#idk why i wrote all this

[milfjagger]

one thing about the “cannibalism as a metaphor for love/desire” spike on this website is that there really aren’t that many examples of this trope. you can say it all goes back to hannibal but that is fundamentally not how hannibal lecter operates - he doesn’t care about the people he kills and eats even a little bit and he says as much in the show. in the terror, most of the heroes literally do NOT resort to cannibalism - even though james begs francis to use his body after he dies (selfless love?), francis (as well as the other men) cannot bear to do it and bury him instead. goodsir, probably the most saint/martyr coded character, also refuses to eat human flesh and even weaponises his own body against those who do, killing himself and the perpetrators of cannibalism rather than continue living like that. and no matter how you look at it, hickey does not kill and eat gibson (or anyone else for that matter) because he loves them. he is literally asserting dominance in a survival situation to avoid becoming a victim himself.

yellowjackets is complicated because of the specific homoerotic nature of the relationship between shauna and jackie, and you could argue there’s a certain seduction that happens when jackie’s corpse is “talking” to shauna. the frenzied scene when the girls eat jackie is portrayed as some kind of dark force taking them and there are a lot of emotions tied up in it but it’s not straightforwardly “they love jackie and jackie loved them and would want them to live”. ravenous has a similar homoerotic tone and ives’ seduction of boyd into a life of cannibalism could easily be a metaphor for gay desire, but the film also explicitly critiques “manifest destiny” and colonial greed through the lens of physically consuming anyone who stands in your way.

now let’s talk about actual examples of this trope. in raw, cannibalistic desire IS actually combined with the emotions of sex, and the most moving scene in my opinion is the ending in which the dad reveals a heavily scarred torso from his wife’s bite marks, indicating that he still loves her in spite of, or maybe because of her nature. in society of the snow, and indeed in actual accounts from the survivors of the andes plane crash, many of the boys who initially hold out from eating the dead are persuaded by the comparison to the eucharist - jesus gave his body so they could have spiritual life, and their friends died so they could have physical life. the dead and consumed are conceptualised as ultimately loving and selfless; if everyone had survived the crash, all of them would have starved to death. and in my personal favourite cannibal movie, bones and all, it’s kind of a mixture of all of the above. the first time maren consciously bites someone with intent to eat them, it’s framed as this sexual awakening (again tied up in gay desire with the way it evokes fear and disgust in others). lee is also presumably bisexual and faces homophobic comments from his family. one of his early experiences with cannibalism was eating his own father (do i need to explain this). there’s so much i could say about maren’s mother and how she is portrayed as an “addict” who physically cannot control her impulses to eat people. and then of course there’s the ending where lee dies and begs maren, who has been denying her true nature for so long, to eat him and have him become part of her forever. because he literally loves her and he wants her to eat well

tldr is that hannibal and the terror aren’t even close to portraying cannibalism as love and idk what you guys are talking about half the time

[sleepywyrldbuilder]

I was talking to a friend of mine that has pretty serious anxiety, and a terrible relationship with their parents, in large part because they don’t understand their anxiety. They tell my friend to just “not be a downer” or “try and think more positively” and it hurts my friend every time.

And it got me thinking about other cruelties, other bad things people do to each other. Because their parents aren’t being evil, they aren’t sitting down, cackling about how to best bully their child into having another mental health spiral. They’re just pre-occupied with their ideas of how to deal with a bad day, or pre-occupied with the idea that you shouldn’t show negative emotion, or pre-occupied with their work and not putting their full attention on their child and working out exactly what they actually need.

And I think that’s true a lot of the time, when cruelty happens. When bad things happen. The person who did it isn’t malicious, they’re just pre-occupied. Pre-occupied with a certain way of looking at the world, or another thing they think needs more attention, or their own personal troubles. If they stepped back and did a full, no holds barred analysis of what it was they were doing and what they wanted and what they want to be standing for in the world, they’d probably recognise things they do which they don’t like.

It started as a thought about homophobic parents, parents so pre-occupied with the fear of their child being seen as gay, or the demand that they strip away all sense of joy and self-expression that deviates from the norm, that they will go so far as to hurt and berate and bully their children. Because those parents sometimes do change, if they decouple from those pre-occupations. It’s not always an epiphany for them, just a gradual shift of focus.

Then it moved onto more political thoughts. Fascism, Genocide, Imperialism among other things. How a citizen of any nation can support their government doing those things- because they don’t. They don’t like it, they’re just pre-occupied with something else. Pre-occupied with getting to work on time, or feeding their children, or making sure they don’t look odd or break with the status quo or their local community, and it’s not that those things matter more than genocide to them, or that they don’t care about the big picture and other peoples suffering, it’s just that they aren’t focused on it.

People don’t focus on things just because they’re important, they focus on things because it’s what they normally focus on, or it’s what they were already focusing on. If someone supports something awful or does something wrong or participates in something cruel, it doesn’t always mean they don’t believe in the evidence that it’s wrong, or truly believe what they’re doing is right on the scale of principles and morality. It just means they’re focusing on a single aspect of it that they can justify. “For my community”, “For my safety”, “Happiness is Good”.

I’m partly writing this as a guide to dealing with people like that. Work out what they’re pre-occupied with, find out what one thing they’re hung up on, acknowledge it, but note that it’s not the most important part of the conversation.

But also it’s partly a reminder for myself. I’m pre- occupied with a lot. Doing exams, having fun, trying to analyse everything about what’s going on- sometimes to the point where I forget to be kind. I’ve gone through that with the friend I talked about in the beginning. Sometimes I spend so much effort trying to analyse what they’re anxious about that I forget my job in that instant is to just hear them out and let them have someone to talk to. The same goes with political things- I don’t pay attention to what’s going on in the world as much as I should, and I have instincts about political situations that jump out before I actually learn about what’s going on.

I don’t really have a conclusion here. Just thinking about it in general. Reminded of that one quote “never attribute to malice what can be explained with ignorance.” Basically just another take on that, really.

[birthisacurse-and]

Boycotts and why we don't partake

This is a random thought that came to me while watching a Contrapoints video and spiralled into something random.

I've been thinking about why people choose not to partake in boycotts. At first glance, it seems like a simple desire over morality argument; one's desire is stronger than one's moral will. But thinking about JK Rowling and Harry Potter has made me think, instead, from the perspective of why we do boycott, and why it comes so easily to some.

I have a set of videos from my favorite youtuber that I never watch because they feature an old friend of his who was outed years ago for grooming several minors. This youtuber, I love his content and have for years. I associate his videos with high school, with college, with the struggles and the highs. I watched them while I ate, when I got home from class, when I got home from work. I rewatch many of them today, I listen to them while cooking, I fall asleep listening to them multiple times per week. And yet, some of his funniest and some of my favorite videos - those with his old friend - remain untouched since the grooming allegations were confirmed. I skip them in playlists instantly when I hear the friend's voice, I don't dare to relive the pleasure and nostalgia and youth I associate with them. And the emotion that pervades me in those moments when I am briefly reminded of this man's existence, is disgust. Pure, unfiltered disgust.

What is disgust? To me, it stems from an intense fear, a visceral fear of something that can harm coming near you, of something you find thoroughly unpleasant threatening you with its existence. We are disgust by certain things and people because of the threat they pose when they enter our minds, our peripheries, our mental or physical locations. I am disgusted by vomit whether in thought, smell, or sight, whether it comes from me or another, because it threatens to touch me with its texture and odor and bacteria. I am disgusted by cockroaches, whether in video or picture or reality because the image can remind me of their existence, of that feeling of having a cockroach crawl over your leg, of that horror of finding them near rotting and dead things. I am disgusted by some people because they are a threat to my peace, peace of mind or the peace of physical safety. We are disgusted by people who enact perversions, by those who are a little too different, by those who commit atrocities - and none of these disgusts are necessarily good or bad. But they all stem from that same fear- the fear of our peace ending. Homophobes are disgusted by gay people because their existence, whether in thought or reality, threatens the homophobe's peace of mind, that fragile peace they find in their version of normalcy and an idle, moral, and "correct" life. The public is disgusted by warmongers, by totalitarians, by billionaires and colonists and slavers, not only because of the threat they pose directly to the physical peace of those they target, but morally, socially, emotionally, and psychologically as well, because reminding the public of their existence and making the public witnesses to their atrocities murders the peace of mind they so value.

This, I think, is one of the fundamental reasons people boycott, at least, when it is easy to do so. Boycotting for many is a conscious effort borne of duty, empathy, and/or morality. But for many others, it is driven by something more primal and is more innate than conscious. Levels of disgust, I believe stem from proximity to the targets of the disgusting object's destruction. On average, a woman will be more disgusted by the actions of a male sexual predator than another man will be. An Arab will be more disgusted by the actions of a Zionist state than a non-Arab. A transgender person will be more disgusted by the actions of a transphobe than a cisgender person. This is an average, not a rule, but it exists nonetheless. Despite all the emotional cues urging me to rewatch videos that were once an ingrained part of my adolescent memories, I was once a teenage girl, and so, my level of disgust is too high and compelling to be combatted by meer nostalgia and comfort when faced with a sexual predator who targetted teenage girls.

This brings me back to this: why don't people boycott? Why do morally outstanding citizens drink Starbucks? Why do transgender allies read Harry Potter? Why do gay allies eat Chick Fil A? The non-boycotter's proximity to the target demographic of the disgusting object's destruction is a factor, but not the only one. I think another is the predominance of the disgusting object's disgust-inducing actions, and those actions' ability to induce disgust. When the disgusting object's actions fade into the memories of the past, leave the broader social consciousness, are forgotten by the potential boycotter, are hidden and barely spoken of - or, when the disgusting object their self can be easily forgotten about in relation to the subject of a boycott - it becomes easier to limit or repress one's disgust, and allow desire to win out. If you forget that JK Rowling is the author, when you don't even know what Chick Fil A's CEO looks like, when you haven't seen a video or article about Palestinian deaths in a few months, your disgust naturally wanes, and your desires to return to the nostalgic world of Harry Potter, eat a delicious chicken sandwich, and buy a customized iced latte supercede it.

In short, boycotting fails where disgust does not sufficiently prevail, and those who do not boycott are those who are not sufficiently disgusted by the actions of the boycotting target.

[adriles]

when we’re done with our overwhelming grief we’ll eat i guess

[midnightsslut]

religion is one of the most prominent recurring themes on the album, and it has been present in some capacity for quite a few records now. taylor previously compared love to religion: her saving grace, her belief system, and a fated divine intervention (false god, cornelia street, and cruel summer are the best examples of this). ‘sacred new beginnings that became my religion’ and ‘we’d still worship this love even if it’s a false god’ are two of the defining statements about her philosophy on the lover album.

taylor doesn’t want to leave all of that behind on ttpd, at least not at the beginning. the first supernatural force she mentions is the spaceship on down bad, which she compares to a skylight of freedom in the epilogue. *something* has finally come to save her from her life of suffering. she doesn’t care if it’s a force of good at first; if anything, she’s just fine being taken away by aliens. she views this man as her destiny. it isn’t until guilty as sin? that taylor starts to ponder the moral implications of what she’s doing. is she guilty as sin for wanting to leave her previous religion and relationship behind? she comes to the conclusion that, even if she rolls the stone away and gets resurrected/redeemed, she cannot avoid the fallout. she is okay with the thought of having to wait, as long as both lovers vow to be together forever, just as she once did with someone else in false god. ‘I choose you and me religiously’ finishes the bridge of the song in a direct callback to cornelia street.

the next mention of religion has murkier imagery. she claims that she does not need the Lord’s help to save this man. she sees the halo that he has, and she can fix him herself. now that she feels free of her prior cage, she isn’t looking for divine intervention anymore. she wants control. she is their route to salvation.

when the relationship falls apart, she retreats back into the position of a believer rather than a divine figure. she compares him to a Holy Ghost who promised to save her and take her to heaven. instead, she is in hell in every sense of the word: she’s down bad and feels guilty for digging up the grave. he was a jehovah’s witness who promised that she could break free of the cage imposed by love without changing her religion altogether; she would’ve just had to switch denominations. she could still have a marriage and kids! she could still have a blue tortured poet! the man was different, but not the dreams they had together. the story of the first part of the album ends here. her faith has been broken, and she has only found any semblance of sanity by refusing to mention these belief systems altogether.

side b/the anthology blends the christian imagery of side a with goddesses, sorcerers, and prophecies. she bargains with these powers to let her have the future she wants (the prophecy). she doesn’t sound like someone believing in salvation. if anything, she feels cursed. she decides that the concept of divinely ordained timing will never work in certain relationships (‘the goddess of timing once found us beguiling / she said she was trying / peter, was she lying?’). this disdain extends onto her perception of other people’s faith (‘bet they never spared a prayer for my soul’). she does position herself as a prophet in cassandra, but even then, she admits that the role has hurt her. perhaps the pain in thank you aimee was meant to be, or perhaps she was just strong enough to build a legacy in spite of it, boulder by boulder. is she a martyr? does she want to be? or did she save herself?

the only real love song on this half of the album makes no mention of fate or any divine forces. it wasn’t meant to be. it’s not a supernatural invisible string or lightning in a bottle. she is just in love.

the album ends with the manuscript, which revisits an old story of a defining, formative heartbreak. as she sings ‘at last, she knew what the agony had been for’ while describing the legacy of her writing, she seems to revert to thinking about the purpose of trauma. the only exception is that, in this case, she is the one who found meaning in her pain by turning it into a manuscript. writing is her belief system now, and she proselytizes by telling her stories and thus giving up the manuscript.

ultimately, her belief in destiny has chewed her up and spat her out. she so desperately clung to her existing belief systems that she was fooled by a conman, which left her feeling cursed. religion is supposed to be with someone even in their darkest moments, but the album explains that taylor often felt abandoned. the only constant in her life was, well, herself. she’ll be okay, but her pen will be her saving grace.

[autismsupersoldier]

biblically accurate columbo

(alt text in image ID)

[wikiangela]

several sentence sunday

tagged by @hippolotamus

sooo bucktommy won me over, i couldn't resist anymore 🙈 so here's a bit of them after their date lol just to be clear, im still 10000% about buddie but im gonna enjoy this while it lasts bc I feel like this is exactly what buck needs rn lol I just wanna write him be giddy and stupid and flustered about a boy even if that's not eddie haha (also, I didn't get the Tommy hype before but after seeing him everywhere for two days... I get it now 🥵)

___

"(...) We should do this again.” Tommy says, turning fully towards Buck, and Buck’s eyes immediately find his lips. He can’t wait to kiss him again, and this would be the time, at the end of the date, wouldn’t it?

“We should.” Buck nods, licks his lips, eyes darting up to Tommy’s eyes. He’s smiling softly, just looking at Buck. “I-” he starts, and then thinks, fuck it, and this time he makes a move, as he leans across the console to grab Tommy’s chin, like he did Buck’s in his kitchen, and bring him in for a kiss. Tommy immediately reciprocates, and Buck melts against him, and then when Tommy’s calloused hand covers his cheek, it just feels so- so different, in the best way possible. This kiss lasts longer than the first one, each of them constantly coming back for more, but it’s as gentle and tender as that one. Buck loves it, and can’t help smiling into it. He wants more. “Hey.” Buck says, finally pulling away, licks his spit-covered lips nervously. “Do you- do you maybe wanna come in for a beer?” he asks shyly, and at Tommy’s surprised expression and raised eyebrow he realizes it might sound like he’s inviting him for more than a beer, and he panics again. “I- I- I mean, just a beer. And maybe- maybe more of this.” he pecks Tommy’s lips again, not able to resist a smile. “But just a beer. I don’t think I’m- But who knows, maybe-” he stumbles over his words, because the truth is, he wants Tommy, he wants… he wants so much, he wants to experience so much for the first time – it’s just that he’s not sure if it’s not too quick for this relationship, and for him.

“Evan.” Tommy interrupts, bringing his other hand up, now cradling Buck’s face in both, thumbs moving soothingly along Buck’s cheeks. “Your pace, remember? No pressure, no rush.”

“You’re really cool, you know that?” Buck whispers.

“So I keep hearing.” Tommy chuckles, and it’s adorable. He kisses Buck again, and the butterflies in Buck’s stomach go crazy. Fuck, he doesn't remember the last time he felt this giddy and excited and just light. “I’d love to come in for a beer.”

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @neverevan @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @theotherbuckley @buddieswhvre @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @bidisasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @tizniz @your-catfish-friend

[raiiny-bay]

the kids released a new album

[starstruckodysseys]

love that gorgug just sounds like. anxious this season bc that was literally me junior year. what do you mean i have to start thinking about my future?? i’m literally just chilling??

[doodleodds]

Me? Uploading a Halloween comic on November 18th, almost four whole-ass weeks late???? Yeah that’s uh. yup. yeah

Thanks for reading! :) <3

[b4kuch1n]

making of a feathered thing

[un-pearable]

as true as the jokes about “everyone wants to rewrite ninjago” are i feel like smthn people forget when complaining about the inconsistencies of the show is that…. it wasn’t planned? it’s not like most other animated shows lately - it didn’t start with a deeply fleshed out world or a meticulously designed pitch bible with grandiose plans for a long-term story or character arcs. the ninja don’t originally get their powers from heredity because they weren’t hereditary powers yet. the magic system doesn’t make sense bc they literally just made it up as they went! they go back and forth on stuff like whether non-elementals can learn spinjitzu bc it’s a collaborative piece of media made by people with vastly different levels of control over the story, the animation, the sets, etc. that varied over the course of the series. it’s totally understandable and exciting to see so many people reworking the early stuff with the lore and logic later seasons introduced but i personally feel that… if you’re doing that. you need to understand why the show is like that instead of writing it off as being bad and shitty. it was working with what it had. it’s only what it is now because of that awkward troubleshooting phase, not in spite of it

[oatbugs]

Jack Marsh (2005), Friendship Otherwise - Toward a Levinasian Description of Personal Friendship

[alienaiver]

"that's it. i'm removing you from the roster until you've stopped by the doctor."

you look at midoriya in disbelief. unable to keep yourself poised at his final decision, your shoulders slump and the exhaustion washes over you like a wave. he's seen through you.

it's been a year since your near-death experience with an all-too-powerful villain and while shinsou took great care of you during your recovery, something's been off ever since - you haven't been able to put a finger on it, though, so you decided to do what every self-sacrificing hero does: you powered through. until there was no power left to muscle your way out of it. and now it's become visible to others too. you have a feeling shinsou might've ratted you out, but you don't blame him. you'd done the same if it were him.

you get home in a daze and fall face first onto the bed. you don't wake up until you feel the weight shift and the warmth of shinsou's lips touches your cheek. but you don't have the energy to react with more than a hum. your eyelids are so heavy. there's a ringing in your ears but it's so constant that it just feels like a persistent buzz. shinsou says something as he settles behind you, arms wrapping themselves around you. for a while, you think there's silence but he says your name sternly in a voice he only uses when he knows you're not entirely listening to him. huh. you're mostly used to hearing it on the battlefield.

"i'm worried about you."

you sigh and hum, pushing yourself weakly back onto him, "'ve got a doc's appointment..... tomorrow."

he kisses the crown of your head, "okay... okay, good."

he's drawing soft circles into your arm and you drift away again. he wakes you when there's dinner and you perk up again slightly, but not enough to make him stop worrying his lip between his teeth. you fall asleep fifteen minutes into a movie later that night.

you put on your shoes and lock the door behind you, putting the keys in your pocket as you turn for the stairs at the end of the hall. you really wish there'd been an elevator in your building right now. as you walk down the steps, your feet feels heavier but you chalk it up to be your shoes. it's the sneakers you don't wear that often, but it's too cold for sandals today. you shrug it off and just concentrate more on walking.

the doctor goes through your symptoms with you but there's hardly any, you reassure her. you're just so exhausted no matter how many hours you sleep. she warns you that you may be sleeping too much. you agree with a laugh - you don't remember ever sleeping so many hours, having been an insomniac your entire youth. she does some blood tests and sends you home, saying you'll be called in when the answers are back.

the days that pass are all a blur. without your shifts at the agency, time becomes fuzzy around the edges. you don't have to get up, so you just stay in bed, since you've been told you need to rest anyways. on the third day you wake up to several notes on the bedside table, the bathroom mirror and the kitchen counter and fridge from shinsou with various reminders about eating and drinking properly and where he's stocked some snacks and prepped some food for you to reheat easily. you chuckle and shake your head at his antics. you're just tired, is all. the headaches comes with the job, you remind yourself as you try to gently massage out the tension in your neck to relieve your pounding head. he might be right about the water intake - you grab the cold bottle he's put in the fridge for you and brings it with you to the bed.

"i think you should call and ask if they've gotten the answers yet." shinsou says matter-of-factly and you nod, "yeah, it has been a few days. but it's the weekend, right? i'll call on monday." and that ends the conversation.

monday comes but you forget to call, even if you've been determined to do so. by the time you remember, the office is closed for the day. you sigh heavily and fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. you prepare the apology for shinsou on your tongue before you drift off.

tuesday morning your phone rings - several times. you finally reach out and pick up, thinking it's shinsou.

"i do apologize for the wait. the doctor unfortunately had to take some time off last week, but we have your results. will you be able to come in today?"

you agree, dragging yourself up. there's more energy in you today, but it should've been way more given the intense rest you've been having. you put on one of shinsou's hoodies and a pair of sweats before you drag yourself to the kitchen to grab a bite.

turns out, you suffer from anemia. an intense, prolonged form and need medication as soon as possible. shinsou's livid when he comes home and gets the news, angry that it has been missed when the agency periodically keeps an eye on their heroes' health. you sit on the chair with your hands folded like a child being scolded and try to laugh it off, "come on now, hito. i just need to take some medication and i'll be fine. the usual blood tests the past year haven't covered that - even if they should, i know," you hurry to add, "but i'll be fine, i promise."

shinsou sighs and his whole body slumps, leaning against the table you're sitting by. you take his hand, "i'm okay."

he visibly relaxes but there's something he's holding back. you've been together since high school, so you can read him like a book. you squeeze his hand, "open up."

he clicks his tongue with furrowed brows before he opens his mouth, "you've had these symptoms for months. why didn't you tell me?"

you look at the ground, guilt written on your face. mostly, because you don't have a proper answer to give him. you don't know why you didn't - the symptoms had all been sneaking up on you, snaking their way into your body quietly and suddenly it'd just become so chronic that you'd normalized it. you let out an apology and he squeeze your hand back, "it's okay to not have an answer. but please, can we be mindful of things like this in the future?"

you smile at him, "only if you continue to make the little post-it notes. they're adorable - especially your small doodles of dogs."

shinsou hides his face in his hands with a groan, "they were cats."

[lollytea]

"there's a bit where hunters life falls apart" HELLO?? MISS TEA ELABORATE (if you please)

Alright. Walk with me. Let's talk.

(Potentially triggering content ahead.)

So imagine you're a teenage boy. Around 17-18. Imagine you're out in public and you've snuck away somewhere discreet to make out with your girlfriend, who you utterly adore.

Someone catches the two of you in the act and snaps a picture. If you were a normal teenage boy and she was a normal teenage girl, this would be a little embarrassing at worst.

But neither of you are normal. So that one little picture means the end of the world for you both.

Since you were little, you've been taught that you have to work extra hard to keep your secrets, because the whole world wants to know them. The whole world is obsessed with you and you should be grateful. However, there are certain things about you that could tarnish your golden reputation so you need to do whatever it takes to keep them to yourself.

And if they find out and make a mockery out of you, it's your own damn fault.

Don't say Uncle didn't warn you.

Do not tell the world the secret to your lean build and muscled limbs. If they found out about the ballet, the rumors would swirl. You don't want them thinking you're gay, do you?

Because you're not gay.

At least not entirely. But they can't know about that either.

Do not tell the world about your Diva Tantrums. About how even insignificant things like the stage lights being too bright or your costume being a weird texture can lead to you having a complete episode on set. You don't want them thinking you have a mental disorder, do you?

Because you don't have a mental disorder. You're perfectly sane. It's just hard to explain why silly things bother you so much.

However, if a rumor goes around that earns you positive attention, then by God, you encourage it.

You are not dating your co-star Emira Blight. Actually you're pretty sure Emira Blight hates your guts.

But neither of you are allowed to say that. It's good publicity for both of you. So you're kinda shackled to each other.

Neither of you are obliged to claim you're dating. But you're not allowed to deny it either. It's the speculation that keeps the interest alive.

She seems like a nice girl but she feels a lot of resentment towards you because all of her magazine/red carpet interviews are questions about you and her relationship with you. For some reason.

"Sexism," Says your girlfriend when you tell her about it. This explains a lot.

Your girlfriend knows a lot about sexism. She knows a lot about various types of prejudice. She deals with at least 4 of them on a regular basis.

She's tough though. Tough as a tree. But she's young too. Young and sensitive. It wears her down, all of this. It really does.

Like you, your girlfriend lives in the spotlight. Unlike you, she's a rather divisive person. A lot of people in Hollywood don't like her for stupid reasons.

You love her though. You love her to pieces.

She's a little like you and you're a little like her. You trust her enough to tell her your secrets. She knows about the ballet. She knows about the way you sometimes look at boys. She knows that your brain does not operate the way it should.

But she loves you. She loves you to pieces.

The little trail of kisses that she leaves down the slope of your nose makes you like it more.

You've always been insecure about your large hooked nose. It makes you a little less marketable so it sometimes sabotages your chance at booking roles.

You're no Edric Blight, that's for damn sure. Button nosed bastard.

But your girlfriend cups your face in her hands and calls you her prettyboy and it makes you melt every time.

It's the nose thing. And the teeth thing. And the hooded eye thing. You'll never be the most attractive young actor in Hollywood.

But you're not doing badly, all things considered.

Especially when it comes to how you are treated compared to your girlfriend.

"The perks of being a slim white man," She says jokingly, cuddling up against your chest.

"Also nepotism," You reply.

Your girlfriend makes you like yourself in a way you've always had to fake.

She also fakes a lot. She fakes confidence when it's not really there. She fakes cheerfulness and nonchalance when she really wants to burst into tears.

So you're determined to make her like herself too.

It took a long time for her to let you hold her. She was afraid you'd notice how soft her body is.

But when you're kissing her neck on that day, you're squeezing her thighs and she squeaks and giggles. Because you're tickling her and not because her thighs are off limits.

You're allowed to touch her now without reservations. Because she trusts you wholeheartedly. Thank God.

You promise you're always going to be there for her. She promises the same for you.

You promise that whatever happens, you'll figure it out together.

You're not allowed to tell the world that your girlfriend is your girlfriend.

There's a few reasons for this. The first being that this is your first relationship. It's hers too. Neither of you really know what you're doing at first but you certainly don't want millions of eyes watching you both awkwardly try to navigate romance.

But the second reason is what really matters here.

If people found out, they would be really really really mean to her.

"I look weird standing next to you," She murmurs. "Nothing like Emira,"

Whenever you tell her that she's the prettiest girl in existence, she grins, flipping her hair. "I know!"

But that's only in the privacy of your dressing room. When it's just you and her and you both feel safe. It's when she steps back out into the spotlight that all that confidence fizzles away.

But it's been a while since you started dating and honestly, it's getting exhausting. A little sad too.

One time you were both at the zoo. A few of the cast members of Hexside and Golden Guard were there too so it wasn't suspicious that you were out in public together.

Your girlfriend saw another teenage boy thread his fingers through those of the girl beside him, happy and carefree. In broad daylight too! But nobody cared about those two kids dating. Because the whole world wasn't watching them.

She had to go slip away somewhere quiet and wipe away a few tears before anybody saw her.

It's not fun living like this. Always nervously glancing over your shoulder. Always checking yourself to make sure you're not smiling too warmly at the girl you are hopelessly weak for. It's extremely draining to live in paranoia.

The two of you have been talking and you're thinking about going public. Not because you want the whole world in your business but after the initial burst of attention, it'll probably calm down.

If anything, you just want people to not care. Indifference is all you could ask for.

But public indifference is a privilege that people like you don't get.

Things have changed over the last year. Your girlfriend is way more popular than she used to be. She has a dedicated fanbase. So....maybe people will be nice?

You're hopeful. So is she.

The picture is snapped.

The picture spreads.

The world knows.

And people are not nice.

This is the part you don't want to talk about. Describing it in detail is painful.

Things were said about your girlfriend that hurts to think about.

And it's because of you. If it hadn't been your stupid face she was kissing, you wouldn't hear her uneven breath over the phone as she tries to keep herself from crying.

The two of you stay up for hours, trying to figure out what to do next and are essentially just talking in circles until your throat hurts.

Neither of you know what to do next. So you give up and call it a night and promise to think about it some more in the morning.

You sleep for 3 hours and when you regain consciousness at 5am you find a long string of notifications on your phone.

Texts from your girlfriend.

Wait.

No.

These aren't texts from your girlfriend.

You don't have a girlfriend.

You reply immediately.

You stand up. You get dressed. You go to work.

At some point you're obliged to be out in public.

You're swarmed by a crowd of cameras with people attached. Questions are hurled at you.

They ask about her.

You black out.

You break someone's nose.

You get punished.

You've never been punished to such an extreme extent before but you understand why.

You have spent a lifetime being perfected by your Uncle. Your image is spotless. You're a polite, charasmatic young actor with an admirable dedication to your Christian faith.

You're considered a role model by many.

And what have you done?

You've ruined it.

You're ruined everything.

The rumors are already erupting in the distance like a mushroom cloud and it's only going to get worse.

Within days, you're somebody else in the world's eyes.

You're a troubled teen star.

You're ignorant.

You're aggressive.

You're violent.

You've lost your way.

Don't you know that children look up to you?

Why would you do something like this?

You're pretty sure it lasted days. Or maybe weeks. But it was endless to you.

It's your wardrobe stylist that discovers the bruises before your attendant can sneak you to the makeup artists (who are apparently great at keeping their mouths shut.)

You and the wardrobe stylist have become close. He likes you a lot more than he used to.

The bruises alarm him.

"I'm sorry," He apologizes but doesn't elaborate. You don't ask.

What happens next is a very long arduous blur.

You're in a contract. This is significant.

There's lawyers involved. The wardrobe stylist fights tooth and nail to get these lawyers.

There are litigations.

You're required to talk about your relationship with your Uncle in painful detail. It's necessary. But there's always a hand on your back to keep you anchored to reality.

You're 18 now. This is also significant.

One thing happens after another.

Until one day you wake up, emancipated.

Your Uncle is no longer your legal guardian.

You're not an actor anymore.

Thank God.

This is good for you, you know that. You wouldn't have lived to see 21 if this had carried on.

But....who are you now?

You're nobody.

You live with the man who saved your life in a nondescript house he bought in a nondescript neighbourhood.

You think it will be nothing but smooth sailing from here. But it's not.

You don't know how to be nobody. You've never been nobody before. You have to adjust.

You've always been discouraged from eating and now you can barely keep down a whole meal. It takes time.

You usually operate on 5 or less hours of sleep so you struggle to stay unconscious the whole night. That takes time too.

Sometimes you think you're fine but you're not.

It's scary not knowing who you are anymore. And when you get scared, you tend to get angry.

You fight with everyone when you're in one of these moods. You fight with the man you live with.

You fight with the woman next door who treats you like her own son.

You fight with her two daughters. The one who also lost her girlfriend around the same time you did. The one who's become your best friend in the world.

You fight with the other daughter. The one who has scars like yours and had a breakdown when you yelled at her and you hated yourself for weeks.

You never knew you were so mean.

Maybe the things people said about you were right.

You have a therapist now. The man you live with arranged it.

The therapist has to come to your house for sessions because you can only go as far as the end of your block.

You have agoraphobia now, apparently. Being out in public makes you have some nasty panic attacks.

The thought of being photographed is enough to make you spiral.

You haven't left that neighbourhood in months.

You miss her.

You also miss your best friend, but he's cut you off too.

It was nothing personal. It's just...you were always a trio. But she's made it clear that seeing you again would hurt. Thinking about you hurts. Having any lingering trace of you in her life would hurt.

He decided that it would be better if he didn't have contact with you either. He was going to stick by her side.

You're proud of him. And thankful that she always has him looking out for her.

You can't bear the thought of them seeing you like this anyway.

Things are bad.

But it's always worse before it gets better.

And it does get better.

It just takes time.

You're 19, going on 20 and your ribs no longer poke out jaggedly against your flesh.

There's fat on your stomach.

Your face is less gaunt. Your skin less sallow looking.

You like to read.

You like to sew.

There's a gym downtown that you like to go to, with a large studio on the floor where you can practise ballet.

You and your family often have barbecues in your backyard when it's warm out.

Sometimes you like to sit by your open window for hours and listen to the birds. There's a bluejay that really likes you.

You're 19, going on 20 and you're lying in the grass as the sun lulls you to sleep.

It's getting you, you can feel it. But you can still hear the birds, the breeze, the kids yelling from three doors down.

And then you hear it.

But you almost don't believe it.

It's a voice that you're advised to avoid.

It crops up on television sometimes and it hurts to listen to.

That being said, you still torture yourself by not reaching for the remote control right away.

You're desperate for that voice to fill your ears again. You know that you might be weak enough to beg for it.

But it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

The voice is soft, tentatively so. And the single word wobbles like she's about to cry.

But as shattered as it sounds, it's a word that you utterly adore on her lips.

"Hunter?"

[yes-i-exist-shutup]

*allison sobbing at Seths funeral*

Renee: Its okay, he'd want you to move on.

Seth: *gets up* no the fuck I would not