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aloesarchives · 7 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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graveyardhorror · 3 days ago

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AESPA | love languages

𓂃 ࣪ ✽ ˒ AESPA MASTERLIST 𓂃 ࣪ ✽ ˒

WATTPAD LINK

KARINA

-Physical touch

-Very bold and confident when showing affection doesn't matter whether you two are in public or behind closed doors; back hugs, blowing kisses at you, hugging, cheek and forehead kisses, and lots of hand holding

WINTER

-Acts of service

-Her introverted nature makes showing affection tough sometimes so she prefers subtlety; making you breakfast before you wake up, doing chores when you're tired, handmade gifts like cookies, bringing you your favorite drink after a long day

NING NING

-Quality time

-She shows how much she loves someone by the amount of time she spends with them; playing games, date nights, cooking or baking, watching shows, going on walks, painting, cracking jokes, and eating snacks while watching funny videos

GISELLE

-Gift giving

-A loud and proud gifter, she loves buying and making gifts for those she loves and especially enjoys their reactions; buying your online shopping carts for you, getting you food you're craving, building you lego sets, and writing you songs

dividers by anitalenia

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five-rivers · 11 months 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 · 1 year 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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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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writercole · 3 months ago

Note

For Talk Shop Tuesday, tell me more about this man please. What are his top kinks? How does he show affection and love?

You've hit me at a goooooood time. A little whiskey in and Marines on the mind.

Love Language: This man is a touch-aholic. His hands always have to be on you. Those rough callouses roam your body over your clothes, under your clothes, everywhere.

PDA is a minimum, though. His first instinct is your safety and he's always looking around, scouting the area, identifying the exits and the threats. His hand is always in yours, though.

Affection: Besides the physical touch, he's a gifter. And not always expensive things. Your favorite bar of chocolate, a handful of wildflowers. Anything to show you that he's thinking of you.

Kisses. All the time. Forehead kisses, temple kisses. Kisses on the lips, the hand, the crown of your head. ALWAYS.

And now the moment we've all been waiting for. KINKS (Below the cut:)

Sy is a pleasure dom to the ultimate max. He gets off on you getting off. Overstimulation is the name of his game. He'll come like a teenager from eating you out if he doesn't keep himself in check.

He wants your scent on him any time he leaves your side. Fingers, dick, tongue. He does not care.

He's not possessive, though.

He does like getting marked up by you. Scratches down his back, hickeys on his neck, bite marks on his chest.

His eyes will roll back in his head if you come while riding him. It takes every ounce of self-control in his body to keep from nutting then and there.

He likes when you get jealous, too. It makes him feel wanted.

Blow jobs make him impatient. You're not getting pleasure. He's not doing his job.

And if you struggle to walk for a day or two after? Then his job is done. And done well.

#cole answers #captain syverson #capt syverson #syverson #henry cavill #i don't need another blorbo #guess I got one though #thanks ivy #cole loves ivy

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apparitionism · 9 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 · 8 months ago

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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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unforgettble420 · 1 year ago

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HI POOKIEE IM BACK 😜. So erm..anyways can I request 42!miles X m!reader who’s like a golden retriever bf who just pops up near Miles and is just really affectionate with miles 😭🙏🏽 but if your requests are closed and u just forgot to change it, ignore this 💕

HOLY SHIT I LOWKEY FORGOT ABT TUMBLR 💀💀 BUT OMGG YESS🤑🤑

THIS LOWKEY IS PROBABLY GONNA BE SHORT (cuz I’m fucking lazy) sorry if this isn’t exactly what I were looking for!

NOT PROOF READ BTW

Anwaysss I’m js gonna do HCs

How you guys met

• you guys would have probably met at school and I think miles would’ve definitely been confused about he’s feelings for u (let’s just say ur the first boy he’s ever liked!)

•at first he definitely thinks of you as a “homie”, “bro” and “friend” as you guys get closer tho he realizes he feels more things for you more then what friends think of eachother…

•he’d. Freak. Out.

• he realizes he needs to sort he’s feelings out, and he does! (With the help of he’s uncle ofc)

How he tells u

• listen there’s so much going on in miles life rn ok… I mean this miles lost he’s dad, he’s mom is struggling, he lives in a not rlly good world (without spider-man) AND HES A VILLAN!!

• so he does what any not out of the closet villan teenager does, js straight up doesn’t tell u.

• so u end up asking him out

What it’s like to date miles

• he’s such a loyal bf and so trusting

• you guys would go in so many dates mainly private dates (due to him not being out) but they’re still so fun and romantic!

• I could see y’all doing little gym dates (he’s gotta keep that physic for being a super villan💪)

• he’d also do drawing for you and of youuuu

• I see him as being a big gifter he probably didn’t buy the item but it’s the thought that counts <3

How u found out he was the prowler!

You were planning on surprising miles with being there at ges house, in he’s room, after he’s night shift! “Fuck!-” miles yelled in agony as the window hit he’s head, “shit- what are u doing here baby?” Miles said in a confused and startled tone “I wanted to surprise u…?” U said “ but I’m why are y going through the window with a black and purple suit…” ur voice getting more and more confused as u talked. He stared at u dumbfounded “ummmm, listen it’s not what it looks like-” he tried to explain! but he couldn’t…

After he explained to you about he’s situation and what’s been going on u obviously we’re concerned and worried about miles and he’s safety! But you knew u loved him to much to leave him, u agreed to be ok with this as long as he didn’t get hurt or killed!!

“Ok wow I really wasn’t expecting all this to happen tonight…! But now that ur here we have to finish that movie!! PLUS I MISS UUU!” You guys obviously snuggled the whole night ❤️

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #42 miles x reader #miles moarals x reader #miles spiderman

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utopya-cc · 1 year ago

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youtube

(Preview) SIMS4 MOD | Passionate Gifts

Hi everyone! hope you are all well!🤩

Long story short I wanted to make a realistic romantic gift mod, that will evolve about giving some precious gift with some cute reaction. but I wasn't happy with the idea of making the sims just looking at the gift box without interacting with it. after all, this is one of the best simulation games out there now! so I thought that it deserved better than that,

So I have chosen the hard solution, and started trying to animate the gifts as real as I can, trying to add physics to them and make them more interactive and more realistic, and see what I can achieve with my limited modding skillset😏.

I am super excited about the results.

What is this mod?

This mod is an upgraded overhaul for the in-game interaction "give a romantic gift". With this mod, your sims will be able to give some more romantic meaningful gifts. and can be more expressive to their partners

On the romantic menu, you will find a new pie menu called Passionate Gifts.

The interaction will cost your sims some Simoleones, the price will depend on the type of each gift

There are three Gifts to choose from:

Flower and Chocolates - $100 Simoleons

Heart Necklace - $950 Simoleons

Fancy Wrist Watch - $2500 Simoleons

Features Of the Mods:

New highly detailed animation with their own sounds

A new pie menu for the new interactions

New icons for each Gift that will suit their own animation

Each interaction has its own buffs for both the gifter and the receiver.

Realistic animations for each object

All the icons used are custom-made by me, I did put extra time into them to be more visually pleasing and match their original content

Possible outcomes:

Depending on each gift the outcomes may differ for both the receiver and giver,

Expensive gifts will have some more rewardable outcomes

The Price may be a little bit on the expensive side so I did try to reward your sim with some proper reaction animations

The interactions are more intimate than the in-game ones, so your sims have to at least have their first kiss. and have more than 20% of romance or the pie menu won't show up

I think this mod will be a great addition to the game, especially storytelling-wise,

DOWNLOAD

#Youtube #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims download #ts4 #ts4 mods #sims4 mods #sims 4 mods #the sims mods #ts4 gameplay #sims 4 gameplay

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shiftingpath · 1 year ago

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Exalted Secret Santa, 15th Edition

Hello friends!

It's that time again; time to come together over the winter season to make some art of each other's amazing Exalted characters. If you're an artist in the Exalted fandom, here's what you'll need to participate:

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 10th 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.)

Also, 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!

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 10th 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 11th 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 14th. 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 10th 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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radiant-reid · 2 years ago

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I adore the idea of BAU Secret Santa Exchanges, and here’s what I think each member’s “gifting personality” (as I call it) is

Rossi always goes WAY above the spending limit so everybody always knows immediately who got him as their Secret Santa when they get a really expensive bottle of alcohol or article of clothing or jewelry that they know nobody else could afford to get for them

Emily’s gifts are always scarily accurate because she pays really close attention to her team and the things they mention they want probably only once or twice. Say Spencer offhandedly mentions he can never find a very specific foreign film on DVD exactly once. During Secret Santa, he unwraps a DVD copy of that very specific foreign film that Emily SOMEHOW managed to track down

Spencer always gets somebody a book on one of their favorite hobbies or interests, whether it’s a history of or a how-to type guide. Even if it’s the most obscure thing ever, chances are he can find a book on it

Derek always gets people experiences and a handmade coupon that contractually obligates him to attend said experience, like tickets to a knitting expo for Penelope or a fun new physical activity session that JJ’s been talking about wanting to go and do

Penelope always pulls a “Garcia” and HAND-MAKES your gift from scratch. Whether she knits it, crochets it, or some other crafting category, she always puts 110% into it and always signs it “From Secret Santa, Made with Love”, so everyone always knows it’s her

JJ in all honesty is a clothing gifter, but it’s not boring stuff like socks and underwear. She scours Etsy for fun and unique sweaters, shirts, or other related to a hobby, interest, or just something punny that she knows you’ll get a kick out of

Hotch is a drinkware kinda guy, so he also scours Etsy, but for wine glasses, whiskey glasses, mugs, tumblers, or any other thing you put consumable liquid in with funny sayings on them, or related to a hobby or interest that he’s heard his team mention every so often, because like Emily, he also pays attention to his team

oh i love this so much, it's perfect <33 them doing family stuff just means the world to me

#criminal minds #criminal minds hc #criminal minds headcanons

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tw1stedthicket · 4 months ago

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Just found out apparently the Winter Olympic Games in 10 years or so are gonna be held in Salt Lake City, Utah. I sincerely hope and pray that in the next 10 years, this fact will mean something different to me.

As it stands right now, I am pissed off. Of all the beautiful places on this green earth, Utah certainly has captivating natural beauty, but I don't trust that there may not be the influence of what is so flagrantly defining about Utah in that it is the central hub of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Something as beautiful and hopeful as a long-held tradition kept amongst all nations of the world to send some of their best in stunning athletic feats that sometimes seem to transcend humanity's physical potential to one place, so they may compete in the name of their home and a title of honor recognizing the boundaries they pushed in the name of their sport, is almost downright spiritual. I can't help but feel the parallels of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints believing themselves to be sending out the best and the brightest fledgling flames of the younger generation to spread a similar light of God, the truth of the "latter days" in today's evolving world, and unity of all of us in God's plan and in one human legacy and divine birthright for all families to participate in that binds us and seals us together. I know not all Latter-day Saints are as inclined to putting forth a presentation of righteous, precious duty for this spiritual sentiment of "being a light" or would as such be engaged in the kinds of acceptance, social change, radical hope, equality, and more that it would require, but that sentiment of all the above mentioned is baked into the religion no less, as to what its members are called to do and be.

Unfortunately, the gruesome underbelly that gets overlooked in their politeness and sweetness and eagerness to just help everyone come unto Christ, is one that suffers from absolutely crippling enforcements of conformity. Conformity that white-washes the cultures that are "invited" to join -- asks them to sacrifice aspects of their identity and assimilate into Whiteness and to alter long-held beliefs and ways of life for the sake of a "restoration of the truth"...eliminating personal beliefs, personal practices, personal behaviors, and by extension personality, and where isolated from broader cultures and one's own ability to make choices freely, to own what one finds true, to walk as one will and where one will, to find meaning, express values, call upon one's ancestors or their own sources, grow in wisdom, and so much more, as though these might not be a path up the mountain, eliminates so much identity even in one's very personhood.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints venerates freedom, honored in a free American country with a "restoration" and the bestowing of God's keys of power to guide the world at a time that could have only been made possible then, a freedom that is held up in its triumphant insistence that the greatest gift to humans was "agency", and captivated in its role as the supreme poser of such deeply rooted human questions at the heart of our souls as to how and why we are here and the gifter of the answers - should we be free to honestly ask the question ourselves, honestly ask it of the missionaries in the world, honestly ask it of the promise laid out in the Book of Mormon to God, who will testify of the truth that sets you free. And yet. The stunning implications that it was never a choice are chained to their idea of freedom.

It was never a choice for the families that Joseph Smith encountered and who persuaded their perspectives and faith to change, families he then asked to take their young daughter's hand in marriage for himself under threat of damnation, or to women whose husbands were off serving missions in other parts of the world. It was never a choice to the people of the world today who do anything less than fully accept, with choking implications that they are denying the very thing that will save them, save them from unhappiness and unfairness. And offering this promise to the members of the world that have been oppressed, in colonized parts of the world, in enslaved parts of 1800's America, in Indigenous Native parts of the colonized Americas and colonized Utah itself, a name directly referencing the tribes that lived there. Offering this to people whose civil rights the Church's extensive arms and threaded branches in local governments lobby to repress. To the queer community that it tragically imposes the question of "agency" and "chastity" that you might just simply choose to be different. For all these people, the implication that life could be different for you. For countries of the world today in need of aid that are promised temples, for families in need of aid that are asked if they tithe. For people in the world asking for more freedom, and the levying of power that all along it will be, if you conform; from the enslaved American promised to find emanicipation in Zion in Utah under Joseph Smith's presidential platform, to the Pacific Islanders today that have family lineages populated with Latter-day Saints that move from their ancestral homes to Utah as Utahns crowd them out, to women everywhere that are promised a Relief Society for women and perhaps an advancement of the cause for women, but find themselves taught by priesthood holders about what great mothers and wives God made them to be. For people in need of guidance and counsel for self-worth and a justification to still be here in a hopeless world, that get asked about sin and "valiance" and given the choice to remain an active member for the sake of fulfilling gender roles, family roles, having posterity. The implication that families can be together forever, but only if you accept and obey to the highest order of covenants, promises you make to the entire dedication and consecration of your life to it. A culture of shaming for less than true perfection and that you must choose less if you get less, and you must have chose hell if you got it, and a power to send you there.

The Church has very carefully, very saintly, made of all its members, "pure", "converted" people striving for perfection even as Christ is perfect. Perfection that comes across to many as diligence, dedication, and integrity. Perfection that to be sure of, might reflect in the Olympic ceremonies as a reverence for that which is sacred, and an adoring display of its temples, its hallowed history of saints and pioneers, and its citizenship of those who Build Up Zion. The world community at large may be deeply saddened as many of us are to find that hallmarks of the human spirit in all the corners of the world from belief systems far and wide, ancient and new, will be swallowed up inevitably in a sweeping display of a sinister thought: that we, Latter-day Saints, are the vested light in a darkened world, and we bear the "torch", so to speak, of shining out evils that we decided long ago were not what defined the power structure of the 1800's world Joseph Smith grew up in and that have shaped the globe ever since.

Their dazzle conceals the weath it took to build it, and who it takes it from. Its celebration of oneness washes out the exclusion of those it defines as needing to "change", "convert", or "overcome" in the name of conformity. Any humility involved will belie a supremacy that earnestly, and audaciously, believes that people should be sent out into the world for the sake of one truth, and one path, and one plan, and that after death, each member should plumb the archives and annals of human ancestry to convert all to its religion in the afterlife. A family religion, a family culture, an Olympic celebration of the human family, yet damned and condemned to separation in the afterlife in tiers of glory the same as its tiered chandeliers in every temple building dotting the desert and mountain Utah landscape.

It's revolting, to me, and I find my only solace in the hope that in ten years, more progress will have been made that shifts our world just a few more degrees toward the acceptable belief that the things the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints believes are unacceptable.

#exmormon #exmo #lds #ex evangelical #exvangelical #deconstruction #deconstructing christianity #religious deconstruction #religious trauma #if you read this far thank you #ex jw

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