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aloesarchives · 8 months ago

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Birthday Special(JJK Oneshot)

TW/Warnings: Domesticity, AFAB/Female Reader, Family life, Slight self-coded Fem!Reader

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her, Mom/Mama (Though no physical description, reader had some self-coded elements)

Word count: 1.5k words

Decided to write something because today is my birthday(May 3rd)! And I'm officially 21! Thank you all for you love and support for the past 7 months of me writing for JJK! Also, this is the Valentine's day I referred to.

“Papa, you’re thinking too hard about this. You know Mama doesn’t ask for much.”

“Yeah, Dad. It shouldn’t be hard to get mom a present. Remember that full-size green tea hand and body lotion you got her? She was way too happy about it and was on the verge of crying happy tears.”

Toji sighs as his kids are behind him trying to ease his stress. Once again, like Valentine’s day, he was struggling to get a present for you. But this time, the stakes are higher because today is your birthday. Not some holiday Toji remembers because it’s one of the many times of the year capitalism does a complete take over for the sake of consumerism, which he can never avoid every time he goes out.

Though his kids have a point, he always wanted to do or get something for you. While you do the occasional mall shopping, it wasn’t often. Maybe once a month if lucky. This always posses a problem for the three because you were the best gifter in the family. Knowing what to give to anyone but only hinting at minute items. Thus having to think outside of the box or really watch your eyes latch onto anything longer than seven seconds.

Megumi and Tsumiki don’t blame Toji for struggling since your demands weren’t demands but rather promises. You have been nothing but good to Toji for almost two decades. Something Toji knows many people take something like that for granted. Unfortunately, becomes terrifying to know how easily many fall under a dark spell. And Toji fears himself on certain days for not giving what you deserved.

“I know, Megumi. But your mother deserves nice things for herself. She still wears the necklace I gave her when you two were young. That’s almost ten years. Now, you both do some scooping while watching the time. We have to get the cake at 3:45pm.”

The siblings looked at each other before shaking their heads in helping their father’s hunt for a perfect present. They looked around the vast sea of stores to give themselves for any ideas. They were overthinking this whole process because every idea was shot down at the reality that you did have everything you ever wanted.

You have everything you ever wanted is what you always said to them.

Perhaps there’s something else they can give you that reminds of that. The lightbulb above Tsumiki’s head went off as she asked Toji the jewelry store he got the necklace from. He becomes curious as she scans the windows for something until stopping and pointing. Toji and Megumi look over to a display of multiple charm bracelets.

“If Mama has the necklace with us in it, why can’t she get a matching bracelet to go along with it? She doesn’t have one that does.”

Now, Toji and Megumi were seeing Tsumiki’s vision.

“Good eye, kiddo. Shame on me for not thinking about that sooner.”

Toji lets Tsumiki handle the bracelet creation, occasionally having him and Megumi to be on the same page. Once finalized, Toji goes to fish his wallet for his card to give to Tsumiki to pay. After printing the receipt, the lady gives the card back but it ends up dropping onto the marble counter. Megumi cringes at the metallic clanging it made so he grabs it for Tsumiki to give back to his dad. Everyone in the store glances over at them as Toji puts the card away. Megumi raises a brow at his father because Toji had a smirk plastered on his lips.

“Why are you smirking?”

Toji pockets his hands as he looks at him.

“Don’t worry about it, Megs. Just know there aren't a lot of people with metal credit cards. Anyway, we gotta get movin’ because we need to pick up your Mama’s birthday cake and food for dinner.”

Tsumiki joins them as they head off to finish birthday shopping. Once getting home, they set up everything for you to come home to. By the time you come home, they’re done. Making your presence known, you relax into your humble abode. You walked yourself into the kitchen to see what your family has set up for you.

“Happy Birthday, Mom!”

You're greeted by a hug from each of your kids. Chuckling at the surprise they always seem to do when the day is about you. You hold them close and kiss their foreheads as their hugs re-energize you. Once parting, they made way for their father as your husband stands over you. Holding that dumb grin that you fell in love with over these years.

“Happy Birthday, Doll~.”

Giving a forehead kiss of his own, he holds you ever so softly but with the affectionate firmness. You giggled at how Toji is when it comes to physical touch. He can’t seem to get enough of it. Before eating dinner, you wanted to blow out the candles so they could eat the cake afterwards. The kids say their part and end with “We love you, Mom. Always.” Toji cracks a joke that always makes Megumi roll his eyes before getting into his own sentimental speech.

“Thank you for spending almost 20 years of your life with me. Happy Birthday, (Y/N).”

Ugh, and that softness he had at the end. Made you want to kiss him with all the love and warmth. You thought it’s time to eat dinner when Toji pulls out a small pink bag and places it in front of you. Surprised, you looked around at your family.

“What’s this, guys?”

“It’s for you, Mama. From us.”

Though curious, you smiled as you looked into the bag and pulled out a small box. Upon opening it, you couldn’t stop the smile that took over. There, in the box, was a silver charm snake chain bracelet with a small (F/C) gem at the center of a beautiful silver heart charm. But that’s not make you smile. It came from when your eyes landed on the other three charms attached to the bracelet. Two of those were dangling charms, one of an elegant flower and the other of a small silver puppy. The other charm was a clip-on with the colors of dark blue and black. You recognized them to represent the three that ultimately fulfilled the word “family” for you.

The flower is Tsumiki as it was her favorite color, the puppy was obviously Megumi, and the last one is Toji for sure. Your smile began to painfully pull at your lips because you realized Toji’s charm closely resembles his wedding ring. Clasping the bracelet on your wrist, you admired how it looked on you.

“It was the kids’ idea to do this. I just paid for it, Hon.”

You knew Toji’s lying but didn't have it in you to call him out. This gift was just too perfect. You go over to give your motherly affection to thank Megumi and Tsumiki, your two children that gave meaning to your motherhood. Once having enough, you go over to Toji. The man you undoubtedly cherish and completely devote yourself to, your husband and your other half. You hug Toji lovingly, taking in his warmth and presence. Nothing in this world brings you comfort and ease than the man you choose to love never made you regret giving your heart and soul to.

Toji just chuckles with his signature grin, returning the hug with the same amount of affection. Yet your children can see the adoration and tenderness in his eyes, knowing full well he never looked at anyone that way because you’re the only one to bring it out of him. Looking up at your Toji, your gaze softens but your smile still holds its homeyness. He stares down at you before he leans in for a kiss you gladly accept. Even Megumi smiles with his sister while watching their parents express their love for one another, seeing them pull away from the kiss.

“They’re truly your kids since they always knew how to give me gifts. It goes with my necklace now. Thank you for this.” Saying as you smile up at him.

“Ah~, they knew because they have good eyes. Just like their mama. Happy Birthday, (Y/N). Thank you for your love…and thank you for being you.”

The absolute tender affirmation was unlike any other. Though your birthday was a reminder of how many years you’ve been on here, it also serves as a reminder of your milestones over the years. Looking at your life, you got the best out of it. A family of your own and the love from someone who’s been with you through it all. As you tell Megumi and Tsumiki to go ahead and eat, you lock eyes with Toji. Both filled with a love no one can feel except the two of you. Toji hugs you close from behind as you interlace your hands into his, feeling your bracelet pressed up against him. Gazing upon Megumi and Tsumiki, both of your creations born out of each other’s unmatched love for one another.

This will be added into one of your many best birthdays you had.

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five-rivers · 1 year ago

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Daedalus

@regular-dog Hello! I am your holiday truce gifter this year! I hope you enjoy this labyrinth-themed fic. Happy New Year!

Only three years in, and it was already impossible to tell how big Amity Park was. Normal methods of surveying didn’t work. Physical maps were either always right or always wrong, and sometimes both at once. Driving across the city at a constant speed didn’t help, either. The outgoing trip and the return trip never seemed to match, and there simply weren’t enough one-way streets in Amity Park for that to be the answer to the problem.

Asking the residents didn’t help, either. They couldn’t even agree on how big the city they lived in was. Some of them acted like Amity Park was the second coming of Chicago, others expressed confusion when Amity Park was referred to as anything but a small town.

(The census data was almost worse.)

But no matter what version of Amity a particular resident believed they lived in, there were always similarities. There was always Casper High, and its Ravens, and every student went there, and learned from Mr. Lancer, and heard the rumors about Sydney Poindexter. There was always the Nasty Burger, and Valerie Gray working one of the many distasteful jobs that the place had to offer. There was always Amity Park Park, confusingly named and full of even more confusing paths, whether it was a city park or a county park, or something else altogether.

There was always Fentonworks, rising tall and strange from a small, ordinary neighborhood.

There was a heaviness there, around that particular building. A weight that drew in other things, that twisted. It was the heart of a labyrinth of streets, of old roads and new, of forest paths and disused hiking trails. It was the heart of Amity Park.

And it should be said that, at the heart of any labyrinth, there was a monster.

And it should be said that, at the threshold of every labyrinth, there was a princess.

And it should be said that the one thing that every labyrinth waits for is a hero.

Samantha Manson wound golden string around her fingers, thinking. It glowed faintly in the dark of her room, like the thinnest, purest beam of sunlight cast through morning mist and a thick canopy of leaves overhead.

However, her eyes didn’t linger on it. Instead, she looked out the window over her– garden– conservatory– greenhouse– private park– the place where she went to grow plants, and be among them, that may or may not have changed in nature and size while she was looking. Which may or may not have had many natures and sizes.

She closed her eyes. Insight was useful, as vital as the blood in her veins and the lightning in her nerves, but it had its drawbacks.

When she opened them again, a hedge maze stood dark and tempting beneath the light of a moon that should not be full and should not be there and had never been that big, in any case. The lights of Amity- rising high with skyscrapers or low to the ground and scattered among farmhouses– laid beyond it.

In her hands, the string hummed, as if it had been held taught and plucked. A single, clear note filled the air.

“Do you think it will work?” she asked.

There shouldn’t have been anyone in her room, and there wasn’t. But her nearest neighbors could be five miles from the walls of her home or five feet, and she rarely spoke to them. The distance between friends was greater, but also infinitely less.

Tucker looked up from his computer, which sat at his desk, in his own room, in his own house, the light from the moon shining in from the window behind him. His glasses reflected the pale, bluish light of his computer screen. The wheels of his desk chair rolled across the carpet of his room - so different from hers - with a squeak.

“You’re not getting cold feet now,” he said. It wasn’t so much a question as an exclamation.

Sam sniffed. “Of course not. But I’m not the one taking the biggest risk, am I?”

There was a third room. This one dark and starry. The glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to every available surface were normal. The patterns they were in were not. Nor were the eyes that stared out from beneath star-spangled bedsheets. Nor was the moon, gleaming from windows stationed on either side of the bed.

“I’m not sure if it actually matters if it works,” said the owner of those eyes, blinking slowly. “I mean, if it works the way it’s supposed to work. We’ll just go back to plan A if it doesn’t.”

“No offense, Danny, but plan A sucked,” said Tucker.

“How am I not supposed to take offense to that?” whined Danny. “Plan A is fine. It’s a normal plan. I know my city.” The last was said with a casual but deep possessiveness.

“Plan A wasn’t even really a plan,” said Sam. “Your plan was to just fly in and find them, never mind all the other things that are happening.”

“That’s not so different from this plan,” protested Danny. “It’s basically the same. It’s just the how that’s different.”

“Pretty big how, though,” said Tucker. “And I thought you liked this plan.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Danny. “I’m just saying, I’m just saying that even if it doesn’t work, we won’t be any worse off than we were at the beginning, before, you know. The research.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of his window.

Somehow, Sam knew that he was, in fact, pointing at the stack of thick books sitting on her desk. Only, instead of pointing at them across the there-not-there division between their rooms, he was pointing in their true direction, across the streets and forests of Amity Park.

The covers of the books shouldn’t have been legible in the darkness. Sam could read them anyway. Greek mythology. Sympathetic magic. Recurrence. Narrative causality. Daedalus, Icarus, Theseus, Ariadne, Asterion.

Four days ago, New Athens High School had sent a bus bearing the fourteen members of their track team and their coach to a meet in Elmerton. On the way back, the driver had made a wrong turn, knifing straight through the heart of Amity. The bus, the driver, and the coach had come out the other side. No one knew what had happened to the track team.

Danny had spent three of those days looking for them. Amity Park had spent those same three days winding itself more tightly than the ball of string sitting on Sam’s desk. Whether it was downtown, or the forest, or the suburbs, the part of Amity New Athens’ bus had passed through was a maze.

A labyrinth.

They’d thrown themselves into research, then, begging for information from their allies. Or, rather, from Danny’s allies. Most of them, with the exception of Dora, were there for him more than for the rest of them. Pandora was the one who had finally noticed the connections, the links with old stories, the resonance.

There was a labyrinth. There were sacrifices. Other roles–

“Or, if you don’t want to leave it, you could send Tucker in,” said Danny, shrugging slightly. “If it doesn’t work with just me. You know.”

Sam’s fingers slipped.

Sam was the obvious choice for the role of princess. Danny was the obvious choice for the role of hero.

He should have been, anyway.

“Hence why I’m asking if you think it’ll work,” said Sam, sharply.

“I hope it’ll work.”

Sam huffed. “Not what I’m asking.”

“It won’t hurt to try.”

“It might,” said Sam. “The monster dies at the end of the story. The princess is abandoned. Even Theseus doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“And we aren’t those characters. It isn’t as if Tucker is going to cut my head off.” Again, Danny waved in Tucker’s true direction, rather than across the emptiness of his room. “We’re the ones making the decisions. We’re just using the stories for– For narrative clout. Or however you described it.”

“Danny…”

“It’ll be fine. I mean,” he looked up at her with those too-bright eyes, the rest of his face black with shadows, “if you’re having second thoughts, it’s fine. We can try something else.”

“I’m not having second thoughts.” Sam began to unwind the string from around her fingers, wrapping it around the rest of the ball. The maze outside her window had become a winding garden path, and the neighbors were once again nearby.

Tucker cleared his throat. “First thing in the morning, then? We ride at dawn and all that?”

“Before dawn would probably be better, honestly,” said Sam.

Danny sighed. “I’ll set my alarm clock.”

It might have been neater to enter the maze in Sam’s backyard, or to start from the spiraling center that was Fentonworks, but that wasn’t where the bus had disappeared. The bus had disappeared going through downtown Amity Park.

Well. Insofar as the bus had disappeared in any particular location. And insofar as Amity Park had a downtown.

The lack of permanence of place made discussing things like this somewhat difficult.

Still. At the moment, there was a downtown. A historical shopping district, as a matter of fact. As he walked down the sidewalk in the crisp, gray, predawn light, Danny could feel beneath his feet a hum. The shopping district here was the mainstreet of small town Amity, even as skyscrapers loomed overhead, and the layers felt real enough for Danny to reach out and rub them between his fingers.

(They weren’t really, but they felt like it.)

He stopped in front of an alley that smelled of cinnamon and sea salt. Here, the layers parted, and you could slip between them, into the interstices and forbidden places of Amity Park.

“Is this the place?” asked Tucker.

“Yeah,” said Danny. “I think so.” He motioned them to the mouth of the alley, where they’d be covered by shadows and next to unnoticeable by those who were firmly in any one version of Amity Park. “Sam?”

She teased out the end of the golden string and cast it towards Danny. As it flew through the air, it twisted and knotted itself before falling over Danny’s head. The loops shrunk around his neck, creating a narrow golden collar.

Danny raised his hand to touch it and made a face. “It’s tight,” he said.

“Sorry,” said Sam, glaring at the ball of string as if it had betrayed her. “I don’t–”

“It’s fine,” said Danny, waving it off. “Just unexpected.”

“Right,” said Tucker, stepping forward. “Your sword, Theseus.” He handed Danny a Fenton invention that had a passing resemblance to a lightsaber.

Danny rolled his eyes and took the small cylinder. “Thanks. But don’t call me that.”

“Hey, that’s the story we’re trying to tell.”

“We’ll give it a tug if we run out of string,” said Sam.

“Mm,” said Danny. “Well. Might have to give it more than one. Don’t let me drag you in.”

Sam snorted. “What, like you drag us into everything else?”

“Seriously. Just let me go if I start pulling too hard.”

“No way,” said Tucker. “We’ll just tie you onto some building or something.”

“I have been known to bring down buildings.”

“Well, don’t,” said Sam.

“Wow. No sympathy here, I see.”

“Nope,” said Sam and Tucker together.

“Now go save the tourists,” said Sam, pushing him forward.

“They’re not really tourists,” said Danny. But even so, he stepped across the line and into the gap.

Into the labyrinth.

The in-between spaces of Amity Park did not immediately look like they were the in-between spaces of Amity. Danny sometimes liked to imagine that they were what Amity Park used to look like, before it became a dozen different, mutually exclusive places. That had to be impossible, though. There was too much, too many different things, afterimages and fantasies and illusions.

People walked on the streets, and cars drove, but they were transparent, projections from the layers of Amity immediately bordering this space. Sometimes, they walked through each other, not noticing at all.

Danny still flinched when it looked like cars were about to run into one another, and let out a breath of relief when they instead seemed to phase through each other.

So he walked.

He walked, and as he walked, the road began to change. He began to change. Facades paled. Grecian columns reached up the sides of skyscrapers and ranch homes. Brick turned to marble. Danny’s t-shirt and jeans slowly, gently, became a chiton and chlamys, trimmed in red. The Fenton Saber became a sword of green-tinted bronze, strapped to a belt around his waist. His shoes became sandals, laced up to his knees.

It wasn’t the first time Danny had worn clothing like this. He did visit Pandora. But he’d never worn it in Amity Park. It was a little embarrassing. The ancient Greeks’ idea of underwear was… lacking, in Danny’s opinion. But it wasn’t as if anyone here could see him.

The act of walking here also felt strange, and Danny couldn’t understand why this was needed. Not really. Not the act, not the ritual. By virtue of his nature, he could duck in and out of anywhere in Amity whenever he wanted. Mostly. At least, he could find places to duck in and out whenever he wanted.

He should have been able to find the missing students without any problem.

But he hadn’t.

And he still wasn’t finding them. There was no pull. No indication of what direction he should go, what direction he could find them in.

Danny sighed, and the sky above boiled with stars.

He looked up, not having expected that, then shrugged and continued to walk. Things here were strange.

There were words on the walls, now, carved into the marble alongside window displays for cell phones and stationary. Ἀστερίων, Ἀριάδνη, Θησεύς. He traced Ἀριάδνη with his fingers. It sparked gold, the same color as the string around Danny’s neck.

And then the string flexed. Pulled. Spooled forward, winding into a ball in front of Danny. A short thread was thrown off of the rapidly spinning ball and settled on Danny’s head before solidifying into something heavy and cold.

(Elsewhere, the end of the string tears itself out of Sam’s hand, disappearing into the rift between.)

“Oh,” said Danny. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, and mentally apologized to his friends for worrying them. “Theseus was from Athens. Ariadne wasn’t just rich, she had authority over Crete. We had the roles wrong.”

(Not that Danny really wanted authority over Amity Park. That… just wasn’t his thing. He didn’t want to be in charge. He just wanted to protect.)

But this meant… He needed to find one of the New Athens kids and get them to be Theseus.

He didn’t want to do that. He was here to rescue them, not to force them to rescue themselves. And… iIf he could find one of them, couldn’t he find the others? Finding them was the problem he’d started with. If he could find them, he could bring them out.

He stumbled as the section of string wrapped around his throat tightened. That actually hurt!

Then it loosened and Danny took a deep breath.

Narrative weight, right. They were already trying this story. Changing it or aborting it halfway would have consequences. Ones that Danny didn’t want to deal with.

He swallowed. He couldn’t help but remember that in the story of Theseus and the Minotaur, many people, many Athenians, had died before Theseus had finally defeated the Minotaur. When it was Danny in the role of Theseus, that hadn’t been a concern. He was certain he could fight any monster, any ghost in the role of the Minotaur.

But some random kid from New Athens? One who had probably never seen a ghost, and who had been stuck here for days?

That… that he wasn’t at all confident about.

Sam had been right to be wary of the risks. It was different, when someone else was facing them.

He rolled the ball between his hands, feeling it over. Power thrummed between his fingers, brighter and sharper than before. A thin stripe of gold ran down the sidewalk, twisting over on itself and turning away from the main street.

Danny sighed, and started to follow.

Danica was starting to panic.

One moment, she’d been on the bus, falling asleep after a difficult meet despite how risky it was to fall asleep anywhere near Georgie and his so-called ‘artistic impulses.’ The next thing she knew, she was waking up on a sidewalk in some kind of nightmare city. A nightmare city full of things that looked almost like people but were transparent and walked right through her as if she weren’t there.

She didn’t know how long she’d been here, trying to figure out how she’d gotten here, where the bus was, where everything else was, but it felt like hours, at least. She was starting to get hungry.

She was starting to wonder if she’d gone crazy. Or if this was what it was like to be dead. And that was before the buildings started to melt into weird, semi-Greek-Revival messes.

It was weird here, and she hated it. She wanted to go home. She wanted her mom. She wanted to quit the track team and never have to deal with anything like this ever again.

“Hello?” called a soft voice.

She whipped around. Up until now, this place had been eerily quiet.

Standing just a few feet from her was a boy, one who could have stepped out of a history textbook. He was wearing something like a cape, and a Greek-style tunic, white trimmed in red. Tangled in his hair was a thin, golden circlet. But the strangest thing about him was the ball of glowing golden string in his hand. One end of it was wrapped around his neck.

“You–!” said Danica, suddenly more furious than frightened. “Did you bring me here? Why?”

The boy shook his head. “I didn’t bring you here. Actually, I’m hoping to help you get out. You and the rest of your teammates.”

“They– They’re here, too? And the coach–?”

“No, just your teammates,” said the boy. He made a face. “You guys kind of… Ran into a story.”

“A what?” demanded Danica, incredulous. She’d also, incidentally, started to back away from the boy.

“A story. Have you heard of Theseus and the Minotaur?”

“What if I don't want to do this?” asked the girl, after Danny had finished explaining. “What if I can’t do this?”

Danny stared at her, a bit baffled. The thing about being a ghost, even half a ghost, the thing about thinking like a ghost… Sometimes it was hard to wrap his head around other perspectives. Especially when his friends, the only people he really talked to, were just as eager to jump in and help as he was.

He hadn't wanted to make anyone risk themselves. He wanted to bring them to safety without that. He also hadn't expected that anyone would just… not want to help.

“Well, I suppose… I suppose you could follow me until I found one of your classmates who could?” he said. “Although… I’m not sure if we can do that with this story. It might be that I have to find someone alone and then they find everyone… In which case you’d just have to wait for them. Speaking of which, how long has this been for you? On the outside, it’s been a few days, but you look a little too good for that.”

“I– What? Days? I haven’t been here for days.”

“Not from your perspective, maybe. Time is weird. Even without all this…” He waved his hand, trying to indicate ghost weirdness in general. “... stuff, even with just the things we can look at scientifically, it’s still relative. Right now, you’re basically in a dimensional pocket. Pocket dimension? Whatever. The point is, is time running at different rates really that strange, comparatively? At least, it made it so that you didn’t starve before me and my friends were able to figure this out.” He raised the ball of golden string, ignoring how the movement pulled on his neck. “Right?”

The girl gave him a ‘why are you using science-fiction terms in what is clearly a fantasy scenario’ look. At least, that’s how Danny chose to interpret it.

He sighed. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Danica,” she said, then looked angry at herself and shrugged. “Or Dani, I guess.”

“Huh, small world,” said Danny. “That’s my sister’s name, too.” Not to mention his. Maybe Theseus’s story wasn’t the only one being echoed, with a coincidence like that.

The girl continued to stare at him, this time with a ‘why the heck are you bringing that up while I’m having a crisis’ look. Probably. Danny tended to make a similar expression from time to time. Usually when the ghosts he fought started having lovers’ quarrels in the middle of a fight.

“So,” he said, awkwardly. “You can come with me, of course, just to… test out what will happen?”

“Oh!” said Danica, suddenly. “Just– Just give me that!” She held out her hands for the ball of string.

Danny beamed, and passed it to her. It glowed even brighter.

“Now what?” she asked, staring at it nervously.

“Now, you need this,” Danny said, taking off the sword and holding it out to her, hilt first. “And then you search for your friends, and when you find them…” He pinched a length of the string between the finger and thumb of her free hand. “You follow this back out.”

Danica was much more reluctant to take the sword than the string. But that was fine. One of the two was for holding things together, the other was for taking things apart. Danny knew which was easier, and which he was more comfortable with.

“That's it. Remember, it's just the members of your track team, okay? The coach and the bus driver got out.”

“Okay,” said Danica. She took a deep, steadying breath. “Okay. I can do this.”

Danny nodded encouragingly. “Yes,” he said, “definitely.”

Danny stepped out of the in-between, back into the alley he'd left Sam and Tucker in. Except, it wasn't an alley anymore, but a thin dirt path between hedges.

He was immediately tackled.

“We thought we'd lost you!” said Sam. Then she pulled back and examined him closely before looking pointedly behind him. “Where're the track kids?”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “Well. In the story, Theseus is from Athens, remember?”

Sam groaned. “They're having to do it themselves?”

“Yeah. A girl named Danica. Dani. Believe it or not.”

“Wow,” said Tucker. “Really?”

“Really.”

Danny turned to look behind him, tracing the string where it twisted away from reality and into not-space.

Tucker sighed. “This is going to take a while, isn't it?”

It took Danica surprisingly little time to find her teammates. For all the time she’d spent wandering on her own, after she’d accepted the sword and the string, she’d located everyone in what felt like an hour. Some of them were even in groups!

The problem was, she found too many of them.

“Mm,” said Danny, still worried. “Probably. I hope she doesn’t have to fight anything.”

There had been fourteen of them. She knew there had been fourteen of them, because the coach and the driver had both done headcounts, because of the number of people they were allowed to field in each event at this particular meet, and because she remembered that someone had been sick. But there were, including her, fifteen kids now huddled in something that aesthetically hovered in-between the Parthenon and a shopping mall.

She couldn’t remember who had been sick. No one could. But everyone wanted to convince her that it wasn’t them.

Probably because she was the one with the sword.

“I think that if there was anything, it would have gone after Danny when he was searching earlier, right?” asked Sam.

“Maybe,” said Danny. “Unless it was scared of me. I am pretty powerful.”

“And if Danny’s Ariadne in this, he was Ariadne at the beginning,” pointed out Tucker. “The story was already going. Ariadne never fought the Minotaur.”

“Astarion,” said Danny.

“Huh?”

“That’s the Minotaur’s actual name,” said Sam. She frowned slightly. “He was Ariadne’s half-brother, you know.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, slowly. “He was, wasn’t he?”

“Listen,” said Danica, trying to mask the shake in her voice, “I’m sorry, but– But based on everything, you aren’t who you say you are.”

There was nothing she could do about how badly the sword was shaking.

“I am!” said the girl, who couldn’t be there, because Eliza had taken the one place in the 100 meter, and Jaylynn did the javelin, and Lachandra had done the high jump, and no one remembered her competing at all. “I really am, I promise!”

It was convincing, her act. But it had to be an act, it really did.

“Dani,” said Lachandra, “is it really that important? I mean, if we take her with us? We just want to get out.”

“But she could eat us,” said Kevin, who was a bit of a mythology buff on top of being a track nerd. “She could– If this is the Minotaur story– She’ll try to kill us and then–”

“I won’t!” shouted the girl. Her eyes– For a moment, they changed color. Red. Her teeth were sharp, too.

Danica gritted her teeth and swung the sword down.

Danny caught her wrist, panting. He’d followed the string back.

“Wait,” he said, breathless. “Wait.”

“Where–” said Danica, jerking back. “Why–?”

Danny turned towards the ‘Minotaur.’ “Hi,” he said, trying to be as nonthreatening as possible. “You’re one of Vlad’s aren’t you?”

Their face shimmered for a moment, and then– It was like looking into a mirror. This wasn’t Dani - his Dani, Danielle - but a boy with red eyes. He wore a chiton like Danny’s, but he looked starved, pale, terrified.

He nodded.

“There is,” said Danny, cautiously, “another story about escaping from the labyrinth. How would you like to be Daedalus?”

“What was that?” hissed Danica, as they walked away from… whatever that was. “Why are you here, now, leading us out, when you couldn’t before?”

“Story is different now,” said Danny, tightly. “And I was leading you out before. Just with the string.”

“What if you get lost?” asked Kevin.

Danny grinned at him. “I won’t. He isn’t trying to keep you in anymore.”

“Who isn’t?” asked Danica.

“Daedalus. Him. He just wanted out, I think. Sorry for– I’m sorry about all of this,” said Danny. “I didn’t want to get other people involved in Amity Park stuff, and I especially didn’t want to get you involved in family stuff, but…” He shrugged, then caught sight of an out. It looked, from this side, like a slightly darker than expected gap between stately white pillars. “Here we go! And I think this one is next to the police station, too, so just, you know. Check yourselves in.”

“Just like that?” asked Danica.

“Just like that,” said Danny. “I will need those back, though.” He nodded at the string and sword.

“Right,” said Danica. She shoved both at him. “I can’t believe– I would have kill that– Whatever– Whoever–” She stopped, looking very much like she wanted to cry.

“I’m sorry,” said Danny again, softly. “But it is over now.”

The New Athens kids walked into the gap and vanished.

The string dissolved into golden, glittering light and then settled in his hands as a pair of equally golden wings. Danny laughed.

“Okay,” he said. He turned, bouncing a little. “I get the picture. I think we can avoid the Icarus problem, being ghosts and all.”

#danny phantom #holiday truce #holiday truce 2023

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a-crumb-of-whump · 2 years ago

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Whump Prompts: Possible Trauma Triggers

I can confidently say this is heavily inspired by my own trauma dksjdksj anyway enjoy.

Content: PTSD/trauma.

Smells/sounds/sights that remind them of that environment, the person who hurt them, etc. Maybe Caretaker wears Whumper's cologne, for example, or their voice somehow resembles Whumper's when in certain situations.

Alcohol. This can be a huge trigger for whumpees who's whumpers were alcoholics or just generally speaking worse/only violent when under the influence. They might hide when Caretaker drinks or do things to make sure they stay on Caretaker's good side until they're sober.

If they were the bloodbag of a vampire, the sight of their own blood could become a trigger. They might be scared that their whumper might smell it or they might just not wanna have their blood taken from them again.

Loud sounds. Alarms, shouting, banging on walls/doors.

Gifts. Whumpee might believe that they now owe the gifter, or they might hate opening wrapped presents because they have no idea what's inside. This could lead to tears, reassuring the gifter that they don't need to do all this to make Whumpee do what they want, they can be good, this isn't necessary.

Physical touch. Touching them without warning, hugs feeling like traps, not being able to escape until the other person says so. So they go stiff or immediately try to escape, hellbent on not falling for it again. They might even hurt Caretaker in the process.

Large crowds.

If they went through torture, things like water (waterboarding, drowning, etc.), sharp objects (cutting, surgeries, etc.) and the such could also be triggers for them.

The dark. Maybe they were kidnapped after dark or their whumper is nocturnal, but this makes for some good angst.

Stuff being close to their neck. They might have problems with collars, chokers, etc. because they were made to wear one during their captivity.

#whump #whump stuff #whump things #whump thoughts #whump tropes #whump prompts #whump scenarios #whump ideas #whumpee #trauma

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outsiders-gift-exchanges · 12 days ago

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RULES for The Outsiders 2025 Valentine's Day Gift Exchange Event!

If you have any questions that this post does not answer, please please please send them to this blog’s ask box!!

general!

This is a fandom-wide event, so NSFW and Explicit gifts will not be allowed. Canon-typical violence and themes are allowed. If you are worried about where your gift falls in terms of rating, please reach out to a mod!

This is a fandom event for all forms of The Outsiders (Book, Movie, TV Show, and Musical). If there are specific elements from these materials you are uncomfortable creating or receiving, make sure to specify that in your sign-up form. The same goes for if you’d like your creation or gift to only be from one specific form of the Outsiders. Please understand that specific requests like this may not be able to be filled out, but I will try my best.

Before you sign up for this event, please take time to consider if you can create a present in the time frame provided. Participants dropping out of these events on short notice is quite common and is also stressful to deal with in large amounts.

sign-ups!

When you are asked what elements you would like featured in your art in the sign-ups, understand that your gifter is not required to fulfill every single request you send. Rather, they can choose between the different elements you request. Feel free to list your requests randomly or in order of importance.

The art forms listed are art (digital or physical), fanfiction/writing, web weaves, video edits/gifs, etc. If you’d like to create/receive a different form of art, please ask me first.

This event will not ban any characters, ships, headcanons, etc. but understand that gift assignments are given out based on who is willing to create art for your request. Less popular characters and ships may not be as readily received as more popular characters and ships. This shouldn’t deter you from requesting whatever you’d like, though!

after assignments!

Fanfiction/writing is recommended to have a minimum of 800 words! Art (physical or digital) is recommended to be past a sketch.

As a gifter, you must follow at least one request your giftee submitted to make sure everyone receives a gift they are happy with. If you have an issue with your giftee’s requests, please reach out to a mod as soon as possible.

If you become aware you cannot participate in the event after assignments are sent out, please message a mod as soon as possible so we can give our pinch-hitters time to fulfill your request.

If your giftee drops out of the event, you will be notified and given the account of their pinch-hitter to gift your gift to instead.

During the posting period, please post your gift (or a link to it, if you’re posting onto ao3, etc.) to tumblr and tag your giftee in the post so they see it!

the signups for this event will be posted later today!

#the outsiders 2025 valentines day exchange #important posts #the outsiders #the outsiders book #the outsiders movie #the outsiders 1983 #the outsiders 1967 #the outsiders musical #the outsiders broadway #the outsiders fandom #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders fanart #outsiders

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doufudanshi · 2 years ago

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for anyone who criticizes jyl for bringing soup to yiling instead of like, money—

we should first ask: could jyl actually have given wwx money? she must have something, you say. the jins are rich! she could even give him some of her betrothal gifts.

but realistically jyl probably didn't have much money at all! let's think this through. not only did she not marry jzx yet at the time of her yiling visit, but (based on many, many imperial palace tv shows lol) all her worth would be in betrothal gifts of jewelry, fine clothing, or other misc items, which is 1) heavy and difficult to transport without notice, but that doesn't actually matter bc it's ultimately 2) disrespectful to sell and worse to have the gifter find out when they come by for tea and you begin chatting about the event in two days and they say oh where's that one-of-a-kind jade bracelet I gave you wouldn't it match the also one-of-a-kind silk garment that lady jin gave you sooo well oh you will look so lovely in it won't you wear it.

or worse, have it recognized in some random pawn shop on the street by someone who has never really liked you and WILL get you in deep shit for it.

does jyl have any money from the jiang side? well, jc has been busy at work rebuilding lotus pier and the clan since before wwx's defection, and even if he's not borrowing a shitton of money from the jins (which he almost certainly is), he definitely has the opposite of surplus funds. he's also busy organizing and buying gifts for the wedding too, making him go more in the red because you know the jins aren't going to want cheap-ass things even if you don't have money.

let's say jyl did get a significant bride price (aka given money money)—not only does that go to her family (jc), but it is given during the ceremony (which, again, hasn't happened yet). and, realistically, jc probably will have to use it to offset the costs of the above.

beyond that, let's just take this scene from a storytelling perspective. sometimes it is simply about the emotional resonance. the vibes. let's say jyl did have some funds to give wwx. but imagine if jyl was like here a-xian take all this money 😐 ok sure useful for some period. but is that the gift that wwx would want during the first time he's gotten to see her in months, and likely the last time he will see her in a long, long time (possibly years)? would that be impactful for the story?

meanwhile, the soup she brings represents her love. we hear in the extra, from wwx's own words, the care she put into selecting the ingredients, making sure the lotus root is fresh and perfectly ripe. it also takes hours for her to even make iirc. wwx derives so much comfort from it—that's why it comes up again and again. it is one of his first memories of feeling safe in lotus pier, of home. it provides wwx some semblance of normalcy. he hasn't had any this entire time, and is likely something he aches for whenever he's homesick or sad or questioning his choices. it is simply, given the circumstances, incredibly thoughtful. (and how meaningful was it to see wn treat it with such respect? seeing that is literally the moment in the chapter when wwx realizes—ah. the wens are people I cherish as well.)

and regarding jyl coming in her wedding dress—it is not for herself. it is for wwx. we saw how devastated wwx was just to even hear that jyl was getting married because he had to hear it from someone who wasn't jc or jyl. and to immediately then realize he cannot go? even more heartbreaking. and jyl, who clearly knows wwx extremely well, would know, without having to ask, how upset wwx would be to miss such a huge occasion in their lives that was previously a given. this is what she can do to offset that, even just a little. because jyl came in her dress, wwx gets to experience a piece of her wedding even though he cannot physically be there. not to be a 2000s mastercard ad, but there really are some things that money can't buy.

idk there's also some fist-shaking at the class discrepancy in the scene. and I get it. it sucks! her dress is certainly lavish, and the wens are farming on a corpse mountain and have only just started making a bit of money. yes, it's fine to think that if you were in the character's shoes, maybe you would've found it to be in poor taste—but the story isn't about you. it is about these characters, and what this scene means to them. and I'm of the camp that if there is no indication that wwx is upset by any of this, and in fact moved by it, there really isn't reason for the reader to be righteously indignant about these things on a character's behalf. that's just not the focus or the point of the scene.

plus, jyl is sharp. she is likely more aware of the discrepancy than most people think. she has also been shown in the text to not just be another sheltered, spoiled noble (re jzx soup incident). but if what you want is guilt from jyl—I personally think that guilt is performative, and accomplishes nothing. her guilt would've only made wwx unhappy. instead, here is an action that is meaningful and brings joy to wwx. to share her joy with him is not selfishness, nor is it some lack of awareness of their situation. if in this moment, she shows off her dress, if she revels in her joy, her happiness, it is for wwx, and wwx is incredibly moved by it.

and let's face it—wwx, of all people, would want to see jyl in a wedding dress that cost more than rebuilding lotus pier from the ground up. he wouldn't want anything less.

#cultural context is as always important people!#idk i just see a lot of jyl slander and it rubs me very much the wrong way #anyway this is not the jyl thread I intended to write but it's a subset of my thoughts #get ready for more later o boy #jyl #cultural meta #mdzs #mine #ps I think ppl should question their assumptions and reactions to the most traditionally feminine character in the novel #im writing this at like 2am after being unable to fall back asleep btw if there are mistakes whoopsies #jiang yanli

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st4rzzl0verr · 1 month ago

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can i have homicidal liu / sully hcs pls.. I NEED more content of them ugh

YES my favorites

i kinda feel like this kinda got away from me at times but i'd love to do like a continuation at some point

homicidal liu/sully hcs

Liu

he's a very timid creature at first

though that doesn't necessarily change much after time

he's nimble with his movements, hyper aware of surroundings

if you're just out for a little stroll with him, he's most likely scanning the trees or the buildings, and most definitely the people around

it's almost like he's waiting for something bad to happen at every turn

but nonetheless, the walks and the general time you could spend around him are always enjoyed

he smiles at the silly little remarks you make or shakes his head with a grin he tries to hide when you manage to really crack him up

and don't get me wrong, he's an utter sweetheart

he's a flower gifter, a love letter writer, and you can even just find a good friend in him as well

a very thoughtful person, whether those thoughts are just his constant inner dialogue or about the gifts and sweet gestures he offers

enjoys more of the quieter atmospheres that the area has to offer, like bookstores, his own room, random fields he likes to lay in

he really likes when it rains and he spends the entire day outside when it does

he attempts to get a normal amount of sleep but it never seems to work

he's tried warm tea, melatonin, a weighted blanket, literally anything to calm his nerves before bed but he still gets his usual nightmares and general inner torment

though if you're there to rub his back and help him back to peaceful sleep, that makes it a hell of a lot easier

but there's always dark circles around his eyes

also you can very clearly see the difference between when it's liu or sully, just by the way they each carry themself

it's in his eyes too, there's this solemn yet alert look in liu’s and sort of a dead look in sully’s

Sully

he's normally only fronting when he needs to in those pesky moments that set off liu

but the man has wants and needs as well

he certainly likes to steal pleasure from liu for himself pretty often

depending on the mood he's in, he’ll either not say a word at first or greet you with a “heyy thereeee”

he's pretty restless, always asking “so what is it you do around here anyway?”

he mumbles rude things occasionally

but when you've really pissed him off is when he gets a bit physical about it

he's very calculated with his movements, but he doesn't seem to try as hard with it as liu does

one to grab you by the collar and threaten things to his heart's content

but he doesn't mean any of it, especially if you're important to liu

but if you try and get on his good side as well, he's very interested

oh god if you're nothing but kind to liu AND you're still kind when sully’s being a dick?

he's in love

don't get me wrong, he's still an asshole

but he means it more teasingly now

this is when he starts fronting while you and liu would be cuddling or having a nice moment together in general

he gets insanely a little obsessive actually

suddenly it's a whole lot less of liu, who doesn't particularly like this new little craze that sully has

but sully doesn't care, he does and gets what he wants right?

hell you could even ask for him at this point and he'd be out in seconds

you'll be spending a lot more time out on the town late at night

because while liu likes the quiet life, sully is always ready for absolutely mayhem

each of them like a completely different style on you as well

sully prefers when you dress like a total badass and liu doesn't necessarily mind but he probably likes a cozier vibe

so if you're interested in a switch up of almost everything at any given moment, these two are your guys

#homicidal liu #sully creepypasta #homicidal liu headcanons #sully creepypasta headcanons #liu creepypasta #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta scenarios #creepypasta imagine #i love liu hes such a silly #sully is an asshole #but it's fineee #sully x reader #liu x reader #homicidal liu x reader #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta hcs #sully #liu

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shiftingpath · 1 month ago

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Exalted Secret Santa, 16th Edition

Welcome and welcome back!

It's the most wonderful time of the year; time to make a gallery full of art of each other's Exalted characters. If you're an artist with at least one Exalted character, here's what else you'll need to take part in the trade:

1) A working tumblr account. RSVP to me in an ask, message, reply to this post, confirmation in the reblog tags, etc. so I will know to add you to the list. If you submit under a new handle but have participated before, or if your tumblr name has changed, please note the name of the account you will be posting with for the exchange. I like to make sure repeat participants get different assignments and gifts every year; if you have changed names please just remind me a little, so I can ensure you don’t get paired with the same person twice.

2) Post a journal to tumblr by December 8th with the descriptions of the character you would like drawn. Include two or three if you have them to give the person drawing for you more options. Please provide all the physical and relevant details needed to draw the character, and provide a reference picture if at all possible. (A piece of your own art, a commission, a play-by picture, etc.)

If you have any strong aversions or phobias that might be important for a stranger drawing your character, please note that in the journal. (For example: “Silent Vortex of the Storm’s left eye is brilliant white-blue like her anima, but her right eye is lost and that side of her face scarred badly. She always wears her eyepatch and a close-fitting hood. (I’d prefer not to see any graphic eye trauma.)”

Just try to make it as easy as possible for your gifter to draw your character!

Also, if you play in a group with others you know are participating and you don't want to get their name due to already having so much art of each other, send me a message or something so I can make sure you don't get each other's names.

Tag your journal with #exalted or #exalted secret santa so I can find it (or message me with a link). Once all the journals are up, I’ll make a post compiling the links to them all so they’re easy to find. I will also send you a message through asks or messages with the name of the person you are assigned to draw for. Please try to get your journal up by the 8th so your gifter will have plenty of time to draw for you.

2) Check your messages or ask box for your assignment. I will have this to you on December 9th if at all possible. Let me know if you’re planning to be unavailable for any major length of time just in case I need to get ahold of you for further details. If you have an emergency and cannot finish the trade in time (for example, your tablet or scanner breaks), let me know asap so I can arrange a replacement. Thank you!

3) Submit a piece of finished artwork by January 12th. Please tag your submission with the secret santa tag and your giftee’s name if you wish, or I can notify them once it’s up. When all the gifts are posted, I’ll compile them into a single post so we can all get a good look at them.

Let me know by December 8th and I will have your assignments to you within 24 hours if at all possible. Feel free to message me at any time with any questions.

Sorry, I do not accept writing or mechanics submissions for this Secret Santa (though you are welcome to accompany your picture with some text, and of course welcome to host a writing exchange of your own!)

Happy Calibration,

-Path.

#exalted #exalted secret santa

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flowerslut · 8 days ago

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Instructions Unclear

Summary: It was just a simple twelve hours, and if they were lucky, Renesmee would be asleep for at least eight of them. (Wishful thinking.) All they had to do was get her to bed. (Easier said than done.) At least nothing too bad could happen inside the house. (Famous last words.)

Jasper and Alice babysit Renesmee.

Post-Breaking Dawn. Canon-compliant.

Title: Instructions Unclear Words: 9,901 Rating: T for language and mild sexual themes Read on: Ao3 // or read a snippet under the cut

A/N: Hey hi hello @burdenedwithpointlesspurpose! I was your secret gifter for this year's @twilight-secret-gift-exchange! Hope you enjoy this goofy little attempt at writing a slice-of-life one-shot; it's pretty fluff-adjacent, I think. Anyways, I just love to put these two loser in Situations. Happy New Year! ♡

It started and ended with a bath.

That had been their first instruction. Number one on the physical list that Rosalie had left for Alice and Jasper. A list that was pointless, since she’d already gone over everything verbally with the two of them. A list that Bella had laughed over, Edward had glared at, and Alice had hand-waved away. Jasper had eyed it hesitantly from where Rosalie had propped it up on the table, her elegant script comically large against the notepad, as if the bigger she wrote the harder it would be for Jasper or Alice to fuck this up.

“Maybe she should have written it bigger,” Alice replied to a comment he hadn’t yet verbalized, and when she inhaled to speak more, Jasper could feel her full body shudder from where she sat behind him. The sound of her gag was muffled, but now that the faucet was off, it was as loud as a scream in the noiseless bathroom. Jasper opened his mouth to speak, but the air was still home to the wretched stench and he quickly closed it, cutting off his sense of taste and smell simultaneously. The discomfort at ceasing his breathing was far easier to deal with than the horrific sensory nightmare that was offered alongside the alternative.

“You know,” Alice began in a tone that implied he was going to hate what she had to say, but she continued nevertheless, “Nessie did warn you.”

Jasper could see her in the reflection of the window and watched as she flipped through the ring of measuring spoons. The clacking of plastic punctuated her point, and the noise was suddenly intolerable to him.

“I’m not convinced she didn’t set me up,” he complained under his breath, fighting the urge to reach behind him and still Alice’s fidgeting. He wanted to say ‘you could have also warned me’ but knew that it was a moot point.

The clattering against tile from across the bathroom clued him into the fact that Alice had given up on proper measuring, and soon enough she was pouring the entire box of baking soda straight into the tub.

The water fizzed at his side, and he finally turned his head to look at her. Alice was dressed head-to-toe in clothes that didn’t quite fit which he knew she’d either trash or burn after this. And she was currently studying the side of a second box of baking soda. He had half a mind to reach out and pull her into the bath himself, but—

“If you so much as even try—” her words were suddenly scathing, and her annoyance stifled his passing amusement instead of encouraging it “—I will let you do this alone next time,” she snapped, glancing up long enough for him to see just how much she meant that threat.

Jasper scoffed and turned back around, and the stench of the room made his own annoyance more palpable in the atmosphere. He knew she wasn’t referring to this specific predicament, but instead to the situation as a whole. “Who says there’s going to be a ‘next time’?” A small voice called from down the stairs. “I do!”

Renesmee sounded remarkably pleased with herself, only expressing a mere glimpse of the delight Jasper could feel radiating from her, where she was seated in front of the television in the den. He could hear the paper rip as she tore into another handful of sugar packets and just knew he and Alice would have to get the vacuum out. Again. Instructions two, three, and four, ignored all at once. But, Jasper thought, as Alice finally popped the lid off of the dish soap and started depositing it onto his head with a heavy hand, at least they didn’t fail step one. Well. Not entirely.

—

Jasper had not wanted to babysit. Jasper had been content to leave the child-rearing to every other member of his family. Jasper had been confident that he would always be permanently placed dead-last in the unspoken ‘people who should be in charge of nurturing another life’ contest amongst them. Unfortunately, multiple colliding forces had crashed together—feeling very much like the set up for a disaster movie set mid-apocalypse—and quickly he’d found himself staring down the barrel of a gun that, he was loath to admit, unnerved him in a way that actual war never had.

But they had been two weeks into January, and two weeks from the traumatic events of the Volturi’s visit, when Emmett made a comment in passing that spiraled into the catastrophe that now awaited him.

“You really gotta spend more time with Nessie,” Emmett had remarked on the walk back from a hunt. “She’s growing like a weed and you and Alice were gone for most of December.” He’d vaulted himself over a few downed trees as he spoke, never once breaking stride. “If you want to bond with her, you gotta do it now, while she’s still little.”

It was meant to be friendly advice offered as a passing comment as part of a larger conversation. It had been kind, really, even if Jasper did think it was a bit silly. He could bond with Renesmee once everyone else got their fill—her ‘baby’ days would be over before the family knew it, and Jasper was well aware of the way most of his family had always craved the opportunity to…parent, in a way that Jasper never had.

It hadn’t been what Emmett had said, but who he’d said it in front of, that had triggered this entire mess.

Rosalie and Esme, who had been trailing behind the two of them, had unfortunately been within earshot when Emmett had started talking. And of course, at the mention of Renesmee, their attention had locked onto their conversation.

Jasper, who prayed that Alice would catch up soon, Carlisle in tow, had suddenly felt her absence very, very keenly.

He’d picked his response carefully. “I think we’ll be fine,” Jasper replied, being sure to vaguely include Alice in his response, since it hadn’t just been him who was gone for those few weeks.

Then Emmett had shot him a look—a mere precursor before divulging the worst information he could have delivered with their specific, attentive audience, a quarter-mile away—and frowned. “Dude, on Thursday she asked me if you hated kids.”

“She what?!” Rosalie’s echoed exclamation reached them the same time she did. “Why didn’t you tell me!” She’d demanded of Emmett, looking every bit as frazzled as Jasper could feel from her.

Emmett had the decency to look a little ashamed of himself as he witnessed Rosalie’s acute distress, but shrugged, as if that were an explanation in and of itself.

Before they’d made it home, but after Alice and Carlisle had caught up, a plan had been put forth into motion to correct this horrendous oversight; this terrible circumstance that bordered on emotional neglect. Esme and Carlisle had already been planning a weekend up to Denali—it seemed Garrett was still hanging around Kate, and there were apparently conversations they wanted to have with Tanya concerning Irina’s execution—so Rosalie declared that she and Emmett would also make themselves scarce for a handful of days. It helped that Edward and Bella had been so wrapped up in their ‘newlywed bliss’ that Renesmee was spending most of her time at the house anyways. Now, all they needed to do—or, all Alice needed to do—was force Edward and Bella out of town for a little while, so that Alice and Jasper could get some “proper bonding in,” as Rosalie called it, Esme nodding enthusiastically to this terrible idea while Carlisle had smiled approvingly.

—

One week later, Jasper gifted Emmett a kidney punch as a parting gift on his way out the door.

—

finish the story here, on Ao3!

#twilight fanfiction #jalice #alice cullen #jasper hale

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apparitionism · 11 months ago

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Asleep

Happy @b-and-w-holiday-gift-exchange to @kla1991 , our fearless leader, who of course knew I was their gifter, and who requested “a bed-sharing scenario that doesn't immediately turn sexy,” one that might involve tensions and/or physical discomfort. I’ve tried to approach that assignment in the appropriate spirit, with a bit of spin, although I suppose it all really depends on what any given person considers “sexy”... anyway, I’m pretty sure there are two sides to every story. Two sides to every bed, too. Here’s the first side. (This takes place in a post-season-five world, because why not raise the difficulty level?)

Asleep

My arm is asleep.

Normally, a person would, upon realizing this, shift position so as to restore blood flow.

Normally.

But very little is normal about the situation in which Myka’s arm is asleep.

She is in a hotel-room bed, in the dark of night, lying on her left side, with her left arm, her now-asleep arm, pinned beneath her. So ends the extremely limited “normal” portion of the situation.

Here begins the rest: she absolutely must not move. This is because she can hear, and can as a molecular disturbance feel, the steady push-pull of Helena’s breathing, near her neck, so near. She feels also the unfamiliar proximity of Helena’s body, offering heat across what must be only nanometers separating her from Myka’s back. And then there is Helena’s hand, what must be her right hand, resting in sleep, what must be unconscious sleep, on Myka’s hip.

They have never been in a bed together before tonight—but also, sadly also, they are not in a bed together now. They are simply two people in a bed in a hotel room, one of them obviously sleeping, obviously fulfilling her role in the “two agents are sharing a hotel room and getting some rest” play they are performing.

Myka, however, is not asleep. No: instead she is on fire because of Helena’s breath and heat and hand but unable to do anything about any of that, and thus desperate to escape and suffer her mortification in private but unable to do anything about any of that either—a terrible combination.

And now her arm, as if in intentional mockery, is asleep.

She has arrived at this pretty pass due to a series of events that had seemed, in their unfolding, to be at the very least manageable...

... starting with Helena’s return to the Warehouse.

That return had at first struck Myka as a beautiful dream—and, equally, a reward for awakening from a nightmare.

The particular nightmare from which Myka had awakened was the fugue in which she’d imagined she might have romantic feelings for Pete. How perfect it had seemed, then, for Helena to present herself to resume agent duties at the Warehouse, so soon after that enormous error had been rectified. “A reboot, I believe it’s called,” Helena had said of her change of heart, and Claudia had laughed uproariously at that, shouted “Turn it off and turn it on again!”, and hugged the obviously befuddled, but just as obviously pleased, rebooted agent.

Myka had not hugged Helena, not then. She’d thought to save such an action, such an aggressively bodily action, for an even more meaningful time, progress toward which would, at long last, begin.

But progress had not begun. In the reboot, Helena was a collegial colleague to Myka.... and that was all.

Helena did not, as she had in old times (old shows?), make comments that even usually-oblivious Myka could read as flirtatious. She did not step close, too close, as she had in old times, waking Myka’s body to possibility and want. She did not, in fact, mention old times at all. No words about “Wells and Bering”—as Myka had hoped to one day again correct, however incorrect Helena found the correction, to “Bering and Wells”—having ever done anything together.

And Myka of course could not assault such a collegial colleague with an anguished Why? She could do nothing but wish for a reboot of her own, or at least a do-over, one in which the minute Helena stepped from Claudia’s embrace, Myka herself initiated one that made her hopes clear.

But no such reboot was forthcoming.

That disappointment was, Myka found, manageable. Crushing, but manageable. It was made more so by the fact that Artie sent Helena on retrievals with Steve, sometimes with Claudia as adjunct; thus her collegial interactions with Myka did not have particularly meaningful stakes. At least, none that were Warehouse-specific, and that was what counted. That had to be what counted.

Until one morning at breakfast, when Artie tossed a folder at Myka and said, “Tomorrow you’re going to San Antonio to bag a camera.”

Then he pointed at Helena. “And you’re going with her.”

“Am I?” Helena asked, even as Myka voiced, “She is?

“She’s the one who stole it from Warehouse 12,” Artie told Myka. To Helena, he said, “So I assume you’ll know it when you see it.”

Well, that tone in Artie’s voice was like old times—old shows. But Helena did not respond with her back-then defiant chirp. She said a simple “oh,” a chastened wince that seemed pulled from a different show entirely.

Artie should not be inflicting this on her, Myka thought. After a moment, she revised that to, Artie should not be inflicting this on her or on me. Her first counter: “Maybe Helena could just tell me what it looks like.”

“If that would be easier,” Helena said, with a quickness suggesting she agreed that something was indeed being inflicted on somebody, “I certainly—”

“Did I stutter?” Artie demanded.

He didn’t. But after a bit of time, Myka thought she could, just maybe, manage the situation, both because of Helena’s apparent trepidations and as a way of sidestepping her own feelings. “I’m not sure this mission with Helena is a good idea,” she tried saying to Pete later that morning.

“How many times do I have to tell you the vibes aren’t bad anymore?” he asked, annoyed, as if she’d been making a habit of hitting him with this concern whenever he was trying to get comfortable with a comic book.

In fact, he’d told her that once since Helena came back. Once. It had happened when Myka had said, in a moment of exhaustion that had allowed her management to slip, “I miss how Helena used to be,” and he’d rolled his eyes and told her, “That’s dumb. The vibes aren’t bad anymore.”

Now Myka said—because why fight about it?—“Obviously more than once. But I just don’t think it’s a good idea. For her, I mean. Artie said that thing about the stealing and she... I don’t know. Wilted.”

“Okay, so tell that to Artie.”

Was that vaguely reasonable advice? “I guess I could give that a—”

“Like that’d work! Ha!”

“You’re very unhelpful,” Myka informed him.

“Keeping it on brand.” He flexed his biceps. “Just like these big boys.”

To which Myka could say only, “I am so devoutly grateful we aren’t together.”

“Me too. Different reasons though.”

“I’m devoutly grateful for that too,” she said.

She was grateful also, when it came down to it, for his total lack of interest in parsing the differences between their reasons.

Pete’s unhelpfulness aside, she still had the greater part of a day before her scheduled departure on this Helena-accompanied retrieval, and she hoped it might still be possible to extricate herself, Helena, or both of them from it.

Who would be more helpful in such an endeavor: Claudia or Steve? Claudia, who might be more sympathetic to the overall difficulty... or Steve, who would probably be more persuasive in helping to take a plan to Artie...

She went with Steve.

She opened with, “I need to talk to you. No, wait, before you wince: I need to talk to someone, and I think you’re my best bet.”

“I’m not overly flattered, but my prefrontal cortex appreciates the revision. Also my sinuses.”

“I have a problem.”

“My prefrontal appreciates that too: direct, no nuance. And I know we haven’t talked about this out loud, but if your problem’s with me? Totally justified. I got the you-and-Pete thing wrong.”

“No, my problem’s with Helena.” That was probably too revealing. “But the other thing, he and I got it wrong. You were just a witness. Regrettably.”

“But I... pushed?”

“Probably it was a thing he and I had to test to know for sure. And we did, so now we do. I like to think I don’t make the same mistake twice.”

That got her a twist of a smile. “You like to think, but this H.G. thing. I know you two have history, so is this that?”

Myka would have preferred to say “no,” but she figured she should continue giving his sinuses a break. So instead she said, “See, you’re discerning. This is why you’re my best bet.”

“What’s the problem then? You both seemed less than thrilled at breakfast, but—”

Now Myka could tell a truth. “Exactly. She clearly doesn’t feel okay about this artifact, and she shouldn’t have to deal with anything that would make her regret having come back. Right?” Before he could agree or disagree, she presented her plan: “You should do the retrieval with me instead. And I’ll need help selling this to Artie, so if you could gently ask her about the camera and then tell him you’re just as likely to recognize it when you—”

“Wanting to spare her discomfort is admirable. Really. But that wasn’t your issue, not at first. The very instant Artie said H.G. was going too, you tensed up.”

He is your best bet, Myka reminded herself. She sighed and said, “Fine. I’m not sure I can go on a mission with her.”

He winced and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, yes,” she acknowledged. “I’m sure I can. I’m just not sure I want to.”

He didn’t release the pinch. “Unfortunately for both of us, that’s also a lie.”

That one, she resented. “Maybe you’re too discerning.”

“And yet I’ve heard I’m your best bet.”

“Right. Maybe I do want to. But the problem is, everything’s different now.”

“Also, I’m sorry, a lie. That last part. Everything isn’t different. What’s the same?”

Far, far too discerning. “I don’t want to say.”

He smiled. “Aaaaah. Very truthful.”

“Here’s something I do want to say: would you take my place instead?”

“Either way,” he said, his smile morphing into an apologetic grimace, “I don’t think that’s how this works.”

“We just have to make a case to Artie, which I know is a heavy lift, but something like how much easier it would be for Helena to go with you since you’re her wrangler now, so—”

“No, I mean logistically. I’m not her wrangler at all, by the way, but also the plane tickets are already in your names, right?”

Well, that was annoyingly true. “Fine. I hate it, but fine. And even if I could find an artifact that would change names on plane reservations, I couldn’t use it because that would really be personal gain.”

“Would it though?” Steve asked, lightly, but with an undercurrent.

Myka did not want to answer that question.

So she and Helena went.

On the plane, Helena said to Myka, “I’m sure you’re wondering about Artie’s statement.”

Accurate, but: “Not if you don’t want to talk about it,” Myka said. “In that case, any and all wondering canceled. Canceled like... an underappreciated cult TV show.” That was something a colleague would say, wasn’t it? A particularly collegial one, such as, for example, Claudia, from whom Myka had copied and pasted the words about television.

This wasn’t the first time she’d plucked words like this; articulations of her own, she feared—even more so now than in the past—were likely to reveal too much.

Helena raised an eyebrow. “You sound like Claudia.”

Mission accomplished, if a bit too well, so Myka shrugged and said, “I’ve heard characterization can get weird in a reboot.” That was also from Claudia, who had asked Myka, not long ago, “Do you think H.G.’s okay? I know characterization can get weird in a reboot, but she seems a little off,” and Myka had pleaded ignorance as to the entire concept, despite her wish to opine at length on how Helena seemed definitely, from Myka’s perspective, not okay. Definitely off. More than a little.

“I did use that word,” Helena said.

“You did.”

“I did also steal the artifact in question.”

“Napoleon Sarony’s camera.”

“Yes. I gave it to Oscar Wilde.”

“You did?” Oscar Wilde. Okay.

“I told him to have someone use it to take his photograph.”

Obviously this has something to do with its effect, but Myka has no idea what. Helena clearly wants to be drawn out on the point, so Myka probes, using what she knows, “Because it was what Sarony used to take those photos of Wilde when he was on his big star-making tour in the U.S.? Or because of the Supreme Court copyright case about that one Wilde photo he took? Oh, that case, I bet it’s why the camera’s an artifact, but—”

“You’re correct on the why of the artifact. But do you know its effect?”

“I didn’t have time to look it up before we left. And it’s not in the file.”

“Artie left it out, I suspect.”

“Because it’s exculpatory?”

“Because it’s explanatory. As far as anything could be, given that time. Obviously nothing is exculpatory.”

Isn’t it? “Do you want to explain?”

“Want,” Helena said, and oh god if Myka could have given herself leave to understand that word said differently. But this was not that reboot. After a throat-clear, Helena went on, “It was... post.”

Myka didn’t need to ask post-what.

“So many artifacts there were,” Helena continued, “so many unhelpful to me in my extremity. Nevertheless I thought to help. To make some difference. Where I could, as opposed to where I could not.”

In old times, Helena had not said this much about her mental state... post. Fleshy, this admission was, and Myka did not know what to make of it. Was it a step closer, akin to the old sort of physical proximity? Or was it just... explanatory? “The effect?” she prompted, gently, hoping for clarification.

“Artistic enhancement of the subject photographed. Oscar too was... post. Imprisonment had diminished him so terribly. I thought an artifactual photograph might help restore his writerly prowess.”

“Did it work?” Myka asked.

“I can’t prove causation,” Helena said. “Nevertheless, post-photo, he did write ‘Ballad of Reading Gaol.’”

That was one of those utterances Myka would be processing for quite some time. Separate and apart from her outsize feelings for Helena as Helena—as a physical body to which Myka’s own body has for years now compulsively responded—there was the ongoing absurdity, the near high comedy, of Helena speaking factually about events of such cultural-historical import. “I can’t think that was a bad outcome,” Myka eventually managed to say.

“I can’t either.”

They had not had so genuine, so genuinely substantive, a conversation since Helena’s return.

However, their renewed familiarity, if that’s what it was, did not outlast the plane.

They found the camera, and they neutralized it with minimal difficulty—if a bit more consternation on the part of the gentleman who believed he had the right to possess the piece.

That was all very... collegial.

And—but—they then tried to check in at their hotel. Or rather, Myka did. Helena was occupying herself with the snacks on offer in the lobby. “Steve usually checks in,” she’d said. “Do you mind?”

How could Myka have been less accommodating than Steve? Also she was—she had to concede—more than a little charmed by Helena’s seeming admission of... well, not incompetence. Just a slight slink away from responsibility.

Please, a more cynical part of her said with a snort of derision, you’re charmed by the way she does everything. Walking, talking, existing. Inspecting potato-chip bags across the lobby in a hotel’s snack pantry.

“Bering and Wells,” the desk clerk said in confirmation of the reservation, and Myka wanted to thank him for that ordering of names. He followed up with, “One king.”

She didn’t want to thank him for that. “No,” she told him, and it was good that Helena was out of earshot. “Two. Kings, queens, doubles, twins, I don’t care. But two.”

“Sorry,” said the clerk. “Full up.”

So one king it had been.

And now, in that one king, Myka’s arm is asleep.

“Are you asleep?” she wants to ask of Helena, aloud, to ascertain the true contours of the situation, but the very asking might—would?—change the contours, and Myka isn’t sure she’s in any kind of state to handle any certainty or any change. So she thinks the question at Helena instead, thinks it over her shoulder at that warm body over and over, Are you asleep, are you asleep, are you asleep, are you asleep, until she’s estranged from the question as anything but words, until “asleep” in particular begins to strike her as bizarrely archaic, its construction completely uncontemporary, and she interrupts her telepathy to think, It is archaic; we don’t ask “Are you abed” or anything like that anymore—

—but she interrupts herself again, for that doesn’t ring quite right. So she calls up the dictionary, the A’s, riffling her way through, and the exercise offers her all sorts of examples that show how very unarchaic indeed it is to say “asleep”: ablaze, abuzz, aground, ajar, alight, aloud, amid...

The list goes on. It’s far longer than she expected, but she continues, doggedly, to the end of the A’s, through “astray,” “aswoon” (she doesn’t linger on that one), on to “atingle” (that one either), on and on, ending with “awhirl.” She’d been by then vaguely looking forward to something like “azoom,” but alas.

Such a lengthy jaunt through the initial chapter of the dictionary surely must have eaten up significant time, perhaps even more than she imagined; perhaps morning is at last approaching, and the alarm will ring, and all this physical consternation can be resolved by sudden wakefulness on everybody’s part.

The clock on the nightstand tells her the journey took three minutes.

Spectacular.

Well, fine. If the A’s were three minutes, the rest of the dictionary should offer her at least an hour of distraction—both from her arm’s discomfort and from the physical, emotional, and existential discomfort created by the presence at her neck, back, and hip.

She starts in on the B’s. First comes “b,” defined, in entry 1a, as “the 2d letter of the English alphabet.” No doubt it’s important to periodically refresh one’s memory of such things.

The B’s proceed, slow and thorough; after “b” comes “baa,” and on and on... “bedlam” catches her attention, in a Warehouse-y way; “bed of roses” does too, as it’s “a place or situation of agreeable ease,” which this certainly is not—

—in sudden, striking emphasis, Helena’s hand on Myka’s hip moves, a minimal slide-glide toward thigh, and oversensitized Myka can’t control a too-violent twitch in response, one that jolts her toward the bed’s edge, which was nearer than she realized, for now its surface is an abrupt absence, and a crash to the floor is imminent, and instinct, instinct: her brain shouts for an arm to break her fall, but the volunteering limb is the stupid somnolent one, and OH GOD she has never known pain to manifest like this—she’s taken a bullet but this is more, for “seeing stars” is no mere metaphor, as she’d always imagined; her vision is literally stellating, even as she hears herself yelp in prelinguistic anguish.

The horrific fullness of the situation settles on her as she additionally hears, directed at her from some angel perspective, the voice of her dreams but now this nightmare saying “Myka? What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Myka moans at the unforgivingly injurious floor, and then the stars win.

TBC

#bering and wells #warehouse 13 #fanfic #Asleep #B&W holiday gift exchange #kla1991 #endured bodily discomfort can lead to terrible outcomes #or maybe eventually to nonterrible ones?#we'll see #all definitions quoted from Merriam-Webster's Collegiate 10th Ed #(it's nearest to me on the bookshelf)#(and maybe was once nearest Myka too)

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mcyt-summer-of-yuri · 9 months ago

Text

Hello all!! With the event nearly upon us, I figured it was about time (finally) to post a sort of FaQ for the event! So buckle up, everyone, this post is gonna be a bit of a long one.

What is the event timeline?

March 14th - March 28th: Mod applications

April 21st - May 4th: Signup period

April 21st: Discord opens

May 5th - May 18th: Assignments sent out

May 19th - June 29th: Gift making period

June 9th - June 29th: Pinch-hits period

June 30th - July 13th: First gift posting period

June 30th - July 20th: Second gift posting period

August 31st: Treat posting deadline

Is there an age limit to the event?

Since this event is run through Tumblr and an event Discord, the age limit to join will be 13 if you wish to join the Discord, but if you will only be participating via Tumblr, there will be no age minimum in place. To create/receive any NSFW gifts, on the other hand, the age limit will be 18 and we ask that your gift be censored when posted on Tumblr if it is a visual art medium (though if you wish to DM your giftee with an uncensored version, go right ahead!).

What is definitely not allowed?

• Themes of incest (canonical or in relation to headcanons specified in sign-ups)

• Themes of pedophilia (referring to ships containing minors, such as Child/Adult, Teen/Adult, Child/Child, or Teen/Child pairings, with an exception to platonic or romantic pairings consisting of only characters between the ages of 14 to 17 for Teen/Teen relationships)

• Themes of underage drinking/drug use (consumption of substances by characters under the age of 18)

• Themes of abuse (physical/mental/sexual harm inflicted on a character or mutually between multiple characters involved)

• Usage of slurs (words used in a derogatory fashion against a character in regards to aspects of who or what they are)

• Lack of consent (while dubious consent may be allowed if requested in your sign up, a lack of consent entirely will not be tolerated)

• AI generated art (this applies to fanart generated by AI, fanfic created using chat bots, and anything else along these lines)

What are the gift requirements?

There will be a few options for what kind of gift you can make, as well as the option to DM a mod either here or on the discord once it opens if your preferred gift type is not listed or if you would like to make your giftee an extra gift of a non-listed art type. The options and their requirements are listed as such!!

Art - clean sketch with lineart minimum (or whatever point of the process this would be in your art style if lineart is not applicable)

Writing - 1,000 word count minimum (if you intend to write multiple chapters, you must have at least 2/3 of your total story written by posting period and the first chapter must be no less than 800 words long)

Playlist - 2hr length minimum

Moodboards/Stimboards - minimum of 2 boards equaling out to 18 elements

Webweave - at least 1 board containing 10 elements

Video Edit - at least 45 seconds in length

Poem - 100 word count minimum (or multiple shorter poems with a total of no less than 100 words)

Other Original Content (DM a mod on the Tumblr or once the Discord opens for more information on alternative gift suggestions such as cosplay videos, original songs, animations, or other such ideas)

What are the included fandoms?

What are the Included Fandoms?:

For the sake of this event you will be given a list of fandoms to choose from in your sign up form to determine which series' you are willing to create/receive a gift about as well as listed characters in each series (with a section to include unlisted characters, though those will be taken as optional rather than required for the sake of matching you with a potential gifter) The selected series are listed (in no specific order) below!!

Life Series/Traffic Life SMP

Empires SMP

DSMP

QSMP

Witchcraft SMP

Rats SMP

Pirates SMP

Outsiders SMP

One Life SMP

X Life SMP

AfterLife SMP

New Life SMP

Hermitcraft

Kingdomcraft

Minecraft Diaries

MyStreet

What counts as "yuri"?

For the purposes of this event, we will not be accepting genderbends or trans headcanons of canonically cis male characters. Yuri would include any pairing or character who would be eligible to fit into either the Sapphic or Trixic umbrellas.

What if I just don't have the time?

Well, if you're worried about not being available during the creation period but still want to participate, you're more than welcome to sign on as a beta reader (not just for looking over/helping out with fics!) or a pinch hitter/bench warmer!! Beta readers are anyone who would like to help someone out in the creation of their gift, such as glancing it over for any errors, brainstorming ideas, or other helpful things!! A pinch hitter (also known sometimes as a bench warmer) is someone who steps up in the event that someone who was signed up previously decides that - for whatever reason - they would be unable to finish the gift on time, and it is given to someone else to make on a more time-crunched schedule!! Both of these roles are very helpful and valuable to have in an event like this, so if you aren't sure about joining the event as a primary member, keep in mind these roles may also be options for you! Beta readers will be a Discord-only role, but pinch hitter roles will be available to anyone interested on both Discord and Tumblr, just be sure to respond quickly or someone else may take the offered hit before you!

Is this a Tumblr-only event?

Yes and no. While the event is run on Tumblr, you don't have to only post your gift here during the posting period! Edits may be posted to YouTube/Tiktok, fics/poems may be posted to Ao3/Wattpad/ffdn, playlists can be uploaded to Spotify/YouTube, wherever else you would normally post your content!! The only thing asked of you is that you don't post any spoilers before the posting period begins. No "here's an update on an edit/fanart I'm making for a gift exchange" videos/screenshots or the like, no posting poetry/fic snippets, and keep any playlists made on Spotify privated, for example!! You'll be DMed on Discord with your assignment if you join the Discord, and DMed your assignment on Tumblr if you don't! No stress either way.

Is joining the Discord required?

You don't have to join the discord to participate if you don't want/are unable to!! The discord is just a hub for those participating to talk about things and interact with one another, but if you aren't able/don't want to join for whatever reason, that's perfectly okay! There will be a deadline countdown every so often on the Tumblr, and on the Discord as well, so those not in the server will stay in the loop on that front!! If you don't plan on joining the Discord, just mark that down in your sign up sheet and everything will be just fine.

Will there be an Ao3 collection?

There will be a collection you're free to add your gifts to if you so wish, but it will be moderated so only those with given access can approve it into the collection during the posting period! If you'd like to add a fic, fanart, series of poems, or whatever else to the collection, feel free to do so and it'll stay anonymous until the posting period begins!!

Finally, who are the mods?

Our lovely moderators are hard at work making sure this event can stay on track! Everyone give them a round of applause!!

@rutellingmeashrimpfriedthisrice (event runner)

@daisy-bugs @aliteral-ghost @feyscape @sexyinaratkindaway @kaije224 @blocky-tides @queercode-my-minecraft @muriers

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