Five years ago, President Nelson recommended we start referring to our church by it’s full name, de-emphasizing the use of ‘Mormon’ as a nickname. This struck a number of members as incongruous. The full name of the church is quite a mouthful (Pres. Nelson recommends “Church of Jesus Christ” as an alternative). Also, we were just coming off the famous ‘Meet the Mormons’ movie and a whole series of ‘I’m a Mormon’ videos. These media efforts helped to showcase real members and our diversity and humanness as part of breaking down harmful stereotypes (exacerbated by the new Book of Mormon musical’s parody/highlighting of our cultural problems). So people were a bit taken aback and naturally confused, and some began using compliance with this directive as a measuring stick to determine if their neighbor was really, truly ‘following the prophet’ (because, hey, we do have our cultural problems with focusing on what actually matters).
I used to be in the ‘Mormon describes me and my culture and I’m used to it and will keep using it’ camp. But I think I am changing my tune, and here’s why: Almost everything I dislike about my church is culture-based. The actual doctrine is pretty awesome, very world-class, and I will hold it up against anything.
And maybe it isn’t a bad idea for church leaders and church members to keep repeating the name of Jesus Christ on a regular basis as a gentle reminder for us to keep moving away from the outward culture to the inward gospel and the change of heart we all need as disciples of Christ.
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listen i know we all love steve “completely ignorant of queer culture to the point that bisexuality is a surprise” harrington being roasted and educated in turns by robin and eddie, yadda yadda, good stuff. i read “they made a horror version of rocky?” in a fic recently and cackled. also a big fan of “he knew he was bi from the start and just never talked about it” as a trope, love it excellent well done
but what about steve who realizes after starcourt that the most important person in his life now has this thing that’s a major part of her life that he knows nothing about, and what if he fucks it up? what if he says something ignorant or rude by accident, and hurts her? what if he loses her because he didn’t know the right thing to say? what if he can’t keep her safe because he doesn’t know what to look out for? absolutely fucking not, this steve says
and listen she’d never say anything, because she can tell that he can tell how much she likes teasing him and teaching him things, so he plays dumb, and she thinks it’s very sweet. but she notices when the zines she keeps under her bed that she buys at that one secret bookshop in indy when she can sneak away on family trips start going missing, always one at a time, and replaced in a few days with another disappearing. and she finds the new ones he must have gone to buy the weekend she was at her aunt’s house hidden in the back of his closet when she goes to steal one of his sweaters. and she notices when he slips more of her queerer movie recommendations into his personal take home pile rather than the movie night stack when he thinks she’s not looking.
she doesn’t notice when he drives to indianapolis after she tries to explain to him why she can’t just ask out a cute girl, tries to impress on him the fear attached to every moment of attraction that he simply has never had to feel, but later she finds a crumpled receipt from a diner in one of his jacket pockets when she’s looking for his keys, and the address is across the street from the bar the gorgeous woman at the bookstore told her about, the one she memorized the address of but hasn’t worked up the guts to think about visiting, and she knows he must have gone looking for a place like that, must have been trying to understand, must have been scoping it out to make sure it was somewhere she could feel safe, after she told him she never had.
so when eddie nearly pops a blood vessel when they clock each other and she mentions that steve is the only person she’s ever come out to before, her hackles come up. because she gets it, she does, he’s only known king steve until recently, so it makes sense that he would be afraid, be concerned for her safety.
but steve is her person, and no one- no one- has ever made her feel as protected or as cared for as he does. no one has ever tried as hard to understand her, no one has ever put so much work into making her feel safe and seen and loved. and she thinks maybe even if no one else ever does, that’s ok. because she has steve, and more importantly steve has her, and that means no one gets to question his ally credentials in her presence without a dressing down to remember, no matter how well they mean or how recently they helped save the world.
(and maybe she’s not as surprised as she could be when he figures out bisexuality all on his own, because she’s been reading all the same pamphlets he has, after all. and she’s seen the way he looks at eddie, i mean come on. maybe no one else has noticed, but then, nobody knows steve harrington like she does.)
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Peacock Au Part 1
Okay so Big Huge credit to @stealingyourbones for letting me do my own take on their amazing eldritch Danny idea!!!! This started out as me just doing a drawing but then I ended up with a whole DPxDC fic that I'll be posting the part two for at some point!!! Anyway, here's the vague designs:
And here's the part one of the fic under the cut!!! :D
(Edit: Part 2 is Here!!)
There’s a Lazarus Pit forming underneath Gotham. Normally, this would not concern John Constantine at all, because it’s Gotham, therefore Bat territory therefore not his problem, and honestly he has his own things to worry about. Unfortunately for him, however, the infamous Dark Knight has somehow gotten it into his head that he can do something about it and, Hell, he’d said it would be a ‘big favour’, which meant the man really must be desperate; had to have been in the first place, he supposed, to have even bothered with John in the first place.
Still, he’d almost kind of forgotten what a huge mess any kind of favour for Batman could be, and thus, he now holds possession of a book that is probably going to get him killed.
Whether the actual book itself wants to kill him is up for debate, but Constantine has read the contents of this particular Book of Summonings and nothing in here seems remotely safe. He’s absolutely going to be hiding this away somewhere deep in the archives of the archives of the Justice League watchtower with an incredibly pointed ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ on it once he’s done with this, but for now, it’s the only thing he’s got in the way of sorting out this Pit problem.
There’s an entity that exists, this book claims, that keeps the balance between realms. ‘Closes doors’, apparently, and the doors the pages depict certainly look like a Lazarus Pit. This is brilliant news, obviously, but the book doesn’t describe the entity itself at all beyond that; barely any of the other entries are as vague as this, and that plus some of the frankly bizarre sigils he’s having to draw to summon the damn thing are giving him no comfort. The only remotely comforting thing about it is that the ritual doesn’t require any blood- which either means the entity is benign, or it wants something more valuable than blood.
…Okay, maybe not that comforting, actually.
But, before he can consider that maybe this wasn’t his best idea and backing out would be for the best, the sigils flare with light, and Constantine squints to keep track of the way they activate, desperate for any indication of what he’s managed to summon with that stupid book.
His feet feel feathery against the ground, like they’re barely tethered by gravity and just waiting to float away, and perhaps the seeming lack of atmosphere is fitting with how dust like stars lift from the summoning circle, bringing with them intercepting layers of purple-blue-pink-white, galaxies and nebulae being peeled off the floor. It comes with a sound- something whistling, almost. Seeming hollow, between a shriek and a bell ringing, or maybe more musical than that. It seems to change every moment he tries to focus on it, as if it’s something his ears can’t really hear but his brain is desperate to process, painful to try.
And then, the entity begins to form.
Unnoticeably at first, a white glow drifts forming in the centre. It congeals as Constantine’s gaze finally fixates on it, layers forming like jellyfish trails, or flowers, or peacock feathers with runic circles at the tips, fading smaller and smaller as they reach the centre, and a thing akin to a body unfolds into view at the front, a centrepiece. A child’s image of a shadow in opalescence, a strange curving feature where a neck might be, and searing-green spots of varying sizes scattered along the space where cheeks and eyes could’ve been, fading up and down across the lower-half of the ‘face’ and into the ‘hair’. He barely understands what he’s looking at, but maybe that’s the point.
The sound of a thunderstorm rings across the room, and the curve of the neck unfolds, and it’s an eye, and the tips of a thousand twisted, cosmic peacock feathers become eyes as well, if they weren’t always. They move, wavering, either lashing or flickering from visibility.
“And what is this?” The voice is a kaleidoscope, echoing off and from every corner of the room, and when they speak, infinite eyes become infinite mouths, too many teeth barely contained by the edges of what seem vaguely like frostbitten lips. To have something even remotely human suddenly etch itself onto the entity is somehow worse than the parts he can’t comprehend. “Who are you, to have summoned me, and seem so afraid?”
Constantine wishes, maybe for the first time, that it hadn’t been an obligation to do this alone; he’s never wanted Batman or one of the Light members with him more than now. It’s a difficult thing, almost impossible, to shake off the speechlessness. It’s a wonder that it’s possible at all, with how the room seems to have been twisted into a vacuum. “I was told you could- you could help with the pits?”
“The pits. There are many pits.”
God, this is creepy. “The Lazarus pits to, uh, to be specific. There’s a huge one cropping up under Gotham that’s not supposed to be there, and the local- I mean, the locals are getting antsy about it. …I heard you can take care of them.”
“I can smell its blood between the gaps of atmosphere, encircling. You, whose soul is bound in so many directions, who may be pulled apart like meat in time- can you sense it? Does it draw you?” John doesn’t know how this- this thing knows that, but he’s scared asking will invoke some kind of consequence, and more and more he’s wondering why the Hell he decided to do Batman this favour. He feels exposed.
“Uh… no, I don’t think so. But can you fix it?”
“Yes.”
“…Will you fix it?”
The chill is getting to him. Goosebumps are running across his arms like a livewire, and he’s never doing anyone a favour ever again. The entity makes an approximation of a hum, his ears shriek with whale song and stars, and after a pause, everything switching up and down on itself, the peacock eyes form into huge, reaching hands. For a second, Constantine’s whole body freezes with terror, because he’s petrified the thing’s going to grab him, but then the arms tumble phasing into the ground, and the green spots on their ‘face’ flare with a supernova glow and they make another piercing noise, chiming or trilling.
A long moment later, the hands slowly return to the entity’s back, and fade into the peacock feathers or jellyfish bells or whatever they were before, blinking at him. “It is gone.”
“Uh… cheers?”
“It will not return, but this place shall see its dead for some time. Try not to look.”
This is maybe the worst day of Constantine’s life. “Can I- uh, yeah, great advice. ‘Appreciate it. But, can I ask just, y’know, what you are? Or not.”
“That is up to you.” They say, and though the eyes that appear briefly between sentences bely or reveal no expression, it feels scrutinising. “What is it that closes doors? Is it alive?”
He hates riddles. He hates riddles and he hates cosmic horrors and he hates eldritch entities and he hates Batman for getting him to agree to this horrible favour. He wants to go back to the House of Mystery and pass out for long enough that this whole thing becomes a dream. “Fair enough! Forget I asked- cheers for sorting out that pit, though. Uh, don’t suppose you’ll just let me go on my way or anything now.”
“I know of your Bat.”
Oh dear. Constantine’s stomach sinks like a shipwreck into the Mariana Trench, but the entity moves on like they’d never even said it. “I will recede, and find you in time, perhaps both. You will know when I am coming, and I will find my recompense.”
And just like that, their whole form shimmers into clouds and pearls and smoke and mirrors, and they fade back into the runes that summoned them like tap water down the drain. The galaxies they’d formulated within the confines of the room fold back in on themselves and turn to whispers and then nothing, but the feeling persists on his skin long after weight has settled back onto his bones. He hadn’t known a thing like that existed until now. He doesn’t know what it can do, doesn’t know how all-encompassing it truly is.
And he owes it a favour.
Crap.
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do you have any advice about boycotting? I have been trying to follow bds but people online are always calling for boycotts and saying people are supporting genocide for bot boycotting xyz and Im having a lot of anxiety about it. Obviously feelings arent more important than not supporting a genocide etc
There's a bit of discussion of boycotts at the moment, so it seemed like a good time to finally respond. I do have advice - very simple and strong advice. The point of a boycott isn't individual moral purity, it's using collective power.
The starting point for building collective power has to be people resisting oppression. Just like a strike can only be called by the workers, a legitimate boycott can only be called by those who are resisting oppression.
For the last 20 years, a coalition that crosses Palestinian society has called for Boycott, Disinvestment and Sanctions. I follow what they say - I don't give a shit about what people online are saying. They are very clear about their strategy - and the important of strategic boycotts. There are some global targets, and then other targets are organised locally - the link above includes information about how to find out what the local calls are.
I believe there is a strong moral and political imperative to observe BDS. I hope that the clear direction and the short list will help with your anxiety.
I think it's really important to understand that there's a principle here - it's not just about BDS. When offering solidarity, you start with what organised groups resisting oppression have asked for. Don't listen, or get stressed out about what random strangers have said.
******
There is, I think, another point, which is just as important. People who are going around making up targets are actively harming the Palestinian Liberation struggle. There are two messages I hope people get from this post - the first is that the starting point of meaningful solidarity is what people collectively resisting oppression are asking for. The second is that the sort of mouthing off online that is stressing you out is actively doing harm - and anyone who wants to do meaningful political work - has to stop pretending that indulging in self-righteous and reactionary social media posting has anything to do with meaningful political work.
There are two reasons that people who make up things they think other people should do actively does harm. One is that it undermines the ability to build power by substituting an individual's voice, for the collective voice of people resisting oppression. Substituting individualism for collectivism is guaranteed to weaken movements
The second is the behaviour you describe is coming from the more reactive parts of our psyche. Politics is about building power through coalitions. When people try and prove they're right and other people are wrong they are letting the anxiety processes of our brains take control - and substituting our most reactionary selves for meaningful political organising - then they're actively getting in the way of building power.
The fact that you're feeling anxious isn't an accident - it's a direct result of other people's choices to act from the reactionary and anxiety part of their pscyhe. If one person is acting from their own anxiety - it absolutely does promote anxiety in others. Good political work comes from building power and coalitions - which involves strengthening relationships - none of which are done best from a position of anxiety (you'll probably be anxious at times, when doing political work - that's really normal. But that's different from anxiety being at the centre of the political work).
I think one of the biggest problems of social media's impact on our ability to organise - is that it's very easy for people who are reacting entirely individualistically, from the reactionary parts of their psyche, guided by their anxiety, to persuade themselves that they're doing collective organising - when they're actually doing the opposite.
I'm sorry you're feeling really anxious. I think it would really help to turn around what you think you're doing. You frame this as not supporting genocide - but that's probably not an option. The political and economic system you are living in supports genocide, and if you imagine you can opt out of that you're setting yourself up to fail. If instead of trying to do the impossible - you focus on acting in solidarity with people collectively resisting their oppression - then it should both be less stressful and more effective. The requests are clear and simple - and you can and should do them.
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Transformers thoughts that wouldn't leave me alone - Forgotten melodies of eld
I have a bit of a tendency to overthink my favorite media and make strange associations with other things, and Transformers is no different right now. Those robots are spinning in my head like leftover pasta in a microwave. Anyhow, last night I was thinking about Cybertronian music.
(Ramble incoming! Also I might get stuff wrong, I am still fairly new in the fandom, after all. So please, forgive my potential ignorance.)
Now, there usually isn't that much lore on it from what I've seen, which absolutely sucks and I need more. What I've also noticed is that there often seems to be more of a focus on the musical instruments (which I also definitely need more lore on), rather than vocals. And hoo boy do I have thoughts about that specificallly.
Cybertronians have voice boxes, right? And considering their mechanical anatomy, it's pretty safe to say that they can hold on for way longer than our vocal cords. After all, it's not like a computer or its speakers start breaking down after a few hours of music being played continuously. Of course, such a voice box would be more complex, and there are definitely some more unique ways for it to break or damage, but... I generally like to think they are pretty durable when they are used for speech or song. Which brings me to the concept which I decided to call "mechanical elves", or something to that effect.
Now, what does that even mean? It's simple; I was inspired by the portrayal of elven music in various fantasy media, like J. R. R. Tolkien's works. Songs that reach the deepest parts of your soul in an ancient, ellegant language, voices that sing heartwrenching ballads for hours on end about tragedies that happened millennia ago. And I thought... wouldn't that work for Cybertron? Or at least, Cybertron in its beginnings?
You have a race of giant, mechanical beings, many of which have lived for millions of years. And they do love their music, even if we often have no idea what it's like and get only snippets from their culture. You have people like Blaster, who is literally nicknamed "The Voice" in the IDW1 comics and uses his voice to inspire his fellow Autobots, among other things. Just their voice boxes alone have so much potential, and that just makes me feel stuff, honestly.
Why wouldn't they sing for incredible amounts of time without stopping, at least when the times weren't so complicated just yet?
Did the first Cybertronian who ever hummed a melody feel so much joy that he simply kept going and couldn't stop, before excitedly teaching others? When a friendship started to feel more than it already was, did the night start with a passionate serenade sung by a singular voice, which, as the hours went by, turned into a duet full of affectionate words to one another? When a Cybertronian died for the first time, did his brothers sing for his memory, and to survive the sorrow as they had no tears to weep?
Mechanical voices crying out in raw emotion to let the world know they're there, only for others to answer. Languages and dialects no longer spoken, beautifully haunting melodies long forgotten. And as the time went on, the world started to get more and more quiet, before the old compositions finally gave way to the new ones. Perhaps the Titans who yet live still remember a few notes or words once sung.
All that's left of the beginnings now is a requiem doubling as an ode to hope.
Its words?
"'Til all are one."
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