,some of the guys stood back while the others walked with you and Miles.As soon as you opened the door there were police and FBI. A bunch of dots were on you, “FREEZE,”one guy yelled

“GET ON THE GROUND NOW!” another yelled.

You and held your hands up in the air while Miles got ready to fight. While the other men got their guns out ready to shoot back.

“You guys, you do not wanna do this, trust me” you started, Miles looked at you then back at them, wondering what was going on fr.“MASK”

“COPY” then everyone got their mask out, and put it on. Now you knew what you had to do.

“Alright, have it your way.MASK”

Copy

In a matter of seconds Venom took over, snartching a guy up and biting his head off. Then they shot a bag as thing, but he caught it with his teeth, bursting it, making the gas escape it’s capsule.

Then.. Venom did his thing, while Miles did his.When everyone was dead or severely injured, you/venom was about to transform back, till bullets were being shot. You tured around and started walking towards him till the round was done. you/he, grabbed him by the leg holding him up by the ankle, about to bit his head off till…

“OHH What the hell?!” a voice said. you/he snapped his head in the direction of the voice to see the prowler. Aka Miles standing there. “Oh shit”In seconds you/he dropped the victim and you transformed back.

As soon as he say it was you he backed up a bit. “y/n what the hell,what-whats was that”.

“Yea so long story short i have a symbiote” you smiled sheepishly. You say his confused face and nodded slightly.

“Yeaaaaa, remember when i went missing for a few weeks. Sooo I got kidnapped into a lab, they did an experiment on me and multiple other people, and it turns out that I now have a symbiote named venom” you say all in one breath. Miles stared at you in aw then snapped out of it when back up came. He cut you off and grabbed you hands, his mask retracted back onto his face as he spoke.

“Okay,okay, breath, you can tell me when were out of danger.” he said, you nodded and went along.

Back at the house:

It had been few hours of when you got home and explained everything to him. “espera, espera, espera, espera, so you have a parasite-”

PARASITE.

You flinched at the loudness a little and stopped Miles. “Symbiote” you corrected. “He doesn't like being called ‘parasite’ but you're on the right track” you nodded.

“Yea symbiote or something. That you got from an organization that was doing experiments on people, which those others failed. But they found you, apartly you were a match or somethin. They were keeping you in there, for… whatever reason, you escaped cuz you realized you were gonna die if you don’t. Not its been 2 weeks or so, you and this… thing somehow bonded, now this guy lives rent free in your body” he explained

Wow, this guy is good. No wonder you like him so much.

“Yes, i know fast learner, we love that fr” you smiled. “His name is…v-venom” he said slowly, not sure if he was right.

“Correct”

Correct

“So he can like…here me right now. He talks… to you”

“Yea, wanna meet him”

“Uhh…will it depend… Does he like me? Cuz it seems buddy loves to eat heads” he said timidly.

Mmmm, well he’s not that bad, he’s not my type, but he’s not that bad, I can get used to him. But when you kissed him I can tell he was rather delicious. If he was a girl I would most definitely like him more. Buuuut he’s fine.

You nodded.

"He said he would like you better as a girl but he can work with you...also he said when we kissed you tasted good." You blurted.

"...is...that a good or a bad?"

" it's a good, he likes you very much actually" you nodded. "But don't worry, I won't let him hurt you papa" you reassured, giving him a peck. A sigh of relief could he heared from the boy.

"This is why I love you"

#miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles #e.42 miles #earth 42 miles x you #atsv prowler #earth 42 prowler #miles morales prowler #earth 42 miles fluff #miles morales x reader #venom symbiote #venom #venom x reader

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neverchecking · 11 months

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Hi I am 🪷 Aron from couldninetonine

And I have a request for you if it ok.

Can I request yandere platonic sage , sky, time, warrior, four x child zoni reader.

Like the reader is rauru and queen Soni little baby half breed daughter. Half elf and half zoni. And they found her in her little bubble pod that a flower a lotus. And how they fell for her big doe eyes and big ears. And teaching her the ways and have her call them papa's and how they keep her safe. Please and thank you

omg hi! I love cloudninetonine! It is totally okay to request!

I haven't done a lot of platonic yandere, but this seems fun!

Imagine them calling the boys their papa bc her real dad is dead lmao-

・❥・@lovanmari and @wayfayrr I got some DILF Sage for yall

・❥・Sage as a dad. First off-- who in their right mind is trusting him with a kid?

・❥・Nah, I kid, I kid. When he's given a child, one so small and innocent and one that he connects with? It burns something within him.

・❥・He was a child soldier (I think canonically BOTW Link was in the army by age twelve?), and when he sees this small child who's relying on him? He swears they'd have a better life than he ever had.

・❥・He absolutely refuses to let his child anywhere near anything sharp, too hot, too cold, explosive, etc.. If there's any chance at injury, his flower bud isn't going anywhere near it.

・❥・You know that his kid is eating like royalty. Every single day. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. And dessert. And you know that dessert is the best damned thing in the world.

・❥・Sage as a dad is probably just as unhinged, but in more protective way? Lynel look in their direction? Here kid, look at this butterfly, Papa will be right back- He's back within three minutes tops and look! He's got the fur for a new blanket for you!

・❥・Cece tries pinching your cheeks? He's glaring down at her, daring her to try.

・❥・Someone tries offering you a treat because your just so adorable? He knows his kid is cute, nice try. Nothing is getting past him. He's a bit of a helicopter parent.

・❥・Not a bit. It's a lot.

・❥・He loves playing with your big ears, ones that you'll grow into, flopping them about even as you get red-cheeked and angry at him.

・❥・He'll make it up to you eventually :)

・❥・He also spoils you absolutely rotten. He has his rules, yes, and expects you to follow them, but his rewards are things like trips to the Zora Domain or a sand seal ride in Gerudo. Never Eldin. Are you kidding that's an active volcano site?!?!

・❥・The sages are one-thousand percent your personal body guards. You don't go anywhere without your dad and at least one sage.

・❥・Sky is absolutely smitten from the start.

・❥・You look at this man and tell me he's not dad shaped. You can't.

・❥・He doesn't even care to learn what a Zonai is. All he knows is there are none here and your all alone and your his now. He doesn't make the rules

・❥・He is also another protective dad, but he's a little more willing to let you experience the world around you. You wanna see those flowers over there? He's following! You wanna go for a dip in the river? Great idea, he's helping you! You can go explore, but never alone.

・❥・He absolutely introduces you to Crimson right away. Crimson is the perfect co-parent guardian. Crimson is always pulling you into her side, ruffling her feathers and grooming you.

・❥・Like you become Sky's kid and Crimson's chick. They are two halves of a whole soul so it makes sense.

・❥・HFHFDOFDHN imagine sleeping on Crimson's back while Sky leads the two of you through a forest or sum ;^;

・❥・Or soaring through the sky with you pointing at every cloud you pass and Sky harnessing you to his chest while Crimson flies much slower than normal.

・❥・Sky can cook basic things, but he definitely spends more time with village moms and elders learning more.

・❥・He for sure carves toys for you out of wood. Like trains or maybe a doll of Crimson.

・❥・You get the fluffiest blankets stuffed with Loftwing feathers

・❥・Groose is such a good uncle-sidebar. Even if Sky isn't...jazzed about letting you out of his sight, he will trust Groose. For an hour.

・❥・Which he is within earshot of for fifty seven minutes.

・❥・He's kind of torn between letting you be with Zelda-- who adores you-- and not. she's the reincarnate of Hylia. What if you get dragging into the wretched reincarnation curse as well?

・❥・He wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy let alone his fletchling.

・❥・Fi for sure has a beacon on you at all times.

・❥・He's more...withdrawn when it comes to first meeting you

・❥・Afterall he's in a war.

・❥・but...so are you. And you are so much younger than he is.

・❥・and what self-respecting parent would let their child wander so far? None that deserve their child.

・❥・So you become his. He doesn't do take backsies.

・❥・When you stutter out that your old, irrelevant, unworthy father was a Zonai, he does take that with some caution.

・❥・But no one even knows what a Zonai is. Ravio has a general idea-- a race blessed by the gods-- but thats as far as he gets.

・❥・That's okay. You were his now and he didn't care what you were. You were perfect just the way you are <3

・❥・Wars as a dad is probably pretty strict. But he lets you out of his sight more than the previous two.

・❥・You get schooled and have friends, but are expected home right away.

・❥・He doesn't like your friends. Not a chance. But because he's such a public figure he needs to give you a semi normal life.

・❥・Which means those dumb friends and parent interventions and schooling and hours away when you could be spending time with him!?

・❥・He probably sneaks you out of school often to go for treats at a bakery or a swim in a river. What are they gonna do, tell the Hero no?!

・❥・Artemis loves you. He trusts her with you while he's dragged away for things he cannot control. She has the power of Sheik on her side and proved her worth to him in battle.

・❥・You definitely have a fairy on you at all times which reports back to him.

・❥・Fours is so fun for one reason and one reason alone.

・❥・the minish.

・❥・They probably are the ones to alert him about your presence, giving their small knowledge of the Zonai race.

・❥・They chirp and chitter at him until he brings you back to the home he shares with his grandpa (Uncle? It's one of the two). The older male was out at the moment leaving Four to figure out what he's going to do with you.

・❥・Obviously he keeps you. No one else can handle such a task! You're so delicate and so rare and the minish already love you.

・❥・So your his. no ifs ands or buts.

・❥・The forge? Off Limits.

・❥・It's too hot with too many sharp pointy things and open flames and its dirty.

・❥・Not for his kid.

・❥・When it comes to cooking, he can do it, but like sky, he's not overly good.

・❥・but! You guys can learn together. Under his strict supervision. Where you sit at the counter. Away from the fires and knives. It's a bonding experience.

・❥・Back to the minish, they love you. They love playing with you and calling your attention away while your dad deals with someone whose watching you a little too closely.

・❥・They leave small trinkets for you all the time! Which four keeps in a box. Because you could choke.

・❥・He's also another one to make your toys! Little metal horses and wooden doll houses.

・❥・If he needs to run out for a few errands or something, he's not leaving you with anyone. Oh no not his kid. No, he's splitting. Two stay with you, three depending on the errand, while the other runs out.

・❥・You aren't allowed the Four sword. Ever.

・❥・He would never wish that upon you. Even if you love the colors and it helps you differentiate between green and red and blue and Violet.

・❥・Thats probably how you learn some of your colors in fact.

・❥・Even as you grow up, you cannot get away with anything. The minish are snitches and it would do you good to learn that. And fast.

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soracities · 1 year

Note

Hey! It has been on my mind lately and i just wanna ask..idk if it would make sense but i just noticed that nowadays ppl cant separate the authors and their books (ex. when author wrote a story about cheating and ppl starts bashing the author for romanticizing cheating and even to a point of cancelling the author for not setting a good/healthy example of a relationship) any thoughts about it?

I have many, many thoughts on this, so this may get a little unwieldy but I'll try to corall it together as best I can.

But honestly, I think sometimes being unable to separate the author from the work (which is interesting to me to see because some people are definitely not "separating" anything even though they think they are; they just erase the author entirely as an active agent, isolate the work, and call it "objectivity") has a lot to do with some people being unable to separate the things they read from themselves.

I'm absolutely not saying it's right, but it's an impulse I do understand. If you read a book and love it, if it transforms your life, or defines a particular period of your life, and then you find out that the author has said or done something awful--where does that leave you? Someone awful made something beautiful, something you loved: and now that this point of communion exists between you and someone whose views you'd never agree with, what does that mean for who you are? That this came from the mind of a person capable of something awful and spoke to your mind--does that mean you're like them? Could be like them?

Those are very uncomfortable questions and I think if you have a tendency to look at art or literature this way, you will inevitable fall into the mindset where only "Good" stories can be accepted because there's no distinction between where the story ends and you begin. As I said, I can see where it comes from but I also find it profoundly troubling because i think one of the worst things you can do to literature is approach it with the expectation of moral validation--this idea that everything you consume, everything you like and engage with is some fundamental insight into your very character as opposed to just a means of looking at or questioning something for its own sake is not just narrow-minded but dangerous.

Art isn't obliged to be anything--not moral, not even beautiful. And while I expend very little (and I mean very little) energy engaging with or even looking at internet / twitter discourse for obvious reasons, I do find it interesting that people (online anyway) will make the entire axis of their critique on something hinge on the fact that its bad representation or justifying / romanticizing something less than ideal, proceeding to treat art as some sort of conduit for moral guidance when it absolutely isn't. And they will also hold that this critique comes from a necessarily good and just place (positive representation, and I don't know, maybe in their minds it does) while at the same time setting themselves apart from radical conservatives who do the exact same thing, only they're doing it from the other side.

To make it abundantly clear, I'm absolutely not saying you should tolerate bigots decrying that books about the Holocaust, race, homophobia, or lgbt experiences should be banned--what I am saying, is that people who protest that a book like Maus or Persepolis is going to "corrupt children", and people who think a book exploring the emotional landscape of a deeply flawed character, who just happens to be from a traditionally marginalised group or is written by someone who is, is bad representation and therefore damaging to that community as a whole are arguments that stem from the exact same place: it's a fundamental inability, or outright refusal, to accept the interiority and alterity of other people, and the inherent validity of the experiences that follow. It's the same maniacal, consumptive, belief that there can be one view and one view only: the correct view, which is your view--your thoughts, your feelings.

There is also dangerous element of control in this. Someone with racist views does not want their child to hear anti-racist views because as far as they are concerned, this child is not a being with agency, but a direct extension of them and their legacy. That this child may disagree is a profound rupture and a threat to the cohesion of this person's entire worldview. Nothing exists in and of and for itself here: rather the multiplicity of the world and people's experiences within it are reduced to shadowy agents that are either for us or against us. It's not about protecting children's "innocence" ("think of the children", in these contexts, often just means "think of the status quo"), as much as it is about protecting yourself and the threat to your perceived place in the world.

And in all honestt I think the same holds true for the other side--if you cannot trust yourself to engage with works of art that come from a different standpoint to yours, or whose subject matter you dislike, without believing the mere fact of these works' existence will threaten something within you or society in general (which is hysterical because believe me, society is NOT that flimsy), then that is not an issue with the work itself--it's a personal issue and you need to ask yourself if it would actually be so unthinkable if your belief about something isn't as solid as you think it is, and, crucially, why you have such little faith in your own critical capacity that the only response these works ilicit from you is that no one should be able to engage with them. That's not awareness to me--it's veering very close to sticking your head in the sand, while insisting you actually aren't.

Arbitrarily adding a moral element to something that does not exist as an agent of moral rectitude but rather as an exploration of deeply human impulses, and doing so simply to justify your stance or your discomfort is not only a profoundly inadequate, but also a deeply insidious, way of papering over your insecurities and your own ignorance (i mean this in the literal sense of the word), of creating a false and dishonest certainty where certainty does not exist and then presenting this as a fact that cannot and should not be challenged and those who do are somehow perverse or should have their characters called into question for it. It's reductive and infantilising in so many ways and it also actively absolves you of any responsibility as a reader--it absolves you of taking responsibility for your own interpretation of the work in question, it absolves you of responsibility for your own feelings (and, potentially, your own biases or preconceptions), it absolves you of actual, proper, thought and engagement by laying the blame entirely on a rogue piece of literature (as if prose is something sentient) instead of acknowledging that any instance of reading is a two-way street: instead of asking why do I feel this way? what has this text rubbed up against? the assumption is that the book has imposed these feelings on you, rather than potentially illuminated what was already there.

Which brings me to something else which is that it is also, and I think this is equally dangerous, lending books and stories a mythical, almost supernatural, power that they absolutely do not have. Is story-telling one of the most human, most enduring, most important and life-altering traditions we have? Yes. But a story is also just a story. And to convince yourself that books have a dangerous transformative power above and beyond what they are actually capable of is, again, to completely erase people's agency as readers, writers' agency as writers and makers (the same as any other craft), and subsequently your own. And erasing agency is the very point of censors banning books en masse. It's not an act of stupidity or blind ignorance, but a conscious awareness of the fact that people will disagree with you, and for whatever reason you've decided that you are not going to let them.

Writers and poets are not separate entities to the rest of us: they aren't shamans or prophets, gifted and chosen beings who have some inner, profound, knowledge the rest of us aren't privy to (and should therefore know better or be better in some regard) because moral absolutism just does not exist. Every writer, no matter how affecting their work may be, is still Just Some Guy Who Made a Thing. Writing can be an incredibly intimate act, but it can also just be writing, in the same way that plumbing is plumbing and weeding is just weeding and not necessarily some transcendant cosmic endeavour in and of itself. Authors are no different, when you get down to it, from bakers or electricians; Nobel laureates are just as capable of coming out with distasteful comments about women as your annoying cousin is and the fact that they wrote a genre-defying work does not change that, or vice-versa. We imbue books with so much power and as conduits of the very best and most human traits we can imagine and hope for, but they aren't representations of the best of humanity--they're simply expressions of humanity, which includes the things we don't like.

There are some authors I love who have said and done things I completely disagree with or whose views I find abhorrent--but I'm not expecting that, just because they created something that changed my world, they are above and beyond the ordinarly, the petty, the spiteful, or cruel. That's not condoning what they have said and done in the least: but I trust myself to be able to read these works with awareness and attention, to pick out and examine and attempt to understand the things that I find questionable, to hold on to what has moved me, and to disregard what I just don't vibe with or disagree with. There are writers I've chosen not to engage with, for my own personal reasons: but I'm not going to enforce this onto someone else because I can see what others would love in them, even if what I love is not strong enough to make up for what I can't. Terrance Hayes put perfectly in my view, when he talks about this and being capable of "love without forgiveness". Writing is a profoundly human heritage and those who engage with it aren't separate from that heritage as human because they live in, and are made by, the exact same world as anyone else.

The measure of good writing for me has hardly anything to do with whatever "virtue" it's perceived to have and everything to do with sincerity. As far as I'm concerned, "positive representation" is not about 100% likeable characters who never do anything problematic or who are easily understood. Positive representation is about being afforded the full scope of human feelings, the good, the bad, and the ugly, and not having your humanity, your dignity, your right to exist in the world questioned because all of these can only be seen through the filter of race, or gender, religion, or ethicity and interpreted according to our (profoundly warped) perceptions of those categories and what they should or shouldn't represent. True recognition of someone's humanity does not lie in finding only what is held in common between you (and is therefore "acceptable", with whatever you put into that category), but in accepting everything that is radically different about them and not letting this colour the consideration you give.

Also, and it may sound harsh, but I think people forget that fictional characters are fictional. If I find a particularly fucked up relationship dynamic compelling (as I often do), or if I decide to write and explore that dynamic, that's not me saying two people who threaten to kill each other and constantly hurt each other is my ideal of romance and that this is exactly how I want to be treated: it's me trying to find out what is really happening below the surface when two people behave like this. It's me exploring something that would be traumatizing and deeply damaging in real life, in a safe and fictional setting so I can gain some kind of understanding about our darker and more destructive impulses without being literally destroyed by them, as would happen if all of this were real. But it isn't real. And this isn't a radical or complex thing to comprehend, but it becomes incomprehensible if your sole understanding of literature is that it exists to validate you or entertain you or cater to you, and if all of your interpretations of other people's intentions are laced with a persistent sense of bad faith. Just because you have not forged any identity outside of this fictional narrative doesn't mean it's the same for others.

Ursula K. le Guin made an extremely salient point about children and stories in that children know the stories you tell them--dragons, witches, ghouls, whatever--are not real, but they are true. And that sums it all up. There's a reason children learning to lie is an incredibly important developmental milestone, because it shows that they have achieved an incredibly complex, but vitally important, ability to hold two contradictory statements in their minds and still know which is true and which isn't. If you cannot delve into a work, on the terms it sets, as a fictional piece of literature, recognize its good points and note its bad points, assess what can have a real world impact or reflects a real world impact and what is just creative license, how do you possible expect to recognize when authority and propaganda lies to you? Because one thing propaganda has always utilised is a simplistic, black and white depiction of The Good (Us) and The Bad (Them). This moralistic stance regarding fiction does not make you more progressive or considerate; it simply makes it easier to manipulate your ideas and your feelings about those ideas because your assessments are entirely emotional and surface level and are fuelled by a refusal to engage with something beyond the knee-jerk reaction it causes you to have.

Books are profoundly, and I do mean profoundly, important to me-- and so much of who I am and the way I see things is probably down to the fact that stories have preoccupied me wherever I go. But I also don't see them as vital building blocks for some core facet or a pronouncement of Who I Am. They're not badges of honour or a cover letter I put out into the world for other people to judge and assess me by, and approve of me (and by extension, the things I say or feel). They're vehicles through which I explore and experience whatever it is that I'm most caught by: not a prophylactic, not a mode of virtue signalling, and certainly not a means of signalling a moral stance.

I think at the end of the day so much of this tendency to view books as an extension of yourself (and therefore of an author) is down to the whole notion of "art as a mirror", and I always come back to Fran Lebowitz saying that it "isn't a mirror, it's a door". And while I do think it's important to have that mirror (especially if you're part of a community that never sees itself represented, or represented poorly and offensively) I think some people have moved into the mindset of thinking that, in order for art to be good, it needs to be a mirror, it needs to cater to them and their experiences precisely--either that or that it can only exist as a mirror full stop, a reflection of and for the reader and the writer (which is just incredibly reductive and dismissive of both)--and if art can only exist as a mirror then anything negative that is reflected back at you must be a condemnation, not a call for exploration or an attempt at understanding.

As I said, a mirror is important but to insist on it above all else isn't always a positive thing: there are books I related to deeply because they allowed me to feel so seen (some by authors who looked nothing like me), but I have no interest in surrounding myself with those books all the time either--I know what goes on in my head which is precisely why I don't always want to live there. Being validated by a character who's "just like me" is amazing but I also want--I also need-- to know that lives and minds and events exist outside of the echo-chamber of my own mind. The mirror is comforting, yes, but if you spend too long with it, it also becomes isolating: you need doors because they lead you to ideas and views and characters you could never come up with on your own. A world made up of various Mes reflected back to me is not a world I want to be immersed in because it's a world with very little texture or discovery or room for growth and change. Your sense of self and your sense of other people cannot grow here; it just becomes mangled.

Art has always been about dialogue, always about a me and a you, a speaker and a listener, even when it is happening in the most internal of spaces: to insist that art only ever tells you what you want to hear, that it should only reflect what you know and accept is to undermine the very core of what it seeks to do in the first place, which is establish connection. Art is a lifeline, I'm not saying it isn't. But it's also not an instruction manual for how to behave in the world--it's an exploration of what being in the world looks like at all, and this is different for everyone. And you are treading into some very, very dangerous waters the moment you insist it must be otherwise.

Whatever it means to be in the world, it is anything but straightforward. In this world people cheat, people kill, they manipulate, they lie, they torture and steal--why? Sometimes we know why, but more often we don't--but we take all these questions and write (or read) our way through them hoping that, if we don't find an answer, we can at least find our way to a place where not knowing isn't as unbearable anymore (and sometimes it's not even about that; it's just about telling a story and wanting to make people laugh). It's an endless heritage of seeking with countless variations on the same statements which say over and over again I don't know what to make of this story, even as I tell it to you. So why am I telling it? Do I want to change it? Can I change it? Yes. No. Maybe. I have no certainty in any of this except that I can say it. All I can do is say it.

Writing, and art in general, are one of the very, very, few ways we can try and make sense of the apparently arbitrary chaos and absurdity of our lives--it's one of the only ways left to us by which we can impose some sense of structure or meaning, even if those things exists in the midst of forces that will constantly overwhelm those structures, and us. I write a poem to try and make sense of something (grief, love, a question about octopuses) or to just set down that I've experienced something (grief, love, an answer about octpuses). You write a poem to make sense of, resolve, register, or celebrate something else. They don't have to align. They don't have to agree. We don't even need to like each other much. But in both of these instances something is being said, some fragment of the world as its been perceived or experienced is being shared. They're separate truths that can exist at the same time. Acknowledging this is the only means we have of momentarily bridging the gaps that will always exist between ourselves and others, and it requires a profound amount of grace, consideration and forbearance. Otherwise, why are we bothering at all?

#this is so much longer than i intended but yeah. those are my very long 2 cents #tbh i also think social media makes it worse in a way especially bc “transparency” has become a form of public vetting which is insane to m #me* transparency and honesty are not the same thing ans its ludicrous that this is where we're at and while we all have to live with this #demand for transparency i do think it affects writers differently bc the whole art as mirror thing comes to the fore in this argument #why would you sit with your feelings about a book when its easier and more accessible for you to @ the authors twitter handle #but anyway #ask #anonymous #book talks

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emsgoodthinkin · 4 months

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As long as I’m with You

Steve Harrington x You (short)

Summary: Steve wakes up to another bad night you’ve had this week

Warnings: hurt/comfort, talks of poor physical and mental health, doctors, suicidal ideation, medication use, drug use, chronic health issues, BPD if you squint, disabilities, use of the word “girl” x times, negative self talk, mentions of sex, angst, fluff~~

This is based off my own experiences and inspired by my pal Morgan’s version; feel free to check hers out

Tick tick tick

The clock strikes 12 and then 1, 3, 5am in the morning, no sleep no rest it’s an every day cycle. The same shitty cycle.

It’s a new year, but not a new you.

Sitting in your walker in front of the excruciatingly bright television screen, high as a kite, everything in existence running through your mind 100 mph, sometimes the weed helps the pain. Sometimes it induces it or even makes it worse. Right now it’s doing nothing for you. Looking over at your loved one sound asleep. You don’t want to bother him with your whines or crying. So you just sit there silence, tears rolling down your cheeks; while you watch some bullshit on YouTube.

Sniff Sniff

“Baby?”

Shit.

“..yea?” you say in a whispered tone

“Are you ok? what’s wrong?”

“Ah, you already know”, you’ve used that line probably over a million times

Steve comes along your side expecting a few dried tears, but his eyes widen when he’s sees the collar around your shirt bitten, snot dribbling down your mouth and throat, crouching down, he lies his head onto your thigh looking up at you, “Talk to me sweetheart”

“No.”

“Hey, I know you’re hurting”—

“GOOD FOR YOU! Congratulations you know I’m hurting, you know I’ve been hurting for fucking years. I’m glad you’ve acknowledged it unlike some people”you sniffle getting up in a hurry to take a piss as he follows with sad eyes leaning against the door frame

“I’m fucking tired, I’m so goddamn exhausted nobody will ever know what I’m dealing with!”, you say wiping your ass not bothering to wash your hands, “I can’t do anything I can’t run, I can’t jump, can’t go to the stupid, fucking grocery store without one of those motorized carts.. my back hurts, my fucking knees are throbbing, stupid fucking nerves won’t calm down FUCK! It’s not like I can get in the bathtub to calm my muscles down. Nothing is helping! No medication, no PT, no injections, no nothing! Why?? am I just resistant to any source of help or treatment? I-I can’t even lay in the goddamn bed to sleep. That’s all I have left is rest!! What is rest!? I don’t know what the hell that even is”

“I know baby I know”—

“NO YOU DONT STEVE, all you know is what you see. I wouldn’t wish on our worst enemy, my worst enemy to feel what I feel. That’s how bad it all hurts. The most evil, sick and twisted person in this world, I would never wish this upon. I just..”, getting dizzy you collapse on the bed sobbing into your own hands, then eventually into Steve’s shoulder as he rocks you, tears spilling from his own eyes—

“Nobody cares, nobody wants to help me. nobody cares unless I’m rich and can afford to give them any and ALL the things off my back, but I can’t. Even with the money you make it will never be enough to help the poor girl who’s too young to have any kind of issue. It’s “all in my head” I’m just fucking crazy. I could break my own neck and still be told it’s only from anxiety. Nobody cares just”—

“I care” he exhales

“It doesn’t matter if you care, all your care is useless, all your help is worthless to me because it gets me nowhere. Nobody’s love and care gets me nowhere. It’s nothing all but fucking false hope. Don’t you get that? None of you still to this day seems understand that. Stop praying for me to get better. It’s never going to happen. I can’t take it anymore.. I just wanna die! All I wish for is to die but, I can’t even have that. It’s like all of you want me here, to live and suffer for the rest of my life for y’all, it’s not fair, fuck that”, your trembling, body in fight or flight

“Don’t say that, you know I’d do anything to take your pain away”

“It doesn’t matter what you’d do because you’re not a doctor. You’re not a professional, you can’t help me get better.. sucks to hear but it’s the truth Steve..fuck”—

Steve’s really trying not to beat himself up over your words, he knows you’re in pain, it comes from a place of anger, frustration and fear

“I have all these pain medications I could easily take all at once, so I’ll never have to wake up in this position ever again. Why can’t I do it huh? I could end right here right now you never have to suffer again, but I just d-don’t; If anything, I’m the most selfless person for staying alive for YOU just so I can be alive but in pain all over again for YOU!”, your tone getting higher and higher in pitch

“I-I’m sorry.. I wish I knew the right words to say baby”, he’s trying his best to stay strong for you

“You’ve got to be sick of me, tired of me. All I do is cause more money to come out of your pockets, more exhaustion, more burdening, more crying, more everything bad for you. You already deal with your own shit. I do nothing but make your own mentality worse, hell you’re making your own self worse being with a person like me. A broken and useless excuse of a human being. You deserve somebody who can go hiking with you, go to the beach, travel with, who can do the bare minimum. Can’t even fuck you properly—

“STOP! Stop that right now” he shouts

You freeze because he’s never raised his voice at you, atleast not on purpose at such a vulnerable time

“I hate it too. You know it hurts me to know that you hurt and I’m sorry that I can’t take the pain away from you. My sweet, sweet girl I’m so sorry that nobody has given you the chance to hear your voice, to help heal you..but I’m gonna make you the same promise I make you almost every single night. As long as I’m with you, I will try my best with all my power to make it a little bit more bearable for you to be here, and I am so grateful that you are still here and choose to be here with me for us to be together. I know you hurt, but as long as you’re with me, I’m going to do my best to put a smile on your pretty face, beautiful sunshine of a smile because you’re my sunshine.. y-your smile gives me life did you know that?”

You nod. He tells you all the time

“I- I’m tired for wishing to feel ok for my birthdays, every Christmas. All the shirts and posters you got me for Christmas? I haven’t even touched them yet, you know why? Because the selfish person in me doesn’t give a fuck about none of it. The only thing I care about and want and NEED is pain relief and that’s too much to ask for isn’t it? Apparently wanting to be better in the world it’s too much to ask for”

“You deserve to feel better”, he says while his hand travels up your back to rub your tense neck, “You deserve to be free from all of this and I can’t give that to you. You’re not selfish baby you’re hurting. I love you for you. I knew what I was signing up for, and if I didn’t want that I wouldn’t be here right now with you. I know the sacrifices Ill have to make, the tears I’ll have to shed, the strength it’ll take me to pick you up when you’re down, but I fell in love with you, how you are, and who you are”

“Who are you kidding Steve, you don’t even know who I am. The real me. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I wish you met me when I wasn’t sick then maybe you wouldn’t be so stressed out a-and.. and,” you start sobbing again, it’s all too overwhelming

“Hey, hey look at me, no. I met you at the right time. You need me just as much as I need you. You may not think you’re worth nothing but you’re worth everything to me. Yeah you have a good and bad days..—

“I’ve had nothing but bad days for the past few months Steve”-

“I know, I see it, I hear it and I witness it, I may not can feel it, but at the end of it all, you still love me. You’re still here. You still want to cook for me. You still get up to brush your teeth and I’m so proud of you for still trying to care for yourself. That’s the biggest job you’ll ever have, and it’s been a very hard job hasn’t it?

You nod, as he nods with you

“Yeah, it has, but you don’t have to do it alone anymore. I want to provide for you. I want to take care of you. You’re my girl, you deserve so much and as long as I’m with you, I will try every day, every hour, every second or minute, to make sure you know how loved, how great and how amazing you are. How great and amazing you’re doing for yourself and for me. How strong you are”—

—“im tired of having being strong all the time”, interrupting him

“I know you are. You are so strong for being on this earth, even when you don’t want to be. I wouldn’t ask for anybody else, you’re it for me always. Will you continue to let me try to make it better for you every day? To take care of you?”, he squats in front of you, cupping your wet cheeks, kissing your forehead

“But Stevie.. you know you’re getting your own hopes up because nothing you do helps either and I feel like a piece of shit for saying that because”—

“I know what you mean, you don’t have to be sorry. I understand you may not have hope but I do. All my Hope goes towards you and it always will. You are the most important thing in my life. I’m not gonna give up on you, on me or on us, ok sunshine?”

..”okay”, you repeat rubbing your temples

“Head hurt, darling?”

“yes”

“From crying too hard?”

You nod, looking away in shame, “It’s okay, I’ll get your Migrane cap from the freezer and i’ll set your pillows up how you like, just sit tight”, he says it standing then pausing at the doorway, looking over his shoulder, “I love you”

“luv you—

“Hmm? What was that, I couldn’t hear you” he exclaims

“I said love you gosh.. shut up”, you barely crack a smile

That was enough to get him through the rest of the night.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x disabled!reader #steve harrington x ill!reader #tw sui talk #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x gn!reader #tw sick mention #mental health awareness #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x chronically!ill reader #steve harrington x sick reader #steve harrington angst #stranger things #joe keery #chronic pain issues #bpd #spoonie

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mikodrawnnarratives · 6 months

Text

TW IMPLIED CHARACTER DEATH

TW BLOOD

(Just like last time, it isn't really graphic but I'm tagging just so you know)

@naffeclipse

Part 1 | This is Part Two | Part Three | Extra

It. Probably won't need a part 4

I'm doing this all on one cps file so I sure hope so kjlfdkfljs

i'm at like- 750+ layers i'm so sorry my file

...there might be a part 4 but it'll be small sketches and aftermaths

Once again, long post under the cut:

I am not the only traveler, who has not repaid his debt.

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

Take me back to the night we met

- The night we met by Lord Hurdon

Alright, I didn't make too much of an effort to hide it but how many of you guessed it was gregory and how many of you didn't see it coming?

Gee I wonder who Gregory's companions are

Okay if you don't have a nugget of who these companions are then my rambling below makes it a little more obvious

Anyway, this little comic of self indulgence to mend my broken heart says "YO what if Gregory and other characters saved Vanessa like they did in canon"

It certainly would NOT be easy for Vanessa once she wakes up to that realization. But there are factors that make it a little bit easier for Vanessa to cope compared to other children.

Since Gregory and others proved they could fight and free her as Vanny, it gives her mind a little reassurance that they aren't completely helpless.

Plus, I like the idea of the GGY story (Dr Rabbit) existing as this au's equivalent of the same experience, that would mean Gregory has had his own bad experiences with Glitchtrap and so it wouldn't be like some random kid going against a threat he was unfamiliar with

She still distances herself a lot earlier on and the more time passes, the older Gregory gets, the less he looks and sounds like a kid.

Those make it much easier for Vanessa to stand being around them as time goes by. Earlier on, she only really interacted when absolutely necessary. But she did grow a small soft spot for them.

She remained pretty closed off about herself over the years and never delved too deep about her past. Ness left frequently for her own hunting jobs and at one point Gregory asked where she went. Somethings made it seem like these hunts weren't just random and different

He didn't get an answer of course. But later that day, Vanessa told him about Y/n. In vague terms. This is the most information he ever gets about Vanessa's past.

So Gregory's got no idea who to expect to see showing up to the gravestone ltr on and is just like

Gregory: cool, ur mysterious enough for it to be believable ur related to my mysterious older sister/mentor figure Wanna hear a story

Y/n: ...yes.

Forgive him his brain is ever so foggy from grief and no slep

Anyway, Y/n picked a day to visit Vanessa when they knew they were stable enough not to lash out and attack any humans that may happen to also be visiting the graves. They had eaten pretty recently but not so recent that they were vulnerable.

It's pretty early in the morning where it is still dark and the rain provides some more protection.

If you couldn't tell before, many MANY years have passed since Y/n has been human. Think somewhere between 20-30 years. And while, they still hate who they are now and aren't mentally okay, they've gotten a semi-solid understanding of their limits and what they can and cannot tolerate and when.

And, even though they are nervous, they can manage to have this conversation with Gregory for now.

Why are they talking to Gregory so willingly? despite the risks?

well

the next part will explain that

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weebsinstash · 10 months

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Not gonna lie if I were the reader after they got replaced by YouTwo I would be a neurotic mess lmao. I already mental issues but I can't imagine going through their trauma on top of everything. I would definitely be scratching myself again out of sheer stress and anxiety about whether or not everybody will replace me again. My arms would look horrible. Oh boy imagine everybody's reaction to realizing they've messed up this badly and absolutely ruined the reader

Other people: fun ways we can write! Coffee shop au! Red string of fate! Hanahaki! Enemies to lovers!

me: what if I sat and tried to seriously and realistically contemplate the ramifications of a severely traumatic experience and the following neurotic habits that arise from the spiral down

Reader gets back to Spider Society, either glitching back in or "being rescued" whatever, and, you're just doing shit like digging food out of the trash "you'd never guess what kinds of perfectly good stuff people throw away, and it saves time to not have to wait for anything to be prepped! Never know when you'll vanish in the middle of a meal or that one serial killer will pop out at you again!! Ahaha!

Someone comes to check on you and you deadass have a fucking, tripwire web trap all around you, you're not even sleeping in a bed you're in your own webbing (because we rock organic webbing here because it fucks) so the second anything like, opens the door of your apartment or comes near you, you're instantly aware. Peter B comes in "heeeey, just wanna check in, make sure you're doing ok--" and there's fucking web wires rattling cans as he opens the front door and suddenly you're wide awake with an actual fucking knife or some kind of equally brutal survivalist weapon and it takes you a few seconds to fully snap out of it and let him calm you down and he has to tell Miguel You Are In Fact Not Doing Ok

You've got real "scaring all your loved ones and everyone around you" energy during those times you're just like going through some manic shit, opening your mouth and going on a sudden 'epiphany' like "i know what would help!! I'm gonna start cutting my face in really visible prominent places and that way you guys will know by the scar who I am :) and when it heals I'll cut myself again :) and again :) maybe I should just cut off a finger, how many of me do you think are missing fingers? Or maybe I could give myself a cool scar!!" And it's just like. What the fuck do they even say to that. A lot of them just genuinely could cry over this, seeing what this did to you. You sound genuinely cheerful at the realization and give no mind to how casually you just suggested self harm out of paranoia and self preservation.

You're just having like hard-core eating disorder issues going from overeating to undereating, binging because you're suffer9ng trauma from starving and then starving yourself "no its fasting, I'm FASTING to save food and money and resources, ok, I can only fit so much in my backpack and--"

You have this backpack from your multiversal glitching travels and keeping it with you basically 24/7 even when you go to the bathroom becomes a comfort habit, because, "never know when your camp has been found by the runners and you've gotta make a break for it" or some other cryptic memory you babble at them like you're discussing coffee when it could be one of the most vile horrifying things they've ever heard

I think the most interesting but tricky thing I've thought of is, what if Reader's trauma-humor coping mechanism gets dialed up to 11 and you can basically never turn it off because, your brain is protecting yourself. It's like you're Doing A Bit but literally all the time like some traumatized method actor and you're just, they're never sure if you're actually telling the truth or actually recounting things you experienced after a while

"Oh man the last time I ate a meal this big was when I finally stopped glitching and I had to break into someone's house and rob them for food! Just call me Santa Claus! But this Earth had suffered a nuclear fallout so all they had was like, DRY CRACKERS and, a lotta canned stuff, icky, and, I was in the middle of trying to pry a tin of lil cocktail weenies open with my teeth when the irradiated house centipedes smelled my blood, just imagine like a normal centipede but, like, the size of a Shetland pony, hey, friendship really IS magic right, and me and these centipedes got SO close, so anyways they smelled my blood, right, and it made them hungry, and--" and here you got like The Entire Squad speechless, Hobies just over here like "fuck, I don't even know what to say to that, you want some ketamine bruv" and yall just hit em with "nah last time I tried ketamine I had a fever dream of being replaced by an evil clone and I was shunned by all my close friends who i thought of like family. Oh wait, that was you guys! That's awkward!"

#yandere spiderverse #sinprompts #yandere stuff

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teaboot · 1 year

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hello this is my first Tumblr and I am quite confusef Hel me!

Hello!

Tumblr in my experience is different from a lot of other social media platforms as there is no real goal or purpose or competition in posting. You can pretty much just say or do or add whatever and if people like your vibes the follow you, and if they don't, they don't.

If you like certain topics or Fandoms (groups of people who enjoy a particular show, book, media, etc.) you can search for it and click "follow" on blogs dedicated to those things.

Whenever they post something, you can see it on your dashboard (your "feed" or "homepage") and decide to comment (add pictures or words) reply (say something without sharing the post with your followers) or reblog (share with your followers, so that anyone following you can see the post, with or without adding your own commentary.)

Beyond technical stuff, there are some cultural things you may want to know about.

If something you reblog has potentially upsetting content- violence, traumatic topics, nudity- its considered an act of courtesy to "tag" it. This is so your followers who specifically do not want to see those topics can use filters to make those posts invisible. This is handy for people with phobias, PTSD, or photosensitive epilepsy, but also for people who just don't like those things.

There are a lot of memes that will not make sense. That is because posts don't vanish when they get old, so anything that becomes a "meme" often gets referenced over and over again for years, sometimes actual decades. Posts like "do you like the color of the sky?", "Horse Plinko", "loss.jpeg", etc. are examples of this.

There is no algorithm that decides what you might like and shows you those things. You are in control of your own experience. If you see a lot of posts from people you don't like about things you don't want to see, you can block them and never see them again. They won't see you, either. It's like making friends- you can choose to follow whoever makes you happy and avoid whoever doesn't.

There is a bot problem. Bots are automated spam designed to look like other users. This is often "cute single women" type stuff, but can also be anonymous or generic fake blogs that send out a thousand identical messages that accuse you or others of wrongdoing, or just send out basic insults. They will never see your reply. They only exist to cause chaos. You can report and block them and are encouraged to do so.

There is a difference between "liking" and "reblogging". If you "like" something, it is added to an invisible list so you can go back and find it later. If you "reblog" something, your followers can see it too. Artists prefer reblogs over likes, because they put a lot of work into their art (or writing) and the only way they can reach a large audience is if lots of people share it. Artists who are trying to get commissions or develop a career depend on reblogs to continue making art.

Sometimes an update or change happens that alters the website without any warning and everyone whines about it and adapts. This happens every few months. It's kind of dumb and sometimes makes it worse but if you Google "tumblr 2012" you will see that it's actually been a slow march of improvement.

Something weird will happen on April fool's day. Sometimes this will affect the website layout.

You will not get many followers unless you engage with other users. This is a cafeteria and if you wanna eat alone you can.

If any of your posts go viral you will see it forever until you die and if it's about Beans you will live out the rest of your days getting messages like "Are you Bean Guy" so tread lightly

You will need to choose an icon and change the appearance of your blog or people will think you are a bot. (Side effect of the bot problem.)

I have no idea if you are a bot or spam message this reply is an act of faith

Good luck!

#Long post

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actualbird · 22 days

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apropos of nothing, but i suddenly remembered this baffling encounter i had with acupuncture back when i was in college. my mom got acupuncture and it helped her quit smoking (which, yay! whatever works, works!) and then she made me go to try to see if it'd cure a neurological condition i have (which uh, im neither here nor there over alternative medicine and whatnot but in her defense, i had had countless inconclusive diagnostic tests abt this condition so she was very much grasping at straws here for anything that would help me) and since im a good boy who follows what his mother says, i said "okay" and it was a pretty alright experience. i was and am currently still not very squeamish with needles so it didnt bother me very much. if anything, i just took the weekly acupuncture sessions as an hour to nap (with needles in me). but then one day, one of the needles (that went into my abdomen) had a....thingy at the end of it. it looked like a large-ish cork thingy balancing atop of the needle. and i was like "huh, what is that?" but i didnt say it out loud because of my debilitating anxiety and worry and i didnt wanna come off as the weird guy who asks too many questions at the acupuncturist. so i didnt ask. and the acupuncture guy thusly did not explain.

then he set the thingy on fire. and then he left the room.

i dont know about you, but in general i was taught that fires should not be left unattended. that goes for normal fires, but this was a fire lit perilously at the end of a needle sticking out of my abdomen. i guess i was the person attending to the fire, but like, i couldnt move. because of needles in me. it was a harrowing hour. i could not nap. there was an on fire thingy connected to my body. i spent a whole hour laying down alone with my thoughts and also with a small on fire thingy as company.

theres no moral to this story, it's just one of those things that made me go "hey what was that all about" but i never asked because i dont wanna be the weird guy whos not cool with fire needles

#actually the moral of the story is how averse i am to asking harmless questions. you could get me to walk into #speeding traffic with no questions asked if you said it to me sternly enough like yessir got it completely understand here i go #dootdootdoot #needles cw

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lollytea · 7 months

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(Part 4 of La La Land Machine exposition posts!! I know I've made way more than 4 but this is the part that's going in chronological order. Like I've talked about Hunter and hunlow in this au before but this is his formal introduction, like Willow got in part 1. I also got quite a lot more followers since I last rambled about this AU so linking the other parts if they wanna catch up. And if they want, they can look through the tag for all the additional info.

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

Anyway, I lied. We are only BEGINNING to talk about the hunlow slow burn. It's taken me long enough to set up Hunter and everything he's got going on. It sets up hunlow but they're not really close yet. But it won't even take that long to get the next post out because I am so excited to talk about them more)

Hunter Wittebane has lived his whole life wearing masks. He's been an actor before he developed object permanence. He was memorizing scripts by ear before he could fully read by himself.

Job after job, set after set, role after role. His environment is not only cutthroat competitive, but it's always in motion. Things never sit still. The biggest stability in his life was his Uncle Philip, whom Hunter loved intensely. Even if it felt like the only way he could express it was by bleeding.

But Hunter was only allowed to bleed in private. And if he wanted his Uncle to stroke his hair back and keep telling him he was special, he needed to prove it. He needed to be the second chance that he was born to be.

Hunter struggles to really understand who he is. Because he is seldom himself. If he's not playing a character, he's only known as the legacy of the Hollywood gem, Caleb Wittebane, Hunter's late father.

Hunter was quite sheltered as a child. Other than being out and about for business reasons, he didn't really get to experience much of the world. If he wasn't working, he was usually confined to his Uncle's house. Or hotel rooms. The only outings he goes on that are considered "personal" are to church.

He loves to read and he'll devour whatever book he gets his hands on. Unfortunately his options are limited to what his Uncle believes is appropriate. Philip views the world as a depraved and lecherous place, as are the people that inhabit it. If it weren't for this world and its poison, his brother would still be alive.

And then he wouldn't need to waste his time replicating his brother's likeness in some aimless weak willed child who can barely comprehend how important his performance is in all of this.

Philip refuses to allow outside forces to contaminate his nephew. If Caleb's soul is going to live on in the way it should have, they can't make a repeat of last time. Caleb's replacement has to remain on the right path, or his legacy goes up in flames.

The Bible is one of Hunter's top comfort reads. It's the only book that his Uncle seems pleased to know he's interested in. And he's pored over the pages so many times that the familiarity is soothing. It also puts the fear of God in him. As do Philip's frequent lessons. He's shaping up to be a very faithful little Christian.

Hunter also watches a lot of (Uncle approved) television. He's a tiny chatterbox but is pretty starved of socialization. If his Uncle isn't around, he's stuck with the family assistant Kiki, who usually ignores him. TV and books are mostly responsible for Hunter's expansive vocabulary.

As a shy but precocious little boy, his best friends are sweet, comforting preschool cartoon characters.

Even though Philip's life seemed to orbit around Hunter and he worked day and night for the sake of his nephew's success, a lot of the time he just....wasn't around. Sometimes Hunter went weeks without hearing from him and was left in the "care" of Kiki.

Hunter was always left wanting. On those lonely nights when Philip was away, he would beg Kiki to call him so Hunter could at least say goodnight. All for the sake of holding the phone tight against his ear and hearing his Uncle's soft spoken "Sleep well, Hunter," so his world felt a little less cold.

If Philip even answered.

But when Uncle was home, Hunter found himself with some very guilty feelings and ungrateful thoughts.

The details are not important. By that, I mean Hunter is quite uncomfortable recounting the things that used to happen in the Wittebane house when his Uncle was home.

He said them aloud once. At the age of sixteen, when his breathing was in sync with the girl he had fallen in love with and her fingers were tracing gentle paths down his bare back. He felt like he had melted into a world where he could say anything.

It didn't stop his voice from wavering nor his throat from threatening to close up. It was like he was having a full body rejection of the admission. These were secrets meant to remain locked up in his chest until his heart went still.

But he said them. And after that, they couldn't go back to being unsaid.

He didn't say them again for many years. It wasn't until he was a grown man. He wrote them down and he told the whole world.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

The point is that when Philip was away, Hunter got lonely and wanted his Uncle back. When Philip was home and focused all of his attention on his nephew, Hunter wanted nothing more than for him to be gone again. He knew that was an awful thing to want and the guilt ate him alive.

Did he not love his Uncle? Of course he did! He loved him more than anything.

That's why it hurt so much.

Sometimes, his Uncle was a comfort to Hunter's anxious heart. He held him in his arms and hushed him when Hunter had nightmares. He was safety.

And other times, he was the reason for those nightmares and Hunter didn't feel like he could be safe until that man was out of the house again.

Maybe, no matter what happened, he'd never be truly happy with any situation he was put in. Maybe the state of "being happy" just wasn't real, but a thing TV made up. There was just something inherently empty and scary about being alive.

At least that's the conclusion the small boy came to. This remained his mindset as he navigated the big loud upsetting world around him, which only got bigger and louder and more upsetting as Hunter got older and his career grew.

The most glaring problem Philip encountered grooming Hunter in Caleb's image was that there's a drastic difference between a man who achieved the most undiluted burst of stardom in his twenties and a toddler. Hunter can not immediately slide into the dignified shadow his father left behind, because he's too young for the kind of dramatic roles that Caleb had dazzled the world with.

There was nothing available to little Hunter that Philip felt lived up to the standards of Caleb in his prime. Which was understandable but disappointing. So, with a heavy exhale, which made Hunter worry the hem of this shirt ("Am I doing something wrong, Uncle?") Philip relented. Hunter would need a lengthy portfolio by the time he was older, so it was now time to start building this budding actor from the ground up.

Commercials, TV appearances, small film roles. Though it pained him to do so, Philip abandoned all the initial integrity he attached to his brother's legacy, and focused primarily on simply getting Hunter's face on a screen, any screen, whatever it took to get him entrenched in the industry.

Hunter was a lot more sensitive than other children. When he was very little, he had a bad tendency to get distressed over things like bright lights and unfamiliar places and weird textures. This led to a lot of on-set tantrums and he was deemed a difficult and entitled brat.

His "brattiness" never quite went away as he aged. But Philip did manage to curb those tendencies to be far less frequent. It involved brief private conversations in the nearest dressing room. When Hunter emerged, he was quieter and a lot more willing to co-operate with what the adults needed from him.

Hunter learned that misbehaving had consequences. He learned to swallow whatever obscure distress he was feeling and just do his job.

This didn't make his tantrums stop. They just shifted from regular occurances to big nasty explosions that build up over a period of weeks to months.

He eventually gave up trying to suppress them. It doesn't work. So, he just allows his emotions to burst out of him in the most humiliating public display a human being can put on, and then takes his punishment.

Uncle keeps telling him that people are going to think there's something wrong with him if he keeps doing this.

Hunter begs him to believe that there's not. There's not something wrong with him.

While it was happening, Philip would consider the 90s as a rocky beginning to his nephew's career. He didn't care much for any of the films or television series' Hunter appeared in, likely because he didn't care much for any production that included small children. So he was uninterested by default in any of the roles Hunter managed to book.

Regardless, this didn't make Philip any less demanding. Even if it was all tripe, and by God, he was very vocal about it all being tripe, he was still strict about Hunter's work ethic. The boy was expected to pour everything into his performance, and through there were very irritating child labor laws, Philip turned a blind eye to directors pushing the limits every now and again.

After long work days, Hunter would listen to his Uncle tear his current acting job to shreds. The stupid demeaning script that Caleb would be appalled at, but Hunter had no choice but to take, because he simply doesn't have the privilege to be picky.

Hunter felt a deep humiliation by his own career before he was even ten years of age. There was nothing that Philip held to Caleb standard, which left Hunter a paranoid wreck most of the time, fearing that he was always doing something wrong but never knowing how to fix it.

When he thinks back on being a little kid, he has a lot of memories of tearfully begging his Uncle to stop thinking of him a certain way or looking at him the way he does. He remembers his throat hurting. Things must have gotten loud.

An older Hunter would wince as he makes that connection. He remembers his throat hurting but not the consequences of raising his voice.

Every so often, a more prestigious opportunity presented itself to him (like the role of the protagonist's son in a film adaption of an American classic), and Hunter got so overwhelmed by the pressure of finally having something that could possibly hold a candle to Caleb Wittebane that he completely flubbed the audition and failed to book the role.

He knows that were dire consequences for not getting it. Although, once again, he doesn't remember the details of the punishment. But he remembers how tightly Uncle gripped his wrist as they walked out of the building. He remembers sitting perfectly still in the car, scared to make a sound by wriggling in his seat. Scared to breathe.

That was the 90s. That was Hunter's experience as a young child actor.

By the year 2000, he was ten and that's when Philip quietly realized something.

Hunter currently resembled Caleb Wittebane in miniature. He had his strong nose, his ashy hair, his dark eyes. Philip had always anticipated that there may be a bit of her in his nephew's appearance, but there wasn't a trace. It was beyond ideal.

This is when things should have gotten easier. This is when dignified job opportunities should have begun rolling in. This is when the world should have taken notice that Caleb Wittebane was not dead.

But this was not the case.

What Philip did not anticipate was that the industry had changed significantly since the 80s. It was the year 2000 and a young Caleb Wittebane was not what the industry wanted the future of film to look like.

He realized this in his study late one night as he obsessed over old video tapes. And once the truth had sunk in, he called Hunter into the room.

Hunter remembers wearing red pajamas patterned with beagle puppies. He has a memory of liking those pajamas a lot but can't recall the disappointment of growing out of them and throwing them away. It makes him suspect that at some point he just stopped wearing them.

On that night, a part of Philip gave up completely. He decided that this attempt of reviving his late brother's career was a failure before it had even started.

However, Philip was a deeply complex man. A remarkably stubborn man. So even when a part of him died, another part flared with life. It was the part of him that wanted to dig his heels in and say he wasn't done yet. Maybe they didn't want Caleb now, but this world was fickle. Who knows what they'd want in five years? In ten?

Hunter would continue making a name for himself, Philip would make sure of that.

Hunter would be something special if it damn near kills him.

And if he fails, Philip would kill the boy himself.

So, Hunter continues working diligently, attempting to find his footing in the rapidly changing environment. The early 2000s seem to be working overtime to distance itself from the 90s and it certainly takes some getting used to.

When Hunter is around eleven, he is told for the first time that he is not very nice to look at. According to various make up artists and hair stylists who he is left in the custody of when Kiki is god knows where, it's very easy to be cute as a small child. Baby fat n' all. But at a certain age, you start outgrowing it and that's when it becomes apparent whether you're going to be a handsome young man or not.

They gently break the news that there are not a lot of promising signs for Hunter. As one of the women, maybe in her late twenties, cups his face in her hands and tilts it towards the light (he really hates when strangers touch him), she sucks through her teeth and winces, as though she's trying to dig something out with her eyes but is coming up short. Nothing about his features reads as a future leading man. He can still have a steady acting career of course. But it's important he not get his hopes up too high. He's doesn't look like the typical Hollywood star.

Hunter argues with her. He riles himself up until his face flushes with rage. He looks just like his father, who was one of the most famous leading men of all time.

"Who's your Dad?" The woman asks.

Hunter frowns. He's never said the word "Dad" in his life. But the full name is familiar on his tongue when he answers the question.

"Oh, yeah," She says vaguely. "I think my parents used to watch his movies. I guess he was what they considered handsome in the 80s but..."

He doesn't like the way she trails off. He doesn't like all the new information being presented to him. He doesn't like her saying Caleb Wittebane wasn't handsome. In the world Hunter lives in, the man is picture perfect in every discernable way. He's never heard a bad word spoken of his father before, not even of the shallow variety. Uncle only lets him speak to people with nice things to say about Caleb. It's so jarring that it makes him feel nauseous. This isn't the way things are supposed to be.

And what's even worse, does looking like Caleb Wittebane not even matter?

Does this legacy he's supposed to carry on not matter?

That's always been one of his biggest fears, but he can not think about it for too long or the meltdown gets bad. But this new realization about his apparently mediocre looks catch him so off guard that he can't help it this time.

Hunter proceeds to hyperventilate in a supply closet for the next twenty minutes. He had never thought about what he looked like before. He had never really cared. He didn't know his appearance could hinder his career. He didn't know everything could fall apart just by having the face he does.

This is when a deep seated insecurity centered around his body image began spiraling out of control. It was also around the time that Hunter's dietary restrictions were being implemented, as were the intensity of his ballet lessons. This certainly did not help his already deteriorating self confidence.

From that point, Hunter is far more conscious of his own ambitions as an actor. He believes he is more than just a little boy who performs because it's what his Uncle tells him to do. He's a young man who wants to become a success like his father before him. He wants recognition. He wants acclaim. He wants...he wants....he wants something that he does not currently have.

As an adult, Hunter can only drag his fingers through his hair and sigh sympathetically at the thought of his young self believing that his determination to be a successful was ever for himself. It was for Uncle. It was for Caleb Wittebane. It was for everybody but himself. He was just a stupid kid who thought he wanted this because he knew nothing else.

The 2000s are a time when Hunter simultaneously starts slipping out of his iron confines, while getting reeled back tighter than ever. As he grows older, his curiosity becomes more and more insatiable and current pop culture is not as easy to shield him from. Especially when it's such a huge part of his life as an actor.

By the age of twelve, he's such a boring obedient self sufficient little robot that Kiki doesn't even bother monitoring him as severely as she once had. What's he gonna do, really?

And though Hunter is adamant that he never breaks his Uncle's rules, he finds himself shattering them to smithereens on a regular basis.

"I like authority. And rules," He says, ignoring the fact that there are piles of teen magazines tucked away under his mattress. Ignoring the hour of TV he sneaked in that Philip would have shattered the television screen over.

And no matter how many times Hunter wrinkles his nose in disapproval at how rowdy and frivolous today's youth are, he's still reading those trashy articles, desperate to find some connection. His small bubble of worldliness is beginning to grow.

It is slowly occuring to Hunter that he is much different than other kids. But that's a good thing....right? He's on a cleaner path than they are. None of them are being led by Philip Wittebane.

This is a good thing, he tells himself. This is a good thing, this is a good thing, this is a good thing--

However, Philip does crack down on an aspect of Hunter's autonomy that has been mostly ignored until now.

Though he tries not to think about it, as it gives him the most splitting headache, Philip must internally acknowledge those rumors from an age ago. The word of mouth telephone that crackled with the events of that one ridiculous party. Caleb Wittebane, age 17(!!!!) with his tongue down some filthy girl's throat.

The news hadn't been as scandalous as Philip viewed it as, and the world forgot about it remarkably fast. But he never forgot. And he never would. It was a pesky stain on the otherwise clean image that Philip was trying to preserve.

It hadn't been Caleb. It wasn't like him at all to behave in such an indecent way. It was her influence. It always was. Sometimes his blood boiled when he remembered how deeply interwoven she had become in his brother's life. How the child wouldn't even exist without her. It was vile. Eternally contaminating a narrative she had no business being a part of.

Obviously, he never told Hunter about all this. About the party. About the tongue. About the girl. He never mentioned the girl. She was a footnote at best.

Anyway, Hunter was almost thirteen. He was tumbling into adolescence. And no matter how singleminded and sensible he tried to act, there would be challenges to this physical and mental development. And Philip knew from personal experience that there was nothing more damaging to a clean Christian boy than fizzling teenage hormones.

There would not be a repeat of last time.

On Hunter's thirteenth birthday, his Uncle gifted him a chastity ring, like many of the other young people that attended their church.

Hunter was so floored by the gift he forgot how to speak. And when his Uncle put his hand on his shoulder and murmured "I know you won't let me down," Hunter had nodded solemnly, suddenly feeling so much older than he had been a moment before.

He now had a responsibility to refrain from things he hardly understood.

Philip felt this would be an effective precaution. It made Hunter feel important and Hunter loved to feel important.

All that concerned Philip was that the boy stick to his morals.

Keeping his stupid tongue in his stupid mouth was only the tip of the iceberg of what the rules of the chastity ring entailed, but Philip stressed the importance of it nonetheless.

And if the boy failed to do this one simple thing, Philip was going to gouge his eyes out.

A few months later, Hunter was hired to appear in an advertisement produced by his family's church. He, and several other actors in his age range, promoted the rings they wore to the children watching at home.

Hunter was very proud to be a part of it. He rarely got to do anything educational.

When Hunter was fourteen, he surprisingly booked a role as Sir William in some medieval fantasy film for swoony teen girls.

He rolled his eyes over it, but this was the point when Philip made it apparent to Hunter that swoony teen girls was a huge chunk of the target demographic of any actor his age so he best begin pandering. He was no Edric Blight (Hunter fucking hated Edric Blight) but he'd probably appeal to some.

The means of obtaining the role was not Hunter's talent alone, but it was because of a perfectionist director who wanted raw, emotionally gripping action scenes, and was disappointed that all the hazardous exploits in the script would require stunt doubles. No parent in their right mind would allow their child to be put in such dangerous conditions.

Enter Philip Wittebane and his nephew Hunter.

The film's shooting schedule had a rough history. And after a few months, production had to stop altogether when an on-set accident resulted in Hunter being sent to the hospital.

He remembers the hospital, specifically the very uncomfortable bed. He remembers rarely sleeping through the night unless he was drugged, as he kept waking up with panic attacks about all the money he was causing the studio to lose by not healing faster.

By the time the film released, Hunter was fifteen and already moving forward with his next project.

The Golden Guard was a TV adaption of a well loved comic book series that was currently in the development stages. Hunter has never read the comic (he's never read most comics, other than newspaper funny pages) but he's been informed that he is the spitting image of the titular character.

Initially he was skeptical. Who wants a famous superhero on their screen who looks like him? Certainly not current networks who have a very limited view of what leading men should look like, regardless of the comic it's being adapted from.

Apparently, a lot of negotiations have been taking place with the Golden Guard's creator, in order to obtain rights to the series. After months of arguing, they wore him down, as they always manage to wear creators down, and he agreed to hand over his baby.

The one condition that he managed to secure was that the boy cast for the screen resembled the boy on the page.

Hunter was fully aware that if it weren't for that old man's stubbornness, there was no way he would have been eligible for the role. He remembered seeing him appear once during a screen test and had wanted to thank him. The speech that fell out of him was flustered and clumsy, but it made the man smile.

"There are going to massacre the Golden Guard," He said with a bitter smile. "But I think you'll do well."

He never saw him again after that. And though Hunter did not have the frame of reference to have an opinion, the girl he would inevitably fall in love with happened to be a huge comic book nerd, being especially infatuated with the Golden Guard. And her opinions were strong.

"He was right, y'know," She would inform Hunter. "Your show is a steaming pile of shit." She would then kiss the tip of his nose. "But you're the best part of it."

Speaking of girls,

Hunter met Emira Blight a year prior when she and her twin brother also showed up for the chastity ring promotional ad. The two of them would have gotten fired for vandalizing the set and pranking the director if they weren't the most well known stars associated with the project.

Someone had tried to contact their mother to come get her children under control but she had failed to pick up the phone.

"Our precious little Mittens has an audition today," Emira explained, hands placed angelically behind her back.

"Until further notice, Mom has forgotten she has two other kids," Added Edric.

Emira smiled. "Like the next time she notices her stretch marks <33"

The two of them burst into giggles. They were left to be "disciplined" by members of the crew, who hadn't the faintest idea how to handle either of them.

Hunter had tried to avoid them while on set. He never had any personal encounters with them but he was well aware of their existence. They had been starring in twin centric comedies for the last decade or so, and were beloved talk show guests for being chatty, mischievous and overall "adorable."

Hunter found them obnoxious.

Edric more so than Emira. Especially lately, as the two were finally branching out into their own separate careers, rather than remaining a double act. Meaning Edric could be found sniffing around in the same auditions rooms as Hunter, going for the same roles.

Edric had a perfectly structured face, devoid of blemishes. He had the most photoshopped nose Hunter had ever seen, except he looked like that in real life apparently. He looked perfect and he was already a star to begin with. The roles were his the moment he stepped into the room.

But this wasn't about Edric. Edric was off somewhere else, performing the leading role in some teen musical movie that was going to become a worldwide phenomenon the moment it hit television screens.

This was about Emira, who had just been cast as Ruby Green, the Golden Guard's love interest.

Emira Blight was one of the most beautiful teenage girls in the entire world. Hunter knew this because he read it in a magazine once. More specifically, she placed 4th on the list, but that was still a pretty impressive accomplishment.

Hunter always had a difficult time deciphering the exact definition of beautiful. It was apparently a far different thing than what you would initially imagine.

From what he had gathered, it had nothing to do with being particularly interesting to look at, but having a nice and tidy face with all its features being a specific size and shape. He couldn't understand how one girl on that list could be in 8th place, while another could be in 3rd, as they all looked so startlingly similar.

That was what beautiful meant, he supposed.

There were definitely people that Hunter saw as beautiful in their own peculiar way. In the way that wasn't correct. Sometimes he saw them in movies from the 80s-90s. Sometimes he saw them in audition rooms, but they rarely booked the role.

Sometimes he even saw them on the street as the car drove past, people who made him sit up and want to look at them a little longer--

Girls. Girls on the street. Just girls. Only girls. It was only girls that he looked at on the street. It was only girls that he looked at ever.

Emira Blight had Edric's perfectly structured face, which made her beautiful in a celebrity kind of way, but also made Hunter want to look at her less. She had Rapunzel hair and a rail thin frame and, much to Hunter's dismay, she was taller than him.

The wardrobe department were given notes to add an extra few inches to the Golden Guard's boots.

"Little Prince indeed," The head stylist had murmured under his breath, just loud enough for Hunter to hear. An furious flush set his face aflame.

There were no screen test to determine Hunter and Emira's chemistry before the latter was cast, which resulted in hours of reshoots where they were chastised for the lack of romantic tension that they were putting into their performance.

To be perfectly honest, Hunter disliked Emira quite a bit and she disliked him too.

She carried her troublemaking tendencies from the promotional ad to the Golden Guard set, frequently wreaking havoc on the cast and crew.

Hunter had blown a gasket and berated her for it several times, but all she had done was smile her insufferable smile, roll her eyes and sing songingly tease him for being so uptight.

She made him mad. So uncomfortably mad. If he pulled the kind of stunts she pulled, without caring about the consequences, he would probably be dead by now.

Emira rarely got angry. Everything she did had this air of impish joy, but based on the way she spoke to Hunter, her opinion of him wasn't exactly glowing.

She called him arrogant, bossy, egotistical, to which he practically exploded in response. And then she made fun of how red in the face he got.

The only time Hunter ever saw Emira as anything less than her usual bombastic self was early in the morning, during hair and makeup.

"Are you washing your face, honey?"

"Yes," Answered Emira, looking smaller than ever in the makeup chair.

"Drinking plenty of water? Eating healthy? Staying away from junk food? Getting plenty of exercise?"

"Yes, yes, yes and yes," Emira's voice was quiet and automatic.

After a pause, she continued "It's not my fault."

The makeup artist hummed, unconvinced, which made Emira grip the seat so hard her fingers shook.

But the woman didn't push the matter any more and got to work on painting Emira's face into the porcelain masterpiece that made its way on to magazines.

Hunter watched in fascination as a few minutes of work with sponges and brushes wiped her skin clear of acne. And then she was what everyone around here would call beautiful once again.

When Emira noticed him looking, she said, in her usual playfully indifferent voice "I think Hunter's eyebags are getting worse."

"We know," The woman replied, exasperated.

The comment wasn't much, but it successfully corralled Hunter into his default mood. Not being enough. Any thoughts about Emira flew out the window, and he was back to fretting about his own inadequacy.

"And he's more sickly looking than usual," Emira decided to add.

"Well, maybe if he laid off the coffee. It's got him looking like a half-dead ghoul. No wonder it takes so long to make him look presentable."

It was a bad time for Hunter to be taking a sip of his takeaway cup. He frowned. "I've been awake since 4:30am."

"You should go to bed earlier then,"

"But I--"

"And kids shouldn't be drinking coffee at all."

"I'm not a kid!"

"Hush up. We've got work to do on this face and the last thing I need is to listen to you bitching again,"

Hunter glowered at her.

"You're gonna have wrinkles before you're 18 if you keep pouting like that."

He was so preoccupied with not throwing a temper tantrum that he didn't notice Emira leave the room.

The worst thing she ever did was while they were filming episode 3 and she had decided that Hunter's uptight behaviour deserved a humbling punishment. He didn't know how but she had somehow managed to break into his trailer and scavenged the place for something embarrassing.

This resulted in his stuffed frog Sprig being paraded around the set in Emira's arms as she declared the toy's owner to everyone who would listen in a high pitched trill. Everybody. She told everybody. Everybody knew about his toy. And now nobody was going to treat him seriously.

And when Hunter finally processed what was happening, all he had wanted to do was cry.

But he couldn't cry. Because fifteen year old boys don't cry. But he wanted to cry so badly that his usual screaming rage was nonexistent. He was just completely deflated.

He silently took the frog from Emira's possession and walked away. She had seemed confused, not understanding why he was not turning his funny red colour and yelling his head off.

She didn't bait him as much after that. She rarely spoke to him at all, outside of filming.

At one point she had randomly burst into his trailer, brandishing a magazine full of women in bikinis.

"For you!" She announced proudly. "A gift."

Hunter was a little slow on the uptake because a bikini magazine being within ten feet of his person was so incriminating that immediately thinking of the consequences nearly made him black out.

When he could speak again, he exploded "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?? GET THIS OUT OF HERE!!"

"No, no, listen," Emira insisted. "I know your Uncle is like. Super Christian--"

"So am I!"

"And I know you're never gonna get your hands on this stuff by yourself. So, I'm helping,"

"Why do you even have this?" Hunter demanded, disgusted.

Emira took more than half a second to answer. "It's Ed's."

As if anything on earth could have made Hunter want to touch the thing less.

"Why..." He began, lost. "Why would you ever think I would want this?"

Emira cocked her head at him, puzzled. "You're a boy."

"Get out."

At the time, Hunter had presumed this to be another means of humiliating him, because he had quickly written Emira off as inexplicably cruel. But in hindsight, she had probably just been trying, in her own emotionally stunted way, to apologize to him. She had known next to nothing about boys and she knew even less about herself, other than she was a thing boys were meant to be obsessed with.

They were both just stupid kids who couldn't communicate properly to save their lives, because they had never learned how.

As a child, Emira ranged from a mild bully to an indifferent co-star, to an acquaintance of Hunter's. As an adult, she was the close friend in his Instagram comments section who kept hitting on his wife.

She still never figured out boys, but she figured out herself.

But again, getting ahead of ourselves.

Despite being the only two teenagers on set, Hunter and Emira did not spend much time together unless they were working. Once she settled down and stopped causing problems, Emira spent a lot of her time across the studio to visit her little sister, who was filming some preteen comedy show.

Hexside it was called. Some some vapid sugary husk of a television production that had magic and witches, yet not an ounce of dignity. Hunter had become quite a ruthless critic when it came to TV and film, mostly because he had spent his whole life in the company of a man with sky high standards.

It also helped him feel better about his own work as an actor. The glass half full method. Maybe the Golden Guard was not going to be the most brilliant show of all time, but at least he wasn't working on Hexside.

He had caught glimpses of Emira's sister a few times around the studio, mostly because her hair had been dyed a bright garish teal, so she was impossible to miss.

There were other cast members scattered about, you could usually tell from the explosion of layers and clashing patterns they were dressed in. Chunky belts, brightly coloured converse, weird pointy hats, jangly jewelry. They were a visual overload.

On one occasion, Hunter was waiting in line at the canteen. He was feeling lightheaded again, like if he didn't eat something in the next hour he would probably pass out while shooting. The last time that happened, it was really embarrassing.

He was a little zoned out, so he didn't pay them much attention at first. But then the poofy tutu-like skirt and zebra print leggings caught his eye, if only for him to wonder how in the Lord's name these young actors ever signed up for this ridiculous show.

It was a girl and a boy and their conversation entailed some familiar words and names that Hunter hadn't heard said in months.

Ah. The movie. The swoony teen girl movie. That had just released in theaters, hadn't it?

That's when the girl brazenly stated "I wanna sink my teeth into Sir William," successfully knocking Hunter straight out of the realm of sensibility.

What. In the name of all that is holy. Is that supposed to mean???

And also.....he's Sir William.

"You want to BITE ME??" Hunter finds himself blurting out, completely flummoxed. Was that a threat of violence? Did she not like his performance? Did she find his voice annoying like those other film critics? He used to get a lot of death threats for that when he was younger but...

It didn't really sound like a death threat. It was was just....absurd. How was he supposed to take this?

The girl whipped around, flashing Hunter with a very bright pair of green eyes. They were blown wide in panic, and she looked at him like he was the one about to bite her.

(He wasn't about to bite her.)

The girl wasn't tall, but she was big. Broad shoulders and a thick chubby build. Her face was rounder than he usually saw in young actresses, and her nose was wide and flat.

All he could really think as he was digesting these all details at once was....she was interesting to look at.

Hunter watched as a fluorescent shade of pink burned across her lightly freckled cheeks and the girl scurried away, flanked by the younger boy, calling after her.

For some reason, Hunter turned around to watch her leave until she was completely out of sight.

He was left more confused than ever.

What did he do that deserved biting? He never found out.

(Well, he found out eventually but....)

He continued to see that girl around the studio sometimes, as well as the young boy that accompanied her, and Emira's little sister.

The bigger girl usually tried to hide whenever she saw him, though Hexside's flamboyant wardrobe department made that nearly impossible. Hunter presumed she was embarrassed by what she said, though he really wasn't all that offended. He had heard way worse. The thing that drew his attention to her was actually the lengths she would go to to make herself invisible. He watched her dive under a table once.

Hunter usually just stared, not remembering until an hour later that embarrassed people don't like being stared at.

Eventually, Hunter and Emira started spending occasional school hours with the Hexside cast's tutor, which resulted in them all being lumped in a room together.

Her name was Willow Park, he learned. And with a little exposure therapy, she stopped blushing every time he was within ten feet of her. Though they still never really talked, she seemed to become a little more comfortable with his existence.

She didn't look at him much though. Or anybody for that matter. She seemed to be very guarded and closed off whenever they were in the school room. Hunter had also noticed that the tutor had to spend more time with her than anyone else.

But Willow Park was not currently where Hunter's head was at the moment. He had other things to deal with.

The recent Golden Guard script had been delivered to Hunter and did not really like what it had to say.

Apparently several episodes of the romantic tension that Hunter and Emira were famously bad at was finally coming to fruition in this big grand dramatic kiss scene.

Hunter did not think about kissing much because it made him feel very weird and squirmy, but he was always well aware that if he was ever kissing a girl anytime soon, it would probably be circumstances like this.

His opinion on romance in general is that he wasn't quite sure if it was something that could really happen in real life or if it was just a concept made up for TV.

First kisses were considered a milestone in the shows and magazines Hunter had secretly devoured. Something sacred and significant. It can't be with just anyone.

Admittedly, it had Hunter second guessing himself a little bit. Is his first kiss important? Or is that just a bunch of silly TV fluff with no grounds in reality?

It doesn't matter if it's Emira, does it? He's read books where first kisses are supposed to feel like you've been electrocuted. But in a good way. He can't imagine being electrocuted in a good way.

He gets his answer on the day of shooting when the kiss is ordered of him.

He should be grateful that they've been directed to keep it chaste. They both wear rings after all, and this is a family show.

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, because eyes are always shut when people kiss in movies. And his mouth pricks Emira's mouth. And that's it. That's his first kiss over and done with.

And when he opens his eyes, a little underwhelmed and vaguely wondering why everything feels the exact same, Emira looks disappointed too.

That's when he realizes that the significance of first kisses is all lights and cameras. It's made up for TV. None of it is real.

But what he can't understand in the moment is why he feels a bit sad. There's no reason to feel sad.

But it's an annoyingly heavy emotion that sticks with him for the rest of the day.

They do a million shoots. Or what feels like a million. Hunter kisses Emira what feels like a million times. He had gone from having never kissed before to having kissed far too many times in one day.

And not a single kiss felt like anything but the usual emptiness that Hunter was used to.

During shooting breaks, he thought a little too much about how everything was just going to be like this. Forever. All of his experiences. Scripted. Made up. Not real.

Nothing was ever going to be real.

He didn't usually think about things like that. But now he was finding it hard to think about anything else.

Hunter couldn't sleep that night. You would think he'd sleep soundly when he had to get up before the crack of dawn, but he continued to struggle. Too much caffeine, too much brain bees that never shut up.

Tonight it was that one single thought of an entirely artificial lifetime.

Hunter was never going to be real.

After hours of restless tossing and turning, he left his bed and went downstairs, his footsteps expertly navigating across the creaky floorboards. He would watch something terrible on TV and he'd get so distracted by hating it that he'd forget his own problems.

After pushing a button, the first thing that appeared on Hunter's screen was a familiar girl's rounder than average face and bright green eyes.

Apparently, the Hexside Pilot had premiered recently. Hunter scoffed, making himself comfortable and deliberately tuning into whatever brain rotting stuff he was about to experience.

Unsurprisingly, he hated it. It was terrible. Cheap jokes. Flimsy plots. An obnoxious laugh track. He had never seen a worse show in his life.

Nothing is real, I'm not real, I'm not real, Nothing is real, I'm not real....

The costumes looked just as ridiculous on screen as they did in the studio.

Nothing is real....

The sets were cheap.

I'm not real....

Hunter abruptly paused mid laugh track, and stared at Willow Park's interesting face for an additional moment.

He knew absolutely nothing about this girl. Absolutely nothing.

The character she played was borderline illiterate, and Hunter genuinely could not say how much of her he was seeing was a script and how much was her.

But she was very lookable.

Are you real?

#tw child abuse #a lot of it!!!!!#tw for....belos in general #how do i even tag this. he's really creepy and it delves into a few uncomfortable subjects #some very weird policing of teenage bodies. it is meant to be weird i promise you #tw religious trauma #THATS IT!!! that is certainly a thing that is happening #La La Land Machine AU

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